euriiverse

[euriiverse]

A 101 Step Guide to Win His Heart

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader Genre: Fluff, Slight Chaos, Mutual Pining Setting: Gotham, modern day

[Masterlist]

Step 1: Don’t fall for the emotionally unavailable, motorcycle-riding vigilante. …Oops.

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, gripping your phone like it personally offended you. The screen glows mockingly with the tab still open: “101 Ways to Win His Heart.” It's a dumb article. It's clickbait. It's also bookmarked.

Because unfortunately, you have a massive, incurable, stupid crush on Jason Peter Todd. Yes, that Jason. Ex-Robin. Current Red Hood. Hotter than the Gotham heatwave and about as emotionally stable as a raccoon in a dumpster fire.

Still. You’re in deep.

Step 12: Find common interests.

Turns out, Jason likes books.

You also like books. Perfect.

Except his taste is Russian literature and tragic antiheroes and yours is witchy romances with glittery covers and spicy tension.

So when you spot him in the bookstore’s café (half-buried in Dostoevsky, black coffee in hand, sleeves rolled up like a crime), you panic and grab the first dark-looking book off the shelf.

…It’s a YA vampire romance.

You sit beside him like you're totally chill. “Love the… metaphorical depth,” you lie, clutching the sparkly book like it’s your thesis.

Jason peeks over the cover, lips twitching. “Did you just pick that up to impress me?”

You blink. “What? No. Obviously not. Who does that?”

He quirks a brow. “It still has the security tag.”

“…I’m gonna go die now.”

Step 45: Make him laugh.

You didn’t expect Jason to be funny.

Dry, sarcastic, subtle but when he really laughs? It’s this warm, unguarded sound that makes your knees weak.

So you start collecting terrible jokes.

“Why did Batman and Robin never use smartphones?” you ask one night.

Jason’s eyebrow lifts. “Why?”

“Because the Bat-Signal was enough.”

He stares.

Then snorts into his drink.

You mark it as a win.

Step 67: Be there when it counts.

It’s pouring when he shows up at your door bloody, bruised, soaked through and silent.

No words. Just your eyes meeting his. The way he sways a little, exhaustion pulling at him.

You don’t ask. You just pull him inside, patch him up, make him tea, and let him fall asleep on your couch with your throw blanket barely covering his long frame.

In the morning, he’s gone.

But your bookshelf has a new addition: a well-worn copy of The Idiot with a sticky note inside.

It reads: You’re not one. But I like that you try anyway. – J

Your heart does a triple backflip.

Step 101: Be yourself. Even if you’re a little chaotic, a little nerdy, and a lot in love.

You’re mid-rant about Gotham’s trash system when Jason grabs your hand during a late-night walk.

You blink.

He shrugs, cheeks faintly pink. “I’ve read a lot of books. Been through hell and back. Fought monsters, real and metaphorical.”

He pauses.

“But no one’s ever tried to win me like you do.”

You stare.

Then smile.

“Is that a compliment?”

He smirks. “It’s a confession.”

Bonus Tip #102: Sometimes, all it takes is being the one who stays. Who laughs. Who brings band-aids and bad jokes. Who loves without expecting him to fix himself first.

And sometimes? That’s all he needs to fall for you, too.

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo 

@a-brilliante-mariposa

@fandomtrashsblog

[euriiverse]

THINGS YOU DO THAT THE BATBOYS FIND ATTRACTIVE ! batboys x reader

“God, you’re impossible. And I’m so screwed, because I think I’d let you ruin me.”

— fem!reader, suggestive thoughts in jasons & bruces part (maybe dick too??)

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

JASON TODD

the way you hold eye contact when you're angry

It started as a slow simmer—your voice, low and clipped, each word deliberate, sharp enough to slice through the heavy Gotham air. Jason wasn’t even sure what the hell you were mad about anymore. The way your eyes were locked on his, unwavering, lit from within by something electric—it drowned out everything else.

You stood across the room, spine straight, chest rising with each measured breath. Not yelling. Not crying. Just...burning. And looking at him.

There was something about that. The way you didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Like you could take every jagged, bloodstained part of him and still meet him dead-on, like you’d never blink first. It made his heart twist in his chest, something old and animal uncoiling inside him. He’d faced down murderers, monsters, lowlife scumbags—but the fury in your gaze made his throat go dry. Not because he feared it. Because he wanted to touch it. touch you.

You took a step forward, the kind that didn’t echo but reverberated, and that subtle movement—how your hands stayed relaxed at your sides, how your mouth didn’t tremble when you spoke—undid him.

“Don’t try to bullshit me, Jason.”

There was a beat. One taut, blistering moment where the only thing louder than your breath was the pounding in his ears.

And then he laughed. Just a breath of it, almost involuntary. The kind of laugh you get when something hurts and turns you on at the same time. He didn’t even mean to. It just escaped him.

You frowned, and that only made it worse. He wanted to bite your lip just to see if your mouth would still taste like fire when it was pressed against his. He wanted to grab your face and kiss you so hard it left bruises.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful when you’re pissed,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, almost reverent.

You blinked at that—but didn’t back down. And the way your stare softened just a fraction, that flicker of confusion folding into resolve again... yeah. That did it. That almost ended him right then and there.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like approaching a lit fuse. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch, to pull, to anchor.

“You gonna hit me?” he asked, tone dark and dangerous and barely hanging on.

You tilted your chin up. “Wouldn’t waste the energy.”

God. That. That right there. The grit in your voice. He could live off that kind of defiance. He wanted to.

Jason had never been good at softness. He didn’t know what to do with people who crumbled. But you—? You held his gaze like a storm, like a girl who could kill him with her silence, and suddenly, all he wanted to do was beg for a second chance to make you smile again.

Not because he deserved it. Because he’d die trying to.

DICK GRAYSON

the way you reach for him in your sleep

It starts small. Always does. You shift once, twice—barely there. Then your hand moves, unthinking. Across sheets warm with your shared heat, it searches.

You don’t know you're doing it. That’s what makes it criminal. You’re not asking to be loved in that moment. You’re assuming it. Trusting the world to place him where he belongs: next to you.

And Dick—poor, cursed Dick—is already awake.

He lies still, pretending. Letting you find him. Every nerve is alight, tuned to the sound of your breath, the whisper of cotton as your wrist brushes the inside of his arm. Then—finally—your hand finds his chest, right over the scar where a blade once tried to make him quiet forever.

Your fingers twitch. Then still. Then curl.

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

He’s not thinking about villains or masks or the weight of his last name. He’s not worried about who’s watching, or whether he’s enough. He’s just a man now.

A man undone by the way you, unconscious and vulnerable, reach for him like he’s home. Like your body knows him, wants him, chooses him—without performance, without pride.

And it’s just so fucking sweet. The sweetness that life had never thought him deserving of—never bothered to offer, as if the universe had forgotten him in some quiet corner—was suddenly there, in you. And only then did he realize what he had been starved of.

There’s something maddening about your vulnerability—how you press against him in sleep, skin warm and scent-heavy, mouth parted just slightly. Innocent, yes. But not harmless.

Not to him.

He could write an entire religion based on the way your breath hitches when his hand covers yours. He could burn entire cities if someone tried to pull you away while you sleep.

Because this—this secret, sacred moment where you choose him without knowing— is the kind of thing he’s never let himself want.

But now that he’s had it, he knows.

He’ll want it forever.

BRUCE WAYNE

the way you tilt your chin when you're defiant

It is the tiniest gesture—a tilt of the chin, so slight it might pass for nothing at all. But to him? It is semaphore, a flare in the dusk, a gauntlet tossed with exquisite subtlety.

You do it when you disagree. Not with loud words or theatrics. No. You just raise your chin. Barely. As if your body is saying, “I’m not afraid of you.”“I’ll meet you there, if you push.”

And God help him, he wants to push.

You do this thing where your jaw tightens just slightly, where your eyes go sharp and patient at the same time—like you’ve already calculated the cost of standing your ground and decided to pay it anyway.

You look… royal. As though Gotham’s grime never dared graze your skin. Like tragedy tried and failed. Like you’d walk into fire if it meant protecting what’s yours.

And that infuriates him.

Because Bruce—Bruce—knows what defiance costs. He’s worn it like armor. Bled for it. Buried people because of it.

But when you do it?

It doesn’t look like self-destruction. It looks like purpose. Power. Something beautiful he was never allowed to have.

He wants to touch your face when you tilt your chin like that. Wants to grab your wrist and pull you into him—not to overpower, but to understand. To memorize the blueprint of that defiance. To feel it against his mouth.

You make silence feel like war. And he’s losing.

Because there is something deeply, dangerously erotic about a woman who doesn’t flinch when she should. Who doesn’t soften to make him comfortable. Who looks at the darkest thing in him—and doesn’t look away.

He’s not used to being watched like that. He’s not used to wanting to be watched like that.

And every time you lift that chin, he’s reminded of exactly how easy it would be to give up the act, the mask, the fiction of the untouchable man—

—all for one person who sees him and doesn't look away.

[euriiverse]

Dick lays like a beautiful princess and Roy lays like a cartoon character who just had an anvil fall on him

[euriiverse]

WHAT I GOTTA SAY TO GET A PIECE OF THAT?!??!

[☆] greasy bastard

NO OC X CANON AT THE MOMENT MY APOLOGIES -- so have this ace sketch as a peace offering (no im not going to render this bc who am i to do something like that)

[euriiverse]

Life in the N109Zone w/ Self-Aware!Sylus

You ended up inside of the Love and Deepspace game in a rather painful way because of Sylus. Now that you're here what now? Also did he turn that damn stove off? A/N: MC is still in her main story feelings right now so she’s not emotionally involved with Sylus at this point in time. Thank you to @forbidden-sunlight we all say in unison because they're the reason this made it onto Tumblr. Sunny I appreciate you so much :) Also go check out their work (especially if you like yandere 😚) they're an amazing writer

↢ previous

After receiving the most mind numbing kiss from a man who shouldn’t actually exist you found yourself sitting at the breakfast nook nestled off to the side of his massive kitchen. Your stomach had growled so loudly you thought it was going to eat you alive in one bite. Your eyes skated over every detail of your surroundings. The pictures in the game didn’t do this place justice how did his house manage to be even more breathtaking in person?

A full spread of food made for a king was displayed in front of you. You were much too hungry to think of being ‘lady-like’ in this moment. You snatched your plate and began filling your plate up with everything you could get your hands on. Once you were satisfied with the amount of food on your plate you sat back, stuffing a piece of French Toast in your mouth. “Hungry sweetie?”

You locked onto those gem like eyes of his and nearly choked on your food. “Yes … a little” Your words were slightly muffled as you talked around a mouthful. You sipped a bit of water and cleared your throat, suddenly feeling shy under his stare. You shifted your gaze looking around once again “So my first….. question…..” your voice trailed off when your eyes landed back on the stove for what felt like the hundredth time. “My food!”

“That’s not a question Princess” Sylus smirked, resting his head in his hand as he continued to take you in.

“No I was cooking when you took me!” You frantically slammed your hands on the table “My stove is still on!” Damn it. There’s no way your entire house didn’t catch on fire. “My place is going to be burnt to a crisp” You were currently losing your mind going over the numerous amount of documents you’d have to replace along with finding somewhere to stay while you looked for a new place. Sylus laughed loudly his shoulders bouncing in amusement. “How the hell is this funny to you? Not all of us are disgustingly rich you know”

Sylus inhaled deeply trying to stifle his laugh “Technically you’re as you say disgustingly rich by proxy now” By now you were on your feet pacing back and forth. Sylus didn’t move an inch as he casually watched you stomp back and forth. Seeing him so calm and even amused at the fact that your house has more than likely burned down didn’t surprise you. He’s rich and he's not the one who just lost everything.

“You know this is your fault” You glared at him, crossing your arms in frustration. If looks could kill Sylus would be a smug corpse right now.

“It would be” He shrugged

“There’s no would be it is your fault since you snatched me out of my house in the middle of the night you bandit”

Sylus’ rich laugh filled the space yet again — his laugh alone sounds like it could buy you a new house. “I turned your stove off sweetie” That fire in your eyes was extinguished expeditiously after hearing those words. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Sylus smile widened seeing you in such a speechless state. “Unfortunately in my haste I had to toss your food but on the bright side you won’t be going home to moldy food”

“Won’t they be concerned why I dropped everything and disappeared?”

“Perhaps but I'm sure you’ll come up with something” He shrugged.

You drew back in confusion “Me? Why do I have to do it?”

“I mean you could tell them how you were taken to another world via energy manipulation and spent the day with a fictional game character” He quirked a brow seemingly challenging you while simultaneously knowing he held the cards in this situation. A high functioning sociopath at its finest ladies and gentleman. You knew damn well you couldn’t go back home and tell people what's actually happening.

You rolled your eyes with a heavy sigh “I’ll think of something” You slid back into your seat much calmer now knowing your home was safe and sound. “Alright now that I've eaten I can think straight” You could see Sylus ears tint to pink as an innocent smile spread on your lips. Underneath all the bravado and confidence you make him nervous.

“Go on.”

Since Sylus had already explained how he brought you here and how you can get home there really was only one question you needed an answer to. Your palms are clammy and you can feel your heart starting to pound in your chest.

You’re nervous.

Sylus just watches you silently letting you get your thoughts together — the epitome of patience right now. A few deep breaths to steady yourself helped “How can I guarantee you won’t leave me?” Finally the roles had switched and Sylus was the one wide-eyed and at a loss for words. His eyes darted around under furrowed brows trying to find an answer. The idea of staying here and living such a carefree life with Sylus was just that — an idea. The seconds ticked by slowly, sucking all the air out of the room. He tapped his chin lightly which did nothing for the pit forming in your stomach.

He focused back on you after what felt like hours and spoke in a leveled tone “I speak through my actions Princess let me prove myself” His large palm covered your hand that was fidgeting with the utensils on the table. You couldn’t help the feeling that blossomed in your chest from the simple gesture. “Also since becoming as you say ‘self aware’ I've seen every timeline of her love interests” Sylus’ eyes flashed with disappointment for a second, but it dissipated as quick as it came. “She has options” You expected his tone to be sad, but it remained leveled. “In our past she showed me that I can be loved unconditionally and selflessly” You were about to tell him why thats even more of a reason to stay with her but he continued “I want to make my own choices instead of being told who my lover is” He squeezed your hand before bringing it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, “I want you”

You could tell by the way his eyes softened that he meant what he said, but there was still no guarantee. “That’s not enough Sylus” Your answer has Sylus’ brows shooting up to his hairline. You could practically feel your heart sinking as he quickly gathered himself and set that stoic expression back in place. “I can’t stay here and I know you’re going to end up leaving me for her she literally has the other half of your soul”

“Why don’t we raise the stakes then?” Sylus leaned back in his seat with a mischievous look on his face. You narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Give me two weeks” He stared deep into your eyes with a smirk “I’ll sever the bond and get the other half of my soul back” The soft scrape of a bowl caught your attention. Your eyes flicked down to see Sylus sliding a small bowl of pomegranate seeds towards you. “How's that sound?”

“That sounds risky” You plucked a single seed from the bowl a gently rolled it between your fingertips.

“Is that a no?” Sylus challenged.

“I didn’t say that i’m just saying….” You tossed the seed in your mouth, crushing it between your teeth, letting the tart flavor burst on your tongue “If you die I'll kill you” You shot daggers at Sylus and all he did was laugh. You rolled your eyes already knowing that he was laughing because he thinks you look like an angry kitten or a temperamental hamster. He flicked your nose and you quickly tried to retaliate only for him to snatch your wrist mid-air. You fought his grasp, but to no avail he smiled as he pressed his cheek to the palm of your hand — nuzzling into it with a low hum.

“I promise I won’t die”

You were way too happy right now and even though your logical self in the back of your mind was screaming at you to leave and delete the app — you muted that voice and let your heart run rampant. Nothing about any of this made sense so you’d let yourself have this.

Just once.

↢ previous

[euriiverse]

I, honestly, need Jason picking up Bruce's arguments during fights and using them back on him. In the most unexpected moments. Just imagine Bruce getting mad during another of their patrols, and in the middle of the screaming session, Jason just switches and doubles him with his own phrases.

Jason: Okay, that's enough. You are benched from being my side-kick.

Bruce, flabbergasted: Excuse me?

Jason: You heard me. This is unspeakable violence you are displaying here, by the way.

Bruce: ???

Bruce: You are not going to berate me for smashing CRANE to the wall a few times.

Jason: Oh, why not?

Bruce: That was— That is justified.

Jason: Well, who do you think you are to decide what is justified and what is not? Huh, lad?

Bruce:

Bruce: Hood, that's—

Jason: Am I right, boys?

Tim, chewing on the popcorn: Yep, yep. Also hit him with a "What example are you showing to your little brother?" line for me.

Jason: Noted.

Bruce: ???????

Bruce: This is ridiculous. I can't stress enough how—

Jason: I am not your father to deal with this, B.

Bruce: I—

Bruce: Wait, when did I say something like that to you?

Jason: Before I ran away and died? Lol

Bruce: ...

Bruce: Oh. Shit.

[euriiverse]

big bro & bigger bro

[euriiverse]

jason: why are you looking at me like that?

damian, age 4, wondering why jason looks white if he's his brother: you're colored wrong

jason: what the fuck?

[euriiverse]

#an adorable assasin

[euriiverse]

Mini Ace comic I thought of... 🥺👉👈

[euriiverse]

The hum of your computer fills the silence in the shared apartment, the soft buzz of the screen the only sound between you and JASON. You sit cross-legged, perched on your chair, eyes bleary as you stare down at the glowing document in front of you. It feels like it’s mocking you, its blankness echoing your tiredness.

It's late, but you force yourself to sift through the endless files. A groan escapes you as your head falls back against the chair, your thoughts wandering to anything but work.

Like the idea of cuddling with Jason, your sweet boyfriend, who's sprawled on the couch. His tired blue-green eyes peer at you through half-lidded lashes, never leaving your figure. The light from your screen casts a halo around you, highlighting his tired, almost pleading expression. His breathing is slow and steady, a quiet invitation: “Come to me. Sleep.”

Another soft sigh escapes him, a sound that’s part frustration, part yearning. His fingers curl around the arm of the couch, his head tilting to rest on it as his eyes follow you, his gaze heavy with a quiet sadness—as though the one thing he wants most is just out of reach.

“You know,” Jason says, his voice a careful balance of neutrality, “you can finish that tomorrow.” The soft, almost pleading tone sneaks through despite his efforts to keep it at bay.

You sigh again. “I could,” you murmur, distracted, trying to rationalize your stubbornness. “I just have to finish this.”

Jason hums thoughtfully, letting your words settle in his mind as he processes them. Then, a spark of an idea flickers in his gaze.

The next moment, you hear the shuffle of his movements—slippers sliding across the wooden floor, the faint squeak of leather from the couch. You glance up to find him standing over you, his soft, concerned eyes focused entirely on you. His expression tightens with worry, his lips pressing together, crow's feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Without a word, he steps closer, his face nuzzling against the crook of your neck.

“The only thing you need to do right now,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “is rest.”

“But—” you start, but your resistance is weak, and before you can protest further, he scoops you up, strong arms lifting you effortlessly and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Jason!” you squeal, half-laughing, half-protesting.

“No buts,” he says, his voice laced with a teasing smirk. “You’re so stubborn.” You feel the playful pinch of his fingers on the soft flesh of your thigh, and despite yourself, you giggle.

You wriggle in his arms as he carries you toward the bedroom, his steps sure and steady. The sight of the ivory sheets on your bed is almost too much to resist—so inviting, so warm, like they’re calling to you. Finally, you relax in his embrace as he gently lowers you onto the bed.

A mischievous grin spreads across Jason's face as he watches you. You can’t help but chuckle, rolling your eyes playfully. “Fine, I suppose this is nice.”

He snorts, clearly amused. “Suppose? Nice? This is perfect. Now sleep. You need it.”

“Okay, okay,” you relent with a soft smile. “It is perfect. But only because you’re here.”

Jason’s gaze softens as he looks at you, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m always here with you.”

[euriiverse]

Portgas D. Ace WIP 3 🔥🔥🔥 Laying in the background and more base colors🎨

[euriiverse]

This came to me.. in a dream……

[euriiverse]

You: *trips and lands into Jason’s tits*

You: oh no, it seems that I have tripped over something, thank gods these mounds were here to save me.

Jason: this is the firth time that you’ve ‘accidentally tripped’ and ‘coincidentally’ landed into my chest.

You: those other times were my doppelgängers-

[euriiverse]

My five year plan is to just see what happens

[euriiverse]

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys (p.2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Civilian! GN! Reader

Summary: In a city where kindness is fleeting and warmth feels like a myth, a reclusive vigilante crosses paths with another ghost orbiting the same darkness. What begins as cautious companionship spirals into something tender, fragile, and terrifying. But when fear drives him away, and violence drags you to the edge of death, Jason Todd is forced to confront the one truth he’s always run from: some things, once lost, can’t be stitched back together. And some things are worth bleeding for.

Warnings: GROVELING (ish). more of Jason being a yearner like god intended, some religious metaphor shenanigans. Hurt/comfort, angst to fluff

Word Count: 3k 

A/N: the amount of love part 1 received blew my mind omg, yall are the absolute sweetest, thank you. I hope you enjoy how I wrapped it up <3 Would love to hear your thoughts!

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

You woke into a scene that felt like something pulled from a fever dream, or worse—a cruel afterlife stitched together by the frayed edges of your longing. Everything was bathed in an almost sacred kind of stillness, so at odds with the agony blooming just beneath your skin. It was too warm. Your body felt swaddled in heat, sunk deep into softness, and for a moment you couldn’t remember why that should feel so strange. Why the warmth felt like betrayal. Why your ribs felt like they were being pried open with every breath.

And then it began to return. Not all at once, but in shattering fragments. The cold tiles, the sting in your side, the dim bathroom light flickering against the red that wouldn't stop coming. And the loneliness. God, the loneliness.

But you weren’t in that tomb of porcelain and mildew anymore. Someone had moved you. Carried you, tended to you. You were in your bed, the edge of your blanket folded over with care, and your pillow fluffed just enough, like a memory from childhood reimagined in a cracked mirror. The surrealism of it nearly brought tears to your eyes, until you turned your head, and saw him.

Your breath caught in your throat. He looked like hell. His jacket was slung over the chair, his gloves were forgotten on your nightstand, and his helmet was nowhere to be seen. But his eyes were the same. Wild and wide and far too human, locking onto yours the moment you blinked.

And then he moved. Bolted upright from his seat as if your gaze had yanked him forward with a chain, and his hand shot out to reach for you before he hesitated, curling his fingers into a fist mid-air, holding himself back.

“You’re awake?” he said hoarsely.

You couldn’t answer, because now you remembered. You remembered everything.

The rain. The sick, spinning cold. The dying. 

And him of course. 

His silence. His absence. The words he'd left you with, sharp as glass, tearing through you with more cruelty than any dagger to the ribs. The memories hit you like the tail end of a speeding car, and your face twisted as the grief crested again, too exhausted to cry but too full not to break.

Jason watched it happen in your expression, and he flinched like he’d been struck.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m—fuck, I’m so sorry. I should’ve never—”

But he didn’t finish. What was there to finish?

He should’ve never left. He should’ve never come back. He should’ve never let you in. He should’ve never pretended you didn’t already live somewhere in his very marrow.

You ignored his words. Your throat burned like you'd swallowed nails. None of this could be real. Not the warmth of the bed. Not the hurt terrorizing in your insides. Not him.

This was a hallucination, you decided, clawed up from the borderlands of death. And none of it mattered. What mattered was water. You needed water.

Gritting your teeth, you shoved the covers off, swinging your legs over the bed in defiance of your own body. The floor was far too cold when your bare feet touched down, and when you stood, your knees buckled. A tremor ran up your spine and you nearly folded in half from the agony that bloomed beneath your ribs. A tear broke loose, trailing your cheek like an apology you didn’t want to give. You told yourself it was from the pain. It had nothing to do with the figure at your bedside.

He was there in an instant. His hands caught your shoulders, steadied you before you could collapse into a heap of stubborn bones and bleeding skin. And you reflexively flinched at his touch.

You didn’t mean to, and you hated the way his face shifted when you did, like you’d just torn something open in him with your recoil.

“Where are you going?” he asked hesitantly. “You should rest—”

“Don’t,” you croaked, voice splintering. A sob caught sharp in your throat like a shard of glass.

Jason blinked. “Don’t what? I was only trying to—”

You shook your head, twisting out of his grasp, something volatile overtaking your features. Whatever mask of patience you usually wore had been peeled away, discarded along with the rest of your composure in some filthy alley.

“Don’t do this.”

His brow knit together. “Do what?”

“Pretend like you care,” you rasped. “Make room for yourself in my life, only to walk out again. I can’t—” The next breath hitched. “I wouldn’t survive it a second time.”

His mouth opened, but you cut him off.

“If you’re going to leave, do it now. Don’t play nurse. Don’t patch me up like it makes things even. Don’t do it for karma points or whatever misplaced guilt brought you here. Don’t do it because you think you owe me something. You don’t.”

"That's not what I—"

“Get out. Get lost. I don't want to be your goddamn charity case. I don't want your pity.”

Each word struck him like a hammer to the chest, and you watched it land. The recoil. The wince. The way the light in his eyes dimmed a little more with each sentence, his own words flung back at him.

But you couldn't stop. You were exhausted and hollowed out, emptied by loneliness and agony and the effort it took to survive when your heart felt like it had been left bleeding beside your body in that alley. And if you were going to be abandoned again, you’d rather be abandoned now. You couldn’t bear the slow unravelling of his presence settling into your world again, only to disappear without warning.

You didn’t want to relearn the shape of him in your life only to lose it all over again. You were already a ghost of yourself. You couldn’t become less.

Jason watched you fold like a dying thing. Quiet and slow, like paper soaked through, caving under its own weight. One second you were standing there, brittle and defiant, and the next, you were crumpled on the floor, your arms around yourself like even your bones didn’t want to stay inside you anymore.

He dropped down with you in an instant. Instinct, more than anything. His hands reached out to anchor you to the moment as if it might save you from whatever abyss you were staring into.

You didn’t fight him. That was the part that hurt the most.

He expected fury. He would’ve welcomed the worst of your vitriol because it was better than this lifeless resignation. As if you'd already decided that you should have died. 

Still, he touched you, tentative at first, expecting to be struck. Cradled your cheeks between his scarred palms, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t even seem to notice you were shedding. He murmured your name like a mantra, forehead pressing to yours, letting his voice tremble with all the apologies he didn’t know how to shape into words.

And you just let him. For one suspended heartbeat, you let him in.

Your stare was empty, gaze sliding past him like a spectre, but then you focused. Met his eyes.

“Red,” you rasped. "Why..."

A name he used to wear like armour. A name you’d once said in jest, in irritation, in sleepy fondness, curled up in the cocoon of your mismatched apartment. 

He couldn’t do it anymore.

“Jason,” he whispered. “It’s Jason. Call me Jason.”

He didn’t have anything else to give you. No house with a picket fence. No promises. No future carved from stability or peace. But he could give you this. Himself. Stripped down, unmasked, unhidden.

“I don’t want your pity,” you repeated. 

You refused to say his name, and he didn’t let it show, how that sliced clean through him. How it burned like acid in the hollow of his chest. He’d taken bullets more gently than that omission.

He might’ve laughed if his lungs could move. Pity? You thought that’s what this was?

God. If only it were that easy.

No, this wasn’t pity. This wasn’t some obligation born of guilt. If it were, he wouldn’t have kept orbiting your apartment like some tragic satellite. Wouldn’t have looked for excuses to linger at the bodega you liked. Wouldn’t have memorized the light in your kitchen window during certain hours. Wouldn’t have felt the earth tilt whenever he caught you sitting at the table, staring absently at his old chair, a steaming cup left untouched across from you like a shrine.

It wasn’t pity when you handed him a mug, your fingers brushing his, and he spent the next three days wondering if you’d noticed how hard he swallowed. It wasn’t pity when, in the pitch-dark silence of a blood-soaked rooftop, he thought only of you. Your laughter. Your sighs.

It wasn’t pity when he walked past that bookstore you liked, the one with the crooked shelves and sleepy cat in the window, and found himself wishing he'd taken you up on your offer to accompany you on one of your many visits. He still had an annotated copy of your favourite novel, a sticky note with your handwriting in the margins: “This part reminded me of you.” 

And it certainly wasn’t pity when every fight he picked, every near-death brawl he barely walked away from felt a little colder without your voice in his ear, grounding him.

It wasn’t pity. It was you.

And he hated that it had taken almost losing you to realize that he was not better off without you in his life. 

He reached up again, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with the gentleness of someone afraid you’d shatter if he touched you wrong. His other hand smoothed the wrinkle between your brows as if he could erase even one fraction of your hurt.

Then, forehead to yours, he declared it like a vow. Maybe if he was sincere enough, the universe might spare you both. 

“Not pity. Never pity. I swear it.”

Jason Todd had never known grace. Not the kind whispered in the hush of cathedral pews or sung in the devout voices of choirs beneath vaulted ceilings, but if it ever existed, he imagined it wore your face.

You were a prayer he had no right to say, but he uttered your name like one anyway, each syllable pressed to the roof of his mouth like a secret devotion. In a life stitched with broken psalms and carmine confessions, you were the only thing untouched. A quiet sanctity in the middle of his ruin.

He wasn’t meant for soft things. His world was serrated edges and retribution, bruised knuckles and smoke-stained silence. But you were something else entirely. You were Sunday morning light through grimy windows. The stillness after the storm. The first inhale after nearly drowning. He would have knelt at your feet if he thought it could keep you safe. Would have bled himself dry if it meant you’d never bleed again. 

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was the height of blasphemy, to look at something so good and want it for himself. But the ache in him wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t even lust. It was longing, bone-deep and soul-starved. The reverent need to shelter you. To stand between you and the world’s worst cruelties, like an archangel guarding the last holy thing he’d ever know.

He didn’t deserve you. He knew that much. Jason had clawed his way back from the grave with dirt in his lungs and vengeance in his veins, not love. And yet, he wanted to believe that wanting could make it so. That yearning, in its purest form, might be enough to rewrite a man’s fate. Maybe wanting something so fiercely meant you could deserve a piece of it.

Maybe for once in his godless life, he would get to have something and keep it. Maybe that something could be you. 

Something inside you broke the moment his fingers combed through your hair, like each strand was spun from gold and he feared his touch might undo you entirely. His hands quivered as they cupped your face, and it felt like he was trying to will you whole again through sheer desperation.

Then he gave you his name, and you felt everything go motionless, like the wind outside had paused mid-gust, like the ache in your ribs had dulled just for a moment, stunned into silence.

Jason.

It wasn’t a name you had guessed at. He had always been Red Hood to you, a shadow at your window, never quite real, never entirely yours.

But Jason?

Jason was human. Jason was a name carved in soft syllables, not the hard edges of the mask he wore. It was a name that felt like the sun on concrete after the rain. Solid. Honest. A name you could say in the dark and know someone would answer.

You held the syllables on your tongue like a secret. God, it fit so achingly well, like it had always been stitched into the seams of your life, waiting to be revealed.

And when he said it—“It’s Jason. Call me Jason.”—it wasn’t a demand. It was a gift. His truth, stripped bare, handed to you like an apology wrapped in longing. You hadn’t asked for it, but he had given it anyway, and now you knew it. Now it was yours. You never wanted to let it go.

The tears came hard and fast after that, like a dam rupturing, and you collapsed into him with the weight of it all. Your grief, your fear, the loneliness that had become a second skin. It spilled out in great heaving sobs that made your bruised insides scream in protest. Nonetheless, you sobbed, gasping for breath as though your lungs no longer remembered how to hold air.

Jason, as always, caught you.

His arms wrapped around you like armour, and you felt the tremble in them too. He held you not as if you were fragile, but as if he might fall apart if he let go. You hated yourself for clinging, for staining his shirt with tears, for taking up space in a life like his, like an old ornament someone had meant to throw out. You thought he’d pull away. You thought he should.

But he never did.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, choking on the words.

“Hey, none of that, now” he murmured into your hair. “You don’t apologize to me. Ever.”

Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, the scent of smoke and rain and something inherently him grounding you. “I didn’t want to be a bother. You said to let you go.”

Jason pulled back just enough to see your face, his thumb brushing beneath your eyes. His own shone with something terrible and beautiful—grief, regret, reverence. He shook his head, jaw clenched like it hurt to speak.

“You came?” you rasped. “You really came?”

He swallowed. “Of course, I came. You were supposed to call me. That’s what the number was for.” He held up the burner phone like it was a relic.

You looked away, the shame unbearable. “Didn’t want to be… a burden. You said—”

“I know what I said. And I was a goddamn idiot for it. I’m sorry. I can’t be sorry enough.”

“Yeah but—” 

“You’re not a bother,” he affirmed, fiercely now. “Not to me. Not ever. You call me—any hour, any day—I will come. In a heartbeat. I don’t care where I am, who I’m with. I will always come for you.”

"Oh."

Held you tighter then, whispering your name like it was holy. Like you were something worthy. Something his.

“I’ve got you,” he professed, over and over again. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I swear it.”

And for once you let yourself believe it.

When your breathing finally slowed, you felt his arms move beneath you, one under your legs, the other steady at your back. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing at all, tucking you back into bed with a tenderness that made your chest throb all over again, but this time for a different reason entirely.

You blinked blearily at him, just in time to see him pick up something from the bedside table. A mug, steam curling faintly from the surface.

“Made you tea," he indicated. "Though it’s probably shit.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. It felt foreign on your face like it belonged to someone else.

“Thank you.”

He gave you a nod, awkward and a little unsure. Then he turned as if to leave, and you panicked at the sight. You reached out, not even grabbing him properly, just the ghost of your fingers brushing his wrist. Regardless, he stopped like you’d tethered him with chains. The expression on his face was hopeful, like a man on the edge of salvation. It was almost too much to bear.

“Will you stay?” 

For a second, he said nothing. You felt the fear rise, a tide ready to swallow you whole. Maybe you’d pushed too far. Maybe this was where he decided it wasn’t worth it after all.

But then, he nodded. His shoulders relaxed, eyes softening as if he couldn’t believe you wanted him here. That you chose him.

He sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating through the space between you. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline, or maybe it was the rawness still bleeding at the edges of your soul, but the confession spilled out before you could stop it.

“Thank you... I’m glad you came. I didn’t... I didn’t want to die. I was—”

Scared. You were scared. You had been terrified of dying alone, with no one to mourn you, with no one to even remember that you had existed. Just another blemish on the tapestry of the city. 

Before you could finish, Jason pulled you gently to him, your head finding the cradle of his shoulder like it had always belonged there. His arm wrapped securely around you, grounding you, steadying your breath. You closed your eyes, lulled by the beat of his heart beneath your cheek, the solid presence of him where the void had been.

And when you were just about to slip into sleep again, you felt it—or thought you did. The softest press of lips against your temple, so light it could’ve been a dream. All of tonight might as well have been a dream, one you never wanted to wake up from. 

But his words? Those were real. They etched themselves into your mind with a gravity that no dream could hold.

“I will never let anything happen to you ever again.”

[euriiverse]

MENACE

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: You're loopy on anesthesia, full of dramatic declarations and clingy affection, and Jason's just trying (and failing) not to laugh through it all.

Words: 5,7k

CW: medical mention (minor), anesthesia shenanigans, reader is unhinged post-op, Jason is suffering (lovingly) and enabling nonsense, fluff, chaos, and clinginess ahead

Jason's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, booted foot propped against it, waiting for you to wake up. The hospital room is quiet except for the faint beeping of machines, and he's been here for the past hour, scrolling through his phone, glancing at you every few seconds. You'd just finished a minor surgery—nothing serious—but they'd put you under general anesthesia.

The nurse had warned him earlier, smirking like she knew a secret. "She might be a little... loopy when she wakes up."

Jason had grinned. "Yeah? Can't wait."

Now, seeing you stir, he straightens. His arms uncross, phone slipping into his jacket pocket. Your nose scrunches adorably, lashes fluttering, and he feels his heart melt. Soft. Warm. Fuck, you always do this to him.

Then, your eyes crack open, hazy and unfocused. You blink at the ceiling, slow and confused before your gaze shifts toward him. Squint. Head tilt. Brow furrow.

"Who... who the fuck are you?"

Your voice comes out raspy, accusatory, like he just insulted your entire bloodline.

Jason blinks. "Uh—"

"Stay back, asshole!" you slur, flailing your arm in his general direction, though it moves more like a limp noodle. You look so fucking ridiculous and adorable. "My man—he's gonna beat your ass if you try any funny shit."

Jason loses it. He presses the heel of his hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Doll," he manages, "I am your man. It's me, Jason."

Your eyes widen like he just dropped some wild conspiracy theory. Like he just told you aliens exist. "Nuh-uh," you shake your head, which only makes you dizzy. You grimace, blinking slowly. "Nope. My man's way hotter."

He chokes on a laugh. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," you huff, trying to cross your arms. One arm folds across your chest; the other flops uselessly to the side. "He's got these arms, you know? Big. Like... huge. Probably can lift a car. Or me. Definitely me. And—and his back? Broad. Biteable—"

Jason's grinning ear to ear, having the absolute time of his life. "Biteable, huh?"

"Yeah," you nod emphatically, wobbling. "And his hands... oh my God—" you pause, eyes going comically wide. Then you lean in, voice dropping to a stage whisper that's definitely not quiet, "Wait. You're kinda hot too."

He snorts. "Thanks, doll. Appreciate it."

You glance around like you're telling a state secret. "Don't tell my man I said that, though. He's crazy possessive. Like, one time? A guy winked at me and Jay was ready to commit murder. I kinda liked it, though."

Jason raises a brow, amused. "Sounds intense."

"It was so hot, bestie, God."

He wheezes. Bestie. You called him fucking bestie. He's biting his lip to keep it together, but it's a losing battle. Then—oh God—

You gasp, dramatically clutching at the blanket. "Wait." Your eyes narrow. "Did you say your name's Jason?"

"Yeah," he nods, lips twitching.

Your jaw drops. "Holy shit. Are you... Jason? Like... my Jay?"

"Been tryin' to tell you that for the past five minutes, baby."

You stare at him, processing, blinking real slow, brain cell working overtime. "No fucking way."

Jason's grinning like a damn fool. "Yeah, way."

You mumble, eyes raking over him, "Damn, I scored." Like you just won the lottery. "How the fuck did I pull you? Look at you. You're like... a Greek god. Or—or one of those guys in romance novels. With the abs and the smolder." Your gaze drops pointedly to his chest. "Do you have abs? Wait—of course you do."

Jason chuckles, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand reaches out, brushing hair back from your face. Gentle. "You're somethin' else, doll."

Your voice goes all soft, eyes big and hopeful. "You think I'm pretty?"

His expression shifts, still amused, but warmer. Softer. "Gorgeous."

You gasp like he just handed you the moon. "No, you."

Jason laughs, shaking his head. "Thank you, baby."

"Wait—" you squint, suspicious again. "How do I know you're not lying, huh? What if you're just pretending to be my boyfriend to steal my organs?"

Jason tilts his head. "Doll, you just had surgery. If I wanted your organs, I'd be late to the party."

Your gasp is scandalized. "Oh my God, you're funny too?"

He's wheezing now, hand covering his face. "Guess so."

You beam at him. "I love youuu."

Jason's heart skips. Just for a second. Soft and unguarded. He lets out a breathy laugh, leaning in to kiss your temple. "Love you too, pretty girl."

"Wait—" you pause, eyes narrowing as suspicion creeps back in. Jason watches you, already bracing himself. You tilt your head, lips pursed in deep, dramatic thought. "Do you have a dick?"

He freezes. His hand, halfway through smoothing back his hair, just stops. Blinks once. "Uh... yeah?"

"Big one?" Your voice is loud—way too loud for a hospital room—and you look at him like you're interrogating a suspect.

He lets out a laugh, scrubbing both hands over his face, dragging them down like this can't possibly be happening right now. "Jesus Christ—yeah, baby. Big one."

You nod sagely, like you just solved a great mystery. "Knew it," you lift your chin, all proud and smug. "Knew I had good taste."

Jason's still laughing when the nurse walks in, holding a clipboard and looking completely unfazed. Probably seen worse, but then you point at him, arm swaying like you're aiming at a moving target.

"That's my man," you announce proudly, eyes wide, volume cranked up to eleven. "He's got abs and a huge dick. Just thought you should know."

Jason damn near doubles over. He slaps a hand to his knee like an old man trying not to wheeze in public and shakes his head, face flushed with a grin that just won't quit.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, under his breath but not low enough.

The nurse, bless her heart, doesn't even flinch. Just adjusts her glasses and gives Jason a slow, knowing look over the rims like, Good luck with that, buddy.

He meets her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. "You have no idea."

Eventually—finally—they give the green light to go. Jason grabs your clothes from the chair beside your bed, holding them up like, Okay, how do we make this happen without you fallin' off the planet. You, meanwhile, are giggling like you just heard the funniest joke in the universe.

He tries to help you slip into them between your giggles and half hearted attempts to convince him you can totally dress yourself, which... no, you can't. Your limbs are floppy, coordination nonexistent, and at one point you try to put your jacket on like pants.

"I got it," you insist, swatting at his hands. "I can dress myself. I'm a grown woman."

"You literally just tried to put your jacket on like pants," he deadpans, not even fazed anymore.

"I was experimenting," you huff, as if you're inventing a new fashion trend.

Jason shakes his head, lips twitching, and carefully helps you into your clothes, guiding your limbs like you're made of overcooked spaghetti. Every few seconds, you lean on him, touch his face, giggle like you're seeing him for the first time. It's cute. A little dangerous. Mostly cute.

By the time you're dressed—barely—Jason has to scoop you up like you're nothing, one arm under your legs, the other behind your back. You're already melting into him, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket.

"I can walk," you protest faintly, though you're nuzzling into his neck like you've already decided this is your new permanent home.

"Sure you can," he says, carrying you like it's second nature, voice laced with amusement. "And I'm Batman."

You squint. "No you're not. You're too hot."

He snorts and keeps walking. When you reach the exit, he sets you down gently, one arm still wrapped around your waist just in case. You sway a little but grin at him, eyes bright as you beam up at him like he hung the stars.

"Wait—wait—" you stop dead in your tracks, pointing at him like you just had the most groundbreaking realization. "You're telling me I get to go home with you? The hot guy with the abs and the massive dick?"

Jason snickers, biting his lip to keep from losing it again. "Yup."

You light up like Christmas morning. "Best day ever."

In the car, you're curled up in the passenger seat like a sleepy cat, legs tucked underneath you, head lolled to the side against the window. Your eyes are drooping, breaths slow and even, but somehow—somehow—your mouth just won't shut up.

"Hey... hey, Jason?" Your voice is soft but persistent, slurred like you've had a few too many drinks.

Jason glances over, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh. "Yeah, doll?"

You blink at him, slow as molasses, then mumble with complete sincerity, "I wanna bite your abs."

Jason laughs, head tilting back slightly as he shakes his head. "Maybe when you're not high off your ass."

You pout like he just told you Santa isn't real. "You're so mean. But like... hot mean."

He snorts. "Hot mean? The fuck does that even mean?"

You nod, very serious. "Yeah. Like... the morally grey love interest in books. The one who kills people but also gives good cuddles."

"I'm flattered, baby."

"I have great taste," you add, smug.

"Yeah, you do," he mutters under his breath, grin tugging at his lips as he navigates the streets back home.

By the time he pulls into the driveway, you're half asleep, face smushed against the window, leaving a foggy patch of drool that you will not be happy about later. Jason parks, turns off the engine, and gently taps your thigh.

"C'mon, pretty girl. We're home."

You make a noise—something between a groan and a whine—but let him help you out of the car. His arm wraps securely around your waist, guiding you toward the front door as you shuffle along like a sleepy baby deer, legs wobbly, coordination completely gone.

Then you gasp. Loud. Dramatic. Eyes going huge as you step inside. "No fucking way."

Jason raises a brow, kicking off his boots. "What now?"

"We live here?"

You fling your arms out to gesture at the living room, nearly tripping over your own feet. Jason catches you without missing a beat, steadying you with one hand on your hip.

"Have for over two years, baby," he says, amused.

"Shut. Up," you gasp, smacking his chest—which, of course, does absolutely nothing because the man is built like a brick wall. Jason just grins, letting you flail. "This place is like... like a Pinterest board! Look at that couch!"

Jason snickers. "Well, you picked it."

Your jaw drops. "No, I didn't."

"You did," he insists, guiding you forward, but you plant your feet, refusing to move as you stare at the couch like it's the Mona Lisa.

"Wow," you breathe, nodding solemnly. "I really have excellent taste."

Jason chuckles, steering you toward the couch, but you stop dead again, eyes locking on the kitchen like you just discovered Narnia.

"Oh my God, is that a fridge? In my house?"

He wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut. "Yeah, doll. Most places have those."

You tug on his hoodie, wide eyed and breathless. "Does it have snacks?"

"Loaded with 'em," he says, still laughing.

Your mouth drops open. "Holy shit."

Jason's dying. Like, actual tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he leans forward, hand on his knee, shoulders shaking. "You're somethin' else right now," he manages between laughs.

On the couch, he eases you down gently like you're made of glass, tucking a blanket around you. He's careful, patient—too patient—especially with the way you're blinking up at him with those sleepy, half lidded eyes.

But as soon as he pulls back, you reach for him, hands grabbing at his hoodie like a needy little gremlin. "Nooo," you whine, voice petulant and soft, "come snuggle me."

Jason chuckles, low and fond, shaking his head. "Jesus," he mutters, but he doesn't hesitate.

He sits beside you, big arm looping around your shoulders so you can immediately curl into his side, cheek pressed against his chest like you've found your ultimate comfort spot.

"Better?" he asks, warmth bleeding into his tone.

You nod, eyes fluttering closed for about... three seconds until they snap open with sudden realization. "Wait," you straighten up, finger jabbing at his chest. "Can I see your abs?"

Jason's head falls back as he laughs, voice rumbling beneath you. "Baby—"

"Pleaaase?" you clasp your hands together in full desperation mode, eyes wide and pleading like you're auditioning for a soap opera. "I need it. For... science."

He snorts, but his lips twitch into a smirk, utterly amused. "For science, huh?"

"Yes," you insist, nodding emphatically. "Your abs have to be like... art. Like those Greek statues. Or—or a washboard. People could do laundry on them."

"Laundry," he echoes, raising an eyebrow. "That's the analogy you're goin' with?"

"Don't judge me," you huff, poking him again. "C'mon, show me the goods, hot stuff."

He shakes his head, grinning like an idiot, but reaches for the hem of his hoodie anyway, lifting it slooowly, like he's intentionally teasing you. And there they are: those stupidly perfect abs, all taut and defined and glorious. It's like a Michelangelo sculpture just came to life in front of you.

You gasp, awed. "Oh my God."

"What," Jason teases, "never seen 'em before?"

Your jaw drops. "Not in HD like this." You gawk, eyes shamelessly glued to his stomach like it's the eighth wonder of the world. "Oh my God," you whisper. "Look at you. I could bounce a quarter off those things."

Jason laughs, so fucking amused, but then, you lean in and bite him. Hard enough to surprise him, but not enough to hurt. Mostly.

Your teeth sink into the firm line of his abs, just above his waistband, and you feel the way his muscles twitch beneath your mouth. He jerks slightly, breath catching, a half laugh, half groan tumbling out of him.

"Did you just—"

"Mmmph," you mumble against his skin, still nibbling. "Tastes like... safety and violence."

Jason loses it. Like, actually loses it. His laughter booms through the room, shoulders shaking, abs tensing beneath your mouth, which only makes you giggle harder.

"You done yet, doll?" he manages between breaths, hand rubbing soothing circles on your back despite the utter chaos you're causing.

You pull back, eyes sparkling, face the picture of innocence. "Never."

Jason just grins, shaking his head as he gathers you closer, like holding you can somehow contain the tornado of ridiculousness that you are. "You're insane," he murmurs against your hair.

"And you looove me," you sing song, smug as hell.

His arms tighten around you, voice dropping to something softer, something real. "Yeah, I do," he says quietly. "So fuckin' much."

After a while, he convinces you to head to bed, because you're getting sleepy as hell, and Jason doesn't even bother trying to make you walk. Not after you nearly face planted into the couch two minutes ago. So, like the absolute hero he is, he just scoops you up, arms solid and warm around you.

"Whoa—" you gasp, eyes wide as he lifts you effortlessly. "Oh my God. I'm flying."

"Not flying, baby," Jason chuckles, adjusting you in his hold. "Just me carryin' you like the princess you are."

"Damn right I am," you mumble, immediately melting into his chest. You reach up, fingers lazily threading through his hair, playing with the white streak. "Your hair is so cool, Jay," you sigh, eyes half lidded. "Like... like a sexy skunk."

Jason snorts, almost tripping from how hard he's laughing. "Sexy skunk? That's new."

"It's a compliment," you insist, rubbing your cheek against his shoulder like an affectionate cat. "Skunks are cute."

"They spray people, doll."

"So do I when I'm drunk," you quip, then gasp, as if you've just had the most brilliant idea. "You should let me braid it."

Jason glances down at you, brow raised. "Yeah? Think I'd rock pigtails?"

"You'd rock a trash bag," you yawn, completely sincere. "God, you're like... a big, warm tree," you sigh contentedly, snuggling closer, face smushed against his hoodie. "Can I climb you?"

He loses it, laughter rumbling deep in his chest. "Anytime, pretty girl," he promises, heart so fucking full he could burst.

And you? You just sigh happily. "Best boyfriend ever," you mumble, already half asleep in his arms.

Jason presses a soft kiss to your temple, grinning like an absolute sap. He tucks you in, smoothing the blanket over you with all the care in the world, but you immediately grab his hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric like a gremlin staking its claim.

"Stay," you mumble, tugging him down toward you. "Need your... your tree warmth."

Jason chuckles, soft and fond, eyes crinkling as he lets you pull him in. "Gotcha, baby," he murmurs, sliding under the covers beside you.

His arm finds its way around your waist, drawing you close until you're molded perfectly against him, face pressed to his chest. His warmth radiates through the blanket—solid, safe, home.

Your fingers drift up, tracing the strong line of his jaw, slow and aimless. "How the fuck did I get you?" you whisper, gaze hazy and adoring.

Jason's heart damn near stops. "Pretty sure I'm the lucky one," he says, voice low and sincere.

You huff, squinting at him like he's personally offended you. "Nope." Your finger pokes his cheek. "I'm lucky. You're like... like Batman but hotter," you pause, brow furrowing in deep thought. "And you don't brood as much. Except when you do. Which is also hot."

Jason laughs, that deep, rumbly sound vibrating against you. "Jesus, doll..." he presses a kiss to your temple, lips lingering. "Go to sleep."

"Make me," you challenge, voice muffled against his hoodie but brimming with mischief.

He smirks, gaze dipping to yours. "Don't tempt me."

"Too late," you sing song, grinning up at him like you own the world.

And Jason—completely gone for you—just shakes his head, smiling like a lovesick idiot. "God, I fuckin' love you," he mutters, tucking you in closer.

Your eyes flutter shut, content beyond words. "Love you too, sexy skunk," you mumble, already slipping toward sleep.

He loses it, quietly laughing into your hair. "Unbelievable," he whispers, but his arms never let go.

Jason's lying beside you, scrolling on his phone, thinking you're finally dozing off—his arm wrapped around you, your head on his chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing lulling you both into peace—when you suddenly jolt upright, wild eyed, like you just remembered you left the oven on in a past life, and stare at him like he's the answer to every unsolved mystery.

"Show me your dick."

Jason chokes on his own breath, the phone in his hand nearly slipping right out of his grasp. He twists to stare at you like you've just set the curtains on fire. "What—"

"I can't sleep until I see it," you whine, clutching his forearm with both hands like it's a lifeline, eyes wide and imploring. Your grip is dramatic—desperate—like you'll perish without dick visuals. "It's for my mental health, Jay."

He huffs out a stunned laugh, deep and disbelieving, dragging a rough palm down his face as if that'll somehow help him process the situation. "Baby—"

"No." You sit up straighter, finger pointed like you're delivering a sermon. "I know you said it's huge. But I just... I need to see how that's supposed to fit in me."

Jason tilts his head back with a groan, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward, lips tugging into that crooked, dangerous smirk you always fall for. He's shaking his head, biting back a laugh, clearly trying to act like this is somehow a normal conversation.

"You're outta your mind, pretty girl," he mutters, voice husky with humor.

"I'm suffeeeriiing," you wail, dramatically flopping onto the bed like this is the end of your goddamn rope. Your wide eyes lock on him, shimmering with tragic sincerity. "You don't care about me."

He snorts, his big hand stroking lazily down your back in a gesture that's both comforting and amused. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leans back and shoves his sweats down in one smooth motion—no hesitation, no shame. And there it is. Thick. Veiny. Heavy looking. His dick flops against his thigh, and even soft, it looks like a weapon.

You gasp so hard you nearly inhale your own tongue, one hand flying up to slap over your mouth like you've just witnessed either a miracle or a war crime. "What the fuck."

Jason smirks, far too smug. "Happy now?"

"No." Your gaze refuses to look away, like it's hypnotizing. "How is that your soft dick? That's like... a fifth limb."

His laughter bursts out of him, low and from the chest, eyes crinkling with pure delight. "You done gawkin'?"

"I need to poke it," you blurt, because logic has left the chat.

He snorts, "Knock yourself out, doll."

So you poke it. And then, because you lack self control, you poke it again. "It's so... squishy," you marvel, brows furrowed in serious scientific inquiry. "Like a stress ball. But very intimidating."

Jason's crying laughing, wiping a tear. "Glad my dick's got layers."

Your hand flies to his bicep, clutching it like you've just remembered something deeply troubling. You stare up at him, scandalized. "Wait... have you seen me naked?"

He grins, eyes sparkling. "Plenty."

"My boobs?" you press, scandal turning to morbid curiosity.

"Yeah, baby." His voice dips, fond and teasing.

You pout, lips sticking out in the most tragically adorable way. "You like them?"

Jason's grin softens at the edges. He brushes a loose strand of hair from your face with a knuckle, his touch slow, warm, and far too gentle considering your current topic. "Love 'em. Perfect tits."

"What about my pussy?" you ask, zero filter, zero shame.

He smirks, voice dropping to that dangerous, low register. "Fuckin' gorgeous."

Your breath catches, but not because of the compliment. Your eyes drop, and that's when you notice it. His dick. Getting hard.

Your eyes widen in horror. "Wait—why's it growing?"

Jason doesn't even try to hide his smug grin. He leans back on his elbows, relaxed and shameless, cock thickening by the second between his thighs. "Natural reaction, baby."

"No—stay down!" you wave at it like it's a misbehaving dog, hand flapping. "I didn't consent to this!"

Jason doubles over with laughter, clutching his stomach as he wheezes. "It doesn't listen, sweetheart."

And it just... keeps getting bigger. Slow and steady, like it's proud of itself. Like it has ambitions.

You gape in real-time horror, voice pitching up an octave with every word. "How is it bigger? That's—that's a literal weapon."

Jason throws you a look that's equal parts amused and smug, lips curved in a wicked grin. "What can I say? You're pokin' me, talkin' about your pussy... kinda hard to stay calm over here."

You narrow your eyes at his dick like it personally betrayed you, jaw dropped in righteous disbelief. "I knew you were a menace."

He just winks, cocky and unrepentant. "Guilty as charged."

With an exhausted groan, you flop back against the bed, limbs sprawling dramatically. One arm slings over your eyes like you're in mourning. "I can't believe I've taken that. Multiple times."

You lie there in stunned silence for a beat, like you've just relived every toe curling, pelvis shattering experience in vivid HD and need a moment to grieve.

Jason leans over, resting one elbow beside your head, and presses a warm, teasing kiss to your cheek. "And you love it."

"My insides probably don't," you wail, throwing your other arm out like you're grieving your own pelvic floor.

He just laughs, the kind that rumbles from his chest, shaking both of you as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. "Go to sleep, doll."

"Not with your monster dick out," you grumble, peeking from under your arm like it's personally offended you.

Jason smirks, unhurried as he pulls his sweats back up, not breaking eye contact. "Better?"

"No," you pout, your lip sticking out like a spoiled brat. "Now I'm just thinking about it."

Your tone is downright accusatory, like he's the villain in a Shakespearean tragedy and you're the betrayed heroine.

Jason just grins, looking far too satisfied with himself. "Can't win with you."

"Nope," you agree, completely unrepentant.

You roll over, facing him, bright eyed and grinning despite the anesthesia haze, like you've just remembered the most pressing question of your life. "Hey."

Jason grins back, warm and so gone for you. "Hey, doll."

Without missing a beat, you poke his chest, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Be honest, what's my pussy feel like?"

He blinks, visibly short circuiting, because what the fuck. "What—?"

"My pussy," you repeat, completely unfazed, grinning like you just asked about the weather. "When you're fucking me, what's it feel like? Like, warm? Squishy? Like a marshmallow?"

Jason drags a hand down his face, a groan escaping him, somewhere between exasperated and thoroughly entertained. "Jesus, baby—"

"No, I need to know!" you insist, dead serious, like you're interviewing him for a documentary.

"You're unbelievable."

"Tell meeee," you whine, tugging at his hoodie like an impatient child demanding candy. "Is it like... a heated blanket? Or, like—like warm apple pie?"

That does it. Jason laughs so hard he has to sit up, hand over his face, his whole body shaking. "I'm not comparin' your pussy to pie, baby."

"Oh my God," you gasp, scandalized. "Do you like it?"

"Baby—" he starts, helpless, but you're on a roll.

"Wait," you pause, eyes narrowing. "Have you ever fucked my ass?"

Jason chokes, visibly malfunctioning. "What—no! You'd definitely remember that, baby."

You squint, suspicious. "Are you sure?"

Jason grins, "Pretty damn sure."

"Would you?" you press, wide-eyed, like you're discussing weekend plans. "Fuck my ass, I mean."

Jason scrubs both hands down his face, wheezing like you're trying to kill him. "Jesus Christ—"

"I mean," you continue with a shrug, gesturing vaguely behind you, "it's just there, you know? Like, a spare hole."

Jason's crying, wheezing so hard he can't breathe. "You did not just call it a spare hole—"

"I did," you shrug, unapologetic. "Deal with it."

There's a beat, but then you perk up, eyes thoughtful. "Wait—do you like my boobs more or my ass?"

Jason grins, recovering. "Both. Best of both worlds."

"Pick one," you demand, pouting.

Jason chuckles, already knowing this is a trap. "Ass."

You gasp, hand over your heart. "Traitor!"

He's still laughing when he pulls you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest and pressing a kiss to your hair. "I love your tits, baby, but your ass is perfect."

"I can't believe I'm competing with my own ass," you grumble, but you're smiling, head resting on his chest.

Jason just smirks, "Your ass wins every time."

Then—"Wait... have you ever jacked off thinking about me?"

He laughs, his chest rumbling, head tilting back for a second before he looks at you with that boyish grin. "Obviously."

Your eyes widen. "When? Details!"

He smirks, lips quirking up like he's thoroughly enjoying this, and honestly? He is. "One time you wore those little shorts—couldn't help myself."

You beam, triumphant. "I knew those shorts were slutty."

You slap his chest, totally pleased with yourself, while Jason just grins and shakes his head, looking at you like you're the most beautiful disaster he's ever seen.

Then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and lingering."You're somethin' else, baby."

You sigh dramatically. "You love it."

He grins, voice low and fond. "Damn right I do."

There's a beat of silence, only for your eyes to suddenly narrow like you've just remembered something crucial. "Wait—what's my pussy feel like?"

Jason laughs, a full bodied sound that makes his shoulders shake. "Still on that, huh?"

"Yes," you insist, grabbing a fistful of his hoodie like this is a life or death situation. "I really need to know."

His grin turns downright wolfish as he leans in close, his voice dropping to a rough, teasing murmur. "Like heaven, baby—warm, tight, perfect."

You melt instantly, a dreamy sigh escaping you as your head tips back. "Ugh, I'm amazing."

Jason just laughs again, utterly charmed, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. "You really are."

Your brows furrow hard, the kind of serious concentration usually reserved for nuclear codes or advanced calculus. Honestly, you look like you're about to solve world hunger or invent clean energy. All while laying half draped over your man, high on leftover anesthesia and horny on main.

You pause dramatically, blinking slow like your brain is buffering.

"Do you ever just... slide in," you begin, voice low and reverent like you're narrating a nature documentary, "and think, damn, I'm the luckiest bastard alive?"

Jason huffs out a laugh, his eyes darkening immediately, a slow-burning heat building as he leans a little closer. "Every fuckin' time, doll."

His voice is rough, quiet, like the confession costs him something. But his gaze? Pure devotion. Hungry and sweet all at once.

You hum, nodding slowly, absorbing that like it's gospel. But then your eyes flare again, round and shining, and your mouth opens like you've just uncovered another secret of the universe.

"Wait—have you ever..." you trail off, blinking slowly. "Like... fucked me so good I cried?"

Jason's grin turns filthy, the kind of slow, wolfish smile that's got intentions. "Yeah, baby. More than once."

Your jaw drops. You gasp like you're scandalized by your own body. "No. Way."

"Way," he deadpans, but there's so much warmth tucked behind the tease, his thumb stroking idly at your hip where his hand rests. He looks at you like you're the best part of his day. Like you're it.

You stare into the void for a moment, nodding solemnly, the weight of your own greatness sinking in. "God," you mutter, clearly awed, "I'm such a slut for you."

Jason bursts out laughing, loud and sudden, and has to wipe a hand down his face like he's physically overwhelmed by you. "Not complainin'," he gets out between chuckles, shaking his head like you've absolutely wrecked him. Because you have.

You look so proud of yourself it's almost criminal. But of course, you're not done. You're on a mission now. Your gaze sharpens again, locking onto him with laser focus. "Wait—have you ever thought about bending me over the kitchen counter?"

Jason's laughter tapers off like a record scratching to a stop. His smile shifts, darker, filthier, his eyes gleaming with that sharp edge of want that never quite leaves him when you're around, "Every damn day."

You nod like you've just confirmed a long held theory. Full smug. "I knew it."

You finally—finally—snuggle closer to him, cheek pressed against his chest, arms tucked between you like you're absorbing his warmth. Jason's still grinning like an idiot, phone in hand because yeah, he recorded all of that. No way in hell is he ever letting you live it down.

But when you shift, sighing happily, he chuckles and finally puts his phone away, ending the recording. His fingers card through your hair, slow and soothing. There's a beat of comfortable silence. Then—

"Jay?"

Your voice is muffled by his hoodie, soft and sleepy, and it damn near melts him.

"Yeah, baby?" he murmurs, gaze dropping to you.

You tilt your head up, puppy eyes in full force, lips in a sleepy pout. "Promise not to leave me?"

Jason's heart fucking stalls. He looks at you—really looks at you—tousled hair, heavy lids, clinging to him like he's your whole world, your expression all soft and hopeful and a little scared. And maybe it's the drugs talking, but the way you say it? It hits him right in the chest.

His first instinct is to tease—you make it so easy—but something about the way your voice shakes, even just a little, stops him cold.

"I'll have to think about it," he says anyway, because he's him, and he gives you a crooked grin.

You shrug, unbothered. "I think that's fair..." you yawn, voice hazy and soft. "I mean, you're so big and strong and hot, and I'm just... here."

Jason laughs under his breath, but then you frown, a little crease forming between your brows. There's this tiny hitch in your voice that makes him pause. You seem so genuinely upset, and yeah, you're high as a kite, but the sadness is real enough that it tugs at something deep in his chest.

"Hey," he whispers, already moving. With zero effort, he pulls you on top of him, your body melting against his as you nuzzle closer. "I was just kiddin', baby." His hands find your back and stay there, warm and steady. "I'm not leavin' you. Ever. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever, alright? I'm right here. You're stuck with me."

You melt into him instantly, like his words alone are enough to anchor you. Your nose nudges the crook of his neck and you breathe him in like he's home. "Okay..."

Your breath is warm against his skin, and Jason closes his eyes, holding you tighter. Like if he loves you hard enough, the fear will never touch you again. There's a long pause, and he thinks you're asleep, until—

"Jay?"

He lets out a breath, lips brushing the crown of your head. "Yeah, doll?"

You shift slightly, still draped over him like a sleepy cat, and murmur, "Can we eat cheese for dinner?"

Jason goes still for a second, shoulders twitching from the effort not to burst out laughing. His hand doesn't stop moving on your back, steady and gentle, but his mouth curls into the fondest smile. He bites his cheek. Hard. He doesn't want to shake you while you're so relaxed, so peaceful.

"Yeah, baby," he manages, his chest trembling with restrained laughter. "Whatever you want."

"Mmm..." you mumble, words slurring with exhaustion. "I love cheese... I think I love you too, but cheese... God."

That's it—Jason loses it, quietly wheezing into the quiet of the room. His chest shakes beneath you, but he keeps his movements gentle, one hand splayed on your back, the other tangling in your hair.

"You're somethin' else," he whispers, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.

You don't reply. You've already drifted off, breaths evening out, your body completely relaxed against his. Jason just lies there, staring at the ceiling, his heart full to bursting. You're ridiculous. Chaotic. Feral. Beautiful. And somehow the softest, sweetest thing he's ever held in his life. And damn if he isn't so fucking gone for you.