#Alleged Robbery

[albazay]

the only thing i like about being in my hometown for the holidays are the seasonal gossip sessions i have with my friends who are still here

[anarchomitsumi]

sorry but going back to luigi mangione. im so used to people who carry out political assassinations to just get shot on sight, or go into hiding with no way for the public to know their identity or motives. even if he is only the alleged shooter, it feels crazy to see him alive and get to see the public interact with the situation and demand authorities release him. he hasn't been killed by police so there's something to be fought for.

[odysseys-blood]

so officers can unload 3 full mags into a black woman's house over an alleged robbery sighting (it was her own home), shoot her 5 times (remember breonna taylor? we're not safe even at home) and the only consequence they face is administrative leave (they shot at her in her goddamn home over speculation.)

[solar-wing]

⚣ Jason: The Rebel 🏍️

⚣🏍️ A/N → @swimmingpainterhandsfreak Jason's installment of the High School AU Courting series. One day, I will learn how to keep a fic under 10k words... today isn't it though. Conner's up next and both his and Dick's are linked at the end. Enjoy! WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | Omegaverse | Courting Rituals | High School AU | Alpha Jason Todd | Omega Male Reader | Angst | Fluff | Humor | No one is a vigilante | Dick and Jason are not brothers | Jason is the stereotypical bad boy | Minor Character Death | Smut | Explicit Language | jealousy & Possessiveness | Oral Sex | Fingering | Dirty Talk | Rough Sex | Breeding Kink | Creampie |

⚣🏍️ Summary → Jason's always been misunderstood, except by one person. Someone who's always stuck by him and defended him even when others were against him. Now, he plans to make sure he's always by his side. How though?

⚣🏍️ Words → 38.9K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! ❤️

⚣ ENJOY 🏍️

Jason Todd? Everyone knows who Jason Todd is.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a damn Greek statue sculpted for war, he had the kind of physique that made gym rats jealous and made people think twice before testing him. His thick arms and solid chest stretched against whatever shirt he threw on, the fabric clinging to the kind of muscle that wasn’t just for show. Defined abs, powerful legs, and prominent veins running down his forearms made it clear: Jason Todd wasn't just strong—he was dangerous.

Wherever he went, people whispered, stared, or stepped aside, as if Gotham Collegiate Academy’s resident bad boy carried an aura that warned against getting too close. Some saw him as dangerous, untouchable, a walking storm wrapped in dark clothes and bad decisions. Others were drawn to him, intoxicated by the thrill of someone so effortlessly rebellious, untamed, and unpredictable.

He wasn’t just some brooding delinquent, though. Jason Todd had the kind of presence that made authority figures nervous and classmates curious. He was the guy who rolled up to school on a motorcycle, smirking at the rules he planned to ignore. The guy who didn't care about popularity but still managed to be one of the most talked-about names in the halls.

Everything about him screamed “don’t mess with me”, and yet—people did.

They stared. They whispered. They speculated. Because Jason Todd didn’t just look like trouble—he was trouble.

“How does a delinquent like him manage to get into one of the most prestigious schools in all of Gotham?”

“Well, obviously, he’s well connected. I mean, look who his friends are. If I were friends with the sons of two billionaires, I’d take advantage of those relationships too.”

Many—students and faculty alike—had their own speculations and theories about how someone like Jason was able to go to a school like Gotham Collegiate Academy. It wasn’t exactly classified information about where he came from or who his dad was.

BREAKING NEWS: NOTORIOUS LOCAL FIGURE ARRESTED IN CITYWIDE CRIME RING INVESTIGATION

“In a shocking turn of events, authorities have arrested Willis Todd, a well-known automotive shop owner with alleged ties to multiple criminal organizations, in connection to the recent string of high-profile robberies and thefts plaguing the city.

Law enforcement sources confirm that Todd, long rumored to have underworld connections, was taken into custody earlier today as part of an ongoing, large-scale investigation into organized crime operations. Authorities believe his business may have served as a front for illicit activities, potentially linking him to a wider criminal network operating across the city.

Details of the arrest are still unfolding, but officials describe this as a major breakthrough in the effort to dismantle one of the most elusive theft rings in recent history. More updates to come as this developing story continues.”

As one might imagine, Jason didn’t have the best home life.

Willis Todd had done the best he could with the scraps life had thrown at him. He’d fought, clawed, and hustled to carve out something—anything—that resembled stability for his son. If you had asked him, years ago, what kind of life he dreamed of for them, he’d never in a million years have said this.

Not handcuffs. Not mugshots. Not his son watching him get dragged away.

He swallowed hard, the weight of failure settling deep in his chest as he turned to face the boy he’d tried so damn hard to protect.

“Son... I’ve gotta go away for a while.”

His voice was rough, strained—like it hurt to say the words out loud. Maybe because it did.

Jason was only eight years old when his dad went to prison, left in the care of the only other family he’d ever known outside of his father and his deceased stepmother.

His birth mother? A blank face in a picture he’d never seen.

His dad never spoke about her. Never reminisced. Never even slipped up and said her name. If she was a ghost, she wasn’t haunting him—because ghosts left behind something. A memory. A whisper. A trace. She left nothing.

So, the only mother he had ever known was Catherine Todd, and even she had been taken from him too soon. Cancer, illness, something bad—he didn’t know what exactly. He only knew that one day, she was there, and the next, she wasn’t. Jason was five. Too young to understand, old enough to remember.

Life could be a lot of things, but for Jason? Kind wasn’t one of them.

His classmates wouldn’t understand that. Their biggest problems were petty fights, weekend plans, or the wrong shade of a designer bag. They called it “struggles.” Jason called it a luxury.

Because none of them knew what it was like to wonder if dinner would be stale bread or expired cereal with water.

None of them knew—and he was sure they never would—just how long it took for cereal to actually expire.

Maybe that’s why their nasty little words never got under his skin. Because how could someone like that hurt him? Someone who lost their mind over a scratch on their brand-new sports car? A missed vacation? A bad hair day?

They didn’t know strife. They didn’t know struggle.

Everything had been spoon-fed to them since birth. And yet, they had the nerve to look down on him.

They whispered about him in hallways, convinced he had cheated his way into Gotham Collegiate Academy—because clearly, someone like him couldn’t have earned it. Clearly, it had to be his best friends’ rich parents pulling the strings.

Jason laughed at that.

Because if they only knew the truth—that one of the few things Willis Todd got right was making sure his kid was damn smart—they’d choke on their silver spoons.

With no money for tutors or fancy lessons, what else was there for the youngest Todd to do?

Fix cars with his old man. Read every damn book the public library had.

And he did.

And yet, none of them would ever know it. Jason didn’t even really care to prove it, because there were only a few—a very small few—who mattered to him, especially one in particular.

So, while Jason Todd might have had the reputation of a reckless  who lived for trouble, the reality was different. He wasn’t aimless or cruel, nor was he the heartless rebel everyone assumed. Beneath the grit, the sharp edges, and the infamous scowl, there was someone intelligent, fiercely loyal, protective, and—though he’d rather chew glass than admit it—capable of being soft in the right company.

Despite coming from a family that had its fair share of struggles, Jason never played the victim. He worked for everything he had, even if past methods weren’t always… legal. He didn’t need peer validation, didn’t need approval from teachers or his peers. He had his real ones, and that was enough.

People made up their own stories about him.

Some called him a troublemaker—the kind you don’t want to owe, don’t want to cross, don’t want staring at you from across the hall with that sharp, unreadable expression. Teachers watched him closely, expecting him to lash out, to skip class, to prove their assumptions right. Parents warned their kids to steer clear, because a boy like Jason Todd? He had “bad news” written all over him.

Some called him a lost cause—whispered about how he didn’t belong at GCA, how he’d end up like his father, how one day, he’d stop showing up and no one would be surprised. The rich kids sneered, convinced he was some charity case riding on the coattails of his wealthy best friends, too stupid, too rough around the edges to have gotten in on his own.

And then there were the ones who just… wanted him.

Because trouble is intoxicating when it looks like Jason Todd.

Some wanted to know him—not the stories, not the reputation, but him. They wanted to understand what made him tick, what secrets he kept behind that dark, unreadable gaze. They wanted to be the one person he let in, the exception to his indifference.

And others? Many more than most would assume—just wanted him.

Because Jason Todd wasn’t just dangerous—he was gorgeous. All broad shoulders, sharp jaw, and muscle wrapped up in leather and bad decisions. His voice? Low, rough, like the distant rumble of his motorcycle on an empty road. His presence? Unshakable. People didn’t just see him—they felt him, like a pulse in the air, something you couldn’t ignore even if you tried.

And maybe that was the most frustrating thing of all.

Because no matter what story they made up about him—whether they feared him, pitied him, or wanted to pull him into the nearest empty bathroom stall and make a mistake—they all had one thing in common.

They couldn’t stop looking.

But one thing was clear: Jason Todd didn’t do relationships.

Which is why Gotham’s most prestigious high school was absolutely losing its collective mind over the rumor that he was seeing someone.

The only question was, who?

"Are you blind? It’s obviously Y/N," Sasha scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"OMG, yes! You’d have to be stupid not to see it. Those two have been orbiting each other since, like, birth," Manny gushed, practically bouncing in his seat. "They’re so cute together. I can definitely see Jason being a simp for him."

Kevin let out a low chuckle, spinning a football between his hands. "What is it with you omegas romanticizing some sappy, soft alpha?" he said, shaking his head. "You all act like an Alpha’s job is to whisper sweet nothings and play house. News flash—real alphas don’t do that shit."

He leaned back, smirking. "And Jason? No way in hell he’d be some love-sick puppy over an omega. He’s got everything an alpha needs to keep Y/N hooked—strength, presence, dominance, and the right kind of equipment to have him walking sideways. But then, only another real alpha like myself would recognize that."

Kevin threw a pointed look across the table. "Not like some of these soft-ass, house-trained alphas prancing around GCA—like his two little ballerina buddies, Dick and Conner." His smirk deepened. "They’re practically omegas themselves. No wonder they get along so well with you all."

A chorus of groans and eye rolls followed, earning Kevin a round of unimpressed looks from the group.

"Jesus Christ, Kevin." Sasha groaned, smacking him on the shoulder.

"What?" Kevin grinned, "Can’t say I’m not speaking truth."

"Oh yeah? Then I’m sure you won’t mind saying that to your football captain’s face, right?" Manny drawled, arching a brow in challenge.

Kevin’s cocky smirk faltered for half a second before he scoffed, shifting in his seat. "Pfft, I mean—come on, it’s just jokes. No need to get all serious about it. Besides, not like Conner would care anyway." He waved a hand dismissively, suddenly very interested in the football in his hands.

The table erupted into laughter.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." Manny grinned, shaking his head. “Anyways, Jason might have that tough guy look, but it’s clear he’s got a soft spot. And that soft spot is Y/N. Because wherever Y/N is…”

Sasha suddenly perked up, her eyes locking with Manny’s as they both grinned

“...he ain’t never too far away.” They both finished together, laughing obnoxiously while slapping and hugging each other like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Clearly, some inside joke the two other boys at the table were not in on.

And while usually, he’d find the silly antics of his two friends amusing, Ethan, who had been mostly quiet up until now, suddenly scoffed, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat. "Sure, Jason’s big enough to scare off anyone dumb enough to try something—but is that really enough? Y/N doesn’t need a guard dog. He needs someone who actually listens, someone who won’t just punch his way through every problem."

That earned him a few raised eyebrows.

"Oh?" Sasha smirked, resting her chin on her hand. "Do go on, Ethan. Tell us why Jason, our six-foot-plus human guard dog, isn’t good enough for sweet little Y/N."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean. Jason’s… Jason. He’s reckless, doesn’t think before he acts, and he’s emotionally closed off. Sure, he can fight off anyone who looks at Y/N the wrong way, but that’s not what makes a good alpha. Y/N needs someone who actually listens, who knows how to handle emotions—not just punch his way through every problem."

The table went silent for half a second before Sasha let out a low whistle.

"Wow. That was a very heartfelt, totally unbiased take. Definitely nothing personal there."

Manny smirked, nudging Ethan’s arm. "Yeah, man. Sounds almost like… oh, I don’t know… someone who’s still salty over a 7th-grade crush on their lab partner."

Ethan’s face twisted into an immediate scowl. "Oh my god,  would you let that go? That was years ago."

"And yet," Manny grinned, "here you are, still pressed."

Kevin snorted. "And, dude, no offense, but Jason would break you in half. You may not be a direct threat being a Beta and all, but that dude’s got possessive written all over him. He barely leaves Y/N’s side.”

Suddenly, Manny and Sasha looked at each other again, “Wherever Y/N is…he ain’t never too far away.” The two recited together before bursting out into another fit of shits and giggles.

Ethan’s brow twitched as he shoved Kevin’s football off the table in retaliation.

"Whatever. Y’all are insufferable."

Jason Todd had always been a fixture in Y/N’s life, like a constant shadow, a familiar presence, something woven so deeply into his world that he couldn’t remember a time before him.

Their parents—specifically Y/N’s omega dad, his Papa, and Jason’s father—were old friends from high school. The kind of “old friends” that always made Y/N’s alpha dad narrow his eyes whenever the topic came up. Suspiciously long silences, pointed looks, a change of subject. 

"You and Willis were just friends, huh?" he’d ask, cutting into his steak with a little too much force.

Jason’s dad, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk, would take a slow sip of his beer before answering.

"Depends on what you mean by ‘just friends,’" Willis would say, all too pleased with himself.

Jason and Y/N never really understood why until they were older, when Y/N’s Papa would sometimes mutter about “old flames” and his Dad would immediately puff his chest out and skirt them away to their room to have a long serious “talk” that always ended with a bunch of noises and creaking.

Ignorance is bliss.

But whatever the nature of their parents’ past, one thing was clear: Jason and Y/N were inevitable.

Back when they were kids, Jason had been different. Lighter. Freer. Not as hardened by the world, not as reserved or closed-off as he was now. He was the kid who would laugh the loudest, drag Y/N along on every adventure, challenge Dick to races, and teach Conner the best hiding spots in the house. Their little group had been inseparable, but even among them, Jason and Y/N had always been the closest.

"C’mon, Y/N, hurry up!" Jason would yell, grabbing his tiny wrist and pulling him along toward his dad’s auto shop, the library, or some hidden corner of the house where they could plot their next grand adventure.

The two were inseparable, always up to something, always together, always getting into trouble with Dick and Conner.

Jason wasn’t as tough then, but his protectiveness over Y/N? That was always there.

"You’re not gonna cry, are you?" Jason would say, puffing out his chest whenever some bigger kid tried to push Y/N around. "‘Cause you don’t gotta. I’ll handle it."

And handle it he did. The amount of times Y/N’s Papa had to scold Jason for throwing hands on the playground was more than anyone could count.

But one of Jason’s favorite things—something he’d never admit out loud—was when Y/N listened to him read.

They’d sit on the floor of his dad’s auto shop, grease-stained books spread between them, Jason flipping through whatever novel he had gotten lost in that week.

"Do the voices," Y/N would insist, eyes wide with expectation.

Jason would groan, but he’d do it anyway—grumbling about how "annoying" Y/N was while still giving the best damn dramatic reading of a fantasy novel Gotham had ever seen.

And the motorcycle Jason rode today?

That was theirs.

"One day," Y/N had grinned, wiping grease from his hands as Jason tightened a bolt, "this is gonna be our ride. We’ll take it anywhere we want."

"Yeah?" Jason smirked, eyes bright with excitement. "Where to first?"

"Everywhere."

That had been a promise.

One Jason intended to keep.

Then everything changed.

Jason was eight years old when his dad was arrested. He had sat on the couch, legs swinging, watching the news in confusion as his father’s mugshot flashed across the screen.

The words didn’t make sense at first. "Criminal organizations." "Underworld connections." "Large-scale theft ring."

But then, he heard it.

"Willis Todd has been arrested."

And suddenly, everything made sense.

"Son..." His dad’s voice was rough, strained—like it hurt to say the words out loud.

Jason didn’t want to look at him.

"I’ve gotta go away for a while."

The words echoed in Jason’s head long after his father was dragged away in handcuffs. He didn’t cry. He just… stared.

And Y/N was there. Right beside him. Holding his hand.

That night, Jason packed a bag and moved in with Y/N’s family.

Y/N was thrilled. His Papa was more than willing. His father? Not so much.

"Are we really doing this?" Y/N’s Dad had muttered to his husband.

"He has nowhere else to go," his Papa had said simply, already making Jason a plate of food.

Jason pretended not to hear the hesitation, but he saw it. Felt it. He saw the way Y/N’s Dad watched him, waiting for the moment he’d "turn out like his father."

It wasn’t a secret that Y/N’s dad wasn’t exactly fond of Willis Todd. His suspicion extended to Jason, not because of who he was but because of who he might become. 

But he never did.

But Jason never did. And over the years, he grew on the man.

Maybe it was because Jason treated Y/N like the most important thing in the world. Maybe it was because, despite his rough edges, Jason never disrespected his authority. Maybe it was because Y/N’s dad saw the way Jason looked at his son, like he’d tear the world apart to keep him safe.

Either way, he softened.

So much so that by the time Jason was a teenager, the man who had once been his biggest skeptic had become his biggest supporter.

Which was why the man was also the first to set rules.

It was after Jason and Y/N presented—alpha and omega—that the rules slammed down like a damn gavel in court.

"No more sleepovers."

"No being alone in each other’s rooms with the doors closed."

"No unsupervised nights out."

Y/N hated it. "Dad, we’re not even dating."

"Not yet," his father had muttered.

Jason, for all his rebellious nature, didn’t argue. He understood better than Y/N did. Their dynamic had changed. Their instincts had shifted. And if anyone knew what kind of effect Y/N had on him, it was Jason himself.

So he didn’t fight the rules. He followed them—begrudgingly, but still.

At least, until he moved back home.

When Jason’s dad got out of prison, he went back home. He had no choice.

But the years that followed would be a lesson in cruelty—a slow, grinding proof that rock bottom is just a myth, and that no matter how deep you think you’ve fallen, there’s always further to go.

Jason’s knuckles ached.

His breathing was shallow, ragged, his heart hammering in his chest as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. Across from him, Willis Todd glared, nostrils flared, muscles tensed, shoulders squared like he was bracing for a second round.

The house smelled like anger. Like hot-blooded rage barely contained beneath thinly veiled restraint.

The table was half-shoved against the wall, the chair Jason had knocked over laying in splintered pieces on the tile.

Willis wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, eyeing Jason with something between frustration and reluctant respect.

"That all you got, boy?" he muttered, voice thick with warning.

Jason breathed heavily, chest rising and falling, his body taut with the kind of tension that had nowhere to go.

"You back to working for them, huh?" Jason spat, his voice low, seething. "You back to being some errand boy for the assholes that got you locked up in the first place?"

Willis’s eyes darkened.

"Watch your mouth, Jason."

But Jason didn’t want to watch his mouth. He wanted to spit fire, to hurl every bit of frustration, of disappointment, of betrayal onto the man who had ruined his life and was too damn selfish to realize it.

"You think I’m stupid?" Jason snapped. "Think I don’t see the extra cash? The new parts you’re suddenly able to afford for the shop?" His teeth clenched. "How long till you get caught this time? Huh? Another five years? Another ten? And what—then I’m supposed to just sit back and watch while they drag your ass off again?"

Willis’s expression twisted, his hands slamming down on the counter.

"That’s not your got-damn business, Jason!"

Jason’s laugh was sharp, humorless.

"Not my business? Not my—" He let out a breath, shaking his head, eyes wild. "I was the one sitting in that courtroom. I was the one watching Mom cry herself to sleep every night while you were inside. I was the one visiting you behind fucking plexiglass."

Willis’s jaw tightened.

Jason’s voice cracked, his breath shuddering. "Did you think I wouldn’t find out? For two seconds, did you consider that your son is a lot older now and can tell when his dad is up to some shady ass shit?”

A pause.

"I’m not a kid anymore, Dad."

Willis exhaled through his nose, his head shaking, fingers flexing at his sides.

"Then stop acting like one."

Jason snapped.

Before he even thought about it, his body had already moved, shoving his father back against the counter.

Willis was older, stronger, broader, but Jason was faster, fueled by something raw, something relentless. He saw the way his father’s shoulders tensed, not from fear but from instinct, from years of being someone people didn’t shove around without consequence.

For a split second, Jason thought Willis was gonna hit him back.

And maybe some twisted part of him wanted him to.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Willis’s hands gripped Jason’s shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, his voice dangerously low.

"You think you’re grown, huh?" His father’s breath was hot against Jason’s face, his grip tightening. "Think you can take me just ‘cause you got a little muscle now?"

Jason’s chest heaved, his eyes burning, his throat tight.

"I don’t wanna take you," Jason muttered, voice thick with something he refused to name. "I just want you to be better."

The words hit harder than any punch could have.

Because for the first time, his father’s expression changed.

The anger didn’t fade. But beneath it, beneath the frustration, there was something else.

Something that looked a hell of a lot like guilt.

Willis let go. Turned away.

Jason didn’t stay to see whatever expression crossed his father’s face next.

Because his legs were already moving, his body already acting on instinct, carrying him out the door, down the street, toward the only place that felt like home anymore.

Between his father’s absence, the taunts from classmates, and the weight of his own anger, Jason had never felt more like he was constantly on the verge of burning out. He hated visiting his dad in prison, hated seeing him in orange, hated the way their time together always ended with an alarm and a guard telling him to leave.

But, through it all, Y/N was there.

Every visit. Every fight. Every time Jason came home angry, every time he didn’t want to talk, every time he needed a way out.

"Window’s open."

Jason barely remembered the run to Y/N’s house. By the time his phone vibrated with the text signaling his green light to go in, all he knew was that his breath was ragged, his hands were shaking, and his body felt too tight, too wound up, too full of something that had nowhere to go.

His muscles burned, his blood ran hot, and the storm inside him—the one that started the second his father spat those words at him—was still raging, still clawing at the edges of his restraint, still begging for a way out.

He didn’t waste a second. Didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

Just moved.

He scaled the tree like he had a hundred times before, the cold night air biting at his skin before he swung himself through the window with a practiced ease that should’ve been concerning.

And then—fuck.

The scent hit him first.

Warmth. Comfort. Y/N.

His room was dimly lit, golden hues stretching over the sheets, the books stacked on the nightstand, the sweatshirt Y/N had probably stolen from him days ago. But Jason barely registered any of that because his scent was everywhere—strong, thick, filling Jason’s lungs, wrapping around his senses like a noose.

Lavender and something sweeter, something uniquely Y/N, something Jason had spent years pretending didn’t make his pulse quicken and his instincts snarl.

And before he could even breathe properly, something solid, warm, and impossibly soft crashed into his chest.

Jason cleared his throat, shaking off whatever the hell that slip-up was, before huffing out an "Oof—" as Y/N burrowed against his chest, his body warm and pliant from sleep.

Jason staggered back, only barely catching himself as Y/N practically melted against him, bare skin brushing against fabric, his body all heat, all curves, all sleepy weight pressing into Jason like he belonged there.

And fuck, Jason was not ready for this.

"Are you okay?" Y/N mumbled, voice thick with concern but also soft, wrecked drowsiness, like he had been waiting for Jason even in his sleep.

His cheek pressed against the fabric of Jason’s hoodie, right over his chest, right over his got-damn heartbeat that was now slamming hard enough to break through ribs.

Jason sucked in a slow, measured breath, his grip on Y/N’s hips too tight, too desperate, his fingers twitching where they clutched the soft skin beneath his shirt.

He needed to answer. Needed to move, needed to do something other than feel.

But Y/N was in his arms, open and pliant, warm and vulnerable, pressing into him like he didn’t know what he was doing to Jason’s self-control.

And Jason was too wound up, too exhausted, too fucking weak to fight it.

His instincts screamed.

To pull him closer. To nuzzle against his throat, breathe him in properly, let that scent flood his system until it drowned out everything else.

His jaw locked tight—breath hissing between his teeth, his entire body coiled in restraint so fierce it made his bones ache.

He wasn’t okay.

Not even remotely.

But Y/N was here. In his arms. Holding him, grounding him, filling his senses with something so sweet, so intoxicating, it almost made the pain go away.

Almost.

Jason’s fingers curled tighter into Y/N’s shirt. He exhaled, low and rough.

"Yeah."

A beat.

His grip tightened.

"I am now."

Y/N gave a small tug at his hoodie.

"Come on. Bed."

Jason hesitated.

He wasn’t sure he could handle this.

But he let himself be pulled anyway.

The moment they hit the mattress, Y/N curled into his side like it was second nature, like this was where he belonged. One arm slung carelessly across Jason’s stomach, his leg hooking over his like he had every right to drape himself over an alpha twice his size.

Jason wasn’t two seconds from unraveling.

He already had.

His throat burned, his hands still half-clenched into fists, his mind still spinning with too many thoughts he didn’t know how to put into words.

And then—soft fingers.

Threading through his hair. Scraping lightly against his scalp.

Jason let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling in time with Y/N’s.

"I hate him," Jason muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

"No, you don’t."

Jason swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the fabric of Y/N’s hoodie. "I want to."

A pause.

Y/N shifted, pressing his ear against Jason’s chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

"You don’t have to figure it out right now."

Jason let out a breath, his fingers unclenching as he lifted a hand to rest against Y/N’s back.

"You’re so damn small," Jason muttered, voice still rough, but softer now, the fight draining out of him.

Y/N huffed. "And yet, I’m taking up more space in this bed than you."

“Well, yes…because you’re a bed, sheet, and blanket hogger.”

Y/N lifted his head to turn an arched brow towards the alpha, “Don’t push it, Todd.”

Jason exhaled a short laugh, his shoulders finally relaxing.

He wasn’t okay.

Not even close.

But right now? With Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, with the scent of lavender and warmth pressing into his chest, with the sound of Y/N’s even breathing grounding him—

He could pretend he was.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Y/N was his anchor. The one thing in his life that didn’t feel like it would get ripped away. But Jason knew better than anyone—nothing lasted forever.

And deep down, he feared the day or even just the possibility of a day when Y/N might decide he was done dealing with him and would leave him behind, just like everyone else important to him.

But, as deep as that fear gnawed at him, the chance of it happening was slim to none as Y/N would constantly go out of his way to reassure Jason, without even saying it that he wasn’t going anywhere.

That didn’t mean there weren’t outside forces that would try to take the omega from him either. As they grew older, Jason would settle with the belief that life, the universe, Baba Yaga, or whatever mystical force out there had a bone to pick with him, and him only, as it seemed intent on trying to take the one source of his happiness away from him.

Then again, he is a teenager and thus has the dramatic capabilities of a thousand Broadway actors so there’s that.

But, as they grew older, and approached young adulthood, it became clear that Jason wasn’t the only one who wanted to have and keep Y/N in their lives forever, as more than just friends. He really should have seen it coming.

Y/N had always been the type to draw people in, all warmth and easy smiles, the kind of omega that had alphas tripping over themselves just to get a second glance. It had always been like that—even before they hit their secondary gender presentations, even before Jason really understood what it meant to want someone like this.

And for a long time, it hadn’t mattered.

Because Jason had always been there first.

Until the other alphas stopped just looking and started acting like they had a chance. It started to feel like he was one wrong move away from snapping, because for months—months—he’d been forced to watch, to endure the constant, infuriating reminders that he wasn’t the only one who wanted Y/N. And he’d been dealing with this shit for months now.

Or maybe longer. Maybe it had been years of this slow, creeping realization clawing at the edges of his mind, waiting for him to stop being such a dumbass and just accept it already.

Because everyone else already knew.

Dick had given him the look months ago, arms crossed, smirk way too fucking smug.

"Dude. You’re gone for him."

Conner had just snorted. "Oh, he’s been gone. We’re just waiting for him to catch up."

Even Y/N’s omega dad, who had always been nothing but warm and understanding toward Jason, had just patted his shoulder one night and sighed, knowingly.

"You poor thing."

Like Jason was some lovesick bastard everyone could see drowning except him.

And maybe he had been.

Because suddenly, everything felt different.

The way Y/N would lean against him without thinking, tuck himself into Jason’s space like he belonged there. The way his scent had stopped just being familiar and started being fucking intoxicating.

And worse—the way Jason’s instincts responded to it.

Like some primal, animalistic part of him had already decided—this is mine.

Like he was just waiting for Y/N to catch up.

But the worst part? The part that had Jason on edge, restless, constantly biting back frustration?

Y/N had no fucking clue.

None.

Didn’t notice the way people looked at him. Didn’t realize when alphas got too close, let their hands linger, smiled too long. Didn’t see the way Jason was this close to wrecking someone every got-damn time it happened.

And that?

That was gonna be a fucking problem.

Jason already had the reputation of a rebel, a problem, a walking time bomb just waiting to go off. A future delinquent, just like his old man.

And if things kept going the way they were going, he wouldn’t just live up to that reputation—he’d shatter it. Hell, at this rate, he’d outdo his father in record time.

Thankfully, Y/N, in all his infinite wisdom, had suggested Jason find an outlet for his anger, something to keep him from self-destructing.

"Maybe you just need something physical to work all that aggression out," Y/N had mused one night, casually twirling his pencil between his fingers as they lay on their stomachs doing homework.

Jason had immediately short-circuited.

His body froze, his breath caught, and suddenly, he was thinking about things that had absolutely nothing to do with exercise.

And Y/N—oblivious, innocent, completely unaware of what he’d just done to Jason’s brain—kept talking.

"You know, like boxing, maybe wrestling? Even just running?"

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing himself to shove the very unhelpful mental images away while also squeezing his front against the floor, thinking maybe if he suffocated it, his hard-on would go away.

Logic is key.

But, Y/N had obviously meant actual physical activity.

Not what Jason’s instincts immediately jumped to.

Which, in hindsight, was stupid, considering Jason was no stranger to the gym.

People didn’t just stop and stare at him because of his reputation, or because he was at a school they thought he didn’t belong in.

No—they stared because Jason Todd was built like a fucking problem.

Broad shoulders, a strong, sculpted chest, thick arms that flexed under the weight of whatever he was lifting.

A physique that made it painfully clear that Jason wasn’t just strong—he was the kind of strong that made people nervous.

And Y/N?

He wasn’t nervous.

He just smiled at him, completely unaware that Jason was barely keeping himself together. Then again, it always felt like he was keeping himself together.

Whether it was him standing in some random house on a Friday night, at some stupid house party he didn’t want to be at. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching Y/N laugh at something—head tilted back, eyes shining, fucking beautiful.

And then, some wannabe alpha sat too close, got too comfortable.

Jason watched as the guy brushed his hand along Y/N’s wrist, leaned in like he had the right, like he thought he had a shot.

Jason’s jaw locked.

Every muscle in his body coiled tight.

He smelled it before anything else—that faint hint of something territorial, a challenge.

Like the bastard had the nerve to think he could even compete.

Jason’s vision went red.

The next thing he knew, he was moving.

Didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Just stepped forward, slid into the space between Y/N and the asshole, and let the weight of his presence do the talking.

The guy barely had time to register the shift before Jason was staring him down, slow, deliberate.

"Problem?" Jason asked, voice low, rough, dangerous.

The alpha froze, throat bobbing. "Uh—no. No problem, man."

"Yeah? Then move."

He did.

And Y/N?

Didn’t even notice.

Just turned to Jason with that same easy smile, like the alpha hadn’t just sent some dickhead running with a single look.

"You good?" Y/N asked, like Jason hadn’t just come within inches of wrecking someone for daring to touch him.

Jason gritted his teeth while subtly grabbing Y/N’s wrists, rubbing his fingers over it. "Peachy."

Or the night after another fight with his dad—yelling, slamming doors, Jason’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached, the rage still simmering beneath his skin like a lit fuse.

And somehow, like instinct, like fate, like the only goddamn place his body knew to go when everything else burned around him, Jason found himself in Y/N’s bed again.

The window had still been slightly open from where he’d climbed through, letting in a chill that should’ve cooled the room.

But Jason didn’t feel the cold.

All he felt was heat. Actually…

It felt like he was fighting for his goddamn life.

First, it was the scent—thick, saturating the air, clinging to him, sinking into his lungs. He barely made it through the window without feeling like he was about to be consumed whole by it.

That familiar sweetness, that pulsating warmth—overpowering whatever fucking candle Y/N had burning, drowning out everything else, until Jason felt like he was sinking.

Jason sucked in a slow, sharp breath because—fuck.

It was everywhere.

The scent. The heat. The subtle press of something soft and pliant nestled against his thigh, just beneath the sheets.

Jason went rigid.

Too close.

Too dangerous.

His instincts once again had snarled, a sharp, territorial need coiling deep in his gut, flooding his veins like an intoxicant he couldn’t shake off.

Because it wasn’t just warmth pressing against him—it was need.

It was the soft, feverish h eat between Y/N’s thighs, the part of him Jason had no business being hyperaware of, but couldn’t ignore if he tried.

And fuck, why was it so warm?

Jason’s breath came out rough, uneven, his fingers twitching where they gripped the back of Y/N’s hoodie like a lifeline.

He needed to focus.

On anything else.

But Y/N was breathing slow and steady against his chest, his scent thick, heavy, so got-damn sweet it was practically drugging Jason on the spot.

The omega was practically folded around Jason, wrapped up against him like a second skin, like he was meant to be there. His arms draped lazily across Jason’s stomach, his body tucking into his side, his leg hooking over Jason’s like it had every damn right to be there.

Jason clenched his jaw, shifting slightly, trying—failing—not to notice the slick heat pressed up against his hip, the way every slight movement had it rubbing against him in a way that was making his own situation dangerously uncomfortable.

Fuck.

The frustration, the exhaustion, the leftover anger from the fight with his dad—it all tangled with something deeper, something baser, something Jason knew damn well he shouldn’t be feeling right now.

Not when his cock was already straining against the fabric of his sweats, throbbing, aching, caught between desperate restraint and something far more primal.

Not when every primal, alpha-driven instinct in his body was howling at him to roll over, press Y/N into the mattress, and rut into that soft, needy heat until it was dripping with him—until it was stretched, swollen, stuffed full with his claim.

Not when his instincts demanded he take, ruin, own—mark every inch of that trembling body, make sure Y/N never smelled like anything but him again.

Not when the thought of knotting him, filling him, locking them together in something permanent, something carnal, something undeniably his made Jason’s entire body ache with the kind of need that bordered on pain.

Jason bit the inside of his cheek, hard.

How the fuck was Y/N sleeping through this?

How did he not feel what he was doing to the alpha? Not sense his utmost distress and peril at the situation he was in? 

Jason squeezed his eyes shut.

This is why sleepovers got banned.

Holy shit, this is exactly why sleepovers got banned.

And the worst part?

Jason was starting to wonder if those rules had been for both of them.

Or if they’d been for him.

Because this? This was torture.

A slow, burning kind of agony, caught between the instinctual need to take and the desperate need to stay right here, safe, wrapped in Y/N’s warmth, without ruining everything.

And fuck, he didn’t know which one was worse.

Y/N was the only thing that could steady him and wreck him in the same breath. The one person who could pull him back from the edge, quiet the chaos in his head— but also the one who could drive him out of his fucking mind without even trying.

He wasn’t sure how the hell he survived the night.

But the next morning, as he watched Y/N stretch, shirt rising to expose a sliver of bare skin, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep—

Jason knew.

He wasn’t gonna survive much longer.

So, that Monday night, Jason Todd did the one thing no other alpha had the balls to do.

He went to Y/N’s father.

Because Jason was done waiting.

And if he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it right.

The front door he was very familiar with but often never used felt heavier than usual.

Jason stood there for a solid ten minutes, hands clenched into fists, running through every possible outcome of this conversation like it was a goddamn battle plan.

He’d been in rooms with Gotham’s worst before when visiting his dad. He had thrown hands with grown-ass alphas and men twice his size. He had taken beatings, dealt with cops, lived through shit most people wouldn’t believe.

But this?

This was a new level of terrifying.

Before he could bitch out, the door swung open, and Jason suddenly found himself face to face with Y/N’s father—broad, unimpressed, and already raising an eyebrow.

"Jason."

Jason swallowed, forcing himself to meet the man’s stare head-on.

"I wanna court your son."

Better to just rip off the band-aid than keep beating around the bush…or not? He didn’t know—he was fucking nervous.

Silence.

The longest fucking ten seconds of Jason’s life.

Y/N’s dad just stared, unreadable as ever, before tilting his head slightly.

"That so?"

Jason nodded, standing his ground even as his heart tried to punch its way out of his ribcage.

Another long pause.

Then, the man exhaled, glancing over his shoulder before calling out—

"Babe, I owe you twenty bucks!"

Jason blinked. What?

A second later, Y/N’s other Papa appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel, looking annoyingly smug.

"Told you he’d get there before graduation," he said, waving a hand in Jason’s general direction.

Y/N’s father grumbled under his breath, reaching into his wallet. "Damn kid had me convinced he was gonna be dense about it forever."

Jason stood there, completely thrown. "You… bet on this?"

Y/N’s Papa smirked, leisurely counting the cash from his husband before finally locking eyes with Jason.

"Took you long enough."

Jason’s brain short-circuited. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or deeply offended.

Then, with the kind of knowing smirk that Jason was all too familiar with from his son and that made his own stomach twist, Y/N’s Papa added,

"But just so we're clear—if you're officially courting my son, I can’t keep pretending not to notice your little late-night ‘visits’ through the window anymore."

Jason felt the heat rush to his face as his heart nearly slammed out of his chest.

Shit. One can imagine the very interesting and tense conversation that happened afterward as they waited for Y/N to come home, especially from the Omega’s father, who also was not overtly happy at the mention of the late-night visits.

That same night, when Y/N returned home and spotted the familiar motorcycle parked in his driveway, a warm flicker of anticipation bloomed in his chest.

Jason was here.

But that warmth was doused immediately when his eyes landed on him.

Jason Todd—the same Jason who could stare down a room full of people without flinching, who never backed down from a fight, who laughed in the face of authority—was sitting on his porch, hunched over, elbows braced on his knees, hands clenched into fists.

And he looked… nervous.

Not angry. Not frustrated. Nervous.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Jason could be furious, and it wouldn’t shake him. He could be bleeding, and Y/N would roll up his sleeves and handle it. But this? This was new.

His hands felt clammy as he climbed the steps, heart hammering, because Jason looking like this—like his mind was at war with itself, like he was fighting something bigger than his usual battles—meant something serious.

And serious, when it came to Jason, could mean a lot of things.

Y/N swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. "Jay?"

Jason’s head snapped up immediately, like he hadn’t even heard him approach, like he had been too caught up in his own storm to notice the outside world.

And the second those piercing blue eyes locked onto him, something in Jason’s entire body just—unclenched.

Like he had been holding his breath this entire time and only now, now, that Y/N was standing in front of him, could he actually breathe.

Y/N stepped closer. "What’s wrong?"

Jason let out a slow, uneven exhale, then shook his head, like he was still trying to get himself together.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Nothin’s wrong." His voice was rough, but softer than usual, like there was more sitting behind those words. More that he wasn’t saying yet.

Y/N narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit."

Jason huffed out a small, barely-there laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe not nothin’… but it’s not bad." He shifted, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

And that? That made Y/N even more nervous.

Jason never hesitated.

"Okay…not gonna lie, you’re kind of freaking me out here. What’s going on, Jason?"

Jason let out a long, suffering sigh, leveling Y/N with a flat stare—the kind that usually made people nervous.

But Y/N wasn’t people.

And the omega knew that look for what it really was.

Pouting.

Jason Todd—Gotham Collegiate’s most infamous bad boy, the alpha who had everyone either terrified or thirsting—was pouting.

All because Y/N had called him Jason instead of his usual nicknames.

Y/N barely had time to register it before Jason’s brow twitched, his voice dropping into a low, grumbling mutter.

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

Y/N arched a brow. "It’s your name."

Jason’s scowl deepened, arms crossing over his broad chest, making him look even more like an overgrown, sulky teenager. "Yeah, well… it doesn’t sound right when it’s coming from you."

And Y/N knew exactly what he meant.

Jason had never been just Jason to him.

He had always been Jay. Or, more notably—Jaybirdie—among other names to come.

The nickname was one of those things neither of them really remembered starting, only that, according to their parents, Jason had been obsessed with birds as a kid—specifically robins.

"I don’t know what it was," Y/N’s Papa had laughed once, recounting the memory. "But Jason had a phase where he was convinced he was a damn bird. Would run around flapping his arms, chirping, climbing everything in sight—"

"—still climbs everything in sight," Y/N’s dad had grumbled.

Y/N had beamed at a then nine-year-old Jason, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You’re like a little jaybird!"

And just like that—Jaybird and subsequently ‘Jaybirdie’ was born.

It was a name that had followed them through childhood, whispered between giggles under blanket forts, shouted across the playground when Jason was daring Y/N to keep up with his reckless stunts, scribbled into the margins of school notebooks when passing notes in class.

It was his name—a name no one else called him.

Because Jason had never let anyone else call him that.

Not even Dick, who had tried once in middle school only to be met with the most unimpressed, deadpan stare imaginable.

"Try that again, Grayson, and I swear to god—"

But when Y/N said it?

Jason melted. Not that he’d ever admit it.

After that, it became law—no one but Y/N called him Jaybirdie. And Y/N should ever call Jason anything but, or one of the other plentiful nicknames he’d had for him.

"Jason—"

…

Call the cops because the law’s been broken.

Jason, looking entirely done with this conversation, exhaled sharply and muttered—

"Whatever, just—here."

As if deciding something in real-time, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out.

Jason glanced at him, clearly catching his reaction, because his lips twitched, a shadow of his usual cocky smirk ghosting across his face. "Relax, sweetheart. Not that kinda box."

Y/N did not relax.

Because Jason still looked serious. And Jason only looked serious when things mattered.

Slowly, he opened the box, revealing a simple yet striking silver ring inside. Simple, unpolished, but solid. Sturdy.

Familiar.

Y/N’s stomach flipped because—holy shit.

It was made from one of Jason’s old bike chains.

The same damn chain Y/N had broken last year when he’d taken Jason’s motorcycle for a joyride and crashed it into a very unfortunate mailbox.

Y/N had come out with only a few scrapes, but Jason was still pissed. Not because of the bike.

Because Y/N had gotten hurt from it, even if it was in a small manner.

And now, here he was, giving him a ring made from that same damn bike.

Y/N almost teared up.

Almost.

Jason exhaled, rubbing a thumb over the metal before looking back up at Y/N, something raw flickering behind his eyes. "It’s for you."

Y/N’s voice felt stuck in his throat. "Jason, I—"

But Jason wasn’t done.

He stood up, stepping closer, pulling something else from beside him—a motorcycle helmet.

Sleek. Sturdy. And unmistakably red. A match to his own.

And somehow—everything made sense.

Jason exhaled slowly, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Then, voice low, he said, "The ring's from the old chain. Figured it was fitting, since you can’t seem to keep your hands off my damn bike."

Y/N stomach did a flip at that, as he tried to hold in his nervous laugh. He just wouldn’t let that go. 

Jason smirked, but it softened almost instantly. He tapped the helmet.

"This is the real thing, though."

His voice dipped lower, softer.

"The helmet’s so you can always be with me. Whenever you wanna be."

Y/N’s throat tightened.

Because the motorcycle wasn’t just Jason’s.

It was theirs.

It was years of sneaking out, of riding under Gotham’s neon lights, of Jason showing him how to shift gears, of Y/N pressing his cheek against Jason’s back as the wind roared around them.

Y/N’s chest ached.

He knew what Jason was really saying.

Jason Todd didn’t share things. He didn’t give pieces of himself away to just anyone. But here he was, offering Y/N something that meant more than words ever could.

It was a delcaration, a silent I choose you, a this is forever if you want it to be.

Y/N’s throat tightened. "Jason…"

Jason held his gaze, shoulders tense, eyes unreadable. "Say somethin’, sweetheart."

Y/N didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

He just moved.

One second, he was standing still. The next, he was grabbing Jason by the collar of his jacket and yanking him down into a kiss so deep, so desperate, so all-consuming, it stole the breath straight from his lungs.

Jason made a sound—low, surprised—but he recovered fast.

Really fast.

Because suddenly, strong hands were gripping Y/N’s waist, yanking him flush against a firm, solid chest, and—fuck.

Jason kissed like he fought—with everything he had.

Heat. Teeth. Desperation. Like he had been waiting for this, needing this, for a long, long time.

And Y/N?

Y/N was gone.

The feeling of Jason’s hands on him, the way his lips moved, the low, near-growl in his throat—it was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

The motorcycle helmet hit the porch with a soft thud, forgotten.

Jason was the first to pull back, just barely, his breath ragged, forehead still pressed against Y/N’s.

He huffed out a small, breathless laugh, voice a little rough but undeniably fond. "So… I’m guessin’ that’s a yes?"

Y/N, still dazed, still completely wrecked, somehow still managed to find his smart mouth.

“Technically, you never asked me a question.” His lips curled, teasing, knowing exactly what he was doing. “But, if I’m assuming correctly, then…” He tilted his head, smiling. “It’s a maybe.”

Now it was Jason’s turn to freeze. His expression shifted—lips parting slightly, brows twitching downward.

A full-body offense.

"A maybe?"

A full-grown alpha, pouting, arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist like a clingy damn koala. Jason nuzzled into his throat, breath hot against his skin, muttering, grumbling, sulking.

"Unbelievable."

Y/N bit back a laugh, hands sliding over broad shoulders.

"I mean, I dunno, Jaybirdie, you didn’t exactly—"

Jason bit him.

Not hard, just enough to make Y/N squeak—just enough to shut him up. Childish…but effective.

Jason pulled back, scowling, still clinging, and—fuck, he was adorable.

"Try that again," Jason grumbled, low, almost grumpy. "Because I swear to god, Y/N—if you leave me hanging with a maybe after all that—"

Y/N was laughing now, warm and breathless, hugging him back.

"Okay, okay," he hummed, fingers tangling in Jason’s hair, voice soft with something more real.

He pressed a kiss to Jason’s jaw, right over the spot he had just nipped.

"It’s a yes, dummy."

Jason huffed, but Y/N could feel his grin.

"Good."

And then—because Jason Todd was a menace—

He kissed him again.

Obviously, the school was buzzing with gossip the next day when Jason pulled up to the front entrance with Y/N perched on the back of his motorcycle, both donning their matching helmets like a damn statement piece.

But that? That wasn’t what had people stopping mid-step.

No, the real show—the thing that had the entire hallway vibrating with whispers—was the silver ring glinting on Y/N’s hand.

A ring that, at that exact moment, was enclosed in Jason Todd’s much larger one as he strode down the hall, cutting a direct path through the crowd without a single glance at anyone else.

Jason didn’t need to look.

He could already feel the stares.

And the thing about Jason Todd?

He thrived off that shit.

Shoulders squared, chin lifted, his entire presence radiated smug, alpha satisfaction as he led Y/N to his locker like he was escorting a prize only he had the right to claim. And judging by the bitching expressions of half the alphas in the building? He wasn’t wrong.

Jason’s chest puffed up just a little more, an unmistakable fuck you energy rolling off him as he caught sight of the bitter stares from guys who had never stood a chance in the first place.

Because, let’s be real—Y/N was never theirs.

And now?

Now, he never would be.

Jason squeezed Y/N’s hand, fingers tightening possessively around his while unconsciously playing with the ring on the Omega’s finger as they stopped at his locker. Then, finally, he flicked his eyes up, gaze lazily sweeping over the crowd of sulking, jealous bastards.

And fuck—it felt good.

Conner and Dick found them shortly after, spotting Jason still keeping Y/N tucked against his side like some overgrown, territorial wolfdog. But, to their credit, Jason wasn’t actively growling at them, which—by his standards—was basically rolling out a red carpet of acceptance.

The pair of alphas shared a look, an entire conversation passing between them as they took in the absolute sight in front of them.

Their two closest friends.

Finally. Together.

It was about damn time.

Dick, naturally, was the first to speak up.

Hands on his hips, grinning like a damn idiot, he let out a dramatic sigh. "Wow. So it only took you, what—your entire life to finally make a move?"

Jason’s eye twitched.

Conner snorted, crossing his arms as he tilted his head in fake contemplation. "I dunno, Dick. I think we might be giving him too much credit. Could’ve easily taken another five years at the rate he was going."

Jason scowled, shoulders tensing like he was about two seconds away from decking them both.

Y/N, however, was cracking up, pressing his face into Jason’s shoulder as he tried (and failed) to contain his laughter.

Jason turned that glare on him next. "Don’t encourage them."

Dick smirked. "Oh, no, no. Let him laugh, Jay. This is a monumental occasion." He pressed a hand to his chest, eyes mockingly emotional. "My little Jason—courting like a real alpha. Who would’ve thought?"

Jason clicked his tongue, face deadpan. "I will throw you down a flight of stairs."

Conner chuckled. "Relax, dude. We’re happy for you."

Dick grinned, slinging an arm around Jason’s shoulder in the worst decision of his life. "Yeah, bro. Really. We love this for you."

Jason immediately shoved him off. "Don’t touch me."

Y/N, still shaking with laughter, squeezed Jason’s hand, leaning up to peck his cheek. "They’re just messing with you, Jay."

Jason huffed, but Y/N could feel the tension leaving his body.

Conner smirked. "Seriously, man. Took you long enough, but… you did good."

Dick winked at Y/N. "And you must be so proud of him. Your big, bad alpha finally figured out how to ask you out. What an achievement."

Jason bristled. "Okay, I’m leaving."

Y/N just laughed harder.

“Oh, my FUCK! They’re so CUTE together!”

Manny screeched, nearly vibrating out of his skin as he watched Jason Todd—grumpy, brooding, anti-social Jason Todd—casually holding Y/N’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Down the hall, standing at their usual locker hangout spot, he, Ethan, Sasha, and Kara were practically witnessing a historical event.

Ethan, rubbing his ear with a pained expression, groaned. “Manny, volume please.”

Manny waved him off. “Oh, hush you with your sensitive ass ears. You are not about to tell me that this isn’t the most romantic thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.”

Sasha gushed, practically vibrating with excitement. “I know! I heard from Caitlyn earlier that the ring Y/N’s wearing isn’t just some random accessory—Jason made it himself. Like, actually put it together with his own hands.”

Manny gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been struck. “Fanfiction could never…”

Unless?

…

Pfff, yeah right.

Kara crossed her arms, smirking. “Oh yeah, we totally suffered watching Jason Todd be a dramatic, lovesick idiot all this time.”

Manny nodded violently. “Exactly! And now LOOK AT THEM! They’re literally giving black cat/golden retriever energy. Ugh…my fucking dream. Oh, to be Y/N? Think I could find a witch to cast a spell to switch our bodies?”

Ethan, long-suffering, just sighed. “Manny, you seriously need to—”

“OH, SHIT! LOOK! LOOK! Jason’s GLARING at anyone who stares too long! MY GOD, HE’S FERAL! THIS IS BETTER THAN TELEVISION.”

Sasha actually cackled. “How long are you guys betting before he physically body-checks someone for looking at Y/N too hard.”

Kara raised an eyebrow. “I give it until lunch.”

Ethan, frowning at the sore sight, but not wanting to be left out hummed thoughtfully. “I say by next period.”

Manny, grinning like a madman, slammed a twenty on the table. “Bitch, I say ten minutes.

Kara grinned, shaking her head. “Y’all are terrible.”

Just a note: Manny won the bet.

After dropping Y/N off at his class, Jason leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, watching like he always did. Dick and Conner flanked him, still snickering and talking shit, their teasing only getting worse now that Y/N was out of earshot.

Jason, as annoyed as he was, just rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose. He let them talk. Let them have their fun.

Because his focus was elsewhere.

And then—it happened.

One of Conner’s teammates—some over-bronzed, protein-powdered, roid-raging benchwarmer from Kevin’s crew—made the worst decision of his life.

The guy, a walking case of bad judgment and even worse acne, had been eyeing Y/N for weeks.

Just another alpha in the long line of idiots convinced he had a shot. Another poor bastard with a plan.

He was in the same class as Y/N. Had probably been waiting for the perfect moment to make his move—to ask him to the upcoming dance, maybe try his luck.

But the problem?

Jason got to Y/N first.

And Pimple Roid Rage?

He wasn’t handling it well.

Jason wasn’t oblivious—he’d clocked the guy’s pathetic pining a long time ago.

Always hovering near Y/N in class, standing just a little too close. Always watching him, lingering, waiting for a chance. Always shooting Jason dirty looks across the cafeteria, like some scorned, lovesick puppy who just realized his favorite toy was already claimed.

As mentioned before, one of the main reasons Y/N’s father had warmed up to Jason long before the idea of them becoming a couple was ever on the table was the younger Alpha’s unyielding protectiveness over his son.

Even back then, Jason had been watching out for Y/N, stepping in when necessary, making it very clear that no one—no one—was going to mess with him and get away with it.

So while Y/N’s father wasn’t exactly thrilled about the chaos after getting a call from the school’s principal, he also wasn’t disappointed, either.

Not even close.

If anything, it only reinforced his decision to grant Jason his blessing to court his son.

And, well…

The idea of having Jason Todd as a future son-in-law was starting to sound more appealing by the day.

So much so, in fact, that he may or may not have casually floated the idea of a wedding planner to his husband later that evening—

But…what even happened?

Well…

Long story short, Pimple Face decided to shoot his shot anyway, convinced that a little direct confrontation would somehow tip the odds in his favor.

And sure, Y/N was seated at his desk, but that didn’t stop the dumbass from getting bold—too bold.

One second, the guy was smirking, fingers daring to slip under Y/N’s chin, tilting his head up like he had any right to touch him.

The next?

The next moment, he suddenly was no longer in the classroom. Then, he was airborne. And, finally, in the blink of an eye, he was slammed against the lockers in the hallway—hard enough to leave a dent.

The entire hall went silent.

The air crackled with Jason’s fury, his teeth bared, shoulders squared, and one massive hand fisting the guy’s collar so tight his feet barely touched the ground.

"You must be out of your fucking mind." Jason’s voice was low, dangerously calm in the way that promised imminent destruction.

The guy gasped, struggling against Jason’s grip, panic flooding his expression.

Jason didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move—except for his other hand, which slammed right beside the guy’s head, denting another locker on impact.

"Go on. Say something. Give me a reason not to make you regret waking up today."

Y/N, still processing, barely had a chance to breathe before Jason turned his dark, burning gaze on him.

"You okay?" The question was simple, but the way he said it—deep, thick with possession, with a silent tell me yes before I put him through the wall—made heat bloom in Y/N’s stomach.

Y/N swallowed, heart racing, breath shaky.

Not because of the alpha currently reaching zen with the metal lockers, fuck him. No, Y/N was currently trying to calm his racing heart because Jason was pissed.

And it was hot as hell.

Y/N exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to Jason’s chest—not to push him away, but to remind him he was there.

"Jay," he murmured.

Jason’s eyes flickered, still locked on Y/N, jaw clenched so tight it could shatter stone.

Y/N licked his lips.

"I’m fine."

Jason inhaled sharply. Then, after a beat, he turned back to the alpha, who was still choked up with fear at the menacing and disgusted look thrown at him.

“Touch him again and you’ll be lucky if any doctor is able to fix your hands,” He whispered, before letting go—shoving the guy aside like he was nothing.

The poor bastard stumbled, barely catching himself, before bolting down the hall like his ass was on fire. Within five minutes, the entire school was buzzing like a swarm of bees, whispers spreading like wildfire.

And in the middle of it all?

A very smug Manny, lounging at his own locker, grinning ear to ear as his phone pinged repeatedly—each notification another $20 from his very salty friends reluctantly paying up.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” he typed into the group chat, attaching a meme for maximum gloating.

Jason didn’t get suspended like he usually would’ve for a stunt like that, but the principal did still give him detention along with the other alpha for essentially sexually harassing Y/N. Y/N’s parents along with Willis both made it clear that if Jason was getting punished, so should the football player who put his hands where they didn’t belong in the first place.

Jason was merely defending him.

And the principal was smart enough to put them in separate classrooms for the duration of their punishment. More so for the benchwarmer’s protection, which didn’t help his ego.

Conner—who of course witnessed the whole thing firsthand—promised Jason he’d make the Alpha pay for it double at practice after the whole ordeal. And detention wasn’t too bad.

Ms. Ridges was the one monitoring, which basically meant Jason had free rein to do whatever the hell he wanted since she barely paid attention to anything other than her crossword puzzles.

So, naturally, Jason spent his time doing the most important thing possible—

Texting his omega.

Jason: this is 100% your fault

Jason: u need to stop being hot

Y/N: wow. tragic. truly.

Y/N: but i simply cannot do that. would be a crime to rob the world of… well, me.

Y/N: besides, I wasn’t the one who practically tackled Richie and left some poor kid’s locker looking like a car crash scene…

Jason:

Y/N: RUDE

This was their relationship and Jason’s courting almost in a nutshell.

Honestly? It was like watching two people who were already married—except they were still seniors in high school.

Jason had never made a big deal about courting the way other alphas did—at least, in his mind he didn’t. To him, it was just stuff he’d do anyway—whether they were friends, dating, married, or even enemies.

And who doesn’t love a good enemies-to-lovers trope?

If anyone brought it up, Jason would just roll his eyes, shrug, and mutter some bullshit about “formalities” and “making sure his dad’s happy.”

And by dad, he meant both of their dads.

Willis Todd was surprisingly traditional about this kind of thing—had even placed his own money on the bet with Y/N’s parents for when Jason would eventually propose. But more than that, he had made sure Jason did things right and respectfully.

He even helped make Y/N’s ring.

Y/N only figured that part out much later, which, in hindsight, made the gift all the more special.

And while Jason acted like the whole courting thing wasn’t a big deal…

Y/N knew the truth.

Because even though Jason’s version of courting wasn’t flashy like the rich preppy kids at their school, he damn sure took it seriously.

And, unlike half the wannabe alphas in their class, Jason prided himself on proving—every single day—that he was the best and only alpha fit for Y/N.

It was practically his day job. Just… without the pay rate.

Or salary.

Or health benefits.

Or a 401K.

Or a retirement plan.

...Actually, the retirement part might be included.

The point was, Jason didn’t need extravagant gifts or public displays of devotion. And not just because he couldn’t afford them.

He cared about the smaller things.

The thoughtful things.

The practical things.

It was Jason instructing Y/N to pop his hood, while making his way to the front of his car with that sexy, dominanting walk. Y/N had casually mentioned his engine making a weird noise while they were cuddling on the couch, and within 20 minutes, Jason went home to grab his toolkit and was back at the L/N’s residence working on the Omega’s car.

Apparently, Y/N was long overdue for an oil change. It’s not his fault he didn’t know though…he’s just a baby.

That night, Y/N’s Dad called Willis Todd to tell him what a hell of a son he was raising.

Which, considering the tense history between them? That was a big fucking deal.

It was also Jason volunteering to carry every single grocery bag inside after tagging along with Y/N and his Papa to run errands.

Y/N had barely gotten a single bag in his hands before Jason was already grabbing—snatching everything away from him while giving the omega an offended scowl and a look in his eyes that told him to just stand there and look handsome.

"Was Dad like this when he was courting you?"

His Papa, sipping his lemonade, didn’t even hesitate.

“Yep. Still haven’t carried a bag to this day.” And that’s on waiting for the right one.

But it wasn’t just groceries.

It was his bookbag, his schoolbooks, even a single notebook.

Because, according to Jason—

"Why should you carry it when I’m right here?"

It was Jason always walking Y/N home, opening the door for him, bringing him food, making sure he had medicine when he was sick.

And if anyone ever questioned it?

Jason would just glare, deadpan, and say—

“What, you think I’m gonna let someone else do it?”

Because no.

Jason Todd would not, in fact, let anyone else do it.

Hell would have snow days before that happened.

And Y/N would just smile, shake his head, and let him have his way.

He wasn’t the poetic type. He wasn’t going to write love letters or give corny, dramatic speeches.

But his actions?

They screamed devotion louder than words ever could.

Like when Y/N mentioned offhandedly that he liked a specific brand of snacks—and the next day, Jason was pulling them out of his book bag for him during lunch.

Or when Y/N shivered in class once—and Jason somehow had a hoodie waiting for him within minutes, placed over his shoulders like it was nothing. Or when Y/N sighed, exhausted, after a long day, and Jason just pulled him into his lap without a word, carding his fingers through his hair until he dozed off.

And Y/N would tease him about it.

“Jay, you’re basically already my boyfriend. What’s the courting even for?”

Jason would just grunt.

“Formality.”

Because Jason was damn sure he was going to earn Y/N’s parents' approval. And if he didn’t?

Well. That wouldn’t change a damn thing about what he was doing. But, it was nice to do it without having to hide or be sneaky.

Unless we were talking about his late-night visits—which only stopped for about a week. Then, Y/N texted him one night and…well, the picture is already clear.

He’d already been busted for the late-night visits, and while he was hesitant to outright defy his parents’ orders, he was—unfortunately, or rather very fortunately— far too weak to resist the sight of his Omega lounging around in nothing but a thin tank top and those damn sleep shorts that clung just a little too high on his thighs and rode up every time he shifted.

And it wasn’t always just about sneaking in to see Y/N—sometimes, Jason just needed an escape. A break from his own house. A place that actually felt like home.

So, while his parents weren’t exactly thrilled about it, they also weren’t too hard on him. That being said—Y/N’s dad was still strict. And very clear about his boundaries.

“You put a baby in my son… I put a bullet in your ass.”

He was half joking, half serious.

(…Mostly serious.)

But it didn’t do much to deter them. They were teenagers, after all. And now, with the shift in their relationship, those late-night sleepovers? Things had taken a very quick turn.

Y/N could feel it every time—the way Jason’s breathing deepened, the way his grip tightened just a little more than usual, the way his mouth brushed over the back of Y/N’s neck, slow, teasing, while he held him firmly from behind.

And then—his voice.

Low. Rough.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

Y/N shivered. And, if he was being honest?

He was definitely at fault.

Ever since that one night—that one time and then every time after that Jason had slept over and had to fight every primal instinct not to pin Y/N down and rut into him—it was like walking on a tightrope every time he got into that bed.

Because Y/N?

Y/N was also a menace just like his boyfriend.

Always cuddling too close, rubbing against him, stretching in ways that made Jason’s self-control damn near non-existent.

And tonight? Tonight was no different.

Except this time?

Jason nearly gave in. He was seconds away from losing his fucking mind.

Y/N was already pinned beneath him, flushed and trembling, thighs slick and spread, making a fucking mess on the sheets. Jason had no business being this goddamn hard, this close to breaking, but Y/N wasn’t making it easy.

He should’ve rolled off, thrown himself in a cold shower, done literally anything other than what he was doing right now. But, no…what was he doing instead?

He was grinding against the omega, slowly, teasingly, letting Y/N feel every inch of his cock straining through his sweats, letting him ache for it, letting him need. Jason grinned against Y/N’s skin, slow and mean, fingers teasing along the slicked-up skin of his thighs, his ribs, his chest, taking his sweet, vengeful time.

Jason shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Shouldn’t be grinding against Y/N, shouldn’t be letting his cock drag against slicked-up skin, shouldn’t be letting himself feel exactly how ready Y/N was for him.

Because fuck, he could feel everything.

Even through the thin fabric of his sweats, Jason could trace the heat of Y/N’s rim, could feel just how soaked he was, the slick dampening his own clothes—warm, wet, and so fucking inviting that Jason nearly lost it right then and there.

And then Y/N had to fucking whine. Loud.

Jason’s body reacted before his brain could catch up. His hand was over Y/N’s mouth in an instant, pressing firm, shutting him up.

Y/N went still immediately, wide-eyed, pupils blown, body locked in place like instinct had taken over. Jason exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. His fingers curled around Y/N’s jaw, tilting his head back, holding him still, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Do that shit again, and I’ll gag you next time.”

A high, muffled noise left Y/N’s throat, his thighs squeezing together, and Jason groaned, eyes dark, heated, fucking dangerous.

“Got-damn it.” Jason buried his face in Y/N’s throat, inhaling deep, his grip tightening, his cock throbbing painfully against his sweats. “You don’t even fucking realize what you do to me, do you?”

Y/N whimpered against his palm, his body trembling, soaking the sheets with slick, and Jason felt every second of it.

Every twitch. Every shiver. Every desperate attempt to move, to grind up, to find friction.

Jason let out a rough, breathless chuckle, voice dripping with authority.

“You wanna be loud? Huh?” His tone was mocking, taunting, sharp with amusement. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Let’s wake the whole fuckin’ house up. Let’s have your dad walk in here and see just how much of a desperate little mess you are for me.”

Y/N’s whole body fucking seized, a strangled whimper muffled against Jason’s hand, hips twitching upon instinct.

Jason grinned, sharp and knowing. “Oh, you like that, huh?”

He ground his hips down again, slower this time, deliberate, letting Y/N feel every inch of him pressing up against where he needed it most.

And then—

The scent shifted and Jason froze.

Something sweet. Something new.

His eyes snapped down to Y/N’s heaving, sweat-slicked chest, and fuck.

Y/N’s nipples were wet, a thin, milky fluid pearling at the tips, trickling down the curve of his ribs. Jason’s entire fucking brain short-circuited. Because he did that. He fucking did that.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, pure fucking alpha pride flooding his system, primal instincts howling that he’d driven Y/N so far into arousal that his body couldn’t help but respond.

Y/N, half-dazed, still gasping, followed Jason’s heated gaze, blinking in confusion before—

His face went red.

“Oh my god—”

Jason grinned, slow and predatory, fingers sliding over Y/N’s nipple, smearing the warm fluid with his thumb, rolling it between his fingers.

“Would you look at that?” His voice was mocking, taunting, dripping with satisfaction. “And here I thought you weren’t desperate enough to soak the sheets for me, but now you’re fuckin’ leaking too?”

Y/N let out the most pitiful noise Jason had ever heard, body tensing, thighs clenching around his waist.

Jason groaned, his cock throbbing painfully, because fuck, this was it. This was the second highest form of omega submission, second only to being knotted.

This was his. His omega. His body, responding to him and only him.

Jason didn’t even realize he’d moved until his lips were wrapped around Y/N’s nipple, tongue flicking slow and teasing, collecting every drop.

The second it hit his tongue—

Jason fucking groaned.

Because holy shit.

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

It was warm and rich, like the deepest honey, but better, smoother, more intoxicating, rolling over Jason’s tongue like fucking liquid gold. Jason sucked harder, letting more of it coat his tongue, letting the taste sink into his bloodstream, burning him up from the inside out.

Y/N let out a wrecked, broken sob, body shuddering, back arching up into Jason’s mouth.

Jason growled against his chest, his free hand sliding down, gripping Y/N’s hip, locking him in place.

Mine.

His instincts screamed it, his body demanded it, and for one wild, dangerous second—

Jason nearly fucking snapped. Because he needed more.

He needed to bury himself deep, make Y/N take it, knot him right here, fuck him until his body couldn’t do anything but take Jason’s seed—

Jason ripped himself away, panting hard, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"You’re lucky I’m not fucking you full right now. You’d be a fucking mess by morning."

Y/N whimpered, squirming, but Jason held him still, keeping his body pinned and pliant.

"Bet you’d like that, huh?" Jason murmured, dragging his tongue over the other nipple, groaning low at the taste. "Bet you’d love for me to fill you up, knot you right here, make you fucking take it."

Y/N shuddered, another helpless whine escaping, his body flushed all over.

Jason just grinned against his chest, loving how wrecked Y/N looked. His beautiful, leaking, slick-dripping omega.

“Gotta say, sweetheart,” Jason murmured, voice thick with amusement, dangerous in its slowness, “this is only fair.”

Y/N, half-gone, dazed and twitching, barely managed a breathy, “What—?”

Jason chuckled, dragging his fingertips through the thin, pearly streaks of fluid still trickling from Y/N’s nipples, spreading it, letting Y/N feel how messy he was, how exposed.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” Jason taunted, his grip tightening around Y/N’s thigh, pulling it higher around his waist. “Let me remind you, baby. You remember all those nights I slept in your bed? How you’d roll over and press that hot, needy mess against me?”

Y/N whimpered, cheeks burning, body tensing beneath him. The Alpha’s smirk widened.

“Yeah. Now you remember.”

His fingers dipped lower, sliding just close enough to tease, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

“You don’t know how many nights I woke up hard as a fucking rock because you couldn’t keep still,” Jason muttered, grinding his hips just enough to make Y/N feel exactly what that frustration built up to. “You’d rub all over me, make those little noises in your sleep, and I had to fucking sit there, suffering, pretending like I wasn’t about two seconds from flipping you onto your back and making you take it.”

Y/N let out the softest, most pitiful sound, thighs clenching, hips twitching involuntarily.

Jason groaned, pressing a teasing kiss to Y/N’s jaw, smug as hell. “And now look at you,” he crooned, mocking, mean, eating up every second of Y/N’s helpless little squirms.

“Dripping. Leaking. Practically begging for me.”

Y/N hid his face in Jason’s shoulder, shaking. Jason just chuckled darkly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Jason murmured against his ear, his tone sickly sweet, full of smug satisfaction. “Can’t handle what you started?”

Y/N whined again, thighs clenching around Jason’s waist, slick dripping down between them. Jason felt it. Smelled it.

And fuck, he wanted to ruin him.

To press Y/N down, spread him wide, fuck him so deep he’d still feel it tomorrow. His instincts were screaming at him—breed, claim, mark, take.

It would be so easy. So fucking easy.

But Jason?

Jason was in control. He had to be.

Even as he felt his self-restraint slipping, even as his body was aching to give in, even as his mouth watered at the scent of slick soaking into the mattress—

Jason forced himself to stop.

He ripped his hand away from Y/N’s mouth, dragging his thumb across swollen lips, smirking when Y/N tried to chase it.

“That’s what I thought,” Jason murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

Y/N let out a desperate, broken whimper, thighs still twitching, body still aching for more.

Jason smirked.

"Be patient, sweetheart."

Because when Jason finally knotted him?

Y/N wouldn’t be walking for a week. But, it seemed the omega was willing to try his luck tonight, as Jason felt fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats, just barely brushing him—

Jason growled. A low, guttural warning.

“Stop.”

Jason’s grip tightened. His body locked up, every inch of him wired too tight, too hot, too close to breaking. He exhaled slowly, his breath hot against Y/N’s throat, trying to get himself under control.

“…Behave,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked, pressing a grounding kiss to Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N barely managed a nod.

“Good boy. Not yet,” Jason exhaled through his nose, gripping Y/N’s chin, forcing his dazed gaze back up to him. His lips curled, but it wasn’t teasing—it was fond. “I want you,” Jason’s voice dropped, rough and thick with heat, his thumb brushing over Y/N’s bottom lip, lingering. “But not yet. Not like this. I’m not gonna—” He swallowed, voice softer now. “I wanna do this right. You deserve that.”

Y/N’s fingers curled into his shoulders, pulling him closer, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. Soft at first. Then hotter, needier, tongue flicking against his pulse point just to hear Jason’s breath stutter. And Jason—big, bad Jason Todd—fucking melted. His weight fully pressed down, his grip tightened, and suddenly—Y/N was flipped onto his stomach.

Jason’s breath was hot against his ear, his body grounding and deliberate as his hand slid between Y/N’s thighs, spreading them wider. His fingertips brushed against slick, damp shorts and Jason groaned, half in frustration, half in approval. “Oh fuck, baby. You’re driving me insane.”

Y/N whimpered, hips trembling, thighs slick and shaking, pressing against Jason’s hand like he couldn’t help himself. Jason smirked, voice thick with amusement. “Be patient.” Then, slowly, he sank his teeth into Y/N’s shoulder—hard enough to bruise, but not break skin. Y/N gasped, back arching, thighs clenching around Jason’s wrist.

Jason groaned, satisfied, his free hand sliding up Y/N’s stomach, palm pressed firm against his ribs, holding him in place.

Jason was really trying to behave himself.

Really.

But another look at Y/N—flushed, dazed, lips swollen from his teeth, completely pliant beneath him—and Jason lost his patience.

A low, wrecked growl rumbled in his chest, his body moving before his brain could stop him. His hands shot down, fingers hooking into the waistband of Y/N’s shorts and underwear, yanking them down in one sharp motion.

The next second—his own sweats and boxers were shoved down, his cock finally free, thick and flushed and aching—

And then—

Bare skin. Heat.

The moment Jason slotted their bodies together, the moment he felt the slicked-up warmth of Y/N’s entrance pressing right up against his cock, he nearly fucking lost it. A deep, animalistic groan tore from his throat, his hips rolling forward instinctively, grinding into the wet heat, the tip catching just barely against the soft, sensitive rim.

Y/N gasped, back arching, thighs trembling, and Jason’s restraint shattered. Because fuck, he could feel everything.

Every soft, wet, aching inch of Y/N’s body ready to take him. His cock throbbed painfully, the tip leaking against slicked-up skin, every muscle in his body tight, coiled, on the verge of snapping again.

He could just—

Just a little more—

Just one good push forward—

He could feel every inch of Y/N’s slicked-up entrance, could feel the wet heat pressing right against his cock, the way his body trembled, opened up, begged to be taken. But it wasn’t just that.

It was Y/N’s reaction.

The way he whimpered, the way he squirmed, the way he fought to get Jason inside. Y/N was clinging to him, arms wrapped around Jason’s shoulders, legs locked tight around his waist, hips rolling, grinding up, trying so fucking hard to pull Jason in.

“J-Jason—” his voice cracked, high-pitched, needy, fucking wrecked.

Jason growled, locking Y/N’s hips in place, holding him down, refusing to let him move.

Y/N whined. Loud. Desperate. Pitiful.

His fingers dug into Jason’s biceps, his nails scratching down his back, clinging, yanking, trying to push him deeper. Jason could feel the tremors rolling through him, could hear the whimpering little sobs, the broken, pleading moans, the way his omega was fighting to be claimed.

Jason smirked against his throat, mocking, cruel.

“That bad, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded frantically, writhing beneath him, hips rolling up again, chasing the friction.

Jason tightened his grip, forcing Y/N down, refusing to let him have what he wanted.

“No—please—” Y/N was barely coherent, panting, gasping, eyes unfocused, lost in the need.

Jason chuckled, voice low, taunting, dripping with amusement.

“You think crying’s gonna change my mind?”

Y/N’s body convulsed and a wrecked sob tore from his throat. And it was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever heard.

So much so that he gave in—for just one second.

His hips rolled forward, letting the tip of his cock slide against Y/N’s entrance, pressing just barely against the slicked-up rim, letting Y/N feel just how fucking close he was to having it.

Y/N let out the most broken, shattered moan Jason had ever heard, full-body trembling, clinging to Jason like he’d die if he pulled away.

Jason groaned, lips pressing against Y/N’s ear, voice thick with restraint, rough with frustration.

“You want my dick that bad, sweetheart? Hm?”

Jason stopped. A sharp, wrecked inhale. A visible shudder. Then Jason’s voice—low, teasing, still full of hunger.

“Too bad.”

Y/N let out a full-body shudder, a sob of frustration, trembling beneath him.

Jason ripped his lower end away, forcing his hips back, shaking, panting, his cock still aching, flushed, dripping against his stomach.

Y/N whimpered at the loss, still shaking, still needy, still desperate. Jason smirked, but it was wrecked, his voice low, teasing, but tinged with frustration.

“You almost got me, sweetheart,” he murmured, grinding one last time before finally pulling away completely.

Y/N whimpered again, a helpless, wrecked sound that nearly undid him. Jason chuckled darkly, pressing his forehead against Y/N’s.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, lips parting, a full-body shiver rolling through him. Jason’s fingers tightened around his jaw, tilting his face up.

“Say it.” Jason’s voice dropped, slow and dangerous, thick with possession.

Y/N swallowed. “…You.”

Jason grinned, sharp and predatory.

“Damn right.”

And then, with a final bite to Y/N’s bottom lip, Jason separated them. He forced himself to breathe, forced himself to pull away, even as his cock throbbed between his legs, demanding to raid the fertile and lush sanctuary between the omega’s assailable thighs.

It really needed to be studied how he could go from damn near feral to soft in the blink of an eye.

One minute, he had Y/N pinned beneath him and then on top of him, breath hot against his skin, whispering filth into his ear—praising, promising, taunting.

The next?

He was cleaning the omega up himself, taking his time, hands slow and careful, his body still wired too fucking tight to even think about calming down. He was wiping him down gently, a warm, damp rag sliding slowly over sweat-slicked skin.

Once satisfied, Jason pulled out a fresh pair of underwear and shorts from the Omega’s drawer for him, turning around to give him privacy while he fixed himself up. His body ached, hard and unsatisfied, his dick pressing painfully against the waistband of his trousers, wanting nothing more than to penetrate, fuck, knot, breed.

He gritted his teeth, willing it away, finally tugging his own sweats back up before climbing into bed. He grabbed Y/N’s wrist and tugged him down. And instead of pulling Y/N against his chest like usual—Jason laid directly on top of him.

Y/N huffed. “Jay—”

Jason just grumbled, burying his face against Y/N’s chest, wrapping his arms around him like a goddamn teddy bear.

“Shut up…this is where I live now,” Jason muttered, voice muffled.

Y/N snorted.

Jason’s weight was solid and warm, his grip strong, but the way he nuzzled into Y/N’s skin was so soft that it was almost unfair. Slowly, Y/N lifted a hand, threading his fingers through Jason’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

Jason groaned in satisfaction, shifting closer, tucking his arms tighter around Y/N’s waist. Y/N smiled sleepily. “…Clingy.”

Jason scoffed, but it wasn’t nearly as gruff as it should’ve been.

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t let go. Not even a little.

If anything? He held tighter.

Because Jason Todd was many things.

A menace. A rebel. A walking disaster.

But when it came to Y/N?

Yeah…he was clingy.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Jason murmured against his skin.

→ This story concludes on AO3:

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

🏈 | Conner: The Jock | 🏈 • 😉 | Dick: The Popular Kid | 😉

[sunseed-fandump]

Outside of burglary for supplies and trying to steal the Soul Jam, what exactly are the Bad Batch's crimes? (Especially since they have a collective bounty higher than Chilli)

Hang on lemme get the list...

Aggravated assault

Arson

Battery

Burglary

Conspiracy

Disorderly Conduct

Illegal Distribution (Mud Shakes, one time.)

Extortion (Alleged)

Forbidden Magical Practices

Harassment

Homicide (Cake Monsters HATE them!!!)

Identity Theft (How do you think Wild Strawberry entered the Princess Contest?)

Involuntary Manslaughter (Oops?)

Illegal Time-Hopping of the First Degree (From the TBD)

Kidnapping (Is it "kidnapping" if its kids doing the napping???)

Public Intoxication (Thanks Wizard Cookie)

Robbery

Shoplifting

Vandalism

AAAAAAAAAAAAND

Overall, they are menaces to the public. They just kind of keep stumbling into situations and being like "I do what I want". Turns out, what they want to do is break the law.

Pretty sure they don't even know this list of charges exist.

Some Cookies spread rumors of Gingerbrave being a cannibal since he's Undead, but its bogus, hence why it's not included on the list; there is no evidence to validate those claims officially (because they're not true).

[suzukiblu]

Day six of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon.

"You're bluffing," the thief says flatly.

"And you're fucking stupid if you think this is the play that's getting you out of here," Kon snorts, tapping a foot against the floor. "C'mon, man, give it up. I've got plans tonight." 

"Use the artifact!" the alleged "Mark" yells at the thief holding it. 

"Right!" said thief says, then . . . pauses, and looks embarrassed. "How do I . . . do that?" 

Kon looks incredibly unimpressed. Tim empathizes. Deeply. 

"You guys need a minute there?" Kon asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"Shut up!" Mark snaps at him. "Just use it, Lisa!" 

"I thought you said no names–" 

"Use it!" 

"Uh, right!" 

The thief chucks the little clay goat at Kon. Tim is genuinely embarrassed for this entire crew. 

Kon catches the goat one-handed, which is kind of a stupid idea, but letting it smash on the floor admittedly wouldn't look great. People over property, obviously, but Kon also historically has issues with property damage and letting the bad guys smash up ancient artifacts is not the best plan in general anyway. Especially given how often said ancient artifacts have ghosts or curses or apocalypses locked inside them. 

"Lisa!" the thieves all yell in horror.

"Was this the whole plan?" Kon asks, making a show of inspecting the goat. "Like, was this it? I can come back later, if you're still cooking on that."

Tim muffles a laugh with a snort. Kon definitely caught it, though, judging by his smug smirk. 

"Shut up, wannabe!" the thief still holding a gun to Tim's head snarls, which reminds Tim he should be pretending to care about the gun currently being held to his head. Honestly, he would in Gotham, but the only way this moron is shooting anybody is by accident. 

. . . admittedly, that is a concern, given the trigger discipline issue. Hm.

"Killing me would probably count as felony murder, just so you know," Tim mentions, glancing around the thieves. "Which you could all be charged with, not just whoever actually shot me. Plus I'm pretty sure stealing objects of cultural heritage from a museum is a federal crime."

He's completely sure of all that, actually, for obvious reasons, but he has to at least pretend to be a civilian here. Like, some effort needs to go into that illusion, if for no other reason than to avoid a Bat-lecture from Bruce or, worse, a Bat-"I'm not mad, just disappointed" from Dick. 

Or, worst, Alfred might make disapproving shortbread instead of approving jammy dodgers for post-patrol tonight. That'd be really unfortunate. Tim could really use an approving jammy dodger tonight. He's already going to have to write up a very annoying incident report of this situation as it is, and also deal with the mortification of getting his neck saved by a Super. There is no dignity in that. At all. 

He is definitely never telling the team his secret identity. At least not until he's absolutely positive Kon hasn't inherited any of Superman's eidetic memory, anyway. He's ninety-nine percent sure he hasn't, but that last percent is a definite concern right now. 

"No one asked your opinion, brat!" Mark snaps, though a few of the other thieves now look extremely uneasy. Tim makes another mental note about their crew's obvious lack of prep time and general planning and continues to be embarrassed for them. Museum robberies in Gotham are themed events with careful research and preparation involved, and frankly usually involve more thoughtful effort than whatever gala they may or may not be crashing did. Smash and grab is for convenience stores and small-timers. And these guys are definitely small-timers, but this is equally definitely not a convenience store.

Metropolis is so weird. Why anyone even bothers doing petty crime in it at all is beyond Tim. Maybe they're just banking on Superman being more concerned with natural disasters and alien invasions and rescuing cats from trees, which is a valid strategy. Same theory as splitting up and making a cohesive group into multiple targets.

"He has the idol!" Lisa hisses, glaring at Kon like she's not the one who threw it at him to begin with. Tim gets a gun barrel jammed into his temple again. He has no idea why Trigger Discipline: What Not To Do thinks that's, like . . . a productive thing to do. At this rate he's going to get a bruise or something.

Well, he's not actually doing it hard enough to hurt, admittedly, though Tim does keep expecting it to. The guy looks like he's putting his back into it, but the impacts continue not to actually hurt, so Tim supposes he's just trying to put on a show here. 

Well, at least he's putting in some effort, Tim supposes. That's something. 

"I really do have plans tonight, you know," Kon reminds them, raising an eyebrow at the thieves again. 

"I would appreciate you delaying those, actually," Tim mentions. "If you don't mind, I mean." 

"Oh, yeah, don't sweat it, dude," Kon says, waving him off. "These people are annoying but I'm not gonna ditch out on you here, that's not your fault." 

"Don't ignore us!" one of the unnamed thieves yells. "And give the idol back!" 

"I have no idea why you would expect me to do that," Kon says. 

"I'll shoot!" the thief holding Tim threatens, jamming the gun barrel into his head again. 

"I mean, I'm pretty sure that dude was right about the felony murder thing, so maybe don't?" Kon says, inspecting the little clay goat again. "Hm. This thing is actually kinda cute." 

"It is, isn't it," Tim agrees. "I thought it looked like a kid's toy."

"Oh yeah, I can see that," Kon says, squinting assessingly at it. "Like those chunky toddler ones?" 

"Yeah, like those," Tim confirms with a nod. "Fisher-Price, Duplo, that kind of thing." 

"I'll take your word on that one, man, my 'toddler' stage only lasted about half a day and I was sedated for it," Kon replies in amusement. Tim seethes internally and thinks very uncharitable thoughts about Cadmus. 

"I said I'll shoot!" the thief holding him says furiously, tightening his arm across Tim's neck. It's still not actually enough to hurt, but again, Tim appreciates seeing a little more effort. "Give us the idol, you stupid brat!" 

"I'm trying to help you out here," Kon says, looking exasperated. "You're just making shit worse for yourself the longer you keep this up. Put down the gun and let the guy go, you'll get a way lighter sentence." 

"Fuck you!" the thief shouts. "The power of the idol will protect us!" 

"The idol that I am currently holding, you mean?" Kon says, hefting it meaningfully. "The one that is in specifically my possession and not yours?" 

Tim does understand that talking people down is the preferred approach and Kon can't actually super-speed this problem away, but Kon could at least pretend to be taking this seriously. From his perspective, there's a civilian hostage with a gun to their head and an angry criminal with their finger on the trigger, but he's acting like there isn't any danger in the situation at all.

Tim gets the posturing thing and the general "cooler than thou" attitude Kon likes to present, but it's definitely not making any of the thieves calm down. Like, not at all is it making any of the thieves calm down. 

This incident report is going to be very annoying to write. 

"It's not yours!" Lisa shrieks at him. 

"You literally threw it at me," Kon says. "I only have it because you threw it at me. Also pretty sure it's not yours either, given all the screaming alarms and broken glass and the smashed-in wall I am currently standing in the wreckage of."

Tim starts wondering if maybe he should revisit his "tripping" plan. He doesn't really want to pull any Robin-esque moves in front of Kon, but also dying would really fuck up all that hard work he's put into being Bruce's emotional support sidekick. Also two dead Robins in a row could not possibly end well. Especially in such a stupid way. Especially in Metropolis. 

"You don't even know what you're holding, you idiot!" Lisa fumes.

"A toddler toy, I thought we established," Kon says. "'Doopler' or something?"

"Duplo," Tim corrects, internally calculating tripping angles. 

"That one, yeah," Kon amends. "Doppo." 

Tim, resignedly, thinks his determined commitment to pointlessly fucking up is adorable. Also still hates Cadmus and has the irrational urge to buy him a teddy bear or something, although Kon would definitely just think he was fucking with him if he did.

Maybe he could just smuggle one into his room and disavow all knowledge of its existence. That's an option. 

"Give us the idol now!" the thief holding Tim snarls, his face twisting in rage. 

"Yeah, no," Kon says. 

"You little–!" the thief starts to yell, and then his trigger finger slips. Tim knows this because the gun goes off right next to his ear. 

And right against his temple. 

Half the room screams and the thief yells and drops the gun, recoiling in horror. It goes off again as it hits the floor and a bullet shatters a historically-significant vase the way one should have shattered Tim's personally-significant skull. 

What the fuck?

"Shit, sorry, that was probably kinda loud," Kon says apologetically, wincing a little but otherwise looking completely unphased by all of that. Tim blinks, very slowly, and attempts to restore his resting heart rate. It's not a particularly successful attempt.

"Yeah, kinda," he says.

"Sorry, sound waves are harder to block," Kon apologizes, pointing at his own ear with his free hand, and Tim remembers the other's total lack of concern for any threat to civilian life this whole time and realizes that was because, from Kon's perspective, there wasn't any actual threat.

Huh. 

Well, that explains why neither the gun barrel nor the being choked thing actually hurt at any point, doesn't it.

"Oh," Tim says, looking down at the floor that they are, in fact, all still standing on. "Tactile telekinesis?"

"You've heard of it?" Kon says, looking pleased. 

"Once or twice," Tim says, managing not to say it too dryly. Kon looks even more pleased. "I didn't know you could use it like that, though." 

"Practice makes perfect," Kon replies smugly.

[offender42085]

Post 1328

Kory George, Vermont inmate 80243, born 1988, incarceration intake May 2019 at age 32, scheduled for release October 2037

Conspiracy to commit Murder, with prior convictions for Escape from Custody, Providing False Information, Possession of a Regulated Drug, Driving with a Suspended License, Possession of a Depressant/Stimulant/Narcotic, Burglary, Grand Larceny, Assault and Robbery with a Weapon, Petty Larceny, and Violation of a Release Agreement

In April 2019, a former Bristol Vermont man was sentenced to at least 18 years in prison for conspiring with his mother to kill her husband, who was also his stepfather.

Both the judge and the victim’s sister chastised George during the sentencing in Chittenden County Superior criminal court in Burlington, with Judge Kevin Griffin calling the circumstances of the crime “horrific.” 

Judge Griffin said he was willing to accept the plea agreement reached by the prosecution and the defense. The judge then sentenced George under the terms of that deal to 35 years to life in prison, all suspended except 18 years to serve in prison. 

Prosecutors have alleged Angela Auclair (Vermont inmate 159925), George’s mother who was married to David Auclair, pulled the trigger in the fatal shooting. The 51-year-old pleaded guilty to the same charge as George as part of a plea agreement. 

4s

[beardedmrbean]

A Honduras gang member who was illegally in the US “giggled” as he admitted kidnapping a young Texas woman at gunpoint and threatening to pimp her out and sell her organs, according to cops.

Eduardo Javier Ordonez Godoy, 35, was busted after a 22-year-old woman was abducted by a masked man at 4:45 a.m. Christmas Eve and driven around for nearly an hour before being left tied to a tree, according to charging documents obtained by Fox 4 News.

Godoy had been arrested before for similar crimes — and deported back to Honduras, where he admits he is affiliated with a violent gang, police told the outlet.

The illegal immigrant then allegedly confessed to the abduction, showing no remorse for a crime that the unidentified victim said left her fearing for her life.

“He smirked a lot, he giggled, and, you know, was almost proud of what he did,” Haltom City Police Sergeant Rick Alexander told FOX 4 News.

“He claims he’s just a thief. He wants money,” Alexander continued. “But, you know, in this case, clearly he went beyond that and brought a firearm into it.”

Godoy allegedly abducted the woman at 4:45 a.m. on Christmas Eve, forcing her into the backseat of her car as she headed to work in Haltom City, just outside of Fort Worth, police said.

He then forced her to withdraw money — then drove her around for nearly an hour while threatening to “sell her organs” and “prostitute her,” according to the charging documents.

The alleged kidnapper then drove to an apartment complex about 22 miles away in Grapevine, where he tied the woman’s hands to a tree with her shoelaces and left her there as he fled in her car.

The woman managed to free herself and called the police.

She was unharmed but told officers Godoy’s comments had made her fear for her life.

“Obviously she was terrified,” Alexander said. “No one expects this kind of thing walking outside early in the morning on Christmas Eve.”

The stolen vehicle was entered into law enforcement databases, and was spotted in a parking lot by a police officer on Christmas Day in Oklahoma City, some 200 miles away. 

Godoy was arrested and is being held in jail in Oklahoma City where he is charged with unauthorized use of a vehicle, use of a firearm while committing a felony and misdemeanors. 

He’s also facing aggravated kidnapping and aggravated robbery charges in Haltom City.

Godoy has an active ICE detainer hold because of his immigration status, police said.

[iww-gnv]

A federal administrative judge with the National Labor Relations Board -- which oversees labor issues and allegations of unfair workplace practices -- ruled on Tuesday that Starbucks unlawfully fired two Colorado baristas who were involved in organizing a union at their locations and in a recommended order, said the company should rehire them and give them back pay. Judge Mara-Louise Anzalone ruled that Starbucks unlawfully terminated Ryan Dinaro from a Denver location and Joseph Mathis in Colorado Springs due to their union activities, in violation of the National Labor Relations Act. "I am planning to return to Starbucks to fight for a contract because my coworkers deserve better," Dinaro said in a statement released by Starbucks Workers United. "They deserve stable hours so they can consistently keep healthcare and tuition. They deserve safety committees to remind management that attempted robbery, menacing, and assault on property is not normal, and security upgrades are desperately needed. They deserve a standard pay raise schedule so they don't need to beg management."

[wingedsirens]

GUITARS AND STOLEN JEWELLERY

hobie brown x black cat reader

You’ve been the city’s Black Cat for a while now, and it’s time for you to meet Spiderman.

There was one thing on your mind. As you scaled the drainpipe of a tall building, you went over the mission in your mind. Quick robbery, inside and out. You pushed yourself to the roof of the building, before setting your sights on the high rise apartment block.

Clad in glass, there resided your victim - Claus Parley. Shitty millionaire, even shittier person. There was no limit to what he’d done; or what he was accused of. Still, every allegation has to be truthful in some way, right?

Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, you marvelled at the city beneath you. London was ugly at best, but from up here, it looked beautiful. You enjoyed the night, especially ones this temperature. It was cold enough not to sweat, but warm enough not to freeze. It helped.

Reaching the block, you easily found a way in, courtesy to an open window close enough for you to leap to. Creeping through this random strangers apartment, you snagged a few pieces of jewellery as you left. If they could afford to live here, they were rich - it wasn’t like they’d miss them.

You’d been surveying Claus Parley for a few weeks now. He lived on the twelfth floor, ninth door along. But tonight, he wouldn’t be in - he had been invited to a strange little gala that celebrated who knows what. More importantly, that meant he was out of his apartment for the night.

His place was easier to locate than you thought it would be. You tried the handle, and sure enough, it was locked. Retrieving a lock pick from the small pocket in the side of your suit, you managed to get it open in less then thirty seconds. Rich people really needed better security.

You stole through the cool air, checking every room and scanning all of the surfaces for anything of value, before you found the jackpot. His safe was hidden in the top of his wardrobe, placed behind three shoeboxes. Placing it on the bed, you guessed the code a few times before guessing correct. Opening the door, you looked at the contents.

Several stacks of cash were stuffed messily at the side, which you gladly pocketed. Three watches in faux velvet boxes were placed in a row, and you brought them out to have a look. One fake, two real. You took the real ones and placed them in another hidden pouch, and then you found what you were looking for.

Stuffing the leather pouch into the same pocket as the watches, you shut the safe and placed it back in the wardrobe, moving the shoeboxes in front of it like how it was prior. It wasn’t the same, but you doubted he would notice. Casting one more look over the bedroom, you slipped out as quick as you came.

Getting out of the building was harder then getting in: first you had to get to the rooftop, then find an object to attach to your zip line, then getting on the zip line, and then you were on another roof. Depending on the distance between that and the next, you had to use the zip line again, or you had to vault your way over like a cat.

You were lucky this time. There was a long stretch of buildings that were flat topped, and easy to jump across. You did just that, barely getting out of breath. After about ten minutes of zipping across rooftops, you sat down, and looked at your small haul.

The jewellery would fetch a lot if you sold it to the right people. The watches would too, by the looks of it they looked like Breitling ones. And then, in the leather pocket, was your real target. You took it out and admired the piece of metal, cool and slippery in your hand.

All of a sudden, you heard a thump on the rooftop behind you. Shoving your haul into your suit, you turned around, on your feet instantly on the ground. Surveying the roof to see who your intruder was, your eyes finally settled on the guy leaning against a chimney. Most of his slim frame was doused in shadow, the only thing able to make out were the spikes that were somehow embedded on his head.

“Was wondering if I’d ever get to meet you, Black Cat.“ He said, putting emphasis on the last two words. As he walked forwards, you recognised him. He wore the some of the largest platforms you’d seen, and his trademark leather jacket, complete with the largest collection of pins you’d never seen up close. And yet, you’d seen him on the news enough to know who this man was.

“Spider Punk.” You said, cocking your head to the side, smirk playing on your lips. He mirrored your expression, almost mockingly, looking you up and down. “So, what innocent person are you stealin’ from now?” He replied, copying your head movements.

“They’re far from innocent, Spidey.” You said, walking around him, discreetly admiring his look. He was cool, you couldn’t disagree. “Well, you’ve been jumping around these rooftops so much I can’t fuckin’ tell who it was.” He joked. You sighed, pointing up.

“See that building? Yeah, there are a shit ton of millionaires that don’t even know what security is. And one of them even has his stuff in the worst quality safe I’ve ever seen. It would be a crime not to take it.” You grinned. “Still pissed?”

“I mean, I can let it slide. On one condition, kitty.” He said, walking around you. You pouted sarcastically, dropping it a second later. “And what’s that, Spidey?” Making sure you had everything with you, you slowly edged towards the side of the roof. He was new to you, and while that intrigued you, your defences were still up. He couldn’t interrupt everything you had going on.

“What are you gonna do with the cash?” He asked you, moving closer to you unexpectedly. You could hear his breathing. “Well, I happen to have someone I know who’s about to have a child, and she did not have the facilities for it. Or, the money for it. So, I’m giving some of it to her. The rest is going to a food bank. And obviously, I’m getting a cut.” You replied. He chuckled. “What, so are you some kind of Robin Hood?”

“You could call it that.” You said, leaning back on the same chimney he appeared on. “You know, I thought you’d be more impressed, that with your, um, anarchist movement.” You gestured to his badges as you talked.

“Never said I wasn’t impressed.” He said. You smirked. “Now usually, I’d ask for you to elaborate, but I’m sort of pushed for time. I’d love to continue this, but I have deadlines to make.” To be honest, you were due home in three hours, but there was something about this conversation that was putting you on edge.

“No worries, I’ll be quick.” He moved closer, and you stayed stock still. “I can’t lie, Black Cat. I’ve been keepin’ track of you for a while.” He added, waiting to see your reaction. You only smiled, leaning forward for a moment. “I can’t lie and say I haven’t been keeping track of you either, Spider Punk.” You replied, turning around in preparation to leave.

“Not my name, kitty.” You heard him shout from behind you. Turning around a final time, you looked back to him, the wind biting at your face. “What would you prefer?” You shouted back at him, still walking to the ledge. Even as you jumped, you still heard his response, carried by the wind.

You laughed. Not daring to look back, you landed on the roof with ease. Spidey it was, as per his request.

a/n: honestly i fucking hate this so much but yayy? it’s finished ig. ALSO I PROMISE I’M DOING MY REQUESTS IT JUST TAKES ME AGES I’M SO SORRY AHH!!?!! lmk if you enjoyed, honestly would love to do a part 2.

[quartztwst]

list of crimes quartz has (allegedly) committed:

-tax fraud

-smoking crack

-being gay in public

Don't forget the breaking and entering, robbery, treason, distribution of drugs at a high school, accidental premeditated murder, and going 70 in a school zone

Which are alleged and I HAVE NOT DONE THESE THINGS THEY ARE FRAMING ME

[popawritter12]

Hey hey heyyy im back with another request (im the same anon who requested that yandere morgana piece u wrote, absoutely loved it btw ate it up) and i was wondering if you could write some yandere! Hwei x reader? (fanfic or headcanons is up to you!) maybe the reader is an artist as well and they bond over that? Idk man up to you, also love ur takes on characters ur legit one of the best LoL writers ive seen!!

Btw if you dont mind can i be the 🍊 anon? Ive seen other blogs have their emoji anons and i wanna be one so bad fhdbfh

Hope youre having a nice day!!

Author's Notes: Of course 🍊 anon! I would love to <3

I also got tired of making so many headcanons (believe it or not, I have more saved in my drafts), I'm going to write a one-shot. I hope you like it <3. I also appreciate that you like my work. It's especially nice to know that there's someone who enjoys what I do besides me. By the way, I think Hwei is not in the Yandere “tier list” of LoL, so from how I write him and how I see him, I assume that he is a “Normal” type, because his personality reminds me a little of Ayano from Yandere simulator jjjjjjjjjj

Ｏ(≧∇≦)ＯＯ(≧∇≦)ＯＯ(≧∇≦)ＯＯ(≧∇≦)Ｏ

Yandere! Hwei x Fem! reader

Yandere character: Hwei From the videogame/anime/manga/movie/series: League Of Legends Case: Mention of stalking, allegation of theft, robbery and kidnapping. Part: 1 of 1 Warning: Excessive text LOL

Ｏ(≧∇≦)ＯＯ(≧∇≦)ＯＯ(≧∇≦)ＯＯ(≧∇≦)Ｏ

Obedience.

You had heard that word for so long that it was already embedded in your memory. But not in the way most expected.

You hated that word, and for that same reason you almost never hung out with the teachers or students of the temple you went to.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves, we better go to the beginning.

You had been born into a family that had never been close to other nations apart from Ionia, your mother was a strict woman, sometimes bordering on abusive, who always hated temples. Especially religions… Let's say she never had good experiences with it.

And your father, oh your beloved father… He was a saint in every sense of the word. He was kind, a joker… And a smile was always on his face. He had never yelled, in fact even when he was angry, he would just sit in the corner, ignoring everything around him until his mind cooled down.

And, being an only child, your life around them was quite chaotic. While your mother always tried to stay out of her entire family situation—a rather complex issue even for you—your father was the “husband of the house,” so to speak. He was in charge of teaching you both cooking and home care in general, including carpentry and, mainly, the art of home decoration.

He always dreamed of being a great artist, but in his family it was never frowned upon for a man to make the decision to undertake such a complex world of art, because, you know… that's a “women's thing.” But anyway, a lot of things have happened since the last time you talked to your uncles and cousins so… They aren't very important in your life right now.

But do you know that it is important? Where did you study.

Your father insisted a lot on your talent with sculptures and the human form; You really liked making ceramic vases manually, so much so that from the age of 8 you made your first sculpture; It was the strange shape of a dog with small eyes and a giant nose. At the time you barely knew how to paint sculptures, and your father barely knew about sculptures, and the shape of it so… Let's say it looked more like an "alebrije" than a dog with a big nose.

But that was a long time ago, and now the only proof of that memory is the figure on your father's furniture; kept as a beautiful memory.

As time went by your sculptures became more complex; from simple vases for flowers to sculptures with human figures of such a level that, at this point, we could compare them with the statues of Michelangelo.

And your father wanted that talent to be exploited to the fullest. So, after years of arguing with your mother, they both agreed that you should go to the great temple where you would learn about the art.

But there was a small problem, one that was going to haunt you a lot.

You weren't used to how strict that school was.

The first and second day at that school were quite chaotic for you. It wasn't just because it wasn't as you expected, but because everything was very limited.

If you wanted to make art, you had to do it how they wanted, when they asked you to, and how they expected it. However, not only was that not your style, but it seemed like the teachers (especially the principal) always had one eye on you. And only for a few weeks did you endure that strict issue of obedience.

But there was one boy who was particularly kind to you, and he was a young man of always unkempt appearance. His dark circles always stood out on his face, along with his hair that was rarely organized in a linear manner. From the first time he saw you, he felt charmed by the way you expressed yourself; You were good at painting and using magic, but when he saw the ceramic sculptures you made…damn, you really drove him crazy.

But you obviously didn't notice, you were too focused on trying to get along with your surroundings in general that you didn't notice his desperate attempts to get along with you.

However, in the pleasant conversations you had with him, you always saw him as the stereotype of the exemplary boy; someone who dedicated his entire life to his art, to the temple and was admired by everyone for his great talent. You thought he was assured of a great future thanks to his eccentric abilities.

And you, unlike most, learned very well from your mother that you could not let yourself be trampled; especially by anyone you barely knew. So the blood that ran through your veins and the passion for your own art that you kept for so long was slowly being tied to be limited, but with barely strong ropes. It hurt a lot to know that you were in a place that didn't belong to you, it was as if you were a squirrel in the Freljord, or a mouse in a perfume store.

And in the end, when you mentioned all these things to your mother, she didn't take it very well.

—Did you really go through all this while you were in that temple? —She asked, a cigarette between her fingers as she arranged her needles on the table.

You just nodded your head, not looking at your mother at all. The woman, at this, clicked her tongue.

—I knew that those bitches are only good for the basics, they didn't evolve at all —The woman brought the cigarette to her lips, taking a gentle drag —so, do you know something, my child? Send them to hell.

You were used to her bad vocabulary, so much so that at this, you just nodded your head again.

—I know perfectly well that you are not like me, that you want to venture out and learn about “the ways of art” and that I know —The woman moved her free hand in the air, while with the other she only lightly squeezed the cigarette. —, but if you're going to go alone so that that bunch of nuts can do you less, I'm going to get you out even by kicking you in the ass.

Your mother was tough as a chain in the teeth, and you knew that she couldn't last long without making trouble in the temple if there was someone bothering her only daughter. She cared very little if it was a student, a teacher or even the founder of the temple himself —Even though she knows that she died a long time ago— she would go and give her her dose of shit if she messed with the pride of her as a mother.

She advised you to kick their ass if they messed with you, but your father later talked to you about it, advising that you couldn't take all your feelings and thoughts to such an extreme, but that you should think coldly, and not give importance to people that were not to your specific liking, regardless of their social status. You were no less for coming from a family that came from the middle of nowhere.

During your temple walk, you always walked alone, which gave you plenty of time to think about your actions; You had been passive most of the time, however, more than once you let out those classic off-color comments when they already crossed your limit. Words like “Fuck you if you don't like it” or “You're barely able to use colors and you're going to tell me what I have to do?” escaped you in very rare cases.

You entered the less traveled part of the temple, hoping not to encounter those looks that made you uncomfortable. The song of nature resonated in your ears harmoniously, while the sound of the materials inside your bag resonated from time to time.

In the midst of your ramblings, you remembered your lost sculptures, and your forgotten materials; You were not a forgetful pardon, and it seemed strange to you not to find your favorite materials —That were metal, so they were worth a lot of money —, and even though you asked and asked, you couldn't find it anymore, so it depressed you a lot to think that you had lost something that had cost yout parents so much effort, and the mere memory of it caused you to feel that pang in your heart.

Even if your parents said it was nothing that couldn't be fixed, it hurt to know that you had lost one of the most expensive things your parents had cost you to get you.

But it was curious to think what a surprise you would get.

However, you get to hear some noises; without being the whining of baby birds waiting for food or rodents walking in search of food, but rather it resembled the voice of two people talking. You recognized both of their voices, but you thought it wasn't too important to stay there, in fact, you were already planning to go somewhere else when you heard it.

—So that girl, (Name), right?

—Yes, I didn't think you realized that issue.

The second boy's shy voice reminded you of that young man you rarely spoke to, which took you by surprise. Hwei wasn't the type of person to talk bad about someone behind their back, or at least that was the idea you had based on your interactions.

—You don't have to worry, after all it's normal for you to feel attracted to someone —Jhin mentioned, almost in a mocking manner—. So why don't you tell me about her?

You had already noticed the intention behind that interaction, however, after what happened, you thought that maybe you could calm your heart with some sweet words that you weren't meant to hear at that moment.

—Well, she is… incredible —He begins, you hear how the young man sits on a log due to the sound of the hollow wood —, she is beautiful, kind, tender… and her way of expressing her art is so… unique.

You gently leaned your back against the wood, trying not to make any sound. Something in your chest moved abruptly, as if your heart was fluttering like a butterfly in glass.

—I adore her sculptures, I feel that they are the most beautiful thing I have seen —He continues talking, slowly his emotion rose more and more —. I looked sometimes at her work in class or in the room away from her, and they are… beautiful.

—So much so that you had the need to steal them, right?

It was a single sentence, one which echoed in your head for several seconds.

—What are you talking about? —Hwei asks, arranging his hair a little, trying to place several strands behind his ear —. I would never do that.

You didn't hear how Hwei's tone of voice changed, becoming staccato, as his hands clung to his backpack, which he had in his lap.

At this, the other student laughed, almost like a subtle laugh, while his eyes wandered to where your shadow was looming. A mischievous smile forms on his face.

—So, I imagine that the sculptures that are in your room were made by you, right? —He questions, looking subtly into Hwei's eyes—. Or you bought them from her.

Your thoughts slowly formed a thread of the events that had happened. A lump formed in your throat, almost painfully so.

—Or her favorite utensils, she asked me if I had seen them last week, since she had left them near you the last time she saw them —He continued, almost introspectively—, but when I asked you, you only mentioned that you didn't see them that day either.

You shook your head, from the depths of your soul you prayed that it wasn't true, that you didn't have the school prodigy after you in such an extreme way.

—Well, I admit that I have some of her sculptures in my room, but they are the ones that she forgot in class or anywhere! —The pale boy snapped—. And I don't know what you think I did with her utensils, I don't know how to sculpt.

Jhin laughs again, barely audibly now, as if he knew that now he would have to act more vividly.

—And why were they in the box in your room? —Jhin asks him —, it even had remains of dry ceramics. Could it be that they were already used?

Hwei gritted his teeth, while his gaze met Jhin's again.

—That side of you… It's so peculiar. —He smiles —, I thought no one would see it, but you risk being seen in exchange for getting some things from (Name).

Hwei knew that darkness within his soul had awakened since the first day he saw you. And that darkness spread throughout his soul, mind and body, to the point that it seemed to consume all of his heart and mind.

—Your paintings were always warm colors —Jhin changed the subject, the smile disappearing from his face —, they were never about anything specific, but since you met that girl, something changed —He bowed gently in front of Hwei —. If it was about her, you focused on her in a way that made her seem pure, you used colors that highlighted her body or her emotion on her face. But she never looked at anyone —He subtly changed his focus —, she looked at the painter, or she didn't look at anyone, tell me, do you just want her to not look at anyone but you? Do you want her to the point that you don't want her to look at anyone but you?

He remained silent, in such a way that you could feel the weight of the words lingering in the air, causing an almost inexhaustible tension there. It was such that you could no longer hear the song of nature that you longed for so much.

—I won't criticize you, Hwei, you know that I understand better than anyone the dark feeling inside you —Jhin tried to sound empathetic —. And, if you want, I can help you make (Name) yours. I can make her fall in love with you and make that she can never leave you.

The obsessed young man understood how wrong it was to have those thoughts terrifying his mind, but he couldn't stop it, it was a feeling that had already taken root in his heart, and he couldn't tear it out no matter how much he wanted to.

—I can't… —Hwei whispered, his voice breaking —…, I don't want to harm her; She is so nice to me, I don't want to put her through all my feelings.

You heard him sob.

—You're not going to hurt her —Jhin comforts him, a hand running over his cheek —. I know you love her very much, and you notice how others hurt her. But, tell me, don't you think about those people really hurt her? —He subtly wipes away the tear that slipped down her face—. You should take care of those people, you know? So she could express her art as she loves it. Maybe she could even make thousands of statues without anyone to pressure her, and you could “borrow” them for yourself.

You had heard enough, you couldn't stay there for another minute.

However, before you could move, Jhin leaned close to Hwei's ear, his lips close to her loose strands of hair.

—Or you could take it right now, you know? This opportunity is perfect. —Jhin's mischievous smile spreads across his face.

Hwei opened his eyes to her peak, at the same time he heard a rope move abruptly.

And you felt your foot being pulled up, forcing you to hit your face against the ground, causing you to moan in pain.

—Shit. —You whispered, feeling your head spin, a small wound on your head began to make small drops of blood come out.

—That is…? —Hwei whispers, his heart sinking in his chest —(Name)..?

Ｏ(≧∇≦)ＯＯ(≧∇≦)ＯＯ(≧∇≦)ＯＯ(≧∇≦)Ｏ

Today I came wanting to write. I loved how this one-shot turned out, and I hope those who read it do too haha.

I hope to receive more orders if any of you wish, until then, I will be dedicated to my hobbies and my studies.

[bittermarching]

(I've said this before but,) It's annoying to me how so many people feel compelled to spread disinformation and present every situation as completely black and white, regardless of the facts, to manipulate other people into agreeing with them. This happens all the fucking time, especially online.

A recent example: M. Williams, the man who was recently executed in Missouri (not putting his full name bc I don't want a bunch of illiterate keyboard "prison abolitionists" telling me to kms). Lemme first preface this by saying I Do Not think he should've been executed. Just to be clear.

There are a million zillion posts on this site claiming that there was "overwhelming forensic evidence definitively proving his innocence" and that the "only evidence" linking him to the crime was the testimony of two cellmates who were rewarded for their testimonies. Both of these things are false.

What linked him to the crime was a) the victim's stolen items were found in his possession (obviously he could have just been a fence, but the items found were a ruler and a calculator, which have no value so why would a fence have that?); b) the testimony of his girlfriend who said that he confessed and had scratches on his neck and blood on his shirt and the victim's laptop in his car; c) the victim's stolen laptop was recovered from a man who said Williams sold it to him; d) the alleged jailhouse confession his former cellmate claimed he made. Neither Williams' girlfriend or the man who bought the laptop received any reward for testifying, as far as I could find. The gf was awaiting trial on an unrelated crime, but it doesn't seem like she got a plea deal or anything for testifying. The cellmate did receive a reward, so that imo makes his testimony somewhat less persuasive. There was also the fact that he had a history of armed robbery.

However! And this is why his death sentence should have been overturned (regardless of whether you support the existence of the death penalty at all), there were several serious issues with how the crime was investigated, the trial, and post-trial handling of the case.

First, regarding the forensic evidence, the DNA of an initially-unidentified man was found on the knife. It turns out, that DNA belonged to one of the prosecutors who contaminated the evidence by repeatedly handling it without gloves. (This is where people seem confused, claiming that the DNA belongs to the real culprit, but that is false). The fact that the evidence was mishandled alone should have been enough imo to overturn his sentence bc the jury did not have this info when they convicted him.

Second, the prosecuting attorney handling voir dire (jury selection) had a Very Clear racial bias, as he eliminated all but one Black juror, and the reason he gave for eliminating one of them was that he "looked too much like" Williams. Which, I mean. Come on, that's just insanely clear anti-Black racism.

Third, the bizarre, intentional mishandling of this case post-trial. First, the former governor stays the execution and forms a panel of judges to review the case. But then, the new governor suddenly dissolves the panel before they finish their investigation and just decides to lift the stay on the execution. A lawsuit was pending to have another trial into Williams' innocence, given all the new evidence about the mishandling of the trial, but the state supreme court found that they didn't have the authority to withdraw the execution order. Williams accepted a plea deal devised by prosecutors that would have his conviction commuted to life without parole. The state sup. ct. blocked the plea deal. The governor denied his plea for clemency. Basically, the people in positions of final authority seemed absolutely determined to go through with this execution no matter what.

I might've missed some details here, I read a bunch of articles and tried to piece things together, but the length of this post was already getting away from me.

But the point is, I hate how ppl feel the need to oversimplify complex issues and events in order to convince others of the point they're trying to make. It is true that there were actual, material pieces of evidence linking Williams to the crime and that he did have a history of armed robbery. But it's equally true that the investigation and trial were biased and mishandled and that the governor and state supreme court seemed hellbent on having this man executed. Honestly, I don't think he was innocent -- it's undeniable that he was at least involved in the crime in some fashion. HOWEVER, if there is any doubt at all about a person's guilt, the death penalty should be off the table. And there was absolutely doubt. The evidence did not conclusively 100% show that no one else could have committed the murder and the investigation, trial, and post-trial were all very messy to say the least. And that should be enough to make people outraged at his execution! You should be able to accurately present the facts and let people decide whether they agree with you. And yet every post I've seen on this case falsely claims that there was definitive evidence proving that he was completely innocent, portraying him as just some random man the state decided to target despite having no connection to the case.

Even when I agree with the point being made, the disinformation people spread to manipulate others into agreeing with them really pisses me off. It's like we're all mini-politicians nowadays willing to say anything to accomplish our own agendas and I can't trust anything without verifying it with 15 separate independent sources. (I mean I've always done that bc I'm a full time skeptic, but still). This case is just one example, but it's constant and it drives me insane.

And, for the record, I'm not some death penalty fanatic who just loves throwing people in prison for no reason. I have done volunteer work for the Innocence Project, including their death penalty divison which aims to get inmates off of death row. Which is more than most of y'all can say, so.

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Caught In Your Web (1/15)

Summary: Since losing his father to a mugging, David Jacobs has spent the entire summer before his senior year of high school living up to Mayer’s final words to him: With great power comes great responsibility. The start of the school year brings new challenges. Harder classes, college applications, finding out why there’s a rise in crime caused by mutants—typical high school stuff. David finds out wither he can balance his school work, a job, a social life, and a secret identity, or whether he’ll be crushed like a bug beneath the pressure. Spider-Man!Davey AU A/N: It's here! Come check out my fic for the @newsiesminibang24! Huge shoutout to the amazingly talented @hellosammy19 for the absolutely GORGEOUS art she created for this story. I could not have asked for a better partner <3 Be sure to check out all their art! Enjoy! :)

Spider-Menace Strikes Again!

On August 15th, twelve policemen answered the call to an armed robbery on the corner of 5th and Broadway. When they arrived on the scene, three suspected robbers were found caught in what appeared to be a giant spider web. Their weapons were wrapped in the same substance and rendered useless.

It goes without saying that the presumed obstructor of justice (who resolutely continues to hinder good police work) is none other than the Spider-Man.

Who is this so-called Spider-Man? How does he always know exactly where to find criminals? Why is there a sudden uptick in un-policed supers plaguing our boroughs? These are the questions we, as a city, should be asking ourselves. According to the letter of the law, vigilantism is illegal. Spider-Man does not answer to New York’s finest, and he does not answer to the public. He answers only to himself. He is judge and jury for every alleged crime he intervenes in. 

This masked menace must be kept accountable for his actions. He leaves a wake of destruction in his path on his search for vengeance, leaving the rest of New York to clean it up in the form of taxpayers’ hard-earned dollars. Sanitation is still cleaning up the mess he left in Central Park last week.

If our community allows him to go unchecked for so long, it’s only a matter of time before his reckless quest for terrorism gets an innocent person ki—

The hiss from the thin sheets of paper being snatched from his hands cause Davey to jolt in surprise. Swapping the surprise on his face for a disgruntled frown, he swats his arm at the air beside his ear an attempt to reclaim his stolen newspaper. “Hey, I was reading that!”

He watches helplessly as his copy of The World is crumpled up into a sphere and casually dumped into the nearest trash can. He rounds on the culprit, brow furrowed and prepared to give them a piece of his mind until he’s greeted with an all too familiar frown. 

Jack Kelly stands in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and glaring expectantly at Davey.

Oh, shit. 

Continue Reading on AO3

[offender42085]

Post 1291

Convicted, overturned and Convicted again....

Gage Basil Ashley, born 1997, New York inmate 22B0067, incarceration intake January 2022 at age 24, scheduled for release November 2044

Murder, Attempted Robbery, Criminal Possession of a Weapon

In April 2024, after five years, a suspect has been sentenced for the 2019 murder of 36-year-old Joshua Poole.

Judge Hon. Thomas Leone sentenced 26-year-old Gage Ashley to 25 years to life for his conviction of Murder in the Second Degree.

In March 2024, Ashley was convicted and found guilty of killing Poole at 8 Delevan Street in the City of Auburn on November 15, 2019.

In November 2020, Cayuga County District Attorney Jon Budelmann said 38-year-old Christian Rivera planned a robbery in November of 2019 that resulted in the murder of Poole. According to Budelmann, Rivera provided Ashley — along with 22-year-old Lucciano Spagnola and 24-year-old Tyree Anglin — with weapons, ammunition and money to purchase gloves and masks. 

Rivera also allegedly provided them with marijuana, cocaine, synthetic drugs and alcohol before sending them to commit the robbery, while he stayed at home.

Police said Ashley was armed with a handgun during the alleged robbery and Spagnola had a shotgun and Anglin was with them as well. 

Investigators said the three bought ski masks from Walmart a few days before and tried to burn their clothes and hide their evidence from police in a crawl space. Police also found a vehicle –that they believed was the getaway car — in the Seneca River in Cato shortly after that was connected to the crime. 

On Thursday, March 14, 2024, the jury began their deliberation around 1:15 p.m. and reached a verdict on Ashley by 1:45 p.m. on Friday. They not only found Ashley guilty of murder but of Attempted Robbery in the First Degree and Criminal Possession of a Weapon in the Second Degree.

On the day of Ashley’s sentencing, the court also imposed sentences of 15 years in prison and five years of post-release supervision for each of Ashley’s convictions of Attempted Robbery in the First Degree and Criminal Possession of a Weapon in the Second Degree. 

Each sentence represents the maximum sentence allowable by law. The Court was legally required to run the sentences concurrently because Ashley committed the crimes at the same time.

4u

[blueiscoool]

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum Theft

Five things you probably didn’t know about the biggest art heist in history

Most art galleries and museums are famous for the art they contain. London’s National Gallery has Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers”; “The Starry Night” meanwhile, is held at The Museum of Modern Art in New York, in good company alongside Salvador Dalì’s melting clocks, Andy Warhol’s soup cans and Frida Kahlo’s self-portrait.

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, however, is now more famous for the artwork that is not there, or at least, that is no longer there.

On March 18 1990 the museum fell prey to history’s biggest art heist. Thirteen works of art estimated to be worth over half a billion dollars — including three Rembrandts and a Vermeer — were stolen in the middle of the night, while the two security guards sat in the basement bound in duct tape.

The robbery is a treasure trove of surprising facts and unexpected plot twists. Here are five things that make the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, and its famous theft, so interesting.

The woman behind the building:

Isabella Stewart Gardner, the museum’s founder and namesake, is a fascinating character. The daughter and eventual widow of two successful businessmen, Gardner was a philanthropist and art collector who built the museum to house her stash.

“When she opened the museum in 1903 she mandated that it be free of charge, to gain the appreciation and the attendance of all of Boston,” Stephan Kurkjian, author of “Master Thieves: The Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World’s Greatest Art Heist”, said in the programme. “Her museum, at that point in time, was the largest collection of art by a private individual in America.”

Gardner also had links to the fledgling campaign for women’s political rights. The museum displays the photographs and letters of her friend Julia Ward Howe, an organizer of two US suffrage societies, and a print of Ethel Smyth, a composer and close friend of the English Suffragette leader Emmeline Pankhurst.

Gardner met Smyth through their mutual friend, the painter John Singer Sargent, whose portrait of Gardener raised eyebrows for the low-cut neckline he gave her.

Gardner seemed to enjoy flirting with scandal and gossip: she once arrived at a Boston Symphony Orchestra performance in a hat band emblazoned with the name of her favorite baseball team, Red Sox, and an illustration in a January 1897 edition of the Boston Globe showed her apparently taking one of Boston Zoo’s lions for a walk.

Somewhat ironically, when the Mona Lisa was stolen in 1911, Gardner told her museum guards that, if they saw anyone trying to rob them, they should shoot to kill.

The art not taken:

The thieves’ loot is estimated to be worth over half a billion dollars. However, they left the building’s most expensive artifact: “The Rape of Europa” by Titian, which Gardner bought from a London art gallery in 1896, then a record price for an old master painting.

Why commit history’s greatest art heist and leave without the priciest piece in the museum? Well, size may have played a role. The largest artwork taken was Rembrandt’s “Christ in the Storm on the Sea of Galilee,” famous for being Rembrandt’s only seascape and measures roughly 5x4 feet. “The Rape of Europa,” meanwhile, is larger, at nearly 6x7 feet.

The Napoleon factor:

Around 2005, the investigation into the stolen artworks took a detour to the French island of Corsica in the Meditteranean Sea. Two Frenchmen with alleged ties to the Corsican mob were trying to sell two paintings: a Rembrandt and a Vermeer. Former FBI Special Agent Bob Wittman was involved in a sting to try and buy them — but the operation eventually fell apart when the men were arrested for selling art taken from the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Nice instead.

Why would “Corsican mobsters,” as correspondent Randi Kaye described them in the programme, be interested in robbing a Boston art museum? The answer could lie in the Bronze Eagle Finial, the 10-inch ornament stolen from the top of a Napoleonic flag during the heist.

“It was sort of an odd choice for the thieves to take (the Finial),” Kaye said, “but it turns out that Corsica is essentially the homeland of Napoleon.” The French emperor was born on the island in 1769, and a national museum is now housed in his former family home.

“It is a very compelling notion,” Kelly Horan, Deputy Editor of the Boston Globe, said in the programme, “that a Corsican band of gangsters might have tried to steal back their flag and pull off the entire rest of the heist in the process.”

A rock’n’roll suspect:

March 18 1990 was not the first time a Rembrandt had been stolen from a Boston museum. In 1975, career criminal and art thief Myles Connor walked into Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, and walked out with a Rembrandt tucked into his oversized coat pocket. He was the FBI’s first suspect in the Gardner case, however the walls of federal prison — where he was incarcerated on drugs charges — gave him a pretty solid alibi.

When he wasn’t lifting famous artworks from their displays, Connor was a musician. It was through gigging that he met Al Dotoli, who worked with stars including Frank Sinatra and Liza Minelli.

In 1976 Connor was jailed for a separate art theft committed in Maine. Hoping to use his stolen Rembrandt to leverage a lesser sentence, he needed Dotoli — who was on tour with Dionne Warwick — to turn the painting in to the authorities on his behalf.

An invisible thief?

One of the stolen artworks, Édouard Manet’s “Chez Tortoni,” was taken from the museum’s Blue Room on the first floor. The painting stands out for two reasons, the first being its frame. The thieves left almost all of the frames behind, cutting some out of the front.

“To even leave remnants of the painting(s) behind was savage,” Horan said. “In my mind, it’s sort of like slashing someone’s throat.”

The “Chez Tortoni” frame was unusual for where it was left, though: not in the room it was stolen from, but in the chair of the security office downstairs. Even more remarkable, not a single motion detector was set off in the Blue Room. Bar investigating the possibility of ghost robbers, investigators wondered if this pointed to the plot being an inside job.

“At the FBI we found that about 89% of museum institutional heists are inside jobs,” Wittman said. “That’s how these things get stolen.”

By Caitlin Chatterton.