Just Found Out That There Is A Sudanfunds Website! Like Gazafunds, It Is A Compilation Of Funds For People

Howdy folks, the Senate will be considering the first ever resolution blocking arms to Israel. This is huge and historic; it would block government contracting and about $20 billion in arms and support. This is an uphill battle, PLEASE urge your senators to support S.J.Res114-115. This is maybe the most important piece of legislation relating to Palestine that we have ever gotten and we must seize this opportunity.

This doc has information on the resolutions and their process, as well as sample messages and a phone script you can use. Please, use this moment to hear witness for your neighbors.

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Arms Embargo: Act Now

On September 25, 2025, Senator Bernie Sanders (Vermont) introduced two joint resolutions: S.J.Res.114-115. If passed, these resolutions woul

Sugar Hits. // Elijah Hewson X Reader! (Fluff)

request: maybe you could write something like reader supporting Eli at a concert or something. Like, he's nervous about playing the new songs (your house, eddie in the Darkness) because he doesn’t know if the fans will like them and reader just comforts him before and after the show.

words: 2K.

That wasn’t your first gig of theirs. By the end of their last tour, you were already close with Eli and had really started to enjoy that "rockstar girlfriend" side of things. You managed to enjoy them more, and it felt good to have them back. As you walked down the hallway, Bobby spotted you, greeting you in his usual down-to-earth manner. He pulled you into a quick hug that made you feel a little guilty—it had been a while since you’d seen him, even though you didn’t live that far from each other. You exchanged a few words, catching up on your lives briefly, but then he noticed your eyes wandering around the room and shared something that had been on your mind.

 "Eli's with Josh, sorting out something about the soundcheck," he said with a smile. You returned it, but it was a shy, almost embarrassed grin, worried that Bobby might think you weren’t paying attention.

 "It's all good; I bet he's missing you too," he teased, bumping his shoulder against yours before letting you know he had to go meet up with the others. Your cheeks flushed, and it was funny how, even though almost a year had passed since the last gig you’d attended, you still felt like an outsider. Not because they treated you that way—in fact, it was quite the opposite. They always made you feel welcome, part of it all. But you understood this was their moment, their time together.

 You waved at a few familiar faces as you made your way to a quieter balcony, finding solace in the semi-isolation. Eli always knew how overwhelming those spaces could be for you, especially after a long time. He always made sure his hotel room was organized with thoughtful touches—handpicked playlists, your favorite snacks—so you could have a retreat when the chaos got too much. This time was no different. He’d texted you the room number and even let the front desk know you'd be stopping by. If you didn’t already know that Eli needed you more this time than you needed a quiet place to recharge, you would’ve gone straight there. Usually, you’d take a short nap, listen to some good music, and breathe in his scent that lingered on the pillows, comforting you before heading back to watch him perform.

  “I thought you'd take longer.” His tone was sharper than usual, the words fading into the atmosphere, his voice growing weaker. His eyes, tired yet still shining with a soft light, were fixed on you as you sat with a cigarette in hand. The night before, you’d stayed on the phone with him until he finally fell asleep—though it took a while. Eli masked it well, the calm tone in his voice, the gentle look on his face, and eyebrows that showed no sign of concern. But you knew his chest was heavy with worry.

 That phone call had mostly been filled with quiet, just the comfort of having each other there. But he had briefly confessed his anxiety about singing the new songs, how his mind kept spiraling into everything that could go wrong. You knew him well, knew you could remind him how amazing he was and offer rational solutions, but he’d already tortured himself enough over the past week. So, instead, you listened, letting him pour it all out, hoping it would make him feel lighter, even though it was painful to hear someone you loved, someone so capable, talk that way about themselves and their work.

 "You're doing great, El," you had whispered, your own throat tight, fighting the urge to cry, praying he'd understood you, even though your voice had come out so softly. And here you were again, saying the same thing, in the same quiet tone, after a six-hour flight because of your work, as he rested his forehead against your shoulder and melted into your arms.

 His body was cold, muscles tense, and you wished this would all pass soon so he could see how well everything was going to turn out.

 "I need you."

 "Well, here I am, huh?" His back was resting against the balcony railing, legs spread slightly with you standing in front of him so that you were at eye level, close. Your fingers combed through his hair, which still held defined curls, and you peppered soft kisses on his cheek. He wasn’t one to easily show his emotions, but just having you there, all your gentle touches, made him feel better. He nodded as your delicate hands cupped his face, helping you see him more clearly. His tired eyes met yours, and you gave him a light smile, trying to lift his spirits. 

 "You've done this before, haven't you?" you teased him gently. His hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer. He tilted his head, wearing a stern expression, clearly weighing the situation in his mind. "I know, I'm being an id—" you cut him off, pressing your lips to his. Surprised, he gripped you tighter, but gradually relaxed as you felt the tension ease from his muscles, bit by bit. He kissed you back, a soft, relieved sigh escaping into the kiss.

 You squeezed his shoulder through his black leather jacket—a piece he’d only wear for show since he always took it off mid-gig. He made more room for you to deepen the kiss. You could taste your lip gloss, and he had the familiar hint of mint candy on his lips, but nothing compared to the warmth that filled you as his scent wrapped around you, making you feel at home. You pulled back slightly to look at him. His eyes were still closed, and he gave you a few more soft kisses. Before he could speak, you murmured, “Only I can talk like that about my boyfriend. Anyone else? Not a chance.” He laughed, more relaxed now, his cheeks and lips red.

 "Everything’s gonna be okay, El. You’ve done this before, and it went fine. You’re not going to disappoint anyone. Your fans are here because they love your work. I’m not dismissing how you feel, just saying you’re worrying over nothing, love." He nodded, and while it didn’t completely lift the weight from his shoulders, it felt like having that so-called voice of reason gently soothe his mind.

 "Can you stay visible today?" The tip of his nose was pink, and his curls nearly covered his caramel eyes in supplication, but you didn’t mind. You usually stayed to the side of the stage, not wanting to be in the way, but this time it was different. "Of course, I’ll be there." He smiled, grateful, pulling you into his chest and holding you even tighter. You nestled into him, knowing you’d stay like that for a good while, arms wrapped around his waist. It felt even better than being in his hotel room—it was perfect.

…

 Your back ached slightly, the exhaustion of just standing was starting to catch up. It had been a long flight, and you hadn't slept, but it was worth it. The lights dimmed, the crowd roared, and the thrill of seeing them live again was unmistakable. It was busier than last time, and it felt so good to see them getting the recognition they deserved. As the first chords played, the atmosphere was electric. Eli glanced at you every now and then, a warm smile on his face. You found yourself jumping and cheering for him, just like you did when you were beside the stage, though you always felt a bit embarrassed doing it in front of him. But it was impossible not to.

 The first new song started, the silence filling with Eli’s steady voice, and he kept looking at you more frequently. You reassured him with your gaze. It was your first time hearing the new tracks in their entirety—the lyrics, the instrumentation—and you were so proud of him. As the next few songs, also new, played, you could see him loosening up, interacting with the crowd even though they weren’t singing along. Everything went smoothly.

 As the show ended, a few fans stopped you on your way out. You felt a bit bad for standing in front of people who had paid to be there, so you made an effort to talk to them. It was awkward because their excitement was meant for Eli, and you weren’t as natural in these moments as he was. But you didn’t want to seem rude. They were enthusiastic, and you ended up asking what they thought so you could pass it along to him. They shared their love for the performance, and you told them it was your first time hearing the new songs too. It was a brief exchange, though your nerves made it feel longer.

 As the fans thinned, Eli eventually stepped in, taking their attention off you. He placed a hand on your back, sharing in their excitement as he spoke to them. He knew you’d disappear from the conversation if given the chance, and it always amused him—he understood. You loved how attentive he and the band were in moments like this, always so considerate. You hated the thought of interrupting his time with fans, so you stood back, watching him chat and take photos, all smiles and joy.

 He had been so nervous he hadn’t slept, but seeing him like this, radiant and confident, you knew he was being ridiculous. He was perfect.

…

 You found yourself distracted, chatting with Lewis while waiting for the boys to come back so you could head to the hotel. The room filled with laughter as Eli's arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground and giving you a playful scare. You turned to face him, and there he was, beaming as if he had never been worried at all, and you threw your arms around him as he picked you up again.

 "I'm so proud of you. It was amazing," you whispered just for him. His eyes sparkled, hair now a mess. He was drenched in sweat, his white tank top almost transparent. "I love you so much, you know that?" he said, his voice softer than usual. You nodded, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks. Then, he rubbed his damp hair against your face, making you laugh out loud, which made him laugh too. There was never any doubt he loved you—it wasn’t something he said all the time, but when he did, it filled you with buzzing bubbles.

 "Do I know this one?" he teased, running his fingers over the buttons of your brown vest that matched your boots. He’d noticed your outfit during the gig, appreciating that you always made an effort for their shows. It was something casual and routine for him, and now for you too. You could’ve easily shown up in something more comfortable, and he wouldn’t mind—he’d understand, especially since you’d come straight from the airport. But the fact that you took the time to choose something, thinking about what to wear and anticipating the gig, meant a lot to him. Even after seeing them live so many times, you still made it special.

 "I got it a few weeks ago," you replied, happy he noticed. "Saved it for tonight. Figured it deserved something special." He chuckled, resting his hand on your waist as he gave you a little twirl. "Your eyes too," he said, cupping your cheeks for a closer look. "You’re stunning." He stared at your black eyeliner.

 You smiled, closing your eyes as his thumb traced gentle circles on your jaw. "I told you," you whispered, bringing the conversation back to earlier. He kissed your nose, then your lips, finally accepting your words of wisdom. You let out a yawn, and he followed suit, making you laugh again. "You did, but it’s a good reason to have you here with me," he said, pulling you closer as you both made your way to the car.

 He couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel either, to shower with you, to crawl into bed, and fall asleep wrapped up in your arms. "I’ll always be here, El."

How I used Psych-k to reprogram my limiting beliefs 

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What is Psych-k?

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Psych-k is a process which changes subconscious beliefs that limits a person’s potential. It involves reshaping your beliefs into thoughts that can positively impact your life. 

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ This relates to manifestation because psych-k can help you identify limiting beliefs and reprogram these into thoughts that will benefit you. 

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Affirmations I used

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Some of the affirmations that I’ve used include:

I let go of every limiting belief I have that no longer serves me 

I let go of every doubt I have that no longer serves me 

I do not identify with struggle anymore 

I’m allowed to believe new things about myself now 

Circumstances don’t matter to me, I’ll still manifest anything I want 

I manifest instantly 

͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ I do want to mention that a few of these affirmations came from @princessaffirms's why are you DEFENDING your LIMITING beliefs post. It's really insightful and I do recommend reading this if you want more information about limiting beliefs.

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My personal experience

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ First and foremost, before we go into the psych-k sessions and what to expect, I really recommend you do a test to see where you fall. 

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ There is many different tests you could do, but me personally I have done the o-ring test. Basically, you form a “O” with your thumb and the other finger, you should use your non-dominant hand with this. Then you would form a ring with your dominant hand and gently pull on the “O-ring.” Then say a limiting belief that you have out loud and do the test.

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Here’s a video that details this -> ☕️

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ If it’s a strong response, the ring would not break apart. However, a weak response means the ring would break apart. If you produced a weak response, do this test again and ask your subconscious mind if you can integrate a new belief into them. If you have a weak response, I recommend you write it out using a journal or any writing program like Google Docs or Notes app. Basically with how I did it, I would write down a limiting belief but then I would provide a counterargument for that limiting belief.

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Here's an example: "Manifesting takes forever for me." -> "Manifesting is instant for me."

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Then I would write down all of my limiting beliefs and provide counterarguments for each one. Afterwards, I would do the test again and ask your subconscious mind if you can integrate a new belief. If you get a weak response, keep going and write out limiting beliefs that you have. If you have a strong response, you can test proceed to the session.

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Now here's how I approach my psych-k sessions. First, I would create affirmations that I can use, these affirmations will basically be what you use during your sessions. Then I would record these affirmations using the Parrot app. Although I primarily use the Parrot app, you can also say these affirmations out loud. Then afterwards, I would find somewhere that is calm and you know there wouldn't be any distractions. Next, establish a position you would use, I personally did this position (here) but I crossed my legs instead of my ankles. I would want to add that you should do all 4 combinations to reach all the different parts of the brain. Then set a time limit, I personally reach for 5 minutes per combination but you can do more than that if you choose. Then after setting a time limit, I would start the session, whether that's looping your affirmations on Parrot or say them out loud.

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ After the session, First I would do this, that way you are saving the belief, Then I would do the O-ring test again and move on with your day. Now even with one session, you can produce a strong response, but you can do more sessions to solidify your beliefs if you choose to.

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ In my experience, after doing this, I noticed that manifestation wasn't a struggle for me anymore. I allowed myself to integrate this new belief into my subconscious mind and ever since I have gotten amazing results. So, please if you want to reprogram your beliefs, try this out and you will never look back!

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Resources I’ve used 

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Here is some resources I've personally used when starting my journey.

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ Rewire Your Brain: PSYCH K Explained

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ PSYCH-K by @chaisshitposts 

  ͏˚˖𓍢ִ໋☕️ 4 MINTUE Reprogramming of the 'SUBCONSCIOUS MIND"

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dd/mm/yyyy just means daddy dom/mommy man/yummy yellow yogurt yayyyy thank u for listening

𖦹 i want somebody to want pt. 2 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: faced with the knowledge that there is someone out there for him, jason todds life is thrown in a whirlwind

wc: 3.8k

authors note: i'm thinking about making the reader in this series an artist. the issue: i can't decide whether their focus is visual art, music, writing, or some performing art. I would appreciate any input you have on this, as it'll probably be mentioned in the next part of this series!

pt. 1

The first time Jason Todd saw you, he swore his heart stopped beating again. 

Since that drunken night out at the bar, Jason had begun to look for you everywhere. He went out as a civilian more, began accepting offers to grab a coffee or go hangout somewhere. His siblings, of course, had taken advantage of this fact. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but everywhere he looked, he always tried to catch a glimpse of you. The photos Tim had found online of you were ingrained in his brain. When he closed his eyes, his subconscious was no longer filled with all the dreadful things he’d done and experienced. Your smile—the same one he now searched for in crowds—replaced every aspect of his mind. 

Jason had opted for a hoodie layered underneath his leather jacket that day. Damian was bundled up as well, donning a rather janky scarf that Dick had made for him during his crochet phase. Aware of his brother's newfound interest in going out in public, Damian asked Jason if he would take him to a park to gather materials needed for his science class diorama. Agreeing, Jason had picked him up from school and walked with him through the better parts of Gotham to one of the only clean and functioning parks, which just so happened to be near the University area.

“Odd location of park, Todd.”

“Shut it, Wayne.”

Despite the various offers from his family to track you down or learn more about you, Jason had strictly told them not to, beyond looking up your social media and what was public. Even then, he had hesitated when Tim found your accounts. He didn’t want to learn every little thing about you before you had even met—it felt intrusive. He didn’t want his vigilante family stalking you; crashing into your apartment or kidnapping you to meet him, as Damian had lovingly suggested. He wanted what was between you two to be natural, to happen in its own time.

Damian was crouched beside a bush, gathering twigs and little rocks while Jason stood beside him, surveying the park out of habit. Despite the sun's rays shining down, the chill in the breeze had every kid playing on the playground bundled up, and the occasional couple holding hands, walking a little closer to retain some heat. Thankfully, Damian had no interest in looking for materials anywhere near the rowdy playground, so they opted to walk around the wide field, staying on the somewhat scenic walking trail. 

In the middle of the grassy field, about 30 people were gathered around a picnic table where an older man sat. He had kept his eye on the group for a while now, and had deducted that it was a class of sorts. The people listening to the man speak looked to be around his age, and all of them had bags. Some stood while many sat on the grass in front of the man. 

“Jason, the bag please.” Damian's arm shot up towards Jason, gesturing to the grocery bag halfway full of rocks and twigs. Handing it to him, Jason watched in amusement as Damian inspected two rocks meticulously, carefully placing one of them into the bag and tossing the other behind him carelessly. 

“Hey, look before you throw those things.”

 Damian's response was another smaller rock thrown at his brother's chest. Jason scoffed, crossing his arms as he turned back to the field, observing the class. 

It seemed to be ending, as the people began to stand up and walk away, some by themselves, others in groups. Through the rush of everyone standing, he saw—

You. 

Holy fucking shit. You were here. 

Even from far away, he could see laughter bubbling out of your mouth as you wiped grass off yourself, talking to a friend of yours. You were radiant; and call it cliche, but to him you were shining brighter than the sun. Thankfully, you were slow to pack up, so he watched, totally captivated by you as you talked with your friends in a small group around the professor. 

Seeing you like this was surreal to Jason. The way you smiled at something someone said, how you looked around at the scenery around you, the way you existed and interacted with people—it was surreal. 

Until now, you had only existed in the wonders of his mind at night and as a static photo in his phone. Yet here you were, existing in your own world that hadn’t yet collided with his. You had no idea that in less than seven months, you would find his name on your arm. 

Jason felt nauseous. Even from this far away, you outmatched everything his mind had come up with from the photos. An overwhelming sense of dread slowly crawled its way up his throat. He couldn’t pinpoint where it came from or what he was feeling exactly, but all he knew was that he wasn’t okay. His mouth was dry, and his eyes were slightly more watery. Despite this, he couldn’t look away. If seeing you from this far away had that effect on him, he didn’t know what he would do when he actually met you, face to face. A little sadly, he watched as you picked up your bag, waving to your professor and friends as you walked away. His eyes never left your retreating figure, and the muscles in his calves twitched to follow. 

“Ahki,” the tug on Jason's pants reminded him why he was here in the first place, who he was, where he was, and that he wasn’t alone. “Am I allowed to put this in the diorama?” 

Hesitantly (and with much effort), Jason tore his gaze from your distant figure, looking down to the caterpillar in Damians hand. He sighed, shaking his head and turning back to where his heart had disappeared to. 

“No, leave it be Damian.”

Later, further down the line on a cozy night in, he would inquire why your class had been outdoors that day. You would tell him the heater in your classroom was broken, causing the room to feel like the insides of a toaster oven. Your professor could only shed so many layers before he decided to go on a field trip to a local park for class where it was much cooler. The students had been enthusiastic about it, and ultimately, paid more attention to what their professor was lecturing. 

You, being the way that you are, would apologize for not noticing him further away on the trail. Scoffing at that, he would pull you tighter against him on the couch. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he’d say softly, placing a delicate kiss on your temple. “I was a wreck when I saw you anyways. Probably would have thrown up if you came up to talk to me.” 

“Well, I was a wreck when I first talked to you too.”

“At Sifted?”

“No, not the coffee shop,” you would snuggle further into him, closing your eyes as a hum of contentment rumbled through Jason's chest. “When I was walking home from the studio.”

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The first time Jason Todd interacted with you, it was behind the mask. He had added your general area to his patrol route, despite the low crime rates. If he were being completely honest, it was a much needed respite from crime alley. It allowed him to calm down before going somewhere to rest, simply watching as students walked home from their late night classes, or drunkenly hopped from bar to bar. Occasionally, he would beat up some bastards from following students home, save a couple places from robberies, crack down on some drug deals—the typical stuff. 

It was nearing five in the morning when he arrived at your apartment. He typically started out his patrol here on the roof of the building, surveying the area (and resisting the urge to jump down onto your third floor fire escape) before expanding outward towards the more crime ridden and shadowy parts of the area. 

The streets were eerily vacant this time of night. The only noises were the occasional far off gunshot, the sounds of cars backfiring, and distant yells of drunk frat kids at the bars a couple blocks over. These sounds had all become familiar to Gotham residents, and sitting atop some random buildings jagged rooftop, Jason closed his eyes, allowing his bruised and scar ridden body to relax for a minute. 

A far off cry for help snapped his eyes open. 

Alert, his head whipped around, trying to determine which direction the cry had come from. 

Another yell, and he was running across rooftops. 

Grappling down onto a balcony, he spotted the struggle between two people on the side of the street. One of them ran out of the darkness, towards the streetlight and Jason felt his heart stop yet again. 

It was you. 

You, and some asshole attempting to do god knows what. 

Instantly he jumped down from the balcony, running to the man who had his eyes set on you. He was attempting to say something, probably some threat meant to scare you into submission, but it never left his throat. 

The Red Hood grabbed the man's ragged clothing, yanking him back. He came tumbling backwards, a curse escaping his mouth. 

Jason swung, his fist colliding with the man's chin. The sharp clack of teeth hitting teeth was painful to hear, let alone watch as the man was hurled to the hard pavement from the punch. 

The man groaned loudly, yelling curses. Jason stalked over to the man, lifting him up by the shirt before giving him another painful punch to his temple. The man wasn’t knocked out, per say, but now he was incapable of forming a coherent sentence or moving his limbs in a precise manner. 

Squatting, Red Hood rummaged through his belt for tactical wire. He turned his head, helmet looking at your shocked figure. At some point, probably when he had uppercut the guy, you had sunk to the floor, leaning against the light pole. 

You stared wide eyed at the scene, gaze flickering from the man to Red Hood. He simply turned his head, flipping the man onto his stomach and tying his hands together behind his back. His head pounded from the adrenaline, from the fact that you had been in danger. 

He stood, walking towards you. From this height, you looked like a frightened alley cat, curled up on itself. Slowly, he stuck his hand out. 

Your gaze flickered from the gloved hand to the helmet, hesitantly placing your hand atop his. Jason's heart soared. 

In the most careful manner, Jason helped to pull you up off the cold cement, standing back on your feet. His hand never let go of yours, and you slowly pulled it back, fixing your attire. 

“Thank you…” your voice was shaky, and this close, Jason saw the way you trembled slightly. If you weren’t here, he would have killed the guy squirming on the sidewalk a few feet away. 

Despite the obvious tremor in your voice, Jason's throat had closed up at finally, finally hearing your voice. The deep, soul-clutching feeling from when he saw you at the park a couple weeks ago slowly made its second appearance in his gut, and the temperature inside his helmet seemed to increase. Turning his head, he saw a bag discarded on the ground, the same one you had with you on that cold day at the park. 

Walking over to the bag, he got down on one knee and picked up all the things that fell out of it. 

Chapstick, two pens, a wallet with a very familiar government ID, some coins, and….a tiny plastic dinosaur? 

Jason smiled, putting it back inside your bag before standing once more, bringing the bag back over to you. Your eyes hadn’t left him, and your hand had grabbed your bag with much less hesitance than before. You thanked him yet again, fumbling with your clothing and keychains. Jason watched, and noted how your breathing continued to come rather fast, your jaw beginning to tremble. 

He didn’t want you to feel threatened, didn’t want you to ever feel whatever you were feeling right now. Your gaze flickered to the semi-unconscious man on the pavement. Jason could tell how scared you still were, despite the attacker being tied up and incapacitated behind him. His mind raced to help you without coming off as odd or threatening. He couldn’t offer you a hug, who would want to hug Red Hood? The famed murderer and crime lord turned vigilante, turned Batman Associate. Not exactly the most comforting person. Despite this, his arms ached to hold you, to wrap his frame around yours and guard you from the rest of the world. 

All Jason wanted was to protect you. 

“Were you walking home?” When he spoke, he tried his damn best to sound less intimidating through the helmet modulator. Your head lifted to look at him, or rather the mask. You nod slowly. 

“I’ll walk you the rest of the way.”

“You don’t have to, you’ve already done enough—”

“I want to.” His voice left no room for negotiation, and somehow, you knew this wasn’t a battle you would win. A small smile crept its way onto your face, and you nodded, muttering a small okay. 

You began to walk. 

Jason followed. 

He always would. 

It had only been a few silent minutes by the time your apartment building loomed before you. You turned back towards Red Hood, awkwardly thanking him once more, getting a nod in response before entering the building. 

From a rooftop, Jason watched as the lights in your living room turned on. Turning with the final knowledge that you were safely home, he made his way back towards the man he left binded up on the sidewalk. 

Despite his own doubts and insecurities, he reminded himself you were his for a reason. You were the one person who could comfort him the most, help him in his darkest times, and love him despite all the wrongs he's done, rough edges and all. And regardless of what his brain told him, he could do the same for you. Tonight was proof of that. The universe, despite it’s wild and fucked up ways, had given him the gift of you. You two were made for each other—you’re his soulmate. 

As he landed down on the sidewalk, the man turned his head, eyes widening at the return of Red Hood. He blabbered, begging for mercy as Jason loomed over him. 

The bastard was going to regret ever attempting to hurt you. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♡  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

The first time you met Jason Todd was an accident. 

In the last year or so of moving to Gotham, you had made it a habit to leave your overpriced apartment every couple days to work/study in the cozy coffee shop—Sifted—a block away. You had settled into a routine of going there after class, in the mornings, and whenever you needed air from your cramped apartment. Quickly, you had made yourself a regular. 

You began to notice other regulars as well; a mother with her two toddlers who would be there for lunch every Tuesday and Thursday, back on Sundays with the father. A group of teenagers who would come in every morning before walking to school, and an older man who seemed to constantly be stressed out who ordered a comically large plain black coffee. 

The quaint little Cafe was a hidden gem in Gotham, hidden away from the crime and ugly side of the city. Everywhere you looked inside the place was aesthetically pleasing, with a plethora of plants, as well as a small free library and games for kids. The seating was diverse as well, with tables of different heights and shapes, comfy chairs, and plush couches/cushions for the kid area. 

Simply put, it fulfilled all your aesthetic coffee shop dreams. 

As of late, you had noticed the recurring presence of a handsome guy, about your age, brunette with good style, who was absolutely shredded. You had first seen him a couple weeks ago in the afternoon when you sat down at your usual corner table to get some work done. He sat across the shop in a leather chair, facing your direction. On the little side table, he had a steaming beverage—either tea or coffee you guessed—and a book in hand. 

The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde. 

To say that you were a little attracted to him would be an understatement. He had sporadically been showing up to the coffee shop since then (always with a book), and you had been lucky enough to be there at the same time he was. Once, while waiting in line to order, you had watched through the front glass windows as a red motorcycle pulled up to the shop, the rider parking and taking off their helmet.

 Of course, Mr. Bookworm rode a motorcycle. After gaining this new bit of information on him, your mind went wild with fantasies and dreams of being swept away off your feet, taken to ride somewhere at top speeds through Gotham streets. 

Your brain told you that this was a stupid hallway crush—there was zero chance of getting with him. And yet, the countless times you had caught his eye, or exchanged a quick smile with him while leaving or entering made you think otherwise, because maybe, just maybe he was curious about you too. 

Today, you were a mess. You had attempted to pull an all-nighter working on a project for one of your classes, but had fallen asleep on the rug in your living room. You woke up around noon feeling more tired than you were before falling asleep, and your stomach was rumbling and aching for food. You were more than disappointed to see you forgot to go shopping for basic snacks and things to eat that didn’t require cooking or more than two dishes. 

You had opted to stop by Sifted, the coffee shop on your way to class to pick up a sandwich and coffee to help energize you before rushing to your 1 PM class. When you approached the cafe, your heart skipped a beat to see a certain red motorcycle parked outside. 

Entering, you were a little shocked to see your guy sitting with another man (also shredded) with a small gray dog in his lap. His eyes flickered to you as you entered, and you smiled at him before rushing to the counter and ordering your much needed coffee. Rather than sit down, you stood by the counter where they placed all the drinks, opening your phone and aimlessly scrolling. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t eyeing the two men in your peripheral vision. 

The soft music playing over the speakers, combined with the typical clamor from the kitchen and baristas muffled their conversation. After five or so minutes of scrolling and stealing glances, the barista placed two drinks down on the counter. 

Taking one of the cardboard cups into your hand, you quickly thanked the barista before turning. On your way out, you passed the guy on his way to the counter. An intrusive thought about the height difference between you two filled you with shame, and you quickened your way to the door. 

Once outside, you threw away the receipt in a trashcan, bringing your coffee in its to-go cup to your lips. 

What went down your throat was not coffee. This was not what you ordered. 

Swallowing, you brought the cup up higher, inspecting the writing in bold marker on the side—

Hot Chocolate - Jason

No way. 

No fucking way, you had just stolen someone elses drink. 

It wasn’t just anyone either. It was the guy of your dreams, who you now knew to be named Jason. Jason, who rode a red motorcycle, read at a coffee shop for an hour almost every day, while drinking Hot Chocolate of all things.

Sighing, you turn back around, walking into the cozy shop once more. Instantly, you make eye contact with the guy Jason, who is standing in front of his friend, or whoever he was here with, drink held high to inspect it. Your drink. 

Sheepishly, you make your way over to him, apologizing. “Hi, I am so sorry, you’re Jason, right? I just grabbed a drink without looking even though I probably should have and I accidentally took yours and already took a sip of it, so can I buy you another drink if you want? I’m sorry again…” 

The lack of proper sleep seemed to be getting to you, and you only realized when you were done how you had rambled to him. You heard a chuckle, and glanced behind Jason to his friend who was smiling, looking down at the dog in his lap. 

“It’s no big deal,” Jason responded, looking down at you. He took a sip of his your drink. “Do you always get this? It’s good.”

A little taken aback by his friendly demeanor, you allow yourself to smile more freely. He wasn’t mad, which meant he probably didn’t hate you, which also meant that you still had a slim chance with this guy. 

“Sometimes I do.” You tell him your name, pointing to the cup where it was written. He introduces himself too, despite the fact you already know. 

“I’ve uh, noticed you around here a lot.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you swear he knew what he was doing. 

“Yeah, me too. Not me, obviously. You–I’ve noticed you too.” Seriously, you need to work on how well you respond in high-stress situations. He smiles in response, nodding. It’s an awkward interaction, really, but not in an unbearable way. It’s almost sweet, how neither of you can hold eye contact for too long before looking down or fidgeting in some way. 

The conversation lulls there before you see a clock and realize you have fifteen minutes to make it to your class on time. 

“Well I uh, I have to go but it was nice to meet you.” You take a step backwards, wanting to run away and stay there talking to him at the same time. His lips draw tight into a line and he nods. “And sorry again for stealing your drink.” 

“It’s really alright. Have a good day.” 

“You too!” With that awkward end, you turn and basically run towards the door, exiting the shop and quickly walking down the sidewalk, away from Jason, Hot Chocolate in hand. Even with embarrassment flaming through your body, you can’t help the wide grin from settling onto your face. 

He had noticed you. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♡  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

You had noticed him. 

The thought alone made him giddy, and as he replayed the entire interaction, he couldn’t help his heart from thumping wildly in his ribcage. 

You had talked to him. You apologized to him, said his name. 

Slowly, he sat back down in his usual leather chair, starstruck. Next to him, Dick laughed as he watched his brother. 

“If this is how you're acting after one small interaction, I think you’re in trouble.”

“Shut up, Dick.” 

Haley barked softly, wagging her tail.

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

Hello! Can I please request a smau with Charles Leclerc and Alexandra with the reader. Like her getting hate online because people think she coming in between them but then they found out that she and Alex were already dating before even they met Charles and he's the one who came into their relationship also could you please make it fluff at the end, thank you <3

you wonder why i'm bitter ⋆ charles leclerc, alexandra saint mleux

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader x alexandra saint mleux (fc: chappel roan)

summary: you and alex broke up because she suggested charles to join your relationship, and you're really mad about it

warnings: hate comments (mostly for alex, but it's just for the plot), mixed smau, arguments

a/n: i changed basically the whole plot bc i've seen this idea many times, so i wanted to do something a little different.

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

yourusername just posted!

liked by sabrinacarpenter, alexandrasaintmleux and 34,612 others

yourusername MY NEW SONG IS HEREE !!!!!!!1!!!!!1!!!!! Stream Good Luck, Babe! so i can pay my hairdresser and make up artist THANK YOUU 🐽💥🌈💍

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user1 she's turning into my comfort artist guys

user2 y/n l/n for president 2024

user3 alex in the likes is LOUD

user4 and she's even early wtf girl user5 i'm new someone explain the lore user6 @/alexandrasaintmleux was y/n's gf for like four years, they were high school sweethearts and y/n wrote many songs about her. but four months ago they broke up and alexandra is now dating some formula 1 driver. literally four months later. some people say that she cheated, others that it was friendly, but idk user7 i mean after this song...

user8 ALEXANDRA WHEN I FOUND YOU

user9 'and you're NOTHING MORE THAN HIS WIFE' alexandra you're cooked

user10 FRRR she at least was something when she dated y/n. now she's just another f1 wag

user11 HOW I LOVE MESSY SONGS

user12 WE'RE SO BACK

user13 alexandra should be ashamed of walking in public after this

user14 sis casually making a diss track

f1gossip just posted!

liked by user14, yourusername and 1,459 others

f1gossip Charles Leclerc and Alexandra Saint Mleux out for dinner in Monaco

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user14 girl wtf

user15 they did her so dirty i love it

user16 the difference when she was out with y/n is LOUD

user17 yk i'm starting to think that charles is the problem user18 righ? alex was so comfortable with flashes around y/n and now this? wtf is this man doing user19 i think it was just a bad moment user20 maybe she didn't want to be seen after y/n's song user21 i hate men

user22 NOT Y/N LIKING THIS

user23 she KNOWS it's alex loss

user24 charles your gf is cleary uncomfortable why tf you're smiling

user25 he's probably happy about all the drama bc he's life is boring

user26 this is a pr relationship at a 100%

yourusername just posted a story!

[caption: 10K streams just in the first week OMGGG, thank you thank you thank you. I love you so much guys, thank you for feeding my delusional ass 💥💥]

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user27 pop people princess

user28 WE LOVE YOU Y/NNN

user29 please PLEASE come to spain

user30 drop the tour dates nowww

alexandrasaintmleux Can we talk, please? In person, I know that you are in Paris this weekend

Y/N had left Alexandra on read. She hadn't wanted to know anything about her since the proposal to become a throuple with that guy Leclerc, but even though she thought she hated the idea, she found herself looking at the photos Charles posted on his Instagram. He was objectively handsome, she wouldn't lie. Although the fact that he had taken her girlfriend did make him seem like the most horrible person she had ever met. But he was handsome.

Most of his photos were related to his job as a Ferrari driver. She had heard Alex talk about that sport hundreds of times; she should have guessed that she felt somewhat attracted to the most handsome driver on the grid. But there was one photo that really caught her attention; him, in his apartment, shirtless on his stationary bike. She couldn't stop looking at it, she even went into the comments to see what people thought, to make sure it wasn't weird to find him extremely attractive. Then, unintentionally, she liked it. She saw the red heart float on the screen and knew that was her end, she removed the like immediately, praying that no gossip page decided to be watching that post at the same time as her.

But it was already screwed, he was going to see her notification, he was going to tell Alex, and now they would have more reasons to meet. Everything was screwed.

A few minutes later, she received a message from Charles, which left her totally bewildered, but she opened it immediately anyway.

user34 not the censurated name-

user35 makes a lot of sense to me actually

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yourusername Monaco you were LOUUUD !!!! The best city to open the leg of the tour and we had a blast together. Omw to Paris 💋🎸💐

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user31 she's so normal after exposing everything and everyone just in the first date

laufey princess of the princesses liked by author

user32 she's crazy for what she said

user33 now i want a public apology from alexandra and charles

user34 FR i can't believe they made her fell so bad

user35 yk break ups happen, it's not something bad. instead of spreading hate you should just move on girl, it's embarrasing

user36 oh shut up, she's a singer, she does drag. she's going to be dramatic user37 and we're here for it

user38 it has to be marketing bc last night was wild

user39 pretty sure it wasn't

f1gossip just posted!

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f1gossip Charles Leclerc and his girlfriend recently in Bali

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user40 they went the further they could bc of y/n's concert

user41 you can't convince me they're not pr

user42 0 chemistry

user43 i always see alex with her phone with charles

user44 she must be bored of him

user45 i don't think they even talk to each other

user46 i hate them so much

user47 these y/n's fans are taking f1 and i'm here for it

yourusername just posted on her story!

[caption: favs ✨]

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user48 aren't those alex's favourites?

alexandrasaintmleux beautiful pic 💞

[TRANSCRIPTION OF THE CALL BETWEEN ALEXANDRA AND Y/N]

Alex: Hiii. Y/N, listen to me. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I fucked up in every possible way

Y/N: Yeah, you did

Alex: But I love you. You have no idea how much love I have for you, mon chéri. So much that I thought I had to share it with someone else. But I was wrong, so wrong

Y/N: Alex, you're so drunk. You're not thinking clearly

Alex: Listen to me. For once in your life, listen. I fucked up pretty much everything, and you have no idea how much I regret it. I- What are you d-?

[background noises, you hear Alex complain]

Charles: Y/N?

Y/N: Charles? Give the phone back to Alex, for the love of god.

Charles: Y/N, hear me out. Leave my girlfriend the fuck alone. You know I found you really hot at the beginning but you have to stop this shit. I have a fucking reputation out here.

Y/N: Give her phone back, dickhead.

Charles: Move on, bitch. She doesn't want you anymore, and me neither.

part 2?

uptown girl ★ jackie taylor x 90sbaddie!fem!reader

the uptown girl has her eye on you, the backstreet boy girl

word count: 3200 warnings: smoking, jackie and reader being cute asf a/n: here's the shitty mood board i made for the 90sbaddie!fem!reader to give you an idea of what i was picturing. i love this pairing sm so expect more blurbs/fics! also lmk if you have any thoughts about them bc i'm foaming at the mouth (to the anon that sent one in my inbox: i love you sm i'm gonna write a lil blurb abt that soon!)

jackie taylor, jeff sadecki, and their cult of friends were characters stolen from a cheesy high school movie.  the clean cut jocks gelled their hair back and drove shiny red cars, while the girls dawned designer outfits and flashed million dollar smiles.  as the children of wiskayok's elite, the luxuries of life were handed to them on a silver platter.  one of those luxuries was the pre-signed checks they used to buy all the liquor and beer kegs imaginable for a bonfire party like this one.

while they gathered on one side of the wooded space, their rich laughter rising in the warm air, their antithesis huddled together on the other side.

that was you and your friends of course.  sitting on the hood of your friend's ford mustang—the car he said he found and totally didn't hotwire—anyone could see why.  with beat-up leather jackets instead of lettermans and breath that constantly smelled of smoke, you and your friends were the furthest from wiskayok's polished royalty.

your group's reputation for ditching school and stealing from liquor stores made you the "wrong crowd" that parents warned their children about.  some even went as far to call you guys a "gang," but that was mostly the classism talking.

it was obvious that none of you were drowning in the same cash that the taylors and sadeckis of the world were.  in fact, those families would have preferred it if you and your friends didn't live in such close proximity to them and their perfect children.

not that any of it mattered to you.  you only lived for a good time.

you sat beside two of your girl friends on the trunk of the car, legs dangling as you passed a cigarette between the three of you.  more of your friends stood around, sipping on beers and telling loud jokes while ignoring the sideways glances and upturned faces of those around you.

your best friend nudges your shoulder and brings the cigarette between her fingers to your lips.

"don't look now, but jackie taylor keeps looking over here," she says eyes flitting behind your head to where you had spotted jackie earlier, tangled in jeff's arms.  "what did you do this time?"

you never would have mingled with jackie taylor if it wasn't for soccer.  the two of you had been on the team since you were freshmen, and you'd somewhat become friends despite your differences as jackie taylor was never one to care for stereotypes. though, as the team captain, she wasn't afraid of getting on your case when you showed up to practice with cigarette between your teeth or when she heard of your latest adventures through the grapevine.

"y/n, you have to stay focused on nationals," she'd scold you in the locker room, only evoking an eye roll out of you.  it was hard to take that stern look on her face seriously when it was so darn cute.

"yeah, yeah, whatever," you'd say, her eyes lingering on you as you brushed past her and walked away.

you shared those stories with your friends, so your best friend could only assume you'd done something new to upset her.  what you hadn't told them was that you and jackie had started spending time together outside of soccer.

it was unusual when she approached you after practice, asking if you wanted to see a new movie with her, since your friendship had been strictly limited to soccer and school.  but you had already been looking forward to seeing that movie, why not with jackie?

it turned out that you enjoyed hanging out with jackie more than you thought you would.  her light was infectious and your cheeks hurt from smiling by the end of the night.  you were surprisingly glad that you had blown off your friends for her.

since then, you'd hung out with her once at her house and another time at the retro diner you frequented.  you guys weren't best friends by any means, but you slowly found yourself growing more comfortable around jackie.

"i didn't do anything this time," you say, pulling the cigarette from your lips.  almost everyone gives you a suspicious look.  "i swear, guys!"

"then what's her deal?  she's been looking over at you all night," your friend says, stealing the cigarette back.

"for real?" you ask. you're aware of everyone's eyes on you, wondering what the hell jackie taylor wants with you.

your friend nods her head, cueing you to finally look over your left shoulder toward jackie.  you find her already looking back at you from a distance.

she's leaning against jeff's car, facing you with her arms crossed over her chest and a cup of something in her hand.  jeff and her other friends are in the middle of a conversation, but she seems removed from it.

when she catches your gaze, she picks her hand up and gives you a wave.  her effortless smile reaches her eyes, and you almost can't believe how happy she looks to see you.

you raise your hand in a casual wave and a weak smile, ignoring the strange feeling in your chest.  you quickly turn back toward your friends.

you're not sure if it's jackie's disarming smile or knowing she's been staring at you that makes your chest tighten.  or if it's the feeling of your friends' eyes watching you share a moment with her, little miss perfect, that makes you uncomfortable.

either way, it's something you don't want to think about.  it's not like you and jackie would ever be more than what you were right now.  you tried not to worry yourself with what could be, rather you chose to focus on what was.

but the looks your friends throw your way are hard to ignore.  one of the guys breaks the silence with a cat call whistle.

"so, jackie taylor, huh?" he asks, an irritating smirk tugging at his lips.  you look back at him with a deadpan expression.

"what about her?"

he just looks at you for a moment, wondering if you're being serious or not, before he decides that you are.

"are you kidding?  did you see her?" he asks, stunned by your blindness.

"what?" you ask with furrowed brows, still not catching on.

he doesn't answer, but shows you instead.  he puts on a stupid, exaggerated smile and waves enthusiastically in an overdramatic impersonation of jackie.  the excitement in his eyes mimics jackie's, and laughter echoes around you.

"come on, she did not look like that," you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

"oh yes she did," he says before taking a puff of his cigarette.  "she practically had heart eyes when you looked at her."

"no, jackie's just like that with everyone," you insist, though you're not sure how much you believe your own words.  you can't help but second-guess yourself: was she really that happy to see you?

"no, she is definitely not," one of the other guys says.

"see, i told you!

"yeah, girls only look at you like that when they want to hit."

you smack your friend's shoulder and shoot him a look, though he's more amused than hurt.  you're not too surprised by his instigating.

"honestly, i second that," your best friend says from beside you.  you nearly get whiplash from how fast you turn towards her, in disbelief that she would join in on this stupid joke.  "what?  she was kinda giving you a look."

"what look?" you ask too eagerly.

"like...the look," she says, a smile forming after she notices the awe on your face.  "what?  is it that crazy?"

"there's no way," you say, shaking your head.  you look around and suddenly realize the only person you can convince is yourself.  "oh my god, is everyone seeing this?"

the chorus of nods and agreement hits you like a ton of bricks.

"jesus," you say, running a hand through your hair.  "is that why she wanted to hang out?" you mumble, more so to yourself.

"hang out?" one of the girls suddenly exclaims, outraged by this revelation.  "you didn't tell us you guys were hanging out!"

"yeah, cause it wasn't that-"

"well, it's confirmed then," one of the guys says.  "jackie taylor wants you," he says in a teasing, sing-songy voice.

in a matter of seconds, it seems that everyone joins in to tease you into oblivion.

"don't know why she'd go for a backstreet fucker like you, though," your best friend says with a laugh, smacking the back of your head.

you try to laugh along, but you're still not convinced that jackie taylor wants you.  you're trying to put the pieces together in your head, but they're not fitting.

"yeah, she's your uptown girl!" one of the louder guys shouts.

not even a second later he's jumping to the middle of the group and breaking out into song.

"uptown girl!  she's been livin' in her uptown world!" he sings horribly.  he pulls up the collar of his leather jacket while dancing flamboyantly.  without missing a beat, another guy joins in, matching his energy.  "i bet she's never had a backstreet guy!  i bet her momma never told her why!"

you and your friends are left in stitches watching the scene.  you clutch your stomach in a belly laugh as nearly all of the group joins in singing, not caring if anyone else notices.

"i'm gonna try for an uptown girl!"

everyone in a fifty foot radius catches sight of your friends causing an unnecessary scene, most of them scoffing and shaking their heads at you.  but not jackie taylor, who finds you keeled over in laughter and smiles in her starry-eyed way.

you're so free, she thinks.  so happy and lively and unapologetic.  you're so you.  and you're so unbothered by others' opinions and detached from their expectations, a breath of fresh air from the world she lives in.  it's what drew her to you in the first place and what pushed her to this new level of adoration.

she wants what you have.  she wants you.

watching you laugh and joke so unashamedly with your friends, she imagines herself beside you.  she imagines being tucked into your side and leaning her head on your shoulder.  she imagines hearing your infectious laughter right in her ear.

instead she's stuck listening to jeff and his friends talk about the game for the tenth fucking time.  she forces a smile every once in a while, but you're consuming her thoughts.  especially when you look so damn good from across the bonfire.  she couldn't stop staring if she tried.

it gets to the point where she can't settle for watching anymore.  she feels too far away from you.  she needs you up close.  she needs to feel your eyes on her.  she needs to see that smile reserved only for her.

after your laughter has died down, jackie catches your eyes straying back over to her, and she strikes.

you notice her mouth something from across the bonfire.  you think you know what she's saying, but you need confirmation.

'what?' you mouth back, eyebrows knitting together.

jackie pushes herself off of jeff's car and takes a few confident steps toward you.

'come here,' she mouths again.  this time her two fingers making a clear come hither motion.

without another thought, you slide off the trunk of the car.  you don't even care what she wants from you; if she's telling you to come over there, you're going over there, no questions asked.  you snatch the cigarette from your friend's hand before you leave.

"hey!  i was-"  her eyes follow yours.  "oh."

everyone catches on and suddenly you're hearing cat calls and "oohs" from every direction. 

"go get 'em, tiger!" your best friend says, punctuating her words with a smack on your ass.

you bite your lip to hide your smile as you walk away from your obnoxious friends and towards jackie.

she fluffs up her bouncy curls with her hand as she walks toward you, a confident, vibrant smile fixed on her lips.  you think she looks the closest to perfect a human being could achieve, especially in that black dress with the pink floral print.  you remember seeing it in her closet when you were at her house last week.

"that dress is goregous, jackie.  you'd look so good in it," you said, leaning back on your elbows on her bed.  she turned away from you so you wouldn't see the blood rushing to her cheeks.

it seems like she took your words to heart.

"hey," she says when she meets you halfway, her smile growing impossibly larger.  it's contagious.

"hey," you say, leaning back and placing your free hand in your back pocket.  as you do, the hem of your skin-tight crop top rises.  jackie's eyes are instinctively attracted the growing sliver of skin between your top and the low waistband of your baggy jeans.

she swallows before her eyes rise back to your face.

"you look really pretty," she says.  "you always do."

"stop it, jackie," you say, trying to hide your growing smile by bringing the cigarette to your lips.  she doesn't miss it.

"stop what?" she asks, grinning and leaning closer to you.  there's nothing she loves more than playfighting with you.

"flattering me," you say, following her lead and stepping closer.  you take a drag of the cigarette then turn your head to exhale the smoke.  jackie's eyes are trained on your lips as they from a perfect 'o'.

"i'm not," she says, fingers catching on the chain of one of the necklaces layered over your chest.  "because i mean it."

she sounds so genuine that your heart aches beneath her fingers.  she tugs on the pendant of one of your necklaces, bringing you even closer.

"well, that means something coming from you.  you look perfect, as usual" you say.

she can't hide her reddening cheeks this time, nor her stupid smile.  she hums sweetly.

"good answer," she says, sharing a chuckle with you.  "can i get a drag?" she asks, nodding toward your hand.

you wordlessly lift the cigarette up, offering it to her.  instead of taking it from your ring-clad hand, she grabs your wrist.  with your hand still holding the cigarette, she pushes it between her lips and inhales, keeping her eyes locked on yours the entire time.

you've known jackie taylor to be touchy and warm with all of her friends, but this felt different.  maybe it was your friends getting in your head, but whatever jackie was doing felt reserved only for you.  as much as you wanted to deny it, you liked it that way.

"wow, jackie taylor smokes?" you tease before she drops your hand.  "don't you know it's bad for you, your highness?"

she intentionally blows the smoke in your face, causing you to wince and frantically wave it away with your free hand.

"oops, didn't see you there," she says with a self-satisfied grin.

"hmm, right."

with smoke still clouding your vision, jackie takes the opportunity to glance back down at the bare skin of your stomach.  she feels the urge to hook her fingers in the loops of your belt and pull you impossibly closer.  she holds back for now.

"so what were you and your friends singing about?"

"oh, um..."

we were singing about you jackie!

"just, y'know, being stupid as usual," you shrug.  you couldn't scare her with the truth.

"well, it looked like fun," she says, almost longingly.

you were aware of how jackie resented her own friends sometimes and you truly felt for her.  you remember her twirling her straw around in her milkshake while she confessed that everything felt so fake and forced with them, and especially jeff.

that's why she was so attracted to the raw, unfiltered essence of you and your group.  maybe it was just her privileged curiosity talking, but you could tell she was fascinated with how different your life was from hers.

"y'know, you could...hang with us sometime?  i mean, i could introduce you to everyone, if you want," you say casually.

"really?" she asks, eyes instantly lighting up. 

she wants to be immersed in your world.  she wants to be immersed in you. 

"i mean, it wouldn't be weird?"

"no, everyone's pretty cool.  it doesn't have to be a big deal or anything...or we could just hang out if you'd like that," you say, trying to play it cool but feeling unusually excited.

"yeah," she says, grinning beautifully.  "we should totally hang out first.  like, whenever you're free, you should come over." 

she pauses for a second, biting her lip.  her eyes scan your face for a sign of disinterest, but she can't find any.  so, she steps closer to you, her fingers creeping toward your belt.

"or, if you wanna go right n-"

the sound of screaming scares both of you and jackie jumps back, her hand nervously falling to her thigh.  you look over jackie's shoulder and she turns, only to find your teammates all shouting over each other while trying to separate shauna and taissa.  it seems they've attracted everyone's attention as randy only adds to the chaos by shouting "cat fight."

jackie audibly groans, partly because she hates to see her team fighting, but mostly because they've infringed on her time with you.  she stomps toward them and, though you don't want to get involved in whatever is going on, you feel the need to follow her.

"enough!" she yells in her captain voice, so different from the way she had been speaking to you.  she immediately silences everyone.

she sighs and looks back at you for a second, almost as an apology for their behavior and how they've derailed your night.

"yellowjackets, with me, now!" she shouts, stomping away from the bonfire and toward the darker part of the woods.

while the others follow her reluctantly, you don't move, hoping you might be able to sneak away from this trainwreck while you still can.  but, as if she could feel the absence of your presence, jackie turns and finds you standing too far away from her.

she walks back over to you and grabs the same wrist she had held just moments ago.

"sorry," she murmurs, eyes softening for you.  "but you too," she says, before dragging you along with her as if she had separation anxiety.

you look over your shoulder back at your friends, who are all too amused by you and jackie.  most of them are making lewd gestures like scissoring their fingers together or thrusting their hips just to tease the two of you.  you can only send them a strong middle finger before jackie whisks you away entirely, though you can hear the remnants of their obnoxious laughter.

you look down at your wrist and the tight grip jackie has on it.  she doesn't need to be guiding you like this anymore, but you don't mind.  if you're being honest, you like it.

you slide your wrist out of her grip for only a second before you place your hand fully in hers.  she looks back at you, anger dissipating from her face, and you give her hand a gentle squeeze.  a smile creeps onto her lips, and she momentarily forgets the situation at hand.

if anyone was proof that opposites attract, it was definitely you two.

End him Nico