#Red Hood X y/n

[killerplink]

WRECKED

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 9k

Plot: It's your first time with Jason. You thought you knew what to expect—until he ruined you. (yep, I'm officially a whore, and my old crushes are coming back lmao)

CW: established relationship, 18+, smut, oral sex, overstimulation, praise, creampie, aftercare

It starts the second you're outside the bar. Jason's hand finds your waist, pulling you close like he can't bear the space between you any longer. His lips crash against yours—hungry, rough, possessive. You gasp into his mouth, and he takes full advantage, tongue sliding against yours as he walks you backward toward his bike.

You don't make it far. His hand—big, calloused—cups the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devours you. His other hand grips your ass, fingers digging in like he owns you already. He groans when you grind into him, hips meeting yours with a delicious friction that has you whining.

"Fuck," he mutters against your lips. "Can't wait to get you home."

The ride to his apartment is a blur—his hand on your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles that make your pussy throb. The second you're inside, the door slams shut, and he's on you. His mouth finds yours again, teeth scraping your bottom lip before he bites just enough to make you moan. His hands slide under your thighs, and—fuck—he lifts you like you weigh nothing, pinning you against the door.

You gasp, legs wrapping around his waist, feeling how hard he is through his jeans. He rolls his hips, grinding against you, and you whimper, clutching at his jacket.

"Jesus, listen to you," he growls, lips trailing to your jaw, then your neck.

His teeth scrape over your pulse before he sucks a bruise there, and your head thumps against the door. His big hands squeeze your ass, lifting and dropping you just enough to rub you against the bulge in his pants.

"Jason," you gasp, hips moving on instinct.

"Yeah, baby? Feels good?"

His voice is low, rough like gravel, and you can feel the smirk against your skin. He carries you to the bedroom effortlessly, tossing you onto the mattress with a grin. You barely catch your breath before he's climbing over you, tossing his jacket, kissing you like he's starving.

"You're so fuckin' pretty," he murmurs, fingers working at your clothes. "Bet you taste even better."

Your shirt goes next, then your bra, and shit, the way his eyes darken has heat flooding your cheeks. His palms—warm, rough—cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You arch into him, moaning when his mouth replaces his hands, tongue flicking before he sucks one into his mouth. His other hand kneads your other breast, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

"You like that, baby?" His voice is a growl against your skin. "So sensitive... fuck, I could play with these all night."

He trails kisses lower, teeth grazing your stomach, and your breath hitches. His fingers hook into your waistband, dragging your pants and panties down slow. His gaze never leaves yours—hungry, possessive.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," he mutters, spreading your legs. "Look at this pretty pussy."

"Jay," you whimper, hips lifting.

"I've got you," he promises, voice thick. "Gonna make you feel so fuckin' good, baby."

Then fuck, his mouth is on you. His tongue drags through your folds, slow and filthy, making your back arch off the bed. He groans against you like you're his favorite meal, licking you like he can't get enough. His tongue flicks over your clit—soft at first, then harder when you moan—and you feel the smirk against you.

"Goddamn, you taste good," he mutters, voice rough.

His tongue dips lower, fucking into you, and you sob, fingers tangling in his hair. He sucks your clit, tongue flicking just right, and your hips grind against his face, chasing the heat coiling in your belly.

"That's it, baby. Take what you need," he growls, tongue relentless.

Your legs shake, toes curling as the pleasure builds, sharp and hot. His hands—huge, strong—hold your thighs open, keeping you right where he wants you. You moan his name, voice wrecked, and he groans against you, the vibrations shooting straight through you.

"Fuck, Jason—"

You're close, teetering on the edge—your whole body strung tight, nerves buzzing—when one thick finger pushes in. It's slow, intentional, stretching you inch by inch. Your breath catches, walls fluttering around him, so full from just his finger.

"Fuck," Jason groans, voice rough. "God, you're tight."

His eyes—dark, blown wide with lust—stay on yours, drinking in every twitch, every gasp that slips from your lips. His free hand holds your thigh open, firm but gentle, like he wants you spread just for him.

Then—without warning—he adds a second finger. The stretch is intense, burning in that delicious way that has your back arching, hips tilting to take him deeper.

"Easy," he murmurs, soft, despite how wrecked he looks. "Gotta stretch this pretty little pussy out for me, baby. Can't have you strugglin' with my dick."

God. Your cheeks burn, heat flooding through you at his words, pussy clenching tight around his fingers. He feels it, and the groan that rumbles from his chest is obscene.

"You like that?"

His grin is crooked, cocky. His fingers curl—fuck—pressing right against that perfect spot inside you. Your mouth falls open, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as your hips jerk.

"There," he breathes, eyes locked on your face. "Right there, huh?"

His pace picks up—slow but deep, fingers fucking into you like he's got all the time in the world. He twists them just right, dragging along your walls with a rhythm that has your thighs trembling. The wet sounds echo in the room, filthy and soaked, each thrust squelching louder as your arousal drips down to his palm.

"Jesus, baby," Jason groans, gaze dropping to where his fingers disappear into you. "Look at this pussy—so fuckin' wet for me. I haven't even fucked you yet, and you're already drippin'."

Your head falls back, heat swirling in your belly, pleasure winding tight. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, precise circles that make your vision blur.

"That's it," he murmurs, lips brushing your thigh as he presses kisses between filthy praise. "Take it, baby. Just like that... fuck, you're squeezin' my fingers so good."

He leans down again, tongue flicking over your clit, and you cry out, hips jerking. The combination—his fingers curling deep, tongue working your sensitive bundle of nerves—has you unraveling fast.

"Jay—fuck—I—I'm gonna—"

"I know, baby," he growls against your pussy, voice wrecked. "Cum for me. C'mon, lemme feel you soak my fingers."

And fuck, you do. The coil snaps—white-hot and all-consuming—as you cum hard, walls clenching around his fingers. Your whole body shudders, pleasure crashing over you in waves. You sob his name, hips rocking through it, chasing every last spark.

Jason keeps going, drawing it out, his fingers fucking into you through your orgasm. Your slick coats his hand, dripping onto the sheets, and the sounds—messy, obscene—only make the high hit harder.

"Goddamn," he mutters, watching you with a look that's part worship, part starving. "Look at you. So fuckin' pretty when you cum. Feels so good around my fingers... can't wait to feel you around my dick."

You're panting, body wrecked—but his mouth finds you again, fingers slipping out of you, and he's licking you clean, tongue dragging through your folds, tasting every drop you've given him. You whimper, overstimulated—but he groans, sucking your clit just to hear you whine.

"You can give me another one, baby," he murmurs against you, voice dangerous. "Haven't even started yet."

Your orgasm barely fades before Jason's mouth is back on you, tongue dragging a slow, wet stripe through your folds. Your hips jerk, thighs trembling from the overstimulation, but his hands—big and firm—press your legs open, keeping you spread wide for him.

"Jay—" you whimper, trying to close up, overwhelmed, but his grip tightens.

"Uh-uh, baby," he murmurs against your soaked cunt, voice rough and dark. "Told you, I'm not done. Not 'til I taste everything you've got for me."

Fuck. Heat swirls in your belly, a mess of pleasure and desperation, nerves alight. You try to squirm, try to close your legs again—but it's useless. His arms are strong, holding you open like you're nothing to him—just something to devour.

And God, the way he eats you out...

His tongue moves slow, deliberate, fucking into you with wet, obscene strokes that make your head spin. It's messy, his spit mixing with your slick, dripping down to the sheets below. Every flick, every press of his tongue is precise, like he's studied your body—like he knows exactly how to pull those sounds from you.

Your back arches, hips trying to ride his face, and he groans, the vibration shooting through you. His hands grip your thighs, thumbs pressing bruising marks into your skin as he guides you over his mouth.

"You taste so fuckin' good," he mutters, pulling back just enough to breathe you in, his lips slick with your arousal. His eyes—dark, pupils blown—drag up your body, gaze heated. "Could eat this pussy all night."

Your mind reels. No one's ever eaten you like this before, ever. The guys you dated? Please. They'd barely been able to find your clit, let alone worship you like this, like you're the best thing Jason's ever had in his mouth. And God, the way he looks at you—like you're his. Like he lives for the way you moan, the way you fall apart under his tongue.

"Jay," you gasp, fingers threading through his hair, tugging—but he just laughs, deep and hungry.

"You can pull all you want, baby," he grins against you, fucking into you with his tongue again. "Not lettin' you go 'til you cum on my face."

His tongue fucks into you deep, and fuck— your legs shake, your whole body strung tight. Pleasure coils low in your belly, building fast, dizzying. Jason knows. Of course he does. His gaze stays locked on your face, watching every gasp, every shudder. Loving how you fall apart for him.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, lips dragging over your clit before he sucks—hard, perfect. "Give it to me. I wanna feel you cum again, wanna taste it."

And fuck, you do.

The second orgasm hits hard, ripping through you with white-hot intensity. Your thighs clamp around his head—but he doesn't stop, hands holding you open as he devours you through it. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body writhing, sobbing his name.

So good—too good.

Jason groans like he can't get enough, tongue dragging through your soaked folds, drinking down everything you give him. In his head, it's a mess of thoughts—she's so fuckin' beautiful, so tight and wet and perfect. Could spend hours between her legs, make her cum until she's cryin'— mine.

When you finally go limp, chest heaving, body wrecked, he pulls back with a filthy grin. His lips, chin—soaked. His eyes burn into you, warm and starving.

"Fuck," he breathes, kissing your inner thigh. "So good for me."

Your chest heaves, vision hazy as you blink down at him. His mouth is slick with you, lips curled into that cocky grin—but his eyes are soft, like you're the only thing that matters.

Then he moves up, muscles shifting beneath flushed skin, body radiating heat. His hand comes up, fingers threading into your hair, cupping the top of your head just right. The touch sends a shiver down your spine—gentle, but possessive. He tilts your face toward him, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, and then he kisses you. God.

It's messy, hot and filthy, your mouths sliding together. His lips are soft but urgent, tongue pressing past yours like he needs you. You can taste yourself on him, thick and salty, spreading across your tongue—fuck. Your fingers clutch his shoulders, nails digging into hard muscle as you suck on his tongue, drawing a deep, hungry groan from his chest.

He presses closer, crowding you against the bed, hand tightening in your hair. The kiss turns sloppy, wet noises filling the space between gasps and moans. His lips drag over yours, breathing you in, swallowing the soft whimpers you can't hold back.

Then, he pulls back. Barely. Just enough to look at you. His gaze roams over your face—flushed, lips swollen and slick from him—ruined. His thumb brushes your rosy cheek, tender amidst the heat.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with something soft, something real. His eyes catch yours—burning, sincere. "Don't be shy."

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Fuck. You blush, lips parting to speak but words fail you. All you can do is nod, heart pounding.

And then you pull him back in.

Another kiss—this one deeper, needier, tongues tangling like you can't get enough. Because you can't. Not with the way he holds you, not with the way he tastes, not with the way his body presses into yours like you belong there, like this is where you've always belonged. And God, maybe you do.

Your hands are all over him—fingers dragging across heated skin, nails scraping over the hard planes of his back as you kiss like you'll die without it. It's frantic, messy, lips sliding, teeth clashing, tongues greedy. His hands are everywhere—gripping, squeezing, grinding you against him until you can feel how hard he is through his jeans, thick and aching.

Somehow, between kisses that leave you breathless, you fumble with his shirt, tugging it up. Jason breaks away just long enough to yank it off, tossing it aside—fuck.

God, he's all muscle. Broad chest, pecs firm, shoulders so wide they make you feel small. His abs are cut, ridges begging to be traced, and fuck, you do—running your hands down his stomach as he groans, head tipping back. His skin is warm, stretched over powerful muscle and old scars, stories written across him.

Your gaze drops—oh God.

He's stripping out of his jeans now, pushing them down along with his boxers—and fuck. You knew he was big. You knew it from the way his hands dwarfed yours, the way his fingers stretched you open when he prepped you, the way his cock felt heavy against your belly when he first laid you out beneath him.

But seeing it— really seeing it—makes your throat go dry. He's long and thick, veiny, the head flushed and leaking. Precum beads at the tip, dripping down the shaft, smearing across your skin when he presses close again. You can feel it, sticky warmth spreading over your stomach—fuck.

Your legs are already spread, body pliant under his touch, flushed warm from how long he's spent kissing every inch of you. But now that you're here, staring down at that thick length, your confidence wavers.

"Jay," you breathe, voice softer than you expect—half awe, half holy shit.

He knows. Of course he does. His hands are already smoothing up your thighs, squeezing gently as he leans over you. Dark hair falls forward, that white streak that you like catching the dim light, casting shadows across his wrecked face. His eyes—fuck—dark, pupils blown wide with lust, consuming you.

"You still good, baby?"

His voice is low, thick with restraint, like he's holding himself back by a thread. Your mouth opens—but nothing comes out at first. Instead, your fingers flex against his shoulders, gripping hard. He's just... so big.

Jason lets out a quiet chuckle, dipping down to kiss your nose—sweet, soft. "You're lookin' at me like I'm about to break you."

You swallow, heart pounding. "You are."

His jaw flexes, something raw flickering across his face—heat, hunger, something tender too.

"Nah." His lips brush yours—soft, a promise in the wreckage. "Gonna take care of you." Another kiss, deeper this time, stealing your breath. "Gonna make it feel good."

He lines himself up, cock heavy in his hand, and fuck, you can feel it—hot and throbbing against your soaked folds. His other hand rests on your thigh, holding you open like it's the easiest thing in the world.

You're panting, skin flushed, every nerve lit up as he drags the thick head of his dick through your slick, smearing precum and arousal together until it's messy, sticky, filthy.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice rough, wrecked. "Look at this... look at how wet you are for me."

His gaze drops to where you're spread wide for him, cock nudging your clit—a jolt shoots through you, your hips twitching—but his hands hold you down, firm and unchanging.

"You hear that?" he rasps, rolling his hips just enough that the head slides against your swollen clit—slick noises filling the air. "Soaked, baby. Shit, you're fuckin' perfect."

Heat flares through you, cheeks burning, but you can't stop the needy little whimper that escapes when he teases your entrance again, tip pressing just barely inside.

His gaze lifts—hungry, dark, soft. Like you're his whole goddamn world. "You ready for me, pretty girl?" His thumb brushes your cheek, tender despite the weight of his cock poised at your entrance. "Gonna take care of you, yeah?"

You nod, breath catching. "Yeah... Please."

Jason's jaw tightens, like he's barely holding on. "Good girl."

And then—fuck—he starts to push in.

The stretch is instant, your pussy straining around the thick head of his cock. It's too much, too big, and your fingers scramble for purchase, gripping the sheets tight as a gasp rips from your throat.

"F-fuck—"

"Shhh, I've got you," Jason soothes, voice gentle even as his hips press forward. His hand slides up, thumb stroking soothing circles into your skin. "Just breathe for me, baby. So good, takin' me so fuckin' well."

You try, you really do, but God, the burn. It's sharp, making your legs twitch, hips jerking. His cock splits you open, inch by slow, agonizing inch.

Jason groans, head dropping to rest against your shoulder for a beat, shaking. "Jesus, baby... you're—fuck. Squeezin' me so fuckin' tight."

His words send heat pooling in your belly, but it's so much, stretching you to your limit. You bite your lip, eyes squeezed shut as he pauses, hips still, letting you adjust. His hand cups your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"You okay?"

His voice is soft, earnest. Like he'd stop if you asked. Like he wants you to feel good more than anything.

You nod, chest heaving. "Hurts... but fuck, it's so good."

"Yeah?" His lips brush yours, achingly tender. "You're doin' so fuckin' good for me, baby. So fuckin' tight, can barely—shit—barely fit."

And then he rocks his hips, just a little, just to test the water. White-hot pleasure sparks, the pain melting, shifting into something else entirely. Your walls clench around him instinctively, trying to pull him deeper, and fuck—your whimper slips out, soft, shaky, helpless.

Jason's breath catches, body tense, every muscle flexing. He looks down at you, pupils blown, lips parted. "Fuck, do that again," he rasps, voice barely there.

Your mind swims, overwhelmed—but when he rolls his hips once more, your body betrays you, another whimper falling free.

Jason growls. Deep, rough, like he's losing it. He pushes in slow, cock thick and unforgiving as your pussy clings to every inch, stretching around him. There's a burn, sharp and intense, making your breath hitch, but fuck, it feels so good, hurts just right.

"Shhh," Jason soothes, voice low, thick with restraint. His hands frame your face, holding you steady, his muscles taut beneath your fingers. "Doin' so good, baby. Just a little more. Almost there."

He pauses, lets you breathe, lets you feel. His cock throbs inside you, barely halfway in, and you're already so full. You gasp, head tilting back, chest heaving.

"Fuck," you whisper, walls fluttering. "So big..."

Jason's jaw flexes, a soft groan spilling from his lips. "Yeah? You're takin' me so fuckin' well. Goddamn, look at you." His gaze drops, watching where his cock disappears into you, your slick coating him. "Messy already, baby. So pretty."

He eases in further, slow, careful, letting you adjust. Your cunt struggles to take him, every inch a stretch, a burn, but it melts, shifts into pleasure, thick and all-consuming.

And then he bottoms out.

You gasp, a soft cry escaping as his hips press flush against yours. "Oh God—" so deep, so hot, so full.

Your pussy clenches, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. Jason leans down, kisses you. Slow, deep, hot. His tongue slides against yours, coaxing you into a messy dance that makes your walls tighten around him.

He groans softly into your mouth—low, rough, and fuck, you feel it everywhere. His tongue dances with yours, messy, heated, but not rushed, like he wants to savor you, to taste every little sound you make. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he leans into it, deepening the kiss until your lungs burn and your head swims.

Your pussy flutters around his thick cock, gripping him with every shift of his hips, the fullness inside you making your toes curl. Every swirl of his tongue sends sparks down your spine, feeding that deep ache between your legs. God, you're so full of him, your slick walls clenching like your body is begging to keep him there.

And underneath it all, that steady throb of him inside you, every flutter of your cunt making him curse softly against your lips, hips stuttering as your body squeezes him tight.

"Shit, baby," he groans into your mouth. "Clampin' down on me like that—fuck—feels so fuckin' good."

Your head spins, drowning in heat and him. When he pulls back, breaking the kiss, his eyes are dark, soft, wrecked.

"You alright?" he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek.

You nod, breath shaky. "Please... move."

That's all it takes. Jason pulls out almost entirely, the thick head dragging against your sensitive walls—your slick making a wet sound that has him groaning, hips trembling.

Then, he pushes back in. Slow. Deliberate. Every inch filling you perfectly.

Your mind blurs, overwhelmed by the stretch and heat. Fuck, he feels so good, so full, your pussy molding to him like it was made for this. And bare, skin-to-skin—it's different. Better. Raw. Intimate.

No barriers. Just him. You. Heat. Friction.

Your thoughts spiral, remembering how sweet he'd been—getting tested just for you. "You don't have to, baby," he'd said, so sure, so trusting. But you had anyway. Wanted to reassure him. Wanted this. Bare. Real. And God, you hadn't known sex could feel this good. Jason's pace is slow, deep, torturous. His hips roll, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you.

"Fuck, baby—" his voice is rough, wrecked. "Pussy's perfect. So fuckin' tight. So good. You hear yourself? Best fuckin' sounds I ever heard."

Your moans spill free, soft, needy, mixing with the slick sounds of him fucking into you. His lips find yours again—kissing you, worshiping you, every thrust measured, deep, making you feel every inch.

Jason moves slow, deep, fucking you with a rhythm that makes your whole body ache for more. Every thrust has him sliding against your walls, every drag of his cock making your pussy tighten like it never wants to let him go. And fuck, he feels it—feels the way you're so wet, so hot, your cunt pulling him in like you were made for this.

"Shit," he mutters, voice rough as his forehead drops against yours. "You're gonna kill me, baby."

His lips brush your cheek, your jaw, his breath ragged, every exhale heavy with restraint. "Sound so fuckin' sweet."

You can't hold still. Your hands scramble for purchase, gripping his arms, his back, nails digging into the muscle that flexes with every roll of his hips.

"Jay, I—"

"I know, baby," he whispers, voice strained, thick with want. "I know. I've got you. I've got you."

And fuck, he does. His hands are everywhere—one sliding down your thigh, fingers digging in as he lifts your leg higher against his waist, adjusting the angle. And when he thrusts again—

His hips roll slow, deep, dragging pleasure through your veins, making your body tremble beneath him. You're stretching, adjusting, but it still feels like too much—too big, too deep—but you love it, love how he's holding you together even as he's pulling you apart.

"Fuck," he groans, voice shaking. "Look at you."

You barely have the strength to open your eyes, but when you do—fuck. He looks wrecked. His jaw is clenched tight, his eyes dark and hungry, but his hands—his big, gentle hands—stroke along your body, like he's memorizing every inch of you. And then he leans down, lips brushing your temple, voice low and possessive.

"Mine," he murmurs, rough and raw. "All mine."

Your breath hitches, body clenching around him at the gravel in his voice.

Jason grins, breathless, his nose brushing yours. "Love those little noises, baby." His hips roll again, slow, teasing, making your toes curl. "You gonna keep whimpering for me?"

You can't stop. Not when he has you like this—stretched out beneath him, held so gently even as he fucks you deep.

He groans, lips trailing down your throat, biting lightly at your shoulder. "Fuck," he mutters, voice rough, words punctuated by another deep, perfect thrust. "Gonna make you feel so fuckin' good."

Your body arches, thighs shaking, and Jason—God, he feels everything. How you clench when he kisses you, how your cunt squeezes him when he praises you.

You cling to him like you'll fall apart if you don't, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, pulling him down until his mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is deep, sloppy, hot, all teeth and tongue, your moans spilling between his lips as he fucks you faster. His hips snap forward, each thrust deeper, harder, making you cry out against his mouth.

"Fuck—baby," he groans into the kiss, tongue sliding against yours, tasting every little sound you make. "So fuckin' sweet—"

His skin slaps against yours, the squelch of your slick coating him every time he bottoms out, his pelvis rubbing right against your clit—right there—and fuck, it's too much. Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, pulling him closer, tighter, like you can anchor yourself to him.

"Jay—oh my God—"

"Yeah?" he grunts, lips dragging down to your neck, biting, sucking, leaving marks that'll sting later. "That feel good, baby? Fuckin'—God, you feel so fuckin' good around me."

Your moans get higher, softer, desperate, your body trembling beneath him as he pounds into you. Every thrust hits that spot, the pressure building so tight you can barely breathe.

"C'mon, pretty girl," he pants, voice wrecked, hips grinding deeper. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you cum on my dick."

That pushes you over. Your orgasm hits like a fucking freight train, pleasure exploding through your veins, blinding, hot, overwhelming. Your back arches, mouth falling open in a cry that's half moan, half sob, your cunt clenching so tight around him it pulls a growl from his chest.

"Fuck, fuck, baby—"

He keeps moving, hips grinding through it, dragging out your orgasm until you're shaking, your thighs trembling around his waist. Every thrust makes you feel it everywhere, your clit rubbing against his skin, sparks of pleasure crackling through you with every squelching slide of his cock.

"Goddamn," Jason groans, head dropping to your shoulder, panting, his voice rough in your ear. "Pussy's squeezin' me so fuckin' tight—shit. Feels so good, baby, so fuckin' good."

Your fingers scrape down his back, desperate for more, even as your body twitches with aftershocks. His cock drags against your over-sensitive walls, making you whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

"Look at you," he pants, fucking into you slow now, deep, making you feel every inch. "Takin' me so good, baby—fuck, love how you cum for me."

Your brain's mush, your body boneless, but you want more.

"Jay..."

It's half a moan, half a whimper, and fuck, the sound makes his hips stutter. His eyes snap to yours, brows furrowing with instant worry. Shit. His brain short-circuits, thoughts racing—Did I hurt her? Push too far?

The last thing he wants is to hurt you, to ruin this. His heart twists, the rush of panic making his grip ease but then you lick your lips, breath shaky, eyes dark with need.

"H-harder," you whisper, voice barely there but wrecked, needy, and so fucking hot it punches the air from his lungs.

He goes dumb for a second—blinking, brain lagging—because holy shit.

"You sure, baby?"

His voice is rough, low, edged with concern but fuck, there's heat burning bright in his eyes. You nod, brows furrowed, lips parted, dripping for him, and God, he's gone. So fucking gone.

You have no idea how completely wrecked he is over you, how your face, your sounds, the way you look right now is burned into his soul. Fuck, he doesn't think he's ever wanted anyone this badly—no, not badly. Desperately.

"If something doesn't feel right," he rasps, leaning in, voice serious beneath the hunger, "you tell me, yeah?"

You nod again, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, and that's it—he loses it. His hips snap forward, harder, deeper, faster, dragging a sharp cry from your throat as your head throws back, mouth falling open. God, the sound, the way your tits bounce with every thrust—it's too much.

His gaze locks on them, entranced, like they're the prettiest fucking thing he's ever seen—soft, perfect, fucking begging for his mouth. He leans down, tongue flicking over a pebbled nipple, sucking, licking, his lips wrapping around it hungrily.

"Fuck—" he groans against your skin, teeth scraping just enough to make you shiver.

He moves to the other, sucking deep, leaving faint hickeys, marks he wants burned into your skin because you're his right now—all his.

"Look at you," he pants, thrusting deep, hips grinding against you, rubbing your clit just right. "So fuckin' gorgeous... bouncin' for me like that—shit, baby, you're unreal."

Your nails dig into his back, scraping, making him groan against your chest. His thrusts pick up, relentless, dragging wet, filthy squelches from where he's buried deep, your pussy clenching around him so perfectly.

"Fuckin' God," he grits out, "feel like you're made for me." His voice breaks, wrecked with pure need, hips slamming into yours, making the bed creak, skin slapping loud and obscene. "So tight, baby, takin' me so fuckin' good—shit, you hear that? Hear how wet you are for me?"

Every thrust makes your breath hitch, your body rocking with his. His mouth moves between your neck and chest, tasting, licking, biting, leaving you marked, claimed.

"Fuck, baby—fuck," he pants, hips relentless, his abs flexing against your stomach, body hot and solid. "You're gonna ruin me. Shit, you already have."

He pulls away, your nipple leaving his mouth with a wet pop, and fuck, the way your chest heaves makes him want to dive back in—but no. Not yet.

He sits upright, hands gripping your hips, and Jesus, the sight wrecks him. His gaze locks on the place where his dick slides in and out of you, slick and glistening, soaked with how fucking wet you are.

"Shit, baby—" his voice catches, rough and wrecked, "look at this."

Your pussy stretches around him, tight and perfect, swallowing him whole. Every thrust drags a filthy squelch, his cock gleaming with your slick, and fuck, you’re making a mess—dripping down to his balls, coating him. His abs flex with every deep thrust, jaw clenched as he watches your cunt take him, take all of him.

"Goddamn," he groans, hips rolling, eyes glued to where you're joined. "Look at you takin' it—fuck, baby, you're takin' my whole dick—" He grits his teeth, pulling out slow, just to watch your pussy cling, desperate to keep him inside. "You're gonna kill me, baby. Shit."

You squirm, sheepish, a flush burning across your skin. "Don't... don't look at me," you whine, voice small, embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze, the way he's devouring you with his eyes.

His gaze snaps to yours, dark and hot, but there's warmth in it—soft, reassuring beneath the feral hunger.

"Hey," he murmurs, hips still moving, deep, slow, "don't do that. Don't hide from me." His thumb brushes along your hip, gentle despite the rough pace. "You're fuckin' gorgeous, baby, every part of you. Watching you take me like this—shit, it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

And then—fuck—his hand moves, sliding down until his fingers find your clit, puffy and needy. He circles it, slow, deliberate, just as his hips pound into you, dragging a choked whine from your throat.

"Jay—oh, fuck... too much," you whimper, hips jerking, trying to squirm away, but his grip tightens, holding you right there.

"No, baby," he pants, hips relentless, dick hitting deep, stretching you wide. "You can take it. You're my good girl, right? Gimme one more, c'mon, I'm so fuckin' close."

Your mind spins, thoughts scattered, every thrust punching pleasure through your veins. He's big—God, so fucking big—stretching you to the limit, filling you so deep it feels like you can feel him in your throat. Every thrust hits that spot, sparks exploding behind your eyes. This is the best fuck of your life, no contest.

And fuck, people call him scary, say he's dangerous—but not here, not with you. Not like this. Not when his touch is careful, when he's so mindful of your pleasure, his voice gentle even as he wrecks you.

"God," he groans, hips slamming into you, his thumb rubbing against your clit with every thrust, making your thighs shake. "You feel so fuckin' good. Tight, wet, takin' me so perfect. Baby—shit—you got no idea what you're doin' to me."

Your nails dig into his arms, desperate, overwhelmed, his dick dragging against your walls, making you see stars.

He pounds into you, hips slamming against yours with bruising force, each thrust dragging a broken moan from your throat. His fingers circle your clit, faster, harder, until you're falling apart, babbling, a mess of whimpers and cries.

"Fuck, Jay... oh my God, please—"

You can't think, can't breathe, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your back arching, body tightening beneath him.

"That's it, baby. Fuck, you're takin' me so good. C'mon,give it to me... cum for me, doll—wanna feel you squeeze me," he growls, hips relentless, cock dragging against your sweet spot over and over.

And fuck, when it hits—it's devastating. Your vision whites out, body snapping taut as your orgasm crashes through you, intense, all-consuming. Your pussy clamps down around him, pulsing, milking his cock, making him curse, a ragged moan tearing from his chest.

But he doesn't stop.

He leans over you, his mouth crashing against yours in a bruising kiss, messy, desperate. His tongue tangles with yours, claiming, consuming, swallowing your gasps and whimpers as he fucks you through your high. His hips drive deep, faster, rougher, chasing his own release, and you melt under him—helpless, wrecked.

"God, Jay, you feel so good," you whimper against his lips, voice wrecked, slurred with pleasure. "So deep, fuck... so good—"

His eyes flutter shut, hips slamming into you with single-minded focus, cock dragging against your sensitive walls. "Fuck, baby," he pants, voice rough, wrecked, "you got no fuckin' idea—shit—drivin' me crazy."

He moans—deep, guttural—right in your ear, making your whole body shudder. "Where d'you want me to cum, doll?" His voice breaks, hips still pounding, "Tell me—fuck—where d'you want it?"

You don't hesitate, eyes glassy, lips parted, "Inside me, God, please—"

And fuck, that's it—he's gone.

"Shit, fuck, fuck," he growls, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his hips slamming into you like a man possessed.

His dick throbs, swelling inside you—then he breaks, hips jerking, and he cums, hard, deep. Hot ropes of cum flood your pussy, the pressure blinding, making you cry out, pussy clenching around him.

God. His load is huge. You can feel it—hot, thick, endless. Spurts of cum paint your insides, flooding your pussy so much it spills out, leaking around his thrusting cock in wet, sticky streams. Each pulse of his dick sends another gush of cum deeper, so warm and slick you swear you feel it spreading, coating every inch of your clenching walls.

And fuck, your cunt's puffy, swollen from how hard he's fucked you, stretched so perfectly around him, gripping him like your body refuses to let him go. His cock's still thick, throbbing, buried balls-deep as he grinds his hips, like he needs to push it all in—like he wants his cum everywhere.

The pressure's too much.

Your clit's throbbing, overstimulated, slick and sensitive from how he rubbed it raw, from how his skin keeps dragging against it. And with his cum gushing inside, with his cock pounding it deeper, it tips you over again—one last time.

Your orgasm slams into you like a fucking freight train.

"Oh, fuck, Jay... oh my God—"

Your back arches, mouth dropping open in a silent scream before broken moans spill out, babbling, wrecked. Your pussy clamps down so tight around him it makes him curse, hips jerking.

"Shit, baby, fuck—" as you milk his cock, your walls spasming, pulling every last drop from him.

Stars burst behind your eyelids—white-hot, blinding. Your whole body shakes, overwhelmed, nerves lit up, toes curling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you, relentless, all-consuming.

You can't stop shaking, can't stop moaning, a wrecked mess under him, drenched in sweat, skin tingling from how good—how fucking good—he makes you feel.

And he's still there, still grinding, fucking his cum into you, hips rolling slow, making wet squelches fill the air—filthy, messy, your combined slick and his cum making a sloppy mess between you. You feel it leak out, thick streams oozing past where you're stretched wide around him, warm as it dribbles down your ass.

"Look at you," he pants, voice wrecked, dark eyes devouring you. "So fuckin' pretty, makin' a mess all over me. Shit, baby, takin' me so good."

Your breath hitches, heart racing, head spinning. You're ruined. Destroyed. And fuck, you love it. Your body trembles, and you sob—not from pain, but from too much pleasure, from how overwhelmed you are.

"Shhh, pretty girl," he murmurs, voice soft, soothing, as his lips brush over your skin—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips—gentle pecks that ground you, anchor you to him.

His big hands roam your body, soothing touches that chase away the lingering tremors.

"It's okay, baby. Got you," he whispers, thumb rubbing soft circles along your hip.

His body's so warm against yours, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, damp with sweat. He's careful, so careful not to crush you with his weight, propped up just enough to let you breathe, but still close enough that you can feel him everywhere.

And fuck, his dick's still inside you, still thick, still faintly throbbing. The stretch makes you whimper, a soft, shaky sound that tugs at his heart. He smiles, leans down, and runs a hand through your hair, fingers gentle, comforting.

"You did so good for me," he murmurs, voice rough but tender. "So fuckin' good, pretty girl."

Your lashes flutter, heart pounding, and you murmur, voice wobbly, "God, that... that was... so fucking good."

He chuckles, low and warm, a sound that rumbles through his chest. "Yeah, baby?"

His dark eyes soften when you nod, your nose brushing his, eyes big and beautiful, looking at him with this adoring gaze that wrecks him all over again. Fuck, you let him fuck you like that—hard, deep, relentless—and now you're looking at him like he hung the stars, like he didn't just ruin you, like he's something good. And God, that does something to him. Warms him, unravels him, makes him want to kiss you again and again.

So he does.

He leans down, lips brushing yours, and the kiss unfolds slow, lazy, messy. His tongue slides against yours, soft moans mixing between your mouths. Your lips part, welcoming him, and he tastes you, deep and slow, like he's got all the time in the world. His fingers thread through your hair, cradling you, keeping you close as you melt into him.

Your breaths mingle, warm and shaky, tongues sliding together in a sloppy kiss that's all soft sounds—wet licks, gentle sucks, hushed moans. You cling to him, nails digging into his back, and he loves it, loves you like this—soft, wrecked, beautiful.

He breaks the kiss after a few lingering licks, breathing heavy against your lips, and slowly, he begins to pull out.

You hiss, a sharp, shaky sound, and your thighs tremble, cunt sore, swollen, molded to the shape of his cock. The drag of him leaving your puffy, overstimulated pussy has your eyes fluttering, jaw slack, as warm, sticky cum begins to leak out—his load, thick and hot, spilling down your messy folds.

And fuck, his eyes are glued to the sight.

Your pussy is glistening, wrecked, stretched from taking him so deep and so good, and there's so much cum, sticky strings connecting your swollen lips to his slick, flushed dick. His jaw clenches, fingers itching to push it back in, to watch you drip around his cock again. God, the urge is unbearable.

But then you whimper, soft and tired, and he shakes himself out of it, soothing a hand over your quivering thigh. "Easy, baby," he murmurs, voice rough but gentle, "I know."

He plops down beside you, muscles relaxing, and you instinctively snuggle in, nuzzling against his broad, sweaty chest. His heartbeat's steady, comforting, and without hesitation, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close. He presses a kiss to your temple, warm lips lingering as his fingers trace soft shapes along your damp skin.

"You okay?" he asks, voice low, concern threading through the roughness.

You nod, so sleepy, so fucked out, eyelids heavy. "Mhmm," you murmur, content.

He chuckles, that deep, warm sound rumbling through his chest, and god, it soothes you. His calloused fingers glide along your sweat-slicked skin, slow, comforting, as you breathe him in—warm, safe, so good.

You tilt your head up, blinking lazily, and pout, voice soft, "Can I stay?"

He pauses, brows knitting as he glances down. "What?"

Your cheeks heat, and you look away, suddenly sheepish. Fuck. He doesn't exactly scream cuddles after fucking. Not with the reputation that precedes him.

But then his fingers gently tilt your chin up, urging your gaze back to his. "Hey, talk to me, baby."

Your heart skips. You swallow, nervous, "I mean... I... can I stay the night?"

For a beat, there's silence, then—he laughs, a surprised, genuine sound, and cups your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your warm skin.

"I didn't know leaving was an option."

Your eyes widen, taken aback, and then you giggle, nose scrunching. "You like me that much?"

And God, you've only been together a few weeks, and yeah, maybe you thought he was just waiting to fuck you, toss you aside after—but fuck, he's been so good to you from the start.

You just... believed the talk, like a moron. He's Red Hood, Jason Todd. He fucks and leaves. That's what everyone said. But he never made you feel like that. Not once.

"I do," he says, simple, honest, and it hits you right in the chest.

Your heart flutters, and you see it—the sincerity in those bright blue eyes, something soft and real that makes your throat tighten.

His hand trails down from your side, and then—he cups your ass, big hand kneading the soft flesh before giving it a playful slap.

You yelp, giggling against his chest, and he grins, "Couldn't help myself," he murmurs, teasing.

You almost fall asleep against him, nuzzled into his warm chest, surrounded by the steady beat of his heartbeat and the faint scent of his skin—clean, a hint of gunpowder, and something uniquely him that makes your head spin. God, he smells so fucking good.

His fingers trace soft patterns along your sweaty skin, gentle, soothing, and fuck, it's impossible not to drift. Your eyelids droop, breath slowing, body boneless against him.

But then—he shifts slightly, muscles tensing as he moves, and you whine, voice small, "Nooo..."

He chuckles, the sound deep and fond. "C'mon, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "We gotta clean up."

You pout, half-asleep, mumbling, "M'tired..."

And fuck, he melts. Heart just gone. You're too cute, all sleepy and clingy, eyes heavy and lips pouty. "I'll clean you quickly, I promise, okay?"

You grumble, but when he pulls away, you whimper, instinctively clinging to him. His brows lift, a bit surprised. He's not that guy—not the cuddly type, not the one for soft aftercare. But for you? Fuck. For you, he is.

"Alright, baby," he murmurs, and then he scoops you up, effortless, like you weigh nothing.

His arms cradle you against his broad chest, warmth radiating off him as he carries you to the bathroom. The tile's cool beneath his bare feet, and the soft glow of the bathroom light makes everything feel hazy, dreamlike. He sets you down gently, but you cling, arms wrapped around his torso, cheek pressed to his skin.

"Jesus," he laughs softly, "you're really not lettin' go, huh?"

You mumble something incoherent, and he just grins, wrapping an arm around you while he reaches to turn on the shower. The pipes groan, and warm steam begins to fill the air.

"Just a bit more," he says, voice low, chin resting on your shoulder as you lean back into him, "and we'll go to sleep, yeah?"

You nod sleepily, and he presses a soft kiss to the curve of your neck, lips warm against your cool skin. The water heats up, steam curling around you both, and he guides you into the shower cabin. The first rush of warm water hits your skin, washing away the sweat and stickiness, and you sigh, body relaxing further.

He steps behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close. One of his hands spreads over your belly, rubbing slow circles.

"God," he hums, mouth brushing against your damp hair, "you did so good for me, baby."

Your heart flutters, but you just nod, too tired to do much else.

"Just a quick shower," he murmurs, reaching for his body wash.

He pours some into his hand—and God, his hands are so big compared to you—before he starts lathering you up. His fingers glide over your skin, gentle but thorough, slick suds sliding down your tired body.

He washes you carefully, every curve, every dip, soothing touches along your arms, shoulders, hips. He's fast but soft, intent on making sure you're clean without keeping you up too long.

When he finishes, he guides you under the spray, rinsing you off, and you just lean against him, boneless, letting him take care of you.

"See? Told you I'd be quick," he grins, fingers brushing along your waist.

"Mhmm," you murmur, sleepy satisfaction settling in your bones.

Then, it's his turn. He grabs the body wash, lathering up quickly, and you step back slightly, half-lidded eyes drifting down his broad chest, strong arms, defined abs, water cascading down his tattooed skin.

God. You bite your lip, not even subtle about staring. His muscles shift with every movement, abs flexing as he runs suds over his chest, water tracing every dip and ridge. And when he turns around to rinse off—fuck.

His back is just as unfair, muscles rippling, tattoos stretching over his skin, and your gaze drops lower. His ass is perfect, firm and sculpted, like something out of a fantasy, and those thighs—Jesus.

Thick, powerful, covered in droplets that slide down to his calves. You can see the sheer strength there, thighs that could crush you without trying, legs that hold him steady when he wrecks you.

And then—yeah, he catches you.

"Caught you starin', baby," he teases, grinning, "like what you see?"

Your face heats, and you huff, "Shut up."

"Didn't hear a no," he laughs, water streaming down his face, blue eyes bright with amusement.

You pinch your nose just as he turns off the water, a little scrunch of your face that makes him snort softly.

"Such a drama queen," he mutters, grinning as he steps out first, water dripping from his tattooed skin.

He grabs a towel, gives it a quick shake, and then turns back to you. Warmth flickers in his blue eyes as he wraps you in it, pulling the soft fabric snug around your damp body.

"Gotcha," he murmurs, fingers brushing your cheek.

He offers his hand, and you take it, stepping out carefully. The bathroom tile is cool against your feet, and you shiver—but it's not from the cold.

Because holy shit.

Your eyes catch on him—the broad chest, water sliding down sculpted abs, and then... yeah. Your gaze drops. And even soft, his dick is huge. Like, what the fuck. Thick, heavy, resting against his thigh, and God—it's pretty.

Veins running along the length, flushed at the tip, and that happy trail above it? Dark, perfect, practically begging you to lick your way down. The kind of sight that makes your mouth water, heat curling low in your belly.

Your brain short-circuits for a second, and all you can think is how the fuck did that fit inside you? No wonder you felt stretched to the brink, stuffed full, wrecked. God, he ruined you.

He smirks, noticing your stare, but says nothing—just grabs another towel and wraps it around his waist. Barely. It hangs low on his hips, dangerously close to slipping, teasingly casual.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs, guiding you back to the bedroom.

The sheets are rumpled, still bearing evidence of what he did to you, and heat rushes to your cheeks. He tosses open his closet, rummaging for a second before pulling out a t-shirt.

"Here," he says, grinning, "this'll do."

It's worn soft, the fabric faded but smelling like him—that clean scent, mixed with cologne and something uniquely Jason. Your head spins, heart fluttering.

He gently dries you off, hands warm as he rubs the towel over your arms, shoulders, legs, taking careful time with your still-sensitive skin. Then he slips the shirt over your head, and it swallows you whole.

Like, drowns you. The hem hits mid-thigh, the neckline wide, slipping off your shoulder. The sleeves hang loose, practically devouring your arms.

Jason leans back, takes one look at you, and laughs. "Jesus," he grins, "you look like you're wearin' a damn dress."

You huff, slapping his chest. Which, of course—does absolutely nothing.

He's built like a fucking wall. Solid. Unmoving.

"Ouch," you deadpan, "my hand's broken now."

He catches your wrist easily, grinning, and then pulls you into him. His arms wrap around you, big hands sliding beneath the hem of the oversized shirt—and yep, they go straight for your ass.

He cups it, kneading shamelessly.

You huff, "You're obsessed."

"Yeah," he says, zero shame, grin widening. "I am."

Jason grabs a pair of boxers, slides them on, the waistband snapping against his hips. He picks up both towels, tossing them into the laundry basket.

"Hang on," he says, waving you off as you yawn. "These sheets are trashed."

You flop face-first onto the bed anyway, muffled, "Don't care. Tired."

"Yeah, I know," he grins, peeling the sheets off on his side.

They're ... yeah. Destroyed. Wrinkled, soaked, and holy shit, he really did a number on you. You roll to the side, watching him wrestle with the fitted sheet like it's personally offended him.

"Need help?" you mumble.

"No," he grunts, "I got it. Fucking—goddamn thing—"

He finally manages, cursing under his breath, and throws on fresh ones. Then, without warning, he turns, grins, and scoops you up so he can fit the sheet on your side too.

"Jason!" you squeal, legs kicking weakly, "I can—"

"Shhh," he teases, "you love it."

He plops you onto the fresh sheets, and you bounce, letting out a giggly little noise. "Asshole."

"Yup," he agrees cheerfully, dropping down next to you. His arm snakes around your waist, dragging you in, and you go willingly, curling against his chest.

"God," you yawn again, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

His skin's warm, smells like him—that clean soap mixed with his natural heat. One arm drapes over his waist, your fingers splaying over solid muscle.

His hand finds the back of your head, gentle, fingers threading through your damp hair.

"You okay?" he asks softly, voice rumbling in your ear.

You nod, murmuring, "Mhmm... just tired."

"Sleep, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You melt, mumbling something incoherent, and he chuckles, pulling you closer.

And as you drift off, Jason just... lays there. Holds you. He wasn't expecting this. Not the clingy post-sex cuddling, not you nuzzling into him like he's safe, like you trust him.

Not the way his chest feels tight, not in a bad way, just... fuck. He's not soft. Not really. Not supposed to be. But you curl into him, and it's like his body knows what to do, like holding you is instinct.

You're small against him, your breathing evening out, little puffs of air against his neck. And shit, he could get used to this.

Your leg hooks over his, possessive even in sleep, and he smirks, shaking his head.

"You're somethin' else," he murmurs, so quiet you don't hear.

But yeah... he's already all fucking in.

P. S: I didn't forget about your requests, guys. I have the Nightwing one you suggested, imma post it these days 🤭 I'm just a slut for both Dick and Jason rn ✋🏻

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

didn't realize this was the liberal arts (jason todd x reader series)

Jason is working hard at being back, working hard at being normal. He picks his ass up and takes himself back to high school, then to college. He's trying so fucking hard; he's got a routine; he's got classes with normal-ass people like you in them. He's got a life and a patrol route and a mission; he's running an op against Black Mask's drug cartel. Things are...stable.

And then he runs into you outside of your 17th century lit class, beating the shit out of one of Black Mask's guys. This throws things out of whack.

My "Jason goes to college and reader is an asshole" series. Set a few months after Jason comes back to gotham. Humor, enemies to lovers if reader and jason were enemies instead of, like, mildly irritated with each other. Angst because Jason is a sad little dude. If I am writing a series and Jason is not angsty, I have been compromised.

Swearing as always. no use of y/n. as of now reader is gender neutral but Jason calls them princess (if anyone has a gender neutral term that is slightly belittling and cocky please let me know).

___

Part 1 - Jason picks up his life and goes back to college. You’re in one of his classes. He thinks that means you’re normal. Whoops.

Part 2 - Jason asks you out. Turns out you’re kind of an asshole

Part 3 - He didn’t learn anything from that shit-ass date, so Red Hood follows you to Crime Alley.

Part 4 - Red Hood gets roped into chaperoning your stakeout

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTRAWBERRY BABYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥...

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

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

Instead, you were losing your mind.

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

No.

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

Blonde.

BLONDE.

And he looked exactly like Jason.

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

And your baby?

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

Which made no damn sense.

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t. He had black hair.

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

That didn’t matter right now.

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

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

The room went silent.

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

“Uh… what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—WHAT?!” you shrieked.

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

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

You sobbed harder. Ugly cried harder.

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

“Uh, wow,” Tim muttered.

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

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

Your stomach dropped.

Jason.

Jason wasn’t here.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

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

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

“No, he won’t,” Bruce grumbled.

CRASH.

Jason absolutely broke the door down.

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

"Fucking Gotham traffic, I swear to—"

He froze.

You were crying.

Sobbing.

Hysterical.

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

His eyes darted to the baby in your arms.

Tiny. Swaddled. Breathing.

Okay. Not dead.

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

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

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

Jason panicked.

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

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

Bruce exhaled through his nose, deeply unimpressed.

It's just made you cry harder.

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

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

Jason blinked.

Everyone collectively flinched.

"…What?" Jason said, voice flat.

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

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

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

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

"…Yeah?" he said, confused.

"He has blonde hair!"

Jason blinked.

Then blinked again.

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

Dick rubbed his temples. "Jay."

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

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

Jason stared.

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

“Yes,” Damian said, unbothered.

“Absolutely,” Dick grinned.

Jason inhaled deeply.

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

You hiccupped again. “Wh—what?”

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

Your breath caught. “Huh?”

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

Silence.

More silence.

The world stopped.

The Earth stopped spinning.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

Jason nodded.

"You… had blonde hair?"

Jason nodded again.

You sniffled. Sniffled again. Processed this information.

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

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

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

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

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Babe—”

“Oh my God.”

“Listen, it’s not—”

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

“Strawberry blonde,” Tim corrected.

Jason shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason glared. "You think?"

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

"I DIDN’T KNOW!" you shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim shrugged. "For emergencies."

Jason squinted. "…What kind of emergencies?"

Tim smirked. "Like this one."

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

And—oh.

The storm in his eyes vanished.

Replaced by something warm. Something deep. Something soft.

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

Awe-struck.

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

Jason swallowed.

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

“…Holy shit,” he murmured.

Dick grinned. “You made a clone.”

Jason turned to you, eyes softening.

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

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

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

[astr-venus]

You ogle Jason as he stands up from bed. He's butt naked in the room, covered in smudged lipstick from you being insatiable the night before. He has a couple raised scratches down his back too, along with various hickeys to match your own. Your practically purr seeing the marks you've left on him.

"Turn around." You demand softly.

"Why?"

You're too busy staring at Jason's ass to give him a timely response. You only answer when he turns his head to stare at you.

"I like to watch it hang."

You also like the way Jason's whole body goes red. The way he flushes from his toes to the tips of his ears. The scene makes you bite your lip, another humming purr easing from your chest.

"You're such a fucking freak." He scoffs.

"No doubt about that." You shrug the blankets off your shoulders teasingly. "The question is if you're gonna match it."

Very pointedly, Jason turns around. The word turn could honestly be too light of a description the way he practically whips his body towards the wall.

"I'm putting pants on."

"Noooo! Jason!!" You whine. "I'm sorry!!"

"Too late."

"Uuuuhhgggg you're so mean to me."

I need him so bad. (with a tone that says I'm ovulating)

｡⁠☆Requests Open

[angelfic]

thinking about JASON TODD watching you get ready for the day.

part of his morning routine is watching you do yours. he’s lounging on your bed, mindlessly scrolling on his phone as he waits for you to get out of the shower, looking up curiously when he hears the water shut off.

a few seconds later, you’re stepping out of the bathroom, steam curling into the bedroom as you towel dry your hair.

jason watches you like it’s his day job. he’s got nowhere better else to be, nothing else to do except lay on your shared bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he watches you move through your routine.

you grab your moisturiser, lathering up with a scent that jason always finds delicious enough to eat (he’s probably going to bite you later).

when you’re satisfied with your dewy, hydrated skin, you pick out a couple of tops, considering them with just as much indecision as before. he tries not to laugh when you huff, arms sore from holding them both up against the mirror. eventually, like always, you turn to him and hold them up in question.

“black one,” he replies easily. he’d already chosen a favourite, but he likes it when you ask for his opinion.

you blow him a quick kiss and start dressing, before moving on to sit at your vanity.

he loves this bit, watching you apply every cream and serum with intense concentration. fuck knows what they’re all for, but he happily walks around for hours, holding the basket as you shop for them and he’ll happily sit and watch as you apply them.

you never rush the next part, applying droplets of foundation to your glowing skin and taking your time to blend it in. concealer is next, and then the coloured products.

when you’re applying the bronzer, you tilt your head and assess the angles of your cheekbones carefully and he finds himself mirroring you, enraptured.

blush comes next, swirling onto the apples of your cheek generously and giving you that soft flush of colour that he loves seeing on you. he makes a mental note to compliment that more.

sometimes you forgo eyeliner and jason himself a little disappointed. the way your brows furrow and your hand is steady as a rock as you swipe on the dark lines is like nothing he’s seen before. and considering his job, he’s often in high stress situations.

when you apply the mascara, making your lashes thick and dark, jason exhales as you blink at yourself in the mirror. your eyes might be his favourite feature of yours.

as soon as jason hears the familiar chime of different lipsticks clinking together in your drawer, he sits up slightly. just like everything else, he knows you’re going to struggle deciding on a shade.

after a whole minute of you uncapping and capping liner after lipstick after lip gloss, he finally gets up and leans down behind you, arms snaking around your waist. jason rest his chin on your shoulder and nods to your obscene collection of lip products.

“use the red one that you like,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your neck.

“you mean the red one that you like?” you shoot back at him, raising a brow in the mirror.

“semantics.”

you laugh, uncapping the product before dabbing it onto your lips. jason doesn’t even realise he’s staring so hard in the mirror until you turn around to look at him, cupping his face in your hands. “satisfied?” you ask, grinning.

he hums, distracted by your lips and he can’t help himself from sneaking a kiss. the colour is practically hypnotic on you, so you can’t really blame him for going in for another one. or two.

a/n; rip jason todd you would have loved clinique black honey and elf jam session

[cybergoth1]

can you do some Jason Todd as a husband headcannon pls !! i just know that when he’s healed , he’s hauling his partner and getting TF out of Gotham , and popping out babies (GIRLDAD) and a nice job in a low-key town and maybe becomes a househusband 😋🤭(for real i’m 100% sure he would) but at the same time he is The Jason Todd . Hot , mysterious , emotional but also not , a big fat nerd in a brick body .

you know your daddy's home.

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader.

warnings/tags: fluffy, pre established relationship. my silly drabble about raising a daughter with jason todd. girl dad jason todd. husband jason todd.

author's note: hey babe i turned it into a drabble! hope you don't mind it!

"look, mommy! i'm batman!”

you suppressed a chuckle as you watched your five-year-old daughter standing tall on the couch, wearing a paper mask poorly shaped like batman’s cowl. the little girl came home from school, talking non-stop about the vigilant and refusing to take off her paper mask, even during lunch time, excitedly repeating what her teacher had said about nowday heroes.

"gotham needs me!"

she was trying to make her voice deeper as she jumped onto the floor. the cats, startled by the noise on the wooden floor, bolted away in a stampede.

"you're too pretty to be batman, baby girl".

your husband jason said as he stepped out of the bathroom. the scent of soap and shaving lotion lingered in the air as he walked down the hallway in just his sweatpants. his scars seemed more visible, glistening under the light as drops of water trailed down his bare back and chest.

“but how do you know what he looks like? he's always wearing a mask!” her childish voice rang out indignantly.

he picked her up effortlessly with one hand, while the other gently tugged the paper mask aside to look into her bright blue eyes — blue like his had been before the lazarus pit. her nose, mouth and ears were just like yours, a glimpse of you both in her youthful face.

"he sounds ugly, like a very old sad man. unlike you, princess".

"i'm not a princess, i'm vengeance!"

you laughed behind the stove.

"well, vengeance," he said, walking toward the apartment’s kitchen with her tiny legs wrapped around his hips "you can save gotham after eating your vegetables," he added with a smirk, putting her on the high chair.

she looked at him with wide eyes, as if he’d just handed her a death sentence.

"broccoli?"

"broccoli".

you placed the plate of food in front of her, the broccoli standing out between the rice and meat like a tiny, green nightmare. she looked up at you with pleading eyes, silently appealing to your good side.

you stroked her hair gently.

"if you don’t eat, i'll have to tell batman that his sidekick isn’t eating properly. you can't patrol without eating broccoli," he said, pulling out the chair to sit beside her. that was more than enough. with a disgusted expression, she began to eat, occasionally poking at the broccoli.

"hi, jay," you said, placing your hands on his broad shoulders and giving him a light massage. he softly kissed your left hand before looking up at you.

"how’s my other girl doing?" he asked with a smile, his lips still lingering against your hand. your daughter was so focused on hating the broccoli that she didn’t even notice the display of affection. normally, she would’ve made a gagging noise, followed by a dramatic, “bleh!”.

"she's missing you a lot" you said kissing the top of his head. a familiar scent makes you pause for a moment.

"you're using my shampoo again, aren't you?"

"maybe?"

©cybergoth1, 2025

[kateswallofweird]

JASON TODD IS THE TYPE OF BOYFRIEND TO . . .

cw angst ish fluff ish, mugging, implied physical fighting, forgetting to eat

jason todd would let the world burn for you, but for now, he settles on loving you with all he has.

the echoes of your recent argument still ring loudly in your mind (it was something trivial, it always is), but you're grateful when jason drops down from the fire escape, coming between you and the poor muggers who'd chosen wrong tonight. despite his helmet and the domino mask covering his eyes, you can feel the anger washing over him in waves. he doesn't turn to you, but you avert your eyes and when you find him again, red stains his leather jacket and his gun is holstered at his side again. behind him, the men are bloodied and unconscious. "i didn't think—" you started, but he scoffed (not coldly, but like he knew what you'd say). "even if we're fighting," he answers your unasked question. even if we're fighting i will be there for you, and it's a quiet reminder that his love always supersedes his anger.

grumbling under his breath as you continue to work on your laptop, jason nudges a plate of food to you. it's warm and smells like heaven, and when you glance at the clock, you realize the time. it's late, and you've forgotten to take care of yourself amidst all the work you'd been doing. jason sets down utensils in front of you and a glass of water before taking your laptop and setting it down elsewhere. "eat," he says softly. "you can't work if you're not capable." he doesn't have to say it outright, you can hear the worry in his voice and you know what he means. i care for you is whispered through the hot meal he spent the last hour and a half making for you.

in the quiet of the night (or as quiet as gotham gets), jason slips in through your bedroom window. he locks it behind him and sheds his uniform—his helmet, leather jacket, and finally his armor. he leaves it in the corner so you don't trip over it when you get up, and he makes sure to wash up before slipping into bed. still, the faint smell of cigarettes, cologne, and gunpowder linger. he smiles when you curl into his touch, relief settling in his bones as he presses a kiss to your forehead. he doesn't have to speak because even in your sleepy stupor you know what he's saying, i love you.

the red hood may be a terror to the streets, but to you, jason todd was home. he was warmth, like sunlight on a cold day, solace in a storm. a heart that was once dead now beat to love you, and yours did the same.

💭 tbh i've never read any dc comics so my characterization of jason todd is from other fanfics

[debonairprincesposts]

You: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Jason: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks, I don't want to hear shit.

[fear-is-truth]

JASON TODD notices them every morning when he steps out of the shower, steam fogging the mirror, water running in slow rivulets down his chest. his scars catch the light—some thick and jagged, others thin and pale—but his eyes aren’t drawn to those.

they’re drawn to the bite marks you’ve left.

pink crescents formed from a row of tiny half-moons scattered on his shoulder, biceps, below his collarbone, ghosts of your teeth. he touches one absentmindedly, thumb tracing over the tender mark.

you bite him a lot.

at first, he thought it was a joke. some weird, affection-adjacent habit you’d eventually drop. but you never did. if anything, it got worse—little warning nips when he teases you. slow, lingering ones when you’re curled up next to him, pressing your mouth to his skin, sucking til his skin turns a shade darker.

he should probably tell you to quit it.

but he never does.

he likes them, he realises.

likes that he can see them every morning. likes that you put them there. likes that even when you’re not with him, he can still feel you.

[counterleen]

HAPPY NEW YEAR JASON ENJOYERS 🤭

[i-yap]

Jason todd x reader - clingy thoughts

(guys i have no motivation to start writing most days so like whenever I get comments or requests in my inbox I get rlly excited and actually feel like writing)

if jason could, he would melt his skin so it could stick to yours . He is so touch starved but more than that he is just ...starved. like he hasn't ever had anything properly good in his life. and then you're just there and he doesn't think something better could exist

he wants to look at you, he stares a lot. even when he is cuddling you, he's looking at your hands, your hair, whatever he can see in the position

he likes casual intimacy more than fancy intimacy. like linking pinkies when walking, resting your head on his shoulder on the bus, your legs being pressed against each other when you're sitting on a rooftop. something you'd do without thinking but he is constantly thinking about it.

he isn't the lift and spin sort of guy ( like after a mission or something) he is a holds you and falls to the ground from the pain of being separated from you for too long. he is the don't to dare pull away, tears in his eyes, body shaking sort of guy.

he hates being away from you, even across the table is too far. wants to sit next to you or hold your hand if you're sitting across. make sure the table isn't too big. the distance hurts him, its like he has an internal radar that if you cross , his head goes red .

give him any sign that you are just as clingy or even that you don't hate his guts and he will just freeze. he doesn't know how to reciprocate touch, feelings, words, everything but he really really wants to. so just because he stiffens up when you hug him doesn't mean he is gonna let you leave the hug .

his sweetest words come out at like 4am , when you're in the bathtub, sitting on a roof, eating snacks on the floor of your room or lying in bed . you cant be facing him cause he will forget whaT he wanted to say once he sees your face. he is super tired from crime fighting or after s'x or after a nightmare. don't make a big deal out of it cause he wont take it well and will get embarrassed.

he is just so protective, you rlly cant blame him.

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

didn't realize this was the liberal arts; part four (jason todd x reader)

Jason chaperones your stakeout

part four of my college jason series. Rest of the series is here

you're quiet in one of jason's classes, but when he runs into you beating up his perp, he learns you're kind of an asshole. too bad he's gotta help you with whatever batshit mission you're on.

reader is gender neutral except Jason calls them princess. reader is less mean at this point but still not very nice. but jason's warming up to that.

swearing, as always. no use of y/n. I don't know how long this is.

_____

Jason’s phone is burnin’ a you-sized hole in his pocket.

It’s embarrassing, the way he dives for it when he gets a notification. More than once, he’s stopped during patrol and taken his phone out, just to make sure he didn’t miss your message. In his defense, it’s the first time he’s given his number to anyone cute.

Are you cute? Jason’s gotta run his teeth over that one. Objectively, yes, but also, you’re kind of an asshole. But that’s growing on him.

Either way, you’re driving him crazy. You have his burner number, why don’t you goddamn use it? It’s almost enough to make him call Dick and ask for advice. Almost.

Besides, you’re not in class this week. Which is concerning, because you took a nasty hit that probably gave you a concussion. So it’s not totally wild that Jason’s obsessing over your text. He’s got a neat little excuse he can hide under.

Finally, six days after you got hurt, when he’s lying on his couch and staring into space, he gets a text from an unknown number.

Addresses?

Jason laughs to himself quietly. That’s gotta be you; you don’t mince words.

Not yet

Jason hasn’t had a chance to get his hands on the info you were looking for, the addresses of some of Black Mask’s drug dealers.

Why not?

Christ, were you raised in a barn?

Been busy.

Jason thinks for a moment, then adds—

Running your errands isn’t the only thing on my to do list, princess.

Heh. Serves you right.

Jason has been busy, he’s investigating a string of armed robberies. Plus, and he’d sooner die than admit this to you, he’s not exactly great with computers. They were never his strong suit, and it seems like tech advanced by light years when he was underground. He can do it, but it’ll take some annoying grunt work he just doesn’t feel like doing.

Your reply dings.

Fine. Fair point.

Wow-whee. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to him.

Lmk when you get them.

Sure thing, princess

He makes a mental note to work on it tonight.

A few minutes go by, but you don’t say anything else. Maybe the conversation’s over?

Hm. Jason hesitates, then types out another message.

How’s your head?

It takes another few minutes, but then—

Fine.

Jason bites his tongue, considering.

You got it checked out?

Yes. Don’t worry about it

Well, unfortunately, Jason is worried about it. Enough that he won’t take this crap.

He wonders how he can tell you that without seeming like he cares. That seems like something he should keep close to his chest, right?

I gotta look after collateral damage. You get hurt, it’s on me.

Again, another few minutes until your reply. Jason doesn’t know what to do with himself while he waits.

YES I got it checked out. It’s FINE. In bed for a few days, that’s it.

Good. A thought occurs to him, he can’t resist teasing you.

Send a pic of the scans?

He laughs, imagining your reply. It’s near immediate.

Fuck off.

Jason smiles at his phone. That, he thinks, is definitely the end of the conversation. But if he finds those addresses for you, he’ll get another one. He goes over to his desktop and gets to work.

Two hours later, he’s got two addresses for his pains. He doesn’t waste a second before sending them your way.

Got ‘em

He waits impatiently for your reply. Five, ten, twelve minutes go by, but he just sits at his desk and stares at his messaging app.

Finally:

You free tonight? I want to check them out

Uh. What.

Tonight? He glances at the time; it’s already 9:45. Jason should be getting ready to suit up.

You mean now?

Yeah, whatever, I can be ready in half an hour

There’s a wild, plunging feeling in his stomach. Can Jason be ready in half an hour? Can he be ready at all? He realizes his heart is pounding, his breath coming thick and fast.

Jason drops his phone with a thunk. He tries to get a grip on himself, but he can’t; you’ve hooked him up to an electric current and slammed a thousand volts through it. You free tonight? You free tonight? Your simple message loops through his brain over and over and over again. You free tonight? Does he have time for you tonight? It sure seems like you have time for him.

You free tonight?

Fuck yeah, he is.

He picks up his phone with shaking fingers. He’ll meet you tonight, but how should he tell you? What should he say? Should he just type out something like “fine?” That’s probably what you’d say to him, but he doesn’t want to talk to you like that. Just a simple “ok?” Why is this so fucking hard?

His eyes alight on his helmet, sitting on his coffee table. Right. He’s not doing this as Jason, who you hate. He’s doing this as Red Hood, who you need.

And Red Hood knows how to do a stakeout.

Jason turns back to his phone.

Gimme a few hours, princess. I gotta put my makeup on.

Two hours later, he’s in a crap car outside your apartment building, waiting for you to join him. He’d bought the car quick and paid cash from a chop shop nearby. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he sees you exit the building and approach him warily. He waves you inside.

“Come on, hop in.”

You roll your eyes but cross in front of the hood regardless, slipping off your backpack and sliding in next to him. “What’s with the car?”

Jason waits for you to put your seatbelt on, then shifts into gear. “You don’t have to climb a fire escape to get a good look at a place. We’re watching from right here.”

“Fine.” You turn to look out the window as Jason navigates through the streets. He surveys you from his peripheral vision; you seem to be fully recovered from your mild concussion. You’re carefully noting the route he’s taking; at one point you raise your eyebrows and nod grimly. Jason taps lightly against the gearshift. He knows better than to ask you about it.

After twenty minutes on the road, Jason eases the car to the top of a hill and cuts the engine. “Guy’s apartment is there,” he nods to a building that the hill has put at eye level. “Tenth floor, fourth window from the left.”

You cock an eyebrow. “There’re no lights on. We have to wait for them to wake up?”

“More likely that he’s on shift, dealing.” Black Mask’s guys usually work round the clock, each one setting up shop for a few hours before rotating out. Your mouth settles into a hard line, and you nod.

Jason lets out a breath, settling in for the long haul. It might be hours until anyone comes back. “What are we here to look for?”

You glance at him. “I’m looking for a guy. I know his face and where he dealt. I need to see him to recognize him, make sure it’s the right one.”

Hm. “Whatever you say,” Jason agrees, and silence falls between you.

Idly, Jason wonders what’ll happen next. He’s used to long stakeouts and knows how to occupy himself, but he wonders what you’ll do. After a few minutes, you open your backpack and pull out a book. It’s the reading for next week’s lit class, La Princessa de Cléves by Madame de La Fayette. “You mind if I get some work done?”

“Nah.” He hesitates; he wants to use this opportunity to pry, but he can’t let on that he already knows so much. “You a student?”

“Yeah. Gotham U.” You prop your legs on the dashboard and flip the book open, sticking your tongue between your teeth. Jason studies you as you read ten pages. Turns out he’s never seen you happier than when you’re reading. You smile, chuckle, and smirk knowingly as you go, scribbling furious notes with a pencil you’ve brought with you. He can’t help but smile behind the helmet. A thought steals into his head: will you ever look at him that way? He brushes it aside.

After twenty minutes, you snap the book shut and tip your head back toward the roof of the car. You close your eyes and tap your fingers on your thigh, brow furrowed in concentration. After a few more minutes, you sigh, giving your thigh a short slap before opening your eyes and pulling your knees to your chest, resting your head on them.

Of course he has to know what’s going on in your head. Jason clears his throat. “Book get your panties in a twist?”

“Nah, not the book.” You let out a huff. “Just trying to figure out what to say in my class.”

Huh. Jason didn’t know you planned your remarks ahead of time. He wants to ask what you’ll say, but you beat him to it. “Someone is going to make a connection to the author’s personal life, I know they are,” you explain. “And then, I’ll say,” you nod to yourself. “Yeah, okay, I’ll say that we always talk about the female authors’ personal lives more than the men’s. Which is true,” you add, as if Jason is going to argue the point. “We do. It’s an imbalance. I’m right to point it out. But then,” you roll your eyes. “Then, this other guy is going to try and counter me by saying that, even if I’m right, which I am, we can’t ignore the similarities between the author’s life and the text, because it leads to a richer analysis. And then he’s going to give some text examples.” You scratch your nose. “It’s fucking annoying. We’ll both be right.”

Jason’s eighty percent sure he’s the guy you’re talking about. He has to nudge you. “Why don’t you just tell this guy that he’s right?”

You scowl. “Absolutely not.”

Jason grins fit to split his face in half. “Then why don’t you just keep your mouth shut?”

You glance at him, sideways. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Yeah. That’s exactly it, isn’t it?

“What’s this guy’s name?” The words are out before he can stop himself.

You examine your fingernails. “Jason.”

You’re talking about him. His heart thumps crazily. Careful, he screams at himself. Watch it, watch it, shut the fuck up, shut the fuck—

“What’s he like?”

Blood pounds in his ears. You look over at him with suspicion. “Why do you care?”

Fuck. He fucked up. You might work out who’s under the mask. He wasn’t careful, and now he’s put you both at risk. Idiot. Jason shrugs helplessly.

The skepticism doesn’t leave your eyes. Jason scrambles and pulls something out of his ass. “Just trying to figure you out, princess.”

“Hm.” You turn away, looking resolutely out the windshield.

Jason breathes out shakily. He clean got away with it. Does this mean he can ask you more questions?

“What do you study?”

You shrug. “I haven’t officially decided, but literature, probably. English.”

Huh. Just like him. “Why?”

You shrug. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Yeah. Just like him.

Jason leaves that alone for now. “Where’d you learn to fight?” he asks instead.

“Just karate classes I took as a kid, and judo.”

“You’re good,” Jason offers.

You scoff. “Sure, thanks.” You turn to look at him, raising your eyebrow and giving him a smirk that momentarily distracts him. “Where’d you learn to fight?”

Uh oh. Mute, Jason jabs a finger at the bat symbol on his chest.

“Right,” you nod. “Is he, like, your mentor?”

“Was,” Jason grunts, hoping you’ll let it lie. You don’t.

“‘Was?’ What happened?”

Fuck. Does Jason really want to do this? Also, and this really doesn’t fucking matter, but why are you more interested in Red Hood than Jason?

“Uhh…” he trails off, hoping you’ll pick up on his reticence. You cross your arms over your chest and look at him expectantly.

Damn it. “Uh, yeah, he was my mentor, but then…” but then what happened? Did Batman betray him? Did he fail his Robin? Or did Robin fly a little too close to the sun and get what he deserved?

“But then I…I left.” Closest he can get to the truth. “And he replaced me.” He can’t say any more, can’t breathe past the lump in his throat.

“Damn. That sucks.” You unfold your legs, setting them onto the floor of the car. “My mom kind of did that to me.”

He tilts his head at you. “She left,” you say, voice tight. “Went off and had more kids. Didn’t bother to keep in touch with me, though.”

Oh. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Jason mulls this over. Your story is a lot closer to his than you know.

You remain quiet, but his hackles are up; it’s been a long-ass time since anyone confided in him. He glances your way. Your face is relaxed, you don’t seem to regret sharing that.

Huh. Huh, huh, huh. Jason’ll run away with that one if he can’t control himself.

“Oh, shit.” He looks up; your eyes trained on the apartment building. “Lights are on.” You look at him. “You got binoculars in that thing? Forgot mine at home.”

Jason laughs quietly. “Yeah, hold on.” He adjusts the helmet’s lenses. “What kind of guy you lookin’ for?”

He feels you tense next to him. “White guy. Blonde, dirty beard.”

“Anything else?”

You lock yourself down even further. “Disgusting-ass diamond neck tattoo under his chin,” you spit.

Jason waits until whoever entered the apartment comes into view. It looks like it might be a woman; whoever it is, they don’t fit your description. “No dice.”

“Great.” You slump down in the seat. “Now what?” Jason thinks it over. “You’re the professional,” you remind him.

Sure he is. “We stake it out for another week and a half, maybe two,” Jason decides, “then move onto the next address.”

Here, he holds his breath. It won’t take more than one week to sniff out this apartment. This, he knows. He could also stake it out alone. This, he knows.

You cluck your tongue. “Okay, if you think it’s the right move.”

This should reassure him, but it sets him even more on edge. Ugh. It feels like stealing, all he’s getting away with, all he’s getting out of you. Should he feel guilty?

“Do you have time to stake it out every night this week, then?” You turn to him; eyes hopeful but guarded. The only thing he can do is melt.

“Yeah, I’ve got time.” Not really, but he’ll make it work.

“Cool.” You flash him a small smile, one he’s never seen before. He has no idea what to do with it.

You flick your eyes to your watch. “I gotta go in an hour,” you say apologetically. “That okay?”

“Of course,” he says automatically. “I’ll give you a ride back.”

You give him that same smile again. It explodes across his chest.

Satisfied, you turn back to the apartment complex. Jason swallows, fingers twitching. Confusion and guilt swirl across his brain. He agonizes for the next hour and a half, until you’ve called it for the night and he’s driven you home.

Until you’re standing outside the driver’s side window, rapping on it to get his attention.

“Hey. Hey.” You raise your eyes meaningfully as he starts, then rolls the window down. “You okay in there?”

His laugh is a bit weak, but the modulator covers for him. “‘Course I am.”

“Okay. Well. Thanks for the help. Same time tomorrow?” You give him another smile he’s never seen before; wry, almost teasing.

He nods, watching you until you disappear inside your building. Two smiles he’s never seen before, both directed at him. The guilt is long gone. The only thing Jason is thinking about is how to get you to give him another.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

“jay—” 

the sentence you somehow thought you could form dies in your throat as your breath shudders in your lungs. 

“yes, my love?” your roommate, jason todd, looks up from where he’s happily situated: between your thighs. his attention now divided, you’re mercifully granted a break. you gulp for air, your hands over your face. 

“i just need—” 

“what? what do you need?” he cuts you off, impatient that you’re pulling him away from what he’s been so dutifully working on for probably an hour..if not more. “you want me to stop?” jason teases, rubbing a warm, calloused hand over the meat of your thigh. “does it feel too good?”

“w-what?” confused, you shake your head. “i don’t—”

“i think you need someone to worry about you for once, huh?” he raises an eyebrow at you, causing your cheeks to heat as your hands fly back up to your face. “what, you don’t agree?” 

you open your mouth to argue, then close it. then open it again, thinking. 

“mm. that’s what i thought.” your roommate smirks at you, turning his gaze back onto the part of you that’s still pulsing with heat from his ministrations. his chin’s slick from how much time he’s spent tongue deep in your pussy. 

but he wants more. 

wants to feel your hands in his hair again, gripping as he draws orgasm after orgasm out of you. wants to feel your thighs tight around his head, your self-control wavering as your back arches off the mattress, again and again. 

wants nothing but to breathe you in as he presses feathery light kisses to your puffy clit, watching you squirm from the barely-there pressure of his lips. 

wants you, all of you, the happy, sad, messy, angry, loving, caring, beautiful you,

—but jason: dead and revived, beaten and bruised, silent and steadfast, your jason, can’t always put that into words, can he?

so he wants you to feel it, really feel it:

in the way he pats your thigh lovingly as he runs his tongue through your folds, over and over. 

in the way he carries you to bed when you fall asleep on him in the living room. kisses your forehead as he tucks you in.

in the way he brushes your hair out of your face before he grabs you by the cheeks and your lips meet. 

in the way he knows your favorite, well, everything. 

in the way he’s always holding your hand when the two of you walk anywhere.

in the way his pupils always widen, huge and blown out, when he looks at you, making your heart pound in time with his as he holds your gaze. 

in the way he washes your hair in the shower, 

makes your coffee in the mornings, 

buys and arranges flowers for you,

wears that cologne you like,

knows the sidewalk rule, 

kisses your forehead,

laughs with you,

smirks at you,

loves you.

and yet you two are.. 

you two, and you both worry. 

of course, you both worry. 

he worries he’s not enough for you—

his lifestyle, his history..how could he ever be what you need? how could he give you the life you deserve?

—and you worry you’re a little too much sometimes. 

a man like that? with his past, his present? and yet he takes care of you like it’s the easiest thing in the world. like he could do it in his sleep. 

all you know is that he doesn’t have to worry, shouldn’t have to, because whatever, or however much he thinks he wants something, you want it just as much..if not more. 

and what you want next? to make it official? to really, truly, make him your jason?

well. 

how could he refuse you?

[ditzydoe444]

MDNI 18+

jason todd's pillow princess ♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ ༶ )

jason todd x princess pillow reader

jason todd smut

jason adored you so much, the way you were a constant presence beside him, clinging onto his bicep when you two would go out, and how your pretty pink glossed lips would jut out in a small pout when you didn’t get what you wanted. you were the most endearing thing in his life.

he would make sure to worship you, everywhere including in bed. as he placed you down on the soft mattress gently as he softly praised you. “you look gorgeous on my bed sweetheart,” he cooed as he admired your flushed state. your cheeks were tinged with a slight shade of pink, your eyes half-lidded, and your gloss smeared across your pretty pink lips.

“gonna make sure you feel great yeah?” his large calloused hands rubbed on your thigh gently. jason loved the pretty sounds you would make when he sank inside you, your warm wet folds greeting him so nicely. “always so tight for me sweetheart,” he grunted, all you would have to do is lay down whilst he did all the work. jason took great pride in making you feel good, your small whines and moans were the constant reassurance that he needed.

his large frame was now on top of you, his thrusts hard and precise. “you look gorgeous sweetheart, so pretty just layin’ down and taking my cock,” his eyes full of love and adoration. “j-jay” you moaned as your perfectly manicured pink nails scratched his back, leaving marks.

you were his to worship and his alone. he absolutely adored the way he was the only man who could make you feel good, scream and see stars. there was just something about having his pretty little princess all pampered and laying down whilst he fucks her that boosted his ego. knowing that only he can satisfy you and handle your brattiness.

you couldn’t help but admire his appearance, the way his chest glistened with sweat and how his damp hair was stuck to his forehead was enough to make you come. “s-so good jay” you whined, as he continued to hit all of your sweet spots.

you felt his large hands squeezing around your waist, “you see that bulge there? that’s how deep i’m in you,” he groaned, as he stretched you out. “m-mph!” you whined, he was so damn deep you were convinced he was going to put a baby in you.

“doin’ so well in taking me,” he praised, gently kissing your forehead. you were close, so damn close you were about to pass out and see stars. “j-jay ‘m close,” your nails were so close to drawing blood, but jason didn’t care about the pain, god he loved it.

“yeah? you’re gonna cum for me sweetheart?” he grunted, his hands digging into your hips and he drilled into your cunt, the bed creaking loudly. “jay!” you whined when his thumb started bullying your small sensitive bundle of nerves, making you come.

gently, he wiped your tears, his touch soft and affectionate. “don’t me me i lost ya,” he teased softly before giving a small kiss on your forehead. “just hold out for me yeah? just one more for me baby?”

[ahqkas]

“NOTHING’S GONNA HURT YOU BABY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! your roommate is the menacing red hood — who just happens to have a soft spot for you WORD COUNT! 1.5k WARNINGS / TAGS! roommates jason & reader, cursing, smoking, mention of alcohol consumption, reader is described to wear makeup, use of petnames ( doll ) NOTES! i need a vigilante bf sb. based on this req.!! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THERE IS A STARVED DOG IN THE BACK OF JASON TODD’S THROAT.

It keeps barking, baring its sharp canines at whoever dares to step too close to comfort. It isn’t afraid to bite, to leave permanent marks in its wake because it had been hurt once before and the past hadn’t been so kind. So, it rips things apart, shows its strength to intimidate. A mechanism to keep itself safe. To remain whole.

The dog craves violence and roughness to represent the image it once created. It also craves touch, and not the bittersweet one. The kind that aches to feel, the kind that feels undeserving.

Jason isn’t a violent dog. He doesn’t know why he bites.

He’s chaos wrapped in leather. He’s the rumble of a motorbike tearing down an empty street, the smell of gasoline and adrenaline falling behind him. He’s sharp edges and electricity, the lighting that splits the sky just before the rain comes down. He’s a storm caged in a human shell, unpredictable and restless. Jason is late nights bathed in neon lights and the rush of speed that makes your heart race. He’s fire and fury, a protective shield made of calluses and scars.

You, on the other hand, are the softness in a world that’s far too loud. You’re the quiet that follows the first snowfall, the kind that blankets the earth in white stillness. You’re the warmth of vanilla in a kitchen. You’re the calmness of a gentle breeze, the soft glow of a candle against the darkness. There’s nothing harsh about you; you’re delicate without being fragile, a sweetness that lasts long after you first taste it. You’re a handwritten note, a favorite song played on repeat, kindness that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Where Jason is a storm, you’re the eye. He’s the clash of thunder, you’re the calmness that follows. He’s leather jackets and combat boots, you’re large sweaters and bare feet on fluffy carpet. He pushes the word back with his fists while you disarm it with your smile.

Maybe that’s why he has such a soft spot for you.

Jason’s large combat boots were heavy on the hardwood as he stepped through the apartment door. He didn’t use one of the windows tonight since he had the luxury to change out of his vigilante clothing. The brown leather jacket still hung from his broad shoulders, but all the other equipment that created the complete look of Red Hood was safely stashed under the stairs of your fire escape.

Red Hood was one side of Jason’s many personalities he tried to shield you from.

He was quiet, mindful of his steps. He avoided the creaking spot on the floor, and he avoided closing the door too roughly. He had told you one too many times that he could take a look at the things that just made your life annoyingly difficult, but you waved him off with sweet words and he obeyed like a man possessed. The apartment was quiet, too quiet for his liking but he shook it off. You were supposed to be out anyway, something about a party your friends dragged you at.

The faint scent of cigarettes hit him before the quiet breeze of the night air rusted the curtains, and Red Hood was instantly on alert. His fingers moved before his mind could even process the situation, feeling the sharpness of his blade tucked in the belf of his pants.

His legs followed, taking him toward the balcony door and stepping outside into the night. He expected anything: a stray cat wandering through various apartments on a hunt for leftovers or even a rookie thief trying to break in. But he didn’t expect you, sitting on a plastic chair with a cigarette between your lips. One his cigarettes.

There you were, knees pulled close to your chest, the heels of your feet digging into the cheap plastic so you wouldn’t fall.

Draped in one of his hoodies he forgot on the couch earlier, you looked like you were ready to call it a day. Still, impossibly beautiful even with that tired look in your eyes. You pulled the cigarette out, puffing a white swirl of smoke into the darkness.

Jason stepped closer, his tall frame easily towering over yours. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you’re doing out here?” The sight of you, your cheeks flushed with alcohol and your hair a little wild from the chill wind, tugged at something buried deep in his chest.

Your glassy eyes met his and your lips tugged into a beaming smile. “Hey, Jason,” you mumbled his name out like it was a melody you hadn’t quite learned yet. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, I’m home. And you’re drunk. Smoking my shit.”

“I stole it from your jacket’s pocket when I did the laundry. I figured you wouldn’t miss one,” you held up the cancer stick towards him, as if to say, ta-da! Look what I found.

You were holding a piece of him. He crouched in front of you, his gloved fingers gently plucking the cigarette from your hand before you could protest. “Smoking’s bad for you, you know. I guess I’m a bad influence for you,” he muttered while his thumb brushed over the filter, the bark of the dog in his throat quieting for a moment. There was a faint pink outline on the white paper. A mark of your lips.

You tilted your head, studying him like you were seeing him for the first time. “You could never be a bad influence.”

Jason didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened as he put the cigarette against the railing, the faint hiss breaking the silence between you. Then, he flicked it over the edge of the railing, watching the embers spiral down into the darkness below. The city roared faintly beneath you, but here, on this tiny balcony, it was just the two of you.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” your brows knitted into the frown he grew to adore.

“That I’m not a bad influence,” his lips twitched, caught between a smirk and something bittersweet. It was all a big joke to him; you didn’t know his true nature and yet here you were defending the man you thought you knew. The irony wasn’t lost on him. “You don’t know me as well as you think, doll.”

Tilting your head to the side, you gazed up at Jason like he hung the moon just for you. The look in your eyes softened. “I know enough, Jay. I know you’d rather jump off this balcony than let anything happen to me. I know you leave food for the stray cat, even though you complain how she’s too noisy at night. And I know that when you’re quiet like this,” you bumped your knee against his, trailing slightly into a quieter tone of your voice, “it’s because you’re hiding something.”

The dog inside Jason growled lowly, warning him to keep his guard up. To start building thicker walls around his bleeding heart. This would only end in tears and anguish. But you weren’t barking back. You held your heart in an open palm, extended toward him.

You leaned forward after a minute of his silence, hand brushing against his knee, and Jason stiffened. “You’re not mad, right? About the cigarette” you voiced your thoughts hesitantly.

Jason sighed, running a hand through the dark strands of his hair. “I should be. But seeing you out here like this . . . ” he trailed off, his eyes flickering over your face and cataloging every single detail. The flush on your cheeks and glass in your eyes. The aftermath of alcohol. “I can’t be mad. Just–don’t do it again, okay? You don’t need to mess with that shit.”

Your lips parted like you were about to argue, but then you closed them again, nodding slowly. Jason exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. He stood up, holding out a calloused hand to you. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold out here.”

You stared at his hand for a moment before slipping your smaller one into it. His grip was warm, steady, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he could feel the way your pulse quickened under his touch. He didn’t let go as he led you back into your shared apartment, the door clicking shut behind the two of you.

The dog in his chest stirred, restless and uneasy. It barked once, softly, a reminder of all the ways he could ruin this. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his jaw tightening against the weight of it. The dog craved destruction, violence, and chaos—it had always craved those things. But now, as he watched you drunkenly lean into him, the dog hesitated.

It whimpered. Then it lay down, its teeth still bared but its growl silenced, if only for tonight. Because for the first time in a long time, Jason felt something strange, something almost unfamiliar.

It wasn’t the absence of violence or the dull ache of longing. It was the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something in this world he didn’t have to break to keep.

[jasonsdolly]

You're Jason's favorite person.

The only person who is allowed to see his most vulnerable side. The only person he needs when he has nightmares or panic attacks. The only one he has allowed to see his scars. Kiss each one of them to have him like putty in your hands. The only one he blindly trusts. The only one he keeps coming back to every night after every patrol. The only one he wants to wake up with every morning and sleep next to every night. The only one he wants to love for the rest of his days, until death takes him again to then crawl out of the grave to get back to you.

So yes, you are his favorite person.