#Jason Todd x You

[gay-dorito-dust]

Roy: why are they in air jail? *points to you*

Jason: they keep biting me everywhere this little shit can get their teeth onto.

Roy: my client is innocent on all accounts.

Jason: how?

Roy: have you seen yourself lately? I’d do the same. Tenfold 🫦

Jason: *now holding both you and Roy in air jail*

You: you’re a shit imaginary lawyer Roy.

Roy: that may be true but we’re both being held by a big, strong man right now.

You:…I retract my statement, you’re the best.

Roy: don’t I know it.

[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. "My man—he's gonna beat your ass if you try any funny shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was so hot, bestie, God."

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

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

"Yeah," he nods, lips twitching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You beam at him. "I love youuu."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm flattered, baby."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We live here?"

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

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

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

Jason snickers. "Well, you picked it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth drops open. "Holy shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp, awed. "Oh my God."

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

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

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

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

"Did you just—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They spray people, doll."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Show me your dick."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts, "Knock yourself out, doll."

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

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

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

He grins, eyes sparkling. "Plenty."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nope," you agree, completely unrepentant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're unbelievable."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squint, suspicious. "Are you sure?"

Jason grins, "Pretty damn sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pick one," you demand, pouting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes widen. "When? Details!"

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

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

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

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

You sigh dramatically. "You love it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[literary-dolly]

mr. & mrs. todd

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 6.4k warnings: ANGST (this was meant to be funny, its not), violence/fighting, alcohol as a coping mechanism, implied sexual content

Jason has always prided himself on his ability to keep his vigilante life a secret - he'd never considered you might have some secrets of your own. (Inspired by Mr. and Mrs. Smith, 2005)

It’s a peace he hasn’t felt in a long time, he thinks, as he settles himself against the garden wall of the manor, cigarette flickering dim in the evening husk.

Jason’s eyes burn through the window into the kitchen, where you stand with Damian, Steph and Duke. You’re all laughing outrageously, doubled over against the counters as his youngest brother pouts dramatically, arms folded across his chest with enough gusto to make him look like the petulant child he is at heart.

You are ethereal, is what he thinks.

“Hell of a party, Little Wing,” Dick’s voice rings out from the doorway, a soft fondness decorating his words, “Personally, I never thought we’d see the day.”

Jason takes a drag and his brow knots into a frown, but there’s no real heat in his response, “Calm it with the Little Wing. And the attitude, you smug bastard.”

“She can’t hear us out here, Jay,” he isn’t sure Dick’s smile could be any bigger as he slots himself next to his brother, coming to share his view of the kitchen.

As you lift your hand to ruffle Damian’s hair, he catches sight of it. The ring. Bruce had insisted, when he’d found out (albeit weeks afterwards and by accident), that the family had a party to celebrate your engagement. The first of his kids to be on the marriage track, he’d never seen the old man so elated in his life.

“Are you happy, Jason?” It’s sudden, and Dick doesn’t turn to look at him, his eyes instead following you and Steph rummaging around the fridge to no doubt concoct some horrendous dessert that they’d all be subjected to as soon as they went back inside. There’s a hint of concern in his tone.

“What could I possibly have to be unhappy about?” Jason never thought he’d say those words genuinely, but here he was. Just watching you was enough to feed the fire in his stomach; it had once been raging, uncontrollable, but now it was a slow simmer more akin to whiskey at the end of the night than a natural disaster. It burned, in a good way.

Dick hesitates for a second, lips pulling into a taut smile that reeked of brotherly apprehension, “Are you going to tell her?”

“No.”

“What if she finds out?”

“Christ, Dick,” His words come out harsher than he intends them to, but he hadn’t counted on Dick being the one so adamant to ruin his day.

“It’s a hard secret to keep, Jason,” Dick mumbles as though he might spook him, “Especially for the rest of your life. I’m just worried about you having to keep it.”

“I’m not a masochist, believe it or not,” Jason lets the cigarette drop from his lips before stamping on it harshly, “I, for one, don’t intend on being a vigilante forever.”

“What if she finds out?”

“Dick.” It’s a warning now, blazing hot in the back of his throat. He expected this from Bruce, not his elder brother, “I’ve made it this far, I can go the distance.”

They’re silent for a few minutes after that, and Jason finds he enjoys Dick’s company significantly more that way. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it, what he would do if you found out about the Red Hood. It never took more than a few seconds for the idea to leave his mind – there was simply no way you could ever know. You were everything to him in your domesticity, curled up in his bed, your bed, when he got back from his night shift as a ‘bouncer’.

You had been nothing but angelic since the day he met you. You’d soothed the aching parts of him with ease, tempering the beast so many had tried and failed to before you’d stepped through the door of the bar that night. It irked him to think he’d gone soft, but he had to be soft for you. He couldn’t bear the image of the way your face would morph if you found out who he was. What he’d done. You had given him the gift of freedom, not having to be what the world had made him when he was slotted against you in the early hours of the morning.

It shocks him when Dick yanks him into a hug, solid and unmoving, “I’m so happy for you, Jay, don’t think I’m not.”

Jason’s eyes don’t leave you through the window as Damian barks orders, watching vigilantly as you saunter to the kitchen drawer with all the familiarity of your own home to pull out a knife to chop whatever it was the younger was demanding.

What he sees next captures his attention, just for a moment.

He watches the way the knife ripples unusually, back and forth through your fingertips with a practiced ease that he’s not even sure he could manage on his better days. He could’ve blinked and missed it, it’s mere seconds before your grip settles around the handle and you turn to face the rest of the group with a serene smile, chattering away with Steph in spite of his brother’s rampant command of the room.

It's only then that he realises Dick is chanting his name, and he has to blink to remove the image from his mind. It’s nothing, he tells himself, he’s seen you do it with pens before when you sit scribbling away at your desk at all hours of the day.

The feeling dissipates, and by the time he lets out the breath he’d been holding, it’s like it was never there at all.

Dick’s smile is mocking, and he keeps an arm slung around Jason’s shoulders as they begin to move towards the house, “You are so in love, it’s actually sickening.”

“Yeah, yeah, green’s never been your colour, Dickie,” Jason lets out a low chuckle, shoving his brother off with no real malice.

“Okay, ouch,” The other replies, pushing him back with a little more force, but the smile in his voice is enough to make up for it.

They grapple back and forth for a few minutes, laughing lightly when they catch each other’s feet or successfully twist the other into a headlock. Eventually, Jason casts his gaze towards the window again, catching your eye this time. You send him a tender smile, and crook your finger dramatically for him to come and rejoin you.

“C’mon, Dickwad,” Jason huffs, dragging his brother up by the collar, “Time to go back inside.”

“God, you are whipped.”

Yeah, he definitely is.

“Hey, baby,” you croon, emerging from the kitchen to tuck yourself against his side as soon as he enters the lounge; his arm comes to settle around your waist without a second thought. Rather than reply he simply presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Looked like the two of you were having fun out there.”

“Mm, that’s one word for it.” It comes out as a grumble, and you swat at his chest with mock annoyance. He can’t fight the smile that forms as you stare up at him, eyes filled with nothing other than pure adoration. “I’ve had more than enough Dick Grayson for one lifetime.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your face slips into a sly grin, “Ready for a lifetime of something else?”

“Something like that,” he muses, chuckling as you draw back in mock offense.

You repeat his words back to him over and over, pacing rapidly to feign outrage, muttering to yourself about how your husband couldn’t possibly behave in such a way. Jason doesn’t let you get too far, reaching out to pull you back against him with a jolt.

It was never an option to not be happy, he thinks as you draw small circles onto his jacket, he has everything he could ever need in his arms.

 “No, no, Jay. Over that way,” you huff, watching your fiancé stand somewhat gormlessly in the middle of your apartment with a box full of kitchen supplies in his arms. Your new apartment, your mind supplies, and it sends a dribble of warmth all the way down to your fingertips.

He grumbles out something akin to ‘Whatever you say, Princess’ before disappearing off into the kitchen, and you throw your head back with laughter at his disgruntled disposition. He was tired, you could tell – it had been a long day carrying boxes up flights of stairs, driving back and forth from your old apartment. He’d been at work until late last night and had come home with a nasty blackened bruise ringing round his left eye, after which he’d unenthusiastically told the story of the drunkard at the bar who refused to leave after being cut off. It’s safe to say Jason was in the mood to lick his wounds.

As soon as he’s out of sight, however, you cast a worried look towards the crate stuffed into the corner of the room. It was disgustingly unprofessional of you, to leave gear out in the open like that where anyone could see it. Anyone. Jason had returned quicker than you’d anticipated from his last run back to your old apartment for the evening, and you could hazard a guess he’d sped his way over with enough haste to near half his previous time.

The likelihood of him actually looking through the box was slim; it had your name plastered across the side of it in bold writing. That wasn’t your main concern. It was more the concept of such violent objects tainting the space that plagued your thoughts, having weapons used to inflict so much harm spoiling the air around your perfect fiancé and the home you were building together.

You never had any intention of bringing such mercilessness home with you.

Jason reappears from the kitchen, drink in hand and propped leisurely in the doorway. A lazy smile graces his lips, and for a moment you fear your body can’t contain the devotion you feel for the man stood in front of you. He watches you like a hawk as you balance haphazardly (or so you would lead him to believe) on a chair, attempting to fit the curtains against the wall to fend off the sun beating its way through the windows.

It stirs something deep in the pit of your stomach, to see him so protective. It was a look that only he graced you with these days, you were more accustomed to cold stares and ruthless commands befitting of the expertise attributed to your name. To most, you were not something to protect, but something to be protected from.

But never to Jason. Jason who cradled you close in the morning as the sun would flicker through the blinds, grasping at you desperate to spend more time in your embrace. Jason who would whistle rock songs to himself in the kitchen as he cooked for you each night. Jason who brought you flowers. Jason who took you on dates. Jason who loved you enough to put a ring on your finger and proudly claim to the rest of the world that you were his. For life.

You can’t help but think he wouldn’t feel the same if he knew who you really were. There was no way the knowledge that when you went on work trips – overnight or sometimes days – that it was to squeeze the life out of someone simply because you’d been paid to, would not change your relationship. He would leave. He would leave and take the only parts of you that weren’t monstrous with him.

You would die before you let Jason Todd know what you were. Since the day in the bar when he’d brought you a drink, blue-green eyes rimmed with mischief, you’d known that you could never taint such purity with your disease.

“You okay, Princess?” There’s concern in the way he cocks his head to the side, “You look a little lost there.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble, letting out a laugh that could only be described as nervous. “I’m good, just thinking about what I want to do with the place. Thoughts?”

“Not my area, sweetheart.”

“So, you’d like anything I put up?”

“I’d say that I did, at least.”

It’s as you turn to chastise him that the curtain rod slips out of your grip, heavy brass ricocheting off the wall with a heavy thunk. It’s instinct to brace for the impact, pulling your head down as you prepare for the thick metal to come crashing down onto your head.

It never does.

In an instant, Jason is there. Arm raised, taut, holding the bar in place without even the slightest hint of exertion. No indication that he had just traversed about fifteen feet in a second. He’d moved before you’d even known you’d dropped the bar, now standing only a few inches from your face with his eyes boring into your own, an intensity marring his features you weren’t certain you’d seen before this very moment. He hadn’t even spilt a drop of his drink.

You have to try and convince yourself that it was possible. Will yourself to believe it.

A grin splits on his face before your thoughts can get much further, “What’s it like? Having a knight in shining armour? I’d love to know.”

It’s possible, you decide swiftly. Jason’s a bouncer. He’s more than used to dealing with all manner of fights and troubles, often having to spot them before they can even escalate into an issue. He just has quick reflexes.

“Don’t start,” you snort, clambering down from the chair you’d been standing on as Jason moves to gently set the rod on the ground. It can wait until tomorrow.

“Funny way of saying thank you,” Jason’s voice is snide, but there’s nothing of the sort on his face as his arms come to settle around your waist, tucking his chin atop your head. It’s all so sickeningly domestic.

“I can think of a few ways to say thank you,” you tease, tracing a finger around his jaw, relishing in the way his Adam’s apple bobs at the action, “But I don’t know that a knight in shining armour would stoop to such debauchery.”

A squeal rips out your mouth as he hoists you over his shoulder as though he was picking up a doll and starts to move towards the bedroom, rumbling quiet comments to himself as he moves. It was the only part of the apartment that was finished.

“You’d be surprised how low I can stoop, Sweetheart,” it’s rough and daring when he says it, placing you down onto the bed and hovering over you like some kind of apex predator. It doesn’t take long for your lips to collide, teeth clacking against each other with the fervour of your actions. Your hands run freely up and down his back, tugging at the bottom of his sweatshirt in a desperate attempt to get more. It’s a heated moment, but it does nothing to quell the sentiment that burns in your throat when your eyes meet his. It’s surprisingly tender given the circumstances, and you realise all at once that there wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do to protect a lifetime with Jason Todd.

It’s sadistic, Jason thinks as he traverses the rooftops at breakneck speed, how much he craves the chase. How even after all these years of being Red Hood, there’s a bloodlust within him that never seems to falter. He knows all the Bats love the chase, but they’re chasing victory.

Jason’s chasing the feeling of battered knuckles and the taste of blood between his teeth.

He’d been tracking this gang for months, dismantling their defences sporadically, week by week taking down men and taking them out with extreme prejudice. It had been one of the most exhaustive cases he’d worked in his time as a vigilante, the roots of this organisation ran deep, bigger than Gotham and its mismatched collection of rogues who acted on their own whims. He didn’t have to care what they did outside of his city, but while they were in it, they were his issue to deal with.

As he drops down onto the shoulders of his first victim, he doesn’t have to do much more than let his over 200 pounds do the work, landing atop him with a blood-curdling crunch. He puts a bullet into the back of his skull for good measure. The second presents more of a challenge, coming at him with his arms raised and a bat clenched in his whitened fists. All it takes is a well-timed pistol-whip to send him sprawling onto the concrete.

When he confirms that there are no more of them hiding in the shadows, he hoists himself back up to the rooftops with sure footing, losing no time in his pursuit as his feet thunder against the ground.

That is, until the red dot appears on his chest.

It almost gives him whiplash as he slides to a halt, feet barely remaining planted beneath him. Begrudgingly, but out of instinct, his arms begin to slowly raise up at his sides as his eyes scan for the perpetrator, nothing more than the will to hunt pulsing through his veins.

“Red Hood,” the modulated voice rings through his comms, unfamiliar, “Nice evening, you think?”

“Beautiful architecture,” his voice is scathing as it drips out, “I’d love to know what it looks like from your point of view.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” There’s no way to tell with absolute certainty but he’s fairly sure the voice is female, the ever so slight twists in cadence giving it away. He briefly considers his size advantage but stifles the thought when he realises it’s not of much use to him against an L96.

“You’ll have to forgive my manners, but I have a long list of people that could want me dead,” he tries to remain as casual as possible, attempting to buy himself time to figure out where his opponent lies in wait, “Would you mind clarifying which one you would be?”

“I wouldn’t waste your time worrying about that,” The voice scoffs, ���Surely, you’ve got better things to think about in your final moments. Life not flashing before your eyes yet?”

As if on cue his helmet’s systems kick in, the heat signature of the unnamed shooter coming into view in the distance. It’s barely a dash on the Gotham skyline, but he’s locked onto his target like an attack dog, chomping at the bit and begging to be released.

“Been there, done that,” he practically spits out, “I’ve got better things to look at.”

And with that, he’s in pursuit. He’s sprinting over the rooftops as fast as his feet will carry him as the familiar whistle of shots begin to fly past his head, far too close for comfort. He tries his utmost to make himself a difficult target, veering from his course ever so slightly, gasping as bullets bury themselves from where he stood milliseconds prior.

The speck in his vision grows bigger with each footstep, and his opponent seems to realise the same as they too begin to retreat. It gives him a sick sense of satisfaction, watching them run away, like they all do.

It’s not long before he gets his first glimpse of the shooter, donned in all black, zipping out onto the rooftops themselves. They’re quick, he realises, but not as quick as him. He’s barrelling forward with such pace that it throws him when they turn on their heel, drawing a gun from their holster and aiming directly for him.

The shots echo out before he’s wary enough to adjust his position, but he’s certainly aware when a bullet lodges itself in his shoulder precisely through the gap in his armour. It’s enough to make him lose his footing as the figure approaches slowly. It’s all calculated and precise, no harsh movements. Almost languid.

Jason manages to peel himself off his hands and knees with a grunt, burying his feet into the ground with all that he can muster, fists raised to meet his enemy in the battlefield.

“They told me you were good,” it’s not through his comms this time, instead ringing out into the silent midnight air and distinctively more female than through his earpiece, “They lied.”

“Depends who you’re talking to, I suppose,” he growls, eliciting a sharp laugh from the woman opposite him.

“Oh, I talk to lots of people. They all gave me the impression that you were downright remarkable.”

“If that’s an attempt at flirting, I’m gonna have to inform you I’m taken.”

“It’s not flirting, sweetheart. God, they did mention you had an ego too.” It’s infuriating how casual the voice rings out, like he’s not just been shot and is currently running the risk of bleeding out into a puddle on the ground before this progresses any further.

“As much as I’m enjoying this foreplay, what’dya say we skip the niceties and get down to business?”  He takes the opportunity to draw his guns from their holsters at his thighs, starting to circle like a vulture around the woman and ignore the pain throbbing down his left arm.

“So stoic. So courteous. So professional. I didn’t think a brute like you had it in him, Hood.”

It strikes like lightning as the first kick smashes into his torso, and he’s fairly certain he can feel the shattering of multiple ribs in the way his exhale rattles. It’s not enough to knock him over but instead puts him in the perfect position to bring an elbow down, swift and formidable, down onto your collarbone as he doubles over. It surprises him, when his opponent does little more than grimace at the impact, instead reaching out to lock their hands behind his head and yank his face towards their knee. He feels the impact before it even comes.

It remains like that for what feels like hours, trading blows backwards and forwards ruthlessly without ever faltering. Jason isn’t sure if its fear or anticipation that churns his stomach, having finally met a match for his callous fighting-style toe to toe. It’s hard not to revel in it, it was rare these days that he was given the opportunity to test himself against an evenly matched opponent. You’re both wrecks, he thinks, as he considers their torn suit, shattered helmet and seemingly broken ankle. His splintered ribs, severe concussion and bullet wounds.

“Looking a little worse for wear over there,” Jason hisses through ragged breaths, “Need to take a breather?”

“If it means spending any more time in this shitty company, then no.”

It surprises him when the sound of a baton snapping into place rings out and he watches it as it comes to rain down upon him, cracking harshly across his already mangled helmet. He pushes back on his heels to create some distance and watches as the baton spins between their fingers smoothly, pulling it back to crack like a whip.

He watches as the baton spins.

He watches as it spins.

He moves without thinking, his arm locking above him in a sudden motion, hand clamped around your wrist with an unyielding strength and squeezes. He doesn’t have to squeeze very hard before it drops, too busy staring at the way your jaw sits ever so slightly on a hinge as the same realisation that had dawned on him only seconds before seems to settle over you.

Behind dominos your gazes are locked, the world quietening to nothing more than a hum in his ears. The disorientation is one akin to a bomb exploding, the fuzzy feeling of waking up twenty feet away from where he’d started without any idea of what was up or down anymore, eyes blinded and ears ringing.

It’s barely audible when your name crosses his lips, and for the first time in the evening he watches your entire body flinch as he says it. In spite of his better judgement, he lets go of your arm, practically throwing it back towards your body with enough force that it sends you stumbling backwards a few steps.

“Jay… Jason?” There’s pure confusion in the way the words leave your mouth, and he can’t help but bite out a laugh because yeah, he’s fucking confused alright. It’s a seamless transition as you seem to go from bewildered to rageful, stalking forward to meet him face-to-face, “Jason, what are you doing here? Why are you here? Did someone –”

“What am I doing here?” He’s never shouted at you like this in the time that he’s known you, if he knows you, but he can’t quieten himself as the words pour out, “What the fuck are you doing? What the FUCK is going on here?”

He recoils when you come at him with just as much vigour; he’d always been the hot head between the pair of you, never once having seen you on the brink of any kind of attack, “Don’t you dare scream at me like you don’t have some fucking explaining to do!”

“Why? What are you going to do? Shoot me?” He falls into a crouch, hands pressed onto the ground just to assure him that it’s still there and real, not that he really wants it to be. “This – No – This has to be a dream. This is not happening. What are you? Who are you?”

“Don’t be pathetic Jason,” it leaves your lips as a growl, but it does nothing to hide the way your body is trembling, “It isn’t a dream.”

In an instant he’s up, cradling your head between his palms. He’s sickened by how familiar the feeling is up close, how he thought he’d know you anywhere but now can’t seem to recognise you only inches away from his face.

“Baby, please, has someone done this to you? Tell me who. Tell me now.”

“Jason, stop. Stop, please,” you’re halfway between a sob and a scream, “Stop it. Don’t make this more confusing than it is.”

“Tell me, now.”

The snarl that leaves your mouth is downright sinister, and immediately he knows it’s going to be burned into his brain for as long as he lives, “I did.”

His hands slip away at that, falling limp at his sides. He doesn’t miss the way you lurch forward to try and follow them, head hung low on your shoulders. It’s rabid, he thinks, the way the breaths tear out of you, contracting your entire body in some kind of spasm – it’s a sight he recognises, but only ever from the mirror. He recognises it well enough to know to brace for impact when the fist comes swinging around towards him.

“I trusted you,” you scream, a torrent of kicks and blows pressing forward against him, “It can’t be you.”

It’s clear you’re trying to convince yourself more than him.

When he moves it’s on autopilot as he blocks punches and pushes back against kicks. There are no thoughts in his mind when he cracks the butt of his gun against your head, and there is no feeling when he watches your body still, crumbling to the ground in a heap. The vigilante in him calls out in his mind, you let your emotions get the better of you. That’s why he won.

The human in him can’t help but reach down to check your pulse and make sure you’re still breathing.

It’s a war inside, tearing him apart as he stares down at your unconscious form, and he doesn’t know what to do. The logical thing would be to take you to the Cave, tell Bruce and Dick and all the rest of them what you’d done, let them help figure out who the mysterious stranger who made themselves at home in every part of his life was.

He can’t bring himself to do that.

So instead, he runs.

His footing is steady but quick, as always, as he retreats back across the Gotham skyline, leaving you in a puddle of broken bones and blood on the ground. He’s not much better, black clouding the edges of his vision as every step jolts through his body. It’s an odd feeling, to plead for unconsciousness, to beg that his mind will blacken and then his eyes will open again. That he’ll be in bed beside you, and that he’ll get to tell you about his nightmare over your morning coffee. His first death had been physical, but he can’t help but feel that this one hurt so much more.

He’s practically a ghost, haunting the walls of the Manor away from the hubbub of Bruce’s latest gala. The neck of the bottle clasped between his fingers is far too familiar at this point, one he’s become accustomed to in the days since he’d last seen you. It wasn’t normally such a public affair, however, especially not when he can feel himself beginning to unravel at the seams in a room full of far too many people.

He can’t help but wonder if you feel the same. The thought is gone as quickly as it comes when he remembers that he doesn’t know who you are and therefore couldn’t possibly make a judgement on how you felt. You’d seemed eager enough to try and dispose of him that night on the roof, so maybe it was bitterness about his survival that was plaguing your dreams instead of longing.

Dick catches his eye briefly, sending him a concerned smile and a small wave from across the room. Jason would like to say it wasn’t out of character, that one of Dick’s many roles at a gala wasn’t to ‘keep an eye’ on Jason and make sure everything remained civilised – but Dick had been annoyingly astute over the past few days, and it was clear his elder brother knew that something was wrong. Surprisingly, he hadn’t questioned the lack of your presence, seemingly accepting every excuse Jason had fed him. Doctor’s appointment. At the supermarket. Working late, which is what he had told his family this evening.

Which is why he feels it in his bones when you appear at the top of the stairway.

It takes his breath away, and in spite of everything the feeling burns with familiarity in his chest. You had always taken his breath away. From where you stand, scanning the room with what he can attest is a lethal precision, hair styled perfectly, clothes tailored to every dip and curve of your body, it’s hard for him not to see you as his fiancé. He’s acutely aware it’s a pipe dream.

Your eyes catch his almost instantly when he pulls away from the wall, used to finding each other in a room so crowded. It’s a smile that graces your features as you nod politely, making your way through the bourgeoise like a panther in the trees. He plasters on a smile too, the picture of an adoring couple, extending his hand to pull you to the dance floor – you grunt as he swings you round to face him with an unnecessary degree of force.

“Hell of a swing, darling,” it takes all he can muster to hide the wavering in his voice when he finally finds it, and he can only hope it comes out as coolly as he’d imagined.

“Hell of a catch.” Your response is curt, prised between your artificial smile. His breath catches in his throat when you press a manicured hand to his chest, but his eyes roll back at the gesture.

“No need, darling, I’m not armed – but it’s cute that you’re so nervous.”

“You have a Bowie knife in your right breast pocket.” The look you send him is one he would’ve typically associated with when he forgot to take the trash out. Or when he guessed the end of a film halfway through.

“And you have a dagger strapped to your thigh,” he adds with a feigned innocence, spinning you in tandem with the rest of the crowd.

“A little caution never killed anyone.” Now that hits him in the jugular; you say it so leisurely, but the glint in your pupil is enough to give away what you’re talking about. Funnily enough, his resurrection had never come up in previous conversation. 

“Oh, so you have been reading up on me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He calls your name with a bittersweet tone, savouring the taste as the syllables form in his mouth, before narrowing his eyes, “If that is your real name.”

“Ja-son,” you chide with an all-knowing smile, “I would never lie to you about something like that.”

“You didn’t know either, did you?” It dawns on him all at once, and he relishes in the way your eyes widen in surprise.

“Of course I did.”

“Did you?”

“At least I don’t come from a family of famed detectives,” your words are sharp, clearly intended to be cutting, but it does little more than evoke a laugh from him.

“And you fooled us all. You really are something, sweetheart. All I need to figure out is what you are.”

“You had plenty of opportunity to figure that out when you left me for dead on a rooftop.” If he’s not mistaken, it’s hurt that mars your words – old habits die hard, and his chest seems to cave at the accusation. “Definitely wouldn’t have made it to the wedding on time.”

The mention of the wedding quietens you both momentarily, an unspoken sadness hanging heavy in the air. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes seem to glaze over ever so slightly, and every nerve in him screams to pull you close, to hold you against his chest and soothe all your worries away. Your hand tightens on his shoulder, and for a brief second you can both pretend that nothing has changed. That the world does not extend beyond your spot on the dancefloor, and that it is just the two of you on a united front.

“Please,” he’s begging, and it’s shameless, “Please just tell me why.”

“You’re not the only one that’s owed an explanation,” it’s clear your reply was intended to be cutting, but instead it just comes out deflated.

“All these years, the whole time?” Jason says it under his breath, and there’s a foolish moment that he hopes that you won’t hear him. He’s not sure he wants to know.

You pause, before nodding slowly, “You too?”

He can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he nods back. The pair of you return to quiet for a few minutes, regaining some warped sense of peace. It churns his stomach to imagine what everyone else must think watching Bruce Wayne’s son and fiancé dance together in their fairytale romance, that they’re the picture of love, success and happiness. The most sickening thing about it is that a week ago it would have been true.

“Can we just pretend?” Your voice breaks as you say it, and your eyes meet up close for the first time in the evening, “We could just go back to the way things were.”

Selfishly, in his own emotional turmoil, he’d failed to consider that you weren’t angry, or vengeful, or wanted him dead. That you were just as broken as he was. That you too were spending your evenings curled up alone with a bottle begging for it to soften the pain of the blows that you’d both dealt against each other.

In spite of that, he hardens his jaw, “You know we can’t.”

“I thought you might say that,” your words are measured and slow, and he can feel the air being sucked out of the room with every syllable. It’s as though all emotion drains from your face, leaving nothing behind but a blank canvas. Without a sound, you move forward to press a tender kiss to his cheek.

And then you’re gone. Like you were never there in the first place.

Jason can’t bring himself to move away from his spot on the dancefloor, fearful that if he steps away that he’ll realise all too quickly that it was all a dream. That he’d imagined you returning to his arms, swaying with him to music – it had to be a dream because he could never really deny you, right? He could never have turned you away, not when you’d begged to have him back in front of his own eyes.

He jumps when Dick places a hand on his shoulder, all smiles and cheeks reddened with an ever so slightly tipsy blush, “Jay! I came to catch the happy couple, seems I’ve missed your better half. I thought she wasn’t coming tonight?”

“She wasn’t,” is all Jason can supply in return, doing his best to scan the room for wherever alcohol seems to be the most easily accessible. Christ, he wasn’t even a big drinker.

“You okay, man?” Dick’s voice shifts slightly, “Where is she? Is something wrong?”

It’s at that very moment, as the song finishes, that the crowd parts towards the walls of the Manor. It’s then that he sees it. The handbag that had been tucked under your arm, laying strewn haphazardly in the middle of the room. The blood immediately drains from his body, and he’s not sure if he imagines the ticking sound – it’s something that has haunted him before, for obvious reasons – but without the music of the band to hide it, he’s certain its ringing loud and clear.

Dick seems to realise as he does, all signs of drunkenness disappearing quickly, “Jason. Jason. What’s that? Jason, move.”

Vaguely he can make out the sound of Dick’s shouting to disperse the crowd, but he can’t hear it over his own retreating footsteps, backing away steadily from the bag on the floor. It’s not very heroic, he thinks, but he’s not sure he has it in him to be heroic right now.

When the bomb goes off, it’s not enough to be devastating, but it’s definitely enough to leave him knocked to the ground.

In the haze, the smoke in the air and the intermittent screaming that fills the room, it’s all too easy for his eyes to find you. You’re nothing more than a silhouette in the fog of activity, looming over from your perch on the balcony – he thinks that he can see your mouth move as you begin to turn on your heel, ready to disappear.

It takes a second to register in the chaos, as he hoists himself to his feet. It’s all too confusing, he thinks, when he realises that what you said might just be I’m sorry.

Guys you don't understand when I had this idea it was going to be comedy. Instead I listened to Amy Winehouse the whole time I wrote it and now its this.

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it, leave me alone.

[ditzydoe444]

MDNI 18+

jason todd loves cock warming, having his pretty princess perched comfortably whilst sucking his fingers with her mind fuzzy. “come on sweetheart,” he cooed softly as he adjusted you on his lap straddling him, “i won’t move ok? just me inside you.” his large hands undoing his belt before taking his cock out of his boxers, it heavy in his hands as he gave it a few pumps. “your pussy just feels too damn good.” the moment his tip nudged against your cunt a small groan left his mouth, “fuck sweetheart, you’re gonna be the death of me.” your soppy hole clenched around him tightly, like it was going to milk him dry. “big stretch yeah?” his voice soft as he watched your cunt accomodate him, stretched out obscenely to have a small bulge near your stomach. one of his hand gripped your waist softly, whilst the other travelled up to your lips before slipping in. “suck on ‘em sweetheart,” he ordered deeply, watching the way your plush lips wrapped around them, your big round eyes staring at him whilst you slobbered all over them. “so messy, gonna need to clean you up after this hm?” he cooed as you hummed around his fingers, staring at him dumbly.

[robinpoison]

PUSSY DRUNK!JASON TODD

afab, cunt devouring, clit play, squirting

Jason Todd Loves your pussy, it tastes like heaven. He loves to go in between your legs— peppering kisses on the surface of your cunt and smell that sweet musk coming out from your slick.

Jason presses kisses on your pussy, then a light lick to your clit. And looks at you with a hungry gaze, “Can I?” he asks— his lips brushing to your wet cunt. You looked at him with hazy eyes and nodded, “Please.” He smirks before diving in to your cunt, his tongue disappears in your folds as you let out a long moan.

Your back arches and your fingers tangle in his hair, chanting his name over and over again. He loved the taste of your pussy, he could absolutely get lost in the sweet taste of your cunt.

He grabs your thighs and hooks them on his shoulders as he lifts you up a bit— getting a better angle to fuck you with. “Jason— Jason! S’ close..” you moaned out. Jason looks up at you, wanting to see your reaction as you come undone— and when you did, he rides out your orgasm.

He then moves to your clit, closing his eyes as he laps and sucks against your sensitive bud and you swore you were seeing stars. Your hips twitch and involuntary grind on his mouth while your legs shake as you feel something pull in your stomach.

“Jason— ah.. wait..” you pleased, he opens his eyes to look at you “What’s wrong sweetheart?” he asks as he presses a kiss on your clit, “Im gonna squirt.” you said, a bit embarrassed.

“Then do it.” he says as he dives in your clit again— lapping faster than before. You let out a high pitched moan as your legs close on him, he parts them with his big hands and places it on his shoulders.

Eventually, you squirted on his face. You panted as you looked at him embarrassed, “F-fuck sorry I’m..” then you felt him lick from your cunt to your clit, “Can you do that again baby?”

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTRAWBERRY BABYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Jason Todd x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : You Just Gave Birth To Your Child, Jason's Child, The Love Of Your Life. But Everything Went Wrong When You Saw The Child...

☆⁠ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Your life was supposed to be perfect right now. You just gave birth to your beautiful baby—a moment that should have been magical, joyous, and filled with happy tears.

Instead, you were losing your mind.

Because the baby in your arms… did not have black hair. Not even a single dark strand.

No.

Because the baby—the tiny, fresh-out-the-womb infant that you had just spent hours screaming into existence—was blonde.

Blonde.

BLONDE.

And he looked exactly like Jason.

Now, for most normal people, this wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, it would be a cute, happy moment—"Oh wow, he looks just like his dad!"—but you? No. You were spiraling. Because Jason had black hair. Jet black. Dark as the night. Dark as his soul (romantically speaking).

And your baby?

Your baby had a tuft of blonde hair that made him look like a tiny cherub sent straight from heaven.

Which made no damn sense.

You hadn’t cheated. Hell, you barely even looked at other men since getting together with Jason because—let’s be honest—your man was already borderline psychotic when it came to his jealousy.

So, if you had cheated (which, again, you HADN’T), you would already be dead. There would be no hospital room. No baby. Just a Jason-shaped shadow standing over your shallow grave.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were staring at your son, this tiny, beautiful baby with blonde hair.

Which would be fine. If Jason had fucking blonde hair.

But he didn’t. He had black hair.

You were a hundred percent sure of that. You had run your fingers through that thick, inky hair so many times. You had tugged it when he pissed you off. You had yanked it when—

That didn’t matter right now.

Because either you had just given birth to the wrong child, or—OR—

“Oh my God,” you choked, your voice cracking as you looked at the baby in your arms with sheer, bone-deep horror. “Jason’s going to think I cheated on him.”

The room went silent.

A nurse looked at you with wide eyes, hesitating mid-step. Alfred, ever the picture of composure, cleared his throat, carefully folding a tiny onesie. And Dick—because of course Dick was here—froze mid-bite of his celebratory snack, a hospital pudding cup, before slowly turning to you.

“Uh… what?”

“I didn’t cheat on him,” you gasped, convulsing in hormonal sobs as you clutched the tiny baby closer to your chest. “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”

“I mean, obviously,” Tim mumbled, looking more alarmed at your emotional breakdown than at the situation itself.

But you weren’t listening. You were spiraling, your voice getting more frantic.

“Oh my God. What if they gave me the wrong baby?” you whispered, eyes darting wildly around the hospital room. “What if some poor woman out there has my real baby? And I have hers?”

“Miss, please,” Alfred sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Damian, perched in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, made a disgusted sound. “That’s your child, idiot. It looks just like Todd.”

“NO, HE DOESN’T!” you wailed. “JASON HAS BLACK HAIR!”

Damian just scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I—WHAT?!” you shrieked.

Dick sighed dramatically, putting his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe we have to do this right now. Jason’s gonna lose his mind.”

That set you off even worse. Jason’s gonna lose his mind?! Oh God, oh God, he was going to think you cheated. He was going to leave. He was going to storm in here, take one look at the baby, and—

You sobbed harder. Ugly cried harder.

Bruce actually looked like he was reconsidering every decision that led him to this moment.

“Uh, wow,” Tim muttered.

“I didn’t cheat,” you repeated, voice breaking. “I mean—how would I even have the time?! Jason’s always around! He’d kill anyone who looked at me for too long! It doesn’t make sense!”

“Why are you trying to convince us?” Damian scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be telling Todd?”

Your stomach dropped.

Jason.

Jason wasn’t here.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

“I—I love him so much,” you sobbed, clutching your little (wrong?!) baby. “I—oh my God—what if he leaves me?! What if he thinks I—Oh God, he’s gonna think I cheated, and I didn’t, I swear—”

“Jason’s going to break the door down when he gets here,” Tim muttered, rubbing his temples.

“No, he won’t,” Bruce grumbled.

CRASH.

Jason absolutely broke the door down.

It slammed against the wall so hard that even your baby, who had been peacefully asleep through your meltdown, flinched.

"Fucking Gotham traffic, I swear to—"

He froze.

You were crying.

Sobbing.

Hysterical.

His brain ran a million miles per hour. Did something happen? Did you change your mind about the name? Did one of the nurses insult you? Did he leave the oven on? Did someone die?

His eyes darted to the baby in your arms.

Tiny. Swaddled. Breathing.

Okay. Not dead.

So why the fuck were you crying like this was a damn crime scene?

"Uh," Jason started. "Baby? What’s wrong?"

You let out another broken sob, clutching the baby to your chest.

Jason panicked.

You started crying so hard you couldn’t even get words out. Just absolute, gut-wrenching sobs while Jason rushed to your bedside, grabbing your face.

“Baby, baby, what’s wrong?!” he panicked, his voice an octave higher. “Did they hurt you?! Are you in pain?! Do I have to kill someone?! Is it Bruce?! I bet it’s Bruce.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose, deeply unimpressed.

It's just made you cry harder.

"Oh, God—what happened?! Are you okay?! Is the baby okay—"

"Jason, I SWEAR I didn’t cheat on you!" you blurted out.

Jason blinked.

Everyone collectively flinched.

"…What?" Jason said, voice flat.

"I didn’t cheat! I would never cheat! I love you, and you were my first, and I would never, I would never, I—"

"Baby," Jason said slowly, trying to wrap his head around this absolute fever dream. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You let out another shaky breath, eyes darting around the room in pure panic. "T-the baby, Jason. Look at him."

Jason frowned, stepping closer. He looked at the baby. Looked at you. Looked at the baby again.

"…Yeah?" he said, confused.

"He has blonde hair!"

Jason blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then turned to the rest of the family like they had the answers.

Dick rubbed his temples. "Jay."

Jason turned back to you, lips parting like he was about to say something, then stopping. Then opening again. Then stopping.

“I swear I didn’t!” Your sobs renewed, your shoulders shaking as you held up the tiny, peacefully sleeping baby. “But look at him! He has blonde hair! He looks exactly like you! But you have black hair! I think I got the wrong baby, or I cheated on you in my sleep, or maybe you’re going to leave me—”

Jason stared.

Then he turned, slowly, toward the rest of the room. “…Did you guys let her spiral like this on purpose?”

“Yes,” Damian said, unbothered.

“Absolutely,” Dick grinned.

Jason inhaled deeply.

Then, to your absolute shock, he let out a long, tired sigh—before shoving a hand through his hair and grumbling, “I fucking forgot you didn’t know.”

You hiccupped again. “Wh—what?”

Jason gave you a flat look. “Babe. My hair. I’ve been dyeing it black since I was a kid.”

Your breath caught. “Huh?”

“Because of him,” Jason added, jerking his thumb toward Dick, who just wiggled his fingers in a smug little wave.

Silence.

More silence.

The world stopped.

The Earth stopped spinning.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

Jason nodded.

"You… had blonde hair?"

Jason nodded again.

You sniffled. Sniffled again. Processed this information.

Then immediately let out a loud, gut-wrenching, ugly sob and buried your face in your hands.

Jason Todd. Your husband. Your big, scary, six-foot-four, muscle-bound, leather-wearing husband. The man who used to be the meanest street kid in Crime Alley. The man who could disassemble a gun with his eyes closed and had murdered actual people.

Had spent his entire life dyeing his hair because he wanted to look like Dick Grayson.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes wide.

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Babe—”

“Oh my God.”

“Listen, it’s not—”

“You mean to tell me I’ve been married to you this whole time thinking you had black hair, but you’re actually some kind of undercover blonde?!”

“Strawberry blonde,” Tim corrected.

Jason shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

You gasped, gripping his jacket like you might collapse. “You mean to tell me this baby is actually yours?”

Jason exhaled. Then he stepped forward, resting a warm, solid hand against your cheek before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, babe,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin. “He’s mine.”

"Oh my God," you wailed. "I’m so stupid."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Jason sat on the bed, grabbing you. "You’re not stupid. You just had a baby. And hormones. And clearly, no one ever showed you my baby pictures."

"This whole time," you hiccupped, voice muffled, "I thought they swapped our baby, and I stole some random kid. I thought you were gonna leave me!"

Jason sighed, rubbing your back. "Sweetheart, I would never leave you. Especially not over our perfectly fine, baby."

Damian scoffed. "Tt. As if anyone else would willingly have a child with Todd."

Jason shot him a glare. "Not the time, demon."

Dick sighed, stepping forward and ruffling Jason’s hair. "Guess we should’ve mentioned that whole blonde thing earlier, huh?"

Jason glared. "You think?"

Stephanie shook her head. "I thought everyone knew. It's, like, a family fun fact at this point."

"I DIDN’T KNOW!" you shouted.

Jason pulled you into his arms, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. "It’s okay, babe. It’s okay. I promise."

You sniffled, eyes red and puffy. "So… he’s really yours?"

Jason pressed a kiss to your forehead. "He’s really mine."

You let out a weak whimper. "I wanna see your baby pictures."

Jason chuckled. "Alright, sweetheart. When we get home, I’ll show you all of them."

Tim crossed his arms. "I have them saved on my phone."

Jason turned his head. "Why the fuck do you have baby pictures of me on your phone?"

Tim shrugged. "For emergencies."

Jason squinted. "…What kind of emergencies?"

Tim smirked. "Like this one."

Jason pulled back, finally looking down at the baby in your arms.

And—oh.

The storm in his eyes vanished.

Replaced by something warm. Something deep. Something soft.

The big, scary Red Hood, suddenly looked—small.

Awe-struck.

Because there, curled in your arms, was a tiny, sleeping baby with blonde hair and soft little features that looked just like his.

Jason swallowed.

Then, hesitantly, he reached out, brushing his fingers over the baby’s little fist.

“…Holy shit,” he murmured.

Dick grinned. “You made a clone.”

Jason turned to you, eyes softening.

Then he kissed you—long, deep, and full of love.

“I love you,” he muttered, lips still against yours.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[jellofish-plant]

Table for One (Big Dysfunctional Family)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Genre: Fluff, Humor, Found Family vibes Warnings: Mild language, a lot of sibling banter, overprotective Bat-Dad Bruce

[Masterlist]

You were beginning to think you had walked into an ambush.

Jason had kept it suspiciously casual when he mentioned dinner at the Manor “Just a small thing, babe. Chill night, nothing fancy. I’ll drive.” You should’ve known something was up the second he actually wore a button-down that didn’t have a grease stain on it.

Now, sitting at an absurdly long dining table that could host a royal banquet, you were surrounded by all the Bat-kids. And Bruce.

Jason sat beside you, leg bouncing under the table in barely concealed anxiety. His arm brushed yours, grounding you both as you smiled nervously at the Wayne clan.

“So,” Tim said from across the table, peering at you over his glass of water. “How’d you two meet?”

Before you could answer, Jason cut in. “Not through crime, thanks for asking.”

“That wasn’t the question,” Damian muttered, stabbing a green bean like it had personally offended him. “But now I’m suspicious.”

“I was ordering a coffee,” you said, chuckling. “He was behind me in line and looked like he hadn’t slept in three days.”

“I hadn’t,” Jason said, leaning back smugly. “But I still got your number.”

“Pity,” you teased.

Dick grinned from the other end of the table. “Okay, but like real talk, how are you still with him after hearing him snore?”

Jason groaned. “I do not snore.”

You patted his thigh under the table. “He really does. It’s kind of adorable, though.”

“Betrayal,” he muttered, deadpan.

Bruce finally cleared his throat, his first real contribution to the conversation. “You seem… grounded.”

You blinked. “Thank you…?”

Jason raised a brow. “Wow, high praise, B.”

“I like grounded,” Bruce added gruffly, then focused back on his plate like he hadn’t just given you the Bat-version of a glowing review.

“You’ve passed the Dad Test,” Dick whispered dramatically, pretending to wipe a tear. “It’s beautiful.”

Alfred came in then with a tray of dessert and offered you the first slice. Jason leaned over, whispering, “They’re being weirdly nice. I think they like you.”

“They like me more than you, for sure,” you whispered back.

Jason snorted. “Yeah. No one’s surprised.”

As the night wound down, the conversation buzzed around you jokes, bickering, sarcastic jabs, and a warm undercurrent of love beneath the chaos. Jason looked at home here, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

Later, when you were slipping on your jacket in the entryway, Dick nudged your shoulder and whispered, “Hey. Thanks for being good to him.”

Your heart softened. “Thanks for letting me in.”

Jason appeared behind you, grabbing his keys, and held the door open. “Ready to escape this circus?”

You smiled at him. “We definitely have to come back.”

He blinked. “You want to?”

You nodded. “It’s messy. But it’s your messy.”

He kissed your temple, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “You’re crazier than I am.”

You grinned. “Yeah. That’s probably why we work.”

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo 

@a-brilliante-mariposa

@fandomtrashsblog

[shaddork]

wait no but lowkey might just fill the entire thing out in relation to TSTWD anyways lmao

✍️ more fic writer asks!

reblog & your followers can send asks with the questions they’d like you to answer!

the last sentence you wrote

a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

how you feel about your current WIP

a story idea you haven’t written yet

first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

the word that appears the most in your current draft (wordcounter.net can tell you)

your preferred writing fonts

if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

start to finish, how long did it take you to write the last fic you posted?

what is the longest amount of time you’ve let a draft rest before you finished it?

a WIP you’d like to finish someday

a trope you’re really into right now

a fandom you’re thinking about writing for

where do you get your inspiration?

favorite weather for writing

favorite place to write

talk about your writing and editing process

if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

in what year did you publish your first fic?

when did you publish your most recent fic?

do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

pick three keywords that describe your writing

how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

are you able to write with other people around?

your favorite part of the writing process

your least favorite part of the writing process

how easy is it for you to come up with titles?

share a fic you’re especially proud of

[glamourscat]

ᴘᴀᴏʟᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʀᴀɴᴄᴇꜱᴄᴀ | Jason Todd x Reader

reader is a magic user | i had this little one shot idea so here it is lol | Jason wasn’t supposed to be here. A quiet Friday night uined by Roy and a magical screw-up. He didn’t expect the too-bright house, the strange group of people, or the girl who walked in holding Dante’s Inferno like it was second nature. You didn’t expect much from the night either, just another mess to clean up. But then there’s him. A stranger who knows your favorite passage before you say it, who looks at you like he’s trying to read every hidden line beneath your words. This is a stroy of two people who met by chance, in the quietness between chaos. And found something in each other they weren’t looking for.

Jason was starstruck.

No, he wasn’t exaggerating. The moment he saw you walk into the room, his eyes widened instinctively. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was your style, uncannily similar to his. Or maybe it was the massive, spray-edged copy of Dante’s Inferno in your hands.

When Roy had said, “Hey man, sooo… I might, hypothetically speaking of course, have set off some magic curse loose and I need to meet with some people who work with magic—but I need you to come with me,” Jason had looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

Not just because it was December, close to Christmas but not quite. Which meant Gotham was a chaos pit and vigilante hours were hellish. But also because this particular Friday night had been, against all odds, a rare moment of peace. Free time. And now it is gone. All thanks to Roy’s persistence.

So here he was. In a questionably loud house with too much pink and too much light. With Roy, for some reason Stephanie and Tim, who showed up uninvited for some reason. And then there was the group that Roy had told him about, but there was one missing. And until they showed up he was stuck in this pink hell for the foreseeable future. 

As Jason stood there, mentally debating the quickest way to disappear without offending anyone, his eyes wandered across the room. The bookshelves caught him first, a huge display of three bookshelves with everything on it. From fantasy to classics, manga and anime figures scattered among them. Whoever lived here had taste. No doubt.

And as he was lost in his thoughts, he almost missed it. The way the group talking to Roy suddenly shifted their attention to the opening front door. You walked in. Poised, calm, like you were used to this. Tired, maybe, but you hid it well thanks to the way you held your head high. You smiled when Stephanie and Tim greeted you with hugs, like a group of old friends reuniting. You welcomed Roy like he hadn’t just dumped another magical disaster on your plate.

And then, your eyes met his.

Jason felt his brain short circuit. You said something, he could see your lips move but everything else faded. Sound, movement. He just stood there, staring like a dumbass. Real smooth Todd. 

“I—shit, sorry. Uh, nice book.” Nice book? Really? Pathetic.

But your eyes lit up, a smile crossing your face, as your eyes flick briefly to the cover. “You think? I’m studying it for my classical literature program.”

“What’s your favorite passage?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. His mouth had fully betrayed him now. “Mine is—”

“Paolo and Francesca,” you both said at once.

There’s a pause. Not long, but long enough that Jason feels it stretch between you like a thread pulled too tight until it snaps. Your eyes flick to him with curiosity. His heart beats faster than he’d like to admit.

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t want to sound too cynical. The way you are yapping about the book is not in a negative way, just… resigned, like you’ve thought about this before. Like maybe you've seen too many things you couldn’t explain away.

“I liked that it was written with compassion,” you add after a beat, your thumb brushing the book’s cover. “Dante judged them, sure. But he still let them be together.”

Jason watches you quietly. There’s something soft in the way you talk about tragedy. Not indulgent, not performative. Just… understanding. You didn’t flinch at the weight of it. And maybe that’s what struck him so much about you. Not the book, and sharing the same passage as your guy's favourite. Not the confidence. But your quietness, that was louder than any loudness he has ever heard in his 24 years of life. Like you could tell the difference between suffering that mattered and suffering that didn’t.

He clears his throat. “Didn’t expect to meet someone who could make hell sound comforting.”

You give him a look that’s unreadable, but not cold. “It’s not comforting. Just familiar.”

And again he doesn’t know what to say to that. So he just stays there, standing across from you, as you carry the conversation. The hum of the room fading out as his mind focuses on you and only you. 

Neither of you notice when Stephanie leans over toward Tim and Roy on the couch, all three of them whispering and side eyeing the two of you like you’re part of some cheap television show that they’re consuming in real time.

“She’s never talked this much to anyone new,” Stephanie murmurs, impressed.

“She quoted Dante back to him,” Tim adds. “It’s over. We have lost her”

Roy grins like he’s won something. “You’re welcome.”

Meanwhile, Jason hasn’t moved. He watches the way your fingers graze the pages of the book. You look like you’re thinking about something else already. Or maybe about him. Your conversation. He can’t tell. He’s never been great at reading people like that.

But he wants to learn. Just this once. He feels the unexplainable urge to know everything that the pretty head of yours is thinking. To know your deepest fears. What your heart desires. 

He doesn't know why. Jason doesn’t act like this, usually. Always. And he wants to hate it, he wants to protest against his head, but he can't. He can't find it in him to mind it. Not even a little bit. 

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[arkhambug]

you were staring. very unabashedly so, too. just… oogling your boyfriend, watching as he lounged on your couch, his black shirt fitted around bulging arms, the hem riding up around his tummy to reveal that line of thick black hair that dipped below his plaid pants.

oh my god, those stupid plaid pants. they made you wonder what the hell the hype was about grey sweats, when those existed.

and it’s not like you had anything to be ashamed about, either. he was your boyfriend, all six foot something of him, for fucks sake. all the thick muscles, and short cropped hair, and scars, and fuck, those eyes. you could look if you damn well wanted to.

you’d tried very hard to convince yourself all morning that you were fine, and definitely not ovulating, and fine.

but in that moment, watching your boyfriend literally just sit there, eyes shut and head tipped back, this was not you. it was some evil entity, possessing you and in full swing. you were ready to jump him, and it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet.

your gaze kept dropping lower, toward those pecs, all soft and plush beneath the fabric of his tee, and you could feel yourself start to salivate.

it wasn’t even anything provocative either, but the sight of his tits in a black shirt, tight over the unflexed muscle, was driving you up a god damned wall.

you curled your legs up beneath you, arm perching you against the back of the couch, the other pressed between the low of your thighs to physically retrain yourself from grabbing him like a deranged person.

because, no matter what you did, it was almost impossible to stop imagining just throwing yourself at him, and doing some entirely unspeakable things. things you know you’d never do unless it was this god forsaken time of month.

“you good, ma?” Jason asked, finally breaking the tense silence, and drawing your attention away from his torso. he was staring back now, one brow raised quizzically, and his scared lip curled up in questioning.

“your eyes are dilatin’ and shit.”

yeah. you got up, wordlessly, and walked toward the kitchen.

[theobservatory]

i love the way you write about jason, especially in the confession post- can i request jason with a very very talkative SO??

Thank you pookie !! Hopefully I didn't make reader annoying, I kinda based her off myself when I start feeling manic lmaoo, it's the only time I really get talkative IRL so it was kinda all I had to base it on

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

Talkative｡⁠.ﾟ★ ˎˊ˗

｡⁠☆Synopsis: a few snapshots of you talking Jason's ear off

｡⁠☆Cw: mention of harassment, inane conversation topics, mention of body horror

You're sitting on the couch. One of Jason's large hands is rubbing little circles on your thigh, the other is holding his phone as he gets as much work done as he can without his computer. He would go get it, but you've already gotten comfortable laying your head on his shoulder.

"So then Alyssa- you remember Alyssa, don't you?" No, he does not. "So Alyssa tells Jackson to go file the rest of the reports, right?"

"Mhm."

"Right, only for him to quit, right on the fucking spot. Like I don't like this job either, but I'm still giving my two weeks because some of us still have courtesy! It's not about the business, it's about our coworkers, our kinda friends who we'd rather not inconvenience because they're pleasant enough, but would never hangout with outside of work. God, he was an asshole anyway."

"I believe it."

"And then- wait oh my God, Jason! I completely forgot to tell you about Anna! The new girl! Turns out she's sleeping with our boss's son!" Oh, that guy he remembers.

"The guy who slapped your ass?" The same one who you said isn't bothering you anymore, and he's trying to trust you, but he doesn't really believe it.

"The one and only." You groan. "Must've moved onto fresh meat, poor Anna. She's a sweet girl y'know?"

"Mhm."

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

"Jay."

He grunts, turning over in bed to look at you. Your eyes are wide in the moonlight, not a speck of the sleepiness that was there just a few minutes ago. Jason wishes he could share the sentiment. Frankly, he's exhausted, and he's been looking forward to sleeping all day.

"Do you ever think about the fact that we're all brains puppeting fleshy meat suits? How crazy is that?!"

Jason sighs. Half of his job in your life is to protect you from the horrors of the world, but sometimes he believes you are the horrors in question. Not that he minds. You can be a worm and he would love you all the same.

"Baby, go to sleep."

"But Jay, I can't stop thinking about it! We're just a bunch of nerves disguised by a vaguely animal flesh bag and-"

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling you into his chest.

"Sleep." He grunts again.

You laugh. "Okay."

The blissful silence doesn't last long.

"Jay?"

"Yes, nuisance who won't go to sleep?"

"Rude. I just wanted to tell you that you're my favorite meat puppet in the world, but maybe I take it back now."

"I'm okay with that."

"Jason!" You pinch his arm.

"If I tell you you're my favorite puppet will you go to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Then you're my favorite." Quieter he mumbles, "for some fucking reason."

｡⁠.ﾟ✧ ˎˊ˗

"Okay, now the recipe requires two eggs, a cup of water, and vegetable oil. Can you grab the eggs out the fridge for me."

"I got it."

"Thanks. Did you know my mom wanted to raise chickens when we were kids, even though I've never lived on a farm? Plus, I don't even like chickens, they're like tiny predators! If I had to-"

"Sweetheart, mix the eggs."

"Oh, right. If I had to choose between fighting one chicken sized horse, or one horse sized chicken, I would choose the horse every time!"

"Mhm."

"Well, I'm still biased because I like horses, but still! I don't know, maybe I should use the analogy with a wolf, because I'm still choosing the wolf every time."

"The next step?"

"Mix wet and dry ingredients together. Actually, while we're on the topic-"

New blog theme new me, y'all. Do we like it ? I made almost all the dividers myself (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Not proofread as usual, posting this right before bed so I'll see y'all in the morning. I have a post about baby names ready for tomorrow, so look forward to that, and PLEASE give me your input I don't wanna give them dumb names 😔💔

｡⁠☆Requests Open...?

[killerplink]

You: You know, baby, sitting on your lap does wonders for my mental health.

Jason: You've been here for an hour, doll.

You: Mental health is a journey, Jay. Let me heal.

Jason: You're grindin'.

You: It's the trauma leaving my body.

[squipa]

willlll u write maybe Jason and reader get into an argument and he feels rlly guilty about it and tries to be forgiven

yes!! thank you for the rq nonnie <33

———

for reasons wretched and divine

aka you and jason fight on valentine’s day

———

jason’s violent. he’s volatile. angry, broken, his knuckles are littered with little red marks and bruises, his eyes shine green with a little bit of the darkness that lets his blood pump. he’s a fallen star, cratered in the center of a hellish abyss. his light, which had once been so bright, burns everything around him.

everything except you. you— the oasis, an angelic field, bright with a light that isn’t fire, an island he can take solace in beyond his life of ash and ruin. you tend to the burn marks under his skin, quietly soothing them with nothing but the love you give to him so freely, the adoration you press into his lips, the warmth you trace over his scars.

in the oasis, he isn’t violent. he isn’t volatile. he’s not angry, or broken, the scars on his knuckles begin to fade, the green in his eyes shines with the gift of life. he’s gentle, beloved, and happy. your light shines brighter than the sun, the rays pouring past his skin into his heart, healing him, making him whole. he’d stay there forever if he could. he doesn’t know why he leaves. he doesn’t know why he strays. you’re his home, the only person who nurtures the dying light of his fallen star, the only person who believes he could ever shine so brightly.

perhaps no amount of love can kill that fire. nothing can make him forget the sensation of burning alive, crawling out of a corpse and into a world that liked to forget him. he hates the burning in his chest, a flame that devours and destroys, who can never let him live in comfort, or understand peace. he runs from it, taking cover in your arms while you blow back the smoke. you’re the only one he wants to protect from the all consuming heat that controls him.

he isn’t always successful.

you don’t normally get angry. occasionally you’ll get distant, retreating into a shell for a day or two before you force yourself out of it, apologizing profusely and explaining your emotions with a tenderness that melts the ice thick between you.

but today, you’re livid. you feel the anger bubbling up in your chest, a sorry substitute for the sadness and betrayal that made tears burn against your eyes. it’s a sick feeling, really, and it’s probably magnified by the glass of wine you drank alone a few minutes ago when you heard jason’s bike pull in.

you can feel the heat rise to your cheeks when he walks in. shame. you feel small, sitting alone at the table, unable to look at him without that disastrous combination of fury and sorrow boiling over.

you feel like you don’t ask for much. you give everything you can to him, treating him with much more care than you do yourself. you drop everything when he comes to you, silently pleading for your arms to hold him close. you’ve learned when to give him space and when to deprive him of it— and rarely, very rarely do you ask him for anything, because his company is all you really want.

but it’s valentine’s day. or, it was. it’s the 15th now, somewhere around two in the morning. you’re tired. upset. disappointed. mostly, you’re hurt. you’re disgusted when you see him in that goddamned suit, hiding any emotions under that goddamned helmet.

“didn’t know you’d still be up.” he says, quietly. his voice is rough, scratchy from a night out on patrol. he quietly slides his helmet off, wiping the sweat from his forehead. you still can’t look at him, instead choosing to glare down at your empty wine glass.

you were very clear with jason. you didn’t hint, you didn’t play around, you told him: i want you to take me out for valentine’s day. just one day, you want to see the effort you give endlessly to jason given back to you.

“i didn’t mean to—“ he sighs, cutting himself off. he feels so far away, despite being no more than fifteen feet away. “valentines is a busy night. people get crazy. i got distracted.”

distracted.

you sniffle. “distracted?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows, your tone sullen.

he frowns. you can see it out of the corner of your eye, along with the fact he hasn’t put down his helmet yet. “look, i’ll make it up to you.” it sounds impersonal, a placation rather than an apology. that’s what gets you.

you stay silent, trying your hardest not to lose your temper.

“can we just not tonight? i’ve had a shit day—“

your eyes snap up to him. “are you serious?”

you could deal with the anger, the disappointment, the humiliation you felt while you scrolled through the instagram stories of your friends with boyfriends who care enough to honor a dinner reservation. but the dismissal pushes you over the edge.

he furrows his eyebrows, scrunching his face up like he’s annoyed. that pisses you off, makes you lose any semblance of coolness and boil over.

he grimaces. “it’s not that big a deal. i was out there saving people who needed actual help—“ he starts. you stand up from your chair, incredulous that this is even an argument, fuming mad.

“it was important to me, jason!” you yell, upset in a way that makes tears prick at your eyes.

he scoffs, crossing his arms. “i don’t have time for this.” your eye twitches.

you feel your fists ball up, a manifestation of your overwhelming frustration. “come on, jason!” you exclaim, shooting daggers at him with your eyes. “i ask for one thing— one night of your undivided attention, and you can’t give me that! it makes me feel like i don’t matter to you!”

“i’ve had a really shitty night, i really don’t feel like fighting right now.” he says, his voice firm, his eyes trained on you with the slightest hint of anger behind them.

you take a step closer, getting louder, madder. “too bad, because i want to fight! because you let me down, again!” you yell, your arms flailing around, trying to find your point without any direction.

“you know me, you know my life!” he yells back, finally getting upset, finally losing the grip he has on his temper, one he normally holds onto so tightly around you. “it’s not my fucking fault you got your hopes up! you should know that some things take priority over shit like valentine’s day!” he continues, slamming his helmet against the countertop. you flinch, but it doesn’t deter you.

“i do so much for you, i give up so much time and i put in so much effort, and all i wanted was a nice date and you couldn’t be bothered to show up!” you scream, your arms expressing more emotion than your face as they move around.

“my world doesn’t revolve around you! i told you i wasn’t relationship material, that i fuck up! but i have to be perfect for you or else it’s the end of the goddamn world!” he yells.

“i try—“

“no! you push, and you nag, and you make everything so much harder than it has to be! and then when nothing meets your impossible standards, it’s my fault!”

the tears that had been burning at your eyes spill over, cascading slowly down your red hot cheeks. you stop in your tracks, the fight draining out of you. jason knows you better than he knows himself, he knows your biggest insecurities revolve around being a burden, about being too much. and he used that against you to win a stupid fight.

you pause, trying to breathe without hyperventilating, hiccuping as you push air in and out. you look up at jason with a glare harsher than you knew you were capable of, ignoring the subtle regret in his eyes, or the way his muscles tensed with anxiety. you weren’t paying enough attention to see his heart break in his eyes, to notice how ruined he looked.

“get out of my apartment.” you say lowly, only when you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak without breaking down.

he pauses, flexing his hand open and closed, so close yet unable to reach out, before grabbing his helmet, opening the door, and slamming it shut behind him.

you didn’t know he stayed outside, ear pressed against the wood. you didn’t know he listened to your sobs, wiping away quiet tears of his own, wishing hell upon himself for how badly he hurt you.

he burned you. he couldn’t taken haven in your oasis forever, not when he was consumed with devastating fire. he’s not good, not the way you want him to be, not the way you think he is. he’s lived in that fantasy, the one where he’s the type of guy who would never hurt you, not the man he was tonight.

he’s disgusted by himself. how easy would it have been to apologize? you’re so forgiving, your arms always open wide with second chances, opportunities for him to pick himself back up. he’s convinced there’s no coming back, no way to claw himself out of this one.

you don’t see him for awhile. you don’t call, you try not to think of him more than you have to. you don’t go out, you just sit there, hurt, lying in bed trying to sooth the burns underneath your skin. you have no idea jason is destroyed, a wreck of guilt and regret, a ball of self hatred and hurt.

he doesn’t know why he does this, why he bites. why he hurt the one person who actually puts up with him, the one person he can’t help but love.

he knows he’s not who you deserve. he’s the kind of guy who waits out later than he thinks you’ll stay up because he didn’t want to disappoint you on valentines. he’d never been in a relationship before, he didn’t realize that reservations filled up, flowers sold out, and he’d be the only sucker left in gotham who couldn’t figure out how to give you the night you wanted.

and then he came back and saw you, staring down at the table, your eyes red, and his heart shattered. he should have apologized, fallen to his knees and held you close, done anything he could have to make it up to you. why didn’t he?

but he yelled at you. no, he hurt you, and then he yelled at you. he made you cry. he made you feel like his dumbass shit was your fault, when all you did was love him and care about him and ask for nothing but the bare minimum.

he has to make it up to you.

so, he uses his key while you’re at work, buying the nicest flowers he can afford, cooking your favorite dinner, lighting a thousand little candles around the apartment.

of course, disaster struck.

maybe he got distracted while he was cooking, nervous in a way he had never felt before, nervous that he had no chance of being forgiven. he tried his best to perfect the meal, but he failed to notice that the flame from one of the candles was a tad too close to the expensive bouquet he had set in the center of the table until the smoke alarm went off.

the ordeal of the fire meant that he neglected the nice filet of salmon sitting on your stove top, being cooked in just enough heat to start a grease fire when neglected, which he failed to notice until he finally got the fire extinguisher to work on the flowers, making a mess of your apartment.

he didn’t notice the pan fire until after you walked in, your eyes wide in panic and surprised when you noticed the smoke and fire and jason destroying your apartment.

“don’t worry!” he grunts, spraying the fire extinguisher on the stove, effectively putting out the flames. he sighs, grimacing at the mess he managed to make.

you pause, your eyes darting around the apartment, taking in the smoke and scorch marks that hadn’t been there when you left for work. you close the door and set down your purse on the small wooden table by the door, pressing your lips together in a small frown while jason looks at you like a puppy who just did something bad.

“i…” you start, but you have no idea what to say. “are you trying to burn down my house?” you ask, a bit shocked. he frantically shakes his head.

“i’ll clean it up, i— fuck. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to fuck this up.” he says, frowning. he takes a deep breath, looking down, embarrassed. “i was trying to make it up to you. late valentines or whatever, but the flowers caught on fire and then dinner did too and— shit. i’m a jackass, okay? i shoulda taken you out, made you feel special, because you’re my… cause i care about you, and you deserve to be treated better than i made you feel. i made you cry, a-and that’s eating me alive, ma, i… i’m really sorry. i wanna make this right. you don’t burden me, at all, you do so much and i was just taking out my guilt on you cause i felt bad about ruining your valentines, which you didn’t deserve, cause i’m the jackass. you shouldn’t ever let me talk to you like that.” he continues, firmly. “i wanna make you happy, i love you. i’m so sorry.”

his eyes flicker back up to you, red from his cheeks to his chest. your shoulders fall, releasing a mound of tension that had sat on you since the day of the fight. your eyes flicker from jason, who’s staring at you with overwhelming anxiety, to the fire extinguisher foam on your table, to the smoke clinging from your roof, back to jason. you feel tears welling up behind your eyes, this time not because of anger or sadness or disappointment, but because you’re truly touched by the… attempt at a gesture, and the speech he gave.

“i’m gonna let you clean this up, while i go get ready for the date you’re about to take me on, okay?” you say, smiling softly at him.

he lets out a soft sigh of relief, grinning back at you. he gently drops the fire extinguisher to the ground, crossing the distance between you, his eyes locked with yours.

“you’re amazing.” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss against the top of your head while he pulls you into his chest. your arms surround him as well, holding him close for the first time in too long.

“don’t think i’m gonna let you forget about this one.” you say, grinning against him. he pulls back a bit, only to lean down, his lips a breath away from yours. his hands slide down to your waist, his palms sitting at your hips.

“wouldn’t dream of it.” he says, his eyes flickering green as they meet yours again.

the moment you go to say something more, his lips are against yours, swallowing your breath. he’s soft, taking his time exploring your mouth because he hasn’t been able to in a painstakingly long week. his hands move around your body, one cupping your cheek to keep you close to him, the other lightly playing with the skin of your thigh.

he pulls away for a second, just one, his touch nothing but gentle, holding you like he never wants to let go. “i missed you.” he says, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face. he presses a quick kiss against your nose, “i love you.”

you grin, basking in his warmth as he soothes your burns, sucking soft marks into your skin before he insists you go and make yourself pretty for a night you’ll never forget.

while jason is fire, made of flames that burn and destroy, around you? his fire is nothing but a hearth that keeps you safe and warm. you’re his paradise, a place he cannot destroy, a place he would never dream of burning.

you make him the man he dreams of being. no, he cannot burn you, he burns for you. and he’ll never let himself forget it again.

———

1. this is my first rq on here!! im soooo happy and i think it turned out pretty well!! :) i’m looking for more writer mutuals, so plsplspls if u write dc and want moots i am hereeee

2. i’ve never really written fighting before, so i tried to make it realistic. i read a lot of fights where either one character is extremely flawed or they try to make both characters flawless, which i don’t exactly agree with. jason can be an asshole for sure, he is the most traumatized character on the planet, so i tried to write both characters with justifications for their actions but still kinda acting like dicks yk. i hope u enjoyed !!

[vacate-et-scire]

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

There’s a thin patter of rain against the windowpane and the dim, amber glow of the lamp casts soft shadows across the living room. You're tucked into the corner of the couch like a cat in a sunbeam, limbs loose beneath a shared fleece blanket, half-swallowed in one of Jason's old Gotham U hoodies that smells faintly like clean laundry and gunpowder.

Your legs brush his where he sits beside you, long and lazy, the hard lines of his body softened by comfort and the sheer peace of this rare moment. He’s got one hand curled around a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, thumb rubbing absentminded circles on the margin, and the other lazily resting across the back of the couch—fingers grazing your shoulder like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

He doesn’t even need to ask anymore. You don’t have to beg him to read. He just opens the book, clears his throat in that overly dramatic way he knows makes you smile, and begins.

“‘My dearest Lizzy, do not set yourself against me. I am not romantic, you know. I never was.’”

He does Mr. Collins with a ridiculous nasally whine, and you let out an undignified snort that makes his lips twitch.

“God, he sounds like a Muppet,” you murmur, burying your face into the blanket.

“Good,” Jason says smugly. “Because he acts like one.”

He reads on, voice dipping and rising as he navigates the Bennets and Bingleys with theatrical flair. But it’s his Mr. Darcy voice that gets you every time—low and solemn, like he’s narrating a tragic opera, or the end of a dramatic film noir.

“‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’”

Jason glances sideways at you, catching your expression with a crooked smirk.

“Smooth, huh?” he drawls. “Real swoon-worthy.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “You make him sound like he’s reciting his vows at gunpoint.”

Jason chuckles—deep and genuine—and closes the book just long enough to rest it on your lap. He shifts to face you more fully, draping his arm behind you and brushing a knuckle gently down the side of your face.

“Hey,” he says, tone softening. “You tired?”

You shrug, half-melted into the couch. “A little. But I like listening to you read.”

He pauses, taking you in with that rare, steady gaze of his—the one that makes your stomach flip, the one that says he’s not just here for the soft moments, but for the vulnerable ones too.

“You don’t feel silly about it, right?” he asks. “Wanting this?”

There’s a knot in your throat that threatens to form, but you shake your head, quiet. “I used to, I guess. It’s just… I dunno. It makes me feel safe.”

Jason nods slowly, fingers brushing through your hair, over your temple. “Good. You should feel safe. Especially with me.”

And he means it. You can tell by the way he kisses your forehead like it's a promise.

He picks the book back up, flipping to the page you left off at without even looking. Muscle memory. He’s read this so many times now that he probably knows it better than his old weapons manuals.

His voice resumes—gentler now, like he’s telling you a bedtime story, like he’s speaking not to the room but to you.

“‘My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.’”

You blink slowly, heart heavy in the best kind of way, and Jason just keeps reading, unfazed. Because he knows the words matter to you. Because he likes being the one to read them for you. Because despite the blood on his hands and the war in his bones, he still makes space for softness.

You don’t realize you’ve drifted until the book closes softly and he shifts beside you, tucking the blanket up around your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll catch cold from a ghost draft. His voice is low as he whispers—like a secret just for you.

“Night, babe. Darcy says he loves you. So do I.”

And maybe the words blend into your dreams. Maybe you stir just enough to feel the weight of his hand curl around yours.

But either way, you sleep like you haven’t in years. Safe. Warm. Loved.

[eveysnotebook]

dating jason todd hcs ⋆·˚ ༘ *

• he has a really hard time asking for things, whether it be asking to read a book with you, or asking if you’d like to go on a walk, he struggles (me too 😞)

• he’s a pretty good chef and will make dinner most nights for you guys!

• loves cats and would love to adopt one with you

• stays up late and wakes up late, he won’t be fully up and around until like 10:30 am 😭

• he will try and wake up earlier for you if you wake up before him.

• he will look into things you like, music taste, shows and movies, ect…he wants to be able to bond over stuff like that.

• he will absolutely go anywhere with you, want him to go shopping with you? definitely!

• that also means he will visit your friends with you. he might not talk to them but he’ll definitely stand there menacingly!!

• the worst man spreader ever (is that the right word lmao?) he man spreads anywhere and everywhere. it’s lowkey hot though

• adores rock, punk rock, all that type of music but from the late 90s and early 2000s, will make you listen to it with him!

• he always gives the best bear hugs. if you are ever feeling upset he is immediately there with the best hug you’ve ever received!

• makes the best hot cocoa ever, learned from alfred of course.

• sometimes you’ll see some fresh flowers on your nightstand, you know they’re from him

sorry if this is short i’m working on a lot right now! i’m trying to get headcanons like these out for everyone I write for!

stay hydrated

[jellofish-plant]

Third Wheel or Vigilant Chaperone?

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader featuring Damian Wayne being his sassy, judgmental self Genre: Fluff, Humor Warnings: Mild language, a lot of sibling banter

[Masterlist]

You weren’t sure what you expected when you agreed to help Jason catalog the books in the old Wayne Manor library, but you definitely didn’t expect to find Damian Wayne sitting cross-legged on the floor, arms crossed, looking at the two of you like you’d just declared yourselves enemies of the League of Assassins.

“This is not what the library was made for,” Damian said flatly, watching Jason toss a book over his shoulder with zero regard for its century-old spine.

Jason, lounging on the floor beside you with a pencil behind his ear and a devilish smirk, shot him a look. “What, romance?”

You choked on your laugh. “You wish.”

Jason nudged your side. “Oh please, you’ve been giving me heart eyes for the last twenty minutes.”

“I was looking at the fire extinguisher behind you,” you teased. “In case you lit something on fire. Again.”

Damian, clearly unimpressed, rolled his eyes. “If I have to witness one more moment of this grotesque courtship ritual, I will request to be transferred back to the Titans.”

“You say that like you didn’t willingly follow us in here and sit down like a judgmental cat,” Jason said, standing up and cracking his back. “You could’ve just not come.”

“I’m here to supervise,” Damian said primly. “Someone has to ensure the library remains in one piece.”

“He’s literally chaperoning us,” you whispered to Jason with a grin. “Like this is a middle school dance.”

Jason leaned in close, lips nearly brushing your ear. “Should I ask you to slow dance next? Maybe put on some Taylor Swift?”

“Absolutely not,” Damian snapped from behind a stack of encyclopedias. “I will not allow that in this house.”

You and Jason burst out laughing.

Eventually, Damian huffed, got up, and dramatically declared, “I’ll be in the Batcave where emotions are forbidden,” before sweeping out of the room like a tiny, angry prince.

You leaned back against Jason, shaking your head. “You know, I kind of love him.”

Jason wrapped an arm around you and smirked. “Yeah. He’s a menace. But he’s our menace.”

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo 

@a-brilliante-mariposa

@fandomtrashsblog