summary: Peter Parker and Black Cat!reader have been circling each other for years with banter and kisses, fighting crime side by side only to tear into each other the second the adrenaline fades. He loves her completely but she only wants him in his suit. The “I hate you”s, and desperate hands ends the only way it ever does: with his webs around her wrists, her suit ripped open, and both of them too far gone to stop.
➺ tags: tom holland!spiderman, reader!black cat, toxic relationship, angst with fluff, banter, bickering, complicated relationship, rooftop sex, public sex, sex with suits on, ripped suit, latex, web bondage, dominant peter parker, submissive reader, name kink, good girl kink, choking, spanking, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, multiple orgasms, needy peter, dirty talk, moaning, unmasking, mask kink, crime fighting, flashbacks, some plot with angst
➺ authors note: i reaaaally want to make reader!black cat x spiderman a series but i dunno yet
word count: 3.6k
It was the usual spot.
The half collapsed water tower on the roof of the old industrial building. Cracked concrete, rusted railing, the faded spray paint of some forgotten tag. The city stretched out below in every direction with yellow taxis crawling like insects, neon lights bleeding into the humid night air, the distant pulse of sirens that never quite stopped. This was their spot. Not neutral ground exactly. More like the only place the two of you could stand still long enough to try and tear each other apart without any interruption.
You were already there when the familiar figure swung in, landing in a controlled crouch that still managed to look effortless. Peter Parker. Spider-Man. The man who had been under your skin for years and still somehow thought he could dig deeper.
He straightened, head tilting slightly as he took you in. The white and black latex catsuit hugged every curve like it had been poured on. The deep cleavage framed by the corset style top, the soft weight of your breasts shifting with every breath, high cut legs and thigh high boots that made the simple act of walking look like a promise. The white fur trim at your collar stirred in the breeze. The glossy latex caught the neon and city lights, making your body look almost oiled, every swell and dip gleaming. You looked expensive and dangerous and completely fucking perfect, and Peter’s cock was already half hard just from the sight of you standing there.
“You’re late, tiger,” you said, voice silky. “I was starting to think you’d finally gotten yourself killed. Would’ve been convenient for me.”
He huffed a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Missed me that much? You left me hanging upside down from a crane last Tuesday so you could swipe the shipment first. I had to cut myself free.”
Your grin was sharp. “What can I say? You looked good dangling there. Using all those muscles to free yourself.”
— three months earlier, same rooftop
You’d just finished a job together with his webs and your claws taking down a weapons deal gone sideways. Adrenaline still singing in both of you. Peter had pinned you against the water tower, one hand already shoved between your legs while you laughed into the space between you.
“You need to be more careful next time,” he’d growled, two fingers sinking into your wet heat without warning.
“Make me,” you’d answered, rolling your hips, fucking yourself on his hand while he cursed. “Come on, Spider. Steal something back for once.”
He’d fucked you right there against the metal, hard and fast, fingers in your mouth to muffle the sounds while the city moved on below. Afterward you’d both been panting, sticky, and you’d still managed to slip his web shooters off his wrists and vanish with a wink and a stolen kiss.
He’d spent the next two days half furious and half hard every time he thought about it.
— six weeks earlier, a different night
He’d shown up unmasked at your apartment window like an idiot, rain soaked, nervous yet earnest, asking if you wanted to come to dinner at Aunt May’s. You’d laughed in his face, shoved him back out onto the fire escape, and then climbed him like a tree the second he tried to leave—kissing him breathless, grinding against the hard line of his cock through his civilian clothes, whispering filthy things about how you’d rather have Spider-Man on a rooftop than Peter Parker at a dinner table. He’d left with your lipstick on his throat and a fresh set of claw marks down his back. You’d spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, angry at yourself for wanting both.
— last week
A rooftop chase that turned into a fight that turned into you both slamming into the same abandoned penthouse. You’d argued mid combat about a lead you’d withheld. He’d webbed your wrists to a beam in pure frustration. You’d used the leverage to wrap your legs around his waist and drag him in, mask lifted above his mouth, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood while he thrust against you fully clothed, both of you too stubborn to stop and too desperate to finish properly. He’d left you webbed there for a full ten minutes after, pacing, muttering about how you drove him insane. You’d just smiled and told him to hurry up if he wanted another round.
The pattern never changed. It was playful, vicious, addicting. You took and he gave and neither of you ever quite walked away clean.
Tonight felt a little heavier.
Peter stepped closer, the soles of his feet silent on the concrete. His gaze dragged over you the way it always did, lingering on the deep V of your top, the way your breasts rose and fell with each breath, the soft jiggle when you shifted your weight, the way the latex made everything look slick and touchable. “I can tell you’re staring again,” you murmured, already amused. “Is it at the suit? Or at what’s under it?”
“Both,” he said, honest as always. “You look perfect. Like you were made to ruin me.”
You closed the distance, gloved fingers trailing up the center of his chest plate, over the raised spider. “Then let me.”
You reached up, hooked your fingers under the edge of his mask at the jaw, and lifted it just enough to bare his mouth. The fabric bunched above his upper lip. The kiss started the way it always did; heated with a clash of teeth and tongue. Peter’s hands found your waist and yanked you flush against him. The hard lines of his suit met the soft give of yours. You bit his lower lip and he growled into your mouth and deepened it, one hand sliding down to grip the full swell of your ass through the tight latex, kneading hard enough to make you arch into him with a soft, open moan. His cock was fully hard now, thick and insistent against your stomach through the suit.
You made out like the world was ending. Wet, open mouthed, messy, tongues sucking on each other. His fingers slipped under to stroke your cunt against the catsuit. You were already wet; and he could feel it against the fabrics, the scent of it rose between you, sweet and sharp. One gloved finger traced the edge of where panties would have been if you’d bothered wearing any. You shuddered and moaned against his mouth, the sound low and needy.
“Peter—” you started, then caught yourself. “Spider.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, mask still lifted only to his nose. “Say my real name.”
Your eyes flashed. “No.”
And the heat turned sharp.
You shoved at his chest hard. “Don’t start this again.”
Peter caught your wrists, but gently this time. “Hey! We can’t keep doing this. Sneaking around the same spot. You only wanting me when my mask is on. I love you. All of you. Please, let me in.”
You laughed, bitter. “Love? You don’t even know what that means half the time. You’re too busy playing hero. Saving people who will never know your name. Being good. I don’t want that life, Peter. I want the thrill. The heists. The nights where we take what we want and disappear before anyone can make us stay. Not the rent checks and— and the constant almost dying for strangers who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire. I don’t want the unmasked version. I don’t want the responsibility. I don’t want to watch you bleed out for a city that doesn’t deserve you.”
“I’ll change,” he said, too fast, too desperate. “I’ll cut back on the patrols. We’ll figure it out. I’ll be more careful. I’ll—”
“Stop.” You yanked your wrists free and shoved him again, harder, open palms against his pecs. “Those are just words. Pretty, empty words. You’ve said them before. You’ll say them again after the next crisis. After the next villain who almost kills you. I know you, Spider. You’ll never stop. And I’m not going to sit around waiting for the day they scrape you off the pavement.”
Your voice cracked. Anger and something softer, something you hated, warred across your face. You pushed him a third time, harder still. “I hate you. Do you understand that? I hate you for making me feel like this. For making me want something I can’t have. I’m disgusted by the way you look at me like I’m the only thing that matters when we both know I’m not.”
Peter didn’t move when you shoved him. He just stood there, solid, taking it. Because he knows what you’re saying are just words.
Then his arms came around you. They felt strong, unyielding, wrapping around your hips and pulling you flush against him again. Hip to hip. The still hard length of his cock pressed insistently against your lower stomach. His forehead dropped to yours.
“Take my mask off,” he said, voice rough and demanding yet soft. “Fully. All the way. I want you to see who’s fucking you.”
You hesitated. Then your fingers found the edge of the fabric and peeled it the rest of the way up, over his nose, over his eyes, over the messy dark hair. You pulled it completely free and dropped it somewhere on the concrete. The cool night air hit his flushed face. Big brown eyes, earnest and hungry. That mouth that had whispered your name in the dark more times than either of you could count.
Peter Parker. Not the legend. Just the man.
You stared at him like you’d never seen him before and also like you’d memorized every line of his face.
“I still hate you,” you whispered.
“I know.” He kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. His hands slid down to cup your ass, lifting you slightly so you were on your toes. “Hate me while I’m inside you.”
The argument dissolved into something hungrier and meaner.
Peter’s fingers found the zipper at the front of your catsuit and dragged it down in one long, deliberate pull. The material parted. Your full breasts spilled free, heavy and soft, nipples already hard from the cool breeze and the earlier friction. They bounced slightly with the motion, the peaks dark and stiff. You gasped as the night air kissed the sensitive skin, a soft, needy moan slipping out.
“Fuck,” Peter breathed, staring. “Look at these perfect tits. Look at you.” His gloved hands cupped them, thumbs circling the hardened nipples until you arched into his touch with another open moan. He lowered his head and took one into his mouth, sucking hard, tongue flicking the peak, teeth grazing just enough to sting. You moaned louder, fingers threading into his hair. He switched to the other breast, biting harder this time, then soothing with his tongue while one hand kept kneading the soft flesh. A low, needy sound rumbled out of his own throat—almost a whimper, the vibration of it going straight through you.
The zipper stayed open, the suit still on, latex gleaming around your waist and hips. Peter spun you around so your back was to his chest, then bent you forward over the low rooftop wall. The city stretched out below, lights, noise, the distant wail of a siren. He kicked your legs farther apart. One hand braced on the small of your back. The other grabbed the tight latex covering your ass in both fists and ripped.
The sound was sharp and sudden. The shiny material ripped under his strength, tearing open a wide, ragged hole right over the full, soft curves of your ass and the dripping heat between your legs. The latex stretched and clung around the tear, framing everything. Your big ass looked even fuller now—bouncy and glossy like it had been oiled, the sheen of the remaining suit catching every bit of city light. When Peter gave one cheek an experimental slap, the flesh jiggled and the torn latex flexed with it in a way that made his cock twitch hard against his suit. He groaned, low and desperate, the sound almost a moan, and your ears twitched at the needy edge in it.
“Jesus, look at that,” he muttered, voice rough. “That ass… fuck, the way it moves in this thing—”
He freed his cock. Thick, hard, already leaking at the tip. He rubbed the head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit until your hips twitched and a broken little moan spilled out of you. “Peter… ah—”
“You gonna take it like a good girl, right?” he asked, voice low and rough against your ear. “Or you still trying to be in charge?”
You tried. You pushed back against him, rolling your hips, attempting to control the angle. “I don’t need you to—ah!—mmgh!”
He thrust in to your cunt in one smooth brutal stroke with the help of how wet your pussy was.
The stretch burned in the best way. You cried out, a loud, open moan that echoed off the water tower, hands scrambling for something to hold on to on the rough concrete edge. Peter didn’t give you time to adjust. He set a hard, punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward. Every thrust drove you against the wall; every retreat left you clenching around nothing. The head of his cock dragged over that spot inside you that made your knees threaten to buckle. Your moans came freely now. They were high and needy. Peter’s own sounds were worse: desperate moans that slipped out of him with almost every thrust, needy and raw.
“Peter—P-P-Pet—fuck—mmp—ahh!”
“That’s it. Say my name.” He wrapped one arm around your waist to keep you from sliding too far over the edge, the other hand coming up to circle your throat. Slightly hard enough to cut air and just enough pressure to make your pulse hammer under his palm. You moaned harder against his grip, the sound vibrating into his hand. “You like that? Being choked while I fuck you open. I can feel it in your pussy. My good girl.”
You tried to snap something sharp back, but he slammed in deeper and the words turned into a broken, high moan. Your body betrayed you. Your hips pushing back to meet every thrust, pussy fluttering around his thick cock. He slapped your ass hard enough to leave a red print that stung deliciously against the torn latex. The cheek bounced, glossy and full, the remaining suit flexing with the motion. Then again. And again. The sharp cracks mixed with the wet sounds of him burying himself inside you over and over. Peter moaned at the sight, a needy, almost helpless sound that went straight to your core.
“Trying to dom me?” he growled, voice strained and breathless. “Cute. But we both know how this ends. You’re gonna cum on my cock and you’re gonna thank me for it.”
He shifted the angle, hitting that spot harder, and your vision sparkled. A long, shaky moan tore out of you. His free hand slid between your legs, two fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing in tight, relentless circles. The multiple sensations of his thick cock stretching you open, fingers working your clit, the pressure around your throat—ripped another sob-moan from your throat.
“Peter—please-mm—ahh—”
“Please what? Use your words, baby.”
“Breed me. Breed me please,” you gasped between moans, the confession tumbling out. “Fill me up—ah—I-I want it. I want you to—”
He cursed, the sound almost a moan itself. His thrusts turned erratic, deeper, the wet slap of your suits growing louder. “Gonna pump you full. Gonna keep you on this roof until it’s dripping down your thighs. You’re mine. Say it.”
“Yours,” you choked out on a moan. “I’m yours—All yours Peter—ahh—”
That was when he moved.
He pulled out just long enough to grab both of your arms, yanking them behind your back with one strong hand. Your wrists crossed. A thick strand of webbing shot from his wrist and wrapped them tight, binding them together so securely that your shoulders were forced back, chest pushed out, breasts hanging heavy and vulnerable. He adjusted his grip, one large hand now wrapping completely around both of your bound wrists, holding them like a handle. The other hand stayed at your throat. He thrust back in hard, using the leverage of your bound arms to pull you onto his cock with every snap of his hips.
“There,” he gritted out, voice rough and needy. “This is who fucks you like the pretty obedient girl you really are. Not the mask. Not the superhero. Me. The guy who knows exactly how wet this pussy gets when I take control. The guy who knows you hate how much you need it.”
You couldn’t do anything but take it. Bound, bent over the edge of the world, completely at his mercy. The helplessness only made you wetter with slick sounds every time he thrusted out, your juices coating his cock and dripping down your thighs. He fucked you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, the grip on your bound wrists tightening every time you tried to squirm, the hand at your throat flexing just enough to make your head swim. Your moans spilled out freely—loud, broken, shameless. Peter’s own moans answered them, needy and low, making your ears twitch every single time.
“Look at you,” he said, voice rough and almost shaking. “Ass probably red. Wrists webbed. Throat in my hand. Taking every inch like you were made for it. My good girl. My messy, perfect girl.”
The first orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your pussy clamped down hard, pulsing around him as you came with a broken, high cry of his name. Peter didn’t stop. He kept thrusting through it, drawing it out until you were shaking and oversensitive, using the hold on your bound arms to keep you exactly where he wanted you. Only then did he bury himself deep inside of you, cock pulsing as he flooded you with thick, hot ropes of cum. A long, needy moan tore out of him as he came, the sound vibrating against your back. He stayed there, grinding deep, forcing every drop as deep as it would go while his free hand stroked over the marks he’d left on your ass through the torn latex.
You were still trembling when he finally pulled out. Cum immediately began to leak down your inner thighs in a messy trail. Your legs shook hard, barely holding you up. Peter moved carefully. One arm still steadying you, the other reaching for the webbing at your wrists. He dissolved the strands with a quick tug, freeing your arms. Your shoulders ached in the best way. He guided you back from the edge, then sat slightly against the low wall himself, leaning into it for support. His hands found your waist. He lifted you easily, your legs still trembling, body pliant and spent—and settled you into his lap, facing him, so you straddled his thighs.
Your soaked, used pussy slid along the length of his still hard cock. He guided himself back inside with a low, needy moan that made your ears twitch again, filling you in one slow, deep push. Your hands found his shoulders immediately, fingers digging into the muscle for something solid to hold onto. This time the rhythm was heavier, more grinding. Peter’s hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and helped you bounce on his cock.
Your breasts bounced with every movement, nipples brushing his bare chest. The torn latex still clung around your hips and thighs, framing the wet mess between your legs. Peter’s mouth found one breast again, sucking hard while he slapped your ass: once, twice, the sharp sting making you clench around him and moan out loud. When you tried to set a faster pace he slowed you with a firm grip, forcing you to feel every thick inch dragging against your sensitive walls. Soft, needy moans kept slipping out of him.
“Look at me,” he ordered, voice thick. “Eyes on me while you take it…That’s it. Good girl. Just like that. This is who’s inside you. This is who owns this pretty cunt every time.”
You came again with his name on your lips, a long, shaky moan that broke into a sob as your walls fluttered around him. Peter followed a few thrusts later, burying his face in your neck as he pumped another load deep inside you, a desperate, needy moan muffled against your skin while his hands held your hips down so you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.
You collapsed against his chest afterward, both of you breathing hard, the cool night air cooling the sweat on your skin. Cum leaked out of you around his cock, making a mess of both of you. Peter’s arms stayed locked around you, one hand stroking absently over the marks he’d left while he left soft kisses on your shoulder, the other resting warm at the small of your back.
For a long moment neither of you spoke. The city kept moving below. Sirens. Horns. Life continuing without either of you.
Peter then pressed a kiss to your temple, soft and lingering. “I still love you,” he said quietly.
You didn’t answer right away. His heartbeat was steady under your cheek, his scent making you melt.
“I still hate you,” you whispered into his skin.
But you didn’t pull away.
And Peter held you like he never planned to let go.
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A/N: I have a new love. Bob with a girlfriend (or partner in general) with black cat energy! Obviously this man is such a puppy, either golden retriever or rottweiler depending on the day, so if you have request for this idea please send me some <3
xoxoxo
Void doesn’t understand her.
She’s not afraid of him. She should be. Most people are.
Hell Bob is. Bob flinches when he feels Void swell inside his bones—when his shadow gets too long, when his breath comes too fast, when the static hum of his skin begins to split at the seams.
But she doesn’t move. She doesn’t scream when the walls go black or when her vision blurs around the edges with that unnatural, oily ripple of him arriving.
She doesn’t fall to her knees or weep or pray.
She just tilts her head. Blinks once. Like a cat watching something shift on the floorboards.
Void coils around her slowly, deliberately. Not in the air—not exactly. He’s in the room. In her head. In the way the light bends around her and doesn’t touch her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he hisses, voice not a voice, a thousand radio signals tangled in barbed wire. “You don’t belong to him.”
She smiles—softly...Cruelly.
“Maybe he belongs to me.”
Void surges. The floor buckles. The lights flicker. Her ears ring with the scream of galaxies imploding in a vacuum no one can survive.
Void tries to crawl beneath her skin, sink into her spine, make her bend, make her see what he is. The undoing of gods. He wants her to shatter under the weight of him.
But when he presses against her mind, she doesn’t crack.
She presses back.
It startles him. Shocks him. For the first time in… ever, maybe, he feels contained. Stilled. Stucked. Pinned under the weight of her gaze like a moth under glass.
“I know what you are,” she says, quiet and sharp as the edge of a scalpel. “And I know what Bob is. You have to wear him like a skin—but he bleeds. He feels. And he chose me.”
She takes a step forward—and Void recoils.
“I’m not afraid of the dark,” she whispers, stepping into the space where he isn’t but could be. “I’ve lived in it. I've thrived in it bud. I became it. You think I won’t tear you apart if you hurt him?”
Void growls. A soundless, world-ending frequency. “You can’t hurt me.”
She smiles again.
This time it's mean.
“No. But I can make Bob want to lock you away so deep, you’ll never breathe again.” The Void flinches as if he was electrocuted then; the darkness pulses and fades. The room stills.
And there—slumped on the floor—is Bob. Wide-eyed, sweating, breath ragged, looking up at her like she’s something holy and terrifying all at once.
“You came back,” he whispers.
She kneels beside him and cradles his face, brushing sweat-damp hair from his brow.
“I'll always come back,” she says. “He doesn’t scare me.”
Bob shakes. Not from fear—but from relief. From awe.
And from the quiet, impossible truth that maybe—for the first time in his life—the thing inside him is more afraid of someone else than he is of it.
If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3
the thing about memories is that you don't remember the full memory, only what you last remember so each time you think you have a memory, you're really remembering the memory of a memory
so when the bats (Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Jason) "remember" when you were in the manor, they're remembering with rose colored glasses
they remember how quiet you were as you focused on your studies, how understanding you where as they went out and fought rogues in gotham
they didn't remember but you did
all the times your mutation, your meta gene, acted up and how Dick would angrily call you a jinx if you accidentally "surprised him" into falling during a gymnastics routine in the cave when you went to let your father know of a parent teacher conference
how you were called "bad luck" or "unlucky" by students when your father or brothers failed to show up to events for you
what they didn't know was that when you changed your name and ran away to new york, you were able to learn about your mutation without the constant fear of being sent away for being born a mutant.
your mutation of bad luck is how you met Peter Parker, self diagnosed with "bad luck"
"Are you sure you want to go out with me? I seem to bring bad luck to everyone around me." "I would say the same is true about me." and your bad luck canceled each other's out.
until your father showed up at your door after a grueling shift of illegal vigilantism where Goblin and Mysterio had teamed up
you wish you had Peter's spider sense but all you had was your bad luck
Bruce said your name in a way that seemed... almost disbelieving? you couldn't tell.
"Bruce." You said
Bruce didn't understand why you wouldn't call him dad
"how are you?"
why was he here? you had believed he knew where you were and just didn't care enough to show up and bring you back; what had he called you when he thought you weren't listening? "unfortunate"
you didn't have time for this
you don't have the spoons for this
"happily living my life up until now"
"you should come back to the manor"
"hell no"
Bruce didn't seem to understand why
"you'd be protected"
"i'm fine here. now leave or i call the cops"
"we can protect you"
"the way you protected Jason?" that seemed to strike a nerve "or is it because you want to show off the big happy blended family and how gotham is mutant friendly by having mutant kids?"
"Duke is the only one-"
"what was it you all called me? bad luck? a jinx? unfortunate? did you really not consider that there might have been a reason for that?" you could feel your bravery start to waver. "go back to gotham, Bruce."
"i want to make amends."
"if you really care, you'd stay away."
you lock the door and don't move from your position on your bed with Sandwich until Peter comes home.
"Kitty Cat, you okay?" Peter calls gently from the doorway
"Bruce was here." you say quietly
Peter says nothing as he crawls on the bed and holds you close
incoming letter ⋮ i wish i knew you wanted me .ᐟ ꒱
ⵌ to whom it may concern . . .
massive tease!dick grayson x oblivious and insecure!reader golden retriever!wally west x black cat!reader
ⵌ s u m m a r y . . .
dick "we've been a thing for a hot minute. catch up lol" hydrogen bomb vs wally "HUH? WE'RE A THING? IT WORKED?" coughing baby
ⵌ c o n t e n t s . . .
[ songfic ] bad habit by steve lacy ; bullet point imagine format ; i held myself hostage and beta'd
⟢ no gendered pronouns, no y/n, no detailed description of reader's body
⟢ dick's reader ruminates and is self-conscious and clingy but not overwhelmingly self-deprecating ; dick uses a petname over text [ baby bird ]
⟢ wally's reader is standoffish and blunt but not cruel
⟢ reader is unaware of their alternate identities
ⵌ w. c. . . .
dick 1.5k ⋮ wally 1.5k ⋮ combined w.c. 3k
ⵌ p.s. . . .
well, actually, i came up with the concept first, then remembered this song while i was writing, so &hellip it's inspired retroactively. had to backtrack to fit lyrics appropriately, so they do jump around a bit &mdash hopefully it feels natural to read .ᐟ
༝༚༝༚, ℬ ᨐฅ
Dick Grayson
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ︵ . . . who could tell there was something between the two of you before you even knew
✦ he was nice to you one time and from then on you clung to him like sweet on a clementine
he revels in the citrus taste of your need to be near him,
refreshed by your naïveté in this jaded-ass town
✦ seeing as you weren't aware of your own blossoming romance, of course he has to be the leader and take initiative, guide you in the right direction (into his arms)
// no, you're not too good for me . . . funny, you come back to me
✦ sometimes metaphorically — learning your preferences at record speeds so he can tell you exactly what food you're in the mood for and the best places to grab the best bang for your (his, lol you're not paying) buck; memorizing your schedule and fixing his around yours so he can coincidentally be in the area should you need a lift; random texts sprinkled like cinnamon powder throughout the day to remind you to unclench that jaw and relax your shoulders because he knows you're doing it (he's correct)
✦ sometimes literally, with a palm at the small of your back;
fingers smoothly curling around your wrist when you've been separated from him in a large crowd and feel a panic coming on, his thumb swiping over your knuckles while he mouths, 'it's okay. i'm right here'
✦ at the club, shaking his shoulders and hips, hooking his fingers at you, a "come hither" gesture beckoning you out onto the dancefloor with his waggling eyebrows because you've been hunched over the same drink for a hot minute and he wants to see you move tonight. wants to jump and drink and scream the words to every banger that blasts through the speakers
hours pass. your breath heavies and your movements feel like they're pushing through molasses, sweat trickling down your neck. clavicle. further down your chest … damn, he has gotta get you out more often
or have you dance just for him in the privacy of his own bedroom, that'd be good too
darkened, half-lidded eyes observe you salaciously, his bottom lip tucked in as he watches you twirl with your hands above your head. your languid movements falter for a moment when you see that he's watching you …
you timidly shrink under his gaze. 'aht-aht' he tuts, taking your hand and spinning you around once more, your laughter spilling out and reaching him even over the music. your cares fall to the wayside now, the both of you pulling out all the corny moves in this high-profile establishment — the shopping cart, the sprinkler, the robot. top-tier classics, obviously
✦ you look carefree for once
✦ it's nice
✦ takes everything in him not to grab your face, shake you and say "kiss me kiss me kiss me, you dork"
✦ or to grab your ass to deter all the onlookers waiting for a moment to steal you away. technically you're still free game, and it's against his arbitrary made-up rules to intervene until you realize you're his
buuuuut he believes in you
you'll figure it out
eventually
✦ he might be enjoying this a little though
the whole spoiling you stupid in every single way possible, dropping hint bombs and watching you unwittingly absorb the impact, not realizing that something inside you changes every time. not right away. not entirely
// i turn it on, make it rowdy . . .
✦ the one-sided barrier comes crashing down since his lips always find the top of your head or shoulder; when hands clutch and drag you so that you're situated comfortably in his lap like a beloved teddy bear, even around your friends ; ankles crossing around yours underneath restaurant tables. comfortable did not remotely begin to describe your intertwining existences
✦ on the rainiest, most miserable of nights, your thumbs are hovering over the keyboard, fixing to shoot him a text. you rock back and forth, eyes puffy and snot dribbling down your philtrum, deciding if you're willing to triple text him
except he's the one that texts you first, several times, as if he's reading your mind
[ thinkin abt u at work, baby bird, sorry i didnt respond before ]
[ im the worst ikik vote me off the island just vote just vote ]
[ hope you're free in, erm ]
[ an hour-ishhh maybe ]
[ i want street tacos and slushies ]
[ gonna blow up ur toilet </3 but its ok im loaded ill buy you a new one lol ]
✦ it'll be so late … but you'd never sleep again if it meant you would be pulled back into dick's orbit where you belong. his baby bird. snug in the palm of his hand
// . . . then turn around
✦ you've gotten so accustomed to the weight of his presence in your life, you felt like you might float away without his reassuring distinctive scent and clear-sky-over-the-lake eyes. you re-read previous text exchanges that last for hours when you miss him, as if a part of your heart is gone
the ache hits harder when he doesn't respond for days
what does he do again? he said he works for the city … that could mean anything
// . . . and carry on
he always comes back with an apology and a promise to make up for lost time
you always forgive him
✦ wayward anxious thoughts crawl into your brain when dick mingles with other people you consider to be equally good-looking and socially adept
( coworkers, siblings, entire friend group )
( your shy ass is cooked )
✦ plus, he goes away for extended periods of time; sometimes without notice, sometimes at the most bizarre hours
✦ sometimes returning with bruising around the neck, light scratches around his shoulders and back if he's wearing a tank top
✦ it's quite challenging not to let your imagination run wild
who else does he stay up late texting?
what other wallflowers is he luring into a clumsy waltz all night?
who else gets to prettily perch on his lap while his calloused fingertips rake through their scalp?
who else's heart screams until its throat is raw beneath their ribcage at the mere possibility of him loving another?
✦ … oh
✦ a reckoning occurs. a not-comfortable one. an exciting one. a horrible one.
✦ who else … falls in love
with their best friend?
it feels marvelous
you're gonna be sick
[ can you come over sometime this week? i've got some heavy stuff on my mind ]
[ wanna see u now. cool beans? ]
✦ he shows up to your place holding a netted bag full of fruits from the farmer's market he passed on the way
he wears with a fitted black shirt and gray sweatpants and two perfect dimples which bracket an easy-going smile
he looks like a sexy superhero. or is that the rose-colored glasses from your crush on him talking
✦ half an hour passes. the table next to the couch is covered in curling peels of fruit, crumpled-up napkins, and glasses half full. you'd eaten in pleasant silence, his legs tangling around yours as you lounge opposite ways
✦ . . . it's time
✦ 'so —'
✦ 'i … have feelings for you —' you force yourself to blurt out. you successfully look him in the eyes for three whole seconds before you can't take it anymore, suddenly finding the fringe of this decorative pillow far more interesting
'i really like you. sorry if this, uh, feels like it's coming out of nowhere. kinda finding this out recently myself, haha'
✦ aww. you're babbling. you don't know how adorable you are, do you
✦ 'you don't have to reciprocate or anything, i love our friendship the way it is and i would never want to jeopardize what we have now especially because it's probably a silly little crush but i think it's fair that you're aware of —'
✦ he laughs, his smile seeming to light up the entire space around him, even in broad daylight
// you can't surprise a gemini pisces
✦ 'yeah?, he retorts. 'you finally catching up with me?
'i've known for a while
'why do you think i'm so sweet on you?
'all those dates, my hands and lips all over your body in public ... i already claimed you, was waiting for your pretty ass to notice
// fuck around, get tongue tied
✦ 'i - but - you - dates - eh???
'nonononono -'
'nonononono?' he mocks playfully, admiring you through his long lashes with a smirk
'you're sweet to everyone! kind, charming, thoughtful, irresistible'
'mm, i like this. keep goin'.'
✦ a projectile pillow is thrown in his direction. curse his superior reflexes for smacking it out of the way
✦ 'i … i would've made a move earlier if i knew i could be with you. i would've taken a stab at it, even if it scared me'
' nah, i always would've made the first move. i've made multiple, actually. in fact, i turned it into a game to see how long i could pursue you for until you figured out that i was ... well ... pursuing you.'
'ughhh, why didn't you just tell me? i'm … mad that you didn't. i kept moping around, thought you were too good for me'
'it was more entertaining not to, so i bit my tongue for almost, what, three months? it was pretty brutal. BUT i promise to be more
// but i'm not hidin'
'straightforward from now on.
✦ 'and don't talk like that' he scolds, flicking at your knee
'ow ??? what was that for ???'
'that was for talking shit about the person i love. you're the one too good for me and i'm not letting anybody say otherwise, including you. ditch that bad habit'
'...yeah. okay.'
'great!'
'now. kiss me, dork'
Wally West
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ︵ . . . who thought you hated his stinkin' guts the first time the two of you meet
⟢ intimidating hot people are his type though so. be it far from him to not at least take a crack at it
⟢ compliments, letting you have the first bite of his meals and favorite snacks,
attempts at reeling back on his infamous inside-thoughts-turned-outside-rambling, purposefully facing you and including you in the conversation when you get talked over or can't find an opening to jump in
timidly throwing an arm around your shoulder before regretting it and hesitantly pulling it back because you didn't look happy about it. well, you didn't look mad about it either. god you're really hard to read/p>
// please say to me if you still want it; i wish you wouldn't play with me . . . i wanna know
⟢ he paces back and forth, taps his foot at the speed of light, writes out everything he can about you so he 1) doesn't forget, ever and 2) can come up with more creative ideas on how to show how much he likes you so you'd be more comfortable around him. then he can ask you out, with increased chances of you saying yes with enthusiasm and not like you're being held hostage
let's see -- not much for physical touch, not really a talker, you're a bit picky when it comes to gifts, you struggle with accepting favors, and the relief that slacks your body is palpable when you're about to have alone time after a long day ... he's running out of steam here. how can he connect with you in a meaningful and non-invasive way?
⟢ [ wallace ],
you ping him randomly one day. oh shit haha nice. wait. when and how did you get his number?
[ you'll go to the event with me tonight right ]
⟢ he stares at his phone, slack jawed and wide eyed
[ofc i would love nothing more!!!!!]
nope. far too many exclamation points. bring it back, big guy.
[ yeah, ofc! would be more than happy to :) ],
he responds with unsteady thumbs.
⟢ later, he picks you up from your place. 'you look. wow. you look really ... really nice.' he has stars in his eyes as he gives you a once, twice, thrice over
a warm, genuine smile from you. wow.
'thanks', you mumble bashfully, cheeks heated, glancing down and running your hands over your already pristine clothes
⟢ in his car, you politely ask him about his day over the soft pop music drifting from the radio. he stutters through it at first -- idiot, come on, get it together -- but every once in a while at a red light, he catches you out of the corner of his eyes and sees you have your attention completely on him. his breath hitches, and he prays you can't see his face turn firetruck engine red under the passing streetlights. you continue asking more questions, urging him to elaborate while deflecting anything he asks you; you give simple, short answers and turn them back on him with earnest curiosity. he takes note of this but doesn't push. enjoys conversing with you and it gets so much easier
he wants everything to feel this easy with you but
he feels like he keeps messing it all up
⟢ wally pulls up to the venue, gets out to make a beeline for your door, opens it up and offers his hand like a prince charming
his heart buckles. it was only for a second, why does his palm feel naked?
you're standing right there, so why does he miss you so much?
⟢ your hands make a couple more passes over your outfit before you casually link your arm around one of his
⟢ he freezes
⟢ uhhhhhhhhhh . uh . the . uhhh
⟢ ' can't wait to introduce you to my friends, ' you quietly declare, leaning your head against him. your eyes flutter closed for a moment, and he swears he feels your grasp on him tightening ever so slightly
⟢ 'oh yeaH?' his voice cracks. his free hand finds the back of his head and he scratches nervously
// it's okay — things happen for reasons i can't ignore
⟢ 'mhm. i've been telling them about the sweet, annoying, loud, hot, weird guy i fell for,' you continue, pulling him along so that you're heading towards the venue's entrance at a meandering pace. 'i talk about you all the time without even realizing it and they always make fun of me for it
' though i think they're just happy i'm finally dating '
' … yes, wallace, why are you confused. we're together … right? '
⟢ he sputters in pure disbelief, abandoning your linked arm. he throws his hands up. paces. he gestures wildly between yourself and him. he puts a finger in the air like he's about to make some sort of strongly-worded statement before putting it back down. his head lolls back, hands settled on his hips, and he exhales for a long time out of his nose
⟢ ' i
' have been
'TRYING-
your head tilts to the side
⟢ ' to figure out how to make you like me, or even, like, breathe in my direction
' FOR WEEKS-
⟢ ' stop yelling '
his voice softens as he comes close to you, mere inches apart, searching your eyes with desperation in his own. 'and you mean to tell me that ... that we're ... together? like' -- he connects the sides of his two pointer fingers -- 'this?'
no one else would've picked up on the twinkling in your eyes under this cloudless night sky except for him, nor the way the corners of your mouth twitch &mdash you're holding back a smile. he wishes you wouldn't but he'll earn it someday
his breath slows as he watches you watch him back
⟢ ' wally,' you say after what feels like an eternity. he hopes you don't catch his hands clenching closed at you suddenly calling him by his nickname.
'i know it doesn't seem like it because i'm not bouncing off the walls like you. but i get butterflies in my tummy every time we're together. you always extend so much kindness to me, always making me a part of your life even in the smallest ways
'i guess i've been a loner for so long, i forgot to reciprocate the affection … but in my head, i thought you were going out of your way like that because you …'
⟢ 'wanted. me.' your gaze falters. you shuffle your feet and hide your hands behind your back
⟢ 'romantically.'
⟢ he stares at you. he squints
⟢ 'i wish i knew
... you'd felt like this!'
a Certified Wally Smile breaks out on his face, the one that makes his bountiful freckles flourish with the way they stretch over his cheeks.
he laughs, tucking a finger under your chin and bringing you closer to him. your bodies touch, gingerly.
'i thought i was never gonna make a breakthrough with you ... but i guess i did? at some point?'
⟢ 'somewhere between you feeding me treats everyday and the little touches that last just the right amount of time, i suppose.' you nod. wally lets pride quietly bloom inside of his chest as you confirm that his efforts weren't pushing you away
// you always knew the way to wow me
'... and,' you add warmly, sliding your hands and arms around his shoulders, touching your forehead to his, 'the way you let my voice be heard. even if you're the only one listening'
⟢ he can't breathe. his hands, gaining a consciousness of their own in the midst of wally's internal chaos, find your waist and squeeze with tender devotion. his eyes crinkle, smile softens subtly. 'can i ... make it official then? since we're here?'
⟢ he sways your bodies back and forth. you smell the fresh mint on his breath and scrunch your nose with a tiny smile, thinking of him carefully combing his gelled hair back, shaving, and downing an entire tin of Altoids before rushing out of the house. you want to kiss him badly, but you won't say it. not tonight
⟢ ' mhm ' you purr
⟢ ' uhh. ahem. '
' would you. will. can uhh. right so, so what i wanted to ask is. that. i want to. your '
' you have ten seconds '
' do you. wanna go steady. with me '
' are you 80 years old. ask like a normal person '
' i am. trying- '
' you quite literally already know the answer '
' mayipleasebeyourboyfriend.please. '
' mmmm gotta think about it '
' HEY '
' ok ok geez yes '
// go stupid, go crazy;
⟢ he fist pumps and shouts, taking victory laps
// it's biscuits & gravy
⟢ he tells any and all passersby that the two of you are in love and dating
⟢ it's embarrassing but quite sweet nonetheless. you adhere to his side for the evening, opting to tentatively hook a single finger around his instead of hanging off of him like before now that other people are perceiving you
eventually you'll love him more brazenly — you would never want him to question your affections for him
but from what you've gathered from all your stolen glances at him, seeing him beam like a beacon in the night …
// . . . i know i'll be in your heart 'til the end
𓏵 ┊ no AI is ever used for any reason in the crafting of my works as i am fully against generative AI in creative fields & endeavors
𓏵 ┊ all rights reserved to tumblr user @bijouxmisu. do not repost, translate, modify in any way nor feed my works to AI. thank you in advance for your compliance
Your sleeves were pulled over your hands, holding a cup of something dark.
You took occasional sips, petting your child/cat with slow strokes as an evil master would. You're still half-asleep when your boyfriend comes into the messy kitchen, dishes piled into the sink.
He doesn't hesitate before he puts a hand in your hair, rubbing once before taking it away and getting into a chair at the dinner table.
Like if you were a pet or something.
And to be honest, in the mornings, you were just as active as your cat, so he's not that far off.
"Morning, love." Is all he grumbles as he steals your cup from your hands. You just let out a sigh in protest as he hands it back.
"Gon' go out t'day?" He asks you, knowing off the tendancies you have off staying inside whe it's too hot. Or too cold. Or too rainy. Or too sunny. Or too peoply.
You shake your head. Then groan and smack your head into the kitchen table. His hand is there to soften the hit before you even realise you're on your way down.
You groan again, this time forming something that looks slightly like a word.
"Groceries." You mutter, still petting the black cat in your lap.
He huffs a laugh.
"Lads asked to come over." He mentions, as he gets upp and starts a second pot of coffe, picking up four eggs from the bowl in the corner of the kitchen bench.
You just gruff a murmur.
"You 'on want 'em 'ere love, and they 'on be." He says at the sound.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Warnings/Tags: mentions of death, use of y/n, fluff, minor angst, fem reader but no pronouns used,
Word Count: 2k
Summary: You knew Robin at a young age as Black Cats Mentee, however, when he comes back from the dead, you're not sure if you recognize the same kid.
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You’d heard about Robin from Selina in passing. Reassurance that the kid would want to be friends, that he also came from crime alley, that he was kind. But you weren’t accepting a bright eyed, huge smile to greet you. His costume was bright on the eyes, far brighter than yours. The traffic colors were almost blinding against your black catsuit that your body didn’t fill out yet.
“I’m Robin!” A hand outstretched, smaller than yours and voice in that squeaky stage. You smiled, more timid as your eyes sought after Selina’s reassuring nod. “Kitty,”
It wasn’t often that Black Cat and Batman were working together. But it was hard not to catch a glimpse of bright red and green, while out on missions with the older cat. Play dates were held on rooftops, both your mentors blending into the shadows, whispering shared secrets. But you two were always more than happy to hang out on the other side of the building together. He was full of light, bubbly and joyish and always so incredibly willing to share stories. You would laugh as he retold the same stories, reaction always as if it was the first time.
“And the Riddler had asked me, what breaks yet never falls, and what falls yet never breaks? And I responded, well certainly not you! Before kicking him in the knee, and I swear I heard a crunch!”
And when you weren’t rolling in laughter, you sparred, both of you getting older, finding your strength. He had muscle, and combat, but you were slick and quick. While he punched, you dodged. And when you played dirty, he always seemed to get right back up. But punches were always pulled, and tickling wasn’t off limits, and somehow you both always ended up on the ground, staring at the sky with a few new bruises.
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And then Selina got the news, in a passing conversation with Bruce. After it had happened, after the funeral. Robin was dead. It was all mutters in your head, words a fog. “Hero…joker…loved…” And for the first few weeks you were almost irrational.
“I didn’t even get to go to the funeral!” Hands pushed up against Selina shoulders, shoving her with unbridled rage. “He was my friend.”
Refusing to go on missions, to go to galas or even train, you spent most of your time in your room. Sitting and lurking. Hiding under the covers and sleeping the day away with puffy eyes. When the knocks on your door and the concerned sound of Selina’s voice seeped through the cracks though, you’d wander your way down to his grave site. It was nicer than where your parents had been buried, on the other side of Gotham. There were flowers, and grass was just starting to poke through the slab of dirt. It was there you learned his name. He wasn’t just “Robin” but Jason Todd. Another crime alley kid. A hero taken too soon.
On more than one occasion, Selina had found you asleep, check pressed into the dirt, arm wrapped around the tombstone. She hadn’t seen you like this in a long time. So full of grief, so angry with the world. Between tears and the screaming of angry words, she looked for slivers of who you had been. The kid who hung onto her every word. The one who sat on rooftops, laughing far too loudly, the one who insisted upon Batburger after every mission. And it was there, behind the cracks. In slivers and teary eyed smiles.
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Another text to Selina, “All’s good here. Nothing's changed in the last five minutes.” It was your first major solo mission. A gala in one of Gotham’s socialites' own home. And from Selina’s briefing you knew that not only would any jewelry or wallets you could snag would be worth a fortune, but an original piece of art in one of the upstairs bedrooms. One of the artists only copies. Undeniably worth enough to keep you both incredibly comfortable for the next year, at least. However, Selina was getting on your last nerve. The Black Cat was blowing up your phone, and almost drawing more attention to you. At another buzz in the wallet of your purse you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “You're being a helicopter parent.”
The Gala was packed. Shiny dresses, champagne, steamed tuxedos. And in your slick black dress, no one seemed to bat an eye. Even as you slunk upstairs, not one person stopped to question you. The second floor was more barren. A few people conversed in the hallway, a line to a bathroom was steadily forming, but you’d been in situations like these before. Admittedly watching, rather than doing, as the older cat insisted you needed field experience but truly wouldn’t give you much. But following in her overtly detailed plan, you found your way into the parlor, acting exactly if you belonged.
The door creaked as you shut it behind you, the lock turning without any argument. And the painting sat, smaller than you expected, right in the middle of the wall in front of you. The colors shone in contrast to the velvet couch that had been arranged below it. A camera in the corner, facing the picture, gave you enough room to slip over your eye mask, to remove the dress and leave yourself in the catsuit that had been underneath it. And while it did pain you to leave such a nice piece of clothing and a purse, you knew the painting would be worth it. Double checking the signature for authenticity, you shimmied it off its nail, blowing a kiss to the camera before sliding out the window.
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“I’m pretty sure stealing is illegal.” You stopped, eyes shut and lips pursed in frustration. You were so close, about a block away and the rooftops were easily concealed. It took you a second to turn around, trying to connect the voice to anyone. Most likely Batman, possibly even set up by Selina to prove your worth. Not another rogue, no one’s voice was quite that deep. Spinning in your toes, your eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side as you were met with a Red Hood. “And how do you know I stole this?”
He let out a small laugh, almost teasing. It was hard to tell it the hood had a voice modulator, or if that was really the sound coming from his throat. “Come on, Kitty, we both know you stole it.”
He didn’t move closer, didn’t make any move to take the painting. But he was teasing, and what his ploy was you couldn’t tell. “What’s it to you?”
“Just curious is all.”
“Curious about what?”
He paused, not saying anything. Almost as if he was considering his next words. But with the Red Hood covering his face, it made him practically impossible to read.
“How you were doing,”
That stumped you. You were on a mission, and while you had turned off your phone, you knew Selina would be in full panic mode that you weren’t home yet. Why this stranger, a new face in Gotham, cared about how you were doing was beyond your comprehension. It made no sense. You couldn’t recall a masked rogue who had recently come about. Whispers of a drug lord had been more common, but that could be anyone. And this guy didn’t seem like he was gonna try to see you drugs or put your head in a duffle bag.
As if you were silent too long he reached out his hand, large and gloved. “Red Hood.” It took you a moment to take it, other hand securely holding the painting, tucking it behind your back for “safe keeping”. “Kitty, but you already knew that.” Eyes narrowed, as if you could maybe see through the red metal. But all you got was a handshake.
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It was far too early for you to be awake, but after a night of tossing and turning, there was no use in trying to fall back asleep. So you ended up in a local coffee shop, about two blocks down from your apartment. Empty aside from the older woman who was running it. But the coffee was good and the pastries were fresh. It was better than staring at the ceiling to say the least. It was too early for the morning rush, and on occasion the bell to the door would ring, but after a moment, it would ding again as the customer left with their coffee. It was nice to have the place so quiet, so slow. But it only lasted so long.
A man had walked in, tall with dark hair, one white stripe running through it. A book was tucked under his armpit and when he ordered he spoke in a soft tone. You could feel his eyes on you. You could have sworn they burnt holes into your head for about five minutes before you made eye contact with him. All you could think to do was raise an eyebrow, before returning to your coffee. It took him another three minutes before he stood at the edge of your table, awkward and almost hunched over, as if his own height made him uncomfortable.
“May I sit here.” You nodded, watching him pull out the chair in front of you. The same soft tone he used to order his coffee came over your table, “I'm um new to the neighborhood.” There was something endearing about the man. Something intriguing beyond the scars that littered his face and his almost neon green eyes.
“Well I’m y/n.”
“Jason”
He stuck his hand out, the large limb encasing your own. There was something so familiar about it all, and not just the way your gut wrenched at the name. That was his name. The kid that you had spent late nights with. Who you had laughed with even after a mission gone wrong. Who had left bruises on your skin because neither of you understood your strength. You were quick to pull back your hand, swallowing down the thick saliva and tears. You couldn’t help but wonder how many years it had been now since he passed- two maybe three. Far too many regardless.
Jason, the Jason in front of you, looked at you with concern, eyes clearly picking up on your discomfort. And after a second you coughed, wiping your eyes despite no tears actually falling. “I’m sorry, I had a childhood friend whose name was Jason.” You paused, “I mean you almost look like him- a lot older but almost,” Not in appearance exactly, but in kindness. Like he would have the same smile if he did.
“Kitty,” Jason’s voice wavered, like he wasn’t sure about what he was saying. Like he didn’t trust it. A small exhale of disbelief escaped your lips. This was some kind of prank. Your Robin died. The kid running around in that red and green and yellow costume- now with pants- was not your Robin. This guy, sitting infront of you in a Crime Alley coffee show certainly couldn’t be your Robin either. But you couldn’t help yourself. Your hand came up, body leaning against the table. You gripped his jaw, gentle but stern, turning and moving his head. Inspecting him at different angles.
He was scarred, half of his face you never saw was out in the open. He had a white strip in deep black hair. The same slightly tanned skin. The same nose. The same high cheekbones. A different jaw though, more chiseled and thicker brows. Eyebags, although you were sure you had picked those up too. He was far bigger than your Robin, taller too. And then you snapped out of your delusion, moving back.
“No. My Jason is dead.” Bitter, angry. Snapping at him.
“I was. I can’t explain it all,” Reliving the memories was still too much for him. “But I’m alive.” As much as he could be.
You swallowed, tilting your head to the side. “What breaks yet never falls, and what falls but never breaks?”
He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. After all this time you had remembered, “Riddler’s knees,”
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A/N: Might do a second part that is more romantic based !
Part Two : https://www.tumblr.com/renaissance-painting/811914600490631168/kitty-and-robin-part-2
💬 0 🔁 1 ❤️ 33 · Kitty and Robin - Part 2 · ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
Jason Todd x Reader
Part 1:
💬 3 🔁 12 ❤️ 130 · Kitty And Robin · ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊
The rain in the abandoned European village tasted like ash and chemicals. From your vantage point inside Leon’s heavy leather jacket, zipped up securely to your chin, you could feel the rhythmic, steady thud of his heartbeat. To the rest of the world, Leon S. Kennedy was a cold, efficient government weapon—a legendary DSO agent who faced down world-ending biological horrors without blinking. To you, he was a warm radiator who gave excellent chin scratches, spoke to you in a low, gentle murmur, and let you ride along on international anti-bioweapon operations.
You adjusted your paws inside your custom Kevlar-lined harness. It was lightweight, snug, and clipped directly into the tactical chest rig beneath his jacket. Leon had refused to deploy on this mission without it. He had spent three agonizing weeks arguing with DSO logistics and brass to get a cat-sized piece of tactical armor approved. When they laughed and called it a joke, Leon didn’t smile. He simply threatened to walk out on the presidency's most critical investigation, coldly stating that his "primary scout" required adequate protection or the government could find someone else to clean up their mess. They capitulated within twenty-four hours.
The damp air shifted suddenly. The scent of ozone and wet mud was cut by a sharp, metallic stench—the unmistakable odor of rancid, curdled blood, chemical rot, and stagnant decay.
Zombies. Close.
You narrowed your yellow eyes, tensed your muscles against Leon's chest, and let out a sharp, vibrating hiss right against his collarbone.
Leon froze instantly. He didn’t question it. He didn’t look at his high-tech radar tracker or hesitate to scan the horizon. The bond between an obsessively devoted owner and his cat was absolute. If you told him death was lurking in the shadows, death was lurking in the shadows.
"Good eyes, Y/N," Leon whispered, his voice dropping into a gravelly, lethal tone.
With a practiced, fluid motion, he drew his custom handgun. He kept one hand braced under the flap of his jacket, instinctively shielding your small body as he backed up against a crumbling stone wall. A split second later, three infected villagers stumbled around the corner. Their jaws snapped pointlessly, their skin peeling away in gray ribbons, eyes milky and devoid of life.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three perfect, rapid-fire headshots. The bodies collapsed into the thick mud with heavy, wet thuds.
Before the echoes of the gunshots could even die down in the narrow alleyway, Leon’s focus snapped completely away from the environment and entirely onto you. He dropped his tactical stance, immediately unzipping his jacket a fraction more to look down into the dark fabric. His eyes were wide, scanning your pitch-black fur with a frantic, manic intensity.
"Did they get close? Did you catch any splatter?" His voice cracked slightly, a disturbing note of panic bleeding through his usual calm exterior. He stripped off his tactical glove with his teeth, using his bare, warm thumbs to gently wipe at your whiskers and muzzle, checking for any microscopic sign of infected blood. "Tell me you're okay, Y/N. If a single drop of that filth touches you, I’ll burn this entire valley to the ground. I mean it."
You let out a soft, reassuring purr and bumped your forehead firmly against his chin, leaving a few stray black hairs on his stubble.
Leon let out a long, shaky breath, the terrifying tension leaving his shoulders all at once. He buried his face into the top of your head for a brief, suffocating second, breathing in your clean, familiar scent. "Good. Good. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you. I've got you, Y/N."
A flashlight beam suddenly cut through the heavy downpour from the opposite end of the street.
"Leon! Over here!" A rugged BSAA local field contact named Vance jogged toward them, splashing through puddles. Vance took one look at Leon’s half-unzipped jacket, saw the two glowing yellow eyes staring back at him, and blinked in absolute disbelief. "Is that... a cat? Are you serious, Kennedy? You brought a house pet into a Level-4 Hot Zone? Is this a joke?"
Leon’s demeanor flipped instantly. The rare warmth vanished, replaced by an icy, lethal stare that made Vance freeze in his tracks. Leon deliberately shifted his arm, turning his torso to completely block your body from the operative's line of sight.
"She is my partner," Leon said, his voice dropping an octave, completely devoid of humor. "And Y/N is the only reason we aren't dead right now. Watch your mouth."
"Right, sorry, man," Vance stammered, raising his hands defensively. "Just didn't expect it. It's a surprise, that's all. Can I...?" Intending to be friendly and break the sudden, suffocating tension, Vance reached a hand out, offering a finger for you to sniff.
Before Vance’s hand could get within a foot of your nose, Leon snapped his arm forward. He gripped Vance’s wrist in a vise-like hold, squeezing hard enough to make the larger man wince. The air between them turned freezing cold.
"Don't touch her," Leon hissed, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous, protective glare. "She doesn't like strangers. And I don't like people breathing near her. Step back."
Vance swallowed hard, his face paling as he pulled his hand back the very millisecond Leon released his iron grip. "Understood. Loud and clear. Keeping my distance."
Leon zipped his jacket back up, leaving just enough room for you to peer out like a tiny gargoyle. He tapped your nose gently with his index finger, his tone instantly melting back into a gentle murmur meant only for you. "Let's finish this up and get out of here, Y/N. I've got your favorite salmon treats waiting on the chopper."
