Crow

21 ❣️

[lanadelreyylover]

so high

Chris Redfield x Reader x Leon Kennedy

In a safehouse, with nothing else to do, you, Chris, and Leon share a joint. Trouble ensues, obviously...

tags/warnings: explicit, threesome (f/m/m), Chris and Leon kiss challengers-style, and what if I said I imagined vendetta Chris AND death island Leon???, not edited very thoroughly--purely a heat-of-the-moment sort of thing.

taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie @venus-in-roses

After the three of you had taken your respective showers, changed into clothes that were not stained with blood and guts and who knows what else, all that was left was to enjoy the amenities of the safehouse until the weather cleared and the team could retrieve you in the morning. Unfortunately, the amenities were limited to one dingy sofa; a coffee table that had one leg shorter than the other three so it tipped under even the lightest weight; and a television that had two channels, neither of which were in English. 

Chris sits to your right, scribbling chicken scratch into his field journal. Leon, to your left, stares at the wall, taking in repetitive deep breaths. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch his chest rise and fall against them. 

You know there are worse things than being stuck in this sort of limbo, without your electric toothbrush or lavender foot cream, or your favorite roast from the coffee shop down the street from your apartment, but it sure feels like that now. The shower had soap, thankfully, but it dried out your skin while simultaneously leaving a mysterious film all over your body. And the shampoo made your scalp itch. 

Something burns a hole in your brain, almost forgotten until you had nearly drawn blood from your shin from scratching the skin so hard and thought about what could give you a quick fix.

With a wicked grin, you lean over to grab your backpack from beneath the short table in front of you. In the side pocket is where you stashed the treasure, you fish around past other miscellaneous items until you feel a paper cylinder beneath the pads of your fingers. 

“Woah,” Leon says, drawing out the word as he adjusts his hips, bowing forward to watch you pull the prize from your bag. The sofa cushions are a dingy gray color, the fabric practically coming apart at the seams, the piping fraying. You try not to stare too long lest you imagine what sorts of ills they might have seen. “Where did you get that?” 

“Get what?” You coo, feigning ignorance through a wide, toothy smile as you lean back, letting your shoulders and spine slouch against the sofa.

He chuckles darkly, pointing to the joint you’re rolling back and forth between your fingertips. “That.” 

“Found it in a drawer while we were sweeping the warehouse.” 

You can feel Chris’s attention turn to you, and when you clance over at him, his eyes have grown wide, his hand has stopped writing. He abandons the notebook and pen altogether, leaving them to balance on the armrest. 

“Have you ever smoked, Chris? Weed,” you clarify, hinting that you know about the little habit he tries to hide unsuccessfully, failing every time. No midday shower or quick change of clothes can eclipse the scent of tobacco on his skin. 

He laughs, a huffy, breathy sound, amused toeing the line of nervousness, and your eyes fall to his palms as he wipes them on his pant legs. 

“In high school,” he reveals. “Once or twice. Not a lot since then.” 

“And you?” 

“In high school, once or twice,” he repeats, leaning in an inch. “And a lot since then.” 

Your lips curl upward into a smile, once reflected in Leon’s own face. Chris adjusts behind you, leaning in to join the conversation. 

“Didn’t take you for a weed guy,” he says to Leon through a smirk. Leon rolls his eyes, always annoyed when his reputation as a drinker is brought up in conversation, as though not everyone knows it’s his favorite pastime. Chris snickers.

“Either of you boys have a light?” You ask, your voice breaking through the tension between them, leaning once more against the back of the sofa. The two men fumble as they make quick work searching the pockets of their bags. Chris wins, pulling out a lighter from his sack, flickering it on, beckoning you to ignite the joint held taut between your lips. 

As he holds the flame to the tip of the joint, you glance up at him through thick lashes, meeting his gaze. The look you give him makes his shoulders shudder slightly, and he gulps hard, brows cinched. 

“There you go,” Chris says quietly as you take the first inhale. The earthy, petrichor scent of the drug fills the air almost immediately as you pass the roll to Leon. He pinches it between his thumb and pointer finger, guiding it to his parted lips, taking in a deep breath, filling his lungs to max capacity. 

Chris waits patiently, and you sink back to watch Leon pass him the joint, staring intently at the man as he stares intently at the paper in his fingers. As a smoker, he should feel comfortable with the act, yet he hesitates. That is, until he looks over at you, meeting your eyes, and he carries out the decision to take a hit. His eyes close in almost instant euphoria, and you take a moment to study–unwatched–the veins crawling up his forearms, the freckles that dot the skin there, the bulging balls of his biceps and triceps. 

Leon is a beautiful man. A blind ass bat could see that. He’s pale and lean, with a face carved by Pygmalion himself. A straight nose, full lips, and eyes that have men and women alike tripping over themselves at the sight. 

Chris’s beauty, however, comes from the innate masculinity that surges through each nerve and vein, and seeps through every pore. His shoulders are broad and staggering, his arms boulderous. Even the details of his face drip with rugged handsomeness. 

Such thoughts race through the marrow in your bones, searing your skin like the singed tip of the join in your fingers. You banish them immediately, not so high as to relinquish all professionalism. Though, how professional can it be to share a joint with your superiors, who you were just sweeping an abandoned umbrella facility with just a mere five hours ago. 

Professionalism be damned. You have one thing, and one thing only, on your mind tonight. 

Minutes, though it feels like an eternity, pass as the three of you take turns sucking and puffing, some choked coughs here and there, giggles strewn about in the mix. 

“Fuck, it’s been a while,” Chris gasps, beating his heart once with the butt of his fist. He coughs lightly before falling back against the sofa. Leon, beside you, chuckles, taking another hit. 

“It’s good, huh?” He asks, the question pointed to no one in particular. Neither of you answer. You can feel yourself melting into the sofa, your body melding to the fibers of the cushion. 

Grosssssss.

It feels sticky, and yet like nothing at all. You feel like nothing at all. 

The corners of your eyes go blurry, and it’s as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, the weight that keeps you tethered to earth. And now, as you contest the laws of nature, gravity be damned, you begin to float. Like a cirrus of mist and humidity just hovering in the atmosphere among the stars. 

“Are you guys friends?” You ask, voice as sweet as cherry syrup in a chilled shirley temple, the kind your grandmother used to serve up on a balmy summer evening. 

Chris and Leon sit up in unison, both on the edges of their cushions, both looking down at you from beneath furrowed brows. 

They exchange a glance, eyes quickly cutting back to you. 

“Sure,” Leon says. 

“Sort of,” Chris spits at the same time. 

“You ever done this before? Together?” 

Another glance between them. 

“Get high?” Leon asks in confirmation. 

“Make love to the same girl,” you correct. 

Chris’s almond eyes shoot open, the golden flakes in his chocolate brown irises catching in the low light filtering through the fixture above your heads. 

Leon chokes on his own saliva, palm coming to his sternum. “Come again?” 

You giggle, shaking your head at the double entendre. “You heard me.” 

“Like a…” Chris’s voice trails off as he musters up the courage to say the word flashing like a neon sign in all of your cotton-stuffed heads. “Threesome.” 

Ding, ding, ding.

All you give is a cheeky nod, and it’s the only permission Leon needs to race down to your neck and begin planting sloppy, open-mouthed kisses there. You mewl at the sensation of his teeth kneading your flesh, and when you cut your eyes to Chris, he’s watching with something intelligible written across his face. The whites of his eyes are glossy, mottled with tiny red lines, and his brows are knit together, leaving two deep creases in the skin between them.

Frustrated with how long it is taking him to react, you grab his hand and place it in between your thighs. As Leon continues his ministrations at your neck, Chris glances down at his fingers splayed across the soft, supple flesh stretching out from your pajama bottoms. He bites down on his lower lip in an attempt to garner some of that soldieresque restraint. 

His lids screw shut, and he whispers a little prayer to whichever deity watches over those who struggle with self-control in the presence of a beautiful woman. A woman who wants him. 

They don’t answer, so Chris is left to his own devices. Fuzzy-brained, and loose-handed, he begins to palm at the meat of your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate your skin before he presses them apart. One of your knees goes to recline across Leon’s lap, the other opens toward Chris. 

Before he can do anything about it, however, you grab his jaw, bringing his lips to yours. They’re softer than you expected, though the stubble that frames them is scratchy against your skin. Leon plants kisses up and down the length of your neck, working his way up your jaw, to your cheek. 

“Holy shit,” Leon curses against your face. 

“Fuck,” Chris swears at your ear. 

Their voices are hot, melting your innards, and you feel an all-too-familiar gush of arousal begin to pool at your seam, spreading across the cotton gusset of your panties. 

You lean up to wrap one arm around each of their necks, bringing the three of you closer than you’ve ever been before. Both Chris and Leon have their eyes slammed shut in pleasure, in the anticipation of ecstasy, and all you have to do is remove yourself from them and lean back, and with absence of a third set of lips, their mouths meet each other’s. 

You watch with thumping hearts in your eyes as the two men attack each other’s faces, their lips meeting in a volcanic union of teeth and tongue. Chris’s hands wrap around Leon’s neck, fingers weaving through his cropped, blonde strands. In turn, Leon grabs his arms, his digits struggling to wrap themselves around Chris’s bulging girth.

Perhaps it’s Chris who first realizes that your hair has suddenly changed length, or that your shoulders have grown wider past their feminine delicacy. Or maybe Leon feels the prickly pang of stubble on his chin, big biceps beneath his calloused palms. 

Whatever tips them off, it happens too soon for your liking, and their eyes shoot open in an almost cartoonish simultaneity. Once the image of the other man before them ventures through the thick fog of their high, they retreat from the other’s grasp, blinking heavily before turning to look down at you. 

You can’t help but giggle. “Don’t stop on my account.”

[opalita333]

ok imagine like 6y age gap chris x reader (like 22 and 28?) who is best friends w claire. ur staying over for a sleepover and while claire sleeps, u get up for some water and see chris in the kitchen. u talk and one thing leads to another…. to u pinned under him in his bed with his hand over ur mouth as he fucks u!

looove this request so much, kinda made me think of that song from victorious 🎤 this was so much fun to write, enjoy my love xx

best friend’s brother

tags: afab reader x chris redfield, slight age difference, sneaky sex, slight mutual pining

𖥔. ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 𖥔

two figures enmeshed with one another, kissing and clinging to each other with the kind of passion you only ever see in the movies; and then the screen fades to black and the credits start rolling. reaching over to grab the remote, you click off the historical romance, sighing to yourself.

now, the only sound that floats through the air is the faint snoring of your best friend passed out next to you. for as long as you’ve known her, claire cannot help falling asleep during movies. over time, you learned that this could be an advantage, giving you leverage to choose every movie night.

you lay back down on the cot next to her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to force your mind to quiet itself and let sleep find you. eyes fluttering closed, images from the movie float through your mind; the dancing scenes, beautiful gowns, mr. darcy confessing to elizabeth and their breathtaking kiss.

if only real life was like that

your eyes snap open, your brain’s attempt at finding enough peace to slumber unsuccessful. you glance over at claire’s alarm clock:

1:13AM

head hitting the pillow with a thump, your fingers come up to massage your brow; fuck, you’re still so awake.

frustrated, you sit up and lean back on your palms; nibbling at your lips, you feel how dry they are. the popcorn you and claire gorged yourselves on earlier had left you feeling parched. pushing up from your cot with a creak, you exit claire’s bedroom, softly turning the knob shut behind you.

you head down the short hallway, fluffy slippers shuffling quietly across wooden floor planks. a framed picture catches your eye, one of the only decorative items in their home. it was a photo of a young boy and younger girl; claire and her older brother, chris.

you’d known the redfields since elementary school, quickly becoming best friends with claire after you moved to raccoon city in 4th grade. over the years, you and her had gotten into your fair share of trouble and adventures, always remaining close.

you’d known her older brother, chris, for just as long. the thought of him made your mouth run even dryer, heart skipping a beat; it was a not-so-secret that you’d had a fat crush on him since forever. countless times claire would tease you about how awkward you got around chris.

“it’s just soo funny, cuz he's actually the grossest person in the world.”

you couldn’t help it, the heart wants what the heart wants. besides, who wouldn’t have a crush on chris? he was strikingly handsome, able to melt you instantly with his blue gaze and wicked smirk; you also knew the tender side of him, seeing how he basically raised claire and himself since childhood.

you reach the kitchen and flick on one of the dimmer lights, trying to be as imperceptible as possible. grabbing a glass from the cupboard, you pour yourself some much needed water. as the crisp drinks hits your tongue, you give a small sigh of relief.

“damn, thirsty much?”

startled, you choke on the water, sputtering droplets you desperately try to hide with your hand. glancing over at you from across the kitchen with a well natured tease in his eyes was a hulking, brunette form: chris.

“jeez, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” he apologizes with a grin.

he strides across the kitchen, tearing off a paper towel and handing it to you.

“…thanks.”

you dab it at your mouth, feeling a hot blush spread across your face; chris had an annoying way of always catching you in your most pathetic moments.

“you didn’t scare me, just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be awake.”

leaning back against the kitchen counter, you try to compose yourself a bit. chris moved towards the pantry, pulling an amber bottle of whiskey from the top shelf.

“want a glass?” he offers, turning towards you.

remembering the last time you’d drank brown liquor, you shake your head at him, grimacing slightly.

“i shouldn’t, but thanks for the offer.”

chris shrugs, moving to pour himself a glass at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“suit yourself.”

after the glass is half full, he takes the bottle back to the pantry and comes to sit at the island. he gestures with a nod to the chair next to his. heart pounding, you slide into the seat, clutching your water glass as if it were a stress ball; you turn towards the muscular man.

“what are you doing back? claire said you’d be gone for a while.”

sitting back in his seat, chris brings his cup up to take a deep sip.

“finished the job early, got to come home early.”

knowing you won’t get a clearer answer from him, you nod dimly.

chris’s job was shrouded in secret; originally a member of a specialized police force, he’d been promoted a couple of years ago and now worked exclusively in vague assignments. he’d be gone for weeks, then would pop back up with cool souvenirs for claire, and always some trinket for you.

“well, i’m glad you’re home safe. it’s kind of weird when you’re gone, claire worries about you a lot.” you tell him, twisting your hands in your lap nervously.

you weren’t used to talking to chris one on one, claire usually being the buffer between you two. it was thrilling, cold shivers coursing through your veins. fuck, he was so hot.

“hmm… what about you, you worry about me?”

your eyes snap up, meeting his stormy, blue gaze. he’s looking at you with that damn smirk, whiskey swirling in his glass. he’s trying to get a rise out of you, using your obvious crush to tease you. you take a deep breath.

“of course i do, wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

the brunette man chuckles under his breath.

“well thanks for caring so much, sweetheart. cheers.”

he raises his whiskey towards you and takes a swig, nearly finished with the glass.

cheeks burning at the casual way he calls you the pet name, you take a sip of your water to steel your nerves, glass slick with condensation.

“don’t be stupid, you’re like my brother, chris.” you tease back at him.

he shifts back in his chair, turning so his lap is facing you, glass now empty. damn, he drinks fast. his gaze has turned darker, glazed over with an emotion you couldn’t identify.

“but i’m not your brother, y/n.” he states gruffly.

chris’s eyes rake over you, and a trickle of knowing sneaks into your brain; no, it couldn’t be. you’re clutching the edges of the island with white knuckles, tethering yourself through the coil of nervousness that churns in your stomach.

“no, you’re not. but i do really care for you, chris.” you respond breathlessly.

the hulking man moves himself closer to you, enclosing your smaller legs with his own. you try to hide how you’re trembling in front of him, not wanting to reveal just how shaky he’s got you.

his hand reaches out to rest on your thigh, leaning into your space.

“i care about you too. i think about you when i’m gone, your pretty face and how nervous you get around me.” chris breathes out lowly.

this felt like something out of your daydreams; head spinning, your ice cold glass is the only thing tethering you to reality. chris’s thumb starts making circles into your plush thighs and you breathe out shakily.

“you think i don’t notice how you clam up around me? it’s adorable.” the older man smiles down at you.

you’re still speechless, brain stalling while trying to comprehend the unreal situation in front of you. chris shakes his head to himself, still grinning.

“there it is, so cute. come here...”

he closes the distance between you two, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. chris’s lips meet yours in a gentle kiss, kneading his against yours tenderly.

you’re frozen at first, locked into place with disbelief. after the initial shock wears off, you tilt your chin to deepen the kiss, hungry to taste more of him. his tongue slips out, smoothing over your bottom lip before taking it into his mouth, suckling on it softly.

you moan into his mouth, unable to contain the elation that feels like it could burst from your chest. a tinge of worry sneaks into your brain, suddenly reminding you of the impossibility of your situation. you pull back from chris, heart stinging at the sudden absence.

“chris, we can’t, claire will be so mad at me…” you trail off breathlessly.

chris doesn’t pull back, staring intensely at you with his hypnotizing gaze.

“claire’s not here, sweetheart. she’s probably been passed out for a while, right?”

you swallow and nod, not able to lie to him. he cracks a smile, and pulls you in closer with his hand still resting on the nape of your neck.

“c’mon, let’s take this to the bedroom. don’t wanna wake her up.” chris rumbles to you lowly.

˚.⋆꒰১ ໒꒱⋆.˚

“fuck, baby, you feel amazing.” chris groans to you under his breath, careful not to raise his voice.

your brain is turning to mush, pinned underneath him in a prone bone position as he buries his thick cock deep inside of your fluttering pussy. the weight of him presses flush against you, muscles tensing as he plows into you with a force that makes your eyes roll into your head.

a whimper slips out of your throat, high and needy, and you instantly regret the noise. exhaling heavily, chris wraps his arm around to cover your mouth, a silent command to stay quiet.

your hands come up to grasp at his strong forearms, scrabbling for anything that can help you remain in reality. with each thrust, chris splits you in two, his cock bullying it’s shape into you over and over. it’s literally breaking your mind, all you can do is arch your back up to meet his thrusts and take it.

the soft plap plap of chris’s balls slapping your wet pussy and steady creak from his bed break the silence in the room as he stretches you out.

“such a good fucking girl, been waiting to feel this pussy for so long.” he growls, right above your ear.

a part of your cockdrunk mind registers his words, sending a gush of slickness to your messy cunt as you can only breathe out in desperate spurts. a bit of drool has collected at the sides of your mouth, coating chris’s palm.

keeping his hand clamped around your mouth, chris uses his other arm to flip you over onto your back, pushing your thighs apart and driving back into you effortlessly. you pant against his hand, unable to control yourself, not when his cock is glancing off of your cervix with every thrust.

as he pounds into you, chris reaches over your head to grab a lacy scrap of fabric; your panties, a damp spot at the gusset. balling them with his fist, you feel a sudden absence at your mouth. before you understand what’s coming, chris gently shoves the panties into your mouth, fingers resting on your bottom lip as he pushes them in.

your eyes are wide and glazed over with desire as you peer up at chris, spit already coating your underwear. it’s so indecent, so dirty, and so fucking hot. you were being pounded by your best friend’s brother, drooling on your own panties, trying to hide the noises that are being ripped from your throat as your orgasm mounts.

chris shifts his position, both hands free now. he presses your thighs back as far as they go, pushing your sopping wet pussy higher up and allowing him an even deeper angle to rut into you.

it doesn’t take much longer for chris’s strokes against your sensitive spot to send you into a spiral. your fingers scratch at his firm arms, searching for any purchase as he fucks you through your climax. a white hot wave uncoils from your stomach and you cum around his dumbly huge cock.

you clench around him, muscles feeling weak as they meet the resistance of his rock-hard cock. his strokes start getting erratic, chris barely taking his member out of your overstimulated pussy as he thrusts in and out. unable to take any more of your tight, wet walls, chris suddenly rips his cock free from your entrance with a wet pop, and his cum shoots onto your stomach, hot ropes hitting your trembling pelvis.

he pumps himself through climax, a deep groan emanating from his throat, barely audible in the dim bedroom. when he finally stills, he sits back on his knees, gazing over you with a lazy lust.

“that was even better than i imagined.” he admits to you, voice barely above a whisper.

you nod back at him weakly, feeling like a broken doll as you slowly come back to your senses. chris plops down next to you, taking you into his arms and pressing you close to his chest. you nuzzle into him, inhaling his delicious, musky scent.

he holds you close, rubbing his wide palms up and down your arms, and places a kiss on your forehead. you sigh with contentment, but a thought clouds your mind after a moment. pushing up your elbows you look at the brunette man worriedly.

“shit, i have to go, what if claire woke up, she’s probably wondering where the hell i am.” you stutter out, fear flooding your heart where desire had just been residing.

chris rubs the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed.

“i’m sure she’s still passed out, relax, baby.”

you push out of the bed, quickly grabbing your clothing tossed haphazardly onto the floor. as you dress, thoughts of claire’s reaction if she ever found out about this flood your mind.

chris sighs on the bed, shifting himself to sit on the edge. he watches you dress, appreciating the fleeting glimpse of your body as you shimmy back into your sleep t-shirt.

he stands up, reaching out to catch your wrist in his strong grip.

“sweetheart, if keeping a secret means this can happen again, you have my word. don’t worry, claire won’t find out.”

you gulp; part of you wants to accept his words without further thought, but another part of you knows just how messy this could get.

turning to face his door, your hand rests on the knob, twisting it open silently. you glance back at chris, feeling your heart soar as you remember how long you’ve waited for something like this to happen. your eyes meet his, finally able to stand under his gaze without melting into a nervous wreck.

“okay, it’s our little secret. goodnight, chris.” you whisper the last part to him and give him a small smile as you close the door behind you.

breathing in deeply, you tiptoe back towards claire’s bedroom, passing through the kitchen. you flick off the dim light as you think to yourself, emotions running rampant.

what did i get myself into…

𖥔. ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ 𖥔

requests are open ⋆˚꩜｡

[juniebjonesin]

ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ › bucky barnes is used to getting any girl he sets his sights on. a smile, a wink, a smooth line, it’s never taken much effort. then he meets you.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ › 40s!bucky x female reader ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ › 18+ MDNI strangers to friends to lovers, some fluff, flirty/playboy bucky turned loverboy, innocent reader, kinda uptown girl but not like rich or anything, smoker bucky, mentions of alcohol, brief angst, porn with SOME plot, but also plot what plot, lowk just porn with feelings, smut, p in v, virgin/inexperienced reader, lowk possessive bucky, minor corruption kink? fingering, oral sex ft munch bucky, dirty talking bucky barnes, pussy pronouns, missionary + bow, unprotected sex, creampie, soft aftercare, cigarettes after sex, not beta read we die like men. ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ › 10.7k

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ › 40s bucky how i love you so. ps i did nawt want to proofread this so i skimmed it not even gonna lie... #sosorry like once im done writing something i want it OUT of my head asap i dont want to look at it anymore. anyways thank u for reading enjoy xx

The bell above Moretti’s Candy Shop jingles sharp and bright when Bucky shoulders his way inside, carrying the cold autumn air in with him.

“Trouble,” Mrs. Moretti sighs immediately from behind the counter.

Bucky grins, easy as breathing. “You say that like you ain’t happy to see me.”

“I’d be happier seein’ the ten cents you still owe me, Barnes.”

“That was one time.”

“It was three times.”

The shop smells like chocolate and sugar and roasted nuts warming beneath glass lamps. Outside, Brooklyn groans along in its usual rhythm, trolley bells, men hollering across sidewalks, kids sprinting through puddles but in here everything feels softened somehow. Golden. Like the world’s been wrapped in wax paper and tied shut with string.

Bucky leans against the counter, halfway through another smart remark when he notices you.

And just like that, the rest of the room disappears.

You’re standing near the chocolate display case with your gloves folded neatly in your hands, staring through the glass with such genuine wonder it almost knocks the grin off his face.

Not overwhelmed or indecisive, you seem almost enchanted.

Your eyes drift slowly over every row like each candy’s worth considering properly. Caramels. Peppermints. Chocolate turtles. Then your attention catches on the Whoppers display, and stays there.

He almost laughs when he follows your gaze to them.

Cute, he thinks immediately.

Girls usually notice him first. Usually there’s lipstick smiles and fluttering lashes before he’s even crossed the room. He knows what he looks like, knows how his grin lands, knows exactly how long to hold eye contact before women start leaning toward him without realizing it.

But you don’t notice him at all. You’re still staring at the candy like it might hold the secrets of the universe.

Something about that hooks into him immediately as he steps over.

“Those your favorite?”

You blink hard, startled from your thoughts, then turn toward him.

And there it is.

That little pause that every girl gives him, but this one seems different. Not because you recognize him as handsome or because you’re flustered, you just hadn’t realized anyone was speaking to you.

“Oh,” you say softly. “Yes.”

Your voice is gentler than he expected, careful around the edges.

Bucky pushes off the counter and steps closer. “Want a box?”

Your eyes widen instantly. “No, it’s quite alright, I couldn’t possibly.”

“C’mon, doll.” He flashes the smile that usually works without fail. “How could I deny such a sweet girl a sweet treat?”

He expects blushing, maybe a nervous laugh. Instead, you look genuinely conflicted over the idea of him spending money on you.

“Well that’s very kind,” you tell him honestly, “but you really don’t have to.”

Bucky stares at you for half a second, then another.

Well. That’s new.

“Mrs. Moretti,” he calls, unable to stop grinning now, “gimme a box of Whoppers before this sweetheart talks herself outta it.”

Mrs. Moretti snorts loudly but slides the candy across the counter anyway.

“And a cannoli,” Bucky adds quickly.

Your head turns toward him. “Oh, no, truly—”

“Too late.”

He pays before you can protest again, then holds the small paper bag out toward you with exaggerated politeness.

“You really got this for me?” you ask.

“Nah,” he deadpans. “Bought it for the guy behind you.”

You laugh and that sound lands somewhere directly under his ribs. Not loud or practiced. Just soft and surprised, like you hadn’t expected him to be funny.

Bucky suddenly wants to hear it again.

Outside, Brooklyn glows amber beneath the sun. Laundry lines sway overhead between brick buildings. Somewhere down the block, someone’s radio crackles out jazz muffled by static.

You take a careful bite of the cannoli as the two of you step onto the sidewalk, then immediately freeze as cream spills out the other side onto your glove.

“Oh goodness—sorry,” you murmur, horrified. “I made a mess.”

Bucky looks at you.

At the powdered sugar dusting your mouth, the cream threatening to drip onto your sleeve, the embarrassment blooming across your face over something so small.

His brain stops functioning.

“Don’t apologize,” he says immediately, a little too seriously for someone he just met ten minutes ago.

“I just—”

“It’s a cannoli,” he says, clearing his throat. “They’re uh, they're structurally unsound.”

That earns another laugh. And there it is again, that strange feeling settling low in his chest, not lust exactly but something softer than that.

You wipe at your glove carefully, still embarrassed. “I’m making quite the first impression, aren't I.”

“Oh, believe me,” Bucky mutters before he can stop himself, “you are.”

But you don’t seem to catch it. Instead, you just smile politely and continue walking beside him down the sidewalk like this is all perfectly ordinary. Like handsome men buy you candy and pastries every day.

Bucky decides almost immediately that he doesn’t want the conversation to end, so he keeps finding reasons for it not to. He points out the bakery on the corner because “their cheesecake could start a war.” He walks slower whenever you stop to admire storefronts. He offers you his arm when an old woman barrels past with a grocery cart and nearly clips your shoulder.

You take it without hesitation.

“Oh,” you say softly, looping your arm through his. “Thank you.”

Bucky glances down at your hand resting against his sleeve and his heartbeat stumbles oddly.

Usually this part’s easy. Usually flirting feels like muscle memory. Lean closer, smirk a little, call her doll in that lower voice that always works. But you accept every bit of it with such innocent sincerity that it keeps throwing him off balance.

“You always this sweet?” he asks after a while.

You nod thoughtfully. “I do like sugar, yes. But I don't get to eat to very often.”

Bucky chokes on air.

“…Jesus Christ.”

Your brows pull together. “What?”

“Nothin’, doll.”

Because clearly you think he means literal sweetness, and somehow that’s even worse, or better. He can’t tell anymore.

The afternoon stretches unexpectedly around the two of you. You wander through Brooklyn side streets while the sun lowers warm and lazy across the buildings. You stop outside record stores and flower stands and little grocers with apples stacked in wooden crates out front.

And all the while, Bucky keeps trying.

He leans too close while talking and you just look up at him attentively. He calls you doll every other sentence and you smile like you think it’s genuinely affectionate. He flashes smirks sharp enough to cut glass and you return them with polite warmth, entirely unaffected.

“You’re very nice, Mr. Barnes,” you tell him eventually.

Bucky nearly trips over the curb.

“Nice?”

“Well yes.” You glance at him earnestly. “Handsome too, but mostly nice.”

Handsome too. Mostly nice.

Bucky stares at you outright now. Your voice held no teasing lilt, no coyness, you said it like you’re discussing the weather and something inside him short-circuits completely.

Because by now he knows for a fact you have no idea what he’s doing.

“Doll,” he says slowly, “you know I’m layin’ it on thick, right?”

You blink.

“…Laying it on?”

Silence.

Then Bucky laughs so suddenly and loudly a passing couple turns to stare, not in a mocking sense but genuinely delighted. You look confused enough that it only makes him laugh harder.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head, “you really don’t know I've been flirting you?”

“I assumed you were being friendly.”

“I am bein’ friendly.”

“That seems normal.”

“Normal?” He stares at you. “I bought you candy fifteen minutes after meetin’ you.”

“Well… yes.”

“And?”

“You seemed very determined about it.”

Bucky rubs a hand down his jaw, trying unsuccessfully to hide another grin.

This should annoy him. It should. But instead he feels strangely fascinated, like he’s spent his whole life learning one language only to discover you speak something entirely different.

“So no fella’s ever taken you out before?” he asks carefully.

“Not really.”

The answer comes without self-pity, just honesty and Bucky’s chest tightens unexpectedly.

“What d’you mean not really?”

You shrug lightly. “I suppose men don’t usually notice me that way.”

Bucky stops walking altogether, making you turn toward him curiously as he just looks at you in complete disbelief. At your soft mouth faintly lined with your lipstick, at your bright eyes, at the way strangers glance at you as they pass without you ever seeming aware of it.

“That oughta be illegal,” he mutters.

You laugh again, warm and startled and sweet enough to ruin him slowly.

Somewhere between the candy shop and the golden Brooklyn sidewalks and the way your hand still rests trustingly against his arm, Bucky realizes something unsettling, he stopped flirting for sport an hour ago. Now he’s doing it because he genuinely likes the way you smile when he speaks. Because he wants to keep hearing your laugh mingle with the evening traffic. Because watching you move through the world feels a little like standing near candlelight, soft and gentle and impossible not to lean toward.

And Bucky Barnes is not known for leaning toward things gently.

Which is how, sometime after you’ve finished your cannoli and the Whoppers box is tucked safely under your arm like it’s something fragile, you both turn a corner and run straight into trouble in the form of Steve Rogers and the rest of the Commandos.

They’re all there—loud, sprawling across the sidewalk like they own it.

“Barnes!” one of them calls immediately. “Where’ve you been?”

Then Steve sees you and something in his expression shifts instantly into knowing.

“Oh,” Steve says slowly. “Oh, that’s where.”

Bucky groans under his breath. “Don’t start.”

Another one of them whistles low. “Barnes buying candy for a girl? End times.”

Bucky, of course, straightens immediately, protective without thinking.

“Leave him alone,” you add gently, glancing between them. “He’s just being kind to me.”

The group goes quiet for half a beat, then someone mutters, “Kind?”

Steve’s mouth twitches like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Bucky, meanwhile, stops breathing properly, because you said it so simply. Like there was no other explanation, like the idea that he might be doing anything else never even crossed your mind.

He looks at you then and it’s unfair how easy it is to forget everyone else exists when you’re standing that close.

The Commandos keep talking behind him as they walk by, but Bucky doesn’t hear a word of it anymore.

All he hears is the soft cadence of your voice still echoing in his head.

Just being kind to me.

That word lands heavier than anything else today. Kinder than flirtation, kinder than charm, kinder than every practiced thing he’s ever used to get someone to look at him twice. He realizes, with faint shock, that he wants to be that to you. Not some impressive or smooth flirt, just kind.

Eventually Steve clears his throat loudly from behind you. “You walkin’ her home, Barnes, or standin’ there makin’ heart eyes in the middle of the sidewalk?”

“I am absolutely not makin’ heart eyes,” Bucky says automatically.

You glance up at him and his words die immediately.

“…We’re walkin’,” he finishes weakly.

“Good,” Steve says, already grinning. “Try not to break anything on the way.”

Bucky flips him off without looking away from you.

You don’t seem to notice the tension at all. Just adjust your grip on the candy box and smile faintly like this is still just a normal afternoon walk, and somehow that makes everything worse.

The walk to your building takes longer than it should.

Bucky slows down without meaning to and you match him perfectly.

Brooklyn shifts around you in its usual evening rhythm, windows glowing warm, radios humming behind curtains, the smell of dinner drifting out of open doors but between the two of you everything feels strangely contained.

“I had a very nice time today,” you say eventually, glancing up at him.

Bucky swallows. “Yeah?”

“You’re very kind.”

That word again.

It hits him harder this time, right in the center of his chest. He looks away for half a second, jaw tightening slightly like he’s trying to figure out how to respond to something he’s never been called before in a way that mattered.

“Kind,” he repeats quietly, like he's testing whether he deserves it.

You stop in front of your apartment building steps as the streetlamp above flickers softly, casting gold light over your face. For a moment neither of you moves, then Bucky shifts, suddenly more uncertain than he’s been all day.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course,” you answer immediately.

He hesitates, this is the part where he usually knows exactly what to say, instead, he feels seventeen different versions of himself arguing at once. He steps closer without thinking, seemingly too close, making your breath catch faintly.

He notices it immediately, the tiny shift in your posture, the nervousness flickering across your face. You’re not used to this part. The closeness, the intention that comes with it.

“Sorry,” he says softer, almost immediately stepping back half an inch like he’s correcting a mistake he didn’t want to make, “I uh—.”

You exhale quietly, watching as Bucky drags a hand through his hair, looking away for a second like he’s regrouping. Then, carefully he speaks up.

“Can I do this properly?”

You blink. “Properly?”

He looks back at you then, all teasing gone for a moment.

“Can I take you out tomorrow night?”

Your eyes widen slightly.

“…Like a date?”

“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter now. “Like a date.”

You look at him for a long moment, then your smile returns—small, but real.

“I think I’d like that very much.”

Something in Bucky’s chest loosens all at once, like a knot he didn’t know he was holding.

“Yeah?” he asks, almost stupidly.

You nod and that’s it, that’s all it takes. Bucky steps back, already grinning like he’s lost all sense of self-preservation.

“Tomorrow,” he says, pointing at you like he’s making a promise he fully intends to keep, “I’m pickin’ you up at seven.”

“I’ll be ready,” you reply softly.

He turns to leave, walking backwards for a second because he can’t quite make himself stop looking at you. Then he finally turns around properly after you give him a soft wave goodbye, and immediately starts grinning wider.

The Commandos are still waiting down the street when he finds them. Steve takes one look at his face and sighs.

“Oh no.”

Bucky doesn’t even try to hide it. He shoves his hands in his pockets, still smiling like an idiot.

“Fellas,” he says lightly, “I’m in serious trouble.”

Bucky doesn’t sleep much that night, at least not properly.

He lies on his back staring at the ceiling, replaying the day in fragments he can’t seem to organize into anything sensible. Your voice, your laugh. The way you looked at candy like it was something magical. And worse than all of it, powdered sugar on your mouth, cannoli cream on your lips and the way you’d apologized for it like it was a crime.

He turns onto his side, groans into his pillow, then sits up like the bed has personally betrayed him.

“Get it together,” he mutters to himself.

But the problem is… he is together.

That’s the issue. He just isn’t used to what it feels like when someone looks at him like he’s safe instead of interesting. So in the morning, Bucky Barnes does the only thing he can think to do, be a man of his word.

He decides to do it properly.

No shortcuts, no charm tricks, no easy grin and leaned-in confidence.

A real date.

Which is how Steve finds him hunched over a small, slightly chaotic pile of wildflowers behind a Brooklyn fence line.

“Are you pickin’ flowers now?” Steve asks flatly.

Bucky doesn’t look up. “Shut up.”

Steve leans against the fence post, arms crossed. “That for the girl?”

“Yes.”

“You know you could just buy ‘em like a normal person.”

“I don’t have money right now for fancy bouquets.”

“That’s not the point.”

Bucky finally straightens, holding the uneven bundle like it might fall apart if he breathes wrong. “It is to me.”

Steve studies him for a long moment, something softer flickering beneath the teasing.

Then he sighs. “You’re in trouble, pal.”

Bucky huffs. “Yeah. I said that already.”

But he doesn’t feel like running from it, not even a little.

By the time evening rolls around, he’s checked his reflection in every shop window he passes twice. He fixes his tie, adjusts his jacket, runs a hand through his hair, then immediately second-guesses it and smooths it back down again. The flowers are wrapped in paper he stole, respectfully stole, from a corner stand. They’re not perfect, a few stems are uneven, one bloom is slightly bent.

He hopes they’re enough.

Outside your building, Bucky pauses as he exhales once. Then knocks.

When the door opens, everything inside him stops. You’re standing there in soft light, hair pinned back neatly, expression shifting the moment you see him. And you light up like it’s involuntary.

Bucky forgets how to breathe for a second.

“Hi,” you say, smiling.

“Hi,” he manages back.

Then he lifts the flowers slightly, suddenly unsure of everything in the universe.

“Those are for me?” you ask, voice soft with surprise.

“Unless your neighbor’s awful pretty,” he says automatically.

You laugh, stepping forward immediately to take them.

“They’re beautiful,” you murmur, already burying your nose in them gently. “Oh… and they smell wonderful.”

Bucky watches you like he’s forgotten how to look anywhere else.

“I, uh,” he starts, then clears his throat. “Yeah. Picked ‘em myself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Your smile softens in a way that makes him feel strangely proud.

“I’ll find a jar,” you say quickly. “Wait just a moment.”

You disappear inside, flowers clutched carefully to your chest like they’re something priceless. Bucky stays standing there in the doorway slightly stunned. He hears movement inside, cabinet doors opening, water running, your quiet little hum as you arrange them.

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until his cheeks start to hurt.

Before you leave, your sister appears briefly in the hallway. Older, sharper-eyed. The kind of woman who looks like she’s already decided what kind of trouble someone is before they speak.

Her gaze lands on Bucky immediately.

“Bucky Barnes?” she asks.

He straightens instinctively. “Yes, ma’am.”

She looks him over once then turns to you.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

You hesitate. “Of course.”

She pulls you aside just enough that Bucky can’t hear everything, but not enough that he doesn’t feel it. Her voice is lower when she speaks.

“Be careful." She says.

You blink. “What?”

“Boys like him don't settle down. Sure he’s charming and handsome, but he's just a sweet talker.” Her mouth tightens. “He just wants a good time, so don’t go getting your hopes up.”

Bucky can’t hear the exact words, but he sees your expression shift slightly and something in his stomach turns uneasy.

When you return, you’re still smiling—but quieter now, careful in a way you weren’t before.

“Ready?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” he says, though his voice comes out softer than he means it to.

Dinner settles into something Bucky doesn’t recognize at first.

It’s quiet.

Not empty, but softened around the edges like the whole world has decided to behave itself for once. Soft jazz drifts from somewhere near the ceiling, curling through candlelight and clinking silverware. The room hums with conversation that never quite reaches your table.

And for the first time all day, Bucky Barnes isn’t scanning anything. His eyes aren't darting around the room looking for exits or other women, something quick to catch his attention.

Just you.

You, sitting across from him with your hands wrapped around a glass of water like it’s something grounding. You, talking in that gentle, thoughtful way of yours that keeps catching him off guard. He realizes halfway through your story about your aunt’s ridiculous attempt at baking bread that he hasn’t looked away once.

Not once. And maybe worse, he doesn’t want to.

You laugh at your own memory, shaking your head slightly. “It was practically a brick. We had to slice it with a knife meant for meat.”

Bucky smiles without thinking. “Sounds dangerous.”

“It was emotionally damaging.”

That makes him laugh for real.

And then you smile back at him, that small, bright, effortless smile and something in his chest shifts again. Because he likes this, not the performance of him, not the usual rhythm of charm and response and winning someone over. He likes this.

You talking, rambling softly when you get comfortable, pausing like you’re thinking too hard before continuing anyway. And every time you say his name, Bucky, like it’s just another word instead of something that usually comes wrapped in attention and expectation he feels it settle somewhere warm and unfamiliar.

Bucky Barnes, who usually knows exactly what he’s doing with people, finds himself doing something far more dangerous, imagining. Not in a loud way. In quiet flashes between bites of food and sips of coffee, a small bouquet of flowers on a table that isn’t a restaurant, you at a kitchen counter, hair slightly messy, laughing at something he said. A door opening at the end of a long day and you looking up like it matters that he came home.

He shifts slightly in his seat, almost like the thought physically disorients him.

Impossible things.

And yet they come anyway.

After dinner, the night pulls the two of you deeper into Brooklyn’s glow. Neon signs flicker awake, streetlamps paint everything gold and blue. Somewhere down the block, music spills out of a club like a living thing.

“You seen the new picture show over on Fulton?” Bucky asks as you walk.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Then you’re goin’.”

You glance up at him. “Is that an order?”

“Absolutely.”

You laugh softly, like you’re still not used to how easily he says things like that. The theater is older with slightly worn velvet seats, the faint smell of popcorn and wood polish, flickering light that makes everything feel softer than it should. Bucky buys the tickets without hesitation, you try to argue but he ignores you in the best way possible.

Inside, you sit close but not touching. Close enough that he’s aware of you constantly, that every small movement you make registers like it matters.

Halfway through the film, something changes on screen, the lights dim all soft and emotional, the kind of scene that doesn’t need words. He feels you go still beside him and when he glances over, your eyes are glossy in the dim light.

You’re trying to be subtle about it. You are not succeeding.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just reaches into his pocket slowly and pulls out his handkerchief and without a word, gently offers it toward you.

You turn toward him and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then you take it carefully, fingers brushing his and in the dark, you smile at him softly. Like he did something important without realizing it. Bucky looks back at the screen, but he doesn’t see it anymore, he just feels the moment settle between you like something fragile and real. And he never wants it to end.

The picture ends on a cliffhanger that has the whole theater groaning as the lights flick back on. Outside, the city opens up again. Cool night air, bright lights reflecting off wet pavement. The distant echo of music from clubs and cafés and street corners all blending into one living rhythm.

You walk beside him slowly, a little quieter now that the night has come to its end.

Bucky notices.

He glances down at you. “You alright?”

You nod. “Yes. It was… very nice.”

“Yeah?”

You smile faintly. “You’re very kind.”

That word again.

Kind.

It lands differently now. He doesn’t know why, maybe it’s the way you say it like it still surprises you, like it still feels new. Bucky opens his mouth to respond, but you stop walking. You've tried to fight it all night, tried to push the words far back into your head. But everything feels like a double edged sword, and if you don't do something now, you'll both get cut.

“I just…” you start softly, then hesitate.

He turns toward you fully.

You look down at your hands. “You really don’t have to pretend with me.”

Bucky blinks. “Pretend?”

You glance up, nervous now. “I know boys like you don’t mean anything by this sort of thing.”

Silence. It drops so fast it almost feels physical.

Bucky stares at you and for the first time all day, his expression isn’t teasing or amused or carefully controlled. It’s hurt, deep, immediate and unmistakably hurt.

“Boys like me?” he repeats slowly.

You realize instantly something is wrong.

“I didn’t mean— I just meant—”

He gestures vaguely between the flowers, the dinner, the theater still glowing behind you both.

“You think I do this with every girl?”

Your mouth opens, then closes again. Because you don’t know, you just assumed, because your sister said he’s Bucky Barnes and people talk about him like they know him before he even speaks.

“Sweetheart,” he says quieter now, but sharper in a different way, “I picked those flowers myself.”

You freeze and he exhales through his nose, looking away for a second like he’s trying to steady something in himself.

“I ain’t ever done this before,” he admits. “Not like this.”

That hits harder than anything else tonight, you stare at him now, like you’re recalibrating something you thought you understood.

“But everyone says—” you start.

“Yeah. I know what everyone says.” Bucky cuts in immediately, voice low. "But I only do this unless I mean it."

The street hums around you both, cars pass by, music drifts on the wind, lights flicker in the distance. But between the two of you, everything feels suddenly suspended. The silence doesn’t leave right away, it just changes shape. It stretches between you and Bucky in the middle of the sidewalk, softened only by passing headlights and the distant laugh of strangers who don’t know they’re walking through something fragile.

Bucky doesn’t look away from you.

I don’t do this unless I mean it.

It should’ve sounded smooth and confident. Instead it just sounds… exposed. Because the truth of it sits heavier now that it’s out in the open. He watches your face carefully, like he’s waiting for you to decide something about him, and for the first time all day, he realizes that matters. Not casually, not in the way flirting usually matters, but in a way that sits deep under his ribs and doesn’t move.

Your expression is quiet, thoughtful in that way you get when you’re trying to understand something honestly. He swallows once, then looks away briefly like the night air might help him think straighter, but it doesn’t.

It only makes everything quieter.

“I don’t like that,” he says finally.

You blink. “What?”

He gestures vaguely, frustration threading through his voice now—not at you, but at something older.

“What they say. About me.”

You don’t interrupt, you just listen and that alone is enough to make his chest tighten. Bucky exhales slowly, because this is new for him too. Saying it, not laughing it off, not playing it into something charming.

“People think they’ve got me figured out,” he says. “Think I just—” he huffs a short laugh without humor, “—go around Brooklyn collecting girls like it’s nothin’.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“And maybe I used to let ‘em think that.”

That lands differently in the air between you.

“But I’m tired of it,” he says quietly.

Bucky continues before he can talk himself out of it.

“Tired of it all blurring together,” he admits. “Tired of it not meaning anything.”

His eyes flick over your face again, more careful now, more intentional.

“And I think…” He hesitates, like the next part is the hardest thing he’s said all night. “I think I’m tired of not being taken seriously.”

That one settles heavier. You don’t speak yet. So he keeps going, because stopping now feels impossible.

“Maybe I don’t wanna be that guy anymore.” His voice drops slightly.

That guy. The one people assume things about, the one who never stays, the one who never gets understood correctly because no one bothers to look twice. The words hang there, raw and unpolished.

You shift slightly on your feet and when you finally speak, your voice is soft.

“What kind of guy do you want to be then?”

Bucky stills.

That question shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, but it does, the way you asked him like you really want to know, the way your eyes never leave his as he looks at you. The city lights catch your face in soft gold and shadow, painting the curve of your cheekbones, the faint red of your lips still slightly brighter from the theater lights, the way you stand there holding his honesty like it’s something you’re willing to carry for a moment without dropping it.

And something inside him clicks. Like a door deciding it’s been open long enough to let something new inside. Bucky takes a slow breath, then another and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter than before.

“The guy,” he says, nodding faintly toward you like the answer has been standing in front of him all night, “that gets to do this with you every night for the rest of my life.”

Silence falls again, but this one is different. It isn’t heavy or tense. It feels like something settling into place that neither of you fully understands yet, but neither of you wants to move away from.

Bucky doesn’t smile, not yet. He just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting to see if he’s gone too far. If he’s said too much, if the version of him he’s choosing now is one you can stand to look at. And for the first time since he met you in that candy shop, James Buchanan Barnes isn’t trying to win anything.

He’s just waiting.

For you.

"I think I'd like that."

Two months don’t feel like two months to Bucky Barnes.

They feel like a rhythm he accidentally fell into and never bothered climbing out of. Mornings start with the same thought: What time can I see her? Evenings end with the same realization: Not long enough. And everything in between just becomes space he has to get through.

He shows up at your apartment more often than he means to. Not in a dramatic way, just like he happened to be nearby. Which is a lie, he crosses half of Brooklyn for it.

“Bucky,” you’d say sometimes, opening the door already smiling, “you live nowhere near here.”

He’d shrug like it doesn’t matter. “Was in the neighborhood.”

“You were in the neighborhood three days in a row?”

“Brooklyn’s a big place, doll.”

You’d just laugh and let him in.

And that’s the problem. You always let him in.

Diners become routine. Milkshakes split between two straws that you pretend not to notice he always lets you have the first sip of. Walks that start with him offering his arm and end with your hand still resting there long after it’s necessary. Movie nights where you lean slightly closer each time you get nervous during a scene, and Bucky pretends he doesn’t notice how carefully you do it. Flowers every week. Sometimes wild. Sometimes bought if he could pinch it. Sometimes just picked from somewhere he absolutely shouldn’t have been picking flowers.

You always put them in a jar immediately. Always smile like they matter. And Bucky changes without noticing, he stops looking at other women entirely, not because he’s forcing himself not to.

Because he just… doesn’t see them the same way anymore. Not when you exist in his world now, softening all the edges.

Steve notices first, then the Commandos, then basically anyone who’s ever known him longer than five minutes.

“You’re smiling more,” Steve says once, watching him across a table.

“I always smile.”

“No,” Steve says, “you don’t.”

Bucky just shrugs. Because what’s he supposed to say? That he likes the way you say his name like it’s something you trust? That he’s started thinking about ridiculous things like whether you’d like a porch someday, or a kitchen with too much sunlight, or a life where he doesn’t leave as often as he does?

He doesn’t say any of it, but it’s there anyway.

Tonight, he’s early.

Which is stupid, because he’s always early now. He’s at the bar having a drink and smoke with the Commandos, but he’s not really with them.

He’s angled toward the door, elbow on the counter, sleeves already adjusted three times, hair smoothed back once, then twice, then abandoned entirely because it keeps falling anyway as Steve watches him with growing disbelief.

“You’re worse than a kid waiting for Christmas,” Steve mutters.

Bucky doesn’t look away from the door. “Shut up.”

“You’ve checked that door eight times in five minutes.”

“It might’ve changed since the last time I looked.”

“Bucky.”

“I’m busy.”

The door opens and he straightens instantly. Not you. His shoulders drop a fraction as he sits back down.

The teasing starts almost immediately.

“Two months huh?” one of them says, grinning. “This one’s got it bad.”

“Must be real good if Barnes is still around.”

“You finally settle down?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but there’s a stupid softness to his mouth that gives him away immediately.

“Knock it off.”

The laughter builds.

“What’s the catch, Barnes?”

“C’mon, what are you gettin’ out of this?”

“Ain’t no way you’re behaving this long without somethin’ in return.”

Bucky exhales, finally turning fully toward them and for once, he doesn’t joke. Not even a little.

“Nothing’s happened between us yet.”

The table goes quiet. A beat. Then howling ensures.

“You’re kiddin’.”

“Celibate Bucky Barnes?”

“I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Someone nearly chokes on their drink.

Bucky shrugs slightly, like it’s not a big deal, but his voice goes quieter when he adds on.

“I like her.”

That shuts them up for half a second longer.

“I don’t wanna mess it up,” he says, “by goin’ in headfirst.”

And just like that, the teasing explodes again.

“Look at him.”

“He’s gone.”

“Man’s fighting for his life.”

“You hear this? Barnes is soft.”

Bucky laughs under his breath despite himself, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah—laugh it up.”

And that’s when it happens, the door opens again, Bucky doesn’t look right away still half-laughing, still mid-protest, then he hears the sound of the room shifting slightly.

Someone going quiet and he turns. You’re standing just inside holding your bag, still in your coat and completely still. Not smiling, not walking toward him. Just listening. For a second, Bucky doesn’t understand then he sees it. Your expression. Something flickering there, uncertainty, confusion, something tightening at the edges of your face like you’ve just heard something you weren’t meant to.

His smile fades immediately.

“Hey,” he starts, already pushing his chair back.

But you don’t come closer. You take one step back instead, then another, quiet and careful.

“Doll—” Bucky stands fully now.

But you’re already turning to leave, the door swings open, and you’re gone. He’s out of the bar so fast it barely feels like a decision. Brooklyn air hits him like a slap, cold, sharp, and real and for a second he just stands there, scanning the sidewalk like the world might give you back if he looks hard enough.

“Doll?” he calls.

Nothing.

“Hi.”

He turns.

You’re a few steps down the sidewalk, hugging your coat tightly around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together with it. Streetlight catches your face in soft gold, but it doesn’t soften the expression there.

Not really.

Bucky’s chest tightens immediately.

He crosses the space between you in a few quick steps. “Hey—no, hey, listen to me,” he says, already shaking his head like he can undo whatever just happened inside by sheer force of will. “Don’t listen to those idiots in there. They don’t know when to shut up.”

Your gaze flickers up to him, then away again just as fast.

“It’s alright,” you say softly. “Really.”

But it isn’t alright, not in the way he knows you mean.

Because your arms are wrapped around yourself too tightly. Because your smile is there, but it doesn’t reach anything. Because you look like you’re already somewhere farther away than the sidewalk you’re standing on.

And Bucky notices everything, too much, sometimes.

“Hey,” he says again, quieter now. “You ready to go?”

A pause.

“…Yeah.”

That’s it.

No teasing, no warmth, no easy rhythm. Just agreement, and it scares him more than anything else tonight.

It's all wrong.

That’s the only way Bucky can think to describe it. Brooklyn is still alive around you, windows glowing, distant laughter, the low hum of traffic, but between you and him there’s a silence that feels heavy instead of soft. He walks slower than usual without realizing it. You don’t take his arm, but your hand finds his anyway just barely. Just fingers brushing, then settling.

Bucky holds it like it’s something fragile.

He keeps glancing at you, waiting for you to look back, you don’t. You’re staring down at your joined hands instead, like you’re trying to figure something out in them. And your thoughts, if he could hear them, would be too loud.

Maybe your sister was right.

Maybe this was always going somewhere you don’t belong.

Maybe he’s just being patient because eventually he’ll expect more.

And maybe you’re already disappointing him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything. Because something about your silence tells him words might break whatever thread is holding you upright right now. So he just walks you home, step by step, closer than usual and quieter than ever.

By the time your building comes into view, something in you has tightened so much it feels like it might snap.

You stop walking, Bucky stops immediately with you.

“Buck…” your voice is barely above the street noise.

“Yeah?” He turns toward you fully.

You swallow hard. “Maybe… we shouldn’t do this anymore.”

Everything stops. Bucky freezes completely, like the words physically catch him mid-step.

“What?” he says, but it’s not sharp, more confused than anything.

You look down, finally letting go of his hand so slowly, like it costs you something.

“I don’t think I’m good for you,” you say.

That lands harder than anything else tonight. Bucky stares at you like he’s trying to understand a language he thought he already knew.

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “where is this comin’ from?”

You shake your head slightly, still not meeting his eyes.

“You deserve someone who can make you happy,” you say. “Someone better.”

Bucky lets out a short breath like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“That’s not—no,” he says immediately, stepping half a step closer before stopping himself. “No, that’s not how this works.”

You finally look up at him and whatever he sees there makes his voice soften instantly. Because you look scared. Not of him but of yourself.

“You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, like it should be obvious.

You blink, once, then again. And then it spills out of you before you can stop it.

“I can’t make you happy, Buck,” you say, voice cracking slightly. “I can’t give you what you want, I can’t—I can’t… make you feel good.”

Silence hits again, but this time, Bucky understands exactly where it came from. His expression changes all at once, his frustration disappears, his confusion sharpens into something quieter. Something knowing as the pieces fall into place.

The Commandos. The bar. The teasing.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Babydoll…”

The way he says it now is different.

“I want you,” he says gently. “I’m happy with you just like this. None of that matters to me anymore, okay?”

Your breath shakes slightly but you don’t look convinced. Instead, something inside you finally breaks open.

“Well it matters to me!” you burst out, voice suddenly raw. “I want to, I just—I don’t know how. And I'm scared you're going to leave just because I’ve never—”

You stop but it's too late. Bucky goes completely still and everything clicks into place so fast it almost hurts. Why you flinch sometimes when he gets too close. Why you always hesitate before a kiss even when you want them. Why you look like you’re bracing for something you think you’re supposed to be able to give.

Why you’re standing here right now looking ashamed of something you never should’ve had to explain.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “You’re okay.”

Your eyes are glossy now, but you’re still trying to hold it together. Bucky doesn’t move closer doesn’t rush you. Just stays right where he is so you don’t feel cornered.

“Your parents home?” he asks softly.

You blink, thrown slightly by the question.

“What? Oh… no. They went to my sister’s ballet recital. They won’t be back until later.”

Bucky nods once then gives you a small, warm smile and gently threads his fingers through yours.

“C’mon,” he says quietly, squeezing your hand just once, just enough to ground you. “Let’s go talk inside.”

Inside your apartment, everything feels quieter in a different way.

Not the heavy silence from outside but something softer, contained with warmth between you. You close the door behind Bucky like you’re sealing the world out, then immediately seem to remember yourself again, nervous energy flickering back in.

“Okay,” you say quickly, brushing a hand over your sleeve. “Um—this is the living room. Obviously. And that’s the kitchen, and—”

Bucky just watches you, following your voice like it’s something grounding. You move a little faster now, pointing things out like you need the space filled with words so you don’t have to think too hard about anything else.

“This is my mother’s glass cabinet, don’t touch that one, she’ll know, and—oh.”

You stop because Bucky is already in the kitchen holding two small glasses, and the apple brandy bottle.

He glances over his shoulder innocently. “What?”

You blink. “Bucky.”

He raises a brow. “What?”

“That’s my mother’s.”

“I know.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can,” he says simply, already pouring.

You let out a sound of disbelief. “You are unbelievable.”

He slides one glass toward you. “Relax, doll. I’ll replace it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is tonight.”

You stare at him for a second longer, then sigh, like you’ve decided arguing with him is pointless.

“Fine,” you say. “But you’re explaining this to her if she notices.”

“Deal.”

You hesitate, then take the glass anyway. That alone makes something in his chest ease.

You lead him toward your bedroom after that, slower now, more uncertain at the edges. Not running anymore, just settling. The room is small. Warm and lived in. A book on your bedside table, a folded sweater on the chair, soft lamplight that makes everything feel like it belongs only to you.

Bucky doesn’t sit right away. He just leans against the dresser, watching as you set your glass down carefully like you’re still trying to figure out what this moment is supposed to be.

You take a sip, then another. Waiting until your chest grows warm.

“I'm sorry about earlier,” you say quietly.

Bucky’s expression softens immediately. “What?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the glass.

“I’ve… never done any of this before.” You glance up at him, cheeks warm now. “I mean—anything like this. Dating. Being… like this with someone.”

Silence stretches gently. Then, more spills out, almost like you need to get it out before you lose courage.

“And you were my first kiss.”

Bucky goes still in a way that isn’t shock, it’s something gentler and more careful. You rush on quickly, as if afraid of what the truth might do in the open air.

“I just thought you should know. In case I’m—awkward. Or—”

“Hey,” he cuts in softly as he pushes off the dresser and steps closer, slow enough that you can stop him if you want to.

You don’t.

“Look at me,” he says gently.

You do and his expression is steady now. No teasing anywhere in it.

"You don't ever have to apologize to me. For anything."

“I like you a lot, Bucky,” you say suddenly, like it’s been sitting in you too long to hold back anymore.

Something in his face shifts immediately, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I like you too, babydoll,” he says quietly.

Your breath catches.

You swallow. “I can’t promise it’ll be any good but—”

Bucky doesn’t let you finish, he leans in and kisses you. It's not rushed or demanding, just soft and gentle. Like he’s waiting for you the entire time, making sure you’re still there with him, still okay, still choosing this. When he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, your eyes are wide.

“Don’t…” he whispers, “don’t say that.”

You pause, slightly stunned by the kiss. “Okay.”

A beat, then, softer:

“Can I kiss you again?”

You hesitate only a second then nod.

This time, when he kisses you, it’s a little less uncertain, still gentle and patient. But warmer now, like something between you is finally starting to trust the moment instead of question it. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push for anything more he just stays close enough that you can decide how much you want.

And eventually, you do loosen up slowly. Like your shoulders finally remember they don’t have to stay tight. You laugh a little under your breath at something he mumbles against your lips, and he smiles against you in response. When you pull back again slightly, breath uneven, he rests his forehead briefly against yours.

“That okay?” he asks softly.

You nod again, then your voice goes quieter.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I do,” he says gently.

You huff a soft laugh. “That’s not really comforting.”

“It should be,” he replies, a hint of warmth returning. “I’m real good at not rushin’ things.”

And he is, he stays exactly where you need him to, no pressure behind his precense. Eventually, you end up sitting on the edge of your bed together, close enough that your shoulders brush. Your glass is forgotten somewhere on the nightstand and Bucky’s hand finds yours again without thinking.

"I want to try…" you can't make the words out with a deep red blush crossing your face. "And I trust you."

"Good." Bucky hums, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "We'll go slow."

When you shift slightly closer, he lets you guide the space between you, like learning something new together instead of taking anything from you. When your nose brushes his, you tug lightly at your sleeve, suddenly self-conscious.

“I feel like I should be… more dressed for this,” you admit quietly. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be wearing.”

Bucky looks at you like the question itself doesn’t make sense then he shakes his head slightly.

“Doll,” he says softly, “you could be wearing a potato sack and it wouldn’t matter.”

You blink at him as he leans in just a little, brushing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Just you,” he says quietly. “That’s all I need.”

You nod as he kisses you again. The kiss started slow, almost hesitant, but the moment Bucky’s hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head just so, it deepened into something more. You'd heard of desire in life, how it can warp the thoughts and actions of even the most resilient. But this, this burning ebb and flow deep within you was something else entirely. It had to be. It was as if a switch flipped inside you, your body felt magnetized to his, pushing closer and closer until there wasn't an inch of space between you.

His lips were warm, insistent, and when he pulled back just enough to murmur against your mouth. "Can I touch you?" 

You could only nod as his fingers traced a slow path down your thigh, the fabric of your dress bunching under his palm as he slid higher, his thumb brushing bare skin. You shivered, arching into him, your hands clutching at his shirt yearning for more.

Bucky smirked, catching your wrist. "Go ahead," he murmurs, guiding your hand down his chest.

Your thumb slipped beneath his shirt, your breath hitching at the hard planes of muscle beneath your fingertips. He was lean but solid, every ridge of his abdomen making your pulse jump.

His lips were still on yours when his fingers returned, teasing the damp fabric of your panties again. “Already this wet for me?” he mutters, voice rough against your mouth. “God, I can feel how hot you are through these.”

You whimper, arching into his touch. “Please, just—”

“Just what, sweetheart?” His thumb presses harder, circling your clit through the silk. “Tell me what you want.”

You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. “Touch me properly—God, Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he growls, hooking his fingers under the waistband, dragging them aside. The first slow stroke of his fingers through your slickness drew a choked moan from your throat.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He drags his fingers up, pressing them to your lips. “Taste.”

You sucked them into your mouth, eyes locked on his as you licked them clean, and the groan that ripped from his chest was filthy.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, sliding two fingers back inside you, curling them just right. “Love how tight you are, how you squeeze me.” His thumb circles you clit faster. “Gonna cum already? That quick?”

You couldn’t answer, nails biting into his shoulder as pleasure coiled tighter, sharper.

“That’s it,” he urges, voice dark with praise. “Cum on my fingers, let me feel it babydoll.”

Your hips jerk as you shatter, his name a broken moan on your lips. He didn’t stop, fingers still working you through it until you were gasping, oversensitive and trembling.

He didn’t let you catch your breath just yet, licking his fingers clean before hauling you to the edge of the bed. One leg hooked over his shoulder, his mouth hot and relentless between your thighs, tongue lapping at your oversensitive clit.

“One more,” he murmurs, lips brushing your thigh. “Bet you can take it.”

Bucky wraps an arm around you, splaying his wide hand across your stomach, sinking his tongue into the slit of your cunt, curling it before going back to flick your clit. He groans against you, muffled by your skin as his free hand comes up, the pads of his fingers pressing into you.

"So fucking good babydoll," he groans as he feels you rock against his lips and fingers. "Bein' such a good girl for me."

The pressure coils tight inside you, your chest rapidly rising as your words are reduced into nothing but messy mumbles of 'Bucky' and 'Please'. He doubles down on his efforts, closing his lips around your clit as he arches and scissors his fingers inside you, his eyes locked up on you as he watches you crest over your high. Back arching off the bed as your thighs clench on the sides of his head, trapping him right where he wants to be. He brings you down with a gentle kiss to your pulsing clit, easing his fingers out and licking them clean.

"That was so much better... than I ever thought," you pant, still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Bucky hums against your inner thigh, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His tongue flicks lightly over your oversensitive clit, just enough to make your hips jerk.

"Mm, you thought about this?" His voice is low, rough with amusement. "My sweet girl thinking dirty thoughts? Thinking about what it’s like to be touched, licked, 'nd fucked?"

You whimper as he teases you again, the words alone sending another shudder through you. His fingers stroke slow circles on your thighs, gentle but possessive.

"Tell me," he murmurs. "Tell me what else you imagined."

You barely have time to answer before his mouth is on you again, licking and sucking just right, his fingers curling inside you with practiced ease. The pleasure builds too fast, too much at once and you're cumming all over again, rolling through you in deep, relentless waves.

When it finally eases, you’re boneless, breathless, but still aching for more. A deep and burning need simmering just under the surface of your skin. "Bucky," you plead, voice raw. "Please."

He kisses his way up your body, slow and deliberate, before finally pulling back just enough to strip off the rest of his clothes. The sight of him, all hard muscle and dark hunger makes your pulse jump.

"Condom?" he murmured, fingers tracing the soft curve of your stomach.

You still, then hum to yourself. "Oh. I don’t have any."

"Shit," he breathes, biting his lip. "Do you think your sister has any hidden, or maybe your—"

"We don’t…" Your voice drops, gentle now. "I mean, if you’re okay with it… we don’t have to."

He goes utterly still above you, his pulse hammering under your fingertips. "You sure, doll? Docs say I'm clean as a whistle," he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

"But I don’t wanna rush you into anything."

Your thighs press together instinctively, already aching again, needing more. "I’m sure, Buck. I trust you." You hesitate, then whisper, "And you can… pull out. If you want to."

A slow grin spreads across his face at your shyness, even as the hunger in his eyes burns hotter. "Okay, babydoll."

He kisses you again, deep and slow, one hand cradling your jaw like you’re something precious while the other guides himself between your legs. There’s no rush, just the thick press of him stretching you open inch by inch, his lips never leaving yours until he’s fully sheathed inside.

"Good?" he rasps against your mouth.

You can only nod, nails digging into his shoulders as he starts moving in long, unhurried thrusts that make your back arch off the bed. He licks into your mouth as his hips roll into yours, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles on your clit until you’re gasping, teetering on the edge. Every stroke hitting something deep within you that you didn't even know existed. A quick addiction began inside of you, something you wanted to never end.

Obscene sounds filled the room, the air thick with something sweet and warm and needy. Your hands never left his back, digging half crescents into his skin as you pleaded for more.

Then he stops.

You whimper in protest, but he’s already shifting, pulling out just enough to drag you onto your side. One of your legs hooks over his shoulder as he leans back, changing the angle completely. The first thrust punches a moan from your throat, it's all so much deeper now, his grip tightening on your thigh as he fucks into you with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips.

"Fuck," he grits out. "You take me so damn good."

Your hips rise to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, and the way your body clenches around him nearly makes Bucky lose it. His rhythm falters, a groan ripping from his throat. 

"Fuck—you get so tight when I fuck you like this." He leans back just enough to let his gaze drop between you, his cock glistening with your slick as he drives into you again.  "Go on, baby, look at it. You see that? Not a virgin anymore. Now you're all mine—you and this sweet pussy."

You're drowning in pleasure, barely coherent, but one word claws its way out of your throat.

"Harder."

Bucky obliges immediately, his thrusts snapping into you, the slap of skin echoing in the room. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, his breath coming in ragged bursts. 

"Mm, wonder how I should give you your first load," he growls, voice thick with lust. "Should I pull out and paint that soft tummy? Or maybe these tits?" 

He palms your breast roughly, thumb flicking over your nipple. "Maybe I should put you on your knees and cum all over your pretty face—"

"No!" You tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper with a frantic whimper. "Please—"

He chuckles darkly, sinking into you fully with a satisfied groan. "What, you want it inside?" 

His next thrust is punishing, forcing a broken moan from your lips. "Sweet little pussy’s never been fucked before, and now she wants to be filled too?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, tilting your hips just right. "Greedy little thing."

You can only nod helplessly, your body wound tight around him, clenching and begging as Bucky fucks you toward over edge all over again. Even after he spills inside you, Bucky can't stop, won't stop, his hips grinding slow and filthy, milking every last drop deep into your fluttering cunt. His hands slide under your knees, folding you nearly in half, pressing your thighs toward her chest until you're spread obscenely open.

"Fuck, still so tight," he growls, watching where you're joined—his cock still buried to the hilt, your pussy dripping around him. "Touch yourself. Wanna feel you come again while I'm still inside you."

Your fingers shake as you rub frantic circles over your clit, oversensitive and whimpering, but you don't stop, can't stop. Bucky groans at the way your walls ripple around him, his thrusts turning shallow and possessive, forcing his cum to seep even deeper.

"That's it," he rasps, biting the side of your leg. "Make a mess for me."

You practially sob as you cum again, tears rolling down the sides of your face, cream mixing with his spend, leaking down to your ass as your body is overcome with wave after wave of pleasure. Bucky curses when he feels it, hot pulses of you squeezing him and suddenly he's hard again, slamming into you with a snarl as another orgasm rips through him.

Your legs tremble in his grip. Neither of you can move anymore, just wrecked and sticky and full, but Bucky still rocks into you lazily, refusing to pull out just yet.

"Fuckin' perfect," he mutters against your lips as he gently sets your legs down, your mixed spend leaking from your thighs.

The room soon goes quiet in a soft, yet heavy way. You feel your chest loosen with something new, something warm and gooey.

The lamp is still on. It turns everything gentle around the edges—the rumpled sheets, the scattered clothes on the floor, the faint sheen of warmth still clinging to both of you like the night hasn’t fully let go yet.

Bucky moves first, carefully untangling himself from the sticky warmth of your bodies pressed together. He leans over the side of the bed, rummaging blindly until he finds his pants on the floor, tugging them closer with a quiet huff.

“You stay right there,” he murmurs without looking back at you.

You’re already curled slightly into the sheets, watching him with tired eyes that still look soft around the edges, calm in a way that feels new.

He finds his shirt and brings it over to you, then pauses, thinking.

“Water,” he says to himself like it’s a mission.

He disappears into the small kitchen. You hear cabinets open, the faint clink of a glass, water running. When he comes back, he’s got a glass in one hand and something folded in the other.

He sets the water beside you first.

“Here,” he says gently.

You take it without protest, sipping carefully. Then he unfolds the cloth—damp, warm from the sink.

You blink at him. “What’s that?”

“For you,” he says simply.

And then, softer, “Just… stay still a second.”

He cleans your skin with careful hands, unhurried, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to be this gentle after everything. Like there’s no rush anywhere. Like the whole night has slowed down just for this.

You watch him instead of the ceiling now, he notices.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m doin’ something impressive.”

You smile faintly. “You are.”

That makes him pause for half a second, just long enough to look at you properly again. Then he shakes it off, like he doesn’t trust himself to sit in that feeling too long.

“Stay,” he says again, softer, and gets up.

This time he’s gone longer. When he comes back, there’s a cigarette tucked between his fingers and a lighter in his pocket. He pauses at the edge of the bed like he suddenly remembers something.

“…Can I smoke in here?” he asks, already sounding like he knows the answer.

You tilt your head slightly, thinking. “Probably not.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “That a no?”

“A probably no.”

He nods like he respects that, then immediately does it anyway but not in a careless way. He walks to the window, opens it wide, letting in the cool night air. The city noise spills in—distant traffic, laughter somewhere far below.

He leans out slightly, lights the cigarette, and inhales once before exhaling into the open air. You watch him from the bed, curious despite yourself.

“That smells… strong,” you say.

Bucky glances over his shoulder. “Yeah. That’s the point.”

A pause, then you sit up a little. “Can I try?”

That makes him turn fully now.

“Doll,” he says slowly, like he’s deciding whether to be responsible or curious.

You just look at him expectantly.

He exhales through his nose. “Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He crosses back to the bed, hands it over carefully. You take it like it’s something delicate as he watches you.

“Just… small inhale,” he instructs gently. “Not like you’re drinkin’ air.”

You try and immediately cough. Bucky laughs softly, not teasing, just amused and leans in quickly, patting your back once.

“Easy,” he says. “Easy, sweetheart.”

You glare at him between coughs. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily. “It is.”

But you still try again, more carefully this time, and he guides you with quiet patience until you manage it without immediately dissolving into another fit of coughing.

“There you go,” he murmurs, almost proud.

You hand it back to him, shaking your head slightly. He takes another drag, then leans back against the windowsill while you curl into the sheets again, watching him instead of the ceiling now.

After a moment, you let out a small laugh to yourself.

Bucky notices immediately. “What?”

You shake your head, still smiling. “Nothing.”

“That’s never true.”

You glance up at him, amused. “I was just thinking… I’ve had brandy, cigarettes, and lost my virginity all in one night.”

Bucky freezes for half a second, then exhales a laugh, low and disbelieving.

“…Yeah?” he says. “Well. How d'ya feel?”

You nod, still smiling like you can’t quite believe it yourself. “I think I’ve been corrupted by Bucky Barnes.”

That gets him fully now, he turns toward you properly, cigarette forgotten for a moment in his hand.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, a little softer now. “What’s the verdict?”

You look at him for a long beat, not a hint of shyness glinted in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Bucky’s expression softens in a way that has nothing to do with charm and everything to do with something deeper settling into place.

He puts the cigarette out and tosses it out the window, crawling across the bed to you, and leans down just enough to catch your face in his hand.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips.

You smile against him. “You were trouble first. I was sweet as can be."

"Still are, babydoll."

[cutiecusp]

The supermarket was the last place he expected to see you.

A summer fling a year ago, a single night of wild, intense sex, enough to leave nail marks and memories for life.

Your hair pinned away from your face as you reach for the ice cream, the perfect thing in this heat.

He spends so long staring at you, that he almost misses it, the way you adjust your hip, as if you were carrying something else.

As you turn, the breath is stolen from his lungs, a little baby is nestled in your arm, familiar eyes wide open...

part 2? and who do we want it to be?

Price

Ghost

Soap

Gaz

Voting ended onJul 12

@kaeyasfuturewife @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @soraya-daydreams @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @skeletonsucker @ghost-soaps-shadow @veryberry26 @nananadende @lostintransist @bmtillerbabe

[amelietaime]

art by @hotpinklaces !!

lacy reminder

𝜗ৎ your boyfriend loves using your panties as bookmarks

𑣲⋆｡˚ fluff, suggestive but no smut

Pink, blue, black…

You huffed as you rummaged through the same drawer for the third time, hoping what you were looking for would magically appear between the mess of cotton, polyester, and lace.

The bedroom was a complete mess; drawers drawn open, half-empty because you’d carelessly thrown their contents out trying to find the piece, some bras landed on the floor, some shirts on your velvet vanity stool, and there was a pile of skirts and dresses forming atop of the bed.

Your eyes scanned the room again, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of the intense, scarlet red you were desperately trying to find.

Your reflection stared back at you from the mirror—hair styled to perfection, black dress hugging your figure, and your lips painted a deep red color that was supposed to match the lingerie you’re wearing under the dress.

You had the bra, the only thing missing were the panties.

It was a special night, your two-year anniversary with your boyfriend, and Jason—who always makes it clear he’s not a fan of lavish and over-the-top dates—had surprised you with a reservation at this fancy steakhouse in downtown Gotham with a rooftop lounge that overlooks the city and has live jazz music playing the whole night.

You wanted to surprise him back, wearing the delicate, red, lacy lingerie set you know is his favorite, so that at the end of the night—in the backseat of the car, on the couch in the living room, or wherever he decided he wanted to take you—, you could feel his breath hitch and watch him lick his lips as he undressed you.

Besides, as stupid as it sounds, that set holds some type of sentimental value.

You bought it over a year ago, it’s a high-end designer piece that caught your eye the moment you stepped into that luxurious, ridiculously expensive boutique. It cost you an arm and a leg—you remember contemplating if it really was worth going broke for as the saleswoman talked about the quality of the materials.

You decided to buy it before you could think too much about it, swiping your card through the terminal and almost wincing when you saw the money deducted from your bank account.

It was more for Jason than for you anyway, and that’s what convinced you. It was a few days until his birthday, and you wanted to wear it as one of the many gifts you planned on giving him.

That night, straddling his lap as he laid on the couch, you saw his pupils dilate, watched him suck in a deep breath and pull his bottom lip between his teeth as he took off your dress. You decided that it had been completely worth the money.

It’s also the only set that’s made it through more than three wears—since Jason seems to have a kink for ripping fabric off of you, but apparently he’s decided he likes this one so much that he can be a little more careful with it. He almost always asks you to keep it on as he fucks you.

You really didn’t want to—it was supposed to be a surprise—but after checking the clock and seeing it was almost time to leave the apartment, you stepped out of the bedroom and into the living room to ask the only other person who could have any idea where your panties were.

“Jason, have you seen—”

Well…

There was your answer.

Jason sat on the couch, legs spread as they always are—no matter how much you scold him for his manspreading—, wearing a burgundy dress shirt that had you impatient thinking about the moment when you finally get to unbutton it.

His gaze was focused on the book perched on his lap, and in the gutter of said book—between thin, black ink-stained pages—were your panties, their red color bright against the yellowed paper.

You simply sighed, it was your fault honestly.

You started it a few months ago, Jason had taken a night off patrol and vigilante duty, and Cass had kindly offered to cover for him—watching over Crime Alley and the other places he usually took care of so he could spend time with you.

It was almost 2:00 a.m., your cheek was pressed against his bicep—because there’s nothing you love more than resting your head on your boyfriend’s muscles—, your legs shifted beneath the sheets to tangle with his, the soft cotton felt cool against your flushed skin.

Jason’s left hand was busy playing with your hair, twirling the strands around his scarred fingers while his right held the book he was reading.

He’d made you orgasm more times than you could count in a single night and you were convinced that you were completely satisfied.

Until you teared your eyes away from the ceiling to look at him, and he looked so cute and hot and sexy with his drugstore glasses perched on his crooked nose, and his brows had that furrow of concentration, and his thick lashes fluttered as he read through whatever greek tragedy he was so focused on, and his pretty lips formed the cutest pout you’ve ever seen on someone.

The sight made you feel that familiar heat between your legs—the one that appears whenever you see Jason doing practically anything.

You peppered kisses on his naked, glistening chest—still covered with a thin layer of sweat—, your fingers tracing down the lines of his abs and his prominent V-line until they reached the hem of the sheet—the only thing covering his lower body.

Jason breathed out your name, his heartbeat sped up under the touch of your lips, and he tried telling you about how he was in a really interesting part of the book, attempting to convince you to wait—but he didn’t make any real effort to stop you.

You looked up at him through your lashes, tongue darting out to trace one of the scars on his chest. You told him you couldn’t wait—and that it was his fault for making you so horny.

Picking up the pair of baby pink panties he’d tossed somewhere on the floor when he slipped them off of you, you took the book from his hand and placed the lacy garment on the page he was reading before closing it and handing it back to him. Your eyes never left his as you did so, and you had to bite your lip to hold back your giggles.

Jason’s eyes were wide as he took the book from you, his expression completely dumbfounded, and you swear that’s the most adorable he’s ever looked.

For you, Jason’s a weak, weak man. He could never deny you anything—trust, he’s tried.

And after that, you didn’t need to do anything else to convince him. He simply placed the book back on the nightstand beside the bed and rolled his eyes.

“You’re insane,” he scoffed, “and insatiable.”

You didn’t bother trying to defend yourself, it was true after all. You simply smiled in victory as your hand slid under the sheets.

Since that night, you never saw that pair of panties again—a shame, truly, it was a beautiful pink—and a few more disappeared from your underwear drawer to be found in the bookshelves.

“Jason,” you sighed. “I’ve been looking for those panties for like an hour!”

Jason looked up from his book—a dystopian novel you forgot the name of—, smirking when he caught sight of you with your arms crossed, wearing the dress he’d bought you specifically for your anniversary date.

“You look nice,” he whistled, looking you up and down shamelessly.

“Can you please give me my panties back?” You walked up to him and extended your hand out, expecting him to return your underwear.

“No,” he almost laughed, “I need my bookmarks.”

That made you roll your eyes, and before you could process it, Jason wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled you into him so you were sitting on his lap.

“Besides,” he whispered into your ear, his voice carrying that teasing, smug tone you would never admit turns you on, “why do you need panties?”

“You know what would be a nice anniversary gift?” He continued, fingers teasing the skin of your thighs through the glossy fabric of your dress. “You not wearing anything under that dress.”

short n sexy mini fic for my baby jason todd while i work on my beach date with dick grayson one-shot 🤭

sorry if this was kinda ass, the idea was better in my head, still hope you enjoyed!!

thanks for reading!! likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated!!

please do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my work to ai (especially this!!)

images from pinterest

dividers by @strangergraphics !!

[pluvial-lake]

﹙ 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 ﹚ 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 ─── 𝗉𝗍. 𝟣

[llovelygood]

Surprise, you're going to be a dad! || Jason Todd x pregnant!reader

— Jason gets a voice message from an unknown number and suddenly he's going to be a dad.

!!: fem!reader. fluff. hurt/comfort. +6.5k words. no use of y/n. Insecure Jason. pregnancy. reader's parents are pro-life, reader isn't. English is not my first language. I measure pregnancy time by months instead of weeks (I've never been pregnant, don't kill me). art by @/ciricearts. A/N: Here's the fic you guys have been waiting for!! thank you so much for all the love the sneak peak got, I really wasn't expecting it to blow up like it did.

[dc masterlist]

Voice message from +1 (XXX) XXX-XXX

Hmm… Hi. I don't know if you remember me, but we hooked up like five or six weeks ago… I really don't know how to say this… We met at that creepy bar near Gotham stadium. We started talking, you gave me your number and then left, but like ten minutes later you came back, we talked more, and eventually we ended up at my apartment. Does it ring a bell? Well… what I wanted to tell you was that…hmm…this is really difficult…sorry, I called you, but you didn't answer so I had to leave this message… what I was saying was that…fuck…I'm pregnant, and you're the father…and before you call me back and ask me if I'm completely sure I'm going to tell you beforehand that yes, I'm 100% certain that you are the father. I'm sure because, I think I told you when you started undressing me that night, but I don't usually do one night stands and you had been the only one I've had sex with for a long time…wow, that was embarrassing… God, I don't even remember your name, I saved you as "hot stuff (call again for a good fuck)"…shit…why did I even said that? Forget that, please…Could you call me back once you've heard this message? Thank you, bye, sorry.

It was 5 am when Jason listened to the voice mail. He hadn't even got time to take off his Red Hood suit when he heard your voice through his phone's speakers. He recognized your voice instantly. It had been the first thing that had hypnotized him the moment he met you. Your voice, with such sweet tone, that could tame any beast. 

The moment when he reached the "I'm pregnant" part Jason froze. He had expected you to call him to maybe ask for another night together—god knows he needed it—, or to return him something he had forgotten and that he hadn't noticed even six weeks later. But the word "pregnant" felt like the type of punch that leaves people without air. He was left speechless and completely lost. He could call you now, but he wouldn't know what to say. Because, what do people say when they just found out they could be a father through a voice message, by someone who had been his one night stand six weeks ago? Besides, it was 5 am and you were probably asleep right now.

Jason was still trying to recall your name while he undressed from his suit and entered the shower. The cold water wasn't enough to awake him from the shock and the sound of the bathroom's fan was only distracting him from remembering other detail about the night that weren't you, moaning his name.

When he exited the shower and looked at his reflection on the bathroom mirror he saw a total failure. He wasn't the image of an ideal father. He was a beaten up vigilante with a shitty life and unhealed traumas that still haunted him. He was not made for loving anyone. 

He thought of you, because it was selfish to think about only himself when he didn't knew anything about your situation right now. You could be thriving. Enchanted with the idea of being a mother, and maybe you were expecting Jason to show up as a father for the poor creature. Or you could be feeling as miserable, like Jason. You could be falling asleep crying, or overthinking, or both. You could be hating yourself for not being careful enough. You could be anxious, and thinking about abortion. But what Jason knew for sure was that you had provably fallen asleep with your nerves eating you up alive, after sending him that voice message.

"Fuck," was the last think Jason said before throwing his aching body onto his bed and falling asleep. He couldn't lie, he was praying for it to be a cruel joke, or a side effect from any drugging gas he had been in contact with during patron and he hadn't noticed. He couldn't be a father. Not now, not never.

You woke up the next morning with no answer from the strange man that had got you pregnant after a fun night in a bar. You felt horrible, you had already threw up twice this morning and you were now battling against today's breakfast—that still felt stuck on your throat—for it not to come out. 

You were sure you were pregnant. You had done way too many pregnancy tests, from different brands in different days, and all of then were positive. You had also gone to the hospital, and the doctor there confirmed it. You had been pregnant for six weeks but didn't notice until morning sickness kicked in. 

You had thought about abortion. You weren't against it, and it sounded like the best option right now. You weren't mentally ready to be a mother, and you weren't financially ready to raise a child. You didn't know if the father wanted the baby either—you couldn't force him to be a father if he didn't want to. The problem had been your parents. 

You knew that calling them hadn't been a good idea the moment you heard your mother's joyful voice when she picked up. You loved your parents—you loved how they had always cared deeply for you, and how they had always been there for you—but your mindsets didn't align at all. 

Calling then had been your first error, and telling them about the pregnancy had been the second one, and also the biggest mistake you had ever done in your life. They told you how bad abortion was, from their point of view of course. How you had also been an unexpected baby, but the biggest miracle for them. And, by the time the call ended, abortion had been totally banned as an option. Either way, what you needed now was for hot stuff to answer your fucking message. 

It wasn't until 7 pm that you received a call from him. The name "Hot stuff (father of your child)" (you had changed the name because it was more fitting now rather than "call for a good fuck") was shining on your phone's screen. It seemed obvious to pick up instantly, but the possibility of him being mad scared you, because you didn't know how—and didn't want—to deal with it. You picked up after the fourth tone, sticking your phone to your ear, and biting your lip until it bled. 

"Hello?" You asked shyly. Your legs had starting to shake, forcing you to sit down. 

"Hi, this is Jason. Jason Todd. The man you hooked up with and apparently got you pregnant." His voice was deeper than you remembered. "You left me a voice message last night."

"Yes," you said quickly. An awkward silence filled the line until you talked again. "I'm not going to abort it."

Maybe that was not the way to go. Maybe it had been better to ask him what he thought before saying anything, but the nerves, the sudden feeling of throwing, and Jason's sexy voice were clouding your mind. 

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"No," you confessed, but deep down you knew you didn't have any other option. You wanted to conserve your relationship with your parents, they were the most important people in your life, and aborting the fetus would make them cut ties with you. 

"Then why did you made that decision?" He sounded more concerned than judgemental, and it made your heartbeat slow down.

"Because of my parents, but it doesn't matter," you answered and took a deep breath before continuing, "how do you feel?"

"Fucking terrified," Jason confessed. "I wasn't expecting to become a father at 23. I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name either."

You understood, you weren't expecting to get pregnant at this point in your life, and much less from a one night stand. You told him your name and told him a bit more about how you found out about the pregnancy. Jason, surprisingly—because you expected him to be more freaked out—was listening to your every word attentively and asking questions with a very calm and comforting voice. 

"It's okay if you don't want to, but would you like for us to meet someday?" You asked, hopeful for Jason to agree and get to meet him better.

"Yes, that could be good," he answered and you could swear he was smiling on the other line, or at least he must had a little smirk. 

It had only been three days—three horrible days of throwing up every meal and annoying messages from your mother showing you everything she saw related to baby's—until you met Jason. You remembered him as someone tall and strong, but your expectations hadn't been enough when you saw the man entering the café. 

His big arms couldn't go unnoticed, even when they were covered by the leather fabric of his jacket. And he was by far more handsome than you remembered. You couldn't know the gender of your baby yet, but you already knew that they were going to be blessed with amazing genetics. 

You saw Jason's tiny smile when he spotted you, sitting on a table near the window, far from the entrance. You felt your heart pounding against your chest, and your stomach started turning, when Jason began approaching your table. 

"Hi," he said and sat down in front of you, "it's been a while," he joked.

"Yeah," the situation was awkward, the two-words conversation had already been awkward—this was horrible.

"How are you feeling?" Jason asked. 

You saw his eyes move from your face down to your abdomen, and then back up to meet yours. You noticed the concern in his expression. The floor beneath you was vibrating because Jason's leg wouldn't stop shaking. He was nervous. You couldn't blame him, you were too.

"Morning sickness is killing me, but I'm doing better," you said. 

"That's good." His voice was warm, like he was trying to hug you with just his words. 

"I don't know if you have thought about it, but i need to ask you. Do you want to raise this child with me?" Your eyes were open wide, and you kept pressing your lips together, while bitting the inside on your mouth. 

"Yes." His answer was sincere, and you could tell by his relaxed gaze and the tiny smile he had on his face. "This is ourfault, I can't leave you alone with something this big if you decide to keep it."

Your were grateful for the decision he had chosen. 

"I'm scared," you confessed. You shrug your shoulders, and lowered your head, becoming smaller in front of Jason.

"I can tell. I'm scared too." 

"Guess two negatives make a positive," your joked, trying to lighten the mood. Your heart warmed when you saw Jason's chuckle.

"I guess so." 

The conversation flow easily after that. You got to know each other better, and you had never expected to have so many things in common with Jason. Turns out you both loved the same authors, liked the same food and listened to similar music. You told him about your parents' reaction to the pregnancy. He avoided talking about his family, because he claimed that their situation was complicated. 

He really was too good to be true, but you were grateful that someone like Jason was going to be your baby's father.

Jason and you didn't live together, but he spent most of his time in your apartment. Soon you learned that he was an amazing cook. He poured love and dedication into every meal, and you loved to see how much care he handled the ingredients with. 

"How long have you been cooking this good?" You asked, eating a sandwich he had made for you while watching him cooking dinner.

"Since I live alone. Food is one of the good things I have left, can't fuck it up too." He turned to look at you with a smirk, while he placed the steak in the pan. "How do you like your steak?"

"Medium rare, but you know I can't eat it like that." You took another bite from the sandwich. 

Jason nodded. He knew, he just loved knowing small things about you, and little did you know that he remembered every single one of them. 

"Who taught you to cook?" You asked, and this time you saw how his smirk vanished for just a second, and his eyes filled with hesitation, before his face relaxed again. 

"A good man," Jason answered.

You instantly understood that it was somehow connected with his family, the one he didn't want to talk about. You couldn't force him to open up about something that clearly was significant to him, but curiosity was eating you up alive. 

Dinner was peaceful, Jason ate quietly next to you while you talked about your day and how the pregnancy was affecting you. Having Jason with you felt like a blessing. You could've hooked up with a total jerk—someone who would've ghosted you after finding out you were pregnant—but instead, you were taken care of by a sweet man who cared about you, although he had known you for only two months now. 

Jason's presence felt like a warm blanket in a very cold day. His soft voice, whenever he talked to you, made you feel save, while his little nods, with his soft hums, made you feel listened. You felt special thanks to a man who, after an intense night, you never expected to see again.

"It it good?"He asked, pointing to your very cooked steak.

"Do you want me to lie to you?" You asked with a smile. You knew Jason was only asking to mess with you. He perfectly knew your steak was too cooked and you were just getting used to how pregnant women had to eat their food. 

"What do you want me to make you tomorrow for lunch?" 

"Surprise me, chef," you teased. You had never called Jason that before, but he didn't complain. Instead, you saw his smirk turning into a sincere smile before nodding.

"Very well, my favorite taster."

Jason truly was a sweetheart.

Once dinner had finished and you, with Jason's help, had cleaned up the kitchen, it was time for him to leave.

"You know you can stay and sleep here right? You're not a stranger anymore," you said, crossing your rams and leaning against the wall while Jason put on his boots.

"Got things to do, but I'll consider the offer for any other day," he said, standing straight.

"You got things to do at 1 am?"

"I'm a busy man," he shrugged. 

Jason opened your apartment's front door, but you stopped him before he could step out. 

"Jason." He turned around when you called his name. "My parents want to meet you, if that's okay." 

He didn't know how to answer. You weren't dating or anything like that. Jason was only taking care of you because he was responsible of the pregnancy. He wasn't ready to meet your parents, but he understood that they would want to meet the man that had impregnated their daughter. 

"Oh, fine, yeah. When?" He asked.

"They are coming to Gotham in two weeks. Friday, maybe?" 

"Okay, see you tomorrow."

Jason nodded and you gave him one last smile before he left the apartment. 

The day Jason met you for the first time in that bar, the first thing he noticed was your low-rise mini skirt and your tight top, that snatched your waist perfectly. But, besides your clothing, you yourself were stunning. It was like you were glowing in a place full of people—the main character of a story. Jason couldn't let that opportunity pass, so he talked to you.

However, he now couldn't deny that pregnancy brought a new light to your persona. It was like seeing a literal star being born. The very little pieces of your life, that might have fallen apart previously, reconnecting and shining and making you an ethereal being. 

The moment he stepped inside your apartment, and you greeted him with the most stunning smile possible—while wearing a beautiful navy blue dress that made your four months pregnancy noticeable—he couldn't take his eyes off of you.

You had texted him previously, asking him to wear something nice for dinner with your parents. It was going to be a very private dinner at your house, but you still wanted to look presentable. You wanted to leave your comfy t-shirt and far too big, but soft, sweatpants for just one night. Jason agreed to your dress code, putting on a shirt he had found, buried deep inside his closet.

Also, Jason Todd—the gentleman he was—suggested to arrive earlier to your house to help with dinner. And you—forever grateful for his cooking skills and caring nature—let him move around your house like it was his, arranging everything related to food, while you took care of the decoration and the aspect of the table. 

If you had to define your parents in one word, it would be "strict". They needed security, order, rules, perfection. But after all, it was worth it, because they were looking out for you, and your best, right? 

Everything needed to be perfect. Your pregnancy had already been suspire enough to keep messing up. 

Jason was taking the veggie lasagna out of the oven when both of you heard the door bell. You gave Jason one look from the dinning room and that was enough for him to understand. 

Your eyes being slightly wider that usually, your mouth parted in a tiny 'o' shape. You chest rose with difficulty. You were nervous, and you almost looked terrified. 

Jason left the lasagna over the induction cook, turned off the oven and walked towards you. 

It was not Jason's big hands wrapping around your arms that wake you up from your trance, it was his soft voice. 

"Hey," he said. His eyes moved around your face, like he was searching for an open window to enter your brain and know exactly why you reacted like that. 

He noticed your eyes roaming around his face too, but your breathing was still uneven. Your chest rose sharply, taking in as much air as possible, but exhaling was a struggle—the air hitched in your throat, leaving your lungs in ragged bursts.

"Look at me," Jason's voice was warm and familiar. "Breath with me, don't worry."

You copied him, feeling better by the second. Jason didn't ask, he didn't demand you to fix yourself. Instead, he understood, and he help you calm down. 

"What if they're disappointed?" you asked.

"Of what?"

"Of this," you said, pointing to your entire house. "Maybe they'll think I'm a mess, a disaster. They didn't say anything like that when I told them about the pregnancy, but I'm sure they thought about it, they thought that I was a mess."

Jason called your name. You felt his thumbs caressing your arms over the fabric of your dress. "Don't worry about that. Everything will be fine."

You nodded, muttered a "thank you" and walked towards the front door. 

Your mother threw herself into your arms, while your father stood behind, scanning your place. This was your parent's first time at your Gotham apartment and you could already feel their judgmental and passive-aggressive comments forming in their heads. 

"Hi, dear. How are you feeling?" Your mother asked, showing her perfect white teeth in a exaggerated smile. Her eyes fell to your stomach. "How's the baby? are you eating enough?"

"The baby's fine, mom," you answered. Your mother walked inside, and your father followed her. It was then when your mother noticed Jason, standing straight in the middle of the room, with his hands behind his back, waiting to be introduced.

"Is that…?" Your mother asked. 

You smiled and walked towards Jason, wrapping your hands around his arm, and with your best smile you said: "Mom, dad, this is Jason. He's my boyfriend and the father of the baby."

You couldn't avoid how bright your mother's eyes shined when she heard the word "boyfriend". Meanwhile, your father still looked serious and uncomfortable. 

"Should we eat?" You smiled, trying to ease the tension. 

Your house had never been this quiet ever. All that could be heard was the sound of cutlery clinking against the plates. It was weird, unsettling. Jason was next to you, eating peacefully the lasagna, and his eyes were locked on his food. Across from you, your father mirrored Jason avoidant gaze, while your mother looked between you and Jason while she chewed her food loudly. 

"So, how did you guys met?" Your mother asked, and your father raised his head, finally looking at you. 

You swallowed your food hard before talking. "Well, It's not a very exciting story, right Jason?" 

The truth was, it had never occurred to you to make up a romantic story about how you two met for your parents. Yes, introducing Jason as your boyfriend was part of the plan, but, knowing your mom, you would have expected her to keep asking you about the baby. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

You looked at Jason for help, hoping that he had come up with a better story during those few seconds of awkward silence, so that the two of you could avoid mentioning that depressing bar where you had actually met. 

Jason looked at you. He set his fork down on his plate and placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He could handle the situation; you had nothing to worry about.

"We met at the library a year ago, more or less," he said "I love reading and I'm a very fast reader, so I prefer to get the books from the library, rather than buying a new one every time I finish a book." 

You couldn't take your eyes off of from him. His voice, his hand on your leg—his whole being radiated calm. He told the story as if he were reading from a book. He was compelling and, at the same time, poetic. And by the look on your mother's eyes you could tell that she was not only believing him, but also melting by the man you had next to you right now.

"That day, I was looking for one book in particular," he turned to look at you, and you could have sworn his eyes sparkled with something indescribable—something that made you feel safe, at peace, and loved. "It turned out that, after searching for an hour, I finally found it in your daughter's hands." Jason let out a chuckle before turning his head back toward your parents. “At first I walked away—I felt like a total coward because I didn’t dare talk to someone like her; she looked like an angel. And I’d completely forgotten about the book by the time I went back to talk to her. It was as if the only reason I’d ever walked into that library was to find her. You could say it was love at first sight.”

"How beautiful," your mother said, sighing dreamily. "That child was a blessing, made out of pure love." 

When dinner was over and your parents left your house, instead of cleaning up, you climbed out the window and sat on your building’s fire escape. The Gotham night breeze was cold, but it helped you calm down after those stressful hours with your parents. You sat there in silence, admiring the Gotham skyline. Each building stood tall and imposing in that sad city you’d chosen to call home. 

Maybe if you had stayed in your hometown everything could've been different. Maybe you could be working in your father's business rather than hopping from one working interview to another. Maybe you could be living in a big house rather than a small apartment in a questionable side of Gotham. But you, most definitely, wouldn't be pregnant. 

If you had stayed in your hometown you wouldn't have met Jason. You wouldn't have fallen for the attractive man that approached you in the most awkward but charming way you had ever seen. You wouldn't have felt the need of making your life a little exciting, and invited him to your apartment. And you wouldn't have had the best night of your life. 

You started feeling your skin getting colder and your body shivering, but you didn't want to get in—not yet. Lost in your silence, filled with the endless thoughts swirling through your head, Jason wrapped you in one of your blankets and, with the grace of a ninja, sat down beside you. He didn't say a word. His silence was enough to calm you. He was there, and he would always be there. 

"Thank you for making up that story," you said. 

Jason didn't look at you, he didn't touch you, didn't make a sound, didn't nod, and didn't hum. He just stood there, weighing the impact his next words might have. 

"I didn't change much. I changed the bar for the library. And the book I mentioned I was looking for? It was actually a metaphor of the relief I was looking for that night because, believe it or not, I had been kicked on the balls way too many times that day and I needed to calm down." 

"So you thought I was a easy target?" You looked at him. That's when you realized he was already looking at you, with the same intensity in his eyes as when he told your parents the story. 

"I thought you were beautiful, and I felt like a total cowards. I couldn't bring myself to talk to you at first. And when I finally did, I left, and the came back. I'm stupid, there's no other way to put it, I felt like a high school boy," he confessed.

You both laughed. It was a warm and cozy moment, perfect in every way. Your body leaned slightly toward Jason, as if drawn to him by a magnet.

"I have to confess something," Jason said, and you looked at him, waiting patiently for him to continue, "I don't do one night stands either."

You smiled, because, in a way, you’d been waiting for that confession for so long without even realizing it. It felt like confirmation that you weren't going to be left alone with your child, that Jason wasn't going to leave just to sleep with some random woman. And, somehow, that confession had confirmed that what you’d both felt that night had been mutual: an inexplicable attraction and a deep connection that had led you both to step outside your comfort zones and lose yourselves in each other. Perhaps, after all, that child hadn’t been the fruit of love, but neither had it been the result of an uncontrolled desire.

"In two weeks we will finally know the gender of the baby," you said. "What do you want them to be?"

"I don't care," Jason answered, "as long as they're healthy."

"Yeah… I want a girl, tho."

Dick Grayson could read Jason like an open book. He noticed how dissociated his brother had been lately. His gaze was lost and he kept tapping his fingers against his gun repeatedly in a weird rhythm. 

It was not normal for Jason to look this distracted. He usually had sharp eyes and a focused mind. He was definitely not okay. 

"Jason," Dick called. 

Jason didn't turn around, not even bothering to look at his brother. Instead, he just hummed, indicating that he was hearing whatever Dick wanted to tell him. 

"You're not okay." It was not a question, it was an affirmation.

Dick knew that whatever Jason's answer might be right now, he knew him better. Jason was definitely not fine. His mind was fogged by something, causing Jason to be hesitant with every move he made. He kept looking south, licking and biting his lips. He stayed quiet—he didn't even cursed or insulted. 

Jason raised an eyebrow and looked at Dick over his shoulder, "What?"

"You're acting different." Dick sounded concerned.

"You must be imagining things, Dickhead."

"Jason," He tried again. "Tell me what's happening. I get that you don't tell anything to Bruce, or to Tim, or to anyone in this family. But you can trust me. Please, trust me."

Jason turned around, finally facing Dick. It was difficult. Your pregnancy was not an easy topic to talk about to other people. Mentioning you meant explaining everything, from the humiliating interaction at the bar to the baby Jason was going to be father of in four months. 

It was a fact that Dick was the best option if anyone wanted to let out something no one else needed to know. He kept secrets like sacred prayers. He would take every word to the tomb. And he was Jason's oldest brother and the best person he had in his life.

"She's a girl." Jason finally said.

Dick furrowed. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "What?"

Jason took a deep breath and started explaining everything until he reached last week's news. 

A girl. You were going to have a girl. 

"I can't bring a poor innocent girl into this world. I feel guilty—every single day. I was careless. I don't want to blame her, because it was not her fault, of course; it was mine, and now we're bringing a poor soul into the horrible world. I'm not the kind of person who can hold someone so pure in his arms without shuttering their entire soul, but I can't leave her alone—it's not fair."

Dick listened to Jason's every word, shock had paralyzing his entire body. Dick suspected something significant—something that Jason probably didn't want the rest of the family to know—but Dick never would have guessed it this: Jason was going to have a daughter. 

"You're going to be a father," was the only thing Dick could say. The phrase kept repeating in his mind, trying to normalize it, make it make sense, accept it was real. 

"Yes."

"And you're scared."

"Fucking terrified," Jason said, because it had been five months since you got pregnant and he still couldn't believe it. "I'm not going to be a good father, Dick."

Dick, stepped closer and placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Stop talking about you like that."

"It's the truth-" Jason tried to say, but Dick cut him off.

"No. you don't know it. Jason, this is something big, yes, but you're also one of the most caring people I know. No one is going to love that baby more than you, and she's going to grow up being protected by her father and her very cool uncle Nightwing." 

"Don't tell Bruce. Don't tell anyone." Jason demanded.

"I won't, but a baby isn't something you can hide forever. Know that I'm here for everything you need." Dick smiled. His big, charming smile, that made anyone feel slightly better in their worst times. It even helped Jason a bit, and he couldn't deny it.

"What about Emma?" Dick suggested.

"Emma is a pretty name," you said.

"I don't know…"

"You could at least suggest something for your daughter rather than rejecting every name Dick suggests," you said with a playful smile in your face. 

Seven months sharing your every day life with Jason had made you both incredibly comfortable with each other, which was good—really good. Your baby needed two parents that, at least, could tolerate each other, even if they weren't together. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you thought Ricky was a good option for our girl." Jason looked at you from the kitchen with the same playful smile. It made your heart warm up. 

What really made you melt was hearing Jason say "our girl". The words had a sweet taste in your mouth even by only thinking about them. That girl, that was only a few weeks away of being born was yours and Jason's. 

"Ricky is cute." Dick tried to defend the first name he had suggested that night.

"It's short for Richard, and we're having a girl, if you haven't noticed yet." Jason finally exited the kitchen with a warm cup of hot chocolate in his hand. He handed it to you carefully before sitting down next to you. 

"Ricky could perfectly work for a girl," Dick said, standing up from his seat. "I have to leave now, It's always nice being here."

"Thanks Dick, It's nice having you here." You smiled. 

Jason walked Dick to the door. Before he could leave, Dick turned around one last time. "You'll have to tell Bruce and the rest about Ricky eventually, or they're going to find out themselves."

"We're not naming her Ricky."

"That's not the point," Dick said, "the point is that you are part of a family of detectives, and a daughter is something difficult to cover. Tim doesn't suspect anything yet, but wait until he does. My advice is for you to tell them before they come here unannounced."

Dick was right, Jason knew it, but he wasn't ready yet. 

"I'll think about it." 

Once Dick had left the apartment Jason went back to the living room with you. 

This months with you had been definitely not what Jason had expected. Not in a bad way, he just hadn't expected he would be father this soon. He had never seen himself preparing weird pregnancy cravings, but he had—just for you. He had melted while feeling his daughter's kicks every time you placed his hand on your belly. Jason was turning soft, and it was sweet—really sweet. 

"We're not naming her Ricky right?" Jason asked, siting next to you in the sofa.

"No," you laughed. "Do you have any suggestion for her name?"

"I like the name Elizabeth." Jason said.

"Like Elisabeth Bennet from Pride an Prejudice?" You raised your eyebrow.

"It's classy."

"It's somehow cliche."

"No, it isn't."

"I like Sophie," you suggested.

"Sophie," Jason repeated, like he was testing the name in his mouth. "That's a pretty cliche name too."

"Shut up!" you threw a cushion at him, that he grabbed before it hit his face.

"Yeah, Sophie could work." 

You smiled and Jason melted. After all this months with you, Jason's favorite thing about you has turned out to be your smile. It was big, and shiny, and full of love an happiness, despite the complications this situation might bring you. 

"She's kicking again," you said, caressing your belly. "Do you want to talk to her?" You asked. 

Jason had never talked directly to the baby. Not because you didn't let him, but because he didn't want to. It made him nervous—it was too real.

"It's okay if you don't want to, Jason," you said, as sweet as ever, so perfect.

"No. It's fine." He moved closer to you. His hand hovered above your belly, waiting for your permission to touch your skin, and you answered by moving his hand with yours. He put his face closer to your belly and talked.

"Hi, Sophie. I'm Jason, your father. There's only a few weeks until you're born and I don't know if I'm ready yet." He paused to think about his next words before continuing. "I don't think I'm ready to be a father yet, but I have to. I want you to know that I will love you with everything that I have. I'll protect you, because my life depends on it. I'll be the best version of myself, because you don't deserve less. You are going to be so loved, Sophie."

It was 4am when contractions started kicking in. Jason had been staying at your house for the past weeks for this exact reason. Sophie was about to be born. You were giving birth.

Jason was panicking; even after arriving at the hospital and being told by the doctor that his daughter still had several hours to go before she was born, his heart wouldn't stop pounding. 

Sophie was born around 7pm. She was healthy and perfect. Jason couldn't contain his tears. He was now a father of a beautiful girl. He swear the sight of you hugging your new born was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever seen. That was when those three damned words slipped out of his mouth.

"I love you," he whispered, but you heard him.

You smiled and looked at Sophie, "She loves you too-" 

"No. I love you." He was standing next to the hospital bed, but he was afraid of getting closer. "Of course I love Sophie, I've told he multiple times this past weeks, but I have never said it to you before. I love you."

You knew he meant it. You could tell by the way his eyes refused to look anywhere else but you. He looked at you like you were the meaning of life, like you were the only reason he was alive right now. Jason was grateful. Grateful for the daughter you had given him, but above all for letting him be a part of her life, for allowing him to be a part of all of this, for allowing him to get to know you and love you. He didn't care if you loved him back or not, he just needed to tell you how important you had become to him.

"I love you too, Jason," you smiled. Your eyes were getting teary and Jason noticed. He finally walked closer, and with all the love he had in his body—mixed with the fear of destroying you or Sophie—he kissed your forehead. It felt like a promise. He was going to be there, forever. He would love you and Sophie until the end of his existence. He would protect you and Sophie no matter what. Jason Todd was going to be the best father, he promised. 

"Now, I have to call Dick, and the others are going to freak out." Jason said. His hand moved cautiously to caress Sophie's hair with his index finger. He moved slowly, delicate, like she could break into pieces. 

"You never told them?"

"Never found the right time," he lied, and you laughed. 

This was too perfect. Your perfect little family that was born from a one night stand. You wouldn't change this for nothing. You loved the man standing next to you, and he loved you too. Maybe the pregnancy had been unexpected, a mistake, but you didn't regret it. 

And Jason? He had so much to tell you—all about his past, his life as a vigilante, and his whole family—but that would have to wait for another day. At that moment, he was so captivated by the feeling of holding Sophie in his arms, sleeping peacefully, that he couldn’t think of anything else.

© llovelygood

Jason Todd taglist: @farahdrawzz @princesstrunkz @currentblasphemy @yukibana-fs @astraeasworld @profoundgreenturtle @andraax2 @e1ectraaheart @ilocuras24 @fluffalorianflash @sugurushairstylist @rosieposiediditagain @theworldscalamity @little-mini-me-world @missmontiopath @demonslover @timdrakesfoot @mruizsworld @whispershell @rosimmmm @geekonaleash @starrydustedwinter @jellydianetyu @vanilla-bean-18 @jt0ddlvr @adangerousbalance @wyuovvia @amourrangel @gigglingandwiggling @mattm1964 @lecoinde-dan4 @xsupermanxx2 @missmillivanilli @jmmarlo @schwi2u @k2cowgirlup @bingbongsupremacy @alixthepigeon @burningwiitches @selina0226 @xxjesshuxx @jetlag07 @onlyfeng

[brinawing]

in life and in death

dick grayson x reader fluff, slice of life, suggestive :P

Dick Grayson was a very particular man. He had a routine that he followed –which included going for regular weekly brunches at the manor. He drove for two hours every Sunday with you to see his family.

This time however, the brunch was shifted to a Thursday because Bruce had people coming in for a meeting and he wanted the whole family to be present. Naturally you couldn’t go with Dick because you had work.

Dick woke up before his alarm even went off due to the chill morning air hitting his bare body. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and glanced at the lack of blankets covering him. Thanks to his girlfriend who always ran cold.

You clung to Dick at night when you went to sleep because he was basically a human furnace with how warm he was but each morning you drifted away from him and hogged the blankets in a deathly grip where he couldn’t reach. Which caused him to wake up.

Yet he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He turned sideways to look at your sleeping frame. Your hair sprawled all over your pillow with a small pout prominent on your lips as you stayed cocooned in the warm blankets.

Dick smiled gently and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead before getting out of bed. He turned his alarm off to let you sleep in for a bit because yours was set thirty minutes after his.

He stretched his body and cracked a few joints before making his way towards the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face to wake him up before grabbing his electric toothbrush from the little Batman and Robin holder you had gotten as a joke.

He smiled at the memory as he mindlessly brushed his teeth, mind drifting back to you like it always did. Dick’s wildest fantasy involved you two quitting your jobs so you could stay in bed forever cuddling and having endless sex. He pictured your giggly face last night as he moved inside you, a matching look of giddiness on his face due to the wine you two had.

His eyes landed on the single love bite you had left just below his collarbone as payback for the twenty he left littered across your chest.

He had half a mind to cancel on Bruce but he was a man of his word so he spit the toothpaste out and hopped into the shower.

Twenty minutes later as Dick was standing in front of the sink in just a towel wrapped around his waist, he heard the bathroom door open as you strolled inside in one of his t shirts.

He gave you a quick peck on the forehead and you nudged him aside to grab your toothbrush. Dick had just been applying hair gel in his hair when your eyes met his through the mirror.

You began lazily brushing your teeth when Dick chuckled fondly at your puffy face. He picked up the hairdryer next and began styling his hair like he usually did each morning.

“You still had fifteen more minutes baby, why are you up?” Dick asked gently, afraid to disrupt the morning quiet.

You spit your toothpaste out before glaring at him through the mirror. “Someone left the bed and I was cold.”

“Oh you were cold?” Dick challenged and poked the side of your stomach, causing you to yelp. “You stole all the blankets you little thief.”

“I did not!” You protested.

“Yes you did and you rolled away from me I couldn’t even hold you,” he huffed dramatically as he continued fixing his hair.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised through mouthful of toothpaste, suddenly feeling bad for your boyfriend who was probably cold the whole night.

“It’s fine pretty. No need to apologise,” Dick smiled and wrapped his left arm around your stomach, resting his chin on your head.

You gave him a crooked smile before leaning down to spit the toothpaste out and rinse your mouth before finally turning around to look at your boyfriend.

“Hi,” you smiled, grabbing his face.

“Hello,” Dick chirped.

“Don’t you look dashing,” you commented, rubbing your palms over the coarse hair on his face.

“Well thank you m’lady,” he grinned and finally connected your lips.

“Dick that tickles!” You giggled, pushing him away. “Shave your beard.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow, I’m not going to work today,” Dick simply shrugged and grabbed the hair dryer again.

“You are going to Wayne Enterprises though,” you frowned, rubbing your palms over his face again.

“Baby it’s fine, Tim the CEO has to worry about that not me,” he gave you a quick peck on the cheek.

“You’re Bruce’s son too, you should look put together not like a rockstar who doesn’t know what a shower is.”

“What?” Dick snickered.

“I’m serious!”

“Just say you hate it.”

“I don’t hate it,” you replied. “I just don’t like it a lot.”

“Wow,” Dick muttered.

“Let me do it,” you offered, hopping on the counter.

“Yeah right,” Dick scoffed.

“Please!” You protested. “I shave my legs I know how to do it.”

“I think my face is a bit different than your legs angel, I do love them a lot don’t get me wrong,” as if to prove his point, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your bare thigh before resting his hand there.

“Dick!” You whined.

“No,” he said firmly.

You huffed and grabbed the shaving can from the sink along with his razor before spraying the shaving cream onto your fingers. You grabbed his wrist next and rubbed the cream over the hairy skin and before he could say anything, you swiped the razor across it.

“See?” You beamed up at him as you continued shaving the cream off his wrist.

Dick chewed on his bottom lip for a couple of seconds before finally rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he sighed, slotting his hips between your thighs.

“Yay!” You cheered and clapped your hands, momentarily forgetting that the razor was in your hand with the plastic cap off and you were waving it in front of Dick’s eye.

“Yeah nevermind,” he said and began pulling away but you tightened your thighs around his waist.

“Sorry!” You said quickly.

“If I die, just know that I loved you dearly and I leave my motorcycle to Jason.”

“And nothing for me?” You dramatically gasped.

“I’m not dying alone am I? In life and death and all that?”

“Thats in sickness and in health you dork and we’re not married,” you pointed out.

“Yet,” Dick reiterated, planting a kiss on your nose.

“Enough stalling Nightwing,” you narrowed your eyes at him before grabbing the shaving can.

You shook it for a second before spraying a good amount on your palm before rubbing it across Dick’s bearded face. He closed his eyes and hummed lowly as he felt your soft hands rub against his coarse skin.

You put your thumb on his chin to tilt his head back carefully as you began gliding the razor across his skin. You worked in silence for a good few minutes in complete concentration with your eyebrows furrowed and your tongue peeking out from between your lips.

Dick smiled at the sight as his hands came to rest on your waist. He earned a harsh “shh! don’t move” from you when you felt his cheeks move due to his smile.

You worked your way up his throat towards the easier part of the face which were his cheeks. When you finally got to his cupid’s bow, you sat up straight and grabbed his face in your hands almost knocking your forehead against his with how close you were but you managed to gently glide the razor against his moustache.

Dick had to tap your waist once to make you stop long enough for him to press a kiss to your forehead, causing some shaving cream to linger before he asked you to continue.

You shook your head lightly at him but the smile breaking out on your face was enough to show him that you weren’t actually irritated by his antics.

Few more quick yet careful swipes of razor across his face and he was done, looking fresh with a clean shaven face.

He tapped your thigh to get out of the grip you had on his hips and washed his face with water to get rid of any remaining cream on his face. You watched him intently as he grabbed the razor from your hand and made a quick swipe across the corner of his mouth to get the patch of hair you had missed.

He washed the razor under the sink and wiped his face with a towel and before he even had the chance to put the towel back, you pulled him back between your thighs with your elbows resting on his shoulders.

“Hello handsome,” you grinned and touched your cheek to his.

“Wow,” Dick mused. “You really hate my beard huh?”

“I just like seeing your whole face,” you replied and before he could utter another word, you cupped his face in your hands and began pecking his face, causing him to let out a laugh.

“Okay!” Dick protested but you didn’t relent as your lips reached his adam’s apple. “If you keep this up I’ll cancel my meeting and you’ll have to miss work because I’ll keep you in bed all day.”

“Sorry,” you apologised, planting one last kiss on his nose. “I forgot it’s a crime to love on your boyfriend. You should punish me Nightwing,” you finished, giving him a playful smirk.

Dick closed his eyes for a beat and sucked in a harsh breath before he leaned forward to connect your lips in a searing kiss that lasted only for a beat.

“I’m calling Bruce, he doesn’t need me that bad,” he murmured against your lips.

You giggled and tugged at his styled hair to push him off you. “Go, I made coffee.”

“M’kay,” Dick hummed, pressing another kiss to your mouth before he helped you hop off the counter. “I’ll make you some toast before leaving and don’t forget your vitamins.”

“Yes daddy!” You said with a dramatic salute.

“Oh you’re done now,” Dick warned before lunging towards you.

You yelped as he scooped you up in his arms and turned around to go to the bedroom. He fell backwards on the bed with you still in his hold.

“Dick!” You giggled as you tried to wiggle out of his iron grip.

He flipped you two over with practiced ease, causing you to lie flat on your back under him. You smiled up at him when his fingers came down to your face to brush your hair away so he could see your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

“You say that every day,” you scrunched your nose as a wave of shyness washed over you.

“You look pretty every day,” he simply shrugged.

“Stop!” You whined playfully before covering your face with your hands. “I haven’t even washed my face yet it’s puffy and dry.”

“Look at me,” Dick urged and pried your fingers away from your face, pinning both of your hands in his over your head.

You pouted in response when he managed to make you look at him.

“I love you and your puffy face,” he smiled and leaned down enough so your noses were touching but he didn’t kiss you yet. “And your perfect tits,” he murmured and finally kissed you.

You giggled against his mouth as he brought his free hand to your chest to really send his message.

No matter how many years you and Dick spent together and how many ways he fucked you, he still managed to make you blush with one simple look. His blue eyes always looked at you with so much love and relief especially in mornings when he could just be Dick Grayson and stay in bed with you. When he didn’t have to put on a mask.

His tongue glided against your bottom lip before let his teeth bite lightly at your mouth, causing you to moan and squirm in his hold. His hips came down to hold you still and you realised your panties and Dick’s towel were the only things separating you both.

He pulled away and trailed his lips down to your jaw, slowly kissing over the marks he left last night as if to revisit them. Your shirt was swiftly pulled over your head by the hem as Dick sat back on his knees to admire your bare body and when a smirk appeared on his lips, you knew he was feeling proud of the love bites and hickeys he left all over and below your chest.

Before Dick could attach his mouth to your breasts, his phone began ringing but he didn’t budge as he began planting hot open mouthed kisses between the valley of your breasts.

“Dick your phone,” you panted.

“Leave it,” he mumbled.

“It could be important,” you reasoned but your fingers tangled themselves in his silky black hair.

“It’s not,” he replied.

A few seconds later his phone finally stopped ringing but Dick’s movements didn’t relent. He kissed a path down to the waistband of your flimsy panties and when he pulled them up by his teeth, the ringing came again.

“Dick!” You said, louder this time and pushed him away to grab his phone from the nightstand. “It’s Jason,” you informed him but he shook his head and continued planting kisses on your thighs.

You rolled your eyes and picked up the call, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hey Jason.”

“Oh hey,” Jason said your name so casually like you picking up Dick’s phone was normal for him. “Just wanted to check in and see Dick is coming to the meeting right?”

“Yeah he is,” you said the same time Dick yelled “No he’s not!”

“Ignore him, he is,” you huffed and tried pushing Dick away again but he didn’t move, still holding on to your calves as he planted stray kisses to your thighs and knees.

“Dude,” Jason said and you put the phone on speaker.

“What?” Dick sighed.

“You’re coming or I’m not going either and then Tim won’t go,” Jason added.

“Fine,” Dick groaned. “I’m leaving in a bit.”

“Good,” Jason replied.

“You just cockblocked me by the way.”

Jason snickered in response before hanging up.

Dick reached for you again but this time you were quicker than him. You stood up from the bed and ran towards the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

“Seriously?” Dick groaned. “Not even a bye kiss?”

You ducked your head out of the bathroom door and gestured for him to come closer with your finger which he obliged and within seconds, he was in front of you.

You quickly gave him a peck and before he could deepen the kiss, you pulled away.

“Bye! Good luck!” You beamed, shutting the door again.

one of my favs ive written so far which was also inspired by a harry fic i read back in like 2019 soo if i find it again i’ll tag it!

likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you enjoy <3

[vampykitty-kun]

UPDATED Canon Batfam Ages/Heights/Weights Pre-Reboot

Reblogging AGAIN because it is really useful and I haven’t done so in a long while

(Plus someone reminded me about this post)

Last time had added the 3 Batgirls to the list. Which was a PAIN to compile the info for. Anno can vouch for that. Now there are a few extras at the end.

A reminder that this list is for PRE-REBOOT and is not at all canon for the New 52, which isn’t surprising since everyone’s height varies so extremely between artists these days.

-x-x-x-

No one seems to really realize all of this unless they look it up all at once, but the size differences between the members of the Bat-family are very surprising.

~~~ PRE-REBOOT ~~~ Bruce Wayne/Batman: 6’ 2”, 210lbs and no one knows what his age is supposed to be anymore. Birthday: February 19th Dick Grayson/Nightwing: 5’ 10”, 175lbs, and is roughly 25 years old now. Birthday: March 21st Jason Todd/Red Hood: 6’ 0”, 225lbs, and is roughly 19 years old now. Birthday: August 16th Tim Drake/Red Robin: 5’ 5” 125lbs, and is roughly 17 years old now. Birthday: July 19th Damian Wayne/Robin: (4’ 6” / 84lbs) - (5’ 2” / 120lbs) -  (5’ 4” / 140lbs),  height & weight varies by artist, appearance since creation, and info source. He is roughly 10-11 years old now. Birthday: ???

Barbara Gordon/Batgirl: 5’ 7” 126lbs, and is VERY roughly between Dick and Bruce’s age. Her age was retconned so many times it’s impossible to get an exact age. However, until it became officially inappropriate for underage relationships in recent years, Babs was always quite a few years older than Dick. Birthday: September 23 (according to an OLD DC calender)

Cassandra Cain/Batgirl: 5’ 5” 127lbs, and is roughly 19 years old. Birthday: January 26th (celebrated)

Stephanie Brown/Batgirl: 5’ 5” 129lbs, and is roughly 18-19 years old. Birthday: August 11th (comic first appearance) The ages/weights/heights are the proper ages according to several official DC reference pages/books prior to the reboot. Who knows what they are after really. I’m not sure DC really knows either. Every time I post this someone pops in to dispute it, but I’m only going off of what DC has officially said even if it doesn’t always make sense. We can all say DC has screwed up plenty over the years.

EXTRAS:

Alfred Pennyworth: 5’ 10” 160lbs

Talia al Ghul: 5’ 8” 141lbs (comics) and 5’ 6” (BtAS)

Selina Kyle: 5’ 7” 133lbs (comics) and 5’ 6” (BtAS)

James (Jim) Gordon: 6’ 0" 168lbs

Prudence Wood: taller than both Tim and Steph but shorter than Dick, putting her at roughly 5’6”- 5’9”

Tam Fox: Noticeably shorter than Tim, Steph, and Vicki Vale so likely around 5’3”

Sasha (Scarlet): Noticeably about a head shorter than Jason but a bit taller than Damian, so she is in the range of 5’6”

Conclusion? -Tim is tiny as all hell, and needs to eat. He really is the ‘Baby Bird’. Tim is officially SEVEN inches shorter than Jason, and 100lbs lighter. Both Steph and Cass are his height but weigh more, even if only by a touch. -Jason is actually taller than Dick, and heavier than Bruce. -Damian is going to be built like a damned linebacker, and will probably be larger than Bruce in height AND weight. He is only an inch shorter than Tim and is 15lbs heavier, while being 6 years younger. (if of course going off his larger size range I initially recorded last year, and also believable by FutureBatDamian’s size)

[stcrgazerlily]

━━━━━━━ THIS CAN GO ONE OF TWO WAYS

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bf!jason todd x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: roy calls you at 2 am, apparently jason is drunk and needs you

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 1.1k words, none, fluff, CRACK, sort of part 2 for this, roy is there too, 1 sexual comment, not edited just proof-read 🚬

<𝟑: art creds to @quezartt

You’re currently wearing one of Jason’s Gotham U hoodies (you suspect it’s not actually Jason’s) that reaches down to your legs, along with your winter boots. Aside from that, you’re wearing your pyjamas and nothing else.

You’re absolutely freezing your ass off, and by the time you barge into the club Roy sent you the address to, you swear you’re on the verge of hypothermia.

You would’ve told him to fuck off because it’s literally two a.m. But he called with Jason’s phone, and told you to come right now.

You need to come. It’s Jason.

Your heart absolutely stopped for a second. What? You can’t even hear your own voice.

He laughs. Nothing serious. He’s just worried you’re hungry.

Huh? Your voice is still raspy from sleep.

Just come.

So now you’re here, climbing the stairs to the VIP lounge. And it’s just your luck that someone is guarding the door.

He scans you up and down, then shuffles a bit closer to block the entrance.

"Hi, um, my friends are inside waiting for me."

He raises a brow. "Sure.”

"Yeah," you insist. "Roy and Jason—"

His face falls. "You’re Jason’s girl?"

"Sorry?" You blink twice. "What do you mean—"

But you’re interrupted for a second time. You frown and check your phone again, to see if there are any missed calls. There’s not.

The man turns around and taps his earpiece. A moment later, he spins back to you, smiling brightly. "You can absolutely come in." He opens the door for you. "Jason’s girl."

You mumble a thanks, still very weirded out by the whole experience.

The second you step inside, all eyes snap to you. Granted, there are only five other people besides Roy and Jason, but it’s still very weird for everyone to be tracking your movements and whispering to each other.

You ignore the stares and make your way to the boys’ table in the corner of the room. Just where Jay would’ve chosen it— away from any potential threats.

"Roy! Jason!" you call.

Jason is rambling to Roy, waving his hands around and smiling brightly. But the second he hears you, his whole body freezes. Even his hands stop mid-gesture. His pretty green eyes immediately start scanning the room until they land on you.

And then he waddles. He waddles toward you. His movements are clumsy as he tries to grab you, nearly walking straight into a decorative plant.

"Baby!"

You catch him just as he’s about to collapse on top of you. Struggling to support his weight, you try to steady him.

He lets you. Then he picks you up.

He kisses you on the nose, and all you can do is blink in confusion before he throws you over his shoulder.

"Jason?" you whisper-yell. "Put me down right now."

"Nuh-uh." He sounds smug. "Can’t."

The world flips again as he plops you down beside him on the velvet couch. Now you’re sandwiched between the two of them.

You look at Roy, raising a brow. "What did you even give him?"

He smirks, raising his hands innocently. "He said he could handle it."

Jason is playing with your hair. He tugs on a strand before curling it around his index finger.

"Why is everyone looking at us?"

Roy laughs, bright and loud. "Jason couldn’t stop telling everyone about you. The cocktail guy, the—"

"Bouncer?"

He snaps his fingers. "Yeah." Roy grins. "You know, I thought he'd eventually run out of facts."

You blink. "Facts?"

"Oh, yeah." He starts counting on his fingers. "You brush your teeth for ten minutes— you’re a psycho for that, by the way. You like your toast overly done. You cry at movies, even if they’re not sad. He’s dissected the meaning of all of your favourite songs...”

You’re too dumbfounded to properly answer. Roy continues.

"You apparently have the prettiest smile in the tri-state area."

Jason nods solemnly. "It's true."

Roy whistles. "He's got it bad."

Jason is still playing with your hair. "You’re so pretty."

You turn to him with a smile, brushing his cheek softly. He immediately nuzzles into your touch. "Not as much as you."

He shakes his head. "No, no. You’re ridiculously pretty. Sometimes"— he drops his voice, as if you’re sharing some great secret—"when you smile, I forget how to think. Or when you do anything, really."

He wraps an arm around your waist until there isn’t even an inch of space between you. You can feel every line of his body, the hard muscle beneath his clothes. "My pretty, pretty girl."

You place a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you, Jay."

"And you also make me really hard."

Roy’s laughter is impossible to ignore. He slams a hand on the table, wheezing as he mumbles something between fits of laughter. You see him fumble for his phone out of the corner of your eye.

"Yesterday, for example, when you—"

"Jason," you say sternly.

His face falls. "Don’t be mad at me." He’s frowning now, his big green eyes glossy and wide.

You cup his face. "I’m not angry, baby."

"Oh, okay." He nods slowly. "I’m sorry I told Roy you snore."

"I do not—"

Roy nudges your shoulder. "According to Jason, you do."

Jason nods matter-of-factly. "When I can’t sleep, I listen to you breathe. So yeah. You snore."

Your heart pounds in your chest, steady and hard. You want to kiss him. Not just his lips. Everywhere.

Because who decided kisses on the lips were the most intimate? You’d kiss every scar, every freckle, every crook of his beautiful body. You want to worship him with kisses.

"And you make me soup," Jason continues, completely oblivious to the look of pure love on your face.

Roy blinks. "Okay?"

Jason sighs dramatically. "Not canned soup. Actual homemade soup she spends time and effort making."

"Congratulations.”

He rolls his eyes. "You don’t get it." Then his eyes find yours, unwavering. "But you do. You get me, and you love me."

"Of course I do, Jay.” You smile softly.

Jason smiles before resting his head in the crook of your neck. His eyes flutter shut as you run your fingers through his hair. "You’re my definition of an angel."

The next morning, Jason wakes up with a killer hangover and his entire body wrapped around you.

Then he bumps into Roy in the kitchen. He dies of embarrassment the second Roy holds up his phone to show him something.

The video shows nothing but the club ceiling, dim lighting, and red velvet. The audio, however, is crystal clear.

What if she’s hungry?

Jason physically cringes at the sound of his own whiny, worried voice. He’s never drinking again. Roy is barely holding in his laughter, the phone slightly shaking.

She’s an adult, man.

She forgets to eat. There’s a frustrated grumble. I can’t unlock my phone. Stupid numbers. A brief shuffle. The password is her birthday. You call her.

Jason wants to crawl into the Lazaurs Pit and disappear.

[themysteriouscheese]

Where’s My Cat?

Paring/s: Batboys + Wally West x gn!reader

Warning/s: Cursing, mentions of sex on Wally’s part

Thank you @mellowvisions15 for the request!

Taglist! (comment to be added!)

@fandomtrashsblog @currentblasphemy @kekeanna266 @asheslovesnyx @diseasedclitoris @jasontood3904000 @weepingwolfdaze @cheryyyyyyyyyy6666 @teenagellamaangel

[jtoddsbaby]

a pillow? really?

IN WHICH... after a fight with your boyfriend, you force him to sleep with a pillow between you. here's how he handles it.

featuring: dick grayson, jason todd, bruce wayne, damian wayne, and tim drake.

warnings: fluff, crack, f!reader, established relationship (wife!reader for bruce, gf!reader for everyone else), EXTREME mommy kink!tim—dni if this is "too freaky" for you!!

inspired by this ask

dick grayson:

dick definitely would be upset and would try at least 3 times to ditch the pillow.

but each time he yanks the item from between you and tucks it under his head, you yank it right back and lodge it between your bodies.

he gives up on removing it after attempt #10.

you're turned on your side away from him, seeming way too unbothered for his liking. he's probably pissing you off even more, but attention from you is all he wants.

he pokes your shoulder repeatedly, arm draped over the barrier pillow. "baby, baby, baby, baby," he repeats with each poke.

he grins big and wide when you finally turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. "do i need to get a bigger pillow?" you scoff.

"no. this one's perfectly fine," he chirps. "though i'd prefer no pillow at all. i can't feel my baby up like this!"

you roll your eyes. "you don't deserve to feel me up, richard. go to sleep." you shuffle closer to the edge of the bed, juuust far enough that he can't reach you.

he groans dramatically, flopping down on his side with a huff. "fine, whatever. you don't love me, i get it. goodnight, i guess."

he falls asleep with a big, babyish pout on his face, his lip jutted out like a toddler's rather than a 20-something year old's.

his spirits are definitely raised in the morning, though, because he wakes up to his body being draped over the stupid pillow barrier, head nestled against your chest.

jason todd:

jason would take it much worse than dick. he'd feel personally offended, undoubtedly.

he'd glare daggers at the pillow separating his body from yours, wishing he could burn it to ashes with just his eyes. his arms are crossed over his beefy chest like a child told no to dessert.

finally, he tears his eyes from the pillow and onto your sweet body. your beautiful, worship-worthy body. "can i touch you yet?"

"no, jay! that's the whole point of the pillow. no cuddles allowed, i'm angry with you."

he grumbles. "no cuddles isn't the same as no touching. can't i at least hold your hand, ma?"

"no."

"ma, please?"

"jason peter," you snap, giving him the look. "i said no. goodnight."

his eyes remain trained to your back, watching it rise and fall as you breathe. "...night."

you feel much worse about how you spoke to him when you wake up the next morning. his side of the bed is cold, and the pillow in the middle looks as if it hadn't moved once since it was placed.

you get up, padding to the kitchen where jason is flipping pancakes at the stove. his shoulders are slumped, head swaying as if it's too heavy for his neck. he lets out a deep sigh. you frown.

your arms wrap around yourself as you approach. "jay?" you call softly, standing beside him at the stove. no touching, not yet. he doesn't look at you, so you tilt your head to get a look at his face and oh...

his eyelids droop with exhaustion, eyes a bit red from straining to stay awake. his under-eyes are dark bags. his lips are chapped. "baby? what's up with you?"

alas, he looks at you, his lips don't smile, eyes don't soften. he holds out your plate of pancakes and you accept it. "i did not sleep."

"...why?"

he looks at you as if it's obvious. "well, i did not have you to hold, and i can't guarantee your safety without holding you. i tried to sleep, but then i had a nightmare that i'd...lost you. every time i shut my eyes i saw the same thing as the dream. so, i decided to just stay awake."

you've never felt like a shittier person. you throw your arms around him, feeling him slump against you. you vow to never but him on a touch ban again, no matter how angry he makes you.

bruce wayne:

personally, i feel like bruce just...wouldn't even put up with it lol.

unlike how dick and jason kept the pillow and respected the rule (to an extent), bruce would just laugh in your face when he comes in for bed.

he stands at the foot of the bed, looking at your scowling face and the fluffy pillow at your side. "what's with the barrier?"

you huff. "no touching, bruce. i'm not in the mood."

he places his glass of water on his nightstand, casually crawling into bed and tossing the pillow across the room.

"bruce!" you glare, but you can't do much when he snakes his beefy arms around your waist and tugs you close until your back meets his chest. "i said no touch—"

"—i know what you said, darling. and—no offense—i don't give two fucks," he chuckles, the sound low and deep in your ear. fuck, why does he sound so good when you're so upset? "if i want to hold my wife, i'm going to hold my lovely wife."

you grumble, fighting his grip, but to no avail. "bruceeee," you groan.

"g'night, honey," he only croons, kissing your jawline so sweetly. "i love you."

moments of silence pass.

"i said i love you," he repeats, pinching your waist.

you squirm. "ughhhuh, i love you, too."

"good girl," he grins into your neck, holding you closer. "get some beauty sleep, i'll have alfred prepare you a spectacular breakfast tomorrow morning—y'know, as my apology."

true to his word, you wake up to his arms still locked around you like chains. however, the delectable scent of pancakes, waffles, berries and cream, eggs, and coffee wafts into the bedroom.

"ugh, i hate you, you promising, handsome bastard," you grumble, relaxing into his arms with the assumption that he's still sleeping. "i can never stay mad at you."

you feel lips curl into a grin against your shoulder. "yes, yes, you hate me," he mumbles sarcastically. "my wifey hates me and my lovely arms and the breakfast i make her."

"you didn't make anything. alfred made it."

"i made him make it. lovable by association, honey."

damian wayne:

when damian's told that you'd be sleeping with a pillow between you, your sweet baby's signature scowl is tainted with unshed tears. you feel bad, but your anger from the fight overpowers your remorse.

"a...pillow barrier?" he mumbles. "really, habibti?"

you nod. "a pillow barrier. i'm so upset with you, dami. i don't wanna cuddle."

he nods his head once. "i'll try to cope," he sighs, climbing into bed and throwing the covers over his head.

all of damian that shows is a little peek of jet-black hair from under the sheets. despite yourself, you have to bite back a smile. so cute.

"night, damian," you murmur.

his voice is muffled by the comforter. "goodnight, habibti. i love you oh so dearly, my world."

you're glad that he's hiding under the sheets, that way he can't see your grin breaks through—can't see your walls cracking. "i love you too, dami."

dami. the nickname makes your boyfriend smile. dami rather than damian, that's progress.

what you don't see is damian tossing and turning for hours until the clock strikes 2 am. he just can't sleep without his beloved woman in his arms, without your hair tickling his cheek as you drool into his neck.

so, he crawls out of bed and into the cool nighttime chill of the manor. if you won't cuddle him, he shall find a replacement. he returns to the bedroom a bit later with alfred the cat tucked under his arm and titus trailing lazily behind him.

he reunites with the warm blankets, holding alfred close under his chin. titus climbs into bed, sprawling comfortably over damian's legs.

you awaken the next morning the most adorable sight. your dami, arms (and legs) full of his cherished pets.

his hold on the cat is tight, the animal purring softly into damian's neck. titus has since inched his way up the bed, his head level with damian's—the dog is nearly spooning your boyfriend, doggy drool coating his sleep shirt.

well, at least he found a way to get his fix of drool and warmth. your walls finally crumble, and you reach over the pillow to stroke your knuckles against his cheek. that wakes him up.

he peels one eye open, grinning at the gooey look on your face. "what? i needed something to hold."

tim drake:

mommy kink!tim is activated almost instantly, and he tears each and every one of your walls down until you forget why you were even upset with him in the first place.

his face falls when you announce the pillow's presence. "what?!"

"you heard me, tim. pillow stays."

"no...no, no, no, no," he whines softly, feeling helpless. he tosses his phone haphazardly onto his nightstand, flopping onto the bed. "please, no."

you huff. "i'm upset, tim! i can't cuddle with you tonight, i just can't."

"mommy, please!" he begs pathetically, shoving the pillow out from where it's lodged between your bodies. he nuzzles up into your side instantly. his dark locks brush your cheek. "can't sleep without my mommy...need her to hold me, and love me, and tell me i'm a good boy."

you arch a brow. "but you're not a good boy."

he whimpers, eyes drilling shut in regret at your words. "o– okay, then to tell me i'm a bad boy. that i'm such a bad boy and don't deserve my mommy's affection."

"okay, fine. you're a ba—"

"—no! i change my mind. don't tell me any of those things," he whines, big blue eyes looking apologetically up at you through thick lashes. fuck, the eyes. "i'm so so so sorry, mama. i wasn't a good boy, but i can be! a good boy, that is."

you run a hand through his hair, and he whimpers—loud and desperate for more touch. "you promise you'll be good? you're not lying to mommy so she'll cuddle you?"

he keeps his eyes on yours, so melty and gentle. "i'd never lie to you, mommy. i swear."

"okay, then. if you say you can be a good boy, timmy, then i'll cuddle you tonight. but don't make me mad again, understand?"

"understand, mommy," he coos, smiling happily now that he's won you over. he snuggles into your chest, sighing contentedly. "thank you."

a/n: anyone peep the reference at the end of bruce's headcannons?🫣

[stcrgazerlily]

━━━━━━━ BEACH DAY

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bf!jason todd x fem!reader + platonic!damian x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and jason go with damian to the beach

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: FLUFF!!, 1.2k words, reader is a freak AND freaky for jason, but its okay bc jason is freaky for reader too #they’rebothfreaks, uhhh i think thats it?, boobs, intimacy, damian is a kid and their son, lets ignore the messy writing im super duper tired sorry for the grammar + spelling mistakes

The sun is blazing hot above the three of you, and despite that— and the added weight of three heavy bags and a beach umbrella— Jason doesn’t break a sweat.

On his left arm; a bright pink bag packed with tinfoil-wrapped sandwiches and cold cans with perspiration clinging to the metal. Next to the pink, is a blue one with the towels, and the last is your white tote-bag (also on his left arm), where you carry all of your stuff. On his right arm, he carries the umbrella.

You had tried to grab something, but Jason just took it back without a struggle while you pulled and tugged. He just raised his brow like are you really trying?

You obviously let him win.

Damian is walking further ahead, inspecting the beach with sharp eyes. He’s dressed in a bright green swimsuit you bought him and a white shirt. Jason is practically the same, except his swimsuit is a boring dark red and his shirt is sleeveless.

The wooden pier feels hot under you, despite wearing flip flops. And pesky grains of sand are stuck to the soles of your feet and slowly rising up your ankles. But you don’t mind, it all fades away the second the scent of sea salt hits your nostrils.

You eye Jason’s bulging biceps and moisten your lips. He flexes them once, rearranging the weight of the food bag. You’re positive you’re going to faint— and not because of the heat.

You quickly set up camp near the shore, and you’re grateful that it’s practically empty. While Jason has gotten more comfortable about his scars around you (and Damian), he’s not exactly ready to parade them around.

Damian crosses his arms and stares at the beach umbrella, a blue-and-white striped thing you bought for only ten bucks.

“You set it up quite poorly, Todd.”

He huffs. “Then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I would.” He sniffs. “But I’m going into the water.”

You bend over and begin rummaging through the white bag while the other two bicker. You straighten up with a smile.

Both of their faces fall when they see what you have in your hands.

“Please no,” Damian says.

Jason pats his back. “You can’t fight her, kid.”

“But surely—”

Jason slowly shakes his head.

Damian sighs and looks down at the sand. “Fine. But if it gets into my eyes I’m reporting you to Father.”

You grin and click the bottle open. The younger boy looks positively terrified.

It takes two eternally long minutes, according to Damian, to soap him up with white sunscreen. His taut back, his arms, white streaks on the smooth apples of his cheeks, and more gentle touches wherever scars are. He grumbles something and rushes off toward the water.

You and Jason watch him dive in headfirst. Slowly, you turn to him. “You’re not escaping, mister.”

You get rid of your shirt and shorts, standing only in your bikini.

Jason’s jaw drops slightly, but he catches himself almost instantly.

“Well,” he says after a beat, “that hardly seems fair.”

You raise an eyebrow. “To who?”

“To me, obviously.”

He turns around and you squirt a fat dollop of cream onto your palm, applying it directly to the middle of his back. Then you start rubbing it in with slow, soothing motions as your fingers coat the scars and place a kiss under his ear— where the cream hasn’t reached yet.

He goes still for a moment. You pretend not to notice.

Jason turns around again, and you have to go slightly onto your tiptoes to reach his shoulders and arms. You take your sweet time with his biceps, rubbing and admiring them.

Jason snorts. “I’m going to start charging you for staring.”

You roll your eyes. “You're enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little.”

His laughter dims a little when your attention drifts lower, lingering over old scars and hard muscle alike. The quiet is comfortable, with only the soft sand of lapping waves crashing against the shore and the occasional squawk of a seagull.

But then comes his face, and his smile slips away when you tell him to crouch down.

You’re far more careful here, using only the pads of your fingers to spread the sunscreen without risking getting any in his eyes, nose, or mouth. You’re so focused that you don’t notice where his eyes have strayed.

To be completely fair, Jason really tried not to look. He stared at the thin strings of your bikini, but his gaze followed the red downward...

And yeah. Oh.

“That’s it!” You smile proudly.

Jason realizes he’s somehow fallen onto his knees. The burning sand scratches at them, and his skin feels slightly sticky and warm with sunscreen. He’s only half-aware.

“Jason?” You gently lift his chin. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? The sun is right behind your head, a halo of gold crowning you. You’re looking at him with those eyes and wearing that bikini. And he knows it’s not a coincidence that it’s the same shade of red as his suit and swim trunks.

“Oh,” he says. His wide green eyes staring up at you, loose strands of hair falling on his forehead.

Your smile widens. “Oh?”

“You planned this.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”

“Liar.”

You sink to your knees right in front of him, and link your hands behind his neck. “I knew you’d love this bikini.”

Jason shakes his head once and kisses you anyway. It’s slow and hungry, like eating a juicy peach and trying to get all of the flavour right against your taste buds.

Your lips are sun-chapped but taste like those artificial strawberries— probably from the ice cream you and Damian got at the pier earlier. Sweet, his sweet girl.

He groans and his hands fall to your waist. Big, rough hands that rub against your soft skin, brushing away the scratching sand. You lean further into him.

“This is disgusting.”

It’s practically impressive how quickly you and Jason separate.

Still panting on your knees, coated in hot sand and streaks of Jason’s sunscreen smeared across your chest and thighs.

Damian is drenched, looking like a very angry cat. “Are you two finished being embarrassing?”

Jason smirks. “No promises.”

Damian looks personally offended. “Unbelievable.”

You smile apologetically. “Sorry?”

He huffs. “I may forgive you if you come into the water with me.”

You get up, briefly clutching Jason’s shoulder so you don’t lose your balance. He smirks again.

“You stay.”

Jason snaps his eyes toward Damian.

“Stay here and take care of the fort.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “That's your job, Robin.”

“I'm delegating.”

“Pretty sure that's not how that works.”

“Father delegates constantly.”

Jason opens his mouth, pauses, then sighs. “Fair point.”

You smile Jason goodbye and grab Damian by the hand, running so the soles of your feet don’t burn as you jump into the crystalline water.

That’s when Jason sees it. And his brain, traitor that it is, briefly stops functioning.

Red Hood’s symbol is printed on the back of your bikini bottoms in a brighter shade of red.

Jason closes his eyes. “You're unbelievable.” And insane, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He watches you splash Damian, while Damian loudly insists he isn't having fun. The lie becomes significantly less convincing, when Damian starts splashing back.

Your hand rises above the water, gesturing for Jason to join you.

His smile widens and rushes in.

You end up on Jason’s shoulders, chasing Damian. Slowly, of course— the water is dense, but Jason is strong and Damian allows himself to be chased around.

It becomes Jason's favorite beach day. (Damian's too, though neither of them will ever admit it).

[batfam-belfry]

Batman: Black and White (2020) #5

Batfam movie nights are canon, thank you and goodnight ❤️

[clemmmmmmmmmmmmmm]

“Daddy,let me know that im your only girl.The only man i need in this gangster world.”

Batboys x Reader:Picking you up as weights

Me and my husband used to do this🤭.I love that man sooo bad,had 2 of his kids-.Anyone who can guess my daughter’s name,ill do anything fic/headcannon request of their choice!Hint:My favourite game is god of war.

Bruce Wayne

•Bruce is halfway through his workout when you wander into the gym carrying a cup of coffee.

•You watch for a minute before joking,

“Need a heavier weight?”

•He raises an eyebrow.

“Volunteer carefully.”

•You laugh, assuming he’s kidding.

•Five minutes later, you’re sitting across his shoulders while he does perfectly controlled squats.

“Bruce!”

“Comfortable?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’re approximately the right weight.”

•He never treats it like a joke at your expense.

• It’s simply another way to train while making you laugh.

•Alfred walks past the gym, sees Bruce calmly squatting with you perched on his shoulders, and doesn’t even blink.

“Good morning, sir. Miss.”

⸻

Dick Grayson

“Come here.”

“Why?”

“Science.”

•Before you know it, he’s scooped you onto his back.

“Dick!”

“You’re my resistance training.”

•He starts doing push-ups while you cling to him, laughing too hard to stay still.

“Stop moving!”

“I’m trying!”

“You’re making this significantly harder.”

“That’s… literally the point, isn’t it?”

•He finishes the set, completely out of breath.

“…Okay, that counted as cardio too.”

•By the end, you’re both laughing so hard neither of you can stand up properly.

⸻

Jason Todd

• Jason says it as a joke.

“Get over here. Bench press time.”

•You snort.

“Absolutely not.”

•He grins.

“Coward.”

“You’re going to drop me.”

“Please,ma.”

•After a little convincing, you agree.

•Jason lies back on the bench while you carefully brace yourself.

“If you sneeze, we’re both done for.”

“Have a little faith.”

•He lifts you steadily a couple of times before setting you down again.Squeezing your ass every time he lifts you up.

•You blink.

“…That was easier than I expected.”

•Jason smirks.

“Told you.”

•Then immediately reaches for the actual barbell.

“You’re cuter than gym equipment, but unfortunately less practical.”

⸻

Tim Drake

•It isn’t intentional.

•You’re sprawled across him while he’s stretching after a workout.

•Tim pauses.

“…Actually…”

• You narrow your eyes.

“What does that mean?”

“Stay there.”

•Before you can ask why, he wraps his arms around you and starts doing glute bridges.

“…Tim.”

“Mm?”

“Are you using me as a weight?”

“…Maybe.”

•You start laughing.

“You could’ve just asked.”

“This seemed more efficient.”

•He only lasts about ten reps because you’re laughing so hard that you’re shaking, which makes him laugh too.

⸻

Damian Wayne

•Damian hears you jokingly say,

“I could be one of your weights.”

• He looks at you thoughtfully.

“…That is feasible.”

•You immediately regret speaking.

•During his core workout, he has you sit carefully across his hips while he does controlled sit-ups.

“You’re taking this far too seriously.”

“I take training seriously.”

• Every movement is precise.

•Every lift controlled.

•He checks once,

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

•When he’s finished, he stands and helps you down before giving you the faintest smirk.

“….You were considerably more motivating than a sandbag.”

You laugh.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

[theyuuy]

.☘︎ ݁˖Lucky you!

Includes: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan, & Tim Drake

Summary: How would they react to "Lucky You" jeans

Content: f!reader unless you ignore the vaginal vocabulary, might be oc, fingering, & oral. Tell me if I missed any others .ᐟ

✶⋆.˚Jason Todd

Jason would be fumbling with the zipper, probably in a hurry, when his eyes caught something unusual. He’d pull it down further, trying to see the words more clearly, his eyes catching the printed letters: “lucky you” with a clover at the end. 

A slow, predatory like grin would spread across his face, breath catching in his throat. The realization hitting him like a physical force. 

”Lucky me?” he’d breathe out, voice rough and thick, panting from previously kissing you.

He’d then tug down the jeans down faster, a possessive, urgent need igniting within him.

”Yeah,” he’d practically growl, his voice low and raw, “damm right. Lucky me,” before forcefully getting rid of your underwear, spreading your legs in the process as well. 

✶⋆.˚Bruce Wayne

The door to his quarters slam open, he’s carrying you in his arms, lips and tongues intertwined.

The air was now filled with warmth and the longing for each other's touch. Bruce throws you on to the soft mattress of his king sized bed, both of you pulling away from the kiss. 

 As you shifted slightly, trying to quickly unzip your jeans, Bruce's gaze shifted down, noticing the  "lucky you” peeking from the inside of your jeans. 

A slow, genuinely delighted smile spread across his face. 

Lifting his head up to look at your face, his usual neat black hair now messy and scrambled from your fingers tugging and pulling at it earlier. Hovering over you, he whispers in your ear, “Lucky me?” He then reaches down to gently trace the edge of the fabric. “You have no idea how lucky I feel,”.

He pulls you closer, your clothed cunt meeting his crotch. 

 “Now let me make you feel good, hm?” He says as he pulls both your unzipped jeans and underwear off. 

✶⋆.˚Hal Jordan

His large body hovers over yours, lips meeting your neck. He’s kissing and nibbling all over your skin.

Hal pulls away, before he moves down to your legs, his face in between your thighs. You could feel the warmth from his breath landing on your clothed cunt.

His fingers travel to the zipper of your jeans, pulling the small piece of metal down. His eyes notice the imprint of the words splattered on the fabric of your jeans. He looks up to your face and then back to the words before letting out a low chuckle.

 ”Lucky me? Always with the little surprises, aren't you?” he asks, a gentle teasing tone in his voice. 

“Lets see how lucky I really am then,” he says with a glimmer in his eyes. 

Hal swiftly pulls down both your jeans and underwear, exposing your throbbing pussy. His mouth latches onto your heat, swirling his tongue around the clit. Your hands grip his brown hair, while his mouth continues its work on your lower area, determined to make you finish. 

✶⋆.˚Tim Drake

Tim’s gaze locked with yours, a shared amusement dancing in his eyes as your hand deliberately went to your jeans zipper. 

He watched the slow, almost teasing way you began to unzip them, a knowing smirk playing on your lips as the hidden “Lucky you” was revealed.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his voice met your ear “What have we here?” His hand goes down to cover yours, the touch sending a jolt through you as he helps you to finish unzipping.

Your hips lift up slightly to make it easier to discard the jeans and your underwear. Tim then pulls you upward so that your back meets his chest before forcing your legs apart, his fingers glide down between your thighs. ”Wet already?” he says before pushing in two fingers, forcing a moan out of you.

Lace divider made by @uzmacchiato

A/n: wait no bc I’m getting writers cringe from my own writing 😂

[thewitchblue]

You fiddled with your shirt while Jason pressed himself harder into your back as one of his hands laced with yours and his free arm wrapped around your waist. He had been overprotective a lot recently and you had been trying to figure out why for the longest of time. You hadn’t told him that you were pregnant yet, but you were beginning to think that he already knew based on how he was acting.

“What has gotten into you?”

You asked, amused. He was completely draped around you like a cape at this point. Jason didn’t say anything for a moment. He simply buried his face in your neck and breathed. Jason loved you so much. He kissed your neck sweetly.

“Is it a crime to love my wife?”

Jason asked with a teasing tone. His voice was muffled by your neck, but you heard him clearly. You were nervous to tell Jason that you were pregnant, but you knew you had to eventually. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves. Before you could stop yourself, you said,

“I have something to tell you, babe.”

Jason’s travelling hands stilled. You couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing, but you certainly had his attention. He seemed to be waiting for you to continue before saying anything. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you managed to continue softly,

“I… I’m pregnant…” Jason froze. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised, he had figured this out three weeks ago, but he was shocked how nervously you told him. He was a little sad that you were scared to tell him. You toyed with his fingers nervously, looking down anxiously. Jason kissed a trail up your neck to your ear and murmured warmly,

“You aren’t alone in this.”

You shivered but your body sagged in relief and a smile slowly spread across your face. Jason’s hand moved from around your waist to lightly touch your abdomen as if he was already imagining what his future with you would look like and forming plans that his brain had not let him think before. You mumbled to him,

“I don’t want to tell anyone else yet. Not until the first trimester is over.”

You didn’t even want to think about your pregnancy and you knew that both his and your family would be overbearing. Jason agreed immediately and pulled you carefully closer. You leaned back into his strong chest with a smile. Jason asked softly,

“How far along are you?”

You looked at his hand that was cradling your abdomen like it was precious. Jason held you a little bit tighter and smiled fondly. Your eyes softened as you tilted your head back to look at him. You told him,

“Seven weeks.”

Jason kissed a trail from your forehead, down the bridge of your nose, then finally landed on your lips. You enjoyed the slow and tender kiss lazily. Jason had you pressed against his chest with his hand moving back to your waist. 

Jason tried not to let his excitement build too highly, but he couldn’t stop it. He had never thought about having a family of his own. He never thought he could be part of a healthy and happy family, but you were giving that future to him.

“We have to pick a name.”

Jason finally said once the kiss was broken. You gave him a smile filled with warmth that he was excited to see every day. Jason looked at your stomach with a love that you had not expected so soon. He kissed your forehead again. You placed your hand over his and said softly,

“We have time. Let’s enjoy the moment while we have it.”

Jason debated whether or not he should argue with you about how being prepared would make you enjoy the pregnancy for far longer than if you were stuck panicking for a name in the final trimester. He decided to let it go this time, but he already had some ideas. 

“I’m going to be a dad.”

He whispered in awe. Jason suddenly had the urge to cry. His brain finally settled down and came to terms with what you had just revealed to him. Jason had never been more sure of anything when he married you, and now you were giving him a future he had never considered. You turned around in his arms and said softly,

“And I’m going to be a mom.”

It was an unexpected pregnancy, but not unwanted by any means. Joy vibrated in the air like a rung bell. Jason’s arms squeezed around you as the realisation fully settled in. He was going to be a dad! Jason couldn’t believe it. He was crushed under the happiness that the news made him. Jason could already picture it in his head. He was worried that he was going to be a bad dad, but he also knew that you would get on his case if he started slipping into bad habits. He loved you more and more every second.

“You run the show now, mama.”

Jason said in a lighthearted tone. You gently shoved Jason. He rather dramatically fell down, dragging you with him. You squeaked as you fell with him. He was very careful to keep your descend controlled and smooth as you landed on his chest.

“I guess that’s better than being called mommy…”

You grumbled in a disgruntled tone. Jason laughed so loud that someone banged on the wall in the apartment next door. There was a muffled,

“People are trying to sleep, asshole!”

They clearly did not know who Jason Todd was because that only made him laugh louder while you half-heartedly whacked his chest with the back of your hand. You shook your head and said,

“If you turn our child into Robin 2.0, I’m going to Zatanna to turn you into a dog like what happened to your brother.”

That got Jason to finally quiet down. You snickered and he lightly flicked your nose in response. You cuddled into Jason with your head landing on his chest. You weren’t excited in the slightest to tell the family, but you knew that Jason had your back and that would be more than enough.