#do not tease me like dc

[nightwingandhissquad]

[necrotic-nephilim]

I know you like Young Justice 98 so I have to ask what you think of my favorite problematic girl Greta Hayes.

I LOVE GRETA SO MUCH.

Greta Hayes is my favorite bbygirl ever. i think her backstory is super interesting and i wish DC had done more with the whole Warder concept, exploring other Warders and what her relationship could've been with them. i just love the like. duality of her? the way she appears pretty shy and timid but has this really deep, explosive anger to her. she's a hot mess and i love her dearly, she can do no wrong in my eyes. the only moment i didn't like with her was when she and Steph fought, but i blame that more on the writers bc "two girls must have a crush on the cool main character and fight over him" just happens a lot in comics.

i lost my shit when Stargirl: Lost Children brought Greta back. i'm so happy she's back around and i think Lost Children was an interesting plot to explain the concept of all of these teenage heroes and sidekicks getting lost to comic book limbo. i wish Anita had also been in Lost Children but, i'm happy for the scraps of Greta we got bc if you'd asked me before if we would ever see her again, i would've said probably not. i hope the New Golden Age stuff does more with her and i'm delusional that we'll see her reunite with Young Justice, or at the very least Bart, since that's who she mentions being friends with in Lost Children.

i do ship her with Tim, i fear. i think her crush on him was really cute and how much faith she had in him. and him being the one who was able to talk out of working with Darkseid? just very cute vibes. i do also like GretaSteph, but GretaTim is rlly fun and i wish we had more content of it. whether it be an unrequited love situation where she has to watch him grow up while she's trapped as her age in this life/death limbo, or them actually trying to make it work. i crave to use her more in fanfic, i just haven't thought of stories to easily slot her into yet.

anyway, i love her, she's a doll, she should've been in Young Justice (2019), begging DC to do something with her now that she's officially back in the continuity. give her a mini or something pls DC my kingdom for content of my dumb angry ghost child.

[nero-neptune]

this is how vic can still win: victor aguilar is basically jason todd, so like. non-zero chance he comes back in a goofy mask, causing a scene, and making it oz's problem.

[gophergal]

*Facepalms myself into oblivion*

I spend how many years wanting fandom dreams, and this is how my mind repays me?

[redr0sewrites]

NNN Hcs with the Dc Batboys

🥀A/n: exactly what is sounds like‼️ i love writing no nut november hcs sm-

🥀Character(s): Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Bruce Wayne x reader,

🥀Cw: smut, teasing, switch!reader, use of the term(s) prince/ss in Bruce's pt, dirty talk

🥀divider: @chachachannah <3

🥀minors dni

Dick Grayson:

bringing up NNN to Dick definitely raises a brow- at first he's a little confused, you don't want to have sex for an entire month? who would ever want that?

once you explain it though, i think he'd be really into it. he's definitely a little pouty that he can't even masturbate, and would probably complain if you were abstaining from sex without telling him why. once you convince him to join you though, he starts taking it very seriously

Dick has a bit of a competitive streak, so i definitely think he's in it to "beat you". he's teasing you endlessly, trying to get you to give in before the month ends (and theres definitely a high chance of him outlasting you)

actually suuuuuch an unfair tease, like genuinely he's soo annoying throughout the month. you walk by him wearing shorts? he's kneading your ass and giving it an appreciative slap. you don't have a shirt on for any reason whatsoever? he's coming up behind you and groping your chest, whether you have boobs or not, and whispering filthy things in your ear.

he's also big on teasing you in your sleep- you can't tell me Dick wouldn't have the biggest somnophilia kink ever so he's absolutely trying to get you worked up while your asleep, in hopes of you waking up and giving in

i honestly see two outcomes: he either makes it to the end of the month, or he gives up about 3/4 through. i feel like Dick has a pretty high libido, but i also think he has really good self control and can resist temptation so there's definitely some internal conflict on his end.

it gets to a point where, at the end of the month, because his libido is so high and he's been untouched for so long, he's like tweaking out over every touch and is becoming veeerrryyy needy and sensitive. this is probably the time period where he's most likely to give in as he's just soooo sensitive and can't even touch himself to get off! you have a much higher chance of getting Dick to give in once he reaches this threshold, and if you play your cards right he'll be squirming.

if he does make it through the month, expect to be woken up at 12:01 on the first of december with Dick humping your thigh and whining in your ear. he's NOT in control right now, he's way too needy and sensitive, and he's definitely okay with letting you use him to get off- he needs to cum just as bad as you do

gives you the most AMAZING orgasms after waiting a month, he's mounting you like an incubus and rutting into you like his life depends on it until your both whimpering and overstimulated ♥️

he's probably gonna be a little mean too, considering you made him wait soooo long <\\3

"hnhah- ffuck." Dick's soft breath tickles your ear as he nips at the lobe, his hips rocking heavily against yours. "c'mon, baby, you can give me another, please.." his cock twitches against your tummy, tip sticky and wet from previous orgasms.

"Dickie, i just came-" you whine, yet your body betrays you as your hips roll up to meet his. he chuckles breathlessly against the soft column of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses into your sweat-soaked skin. "please, baby? jus' one more, f'me?" his tone is teasing, but you can tell he's desperate as you feel his cockhead twitch again. with a soft giggle, you nod, and Dick wastes no time in aligning himself with your hole. "you ready, hun?"

"mhm," you hum, and he slides in. your hole is already wet from previous orgasms, it had felt too good for Dick to not cum inside, and that only aided his sloppy thrusts as he rutted against you. your eyes flutter closed as the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, and Dick ducks back down to whisper in your ear as your orgasm draws closer. "so pretty, s'good for me, made me wait so long for this... ffucck- y'gonna cum for me, honey? gonna take it all?"

Jason Todd:

Jason is honestly a wild card, i think it could go a multitude of ways honestly depending on how you feel

when you suggest the idea to him, i either see him being a tiny bit petty and lowkey deciding to fuck you every day of november OR take it as a challenge and being determined to make it through the month with no screw ups.

if it ends up being the latter, than i feel as though Jason has a higher chance of succeeding then losing. i don't think his sex drive is super high, and he's also pretty stubborn, HOWEVER, you are his weak point, and if you end up teasing him or begging him, i can picture him snapping and fucking you

either way, he's at least making it through half the month if not longer.

the only way you'll get him to give in is if your REALLY desperate, because he could never see you needy- so teasing him or pleading with him to fuck you is probably how you can get him to break

i also see him teasing you, but only subtly. he'll wear those low rise sweatpants he knows you like around the house, he's shirtless more often than not, and somehow his hands always seem to find place on your thighs... what lovely coincidences!

Jason struggles more with not fucking you than not being able to masturbate. i honestly don't think he does so very often, so it wouldn't be much of an issue, but not being able to fuck you? not even being able to give you head? drives him insane.

all in all, Jason cares more about your satisfaction than his own. could probably go the whole month without your interference, but is probably pent up by the end of the month

speaking of pent up, he's going to be insane at the end of the month because you made him wait. probably going to be more dominant than usual, BUT he's still really gentle and sweet because he knows your sensitive,,, so its a win!

the first time he cums after no nut november he swears he sees stars, probably praises you to the moon and back over how perfect you are

i think he'd wait until the next day to ravish you, he'd let you both get your sleep, but encourages you both to take the day off and spend the day in bed catching up on lost time. december first is going to be a LOVELY day for you,,,,

"s'that feel good, baby?"

"ffuck- yes Jay, fucking me so good-" you whine into the pillows, drool soaking the fabric as Jason pounds into you from behind. strong arms frame your form as he fucks you, his dick just perfectly touching your g spot/prostate with each thrust.

"aren't you- hnghh- glad you took the day off? relaxed a bit?" Jason huffed, his breath tickling your ear as he tightened his one handed grip on your ass. "y'should let me take care of you more often, especially after waiting so long..." he coos, and you let out a strangled moan as the knot in your stomach begins to tighten faster and faster.

"y'gonna cum for me, pretty?"

"y-es, please, Jay-"

"shh, s'ok, me too, we'll cum together, okay honey?" he soothes, rocking against you as the bed frame quakes.

"gonna fill you up so nice," he murmurs under his breath, white curls plastered to his sweat-slick forehead. "gonna make you cum for every day i couldnt..."

Bruce Wayne:

Bruce is making it through the month, no questions asked. it does not matter how deeply and truly he loves you, this man is IN IT TO WIN IT. he is absolutely making it through the month and will not budge i fear

theres a few nights where he's pent up and irritated after batman-ing and considers giving in, but he never does

when you first suggested NNN to him, he's probably a bit lukewarm to the idea, but whatever makes you happy 🤷 ngl he probably thought you were mad at him and this was a punishment or something at first😭

he honestly didn't think you'd end up actually going through with it, and if you end up giving in at some point in the month he'll definitely feign disappointment

"such a shame, i thought you were challenging me to this...game."

he's absolutely evil when it comes to teasing. he'll come up behind you and press gentle kisses on your neck, his large hands holding a firm grip on your waist, only to pull away with a practiced, professional smile as you begin to curl into his touch <\\3 he also plays up the Brucie Wayne persona, and is a lot more subtly seductive in an attempt to get you to break

keeping a firm hand on your lower back in public, giving you gifts (specifically lingerie, with a note attached that states, "for the end of the month"), and overall being a bit more possessive

when the month is over??? PREPARE. it's late, almost 2AM on december first, and the second he returns from patrolling he's finding you. doesn't even take the batsuit off, hell, he probably fucks you right there in the batcave, bent over the batcomputer. he's a little harsher than usual, and definitely more needy. he also tells you to take the day off, so he can.. spoil you for the entire day <3

let me just say, after so long of abstaining, he FUCKS, and he fucks you hard. you swear your seeing stars with each thrust, and he's genuinely insatiable. probably wants to breed you too... doesn't matter if you can get pregnant or not, he's fucking you full of his cum

the desk beneath you rattles with each thrust, and your thighs tremble as large, gloved hands find purchase on your soft skin. the rough, cold temperature of the leather provides delicious contrast to your lust-warmed skin, and you let out a wanton moan as Bruce thrusts heavy and deep inside.

"you like that, doll? like making me wait?" he practically growls in your ear, and you let out a stuttering moan.

"n-no, please, s'too much-"

"aw, poor thing. can't even take my cock... guess it has been a month after all, you'll need some time to get used to it i suppose." you roll your eyes at his cockiness, but just as you go to spit back a retort, he rolls his hips against your again. you shudder, clenching around him as his pace speeds up.

"so good f'me," he coos, almost cruel in his ministrations as he rubs harsh circles into the soft flesh of your thighs. Bruce's thrusts increase in pace, his tip rearranging your guts as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten.

"o-oh! 'm gonna-"

"fuuck, i know, prince/ss. cum for me," he whispers, moving one hand to the small of your back, pushing you down more firmly against the desk. "you can take it."

[fluentmoviequoter]

Flirty

Requested Here!

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!wife!reader (no specific characterization)

Summary: Your husband Bruce never stops flirting with you, and everyone, in Gotham and beyond, knows it.

Warnings: fluff! Batboys being Batboys

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | DC Masterlist | Request Info

A/N: Jason O'Mara's Bruce Wayne makes my heart flutter. Especially in this movie (even when he bullies Hal).

“What are they all waiting for?” Jonathan Kent asks his parents. “I thought we were here to raise money for the expansion of the school?” He lowers his voice and looks down to add, “Which is equally boring.”

“Jon, it may seem boring now, but it’s a great cause,” Lois answers, laying her hand on Jon’s shoulder. “And the people waiting…”

“Gotham’s power couple has arrived!” one of the photographers at the door yells.

“Power couple?” Jonathan repeats.

“That would be my parents,” Damian interrupts, stepping out of the shadows and to Jon’s side.

“But, they go everywhere together,” Jonathan points out. “What makes tonight special?”

“We don’t have time to answer that, pal,” Clark says before chuckling.

As Bruce walks through the crowd of paparazzi and reporters with you smiling at his side, Damian and Jon nod at one another. Damian leads Jonathan back the way he came, and they disappear.

Lois leans toward Clark, and he answers, “I know. They’re heading south of the ballroom.”

“No, I mean, yeah, I saw them leave,” Lois murmurs. “But I was going to say I give it five minutes before they start flirting.”

“You must be new here,” Dick jokes as he passes behind them. “It’s been happening since they walked in.”

Clark nods, then whispers, “Twenty bucks says they only stay for an hour.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Lois agrees. “They’ll flirt the whole time, but they’re staying for a while.”

“Lois, Clark,” you call, smiling as you separate yourself from Bruce to greet them. “I’m so glad you could make it! And I love your dress, Lois, that’s such a good color on you.”

Lois gladly accepts your offered hug, glaring at Clark over your shoulder to warn him against talking about their friendly bet again.

“Clark are you here for business or pleasure?” you ask as you step back from Lois.

“Pleasure. Bruce sent a personalized invite. Real ink and all,” Clark answers. “I must say, you’re getting pretty good at his signature.”

“Alfred is a great teacher,” you joke. “I thought you were bringing Jon?”

“We did. He’s with Damian.”

“Ah, I see. Well, if he doesn’t make another appearance before the end of the gala, I’ll bring him home in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Lois replies. “I’m glad they’re getting along.”

“They’ve come a long way,” Clark agrees.

“Like two other heroes I know,” you tease. “I have to go shake some hands with the rich and powerful of Gotham, but we should do dinner soon.”

“We should,” Lois says. “Good luck with the Gothamites.”

“I don’t think she’s the one who needs luck,” Clark interjects.

“Clark, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!” you call over your shoulder.

While you approach a table of school board members, Bruce waits at your reserved table alone. His kids have disappeared, as expected, and he’s decided to wait for you.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred calls.

Bruce turns quickly, reluctantly tearing his eyes from you. You’ve been thanking the other donors and dancing with all of the children in attendance, and he has been content to watch you from his table with a smile.

“Yes, Alfred?” Bruce asks.

“Seeing as you’ve made a considerable donation to the charity, perhaps you could discuss your interest in the cause rather than ogling your wife from across the room,” Alfred suggests.

“I think my donation was sizeable enough that I can spare a few minutes to admire my beautiful date.”

“It’s been nearly thirty minutes, Master Bruce. The reporters have begun talking about you.”

“Did they ever stop?” Bruce challenges with a smile. “Yes, Alfred, I will do my duty and rub some elbows.” Bruce stands, buttons his jacket, and adds, “After I dance.”

“I expected no less,” Alfred sighs.

At the entrance, Gotham’s most notorious reporters and paparazzi wait for the gala to end to photograph the glamorous exits and exploit the unglamorous ones.

“I tried to interview Bruce Wayne, but he only talked about his wife,” a reporter laments as he returns from the gala. “Do you think Dick Grayson is still around?”

“Does he ever know why he’s here?” a cameraman points out.

Inside, your socializing smile melts into your genuine, joyful smile as Bruce returns to your side. He has a way of making every night out, every charity dinner, feel like your first date.

“Hey,” he greets, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Wow,” you drawl. “That’s the line you’re going with?”

Bruce shrugs as he explains, “I thought I’d change it up. Besides, you look so beautiful I’m having trouble remembering my usual moves.”

You chuckle, playfully slapping your hand against Bruce’s chest. “I love you.”

“I love you. Now, can I take you home and see that pretty smile for the rest of the night?”

“Tempting. Make it the rest of your life and I’m in.”

Bruce’s arm tightens around you as he turns toward the large double doors opening into the Gotham night. As you leave, over an hour before the end of the event, you don’t see Clark sigh and pass money to Lois. You know Bruce and his moves, but so does everyone else in Gotham. And the Justice League, apparently.

“Mr. Wayne, over here!” an interviewer yells.

Bruce smiles, a close-lipped greeting that would make a less-experienced group run for Metropolis. Bruce slows as he exits the Wayne Enterprises building and gestures for the interviewers and cameras to take turns rather than yell over one another.

“What can you tell us about the economic impact of the proposed Wayne Enterprises expansion?” the interviewer closest to Bruce asks.

Bruce nods at the question, but his eyes are locked on something across the street. As he recites the rehearsed stats, he never looks at the man before him or the cameras.

“What’s he looking at?” someone whispers.

“His wife is waiting across the street,” a cameraman answers. “We don’t have much time before he runs to meet her.”

“You and your wife left last night’s charity gala early,” Vicki Vale begins. “Can we trust that the board still has your support?”

“The children of Gotham have our support,” Bruce answers, fighting his growing smile as you wave to him. “Whatever group or donations we have to go through to help them, we will do it. But at the end of the day, the Gotham school board is not who my wife and I are choosing to help. It is the children. Excuse me.”

The crowd splits, creating a clear path for Bruce to reach the sidewalk before he crosses the street to greet you. You hear a few camera shutters as he hugs you, but Alfred pulls the oversized town car between you and the paparazzi before Bruce steps back. With the cameras at his back blocked, Bruce leans in and kisses you, holding eye contact before and after the kiss.

“You could’ve looked at the people you were talking to, you know,” you tease quietly.

“And miss a moment in your pretty eyes?” Bruce flirts. “As long as you’re here, you’re home, and I’m going to be looking in those windows.”

You feel your neck and cheeks warming, but Bruce holds your chin gently to keep his eyes on yours. After a moment, he releases your face to take your hand instead.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I completely forgot to tell you how radiant you look today.”

In the car, you smile and squeeze Bruce’s hand. You’ll never get used to his flirting and never stop being affected by him. Which is exactly what Bruce wants.

“Pretty and smart.” Bruce tuts and shakes his head before he adds, “It’s not fair.”

“Sure, that’s what’s not fair.”

“There’s my handsome husband,” you murmur as Bruce removes his cowl.

“And there’s my beautiful wife,” he replies, extending his arm toward you. “I missed you.”

“We were only on patrol for an hour, Father,” Damian tuts. “Perhaps you should see someone for your dependence on her.”

“Hey, kid, normal people just say, ‘get a room,’” Jason points out. “Not that the Ra’s-style monologue isn’t riveting.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, but when you take his hand, he smiles and pulls you against his side. As close as physically possible, you lean against him and watch his profile as he reviews the cameras from the night’s patrol.

“Must have been quiet if you’re back after an hour,” you muse.

“Killer Croc was taking a nap under the manhole outside Iceberg Lounge, but other than that, our usual clients seemed to be otherwise engaged,” Dick explains.

Bruce turns toward you and whispers, “And I missed you, so I rushed them a bit.”

You smile and hook your fingers in the neck of Bruce’s suit. Behind him, the boys groan and turn away. They love you, but Bruce’s constant flirting with you gets to them. You’ve been told to get a room more times than you can count in the last week alone. Damian’s monologues are a good break, you think.

“I love your outfit,” Bruce teases softly, glancing down at your worn Gotham Academy sweatpants and one of his shirts.

“I asked Alfred if he had any spandex left over, but this was the best he could do,” you respond.

“All of the spandex has been earmarked by Dick,” Jason says behind you. “Speaking of which, I need to leave.”

“How is that a segue way?” Dick questions loudly.

“We should get going, too,” Bruce tells you. He kisses your jawline and murmurs, “Or are my clothes good enough for you?”

“There’s no substitute for you,” you flirt, ignoring the faux retching sounds your boys are making behind you.

“Goodnight, boys,” you call as Bruce lifts you into a bridal carry.

“Goodnight!” they reply together.

“Try not to scare her away before morning, Father,” Damian adds.

“Where’s Ma?” Jason asks as he enters the manor. “I’m not staying if she’s not here.”

Bruce doesn’t look away from the television screen displaying the three final choices for movie night as he answers, “She’s on the second floor, heading to the stairs. She’ll be right down.”

“How does he do that?” Jason murmurs.

“He probably chipped her,” Dick answers under his breath.

“Or he’s memorized her footsteps and weight shift patterns,” Damian proposes.

“Have you?” Dick asks.

Damian shrugs and takes his place at the end of the couch, curling up to Titus for family movie night.

“I found it!” you cheer as you return. “I knew I bought more candy.”

Bruce looks up at your voice and smiles while his eyes soften. It’s a visible reaction, a happiness that blooms deep within him at your return.

“Good,” Bruce replies as you sit beside him. “Glad you’re back.”

“I was gone for two minutes,” you point out, passing Jason and Dick their favorite snacks.

“It was long enough.”

You shake your head lovingly and shift closer to Bruce when the movie begins. You’re in your home, with your kids, and sitting with the love of your life. Even when Bruce interrupts the movie to whisper compliments in your ear and draws random shapes against any exposed skin he can reach, there’s nowhere else you want to be.

“Mrs. Wayne,” a woman says as she nears you. “So odd seeing you here. And… in, well, that.”

You smile and look away from the different colored yarn. Dressed in your favorite pants and one of Bruce’s dress shirts tied up to fit you better, you are more interested in shopping at your favorite hobby store than discussing anything about your husband, love life, or style.

“Mrs. Marshall,” you reply, noticing the surprise she fails to mask when you remember her name. “This is my favorite store, and I was running low on some things.”

She hums, and two more women approach behind her, slowing when they notice you.

“Sweetheart,” Bruce murmurs behind you. He looks up from the items in his hands and adds, “Ladies.”

“Mr. Wayne,” Mrs. Marshall says, suddenly sounding breathless. “It’s wonderful to see you. I wasn’t aware that you shopped locally.”

“Yes, well, small businesses are the heart of our economy,” he agrees, his arm pressed to your back. “And, of course, my wife has hobbies, and this is the best place I’ve found to get her everything she needs.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Speaking of…” Bruce turns to you and extends his hands. “Is this the brand of hooks you were looking for?”

“Ooh, yes!” you cheer, running your fingers over one of the cases. “I don’t know if I can choose, though. I need this one-“ you point to a specific item in the set to your left – “but the other hooks have such nice grips.”

Bruce nods once and places them both in your small cart. You grip his arm in thanks and smile at him before remembering you have an audience.

“Mr. Wayne, do you have any hobbies?” one of Mrs. Marshall’s friends asks.

“I do,” he answers, rubbing his hand along your back. “But I enjoy watching my wife and her hobbies more than anything I could try.”

“That’s sweet,” Mrs. Marshall murmurs. “Well, we must be off. Perhaps we’ll see you at the next gala. Again, Mrs. Wayne, nice to see you, and what an… interesting outfit.”

You smile and watch them turn off the aisle where you stand before you turn to Bruce. “I don’t think she liked your shirt.”

“I don’t think she liked how good you look in it,” Bruce argues, placing his hands on either side of your waist.

You place your hands on his shoulders and shake your head. “Do you make them jealous on purpose?”

“I don’t do anything to or for them on purpose. You’re the only one I have the time or the eyes for.”

“Romantic.” You rise to your tiptoes and peck Bruce’s lips quickly. “Are you sure I can get both sets?”

Bruce maneuvers you to stand between him and the cart handle, then drops his chin to your shoulder. “We can buy the whole store.”

“I thought small businesses were the backbone of this city?” you tease, leaning back against him.

“The heart of the economy,” Bruce corrects. “But I’d keep the staff on.”

“Oh, well, when you say it that way.”

“I wasn’t aware that Gotham had a wildlife conservatory,” Clark says, tucked into a corner away from the gala.

“We don’t,” Bruce answers. “Apparently certain members of our city government think we need one.”

“And you support that?”

“Off the record?” Clark nods, and Bruce replies, “Not a bit.”

“Then why are we here? Why am I here?”

“You have a day job. And my wife was invited to speak on behalf of the local wildlife foundation.”

“Which is different than the conservatory team?”

“Clark, honey, don’t try to understand how Gotham works,” Lois encourages as she passes him a glass.

“Yes, they’re separate,” Bruce explains. “She expressed the foundation’s concern and assured them that they’d receive no commendation or donation…”

“So, you’re waiting for her to come back to leave?” Lois guesses.

“Uh, excuse me,” Bruce mumbles. He straightens and adds, “I need to go win over the beautiful woman in the red dress.”

“You wanna get out of here, too?” Lois asks Clark. His eyes widen as he nods, and after Lois sets their glasses aside, they step back into a hallway and seem to disappear in a blur.

Someone runs into you, their side bumping against your hip. When you look over your shoulder and see Bruce looking at your lips, you turn slightly to hit him with your hip in retaliation. The moment you lean toward him, Bruce wraps his arm around your waist, spins you against his chest, then dips you. Your arms loop around his neck quickly, but you laugh when you realize what he’s done.

“You’re in a good mood,” you murmur as he stands, holding you against his chest.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Bruce compliments.

“Bruce, I love you. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Knock it off,” Bruce chides playfully. “Flirting is my thing.”

You lean forward, and just before your lips meet, you argue, “And you’re mine.”

Bruce closes the distance, holding your waist carefully as he holds you close and moves with you. Camera shutters echo behind you, several people clap, and you hear your Damian turn around quickly.

Bruce Wayne loves you; he will never stop flirting with you, and all of Gotham knows it. Especially when Vicki Vale’s article Gotham’s Power Couple is Only Growing in Power and Influence is printed on every front page the following morning.

[demonic0angel]

DP x DC Prompt: Sam decides to hire Poison Ivy to use her powers for actually constructive things (Growing crops, reforesting areas, breeding new plants for commercial purposes, and studying how her powers work). Ivy actually likes doing it, and Sam and her friends.

Ivy was humming as she worked. Harley watched her for a moment, before she asked, “What’s got you so happy?”

“I got another job from that Manson girl. Sam Manson,” she clarified. One of her plants gave a low grumble and nuzzled her palm.

Harley clapped. “Ooh! That’s great! What does she have you doing now?”

Ivy smiled as she turned around and presented her phone to Harley, where the screen was being shown. It was a chat between her and an anonymous donor, though it had a picture of a purple flower as a profile pic. “She wants me to modify current crops in order to grow in bad climates and soil. This way, crop productivity increases and hopefully, less land will be needed in order to grow them. This also decreases the prices and makes it easier for people to buy so—”

Ivy rambled on for quite a while, while Harley watched her with a lovesick expression. By the time Ivy had realized that she was talking for too long, she had already spent an hour and a half just talking about how Sam’s ideas would revolutionize the world.

Ivy flushed green. Harley cooed, “Aww, she seems darling! Did you ever get to meet up with her?”

“No,” Ivy sighed, “but I would like to, one day. Together, I believe that we can completely change the world for the better of nature.”

Harley snickered and teased, “You better be careful, I’ll get jealous!”

Ivy gave her a fond look. “I think you’ll like her and her friends. They also hate clowns.”

“Seriously?! Wow, I think we’re best friends already!” Harley said cheerfully. “So when can we meet?”

Ivy pointed to the phone. “After this job, I’ll ask. Hopefully, once we meet, we can make even bigger plans to completely reform conservation laws and make bigger, better, and more efficient laws.”

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Eyes

Dp x Dc Crossover Writing Idea

“Red Robin!”

When he backtracked to find the owner of the voice he was a bit surprised to find a young boy, maybe eight years old if he had to guess, dressed in a red sweatshirt that dwarfed him and a pair of gym shorts that had seen better days.

Not many Gothamites called out to the vigilantes, a silent agreement to stay out of their way and not to look too closely. This kid however stared up at him with bright blue eyes unafraid of getting the Red Robin’s attention.

A fan?

Before he even opens his mouth, the kid gives him a small, hopeful smile, eyes shining with something that reminds him of himself when he was that age and following Batman and Robin with his camera around his tiny neck.

“I brought you a gift,” the boy say with nervous excitement. He enthusiastically swings off the backpack he had on to dig through the contents, taking his eyes off the vigilante and showing his unwavering trust that nothing bad would happen to him while Red Robin was here.

The boy pulls out what appears to be a jar wrapped in newspaper, the worn page ripping in some spots to show the clear glass underneath. Small hands present it like it’s Red Robin’s birthday (which it wasn’t).

He takes it cautiously, the kid hasn’t been hostile but this was still weird, and pulls it closer with enough space so if it’s a bomb it doesn’t blow up in his face.

It’s got weight to it and the slight sloshing tells him it’s filled with liquid. He carefully unwraps the ‘gift’, keeping his eye on the boy who stands waiting anxiously.

Tim almost drops the jar as soon as he sees what’s inside. Only his reflexes from over the years held on and his expression turned neutral.

A pair of eyes sit at the bottom of the jar. The orbs were crudely extracted, tissue floating around them like a mane of hair around a head.

He turns the jar to see the irises and… he knew these eyes. The slimy green is filmed with death, but he recognized these eyes from the number of times the owner locked them onto him, the cruel possessiveness they possessed when they gazed at him. Never again apparently.

Tim doesn’t speak for a while, not knowing what to say, but also thoughts racing too fast to form any proper sentences.

“Do you like it?” The small, nervous voice interrupts those thoughts.

What an innocent question on an equally innocent looking face.

“How did you get Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes?”

The teasing chatter over the comms immediately hushes into shocked silence.

“I took them from his body, so you knew he was dead. I burned the rest so you don’t have to worry about him coming back again. The Pit there is gone anyway,” the child explains easily, not fazed in the slightest from the words he speaks.

“Grandfather is dead?” He hears Damian whisper over the comm.

So many other questions were flying through Tim’s head. He looks the kid over again.

Black hair and blue eyes. In any other situation the kid might have been a possible Wayne adoptee. He’s not a clone from what he can see though. Despite the coloring he doesn’t really look like any of them. Pale skin like Tim, but has freckles. The same kind of nose as Damian, but wide, round eyes. Jaw kind of like Jason, but his body shape is too narrow. Bright, almost icy blue eyes like Dick, but eyebrow shape is flatter. Lip shape like Bruce, but from the kid’s anxious lip biting he could see the faintest trace of dimples.

“Who are you?” He asks instead of the other million and one questions.

The boy blinks almost like he wasn’t expecting the question. He’s cheeks color pink with blush as he grins widely.

“I’m Danny!” He introduces cheerfully like he didn’t just hand a vigilante a jar of eyes.

“Hi, Danny,” Tim greets almost dumbly. “Want to tell me why you gave me this?”

Danny scoffs his shoe against the pavement in what appears to be embarrassment.

“Well, I know when you ask someone for something, it’s nice to give a gift or something. Like I did something nice for you so maybe you’ll do something nice for me?”

He takes a moment to absorb that child-like reasoning.

“So you want me to do something for you and you thought I would like Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes in exchange?”

Danny studies him and fidgets with the large sweatshirt sleeve.

“I just thought you would like proof. Like the whole ‘bring me the heart of my enemy’ kind of thing. Do you not like it? I couldn’t just take a picture ‘cuz I didn’t have a camera with me, I know you like photography. I can do something else for you if it’s not enough,” he offers worriedly.

Tim freezes.

“How do you know I like photography?” He demands.

Danny tilts his head curiously.

“Because Tim Drake likes photography,” he says like it’s obvious, “and you’re Tim Drake.”

Well. This is less than ideal.

“Red Robin, take him back to the Cave,” Batman instructs over the comms.

Yeah, he was getting there.

“Do you know the other’s’ identities?”

Danny nods and hums affirmatively. Tim waits.

“Oh! Yea. Batman is Bruce Wayne. Robin is Damian Wayne. Red Hood is Jason Todd. Nightwing is Richard Grey-“

“Okay. That’s enough.”

Tim glances around the empty alley they were standing in, checking to make sure no stray people heard. Luckily they were truly alone.

“Danny, do you want to come back with me?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. The kid was coming back regardless, it would just be better if he went willingly.

Unsurprisingly, the kid lights up like a little sun at the offer.

“Really?” He nearly shouts in excitement.

“Yeah, kid. I parked my bike a few blocks from here. You ever rode a motorcycle before?”

Danny shakes his head, nearly bounding on his toes.

“Not in this lifetime.” And wasn’t that odd wording? “Are we gonna grapple there?”

“Think you can hold on?”

“Yeah!”

He kneels down so the boy can climb onto his back and lock his arms around his neck and hook his feet together around his torso. Danny is worryingly light as he stands.

The kid is the picture of an excited and overeager child as they carefully fly over rooftops and then drive back to the Cave. Even when they park inside the safety of the Batcave, Danny’s eyes are filled with child-like awe and wonder, so curious and chattering with questions and wild imagination. It would be cute, endearing even, if the jar of eyes wasn’t sitting heavily in his pocket.

Alfred came down not too long after their arrival with a tray of healthy snacks and some waters. Danny happily munches on the apple slices as he wanders around where Tim can see him.

The rumble of the Batmobile can be heard almost an hour later after Tim has to tell Danny not to touch the weapons for the fourth time. The kid’s attention is drawn to the sleek black vehicle as it parks by Tim’s bike. He trots over with wide eyes as the doors open and Robin exits, then Batman.

Unfortunately, Dick is in Bludhaven and Jason is visiting Roy and Lian this week. Cass and Steph were gone as well and Duke was sleeping. It was just the three of them and this kid with Alfred as the only buffer.

Danny stares openly, curious, as the duo makes their way over to the computer where Tim has claimed his sit.

Tim turns the jar that he set on the table so the eyes are facing them and slowly leans back again, suddenly very tired. Damian flexes his hands into fists tightly while Batman is very still.

“Hi,” Danny chirps like nothing is wrong, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Batman takes a measured breath. Robin glares down at the child, but remains silent for now.

“Who killed Ra’s Al Ghul?”

Danny blinks blankly.

“Nobody.”

“You’re saying he just dropped dead?” Damian sneered in sarcasm.

“Death took him,” the child says simply as if that explained everything.

“How?” The word is demanded and emphasized.

“Like Death takes everyone. His expiration was overdue.”

Bruce frowns and Damian almost snarls.

“I demand you start making sense!”

Danny glares back in offense.

“I’m being very clear! Maybe you should ask better questions!”

The twelve year old growls at the smaller child and Batman has to place a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from attacking.

“Danny?” Batman questions after a tense moment.

The boy’s arms are crossed in irritation, but he blinks out of his glare to stare up at the man.

“Yea?”

“How do you know our identities?”

“Oh, memories.”

Danny looked like everything he said made sense and it was driving Tim up a wall.

“Memories,” Bruce repeats.

“Uh-huh,” Danny nods confidently. “From the Lazarus Pit.”

A jolt goes through Tim as he recalls what the boy said earlier about the Pit.

“Didn’t you say the Pit was gone?” He asks before Bruce could continue his line of questioning.

Danny turns with a bright smile as if he was proud Tim remembered.

“Yea! Well, gone from this world anyway.” Tim was concerned. “I took the memories from it before sending it back where it belongs.”

“Okay. How did you know how to ‘take the memories’ and send it back? Back where?”

“I was born from it. Duh. It went back to the Realms or I guess you’d call it the Afterlife,” Danny actually rolls his eyes as if they should already know this.

“Born from it?” Damian asks with a wavering voice, hidden well from the child but not from them. “Nothing has ever been born from the Pits.”

“That you know of.”

And wasn’t that the kicker.

“So, to clarify, you come from the Pits. You know who we are because you took the memories from said Pits. Death took Ra’s because his time was up. And you took the eyes from his corpse to give to me because you thought I would like it as a gift so I would do something for you.”

Danny positively beams.

“This is why you’re my favorite!”

Damian grinds his teeth harshly.

“What is it you want Red Robin to do for you?” Batman asks in strangled hesitation.

“Oh!” Danny perks up like he remembered and hops over to Tim with pleading hands. “Can you please make me an identity? You’re really good at all that stuff and I was hoping you could find me a family. Someone to adopt me. A nice family, with a bed and family dinners and a dog. I always wanted a dog.”

Tim has the sudden urge to scream.

[onlinedolly]

hello!! it’s so nice seeing another dc writer on here. your dad!erwin post was 👩🏻‍🍳💋 and i saw that you write for jjk. what are your thoughts on dad!gojo?? (he’s the love of ml)

cw: incest, p in v, baby trapping (slightly maybe), perv gojo

dad!toru makes me freak a little!!!!! ugh ugh i went w lil crazy i do apologize

dad!toru with crows feet and smile lines, who is the best dad in the world! at least, in your eyes. so loving and doting, it was different then it was with megumi, you were his. his precious girl, his angel, you were the sun and moon in his eyes i like to think.

and you and dad!toru had always been incredibly close, conjoined at the hip your mother used to always say, “practically twins!” you’d follow him around as a child, crawling into his lap, sitting right next to him on the couch, following him from room to room. and even at your adult age you suppose those habits didn’t break. you found yourself, more times then not, sprawled over your fathers lap while he watched tv, read the newspaper, busied himself with work. you were just always there and he loved it.

now that you were an adult dad!toru could see just how much you’ve changed. a image of your mother, yet softer and more…filled out. he’d realized he had these feelings, feelings a father should never have, when you began attending university. you were to go to a party, in a little black dress with a slit up the thigh, and it led into a heated argument and an image of you satoru found himself thinking of with his hand fisted around his cock.

and dad!toru doesnt really feel that guilty about it if we’re honest. he thinks that maybe he should, maybe it’d be better if he was riddled with guilt, disgusted by himself. maybe it’d make the urges settle. but they never did, and he spent most of his nights alone in bed picturing you in your pajama shorts, you in your underwear he caught glimpses of as he passed by the bathroom, you in nothing at all, as he’d cum around his hand.

when dad!toru finally snaps, finally makes a move that’s been years in the making, he’s surprised you don’t resist much. granted you didn’t know too awful much about sex, your father kept you pretty sheltered, and he made sure you cut off any friends who would put things like that in your head. so when he kissed you, rough and passionate, you simply kissed him back. it was sloppy and inexperienced and the thought of it had satorus cock leaking.

“i dunno..” was your only protest as he lays you back on the bed, crawling over you with a smirk on his face.

“don’t you love me?” he nosed your throat, peppering kisses down the length of it as you whined and nodded your head anxiously. that was all he needed to have your pajama shirt unbuttoned, taking a tit in his mouth and biting down on your nipple as you cry out.

he could feel the way you were trying to close your legs beneath and it lit a fire inside of him as he was quick to pulling your panties and shorts down. you whined, the feeling overwhelming, the feeling as if you were doing something wrong flashed over you. but it felt so good and he was your father, the last thing he was to do is put you in harms way right? he was pulling his sweats down as he pressed open mouth kisses to your tummy, down to your cunt.

“papa—“ you whine, wriggling underneath him in attempt to close your legs in shame. but satoru was too quick, pinning a leg down as he sees your cunt drool onto the bed.

“what a dirty girl.” he teases, lifting a finger up to run it up the length of you pussy, the feeling makes you yell out as he circles your clit softly. “i’m going to need to work you up, okay? i’m big and it’ll hurt if i don’t.” you weren’t sure what that meant, but you just nod your head, obedient as ever as he slips a finger inside of you.

the sensation burned, and it caused tears to prick your eyes as you mumble out a protest to which satoru just shushes. “give me a sec, you’re just so— tight.” he pulls his finger out before inserting it again making you whine out his name. soon he’s working you with two fingers, and then three, the sensation was dizzying. no more searing pain, just pure pleasure. unbeknownst to you, you were rocking against his fingers, looking for a spot you didn’t even know you had. and when he brushed your g spot you hollered out as he coos at you telling you what a good job you’re doing.

he coaxes an orgasm out of you, explaining how you’re feeling and what that means and how daddy’s only do this — like a good father should. and then he’s above you again, wiping your overwhelmed tears as he pushes himself into you with no warning.

the pain is back, except it’s tenfold, you cry out and dig your nails into his back as he groans. you were so tight and wet it made it hard to not cum from just pushing into you.

“everything’s okay now baby, you’re good ain’t cha?” he coos, pulling out to thrust back into you, letting you take him balls deep as you scratch at his back. he doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking into you ruthlessly, you’re sobbing as he angles his hips to press his cock against your g-spot before rutting himself in and out.

you aren’t doing much besides laying there, taking it, with sobs and moans escaping your lips. but that’s how toru likes it, being the one in complete control. he can feel the way your walls flutter around his cock, close to cumming as he searches for his own high. you both cum at the same time, you’re sobbing and yelling out as satoru releases inside of you. hot cum coating your walls and ur sends a shiver down your spine as you twitch. he wastes no time in pulling out once he’s done, placing a kiss to your tummy as he laughs, “maybe we’ll get one of our own.”

[perilusjax]

Dc x Dp

The JL were on the brink of defeat. An unkown cult had summoned a powerful being known as the ghost king.

Just as the heroes were on their last legs. The magi users succeeded in summoning another being to hopefully combat the tyrant

As the circle glowed, the king stopped his rampage. Turning towards the circle, he flew at top speed, trying to stop them. Yet it was too late, as a wave of power bursts outwards, shooting the ghost king backward.

Standing within the middle was a young man, or what looked like one. He wore a collared long sleeved short that left his stomach exposed. With dark gray cargo pants that held a white pouch strapped to it. Floating above his white hair was a blue ring with crytals.

His emerald green eyes looked down at the heroes, standing above them like a giant. The mortals barely reaching his legs.

As he scanned the destroyed area around him, his eyes landed upon Pariah Dark and scowled at him.

"Father, what have I told you about destroying dimension!" The giant yelled, his voice reaching the entire battle field.

The beaten heroes could only look on as the apparent tyrants son scolded him. The prince towered above his own father.

"Daniel, they summoned me! It was within my right to conquer this land," Pariah tried to argue.

"I do not care! You had promised us that you wouldn't conquer another world for two hundred years," Danny refuted without a thought.

After a few hours, Prince Danny now stood before the JL, with the King grumbling in his hold. A green portal opened a few inches behind them.

Without looking back, Danny threw his father into the portal. Looking at the group before him, Danny stopped on a particular hero and smiled.

"Well, now sorry for the mess my father had caused you all. Also, if you ever want to talk, I'll lend an ear, sweetheart," he apologized before flirting with the hero.

Walking into the portal, the JL could only sigh in relief before turning torwards the hero that was flirted with.

A blushing Kyle Rayner could only cover his face as the heroes began teasing him in the tower's medical room.

He would never admit to them that he found the giant prince extremely attractive. Although Batman probably knew, as he gave the Lantern a look.

[visionsofmagic]

day 16: bruce wayne [power play]

࿓ synopsis • the game you play takes a different route in which you try to dominate him, but, he doesn’t allow you.

―❦ nsfw, dominance/submission, roughness, licking, marking, wrist holding, short, f!reader, brat!reader, riding, begging, pet names, ‘is all I guess? • 0.7k • he's my favorite dc character and the idea popped into my mind because he's looking so dom! enjoy! [kinktober m.]

“who’s in control now, love?” he asks as he pounds into you, hands holding yours above your head as your back arches onto his bare chest, filthy voices leaving you one by one since it’s too much to keep silent – he’s trying to gain it from you after all, wanting to make you scream his name louder with each of his deep, hungry thrusts that hit the exact spot that drives you crazy in every time.

the question is a reference to what you said before being in this situation; leaning down on the mattress, wrists inside his palms, breasts bouncing shamelessly and even hitting his chest from time to time, legs wide open, pussy soaking wet enough to make the white color of the sheets goes grey because of how much it is, legs shaking yet still having the strength to stay on his back, hugging him from there only to bring his body closer to yours as if it’s possible – as if he’s not already deep buried inside you, fucking you roughly because he has something to prove to you – to dig it into your pathetic mind as he said before.

he’s angry – a little bit, with the lust that flows inside his veins until it reaches the tip of his thick cock – using it to shove it into you mercilessly.

the feelings are there due to you – being a little brat and trying to take control while riding him a while ago, teasing about how his dick dripping, pale face is full of redness, breathtaking with a rapid way, and even sweating – only you can make the vigilante sweat like this – the reasons why he is rough now.

with the power you had at that moment, your body moved without your mind acknowledging it, making you look down at him, taking control, riding him so slowly to make him beg for you to move, to fuck him, yet, bruce who knows you better than anyone else, including you, understood what you were trying to do, especially when your hand tried to hold his neck – with sudden movement, he gripped your wrists, turning your body over, hovering above you as he mocked you – showing the dominance he has on you – not yours – his.

power play ended when he began to fuck you ruthlessly.

his question remains unanswered – he doesn’t seek one either, he just enjoys watching how messy you’re getting under him, ready to beg more when his hips slow down – and nearly stops as he fucks you leisurely, taking his time, and even having a ghost smirk on his face. 

and when you look at him, your vision is blurry yet witnessing his lustful expression, representing of the dominant side he has on you, you know he waits for you to beg – to cry. weren’t it for your aching pussy that is in need to be fucked by bruce, you would stay still, yet, you have no brain at all – only a greedy wet pussy and passion mixed with love.

“bruce –“ his name comes out of your parted lips on its own – pure instinct. “ohh – bruce!”

“yes, my pretty slut, what’s wrong?”

“move – aghh – please, move already! nee – ohh – need you to move!”

leaving your wrists free, his hands positioned on your hips, holding it strongly, ready to bounce into you with all his strength, his weight can be felt on you, sending a different sense of both pain and pleasure at the same time.

“look who’s begging now –“ he teases, kneeling down until his lips touch your neck, biting it – licking it so that he can leave marks on you- bigger and more efficient ones than yours that you left on his entire body before he took control. he enjoyed being under you, yet, the delight of having you under him is far greater than it. “tell me – that I am the one who is in control over you, not you over me,” he lowers down, licking and kissing your exposed body gladly, reaching until its tongue travels on your hardened breasts. 

pushing you against his hot tongue, you answer, feeling his cock leaving your pussy slowly, “you! bruce – ohh – you!” “good girl.” he says lastly, then, pushing his hip further, the cock fills your warm walls entirely with a powerful thrust and he doesn’t stop – he thrusts into you with a great pace and power that you no longer remember the power play – letting him do whatever he wants to do with you until he’s satisfied.

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear & @chloee0x0 *lots of kisses!*

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Bruce has a 'if you can't beat them, join them' mentality about the tabloids claiming he adopts too many kids- Developing foster homes that are paid for through the Wayne inheritance, personally vetted by the Bats, they're the leaders in the space for child health outcomes and family placement. Insert Danny.

---

Bruce has too much wealth, too many rumors and not enough reach into the abhorrent foster homes around Gotham to improve them. Tim ends up being the one to suggest it- He's the one who buys up their real estate for their safe houses after all- and Bruce is more than ready to pull the metaphorical trigger to get new clean welcoming spaces, Bat-background checked fosters and a new era of adoption in Gotham underway.

He's lobbied the state and the federal government for reforms of course, but this is a project he can micromanage. He spends time with every kid that comes through, talks with all the families that want to adopt and makes sure that these miniature homes are provided only the very best. Alfred personally hires all the staff, and with Barbara more than happy to help relocate the unhoused children she spots while they patrol, the project is a glowing success.

Occasionally, spots in their houses fill up, and those are the weeks were Cass takes on the Cowl of Batman- Bruce Wayne will personally invite a child in need to his home. He always has one of his kids present (they rotate on a pre-determined schedule) and he does his best to try and get them to understand that they deserve the world, have all the potential that anyone else has and can achieve a bright future. That he will personally aid them in their ambitions.

PR goes crazy for it of course, but Bruce and all of his children know its genuine. Almost too genuine, because a betting pool 'WILL THEY BE ADOPTED' regularly circulates between the siblings and the entire JL when someone spends time at the manor. And not just the black-haired, Blue-eyed kids get picked as favored outcomes- but obviously the running joke gets passed around.

It's a Thursday night when Bruce gets the call that the houses have once again filled up, and that there is a child in need of a home. The social worker (he knows her as Marsha and he has flowers planned to be sent on her birthday next week, like he does for all of his employees) (Say micromanaged one more time) explains that the kid is a bit cagey but has opened up with some humor. She explains that he has a few strange... mannerisms. She's not sure what to make of him, a non-gothamite for sure but something is, well, distinctly 'not from around here' about his energy.

Danny arrives at the house, meets Duke and Alfred, and by the time Bruce meets him at the dinner table it seems as though Marsha had it all wrong. This kid was laughing, he was teasing, he was totally playing along like he'd gone through nothing. Bruce is glad he's in high spirits but its just so... so different from all the other children he's taken in.

Bruce re-focuses on the conversation when Duke mentions something flashing, and its the first time that Danny goes quiet. Entirely still.

"...you noticed that?" Danny quietly asks, a bit of disbelief in his tone.

"You don't have a flashlight on or something do you? It was super bright whatever it is that you had in your hand a second ago?" Duke tries to sound chill but he's looking very much not chill. Bruce saw nothing, and that puts him further on edge.

"Look... I uh, I've been though... I've been through a lot lately. And the last lab I was in kind of, messed with me. I'm normally much better at dealing with it all, I promise." Danny sounds nervous, and the room seems to chill.

"Ah shoot, sorry." Danny notices something and frantically apologizes.

"Sorry for what Danny? You've done nothing wrong but I am worried about you- You said you were in a lab?" Bruce is desperately trying to calm him down while not slipping into Batman interrogation mode.

"Uh, yeah, like a lot of labs. It should get warmer in a second, its just cause I startled, I promise."

"You're a meta." Duke speaks softly and with hope in his voice- Danny is looking between them with wide eyes filled with fear.

"I mean I don't technically have the gene-"

"Danny, have you told any of your case workers where you were? Do any authorities know what you've been through?" Bruce needs to know, desperately, that who ever gave this young boy super powers is brought to justice. Danny goes quiet.

"I'm really sorry." He says softly, but he doesn't leave them.

Duke and Bruce try to ask a few more questions but the silence that meets them declares the conversation over, even with Duke admitting he himself is a meta. Danny didn't even look up from his plate. They watch a movie after dinner, and Danny seems to get back to the smile-y happy guy he had been before dinner.

Each of the bat-fam have their own interactions with Danny- And even if they're getting along amazingly, Danny won't open up. He doesn't open up to his provided therapist. Doesn't talk to Alfred. No one knows what's up.

So when Marsha calls Bruce back explaining they now have a spot for Danny and he can move out of the Manor... Bruce replies that he'd like to get started on Adoption paperwork, so long as Danny is fine with it.

---

Turns out, Danny is fine with it. he's both the newest Wayne and their newest case. (And godamnit, his new family is going to avenge him. If only he'd let them try.)

Danny figures out that Duke= Signal early on because of that dinner, and if he's going to keep his parents out of jail, he needs to be as close to the investigation as possible. He knows that he shouldn't protect the Fentons, but he feels the upset in his core at the thought of letting them befall any harm. He has to protect them. Has to protect Jazz and her hiding spot as a mole within their lab. Has to.

Even if it meant lying to his new family who loves him, and who he loves in equal return. Even if it means lying to The Bats.

---

Tabloids go crazy about the black-haired blue-eyed thing of course, but no poll was ever taken by the batfam or the JL who know the whole story.

[urdreamydoodles]

DC Comics Characters x Fem!OC

You hurt yourself doing home renovations

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth, Zatanna Zatara & Wally West

Bruce Wayne aka. Batman

- Bruce notices the injury immediately; his sharp, calculating eyes miss nothing. “You’re hurt,” he says, his tone low but with an edge of worry that only someone close to him might detect. He takes your hand gently but firmly, examining the bandage with the practiced ease of someone who’s patched himself up countless times. “What happened?” he asks, his voice even, though his jaw tightens. You explain it was a minor accident during your renovation project, but he doesn’t look convinced.

- Without a word, Bruce retrieves a medical kit and kneels in front of you. His movements are efficient, his touch steady but surprisingly gentle. “This could’ve been worse,” he says as he rewraps the bandage, his voice tinged with a seriousness that makes your heart ache. “You need to be more careful.” It’s not just a suggestion—it’s a command born of a deep fear he rarely voices.

- “I’m helping you finish this,” he declares, standing and rolling up his sleeves. His presence is commanding, as always, and there’s no room for argument. Watching Bruce work is like watching a master strategist; every movement is calculated, every decision deliberate. Despite his seriousness, he pauses occasionally to ask if you’re okay, his concern manifesting in small but meaningful ways.

- As you work together, Bruce’s reserved demeanor softens slightly. He shares stories from his own mishaps at Wayne Manor, a rare glimpse into the man behind the mask. “Alfred still teases me about the time I tried to fix a chandelier,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It’s in these moments that you see the man behind the Bat—the man who loves you fiercely, even if he struggles to show it.

- That evening, as you sit in the newly completed space, Bruce wraps an arm around your shoulders. “You mean everything to me,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a rare vulnerability. “I can’t lose you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and firm against your skin. Bruce’s love is steadfast, protective, and unyielding—a shield against the darkness that surrounds him.

Kal-El (Clark Kent) aka. Superman

- Clark’s face falls the moment he notices your injury. “What happened?” he asks, his voice filled with concern. His large, gentle hands take yours, his thumb brushing softly against the bandage. When you explain it was just a small accident during your renovation, his brow furrows in worry. “You should’ve called me,” he says, his voice warm but firm. “I would’ve been here in seconds.”

- He insists on checking your hand, his touch impossibly gentle. “I know it’s not serious, but even small injuries can hurt,” he says, his blue eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. As he examines the wound, his movements are deliberate, careful—a reflection of the restraint he always practices to keep his immense strength in check.

- “I’m not letting you finish this alone,” Clark declares, his easy smile returning. Watching him work is a sight to behold—his strength and speed make quick work of the tasks, but he’s careful to include you in the process. “You know, you’re pretty amazing for taking this on yourself,” he says, his admiration clear. “But maybe next time, let me do the heavy lifting.”

- Clark fills the room with his presence, his laughter ringing out as he shares stories of his childhood on the farm. “Pa used to say I could fix anything, but I don’t think he meant it literally,” he jokes, his grin infectious. His positivity is contagious, turning the task into a joyful experience rather than a chore.

- As the day winds down, Clark pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “You scared me today,” he admits, his voice soft. “You’re my world, and I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.” His love is vast and unwavering, a force of nature as steady and comforting as the sun.

Barry Allen aka. Flash

- Barry is at your side before you even realize he’s noticed your injury. “Hey, what’s this?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern as he gently lifts your hand. His blue eyes dart to the bandage, then back to your face. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?” he teases, but his worry is evident. “How’d this happen?”

- In a blur, he’s retrieved the first aid kit, his hands moving at super-speed to clean and rewrap your wound. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands,” he says with a wink, though his focus is absolute. Barry’s always been quick—literally and emotionally—but when it comes to you, he takes his time, ensuring every detail is perfect. “You’ve got to let me know when you need help,” he says, his tone soft but sincere.

- “Alright, you’re officially benched,” Barry announces with a grin. “I’m finishing this for you.” He’s a whirlwind of energy as he tackles the project, moving so fast that you can barely keep track. But he makes sure to slow down just enough to include you, cracking jokes and asking your opinion at every step.

- Barry’s lighthearted nature turns the renovation into a fun adventure. “You know, if this whole superhero thing doesn’t work out, I might have a future in carpentry,” he says, laughing as he perfectly aligns a frame in a fraction of a second. His joy is infectious, and you find yourself smiling despite the day’s earlier chaos.

- At the end of the day, Barry pulls you into his arms, his touch warm and reassuring. “You’re my lightning rod,” he says softly, his words carrying the weight of his feelings. “I need you safe, always.” His love is fast and electrifying, but it’s also deeply grounding—a steady current that ties him to you, no matter how quickly the world moves around him.

Diana of Themyscira aka. Wonder Woman

- Diana’s gaze sharpens the moment she sees your bandaged hand. “What happened?” she asks, her voice steady but filled with concern. She moves closer, taking your hand in hers with a warrior’s precision and a lover’s tenderness. When you explain the accident, she frowns, her lips pressing into a determined line. “You should have called for me,” she says, her voice soft but firm.

- She kneels before you, her hands strong yet gentle as she examines your injury. “Even the smallest wounds must be treated with care,” she says, her tone carrying the wisdom of centuries. As she cleans and rewraps the bandage, her movements are deliberate, each one filled with a quiet reverence for your well-being. “Your safety matters to me,” she adds, her eyes meeting yours with unwavering sincerity.

- “Come,” Diana says, rising gracefully to her feet. “We will finish this together.” She takes the lead with effortless strength and grace, her presence commanding yet reassuring. Watching her work is mesmerizing; every movement is precise, every decision thoughtful. “This is good work you’ve started,” she says, her voice warm with pride. “But let me ease your burden.”

- Diana shares stories of Themyscira as you work, her voice rich with history and passion. “On my island, we build with our hands and our hearts,” she says, her smile radiant. “Each task is an opportunity to honor the strength within us.” Her words inspire you, her belief in your capabilities unwavering.

- That evening, Diana draws you into a gentle embrace, her arms strong and protective. “You are precious to me,” she says, her voice a soft melody. “I cannot bear the thought of you in pain.” She presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering as if to seal her vow. Diana’s love is fierce and enduring, a flame that burns brightly and warmly, illuminating every corner of your heart.

Arthur Curry aka. Aquaman

- Arthur notices the bandage on your hand the moment he walks through the door, his sharp, sea-green eyes narrowing in concern. “What happened, love?” he asks, his deep voice steady but tinged with worry. When you explain the accident, he shakes his head with a low chuckle. “You’re as stubborn as the tides, you know that?” he says, though his expression softens as he takes your hand in his rough but gentle grip.

- “Let me see,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He inspects your injury carefully, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin. “It’s not bad, but you’ve got to be more careful,” he mutters, his voice filled with a protective edge. Arthur’s care is practical, but there’s an underlying tenderness that speaks volumes about how deeply he feels for you.

- “Alright, you’re done for the day,” he declares, folding his arms across his broad chest. “I’ll handle the rest.” Despite your protests, Arthur’s determination is unyielding. Watching him work is a marvel; his strength makes heavy tasks look effortless, but he’s surprisingly meticulous, his movements precise and deliberate. “This is easy compared to wrangling sea monsters,” he teases, flashing you a grin.

- As he works, Arthur regales you with tales of Atlantis, his deep voice resonating like the waves. “Did I ever tell you about the time Mera and I rebuilt the coral spires after a storm?” he asks, his laughter rumbling like distant thunder. His stories are vivid and captivating, his love for his home—and for you—evident in every word.

- That evening, Arthur pulls you into his arms, his embrace as warm and encompassing as the ocean itself. “You scared me,” he admits, his voice low and serious. “You’re my anchor, and I can’t bear to see you hurt.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if to soothe away all your worries. Arthur’s love is as vast and enduring as the sea, a force of nature that surrounds and protects you.

Hal Jordan aka. Green Lantern

- Hal’s easygoing demeanor shifts the moment he notices the bandage on your hand. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice filled with concern as he takes your hand gently. His green eyes scan the wound, his expression a mix of worry and amusement. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play with sharp objects?” he teases, though his grip tightens protectively.

- “Alright, let me play doctor,” he says with a wink, summoning a glowing green construct of a first aid kit. Hal’s touch is careful as he rewraps your bandage, his usual bravado giving way to surprising precision. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he says softly, his tone carrying a weight that shows how much he cares.

- “Looks like I’m your personal handyman today,” Hal declares, conjuring a glowing hammer with a flourish. He tackles the project with his trademark confidence, his constructs turning the mundane task into something almost magical. “See? Easy,” he says, flashing you a cocky grin. “You’ve got the best in the business on your side.”

- As he works, Hal keeps you entertained with his endless banter and larger-than-life stories. “There was this one time on Oa…” he begins, spinning a tale that’s equal parts unbelievable and hilarious. His humor lightens the atmosphere, and his laughter is infectious, making even the simplest moments feel special.

- Later, as you sit together under the soft glow of his ring, Hal wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “You know, you’re my reason to keep coming back to Earth,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t want anything happening to you.” His love is like his willpower—unshakable, glowing brightly and guiding you through even the darkest times.

Oliver Queen aka. Green Arrow

- “Whoa, hold up—what happened to your hand?” Oliver asks, his sharp gaze landing on your bandaged injury. Before you can brush it off, he’s already by your side, gently taking your hand in his. “You didn’t think to call me?” he teases, though his voice carries a hint of genuine worry. “I could’ve handled this in no time.”

- He grabs the first aid kit, his hands surprisingly deft as he unwraps and rebandages your wound. “You’ve got to be more careful, beautiful,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I can’t have you sidelined—you’re my best partner, after all.” His touch is light, but the protective edge in his tone makes it clear how much he cares.

- “Alright, step aside. The Green Arrow is on the job,” Oliver says, flashing you a trademark smirk. Watching him work is an experience in itself—he’s efficient and surprisingly skilled, despite his playful demeanor. “Bet you didn’t know I was handy with a hammer, huh?” he jokes, his grin lighting up the room.

- Oliver keeps the mood light with his constant humor and quick wit. “You know, I once tried to fix a broken bowstring and ended up snapping three more,” he says, laughing at the memory. His charm is irresistible, and he has a way of making even the most tedious tasks feel fun and exciting.

- As the evening winds down, Oliver pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. “You scared me today,” he admits, his voice low and serious. “I’ve lost enough people in my life—I’m not losing you too.” He kisses your forehead, his lips warm and lingering. Oliver’s love is bold, passionate, and unwavering, a constant in your life that leaves you feeling cherished and protected.

John Constantine aka. Hellblazer

- John notices the injury immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “What’s this, then?” he asks, his voice a mix of concern and irritation. He steps closer, taking your hand in his surprisingly gentle grip. “Bloody hell, love, you’ve got to take better care of yourself,” he mutters, his usual sarcasm tempered by genuine worry.

- He doesn’t bother with a first aid kit—instead, he mutters a few words in Latin, and a faint glow surrounds your hand. “There, good as new,” he says with a smirk, though his eyes linger on you with a rare softness. “Don’t make me have to fix you up like this again, yeah?” he adds, his tone light but edged with seriousness.

- “Right, let’s see what mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” John says, surveying the unfinished renovation. He rolls up his sleeves and gets to work, grumbling under his breath but surprisingly competent. “Don’t look so shocked—I’m full of surprises,” he says with a wink.

- As he works, John keeps up a steady stream of sardonic commentary and darkly humorous anecdotes. “This reminds me of the time I tried to patch up a hole in my flat’s wall. Ended up summoning a demon instead,” he quips, his dry humor making you laugh despite yourself. His presence, though chaotic, is oddly reassuring.

- Later, as you both sit in the dim light, John lights another cigarette, his gaze softening as he looks at you. “You’ve got to be more careful, love,” he says quietly. “I’ve got enough demons to fight—I don’t need to be worrying about losing you too.” His love is raw, messy, and laced with his own brand of charm, but it’s as real and unshakable as the man himself.

Roy Harper aka. Arsenal

- Roy notices your bandaged hand the moment he steps in. “What the hell happened?” he asks, his voice laced with concern, though his trademark smirk softens the words. He takes your hand gently, his calloused fingers brushing against yours. “You didn’t think to call me? I’m literally a pro at making bad decisions—and patching them up after.”

- “Alright, sit tight,” he says, pulling out a first aid kit with a flourish. His movements are surprisingly precise, honed from years of taking care of himself and others. “This isn’t bad, but next time, maybe call me before you go all DIY warrior,” he jokes, though the worry in his eyes betrays his casual tone.

- Roy insists on helping you finish the project, despite your protests. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you do this alone?” he says, grabbing a hammer with an exaggerated show of confidence. His work is a mix of skill and chaos—he’s good at what he does, but his playful energy keeps things unpredictable.

- As you work together, Roy’s humor keeps you laughing. “You know, I once tried to fix a broken bow. Ended up breaking three more,” he says, grinning at the memory. He’s full of stories, each one more absurd than the last, but they’re all delivered with a charm that makes you forget about the mess around you.

- Later, as you both sit back to admire the (somewhat chaotic) results, Roy pulls you close, his arm slung around your shoulders. “You mean the world to me, you know that?” he says, his voice softer than usual. “Don’t scare me like that again, alright?” His love is messy but wholehearted, a constant reminder that you’re his anchor in a turbulent world.

Koriand’r aka. Starfire

- Kori’s luminous green eyes widen in concern when she sees your bandaged hand. “Oh no, my love, what has happened?” she asks, taking your hand delicately in hers. Her warmth radiates through her touch as she examines the wound. “Does it pain you? Please, tell me how I can help.”

- She gently kisses your hand, her lips soft and glowing faintly. “On Tamaran, we believe healing begins with love,” she says, her voice filled with sincerity. She insists on tending to the injury herself, her movements careful and deliberate. Her concern is almost palpable, her love for you evident in every action.

- Kori is eager to assist with your project, her strength and enthusiasm turning what could have been a chore into an exciting adventure. “Let us work together,” she says, her smile bright enough to light up the room. Watching her lift heavy beams effortlessly and handle tools with childlike curiosity is both impressive and endearing.

- As you work side by side, Kori shares stories of her home planet. “On Tamaran, we build homes with our families, singing songs of unity and joy,” she says, her voice rich with nostalgia. Her passion for her culture and her desire to share it with you make the task feel meaningful and connected.

- At the end of the day, Kori pulls you into her embrace, her warmth enveloping you like sunlight. “You are my heart,” she says softly, her glowing eyes meeting yours. “I cannot bear the thought of you in pain.” She kisses your forehead tenderly, her love as radiant and boundless as the stars she comes from.

Kara Zor-El aka. Supergirl

- Kara’s superhuman senses catch your injury before you even try to hide it. “Wait—what happened to your hand?” she asks, her tone a mix of concern and mild panic. She’s by your side in an instant, her blue eyes scanning your bandage with laser-like focus. “You didn’t think to call me? I could’ve been here in a second!”

- She insists on checking your injury, her touch gentle despite her immense strength. “It’s not too bad, but I’m still worried,” she admits, biting her lip as she adjusts the bandage. “Next time, promise me you’ll let me help, okay?” Her voice is firm but filled with a tenderness that makes your heart melt.

- Kara takes over the renovation project with her usual enthusiasm, zipping around at super-speed to get things done. “This is so much easier than stopping meteors,” she jokes, flashing you a bright smile. Despite her incredible abilities, she makes sure to include you, asking for your input and slowing down to let you participate.

- As you work, Kara shares stories of Krypton, her voice filled with a mixture of sadness and pride. “Back home, we had machines to do most of this,” she says, a wistful smile crossing her face. “But I think there’s something special about doing it with your own hands—especially when it’s for someone you love.”

- Later, Kara wraps you in a warm hug, her strength carefully restrained but her affection boundless. “You’re my connection to this world,” she says softly, resting her forehead against yours. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Her love is like sunlight—pure, strong, and life-giving, a constant source of warmth and light in your life.

Slade Wilson aka. Deathstroke

- Slade notices your injury immediately, his single eye narrowing as he steps closer. “What happened?” he asks, his voice low and commanding. He takes your hand in his gloved one, his touch surprisingly gentle as he examines the bandage. “You’ve been careless,” he says, though his tone carries more concern than reprimand.

- Without a word, Slade pulls out a compact medical kit, his movements precise and efficient. “You should have called me,” he mutters, his focus entirely on your wound. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.” His care is methodical, almost clinical, but the way his fingers linger just slightly on your skin betrays his deeper feelings.

- Slade insists on taking over the renovation, his natural leadership coming through as he assesses the task. “Stand back,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. Watching him work is like watching a soldier in action—every movement calculated, every decision deliberate. “This isn’t my first time fixing something broken,” he quips, his dry humor catching you off guard.

- As he works, Slade shares fragments of his past, his gravelly voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. “This reminds me of when I used to build things with my son,” he says, his expression briefly softening. The glimpses of his humanity remind you of the man beneath the hardened exterior, the man who loves you in his own quiet, fierce way.

- Later, Slade pulls you close, his arm heavy and protective around your shoulders. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I’ve lost too much already—I’m not losing you.” He kisses your forehead briefly but firmly, his love intense and unyielding, like the man himself—a force that shields you from the world’s dangers, even as he battles his own demons.

Kent Nelson aka. Doctor Fate

- Kent’s piercing eyes behind the shimmering Helmet of Fate immediately fixate on your injured hand. “What have you done, my love?” he asks, his voice a blend of the mystical and the concerned. Without hesitation, he removes the helmet, his human side taking precedence. His hands, warm and steady, gently cradle yours as he inspects the wound.

- “This is a simple injury,” he murmurs, his voice calm but resolute. “But even the smallest wounds can lead to chaos if left untended.” A golden light surrounds his hand as he softly incants an ancient spell. The pain fades, replaced by a soothing warmth, though Kent remains watchful. “You must remember, you are precious to me beyond measure.”

- When he sees the half-finished renovation, Kent sighs softly. “It seems I have another task to tend to,” he says with a faint smile. With a wave of his hand, the room begins to shift and transform, guided by his mystical prowess. “Though I prefer to use magic sparingly, I believe this situation calls for a touch of Fate,” he teases lightly.

- As the room repairs itself under his guidance, Kent tells you stories of the endless mystic realms he has traversed. “In the realm of Amathur, they build their homes from living crystal, attuned to their souls,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of eons. His stories are mesmerizing, painting a picture of a universe far beyond your imagination.

- That evening, as the golden glow of his magic fades, Kent pulls you close, his mortal and immortal selves blending seamlessly in his affection for you. “You ground me, even amidst the chaos of the cosmos,” he whispers. “Do not let harm come to you, for you are my anchor to this world.” His love is profound and eternal, like the ancient forces he commands.

Rachel Roth aka. Raven

- Rachel notices the bandage immediately, her dark, violet eyes narrowing. “What happened?” she asks, her voice calm but laced with quiet concern. She steps closer, her fingers brushing against yours lightly. “You didn’t think to tell me?” she adds, her tone carrying just a hint of exasperation masked by worry.

- A soft, dark aura emanates from her hands as she murmurs a healing spell. “Let me take away the pain,” she says softly, her magic soothing the injury. “But next time, be more careful.” Her words are firm, but the tenderness in her actions speaks volumes about her love for you.

- Rachel insists on helping with the renovation, though her approach is unconventional. Using her magic, she levitates tools and materials, fixing everything with an eerie precision. “Why struggle when there’s an easier way?” she quips, a rare hint of humor gracing her usually serious demeanor.

- As she works, Rachel shares pieces of her past, her voice quiet but steady. “I used to dream of having a home like this—something stable, something real,” she admits. Her vulnerability in those moments is a reminder of the strength it takes for her to let you in, to allow herself to love and be loved.

- Later, as the room takes on a serene, almost otherworldly perfection, Rachel sits with you in the quiet. “I’m not used to caring this much,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you… you’ve shown me that it’s okay to let someone in.” Her love is deep and shadowed, like the magic she wields—powerful, transformative, and utterly consuming.

Zatanna Zatara aka. Zatanna

- “What’s this?” Zatanna asks, her sharp blue eyes immediately noticing your bandaged hand. She sets down her wand and takes your hand in hers, her touch warm and gentle. “You’ve been playing with tools without supervision, haven’t you?” she teases, though her concern is clear.

- “Let me fix this,” she says with a wink. She waves her hand, her words spoken backward as a soft, golden light surrounds your injury. “Esael ruoy niaP,” she says, and the pain dissipates. “Much better,” she adds with a playful smile. “But seriously, call me next time.”

- Zatanna insists on finishing the renovation with you, though her methods are far from ordinary. “Why use a hammer when you have magic?” she says, summoning tools and materials with a flick of her wrist. The room transforms under her guidance, every detail touched with a bit of theatrical flair.

- As she works, Zatanna keeps you entertained with stories of her performances and her magical adventures. “There was this one time in Paris where my spell accidentally turned an entire café into a circus,” she says, laughing. Her humor and charisma make even the mundane feel magical, her presence a constant source of joy.

- That night, as the newly restored room glows with a faint magical shimmer, Zatanna pulls you into her arms. “You’re my favorite audience,” she says softly, her voice filled with affection. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?” Her love is vibrant and enchanting, a spell that binds you to her in the most wonderful way.

Wally West aka. Flash

- Wally zips into the room and immediately notices your hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—what happened here?” he asks, his words coming almost as fast as he moves. He’s by your side in an instant, gently taking your injured hand in his. “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve been here in seconds!”

- He rushes to grab a first aid kit, moving so quickly you barely see him leave. “You’ve got to be more careful,” he says as he carefully rewraps your bandage. Despite his speed, his touch is gentle, his eyes full of concern. “Promise me you’ll let me help next time, okay?”

- Wally insists on finishing the renovation, his super-speed turning the task into a blur of activity. “This is easy,” he says with a grin, fixing things faster than you can even follow. “But hey, don’t blink—you might miss my best work!” His enthusiasm is infectious, making the entire process feel like a game.

- As he works, Wally keeps you laughing with his endless jokes and stories. “Did I ever tell you about the time I outran a black hole?” he says, his grin widening. His energy is boundless, his humor a constant source of lightness and joy in your life.

- Later, as the room stands perfectly completed, Wally pulls you close, his usual hyperactivity giving way to a rare moment of stillness. “You’re my world,” he says softly, his voice steady and sincere. “I can’t imagine life without you.” His love is like his speed—unstoppable, all-encompassing, and always rushing to your side.

[melinoelliones]

The morning after Pomni had arrived you noticed Jax hadn't turnt up for breakfast like everyone did every morning. What was up with him?

MINORS DNI/AGELESS BLOGS DNI/ANTI DC DNI/18+

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Warnings: Handjob, Blowjob, Tears, Dacryphilia, Cursing, Slight Manipulation (if you squint real hard), Face Fucking, Dirty Talk GN Reader BUT I did use dollface as a nickname as I liked it

2k words

Have I been foaming at the mouth over this large sassy rabbit man..... Anyways just want to note that there IS A PART TWO TO THIS, don't ask me when it'll be up cos I do not know. Reader has been at the circus for a year, reader n Jax are not dating. Also I know rabbits don't have heats but today they do. Hope you all enjoy <3

Thank you @suyacho my baby for helping me with this 😭

“Can’t you come back like tomorrow, we are literally stuck here forever, we have all the time in the world”, “Oh shut up Jax, I’m coming in” you huffed, letting yourself in the dark and clammy room, the air so thick it was almost visible as he sighed, “G~God you are so hardheaded”.

After the wild night you all had had prior, you were all stunned to see that Jax hadn’t turnt up for breakfast, he wasn’t one to skip a meal, nor was he one to miss out on the opportunity to make a sharp comment about the day before at an inappropriate time such as the breakfast table. So you had decided to be the one to go check up on him, not that anyone would have gone if you hadn’t.

You could just about make out the figure of the tall purple rabbit sprawled over his bed, sheets a mess and the sound of heavy breaths coming from the pile, “Jax are you okay? What’s going on, you didn’t come to breakfast” you questioned, creeping over and perching on the edge of his mattress. 

“Oh I’m fine, I’m fine, just a fever yanno” he jested, flailing a hand in the air from the mountain of duvet crowding his shivering body, “a fever? You know we can’t get sick here” you tilted your head in confusion. What was going on with him today? A fever? Maybe it had something to do with Pomni’s arrival.

Rolling his eyes as dramatically as he possibly could, Jax shifted to face you, “did you forget I'm a freaky human rabbit hybrid? We go into heat dollface, never heard of the term “f%$!#ing like rabbits?”.

As you went to shoot a rebuttal you stopped yourself, it was all clicking now, it all made sense, the humid room, the disheveled sheets and the fact that Jax was huffing as if he had run a marathon before dawn. It was almost turning you on to see him like this, minus the fight talk you could blatantly see how needy he was, his body ever so slightly grinding against the sheets even as he spoke to you, it was almost as if his body was moving on its own. All you could do was snicker to yourself as you took in the sight.

“You kn~know what, I need a little less of that and a little more help” Jax sassed, sprawling onto his back and swinging his arm around to your waist, his chest heaving as he felt your body. Without even needing direction you straddled him with ease. 

A deep heat pooled in his stomach as you leant forward, your eyes sinking into one another's not wanting to break the gaze, “tell me what you want Jax” you teased, whispering softly into his ear, not truly taking the situation seriously.

“J~Just touch me……. Please” he groaned, hesitating at the end. He wasn’t used to begging nor asking for things, this vulnerability was new to him but he knew he needed to be, you were the only one who could help him right now, “alright alright”.

The air between you grew thicker as you slithered your hands up towards the straps of his overalls, unclasping the golden buttons as he stared at the ceiling, attempting to control his breathing. He wanted nothing more than to grab your body and use it for himself to ease the pain of how pent up he was, fuck you till he could go no longer, but not now.

You felt as Jax attempted to swallow his huffs as you trailed sweet kisses down his front, sucking ever so slightly on each one, nibbling down every so often while you slid down his clothing. This was too easy, you knew you wouldn’t have to do too much as he looked as if he could cum from a simple hickey in this state, or so you thought.

You slipped off him, feeling the heat that radiated from his body. But your teasing had barely begun. With a seductive grin on your face, you crawled between his legs, running your hands slowly along his torso to his waist. The grin on your lips was punctuated by a light flick of your tongue against the top row of teeth as his eyes moved to yours, still refusing to move from his position to avoid using you.

You slowly moved your hands down to his hips, pulling the fabric to reveal him and closing your hands around his weightful cock, its size taking you completely by surprise. “Hey hey, be gentle with that will ya” Jax sharply breathed in, finally perching up to see you mesmerized by it, “you really are pathetic” you giggled

“What did you just sa~ ah %$!#”, Jax hissed through his teeth whilst you ran both hands along his already hard member. You felt as he grew harder and harder with each movement of your hands, you tried not to show how taken aback you were by how large it had just gotten, however it only aided in your unusual excitement.

“So sensitive” you mewled, meticulously mounding your fingertips around the rim as you watched the glistening spout of precum leak from the tip, his eyes fixed on your lustful gaze that was on his cock. “You seem to be en~joying this a bit too much dontcha think” Jax groaned through the moan he managed to let slip through his lips, your momentum only fastening as he spoke.

Jax’s patience began to draw thin as you teased, alternating the speed of your hands every time you felt his breaths get heavier. He desired more, this was far from enough but begging was not going to be the method of choice this time, that was unlike him and seeing how eager you were, he knew he could be himself.

You halted your movements as you felt a large gloved hand cup your face, you could almost feel his demeanor shifting as your eyes met his. “I think we should move on to something else” Jax prodded, “something else?” your eyes widened, reevaluating the scene in front of you. You had never done anything like this before, maybe the idea of something new and exciting totally pushed out any sense you had had out of your head.

“Cmon, you know you wanna. You came in here after I warned you, and gave me a handjob on top of that?” he snickered, trying to hold back his urge to finish the job himself with your body. He needed you to do this, so much so that he was willing to almost manipulate the situation in a way so that you thought you initiated this. “I mean, you’re not wrong but”, “You brought this upon yourself kid, now suck it”.

A large smirk adorned Jax’s face as he ran his thumb across your cheek, soothing any worries you had. You had never given someone head before, let alone in this place, you were nervous but it wasn’t as if this hadn't been on your mind for the past year. Jax was hot, definitely the type of guy you would've had a crush on back in the real world but never approached, nor would he have approached you, in human form that is. 

Your eyes flitted between the tip and the base, Jax was considerably large and there was no way in hell you could fit it all, but it was worth a shot. “You got it” he reassured, removing his palm as you leant forward. 

Extending out your tongue you allowed a trail of saliva to grace his tip, your grip tightening as he writhed in anticipation. In one fluid motion you skimmed your coated tongue along the shaft before taking as much as you could into your waiting mouth, the warmth bringing a shallow moan to his lips.

“W~Wasn’t expecting t~that” Jax gasped, watching you bob your head up and down aimlessly, using one hand to pump the remainder of his cock while the other was placed on his thigh. He was far too big, so much so that tears almost instantly appeared, your glossy eyes struggled to stay open as you moved.

“Uh uh, look at me. I want to see those p~pretty eyes while you take it” he stammered, feeling the initial ache in his stomach soothe itself. He could tell you were new at this but at this point he couldn’t care less, your attempts at sucking him off was enough for him.

“I think you can take a little bit more, what do ya think?” Jax cooed, not even waiting for your response before placing his large gloved hand against the back of your head encasing it, pushing you down further and further as your eyebrows furrowed. Your lips felt like velvet against his shaft, pulling him closer and closer to ecstasy. 

“Oh yeah”, he moaned out, rolling his head back while caressing your head, applying more and more pressure with each stride, “That’s it.. %$!# baby”.

You may have been a newbie, but what you were doing was sending him into overdrive. Your sweet eyes showing nothing more than a need to please him, your desperate yet subtle cries sending vibrations to his sensitive cock while it forced its way past the walls of your throat, allowing his crown to be pressed against the back of your throat repeatedly.

Hot tears streaked down your hollowed cheeks landing on his bare thighs as strings of saliva hung from the corners of your mouth, your fingers also coated in the concoction as he precum mixed with your spit resulting in a noise that sent Jax crazy. 

Doing your best to keep up with his relentless thrusts your body trembled with pleasure, your nails digging ever so deeply into his thigh with your spare hand as you continued, lapping your tongue around the tip and sliding it between his slit lustfully before taking as much as you could back in, desperate to show Jax how much you wanted him. 

His mixture of curses and choked out moans were like music to your ears, the burn in your own stomach starting to rise as you squeezed your thighs together for any type of stimulation you could get, making sure to focus on the task at hand.

“A~Ahh just like that, I’m so close kid” he purred, ears wilted he gazed into your clouded eyes, “now m~make sure you take all of it, understand?”. All you could do was nod, not knowing what to truly expect. Jax was at his absolute limit however, the pleasure pushing the limits until he could hold on no longer, “#$!#€£@”.

Before you could overthink it you felt him twitch between your lips, his body jolting up as he cursed relentlessly. The grip on your hair tightened as he thrusted one final time until his crown was resting against the back of your throat once again.

You whined as you felt his warm release spill down your throat, coating it white with each pump before pulling away, the milky concoction still connecting your lips to him, “Now swallow” he commanded, sniggering to himself as he watched you struggle to take it all down in one but trying so hard to do so.

“So obedient” he mewled, wiping the corners of your mouth as you breathlessly knelt up, the pool in your stomach aching to be helped as you did for Jax. “T~That was fast, all that fuss for you to be done now?” you chirped, knowing damn well your jaw was near to falling off but your cockiness remained.

“I wouldn’t s~speak too soon dollface that was just a warmup, I haven’t had a chance to properly get my hands on you. I think you’ll have to stay here all day to help out this pathetic rabbit?” Jax grinned mocking your original insult before pulling you into a rough and needy kiss.

All the possible scenarios played back to back in your head as your lips glided over one anothers. What was in store for you now I wonder?

[redr0sewrites]

Hihi! You are amazing! I’m obsessed with your DC work! What do you think the batfams favorite date activity is with they partner

🥀A/n: AAA TYY! i love this request sm- sorry it took me a hot minute to reply i am still fighting off writers block (but im winning)

🥀Cw: fluff, reader is gn, little suggestive in Bruce's part

Character(s): Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Bruce Wayne x reader, Tim Drake x reader

Dick Grayson:

Dick is a somewhat social person, and i feel like he would enjoy dates that allow him to show you off. definitely prefers to go out rather than stay home!

i also think he's a little adventurous, so he's the type to enjoy theme park dates or something along those lines. loves when you're excited and just wants to make you happy

he really likes enjoying thrills with you, so he definitely wants to take you on a roller coaster at least once. he's definitely teasing you a bit if you get scared, but he thinks it's adorable if you cling to him

i also think Dick would enjoy shopping dates or just going to the mall because, again, they are very social and give him the opportunity to spoil you! he loves walking around with you, holding hands and swinging his arm and pointing out interesting things. definitely an avid window shopper, but will buy you anything you want. he also loves flirting with you in public, so expect more than a few kisses

roller skating or ice skating dates!!!! this is just a personal hc but i think Dick is like SO good at skating its uncanny. he would love to take you skating, its just so silly in his eyes and he loves being close to you.

if you (like myself) are not a talented skater, he offers to teach you but ends up teasing you a little and pulls you into the center of the rink just to mess with you. definitely challenges you to a race only to laugh at you if you fall (he helps you up tho and then genuinely teaches you)

if you are a talented skater, Dick loves trying to go as fast as you both possibly can. he's pulling you alongside him and twirling into the center of the rink as though you both are professionals, and kisses you with the most main-character energy ever

if you're ice skating and you get cold, he is absolutely offering you his jacket. he thinks it's adorable when you're cheeks get all rosy from the cold

i also think Dick is a bit of a hopeless romantic, and would want to take you out to a very cliche and aesthetic dinner. he's taking you to the best of the best, he loves dressing up just for you and spoiling you with the best food. he would meet you at your door with an entire bouquet of your favorite flowers, a cheery smile on his face in a gorgeous suit and tie. he'd definitely convince beg Bruce to let him borrow one of his cars, so Dick is driving you to dinner in the fanciest vehicle you've ever laid eyes on. once you both arrive at the restaurant, Dick REFUSES to let you do anything for yourself. he's suddenly your knight in shining armor, opening every door for you and pulling out your chair for you to sit. he's rented out the entire rooftop of the restaurant, treating you to a beautiful candlelight dinner under the stars. he's genuinely so cheesy, but in the absolute sweetest way.

Jason Todd:

Jason is a bit more introverted than Dick and would prefer to stay home a bit more. he prefers dates that don't require a lot of energy, and he just gets to spend time with you

reading dates! definitely takes you to a library or a bookstore and reads with you all day. he'll pick out a book he thinks you'll like and vice versa, and then you both spend the rest of the day cuddled up in some nook reading together.

Jason loves talking to you about books and would read anything you recommend him. a lot of the time during these dates you both will end up reading the same book, with you curled up on his lap. he always checks to make sure you're ready before turning the page, and loves getting to hold you close.

similiar to this, i also think Jason would enjoy reading to you. he loves curling up with you in bed, and reading to you while you lay on top of his chest

cafe dates are definitely another favorite of his. Jason likes getting to sit with you over a cup of coffee and just talk about any and everything. you are truly his favorite person to be around, and even when it's mundane he still enjoys your company

this may be mundane, but grocery shopping with you is unironically one of his favorite dates. Jason loves helping you with domestic chores, and he loves how you take his opinions into consideration as well. its just a simple reminder that you both are a team, and you make even simple tasks worth living. Jason loves it even more if you both live together, and will occasionally smeak your favorite foods into the cart because he knows you won't indulge yourself otherwise

park dates, but only when it's not too crowded. i also see him as a fan of taking nature walks or hiking with you, just holding your hand and enjoying the scenery. loves sitting at the park with your head in his lap, listening to you ramble on and on while he admires you. would definitely pick flowers to make you a little bouquet!

gym dates, but not in a douchey gym bro way, moreso in a let's enjoy eachothers company type of way. he would never push you to workout or exercise, but he does enjoy spending time with you. he's happy to spot you in any of your workouts, and his presence definitely keeps creeps away!

finally, his last ideal date would be a picnic under the stars. whether this be at the park or on a rooftop, he loves staying up late with you and enjoying the view. after a particularly rough patrol, Jason loves just sitting with you under the stars and talking to you about any and everything on his mind. you truly are his comfort zone, and he likes his dates to express that

Bruce Wayne:

Bruce is definitely very classy, and enjoys bringing you to various gala's and parties. he loves when you dress fancy, and getting to show you off to all the fellow business people at these gatherings is certainly a bonus.

along with this, Bruce loves spoiling you. i think he's the type to take you out shopping to fancy stores you could never imagine yourself entering otherwise, buying you hundres of dollars worth of gorgeous formal wear, jewelry, and shoes. i also think he'd take you lingerie shopping, and would fund anything you wanted to buy- as long as you showed it to him... he's definitely watching you have a little fashion show in the dressing room

loves taking you to high end restaurants, elegant and classy through and through. dressed to the nines and in his nicest cologne, he always courts you like a gentleman. he doesn't care about the public eye at all, and a photo of billionaire playboy Brucie Wayne and his partner kissing in Gotham's most famous restaurant is definitely making its way into the papers.

Bruce would definitely take you to a winery or a wine tasting festival as a date. (i've personally never been, but he absolutely gives off these vibes). he'll buy you the fanciest, most expensive red wine at the venue and, while he stays sober to drive, he definitely shared a glass with you once your both home

for a more lowkey date, Bruce would definitely love to take you to the beach. just a soothing afternoon on a private island with crystal clear waters and the sun in the sky. i headcanon that he's the type to burn very easily in the sun so he'd definitely appreciate if you applied his sunscreen for him. definitely carries you into the ocean and throws you in- only to jump in after you. while he doesn't get to relax very often, he definitely enjoys the quality time spent with you.

Bruce would love to take you to theatre performances or shows of the similar variety! whether it's a famous ballet or a musical performance, there's something so lovely and romantic about him taking you to go see whatever your heart desires. he always gets great tickets too, with the best view.

Bruce overworks a lot, and i feel like there are times when he's practically glued to the batcomputer, unable to pull away from his work. during these times its best to distract him eith a selfcare date, which, while simple, is heavily appreciated by him. doing facemasks together and giving him a massage is the perfect opportunity for him to unwind, and he appreciates you endlessly for guiding him to rest.

movie nights!!!! wayne manor doesn't have a movie theatre for nothing. Bruce very rarely gets a night off, but when he does he spends it curled up with you watching your favorite films. theres something so domestic about it, and he finds it adorable when you fall asleep on him

all in all, i feel like Bruce would enjoy a wide variety of dates. a lot of his preferred dates would probably just be whatever you want to do, and he's very flexible when it comes to your schedule. he cares about you a lot, and your input is important.

Tim Drake:

arcade dates- i said what i said. its my own personal headcanon that Tim is like insanely skilled at any type of video game or puzzle, so arcades are a very fitting date for you both. Tim loves getting to win you prizes and show off his skills. he is insanely strategical about anything, even something as simple as the claw machine, and somehow he always wins. you swear he's blessed by the arcade gods or something but, hey, you aren't complaining, not when you're carrying at least 6 plushies he's won for you!

sleepovers, except neither of you are doing much sleeping. Tim is a horrible workaholic and insomniac, but having you nearby helps to ease his mind. he loves just cuddling you while he works, soothing his stress and eventually helping him doze off. loves falling asleep on your chest or being the little spoon, theres something so cozy about being taken care of that just eases him right to sleep.

aquarium dates! he loooves going to the aquarium with you and looking at all of the unique fish and marine life. takes a lot of candid photos of you admiring the fish, and listens to you ramble about all of your marine knowledge (if u didn't have a marine biology hyperfixation as a kid are you even real? /j). he thinks its endearing how excited you get, and certainly enjoys watching the animals. i think his favorites would be the octopus exhibit or the penguin exhibit, but don't ask me why. i also think he's a huge fan of botanical garden dates or just gardens in general.

study dates! Tim isn't a natural at studying (same tbh) so he's a bit unsure about the idea of studying alongside you, but grows to love it. he would help you make flashcards or practice, and in return you help him with cases and red robin related work.

coffee shop or caffe dates! unlike Bruce, Tim cares a bit more about the press and his image so he would probably choose a more private area to dine with you. he loves getting brunch with you when taking a break from work, and seperating himself from the stressors of the day. it makes him feel almost civilian, and he loves getting to spend time with you

definitely takes you to all of Wayne Enterprises galas and events. he used to hate them, but now that you're by his side he begins to enjoy them just a bit more. getting to see you all dressed up is certainly a bonus, and he feels pride in knowing that your his and he's yours. brags about you endlessly to lots of other business people and fucking LOVES matching outfits with you. you cannot tell me this man would not match his tie to your outfit. he loves it.

another one whos a fan of movie marathons, and will try to pull an all nighter with you. you both always try to compete to see who can stay up the longest, but he wins most of the time. Tim is also absolutely eating like all of the snacks, and loves stealing your food. he's a (lovable) little shit

art show or museum dates- Tim adores these type of dates. there's something both so romantic and so casual about admiring the beautiful artwork with you by his side, and he loves discussing your favorite pieces. he takes a lot of photographs and just loves looking at all of the exhibits. if theres any romance paintings he kisses you in fromt of them and blushes like crazy. he's a romantic at heart.

overall, dates with Tim aren't very high energy, but they're very romance oriented. he's very expressive about his love for you and wants you to know his feelings are genuine

AA HOPE U ENJOYED! this took way too long and got a lot longer than expected tbh- i love them all so much aaaaaa- PLEEEASE SEND IN SOME DC REQUESTS ESP (but not limited to) FOR TIM I LITERALLY HAVE NONE 😭

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them. 

It started as petty crime—the theft. 

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days. 

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad. 

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious. 

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect. 

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation. 

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths? 

You consider yourself an artist. 

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.” 

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation. 

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it. 

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”  

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season. 

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running. 

Your body moves to it. 

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.  

But beauty takes time. 

You’d look better with those pearls. 

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation. 

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation. 

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds. 

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.” 

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric. 

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.” 

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” 

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.” 

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking. 

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”  

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?” 

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.” 

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding. 

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river. 

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks. 

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped. 

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent. 

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.  

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them. 

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm. 

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone. 

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head. 

“So, here for Victor’s party then?” 

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.” 

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part. 

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.” 

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron. 

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so. 

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another. 

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to. 

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up. 

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there. 

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand. 

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do. 

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing. 

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind. 

You blink, sighing under your breath. 

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days. 

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time. 

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.” 

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping. 

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat? 

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle. 

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it. 

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.” 

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs. 

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them. 

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.” 

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns. 

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately. 

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him. 

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule. 

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes. 

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely. 

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins. 

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back. 

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks. 

“Affirmative, Lt.” 

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him. 

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull. 

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence. 

A flash of red catches his eye. 

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be. 

It was you. 

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside. 

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock. 

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air. 

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all. 

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat. 

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp. 

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions. 

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck. 

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames. 

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence. 

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon. 

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back. 

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head. 

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents. 

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers. 

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?” 

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate? 

Was he a thief like you, or hired security? 

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.” 

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you. 

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow. 

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest. 

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!” 

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks. 

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall. 

“Get over here,” he snaps. 

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!” 

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together. 

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.” 

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.” 

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.” 

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall. 

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. 

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!” 

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad. 

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric. 

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. 

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.  

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?” 

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip. 

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again. 

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat. 

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind. 

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down. 

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught. 

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement. 

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.” 

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery. 

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here. 

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step. 

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated. 

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk. 

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?” 

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself. 

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.” 

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you. 

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night. 

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later. 

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick. 

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex. 

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal. 

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving. 

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking. 

“And Gaz?” 

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.” 

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed. 

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options. 

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea. 

It was perfect. 

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces. 

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag. 

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order. 

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him. 

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting. 

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play. 

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly. 

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently. 

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?” 

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?” 

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway. 

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you. 

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain. 

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught. 

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips. 

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.” 

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse. 

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow. 

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking. 

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest. 

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders. 

A bullet whizzes past your face. 

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths. 

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool. 

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him. 

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing. 

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders. 

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head. 

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again. 

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form. 

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest. 

Both of your eyes lock in a battle. 

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose. 

You needed to disappear again. 

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.” 

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another. 

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked. 

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand. 

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

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