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unmotivatedwrit3r · 3 years

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In the Neighborhood

Jason Todd x reader

(A/N): This is for @redhoodssweetheart 's 1.7k writing challenge. I don't usually enter challenges because I inevitably procrastinate and hate what I've written and the trend continues here so I hope its alright.

I have just started a new semester of college and am also in the midst of writers block so new things and requests will be slow going; I apologize in advance.

There will likely be a part two but this half is over 1k words and I just wanted to post it by the deadline because it was written earlier and I like much of it, so please enjoy!

warnings: none

wordcount: 1.3K

You didn’t even see your new neighbor move in. In your defense, you’d been out of the house a lot with all of your end-of-semester projects and classes and finals. You just knew one day that there was a new name on the mailbox next to yours (a Jason Peters), that he had the corner apartment, and that you never saw him. Oh, and that he liked books.

You’d gotten his package in your mailbox once; it was from Barnes & Noble. Well, you decided when you saw it, at least he really did exist.

You didn’t actually meet him, though, until four months after he moved in. It was at possibly the weirdest time, and one you couldn’t have possibly predicted.

It was about 2:30 in the morning, and you’d just gotten back from helping a friend with an emergency project. She dropped you off at your apartment to avoid any and all people on the streets after dark, and you were ready to shower and collapse into bed and sleep the day away. When you got to your door, there was a large man standing at the one beside you, one arm pressed to his stomach, and the other simultaneously holding a grocery bag and attempting to open the door with a set of keys.

Interacting with neighbors wasn’t your favorite pastime, but if he was who you thought he was, you might as well just help him open his door and make a good impression at the same time.

“Hi, are you Jason?”

The man looked up at you and you forgot to breathe for just a second. He was tall and he was beautiful. His eyes were a bright green that seemed to shine in the dim hallway and his black hair was broken up by a streak of white in his bangs. Later, you’d wonder if it was natural or if he dyed it, but at that moment, you were caught up in trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.

The man nodded, his attention turning back to his door.

“I’m Y/n. I live here so we’re obviously neighbors and-” you cut yourself off, watching Jason get more visibly frustrated as he nearly dropped the bag he was carrying. “Do you want me to unlock the door for you?” You paused. “Not that I’m trying to take your keys or anything, Obviously I have my own apartment here, but you look like you could use some help so…”

Your neighbor sighed, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.” He turned towards you and you took the key from his hand. “Thanks.”

With your two hands, the door opened easily and you stepped back, handing him back the keys. “It was no problem. Have a good night!”

He gave you a soft smile (and you really liked his smile) and a small wave with the hand holding the keys. “You too,” he said, and closed the door.

Definitely a good decision.

After that, you saw Jason around every so often. You ran into him once at the mailroom, but you were in a little bit of a rush, and it wasn’t more than a quick exchange of hellos before you had to run back upstairs to vacuum your apartment before you had company over.

He waved to you once, when you were walking into the building and he was leaving. You didn’t even recognize him before he waved, bundled up against the snowstorm. But then you waved back, and he smiled and then your cheeks that were just freeing from the temperature outside were warm and the pink tint wasn’t because of the snow.

It became a bit of a tradition. Every time you saw him, you’d wave and smile and he’d do the same. For a little while, that and the occasional hello and comment about the weather was all you interacted with him. But it brightened your day whenever you saw him. As time went on, you saw him more and more often. Sometimes he’d have a bruise on his face or a bandage and you ask if he was alright and he’d brush it off with a wave or a shake of his head and a smile. You weren’t complaining though. Sometimes it was those interactions that got you through your day. (You didn’t want to admit you were falling for his smile.)

Someone was holding the door open when you finally got back to your apartment building. It was stereotypical Gotham outside —that is to say, pouring rain— and between the warm weather and grocery bags in your hands, you had neither a jacket on nor an umbrella. You ducked inside and put your bags down on the floor, heaving out a sigh of relief after walking three blocks home in the rain and pushed your wet hair out of your eyes. It stuck to your face, plastered to your forehead.

You didn’t even recognize the person who helped you until you looked up.

“Oh Jason, hi! I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it was you. Thanks for the door; I think I might have dropped these if I tried to get it myself.” Jason smiled. He had a fading bruise on one cheekbone and his left arm in a sling; only one arm was through the sleeve of his jacket.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s crappy outside.” He jerked a nod towards your grocery bags. “Can I help you get a couple of those?” You looked back at your bags. They were heavy, and you weren’t looking forward to climbing four flights of stairs with them, but you weren’t going to ask him for help.

“No, you’re injured. I can get them.” Jason shrugged.

“I’ve still got one good arm. And by the looks of you, you’re more likely to slip on the stairs if you have to carry all of those at once. And I wouldn't suggest making two trips because some skeevy people live around here.”

You huffed out a resigned laugh. “Wow, way to call me out.” Jason’s amused smirk told you that was exactly what he was trying to do, and it worked. “Ok, sure, you can take a couple. But only a couple.”

“Sure, sure, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does,” you retorted, tilting your chin up in a mock-pompous retort. Jason laughed out loud at that, and proceeded to pick up your two heaviest bags and start towards the stairs. You smiled after him and grabbed the rest. It wasn’t clear to you if you felt lighter because of the missing weight or Jason's laughter. (Oh who were you kidding, you knew which.)

Jason was standing at your door when you got there, and you dropped one handful of bags to unlock the door and push it open before pulling out the key and heading inside. You toed off your shoes and made your way into your small kitchen to put down the bags.

“You can leave your shoes by the door, if you don’t mind.”

When you turned around, Jason was already behind you, and sure enough, you could see large boots next to your shoes just inside. You took the bags from him. “Thanks.”

Jason turned. “Nice place you got here.” You gave him a look.

“And exactly like yours too I’m guessing. Jason shrugged.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“No no, full politeness credit goes to you.” Jason chuckled and turned back around, just in time to see you pull out a new box of tea.

“Want to stay for a cup? It’s the least I can do to repay you for your help.”

Jason shrugged. “You don’t owe me anything, trust me.”

You bit your lip, your eyes meeting his, glowing green in the dim light of your apartment.

“Maybe not, but if I want to?”

Jason’s lips cracked into a soft smile. “Well that book on your kitchen table isn’t going to recommend itself right?”

You smiled back. “Oh we're talking about books? Get comfortable, you’ll be here a while.”

You were joking at the time, but he didn’t leave until 2:30 am, after you fell asleep on the couch, hair barely dry from the rain outside.

#redhoodssweethearts1.7kwritingchallenge #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd #my writing #wow i kinda hate part 3 #emerson writes sometimes

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

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Stray-ht Home part 1

Summary: You need to stop taking in strays. Yes, including the ninja on your fire escape. A/n: This is my entry for @redhoodssweetheart ‘s writing challenge for the cafe AU. If you’re a fic writer, I highly recommend joining. This is a catcafe talon Dick AU. Thank you to @littleredwing89 and @glorified-red for proofreading and helping me write. Thanks especially to Red for telling me how the fuck you write cats. I only know how to write dogs and kids. Warning: Violence, semi-researched first aid, and Reader is intentionally stupid

"You need to stop taking in strays." Rudy's voice is crystal clear in your head. That certainly doesn't stop you from stooping over a wet cardboard box in the middle of the rain.

A pool of black fur shifts, golden eyes staring up at you. The kitten mews; it sounds high and thin in the unforgiving downpour. The sound tugs at your heartstrings at every repetition. You are so doomed that it hurts.

You sigh, accepting your fate as you peel your glove off and hold your pointer finger out to the kitten. The kitten sniffs your finger then pulls back. Slowly, you pet her head in careful strokes, measuring her reactions. Feeling the warmth radiating from you, she rubs the side of her face against your skin, soaking up the gentleness of your touch and leaning in so far that her little body plops to the floor.

You sit there allowing the kitten to get used to your touch and not really caring that your coat is getting soaked. Once she's comfortable enough to rest her whole weight on your hand, you slowly scoop her up, careful never to jostle her too much as you pull her to your chest.

She mews and squirms but doesn't do much else to protest.

You may just be as much of a bleeding heart as Rudy says you are. But would you really own a cat cafe if you weren't?

Figaro (a name you decided on when you texted Rudy who probably glared at the screen for 15 minutes before sending you the name) swims in the soft fabric of the towel you had her wrapped in, refusing to stop moving as you attempt to nurse her. You had attempted to pawn her off on one of the cats in your shop but apparently, the short walk back to your loft was enough for Figaro to develop an attachment to you. So here you are in your living room watching a rerun of Golden Girls and attempting to nurse the most unruly kitten you have ever met in your life.

It's 11:53 PM. It's a Friday night, you think and your lip quirks up. You look around your apartment with half-a-dozen cats roaming in and out, a rowdy kitten draped across your lap, pawing a steadily cooling bottle of formula. You are an honest-to-god cat-lady.

You hold Figaro up to you and scratch the top of her head. She purrs and tries to pat her paws against your face, soft pads pressing against your skin. You lean back into the couch and rest her against your chest. She purrs contentedly, snuggling to your warmth. Your eyes slide shut.

It's 1 AM when you hear the soft thud on your fire escape. You rub your eyes, grumbling. It was probably just Boss again. You hold Figaro close to your chest doing your best not to wake her as you walk to your window. You really need to figure out a way to get Boss to stay in the shop or just maybe buy ear plugs.

There's a sound again. You can't make it out but it's still too loud for you to fall asleep again. This cat is such an asshole.

You open your window, poking your head out to look for the tell-tale white fur. Now covered in rain water and dead on your feet, you sigh. A flash of lightning illuminates a long line of fire escapes and below you a pair of gold eyes stare up at you.

For a long moment, you stare at each other neither comprehending what you're seeing.

There's a man on your fire escape.

Your mind whirrs trying to dismiss it but he’s there. He's right there on the floor below you. He's on the railing. He's on the railing in front of you.

A clawed hand wraps around your throat and you both go down with a loud crash. Cold metal latches on to skin, sending sparks of terror through your veins. You're awake--awake with your heart pulsing as if it could escape when the rest of you couldn't.

You slap your palm up, the soft flesh pushing against the fabric on his face. The hand around your throat only tightens. Black spots crowd your vision. You panic, jabbing the heel of your hand against the side of his temple. The man on top of you hisses, the hand around your neck loosening. Taking a sharp breath, you draw your hand back and slam your fist into his face, your knuckles connecting with bone. Something fractures.

You scrabble away to your couch as the man topples over, clutching his face. Your skin ripples with adrenaline, every fiber of muscle ringing right under your skin as oxygen scrapes in your chest.

The whole room floods with light as lightning strikes the earth. You can see liquid, shiny and thick, pooling beneath your assailant. He's gasping and trembling on the ground, clutching at his stomach.

You dive for your phone, expecting the man to make another grab for your neck.

Nothing.

You take another sharp inhale and the relief fills your body.

Thud.

The man collapses onto the floor, wincing from pain. You slump against your couch falling to the floor, the soft glow of your phone illuminating your face. Your eyes flick to the screen and your fingers start tapping away.

"Please don't."

The rasp shakes you out of your thoughts. The sudden lucidity makes you dizzy but there's a chance that the man just pleaded with you to stop.

"Please don't report me." He lurches towards you in slow, painful movements.

Oh.

You look back down at your phone to see Doc Leslie's number on screen. Yeah, calling the cops would be the smart thing to do, but you hesitate. Your eyes wander to the growing pool of blood. You look back down to your phone and hit the call button.

The scent of blood is thick on him as he reaches you. Fuck, is he gonna die?

You stoop low--slowly so as to not startle him. You wrap your arms around him, suddenly thankful for all the big cats in your cafe that demand to be carried. "I'm... not... gunna report your dumbass," you drag him onto the couch and for once in your life you are glad for the cheap polyester couch, "My friend-- She runs a clinic. I can--" What can you do? "--She can tell me how to..." You wave your hand at the parts of him that are leaking blood.

"They'll heal." He winces, hand resting on his stomach.

"Before or after you bleed to death?"

"..." He slumps against the couch with his head facing away from you looking very much like a chastised child.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." You huff, voice dripping with petty satisfaction.

You time your breathing with the steady chime of your ringtone. The man shoots up when you hear a click. Splaying your palm over his chest, you shove him back down. He gasps, pain radiating throughout his body. Fuck. You wince.

“I’m sorry.”

“You better be,” Dr. Leslie hisses over the line. The corner of your lip twitches because finally, some semblance of normality. “(Y/n) (L/n), for the last time it isn’t a vet clinic.” “I know, I know,” you sigh, running your hand through your hair. It was a fair assumption on her end. You take a deep breath before speaking again. “It's just…” How do you phrase this without Dr. Leslie sending anyone to your apartment? “How do I, yanno, fix a bullet wound?”

“Did you get shot?!”

Ok, so that’s not how you phrase it. Good to know.

“No! No!” You wave your hand in front of you then stop, putting back down on the man’s chest. You jump a little when you don’t feel a heartbeat. “I mean I'm bleeding--No, my shirt is. I mean I'll live but there's a guy on my couch.”

Dr. Leslie lets out a breath that at once says that she’s relieved but also that you’ve aged her 15 years. Again. You need to get her a gift basket after this. Maybe 2.

“Can't you call 911?”

“Uh, he said no to that.”

“And you listened?!”

"Doc, please--he's hurt and I don't know what to do." You plead softly.

Dr.Leslie makes a loud frustrated noise, "Do you still have the first aid kit I made for you?"

You perk up. "Yes ma'am!" You chirp, grabbing it from one of the side tables because of your last accident.

"Good. I need you to check for other wounds."

You look down at the man and pause before gulping down a lump in your throat. There's a wound on his shoulder and you can't really roll up his sleeve. You set down your phone and pray Dr. Leslie doesn't hear your next few words. "Hey guy, I'll need you to take your shirt off."

You sincerely hope this is one of those two piece suits.

The man frowns up at you. You shrug at him because what else can you say? Black gloved fingers twitch, but after only a second’s hesitation, he reaches up to the collar of the suit he’s wearing and unfastens some hidden catch there, then slowly unzips the front of it. You're greeted with toned muscle slick with blood and mottled with bruises. There's quite a few scars crisscrossing his skin.

"He's got what looks like a knife wound across his stomach and what looks like a bullet wound in his shoulder."

"How deep is the laceration?"

"I assume you mean the knife wound, uh--" You look over it as you put on a fresh pair of rubber gloves, "--his guts aren't spilling out." You raise a brow. "It's kind of clotting. I mean it's still bleeding but it's clotting."

There's a pause.

"Is there an exit wound on his shoulder?"

You lean over him, shining your phone's flashlight over it. The man winces. You give him an apologetic look as you put your phone away. "Yes."

"Good."

"Should I clean them?"

"Is there debris?"

"Some."

"You can irrigate his wounds after you stem the bleeding."

"Wouldn't that cause infection?"

"Would you rather he bleed to death?" Dr. Leslie asks sharply.

"Right. Sorry. I've done some light cleaning."

"Put bandages on dressings and bandages on both. Make sure they're tight but don't cut off circulation. Check the color of the skin for that."

"Thanks, Doc," you breathe.

"If you die because that man--"

"I know. You won't say anything nice at my funeral. But seriously though thanks Doc."

She sighs, "Is there anything else?"

You pause then turn to the man's face. He stiffens and you can tell he's frowning under the hood. Yeah. That confirms it.

"What do I do if I broke his nose?"

"I doubt it."

"Thanks, Doc." You say gingerly, reaching for the hood.

He grabs your hand.

"Trust me setting a nose is the one thing I really don't wanna do on a full stomach."

"Please- just leave it." He edges backwards and he kind of reminds you of a stray cat who isn't used to people. "It’s gonna hurt." He says quietly as if you were gonna slap him for it.

Your shoulders droop and you let out a breath. "I'll make it quick. Promise." You pause, fingertips barely touching the hood. "If it hurts, I'll- I think I have ice cream."

Yes, offer a ninja ice cream. Brilliant strategy.

"What kind of ice cream?" He asks cautiously but you don't miss the absolutely adorable way he perks up.

You reach down and slowly start to pull his hood off. You see a pink tongue licking plush lips and you nearly slam the hood back down on his face. Bad idea. You draw in a sharp breath.

"I have strawberry but I also have mint chocolate."

"Strawberry," he says quickly, wincing at the light.

"Strawberry, it is then." You smile softly at him.

You set his nose with a long string of apologies and colorful commentary from an unenthusiastic Leslie Thompkins. He waves you off, golden eyes lighting up when he asks about the ice cream.

Your mouth quirks and promises to give him his ice cream.

When you return, you find him snoozing. His cute face scrunching as Figaro settles herself on his chest. You sit on the coffee table, brushing the dark hair flopping out of his face.

Now that you're not fighting for your life (or his), you can admire your guest. Long dark lashes, soft, toned, skin, and the prettiest lips you ever did see.

This must have been how Prince Philip felt when he found Aurora.

You pat his face with a spoon. "Hey tough guy, grab a tub." You whisper softly.

He grouses, blinking those pretty lashes. Your breath catches when he looks at you with golden eyes. You thrust the small tub of ice cream at him. He looks up at you confused.

"Are you sure?"

"Unless you want something else."

"No! I--" He takes it holding it close with the smallest, sweetest smile on his face. "Thank you."

_______________________________________________________________ Thanks for reading! Taglist: @dora-the-grownup @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bunguz , @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red @ marshmallow12435 @vvipgot7be @jadedhillon

#Redhoodssweethearts1.7KWritingChallenge #talon!dick #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #talon! dick

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foenixphire · 3 years

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Pillow Talk

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!Reader

First writing Challenge. Like, ever.

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst but tons of fluff and soft Jason

Summary: Jason sprains an ankle and you make it your goal to have a fun week.

@redhoodssweetheart I hope you like it!

My prompts were Accidental love confession and “Get in the blanket fort (character name)! We’re reliving our childhood tonight”

This is how I imagine Jason passing the time until he can go on patrol again xD

—————

Bruce Wayne always held the most extravagant galas. This one Jason invited you to was no exception. It was held in a beautiful hotel and took place in the biggest ballroom they could offer.

You were chatting with Tim when you heard it.

A loud crash, champagne glasses breaking and Dick's unmistakable laughter.

"What the fuck." The noise startled you, causing you to whip your head around in search for the source.

Jason was on his back, Dick laughing, guests in shock, and Bruce looking like the most disappointed father in the world.

You and Tim began laughing as you made your way over to your best friend.

"Are you okay? What happened," you chuckled.

"Well see, I bet Jason he couldn’t—“ Dick began in between laughter.

You raised your hands. "Say no more," you quietly laughed, giving Jason a once over.

"Shouldn't someone call an ambulance?" asked a worried guest.

Jason waved his hands, "No, no. I'm fine. We're good.” He grunted as he started to get to his feet only to grimace and hold onto you as he put pressure on his right foot.

"Fine, huh," you teased, poking his chest.

Jason only narrowed his eyes as Dick and Tim snickered.

Bruce nodded for you to go so you headed out.

One Wayne boy laughing, holding up his brother—you and the third chuckling close behind.

Having just returned from the hospital, you put away your and Jason's coats and headed toward the living room of the manor. Well, the nearest one. The warmth from the fireplace was a welcome change from the freezing Gotham winter.

"Here," you offered as you fluffed the couch pillows. "Lay here and I'll be right back with some hot chocolate." You gave his arm a pat, and a warm smile.

"This is bullshit," he groaned.

"Well, think of it this way. Now you get to have a week-long vacation with me," you exclaimed from the kitchen, "and you don't have to attend any Wayne events for the week."

“Yeah but that also means no patrols...”

You could hear the pout.

You made your way back to Jason and set the mugs down.

"Come on, I can be fun too,” you whined. “I've spent enough time around you three to know how.”

"From me, yes. From Dick and Timbo, no,” he said very matter of fact.

The two of you were laughing as Alfred walked in.

“I've prepared a downstairs bedroom along with some clothes for you, Master Jason. I've also set aside some comfortable clothes for you as well, Miss,” he gave a kind smile as he set down a fuzzy blanket on the couch. "Is there anything else I can do?” he offered.

You looked at Jason and he shrugged his shoulders, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

"We're good for now, Alfred. Thank you." You returned the smile and got up to get Jason's crutches.

He gave your arm a gentle pat. "Well, if you two need anything, please don't hesitate to ask.” He gave a slight nod and walked off.

You turned back to Jason, presenting his crutches. "Alright, let's go get out of these fancy clothes and into some comfy ones,” you spoke with a bright smile taking over your features.

“You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless, sweetheart, you could've just asked,” he teased.

You grab the nearest pillow and throw it at his smug face. “Shut up and go,” you chuckled.

Settling Jason into bed, you follow suit and snuggle into his side.

"I don't know what I'm going to do for a whole fucking week,” he signed, running a hand down his face.

"Heal,” you scoffed.

"Ha, ha.” He rolled his eyes, trying to hide a smile. “Really though, it’s going to be torture not being able to go on patrol—and I know torture,” he said, eyebrows raised to exaggerate his point.

You scoffed, smacking his arm.

You could feel the deep rumble of laughter in his chest and you couldn’t help but let out laughter of your own. “You’re terrible,” you giggled.

“Nah, but this week will be,” he said as he brought his free arm up behind his head.

“Hey! I have an idea,” you shot up, startling him. “What was your favorite thing to do as a kid? Sleep over, baking, watching movies,” you began rattling off activities.

“Not dying?” he joked but you caught the solemn hint in his tone.

“I mean. I didn’t have the best childhood but I remember the times I was able to spend with my cousin. Those few times were the best.” You looked down at your hands, a sad smile on your face. “We would watch whatever pirated movie we had on hand and if we were lucky, we’d have a couple snacks.” This time your smile reached your eyes.

“A cousin? I don’t think you’ve ever talked about them?” his voice soft as he gently held your hands. He cocked his head slightly, prompting you to go on.

“I don’t really talk about him.” You looked back down at your linked hands. “He died when we were in our teens and I just…” your voice broke.

“Hey, it’s ok, sweetheart,” he sat up and pulled you in for a tight hug. “Let’s do the stuff you liked.” He pulled back and looked at you with a grin. “You can show me what I missed out on and that way this week won’t be so boring.”

You sniffed. “I’ll make a list,” you said with glee.

Four days in and you had watched countless movies, ate all the best snacks, and even got him to let you curl his hair.

You had to admit, you were running out of ideas but the best one was for today. A pillow fort and you were determined to make it the most grand of all pillow forts.

You were busy finishing up the final touches when you heard Jason hopping into the living room.

“What in the actual--“ he began

“Don’t,” You froze and raised a finger. “Just trust me.” You turned your head and gave him a sly smile.

He raised a hand in defeat and gave you a lopsided smile. Watching as you finished, he sat on a nearby recliner, setting his crutches to the side.

“Aaaaand done,” you exclaimed, standing up in triumph.

“And what is it that you’ve done,” his tone laced with humor.

“A pillow fort!”

“Well, yeah, I can see that, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “I mean, what’s your great plan for the pillow fort?”

“Reading inside the pillow fort, duh!” To push across your point even further, you raised your hands to your sides and cocked your head. Then, bringing your finger to your chin, “We can also watch movies.”

“Nah, I’m already comfortable here,” he reclined further and closed his eyes.

“Get in the pillow fort, Jason! We’re reliving our childhood tonight,” you called out, one hand pointing toward the fort and the other on your hip.

He sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright, fine,” he sat up and made grabby hands toward you, “help me up.”

You gave a little happy squeal and jump. You helped him up and onto the floor near the fort entrance.

You crawled through the blanket door and sat against a wall of plush pillows. You grabbed a fuzzy blanket that you’d stashed inside and motioned for him to sit next to you.

“I…don’t think I’m going to fit,” he chuckled.

“I made it as big as I could, of course you’ll fit!” You switched on a small lantern.

“Yeah, speaking of which. How many couches did you raid for this?” Laughing as he crawled toward you.

You looked at the blanket and pillows above you and then back at Jason. “I promised Alfred I’d put them back.” You gave him your biggest, most innocent smile.

He paused to look at you only to shake his head and chuckle.

Finally, he settled next to you. His broad shoulders taking up most of the pillows you’d set to lean against and his head hitting the blanket above you.

You couldn’t help but smile at how big he was compared to your fort.

“Okay. So what now?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well. I brought a few books, some snacks and my laptop. We could read or watch a movie?” You looked up at him expectantly.

He put his arm around your shoulders and gave a slight squeeze. “What was your favorite thing to do in your pillow forts?”

You looked down at your hands, realizing they were playing with Jason’s free one. “James and I would share secrets. It was always at the end of the night, when no one else could listen in. We would share the things that no one else knew about us, things that we feared, and even crushes we had,” you have a breathy laugh.

You looked back up at him. “Are you willing to share any secrets, Jason Todd?” you asked mockingly.

He burst out laughing, head falling back into the pillow.

Trying not to laugh, you questioned him.

“Sweetheart,” he smiled down at you. “There’s nothing I could tell you that you don’t already know.” He punctuated the thought with a lick of his lips.

You had been best friends for two years. You pretty much did know everything about each other and spent every other day together. But, you’d never noticed the warmth spreading through your chest and into your cheeks.

You leaned your head back onto the pillow. “Come on. There has to be something that I don’t know about you. Like…” Rolling your head toward him, “What did you first think of me when we first met?” You looked up at him with innocent, wide eyes.

He also leaned his head back and hummed in thought for a second. He looked down at you, “Too cute to actually be interested in books.”

You nudged his ribs as you both laughed.

He wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Come on! I’ll be honest.” You shifted a bit in your spot to turn and lean your legs on his.

You were NOT going to be honest. At least, not completely. You couldn’t risk it…

“I did think you were cute--“

“What do you mean ‘were’?!” He interrupted, with an offended look on his face. “Why do you think my face is the most shielded part of my body on patrol?!”

Your eye roll was so big your head rolled along with them.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway. I was curious why a cute guy was in the library. I figured you were with someone or doing homework.”

You leaned against the pillow and looked at his shoulder.

“I was pleasantly surprised to learn that you're the whole package,” you smirked, “attractive and smart.”

He chuckled and looked down. If you had been looking up at his face, you would have seen the blush that spread across his cheeks.

You giggled, “Really though.” This time you did look up. “It was nice to finally find someone intelligent and not just someone looking for a hookup.”

He heard the sincerity in your voice and it made his chest swell with pride.

“Well. I honestly thought you were an interesting person. Not different just to be different and you genuinely seemed like a good person.” His tone was kind.

Jason was caught off guard that day in the library, but not just because you were cute. He was so glad he went up to comment about the book you were reading because he finally found someone he could have conversations with about his favorite books.

The longer you two talked, the more he admired you.

The more he admired you, the less deserving he felt.

It was amazing and shitty all at the same time but he couldn’t bear to not at least have you as a friend.

“Hell, you didn’t run away or cuss me out when you found out I was Red Hood. It was the most nervous I’d ever felt in my life.” His voice grew softer at the end. His shoulders dropped and his face somber.

“I love having you around, (Y/N), and when I decided to tell you,” he gulped. “I was so afraid you’d hate me or be scared of me.”

He didn’t even try to hide the quiver in his voice.

He had realized along the way that he had feelings for you but refused to believe someone like you would ever feel the same for someone like him.

You hugged his arm and lay your chin on his shoulder. “I could never hate you, Jason. Much less be afraid of you.” You tried to pour all the kindness and sincerity into your tone to show him how honest you were.

He let out a soft chuckle, “I just couldn’t believe someone like you would ever stick around with how fucked up my life has been.” He sighed.

“You’ve been here with me all week when you don’t even have to. You help me, you bring me things just so I don’t have to get up,” a warm smile brightened his face. “You accept me for me and don’t give me crap about it. When shit hits the fan, instead of scolding me like Bruce or teasing me like my brothers, you listen.

“I don’t deserve to love someone like you…” his voice was almost a whisper.

You slowly registered what he had said last and slowly rose your head from atop his shoulder.

“You what…?” Your face a mixture of surprise, hope and confusion.

Jason realized what he said and froze. His chest tightened and he waited for the worst.

“Jason.” You loosened your grip on his arm. “Do you really?” Your voice in a low whisper.

He nodded.

You gently reached up to turn his face toward you.

“I love you too.”

All the tension and the breath he didn’t know he was holding all dissipated and he felt lighter, happier. He embraced you with such vigor, his head on yours and just sat there.

Jason never imagined being thankful for a sprained ankle

#Redhoodssweethearts1.7KWritingChallenge #jason todd oneshot #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfic #jason todd x reader #first ever fic I’m posting so you’ve been warned

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butterysalt · 3 years

Text

A Familiar Face || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (gender neutral)

Summary: After losing your close friends to the Blip cause, it seemed that everyone else in your life left too. Working on building up a new life, far away from the work of the Avengers, somehow they still find a way to track you down and drag you back to your origins.

Word Count: 3,145

Contains: Angst, some swearing, events during TFATWS

A/N: HI I’M ALIVE!!! This work is for @redhoodssweetheart ‘s 1.7K writing challenge! I chose the quote:

"Give me one good reason why I should trust you?" "Because I have never lied to you."

Paired with MCU Bucky Barnes… God, school and writer’s block really kicked me in the ass this time. I haven’t been able to write anything so I put LOTS of love into this one!! I hope you all enjoy this one because I did my best to preserve my fanfic writing style! Lots of love. Thank you and happy reading.

A lot changed after the Blip. The Avengers Initiative divided themselves after the loss of the original founders. They were Iron Man, Black Widow, and Captain America. And they were your friends. Fellow defenders of Earth.

Everyone went their own separate ways after that. In search of some kind of new purpose. Whatever it took to move on and keep surviving.

Things got quiet around here. Things got lonely.

The days became monotonous and dull for you. There were rarely activities or news that you found worth your while. Just an empty apartment to come home to after a typical retail job you easily landed, some takeout, and the sound of buzzing telly to keep you company.

You no longer considered yourself one of the Avengers. Saving the Earth was what it took for you to come to the conclusion that you probably weren’t cut out for this type of job. You cared too much.

Getting attached just meant more to lose. Too much loss would lead to immeasurable weights of grief. And that just wouldn’t do. You had already lost enough. So you cut the line short for your own sake.

Huddled up in a flat you found in cozy Wells, Somerset, you were at home. For the first time in your career, you could settle and adjust to normalcy. Your neighbors were incredibly friendly but they weren’t nosy. They left you alone most days lest you need something from them.

But other than that, you were alone.

“... Increase in riots across the nation-” Click.

“Please, listen to our voices. This is not-” Click.

“... group of terrorists have infiltrated the-” Click.

“No one watches cartoons anymore, huh?” You mumbled in your cup of instant noodles. You scoffed out the side of your lips, mouth full, and shut the TV off. The blue light from the screen returned to its box and the darkness welcomed itself around you. Only the dim lights from the kitchen behind you illuminated your huddled figure on the worn couch.

You hungrily slurped up the remainder of your noodles and got up to toss the container in the trash. A deep frown appeared on your face as you crinkled your nose at the sight of several packages and containers piled up in the garbage.

“Man, I really gotta cook some actual food soon,” You twisted the plastic bag and hauled it out of the bin. The tied bag dangled from your fingers as you sauntered to the front door. With every begrudging step, your eyes felt heavier.

Some more telly and then I’ll sleep for work tomorrow. Yeah, sounds good.

You opened the door and dragged the bag with you, turning your back to make sure the door closed behind you. But something felt off. A shiver rippled under your skin, resonating within your gut.

The trash bag fell from your hands. You steadied yourself with bent legs, crossing your arms across your chest as you fell into a defensive stance. A protective telekinetic shell formed itself around you within a second. You snapped your head around to confront the intruder.

The air escaped your throat. You didn’t want to believe it.

A man with a face so recognizable and ingrained in your memory — you couldn’t possibly forget it if you tried. Chestnut tufts of hair atop his head and light stubble to match. Incredible as always, his set of glassy blue eyes that never changed in their softness towards you. But no, most telling of all, the shine of a black metallic finger outstretched in front of you.

“... Oh my God, Bucky,” you breathed. You immediately dropped your guard and stepped back into the wall behind you. Bucky cracked a meek smile. He held his hands beside his face.

“Easy, Y/n. It’s just me.”

There were so many questions swirling in your head. But there was no doubt in mind that Bucky Barnes wasn’t standing here, right in front of your apartment.

The two of you shared an unspoken moment, reading each other’s expressions. Possibly for a flicker of hatred or resentment. But there was only relief and shock that was beginning to wear off.

Your eyes widened, “Shit- S-Sorry, come inside.” Embarrassed, you kicked the trash bag — which clearly displayed all your pathetic excuses for a meal — behind a potted plant by your door.

Bucky quietly followed you in and looked over your living conditions. He subconsciously nodded here and there at some of your decorations. You were busying yourself with kicking things under desks and counters.

“Sorry, I uh- I wasn’t really expecting anyone. The place is kind of a mess,” you ran a hand through your hair awkwardly, “Do you um… Do you want me to get you a beer?”

“Ah, no… No, it’s fine,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh. Alright, yeah, that’s good.” You stood a little ways apart from Bucky, leaning on your couch from behind as you twiddle your thumbs. Bucky stood stiffly by the door still. He kept his hands close to himself as though touching anything around him would trigger some kind of alarm. But he was staring right back at you.

You bounced your leg rapidly. Your eyes bounced around, finding the Victorian-style wallpaper that was starting to yellow at the base board extremely interesting. Bucky uncomfortably cleared his throat a couple times. Maybe he was trying to say something?

“How’ve ya been?” He spoke hurriedly. You returned with a tense nod.

“Alright. It’s been um. Good, yeah. How about… you?”

“Same,” he shrugged, unsure. You pursed your lips tightly. A soreness was crawling up your spine. You huffed a slow breath and straightened your posture, standing upright. Something to pass the time god damn it.

You chuckled nervously, “So… I didn’t know you were coming here. From uh, America. Other side of the world.” Bucky visibly gulped and cleared his throat once more.

“Y-Yeah. I would’ve called, y’know? But um, you changed your number and…” He paused mid-sentence to shift his weight. His eyes flicked from your floor to your face frequently, “And I didn’t think you’d want to pick up anyway.”

A breath you didn’t even realize you were holding in harshly escaped when his words hit you.

“It’s okay. I mean, you’re here now and I don’t really mind,” Your hand raised to push some stray hairs away from your face, “What’s going on?”

“Have you seen the news lately by any chance?”

“Maybe here and there. But nothing I really pay much attention to. Why?” Bucky pressed his lips into a thin white line.

“Um… Well, it’s a lot to sum up. For starters, we have a new Captain America.” Hearing that title again was like an aftershock directly in your nerves. You did your best to disguise any hints of recognition.

“Oh. Yeah. Sam, right?” You heard Bucky suck in a tight breath. Your eyes returned to the shadow at the doorway. He shook his head slowly.

The sound of shattering glass echoed in your head. Flying shards pierced straight through your facade. Your brows scrunched together.

“What? Who?” You were reading him again. That rage you were expecting to see in him earlier flashed for a mere second in his eyes when he looked back at you.

“Some new U.S. agent prick,” he spat.

“What’s Sam doing?” You clicked your tongue sharply.

“He didn’t take up the mantle.” Your brow tugged up skeptically.

“Bullshit. What’s up with him?”

“It was his own choice, Y/n.” Bucky had his arms crossed now, leaning against the doorway. The malice in those words didn’t fly over your head. So he wasn’t here for pardons.

Bucky sighed and pushed himself on his feet again. “Sam would’ve come to say hi but he’s back in Louisiana, spending time with family right now.”

He twitched his lip as he thought about how to phrase his following words. “We’re taking a break, basically. But we’ll have to get back to work soon.”

“What are you two doing now?” He tilted his head and sucked in a breath.

“Same old, same old. We’re defenders of the U.S. government, in a way.” Of course. You shouldn’t have expected otherwise from Bucky. You did your best to downplay the deep frown on your face.

“Well, that’s a lot easier than ‘defenders of the world’ huh?” You offered to ease up the tension. This pulled a gentle chuckle from Bucky.

He offered a soft smile, “Yeah, a hell of a difference between the two.” His eyes met yours again and they switched back to their calming blue for the moment. Not like the passive waves of an ocean but rather, a patient stream.

“To uh, fill you in: there’s an anti-nationalist group out there that call themselves the ‘Flag Smashers’. Basically, they think life was better before the Blip.”

You didn’t even try to hold back your hard scoff. It was an insult to you. That all of your work — what used to be your work — was all for naught. That people’s lives meant nothing. That nothing should have been done.

“Last we’ve heard their leader, Karli Morgenthau, is planning an attack on the GRC in New York in order to stop the meeting committee from going through with the Patch Act. It’s going to be put into action later this week. Karli and her whole team of super-soldier followers.”

Super-soldier. Another familiar term you didn’t appreciate.

You were mirroring Bucky’s crossed arms as you listened. You didn’t completely mind Bucky being here but you couldn’t deny the distrust you felt between the two of you. You were just waiting for the punchline.

“I’m sorry to hear, Bucky. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out a way to stop them.” He nodded feebly.

“Yeah… I think we have, actually. Which is what brings me here.” You visibly crinkled your eyes in anticipation. Here it comes.

“In order for this plan to work, we’re gonna need a lot of our own men on the inside to help the process go smoothly-”

“No.”

Bucky blinked at your bluntness. He straightened himself and fixed his leather jacket. “Y/n-”

“No. I’m not getting wrapped up in all this again. Hero stuff is behind me. That’s for you two to deal with,” you defended yourself. After all this time apart, this is the way he decides to pop back into your life?

“Look, I understand that you don’t want to do this anymore, Y/n. I’m tired of fighting too. But this is for something bigger than ourselves. If we don’t do it, no one else will.”

“Then I’m still not going to do it, Buck! I know it’s not the answer you want to hear but this is your problem - not mine. Keep me out of this,” you repeated yourself.

You moved away from everyone else for this exact reason. All those memories you had suppressed for so long were banging and melding the walls of your head, pressuring you to free them. You didn’t want to go through all that again.

Bucky took a step closer to you, holding his firm hand against his chest, “There’s no way in hell me and Sam are gonna work with that new Captain. And look, you and I both know it-”

Your eyes pierced his in an instant. “Bucky. Stop.”

You clenched your fists by your sides. He was treading on ice. The man took another step towards you, crossing the living room.

“Steve and Nat were our friends. Nothing is the same anymore. Without them, we can barely function as a team-”

“No. No, shut up. You don’t get to pull that card on me, Barnes.” you scowled, “You don’t get to use Nat or Steve against me. Do you really think I don’t already know that nothing is the same? Are you pullin’ my leg here?”

The heat of your fury began to boil beneath your face. The more inner turmoil you suffered, the more violent your powers would grow. The tables and chairs in your proximity scooted away from your invisible force. And yet, Bucky pushed on.

Another step forward. “No, I can say this because I’m right. Because we both know what it feels like. We lost people who were close to us. And now you’ve holed yourself away because I know you’re scared!”

His words jolted you. Your jaw tightened and you twisted the pads of your feet into the hardwood floor. The wood beneath you crackled and some objects in the flat began to rattle. Gentle at first, then growing in intensity as you shifted your energy. But the two of you weren’t concerned about your surroundings.

“Don’t talk like you know me.” Bucky concentrated his brows together. And you noticed something.

This expression wasn’t an angry one. He raised his voice but he wasn’t yelling at you. There wasn’t a hostile aura from him. It was familiar… but foreign. You couldn’t place your finger on this emotion being presented.

“I do know you, Y/n. If anything, I’m the only one who knows you more than yourself,” Bucky shut his eyes and bowed his head to the floor. “Please, just listen to me,” he begged.

This threw you off immediately. The items in your apartment halted their rattling and clattered on several surfaces as they dropped.

It was that look again. The one that made your breath stop. A face you knew all too well. It was more like looking at a face in your memories rather than the tired soldier standing in your flat. He looked so desperate.

But you finally realized what that look meant. You had seen it so many times before, so why was it so difficult to figure out?

Most notably of all, this whole act was a version of himself that he had only ever opened up to you in the past.

This emotion was vulnerability.

This feeling was trust.

Bucky Barnes trusted you. And he wanted to talk to you. But you wanted nothing to do with either. This split feeling between letting him back into your life or telekinetically blasting him through the door was tempting.

But that’s why he decided to go up against you in the first place. Because he trusted you not to hurt him.

“Give me one good reason why I should trust you?” You made sure to keep your distance, fists still at the ready.

This time, Bucky took a step back. He wanted to earn your faith in him completely. Not once did he break eye contact with you. The soldier clenched and unclenched his fists, bottling up the dying anticipation.

“Because I have never lied to you.” As hard as you tried to compose yourself, Bucky caught the wet shine in your eyes. He saw the way your lip gently trembled and how your eyebrow jumped. He saw the way your hard accusing stare melted. All in a second.

“You left me before,” you whispered.

“And I’m here now. I could never leave - not forever. I’ll always come back to you, doll.” Your heart fluttered at the affectionate name he used to call you so often. A name you tried so hard to erase. You could barely remember why, now.

He stood right outside of your barrier, respecting the space you made for yourself. But his eyes, they longed for you in a way that took you back to simpler times.

“Do you want to know why I left?” Bucky asked you sincerely. Your words wouldn’t come out, but your conjured forcefield pulsed and hummed gently in response.

Bucky swallowed his fears. He forced himself to stay still and maintain eye contact as he confessed. He needed you to hear this.

“It was because I was scared,” he whispered truthfully. “Nat and Steve were both pretty much gone. I was a man out of my time no longer with anyone by my side. So I was afraid and I holed myself away from everyone else. Whatever I had to do to keep it together.

“I now realize, that wasn’t true at all,” He chewed on his lip anxiously, “I had you. And the worst mistake I ever made was leaving us behind when we needed each other most. We ended up having to go through the same exact thing by ourselves because I was too frightened to think about anyone but myself.”

You were looking back into Bucky’s watery eyes. And God, you wanted to fall to the ground and hold him close. This was the man you left behind.

“I know you’re scared Y/n, because I’m scared,” his voice began to shake as he opened up to you.

“I’m here because I need you. I don’t want to see you moping around in a dull British apartment barely living off of cheap TV dinners. Don’t do this to yourself, darling. I’m not okay without you.”

Bucky stood right in front of you now. He was able to bring your barrier down and hold you. You had barely acknowledged the cold chill of his metal fingers cupped around your flushed shoulder. Your old lover pulled you closer to him and for once, you didn’t fight it.

You let your once beloved press you against him and brush your hair away from your face. You allowed your skin to melt against the contrasting temperature of his presence. To ease into his embrace that was a perfect mold for you. The smoky but clean musk of his clothes finding their way back to you as he held you in his warm form.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, twisting your fingers into his jacket. “Jesus, I’m sorry Buck. I’m sorry. I could have waited. God, I’m so sorry.”

Bucky dipped in to press a longing kiss against your cheek. A tear slipped between the two of you as he kissed your temple, reliving the feeling of his soft lips against your skin again.

“It’s okay, doll. We’re gonna do better this time. I’m here. I promise.”

“I’m sorry for shutting you out. I… You’re right. I was scared.” Bucky laughed a little at this.

“I told you. I know you best,” He leaned in again to leave a kiss in your hair. You grabbed his hand and pressed your lips against the back of it. Your thumb gently rubbed his skin, trying to memorize the feeling of it all over again.

Bucky softly flushed in the face. He cleared his throat bashfully and hastily wiped away his tear-stricken face.

“So, ahem- I uh… I could really use a familiar face on this mission. For old time’s sake,” he smiled softly. You returned with an equally kind expression and traced his face with your finger.

“I’m with you, Buck. It turns out I can’t get rid of you that easily after all.”

#redhoodssweethearts1.7kwritingchallenge #writing challenge #redhoodssweetheart #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #reader insert #x reader #gn reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #angst #fluff #writing prompt #fanfiction #tfatws fic

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redhoodssweetheart · 3 years

Note

Can I please take scenarios 4 and quotes 5 for Jason Todd?

You certainly can! :D

#asks #foenixphire #redhoodssweethearts1.7kwritingchallenge

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Skating By

Summary: You met Damian Wayne at a frat party where you were helping a plant guzzle down a solo cup lousy with dollar store beer.

A/n: This is my entry for @redhoodssweetheart ‘s writing challenge for the college AU. If you’re a fic writer, I highly recommend joining. This is in the same universe as Icing but it’s not exactly connected. Thank you to @littleredwing89 and @glorified-red for proofreading and helping me write. Warnings: Alcohol and light-hearted death threats

The lights and sounds of the party were messy. They grate on your mind like the smatterings of condiments on a crisp white shirt. You wince again as the bass drops. Your stomach plummets along with it, and suddenly the cheap beer in your solo cup looks as unappetizing as the rest of the party.

You look around to see if anyone is paying attention to you. Your friends had long disappeared along with their dates and the keys to your car. Bringing you to a frat party might be their dumbest idea-- bringing you to an Alpha Chi party was even dumber.

For one, it was the one frat house you didn't know anyone. That wasn't to say they were bad. They just weren't your crowd and this party... was proof of that.

Barely dodging another tossed shoe, you crouch down to pour the contents of your solo cup into the potted plant. It was a pothos. You weren't too worried.

"I'm sure the plant doesn't appreciate the free drink."

"The plant lives in a frat house. It's got high tolerance."

You hear an unfamiliar voice over your shoulder. It's deep and smooth and tastes like dark chocolate. You look over your shoulder and you think your heart falls out of rhythm. How long has he been standing there? Damian Wayne leans against the wall, red solo cup in hand, looking every bit as out of place in the dim party lights as you do.

You feel stupid under those green eyes. They remind you of cats’ eyes, sharp and predatory. You lick your top lip. For some reason, you thought you could grab the right words from your upper lip. The words in your mind are scrambled and the booming music doesn't help.

"Wayne, right?"

He raises a brow and the curl of his lip makes you step back. "Is my face that forgettable?"

"It's hard to recognize you without a scowl." You snicker back. You and Damian have had a handful of conversations most of them boiling down to 'could I see your notes?' and 'sure but my handwriting is inhumane'. You've never really 'talked'.

This is probably the longest conversation anyone has had with him. Well, anyone not named Jon Kent or Collin Wilkins or Maya Duccard.

You feel a little off-kilter being this close to Damian. You weren't exactly the most approachable person. Sure, you knew a lot of people but that was mostly the occupational hazard of tutoring for a gen ed everyone loathed. Being approached by Damian was a little out of left field.

He looks around, frowns, then looks back at you. His hackles are drawn when he doesn't find what he's looking for. Whatever idiots are on the receiving end of that glare had your sympathies.

"Why are you alone?"

Oh, it was your idiots.

Damian crouches down to your eye level. He gently cups your face looking it over. He sighs with relief when he sees you’re lucid.

"My beer was fine- Well, no, it tastes like cat piss but it was fine... I'm just not good with," you wave your hand vaguely, the correct word just out of reach. You realize that you didn't really answer his question.

You'll pretend that you're tongue-tied because of the lousy music and that you can't make yourself look up because of the stupid strobe lights. It is definitely not because of the handsome and annoyingly smart guy hovering in your space. Oh god, you actually sound- damn it. How could you have this huge of a crush you’ve barely talked to? Sure, you two work together a lot and spend a lot of time helping out at the shelter but- Oh for the love of- Fuck.

You breathe. You could easily explain away your flustered demeanor with alcohol.

His eyes soften. It's minute but it startles you all the same. There's an amused curve to his lip but you can't really call it a smile. He lets his weight rest on his heels, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks sheepish. Well, as sheepish as you can get when your face is permanently rendered with a look of posh disgust. It's cute but also funny. It's a shy gesture and not at all what you expected from him.

You rest your chin on folded arms. The grin on your face is smarmy and punchable but you can't help it. It's a natural reaction to a guy like Damian acting cute.

He scowls at you, rolls his eyes, and says: "You didn't answer my question."

"Can you guarantee you won't murder them?"

"No." He says honestly.

You snort. You can just imagine Houston and Sita pissing themselves when they find out Damian threatened them.

Your face breaks into a smile half-hidden by your arms. Damian's thankful. He doesn't think he can bear the full brunt of it. "You can't murder them."

“ I know how to hide a body."

"Is that why you're the top figure skater in the region?"

"No, but it is good exercise."

You press a laugh into your palm. People who said he had no sense of humor were so full of shit. "But seriously, I'm fine. Parties are just..." You wave your hand losing your train of thought as something else blares over the speakers. This one had too many voices that tasted of too many things.

Damian looks around before standing up.

"Can you get up?"

"I only had like 2 and a half sips of frat beer. I think I'll manage." You say, falling on your ass.

Damian chuckles and reaches his hand out."C'mon (L/n), you're clearly not sober."

"Lemme guess, you're the picture of sobriety."

"I'm not the idiot on the ground."

"You are an asshat for very different reasons and I'm mad that not everyone can see that." You say accepting his hand.

"And no one will ever believe you," he says. He pulls you up and into his chest with ease. His chest is solid and warm. It's comforting and it takes every ounce of your self-control to step back.

"You're actually evil, you know that?" you say, falling into step with Damian. His strides are long and graceful as you step through the crowd.

"I've been told," he says, stepping around a knot of frat boys singing some pop song you were sure was 20 years older than any of you. You, on the other hand, bungle past them, getting spritzed in the face by leftover beer.

"I'm guessing it was Jon. He was always observant."

Damian looks over his shoulder. "If by observant you mean someone who runs straight into a pole right in front of him, then yes."

"Wasn't he running on 20 minutes of sleep?"

"And?"

"Some of us are human."

"How unfortunate."

You both step out through a side door and the difference in atmosphere hits you immediately. You crumple to the ground drinking in stark relief. Damian leans on the wall, silently observing you.

"Why didn't you just go out?"

"I didn't want to."

He frowns at you. "You wanted to stay in there?"

"Well, I never said that," you don't really wanna tell him why you stayed inside. Damian crosses his arms at you expectantly. You sigh, "Ok, I was scared of the hookman. Sue me."

"The hookman?"

"Yanno--"

"Yes, I know who he is and I assume you're being serious."

"Guilty," you say, rubbing the back of your neck. "It's been going around and I thought there might be a basis to it, so I'm..."

"Paranoid."

"Hey, don't give me that look! Like you're one to talk."

"I'm--"

"Paranoid."

"--cautious. There is a difference."

"Yeah. The spelling."

Damian narrows his eyes at you. You raise your hands in surrender. "Ok. Ok. I might be a little paranoid but it's kind of hard considering where we are."

"I don't think the hookman is lurking around frat row."

"Why not? Easy pickings."

"Too many witnesses."

"I am starting to suspect you're the hookman," you snicker.

"If I was the hookman, that would have been the stupidest thing to say."

"I-"

He gives you a self-satisfied smirk.

Did you just lose?

"Theoretically-"

"Theoretically," he repeats flatly.

"Theoretically," you repeat, "if you weren't the hookman, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be,” you pause, twirling your hand, “practicing?"

"I do take breaks."

You give him a genuinely shocked look. "And you chose to come here?"

"I was invited."

You laugh, "Jon?"

"Collin. What's your excuse?"

"Kidnapped," it was the slightest bit an exaggeration. Houston had stormed it to your room and dragged you out, preaching about youth and beer. "I assume you got the same schtick about the life, huh?"

"With the added bonus that I would stop looking like a middle-aged man."

"What a steal."

Damian hums in response.

You glance back up at him. "You going back in?"

Damian side-eyes the building. "No."

You both wince when someone, not something, gets tossed out the window. "Yeah. That looks like a no for me too."

"Smartest choice you've made all night."

"I offended you in some past life, didn't I?"

"Or maybe I just don't like you."

You feel a pang at that but you shake it off as you stand. "I never skated before," you say for the lack of anything else to say. It was always so much easier to redirect a conversation than address things. Damian gives you a strange look. It must be weird to hear that.

"Never?"

You shrug. "I opted for swimming during the summers. Always wanted to try it though."

"The ice rink is open."

You look back over your shoulder. You search Damian's features for a hint of what he's planning.

"Why?"

"Some skaters need practice," he explains and yeah, that was obvious.

"You're going to take me, a newbie, skating where professionals are practicing."

"Yes."

You give him a crooked smile. "Wow, you really don't like me."

"Wasn't that obvious?"

The chattering of your teeth rattles your brain. Your jaw aches from all the activity. Logically, you knew that ice rinks were cold but you weren't prepared for how cold they got. You should have swung by your apartment.

"Cold?"

You turn to Damian who's taking off his hoodie. You're not bitter but what the hell? "What gave you that idea?"

"The incessant chattering."

"Thanks, I try--" Something thick blots out your vision. "Fuck!" You scramble to pull it off. Bundled in your hands is Damian's jacket. "Thanks, I've always wanted to be a coat rack."

"You can put it on or freeze."

"Putting it on, putting it on," you grumble. You're practically swimming in the thing. The smell of spices billows. Your nerves tickle and your stomach complains. You inhale deeply.

"And you think I'm the stalker?"

"Jerk!"

He makes a face of mock hurt.

It’s not very convincing.

This was a bad idea. For once, it wasn't your bad idea.

"You are officially written out of my will!" you screech as your arms pinwheel.

Instead of falling face-first onto the ice, your face is squished against something warm and solid. You cling to it and try to ignore the other skaters. This was embarrassing. You bury your face in his chest. Damian stiffens.

Damian lets out a put-upon sigh, “I have clearly overestimated your abilities.”

“In my defense, I’m not trained in the art of slipping in style.”

“This is nothing.”

You roll your eyes and huff. Your lip quirks. “Show me.”

Damian scoffs, gliding to the center of the rink.

You slip and slide towards the edge of the rink.

Damian stands stark in the middle of the rink, head bowed and air spiraling around him as if pulled by his gravity. Your ears prickle with the expectation of music, an orchestral sound rising and falling like the cresting ocean waves.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this.

You watch open mother as Damian Wayne glides over the ice with savage grace. Every movement calculated precisely to hit hard. You expected Damian to be ferocious just as he always is but his beauty was shaped differently by the ice.

Defying gravity, cutting through the air, robbing you of each breath like it was nothing. All done with a calm collected face. The sheer audacity needed to ignore how he electrified the air with every lutz, every double, and every salchow.

You try to pick up your jaw but all your strength is sapped by the effort of thought.

Damian tops the performance off with a flawless triple. Damian glides to a stop, his muscles thrumming from his performance. He bows out of pure habit. Staring at the ice, he hears your laughter echo in the open rink but more than anything it's the excited tone of your voice as your cheer that makes his lips quirk. Damian knows he’s good. Everyone told him as much but being on the receiving end of your unbridled enthusiasm is intoxicating.

Damian rises only to be met with a snowball to the face.

You grin and pack another snowball before Damian even shakes the first one off. Why did you throw a snowball at a world class figure skater after giving you a private show? Hannah would be your best bet for getting an answer, but for now, all you could do was assume that you were stupid.

You relax when Damian scowls at you.

He glides to the edge of the rink, crouching down to pack his own snowball. You grin viciously. You may suck at skating but you are definitely not losing a snowball fight.

You laugh breathlessly, tilting your head back against the wall. You're flat on your ass with shaved ice dusting your hair. Damian, who sat next to you, brushes the ice out of his hair into your direction. You retaliate by collecting ice in your hands then blowing them his way. The flurry hits him in the face and he spits and sputters. You think he's gonna grab a handful of ice again but he just leans back against the wall. At least, one of you is mature.

You close your eyes enjoying the way the cold nips at your flesh. You listen to the way metal scrapes against ice as the two other skaters in the rink glide harmoniously in pure tones. It wasn't quite the same as when the water swallowed you as you swam but the crisp atmosphere was oddly relaxing.

"We should do this again," you say, knocking your foot against Damian's lightly.

He knocks his foot against yours. "Only if you bring your own coat."

"Nah, I like yours. It feels rich," you say, snuggling further into the fabric. You really did like it.

Damian peels himself away from the wall and looks at you like you just offended his honor. "You are not keeping my coat."

“Watch me.” _______________________________________________________________ Thank you for reading! Taglist: @dora-the-grownup @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bunguz , @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red @ marshmallow12435 @vvipgot7be @jadedhillon

#Damian Wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #ICE SKATING AU #Redhoodssweethearts1.7KWritingChallenge

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

What’s Wrong with Superman?

Summary: Flyman is a really stupid name.

a/n: I got a little excited so here’s my entry for @redhoodssweetheart ‘s writing challenge. If you’re a fic writer, I highly recommend joining. This is for Quotes #1 This fic is based on the Superman Man of Tomorrow movie so it may not make sense otherwise.

Warnings: Reader is a bendy person so the physical descriptions will be weird and there will be some nsfw language but nothing happens.

masterlist

"What's wrong with superman?" You ask, raising your feet up over your head and resting them against Clark's wall. The blood rushes to your head but you couldn't find the energy to care, not when the work day had you drained and aching. You're just happy to stretch your limbs and contort in angles that would loosen them. You need to convince your supervisor to transfer you to a different division.

"It's kinda..." Clark waves his hand. "Yanno..."

Eloquent. You raise a brow at him telling him exactly what you thought about his solid argument.

"How about Flyman?" He says quickly.

"Ah yes, like the illustrious Batman but somehow worse." You say, turning onto your belly and nearly knocking over the things on Clark's bedside table. You shrug innocently. You shift, putting your feet over your shoulders as you think. "How about uuuuuh Captain Barbel?"

"Why?"

"Cus the guy could chuck them at people real easy." You answer simply. Clark really can't tell whether it was your excessive fidgeting or your monumental leap in logic that entertained him more.

He snorts, "That sounds like a dumb gimmick."

"So is being called Flyman." You huff.

"Careful, you're gonna hurt my feelings." Clark huffs in return, shaking his head as he grabs your favorite mug and one for himself. He has no idea how this specific mug was lucky but he's learned not to question a scientist's superstitions. Though he suspected it had less to do with actual superstition rather that you didn't want to admit that you just found the little cow-shaped mug adorable. He'll have time to tease you about it later. For now, he had to figure out this conundrum.

"If I was concerned about that, I would have pronounced Kansas properly by now." You say, sitting up to face him properly.

"What would you call him? Seriously." Clark says, resting against the kitchen counter. He's watching you with a hint of fond frustration. His leg bounces against the floor, fingers tapping on the linoleum countertop.

"Hmmmm," You purse your lips and lean forward- elbows on your lap, fingers laced together, and chin resting on your hands. "Wonder Man?"

Clark's handsome face breaks into an incredulous smile. "Pfft, you’re joking right?"

"I have never made a joke in my life." You grin, taking the cup of coffee from Clark and scooting over to make room for him. You shrug. "There is a reason I'm not in advertising but seriously I think you should just go with superman."

"And give Lois the satisfaction?" Clark asks over the rim of his mug. He raises his brow.

"Think about it."

"Rather not."

You push on, ignoring him."If you popularize it, guess who gets the credit?"

"Are you telling me to steal?" Clark gapes at you and the mischievous glint and his blue eyes make laughter bubble in your chest.

You blow out a breath into the neck of your sweater. Well, his sweater up until 2 months ago. "Nope. You're the one interpreting it that way."

"Your boss is rubbing off on you."

"Oh, don't remind me."

"How about Captain Marvel?" He suggests, wrapping around his arm around your shoulder. You can smell the caramelized sugar in his coffee. You blanch.

"Oh. So you want a lawsuit."

"No..." A complicated expression takes over his face. His lips purse to one side as he thinks. You wait patiently for his answer, snuggling up to his side. "How's it working at star labs by the way?" He says finally and you just had to love the clumsy way Clark tries to redirect conversations. He needs to get better at that if he wants to be a reporter. Then again, he's never failed to get an answer out of you with the earnest look in his eyes.

"I'm supposed to be in the engineering division, yeah?"

He nods before resting his face in your hair.

"Yeah, yeah. Him. Blegh." You wrinkle your nose and stick out your tongue, waving your hand in the air as if to shoo a thought away.

"But they stuck me with checking on that asshole biker wannabe..." You sigh.

"Lobo?" He asks, his voice rising a bit. Clark's grip in the mug tightens a bit but he has enough presence of mind not to break the mug.

"Well, did he say anything?" Clark asks, adjusting his glasses.

You squint. "My name isn't going on the paper."

"It won't." He says flat and steady. And you know you can trust him because, well, it's Clark.

You give him a crooked smile. "Nothing useful really. How much patience do you have for shitty pick up lines?"

Clark stiffens. "He was hitting on you?" He squares his shoulders. You see his jaw tighten and you think you can hear him grind his teeth. God, he's cute when he gets like this.

"He was hitting on anything with two legs."

And he was. Well, not really. You honestly couldn't really tell what his category for this thing was but you're pretty sure Clark doesn't care. He seems to care more about the fact that Lobo was hitting on you judging from the way he's borderline pulling you into his lap. You, frankly, were more concerned about what weird category you fit in to catch his eye.

"Maybe if I go with you next time..."

"You're cute Clark but I'm not sneaking you in there for a story." You pat his cheek. Clark pouts at you. You try your best not to squeal at how cute he is. You fail.

"Let me come in with you." He presses.

"Honestly, it’s fiiiiiiiiiiine. Nothing I can’t handle."

He still looks unconvinced.

Clark buries his face deeper into your hair. "Hmmmmm, he sounds like an a- a jerk." He grumbles into your hair. You will get Clark to swear at some point.

You're extremely amused by Clark's behavior. You wrap an arm around him. "Clark, he is quite literally contained in a cage I helped design. He is not getting out."

"Should I tell him I have a boyfriend and show him a picture of you?"

Clark's face goes ashen. "Don't tell me you've done that before." That would explain so much.

"Then I won't." You laugh. That sound sends butterflies fluttering in his stomach no matter how many times he's heard it.

"I’d still feel better if I could come with you." He sigh. You would be lying if you said that you wouldn't feel better with Clark accompanying you. Sure, he wasn't Heracles but Clark was no pushover contrary to the shy demeanor. But... admitting that kind of thing was... not something you're comfortable with or used to so you let it settle like the cheap coffee in your mug.

"It’s really not necessary." And Clark knows from the frequency of your heartbeat that you're lying. He knows you well enough to let it go. You kiss his cheek. "But thank you, you’re disgustingly sweet."

You kiss him again. "Sides, I think he's just bored." Your eyes brighten, a memory resurfacing. Clark watches with interest, knowing there's a 50-50 chance that it's something like the material of Lobo's shoe. "Get this he says that superman guy is a kryptonian. Sadly, when I asked him the typical anthropology question he made farting noises." You tilt your head. "Well, he did say they were a good lay and... well the super guy was hung."

Red blooms on Clark's cheeks as he sputters out a response. You squish his face with your hands. You love messing with Clark way too much. You really should feel bad that look on Clark's face was priceless.

"Oh relax Clark, we both know my type is small town dork and not man from the moon." You giggle.

Clark kind of hates you sometimes. He hates how easily you throw him off balance. Clark rights himself but he can't quite get rid of the blush dusting his cheeks. "Did he say anything else?" He asks, face still squished.

Unable to stop your giggling, you put your hands away. "Well, he called our mystery streaker a pretty boy."

"Very relevant."

"Yanno..." You drawl, taking Clark's glasses off. "yanno if you push that hair out of your face you'd look pretty good too."

Clark swats your hand away. You pout at him.

He looks at you wearily. "I like my hair how it is." He mumbles, fiddling with it.

"I'm not gonna cut it you dork. I just want proof that you have a forehead." You say, brushing some of his hair out of his face. Clark really does scream handsome when given the chance.

There's a flicker of recognition in the back of your mind that has your pulse quickening. Clark can already see the pieces falling into place, your mind whirring to get the answer.

His mind sprints to keep up and counteract the flow of your thoughts. Clark leans forward and kisses you softly. Without needing to open his eyes, he knows your mind is short-circuiting. Affection was a sure-fire way to get your mind to slow down. It was dumb but you really should be allowed to be dumb sometimes. Especially now when Clark isn't exactly sure how your feel about the mystery streaker.

You laugh your easy chirpy laugh sure but that didn't guarantee you were on board with an alien of all things. He wasn't even sure if you would think of him as any more than a test subject. No, he knew you too well to think that but there's still some part of him that isn't entirely sure and it scares him.

"Behave," he says, his face in a grin. The expression lights up his face. The smug satisfaction of finally catching you wrong-footed fills up Clark's features and shapes them into something borderline evil. "Tell me more about Lobo and his ramblings."

You shake your head. You mumble some version of “I always behave”. You know Clark's hiding something from you. You can see it in the delicate way he's looking at you. You purse your lips deciding whether this is a good time to push but in the end, you decide to let him keep his secrets for now. If Clark of all people has a reason to keep a secret then it must be important. You brush your lips against his before laying your offer on the table. "A kiss per story."

Clark stares at you. "I can live with that." Clark huffs, adjusting his glasses.

#redhoodssweethearts1.7kwritingchallenge #clark kent x reader #clark kent #superman x reader #superman imagine

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