#Jason todd x male!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamersworldduh · 19 days ago

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HI NEIGHBOR — PART TWO

• JASON TODD x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — you’re new to the neighborhood and find yourself becoming friends with the residential bad boy, Jason Todd. From his perspective, you seems like a outgoing guy yet there’s a mystery to you he couldn’t quite figure out.

WARNING! Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Violence.

WORDS! 8.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! here we are with part two, I hope you enjoy!

NEXT PART! THREE

PREVIOUS PART! ONE

The atmosphere in your apartment was thick with tension, the air still sharp with the lingering scent of gunpowder and shattered glass. The dim, flickering light from the broken TV cast long shadows across the room as you stormed into your bedroom, moving with determined purpose.

Jason stood frozen near the doorway, still reeling from what he'd just witnessed. His mind raced, replaying the brutal, calculated way you'd taken down the League of Assassins operatives with a skill he'd never expected — not from you. Not from someone he thought he knew.

He followed after you, his boots crunching on broken glass. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, voice rough with frustration.

You didn't even look at him, your expression cold and unreadable as you yanked open your closet. Clothes were shoved aside with practiced efficiency until you reached the back wall where a large, worn duffle bag rested.

Jason's eyes narrowed as you pulled it out and threw it onto the bed, immediately unzipping it. His heart skipped when he saw what you packed — stacks of cash, a worn passport, and several other small pouches he couldn't immediately identify.

"Planning a trip?" Jason growled, stepping forward.

You shot him a glare but didn't stop moving. "Surviving," you corrected coldly, tossing in a compact utility knife, a small first aid kit, and another roll of cash from a hidden compartment in your dresser. "Staying here is a death sentence now."

Jason clenched his jaw, anger flaring despite the chaos swirling in his mind. "You knew this was coming."

You froze for half a second, your shoulders tensing before you zipped up the side pouch of the duffle. "I had a feeling," you admitted quietly. "But I was hoping I'd have more time."

Jason took another step closer, his voice low and dangerous. "Time for what? Who the hell are you?"

You slowly turned to face him, your expression still unreadable — cold but... tired. Like you were exhausted from keeping the truth buried.

"Who I was," you corrected softly, your voice tinged with something darker. "That person... doesn't exist anymore."

Jason's sharp eyes searched your face, anger and suspicion warring within him. "You fought like one of them. Like you were trained." He practically spat the word, his fists tightening at his sides. "Were you part of the League?"

Your jaw clenched. "I was never one of them," you bit out, venom in your tone. "But they sure as hell tried to make me."

Jason's breath hitched, his mind flashing back to the brutal efficiency of your fighting style — every move precise, lethal, and honed through relentless training. The League's signature.

"How?" he demanded, voice low.

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair, as if grappling with how much to say. "I was... taken. Years ago." Your voice dropped, filled with quiet resentment. "They wanted another weapon. I didn't give them one."

Jason processed your words, every piece of the puzzle snapping into place far too easily — the way you'd fought like it was second nature, the way you always seemed on edge despite your laid-back facade. It all made sense now.

He stepped even closer, his voice deadly serious. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Your eyes burned with frustration as you met his gaze. "Tell you what, Jason? That I was hunted by assassins from a global death cult?" You shook your head. "I left that life behind. I thought... hoped... they'd forgotten about me."

Jason's jaw clenched, knowing better than anyone that the past never really lets you go.

But then, your eyes flicked toward the twin pistols holstered on his thighs, still faintly gleaming under the dim light. His leather jacket was slightly torn from the fight, exposing familiar tactical gear beneath — armor reinforced with Kevlar, built for survival.

Your gaze sharpened, realization dawning.

"My turn," you said quietly, taking a slow step toward him. "Who the hell are you?"

Jason's expression hardened, his fingers brushing the grip of one of his pistols — not in threat, but out of instinct.

"You're not just some guy I met in the hallway," you pressed, your voice cutting through the heavy silence. "You show up with takeout and combat-grade instincts... You knew exactly what those assassins were the second they came through that window."

Jason's fists clenched. He hated how sharp your mind was, how fast you'd pieced it together — but there was no point in lying now.

"You don't want that answer," he growled.

"Try me," you shot back, taking another step forward until you were just inches apart. "You can't stand here demanding answers when you've been hiding just as much."

Jason's breath came in slow and measured. His eyes burned with intensity as he met your fierce, unyielding gaze — two people trapped in a web of half-truths and buried pasts.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, letting the tension bleed out of his shoulders.

"I'm Red Hood," he said quietly, his voice like steel.

Your breath hitched, recognition flashing across your face — you knew that name. Everyone in Gotham did.

"The vigilante..." you whispered, stunned.

Jason's lips twisted into something between a smirk and a grimace. "Depends who you ask."

The weight of the truth settled between you like a heavy storm ready to break.

Before either of you could say another word, the sound of shattering glass echoed. You could hear the faint, purposeful creak of boots against metal outside—someone approaching from the fire escape again.

Jason moved to the door, drawing his twin pistols, while you shifted into a defensive stance near the broken window, fingers brushing the hilt of a blade you'd grabbed from your duffle bag. Your breaths were steady, controlled, honed by years of survival. Whoever was coming wasn't going to get the drop on you this time.

The sound of the window frame creaking as something heavy landed just outside made both of you snap into action. Jason aimed his pistols toward the shattered glass while you prepared to lunge.

"Hold your fire, Todd," came a low, commanding voice from the shadows outside.

Jason cursed under his breath but lowered his guns ever so slightly, recognizing the voice immediately. "Damn it..."

Before you could process what was happening, three familiar figures emerged from the broken window and landed soundlessly inside your wrecked living room.

Batman. Nightwing. Red Robin.

Their presence was both menacing and commanding, even in the dim, shattered apartment. Batman's dark cape flowed behind him like a living shadow, his piercing, unreadable eyes locking onto you in an instant. Nightwing landed just behind him with practiced ease, scanning the room with a wary but curious expression, while Red Robin moved with sharp, tactical precision, already assessing the damage and possible exits.

Jason sighed, holstering one of his guns with a sharp click. "Could've knocked," he muttered bitterly.

Nightwing's eyebrows shot up as he took in the mess. "Looks like someone already did." His eyes flicked toward you, lingering for a second longer than necessary, curious and calculating.

Batman stepped forward, voice cold and commanding. "Jason. Report."

Jason gave you a quick glance, silently telling you to hold back—for now. "The League of Assassins showed up," he said shortly. "They weren't here to talk." His voice was sharp, his frustration barely held in check. "They were after him." He tilted his head toward you.

Red Robin narrowed his eyes. "Damian was right, wasn't he?" His voice was clipped, cautious but not accusing.

Jason clenched his jaw. "Technically, yeah." He let out a slow breath. "But it's... complicated."

You stiffened, every muscle ready to spring into action. Their eyes were all on you now—judging, calculating, and deciding whether you were a threat. You could feel Batman's cold, unyielding scrutiny weighing heavily on you, like he could see everything you'd ever done just by looking at you.

"Who is he?" Batman demanded, his deep, gravelly voice leaving no room for evasion.

Jason met his gaze head-on. "He's... one of us." His voice was firm, though uncertain in a way you'd never heard before. "But not the way you think."

Nightwing frowned, crossing his arms. "You're sure about that?"

Jason's jaw tightened. "I am now."

Their attention turned fully toward you—and you moved.

Without a single word, you lunged toward the shattered window, your instincts screaming that staying put would only get you killed—or worse, captured. Your feet hit the ledge with practiced grace as you dove into the dark, empty alley below, barely making a sound as you twisted mid-air and landed in a perfect crouch.

Jason's curse echoed faintly behind you, but you were already moving—ready to vanish into the night.

But as soon as your boots hit the wet pavement of the dark alleyway, you froze.

Figures emerged from the shadows — not just one or two, but an entire unit of League assassins, their gleaming blades reflecting the dim, hazy light from the streetlamp above. Their movements were silent, calculated, and far too familiar.

And then... she appeared.

Talia al Ghul.

Tall, graceful, and utterly lethal, she stepped out from the shadows as though she belonged to the night itself, her dark cloak billowing slightly in the cold Gotham breeze. Her piercing, calculating eyes locked onto you with chilling precision.

"Running, are we?" she said smoothly, her voice low and deadly, with just the faintest hint of amusement. "I would've expected better... from one of my creations."

Your blood ran cold, but you didn't let it show. You forced yourself to stand tall, your breath steady, fists clenched at your sides.

"Talia," you spat, voice hard as steel. "You should've stayed gone."

She smiled—a slow, dangerous thing that never reached her eyes. "You truly thought you could leave that life behind? Escape?" Her tone turned sharp. "No one escapes the League."

Behind her, the assassins silently drew their blades, stepping into position with terrifying precision. Their cold, unblinking eyes locked onto you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you shifted into a ready stance, muscles taut and prepared to fight—to survive.

"Tell your dogs to back off," you warned darkly. "Or I'll put them down too."

Talia tilted her head, studying you like a predator deciding how much effort it would take to crush its prey. "I taught you... everything. Do you really believe you can win?"

Before you could respond, the sharp, familiar click of a gun being cocked echoed from the rooftop above.

"I don't believe," Jason's voice drawled, sharp and dangerous, echoing down the alley like a death sentence. "I know."

From the ledge, Jason stood tall with his twin pistols aimed directly at Talia's head, his eyes blazing with fierce, protective determination.

A second later, Batman, Nightwing, and Red Robin silently appeared on the opposite end of the alley, cutting off the League's exit like an unspoken declaration of war.

Talia's cold smirk only deepened as she studied the standoff—but something dangerous and personal burned in her gaze when her eyes flicked back toward you.

"This... will be fun," she whispered, just before her assassins surged forward.

The fight was just beginning.

Soon the alleyway echoed with the clash of blades and the sharp crack of gunfire. Rain began to fall, making the worn pavement slick as shadows danced under the flickering streetlights. The League of Assassins swarmed like a wave of relentless predators, silent and deadly, their blades gleaming like fangs in the dark.

You, Jason, Batman, Nightwing, and Red Robin fought side by side in a brutal, chaotic rhythm. Every movement was precise, every strike calculated. Jason's twin pistols barked loudly, forcing assassins into defensive retreats. Batman moved like a dark specter, disarming enemies with brutal efficiency. Red Robin was a blur of staff strikes and gadget-based precision, while Nightwing's electrified escrima sticks cracked like thunder through the air.

But they just kept coming.

For every assassin you put down, two more seemed to take their place, emerging from the thick shadows like something unstoppable.

Breathing heavily, you drove your elbow into an assassin's jaw, sending them crashing into the alley wall. Another charged at you from the side, but you twisted mid-step, driving your knee into their chest and sending them sprawling.

Jason fired a well-placed shot at an advancing swordsman, barely glancing back as he shouted, "We can't hold this position much longer!"

Batman growled, blocking a pair of incoming blades with his armored gauntlets before disarming his attacker with a vicious twist. "We fall back together. Stay—alert!"

But as you staggered back into formation, you felt it.

That familiar pulse thrumming in your chest—the power you'd spent years suppressing, forcing down, pretending it didn't exist. It surged, burning beneath your skin like molten fire, begging to be unleashed.

Another wave of assassins advanced, eyes cold and deadly. Their relentless precision... their sheer numbers... you knew there was no escape without making a choice.

No more running.

You clenched your fists, gritting your teeth as the power surged through your veins—hot and demanding. The ground beneath your feet trembled faintly as energy began coiling around you, rising with intensity.

Jason noticed first. "What the hell—?" he muttered, glancing back at you with wide, confused eyes.

Then it happened.

Your eyes blazed a fierce, radiant yellow, glowing like molten embers in the dark. Your fists shimmered with the same golden light, illuminating the rain-soaked alley in a blazing, pulsing aura of energy.

The assassins hesitated, visibly faltering for the first time.

Batman's sharp gaze snapped toward you, his mind already assessing, calculating—but even he seemed momentarily taken aback.

Without another word, you moved.

The first assassin surged toward you with deadly intent, twin blades flashing. You met him head-on, driving a glowing fist into his chest with tremendous concussive force. The shockwave from the impact sent him flying backward like a ragdoll, crashing through a stack of metal crates with a deafening CRASH.

Another assassin lunged from behind—silent, precise—but you twisted sharply and let them hit you.

Steel met skin.

The assassin's katana came down hard against the back of your head—only to shatter against your glowing aura like brittle glass. You didn't even flinch.

Jason's mouth dropped open. "Holy—"

Before the shattered blade hit the ground, you spun on your heel, catching the stunned assassin by the collar. With inhuman strength, you hurled him over your shoulder, sending him skidding across the rain-slick pavement.

Three more assassins charged—but you were faster.

With fluid, precise agility, you flipped over them in one smooth, powerful motion, landing just behind their formation. Before they could react, you lashed out with rapid, thunderous punches, each strike powered by raw concussive force. One by one, they crumpled like broken marionettes, groaning in pain as they hit the ground.

"What the hell..." Red Robin breathed, eyes wide, staff lowered momentarily.

From the rooftop, another assassin hurled a cluster of throwing stars with deadly precision—but your glowing eyes tracked them easily.

Too slow.

You sidestepped effortlessly, dodging the projectiles with perfect precision before launching forward like a streak of lightning. With one explosive strike, you drove your glowing fist into the assassin's chest, sending them crashing through a rusted fire escape ladder, twisting the metal on impact.

Nightwing muttered under his breath, "I'm definitely not putting this in the report."

The last assassin standing hesitated, visibly shaken—but before they could retreat, Jason raised one of his pistols with cold, lethal intent. "Don't even think about it," he snarled.

The assassin wisely dropped his blade, collapsing to his knees in surrender.

For a long, tense moment, the alley fell into silence, broken only by the faint crackle of electricity still shimmering around your glowing fists. The faint pulse of your energy slowly dimmed, flickering out as your breath slowed.

Jason, Red Robin, and Nightwing stared, still processing what they'd just seen.

Batman's piercing gaze locked onto you—cold, analytical, and deadly serious. Whatever calculations he'd been running in his mind just shifted dramatically.

Then... the faintest rustle echoed from the far end of the alley.

You spun around—but Talia al Ghul was gone.

Vanished.

Only the faint outline of her form remained in the falling rain, swallowed by the shadows as if she'd never been there at all.

Your glowing fists dimmed completely as you exhaled slowly, wiping sweat from your brow—but the looks from the Bat-family remained.

Jason broke the silence first, his voice low and rough.

"...The hell... was that?"

Red Robin stepped forward, still stunned. "That's why they want you." His voice dropped with dawning understanding. "They weren't just after your skills... they were after that."

Nightwing crossed his arms, lips tightening as he processed what he'd seen. "You're not just some ex-League runaway." His eyes gleamed with something deeper—worry. "You're a weapon."

Batman's voice cut through the air like a blade—cold, calculating, dangerous.

"Start talking," he commanded, his gaze locked on yours. "What are you?"

You met their stares head-on, your voice steady despite the weight of what just happened.

"I'm not what they made me."

But even you weren't sure how much longer that would be true.

The Batcave was cold, vast, and dimly lit, illuminated only by the bluish glow of the massive Batcomputer and the low flicker of overhead work lights. The faint sound of dripping water echoed through the cavern's endless expanse, mingling with the distant hum of advanced technology. The sharp, metallic scent of the cave's reinforced platforms and tactical gear filled the air.

You stood in the center of the operations platform, arms crossed, refusing to sit despite Jason's earlier gruff suggestion. Tension crackled like static between you and the Bat-family surrounding you—watching, assessing, waiting.

Batman loomed near the Batcomputer, his imposing figure partially obscured by the shadows of his cape. Nightwing stood to his right, arms crossed, his piercing blue eyes unreadable but focused. Red Robin paced near the console, fingers lightly grazing the hilt of his staff as he processed what little information you'd shared. Jason—Red Hood—stood closest to you, his expression sharp, still radiating frustration but tempered by something else... something protective.

The weight of their stares pressed down on you, heavy and unrelenting. They wanted answers—but you weren't ready to give them.

"You need to start talking," Batman said, his deep, commanding voice cutting through the thick silence like a blade. His intense gaze locked onto yours, unreadable but calculating. "Who are you to the League?"

You clenched your jaw, refusing to flinch. "I'm no one to them. Not anymore."

Jason growled lowly, stepping forward. "They sent an army after you—Talia personally showed up. Don't stand there and act like you're nobody."

Before you could respond, a sharp, familiar voice rang out from the shadows near the far entrance.

"He's not 'nobody.'"

Everyone turned as Damian Wayne—Robin—strode toward the group, his green cape flowing behind him, his expression cold and unforgiving. His gloved hands were clenched, and there was something almost... triumphant in his piercing green eyes.

Batman's brow furrowed slightly. "Damian—"

"I know exactly who he is." Damian came to a stop a few feet away from you, his sharp gaze locking onto yours with something between contempt and twisted respect.

"His name... is Kai." His voice was low but cutting. "He was Ra's al Ghul's most guarded secret—a weapon the League tried to perfect but couldn't control."

Jason and Dick exchanged sharp, stunned glances. Red Robin's fingers tightened on his staff.

"What are you talking about?" Jason demanded.

Damian's lip curled faintly. "He was trained in the League's deepest sanctuaries—places even I wasn't allowed to enter. They called him the Chi Warden." His voice dripped with bitter acknowledgment. "The only student who ever mastered the forbidden teachings of Chi Manipulation."

Batman's gaze darkened. "Explain."

Damian's tone remained cold and clinical. "The League trained him to harness life energy itself—Chi." He gestured toward you with a sharp flick of his wrist. "He doesn't just fight—he amplifies his strength, speed, endurance... even his mind. Every punch he throws—every movement—is charged with devastating power."

Red Robin's eyes widened slightly. "That's... impossible." His voice was quiet but shaken.

Damian's expression remained harsh. "Not for him." His gaze narrowed further. "The assassins didn't come to kill him. They came to retrieve him—because he's their greatest asset."

Jason swore under his breath, his eyes burning with new understanding.

You stood rigid, your fists clenched at your sides. The truth was out—again. No more running. No more pretending.

"You didn't tell us this," Nightwing said quietly, disappointment flickering in his tone.

"I don't owe you anything," you shot back, your voice rough with pent-up frustration. "I'm not with them—I left!"

Damian took a threatening step closer. "The League doesn't just let people go. They'll hunt you until they get what they want."

Jason snapped, stepping between you and Damian with sudden, fiery intensity. "You're the reason they're here in the first place!" His voice was sharp with blame. "You couldn't leave this alone—you called them here!"

Damian's eyes flashed with defiance. "I was protecting Gotham."

Jason surged forward, his voice low and dangerous. "You unleashed a war on Gotham—all because you couldn't accept being wrong."

Before the situation could escalate, Batman's voice cut through like a thunderclap.

"Enough."

The room fell into tense silence.

Batman's gaze remained locked on Damian, his voice low and deadly calm. "Jason's right. You escalated this." His tone turned cold. "And now it's our responsibility to fix it."

Damian's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Batman turned to face you fully, his expression unreadable but final.

"From this point forward... you're under our protection."

Your eyes widened, and you bristled.

"I don't need your protection," you growled, your fists clenching. "I'm not some helpless target—"

"You are now," Batman interrupted harshly, his cape shifting as he stepped forward. "The League won't stop. They'll come at you again... and next time, they won't hold back."

You took a sharp step toward him, refusing to back down. "Let them try. I've survived worse."

Jason grabbed your arm, his voice rough but sincere. "You don't have to anymore."

You yanked your arm away, breathing heavily, feeling that familiar, burning power stir in your chest.

Nightwing's voice softened as he stepped closer. "You've been fighting this alone for too long." His eyes were steady but understanding. "Let us help."

You looked around, still tense—still not ready to trust—but you saw something in their faces that caught you off guard.

Belief.

Not fear. Not suspicion.

Just... belief.

After a long, heavy moment, you let out a slow, reluctant breath.

"I don't need you," you said quietly—but the fight had drained from your voice.

Jason smirked faintly, something softer in his sharp gaze. "Maybe not... but you've got us anyway."

The cavern fell silent, but this time... the tension felt different.

It felt... lighter.

The Batcave remained eerily quiet after the intense confrontation with the Bat-family. The faint hum of the Batcomputer's advanced systems echoed through the cavernous space, accompanied by the occasional drip of water from the towering stalactites. You stood near the massive central platform, still tense, still processing everything that had just happened — the fight, the truth about the League's pursuit, and the Bat-family's sudden decision to protect you, whether you liked it or not.

Jason hovered nearby, his sharp blue eyes constantly flicking toward you, watching for any sign of unease. Though he'd never admit it out loud, there was a hint of understanding in his gaze, tempered by the same guarded wariness you saw in all of them.

You crossed your arms, shifting uncomfortably as Batman, Nightwing, and Red Robin stood in a small formation a few feet away, speaking in low, urgent tones. Even from where you were standing, you could feel Batman's intense presence — unreadable, commanding, calculating. His cape hung like a shadow around him, making him seem larger, more imposing.

Nightwing broke from the conversation first, his sharp, perceptive eyes flicking toward you as he approached, arms relaxed but his posture still alert.

"You're gonna be staying here for now," he said smoothly, gesturing toward the massive stone staircase leading deeper into the Batcave. "It's... safer than anywhere else in Gotham."

Your eyebrows rose slightly, skepticism clear on your face. "You're just... letting me stay here? In your base?"

Jason snorted quietly. "Trust me, this wasn't a group vote." His sharp gaze cut toward Batman, whose attention remained fixed on the Batcomputer.

Nightwing offered a faint, knowing smirk. "Think of it as... protective custody. At least until we figure out what the League's next move is."

Red Robin joined the conversation, adjusting one of his gauntlets as he approached. "You're still a security risk," he admitted bluntly. "But if the League's after you... keeping you out there is a bigger one."

You exhaled slowly, still processing, still unsure if this was some kind of elaborate setup. Before you could respond, movement from the far side of the cave caught your attention.

An older, refined man in a crisp suit descended the stairs with a quiet grace, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. His presence was calm but commanding in a way that felt almost regal.

"Master Jason, Master Timothy," he greeted smoothly, his sharp eyes flicking toward you without missing a beat. "I see our guest is still in one piece."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Barely."

The older man turned toward you, offering a polite, knowing smile. "I am Alfred Pennyworth. Consider me... the caretaker of this establishment." His tone was precise but warm, holding the weight of someone used to commanding both respect and loyalty.

"...You're their butler?" you asked, still unsure how he fit into the picture.

Jason smirked. "He's a lot more than that."

Alfred nodded graciously. "I assure you, I've worn many hats in my time." His sharp gaze swept over you briefly, assessing in a way that reminded you far too much of Batman. "Follow me, if you would."

Before you could argue, Jason gestured for you to move. "Come on. We've got a room set up... temporarily," he added pointedly.

With no real option, you followed Alfred and Jason up the winding metal staircase that led out of the vast, intimidating cavern. The faint hum of the Batcomputer's systems faded into the distance, replaced by the subtle creaks of the old stone walls and distant echoes of water dripping far below. You were still struggling to wrap your head around everything—the fight with the League, Talia's pursuit, and now... this.

As you were walking, you noticed Jason glance at you sideways.

"...So," he said casually, his tone almost conversational, "figured out who he is yet?" He nodded toward the central platform, where Batman continued working at the Batcomputer.

You frowned. "Batman?"

Jason's smirk widened just a bit. "Bruce Wayne."

You stopped dead, processing the name like a bolt of lightning. Bruce Wayne. Billionaire. CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Gotham's most famous man.

"That—what?!" you hissed, your voice low but sharp.

Jason shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "Yeah. Not exactly subtle if you know what to look for."

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

The thought echoed in your mind, refusing to settle. You'd always known Gotham was built on shadows and secrets, but this? Gotham's richest, most untouchable billionaire secretly being its most feared vigilante... it felt unreal.

Jason walked ahead with a practiced ease, his broad shoulders relaxed, though his sharp eyes kept flicking back toward you. He was watching—not out of suspicion, but out of something else... maybe concern, though you doubted he'd admit it.

Alfred led the way with an air of calm efficiency, his polished shoes clicking softly against the stone steps as the three of you ascended toward Wayne Manor above. His posture was precise, his expression unreadable—but there was something almost protective about how he carried himself.

You finally reached a reinforced door at the top of the staircase, seamlessly blending into the stone wall. Alfred pressed a concealed panel, and with a soft hiss, the heavy door slid open, revealing the grand interior of Wayne Manor.

Warm light bathed the grand hall ahead, in stark contrast to the cold, mechanical glow of the Batcave. Polished wood floors gleamed under the soft glow of antique chandeliers. Ornate paintings lined the walls, framed in dark, rich mahogany. The air was warmer, almost comforting, with the faint scent of aged leather and something faintly floral lingering in the background.

You stepped through cautiously, still half-expecting something dark or dangerous—but instead, you were greeted by the quiet elegance of one of the grandest homes in Gotham.

Jason smirked faintly as he saw the way your eyes flicked across the lavish surroundings. "Weird, right?" he said casually. "Going from a death-trap cave to... this." He waved vaguely at the massive foyer. "Takes some getting used to."

You stayed quiet, still taking it all in as Alfred paused in the hall, turning back toward you with his usual calm precision.

"Your accommodations have already been prepared," he said smoothly, gesturing toward the grand staircase at the far end of the foyer. "If you would follow me..."

Jason shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Welcome to Wayne Manor." His tone was light, but there was something deeper beneath it... something that felt like acceptance.

You hesitated for a moment before following them up the staircase, still uneasy but no longer fighting it.

The second floor of Wayne Manor was just as grand as the first—long hallways lined with intricate wood paneling, elegant carpets, and large, decorative windows that overlooked the expansive, moonlit estate grounds.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you spotted two familiar figures waiting near the far end of the hall—Nightwing and Red Robin.

Or rather... Dick Grayson and Tim Drake.

Dick was casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his signature easygoing grin already in place. Tim stood more rigidly, his sharp, calculating eyes flicking toward you with clear curiosity—but there was no hostility there... only analysis.

"Finally," Dick said with a mock sigh, pushing off the wall and striding toward you. "Took you guys long enough." He extended a hand, his grin widening. "Guess we skipped formal introductions down there. Dick Grayson."

You blinked, still processing as you slowly shook his hand. "Nightwing," you muttered under your breath.

Dick smirked. "Only on weekends."

Tim approached next, his demeanor more reserved but still respectful. He tugged back his hood, revealing sharp, intelligent features beneath dark, slightly tousled hair.

"Tim Drake," he introduced simply, his tone more serious. "Red Robin."

Before you could even begin processing that, Jason snorted from behind you. "Yeah, they're real subtle about the whole 'secret identity' thing."

You shot him a sharp look. "You live here. I figured you'd be more careful."

Jason shrugged with a faint smirk. "At this point? You're in the middle of the biggest secret in Gotham. Figured you'd put two and two together eventually."

Your head was still spinning. Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake... Jason Todd. Gotham's wealthiest family... also its most dangerous protectors.

Tim's gaze lingered on you thoughtfully, as if calculating something. "We've trusted you this far," he said evenly. "Figured you should know who you're working with."

Before you could respond, Alfred smoothly gestured toward a door at the far end of the hall. "Your room is just through here." He unlocked the door with a quiet click and stepped aside.

Jason waved you forward. "Go on. Take a look."

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside... and paused.

The room was... unexpected.

The space was large but not overwhelming, with tall windows framed by thick, heavy curtains that could be drawn shut for privacy. A sturdy, well-crafted bed sat against the far wall, its dark wood frame polished to perfection. A simple but elegant desk and chair rested near the window, accompanied by a fully stocked bookshelf filled with everything from classic novels to tactical manuals.

The room felt... lived-in somehow, like it wasn't just a place to sleep but somewhere to belong.

You turned back toward them, still processing. "This... is for me?"

Alfred inclined his head politely. "Temporarily, of course. Until the situation with the League is resolved." His voice softened slightly. "Though I assure you... you will be safe here."

Jason's expression flickered with something more serious for a brief moment. "It's better than whatever dump you were staying in before."

You looked at Jason with a raised eyebrow, “We live in the same apartment building.”

Jason couldn't argue with that.

Alfred offered a faint, approving smile. "I trust everything is... satisfactory?"

You nodded slowly, still overwhelmed. "It's... fine."

Dick chuckled softly. "You'll get used to it." He clapped Jason on the shoulder as he passed. "Try to be a decent roommate, huh?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

Before leaving, Alfred fixed you with a pointed, knowing look. "Trust... is earned," he said quietly. "From both sides."

With that, they left, leaving you alone in the quiet warmth of the room.

For the first time in... longer than you could remember... you felt something you thought you'd lost.

Safe.

The quiet stillness of Wayne Manor settled heavily over its grand halls, broken only by the occasional creak of the old wooden beams shifting with the wind. The moonlight filtered faintly through the large, arching windows, casting long, pale beams across the darkened corridors.

Jason wasn't the type to sleep easily—never had been. Restlessness was practically second nature after everything he'd been through. The night clung to him like an old, familiar coat, wrapping him in its dark embrace.

But tonight felt different.

His eyes snapped open, breath steady but sharp, instinct kicking in before his mind could fully process what woke him. He lay still for a moment, his senses on high alert, listening for anything wrong.

Nothing. No footsteps. No creaking doors. Just the faint rustling of wind against the large windows.

He exhaled slowly and ran a hand down his face, trying to push down the uneasy feeling crawling under his skin. Something about tonight didn't sit right.

His gaze drifted toward the glowing red numbers on the clock across the room: 2:47 AM.

"Damn it," he muttered, throwing off the blankets and sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees. He stared down at the worn scars on his calloused hands, trying to shake the unease that wouldn't let go.

It's fine, he told himself. He's fine.

But he couldn't convince himself.

Jason stood abruptly, pulling on a worn hoodie over his plain T-shirt. His boots barely made a sound against the polished wooden floors as he slipped into the dimly lit hallway, his sharp blue eyes flicking toward every dark corner out of old habit. His hand rested instinctively near the hidden knife holstered at his back—not because he expected trouble, but because... just in case.

He approached the door to your room at the far end of the second floor, pausing just outside. His fingers grazed the cold brass handle, hesitation tightening his chest.

He shouldn't check. You were probably asleep, and barging in like a paranoid guard dog would only make things worse.

But something felt... wrong.

Jason turned the handle quietly, easing the heavy wooden door open just far enough to peer inside—and froze.

The room was empty.

The bed was still neatly made, the blankets untouched. The soft glow from the distant moon spilled across the empty desk and darkened shelves, highlighting how utterly vacant the room was.

His breath hitched. His heartbeat kicked into overdrive.

"Damn it," Jason hissed, fully stepping inside, his sharp gaze scanning every inch of the room for any signs of struggle—or escape. But there was nothing.

He moved quickly, checking the adjoining bathroom and the walk-in closet—both empty.

Jason clenched his fists, his mind already racing with worst-case scenarios. He reached for the commlink in his ear instinctively—but stopped.

No... calling in the others would only make things worse if it turned out to be nothing.

But what if it wasn't?

Jason turned on his heel, already striding back toward the main hall, ready to scour the entire manor inch by inch if he had to—until—

"Looking for something, Master Jason?"

Jason spun toward the familiar, steady voice coming from the dimly lit corridor behind him.

Alfred stood calmly at the base of the grand staircase, perfectly composed despite the late hour. His sharp, discerning eyes flicked toward Jason with quiet understanding, arms neatly clasped behind his back as though this was all expected.

Jason exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Where the hell is he?" His voice was low but tense.

Alfred inclined his head toward the large windows at the end of the hall, where the faint glow of moonlight shimmered through the thin curtains.

"He's outside," Alfred said smoothly, his tone warm but firm. "I thought it best to let him be... considering the circumstances."

Jason's eyes narrowed. "Outside?" His voice edged with frustration. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Alfred arched a single, perfectly composed eyebrow. "You were... resting, Master Jason. I thought it best not to disturb you unnecessarily."

Jason opened his mouth to argue—but stopped himself. There was no use. Alfred always had the upper hand in these conversations, no matter how tense the situation.

Jason let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from his shoulders. "Where outside?"

Alfred's faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The gardens. Near the old stone bench by the eastern courtyard."

Jason hesitated for a moment longer before nodding sharply and heading toward the nearest exit leading to the gardens. His boots clicked softly against the polished floor as he strode toward the back entrance, pushing open the heavy double doors with a quiet creak.

The cold night air hit Jason like a sharp, refreshing wake-up call. The quiet serenity of the gardens stretched out before him, bathed in pale moonlight. The old stone pathways wound through immaculately maintained flower beds and towering oak trees swaying gently in the cool breeze.

Jason's sharp gaze scanned the courtyard immediately, looking for any signs of movement—and then he saw you.

You sat on the edge of a weathered stone bench near a small reflecting pool, partially hidden beneath the sprawling branches of an old oak tree. The soft glow of moonlight bathed your face, highlighting the distant, contemplative expression in your eyes.

You sat perfectly still, elbows resting on your knees, fingers laced together as though lost in thought... or memory.

Jason exhaled slowly, his pulse finally steadying. You were fine.

He approached carefully, boots crunching softly over the gravel path. You didn't react at first, too deep in your own thoughts—until Jason's familiar voice cut through the quiet.

"Could've mentioned you were sneaking out," he said gruffly, though his tone lacked its usual edge.

You glanced up, blinking in faint surprise, but your expression softened slightly when you saw him.

"Couldn't sleep," you said quietly, your voice steady but distant. "Didn't want to... stay inside."

Jason slowly sat down on the opposite end of the bench, resting his forearms on his knees as he studied you carefully.

"...Didn't think you'd still be here," he admitted after a moment. "Figured you might've... run."

Your gaze dropped back to the still surface of the water. "I thought about it."

Jason nodded slowly, understanding. "But you didn't."

You sighed, the weight of everything still pressing down on your shoulders. "Where would I even go? They'll find me... no matter where I run."

Jason's sharp eyes softened just a fraction.

"They won't find you here," he said firmly. "We won't let them."

For the first time, you believed him—even if you weren't sure why.

And in the quiet stillness of the Wayne Manor gardens... the night finally felt calm, neither of you spoke. The tension stretched like a thin wire between you—charged and fragile.

Finally, you exhaled, breaking the heavy silence. "Why?"

Jason's brow furrowed slightly. "What?"

"Why do you care so much?" you asked again, your voice rough, tinged with frustration—but also... something more vulnerable. "You keep putting yourself in danger—for me. Why?"

Jason stiffened slightly, his shoulders tensing beneath his worn leather jacket. He opened his mouth, but you kept going, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

"You barely know me, Jason. You didn't have to help me—any of this. You could've walked away... but you didn't." You shook your head, frowning. "So... why? Why do you care?"

Jason's expression darkened for a moment, like he was fighting something inside himself. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to do something—but he forced himself to stay still.

He took a slow, measured breath before finally speaking, his voice low and rough. "...Because I get it."

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the quiet intensity in his voice.

Jason's gaze dropped to the ground, his hands flexing into tight fists. "I know what it's like... to be hunted. To feel like you're never safe." His voice turned sharper, edged with something raw and personal. "Like you're always looking over your shoulder... wondering how long you've got before someone finds you."

Your chest tightened, his words cutting deeper than you expected.

Jason lifted his head, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours—intense, unwavering.

"I know what it's like... to think you're only worth what they made you. Like you'll never be anything but the weapon they tried to turn you into." His voice dropped lower, rough but sincere. "But you're wrong. You're more than that."

You stared at him, throat tight, unable to speak—but he wasn't done.

Jason scooted closer, his voice softer now—real, stripped of its usual sarcasm and bravado.

"You're not alone in this. You never have to be." His expression softened—not in pity, but in something far deeper. "I care, because... you're someone I want to fight for."

His voice dropped to a near whisper. "You're someone I... care about."

The words landed heavily between you, charged with something undeniable. No bravado. No lies. Just truth.

Your breath hitched, and for a long moment, you couldn't speak—couldn't move.

Jason's sharp eyes softened just a fraction, his expression still guarded—but there was hope there, too, hesitant but real.

The quiet between you felt like its own language—something shared in the stillness of the night.

Without thinking, without planning, you took a shift over, closing the small distance between you. Jason's breath hitched slightly, his eyes widening just a fraction—but he didn't pull away.

Slowly, carefully, you reached up, resting a hand against his chest, feeling the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers.

And then... you kissed him.

It wasn't hurried or desperate—it was steady, deliberate... grounding. A silent acknowledgment of everything neither of you could put into words.

Jason inhaled sharply, his body stiffening for just a second—but then he melted into it, his hands hovering near your sides as though unsure if he was allowed to hold on—or if he even deserved to.

But he didn't pull away.

For a few long, perfect seconds... nothing else existed.

When you finally pulled back, your breath mingling in the cool air, Jason's eyes stayed locked on yours—stunned, soft, and... open.

You let your fingers linger on his chest for just a moment longer before leaning back, exhaling slowly as reality settled back in.

Jason's voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "...You didn't have to do that."

"I know," you said quietly, your voice steady but soft. "I wanted to."

His lips twitched faintly—almost a smile—but something deeper flickered in his intense gaze... something that meant more than words ever could.

Before either of you could say anything more, you stood up and took step back, turning toward the darkened path leading deeper into the gardens.

Jason's hand almost twitched toward you... but he let you go.

"Goodnight, Jason," you said softly, your voice steady—this time, without fear.

Jason sat there in the quiet stillness, watching you disappear into the shadows of the garden path—still feeling the lingering warmth of your touch and the weight of your words.

And for the first time in a long time... he let himself hope.

The grand dining room of Wayne Manor was bathed in soft morning light spilling through the tall, arched windows. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries drifted faintly through the air, though the table's occupants seemed far too tense to notice.

Bruce stood at the head of the long mahogany dining table, clad in his usual sharp, tailored suit. His commanding presence was as steady and immovable as ever, his intense, calculating gaze fixed on a holographic display projected from a slim tablet resting on the polished surface.

Jason sat a few seats down, leaning back with his arms crossed, his sharp blue eyes flicking between Bruce and the screen with thinly veiled impatience. His leather jacket was still slightly scuffed from the previous night's battle, though he didn't seem to care—or even notice.

Across from him, Tim sat with perfect posture, fingers steepled thoughtfully under his chin, his expression calm but deeply analytical. His mind was clearly already racing through the layers of Bruce's emerging strategy.

Damian stood near the window, his arms folded neatly across his chest, his sharp, calculating green eyes cold but focused. He listened in silence, but there was something guarded in his stance—as if he was waiting for the perfect moment to interject.

And then there was you.

You sat toward the center of the long table, still processing the events of the past few days—the brutal fight with the League, Talia's dark promise, and the revelation of your past as their so-called "Chi Warden." You could still feel the faint hum of power lingering beneath your skin—a constant reminder of what the League wanted you to be... and what you'd refused to become.

Your gaze drifted subtly toward Jason, catching the faint glimmer of something soft in his usually sharp, guarded eyes. His expression was neutral, but there was something there—a quiet, steady reassurance. An anchor.

You exhaled slowly and forced yourself to focus as Bruce cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to the projection.

"We can't eliminate the League as a threat," Bruce began, his deep, commanding voice echoing through the quiet room. "But we can sever their hold on you."

His eyes flicked toward you briefly—not cold, not calculating—just certain.

"They'll keep coming," he continued, adjusting the holographic interface. "But if we dismantle their current leadership structure... disrupt their resources... and cut off their intelligence networks—"

"Talia," Jason interrupted bluntly, his voice rough with frustration. "You mean we need to take her down."

Bruce's expression remained unreadable, though a faint flicker of acknowledgment passed through his sharp eyes. "Talia is the immediate threat... but removing her won't be enough." His voice dropped lower. "The League doesn't stop because one leader falls. They adapt."

Jason scowled, fists tightening against the polished table. "So what—you're saying this could take months? Years?"

Bruce's piercing gaze remained steady. "Yes."

His answer hit the room like a cold, sharp blade. The silence that followed was thick with tension.

Jason shook his head sharply, clearly fighting the urge to explode. "We don't have that kind of time, Bruce."

"We do," Bruce countered firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But only if we're smart. If we make one wrong move... he pays the price." His gaze flicked toward you, and for a brief moment, you saw something deeper in his expression—responsibility, determination. "We will end this... but we have to do it right."

Jason bit back whatever retort was burning on his tongue, his jaw tightening—but he stayed quiet, for now.

Damian, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his voice cold and precise.

"...Attacking them directly won't work." His tone was sharp, clipped, almost begrudging. "They'll expect it. They'll want you to come after them."

All eyes turned toward him as he stepped closer to the table, his sharp green gaze locked firmly on the projection.

"They know how you operate," he continued, his voice low but steady. "My mother... she'll anticipate every tactic you try." His expression darkened. "She trained me... and she created him." He nodded toward you without even glancing in your direction.

Your jaw clenched slightly at his words, but you held his gaze, refusing to flinch.

Damian's voice lowered even further, quiet but deadly serious. "The only way to beat her... is to be unpredictable. Strike where she doesn't expect it."

Bruce's expression didn't change, though something faint shifted behind his eyes—consideration.

Jason let out a harsh breath, still visibly tense but... thoughtful now.

Tim nodded slowly, processing. "He's... right. If we follow the League's rules, we'll lose." His sharp gaze flicked toward Bruce. "We need to think... differently."

Bruce's mouth tightened slightly, though he didn't argue.

As the room fell back into tense, thoughtful silence, your gaze drifted back toward Jason again. His sharp features were still etched with frustration, his fists clenched against the table—but there was something... softer beneath the anger.

He felt you watching him and slowly lifted his eyes to meet yours—steady, unwavering.

For a long moment, the room, the tension, the plan—it all faded into the background.

His expression softened just slightly—only for you. It wasn't much... but it was enough.

You allowed yourself a small, faint breath—relief, trust.

And then Bruce's commanding voice cut through the air once again, grounding you both back into the mission.

Bruce turned toward you fully, his voice calm but firm. "Until we can neutralize their reach... you stay here. Under our protection."

You bristled immediately, sitting up straighter. "I don't need protection. I've survived this long without you."

Jason opened his mouth—ready to argue—but Bruce raised a hand, silencing him with a single sharp gesture.

"This isn't up for debate," Bruce said coldly, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. "You're not alone anymore. They will come for you... and this time, they won't stop."

Your fists clenched, power flickering faintly beneath your skin—a familiar, dangerous heat.

"I can fight," you growled, your voice rough but certain. "I'm not helpless."

Jason's voice cut through, rough but steady. "We know."

You turned toward him, caught off guard by the certainty in his tone.

Jason leaned forward, his sharp blue eyes burning with quiet determination. "But you don't have to fight this alone. Not anymore."

His words hit harder than you expected, cutting through your defenses like a blade. For the first time in years, you felt something you thought you'd lost—

Hope.

#dc x male reader #dc #x male reader #jason todd x male!reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd #Jason todd x male!reader #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #batboys

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toulousewayne · 6 months ago

Text

Catching Strays Pt:111🐈‍⬛💎✨

Red Hood x male!reader who’s a cat burglar with a similar M.O. to Catwoman who’s on a crime spree.

Summary:Your a Cat Burglar who’s dressed similarly to Catwoman. You enjoy the thrill of the chase.

—————

Red Hood’s bike races down the highway, he weaves through traffic pushing his bike to its limits.

He glances down at the screen following the signal. “Please don’t do it.” He huffs as he rushes down a ramp off the highway and onto the main road of East Gotham, still rushing his way through the streets.

—-

Black Mask laughs to himself from his office, he just broadcasted to the GCPD and Batman that he wants 50 million dollars or he’ll release the bio weapon,and if Batman or any of his sidekicks come after him he’ll detonate the virus.

“You think they’ll come lookin’ boss?” Black Mask has his back to him looking at the Gotham City skyline. “The Bat ain’t stupid enough to come here, he’ll be looking for where I’m spreading the virus, good luck to him. I’ve got some insurance this time.” He chuckled.

—-

Y/n landed on his feet in the sewers, he stood up and looked around. He knew he could enter the building itself he’d have to work his way up. He began to run down the tunnels. The only sound was his footsteps and the sound of drilling. He came to an overhang and looked down to see Black Mask’s men setting up lines and tubes.

He crouched and walked for a moment before he noticed a table with blue prints and supplies.

What are you idiots doing?

He glanced at the blueprints and took a few pictures of them. He began to move along until he heard voices from around the corner.

“I’m in charge of this project not you, you’re just the hired muscle!”a man threatened, Y/n peeked around the wall and saw the man get picked up by his throat.

“You misunderstood enano, your boss has me overseeing this project. So get back to work,” he threw him and he landed close to Y/n who accidentally knocked over a bottle.

The man came into the light and Y/n saw Bane for the first time.

“Men, I think we have a rodent problem.” He chuckled and Y/n moved fast.

———-

“Red Hood what’s your ETA?” Batman’s voice filled his com. Red Hood raced into a turn, down a street and barreled towards Black Mask’s office.

“I’m nearly there.”

“Stop, don’t approach. He’s counting on that.”

Jason wanted to ignore him, he was seconds from reaching his destination but he looked up and moved as a gunshot nearly took his eye out. He turned down an alleyway as another gunshot range out.

“Snipers.” He growled.

“Any idiot how he can get in, Robin and I aren’t far from your location. He won’t get away with this.”

Jason shook his head, and noticed a open sewer grate,“Stray hasn’t done anything to Black Mask. He’s in over his head.”

“I don’t mean him, so long as he doesn’t kill him. “

“Well then you better hurry up because I don’t think Black Mask is working alone.” He noticed the room Stray was in and he was leaping out of the way of Bane’s attack.

Red Hood fired his pistol one of them nicking Bane’s shoulder. “Step away from him Bane, I won’t break those arms.”

Bane smirked, “So this is your pussycat, well then I’ll be extra careful with him.” He pressed the button on his wrist and Y/n watched in horror as he doubled in size, his veins extending and turning blue, his demeanor become more deadly.

“I’ll break you both into pieces!” Y/n back flipped away from him and leaped up to where Jason was.

“Friend of yours?”

“Not mine.” He fired at him which pissed him off more.

“Go!”

“I’m not running, from whatever that thing is.” He cracks his whip. The two smirk before jumping out the way of a barrel being flung at them.

Red Hood and Stray dodged out the way of Bane’s attack and would attack him while he was distracted.

Soon though Bane got ahold of Red Hood and through him through a wall sending him flying. Stray jumped and wrapped his whip around Bane’s neck. He jumped down from the rafters and choked him.

“I’ll—break—you.” Y/n took his claws and severed the tube in his head causing him to scream. He got down and moved away from him running to Red Hood who was getting to his feet.

“That’ll hurt tomorrow.” He dusted himself before turning to Y/n who wore an unreadable look.

“Let’s go.” He turned for the stairs. Red Hood followed him upstairs into the main hall of the office lobby.

“You can’t kill him, I get he’s your father—“ Y/n turned toward him and glared.

“Don’t, has many heads as you’ve let roll I don’t care what you or Batman thinks. He owns me.” Y/n sprinted for the elevator and slide inside it as the doors shut. Red Hood was now in a room with armed guards.

“Thanks Cat.” He ready his pistols but then the lights when out and the sound of glass shattered. Smoke soon engulfed the room and one by one they became picked off.

“Where is he?” Batman and Robin emerged from the smoke.

“Penthouse, we have to hurry.”

——-

“Honestly you and Nightwing have rather interesting taste in suitors.”

“Not now.” Red Hood sighed as they entered the penthouse. Batman went inside first and they took in the sight of a struggle.

“He’s gone.” Batman turned to the desk and saw it mashed to pieces. He picked up a black phone that had a shattered screen.

“Tt, a waste of a trip,it seems your friend is just as sneaky as Kyle.” Robin turned to leave the two men in the room.

“No blood, I think Black Mask was waiting for him. “ Red Hood stopped before turning to the giant window.

“The roof.” The two rushed out the room and toward the stairs until they were on the roof. Black Mask had Stray in a headlock as he was getting inside the helicopter.

“Get back Bats,I’ve got a hostage. I’m getting out of the city!” The helicopter was seconds from take off.

“Let him go!” Red Hood clocked his pistol but Black Mask did the same pointing it at Stray’s temple. Blood present on his face.

“You’ll die a painful death.” He spat at the man who pushed the gun farther toward his face.

“I’ll blow your head off kid, you’ve caused me a lot. And I don’t care if your kid I’ll fucking paint this rooftop red, you heard that Batman I’ll fucking repaint this roof.” He pulled them into the helicopter as it took off Red Hood ran to the edge and watched as it began to fly toward the city.

“We—“

“I’ve got that covered.” The Batplane came racing toward them and stopped at the edge.

“Robin follow us on the road, don’t lose Black Mask’s signal.” Batman ordered hopping inside with Red Hood joining him, they flew toward the helicopter.

——-

Stray is still in Black Mask’s iron grip and still manages to piss him off.

“What you not man enough to look at your son tarface.” Black Mask tightens his hold around Y/n neck.

“I will kill you kid, you maybe my flesh blood but your no kin of mine. I’ll drop from the chopper.” He spat. Y/n looked around but his weapons were seized and his mask too.

“Y’know you kinda look like her.” He chuckled watching the city as they passed by.

“Go Fuck yourself.” Y/n spat at him which earned him a hard shove. He nearly fell out the chopper but was grabbed by his collar.

“I really am starting to remember why I never wanted kids. “

The Batplane is now directly behind them and begins to fire at the helicopter.

Black Mask grabs an assault rifle and fires back at them. “I’ll kill you Bats!” Y/n yanks on Black Masks arms and he fires around the small aircraft even hitting the pilot. Black Mask yanks Y/n and stares at him.

“Your dead kid.” Y/n takes his claws and slashes Black Mask’s chest. He pushes Y/n full force and spirals down to the city below.

It’s all in slow motion, the bright and vast city surround him, window after window, balcony and neon signs fade past him.

He barely notices the figure the grabs him and grapples them to safety. It’s only once his feet touch the surface of the rooftop does his world stop spinning and he’s back from cloud 9.

“Did that bastard hurt you?” He looks up at the Red Hood who his clutching Y/n like he’s the only anchor he has to reality.

“No..I’m fine you caught me.” The look up and seen the chopper spiral and crashes into Gotham Bay. The Batplane flies toward the crash before returning flying farther into the city.

The rain starts again, though nearly move to get out of it. Instead Y/n lifts his hands to the help and removes it.

Jason’s face is back before him. The jet black hair matted to his skin, the white tuff proudly in the front it too was wet from sweat and the rain. The scar across his face that Y/n gently traced with his thumb. His eyes still covered by the red domino mask.

“Stray—“

“Call me Y/n.” He cut him off tracing his thumb now just below the bottom of Jason’s lip.

“Well if we’re on a first name basis, I’m Jason.”

“And somehow Handsome that suits you.” Jason pulled him close. He took his hand and pried off his last mask allowing Y/n to see those pretty green eyes.

“I’ve wanted nothing more than to hold you, you are something special to me, someone—I’ve never felt this before.”

Y/n grinned before pulling Jason’s head closer. “Well Red, I think that call that being smitten.”

Jason smirked, “Well my little thief I can say you’ve cracked the code to my heart.” Jason kisses him and the two men hold one another has the rain showers them from above.

When the finally break away his when Jason pulls away with a slight scowl.

“Did I do something?” Jason shakes his head at him press a quick kiss to his forehead.

“No, my family was listening and are killing the moment.” He slightly yelled the last part which caused Y/n to laugh.

“Well then I guess you better not keep them waiting.” He pulls Jason in for another kiss this one more passionate and gentle than the first one. He pulls away and smirks.

“I’m beginning to like this, a lot.” He grins holding his Stray.

“Well it’s just the beginning.” Y/n hands Jason his helmet and grins. Jason wraps his arm around Y/n’s waist.

“I think I know a guy who can get you some new gear, though he’s kinda broody.”

Y/n smirked, “Who your Father?” Jason blushes and looks away.

“Aww you want me to meet your Dad.” Stray tracks Jason’s emblem with his free hand.

“Babe I will leave you on this rooftop.” He fastens his helmet and grapples them away.

“You wouldn’t dream of it, you’d miss me teasing you to much Red.”

“I’m a lucky guy.”

“You sure are Red, you sure are.”

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spidey-x-male-reader · 1 year ago

Note

How about Jason Todd x male reader who's a werewolf? And who's transfortation during the full moon is incredibly painful, to the point that he's writhing on the floor, howling and whining like a wild animal?

Just Jason comforting his boyfriend as he shifts, not leaving his side until it's over, holding him as he cries, letting him know that he's okay, brushing his fur with his hands and just being so gentle, like reader was made of glass.

Pairing: Jason Todd x male werewolf reader

Summary: It's full moon and Jason is there to comfort you

A/N: Who knew that I was even able to write something?? Big surprise for all of us, huh?

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

MASTERLIST

The full moon hung high in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over Gotham City. As if Gotham wasn’t scary enough already, Jason knew that tonight there would be another danger. At least you told him so. He still refused to ever see you as any kind of danger for anyone.

Jason sat on the couch in one of his safe houses, watching you pace up and down.

“(y/n). It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m just…I should have stayed alone. Like usual. I…what if I hurt you? If something happened to you–”

He stood up, carefully putting his arms around you. “Trust me. You won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” The look in his eyes showed nothing but pure determination.

You started feeling a deep tug inside your body, like something was ripping you apart from the inside. You doubled over, your knees almost giving out under you. “It’s…it’s starting.”

“It’s okay, love. I’m right here.” Jason spoke in a calm tone even though you saw the worried expression on his face. You quickly realized that he wasn’t worried about you hurting him though, he was worried about you being in pain.

Jason's heart ached as he saw the one he loved in so much pain, howling and whining like a wild animal. He knew how much the transformation hurt, and he couldn't bear to see his boyfriend in such pain.

When your knees gave out under you and you could do nothing else than roll yourself together on the floor, trying to get through the pain, he immediately moved to sit down next to you, not thinking about his own safety for a moment.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Jason whispered soothingly as he knelt beside his boyfriend. He gently stroked your hair, trying to provide some comfort amidst the pain. "I'm here with you. You're not alone."

Your body continued to contort and change, but Jason refused to leave your side. He held onto your trembling form, offering words of reassurance and love. "You're strong, and you can get through this. I'm right here, babe."

You were used to people leaving at this point. Or running. Sometimes it was because they became terrified. Sometimes they were just disgusted because of the way your transformation took place and your body contorted.

But Jason stayed. He didn’t move away. Not for a second.

Tears streamed down your face as the transformation continued. It always felt so endless long, no matter how many times it happened.

Jason wiped the tears away with tender care. He knew that the pain was unbearable, but he was determined to be there for you every step of the way.

As the transformation finally completed, you were lying on the floor, panting heavily. Your body was now covered in fur, and your golden eyes looked up at Jason with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. There was something angry and animalistic in there too but Jason didn’t even flinch. He just continued to stroke your fur, his touch gentle and loving.

"It's over now," Jason murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your furry forehead. "You did great, my love. I'm so proud of you."

You nuzzled a bit closer to Jason, finding comfort in his embrace. You pressed into his side as he put an arm around you, putting some of his weight on you. Neither of you were scared of the other even if you probably should be.

It was the first time in years of these transformations that you actually felt safe while you were transformed. You felt calm. You had no urge to kill Jason. You just wanted to have him close.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, as the full moon cast its glow outside. In that moment, all that mattered was the love and support you found in each other.

“Has anyone ever told you that your fur is really soft?” Jason whispered, softly moving his fingers through your fur, careful not to pull.

Jason looked at you like you were something beautiful to appreciate.

“I could get used to this…” he mumbled while leaning a bit on you, using you like a pillow.

Yeah…you could get used to this too.

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nosyrobin · 1 month ago

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Teddy bear!reader who’s trapped in the Wayne household.

Teddy bear!reader who’s practically some weird cuddly entity that resembles a teddy bear with a human form

Teddy bear!reader who has to endure all the venting, ranting the batfamily has to tell them. They can’t help but frown as it starts to get draining.

Teddy bear!reader who’s always hugged when seen. They can’t get out of the tight hold the boys get them into to. Even Bruce doesn’t let them go easily.

Teddy bear!reader who has a chip in them, shocking them when they don’t keep up the “happy bear” facade. You’re supposed to be the cute teddy they love.

Teddy bear!reader forced to be into human form so one of the boys can take them out and spoil them. But it’s only to show others that you belong to them if you somehow escape them.

Teddy bear!reader who’s starting to crack. The cuddly teddy is starting to be a grizzly bear.

————-

But that only stops when you get shocking pain in your neck. You roar, clawing at your own skin and fur. You transform between bear and human. Dick frowns as he hold the controller down. Damian could only hold a scowl watching his beloved animal act out.

Jason sits watching you beg for the pain to stop, Tim could only smile. Bruce has a hand on Dick’s shoulder. He squeezed it seeing you about to pass you. Dick stops the shocking pain.

You whimper, holding your arms. You feel your claws poke your own bruised body. Bruce kneels down, lifting your head as you flinch at his touch. “Our poor teddy….” He says lowly, he shows pity more than guilt.

It makes you sick as you try and roar at him, growl. Anything. But in the corner of your eye, you see Dick ready to press the button. You immediately stopped trying to fight. “You seem cranky..” Bruce says, he then helps you sit up as Damian moves by his father.

“Father, maybe it’s time for them to eat some honey?” He questions.

Honey…it’s not honey. It’s a drug to make you loopy. To make you obey them. To make you happy and do anything they wish to do to you.

To make you their perfect little teddy bear.

A/N: UH OH??? DID I EAT? OR DID I EAT🗣️‼️

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1s3v3n1 · 2 years ago

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PERFECT THIS STORY WAS SO GOOD KUDOS TO YOU FR💪🏾‼️

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐒.

previous part.

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞. the bat family meets the addams family

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. jason todd x addams!male reader

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. fluff, strong language, pet names, hesitant bruce, weapons, typical addams family behavior (homicide, dark humor, weird, etc), jason and reader being a simp for each other, the addams being wholesome as always, implied reader’s atheism (i think the entire addams are atheist tbh), mention of torture

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊. wow, hades updated !! shocking, i know. i'm sorry for the long hiatus and inactive, i wasn't okay and it was difficult for me to write when my mind was in such a messed up state. mental health can be a bitch, you know :D i'm trying to recover, and went back on writing again. hope this was a good comeback.

FEM ALIGNED DNI !!

Letting his family meet you hadn’t crossed Jason’s mind at all until that very day when his annoying older brother caught him by the ice cream truck buying a dark chocolate and a mint chocolate flavored ice cream.

Dick was on officer duty patrol in undercover civilian clothes that afternoon, walking around the streets of Gotham in hopes of catching some shady business going around the city or just someone doing a simple act that goes against the law, being a good police officer that he is. Though, instead of seeing criminals like he assumed he would, his most rebellious little brother dressed in bad boy-ish clothes as usual buying ice creams caught his eyes.

He was supposed to walk right past since there really is no reason to approach Jason, but seeing him sit down next to a mysterious, old fashioned, well-dressed, expensive looking guy in all black with sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose and give the dark chocolate flavored ice cream to? Now, Dick certainly can’t walk past without knowing about you because he’s a little shit who just can’t help but stuck his nose into his brother’s business. That and, well, he also found you really cool. There’s not a thing in this world that can stop Dick Grayson from wanting to befriend someone who seems cooler than the Dark Knight himself.

So, in all his glory, Dick approached Jason with his usual charming smile dancing across his lips.

“Oh, god...” Jason groaned in annoyance as soon as he spotted the grinning male, rolling his eyes. Peace seems to never be an option whenever he takes you around the city for simple walks.

“Jason, are you uttering your all father’s name religiously or simply as an expression as of the moment?” Your elegant yet soothing, deep voice speaks out a sentence composed of well thought words and syllables, innocent curiosity behind the gentle tone.

Dick takes a mental note that your way of speaking sounded similar to the way humanity used to speak centuries ago, when everything was still old-fashioned and technologies hardly ever existed. It made him feel like you came from the past, as if he was witnessing the existence of a time traveler. Stopping in front of you two, he gives you a charming grin as soon as your eyes catches his. A hint of curiosity and wonder flashed within them behind the dark shades of your sunglasses before they were gone in an instant, replaced by a questioning look instead.

“May I help you?” You simply asked, but Dick doesn’t fail to notice the sudden drop in your previously soft tone and the piercing, calculated gaze holding wariness as well as subtle suspicion.

“Sorry, I’m Dick Grayson. I was curious about the person Jay’s hanging out with, I couldn’t help myself but approach.” He elaborates himself while trying his best to ensure he wasn’t a threat through body language, relaxing his figure. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out a little.”

Recognition flashed in your face, brows raising only barely to show subtle surprise, “Jason’s older brother. The name’s (Y/n) Addams. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” You smiled, and even something just as simple as that looked graceful in Dick’s eyes.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, you were enchanting to look at as everything you do or say was captivating. How Jason managed to pull you was beyond him.

“Nice to meet you too,” He says back with a soft smile.

Even though his little brother hasn’t introduced you yet to their family, at least you seemed to know about them. Hopefully, nothing unpleasant has been said, but Dick doubts Jason would hide his trauma from you, considering how he was leaning to your side now subconsciously, as if being away from you will bring back awful memories.

He was worried about his practically traumatized-for-life little brother living alone, but it appears he didn’t have to worry at all.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” Jason more of grumbled, annoyed that your date has been interrupted. Almost automatically, one of your hands move to settle itself on his thigh to give it a gentle and soothing rub to ease his growing annoyance, while the other held your dark chocolate ice cream that you had begun eating with clean manners. He relaxed in an instant after feeling your touch.

“I think you should introduce (Y/n) to our family, Jay.” Dick suggests with enthusiasm that didn’t match Jason’s, not really answering his question. “They would want to know who you’re going out with. We can all have a dinner together!” There was excitement shining in his eyes as he shrugged his shoulders, trying to remain nonchalant despite his body language practically screaming excited.

Your lover groans, “Why the hell do they have to know who I’m going out with?”

Amusement crosses your face as you smirked, licking off the small bits of ice cream that got on your lips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that. I’m certain my family will be more than happy to meet them.” Jason gives you a look, to which you responded with an innocent smile. “Oh, mon amour. What could go wrong? I have been looking forward to meet your family, but you’ve never considered to bring me there. It’s a little concerning how you seem too hesitant to let them meet me.” You pout, feigning sadness.

Your lover widens his eyes, panic appearing in them as he gripped your hand that was on his thigh after realizing what you were implying. “That’s not what it looks like, babe! I just don’t want you to meet them ‘cause they can be a bit unbearable. Bruce is the worst person you could ever meet,” He scrunched his nose. “It’s not you I don’t want them to meet, it’s them I don’t want you to meet. There’s a difference. You’re never the problem.”

You chuckled at his quick attempt of elaboration.

Jason feels his cheeks redden at how deeply elegant and amazing your laugh sounded; it never fails to make his heart go haywire even after all this time. You manage to effortlessly make him fall in love with you deeper and deeper every day without even meaning to.

“Worry not, darling. I was just teasing you. I’m far from upset.” Reassuring him, your hand gently cups his cheek to rub the skin comfortingly. “Let me meet them once you’ve gotten rid of your doubts completely, my Jason. It isn’t necessary to rush.” You then let go of his face to push some of his hair away from his forehead before leaning back to continue eating the ice cream.

Dick witnessed a starstruck smile spread across Jason’s lips in an instant, the way his expression was so soft when looking at you, how his emerald eyes that usually held pent-up rage towards the world sparks brightly in love and adoration.

Huh. He’s never seen his brother this happy and content.

Maybe you are Jason’s one true love.

“Dick,” Jason calls out after watching you eat your ice cream with a barely hidden happiness. You looked happy to meet one of his family even though you haven’t said anything, and he was willing to throw away his pride if it meant making you happy.

“Hm?” Dick hummed, smiling when Jason glanced at you and looked back at him.

“Tell the others.”

That was all he needed to let out the excitement he was holding in, beaming at you two. “Right away, little bird!” He doesn’t waste a time to pull his phone out of his pocket, “I’m going then. It was nice meeting you, (Y/n). I’ll text you when!” He waved his hand and walked away, already dialling Bruce’s number.

Jason watched him go incredulously. “Did he just come here to convince me to introduce you?”

You chuckle under your breath, “Perhaps. Your brother has sorted out his priorities well.” However, a frown appears on your lips when you turned to Jason. “Do you genuinely feel comfortable letting my family meet them? We could always cancel, mon amour. There are many other fascinating activities we can bother ourselves with.”

Jason felt his heart swell at your gentle tone and concerned eyes, making him feel loved in many different ways. You don’t even realize that you’re slowly healing his troubled heart with simple things like this. He already knows you love him more than the Guillotine itself (which is a really big deal since nothing except him could ever beat your love for it) as you’ve always told him before, but the way you treat him, talk to him, and look at him just adds so much weight on your words. You don’t just tell him you love him — you show it in the most perfect, best, casual ways.

Intertwining his hand with yours, he brought it up to rest on his chest, hiding how overwhelmed he was with the love for you. “Like what, sweetheart?” Faint amusement laced his tone as he already knew the answer.

“Like slicing or shooting criminals, of course.” You winked before bringing your intertwined hands to press a kiss on his knuckles.

Jason laughs, and you admired the way he threw his head back to let the sound escape. “Knew you would say that!” He wheezed, before calming down to kiss your knuckles just like you did to his. “But it’s really fine, (Y/n). I want to introduce you and your family to mine.” His expression then turns apologetic, “ ‘m sorry if it seemed like I was keeping you in the shadows.”

You shake your head and leaned in to capture his lips in a peck, a gesture to let him know you didn’t mind. “If you were keeping me in the shadows, we wouldn’t be having a date out in the open where any of your family can see me. Don’t be apologetic, chéri. I’m nowhere near upset.”

Letting a smile break out, Jason leans in to kiss you more longer this time before pulling away.

Just like that, you both sat on the bench and ate ice creams in comfortable silence, holding each other’s hand.

Dick, Tim, Damian, Barbara, Cassandra and Stephanie all stood in front of the Wayne Manor with barely contained excitement, waiting for the infamous Addams family and Jason to show up.

Dick was mainly looking forward for his family to see the side of Jason no one had ever seen before, Tim was occasionally standing on his tiptoes to see if any car was nearing, and Damian was keeping himself still but his body practically trembled with excitement due to being a fan of your vigilante persona for a long time. Barbara had a smile on her face with a hint of nervousness, while Cassandra and Stephanie talked to each other to calm their nerves.

Even without research, the Addams family was quite the celebrity family in Gotham because of their richness that seemed to tie with Bruce Wayne, but moreover, they were rather infamous for being “weird” and gothic as those experts for minding businesses that aren’t their own paparazzi claimed. The Wayne family didn’t really need to dive into the deepest parts of internet in their computer; one newspaper — with the front cover of five people with gothic outfits standing in front of the big ass almost-castle-house — dedicated entirely to the weird family already helped.

Only thing they needed to research about was you, and surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to find information about your vigilantism — which is how all of them realized not only was Jason dating the person Damian idolizes more than his own father, but also the one who brutally tortured and straight-up dumped Joker into Arkham Asylum. Needless to say, it kinda made sense to them that Jason’s dating you, though Bruce wasn’t pleased.

The gates being opened to a black limousine caught their attention, making Cass and Steph break their conversation to watch the car drive closer before eventually stopping in front of them. A butler, who took them by surprise due to his seemingly inhuman looks similar to the Frankenstein monster, got out to open the door.

A man wearing a black suit with white stripes was the first to come out of the limousine as he smiles cheerfully at them, helping his wife to step out. Cassandra’s jaw dropped at the beautiful woman with black, long and silky hair who gives them an enchanting, almost hypnotizing smile.

Next to step out were a boy wearing black and white striped shirt and a girl who had her hair braided on two sides. The boy gave them an all too adorable friendly smile, but his sister only held a blank face as she observed each of the Wayne members. Finally, Jason got out together with you, all of them noticing your intertwined hands.

Your lover raised his brows, “Why are you all here?”

“Well, Bruce said we didn’t have to, but we wanted to welcome you here.” Dick shrugged, nodding at you. “Good to see you again, (Y/n).”

“Likewise, Dick.” You smile. “Greetings, ladies, gentlemen. The name’s (Y/n). This are my parents Gomez and Morticia,” Your parents greet them with a nod and friendly smile. “And my siblings Wednesday and Pugsley.” Pugsley waves his hand, enthusiastic to meet Jason’s family, while Wednesday crosses her arms above her chest and simply nods without a word.

Dick was grinning at your siblings because of their adorableness, not even the slightest bit bothered by Wednesday’s lack of emotion. Cassandra and Tim were gawking at Gomez and Morticia, how they seem so perfect and gorgeous, not only each on their own but together as well. Stephanie and Barbara beamed at you while Damian observed Wednesday and Pugsley, but there wasn’t any hint of malice or bad intention in his eyes — just curiosity. The Addams family sure are good looking individuals.

“Uh — hi,” Tim was the first to speak out of the Wayne’s, awkwardly waving his hand because of the fact he felt as if the Addams were ethereal beings due to their beauty. “You... You all look beautiful. I’m surprised.”

Wednesday’s brows raised as you tilted your head slightly to the side, looking confused. Morticia and Gomez exchanges a glance from not knowing what to say, while Pugsley smiled nicely at Tim despite the truth of being called beautiful feels like an insult. Yours and your family’s reaction immediately worried the Wayne children; none of you seemed pleased or happy with the compliment Tim gave, in fact, you kind of looked offended.

Seeing his siblings getting worried that they might’ve done something wrong, Jason clears his throat to catch everyone’s attention and successfully did so. “What he means is you all look deadly and loathsome. He wasn’t trying to offend you in any way, he just isn’t used to our ways of compliment.” He elaborated with a genuine look, and his siblings looked taken aback that he seemed really calm and gentle with you and your family. Jason have always had anger issues; his rage was explosive everywhere he goes and the main victims of it were criminals, but sometimes it was directed entirely at Bruce because of their unpleasant history.

He was never known as a calm person even in the family. Always seemed on edge, like a walking bomb that’s ticking every second, unknown by people how to stop it from exploding so suddenly. However, as Jason stands with you holding your hand tightly, his entire demeanor was almost completely different from what his family was used to. He was as calm as a wind that caresses the Mother Nature so softly in fear of disturbing her and as gentle as anyone who holds a little kitten in their hands — there was no ticking time bomb, just a soft man caring and pouring his heart and love out to his awesome lover. Jason looked comfortable around you and your family, extremely to the point that he hadn’t noticed practically calling himself an Addams. It made his siblings’ hearts swell with happiness.

“Oh,” Morticia sighed in relief, and even just that felt and looked so heavenly. “We’re sorry, my dear. We weren’t aware of that. I was afraid you found us tolerable.”

Tim chuckles, not really knowing what to say. He was visibly confused, though from what he was able to pick up on, negative comments seems to be taken as positive ones in your family. While most of them were confused just like Tim, Damian quickly understood how compliments worked within the Addams and smirked fondly.

Dick finally gathers his thoughts to clear his throat, “Well, let’s go in now, shall we?”

As your family nodded in sync, you turn to Jason while fixing your collar with the empty hand. “Love, do I look menacing? I have to look presentable when meeting your father. I despise looking good.” You stated, checking your outfit and trying to fix where you found unpresentable.

It’s rare to see you fidgeting and uneasy, making Jason smile. He knew you lose your composure only when it comes to him and it made him feel so loved, appreciated, and important. “You always look menacing, babe. Could scare off any children that passes by.” He compliments, bringing up your intertwined hands and kissing the back of yours.

The corner of your lips twitched up, squeezing his hand back as amusement and adoration shows themselves on your expression. “That’s very lovely. This is why I loathe you.”

The flirting between you and Jason was so natural that even Damian wasn’t affected by it — he’s mostly disgusted and cringed out when people flirt in front of him, but for some reason, Jason flirting with you didn’t bother him at all. Perhaps, because it isn’t a modern type of flirting where couples show disgusting amount of PDA or say things halfheartedly just to make their partner feel good, but rather, it’s one that uses old-fashioned yet romantic language which truthfully comes from the heart. You and Jason flirt with respect for each other, where neither of you objectify nor sexualize the other.

There was a clear unspoken understanding between you, which was shown in just this little flirtatious moment. The way you show your love for each other might be old-fashioned and out of ordinary in this modern day, but it’s honestly more romantic than any of the modernized ones.

“You two always flirt,” Wednesday spoke as she swiftly turned around to meet yours and Jason’s eyes. “It would’ve been more perfect if you were holding a human heart and giving it to each other.”

Barbara, Cassandra, and Stephanie all widened their eyes at her opinion — is she telling you to kill someone, take their heart out, and give it to each other to show your love? That wouldn’t be a romance anymore; it’ll be a dark romance.

However, you only shrugged your shoulders while Jason chuckled in amusement, as if that comment was as normal as seeing trees and nature everywhere. Neither of you were even concerned with what Wednesday said. “There’s precisely a possibility of that occurring, though it’s not yet now.” You responded calmly, as expressionless as Wednesday but slight amusement littered your tone.

The others tensed at your statement with the exception of Damian, who only smirked in pride, as they all remember the news of Joker getting dumped into Arkham Asylum by a vigilante that isn’t Batman. Like mentioned before, Joker was in a really bad shape when he was quite literally thrown into the Asylum, very visible signs of torture coating his body everywhere.

When Bruce visited, it was worse than how the media portrayed it to be. Tongue cut off, fingers broken and two missing, heavily concussed, several cuts along his face and body, and bruises covering most of his body parts. Worst of it all was that Joker didn’t seem like himself anymore; he does laugh — never had been a time when Joker didn’t laugh — but it wasn’t his typical laughter. All the mockery, self-confidence and cockiness weren’t there. Instead, fear and paranoia filled the laughter Bruce was so used to hearing. It was so uncharacteristic and very unlikely of Joker.

He’s finally put behind bars for good, but how the fuck can a vigilante absolutely destroy the Joker? He was indestructible yet you managed to break him so bad that his insanity got flooded with immense fear rather than the urge to kill everyone and everybody for no reason.

And as they stand in front of you now, none of them can even imagine how such a gentleman like you could’ve broke him completely. You seem so respectful, sweet, gentleman, and lovely that it’s almost impossible to believe you were the one who did it. But everyone should always expect the unexpected, right?

“Dick,” Jason’s voice snaps the oldest boy out of his own thoughts as he nods his head towards the door. “Let’s go in.”

The Grayson only hummed, turning around to open the door and gesture inside with his other hand, bowing a little to show respect. Morticia and Gomez smiled pleasantly and brightly, touched by his manners as they enter. Wednesday followed next with a usual expressionless face, and Pugsley said “thank you” first before entering, then Jason pulled you along with him at last. The door closed behind Damian who was the last to enter.

“Welcome,” Bruce immediately greeted as soon as all of your eyes met his, and your parents doesn’t hesitate to smile respectfully and kindly at him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne.” Gomez steps forward with his hand extended to shake Bruce’s hand before gesturing to his wife standing beside him. “She’s my wife Morticia and these are my children. Perhaps, you already know about (Y/n)?”

Bruce’s unreadable gaze shift from your father to you, attempting to figure out your characteristics by just looking. However, despite the nervousness you’re feeling, you didn’t fail to compose yourself and appeal confident with the usual emotionless expression on your face. Your gaze sparkling darkly under the light made him feel uneasy somehow, as if you knew all of his dirty little secrets and his entire characteristics as well as personality and attitude without analyzing that much.

Truth be told, you heard Bruce’s attitude from Jason when he opened himself up to you. Your Beloved was extremely traumatized by what happened with Joker that it affected the way he saw the world; it should’ve been that way too with Bruce because he’s Jason’s adoptive father — yet what really happened was the complete opposite.

Bruce may not have had an ill intent of dismissing or ignoring what happened to Jason, but to continue living like Joker didn’t kill his second son made him unlikable on your list. You’re a very respectful person as Gomez and Morticia didn’t raise you to be an awful entity, and you would never want to go against your lover’s adoptive father — although, that does not mean you accept his morals.

Hiding the unsettled feeling building up in his stomach, Bruce attempts to smile at you and shake your hand. “So you’re (Y/n). I’ve only ever heard once about you.”

Only the corner of your lips twitched, a barely formed smile appearing as you shake his hand, eyes still piercing through him like a dagger. “And I’ve heard a lot of... things about you, Mr. Wayne.” The calculative tone in your voice set an alarm within Bruce’s head and he would’ve pulled his hand away from your grasp if it wasn’t for his conscious mind forcing himself to calm down. “Be not afraid — You’ll see no judgement here.” You gave him a pointed look.

Jason quickly goes behind you and wraps an arm around your waist, the soft look on him being noticed by everyone present in the room. “Babe, let’s have dinner first. You’ll absolutely love Alfred’s cooking. They’re hella tasty.” He compliments, winking at Alfred who stood at the side. Alfred smiled with gratitude.

Bruce notices the way a small bit of light shine on your dead-like eyes as soon as you looked at Jason. "Well then, may we?" You shift your soft gaze from Jason to Bruce as you tilt your head slightly to the side.

From then on, the peaceful dinner began with mainly your parents and Bruce sharing thoughts about their own children while the others watch with a smile as Damian starts a conversation with you, the one he idolizes the most. It's surprising to see Damian being really talkative — for the first time ever, he was being an actual child, asking you questions after questions with his eyes sparkling in joy. Not wanting to ruin this seemingly precious moment for Damian, everyone just decided to listen and chime in only once in a while when they feel like it. You were extremely patient with Damian the entire time he was bombarding you with questions, answering all of them without getting annoyed.

Jason felt relieved to witness the dinner going smoothly.

Truth be told, he was secretly worried about it turning into a disaster due to your vigilantism — Jason knew how Bruce felt about you after realizing you were the unnamed vigilante that nearly killed the Joker, and he thought Bruce would bring it up right away soon as dinner started. Luckily, he didn't. It made Jason sigh in relief and relax on his seat, smiling as he watched you talk with his siblings.

However, perhaps it was too soon to feel relieved.

"(Y/n), how long have you been a vigilante?"

Jason immediately froze at Bruce's question. The chit-chatting within the dining hall quickly falls into silence as everyone, too, froze — except the Addams family, who were still eating calmly and quietly, unbothered.

You first swallowed the food you were chewing before wiping your mouth elegantly with a napkin and not even hesitating to meet Bruce's piercing eyes. "Since I was a child, Mr. Wayne." You answered simply.

Bruce leans on the table, taking it slow. "Why did you become one?"

You felt Jason squeezing your hand under the table, as if to say you don't have to answer everything. Though, you still did. "One of our ancestors was a vigilante, although he was hanged alongside his wife's burning body when a rumour spread that she was a witch. He's quite the legend within our family, you see." Dick, Stephanie and Barbara's jaws dropped. "I could say I was inspired by him. Although the sole purpose of my vigilantism is to bring justice to those who were rejected, neglected, and ignored by our unpleasantly ridiculous, worthless justice system."

Feeling nervousness radiate off of Jason from how he squeezed your hand even more strongly, you gently hold and knead his hand to give him relaxation. After he stopped squeezing and slightly calmed down, you readjusted his hand so your and his fingers would intertwine with each other. You could feel him staring, but you never avoided eye contact with Bruce.

"To bring justice..." The Billionaire trails off meaningfully, as if it was something he wasn't expecting to hear from you. "Was that your way of bringing justice?" The sharpness in his tone clearly gave everyone an idea of what he's talking about.

However, despite the tension thickening and Bruce's eyes narrowing in judgment, you kept your composure with an expressionless face, nerves surprisingly as calm as water flows. There wasn't anything you were feeling at the moment, just the patience you need to deal with Jason's shallow-minded father.

"I'm most definitely certain yours and my understanding of justice varies." You immediately responded without missing a beat. Bruce's eyes pierced through you, but your (e/c) eyes were much worse. It was reading him thoroughly, looking into his soul, his mind, feeling as if you knew everything.

"Though, I must admit for everyone's knowledge, just so no one is left unaware — I tortured Joker not to seek justice for my lover, but to feed my vengeance and urge to revenge." Your dark eyes glinted in amusement under the lights as the confession slips from your mouth with no restraints, like you're just talking about nonchalant things. That's not the only thing that made a cold shiver run down everyone's spine; it was also the way your supposedly expressionless face completely shifted for the first time only to form a dark, prideful, egotistical look, accompanied by a smirk which obviously stated you weren't regretful.

Now, there's no way Bruce would take it lightly. Sensing the events had turned out more worrisome, Jason tries to tug on your intertwined hands. "(Y/n), sweetheart, we should—"

Your cold gaze avert towards him, and it softened only a bit. "Apologies for interrupting you, my love, but leaving our dinner without finishing them would be disrespect to the person who cooked them for us." You placed a gentle kiss on the back of Jason's hand to assure him. "Worry not so much. Your father and I are only getting to know one another."

As soon as your cold and piercing eyes returned to him, Bruce immediately feels an unsettling feeling in his gut as his heartbeat quickens. He could see it's easy for you to deal with him or this kind of confrontation — the dangerous thing he noticed about you is that you never lose composure and patience regardless if the situation at hand benefits you or not. The only time you've probably ever lost your collectedness was with Joker, whom you actually had every right to get absolutely livid at. You love Jason more than words could ever tell, Bruce can easily see that, but your actions not lining up with his morals made it difficult for him to accept you willingly.

While the Addams simply minded their own business by continuing to eat, the others couldn't find it in themselves to act like there was no tension rising in the air. They knew this confrontation was coming, but witnessing it unfold before their own eyes isn't easy. Most of them had to swallow the lump that formed in their throat, with Damian being the only one who isn't nervous in the slightest.

"Mr. Wayne, I have a deep understanding of your morals and the regulations you've set in this home... How none of your family is allowed to kill criminals." You stated with a smile that was barely visible, though respectful nonetheless. However, it instantly vanishes. "But I must remind you one thing — just because you believe your morals are correct does not make it righteous in any way."

That certainly struck a core in Bruce.

"We, humans, are incapable of finding the correct morals that all of humanity would agree on. You may believe your morals are absolute and there could be a wonderful soul who has developed the same belief as you, but it would never be everyone." Your hand gracefully gestures to the people in the dining room to emphasize your point before it comes to rest on the table as you intertwine it with your other hand. "You see, humans are not humans without distinctive differences, and pushing your own standards on others likely causes more harm than it should help put them in control."

The way you've said every word with such grace and elegance was nothing but fascinating as everyone found themselves suddenly voiceless. Your every gesture and move showed an exquisite manner no other human beings were blessed with, alongside your use of sophisticated language that silently told your high level of intelligence. Other than that, Bruce was speechless from how much your words contained truth and wisdom only a philosopher has. He had never seen nor met someone so wise as you.

Perhaps, that's why you're intimidating — every bit of your intelligence and attitude is your very own power no one else could ever have.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce clears his throat to find his voice and meets your eyes. "Are you implying I should accept how different yours and my morals are?"

"Precisely," You answered without hesitation, sipping the wine Jason had poured for you when the dinner started. "My morality is concerned with the victims, not the perpetrators nor myself. Your morality is concerned with your inability to control your murderous urges when committed." Bruce inhales sharply, making your eyes glint since he proved you right.

Gomez and Morticia smile to themselves as they felt proud of how you're always able to point out things others usually don't or can't. Despite your brutal honesty, there is clearly respect within the way you speak to Bruce, which is why neither of them stopped you from defending and proving yourself. Helping you was not in their options; they knew you can handle yourself perfectly fine with the number of times you've put people in their place physically or verbally.

"(Y/n), baby... It's okay," Jason quietly attempts to stop you, knowing those words were intentionally spoken to strike a nerve in his non-biological father.

He knew how your blood boiled when you found out Bruce didn't kill the Joker because of his ridiculous morality. He can still remember the way your eyes always darkened at even the slightest mention of Batman or Bruce Wayne. It took two years for you to overcome your wrath on the billionaire before you went after the Joker.

Before you could respond to your lover, Bruce caught your attention again with a simple question — "Why did you do it?"

You look back at him, seeing him staring at you and waiting for an answer. The corner of your lips lifted. "Well, wouldn't we do anything for love?" Bruce's brows raised at the warm look on your face, not knowing your face was capable of making such expression. "No one hurts my soul and live freely without heavy consequences." You shrugged, looking heavily smug.

Wednesday scoffed, "You should've just put a curse on him. It would have saved you all the trouble and exhaustion." She looked at you as if what you did was the most incorrect thing in the world.

"No, should've electrocuted him!" Said Pugsley with a grin. "It didn’t make me insane when Wednesday did it to me, but it could break his mind." Everyone's face shifted into a look of shock at the sudden revelation.

"Now now, children." Morticia interrupts, "What (Y/n) does to his enemies should be decided by him and him only. You don't decide for (Y/n)."

"Well, Joker hurt Jason and he's our brother. Nobody hurts my brothers and lives." Wednesday responded immediately with empty eyes seeking vengeance, stabbing the steak with a fork and making Dick, Tim and Stephanie flinch.

You threw a knife at her with a single flick of your wrist, just narrowly missing her face, stabbing the wall behind her. She doesn't flinch and instead gives you a look, which you ignore and reach for another knife to cut your steak with. "Manners, Wednesday. If you wish to stab something, search for someone that would be worthy of it, not a supper."

"You missed on purpose," Wednesday complains, annoyed.

You sarcastically smile, "Perhaps, I wouldn't intentionally miss again if you're respectful towards a supper."

She glared, "Miss again and I'll dump you in a paint full of pastels."

You just rolled your eyes at her tactics while Jason bursts into laughter, knowing how much you and your family hate pastels. To the Addams, pastels and joyful people are the most insufferable matters in the world. There's nothing you all hate more than that.

His father and brothers couldn't believe what happened in front of them. None of the Addams, even Jason, cared that you just threw a knife at Wednesday. In fact, your parents were far from concerned as they only watched with warm smiles on their faces, because truthfully that was just you and Wednesday bickering. It's nothing serious although others might disagree.

"Apologies for our children, Mr. Wayne." Morticia says casually after Wednesday had returned to eating her dinner, making Bruce turn to look at her. "They've always bickered even when they were just a child. (Y/n) and Wednesday in particular, they liked to attempt burning each other alive ever since hearing the story of one of our ancestors who got burned at the Salem Witch Trials. Children love those stories, you know." She places a hand on her chest, right above her heart, smiling at her children.

"Wait, hold on— You tried to burn each other alive?" Dick was the one who questioned what everyone couldn't find their voices to ask about, too shocked and horrified that attempting to kill each other seems so natural and normal within the Addams family.

"Yes, for the record." You answer without looking up. "Being burned alive is classified as the most painful, agonizing way to die, which is why it had been the perfect punishment for those who were accused of witchcraft in 1692 and 1693. My sister and I were intrigued to see whether this was a fact or just merely false information, so we would always attempt to burn each other in hopes of discovering the truth."

"Funny thing is, they never did." Jason cackles as Wednesday shot him an unamused look. "(Y/n) still wishes he could die being burned alive, though."

The corner of your lips merely twitched in a soft smile as you kissed the back of Jason's hand affectionately, eyes closed. "Have I ever mentioned I want you to do the honor?" You say with such a loving, adoring tone that Jason felt his heart swell, knowing this is somewhat a proposal that only an Addams would understand.

It was a traditional Addams way of showing they love the person rather than wrapping it up in just three words that rarely comes from the bottom of one's heart. You would die for him, and only he could bring your ultimate demise, no one else. You were offering him your heart and soul, as well as life, permitting him to hold and treasure it for the rest of your lives. It was an implication that you would dedicate your life to him with nothing in return — you will do everything for him. It’s easy to kill — you've nearly done it with the Joker — but it's not easy to live and die for him, but you will and you would.

Feeling overwhelmed with all the love you endlessly give and show, Jason couldn't help but hide behind his empty hand in an attempt to hold his tears in, always being emotional whenever he gets the love he doesn’t think he deserves. But he does. You've never failed to show him he deserves everything you offer. God, how did he even end up with you? You're so good to him, so loving and giving, Jason didn’t even expect you’ll be like this back when you two were just strangers building friendship. Jason can’t let you go anymore, and he would never even if you asked him to. He loves you just as much as you love him, although yours seem bigger than his.

The Wayne family witnessed Jason, the usually insufferable Todd who thrives off of violence, cry at the mere love and affection his lover gave. Jason was crying because you reminded him of how significant he was to your life. The big bad wolf, the ruthless Red Hood, the boy who had an immense thirst for vengeance, the boy whose blood is filled with utmost rage towards the world, was crying at the simple showcase of love.

And that’s how Bruce — no, his family — knew they failed to love him enough.

But they don’t have to make it up to him anymore. They can’t, because you’re already showering him with love and adoration and appreciation and everything he deserves. You did everything what they were supposed to do — what Bruce was supposed to do.

"Oh, mon amour..." You let go of his hand to gently hold his face with both hands, kissing away the tears that overflowed from his eyes. Jason stayed still, relishing how good you are, how soft you treated him as he gripped your gentle hands. Once you’re done kissing his tears away, he buried his face into your chest while wrapping his arms around you, embracing tightly. You kiss the top of his head, caging him in your arms as you gently run your fingers through his hair.

Jason closes his eyes within your embrace, inhaling your calming scent mixed with a cooling hint of cologne. It’s funny how you've always associated yourself with death and darkness, yet for Jason, your mere presence is a light at the end of the tunnel that makes him alive every day. "Thank you, (Y/n)..." He murmurs into your chest, barely audible, but heard by you nonetheless.

You gently scratch his scalp, not caring about your meals and attention solely focused on your lover. "For what exactly, chéri? I have not done anything for you to give me such gratitude, at least not that I remember. I have only been attempting to drown you in my love and affection, haven't I? Are they worthy of your gratitude?"

He chuckled, "You know damn well they are."

You tilt your head, a smile tugging at your lips. "Even so, do you truly believe it's significant for me more than just your presence?" Jason slowly looks up at you, his mesmerizing eyes meeting yours, before shaking his head quietly. A satisfied look crosses your face at that, "There you go. It isn't difficult to figure out now, is it?" Jason shakes his head, burying his face into your chest once again.

As you continue to comfort Jason, Damian stares at the sight with a weird look. "Todd is extremely quiet when he's around (Y/n). It's... weird."

Dick nudged him, "Hey, let him be. Jay's probably just very comfortable with him."

"It's still weird, though." Tim insists.

Barbara and Stephanie watched with smiles while you kiss Jason's forehead, too willing to accept you despite finding your family quite strange. People have different traditions and cultures anyway; they figured yours are just too extraordinary and unusual that don’t fit society's standards. Being different doesn’t matter when it's clear that you love Jason too much, in your own special way.

Cassandra glances at Bruce, who seemed to be in deep thought. "I don’t think you have any other choice but to accept him." Her voice snaps him out of his thoughts, "Look at them. They're very much in love. More than in love, I'd say. It looks like they were meant to be with each other. Like destiny's the one who wrote them together."

Bruce looked at the two of you, who obviously saw nothing but each other in your little world.

"Besides, he basically called bullshit on your morals. And you know all too well he's beyond right." Cassandra smirks, "I hope your pride doesn't get in the way of welcoming a new member, dad."

Bruce sighed.

Well, it's inevitable that you'll be a member one way or another. Cassandra was right about that, and although he didn’t want to admit it, Bruce knew he accepted you the moment you stood up against him. It’s not always there’s someone who is brave enough to speak up against the Bruce Wayne.

Though, he may have to teach you not to strangle literally every single person who mess with Jason.

#gay #male reader #x male reader #dceu #dc comics #dc #dc jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine #dc x male reader #dc x male!reader #dc x reader #dc x m!reader #jason todd x male!reader #jason todd x male reader #jason x male reader

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acid-ixx · 2 months ago

Text

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

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indulgentdaydream · 11 months ago

Note

BEEN WAITING FOR THIS BESTIE

what about a tired and very touch-starved jason wakes up at like 2pm and fem!reader is out of bed??? and he comes and finds them and throws them over his shoulder and brings them back to bed???? because why would you leave jaybean by himself????? unnacceptable???

THIS IS SO ADORABLE WHAT

And the idea of people waiting for my requests to be open is so weird like… what do you mean you wanna read my writings and hear my thoughts??? Y’all make me smile so much I swear

Side note: I’m so sorry this is a month late. And then also another day late than I said I would post.

Side side note: if y’all saw me post this without the photo header…. No you didn’t

M.I.A

Jason Todd x gn!Reader || Domestic Fluff || Word Count: 758

Warnings: not completely proofread. Gun mention.

Jason’s pulled himself out of a bad dream. Not quite a nightmare, though something eerily close.

It was one of those rare nights that he had off of patrol. One he where the two of you got to eat dinner together, watch some TV, get ready for bed, then fall asleep in your shared bed. He enjoyed the chances when he got them.

He laid on his stomach under the comfortably heavy duvet. His left arm was bent beneath his pillow, his hand grazing the hidden .44 he had convinced you to let him keep there, the other arm laying in front of him. He kept his eyes closed, clinging to his last tendrils of sleep.

All he needed was you back in his arms and his dreams would turn good again, filled with the smell of your soap and hints of faded perfume.

Slowly, he stretches his right arm out across the sheets, sleepily searching for your form. It drags along the sheets, his entire body only half-asleep.

He’s aware that there’s this… itch in his skin. Not a physical itch. An itch that can only be satisfied by having your arms around him again.

Jason Todd doesn’t count sheep. He counts your heart beats or your breathing. Sometimes both.

He must be laying further to the edge of his side of the bed than he thought. Usually, he doesn’t have to reach this far to get to you when you two drift apart in your sleep.

His hand grazes the wall. His eyes shoot open.

You aren’t in bed.

He pushes himself up with his elbows. A tired, confused, and slightly panicked frown settled on his face, his hair mussed up and flat on one side of his head.

The bedroom window is closed. The door is cracked open.

Then he notices the sound of the tap running in the kitchen.

Jason gets up and out of bed, moving languidly. He pads his way out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

His eyes squint at the light you had turned on as he stands in the doorway. All foggy panic he felt before faded away at the sight of you, filling a glass with water, standing in one of his shirts.

He shuffles his feet. A purposeful noise that he wouldn’t otherwise make as he went about his day, one to get your attention.

You turn around, your glass of water in your hand. You take notice of your boyfriend’s large stature filling the entryway, a sleepy pout on his lips. You give him a smile. He can tell you're trying not to laugh at his fatigued state.

“Want a glass, too?”

Jason shakes his head. He makes his way across the kitchen, his brows still furrowed against the light.

He just wants you back in bed with him.

He reaches for your glass after you sip from it. You hand it to him. Jason takes the cold glass in his right hand, bends down a little, and wraps his left arm tight around the bottom of your bum. He stands back up, now with you draped over his shoulder.

You squeal out a fit of laughter, "Jay!"

He flicks off the light as he exits the kitchen, makes his way back into the hall, then kicks the door to your bedroom shut as he carries you in.

Gently, he sets you back down on the edge of the bed. Once you're properly seated, he hands your water back for you to finish. Seeing your bright smile makes his own lips tug into a small one.

Jason rakes his hands through his hair as you drink. He rubs his hands over his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes from a moment, trying to shake a bit of the sleep still clinging to him.

You hand him back the nearly finished glass of water. He watches you shuffled back under the covers, moving over to the wall-side. Your side. He finishes off the last two gulps of your water and sets the glass on the night stand.

He follows you under the covers, immediately pulling you close. He presses a kiss to your cheek and drops his head into the crook of your neck, an arm draped around your waist, the other tucked under his pillow. He kisses your shoulder and gently squeezes your waist once.

Your arms settle around him, "If you wanted cuddles you could’ve just asked, you know."

Jason only grumbles an incoherent response. He shuffles and presses closer to you, holding you tight.

You kiss his forehead and Jason starts to count.

Ahh!! I hope you like! This is lowkey rushed.

Also you can catch my personal headcanon of how Jason WILL keep his bed, with or without you in it, as far away from the window and door as possible. And you best believe that when you two share, you're getting the wall side so he can act as a barrier for any possible danger that may come in.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #dc #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood #jason todd x you #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x reader #red hood x you #cw gun mention #dc x reader #dc fic #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #jason todd x male!reader #jason todd x gn!reader #missy writes

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thealtoduck · 6 months ago

Text

Dally

Jason Todd x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut, anal sex, bottom!Reader, top!Jason, rough sex, unprotected sex, blowjob, fingering, doggy style, porn with plot, size kink, you and Jason are both kinda tipsy, Jason is aftercare king, you and Jason are unkowingly filmed, angst ending…

N/n = Nickname

The Socialite and The Vigilante | Masterlist

Summary: You and Jason get tipsy at an event and go back to your place…

(A/n: No. 1 Hoe Anthem)

——

One of the mayoral candidates, Mr Stone, had invited the Gotham Elite for what he called ”a celebration of Gotham’s greatest”. But from what you’d heard his campaign was running low on funds and he wanted to sweet talk all the people with deep pockets.

Whatever the reason may be you were now stuck there amongst the crowd of ”Gotham’s greatest”. You’d preferred to not go but according to your mother it’d be improper to ditch such an event and in her own words ”You have to go cause I don’t want to, I can’t stand that man”.

So you sacrificed yourself to spend the evening at the party… plus Jason had been forced to go along with his family and you promised you’d keep him company.

You watched as Jason entered in the company of his family, he was dressed in a black suit, giving him a dark and luxurious look. He and his family were greeted by Mr Stone.

While Bruce spoke to Mr Stone, Jason looked around the crowd of black suits and evening dresses until his eyes met yours and a soft smile appeared on his face. Once Mr Stone left them to enjoy the party Jason made his way to you.

You were stood in a corner looking at nice sculpture when Jason approached you. ”No tie?” he asked noticing you substituted a tie with a thin sliver chain necklace. ”Never been the biggest fan of ties, Jay, you know that” you stated in a your more upper class tone that tended to come out at these types of events.

”Well, you look great” Jason said grazing his hand against yours slightly. ”You too” you said adjusting his hair slightly. ”I’ll go get us some drinks” Jason said, soon coming back with two glasses of champagne, handing you one.

He then lowered his hand in his pocket bringing out a hip flask, pouring some of the contents in his own glass before offering ”Whiskey?”. Making you let out a small laugh before holding your glass out to him, saying ”If you insist”.

You and Jason mostly kept to yourselves through the party. You listened to Mr Stone’s speech talking about how good his campaign was going but made sure to add that it does take it’s toll on him, his workers and his family. But most of all to his wallet, he had joked making light polite laughs sound out in the room.

You and Jason found a table to relax at, sipping your drinks. The event was quite the bore, the music was dull, the decorations were plain, even the champagne on it’s own felt tasteless. You were lucky Jason had brought the flask.

Soon you and Jason were joined by Mr Stone himself. ”Mr Todd, Mr St. Cloud, enjoying yourselves?” he asked, you put on a polite smile and said ”Of course, it’s quite the event you’ve put together, Mr Stone”.

”Thank you, what a shame your mother couldn’t come” Mr Stone said. ”Yeah, she really wanted to but she wasn’t feeling well, but she wishes you luck with the mayoral campaign” you lied, your mother had said nothing of the sort, you were just being polite.

”You boys are old enough to vote now, right?” Mr Stone mentioned, you and Jason shared a look, you’d both been waiting for the topic to come up. ”Yes, we are” Jason answered and you nodded. ”Well, I hope this party has helped convince you who to vote for” he suggested followed by a lighthearted chuckle.

You did your best to not roll your eyes and said with a smile ”Of course, Mr Stone, you have our support”. ”You bet, Mr Stone” Jason said in a fake cheery tone. Mr Stone then said goodbye leaving you and Jason, your expression immediately turned to disgust as Mr Stone was out of sight.

”I hate him” Jason stated, followed by you saying ”Me too”. ”Let’s get some more champagne and then get out of here” you told him, he nodded in agreement and the two of you went to the drink table. Jason emptied the last of his whiskey in to your glasses and you drank.

Once you’d both finished 2 more glasses each you made your way towards the exit, you called your chauffeur to pick the two of you up. As soon as the two of you came out on sidewalk Jason loosened his tie and you took off your suit jacket.

Soon a familiar car pulled up in front of you and you and Jason climbed in the backseat. ”You wanna come back to my place or do you need a ride elsewhere?” you offered him, Jason smiled. ”Think I’ll join you” he said placing a hand on your thigh.

You leaned in against Jason’s shoulder, as the chauffeur started driving towards your apartment building.

Luckily for you the traffic was good enough for you to be home in a short while, you and Jason stepped out of the car and you thanked your chauffeur before making your way up to your apartment on the top floor.

As you stood in the elevator, Jason’s hand once more grazed against yours, this time your fingers intertwined. When you reached the top floor, you stepped out of the elavator to your door and you unlocked it.

You and Jason entered the penthouse, taking of your shoes. You threw your suit jacket aside and led the way towards the stairs, closely followed by Jason.

You started unbuttoning your shirt as you entered your bedroom, turning to Jason who looked curious where this was going. You threw your button up aside and stepped closer to him, you unbuttoned his suit jacket and pushed it off his shoulders letting it drop to the floor.

You then pushed your lips to Jason’s, while he snaked his arms around your waist as you started to hungrily make out. You then started unbuttoning Jason’s shirt revealing his athletic chest. You started lowering yourself to your knees as you placed kisses down his abs.

Until you were on your knees in front of him, you undid Jason’s belt and pulled down his pants letting them fall to his ankles. Jason had grown hard, his bulge noticable in his tight white briefs. You pulled down his underwear setting his big legth free.

His hard dick pointed to your face. When Jason looked down the sight gave him a sense of satisfaction, you half naked ready to suck his cock. You started taking Jason’s member in to your mouth, teasing the tip with your tongue.

Jason let out a small breath as you started taking more of him in to your warm mouth. You soon started moving your head back and forth on his cock. Jason’s mouth hung open as you went down on him.

”Fuck, you’re perfect” he said holding the sides of your head, using every bit of restraint to not start thrusting in to you. You worked your tougue on his dick, licking up and down his shaft.

When Jason looked down the sight alone could make him spill his load. You with his thick cock stuffed in your mouth, shining with your saliva on it. Before you could make him cum he pulled out of your mouth.

”Your turn, rich boy” Jason said teasingly, you raised an amused eye brow at him.

He then helped you up from the floor. He let his unbuttoned shirt fall to the floor and stepped out of his pants and underwear that were pooled around his ankles. He then undid your belt before pushing you backwards on to your bed.

You spread your arm out on the silk white sheets feeling as if you were laying down on a cloud. Jason then started pulling your pants down your legs. You seductively pulled off your own white briefs before throwing them at Jason, hitting him in the chest.

Now you were left wearing nothing but your silver necklace and a pair of white socks. Jason took a moment to take in the pornographic sight in front of him and then climbed on to the bed and your naked bodies tangled together as you made out lustfully.

Jason’s hand trailed all the way down your back to your butt. He didn’t waste any time bringing his finger between your cheeks and pushing it inside you making you moan while your mouth was pressed to his.

He used his fingers to work you loose and open so you’d be ready to take all off him. Once he was done he pulled out a bottle of lube from you nightstand pouring a generous amount on his huge shaft.

You positioned yourself face down - ass up wanting Jason to take you like a bitch. Jason stood on his knees in front of your awaiting hole as he rubbed the lube along his length. He teased your hole with the thick tip of his cock as you whined in to the sheets impatiently.

And who was Jason to say no to a slut in need of filling.

He started working his in to your tightness as you gasped at the intrusion. He pushed himself deeper and deeper into your warmth feeling you clench around his cock. ”That’s nice” he whispered at the feeling of you tightly around his manhood.

Jason wasn’t a small man, he was hung like a horse. You let out heavy breaths as Jason slowly sunk himself in to you, streching you out even further than he’d done with his fingers. He said praises to you, watching you beneath him as his cock entered you inch by inch.

Once he had sheathed himself inside you he waited for you to adjust to the size of him. You gripped the soft sheets of the bed as you were streched out to accept Jason’s hung cock. ”Fuck” you swore.

Soon you were ready to take all of him. Jason started moving slowly as pushed himself in and out of your tightness. His hands were placed on the globes of your ass squeezing them softly in his strong hands.

You were starting to get the feeling of bliss everytime Jason was fully stuffed inside you, making you moan as he worked your ass perfectly. ”Harder Jay” you said wanting him to take you to ecstasy.

”That’s all I needed to hear, baby” Jason said with an audible smirk as he willfully obliged and sped up his thrusts, rolling his hips like a machine. He put a hand on your back pressing you in to the matress as he took you. The sound of his thrusts starting to sound out through out the room.

You gripped the sheets as Jason thrust deeper in to you, his dick jabbing at your prostate making you let out a delighted scream of pleasure. ”That’s right, N/n, scream for everybody to hear me fucking you” he said cockily.

Jason hadn’t realised until now how much he had been longing to fuck you again after your first one night stand during the party at Wayne Manor.

Jason moved his hand to your hips pulling you to meet his harsh thruts into you. Beads of sweat started forming on his forehead. He wanted you to feel all the pleasures sex could bring.

Jason made you feel as if you were seeing all the stars in the heaven, as his hung cock was shoved deep in your heat. ”So- ugh! Big!” you said through your loud moans. A cocky smile spread on Jason’s lips. He was fucking you so good you could barely talk.

As Jason roughly pounded himself deeply in to you felt yourself getting close to orgasm. ”Jay, I’m gonna cum” you whined as Jason showed no sign of slowing down his rolling thrusts.

Your shot your load and it splashed on to the silk sheets below as Jason continued plowing his cock in to you. ”You’re so fucking good around my cock” Jason said through his rapid breaths as he fully lost control and fucked you like there was no tommorow.

”I’m gonna cum” he soon told you.

”Fill me, Jay” you begged and that was all it took for Jason to plant himself deep in you ass and let his cock explode inside you, filling you with his warm sticky seed. He breathed heavily as he let all of his orgasm spill inside you.

Once he was done he slowly pulled out of you leaving your hole gaping from his cock. His seed soon started pouring out of you, running from your used warmth down your legs. Jason looked proudly at the mess he had made of you before he walked to the bathroom.

Coming back with a wet towel and started cleaning his seed off of your body. Once he was done he threw the towel aside on the floor. You turned around and laid down on your back. Jason sat down by your side and stroked your thigh, asking sweetly ”Can I get you anything? N/n”.

”Could you get my night shirt from the closet?” you asked and Jason immediately stood up looking through your closet until he brought out a glossy white silk night shirt. ”Why is everything you own white silk?” he questioned amused as he helped you put it on.

”Why not?” you simply asked back. You took off your necklace putting it on your bedside table. You and Jason both laid down side by side on your bed. Jason was on his back and you laid your head resting against his pec.

”You were amazing” Jason said placing a kiss on your head. ”You too” you said stroking his abs lovingly.

You both soon drifted off too sleep…

——

2 days later…

You sat with your laptop on your couch checking your emails. Some adds, some social stuff, nothing too intresting. You took a sip of your coffee and as you swallowed a new mail appeared on the screen.

The sender was not listed.

You opened the mail and read ”We have something you might not want to reach the media, Mr St. Cloud” which was all it said. Then you noticed there was a video attached to the mail. You pressed the file and it loaded until a video started playing.

Your eyes widend the video showed a boy getting plowed roughly by his by another guy, but you soon realised this was your bedroom. ”Harder, Jay” your voice came from the video making you gasp in shock. Then came Jason’s voice ”That’s all I needed to hear, baby”.

Someone had hidden a camera in your room filming you and Jason that night. You slammed your laptop shut and rushed upstairs in to your room. Judging by the angle of the video the video had been taken from your bedside table.

You were confused you only had your alarm clock and a bottle of water on the table… Then you noticed it, on the side of the alarm clock was a black spot - no, not a spot a small round camera lens.

You picked up the alarm clock taking a closer look at it to it to make sure. Definetely a lens. Enraged you threw the alarm clock in to the ground making it smash on impact. You stormed out of the room bringing out your phone knowing who you needed to call.

”Hey St. Cloud” Jason answered a flirty tone in his voice.

You could only find one phrase to tell him ”Jay… we’re completely fucked”.

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guummy · 2 months ago

Text

you were addicted to jason's kisses like the birds to the soil on a wet, damp morning.

they always felt different in the morning, peppered kisses between gaping yawns and faked gags. his hands always had the habit of encircing your waist, pulling your half-asleep body into his embrace as pressed his lips to your face, chuckling as you playfully pushed him away at the ticklish feeling.

his kisses in the afternoon were somewhat rushed, yet slow, just like the breeze on a foggy day. you were sat on the marble of the counter, watching as he learnt a recipe; his eyes glancing over at your excited compliments and gazes, almost mocking the glare of the moon. once in a while, he'd stand in betweem your thighs, leaning down to kiss you, his lips slow against yours.

"could kiss you all day," he mumbled with a small laugh, the microwave timer echoing through the kitchen causing him to part from your touch.

your nightly embraces were often associated with his soft mumbles, a voice you wish you could sow to your mind. his lip was busted from a punch he took too hard, yet he was being much more careless than he should have been. the gush of the running bath sung throughout the coloured tiles like a choir as his lips melted against yours. your arms were wrapped around his neck as he grasped at your waist, the warmth of your body intertwining like a pillar of fire.

"fuck," he groaned, bringing the pads of his fingers to his lips once your parted, blood adorning the skin.

"you need to get in the bath, baby," you whispered.

"fuck the bath," jason replied as he kissed you again, yet, more feverishly than the last, hungry for your biting moans and shivers.

his kisses were a godly language.

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burning-omen · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober Day 1: Breeding + Jason Todd

Jason Todd x male reader

Kinktober 2023 list | Day 2 | Ao3

(a/n; “hey it's September 30th, right? Tf you mean ‘it's october 1st’ no the fuck it no- AHHHHHH” me about three hours ago realizing that I never finished THE FIRST DAY of kinktober )

Summary: You’re a photographer at the Wayne Family events, after meeting Jason by chance they start growing closer

Warning: Horny Jason, horny reader, top!reader, bottom!jason, Jason moans like a bitch, rude rich people, pillow princess + brat Jason Todd, unprotected sex, breeding, not beta read lol.

Word count: 3.4k

To the shock of everyone involved, Jason Todd attended all of the Wayne Galas, not because he liked them- obviously. No, these things were horrible and stuffy and he hated every last person in attendance. Well, almost every last person. Bruce had hired a photographer a few months back, the first few events that you photographed you were mostly in the background, taking wide shots of the entire party, only recently did you start to mingle with the crowd more.

You met Jason a few weeks back as you tried to navigate through a pushy crowd of rich people who, to no one surprise, all thought they were the most important person there. You got pushed into Jason by a man who looked like he could have been British royalty in the 1800s, he sneered at you like a cartoon villain before walking away. You'd been overly apologetic that day, having nearly knocked the drink out of his hand. He was fine though, if not slightly enamored, you looked nice, but out of place, your clothes weren't quite up to Wayne Gala standards, before he could ask what you were doing here, he noticed the camera hanging from your neck, and offered to be your guide.

He ended up sticking with you for the rest of the night, talking as you took pictures of various people and decor around the event. It made your job a hell of a lot easier, people were quick to bump into you, you weren't rich and therefore weren't fully human to these people, but Jason was one of them, well, he was close enough, and even if he wasn't, if he was just as out of place as you, nobody was going to disrespect the host's son.

By the end of the night, you and Jason were on one of the balconies looking over all the photos from that night, and eventually some of your other work.

Eventually, you did have to leave, Bruce was paying for your ride and you really didn't want him to have to wait any longer.

You only got closer after that, every event that the Waynes hosted, you were there, and on your tail- as always- was Jason.

Your relationship didn't take a turn until the last party the Wayne threw, this one wasn't a charity but a birthday party for Bruce's friend, Oliver Queen, who insisted he needed to have it in Gotham. And even though Bruce gave a perfect speech regarding their friendship, you couldn't help but hear the irritation behind it. The night went on as usual, with Jason acting as your shadow as you weed through the crowd.

Your end of the night ritual is the only thing that changed, as you were showing Jason the pictures from tonight, he leaned over and rested his head on your shoulder, an odd act from the man, considering the most he'd touched you at this point was him putting a hand on your shoulder or tapping you to get your attention.

“Tired?” you asked jokingly.

“No,” he said but didn't elaborate.

As you continued to shuffle through the pictures you could feel him nuzzling into your neck. You let out a short, nervous laugh.

“Are you drunk?”

He hummed quietly, then laughed, “No, I'm just…”

He didn't continue, just pressing further into you, you gave up on showing him the photos for now, instead carding your fingers through his hair. Feeling just how different the white streak felt from the rest of his hair, most of his hair was thick and smooth, running through your fingers with ease. The white part was thick too, but it just felt like air, so light and delicate that you could barely feel it against your fingers.

You didn't stop until you felt his lips press against your neck, again and again as he hummed in contempt.

“Jason…” you muttered but didn't move to stop him.

He eventually moved up to your face- your cheeks, your jaw, your lips- with his kisses. It was only when you made a move and kissed him back did things escalate.

You ended up fumbling around on the floor with him, then in the hall, and on the wall next to his bedroom wall, and eventually in his bedroom. Which resulted in the most embarrassing walk of shame you've ever experienced as you had to run past your literal boss having breakfast with the rest of his family- he looked just as shocked as you imagined he would. Jason's older brother, Dick, made a comment that made Jason shout at him, you couldn't hear it with how hard your heart was beating in your ears.

You expected everything to end after that, your friendship with Jason, your job, your reputation as a photographer.

But to your surprise, the moment the front door closed behind you, Jason grabbed your face and pulled you in for a kiss, sweet and slow, nowhere near as frantic and lust-filled as they were the night before.

You started getting together outside of events after that, he stayed at your apartment most days, because ‘he liked being surrounded by you’. You learned a few things about him too, a big one being that he was a bottom, not just a bottom. A total pillow princess as well. He’ll flirt and tease all day and night long, but the moment you turn around to do the same to him, he becomes so pliant, letting you move him how you like, touch him how you liked, and fuck him how you liked.

Considering how close you'd become with his son, you figured you'd never get a call from Bruce to do another job. But you did, and despite feeling a bit out of place at first you eventually got back into it. Jason was your shadow as always, whispering things he definitely shouldn't in your ear, making it hard to focus.

“When was the last time we fucked, honestly?”

“Babe, I'm working,” you said calmly.

“It’s a genuine question.”

You sighed, “about a week ago, when the power went out.”

He only chuckled, still leaning down in you ear.

“There’s gotta be a broom closet somewhere around here-”

“Jason, stop it-”

“I want you to fuck me right up against the door, let everybody hear me while you-”

“Jason-”

“Jason!”

Looking over you saw Dick, who was probably the most outwardly supportive of your relationship with Jason out of everyone in his family. The presence of his brother shut him up quickly, his face turning a bit red. You and Jason wandered around the party with Dick for a while, you were having a great time, taking photos as Dick told to funny little stories about Jason.

Jason, however, wasn't having a great time. He’d planned to flirt with you all night then get fucked so hard that his brain stopped working, then getting pampered by you for the rest of the night, unfortunately, Dick had taken an interest in you for the night, purely platonic of course, but it was constant, and even though Dick has definitely seen Jason at his worst, it'd be really fucking weird if he begged you to fuck him within earshot of his brother. So he held out, frustrated and horny as the party droned on.

By the time guests started leaving you'd been informed of every little embarrassing thing Jason has ever done- including stealing the wheels off Bruce's car, some stories had to be left out or changed for obvious reasons, but outside of that, you were caught up on Jason's embarrassment timeline. You could practically feel Jason stewing behind you, horny, frustrated, and, embarrassed all at once.

“I think it's time for us to go, if we stay any longer Jason's brain is going to start leaking out of his ears.”

You said your goodbyes to Dick and turned to Jason, who was glaring after the man as he walked away.

“We can go now.”

The fumble up to his bedroom was exactly that, a fumble as you clumsily avoided the lingering guest, and as you took a few minutes to worship the exposed pieces of his body on the stairs with your hands and mouth, only moving when you heard footsteps.

You didn't carry Jason into the room, but you might as well have with the way you controlled his every move. He fell back onto his bed, spreading his legs subconsciously even though he was still fully dressed. The smile on his face only grew wider when you yanked him by his now loose tie, pulling him back up to you, pressing a kiss on his lips that only got more heated with every passing second. Kneeling on the bed, his legs wrapped around your waist almost instantly, you could feel the heels of the balmorals Bruce had bought him digging into the back of your thigh.

He pulled back, flopping down on the bed. Jason's hands, however steady they were before, became utterly useless in a matter of seconds as he failed to unbutton his pants several times before giving up, wordlessly resting his hands above his head, staring up at you expectantly. The term ‘pillow princess’ came to mind for a brief second as you unbuttoned them for him. Purposefully ignoring the tight bulge in his pants that was nearly demanding your attention.

“Come on, y/n,” he muttered, his voice as deep as ever.

Slowly rocking his hips against yours in a desperate, yet short lived, attempt at getting you to act. You were by no means cruel, and considering his little plan for the night hadn't fallen through, you indulged him. Lifting his still-clothed thigh up to your shoulder, you had to do a bit of maneuvering to get his pants down to his ankles, Jason was entirely unhelpful, you'd be convinced he was a rag doll if it weren't for his inability to stop fucking squirming.

The way his cock twitched in his pants showed you just how desperate he was, thrusting up against nothing, a short whine coming from somewhere deep in his throat as he started up at you with those pretty blue eyes.

You ran your hands over the exposed skin of his thigh, leaning down and kissing them, leaving little bruises and bites before switching to the next. His gaze was intense, almost glaring, but the whines and whimpers he let out told you that he was just desperate.

Then, unexpectedly, you slid your hand all the way down the inside of his thigh, feeling goosebumps rise in your wake, Jason figured you'd stop just before his cock, you liked teasing him like that, liked taking him apart slowly. But that's apparently not what you had in mind tonight, he only realized that when you wrapped your fingers around his cock, the fabric of his boxers tightened along with your grip. He whined, bucking up into your hand.

Far faster than he expected, you stroked him through his pants, the texture of them and the squeezing pressure your hand provided sending shivers up and down his spine. He gripped the bed sheets as you settled into a pleasant rhythm, fast and tight around his sensitive cock.

His eyes hung low, squeezing shut when you brushed over the tip.

Jason came quickly, hips sputtering and muttering incoherently as he did, cum sleeping through black fabric, drenching your hand and the boxers.

You pulled back, putting your hands back on his thighs, watching his chest rise and fall rapidly as he came down.

Hands still gripping the sheets, he sat there and waited, waiting for you to do something, you were in control after all. But you didn't, you just watched him, his chest rising and falling, cum splattered on his underwear and just under his belly button, the bruises and bites littering his thighs.

“Y/n..” he muttered, hard and horny all over again.

You laughed, “yes?”

He scooted closer to you until you hips were firmly pressed against his ass. Even then, you could here him muttering ‘come on’ over and over against under his breath.

“Speak up, you have to tell me what you want.”

He glared, a real harsh glare that you knew was born out of frustration. He should have known you'd be like this, for a moment he thought he'd really gotten off the hook, but you never just let him cum, you never just fucked him, no, he had to beg for it, as though him presenting himself to you wasn't begging enough.

“Just,” suddenly unable to find his words, Jason groaned, “do something!”

You let out another short laugh, then asked, “Something like what?”

The urge to kick you suddenly emereged.

“Anything, please I-” his hands went from the bed sheets to his face, covering his eyes as his brain once again failed to produce the right words.

You leaned down, pressing kisses down his throat and the pieces of his chest that we're exposed.

After a moment you asked, “How about you tell me what you wanted earlier, you seemed to have a lot of ideas then.”

He shifted, his hands finding the bed again, seems like his mind was racing, as his eyes were almost completely unfocused and blush rose on his cheeks with every second that passed, you gave him a moment to sort himself out.

He spoke suddenly, his voice coming out with some force, “I need you to fuck me until I can’t take it anymore, like you did when the power went out and we didn’t have anything else to do but fuck over and over again, I need you to fuck me like that again, I want you to cum in me so many times that it drips out of my ass and ruins the bed- ah- and I- I can’t- I can’t fucking think with you grinding against me like that so can you please just hurry up and do something!”

A wide grin spread out on your face, even though you barely comprehended that you were grinding your bulge into his ass, it was good to see how a bit of gentle pressure was already making him writhe.

You pulled back, before he could stop complaining you flipped the giant of a man onto his stomach with a hard shove. You heard him moan as he bounced against the bed, he liked being manhandled, but you figured that one out a while ago.

Pulling his boxers down to his knees, fully ready to prep him, only to see the familiar shiny glint of lube covering his hole. Without thinking, you pressed a finger in, feeling just how easily he took it you almost laughed.

“You take all the fun out of prepping you..”

“Shut up and fuck me!”

His desperate, panting tone was enough for you to cave, even as he glared back at you. It took you a second to get out of your clothes, well really just your pants, belt, and boxers, but it still took longer than Jason would have ever liked, again, bratty pillow princess of the century.

By the time you let your cock prod against his hole, he'd grabbed a pillow and rested it under his head, still turning to face you as you slowly pushed in. His resolve didn't last long, broken by a long moan as the head of your cock slipped into his hole, already about to thrust a hole into the bed sheets.

You grabbed his hips, pressing them hard into the bed, he stopped moving, an undeniable whimper coming from him.

You pressed further, barely even half way in and you could feel him squeezing around you, you pressed down until your hips were pressed together.

He panted and moaned, his body flexing, then relaxing. You waited for him to give you a sign that he was okay, and when he did you waited more, just to tease him. He realized this a couple of seconds later, dropping his head into the pillow with a frustrated groan, you're surprised he didn't turn around and cuss you out at that exact moment.

Even though you probably shouldn't have, you pulled out slow, and slammed back into him with more force than you meant to, the bed dipped beneath you both and Jason let put a wild moan. You probably should have gone slow with him, made him cum over and over again before filling him yourself, but you didn't, you had a bit of an epiphany while you had Jason fully wrapped around your cock. You were really, really fucking horny. With someone as pretty as Jason it was always so tempting to take him about the slow way, teasing, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of him, but with some that felt as good as Jason does, it's pretty easy to let that idea fly out the window in turn of pounding him into the mattress.

So you did.

Watching him claw and bite at the pillow beneath him in an attempt to bring some stability back. His whole body getting forced forward with every thrust.

Loud, almost pained, moans and the sound of skin hitting skin filled the room. Even with the pillow shoved into his mouth he was still impossibly loud. You could feel just how warm he’d gotten, his skin was hot and sweaty, and in your mind, you'd hardly even done anything to him yet.

Little tears prickled in his eyes, he squeezed them closed tightly. Taking your cock wasn't anything new to him but fuck, sometimes you could be rough. Not that he didn't enjoy it, no, if he had less pride he’d be screaming at the top of his lungs how good it felt.

He could already tell where bruises were going to form, he'd have burning red hand prints on his waist for sure, and an odd one on his ass and inner thighs, hickies and smaller bruises would litter practically every surface his body offered for sure.

Leaning down, you thrust hitting deeper and deeper, you kissed along his shoulders and back, trying to soothe at least a little of the hurt you were causing. You didn't but it felt nice anyways.

Jason's vision went a little spotty when he came again, you never stopped fucking him and he really didn't want you to. His cum soaked into the sheets beneath him, he could feel the sticky sheets cling to his stomach.

You followed soon after, shooting cum deep inside of him, just like he wanted. He whimpered quietly at the feeling, he could still feel you fucking him with your softened cock, trusting much slower, much to his dismay. He knew you were just waiting to get hard again but he really didn't like waiting.

It didn't take long for you to get hard again, you were still fully inside your beautiful boyfriend's beautiful ass so it definitely wasn't difficult. You continued pounding into him like nothing happened, he didn't say anything either, other than incoherent word between moans. Even though he didn't have to wait long, he missed you fucking him already.

You slammed into him hard and he went cross-eyed for a moment, letting his moans flow freely, louder and more satisfied than before.

“Right there-” he panted, “again, please-”

You couldn't deny him, not when he begged like that, you angled you hips so you'd slam against that spot again and again until he was staining the sheets for a second, then third time.

He made it too easy to want to fuck him.

His body was nearly limp by his fourth orgasm, you pulled out, he let out a little noise, unable to do much about it. You flipped him onto his back, seeing the mess covering his cock and stomach, his eyes tracked your every move, but not many where made, you ran your hands down his thighs just like you'd found before, then shoved your cock back into his mess of a hole.

You chased your own pleasure, dragging an exhausted Jason along with you for the ride. His hands gripped onto you, pulling you down and holding you tight, letting his airy moans fill your ears.

You came soon after, with him clawing at your back and clinging to you like a damn koala. You stayed inside him for a long moment, waiting for him to remember that he had to let you go.

When he did, you leaned back, watching yourself pull out of him, your cock covered in cum and lube. Cum dripped out of his hole rapidly, a puddle forming and growing on the bed, you laughed, still a bit winded.

“Hey, looks like you got your wish, these sheets are defiantly ruined.”

He laughed tiredly before pulling you back down into his arms.

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