sadie🧸

just your friendly neighbourhood f1 stan !! CURRENTLY ON HIATUS !!

[takimakiiiii]

𝜗𝜚 welcome! my names SADIE :) she/her. 17. enfj. 𝜗𝜚

!! CURRENTLY ON HIATUS !!

F1 Masterlist | CHICKEN SHOP DATE MASTERLIST

Latest post down below: part 1 of rating my exes! - fem!reader x nondriver!grid

✧˖° My faves things: f1, dc, marvel, volleyball, movies, comic, books, music + art!

my dc and marvel blog: @sxdie-sun

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Currently Working On: chicken date shop fics!

!! english is not my first language, so please bear with me! also, I don't have strict schedule for when i post and it's usually at random so if you'd like to be notified pls send me a message/comment asking to be on the taglist for specific or all works :)

© takimakiiiii 2025

[akikyo]

How I feel trying to read all the FICS that are coming out of the new atla movie

[1asbrightasthestars3]

Every time i find out something new about brocedes i have to put my phone down because what exactly do you mean lewis wrote Nico an apology letter that toto had to read to him? What do you mean nico never told lewis he was retiring but lewis knew it was going to happen? what do you mean the only food nico could stomach on race weekends was the exact brand of cereal lewis told everyone they would eat together as kids? What do you mean nico’s friends said his fights with lewis destroyed him? What do you mean when asked if they’re friends nico said ‘we are friends. We’ll always be friends.’ And lewis said ‘were not friends.’ What do you mean nico said they have a ‘very neutral relationship.’ What do you mean lewis sends nico’s kids gifts on Christmas? And nico joked that lewis is welcome to leave the gifts but he has to stay outside the door when he gives them??? What do you mean the commentators said and i quote ‘friends, teammates, rivals, childhood buddies- anything but a lover.’ What do you mean nico said that in his heart lewis is still his best friend? IM SICK OF THEM IM SICK IM SICK

[sxdie-sun]

between midnight and morning - tim drake x reader

you have insomnia, tim has a caffeine addiction - it works.

wc: 2.5k

themes: fluff, crack, light swearing, all good vibes :)

a/n: WHERE ARE MY TIM DRAKE FANS ATTTTT. honestly the amount of fics this man has is unacceptable, so i'd like to contribute <3 I tried to write insomnia!reader as best as i could, i'm sorry if it's not an accurate potrayal, i hope you enjoy tho !!

You blink slowly, trying to lull yourself to sleep as your hands fold around the smooth handle of a mug. Leaning back against the counter, the kitchen is dimly lit by a warm lamp in the corner. The cold marble counter is cool under your touch as you lean on it. The steam from your tea wafts gently through the air – some leafy organic tea Cass suggested. And you’re the only one awake which is surprising, especially in a house— manor, full of vigilantes. 

A few weeks ago, Bruce called you in from Central City to help with the sudden rise in weekly shambles on the streets of Gotham, which left you living in his giant manor that has way too many bathrooms. The corridors are like a maze, and you’ve stumbled into Jason’s room one too many times, mistaking it for a loungeroom. But staying here has been surprisingly entertaining and better than what you expected.

In your short time at the Wayne Manor, you've grown accustomed to Damian’s sharp tone which you somehow find endearing, Dick’s awful jokes that always seem to be very ill-timed, Jason’s jokes that are received poorly by his family but are made up by his good looks, Steph and Cass’ friendliness and instantaneous connection with you, Duke’s outgoing nature and…Tim. 

Tim you’re not so sure of. He’s definitely an odd one. Or maybe it’s because he seems to be the only other person who’s awake when you are, and it bothers you for some unknown reason. He’s always busy, nose buried in a book or down in the Batcave minding his own business and sometimes you’ll see him wandering through the hallways of the manor at ungodly hours – like you. 

The kitchen is quiet and you try to allow yourself to relax, but sleepiness doesn’t seem to come. You let your gaze fall onto the oven clock in the corner which blinks slowly showing the time – 4:03AM. Having insomnia as a vigilante doesn’t really go hand in hand, which is why you haven’t mentioned it to anyone but Cass and Steph, who both seem adamant to find you a solution. However, none have worked so far. 

So here you stand in the kitchen, in your hand a mug with tea that is having no affect on you whatsoever, dammit. 

You’re about to pour your tea down the sink when you hear a soft patter of footsteps across the kitchen tiles behind you. You whip around and see a very tired looking Tim standing by the coffee pot with his back to you. His shoulders are slouched but you can tell he’s still alert. His dark hair is wet and poorly dried but he seems to be content in his little bubble of silence as he pours himself a fresh cup of coffee.

Geez, what is he doing awake? 

He doesn’t seem to have noticed you in the corner so you quickly weigh your options; engage in awkward 4AM conversation with him or quietly slip out of the kitchen before he can spot you. But before you can decide, Tim slowly turns around, his tired eyes meeting yours and widening to the size of saucers. He visibly jumps, the coffee mug in his hands falling from his grasp and shattering across the tiles with an awful cracking sound, breaking the peace and quiet of the night. 

Your first instinct is to laugh, but you don’t because you’re not sure if it’s something he would appreciate. Instead, you open your mouth, not entirely sure what to say, sorry about your mug? What the fuck are you doing up so late? 

Thankfully, he breaks the silence first. 

“Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me.” 

“Uhh… sorry. I didn’t mean to… cause the death of your favourite mug.” you offer with a forced smile, hoping he laughs. Thankfully he does, but it seems to be laced with a tiredness you know the feeling of all too well. “Don’t worry about it.” he assures with a drained smile, his friendliness taking you by surprise. He then bends down, disappearing behind the counter to pick up the ceramic pieces of what’s left of his mug. You feel a pang of guilt, not only having ruined his favourite mug but also having ruined his coffee. Which now that you think about it explains a lot of the reasons why you’ve seen him out and about so late at night. 

Before you can walk over to help him, he pops back up from behind the counter. He eyes you for a second, eyebrows pulled into a frown. “Wait, what are you doing up so late?” he asks, in his hand the handle of his now broken mug. You bite your tongue, debating whether or not to tell him. Instead, you settle on telling him a mix of the truth. 

“I just can’t sleep,” you say and you catch the twitch near his eye and know he doesn’t believe you. “Is that so?” he muses so skeptically if makes you want to laugh. You shrug holding back a smile, “Something like that,” you say, walking over and crouching down to help him pick up the ceramic pieces that litter the kitchen floor. His elbow brushes your side and you suddenly realise how dang close he is. 

“Well, what about you Mr. Coffee At 4AM?” you ask, hands full with the biggest pieces of what once was a mug. You follow him to the rubbish bin and dump the remnants. Tim shrugs, “I just can’t sleep,” he echoes your earlier answer, tired tone replaced by something light and playful. But you see him biting back a yawn. You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips, “Liar.”

“Maybe,” he grins, “but sleep can wait, I have things to do.” he explains, reaching above you to grab paper towels from a cabinet, his body impossibly close to yours, He’s so close you can smell the lingering smell of shampoo and soap through his hoodie. You’re grateful he doesn’t look down to see the red flushed mess you are below him. Heat rises to your cheeks for the split second he’s there before he’s pulling back. Swallowing hard, you blink furiously and you nearly miss the smile on his face as he turns away to clean up the spilt coffee. You clear your throat, brain still haywired and foggy as you try to find the words to answer him. 

“I’m sure they can wait until tomorrow-” you squint at the blinking oven clock, “well, at least until the morning. You should try to get some sleep.” you say, ignoring the mad fluttering feeling in your stomach. Attempting to settle your nerves, you take a sip from your tea which is now warm and bitter. “Shouldn’t I be the one telling you that, Miss Insomniac?” Tim asks, looking up with a faint smile. 

You choke on your tea. 

“But I didn’t…” you trail off as Tim passes you a paper towel to wipe your mouth. You can’t suppress a smile this time as you dab the corner of your lips. He shrugs, dark hair falling into his eyes, “You’re not the only one who wanders around the manor at night.” is all he says as he continues to wipe the ground. You lean back against the counter, “What, so you’ve been watching me like a creep?” you ask but there’s a hint of teasing in it. Tim looks up, almost offended that you would even say that. 

“Hey, I could say the same about you,” Tim retorts with a light chuckle as he rolls up his jumper’s sleeves. Your eyes trace the light veins across his forearms and his frame, now that he’s closer you can see that he isn’t as lanky as you first thought. 

Geez, the sleep deprivation is really getting to me, you think. 

“Fair point,” you nod and you see Tim grin as he brushes the hair out of his face. He stands up, and discards the paper towels in the rubbish bin. Your eyes follow him as he quietly busies himself with making another coffee, and you can tell he’s being especially careful this time. The silence stretches out but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. “I take it you’re not going to sleep anytime soon?” you ask, breaking the silence, already knowing his answer. 

“Nope, unless you’ve got a better idea than staying up sorting through files for Bruce,” he says, pulling a bitter face. You chuckle lightly, and don’t think so much about it when you ask: “How does a movie sound?” 

Tim glances over at you and he looks like he’s actually considering it, “Yeah, I could do a movie,” he confesses, “but it’s got to be a good one.”

“What do you consider ‘good’?” you ask as he falls into step beside you. Together you walk out of the kitchen in the direction of one of the living rooms inside the manor. Your footsteps are padded on the carpet as you both walk down the hallway which is dimly lit, your shadows dancing across the walls. Tim scrunches his nose and thinks for a moment. “Anything that isn’t a sappy rom com,” he finally decides. Horrified, you freeze in your tracks and turn to stare at him, mouth hanging ajar.

 “You’re kidding.” 

Tim stares back at you, as if scared you’ll hit him at any moment. “I just don’t like how cliche and unrealistic they are.” he backtracks, laughing. You roll your eyes, shaking your head in exaggerated disappointment. “That’s the point!” you hiss but there’s no real bite behind it. He follows you into one of the living rooms, one of the smaller ones away from the bedrooms so that there’s no chance of you guys waking the others. “And just for that, we’re watching a rom-com, and I’ll even make it a musical just to piss you off,” you decide as you plop down on the couch, feeling fully awake. Tim takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch, keeping a safe distance between you both, but he shuffles a bit closer in your direction and kicks his legs up onto the futon in front of him. “I actually don’t mind musicals,” he quips and you send him a bewildered look, “You’re weird, Tim Drake.” you sigh with a shake of your head. 

He rolls his eyes, picking up the remote, “Please, the ladies love me, the guys too, it’s vital to my charisma,” he explains as if it’s a fact. You hold back a laugh, though you don’t doubt what he says even a little bit. “Do they love the musical-loving side of you too?” you ask teasingly, letting a small grin onto your face. 

“Especially that side, how do you think I charm them?” he insists with a shrug. You eye him for a moment, trying to stop yourself from giving him the satisfaction of making you laugh. 

“I feel like you’re the type to pull the brushing-hands-in-the-popcorn-bucket move,” you say instead. He turns to you, eyes wide, a hand placed on his chest in mock offense. “Okay, firstly I’m offended, that’s a rookie move and has like, a success rate of 73.9%.” 

“Right, of course, I’m sorry I doubted you,” you say, words laced with sarcasm. You stretch out your hand for the remote, “Anyways, c’mon, hand it over, you agreed to my terms.” you say, flexing your fingers. Tim shoots you a look, “I believe I said ‘I don’t mind musicals’.”

“Well it’s this or you hit the file sorting pile for Bruce, so take your pick.”

He thoughtfully weighs his options for a moment just to mess with you. “Don’t disappoint me.” he finally agrees, reluctantly passing you the remote. His fingers briefly brush yours but it’s enough to send a jolting spark through your body. You lean back into the couch, a small content smile on your face. He unhelpfully proposes to watch ‘Hairspray’ and ‘Mamma Mia’ which makes you question his hate for rom-coms. He then explains how a while back Bruce insisted on weekly movie nights with the whole family and Dick had been a very avid musical and rom-com fan. 

Ultimately you both decide on La La Land – well, more like you force Tim to agree to watch it. You silently hope you don’t cry at the end this time, because you know you wouldn’t be able to face him tomorrow if you did. Awkward. 

Beside you, Tim relaxes into the couch, sipping at his coffee quietly as the opening song plays. He catches your eye and a warm smile touches his lips before he turns, refocusing on the screen. You try to do the same but find yourself realising how dang close he’s shuffled over as his arm gently brushes yours each time he moves. You draw out a deep silent breath, ignoring the way your heart rate spikes at the proximity. You allow your eyes to follow the movements of the dancers on the screen and the way they move with practised ease. Soon you find yourself enjoying the movie, paying more attention to the colours of each scene and the small details this time than you did on your first watch. 

But as the movie progresses, you’re not focused on the way Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone dance across the screen, instead you’re distracted by how unexpectedly nice of a night it’s been. You find yourself appreciating his company, even if you’re not talking, he makes you feel less…alone. Which is a nice change for once. And the way Tim doesn’t judge you or your fucked up sleep schedule – if you can even call it that. He didn’t press about it, he just understood. 

Soon enough you find your eyelids growing heavy, the unfamiliar feeling seeping through your body slowly. You stifle a yawn behind your hand and catch Tim glance over at you. “Tired?” he asks, voice deep, laced with a small hint of surprise. You shake your head slowly, a small unconvincing smile spreading across your face. 

“Sleeping is for the weak and wrong.” you murmur, trying to grasp onto the sleepiness before it disappears. You shift around on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, arm brushing against Tim’s. “Which is why you should sleep, because you are weak and wrong, or whatever King Julian said.” you humm, words slurring slightly as you lean your head back uncomfortably against the back of the couch. Tim watches you as you move around stiffly. 

“Sure, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, offering you his shoulder with a little nudge. You blink warily, “I can’t promise I won’t drool all over you,” you warn, voice above a whisper. Before he can reply, your head plummets down and meets his shoulder, your hand clutching onto his sleeve subconsciously. You feel a small chuckle vibrate through his chest as he leans into your touch ever so slightly. You hear the volume turn down until the sounds fade into background noise. Closing your eyes slowly, you focus on the rise and fall of Tim’s shoulders as he breathes deeply. He faintly smells of coffee and it’s enough to allow you to reluctantly let sleep pull you under for the first time in a long, long time.

i hope you enjoyed !! lmk if i should make this into a series/part 2 !!

[sxdie-sun]

between midnight and morning - tim drake x reader

you have insomnia, tim has a caffeine addiction - it works.

wc: 2.5k

themes: fluff, crack, light swearing, all good vibes :)

a/n: WHERE ARE MY TIM DRAKE FANS ATTTTT. honestly the amount of fics this man has is unacceptable, so i'd like to contribute <3 I tried to write insomnia!reader as best as i could, i'm sorry if it's not an accurate potrayal, i hope you enjoy tho !!

You blink slowly, trying to lull yourself to sleep as your hands fold around the smooth handle of a mug. Leaning back against the counter, the kitchen is dimly lit by a warm lamp in the corner. The cold marble counter is cool under your touch as you lean on it. The steam from your tea wafts gently through the air – some leafy organic tea Cass suggested. And you’re the only one awake which is surprising, especially in a house— manor, full of vigilantes. 

A few weeks ago, Bruce called you in from Central City to help with the sudden rise in weekly shambles on the streets of Gotham, which left you living in his giant manor that has way too many bathrooms. The corridors are like a maze, and you’ve stumbled into Jason’s room one too many times, mistaking it for a loungeroom. But staying here has been surprisingly entertaining and better than what you expected.

In your short time at the Wayne Manor, you've grown accustomed to Damian’s sharp tone which you somehow find endearing, Dick’s awful jokes that always seem to be very ill-timed, Jason’s jokes that are received poorly by his family but are made up by his good looks, Steph and Cass’ friendliness and instantaneous connection with you, Duke’s outgoing nature and…Tim. 

Tim you’re not so sure of. He’s definitely an odd one. Or maybe it’s because he seems to be the only other person who’s awake when you are, and it bothers you for some unknown reason. He’s always busy, nose buried in a book or down in the Batcave minding his own business and sometimes you’ll see him wandering through the hallways of the manor at ungodly hours – like you. 

The kitchen is quiet and you try to allow yourself to relax, but sleepiness doesn’t seem to come. You let your gaze fall onto the oven clock in the corner which blinks slowly showing the time – 4:03AM. Having insomnia as a vigilante doesn’t really go hand in hand, which is why you haven’t mentioned it to anyone but Cass and Steph, who both seem adamant to find you a solution. However, none have worked so far. 

So here you stand in the kitchen, in your hand a mug with tea that is having no affect on you whatsoever, dammit. 

You’re about to pour your tea down the sink when you hear a soft patter of footsteps across the kitchen tiles behind you. You whip around and see a very tired looking Tim standing by the coffee pot with his back to you. His shoulders are slouched but you can tell he’s still alert. His dark hair is wet and poorly dried but he seems to be content in his little bubble of silence as he pours himself a fresh cup of coffee.

Geez, what is he doing awake? 

He doesn’t seem to have noticed you in the corner so you quickly weigh your options; engage in awkward 4AM conversation with him or quietly slip out of the kitchen before he can spot you. But before you can decide, Tim slowly turns around, his tired eyes meeting yours and widening to the size of saucers. He visibly jumps, the coffee mug in his hands falling from his grasp and shattering across the tiles with an awful cracking sound, breaking the peace and quiet of the night. 

Your first instinct is to laugh, but you don’t because you’re not sure if it’s something he would appreciate. Instead, you open your mouth, not entirely sure what to say, sorry about your mug? What the fuck are you doing up so late? 

Thankfully, he breaks the silence first. 

“Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me.” 

“Uhh… sorry. I didn’t mean to… cause the death of your favourite mug.” you offer with a forced smile, hoping he laughs. Thankfully he does, but it seems to be laced with a tiredness you know the feeling of all too well. “Don’t worry about it.” he assures with a drained smile, his friendliness taking you by surprise. He then bends down, disappearing behind the counter to pick up the ceramic pieces of what’s left of his mug. You feel a pang of guilt, not only having ruined his favourite mug but also having ruined his coffee. Which now that you think about it explains a lot of the reasons why you’ve seen him out and about so late at night. 

Before you can walk over to help him, he pops back up from behind the counter. He eyes you for a second, eyebrows pulled into a frown. “Wait, what are you doing up so late?” he asks, in his hand the handle of his now broken mug. You bite your tongue, debating whether or not to tell him. Instead, you settle on telling him a mix of the truth. 

“I just can’t sleep,” you say and you catch the twitch near his eye and know he doesn’t believe you. “Is that so?” he muses so skeptically if makes you want to laugh. You shrug holding back a smile, “Something like that,” you say, walking over and crouching down to help him pick up the ceramic pieces that litter the kitchen floor. His elbow brushes your side and you suddenly realise how dang close he is. 

“Well, what about you Mr. Coffee At 4AM?” you ask, hands full with the biggest pieces of what once was a mug. You follow him to the rubbish bin and dump the remnants. Tim shrugs, “I just can’t sleep,” he echoes your earlier answer, tired tone replaced by something light and playful. But you see him biting back a yawn. You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips, “Liar.”

“Maybe,” he grins, “but sleep can wait, I have things to do.” he explains, reaching above you to grab paper towels from a cabinet, his body impossibly close to yours, He’s so close you can smell the lingering smell of shampoo and soap through his hoodie. You’re grateful he doesn’t look down to see the red flushed mess you are below him. Heat rises to your cheeks for the split second he’s there before he’s pulling back. Swallowing hard, you blink furiously and you nearly miss the smile on his face as he turns away to clean up the spilt coffee. You clear your throat, brain still haywired and foggy as you try to find the words to answer him. 

“I’m sure they can wait until tomorrow-” you squint at the blinking oven clock, “well, at least until the morning. You should try to get some sleep.” you say, ignoring the mad fluttering feeling in your stomach. Attempting to settle your nerves, you take a sip from your tea which is now warm and bitter. “Shouldn’t I be the one telling you that, Miss Insomniac?” Tim asks, looking up with a faint smile. 

You choke on your tea. 

“But I didn’t…” you trail off as Tim passes you a paper towel to wipe your mouth. You can’t suppress a smile this time as you dab the corner of your lips. He shrugs, dark hair falling into his eyes, “You’re not the only one who wanders around the manor at night.” is all he says as he continues to wipe the ground. You lean back against the counter, “What, so you’ve been watching me like a creep?” you ask but there’s a hint of teasing in it. Tim looks up, almost offended that you would even say that. 

“Hey, I could say the same about you,” Tim retorts with a light chuckle as he rolls up his jumper’s sleeves. Your eyes trace the light veins across his forearms and his frame, now that he’s closer you can see that he isn’t as lanky as you first thought. 

Geez, the sleep deprivation is really getting to me, you think. 

“Fair point,” you nod and you see Tim grin as he brushes the hair out of his face. He stands up, and discards the paper towels in the rubbish bin. Your eyes follow him as he quietly busies himself with making another coffee, and you can tell he’s being especially careful this time. The silence stretches out but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. “I take it you’re not going to sleep anytime soon?” you ask, breaking the silence, already knowing his answer. 

“Nope, unless you’ve got a better idea than staying up sorting through files for Bruce,” he says, pulling a bitter face. You chuckle lightly, and don’t think so much about it when you ask: “How does a movie sound?” 

Tim glances over at you and he looks like he’s actually considering it, “Yeah, I could do a movie,” he confesses, “but it’s got to be a good one.”

“What do you consider ‘good’?” you ask as he falls into step beside you. Together you walk out of the kitchen in the direction of one of the living rooms inside the manor. Your footsteps are padded on the carpet as you both walk down the hallway which is dimly lit, your shadows dancing across the walls. Tim scrunches his nose and thinks for a moment. “Anything that isn’t a sappy rom com,” he finally decides. Horrified, you freeze in your tracks and turn to stare at him, mouth hanging ajar.

 “You’re kidding.” 

Tim stares back at you, as if scared you’ll hit him at any moment. “I just don’t like how cliche and unrealistic they are.” he backtracks, laughing. You roll your eyes, shaking your head in exaggerated disappointment. “That’s the point!” you hiss but there’s no real bite behind it. He follows you into one of the living rooms, one of the smaller ones away from the bedrooms so that there’s no chance of you guys waking the others. “And just for that, we’re watching a rom-com, and I’ll even make it a musical just to piss you off,” you decide as you plop down on the couch, feeling fully awake. Tim takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch, keeping a safe distance between you both, but he shuffles a bit closer in your direction and kicks his legs up onto the futon in front of him. “I actually don’t mind musicals,” he quips and you send him a bewildered look, “You’re weird, Tim Drake.” you sigh with a shake of your head. 

He rolls his eyes, picking up the remote, “Please, the ladies love me, the guys too, it’s vital to my charisma,” he explains as if it’s a fact. You hold back a laugh, though you don’t doubt what he says even a little bit. “Do they love the musical-loving side of you too?” you ask teasingly, letting a small grin onto your face. 

“Especially that side, how do you think I charm them?” he insists with a shrug. You eye him for a moment, trying to stop yourself from giving him the satisfaction of making you laugh. 

“I feel like you’re the type to pull the brushing-hands-in-the-popcorn-bucket move,” you say instead. He turns to you, eyes wide, a hand placed on his chest in mock offense. “Okay, firstly I’m offended, that’s a rookie move and has like, a success rate of 73.9%.” 

“Right, of course, I’m sorry I doubted you,” you say, words laced with sarcasm. You stretch out your hand for the remote, “Anyways, c’mon, hand it over, you agreed to my terms.” you say, flexing your fingers. Tim shoots you a look, “I believe I said ‘I don’t mind musicals’.”

“Well it’s this or you hit the file sorting pile for Bruce, so take your pick.”

He thoughtfully weighs his options for a moment just to mess with you. “Don’t disappoint me.” he finally agrees, reluctantly passing you the remote. His fingers briefly brush yours but it’s enough to send a jolting spark through your body. You lean back into the couch, a small content smile on your face. He unhelpfully proposes to watch ‘Hairspray’ and ‘Mamma Mia’ which makes you question his hate for rom-coms. He then explains how a while back Bruce insisted on weekly movie nights with the whole family and Dick had been a very avid musical and rom-com fan. 

Ultimately you both decide on La La Land – well, more like you force Tim to agree to watch it. You silently hope you don’t cry at the end this time, because you know you wouldn’t be able to face him tomorrow if you did. Awkward. 

Beside you, Tim relaxes into the couch, sipping at his coffee quietly as the opening song plays. He catches your eye and a warm smile touches his lips before he turns, refocusing on the screen. You try to do the same but find yourself realising how dang close he’s shuffled over as his arm gently brushes yours each time he moves. You draw out a deep silent breath, ignoring the way your heart rate spikes at the proximity. You allow your eyes to follow the movements of the dancers on the screen and the way they move with practised ease. Soon you find yourself enjoying the movie, paying more attention to the colours of each scene and the small details this time than you did on your first watch. 

But as the movie progresses, you’re not focused on the way Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone dance across the screen, instead you’re distracted by how unexpectedly nice of a night it’s been. You find yourself appreciating his company, even if you’re not talking, he makes you feel less…alone. Which is a nice change for once. And the way Tim doesn’t judge you or your fucked up sleep schedule – if you can even call it that. He didn’t press about it, he just understood. 

Soon enough you find your eyelids growing heavy, the unfamiliar feeling seeping through your body slowly. You stifle a yawn behind your hand and catch Tim glance over at you. “Tired?” he asks, voice deep, laced with a small hint of surprise. You shake your head slowly, a small unconvincing smile spreading across your face. 

“Sleeping is for the weak and wrong.” you murmur, trying to grasp onto the sleepiness before it disappears. You shift around on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, arm brushing against Tim’s. “Which is why you should sleep, because you are weak and wrong, or whatever King Julian said.” you humm, words slurring slightly as you lean your head back uncomfortably against the back of the couch. Tim watches you as you move around stiffly. 

“Sure, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, offering you his shoulder with a little nudge. You blink warily, “I can’t promise I won’t drool all over you,” you warn, voice above a whisper. Before he can reply, your head plummets down and meets his shoulder, your hand clutching onto his sleeve subconsciously. You feel a small chuckle vibrate through his chest as he leans into your touch ever so slightly. You hear the volume turn down until the sounds fade into background noise. Closing your eyes slowly, you focus on the rise and fall of Tim’s shoulders as he breathes deeply. He faintly smells of coffee and it’s enough to allow you to reluctantly let sleep pull you under for the first time in a long, long time.

i hope you enjoyed !! lmk if i should make this into a series/part 2 !!

[takimakiiiii]

hey guys!

i just wanted to come on here to apologise for my inactivity lately, i swear i will get around to all those fics i've promised (cough cough, chicken shop date fics), i recently started college so its been a bit crazy recently, however i swear swear swearrrr i will deliver !!

i also finally made a dc and marvel blog so go follow @sxdie-sun if you're interested !!

anwyays stay safe and have a great day :)

[moonologyy]

— moonologyy, here! a lot of you guys asked for a recommendation list of tim drake, or other characters! I decided to do Tim Drake first, so here’s all the recs I could give yall! (๑>؂•̀๑) this will update as I read more fics/drabbles/oneshots; etc. of him!

★ — smut . ✩ — fluff. ✦ — angst. ✧ — yandere/obsessive.

⤹ shameless plug (lol) @moonologyy

IF I WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND - ✩ , NEVER GET YOUR BITCH BACK - ★, YOU GOT ME HYPNOTIZED - ★✩

⤹ @shisuni (phenomenal writer!! check out their masterlist, they write other characters!! if anyone else is a fan of any of the batboys, so definitely take a look)

COME HERE AND GET SOME - ✩ , DAIRY QUEEN CLOSES IN TEN MINUTES - ✩

⤹ @delusionsofgrandeur13 (big fan of their casual series and blastbeat!!! drummer!tim is my absolute favorite and I will wait forever for part 2 if I need to + they write other characters and fandoms, please check em OUT!!!)

BLASTBEAT - ✩★✦ , CASUAL - ★ ✦

⤹ @latedeparture (amazing work!! they have a bunch of damian wayne fics, but yall the way they write has me OBSESSED.)

DETECTIVE OR FANBOY? - ✩ , THE DISCIPLINE OF STAYING AWAY - ✧ , I BELIEVE IN FAIRYTALES - ✧

AO3 WRITERS (and their works)

⤹ SOTER (amazing tim drake fic, but if you love stephanie brown, they have quite a few that are amazing to read!!)

CIRCLE K (BACK TO YOU) - ✩ ✦ | I’LL BE THE DANGEROUS LEDGE (YOU BE THE PARACHUTE) - ✩ ✦ | I WANT YOUR HANDS, YOUR FUTURE PLANS (TO THE BITTER END) - ✩ | etc.

⤹ CELAMOON aka @crsssie (TONS of tim drake fics on their AO3, please check them out!! there’s some with less than 5k, or more than 5k words!! they’re absolutely amazing!!)

SAYING WE’RE JUST FRIENDS ( THINKING YOU’RE MY MAN) - ✩ | THOUSAND SOULS - angst w/ happy ending (read the tags) | I’LL GIVE YOU WHAT YOU NEED (TILL I’M LYING ON THE GROUND GOT ME PARALYZED) - angst w/ bittersweet or open ending | etc.

⤹ TIM DRAKE ROOMMATES AU - ✩, orphan_account

this one makes me sad, because it’s an orphan account, meaning I don’t know who the author is :( … im glad they didn’t delete their works and chose to orphan it, but oh man, I hope they’re lingering somewhere on my account if they ever are and know that I enjoyed their AU. It was really fun to read!!

⤹ DIFFICULTHEART

MAD DOG - ✩★✦ , fair warning to x reader lovers, this is an OC/tim drake, but it’s read in second pov! A bit confusing, but I genuinely enjoyed it— it still makes you feel immersed in the story. it’s not everyone’s cup of tea which is understandable! It’s not an x reader, but an OC. Honestly, give it a shot if you’re interested!!! just make sure to read the tags.

⤹ CHERRRYDRAGON (absolute sucker for unrequited but not actually unrequited love)

YOU NEED TO BE YOURSELF (LOVE SOMEONE FOR LOVING YOU INSTEAD OF SOMEONE REALLY COOL) - ✩ ✦

⤹ ATHENAGC94

SMOKE AND MIRRORS , this is an ongoing series— but i literally go back and read it from time to time. I swear they had an tumblr account, but I can’t find it ;-; , so if you’re reading this— just know that I enjoy your series and can’t wait to see where you take the story!!

MISC. READS THAT I THROUGHLY ENJOYED FROM OTHER PHENOMENAL WRITERS !! —

↷@navyhaze TECH DECK — ★

↷@moviecritc YEARNER TIM HCS — ✩ in fact, they have a whole masterlist of their tim drake works !!

↷ @tealovingdreamer (absolutely excited to see how this goes) THROUGH THE EYES OF OTHERS — ✩

↷@strawberry-nugget I’D LOVE TO SEE ME FROM YOUR POINT OF VIEW —✩

↷@hanimanny WIKIHOW: TO GET YOUR GIRLFRIEND BACK (FROM YOUR FAMILY) — ✩

tbc…

a/n: I hope my recs is up to your guys’ standards! it’s mostly fluff LMFAO, but still, please check all of these lovely writers out, they’re absolutely amazing for pushing out tim drake content when it’s a literal desert in the tags 🥹✌️ and PLEASEE let me know if you guys want more list of recs from me ?!?! I’d like to know !!

[strayfromsanity]

When the mask slips ⋆⭒˚.⋆

PAIRING : Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY : When the vigilante life feels exhausting, you're there to make it bearable.

TW : self doubt, depression, insomnia, hurt/comfort, mentions of physical injuries, exhaustion, cuddling, established relationship, use of petnames.

WORD COUNT : 1.2K

A/N : I am feral for Dick Grayson. That's it. That's the note. I freaking love him so much he deserves a hug he deserves ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD AND I LOVE HIM SM someone put me in a straitjacket he got that elder sibling syndrome that hits too close to home UGH my BABY 🥺 (younger than him btw)

Might be worth mentioning I am very new to DC, and English isn't my first language, so forgive me for any possible out-of-character moments and grammatical mistakes, thank you! Happy reading <3

divider credits : @hyuneskkami

Dick is tired. So damn tired. His legs feel numb and his arms feel like they're just uselessly hanging on. He tugs off his suit- the material sticking uncomfortably to his skin as he tosses his domino mask on the table.

It was another one of those nights- kicking ass and getting ass kicked- it became a routine now; dragging himself to stand under the steaming hot water of the shower and throw on whatever clothes he had laying around before he left- he's utterly exhausted. He crawls into bed, turning over restlessly under the sheets- shutting his eyes to drift off into merciful slumber but damnit, he just can't sleep.

His eyes squint open slightly when he hears you enter the bedroom- door creaking a little and then shut close, footsteps softy hitting the floor as you get into bed.

"Hey..." he mutters, voice a little hoarse as he shifts to give you more space to lay down beside him. He's about to ask you what you're doing still up so late when he feels your soft fingers brushing through his messy hair- a result of the harsh, unforgiving winds of gotham from patrol.

You hold him close to your heart, letting his head rest on your chest, and Dick melts letting out a sound somewhere between a low whine and a relieved sigh. The sound of your heartbeat dull in his ears giving him a sense of comfort. An anchor to reality. His eyes flutter shut breathing in your scent- home. You smell like home.

"Rough night?"

"Y'know," He chuckles, surprised he even has the energy to do that now, "thought I'd be used to it by now" he shifts his head a little, arms tightening around you- not firm, but just enough. Just enough so he's physically reminded you're still here.

" 's never enough. I just.... give and give and I-" he pauses, exhaling deeply. He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't want to even think about it, if he's being honest. Just wants to be here- in your arms. safe. loved. wanted.

"shh 's okay, baby" you coo, cradling his head closer, his breath warm across your collarbone. He swallows, furrowing his brow a little, voice coming out barely above a whisper, "don't leave.... please"

" 'd never dream of it" you murmur, lips brushing his forehead in a gentle kiss.

His breath gets caught in his throat- he's in his sweatpants and tank top- muscles still aching from patrol as Nightwing- his back hurts, his head aches, but god does he feel like a little kid again. Like he's back in his mother's arms. Before everything. Before all of it. And he never wants to let go- thinks its kind of selfish- just wanting to stay like this forever, but yeah maybe he wants selfish. Maybe he deserves some selfish after all these years. And you let him be.

You know he doesn't need you to protect him- he can take care of himself just fine- that's what he tells himself when he stumbles into your shared apartment on nights he felt too guilty to wake you up- let you know he's hurt, he needs help- no, he doesn't wanna get you all worried- he's Nightwing, for God's sake. He's supposed to save people, keep them safe, reassure them.

not enough. never enough. will it ever be enough?

The questions swirl around in his mind on sleepless nights when he's physically exhausted from fighting out there all night but his mind can't shut up.

Luckily, you're there for him on nights like those. Nights like this one.

It doesn't take long for his breathing to slow down, chest rising up and down in that familiar rhythm- until he's asleep in your arms- passed out- so, so tired.

He looks peaceful like this, you think. He looks younger- not as Nightwing, but as the boy behind the domino mask he puts on every night and pretends he's enough for Gotham- for Bludhaven- for the world. Not the pretty face-vigilante on posters and billboards but the man in your arms, bruises still blooming on his knees and arms as he wraps himself around you- like he's scared you'll slip away if he loosens his hold on you- like he's seen too much- done too much- and you're the last fragment left in his life that reminds him of any sort of normalcy or comfort- too precious to be lost. sacred.

You feel your heart ache as you hold him close- a feeling you can't quite place. Something you can't name.

And you just want to have him like this in your arms- forever.

For however long this world lets you relish in his presence.

His warmth.

His soul.

It warms you.

You don't realise the tears that wet your eyes until you're blinking them back.

oh god.

i love him.

and he does too.

Maybe you don't say it to each other yet, but you can tell.

From the lazy mornings you have your leg still draped over his, sheets still warm from the night before, sunlight seeping in through the curtains as he has you pressed close to him.

On rainy days he comes home dripping like a wet dog and gets the water droplets all on you as he shakes his head- and you squeal, smacking his arm for getting you both cold now- rolling your eyes, that smile he loves to see on your face so much painted on your lips cause you can't get mad at him.

On the walks down to the ridiculously overpriced cafe he still insists you go cause "its got your favourite flavour of cheescake!"

On afternoons he stares at you with hearts in his eyes, absent-mindedly nodding along to your rambling- probably about some jerk from work or a stupid character arc from that corny book you're always glued to.

On Friday nights you huddle close on his stupidly small couch- technically you could get a bigger one, but the smell of your perfume mixed with his cologne and the memories of fighting over popcorn still linger- and secretly you just want an excuse to be close to each other.

You loved him so much, it hurt.

Because you knew the price of loving Dick Grayson- unfinished breakfasts as he rushes out with a quick kiss to the cheek because he had some emergency meeting with Bruce again.

Forgotten dates because he was too busy kicking ass in some dark Gotham alleyway.

Days he'd just disappear sometimes- too tired to explain where he ran off to- and the never ending fear of whether you'd see him with a broken arm in your bed- or a bullet wound in his side- or if you'd even ever see him again.

But this was fine. for now, atleast. Because you knew he'd always come back home.

back to you.

And even if it was hard, even if he didn't one day? you're never gonna be ready for that day to come, really- but you'd always love him. Quietly. Softly. In your own way.

Maybe that's why he fell so hard for you- the ray of light in his miserable, crappy life; a slither of hope for his fading sanity.

His girl.

All his, forever and only his.

[jellyfishsthings]

The One Who Texts Back

navigation , dc navigation, part 1

Summary: Red Hood kidnaps someone for intel, only for them to sass him so relentlessly that he starts to question his life choices mid-interrogation. Somehow, it turns into coffee at 3 a.m. and a reluctant partnership.

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Jason Todd had made many mistakes in his life.

Dying was probably number one. Coming back to life angry enough to fight Batman was a close second. But agreeing to weekly 3 AM pancake meetings with a mouthy information broker who had zero sense of self-preservation?

That was rapidly climbing the charts.

"I'm just saying," you said, stabbing your fork into your third stack of pancakes (because apparently you'd made this a standing arrangement), "if you're going to have a signature weapon, maybe diversify? Guns are so overdone."

"They work," Jason said flatly, watching you drown your pancakes in enough syrup to give someone diabetes just from looking at it.

"So do swords. Arrows. A really aggressive attitude and some karate." You took a bite and made that sound again, the one that made him regret every life choice that led to this moment. "You know who has style? Nightwing. That man makes escrima sticks look good."

Jason's hand tightened on his coffee mug. "We're not talking about Nightwing."

"Ooh, touchy subject?" You leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. "Is there drama? Please tell me there's drama. I live for this."

"There's no drama."

"That was the least convincing denial I've ever heard, and I once watched a guy try to convince me he wasn't a mob accountant while literally holding a ledger labeled 'Mob Finances.'"

Despite himself, Jason felt his lips twitch under the helmet. Which you somehow noticed, because you noticed everything.

"Was that almost a smile? Are we making progress?" You pulled out your phone. "I should document this. Day twelve of the Red Hood rehabilitation project—"

"I don't need rehabilitation."

"Everyone needs rehabilitation, Red. It's called growth." You snapped a picture of your pancakes. "Also, I'm posting this. My followers love the 3 AM pancake content."

"You have followers who know you have pancakes with a vigilante at 3 AM?"

"I'm an influencer in very specific circles." You typed something on your phone. "Very specific, morally ambiguous circles."

Jason decided not to examine that too closely.

This had been the pattern for two weeks now. You'd text him intel on the Scorpions—surprisingly good intel, actually. He'd follow up on the leads. And then somehow, somehow, you'd convince him to meet you at the Bluebird Diner for what you called "debrief sessions" and he called "you stealing my food while providing commentary I didn't ask for."

The Scorpions were falling apart piece by piece, and Jason was getting closer to the top of their operation. Marcus Webb had been exactly where you said he'd be, exactly as talkative as you'd promised. Three more mid-level dealers had been arrested. Two weapons shipments intercepted.

You'd been right about everything.

Which was almost more annoying than the pancake thing.

"So," you said, pushing your empty plate away and immediately reaching for his bacon (again), "I heard something interesting today."

"Is this the part where you give me intel, or the part where you tell me more of your opinions about my life choices?"

"Why not both? I'm talented at multitasking." You ate his bacon with the confidence of someone who'd never been shot at. Or had been shot at and just didn't care. With you, it could honestly go either way. "The Scorpions are planning something big. Friday night, the docks, warehouse 17."

Jason pulled out his phone. "What kind of something?"

"The kind that involves a lot of weapons and probably some explosives. They're bringing in someone from out of town. Heavy hitter, from what I hear."

"You hear a lot for someone who claims to just deal in gossip."

"I'm good at my job." You shrugged. "Plus, people underestimate the short person in duck slippers. It's my secret weapon."

"You're not wearing duck slippers right now."

"No, tonight I'm wearing cat slippers. I'm trying to keep things fresh." You wiggled your feet under the table to show him the cat faces on your slippers, and Jason had the disturbing realization that he was starting to find your chaos endearing.

This was a problem.

"The docks," he said, steering the conversation back to something that wouldn't make him question his life choices. "What time?"

"Midnight. Very dramatic, very cliché. Honestly, criminals need to workshop their scheduling." You pulled up something on your phone. "I got you schematics of the warehouse. Three entrances, lots of cover, perfect sightlines from the rafters."

Jason took your phone, studying the detailed blueprints. "Where did you get these?"

"I know a guy who knows a guy who owed me a favor." You smiled sweetly. "I'm not just a pretty face with strong opinions about your helmet, Red. I'm a professional."

"A professional information broker who eats pancakes at 3 AM and wears animal slippers."

"Exactly. I'm a woman of many talents." You paused. "So, you going to storm the warehouse alone, or are you going to be smart and call for backup?"

"I work alone."

"No, you work alone because you have trust issues and a martyr complex. There's a difference." You pointed your fork at him. "What if I came with you?"

Jason choked on his coffee. "Absolutely not."

"Why not? I know the layout, I have intel they don't know I have, and I'm surprisingly good in a crisis."

"You're a civilian."

"I'm a Crime Alley native who's survived three gang wars, two Joker attacks, and a Fear Gas incident. I'm more qualified than half the GCPD." You leaned back in the booth. "Plus, you like having me around. Admit it."

"I tolerate having you around."

"Same thing."

"It's really not."

"You keep showing up to these pancake meetings, Red. If you actually hated my company, you'd just kidnap me for intel and leave. But here you are, two weeks running, drinking coffee at 3 AM and letting me steal your bacon."

Jason wanted to argue, but you were right. He could get your intel a dozen other ways. Could have cut contact after that first night. But instead, he'd saved your number (properly, not just as a burner contact), started looking forward to your increasingly ridiculous texts, and had even... and he'd deny this if anyone asked, started ordering the breakfast special before you arrived so it would be ready.

"I'm practical," he said finally. "Meeting like this is efficient."

"Sure. Efficient. That's definitely why you laughed at my joke about Batman's contingency plans yesterday."

"I didn't laugh."

"You made a sound."

"That wasn't a laugh."

"It was laugh-adjacent, and I'm counting it." You pulled out your wallet, throwing money on the table. "Same time Friday? After you storm the warehouse and inevitably get yourself into trouble?"

"I don't get into trouble."

"Red, you're a vigilante who died and came back to life angrier. You're the definition of trouble." You slid out of the booth, and Jason noticed you'd left enough money to cover both meals again. "Text me when you're done at the docks. I'll worry if I don't hear from you."

You walked out before he could process that last part.

Jason sat in the booth for a long moment, staring at the money you'd left, the empty plates, the text that came through thirty seconds later: seriously though. Text me. I'll send the GCPD if I have to.

He typed back: You don't know where the warehouse is.

Warehouse 17, the docks, midnight Friday. I literally just told you this. Do you have a head injury? Should I be concerned?

Jason smiled under his helmet before he could stop himself.

I'll text you.

Good. Also, your helmet thing is growing on me. Very "dystopian biker chic." Still think you could use a cape though.

I'm not wearing a cape.

Your loss. Capes are dramatic. Everyone loves drama.

You love drama.

Exactly. I'm everyone.

Jason shook his head, pocketed his phone, and left the diner. He had three days to plan for Friday night, to coordinate his assault on the warehouse, to prepare for whatever the Scorpions were planning.

And apparently, to worry about whether you were actually going to call the GCPD if he didn't text you.

Friday night came with rain.

Of course it did. Because Gotham had a flair for dramatic timing that would make Greek tragedy jealous.

Jason perched on the roof across from Warehouse 17, watching the Scorpions set up for their big meeting. You'd been right about everything... the time, the place, the heavy weapons. Crates were being unloaded, guards posted at every entrance, and in the center of it all, a man Jason recognized from intelligence reports.

Marcus "The Mauler" Griggs. Enforcer from Metropolis with a reputation for extreme violence and zero negotiation skills.

This was bigger than he'd thought.

Jason was considering his approach options when his phone buzzed.

You: You at the docks yet? Jason: How did you know I'd be here early? You: Because you're you. Also, because I'm watching you from the coffee shop across the street. Your silhouette is very distinctive.

Jason's head snapped toward the coffee shop. Sure enough, through the window, he could see you waving at him, holding a to-go cup.

He called you immediately.

"Are you insane?" he hissed into the phone.

"Probably," you said cheerfully. "Want some coffee? I got you the good kind."

"You need to leave. Now."

"Can't. Already here. Plus, I brought useful things." There was rustling on the other end. "Thermal imaging scanner, backup comms, and a first aid kit because let's be real, you're probably going to need it."

"I told you not to come."

"You told me you work alone. I ignored you. It's kind of my thing." Your voice was light, but there was steel underneath. "Red, I know this is bigger than you thought. Griggs is bad news, and you're outnumbered twelve to one. You need backup."

"So I'll call—"

"Who? Batman? The family you have complicated feelings about? Other vigilantes who might ask too many questions?" You paused. "Or you could accept help from someone who's already here, already invested, and makes really good company."

Jason closed his eyes. This was a terrible idea. You were a civilian. You had no training, no armor, no business being anywhere near this.

But you were also right. He was outnumbered, and this was bigger than a simple Scorpions operation.

"Stay in the coffee shop," he said finally. "Monitor the comms, be my eyes on the ground. That's it. You don't engage, you don't get involved, and if anything goes wrong, you run. Understand?"

"Aye aye, captain." He could hear the smile in your voice. "See? This is growth. You're accepting help. I'm so proud."

"If you die, I'm going to be very annoyed."

"If I die, you'll have to find a new pancake buddy. The tragedy alone should keep me motivated."

Jason ended the call and dropped down to meet you.

The coffee shop was small, warm, and blessedly empty except for you and a bored barista who'd seen too much of Gotham's weirdness to care about a vigilante walking in.

You handed him a coffee cup. "Black, three shots of espresso, because you seem like you need it."

"You can't actually see my face. How do you know what I need?"

"Body language. You do this thing where your shoulders get tense when you're stressed." You pulled out a laptop, setting it on the table. "Also, you're about to fight twelve guys and a enforcer from Metropolis. Everyone needs caffeine for that."

Jason took the coffee, and when he lifted his helmet just enough to drink, you deliberately looked away without him having to ask.

Something warm settled in his chest that had nothing to do with the coffee.

"Comms," you said, handing him an earbud. "I'll be able to see the warehouse layout and track heat signatures. You'll be able to hear me being a delightful combination of helpful and sarcastic."

"Lucky me."

"You say that now, but wait until I save your life with my exceptional commentary." You pulled up the thermal imaging on your laptop. "Okay, so. Twelve guys on the main floor, two in the office upstairs, and Griggs is in the center with the weapons shipment. What's the play?"

Jason studied the screen, formulating a strategy. "I take out the perimeter guards first, work my way in. You keep me updated on movement patterns."

"Classic Red Hood approach. Efficient, violent, with a hint of dramatic flair." You typed something. "I'm marking the guards' patrol routes now. You've got a thirty-second window when the east entrance is clear."

"You've done this before."

"I've helped coordinate information drops. Same principle, higher stakes." You looked up at him. "Red? Be careful. Griggs doesn't just hurt people. He enjoys it."

There was something in your voice, concern, real concern, that made Jason pause.

"I will," he said.

"Good." You turned back to your laptop. "Now go be a scary vigilante. I'll be your mission control."

Jason headed for the door, then stopped. "Why are you doing this?"

"The helping thing? Or the putting-myself-in-danger thing?"

"Both."

You were quiet for a moment, fingers paused over your keyboard. "Because someone should have helped you. Before. When things went bad." You met his gaze, even though you couldn't see his eyes. "And because you're trying to protect people who can't protect themselves. That matters."

Jason didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to process the fact that you'd somehow figured out more about him than most people who'd known him for years.

"Don't die," he said finally.

"Same to you." You smiled. "Now go. Your thirty-second window is in twenty seconds."

Jason went.

The operation went sideways approximately three minutes in.

"Okay, slight problem," your voice said in his ear as Jason tied up the second guard. "Griggs has enhanced hearing. Like, metahuman level. He definitely heard you knock out those guards."

"That would have been useful information before I started."

"I literally just found out! There was a file update ten seconds ago!" You sounded frustrated. "New plan: everyone knows you're there. Silver lining—you can be as loud as you want now?"

Jason heard footsteps rushing toward his position. "How many?"

"Six converging on your location. Four more heading to the exits to cut off escape routes."

"And Griggs?"

"Still in the center with the weapons. He's not running. Red, I think this might be a—"

"Trap. Yeah, I figured." Jason launched himself at the first guard, taking him down with brutal efficiency. "How long until police response?"

"GCPD won't come out here without serious motivation. Too close to the water, too many gangs." There was typing. "But I might be able to trigger a few alarms, get some attention..."

"Do it." Jason moved through the warehouse like a force of nature, taking down guards with the efficiency of someone who'd done this a thousand times. "Where's Griggs?"

"Moving toward the office. Red, I think he's going for something. There's a case up there, reinforced, and... oh no."

"'Oh no' is not what I want to hear right now."

"The case has a biometric lock. Military grade. That's not money laundering equipment, Red. That's—"

The explosion cut you off.

Not a big explosion. Controlled. Precise. Exactly where Jason had been standing thirty seconds ago.

"Mines," you said, voice tight. "The warehouse is rigged with proximity mines. Griggs activated them remotely."

Jason looked down at his feet, at the barely visible trigger plate he'd almost stepped on. "How many?"

"Scanning now. I count... at least fifteen. Red, you need to get out of there."

"Can't. He'll escape with whatever's in that case."

"So let him! You can track him down later when you're not in a building full of explosives!"

But Jason was already moving, using his knowledge of the warehouse layout to navigate around the mines. You fed him positions in real-time, your voice steady despite the obvious stress.

"Two feet to your left. Another mine at three o'clock. Okay, you're clear to the stairs."

He made it to the office just as Griggs grabbed the case.

The man was huge, six and a half feet of muscle and bad intentions. He smiled when he saw Jason, showing too many teeth.

"Red Hood," Griggs said. "Heard about you. Heard you're tough to kill."

"Heard that about me too." Jason moved into the room, hyperaware of potential mine locations. "Put down the case."

"Or what? You'll shoot me in a room full of explosives?" Griggs laughed. "I don't think so."

"Red," you said in his ear, urgent. "He's got a dead man's switch. If his heart rate drops, all the mines detonate simultaneously."

"Of course he does," Jason muttered.

"What was that?" Griggs's enhanced hearing picked it up. "You got someone feeding you information? That's cute. They watching on cameras? Hiding somewhere safe?"

Jason's hand tightened on his gun.

"Tell you what," Griggs continued. "You back off, let me walk out of here, and maybe I don't track down whoever's helping you. Maybe I don't make them regret getting involved in Scorpion business."

"Red?" Your voice was quieter now. "What do you want me to do?"

Jason looked at Griggs, at the case, at the situation that had gotten completely out of control.

And made a decision.

"You're going to run," he said quietly.

"What?" Both you and Griggs said it at the same time.

"When I move," Jason continued, speaking only to you, "you're going to close that laptop, get out of that coffee shop, and run as fast as you can. Head west, away from the docks."

"I'm not leaving you in a warehouse full of mines with a meta-human who wants to kill you!"

"You don't have a choice. He made a threat. I'm eliminating the threat."

"By doing what, exactly?"

"Trust me."

"Red—"

"Do you trust me?" Jason asked, and the question felt bigger than the moment, bigger than the warehouse and the mines and the danger.

You were quiet for a long moment. Then: "Yeah. I do."

"Then run. Now."

Jason moved.

Not toward Griggs, toward the window. He crashed through it in a shower of glass, already pulling out grappling equipment as he fell. Behind him, he heard Griggs roar in anger, heard the triggering of the mines, heard the warehouse start to collapse.

He swung wide, using momentum to carry him away from the building. Behind him, Warehouse 17 went up in a series of controlled explosions, fire painting the night sky orange and red.

Jason landed on a neighboring roof, rolling to absorb the impact. His ears were ringing, his side hurt where he'd taken shrapnel, but he was alive.

His phone was ringing.

"I'm alive," he said immediately.

"You jumped out a window!" You sounded furious and relieved in equal measure. "You jumped out a third-story window into the Gotham harbor area!"

"I've jumped out of taller windows."

"That's not reassuring! That's the opposite of reassuring!" There was a pause, then: "Are you actually okay?"

Jason did a quick assessment. Bruised ribs, definitely. Some cuts from the glass. Nothing that wouldn't heal. "I'm fine. Are you clear?"

"I'm in the alley three blocks west, hiding behind a dumpster, because my life has become a series of questionable choices." You let out a shaky laugh. "Griggs?"

"Didn't make it. The explosion brought down most of the building." Jason stood up, wincing. "The case?"

"Destroyed in the blast. Whatever was in there, it's gone now."

They were both quiet for a moment, processing how close that had been.

"You saved my life," you said finally.

"You helped me take down a major criminal operation."

"Yeah, but you could have grabbed the case. Could have tried to fight him. Instead you..." You trailed off. "You chose making sure I was safe."

Jason didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to explain that somewhere in the last two weeks, you'd gone from annoying informant to something that felt dangerously close to important.

"Pancakes?" he said instead.

You laughed, and it sounded like relief. "Pancakes. Give me twenty minutes to get to the Bluebird. And Red?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for trusting me."

"Thanks for running."

Twenty-five minutes later, Jason walked into the Bluebird Diner still in full Red Hood gear, with visible injuries and probably looking like he'd just fought his way out of an exploding warehouse.

Because he had.

You were already in your usual booth, two cups of coffee waiting. When you saw him, your face went through several emotions... relief, concern, and then exasperation.

"You said you were fine!"

"I am fine."

"You're bleeding!"

"Just a little."

You stood up, marching over to him with a first aid kit you'd apparently had the foresight to bring. "Sit. Now."

"I can handle—"

"Red, so help me, if you finish that sentence with anything other than 'Yes, I'll let you check my injuries,' I'm going to force-feed you my opinions about your life choices for the next three hours."

Jason sat.

You worked in focused silence, cleaning cuts and checking for serious damage. Your hands were steady, gentle, surprisingly skilled.

"Did you take medical training?" Jason asked as you bandaged a cut on his arm.

"EMT certification. Seemed useful for living in Crime Alley." You moved to examine the cut on his temple, the one that had bled through his helmet. "This is going to scar."

"I have a lot of those."

"I'm noticing." Your fingers were feather-light on his face, and Jason realized he'd loosened his helmet enough for you to treat him without even thinking about it. "You know, most people would consider tonight a disaster."

"We stopped the Scorpions, destroyed their weapons shipment, and eliminated a dangerous meta-human enforcer. That's a win."

"You also got blown up and jumped out a window."

"Tuesday in Gotham."

You laughed, and the sound made something tight in Jason's chest loosen. "You're ridiculous."

"You're the one who agreed to be mission control for a vigilante you've known for two weeks."

"Three weeks as of today. I'm counting the kidnapping." You finished with his injuries and sat back, studying him. Even with most of his helmet still on, hiding his face, you seemed to see him. Really see him. "We make a good team."

"We do," Jason admitted.

"So." You pulled out your phone. "I have information on five more Scorpion operations. Some are small, some are bigger. Thought maybe we could make this a regular thing."

"Regular thing."

"You know. Partnership. You do the scary vigilante stuff, I do the information and logistics stuff. We meet for pancakes at inadvisable hours and judge each other's life choices." You smiled. "It's very professional."

"Professional."

"Okay, it's not professional at all. But it works." You slid your phone across the table, showing him the intel. "What do you say, Red? Want a partner?"

Jason looked at you, at your bright eyes and confident smile, at the way you sat in a diner at 3 AM with a vigilante and made it feel normal, at the way you'd trusted him enough to run when he asked.

He thought about working alone, about keeping everyone at arm's length, about the walls he'd built to protect himself from caring too much.

And then he thought about you stealing his bacon, sending him memes at 2 AM, calling him out when he was being dramatic, showing up when he needed backup even though he never asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I want a partner."

Your smile was brilliant. "Excellent. First order of business: we need code names."

"You can't call me Red Hood?"

"That's your vigilante name. I need a personal name. Something just for us." You considered. "How do you feel about 'Hot Stuff'?"

"No."

"'Scary McBrooding'?"

"Absolutely not."

"'Mr. Shoots First, Asks Questions Never'?"

"I'm regretting this already."

"'Regret' is a great code name, actually. Very dramatic." You pulled up your notes. "Okay, real talk. The Scorpions are going to retaliate for what happened tonight. We need to be ready."

Jason pulled the laptop toward him, studying your intel. You leaned in beside him, close enough that he could smell your shampoo (something fruity, which was somehow perfectly you), and started outlining your strategy.

Somewhere around 4 AM, Doris brought more pancakes without being asked.

Around 5 AM, Jason caught himself laughing at one of your terrible jokes.

And around 6 AM, when the sun started rising over Gotham and you'd both finally finished planning their next move, Jason realized that he'd found something he didn't even know he'd been looking for.

A partner. A friend.

Someone who saw him as he was... dangerous, damaged, trying his best... and decided to stick around anyway.

"Same time next week?" you asked, gathering your things.

"Same time next week," Jason confirmed.

You paused at the door, looking back at him with that smile that was starting to feel dangerously important. "Hey, Red?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you kidnapped me."

Jason watched you leave, phone already buzzing with what was probably another meme, and realized he was glad too.

Even if he'd never admit it out loud.

His phone buzzed again: PS - Still think you should get a cape. Just putting that out there.

Jason smiled under his helmet and went home as the sun rose over Gotham, already looking forward to next week's pancakes.

Yeah. He was definitely going to regret this.

But in the best possible way.

taglist: @wrldbloom, @clownconspiracist, @aureascorpus, @fixated29, @lllucere, @demigod-jack-hearth, @glamorousgal, @mimimovv, @androgynousstrangerbouquet, @arezzo, @not-a-kelpie, @batteryacid1, @fandomly-obsessed, @wild-child5, @wisefuncherryblossom, @annabellelee, @in-som-niyah, @majuliaaaaaaakkkkkkkkkkkk, @goblin-king-of-anarchy67

[jellyfishsthings]

The One Who Talks Back

navigation , dc navigation, part 2

Summary: Red Hood kidnaps someone for intel, only for them to sass him so relentlessly that he starts to question his life choices mid-interrogation. Somehow, it turns into coffee at 3 a.m. and a reluctant partnership.

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Jason Todd had kidnapped a lot of people in his career as Red Hood. Drug dealers, mobsters, corrupt cops, and the occasional arms dealer. He'd gotten pretty good at it, the intimidation, the interrogation, the careful balance of violence and restraint that got him the information he needed.

What he had not gotten good at was dealing with people who wouldn't shut the hell up.

"So, just to clarify," you said from where you were zip-tied to a chair in his safehouse, "your whole aesthetic is 'what if a motorcycle had a gun'? Because I have notes."

Jason stared at you through his helmet, genuinely at a loss for words.

"I mean, the red is bold, I'll give you that," you continued, apparently taking his silence as encouragement. "Very 'I'm angry and I want everyone to know it.' But the bat symbol? Feels a little derivative. Like you're in your Batman phase but trying to be edgy about it."

"Are you... " Jason started, then stopped. "Are you seriously critiquing my costume right now?"

"Someone has to." You shrugged as much as the zip ties allowed. "That helmet's doing you no favors. Very 'I raided a motorcycle shop and made poor choices.'"

Jason had grabbed you three hours ago from your apartment in Crime Alley. You were a low-level information broker, nothing major, but word on the street said you had connections to the new gang trying to move in on his territory. He'd expected fear, maybe some bravado, possibly some begging.

He had not expected this.

"Let me remind you," Jason said slowly, pulling out one of his guns and checking the magazine with deliberate menace, "that you're the one tied to a chair in an undisclosed location. Maybe show a little self-preservation?"

"Oh, I'm terrified," you deadpanned. "Really shaking in my boots. Can't you tell?"

"You're not wearing boots. You're wearing duck slippers."

You glanced down at your feet. He'd grabbed you right out of your apartment, hadn't given you time to change, and then looked back up at him. "I stand by my footwear choices. They're whimsical."

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, which was a pointless gesture since he was wearing a helmet. "I'm going to ask you some questions... "

"Let me guess. 'Where's the shipment?' 'Who's your boss?' 'Why won't you take this seriously?'" You tilted your head. "How am I doing?"

"If you don't start cooperating... "

"You'll what? Shoot me? Please. You've been waving that gun around for twenty minutes and haven't fired once. You're all bark and no bite."

"I have literally killed people."

"Sure, Jan."

Jason stared at you. "Did you just… who's Jan? What does that even mean?"

"It's a meme. You know what, never mind. Not important." You shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable. "These zip ties are really tight, by the way. I'm losing circulation."

"That's kind of the point of restraints."

"Is it though? Because I feel like the point is to keep me in one place, which... " You gestured vaguely with your tied hands. "Mission accomplished. The cutting-off-circulation thing just seems like overkill."

Against his better judgment, Jason found himself moving closer to check the zip ties. They were tight, but not dangerously so. "They're fine."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one losing feeling in your fingers." You paused. "Although, real talk? If you're going to kidnap people, you might want to invest in better restraints. Zip ties are so 2010."

"What would you suggest?" Jason asked before he could stop himself.

"Personally? Handcuffs. More secure, reusable, and less likely to cause nerve damage. Also, they make you look more professional. Less 'improvised kidnapping,' more 'I planned this.'"

Jason realized he was having a genuine conversation about optimal restraint methods with his hostage and decided he needed to regain control of this situation.

"Enough," he said firmly. "You're going to tell me about the Scorpions' shipment coming in next week. Location, time, what they're moving."

"No."

Just that. No begging, no negotiating, just a flat refusal.

"No?" Jason repeated.

"No. I don't know anything about a shipment."

"You're lying."

"I'm really not." You met his gaze, or where his gaze would be if he weren't wearing a helmet. "I'm an information broker, not a gang member. I hear things, sure, but I don't know anything about Scorpions' operations. That's not my area."

"Your 'area' is Crime Alley. The Scorpions are moving into Crime Alley. You expect me to believe you don't know anything?"

"I expect you to believe me because it's true." You sighed. "Look, Red Hood, can I call you Red? The whole name is a mouthful."

"No."

"Cool, I'm calling you Red. Here's the thing: I deal in gossip, rumors, and low-level intel. Who's cheating on whom, which cop is taking bribes, what buildings are fronts for what operations? I'm not exactly in the inner circle of major criminal enterprises."

Jason studied you, using every tell-reading skill Batman had drilled into him. You weren't sweating, your breathing was steady, and your body language was relaxed despite being tied to a chair. Either you were telling the truth, or you were the best liar he'd ever met.

"So you're useless to me," he said.

"Wouldn't say useless. Just not useful for this specific thing." You brightened. "But hey, since you went through all the trouble of kidnapping me, I could point you toward someone who would know about the shipment. Professional courtesy and all that."

Jason didn't move. "Why would you do that?"

"Because the Scorpions are bad for business. They're aggressive, violent, and they don't respect the existing power structures. If they take over Crime Alley, people like me are out of work." You shrugged. "Enemy of my enemy and all that."

"You expect me to trust you?"

"No more than I trust you, which is currently sitting at about negative fifteen." You smiled, and it was sharp. "But we both want the Scorpions gone, so maybe we can be temporarily useful to each other before going back to our respective corners."

Jason considered this. It was logical, which was somehow more unsettling than if you'd been hysterical or defiant. You were treating this like a business negotiation, not a kidnapping.

"Who's the contact?" he asked.

"Uh-uh. Not how this works." You nodded toward your restraints. "You let me go, we go get coffee like civilized people, and then I'll tell you what you want to know."

"You think I'm going to just let you walk out of here?"

"I think you're going to realize that I'm more useful as a cooperative source than a hostile hostage." You tilted your head. "Also, it's 3 AM and I'm betting neither of us has eaten dinner. There's a diner two blocks from here that makes excellent pancakes."

"How do you know where we are?"

"Please. I've lived in Crime Alley my whole life. I know every safehouse, every warehouse, every place someone might take a person they don't want found." You paused. "Including this one, which, no offense, is pretty obvious. You're in the old Thompkins building. Everyone knows about this place."

Jason's hand moved to his gun on instinct. If you knew where you were, if you could identify his safehouse, 

"Relax, Red. I'm not going to tell anyone." You rolled your eyes. "Bad for business, remember? You're one of the few people keeping Crime Alley from becoming a complete war zone. Why would I want to compromise that?"

"You're very calm for someone who just admitted knowing a crime lord's identity."

"Crime lord? That's generous. You're more of a crime... entrepreneur." You grinned at his silence. "What, not a fan of the title? Fine. Crime middle-manager. Anti-hero with anger issues. Vigilante with questionable methods. Take your pick."

"I could still shoot you."

"But you won't." You said it with such certainty that Jason actually believed you believed it. "Because I'm right about us being useful to each other, and you're practical enough to recognize that."

Jason stood there for a long moment, gun in hand, trying to figure out when exactly he'd lost control of this interrogation. It had probably been around the time you'd critiqued his helmet.

"Pancakes," he said finally.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said something about pancakes."

Your face lit up in a way that was frankly unfair given the circumstances. "So we have a deal?"

"We have a temporary arrangement," Jason corrected. "You give me intel on the Scorpions, I don't throw you off a building. Very simple."

"You're really hung up on the threatening thing, huh?" You wiggled your fingers. "Zip ties? Any time now?"

Jason pulled out a knife and cut through the restraints, stepping back immediately in case you tried anything. But you just rubbed your wrists, stood up, and stretched like you'd just woken up from a nap rather than been held hostage for three hours.

"So," you said brightly. "Your place or mine?"

"What?"

"For the clothes. I'm not going to a diner in pajamas and duck slippers." You gestured at yourself. "I have standards."

"We're not going to your place. You could have a weapon stashed, backup, a silent alarm... "

"Or I could just really not want to wear pajamas in public." You headed for the door like you owned the place. "Come on, Red. If I wanted to betray you, I wouldn't do it before getting pancakes. I'd at least wait until after. I'm not a monster."

Jason found himself following you out of his own safehouse, which was definitely not how this was supposed to go.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting in a booth at the Bluebird Diner, still in full Red Hood gear because he wasn't about to reveal his identity to a hostage-turned-informant, while you perused the menu like this was a normal 3 AM hangout and not the weirdest night of his vigilante career.

"I'm thinking waffles," you announced. "No, pancakes. Actually, maybe French toast. What are you getting?"

"Coffee," Jason said flatly.

"That's not food."

"It's all I need."

"Spoken like someone who's never had a food-based epiphany." You flagged down the waitress, Doris, who'd been working the night shift for fifteen years and had seen weirder things than a vigilante in her diner. "Hi! I'll have the chocolate chip pancakes with a side of bacon, and my friend here will have the breakfast special."

"I didn't agree to... "

"He's shy," you told Doris. "Bring him coffee, too. Black, I'm guessing? He seems like a black coffee person."

Doris looked at Jason, looked at you, shrugged, and walked away.

"I could have ordered for myself," Jason said.

"But did you?" You propped your chin on your hand. "So. The Scorpions."

"You're really going to give me intel? Just like that?"

"I'm really going to give you intel while eating pancakes at 3 AM in a diner with a crime lord. This is called multitasking." You pulled out your phone. "Okay, so the person you want is named Marcus Webb. Mid-level Scorpion guy, loves to brag when he drinks. He'll be at the Harbor Club tomorrow night."

Jason pulled out his own phone and started taking notes. "How do I find him?"

"Tall, white guy, bad tribal tattoo on his neck. Usually wears too much cologne." You made a face. "Fair warning: he's going to hit on you."

"I'll be in my helmet."

"Trust me, that won't stop him. He's very determined." You paused as Doris returned with coffee. "Thanks, Doris. You're a star."

Jason waited until the waitress left before continuing. "What's his weakness? What's going to make him talk?"

"Ego. Tell him you're impressed by the Scorpions' operation, ask him to explain how they're so successful. He'll tell you everything just to show off."

"That actually works?"

"You'd be surprised how many criminals just want someone to acknowledge how clever they think they are." You added cream to your coffee with the focus of a scientist. "It's like they're all desperate for validation but chose crime instead of therapy."

Jason snorted before he could stop himself.

You looked up, grinning. "Was that a laugh? Did the Red Hood just laugh at my joke?"

"No."

"That was definitely a laugh. I'm counting that as a laugh."

"It was not... " Jason stopped as Doris returned with your pancakes and his apparently ordered breakfast special. "I didn't ask for this."

"You need to eat," you said simply, already drowning your pancakes in syrup. "Can't fight crime on an empty stomach."

"I've been fighting crime on an empty stomach for years."

"And how's that working out for you?" You pointed your fork at him. "You're tense, aggressive, and you kidnapped an innocent information broker. Sounds like someone needs a Snickers."

"You're not innocent."

"Fair. But I'm also not wrong." You took a bite of the pancakes and made a sound that was frankly inappropriate for a public place. "Oh my god. These are amazing. You have to try them."

"I'm not taking off my helmet in front of you."

"Right, the whole secret identity thing." You considered this. "What if I close my eyes?"

"What if you don't, and I don't eat the pancakes?"

"Your loss." You stole a piece of bacon from his plate. "More for me."

Jason watched you eat his bacon, his bacon, that he hadn't even agreed to order, and realized he was having the most surreal conversation of his life. And he'd died and come back, so that was saying something.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked suddenly.

You paused mid-bite. "I told you. The Scorpions are bad for business."

"That's not the whole reason."

You were quiet for a moment, and for the first time that night, your expression turned serious. "You actually give a shit about Crime Alley. Most people, cops, heroes, whatever, they write this place off. Too dirty, too dangerous, too far gone. But you actually try to protect people here."

"So?"

"So some of us notice. Some of us appreciate it." You went back to your pancakes. "Also, you didn't shoot me, which I feel like deserves recognition. Really showed restraint there."

"The night's not over."

"Ever the optimist." You grinned. "I like you, Red. You're like a very angry, heavily armed golden retriever."

"I'm going to shoot you."

"No, you're not. You're going to eat your eggs and then we're going to plan how you're going to approach Marcus Webb tomorrow night." You pushed his plate toward him. "Come on. I ordered it specially for you."

Jason looked at the food, looked at you, and made a decision that was definitely going to come back to haunt him. He reached up and pressed something on his helmet that loosened the seal enough to eat while still keeping his face mostly covered.

"Oh, we're doing this? We're having a moment?" You tried to peek. "Do you have a jaw? I feel like you have a jaw."

"Stop trying to see my face."

"Can't blame a girl for trying." But you did look away, focusing on your own food. "For what it's worth, I'm sure you're very pretty under there."

"I'm not pretty."

"Handsome then. Ruggedly attractive. Whatever you want to call it."

Jason ate his eggs in silence, trying to figure out how this had become his life. An hour ago, you'd been his hostage. Now you were giving him intel, buying him breakfast, and complimenting his hypothetical jawline.

"This doesn't make us friends," he said finally.

"Obviously not. We're professional associates with a shared goal and a mutual appreciation for breakfast foods." You finished your pancakes and started eyeing his bacon again. "Are you going to eat that?"

Jason pushed the plate toward you without comment.

"See? We're bonding." You took the bacon triumphantly. "Next thing you know, we'll have inside jokes and matching friendship bracelets."

"That's not happening."

"You say that now, but I'm very persistent." You pulled out your phone. "Give me your number."

"Absolutely not."

"How else am I going to text you updates about the Scorpions?"

Jason considered this. "I'll find you when I need information."

"By kidnapping me again? That's so inefficient." You waved your phone. "Just give me your number. I promise I won't send you memes. Okay, I'll probably send you memes, but they'll be good ones."

Against every instinct, every lesson Batman had taught him about operational security and maintaining distance from assets, Jason pulled out his phone.

"This is a burner," he said, reading off the number. "I change them regularly."

"Cool, I'll just keep asking you for new numbers." You typed it in and immediately sent him a text. "There. Now you have mine too."

Jason's phone buzzed. He looked down at the message: This is your friendly neighborhood info broker. Reply 'RED' if you're actually Red Hood and not some other heavily armed vigilante.

Despite himself, Jason typed back: RED.

Your phone buzzed, and you grinned. "Excellent. Now we're in business." You stood up, throwing money on the table for both meals. "My treat, since you provided the entertainment tonight."

"I didn't... "

"The kidnapping. That was very entertaining." You headed for the door, then paused. "Same time next week?"

"Why would we do this again?"

"Because the Scorpions aren't going anywhere fast, and I have more intel you'll probably want." You shrugged. "Plus, the pancakes are really good, and eating alone is depressing."

Jason stood there, watching you walk out of the diner in your duck slippers like you owned the night, and realized he'd just made a deal with the most frustrating person he'd ever met.

His phone buzzed again. Another text from you: thanks for not shooting me. You're my second favorite vigilante now.

Jason typed back before he could stop himself: Who's your first?

Orphan. She has better taste in costumes.

Jason snorted, then caught himself and looked around to make sure no one had noticed.

This was a bad idea. You were unpredictable, irreverent, and far too comfortable around someone who'd literally kidnapped you. You were a security risk, a potential liability, and you'd somehow managed to steal his bacon.

His phone buzzed a third time: see you next week, red. Bring your appetite and your listening skills. I have thoughts about your motorcycle.

Jason stared at the message, then at the diner where you'd just been sitting, then back at his phone.

He was definitely going to regret this.

But as he grappled back to his safehouse, stomach full of breakfast food he hadn't planned on eating, with your number saved in his phone and the intel he needed, Jason realized that maybe, just maybe, regret wasn't always a bad thing.

His phone buzzed one more time: PS - you totally laughed at my joke. I'm counting that as a win.

Jason smiled under his helmet, then immediately stopped.

Yeah. He was definitely going to regret this.

But probably not as much as he should.

[vigilantsycamore]

Tumblr pillow fight

Reblog to hit the person you reblogged this from with a pillow

[takimakiiiii]

spider?! where?

synopsis: ollie and y/n vs a spider, who will win?

pairing: ollie bearman x fem!reader

themes: crack, idk what else to put 😭

wc!: 1.6k

tw: spiders 😖, mentions of breaking up

a/n: i loved when ollie mentioned he was afraid of spiders cuz SAME GIRL, anyways enjoy ☺️

You gently hummed along to Uptown Girl as it played softly through the apartment speakers, setting the mood for the morning. It was finally the weekend, and you’d woken up early to make breakfast for yourself and Ollie. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting pools of light that danced across the kitchen floor.

After three hectic weeks of racing, you and Ollie could finally sit back and relax. Life in Monaco was something you hadn’t fully adjusted to yet. Compared to Chelmsford, it was more glamorous and high-profile. You’d quickly realized that going anywhere whether with or without Ollie, was a challenge. Fans swarmed, bombarding your personal space every time you left the house. It was a big change, but you were certain you’d get used to it soon enough.

You hummed softly, flipping a pancake in the pan until a loud shriek and a thump echoed through the wall. You jumped, your head snapping toward the sound. The door to the bedroom was closed, muffled noises coming from the other side. Slowly, you set the spatula down and cautiously approached the door. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Ollie?” you called, your hand resting on the doorknob. There was no reply. You pressed forward, and the door slowly creaked open.

The sight before you was nothing you expected. Ollie stood shirtless, still in his pijama pants, pressed against the back wall of the bed. His wide eyes locked onto you, filled with pure panic. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation as you walked into the room.

“What are you doing? Are you okay? I thought you’d died or something,” you chuckled.

“This is no laughing matter,” Ollie shot back, his voice unusually serious.

You raised an eyebrow in amusement. “So, are you going to tell me why you’re standing on the bed?”

His eyes darted cautiously toward the edge of the mattress. “There’s a . . . spider.”

Panic surged through you as you jumped onto the bed beside him. “What? Where?” you stammered, eyes scanning the bedroom carpet. If there was one fear you and Ollie shared, it was spiders. Big or small, they always made you both lose your minds.

“See? I told you this wasn’t funny,” Ollie muttered as you clung to him for support, your feet sinking into the dense mattress. “What are we going to do?” you wailed, looking up at him. He looked helplessly down at you, uncertainly. “Maybe we could call Kimi to come and catch it,” Ollie suggested, though he didn’t sound too hopeful.

“I highly doubt he’d do that. Plus, do you have your phone on you?” you asked flatly, already knowing the answer.

“Well, I don’t see you with yours,” he shot back defensively. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t shake the dread slowly creeping up your spine. “How big is it?”

Ollie’s eyes went wide. “About the size of my hand,” he said, holding up his palm for emphasis. You groaned, the awful sensation of tiny legs crawling over your skin creeping up your arms. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Ollie shook his head regretfully.

You hesitated, then edged toward the side of the bed, every nerve on high alert. Slowly, you peeked over the edge. A shriek tore from your throat as the spider emerged from under the bed. You scrambled back and crashed into Ollie, who’d been standing right behind you. The two of you collided and tumbled onto the bed in a tangled mess of limbs. You groaned, rubbing your forehead.

“Ow!” Ollie grumbled, and you smacked him lightly as you rolled off him.

“Why were you standing behind me?” you grumbled in return.

Sitting up, you debated whether to grab a shoe and squish the thing, but a twinge of pity for the spider made you reconsider. “Okay, I know what we have to do,” you declared with a determined huff, your forehead still throbbing from the collision with Ollie. He turned to you, desperate for a solution.

“We’re going to get a plastic container, and we’re going to catch it,” you announced. The room fell silent. Ollie stared at you, as though waiting for you to yell, “Kidding!”

“Are you crazy?” he broke the silence, his voice filled with disbelief.

“Do you have a better plan?” you shot back, glaring at him. He bit the inside of his cheek, finally muttering, “No…”

“Good. Now go,” you ordered, nodding toward the door.

“What?”

“I’m not going. You are,” you said firmly.

“I am NOT going,” Ollie insisted, pushing you toward the door. You resisted, pushing back against him. “What? No!” you protested. “I’m seriously considering breaking up with you right now,” you grumbled, shoving against his bare chest. Ollie looked down at you, you half considered slapping some sense back into him. He sent you a sly smile as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Hey, if you can get the spider out, I’ll marry you.” he teased with a wink, sending your cheeks flushing. You stumbled on your words, flustered. Before crossing your arms with a huff, “I hate you.”

“Love you too.” he sang playfully, his charm working successfully once again. He pushed you toward the edge of the bed and cautiously retreated to the safety of the wall, offering you a sheepish smile. You shot him a dirty look in return. Turning back to face the bedroom, you peered over the edge of the bed. There it was, the spider, calmly sitting in the middle of the floor. You turned to Ollie helplessly.

“No. Absolutely not. You agreed to do this,” he said, raising his hands defensively. Reminding you of the agreement you just made. With a resigned sigh, you turned back toward the spider, taking a deep breath. You were going to count down and run for the kitchen—that would work. You had to make it work.

In one swift motion, you leaped off the bed and sprinted out the door, slamming it shut behind you. “WHY DID YOU CLOSE THE DOOR?!” Ollie’s voice shrieked from inside the bedroom as you let out a sigh of relief. Slowly, you backed away from the door, making sure the spider wasn’t about to make an escape.

“Be thankful I’m not leaving!” you shouted back as you rifled through the kitchen drawer for a container. You snatched one with a matching lid, then cautiously approached the bedroom door again. You swallowed, your hand shaking as you turned the handle and eased it open. The spider was still there, right in the middle of the floor, between you and the bed. Ollie had climbed to the top of the headboard, his arms spread against the wall for balance.

“I can’t believe you shut me in here with the spider,” he whined miserably. You shot him a glare. “Be quiet and let me concentrate,” you muttered, slowly approaching the spider, lid in one hand and container in the other. Your eyebrows were furrowed with focus as you edged closer, poised to jump at any chance to catch the creature.

In one swift motion, you slammed the container over the spider. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you held it firmly in place. Slowly but surely, you slid the lid underneath until the spider was safely contained. Holding it up with a victorious grin, you showed Ollie.

“My mother would be so proud,” you declared dramatically, wiping away a fake tear. Pride swelled in your chest as you held the container up to see the spider that was now chilling inside.

Ollie rolled his eyes. “Okay, now take it outside,” he ordered, motioning toward the door. You stared at him in disbelief. “No way! I caught it! You have to release it now,” you insisted, starting toward him. Ollie leapt to the other side of the bed; his hands raised defensively. 

“Whoa, how about I accompany you... from a safe distance? Hmm? That sounds much better to me,” he said, attempting to negotiate. You shook your head. “Ollie, you’re going to release it, or I swear I’ll throw this at you.”

His eyes widened in fear as he quickly circled the bed to the opposite side. “Let’s not be silly,” he chuckled nervously.

“Get ready to catch it,” you sang playfully. “Fine!” he finally caved, jumping down from the bed in defeat.

Grinning wildly, you handed him the container with the spider inside. His hands trembled as he held it at arm’s length, as though it were a live grenade. “This is for your own good,” you teased, leading him out of the bedroom.

“I take it back. I don’t want to marry a psychopath,” he whined as you pushed the front door open. You turned to him, mouth agape in mock outrage. “Okay, considering what I just did for you, put a little respect on my name,” you replied watching Ollie shuffle like a robot out of the apartment. You stifled a laugh into your sleeve as he shot you a glare, walking with exaggerated caution as if the floor would crack beneath him at any moment.

Outside, you and Ollie found a small bush in front of the building to release the spider. You watched with amusement as Ollie flung the lid off the container, then jumped back as though the spider would leap out and attack. He scrambled past you, grabbing your shoulders from behind for support.

“We can collect the container later,” you brushed it off with a chuckle.

As you both made your way back up the stairs to your apartment, you glanced over at him. “I kinda miss him now,” you admitted jokingly with a grin. Ollie gave you a look of disbelief. “I’m kicking you out of the house.”

a/n: thanks for readinggg!!! stay safe and have a great day xx

[diorrgrl]

Ollie Bearman Fic Recommendations <3

*for smut

-you and me and your friend kimi by @silversurfersx

-sweet by @i9messi

-big brother to the rescue by @amirasainz

-wag silly season by @jaywonpres

-paddock princess by @jo-com

-spider?!where? by @takimakiiiii

-young love by @camille-aurelie-deveraux

-a great start by @bluebanistrs

-exposed by @itsnesss

-coincidence by @formulaaddict14

-just a drivers girlfriend by @hearteyes4logan

-rookie mistakes by @formulafanfics13 *

-drivers sending you pictures of bf!ollie by @hamilando

-changed by @sinofwriting

-you got me, baby/are you mine? by @niki-phoria

[dnferrari]

ABU DHABI GP 2025 | New World Champion Lando Norris

[iluvemobitches]

Me waiting on y'all to make them stranger things fics

[rylandsgrace]

Stobin + being the worst best coworkers

[jupitersmusings]

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

[overlord-fire-bubble]

THIS ONE FUCKING WORKS. REBLOG IT.

[tiny-kt]

this for real fucking works