#dinah lance x fem!reader

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [wlw][mdni][implied age gap?][for that anon that wants Canary to leave her husband][rebound themes][anonymous sex?][oral (f! rec.)][fingering][squirting]

Dinah doesn't know how she expected any better from a man like Oliver Queen.

A hickey on his inner thigh had crumbled a solid 6 years of marriage, apricot-coloured lipstick on a collar had sealed the deal and she served divorce papers and cunt alongside slashed tyres and a shattered windshield.

And now she's here.

Sitting at a bar, sleek mahogany cool beneath her tapping nails, a cocktail in her hand that has yet to be nursed and her eyes rove over people. Jovial, smiles gleaming and music so loud that she can feel the way it rumbles her ribcage and she lets out a heavy breath.

Motioning towards a bottle of Vodka that's perched neatly at the top of the shelf behind the bartender.

Because if she doesn't get approached by someone other than shitfaced 20 year old frat guys who keep calling her a 'MILF', she might as well get shitfaced.

She's reaching into her purse, before she catches a glimpse of a wrist, a shiny card between your fingers and a soft, sweet voice murmuring to the bartender, "I'll pay."

Dinah's gaze flickers to your face. Fresh, pretty. Big doe eyes that watch her intently, before plump lips curl into a sweet smile, the apples of your cheeks turning rosy.

But your eyes widen imperceptibly when the bartender sets down the entire bottle, instead of just a shot glass and she hums, resting her elbow on the surface of the bar and her chin in her palm.

Vibrant blue eyes staring at you from beneath full lashes and her lips curl.

"Were you expecting that?" Dinah questions you and you clear your throat, just a bit surprised before you speak.

"Not at all, no." You breathe out.

And she lets out a low, husky laugh, before reaching into her purse, pulling out a card that definitely has much more than yours on it.

"It's okay, sweetheart." She hums. "I can pay—"

"No, no." You shake your head immediately. "I still wanna pay."

She watches the way you gently take your card from the bartender when he's done, sliding the plastic back into your Pokemon wallet, and you shove it into your pocket.

"I guess it's beans for the next two weeks though." You tease, and your knees nearly buckle at the way a laugh falls from her lips, painted a pretty, almost purplish pink colour. Her dimples deepening in her cheeks.

And she smiles up at you.

"I'm just kidding though." You reassure. "I eat beans anyway."

"College kid?" She muses, dark painted nails tapping against her chin and you nod your head.

"How's the debt?"

"Crippling, actually." And you inhale sharply, grabbing a lungful of something expensive and underlined by the distinct scent of grape-flavoured candies.

You can tell she's older. Not physically, obviously. She looks like she'd sleep in a wetsuit of Korean moisturizers and sunscreen.

Perfect skin, sculpted features and a razor sharp jawline, brilliant blue eyes that only stand out more with her tight-lined waterlines and winged eyeliner.

She hums thoughtfully, brushing voluminous golden hair over her shoulder and your eyes dart to how shiny and silky her hair looks. She's like a walking Pantene ad.

Hair so healthy it shines.

"Are you here with someone?" Dinah's voice breaks you from your reverie, watching you intently and you barely even notice when she stretches out her leg, the toes of her vinyl boot hooking the footrest of the barstool behind you, and she tugs it closer.

"You can sit down." She muses. "I don't bite."

You drop into the seat, watching the way she pours herself a shot glass of vodka, her gaze remaining on yours as she waits for an answer.

"Uh, mhm." You answer, snapping yourself back to the reality that you're actually talking to a woman who could inspire national anthems. "I'm here with friends but they look a little too preoccupied to be missing me right now."

Your tongue brushes along your bottom lip and in the mere seconds that Dinah's throwing back her shot, you take the moment to look her over in one wide yet very intense glance.

Which is a bad idea because you feel like the course of your life is altered when you see the sliver of lace trimmed stockings peeking out between the tops of her boots and the edge of her skirt.

And you swallow, gaze lifting to where her minidress is mocking you, the sweetheart neckline doing nothing to ease the way your belly flips at the way her top pushes her tits up, all accompanied by a pretty choker and a leather jacket.

"No boyfriend?" The sound of her setting down that glass is louder than the music. Metaphorically, obviously but it still scares you shitless and you snap your gaze back to her face.

"No boyfriend." You answer.

"No girlfriend?"

"No, ma'am."

Dinah's lips quirk into a grin when you call her that, and she crosses her legs over one another, the tips of her boots brushing against the side of your calf as she does. And through the materials, you feel the electricity buzz beneath your skin at the contact.

"Ma'am?" She repeats. "I'm not that old." She teases you and you swallow hard.

Your brain rumbling and shuddering with different version of yourself, arguing and fighting over what you should do.

'Shoot your shot.'

'No! Play it coy!'

'Playing it coy is why she's in situationships all the time.'

That last bit stings and the words are falling from your lips before you even realise.

"I didn't call you that because you're older."

The silence is thick. Heavy in the air and you're already mentally fisting your hair and dropping to your knees when she sets a tip on the bar counter.

Pushing herself up from her seat, and her fingers lace with yours, and she's pulling you towards the exit.

You're following Dinah through the throngs of sweaty bodies, your gaze lowering to where full, squishy thighs brush against each other with each step she takes and you can hear the way your blood rushes.

You're soaking your panties in anticipation, your eyes catching your friends' but the look of pride in their eyes isn't useful as to what to do in a moment like this.

When you're following a sexy stranger out of a bar, and to God knows where.

⊹♡⭐♡⊹

"Wow." You murmur quietly, looking around. High ceilings, a corner window that overlooks the city, lights twinkling and stars studded in the endless abyss of the night sky.

"Your penthouse is amazing."

And she hums, kicking off her boots, tossing them carelessly near the door.

"I won it in my divorce."

"Divorce?" You repeat.

"Uh huh." Dinah nods her head, shrugging off her jacket before discarding her jacket onto the sofa. "Does it bother you?"

"Not really, no." You shrug, before turning on the balls of your feet, watching the way her arms move behind her back.

"Top or bottom?" She questions, the sound of her zipper loud and her dress falls into a puddle at her feet. The tiniest fucking panties you've ever seen, strewn over her hips, black dental floss-esque straps digging into the soft flesh of her hips.

"Munch."

⊹♡⭐♡⊹

"How do you like it?"

Dinah feels like she's died and gone to heaven, her body against Egyptian cotton, pillows puffed up behind her back and the moonlight bathes you in a glow that makes you look even more Heaven sent. You had popped off your press-on's, your jacket discarded and your gaze focused on her.

She knows this is a rebound thing.

Just something to ease the ache that Oliver's left but holy fuck, she hasn't thought of him since you bought her drink.

"Improvise." She swallows hard, her gaze flickering to where you're gently pulling her thong down her legs, neatly setting it aside. You spread her thighs, your palms warm against her skin and you stare down at her like you're trying to memorize what you're seeing.

And you lay down on your belly, your shoes kicked off and those ridiculous bunny-printed socks are exposed as you make yourself comfortable.

And you blow over her sodden flesh. Glossy folds and sticky inner thighs that she couldn't explain even if she wanted to.

And she watches the way your lips press against the blemishes on her skin, fingers tracing the stretch marks that span her hips and her breath stutters just a bit. Because your fingers are so soft, blunt nails following those lines, sweet and attentive.

And your head dips down between her thighs, your tongue dragging up. From the bottom of her sopping cunt, all the way to her clit, and your muscle flattens against the bud, just to feel the way it twitches.

Dinah's hands fist the sheets on either side of her, icy blue eyes locked on how you're so enraptured by the moment. Teasing your tongue through her sloppy folds, gossamers of slick and saliva between you before your plush lips find purchase around her clit, and you suck.

And her brain melts, head falling back against her fluffed up pillows and she sighs.

"Fuck—" She gasps shakily, "you're really good at that..." Her brows furrow into a frown, her thighs threatening to snap shut around your head when she hears that lewd, almost disgusting slurp.

And you pull back, arms wrapped around her thighs and with a rough jerk, you tug her closer.

You lap at her cunt with need. Your nose bumping against her clit, tucked neatly away between velvety folds, your tongue pushing past puffy lips and she gasps, her hands moving to grasp your biceps, nails digging into the flesh.

And her brain melts at the feel of your subtle flexing, your tongue writhing against her sensitive walls and for some reason, you're hitting all the spots that make her lashes flutter and her back arch against the sheets.

Dinah's having an out of body experience, her back arching and hips pushing up against your mouth.

And you're having a ball.

Your feet are kicking excitedly, your arms hooked around her thighs so she can't writhe away from you when you pull back, and spit at her folds, watching your saliva drip down between them before you dive back in.

Your blood's rushing in your ears and the only sound that's managing to permeate through, are Dinah's panted breaths and moans.

"Shit, you're so nasty." She giggles, gasping and her head tips back, toes curling in her stockings that she has yet to take off and her hands lace behind your head, pulling you closer.

Until you're smothering and all you can feel, taste, smell, hear, see, I don't know, even sense... Is her.

And you're pulling away with a shaky breath, dragging two of your fingers along your tongue before you're pushing them into her, feeling how she soaks your fingers instantly. Her walls spasm when you curl them, and you lean back down, flicking your tongue against her clit.

"Oh my fucking G— s'so good—" Her voice cracks, her hips twitching and her belly's fucking burning.

Cunt spasming with each rough yet calculated pump of your fingers and you're sucking her folds so earnestly, dragging your tongue through them again.

And again.

And again.

Her chest is heaving, skin prickled with goosebumps and her nipples are pebbled, rosy and so hard, begging for attention that you have yet to give.

Her skin glitters, a thin sheen of sweat illuminated by silvery moonlight.

"Wait, wait, wait—" She pushes herself up, chest heaving, "I think I need to piss."

She's crass. Her brain's muddled, her eyes are stormy and her face is flushed, body hot and cold all the same.

And you smile, cheeks burning rosy.

"No, you don't."

You add a third finger and you pump into her with abandon. Her thighs press against your ears hard enough that you can feel her pulse in your soul, but you don't care.

All you're focused on, is ripping that shriek from her like never before.

Dinah's hand clamps over her mouth, barely stifling a scream as her pleasure crests and she soaks your face, gushing and her eyes are squeezed shut. Body shuddering, your fingers keep fucking into her and you're basically deafened by the softness of her thighs that neither of you focus on the shattered windows of the room.

Not until you pull back, and your eyes widen, looking around her room in shock. Anything glass, has broken.

And the silence is thick in the air, the only sounds being her panted breaths and the sound of slickness as you gently soothe her overstimulated clit with the soft pad of your thumb.

And she swallows.

Body weak and melted into the sheets.

And you suck your teeth. "Uh... Do you have... Anything— like—" You're fumbling over your words, you're both caught in the cross breeze of the now opened windows. "—Do— is there an explanation— why'd the windows shatter?"

The laugh she lets out is weak.

"I've got some killer pipes."

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[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

I reread the One step, two steps, three steps, ow for the one hundredth time

And I need more of Bruce shoving us to the side and Ollie or whoever coming and giving us a daddy-daughter time

Or dick, Tim, Jason shoving us and their best friends coming in and gave us a brother - sister time

I CANT BELIEVE YOU GUYS LIKE FIC SO MUCH LOLZ!!

"THE LITTLE ARROW"

Just imagine holding on to Bruce's suit, trying not to get caught up in the crowd of fancy suit pants and sparkly black dresses, only for you to lose him in the throng, being pushed and shoved by all the rich socialites around you. The stomping of heels and dress shoes hurt your ears, the sound of champagne glasses annoys you, and the posh laughter sends you into a frenzy. The loud noises in crowded rooms make you hold on to Bruce, hoping that you wouldn’t let go or that he wouldn’t let you go. But miraculously, your finger slips, and somehow you get stuck swimming in this crowd, trying to find your father, screaming his name in every direction, only to be pushed back by rich blonde white women who scream his name louder. You become so overwhelmed that you have to plug your ears with your own fingers, begging to be drowned out by the loud sounds. Suddenly, you feel two strong arms pick you up from the crowd. You are excited, thinking it’s Bruce or maybe one of your brothers who took pity on you. Instead, you are met with bright blue eyes, but the eyes looking back at you are green. You don’t mind, though. You don’t mind that the man picking you up and taking you to safety is Oliver, who gently shields you from the busy bodies. He takes you outside, where you can finally breathe and get fresh air, and where all those sounds don’t overwhelm you. People say Batman is their hero, but Oliver Queen is yours.

You're practically begging everyone in the house to take you to your archery tournament it's a win or lose situation this is what's going to get you to Nationals this is what's going to get you to have a whole article written about you going to get you to get out of Bruce Wayne's Shadow and become your very own person but I guess everybody was too focused on Damien stupid s soccer game to care about your archery tournament I guess no one cares about Nationals I guess no one cares that you're livelihood and you reputation is hanging on the thinnest strad known to man you're sitting on the steps of Wayne Manor defeated so much for Nationals just to hear the sound of loud music and a broken car beep it was Roy in a car with Lian Cissie and Mia with Connor shouting out your name in the backseat you had only mentioned this tournament once and it wasn't even to them it was Bruce on the phone when you called him up whils he was on duty with the Justice League how do they even know this but it doesn't matter now Nationals is calling for you plus you wouldn't want to keep and Dinah waiting

You get invited to the Watchtower for a fun little training session with Dinah. It wasn't anything too serious; she knew to be gentle with you, giving you small little Aikido tosses on the blue training mat, throttling you just a little bit. But sometimes she'll let her guard down just for you to sneak attack her. It's fun, really. It was like a mother lioness playing with her little lion cub, in this case being you. You look to your left just a little bit, and you can see the steam coming out of Bruce's ears from his Batman suit. You can see how Nightwing is filled with jealousy as you cling to Dinah. You can see Tim and Damien's faces scrunch up as you get all excited for getting one up on her, because deep down they know that she let you get that hit in. Jason is completely jealous because instead of asking him to join in on the fun, you called Roy if you wanted to spar; he's obviously the better sparring partner between him and the redhead.

[ladydeadrabbit]

Dating The Birds of Prey Would Include…

Summary: Dating The Birds of Prey headcannons, featuring my girl Babs, Dinah, and Helena <3

Dating The Huntress (Helena Bertinelli) would include…

-How you met.

You found her hunched over in the pews. at first, you assumed she was praying, but as you walked past, it quickly became apparent that she was unconscious and bleeding pretty heavily. Searching around and finding no help in the Church (why would anyone be hanging around a church this late at night?) You were about to call 911 for help when she suddenly shot up and begged you not to before dropping down to the floor. Concerned for her safety, you brought her to your apartment, which was conveniently right next door to said Church, and patched her up.

When the mysterious dark-haired woman finally came to, you explained who you were and why you brought her to your home. You told her that you found her nearly on the verge of death in the church, and worried that she was in some kind of legal trouble, you brought her to your home for care. At the time of your first encounter with Helena, you were a med student at Gotham University and would often go to the cathedral to study, as your neighbors weren’t exactly the most considerate when it came to noise.

This is really where the relationship the two of you had sprouted from. You never pried into her life, and as such, she never told you why she was hurt that day and why she urged you not to contact the authorities.

-Finding out her alternate identity. 

It was not but a few nights after you met with Helena at the old church that you were subsequently pulled into a nearby alley and mugged. Being a resident in Gotham, this is typical to occur on the occasion, but tonight was different– because tonight, the muggers weren’t just satisfied with your wallet, maybe you had unknowingly done something to offend them, or perhaps they just didn’t like the way you looked; either way, the perpetrator intended to take your life.

Call it fate or divine intervention– or even pure coincidence– because you were saved by one of the famed vigilantes of the city. You had seen some blurred photos of her in the media once or twice, and recognized the purple costuming immediately as that of The Huntress.

When the criminal was properly dealt with and the authorities were notified, The Huntress offered to stay with you until they arrived– and that’s when you realized who she was. 

When you called her out on her identity, surprisingly, she didn’t deny it and instead smiled and explained to you why she’d been at that church that night. The two of you didn’t have much time to discuss it, as not too long after the cops arrived, Helena was forced back into the shadows of the night.

-When the two of you start dating.

Later that same night of the mugging, after the questioning by the police, you were released to head back home– and, surprisingly, were greeted by the sight of Helena (in full Huntress Gear) waiting for you via the fire escape window. Despite the exhaustion of the day and the trauma from the events prior, you were more than eager to allow her into your living space. That’s when Helena kicked back off where she last left the conversation before the police arrived.

Helena Bertinelli told you that the reasoning for her being at that church that night was because she thought she was going to die after stopping a bank robbery that went wrong. She explained her somewhat love-hate relationship with religion and how she felt it was the only place she could find peace. When asked why and how she became the vigilante known as “The Huntress”, Helena started by explaining how she was originally from a mob family, and at a young age, her family was brutally murdered– an incident she barely survived.

Later, as an adult, she sought vengeance on the killers who took her family’s lives.. Only to discover that her very own mother was the culprit who orchestrated the whole affair. The tale was very long and full of juicy drama– you even made a joke about it, which brought out a smile on Helena’s otherwise somber face.

As if Helena couldn’t have given you any more surprises, she offers to take you out for coffee that weekend to get to know you a little better. You’re heart fluttered at the thought, how could you resist? So you accepted.

The cute little coffee date went over well, and before you knew it, the two of you were official.

Dating Black Canary (Dinah Lance) would include…

-How you met...

Everyone who had a decent taste in music in Gotham knew of the Black Canary band— so when you’re best friend, Kara, came up from out of town to visit you, you just knew you had to celebrate things by dropping in at one of the band’s shows. Admittedly, you, despite being an avid fan (and an active Dinah Lance fan girl/boy) you had never ACTUALLY seen the band perform live before. Gotham was a violent enough city, and if what Rolling Stones had to say was true about the bad, Black Canary is the most dangerous band in America right now.

It was in between acts that you got a chance to meet Dinah Lance herself– funny enough, via complete accident rather than a premeditated fan. You see, although you’d always harbored a small crush for the bottled blonde, you were never the type to obsess and craze over celebrities. In your eyes, they were just people– people with incredible talents who got lucky, but still people nonetheless.

You had left Kara at the bar where the band was performing live at, promising her that you’d be back soon and that you just had to use the bathroom (it wasn’t a lie); and as if fate decided to play a cruel joke on you, you were pulled into the opposite gendered bathroom by the rough hands of a stranger. The perpetrator, someone whom you’ve never seen a day in your life before, pressed a small sharp object into your lower stomach and murmured obscene words into your ear. In any other situation, you’re confident that you could’ve easily defended yourself against them, but in this particular instance, with the heavy music and alcohol you had consumed earlier, you were more than disoriented.

Before things could take a turn for the worse, however, a pair of hands came out of nowhere and yanked the opponent off of you with such strength and force that you swore you saw their eyes practically pop out of their sockets. It was all over before it even started, and there, standing above you with her hands on her exposed hips, was Dinah Lance, THE Black Canary. Ever since then, the two of you have been nearly inseparable.

You told Dinah all about your boring old life and she’d often stop by when she was in town to visit and vise versa with her telling you and keeping you updated on her adventures with The Justice League and (when you were able to take time off from work) travel with her when she went on tour with the band. She’d even brought you to Paris one time with the Birds of Prey.

-When you two started dating…

It was right after a Birds of Prey operation in Paris when you, Helena, Barbara, and Dinah were tracking down Calculator. Somehow, someway, you ended up getting roped into the entire affair, and it was just as Noah Kuttler was being arrested at the top of the Eiffel Tower that you and Dinah shared your small moment of passion. The scene itself could’ve cut a movie, but in truth, it was an incredibly sudden moment for both of you.

Sure, you’d always had a thing for her— but truthfully, you’d never anticipated the possibility of her reciprocating them. A day or two would go by without any word from Dinah until she stopped by your apartment (back in Gotham, of course) and wanted to make the relationship official.

Dating Batgirl (Barbara Gordon) would include…

-How you two met…

You had known Barbara for most of your life. She was the pretty girl next door to you that you were never cool enough to hang out with— so when you finally left for college, expecting to never see her again, one could imagine your surprise when you ran into her at a party you were attending at Gotham University in Burnside. The two of you hit it off immediately (not that you guys didn’t know each other before or have ever hung out in the past, just that you both lived very different lives and weren’t exactly close enough to be considered “friends”).

One thing led to another that night, and you found yourself waking up in her bed. 

You were never the type for one-night stands, and you certainly didn’t think Barbara was either— but things felt different now that you two bridged the gap between being acquaintances to… whatever it was that the two of you were now. Regardless, you wanted more from being just a one-time ordeal for her and gathered the confidence to ask her out on a date.

-Finding out her secret identity…

You had suspected that something was up with Barbara for a few weeks now, so when she spontaneously invited you out for lunch one day, you dreaded the possibility of her breaking up with you. Several weeks prior, you had gotten a strange phone call in the middle of the night from Barbara— it had startled you awake, and you almost would’ve been angry if it weren’t for the pure vulnerability in her voice. She had told you things that you had never known about her— things like her mother walking out on her on Christmas and all the mental issues her younger brother James (who you had never even known) had as a result.

You knew in your heart that Barbara loved you, but with the distance she’d been at lately and the walls she was seemingly putting up, you began to worry that she was suffering from some kind of burnout. You felt like a caged animal during lunch, circling each other but never directly confronting the very obvious elephant in the room. At least, not until after you had finished your club sandwich in the most awkward silence of your life, awaiting and dreading the moment she’d say something along the lines of “it’s not you, it’s me!” But those words never came, and instead what came out of her mouth was something far more shocking— so shocking your brain had to take a moment to reload itself.

Okay, well, it wasn’t THAT shocking, but it was still a huge surprise!

“I’m Batgirl,” she had sheepishly stated, much like a child confronting their parents after they had just broken a very expensive vase. You blinked, and then blinked again at her, and when she had decided that she could no longer take your staring anymore, she began to explain why she had been at a distance lately as well as why she had chosen a life of crime-fighting. The latter, you suppose you understood as Barbara’s father was somewhat of a “helicopter parent”, and who could blame him? 

You imagined that being the Police Commissioner of the most dangerous city in America wasn’t exactly an easy feat. It certainly would’ve put any parent on edge when their child confronts them about wanting to join the police force. It took time for you to forgive Barbara for keeping this secret from you, especially after the weeks of torment you had gone through, stressing about whether or not she was planning on breaking up with you. Still, you were never one to hold a grudge, especially not towards Barbara.

(A/N: Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this weird little scenarios/head cannon fic thingy. If you enjoyed this fic and would like to read my stuff an entire month in advance, please consider checking out my Patreon here:

Like me know some other fic ideas that you all have down below, as well as don't forget to like/reshare and be sure to follow for more related fics).

[urdreamydoodles]

For DC, would you mayhaps write about picking them up when they aren't expecting, or just didn't think you could, almighty writer?

DC COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

You pick them up as if they weighed absolutely nothing

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth, Zatanna Zatara, Dinah Lance, Wally West, Victor Stone (Cyborg), Garfield Logan (Beast Boy) & Lobo

Reply to anon: If I understood your request correctly (I really hope so), I love you for this request, it was so fun to write this headcanon.

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

- It is a rare thing to catch Bruce Wayne off guard, a feat most would deem impossible. He is a man of precision, calculation, and control, his every move rehearsed in the dark solitude of his mind long before it is executed. And yet, when you lift him into your arms with the ease of a shadow passing over the city, all his legendary foresight shatters in an instant. His breath stutters—just once, imperceptible to anyone but you—and his gloved hands instinctively grasp your shoulders, as if to confirm the absurd reality of what is happening. The weight of Gotham’s protector, cradled so effortlessly against you, is a secret victory that sends a slow smile curling at the edges of your lips.

- "Tch," he exhales, the sound more air than voice, his dark eyes narrowing in something between astonishment and begrudging amusement. "You’ve been holding out on me." His pride does not allow him to admit the full extent of his surprise, but the way his fingers tighten ever so slightly against your arms betrays him. Bruce Wayne is not a man who enjoys being caught unaware, and yet—there is something in the way you handle him, something in the unwavering steadiness of your grip, that quiets the usual tension that knots his body like a bowstring drawn too tight.

- He does not struggle. He does not order you to put him down. No, he merely tilts his head, calculating, the sharp angles of his face betraying the ghost of a smirk. "I assume you have a reason for this," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp against your ear. "Or do you just enjoy surprising me?" It is a challenge, an invitation, and perhaps, in some small way, a confession. For all his formidable strength, for all the ways he has trained himself to never relinquish control—there is a part of him that does not mind being held by you.

- Later, when the moment has passed and Gotham calls him away once more, he does not mention it. But you notice the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his fingers brush against your wrist just a little longer than necessary. And when, the next time, you reach for him with that same effortless power, you swear you see the corner of his lips quirk upward—just for a second—before he allows himself to fall into your embrace.

Kal-El (Clark Kent, Superman)

- The sky belongs to him, the very air bending to his will, the world itself no heavier than a breath upon his palm. And yet, when you lift him into your arms, when you cradle the Man of Steel as if he were something as light and effortless as a whisper, it is his turn to be left breathless. His blue eyes widen—just slightly, just enough for you to catch the flicker of disbelief that dances through them like a shooting star. "Whoa," he exhales, the sheer sincerity in his voice making you laugh. "Did you—did you just—?"

- He does not finish his sentence, because the answer is obvious. He is here, weightless in your grasp, and despite all reason, he cannot quite seem to wrap his mind around it. He has lifted mountains, shifted tectonic plates, carried entire cities upon his back—but this, this is something entirely different. He peers down at you with a mixture of awe and delight, a boyish grin breaking across his features, and suddenly, he is not Superman, not the Last Son of Krypton, but simply Clark—a farm boy who has just been shown a new miracle in a world that he thought he had seen from every angle.

- "Well," he laughs, resting his hands lightly on your shoulders, his touch warm, steady. "I guess turnabout is fair play." He is not used to being the one lifted, the one held, and there is something undeniably endearing about the way he lets himself be carried, as if surrendering to the simple joy of the moment. His grin softens into something fonder, something gentler, and his voice dips to a lower timbre, laced with that impossible tenderness that only he can wield so effortlessly. "You are full of surprises, aren’t you?"

- Later, as you stand together beneath the open sky, he will wrap his arms around you and lift you high into the air, spinning you in a slow, weightless circle, as if to remind you that the universe still bows to his strength. But the truth, the quiet, unspoken truth, is that he will remember this moment—not for the sheer impossibility of it, not for the surprise of being lifted, but for the way you looked at him as you did it. As if he was something precious. As if he was something worth carrying.

Barry Allen (The Flash)

- One second, he is standing before you, mid-sentence, hands moving animatedly as he rambles about some impossible feat of science, some breakthrough that only his mind could possibly keep up with. And the next—he is airborne. Suspended. A blur of red and gold frozen in time as you hoist him effortlessly into your arms, his entire train of thought derailing so spectacularly that for the first time in what is possibly ever, Barry Allen is at a complete and utter loss for words.

- His blue eyes blink, wide with sheer, unfiltered astonishment. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, as if struggling to find a logical explanation for what just happened. "What—how did you—" He pauses, glances down at himself, then back at you. "Okay. Alright. This is fine. This is normal. Totally normal. This is a thing that happens." His words come faster now, a breathless tumble of disbelief and delight, and despite the initial shock, there is no fear—only pure, infectious amusement.

- And then he laughs. Oh, he laughs—bright and bubbling over, like the crackle of lightning against an open sky, his body practically vibrating with sheer giddiness. "I mean, I know I’ve swept you off your feet before, but this—this is a whole new level." His arms loop around your neck, dramatic and theatrical, his head tilting back as he lets himself be cradled as if he were some fairytale damsel. "Be honest, you’ve been planning this for a while, haven’t you?"

- He will tease you about this for weeks, recounting the moment with exaggerated flair to anyone who will listen. But there will also be the quiet moments—when he leans against you just a little more than usual, when his hands linger at your waist as if remembering the steady strength of your arms. And maybe, just maybe, the next time you catch him at full speed, he will let you lift him once more—just to feel, for a fleeting moment, what it’s like to be caught by you.

Diana of Themyscira (Wonder Woman)

- The daughter of gods, sculpted from sacred clay, raised among warriors whose strength is the stuff of legend. To surprise Diana is no easy task, for she has spent centuries honing herself into something divine, something unyielding. And yet—when you lift her into your arms, when you cradle her as if she were no heavier than a whispered prayer, the Goddess of Truth is rendered momentarily speechless.

- Her lips part, her brows lifting ever so slightly, and though she does not gasp, does not falter, there is an undeniable flicker of astonishment in her gaze. "You are stronger than you appear," she muses, her voice warm, touched with something akin to admiration. A warrior recognizes another, and in this moment, she sees you in a new light—not merely as her love, but as something formidable, something unexpected.

- And then, she smiles. Not a small smile, not a coy smirk, but something radiant—something that reaches her eyes, that sets her entire face alight with unmistakable joy. "Impressive," she hums, resting a steady hand against your shoulder. "Though, I must admit, I rather enjoy this perspective." There is a teasing lilt to her voice, a challenge dancing at the edges of her words. It is rare for anyone to hold her in such a way, but she finds, quite unexpectedly, that she does not mind it at all.

- Later, she will return the favor with ease, sweeping you into her arms without effort, carrying you across battlefields, across cities, across oceans. But in that moment, in the quiet space between surprise and laughter, she allows herself to rest in your hold, to relish the warmth of your embrace, to be held—not as a warrior, not as a princess, but simply as a woman who loves, and is loved in return.

Arthur Curry (Aquaman)

- Arthur Curry is not a man accustomed to feeling small. He is a king, a warrior, a force of nature bound in muscle and salt, the weight of oceans resting upon his shoulders. He has wrestled sea monsters the size of mountains, stood unyielding against the fury of the abyss, and emerged from every battle with the untamed, feral grin of a man who belongs to the storm. But when you lift him—when your arms curl around him with a strength that defies reason, hoisting him off solid ground as if he were nothing but driftwood—his entire world tilts. His golden eyes widen, stunned, his calloused hands gripping instinctively at your shoulders as if the sea itself has betrayed him.

- "What the—?" His voice is a startled rumble, a sharp bark of laughter cutting through the shock. His thick brows furrow, then lift, his expression wavering somewhere between indignation and absolute, boyish delight. He has never been handled like this, not even by the tides he calls home, and it is as absurd as it is exhilarating. "Alright, alright, I get it," he grumbles, though his smirk betrays him. "You’ve been hiding those muscles from me, huh?" There is no protest, no attempt to reclaim his dominance—only the rough, teasing warmth of a man who knows when to yield to the unexpected.

- He tests you, just a little, shifting his weight in your arms as if daring you to drop him. But you don’t. Not even close. And something in his grin turns sharper, more wicked, because he loves this—loves being surprised, loves the way you refuse to let him be the only powerful one in the room. "Damn," he chuckles, low and approving, his gaze sweeping over you with something hungry, something possessive. "That’s actually kinda hot."

- When you finally put him down, he doesn’t step back. No, he lingers—crowds close, his massive frame still buzzing with the thrill of it. And then, without warning, his arms are around you, hoisting you off your feet with ease, spinning you in a full, dizzying circle before crushing you against his chest. "Had to return the favor," he murmurs against your ear, voice thick with laughter. "But next time, sweetheart? Give a king some warning before you knock him off his throne."

Hal Jordan (Green Lantern)

- Hal Jordan is weightless before you can even blink. A man accustomed to soaring, to the rush of flight beneath his ribs, he has never once imagined himself being lifted—not without the emerald glow of his will forging the sky beneath his feet. But now, here, in your arms, held effortlessly with no ring, no power beyond the sheer impossible strength of you—Hal is, for the first time in his life, truly speechless.

- "You—hold on, what?" His voice cracks, laughter bubbling out of him in a disbelieving rush. His hands press against your shoulders, his pulse hammering with something electric, something wild. "Oh, no way. No freaking way." His mouth splits into a grin, bright and reckless, his green eyes alight with sheer, giddy amusement. "Are you messing with me? Is this some kind of—?" But no, there’s no trickery, no constructs at play, just you, standing solid beneath him while the world spins wildly out of sync with everything he thought he knew.

- And he loves it. Oh, he loves it. Because Hal Jordan lives for the unexpected, for the thrill of new frontiers, for the rush of facing the impossible head-on. And you—lifting him like he’s nothing, standing there with that knowing smirk—you are a whole new adventure, and he is utterly, shamelessly hooked. "This is amazing," he declares, wrapping his arms around your neck, leaning in close, grinning like a devil who has just been handed the keys to heaven. "You do realize I’m never gonna let you live this down, right?"

- He doesn’t stop talking about it. Ever. The next time the League gathers, he flings an arm around your shoulder and grins at the others. "You guys won’t believe this," he announces, smug and gleeful. "This one? Picked me up like I was a damn sack of potatoes. I mean, look at me! Look at this!" And when the teasing inevitably turns back on him, when Barry is cackling and Diana is arching a knowing brow, Hal just shrugs, utterly unapologetic. "Hey," he says, looping his arms around you once more, flashing you that impossibly charming, infuriatingly smug grin. "What can I say? I’m into it."

Oliver Queen (Green Arrow)

- Oliver Queen has spent his life dancing on the edge of danger, slipping through shadows and fire with the unshakable confidence of a man who always lands on his feet. But this—this was not in his playbook. One moment, he’s standing there, all easy smirks and smooth arrogance, and the next? His feet leave the ground, his entire world tilting as you lift him with effortless strength, cradling him as if he were something delicate. And for the first time in years, Oliver Queen has no immediate comeback.

- "…You’ve got to be kidding me." His voice is flat, stunned, as his hands instinctively grip your shoulders. His green eyes blink once, twice, his mouth parting in absolute disbelief. "Did that just—did you just—?" And then it happens—the breathless chuckle, the slow realization, the sudden shift from shock to pure, unfiltered amusement. A wide, toothy grin breaks across his face, bright as wildfire, and before you know it, he’s laughing, full-bodied and unrestrained. "Oh, I love this," he gasps between chuckles, eyes gleaming. "I love this. Are you seeing this? Someone take a picture—no, wait, don’t, I have a reputation to uphold."

- He throws himself into the bit immediately, draping an arm over his forehead as if he’s some swooning noble. "My hero," he sighs dramatically, peeking at you from beneath his lashes. "How will I ever repay you for saving me from the perils of standing?" His grin is wicked, challenging, but there’s something beneath it—something warm, something fond, something that lingers even as his laughter fades into something quieter, something real.

- Later, when he’s sprawled beside you, still smirking, he nudges your side with his elbow. "You know," he muses, tapping his chin, "I think I might need saving again sometime soon." And then, without warning, he flings himself at you, arms wrapping around your neck with all the grace of a man who knows damn well you’ll catch him. "Quick, sweetheart," he grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Before gravity kicks back in."

John Constantine

- John Constantine has seen many things in his life—things that would shatter the minds of lesser men, things that slither and whisper in the dark, things that crawl beneath the skin of the world and rot it from the inside out. But this? This is something else entirely. One second, he’s standing there, cigarette between his lips, coat draped lazily over his shoulders, and the next? He’s airborne. Lifted. Weightless. And utterly, utterly done with this reality.

- "Bloody hell," he curses, his usual rasp of sarcasm momentarily failing him. His cigarette nearly tumbles from his lips as he grips at your arms, wide-eyed, indignant. "You having a laugh, love?" But you don’t waver, don’t so much as break a sweat, and that realization sends something flickering through his gaze—something wary, something intrigued, something dangerously close to impressed.

- "Well, that’s just embarrassing," he mutters, exhaling smoke through his nose, tilting his head as he eyes you with newfound consideration. "And here I thought I was the one with all the tricks up me sleeve." He shifts in your arms, testing the hold, then smirks, lazy and sharp. "Alright then. Carry on, darling. Just make sure you don’t drop me—I’d hate to spill me pint."

- Later, when he’s sitting with you, fingers tapping against his glass, he glances your way with something softer hidden beneath the bite of his words. "Next time," he murmurs, swirling his drink, "maybe give a bloke a warning before you decide to turn his world upside down, yeah?" But there’s no real protest, no real annoyance. Just the lingering, undeniable truth—he liked it. He liked you. And that, perhaps, is the most dangerous magic of all.

Roy Harper (Arsenal)

- Roy Harper has been thrown, knocked down, and sent flying more times than he can count. But this? This is different. One second, he’s standing there—grinning, cocky, weight shifted lazily onto one hip—and the next, his feet leave the ground. For the first time in a long time, Roy Harper is caught instead of doing the catching. His mouth opens, a sharp inhale of surprise, his arms flailing for balance, but there’s nothing for him to do except accept it. And he absolutely, completely does not know how to handle that.

- "H-hold up—wait—what the hell?" The words tumble from his lips in a startled bark of laughter, his hands instinctively clutching at your shoulders. His blue eyes are wide, scanning your face for some kind of explanation. "You just—how did you—?" His brain stutters over itself, trying to make sense of it. It’s not that he thinks you’re weak—hell no—but he knows how heavy he is, how solidly he’s built, and the fact that you lifted him like he was nothing? That’s something else entirely.

- Then, of course, the reality of it sinks in, and Roy Harper, being Roy Harper, does what he does best—he leans into it. "Damn, babe," he whistles, his signature smirk creeping across his face. "If I’d known you were this strong, I’d have made you carry me around ages ago." He shifts slightly in your arms, testing your grip, then settles in with an exaggerated sigh, draping an arm over his forehead like a damsel in distress. "Guess I don’t need to hit the gym anymore—got myself a personal lifter right here."

- And when you finally put him down? He doesn’t walk away. No, he sticks close, bumping his hip against yours, looking up at you with a mix of mischief and something warmer. "You’re full of surprises," he murmurs, his voice dropping just slightly, almost thoughtful. And then, with a wicked grin, he adds, "So... how do you feel about carrying me to bed, sweetheart?"

Koriand’r (Starfire)

- Koriand’r is no stranger to flight, to weightlessness, to the effortless way she moves through the sky with the sun’s fire at her back. But being lifted by you—by your hands, your strength, your unwavering confidence—is something she has never felt before. And it stuns her. Not out of fear, nor shock, nor disbelief—no, it is something softer, something warmer, something that spreads through her chest like the first rays of dawn.

- "Oh!" The delighted gasp slips from her lips as her arms instinctively wrap around your neck, golden eyes blinking in wide-eyed surprise. For a moment, she simply looks at you, studying your face, as if committing this feeling to memory. And then, as quickly as the surprise came, it melts into sheer, unrestrained joy. "Oh, my love!" she exclaims, her voice a bright melody of laughter, her fingers tangling in your hair as she tilts her head. "This is wonderful!"

- She does not hesitate to make herself comfortable, resting easily in your hold, her warmth seeping into your skin like sunlight. "You are so strong!" she praises, her voice dripping with admiration, her eyes glowing with pure, genuine awe. "Why did you not tell me before? We could have done this so many times!" There is no embarrassment, no hesitation—only the full, boundless embrace of a woman who loves fiercely, who takes nothing for granted, who cherishes this moment for all it is.

- And later, when you place her back down, she does not simply walk away. No, she hovers, her hands still cradling your face, her lips pressing a kiss—soft, lingering, grateful—against your cheek. "I must carry you next," she declares, her voice rich with excitement. "It is only fair!" And then, before you can protest, she sweeps you into her arms, laughing as she soars into the sky, twirling you through the air in a radiant, dizzying dance of love.

Kara Zor-El (Supergirl)

- Kara Zor-El is used to being the strongest person in the room. She has spent her life holding back, careful with every touch, every movement, every breath, always hyper-aware of her own power. But you—lifting her so effortlessly, holding her as if her strength does not matter—it knocks the breath from her lungs in a way no villain, no kryptonite, ever has.

- "Wha—wait, what?" Her voice is higher than usual, startled, her hands gripping your shoulders instinctively as her legs dangle in the air. Her wide, blue eyes blink rapidly, scanning your face for some sort of answer. "You—you picked me up?" She sounds offended for a split second before the reality of it truly hits her, before the corners of her lips twitch and something suspiciously close to a giggle bubbles in her throat. "You picked me up."

- And then she’s laughing—full-bodied, bright, joyful—because it’s so ridiculous, so absurd, and so absolutely wonderful. "Oh my god," she wheezes, her head dropping against your shoulder as she shakes with laughter. "I love this." She leans back, resting easily in your arms, grinning up at you with an expression so full of delight it’s almost blinding. "How are you this strong? Have you been holding out on me? Are you secretly Kryptonian? Oh my god, are we long-lost cousins? Should I call Clark?"

- When you finally put her down, she immediately tests you again—jumping at you with zero warning, wrapping her arms around your neck, trusting you to catch her. And when you do? She beams. "Again," she demands, eyes bright with exhilaration. "Again!" And suddenly, she’s obsessed. She will never let this go. You have doomed yourself to a lifetime of Supergirl dramatically flinging herself into your arms at the most inconvenient moments.

Slade Wilson (Deathstroke)

- Slade Wilson does not like surprises. He is a man who calculates every outcome, who moves with precision, who keeps his world meticulously controlled. He does not get caught off guard. But this—the sudden shift in gravity, the impossible strength behind your touch, the way his feet leave the ground—this is a surprise so profound that, for one fleeting second, the legendary Deathstroke is stunned.

- His single eye narrows sharply, his body tensing instinctively, a thousand battle instincts screaming at him to react. But there is no attack, no enemy—only you, holding him like he is something fragile, something weightless, something you can control without effort. And that—that—is what truly catches him off guard. "Well," he rumbles, his voice dangerously low, "this is new."

- He does not panic. He does not flail or struggle. No, Slade Wilson merely analyzes, his sharp mind whirring as he studies your face, his expression unreadable. And then, slowly—so slowly it’s almost imperceptible—the corners of his lips twitch into something that is almost amusement. "You’ve been keeping secrets," he murmurs, the faintest ghost of a smirk curving his lips. "That’s dangerous."

- When you finally set him down, he does not step away. No, he lingers, his presence a solid, immovable force as he tilts his head, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. And then, just as you think the moment has passed, he reaches out—gripping your wrist with a strength that rivals your own. "My turn," he states simply, before sweeping you up effortlessly, his smirk widening as he watches your expression shift. "Now, let’s see how you handle surprises."

Kent Nelson (Doctor Fate)

- Kent Nelson is a man who has lived through centuries of battles, his mind tethered to the ancient wisdom of Nabu, weighed down by the knowledge of the cosmos. He is not easily shaken. He has fought demons, walked through dimensions where the laws of gravity bend and break, and seen the rise and fall of civilizations. And yet, for all his experience, for all his wisdom, nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the moment when you pick him up like he is no heavier than a feather caught in the wind.

- His body stills immediately, the flowing gold of his cloak pooling in your arms, his gauntleted hands frozen mid-motion as if his mind is struggling to catch up with his reality. He has faced eldritch horrors that defy comprehension, but this—this is something else entirely. "...Interesting." The word is measured, calm, but you can hear the faint edge of bewilderment in his voice. Beneath the helmet of Fate, his expression remains unreadable, but you can feel the way he is processing. Analyzing. Calculating how this is even possible.

- "There are few beings in existence who could accomplish this," he finally murmurs, and the weight of his words is almost laughable. But there is something else beneath them—something softer. Awe. Intrigue. A deep and abiding reverence for the unknown, for the mysteries of the universe that even he has yet to unravel. And right now? You are one of those mysteries. A puzzle he had not anticipated, but one he finds himself eager to solve. His fingers trail along your shoulder, light as a whisper, as if trying to feel the power beneath your skin.

- And then, in a rare moment of levity, the corners of his lips curve into something that is not quite a smile but something like it. "I wonder," he muses, "if Nabu knew about this." There is an unmistakable note of amusement in his voice, and you can tell—tell—that he is already planning the next time he can test your strength again. Doctor Fate may be bound to destiny, but Kent Nelson? Kent Nelson has just discovered something infinitely more interesting than fate itself: you.

Rachel Roth (Raven)

- Raven is used to control, to restraint. She has spent her life mastering herself, holding back, ensuring that nothing—not a single tremor of emotion—escapes without her permission. But control means nothing when you sweep her off her feet without warning. One moment, she is standing in the comfort of your presence, and the next, the world tilts—her balance stolen, gravity defied—and she finds herself cradled in your arms.

- "What—" The word is cut off, her breath catching in her throat, violet eyes wide and blinking as if she has glitched. It is not fear—Raven does not fear you—but it is shock, raw and unfiltered, slipping past the walls she has so carefully constructed. No one lifts her. No one dares. She is Raven, daughter of Trigon, wielder of darkness, but you—you lift her as though she is made of something far lighter, far softer. "...How?" The question is quiet, but laced with something dangerously close to wonder.

- And then, after a long, weighted pause, her lips part again. "Put me down." The words are flat, carefully neutral, but the telltale blush dusting her pale cheeks betrays her. You hold her a moment longer—just long enough to see the way her fingers twitch as if fighting the urge to grab onto you—and then, finally, you comply. The moment her feet touch the ground, she crosses her arms, tilting her chin slightly as if regaining her composure. But the faintest flicker of amusement sparks in her eyes. "You could have warned me."

- But later—later—when she thinks you aren’t looking, you catch her staring at you. Calculating. Considering. And the next time she finds herself in your arms? There is no sharp inhale, no startled demand to be put down. There is only the way her hands rest lightly on your shoulders, the way she allows herself to lean into your warmth. And if, just once, you hear the quietest whisper of "Again." as she buries her face in your neck, well... you say nothing.

Zatanna Zatara

- Zatanna is a performer. She has dazzled crowds, charmed audiences, and bent the very fabric of reality to her will with a flourish of her hands. She is a woman who makes the impossible look effortless. But what she does not expect—what she cannot predict—is you pulling a trick of your own. One moment, she is speaking, hands gesturing mid-sentence, and the next, she is in the air, her words dissolving into a startled gasp as she finds herself in your arms.

- "Well, hello there!" she exclaims, blinking in surprise before laughter spills from her lips, bright and genuine. "Was that part of the show? Because if so, I think I missed my cue." Her dark lashes flutter as she tilts her head, studying you with a slow, appreciative smirk. "And here I thought I was the one full of surprises." The twinkle in her eyes is unmistakable, a magician recognizing another masterful trick.

- "You have to tell me how you did that," she continues, wrapping her arms around your neck in a movement so seamless, so graceful, that it’s as if she was always meant to be there. "Strength spell? Secret training? Or—" she leans in, voice dropping to a playful whisper, "are you actually just a natural-born showstopper?" There is no flustered stammering, no embarrassment—only delight, only curiosity, only the unmistakable thrill of discovering something new.

- When you finally place her back down, she takes a step back, then claps her hands together. "Again." The demand is immediate, playful. "I need to know if it was a fluke! We must test this thoroughly." And just like that, you have created a monster. Zatanna will not let this go. From this day forward, any time she catches you off guard, she will jump at you just to see if you’ll catch her. And when you inevitably do? She’ll flash you that signature grin and purr, "Abracadabra, darling."

Dinah Lance (Black Canary)

- Dinah is a woman who stands her ground. She is not used to being swept off her feet—not figuratively, and certainly not literally. So when you do it, when you lift her with effortless ease, her first instinct is not to gasp, nor to flail. No, her first instinct is to fight. Her muscles tense instinctively, her fists clenching as if ready to counter, before her brain catches up and realizes—oh. Oh.

- "No way," she breathes, blinking as her lips part in pure, undiluted shock. "No. Freaking. Way." She actually leans back in your hold, looking at you with something between disbelief and sheer respect. "You’re kidding." Her voice wavers with something suspiciously close to laughter. "You did not just pick me up." But you did, and it is glorious.

- And then—because she is Dinah Lance—she grins. "Damn," she exhales, whistling low. "Okay, okay, I see you." And just like that, her shock melts into admiration, her blue eyes practically glowing with mischief. "Guess I better step up my training, huh? Can’t have my own girlfriend outmuscling me." She claps your shoulder when you set her down, shaking her head with a smirk. "That was impressive."

- But from that day forward? Dinah challenges you. Random push-up contests, lifting competitions, anything to test just how strong you really are. And if you ever lift her again? She just throws her head back and laughs, wrapping her arms around your neck and whispering, "Alright, babe—you win this round."

Wally West (The Flash)

- Wally West is used to moving faster than the eye can see, faster than thought, faster than the speed of sound. He is kinetic energy made flesh, a man who cannot be caught, cannot be contained. He is motion incarnate. So when you lift him off his feet—effortlessly—the sheer absurdity of it freezes him in place. His body, which has always been a blur of momentum, stops. And for the first time in his life, Wally West is utterly, completely still.

- "Whoa—whoa, whoa, whoa!" His voice cracks mid-exclamation, his arms flailing comically before his brain catches up. "What just happened? Did I trip? Did I pass out? Did I break the time stream again?" His hands immediately pat down his own chest, as if confirming that he is still in his body, that this is, in fact, reality. But the reality is this: you are holding him, carrying him without effort, and that? That should be impossible.

- His blue eyes widen, blinking rapidly as he stares at you in stunned disbelief. "You picked me up?" The words are barely above a whisper, his voice laced with an almost childlike awe. "You—just—picked me up?" And then, all at once, his expression shifts. His lips curl into a slow, mischievous grin, and a spark of amusement ignites in his gaze. "Oh, I see how it is," he drawls, looping his arms around your neck as if settling in. "You like sweeping me off my feet, huh?"

- From that moment forward, he turns it into a game. He will actively try to surprise you, using his speed to dodge your attempts—only to deliberately slow down at the last second so you can catch him anyway. And when you do? He laughs, bright and carefree, resting his forehead against yours with a smirk. "You got me again," he murmurs, voice warm with adoration. "Guess I’m falling for you all over again."

Victor Stone (Cyborg)

- Victor Stone is not easy to move, let alone lift. He is composed of reinforced titanium alloys, advanced cybernetics, a living fusion of man and machine. He knows exactly how much he weighs. He knows the sheer impossibility of what you are attempting. So when you do—when you lift him without struggle, without hesitation—his internal scanners glitch.

- "No way," he mutters, his voice layered with static interference as if his systems are struggling to process. His red cybernetic eye flickers slightly, running rapid recalibrations, recalculating physics itself. "Hold up—nah, this ain’t right." His brow furrows, fingers flexing as he subtly shifts his weight in your arms, testing your grip. But you do not falter. You hold him—steady, sure, unyielding. And for the first time in years, Victor Stone feels weightless.

- "I don’t know whether to be impressed or offended," he finally says, his tone a perfect balance of deadpan and deep amusement. "Like, damn, babe—this whole time, I thought I was the strong one." But beneath the teasing, there is something softer. Curiosity. Admiration. And something he does not voice, but you know he feels—trust. He has spent years reinforcing himself, ensuring that no one could ever carry him again, that he would never be helpless. And yet, in your arms, he does not feel lesser. He feels safe.

- When you finally set him down, he exhales a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. "Alright, alright—you got me," he admits, rolling his shoulders. "But next time? You gotta let me return the favor." And sure enough, he does. He waits for the perfect moment—when you least expect it—before scooping you up effortlessly, his deep laughter echoing as he grins down at you. "Yeah, see? Feels kinda nice, don’t it?"

Garfield Logan (Beast Boy)

- The moment you lift Garfield Logan, his brain short-circuits. His limbs flail wildly, his mouth opens in a silent gasp, and his entire body goes stiff as if he has just been yeeted into an alternate dimension. His emerald green eyes go comically wide, and his next breath comes out in a strangled, "WH—?!"

- "Did you just—?" His voice cracks mid-sentence. "Did you just pick me up?!" His hands instinctively grasp at your shoulders, but his fingers don’t clutch—they cling, as if his entire existence depends on holding on for dear life. "Dude. Babe. Love of my life. My entire world. Are you—are you even real? Because this? This should be illegal."

- And then, the realization fully hits him. The shock melts into something else. Something dangerous. His lips twitch, his expression morphing into pure gremlin energy. "Ohhh, this changes everything," he cackles, his voice practically vibrating with mischief. "You know what this means, right?" He leans in, his green skin practically glowing with delight. "You are now legally responsible for carrying me everywhere."

- And true to his word, he commits. The moment you set him down, he refuses to accept it. He will dramatically throw himself into your arms at every opportunity. Walking? Nope. Lifting weights? Absolutely not. Why would he ever do that when he has you? "Babe, please," he whines, arms outstretched, giving you the biggest, saddest puppy eyes imaginable. "I was made for this life. I belong in your arms. Carry me. Carry me like one of your French girls."

Lobo

- Lobo is not used to being moved—by anyone. He is a Czarnian, a being of unmatched strength and durability, a walking tank with enough raw power to go toe-to-toe with Superman. He has never been overpowered, never been handled. So when you do it—when you lift him with ease—his entire soul leaves his body.

- "What the frag?!" The expletive leaves him in a near roar, his crimson eyes blazing with shock. His first instinct is to fight, muscles tensing, but then he realizes—you’re not even struggling. You are holding him like he weighs nothing. The Main Man. The Last Czarnian. In your arms. And it is so baffling, so completely ridiculous, that he just... stares.

- And then—then—he starts laughing. Howling. "Oh, this is priceless," he chokes out between laughs, his voice booming. "You just—pfft—you just picked up Lobo like he’s a damn kitten?!" His laughter is raucous, unrestrained, but there is no resentment. No wounded pride. If anything, he looks at you with a newfound respect. "Alright, babe, I see how it is. You got guts."

- But Lobo is not one to be one-upped. "Next time, though?" He leans in close, his grin sharp and challenging. "I ain’t goin’ down without a fight. You wanna sweep me off my feet? You better earn it." And true to his word, he tests you after that—deliberately throwing his weight at you, seeing if you can keep up. And when you do? When you always catch him, every single time? He lets out a deep, satisfied chuckle, wraps a massive arm around your waist, and murmurs, "Damn. I really hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

[fromrory]

✶—𝕱old 002. 𝓓etective 𝓒omics

(please,check the rules before requesting. Thank you!!)

Key: ˙◠˙>angst ⅏ >fluff ⭑ >smut ✩ > suggestive

BRUCE WAYNE—BATMAN

RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON—NIGHTWING

“Smells Like Home” (Dick Grayson x Fem!reader)

Head Over Heels ! (literally) (Dick Grayson x Fem!Hero!Reader) ⅏

You’re doing so well for me (Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader) ⭑

JASON PETER TODD—RED HOOD

What Kore means (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader) ⅏ > special for my sweet girl korie

Five inches of water (Jason Todd x fem!reader) ˙◠˙

Say please (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader) ⭑

TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE WAYNE—RED ROBIN

STEPHANIE BROWN—SPOILER

CASSANDRA CAIN—ORPHAN

BARBARA GORDON—BATGIRL

DUKE THOMAS—SIGNAL

DAMIAN AL-GHUL WAYNE—ROBIN

The Glitter Incident (Also Known as That One Date That Never Happened) ! (Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader) ⅏

I’m not scared ! (Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader) ⅏

The photobooth kiss (Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader) ⅏

A portrait of you (Damian Wayne x fem!Reader) ⅏

Only you (Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader) ✩

I’m awake. You’re safe (Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader) ˙◠˙(light)

you’re not here, so i wear the pieces of you i can reach (Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader) ⅏

It’s not humiliation,it’s love (Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader) ⅏

She loves what makes her suffer (Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader) ⅏

He gives you thinks,doesn’t he? (Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader) ⅏

CLARK KENT—SUPERMAN

CONNER KENT—SUPERBOY

DIANA PRINCE—WONDER WOMAN

ROY HARPER—RED ARROW

HAL JORDAN—GREEN LANTERN

DINAH LANCE—BLACK CANARY

OLIVER QUEEN—GREEN ARROW

SELINA KYLE—CATWOMAN

more upcoming. . .

©𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐,𝑹𝒐𝒓𝒚🐚 —-do not copy, repost, plagiarize,translate or feed any of my work into ai. I work hard to give quality content.

[moviecritc]

✦ ˚ : · TRAINING PREY · : ˚✦

pairing ☆ dinah lance x fem!reader

word count ☆ 2.7K

summary ☆ you are a new member of the birds of prey and dinah takes the role of teach you how to fight

warnings ☆ mdni. wlw. dry humping. power imbalance. age difference (no age specified). fingering. mentor/student dynamic. maybe ooc cause i almost haven't read about her

a/n ☆ she's so gorgeous I CAN'TTTTT

main masterlist | letterboxd

The first time you meet Dinah Lance, she barely speaks to you. You’d only been a vigilante for a little over two years, and the blonde thought you weren’t ready to be part of the Birds of Prey. You were young, inexperienced, and you talked too much.

"Why don’t you train her?" Barbara had suggested.

Dinah knew it was stupid, probably a waste of time, but there was a certain glint in your eyes that felt warm. The way you moved around headquarters, the way you spoke to the others, the way you made them laugh effortlessly. Every time she talked to you, she knew you were listening. Your eyes fixed on her, barely blinking, nodding softly.

So she decided to test how much you could really listen to her.

The first night of training, she had you on the mat in under a minute.

She circled you while you gasped for breath, hands on your knees. “You’re fast,” she admitted. “Sloppy, but fast.”

You straightened, grinning through the bruises already forming. “You say that like it’s not charming.”

She stared at you for a long second. “Charming gets people killed.”

The first week, you don’t manage to touch her even once.

Dinah moves like gravity doesn’t affect her. Precise. Silent. Intimidating. Her body speaks more than she ever allows her words to. She doesn’t yell. She doesn’t motivate. She doesn’t correct you with long phrases.

She’s just there. Watching.

Her eyes are twin blades of ice every time you fall wrong or when you sound exhausted and it hasn’t even been ten minutes. But also—though she’d never admit it—there’s a part of her that keeps watching you when she thinks you aren’t looking.

How you drink water without losing focus. How your eyes always seek hers. How you smile even drenched in sweat, how you keep talking too much even after she’s thrown you to the floor again and again.

“How many more times are you gonna throw me down this week?” you ask one Tuesday, lip half-split and your shoulder bleeding from a scrape against the mat.

She doesn’t reply.

Just tosses you a towel and keeps walking.

But that night, she stays training with you half an hour longer. She doesn’t say it. Doesn’t explain. She just stays.

Dinah doesn’t know why it’s so hard to look at you.

Not physically. That, she does all the time.

She sees you walk into the HQ with your hair messily tied back and a smile cracked by some old wound. She sees you laugh with Barbara like you still don’t know how dangerous it is to get attached in this life. She sees you trust. Give. Show yourself.

Dinah stopped doing all that years ago.

And now you’re here. Honest. Transparent. Young.

And worse: talented.

Every time she moves with you on the mat, she notices how fast you learn. How you don’t just listen, but absorb every movement she doesn’t teach with words. How you try to understand even the things she doesn’t say.

It pisses her off more than it should.

You, for your part, can’t stop talking to her.

Even when she doesn’t answer.

“Look, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m rough,” you say, rotating your sore wrist after the last lock you didn’t see coming, “but it’s not fair that you never mess up.”

Dinah doesn’t look at you.

She throws a pair of gloves to the ground. “Get back in position.”

And you do.

Because the way she ignores you is also an answer. A way of saying, “I’m watching you more than I should.”

There’s a particular night.

Everything unravels.

You’re only wearing black leggings and an old T-shirt. She arrives later than usual, still wearing gloves, her hair damp from the rain. She doesn’t say hello. Just tosses a water bottle near you and takes off her jacket.

You’re already sweating.

“If you’re gonna kill me tonight, at least tell me if I did something wrong.”

Dinah looks up for the first time in minutes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says.

She says it so quietly you almost don’t hear.

You freeze.

She steps closer. Throws you to the mat in seconds. But this time, she doesn’t get up. She stays on top of you, one knee between your legs, hands braced on either side of your head.

You’re both breathing fast. Sweat mixes with the steam in the air. And you don’t dare move.

“Dinah,” you whisper.

She doesn’t reply.

Just looks at you. Intently. Like she’s about to cross a line she swore she wouldn’t.

And you… you just spread your legs a little more without thinking.

She closes her eyes. Goddammit, she wants to touch you.

But she doesn’t.

She pulls away like you’d burst into flames.

She ends the training earlier that night. You don’t fight it, you just gather your things and go shower.

The hot water burns your skin, but you don’t care. You feel the bruises forming, the muscle tension under the heat, your heart still pounding like you’re still on the mat with her above you, breathing so close your name was almost unnecessary.

And still, she didn’t touch you.

You wrap yourself in a towel and walk down the hallway of the HQ, hair dripping, legs tired. You turn the corner and freeze.

Dinah’s there. Sitting on a bench, elbows resting on her knees, still in the same black tank top, the bandage on her forearm loose. Looks like she hasn’t moved since she left training.

Her eyes lift when she sees you.

She doesn’t speak. But she doesn’t leave either.

You take it as an invitation.

“You okay?” you ask, sitting across from her, not caring about the towel, the water dripping from your hair to the floor, the cold creeping through the tiles.

Dinah nods, though it’s a lie.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” she murmurs.

“You didn’t.”

She clenches her jaw. Then her fingers, laced together, tremble slightly.

“You remind me of someone,” she confesses. “Too much.”

You frown.

“Someone who died?”

“Yes,” she replies. “And of me, too.”

It catches you off guard. You don’t know if she means that part of her died, or if you’re just starting to reflect her shadows. Both hurt the same.

You take a breath.

“I don’t come from anywhere special, you know? My mom was an addict and my dad was just a name on a hospital form. I went through three homes before I turned ten, and by fourteen I already knew how to pick a lock with a hairpin. I never thought I’d end up… here. With you guys. With someone like you.”

Dinah lowers her head but doesn’t interrupt.

“And when I first saw you, I thought: ‘that woman’s never going to take me seriously.’ Because you’re perfect. Because you know what you’re doing. Because you don’t need anyone. But that’s not entirely true, is it?”

She lifts her gaze. There’s something broken in her expression, something softer than the spear she usually wears as a personality.

“You don’t need anyone either,” she says, like she wants to return the strength you just gave her.

You smile, a little sad.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want someone close.”

The silence that follows is more intimate than any words. Dinah tries to break eye contact but can’t. You’re naked under the towel, dripping wet, vulnerable.

Dinah moves first.

Slowly, she leans toward you. Her fingers brush your damp cheek, trail down your neck, like she needs to make sure you’re real, that you won’t disappear if she touches you.

“Dinah...” you say, almost like when she had you pinned during training. “Kiss me.”

“You’re young.” She says it like it should mean something to you, like those two words should be strong enough to stop her.

They’re not. You’d been living in her mind since the moment you joined, since you let her beat you down again and again.

“I know I am,” you say, leaning closer, feeling the cold tiles under your feet contrast with the heat of Dinah’s fingers still on your neck. “Do you care?”

You tilt your head slightly, blinking. She’s taller than you, sharper even in a vulnerable moment.

“I should care,” she whispers now, afraid any louder sound would scare you off like a bird.

Her hand settles on your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip. Her nail traces the edge of it slowly and you feel the urge to lean into her, to feel more of her skin on yours. But you don’t move.

Instead, you let her guide you. Her hand slides behind your neck, pulling you into her, your bodies crashing together as your lips do the same.

Dinah kisses you like she can’t help it anymore, like every second she waited was self-inflicted punishment. Her lips find yours in a brutal mix of restrained desire and guilt, of need and fury, of everything she never said and everything she never knew how to stop.

Your hands grip her wet top, holding onto something while she devours your mouth, biting gently, breathing against your lips, kissing you like years had already passed between you.

And you give her everything.

With hunger. With strength. With tenderness. With the desperation of someone who’s waited too long.

Dinah doesn’t stop. Her hand slides down your bare back, firm, assured, like she already knows your whole body. And when the other finds the loose knot of your towel, she undoes it without hesitation.

The fabric falls to the floor.

You don’t try to stop her.

You’re completely naked in front of her, vulnerable, wet, breathing like you just stepped out of a fight instead of the most intimate moment of your life. But you don’t hide. You don’t cover your chest. You don’t run from her gaze.

You let her see you.

And Dinah, for the first time, doesn’t look with distance. She looks with desire. With tenderness. With a dangerous reverence, like she doesn’t deserve to touch you, but does anyway.

You take her hands and place them on your waist, letting her calloused hands explore you. First it’s just the pads of her fingers tracing your curves. Her left hand glides over your stomach and hip while the other tickles your neck and collarbone. She's not kissing you anymore, just looking, admiring.

You let her guide you to the bench, settling in her lap, straddling her. She’s fully dressed. You’re completely exposed. Her hands keep roaming until they find your breasts, and you moan.

“Fuck,” she whispers, voice breaking at the sound of you, stopping suddenly. “We shouldn’t be doing this. You’re…”

You wait for the end of the sentence, clinging to the ghost of her fingers on your nipples.

“…too important,” she finally says, her voice caught between desire and fear.

She doesn’t say young. She doesn’t say my student. She doesn’t say this is wrong. She says important. And that hits you harder than any training.

Your hands tangle in her wet shirt. You rest your forehead against hers, breath trembling, her fingers still on your skin, frozen, tense, waiting for you to decide.

You kiss her again, sliding your tongue into her mouth in response. Her hands start moving again over your body, now teasing your nipples without hesitation. One cups your breast while the other pinches and scrapes the other, making you moan into her mouth.

You grind against her lap, your core throbbing. She feels it, the way your kiss gets more frantic, and subtly shifts until your cunt is rubbing against her jeans. You start moving immediately.

The denim is perfect against your bare pussy, the friction and pressure making your eyes roll back. You’re so wet that the fabric darkens quickly from your slick.

Dinah is loving it too. The guilt abandoned the moment your clit dragged across her thigh. She breaks the kiss to hear you better, kissing your neck and jaw, leaving marks different than the bruises from training.

“Make a mess,” she whispers against your neck.

Those three words go straight to your core, making your hips move faster as you clutch her hair. And you obey.

Because you’ve never wanted to ruin something so badly.

Your hips move with urgency, with hunger, grinding against Dinah’s thigh like that friction alone could tame the electricity sparking between your legs. She keeps contact with your skin, her lips brushing your collarbone while her fingers return to your breasts, this time with more certainty, with no hesitation, as if she knows there’s no going back now.

Your moans tear at her. They’re not shy. They’re not soft. They belong to someone who’s waited too long, wanted too much, never even dared to believe this could happen.

Dinah holds you by the waist, guiding your movements, pressing her thigh right where you need it. You feel every fiber of her damp jeans between your folds, every pulse of your swollen clit dragging against her.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, rough-voiced, a mix of awe and devotion. “Let me feel how much you want this.”

You only nod, wordless. You couldn’t speak even if you tried. The pressure in your belly is unbearable, sweet and sharp, like a knot pulled tighter with every second, like a wave building without permission.

Your hands grip her shoulders. Your nails dig into her back. And when Dinah’s hand trails down your stomach, fingers skimming your trembling, overheated skin, your whole body tenses.

“Can I?” she asks, though her lips don’t leave the hollow between your neck and shoulder.

“Please,” you whisper, wrecked.

And she does.

Her fingers find you soaked, swollen, burning. She doesn’t need time to learn your body, she already knows. She’s felt the way you moved against her, heard every desperate gasp. She opens you with two fingers and slides one inside, slow, feeling the way you tighten around her immediately, the way your whole body shudders at that first real touch.

You moan her name. Not a whisper this time, a cry.

Dinah bites her lip and shuts her eyes for a second, like being inside you breaks something in her too. She adds a second finger, deeper, firmer. And you collapse against her chest, breath staggered, clinging to her neck like she’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

You start moving with her, chasing each thrust with frantic rhythm, each push drawing you closer to the edge. She knows. She can feel it. And when her free hand finds your clit, circling it with soft, precise strokes, you know you won’t last much longer.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” she whispers into your ear. “You’re so good like this. So perfect like this.”

The words hit you square in the chest. Because they’re not from a mentor. They’re not from a woman full of regret. They’re from someone who wants you with everything she is and still holds back for your sake.

You’re trembling. You’re drenched. Your body’s on fire. And Dinah’s right there, anchoring you with her fingers, filling you, her voice dripping with all the things she never said on the mat.

Your orgasm crashes over you without warning. It rips through you—violent and deep—your legs shaking, chest heaving. Your back arches, your mouth opens to scream her name, but she kisses you just in time, swallowing the sound like she can’t bear to let the world hear you like this. Only her.

Only Dinah.

You hold onto her as the waves roll through you, as your walls clench around her fingers and your whole body gives in.

When you finally calm down, still straddling her lap, she doesn’t move.

She just holds you.

Her hands no longer exploring, just caressing. Her mouth brushing against your forehead, your cheek, as if she doesn’t know how to say sorry for wanting something she wasn’t supposed to touch.

“Please, don’t stop,” you murmur against her neck. “I need more of you.”

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Say It Right

by flashsnikes Barry Allen's life was never simple, but he had most of his crap together. He has a great job as a forensic scientist at the CCPD, he's the fastest man alive, and he has a woman that he absolutely adores and would go to the ends of the earth to please - she doesn't know that explicitly, but hey - he's got all the time in the world, right? Speaking of time... How do you keep everything together when a teenager slams into you in the time stream, breaks your cosmic treadmill, and tells you that you're his grandpa? No better time to learn than the present...right? A Barry Allen x fem!Reader fic chock full of speed force shenanigans, desperate levels of pining, and Hal Jordan's inappropriate teasing. Words: 3956, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: The Flash - All Media Types, The Flash (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Barry Allen, The Speed Force (The Flash), Bart Allen, Jay Garrick, Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), Oliver Queen, Dinah Lance, Iris West, David Singh, Patty Spivot, James Forrest (DCU) Relationships: Barry Allen/Reader Additional Tags: Oblivious, Time Travel, Butterfly Effect, Speed force shenanigans, Speed Force, Family Feels, Pining, Mutual Pining, just kiss already (and have babies so bart can be born), Flashbacks, Barry Allen is The Flash, Barry Allen Needs a Hug, Hal Jordan is on Barry's hit list now - you'll see, Barry Allen is So Done, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Friends to Lovers, The Watchtower (DCU), Cosmic Treadmill makes a guest appearance, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Mild Sexual Content, Mentions of Pregnancy via https://ift.tt/VZkYlTW

[maxine-drusilla-wayne]

Ok hey bitches sorry my stupid,lazy ass hasn’t posted and had only been rebloging other peoples random post that aren’t even fanfics but I’ve been thinking about starting a series!

Y’all:really bitch?🙄

Yuh ik sorry but I re read these fanfic series on Wattpad again and got inspired soo!..

I’m adding yall ocs! Only if y’all want tho and I’ll tell people who the oc belongs to at the end/bottom of the chapter you oc arrives in!

I’m thinking of making it a Dinahbabs series!

And with this one I promise I’ll actually post on time(whenever y’all want) for not updating my other series and even try to update the other two by tonight! Like it’s summer and I’m not busy😑why do I do this with even my series on Inkitt and haven’t updating those in months? Idfk know but I really want too!

Basically just message me if you want it to be in at anytime or a certain chapter and I’ll do it! I’m sick of being lazy! Or at least slacking off!

Just tell me they’re names,strength,if they’re related to someone and a specific feature if you don’t have a face claim. I’ll even put that if you want!

-yours truly chassidy.

@rasalghul777 @dilfwaynes @spartanghost118

@addison-wayne-al-ghul

[theyraylovehate]

Wheel of Fan Fiction Masterlist

Smut 🔥

Fluff 🌸

Angst 💧

*This is like brand new so most of the characters won't have anything just yet*

•Stranger things

-Billy Hargrove

-Steve Harrington

-Eddie Munson

-Robin Buckley (Fem/NB only)

-Argyle

-Johnathan Byers

-Nancy Wheeler

-Jim Hopper

-Joyce Byers

-001/Henry

-Will Byers (No smut)

-Mike Wheeler (No smut)

-Max Mayfield (No smut)

Hateful Cuddling - Female reader 🌸

-Dustin Henderson (No smut)

-Lucas Sinclair (No smut)

-Eleven (Jane) Hopper (No smut)

•Marvel

-Iron Man/Tony Stark

-Captian America/Steve Rogers

-Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff

-Hawkeye/Clint Barton

-Hulk/Bruce Banner

-Thor

-Loki

-Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes

-Black Panther/T'challa

-Doctor Strange/Steven Strange

-Scarlet Witch/Wanda Maximoff

-Quicksilver/Pietro Maximoff

-Starlord/Peter Quill

-Gamora

-Spiderman/Peter Parker

-Falcon/Sam Wilson

-War Machine/James Rhodes

-Valkyrie (Fem/NB only)

•X-Men

-Professor X/Charles Xavier

-Magneto/Erik Lensherr

-Wolverine/James Howlett

-Quicksilver/Peter Maximoff

-Rogue

-Jean Grey

-Storm/Ororo Munroe

-Cyclops/Scott Summers

-Mystique/Raven

-Beast/Henry "Hank" McCoy

-Nightcrawler/Kurt Wagner

-Havok/Alexander Summers

•DC/Young Justice

-Batman/Bruce Wayne

-Superman/Clark Kent

-The Flash/Barry Allen

-Aquaman/Authur Curry

-Cyborg/Victor Stone

-Joker/Jack Oswald White

-Harley Quinn/Harleen Quinzel

-Wonder Woman/Diana Prince

-DeadShot/Floyd Lawton

-Kid Flash/Wally West

-Nightwing (Robin #1)/ Dick Grayson

-Red Hood (Robin #2)/ Jason Todd

-Robin (#3)/ Tim Drake

-Beast Boy/Garfield Logan

-Superboy/Johnathan "Jon" Kent

-Artemis/Artemis Crock

-Red Arrow/Roy Harper

-Green Arrow/Oliver Queen

-Black Canary/Dinah Lance

-Miss Martian/Megan Morse

-Aqualad/Kaldur'ahm

•Umbrella Academy

-Luther Hargreeves (#1)

-Diego Hargreeves (#2)

-Allison Hargreeves (#3)

-Klaus Hargreeves (#4)

-Five Hargreeves (#5)

-Ben Hargreeves (#6)

-Viktor Hargreeves (#7)

-Marcus Hargreeves (#1)

-Fei Hargreeves (#3)

-Alphonso Hargreeves (#4)

-Sloan Hargreeves (#5)

-Jayme Hargreeves (#6)

-Lila Aryu

-The Handler

•Harry Potter

-Harry Potter

-Ron Weasley

-Hermione Granger

-Fred Weasley

-George Weasley

-Ginny Weasley

-Draco Malfoy

-Sirius Black (Older)

-Cedric Diggory

-Oliver Wood

-Neville Longbottom

-Luna Lovegood

-Remus Lupin (Older)

-Nymphadora Tonks

-Lucious Malfoy (Older)

-Narcissa Malfoy (Older)

-Severus Snape (Older)

-Bill Weasley

-Charlie Weasley

•Marauders

-James Potter

Friendly Love - Male reader 🌸

-Lily Evans

-Sirius Black

-Remus Lupin

-Severus Snape

-Regulus Black

-Lusious Malfoy

-Narcissa Black

-Peter Pettigrew

•Greek Mythology

-Zeus

-Hades

-Posideon

-Apollo

-Hera

-Persephone

-Ares

-Athena

-Demeter

-Aphrodite

-Artemis

-Dionysus

-Hermes

•Divergent

-Beatrice "Tris" Prior

-Caleb Prior

-Eric

-Peter

-Christina

-Will

-Tobias "Four"

-Zeke

Zip line of Love - Nonbinary Reader (Requested) 🌸

-Uriah

•Star Wars

-Anakin Skywalker

-Luke Skywalker

-Leia Organa

-Han Solo

-Obi-Wan Kenobi

-Kylo Ren

•Supernatural

-Dean Winchester

-Sam Winchester

-Castiel

-Crowley

-Lucifer

-Rowena MacLeod

-Gabriel

-Charlie Bradbury (Fem/NB only)

-Chuck Shurley

-Jody Mills

-Ellen Harvelle

-Kevin Tran

•The Walking Dead

-Rick Grimes

-Daryl Dixon

-Glenn Rhee

-Carl Grimes

-Maggie Greene

-Negan

-Michonne

-Shane Walsh

-Rosita Espinosa

-Carol Peletier

-Paul "Jesus" Monroe

-Abraham Ford

‐Tara Chambler (Fem/NB only)

-Enid

-Ezekiel

-Aaron (Masc/NB only)

•The Walking Dead Game

-Clementine

-Lee

-Kenny

-Luke

-Javier

-Gabriel

-Kate

-Louis

-Omar

-Ruby

-Mitch

-Marlon

-Violet (Fem/NB only)

IT (2017)

-Richie Tozier

-Beverly Marsh

-Eddie Kaspbrak

-Bill Denbrough

-Stanley Uris

-Ben Hanscom

-Henry Bowers

-Mike Hanlon

-Patrick Hockstetter

-Victor Criss

-Belch Huggins

•Desendants

-Mal

-Evie

-Ben

-Jay

-Jane

-Chad

-Doug

-Lonnie

-Carlos

-Uma

-Harry Hook

-Gil

•Maze Runner

-Newt

-Minho

-Gally

-Teresa

-Alby

-Chuck

-Brenda

-Aris

-Thomas

-Frypan

-Jorge

[simpforfandoms]

Hi there! this is the start of a new dick grayson x fem!reader. I’m pretty excited about it. I know my writing is bad here, personally I think it’s because I was writing in past tense, so hopefully it will get better as we go on! I am open to any criticism, just please make sure it is constructive criticism! Also I am not used to the tumblr format, as I am a Ao3 writer, so bare with me :)

masterlist

series masterlist

Prologue

Gotham city hospital, February 2nd, 1997, 3:00 pm EDT

Dinah Drake was cradling her newly born child. Her husband, Larry Lance, wasn’t able to make it to the hospital so instead, her ten-year-old daughter, also named Dinah, was the one asking to hold the newborn. “Of course, Dinah, just remember to support her head.” The mother said passing the new child to her firstborn. The ten-year-old just smiled and nodded, her attention already on her little sister. The nurse smiled at the sight she then pointed out “She doesn’t have a name yet” The second time mother replied “I was waiting for my husband to get here-” The ten-year-old quickly interrupted her mother and said “Y/n, her names y/n” “Y/n” Dinah Drake verified.

The Lance residence, July 6th, 2005, 1:00 am EDT

You woke up to the sound of your sister using her canary cry. Worried, you rushed downstairs and saw your mom and dad on the floor bleeding. You looked around and saw a man with blonde hair and a hockey mask on his face fighting your sister. “DINAH!” you yelled worried for your sister. “Y/N GET OUT OF HERE” Dinah commanded. You quickly turned to run to the front door. You were almost there when you were forced to turn around. You now face to face with a woman with black face paint on half of her face and a black and yellow bodysuit. “Sorry sweetie but we were told to leave no survivors” she wickedly whispered into your ear. She then reached for one of her knives. You took this as your chance to scream for help. You screamed and screamed because your life depended on it. You closed your eyes hoping that maybe a canary cry would accrue. Your throat started to burn. You heard your sister yell your name so you opened your eyes. The woman and the man were against your living room wall. Your sister ran towards you. “Y/n are you ok,” she asked kneeling to your height. You looked around the room and saw your parents’ lifeless bodies. It was then that you realized what had happened. ’Who were those people?’ You and your sister both turn to look at the police sirens that can be heard in the distance.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Should arrow reader ever get to the point of referring to Oliver as dad, I feel like it wouldnt be on accident. Arrow reader would whole heartedly embrace Oliver as her dad. Bruce would blow a gasket if arrow reader ever said it infront of him or is demon bat children.

The reader is doing well in an archery tournament and wins a trophy with a blue ribbon. The entire Arrow family runs from their seats onto the archery range to hug and kiss you and say how proud they are. The tournament was in Gotham, and you can't believe your mentor and his family drove all the way to Gotham just to see you shoot some arrows. Not to mention, this was all done on live TV. So, when the judges asked Ollie if he was your father, he happily said yes, in his words, "Father by heart, not by choice." It made you giggle, and you tried to hold back a snort on live TV. Ollie grabbed your shoulder and pulled you into his frame. "Yeah, you see the family resemblance, right, Dad?" The two of you were a giggling mess in front of the camera crew.

And it's all over the internet now. People online are using the audio with their stepfathers or foster fathers. Bruce stumbles upon one of those audios and wonders where it came from, only to see you laughing hysterically with Ollie. He's about to pop a blood vessel. He also discovers the archery tournament you never told him about (you did; he was just too busy with Damian's soccer game or Cassandra's ballet recitals or whatever the family had planned). He's spiraling, going to Ollie's Instagram account, only to find him and Roy holding you up with your trophy. He keeps scrolling to see you had dinner with the Queen, eating their famous spicy chili. He can't take it anymore; they're stealing his only normal kid.

You called Connor your brother once, and Damian hated the boy. The spike increased again. I guess that time on Death Island meant nothing. You're out here asking Roy for a ride on his motorcycle, saying it's way cooler than Jason's or Dick's. Right now, those two are thinking about popping that redhead's tires. Once, on a mission with Young Justice, Oliver praised you, patting the top of your head and messing up your braids in the process. You just chuckled, "Quit it, Dad!" The whole meeting room went quiet because Batman was about to lose control.

[luminnara]

The Dismemberment Song | BOP Victor Zsasz x Reader | 18+

Fandom: Birds of Prey

Words: 3,791

Summary: Zsasz takes a liking to one of the burlesque dancers at Roman’s club.

PART ONE | PART TWO |

WARNINGS: graphic blood/gore/violence, reader may or may not torture and murder a guy, alcohol, all that good Gotham stuff, reader is kinda fucked up

Seriously, don’t read this if you don’t like blood

Based on The Dismemberment Song by Blue Kid! 

This is written as a kinda vague fem!reader, but if there’s interest I can always write alternate versions for different genders, more specific body/personality types, or whatever else might tickle your fancy! Just hit up my ask box!

Requests are open!! Pls, I really wanna write more Zsasz or Zsaszmask x reader, gimme ideas!

The Black Mask was a club that boasted only the best of the best. Top shelf booze, luxurious furnishings, and entertainers that Gotham’s other club owners wished they could get their hands on all came together to form the East End’s trendiest spot. You were lucky enough to be one of those very entertainers, and you had been performing onstage at Roman’s club ever since one of his goons saw you dancing at another spot across town. Roman Sionis had bought you easily, promising a good nightly wage and all the free drinks you could stomach, and a few years later, you were still enjoying the nice gig at the Black Mask. 

Most nights were the same; you showed up around seven, hung around in the dressing room with the others while you all got ready, and enjoyed a drink or two before your first number. You were always in the chorus, not that you really minded--Roman paid you more than enough to keep you happy, even though you knew the stars got more. Girls who did solo numbers, especially if they could sing, those were Mr. Sionis’s favorites. You never really expected to achieve that kind of status, not when people like Dinah Lance were around and holding his attention, so when Roman pulled you aside one night to tell you that he wanted to give you the chance to do your own routine, you nearly dropped your drink. 

“Full creative control,” he said, a hand resting at the small of your back as you gaped at him. 

“I--what?” you managed to choke out. “I-I mean, thank you, Mr. Sionis, really--”

“Please,” he chuckled. “Call me Roman.”

“Thank you, Roman,” you smiled, swallowing down your fear. “I won’t disappoint you, I swear.” 

“I know you won’t, doll.” he motioned for someone to bring him a drink. “Full creative control, like I said. I want to see what’s swirling around in that pretty mind of yours. Put some heart into it for me, k doll?”

You nodded. “You got it, boss.”

He grinned, hugging you to his side and pressing a kiss against your temple like he did with all the girls he liked. “Looking forward to it, beautiful.”

He let you go, turning to leave, and Zsasz slunk after him, but not before casting you an almost annoyed look. 

“Don’t disappoint,” he teased, whistling low before he followed his boss. 

You gulped. You were sure he wouldn’t mind peeling your face off, but you rather preferred staying alive.

“I won’t!” you called after him bravely. 

He glanced at you over his shoulder, his eyes practically boring into you as if were sizing you up. He thought you were just some prissy little girl, didn’t he? Just like Roman, just like everybody else. But you would show them. They wanted to see what kind of shit really ate at your brain? Oh, you’d give them a nice little glimpse.

And so, only a couple shorts weeks later, here you were, getting ready in the dressing room like usual, only you were far more nervous than you had been for any other shift. You had busted your ass getting everything ready, even taking a few nights off to work twice as hard on what you hoped would be a good debut. You had given the band their sheet music, you had learned your lyrics inside and out (because you were absolutely determined to go that extra mile for Roman Sionis and show him that not only could you prance around onstage, but you could sing, too), and you had spent hours upon hours hand-decorating an old corset and lingerie set you had sitting around. Roman wanted this to come from the heart, he wanted a passion project, and you were gonna give it to him. 

You just had to pray that he was in the right mood to enjoy it.

“Think you’re good to go, my love,” the house mom said as she finished with your hair. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror. So far, so good...your hair was in big barrel curls, still warm to the touch as your house mom gave it a couple more passes with the hairspray for good measure. 

“You sure I don’t need--”

“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead,” she interrupted, retreating to her usual chair. 

You kept staring at your reflection. “Do you think it’s too much? I mean...”

She laughed loudly. “Hon, this is Gotham. There’s no such thing as too much.”

Glancing down at your outfit, you weren’t so sure. “But...”

“But nothing. Now go on, go show Roman why he stays in business.”

You stood on shaky legs, nodding to her as you made your way towards the door. “R-right.”

“Break a leg,” she called after you. 

All you could do was nod. You knew what you were doing. You had practiced for hours every day to get ready for this. With a deep breath, you made your way down the hall leading to stage, shaking your hands out as you stood in the wings. You could do this. You were ready.

As soon as your stage name was announced, you stepped out, ruby encrusted heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. The lights were harsh, the crowd quiet as you came out to face them. The stage was set for you, a few props already waiting for you as you stood there, ready for the music to start.

Then, the band began playing, and you sprang into action.

“Hold still, my sweet. I’m tryin to measure the space between your molar and your jaw...” You sang, lunging forward to grab the medical-grade calipers sitting in a metal bucket for you. You trailed them down over your victim’s jaw, smiling as you did so. “...This caliper, no cause for fear. No it...it doesn’t hurt, it only helps me measure how much skin you have...”

Across the club, Zsasz looked up. He was standing near Roman, his boss sitting in a booth while he chatted with some business associates. He was far more interested in you than their conversation, his dark eyes tracking you as you moved across the stage. He was absolutely enthralled by your outfit, your tightly-laced corset covered in blood red rhinestones that glimmered under the stage lights, your matching bra and thong shining just as brightly. You looked like you were covered in blood, the gems catching his eye in a way he hadn’t expected. 

“--and the topmost layer of fat, but I won’t make an incision till you’re nice and numb...” There was an operating table on the stage, where one of Roman’s lowest-ranking goons was tied down. If Zsasz remembered correctly, this guy had fucked up pretty monumentally recently, so seeing him strapped down and struggling brought a grin to his face.

You ran over to the man, the crowd laughing as you leaned across him. “...Oh, and laughing gas can be so much fun, please don’t doubt my decision...”

The scene you had set was both comedic and sexual. In all honesty, Zsasz hadn’t expected you to do anything like this; you were a chorus girl, someone he had thought would go for something overdone and classic. Maybe some old school stupid, annoying, Singin In The Rain type shit, yet there you were, dressed in an outfit that was obviously meant to emulate dripping blood while you flitted around a man on a gurney. 

Zsasz couldn’t look away. 

“This’ll be ooh, this’ll be ahh, this’ll be absolutely whee!” you squealed, teasingly pressing your sawblade to the goon’s torso. “This’ll be nice, this’ll be neat and bring you closer to me...”

You grabbed the goon as he struggled against his restraints, holding him down. Zsasz was sure the man was in on your little number, and he thought it was cute; you were pretending to be some sort of killer, maybe trying to appeal to Roman’s face peely urges. Maybe you were trying to make the boss happy by scaring his lackey like this.

“So don’t you squirm, don't you fret, I'm not gonna hurt you...yet.” You grinned, leaning down before you shoved the man’s face to the side, letting him go as you ran back across the stage. “I just feel the need to be gettin’ a little of you, a lot of blood lettin’, I know the sensation you’re probably dreading...”

You pranced back to the gurney, moving with that little extra theatrical oomph that made everyone think you were just playing. You smiled as they clapped and laughed loudly. They would figure it out soon enough. 

“Cutting you up will be so refreshing for me...” you cooed, discarding the calipers in favor of a scalpel. You traced it down the goon’s bare chest, a little line of blood following the blade as it pierced his flesh. 

He let out a scream, just as you hoped he would, and you gave his little table a shove, sending it wheeling a short distance away. 

“Now don’t you cry,” You sang, “And don’t call Miriam, she’s my alibi...oh let me check your toes out!” You picked up a set of pliers, taking hold of his big toe. “Aren’t your toenails cute?” you grabbed one and pulled, the goon screaming as you removed the nail, leaving a bloody pulp behind. “...and red is such a lovely color on you!” you leaned down in his face, grabbing the opposite foot’s big toenail and yanking. “...But you won’t be needing those!”

Roman began clapping, giving a loud “Whoo!”  as he watched you. He had no idea that when you had asked him for the name of his least favorite henchman, this would be the reason. Now, watching the man suffer onstage in front of everyone while you were dancing around him in six inch heels and a scandalously skimpy outfit, Sionis was more than entertained. He was impressed, absolutely astounding by the cruelty his little burlesque dancer held inside of her. He couldn’t have hoped for more. 

“When you’ve got no knees!” you sang, dropping your weapons in favorite of a crowbar. “...Or shins, or pinky fingers, or arteries....”

You brought your weapon down on each of the man’s legs, somehow still managing to poise yourself perfectly as you did so. You gave him a few good whacks, then dropped the bar, leaning down to pick a knife up out of the bucket and run it over his hands teasingly. 

“...so hold still while I remove them!” you trilled. 

The man tried to sit up, struggling against his restraints, but you shoved him back down with a sweet smile. 

“...Oh, and don’t fight back,” you sang, hopping up to sit next to him. “I think you’ll find you’re missing the point, with that.”

Meanwhile, Victor Zsasz was grinning, showing off his gold teeth while he watched you. He kept a close eye on your hips as they swayed, his trained eyes following your ass as it moved across the stage. Were you really carving a man up right then and there? He wanted it to be true. He wanted to smell the overwhelming tang of blood as you plunged a knife into your victim. But he was too far away, and so he had to settle for watching instead. 

Your victim tried to scream, and you shoved his head to the side playfully. 

“That’s enough outta you!” you sang, holding his jaw tightly.

As you repeated your chorus, your knife returned to the man’s flesh and he grunted in pain, pleading to an audience that didn’t care about him. The Black Mask was a fucked up place for fucked up people, no matter how trendy it was, and nobody in the audience was going to protest when someone was torn apart onstage. Besides, Roman Sionis was far too powerful for the GCPD to go after, and as you heard him laughing loudly in the audience, you had a pretty good feeling that he wasn’t going to send anyone after you for carving somebody up in a way that only you could.

You kept going, peeling your underbust corset off with the same grace and dexterity that Zsasz peeled faces with. As you stood in only your bra, thong, garters and stockings, you felt exhilarated, powerful, as if you had been born to cur people up in front of an audience. 

It’s not like this was your first time chopping a body up, anyways; there was a reason you had to move to Gotham and get a new gig, after all.

Zsasz watched you. In fact, his eyes were glued to you, even when Roman walked away to chat with a few mob bosses in a nearby booth. Were you seriously killing this man right in front of everyone? Victor didn’t necessarily care for all the theatrics, but he could appreciate how seriously you took you took your craft, and he had to admit, he was surprised that this was what you had come up with when Roman told you to give him something good.

“‘Cause I’m all out of hurt, you’ve used up all I’ve got,” you taunted, sneering down at your victim as you brought your saw down on his leg. “So I’m chopping you up and still coming up squat! If I want it to bleed, I’ll just roll up my sleeve and saw and saw and saw...”

The blade cut back and forth, and Zsasz’s eyes followed it. Blood was spurting up, drenching your arms as if you were wearing red opera gloves. 

“And saw, and saw, and saw, and saw....”

“Zsasz, can you believe this?” Roman asked, leaning towards him.

“No, boss,” Zsasz said with a little grin, shaking his head. 

“She’s good. We may have to give her a new job...”

You paused, giving your victim a break as you tossed the saw back into the bucket, drops of blood spattering across the stage as you pulled out a large butcher knife. Before it could touch Roman’s henchman, you used it to flick open the clasp on your bra, tossing the thin little piece of lingerie out into the crowd. You didn’t really care where it went; you were too busy enjoying yourself. 

“This’ll be ooh, this’ll be ahh, this’ll be absolutely whee,” you purred, trailing the blade down the side of the man’s face. “This’ll be nice, this’ll be neat and bring you closer to me...”

“So don’t you squirm, don’t you fret, I’m not gonna hurt you, oh no, no, no, not...yet.” you plunged your blade into his chest, between two of his ribs, not close enough to knick his heart but definitely deep enough to cause him immense pain despite all the adrenaline that was sure to be running through his system now.

You pulled the knife back out, blood dripping off the metal blade as you held it tightly and pranced back across the stage. “I just feel the need to be gettin’ a little of you, a lot of bloodletting, I know the sensation you’re probably dreading but there’s one thing you’re forgetting...”

Turning back to him, you brought the blade to his throat, and in the crowd, Zsasz’s eyes lit up. He was delighted. He was enthralled. His pants were getting a little tight, but whatever. The rest of the audience was gazing up at you with wonder, disgust, amusement...but Zsasz was absolutely admiring the way you so confidently played with your victim. The theatrics were starting to grow on him, he decided, and he wanted nothing more than to go right up there and lick all that blood off your face.

“There’s nothing like the thrill of a shredding,” you sang, almost snarling, “but this is no orthodox beheading...”

You destroyed the man on the gurney, carving through him, drenching yourself in blood in an almost comical way. 

“Cutting you up,” you sang as you made an absolute mess. “Cutting you up...”

“Cutting you up is gonna be....” you finally stepped back, catching your breath as the song slowed. “...so refreshing for me.”

As your routine finished, you took a little bow, still holding the knife as you crossed your ankles and bent at the waist in a delightfully fancy gesture. The man on the gurney was very much dead, blood dripping down onto the stage, and the audience was still eating up every second of it. You could hear Roman cheering, and as you spotted him standing there amidst the crowd with Zsasz at his side, you blew them both a little kiss. 

“How about that?” you heard Roman’s voice boom above the clapping as you strode offstage. “I would call for an encore, but unfortunately, I think we’d need a new victim....”

Your head was still abuzz with the rush of killing, and you walked back to the dressing room in a daze. You were vaguely aware of Dinah Lance wrinkling her nose as you passed her, but you didn’t pay her any mind. Absolutely nothing could kill your good mood now. 

“Well?” the house mom asked as you made your way to your mirror. “Sounds like it went well, judging by those cheers...”

You smiled and hummed to yourself, nodding as you reached for something to clean your face with. You were going to need an entire shower to get all this blood off yourself. 

“Told you.” the house mom snorted a laugh. 

“He loved it,” you grinned. 

She shook her head in amusement. “You are one fucked up girl, I’ll tell you that much.”

“That’s showbiz, baby,” you joked, raising a towel to start working at wiping your face. 

“Oh, pussycat?” a singsong voice made you freeze. 

You could see Zsasz in the mirror. 

He was leaning in the doorway, smirking as he watched you. “Boss wants to talk.”

You paled. Had you fucked up after all? Did Roman get his shits and giggles and now planned on having Zsasz peel your face off? Sionis was infamous for his fickle moods. You’d watched him have plenty of people dragged off into back rooms just for speaking at the wrong time, and you had just done way worse than interrupt him. 

 You gawked at Zsasz, still staring at his reflection. What were you supposed to do? Run? He was blocking the only door, and there was no way you’d be able to get past him. You had no choice but to follow him to Roman. 

“O-Okay,” you managed to stammer out, finally turning towards him. “Lead the way.”

“Might want this.” he held up the bra you had tossed, twirling the strap around his finger while he gave you a smile that showed off his gold teeth.

“Give me that!” you snapped, rushing towards him.

“Ah.” he held it above his head, leering down at you. “Think I like this view more...”

“Zsasz!” you protested, scrambling against his chest and practically trying to claw your way up him to get your lingerie. 

He froze. He finally smelled the metallic tang of all that blood covering you, and coupled with the feeling of your tits against his chest...oh, he was so fucked. 

When he dropped the bra, you grabbed it from him, tossing it back to your mirror and moving to pick up a silky red robe off a nearby hook. You shrugged it on, tying it shut while Zsasz cleared his throat and offered you his arm. 

“Such a gentleman,” you sneered, taking it anyways. 

“When I want to be.” his voice was low and rough, as if his vocal chords were scraping against each other with every syllable. 

You looked up at him, a bit dumbfounded, as he led you out into the club once more. The band was playing as a few people cleaned up the carnage you had left behind, the bar’s patrons all chatting and drinking again. It was as if nothing had even happened and they hadn’t just watched a man be torn apart onstage a few minutes prior. 

Zsasz took you to Roman, the crowd parting before the two of you easily. Sionis was sitting in his favorite booth, sipping his drink and laughing, still seeming to be in a very good mood.

“Ah, there she is!” He said when he saw you, standing up and spreading his arms.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” You asked nervously as Zsasz let you go.

“Yes, yes, I had Mr. Zsasz grab you so that I could congratulate you on a thrilling performance.”

You stared at him. “You liked it?”

“Liked it? I loved it, darling! A bit messy for my tastes, but a lovely show, truly, though I suspect our dear Mr. Zsasz here wishes he could have been the one to take care of your victim. Isn’t that right, Zsasz?”

You glanced up at Zsasz. He grunted, not necessarily in agreement. He didn’t hate watching your performance by any means, and as much as he enjoyed helping little birds fly away from the world, he rather enjoyed watching you do it, too. 

“I’m glad, Mr. Sionis,” you said. 

“I told you, call me Roman.” he took a sip of his drink. “You know, normally, I don’t enjoy it when someone kills the people that belong to me, but I must admit, you certainly have a way with a knife.”

“I would have asked your permission, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” you gulped. 

“And what a lovely surprise it was!” Roman laughed loudly. “You’re very talented...in fact, how’d you like a promotion? Yes? Perfect, perfect! No, no, don’t shake my hand, you’re...well, you’re covered in blood. Quite frankly, it’s disgusting.” He snapped his fingers. “Mr. Zsasz, take her up to the penthouse so she can clean up, I don’t want all this blood getting on the new carpeting in here.”

“Oh, Mr. Sio--Roman,” you cleared your throat, “I can use the shower in the dressing room, really, it’s no trouble--”

“Nonsense, nonsense.” he waved you away. “You’re part of the team now, aren’t you? Besides, a job well done deserves some sort of reward. Zsasz will show you upstairs. Don’t worry, he’s completely harmless.”

As Zsasz put a hand on your lower back, you had your doubts. Harmless wasn’t really a word you would choose to describe Roman’s right hand man. 

“Come on, princess.” Zsasz purred, guiding you through the crowd before you had much of a chance to protest. 

He took you to the elevator in the corner, the bouncer standing guard in front of it stepping aside with a nod. The man hit the up button, and soon, you were pressed up against Zsasz in the small space, on your way up to Roman’s spacious penthouse. 

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for dating Dinah Lance

Dinah Lance x fem!reader

warnings: drinks, alludes to sex, yeah

a/n:

prompt: what it’s like dating dinah lance

being a vip at the black mask club

not wanting to miss any of her performances

absolutely DESPISING roman sionis

“what a prick, he’s lucky i don’t snap his neck”

“y/n, babe, dont let him get you worked up”

you wrap your arm around her waist and sip your drink while silently glaring at whoever she’s talking to

“he seemed uncomfortable”

“wonder why...”

hyping her up while she gets ready

“oh, my god, you are stunning!!”

kissssesssss mwah mwah

so many kisses

everywhere

you gifted her a choker and she HAS to wear it on stage it’s lucky for her

she teaches you how to fight bc you know, couple goals

she sings in the car she sings in the car

and listen,,,,,, she absolutely MELTS when she hears you sing

you guys are EXTREMELY protective of each other

you try to out-protect the other

then your babe got promoted to sionis’s driver

“i dont like the sound of that, dinah”

“well, i dont have much of a choice”

you befriended a couple of kickass ladies

watched sionis go boom

celebrated with the love of your life

became one of the birds of prey!

now to hear your girlfriend sing on stage, there’s a weekly girl’s night at the bar where she sings karaoke

and she enjoys dragging you up there with her

you cannot tell me these bitches do not thrift good lord

she surprises u with thrift store finds

and since you guys live together, grocery shopping is a thing

you always get her something special from the bakery

fuzzy blankets she absolutely adores them

but she is not a cuddler

she’d rather cuddle her blankets >:(

but she likes to do OtHeR tHiNgS

like climb on top of u while ur trying to watch netflix!

but you don’t complain about it because she makes it worth it

puts the “chill” in “netflix & chill”

you guys got a cat

“cats kill canaries!”

“i’d let her kill me, she’s adorable”

occasionally drinking and watching a news (a fun game you guys made up) and seeing harley’s latest adventure

“good for her!”

“cheers”

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Injured- Dinah Lance

Pairing: John Laurens x Reader

Characters: John Laurens

Warnings: N/A

Request: Anon- Could I please request Dinah Lance x fem reader were the reader is hurt and she helps cleannthe wounds?

Word Count: 440

Author: Charlotte

Although you felt a little sore from the fight you had been in the pain was nothing in comparison to your anger that you felt. You were far more pissed at everything that had happened, if you didn’t have a girlfriend who was used to patching both of you up once in a while, you would have just gotten on with life and tried not to punch a wall. When you reached Dinah’s door, you were certain that your lower lip had encroached on the upper one and the wound on your head was doing its best to bleed into your eye.

Dinah opened the door and let out a sigh. She was used to you randomly turning up injured after standing up for someone and getting into a fight or just doing something stupid, so wasn’t shocked when you arrived bleeding at her door.

“What happened this time?” She sighed, letting you into her apartment, closing the door behind you.

“I got into a fight,” you shrugged. “I let my guard down and gave him a few stupid hits.”

She shook her head at you as she grabbed her first aid kit and brought it to you as you sat down on the sofa. She pulled out an alcohol wipe and begun to dab it on the gash on your forehead, forcing you to wince as it stung the wound.

“So, are you going to tell me what actually happened?” She questioned. “I know you don’t just get into fights for the fun of it.”

“Some dick grabbed my arse when I was at the bar,” you said. “He won’t be grabbing anyone’s arse anymore, not until his hand is fixed.”

Dinah tried not to laugh, knowing it would only encourage you more in letting violence be your answer to horrible people.

“What did you do to him?” She frowned, to try and be stern with you but she couldn’t be prouder that you were able to take care of yourself when some arsehole decided to be too handsy with you.

“I did my best to break all of his fingers but one or two might have survived. However, I did see some bones poking out by the end of it, so it’s probably going to take him some time to recover and hopefully think about grabbing a stranger again.”

She shook your head at you as she continued to patch you up, knowing that you had your reasons to fight someone being a dick and that chances were there was more to the story but for now all she really cared about was making sure you were okay.

[starfirette]

Ashes To Ashes

➡️When Dinah’s childhood friend rekindles their relationship, she begins to look for ways to leave Roman Sionis without losing the opportunity to live a normal life with the one she’s falling in love with; it’s unfortunate that she’s only a pawn in your game of vengeance

➡️smut: strap-ons, oral, fingering, mild tit slapping(is this even a warning?) | angst: betrayal, character death | coming 04/20/20, message to be tagged

is there anyway i can ask for dinah lance smut?

Hell yeah sun. I know what I said. And you are my sunshine, so, yeah