#kevlar helmet

[goatsludge]

RBR Model S4 Combat Helmet with AN/AVS-6(V)1 Night Vision Goggles and early Davies TASC Headset. Following the Battle of Mogadishu, Delta Force quickly realized they needed to invest in a new combat helmet system, with operators having taken head shots while wearing the non-ballistic Protec Skate Helmets they were accustomed to.

Experience with the USGI PASGT Helmet during Acid Gambit proved it too heavy for their needs, and following influence from DEVGRU at the time, Delta began issuing the British RBR S4 Helmet, a lower-profile, more stable derivative of the PASGT design.

Due to the pronounced brim making it difficult to drill the shell for ANVIS NVG Mounts, several custom strap mounts were cobbled together and distributed. AWS Inc. would later produce a similar mount for Green Berets and AFSOC. The specimen on my helmet is a replica that I've assembled - it needs some improvement, but it works just the same.

The RBR S4 would only be an interim solution, as CGF would introduce the experimental MICH TC2000 helmet in 1998, which quickly supplanted the S4 within the unit and would go on to become adopted as the ACH with the rest of the U.S. Army shortly thereafter.

[alex9mm]

Bulletproof vest definition

A bulletproof vest is a protective garment worn to stop or reduce the projectile ballistic and kinetic force from penetrating the body. It typically consists of layers of high-tech materials such as Kevlar  and Dyneema  for soft armor panels or ceramics ,Dyneema and steel for hard armor . The effectiveness of a bulletproof vest depends on various factors, including the distance from the shooter the type and caliber of weapon used, the vest's composition and thickness, and the wearer's body size and posture.

Dyneema is a type of ultra-high molecular weight polyethylene (UHMWPE) fiber that is often used in the production of body armor and ballistic materials. Dyneema is known for its high strength-to-weight ratio, making it a popular choice for use in bulletproof materials.

When used in body armor, Dyneema is typically combined with other materials, such as aramid fibers or ceramic plates, to create a composite material that provides protection against a wide range of threats, including bullets from firearms.

Dyneema is also used to create other types of ballistic materials, such as Dyneema Shield, a lightweight and flexible material that is used to create bullet-resistant inserts for backpacks, briefcases, and other personal protective items.

It is important to note that the level of protection provided by Dyneema materials can vary depending on the specific product and the threat it is designed to protect against. It is recommended to consult with a knowledgeable professional or consult product specifications for the most accurate information on the protective capabilities of Dyneema materials.

Ballistic Steel AR 500

Ballistic steel is a type of steel that is used in the construction of body armor. Ballistic steel is known for its high hardness and toughness, making it an effective material for stopping bullets and other projectiles.

When used in body armor, ballistic steel is typically used in conjunction with other materials, such as ceramics or polyethylene fibers, to create a composite material that provides enhanced protection against a wide range of threats.

Ballistic steel plates can be used as standalone armor plates, or they can be added to soft armor to provide additional protection against high-powered rounds. Ballistic steel plates are also often used in military and law enforcement applications where a high level of protection is required.

It is important to note that the level of protection provided by ballistic steel plates can vary depending on the specific product and the threat it is designed to protect against. It is recommended to consult with a knowledgeable professional or consult product specifications for the most accurate information on the protective capabilities of ballistic steel plates.

[usarmytrooper]

[softgrungeprophet]

my original plan was for tj's costume to look kind of power rangery once he finally gets one but to actually protect him against the specific things he needs protection from i think that will probably not end up being true lol

[bootdork]

Super pumped for my bike test on Saturday and I wanna make sure all my gear is comfortable and whatnot so I'm just... wearing full-body motorcycle protective gear around the house, watching TV all armored up. You break into my home to rob me and I am sprawled out on the couch dressed like this.

[azurescaled-archived]

It's gonna suck being gone for 4 days

[dollfacefantasy]

little drabble while i go back and forth between longer fics <3

jason todd x reader

Brown leather comes up over charcoal kevlar when Jason pulls his jacket into place. He shrugs it on before bending over and adjusting the kick pads fastened to his boots. You watch from your seat on the edge of the bed. You watch your lover conceal himself piece by piece. The tight fabric molds over his scarred body like a second skin.

You chew the inside of your cheek as a way of dealing with your frayed nerves. This feeling was becoming a constant in your life. Every night he went out, every morning he came back bloody and bruised. It was getting to the point where being calm brought on anxiety because it didn't feel right.

Swallowing hard, your eyes stay locked onto him as he goes through his routine. When he turns around, his gaze lands on you. In an instant, he knows something's wrong. He'd only been back for a little while but dying hadn't stripped him of his talent for reading your emotions.

"What's the matter, doll?" he asks.

You shake your head and shrug, trying to communicate that it was nothing without saying it was nothing. Because it was something and your voice would betray that with one syllable.

He seems to understand regardless and approaches you. His hand finds its place under your chin and guides your face upwards to look at him.

"C'mon, you know you can tell me anything," he says softly.

"I just… I don't want you to go," you say, the words coming out close to a whisper, "I hate that you still go out there every night. I just got you back. I don't wanna lose you again."

His expression grows more tender. He sits on the bed next to you and pulls you into his lap.

"Oh baby…" he coos.

You're engulfed by his frame. It seemed even bigger since he came back. Your head sinks to its preferred spot on his shoulder against his neck while his palm sweeps up and down your back. These little techniques to soothe you had become apart of a routine performed as often as him getting ready. It never led to him actually staying home though. The lust for revenge that coursed through his veins was practically coded into his dna. He'd still head out as soon as your emotions had settled, but he never passed up a chance to take care of you.

"You're not gonna lose me again, sweetheart. No way," he whispers and kisses your temple. His large body sways back and forth a bit with you in his lap. "I would never let that happen. No one's taking me away from you. I'll be out for a little while, but you know I'll come back in the morning."

You nod reluctantly and run an exhausted hand over your face.

"That's right," he murmurs before landing another kiss, "I'll be back before you wake. You'll fall asleep and then when you open your eyes I'll be there waiting for you."

You nod again and slide your arms around him to give one last lingering hug. He returns it, his grip much tighter than yours. A final kiss later, and he's up. You're placed on the mattress before he crosses the apartment and grabs the remaining piece of his persona. The sleek red of his helmet replaces the shaggy black hair you love so much. The vacant white of the mask covers the pools of turquoise in his eyes.

"Love you, baby," he says in parting before heading out the window into the night.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Marina; alpha Jazz, a dark alley, and a very pretty omega. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that,” she says, because Red Hood is still breathing a little too rough, and his vocoder doesn’t sound quite right either. “I’m not trying to pressure you into naming anyone you don’t want known as a packmate or anything like–” 

“There’s no one,” Red Hood says, and Jazz–pauses. 

What? That’s–does he mean– 

“What?” she says, because literally nothing else will come to mind. 

“No one,” Red Hood repeats, voice rasping even through the vocoder. “No packmates. No one to pick me up. No one safe.” 

A certain psychological profile, Jazz thinks distantly again, and only just manages to keep her teeth in her mouth. 

She could bite him through the armor, she knows. Her alpha fangs can get through ecto-enforced armor, and even vigilante-grade kevlar isn’t going to measure up to that. She could bite him, and claim him, and take him home to her half-unpacked little shoebox apartment and let him nest down with every single piece of bedding and linens and clothing she owns and then use her liminal endurance to fuck him ‘til he’s well and truly satisfied and fat with as many pups as he wants from her, and secure in his place in a pack that would pick him up from beyond the damn grave, if it came to it. 

She could do all that, so she definitely needs to stop thinking about it before she tries to. 

Even if Red Hood’s heat pheromones are twisting with grief and pain, now, and bleeding it all sharper and harder and wider-spread, and all she can smell is an omega in need. An omega who needs a knot to satisfy him, and an alpha to claim him, and a pack to keep him. 

She could just bite right through the collar of his jacket and armor and sink her teeth in, and– 

“Oh, I don’t know if you should’ve told me that,” she only barely keeps her alpha voice out of saying, instinctively digging her nails into his very nice ass. “Not to imply I don’t appreciate the clear communication and your willingness to trust me with that information, just–” 

“Put your fucking knot in me before I shoot you in it,” Red Hood snarls, and rips off one of the scent blockers under the high collar of his shirt and jacket. 

Ah, Jazz realizes. 

Those actually were holding back a lot of his scent, weren’t they. 

A lot of it. 

That’s . . . that’s definitely a lot of scent, yes. 

“Ngh,” Jazz says faintly, and Red Hood–well, technically he headbutts her, but she’s pretty sure he just kind of forgot he was wearing the helmet and was trying to kiss her, since mostly it’s her mouth that takes the impact of it. “Filters. Filters.” 

“Naw,” Red Hood breathes, and grips the back of her neck with both hands.

[killakalx]

killa ur one of my absolute fav jason writers so i felt the urge to share w u what has been rotting my brain recently. all i can think abt is ak/rh!jason meeting robin!reader for the first time. at first he’s angry, enraged, really, seeing flashes of red and green prancing across rooftops like you don’t have a care in the world. he has half a mind to beat some sense into you, knock that ‘i’m invincible in this suit’ mentality right out of your pretty little head. until he sees you up close, because that kevlar vest can’t hide the swell of your chest, and of course he notices the way your cape flares out to accommodate for the curve of your ass. just imagining the way he’d get obsessed, always cornering you in dark alleys just to rile you up and make you feel guilty that somebody like him has your panties all sticky and your thighs clenching, only to leave you high and dry ‘til the next time he ‘coincidentally’ runs into you during your solo patrols. kicking my feet js putting this into words he’s actually taken over all my thoughts i can’t function 😵‍💫

omg wait ilysm nonnie ☹️❤️ im glad my writing for jason is what you like!!!

ok i’m gonna edit ur take just a lil bit bc if you want me to be so honest rn, the idea of reader as a robin implies to me that reader’s still kinda young. ik that isn’t the fact but i just associate robin with being tiny and thrilled to get your life destroyed by an old man in a bat costume. now if we go about it like reader’s being mentored by b-man and has been for a long time, so it’s obvious to jason that she’s got that lil invincible flair? i’m all for it. cuz i feel like jason has beef with anyone who subjects themself to the same things he did when he was under batman’s wing.

now i’m not gonna say jason’s a stalker but yk. he’s definitely keeping track of you. judging your every move and making sure to be as hypercritical as possible, just to distract him from how badly he wants to ruin you himself. two things immediately came to my mind when i read this and it was brat taming and corruption, but jason as a brat tamer is always in the back of my mind somewhere 🫣 he’s almost looking forward to the moment he gets you to pounce on him with some sneaky shit, waiting for you to pull something just so he can show you how easily he’ll have you right under his thumb. and every time he corners you it’s a little game- he’s wondering if you’re feeling feisty and wanting to give him a hard time or if you’re gonna be all calm and collected and try to outsmart him. he almost finds it pitiful, really, if not entertaining.

then suddenly you’re looking forward to the moment he’s got you really cornered, head to head with him and he’s giving you that death stare even from under the blank helmet. “i know you like this stupid little game,” he’d taunt after getting you in a chokehold all the way up against his chest and pelvis. “aww, he didn’t teach you how to get outta this one yet?” when he definitely has, and you can’t quite figure out what exactly you’re supposed to do when you’re caught off guard by the little tingle between your legs. not to mention how the tight grip around your neck has you gasping… god you’re ashamed of yourself, and he can tell with the look of frustration under that cute cowl. you can’t tell that he’s enjoying this too, and he makes sure of that. just know that he’s eager to hear your half-assed protests and how you “shouldn’t be doing this with him” while he’s… 🤭 mmmm ak!jason todd w a corruption kink save me pls

[saintmurd0ck]

footsteps

masterlist

pairing: matt murdock x f!reader

summary: your undeniable chemistry, the perfect night. it's been a long time coming, and finally, matthew murdock is in your apartment.

warnings: NO SHE HULK SPOILERS but def inspired, matt murdock's filthy mouth, matt murdock's cocky personality, smut, p in v (unprotected), oral (f receiving), someone say size kink???

a/n: credits to @buckypascal for making gifs of the scene. also, new post format?! lastly, tagging @mattmurdockspainkink and @chronicoverachiever for being there on that night and screaming about this entire episode with me 💀🙈 love you two LOTS 💗💗

You don’t waste any time getting into the apartment. Not even to fumble for your keys. They go straight in to turn the lock, and then they're yanked out. Thrown somewhere. Anywhere.

Nothing else matters now but him. All this time; every path, every decision, every bit of banter exchanged between the two of you has come down to this moment. You’ve known Matt for a very long time, but tonight… tonight feels more than familiar. Even if you’re in brand new territory. 

The thick material of his suit grabs at your fingertips, tactile panels and armour-infused fabric gliding underneath your palms, clinging to the sweat that’s started to form. But you can’t think about that. You can’t think about being nervous, not when his mouth is on yours and his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, begging for entry. Right now, you shouldn’t be thinking of anything else. And rightfully so, you can’t.

Matt leans into the kiss, deepening it as a gloved hand comes up to cup your jaw, allowing for the tiniest of whimpers to slip past your lips. He stumbles, taken aback slightly at the way you’re kissing him, with a tenacity… a ferociousness he hasn’t yet experienced with you. You’re insistent, and it shows. It shows as you anchor your hand to the small of his back, nevermind that it’s all Kevlar you’re feeling and not his skin.

Oh God, his skin. The urge to see it, to touch it, to savour it, is staggering. Even though the night's only beginning, you’re impatient, and he knows it. 

It’s a good thing he’s impatient too.

“You’ve got too many clothes… uh– too much suit–” you mumble, breaking away but still maintaining your distance. Or lack thereof.

Matt chuckles against your cheek, and it sounds like a promise. “There’s a zip at the back, sweetheart.”

He pulls you forward again to nip at the column of your throat, and then to leave a mark at the base of your neck, soothing the spot only with a flicker of his tongue. You can feel him straining against you now, and he’s shifting his hips, trying to get his bulge to settle where it wants to between your legs. 

He’s antsy, and you get it. You understand. It’s not as if the two of you have been tiptoeing around each other for months, juggling a delicate balance of flirting and friendship and whatever the fuck else you’d describe your dynamic as.

But here you are.

Here you are.

You will yourself to pull it together as you kick your shoes off, Matt doing the same. He sets himself back upright promptly to remove his gloves, and then his helmet. You’re a little surprised at how haphazardly he tosses it onto the couch – a perfect throw, of course – considering that the suit is new and his helmet… well, his helmet cements his moniker, right? And–

Oh, enough about the helmet already. 

His hair is ruffled, chesnut brown going a little orange when it catches in the yellow apartment light. He throws a billy club at the switch on your wall, muttering something about, ‘who needs a light, anyway?’ 

He’s handsome, and all he’s doing is standing there, his stance a little wide, and the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You don’t need to tell him how he makes you feel; he knows it so acutely it’s as if he’s cracked open a window to your innermost desires. You suck your cheeks in, feeling heat rise to your face as you approach him. Your expression goes dark and you think you have to stop in your tracks, if only to squeeze your legs together, but your body overrides that sensation. It tells you to keep going, to disregard the second heartbeat that's manifested, so you do, fingers fumbling for the strap on the back of Matt’s neck that conceals the zip.

It’s an almost wordless exchange except for what’s whispered under your breaths; the ‘is this okay?’s and ‘yes’es that flow so easily. He reassures you as you struggle with his suit, telling you ‘it’s– the zip’s right there’ and ‘c’mon sweetheart, you got it’. And you do, in fact, got it, because now you’re tugging it down his back, exposing every inch of his delicious self to the ether and beyond.  

The zip goes down to his tailbone, and the second it has no more give, you’re pushing the suit off his shoulders, coaxing the material down and off. Down and off. You’ll admire him later. There’s something else in the way first.

When you get to his waist, you repeat your newfound mantra. Down and off. Down and off. You don’t care that his abs look carved from marble, like a statue handcrafted by Michelangelo himself, or that his cock – holy fuck, his cock – is almost staring you in the face – the suit goes over his ass, down his thighs, and he kicks it off, stepping on the pant legs to get the last of the fabric off his ankles. 

Now, you can look at him. And look you do.

“You know I can tell that you’re eye-fucking me, right?” he grins, lifting his arms away from his body slightly, palms turned to face you. He’s caught in an almost-shrug. 

You wave his words off to run your gaze up and down his frame, starting with his broad shoulders, the scars flecking his torso, and the tiniest trail of hair from his navel to beyond his boxers. His abs contract a little with every intake of breath, flexing and rippling as if they have a mind of their own. Your eyes continue to glaze over his body, working methodically from head to toe, focusing on a different part of him each time. You can barely recognise the quiver in your own breathing when you’re done.

“Bedroom,” you command, taking one of his hands in yours, squeezing it tightly as you lead him away.

He answers with a smile.

Then, as you approach the threshold of your door, of the very place you’ve thought about having him over and over and over again, his hand slides up to tighten at your wrist. He spins you towards him, backing you up until you’re against the wall. He pins you in place, and then his lips meet yours. This time it’s intimate, and not just because of what’s about to happen. It’s intimate for all the right reasons, for all the times he’s made you laugh, or listened to you grumble about the stressors of the world. It’s for every time he’s come to you, battered and bruised, close to broken, and every time you’ve nursed him back to sanity. To health. Matthew Murdock was — is — your one-in-a-million. 

Your one-in-a-million groans as he nips at your pulse, using his knee to knock your legs apart. You’re lost now with both hands tangled in his hair, while his begin to roam over your breasts before settling on your hips. Matt moves his thigh in between your legs, and presses it upwards where he hears you throb. You bear down on the hard muscle, a steady stream of moans accompanying the arching of your back. That’s the gratification you’ve been seeking, the pleasure he knows you deserve. And that he can give. 

“There you go,” he purrs, waiting for your arms to go slack so he can slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders. That moment comes easily as he grinds his thigh into your pussy harder. You wonder if he can feel the growing, damp spot in your panties — his sharp exhale tells you everything you need to hear. 

He reaches behind you to unhook your bra with an ease that surprises you, and then everything else follows: your dress, your panties, his boxer briefs — they’re nothing more than meaningless clothes, troublesome barriers, as they fall to the floor into one clumsy pile. 

And, for a moment, as the two of you step inside the bedroom, you linger there, arms wrapped around his waist as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He’s inhaling your scent, committing you to memory, as if nothing else – nothing – will ever come close to this. To you. He’s warm under your touch, and although his muscles are rock solid, he’s soft. He’s always had a gentle quality about him, and it’s become more apparent with every subsequent layer removed, physical and mental.

Matt braces his hands on your hips, squeezing ever-so-lightly to hold you there. Right now, he towers over you, still emanating that faint devil energy that always becomes more prominent with the suit, but you know you’re safe. It’s safe with him, and it always has been. He tilts his chin downwards, feeling your breath fan across his face.

He chuckles softly, and the sound makes your body erupt into goosebumps. It doesn’t help your case, but he drags his fingertips up your arms, touch featherlight and leaving you wanting more. He says your name, and it rolls off his tongue.

When he says it, it sounds like it was made for him.

He whispers your name again as he kicks the bedroom door shut, scooping you up to lay you out on the bed.

. . .

Moments later, there he is, forearms bracketing your face, mouth on your body, mapping every contour and curve you have to offer. He’s hungry for you, leaving wet kisses on your collarbones, moving further down to play with your breasts. He latches himself onto your nipple, sucking and circling with his tongue, grinding himself into your mattress in rhythm to your moans. You’re positive the dampness pooling between your thighs is trickling down them now. And that’s all thanks to him. Matthew. 

Your Matthew. 

He continues down your stomach, marking you as he pleases. You’re looking at him through your eyelashes, one hand curled tightly in his hair, trying to control your breathing, but it’s difficult. That coil in your stomach, the one that’s been loaded since the first time you laid eyes on Matthew Murdock… it’s reaching breaking point. And you need to let go. 

For a moment Matt’s expression is pained, but it shifts back to focus as he nears your pussy, licking his lips to affirm the scent of your arousal sitting heavy in the air. You realise his expression is one of discomfort, but only because he wants you. He doesn’t know how much control he has over his own body. He wants to drag this out, to have you until the night gives way to the morning sun, but he needs you, more than he’s needed anything else in his life. So, there isn’t much pretense as he slides his palms under your ass and lifts your pussy to his face. 

God, his tongue feels like heaven. 

He licks a broad stripe up your centre, tasting you for all you are, before moving to your clit, drawing tight circles with the tip of his tongue. Still, Matt needs more. Somehow, this isn’t enough. It feels as if he’s waited his entire goddamn life for this, and if that’s how long eternity feels like, then he’s going to take advantage of every moment, of every chance to study your body and burn your pleasure into the fabric of his brain. Tasting you like this isn’t enough, so he flexes his arms, and he tightens his core, and rolls you with him until he’s lying on his back.

Matt Murdock eating your pussy is one thing, but Matt Murdock eating your pussy as you’re sitting on his face?

“Fuck– fuck, Matt, just like that,” you gasp, one hand outstretched towards your headboard, the other wound in his hair. 

He says something, but it’s muffled against your cunt, and it only makes you clench harder. With the way he’s lapping at you, and then the way his tongue begins to stretch you out, you realise you’re going to implode very, very soon. 

He lifts you off his mouth, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. “Now, angel, would you like to cum for me now? Or do you want my cock?”

Maybe it's the way your banter works, but the retort flies from your lips faster than intended. “Do you really have to ask?”

His mood switches in an instant, and it should scare you — but it stirs up something wicked inside. It’s as if Matt can read your mind, or pick at this new unravelling thread, because he flattens his tongue against you again, as if something’s changed in your arousal.

“I was being nice,” he growls, and something like taunting flashes across his face. He’s testing the waters a little. Maybe he’s trying to figure out exactly how you like to take it.

“Yeah?” you respond, smugness lining your tone. You shuffle downwards to where he’s holding up his cock, having stroked it once… twice, just to show off his impressive size. 

There it is again, that taunting.

Well, lucky for him, he’s not the only hellraiser this side of town.

You have him buried to the hilt in one agonisingly smooth motion, squeezing your thighs at his sides as his cock nudges against the spot that edges your vision in white.

He hisses as string after string of curses tumble from his lips, as suddenly he's enveloped in your warmth and your wetness, unable to think and almost unable to move. He has his hands on your waist, gripping so tightly you think it'll bruise, arms and abs flexing as he fights every urge within himself to cum inside you without giving you what you deserve.

He's pretty when he moans, and it's not just the blissed out expression on his face as you begin to move. His sounds are rich, and a little husky, laced with the kind of desperation you didn't think he could possess. You start to roll your hips, planting your palms on his broad chest as he lets you guide him into oblivion. Every drag of his cock along your walls sets your nerves alight, and he makes you feel so full you think you might burst.

He pleads your name. He begs you to go faster.

"What do you want, Matthew?" you drawl, lifting your hips up to bounce on his length, to writhe on top of him the way you realise he loves.

He's desperate, yet the authority in his voice remains. "Want you to cum for me, angel."

Your nose scrunches as you fuck yourself on him, breathing coming out in heavy pants as he hits that spot over and over and over again. His mouth curves into a devilish chuckle as you explode on his cock, fingernails digging into his skin as you pulsate and flood around him.

He takes this opportunity to reclaim his dominance, to flip you onto your back, pushing you into the sheets as he drives himself into you. His hips snap against yours ruthlessly as his forearms cradle your head and his mouth meets yours. The intimacy prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, and clearly you still have a couple good thoughts left in you, because Matt's got a weakness for this.

He breaks away from the kiss to tip his head back and groan, allowing you to pull him in deeper. Sweat blooms across his hairline as he lowers his weight on your body, nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing you in and holding you so damn close. His rhythm never falters, but his strokes change, especially as he uses his hands to push your legs back as far as they'll go.

And, as if what he's doing isn't good enough, he wrestles one hand free to rub your clit.

Oh, holy shit. If this is how you die, so be it. So fucking be it.

"Matty," you whimper, interlacing your fingers behind his neck, pulling him in to kiss you again.

"Yeah, angel," he rasps, and his lips are back on yours. They're soft, and yielding, and flawlessly moulded to you.

"Matty," you whisper, and you take him over the edge with you.

. . .

In the afterglow, with the ghost of a kiss lingering faintly on your lips, you turn to him. He punctuates your question with a sentence of his own.

"When am I going to see you again?"

"Come to New York with me."

You think of the invisible footsteps right outside your bedroom door; the ones an eternity in the making. You think of how it'd be to leave your own in his apartment, to leave him with what he's given you.

It scares you a little, because your life is here. Away from New York.

It scares you because your answer is overwhelmingly easy.

From the tentative smile on Matt's face, and the blush spreading across his cheeks, you know it's the right one.

[lanabuckybarnes]

Dunno if it's me but princess and Bucky was really hot but also made me wanna cry 😭 Can we get some Bucky getting soft for princess? If not tota

Bucky never thought he’d like Princess; he LOVES to keep her in her place, make sure she’s respectful to both him and other people around them but he couldn’t like someone that was as spoiled as her.

Until, one day after being cooped up in the office in her penthouse he made his way to the kitchen for a drink to soothe his aching throat, on his way there he can hear glee-filled giggles coming from the living room.

He moved quietly down the hall, making sure to not bash into anything that would most definitely cost more than his paycheck; the giggles didn’t cease once and now there was movement, the sounds of bare feet hitting the floor as if there was jumping or something.

Whatever he expected to see when he reached the threshold of the living room, this definitely wasn’t it. He rested his bicep against the doorframe, arms crossing in front of him and his heart clenching as he watched the scene play out.

The scene exactly? Princess wearing her cute little PJ’s, Bucky’s leather coat and biker helmet, the blackened visor flipped over her eyes and the strap dangling loosely from her chin. She was humming a tune to herself while she frolicked about, posing in the mirror before laughing heartily at how ridiculous she looked.

“You want the gloves too?” He smirked as she almost stumbled, letting out a squeal at his sudden appearance, the clunky helmet swinging slightly at the speed she turned her head.

“BUCKY-I-“ her thumb caught on the lip of the visor and popped it open, big doe eyes searching his face for any sort of anger; she was sure to be punished for this but relaxed a little when all she saw was amusement swim in his cerulean orbs.

She began to pull the helmet off her head, embarrassment thick in her veins at the thought of how she must’ve looked to Bucky but his much larger hands resting over hers and pushing it back down had her breath hitching, eyes fluttering as they looked up at his unreadable expression, curse Bucky and his perfect poker face.

He worked slowly, almost teasing the poor girl; his fingers running down over the jaw piece of the matte material until they dipped underneath her chin to secure the strap, a grin almost taking over his face at the small squeak she made when he pulled the strap taut.

Once he deemed his work sufficient he leaned back, hands clapping down on the sides of the helmet again and tilting her head from side to side playfully.

“There we are” he mused, his thumbs pushing the visor down over her eyes “Ready to ride princess” he chuckled at the soft groan she let out, almost feeling the heat of her blush from beneath the Kevlar.

Whether or not wearing Bucky’s gear while riding him was a good idea suddenly it was all either of them could think about. And fuck if it didn’t make his cock twitch in tandem with the thumping of his heart— maybe later.

He never thought he’d like a little brat-like princess but she was shaping up to be more of a thorn in his side than what he expected.

-

Lil bit of fluff for Princess and Bucky because a lot of people thought he was very mean so I'll give you this and something else before I fulfill my dark fantasies with this man mwahahaha

[matchaverse]

Let the world burn | LS2

pairing: hero!logansargeant x vigilante!fem!reader

summary: after a tragic accident, you changed your code-name and motives in a nice city, but when the media starts painting you out as some villain, the hero who ruined you comes to stop you.

logan’s hero is inspired by Artemis of Bana-Mighdall (DC) and y/ns vigilante is inspired by Jason Todd (DC).

warming: cussing, blood, gore, death, talk about drugs. this story also doesn’t truly follow the dc lore or comics, pieces are taken and made to fit the story.

part two (tba)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

you wouldn’t say your life has been easy. being abandoned by your parents at a young age, trying to survive on the streets at the age of 12 after leaving the orphanage. soon being taken into a family who fight crime for a living. you became a really good sidekick for the hero you worked under.

but that all came crashing down when a notorious criminal in the city kidnapped you and tortured you, leaving you for dead, your hero mentor couldn’t save you in time.

instead of your story ending there, you were taken in from a group of assassins who basically brought you back to life, training you and making you into the person you are today.

you held onto the grudge of not being saved by the man who you looked up to, anger and resentment lingers in your blood. you decided to move on to a new city and make your own name, becoming a vigilante to the new city.

you scoff, rolling up the newspaper and throwing it into the trash. “villain? are these people fucking blind” you mutter, shoving your hands into your suits pockets as you walk down the dark streets of gotham.

the silence of the city isn’t what you’re used to, from living on the streets of metropolis to the streets of gotham, it’s a huge difference.

you hear police sirens in the background and you can see the lights about to turn the corner of the street you’re walking on. you duck into an unlit alleyway, watching the cop cars speed past you.

“warehouse on sixth..” you breath out, knowing that’s the final destination of those officers because you were just there. you took out a whole warehouse of mobsters that work, well worked, under the penguin.

you see more cop cars flooding the streets. instead of panicking since you knew no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t catch you, you climb up the side of the building to get onto the rooftops so you can watch from afar.

“didn’t think i would catch you this soon” a deep males voice rings out through the silent night. you make sure your mask is on tight before turning and seeing a young man, possibly around your age maybe a year or two older, pointing his bow and arrow at you.

“so you’re the cities golden boy i keep hearing about” your voice comes out robotically from the voice modifier in your helmet.

the unnamed man chuckles. “if you mean the man that keeps the city clean from criminals like you, then yes.”

“criminal? i’m not a criminal”

“oh you’re not? then what’s up with all the deaths that’s been happening. hero’s and criminals alike”

you roll your eyes, keeping your dominant hand on your .45 that rests on the opposite hip. “they were all corrupt.”

“Hawk wasn’t corrupted. he was my friend”

you scoff then chuckle, your chuckle echoing through the air. “oh please, that druggie was working with the Sionis Family”

“no he wasn’t.” the young hero says, never lowering his bow.

“how about you ask him oh wait..you can’t”

“why you little..” the hero pulls the arrow back.

“i wouldn’t do that. the suits made out of Kevlar, your arrows have no effect on me”

“who are you?” the hero asks, finally lowering his weapon.

“you can call me RedHood, and you’ll be seeing me around more often” you say, flicking your other hand to drop a smoke bomb.

the hero coughs from the smoke, looking around the building rooftops as the smoke clears seeing that you managed to escape.

“fuck!” logan huffs, putting his arrow back in its place on his back.

logan sits at his desk in his apartment, looking through police files and articles on every sidekick batman used to have under his wing.

“damn..how many sidekicks does one man need”

logan scrolls through the files, mumbling to himself.

“dick grayson…tim drake.. stephanie brown..wait”

logan’s eyes land on one name, y/n l/n.

“y/n l/n..pronounced dead six months ago” six months ago is when this new vigilante type person showed up in gotham.

he clicked around the computer until your picture shows up on his screen.

“Y/N L/N adopted by Batman at age 12, lived with him and trained under him. Batman says that Y/n is a feared and dangerous person but that’s what makes her such a good asset to his team. she never left a scene without causing chaos, villains feared her and didn’t wish to ever face her” the police report says.

logan sigh as he continues reading. “such a young girl..forced into a world of stopping crime..”

he keeps looking through all the files on you, collect as much information and personal details about you so next time he comes face to face with you, he can use it to his advantage.

it’s been a few days since you’ve last seen the young hero, you didn’t go out of your way to find him, you truly didn’t care. you’re only mission was to rid the streets of evil and corruption.

you’re standing on a rooftop ledge, watching the busy streets of a saturday evening, blending into the shadows with your dark suit.

“y/n l/n” that same deep males voice rings out from behind you. your body tenses, the blood in your veins running cold.

“how the fuck did you figure that out?”

“not very hard honestly, there’s a lot of police files on you.”

you finally turn around to see the young hero, still dressed in his suit but no weapon in hand. he obviously doesn’t want to fight you tonight.

“you had a hard life, abandoned by your parents, living on the streets.” he says walking closer.

your body still tense. “not everyone is blessed with a good life.”

“you’re not wrong about that.”

“you were a hero..” he speaks up once he notices you going silent.

“shit changes. i don’t regret my actions.”

logan sighs, he understands why you do what you do now.

“i want you on my side”

“what?”

“you heard me. i misunderstood you at first, but i see that we have the same goals in mind. keeping the city safe”

you scoff at his words, but the thought of having a teammate and friend crosses your mind.

“..fine, but i’m not changing myself to fit your idea of a hero”

logan chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender. “that’s understandable, but you need someone like me, a well loved person in the city, to keep you from being labeled as a bad person”

“i guess you’re right..”you finally give in, lowering your guard.

logan smiles, extending his hand. “logan sargeant, nice to properly meet you.”

[yeetus-feetus]

WIP Wednesday

Tumblr prompt: Tim is the first to find out the Red Hood’s identity and from then on sticks to Jason during patrol like glue (much to Jason’s chagrin, dammit, it would feel wrong to beat up Robin when he’s that starry eyed…) Cue: panic from the rest of the batfamily who still think Hood is a 40-something year old crime lord and now assume they’re dating.

@ghost-bxrd

Jason sighs, looking up at the sky dramatically. “Robin, I know you’re following me”, he calls out into the darkness, and there’s shuffling behind him.

He turns around to see Robin step out of the shadows, letting his cape fall apart and reveal bright red and green spandex and kevlar. “I wish the outside of my cape was black, I was running around like a sparkling traffic light”, he pouts under the helmet.

“Mm, maybe you should’ve taken some initiative. I designed my Robin suit all by myself, you took whatever B gave you”, Tim replies teasingly.

Jason chuckles. “Mmm, and maybe you should try humbling yourself every once and a while”. He removes his helmet and quirks an eyebrow from under his domino mask. “Hard to believe Batman never noticed you following him, I noticed you 10 yards back.”

Tim grins, holding his camera up and Jason sticks his tongue out as he takes a photo. “That’s funny, Hood, considering I started following you 50 yards ago. I got bored and started wondering how long it would take you to notice me if I started being less careful.” he explains, looking down at the screen to check the quality of the photo he just took.

“Oh, that right huh?” Jason asks sarcastically, not really believing him.

Tim’s grin widens mischievously and he waves the camera in front of his face. “Want proof, big guy?” he asks.

Jason laughs and snatches the small device, clicking through the recently taken photos. After a moment he groans defeatedly. “Yeah okay, I should've known you’d do something like that you little weirdo. so, how’d I hold up to your little test?”

Tim shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it a test, more of a game to entertain myself really”. But Jason raises his eyebrows up at him, making him sigh. “Yeah okay, you lost the game or failed or whatever. But you did fare better than Big Blue, so there’s that.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason smirks, still clicking through photos.

“Yup”, Tim says, popping the ‘p’. And hoists himself up onto the brick parapet, back facing the city as his feet dangle about an inch off the concrete roof. He tilts his head at Jason when he doesn’t move from where he’s standing, low glow of the open camera screen illuminating his face.

“These are actually really good”, Jason finally says, looking up at him. “Like really clear and in focus. It’s impressive”. He walks over and hands the camera back, leaning against the brick.

“Thanks”, Tim smiles. “I’ve always been really into photography, y'know? It’s like capturing a moment in time and immortalising it, so it will exist forever, even when I'm gone. I really like that aspect of it”.

Jason hums in response. “Never took you as someone sentimental”, he comments.

Tim is quiet, but it’s obvious he’s thinking. And then he hums back. “I didn’t realise I was either”.

This time Jason is the one observing, watching Tim rub his thumb over the side of his camera, and wonders if Tim felt the same way about his photos from before he died, if he looked at the the same way he’s looking at these photos now… if he kept jason alive in still frames while he was gone.

Then he decides he’s making it too deep and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as Tim turns his head towards him and scrunches up his nose. “Gross, dude.”

“What?” Jason asks, mildly offended.

“I hate the smell of cigarettes”, Tim states. “I don’t care if you smoke them just, not around me, please”, he says, nose still scrunched as he shimmies away, keeping his hands braced on the brick so he doesn’t fall backwards.

Normally, Jason would roll his eyes and take a deep inhale, maybe blow the smoke back out into the other person's face just to spite them. But Tim isn’t telling him not to smoke, he’s asking him not to smoke around him. And, maybe Tim’s scrunched up nose is kinda cute.

So he snubs the cigarette out and puts it back in its box to save for later. “Fine, but I’m getting something to eat then”, Jason complains.

“Cool, I know a really good burrito place not far from here”, Tim smiles, and then he’s throwing himself backwards off the roof, laughing loudly when Jason rushes up to look over the edge.

“You little fucker!” Jason shouts out as he watches Robin shoot his grappling line and swing from a lower roof across the way. “Oh, I’m gonna get that little shit!”, he grumbles to himself, taking a breath to calm the sudden spike of worried adrenaline Tim caused before chasing after him.

Tim pays for their burritos and a tub of Mexican rice before Jason even has the chance to get out his wallet, and they end up eating them on a roof together a block away.

“Ohh yeah, this is good stuff”, Jason moans around a mouthful, and Tim giggles around his plastic spoon. “Okay, you’re forgiven for scaring the shit out of me earlier”, he mumbles, taking another bite of his burrito.

Tim sits the rice aside to take a picture of Jason with food on his face, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. Then another photo of Jason sticking the finger up at him. “Lol thats gold, I might make that my laptop’s screensaver”, Tim laughs.

“The laptop you keep all your creepy stalker folders on?” Jason asks, mouth still half-full, leaning over to try and get a look at the camera screen. “oh my god I look so stupid, please don’t!” he laughs.

“Oh gross Jason!” Tim squeals, brushing little bits of burrito off his suit. “Stop talking with your mouth full, you’re getting food everywhere!” but Jason only laughs harder, and ends up choking.

Tim rubs his back as he chokes and sputters over the edge of the roof, and laughs at his expense. “Here, have some of my water.”

Jason ends up chugging all of Tim’s water, so Tim steals his Soda in retaliation. It ends up as a game of rooftop tag until they’re both out of breath and decide to head to their separate ways to get some rest.

And that becomes a frequent occurrence on quiet nights after that. Sometimes even working together on a few cases. It’s honestly quite a lot of fun for both of them, a nice change of pace from the usual doom and gloom of Gotham’s streets.

⧫

Tim is tinkering away with some sort of gadget in the Batcave one afternoon when Alfred stops by with some snacks on a silver platter. “Everything alright with you young sir?” he asks politely.

“Yeah Alf, everything's great actually”, Tim replies cheerfully. But Alfred loiters by him for a few moments too long, making Tim lift his head to look at him questioningly. “What’s up?”

Alfred frowns. “Nothing, Master Timothy. Just, do know that you can come to talk to me about anything if you need, absolutely anything”. He pats Tim on the shoulder in some kind of gesture of comfort before leaving Tim confused at his desk.

What was that about?

But Tim is even more confused later on patrol with Batman. Which was already odd actually, usually they don’t patrol together unless they’re working on a case together, or on a mission, or just something important– there’s nothing important happening tonight. B just told him that they were patrolling Midtown and to get in the batmobile.

And so there they were, driving around in dead silence.

“So… Tim, how’ve you been lately?” B asks, voice gruff and tone awkward.

That makes Tim turn around in his seat to face the older man with his whole body, confusion and worry on his face. “I’m good… why the sudden interest?” he asks cautiously. “Is there something up that I should be worried about?”

Bruce grunts and spares a glance at him before looking back at the road. “I was just asking.” and then, after a few beats of quiet: “You’ve been spending an awful amount of time around the Narrows and Crime Alley”, he states. Oh. That’s Jason’s territory.

Oh.

“Are you worried about Red Hood or something?” Tim asks. Well, this is… complicated.

Bruce grunts again. “Or something.” he turns the car around a sharp corner and Tim braces himself against the seat at the sudden change of route.

He thinks whatever that conversation is over, but a few moments later Batman speaks up again. “Just stay away from him. He’s bad news Robin.” Tim turns to give him a look. “I’m serious. No more patrolling Uptown”.

“What!?” Tim asks. “Are you banning me or something??”

“Yes.” And Tim knows his word is final. Batman’s word is law after all.

He huffs and sits back in his seat, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Fine, he won’t patrol in Uptown. He’ll just have to figure out a way to convince Jason to meet with him in Midtown somehow. No, that won’t work. Red Hood won’t leave his turf unattended to.

Buut. there is a loophole here that he can take advantage of…

[starfleetacademy]

I think it makes ghost so mad that soap isn’t wearing more tactical gear or covering his arms. Like yeah the vest whatever but in comparison ghost is wearing kevlar long sleeve shirts and pants beyond his military assigned uniform. Also soap is never wearing a fucking helmet which makes ghost SO angry because it only takes one hit he’s a sniper he knows!! And soap is like. But it’ll mess up my hair L.T. And ghost is like. Know what else will mess up your hair. Your fuckin brains.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

He laughs, the cocky fucker actually laughs as he gets the upper hand over Frank, almost knocking all the air from his lungs in shock as he shoves the bigger man hard up against the hallway wall.

The taste of those smirking lips is still riotously fresh on his own as Frank grabs a brief breath, his brain still trying to catch up and comprehend what was happening. The Devil of goddamn Hell's Kitchen is pushing him around, spreading him open, touching and feeling with ungloved hands and a hungry mouth and Frank is letting him, because- because...

"Red, Red..." Frank's strained voice is a surprise even to himself, the way it sounds so desperate in his confusion as the other man has fingers gripping firmly around his jaw as his tongue flicks up the side of his neck, following the line of Frank's jugular vein. He's never felt so weak.

Their bodies couldn't be any closer, even when they were kicking lumps out of each other before, Frank could never have imagined how welcome the pressure and friction of this particular pain in the ass of an altar boy could be. Frank hisses as Red shifts slightly to get his teeth involved, the thick crimson Kevlar of that perfectly fitting suit not preventing him from feeling the heat of his body through it. The Devil leans in, as if reading Frank's very thoughts, forcing his thick thigh between Frank's already spread legs.

"Fuck!" Frank grits out, and Red actually has the gall to shh-shh-shh him before raking the edge of his teeth along the skin of his neck. He can feel that wicked smile seeping into bones. Frank's head snaps back against the wall in submission, the only fight left in him is to make sure this is happening, to reach out his arms and not let him stop.

The broken light down the hall flickers, silhouetting the sharp, curved points of the helmet Red's still wearing. Frank grabs hold of it, he wants that taste again, he needs to feel that sure way Red slips his tongue against his like it's nothing, like there was never any line crossed, like it didn't matter if they couldn't go back to the way it was before.

💜 Pls reblog fics you like 💜

[jumbojazzcats93]

COTTON MOUTH - GHOST

Summary - Ghost discovers something about himself

Warnings/Tags - MDNI, Blood kink, blood, mentions of sex, violence, injuries, Header by @/loganliqueurdrag on TikTok, banner by @/saradika, @glossysoap @violet-phantoms @gremlingottoosilly @lordlydragon @grizzersmamma @ivymarquis @quietlyignoringyou

Nerves were frayed. This operation was taking way too damn long. These might've been the most elusive terrorists the squad had dealt with, and as it turned out, the reason for that was because they were already dead. A bigger fish had come along and taken a bite, if you will.

Upon finding the dead group of men there was silence.....

Silence and then - "FUCK", followed by a slam.

Ghost whipped around at the sound to find Soap and Gaz huffing and grumbling in frustration, rubbing their faces and eyes, shaking their heads. Price was relaying the details of the carnage over comms with closed eyes and a tired expression. And y/n... had removed and thrown her Kevlar helmet across the room; crouching down with a groan that bordered on a scream and covering her face with her hands. "Two months!", she shouted holding up 2 fingers and looking up. Ghost persed his lips behind the mask as he looked down at her. "Two months of running around this dry-ass, sandy-ass country. Bouncing from base to base and camping out on black ops only fo-" "Right, then." He cut in. "Tha's quite enough whinging." He scooped up Y/N's Kevlar and grabbed her by the vest straps standing her up. "Gotta pull gaurd until the extraction crew gets here." He held her helmet out for her until she took it, "Le's head up front, than yeah?", and strolled to the previous room.

Hours had passed. The extraction crew had been delayed, saying something about how the wind was too strong for flying. Apparently, this mission was cursed down to the last detail because 5 hours into the wait, Arabic whispered through the walls of the building. Tension flooded the room. The hope that, whoever these people were, they would just pass and keep on moving was a shared one, but after almost 15 minutes, that hope was buried in the sand as a knife ripped into the door in an attempt to somehow work it open. 15 more minutes after that saw the bodies of their "bigger fish" laying among their target terrorist group.

Sighs and heavy breaths filled the small building in the aftermath of the fight. Ghost looked over his team. Nothing more than a few cuts and bruises was a relief. Perimeter checks began once again as Price radioed in to Laswel to report the state of events. He found y/n carefully feeling at a knife wound. A shallow, clean cut down her bottom lip and chin. She licked her cut lip, Ghost watching as she looked him in the eyes and collected the blood in her mouth, spitting it out onto the sand. His stomach tightened and he wondered if he had hit his head because something was deeply wrong with him for the arousal that wracked his body. Traces of blood stained her mouth and as she grinned at Gaz over some sarcastic joke, his stomach tightened again... along with his tactical pants.

The sight of her grinning and spitting blood was doing something for him in ways he knew was so demented. He imagined her naked and on her knees with his blood in her mouth, on her lips as she teased his cock with her tongue; a bloody bite mark on his thigh the source. He turned away. The image of her licking blood from her lips was going to taint his mind for a long time.