#dc x reader

[nosyrobin]

Waterbender!Reader who hates humans. Especially those damn birds. And they are talking about the ones the big bat had adopted.

Waterbender!Reader uses their bending to their advantage. Always pushing red hood back with massive water waves. Water whipping Nightwing away from them. Vanishing in water vapor from Batman. Freezing Red Robin, and lifting up the newest Robin in bounds of water

Waterbender!Reader who was always the obsession of the batboys. They always saw the reader as some kind of beautiful fish in a fish store that shimmered in the light.

Waterbender!Reader who hasn’t learnt blood bending. But if they did, the boys would be begging for them to be free. Just like how reader is when they had gotten captured.

Waterbender!Reader who was forced to be in a room where no water can be given to them. Not even moonlight as Bruce figured how that they are at their strongest when the moon is out.

Waterbender!Reader who is somehow Tim’s special interest. Tim always staring at them like prey, smiling with his pearly whites. He can’t help but be a big nerd when learning about their powers and abilities.

Waterbender!Reader who’s a fish trapped in a fish tank. And they hate it all…they hate everyone, they hate themselves.

[porcelian]

the polaroid in his wallet | j. todd/gn!reader

tags: fluffye, jason being a sweetheart, his and alfred’s relationship is so precious to me.

Jason’s known you for a year now, a year that’s turned his life into something brighter, something more than it ever was. It’s as if he’s a star, suddenly glowing with a light he didn’t know he had, basking in the warmth of it all.

But Jason’s family doesn’t know yet. He hasn’t told them about you. You’re tucked away from them, like the Polaroid he keeps of the two of you at the fair, hidden in his wallet. Like the black-and-white photo of you curled up next to him on the couch, cup in hand, dozing off—his home screen, a little secret he holds close.

Right now, in the manor’s kitchen, Jason angles his phone away from the one person who’s in the room—Alfred—as he hurriedly types a message to you. His fingers glide across the screen, almost too fast, as if he can’t get your words to him fast enough. But then, Alfred speaks, his voice soft yet pointed.

“How long have you known them?”

Jason looks up quickly, eyes meeting Alfred’s. The older man’s lips curl into a gentle, knowing smile, and it only deepens when he adds, “You smile at your phone whenever they text you. I also believe you’ve set a special ringtone just for them.”

Jason’s cheeks flush pink as he tries to hide his reaction, fumbling for words.

“A year,” he blurts, clearing his throat. “I’ve known them for a year. They… they asked me out. We’ve been together for a few months now.”

Alfred leans in a little, his curiosity piqued. “Mm? A year?” He raises an eyebrow, his smile widening.

Jason scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes darting back to his phone. “Yeah, a year. And now… we’re together.”

Alfred’s eyes soften. “Can I meet them?”

If Jason had been asked this before, his answer would’ve been a definite no—protective, defensive. You were his safe place, his home, and the thought of introducing you to his complicated family was terrifying. But now? With Alfred asking, it doesn’t feel so scary. It doesn’t feel scary at all.

The thought of you meeting one of the most important people in his life doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as it used to. In fact, it feels… right.

Jason looks up, eyes meeting Alfred’s, and his answer is soft but certain.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

© PORCELIAN ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴘ ᴜ ᴘ ᴘ ʏ ʟ ᴏ ᴠ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: Siscon Damian Wayne x Fem Reader x Yandere Jon Kent Part 1

Headcanon: What if Jon become obsessed with Damian's sister?

Notes: Siscon is a word to refer those brothers and sisters who feel a strong sense of affection or attachment to their sisters. English is not my first language. Hone you enjoy!

Jon was over at the Wayne Manor for a sleepover, all wide-eyed excitement and nervous energy. Damian had begrudgingly invited him (Bruce’s insistence), and the younger boy was already regretting it. Jon was annoying, far too cheerful, and—worst of all—he had no sense of boundaries. Damian had learned to tolerate him, though, mostly because Jon was naive enough not to notice the storm that brewed in the younger Wayne’s mind whenever someone got too close to you.

And Jon got too close right away.

The moment you came downstairs, wearing an oversized hoodie and socks that slid on the hardwood floors, Jon froze. His big blue eyes widened to cartoonish proportions, his cheeks turned a bright shade of red, and for a moment, it looked like his brain had short-circuited.

"Hi," you greeted with a warm smile, ruffling Damian's hair as you walked past. (He hated it, or at least pretended to, judging by the subtle way he leaned into your touch.) "You must be Jon."

Jon stammered something incomprehensible, nodding like an overeager puppy. Damian shot him a glare that could have melted steel, but Jon didn’t even notice.

"You’re—uh—really pretty," Jon finally managed to choke out, his voice cracking slightly.

You laughed, a soft sound that only made Jon’s brain glitch further.

"Thanks, kiddo," you said, pinching his cheek. "You’re cute."

If Jon had a tail, it would’ve been wagging furiously. Damian, on the other hand, looked like he was about to commit murder.

From that day on, Jon was obsessed.

It takes exactly 0.2 seconds for Damian to realize Jon is crushing on you. The way Jon stares at you with stars in his eyes? The way he stumbles over his words when you talk to him? It’s disgusting.

Damian glare at Jon "You’re drooling."

"I-I am not!"

"Jon, are you okay? You’re all red." You said. You were worry for the kid.

Damian smirk "He’s fine. Just leave him."

Every time he came over to Wayne Manor, he asked about you. Where were you? What were you doing? Did you need help with anything? Damian was this close to slamming Jon’s head into the nearest wall.

"She’s busy, Kent," Damian would snap, his voice sharp enough to cut. "And she doesn’t have time to entertain idiotic farm boys."

But then you’d walk into the room, and Jon would light up like a Christmas tree. He’d start babbling about anything and everything, trying to impress you with stories about his dad or his adventures. You, being the sweetheart you were, humored him.

"Oh wow, you saved a cat from a tree?" you’d say, your tone genuine despite the simple nature of Jon’s stories. "You’re such a strong hero, Jon."

Damian, standing off to the side, would roll his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of his head.

Damian, of course, had always been protective of you. From the moment Bruce brought him into the family, you’d been his. You were his anchor, his comfort, the only person in the world who truly understood him.

But you didn’t see it that way.

To you, Damian was just your little brother. Sure, he had a sharp tongue and an attitude that could rival Gotham’s worst criminals, but deep down, he was a sweet kid. You adored him, and he adored you—though he showed it in his own... peculiar ways.

Like scowling at anyone who so much as looked at you.

Or “accidentally” spilling water on that guy who tried to flirt with you at the gala last month.

Or, more recently, hovering like a shadow every time Jon Kent was within a ten-foot radius of you.

It was during one of those infamous sleepovers that things came to a head.

The second Jon starts acting weird around you, Damian picks up on it. Like the time Jon saw you in the kitchen and tripped over his own feet, sending a glass of milk flying.

"Oh no, are you okay?" You say while helping Jon clean up, your hand brushing his

Jon blushing furiously "I—I’m fine! Really!"

Meanwhile Damian standing in the doorway, glaring daggers at him "Kent. A word."

Jon nervously excuses himself, and you think nothing of it. But in the other room, Damian corners him.

"Whatever you’re thinking, stop it," Damian growls.

"What? I don’t know what you’re talking about—"

Damian press him against the wall "Don’t test me, Kent."

Jon starts finding excuses to visit.

"Hey, Mr. Wayne wanted me to help with a case," he says one day, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Of course, Bruce didn’t actually call him over, but Jon’s banking on you not asking too many questions.

"Oh, that’s great! Damian’s in the training room."

"Actually… I was hoping to hang out with you. I mean, you’re so smart, and Damian talks about you all the time, and I think I could learn a lot from you."

Damian appears out of nowhere like a shadow. "She’s busy. Go away, Kent."

But Jon doesn’t leave. Instead, he lingers, asking you about everything: your favorite books, your favorite places to visit, what kind of guys you like (as if he’s not 13 and awkward).

"Jon, you’re a child," Damian says, arms crossed. "You can’t possibly comprehend what it means to appreciate someone as extraordinary as her."

"I’m only six years younger than her!"

"Exactly. Stay in your lane."

Damian takes it upon himself to shadow you everywhere whenever Jon is around, making it impossible for Jon to even think about making a move.

One day, Damian finds Jon leaving a love letter in your room. A love letter. Damian’s rage is unmatched. He tears the note in half and grabs Jon by the collar.

"If you ever even think about her again, I’ll make sure Superman has to scrape your remains off the moon."

"She deserves better than you."

Damian doesn’t respond. Instead, he calmly walks into your room, grabs your hand, and drags you downstairs.

"You’re not allowed to talk to Kent anymore," he announces.

"Wait, what? Why not?"

"Because he’s dangerous. Trust me, I’m doing this for your own good."

Damian doesn’t respond. Instead, he calmly walks into your room, grabs your hand, and drags you downstairs.

You’d made popcorn and brought it to Damian’s room, where he and Jon were supposed to be watching a movie. Instead, you walked in to find Jon staring dreamily at your photo on Damian’s desk (a candid shot of you laughing at something Alfred said).

Damian noticed your arrival first, his expression darkening.

"Kent," he growled.

Jon jumped, nearly knocking over the desk in his haste to look innocent. "I wasn’t—I mean—uh, hi, Y/N!"

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Hey, Jon. You boys okay?"

"Fine," Damian said through gritted teeth.

Jon, ignoring the blatant hostility radiating from his best friend, nodded enthusiastically. "Better now that you’re here!"

Damian shot him a look that could have frozen fire.

"Aw, thanks," you said with a laugh, completely oblivious to the tension. "You two are so sweet. You know that?"

Damian muttered something under his breath—something Jon was probably glad he didn’t hear.

Later that night, while Damian was in the bathroom, Jon decided to shoot his shot.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, fidgeting with the hem of his Superman-themed pajamas. "I was wondering... do you wanna hang out sometime? Like, just the two of us?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "Like... a playdate?"

Jon’s face turned a deep shade of red. "N-No! Like... like a date-date."

You stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. "Oh, Jon, that’s so sweet. But I think you’re a little young for me, don’t you think?"

Jon looked crushed. Before he could respond, Damian walked back into the room, immediately sensing the shift in mood.

"What’s going on?" he demanded, eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," you said quickly, ruffling Jon’s hair. "Jon was just being his adorable self."

Damian’s eyes flicked between the two of you, his jaw tightening. He didn’t say anything, but the look he gave Jon promised retribution.

From that night on, Jon’s crush only grew, but so did Damian’s possessiveness. Jon was like a puppy, trailing after you with stars in his eyes. Damian, meanwhile, was the guard dog, snapping and growling at anyone who dared come near you—especially Jon.

You, of course, were blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. To you, they were just two adorable kids who couldn’t seem to get along.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[strangepoppy]

Aw, he is so cute 🥺

Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes while Tim has sat atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges into the room, past them and onto the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

But it’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He secretly wouldn’t really mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stayed behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out,” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason keeps his head down as he blindly reaches for the spoon in his cereal and chucks it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work,” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think,” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

✨ reblog fics or face the block button ✨

[dollfacefantasy]

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.

[ebodebo]

Dinner, Dinner!

—jason misses your anniversary dinner, but makes it up to you…MDNI

"Would you like to browse our dessert menu, madam?" The waiter asks in a thick French accent as he stretches his arm out to pour your second glass of wine.

Your brain is fogged as your fingers fiddle with the stem of the glass as you swirl the crimson liquid around, splashing all sides of the glass. 

"Madam?" The waiter repeats. You hadn't even realized you hadn't answered his previous question. You flick your eyes to his.

"I…um—sorry, can you repeat the question?" Your mind is clouded with a storm of fury and hurt. Jason, your boyfriend, had forgotten your anniversary dinner, leaving you to endure the sympathetic glances of strangers as they noticed the empty seat across from you.

"Of course, madam. I asked if you would like to see the dessert menu," the waiter repeats, his voice a distant echo. You turn your head to the empty seat in front of you, the thought of enduring the restaurant's atmosphere a daunting prospect. 

"Could I just have the cremé brûlée?" You finally ask, your eyes still fixed on the empty seat, your voice trembling slightly. "In a to-go box, please."

It was the first dessert you and Jason shared at this very restaurant, three years ago today. 

"Of course," the waiter said curtly, turning slightly before you raised your voice.

"And, um, could you take the other wine glass?" You awkwardly ask. He simply nods again, carefully placing the stem between his index and middle fingers upside down before turning away to tend to another table.

You should just leave.

It was clear he wasn't coming.

A light smile etched into your face as the waiter set the to-go box with the fancy dessert. You carefully reached into your purse, steadily gripping your wallet to pay. The waiters brought his hands up, shaking his head side-to-side.

"Please. No payment is necessary, madam. Enjoy the dessert," he says kindly. You sniffle, a stray tear falling down your face. You nod gently, issuing a strained, 'Thank you.'

He curtly nods, turning to go back into the kitchen. You gather your things, including the dessert, and move to walk out of the front door.

Upon stepping outside, you are met with the cold Gotham air. Your dress even sways in the wind as you walk, and your heels clank against the pavement. 

The walk home wasn't too long, maybe six minutes or so, but God, did it feel like an eternity. All you could think about was how hurt and disappointed you were and what you would say to Jason when you inevitably saw him.

Your brain tried to conjure all the reasons he didn't show.

Did he forget, or did he purposefully not come?

Now, you knew it couldn't be the latter, Jason wasn't a dick. 

He was just an idiot. 

Your thoughts continued as you stuck your key in the lock and carefully twisted it to unlock your front door, pushing it open quickly.

You set your purse down on a table next to the door, glancing at a framed photo of you and Jason happily eating ice cream on Jason's birthday last year.

You felt sick.

You quickly flick your attention away as your eyes begin to well with hot tears, easing your way into the kitchen. You stand on the cold tile for a minute before getting a sudden inspiration rush.

You didn't want to think about him any longer tonight. You'd prepare a hot tea, watch a movie, or perhaps even read a good book. 

Yes. That sounded like a fine plan.

As you were steeping the leaves in hot water, a knock on the front door pulled your attention away. You left the bag to steep and returned to the door. Pulling the door open, you were met with Red Hood—aka your boyfriend, Jason—gripping a bouquet of fresh flowers.

You're tempted to slam the door in his pretty face, but you don't—not yet, anyway.

"I'm an asshole," he says, his voice distorted from his modulator. 

The sight was ridiculous; if you weren't so pissed, you'd laugh.

He realizes the absurdity of the situation. "God damn, fuckin' helmet," he irritably gruffs, ripping off his helmet. Your eyes widen, your mouth hanging open. 

Anyone could simply walk by and figure out who the highly sought-after vigilante was.

"Jason, you can't just—get inside!" You grip his arm, dragging him inside the confines of your home—an action you immediately regret. 

"Fuck, baby," he begins. "I'm—I'm so sorry," his tone is sincere as he anxiously drags his hands through his hair. 

"I looked like an idiot, Jason," you breathe out, reaching for the bouquet of flowers he brought. 

Hell, it wasn't their fault Jason was stupid. 

"I know—" he says, following you into your kitchen as you fill a vase with water for the flowers.

"A fucking idiot," you snap, setting the flowers gently into the water. You reach for a pair of scissors. "I requested an extra wine glass when I sat down, and I had to be the one to tell him to take it away," you angrily say, snipping some of the leaves off.

"Baby, I'm really, really sorry. I got caught up with—"

"Where were you?" You set the scissors down, turning to look at him.

"Dick needed some help scouting a potential crime circuit in Blüdhaven," he sighs. "He told me it wouldn't take long. Should've known better," he wipes his hand over his face, hissing at the contact.

Your eyes sweep over his face, taking note of the fresh cuts and bruises that now taint his face. Fresh blood prickled from some; others were caked in layers of it.

"Are you hurt?" You ask, concern lacing your words.

He raises a brow. "Don't worry about me, Sweetheart. I'll be alright. I'm more concerned about you," he admits honestly. 

"You're bleeding," you observe, wincing at the sight.

"Just a hair," he lightly smiles. "I'm okay."

Sure, you were pissed at your boyfriend, but you wouldn't let him be in agony like he was. 

He was bleeding, for God's sake.

"Let me clean them up," you simply say.

"No, no. I'm fine—" he began, shaking his head lightly.

"Please," you insist.

He huffs, then accepts defeat. He takes your hand stretched out and follows you to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet as you fumble through your medicine cabinet to gather band-aids and Neosporin. 

"I hope it's okay. I, um, only have these band-aids," you awkwardly say, holding up a box with a familiar blue hero on the cover. 

"Baby, why do you have Nightwing band-aides?" He questions skeptically.

"Dick brought them to white elephant last year, and I got stuck with them," you lightly laugh. "He's a horrible gift-giver."

Jason laughs. "Promise to remind me to take them off before I leave. He cannot see me with these on. He'd have a damn field day," he grumbles as you laugh. 

"I promise I'll remind you," you affirm, pulling a small step ladder in front of him so you could sit before carefully squirting a bit of the ointment out onto your pointer finger and pressing it to each of Jason's cuts.

He barely winces or whines as you continue the action, delicately tending to each cut. His eyes wander to yours, focusing heavily with determination on what you are doing, even sticking your tongue out to concentrate. 

"I don't deserve this," he heaves as you open some band-aids.

"What? To have ten Nightwing band-aides on you all at once?" You laugh, carefully laying each of the band-aids over the cuts.

He snickers. "That and you taking care of me."

You pull back slightly. "What?"

"I ruined our anniversary tonight. I left you alone in that restaurant and, look at you, still taking care of me," he exasperates. "I don't deserve you."

You frown. "Don't say that. I mean, ya, it was shitty, but just because you did something shitty one time or even twice doesn't make you undeserving of my love, Jason," you gently say, fingers moving to caress his jaw on their own volition. 

He leans into your hand. "I just don't want to lose you. I love you."

Jason and you have exchanged hundreds, if not thousands, of "I love yous" throughout your relationship, but this one felt different. 

It felt more like a sacred prayer spilling from his lips—a tender plea from the depths of his soul. It felt all that much more divine.

You found yourself leaning to kiss his lips, your hands moving to thread through his hair. His lips instantly moved with yours, and his hand gripped your cheek.

It was a tender kiss—an 'I'm sorry,' wrapped in an 'It's okay.'

As the seconds passed, the kiss became more fervent—urgent. You even slipped off the step ladder and moved onto Jason's lap. He welcomed you with open arms, encasing you tightly with each of his hands on your hips as you straddled him.

Your hands glided through his hair messily and eagerly as his hands massaged the fat of your hips. You let out a whine that Jason catches as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

You find yourself rocking against him, desperate for friction. He groans, gripping your thighs tightly as he stands with you, guiding you towards your bedroom.

Never once did your lips disconnect.

He gently lays you on the bed as he hastily sheds his boots, armored jacket, gloves, and pants. Your breathing is labored as you follow suit, gingerly slipping off your simple black dress and kicking off your heels, revealing your matching red bra and pantie set you had worn.

Jason stands in front of you in nothing but his boxers, eyes soaking you in.

"What?" You question nervously, feeling self-conscious with his eyes so focused on you. 

"Did you—did you wear that for me?" He asks lazily.

Your lips quip. "Duh. Who else?" You giggle. "You like it?"

He lets out a dry laugh, moving to hover over your body, sticking his arm out to stabilize himself so as not to crush you. "I think I need to take a closer look," he cheekily says, moving his mouth closer to the strap of the bra, taking it between his teeth, pulling a little, then flicking it back. You let out a small whine, feeling the fabric snap back on your skin.

"Sure is sturdy," he observes, fingers coming to slip it down your shoulder. "And a nice color," he murmurs into your shoulder, sending goosebumps down your arm.

"Ya?" You idly question as his lips skim your collarbone.

"Mhm. It's very nice, Baby," he mumbles into your skin, fingers moving to skim the band of your panties. "And these," he begins. "Don't even get me started." He lightly nips your skin with his teeth, eliciting another whine. 

His fingers slip under the band, pulling them down so they sit around your lower thighs. "Ah, there she is," he coos, cupping your dripping cunt with his hand.

"Jason," you moan, pushing yourself into his hand more.

"What, Baby?" His words were low and dragged out, almost breathy.

"I—I need more," you groan, hand moving to rest on his hand on you, encouraging more movement from him. 

"I'll do you one better," he takes his hand away, making you frown, though he moves to slip his boxers down, showcasing his erect cock. 

He strokes himself once before guiding himself into your entrance, leaning down to kiss your temple lightly as he pushes himself inside your cunt. You hiss at the contact, gripping his shoulders tightly.

He groans as one of his hands comes to grip behind your neck, and the other moves to lift your leg up slightly so he can grip your thigh, giving a better angle as he moves at a consistent pace.

A desperate mewl escapes your mouth as his pace fastens. Jason's hand has moved to rest on your breast in your bra as he throws his head back, groaning and spewing curses.

You sit up slightly, gripping his neck, pulling him down to your lips. He kisses you roughly, even sucking your bottom lip in the process. You bring your leg up to wrap around his torso, pushing him even more deeply; he groans as his hand slides to grip the hinge of your leg.

"Jay, I'm gonna—" You begin breathlessly.

"I know, Baby. I know," he purrs into your mouth. "Feel so good."

You grip his neck tighter, lips pressing into his shakily, as you feel yourself tighten around him. All you have had to do was moan his name into his mouth to have him following suit, even moving one hand to grip the sheets beneath as he comes.

You're both gasping for air. Jason eases himself out of you and plops beside you, pulling you close so your face rests on his chest.

"As far as orgasms go, that one was great," you pant, fingers moving to trace the lines between Jason's abs.

"Ya? Do I get a golden star?" He tuts, fingers playing with your hair.

"Sorry, Babe. I only give golden stars for extra credit," you jest, looking up at him.

"Extra credit, you say?" He asks, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "I think I can do that." He lifts up abruptly, getting off the bed.

"What're you—" You begin to question before he's tugging you towards him by your ankles, planting his face in between your legs.

"Jay!" You shriek, though make no effort to move as his tongue lapses at your sensitive clit.

"I really want that golden star," he mumbles into you.

a/n: finally finished this fic that has been haunting my drafts for months upon months ( ͡ಥ ͜ʖ ͡ಥ)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[thargelalia]

see you in hell, baby

jason todd x fem!reader

Dick naively expects Jason to help him stay in your good graces as the MVP brother-in-law

-> 1.4k words

-> fluff, poor attempt at humor

-> warnings: none, the dynamic duo being dorks together perhaps?

please, reblog if you like or the author will cry

There's nothing better than to enjoy the vast collection of classics at the Wayne Manor library on a rare peaceful Sunday afternoon.

Or is it?

“Jaybird, hey!” Dick greets his younger brother, a little more excited than usual, as he saunters into the library. “Have you.. uhh, is my BFF around?” 

He’s scanning around the place like you could emerge from behind the couches or bookshelves at any given moment. Judging by his tone, Jason can already tell Dick wants something, choosing to ignore him, too immersed in his current book. 

Dick looks left and right to the hallway before closing the doors, and joining Jason on the leather couch. The latter finally acknowledged his older brother to get this over with, so he can leave and Jason can read in peace. 

“She went to the bathroom.. why?” Jason says, narrowing his eyes inquisitively at Dick’s fidgeting. A fake smile plastered on his face, sweat bidding on the temple. He’s obviously worried about something. “You’re being weirder than usual.. Got your pants stuffed with itching powder again?”

His lips twitch upwards a little at the memory. 

“No, I— please, don’t ever remind me of that day.” Dick winces, rubbing on his thigh to soothe an imaginary itch. Steph really goes all in on April Fool’s Day.

He clears his throat. “So, uh.. maybe, just maybe… I might’ve accidentally scratched that Beatles record sis-in-law lent to me last week.”

Jason exhales, contemplating whether he should ease Dick’s mind or not. While you were very careful and protective of your vinyl record collection, depending on which one that got damaged – and the extent of it – you might get a little upset, but let it go without much trouble. 

Not before an hour lecture to the culprit about taking better care of other people’s stuff, of course. 

“As long as it’s not Sergeant Pepper’s, you’ll be fine.” Jason shrugs, then chuckles to himself a little as he opens his book again. “Perhaps a kick or two to your shins.”

The silence that follows is pregnant with guilt. Jason can almost smell it in the air at the way his brother blanches next to him. 

“Fuck. Don’t tell me—”

“It was an accident!”

“Dick, you insane?! It was a gift from her grandmother!” Jason chastises, smacking the book shut with a hard thud. “You damaged an original copy from the seventies, you fucking idiot!”

Dick slides down on the couch, a pout taking over his lips. “I know!” 

“Can’t believe she let you borrow it.” Jason huffs, crossing his arms while shaking his head indignantly.

Dick has his hands on his head, about ready to rip his hair out.

“I know! What do I do now??”

“Well… for starters,” Jason begins dead serious, leaning towards Dick, who straightens his posture, desperate to hear a solution, “when was the last time you updated your last will and testament?”

“Shit.” Dick falls into the cushions, a desolated sigh leaving the depths of his soul. “Not helping, man.”

“Maybe Bruce can recycle my gravestone,” Jason continues, tapping his chin in fake thought, “what about an epitaph? Sure you’ve got some ideas.”

As always, any comment remotely related to his death has all the bats squirming or tensing like they’ve been poked by Catwoman’s sharp claws – which most of them have, in fact. They tend to feel uneasy whenever Jason makes his grim jokes. 

And perhaps that’s exactly why he does it. 

“Please, don’t talk like that,” Dick says softly, furrowing his eyebrows. Then, he changes his demeanor completely. “And yes, I do. Here lies Gotham’s hottest piece of ass. S.I.P.”

Jason gives him an unimpressed look, lifting his eyebrow. “S.I.P?”

His brother smiles as if he was dying to be asked that. “Sashay in peace.”

“Hope you make a safe passage, disco queen.” Jason deadpans. “Make sure to head straight to heaven, though. Don’t wanna put up with your glittery ass in hell, too.” 

Dick seems to suddenly remember why he was there in the first place. He grabs his younger brother by the shoulders, and shakes. “This is serious, Jaybird! What now? I’ll lose my ‘favorite brother-in-law’ privileges!”

Jason kisses his teeth in annoyance, immediately releasing himself from Dick’s grasp, and pushing on his chest with zero delicacy. “You never had those.” 

Anyone other than Dick — and Bruce — would’ve splattered themselves on the cushions at being on the receiving end of Jason’s hard shove, but his older brother only tilts back, and recovers his posture like a roly-poly toy, in an impressive display of sheer core strength.

“Yes, I did. I do. Remember her last seminar? She only had one other seat aside from yours, and she chose to invite me.” He points at himself, sounding smug. “And what about the wine she got me from her trip to France? Or the tequila from Mexico, huh?”

“The others aren’t old enough to drink.” Jason points out, groaning as he massages his temples. This conversation is getting tiresome. Baby, where are you? He thinks in exasperation. Dealing with his family outside patrol is easier when you’re right next to him.

Dick freezes, his index finger lifted in the air. 

He lowers it, closing his mouth. 

Then, he raises it again, attempting to hide his wounded pride. 

“That’s not the point! The point is—”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Jason cuts him off, waving impatiently before he adds dryly, “too late for that, though. Replacement joined her Public Health research group last month. She’s invited him to dinner at our place twice now, unfortunately.”  

There’s a shocked gasp. 

“Not to mention the little demon asking her for help with his school projects, even though everyone knows he’s damn well capable of handling himself.”

An even bigger gasp leaves Dick’s lips, this time followed by a dramatic hand to his chest.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Will you fucking stop?”

“I need to amp up my game. Urgently.”

“Good luck with that. Not sure you can—”

Jason’s interrupted by the sound of the doors opening. The scowl on his face immediately dissolves into a relieved look at your return. Meanwhile, his brother appears as if he’s staring at a ghost.

You smile, tipping your head up. “Hey, Dick! What’s up?”

“Heeey, bestie!” He shoots up from the couch, sounding extremely unnatural as he glances at the watch on his wrist. “I–um.. Damn! I gotta pick up Babs at her friend’s house now. See you guys later!”

With a quick kiss to your cheek, he breezes past you and out the doors like he’s suddenly been possessed by Wally West.

“What was that?” You turn from the door to your boyfriend, giving him a puzzled look.

Jason contemplates for a brief moment whether he should tell the truth or not. More out of concern over you, as he’d hate to upset you, than over Dick’s sake obviously. But if you found out later that he knew about this fuckup, he’d join his brother’s body in the graveyard. And Jason is very much enjoying his second chance at life right now.

“Dick ruined your Sergeant Pepper’s record.” Just as predicted, he doesn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse for snitching on his older brother. Jason wishes he’d broken the news in a better way, but he let his eagerness for throwing Dick under the bus override his judgment.

Much to his surprise, you don’t show any expressive reaction aside from the slight purse of your lips. 

“You’re talking about the scratch?” You ask simply, joining him on the burgundy couch as he opens an arm to envelop you in a half embrace.

He tilts his head to rest against yours. “You’ve seen it already?”

“It was there before he got it. Probably happened during my last move out.”

“Oh. Oh.” 

“Poor Dick. I told him my grandma loved that record… He must be feeling like trash.” A sigh escapes your lips as you lean against Jason’s chest. “You should probably tell him when he comes back.”

“Baby, I’m not telling anything.” Jason laughs wickedly, taking your hand in his large one and bringing it up to his lips. The tender kiss offers a stark contrast against the disapproval in his tone. “Serves him right for not being watchful enough.”

“You’re so evil, Jace.” You tilt your head up, so he can see the playful glint in your eyes. “There’s no place for you in heaven, you know that, right?” 

Jason eyes you in disbelief. “Are you planning on telling him?” 

The pressing of your lips together is already enough to answer him – a futile attempt to conceal a mischievous smile. 

“That’s what I thought.” He pulls you to sit sideways on his thighs, arms tightening around your waist as he leans in to kiss your neck. Lips lingering there as his voice lowers in a way that makes you shiver when he says, “guess we’ll both be sharing Satan's throne as you sit on my lap in hell, baby.” 

A/N: I wanna be Jason's boo, and Dick's bestie so bad y'all!!

Remember to reblog, and let me know your thoughts if you liked. It helps me stay motivated to post on here <33

divider is from here

[strangepoppy]

Better shop during work day mornings. Better for your sanity. Or weekdays early morning when everyone is sleeping.

Fuck you, Trevor, I hope some old lady fucks up the rest of your shift.

Mm, clementines. Apples with peanut butter. Mm, I am h u g r y now.

I want a hug too, and after this story I feel like a got one, thank you.

“CRY BABY — jason todd.

PAIRING ! jason todd 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! your boyfriend’s here, doesn’t matter if you need him during an important task. you need him now so that’s what he does; he shows up. WORD COUNT! 2.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, mention of reader’s hair + lmk if more found ! NOTES! based on this req.!! header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE GROCERY STORE WAS UNUSUALLY CROWDED FOR A FRIDAY EVENING, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly as you shuffled through the small grocery shop. You grabbed a cart and slowly pushed it past the holiday display at the entrance. The pine garlands and cinnamon-scented candles filled the air with cheerfulness of the holidays that felt out of place for your mood. The day had been fine, but a little . . . heavy, like the edges of everything you did were frayed. Shopping for groceries was supposed to be routine, calming even, but tonight it felt more like a chore.

You started in the produce section, eyeing the dark red apples stacked neatly in pyramids. Jason liked apples, especially sliced up with peanut butter, and you didn’t have any at home. You grabbed a few, along with a small bag of clementines—they were on sale, and the idea of peeling one later sounded comforting. You added some spinach to the cart, though you weren’t ure what you’d do with it yet.

The next aisle had the coffee and teas. You hesitated in front of the shelves, scanning for Jason’s favorite blend. He always said he didn’t care what kind of coffee it was as long as it had caffeine, but you knew he liked the dark roast with the smoky flavor. So, you grabbed a bag and tossed it into the cart before picking up a box of black tea for yourself.

In the dairy section, you grabbed a carton of eggs and some milk, along with a tub of the fancy Greek yogurt Jason pretended to hate but always ate half of when you weren’t looking. You added a block of cheddar cheese too, because he always complained when you didn’t have any “real cheese” in the fridge.

Finally, you grabbed a loaf of bread and a box of pasta before heading to the candy aisle. You’d been eyeing the peppermint bark in the holiday section earlier but didn’t grab it. Now you plucked a small bar of it off the shelf and dropped it into the cart. A little indulgence couldn’t hurt.

The cart wasn’t full, but it was enough. Enough to get through the week, enough to stock your kitchen for the nights Jason decided to stay over and make himself at home. He didn’t live with you—not officially—but his presence lingered in your apartment like a second heartbeat.

You made my way to the registers, where the lines were moving slowly. It was late, but the store was still busy, the energy of people rushing to finish errands before closing time crackling faintly in the air. You took your place in line, watching other customers inch forward and fiddling with the edge of your scarf.

It wasn’t a bad day, you reminded yourself, just a heavy one. You would unload the groceries back at home, make some tea, and settle in for the evening. Maybe you’d call Jason later, hear his voice and let the rough warmth of it carry you into something softer. The thought made the corner of your mouth twitch up in the faintest smile. And maybe he could even stop by, spend the night.

That thought warmed your heart.

The line at the register moved slower than you expected, giving you too much time to stand there, awkwardly fiddling with your scarf and glancing at your cart. The apples and kettle chips sat next to each other, an odd little pairing that made you think of your boyfriend. He’d swipe one of each, snack in hand, smirking like he’d outsmarted the whole grocery system.

Finally, your turn came, and you pushed the cart forward. The cashier was a lanky teenager with a mop of greasy hair tucked under his name-tagged baseball cap. His name tag read Trevor, but his expression read bored in bold letters. He glanced up at you briefly, his eyes darting over your cart with the kind of disdain only a teenager could muster before going back to his phone.

“Hey,” you greeted the kid politely, smiling despite yourself as you began unloading your groceries onto the conveyor belt.

“Yeah, hey,” Trevor muttered, clearly distracted as he shoved his phone into his pocket. He hit a button on the register with a little too much force and sighed loudly, like the very act of being here was an affront to his existence.

You handed over the loaf of bread first, thinking maybe you could set the pace for a smooth interaction. Trevor grabbed it and scanned it without a word.

“Paper or plastic?” he asked flatly, not bothering to meet your eyes.

“Um, paper, please.”

Trevor reached for the bags, shoving the bread in haphazardly before grabbing the apples next. The bag tipped slightly, the loaf threatening to crumple. You winced internally but said nothing, figuring it wasn’t worth the trouble.

As he scanned the rest of your items, you started to pull out your wallet. Your fingers fumbled for a moment as you searched for your debit card, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“Do you, like, need the receipt?” Trevor mumbled under his nose, tossing it into the bag before you could answer.

“Um—yes, please,” you said quietly, slipping your card out of the wallet at last.

The teenager rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. “Next time, maybe have it ready? Kinda holding up the line.”

The words hit you like a splash of cold water. You froze for a moment, face flushing as you quickly swiped your card through the reader. Your hand trembled just enough to make you fumble again, and you could feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes as you hurried to finish.

Trevor didn’t respond to you anymore. “Next!”

You grabbed your bags as quickly as you could, your vision blurring slightly as you turned away from the register. Your chest felt tight, the weight of the embarrassing moment pressing against the bones of your ribs as you hurried out of the store.

By the time you reached your parked car, the tension had built to a boiling point. You set the bags down in the passenger seat and slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The space felt safe, isolated from the world, and as soon as you were alone, the tears spilled over.

It wasn’t just the kid or his tone—it was everything. The way the week had dragged on endlessly, the tiny moments of frustration piling up like bricks until this one insignificant encounter became the tipping point.

You pressed your palms against the steering wheel, breathing uneven as the tears came in quiet, hot streams. They weren’t loud or desperate, just a release, a way to let go of the tension that had been weighing you down all day.

After a few minutes, the sobs subsided, leaving you feeling raw but lighter. You wiped at your face with your sleeve, sniffing softly as you leaned back against the headrest. The worst of it was over, but the ache lingered, a reminder of how fragile the balance could be sometimes. What you needed now was something solid, something warm to remind you the world wasn’t as heavy as it seemed.

Reaching for your phone, you scrolled through your contacts, thumb hovering over his name for a moment before you pressed it. The line rang twice before his voice came through, low and rough but tinged with familiarity and care. Jason always had a way of grounding you, his voice a tether when the world felt too loud.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his tone already softer than usual. “What’s going on?”

And just like that, the weight in your chest started to ease.

“Hi,” you said, the word wobbling despite your best effort. “Are you busy?”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that told you he’d caught on. Jason’s voice shifted, quieter but firm, like a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m not busy. You okay? You sound . . . upset.”

You hesitated, the urge to downplay it bubbling up. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though you knew it wasn’t convincing. “Just . . . had a moment. Nothing big, I promise.”

“Sweetheart,” Jason interrupted gently, his voice like a steady anchor. “Don’t do that thing where you act like it doesn’t matter. Talk to me.”

You sighed, resting your head against the window now. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s stupid. A cashier was kind of rude, and it just . . . got to me. I cried about it in the car, and I feel better now, but I guess I just—” Your voice cracked, and you exhaled shakily. “I wanted to hear you.”

Jason didn’t respond right away, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was the kind of pause that said he was listening, thinking about the best way to hold you from a distance. When he spoke again, his tone was warm and firm, a voice that could steady mountains.

“First of all, it’s not stupid,” he said. “People can be jerks, and it’s okay to feel what you feel. You don’t have to justify that to me—or to anyone.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He always had a way of cutting through the noise in your head, finding the simplest truth in it all. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“Where are you?” he asked. “Still in the car?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Just . . . sitting in the parking lot.”

He hummed softly, the sound almost like a purr through the receiver. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Take a deep breath for me—nice and slow. Can you do that?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah,” you said softly, following his instruction. The air filled your lungs like it hadn’t in hours, grounding you.

“Good,” Jason praised. “Now, I’m on my way to you. Sit tight, and don’t you dare think about apologizing for needing me.”

“Jason,” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t ‘Jason’ me, sweetheart. You’re my girl. That means if you need me, I’m there. Simple as that.”

The lump in your throat returned, but this time, it was different—softer, less heavy. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he replied, and you could hear the faint sound of him grabbing his keys. “Now stay where you are. I’ll be there soon. And when I get there, I’m giving you a hug so big, you’re gonna forget what the cashier even looked like.”

You laughed softly, the warmth of it surprising you. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Jason said, his voice lighter now. “I’ll see you soon, baby. Just hang tight for me.”

The call ended, and though the ache hadn’t fully disappeared, it was quieter now, tempered by the knowledge that he was coming. Jason didn’t just make the world feel manageable—he made it feel safe, like no matter how overwhelming the little things got, he’d always be there to pull you back to solid ground.

Ten minutes later, a sharp, sudden knock on the car window startled you out of your thoughts. You jumped in the seat, heart leaping into your throat as you turned to look—and there he was, standing outside in the cold, his broad shoulders hunched slightly against the wind. Jason’s cheeks and nose were flushed a soft pink from the winter air, and he had one hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, the other gesturing for you to roll the window down.

You blinked, processing his presence as he gave you a small, crooked smile through the glass. “Come on, sweetheart,” he called, his voice muffled but still rich and warm, like it carried all the heat you’d been missing. “You gonna let me freeze out here or what?”

Scrambling, you fumbled with the controls and rolled the window down halfway. “Jason? What are you doing here?” Your voice wavered between shock and something lighter, something closer to relief.

He gave a soft huff, his breath visible in the cold air. “You really think I was just gonna sit around after that phone call? Get outta the car, baby.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the earlier tears still clinging to you, but his steady gaze left no room for argument. With a sigh, you grabbed your scarf and pushed the door open, stepping out into the biting cold.

As soon as you were standing in front of him, Jason’s hands found your shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he guided you closer towards him. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and earnest, his green eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read all the parts of you you hadn’t said aloud.

You nodded, but the way your chin trembled betrayed me. “I’m fine,” I responded quietly, even though the words felt flimsy. “I was feeling better after we talked, really. You didn’t have to come all the way out here—”

Jason cut you off with a soft, knowing sound, one of his hands moving to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered, his knuckles warm against your cheek. “Yeah, I did,” his tone left no room for debate.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the cold wrapping around you but unable to penetrate the bubble of warmth his presence created. His thumb grazed your cheekbone, and you realized you had been leaning into his hand without thinking.

“You’ve been crying,” he said softly, the observation carrying no judgment, only quiet understanding. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y’know. Not ever.”

The lump in your throat returned, but it was smaller now, manageable. You took a shaky breath and gave him a faint smile. “I just felt stupid crying over something so little. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Jason’s brows knit together, his expression turning almost stern. “Hey,” he exclaimed, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. “Your feelings aren’t little. And I told you—no matter what, I’m here. You don’t bother me, alright?”

You nodded, swallowing hard as the weight of his words settled over you like a blanket. His sincerity had a way of melting through all the self-doubt you carried, leaving only the quiet reassurance of his steady presence.

“Good,” he said after a moment, his hand dropping to take yours instead. He laced your fingers together, his grip firm and grounding. “Now, give me your keys.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He smirked, his nose still adorably rosy from the cold. “You’re not driving, sweetheart. Not when you’ve had a day like this. I’m taking you home.”

“You didn’t bring your bike?” you teased faintly, trying to lighten the mood.

Jason snorted. “In this weather? Hell no. Now quit stalling and hand ’em over.”

Reluctantly, you pulled the keys from your pocket and dropped them into his waiting hand. He gave you an approving nod before tugging you toward the passenger side door.

“Come on,” he said, opening it for you like the gentleman he only pretended not to be. “Get in. I’ll crank the heat for you.”

As you slid into the seat, Jason closed the door behind you and walked around to the driver’s side, his movements easy and confident despite the chill. When he settled in and started the car, the warmth of the heater began to fill the space, and for the first time that evening, you felt completely safe.

Jason reached over, brushing his hand across your thigh in a gesture so casual yet intimate it made your chest ache. “See? Already better,” he said, glancing at you with a lopsided grin.

And as the car pulled away from the parking lot, the groceries safely tucked in the back and Jason by your side, you couldn’t help but think he was right.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Unsatisfied ♤

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

A lil self-indulgent Jason drabble to get back into writing this cutie <3

NSFW under the cut.

《Content》: PiV, toys, implied usage of antidepressants, Jason being a sweetheart and boyfie of the year 💋

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The room was filled with the sounds of sex, the air thick, hanging over your naked bodies like a suffocating fog.

You were grabbing at the sheets, your face scrunched up in pleasure while moans and mewsl of ecstasy tumbled from your lips. Jason was grinding his hips against yours, dragging his cock in and out of you, leaving a him-shaped hole.

Every vein and ridge rubbed against your velveteen walls, your eyes rolling into the back of your bead while your lover was panting above you, his arm straining while he continued to hold a buzzing vibrator to your clit.

He groaned, his head thrown back, sweat dripping from his temples. His pink lower lip was caught between his pearly teeth.

"Fuck, you f-feel heavenly.." Jason moaned, a strangled sound as you clenched around him.

The pleasure melted your bones, leaving you pliant for him. It felt like your brain was oozing out of your ears, your eyes glazed over with a distant look glistening within them.

He noticed, leaning over you to gently tap your cheek.

"You with me, baby?" He panted, not stopping the movement of his hips.

Your eyes were half-lidded as you nodded at him.

"Yeah.." you said quietly, sinking into the mattress at the pure euphoria boiling in your veins.

"Good.." He breathed, planting one of his big hands on the soft fat of your tummy, your chub spilling through his fingers.

The sight made him groan while he used it as new found leverage to pull you back onto his cock. The toy was still relentlessly buzzing on your bundle of nerves, a moan getting getting caught in your throat when Jason turned it up a setting.

"Are you gonna come for me, princess?" He asked lowly, attaching his mouth to your pulse point.

"Mhm!" You nodded, the all too familiar prickling of your orgasm crawling up every nerve in all your limbs.

The feeling bundled in your core, and you melted into Jason's embrace, waiting for the high to strike you like lightning.

But it never happened. All of a sudden, the sensation faded in an instant, like a bubble that was popped.

All your limbs felt like now was heavy, the coil building up in the pits of your belly gone. There was nothing as you desperately tried to clutch at every bit of pleasure that remained.

The buzzing of the vibrator dulled, and you were left with a deep itch that couldn't be scratched.

"No, no, no, no..." You whined in frustration, tears stinging in your eyes as you threw an arm over your face in hopes of hiding your shame.

"Those fucking pills.." you snarled.

Jason stopped immediately. A deep crease of worry between his brows as he turned off the toy and pulled out of you, no regard for his own satisfaction.

"What's wrong, baby? What happened?" He panted, gently rubbing his thumb along your side.

You stayed quiet, pressing your palms into your eyes with a defeated sigh that was closer to a sob.

"I can't-... I don't feel anything." You admitted quietly, frustrated with yourself.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sitting back on his haunches.

Your lip trembled as you rolled onto your side.

"It's all numb, I-... I can't feel anything. I was so close and then... it just went away." You explained, your voice cracking.

Jason's eyes widened slightly.

"You mean your-"

"Yes!"

You cut him off with a sniffle, embarrassment burning in your cheeks.

Your face was hidden in the blanket, so all you could hear was shuffling, but soon enough, you were pulled into his gentle embrace, held tightly to his chest.

"It's okay. Stuff like that happens sometimes." He spoke softly, a hand rubbing up and down your back in a comforting manner.

"I know... it's just so annoying and frustrating." You replied quietly, wiping at your teary eyes.

"My clit goes numb and the high just fizzles out... I'm always left unsatisfied."

Jason hummed, stroking over your hair with care. Like so many times before, your body had failed you.

"I'm sorry. I ruined the whole thing and-"

the words got stuck in your throat and fresh tears managed to blurr your vision.

Your hand reached between the both of you, searching for his slick cock so at least one of you could walk away from this with some gratification. He quickly caught your wrist and tucked it to his chest.

"Don't even think about it." He said firmly, a sincere look in his teal eyes.

"But-"

"Shush. I don't wanna hear it. You didn't ruin anything, okay, sweetheart? Look at me."

His voice turned soft, and all you could do was meet his gaze. His hand gently cupped your cheek, the rough, calloused pad of his thumb stroking over the soft skin of your face.

"You did nothing wrong, you hear me? Nothing." He stated.

You nodded slightly, nuzzling into his palm.

"We can just lay here. I'll hold you for as long as you need."

"But what about-"

"Shhh, Shh. I don't need anything but you in my arms, doll." Jason muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

With a sigh, you let your eyes fall shut and snuggle into the warmth radiating off his body.

It was a much needed break with lots of sincere and mumbled reassurances from Jason before he broke the peaceful silence.

"D'you wanna try again?" He asked gently, quietly, with a small smile.

You returned a smile and nodded.

"I do."

You watched as his smile morphed into a wide grin.

"Let's try something else, yeah? Come on, sit on my face, pretty girl."

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Aka my love-hate relationship with my antidepressants <3

More of Jason and others -> 💫

《DC Taglist》: @arkhamknightscxnt @allysunny @hellonheels-x @gaozorous-rex-blog

Lmk if you wanna be added! (Jason Todd, Dick Grayson and Bale!Bruce Wayne)

[nosyrobin]

Wonderboy!reader and Jon wrestling. They’re at the Kent farm spending time. These two ten year olds having nothing better to do other than play with their super strength.

Meanwhile Damian is just sighing, shaking his head while drinking tea with Titus beside him.. he was forced to come socialize with the two brutes.

“Brutes…” Damian says with slight disgust.

Though, he is betting on the Amazon male to win with a slight smirk.

[l0vergirls]

imagine being arkham knight!jason todd's signifcant other and getting special treatment during the longest night of your life.

being the first person he found before everything, laying down his plans to you, insisting you see what he's planning on doing, before giving you two choices: stay with him, or leave the city.

he tries to hide the sigh of relief he lets out after you choose to stay with him. you, who saw the intensity of what's to come, chose to stay with him.

"i'm not losing you again," you said, and he sure as hell wasn't about to lose you either.

above looking for the batman, his men were told to always make sure you hadn't a scratch on you, or the consequences would be dire. the very few who chose to speak up against it weren't heard from for the rest of the night.

[sarcasticsweetlara]

I like Jason so this is fine

Jason Todd’s Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: I know Jason is a fan favorite. Initially he wasn’t going to be the first to fall into obsession, but I think it fits him in this context. I hope I captured his personality right.

A/N: Frick, this doesn’t sound platonic at all. Oops. Just pretend it is. My bad. I got carried away. (I’ll try to keep it more platonic in the story line.)

A/N: Jesus take the wheel, I need to take more time to think this stuff through. I headcanon Reader is Seventeen about to turn eighteen, which means I gotta add more warnings. I’m so sorry, y’all.

Warning: Slight NSFW, Violence, Choking, potential age gap, ambiguous ages.

First one obsessed with Reader, after Bruce and Alfred, is Jason. He’s pissed about it too. Initially, he made note to despise reader on principle.

Reader is Bruce’s favorite. Bruce cares so much about Reader that he would literally keep them away for their safety. While it seems everyone else in Bruce’s life Jason suffers for being close to him. Bruce obviously knows he destroys everyone he brings into his life. Yet he still keeps dragging people into it without any care. What if he does that to Reader, too?

But, the Smalltown charm mixed with a sweet smile instantly broke him. Instantly.

Problem is, Jason’s pit-madness triggers easily and sometimes comes out as cute aggression. And, to him, reader is fucking adorable. The darker thoughts in his head tell him to corrupt and break reader. But, his rational thoughts remind him how precious Reader is and how he doesn’t actually want to hurt them. He’s at a constant state of internal conflict.

Remembering how his father treated his step Mother also makes Jason feel extreme guilt over how he sees Reader. Pre-pit Jason would have found Reader cute and charmed them. But, Post-pit Jason finds reader cute and wants to fucking ruin them.

It doesn’t help that reader snarks back. Making them even more adorable in his eyes. And, making him want to pin them to the fucking wall.

When he finally blows up at Reader, that’s him channeling his frustration into his words. Slamming his fist into the wall, breaking things. He wants to slam Reader into the wall and fucking break them. Because if he did what his madness was telling him to do, Jason would never forgive himself.

Bruce confronting him allowed him to change outlets and get the rage out. Yelling at Bruce and destroying the room helped ease the madness. But, after the incident, he takes to avoiding reader or only being around when he has someone to hold him back and take the heat off Reader.

He still desperately wants to be around Reader, they’re so fucking cute and he wants to keep them safe. But, god, does he also want to see if choking them somehow makes them even cuter.

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 2

Summary: He didn't expect to see someone like you. It was annoying at first, you were annoying. But he don't know when it start to change. Maybe this feeling was there since the day you smiled at him for the first time...

Warning: Teenagers in love ig?

Notes: This part is Jason's memories. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Wayne Manor was too much. Too big, too clean, too quiet. Jason hated it. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself as he followed Bruce through the front doors.

It wasn’t just the size of the place that bothered him. It was everything. The warmth that lingered in the air, like someone actually lived here instead of just passing through. The way the walls didn’t feel like they were pressing in on him, like they used to in the cramped, crumbling apartment he used to call home.

Jason’s fists clenched inside his jacket pockets as he stepped further inside, his boots scuffing against the polished floor. He didn’t belong here.

He kept his head down, unwilling to meet Bruce’s eyes. This was temporary. A rich guy playing charity case with some kid from Crime Alley—nothing more. Jason wasn’t about to let himself get comfortable.

Then he saw her.

She was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, her elbows resting on her knees, like she’d been waiting. Her head tilted slightly when she noticed him, and then she smiled.

It wasn’t the kind of smile Jason was used to. Not the fake ones people forced because they had to. This one was different. It was warm, reaching her eyes in a way that made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.

“This is Jason,” Bruce said, his voice calm and steady as he rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “He’ll be staying with us.”

Jason stiffened under Bruce’s touch, his eyes flicking back to her. She stood, her movements light and unhurried, and walked toward him. Not too fast, not too slow. Just enough to make him feel like she wasn’t trying to crowd him.

When she stopped, she was close enough for Jason to see the brightness in her eyes. She looked at him like she actually saw him—not the kid from the streets, not the screw-up. Just… him.

“Hi, Jason,” she said, her voice soft and easy. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Jason stared at her outstretched hand. He didn’t move.

Why was she looking at him like that? Like she meant it? No one ever did that. No one ever meant it.

He almost turned away, almost muttered something rude just to get her to stop looking at him like that. Sweet, kind people like her—they never stuck around. They never meant it.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t pull her hand away. She just stood there, waiting, her head tilting slightly as if she were trying to figure him out.

Jason’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like her. Or maybe he didn’t like the way she made him feel, like she’d cracked open a part of him he’d long since buried.

But he didn’t want to seem rude either—not when she was just standing there, smiling at him like he was worth something. So, reluctantly, he reached out and shook her hand.

Her hand was soft. Warm. It felt strange against his, like it didn’t belong to the same world he came from.

“You’re going to love it here,” she said, her voice sure and steady.

Jason wanted to scoff, to tell her she didn’t know anything about him or what he’d been through. But when he looked at her, at the way her eyes shone like she truly believed what she was saying, the words caught in his throat.

“Yeah. Sure,” he muttered, pulling his hand back quickly.

She didn’t seem bothered by his tone. If anything, her smile grew wider. It was disarming in a way Jason hated—because it made him want to believe her.

“I’ll show him around!” she said, glancing back at Bruce before looking at Jason again.

Jason almost protested. He didn’t need a tour, and he definitely didn’t need her looking at him like that—like he wasn’t just another lost cause. But when she turned back to him, her eyes still warm, still full of something Jason didn’t recognize, he found himself hesitating.

“Come on,” she said, motioning for him to follow her.

Jason trailed behind her, his hands shoved back into his jacket pockets. He didn’t trust her, not yet. But there was something about the way she walked, the way she turned back to glance at him like she actually cared, that made him want to trust her.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Jason didn’t feel like he was completely alone.

Jason didn’t laugh. Not really. Not anymore.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had—not since before his mom died, maybe even before that. Laughter felt like something from another life, a luxury reserved for people who didn’t have to scrape by every day just to survive.

But somehow, she managed to change that.

They were sitting in the den. Bruce had called it a “common area,” but Jason couldn’t help thinking of it as some kind of museum with its pristine furniture and towering shelves of books. He didn’t belong here, and he felt it with every fiber of his being.

She didn’t seem to notice, though. She’d plopped down on the carpet next to him with a grin, cross-legged like they were at some middle school hangout and not in a billionaire’s mansion. She’d been talking, her words bubbling out as she shared some ridiculous story about a squirrel that had stolen Alfred’s tea biscuits earlier that day.

At first, Jason barely listened. He was used to tuning people out, especially when they were as chipper as she was. But her voice had a way of pulling him in, light and warm.

“And then Alfred’s standing there with the broom,” she was saying, her eyes wide with faux dramatics, “like he’s about to duel the squirrel. I swear, it was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She mimicked Alfred’s stiff posture and the way he’d apparently shouted, “Out, you fiend!” at the tiny intruder. Her voice cracked at the end, and she doubled over laughing, her shoulders shaking with pure joy.

Jason couldn’t help it. The corner of his mouth twitched. Just a little at first, almost unnoticeable, but then her laugh hit him—a bright, contagious sound that echoed in the big, quiet room. Before he knew it, he let out a soft chuckle.

He tried to stop himself, but she noticed. Her head snapped up, and she gasped like she’d just discovered buried treasure.

“Was that a laugh?” she asked, pointing at him. “Did Jason Todd just laugh?”

Her mock-serious tone and exaggerated expression did something to him. The chuckle turned into a quiet laugh, and then it built—small and hesitant, like it wasn’t used to being there. She gasped again, clutching her chest like she was witnessing a miracle, and that was it.

Jason lost it.

He laughed harder than he had in years, his head tipping back as his chest heaved. It wasn’t a controlled laugh, either—it was wild, raw, and unfiltered. Tears pricked his eyes, and he tried to wipe them away, but every time he looked at her, still wide-eyed and grinning, it started all over again.

She didn’t even know what she’d done to make him laugh, which only made it funnier. She started laughing too, a little confused but clearly enjoying it.

“Jason!” she managed to get out between giggles. “What—what’s so funny?”

“I don’t even—” he tried, but the words were swallowed by another round of laughter.

Jason’s sides hurt, his cheeks ached, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the heavy weight he always carried. He felt… light.

When they finally calmed down, she was lying back on the carpet, staring at the ceiling with a big, goofy smile on her face. Jason was sitting up, wiping the last of the tears from his eyes, his breath still uneven.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Do what?” she asked, rolling onto her side to face him.

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t tell her what he was really thinking—that she’d made him feel human again, even if just for a moment. That her laughter had warmed something inside him he’d thought was frozen solid.

Instead, he smirked and said, “Make a complete idiot out of yourself.”

She gasped, pretending to be offended, and tossed a pillow at him. But he caught the twinkle in her eyes, the way her smile lingered even as she rolled her eyes at him.

Jason didn’t laugh often. But now, sitting there with her, he thought maybe it was okay to let himself feel something good every once in a while.

“C’mon, Jaybird,” she said, her voice low and mischievous. “We’re ditching Bruce tonight.”

Jason froze mid-step, glancing toward where Bruce had gone, his figure already disappearing into the darkness. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, tugging on his arm before leaping to the next rooftop. “Follow me!”

He didn’t know why he listened—maybe it was the way she said his name, like it was the only thing that mattered in that moment. Maybe it was the sheer audacity of ditching the Big Bad Bat himself. Or maybe it was just her.

Jason followed her, her laughter trailing behind her like music as she led him through Gotham’s skyline. They landed in a quiet corner of the city, far from the chaos, where a small ice cream cart sat under a flickering streetlight.

“Seriously?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow as she handed him a cone.

“Seriously,” she said, already taking a bite of hers. “Even vigilantes deserve ice cream.”

He rolled his eyes but took a bite anyway, the cold sweetness melting on his tongue. It was stupid, he thought, standing there in his Robin suit, eating ice cream like a kid. But when she smiled at him, all he could do was smile back.

They walked a little farther, finding a spot on a hill overlooking the city. Fireworks were bursting in the distance, painting the night sky with flashes of color. She plopped down on the grass, patting the spot beside her.

His lips twitched into a small smile, and he glanced at her, unsure what to say. Her face was close, too close, and before he could think of something snarky to deflect, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Jason’s eyes widened. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it.

He didn’t know what to do. She was so close, and her warmth seeped through his suit, chasing away the chill of the Gotham night. It wasn’t like she was heavy—she fit perfectly there, like she belonged.

Jason swallowed hard, staring at the fireworks as they burst in bright reds and golds. His mind was racing, but for once, the chaos in his head didn’t feel so loud.

He liked this. He liked her.

“You’re blushing,” she teased softly, her voice carrying a hint of laughter.

“Am not,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

She tilted her head, looking up at him. Even in the faint glow of the fireworks, her smile was radiant. “You know, you’ve got really pretty eyes, Jaybird.”

Jason’s heart stuttered. Pretty. No one had ever called him that. He didn’t know what to say, so he just smiled, the corners of his lips quirking up despite himself.

Her voice broke through his thoughts, soft and full of affection. “You’re smiling, Jaybird.”

Jason hadn’t even realized he was. He let out a quiet chuckle. “Guess I am.”

He looked back at the sky, the fireworks reflecting in his wide green eyes. They were beautiful, he thought, but not as beautiful as the girl leaning on his shoulder.

It was beautiful. It was warm. It was lovely.

Just like her.

For the first time in forever, Jason felt like he could just exist, no walls, no armor. Just a boy sitting under the stars, sharing a moment with someone who made the world feel a little less cruel.

And for that, he was grateful.

Jason’s knuckles ached as he drove his fist into yet another thug’s face. He could hear Bruce’s gruff voice somewhere behind him, barking orders like usual, but he wasn’t paying much attention. The adrenaline was too loud in his ears.

She was right beside him, quick and agile, taking down opponents with ease. Jason always marveled at how graceful she was in a fight—like it was a dance she’d perfected long ago.

But then, suddenly, she wasn’t there.

It happened so fast Jason didn’t even notice at first. He swung at another thug, but when he turned to check on her, she was gone.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Batgirl?” he called out, scanning the chaos around him. His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t care. “Where are you?”

Bruce was still fighting, his focus unbroken, but Jason couldn’t ignore the knot forming in his stomach. She wouldn’t just leave. She never left.

“Batgirl!” he shouted again, louder this time.

Nothing.

Panic surged through him as he darted between the scattered thugs, his eyes darting to every shadow, every corner. What if something had happened to her? What if she was hurt—or worse?

His chest tightened.

“Dammit, where are you?” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the fight.

And then, out of nowhere, she appeared.

Jason froze, his breath catching in his throat as he looked up. She was descending from above, hanging upside down from a rope like some kind of acrobat. Her mask couldn’t hide the playful grin on her face.

“Looking for me, Jaybird?” she teased, her voice light and carefree, as if she hadn’t just given him a heart attack.

Before he could respond, she leaned down and kissed him.

Jason’s eyes widened, his brain short-circuiting as her lips pressed against his. It was quick and unexpected, and his face went red hot in an instant.

When she pulled back, she was still grinning. Jason, on the other hand, was a mess.

“What the—why—what were you thinking?” he stammered, his voice an awkward mix of anger and embarrassment. His cheeks burned, and he could feel the heat rising to the tips of his ears.

She laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made his heart race even faster. “Oh, calm down, Jaybird. It was just a kiss.”

“Just a kiss?!” he spluttered, glaring at her through his blush. “You—you can’t just—”

He reached up to push her away gently, still too flustered to think straight. But as soon as his hand touched her shoulder, the rope snapped.

Jason’s heart dropped.

“Y/N!” he shouted, reaching for her, but she was already falling.

She hit the ground with a thud, and Jason was beside her in an instant, his hands hovering over her like he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry! Dammit, I didn’t mean to—are you hurt?” he rambled, his voice filled with worry.

She winced but gave him a crooked smile. “I’m fine, Jaybird. Just bruised my pride a little.”

Before he could argue, she leaned up and kissed him again. This time, Jason didn’t freeze.

He kissed her back.

It was clumsy and hesitant, but it was real. Her lips were warm and soft, and for a moment, the chaos of the world around them faded away.

When she pulled back, she was smirking again, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, did you like it?”

Jason groaned, his blush returning with full force. “Shut up,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at her.

But even as he helped her up, his lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. Bruce could handle everything else for now. Jason was exactly where he wanted to be.

The city stretched out before them, Gotham's endless sprawl of flickering lights and distant sirens. Jason liked it up here on the rooftops, where everything below felt a little less suffocating. The air was cooler, and the stars—hidden as they were by the smog—still seemed to fight to peek through.

She sat beside him, knees hugged to her chest, her mask discarded so she could feel the breeze. Jason was talking, half-joking about how one of the Joker’s goons had slipped on a banana peel during their last fight. His voice carried a rare lightness, a softness that only came out when they were alone like this.

“You should’ve seen his face,” Jason said with a grin. “It was like he’d just realized his whole life was one big punchline. Priceless.”

He chuckled to himself, but then he noticed she wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t even looking at the city. Her gaze was fixed on him, a soft smile tugging at her lips, her eyes shining with something he couldn’t quite place.

“What?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s with that look?”

Her smile faltered just a little, but the warmth in her eyes didn’t fade. She took a deep breath, like she was bracing herself for something. “I love you.”

Jason froze.

Her words hung in the air, delicate and powerful all at once. His mouth opened slightly, like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. His brain stalled, caught between disbelief and a rush of emotions he couldn’t quite name.

“I—” she stammered, her cheeks flushing as she looked away. “I didn’t mean to just—forget I said anything. That was stupid, I—”

Jason reached out and grabbed her hand, his grip firm but careful, stopping her mid-sentence. She looked back at him, her eyes wide and uncertain, and he turned toward her fully.

“We’re going to get married,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on hers.

Her mouth opened slightly, confusion flashing across her face. “W-What?”

“I said, we’re going to get married,” Jason repeated, dead serious. His jaw was set, his tone leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, she just stared at him, her lips parted in surprise. “Jason, that’s not—you can’t just say stuff like that—”

“You love me,” he interrupted, his voice softening, though his grip on her hand didn’t waver. “And I…” He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “I love you too. So yeah. We’re getting married.”

She blinked at him, her face caught between disbelief and something he couldn’t quite name. And then, to his surprise, she laughed.

It started as a quiet chuckle but quickly grew into something brighter, freer, filling the cool night air. Jason couldn’t help it—he laughed too, the tension breaking as the sound bubbled up from his chest.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, her voice still tinged with laughter.

“You’re the one who said it first,” Jason shot back, his lips quirking into a smirk.

She shook her head, her smile wide and unguarded as she wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “You scared the hell out of me for a second.”

“Good,” Jason said, though there was no edge to his words. His grip on her hand softened, and his thumb brushed against her knuckles almost absentmindedly.

As the laughter faded, the night grew quiet again. Jason glanced at her, taking in the way the moonlight softened her features, the way her hair caught the faint glow of the city lights.

In his heart, he made a silent promise.

He’d protect her, no matter what. Not because she needed it—she could hold her own better than anyone he knew—but because she deserved it. She deserved someone who’d fight for her, who’d stand by her no matter what Gotham threw their way.

Because he loved her.

And for once, Jason let himself feel that fully, without the usual fear or doubt creeping in.

“Hey,” she said, breaking the silence. “You’re staring at me now.”

Jason smirked, leaning back on his hands as he looked back out at the city. “Yeah? What about it?”

She smiled again, and this time, Jason felt it deep in his chest—a warmth that he knew he’d carry with him for the rest of his life.

She nudged him playfully, rolling her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Future Husband. Tell me this—would you ever kill for me?”

Jason’s expression softened. He didn’t even have to think about it. “Of course.”

She looked at him, her teasing grin slipping into something more thoughtful. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, his voice quieter now. “I’d do anything for you.”

Part 1. Part 3.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[ablobwhowrites]

Ex villain y/n brainrot post but I got a little goofy.

Thinking of ex villain y/n on a patrol with red hood or Nightwing or something and they sneak off from the patrol to go and catch the sun rise on the tallest building they can get to as they jump from rooftop to rooftop of buildings (don’t worry they got some gadgets that help them climb up buildings and have safe landings) seeing the sky slowly light up as the sun rises as y/n knows they will have to be quick to catch a glimpse of the sun. Finally stopping on the last rooftop and seeing clouds part as the sun slowly rises feeling the warmth of the slow rising sun with the cold air as nightwing or red hood stood by them, enjoying the small moment of a peaceful morning with y/n. (Alfred is covering till y/n and Nightwing or red hood get back from patrol)

I also like to think that ex villain y/n sends like those somewhat eerie kind of texts to the bat family sometimes like:

Tim: "hey Jason, you know what y/n texting this means?"

Y/n's Text message: 'beware.'

Jason: "oh just means they are trying to look for you"

Tim: "why can't they text like a normal person?"

Ex villain y/n is heavily based off of jinx from arcane and does have hallucinations and that's how they mainly hallucinate that slade is after them or something like that. But they do try calm themselves down as they want a good life that isn't from being a villain, they don't want to have Slade win in what they where made to be. Also they have watched the show bluey about 150 times in the Wayne manor living room that Bruce gave y/n a TV in there room but now ends up hearing the bluey theme song blasting in the room.

Ex villain y/n when they get their hands on slade

[ahqkas]

♯ I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO MY DAD . . . for teaching me everything he knows ( dick grayson & jason todd as dads ! )

— fem!reader as mom, fluff, not edited, based on this req.!!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

dick was always great with kids; his natural warmth, patience, and humor made him a magnet for them, even before he became a father. he often thought back to his days as robin, remembering how bruce wayne took him in and gave him stability, and he wanted to offer that same feeling ( and definitely more ) to his children.

when you two first talked about having kids, he was equal parts excited and nervous about it. dick worried about balancing family life with his vigilante responsibilities, but he couldn’t wait to start a family with you. he knew that no matter what, you’d face it together

your first child, a boy, inherits your husband’s bright energy and natural charisma. from the moment your son was born, dick was a hands-on dad. midnight feedings? no problem. diaper changes? a breeze ( well, almost ). he approached fatherhood the same way he approached everything else—with passion and a healthy dose of humor

he’s not just the dad who builds the coolest blanket forts or makes pancakes shaped like bats; he’s the dad who listens, encourages, and shows up, no matter how tired he might be after a long night of patrol. even when exhaustion clings to him like a second skin, his kids come first. if his son wants to show him the new drawing he made, dick will sit down and marvel at it as if it belongs in a gallery. if his daughter has a nightmare, he’s at her bedside in seconds, stroking her hair and whispering how she’s okay and nothing’s gonna hurt her while he’s here until she drifts back to sleep

he’s the dad who remembers every detail about his kids’ lives—their favorite bedtime stories, their least favorite vegetables, the songs that make them smile—and makes sure they feel seen and heard every single day. when he’s with them, he’s fully present, setting aside his worries about blüdhaven or the weight of his world. to them, he’s not nightwing; he’s just dad, their safe place, the person they know will always be there no matter what

he teaches your son how to ride a bike, holding the seat steady as those wobbly first attempts make an appearance. “you’ve got this!” dick encourages his son, jogging beside him. when the first scrape happens—knees meeting pavement in a blur of surprise and pain—he’s there in an instant, crouching down with the kind of gentle urgency only a dad can master

his strong arms wrap around his son in a hug that says, i’ve got you, even as tears well up in the young eyes. he’s quick with jokes to soothe the sting, brushing dirt and pebbles off tiny palms. “hey, you know what? you’re officially a biker now. all the pros have scars to prove it.”

it doesn’t matter if he’s running on just a few hours of sleep or if his legs are sore from the night before. he’ll stay on that sidewalk all afternoon if it means helping his son find the courage to get back on the bike

when your daughter is born, it’s as if a new light ignites in dick’s heart, one that’s softer and warmer than anything he’s ever felt before. from the moment he holds her—tiny, delicate, and swaddled in pastel pink—he’s utterly smitten by the baby. his breath catches in his throat as her little fingers curl instinctively around one of his. it’s the smallest thing, but to him, it’s everything. he gazes at her with an awe that rivals the first time he stood under a gotham sunrise after a long patrol as robin

every little thing she does—every yawn, every sleepy coo, even the way she scrunches her nose—melts him completely. he’s the first to volunteer for late-night feedings, cradling her against his chest while whispering soft lullabies. “it’s okay, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, as if the sound of it alone could shield her from the world

she’s the spitting image of you, but she’s got dick’s sense of curiosity and mischief. as she grows, it’s clear she’s a daddy’s girl through and through. dick spoils her with affection, often carrying her on his shoulders or letting her “style” his hair, even if it means showing up to patrol with hair ties

she’s the one who always convinces him to stay for “just one more bedtime story,” and dick can never say no to those puppy eyes. he does all the voices, acting out scenes with a dramatic flair that leaves her giggling uncontrollably

family movie nights are a regular occurrence. dick lets the kids pick the movie, even if it means sitting through the same animated film for the fifth time. he doesn’t mind—he’s just happy to have everyone snuggled up together

. . . JASON TODD !

jason never thought he’d be a dad. gotham wasn’t kind to kids, and in his darker moments, he felt like it had swallowed the boy he used to be whole. he worried his own traumas—nights spent cold and hungry on the streets, the ache of betrayal, the sting of abandonment—might cast shadows over the kind of father he’d want to be. how could he teach love and trust when his world had been built on survival and second chances?

the thought of holding a child, so small and fragile, scared him more than any villain ever could. what if he didn’t have it in him to be the kind of dad they deserved? what if his sharp edges cut too deep, or worse, he failed to protect them from the city that had failed him? jason had spent so long fighting his way through life that the idea of creating a safe, warm space for someone else felt like trying to plant flowers in a wasteland. and yet, the thought of building something good—something untouchable by gotham’s darkness—stirred a longing in him he couldn’t ignore.

when you told him you were pregnant with your first child, he was stunned silent for a solid minute. then came the slight tremble in his hands as he cradled your face and whispered, “we’re really doing this?” you swore you saw tears in his eyes, though he’d deny it later

he threw himself into preparing for fatherhood. between patrols, you’d catch him reading baby books, jotting down notes in that same serious way he planned missions. ( “what the hell is a diaper genie, baby? is it a genie for diapers, or does it genie them away?” )

when your first daughter was born, jason held her for the first time with an awe. he whispered promises to her, things like, “you’ll never go through what i did,” and “i’m gonna give you the world, princess.”

jason’s daughters own him. his rough, serious ide of personality melts into a puddle of mush when they so much as giggle at him. one pouty face, and he’s done for

when they’re little, he becomes a human jungle gym. they’ll climb all over him, pull on his hair, and stick stickers all over his face while he sits patiently, letting them “decorate” him. ( “you’re turning me into a unicorn, huh? cool. just don’t let your mom take pictures—too late? figures.” )

as they grow, he keeps a close eye on everything, from their friends to the neighborhoods they walk through. he’s not overbearing but has serious dad-radar. if they so much as mention a creepy guy or a mean teacher, he’s all, “do i need to handle this? no? you sure? okay, but say the word.”

by age eight, they’ve both mastered basic self-defense, thanks to “daddy’s fun time karate sessions.” he makes it a game—lots of laughter and encouragement—but underneath it, he’s deadly serious

when they’re older, he teaches them how to change a tire, handle their own money, and, much to your exasperation, how to throw a punch. ( “jason, they don’t need to know how to disarm a grown man at ten years old!” “baby, it’s gotham. yes, they do.” )

he’s the kind of dad who makes pancake breakfasts on weekends, complete with smiley faces and way too much syrup

on father’s day, his daughters surprise him with handmade cards every year. jason’s tough demeanor cracks every time he reads their scrawled messages: “daddy, you’re my hero.”

and jason as a father to teenage girls? lord, help us all.

when his eldest goes on her first date, he plays it cool—for all of two seconds. he grills the poor kid with subtle threats hidden behind a charming smile. ( “so, you like my daughter? good. treat her right, or you’ll have a real bad night. understand?” )

you have to remind him not to tail them when they go out. “jason, they’ll know you’re following them.” “i’ll stay a block behind. they’ll never see me.”

but despite his overprotectiveness, he’s their anchor during tough times. when they experience their first heartbreaks, he is there with hugs, ice cream, and the kind of pep talks that make them laugh through their tears. “anyone who doesn’t see how amazing you are isn’t worth crying over. you’re the todd girl. we don’t settle for less.”

deep down, jason worries about failing them. he knows what it’s like to lose everything, and the thought of his girls experiencing even a fraction of that makes his stomach churn