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comfortless · 1 month

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dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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blorbocedes · 1 month

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On: different parenting approaches

so keke rosberg has a world championship, and a newborn son. he retires the sport a year after, the shadow of tragedy following him -- the fatal crash of his friend and f1 driver elio de angelis being the reason.

now keke has a blonde baby that looks like its mother and babbles in german. he bonds with his son in the language he knows best — no, not his mother tongue rusty with disuse — racing.

so he builds a track in their garden in ibiza and sticks his son in the two person kart beside him before he is old enough for the helmet to even fit properly.

keke takes nico to the last race of his career in DTM, in a smaller replica of his exact uniform. keke tells him to wave. the roar of the crowd terrifies nico. he can't. he wants to be a racing driver when he grows up.

and you know this part of the story. the boy follows in his father's footsteps. in the sport of nepotism, keke rosberg is the only world champion father who lives to see his son become a champion.

so nico rosberg has a world championship and a newborn daughter. he retires the sport a year after she is born. he knows the same fatality of the sport his father does, has experienced and lost firsthand.

now nico has a blonde baby that looks like its mother and babbles in german. nico wants to bond with her in every way he can. he wants to be hands on in every way.

he speaks 5 languages, went to an international school and both she and her sister are enrolled in the same one. he reads parenting books, has tea parties with them, and drops them to school.

the thought of his daughters following in his footsteps terrifies him, and he understands now why his mother could never stomach to watch a single race of his. this glorious unforgiving sport of his, and his father's, that doesn't care who it takes. and it seems unthinkable to put a child in a racecar, even though that was his childhood.

but if she really wanted, like he really wanted -- he would not deny it.

so he takes her to a indoor go kart track in monaco, in a helmet that's bigger than her. he's tucked right behind her, safe. they share so many languages in common, french growing up in monaco, german at home, english at school, some spanish from going to ibiza. and this -- although it's been a while since he's really spoken it, his father's language-- is one of them.

#nico rosberg #keke rosberg #web weaving #my gifs

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lxclerc · 10 months

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𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐯𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 | 𝐨𝐩𝟖𝟏

summary... oscar is dating one of the world's biggest singer and no one can believe it request... yes note... i love oscar yall and you're not a real fanfic writer if you've never used gracie as a faceclaim faceclaim... gracie abrams

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

yourusername

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yourusername i've loved you 20 summers now, honey, but i want it all

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user1 RUE WHEN WAS THIS

user2 WHAT HOW WHEN

user3 they were childhood best friends 😭😭

user4 i'm gonna need oscar's prayer reveal bc how the fuck

oscarpiastri and 20 more summers to come

⤷ yourusername sap

⤷ oscarpiastri ihy

⤷ yourusername 🖕🏻

⤷ oscarpiastri just kidding i'm actually madly in love with you

⤷ yourusername you better be

⤷ user5 okay but their energy >>>

landonorris so can you ask her for tickets orrrrr

⤷ oscarpiastri dude

⤷ landonorris im being fr

user6 YOURE TELLING ME NOT ONLY IS SHE TAKEN, SHE WAS TAKEN BY A VROOM VROOM BITCH???? brb kms

oscarpiastri

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oscarpiastri there's a holy ground beneath them... 2 years ago, i got the courage to finally ask you out but i've loved you since before i knew what love was

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user1 THERE'S A HOLY GROUND BENEATH THEM SPARKS FLY WHEN THEY KISS 😭

user2 fuck romeo and juliet i want what these bitches have

user3 brb im gonna check if my toaster is waterproof

landonorris now this is what i say hard launch

⤷ oscarpiastri what's a hard launch?

⤷ yourusername oh baby

arthurleclerc i've known for ages 😌

⤷ yourusername don't get cocky

user4 i'm fr gonna need to know how oscar did it

⤷ user5 the fact that they seem to have been best friends since toddler days probably helped

yourusername damn it you beat my post

⤷ oscarpiastri i'm just better than you

⤷ yourusername your head is getting bigger than your helmet

yourusername but i love your more than words can say

yourusername also i'd like everyone to know that it took him NINETEEN YEARS to figure out i'm actually the love of his life

⤷ oscarpiastri shut up

user6 THEY'RE ACTUALLY SO CUTE?????

user7 they got together TWO YEARS AGO but it took him nineteen years??? so they've literally known each other their whole lives 😭😭

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri imagines #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fanfic #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction

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ilycosy · 4 months

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❝ YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL ❞ | LUKE CASTELLAN

pairing : luke castellan x reader (no parent mentioned)

summary — being the partner of luke castellan was a blessing and a curse, mostly a blessing— you had the best swordsman at camp and he was extremely loyal. a blessing really, but everyone always wanted him too. sometimes you forget that he could feel insecure too.

warnings : insecurities (relationship + scar) , petnames (baby, sweetheart, love) , hurt/comfort , luke is standoffish and implied to be mentally ill but reader loves him anyways , mentions of other ppl flirting w luke !!

aﾉn — i want to smother this man in the biggest kisses ever ... he didn't deserve anything that happened to him & he's innocent !!!! it's never said who readers parent is but they don't reside in hermes cabin :) ,,, also i made the scar worse !!!! i wish it was bigger & more gnarly everyday . enjoy !!!!

you felt burned by the sun everytime he was around, even with his stoic nature and go with the flow personality— he always seemed to burn so bright when you're around. his palms melted you everytime he pulled you into a kiss, his lips hot and slick with spit from his chewing.

his constant even tone (he'll deny when the sass slips through) never bothered you, in fact you quite enjoyed it whenever he spoke. his raspy voice telling you briefly about his day, or talking about a race him and chris had that day, even when he told you not to worry about him.

other people sure seemed to enjoy him too, boys and girls gathered around him like a moth to a flame. his glow always too bright for others not to be drawn, you always saw it— the way girls would giggle and fawn over him, whenever boys lingered around him during activities.

you never told him how it bothered you, because it wasn't really his fault— he was just too perfect.

which is why it shocked you when you began noticing the way he liked keeping the helmet on even after capture the flag, hiding his face until it was deemed inappropriate. the way he favored resting his scarred side in your neck compared to his other, even though he complained of neck pains the day before.

you can't recall when he began doing these little habits, maybe ever since he got the scar, maybe when a younger camper said it made him look scary. you didn't know, but you knew that it wasn't good for him— the way he allowed himself to ache just to hide it.

luke is a great boyfriend, he recognizes when people want something more from him— he's not afraid to distance himself from others when he notices the flirting. it doesn't make him feel good to have that spotlight when you were so much better than him, in every sense of the word.

he never knew how to tell you that he knew. how he knew that the obnoxious flirting hurt you, or how you always backed away when his friends came over.

he would always come in the morning to pick you up from your cabin, hoping that his searing kisses and warm arms could show you that he's yours— even with a disgusting face.

the scar taking up the side of his face made him curl away in disgust whenever he saw it, he completely avoided bathroom mirrors because of it. he hid away from your soft eyes at any chance he could, fearing that you'd realize just how scary it is to date something like him.

the praises eased in slowly, but surely, he almost felt winded the first time he heard it ("baby get your pretty face over here!" you had said, trying to wave him over to your table. he felt lightheaded and nauseous when he walked over.) he didn't know how to handle it.

whenever he tried to ask why you began getting so verbally affectionate, he was waved off with a small wave and shrug. "can't i compliment my boyfriend?" you had asked him with a teasing tone, he hid away under your shirt the rest of the night while he got teased.

you knew that he was confused, but you didn't really care to explain— he'd just shut down and ignore the problem if you did. and you liked complimenting him, especially when he gets flustered like he does.

calling him pretty made his cheeks go red, and he always seemed more spacey after. calling him handsome always got him smiling and hiding his face. cute? he was looking away and blushing. adorable? he scoffed and smiled. gorgeous, he rolled his eyes and flicked you with red ears.

you hadn't called him beautiful yet, waiting for the perfect moment— you'd think you were planning on proposing with how calculated you were with this.

luke hadn't been sleeping well for a while, mumbling in his sleep about nonsense you couldn't understand. stress had clearly taken its toll, and he's chewing again— his lips raw and almost always bloody from his teeth snagging at the skin.

you snuck into hermes' cabin during the night, hoping that he would be up to sneaking out or even finally getting a full night's rest. your boots made him shoot up, sweaty and eyes wide before he realizes its you.

"what're you doing here, love?" he asks in a hushed tone, not yet a whisper but close. you move closer, gently lacing your hand together with his sweaty one. "wanna sneak out?"

the question was whispered, barely audible even. but it made him stand up all the same, sweatpants and cream colored long-sleeved shirt bunched up at the arms, making him look ethereal.

"are you that needy, sweetheart?" he asks as a joke when you've successfully escaped the cabin without waking people. his eyebrows wiggling slightly, his usual stoic facade melting off him like you were a candle and he was wax.

you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you told him no. tugging him along the camp grounds until you found the picnic blanket, the basket of food right next to it all neatly set up— it took you a whole week to convince people to help you find this stuff, a demeter kid had to weave the basket.

"ta-da!" you said, doing jazz hands as you showed him the comfortable blanket. he didn't say anything, only smiling wide as he laid down on it— he patiently waited for you to get the food out, not feeling any sort of rush as he allowed himself to relax.

you hand fed him strawberries, flicking his nose every time he tried to stick your fingers in his mouth. you admired him in the moonlight, he always looked the best at night. his radiating self was enough light for you anyways.

your fingertips gently brushed his face while he was eating, chewing a piece of cake when he felt them. your fingers making their way to his big scar, tracing the jagged edges of it along with the smooth, raised middle.

"what're you doing?" he says, his voice tight in his throat as he tried to ignore the building pit of fear in his stomach.

you hummed, caressing his face as you looked at him. his eyes focused on your nose to avoid eye contact, "you're beautiful," you whisper.

"extremely beautiful." and his face goes red, his eyes watery as his chest rises up and down in deep breaths. his hands are shaky and pulling you closer, desperate for you and your touch.

it makes you really wonder, how could he ever feel insecure when you're convinced he could be cursed by aphrodite herself, and you'd still see his face when camp visits the gods?

#cosywriting #luke castellan #castellanswrld #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fluff

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astonmartinii · 5 months

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bad blood (lando's version) | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem carlos ex!reader

band aid's don't fix bullet holes but his best friend might

based on this request:so reader is a famous model who’s also carlos ex (dated YEARS) and after the breakup he jumped straight to rebeca (we just need a tiny bit of bad blood). soo she and lando always got along, ever since carlos was in mclaren. the point is they get together and come hand in hand to a gp out of nowhere so drama and more bad blood surface - you can lead this to whatever you want hehe, thanks!!! - @lorenakaspersen

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

vogue

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tagged: yourusername

vogue: y/n y/ln takes the cover for this month, where she talks re-discovering herself and giving yourself time to move on. copies in stores everywhere this friday.

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user1: i am once again asking how the fuck that man fumbled a bad bitch like her

user2: do not bring that man up here, he actually boils my blood

user3: honestly thank god they wear helmets in f1 cause if i saw his smug little face i may have smashed by tv

yourusername: thank you for having me hehehehhe xx

vogue: you dropped this queen 👑

user4: not vogue supporting her more than carlos ever did 🤨

user5: at least lando still supports her

user6: i'm glad the friends she made... i.e lando, charles, max, daniel, etc did also abandon her when carlos just dropped her

hunterschafer: you're the person i see in your dreams

yourusername: are you sure i'm not just your sleep paralysis demon?

hunterschafer: you're welcome to stalk mine dreams anytime

user7: how am i meant to care about f1 without y/n?

user8: she's the reason i learnt about the sport but at leats now i have an excuse to support someone else LOL

landonorris: tinkerbell looks a little bit different here

yourusername: i thought you were too old to watch peter pan?

landonorris: i just said that so you would think i'm a big macho man :(

yourusername: that is tragic

landonorris: can i interest you in a movie night some time soon then

yourusername: you might

user9: WHAT IS GOING ON HERE ^^

user10: idk but i am excited

f1wagupdates

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f1wagsupdates: carlos sainz debuts his new girlfriend rebecca donaldson at the bahrain grand prix, just one month after breaking up with model y/n y/ln. sainz and y/ln were together for three years, and sainz was seen with donaldson for the first time just a week after the breakup.

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user13: lol the wag accounts are done with his ass

f1wagsupdates: i am a y/n y/ln stan first and foremost

user14: anyone see the absolute stink eye charles and lando gave carlos LOL

user15: that's the thing when you're together for so long, the friends get attached as well

user16: i mean if certified homie hopper charles leclerc is calling your bluff then you know you've fucked up

user17: i will never understand how he jumped into a relationship with her after three years ?? LIKE IT WAS NOTHING

user18: things like that make me glad i'm single

user19: the thing that is bothering me that no one has said yet is the fact that he's been with her what a month? and he's already brought her to a race when he made y/n wait months to go to a race?

user20: screams insecurity - like "look i have moved on, i'm an alpha male who can get whoever i want"

user21: i never understood why he didn't let her come to races for months when they first got together, like not even his home race?

user22: i've always got the vibe that he thought that he was better than her and that she was using him?

user23: the way if he ever posted her (which was not very often) he never tagged her

user24: which is ironic because she's one of the most celebrated models in recent history, she has millions more followers than him and has a bigger network than him, so really if anyone was using anyone it was carlos using her

user25: anyone else pulling for her to get with lando?

user26: i always thought they got on more in the videos of them all together but honestly i just want her to be happy

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 2,018,552 others

yourusername: not much going on recently

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user27: SHE'S SO HOT

user28: i need her to give me one chance please

charles_leclerc: are we still down for the road trip to lourdes?

yourusername: needed now more than ever

charles_leclerc: trust and believe

user29: charles and y/n friendship you mean so much to me

user30: need her to sit in charles' side of the garage

user31: mother went to the university of servington where she got a degree is cuntology with a minor in slaying the haus down

danielricciardo: miss ma'am, leave some for the rest of us

yourusername: why thank you good sir

danielricciardo: where do i procure a veil as such?

yourusername: i may source one for you if you promise not to shave that moustache

heidiberger: preach

user32: i bet carlos just thought everyone would just forget about y/n when he dropped her, but he forgot that she's probably more liked on the grid than he is LOL

landonorris: why are you staring into my soul like that

yourusername: why are you lurking in my comment section

landonorris: i thought we were friends :(

yourusername: always and forever

user33: but he wants it to be more

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo

user33: I SAW THAT LANDO X Y/N COMING SOON?

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 803,774 others

landonorris: hostess with the most-ess?

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user34: is that a ... WOMAN?

user35: he's saying he's a host ... maybe he's hosting a friend who is a girl, it's not illegal

user36: i get your sentiment, but that photo is straight out of the soft launch girlfriend pinterest boards

user37: well now i'm picturing lando scrolling through pinterest and asking ??? to recreate the pics 😭

carlossainz55: missing my golf partner, round this weekend? ⛳️

landonorris: let me check my schedule buddy 👍

user38: okay... well someone else tell me that they can feel the vibe shift

user39: it's their first online interaction after the breakup, i think we can guess who's side lando is on

oscarpiastri: someone needs to debrief me asap

landonorris: someone forgot that he owns a phone

oscarpiastri: needed the added pressure of the public call out to make you actually do it

landonorris: fine, but you get three questions and that's it

user40: if the call out was public can't we get the public answers

yourusername: are you coming for my job?

landonorris: you saying i could model 😊

yourusername: i'm definitely saying you should let me give my agent your number

landonorris: you already have my number babe

yourusername: okay pretty boy

user41: i need this type of nepotism in my life

user42: i need the nepotism and the sexual tension cause PHEW it is through the roof

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 2,760,521 others

yourusername: enjoy the picture of me fucking up a pretzel

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user46: okay where are the detective freaks from f1twt?

user47: reporting for duty 🫡

user46: what car is that?

user47: it looks strikingly similar to a jolly, but i don't know if that's just my brain pushing me to make it lando. but there is a florist in monaco that wraps their flowers just like that as well ....

user46: thank you for your service

danielricciardo: this is very ballerina core 🩰

yourusername: has the old man been spending time on the internet?

danielricciardo: yes he has 😃

yourusername: omg proud

danielricciardo: no but seriously how did you do it? it looks sick

yourusername: very fiddly, needed an extra pair of hands

danielricciardo: an extra pair of hands [wiggles eyebrows]

yourusername: did you just comment your own stage directions?

danielricciardo: funny 😄

user48: okay i am glad we're not being deprived of the y/n and daniel friendship.

landonorris: i am enjoying this picture of you fucking up a pretzel

yourusername: i am a whore for carbs

landonorris: i am a whore for you

this comment was deleted

landonorris: i am also a whore for carbs (don't tell jon)

maxverstappen1: 📸📸📸 saw that mister !!

landonorris: you didn't see NOTHING

user49: we saw everything. i am so disappointed in lando, he's carlos' bestfriend and he's doing this?

liked by carlossainz55

user50: oh i know this man aint speaking

f1teaandgossip

liked by user51, user52 and 10,945 others

ftteaandgossip: carlos sainz was caught liking this tweet about his ex girlfriend y/n y/ln and his (former?) best friend lando norris. what do you think?

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user53: the audacity of men never fails to astound me

user54: you know what, i feel like a guilty man only acts this bold. so i'm saying it. i think there was overlap between his relationship with y/n and his relationship with rebecca

user55: you're right and you should say it

user56: carlos got with rebecca within a WEEK of the end of a three year relationship but is angry that she's finally moving on after months ?

user57: for real the first sight of lando and y/n was after at least two months

user58: i know people will say she's in the wrong because it is lando but honestly carlos has no leg to stand on with him parading rebecca around the paddock

user59: i really couldn't give a fuck if lando is his best buddy you act like a fool expect to get treated like a fool

user60: also the whole "whoring around the grid" is so dumb. you mean her FRIENDS? you know the friends she had to make when you would just leave her in the paddock or ignore her at parties ?

user61: babe really thought he was more loved in the paddock and expected everyone to go along with his messiness

user62: men don't talk about women this way challenge

user63: imagine talking about a girl you were with for THREE tears like this

user64: i wish lando and y/n all the best and i hope they're together for a long time, she deserves a good man after all of this

user65: i have faith 🤞

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 3,109,413 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: sloppy seconds you say? i never come second with him. pun intended x

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user66: SERVE

user67: user67 found dead in her home, cause of death: this post

landonorris: what can i say i'm a giver 🤷‍♂️

yourusername: i'll say 😮‍💨

oscarpiastri: ENOUGH

landonorris: i thought you were happy for us oscar :(

oscarpiastri: i am !! i even took the second picture. but i think you forget that i am staying with you in monaco :/

yourusername: whoops my bad

landonorris: i swear my hospitality is usually better

yourusername: i can attest to his hospitality

oscarpiastri: STOP PLEASE STOP

user68: poor oscar being traumatised by y/n and lando 😭

carlossainz55: real mature

yourusername: how about instead of liking shady tweets and commenting on my instagram posts, you come confront me like a real fucking person.

carlossainz55: you'd love that wouldn't you

yourusername: i really would because if i said everything you needed to hear i'd be banned from this app

carlossainz55: you really are the gold digging slut my parents warned me about

landonorris: you will absolutely not talk to her that way. if you do so again we'll have a very real problem

carlossainz55: you have no sense of loyalty lando

landonorris: the call is coming from inside the house

user69: the girls are FIGHTING

comments on this post have been limited.

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,866,398 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: nothing better than a podium at home and time with family

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user72: the sky camera shady as fuck for cutting straight to y/n in the mclaren garage when carlos crashed LOL

user73: her and lando's dad trying not to laugh had me creasing

yourusername: beyond proud of you baby

landonorris: your support means everything pretty girl

yourusername: and your family are the loveliest, tell mama i said thank you for having me (and my sandwiches for the plane)

landonorris: she say's thank you and come back soon (i also want you to come home asap)

user74: he already refers to his house at their home

user75: and y/n has been accepted by the family - the sainzs could take notes

oscarpiastri: oscar piastri erasure

yourusername: sorry osc, you're our favourite pookie on the grid

landonorris: also mama made you sandwiches too

oscarpiastri: i know they were very yummy 😋

danielricciardo: HOLD ON, oscar is your favourite pookie, where am i ???

maxverstappen1: i think you'll find i am their favourite full stop

charles_leclerc: nuh uh it's clearly me

yourusername: i'll just say lando is my favourite

landonorris: and i'll say y/n is my favourite

yourusername: and that's that

danielricciardo: boooooooo.

maxverstappen1: cop out :(

charles_leclerc: 🍅🍅🍅

user76: i am so confused right now

yourusername

liked by bellahadid, landonorris and 3,109,766 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: you are in love, true love.

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user77: omg the letters? i swear there were letters in her first post after carlos took rebecca to the first race of the season

user78: wait so do you think they were from lando the whole time?

yourusername: yes they are from lando ! after the carlos stuff had somewhat died down he had them all delivered to me and it definitely swayed me for a first date

user79: but i thought some of those letters looked pretty old

landonorris: i won't deny that i liked y/n for a long time but i obviously couldn't express that so i put them in letters. an idiot was an idiot and i'll never not take my chance

user80: okay that makes this whole thing so much cuter

user81: y/n is the definition of never letting your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband

landonorris: you're my best friend and i love you so much

yourusername: i'd go through all this mess and all this heartbreak again if it meant i still end up with you

landonorris: but i'm by your side forever now you can't get rid of me

yourusername: i wouldn't dream of it

user82: lord i have seen it all, please bless me with a relationship like this

danielricciardo: god you people are ridiculously cute

oscarpiastri: just think yourself lucky that you no longer share a garage with them

landonorris: we're not THAT bad

oscarpiastri: i have working ears

yourusername: sorry not sorry osc x

fin.

note: hope you all enjoyed. i am dying trying to do 75 soft but i also signed up for burlesque class !!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris insta au #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris #f1 social media au

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spacedace · 2 months

Text

Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help

Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.

The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.

Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.

The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.

That social worker.

“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.

“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”

He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”

“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”

Nightingale frowned a little at that.

“Is that what people are saying?”

“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”

“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”

“You wanted to work here.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.

She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?

Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.

“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.

“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”

She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”

Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”

Jason considered her.

Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.

It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.

Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.

For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.

And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.

He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.

“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”

“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”

Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.

“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”

Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.

“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”

Oh.

Those.

“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”

He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.

“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”

Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.

“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”

Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.

#dpxdc #jazz fen #jason todd #social worker jazz #social worker jazz fenton #anger management ship #anger management #pre anger management #jason todd x jazz fenton #i don't know why i keep writing scenes where Jazz writes resumes to apply to work for crime bosses but it just feels right in my soul okay #the real reason Jason wears a full face helmet is so people can't tell when he utterly fails to hide his emotions about something #the idea of social worker jazz working in crime alley has completely consumed me mind body and soul

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dindjarindiaries · 2 months

Text

Fight For Me

summary: When Din starts to get harassed at a cantina, you can’t help jumping in to defend him at all costs.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

warnings: angst, strong language, mentions of trauma, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.175k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

You tugged on the hood of your poncho to conceal more of your face from view. “We’ve got a lot of eyes on us.”

“I told you.” Din’s modulated voice was low as he took a subtle step closer to your side. “We’re near Mandalorian Space.” You stole a glance over at him just in time to catch the quick tilt of his helmet. “The people out here aren’t fond of my kind.”

“I just…” You paused as the two of you passed another pedestrian, your chin and your gaze lowering until they were out of sight. “I thought you said Akiva was the first planet to pledge their allegiance to the New Republic.”

“They were.” Din’s gloved hand pulled into a fist at his side. You noticed it just as a bead of sweat began to trickle down your temple. “They wanted a change after years of the Empire ordering almost every Mandalorian warrior to do their bidding.”

“I see.” You exhaled and lifted your hand again to brush the sweat away. “It’s hot as hell here.”

Din huffed. “It’s known for its humidity.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And yet you let me wear this?” You gestured to the thick poncho that sat over your head and shoulders.

“Staying concealed is a bigger priority than staying cool. We won’t be here for long.” Din nodded towards a building on the right. “Here.”

You read the Aurebesh letters that hung overhead the building’s round entrance: cantina. That was the last place you wanted to be on a world where Din and his kind weren’t welcome, but there wasn’t much of a choice. It was your first, and so far your only, lead on finding the new location of whatever remained of Din’s covert.

Din led the way inside, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, the chatter dimmed. Hushed voices spoke as Din wove the two of you through the tables and other crowds, carrying through the cantina until each voice rose back to its previous volume. You tightened your jaw and remained vigilant. Din may not have been worried about the actions of others, but you sure as hell were.

You stayed at Din’s side as he reached the bar, his gloved hands settling on top of it as he instantly gained the attention of the bartender. The Zabrak man tossed his hand towel on his shoulder and looked at Din expectantly. “What can I get started for you?”

Din reached into the pouch on his belt and set down a handful of credits. “Nothing to drink.” He slid the credits forward. “Just information.”

The bartender gave the pile of credits a cautious glance. “What makes you think I have something worth knowing?”

Din looked left and right before he leaned forward, lowering his voice in a much gruffer way than he would ever do with just you. “Nevarro.”

The bartender did the same gesture as Din before he secured his hand over the pile of credits. “Hold tight.” He pocketed the credits into his apron and nodded. “I’ve got something in the back.”

Din returned the nod, assuming his previous posture as the bartender disappeared into a back room. You crossed your arms and set them upon the top of the bar. Your voice was a hushed whisper as you spoke. “Do you believe him?”

Din shrugged. “We’ll see.” He exhaled, as if attempting to release some of the invisible weight that hung upon his armored shoulders. Your heart ached at the thought of it. “There’s no other option right now.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” A booming voice disrupted any thought you were going to voice in reply to Din. Your head turned as you observed the Klatooinian who stood behind the two of you. Your blood both ran cold and red-hot at the same time as you watched the Klatooinian snarl at Din’s back.

Din’s helmet didn’t move, his visor instead focusing ahead of himself as he tapped his gloved fingers against the bartop. Your gaze slid over to him as you waited for him to speak, but he didn’t.

“You know what your kind did to us—to this entire system.” The Klatooinian scoffed, his guise of amusement failing in favor of his lethal anger. He raised an arm to gesture to the onlookers around them. “I speak for everyone here when I say we would take any chance we could get at killing you ourselves.”

“I don’t think your Republic would take kindly to that.” You couldn’t help yourself from biting out the words. Din’s visor slowly slid towards you, a silent warning you failed to heed.

The Klatooian’s vicious eyes found yours. He then laughed, a grating sound that stung you and made you curl your hands into fists on the bartop. “You’re on the wrong side of the planet if you want New Republic support, dustbreather.”

Din tensed at the insult the Klatooinian threw at you, but he still didn’t speak. Of course he wants to defend me more than himself.

The Klatooinian had since set his attention back on Din. “Your kind was eliminated for a reason.” He took another step closer to Din’s back. Your fists tightened even more, until the leather on your hands groaned in protest. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Your gaze burned through the side of Din’s helmet. His visor faced you as he gave his helmet a small shake, but you were already blinded by your rage. His way was not your way.

“Peel that armor off and what are you?” The Klatooinian scoffed and took one more step closer. “Nothing but a man who should’ve died with the rest of his—.”

You lunged in a movement so quick not even Din could have stopped it as you slammed your fist as hard as you could against the Klatooinian’s jaw. The entire cantina roared as every eye settled on you, especially as you shook out your stinging hand and faced the Klatooinian who was barely still standing. Din had whipped around at your side, but even he was frozen as you sized up the Klatooinian.

“Oh, you bitch!” the Klatooinian seethed as he swung towards you. You skillfully dodged his blow and elbowed his ribs, using the opportunity to hit him with an uppercut. The commotion amongst the onlookers rose more and more as you evaded the Klatooinian’s hits and dealt him more of your own.

It was all a blur of blood, sweat, and hot fury until two arms wrapped around your waist from behind and pulled you tight against a beskar barrier. You fought against the grasp, the hood of your poncho having long since fallen away from your face as you swung towards the Klatooinian who had to be supported by his peers. “Fuck you!” you spat at your opponent. “You haven’t gotten even half of what you deserve!”

You tried to push off of Din to lunge at him again, but Din’s grasp only got tighter as he pulled you back to him. “Easy,” his modulated voice gently warned you.

“That man deserves to be dead!” The Klatooinian points a weary finger in Din’s direction.

You fought Din’s grasp again, pushing even harder against him that time. “I’ll show you who deserves to be—!”

Din forced you against himself so hard that it stole the air from your lungs for a moment. “Easy, cyar’ika.” The lip of his helmet was just beside your ear as he went on. “That’s enough.” He freed one arm from your waist to hold the wrist of your bleeding hand, forcing your arm behind you. “We have to go.”

His words made you snap out of your state of bloodlust as you turned your head around to face his helmet. “But we haven’t gotten your information.”

“Doesn’t matter. Half this cantina wants to fight you, and…” Din paused, his grasp easing on your wrist as he looked down at your hand, “you’re bleeding.” His voice lowered in worry.

“I’m fine.” You faced your opponent with indignance again. “I can take them.”

“No.” The arm Din still had around your waist gave you a gentle yet firm tug away from the growing crowd around the Klatooinian. “We’re leaving.”

Trying to argue with Din about that would be a losing battle, and so you sighed and started to follow him out. Before you could get far, someone whistled from the bar area. Din’s visor locked on something behind you, and when your gaze followed it, you found the bartender nodding at Din before tossing something in the air. Din released you only to catch it. He then returned the Zabrak’s nod and continued on.

“What is it?” Your curiosity got the best of you even as you and Din had to shoulder your way out of the rowdy cantina.

“Coordinates.” Din put your hood back over your head for you and led the way onto the street.

You furrowed your brow and cradled your stinging knuckles. “To where?”

“We’ll find out.” Din was clearly navigating for another specific place as he wove you through the fray. With the adrenaline of your fight still pumping through your veins, it was hard for you to focus, and that was something Din had no doubt picked up on.

Still, there was a more sickly sensation that prickled at you like a thousand icy needles, the chill of it settling inside your chest even amidst the humidity of the planet. You made your concerns known in a voice much quieter than you would have liked. “Are you upset with me?”

You earned no response. Din’s visor continued to look from building-to-building, and he moved at a pace that was getting difficult to keep up with. The needles turned into one sharp blade that sliced through your heart as you ultimately stopped in your tracks.

“You’re upset with me.”

Din stopped just a few paces ahead of you, but in an instant, he had closed the distance between you again. For a moment, his gloved hands cradled your face. “No. Not at all.” His helmet lifted in realization of your surroundings, his hands soon following as they settled on your shoulders instead. “I just… I want to get you somewhere safe.” He shifted his weight between his feet. “Now.”

“Here?” You lifted your brow in surprise. “Didn’t you hear what that guy said?” You shook your head at him. “Anyone here would kill you if they could.”

“But they won’t, because they can’t, and they know it.” Din tilted his helmet at you. “I told you these people aren’t fond of me, not that they’re a threat to me.” He nodded at your bruising hands. “Especially with you here to back me up.”

You began to smile at that. Din gave your shoulders a squeeze and turned away from you to continue on through the town. It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for, a reliable source of lodging with a business owner who wouldn’t turn down any customer, not even a Mandalorian. He navigated the two of you once more to your own quarters and stepped through the threshold first only to be sure he could observe the room for threats before you followed.

As soon as the door was closed and secured behind you, Din slipped off his helmet and set it aside, his hands reaching for your face once again. This time, Din didn’t have to worry about eyes on you, and so he leaned fully into you and the bliss you two could share by pinning you between himself and the nearest wall and kissing you like his life depended on it.

Your arms wrapped around Din’s neck to keep him close as his mouth slotted over yours time and time again, his tongue lavishing praises onto you without having to speak a single word. You met his familiar rhythm with each movement, a pattern as familiar as your own heartbeat that thudded against your chest. It was a moment where the stinging in your hands faded and the worries of what Din thought dissipated completely.

He was making it clear how he felt about the situation, and you wanted to keep feeling it—at all costs.

Eventually, though, your lungs cried out for air, forcing your mouths to separate even as Din stayed close. His gaze, sparkling with affection even amidst his worry for you, found your own as he forehead rested against yours. His voice was a mere rasp from both its quietness and his lack of breath. “Thank you for defending my honor.” His thumb ran over your lips.

You smiled and kissed the pad of his thumb. “You never have to thank me for that.”

“I know.” Din returned your smile and brushed his lips against yours. “But I will anyway.” He kissed you again, but this time, he kept it brief. His concern no doubt got the best of him as he pulled away and lifted his hands to hold your wrists. He pulled them away from his neck and studied your hands, his smile transforming into a worried grimace. “Let’s take care of this.”

You continued to beam at him. “Sure.”

Din set one hand over your lower back as the other kept its gentle grasp on your wrist. He led you over to the single bed in the room, and you took your place on the edge of it, sitting just beside Din’s helmet. Din disarmed himself of his spear and jetpack before reaching into the pouch of medical supplies on his belt.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” You started by taking the leather off your hands, gritting your teeth to keep yourself from groaning at the way it tugged at your angry skin.

Din huffed, raising his brow in amusement as he took the pieces of leather from you and set them aside. “You’re almost as bad at lying as I am.”

You laughed at that, making room for him to sit beside you as he took one of your hands in his and started to work. Din began with your dominant hand, which was more beat-up than your other hand. You spoke to him as he worked, hoping it would ease some of the tension that knit his armored shoulders together. “How would you rate that fight?”

Din paused and looked at you with a wrinkled brow. “What do you mean?”

You offered him a mischievous smile. “I mean, how did I do?”

Din blinked at you for a moment. “How did you do?” He chuckled and shook his head, focusing on your hand again even as he responded. “Cyar’ika, he was barely conscious standing up.”

“So?” You tilted your head at him and smiled sweetly. “What do you rate it, then?”

Din smiled to himself while he traded a tube of bacta for a secure wrap. “There are no words for it.”

“Oh.” You feigned disappointment and looked away from him, your gaze settling on his empty helmet that was still nearby. “How else will you tell me your rating, then?”

Din’s gaze flickered up at you, but only for a moment. “I have ideas.” He lifted your bandaged knuckles to his lips and left a gentle kiss upon them before he exchanged that hand for your other one. “But finishing this is my priority.”

The sweet warmth of overwhelming affection and desire burned throughout your chest,and you gave yourself a few moments to recover from its powerful effects. Once you had waited long enough, you spoke in a softer voice. “Why didn’t you say anything?” When Din’s brow lifted in confusion, you elaborated. “To that guy at the cantina.”

Din sighed, his jaw tightening before he loosened it again. “You know me. I’m… not a man of many words.” He exchanged the bacta for another clean wrap. “I’ve always found that actions speak louder than words, anyway.” Din gave you an amused look. “You just beat me to it.”

You smiled to yourself. “I guess that’s what makes us a good match.”

“It’s one of many things.” Din paused to focus as he circled the wrap around your hand. “The way you can throw punches is…” Din had to stop again, but this time, his gaze raised to the ceiling as if he was summoning composure from some unknown source. You chuckled at him as he exhaled a soft breath and looked at your hand again. “It’s an advantage.”

You teased him by looking at him through your lashes, blinking them slowly as he finished with your hand and allowed his gaze to meet yours. “Yeah?”

Din lifted his hand towards his lips without breaking your shared gaze. “Yeah.” He kissed your bandaged knuckles and lowered your hand. His eyes studied it as he nodded in sudden severity. “Truly, cyar’ika, what you did… it means a lot.” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never had someone fight for me like that. No one except…” He trailed off. He didn’t have to say the name.

You raised the bandaged hand he wasn’t holding to caress the side of his face. Din’s gaze met yours again, and the deep admiration within it was breathtaking—but so was the deep longing hidden behind it. When you spoke, your voice was quiet yet meaningful. “I miss him, too.”

Din closed his eyes and nodded. After a long pause, he reopened his eyes and tasked himself with putting his medical supplies back in his belt. He exchanged them for the coordinates the bartender had given him. “Knowing the covert, this probably leads to the system they’re hiding in.” Din returned to business and you met him there, nodding at him to agree with his words. “It’ll take some more work to find out exactly where they are.”

“That’s fine.” You set a hand on his cuisse as you smiled in reassurance. “I’m with you every step of the way.”

Din’s gaze drifted from your hand on his armored thigh to your own eyes as he returned your smile. “I know.” He put the coordinates back in his belt and let his expression morph into something more mischievous as he faced you again. “So.” He cleared his throat, and you giggled at his clumsiness. He was smoother than you could have ever expected at some times, but this wasn’t one of them. “About that rating.”

You laughed, lifting your bandaged hands to the sides of his face to bring him closer to you. “You can just kiss me.”

Din chuckled with you until his amused breath became your own, one action that led to a long string of others proving exactly how grateful and proud he was of your actions that day.

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

#bar fight but make it ~reverse~ because din deserves someone to fight for him #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #dindjarindiaries

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lnlightning81 · 22 days

Text

He Won! - Bonus Part

Series : Younger Sister

Pairing/s: Oliver Bearman x Norris!Reader, Lando Norris x Sister!reader

Summary : Lando's finally won his first ever Grand Prix

Word Count: 0.8k A/N: Can be read as a stand-alone or as part of the Younger Sister series. It's entirely up to you!

Masterlist

Oliver Bearman Masterlist

Lando Norris Masterlist

Younger Sister Masterlist

Following Lando around the world had become the normal, now more comfortable with the paddock and the cameras. You weren’t as anxious as you were when you first started following Lando around the world. Now, just under a year later from when you started following Lando around and started dating Ollie, you were in Miami.

You had convinced Ollie to come into the Mclaren garage with you because Lando had a feeling something extraordinary was going to happen today. So Ollie was now standing in the back of the Mclaren garage with you.

The safety car was soon drawn out, and Lando pitted under it now in P1. Jumping up and down in your spot, Ollie had his hands rested on your hips, trying to calm you down. Your hyperness is just as crazy as he’s used to, if not more than he’s used to

“He’s P1 Ollie. P1” You cheered as he chuckled, pulling you into his body as a couple of mechanics laughed at your excitement. Obviously, Lando had led many Grand Prix’s but the gap between him and Max was just getting bigger.

You had expected Max to pass Lando within a couple of laps, but now Lando was ten laps away from the chequered flag with a six second gap between him and Max that just kept increasing.

“Darling. Darling. You need to calm down or you’re not going to be able to celebrate” Ollie chuckled pulling you closer to him to keep you standing up knowing that if you continued to jump about the place and get too excited by the time Lando was to cross the finish line you’d be on the floor with numb legs.

As Lando got closer to the chequered flag, you grabbed Ollie’s hand, squeezing it as tightly as you can, the nerves running through your body looking up at Ollie, who had a smile on his face watching you.

“That’s it let your energy out that way” He hummed, pushing your hair out of your face as your head rested upon his shoulder being unable to look at the screen scared that Max was going to overtake in the last minute and Lando was going to end up in second.

“Come on, love. Look at the screen. He’s gonna finish first” He whispered in your ear, and you lifted your head a little to look at the screen. Your head was still on his shoulder as you kept squeezing his hand as Lando passed the chequered flag first.

Letting go of Ollie, you jumped around the garage as Jon walked over with a massive smile on his face

“Come on then, Miss Hyper!” He chuckled as you bounced over to him. Jon led you down to the end of the pitlane where the rest of Mclaren was standing watching. Gently pushing you to the front of the barriers so that you could hug Lando. He stood behind you to ensure that you wouldn’t get hurt.

Lando ran over to the Mclaren group, launching himself into their arms before they lifted him up to crowd surf. He’d always wanted to try that, so he said. When he was placed back on the floor, Zak and Andrea pulled him into hugs before his eyes started searching around the pitlane.

Running over when he spotted you, he pulled you over the barrier to hug you tightly. His hug knocked the oxygen out of your lungs from the grip he had on your body

“I’m so proud of you Lan” You smiled as you bounced, causing him to laugh. The smile on his face still is not leaving.

“I can’t believe it. I need someone to pinch me or something” He joked, wrapping his arm around your shoulder so you couldn’t walk back to Jon and had to follow him

“I’ll slap you if you want” you joked as George came up to Lando congratulating him, then Daniel. Picking up Lando’s helmet for him, you waited for him to finish his conversations. Zak resting a hand on your shoulder, you look up at him

“Why don’t you go with him? He’s clearly not letting go of your shoulder anytime soon” He joked, and you nodded

“Is that allowed? I thought Andrea was going for the constructors trophy?” You asked, and he nodded

“He is, but you can stand behind the stage if you want” You smiled with a nod

“Thanks Zac” Lando pulled you through the pit lanes and sat you in one of the little buggies, taking him to the podium. Still basically jumping with excitement, you only just took the time to look at your phone.

Congratulations, texts from everyone you could think of, including some people you didn’t want to think of ever again. But your mum, dad, and siblings as well as close friends of yours both tell you to pass the messages onto Lando so that he doesn’t have to wait to hear how proud they are of him.

That’s when you realised that you were more than happy following Lando around the world and whatever doubt you had disappeared watching the smile on Lando’s face just grow bigger every time someone congratulated him, handed him the trophy or even just said hello.

Tag List

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@molten-m122

@thewannabewriter

@lozzamen3

@barcelonaloverf1life

@hiireadstuff

@mxdi0

@f1kenzzz

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@llando4norris

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@jisungstuff

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@ahgase99

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indulgentdaydream · 5 months

Note

Hello!

Can you do Jason todd x reader where he's crushing on the newest vigilante in Gotham?

Thank you

New in Town

Jason Todd x Reader || Fluff || Word Count: 1,185

Warnings: profanity (swearing), death mention, violence, low-key stalking but not really??

Wrote half of the fic. Was nearly finished. It didn’t save. 😩 the ONE time i decide to write outside of the notes app

I love the idea of Jason crushing on someone like a teenage boy because he never actually GOT that chance as a teenager so he never learned how to cope with those kind of feelings, so I sprinkled that in here.

I feel like this is poorly written forgive me 🙏

He hadn’t heard of you until six months ago. He hadn’t cared then, either. You kept to the other side of the city, you didn’t pose a threat, and he was already preoccupied with his own things to deal with. You weren’t that important to him.

Jason was walking across rooftops. Two weeks, roughly, since he had caught wind of the new name, aligned with the rest of the bats.

It was a night where the rain had let up for once. It wasn’t perfect, though. Never was. The clouds still too thick to see the bright moon and stars.

He was looking for an address, one that seemingly didn’t exist. He landed on another rooftop of a short apartment building. Jason could hear the sounds of two people fighting down in the alley below him.

He walked to the edge, looked down, and there you were. Dressed up in your vigilante gear, fighting some thug.

He crouched, watching. This was much more entertaining then his fake address.

The thug was much bigger than you, but you handled yourself well. The thug lurched forward. You planted a hard, flat, kick to his stomach. He stumbled back. You got in a good punch, a right hook. The thug went with it. He bashed his back off the corner of a dumpster before crumbling to the ground.

Jason nodded once in approval. You didn’t play.

You both saw it at the same time. The clouds parted for a moment behind Jason, the light of the moon shining down over Gotham for just a moment.

The shadow of the top of the apartment split the alleyway below in half, with Jason’s crouched form’s shadow landing right in front of the thug.

He stood up and stepped back from the edge just as you started to look up. He was out of sight before you could see him. At most, you saw the glint of his helmet, but nothing else.

He walked away. He didn’t want to deal with this.

Three weeks later, Jason’s standing on a catwalk in one of Gotham’s many abandoned warehouses. He’s high enough up, hidden within a shadow, that they couldn’t see him even if they had the brains to check up instead of around.

He’s holding his AR-15, pointed down below at the drug dealers he’s been following all week. His aim is steady, mind going over the motions of the possibilities.

“Psst.”

Jason whipped his head up. He aimed the rifle in front of him. There, on the other catwalk, ten feet away from him, was you.

You were leaning on the railing, smiling. Jason didn’t like how his first thought was the realization that this was the closest he had ever been to you.

“Want some help?” You whispered loudly, your smile pulling into a grin.

He looked back down, fixing his aim, “No.”

You leaned further over the railing, exposing nearly half your body to the drug dealers below if they so happened to look up. You whispered your name. Your vigilante name, that is. He didn’t respond.

“Rude,” he heard you mutter. You stayed silent for just a moment as he watched the dealers walk around their table, complaining about their business not showing up. The business that Jason had left dead in an alleyway an hour ago.

Silent treatment wasn’t going to work. You spoke up again, “Why didn’t you say hello? When you saw me in the alley?”

“Maybe I didn’t want to.” Except he had wanted to, just not like that. And not like this.

It was your turn to stay silent. Jason looked up without moving. With his helmet, you couldn’t tell if he was, or was watching the men below.

Standing up straight again, your head was turned away a little, obviously listening to somebody babble away in your ear.

He looked back down before you turned your head back, “Welp, should’ve accepted my offer. I gotta go.”

“Buh-bye,” Jason said dryly before you were walking off down the catwalk.

What can he say? He was intrigued after that. He’d watch you fight from hidden corners, never daring to step out. He waited for the right opportunity to talk to you again. He… did it for too long. A couple months too long.

It wasn’t stalking. That’s what he told himself. He hadn’t pushed to discover your identity, hadn’t learned your exact schedule. He just… kept looking for a chance to talk.

Jason hated it. Hated that he couldn’t come up with a way to approach you. Hated how he got tongue tied thinking about it. How his palms got damp. What could he say?

He ran into Dick one night. They sat on the edge of a building and talked. Which turned to bickering for a while, before it came into a “Who had the worst Bruce experience” argument.

He shut up the second you landed on the roof behind them, “I could hear you two from an entire street over.”

Dick clapped his hands together, a smile breaking out at the sight of you. Jason turned to watch. He walked over, happily calling your name. He got to you, pointing at Jason as he slipped an arm around your shoulders, “Tell this guy he’s wrong.”

You frowned, “I don’t even know this guy.”

Jason remembered he had taken off his helmet, left in only his domino mask. You couldn’t see the rest of his clothes from the fact he’s sitting facing away from you.

Speak! Dammit! He chided himself. He picked up his helmet from his side, bringing it around to show you. He watched your eyes widen in recognition.

“Ooooh,” you immediately nodded, “Yeah. You’re wrong.”

Jason found his words with an amused smirk, “You don’t even know what for.”

You shrug and Dick laughs, “That’s the spirit!”

Jason turned back around. He pretended like he was watching the city line, but he was really listening to yours and Dick’s conversation. He kept trying to look for ways in, ways to talk to you.

Now! Nope, Dick said something unrelated, too quickly. Now your conversation went in that direction. Here! Too late. He hesitated.

He stopped listening, pursing his lips in annoyance at his own stupid, boyish inability to talk to the attractive new vigilante.

“Oh… he said he didn’t want to talk to me. Probably annoyed by my presence.”

He tuned back in.

“How rude.”

“That’s what I said!”

Jason looked back over his shoulder. The two of you were standing there, arms crossed, looking at him.

“What?”

Dick seemed to remember something, “Have you two even been formally introduced?”

You grumbled something along the lines of, “Tried that.”

Jason shrugged, “I’ve seen them around,” he met your eyes, “You fight good.”

What kind of fucking compliment is that?

“So do you,” you smiled.

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed a little in confusion. You could see the movement through the domino mask, “You’ve never seen me fight.”

You grinned, pointing at him, “That’s what you think.”

Jason smirked a little. Oh, he liked you, alright.

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himbofan4444 · 6 months

Note

Could you do a story where a genius chemistry major gets caught up in the jocks hazing rituals and they turn him into a jock slowly by melting his brains into cum leading to the finale where he cums his brains out along the quarterbacks ass

I don’t want to sound conceded or like I’m cocky or anything, but I’m technically a genius. Like my IQ is high enough to classify me as a genius. I’ve been called perfect before because I’m really intelligent and rather muscular thanks to my time in the gym and my time playing football. I’m gonna sound like a total pick-me, but I’ve never really fit in. I’m so much more intelligent than every other guy that was on the team. But now that I’m in college, I’m hoping I can find at least one guy I can relate to.

My first day of college wasn’t great… The guys are literally the exact same as the ones from high school in mannerism and mentality. I guess I’ll just be out of place yet again. There’s a “sacred” hazing ritual that all new coming football players must partake in. I haven’t been told much but I know it’s humiliating. I step foot in the locker room, the putrid stench of stale musk and sweat fills my nose. Honestly I don’t mind the smell; I’ve grown used to it after years of exposure to it. There’s a line of freshmen standing shirtless just like me. I enter the end of the line and wait for further instruction.

The quarterback paces in front of the group of us, marching like a general. He stops in front of me and looks me up and down, his eyes resting on my crotch for an uncomfortably long time.

“Last year, one of our linebackers graduated. He was renowned for his massive horse cock. Since he left, we haven’t had someone to replace him and the team fuck stick. I think this man will be a perfect replacement!” the quarterback shouts, leading to a round of applause from the existing members and a weak clap from the upcoming ones. I look around, confused by his questionable proclamation.

The quarterback pulls out a battered football helmet and inserts it on my head. The helmet is tight and squeezes my head. God it kind of hurts. I chuckle, “Oh I uh- Thank you…?”

“Yeah you’ll be thankin’ me real soon, bro,” the quarterback said, a smirk on his face. A flash of calmness washes over me, instantly numbing my anxieties and concerns. My dick jumps to life, sticking straight out in front of me. The other guys laugh at my obvious boner.

My dick isn’t that big, only about 5 inches, but it looks… bigger. The size of my boner continues climbing, soon becoming about 11 inches and thick as a beer can. The amount of blood required to keep me hard seems to be coming straight from my brain, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy. Then my dick starts leaking precum. Buckets of precum. My brain feels weird, almost like it’s a liquid. I can feel it sloshing around in my skull. I feel a weird draining feeling, like my skull is a faucet and it’s pouring down my torso. I feel the dripping stop when the liquid reaches my balls, inflating them in size to better match the girth of my horse cock.

God it’s gettin’ hard tuh think… It’s like my brain just been switched off. “Huhuhu,” I laugh dully, rubbing my massive dick through my pants.

I look down to see the quarterback on his hands and knees with his pants pulled down. He’s presenting his big… fuckable ass… Oh my god he’s so hot. Fuck… It’s getting harder to… Oh fuck! My dick unleashes a cascading shot of thick cum on his ass. I fall to my knees, still dizzy and very disoriented.

The established football players clap and cheer me on, someone taking off my helmet and giving me a noogie. Now I’m one of the star linebackers on the team and more importantly, I’m the brainless fuck stick of the team, willing to shove my huge dick up anyone’s ass without a thought.

#dumber tf #tf #transformation #dumber #gay #gay tf #himbo #himbo tf #dick growth #dick growth tf

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sanguineterrain · 24 days

Note

Sanne can we get a part 2 for reporter!reader?? Picking up where it first left off their first night in the same home - and there's only 1 bed! - and reader shares the bed with him with the promise of not looking at his unmasked face in the middle of the night? And like them realizing over the next few days that they have very similar habits like tendencies to work throughout the night once they've got a lead and not having a set sleep schedule/unconventional sleeping hours.

OKAY HERE WE GO! be fed my lovelies <3 didn't exactly do one bed but hopefully you like it anyway ;) pt 2 of this

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. nightmares, hurt/comfort, jason sexy mf todd being a domestic dreamboat. 2.4k. pls enjoy

****

The Red Hood's apartment is... not at all what you expected.

It looks lived in. It, as awful a thought as it is, looks like an actual person lives here.

And it's not that you didn't know that Hood has a life outside of shooting and scaring, but the giant ficus and the overstuffed bookshelf seem paradoxical to everything you know about Hood.

You're realizing that you don't know him at all.

"So, uh." Hood awkwardly gestures to the apartment. "This is it. Welcome."

"It's nice," you say, stepping over the threshold. "Really nice. I'm a little jealous, Red."

"What can I say? Being public enemy number one is surprisingly lucrative."

You wander to the kitchen. There's a picture of him and a red-headed masked man who looks vaguely familiar. The man is smiling, his arm around Hood. There's a city skyline behind them you don't recognize.

"Where's that?" you ask. You don't expect him to answer.

"Morocco."

"I didn't know you had friends," you say, studying the Welcome to Vegas! magnet that's holding up the picture.

"Ouch."

"No, I—" You turn, shaking your head. "Sorry, no. I meant, like, people you do fun things with."

"Mm, yeah, I know what a friend is."

"Red, you know what I mean. I didn't know you took selfies and kept plants and read."

"Thought I was friendless and illiterate, huh?" He leans against the kitchen table, fist tucked under his helmet. "Y'wouldn't be the first."

"Hood—"

He snorts, shoulders shaking. You stop.

"That's not funny," you say, rolling your eyes. "Jerk."

"It's a little funny. You're always so sharp with your words, smartypants. No, while I'm very literate, friends are admittedly far and few. Arsenal's my closest friend."

"Is he also a crime lord?"

"Nah. Way better guy than me."

You look back at the picture and wonder how often Hood gets to experience joy. And when was the last time he had a vacation?

You feel a gentle tug at the back of your jacket.

"C'mon. You can snoop more later, promise. Lemme show you your room."

Hood takes your suitcase before you can protest. You follow him down the hall. There's one door to the bathroom—the other is to a single bedroom.

The bedroom is nice, bigger than yours at home. It's sort of what you expected (i.e., the mounted katanas on the wall) but also not (a giant framed poster of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice film).

Holy hell. You're in the Red Hood's bedroom.

"Hood, I can't sleep here," you say, watching as he puts your suitcase in the corner.

The bed has been made, sheets tucked in without a single wrinkle. They're in various shades of red. You're sure Hood thinks he's hilarious.

"Why? If the swords are putting you off, I can move 'em."

"No, it's—I can't take your room, Hood. There's no way I'm doing that."

He shakes his head. "No, trust me, it's for the best. That couch is only comfortable to sleep on after a dose of painkillers."

"Dude, I am not making you sleep on the couch in your own house."

"Well, dude, I'm the host, and I'm the big and scary Red Hood, so what I say goes."

"Like either one of us actually believes that," you say, brushing past him to grab your suitcase. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed. It's–it's very sweet of you to offer. But you physically exert yourself every day. You need a comfortable bed more than I do. Besides, it's not like I'll be here for long."

Hood steps in front of you, casually blocking your exit.

"Well, try this on for size: my room is more secure than my living room," he says. "If someone were to break in, they'd have to get through me out there first."

That... is, unfortunately, a good point. You're still extremely paranoid after the assassination attempt two nights ago.

"You're so manipulative, y'know that?" you grumble, leaving your suitcase where it is.

"I know. I come from a real fucked up family." He doesn't sound too put out by it.

"But if you get injured on patrol, I'm sleeping on the couch."

He pats your shoulder. "'S cute you think you can bargain in my house, smarty."

****

Dinner goes well. Hood makes beef bolognese and it's delicious. You take an extra long time in the bathroom before bed so Hood has enough time to eat, considering his refusal to remove his helmet. You'd offered to blindfold yourself—he'd just laughed.

"Sure you don't want your room? It is, after all, yours," you say when you come out, fresh from your shower.

Hood glances at you briefly from where he's washing dishes. He's out of his jacket and suit, now only in jeans and a white t-shirt. Your face feels hot for some reason.

"I'm sure. Cute robe."

"Oh." You look down at the Wonder Woman robe your friend gave you. "Thanks. Got it for my birthday."

"I'll have to get myself one too," Hood says, drying a glass with a polka dot tea towel. "Big Wonder Woman fan."

"Yeah? We solve this case, and I'll get you all the robes you want, Red."

"Tempting."

You chew your lip as you watch him clean up. "Want any help?"

"Go to sleep, star reporter." He sounds amused.

"You try to be a polite guest only to get shot down..." you mumble.

On your way to Hood's room, you get distracted by a pile of documents on the coffee table. You stop, picking up the corner to read one. They're about the case, about all the labs that might be involved in the experiments.

Well... you can read just one. It seems like Hood's compiled a lot of information on his own.

You stand for a bit until your legs grow tired. Then you sit on the couch, making notes of what you do and don't know on a nearby writing pad.

"Did you get lost?"

Hood's watching you, leaning against the wall. It's weird to see his bare arms. His very sculpted, muscled arms. You think you peek a tattoo on his bicep.

"My attention was caught," you say, unrepentant. "Anyway, there's a lot of stuff I haven't seen. You've been holding out on me, Red."

"'S just theories, mostly. Didn't feel it was relevant to mention without hard proof."

"Ever hear of a work-life balance?" you ask.

Hood walks over and joins you on the couch, making the cushion dip. You bump shoulders briefly, before you move.

"Look who's talking, Pulitzer prize," he says.

"That's a very reasonable goal, and I'm not obsessed with it. You're just a workaholic. I have activities outside of wo—oh my God, work!"

You shoot up from the couch, panicked. "Fuck. Fuck! I haven't shown up in two days! I'm—"

"Hey, easy," Hood says, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. "I called you out. Said you had the flu. No biggie."

"How did you call me out?"

He shrugs. "Pretended to be your boyfriend. Girl on the line was kinda rude about it. Didn't believe me at first."

"Red, I believe we've talked about these invasions of privacy."

"I'm just fulfilling my host duties. Is it true you haven't taken a day off in two years?"

You sigh. "Yes, okay? Fine. I'm a workaholic, too. That's why Jane, the secretary you spoke to, was so sassy about my having a boyfriend. It's pretty unbelievable."

"That's ridiculous. You could totally get a boyfriend. Some guys don't mind that."

"Like you?"

Hood tilts his head in acknowledgment. "Sure. Like me."

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly most men."

"And thank God for that."

You look at each other for another moment. Hood's tattoo is in clear view now: it's a bird surrounded by flowers. You can't tell the species of either one.

"Cool tattoo," you say, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth.

Hood turns his arm so the ink is hidden. "Thanks."

"Right." You start to walk backwards. "I think... I'm gonna go to bed."

"Sure," he says. "If y'need anything, holler."

"'Kay. Thank you for dinner. You're a great cook."

"You flatterer."

You smile. "Gotta stay in the Red Hood's good graces."

You start to walk away.

"Do you—waffles?"

You stop and turn. "Sorry?"

"I, uh... do you like waffles? For breakfast," he says. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together. Nervous habit.

"I love waffles for breakfast."

Hood nods. "Great. Good. Then I'll... we'll have those."

"Please don't wake up early just to make breakfast, Red."

"You're my guest. I'll do whatever I want."

You don't recall the prospect of waffles ever making your heart hammer in your chest. Weird.

"Right. Well, goodnight," you say.

"G'night, smarty."

****

You turn the case details in your mind over and over. It's better than thinking about beef bolognese and peeks of skin you shouldn't see and how Hood's sheets smell like lavender.

But you fall asleep thinking about robins. You don't know why. You can't recall ever seeing a robin in Gotham.

You're on a rooftop. It's the roof you met Hood on, all those months ago. There's a robin nesting with its babies on the crumbling bricks.

The sky is a sick shade of green. You see horrible faces in the shadows on the roof.

That face from the night of the attack returns. He's hideous. You remember the stench of his breath, the way his eyes bulged. He grins at you across the roof.

"He should've killed me when he had the chance," he says, voice distorted.

You look around. The robin is gone. Blood drips from your stomach.

You turn and your attacker is there, inches away. He plunges the knife into you again and again. You can't move. This is it. You will die.

You wake up to wet cheeks. You're hot, and you're screaming. You've died.

A cool, rough hand grabs your arm and you fight because you can't die, you won't die. Not today.

"Hey. Hey, hey! It's me, 's J—Hood. It's Hood."

The room is almost entirely dark, save for a sliver of light from the cracked curtains. You can't make out his face. His voice is different. Clearer. He's without his helmet.

You reach out and feel soft hair. The curve of a neck. A bicep. A warm, bare chest.

"Sure, honey. Cop a feel if that makes you feel better," he murmurs.

Your face screws up and you start to cry.

"Shit," Hood whispers. "Shit, shit. Can't get the comforting thing right, can I?"

The bed dips with his weight. Arms wrap around you. You launch yourself into those arms, that solid chest.

"He g-got me in the dream," you choke out. "He killed us, Red. I'm so scared."

"Nobody's getting me or you. I promise."

Hood's jaw is smooth. His hands are big on your back, rubbing circles. His bare knee bumps yours.

You clutch him tighter. He hums.

"'S okay," he says. "It's alright. I got ya. He can't hurt you. I'd tear apart anyone who tries."

He lets you cry for several minutes, petting you all the while. Hood's body is warm, almost unnaturally so, but his hands are cool. He engulfs you completely.

You wonder what color his hair is. His eyes. What shape his nose is. His... lips.

"God, I'm a terrible guest," you mumble after you've caught your breath. "Fuck. I'm so sorry to wake you."

He hums, the sound going through your chest. "Don't worry. I don't sleep much. And you're not the worst guest I've had. My brother stayed with me for a few days last month. That was hell."

"You have a brother?"

"Four, actually. And a sister."

"Wow. Do they know you're...?"

"Yeah. It was a whole thing. They're over it now."

"Cool family."

Hood grunts. "They're... something."

You smile and close your eyes. "You're not who I thought you were, Red."

"Yes, I know. Friendless and illiterate."

You pinch his side. He clucks his tongue in response.

"Cheeky," he says, the gravel in his voice shooting down your spine like lightning.

You pull back, suddenly aware of how long you've been touching him. Hood lets you have your space, scooting to the edge of the bed.

"You know what I mean," you say, glad it's dark and Hood can't see your wide eyes. "Not like that."

"I know. You thought I was a monster, ugly and alone, sleeping in a cave."

Blindly, you reach for his face, feel the shape of his jaw, his chin.

"Doesn't feel like an ugly face to me," you say quietly.

He exhales like you punched the air out of him.

"Trust me," he says. "The dark hides a lot."

You frown and pull away. "I didn't think any of those things, Red. I thought... I thought you were one-track minded. Now I realize that you're probably better adjusted than I am."

"Oh no, I got issues. Believe me. Definitely more than you. Not that it's a competition. 'Cept if it was, I'd win."

You smile. "Title is all yours, big guy. Gotta be a little crazy to do what we do."

"Sure. But you're the bravest soul I know. 'Cause you weren't forced into this. You hunted down the story yourself."

"Brave or stupid?" you ask.

"Brave. But it's a fine line."

Nope. It's definitely more stupid than not, clinging to the Red Hood in his own bed in the name of a case.

What are you doing?

"Ah, anyway." The bed shifts as Hood stands. You can just barely make out the shape of him. "You probably won't be going back to sleep any time soon, huh?"

You sigh. "No, probably not. Please feel free to take back your bed."

"Nice try. You, uh... like hot chocolate?"

"Oh. Yes, I do. But you don't have to do that."

"I've been awake," he says. "No trouble. C'mon."

Hood walks to the door and opens it. Light spills out and for a moment, you have a clear view of his back.

His hair is dark and wavy. His back is covered in silver scars and fresh bruises, broad and muscled. You can see the tendons shift as he walks out.

The Red Hood is a man. Made of flesh and blood. Carved, more like.

Your belly flutters. Fuck.

This is no longer just you working a case. And you're about as far from an informant as anyone can be.

#Jason todd x reader #Jason todd x you #Red Hood x reader #Red Hood fanfiction #red Hood x you #Jason todd fanfiction #Jason todd imagine #red Hood imagine #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #jason todd x yn #red Hood x yn #gender neutral reader #inbox #blurb

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aoioozora · 4 months

Text

Simon.

Part 1

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Photo credit: quinci Note: Had 'Meddle About' by Chase Atlantic on repeat as I wrote this in one sitting. My first COD fanfiction. Enjoy!

Their hands squeezed against your arms and wrists. You tried to pull and yank away in resistance to their unwanted advances.

“Hey, c'mon, you're cute! You should come with us.” one of them said in a voice that was meant to sound silky and inviting, but came off as sleazy.

Words failed you, all of them stuck in your throat, a large lump of fear blocking them from escaping your lips, tightening within your neck like a balloon about to burst. The memory of self-defense vanished from your muscles as you pitifully tried to fight off three men who were taller and bigger than you with your pathetic grunts and pleas to be released.

Upon the dark and empty streets, a distant hum of an engine, accompanied by a singular bright light which seemed like a firefly's glow, appeared to he approaching. You took no notice.

The hum of the distant engine grew about as loud as a cat's threatening growl, and the light as that of a strong flashlight. It still didn't catch your notice.

The growl turned into a loud, deafening roar, seemingly at will, vibrating the still air like an earthquake. It caught all of your attention as it drew near at an alarming speed towards the four of you.

The three men shrieked with fright, automatically letting your hands go in the process, and covered their faces with their arms. The growling, glowing thing screeched to a halt inches in front of them, sending the sharp smell of burnt rubber up their noses.

When the four of you looked, there stood a shiny, jet black sports motorcycle, upon which sat a rider. He was helmeted, also dressed in ripped black jeans that hugged his tree trunk-like thighs, a black leather jacket that tightened against his muscular arms and broad shoulders. The flickering white light of the street lamp cast a ghastly, ominous glow over him, making him look like some sort of ghost from an urban legend.

The three men recovered from their shock and opened their mouths to berate this biker for interrupting them, but before they even did, the biker flicked up the dark visor of his helmet and revealed his equally dark, glaring eyes.

“What are you doing with my girlfriend?” asked the biker, enunciating every word, slowly, like he was holding back a dam's amount of rage. His gruff, gravelly, British accented voice was muffled slightly by the balaclava he wore under the helmet, yet every word was heard loud and clear as if they were spoken through a megaphone, and the three men immediately stepped back from you, knowing that messing with another man's girl would have dire consequences.

You didn't know you had a boyfriend. Yet you played along.

“Simon!” You cried as you ran to him, going behind the motorcycle and hiding behind his large body. You decided to name him whatever came to mind first.

He sat up straight on his motorcycle to keep you hidden from them as he balanced on the sleek vehicle which rumbled like a distant thunder between his legs. He glared at the three men. “Well?” he asked with a growl that very well sounded the same as the roar of his vehicle's engine.

They simply backed off without a word, knowing they wouldn't win. The mysterious motorcyclist who you named ‘Simon’, stayed until the three men were out of sight while you still stood behind him, watching them leave.

“You okay?” he finally asked you when the coast was clear, now turning his dark eyes over his shoulder, where you were standing.

You let out an exhale you didn't know you were holding. “I'm fine,” You replied with some effort, massaging your aching wrists.

He paused before replying; he could clearly see that you were rattled by the experience, considering how your eyes still looked apprehensive like that of a hunted rabbit’s. His eyes flickered to your wrists, and he looked back at you. “Did they hurt you?” he asked softly.

“They just held me tight. I mean, my arms.” You exhaled again, the ache in your wrists easing slightly. Words still seemed to fail you, but they now flowed out a little easier.

He seemed slightly taken aback by how nonchalantly you said this, like it was a common thing. “Bastards.” he growled in his very distinct accent, clearly not the posh British accent you knew. “This place isn't safe. What were you loitering around here for?” he asked, now holding the handles of his motorcycle as he leaned back and moved his legs, moving the motorcycle backwards so that it was now back on the street.

You moved away to give him space, and then replied, “A friend of mine lives here. There was a party at her place.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he now leaned forward to cross his arms on the tank of his vehicle. “Do you want to get out of here safely without getting hounded by blokes like those?” he asked.

“Yes!” you answered immediately. Somehow, you felt like you could trust this man somewhat, especially after he saved you and enquired about your wellbeing after that ordeal.

He leaned back slightly and patted the pillion behind him. “Get on. I'll be your taxi tonight.”

You blinked. “Are you sure? I don't want to bother you too much.”

“Look here, lass,” he started, leaning forward again, “I don't know if you know, but besides those cunts, there are muggers here too. And they all wake up at night. If you want to get out of here safely and not be a news report tomorrow, then get on." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, "I'll take you wherever you need to go.”

You were surprised by his straightforwardness, yet it somehow seemed apt for a man with a gruff voice and a fearless attitude. Not another word more, you climbed up on the pillion of his motorcycle with some stumbling, but the man was patient, and leaned his motorcycle to the side to lower it slightly, so you could get on easier. As you were doing this, you couldn't help but notice the musky, earthy smell of his perfume, which reminded you of wet soil, rain, and dark chocolate; a positively divine scent.

“What's your name?” You asked as soon as you were comfortably settled on the seat.

There was a moment's pause before he answered, “Simon,” with an almost careful tone, as if he wanted to see your reaction.

As he expected, your eyes were wide with surprise. It melted away slightly as you thought he was just playing around with you. "Come on, that's the name I called you by earlier. What's your actual name?"

"It's Simon." he insisted.

You blinked yet again. "What a coincidence," You said laughingly, "I could've never imagined getting your name right on accident."

“I confess, you surprised me there.” His voice trailed off at the end, as if he wanted to say something cheesy, but he stopped himself, remembering that you were a stranger and not his friend. He leaned back again, yet again moving his motorcycle backwards.

You instinctively took hold of his shoulder to keep yourself steady as he moved. You tried to ignore it, but you noted how broad and rugged his shoulders were.

“So, where d'you wanna go?” he asked, taking hold of the handles and twisting the accelerator, making the motorcycle growl.

You told him your destination.

“Not too far. Two minutes if I go at 150.” he said, as if 150 kmph was slow for him. But he looked at you over his shoulder, “You okay going fast?”

“I've never gone fast before.”

He figured. "Wanna get a feel of it?"

"Sure, I've not nothing to lose... except my life, if you don't drive safely."

He chuckled, and it sounded oddly cute, unlike his gruff voice. "Just trust me, lass. I'm not gonna turn you into a news report."

"Well, you saved my life just there, I expect you to preserve it." You said with a chuckle. It felt strange that you already seemed comfortable enough with him to joke around.

"Nothing to worry about," he assured as he turned forward and revved the engines again. “You'll fly off, so hold on to me tight.” He said with emphasis.

“Gotcha.”

He got the wheels running, and started slow. The breeze kissed your face and your hair, and in the cool night, it felt freeing. He twisted the accelerator, going a notch faster. The breeze blew against you like a blow dryer, and you squinted your eyes slightly in order to see the quickly passing landscape of buildings, 24 hour convenience stores, and lighted street lamps.

He gradually increased the speed so you would not freak out, an oddly considerate thing he did for a complete stranger, something he would not usually ever do.

As the dial of the speedometer passed the 80s and crossed to the 100s, the breeze, now a gust, started to mercilessly slap your face, not allowing you to open your watering eyes. By this time, you had your arms around his waist and your face stuffed in and hidden behind his large back, holding on to him for dear life, while the smell of his perfume consoled your fears.

He rode on, completely unfazed by this speed, but a little stiff at the fact that a person, a woman, particularly, was holding on to him. It was out of necessity, of course, yet he couldn't help but feel a little strange about it.

As predicted, in two minutes, he reached your destination, which was thankfully a busy area with people still bustling around the open shops like it was daytime. He halted to a stop where you asked, and you took hold of his shoulder again as you mounted off the high pillion seat.

“Thanks a lot, Simon,” You smiled at him. You took notice of the logo on his helmet that carried the Italian flag in a semi-circle; it seemed to stand out over the glossy black shell of the headgear.

He pushed up his dark visor, and the flag was obscured. He nodded in response as his eyes studied your face, taking in the contours of your features all in a brief moment. "How did the speed feel?" he asked.

"Exhilarating," You replied, feeling your heart thumping wildly.

"In a good way?"

"I guess. It was kind of scary, but I liked it."

He nodded, and in his eyes, you could see that he looked a little pleased by your answer.

“I know it's not much but…” You paused, putting your hand in the pocket of your jacket, causing the contents to ruffle against each other. You pulled out a small, hard red candy wrapped in clear plastic and handed it to him. “... This is a little something for you for helping me out.”

He stared at the little candy on the palm of your hand, almost ready to refuse it out of modesty. But it was just a little candy. Who could it hurt? His fair hand reached out and took the candy, and both of you noted how tiny the sweet treat looked on his palm. He could crush it with his bare hands if he wanted to. Yet, he held it gently and stashed it in the pocket of his leather jacket, murmuring a word of gratitude that was barely audible under the two layers of his balaclava and his helmet.

“Well, you take care. And don't hang around in sketchy places like that next time,” he said, as if you were his friend of many years.

You were warmed by his concern for you, and you smiled, nodding. “After that, I don't think I'll hang around there at this time anymore. I'm sure as hell gonna stay over at my friend's place if I'm there till late.”

“Excellent choice,” he remarked. “I'll be off now.”

“Take care.” You smiled at him again, and his eye lingered on you a moment longer before he turned his head away.

He silently revved the engine of his vehicle again and sped off. You stood by the side of the road, watching his figure recede as the distance grew.

A sense of longing washed over you for this stranger named Simon, and you wondered if you would ever see him again. It was a strange coincidence that you unknowingly guessed his name so correctly, like unknowingly marking the right choice in a multiple choice exam.

It all came back to you now. The feeling of his rugged shoulder and back under the smooth leather of his jacket; the coarse, gravelly growl of his British accented voice that felt like rubbing coffee powder between your fingers, rough yet pleasing; the scent of his perfume like that of a dark, wet, rainforest; and his eyes… oh, his dark eyes were brooding and mysterious. Under the shade of his helmet, they seemed like swirling little black holes, the gravity around them dense enough to draw you in like a helpless star.

A shiver passed down your spine as you thought of him, making your cheeks flush with warmth as a distant look reflected in your pining eyes.

You started your walk back home, thoughts filled to the brim, flooding like a tidal wave with this biker. You were left knowing nothing about him, except for his name:

Simon.

End.

Part 2

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frannyzooey · 5 months

Text

devour (the entire universe)

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: E (additional warnings: harvesting violence, mentions of gore and blood, mentions of cannibalism, love as consumption and all the visuals that come with it, so much fucking and filth and ass play and cum eating it isn’t funny)

My submission for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event, my giftee is @wannab-urs ❤ Merry Christmas, my lovely!

I was so excited when I was given your name (!!) - I absolutely love seeing you on my dash. I tried to take as many things from your list as possible, but the prompt "love as consumption" really inspired this piece. Having never written anything like this before, I really, really hope you like it. A million thank yous to @hier--soir who beta'ed this for me and also gave me the best inspiration and guidance - I couldn't have done it without them. Thank you also to @bageldaddy who put up with my terrible spelling and who always reminds me, in the best way, that less is more ❤

CYCLE ONE

The first time you saw him, he stumbled into the field you were working in. Your head snapping up at the sound of someone coming through the grass, you observed each other for a moment, each of your throwers raised.

“Now this is something I have never seen in all my time in The Green,” he said. “A little girl.”

Immediately bristling, indignation flashed across your face underneath the glass dome of your helmet. You resented being called that - a little girl. The open prejudice against women harvesters was well known and there was something about his tone that felt mocking in a way you loathed, so you didn’t even dignify his statement with an answer.

Instead, you held your ground.

The two of you locked in a silent standoff, he took you in with a tilt of his helmet, assessing the threat you posed. You did the same, taking in his battered yellow suit, his lithe but broad frame.

Eventually, he lifted his hands in acquiescence and turned, disappearing back into the thick vegetation.

“A little girl,” you muttered angrily to yourself. Gouging your shovel into the rough soil, you sneered at the remembrance of his tone – as if he was taken aback by your presence. As if you didn’t belong here.

Three weeks later, you understood the marvel in his initial statement.

A woman an anomaly on the Green, others saw you as an easy target. Strong-armed out of your gems for the third time in weeks, other harvesters used brute force against your own smaller frame. Repeatedly forcing you into submission, you started to hate both them and yourself; the cruel environment and even crueler inhabitants bending you until you almost broke.

It was at this point that he stumbled upon you again: only this time, he offered himself to your aid.

Impressed by your tenacity, he suggested a partnership: your nimble fingers paired with his protection.

Sitting in the dirt with your suit torn and your case gone, you knew it was foolish to reject his offer of protection, but you did it anyway.

Both of you knew it was pride talking.

He crouched down in front of you, bringing you face to face. “I don’t see you have much of a choice. Or perhaps you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

You narrowed your eyes in stubbornness. “What’s in it for you?”

He shrugged. “A companion.”

You stiffened, and he shook his head. “Not that sort of companion.” His eyes raked over your form, as if he could see anything under your bulky suit, coming back to your face with a raise of his eyebrows. “Unless you’re interested?”

Your face hardened. “Not a chance. Protection only. Even split.”

He thought for a moment, his face suddenly transforming into something amenable.

“Of course.”

CYCLE TWO

At first, you hated him.

Couldn’t stand the way he was always talking in that drawl of his, always spewing those endless sentences filled with nonsensical words and even less content. You had come to the Green to work alone in silence, after all. A concept he seemed to despise, given the way he wouldn’t fucking shut up.

Attempting to ignore his ceaseless talking in the days that followed, you thought all the time about breaking the partnership - especially when you saw just how deceiving he could be with those words of his. It was a resource, you reasoned, to have that type of deception on your side, but what was stopping him from deceiving you? Constantly questioning his true allegiance, you kept your guard up – until the fourth time someone tried to take what was yours.

He killed them.

No hesitation, no negotiating. Calculated yet with a glimpse of something feral underneath that flashed in his dark eyes with every plunge of his harvesting knife into the man’s chest, you held your breath as you watched him take out the threat. Your form was frozen, the heavy grunts of his struggle echoing through your helmet.

Chest heaving and fist gripping a blade covered in thick, dark blood when he rose, his breathing sounded heavy and labored through the radio. His deep voice crackled through, pulling you from your fog.

“It’s okay, Birdie. Keep digging.”

CYCLE THREE

Sharing a tent for logistical reasons, you had to get used to his…proximity.

The careless way he discarded his clothes around the small space, the constant crinkle of Bits Bars. The way he changed his clothes in front of you whether or not you averted your gaze. His scent that clung to everything in that tent: the thin pillow and blanket he gave you, the towels you dried yourself with, the clothing he lent you to sleep in.

Unused to having anyone in his presence, he was careless with his body and trying to give him some privacy (that he didn’t seem to want, nor need) you strained your eyes attempting not to look at his tanned skin every time he bared it. His body littered with evidence of survival, you wanted to touch every line of puckered skin with your fingertips just to see how it felt.

Attraction due to proximity, is what you told yourself.

Imagining the texture and heat of his skin, obsessing about the way his tongue peeked out to dart at his top lip when he was deep in concentration, staring at the size of his hands as he worked to daydream about how filling his fingers would feel inside you. The images haunted your every waking moment, and you tried to ignore them all, including the sleep thick mumbles that left his plush lips while he was dreaming at night.

The intimate sound drove you mad with arousal, even though you assumed they were nightmares that plagued him…until the sounds changed into something more desperate. Until he said your name, his hips shifting on his cot with intent.

Your pulse pounding in the dark, you slipped your hand beneath your waistband and delved your fingers deep into the silken wetness that greeted you.

Swirling, swirling, swirling, you joined him in his dreams.

CYCLE FOUR

Everything about your dynamic changed when he lost his arm.

Used to him being confidence brimming over, he turned into something else. Sullen, quiet. The silence you once craved too foreign to be comfortable, you tried to coax him out.

“You seem like you’ve been doing this a long time. Tell me about it.”

“How long have you been on your own? How many planets have you harvested on?”

“How did you get that blonde streak in your hair, is it a birthmark or something?”

Slowly inching yourself into the hole he’d lowered himself into, you settled in next to him, curling yourself into his still side.

Diving deep inside him to find the self-confidence you knew was buried deep, you cradled it carefully, nurturing it back to life. You modified his throwers for one armed use, stitched up the sleeve of his jumpsuit so it would stop flapping in the wind, helped him practice fighting techniques to learn a new way of throwing his lean strength around. When he had a setback in his healing, you bartered for more juice all on your own.

Carefully soaking his stump, he had avoided your gaze the whole time – or tried to, but you wouldn’t let him.

“Hey,” you murmured, his chin cupped in your hand. His dark eyes lifted to yours, and you held his gaze. “We’re still partners, right?”

He huffed in disgust, looking away. “A one armed man is of little benefit to you.”

“I decide what’s beneficial to me,” you challenged, the fierceness in your tone forcing the edge of his lips to tug up.

He said nothing as his eyes searched your face and you considered how this must be for him – a reversal of roles, an independent creature like him used to coming out on top. Scrambling and clawing and fighting for it, sure – only this time he lost, and with it, everything he knew.

Except you.

“I need you,” you said, reaching for his whiskered cheek to guide his face back to yours. “Partners. You and me, okay?”

“If you’d still have me, Birdie,” he offered, nodding in confirmation. “You and me.”

CYCLE FIVE

The first time you kissed, you were both drunk – and you did a lot more than kissing.

For a man still getting used to one arm, he fucked you senseless.

A bottle of…something found on the body of another harvester who saw Ezra’s missing arm and tried to take advantage, the two of you drank it in its entirety next to the still body left in the fight’s wake. Stumbling back to your tent with warmth spreading through your limbs to pool between your thighs, he saw your aching, restless want and matched it with his own.

Insatiable, filthy, depraved: you thought his inhibitions were gone along with the contents of the bottle, but it turns out he never had any.

Helmets tossed and clothes torn from each other’s bodies, his fingers left bruising marks in their wake paired with the ones pounded into the inside of your thighs from his rough thrusts that shifted the cot along the floor. He swallowed your guttural moans before matching them with his own, his teeth biting into the soft, pliant flesh that he found under the rough exterior of your suit.

Riddled with the marks of his desire, he watched you ride him until you cried out his name and then made you sit on his face, licking his own spend out from inside you.

Never stopping until you begged him for reprieve, he only let you sleep an hour before waking you up to do it all over again.

He fucked you anywhere you were willing to be fucked after that: in broad daylight against the hull of an abandoned pod, bent over his cot with his dirty t-shirt stuffed into your mouth, right in the loose soil of a dig once.

Introducing you to so much more than you had experience with, he drew every debased fantasy out of you, and then made it come true with his fingers, mouth and cock. Wondering where he’d even learned the things he knew, he regaled you with more tales of his travels, only this time he told you about the interactions of a different kind.

A brothel, specializing in bondage.

A woman who had trained her gag reflex, and then bringing in a friend, had shown Ezra how to train his as well.

A bounty hunter once, who refused to take off his helmet.

“It was thrilling, not being able to see his face,” he mused, a delighted smile stretching his cheeks. “He came more than anyone I have ever been with. Filled my mouth full of his milky desire.”

He stopped there with a fond expression, lost in reminiscing.

“Sounds like you don’t need me anymore,” you teased. “You should go find your tall drink of bounty hunter, and –”

A smirk graced his face, and he rolled you onto your back to settle above you. “I love my gems golden colored, but I love them green as well.” He winked. “Come now, my envious Birdie. I’ll always need you.”

CYCLE TEN

You learned to move as one - both inside the tent and out.

Alone for months, you shifted with each others every movement, as if your bodies were connected just like the frequency of your helmets. Every tell of his showed plain through his suit, every mood shift of yours was met with a lift of his eyebrow.

Every beat of time spent in the presence of one another all merged and blended into one timeline: before, and after Ezra.

Before, there was insignificance, and after, there was only him.

Love seemed too simple a word, too small for what you felt. You shared a heartbeat, a body, a mind — something more than just love. It was crushing and all consuming, something that took root deep inside you and branched out to connect with his own limbs. You needed a better word than love to describe your devotion.

Something that dripped in reverence and coated your tongue just like he did.

“Have you ever cared for someone so much you wanted to consume them? Swallow a piece of them whole, to keep within you forever?”

Love as consumption, he called it.

You were used to his musings by now, the knowledge that he’d gathered over a lifetime of travels pouring out of his generous, plush mouth. Your bodies squeezed together on his cot, your skin was bare and sweat damp with exertion, your limbs intertwined with his. “There is something romantic about it, don’t you think? Wanting their body within yours.”

“Your body is already within mine nearly every night,” you teased, and he pinched the tip of your nose, grinning.

“Too true, little bird. Too true.” His face shifted from playful to something subdued. “But you know what I mean.”

“Is that what you want me to do?” Your thumb traced a line across his eyebrow, your fingers seeking out the patch of white in his hairline just above. “Want me to slice a piece of you off and eat it?”

He ignored the grimace on your face. “Which part of me would you choose?”

The question was phrased in such a way that you could tease him again, but you knew he wanted a real answer, not a playful one.

“Well…” you thought, lacing your fingers with his to bring them to your mouth. “I have always loved these. But to leave you with any less fingers would just be cruel.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes fixed on the way your mouth molded around his knuckles as you gave them a kiss. Letting go, your touch drifted to dance along the blunt edge of his stump.

“Maybe a piece from here?”

He frowned. “You’d take even more from me, in a place I am already lacking?”

Your voice dropped an octave, your own expression turning solemn. “It was horrible, what we had to do. I hate thinking about it: the weight of your arm as it dropped away, the pain you were in.” You found his dark eyes, holding his gaze as you stroked the puckered flesh. “I want to carve a piece out right here, just to rewrite the memory of it. A gift from you to me, rather than something I took.”

“You took nothing that I did not beg you to take.”

The double meaning in his words – like all of them – wasn’t lost on either of you.

“Only you would make amputation sound so romantic.”

He smiled, and you dug your fingers into the firm round of his shoulder, pulling his body to lie on top of yours. Cradled safely between your plush thighs, his hips immediately rocked forward with intent.

His head dipped to nuzzle his nose against your own. “It’s easy to be a romantic with a muse such as you.”

Catching him with a kiss, your lips locked as he slid his tongue inside the wet cavern of your mouth and you breathed him in, winding your arms around his neck to keep him in place. Your fingers slid up through the crown of his mussed, shortly cropped hair and he relaxed on top of you, deepening the kiss.

“I would give you my arm if I could.”

You whispered your confession as his mouth covered your pulse with a harsh suck, and whined when he answered with a sharp bite: his incisors pinching your delicate flesh. His hot breath ghosted humid over your skin as he searched for another spot, biting down on the other side of your slim neck.

Arching underneath him, you continued. “I would cut it off and give it to you.”

He found the tender underside of your breast, catching it between his teeth and groaned, soothing the bite with a broad sweep of his tongue before continuing down the plane of your body.

“I would give you anything, Ez. Anything.”

Mindless with lust from the sharp edges of his love, you writhed underneath him, hitching your knees higher along his torso. His strong muscles flexed and shifted under the squeeze of your legs, and he forced them open to spread your legs wider. Questing, his mouth sought out the tender skin along the curve of your hip with another bite.

“Fuck,” you breathed, pushing your fingers through his hair to guide him lower.

Situating his broad shoulders between your thighs, his mouth devoured.

Wide open to catch everything you gifted him, his tongue slid smoothly through your folds to collect every slip of arousal that dripped out, his throat bobbing with a swallow before going harder. His hunger shifted you up the cot, the lower half of his face buried inside your aching cunt and when his tongue found your clit with a smooth, forceful grind, you shamelessly begged for more.

“Harder. Eat it harder.”

He growled, his fingers digging into your flesh to tug you tight against his face and a hoarse cry crawled out of your throat – one that broke into an astonished cry when he pulled back just to bite into the plush, smooth skin of your inner thigh. This one drew blood – you could feel the hot slip of it against your skin, his kisses smeared with it. Ignoring the blossoming throb of pain, you asked him to do it again.

He did, right at the same time he slid two fingers inside you with a filling stretch and joining your hand with his, he rested his cheek on your inner thigh and watched as your fingers breached your slick warmth together. A finger of your own and one of his, then two of your own and two of his - your hands worked together, as they always have. His face right next to the liquid warmth coating the digits, his tongue joined to lap at your clit.

Obscene sounds filled the small tent: the audible slick sound of your cunt accepting his fingers over and over again, your higher pitched moans blending with his lower ones. Keeping his fingers tucked snugly inside, his mouth lowered down between your cheeks to slide against your asshole and he ate you there with abandon as well, your thighs dropping open wider to give him more room.

When his mouth found your clit again with a suck, the impulse to be eaten alive by him spread thick and warm through your hips, weighing heavily in your core. Propelled higher and higher with every pump of his fingers, the image of his blood soaked mouth as his teeth tore into your pulse made you pitch forward into your release, your body bowing against the thin cot.

Breathless and still riding a pulsing wave, you begged him. “Come up here and fuck me.”

He obeyed immediately, letting his weight push the air from your lungs just before his mouth stole the rest. His kisses soaked in desperation, his cock notched thick and stiff at your entrance, and you accepted him within you without any resistance. Fucking you with harsh snaps of his hips, your fingers dug into the meat of his ass and surrounded in his warmth with the light blacked out by his broad frame, your lips found a home on his bicep that flexed taut next to your cheek.

Your body cradled within his, the humid air around you pulsing with life. The rhythmic woosh of his strong heartbeat, the safety you’d feel within the damp darkness, finally joined as one.

His strokes snapped harder, his own want matching yours. His mouth ached to bite your soft lips, to nibble on the skin until it broke under the force of his love.

His harvesting knife slipped between his ribs to crack them open, gifting you everything held inside. Feeding you bits and pieces of his heart, watching the muscle that’s only ever beat for you disappear between your lips.

“Where do you want it, Birdie?” he begged above you, his mouth molding around the hinge of your jaw, tasting the sweet skin there. “I’m gonna come. Shit – shit. Where do you want it?”

“Inside me.”

A shudder slipped through his body as he came with a loud, sated groan, his hips forcing themselves into the cradle of your thighs to bury it as deep as possible – but he wasn’t done. He was never done, when it came to you. Before he could catch his breath, he slid his softening cock from your warmth and replaced it with his fingers, crooking them to gather the milky spend.

Bringing them up to your mouth, he fed it to you.

Glistening tendrils of release coated his fingers and your lips, smeared across your tongue when he forced them into your mouth and then sliding them out, he kissed you deeply, savoring your joined taste. He gathered more, this time shifting his touch to the tight ring of your ass and he pushed some in there as well, your hips arched up to accept it.

Sweat, spend, blood: he consumed them all and likewise fed them to you. Hours slipped by, his appetite for you insatiable: forcing you onto your hands and knees to eat you roughly from behind, filling your ass with his cock before pulling out to spill hot across your lower back, smearing it over your skin like a balm, his fingers tacky with it when he wrapped them around your slender throat and made you take him again. Riding him, your fingers sought out the wet heat of his mouth and he kissed and nibbled on them, before drawing them in with a suck.

The vast universe outside the tent was a threatening thing: harsh and unforgiving, ruthless and deadly. Inside the tent, tendrils of filthy intimacy surrounded your bodies as you orbited each other, creating your own universe between the sweat damp press of your bodies.

“You and me,” he breathed under you, his teeth catching on the pads of your fingers and you dropped down, resting your mouth just under the whiskered curve of his jaw. His pulse a rapid beat under the skin, you relished the strength held just under the surface.

“You and me,” you replied, your mouth opening wide.

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect x reader #pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories

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chaotic-birds · 6 months

Text

strong for you || j.pt

Jason comes home injured, prepared to patch up and rest with you, but he soon realizes something isn't right.

❤️‍🩹 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

❤️‍🩹 Genres/AUs: Action, some angst & fluff, established relationship

❤️‍🩹 Warnings: Use of guns, mentions of killing, hostage situation, blood, injuries, reader referred to as girl

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 2.3k

❤️‍🩹 Author's Note: Just felt like writing more Jason 🥰

masterlist

Jason uses the rest of his strength to lift open the window. His panting grows louder after he tumbles inside, feeling a bit safer in his home. He doesn’t have to worry about people hearing him in pain and taking advantage of his weakened state.

He knows you’ll be by his side in a matter of seconds. He hates how he came home injured since it always worries you, but he rather be hurt here than anywhere else.

His eyes shut tightly as he tries to calm down. It’s becoming harder to breathe under his helmet. He feels suffocated. He needs fresh air.

With a shaky hand, he begins to raise it to unlatch his helmet. However, an all too familiar click makes him halt; his eyes open wide and he forces his breathing to slow so he can hear better.

It’s then he realizes you should’ve been tending to him by now. You should be easing him out of his suit as you comfort and scold him simultaneously.

He lowers his arm as slowly as he can, worried whoever it is will act irrationally if he moves too quickly. Maybe if he was somewhere else and not injured, he would’ve leaped up and snatched the weapon from their hand.

But he can’t.

He’s home. He can’t put you in any more danger.

In slow motion, he turns his head to assess the scene.

There are five men in total. Each has a rifle in their hands, accompanied by a handgun on their hips. You’re seated on one of the dining table chairs that’s been moved, hands and feet tied together. You’re staring at him with big eyes—a mix of worry and panic.

Jason curses to himself mentally.

You’re already fearful of being held captive, but now you’re fearful of his wound too.

He already knows what questions are floating in your head: How deep is it? How much blood has he lost already? Are there any more injuries?

Jason hates that he was stupid tonight. He hates how out of all the nights to have fucked up, he fucked up tonight. But that doesn’t stop his determination. He’ll power through the pain if it means you’ll be safe in the end.

You turn your head to the man on your right. He holds himself to a different status than the others. The amount of confidence this man must have makes Jason want to gag.

“I’ll give you the files if you let me tend to his wounds,” you bargain.

Macho Boss smirks down at you before moving his sight to Jason.

“Well, you’re surely an unexpected guest. Didn’t think one of the bats would come to rescue a mere civilian when there are bigger crimes out on the streets,” he observes, then glances at you. “I guess this one’s special, huh?”

Jason suspects that this guy thought he could get away with his act since he’s not committing a big crime, compared to others in Gotham. Illegal activities happen all the time here, right? Jason almost snorts at his bad luck.

Macho Boss nudges your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The cold metal touches your bare skin exposed by your cardigan, making you shiver. It must’ve fallen in your scuffle earlier.

Jason narrows his eyes at him even though his glare is hidden by his helmet. He’s grateful he etched a permanent scowl on it now. He wants your captors to know that despite being injured, he’s still got enough strength to incapacitate them.

“Please,” you grab the captor’s attention again. “Let me help him.”

“Why should I let you? His injury means he’s weak. I can’t let him stop us, now can I?” he questions, slightly mockingly.

“You can tie him up after I’m done.”

“Like hell you will,” Jason gruffs and the other person holding a gun to his head jabs him with it.

You send him a glare—signaling it isn’t the time to be snarky. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more.

“Do you want the files?” you ask Macho Boss.

“You’re going to give us them whether we let you play nurse or not.”

“Perhaps, but you’re wasting time. Why take the hard way when I’m offering to give them up so easily?”

The man hums in thought. Finally, he nods at the man to your left.

Within seconds, your ropes have been cut. You gesture to the bathroom.

“First aid is in there,” you inform and carefully make your way to the room.

One of the men follows you, gun pointed to your head. You expect nothing less.

If they weren’t here, you’d be rushing to the kit, but any sudden movements will get them trigger-happy.

Your movements are slow as you retrieve the first aid along with a wet washcloth. You make your way to kneel beside Jason. Blood continues to seep through his fingertips, creating a pool of red beneath him. You fight back the worry consuming you.

You gently guide his hand from the wound so you can begin cleaning it.

Jason watches you for a second before shifting his gaze to the others. They’re staring at you both, weapons aimed. They seem impatient and ready to fire.

“You should be making a run for it,” Jason says to you lowly. Though it doesn’t matter the volume of his voice, it’s so quiet that everyone will hear him regardless.

“And get shot in the back? No thanks,” you argue, setting the bloodied rag to the side to start patching him up.

Jason wants to reply he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d have his hands on his guns, shooting everyone before you could get hurt. But he doesn’t want them to know how much he cares about you. Perhaps that’s a fruitless wish since they’ve probably already gauged their affection from their body language.

Jason grunts when you touch a certain area. He’s been trying to keep his cool—for the sake of seeming stronger than he appears to his captors, and for the sake of your sanity.

Your eyes move to his helmet, and there’s a silent “sorry” in your expression. He can tell you’re trying to appear strong, too.

All Jason wants to do is fill these guys’ heads with lead, then snuggle you in bed.

As you continue attending to his wound, he asses his options. He could quickly shield you with his body while he took out the men, but even then, he wouldn’t be able to move and risk the potential of you getting shot. The thought about tossing you out of the window since there’s a fire escape there is strong—get you out of harm’s way so he doesn’t have to worry about you in the crossfire.

Jason’s thoughts get interrupted when you lean in. He watches quietly as you kiss his helmet softly. His lips twitch in an immediate response, but then he feels something slip into his palm.

Clever girl.

With one hand, he slips the small knife you gave him up his sleeve; with the other, he caresses your back. He hopes his action distracts the men from the quick exchange.

You pull away carefully as Macho Boss grits out, “Touching. You done now?”

“Yes,” you reply.

The second the word leaves your lips, a pair of hands are pulling you from Jason roughly.

Jason quickly begins to stand but a heavy boot stomps on his fresh wound, forcing him down again. He breathes in a sharp inhale at the impact, head tilting back and fists clenching.

“Red!” you gasp, struggling against your captor’s hold. More so for his health and safety than yours.

“Relax, love,” Macho Boss coos, but it’s nothing close to soothing. “You can’t expect us to trust your buddy here.”

Then, he turns to the person who’s pinning him down. “Tie him up.”

“You better be treating me to dinner after,” Jason huffs.

Suddenly, Jason’s hauled up and shoved into a nearby chair. His arms get pulled back, forcing a grunt out of him because of his injury. His feet are then secured.

“What a charmer,” Macho Boss scoffs. “Now, the files.”

Your gaze lingers on Jason to make sure he’ll be okay before walking to your bedroom where your laptop is.

“Put me in that room,” Jason demands as he watches you leave.

“Not a chance. You can sit pretty with me right here,” the man behind him says.

Jason clenches his fists as you disappear from view. There are only three of them in the room now. Two went with you.

Easy.

Jason shimmies the blade low enough to reach the rope around his wrists. He waits a few minutes for everyone’s focus to dim before beginning to slice at the material.

“So what’s Red Hood doing in some rando’s apartment, hm?” Capture Two says.

Jason shrugs, subtly cutting the rope as he speaks, “Would you believe me if I said I have a magical power that lets me sense trouble? Because wow… My inner crime detector was blaring.”

Captor Two huffs in annoyance. “Yeah right. You probably got cameras set up around here.”

Jason catches on to the man’s agenda: Find the location of the cameras so they can take them out next time.

“There’s even one over there,” Jason says with a nod to the left.

“There is?” the guy questions and turns.

The second he does, Jason breaks through the rope and disarms and knocks out the man behind him. Gunfire erupts and Jason quickly takes cover in the kitchen nearby.

“Fucking liar,” Captor Two growls.

Jason laughs. “Sorry, man. Let me make it up to you.”

Jason peeps around the cabinets and aims with proficient precision. Two down, one to go.

Upon hearing the scuffling in the living room, you quickly retrieve the gun that’s taped under the desk. For once, you’re grateful for Jason hiding guns around the apartment.

Before you can second guess your actions, you shoot Macho Boss in the kneecap before ducking and shooting the second man in the same place. Once they’re both down, you take away their guns in case they try anything on the ground.

Jason rushes into the room hearing the gunshots, both pistols raised. He pauses in his trek when he sees you—seemingly unharmed—standing between the two men on the ground.

The men are groaning, blood soaking the carpet he vacuumed yesterday.

“Next time come when the carpet is already dirty,” he says before slamming the heel of his gun onto his head—knocking him out. He walks to the second guy and does the same. It’s tough for him to do so since he really just wants to shoot them instead, but he told Bruce he’d attempt his no-killing rule. It’s day four, and he already feels like giving up.

“Nice teamwork,” you comment and place the guns on the desk.

Jason stuffs his pistols in his holsters before he unlatches his helmet. He tosses the item on the bed, then pulls you close until his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss.

You yelp in surprise into his mouth. Jason smiles at the sound and squeezes your body tightly against his armored one.

When you pull back, you’re looking at him with a silly smile.

“Don’t tell me all this is what gets you hot and bothered?” you tease, fingertips gliding down his chest gradually.

Jason grins and pecks your lips with a proud grin. “Can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in action.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest until he’s loosening his grip reluctantly. “You’re sexy too.”

Jason can’t resist but lean in again, although this kiss is shorter.

“You okay?” he asks, mood turning serious. He holds you at arm’s length to examine your body.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Nothing but a flesh wound,” he beams.

You shake your head and glance around the untidy room.

“Can you call Dick or someone to clean this up while we go to a safe house?” you plead, too lazy to help with the cleanup. You just want to sleep with Jason next to you.

“We don’t need him. I’ll take care of it,” Jason informs and bends to pick up one of the men.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, Jay,” you sigh, words meaningless as he throws the second body over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Give me ten then we can cuddle. I know that’s what you want.” He smiles knowingly.

You roll your eyes playfully at his light tone. He isn’t wrong, but you wish he wouldn’t exert all his energy now when he’s injured.

But this is Jason.

Stubborn ass.

Jason takes two trips to carry the men out. You rest your elbows on the window seal, watching him drag the unconscious men in a small circle with their backs to each other. He takes a chain and secures it tightly around them. You think he’s done but he pulls out a paper. You squint, leaning a little out the window.

Sprawled in black ink is:

BAD GUYS FOR PICK UP

Jason steps back to admire his work, then turns to look at you. Although you can’t see his expression due to his helmet, the two thumbs up he gives you indicate there's a smile adorning his handsome features beneath.

Chuckling, you shake your head playfully and return the thumbs up before nodding to come back inside.

Your gaze follows the tall man as he struts back toward the building. You tuck yourself inside, shutting and locking the window as you stare at the silly paper with his handwriting.

He wouldn’t be your Jason if he wasn’t mischievous. After all, it’s one of his many talents.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#jason todd #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfic #jason todd action #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you

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