THIS IS WHAT IM GOING TO DO TO YOU IF I KEEP SEEING YOU PUT ‘x Reader’ UNDER YOUR, OC X CHARACTER FIC!!!
I do NOT CARE for skinny, blonde haired, 5 foot tall, Emily- who has the biggest tits, and ass, with little to no waist!!! It’s ME who wants to kiss, cuddle, and hold the character!!! I AM THE STORY!! NOT EMILY!!!
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
💅 ──── summary: your boyfriend helps you pick a nail polish color, which happens to be a similar shade to a certain vigilante's bow and arrow (wc: 489).
notes: "babe" nickname mentioned, roy kisses your temple but other than that nothing crazy, probs ooc roy, i tried to make reader as gender neutral as possible, i hope you enjoy everyone <3
“alright babe, which color should i go for?” you ask, holding up the bottles of nail polish so that your boyfriend can get a better look from his seat on the couch in front of you.
lowering the bow he was currently cleaning and glancing down at you from where you’re seated on the floor, roy looks back and forth between the shimmering plum shade in your left hand, and the bold teal in your right; mulling over the options in his head.
tilting his head slightly to the side and furrowing his brows, the ginger opens and closes his mouth, a response dying on his tongue as he mentally argues with himself on asking you a question of his own.
“...do you mind if i pick the color this time? i’m not saying that you have bad taste in nail polish, but i think this is the first time i’ve actually been here to see the process, so i wanna get all sorts of involved,” your boyfriend babbles out, excitement evident in his tone, eyes lighting up at the thought of being able to pick a color.
letting out a chuckle, you nod your head ‘yes’ and place the nail polish bottles in your hands down, patting the floor beside you as an invitation, a small smile on your face as you look up at your boyfriend, amused at his question.
letting out a sigh of relief, roy places his bow down to lean against the side of the couch and quickly makes his way onto the floor beside you, stretching his legs out in front of him as he slowly grabs your bag full of nail polish, gently digging through the array of colors.
“how about this one? it has a certain charm to it, don’t you think?”
glancing to your boyfriend’s hand, you now see that the shade of red he picked happens to be oddly similar to the color of his bow. cocking a brow, you look at the nail polish shade, and then back at him, amused with his color choice.
“are you saying that because you genuinely like the color, or because that red happens to be an almost exact color match to your bow?”
“...can’t two things be true at once?” your boyfriend mutters out, lazy smirk forming into a full on grin as he twists the bottle at different angles, looking anywhere but your face; knowing that he was playing coy.
letting out a scoff, you give your boyfriend a light shove to the chest, your own smile growing as he lets out a small chuckle from your faux annoyance. “roy william harper, you are absolutely ridiculous,” you say, gently taking the nail polish bottle from his hand and shaking it, getting ready to start painting.
“and you love me regardless!” the ginger responds, leaning over to give you a kiss to the side of your head, lips hitting your temple.
sometimes you catch yourself thinking about how strange it is that you can co-exist with someone from your past in the same, worn out city that appears to be huge (that is in essence pretty small) and yet never run into each other — not at the grocery store, not even at the park. it’s like they’ve gone poof.
tonight, however, held no space for such mundane thoughts. it was your 21st birthday, a special one to say the least — yet here you were scraping mac and cheese remains off the inside of your bowl with a mismatched plastic spoon, splayed over the couch during what is probably your third rewatch of after sunrise. what’s so special about bar hopping and drinking your guts out on birthdays anyway, when you could just be spending quality time with yourself? perhaps you were just salty your birthday plans got rescheduled to the day after because most of your friends were busy.
screw that, you were having a blast either way, because nothing could dull the ache of being alone on your birthday night than the warm gooey goodness of instant mac and cheese. you’d die on that hill, you gaslight yourself.
your eyes dart to the door as the bell suddenly rings. the digital clock on the side table by your couch reads 12:27 am.
you’re blank, yet intrigued. your friends are spending the holidays with their families, so it’s pretty unlikely for any of them to show up at your doorstep at this ungodly hour.
you scramble out of the comfort of your warm lounge sofa, opening the door to reveal the tall, lean figure of a familiar dark haired man you haven’t seen in god knows how many years.
his piercing blue gaze settles onto you causing the hair on your skin to grow erect and your pulse shoot up like it used to once before.
there’s no way.
instead of your heart sinking, you feel it rise to your throat and your body freezes as the familiar, musky and clean scent of his curls into your senses. it’s fresh, like detergent and aquatic cologne — just slightly mature and woodsy this time but it still makes you feel ditsy like it always did.
“hey.”
you gulp, frozen in your stance as he stands there, dick grayson, your high school sweetheart holding a small bouquet of flowers in one hand and a box of what seems to be baked goods in the other.
and from what it looks like, he’s pretty nervous himself given that butterfly inducing crooked half-smile on his face and the ticking of his jaw.
“happy birthday, pumpkin,” he managed, with a small shrug.
you feel your lips curve into a smile before you fully process his presence. the sense of nostalgia and hesitation collectively overwhelms you, but it’s not enough to hold you back from gravitating towards him.
you pause, swallowing the hesitation as you automatically lean into a hug, like it’s muscle memory.
“thank you, dick, wha-“ you shake your head,
pulling apart as you realise you embraced him a little too long, “what are you doing here?”
“i.. well, i wasn’t sure you’d be home. i’m glad you are though, it was a long walk,” he smiled, handing you the flowers.
you hesitate a little before you reach out to accept the gifts he got you, a dozen baby breaths and light pink carnations. he remembers.
“do you want to um-“
“yeah, of course,” he interrupts, as you gesture for him to come in.
“blueberry cream cheese, your favourite,” he mentions, setting down the box of cupcakes on your coffee table as the two of you settle down on the carpeted floor, backs against the couch.
“this is really sweet, dick — gosh. but i don’t understand, why?” you’re confused as much as you’re amazed, because for your ex who you had to go into no contact with to be able to even move on from back then, to show up tonight with your favourite things, wishing you a happy birthday felt nothing short of a warm and silly dream.
“i just happened to remember,” he smiled, possibly deflecting your question, “i hope you like the flowers, i remember you used to hate on roses.”
“i do, of course i do,” you lift the bouquet and take a deep whiff at the fragrance of the carnations, noticing a small note almost buried within the flowers.
“oh,” you coo, he tenses a little as you unfold the note.
happy 21st, pumpkin. i appreciate you so much for giving me some of the best years of my life, hell, i don’t think i’d be the person i am if i never met you. people always say you’ll miss the memories more than the person but you’re someone i’ll always miss.
sincerely,
dick
you feel warmth ooze out of your heart as you go over the last line, tracing a finger along the curves of his lettering — his handwriting hadn’t quite changed one bit. a laugh slips out before you can stop yourself, you feel.. giddy. his words buzz inside your head for a moment, feeling loaded and sincere.
throughout your relationship the two of you were operating on the same wavelength — two best friends who just happened to be foolishly in love. dick always put you on the highest pedestal. he saw you as someone who could do no wrong, and every wrong that you did he’d justify, in fact, he’d defend you and cherish you till the ends of the earth and each time you fucked up he’d always forgive you.
things were perfect — too perfect, and all perfect things come to an end. so did your relationship with him eventually as you both went off to different colleges and to be fair, you weren’t the most stable partner. still, somehow, despite the petty arguments the two of you had and all the rough patches you went through, each time you look back at it you can only think of the good times.
dick fidgets against the rug, eagerness flickers across his face as to how you might react to his note.
“i really appreciate you too, dick,” you breathily chuckle, looking up at him. relief washes over his face as he relaxes into the couch.
“i hope i didn’t come off too strong,” he says, rubbing the back off his neck.
“you ask me that now? what about when you first confessed to liking me?” you joke, an attempt to lightening the tension between you two.
“you weren’t exactly subtle about your feelings either,” he adds, flashing his signature grin. the one that gave you raging butterflies in your gut every single time.
you laugh involuntarily, because that’s all you can do to ground yourself in the moment, to let out the entrapped giddiness out of your body.
“hey,” he retorts, fake offended, “why do you keep laughing at me?”
“it’s just.. it’s crazy, that’s all,” you smile, looking at him again, “i really thought you hated me dick.”
your confession hangs between the two of you for a beat as you hear him sigh.
you did believe he hated you, because the minute you two broke up he never looked back. part of you knew he wouldn’t, and maybe it was simply because he had way too much discipline to do that to himself or to you.
“i never hated you,” he half-whispered, like a revelation.
your eyebrows furrow, something short of relief washing over your face.
“i was just.. confused,” he admits, “i was trying to heal when everything felt unfair. the way we abruptly ended, the way you tried to stay friends but i just couldn’t. i never saw you as just a friend. you knew i always wanted you as way more than that.”
the corner of your mouth straightens, almost into a smile, fiddling with the lid of the box of cupcakes, pulling one out and tearing off the wrapper. the scent of blueberries and warm vanilla cake curls up into the room.
“i’m sorry for trying to play it off like that in the end,” you say, licking excess frosting off of your index finger, “i guess i was just trying to damage control?”
“some damage control,” he chuckles.
“shut up,” you grin back.
the room goes quiet again for a beat as you both wallow in the confessions that were made, ease spreading through your minds knowing there wasn’t, and isn’t any ill-will between the two of you.
“i did get your email last year,” dick breaks the short lived silence, also digging into one of the cupcakes.
“what email-“ you swallow the last of the bit of cake down, “wait.”
dick simple nods, raising his eyebrows, waiting for it to click.
“you did not!” you yell, your face heating up from the embarrassment rushing through your nerves.
“i did,” he shrugs, “gotta say i was touched. you could’ve called, texted, but you chose email.”
“for the record, i was crashing out that day and i was very much drunk,” you scramble to justify yourself, “so don’t go there okay?”
“fine, i won’t,” almost choking as he laughs, throwing his head back against the couch, “but it was pretty endearing. for a moment i thought you wanted me back.”
“hey, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you joked, “i was just in a tough place and needed someone. and i missed you.”
your voice dips on the last part, as you look down.
his expression shifts from teasing to understanding. dick inches closer to you, unconsciously tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “well if it weren’t for the girl i was seeing at the time, i would’ve totally emailed you back.”
“a girl huh? what happened to ‘i’ll never fall for anyone after you’?” you teasingly snap.
“when did i say i was in love with her? besides, what happened to ‘i’ll never leave you dick’?” he just as immediately snaps back.
“okay, low blow,” you almost choke on cream cheese frosting, punching his side.
he pats your back, as you cough, half-laughing at your silly little banter that took you right back to the old days. when you’d talk too much while eating and end up choking, and he’d end up having to rub your back as you chugged down some water.
“you good now?” he asks, and you can’t help but admire the slight creases around his cobalt eyes and his heaven sent dimples that form when he’s smiles like that — like he’s amused, almost mesmerised.
tingles and heat emerge in your chest at the familiar warmth of his touch, against your back as he’s almost cradling you now, your faces inches apart. and for a second it feels like he’s going to kiss you, hell, you almost find yourself leaning in.
but that’s just muscle memory, so you stop yourself in time.
you lightly pull away, taking a mental note of how funny it is that there was a time keeping your hands off of each other for longer than a minute felt like war. and now here you were, the two of you, sitting with enough distance between yourselves it could fit a good pile of memories the two of you share.
and what’s sick if that he kissed you right then, you would’ve probably let him.
you quickly brush the thought away, tearing the wrapper off another cupcake, scooping up a mound of frosting off of it and straight into your mouth.
“still got a sweet tooth, huh?” he comments, breaking a piece off from your cupcake and chucking it in his mouth.
“take your own!” you retort, shielding it.
“always so stingy,” dick pokes your side and you flinch.
“don’t make me recall all the times you stole my fries despite ordering your own,” you roll your eyes.
laughter settles between the two of you as you reminisce. you talk about everything — from the times you’d call him late at night and he’d wake up from his sleep to help you study for some stupid test, to the times you two would sneak out to meet past curfew and get dessert and make out in his car.
the air grows less cold and punishing, and more pleasant and warm — within it mixed the fresh aquatic scent of him, sugar and nostalgia.
for a moment it feels like you’re seventeen again, eating cupcakes on your apartment floor like it’s the most casual occurrence, like it’s routine.
but it’s not, it’s something out of a dream you probably had during the nights you fell asleep weeping in bed, clinging to his t-shirt after the two of you broke up.
you don’t notice the hands of your clock tick, the passing of each hour as the two of you talk and resurface every memory to the point you’ve probably relived your entire teenage in one night.
and when you’re almost out of instances to recall, dick shifts closer. his stare is intense, yet soft. almost like he’s saying he doesn’t want to leave, not yet, but he must because otherwise he might not be able to.
his eyes flicker down to your mouth briefly. your heart does a somersault and your breath hitches as he lifts his hand, only for you to exhale when he brings his fingers towards your mouth to wipe away frosting from the corner of your lips.
“i better get going,” he says, after a pause.
“yeah,” your voice rises an octave, as you quickly glance over to the clock, seeing as it is almost dawn, “um, it’s late.”
neither of you move.
he opens his mouth to say something but decides otherwise.
“i’m glad you came, dick,” you exhale, turning towards him again, “it was spontaneous, but i appreciate it. i appreciate you.”
“i know. i just.. i was contemplating whether i should or shouldn’t, so alfred pushed me to show up. i was nervous as shit,” he lets out a huff, looking back at you.
“alfred huh?”
“yeah, he said it’s been a while and it’d be alright by now to take a step like that,” he adds, “and well, i wanted to.”
“thank you, dick,” you smile, lifting your hand to place it above his on the floor.
you walk him to the door, and for a moment you two linger at the frame.
“happy birthday, love,” he says, — the mention of your old pet name gnawing at your chest just a little.
and before you know it, the night’s over, streaks of light from the sunrise peaks through your curtains with dick now long gone. and you — you’re still on the floor, head resting against the couch, staring at the cake crumbs across the coffee table and the empty spot beside you. and somewhere along your mental debrief of what just happened — you fall asleep, his scent still clinging to the air around you, wishing it didn’t.
a/n: can y’all tell how self indulgent this is (based on what happened on my birthday last month btw ❤️) i could’ve poured my SOUL into this but i’ve gotten so busy cause of uni <\3
SUMMARY : in which your speedster boyfriend forgets how easily you’re overwhelmed!
CONTAINS : shy! Reader, fluff, fluff, and more fluff, Wally just wanting to be a good boyfriend :c
WORD COUNT : 377
𝐀/𝐧: this was a request by *anon! I had fun writing th is!
It’s one thing for him to smother you with gifts, but this? This was absurd. All you wanted to do was cuddle! But clearly he took it as a sign to smother you in kiss after kiss.
You laid in his arms, absolutely trapped there. The way his arms locked around you showed a sign that he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. He pressed kisses all over your face, your cheeks flushed from embarrassment. “Wallyyy…stop it..!” You whined out of Embarrassment.
He chuckled, pressing another kiss to the bridge of your nose. “Oh c’mon, babe! Don’t act like you don’t enjoy being pampered.” He murmured, looking at you with admiration and love. To which you pouted back at him, “Wally, you need to slow down sometimes…” You said quietly.
Wally paused, then his face shifted to one of realization and concern. “Ohhh ... I was…ohhh…” he hummed, slowing down his duration of kisses, his hand gently and slowly running up and down your back. “I’m sorry, hun…” he said like a guilty puppy.
You relaxed a little at his slower movements, you huffed at his apology. Knowing he was probably gonna do it again. “No seriously! I’m sorry!” He said, almost pleading for you not to be mad. “…please don’t be mad, baby…” he begged softly, his hand on your back stilling for a moment.
You let out a soft sigh, you can’t stay mad at him for long. “Just.. don’t let it happen again, Wall…” you muttered quietly, there were a couple moments of silence but then He quickly but gently cupped your face to make you look at him, his green eyes staring into your eyes. “I’m really sorry but I really love you and I get super excited whenever I get to actually show my love and… I guess I just want you to know that I love you.” He rambled apologetically.
“I love you too, Wally. But slow it down sometimes, okay?” You said back, your hand also cupping his face. He smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah! Yeah, I can do that!” He said confidently, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead.
It’s going to happen again, but there’s nothing much that can really stop you from loving him. Not even his own antics.
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: how roy harper slowly fell in love with you before the two of you even met.
note: ty to my pookiebear @sobbingscripter for the idea !! we need more roy harper content out there preferably him oiled up also sorry for any inaccuracies, haven’t read a comic since April 25 and that was b&r bc of the jason feature
warnings: uhh fluff, injuries mention, vomiting mention, I think that’s all? this isn’t proof read and I have no idea if it makes sense or not because ngl my eyes started to hurt while writing this
word count: 4k (this was supposed to be shorter I think I waffle too much and repeat myself)
reblogs and likes are appreciated! <3
If there was one thing Roy Harper could ever be certain of, it would be this.
Roy Harper knew you more than he knew himself.
Okay, well, no, it would be about his love for Lian, obviously, his dedication to being Arsenal, and well, Oliver, everything else – and then, this.
He knew everything about you: what made you laugh, what made you cry, your favourite colour, and even what goddamn theme you had for your party on your eighth birthday (Disney princesses – despite having only watched Aladdin) and even the colour of your first bicycle. He knew so much about you that it felt borderline creepy and maybe stalkerish.
Okay, fine, definitely stalkerish.
There’s only one other important detail that he forgot to mention.
Roy Harper never met you, like ever.
I know, you’re thinking, “How the hell does that make sense?”
Trust me, Roy wondered the same damn thing. It wasn’t like he was exactly avoiding you, of course not. The universe, as far as Roy could tell, was hellbent on keeping you two from meeting. Every time he tried to show up for something, you’d just leave, or he’d arrive too late, or some minor thing would separate you. And it didn’t help that almost everyone he knew talked about you like you were some goddamn miracle worker, capable of fixing everything from Oliver’s personal life to the occasional vigilante catastrophes.
It started about eleven months ago, when Oliver hired a new assistant—his old assistant, Taylor? Talia? Tiffany? Something with a T was out of commission, sick, or pregnant – whatever, Roy wasn’t really listening at the time.
He’d brought Lian over to see her grandparents (though Dinah physically recoils every time anyone even hints at the word “grand” in her direction), and Oliver decided it was the perfect moment to update him on “company matters”.
Which, in Roy’s personal translation, means boring, snooze-worthy conversations that made Roy mentally check out – no offence, Oliver – and start planning which movie he could introduce to Lian next. It was usually something other parents may call “inappropriate for a child”, which he heard from other parents during a certain incident last Halloween, but come on! She’s a Harper. And currently in that phase where she’s obsessed with horror villains, speaking of last Halloween, she asked Roy if she could go trick-or-treating as Michael Myers, mask and all.
Roy obviously said yes.
They earned a lot of concerned looks that night while walking around the neighbourhood, but Lian was so happy with the Party City mask and plastic knife – she pleaded, well, begged, Roy to use one of the weapons from his collection, and they argued and argued until compromising with a plastic knife that she held happily in one hand and an orange pumpkin-shaped bucket held in the other, so he didn’t care about all of the stares.
But it didn’t stop there.
After that first “Oh, by the way, I hired someone new,” Roy kept hearing things about you in the most random of ways.
Like two weeks later, when Connor casually mentioned you single-handedly reorganised Oliver’s disaster of a calendar, no, not just reorganising all of his meetings – oh no – but every board obligation and even gala appearances that he’d apparently forgotten about (due to a couple – more like a week or so – of back-to-back missions that ended when the sun was already up in the sky). His old assistant somehow double-booked a meeting, and Oliver nearly missed a fundraiser all in the same week until you swooped in with your colour-coded spreadsheets and the authority of someone who wasn't paid nearly enough to fix a public figure's – and secret vigilante’s – life.
And then there was Dinah.
Dinah was the worst offender.
God, it was the way she spoke about you. She talked about you the way people would talk about their emotional support water bottles – you know, the ones people carry everywhere, those giant ones with the handle – like she physically couldn't function without you. Roy swore she said your name at least twelve times in one conversation.
Trust me, he counted. And then quickly stopped counting when he realised it only made it weirder.
And Oliver, well, he had his own subtle way of singing your praises – with this quiet fondness. He’d drop one-line compliments here and there, like he knew he wouldn’t be able to function without you. It wasn't romantic, not at all – it wasn't even soft. But it carried weight and respect.
Even trust.
And Roy, over the years, had learnt to read Oliver better than anyone – better than Dinah too, but she’d argue otherwise. He knew what it meant when Oliver trusted you. It meant that this new intern – you – was something special. If anything, it was the same kind of way Oliver talked about family – you know, the kind he actually liked.
“She’s got good instincts,” Oliver had told him one night after patrol. It was an easy night with not much to do. Roy leaned against the wall, eyes glued on the city skyline, the lights of Star City illuminating the fond look on his face, the kind he always tries to hide. Oliver was leaning against the bike, like the weight of the city, the league, and everything else was finally letting up.
“Reminds me of you—” Oliver began, Roy’s eyebrows furrowing slightly at the comparison, his question silent but present. How?
“- Before you made terrible choices.”
And there it was. Roy took the compliment. Ignored the jab. He always does when it comes to things like this. Filing the comparison away in a mental folder labelled 'Reasons Everyone Apparently Loves Her'.
He wasn't jealous—well, he doesn't think so. I mean, what could he possibly be jealous about? The way everyone except him is meeting you? The way everyone sings your praises in a way they’ve never done for him? No, of course he wasn't jealous.
Somehow, despite all of that, Roy never managed to meet you.
Every time he stopped by the Loft, you’d just left. If he arrived early, you were running late. There had been a single occasion when Roy swore he saw the back of your head as you disappeared around a corner, and Connor – that little shit – had shrugged and said, “Aw, you missed her by like twenty seconds!” as if life were a sitcom and Roy was destined to be the goddamn punchline.
He shouldn't care – he didn't.
Why would he? You were just an intern that Oliver hired. People came and went in team life all the time; this is no different.
Except… you didn't go. You stayed. And the more you stayed, the more he heard.
Little things. Personal things. Things someone only learns when people trust you.
You baked cupcakes when missions went bad, the kind that melted in your mouth and made you feel like a kid again. You were fluent in sarcasm and could hold your own against anyone. You cried at cat adoption videos and hated those bad Hollywood comedy movies. You once got into a verbal fight with a finance guy on the street because he kicked a pigeon “with unnecessary force” next to the street food vendors.
Roy learnt all of it second-hand.
He knew your laugh from the back of the videos Connor seemed to always show him – either something dumb he’d seen or a prank he tried to pull on Oliver. He knew your eye roll from Dinah’s impression. He knew your kindness from Oliver’s silence whenever your name came up – because the man trusted actions more than words.
Roy Harper knew you.
Without even knowing your face.
Now, it's not like they intentionally hid how you looked from Roy; no, that would be ridiculous. They just… assumed he knew.
But piece by piece. Story after story. Roy managed to piece together a version of you in his mind from the few descriptions given about your eyes, your smile, and the way your head tilted back as you laughed, a full-body one, because you couldn't contain it.
It was a Thursday night when everything went to shit.
Roy was on the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, half asleep with a bowl of salted popcorn on his chest and Coraline playing on the TV because Lian insisted it was her ‘comfort movie’ – how does she even know what a comfort movie is? She was curled up beside him, small hand gripping the string of his hoodie, already knocked out ten minutes in.
He’d give it another year before she started telling people Coraline was ‘for babies’ and asked to watch The Conjuring instead.
“Come on, Pumpkin,” he said softly, just about to carry her to bed as he always does on nights like this, when his phone buzzed.
Not the normal buzz you get when you get a text, no. The one that meant it was connected to the team’s emergency line. The one he made sure Oliver added him to, despite Oliver not wanting to bother him about such things.
Roy froze for a split second, the popcorn bowl sliding off his chest and tumbling onto the floor, scattering across the shaggy – yes, purple – rug that Lian begged for. He scrambled for the phone, expecting Oliver, or Connor, or even Dinah. But the caller ID blinking on his screen wasn't any of them.
It was a number he’d never saved, but he recognised instantly because who else would be a part of the team’s emergency line?
You.
He hesitated only for a heartbeat before answering.
“Hello?”
Your voice came through tight, breathless, and so quiet it was like you were trying not to be heard.
“Roy?”
It was the first time he’d ever heard your voice – live and not through some video Connor sent – and to hear you say his name, it hit him harder than it should have.
“Yeah-yeah, it’s me. What’s going on?”
There was shuffling – like you were pacing – and a muffled noise in the background, then—
“It’s Oliver. We were tracking a lead on the docks, and—and he’s injured and pinned down. I can't move him. His comms are out, and Dinah’s offline. I called Connor, but he’s like thirty minutes out. You’re closest.”
Roy’s body snapped into motion before his brain even caught up.
He grabbed his gear bag from under the coffee table, always kept there in case of emergency, slinging it over his shoulder with practised ease from doing this type of dance for years. “Text me the location.” He said softly, with an unusual sense of calmness in his voice, like he knew panicking was the last thing you needed right now.
“I did.” A shaky exhale. You were scared but holding it together. “Roy, I-I’ve never done this part before. I don't know what to do.”
“I don't know how long I can keep him safe.”
“You did the right thing calling me.” He reassured you; he didn't let his voice waver. You needed calm, so he gave you calm.
“I’m on my way.”
He hung up, shoved his phone into his pocket, then paused at the worst possible realisation:
Lian.
He looked at his daughter, peacefully drooling on the Squishmallow she begged Uncle Dick to buy the one time Roy let him babysit.
No sitter.
No neighbour's home.
No time.
“Of course,” he muttered to himself, because the universe just absolutely loved making his life complicated.
He knelt, brushing the strands of her hair from her face softly – he tried to do a braid earlier that day and failed miserably – “Baby girl,” he whispered, trying to wake her up gently, “we’re going on a little field trip, honey.”
She hummed, half asleep, and lifted her arms in automatic ‘carry me’ mode. Roy scooped her up, wrapped up in her fluffy blanket, grabbed his keys and weapon holster, and headed for the door.
He didn't have a plan.
He just knew Oliver needed him.
And you, somehow, needed him too.
Roy drove like the city itself was on fire – while also being mindful of the sleeping kid in the back seat.
Because for all he knew, it was.
Lian was buckled into the backseat, half asleep, clutching her stuffed tiger, ‘Rory’ – Dick gave her the idea to name it that because, well… it roars – while mumbling dream gibberish as Roy sped through the yellow lights with the kind of controlled recklessness he knows would've made Dinah lecture him for twenty minutes.
Dinah, who was currently two cities over, was assisting the JSA on a metahuman incident, which only meant that Oliver was out there with just you.
The intern who never signed up for fieldwork. The intern, who was now alone with a wounded vigilante with no access to him via comms, and was only stuck with access to the CCTV camera from across the street, which you somehow got.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
By the time he reached your apartment building, to which you hadn't sent the address, but he needed to make sure Lian would be safe, which led him to head to the address he somehow memorised without ever visiting. Lian was fully asleep again, her little hand loose around her toy. Roy unbuckled her carefully, scooped her up into his arms, and jogged up the stairs, because of course the stupid elevator was out of service.
Once inside, reality hit him like a truck.
He had no idea which door was yours.
None.
Oliver had mentioned the building once, in passing, during a story Roy hadn't been listening to until your name was brought up, something about a broken heater and you somehow fixing it with a hair dryer and indomitable will. He mentioned your floor – well, not really; he mentioned how your neighbours below complained about the noise, which ruled out one floor, but he never said which apartment number.
Roy looked down at Lian, already drooling on his shoulder.
“Okay, kiddo,” he whispered, shifting her weight so he could hold her more comfortably, “we’re going on a door-to-door scavenger hunt. Sorry.”
He tried the first door.
An old man in an unfortunately small bathrobe opened it, squinting at Roy like he was some sort of hallucination.
Roy said your name before whispering hesitantly, “Do you know which door is hers?” he tried to sound polite and non-threatening while holding a sleeping four-year-old and a quiver.
The man blinked. “It’s eleven at night.”
“Yeah. I noticed. Do you know her or not?”
The door shut in his face.
Yup. Made sense.
The next apartment was worse; someone’s dog tried to bite his leg, and he had to try to brush it off while not jostling Lian.
The one after that featured a very drunk – or high – couple who assumed Roy was doing “weed delivery while babysitting,” which… no. Absolutely not.
By the 9th door, his urgency was rising like a tide behind his ribs. The kind of anxiety you feel right before you get the urge to throw up.
Oliver doesn't have time for this.
You didn't have time for this.
Roy knocked on another door – firmer this time, but still careful enough not to jostle his daughter awake.
The door swung open, and a very tired woman in cat-print pyjamas glared at him, hair askew as if she had just woken up.
Roy raised a finger and whispered your name, “If you don't happen to know her, I'll leave you alone.”
The woman blinked. Pointed down the hall and shut the door without a word.
Roy exhaled, adjusted Lian’s blanket so she wouldn’t catch a cold, and walked towards the last door on the floor, the one at the very end of the hallway. Soft light glowed underneath it. HE didn't know why, but something in his chest pulled, something in his stomach fluttered, like it did when he was younger and about to go on a date – but this wasn't a date.
He knocked.
Footsteps. A quiet pause. The lock clicked.
Then the door opened, and Roy just knew.
He didn't know how. He didn't know why. But the second he saw your eyes, exhausted and worried, something inside him clicked into place.
You know when people talk about how they fell in love? Like something inside them – something that was missing his entire life – just slid into place, and now it all makes sense.
If Roy didn’t want to sound like a stalker, he’d say that moment, the moment you opened your door, was when it happened for him.
Your lips parted slightly, surprised to see him.
“Roy?”
God. Hearing you say his name a second time should not have felt like gravity shifting, but it did.
“Yeah,” he breathed, gripping Lian a little tighter to anchor himself to this moment. “I’m here.”
—
You froze when the door swung open.
He’s there – Roy – standing tall in the dim hallway light, and for a second, you couldn't breathe. The top of his head barely covered the hallway light; you could see the quiver on his back, arrows already ready. Your eyes looked up, soft green eyes meeting your own. And something in your heart shifted.
You’ve heard so much about him, of course, you have, whether it was from Oliver, Connor, or even Dinah. They told you about his life, his daughter, and how he managed to be a good father despite not having the right cards in his hand.
They spoke about his heart, how when he loves, he really loves. They spoke about his humour, his jokes – Connor swears Roy might be one of the funniest people he knows, well, besides himself, and he’d never say it to his face.
But nothing could have prepared you for the weight of him in person.
The way his eyes scanned you as if he had been memorising you without even knowing it.
And then you saw her – Lian, asleep and bundled up in a fluffy blanket against his chest. The tiny rise and fall of her breathing, the damp spot on his shirt from where she drooled on him, and the faint sigh she let out in her sleep made a rush of warmth course through you.
“Roy?” you said, your voice tentative, laced with surprise.
You knew it was him, of course you did.
Who else would show up at your door at this time of night dressed up like he just lost a Katniss Everdeen costume contest?
Who else would knock the breath out of your body with nothing but his presence?
He wasn't supposed to be here; he was supposed to be with Oliver to make sure he’s safe.
But then your eyes fell back to the sleeping bundle in his arms and the helpless look on his face, and you understood.
“Yeah,” he murmured, gripping Lian a little tighter. “I’m here.”
Something clicked deep in your chest. All of the stories you had heard, all the praise and anecdotes, every single detail you somehow stored inside your mind about a man you've never met until now. He wasn't just the man they described; he wasn't just a name in a story anymore – he was real.
And he was here.
You stepped forward and held out your arms for Lian. She stirred slightly in his hold, murmuring something soft in her sleep. You shushed her gently – already in the caretaker role – cradling her closer and tucking the blanket around her small shoulders.
“You've got her,” he said, voice quiet but steady.
“I've got her,” you replied with a nod, your hands lingering on the soft curve of her back. He nodded in response, his gaze softening as his eyes flickered briefly to her before returning to you.
“I trust you,” he said simply, but the weight behind the words made your chest tighten. He trusted you without even knowing you, trusted you with his child, all because of your relationship with the people he cared about, because of what they've said about you to him.
And for a heartbeat, the room shrank to just the three of you. The hum of the city outside faded away. The faint light of the city from the window that enveloped your apartment made the moment just a little more intimate.
He bent slightly, pretending to adjust his gear, and – without thinking – you reached out to fix the strap of his quiver. Your fingers brushed his shoulder, lingering just a fraction too long. You could feel your heartbeat suddenly pounding through your chest.
“They—you… you're doing a good job,” he fumbled over his words, low and almost breathless. There was hesitation in his tone, like he didn't know if he should say it or not. He only just met you, but it didn't feel like that, not really.
Not after everything.
You blinked at him, cheeks flushed, and whispered, “Thanks.”
Then, before either of you could overthink it – before he even realised what happened – his hand rose, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was quick, intimate even – like he wasn't thinking; he just needed to do it, to feel you, to bask in your warmth.
Your eyes widened, breath catching. Somehow, every story you had heard, every rumour, every tale of his heart and soul, collapsed into this single moment, as if each story had brought you to this very moment, which it had.
You looked at him, startled and flustered, trying not to be aware of the magnetic pull between the two of you. It wasn't just the city outside that was dangerous – it was this, right here.
What the hell is going on? You wanted to say you couldn't understand it, why this brief exchange held so much weight, why his gaze on you felt like more, more than you could understand, more than you were ready for at this moment.
“I…” you started, words catching. You didn't even know what to say, but you needed to break the tension, to fill the heavy silence, but he interrupted gently.
“We don't have much time. Oliver needs me. You… just keep her safe.”
You nodded, holding the younger girl closer to your chest as if to protect her. “I’ve got her,” you said firmly, though your voice softened with the intensity of the moment. You wanted to say more, to reach out, to make him stay, but you didn't.
You trusted him.
He exhaled and shifted slightly, and for a brief moment, your eyes met and held. You could feel the intensity, the unspoken understanding, and the silent acknowledgement of months of near misses and anticipation; it hung between you.
You wanted to say something, anything; you wanted to ask him if it's true he could only watch sitcoms after a hard patrol or that he once wished as a child to have a star named after himself – and years later, after everything, after Lian, he went on those dodgy websites and named a star after the one constant in his life that kept him going.
His daughter.
You wanted to invite him in for coffee, to see his nose scrunch up in distaste when he realises how you take yours – way too much sugar. You wanted to see him early morning, hair mussed up and eyes still dreary with sleep, to see that soft, tired smile match your own.
You wanted to hear his voice, hear him say anything. God – after hearing him speak for the first time in person, you're slightly tempted to ask him to make one of those ‘spicy’ audiobooks you've seen ads for, because who wouldn't want to hear Roy Harper do such a thing?
But you didn't do any of that; now's not the time, and part of you knew you guys would have plenty of it later down the line.
“I’ll be back soon,” he murmured, stepping back. His hand brushed yours once more in a fleeting, charged touch.
You watched him go, chest tight, heart racing, Lian’s warmth grounding you. The door clicked behind him, and the apartment fell silent, but you could still feel him – the imprint of his presence, not just in the room, but in your chest.
It was so simple. Just a glance, a touch, and a shared understanding. But somehow, it was enough.
frat!dick who's had a couple girlfriends and boyfriends and partners throughout his college years but that's about it?!
frat!dick who gets paired up with whimsical reader for a project?
frat!dick who realizes his partner is doing as horribly as him academically!!
frat!dick and reader who are actually incredibly smart people, their study materials are just written to the standards of a 50 something dude.
frat!dick who catches reader writing byler fanfic and posting on tumblr during class, and teases the shit out of them super sillyly.
frat!dick who earns giggles and eyerolls out of reader in response.
frat!dick who makes note of reader's caffeine of choice once, and always makes sure to bring them coffee when doing project work outdoors because he's thoughtful like that.
frat!dick who's super surprised when reader never shames him for his past relationships because that's just none of their business, plus "you can have sex with as many people as you want, richard. i don't care. i'm not catholic. look out for potential sex tapes, though, yes? and please, do remember to always use protection, you're far too irresponsible to be a father at any age."
frat!dick who's down bad for reader's open mindedness and empathy.
frat!dick who invites reader to a party and they agree immediately because they like spending time with him. and though they're anxious about it being too overwhelming and stuff they're willing to check it out because he'll be there.
frat!dick who's charming smile is actually that reassuring.
frat!dick who looks out for reader all night, hypes them up, and guards their drinks with hypervigilance.
frat!dick who's eyes never stray away from reader the whole night and he has that stupid, stupid, lovesick smile on his face.
frat!dick who almost gets dragged away by his friends but reader grabs his hand and bossily tells them, "nope, he's supposed to be mine tonight." and that's where it ends as reader's pulling him away to the dance floor.
frat!dick who literally glares at his wolf whistling friends but reader pays all that no mind because "frat boys are all idiots who'll get nowhere in life, honestly" but they make a point to tell dick how they don't think of him in that way at all because he has several other qualities that they admire and his emotional intelligence is rather really attractive.
frat!dick who's brain crashes out and he goes to kiss reader but then freaks the fuck out and kisses their cheek in a firm loud smooch instead and then blushes silly, hiding his face in their shoulder and cussing them out for making him so stupid like this.
Heyyyy lmaooo CAN YOU PLEASEEEEE MAKE A PT.2 TO THE CYBORG FIC. JT WAS SO GOOD
𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝐶𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑂𝑓 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝐵𝑖𝑔 𝑀𝑎𝑛.
wc- 0.651k
Summary- Victor coming over for dinner turns into him rearranging your insides, allowing you to take care of his hunger and hard-on.
A/n: Basically my first request🤭 Of course love, this is a late-night drabble so it may not be my best work, but here you go! Again let's use our imagination y'all!!!
Songs: Wus Good / Curious, PARTYNEXTDOOR(I was listening to it so…), do what i say, kwn(I've been listening to the album too much.)
CW- Kitchen sex(counter specifically), P in V, Fingering, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex(we do not do this at home, no DIY).
After your first interaction, you and Victor became serious. You spent all your time together. He was the first person he came to after a mission, even for small things like food or a paper cut.
It was one of those nights he needed food.
He was a big man and couldn't be underestimated. Naturally, he came over to eat a lot — your cooking was the only thing he enjoyed besides pizza.
The stove's overhead light faintly illuminated the kitchen. Moonlight streamed through your apartment window. He finished a tough mission, making it a late-night cook.
The food in the pan sizzled, the air conditioning hummed, and you shifting plates filled the quiet kitchen.
As you were plating his food, you felt his fingers creep around your waist.
“Vic?” you mumbled, voice tender and amused.
“Hm?” he rasped, leaning down and nuzzling his head into your neck, pressing soft kisses against your collarbone.
“Quit that!” you giggled, scrunching your shoulder. You felt his smile on your skin as his hands crept up your shirt, the cold metal making you shiver.
“Vic…” you struggled to protest, the pleasure overwhelmed your thoughts. He slowly turned you to face him, and once you were facing him, he tugged your shirt off.
His plump and warm lips ran across your neck in wet open-mouthed kisses, his tongue dragged across your skin deliberately. His hands squeezed your waist and he lifted you onto the counter with ease.
Your arms crossed over his neck, legs lazily wrapped around his waist. His kisses rode down to the top of your breast, and his fingers crept around your skirt and slowly massaged your clit.
“A-ahhh, b-baby.” You moaned shakily. He had a way of distracting your mind from any other task when his hands got hold of your body. He pushed his fingers into your panties through the side, his fingers pushing past your fat hairy lips finding you cilt in a second.
The cold metal ran vigorous circles over your cilt, making your pussy spasm and leak your juices. You bit the inside of your cheek, clutching the counter while squealing.
Once your pussy was a sloppy and sticky mess, he pulled his hand out, moving to tug your damp panties off.
“Vic, not too hard, okay?”
“Mhm.” He grabbed your heavy thunder thighs and lined you up at the perfect position.
You shoved his shoulder. “I mean it!”
“I don't make promises I can't keep, ma.” He teased, his breath ragged as he released his heavy eight inches.
He eased his inches inside your aching hole. He watched your eyes roll back, and your back arch in with a grin on his face.
“Uaahhhh, f-fuuuck!” You couldn't contain your cries any longer. He dragged himself out till it was just his aching tip then slammed back into your gummy walls.
You clenched around every vein on his cock making his hands squeeze the bottom of your thighs harder. Each thrash made your stomach jump, your hips jumped, and your tongue poured out another squeal.
“Ahhh, jus’ like tha’.” He groaned, your pussy swallowed all of him in, so good it felt like he was in your stomach. His tip ran over your cervix, triggering you.
He had no mercy with his pace, so snappy and overflowing. Your walls crammed his cock, as you pulsated and squirted all over him and the counter.
“A-a-ahhhh ffuuck!”
“Shiiit.”
You two groaned and moaned out at the same time as you released all over the place. Not far after you his cock twitched and he filled you to the brim with his cum.
“Godd beautiful…” He murmured in your ear.
“Right next to the food Victor?”
“Least ya didn't get anything on it.” He chuckled, amusement on his sweaty face.
“Shut up, I can't stand you.”
Still, you rested your head on his shoulder and kissed your big man’s jaw gently.
A/n: Might have to turn this into an ongoing, no lie, no game. The concept of Cyborg in general has me giggling.
