Jason Todd Has A Hoodie. The Hoodie. Oversized With Sleeves Long Enough He Can Pull Them Down To Swallow

The book

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ain't nobody like my desi girl !

who's the hottest girl in the world? my desi girl, my desi girl!

or; Jason Todd celebrating Diwali with his Indian girlfriend 🎆☄️✨

jason todd x f!indian!reader, mildly suggestive at the end (it's literally microscopic) I totally would’ve posted this last week when it was actually Diwali but I just made this blog yesterday #lolz that being said since I’m new here does anyone wanna be friends👉👈 Read Dick's version here !

When you invite him to your family’s house for Diwali, Jason shows up early to help with setting up decorations and preparing food. He’s especially eager to help with the food so he can learn to make your favorite dishes. He brings flowers for your parents and calls them ‘aunty’ and ‘uncle.’ He even does charanashpara (touches their feet). You hadn’t even told him to do that, but he did his own research because he just wants to make a good impression.

You wanted to get him a black kurta (because obviously) but he asked for a red one because he wanted to match with you. It fits him soooo nicely. The way it stretches across his broad chest and strains against his biceps when he crosses his arms…lord have mercy. That and the thin chain that hangs around his neck…you want to eat him alive.

He’s totally starstruck when he sees you in your traditional wear; the sequined red sari that exposes your collarbones, hugs you in all the right places, the low, low back of its blouse, and the gold jewelry adorning you—he can’t take his eyes off you all night. He’s physically pained by how beautiful you look and the fact that he can’t have his hands all over you because your family is right there. But rest assured his hand is warm and unmoving against your back, thumb dragging back and forth over the exposed skin allll night (what can I say he’s just a physical touch kind of guy I don’t make the rules).

He’s trying so hard to keep up with the prayers but the words in the booklet are so tiny and hard to pronounce the poor guy is just mouthing gibberish😭 He's so relieved when it's over. You show him all the sweets, explaining what each one is called and what its ingredients are, etc. When you point out your favorites, he takes one, breaks it in half so he can try it, and feeds you the other half.

And if you’re wearing red red lipstick to match the outfit? Oh he’s going feral. Before the party is even over he’s taking your hand and pulling you up the stairs to your room and that lipstick is getting smudged all over both his and your face and neck and chest. His large fingers have trouble undoing the tiny delicate hooks that run down your back and he's getting so frustrated he just wants to rip the thing open

"Don't you DARE, Jay, I LOVE this dress.” “C'mon babe, more than me?🥺”

He wouldn't dream of upsetting you, though, so he's whining and grumbling his way down. But halfway through he gets the hang of it and speeds through the rest, lips following the path his hands pave down the line of your back.

He can’t wait for next year.

Guard Dog

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.”

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me—back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

house of the dragon x the unequal marriage (vasili pukirev)

MOTHER: now eat your vegetables honey so you can grow up big and strong

WOKE SON: i dont WANT to grow up big and strong. i want to be a Twink

cr: teaandbooksforlife on tiktok

Shared intentions — [18+MDNI!!]

summary: your betrothed has been away for so long, and as time passes, you ache for someone to keep you company—only to find that the one you seek is closer than you believed…

pairing: Alicent Hightower x Fem!reader, Gwayne Hightower x Fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: slight angst, religious themes, c!nnilingus, f!ngering, cheating, not proofread, english isn't my first language – (let me know if there were more!)

The weeks had passed at a deliberately slow pace. The hours had quelled and teased you as you waited at court, the walls closing in and suffocating you as you met dawn and dusk in the middle.

Your betrothed, Gwayne Hightower, had been gone for the Seven knows how long, and you’d been aching for him ever since he left the Keep. The days had been weary, the weather depressing, but mostly, they were slow. You had been husband and wife for only a few fortnights before he was swiftly called away to claim his post next to the new hand of the king, marching to lands where they’d bury the ashes of those who didn’t support the king’s claim.

The match had been one of romance. You had kept each other’s company for many months before the previous hand of the king suggested the marriage. You still reminisce about your wedding night and how you could give in to one another at last. You had only tasted the sweet flavour of love for a brief time, and already it had been taken away, leaving you in a burning state, longing to relive the moments you had together.

The match had been one of romance, or so you believed, nay, you knew. Therefore, you couldn’t fathom what made the interval before his arrival abruptly bearable. You weren’t sure why you stepped into the Great Sept of Baelor that evening, having never had a devotion to the Seven before, and your mind was blank as to why you claimed a seat next to the queen regent. All you knew was that she gave you the comfort you desperately needed.

It all began so innocently. From silent whispers in the Great Sept, to assuring eye contact, to solacing caresses, which then led to you being summoned to her chambers late at night. These meetings were sacred to you, never failing to remind you of their origin at the heart of the Seven. Although you were also aware of the illicit, sinful nature of your encounters, only the shadows of the night bore witness, unhearing of the wicked whispers the queen regent made dance across your flushed skin.

Nights turned into mornings, which then turned into evenings. Now, presently, at the fourth hour past midday, you struggled to keep your breath at pace. Your back was against the cobblestone wall in the queen regent’s chamber, the harsh touch a contrast to your soft, feverish skin. Your body lay lazily, barely clothed, as Alicent looked up at you beneath your skirt, her tongue hungrily exploring your folds, making you squirm beneath her touch.

She knew that when she curled her fingers inside you just right, it would draw out a heavenly choir, portraying you as a martyr, drenched in oil, with your face slightly glazed and the sunlight from the windows setting it aglow. And so, when she did, vindication had never tasted so intoxicatingly sweet. “Seven Hells, you always take it like a good girl,” Alicent breathed as her lips hovered above your cunt. Her other hand held your thighs up as her tongue finally sought out your bundle of nerves.

Your breath hitched at the mixture of her soft hums, vibrating your nerves and setting your lower stomach ablaze. “Alicent, please—” you whined, begging for more if any was even left. Your mind was a haze, feeling only her inciting, impure touch. The mere sight of your voracious state made her long for your release. “Let go for me,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto yours as she continued to work her fingers in and out of you, latching her mouth onto your clit like a woman starved.

Alicent watched as your eyes rolled back into your head at your release. Your body felt electrified, her touch making you see stars and feel as if you experienced heaven’s touch. She drank your nectar as your moans filled the room, and you were coming down. Your knees almost gave way when she got up, holding onto you and keeping you steady. “You did so well for me, do you know that?” she whispered. Her eyes were a soft, innocent touch to your dishevelled appearance. You nodded, returning an appreciative smile as she brought her hand to your face, faintly locking onto your jaw and neck. “We can’t keep meeting like this,” you said, though you leaned into her touch.

You watched her with her auburn hair worn like a crown, still unchanged after the event. You believed your meeting was born of lust, nothing else, with her dark brown eyes able to trap you wholly. Lust was a sin, though committed by many, whereas love would not just be considered infidelity, but something much worse, you thought, as you observed her flushed face and her wet, half-agape lips. Yet, something more than lust brewed inside you.

“We certainly can’t keep meeting like this,” she agreed, as her other hand lifted one of the sleeves of your dress, covering your breast again before her fingers trailed down to it, cupping and squeezing it slightly, causing your breath to hitch. She never looked away, daring you, seeking a reciprocated acknowledgment for what ached inside her. “This was the last time,” she whispered.

Before your mind could take over your actions, your heart already had. You pulled her into a lustful, carnal kiss, your hands roaming her body and pulling her against you. It felt as if no matter how close the two of you got, there was still space wasted between you. Nothing felt close enough, and the more you were away from each other, the more your mind and soul burned for her.

“Gods, you’re my greed,” she sighed as you moaned into the kiss. Her mouth opened slightly, allowing your tongues to melt together as one. She groped your breasts while you pulled up her dress from beneath, sinking two fingers into her heat. Alicent gasped as you thrust two fingers inside her with a fevered pace, making her rock her hips in rhythm. “You’re fucking soaked,” you breathed, feeling her wetness drenching your hand. With your thumb, you began rubbing small circles against her core, earning a blissful whine—a clear indication for you to keep going. And so you would have, had a loud knock on the door not nearly drowned out the scandalous, wet noises of your actions.

-

The unyielding wind showed no pity against your skin as you made your way to the courtyard for your husband’s arrival. It was the fifth hour past midday, and the weather seemed to share the gods’ resentment toward you. You hadn’t been able to take a bath or clean yourself up, as the voice that held the knocker’s hand had proclaimed your husband’s arrival. Your heart had sunk at the announcement, and you had hurriedly left her chamber to ensure you met your husband before he could greet his sister.

You skin was covered in a layer of barely dried up sweat, and your dress was covered in wrinkles; you felt as if you had partaken in a tournament. You tried to flatten your dress as you walked down the fore stair, but in vain, as the fabric seemed unbending. It mattered no longer as you locked eyes with your husband across the courtyard. Seeing him in person again made you vividly remember the precious moments you had shared.

You recalled the way he’d comfort you and held you, his lean arms embracing you as he whispered tender words into your ear. The way he made love to you felt eternal, lasting evermore, with his calloused hands opening you up just right. And his lips, which had tasted every surface of your skin, or the way he looked at you, whenever.

You felt lost in a maze of thoughts, but it lasted only so long before your arm brushed against someone. Not just anyone, but the queen regent, Alicent Hightower, and everything you thought of your husband was swept away by your burning desire for her.

You looked at her, just for a moment, as she looked at you. It was nothing, just a glance, but you felt like everyone in the courtyard could discern your history from that fleeting moment. Your cheeks felt hot, and you looked away quickly, heading toward your husband. His eyes were still locked onto yours, a serious demeanor overcoming him, making you believe he knew. No, you knew he knew, until his eyes suddenly softened. The gods were making you paranoid; there was no reason for suspicion, you thought, so you ignored it.

“Gwayne!” you exclaimed joyfully, taking him into an embrace. You smelled him and felt that was all you needed to remember who you truly were meant to love. “How I missed you, my love,” he sighed, pulling away and taking you into a kiss. You felt him smile against your lips, which made you melt inside. This was good; all was well. Your husband was here, and no one but the gods knew.

Alicent watched as her brother embraced her lover. She knew she wasn't supposed to feel some grudge against Gwayne, since it was all part of the arrangement. As long as he was away, she was all hers, and vice versa. But the two of you seemed like two parts of a whole.

Her brother’s relationship was bound by oath, approved by the gods, whereas yours was a double-edged sword, rotating evermore, piercing whomever reached out first. Alicent merely prayed it was a riddle, with a riddle’s ending—a way for both of you to escape without hurting one another, for her blaze to either cease to exist or ignite as one.