#Jason Todd fluff

[corvoqueen]

My Jason Todd Head Canons

[Disclaimer] some might be ooc, but these are my opinions so if you don’t like. Then don’t read.

Let’s you draw on his hands, arms, etc. If/when you get nervous, and he tries his hardest to not let it wash off. Especially if you’re drawing over his scars, he feels like it makes him pretty. (He already is. Be sure to tell him, he needs to hear it.)

Has naturally wavy/curly hair but doesn’t know how to take care of it so he just brushes it out till it’s fluffy and soft.

He has a journal that he writes in, favourite passages he’s read. Unloading whatever has pissed him off that day, and just whatever he needs to get off his chest. He guards that journal with his life.

Loves like a stray dog. You show him a scrap of affection and he’s yours now, sleeping on your front porch. (Not literally,) but he definitely checks on you during his patrols. Sitting on the roof of the building next door, peering in to make sure you safe and sound asleep.

If you’re close enough, he’ll recommend books he thinks you’ll like. And buddy read them with you, till you have your own little book club + Alfred of course.

Loves hand holding (even though he’s self conscious if his hands are sweaty or too rough) because it’s grounding for him, absentmindedly running his thumb over your knuckles. Or tracing the tips of your fingers. Grazing his thumb along your wrist, feeling your pulse and the rhythmic thump. His favourite sound in the world, other than you saying his name of course.

[iydiamartinx]

UNEXPECTED GUESTS I

jason x reader, platonic!damian wayne

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto & @omi-resources word count: 835 synopsis: Jason’s secret relationship is discovered by Damian—who keeps showing up uninvited. Jason’s patience is tested, popcorn is made, but at least Damian brought cinnamon rolls. a/n: this one went off the rails slightly and the rest of the upcoming parts are equally as unhinged (at least compared to what I usually write).

Compared to your apartment, Jason’s place was practically Fort Knox. You and he had been dating long enough that you’d practically moved in—and you knew his secret identity. Still, you’d never met his family, something Jason was adamant about keeping that way. You knew of them, of course, but hadn’t expected to meet them anytime soon.

Which was why you definitely weren’t expecting a ten-year-old ninja to break in.

You had just stepped out of the shower when you heard it—the quiet thud. At first, you thought it might’ve been Jason returning from patrol early. But then came the faint creak of the window opening.

Jason never used the window.

Cautiously, you stepped into the living room, still in a robe, hair dripping. And froze.

There, near the kitchen counter, stood a boy. Arms crossed. Hood down. Eyes sharp as blades.

“You’re not his roommate,” he said flatly.

You blinked. Your shoulders slowly relaxed. While you’d never met Damian Wayne personally, you’d seen enough pictures—and heard Jason complain just enough about the “demon child”—to recognize him instantly.

“…And you’re not the pizza guy,” you replied, equally dry, one brow raised. “So I guess we’re both surprised.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink. Just stared, like he was trying to unearth your darkest secrets with sheer willpower.

“Who are you?” he demanded, stepping forward.

“His girlfriend,” you said, calmly. And waited for the explosion.

There was no point in hiding it. You figured that now that you’d met Damian, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the Bat-family found out. Honestly, you were surprised they hadn’t already—weren’t they supposed to be the world’s greatest detectives?

It didn’t take long.

“I knew it,” the boy hissed. “He’s been acting suspicious for weeks. Staying out longer. Not snapping at everyone. There was even a smile—a smile—on his face during training.”

He circled you slowly, hands behind his back like a miniature detective—or a very judgmental cat. “I assumed he was hiding something. Drugs. Maybe a dog. But you… you’re worse.”

Your lips twitched. “A dog would’ve been worse, to be honest. He’s not exactly home on time for walkies.”

He ignored your joke. “How do I know you’re not a threat? An assassin. A spy. Someone sent to manipulate him.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “You think I’m seducing Jason Todd for intel?” You snorted. “Believe me, no one’s paying me for this kind of emotional labor.”

His lips twitched—just barely. Not a smile. Not quite. But something close.

Still, he didn’t back down. “What do you know about him?”

“Enough to stay,” you answered simply, dropping onto the couch and toweling off your hair. “Enough to know he sleeps better when I’m here. Eats better. Talks more. Still leaves his laundry everywhere, but that’s apparently not fixable.”

Damian stood frozen, like he was running your answer through a thousand internal filters.

Eventually, he moved to sit—perching like a hawk on the armrest across from you, expression still wary but less… militant.

“So you know what he does,” Damian said stiffly.

“It’s how we met,” you replied, reaching for the remote. “He was horrible at keeping the whole alter ego a secret.”

“Are you trained?” he asked next.

“To deal with him? Yes.” You shot him a grin. “To fight? Not really. But I have excellent aim with a frying pan.”

For the first time, a snort escaped him—quick and unintentional. And then: “I suppose you’re tolerable.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone under five feet has said to me.”

Damian frowned. “I’m ten.”

“Still under five feet.”

He huffed but stayed where he was, and after a moment, reached for the coffee table and grabbed the half-finished puzzle you’d been working on. Without asking, he began fitting pieces into place with alarming precision.

An hour later, Jason came home through the fire escape, expecting silence—or maybe the sound of you watching reruns, bundled up in one of his old shirts.

What he didn’t expect was the sight of you and his youngest brother sitting side by side on the floor, surrounded by puzzle pieces and popcorn, mid-argument about whether Red Hood could beat a grizzly bear in a fight on pure strength alone.

He stopped in the doorway and stared.

Damian glanced up. “You’re late.”

Jason blinked. “You broke in.”

“He made popcorn,” you said helpfully, tossing a piece into your mouth.

Jason pointed between the two of you. “What the hell is happening?”

“She’s tolerable,” Damian said, as if that answered everything.

Jason groaned. “I leave for two hours…”

“And you almost lost your popcorn privileges for keeping me hidden,” you added, smirking at him. “Apparently, I’m a national security threat.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about Wayne surveillance equipment and upgrading the locks to keep out demons.

But secretly?

He didn’t mind the sight of the two people he cared about most, sitting there together and getting along.

He’d just never admit it out loud.

Next Part →

[smutinlove]

I saw your post for smut asks! How about one where Jason Todd isn't really sexually awakened until he meets reader and he has no idea what to do? Or one where Dick Grayson has been on a year long mission trip so our poor boy is FERAL and STARVED for reader's pu$$y?

YOU FREAKKKKK IM DOING BOTH OMG OMG AHHHHH

jason is a bit of a wimp in this fic hehe

here's the link for the dick grayson fic

Jason sat at the bar, taking small sips of his beer, wondering where his brother, Dick, had gone off to. He swore he saw a woman dragging him by his collar. Jason didn't really think about it too much. He was bored out of his mind and wanted to leave. He sighed, gulping down the beer.

Little did he know that you had been watching and observing his movements all night. You went to order a drink and sat next to him. "Hey, could I get two martinis? One for me and one for the handsome man next to me," you said to the bartender, who winked at Jason, leaving him confused.

Jason fidgeted with his wallet as he handed the bartender some money. "Ah, a gentleman, I see," you smirked. Jason blushed and looked down; that's when he noticed your outfit. You were wearing a white tank top with a deep neck, which you had paired with baggy jeans and black, chunky heels.

Tits. That's what he saw. Jason looked away, trying to remain respectful, causing you to laugh. The bartender hands you two your drinks.

"You're the first shy man I've ever met," you commented with a sly smirk. Jason took a sip of his martini and grinned. "There's a first time for everything," he replied.

Jason looked deeply into your eyes, memorizing every small detail. His eyes followed down to your lips. One kiss, he thought. He had never felt this way before. His hands were shaking with every thought. "Uhm, so, where are you from?" he asked, avoiding your gaze.

The two of you kept the conversation going for an hour, laughing and smiling along the way. Both of you were heavily drunk and looking deeply into each other's eyes. Jason didn't know what took over him as his hands cupped your cheeks. He smashed his lips against yours.

You two shared a passionate kiss.

"Woah," you muttered, scarlet erupting in your cheeks. "Do you wanna head to my car?" you asked, and that's how you found yourself in the backseat of your car.

Jason's eyes were on you as you took off your tank top, revealing your bra. You motioned for him to unclasp it. He unclasped your bra; your tits sprung out. His eyes fell on your nipples; he was frozen. Unsure what to do, he pulled you in for a kiss once more.

As you two kissed, your hands went down to his belt; you slowly unbuckled it and pulled down his jeans. You slowly pushed him down, breaking the kiss. "Can I?" you asked, pointing to remove his boxers. You could already see the outline of his hard cock.

Jason gulped. "I've never done this before," he admitted. You smiled, "Well, you're in good hands, darling. Now, can I?" He nodded. You pulled his boxers down with your teeth, his cock hitting your face a bit.

"This'll be the time of your life," you whispered. He was big—bigger than you anticipated.

Your tongue flicked against his tip, catching the salty-sweet pre-cum. You licked his cock from top to bottom and then took in the first few inches, causing Jason to moan your name. You went deeper and deeper, your tongue swirling around his length.

Jason groaned, his cock twitching in your mouth. Finally, he came—it was hot and thick. You slurped some of it up and took his cock out of your mouth, gasping for air.

Jason lay there, awestruck. "That was... amazing," he murmured a few more praises, causing you to smirk. Jason sat up and started speaking. "I... you're... so different," he finally admitted. "You've awakened something in me, and I need more."

[killerplink]

MENACE

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

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

Words: 5,7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason blinks. "Uh—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was so hot, bestie, God."

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

"Yeah," he nods, lips twitching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You beam at him. "I love youuu."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm flattered, baby."

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

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

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

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

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

Then you gasp, loud and dramatic, eyes going huge as you step inside. "No fucking way."

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

"We live here?"

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

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

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

Jason snickers. "Well, you picked it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth drops open. "Holy shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp, awed. "Oh my God."

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

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

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

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

"Did you just—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They spray people, doll."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Show me your dick."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts, "Knock yourself out, doll."

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

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

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

He grins, eyes sparkling. "Plenty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nope," you agree, completely unrepentant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're unbelievable."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squint, suspicious. "Are you sure?"

Jason grins, "Pretty damn sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pick one," you demand, pouting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen. "When? Details!"

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

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

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

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

You sigh dramatically. "You love it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fromdove]

THE GRAMMAR OF YOUR THIGHS ! j.todd x reader

“Every time you touch me, it feels like being rewritten in a better language.”

— gn!reader (but my fics are always written with a fem reader in mind), obsessive adoration, jason’s unhealed edges, thigh worship (emotional + physical)

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

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

there’s a way jason looks at you— like your body is a story he’s only just learning to read, and god, he wants to read it right.

his hand rests on your thigh like it belongs there, like he’s trying not to squeeze too tight, because he still doesn't trust himself with beautiful things.

"you don't get it," he says one night, voice low, rough like sleep and truth. "your thighs are..." he trails off, shakes his head, laughs at himself. "i sound like a goddamn idiot."

you wait. he always circles before landing.

"they make me feel calm. that’s all. like maybe this world isn't so ugly after all."

and maybe that’s the most honest thing he’s ever said.

he’s always got his head on your lap. like muscle memory. like instinct.

sometimes he falls asleep there, muttering something half-awake: "don’t move. not yet."

and you don’t.

you let him stay. because the way he relaxes when he’s tucked between your legs is the only time he looks like he isn’t carrying hell in his chest.

it’s not about sex. not always. sometimes he just presses his lips there like he’s grounding himself. like this—this skin, this softness, this you— is the only real thing in the world.

he hums against you, low and thoughtful. "there’s nothing cleaner than this,” he whispers. "nothing in my life’s ever been this good."

and you know what he means. you know what he’s lost. what he carries.

so when he clutches at your thigh in the dark, or tucks his face into it like he’s hiding, you let him. you let him need you.

because you’ve learned that jason todd doesn’t say i love you like most people do.

he says it through touch. through presence. through the careful, quiet worship of the place you let him rest. he'd die between your thighs and call it peace.

[vacate-et-scire]

╰➤Food Love

Jason watched you with amusement as you carefully peeled the pickles off your burger, stacking them neatly on the side of your tray like they were some kind of crime against humanity.

“You know,” he said, leaning his chin on his palm, “you could just ask for no pickles.”

You wrinkled your nose with a huff. “Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get extra.”

He just smirked. “You giving me all your pickles now?”

You wordlessly slid your tray closer to him, a silent offering. He huffed out a laugh, plucking one of the pickles off your pile and popping it into his mouth. “You’re too good to me, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, taking a bite of your burger. The diner around you was alive with noise—low chatter, clinking plates, the sizzle of something fresh on the griddle—but sitting here with Jason, it all faded into comfortable background noise.

Jason reached over, stealing one of your fries. “So, this some kind of love language?”

You arched a brow. “What, giving you my pickles?”

“Yeah.” He chewed thoughtfully. “Like… ‘I’d die for you, and also, you can have my unwanted burger toppings.’”

You snorted. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Jason’s smirk softened just a little, something warm settling in his eyes. He nudged his plate toward you. “Well, then you can have the last onion ring. Y’know, ‘cause I’d die for you, too.”

You grinned, taking it without hesitation. “Romantic.” Your voice came out sarcastic but still playful.

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Eat your damn burger.”

And you did—without pickles, but with Jason sitting across from you, stealing your fries and giving you onion rings like it was a promise.

[adddddiiii]

Thinking about sleepy Jason Todd...

He was dead weight on top of you — warm, heavy, completely unbothered as he dozed against your shoulder.

“Jay,” you whispered, nudging him. “You’re crushing me.”

A sleepy grunt. No movement.

You tried again, shifting beneath him. Big mistake. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer. “No,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “You’re my pillow.”

You huffed, fingers threading into his messy hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jason let out a slow, satisfied sigh, completely content. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, voice fading into sleep. “Y'know, baby, pillows don't talk."

[squipa]

pro athlete!jason but he tries being all cool and nonchalant or whatever (“this one’s for you!” *completely misses*, gets upset whenever they interview/insinuate the other team has a chance of winning, and his team definitely fucks with him by flirting w/ reader) w sports journalist!reader

I see your vision nonnie

———

can’t think right, too tongue tied

aka collegehockeyplayer!jason x studentjournalist!reader fluff

———

collegehockeyplayer!jason who becomes utterly distracted when he sees you behind the bench for the first time, so much so that he completely misses his pass, giving up the puck. you’re brand new, an impossibly pretty girl sitting where some snotty journalism major normally takes notes and loudly complains to the team about their distaste for sports. your eyes are what capture him so completely, wide and determined glimpses of starlight following the puck with haste, all the while your gentle hands scribble on the notepad in your lap. apparently you’re replacing the other guy, who got moved to the advice column. not that he would have actually asked you, but his buddy noticed the way he couldn’t tear his gaze away from you.

collegehockeyplayer!jason who ignores you at first. it’s not out of malice or contempt, but because he has no idea what to say to you. you’re so perfect, gentle and kind and remarkably gorgeous— he can’t fathom you wanting to speak with someone like him. someone with a nose that healed crooked and giant scars covering his face.

he grows irrationally angry when he sees his horrible, meathead teammates dare speak to you. you look so nervous around them, your eyes shifting away in discomfort while you maintain a meek, respectful smile. you chit-chat, maybe even give a fake laugh, but he never sees your smile reach your eyes. of course, he fails to notice how he’s the only player you seem to look at when he’s on the ice, and how much you seem to grin whenever his name is brought up in conversation.

collegehockeyplayer!jason who is enchanted from the moment you tap on his shoulder, an entire head shorter than him. you meet his eyes with confidence, clutching your pen and paper tightly entirely out of place inside the men’s locker room, requesting an interview for the school’s paper. he doesn’t even have a chance to refuse, you’ve somehow talked him into an appointment tomorrow after practice all without him realizing. he spends the evening unsure of why he is so nervous at the thought of you asking him a few measly questions about his sport, and why he can’t get the way you looked when you smiled at him out of his head.

collegehockeyplayer!jason who slowly falls in love with you. slow, as in it takes him over half the season to realize how bewitched he is by you, but his affections are yours from the beginning. it’s his teammates fault he becomes aware of his overwhelming crush on you, for they knew long before he did and began flirting with you as a subtle way to fuck with him. he’d stare them down in a quiet rage whenever they dared bother you, breaking up the moment whenever you would laugh at their neanderthal jokes with a quiet request you would always oblige. he’s never been much of a flirt, there’s never been a soul he has wanted to be with as much as you. he had no idea how to go about it.

days when he can’t stop the excessive flirting, it really gets to him and his gloves always thud against the ice. he may not be good at talking to the girl he’s absolutely enamored with, but he knows how to throw a good punch. he wonders if you know he’s doing it for you.

collegehockeyplayer!jason who reads about every single one of your articles. it gets almost stalker-ish at certain points, he finds himself six paragraphs into an article you wrote about your highschool homecoming court at two in the morning. he can’t help the pink that dusts his cheeks when he reads his name in one of your papers. he can’t get the image out of his head, you, maybe at home, or in some corner of the newsroom, transcribing those little notes you’re always jotting down, thinking about him.

collegehockeyplayer!jason who ended up bothering you every minute he had off of the ice once he worked up the courage. would always leave the bench with a “this one’s for you.” and drop the puck within seconds of having it. he ended up having both the worst home game record and the best away game record of the season.

collegehockeyplayer!jason who would ask you a thousand questions before he asked you out. i mean, a thousand, none of which were all that interesting. from “so why are you doing the sports section,” to “do you like any other sports,” to “you think we’re a shoo in for the championship, right?” (the moment you imply that jump city’s team has better odds, he scoffs and you don’t see him for the rest of the game)

collegehockeyplayer!jason who refuses to act on his feelings. he’s not the right guy for someone like you. you’re soft, trusting, your lips spill endless kindnesses and your eyes search for the good instead of considering the bad. he’s rough around the edges, he’s got a temper fit for his sport and he looks at the world like it’s against him— because for so long, it has been.

collegehockeyplayer!jason who is on the second line, painfully aware of your eyes digging into his back. it’s seventeen minutes into the second overtime round of game seven of the NCAA finals, the final moments before the end of the championship. he’s been on the ice for over two minutes, he can hear the screams of the crowd pounding against his ears, the scraping of skates on the ice, the sound of the puck slapping against different sticks.

it could all be over now. metropolis is one good shot away from breaking the tie and sending him home empty handed. he should be off the ice, his legs are burning and no doubt his team is screaming his name— but all he can think about is you.

you’re the reason he’s here, the reason he scored two goals this game and the reason he’s played well enough to push his team to the finals. maybe he can’t tell you he loves you, but he’ll fight like hell to make himself someone worth loving. the other team is passing the puck around, dancing around the goalie while he eyes the trajectory of the disc.

for a moment, barely a second, his eyes meet yours— and you’re right there, looking back at him, eyes wide, lips parted with anticipation. you nod. he looks down. the puck slaps against his stick and he takes it.

he swirls it around the ice until his teammates aren’t off-sides, breaking away from a metropolis defenseman and shoving him against the glass. he’s faster than he’s ever been, pushing himself harder and harder, barely taking a second to breathe before he hits the puck right past the goalie’s knees.

for a second, it’s silent, still, like the world forgot to take a breath.

then the stadium erupts, he can feel his teammates hands on his back, he can feel himself slide off his helmet to shake off the sweat, he can feel the laugh escape his lips.

he doesn’t stop to celebrate with his team, he doesn’t cheer with the staff or the coach when he’s back by the bench— no. he finds you, eyes wide, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him smile.

“jason!” you exclaim, but he isn’t listening. he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, crashing his lips against yours.

collegehockeyplayer!jason who, after a season of yearning, now has a proud girlfriend cheering from the front row louder than anyone, and he doesn’t think he could be in love anymore than he is now.

———

1. finished this after seeing the stars avs game last night which is why it’s SOOOO hockey intense. so happy to be back in playoff season.

2. literally don’t know jack abt ncaa hockey so i just went with nhl rules don’t hate me but i felt like college hockey js went better w the rq. had SO much fun writing this i loooove hockey.

[jellofish-plant]

Sleep is Safer With You

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Genre: Hurt/Comfort | Fluff | Angst (Soft) Setting: Gotham City, Jason’s apartment | Post-patrol night

[Masterlist]

A/N: I decided to write a fanfic about the headcanons post

The door creaked open sometime after 3AM. You didn’t need to check the clock you’d been half-awake, waiting for him. You didn’t even flinch when the heavy boots were kicked off with a thud, followed by the soft clatter of armor hitting the floor.

Jason moved quietly when he could help it, but you could hear it in his movements tonight the exhaustion, the pain, the kind of silence that didn’t mean peace.

You kept your eyes closed as he padded into the bedroom, hoping he’d feel like he could melt into the quiet, not explain himself. The mattress dipped under his weight a moment later. A long breath left him. And then his arm slid around your waist. Carefully. Almost cautiously.

You turned in his hold without a word, resting your forehead against his chest.

He was warm. So much warmer than he had any right to be. You could smell the leather and gunpowder still clinging to his skin, but underneath it, there was the familiar scent of home.

Jason let out a low sigh, burying his nose into your hair.

“Sorry I woke you,” he mumbled, voice rough and quiet.

“You didn’t.” Your arms circled around his torso. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. That silence said more than words could.

You leaned back just enough to look at him, your hand coming up to brush the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. There was a new bruise blooming across his jaw, and a cut on his lip that had only half-scabbed over. But his eyes that unreadable storm of guilt and longing they were fixed on you like you were the only steady thing left in the world.

“I saw a kid tonight,” he finally said, voice low. “Looked like me. Back then. Before… all of it.”

Your thumb stroked a slow line down his cheek.

“I got him out. Safe. But…” He trailed off, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if I was just a second too late.”

You shifted, pulling him closer, until his head rested on your chest and your fingers wove through his hair.

“You weren’t too late,” you whispered. “You were right on time.”

His breath stuttered against you. “I don’t know how you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like it’s okay to sleep. Like I won’t wake up and everything’s gone again.”

You didn’t have an answer for that. You just held him tighter.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Eventually, you felt the tension bleed from his body. His breathing evened out, soft and steady against your collarbone. Your fingertips traced light patterns along his spine, and you pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Sleep is safer with you,” he’d once told you. And now, with him curled around you, vulnerable in a way he��d never show the world, you finally understood what he meant.

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo 

@a-brilliante-mariposa

@fandomtrashsblog

[blond3ang3l]

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰

Jason loves it when you ask him to show off his muscles. He bulked up pretty often just because the fear of not being strong enough hit him pretty hard so. But more importantly you loved cooking for him and you did it damn well so he couldn't ever refuse. Loves it the most how obsessed you are with his arms. It was your favorite place to be. Often whoever was looking for you found you either being cuddled by the big man. Arms either wrapped around you or your face literally dug into his muscles. He's so used you and your weird obsession with his arms. All the biting and teeth marks you would often leave on him when you were bored. You weren't the only one that loved when he bulked, but he did as well. He loved it because it made him feel older, like he wasn't the same child that waited for help that never came. Lifting you on his shoulders with ease when you needed to reach something, messing with Damian and Cass by picking them up like dogs being lifted by the scruffs of their neck, and more importantly being able to carry whenever you were tired. He did everything he could for you. How could he not when you made him the man he was? Better.

⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱♱⋰⋱♱⋰ ⋱✮⋰ ⋱⋰

[martiniluvr]

minors dni

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

thinking about that tiktok trend where people call their boyfriends “my husband” in front of them to see their reaction, and how if you did that to dick grayson, his ass would not hear a word you said after calling him that. just a big ole grin. ringing in his ears. butterflies in his stomach, flustered as all hell. he’d think about it for the rest of the week with a small smile, wondering if the idea is really so far-fetched.

now, jason todd wouldn’t even blink. like, yeah, he’s your husband. you’re his wife. obviously—he’s felt that way since about two months after you started dating, when he realised he couldn’t wake up next to anyone else ever again. he’d recall the jewellery store he passed a couple of weeks back with the emerald-cut, gold-set ruby in the window. well…all that’s missin’ is the ring, right?

that’s all.

[dntaed]

# 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃

──★ ˙ ̟ !! ONE-SHOTS.

WRAPPED IN RED ( sfw , fluff ; 1.2k wc ) — Your boyfriend's wish of seeing you in his clothes finally comes true!

CHERRIES KISS ( sfw , fluff ; 1.0k wc ) — Your sweet boyfriend comes to take you home.

SOAKED ( nsfw , suggestive ; 1.0k wc ) — It was supposed to be a no-nonsense, distraction-free session. Or at least, that’s what you thought would happen. turns out checking out your boyfriend while working out has consequences.

CRIMSON RINGS ( nsfw ; 3.4k wc ) — Your piercing eyes scan the crowd, searching across the mingling elite for a certain someone. Their dim glow reaches Jason even from the distance between you two—it turns luminous when you spot him. He almost chokes on his breath. Or, you and Jason share a dance at a gala and it takes an intense turn.

MY MAN ( sfw , fluff ; 1.4k wc ) — the batfamily catches jason and his partner during a date at the fair.

DAMSELS ( sfw , fluff ; 0.7k wc ) — You and your boyfriend spend the night watching horror movies.

──★ ˙ ̟ !! HEADCANONS.

HOW HE LOVES ( headcanons ; sfw , fluff ; 0.7k wc ) — How do the batboys show their love to you?

AS A BOYFRIEND? ( headcanons ; sfw , fluff ; 1.2k wc ) — headcanons about what type of boyfriend jason todd would be.

──★ ˙ ̟ !! SERIES.

OH, MY CLUMSY HEART ( roommate!jason ✗ gn!reader series on hiatus ) — A man, an expert in every unsavory action of his less-than-legal occupation, like Jason, shouldn't be so nervous about meeting a roommate. Yet here he is—his nails digging crescents into his palm as his eyes lock onto your nervous smile.

© dntaed | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified. viewer discretion is advised.

[iydiamartinx]

HOME IS IN YOUR ARMS

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune & @omi-resources word count: 456 synopsis: After a long day, jason comes home to your arms a/n: I don't usually write one-shots but I've been trying to dabble, it's short but i hope its good!

The apartment was dark when he finally made it home—barely a sliver of moonlight filtered through the blinds, tracing pale lines across the floor. Jason didn’t bother flipping on a light. He didn’t need to see. He knew every inch of this place like the back of his scarred hand. Knew the creak in the floorboard just before the hallway. Knew the smell of your lavender shampoo clinging to the pillows. Knew where you’d be.

He dropped his helmet by the door with a soft thud, the weight of it making the wood groan. The rest followed in pieces—jacket, boots, the bloodied shirt. It felt like he was peeling off armor that no longer worked. Every joint in his body ached. His knuckles were swollen, his ribs bruised. There was a sharp pain in his shoulder that whispered dislocated, but he didn’t have the energy to check.

The bedroom door was cracked open, and inside, you stirred.

You didn’t ask what time it was, or why he was late, or what kind of night he had. You just shifted under the blankets and held your arms open.

That was all it took.

Jason exhaled like the air had been trapped in his lungs all day. He climbed into the bed—slowly, carefully, like a wounded animal—and collapsed into you. His head found your chest, his arms wrapped weakly around your waist, and he let out a noise that wasn’t quite a sigh and not quite a sob.

You tucked him close without a word. Fingers sliding into his hair, stroking through the dark, sweat-damp strands with a tenderness that made his throat tighten.

“I’m here,” you murmured against his forehead.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His whole body sagged into yours, tension leaking out of him one breath at a time as you kept combing through his hair, slow and rhythmic.

And for the first time that night, maybe even the first time in weeks, Jason Todd allowed himself to rest. Not just sleep—but rest. The world faded at the edges, dulled by the softness of your touch, wrapped in your arms, he was finally home.

[vssail]

From: (...)

To: Jason Todd

Subject: Soo... you coming?

Yeah, yeah, I know what you want to answer me. "I don't like crowded places". You're lucky I'm a genius.

If we can't go to the cinema, we can celebrate Joe Wright's 2005 Pride and Prejudice aniversary at my place!

I got the movie on DVD. I know we could watch it directly on TV, but this way it feels more real, you know? With the 2005 vibe and everything. And I already bought like a lot, lot, LOT of popcorns. All flavors imaginable. So, you have to come now, unless you want me to die trying to eat all these popcorns by myself.

You better be at my door at seven, Todd.

(Please, come.)

(...)

From: Jason Todd

To: (...)

Subject: Re: Soo... you coming?

You're terrible. But sweet. Let's leave it at adorably terrible.

Give me five minutes to get there.

(You didn't have to do all that for me. But I appreciate it. Thank you.)

J

From: Jason Todd

To: (...)

Subject: New recipe

Alfred revealed to me the recipe of the brownies that you loved so much. I'm cooking them right now. If you get here quickly, you could be the tester.

And again, thank you for the other night. I had a great time. We should do it again. Chicken run turns 25 this year, if you need inspiration for the next movie.

J

P.S. Don't. Make. Jokes. About. The. Apron.

From: (...)

To: Jason Todd

Subject: Re: New recipe

[jason todd on a ripped batman apron.jpg]

Muehehehe

(...)

From: Jason Todd

To: (...)

Subject: Delete the pictures.

You have 30 minutes to delete them. Don't ask me what will happen if you don't.

J

From: (...)

To: Jason Todd

Subject: Mission Accomplished

Okay, okay, I deleted them. The only thing left of those pic is the one I printed and framed. I have it in a safe, so no one will be able to see it (unless they know my birthday).

Tho I must warn you someone may have hacked my phone before I got to delete them. I think so because an unknown number sent me a paypal payment and told me to get more pictures. Creepy.

Don't worry, I won't take more pictures. I am the only one that deserves to see that side of you ;)

(...)

P.S. You up for movie night tomorrow?

From: Jason Todd

To: (...)

Subject: Re: Mission Accomplished

I'm taking the food, there are some brownies left. I can make something else if you want. Maybe I can cook dinner before we watch the movie? Alf handed me another recipe, I could try it with you.

I'm taking an apron. Black. No pictures.

J

From: Jason Todd

To: Tim Drake

Subject: You're dead

Prepare your last words.

From: (...)

To: Jason Todd

Subject: Re: Re: Mission Accomplished

Awesome! I really love it when you go full Gordon Ramsey, like really, your cooking skills never fail to surprise me. Sometimes I think about kidnapping you so you cook for me everyday, but I back off when I remember you hide guns in the toaster.

Oooh I searched through my dad's old DVD's collection and I have a full list of films that we HAVE TO watch! Not gonna lie, the options could be better - but I want to keep the DVD thing. It's like our thing <3

[top best films to watch with jay - millenial dad edition.pdf]

We could do a Final destination marathon. I think another one is coming out this year so the timing is perfect!

(I know, no crowded rooms. I'll just get it somehow, don't worry.)

See you tomorrow, Todd :)

(...)

From: Tim Drake

To: (...)

Subject: Calm your dog

Yeah, I know, I'm sorry for hacking your phone. I was curious about who was Jason talking to through e-mails in this day and age. The picture was there and I couldn't let it go, yk? Now, I would appreciate if you talked with him to calm him down. I'm afraid his threat may not be as light as I thought it was.

Please, be quick. I think I'm hearing things in my appartment.

T. D.

[angelinloove]

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌. 𝒥. todd x fem!reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; while wandering the forest and gathering berries, you meet a distant and rather gruff stranger, wounded and in desperate need of assistance.

⤷ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; fantasy au, harpy!jason todd, mentions of blood and injury, profanities, animal hunting, and barely proof read. inspired by once upon a broken heart.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k

𝒜s the spring goddess rose from the underworld, the sun followed suit, melting away the harsh cold of the winter with a sweet kiss of fresh flowers and longer days. a metaphorical hope.

the rain returned, ending the long starvation of crops and the fertility of the soil. animals began to awake and the trees started sprouting lovely green leaves.

the forest surrounding you was humming with an unusual harmony, the nymphs and dryads settling into their trees, bathing in the blanket of warm sunlight. it was peaceful.

and a welcomed change of pace—the village had been growing rowdy, shrouded in the smoke of its most recent gossip grab. one of the many hunters had come barreling into the streets, claiming he almost caught an unheard of beast.

the man was always one for stories, but the passion in his voice hooked many into believing him. he told of a beast as dark as midnight, claws sharper than any werewolf he’d ever seen, with piercing eyes, black as coal.

he did not catch it, but he triumphantly held up a bloodied dagger, claiming he landed enough damage to cripple the poor thing. he insisted the village should start a wild search, desperate for a taste of the glory that catching a large, dangerous creature brought.

it was all bullshit, you'd say. he’s always been quick to boast, despite his various failed attempts at catching animals, even one's as small and feeble as a jackalope. you wonder, had he ever even seen a werewolf?

yes, the forest was vast and fruitful in more ways than one. it bore the berries you were currently gathering, and it was a habitat for many mythical creatures.

but nevertheless, you still doubted somebody like him discovered a supposed legend. a man covered in feathers and ash, with wings wider than the stretch of the stars.

for that very reason, you were warned by your parents not to go out. but you were in a wretched need of a break, so you left anyway.

the sun soon vanished into the horizon, lanterns flickered on, and the town was plagued with loud cheers of celebration. taverns opening with hunters celebrating their latest bloodshed.

you didn’t want to return just yet. the tranquil nature of the forest, its hum of crickets and hushing wind was like a sacred haven, drawing you in further. it was alive and breathing, the trees and the air shifted in ways an emotion would.

hunters would often get shunned by the forest, roots and branches curling around their ankles, trapping them in an endless, dark labyrinth.

like a mother, the nature surrounding you took an active role in protecting herself and the wildlife that she carried.

but she seemed to hold favor upon you, you were never perceived as a threat. to you, the bark opened itself up, beckoning you instead of pushing you away.

you weren't there to hunt—and she knew that, the forest had no need to defend herself. you left a good impression on the energy coruscating around the space, and you couldn't help the kindle of pride blooming in your chest at the thought.

you glanced to the left as a shadow passed over your head. the trees were starting to become more narrow, and the dirt path ended at your feet.

the berry bush before you was plucked empty, your basket only half full by the dark berries inside. you'd really didn't want to leave now, you felt a headache coming just at the thought of all the shouts of the villagers at home.

you had been told countless times not to wander further than the shabby dirt trail, but you already ignored the warnings of travelling this far, so you mind as well. you knew the forest wouldn’t let the feathery beast touch you, if it was even real.

the small rush of rebellion carried you forward, into the thickened silence of the night.

you could sense the subtle shift around you, the traces of human touch becoming sparse. the unbothered nature growling wildly, the trees curling above like claws tightening its grip.

oh, you should’ve come here ages ago, you thought to yourself in stunned awe, there was an abundance of bushes, different berries littering each one in plenty, fresh and ripe for picking.

you gathered various kinds until the basket was brimming, you were surprised the sweet smell wafting around didn’t attract the nose of any other critter, but happy nonetheless, this’ll do you and your parents well.

you were far from the richest in the village—you had enough to keep yourselves going, but you didn’t have anything left to tuck away in case of an emergency, and as the years passed and your folks grew older, the likelihood grew like a thriving vine in the midst of spring.

if you could cut some food costs with your foraging, well, you were more than willing to do so. meat of all kinds was plentiful and quite cheap, a large supply from the animals crawling around, but fruits and berries were spiking high in costs lately. the energy had shifted towards hunting this elusive beast and supplies ran short.

your basket was full, colours mixing and merging together as you tried to make room for more, but unfortunately, you reached its capacity. the sun had set, shrouding the trees around you in darkness, there was a slight chill in the air that made you huddle more into yourself to avoid the bite of the wind, it picked up surprisingly fast, unnaturally fast.

you wander forward, you didn’t bother to keep track of where you were going, the forest would shift you in the right direction, you just had to move and let the gentle caress of the branches lead you to safety.

the trees were a dark oak, the fresh leaves, sprouting to their full hue only days ago with the early spring, were pushed together closely, concealing anything far from view.

roots stuck wildly out of the ground, the muddied grass from the morning rain hiding them well, and the only reason you didn’t trip over a root when the sound of a low grumble reached your ears, was the tree flattening the root in front of your foot at that very last second.

you paused, straining your ears to listen, it was silent. the loud ring in your ears supplied evidence that it was nothing more than a trick of the rushing wind.

a twig cracked, like a heavy weight strained it to snap, and you knew it wasn’t the breeze playing a trick on you. you didn’t immediately panic, chances were it was a lost hunter, the forest playing a game of cat and mouse until they learned their lesson.

you swore you heard the grumble of a man—soothing most worries about a stray, potentially dangerous creature sniffing around, but you still kept your footsteps light as you followed the sound, peeking past the many trees in a hopeful attempt to remain somewhat hidden in case your suspicions proved wrong.

there was an opening, a small clearing where the tree lines swerved, a circular view of the clear night sky. it was beautiful, colourful flowers and moss spread across the rocks and logs laid on the grass.

the moon reached its highest point, bathing the clearing in a mesmerising glow, delicately highlighting each petal, every mushroom and each crevice carved onto the fallen logs.

...and the man covered in coal feathers, laying limply in the centre.

he was laying on his back, propped up by a particularly large rock, his hair dark with a white highlight, charcoal feathers covering his body like clothing and sharp wings cradled closely to his chest.

your eyes trailed up from his chest to his face, his skin glistening with sweat, black stains on his cheeks alluding towards the feathers sticking out of his hair, darker greys and blacks smudged over his eyes like makeup.

his chest was heaving, those surprisingly appealing features twisted in pain, he grunted once more, clearly in pain but keeping quiet nonetheless. he kept his left wing close to him, almost protectively.

you could see the issue almost immediately, those sharp, dark feathers couldn’t hide the unnatural twist of the shape. you didn’t know a lot about bird physiologically—but you could clearly see the carpal part of the wing bent.

your heart ached sympathetically, no doubt it had been the work of a hunter, probably out searching for that damn beast that man supposedly crippled.

you wanted to help, you really did, but you weren't exactly sure what you could do, and you had been warned time and time again to keep away from unknown beasts, especially injured ones. not only could they hold a bias from the human that harmed them in the first place, pain could cause instincts to go wild.

but somehow, you couldn’t see that with him, despite his features scrunched up in pain, those grey eyes held intelligence, far past a simple creature, and even some of the meat heads running around the village.

those dark eyes... holding depths you don’t think you've ever seen before, you were naturally quite curious, but this was different. you wondered, wondered what this man had seen, what caused the exhausted wiseness that plagued his handsome features.

he lured you in like a whirlpool, but you had to resist, despite the stab of need to assist him, you couldn’t risk it.

stepping back, you had an intent on slipping back into the forest, blending into the cast of shadows and moonlight.

but the crack of a stick underneath your foot wrecked the silence, and you could see the tense reaction underneath his feathers at the noise. your heart stopped before jumping into your throat.

you could almost hear the nymphs snickering from inside their tree trunks. assholes.

“who’s there?!” he called out, his voice rough with pain, like worn black leather, but it carried a deep smoothness, dark as a splatter of ink against parchment paper.

you didn't move a muscle, frozen as a marble statue, whilst covered in a blanket of darkness, you could still see him bathed and highlighted in moonlight, his body tense and those entrancing eyes darken in something akin to predatory anger.

“i already heard you.” he called out again, sounding tired and completely done with everything. he clearly had a long night, looking not too different from your father coming home from an unsuccessful hunt, “come out, now.”

with a deep inhale, you tried to steel yourself, attempting to smother the fear on your face. you're not sure how well you're doing but hopefully, it’s enough. running might only make things worse.

stepping into the clearing, hesitantly, you let the moon brighten your features until he could fully take you in. you were careful to keep your body open and unthreatening, you wouldn't want to trigger any feral survival instincts.

his eyes scammed up your body, similar in the way you did to him only moments ago, and you had to shove down a feeling of warmth that lingered where his eyes trailed. definitely isn’t the time for that.

the tense line of his body seemed to slacken slightly, the dark gleam in his eyes, one of somebody ready to shed blood, faded until he just looked tired, and perhaps even relieved, albeit still defensive. you're glad he didn’t want to kill you anymore, but part of you was kind of offended.

“uhm, hey... there.” you winced slightly as it slipped from your mouth, and his eyes remained unblinking as they stared at you. it felt like he could predict your every move before you even figured them out for yourself. “do you, uh... do you need help?”

“no.” 

his answer was short and curt, and you reconsider making a break for it, realising he doesn’t seem likely to chase you down and rip your throat out with those sharp claws, or something like that.

but when you linger for a moment longer, you vaguely made out the signs of blood.

alright, this guy clearly needed help, even if he didn’t want nor think he needed it, and you couldn't just leave him there because he chose to wake up stubborn.

“i don’t think that’s such a good idea,” you eyed his injuries once more, if they were not treated soon, the consequences could be fatal.

“i don’t need your fucking help,” he snapped at you, hostility evident in the way his wings tried to spread out, before fluttering shut and wrapping back around himself, a hiss of pain escaped his lips at the movement. “go away.”

both concern and irritation rose in you, you scratched the flight instinct, but you couldn't leave this man alone. despite his insistence, he needed help and you didn’t want to leave with a guilty conscious

“listen, guy—what’s your name?” you started, and the blank stare of annoyance he gave you told you he wasn’t planning on telling you anytime soon, and your own fire flares in response.

fine, we’ll play it like that. you thought to yourself as you took a deep, calming breath of air. i can be just as stubborn as you, believe me.

“you can’t fly, your wing is broken and i can see the large cut on the inner base, yes, right there.” you start, slowly inching closer when he doesn’t lunge at you, which is always a good sign.

you outstretched your hand again, “you’re grounded right now, and you need help. trust me, the hunters are rowdier than usual.”

he raised an eyebrow at that, and you strangely find yourself liking the curiosity that leaked into those irises.

“so, you can either let me help you, and save yourself a hell of pain,” you pause right in front of him and gaze into his eyes, you allow him a choice. you can’t force your help onto anybody.

“or... you can sit here and get your bloodied corpse dragged back to my village because you wanted to be tough.”

he grits his teeth, and you saw him chewing the option over in his head. you could read the exact moment he steeled himself and made his decision, turning his head away from yours in a huff.

“...fine.”

with an internal cheer of success, you finally crouched down to survey the damage. with the moon shifting towards the horizon, it meant you had to be fast before your light source completely vanished.

you were correct, there was a large cut on the bony base of his wing, blood had dried and crusted around it, stemming the worst of the bleeding, but if you didn't clean it now there was a large chance that it would get infected later.

biting your lip, you try to think of something you could use to clean it, you had nothing on you but the basket discarded on the ground.

“there’s a stream nearby, i can hear it.” he pipes up, and you’re not quite sure if his tone is actually bored, or if that’s how he sounds, a constant note of monotone. “if we go there—i can clean off in the water.”

you couldn’t hear anything, but you didn’t doubt he could, it wasn’t uncommon for the creatures of this forest possessing qualities humans didn’t, such as enhanced senses, and you briefly wonder how he didn’t hear you before the loud snap.

“then that’s where we’ll go.” you rise to your feet, and wince apologetically at him, “sorry, you’ll have to come with me, i don’t have a bucket or anything to carry the water back.”

“’s fine.” his tone is still curt, all business, and without a second thought, you reach out your hand to help him up, but he waved it away with a low grumble, swiftly turning into a huff of exertion as he shakily raised himself to his own feet.

he clearly had something against accepting help, you're surprised you convinced him to even let you clean his wounds.

despite his less than expressive face, you could see the discomfort in the stiff way he moved, he was clearly in pain, but refused your attempts to assist him to walk better.

it was a short walk to the small stream, it was almost as tightly closed as the trees surrounding you, but the man didn't hesitate to crumble in front of it, finally resting his sore body, and reaching for the moving water.

“hey—!” you call out before quickly sliding up next to him, dropping to your knees despite the stains of grass on your white dress. he looked at you, his gaze tempered with annoyance and confusion, “let me do it for you, i’ll be able to reach better.”

you could tell he wanted to protest, to decline you like he did before, but the sting of his wound chipped away at his resolve, and when he turned his head away and bared the large cut, you knew you had worn him down.

with a hum of approval, you reached down, and ripped a line off the red fabric layered onto your dress, draping it into the water until it collected enough moisture.

it wasn’t a massive deal, your mother was a fine seamstress, you had an abundance of linen and cotton materials, and she took it upon herself to teach you how to hand sew almost anything when you were still very small.

you tried to be as gentle as possible, but he jerked when you made contact with the raw parts of the cut, trying desperately to clean up the build of dirt and blood, justifying it to yourself that an infection would hurt much, much more.

“so,” conversation might be a good means of distraction, you thought. there was still a lot to go and you didn’t necessarily want to sit in the tense silence the whole time, “will you tell me your name now?”

you could practically hear him gritting his teeth, he stayed silent, surprisingly not making much noise for how much pain you knew for a fact he was in. even before, he had been awfully silent about his discomfort.

with a sigh, you realised you were going to be the one doing most of the talking in this one sided conversation. you gave him your name, and he remained silent, not speaking a word.

you continued on as you finally pushed through the worst of the grime. the dark red and browns clinging to his feathers washed off to leave behind a raw pink line. reaching down, you ripped off another large piece of fabric and wrapped it tightly around the wound until it was covered.

“…that’s a nice name.” it rumbled out of him, and you were completely taken aback, not just by his sudden vocalisation, but by the compliment itself, and you could feel a flush of heat growing on your face and neck.

“oh, thanks.” you coughed, trying to force it back down. standing up, you tried to offer him another hand, and this time, he took it. those sharp claws wrapped around your skin, but somehow, you didn't feel a prick of fear.

“...stay off that wing, alright?”

he seemed a tad more relaxed, tension still radiated from his large figure, but most of it seemed to come from the displeasure of his injuries and not him perceiving you as a threat.

“i’ll have to clean and wrap it again tomorrow,” you explain, you were no medic but you knew enough to at least be somewhat confident in what you were talking about, “come back here, same place and time.”

he snarled slightly at the idea, and you raised a confused eyebrow of your own, failing to see how what you said could’ve caused him to raise his hackles,

“no.”

“what, why?” you question him immediately, and he stared down at you mistrustfully, his nose scrunched up in obvious displeasure. it seemed to be one of his base emotions next to irritation, “if you want to get better, i need to keep up with the treatment, guy.”

“no.”

“you sure have a wide vocabulary, don’t you?”

you were tired, the moon was waning from the sky and you had been running around almost all night, you couldn’t handle any more of this, so you didn’t try to stop him when he turned away from you.

his wings curled more comfortably against his back, almost sheathing themselves, they were wide enough to almost completely conceal him from the back, but you could see a hint of his face when he turned back slightly.

“...thank you.” he almost choked it out, it was clearly a foreign sentence on his tongue, and judging by the note of loathing you could hear in his voice, he didn’t like it one bit.

that brought a small, lopsided smile to your face, and you called back in a much brighter, louder voice than his small little mumble of a grumble. “no problem!”

he took off, and you couldn’t help but stand there and watch as the darkness of the wild swallowed him up, the forest bending in his path.

...you rubbed your temple, a headache building from not only the lack of sleep, but the loud shouts of almost everybody in the small village, raging with questions and demands to know where you had been all night.

it was a darling relief to finally be let off the hook, after hours of chastising from your parents alone, basking in sweet silence was a luxury you'd never take for granted.

you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, your thoughts wandering back to the man you saw in the forest..those dark feathers, those wings, the dark way his eyes drank you in.

even during your painful lecture, your thoughts tended to drift back to him often, and in the back of your mind, you wondered if he was thinking about you as well.

you heard a rush of wind from outside, loud enough to make you jump, knocking you out from your thoughts about the dark haired man, and you quickly smoothed out your dress before making your way to the front door.

you opened it only to be greeted by nothing except an empty doorway. you glanced around for a short, stunned moment before a sweet smell traveled up to your nose, and you looked down.

it was your basket, still holding all those berries you had gathered, and accompanying the fresh fruits, a small note placed on top stood out against the bright colours.

you left your basket behind.

— jason.

[fromdove]

WHAT EACH BATBOYS' LOVE LANGUAGE WOULD BE !

“God help me, I think I’d let you burn every part of me, just to feel your fire.”

— bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd & duke thomas.

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

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Bruce Wayne — Acts of Service

Bruce Wayne speaks in the language of absence. Not just the physical kind—but the ache that blooms in the hollow of a sentence never finished.

He remembers, with the grim precision of a ticking clock, the last words his father said before the world cleaved open. They were nothing special—a reminder about theater etiquette, half a laugh. Ordinary, so utterly human. And then: gunpowder, scream, silence. Since then, Bruce has distrusted words. They are fleeting, breakable, unable to stop death.

So when he loves, he does not say it. He builds it, piece by trembling piece, behind the scenes. A second suit, custom-fitted for your frame. A silent wire transfer to cover your mother’s hospital bills. Patrol schedules adjusted so you never cross paths with the villain who left you limping. It is not spoken, but it is known—like the steady thrum beneath Gotham’s streets. Like the warmth in the gloves he leaves you before a snowstorm.

He is a man who wears grief like a second skin and still—still—teaches others how to survive it. That, perhaps, is his most intimate offering.

But sometimes the silence he trusts falters. His hand will linger too long on your shoulder. He’ll ask a question with more softness than precision. And in that moment, you are not just a soldier under his command, but someone who frightens him—because you matter. Because you could be lost, too. And he could not bear it.

For Bruce, love is not red roses or soft mornings—it is the constant readiness to shield you from a world he long ago stopped believing could be kind.

Yes, you’ll sometimes hear “I love you” from his lips. You’ll feel it in the way he drapes a blanket over your shoulders at 3AM, after you’ve fallen asleep at the console—no sound, no comment, just the quiet choreography of someone who remembers what it means to be cold and alone.

Dick Grayson — Physical Touch

Where Bruce is structure, Dick is soul. And his soul speaks in touch.

Raised in the spotlight of the Flying Graysons, his first language was the grasp of a hand mid-air, the trust-fall embrace between trapeze and skin. He was taught to reach, to catch, to cling—not just as a performance, but as a promise: I will not let you fall. That promise never left him.

Dick is the kind of person who will brush your arm when he passes by, lean his head on your shoulder just because, give the longest hugs and never pull away first. He’s that rare kind of warm who makes you forget cold ever existed. For him, physical closeness is grounding. He’s lived through enough loss to know how fast everything can be taken away—and so, when he loves you, he stays close. Literally. Always an arm around your back. Always the warmth of his hand over yours.

When you're hurting, he doesn't always know what to say—but he knows how to be there. He’ll sit with you on the floor, cross-legged, your knee touching his, until the words come. Or don’t. That’s fine too. He’s not there for the conversation. He’s there for you.

Dick loves like a campfire—glowing, open, steady. He lets you sit beside his warmth until you can feel your fingers again.

Jason Todd — Words of Affirmation

Jason loves like he’s running out of time.

He came into the world loud—gritty, rough-edged, smart-mouthed. But underneath that exterior was always a boy who wanted to be seen, heard, valued. When he first became Robin, Bruce gave him a purpose—but he also gave him silence. And when Jason died, when he came back to a world that barely whispered his name, something inside him shattered. He decided he’d never again sit in silence and wait for love to show itself. If it mattered, it had to be said. Out loud.

So now, Jason speaks with fire. With honesty. With vulnerability that burns in the back of his throat but comes out anyway. He tells you when you impress him. He tells you when you scare him. He tells you that you mean something, because he's not sure you’ll believe it unless you hear it. Over and over.

But more than that, he needs to hear it too. He needs someone to look at him and not see a mistake, or a weapon, or a ghost. He needs someone to say, I’m glad you came back. To remind him he’s not just the aftermath of tragedy, but someone who can still be loved and chosen, now.

He doesn’t want compliments. He wants truth. He wants raw, cracked-open honesty. When he loves you, he’ll write it into the way he talks to you. He’ll defend your name in rooms you’re not in. He’ll remember every little thing you say and bring it up a month later to prove he was listening.

Jason doesn’t say I love you casually. But when he does? It sounds like a promise. And it is.

Duke Thomas — Quality Time

Duke Thomas loves like a summer shadow—wide, warm, stretching long across the pavement beside you. Never ahead, never behind. Always beside.

His world cracked early, its colors blurred by the slow unraveling of his parents’ minds. And still—he reached toward the light. Still, he chose tenderness. There is something miraculous in that. Not naive. Brave.

Time is his love language because it was the first thing taken from him. He gives it now as offering, as resistance, as prayer. When you speak, he listens with the weight of someone cataloging galaxies. When he laughs, he laughs with his whole body—shoulders, chest, throat—as if joy is something sacred that must be honored, not hoarded.

He remembers your grandmother’s name. The stupid inside joke you made three months ago. The song you skipped, and the look in your eyes when you did it. And he never brings these things up to impress you. He remembers because you said them, and to Duke, what you say is part of who you are. And who you are is already worth remembering.

Love with Duke is not loud, not possessive. It is presence. It is walking to the edge of the rooftop and sitting beside you for an hour, saying nothing, letting the silence build a shelter. It is the beat before a battle where he catches your eye and nods—not a command, not a question. Just: I’m here.

He will never love halfway. He cannot. Even when the world turns brutal, he offers his whole self like a field of sunflowers that somehow blooms after the fire.

Time with him doesn’t feel like a countdown. It feels like breath returning. Like finally being seen not through a sniper’s scope, but through the steady gaze of someone who stays.