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zzleeper · 1 month

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Good

Jason Todd x Nurse!Reader

MAJOR hurt/comfort

authors note: tbh i do not put as much effort as i should when i write these fics so pls forgive any errors. ty to the internet for providing me with tutorials on how to heal burns :)

ALSO this happens after the end of under the red hood. if you dk what happens basically the building everyone is in explodes and jason is probably incredibly emotionally vulnerable

CW: wounds and burns

words: 2227 . playlist/vibes

There’s the squeak of your window opening, and despite the fact you know it’s Red Hood, you pick up the baseball bat you keep beside your nightstand.

You had met Red Hood at a side job of yours. As a nurse in Gotham with dogshit pay, sometimes you’ve got to have some more questionable sources of income. You were stitching up some criminal who’d been beaten to half a pulp by Batman in the back of some sketchy club/drug dealing front, and he had caught your eye. Later, you realized he was probably there to fuck with the guys in the area once the men you were patching up started muttering about “The Red Hood” like if they spoke too loud he was going to hear them.

He’d played into your advances, flirting back with as much enthusiasm as you had arrived with. It was flattering having such a fine-ass man show interest in you. It didn’t matter how genuine it was since he had proven how good a lay he could be a week after that when you two had found each other again at another base of operations for another gang.

Every other time he always found you. He probably knew where you lived before you brought him back to your apartment. And he never took the mask off. It was a little weird, how attached to it he was, but it’s Gotham, and you’re fucking with a criminal. You’re lucky that, as far as you can tell, he’s not an escapee from Arkham. He didn’t touch the mask, and you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was super disfigured or something. You didn’t care; he looked good and fucked good, so nothing could’ve been that bad.

Red Hood always left before you’d even fallen asleep. The post-orgasm haze was enjoyable until he untangled himself from you and left without saying goodbye. It was always a silent affair every time he left. He was so committed to leaving that he refused to stay the night during a thunderstorm, deciding to brave thunder and rain instead of sleeping in the same bed with you

It didn’t hurt, but it was a little disappointing. You had never defined your relationship with Red Hood, but you knew he wasn’t interested in anything but sex. You were, though. The dull ache in your chest every time he left was nothing unexpected; catching feelings, or at least thinking you are, is a natural progression of fucking someone once every week or two. It’s a pattern you’ve found forming every time you’ve tried to have a no-strings-attached sort of relationship, even if you haven’t even seen his face before.

Creeping out of your room with socked feet, you shuffle toward your window and flick the light on.

Your bat clatters to the ground, and you can see Red Hood flinch slightly.

“Oh my god, what the fuck happened?” You gasp in shock at the state of the man who’s just broken into your apartment. Red Hood is beaten and bloody and clutching his side. You can see blood oozing out from the gaps between his fingers, but that might just be from how burned his hand is. His mask is just gone. But he’s still wearing a domino mask over his eyes. Bruises bloom everywhere on his face; his eyebrow is sluggishly bleeding into his eye, which is puffing up under the mask. He’s leaning against the wall beside your window, looking more like he collapsed.

He groans quietly in response as you rush over to him, collapsing on your knees next to him, “Got in an–” He coughs quietly, that’s not good, “An explosion.”

You want to suggest a hospital, but you know that he would immediately refuse and–if he could walk–probably just leave. Talking to Red Hood in vulnerable moments was like coaxing a feral cat.

“Okay,” You mumble, “Okay,” You know how to do this. Maybe with more people and more hospital equipment and not in your apartment, but you know how to do this.

“Alright,” You shuffle next to him and wrap an arm around his torso, maneuvering his arm to rest on your shoulders, “I’m going to lift you on one, okay?”

Red Hood nods, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Hey,” You snap, nudging him with your shoulder, “Stay awake–and deep breaths, alright?” Shuffling into a crouching position, you adjust him slightly, “Three, two, and one,” You both grunt in unison as you lift him up and off the floor, “Up we go, come on.”

Stumbling to the bathroom, you nudge the door open with your hip and carefully sit Red Hood on the toilet with you crouching between his legs. He droops in a way you’ve never seen before. Red Hood has always been so confident, holding himself high, but right now, he looks bone-tired, something sleep can’t fix.

He feels raw and broken open, something thick with sadness and tragedy oozing out of him, and that’s not just the blood. You cup his cheek to make him look you in the eyes, “Tell me what hurts, honey,” You say, the endearment slipping out as if you’re talking to a patient. Or someone you love.

Red Hood pushes his face into your hand, making your heart squeeze in your chest, “I think I broke a few ribs, definitely a concussion too,” He lifts his hand, it’s bloody and burned, blisters forming in spots that make you cringe, “And my hand is burned like crazy,” He rasps, “Shot my gun with some shit blocking the barrel.”

“Okay, can you take off your shirt, or do you need help?” You ask, standing up to start running the water and grabbing two cloths made from old t-shirts from the hamper next to your tub. Red Hood shakes his head and pulls off his shirt in your peripherals. Glancing over, his chest looks just as bad as you thought it would, with bruises scattered everywhere. It makes your stomach drop just a little more. At least there aren’t any deep abrasions anywhere.

Once the water warms up enough, you wet the cloths and offer one to Red Hood, resting the other one down on the sink countertop, “Wrap that around your hand and keep it there. I’m going to go get some ice for your ribs,” You say quietly, leaving the bathroom to walk over to the kitchen.

Why was Red Hood even here? He’s the most secretive person you know, and doesn’t he have an entire gang to patch him up? He must have a lieutenant or something somewhere. You grab the towel you keep in your kitchen and stuff it with ice, heading back to the bathroom where Red Hood awaits you. Honestly, fucking one of the most dangerous men in Gotham and a notorious crime lord was not your brightest idea, but patching him up after he got into a fucking explosion? What the fuck.

This isn’t what you two do, especially with Hood being so vulnerable right now. He’s breaking the boundaries he had firmly set completely on his own.

“Hey,” You say, Red Hood’s leaning back against the toilet, his eyes closed, “Wake up, I’ve got your ice.” Thankfully, he opens his eyes and takes the makeshift icepack with his good hand, pressing it against his ribs with a slight grimace. You pull the t-shirt-cloth off the counter and stand in between his legs to clean his face.

Nudging his chin with your hand to make him look up at you, you peel off the domino mask with some hesitation, but Red Hood just closes his eyes. He rests his head in your hand when you carefully grip his chin to nudge his face in the direction you want. Starting to clean the cut on his eyebrow, you think about how familiar he looks. His eyes look like those you’ve seen before, but you have no idea where.

“What happened?” You ask, wiping the blood off his face as carefully as you can. You know he won’t answer honestly, the few times you two had talked about anything close to emotions he had fled or changed the subject as soon as possible.

“I told you,” Red Hood responds like the avoidant fuck he is, “Explosion.”

You tut, whacking him lightly with your t-shirt-towel, and he huffs good-naturedly, “You know what I fucking meant, dickhead.” You scold, but he just shakes his head minutely in response, a furrow forming between his brows.

You swipe your thumb over it, soft in a way you two have never been, “You don’t have to tell me, Red. If this is the best way to help, then I’ll fix you up and send you on your way.”

He takes a shaky breath, and his eyebrows scrunch together more. You’re scared he’s going to stand up and leave your apartment, but he pushes through your hands and presses his forehead into your stomach. He falls apart against you. You can’t tell if he’s crying, but it’s something close.

“Oh, sweetheart,” You mutter, curling a hand into his hair.

You both stay like that until he calms down, the sobs wracking his body slowing to a stop. Cupping his face in your hands, you push until he looks up at you.

You don’t have to push very hard. Wiping away the tear tracks with your thumbs, you smile sadly down at him. There’s a small wet spot on your shirt.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” You crouch down and start wiping the dirt and blood off his chest, pushing him until he leans against the back of the toilet. Repeating this on his back as well, you try to soothe as best you can with a hand stroking up and down his side with the least bruises.

Once you’re done you pull him around to face you, “I’m going to wash your hair, bandage your hand, and then you’re sleeping for a very long time.”

Red Hood visibly tenses at that, and you level him with an unimpressed stare, “Stay,” You say quietly, resting your hands on his biceps and avoiding his gaze, “I want to watch you if you have a concussion, and I can’t do that when you’re having a seizure in an alleyway because it’s given you brain damage.”

He deflates, but still rolls his eyes, “It’s not that bad,” He argues, “I’ve been through worse.” How bad, he doesn’t say, but from the amount of scars on his chest and back, you can pretty much tell.

You patronizingly pat his cheek, “That sucks for you,” You tease, your hand sliding down to wrap your fingers around his wrist, avoiding the burns on his hands, and gently tug him towards the shower. He follows without protest, and you both sit against the tub as you wait for the water to warm up. It’s calming, sitting beside Red Hood, your sides pressed together.

Once the water is at a heat you deem acceptable; you pull down the showerhead and maneuver Red Hood to kneel over the tub, still icing his ribs, and start washing his ashy hair with generous amounts of shampoo and conditioner. You can feel his breathing slow next to you as you massage his head with your hands, suds falling into the tub under him.

You wring out his hair with a towel and push him back up into a sitting position. Kneeling on the ground, you lean over to pull open the cabinet under your sink and carefully take the first aid kit from its precarious balance on top of your medicine hoard.

Wrapping his burn is easier than you thought, Red Hood pliant and willing under your hands. You do a once over of him and judge him fit to sleep. You lead him out of the bathroom with a hand on the small of his back.

“Sorry, I don’t have any underwear for you,” You whisper, scared to break the quiet vulnerability you two are sharing.

He smiles at you for the first time since he arrived, which really means it’s the first time ever. It’s soft around the corners with exhaustion, and he looks at you for a little while before responding, “It’s okay, I didn’t expect you to,” He whispers back, just as hushed as you.

You chuckle at his late reply, “Your concussion must be pretty bad if it takes you that long to process words,” You goad, slipping under the covers. Red Hood goes to follow after setting his icepack down on the nightstand, but you hold out a hand to stop him, “Pants. Off. I’m not getting your grime and soot all over my clean sheets.”

He smiles brighter, “Well, you could’ve asked nicer,” He huffs, unbuckling his utility belt and letting it fall to the floor. He undoes his real belt and kicks off his cargo pants, nestling down into the sheets with a groan that’s half pain and half satisfaction.

You’re lying on your stomach, your face smushed against the pillow facing Red Hood, who’s lying on his back, as he fucking should, staring up at the ceiling, “Good?” You mumble, more at the pillow than the man beside you, and he laughs slightly, turning his head to look at you.

“Yeah,” He whispers like a secret in the dark of your bedroom, “It's good.”

#jason todd #jason todd x female reader #jason todd x reader #hurt/comfort #i made myself sad #nvm that was the mitski

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zzleeper · 1 month

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POOKIE POSTING MASTERPIECES RN!!!!

A Scintilla of Excitement (Chapter 1)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Mentat!reader

author's note: This is the first chapter of the mentat series I am writing! I'm so excited for you to see what else I've come up with for this :D (It has now taken the spot for longest thing I've written.) Also go check out my beta-reader @zzleeper!!!!

warnings: house harkonnen, death, mentions of knives,

wc: 1529

You sat on the cold, metal seat of the ornithopter the Harkonnens sent to come and get you from the heighlinder. The scraping of metal startled you when they screeched unexpectedly.

How tragic, you thought, my final moments will take place in a world with no normal sun. And no normal sons either.

The entire two day trip on the heighliner was not so bad. You were allowed to wander the empty ship corridors and explore even up to the staff decks. The only part that was scary were the ‘servants’ aboard the ship. Their bald heads, that seemed to engulf any light that shined on them, made you feel uneasy.

If this is how I feel when I see people like this, I wonder how I’ll feel when I see the baron.

They always seemed to look at you as if you were an alien. Which I supposed you were. The color to your skin that made you look more alive than them. It probably scared them just as much as it scared you.

As you continued to sit there in the cockpit, thinking about the heighliner, you fiddled with your fingers and did not sit fully still.

“We have a nervous one I see!” Shouted a voice from the front of the cockpit where the pilot was. A voice that had a distinct inflection that just screamed Harkonnen, even if the owner of the voice was whispering,

“Don’t worry the baron doesn’t play with his food.” The pilot laughed out, “But the Na-Baron, oh boy watch yourself around him!”

As you sat there, mildly disturbed at what you just heard, the pilot went on and on about the things he had seen the Na-Baron do. Almost like he was proud of him,

“There was this one time Na-Baron took a butter knife off the table and stabbed one of his uncle’s advisors because he didn’t agree with what he was saying!” He exclaimed, “One of my friends was there, he barely survived with just one eye left. Told me all about the story.”

“That's,” you swallowed so as to not hurl at what you heard, “really something…”

FACT: HARKONNENS AND THE PEOPLE OF THE PLANET, IN GENERAL, ARE USED TO THIS VIOLENCE AND ENJOY IT.

INFERENCE: DON'T ACT LIKE YOU HATE THOSE THINGS, BE VERY NEUTRAL ON IT.

HYPOTHESIS: IF YOU CAN ACT LIKE YOU FEEL INDIFFERENT ABOUT THESE THINGS MAYBE THEY'LL PUT IN A GOOD RECOMMENDATION TO KAITAIN.

“It’s incredible, ” The pilot responded, “But the real question is, why does the baron need another Mentat?”

“Another good question is where’s the store that doesn’t sell chatty pilots?”(Y/N) retorted, feeling a little sick and tired from the traveling and what they had just heard.

The snap seemed to shut him up just long enough before you landed on Giedi Prime.

“About an hour before we land on the surface, Mentat.” The same pilot muttered in annoyance.

Actually, 1 hour, 2 minutes, and 23 seconds. But who's counting or keeping track? Definitely not you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the heighliner ramp went down, it allowed you to fully see the polluted land around Geidi Prime. The black sun changed the red, metallic bracelet you were wearing to a dark and shiny gray, almost sliver, instead of its normal vibrance. You saw the guards and their multitude of weapons and dark armor.

If they were standing inside, that would be black. You thought, but that isn’t a surprising detail.

“Are you ready to walk down, Mentat?” one of the other workers on the heighliner asked.

“Yes.” You responded courteously, because you had a pretty good idea of what would happen if you disrespected someone with all the guards and important people around.

The ramp underneath your feet was extremely slippery and steep and forced you to take very slow and precise steps to reach the end. At the rate I am moving I’ll get to the end after the sun goes down. You eventually got to the end of the ramp. But, you only looked at your feet the entire time. Once you looked up you saw a man with a black hood and robes, as well as the lip tattoo you had.

That’s Piter de Vries.

You took the final ten steps to walk to him. As you walked you noticed him look you up and down in an arrogant and almost disgusted manner.

You put your hand out waiting for him to shake your hand. As you did this you said, “I’m (Y/N) (L/N), the new Mentat.”

Instead of him talking your hand he just continued to look up and down. Most likely reviewing the clothes you were wearing and the way you held yourself. Awkwardly, you put your hand down back to your side.

“Well your arrival in the ornithopter was on time. But, the way you traversed down to the ground was quite untimely.” He remarked, “It must be quite exciting for you to have your first assignment.” He added sarcastically.

Just a scintilla of excitement, it would be more if I was not here.

“But, there is no time for talking,” he exhaled, “I can’t have you seeing the baron in such attire.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You looked around at the small bedroom you were given. The room had a hospital type of antiseptic-ness. The walls were bare besides small vertical groves and bolts into the walls holding things together. There was a little gray desk that had shelves that were indented into the walls above it. Beside your desk, was the little chest of belongings that were sent before you had departed from Tleilax.

I’ll unpack that before I go to bed tonight.

You turned toward your bed, a relatively small bed with dark covers and pillows. On top of that was a black butcher paper package. On the front of it, in clear print was, TO THE MENTAT, (L/N). In the package was a set of black clothes that looked similar to the ones you see de Vries as well as other people wearing, except without the cloak. On top of the clothes was a note from de Vries himself.

(L/N), I have taken the liberty of getting rid of all the unnecessary clothes in your trunk and replacing them with more suitable attire for a Mentat. In your closet, you’ll find more of the same kind in the package.

De Vries.

What an asshole.

Quickly, you walked over to your closet and sure enough when you opened it. It was like the same outfit had been cloned over and over again. Black shirt, black pants, and a shiny black belt. Three pairs of black, leather dress shoes were in there too. At the back of the closet, there was a small amount of colder weather wear. A couple of insulated black coats and cloaks.

Unwillingly, you shed your bright clothes from the academy for a dreary uniform instead. The fabric of the shirt was silking and smooth, but the pants itched badly when it met your skin.

Once you were done, you exited your room to see two, bald headed, slave girls standing outside of your room.

“Why are you here?” You questioned.

“We are here to take you to the baron. Under the order of Mentat De Vries.” The girl on the left said timidly.

“Alright…” you whispered as you closed the door behind you.

As you walked through the halls of the Harkonnen’s castle you saw portraits of past rulers who were equally as bald as the next. After four minutes of walking, you ended up in front of a heavily guarded door. From outside the room, you could hear the sounds of yelling, screams, and a thud against the wall.

Remember, indifference, and then you’ll get your way.

You nodded toward the guard, signaling to him you were ready to enter the room. Slowly, the guard opened the heavy, metal door with a slight grunt. Walking inside, you saw a long table that had chairs on either side of it and a huge spread of food on top of it. But, there was only one chair at the head. The Baron was sitting there enjoying the elegant feast on the table.

For the baron… all that food.

You walked past important officials and advisors to Baron Harkonnen sitting in the chairs. You noticed De Vries sitting right next to the baron and opposite two bald headed men. These men were dressed not like the slave or advisors, but men of higher standing.

The baron’s nephews Count Glossu and Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Rabban.

Beside De Vries, there was an empty seat. As you walked to sit in that seat, you noticed the younger man who was sitting opposite of you, the Na-Baron, eyeing you down and biting his lips at the same time.

He probably picks the member of staff that gets eaten when a couple mess up. Is he imagining me fried or boiled?

“I appear to be late, I’m sorry about that, my baron.” You apologized as you pulled the chair out and sat. “Don’t be sorry, Mentat." The Na-Baron jested, "It’s not a good look for you.”

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zzleeper · 1 month

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PRIORITIES : chapter one

Red Hood x Black Mask's assistant!Reader

tiny bit of a slow burn btw

authors note: this is based on the under the red hood movie since i havent read the comics yet. first time ever posting fic on tumblr too!! also go check out my beta @lowtaperfeyd RN.

wc: 1121

“He calls himself the Red–the Red Hood,” The goon talking to Black Mask rasps. When they first wheeled him into the office, he didn’t seem so hot, and that's not counting the practically full-body cast he was in. But now, watching him recount the way his ass was brutally whooped, it’s a whole new low.

Black Mask sighs in unison with you. You should probably stop spending so much time with this man, or the next thing you’re going to pick up from him is his anger issues, “So you’re saying,” Black Mask begins, and you can feel his oncoming temper tantrum in your bones, “That this fucking nobody is the reason sales have dropped fucking ASTRONOMICALLY SINCE MONDAY!”

“Well, sir,” You interrupt calmly, tapping away at your tablet, “He is the reason drug sales have stopped, but it’s really because he recruited many dealers to work under him, especially those who were working under you first.”

Black Mask stands up from his desk, and you can see each of the men standing in his office tense at the same time, “HE NEEDS TO BE FUCKING GONE!” He yells, punctuating his words by striding over and smacking a punch into the face of the nearest goon. The man groans and staggers out of the office, most likely to take himself to the hospital.

“Yes, I understand that, sir, but he can most likely beat all of our men,” You explain, evening Black Mask with a steady gaze, “Probably all at the same time.”

Black Mask huffs and waves away the man reporting to him, and he’s wheeled out of the room.

“Put a hit on him,” Black Mask instructs you, waving you off as well, and he dumps himself back in his desk chair to brood.

You smooth out your pants and nod before turning and walking back to your office. Communicating with the underbelly of Gotham was hard enough, but finding a good enough assassin to beat Red Hood? That might be your biggest challenge yet. You resign yourself to several days of conversation with bigheaded crime lords.

You sigh as you take the stairs up to your apartment, keys rattling as you dig them out of your pocket. Today had been a long day, and you’re looking forward to flopping into bed as soon as possible. You fiddle with your keys and the lock for a moment until the door swings open with a creak. Dropping your briefcase at the door, you then fold your coat over the couch. Burgers actually sound pretty good tonight.

There’s a creak behind you.

You calmly make your way over to the kitchen, rolling open one of the drawers and–

“Your gun’s gone,” A voice says behind you and you whip around, glaring at the direction the voice had come from.

“What do you want?” You snap, bracing yourself for a fight you will probably lose. You’re an assistant of the most dangerous crime lord in Gotham, you have people to win fights for you. The voice sounds masculine, too, which means, most likely, a stronger opponent.

There’s a slight huff, and a man steps out from the shadows, his face is still obscured, but looking at his body you are so going to lose, “I want your help,” He says. What the fuck does that mean?

Who is this guy? You’re not easily recognizable as the Black Mask’s assistant, so this person must have done some research. He’s obviously here about the Black Mask, because there’s not much else important about you other than your job, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think there’s much I can help you with.”

“You’re very calm, aren’t you?” There’s humor in his voice when he speaks, “I don’t know what else I expected from Black Mask’s secretary, to be honest.” You narrow your eyes at the comment. You’ve relaxed slightly, leaning your hip against the counter. Maybe if you could find a way to get to your front door before he could get to you, you would be able to get out.

“The point being?” You cut to the chase, exhaling sharply out of your nose. This will most likely end up with you being tortured if this is a man trying to get information about the Black Mask. You’ll fold easily, your loyalty to the crime lord is stretched thin.

This is the Red Hood, you realize with a start. Who else would want to take down Black Mask like this other than a man trying to challenge his rule? Putting up a fight would be useless. Looking at the men he’s killed, he’s obviously very skilled, and he carries guns with him as well. At least he won’t beat you to death, since most of his other kills are from gunshot wounds. He’s typically efficient with who he kills. Your death will be clean and simple.

Red Hood rests his hands on his hips, unaware of your sudden revelation, “I want information. I won’t torture it out of you unless I have to,” It’s a threat, and he says it like one, his voice predatory. It scares you in a way you’ve never been before.

“I’ll come work for you,” You say rather quickly, offering the best deal that might get you out of this alive. “I have more data about the Black Mask than anyone else. You can take him down from the inside; he won’t know what hit him,” Despite how desperate the words sound, your voice is even, and you look him up and down before crossing your arms.

There’s a slight pause.

“You don’t even know who I am,” Red Hood states skeptically. You can feel his gaze sharpen even behind the mask you know he’s wearing.

“I’m not dumb,” You snap, leaning forward slightly, “You’re the Red Hood.”

There’s another pause.

“Well, that was fast. You’re smarter than I thought, (Y/N) (L/N).”

There’s no way to hide the slight flinch at his use of your real name. It feels grounding in a way your adrenaline isn’t, “Maybe you just underestimated me, Red Hood.”

He hums noncommittally, “Nice place you got here,” He says, suggesting a conversation. His demeanor has changed completely since you agreed–more like demanded–to work for him. You just stare at him, unimpressed, “I see you don’t talk much,” He sighs, pulling a flip phone out of one of his pockets and tossing it to you, “I’ll call you on this when I need to talk to you. Be ready. And remember, you tell anyone about this, you're dead and they are too."

He leaves as fast as he appeared, striding through your front door like he owns the fucking place, leaving your heart pounding against your ribcage as the door slams behind him.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x female reader

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