cw for kidnapping and emotional manipulation
-
Ghost spots a bird across the pub with her wings clipped. She trembles as she watches her friend disappear into the sea of gyrating bodies, holding onto a man she just met and is deciding to abandon her for.
âYou donât mind, right?â Her friend had asked.
She chirped ditheringly. âUm⊠sure, yeah. You go have fun.â
A fickle smile split her cheeks. A warm wash of liquid glossed her eyes.
Ghost watches her watching her friend. Sadness is written into her features. That type of sadness so deep-seated you feel it crushing your ribs, denting your heart. She sighs and hangs her head, staring down at her drink. Her ice cube has melted, the salt crusting her rim having hardened. Her shoulder start to shake.
Ghost decides it would be remiss of him to not check up on her. The bird with frilly feathers and bent wings, wounded, too feeble to fight back.
He throws back the rest of his drink. He doesnât wince at the burn, but still, Ghostâs face puckers into something different. Something mean as he approaches her and lays his elbow on the barâs sticky countertop, splitting his hand across the top of her spine.
âWhatâs a bird like you doinâ all alone?â
She girdles. Itâs like sheâs been folded in two and hung out to dry, the way she shrinks into herself and flexes her shoulders.
His words hang stagnant for a few seconds. Perhaps it will make him lose interest and slip away, but Ghost is a persistent one. The badges embroidered into his uniform are a testament to that.
He passes his thumb over her neck. She shivers.
âI⊠um. Well, my boyfriendâs in the bathroom.â
Ghost almost chuckles. The bird says it with such skittish conviction that surely, not even she believes it.
He grunts. âItâs rude to lie, yâknow.â
She gulps. âMy friendâs with me.â
âThe one that just left you?â He asks. âA pretty shit friend, if you ask me. A bird like you deserves someone better.â
She purses her lips because they begin to quiver. She tries shouldering him away, tries blinking back the fat tears of brine that threaten to thaw and slip down her cheek. Her voice is distorted with discomfort and self-pity when she replies, âThatâs stupid. I just want her to be happy.â
âAnd her?â Ghost prompts. He distracts her with his rough lilt as he slips his hand low, into the divot between her ass and waist. âHow often does she fuck off with the men you fancy?â
She flinches. Itâs the sudden recoil of her muscles, and her mindâs attempt at getting away from him.
âI-itâs not like that.â
âYeah?â He asks. âItâs not like she leaves you alone every time you go out, lookinâ like a dolt when she finds someone more fun?â
She swallows thickly. Her lips warble around her next words. â⊠Sometimes, I guess.â
Ghostâs cock jumps. The fat mass pushes against his jeans, angled towards her.
âYeah,â he croons. âI know how hard it can be. Why donât you come over to my flat, huh? Give âer a taste of her own medicine.â
She inches away. Ghost only holds her tighter, gripping that broken little wing of hers and doting on it.
âI donât⊠do that stuff. Sorry.â
Something primal in Ghost barks. That stuff. Sheâs never taken dick? Or never taken dick from a stranger? Either way, Ghostâs cock stirs and starts drooling on his thigh. She can probably see it. That blotchy stain on his jeans under the mellow lighting.
âI play nice, bird,â he mutters. âAnd wouldnât it be nice to get back at them? Your mate? All those blokes who ignored you?â
She squeezes her thighs when Ghost settles his hand on her ass. She has trouble pulling them back apart, her thighs that is, as theyâre adhered with slick.
âI asked you a question. Wouldnât it be nice?â
âI guess soâŠâ she whimpers. Keening into Ghostâs whispering touch, the heat of his cock.
He pulls a wad of cash from his pocket and slams it onto the table. He stands up, looking something like a predator on its hind legs, and pulls her from the barstool.
âLetâs go, pretty bird,â he leashes his hand around the base of her neck, leading her outside and into his rust-spattered truck. âYou deserve it.â
A stroke of heat licks up her innards. Sheâs already dazed by the time sheâs in his truck, preening as he splits his hand across her leg and digs divots into her thigh, kneading her supple flesh. Sheâs bleary eyes and impaired on arousal as they drive past the cityâs margins and into the outback, the roads turning pebbled.
Sheâs too excited, too sweet to heed Ghost pulling her out of his truck and hauling her into a neglected flat.
She only feels his hands on her, big and warm. And the cool carbon steel of handcuffs locking around her ankle.
She smiles.
1K notes
·
View notes
thinking of merman gaz again so...
Merman!Gaz pt.2 (for Mermay 2024)
cw: smut, voyeurism (fingering and piv), face-sitting & cunnilingus, non-sex toys used as sex toys, dubcon elements, mermaid smut idk
Merman!Gaz who goes looking for you at the beach he found you after he realizes you two did not, in fact, mate.
Merman!Gaz who cannot find you and gets genuinely distraught and sad for a few weeks, but keeps going back to the beach nonetheless.
Merman!Gaz who, one of those times, spots a couple at the beach under the cover of night.
Merman!Gaz who can tell it isn't you, (it's not the same scent), but knows it's a human woman, and a human man, and she smells sweet and arouse, just like you had been.
Merman!Gaz who drags himself over the rocks and watches closely as the man's fingers dive deep into the woman's sopping cunt, the same way he had had his tongue inside you...
Merman!Gaz who watches how the woman's back arches and she cries out to the night sky in delight as he brings her over the edge, just like he had done to you.
Merman!Gaz who watches how they turn over on the towel, and the man fishes a large appendage from the confines of his clothes, and sits her down onto it, sinking her onto it and hearing her cry so beautifully...
Merman!Gaz who gets the realization that, unlike seahorses, it's the human male that penetrates the female to breed, not the other way around... but he can't.
Merman!Gaz whose efforts to see you again become even more desperate in his attempts to find you, to test the newfound knowledge...
Merman!Gaz who's fins brighten and nearly glow when he spots you at the beach again nearly a month later, alone and looking out onto the water for him.
Merman!Gaz who swims up to the rocks like before and looks at you with big brown eyes and, although you see little more than a silhouette, you crawl over to him.
Merman!Gaz whose mouth isn't quite equipped to speak, so his words sound rough and a bit foreign when he says 'Missed you', but preens when you say you 'missed him too'.
Merman!Gaz who tries pawing at your legs again, this time covered in a pair of leggings to beat the cold winds of the sea, and gets stopped by you saying 'you hurt me the other day. you can't leave me like that'.
Merman!Gaz who understands the word 'hurt' and 'leave' and pouts at you, rubbing his head against your leg like a cat, before climbing up on the rocks beside you and kissing your cheek.
Merman!Gaz who carefully brings you over his lap, over his tail, watching how you squirm a bit against the wetness and the bizarre feeling of the scales.
Merman!Gaz who kisses you softly, his wet, salty lips pressed to yours and his webbed hands holding you close.
Merman!Gaz who makes out with you sweetly and slowly, like he has all the time in the world to apologize for leaving you, showing he's no longer in a rush.
Merman!Gaz who preens and smiles brightly when your hands caress every inch of his torso, especially his strong biceps and the extra layer of fat on his tummy, seemingly pleased that you're pleased.
Merman!Gaz who helps remove your clothes and this time goes slowly, no longer receiving a warning to be 'careful', and is somehow knowledgeable enough to not drop your coverings onto the ocean to drift away, but either sets them neatly on the rocks.
Merman!Gaz who lowers himself halfway into the water, to keep his tail (and some of his scales) hydrated, but keeps his head above the rocks, dragging your exposed cunt over his mouth.
Merman!Gaz who rocks you back and forth on his tongue and lets you grind against it as he laps and sucks at your clit, watching you quiver and tremble above him.
Merman!Gaz who rips orgasm after orgasm out of you and suddenly stops and pulls you off him, and gestures vaguely, leaving you confused and worried, guessing whatever he means.
Merman!Gaz who dives back into the water, leaving you angry and frustrated, thinking he's, once again, leaving, and so you resume putting your clothes back on...
Merman!Gaz who returns so suddenly it startles you, pulling you back onto his lap and this time rips your t-shirt off your body in frustration for covering yourself again.
Merman!Gaz who stops your protests by rubbing a webbed hand over your warm, wet cunt, knowing his fingers will not fit inside, the webbing preventing them to go in further than the fingertips...
Merman!Gaz who carefully holds onto the base of a smooth-surfaced cerith sea shell and presses it slowly into your eager, winking hole.
Merman!Gaz who notices how prettily you react to the way it fills you up, the ribbing and twisting shape rubbing against the most sensitive spots in your gummy walls.
Merman!Gaz who smiles as you lay your head against his shoulder, carefully recreating the in and out motion he watched the human man perform on his partner, your moans echoing in the night.
Merman!Gaz who has no idea of your limits or of anything being too much for a human, and so goes on and on.
Merman!Gaz who keeps moving the shell slowly inside your wet walls, ripping so many moans and climaxes out of you, that it leaves you limp against his torso, with a blissfully fucked out look on your face.
Merman!Gaz who keeps his tail wrapped around one of your legs firmly, possessively but lovingly, wordlessly declaring you his mating partner, even if you won't actually breed with him.
part 2 of this:
240 notes
·
View notes
anakin gets adopted by nice togruta mommy club who think he is a single mother
701 notes
·
View notes
Guard Dog vol. II
jason todd x fem!reader
aka donât fuck with jasonâs gf pt. II
3 in 1 blurbs
warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader
âSweetheart, this isâŠnot good.â
You turn your head over to him, where heâs frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.
You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. âWhatâs wrong with it?â
He sighs, âWell for one, the lock is broken. But even if it werenât, this thing would be so easy to break.â
âItâs the lock the place came with.â You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham thatâs kind of asking a lot.
âYeah, I can tell.â He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. âIâm getting you better locks.â He looks to you, âI can install them tomorrow?â
You tilt your head up to look at him, âYou donât need to get me new locks, JayâŠâ
âOkay.â He kisses your head, âIâm getting them.â
You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. âTomorrowâs fine. I assume youâre staying the night, then?â
He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, âWell, Iâm not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.â
âIâve lived here for two years.â You say flatly.
âDonât remind me.â He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. âActually, your door chainâs broken too, isnât it?â It is, but thatâs his own fault.
You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and heâd broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.
You hum, âIt wasnât doing much anyways.â Clearly.
He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.
You laugh lightly, âWhat?â
He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, âI donât like that.â
Youâd never thought much of it. You hadnât had anyâwell, manyâproblems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.
âItâs okay. Iâm safe here.â
He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. âWill you please let me set up some security measures around here?â
âDid Jason Todd just say please?â You say in faux-shock.
He rolls his eyes at you, âIâm serious.â
You sigh, contemplatively. âI donât want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.â
He laughs at that, âItâs not going to. You wonât even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?â
âIâll agree, but only because I know youâre going to do it anyways and Iâd like to pretend I have control over this.â Thatâs not true, youâd agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but thatâs your business.
âFair enough.â He smiles, kissing your cheek.
No, itâs not fair at all.
Itâs late. Youâre not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.
Youâre coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, youâre out of ibuprofen. Yeah, itâs late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldnât like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait untilâ
The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.
You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.
âHey, baby.â You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. âWhy donât you go get in bed?â
He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.
He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.
He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.
âI gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. Iâll be right back.â You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.
Youâve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. âHey, itâs okay. Stay here, Iâm just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.â
He shakes his head, âYouâre not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, itâs cold.â
You do as youâre told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. âJason, itâs okay. Youâre exhausted, go to sleep.â
He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.
He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.
Frankly, youâre not even sure what kind of fight heâd be able to put up in this state. Though, heâs surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time thereâs any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.
He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.
As youâre standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though youâre sure itâs not doing anything to help his exhaustion.
Youâre walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. Thereâs another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.
Jasonâs too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.
He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until youâre back inside your apartment.
He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second youâre done, setting them on the counter.
He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, âCan we sleep now?â
You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.
Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.
The worst heâd done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.
And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that youâre heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he wonât get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.
At least he hadnât until a couple of hours ago. Youâd been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.
Youâre sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and youâve entered the phase ofâŠwell. That happened.
Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. Heâs carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.
He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, âYouâre never gonna guess what bââ His smile drops when he sees you. âWhatâs wrong?â
You shake your head, âNothing.â But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you canât remember what you usually do with your face when youâre not lying. It doesnât matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and youâre still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.
He frowns, âDonât lie to me.â He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. âPlease. Whatâs wrong?â His eyes are worried now, more than usual.
You donât want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and heâs got all his vigilante stuff andâŠyou just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.
âItâs justâŠitâs not a big deal, okay? I can handle itââ
His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, âWhat happened?â
You know where this is going. âJason. Promise me you wonât do anything.â
His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. âDid someone put their hands on you? Who?â
âJasonââ
âWho did it?â
âThe neighbor, bââ he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, âJason. Please donât.â
The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.
âBaby, if he touched youââ His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.
âIt wasnâtâhe didnât do anything. He didnât get to. I hit him and he backed off.â Which isâŠsort of true.
He stares at you. âIn the hallway?â
You blink. ââŠYeah?â
He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.
You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and todayâs date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what heâs doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.
âJasonââ you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.
He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.
ââplease just listen to me.â But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.
He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.
The angle doesnât show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You donât answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.
Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an âexcuseâ to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.
Your hands are out in front of you and youâre shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.
You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesnât matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.
You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.
Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. âThat was not nothing.â
No, it wasnât. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and youâre not sure why. You couldnât do anything then, you canât do anything nowâŠit feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.
âIâŠI donât want anyone to die because of meâŠâ your words arenât quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.
He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. âItâsâitâs not because of you. Itâs because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that Iâd do the same thing.â
You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though itâs the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.
âNo, I know that. I knowâŠitâs justâŠâ Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.
âFuck, baby.â His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.
You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.
âIâm sorry, IâI donât know. Itâsâitâs too many bad things. I canâtâŠâ
âOkay. Okay. Itâs okay. Iâll stay here. Iâm staying here with you, okay?â You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.
This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jasonâs going to do later.
Heâs quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.
âWill you forgive me if I kill him?â He whispers into your hair.
You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. âDonât.â
âIs that a yes?â
You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. âIâm getting the feeling youâre going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.â He says nothing. âJust, please, donât kill him.â
He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.
You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, âAnd donât get in trouble.â
Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.
âHey, bud.â
He jumps, spinning around, âWho the fuckâoh, shit.â He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.
Your neighbor stutters, âWhatâwhat are you doing here?â
He looks up at him, cocking the gun. âYou put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?â
He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. âWhat? No, I would neâwhich neighbor?â
He canât see it, but Hoodâs face drops into a deadpan. âThat is really not helping your case.â
Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.
Hood sighs, âIâm not going to kill you. Iâve been told itâs bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.â He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steals his jaw. âNo. Whatâs going to happen is youâre going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.â
The neighbors eyes widen, âA week? Are you insane?â
Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, âNah, youâre right. By tomorrow night.â
âThis is my apartment. I live here, Iâm not going anywhere. And unless youâre secretly Saul the landlord under there, you canât do anything about it.â He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isnât the only option, is it?
âYeah, I thought youâd say that.â Hood clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. âThe alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what theyâre doing.â
Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.
âFuck! Fine! Iâll go!â He wails.
Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. âShut up. Youâll disturb the neighbors.â
The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.
Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. âDonât worry, bud. Iâll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl Iâll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?â
Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.
2K notes
·
View notes
Guard Dog
jason todd x fem!reader
aka donât fuck with jasonâs girlfriend
4 in 1 blurbs
warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods
Jasonâs good at shutting people up very quickly. Youâd almost call it a talent.
He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.
And when youâre in an incorrigibly teasing mood, heâll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.
With other people though, he hasâŠdifferent methods.
You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.
You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.
His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. âSweetheartâŠâ he warns.
âSorryâŠâ you resign with a sheepish smile.
A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.
Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.
Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.
Now, lucky for this guy, Jasonâs facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.
âMan, how do you get anything done around here?â He jests.
Jason looks up at him, and the pizza manâs eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.
âTry again.â Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.
The pizza boyâs eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. âIâuh, I said have a good night.â
âMhm.â He grumbles.
The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.
Thankfully, you didnât seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.
âJay?â
His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. âYeah, baby?â
Youâre sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.
âCome sit.â You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.
He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.
You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.
His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.
Youâd just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and itâs a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.
Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. Thatâs more like what Jason remembers.
He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.
Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.
âWhatâs up, Dick?â You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.
Dickâs practically jumping up and down, âYou gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!â His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, âYouâre not invited.â
âThank God.â
Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jasonâheâs not always quite so aware of his own strength.
His grip doesnât hurt really, but itâs firm enough that you imagine thereâll be bruise marks there later.
âHey.â Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. âEase up.â
Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).
You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.
Fuck he loves you.
Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. Youâd been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.
Heâd usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but youâd looked so excited asking him to go out with youâhe never stood a chance.
You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.
You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.
âHey there.â
You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.
"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."
Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.
"Oh no, I'm okay, myâ"
"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.
Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still canât see him, but heâs close and you can rest comfortable knowing heâs looking out for you.
With that reassurance, you donât play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.
"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.
âHey, donât be a bitch just âcauseââ
You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.
Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.
Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.
But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jasonâs acute distaste for this man.
"Listen to meâback the fuck off before you get hurt."
âSheââ
âI donât give a fuck. Leave.â
The guy hesitates.
âNow.â Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.
That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of âwhateverâ or âsomething something lame anyway.â
Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.
He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didnât have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.
âWhatâd he say to you?â Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.
âNothing very interesting.â He looks at you mildly.
You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, âDonât worry about him. Iâm good.â
He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.
You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.
âBesides,â You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. âGuess who just walked in.â
He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.
âNoâŠâ And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.
You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.
âJaybird!â
Jasonâs still exhausted from patrol last night but heâd insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. Youâd tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, youâd be fine. But it was a losing battle.
You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when youâre drinking.
So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.
Youâre talking it up with Roy, whoâs been making jokes about how Jasonâs âmoody assâ tricked you, âthe ray of sunshineâ into this relationship somehow.
You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. âRight, âcause you and Kori were in love at first sight.â
"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.
He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.
You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.
Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's jokingâor he doesn't care.
You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.
You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.
"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.
Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know heâs tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.
âFive more minutes, okay?â You say softly over your shoulder.
He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.
If he hadnât fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes wouldâve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.
He goes through patches where sleep isnât always so welcoming, a phase heâs been in for the past couple of weeks. Youâd been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while heâs awake.
You canât protect him in the same ways that he protects youâyouâre not a fighter or necessarily âintimidating.â But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that youâre still with him. That heâs safe.
So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, youâll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.
5K notes
·
View notes
Banished
jason todd x fem!reader
aka jason misses his girlfriend
warnings: extremely mild angst, heâs just mopey (heâs fine)
Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.
Dickâs been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes and Tim sits atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.
Damian trudges past them to the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.
He glances at Jason with a scowl. âIf youâre going to be so miserable, canât you do it in your own home?â
Jason just grunts.
He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.
Itâs not even the fact that heâs basically being babysat thatâs got him so disgruntled. He wouldnât mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so youâd stay behind. A lose-lose for Jason.
âHeâs just mad his girlfriend kicked him out.â Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.
Tim snorts from the doorway, âMe too. Heâs a lot more depressing on his own.â
Jason kept his head down as he blindly reached for the spoon in his cereal and chucked it at Timâs head.
Tim catches it without thought, continuing, âA lot more irritable, at least. Why isnât she here?â
âSheâs gotta work.â Dick says, scanning through the pantry.
Damian peeps his head up from his project. âBut Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?â
âYeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think.â Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.
Damian pauses.
âSo she wants to live in a tiny apartment?â He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.
âWatch your mouth.â Jason mumbles.
âIt was a genuine question!â Damian protests, face screwed up.
Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. âAnd Iâm genuinely going to break your nose.â
Itâs an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.
Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. âYou know, it is just a few days. Sheâs coming back.â
âYeah, whatever.â Jason was never one for showing his feelingsâlet alone talking about them.
He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.
Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.
Heâll admit (to himself) that heâs worried about Jason. Itâs been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while itâs not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasnât countered his brotherâs jabs at him or teased them.
And while he could do without the blatant threats, heâs proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. Itâs one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.
And now hereâs his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone whoâs a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldnât do anything to help.
Bruce knew you didnât feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldnât help him, even now.
But you could.
Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.
He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.
He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.
And he watches Jason.
As Jasonâs phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.
He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.
He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types againâsmile on his face.
The Waynes didnât need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.
3K notes
·
View notes
The Alchemy I
jason todd x fem!reader
aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood
warnings: slow burn, mentions of attempted sa for reader, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of standard gotham violence
Dear fuck, heâs as heavy as he looks.
You use all of your weight to pull him backwards towards the couch, almost giving up when you realized youâd have to lift him up off the ground to actually get on it.
Getting him through the window was enough of a hassle, challenging the difficulty of the decision to bring him in here at all.Â
Thankfully you donât have to think too hard on it because you feel his body stiffen up suddenly. He jolts upright, though clearly pained to do so, hand flying to the gun holster on his side.
You take a step back, hands out in front of you. âHey, itâs alright.â
âWho are you?â His voice is interrogative.Â
You put your hands down, âYouâre the one who passed out on my balcony, I think if anyone gets to ask that question itâs me.â
He stares at you, white lenses bearing into your soul.
Okay, yeah. You tell him your name. He doesnât move. âYou just looked like you needed some help..â
His posture loosens a bit, and his hand finally leaves the holster.
He glances down at his abdomen, a sizable tear in his suit and a nearly alarming amount of blood. âYou got any bandages?â
âUh, Iâyeah, yeah, I do.â You dart down the hall into the bathroom, shuffling through your first aid kid. You toss a few wraps into your arms, along with some antiseptic spray you suspect heâll need. You grab your hand towel and get it wet under warm water.Â
When you return, heâs moved himself onto the sofa, lifting his shirt up to assess the damage. You round the couch, seeing more blood than youâd have hoped for.
âCan I?â You ask, motioning to his injury.Â
He looks up at you for a long moment. He nods.
You kneel down in front of him and replace his hand in lifting up the shirt. Itâs a cut, it doesnât look terribly deep, but still not shallow enough that he could just leave it.
You take the rag and dab it around the wound, trying to clean up the blood as much as possible without making contact with it.
Heâs very still as you work, and you get the strong impression heâs watching you carefully.
You grab the antiseptic spray, shaking it. âThisâll sting.â
He grunts.
You apply the antiseptic thoroughly and he doesnât even flinch. Doesnât move his gaze from you for a second.
You unwrap one of the bandages and place it on firmly, making sure thereâs no bleedthrough.
And not that you particularly want to be thinking about this right now, but the man is noticeably ripped. Stacked like a house of cards.
You rip away your gaze and stand up, hands on your hips, taking a deep breath. You look at himâat his helmet.
You donât know how you can tell, but heâs studying you. Trying to get a read on you, maybe. Regardless, youâre eager to escape the gaze.
You shovel the remainder of your supplies back into your arms and bring them back to the bathroom, calling out, âI didnât take off your helmet, if thatâs what youâre worried about.â
Thereâs a short beat.Â
âDo I seem like someone that worries often?âÂ
You peek your head out of the bathroom door.Â
You look at him. âYou seem like someone that doesnât worry enough.â
He snorts. âYouâre not far off.â
You make your way back once youâre done, looking at the disregarded meal youâd been interrupted from. âI have pasta if youâŠeat.â
âI do.â
âI can go in the other room if youââ
He clicks the lock on his helmet, taking it off. Heâs left with a second mask underneath, covering his eyes and nose. His dark hair sticks up from the helmet, a white streak poking out in the front. He looks younger than you wouldâve expected. Cuter, if his jaw is anything to go by.
âDonât worry about it.â
Okay then.
You grab a second plate out of the cabinet and scoop on the rest of the pasta from the pan.
You hand him the plate, avoiding standing too close.Â
âThanks, sweetheart.âÂ
You turn back around as casually as possible after hearing the name, wanting to avoid letting your face give anything away.
This guy kills people, right?
You sit down in the armchair across from the couch, spooling the pasta on and off the fork. He doesnât show the same hesitation in dining away that you doâyou guess fighting crime would require some calorie exchange.
âYou a nurse?â He asks after a few minutes.Â
The question takes you by surprise. You hadnât taken him as a small talk kind of person. âHuh? Oh, no, Iâve just taken a few first aid courses and stuff.â
He gives a short hum, thoughtful.
âWhat?â
âYouâre good.â Hardly.
âI didnât really do anything.â
âYou did enough.â He says, not leaving much room for argument.
He stands up at once, walking past you to the kitchen. Your gaze follows him silently. He puts his empty plate in the sink and returns to the edge of the living room.
He looks at you once more and pops his helmet back on followed by the click of the lock.
âIâll see ya.â He says shortly, before ducking out the window.
Youâre left alone, sitting in your armchair, plate of cold pasta forgotten on your lap.
That couldâve gone very badly. Maybe not your most thought-through decision to literally drag the Red Hood into your apartment, but hey. Maybe youâre exercising your ability to be an upstanding, helpful person. Or maybe you were just hoping to prevent a vigilante being found dead on your fire escape.
Regardless, you close the window after him, leaving it unlocked. Just in case.
You wake in the middle of the night to the sounds of footsteps in your living room. You shoot upright, immediately spotting the lamp light flooding in from under your door.
Creeping to a stand, you grab the baseball bat next to your bed and slowly walk to the door.
You creep the door open as quietly as possible, inching out half a step at a time. A nearby creak on your floorboards had you swinging blindly, only to have your bat get stopped midair. You look up to see Mr. Hood himself, blocking the blow of your hit with his hand.Â
âWow. You and a bat against Gotham, huh, sweetheart?â
âFuck!â You let go of the bat and drown your face in your hands. âWhat is wrong with you?â
âApparently that I donât carry enough baseball bats with me.â He says coolly, inspecting your bat. Though heâs got to admit, your bat is probably a hell of a lot more useful than his.Â
You drop your arms at your side. âIf Iâd known bringing you into my apartment one time was going to be considered a free pass forever, I mightâve thought twice.â
âIf Iâd known I was going to nearly be concussed with a baseball bat, I mightâve too.â Barely. If youâre being honest with yourself, youâre still half asleep and it was not a very good swing.
He looks at you straight on for the first time. His helmet quickly drifts down and back up to your face just as fast.
You look down. T-Shirt, underwear, andâŠno thatâs it. NotâŠideal. You pull down on the unfortunately not at all oversized shirt, wanting to creep back into your room.
He turns his back, allowing you to do just that and scramble for some shorts to throw on.Â
âVery gentlemanly of you.â You call out from your room, âAnd only thirty seconds after breaking into my apartment.â
âOkay, one, Iâve been here longer than that. In a non creepy way.â
âRight.â
âAnd two, I didnât break anything. You live in the middle of Gotham and donât lock your window?â
You reemerge in the doorway, âI live on the eighth floor.âÂ
He turns around to face you again, helmet in his hands. âDidnât stop me.â No it did not.Â
âMm. So are you here specifically to judge my home security or was there something you needed?â
He takes a deep breath, âActually yeah. I just need a place to rest for a minute.âÂ
âRest from what?â
A series of gunshots echo from down the street.
âNext question.â
Concise.
You and Hood sit on the couch in the dark, per his insistence, because for some godforsaken reason, you have no curtains. It takes a few minutes for the silence to dissipate into forced conversation, which takes a few more minutes to fade into actual conversation.
âCan I be honest with you?â You ask him.
âDoes it matter how I answer?â
âI donât understand how youâre not dead.â You poke your head up, turning to him. âAre you human?â
He cranes his neck to look out the window, âMaybe getting shot at isnât the worst thing that could happen tonightâŠâ
You roll your eyes with a smile that youâre glad is hidden by the darkness. âOh, fuck off.â
âYou donât have much in terms of self-preservation skills, do you?â
You ignore him as to not acknowledge that heâs probably right and roll through to your next curiosity, âWho the hell was shooting at you anyways?â Though, you donât really expect an answer.
He shakes his head. âDoesnât matter. They got âtil sunrise anyway.â
You tilt your head, ââTil sunriââ oh. Yeah. Come to think of it, he does have two guns on him right now. At least that you can see. You squint blankly at the wall, âYou know, Iâm placing a lot of trust in the hope that youâre not just as bad as those guys.â
âYes you are.â He nods, not doing anything to convince you that he is in fact a good guy. He hasnât tried to harm you in any way though, so you guess thatâs a good sign.
You tilt your head at him. âDo you get paid to do this?âÂ
âIâm pretty sure thereâs a lot of people who would pay me not to do this.âÂ
You nod solemnly, mouth turned into an exaggerated frown. âSo you have a day job?â
He looks over at you, âDo you always ask this many questions?â
âAre you always so dodgy about answering them?â You shoot back. If youâd thought for .5 seconds longer on that, you might not have said anything. But you feel comfortable here, in your apartment with a man whose face youâve never seen, name you donât know, and always has at least two loaded guns on him.
He huffs out a laugh, âYeah. I am.â He looks over at you. âYou live here by yourself?â
You look around at the empty apartment before turning back to him, âSeems that way.â
He shrugs, âBoyfriend could be out or something.â
âWell most people are asleep at one in the morning. Like I was. Remember that?â
âNo.â
You sigh, curling up into a ball on your end of the couch, resting your chin on your knees. Youâre quiet for a minute before piping up, âDo people actually break into apartments on high floors a lot?â
âStupid people.â He pauses, looking over at the frown on your face. âLook, Iâm in the neighborhood a lot. If I see somebody climbing your fire escape Iâll shoot them.â
You let a little smile out, âIâm thinking thereâs other steps you could take before you get to that point.â
âIf you want to waste time.â His gaze doubles back at you, âThat was a joke, by the way.â
You bark out a tired laugh, âYeah, I picked up on that, thanks.â
He removes his eyes from you, fixing on a set of pictures you have hanging on the wall.
Your eyes flutter and you move to rest your head on the arm of the couch. âIs this going to be a regular thing then?â
âYou could lock your window.â
âLiving on the eighth floor didnât stop you, I canât imagine a shitty lock will do much more.â
âIf you donât want me here, I wonât be here.â He says gruffly.
âIf I donât want you here, Iâll let you know.â You mumble, eyes closing.
You can barely make out a laugh from him, âGood to know.â
Youâre not quite sure how much time goes by when he leaves, but you have a pretty strong feeling youâd fallen asleep. Your main indicator was feeling the blanket draped nicely over you that you couldâve sworn was on the chair across the room.
Maybe itâs ten oâclock at night and youâre sat on your kitchen floor, bawling your eyes out. Maybe youâre going to have to quit your job. Or maybe youâll have to face a lawsuit. Maybe this is the worst day in the history of time. Maybe itâs about to get worse.Â
The sound of your living room window sliding open has you startling into a rush, body panicking as if youâve done something wrong and desperately need to cover the evidence. The past few weeks of sporadic visits leaves no question about who it is, and you just hope the kitchen island in front of you will be enough to convince Hood that youâre not in and heâll leave.
But because today is today, thatâs not how it goes down.
You can vaguely make out the sound of his footsteps approaching, a courtesy that youâre sure he incorporated on purpose.
âOh fuckâŠâ you mutter to yourself, wiping your eyes.
He rounds the counter, looking down at you. âWhaâwhatâs wrong?â
âFuck. Nothing.â You say, standing up and adjusting your clothes. âAre you hurt?â He better fucking not be at only ten.
âNo, Iâwhy are you on the floor?âÂ
You roll your eyes, âI live alone, forgive me for assuming I would be given the privilege to cry on the floor in private.â
âDid something happen?â Youâre trying really hard not to call him an idiot.Â
You raise your eyebrows, giving a light nod. âUh, yeah, Iâd say so.â
He shifts in his stance, âDo I need to talk to someone?â
You scoff, knowing damn well his version of âtalk to someoneâ does not include talking to someone. âWhy are you even here so early?âÂ
âWanted to stop by before I went out.â he says quietly.
Youâre about to snap something at him again, but the burning in your eyes takes immediate priority. You wrap your arms around your middle and try to calm yourself down, with very little success. The tears fall easily and your shoulders start shaking as you look at the floor, letting the melancholy take over.Â
It feels like much longer than it probably was, but sometime after the first few tears fall he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. This only makes you cry harder, sobbing against his armor. Your arms stay wrapped around your center, while his hands remain completely still against your back, though firm. You donât realize it immediately, but heâs holding a good portion of your weight up, youâd for sure collapse onto the floor otherwise. You kind of wish you would. Sitting on the floor felt nice, maybe falling down on it will feel even better.
You slowly start to regain your breathing, the well in your eyes drying up again. He waits for you to stop completely and slowly pulls back from you, hands momentarily still wavering next to you like heâs ready to catch you.
It takes you a minute to notice, but his helmet is locked on to the finger-shaped bruises on your forearm. You awkwardly move your opposite arm to cover them, looking around your apartment with nothing to search for. Â
Heâs quiet for a long while, clearly thinking hard. âWhat happened?â
You sniffle, âSome asshole at my job.â
âSome asshole?â He doesnât believe you. Rightfully so, but he has no business being able to tell that youâre lying about one single word in that sentence. Â
âMy boss. Was very intent on successfully hitting on me.â You exhale deeply, âHis approach could use some work though, if Iâm honest.â
His posture remains statue-like. âWhere do you work?â
You look at him straight on for the first time that night, âWhat does that matter?â
âIâll take care of it.â He says simply.
You wave him off, âItâs fine.â
He waits a moment before letting you know, âIâm being polite by asking, Iâm going to find out either way.â
You plop back down on the kitchen floor, knees to chest. âWell, then do it the hard way.â
About ten seconds of him staring down at you in silence go by, before he sits down next to you. Itâs a bit funny how he tries to shrink himself down next to you, youâre assuming because he doesnât want you to get panicked again because this massive stranger is sitting next to you in your kitchen in the dead of night. Â
You donât look at him as he clicks his helmet off and sets it on the other side of him. Itâs quiet for another minute when he holds his gloved hand out to you, and youâre not quite sure how you know what he wants, but you do. You place your bruised arm in his hand, letting him gently pull it closer to him and scan over it.Â
âAre you hurt anywhere else?âÂ
Again, you donât know how, but you can tell heâs asking how far things went. âI started screaming and it freaked him out. He let me go.â you say numbly.Â
You can see him nod out of the corner of your eye, bits of red making their way into your peripheral despite the discarded helmet. You turn slowly to look at him, finding him looking at you already. Â
His face is more covered than it had been the first night, the same black mask covers his eyes but the lower half of his face is also hidden by a red mouthpiece. Youâre in the lamp light and closer to him than you had been before and youâre counting out specks of green in his blue eyes. He lets you, to your surprise, and when you run out of emerald hues you take focus on his thick, dark eyelashes. Your gaze moves back ever so slightly to make eye contact with him and you tear your eyes away, zeroing in on the kitchen tiles.Â
You sigh contemplatively, âIâm worried if you kill my boss itâll be traced back to me and Iâll get pinned for it.â
He doesnât laugh. But your delivery was a little dry in the wrong way so really it was on you.
âIâm not going to kill him.â he tells you, âI wouldnât gamble with my pied-a-terre like that.â
Your head falls back, hitting the drawer behind you with a light thud. âThen why waste your time at all?â Maybe you should slow down with the snide comments.
He wants to, but he doesnât call out the implied self-slighting in your words. âMaybe itâs a âmeâ thing but I donât particularly like men that hurt women.â
You let out a dry laugh. âIn Gotham, it just might be.â
He sits with you on the linoleum tile of your kitchen until your eyes start to droop and he lightly corrals you to your bedroom before taking his exit through the window. You told him multiple times that he could go and you were fine, but he insisted that nothing important was happening in the city that time of night. You didnât quite believe him though, because it was past midnight by the time heâd headed out. Â
When you showed up to work the following day your boss wasnât there. Wasnât there the day after either. Or the day after. He didnât make an appearance again until the following Monday. And when he did show face, he did so with a neck brace and a cast on his leg. But once more, he absolutely refused to make eye contact or speak to any of the female employees. It actually became a whole thing when he wouldnât give instructions or feedback to any of you, and insisted on having his secretary replaced with a man, who he then used as a middle man to speak to all of the women for him. HR got involved three times in the span of the next five days, and by the Monday after, heâd been fired.
So to recap: yes, no, no, undecided, and hard no.Â
Maybe youâre really starting to like this Red Hood guy.
Hard yes.
Youâre slightly on guard upon hearing a clattering on the balcony, though if the past few weeks have been any indicator, youâre not in much danger.
Your posture slumps as you peer around the hallway corner, âOh, itâs you.â
âGood to see you too.â he grumbles, dropping onto the floor.
âWell, I have to imagine Iâm a step up from the last person you saw.â You say, looking him up and down, seeing what sure as hell looks like a gunshot wound on his chest armor. âWhat happened to you? The Mad Hatter uses guns now?â
He groans, âAh, I said something about him being a heartless fuck, and I guess he took it personally.â
You sigh, âJesus Christ, Hood.â
He waves you off, âItâs not that big of a deal.âÂ
You scoff, âHe tried to shoot you in the heart.â
âYeah, well, he missed.â He grumbles, adjusting his position on the couch.Â
You exhale sharply, âHow do you know?â
âHow do I know?â He tilts his helmet at you, exasperated.Â
You throw your arms up at your side, âI donât know! Iâm not equipped for this scenario.â
He huffs, âLook, itâs fine, it hit my armor. Itâll probably just be a bad bruise.â
âProbably?â
âI donât think thereâs blood. Could youâŠâ he vaguely gestures to his torso, but it's enough for you to get the hint.
You shake the panic out of your head, âYeah, yeah, of course.â
You help him shrug off his jacket as he strips off his armor, and you lift his shirt up as slowly as you can in case the injury is worse than he thinks.
Youâre not shocked to see that he has scars, thatâs kind of a given in his line of work. What you are shocked to see is one very long scar that lines directly up the center of his body. Itâs a deep scar, too.
And, oh. The long scar extends further, splitting off into a fork at his collar. Thatâsâoh. Oh. Oh. That is an autopsy scar.Â
Youâre not sure what to do. Youâve never seen a living person with an autopsy scarâthough you have to imagine neither have most people.
He clearly does not want to talk about it and youâre happy to let him keep the skeleton in the closet.
You avert your gaze back over to his diaphragm at the area of reddened skin.
âThereâs no blood, butâŠâ You inspect it a bit closer, âI think thereâs going to be a bad bruise. You might end up with bruising on your ribs, you need to get that looked at.â
âI am.â He says shortly.
You stand up straight, dropping your shoulders. âBy someone who went to medical school. Or has taken more than one anatomy class in their life.âÂ
He yanks down his shirt, standing, apparently too quickly, and wobbling. You catch his arm as he sways, attempting to steady him. âYou should sit down.â
âNeed to go back out.â He grunts, trying to pull away from you with little force.
âTo get killed? âCause youâre going the right way about it.âÂ
He tilts his head at you like heâs daring you to be so bold again. At least that's what it felt like. You sigh, gesturing to the couch, âSit down.â
You didnât expect it to work but he does as told.
You look around, unsure of what to do next. âDo you need ice?â
âWhat?â
âYouâre hurt.â You say slower. âDo you need ice?â
He falters for a second, âNo, itâsâno.â A couple beats pass before he adds, âThanks, sweetheart.âÂ
Itâs impossible not to notice that heâs staring at you. You feel hot under his gaze, not knowing what to do with yourself. You clear your throat, telling him to hang on for a second.Â
You call out behind you as you walk to the kitchen, âTake your helmet off, itâs rude.â You grab the painkillers from their new easily-accessible place on the kitchen counter and grab a water bottle from the fridge.
It was a joke but when you come back his helmet is off and heâs just wearing his domino eye mask. His hair is extra tousled, the white streak barely visible in the mess of loose curls. You toss the bottle of meds at him, followed by the capped bottle of water. He catches them easily, downing more than he probably should have but he got shot tonight so you figure youâll give him a break about it.   Â
You plop down on the couch next to him, honestly closer than youâd meant to. Your knees and shoulders lightly brush against one anothers, though neither of you make any moves to scoot over.Â
You both look straight ahead at the wall, simmering in the amity. âSo did somebody else deal with the Hatter or when you get shot do you just bounce back like a T-1000?â
He scoffs, âNo, getting shot at is a bit of an inconvenience for me.â
âWrong line of work.â
He cocks an eyebrow, âYouâre telling me.â
You turn your head to him, âWhy do you do it then?âÂ
He looks back at you earnestly. âSomeone has to.âÂ
âSomeone does.â
He tenses up a bit at that, breaking eye contact. âNot well enough.âÂ
Your head slowly lulls and drops into a rest on his shoulder, causing him to stiffen up a bit more before almost completely relaxing.
âSo violence is the answer to violence?â you ask, not argumentative, just genuinely musing.Â
Hood sighs, âHalf-assed reform programs didnât do anything, shitty âcrisis interventionsâ didnât do anything, the cops sure as hell donât do anything.â He shrugs under you. âYou run out of options eventually.â
âAnd thatâs why you took it upon yourself to intervene?â
âMm. âWhen reason fails, the devil helps.ââ He says, quite melodramatically, in your opinion.
âI-Is thatââ you squint, shooting off of his shoulder to look him in the eye. âYou spend your nights getting in street fights and shootouts and you spend your days reading Crime and Punishment of all things?â You gawk at him, âThat explains a lot about your disposition.â
He shrugs with a shake of his head. âItâs a rough world. Canât afford to be reading about Hogwarts.â
You pause, combing through your next words, ââMan only likes to count his troubles; he doesnât calculate his happiness.ââ
His eyes crinkle under his mask as he smiles, clearly pleasantly surprised that you know your shit. âTouchĂ©.â
You grin back, pleased with yourself.Â
Thereâs a brief recession where your smiles both get caught in the flicker between on and off, where your eyes take the opportunity to scan over each otherâs faces.Â
You realize that this may be the first time youâve seen him properly smile and itâs so magnetizing. So much so that you donât realize youâre staring at his lips until your eyes snap back up to his and find that his are on yours.
His eyes donât leave yours as he nudges you a bit with his shoulder. It does just enough to break the trance, giving you the cue to rest your head on him again. This time you allow more of your weight to lean against him and he actually seems relaxed for once.
 You glance at the clock on the wall without moving and realize itâs almost four in the morning. âIâm tired, Hood.â you mumble into his shirt.
âYou donâtââ he falters for a moment, âYou donât have to call me that.â
You squint at him, âWhat should I call you then?â
Heâs quiet for a moment. âJ.â
âJ?â you whisper, like itâs a grave secret. You guess it kind of is.
He nods.
âOkay.â Your cheek flattens against his shoulder. âJ.âÂ
You nearly think youâre imagining it when you feel him rest his head against yours.
âYou donât know how to protect yourself?â
You roll your eyes at him, âYou saw the way I swung at you with the baseball bat, what do you think?â
Itâs only just after sunset, you could still see some purple-pink hues in the sky if you looked out the window. Heâs started showing up before patrol some nights, saying he felt bad about waking you up at 3 am multiple times a week. So now, he mostly only drops in late if heâs a manageable amount of injured.
You stand in the middle of your living room together, after youâd made a joke about needing him as a bodyguard in Gotham. As it turns out, that was a one way street to him finding out that youâre useless in a fight.
âI was hoping you were having an off night because you just woke up, but now I'm concerned.â He says, grimacing.
You shrug, âI carry pepper spray.âÂ
He grumbles, displeased. âPut your hands up.â
You drop your head to the side and glower at him, âReally?â
He raises his eyebrows at you. Just do it.Â
Alright, youâll humor him. You put your fists up and he holds his hands open in front of you in kind. You throw a light punch.
âCome on, put your weight behind it.â
You do, hitting his hand harder. âHoodââ
He tilts his head forward at that, looking at you through his brows.
You inhale impatiently, âJ, Why do we have to do this? I donât have any illusions that I could knock you out and I canât imagine you do either.âÂ
He shakes his head, âItâs not about knocking someone out, itâs about defending yourself. Gonna be a hell of a lot harder to hurt you if youâre throwing punches. Harder.â
You give a raised hum, âNot if they have a gunâŠâ
âWell, weâll work on that too.â
You groan, throwing a half-assed hit. âWhereâd you learn to fight?â You ask before throwing another.
âTurn your body into it.â He corrects. âMy, uh, my dad taught me.â
You hum, hitting him again. âAre you guys close?â
âYouâre being nosy again.â He grunts amidst a hit.
âYouâre being evasive again.â You shoot back. Â
He drops his hands, taking your wrists in his, âHere, put your hands in front of your face when you shoot so you can block counters.â He tells you, adjusting your stance accordingly.
You make a face, âIâm confused, am I fighting a mugger or a kickboxer?â Â
He ignores you, moving his hands around to give you different angles to hit at.Â
You go at it for a few minutes, taking his critiques with reluctant concedence. âAlright, thatâs good.â He says, relaxing his body.
You perk up, âWeâre done?âÂ
âNo,â he shuts you down before asking earnestly, âDo you trust me?â
Your brain hadnât even fully processed the question before you nod, mumbling a âyesâ. He takes a measured step closer to you, watching carefully for your reaction. You almost back up in surprise, angling your head up further to look at him properly. You give no objection, so he continues, âI want you to try to get me on the ground.â
You let out a sound thatâs half-laugh, half-scoff. âYouâre twice my size.â     Â
He sighs, looking at you somberly. âSweetheart, odds are youâre not going to be evenly matched against someone that wants to hurt you. You get âem on the ground ân you have the upper hand or itâll give you time to get away.â
You throw your hands up at your sides, âI donâtââ You huff, âFine, okay.â You try to trip him by sliding your leg behind his and kicking, but he blocks you expertly.
You, against better judgment, shove your shoulder into his side, though it does nothing to phase him, let alone knock him down.Â
âYou gotta get more creative than that.â He chastises with a tut.Â
In response, you take a step back to reassess the situation. You try to maintain a poker face as you strategize in your head. You make a dive for his legs, wrapping your arms around the back of his legs and pulling hard to make him lose balance. Youâre sure if he were actually trying for a damn you would immediately be done for afterwards, but it does make him wobble. You then throw all of your weight against him, pushing him backwards and causing him to hit the floor with a thud.
He probably allowed for gravity to come to your aid, but he lands on his back all the same. You land half on him, half on the carpet, your hand resting on his chest. He looks up at you nodding, âGood. That was good, sweetheart.â
You smile, quite proud of yourself, and start to stand up when he hooks his arm around the back of your knee and pulls you to the ground too, switching places with you. You hit the ground gently with a sigh, âReally?â
He has one hand rested next to your head to balance him in his place above you. He smirks down at you and lets a tussle of white hair hang over his forehead. âCanât be getting cocky, sweetheart.â
You laugh sourly, âComing from you?âÂ
You quickly push at the bend of his arm and use the distraction to adjust your position to wrap your legs around his center and push your arm against his chest in an attempt to rotate him off of you.
He counters you by pushing your shoulder down, holding you down to the floor. His opposite hand flies to pull your forearm away from his chest, pinning it next to your head, careful to avoid your hair. He moves so quickly that you have half a mind to think he acted on pure instinct. That, and the look on his face when the dust settles says that he hadnât intended for you to end up in this position.Â
Your legs are still wrapped around him and youâre too frozen in the moment to make any changes. Heâs in no more of a rush to move, large frame towering over you. You feel his touch stutter against your shoulder, his eyes flickering across your face.
You gaze up at him, taking in the soft look in his eyes behind the mask. You think you can see more green than you did before. You unwrap your legs from around his waist and slowly start to sit up. He releases your wrist and eases the pressure on your shoulder. He leans back half as quickly as you move forward, stopping when youâre propped up on your elbows.
Your faces are only a few inches apart and it feels like your only option is to look down at his lips. You have a feeling heâs doing the same to you. The adrenaline of the hassle has long since faded but the rhythm in both of your chests remains quick.
He leans forward so barely, but itâs enough to make your breath hitch. âJâŠâ you say breathily, not sure what implication youâre aiming for.
He stills and this time youâre sure heâs looking at your lips. He blinks a few times like heâs trying to come back to himself and inches his face away from yours slowly.Â
You let the hold in your breath release, disappointed more than anything. He eases off the floor to a stand and holds his hand out to help you up too. You take it with more of a frown than youâd meant to let out and rise to your feet.
âLetâs, uhâŠâ He looks at the ground before taking a step back and putting his hands up again. âLetâs try some combos.â
You blink up at him for a second before raising your hands too. Â
Alright, one step at a time.  Â
1K notes
·
View notes
luke learns what a difference water makes to sand
2K notes
·
View notes
The clones like to slip song lyrics into conversation to see if they can get people to notice.
Wolffe has managed to get a few lines of The Final Countdown in before anyone noticed.
Fox once slipped the names of seven Deftones songs into conversation before the senator he was talking to noticed.
Ponds has, on multiple occasions, got Windu with Nickelback songs.
Rex targets civilians for the sheer sake of he's a menace and it's funny. Furthest he's gotten is like an entire verse of In The End. Only reason he had to stop was because Anakin ruined it accidentally.
Cody goes for country songs. Man has gotten through the entirety of Highwaymen by telling someone that each verse was some prophetic force vision that Obi-Wan had.
325 notes
·
View notes
âThe point of horror is to surviveâ âthe point of horror is to be doomedâ maybe the point of horror is to cum
36K notes
·
View notes
oh no general kenobi is caught in a glue trap
641 notes
·
View notes
need our simon to come home from deployment IMMEDIATELY đ«¶đŒ | p1 p2 p3 p4
your older bf!simon comes home from deployment at dinner time on a tuesday.
herb alpert on the kitchen radio, knife tearing through a bunch of parsley, garlic and onion simmering on the stove behind you.
simon can hear it- smell it through the mail flap.
smells like home.
your ears prick at the sound of the door swinging open, the hinges alerting you to a secondary presence. back tensing for just a moment before you hear steps you could pick out in a lineup.
he sees your fluffy slippers first, then your little shorts, then his t-shirt. finally, heâs met with wide eyes and the kitchen light hits the curve of your face so nicely.
simon could cry.
you already were.
âoh my god, siâ
he doesnât really want to touch you with his outside clothes, tactical gear smelling like the back of a cargo plane and youâre so soft and lovely heâs afraid he might mess it all up.
but thereâs nothing stopping the way you leap at him across the kitchen and swing your entire self around him and heâs forgetting what heâs wearing and heâs wrapping his arms around you like he knows you wonât break.
his tongue is immediately in your mouth and heâs taking one gasping breath and filling his nose with the scent thatâs overwhelming him.
simon realises right then that the house smells like dinner but you smell like home. you are home. heâs home.
when he finally lets you let him go youâre telling him to leave all his gear by the washer and youâll sort it all out tomorrow but right now he needs to sit down so you can feed him.
heâs back in the kitchen with a sweatshirt and shorts on and heâs never found his own clothes so comfortable. maybe itâs because he can smell you on the fabric.
youâd only been cooking enough for one but at this point, youâre so happy to have him home that youâre plating up the whole thing for him as he sits at the dining table.
his chair scrapes back along the floor and heâs patting his thigh, simon eats his tea with you curled up in his lap telling him everything heâd missed.
apparently, old-mate next door broke up with his missus and it was quite the scene.
apparently, they finally finished the roadworks on the junction at the end of your street and there was no longer a blur of orange cones on the drive to work.
apparently, there was going to be a barbecue at the house down the street and the two of you were invited. you might make a salad to take with.
you couldâve been reading him the phonebook and simon would be a happy man. his hand was holding under your thigh and your face was in the crook of his neck.
he was home.
dishes done (together) and tea steaming on the coffee table in front of him, simon isnât sure this couch has ever been this plush. he could melt into it, as long as it was just like this.
bare feet up on the ottoman and one arm wrapped around your side as your head lay against his chest. you could hear his heartbeat and he could hear the football youâd recorded for him whilst he was away.
deployment was fucking rough, seen and done things he didnât even want to think about. but this is what he comes home to.
you.
you who curls up in his lap and idly twirls the drawstring of his shorts round your finger.
you who offered up all of your food to him to fill the pit thatâd been growing in his stomach over the weeks.
you who couldnât give less of a fuck about the football on tv but watches in quiet contentment for the sake of being closer to him.
you who doesnât ask once about what happened while he was away but will always listen without judgement if he needs to get something off his chest.
ideally, simon would like to give you the world in return. then again, he doesnât think even thatâd be enough.
instead, he takes you up to your shared bed and, miraculously, he doesnât fall asleep as soon as his back touches the mattress.
he could, very easily, but instead he pulls you down on top of him and gets his lips back on yours. the kiss when he came through the door had been passionate but itâd been fleeting.
simon had kept it like that, knowing if he spent a second longer with your tongue on his then heâd have you over the kitchen bench and that wasnât what he wanted.
really, he wanted this. the full weight of you on top of him and your hips rolling messily against his as his hands went up underneath your his shirt.
he wanted to run his fingertips along your bare back and feel skin so soft he almost couldnât remember the things his hands had done just last week.
he wanted to map out every spot, every freckle, every ridge across your shoulders and commit it to memory so the next time he had to up and leave he could trace you like a constellation in the night sky.
truthfully, simon didnât want to leave next time. he wanted to get the call from price and tell him that he was sorry but he couldnât do it any longer. he now had something- someone to live for and he just couldnât gamble odds like he used to.
he wasnât entirely sure heâd still hold the sentiment on the other side of blowing a load so simon put those thoughts in the back of his head and decided heâd work them out on tomorrow morningâs run.
right now, simon felt the soft skin of the inside of your cheeks and your spit tastes like the nectar those gods harped on about and heâs pulling hard on your hips as he rolled something hard between them.
you were moaning, whimpering, whinging into his mouth while you ground yourself into the hard line of his cock. raging erection didnât even cover it and his head was tipping back as a-
yawn, deep and all consuming broke from his throat.
simon was fucking knackered.
exactly what he didnât want to happen was happening in front of him, you were sitting up and cooing at him so fucking sweetly.
âsi, youâre exhausted- weâll go to sleepâ
strong grip around your waist was anchoring you to the spot so you couldnât climb out of his lap like you were currently trying.
âsweetâartâ
you could hear it in his voice, he couldnât even lift his head off the pillow. you conceded, however, letting him rub soft little circles into your hips.
âjusâ gimmeâ one and then weâll sleepâ
laying back down against his chest, you felt the air woosh out of him as you relaxed your body on his. face fitting into the crook of his neck like you were made for him (you were) with a hand running along his collarbone.
âweâve got tomorrowâ
you knew it was futile, he was already slipping your shorts to the side. head tilting just a little to press a kiss to the top of your head.
âand i need you tonightâ
settled.
you felt one large hand lift you up as his other freed his cock out his shorts. just enough, just enough to get the job done because any extra effort was going to render him unconscious.
bringing a hand to his mouth, he spit in his palm quickly before rubbing it along the head of his cock. deep groan rumbled beneath you as you felt him pressing against your entrance.
âlift yâtop up, sweetâart- wannaâ feel yâon meâ
you did him one better, leaning up enough to slip the shirt over your head and onto the floor. forcing him to hold his arms up for just a second, you pulled his sweatshirt off and discarded it in the pile.
bare chest to chest, you could feel simon shudder beneath you. snaking one arm under his armpit and the other around his ribs, you snuggled in tight as you felt him slip right in.
thatâs all he wanted.
weeks of photos, videos, imagination to go off of. this was all he ever wanted. you so close to him that it was entirely possible to imagine the two of you as one. that there was no version of reality without you together in it.
lazily rolling his hips up into you as you met him halfway, rolling yours back down to share half of the load. simonâs arms wrapped around your back, keeping you close and keeping you moving against him.
âsorry love, sânot gonnaâ be a long oneâ
you could only respond with a whimper, gently nodding your head into his neck as your lips press soft little kisses into the skin. you didnât need a long time, you just needed him.
unable to help yourself from noticing the couple new scratches heâd come home with, your fingers idly traced along them as he sucked in a breath at the feeling.
what you wouldnât give to keep him home and keep him safe.
a thought for another day as you felt yourself constricting around his cock, grinding yourself into his lap as firm muscle rubbed against your front.
tiny little gasps flitted from your mouth and into his ear, you could feel his body tensing up beneath you. it wasnât just with sheer tiredness, you knew this man like the back of your hand.
left hand coming out from under where youâd buried it behind his back, you ran the tips of your fingernails down simonâs chest. you stopped at his nipple, gently scraping along the peaked flesh until you heard him.
âneed yâto cum right now fâme pleaseâ
slipping your other hand between the two of you, you let your fingers wander against yourself until you could feel the tide breaking in the pit of your stomach.
body clenching involuntarily, your mouth dropping open against his skin. no doubt drool pooling against his collarbone as you came with a pathetic whimper. hips bucking a little crazy in his lap as his hand ran the length of your back.
âgod thatâs it, sweetâartâ
simon went rigid, gripping you tight like you might go somewhere as the dams broke and he filled you up. hot and sticky and dripping out of you and onto the waistband of his shorts.
he fell so still the only way youâd know he was still alive was the rise and fall of his chest beneath you. his arms were already starting to fall limp around you.
coming back from the bathroom, slipping off the rest of your clothes and adding them to the pile. simon wasnât asleep, there were no snores, but he had been rendered totally immobile.
pulling the remainder of his clothes off for him and settling in beside, you pulled the sheets up over the both of you as his arm began drawing you in.
draped across him, you could feel his lips pressing against the crown of your head.
âmâgonnaâ rock yâworld in the morningâ
you snorted a little laugh, nuzzling in closer as his breathing starts to even out. no use in replying, snorings about the only answer youâre going to get.
not that youâd mind.
he was home.
2K notes
·
View notes
Older bf!Simon makes my brain go brrrrrrrr I wanna smooch ur brain for all this good content. I would call him âold manâ every so often (sometimes endearingly teasing him other times bc I want him to bend me over the nearest surface n be condescending while he fucks me <3)
brain enjoys the smooch, its tired tonight! đ«¶đŒ
i think calling simon âold manâ goes one of two ways and youâre going to have to hear me out:
first way is yeah, heâs bending you over and heâs making your eyes well up and heâs made you cum a good couple times already and heâs not relenting and itâs about him proving himself to, well, himself.
heâs got his lips pressed to your ear speaking something crazy like âyâlike letting a dirty old man fuck ye? huh? dâye?â
and heâs not beating the old man allegations but heâs also not denying them because, he is in fact an old man but he doesnât fuck a day over 20.
second way is ARGUABLY my favourite and thatâs when youâre saying it in passing and heâs snatching you up, pulling you into him despite all your squeals and heâs wrapping you up so tight.
âwho yâcalling old man? yâlittle tartâ and you know heâs fucking with you and maybe heâs teasing your sides cause he likes how you giggle and squirm and call his name.
itâs when youâre struggling against him that you realise half the giggles are actually simonâs- the man is actually giggling and you realised youâd invent new words to call him if it made him this happy.
4K notes
·
View notes
I love the fact that the 141 are some of the most highly skilled military men in the world on a special team for their deadliness and thus would want to blend in during covert times, yet we have...
Mohawk
Big guy in ski mask
Mutton chops
And just the prettiest boy you'll ever goddamn see
They are not blending into the general population
2K notes
·
View notes
roommate!ghost who's waiting for you when you get home in the middle of the night after going out with your friends. Sitting on the couch in those fucking grey sweatpants when you stumble through the door and drop your keys. Has to stare at the crack on the ceiling when you get down on your hands and knees to find them, pretend for his own sanity that he hasn't seen the tiny excuse for underwear you've got on under that little black dress.
Like clockwork, he's got you sitting on the icy bathroom counter as you giggle, telling him all about your night. He's got cotton pads and makeup remover in one hand and the other holding onto your thigh because you started unconsciously squeezing his broad frame when he stepped in between your open legs. He gently wipes away all the traces of the night, carefully mapping out the contours of your face like your a masterpiece he's carved from some precious stone. Until he gets to your lips. The shiny, fucking sparkly gloss is all thats left on your skin but his hand freezes as he studies the crease in your bottom lip. You catch up two seconds later in your dreamy, relaxed haze, and without even thinking about it you close the gap, softly pressing your lips to the one's silently hovering over yours.
His breath catches and his grip on your thigh becomes molten hot as you just as quickly pull away. Innocently you smile at him, like you hadn't just killed him, like you hadn't just made him start planning your wedding down to the way your eyes would shine as you walked down the aisle, all for him.
Your laugh is the only thing that can pull him out of his stupor, "you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that."Â
But he does, he really, really does.
7K notes
·
View notes
Bruce knows he canât scold his children on gala etiquette because he himself had none.
Baby Bruce was a kid who imitated an innocent baby rabbit in looks only. Heâll sit nice and quiet between his parents, watching everyone with his autistic eyes, and suddenly be like.
âUncle Philip dwinks a lot. Daddy doesnât wike any of you. â He gives Carmine Falcone a Look. âEspecially you. He says you give him tummy ache.â
Then he goes back to being cute and eating his dessert. Alfred chews back a laugh.
1K notes
·
View notes
Ten Times Too Many
You said Ghost couldnât beat his record of making you finish five times in one night. He said he could double it.
cw: overstimulation, afab reader, more overstimulation, creampies :)
Simon âGhostâ Riley x afab!reader | 18+ MDNI
req rules â request here â crossposted on ao3
There isnât a shred of doubt in your mind: Ghost knows how to emulate an ego death with the way he fucks.
Youâre used to the rough ploys, the sick dirty talk and mind-numbing orgasms that leave you half-blind. You know how good it gets, how addicted he is to ruining you. You know his end goal is always your mindlessness, each fuck an attempt to strip you of even your own name.
What you didnât know is how good he can make overstimulation hurt.
It was a spur of the moment thing, a bet between you gone awry when you insisted he couldnât beat his record of pulling five orgasms from you in one night. He said he could double it, you laughed in his faceâ now heâs laughing in yours.
Itâs a low laugh that comes from his stomach, muffled by his mask as he bottoms out inside of you yet again. You may just be hypersensitive, but you swear you can feel the vibrations of his laugh in your pussy, it makes you whine, a sweet song heâs all-too used to.
Number nine is approachingâ you feel it in the shaking heat of your stomach and the rolling nausea that rolls over you, youâre so cumdrunk you feel sick. Ghosts pace stays relentless, drilling into you with a fervour that seems almost inhumaneâ heâs driven by the sight of you unravelling beneath him. Sweat soaks the sheets beneath you, tears stain your cheeks, Ghost groans.
âCome on, Love, do as youâre told, yeah? Come for me.â
Your mind is so blurred you canât tell when your orgasm starts and when it ends, a blinding moment of pleasure is all the indication of time you have. Ghost grins, you can see it in the way his mask moves, predatory like a shark set on the smell of blood. You cry, choked sobs stuck in your throat dislodge with each thrust onto Ghosts cock. He stretches you open, moulds you into the perfect fit for himâ as if holy hands carved you from a model of his being.
âPlease,â the moment youâre sane enough to speak again, or at least try to, youâre begging for an ounce of the soldiers mercy. âPleasepleaseplease, baby fuck⊠I cant take it anymore.â
Simon slows, rolls his hips into yours slow enough to give you a second to breathe. He may be a sadist, but heâs not all that evil. You take the moment to look at his body. Despite the mask covering his face, heâs otherwise naked, torso toned and scarred in beautiful ways you could stare at until your last breath. The flex of his muscles as he moves, stretching you out, is a narcotic within itself. God, heâs ruined you from the inside out.
A sudden snap of his hips into yours and you nearly scream. Heâs still rock hard, and youâve lost count of the times heâs fucked his cum into youâ you take it as a testament of his need. When Ghost thrusts into you again, his balls hitting your ass with the weight he puts into fucking you as deep as he can, you reach out and push a sweaty palm against his chest.
âStop,â you grit your teeth. âYouâre going to kill me, Iâm so fucking sensitive.â
Another slow roll of his hips, Ghost tests the waters. He leans in, his chest against yours in a mix of laboured breaths and sticking sweat, and laughs.
âSay the safe word.â
His dick pulses inside of you, his release near. You could tap out, let go of the all-encompassing pleasure you feel and nurse your sore thighs with a warm bath. But part of you knows youâll grieve the fit of his cock inside you the second he pulls out and kisses you better. Ten orgasms at the hand of a man whoâs done a lot worse than fuck someone into a comaâ heâs not the man to push, he asks again.
âSafe word, love.â
âFuck you.â
âWhat I fuckinâ thought.â
A flip switches and, although you hadnt known it possible, Ghost moves faster than ever before. His hands pawing at your tits, cock slipping in and out of you in a frenzied pace that grounds you as much as it wrecks you. If his mouth werenât covered by his mask you have no doubt heâd be marking every inch of your neck and chest as hisâ staking his claim on the body heâs already fucked into favour. Deep strokes of his cock inside you are enough to bring hot new tears to surface, pooling in your eyes as you forget how to breathe, think, do anything other than feel his presence inside of you.
âFuckinâ perfect, you know that? Last one, pretty, just one more.â
Itâs everything about him, his size and weight and the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder that sticks to his skin and permeates the air around you. Itâs the dedication, his fingers circling your clit in dedicated service to your pleasure, the searing heat of his cock near-breeding you stupid. Itâs the way his breath quickens, and you can see his muscles tense and, despite your mind being halfway to heaven, you know heâs on the brink of cumming.
Itâs the release you share, when he folds over on top of you, crushing you under his weight as he finishes. His hips thrusting as deep as he can get inside of you, sounds of sweet ecstasy leaving his mouth and staining your skin with goosebumps as you fall over the edge one last time.
Number ten, blindingâ you see stars and galaxies. You could be convinced you were floating if not for the weight of Ghost on top of you. Your body spasms and jerks in response to his ministrations, a masochistic ache for more settling in your stomach as you choke on your breath.
Thereâs a moment of silence as Ghost buries his head in the crook of your neck, just a second to catch his breath. He could fall asleep right here inside of you if it werenât for the pressing matter of aftercare, you could too. Youâre so stuck on the mindless string of orgasms youâve just had that when Ghost pulls out of you, you nearly cry with sensitivity.
You cant form the right words, lost in a place less real than thisâ your body still tingles when Ghost slips his mask off and youâre met with the tear-blurred sight of your Simon. He leans down, presses a kiss to your lips softer than any other, and then ducks his head down further to gently kiss the pussy he just fucked numb.
A cock of his head, chest still heaving with exertion.
âCmon,â a hand extended to you, âbath. Yâneed it.â
âFuck you.â
âMaybe later.â
2K notes
·
View notes