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too angry to notice | j.t MDNI

angst | reader!hurt | hurt!comfort | smut (f!recieving)

synopsis: you fucked up and got hurt on a mission trying to save jason, but he was too busy fuming that it went wrong to notice how you were bleeding out.

a/n: this is my first jason fic :p

walking back to the batcave felt like utter agony.

the sides of your ribs pulsating and the gash under the bottom right rib was burning. but you almost forgot about it with how loud jason was screaming at you.

almost.

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd angst #jason todd x reader

honeysucklewatr

loathe isn’t strong enough

angst | betrayal | smut | slowburn | masterlist

endgame—thunderbolts!bucky x ex-avenger!reader

synopsis: Stark Industries took everything from you, and you're determined to get your revenge back—by killing Tony Stark. The plan was simple: infiltrate the Avengers, gain trust and get Tony alone. You didn't anticipate how you'd fall for Bucky Barnes, having to break his heart in the worst way possible. Years later, you're faced with him again, but if you can't forgive yourself, how can he?

tags: ANGST. slowburnish. betrayal. hurt!comfort. smut; hatefucking, crying during sex. reader is morally grey. violence; mention of blood, guns. panic attack. trauma bonding. kinda found family. unreliable narrator.

wc: aprox 19k (longest fic I’ve ever written???)

a/n: life got in the way but hey, I’m back! This is not proofread, and i need to get this out cause it’s consuming me and i kinda hate it but fuck it, we ball. Glossing over the blip here so it’s left more for interpretation.

#bucky barnes angst #betrayal arc #bucky barnes x reader #morally grey reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #avenger reader

plumstatic

What are they into?

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Wally West

Content: MDNI! nsfw headcanons, not overly explicit / descriptive, written with fem!reader in mind but can be read as gen!reader as well, don't take it to serious

#dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #dick grayson #jason todd #dc x reader

h0ttie-with-a-b0dy

#ILoveMyWife

At first I was a little bit dreading the commitment of writing this request and then I started and somehow word vomited over two thousand words. So period, I guess. I hope yall like this, I always try to do the requests I get justice. Also Damian is aged up to 18 when he moves in with Bruce because I didn’t want a child marriage plot. As always, feel free to request or leave constructive criticism and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist. Thanks for reading!!

words ~ 2.1k

tags ~ arranged marriage, LoA Damian Wayne, aged up Damian bc I don’t believe in child marriages, possessive reader, simp Damian, request, no use of y/n, no tw, a little suggestive in some parts ig?

#damian wayne x reader #dc comics #dc x reader #x reader

torupng

⤷ ‘SAVIOR’ , JASON TODD .

summary 𓂃 a bookkeeper hides in the basement while the Iceberg Lounge changes hands. jason todd finds her, keeps her because she's useful, and tells himself it's temporary. a month later, she's patching up his wounds and telling him about the years she spent being treated like shit—and he’s letting her.

tags 𓂃 prince of gotham!jason todd x ex penguin employee fem!reader , grumpy crimelord x tired bookkeeper , found family , rescued from a criminal enterprise , ocd implied!reader , slow burn-ish , forced proximity , blood and bandages , boss!jason todd , low angst , dry humor , domestic-ish , quiet intimacy , undefined feelings , jason’s POV , 2nd person , dialogue heavy , time-skips & fast forwards .

wc 𓂃 maybe 4-5k

✦ masterlist　╱　dc masterlist　𓏼 ͜͜

THE BASEMENT of the Iceberg Lounge smelled like mold and old cigar smoke, and Jason Todd was starting to regret every decision that had led him down here.

Not the takeover. That had gone smoother than Jason expected. Cobblepot was locked in a storage room on the third floor with a gag in his mouth and a shitload of opinions he couldn't express. The Sisters Su were patrolling the main floor with their usual unsettling grace. His men were counting the money. Everything was going according to plan.

Except for the woman hiding behind the wine racks.

He heard you before he saw you. A sharp inhale, quickly muffled—a shoe scuffing the concrete. You were trying to stay quiet and failing, which meant you weren’t trained for this: no tactical training, no weapon discipline, no idea how to vanish properly.

Jason rounded the corner slowly, his boots echoing on the stone floor. He wasn't concerned about a trap. If you’d been a threat, you would have acted by now. But he'd learned long ago that scared people do stupid things, and he didn't want to get hit with a wine bottle tonight. That would be embarrassing. He'd never hear the end of it from the Sisters.

You were crouched behind the last row of racks, pressed against the cold wall with your knees pulled up to your chest. Messy hair fell across your face in uneven waves, and you wore black slacks with a white button-down that had come untucked at some point, probably during the chaos of the takeover. Your flats were scuffed at the toes. You looked like you had been hiding for hours.

Your hands were shaking.

Jason stopped a few feet away and waited. He had learned that trick from Batman, though he would never admit it. Sometimes the silence was more effective than anything you could say. It made people talk. It made them fill the empty space with something, usually something true.

You looked up at him, and he watched the recognition hit you like a tangible force. Your shoulders pulled in tighter. Your breath caught and held. You knew who he was. Everyone in Cobblepot's organization knew the Red Hood by reputation, even if they had never seen his face. The helmet was off now, but the leather jacket, his build, and the way he carried himself told the story clearly.

He crouched down, not because he was trying to be kind, but because looming over you wasn't going to get him useful information. Also, his knees were tired. It had been a long night.

"You work here?" he asked.

You nodded, a quick jerky motion.

"What do you do?"

There was a pause as your throat moved with your swallow.

"Bookkeeping," you said, and your voice was steadier than he expected. "Payroll. Some bartending when they were short-staffed."

Jason looked at your hands again. No calluses. No scars. No signs of someone who had ever held a weapon for longer than it took to hand it off. These were the hands of someone who punched numbers into a calculator and maybe carried a tray of drinks when things got busy.

"You know how to use a gun?"

"No."

"A knife?"

"No."

"Anything that could hurt me?"

You looked at him then, really looked, and something in her expression shifted. Not defiance, exactly. More like resignation. Like you had already run the numbers and found the only answer that made sense.

"No," you said again. "I'm not a threat to you."

Jason believed you. He also believed that being harmless didn't mean being safe. The people who would come looking for Cobblepot's associates wouldn't care whether you had ever held a gun. They'd care about what you knew—names, accounts, payment schedules, the quiet links between the Penguin's operations and the rest of the city's underworld. You’d been here for two years. You knew things.

If you left here tonight, someone would find you. Not his people, probably. Someone worse — someone who wanted information and didn't care how they got it.

You wouldn't survive the week.

Jason had seen that movie before. He had been the kid in it, once, before Bruce found him. Hungry and cold and hiding in alleys, watching the bigger predators circle. He had made it out because someone had decided to keep him. Not everyone got that lucky.

He stood up and pulled out his phone.

"Get up," he said.

You flinched but got up. Your legs were unsteady, and you had to brace one hand against the wine rack to avoid falling. You didn't ask where you were going. You just followed him up the stairs, through the kitchen, and into the elevator that took you to the private floors above the casino.

On the way up, he typed out a quick text to one of his contacts: Run a background check on a woman. Bookkeeper. Cobblepot's organization. Everything by morning. He hit send and tucked the phone back into his pocket.

If you’re clean, you can be useful. If you weren't, he would deal with you then.

Either way, you’re not staying in the basement.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The office was a disaster area.

Cobblepot had been a meticulous monster, which meant his workspace used to look like the inside of a very expensive clock. Everything had its place, with pens aligned and files labeled. A humidor sat on the corner desk, probably costing more than Jason’s first car.

Then the takeover had happened, and Jason’s people had torn through the place looking for anything useful. Drawers were pulled open. Papers were scattered across the floor. A knife was still lodged in the wall above the safe, left there by one of the Sisters Su as a joke.

You stopped in the doorway and stared.

“You did this?” you asked.

“Some of it.”

“You have a filing system.”

“I have a system.”

You looked at him like he had just claimed the sky was green. Your eyes swept across the room, taking in the chaos, the scattered documents, the three empty coffee cups on the windowsill, the bullet holes in the ceiling.

“This is not a system,” you said. “This is a crime scene.”

Jason turned to look at you. You were still pale, still shaking a little, but something else was creeping into your voice. Exasperation. Like the state of his office was personally offensive to you. Like you were this close to grabbing a trash bag and fixing it yourself.

He almost chuckled. Almost.

“I didn’t bring you up here to critique my organization,” he said.

“Then why did you bring me up here?”

He didn’t have a good answer. He had a practical answer, which was that you knew Cobblepot’s operations and he needed someone to untangle the mess of shell companies and hidden accounts. That was true. That was useful. That was the kind of cold calculation he prided himself on.

But if he was being honest, which he rarely was, he had brought you up here because leaving you in the basement felt wrong.

Not wrong in a moral sense. He had done plenty of things that were wrong. Wrong in a personal sense. Like watching someone drown when he knew how to swim. Like walking past a hungry kid when he had food in his pocket.

He gestured to the chair across from his desk.

“Sit down.”

You sat.

“You’re staying here tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’re going to talk about what you know. After that, we’ll figure out what to do with you.”

“What does that mean?”

He dropped into his own chair and kicked his boots up on the desk, scattering a stack of papers he hadn’t gotten around to reading yet. The chair creaked under his weight. He was tired. His shoulder ached where someone had landed a lucky hit during the takeover. His knuckles were split and starting to scab over.

“It means you’re not dead,” he said. “That’s more than most of Cobblepot’s people got tonight. You’re welcome.”

You looked at him for a long moment, and Jason saw something flicker across your face. Not gratitude. Not fear. Something closer to calculation. You were trying to figure out if he was lying, if this was some kind of trap, if he was going to hurt you after you gave him what he wanted.

He respected that. Trust is earned, not given. He had learned that lesson in a warehouse with a crowbar and a bomb. He wasn’t about to forget it.

“Okay,” you said finally. “I’ll stay.”

“The couch pulls out. There are blankets in the closet. Don’t touch the guns.”

“I don’t know how to use a gun.”

“You said that already.”

“I’m saying it again so you remember.”

Jason snorted. “Lady, I don’t forget anything.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The background check came back clean at seven the next morning.

His contact had dug up everything. You had worked for Cobblepot for two years, started as a temp during tax season and somehow stuck around. Before that, you had done bookkeeping for a chain of restaurants in the Diamond District that had gone under during the recession. No criminal record. No outstanding warrants. No connections to any of the major players in the city.

You were exactly what you looked like. A civilian who had needed a job and ended up working for a monster because monsters paid well and didn’t ask questions.

Jason read the report twice, looking for the catch. There wasn’t a single one.

He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or annoyed.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The first few weeks were awkward.

You slept on the couch in his office because there weren’t any other rooms available and Jason wasn’t about to let you wander around the building unsupervised. The Lounge wasn’t exactly a hotel now, was it. It was a criminal enterprise with a casino attached, and letting a civilian roam the halls was a good way to get you killed or get him compromised.

You ate the food he brought you without complaint, even when it was cold and the coffee was shit. You didn’t ask for anything. You didn’t push. You just existed in his space like a presence he couldn’t get rid of. Stupidly polite and quiet like you were worried one slip up would get you a one way ticket to heaven.

It was annoying. He wasn’t sure why.

Jason told himself it was temporary. He had plans. Big plans. The Iceberg Lounge was just the beginning. He was going to clean up Crime Alley, take down the drug rings, starve out the human traffickers. He didn’t have time to babysit a bookkeeper who had gotten caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But you were useful. That was what he told himself when he handed you a stack of financial records and asked you to make sense of them. That was what he told himself when you found three shell companies Cobblepot had been using to launder money through a bakery in the Diamond District. That was what he told himself when you looked up from a spreadsheet with an expression of pure disgust and said, “He was hiding money in a frozen yogurt franchise. Who does that?”

Jason laughed before he could stop himself.

You looked at him like he had grown a second head.

“Did you just laugh?” you asked, eyebrows perked.

“No.”

“You definitely laughed.”

“I coughed.”

“That was not a cough.”

“The air in here is dry.”

You stared at him and he stared right back.

“You’re weird,” you said.

“You’re the one who worked for a guy who kept penguins in his office.”

“They were taxidermy.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

You almost smiled. Not quite. But almost. Jason picked up a pen from his desk, spun it between his fingers, and put it back down. He didn’t know why he was fidgeting. He just was.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

She started organizing his office on the fourth day.

Jason walked in after a meeting with a weapons supplier and found his desk completely changed. The papers were stacked in neat piles, labeled by category and date. The guns had been moved to a locked drawer, and the keys were on his keychain, which meant she had gone through his stuff at some point. The coffee cups were gone, replaced by a single clean mug and a coaster he didn't remember buying.

He stood in the doorway and stared.

"What did you do?" he asked, eyes scanning the room before finally landing on you.

You didn't look up from the filing cabinet you was sorting through. You were wearing the same black slacks and white button down from the basement, though you’d rolled the sleeves up to your elbows at some point. Your hair was pulled back in a messy knot and there was a smear of dust on your cheek.

"I organized it," you answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He sighed.

"Why?"

You finally looked at him, and your expression was almost bewildered, like you couldn't understand why he was even asking such a dumb question. Not that you could say that out loud… not quite there yet.

"Because I sleep in here and looking at that desk was giving me a headache," you replied. "I couldn't focus on the ledgers with that much chaos in my peripheral vision.”

Jason just stared at you.

You stared back.

"I'm not going to apologize for it," you added, shrugging.

He should have been annoyed. He should have told you to stay in your lane, to keep your hands off his things, to remember that you were here because he allowed it and he could un-allow it just as easily. The last person who had touched his things without asking had lost a finger. Not by his hand, but the principle still stood.

Instead, he dropped into his chair and looked around. The room felt different. Definitely calmer now. He hated that he noticed. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulder, still sore from the takeover, and tried to focus on something else.

"Where's the Glock?" he asked.

"Bottom drawer. Left side. The safety is on."

"How do you know how to check a safety?"

"I told you I don't know how to use a gun. I didn't say I didn't know anything about them." You closed the filing cabinet and turned to face him. "I grew up in Gotham. Everyone knows how to check a safety."

Jason leaned back in his chair and studied you. You’d stopped flinching when he walked into the room sometime in the last few days. He wasn't sure when. You also stopped measuring your words, stopped being careful, stopped treating him like something that might bite.

He was still unsure whether this was a blessing or a curse. Being liked certainly had its perks, but being feared? That was even more powerful. With his reputation on the line, your efforts weren’t exactly helping him.

He picked up his phone, looked at it, put it back down. No messages. He already knew there were no messages.

"You're not going to stay here forever," he said.

"I know."

"You understand that."

"I understand that you keep telling me that." He watched you cross your arms over your chest. "You also keep not telling me when I can leave."

Jason opened his mouth and closed it.

You had a point. A good one, at that.

"You're not a prisoner," he said.

"I'm not free either."

"Everyone in Gotham is a prisoner of something. At least here you have food and a couch and a lock on the door."

You tilted your head, studying him like he was problem you were trying to solve. He didn't like that look. It made him feel like you could see things he didn’t want to show you.

"You don't have to keep me here," you said.

"I know."

"Then why do you?"

Jason didn't answer. He thought about saying something honest. He thought about telling you the real reason, the stupid reason, the reason that made him feel like a kid again.

Then he thought better of it.

"Because you're useful," he said, and the word tasted like a lie even as he said it.

You didn't look like you fully believed him either. But you also knew better than to push. You just went back to the filing cabinet.

Jason tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. Once. Twice. Three times. Then he picked himself off the chair and walked out, leaving you with one notice.

“Don’t go through my stuff.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

That whole name thing happened around the third week.

Jason was in the middle of reviewing a list of Cobblepot's outstanding debts when you walked into the office with two cups of coffee. You set one on his desk and kept the other for yourself, curling up on the couch with a folder full of bank statements. You’d been doing that more often lately. Just existing in the room with him. Reading or organizing or working on tasks he assigned you while he handled his.

It should’ve been distracting, but day by day he’d gotten used to it.

"Red Hood," you said, flipping open the folder. “It says here that—”

"Don't call me that."

"Well… what should I call you?"

"Boss works."

"That's weird."

"You're weird."

"I'm the one who organized your filing system and found three shell companies in a frozen yogurt franchise. You're not allowed to insult me."

Jason looked up from his papers. You were smiling in a way he hadn’t seen before. Not a nervous smile or a polite smile, but a genuine one that suited you.

"Jason," he said.

You blinked. "What?"

"My name. It's Jason."

He hadn't meant to tell you. He hadn't told anyone in Gotham his real name since the takeover, not even the Sisters Su. There was power in a name, and he wasn't in the habit of giving power away. Bruce taught him that much. Secrets were currency. Names were weapons—sometimes.

But you’d been here for three weeks now. You hadn't tried to run. You hadn't betrayed him. You hadn't looked at him like he was a monster, even when he came back to the office with blood on his collar and the occasional fresh bruise somewhere on his face or neck or elsewhere.

You just made him coffee and organized his files and treated him like he was a person instead of a symbol.

"Jason," you repeated, testing the shape of it. Your mouth curved around the syllables like you were trying to figure out if they fit.

“Yeah.”

"Okay," you said, and went back to whatever was on your screen.

Just like that.

Jason stared at you for a long moment. You didn't look up. You didn't even acknowledge the weight of what he had just given you. You just sipped your coffee and flipped a page and existed in his space like it wasn’t a big deal.

He tried not to think too much about it. So instead he went back to his paperwork and tried even harder not to think about it. He cracked his knuckles one by one, a nervous habit he had never been able to shake.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Jason comes back from a job later than usual. His knuckles are split open and his shoulder aches where someone got a lucky hit in with a goddamn pipe. The cut on his ribs isn't deep, but it's bleeding through his shirt and that's definitely going to stain the fabric. He's tired in a way that goes beyond the physical, the kind of tired that comes from fighting the same fights over and over and watching the city swallow his efforts whole.

He walks into the office and finds you still awake.

You're sitting on the couch with your laptop open, reviewing the accounts from the frozen yogurt franchise that turned out to be a money laundering front. You look up when he comes in, and your eyes go straight to the blood on his shirt.

"You're hurt," you say, voice tinged with concern.

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"It's not mine."

You give him a look that says you don't believe him for one second.

"Most of it," he amends.

You close your laptop and stand up. "Sit down."

"I don't need—"

"Sit down, Jason."

The use of his name stops him. Not because he's scared of you, but because you say it like you have every right to tell him what to do. Like you've already decided that he's going to sit down and let you patch him up, and his opinion doesn’t matter in the slightest.

He sits down and wonders when he became so… compliant.

You disappear into the bathroom attached to the office and come back with a first aid kit. It's his kit, which means it's military grade and contains enough supplies to treat a gunshot wound. You open it on the coffee table and start pulling out bandages and antiseptic wipes.

"Take off your shirt," you say.

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Bold."

"Don't be annoying."

"I'm never annoying."

You don't dignify that with a response. You just wait, your arms crossed over your chest, until he sighs and pulls his shirt off over his head. The movement pulls at the cut on his ribs, and he grits his teeth against the sting.

You kneel in front of him and start cleaning the wound on his ribs first. Your hands are steady. Like you’ve done this before. You work in silence for a while, dabbing at the cut with an antiseptic wipe, and Jason finds himself watching your face.

You're focused. Concentrated. Like this is just another task you decided you had to do, no different from organizing his desk or reviewing a spreadsheet.

"You're not bad at this," he says.

"My mother was a nurse," you reply without looking up. "I learned a few things."

"Where is she now?"

"She died. Six years ago. Cancer."

Jason doesn't say he's sorry. He learned a while ago that sorry doesn't mean anything to people who have lost someone. It's just a word people say to fill the silence.

"She the reason you stayed in Gotham?" he asks instead.

You pause for a moment, then go back to work. "Part of it. The other part is that I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"That's why most people stay."

"That why you stayed?"

Jason thinks about it. He thinks about leaving Gotham a hundred times, a thousand times. He thinks about the places he's been and the people he's met and the ways he's tried to build something for himself outside of this city's shadow.

He thinks about Crime Alley. About the kid he was, stealing tires off the Batmobile because he didn't have anything else. About the way Bruce looked at him the first time, not with pity, but with something that felt like recognition.

"Someone's got to clean up this mess," he says. "Might as well be me."

You look up at him then, and your expression is unreadable. "That's very noble."

"It's not noble. It's stupid. There's a difference."

You almost smile. He sees it in the way the corner of your mouth twitches upwards just a little .

You finish cleaning the cut on his ribs and start on his knuckles. The split skin is raw and angry, and you work carefully, dabbing at the blood with the same steady hands. The silence stretches between you, unfamiliar but not uncomfortable.

"Cobblepot treated me like furniture," you say quietly. Unexpectedly.

Jason looks at you.

"I was there to do a job. I did it well. But I wasn't a person to them. I was a thing that balanced the books and poured their drinks and stayed out of the way."

You press a bandage across his knuckles, smoothing the edges down with your thumb.

"His men talked about me like I couldn't hear them. Made comments. Jokes. Nothing I could report, nothing that crossed a line they thought mattered." Your voice is flat, controlled. "I learned to ignore it. To be small. To be useful enough that they didn't notice me and not useful enough that they wanted more from me."

Jason watches your face as you speak. There's no self pity in your voice. No anger, even. He wonders why you’re not mad.

"The ones who were worse, the ones who actually tried something. They didn't last long. Cobblepot didn't like competition for his attention. He would get rid of them. Not because he cared about me. Because they were touching something that belonged to him."

You reach for another bandage.

"I hated him. Every single day. I hated the way he looked at me and the way he talked to me and the way he made me feel like I should be grateful for the privilege of being treated like garbage." You finally look up at him. "And then you showed up. And you killed the ones who deserved it. And you locked him in a room somewhere in this building."

"He's on the third floor," Jason says.

"I hope he’s suffering."

You say it with so much conviction that Jason feels something shift in his chest. He looks away, rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck. He doesn't know what to do with the thing shifting in his chest, so he ignores it.

"You're not grateful," he says.

"I'm not," you agree. "I'm relieved.”

You finish wrapping his knuckles and sit back on your heels. The first aid kit lies open between you, supplies scattered across the coffee table. The office is quiet except for the hum of the city outside the windows.

"You could’ve killed me," you say. "That night in the basement. You could’ve killed me and no one would’ve asked questions. I was nobody. I worked for Cobblepot. That would’ve been enough reason for most people."

"Civilians aren't on my list," he says again. "They never have been."

"You killed some of his men."

"His men weren't civilians. They made choices. They carried weapons. They knew what they signed up for."

You look at him for a long moment. "And me?"

Jason holds your gaze. "You hid behind a wine rack and shook so hard I could hear your teeth chattering from across the room. You weren't a threat to anyone."

You nod slowly, like you're filing that information away for later. Then you stand up and close the first aid kit.

"You should eat something," you say. "There's leftover soup in the kitchen. I'll heat it up."

"I don't need—"

"You're bleeding, you're tired, and you haven't eaten since yesterday. I've been here for almost a month. I know your schedule." You pick up the first aid kit and carry it back to the bathroom. "Sit there and don't move."

Jason opens his mouth to argue.

"Jason."

He closes his mouth. He’s too tired to.

You disappear into the bathroom, and he hears you putting the kit back in its place. The water runs for a moment. You wash your hands. Then you walk past him toward the door that leads to the kitchen.

"I'll be back in five minutes," you note. "Don't do anything stupid."

"When have I ever done anything stupid?"

You pause in the doorway and look back at him. Your expression is dry, unimpressed, and something else that he can't quite put his finger on.

"Do you want the list alphabetically or chronologically?"

Before he can respond with something equally dry in humor, you're gone.

Jason sits on the couch with his bandaged hands and his stitched ribs and listens to you move around in the kitchen. The sound of a pot being placed on the stove. The click of a burner lighting. The quiet hum of your voice as you talk to yourself, though he can't make out the words.

He picks up his phone from the coffee table. No messages. He already knows there are no messages. He puts it back down. Then he picks it up again, checks the time, and puts it back down again. He's being an idiot.

You aren't afraid of him. You haven't been afraid of him for weeks now. That should bother him. It doesn't. He's not going to think about why.

He thinks about what you said. About being treated like furniture. About learning to be small. About hating Cobblepot and being relieved that someone finally did something about it. He pushes the thought away before it can settle. He doesn't have time for that. He has plans. Big plans. Ones that don’t include you getting in the way of.

The soup will be ready in a few minutes. You'll come back with two bowls and sit across from him and you'll eat in silence or maybe you'll talk. He doesn't know which one he wants more.

He doesn't know what this is. He doesn't have a name for it.

For once, the Prince of Gotham doesn't have a plan. And for once? He didn’t absolutely hate the feeling.

#jason todd x reader #Prince of gotham #dc comics #dc oneshot #fem reader #dc x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #redhood x reader

arkhamm-knight

Would you ever do a NSFW continuation AK!Jason x reader with pierced nips?? 👉🏻👈🏻 pretty please💖

₊ ⊹ nsfw — arkham knight gets a little too carried away..

𑣲⋆ ⌗ one shot — nipple piercings ⸝⸝ bondage ⸝⸝ thigh fucking ⸝⸝ jason cries during sex ⸝⸝ vigilante!reader ⸝⸝ gn!reader ⸝⸝ blindfolds ⸝⸝ slight cnc at the start ⸝⸝ wc - 1.3k

⟢ masterlist ノ ak masterlist ✦

#arkham knight x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader

after-avenging-hours

Sunflowers and Stone

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason returns after being away for a few weeks, working on a case with Roy in Star City. When he comes home to an empty apartment, Jason soon learns where you go when he's not around. A place where his name has been memorialized in stone.

Word Count: 7K

Content Warnings: 18+, Explicit Sexual Content, mentions of death, graveyards, grief, and the handling of loss (you tell Jason how you processed his death), smut with feels, unprotected sex, established relationship, pet names galore, female!reader, no use of y/n, Jason is strong enough to carry you over his shoulder

A/N: I did not go into October expecting to come out of it being this obsessed with Jason Todd, but here we are...

Part of the Spooky Season Writing Challenge. — Day 29 Prompt: Sunflowers

Spooky Season Masterlist

The door shuts with a soft click behind him as Jason steps into your shared apartment. The first thing he notices is the faint scent of lemon and lavender from that natural cleaner you use to scrub the counters. The second thing he notices is how quiet the apartment is. Normally, when you're home, you'll have either music or the TV playing quietly in the background. He sets his duffel down on the floor and kicks off his boots before moving deeper into the apartment.

"Babe?" he calls, just to be sure. He's only met with more silence.

Maybe if he were a normal boyfriend with a normal job, his mind wouldn't immediately start jumping to the worst conclusions, but he's neither of those things. He immediately starts scanning the apartment for clues, like it's a crime scene. There's no sign of forced entry; he would have noticed if something was wrong with the door. The windows are all shut, blinds drawn. You probably weren't taken, which still doesn't bring him much relief.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #jason todd #red hood

stardext

─── FROM RUSSIA, WITH LOVE.

a winter soldier x reader fanfiction. ★

SYNOPSIS: Doubting is treason. In the Soviet Union, treason is paid for with death. You’ve known this since you were a child. The words are burned into your mind. But sometimes, that ironclad truth cracks in your chest—especially when your path collides with the Winter Soldier. He is nothing like the monster the Red Room made you fear. He is only a man… or what remains of one. And the closer you get to him, the more everything you’ve been taught begins to fracture under a new, dangerous light of understanding. Assigned as his handler, you watch as fragmented memories torment him with increasing frequency, slowly revealing the humanity buried beneath the weapon. You begin to share his doubts, and when a final order makes you realize how tightly the chain binds both of you, you’ll have to make a choice: follow the path you were forged for, or risk everything in search of the closest thing to freedom you can find. PAIRING: Winter Soldier x Black Widow! Reader. WARNINGS: Graphic Violence: Descriptions of combat, torture, murders, and physical injuries, including mutilations and the consequences of inhuman experiments. Psychological Trauma and Abuse: Themes of emotional manipulation, abuse of power by institutions, PTSD, induced amnesia, and the exploration of fragmented identities. Includes flashbacks to childhood abuse and forced orphanhood. Explicit Sexual Content: Scenes of consensual intimacy between adults as a coping mechanism for shared trauma. It is not the main erotic focus, but it includes sensory descriptions of physical and emotional connection, with emphasis on vulnerability and healing.

From Russia, with Love is a fictional story set during the Cold War in the Soviet Union. It includes sensitive depictions of historical and fictional events, ideologies, and political contexts of the era. This work does not reflect the author’s personal beliefs nor promote any extreme ideologies. It is a creative narrative inspired by the Marvel universe and espionage themes, taking liberties that prioritize storytelling over strict historical accuracy.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This is my first time writing an x reader story, so I’m a bit nervous but very excited to share it with you. English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes or awkward phrasing. I’ve done my best to make it flow naturally, but feel free to point out any errors gently if you spot them.

⋆ CHAPTERS: 0. Prologue. The cage is open.

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #black widow reader #bucky barnes x reader

athenalvss

ANOTHER DAY AT THE OFFICE. (hatvey dent)

summary: Two-Face is a little obsessed with Batman's new partner, so he takes the necessary measures to keep her close, even if it's just for a few hours.

pairing; Harvey Dent x Vigilante!fem!reader

note: If I have to justify this, I'm going to say two things: my fav batman villain, and second, he is hot.

Gotham was a city too big for even Batman to protect alone.

Over the years, the Bat-family had grown precisely for that reason. There were nights when Dick was patrolling Blüdhaven, Barbara Gordon was coordinating operations from the Clock Tower, and Jason, Tim, Damian, or the others were busy with their own missions.

On those occasions, Batman needed someone he could trust without reservation.

That's where you came in.

You were his field partner when circumstances demanded it and when your university life allowed it, but you were happy to help the bat in any way you could.

#dc x reader #harvey dent x reader #vigilante reader #villian x hero

brinawing

✶ pillowtalk

fluff, suggestive, MDNI based on this request

✶ DICK GRAYSON

Your boyfriend was not a serious man.

When you woke up this morning, your body had been sore. Like you had been through the meat grinder kind of sore but in a good way.

You had looked over at Dick sleeping soundlessly. Half his body on top of you and half on the bed with his messy raven hair falling over his eyes, his long lashes almost brushing his sharp cheekbones.

Yeah, a very good way.

But when you got out of bed and basically limped around the apartment, he gave you the smuggest look ever. Seriously no one had ever looked as proud of themselves as he had.

You wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. You were still deciding.

That didn’t stop you for asking him for help though, since he had been the one to carry you around the apartment and draw you a warm bath. The shoulder massage he gave you in the bathtub wasn’t too bad either. Plus the pancakes he had prepared with a little smiley face on top with chocolate syrup.

But that didn’t take away from the fact that he was an unserious man.

He had known you were supposed to have lunch with your friends today so he had been an exceptional tease last night in bed. Not just a tease, he was also apparently under the impression that you were made of rubber and could bend you however he pleased.

Just because he worked out eight hours a day didn’t mean you did too. You’d be lucky to even squeeze in a workout once a week and he knew that and yet he chose to manhandle you.

Not that you were against it. He was very skilled in the bedroom and the nights where you had to just lay there for him to do all the work were your favourites.

But damn now you were limping on your way to meet your friends. You and Dick walked out of the car, hand in hand towards where your friends were sitting outside the cafe.

And he had the audacity to snicker.

“It isn’t funny!” You huffed out, hands clutching his arm to hold for balance since your legs were way too sore to even walk.

“You weren’t complaining last night,” he replied and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, looking way too amused.

“Shut up,” you scoffed instead of replying since thats all you could do. He wasn’t wrong.

Once you reached the table, Donna, Wally and Roy immediately greeted you with hugs.

“You okay?” Donna was the first one to speak, noticing your limp.

“Yeah,” you swallowed and sat down on the chair next to Dick’s, shifting a little. “Just walked into a chair.”

“Uh huh,” Roy narrowed his eyes at Dick’s smug face.

“And was the chair named Dick Grayson?” Wally added.

“Wally!” You gasped and looked at Dick for help but he just laughed and draped his arm over the back of your chair.

The rest of the lunch went by with way too many jokes about Dick’s dick and you’d think he’d be offended by it but he was the one initiating most of them.

Like you said, unserious.

✶ JASON TODD

Jason was out running when you woke up. It was your usual morning routine –he woke up before you, gave you a small kiss on your forehead and left for a run then returned an hour later with coffee and sometimes pastries.

This time however, you had told him you were making pancakes so he wasn’t surprised to find you standing in the kitchen wearing his shirt that he discarded last night.

He walked over to you, black tank top clinging to his body due to the sweat like a second skin and if you weren’t sore from last night you would have done something about it.

The minimal clothing you were wearing –Jason’s t-shirt and panties– didn’t do a lot to hide the marks he had left on you last night. Your thighs looked like a crime scene with how many hickeys he had left there.

You waddled over to the fridge to grab the eggs when Jason noticed you.

“What’s up?” He frowned and came up behind you.

“Hmm?” You asked and cracked an egg in the bowl.

“You’re waddling like a penguin,” he pointed out.

“Oh,” you blushed and immediately looked away from him. “You know,” you shrugged.

“Babe what?” He asked and turned you around to steal all your attention.

“Last night,” you said. “You’re not exactly small.”

“Well thanks,” he gave you a confused smile. “Is that why you’re limping?”

“That and my legs being folded like a lawn chair over your shoulders for over an hour yes,” you quipped.

Jason in response let out a cackle.

“Great, hope you’re proud of yourself,” you scrunched your nose and turned back to prepare the pancake batter.

“I mean it does wonders to a guy’s ego,” Jason let out a dramatic breath. “Seven orgasms in one night is my new record.”

“Jason!” You huffed and pushed him away. “You cannot count my orgasms you freak.”

He laughed again and came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle before nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

“Seriously though, I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked, pressing fluttering kisses to the hickeys he had left on your neck.

“No,” you hummed and craned your head back.

“You liked it?”

“Yes,” you breathed as his kisses made their way down to your shoulders.

His fingers busied themselves with massaging your hips, causing you to close your eyes in relief and rest your head back on his shoulders. Which gave him even more room to kiss on your neck.

“Let me make you feel better,” he murmured and turned you around before getting down on his knees.

“Jason,” you said through a shaky breath.

“Yeah?” He looked up at you through dark eyelashes and hooked your thigh over his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

You nodded your head which was all the permission he needed.

It was going to be a long morning.

✶ TIM DRAKE

In hindsight, waiting for your boyfriend to return from his week long mission at the manor probably wasn’t your brightest idea.

He had texted you that he would be back today and would just crash at the manor instead of coming back to your shared penthouse.

But you hadn’t seen him in a week! So it was only fair you drove to the manor and let yourself into the batcave to wait for him.

It had almost been an hour since you made yourself at home on the little beanbag chair with a book in your hands in the Batcave along with Barbara who was perched at the Batcomputer, doing whatever it is that Oracle did.

Tim returned soon along with the rest of the Bats on his Batcycle (Batman wasn’t a very creative person you were beginning to realise).

Damian made a ‘TT’ sound at you before making his way towards the shower area.

Tim on the other hand broke out in a grin the second he looked at you. He didn’t even bother taking off his mask or the suit before he was launching himself at you on the beanbag.

“Tim!” You grunted when his armoured chest collided with yours. “You’re crushing me.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered and pushed his head in the crook of your neck.

“Take a shower you stink!” You said and pushed him off.

“I see how it is,” he raised his head to look at you and if you could see his eyes behind his domino mask, you knew he would be narrowing his eyes at you. “I come back a week later after saving the world and my girlfriend says I stink.”

“You do,” Jason mumbled somewhere behind him.

“Ignore him he’s jealous,” Tim said to you before leaning down to give you a fleeting kiss. “I’ll be back,” he murmured and finally got off the beanbag to go take a shower.

That had been enough of your loving and sweet boyfriend for the night.

Because he was soon coming out of the shower without a shirt and in only a pair of sweatpants. He didn’t even bothering talking to anyone or even debriefing the case like he usually did, he just made his way towards you and picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

Thankfully everyone else was busy cleaning themselves and only Barbara was present in the Batcave. She shook her head at you like she knew exactly what was happening but didn’t want to be a part of it.

It had been a very long night.

The night for which you were paying now.

Tim’s heavy arm was thrown over your stomach in a tight grip like he never wanted to let you go.

Squinting open an eye, you flicked the bedside lamp on –having no clue what time it was outside due to the blackout curtains being drawn.

You turned over in Tim’s iron grip and looked around the room which looked like it had gotten robbed last night.

Your shirt was thrown on the floor along with your shorts, your bra dangling down the knob of the door –no clue how it got there. And your panties were probably torn in half somewhere. Even the pillows were thrown haphazardly, the covers weren’t even covering you.

Half the reason you woke up was the chill in the room causing goosebumps to rise on your naked body. The only source of heat you had was Tim’s equally as naked body wrapped around you like a koala.

You rubbed your eyes and tried to look at him. The first thing you saw were the red scratches on his chest, glowing against his pale skin and you were sure if he turned around his back would look the same.

“Tim?” You whispered and brushed his hair away from his face.

He only groaned in response and tugged you closer but his grip on your back was beginning to hurt.

“Hey,” you tried again and pushed at his shoulder –which you now saw had a bite mark on it.

Images of Tim’s bicep wrapped around your neck came to your mind but you quickly shook them off. Not the time.

“Tim come on, you’re hurting me,” you winced, which finally caught his attention.

“What?” He asked, voice laced with sleep and somehow deeper like you’ve never heard before. “Where are you hurt?”

“It just feels sore.”

“Fuck I’m so sorry,” he sat up straight in bed and leaned down to pull the covers up.

“It’s okay, you didn’t do anything I didn’t like,” you giggled when he turned around and yep his back looked every bit like his chest. Red scratches all over.

“Your back,” you whispered and reached out to lightly brush your hand over the marks. “What the fuck did we do last night?”

“I think I just missed you too much,” he chuckled. “Turn around let me give you a massage.”

“Yes please,” you moaned and turned around on your stomach to let Tim rub the soreness out of your muscles with his nimble fingers.

The knots in your muscles immediately came loose with each movement of his warm hands on your much colder body. Maybe they taught massaging the pain away at vigilante school or wherever Bruce took all the kids of his he seems to adopt.

His hands went lower to gently rest your calf over his shoulder –much gentler than last night. He pressed soft kisses to your leg as his fingers rubbed all the way to your ankles.

Later when you two went down for breakfast (it was around lunchtime), Cass and Damian gave you a disgusted look. Jason raised an eyebrow at the bite marks on Tim’s forearm while Dick only laughed in amusement. Even Barbara was staring at the hickey on your jaw since apparently Tim had forgotten he was human.

✶ BRUCE WAYNE

You were sitting on the chair in the little breakfast nook when Bruce entered the kitchen. A crossword puzzle was sat on the table next to a plate of toast and orange juice in front of you as you mindlessly scribbled on the puzzle.

Bruce came up behind you and gave you a little kiss on the back of your head before walking over to the cabinets to pull out a mug.

“Oh wait! I made you a yogurt bowl,” you said and hopped off the chair.

Bruce raised an eyebrow and watched you limping towards the fridge in nothing but his old uni sweatshirt. Your hair was falling over your shoulders, messy from a good night’s sleep. And other activities.

His eyes wandered lower to the backs of your knees where he was gripping your legs last night and sure enough there were marks to show it. For a second he was worried but when you turned around and gave him your million dollar smile, he forgot what he was thinking about.

“It has raspberries, nuts, pumpkin seeds, chia seeds. It’s good for your health,” you beamed and set it down in front of your own breakfast on the table.

Bruce joined you in a beat and eyed you as you grimaced a little while sitting down.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you said, voice a bit sarcastic which he didn’t miss.

“That’s not convincing,” he frowned.

“You rearranged my guts last night. I think that has something to do with me having trouble sitting down,” you smirked and he immediately blushed.

You heard a sudden noise from behind you and when you turned around to look, Tim was standing there, looking nauseated. “I’ll uh… have breakfast in my room…” he said.

“I didn’t know you stayed here last night,” you said to him.

“I wish I hadn’t,” he gagged and grabbed a cup of coffee before leaving the two of you alone.

Bruce scrunched his nose and turned his face towards his breakfast.

“Oh don’t go all shy now! You were very vocal last night,” you teased and nudged his foot with yours just to watch his ears turn even redder.

“I think we should take a warm bath together to you know, let our bodies heal,” he suggested.

“Uh huh,” you narrowed your eyes. “And no other reason at all.”

“Of course my darling,” Bruce smiled and tugged you out of your chair before picking you up in his arms.

“No other reason at all.”

my first multi part fic ever feeling nervous

didn’t know which photos to use so…

if you couldn’t tell i’ve been extremely tim drake pilled lately thanks to all the requests ive received for him 😭

likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you guys enjoy <3

#batboys x reader #dc x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #dick grayson x fem!reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader

blowingbarnes

thinking of going out drinking with the team, and its all fun and games, you and bucky have been circling each other for months, and I mean MONTHS.

and the night takes a turn when some flirty little thing just won't. leave. him. alone.

but what kind of claim do you have anyway? none, so you do what any normal person would do in that situation and you drink.

oh boy, you drink.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes

sha-n-dowbannedlol

Veritas Ratio

just a short one,, a small warm up cause it's been a while since i last wrote a fanfic lol.

There were many benefits to being one of the very few people who could claim genuine friendship with the ever-intrepid Dr. Ratio.

"Come on. Just take a look. A quick check-up," you say, leaning your hip against the edge of his desk.

Ratio doesn't respond. Doesn't even look up.

Instead, he continues grading the stack of student papers before him, red pen moving with swift, decisive strokes across the page. Occasionally, his brow furrows in visible disappointment — no doubt the result of encountering yet another low score from his students.

"Put that medical degree to good use," you continue, undeterred by the silence. "Help a friend out."

That earns you a glance; A brief sideways look from over the rim of the paper he’s holding, sharp and carrying the unmistakable weight of a man who is already reconsidering every decision that led to your continued presence in his office.

"Go schedule a proper appointment," he says flatly, already turning back to the essay as if the conversation has concluded.

"In this economy?" You scoff.

No response. The pen doesn't even pause this time.

Still, undeterred, you push yourself off the desk and wander around it instead, drifting closer like an especially stubborn storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

"Besides," you add, gesturing vaguely at him, "why would I go looking for another doctor when I already have the best one right here?"

The pen stops.

Slowly, Ratio looks up from the paper he had been marking.

The silence stretches a beat longer than it should.

Then he exhales through his nose, a controlled, measured breath that nonetheless carries the unmistakable sound of patience wearing dangerously thin.

"Five minutes," he says, curt, and is already reaching for his stethoscope before you can so much as gloat.

It was meant to be nothing. A joke of a check-up, five minutes of him grumbling and you smirking and both of you pretending this wasn't, in some small way, one of your favorite parts of the week because you love to annoy him more than anything in the world.

Sure, you'd been feeling a little off lately. Tired in a way sleep didn't fix. Paler than usual, if the mirror was to be believed. Winded faster than you used to be, climbing the same stairs you'd always climbed. An occasional dry cough that you'd stopped noticing weeks ago, the way you stop noticing any sound that's been in the background long enough.

But it couldn't be anything serious. Maybe a lingering cold. Maybe just exhaustion catching up to you.

Ratio would tell you to sleep more and complain less, write you a prescription with all the enthusiasm of a man performing unpaid labor, and send you on your way.

That was the plan.

#veritas ratio x reader #dr. ratio x reader #dr ratio hsr #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

buckyboudoir

MORE touchstarved!pathetic!bucky

MDNI 18+

Bucky who hasn’t touched anyone, or been touched by anyone since ‘43.

Bucky whose body randomly decided to constantly remind him of his physical need.

Bucky one night, against his will, having the filthiest wet dream about you kissing him, riding him, him fucking you against the counter…

Bucky waking up in a cold sweat, cock rock hard; harder than he’s ever been, leaking, dampening his boxers.

Bucky who feels perverted and disgusting but already trailing a hand down to his need; cock jumping at the contact; MAYBE a handful of strokes before spilling into his underwear at the simple touch. oh, and. it’s never just a few spurts. it’s thick, heavy ropes that go through the fabric, dribbling into audible splats against his thighs.

Bucky who never makes a move on you because you literally just started dating but everything makes his body react; that sweet floral perfume you always wear, the way you bite your lip when you concentrate, your hand coming to rest on his stomach during movie nights, the muscles jumping under your finger tips.

Bucky clenching his jaw tight, adam’s apple bobbing with nerves. when you so sweetly ask, “what is it baby?”, the pet name making pink burst across his cheeks. he just shifts his hips under the blanket he is really glad he grabbed before this. he’s never wanted anything, anyone, this bad before, but he refuses to mess this up when he finally just got you.

Bucky absolutely loathes spooning you, which you love so much, because he can’t physically take your ass being pressed so close against him. he always comes up with some excuse to have you just lay your head on his chest. you never push it, afraid you’re stepping over some boundary, but, you want to feel held by your boyfriend. you don’t understand why he’s withholding little fragments of intimacy from you. does he even want you?

You finally asking to talk one day with him. his heart sinks. this is the day you finally realize you deserve better, someone who isn’t as perverted, needy as him. fuck, did you know? you gently take his clammy hands in yours; “okay, you gotta tell me what’s going on. i’m not mad, but, you never let me keep kissing you, you don’t want to sleep next to me, you won’t let me sit on your lap…buck. did i do something?”

Bucky who thinks his heart is going to slam out of his chest…

To be continued;)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader

cherryysunshine

Heat Signature

Pairing: Steve Rogers/F!Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: explicit sexual content, aphrodisiac, sex pollen, dubious consent due to aphrodisiac, established relationship, blood/injury, rough sex, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size kink, strength kink, manhandling, prone bone, possessive sex, feral Steve Rogers, gentle Steve Rogers, protective Steve Rogers, praise kink, breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, aftercare, emotional hurt/comfort

Summary: Steve Rogers has always been gentle with you.

When a mission exposes you both to an aphrodisiac, quarantine forces him to confront the difference between protecting you and holding himself back.

Author’s Note: steve rogers sex pollen fic for everyone who has ever looked at that man and thought “okay but what if he actually used the super soldier strength”

Steve knew how to be careful with you.

Most of the time, that was one of the things you loved most about him. He remembered which old injuries needed gentler hands, which silences meant comfort, and which meant space. Steve was good at care.

He was simply worse at understanding that care and gentleness were not the same thing.

You had tried to tell him that carefully, then less carefully. You had asked him to hold you down harder. You had asked him not to pull back so quickly when his fingers tightened on your hips. You had told him more than once that you liked feeling how strong he was.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #steve rogers x fem!reader #captain america x fem!reader

cherryysunshine

Where the Winter Keeps Us (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/F!Reader

Word Count: 9.9k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: explicit sexual content, violence, blood/injury, mutual pining, PTSD, nightmares, trauma recovery, forced proximity, only one bed, emotional hurt/comfort, dom!bucky, sub!reader, daddy kink, dacryphilia, praise kink, breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, kink negotiation, aftercare

[Part 1]

February came heavy with snow.

The world beyond the safehouse narrowed to weather reports, static, and the occasional distant thermal signature near the lower ridge. HYDRA did not find the cabin, but they did not leave the mountain either. Every few days, a drone skimmed the tree line before vanishing into weather. Once, a coded burst hit the scanner and died before you could trace it. They knew you were alive. They knew you had not made it to an official extraction point. They knew there was somewhere else.

They just did not know where.

The safehouse held.

So did the strange, unfinished thing between you and Bucky.

#bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #winter soldier x fem!reader

cherryysunshine

Where the Winter Keeps Us (Part 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/F!Reader

Word Count: 7.9k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: After a mission goes wrong, you and Bucky Barnes are forced to hide out in your remote mountain safehouse for the winter.

There is one bed, too much snow, and far too many things neither of you knows how to say.

Author’s Note: listen. bucky barnes in a remote cabin with one bed and enough emotional baggage to heat the whole mountain. that’s it. that’s the thought.

bucky was my first blorbo and has been my blorbo for sooo long so i couldn't resist writing for him. this has been the longest fic i have written (17.9k words total!!) so i hope it doesn't flop lol

also had to split this fic into two because it was too long. enjoy! [Part 2]

The mission went bad in the kind of way that made Tony’s voice go very quiet over comms. That was usually the first sign. Tony joked when things were inconvenient, insulted people when they were difficult, and became aggressively flippant when the situation edged toward catastrophic. Silence meant he was doing math too quickly for language. Quiet meant the numbers were ugly.

“Extraction point two is compromised,” Natasha said.

You crouched behind the broken shell of an overturned transport truck, snow blowing sideways across the road hard enough to sting the exposed strip of skin between your mask and collar. Fifty yards ahead, the HYDRA convoy burned in pieces along the mountain pass, black smoke torn apart by the wind before it could rise. The medical tech you had been sent to recover was secured in the case at your feet, but the mission had stopped being about recovery twenty minutes ago.

Now it was about getting out alive.

#bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #winter soldier x fem!reader

scary-grace

Designated Villain (Chapter 13) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You loved BNHA's ending, mostly, but a few weeks after the last chapter is published, you get isekaied into BNHA on the day the story begins. That would be a dream come true, except you ended up in the body of a common criminal, and instead of enjoying life in your favorite fictional world, you find yourself struggling to survive in a world that's much crueler than you ever imagined. Armed with nothing more than BNHA Tumblr brainrot and a highly suspicious iPod Shuffle, you set out to fix the few things that are wrong with BNHA's ending. But as you learn more about the villains you hated and every change you make pushes the plot further off the canon storyline, it's not long before your feelings about the ending start to change. (cross-posted to Ao3)

(dividers by @cafekitsune)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

the reader's accidental playlist can be found here.

Chapter 13

You’re lost again. Overhaul’s hideout is a damn maze, and although you’ve been here for a week, you haven’t figured out the trick to finding your way around. Nobody in the Hassaikai is going to help you. In fact, there’s only one way to make sure somebody pays attention. You reach into the pocket of your hoodie for the items you bought just for this purpose, pull a cigarette out of the pack, and flick your lighter on.

You don’t smoke. You don’t even really think it looks cool. What it does is reliably trigger Overhaul’s air purifiers, which reliably summons at least two yakuza goons to retrieve whoever set it off. You make sure to set it off at least once a day, and you’re not the only one. Dabi, Twice, and Magne are all doing the same thing, and as soon as the goons return you to the quarters where the League is staying, you put your heads together. You’re trying to map Overhaul’s headquarters. There’s someone you need to find.

You’ve only told some members of the League, the ones you think would care about a kidnapped kid who’s being experimented on. That turned out to be almost everybody, although you couldn’t tell Twice without risking exposure. Thankfully, he does whatever Toga does, and Toga’s trustworthy. Dabi’s pretending not to give a shit, but he signed up for the mapping project without blinking, and you didn’t quite believe him when he said it was just so he can smoke indoors.

In any case, everybody who can be trusted is looking for Eri specifically, and everybody else is helping, even if they don’t know why. The only person who’s exempt is Monoma, and you’ve been feeling guilty about him since the second Shigaraki pulled him through the gate.

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #x reader

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