Summary: The reader is the biological daughter of Bruce Wayne and gets neglected by the family, then she gets replaced and imitated. She has superpowers and goes by the superhero name Atomic. This is a series and still a WIP.
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: Obscene Language, Mentions of Arson, Canon Typical Violence, Neglect, Bruce being a shitty dad, Evelyn, identity theft, crime, reader jumps off building.
Author's note: Ahem this is shorter than I'd like but I will be updating again soon, so don't worry. Please send feedback. My comments, asks, and DMs are open. Ask questions, send criticism. Do not be afraid. Divider's from @bronzewasp beautiful stuff and the header is from @aracnista
You were beginning to realize why your presence was wanted in this wretched home.
Dear Evelyn over here appears to have trouble keeping up her ruse. It didn’t necessarily take a mind reader to take notice of her more jittery and nervous nature. It did, however, take a mind reader to determine that she was behaving like this due to the fact that she realised that in your absence, it became increasingly difficult to mimic you. You had made it quite hard for her by taking everything of yours along with you to Newton. See, this is why you didn’t take much action against her. How can one be a “trained” spy but need to steal someone else’s charisma? She’s obviously not a serious threat; the family can deal with her when the truth is revealed.
Speaking of the family, they were currently eating dinner at the dinner table. You were going to be included; an occurrence as rare as seeing snow in the Sahara Desert. You didn’t want to come in early and possibly sit in anyone’s seat or create awkwardness. If you had it your way, you wouldn’t even be there. You never are, you either eat in the library while drawing/reading or out in the garden if the sun is out. Never in your room, you hate the smell of food in your room. It was Alfred who made you come down for the family dinner.
“Master Y/N, the family has not seen or heard from you in a year. I haven’t seen you in a year. I beseech you, dear. Be present just this one instance.”
You folded. He was hopeful and a bit sad; he had missed you tremendously, and seeing the way that the family treated you made his heart ache. Which has led you to this predicament; you wondering why the hell you decided to come back to the manor at all and not make up some bogus excuse about doing some work for the theatre club, while walking down the stairs with one of Reed’s science journals as the faint yet vibrant sound of clatter, laughter, and chatter becomes clearer and louder. You entered the grand Elizabethan-like great hall before making a turn to the lit dining room.
The silence enveloped the room like thick smoke. Everyone turned to you, and you’ve never felt the urge to teleport to the Arctic consume you so swiftly as it did right then. It must’ve felt like hours before Evelyn broke the silence, and you could feel the smugness coming off in waves; yet you could also sense relief. She wanted you here, what a wretch.
“Oh my god! You’re here! Come sit with me, " you winced at the harpy suggestion. You really didn’t want to do that.
“Nah, it’s fine. I’d rather sit here, I tend to-” You tried to reject, but the broad stood up and grabbed you. Well, she tried. You moved away quite fast. She stopped and stared at you with widened eyes. Wow, she’s really attempting to antagonise you here, and you haven’t even been in the manor for twenty-four hours.
“Y/N, go sit down,” the authoritative voice made you turn your head.
Bruce stared at you with his lips in a thin line and an indifferent gaze.
“He actually comes out of the cave??”
You eye the room, realising that everyone is here. Their feelings a mix of awkwardness, annoyance, and disappointment. Ouch, they really don’t want you here. Why do they dislike you so much? What could you have possibly done to warrant this treatment?
Evelyn grabs your arm again and makes you sit with her. Dick is on your right, while she is on your left. You plop the book on the table and stare at it, mentally keeping note of what page you were on. You can’t help but miss Franklin and Val as you look at the journal. Dining with them always felt natural, like you were truly a family, even in the beginning when you were just getting to know them. The contrast between that warmth and this cold family is biting.
Alfred comes in with the food; he’s made pasta. Your favourite and the knowing look he throws your way prove that this was intentional.
“Thank you, Alfred.” You smile gratefully.
It doesn’t take long for chatter to return, and you decide to dive into the journal. You remember Reed gifting this to you before leaving the last day; he thought it would be like having a lecture with him; it doesn’t, but it’s the closest you have to him. Maybe you’ll do a text-to-speech before bed and sleep to it? That doesn’t sound awful. Reed does have a calming voice; you’ve fallen asleep to more aberrant things before.
You feel a vibration in your pocket. You fish out your phone and see that it’s Xander calling. You’re eating with the family, you can’t answer this call now. Something tells you that it's actually quite serious, you swipe on your phone and put it back in your pocket. You’ll get back to him after this shitfest is over, and you also don’t want extra ears listening in on your conversation.
“Who is calling you?” Dick inquired; you could sense that he really didn’t care, he just asked for the sake of it.
“Nobody to worry about, " you muttered.
You catch Damian glaring at you. He still hasn’t told the others what happened between you two; you’re not sure if he’s doing that out of embarrassment or because he wants revenge.
“You’re not supposed to have devices at the dinner table, and why are you reading that mess instead of talking to us?”Damian’s eyes narrowed at you as he spoke. What the hell is this kid’s problem? What would you even talk about with them? Your time at school? Would they even care? You suddenly remember something and straightened.
“Oh, okay. Uhm, Bruce, our school is trying to get us to do internships with certain companies, and I was wondering if I could maybe do that with Wayne Enterprise? I know there’s a talent network or something similar I can apply to. Or if I could shadow one of the engineers and just observe and learn, that would be great.” You went on, fidgeting with one of your rings and staring at your so-called father, who gazed at you like you were some inconvenience.
“Interesting. I’ll look into that for you.” Yeah, you’re never getting it.
“Master Y/N has quite the resume and has won more science competitions than one can count. She would be an excellent candidate.” Alfred tried to defend your case; he was the one who asked you to try inquiring about the internship, but Bruce seemed to have already checked out mentally.
“I’ll see, Alfred.”
You weren’t really bummed out about that. You already had internships lined up, one of them being at Lex Corp, the other being at Stark Industries, and of course, your late stepfather’s company.
“Nepo baby,” You heard Jason cough out. You rolled your eyes and went back to reading your journal before you said something that completely crossed the line. They all started talking again. Talking about events and outings that happened while you were away. There’s a new restaurant called Batburger now, and they seem to frequent there a lot. When was Atomic getting a burger place? You were forced to look up when you heard Stephanie addressing you.
“Oh, right, I forgot you weren’t really here for most of this. I’d hate to go to a boarding school and miss out on stuff all the time.” She twirls a strand of her hair while staring at you with a shit eating grin.
“Stephanie, with your attendance, I think you’re worried about missing the wrong things.” You take a forkful of your pasta while staring at the despicable girl with a raised eyebrow.
Stephanie stares at you with concealed anger in her eyes. Was that too far? It was the truth. These guys don’t know that you know they’re vigilantes.
Jason mutters something about not everyone being a nerd.
“Yeah, you’re a great spokesperson for that. Remind me what university you went to? Oh, right, my bad, pretty sure you need a high school diploma to get into one of those-”
“Y/N,” Bruce stated sternly. “If you can’t eat with us peacefully, then you could leave.” He continued.
“You’re right.” You stood up calmly, took your plate and journal, and left for the library.
The family stared at you in bewilderment. You’d rather not eat with them? What the hell. Evelyn, in particular, looked panicked.
“Wait, Y/N, sit down. Don’t be so histrionic.” Bruce said with a confused tone. He didn't think you'd actually leave.
“No, I’m fine, I don’t like eating in big groups anyway. Too much noise. I’ll collect dessert later. ” You pushed your chair in, gave Alfred a sorry smile, and went on your way. You wanted to talk to Alexander; you miss him.
You walked across the hall, through the ballroom, and went by the conservatory. It felt like hours before you reached the library. You sensed cameras in here, and that told you to be mindful of what you say.
You stared at the phone as you sat down at the table and picked at your food. It rang again.
You answered, and Xander’s enthusiastic voice greeted you immediately.
“Hey, how’s spooky, scary Gotham and the fam?” He asked, and you could tell he was watching something. The news. You weren’t surprised. He loves keeping up to date on current world affairs.
“Yeah, no, take me back to Newton, please. I can’t stand it here. The only person I missed was Alfred.”
“I still can’t get over the fact that you have a British Butler in your manor. That basically acts like your grandfather.”
“Says the one with staff in his townhouse.”
“Whatever.” You could hear the playfulness in his voice, and it made you chuckle. Being friends with Xander meant laughing a bunch. No escaping it. You took a forkful of pasta while you focused your hearing on what he was watching.
“This leaves the whole world to wonder, where is Atomic?”
You exhaled as you remembered the Central Park fires, the destroyed city, the kids on the bridge. The public thinks Atomic is dead. They saw her limp body being carried by the Fantastic Four and believe that she’s dead.
Xander took notice of your silence and spoke, “You know, Jameson wants a death certificate and a photo of you unmasked.”
You mentally facepalmed. “You’re joking. I-” You remembered that there were cameras around the library and thought of your next selection of words carefully. “Atomic is dead, Central Park is burnt to a crisp, Multiple homeless children have been displaced, and Midtown is practically rubble. His worry is getting Atomic’s identity?”
“You know it. He hates the whole masked vigilante thing; it doesn’t help that your lady’s a teenager. He’s jealous; he still sends me emails about our interview. Asks if she ‘slipped’.” You couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of exasperation take over you.
“He acts like she’s the only masked hero operating in New York! There’s Daredevil, the Punisher, The other Batman, and..Moon Knight.” You stated the last hero’s name with subtle disdain.
“Still bitter that Atomic sometimes gets called his sidekick? It’s a preventable problem-” You cut him off, irritated that he seems to find this amusing.
“You mention changing the suit, I will-” Teleport to you and dropkick you. You finish your threat telepathically.
“It wouldn’t make me less correct.” He drawled smugly.
“It’s not the suit…well, it’s not the suit anymore. Moon Knight is literally going around calling Atomic his sidekick and his kid!! She’s a teenage superhero, that isn’t a sidekick and has never been one! The foul jackass.” You tap the table repeatedly out of annoyance.
“The reason why Jameson never picks on them is because... well..they aren’t afraid of tracking him down and giving him a bedtime beating or eternal sleep. In his eyes, you’re tolerant.” He explains thoughtfully.
“You’re right.” You glanced at your watch. It was eight. You were nearly finished with your pasta.
“So, is Atomic making an appearance tonight?” He asked seriously. The news played on.
You stopped eating. You remembered Camila’s heartbroken expression at the thought of Atomic being dead. You remembered your tear-stricken housemates.
“She’s a beacon of hope! She’s a symbol of heroism and vigilantism for me.”
How many Camilas are there? How many people, young people especially, need that? Need hope. Central Park, a quintessential landmark, is practically gone. Midtown, one of the beating hearts of the city, was brutalised. Your city is weeping; she’s hurt. She needs you. She needs hope.
“Yes, Atomic will be making an appearance tonight.”
It was currently ten pm. You knew your “family” thought you were asleep, while they were out doing you know what. You were at Central Park, investigating and healing. The accelerant used was different; it also seemed to make the fire resistant to more conventional means of extinguishing. You remembered the one who did this, the mask he wore, his build, the aura of malevolence he wore like a badge of honour, how he seemed resistant to your telepathy, and even knew you tried. It was scary. This must have been who Verone was petrified of. You stare at the sky, so beautiful at night.
You create a blast, one that restores the park, manipulating time and energy, sure has its perks. You do the same to the city. You examine the vial you brought with you, in it contains the accelerant. You pocket it and decide that you will examine it with Reed later on. You stop and eye your handiwork. You lift your hands and start creating light energy constructs. Atomic structures for Hydrogen, Oxygen, Phosphorus, and Einsteinium. Ahem, you cheated with the last one, but they’ll understand. That should last for a day or two.
You can’t let what happened previously happen again. You would never forgive yourself.
You teleport to a skyscraper and look at the city. Should you pay Verone a visit? He thinks you know he’s dead. You know he isn’t. Does he even want to see you? You remember the last time you clashed with him; he threw a grenade at you, you absorbed the blast, but he didn’t know you could do that. The man hates your guts and isn’t afraid to display it. If you visit him, you could probably ask him about who the arsonist is. You’re not like Jason; you can’t act like a criminal to get to a criminal. You know he hates, or more like fears, this freak. It’s a drug war, but there are obviously layers to this. Verone supposedly had two months. Two months for what?
You sigh as you step away from the ledge of the skyscraper. You walk away, then sprint and flip forward off the building. As you free-fall, you teleport to a harbour, Point Marina. The Bronx. Where your stepfather was from. Where Verone is hiding.
The warehouse, though rough-looking, stands proudly. Kind of reminds you of someone. You walk in, subconsciously creating a barrier around you. The gunfire is fast and lasts for minutes until you make all the guns disintegrate..There are three of them; you wonder who else knows he’s alive. How many people does Verone trust?
“You know, for someone in hiding, you’re not really good at being quiet, Verone.”
“How the hell did you know I was alive and here?! Guards get he-” You flick your wrist and the guards are gone. At their homes.
“Save the dramatics. We need to talk.” You force Verone down telekinetically.
“The fires, who was that? You know him. I know you do. It’s why you’re doing-” You gesture around the warehouse and stare at him “This.”
“Speak to me, Verone; I can help. Who is that, and what do you have two months for?” You urge trying to keep your voice down. Verone’s eyes flash with surprise, and his mouth opens slightly.
“You’ve been digging through my head.”
“You’ve been digging through trouble.”
Verone glares at you but doesn’t fight you. Smart
“Fine. What d’ya want to hear?” He grumbles out, but you sense fear and relief. He’s been wanting to get this out for a while.
“Everything.” You state as you levitate and fold your legs.
As Verone explains. Your face pales and your eyes widen. You exhale and hold the bridge of your nose.
“What the hell have you got yourself into, Verone?”
here's a thought i've been having: an exes-to-lovers trope with robert.
imagine being one of california's top heroes, child of deceased brave brigade member, who grew up with chase also as your babysitter and robert as your childhood friend.
imagine starting to date in your late teens to early twenties and growing into adulthood with each other, getting an apartment together, a dog - building a life together.
but then robert's efforts to find shroud become more and more desperate. he spends more nights coming home at the brink of dawn, if he comes home at all. his injuries start getting worse and worse, he grows more exhausted each day and you know he's losing himself. so you do as any good partner would, you bring it up. and you keep bringing it up. but it's to no use. robert's in far deeper than you were aware of, your task mission taking up so much of your time that it took you far too long to notice just how hard he was pushing himself. and now, he won't hear you.
it takes a toll on your relationship, a heavy one. but you had thought it was just a rough patch - a really, really rough patch. but robert didn't think the same way. so you break up.
but it's hard to sever those ties. eight years together and a life spent side by side for double the time. that's not something you can quit cold turkey.
he sends you sorry excuses for texts, you send him drunken voicemails. he reaches out to you after you announce your hiatus from hero work and you take care of his apartment and your Beefy boy while he's in a coma.
but at the end of the day the two of you are still exes. all those years spent by each other's side diminished to that one word.
in your boredom you take up a job with the SDN. a mentorship role for the phoenix program. which also means taking up the very regular dispatcher position when the z-team throws another dispatcher.
then one day you come to work to find your cubicle filled by none other robert robertson the third. and all those feelings come rushing back much to your displeasure.
and it's not like robert makes it any easier for you.
he flashes those stupid pretty brown eyes at you, broods in the corner when you get flirted with before pushing his way into the conversation. he stops by your office and leans in the doorway, makes sure you're staying hydrated and gives you those dumb motivating speeches when he can tell you're being too hard on yourself. he makes you laugh and he makes your heart squeeze. he makes an effort to talk to you, to be around you and always looks like at you like he has more to say but he doesn’t know how to say them.
but then he's also seemingly flirting with invisigal, matching her energy when she makes her jokes that are absolutely not suitable for work - especially on a recorded line - vouching for her when she acts out of term.
so you're forced to not only reckon with your own trauma in regards to leaving hero work and the events that caused it, but also reckon with the fact that you are still very much in love with robert but is navigating what that means and figuring out robert’s feelings worth risking opening up to the man who broke your heart again.
I just watch the scene in teen titans: the judas contract where Dick and Kory are fighting side by side with the team, the scene "how we do that move you taught me last weekend?" and "could you not leave yourself open like that? I worry", and they talk about plans outside the hero life. They are very power couple and the mom and dad of the group.
And I NEED a fic like that with Dick, or Jason, or Bruce, or any of them really. I need the hero!reader, I need them being a domestic couple while kicking ass, planning dinner, talking about weekends plans over coms while fighting on different sides of the city.
So if anyone knows a fic like that, please recommend it, or if someone wants to write it, go ahead and please tag me so I can satisfied my fixation.
Synopsis: You were saved by your ex-mentor, then Batman saved you from him. Even with your habilities It seems like you will never stop being a damsel in distress. Don't worry though, you are just a puppy who just got adopted by the best caretaker ever. And he knows what you need even better than yourself.
Pairing: Yandere!Batman X Villain turned hero!Gn!AFAB!Reader; Platonic!Batfam
Tw: 18+; Dubcon between Yan!Bruce X Gn!Reader; Reader has a pussy and an uterus; Grooming?!; Reader is inexperienced and a virgin; Reader is a people pleaser; age gap (Reader is 21 and Bruce is on his 40’s); fingering!reader receiving; mentions of sexu4l harr4sment, s3xual 4ssault and pedoph1lia (nothing happens, reader was just afraid of being a victim growing up); Bruce is very touchy and Reader doesn't know how to feel about that; power imbalance; Reader has intense daddy and trust issues, intrusive thoughts and a rough background; mentions of family loss; fluff, suggestive and angst; manipulation and guilt tripping; platonic!batfamily are happy, Damian loves you and no one knows Bruce is a yandere for you, but they are kinda weirded out by the age gap; English is not my first language.
Word count: 8,5k
Requested? Yes.
Extra notes: that's how I’m picturing villain!reader suit and that's the vigilant suit. Also It was really hard to find cool names for reader’s villain ex-mentor and reader’s villain and hero persona, but you can imagine whatever suit and name you want
General masterlist | He's My Collar - Series masterlist
You were 11 when your deadbeat father handed you over to Overkill to appease the criminal’s anger. That day, you lost your birth name and became Onslaught.
When you joined him you were afraid your fate would be to become his sex slave, it wouldn't be absurd to think he wanted to use you like that since the last time you saw your father, when he was on his knees, crying for his life to be spared, he cried an offer that your mentor accepted: my kid! Take my kid! They already bleed! Check their underwear! They're already grown, take them and do whatever you want to them! Don't even have to bring them back, take them with you if you want! They can clean and cook and will do whatever you want, I swear! they will keep quiet! I won't tell anyone!
Tsk. Pathetic old man.
Later he told you he only took you in because cruelty against kids was the only line he refused to cross and hated who committed It. He said you were better off with him If your own father made a strange and violent man an offer of such disgusting nature.
Overkill never touched you the way your father expected. If 99% of the time he didn't treat you like a minion, and 1% as his ward, you could even love him. He definitely was your second (shitty) father figure.
Instead, he did make you cook and clean, but only when you weren't training and studying to be his sidekick. He was a villain-for-hire. Sketchy civilians, crime bosses, supervillains and corrupt politicians would hire you both to do the stealing, killing and terrorizing. When you became his, it meant he could get more jobs while working less and earning more. He got 99% of the money and you would get 1%. Literally. If he was in a good mood, felt you deserved a treat or one of the clients showed a liking to you, he gave you more, never more than his own part though.
It was just one more way to keep the leash of the puppy attached to him. Keep you dependent. He also used psychological methods for that, you knew that now.
When you were a kid, before he became your mentor, like every normal child, you developed an obsession. Some liked dinosaurs. Some liked princesses. Some liked insects. You liked wolves. You used to spend hours imagining yourself being one of them. Running through the woods with a pack that would accept, love and protect you. Your cries for help, the night that your father beat your mom to her grave and was close to doing the same to you, were howls to the moon. Calling for help. Calling for someone. But the only one who could hear your frequency was him.
Your savior. Your keeper. The alpha of your little two member pack.
When you were 21 your whole life changed for the second time. Batman caught Overkill, cut off his claws, put a muzzle on him and left him in Belle Reve.
He was merciful to you though, he was a hero after all, and he investigated your history. He gave you options: 1-Live a civilian and lawful life. 2-Learn his ways and become a vigilant by his side, saving lives and all that shit that made heros panties wet. 3-Keep the lifestyle of a criminal and next time he saw Onslaught in action he would break your legs and put you in a cage right next to your packleader's.
You chose the second option.
And that was how Onslaught was dead and Silverclaw was born.
Batman set you up in one of his safehouses, helped get a new identity and you were to patrol the city with him every night. You thought because you were an adult he would leave you on your own when It came to education and a job, he didn't. He insisted on giving you money until you found a common daytime job.
— Are you doing that to make sure I’m not gonna try to monetize from saving people? — You looked at him suspiciously, searching for a facial reaction that could give him away. None came. Dude was really stoic.
— No.
— You are trying to control me then. — You crossed your arms, being mindful of your new claws.
— I’m trying to help you. — Batman stared at you a lot. If you didn't know better you would think he was a statue in the middle of your new living room from how still he was. You huffed. — You can trust me…
— Can I, really? Can you trust me? — You challenged him, half stepping forward and learning slightly in his direction while touching the bat in his chest with the tip of your claw. He didn't react.
— You will show me.
You chose not to respond and resumed your previous actions of looking around your new home. You pretended to just be touring curiously but the man knew you were searching for cameras or bugs he could use to secretly monitor you. Or just have a peepshow.
— You always do this to the rest of your bats? — He didn't answer. — Maybe not all, I imagine Red Hood wouldn't like it. You don't mind that he is a crime lord right? Or is that the reason you are always fighting?! — He still didn't answer. — Wow, Geez, you never shut up, you know?! Let other people talk. Uh, sorry, I shouldn't be talking like that with my new boss, right?
— I'm not your boss.
— Babysitter then?
— Mentor… Until you can work on your own… — You roll your eyes. So much for admitting he didn't trust you yet. Well, you didn't either.
After three months he changed your suit to have a bat brand on your left shoulder, you were an official member of his team, and gave you access to the batcave. You always saw him, some of the others and his butler coming and going from the elevator, but never tried It, even If he never out loud forbade you from doing it. You noticed they were all very close and didn't feel like you belonged among them, so you didn't need to know where that elevator took you, even If you were often in the cave.
On the 5th month you passed out from an injury after saving Robin. Two-face flipped the coin and his bullet was aiming straight to Robin’s head but he was so small that when you ran in front of him it hit your abdomen. You woke up four hours later in the cave and Batman took his mask off and thanked you for saving his son. That night you found out all of their identities and that the elevator took you to Wayne Manor. Damian, Alfred, Bruce, Tim and Dick (who showed up to thank you as soon as he heard what you prevented from happening with his baby brother) all insisted that you spent the night in one of the guest rooms due to your recent injury.
It took a week of you trying to leave until you managed to. Everyone always found a way to convince you to stay. They were nice and It felt like a warm welcome into their group.
— Damian looks up to you. — Bruce calmly stated after stopping in front of you one day, a month after your recovery was complete and you were out and about at night again. After watching you sparing with Robin for an hour and a half, the opened case was officially forgotten on his ‘batcomputer’ behind him.
— Yeah, I can really feel him putting all his love on his tiny fists when he hits me and leave me bruised and sore for days. — You comment nonchalantly while taking a sip of water and glancing at the kid running towards the elevator. Your mentor snorted.
— He wants you to see him as someone on your level or above. To know that he is reliable and you can call for him when you need help. He did the same with everyone here. Chalenged them, I mean. — You open your mouth to respond but freeze and your arm instintively moves on its own to grip his wrist when he tries to touch your shoulder.
You both stare a each other frozen and in silence for a few seconds before you snap out of it and let go of his wrist.
— My bad.
His hand is still in the air and he slowly retreats It to his side while still analizing you.
— Are you scared of me? — You shake your head hurriedly.
— It was instinct. — You leave It at that.
You both spend a few moments just staring the other down until he clears his throat and step back.
— I’m on a case. You need to work on your detective skills more. Are you free now or are you going to your nest? — You felt deeply grateful for his change of subject and agreed.
You went to grab another seat but his long legs beat you to It, rolled the chair in the direction of the computer and gentlemanly gestured for you to seat down, pushing the chair forward to accommodate you when your tights touched the padding. You raised your eyebrows wearily after the whole interaction but didn't react more than that while he situated himself on his ‘batseat’ beside you.
After a few minutes you unconsciously relaxed your muscles and your conversation went on for hours. You were delightened by how easy It was to talk to him, the first time It didn't feel like an interaction between you that wasn't strictly mentor and apprentice, instead, It felt more like a friend giving you tips and you sucked up on all the knowledge and attention he provided you. He seemed in a good mood and even gave you his signature small smile and praised you a few times when you got something right.
At some point Alfred came down to provide you both with tea and snacks, he seemed to pause for a second while his eyes flew from you to Bruce, who was behind you since you turned around to acknouledge his entrance, covering most of his emotions towards the sight. He semeed kinda… Intrigued. Maybe surprised or awkward. You hacked your brain trying to understand but he turned around and left, Bruce was pushing your cup into your hands before you came to any conclusion.
— You like tea? — He questioned and the contrast between this question and the gory case you were discussing seconds before amused you.
— Uhh, I guess? — You brought the cup closer to your lips, copying his actions as he did the same while looking at you casually. — I like more coffee though, and Overkill was a coffee enthusiast so we drank a lot.— You scrunched your nose at the fleeting memory of your old mentor and the weird reminder that he had a human personality behind his usual strict behavior.
Bruce's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly for a second before the expression vanished. He never held back when it came to showing contempt towards anyone from his team’s past who was associated with crime.
— Were you close to him? — Suddenly he seemed more serious. You wondered if you were misreading the mood this whole time or were just doing it right now.
— Hmm… Not really… It's complicated… - You took another sip.
— I’m listening. — He seemed sincere. Apparently you were having a break from work.
— He wasn't all bad, I mean, he saved me, but… He still kept me around for all business… — Part of you felt like grieving for some reason. — I guess I ended up seeing him as as father figure, or I wanted to, but… — Bruce held himself not to tense. For the first time since the work talk stopped he took his eyes off of your face and looked at his cup. — He just… He knew how to keep his distance while still keeping me by his side 24/7. — He looked at you again, with a more neutral semblance than before. — At leash until I turned 18. He changed when I turned 18. — Bruce furrowed his eyebrows with concern. It was still odd to know someone cared about you.
— How so?
You cleared your throat. It was the first time you thought about the past since becoming a lonely wolf, or rather, you thought you were a lonely wolf, that changed when you realized you now had friends. Thinking about the past was pointless when you barely had something to be nostalgic about. You only had memories you desperately wanted to forget.
— Well… You know how his only weak spot are kids. When I hit 18, I stopped being a kid for him. I was finally too old to commit mistakes. I think he saw me as a possible threat and wanted to prevent me from becoming one by proving how much power he had over me. He was a boss for me just as much as any goom beneath him.
Bruce nodded thoughtfully. You didn't say more, afraid of delving too much on something you avoided to think about until your darkest nights.
Suddenly you felt your whole body tense when you felt his warm and big hand rest just above your knee and squeeze. You fixed your gaze on his hand but didn't move more than that. It felt strange, you weren't used to gentle touches and maybe there was something more, you Just didn't now what yet. It got worse when he kept his palm there and went further, rolling his thumb in circles around your clothed knee. The thick sweatpants fabric kept the barrier of intimacy up albeit the heat radiating off of him somehow challenged it. How can someone be so warm? You envied people who where always warm like that. You hated feeling cold — one of the reasons why you liked your suit so much.
— I’m sorry about that… — His voice mande your eyes snap to his again, he had a sincere expression. It was off putting and seemed out of character since he was always stoic, at least around you.
You bite your lip in a display of nervousness that escaped your usually well conceived emotions. Your heart beat faster when for a fleeting second he looked at your mouth and just as fast he was fixed on your eyes again. You didn't think the action had any hidden meaning, nor was it intentional, still, you felt the the need to run and hide.
— … Sure… — You moved to cross your legs, silently prompting him to finally take his hand off after lingering for too long. You looked back to the computer, determined to ignore what just happened and reflect on what it meant later. You missed his displeasement.
Bruce never expected himself to feel attracted to you. As he got older, the age range of the people he felt attracted to accompanied his age. He kept to himself and willed it away at first, but you were so… You.
You tried acting cold, kinda like him. But you needed him and strays always caught his attention. Unlike his kids he had a hunch that you wouldn't flourish by being independent and left on your own. You needed a keeper.
At first he felt like a creep every time your body caught his attention or he found himself staring at you for longer than intended. He was hyperaware everytime you two were close, wich usually was when sparring.
Bruce thought that taking you in as his protegee would satiate his need to take care of you and have you close, but after months of paying your bills and mentoring you, he realized his feelings for you were not platonic.
And it seemed like he was not the only one.
He knew the rest of the family noticed his “fleeting” touches that would linger on your shoulder, arms, back and knee. He retracted himself every time you showed clear disfomfort though, but you never outright rejected him.
His theory of his family's knowledge of his interest in you was confirmed one night when Nightwing stopped by to borrow some equipment and witnessed Batman closer than necessary to Silverclaw, while taking too much to inspect — with his eyes and his hands — your gloves that you were wearing and apparently had recently been upgraded.
— Hey, guys! — Dick’s hesitacion towards the scene grew but kept hidden when you both looked up at him surprised. Somehow he caught you both off guard even if the elevator was not that silent. Dick noted that Silverclaw seemed slightly wide-eyed, the only feature in your suit that was left exposed, along with your eyebrows, while Bruce, who wasn't wearing the cow, maintained a neutral expression, like he didn't have anything to hide. You both greeted him when surprise subsided and you took a step back from Bruce, like you just realized your proximity.
— Hmm… I should get going… Gonna meet Red Robin on the docks in a few. — Both men acknowledged your presence again and Dick saw your awkwardness, his parent seemed fine though.
Bruce nodded to you and you suddenly felt like a sidekick who had just gotten permission from Overkill to do something you were supposed to be doing with or without his approval, but needed to make sure your superior thought it to be appropriate for the mission. A soldier reporting to their captain. Like you never actually took a step forward and everything was the same. It made you feel small and hollow. Gave a bad taste to your mouth. It didn't feel good. But you ignored it because it was all in your head.
Before you could move, the oldest hand shot to your waist and squeezed briefly the soft flesh there as best as he could with the armor in the way. You felt your blood freeze and shivered.
— Be careful. We don't know what Killer Croc is doing there. And take care of Red Robin, he only had 10 hours of sleep in the last three days. — You meekly and wordlessly nodded and robotically left on your bike while feeling a pair of eyes scrutinizing your every move.
Dick cleared his throat, finally catching the Dark Knight’s attention for good.
— Dick. Do you need something? — Bruce turned to his work table and started tinkering with what apparently he was doing before you interrupted him earlier.
— I mean, just came to take a spare mask, I think the camera lenses on mine broke. But since I’m already here… — The younger alonged the last word while hopping to his father’s side. — B, can I talk to you about something? Don't be mad. — That made Bruce worried. Dick cringed at his own wording and the older male turned to him and crossed his arms.
— What happened? — Bruce demanded in a Batman’s voice.
— Nothing! Nothing. Sorry, my bad. What I meant was… Are you sure that's what you want? — At his dad’s confused furrowed eyebrows the hero explained. — (Y/N). I mean… They’re quite young, you know?! It's a lot of responsibility... I don't think they've ever dated anyone, even if they're between Jason and Tim’s age and Tim’s a whore… Too much of a slut for his own age, actually- Not the point. It's just, everyone noticed and have been commenting about it, but I don't think they noticed already. — Nightwing leaves it at that, hoping that his father understands what he was trying to say, desperately trying not to have to explain more and feel like he is teaching his own father the ‘puberty will make your body change’ and the ‘birds and bees’ talk, or ‘bats and wolves’ talk, in this case.
Bruce blinked.
— Are you trying to give me the sex talk? — And there goes all his hard work. — And stop swearing. — Dick groans and runs his hand through his face.
— Nooo, why do you make everything so difficult? It’s just… First of all, we trust you okay? It just feels weird when you start flirting with them, especially for the ones that live here. I mean, me and Jason still have nightmares and get the creeps when we remember the time when you used to date Selina. And Damian almost pukes every time Talia tries to rizz you up again. — Dick is careful to dance around the subject of your more than two decades age gap. — And, like I said, I don't think (Y/N) has much experience either. Maybe they don’t know what you're doing. Just… Go slow, okay?!
Bruce holds a huff for the sake of being stoic.
He already envisioned the possibility of you having none or little experience before, and you haven't done anything that told him otherwise yet. Deep down he is kinda… Turned on knowing he could be your first everything. Teach you just how he likes. Be the only one to ever know what you like. He's also happy that, by the way his son said it, it looks like everyone thinks you are both closer than you really are. More intimate, romantic. He and you are the only ones who know that you never had a conversation about the change in your dynamic, limits, future and general status. He thinks you are conflicted, and this conversation only encouraged him to either lay down the cards for you or catch you off guard and put you against the wall. Metaphorically.
And maybe literally.
He's also not going to think too deep in the warm feeling he feels when thinking about corrupting an innocent puppy who isn't even aware of his intentions.
A sheep in wolf's clothing.
— I know all about that, Dick. Don't worry, I'm being mindful of their timing.
— You should move to the manor.
Bruce's blurted out sentence caught you so off guard you choked on your rich people's food. You knew he was simmering something in his mind the whole morning.
He recently got you to work as his assistant in Wayne Enterprises. You felt he either pitied you for having been forced to drop school when you were 11 you couldn't find many options that allowed you to live a comfortable life — in the standards of an old money billionaire at least —, and your lack of education wasn't a problem to be solved fast. You just didn't know he wanted a solid excuse to be your sole provider forever and wanted you close to him all the time.
He also liked how you looked in formal attire. Developed a fantasy of bending you over the table and taking you from behind. Making you suck him off under the table. Then get on his knees and reciprocate the favor. Became obsessed with the sight of the first buttons of your shirt open, exposing your neck and collarbone. Was hooked on how it made your chest look. Was bent on making you lean forward to give him a flash of what's under your shirt.
He was never this perverted for anyone his whole life. You must be special.
The Wayne was unbothered with your choking while people on the other tables glanced your way, he simply chose to pat you on the back — and not take his hand off when you felt better, you still didn't know how to feel about the touchy nature he adopted when with you. He never hurt you, but was it really… Appropriate?
He is your mentor. He is a lot older. Your inner child cried for him to take you in as one more of his children, heal your daddy issues.
Another part of you, on the other hand, thought of you to be too old for him to simply claim you as his child — he took in his children who were close to your age when they were kids —. That part also told you you were undeserving of love, that everyone just wanted to take advantage of you, and that authority figures should shove it up their asses.
Your intrusive thoughts remarked that if he really wanted you sexually — obviously romantically was not an option. All you are is an object. —, well, he is very attractive. And even If you decide that you don't want him that way… You should just take It. He is above you. It's just how hierarchy works. He protects you. He takes care of you. You should be grateful and stay on his good side.
You internally shake your head. No. That's not how it works.
You took a sip of water.
— What are you talking about? Why? — You look at him, trying to understands where this is coming from. Sure, living alone was kinda lonely, but freeing, you didn't feel like you needed to seek anyone's approval or permission when you were alone. Besides, you were barely on your nest now that he got you this job anyway. And Damian seemed to like running off and sleeping in your place when he and Bruce were having their disaccords.
— Well, for one, it would give me peace of mind, it's safer with us. It would also make It easier for you, you wouldn't have to drive home alone at 3 a.m after patrols. — You raised an eyebrow at his current list of reasons. The 1st might be right. But the 2nd was like saying you were a civilian walking home after your shift at your civilian job. Not a vigilant, ex-criminal with 10 years of experience in hand-to-hand combat, maneuvering of weapons, who rides a motorcycle to a toptech safehouse while carrying a bat-utility belt and stainless steel claws. You kept your mouth shut when he seemed to have more reasons. — Damian would love to have you closer, the others too, but you know you are his second favorite. — Your heart felt warm at that. After learning the reason for the puppy’s bites, you couldn't help but see a bit of yourself in him, since you had similar backgrounds. You tried to subtly give him a safe space so he wouldn't turn out to be like you. You didn't want that for anyone. Especially a kid. — And also… I want you closer.
You took a deep breath while nodding slowly and trying not to react. Looks like it's time to acknowledge the elephant in the room. Suddenly his hand on your back felt heavier and burning hot.
— Why? — Your tone and steely expression made it clear you demanded a clear and honest answer from him. One he didn't hesitate to give you.
Faking a confused expression, he tilted his head slightly to the side.
— What do you mean why? I want you (Y/N). — Your blood froze. — I think it's been very clear that I’m in love with you. — You felt like you received a punch to the gut. — I… Thought you felt the same… — No, he didn't.
You didn't know what to say.
Bruce slowly retracted his hand away from you, but you stopped him midair by grabbing it. He knew it was time to take the next step.
You didn't even know why you did that. Do you feel the same for him?
— I… I… — Your mouth was opening and closing like a fish. He nodded understandably.
— It’s okay. You need time to think. My offer still stands. Even if you don't feel the same… I Just care about you above anything, okay? — You reluctantly nodded, staring at him almost dumbfounded. He smiled lightly to show he was still in good spirits.
After a moment of pondering he bit his lower lip, took his hand closer to your face and caressed your cheek, eyes stuck on his face, mesmerized. You were surprised someone as generous and rightful as him could look at you like that. Admirating you like you weren't tainted.
He even gave you a choice! And told you he cared about you! No matter if you feel the same!
He would certainly be a good man to love.
— Say ‘thank you’ to (Y/N), Damian.
— TT. Thank you, (L/N). — The little green-eyed puppy was looking from you to his present repeatedly. Months prior, when Batman first took you in, before you even had the bat insignia on your shoulder, you caught Robin sitting on a roof reading Death Note on his phone. You didn't know what it was and he pretended to be annoyed with your interruption while explaining it. Now, he is completing 14 and you bought him the whole set of volumes. You wanted him to know that you paid attention and cared about him. You wished someone did that when you were his age. Overkill didn't want to hear about wolves or about the cool new things you were seeing for the first time on your trips together.
You smiled.
— You’re welcome, pups. — Damian let out a ‘TT’ again and turned around to run to his friend Jon. You could almost see their wagging tails while they excitedly talked about his present. Bruce's hand running in circles in the small of your back snapped you out of it and you straightened your posture from the bent position you took to talk to the little one.
It was two weeks prior that he asked you to live with them. You accepted and moved a week ago. It was slightly disappointing to know you wouldn't gain a father out of him, but a least his confession made it easier to understand your feelings. You haven’t outright told him that you wanted him like a man, you were testing things out. In the end, you were both adults and at some point you had to learn to trust someone. When looking at Damian you knew you didn't want your whole life to be defined by the abuses of two men. And when you agreed to his offer he seemed to see it as a consent to up his seduction.
His touch was still strange. You learned to like the feel of it, and you were getting used to it, soon It wouldn't be so foreign. You just started realizing how touchstarved you were and were just starting to crave it. Initiating it was still a distant concept, though, you had a — strongly equivocate — hunch that he wouldn't like it, that you would do something wrong in the simplest attempt of hugging him, holding his hand or touching his arm, that your touch wouldn't feel as delicate and tingly as his was, and you would make a fool of yourself. At least when you patted Ace, Titus, Alfred the cat and Batcow they seemed happy.
The others seemed to take well to seeing your interaction together — you didn't know they already knew where this was going way before yourself —. Sure, Jason called him a cradle robber but the ex-Robin always found an excuse to offend him. Everyone laughed at his comment, Dick and Alfred lightly reprimanded him (the former way more amused the latter). Bruce didn't react. You felt rotten. And when Jason later said something like “now Bruce, go play with your puppy and let us handle things” during a briefing, you knew it wasn't an offense — at least, not towards you. Plus, he called you a puppy before to tease you even if you were a year younger than him. — but it stuck in your head and you took the first opportunity to escape Batman’s hand on your tight and lock yourself in a bathroom to take a breath.
— I will transfer the money to your account. — Your head snapped towards Bruce and you exclaimed a genuine and loud ‘What?’, but everyone around you was also being way too loud for anyone to pay attention to you. Bruce hummed. — The set. It must’ve been expensive, I will give you the money back. — You shook your head.
— No, Bruce, It was a present. — Just the idea of it was absurd. What an odd man.
— Well, not to me, right?! So I can do It. — You scoffed at his logic. — Actually you could have told me before you were buying it and I would have given you my card. — He blinked. — That reminds me… — He took your hand and gently guided you out of the living room where the party was situated. No one batted an eye.
Damian had scoffed at the childish idea of a birthday party, but you could see right through him better than anyone.
You looked around confused as he guided you through the corridors and then up the stairs. The loud voices getting distant made the rest of the mansion feel eerily empty.
— Where are we going? — He glanced back at you and then ahead again, before briefly squeezing your hand.
— To my study. I have something for you there.
His response didn't satisfy all your curiosity but you knew he wouldn't give you more than that.
When you got there he opened the door for you and encouraged you to enter first with a hand on your lower back, then he shut the door closed and guided you to stand in front of his table. He walked around, opened a cabinet, took ou an envelope and came back to your side. The older male extended the envelope at you, who took it with suspicion after a moment of hesitation.
You forced yourself to not look up while you analyzed the envelope and opened it, ignoring both of his warm and gigantic hands that he positioned on your waist and squeezed — he liked squeezing you a lot, you noticed. — while he lightly reclined himself to sit on top of the table, in front of you, most of his weight being distributed to his long and meaty legs that were also on each side of you. He even pulled you closer and even if there was still space between your bodies, you were close enough to feel his heat.
You looked at the content inside the paper and froze. Such reaction could have come either from the sight of a black card with your name on it or because he chose that moment to sneak his hands under your shirt and caress your bare waist slowly with his calloused fingertips.
— No. — You slapped the card and paper against his chest. The bastard didn't react.
— Yes.
— No!
— Yes.
— I can't take it! — You kicked the ground stubbornly. He still didn't move, stubbornly.
— Why not? — You raised both eyebrows.
— Bruce, are you kidding me? That thing is limitless.
— Your point being? — You blinked several times.
— Wow… I knew you were one of those rich eccentric guys, but putting on a batsuit… — You refused to call it a costume and imply that you also wore a costume and were technically a furry. You learned that word from Tim. — … And beating up criminals is one thing. Going around distributing limitless cards to all your friends is simply insane! — One side of his mouth tilted up in what you quietly admitted was a sexy smark.
— Actually if I wanted to do that I could. But you are not a friend. You are part of the family. And my girlfriend. — And mine. His tongue craved to utter.
That easily silenced you. You didn't know how to react to that. You hacked your brain for any moment were you told him something in that connotation. You didn't find it. But well, couldn't blame the guy, he did told you he wanted you and you didn't stop his moves.
You cleared your throat, trying to hide your shock. He didn't seem surprised by your reaction.
It was another thing that being with them changed in you. You don't control your emotions 24/7 anymore, only when you are out and about as Silverclaw. In the past it was second nature, but feeling happiness was so new to you that you weren't used to trying to hide it yet. Nor wanted to. And you slowly gave yourself permission to be free and express most of what you felt. Not everything, you were still surrounded by a very odd-cryptic-strategizing-hyperanalyser-micro-expressions-reader-and-weird-with-emotions group of people. But you felt no one was really going to judge you if you chose to be free.
— I-I… Yeah… Yeah, okay. You are right. — You meekly accepted his statement. If he said it was true, then it was true. You would follow his lead. You are way too loyal and he knows that. You both wondered what was your limit. You were afraid of what would happen when that limit came. Would you just keep going just to make him happy? He hoped you did.
Actually, he might test some of those limits right now.
He carefully took the card and envelope from your hand and set it on the table behind him, you just rested your palms against his chest. Baby steps for you. Bruce wished that baby was a speedster.
You stuttered when he brought you closer, leaned forward and started tracing a random path of kisses on the skin of your neck. You allowed his sucking and laping of your skin for a few minutes and even tried running your fingers through the hair on the back of his head. His hands started roaming.
When his right squeezed the left cheek of your ass though, you gave a slight jump. It felt very sudden and activated your fight or flight instinct.
— W-We should go back downstairs. — You blurted out. Bruce just hummed in response, the vibration tickling your neck and ear. Aside from that he didn't stop his ministrations and that made you feel worse. Maybe you were the problem? Were you not clear enough? Shouldn't you endure more? For you? For him? He was used to people going a lot further with him, and here you were, trying to force him to stop just when he tried to spice things up with you. For fuck’s sake, you haven't even kissed him yet!
You bit your lip and willed your muscles to relax. Maybe all you need to do is endure a little bit more and you will get used to it. Until now that seemed to be the pattern.
Ignoring your pounding heart, you closed your eyes and just tried to enjoy it. You thought it was working until suddenly he stopped, and before you could open your eyes, stole a kiss from you.
It didn't grow to more than a half-second peck because your instincts to run took over your body and you jumped away from him, your hands extended in front of your body like you were dealing with a wild animal.
You just stared at each other with almost wide eyes for a few seconds, before the older male sighed, looked down and pressed the bridge of his nose with his pointer and thumb. Oh no. He wasn't happy. You shouldn't have done that. You fucked up.
— I’m sorry. — Bruce looked stressed when he rubbed his hand around his face, then brought it up to push his perfectly styled hair back. You shook your head like a scared kid. He finally looked up at you. — I’m sorry. I shouldn't have done that.
— No, no, it’s okay, I… Liked it. — You almost whispered in a meek voice. — Was just surprised. — Bruce nodded. He was unhappy with himself that he got carried away and almost fucked things up with you. But his infatuation made him lose train of thought sometimes. Yes. He wants to do bad things to you, corrupt you, desperately. But he doesn't want you trying to run away from him just yet, if ever.
You slowly made your way towards him again, your arms around your body, trying to bring yourself comfort. You wanted him to hug you and comfort you the same way, but you didn't know if he would do that, and if he did touch you again, would it really make you feel better?
It felt wrong. You just now had asked for him to stop completely, or at least give you a break, and he blatantly ignored it. Made you feel invisible, insignifcant, desperate enough to run. And here you were, seeking for a signal that he wouldn't give up on you just yet.
— Did… Did you know I never had a birthday party? — You forced yourself not to vacillate and put your hands on his shoulders.
— Hmm? — He gazed at you curiously but didn't touch you yet. It made you feel anxious and you forced yourself to take another step closer. Now you were just as close as you were before.
— I never had a birthday party. And last time I was invited to one I was 10. I didn't get to go though, it was my best friend's party, but my father was in a bad mood, so my mom said it was better not to do anything that could set him off. So I stayed home. — You felt his fingertips caressing tracing both of your tights carefully, it could almost be an unconscious move by how intensely concentrated he seemed with your story. — Next day, at school, everyone was talking about how fun, cool and amazing it was. I felt jealous and said I would have the best birthday party ever when I hit 11. I didn't. And no one remembered my promise. — He nodded slowly, his eyebrows furrowed with what was probably sympathy at you and anger at you father. At least that's how you felt. Sad for the younger you and hatred towards your father. — If you could… — You elongated your sentence, trying to hint your request for him, and he cut you off just like you wanted, expressing what was on his mind.
— What's your favorite cake flavor?
The gala ended just about an hour ago but you were both already in bed. Domesticity came easy when living together and even when you had your own room — much to his dismay. — Bruce quickly worked on getting you used to him enough to lay down beside him. And right now he was very grateful that you didn't have socials or else his plans for the night would’ve been interrupted by your discomfort about being called ‘Bruce Wayne’s controversially young new sweetheart’ and comments about his playboy mask.
He was getting impatient but Bruce knew that all good things come slowly, he took the night off to focus only on his goal.
You were laid down on your bed, in your own room and he was beside you, facing you, while you both talked, held hands and occasionally exchanged chaste kisses. It was cute, and innocent, but his balls had been blue since the party three weeks ago.
It was fine when his right hand let go of your left, his arm being thrown around your waist to accommodate the position, and placed on your middle. He kept running his hand around your upper body slowly and you swayed closer to him. At this point the only sounds in the room came from kisses and the friction of skin against fabric.
When Bruce angled himself and pushed in your direction until he was on top of you, It was still okay. What made you startled and nervous was when he pressed his hips down and you felt his hard cock against your thigh — the back of your mind screamed about how big he was and how it wouldn't fit when the time comes.
— Hmm… Bruce? — You felt a little antsy, but you thought he would understand what you were trying to say. Didn't seem like the case, since he kept kissing you to silence you. You felt suffocated and that prompted you to push his chest weekly. Maybe you needed to give a clearer signal.
Bruce stared at you from above for a second before closing his eyes and sighing.
His reaction shocked you and you didn't move when he got off and plopped down beside you again, this time putting more distance between your bodies and facing the ceiling. He draped his arm over his face and took a deep breath.
You sheepishly tilted to your side and went closer to him, his possible annoyance towards you made you more reluctant to touch him, but you did it anyway, trying to appease him.
— Bruce…
— What is it? — He finally looked at you. He was not happy. — You don't trust me yet? — His furrowed brows, grave voice and held back tone intimidated you slightly, it just caused more worry.
— N-No, it's not that… — Bruce thought it was better to turn down a notch on his acting if he wanted to have his way with you tonight.
He nodded, relaxed his muscles and turned his body in your direction again. He draped his arm around your waist and started trailing slow kisses down your neck to calm you down.
— I know. I know, puppy. — He uttered carefully and nodded reassuringly. — It's not your fault. I'm just a little… Frustrated, is all. — Your brows cinched.
— Frustrated with… Me? — Your heart ached at the thought. It was hard hearing him, and just as hard saying it out loud. Bruce shook his head.
— I just don't understand. I’ve been taking care of you for so long, been waiting for you, doing so much for you. But it's like you are still guarding yourself from me… I love you, pup, you are everything to me and I desire you. Wanna make you feel good. But, sometimes, you make me feel like… Like you don't feel the same… — You heart fell and you felt an urge to fix your mistakes.
— But I-I do! I just… — A sigh and then a deep breath. — … How can I do better? — You said meekly.
Bruce held back a smirk, you were smart even if insecure, and preening would give off his lewd plotting.
The dark knight pretended to contemplate for a brief moment as if he didn't plan every step beforehand.
— … We don't have to go all the way now, you could just… You could let me finger you? — Half of you felt relieved, the other, the one that just wanted to keep him happy, felt nervous but determined.
Your inexperienced and people pleaser mind couldn't comprehend how him doing things to you could also be considered him taking advantage of you. That was one of your biggest nightmares and paranoia. Growing up you were always afraid that your ex-mentor would assault you, or allow one of his employers and colleagues to hurt you just because they asked or paid for some fun with the young pretty thing. Especially after you weren't underage anymore, since he only seemed to have a soft spot for them. It somehow, thankfully, never happened, only impure comments were made and he cut them off every time until you were 18, after that you were left on your own and if you didn't do anything he saw it as you wanting it to happen since he trained you more than enough to protect yourself and show authority with others that were not him.
If Bruce wanted to pleasure you and not himself… Then he was really selfless and only wanted to help you with your little problem. He's been taking such good care of you for so long, there’s no reason to believe he won't do the same now.
So you nodded, shaken.
You let him maneuver you how he wanted and ended up the same way your making out session started, you on your back and the older man facing your direction. You watched closely and willing your heart to stop pounding as he undressed your legs and hips from your pants and underwear. It was awkward feeling so exposed, especially when he sneaked his arm between your legs and started fondling your dry center.
— Relax… Deep breaths… Just close your eyes and enjoy it… — His grave and husky voice whispers in your ear before teeth start nibbling on it, your whole body shivered and you did as he instructed, not sure if it was working until his friction felt less burning and waves of pleasure started rolling through you. You were right, he always wanted what's good for you, you reassured yourself and felt a little comforted, even if your heart was still pounding.
You let out a surprised gasp and your eyes shot open when you heard a loud wet squelch, the first thing you saw thing you saw were the movements of his wrist, the second, his face, eyes dead set on observing you, and he chuckled at your reaction.
— See? No reason to worry… — And worry you did not. You knew this short period of nervousness and those guilty feelings you were experiencing would be worth it in the future. And Bruce knew the risks he took and manipulation were proving their value right now.
He changes his up and down movements to circles and you let out a sound that you never heard coming out of your own mouth. Your eyes fluttered close automatically and your hand shot to grip his shirt with an unconscious amount of force.
— I-I like this better… — Bruce hummed and resumed working his mouth from your ear, to neck and collarbone.
His hand moves were slow and deliberate, but stable. The older man angles his body in an upper position so he could easily use his left hand to pull your shirt up slowly until your chest and pouting nipples were exposed. Lost in arousal and pleasure and thrusting he knew what he was doing you didn't bat an eye towards his actions.
You moaned louder when you felt his soft chapped lips close around your nipple and wet warm tongue playing with the sensitive bud. Bruce felt your lower lips getting wetter and used that to his advantage to intrude the squelching hole between your legs with his fingers curved upwards, his thumb expertly still running circles around your clit.
You gasped and both your hands shot to grab the bed comforter under you. It was the first time someone touched you like that and it was a while since you played with your bud yourself, so before you knew it, your pussy was squeezing and milking his fingers in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had and this time the man couldn’t stop his grin from taking over his face.
☆ First Sight, Now First Flight — Flug x Hero!Reader HCs ☆
Genre: Fluff || They/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed
──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────
ᯓᡣ𐭩 He'd already seen you by now, plenty of times. As the headliner for the news, the latest target of Black Hat Org, and even passing you on the way to a different mission. You'd already met, and agonizingly enough, the doctor realized he has more than just the friendly rivalry type of feelings for you
ᯓᡣ𐭩 You give a spark to his dull, often painful work. A light to chase, something to keep after. A motive that doesn't just fill him with the anger that reminded him why he's a villain to begin with, but also hope. He hopes to keep running into you, to keep hearing your voice declare justice against him. And, as all rational men of science do, he initially thinks you somehow gave him an illness to make him think of you constantly
ᯓᡣ𐭩 After several tests and deductions came up inconclusive or flat-out negative, Flug had to sit in his stiff bed for quite a long time to figure it out. It took about a million times of pushing away the thought of something so juvenile and simple as a crush before he saw you on the news once again. Your strong stance, confident words, and bright smile… dammit, he was hooked
ᯓᡣ𐭩 He kept ambling around the topic, facing you as always. His once firm words of villainy, however, had suffered gravely. Now he was a lot more likely to stumble or stutter partway through, and if you got too close during a fight his thought process would chuck itself out the metaphorical window. Flug was a complete mess, and Demencia wasted no time in poking fun at him for it
ᯓᡣ𐭩 One time he bravely mustered together his courage, prepared to give you a taste for your own tricks. He could also be charming and infuriatingly attractive! You'd see! Unfortunately though halfway through trying to flatteringly compare you to an airplane, embarrassment hit like a crushing weight and he fled the scene within the minute
ᯓᡣ𐭩 You had to admit to yourself, Flug was oddly cute. All the times he accidentally complimented you while trying to throw insults made your day, and he didn't look so evil while nervously scuffing his shoe against the pavement when trying to have a civil conversation for once. Sometimes you swore you could see excitement in what you could see of his eyes when he noticed you approaching
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Flug is a lot better at accidental flirting than he thinks. He's really sweet when his nerves don't get in the way, but that's usually hidden behind him keeping up the "I'm just a villain that wants to see heroes crumble" act. Despite what he claims, he gets openly afraid if he thinks he's genuinely hurt you in any way
ᯓᡣ𐭩 It takes quite a long time, but if he's managed to soften up around you he'll try to rehearse a speech while reading off of index cards about how he wants to go on a date. If he's still keeping up that hero/villain rivalry though, it likely tumbles out by complete accident when he's ranting to you about how annoyingly often you take up his thoughts before he becomes utterly mortified
genre: canon divergent, vigilante!mirio x hero!reader, porn with plot, smut and angst and fluff, progressed enemies (with benefits) to lovers
summary: nezu put you on the case. he was smart enough to know you'd be good at investigating vigilante togata, but he wasn't smart enough to predict how hard it would be for you to get mirio out of your head. and now, you're too far gone.
tw: 18+, smut (fighting as foreplay, afab reader, fingering, one clit slap, p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation), violence, injuries, interrogations, reader is sort of police but i maintain acab in this fic, i confess i didn't research enough about the yakuza at all and im sorry, 75% plot and 25% smut
wc: 11.4k
other works
Every time you seek him out, you tell yourself it will be the last time.
You’re always wrong.
Tonight is no different, and the moonlight-limned streets of uptown Musutafu are about as deserted as they can be at this hour. Occasionally, you glimpse the silhouette of a hero on patrol, but it is no worry to you. The shadows are under your command, and you distort them until they cloak you, rendering you almost invisible - you use them every day on stealth and surveillance missions, busting cartels and all sorts alongside the police.
What you’re up to is grossly unprofessional. Worse, it’s far from the law that you work to uphold. Liaising with the enemy, entertaining the fancies of the target of your investigation… You could get imprisoned for that, your hero license revoked. You do it anyway. He makes it worth it.
Damn him.
Since you got assigned to his case two years ago, he’s been stuck in your brain like a constant buzz, the continual ring of tinnitus in your ears. He is insufferable, tricky, slipping from the traps you lay for him like it’s easy, but at the same time he’s always cheerful, always the grinning golden boy. Even now as a vigilante, he still seems the only one who’s big and bright enough to fit All Might’s shoes.
You hate that, almost more than anything else that he does, because wayward as he is, the civilians love him. There are almost never tip offs on his whereabouts; no neighbours of his safe houses come calling despite his lack of disguise. Sometimes you wonder why you aren’t the vigilante and he isn’t the hero, because you are the antithesis of him, darkness and shadows while he is sunshine.
Your hero ranking falls more and more the longer you are on his case, and though you were never that concerned with it before, you feel the sting of the public’s decision. Any other vigilante, any other obstruction to the law, and they’d admire your determination, but they choose him over you.
Cold air mists from your mouth as you let out a tight breath. Your jaw has begun to hurt from how much you’ve been clenching it. Those thoughts, this hate burning faux in your chest, are all superficial. You know how you feel about him, and that might be the most treacherous act of all - you have betrayed your duty, and in turn your heart has betrayed you.
So here you are, footsteps near silent as you pace one of the areas he told you he might be. He always gives at least three, and they always have multiple easy exits, which hurts, but you can’t really blame him because you’d be cautious too. In the early days, you’d just wander the streets looking for him, and sometimes, though you’d sense him close enough to almost taste his smugness, he’d let you return home, untouched and wanting, knowing no one could be as good as him. Bastard.
You’re not sure why you think it, but this time will be different - there is something in the air tonight, something hopeful and crisp and electrifying as you breathe it deep in your lungs, the sky so clear that you can almost taste the stars on your lips.
Something winks in and out of view in your peripheral.
Anyone else would be at a loss, but you know how he works. You alone are acquainted with his teasing. That flash, a flicker in the corner of your eye, not quite allowing you the pleasure of seeing him yet, is him, through and through.
Slowly, you turn to face the house, your eyes falling on the “to let” sign zip tied to the front gate, and you smile, a shudder tearing through you, twisting your stomach and spinning your heart like a top. You are an addict to the rush. You appraise the house, the windows and the door which you know must be unlocked by now, and a devilish grin comes unbidden to your face. Yes, you will give him a surprise.
Sneaking around the back, skulking in your cloak of shadows, you ease open the window facing the garden and climb through, silent as the dead; you are no stranger to subtlety, since after all it is the majority of your job. This hunting of him too should be part of your job, but it is different. You are selfish, hungry, and he is the only one who can sate you.
Silent, you round a corner, and there he is.
Vigilante Togata Mirio, beloved by the public, wanted by the law.
It is just his back, but it knocks the breath from you. He is broad, sheathed in rippling strength, like he has been carved not from marble, but granite. You ache to see the blue of his kind eyes.
The sight of him almost makes you call out to him, and the shape of his name is already on your tongue, but you hold it and instead explode forward, raw kinetic energy. For a moment, you think you might have caught him fully unaware this time, but he turns at the last second, whirling around with the flare of a black cape and a flash of ivory teeth. He grabs you right around the middle, an innocent hug that tucks your head snugly under his chin until he flips you over his shoulder and pins you to the floor.
Mirio’s grin is fully visible now, and it’s just as outrageous and bold as the first time you saw it. There's a challenge in his eyes. You bare your teeth right back at him, accepting the thrown gauntlet, and summon darkness.
The corridor is filled with your shadows, achieving two things: the blindness of both of you, and the inhibition of Mirio’s Quirk. The result of the strange blend of your two abilities - which is the slowing of his movements when he activates his permeability in the radius of your shadows - was why you were first assigned to him, and though you have no clue how Nezu puzzled out that you could slow the hero turned vigilante, it was him that made the call that put you on the case.
You’d said yes. You’d had no idea what Mirio would do to you.
You snap out of your thoughts as the shape of him, dim in the darkness, hurtles at you - that’s the problem, he’s slowed when he activates his Quirk, but without it, he moves just as fast as anyone else. He comes at you like he intends to blow right through you.
This is a dance you always fall into, taking turns to toy with each other until one of you breaks and loses patience first. You know it well, so you’re smiling when you trip his feet with your shadows, taking advantage of the short time he spends down by sprinting past him deeper into the house.
Gasping, you skid into a small kitchen, vacant of anything aside from bare counters and a dining table with chairs. Mirio doesn’t bother to be quiet in giving chase, calling your name in a way that’s wholly opposite from his golden boy reputation, and sharp thrills shoot through you as you realise there’s no way out of this kitchen but back through him.
He pauses in the doorway, noticing the same thing as you; your heart races in your ears, the frantic fluttering of a caged bird that only quickens at the sight of him prowling forward, emerging from your shadows like a shade himself, dressed in all black that hugs him artfully from head to toe. The air hazes with anticipation, becoming fire in your lungs, your belly. You smirk, though it’s more of a mocking, ironic twist to your lips than anything else.
“Want to tussle, pretty boy?”
“Sounds like a dream, brat.”
Dropping right down into the floorboards, he vanishes.
You blink, and he’s right there, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. The tilt of his lips is sultry, tantalising, and you allow yourself to stare at the rosiness of them for a split second before jerking backwards, out of his range. You know his game. You know he will not let you have him so easily just yet, and you revel in it. The fight is almost as good as what comes after, completely physical, two bodies straining against each other until you relent and collide.
Mirio feints to the right, and you foresee it and clash hard against his left side, hurling punches until he’s forced on the defence - you’ve always fought a little dirty, and so you let one of your shadows unfurl across the floor and push a chair into his backwards path. He knows you well enough by now, so he sweeps a foot back, kicking it neatly under the table like it had never been moved. It takes him off balance, minutely, but that’s enough for you.
You lower your shoulder and barrel at him, your shadows descending to prevent him from letting you go straight through him. Hitting him is like running into a concrete wall, but you feel the air knocked from his lungs. Your heart gives a kick at the feel of him twisting, taking you down with him. This feeling, this sweet electricity in your veins, is what you live for.
And him, of course.
You live for the feel of his warm chest under your palms as you go down, punching and kicking before his grip on you tightens and you begin to grapple. You live for the sharpness of his sapphire eyes, their facets precise enough to cut. You live for the grin on his handsome face, that way he has of looking at you that puts lightning through your chest. You live for him, fuck everything else.
Briefly, Mirio gains the upper hand, so you sink your hand into his stupid perfect pompadour and yank him off you, dishevelling it nicely in the process. You tug on his hair fiercely, and he groans, chin turned up so you can admire the strong lines of his neck; darting forward, you press a fleeting kiss to his jaw and release him.
Mirio springs to his feet and lunges for you, but you slip through his grasp, propelling yourself upwards with shadows. One hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, you wrap your legs around his neck and choke him. He swings wildly to dislodge you, but you cling on, squeezing tighter and tighter. He falls to one knee, and you can almost grasp victory by one of her white feathered wings -
Sharp pain blooms in your thigh. A jolt runs through you, right up your spine, and you gasp. He's sunk his teeth into the meat of your quad, the look in his eyes so ravenous that heat pools fast and blazing in the pit of your stomach. The only weakness he needs is in your grip loosening as you lose yourself in the hunger etched, blazing, on his face: he takes you down, slowing your fall at the last minute so you don’t slam against the floorboards.
And then every inch of him is pressed against every inch you. You can feel the hard lines of his chest, his stomach, the pressure of a leg between yours, and he overwhelms your every sense like he’s all that is. Mirio is huge, all broad shoulders and strong arms. The noise that you make escapes unbidden and breathy from your throat.
“Enough,” he murmurs, husky. “I need to fuck you.”
The switch is flipped, all pretenses left behind - your want spills from you like a river bursting through a dam, coasting over you until you’re trembling, your fingers fisted in his suit, your eyes glazing over. Unapologetic, your cunt clenches. He catches your lips with his, claiming you with a searing kiss, the taste of him leaving you as giddy as the first time.
You never used to let him kiss you. It was a boundary you couldn’t cross, territory you couldn’t enter when you still thought you felt nothing for him. Those days are gone. Kissing him now is tender as it is dangerous, for he sweeps you away from yourself and to him, in him, and you can’t even find it in yourself to struggle against it.
Shudders wrack your body as his lips trail slowly down your jaw, his hands running up your sides in parallel. The way he touches you is always exquisite, always captivating; you used to hate that he was so good, you used to hate that he could flip the switch so easily from brave paladin to this man that looks at you with eyes like blue holes, eyes you are too happy to let swallow you up.
That bracing night when you had taunted him and jeered at him, seeking a gap in his endless cheer, had ended with you bent over as he pounded into you and demanded am I fucking you right, then? Still think I couldn’t fuck you proper?
A shiver trips down your spine at the memory of him, and also too at how he mouths at you through your suit in a way that has you panting and cursing helplessly, thighs pressed together in a sorry attempt to appease the ache in your cunt for him. Delicately, he closes his teeth over your nipple, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan, toes curling in your boots.
“Fuck, sunny,” you choke. “Quit taking your bloody time.”
He takes that moment as a sign to do something truly maddening to the peak of your breast with his tongue. You’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle your cry, your whole body going rigid when he does it again, innocently, acting like he doesn’t know his own effect. This house might be empty, but there are neighbours, and you know he knows it.
He sucks lightly, tongue swirling in dizzying loops which make you forget all about the neighbours; suddenly you want your suit off your feverish skin, and you want to tear his to shreds so you can rake your nails over the breadth of his shoulders and watch the mesmerising red marks that are left in their wake.
He glances up at you. “Pretty girl, let me hear you.”
You push him off you. Your chest heaves, and his eyes follow. “You want the neighbours to have an earful too? It’s two AM in the morning.”
“So it is,” he chuckles. “I know a place.”
Without further ado, he scoops you up, though you protest (I’m perfectly capable of walking myself, sunny), and trots out of the house into the street. His stride doesn’t break once, and he takes back alleys and quieter routes to avoid the patrolling heroes, relying on your shadows to cloak the both of you when you’re forced out in the open. The walk doesn’t take more than three minutes. You can tell by his smirk that he knows you’re still throbbing and soaking your underwear.
In the end he comes to the rickety fire escape of a decent looking apartment complex, scaling it without a sound despite its evident creakiness until the sixth floor, where he stops and eases the window open, letting you climb in before him. A quick cast of your eyes around the place makes your heart jump strangely in your chest.
The place is mainly bare, but there are small things lying around. Socks, tucked haphazardly into shoes by the door. A cute Suneater plushie on the sofa next to a colourful Nejire-Chan one, both a little worn. The bed, made but rumpled, glimpsed through the ajar door. It is quite clearly lived in, the thought of which makes your heart do that odd caper from before, because he only ever takes you to empty homes.
Unspoken rules be damned, Mirio’s taken you to his current safe house.
The sparse decor makes sense - it’s temporary, easy to gather up if he needs to leave at quick notice, which he definitely would, what with the hellbent manner you and your team track him with. You gape at him, your mouth opening before snapping it shut. This is a show of trust, a leap of faith that tacks his survival on to you and what you might disclose about this place with a resounding boom. Drawing in a breath, you begin to speak, to protest, but he winks, still smiling that easy smile of his.
“I just wanted to have you on a bed that’s mine for once, sweets,” he says, cupping your waist and dipping his head so you share each other’s air.
You don’t know what to say, but tears are stinging unwelcome at the back of your eyes, and your knees are a little weak at the timbre of his voice, so you just kiss him. Sweet and tender and loving, you soften your hard edges just for him, because he deserves someone who’s willing to give him as much as he gives. You’re determined to be that person, to be enough.
“You’re a stupid fucking idiot, Togata Mirio,” you sigh against him. “I think I lo - ”
Abruptly, you cut yourself off before you promise too much. Not yet, not while you’re someone who’s unworthy, not when he might think it a spur of the moment thing. You feel the way he touches you all over, holding you to him and taking greedy handfuls of you, and for now, you let the flames burn the rest away until he’s all that remains, hot embers traced lovingly through your inferno.
Mirio brings you to the bedroom, his mouth never leaving yours as he settles you among the pillows, drowning you in his heady taste with his tongue laving over yours. Through your suit, he ghosts a thumb over your clit, and your hips chase him. He pins them to the mattress and you can’t help but curse him for it under your breath.
“Asshole.”
“Whatever dirty talk you like, sweet girl.”
Out of sheer spite, you almost flip him under you then, but his shoulders tense and bunch and you really are pinned by him now. He flashes you a wicked grin and begins to peel your suit off, stopping every few inches to suck a mark onto your skin and slide an “accidental” finger over your slit, agonisingly slow and patient in a way that infuriates you. You shake and clench and moan as he gloats, savouring the fact that he’s gotten a pro hero trapped and panting beneath him.
Once you're bare for him, he grins down at you, sweeping your suit onto the floor and adding his own to the pile a moment later - you help him wrestle it off, dragging your hands over his hot skin and squeezing his biceps appreciatively. He pulls your legs open for him, plying you with sweet kisses, and then he’s right there, right where you’re aching to be filled, his knuckle gliding up and down your cunt.
“Gotta stretch you out,” he mumbles, eyes glazed, the words for himself more than for you. “Gotta open your pussy up f’me,”
“Y - yeah,” you gasp as he slips his middle finger in. “Oh - ”
Your hips work to match the lazy pace he sets. Soon he adds another, and you clench around him, pussy bearing down and sucking him in like it wants him there forever. He scissors his fingers, keeping your legs pressed open like the petals of a flower with his palm at your inner thigh.
His name spills from your lips when he picks up speed and curls his fingers, pressing the heel of his hand to your clit and rocketing you ever closer to your high. You can see it there, suspended above you, the pureness of white light and the scald of euphoria on your tongue. Holy hell, you shake with the need for it, for him to be the one to take you there.
Mirio stops. You cry out in protest, your hips lifting helplessly as if to chase the fingers he now puts in his mouth to taste, and he smacks your clit sharply, stopping you in your tracks. Fire burns through you, and you almost come from the sting. It’s not quite enough. You squirm in the sheets, seeking friction and with it, release, but he holds you still, cruel and casual as he pushes you away from the edge.
“No,” you utter, almost a sob. “No, no, I need - I need - ”
“What’s that?” He asks smugly. “You want to come?”
Pitifully, you nod, reduced to nothing but a mess with wet eyes.
“You want my cock?” He fists it and makes to line himself up.
You turn frantic. “Yes, yes, I need it, need your cock - ”
“I’m not convinced, pretty girl.”
You know what he means, what he expects you to do: Mirio wants you to beg him for it, the cocky fucking asshole, and he won’t let you have what you need until you do so. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you bite your tongue. Do you give him the win this time? Don’t you have a bit more fight in you? Your eyes stray to his cock of their own accord, and you see with a throb that he’s flushed an achingly rosy pink.
“Please,” you blurt.
He chuckles. “Is that all? I thought you wanted it, baby.”
Leaning in close, he kisses you slow, sucking at your lower lip. You hardly notice, because the head of his cock teases very purposefully at your entrance, almost catching there before running through your folds to brush over your swollen clit, sending a debilitating stroke of lightning through you.
“Fuck,” you cry hoarsely. “Shit, just give it to me. Please, please, I’ll take you so good - ah - Mirio - “
Your back bows as he buries himself in you, that triumphant grin still plastered all over his face. Hooking your knees over his shoulders, he folds you in half beneath him and begins to plough into you with his lips on your neck, coaxing blissful moans from your throat. The angle destroys you, makes you tremble and shake and sing for him. Sometimes, when he fucks you like this, you think he might be a god.
You come around his cock at the thought of a deity called Mirio moulding your pussy to the shape of his dick, his golden hair like a halo around him, and god almighty, he might just be the high power you suspect him to be with those circles he’s inscribing on your clit, infinity signs and spirals and gut wrenching ellipses. Frissons of pleasure shatter through your body and break over your skin, and you are ruined by him, by the orgasm he plucks from you with his divine touch.
Mirio makes you greedy, like Icarus. You fly too close to the raging sun, and you begin to fall now, the ecstasy taking on a sharper form. Your cunt is fluttering around him, and still he pounds into you, driving you to overstimulation; you claw at his back, digging your nails in and screaming his name.
Sweaty, panting, he watches you, the look in his eyes something no god could achieve, for it is too humble, too gentle, and with it, he becomes just Mirio again (though there is no such thing as just Mirio, because he is more than just anything). His pace slows, only a little, like he is giving you permission to come down. You don’t want him to go easy on you.
“More,” you plead, though it comes out near soundless.
He smiles and surges forward. Your eyes roll back when his fingertips find your clit, the muscles in your thighs jumping in response. Abruptly, he brings you to the edge again, and you teeter there as his thrusts speed up, so frantic that their rhythm is lost, his jaw clenched tight as he finds himself on the brink right beside you, deep groans cleaving through his chest. He laces his fingers with yours. You twist the sheets in your other hand, close to tearing them.
You come with a desperate utterance of his name, and he follows not a second after, muffling a choked gasp in your skin, spilling deep and warm within you, his hips slowing until they stop entirely, just kissing yours with his softening cock still inside to the hilt. Chest heaving, Mirio settles on top of you, his breath fanning over your collarbone. He presses his lips to your temple, tracing patterns on your waist with his thumbs, and you ache for his gentle tenderness.
If you are to make it back home undetected, you need to go now. A part of you protests that he is where home is, that he is so warm and big and that it’s so safe in his arms, and it prevails. Just a little longer, you tell yourself, during which your hands busy themselves finding refuge in the powerful grooves of his back.
The rise and fall of his breathing under your palms is slowing, and your eyes are beginning to feel heavy too, but your thoughts fall to the subject they always do after a night with him. Normally the self doubt occurs well into the way home, but it creeps up on you this time, striking faster, hitting harder when you’re still cradled to him.
Mirio is a good man. That’s not what your superiors tell you, pointing to supposed ties with a yakuza drug cartel, but it’s what your instincts tell you. You’d asked him, long before the dalliances, just after the run in with the collapsed building, why he chose to be a vigilante - it seemed he was doing the same thing as a hero, just without the glory. He’d told you that he couldn’t conscience the hero business, the rankings, the corruption and money, the way they used you like a tool, chewing you up and spitting you out once they were done. A bright thing with eyes wide shut, you’d laughed at him.
You’re not laughing any more.
Almost overnight, like clockwork, a vigilante, a man with golden hair and the ability to phase through solid objects had appeared, and he had the smile of Togata Mirio. At first, you’d hated him and his quick, clean escapes, his dumb puppy dog countenance, but now here you are, clasped in his arms like you’re the only thing precious to him, and you can only give him a half life, concealed by shadows.
He never says it, but he deserves better. Quietly, finality and determination alike stirring in your heart, you rake a hand through his soft hair and marvel at the strands’ delicate boldness between your fingers. It looks, in the light of the moon through the bedroom window, like it is forged of white gold. How he shines. You will offer him something whole.
“Mirio,” you whisper. “I want to join you.”
He stiffens, every relaxed muscle tensing until he’s rigid against you, blue eyes searching yours, any remnant of lethargy in them gone in an instant. His reaction is a shock to you. You almost thought you hadn’t said the words aloud, but you had, and they are an answer to a question he asks you every time you leave him: will you stay with me, by my side?
“You mean it?” He breathes, but you know he sees it in your eyes. “You’re certain?”
“I am. I mean it.”
You watch him carefully as he rolls off you, sits up, scrubbing his hands over his face and blinking hard at you. Wordless, reaching for you, he tucks you into the curve of his body, taking a hold of your chin so he can tip your gaze up to meet his.
“I’m not going to tell you a life like mine is easy,” he says measuredly, smoothing a thumb over your cheekbone. “I hear you, and I trust you. I admit that I started trusting you far earlier than I should have, but I need to hear you say you’re sure when you’re not high on a couple orgasms.”
“Sunny…” You trail off. He’s right, probably.
“I know, I know. Just go back and think about it some more. If you’re certain, come back here. I’ll stay for five nights, and if you don’t show I’ll take that as an answer.”
Your stomach flips - he’s never just supplied you with just one location, and now he tells you he’ll stay here and wait for you, when keeping mobile is the only thing that ensures he’s one step ahead of the police? This is madness, yet you cannot refuse him. A sizable ache has formed in your chest, balled against your ribs, and you hold him tight, pressing your face to his chest and breathing him in.
“Sweets?” He strokes a hand over your hair. “I won’t hold it against you if you don’t come.”
“No,” you say, shaking your head vehemently. “I’ll come. I’ll be there. You’ll see.”
Reaching up, a hand cupping the honey skin of his jaw, you kiss him to seal the promise. He holds your waist, then slides his grip around until he’s nearly crushing you against him, hugging you fiercely enough that you wonder if he ever intends to let go. Though you almost wish he wouldn’t, he does, loosening his grip so you’re curled beside each other.
The warmth of his body makes you drowsy. As sleep pulls you gently under, the last thing that occurs to you is that you know you shouldn’t be staying this long.
You wake with a start, a bolt of sheer terror lancing through your body. To your relief, it can’t have been more than forty five minutes since you drifted off, based on the moon’s high position in the night sky. Still, that might be too long already.
Mirio drew you close in sleep, enough that your back is snug with his chest, and you begin the delicate procedure of extracting yourself. He stirs, making a soft, bleary sound and tightening his arms around your waist, but you hush him, slipping from his grip. You hesitate just before you open the window to make your exit, feet silent on the carpet as you turn and make your way back to the bed.
“You’ll see me again soon,” you whisper, kissing his forehead.
His nose scrunches in his sleep, but he seems to have settled again, a pillow still warm with your body heat clutched to his chest. For a reason unfathomable, your eyes blur as you again face the window, easing it open and briefly letting the cold night air into his safe house while you climb through.
You allow yourself one last glimpse of him, peaceful and slumbering and bathed in moonlight (and also the stark beam of the streetlights outside) before you head back home.
The moment you return to your room through the skylight, you know something’s wrong - it’s not hard to deduct. Your superintendent stands between your bed and your wardrobe, dead and unreadable in the eyes. Cold dread drags fingers down your spine. This means the worst.
“Where have you been, agent?”
Sweat beads at your hairline, and you think of Mirio, sleeping without an inkling of the implications that come with your superintendent waiting for you in your bedroom, handcuffs and one of those sedative collars hanging from his belt. The top of your suit is unzipped to a few inches below your collarbone, and you know Mirio’s marks are visible in their dark blooms, incriminating you further.
Your eyes fall upon the screen held in your superintendent’s hand. It’s his work one, a smallish tablet, much like the one you own, except that you use yours mostly for reports and occasionally reading e-books, and his is displaying a map with a blinking red dot on it. That dot, more of an accusing crimson eye than an indicator of location, flashes steadily over your apartment complex.
“What is this?” You demand, fighting rising panic. “You have me bugged?”
“Indeed. We thought at first the strange hours you kept were just late night trysts, but they began to correlate strangely with Vigilante Togata’s whereabouts, so we moved from using security cameras to a tracker. I’m here to thank you for your aid in securing Vigilante Togata’s location.”
You lurch forward, already calling the shadows, but you find a gun levelled squarely at you, and you stop, lip curled. “You can’t catch him without me.”
A frenzied hope rises within you, sharp and sudden and frantic: maybe they’re lying, maybe your superintendent has been sent to come here with a bluff to flush out your truth. It’s too late to salvage your story, but there’s a chance Mirio can slip away. Without your shadows, he’ll be able to use his Quirk, and they’ll be helpless to stop him.
“We can’t catch him without your Quirk,” the superintendent corrects, the gun not wavering a millimetre. “We’ve taken advantage of the certainty of the situation and deployed canisters containing roughly sixty cubic metres of gas that is treated with your own shadows.”
You stiffen. “My shadows?”
“Yes. The sample was taken a few weeks back, if you recall.”
Protests mount in your throat, threatening to burst out. They’d said the samples were for experimenting on, in case maybe the scientists found the source of the strange limit to your control. Your jaw tightens. They’ve known this long? You’ve let them know Mirio’s location, time and time again, endangering him, time and time again, and now where is he? What are they going to do to him?
“I never gave my permission,” you object lamely.
“Ah,” your superintendent replies, a hideous smile twisting his face. “We didn’t think it necessary. We were sure you’d be elated to hear of the capture of a criminal.”
You almost fly at him then, with all your fury; you forget that you command the shadows, and you almost launch yourself forward, seeking only the crunch of his nose beneath your fists and the blood crusting beneath your fingernails. How dare he? How dare he be so smug, when a man who does good is no doubt finding himself trapped and cornered by those who are supposed to keep people safe at this very moment? How dare he smile, when -
An ugly sob rips itself from your throat.
You force yourself to stay still, to remain calm. Mirio would want that. He would be strong, he would square his shoulders and lift his chin and look the inspectors and the sergeants in the eye like no doubt he’s doing now. He would be unyielding, unbreaking even though gods he must think you betrayed him, he must think you promised yourself just to tear it away, he must think you did it to be cruel, to hurt him.
“Don’t spiral too far,” your superintendent cajoles, voice slick like an oil spill. “You’re a highly valuable asset, agent. Your Quirk is incredibly versatile. We’re giving you a last chance.”
“Fuck you,” you spit.
He continues, undeterred. “The vigilante will be told you supplied the team with his location. He will be brought in for interrogation. We think he will be more partial to you due to… emotional ties, so you are to interrogate him regarding dealings with the cartel. If you succeed, you’ll be demoted and moved to a low security job, and the tracker will be kept on you.”
You laugh mirthlessly. “And if I don’t get the information you want? Or if I refuse to interrogate him?”
“You will be incarcerated.”
He says it casually, as if he’s telling you what they’re serving at the police station’s canteen. There was a time when that was what it would have been, just as there was a time where you thought you liked this superintendent, that he was efficient and easy to work with despite his mean streak. He’d been a little more pleasant with you than other agents because you got things done. It appears those days are over.
“You will wait in the station until he’s brought in,” he announces, monotonous, uninterested. “You can decide there whether you want to cooperate, but before I escort you, I’d like to ask if he ever mentioned business with the drug cartel with you.”
“We didn’t talk much,” you snap, then catch his gaze pausing on the marks on your neck and add, “ - about work things.”
You hate the disdainful look he gives you, like you’re a blot of ink on one of his perfectly laid out, particular case reports - it makes you feel dirty, as if Mirio’s touch has sullied you when it has done no such thing. Bristling, you glare at the superintendent. He’s set you up to fail. The information tying Mirio to the drug cartel is tenuous at best, and besides, you know he’s not caught up in that business. Fury builds hot and scalding in your chest, burning hotter than the sting of your nails sinking into the palms of your hands.
“There’s barely anything linking him to the cartel anyway, even after two years of investigation,” you burst out, seething. “What the fuck do you want me to do? Magic evidence out of thin fucking air?”
“Of course the links are flimsy,” he scoffs. “They’re fabricated. Vigilante Togata was gaining too much popularity, and we believe that it’s what has been leading to the increased number of vigilantes. He is to be an example.”
The revelation hits like a bomb shell. It feels like you’ve been plunged into ice cold water, in the way your limbs won’t move and the way the air is thin in your lungs. They’re willing to sacrifice him for a newspaper headline. The case you’ve dedicated the past years to has been a fake, a facade for them to get what they want. You wonder if Nezu is the mastermind behind this, slaving away at his desk for the perfect algorithm that pulls wool over the most number of eyes.
Fast and disorientating, the anger strikes, and you wrangle it into submission. Already, you’ve thrown too much away. You’re determined to avoid squandering what little chance you have left of salvaging this. Slowly, you let out a tense breath and look at the superintendent with dull eyes.
“You’ve asked now,” you say, voice sounding like it’s been uttered from underwater. “You’re to escort me to the station?”
“Affirmative,” he replies, forming his mouth into the shape of a smile. “Think well, agent. Your loss to our ranks would be unfortunate.”
You wait in the police station, slumped in the spare chair of your superintendent’s office. He sits at his desk, and you can tell the moment when the team sent to retrieve Mirio is expected to return because he keeps glancing at his tablet. An hour passes by from then, and in the end, he scoops up the device and slams the office door, locking it behind him.
A lick of hope ignites within you, but you can hear the pacing steps of your superintendent outside, and the timbre of his voice as he replies to someone on the other side of the call is exacting and strict but it is not defeated. Sure, he is putting up grander resistance than they thought he would - of course he is, he learnt more and more about how to fight against your shadows every time you crossed paths - but he is tiring. They will catch him, and they will bring him back.
And then you will have to face him.
Your superintendent strides back into the office, the tablet switched off and the click of his shoes on the floor rhythmic. He flashes you a smile, the smile of a cold reptile with a mammal’s hot blood on its teeth, and suddenly, you cannot breathe.
You’re reminded abruptly of the time, three months into Mirio’s case, when a third party villain entered the fray and collapsed a building on top of both of you. Mirio could have permeated through the rubble and escaped alone, but you were injured and you had no idea if lifting the debris with your shadows would endanger civilians in layers above you. Worst of all was the dark.
You can still remember that darkness. It was infinite, smothering. Since you were a child, before your Quirk even developed, you’ve been afraid of the dark - logic asserts that with your Quirk, you’d lose that fear, but instead it breathed sinister life into each shadowy corner. Without light, there is nothing to stop the control being wrenched from your hands, and the thing that’s on the other side of the tug of war grows stronger with each shadow you summon.
So drowning there, clawing at the abyss to keep it back, you’d grabbed onto the ever smiling vigilante and begged him not to leave you here. He hadn’t, and his presence had made the gloom maybe a little more manageable, but you’ve never forgotten what it felt to be choking down there, all at once suspended in a boundless chasm and trapped in a black box that got smaller and smaller with every passing second.
This time, he’s not here, and you suffocate alone.
Well, not entirely: the superintendent still sits at his desk, that dead eyed shark smile still occasionally appearing on his face. You’re a highly valuable asset, agent. What was it that Mirio had said to you back then? They’ll chew you up and spit you out once they’re done using you?
As morning bleeds into afternoon, it becomes clear that the superintendent doesn’t think you’re going to attempt an escape. Although the window is locked and he has the key, the glass is easily breakable; still, he knows as well as you do that you won’t leave. You have an interrogation to pull off, information to produce out of a magician’s hat.
You tuck into the canteen lunch your superintendent brings you, and as you do, you wonder where Mirio is, and whether he is in chains by now, fighting them with his blue eyes blazing, cursing your name and all the lies he must think you sold him. He will be angry, you decide. He will shout, struggle, impassioned as always, though this time it will be against you.
Your heart hardens, and you take a deep breath, cold as a blade, and let it spread numbing through your veins.
You will do what you have to. It will hurt him, but you will do it.
The superintendent leaves the office around four o’clock and only enters an hour and a half later. He leans in the doorway, regarding you with a sort of distant amusement glittering in his disinterested eyes, and you wonder if he thinks you a resigned, listless thing. Does he preen, proud of himself, or does he only care that every ounce of utility has been wrung out of you before you are discarded, spat out?
“Have you made your choice, agent?” He asks coolly. “The prisoner is jailed and ready to be questioned.”
A muscle in your jaw feathers, and you meet his eyes. “I will interrogate him.”
He shows his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Brilliant.”
He leads you to the interrogation rooms as if you don’t know your way around the station, and you force your face into neutrality when you find yourself faced with at least half a dozen faces, your commander among them. Some of your inferiors are present, but they have schooled themselves into indifference too - it seems they’ve been informed that you’re a broken tool, soon to be discarded.
Steeling yourself, you turn to look through the two-way mirror. There he is, and you fight with every fibre of your being to remain impassive. He looks drawn and pale under the clinical white lights, like the colour has been bled from him, the sun retreated behind a tumorous cloud, and it strikes you as wrong that his head is bowed. Vigilante Togata faces everything head on, so why are his shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast?
Your eyes fall on the collar around his neck, and though it’s standard procedure, your stomach turns restlessly: if his heart rate rises over a certain threshold, it will activate a needle that will stab his carotid and pump him with sedatives. That could explain his heavy demeanour, but no, he is conscious, rubbing the hem of his nondescript grey shirt (you guess they confiscated his suit) between his thumb and forefinger.
“Please, start interrogating any time today,” your superintendent snaps.
“Yessir,” you mutter under your breath, and then you enter the interrogation room.
You can feel their gazes on you through the two-way mirror, and you pay them no mind, though the official words you’re supposed to say for the interrogation recording stick in your throat. He looks up as you enter, and you brace yourself for the hate in his gaze that will lance through you, but there is none. No accusations, no lobbed insults, just sorrow so deep he might as well be made of it. All of it is laid bare before you in his face, the hurt, the betrayal, cutting you to the quick.
Togata Mirio’s eyes are blue, but you never thought they were the sad type of blue until now.
And then, worse than the pain, he attempts a smile. It is a wobbly, tenuous thing with no substance to it, but of course it is. He is not happy to be imprisoned, and he certainly is not happy to see you, you who tricked him and double crossed him and pledged yourself to him, letting him hope for things that he now knows were too good to be true.
He looks away before you can, and as you take a step forward, approaching the table he’s seated at with leaden feet, you notice the tremor in his hands, enough to lightly rattle the handcuffs he wears. Standing before him, you fold your arms and set your jaw.
“What can you tell me about the drug cartel run by the Yamaguchi-gumi?” You ask, voice level.
He looks up so quickly it’s like he’s been electrocuted, gaze darting up to your face, but there’s a distracted air to him. There must already be some sedatives in his system to prevent him activating his Quirk too fast, and you can tell that he’s fighting the haze they’ve put him under. His face is upturned now, illuminating a purple bruise blooming across his jaw, no doubt one of many.
“You know that’s bullshit, sweets,” he murmurs, then blinks hard, shaking off some of his drowsiness.
Glancing at the two-way mirror, only to be met by your own reflection, you press on. “Which of their operations are you privy to?”
“We both know I’m not mixed up with them,” he replies. There is a tone to his voice that was not there before.
“Tell me about Kenichi Shinoda.”
“Do you get off on this? Do you think it’s funny? I don’t.”
Your next question dies on your lips. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he retorts, fully awake now.
“Please try to remain on topic, Mr Togata,” you grit out. “It would be advisable for - ”
“Advisable?” He echoes, incredulous. “Or what? They’ll beat me up again until I’m so sick of it that I lie and tell you that I’m stuck in with the yakuza, just to give you a reason to imprison me?”
His voice hasn’t risen much, but it hits you like a slap in the face anyway, because Mirio doesn’t rile like this, doesn’t lash out like this - he’s supposed to be level headed and careful, but the drugs have stripped back a layer of his inhibition. The handcuffs rattle jarringly as he leans forward in his chair, the cornflower blue of his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen before.
“I didn’t want to corrupt you or turn you or whatever they’re thinking I tried behind that mirror,” he spits. “I just wanted you, in any way I could get. You made me think it was possible, and then you tore it away from me. I - ”
You interject, cold, uninterested. “Let’s stay on - ”
“No, let’s not,” he interrupts savagely. “You couldn’t even bother to be there when they ambushed me in the bed I fucked you on not two hours before. Why was that, huh? Were you too scared to see me break? Well, here I am anyway!”
He’s shouting now, shouting in a way that paralyses you. You can tell he’s trying to get a reaction out of you. He pleads with his eyes for just a glimpse of you through your professional mask, but nothing slips through, and you watch him wordlessly, helplessly, each second damning you further in his view. His split lip reopens, oozing blood, and his hand flies up to touch it but he’s restrained by the handcuffs, so he wipes it roughly on his sleeve instead.
“You used me to your own ends. Well done, you played me good. I hope you get the damn promotion. I hope you’re satisfied.” His yelling crescendoes. “You know, I loved you. I thought maybe - ”
Abruptly, Mirio jerks and cries out, a red light on the collar flashing once, and you realise two things: one, there must be a needle deep in his carotid, steadily pumping him with sedatives, and two, his face is wet with tears. Slowly, he raises his head to look up at you. He looks dazed again, unfocused, but there is something unmistakably tired in the brokenness of his expression that makes you want to gather him in your arms and simply hold him, to hell with who’s watching.
Shaking his head and throwing off the mist, he sharpens, remaining subdued but watching you bitterly. The drugs have let things that were tucked tightly away spill free, and still they pour out - beneath that bitterness is a pain he cannot hide, a dogged, determined agony that hounds him. You can tell that he’s thinking it was stupid for him to ever trust you. He’s almost certainly right.
“I’ve never seen you so cold,” he says quietly. “Is this what you’re really like? Those nights were just a farce, weren’t they?”
You stare at him, and you hate how your silence must be an answer to him. No, you want to deny. You want to cradle his face in your hands until all he can see is you, and you want to tell him he’s wrong. It was real. With you, everything was real. I almost said I loved you last night, did you know that? Please don’t hate me for this. Please forgive me.
“That’s fine,” he whispers, and he cannot meet your eyes. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing.”
Your heart wrenches, a hard, painful yank in your chest, spearing through your ribs and twisting, and you wait for your superintendent to come in and declare that it’s clear the interrogation won’t be fruitful and should be adjourned, but he doesn’t. They want more from you. For him, you tell yourself harshly, forcing your voice not to waver.
“This is your last chance to give any information on the Yamaguchi-gumi.”
Mirio closes his eyes, and a tear trickles down his cheek and lands on the steel surface of the table. “Yes, I know them. In fact, I am involved in delivering stolen weapons for them and policing the drug mules.”
Your mouth drops open but you snap it shut immediately before a nescient what can come blurting out. It’s a bald faced lie, and a bad one at that - the fabricated ties implied that he had a hand in the procuring of the drugs alone - but it’s enough for them to use against him. For some reason, he’s letting you win. A wave of helplessness crashes over you: you became a hero so you could protect those you love. What a good job you’re doing at that now.
Mercifully, the door opens, and your superintendent gives you a curt nod and a smile that would normally signal to you that you’ve done well, but it means nothing to you with Mirio bowed over the table behind you. Your commander takes you to the side and informs you that you’ll hear about where you’ll be transferred to tomorrow. You hardly notice her, because to your right, a constable and an inspector are discussing Mirio’s impending transfer to Tartarus tomorrow morning.
The blood in your veins seems to freeze. Tomorrow morning means you only have tonight to act. You need to find the tracker they have on you and remove it. You need to locate which cell they’ll be holding him in at the station. You need, most of all, to let him know the truth - it was always real with him.
Time is of the essence. You have a prisoner to break out.
You find the tracker sewn neatly into the lining of your suit, just where slinky black fabric becomes hard exoskeleton armour. Once you've cut it out with a neat snick, you tuck it beneath your mattress and let yourself out by the skylight. The night air is crisp, pleasant, and you think with a grim sort of certainty: good conditions for breaking the law.
A harsh sort of rage overtakes you then, because why have they imprisoned an innocent? What kind of law is that? Clenching your teeth so hard it feels like your molars might shatter, you neatly snap your hero license in half and leave it on the desk. After the stunt you’re going to pull, you won’t be needing it.
Besides, it’s no longer a point of pride for you.
Entering the station is the easy bit, as is pinpointing which cell is his - there are only two prisoners being held today, which means only five guards on duty, and you sweep through the station like a silent tidal wave, taking them out one by one and leaving them bound and gagged in your wake. Your first idea is to let out the other prisoner to create confusion over your escape, but you realise with a sinking heart that it won’t be that easy.
To put it simply, Mirio won’t trust you. If you release the other captive, he might escape before you finish talking to Mirio, and you know that will take time: you’ll have to create the diversion afterwards. You saw his wounded eyes as you left the interrogation room. He will think you are there to boast, to rub it in his face. That’s on you. Had you been more careful, had you paid more attention, you might have been able to suspect the tracker’s presence, and you wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.
Swiping the stolen keycard in the slot, you let yourself in. Mirio half raises his head but doesn’t look up. Your breath catches. Something worse than fury wells up inside you, festering like a sore, a sharpness that’s wedged like a searing hot coal between your ribs. Bruises mottle his skin, and blood has dried from his nose and his lip, split in multiple places now; the collar is still in place, but it isn’t that which incenses you.
They have muzzled him.
You cannot imagine what he did for them to fasten the straps so tight that they cut into his flesh, but in your mind you hear him losing it, lunging for a sergeant with his voice rough in your ears, then the dull thumps of truncheons on flesh. Did he struggle enough to warrant the beating he received? No, never, yet still they have left him here, kicked and muzzled like a fighting dog that lost.
Crudely, you curse, and now he looks at you, and you are horrified, because those cornflower eyes have gone from deep wells to a wary emptiness that terrifies you. You’ve always been able to read him, but as you search his face for anything, anything, your heart sinks. He’s shut you out. The sedatives have worked through his system, and now he’s in control, he wants nothing to do with you.
There’s an irony to it all. Was this what you were like while you interrogated him? The cold chills your heart.
The apology that begins to shape itself on your lips is not enough, so instead you keep your mouth shut and begin working on getting the collar and muzzle off. He doesn’t exactly flinch away from you, but the distrust is like a shield that guards him from you. No relief leaks through, no hint of cheery familiarity sparks in the wounded blue of his eyes.
When the collar finally falls to the floor with a strident clatter, loud against the silence, he doesn’t move to rub at the red marks left from his bonds, but he gets up and slowly puts space between the two of you, his flat gaze never leaving yours. You stand there, pinned by the weight of his eyes that seem to say you did this to me, you think you can salvage us now?, and though an internal clock begins to tick down, the words stick in your throat, like you’re a bottle that has been corked.
“It’s - it’s not a trap,” you finally force out, voice piteously weak.
“Feeling guilty, then?” He asks. “Is that why you’re here?”
You shake your head. “No. No, I came to - “
“Don’t you think you should go?” His eyes remain dull, emotionless. “You’ll get in trouble if you’re caught here.”
Your mouth feels stuffed with cotton wool. Mirio has mourned you already, the you that clung to him in the dark and begged him to stay, the you that told him that you wished to join him less than a day ago. Who you are now is someone who’s dead to him. His eyes are detached and distant when he looks at you, like he doesn’t even know you.
He doesn’t try to make you bleed, he just looks at you like you’re a stranger, and the blankness in his face makes your eyes well and your hands shake. The man before you is just a shell, Mirio withdrawn so far within him that it could be anyone, just a random man off the street who looks right through you.
“Please, just li - “
You’re cut off by a low whining that grows higher and higher until it’s ear splitting. Ice lodges into the base of your skull, and for a moment you are frozen, paralysed by the blaring klaxon of the alarm loud and dooming across the station. Time has run out - they must have not been fully convinced by your interrogation act and kept you monitored.
“I know this is rich coming from me, but you need to trust me,” you say, ignoring the way your voice trembles. “Hate me later all you want, just… we need to go.”
Cringing, you wait for him to rebuke you, to laugh in your face and ask what makes you think he’d come with you, but he simply looks at you. Something slips in his composure, something that you don’t dare hope to be a hope of his own, and he steps forward, once, twice, not quite acceptance but not quite refusal either. Sweat begins pooling in your palms, and you feel the familiar itch in your fingertips as your Quirk kicks in. They’ll be outside.
“Please,” you whisper.
He nods. “Okay.”
The word has barely left his mouth when the door bursts open, and your heart plummets like a bird shot from the sky; there are two squadrons in the corridor, maybe three. Mirio is in no shape to fight, and you can already feel the fear creeping through you, stealing through your veins and quickening your breath. You’re not powerful enough to get out of this without a miracle.
You’ll be damned to not give them a fight. You raise your arms and call the shadows, and they billow around you, tearing through the first row that rush through the door. A voice rings out, commanding you to stand down, and you send a black tendril lashing in that direction, face twisted into a snarl. You can’t see him - soon you won’t be able to see anything - but you know that’s your superintendent.
Already you can sense the creeping darkness, oozing into your consciousness like a disease, insidious and creeping, a blade slipped casually into your side and twisted. You put it out of your mind. The second row has broken through your shadows and made contact. Throwing out a hand, you swipe aside one man and punch another in the throat, angling yourself in front of Mirio. To get him, they’ll have to get through you.
You catch a glimpse of metal, a long, gleaming stock aimed at you, and you don’t wait to see if it shoots sedatives or bullets. Darkness descends at your bidding, whole and absolute, and for a suffocating breath, you’re alone, a lost child in the night. The black is a living thing, squeezing you in its taloned grip and filling your lungs with the choking scent of your own fear.
And then you hear breathing, the scuffling of footsteps as the squadrons stumble against and around each other, as disorientated as you, but somehow, knowing that they’re here with you in the embrace of the night makes it worse. It would be so easy for the shadow to become solid and plug their noses and mouths and fill their chests until they’re all dead. It would happen slowly, and you will hear their muffled screams, one by one until you are the last.
Your only hope is that Mirio will make it out alive in the madness you’ve caused, but this dark is so vast you fear even his sun will get swallowed up.
Pounding hard in your ears, your heart quickens. You need to run, and yet you cannot, frozen to the spot, a prisoner awaiting the shots of the firing squad. Louder and louder, your breath comes, wheezing and all wrong. You’re drowning, the taste black and oily on your tongue. Control slips through your fingers, the night a writhing, untamed beast under your palms, and it bays for blood. You can only succumb. You can only watch blindly as it bursts forth, poison -
A hand slips into your own, calloused and warm and grounding.
A thumb sweeps a slow rhythm over your knuckles. Your breathing decelerates to match.
You look to him, and though the darkness is absolute, though it still bucks and roils inside you, it is scared of him. Somehow, impossibly, you can see the shape of him, see the faith in his blue eyes. Mirio shines as bright as the sun. Your fear dissipates; despite his distrust, he’s still there, right beside you.
He has not vanquished the dark, not fully, not yet, and the beastly night still lurks at the corners of your vision, but you are strengthened by his touch: steadfast and easy, he stands, shoulders squared, warming you to your marrow like beams of golden afternoon sun. The shadows have nothing on him.
“Thank you,” you gasp, though you doubt he’s heard it.
The words aren’t enough anyway. Even broken, he still has strength to lend to you. He stands there, fingers laced with yours, swaying on his feet a little and cradling his bruised ribs, but he looks the picture of certainty. Without thinking of it, you use your shadows to support him, and you realise with a start that you can feel the power sweet and tame at your fingertips, obedient to your bidding. This time, you float above the dark abyss instead of sinking into its maw, grounded by a golden silhouette with blue eyes.
You find you can sense the shapes in the darkness, hear the beat of their hearts and the hot rush of blood through their veins as they flail, blind and lost as you once were. Sending out tendrils ahead of you, you feel your way through them, seeking a path and leading Mirio by the hand behind you.
As soon as you’re out of the cell, you break into a run, scaling the nearest fire escape and bounding across the rooftop. You can only maintain your shadows for so long down there, and they’ll expect you to stick to the alleys, letting the shadows conceal your escape, but you can’t let them predict your moves, because there will be no soft fall, no quiet demotion, waiting for you if they catch you. You’ve cut loose now. Your license will be revoked if it hasn’t been already, and you can’t find it in yourself to mourn.
Mirio lets go of your hand.
You glance over him, and your heart gives a nervous twist. His eyes are guarded, hard, but there are cracks beginning to show, revealing flashes of desperate hope and cynicism alike. You want to run to him, to hold him and recite your promises into his skin, but that’s not what he needs.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he says, fighting to keep the tremble from his voice. “We’ve lost them, there’s time.”
Measuredly, he takes a few steps back, keeping a distance between you that must hurt him as much as it hurts you; you look at his clenched fists, and then at the way he stares out at the city, its myriad of lights under the swollen, setting moon. The wind picks up, slinking around your knees and threatening to pull the tears from your eyes.
Please, let me be able to fix this, you think, unsure who you’re praying to and hoping you're pleading with a merciful god.
“Hey,” you murmur. “Sunny, look at me.”
“Don’t call me that.”
His voice cracks, and you feel something unravel in your chest. You say his name, drawing in a breath to continue, but a knot pulls tight in your throat and you have to look away and force it down, willing the tears out of your eyes. More than anything, you want to touch him, to assure him that you’re here with him, but it’s a selfish wish.
“I meant everything I said,” you say. “I’m sorry that this was what it took for me to realise the truth about my job and the case and…” You trail off, unable to meet his eyes. “It was my fault. I wasn’t careful enough, and I didn’t notice the tracker they had on me that led right to you. There was no other faster way I could think of to get you out. I shouldn’t have - ”
“Shut up,” he chokes out. “Just shut up.”
Alarmed, heart sinking, you look up to see the tears spilling over on his face; he takes a step towards you, and then you’re swept into his arms and he holds you so tight that you think he might want to imprint the feel of your body pressed to his on his skin. A sob is wrenched from the base of your throat, and you cling to him as your own eyes well up.
Relief overwhelms you, relief and something warmer that fills you up until you overflow. You hold each other until your eyes dry, and then you dangle your legs over the side of the parapet of the roof and talk, and finally, you sit in comfortable, thoughtful silence, leaning against each other. Mirio is warm against your side, fitting where he was meant to be all along.
You are the one to break the silence.
“I love you, sunny. You know that?”
He turns to you, eyes crinkling in a mischievous smile. “I know, sweets,” he replies innocently.
You jab a finger at his ribs until he squeals. “Say it back, you ass!”
His laughter rings out across the streets of uptown Musutafu, sweet and boisterous. As he says it back (finally), the sun begins to rise, gilding everything in the warm colour of his hair. The sky is perfectly clear: soon it will be the same blue as his eyes.
He is everywhere, so what more is a hidden corner of your heart?
a/n: three months and this 11k is all i have to show for it. anyways everyone pls give some love to this fic because without it the level of mirio brainrot would not have been sufficient enough to write this 🫡
➠tags; 18+, established relationship, deadpool x reader, hero!reader, exbf!deadpool, sleazy! deadpool, mainly ooc, pinv, clit stim, hair pulling, fem!afab!reader, overstimulation, reader is very desperate
➠synopsis; a quick delay of your usual route home from work makes you bump into your ex boyfriend, Wade Wilson,also known as mercenary;deadpool. the events following the impromptu meetup , much to your dismay — leave you satisfied.
➠a/n;my very first ever fic so approach this with an open mind . might sound slightly(alot) ooc since I've only ever seen the deadpool movies and never read the actual comics. marvel nerds don't @ me, I've watered wade down ALOT. tips n criticism are appreciated, as long as you're not mean about it.
➠w/c;~1.4k
your hero suit clung to you tightly.the pouring rain earlier in the night and a long day's work had made it look more like second skin rather than actual cloth. your feet hurt like hell and you opted to take a shortcut through an alley, which, at the time seemed like an okay decision.
“is this a wet dream?” your hands instinctively wrapped around the gun in your back pouch but the familiar voice and the flashy mask your ex wore way too well made you loose the tight grip. still, shooting his stupid face wasn't off limits.
the unexpected pop-up came as a head dangling off of a fire escape, legs folded over the top rail and hands holding onto the vertical bars.the grin he usually sported was very obvious, from the way the mask stretched out over his cheeks.
you couldn't help but sigh. your hand came up to nudge his head away, palm pressed flat against the side of his skull, keeping his neck weirdly bent ,up until you had let go when you passed through.his head swinging back like a bobblehead.
“not in the mood, wade.” you exhaled while you walked further into the pitch dark of the alleyway,the exit light still not clear. your boots smacked against the puddles, little droplets flopping around. soon enough — not to your surprise, the same sound came following behind like echo.
wade had slid off the fire escape, deciding you were way more interesting than whatever he had planned for the night. “yknow,the whole point of the mask is to hide my identity,—” he trailed on, hands clasped together behind his back. his eyes were fixated on you, studying the almost faded memories of your silhouette. “—,you saying my name kind of defeats that”
teeth clenched together, jaw set tightly, you bit back your tongue to mouth him off. thats what wade did,pick and annoy you until you'd finally snap, getting a reaction out of you. though catching his eyes on your peripheral vision did make your cheeks warm up against the cold breeze. whatever, that didn't count. he couldn't see it under your mask anyways.
“not very chatty today” he noted,his eyes flicking to the sky overhead, catching the glimmering stars glazed over by new york smoke. “got a new boy toy or something hm? is that why you're not talking to me? ”
hand coming to pinch the bridge of your nose, your response came out far too quick for you to think it through “none of your business” you barked back, almost immediately. by the time you realized your mistake, wade was already grinning at the win.you cursed yourself internally, legs working slightly faster.
your escape from the situation was no match for the merc's long strides though, mask stretched out again. “ oh! so there is someone ! ” he poked and prodded, which made heat crawl up your neck and reach your ears, part from frustration and part from the familiar way wade made you feel, tingly and giddy. you couldn't tell if he was actually jealous or if he just said it to tease you.
your index and middle finger slipped under the elastic of your mask,the material had been digging into your bare skin and overstimulating you further,since the start of this encounter. deadpool caught that but didnt comment on it, too distracted by the sliver of skin peeking at the movement.
“there's no one, ‘just don't wanna talk to you”
“we don't have to talk”
his response came to quick.too calculated.you stopped in your tracks, head tilted his direction, staring at the white void replacing his eyes. your brows pinched together, a crease forming between them. a humorless chuckle escaped you when you realized he was actually being serious. you shook your head , your palm pressing against your forehead.
“you're joking..”
both his brows shot up.“ haven't you missed me y/n? ”
shame seeped through your head as your face was pressed up against your worn pillows. your mask was halfway off, pressing on your forehead where sweat dribbled down the sides of your face. you let out breathless gasps with each of the slick,slow,thrusts bullying into your cervix.
“fucking—, go faster” you whined as one of your hands gripped against your bed sheets, so hard that your knuckles had started to go white. you let out a frustrated groan, spit specks landing on the sheets as your eyes screwed shut, welled up tears slowly slipping out.
your walls clenched tightly around his girth every time he would ease his hips backward, almost like you were trying to suck him back in again.
“so bossy”
wade's tongue swiped once over his bottom lip, dipping into the scarred dents. his mask was pulled up to the bridge of his nose, revealing the spreading red sitting front and center. his hips snapped forward harder now, but still kept the painfully slow drag that had started to get annoying since about 10 minutes ago.
“that was our problem y'know?” he trailed on, the grip on one of your wrists keeping it pinned tighter against your lower back, as his free hand kneaded the soft dough of your hips. “you were always so fucking bitchy.. ha..– wade this, wade that” his hand climbed up from your hip to grab a fistful of your hair,hard enough to elicit a groan out of you and make your head snap back. “turned me on so bad”
“i hate you– fhhuu..ck..”
the merc's meaty arm had wrapped around one of your thighs, slipping down your abdomen and lost on your swollen bud, circling slowly counterclockwise, almost— if not as slow as he was plummeting into you. your moans were breathy now, hips snapping back in a quick rhythm, too impatient to take wades antics anymore. he didn't mind though. let you take what you wanted. let his ears get filled with the sounds of skin against skin, your pussy squelching with each rock of your hips. he'd almost stopped altogether, letting you chase your high by yourself as he lazily circled your clit. the only effort he'd give, besides the aforementioned is the occasional grunt or moan when your gummy walls would contract around him.
you bottomed out onto him, both hands gripping onto your white sheets as you let out a strangled moan,ankles wrapping tightly around wades hips as an anchor to bring you down to earth. spent, your cheek hit the mattress, eyes lidded down as your body came to it's last pulses. what you hadn't expected was for wade to start thrusting —not pulling out but hips snapping forward and backward like he'd learned how to move again.
your eyes widened, knocked out of your drifting sleep your head snapped up, a pained groan leaving your lips as your teeth clenched together. your pussy was incredibly tight and sensitive from your last orgasm and wade seemed to find it funny how he'd have to drag his hips out sharper than usual from how much you were gripping onto him.
—ohmygodohmygodohmygod.wadewadewade.
your second orgasm washed over you way too quickly for your taste. big painful waves made your body convulse, arms losing their purpose and uselessly flailing at your sides. a final stuttered flash of his hips forward made wade break too, a gasp escaping from him as his fingers dug into the fat of your ass.he exhaled, giving in a few more loving strokes before pulling out, dick decorated by a foamy cum ring resting on his base, and a mix of his release and yours coating his length and dripping off his flushed tip.
he reaches over to grab your face which had an almost exact matching hue, pressing a kiss to your pink lips. he smiles when he sees you lean into it but that soft and docile expression gets replaced as quickly as it came by one he knows oh so well. your lips jutted out in somewhat of a pout and your brows pressed one against the other, eyes staring into his with complete confidence and determination.
