BFB (j.t.)
BFB (j.t.)
Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader
Warnings: Descriptions of fire, burns and shoulder dislocation
Word Count: 7.5k
Summary: Jason doesn’t want to be seen as your best friend’s brother anymore. Jason Todd yearns for 7k words
A/N: Again I feel like this played out better in my head honestly but oh well, it is what it is
10 years ago Jason Todd aged 14 (Y/N) (L/N) aged 16
The sound of thundering feet down the hallway was a common sound ever since the Wayne household had welcomed a new child. You, nor your best friend Dick, were the slightest bit disturbed when Jason slammed open the door to the family room and stormed in.
"You ate my Cheetos!" He cried to his older brother, ruddy face screwed up like he had just eaten a sour grape.
You chuckled under your breath, looking back down at your book that rested against Dick's legs that had been thrown in your lap. Jason glared at the offensive limbs like they were a parasite.
"Sorry, baby bird. (Y/N) here really wanted some Cheetos." Dick replied, hands gross and covered in orange dust. You scoffed, smacking his knee and he gave you an impish grin while looking over his phone.
Jason paused, his face reddening as he caught a glance at you. You offered him a lopsided smile, effortlessly covering for his pig of a brother.
“Sorry, Jace, I was hungry.”
He looked down, bashfully playing with the hem of his sweater, "It's okay."
You smacked his brother again when you felt his body shake with thinly veiled laughter. He had no problem abusing the knowledge that his younger brother had a childish crush on you. The poor thing had already lost most of his snack stash because of him.
"Thanks, kiddo."
Jason shot you a dirty look, “Don’t call me a kid. We’re not that far apart in age, you know.”
You raised a brow, “You’re a freshman, and I’m a senior.”
“That’s just because I joined a year late!” He argued, indignant.
Holding up your hands in a mock ‘I surrender’ motion, you glanced back at your book, but not before shooting a final warning look at his older brother.
“Whatever you say, kiddo.”
***
Present Day Jason Todd aged 24 (Y/N) (L/N) aged 26
"Sorry, B. I can't make it tomorrow, I promised (Y/N) that I'd help her build some furniture."
Jason perked up, practically shooting up straight at the sound of your name, "(Y/N)? She still around? What's she up to these days?"
He hoped—prayed—that his voice didn’t sound as elated to them as it did to him.
The two of you had lost touch after you graduated high school. Dick had moved to Blüdhaven, and you’d been accepted to university in Central City. Without your best friend in Gotham, there hadn’t been much reason for you to visit Wayne Manor.
It had stung. Jason knew you’d always had a closer relationship with his older brother, but he’d thought—hoped—that you liked him enough to at least give him a call on the odd weekend.
He’d get the occasional holiday text from you, wishing him well, and sometimes he’d text you for advice about school. But that was it.
When Jason had come back from the Lazarus Pit, he’d spent countless nights wondering what had happened to you. You would’ve been twenty-six by then. He imagined you’d graduated grad school and become a scientist, probably living in a cute apartment you’d been so excited to decorate—walls lined with bookshelves, couches draped in cozy throws you’d thrifted or maybe even crocheted yourself.
He wondered if you’d grown any taller, if you still dressed like a tomboy, or if you’d traded that style for something softer, something different. He wondered if you’d finally gotten a cat, since you’d wanted one so badly growing up.
But things between him and Batman were still tense, there was still a lot of hurt left on his part, a lot of stuff to work through. He wasn't good enough for you before; he was too young, too brash, too immature.
Now, he was too broken, too damaged; still not worthy of you.
So, he was left wondering.
"Yeah...she's back in the city, she's been working as a junior researcher in Gotham S.T.A.R. Labs."
Jason nodded, nonchalantly, looking down at the home screen of his phone like there was something interesting that happened to capture his attention, "Oh, that's good."
Dick raised a brow, clearly catching onto Jason's very poor attempts to appear unbothered, "And she still thinks you're dead."
He didn't need to see his younger brother's face to know he had frozen. That was quite obvious with the way his shoulders jumped til his ears and he rolled his eyes.
Honestly, how did loverboy manage to overlook that incredibly giant detail?
***
It had been a quiet evening. You were sitting on the couch, curled up with a book in hand and a cup of tea resting beside you, the hum of the city filtering in from the window. You had made peace with Jason's death years ago—taught yourself to move forward, or at least to pretend. The world had kept turning, and so had you.
Your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. It was from Dick.
[1 New Message from Dick]: We need to talk. I’m coming over.
Your heart dropped. You’d known Dick long enough to recognize when something was wrong. His texts were almost always direct or lighthearted, but this—this was different. The sudden dread sinking into your stomach left you feeling nauseous, your pulse quickening.
[You]: What’s going on?
No reply came immediately, making the sick feeling grow. The silence was worse than the text itself. Something was wrong. Your thoughts spun in circles, dread clouding your mind.
The last time you felt like this was when Jason—
There was a knock at the door. You hesitated before opening it, half-expecting the worst.
Dick stood in the doorway, looking disheveled. His eyes were wide, a mix of exhaustion and something darker etched into his features. His foot scuffed the carpet as he stepped inside, pacing immediately, his socks leaving smudges behind on your rug.
You bit your lip, unsure of how to address the storm brewing within him, but you couldn’t find the heart to scold him. He looked too rattled.
"Take a breath, Dickie. Whatever it is, you can tell me." You said softly, trying to soothe him as he walked back and forth.
It wasn’t until a few minutes of pacing that he stopped, shoulders hunched and face tense. He finally turned to you, locking eyes as if bracing himself, "Jason’s alive."
Your breath caught in your throat, but you didn’t let the shock show. You stayed eerily calm. You had learned long ago how to keep your composure, especially with Dick, who was always more emotional in moments like this.
"Sit down. Let me make us some tea. You can stay here tonight." You stood, walking to the kitchen, trying to create a sense of normalcy, "We’ll talk about this in the morning, okay? Everything will make sense once you get some rest."
Dick stared at you, disbelief clear in his eyes, "What? That's your response?"
You kept your back turned to him, calmly preparing the kettle. "Honey," You called back, voice low and steady, "this isn’t the first time you’ve said you’ve seen Jason. Remember?" You turned to face him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. You couldn’t help it; this wasn’t the first time Dick had experienced hallucinations. When Jason died, Dick’s grief had twisted his mind in ways you knew all too well.
"No, (Y/N), I’m being serious. This is real," Dick said, his voice firm, steady.
You rubbed his shoulder gently, trying to soothe him, though you could feel the tension in his body. "I’m sure it feels that way," you replied, not fully buying into what he was saying. You had seen him go through so much grief, and the idea of Jason being alive, after everything that had happened, felt like an impossible fantasy.
"No, (Y/N), I’m serious. We can dig up his grave right now. He’s alive, and he’s here." Dick continued, his tone unwavering. He was no longer the conflicted man you had known during the years of Jason’s death. This wasn’t a joke or another hallucination. Dick was calm, composed, and absolutely certain of what he was saying.
You frowned, the disbelief still hanging in the air, "That isn’t funny, Dick."
He sighed, "You're right, I'm sorry but Jason really is back. I’ve seen him. He’s part of the family again. We’ve all met him, and he’s doing okay. I know it sounds crazy, but he’s here. And he’s with us."
The words hung in the air, your mind racing to catch up with the gravity of what Dick was saying.
“How—how is that even possible?” You asked, your voice trembling slightly as your mind struggled to make sense of the words.
“It’s a long story,” Dick replied with a quiet sigh. He looked at you seriously, “Listen, I just wanted to let you know this way because I care about you. He asked about you recently, so I figured it would be a good time to let you know.”
You frowned, trying to absorb the flood of emotions and information that seemed to hit you all at once, “How long have you known?”
“A couple of months,” Dick said, his tone more subdued now, “He wasn’t too happy with us when he first came back... not when he found out the Joker was still alive.”
Your stomach tightened, a knot of unease twisting in your gut. You had seen firsthand the kind of damage the Joker and the events surrounding Jason’s death had done to the family. You could never forget the way it had all shattered Dick, how broken he was in the aftermath.
"But we've made amends in the past month. He’s back where he belongs."
You nodded slowly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you, “And you're for sure not hallucinating this?"
Dick gave you a sharp look, “I can’t blame you for wondering, but no. This is real. You can meet him, if you want.”
Your throat tightened. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to see Jason. But the overwhelming weight of everything—the shock, the grief that you had buried long ago, and the strange sense of unfamiliarity now attached to his return—left you struggling for words. Was he still the same person you knew? “I do want to… I just… I need some time. I think I need to wrap my head around this. It’s not every day that you find out someone came back to life.”
Truthfully, Jason’s death hadn’t affected your daily life as much as you expected. After moving for college, you didn’t see him much, and the memories of him didn’t cross your mind as often as they once had. Yes, in the months following his death, you’d had to take care of Dick—making sure he wasn’t running himself into the ground—but that had always been your role as his best friend.
But there was something about Jason that left a lingering hole in your life. Something unexpected. Jason had been such a bright, sweet soul—too young, too full of life. You'd imagined your future in Gotham, with your parents, and your best friend, and in that little corner, Jason’s glowing face would always be there. You couldn't picture him growing taller than you, still that fresh-faced sweet boy from the Narrows. Always there.
And then he wasn’t. And that absence—it left a space you hadn’t expected to feel.
The loss had settled in quietly, like a low hum beneath everything you did. There were nights where it kept you awake, wondering how scared he must have been in his final moments, wondering if he had known he was being taken from this world far too soon. The fact that he was gone had been a sharp, permanent reality, one you had learned to live with—but now, knowing that he was back... it was almost too much to take in.
Dick nodded, his expression softening, “I know. It’s a lot. But he’s here, and he’s trying to make things right. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
***
A lot had changed.
The last time you saw him, he was shorter than you, all sharp edges and boyish energy, always talking too fast and trying to keep up with Dick. Now he was taller, broader, a man where a boy used to be. The once roundness of his face had sharpened into defined angles, his voice deeper than you remembered.
And his eyes—God, his eyes.
There was something older in them now, something jaded and unspoken. You had heard the stories, whispered half-truths that nobody wanted to confirm. You had no idea how much of it was real, but the Jason Todd standing in front of you was not the same boy you remembered.
Still, none of that stopped you from grinning as you stepped forward.
"Jaybird!"
His breath hitched.
You didn’t notice.
You threw your arms around his neck, the way you used to when he was a kid, laughing as you pulled him into a tight hug. You didn't know whether he hugged you back, you couldn't really feel it, only feeling pins and needles run down the length of your body.
You didn’t really care if he hugged you back. All you felt was awe and bewilderment, and underneath it all, sheer and utter joy at the fact that he was here.
"Damn," You laughed, pulling away just enough to hold him at arm’s length, "When did you get so tall? And jacked? Holy crap, Jay, you could bench press me."
Jason let out something between a scoff and a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, "Maybe I should, just to prove a point."
"Please don’t. That’s so undignified." You poked at his bicep, grinning but there was a mist to your eyes that neither of you were going to address, a red tint to the tip of your nose, "My scrawny little brother, all grown up and scary-looking."
His smile twitched. Something flickered in his expression—too quick for you to catch—before he shook his head, rolling his eyes, "You’re impossible."
"As always," You smirked, nudging his ribs playfully before stepping back, "It’s so good to see you, Jason. I mean it."
You didn’t notice the way he swallowed hard. Didn’t see the way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to pull you back before you got too far away.
Instead, you shot him a bright smile, completely oblivious to the way his heart ached.
You still saw him as that kid trailing after Dick. The reckless, stubborn little brother. Ten years, and he was still trailing after you like a lost puppy. Still, longing for your attention.
Jason clenched his jaw, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he exhaled slowly.
"Yeah," he muttered, voice softer now. "Good to see you too, (Y/N)."
***
Even though you should have been the one to notice the big, burly man stepping into the dainty little coffee shop, you didn’t.
Jason did.
He spotted you first—tucked away in the corner, bathed in golden sunlight as you read, a delicate hand curled around a warm cup of tea. You looked so peaceful, completely unaware of him. Maybe you had caught a glimpse of him in your peripheral, but it hadn’t registered. After all, it hadn’t been that long since you’d seen him again.
He almost hesitated.
He almost continued his visit like he hadn’t even noticed you, but despite everything he’d been through—despite the fact that he was a grown man now—he still found himself feeling like his teenage self, craving your attention whenever you were in the room.
"(Y/N)?"
Your head snapped up, eyes darting around to locate the voice—until they landed on him.
The way your expression changed made his heart stutter.
First, confusion. Then, slow realization. And finally—joy.
A sunny grin broke across your face before you could stop it. Without a second thought, you launched yourself at him, tackling him in a hug that had nearby patrons stepping aside awkwardly.
"Jason!"
He stumbled back a few steps, caught entirely off guard. His arms hovered uncertainly over your waist, but before he could settle them on your hips, you pulled away just as quickly—smoothing out his jacket as if brushing off imaginary dust before cupping his face, taking in his utterly bewildered expression.
That same expression that his younger self shared. It made your heart swell.
You were like a hurricane blowing through him.
He knew you were extroverted and energetic—he had seen it in your expressions and interactions with his brother while growing up. But this was the first time your affection had ever been directed at him.
"Sorry! Haha! I'm still not used to seeing you alive and all—guess I got too excited!" You laughed, a little breathless, your thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones, "How are you? Do you wanna sit down and catch up?"
Jason blinked, something unreadable flickering across his face before the corner of his mouth twitched up.
"Yeah," he said, voice softer than you expected, "Yeah, I’d like that."
And before he knew it, he was in the eye of the storm, caught in the calm, in you.
***
Jason leaned against his motorcycle, arms crossed, watching the entrance of your workplace with a kind of nervous energy he hadn’t felt in years. He had sent the invite on a whim—just a casual “Hey, it’s been a while. Wanna grab a coffee?”—but now that he was actually here, waiting, he was starting to regret it.
The automatic doors of the laboratory building slid open, and there you were, stepping out onto the sidewalk, scanning the street.
Jason felt like he’d been punched in the chest.
He swallowed hard.
“Jaybird,” You greeted, pulling him into a tight hug, “Been a while.”
Jason let himself sink into it for half a second before forcing himself to let go, “Yeah, well. You’re hard to pin down these days.”
You rolled your eyes, “Oh, please. You’re the one always disappearing. You’re worse than Dick.”
Jason smirked, “Low blow.”
You looped an arm around his, tugging him toward the sidewalk, “C’mon, walk with me. I wanna hear what you’ve been up to.”
He let himself be pulled along, shaking his head, “What I’ve been up to? You’re the one always buried in the lab.”
You groaned, “Don’t remind me. I swear, one of these days, I’m just gonna quit and run away to a beach somewhere.”
Jason laughed, nudging your shoulder, “Yeah? You’d last, what, a week before you got bored?”
You pouted, “Okay, rude. But true.”
He watched you talk, listened to you ramble about work, about a bad coffee you’d had the other day, about a stray cat that kept showing up outside your apartment. He nodded in the right places, chimed in with sarcastic comments, but mostly, he just took in the way you looked at him.
The way you looked at him like nothing had changed.
Like he was still the same Jason you’d always known.
Like you had no idea how much he wasn’t.
You sighed, bumping into his side, “I missed you, y’know?”
His heart fluttered, a jolt of electricity running through it in a way that made him feel giddy, “You did?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s so great that we can just pick up where we left off, no awkwardness or anything. I guess that’s the good thing about family, huh?”
He froze for a fraction of a second at the word family. It took everything in him not to flinch. He forced a smile, trying to keep his cool.
“Yeah... I guess that’s the good thing, huh?” He pushed the words out, though they tasted bitter on his tongue.
You glanced up at him, offering a grin that made his heart ache. “Exactly.” You said, as if that word was enough to sum up everything. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Just family.
Jason walked beside you, his hands in his jacket pockets, fingers curling into fists. The sharp edge of his feelings threatened to spill over, but he kept them at bay. He wasn’t going to ruin this. Not when he finally had a chance to talk to you again after so long.
You kept chatting, unaware of the quiet storm brewing inside him. You told him about a new research project you were working on and your latest failed attempt at cooking. His responses were automatic—smiles, laughs, and the occasional comment—but his mind was elsewhere, caught in the web of thoughts he couldn’t untangle.
It was so easy for you to slip back into the role of the confident, carefree person you always were around him. And here he was, still stuck in the same old cycle of longing. Family. That was all he would ever be to you. Just family.
But what if it wasn’t enough anymore?
As you continued to walk, your voice light and carefree, Jason couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever get the courage to tell you how he felt. Would it even change anything? Or would it ruin everything, forever locking him into the “family” role he had never wanted to begin with?
You bumped into him again, snapping him out of his thoughts, “Hey, Jay, I’ve been thinking—I do these little arcade runs with Timmy and Dami once a month, you know, like a brotherly-sisterly bonding activity.”
Jason’s chest tightened. He knew. You, Dick, and he used to do that all the time ten years ago. It left a bittersweet feeling in his chest.
“You should join us sometime. You know, like old times.”
He smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds great.”
***
When Jason saw the amber-orange glow of the building from afar, his heart dropped. Without hesitation, he signaled the remaining members of the Bat Family before sprinting toward it. He didn’t like the path he was taking. He didn’t like where it was leading.
It almost seemed like he was heading toward—
No.
Jason came face to face with the burning S.T.A.R. Labs building.
Even through his fireproof armor, he could feel the searing heat radiating from the inferno. He watched as waves of people poured out, coughing, screaming, their faces twisted in pain and panic. His eyes scanned over them, searching.
None of them were you.
Without a second thought, he moved toward the building.
His comms buzzed to life.
"Red Hood, do not engage! You don’t have a plan!" Batman’s voice was firm, commanding.
"(Y/N) is in there!" Jason snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then, he braved the flames.
He pushed through the burning hallways, doing whatever he could to help those in his path—clearing exits, carrying the wounded—until he reached the deeper levels of the lab. His lungs burned with the smoke, but he kept moving.
And then he heard it.
A bloodcurdling shriek.
Your shriek.
Jason sprinted toward the sound, shoving open what remained of your office door. The sight that greeted him made his stomach lurch—
You were trapped beneath a flaming bookshelf.
Soot covered your skin, your body trembling as you fought to free yourself. Your clothes were scorched, and judging by the way you were barely moving, you had sustained multiple burns. Panic filled your eyes.
Jason didn’t hesitate.
He threw the bookshelf off you, scooping you into his arms and holding you close as he ran out. You couldn’t think straight. The blinding pain in your shoulder overtook every other thought.
"You're gonna be okay. I'm gonna reset your shoulder." Jason murmured. The deep baritone of his gravelly voice had your panic subsiding by a fraction. He didn't sound worried, which meant you were going to be fine. Probably.
"Are you sure you know how to do that?" You really shouldn't have to ask that. Jason would never suggest it if he thought he might do more harm than good. You trusted him.
"Yeah, I've got you, baby. Trust me."
You inhaled sharply, pressing your bloody forehead to his and screwing your eyes shut. Jason watched as a fresh wave of tears poured down your cheeks and his stomach hollowed out at the sight of you in pain. You were trembling, chest shaking as you tried to contain your sobs.
"I do."
He rubbed a hand up and down your waist, trying to comfort you briefly before he grabbed your injured arm with both his hands. You took a shaky breath, trying to stifle another sob.
“You might want to hold onto something, doll—holy sh—!”
He was rudely cut off as your free hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, keeping his forehead pressed against yours—your only source of comfort.
In hindsight, you weren’t sure what logic had driven you to grab his hair. Perhaps you wanted him to feel as much pain as you were in—or as much pain as you knew he was about to put you through. Or maybe you just wanted to anchor him to you, to keep him close so you could draw comfort from his presence.
"Ready?"
You weren’t ready—but you sniffled and nodded anyway, hearing him count down from three. The next thing you heard was a crack, followed by the sound of your own scream as you clung to Jason’s hair, gripping so tightly you were afraid you’d tear out those perfect strands.
Jason pressed gentle kisses to the side of your head as you sobbed, his voice low and soothing. He told you how proud he was, that it was all over now, as he worked quickly to tie a tourniquet.
When everything was done, you collapsed against his chest, going limp in his arms as he carried you out of the building. You were handed off to a paramedic and gently placed on a gurney.
With bleary eyes, you watched him run back into the building, your consciousness slipping away before you could call out to stop him.
***
The steady beeping of the monitors was the first thing you heard when you groggily blinked awake. The second thing was the sound of someone muttering under their breath, followed by the unmistakable rustling of fabric.
You turned your head—slowly, because everything hurt—and found Jason slumped in the chair beside your bed, arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed. His jacket was draped over the armrest, his boots scuffed, the soles stained with char.
“Hey, doll.” Jason greeted, his voice softer than usual.
You gave him a sleepy smile, “Hey, hero.”
He looked… tired. The kind of tired that wasn’t just from lack of sleep, but from worry. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d been running his hands through it all night. His jacket still smelled faintly of smoke.
“How long have you been here?” You asked.
Jason shrugged, leaning forward so his forearms rested on the bedrail, "Not long." But you both knew he was lying.
Your heart clenched, warmth curling in your chest, “You didn’t have to stay.”
Jason’s gaze flicked to yours, unreadable for a moment, “Yeah, I did.”
Your breath caught slightly. He didn’t elaborate—he didn’t need to.
You swallowed, looking down at where your hand rested against the blanket. You hesitated, then shifted it slightly, palm up, an invitation. Jason hesitated too, just for a second, before lacing his fingers with yours.
His grip was warm, steady. He didn’t squeeze too tight, mindful of your injuries, but he didn’t let go, either.
There was something unspoken between the two of you, something different now. Neither of you could quite place it—maybe it was the quiet familiarity of being here together, or maybe it was the way his hand fit into yours, a little more firmly than before. But you both knew something had shifted. It hung in the air, thick and heavy, but neither of you dared to speak of it.
“You scared the hell outta me,” He admitted, voice rougher now, quieter.
“I’m okay.” You squeezed his hand, reassuring, “Thanks to you.”
Jason scoffed, but there was no bite to it, “Yeah, no thanks to your dumbass trying to save your research instead of yourself. Next time, leave the dangerous work to the big boys?”
You rolled your eyes, clearing your throat, “Next time, try not making me scream so hard when you reset my shoulder. I think I burst a blood vessel.”
Jason smirked, rubbing his thumb absently over your knuckles, “I can make you scream plenty other ways, baby.”
Your scoffed at this, rolling your eyes but choosing not to respond. Stupid bastard, pretending like he was all suave when you both knew underneath it all, Jason Todd was an unapologetic romantic.
You let your fingers tighten around his, anchoring yourself to the warmth of him.
Jason squeezed back, like he understood.
“Get some rest." He murmured, shifting slightly so his arm rested on the mattress, keeping your hands tangled together, “I’ll be here.”
You sighed softly, your body finally relaxing, “Promise?”
Jason leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your hand, “Promise.”
***
Jason climbed through your window with practiced ease and you didn't even flinch as he let himself in, still in his Red Hood get-up. This wasn't the first time he was doing this, nor would it be his last. It had been this way ever since you had been escorted back by him from the hospital.
Jason checked up on you almost every day, making sure you were dressing your burns properly, even redressing the ones on your back. On those nights, when you felt incredibly vulnerable, you knew there was no one you’d feel safer with than Jason.
You merely glanced at him from your spot behind the counter, continuing to slice the cucumber using the mandolin.
The fearsome Red Hood found his way into your kitchen, nudging you out of the way and washing his hands. He ignored your protests, grabbing the mandolin from you and snatching the cucumber, "This thing's sharp."
You rolled your eyes, "I was being careful."
He didn't even take off his domino, only tossing his helmet onto your couch in his rush to help you, "I didn't think you knew how."
You scoffed at this, lightly slapping his shoulder even though you were well aware that you could've put more strength into it and he still would've felt nothing, "Go shower while I heat up dinner you loser."
He laughed, stepping aside and letting you grab the freshly sliced cucumber so you could add the spices to make cucumber salad. He pecked your temple, grabbing the towel you had left warming for him in the dryer before stepping into the shower and washing the grime of Gotham away.
When he emerged from the shower, dressed in the sweats he had left there, you caught a glimpse of his bare chest. Letting out a flustered laugh, you quickly averted your gaze.
“Oh my god, put on a shirt!”
Jason just cackled, completely unbothered, as he rummaged through your dresser drawer. He disappeared for a moment, only to reappear in the kitchen after tossing his wet towel in the washer.
This time, when you looked at him, the laugh that escaped was less flustered and more outright incredulous.
“What on earth are you wearing?”
A baby tee on you was cute—it rode up just enough to show a teasing sliver of skin, something that Jason always found distracting. But on him? It was absolutely ridiculous.
The fabric strained around his biceps like it was fighting for its life, and you were genuinely concerned that if he flexed even a little, the sleeves would burst apart. The hem barely covered his pecs, leaving his abs completely on display. And across his chest, in bold letters, were the words:
“I’m sorry I have great tits.”
You covered your mouth, shaking with laughter, "Of all the shirts I have."
“And? Is it wrong to own my truth?”
You groaned, throwing a dish towel at his face while still giggling, “Take it off.”
“Make me.”
***
When Jason woke up to the sound of you bustling around his apartment, he sat up in bed, hair mussed, and found you rifling through his closet. You held up a formal button-up shirt, tapping your chin in consideration.
He watched you, still groggy, taking in your figure dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts. You’d stopped by after dinner last night and ended up crashing on his couch, not even stirring when he carried you to bed.
Jason glanced at the clock, “Don’t you— I don’t know— have a job to get to?”
You spared him a glance over your shoulder, “Oh, you’re awake. I figured instead of going all the way back to my place, I’d just borrow something of yours and wear the same jeans from yesterday. I’m in the lab today anyway, so it doesn’t really matter what I have on underneath.”
He hummed, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.
“Left breakfast for you in the microwave, by the way.”
Stepping behind you, he pressed a quick, absentminded kiss to your temple before heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
When he emerged, you had swapped the button-up for one of his t-shirts, knotting it in the middle so it wouldn’t look so oversized. He smirked at the sight of you checking yourself out in the mirror, tugging at the hem, making sure it didn’t look odd.
“Looks better on you anyway.” He murmured, leaning against the doorframe.
You rolled your eyes but grinned at him through the mirror, “Yeah, yeah. I bet you say that to all the girls stealing your clothes.”
Jason scoffed, stepping closer, “Oh yeah, all the girls. My closet’s just a free-for-all at this point.”
You laughed, swatting at his chest as he loomed behind you. He caught your wrist with ease, fingers curling lightly around it, his touch warm and familiar.
You pouted up at him, flashing your best pleading puppy-dog eyes. He raised an amused brow.
“Give me a ride to work?”
Jason huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at you, “You’re really pushing your luck, you know that?”
You grinned, tilting your head slightly, “Come on, Jay. I’ll even let you pick the music.”
He narrowed his eyes, “You always let me pick the music.”
“Yeah, but this time, I won’t complain about your broody, ‘I’m a tortured soul’ playlists.”
Jason scoffed, releasing your wrist only to flick your forehead lightly, “First of all, my playlists are not broody—”
“They absolutely are.” You interrupted, smirking.
He ignored you, “Second, you know I’d drive you anyway. You don’t have to beg.”
You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart, “So you like driving me around? I knew it. You’re secretly my personal chauffeur.”
Jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at his lips, “Yeah, yeah. Go make me a cup of coffee so I don't fall asleep at the wheel while dropping your lazy ass off.”
You saluted him playfully before bouncing toward the kitchen. Jason lingered for a moment, watching you move around his space so effortlessly, so comfortably. It was dangerous, the way you fit into his life so easily. But even as he tried to shake off the thought, he was already reaching for his keys, knowing damn well he’d drive you anywhere you asked.
***
You shut the door to your apartment only after the elevator doors finally closed, ensuring your friend had left. The lights in your home remained off, and darkness enveloped you as you carefully navigated the room, kicking off your heels.
"Who was that?"
You nearly jumped out of your skin, giving yourself whiplash when you swung around to face the intruder in your apartment—only to sigh in relief when you were met by the familiar hunk of a silhouette.
"You scared the hell out of me, Jason." You grumbled, now having to turn on the lights so you could look for where you had dropped your keys in shock.
"Who was that?" He repeated and this time you picked up on something in his tone. Less inquisitive and more interrogative. You arched a brow at him, dumping the keys into the bowl by the door and placing your handbag onto the kitchen island.
"What's with the attitude?"
Even though you continued to bustle about the apartment, you couldn't help but steal glances of his unmoving figure on the couch. He was never like this, he usually helped you out of your coat, ran the shower, something.
His indifference was making you antsy.
"Damian said he saw you out on a date."
That had you stopping midway of unloading your dishwasher, your reflection in the freshly clean dishes staring back at you with an expression of befuddlement.
'Damian saw me on a date? Me? On a date? When? Where? With who?!'
"What are you even talking about, Jason?" You scoffed, slightly off-put by this sudden turn in behavior. You hadn't been on a date since prehistoric times, it felt like. Jason felt the need to break into your apartment (not technically breaking in considering he had a key), sit in the dark and interrogate you in your own home all because of some baseless accusation that Damian of all people made.
"He said he saw you talking it up with some man at town square today and that you got into his car."
Jason finally stood up, walking over to where you stood in the kitchen and your eyes raked over his figure multiple times. Something about this was just wrong; his stiff posture, the frown on his face, the hard eyes.
"I was attending a conference happening there with a co-worker—we drove up there together."
Jason’s eyes scanned your face, and a flicker of offense sparked in your chest. Did he think you were lying? And even if you were—what business was it of his?
"A co-worker, huh?" He said, his voice tight and laced with something sharp, "How come this is the first I'm hearing of this? Lord knows you'd usually beg me to drive you there."
You frowned, "What is up with you? Why does it matter? You're behaving like a jealous boyfriend, and last I checked, we weren't dating."
That was clearly not the right thing to say, judging by the way Jason’s face stoned over—expression cold and unreadable, yet barely concealing the red-hot fury simmering just beneath the surface.
"Excuse me?" He seethed, stepping closer to you. If it had been anyone else, you would've taken a step back. But this was Jason, and you didn't feel any discomfort when he stepped into your bubble.
"You call me when you're down and need someone to talk to. We literally spend every night together to the point I have a drawer in my dresser for your clothes! (Y/N), you've held me on nights when I can't sleep!" He cried, voice tight with frustration, "If that isn't dating, then what the fuck is this? What the fuck are we?"
He stepped closer, crowding into your space until your back hit the refrigerator with a soft thud. His palms pressed flat against the wall on either side of you, caging you in.
"(Y/N)..." He whispered, leaning in closer. He smelled of artificial ocean in a bottle and sharp menthol, a mix that shouldn’t have been so intoxicating. Heat radiated off him, and suddenly, you felt far too warm.
You were so close to throwing away all your inhibitions until that one feeling—heavy and unshakable—anchored your stomach, dragging you back down.
"Stop."
He did.
You felt him sigh against your lips, a hair away from actually meeting his. He shook his head, "I should've known."
He didn’t look at you once, just left his key on the counter and shut the door behind him. Your back remained pinned to the fridge as the sound of his footsteps faded down the hallway, each one echoing in time with your pounding heart.
'Go after him. Stop him. Do something.'
And yet, your feet stayed rooted in place.
***
The next time you imagined seeing Jason, it would be at a family event neither of you could find a way out of. You’d steal a longing glance when his back was turned, spending the rest of the night waiting, hoping, that he'd return your gaze.
You never imagined that the next time you’d see him—talk to him—would be in the back alley behind a noisy club. You hadn’t meant for this to happen—really, you hadn’t.
You’d just gotten off a particularly rough shift, and even though all you wanted was to crawl into the quiet of your room and call Jason just to hear his voice, instead, a coworker had convinced you to blow off some steam and grab a drink.
You hadn't expected to see Jason there—especially not with another girl.
“When I said stop, I didn’t mean stop forever and get over me!” You cried out, frustration and overwhelming emotion cracking through your voice. Seeing him with Artemis had unleashed an arsenal of feelings you couldn’t even begin to sort through, and before you knew it, you were picking a fight with him—desperate for his attention to be back on you instead of her.
You were envious of her strong build and long, lustrous hair. You were angry with yourself for resenting her, even though she’d done absolutely nothing wrong. You were hurt because it looked like Jason was having a good time. And most of all, you were confused—why did it upset you so much?
“Would you rather I stay as your little plaything forever? Stringing me along just enough to keep me loving you, hoping for more, only to push me away with some bullshit excuse?”
His face darkened, and your stomach hollowed out. Jason had been frustrated with you many times before; you’d argued until he was red in the face. But he’d never looked at you like this—like he hated you.
You bit your lip, the fight seeping out of you. Because at the end of the day… he was right, wasn’t he? You had been playing with him—stringing him along, showing him glimpses of the most intimate corners of your life, but still expecting him to magically know where you’d drawn the invisible lines of unspoken boundaries.
His jaw hardened, and you dropped your gaze. Jason didn’t deserve this. Inside the club was a beautiful, strong woman who he had every right to show interest in. And you had no right to be upset about it.
“You’re right, Jason. I—I’m sorry for ruining your date. You should get back in there before she thinks you stood her up.”
With your hands pressed to your chest to stop yourself from reaching out for him, you sidestepped his domineering presence and turned to walk away.
“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s it?”
You froze. Turning back, you found him ruffling his hair in frustration, annoyance radiating off him in waves as he stalked closer, stopping just a couple of feet away.
“You don’t get to fucking do that! You don’t get to tell me to stop, then get mad at me for actually doing what you asked. You don’t get to make a scene and not even tell me why!”
That was it.
You closed the distance between you two, clutching the collar of his jacket with trembling fists and yanking him down to you, slanting your lips against his in a rough, desperate kiss.
“That’s why,” You whispered, lowering yourself back onto your heels and letting go of his jacket as you turned to leave—
“Oh no, you’re not.”
Jason’s arm coiled around your hips, pulling you back against him as he crushed his lips to yours once more. You sighed against him, your fingers twisting into his hair, your other hand slipping under his jacket, fisting the fabric of his shirt.
It was everything you had spent months pretending you didn’t want.
And you couldn’t stop.
***
Bonus:
"Hi, honey." You said, voice sweet and saccharine, as you entered the dining room of the manor.
"Hi, pookie." Dick replied, not looking up from his phone, lounging on the couch.
There was a pause, followed by an exaggerated noise of disgust from you, "I could not have been more clearly speaking to my boyfriend." You teased, your tone playful but pointed.
This time, Dick looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow. His expression shifted from confusion to realization as he saw you standing with your hands wrapped around Jason's neck, very clearly leaning in for a kiss to greet him instead.
"Oh, for god's sake." Dick groaned, rolling his eyes, "Ugh, you both are disgusting. You know I used to be her honey?"
Jason raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, "Get used to it, geezer," he quipped, draping an arm around your shoulder and pecking your temple, "She likes younger men."
***
Forever Taglist:
@simonsbluee
@notslaybabes
@superheroesaremyjam113263
@writers-whirlwind
DC Taglist:
@tchatso
@p--e--a--c--h--e--s
@sometimeseverythingsucks
@sokkas-honour
@unstable1902
@lostgirlheart
@missdisapear
@tadpole-san
@isawachickeninatree
@uxavity
@battlenix
@capricorn-stark
@evermoore580
@dumbbitchgalore
@fuckingjinkies
@some-lovely-day
@that-one-fangirl69
@el-hrts
Requested tags:
@theendofthematerialgworl
@itzmeme
@catharticdesire
@joonunivrs
@mercuryathens
More Posts from Guessyourenottheone and Others
🍉 fics for gaza
while @ficsforgaza is focused on animanga and video games fandoms, it's inspired me to do something similar to help raise funds for palestine ! click here to learn more about this amazing initiative (how to participate, creator masterlist, etc.)
other ways to support palestine:
boycott companies complicit in israeli apartheid
click this website daily; generated ad revenue is donated to palestinian causes
follow palestinian journalists like bisan owda, plestia alaqad, and hind khoudary; al jazeera is a news outlet that reports on what's happening, without an western bias
learn more about the history of palestine (some resources are the palestine academy and decolonize palestine)
check out this post (updated regularly) for donation links and petitions to sign
how does it work?
🍉 choose a WIP you want to support or/and send me an ask with an idea you would like me to write !
🍉 make a donation !
@/ficsforgaza has a list of fundraisers and charities to choose from;
gaza funds picks a random vetted gofundme each time you click the page;
other charities like palestinian children's relief fund or medical aid for palestine
🍉 send me a screenshot as proof of your donation; remember to cover any personal data !
🍉 you will be mentioned as a sponsor of the fic when i'll post it; if you wish to remain anonymous, please let me know beforehand !
🍉 my blog is 18+....minors DNI !
request a fic - $10 per request (recommended)
🍉 in exchange for your donation, i'll write you a short (1-3k words) one shot !
note: while i recommend $10 per request, i also recognize that everyone has different financial situations. if your donation is less (or more) than the recommended amount, i might still accept your request depending on if it is within my scope as a write. any donation helps!
🍉 i can write for these fandoms/characters:
percy jackson and the olympians: luke castellan, book!percy jackson (18+)
marvel: shuri udaku, michelle jones, peter parker (mcu or tasm), kate bishop, gwen stacy
miscellaneous: conrad fisher (the summer i turned pretty), any zendaya or ayo edebiri character (but no rpf!!)
🍉 i write pretty much any genre (fluff, angst, smut, etc.) and i'm open to any trope (friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, found family, secret relationship, college au, etc.), but please contact me with your idea before to make sure i can write it; you can send me a message or an ask !
🍉 if you aren't sure what to request, @nightprompts has this list of general dialogue starters i'm open to writing; remember to also lmk which character you are making the request for !
last updated: 31/5/24
if you give “stupid” characters rural/southern accents i don’t like you and if you give “smart” characters rural/southern accents but it’s a punchline i don’t like you even more
Careless Accidents
jason todd x fem!reader
aka you get hurt and jason’s pissed
warnings: reader’s wrist is accidentally sprained from being grabbed too hard
You could hear scuttling from somewhere else in the garden, an estate more than sizable enough than the game afoot.
You were under the distinct impression though that the bats and birds are playing with you similar to how they would a child. Slower, weaker, and less experienced than the big kids. You weren't complaining though. Because, frankly, it was stressful. They tend to operate more like they’re in a warzone than a game, you felt like you were about to be sniped out at any second.
Rightfully so, apparently, seeing how silently Stephanie had crept up on you.
“Hey,” Stephanie hissed, ignoring the way you jumped. “We’re doing alright for ourselves,” she said smugly.
“Yeah,” you’d nodded, like you agreed with her more than you probably did.
“Okay listen, I think the flag—” what flag? “—is by the fountain so, I think because there’s three of us and two of them, we should bait-and-switch.”
“We’re on teams?” you asked, no longer completely sure you know what you’re playing.
“We are now!” she smiled, starting to run. “I’ll bait!”
She stopped briefly in her tracks and turned back to you hissing, “Don’t trust Cass,” before scurrying away.
Rather than sit around and wait there for…something?...to happen, you jumped up darting in the opposite direction with little to no indication whether this is a good move.
What you didn’t see is Cass rapidly approaching from your rear.
What you also didn’t see was Dick crouched down in a row of shrubbery, which gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch your arm up and yank you down with him. You’d mewled a bit as your wrist made contact harshly with the grass, immediately buckling under you.
Cass was keen to your pain immediately, slowing her sprint to a stroll as she observed you.
“Are you okay?” she signs.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
The response was instinctual and you didn’t actually have time to register whether or not you were okay by the time you gave it.
You pushed up on your elbows, trying to figure out whether Dick is even on your team, but the way the others approached had you halting consideration. They’re savvy to the situation at a speed in which you can only attribute to their vigilantism, looking at you with concern.
“You good?” Tim asked, approaching languidly.
“That looked like it hurt,” Cass commented, crouching down next to you to see your wrist better.
Dick shook his head, “No, she’s okay.” He turned to you, prodding, “You’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m, um…” you winced, looking at your wrist. “It hurts a little.”
Cass examined it closely, tilting it gently to the side. “It might be sprained.”
Dick paled.
“No.”
Tim pointed a thumb back towards the manor, “We can get it wrapped upstairs.”
“No.”
You were only then able to clock the barely contained grin on Stephanie’s face, begging to break.
“Ooooh. He’s gonna kill you.”
Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.
“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—”
Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident.
“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.
You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”
Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done.
You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.
He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”
“Dick.”
He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes,
He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.
“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.
You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”
Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”
You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically.
Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.
“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”
Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”
Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”
A deadpan from Tim.
“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”
Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”
Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”
Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?”
“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.
“Oh my God.”
He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?
He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.
The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”
The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”
Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.”
Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”
Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”
Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.
“I can’t help you.”
Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.
Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”
“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”
Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”
Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”
Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom.
You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you.
“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.
“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.
He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you.
Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back.
You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”
“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”
He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you.
You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”
The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature.
He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.
“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”
You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”
He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.
He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”
You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.
Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt.
“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following.
“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”
He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”
He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”
You nod, happy to ease his mind.
You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.
You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.
You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.
He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.
“Fucking idiot—”
You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.
“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.
“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”
He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.
You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him.
He scoffs, “It better have been.”
You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”
“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”
You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”
“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly.
You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”
He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”
His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”
You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”
He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”
He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”
“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.
“Dick!”
The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.
He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes.
“Where is he?”
Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding.
Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.
He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”
“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”
But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.
He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.
There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail.
“Really? Really?” Jason shouts.
“It was an accident! It was a fucking—”
He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.
“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”
Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.
Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”
Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”
He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him.
Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”
Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”
“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option.
“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring.
Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to.
“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—”
Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”
“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”
Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”
“Yeah, of course I did!”
For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body.
The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.
It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more.
“Jason.”
Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption.
You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.
He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.
“I didn’t hit him.”
⭐️ your options are: (1) reblog fics or (2) be a little bitch ⭐️
Ollie Bearman speaking to Paul Mescal on media day - Austin, 2024
lucky strike / CL16
Summary: Charles x American!female!reader - F1 comes to Sin City and you unexpectedly run into a certain someone.
Warnings: gambling, alcohol, cussing, use of pet names (A LOT), flirting, one moment of implied jealousy
Requested?: Sort of! Thank you to everyone who voted for Charles in the poll!
Author's Note: Charles won out in the poll, so here you go, everybody! (Of course I HAD to use The Charles Vegas Podium Picture). Also, I listened to Lucky Strike by Maroon 5 while writing.
one in a million ; my lucky strike
Well, you thought the whole F1 thing was absolutely ridiculous. You couldn't care an ounce less about Formula 1, so you certainly weren't happy about all the complications of it coming to your city.
You would call yourself an all American girl, and you're proud of it. If any racing, NASCAR. Football is the sport with the brown ball you throw- NFL, not the white and black ball you kick. That's soccer. You have the greatest food, the greatest mix of cultures, the greatest weather. If you didn't know better, you'd say you have the greatest country, too.
You watched a Formula 1 race when you realized the whole Las Vegas Grand Prix thing was actual, and when you saw that (firstly) it was honestly pretty boring, and (secondly) the only American driver is basically the most sucky one, you decided it would be pretty hard to get into it.
You're a Vegas girl, and you're proud of it. You're actually from Los Angeles, California, but you moved to Vegas to chase your dreams and live the life you dreamed of a year ago with your boyfriend, and it was so worth it.
Now you identify yourself with Vegas even more than you do with the Los Angeles Rams, despite the fact that your boyfriend broke up with you seven months ago and left to go be a prodigal son in New York City.
You decided Vegas was perfect enough for your clever hand, and you'd continue to be a prodigal daughter right where you're at.
But now the Grand Prix is the newest thing, and you don't like it at all. All these people flooding in, like as if there's not already enough people. Just to watch some cars drive around in circles, closing up main roads? No, you're not into it.
Your girl friends all seem to think this is just the best thing, and you discuss it across the table with two of them. One says, "Honestly, the McLaren duo are the hottest."
"No way- Ferrari! Have you seen Charles Leclerc?" your other friend disagrees.
You snort in disbelief and say sarcastically, "How about neither? So you guys only care about this because the racers are hot? Give me a break."
"Well," one of your friends starts, crossing her arms across her chest, "They are hot. At first, I wasn't so sure, but, I mean, come on! Maybe we could get glimpses of them when they're in Vegas!"
"Or meet them!" your other friend pipes in.
You scoff. "Good luck with that. Aren't these guys self-focused millionaires with too much money for their own good? Probably all greedy idiots who hook up with every half-sexy girl who comes along. So if you're into that, sure, waste your time trying to meet some hot plutocrats, with the one percent chance you might get f*cked like crazy for a night before they forget about you and move back to their mansions across the world! F*ck, is race car driving even a real sport? It's f*cking driving cars. I could do that!"
Your friends don't really argue with you, because you're right. And clearly, they do only care about the hot racers, because you figure any real fan of the sport would argue with you.
Two days before the Strip is supposed to be closed up for the Grand Prix, you find yourself submerged in the vibrant energy of Wynn Las Vegas, the dazzling lights and sounds of the casino floor swirling around you. The scent of alcohol lingers in the air, a reminder of the drinks you've indulged in throughout the night.
You slip between two people to reach the roulette wheel, holding your newly bought chips, with money you've earned earlier in the night.
Bets are placed around the table over and over, as you earn more and more chips. You feel someone nudge your shoulder, and a cocky male voice comments next to you, "You're having a good night, huh?"
"Every night is a good night," you remark back, not even glancing up at the man talking with you. He seems to have some sort of accent that you can't place. Perhaps French?
Which means he's probably from Louisiana. Possibly Quebec.
Probably some rich idiot F1 fan who can afford to travel half way across the country for the Grand Prix.
You don't plan to even give him the light of day.
"Until it's not," he says as you watch the roulette wheel spin once more.
You smirk and feel his eyes on you as you collect more chips.
The game goes on, and you think he's gotten the message that you don't care to converse with him, because does shut up.
But now it's the last bet of the game. You take a sip from your glass and feel a stupid, risky streak in you.
Some idiot part of you that's drunk and wants to push her luck way too far.
You place a straight-up bet, all your chips on the number sixteen.
You can feel eyes on you, and the same man next to you from earlier says, "Are you stupid?"
You chuckle. "Possibly."
"You're going to lose all your-"
"No, I won't." You straighten your back, staring at the wheel. It's true, you've earned a lot of money throughout this game.
And honest, it is true that you're stupid.
But it's also true that for some reason, you're confident.
"So you're overconfident and risky? I like that," comments the guy next to you. "But you're going to lose all your money. All that good luck for nothing..."
"You'll see," you breathe, ignoring his little flirt. "It's going to land on sixteen."
"Sixteen, huh?" This man's hazel eyes sparkle, and something in you tells you that you've seen this guy's brown locks, bright dimples, and perfect stubble before.
You've seen him somewhere. Recently. Like some guy you could haven't been drunk with, but the memory is fuzzy.
But you weren't drunk with him.
Despite being sure you've seen this guy before, you're also sure you've never met him before, either.
"Yeah," you nod, looking away, staring as the roulette wheel begins spinning. "It's my lucky number."
You're not looking at him, but you can feel him grin next to you. "Your lucky number, huh? Just so happens, it's mine, too."
You snort, rolling your eyes. "Is that some lame attempt of a flirt?"
"No. It really is my lucky number." By his tone, you can tell that grin has downgraded to a smirk. "But if you'd like to see a lame attempt of a flirt, that's an option, too..." His voice lowers as you feel his arm snake around you, and his hand land on your waist.
You gently shove it off as the wheel begins to slow. You hold your breath, watching, this stupid French boy no longer even a fraction of your concerns. All focus is on your slight potential lucky strike.
And then the world stops as the wheel stops, too.
On sixteen.
And then it all comes flooding back. "Oh my God!" you squeal stupidly, covering your mouth as there's rounds of, "You've got to be kidding me," "No way," "It's impossible!" and "How lucky is this girl?"
You feel surges of shock and pride as you collect all your money. Once you've received it, after such luck, and earning a fortune, you decide you're going to have a drink. Or more than just one.
But when you turn, there's that guy again.
"What's up?" you ask, the grin on your face impossible to wipe off.
"How did you know it was going to stop on sixteen?" he questions, and he looks a little more handsome than he did before as this time he succeeds in taking your waist.
"Are you trying to pick my pocket?" you question warily, though, shoving his hand away.
"Not at all," he chuckles, "But you're a smart girl, aren't you? And I think I might be a lucky boy. Come on- I'll buy you a drink."
You snort. "No way, pretty boy! I can buy my own drink, after what just happened! How cocky are you?"
"Call me cocky, or call me rich, but either way, you're too sexy to have to pay for your own drink."
You scoff at this, but figure that you can't really let down an offer of free stuff. You'll be the first to admit you're greedy. Once of the biggest reasons why you gamble is because you want money- duh- and as much of it as you can get.
So soon, you're sitting at a table with this random guy, looking into his eyes, holding your drink in your hand. After barely a moment of hesitation, your curiosity finally gets to you, and you ask, "Who are you, anyway? I could have sworn I've seen you somewhere recently."
He gets a smug look on his face, which you don't like, before he says, "You really don't know?"
Your nose crinkles up in confusion, and for a second you feel ultra worried. Is this someone that I've met, that I should remember? Am I a terrible person for not knowing who this is...?
But then he says simply, "My first name is Charles. Charles Leclerc."
You stare at the taller individual, knowing you've heard that name, trying desperately to wrack your brain of it.
And then, suddenly, it hits you.
Loudly, in your head, in your friend's voice, in the exact tone she said it, 'No way- Ferrari! Have you seen Charles Leclerc?'
"Wait-!" you say in shock. You can see the satisfaction on the man's face, Charles, as you realize. "So, you're one of those F1 racers? Like, you race for the Ferrari team?"
He snorts and nods. "I'm surprised you didn't recognize me right away. Do you live here in Vegas?"
"Yeah," you say simply, taking a sip of your drink.
"So I take it you hate Formula 1, then? Because how else are you living in Vegas right now and don't know my name, or recognize my face?"
"You sound awfully prideful."
Suddenly, he smirks, and drags his finger across your jawline, pulling your face to look up at him in the process. "Maybe so. But clearly you're not so much better yourself, Miss Bet It All On Sixteen."
You cock an eyebrow at him and return his smirk with a challenging grin. "Sure, but I was right. I won what I wanted."
"Hmm... Well, what if I'm about to win what I want?"
"Oh, yeah? And what is it that you want?"
He leans in closer, so you can feel his hot breath tickle your ear as he utters simply, "You, baby."
You smirk. "We just met, buddy. I'm not that stupid."
"I think you're just playing hard to get."
"Or maybe it's just hard for you to get me," you counter.
"Well, I like your spunk. And your good luck. I think I might need a little bit more of that." He leans away a bit, and comments, "And I think I foresee a little bit more of luck in your future."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah," he smirks, leaning in closer. In barely any second, his lips meet yours, and though you know you should, there's no way you're pulling away now. He wraps his arm around you, urging you to lean into the kiss. You melt, letting him.
You don't know what it is.
But in this moment, you gently let your lips part, inviting his tongue to slip in between your lips, allowing yourself to, yes, make out with basically a stranger.
It wouldn't be the first time, but it also isn't something you do for fun whenever you feel.
When you finally force yourself to pull away, the first thing you breathe is, "How did you do that?"
He grins, and is clearly red in the face. But there's a look of shock on his face, too. As if his flirty cover was just confidence, and not because he gets tons of girls like this...?
Or maybe you're just reading too much into his expression.
Either way, he responds with, stroking your cheek, "No idea. Maybe I just have a way with you?"
You roll your eyes as you check your purse. No, he didn't pickpocket. He meant to kiss you. You stand up and say simply, "Well, I better get going n-"
"Sorry, what?" he suddenly snatches your arm back, pulling you back down to sit again with a surprised chuckle. "You just met a famous millionaire race car driver who bought you a drink after you won big money in roulette, let him make out with you, loved it, and now you're just going to casually walk off?"
You grin. "What? Do you think I was impressed by you? Think again, honey. Just because you drive cars fast and make ridiculous amounts of stupid money for it, and that you're insanely handsome- none of that means I'm any more impressed with you than I am with any other guys I meet on my night outs."
"Hm," he raises an eyebrow, and says, "What if you could get more from me, missy? Clearly, you're out for yourself and will do anything for a good deal. And you're f*cking sexy about it, too. So what if I had something else to offer you?"
You let yourself sit down at this, looking at him expectantly.
He smirks, clearly loving that he's 'won you over,' before saying simply, "Would like a free pass to the whole weekend, and a pass for the paddock?"
Your eyebrows scrunch together, and your eyes widen. "I- what?"
His smirk grows even bigger. "You heard me."
You inhale sharply, but cross your arms across your chest and come out sharply saying, "Unfortunately for you, I couldn't care less about Formula 1. In fact, I'm starting to dislike it a lot. But thanks for the offer."
His jaw drops, and his eyes practically pops out of his head, which gets a chuckle from you. For a moment, he's actually speechless, before he finally gets out, "Are you aware of the offer you just refused?"
You raise an eyebrow, not able to keep the cheeky grin off your face. "Probably not, but that's okay. Why, anyways, would you give a stranger such an opportunity in the first place? You probably have ulterior motives, and I think I can pretty much guess what they are, mister. You don't even know my name yet."
"Oh, God, you're right," he laughs, taking another sip of his drink. "Well, what's your name, princess?"
You roll your eyes, and tell him.
He grins. "It's been wonderful meeting you." He digs in the pocket of his light blue jeans, and pulls out a pen and a restaurant receipt. "I know you think you'll be able to forget me so easily, princess," he starts, scribbling something on the receipt, "but trust me- you'll be wanting this." He takes your hand and presses the receipt into it, before standing up just like that, and saying with a wave as he turns to walk off, "I'll talk to you later, angel."
You look down at the receipt to see a phone number scribbled on it in chicken scratch. But the numbers are clear. And though you walk out that night rolling your eyes at this Charles's boldness and cockiness, with an abundance of money you've earned that's a lot more worth the stupid grease-stained receipt, the moment you get back to your apartment, the first thing you intend to is putting that stupid number into your phone.
"This is stupid," you comment as you slide into the backseat, next to Charles.
He just rolls his eyes. "You won't be saying that by the end of this experience. Besides, you were the one who decided to text me, like I said you would. You were just playing hard to get."
You scoff. "Oh, shut up."
"You look lovely, by the way," he comments in a lower voice. "I like that skirt." You look down at yourself. You're wearing a matching crop top shirt and short skirt, your sunglasses holding your hair back away from your face, and brown sandals.
"Thanks," you snort, crossing your arms and looking out the window, turning your gaze away from the Monégasque driver. (Yes, you did, despite yourself, look him up last night, just to know who the heck this guy even is.)
(You also were sure to look up his salary.)
(Ridiculous.)
(But also intriguing.)
Soon enough, before you know it, you're walking alongside him, about to enter the 'paddock.'
Makes it sound like a bunch of horses racing.
But when you're there, surrounded by it, in the moment, you don't think rude comments like that.
You stop, taking in the high life atmosphere. The revving car noises, the lights of The Strip on the 'racetrack,' the crowds, the music, the richness, and the challenge.
Your breathing falters, and your heart beat quickens as your hand involuntarily finds Charles's wrist and grips it as you gasp, "It's... extraordinary."
You glance to Charles's face to see him softly grinning. His hand slips down to hold yours as he comments, "You seemed like the type of girl to love it."
Your smile widens. "I've been here so many times. On The Strip. But... it's not the same. How did they do it?"
He begins walking, pulling you along by your hand as you look around. "That's just Formula 1 for you. There's nothing in the world quite like it, Y/n."
He leads you by the hand toward the Ferrari garage. Once you're there, he says, "Want to meet my teammate, Carlos?"
"Don't know who Carlos is, but sure..." you say vaguely, taking in the large piece of machinery- the Formula 1 car- in front of you.
He chuckles. "You're f*cking adorable," he murmurs, before leading you away to see Carlos.
He's a well-built man with fluffy dark hair, tan skin, big brown cow eyes, and stubble. Pretty much looks like exactly how you'd imagine a Formula 1 driver to look.
He nods respectfully. "Hey, Charles," he says, and shakes your hand with a friendly wink. "This your new girlfriend?"
You look up to see Charles smirk. "Not yet."
One of Carlos's thick, dark eyebrows cocks up, and the suggestion of an amused smirk travels on his lips for a second. "Ah, I see."
"Charles!" you snap, your eyebrows scrunches together. "Not ever."
"Well, we'll see about that. So far, I've been the right one, now, princess, haven't I?"
"Pfft. I was right about sixteen, wasn't I?"
He rolls his eyes as Carlos says with a chuckle, "Well, it will sure be interesting to see how this plays out," before moving on with his life.
Charles takes the time to show you around, and halfway through the tour, you blurt suddenly, "So, this is all the Italian team and stuff. Isn't there an American team?"
"Hmmm," Charles snorts as his eyebrows travel farther up and he fights off a seemingly somewhat mocking smirk. "There is."
"Why don't you show me them? Don't they have an American driver? Like, Carlos is Italian, right? Isn't it protocol or somethin'? Anyway, isn't it called Williams, the American team, or something? Some guy named Logan something that's an American racer on there-"
At this, Charles can't seem to hold it together anymore, and doubles over laughing, essentially, at you.
"What?!" you demand indignantly.
"You really are clueless!"
"I-"
"Alright, alright, Y/n. Haas is the American team. They don't have an American driver- German and Danish. No, Carlos is not Italian; he's from Spain. Williams is British, and yes, Logan Sargeant races for Williams, and he is American. About the only thing you got right."
You roll your eyes with a shrug. "I told you I don't give a damn about this stupid sport."
"Whatever you say, Miss Starry Eyes."
So, first Charles takes you to Haas, where you learn, surprisingly, that not all the racers are young hotshots like Charles and Carlos at least seem to be. They're friendly enough there, but really don't care much to give you any of their time, so then Charles suggests to go to the Williams garage and see if there's Logan to bother. You agree to that, so soon, you're entering Williams.
As soon as you see Logan, you know he's the American. You can see it in his stance. You can see it in his golden blond slightly sweeped hair, gray blue eyes, and strong jawline. "That's Logan, isn't it?"
"How'd you know?"
You shrug, breaking off from Charles to Logan. "Hey! You're the only American 'round here?!" you ask with a friendly grin.
"Huh?" he asks, looking up, in the most United States of America way. "Oh, hi," he says in what you perceive as dumbly, with a friendly smile. Ah, that's more like it. None of these posh Monacan boys and hot Spanish men- this guy is just like home sweet home!
You can practically hear the eagles cawing over the Rocky Mountains!
"You're Logan Sargeant?"
He nods. "I am. And you are...?"
"Just some Vegas girl dragged here by Charles."
"Ah... so you know him?"
"Well, now, unfortunately, yes."
His eyebrows furrow, but he chuckles at the same time. Though this guy isn't nearly as handsome or charming as Charles, there's something about him you like a bit more-
Suddenly, a hand is on your waist, and hot breath says in your ear, "Got to be getting back to Ferrari now. Come on with me?"
You blush and nod. "Right, Charles."
You have no idea what to think of him.
"Podium?! Uh- is a podium good?!" you ask, eyes wide as Charles brings it home in second.
"Yeah, yeah, it's good!" some guy you don't know wearing red near you says.
"Oh- Alright, well- That's good, I suppose!" you respond a little manically.
As soon as Charles as the chance, he finds you. He still has champagne on his race suit and his face is glistening with sweat, and there's no way you can deny it- he's sexy. When he reaches you, he wraps his arms around you, and his stunning eyes seem to burn into you. He can't fight the grin off his face as he says lowly, "Get why my lucky number is sixteen, baby girl?"
"Ah, stop with that," you snap, your voice cracking. You don't know, but this seems- all this seems-
Way too important.
You reach up to touch the number sixteen on his hat, before taking it off his head and slipping it on your own, backwards, on impulse.
He grins. "You can keep it. Not like you'll need a keepsake. You won't forget me."
You bite your lip, giving a quick nod, still studying his handsome face. Your eyes linger on his light pink lips, which arch into a perfect cupid's bow, as you murmur absently, "You seem pretty confident about that, huh?"
"Of course I do. Looks like you might be my little good luck charm, hm? Can't be letting you run away from me, can I?"
"Hm. Well, we'll see about that."
"Still playing hard to get?"
"Not playing. I just am hard to get."
"Whatever you say, darling," he comments with a shrug, walking off.
The French accent is pretty sexy.
Your eyes flutter open, and the first thing you see are the big earnest eyes of Charles Leclerc, staring back into your eyes. "Morning sunsh-"
Your immediate reaction is to scream and promptly slap him across his pretty face.
He grunts as his hand flies to his cheek to cover it up, and he says, "Hey, hey, calm down!"
But your eyes scan the room. It's clearly a hotel room. There's only one bed: the one you and Charles are laying in right at this moment. You're wearing a large black T-shirt and big blue gym shorts very tightly tied to fit your waist. Charles is dressed in a grey hoodie and jeans with a white T-shirt underneath, his regular jewelry, and white sneakers. So clearly, he's already showered and gotten dressed. He smells like his rich cologne, and his hair is all washed and fluffy and clean. If you weren't in a slight panic right now, you'd have wondered if you could touch his hair and feel how soft it is.
But!
As you're about to gasp out questions, Charles sits up and gently sets his hand on top of yours. You become aware of the pounding in your head as you bite your lip nervously. Charles looks at you earnestly, and says calmly, "Hey, you don't have to worry. It's okay."
"What happened?" you exhale.
"Nothing," he soothes. "We went out. You got more drunk than any of us though you should. I didn't know where you lived, so I took you to my hotel room. Gave you clothes to change into, and we went to sleep. Nothing more."
You swallow an anxious lump in your throat. "How do I know I can trust you? Please, just be honest with me. I won't be mad. You didn't know any bet-"
"I didn't do anything. We didn't do anything. Okay?" he leans in closer, and reaches to cup your cheeks in his hands. "'Kay? Can you just trust me?"
You bite your lip, but slowly nod. "I suppose that's the only thing I can do."
Over six months later, you stand on the boat, staring out at the Mediterranean Sea, smelling the salty breeze in the air, feeling content, wearing a loose button down, light blue jean shorts with a brown belt, your slew of bracelets, white sneakers, and a headband holding back your hair.
Suddenly, Charles is up next to you. "Hey, princess." For months, you've had what you stubbornly call a 'situationship,' whilst Charles calls you his girlfriend.
Because you love Vegas more than you love Charles (or at least that's what you like to say), you refused to leave when Charles did. You like taking risks. Just not the 'travelling halfway across the world for a hot guy' kind of risks.
But you stayed in touch. Charles made sure of that.
Well, he meant it when he said he'd make sure you'll never forget him.
But then Formula 1 came back to the States, to Miami, and you knew you'd have to make the trip. The flirty comments and romantic tension thick enough to cut ensued as soon as you and Charles set eyes upon each other, like as if it hadn't been six months or so since you'd last seen each other last.
It just felt like-
Somehow fate is involved.
Well, when Charles invited you to the Monaco Grand Prix, that was an offer you felt you couldn't let down.
And, boy, was that the best descision of your life.
To see Charles win his home race like that, and to be there? Just thinking about it now gives you goosebumps. Charles had wrapped his arms around you after the race, his eyes a little damp, and you felt something more.
Like he really cared.
If you didn't know better, you'd say it was like he really loved.
Loved you.
But, no. Of course not. That can't be.
Can it?
Well, all night you partied. You were in on the fun. You also made sure to pay a visit to the Monte Carlo casino, as you obviously must.
You had amazing luck, once again.
On this thought, as you feel Charles approaching from behind you, you comment into the wind, "You know, I'm starting to think you're my lucky charm, honey."
He chuckles, coming up next to you. "Oh, yeah? That's what I said six months ago when I first met you, you know. I've been starting to think the same thing about you."
You snort. "Maybe so, Monaco race winner."
He smirks, and you can feel the pure joy radiating off him. He slips his hand into yours as he murmurs, "I was so lucky to meet you."
I smirk. "I am pretty awesome."
He rolls his eyes, but squeezes your hand. "So, do you like it here in Monaco?"
You nod vigorously. "Gosh, Charles, it's amazing."
"Better than Vegas?"
"Well- I don't know if anything is better than Vegas..."
He leans in closer and speaks lower. "Well, would Monaco be better if your good luck charm just so happens to reside here?"
"Hm..." you smirk, flushing a bit. "I'd have to think about that, prince."
"Yeah," he nod, his tone softer. "Why don't you."
There's some silence, as you watch the sun begin to set, reflecting off the sparkling water.
Charles leans even closer to you, his hands gliding around your waist, pulling you towards him. He leans down, gazing deeply into your eyes. Then that stupid flirty grin appears on his face again. "F*cking gorgeous you are, one in a million. I struck lucky with you. My lucky strike."
He closes the distance between you, his soft lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The heat of his body against yours sends shivers down your spine, igniting a spark between you as your tongues dance together in a sensual embrace. Connected.
Maybe it's not fate.
But it is most certainly luck.
And in this moment, with the lips of the winner of Monaco sucking on yours, you feel like the one who struck it lucky.
shot by jason nocito for homme girls
✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #373 )✅️
I hope you'll let me tell you a little bit about my home🇵🇸, Gaza🍉. It's a place where we're living through some very challenging times💔🥹. We're under attack from bombs, explosives, and warplanes, and we've had to endure many nights of sleeplessness. It's a difficult situation💔, but we're trying to stay positive🖤. This war has really taken a toll on us. It's destroyed our bodies, our lives, and our souls. It has been so sad to see our homes destroyed, our belongings taken from us, and our beautiful places ruined. It has also changed our situation for the worse. We were living a pretty good life, you know? Peaceful, loving, and full of life. But then, we found ourselves in a really tough spot. Hunger, fear, and terror have become our new normal. My kids and I, along with my extended family, are struggling to make ends meet. We don't have the basic necessities of life, and our living situation is pretty rough. We're in these old, falling-apart tents. It's so hard to know what to do when winter comes. We'll be soaked in the rain and wind, and I'll be at a loss as to how to keep my family safe, from the bombing and from the winter.🥹
I'm really hoping you can help me and my family to live through this awful war.💔
🥹❤️🩹https://gofund.me/ed6e9cb6🥹❤️🩹
@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @just-browsing1222-deactivated20 @mothblossoms @aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sygol @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @illuminated-runas @imjustheretotrytohelp
time isn't real and everything is happening and has already happened all at once. so basically you have already shifted and are shifting as we speak. you've shifted millions and billions of times. even if you don't remember it happening, it has already happened. you are already in your dr
"There's a little witch in all of us." PRACTICAL MAGIC (1998), dir. Griffin Dunne.
-
watzonthemenu liked this · 4 weeks ago -
onceuponadrearydream reblogged this · 4 weeks ago -
onceuponadrearydream liked this · 4 weeks ago
-
lucidtobio liked this · 4 weeks ago -
andromeda-starship reblogged this · 4 weeks ago -
andromeda-starship liked this · 4 weeks ago
-
r1ceee liked this · 4 weeks ago -
spoppyread liked this · 4 weeks ago -
piastrylvr liked this · 4 weeks ago -
nonexistentblocks liked this · 4 weeks ago -
w-gay3 liked this · 1 month ago -
sand-sucks liked this · 1 month ago -
ficsthology reblogged this · 1 month ago -
plaidshirtyears liked this · 1 month ago -
awsmloon liked this · 1 month ago -
sweetpopsak liked this · 1 month ago -
cowgurl-ace reblogged this · 1 month ago -
cowgurl-ace liked this · 1 month ago
-
skullang3l liked this · 1 month ago -
lvr4lia liked this · 1 month ago -
thetotallyteen liked this · 1 month ago -
ciannacinnamon liked this · 1 month ago -
dwaekki03 liked this · 1 month ago -
samanthaaether liked this · 1 month ago -
mysticprofessoralienhumanoid liked this · 1 month ago -
nepethily liked this · 1 month ago -
sagegreen7 liked this · 1 month ago -
kachowden liked this · 1 month ago -
w0nd3rlnd liked this · 1 month ago -
ynadiola123 liked this · 1 month ago -
kanaty114 liked this · 1 month ago
-
hellomynameisbean liked this · 1 month ago -
gins-wife liked this · 1 month ago -
lalalaland3 liked this · 1 month ago
-
letsgetthisdonewith liked this · 1 month ago
-
ogcrashout liked this · 1 month ago -
arisa191 liked this · 1 month ago -
sylxns liked this · 1 month ago -
impossiblesheeppaper liked this · 1 month ago -
veryempathatic liked this · 1 month ago -
raiyuxa liked this · 1 month ago -
meeel-things liked this · 1 month ago -
yippy-yippy-yippy liked this · 1 month ago
-
maybutinjanuary liked this · 1 month ago -
sleepsnothere reblogged this · 1 month ago -
sleepsnothere liked this · 1 month ago
-
koala-milo liked this · 1 month ago -
ashkarma1706 liked this · 1 month ago
