#jason is just so in love he doesn't know what to do with himself but because of it his POV of himself changes

[prlssprfctn]

I think you know that Alfred arranged Jason's memorial. I'd like to hear your opinion on what he originally put into it (and maybe a scene where he would explain to Jason)

i do, i do. you see, with comics (and DC, specifically) i love supporting a few different interpretations at the same time. i see and understand why most of the people hate how inconsistent the writing here is, and i also hate when they fundamentally change the character depending on the author, but sometimes it is an interesting tool to play with, though, i try to never change the character itself, just to analyse different situations from different point of views. thus, there are a few interpretations of Alfred being the one arranging the memorial, that i usually look at when i am writing something or creating a scenario!

the most popular one, is that it was supposed to be a punishment for Bruce. i, personally, have slight issues with this interpretation, though, i also use it on occasions. it is not a bad idea overall, but I don't think Alfred ever blamed Bruce for Jason's death (i don't think anyone did but Bruce himself, in fact), and Alfred is not exactly against the idea of Robins. and he loves Bruce so much. the last thing he wants, is to torture him, tbh. he does it to himself, anyway. but! i accept it sometimes as i said. it could work;

Alfred is an army man. the good soldier was never supposed to be an offence or berating. he, we saw, has a very different perspective of the world - different from anyone's in this family, to be honest. i think, he could mean it not as a bad thing. after all, that is just the way things were for him, back in the time;

my personal favourite, though, very self-indulgent: it is an inside thing, half-joke that was between Jason and Alfred back in the time. i wrote about it here once. it is up to you if Jason forgets about it after being back or not, honestly.

despite the interpretation, there are still a few interesting things to acknowledge in this situation, though.

first and foremost: Jason doesn't hate Alfred for it. i saw a lot of Jason fans, who spat on Alfred for this, but Jason would never, and Alfred, honestly, is one of the most dear people to Jason in the canon. he is not mad, i think, because he knows that whatever reason Alfred had in his mind when he put it, he didn't mean ill to Jason.

here comes the logical question - if so, why Bruce is blamed for that and Jason actually calls out him for it? well, mostly because of how Bruce sees this memorial and interprets it himself. because he never tried to take it off, if he felt like it was a bad thing. and because when Jason comes back, Alfred wants to hide the memorial, but Bruce stops him and says that it changes absolutely nothing - Jason's return changes nothing, his son is dead, and keeps the ghost of Jaybin in the Batcave to haunt him and further use the memory of the kid as a form of self-punishment.

yeah.

anyway.

hopefully, i answered to your question!

[femmehaljordan]

I have a scene in my head that came to me in a dream. Like it played out like a movie.

Jason just left the cave after being accused or interrogated over something he didn't do. The bats have bugged him to try and catch him slipping or something. Jason knows, but figures its easier to just leave it than have them invade his space to put another or find him.

He goes to the alley, domino on but helmet off. It's his usually walk through, checking on the street kids and the working girls. The bats listen to him laugh and joke with people in a way he never does with them.

He's talking to some working girls when they ask Jason about his family. And the bats brace for an awkward pause or a shifty convo about how he doesn't speak to them anymore. Because they still consider him family (even though they treat him like a stranger, actually worse that, they treat him like an enemy)

So when he immediately responds "they're dead" they all go still.

"Mom OD'd when i was a kid, and my dad got locked up and killed by Two-Face. Both been gone a long time. But they loved me. The people who really loved my are long gone." Maybe he mentions his kind-of stepmom (Talia) and his little brother who he doesn't know if he considers him the same back. Maybe painfully, quietly he mentions he thought he had an older brother once but he was mistaken.

No mention of Bruce.

He sounds sure, resolute. Like there is no doubt in his mind that the sum of people who care about him are a pair of long dead parents. The fact that he doesn't consider them family. That the bargaining chip they're holding over his head matter to him because he doesn't consider himself one of them. I think that shatters something between them. That veneer of unity crumbles.

I think Dick takes it the hardest. I saw your dick and jason post and going off of those feelings, jason not feeling loved or a part of their family will feel like a personal failure to Dick.

Jason thinking of himself solely as in individual and not part of the collective, adding to his moral incongruence with the bats would further set him apart, and the fact that he isn't mad or upset about it would drive Bruce insane.

Just had to share my brainworms. Have a nice day.

-🪼

OH MY GOD????? THIS IS CRUEL THIS IS CRUEL AND EVIL AND YOU HATE ME.

I literally just had to sit in silence for two minutes after reading this.

But AOUGH yeah. If the idea of them hearing Jason talk about his family and not talking about them. Or only mentioning one or two of them instead of the collective unit?? that’s so good. 

YOUR BRAIN. I’m not gonna be able to stop thinking about this all day.

I genuinely don’t know what the bats would do in that situation. Because like what can they do? I could see it leading into a realization of just how they treated him, but then they’re also gonna realize that there’s really no coming back from it.

OW

I do need to know which Dick and Jason post you saw though

[whoevenheckinknows]

If He's Anything Like Me (JayDickWeek Day 6 & OJTW Day 5)

AO3

Fandom: Batman All Media Types

Rating: T

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Tags: jaydickweek2025, omegajasontoddweek 2025, ojtw 2025, jaydickweek day 6, ojtw day 5, dimension travel, jason is insecure, Non-traditional Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omega Jason Todd, alpha dick Grayson, omega dick Grayson, no beta we die like jason todd, Do not post to other sites, Cross-Posted on tumblr, POV Third Person

Summary: When Jason gets sent to another dimension while chasing a magician, he runs into the Nightwing and Red Hood of that dimension. Because of this, he has to face some insecurities about himself and his feelings towards his own Dick Grayson.

A/N: So, I had a fic I was supposed to finish and post for Wednesday, but I got really into it and started worldbuilding and so I've been working on that a lot. I'll post it when its finished, and still put it in the OJT and JD week series/collection cause that's what its for.

But enough about Wednesday, have this piece for today!

JayDickWeek Day 6: Fairytale/Mythology AU | Batman!Dick/Jason | Time/Dimension Travel

OmegaJasonToddWeek Day 5: Emergency/Critical Heat/Rut | Ivy's Pollen Turns Omega Slick Addictive | Omegas are the Hunters During Mating Chases | Jason is Insecure

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Most of the time, Jason loves being the Red Hood. He loves the satisfaction of ending those who think they can take advantage of others. Of taking down rapists, and those who think they can mess with omegas or kids. He loves the power he feels as people tremble before him, as if he's a terrifying alpha about to rip out their throats for doing wrong. He loves the thrill of swinging through Crime Alley, knowing that this is his city, and those below him are his people, the ones he protects with his all

But sometimes. Some fucking times. Jason fucking hates it.

Like right now.

He's swinging through Gotham, long since passing the boundary out of Crime Alley, in pursuit of a magician who's wreaking havoc throughout the city. Hood caught wind of him after he hurt one of the working girls in his territory. Tonight he finally caught sight of him, and hell if he's letting the man out of his sight.

Of course, leaving his territory means he's bound to run into a bat or two in the process.

"Heyya, Hood. Lovely night for a swing, huh?" Nightwing's cheery voice cuts through his coms, and Hood doesn't need to look over to see the man swinging beside him.

"I'm busy, Dickwing, so either help me or fuck off."

"What's the situation?" Nightwing's tone is still far too cheery for Hood, but he can hear the slight alpha growl in his throat.

"Fucking magician." He shoots back. "Hurt one of my girls a few nights ago and I finally caught sight of him. Pursuing him now."

"Why didn't you call for backup?" Something in Nightwing's tone raises Hood's hackles and he bares his teeth. Doesn't matter that Nightwing can't see it with the helmet on.

"I don't need to crawl to some fucking alpha every time I'm in pursuit of someone." Hood snarls. "I can handle myself just fine."

Jason fucking hates this feeling. The feeling of being looked down on just because of one fucking part of him. Sure. Jason's an omega. But goddamnit, he can handle himself. He's strong and capable, and he's killed dozens of supposedly stronger alphas, no problem.

It's worse that it's Dick. Because this is the type of behavior Jason would have been thrilled to have aimed at him before. Back when he was just a pup in a new home who just wanted the alpha to care for him and protect him and love him. But no. Instead, Dick kept his distance, not bothering to try and bond with his new packmate.

And then Jason came back, and suddenly Dick was acting like the alpha he should have been. Except, now Jason doesn't need it. Doesn't need him. Jason is stronger and smarter than most alphas, despite being an omega. So that fact that Dick still chooses to think of him as incapable of taking care of himself hurts. It feels like he's trying to force Jason to be the weak little omega he's 'supposed' to be. The weak little omega that he's not, and never will be again.

Even if it would get Dick to mate with him. He refuses to play into society's misogynistic stereotypes.

"I know you can, Little Wing." Nightwing's response pulls Hood out of his thoughts. Fuck, how long did he lose focus. The magician is still in sight, albeit slightly farther away than he was before. Hood snarls.

"Don't fucking call me that!" He's not some little pup that the alpha needs to coddle.

The magician turns down a road and just like that he loses visuals. He curses.

"I take back what I said before. Just fuck off and let me focus on my work." He changes his grapple's angle in hopes of cutting off the magician. Nightwing follows him despite his words.

Hood ignores the alpha for the time being in order to focus on the chase. But when he turns the same corner he knows the magician went, he curses again. There's no sight of him anywhere.

Hood lands on the alley ground, and does a sweep of the place. Hearing Nightwing land not long after, Hood whirls around to snarl at him. "This is your fucking fault. If you didn't distract me, I wouldn't have lost him."

Nightwing's expression turns hurt, and Hood's instincts scream at him to apologize. To wipe that hurt expression off his matethe alpha's face. He forces the feeling down as he growls again.

Had Hood not turned to face Nightwing, had he not been distracted by his anger, he would have noticed the magician reappear right away. As it stands, he is turned around and he is distracted, and so Nightwing's the only one to see the magician ready the spell.

"Hood, look out!" Nightwing yells as he tries to rush to Hood's side. He doesn't make it in time. Because before Hood can even turn around to see what the other is referring to, there's a blinding light in his vision and his body goes numb.

When feeling returns, and light fades from his sight, Hood analyzes his surroundings. Hood recognizes the feeling of some sort of teleportation spell, so he already knows he's probably not where he was moments before.

Then again, it definitely looks like the same place. The surrounding buildings look similar at least. But Nightwing is no longer nearby and Hood can't find any trace of the magician. Time or dimension travel, then.

Two pairs of footfalls sound behind Hood, causing him to pull his guns out as he twirls around. He didn't smell anyone coming, so he has no idea if they are friend or foe. In front of him are two people he recognizes, and he lowers his guns slightly. The first is Nightwing, looking as cheery as ever especially as he notices just who Hood is. And the other is… the Red Hood.

That explains the lack of smell, at least. Bat grade scent blockers can block just about anything.

"Year?" Is all he asks them.

"2025." Nightwing responds. Same year as him then. Hood nods.

"Dimension travel, then."

"How'd ya get sent here?" The Red Hood, and fuck Hood's just gonna call him Red, asks.

"Fucking magician." Red nods sympathetically.

"We'll take you to the cave, see if we can figure out how to get you home."

Nightwing motions for Hood to follow as they both pull out their grapples. Together, the three of them make their way to where the two stashed their motorcycles. The two resident vigilantes don't even hesitate to both hop onto Nightwing's bike, Red sitting behind the other vigilante with his arms wrapped around Nightwing's waist.

"Uh…" Hood doesn't know how to react. It's not like he has the keys to this Red Hood's motorcycle. Different dimension means the possibility of different keys and codes, and Hood doesn't want to risk setting off any traps.

"Oh right. Here." Red states, keeping one arm around Nightwing's waist and using the other to reach into his belt to pull out the key fob. He tosses it to Hood, who easily catches it.

"You're letting me ride it?" If it were him, he's sure he wouldn't be so casual letting someone else drive his bike, even if it's an alternate version of himself. Red shrugs.

"You're me. I trust ya. 'Sides." He wraps his arm back around Nightwing, squeezing tightly. "I ain't letting you touch my Nightwing."

Nightwing lets out a hearty laugh at that, revving his bike as he does. "Oh calm down, Little Wing. You just said you trust him. I'm sure he wouldn't do anything untoward." Mechanical grumbling is the only response. Nightwing just laughs again, patting the arms around him.

Hood stares at the two, even as he hops on Red's bike and starts it up. He's not sure how to process how the two are acting. They seem… close. Hood wishes he was that close with his own Nightwing.

The sound of two motorcycles fills the air as the vigilantes make their way to the Batcave. Hood keeps behind the others, watching as Red leans his head into Nightwing's back contently.

~~~

The visit to the Batcave doesn't last long. No one is there, all out on their own patrol routes, and so they have free reign over the technology it holds. A magic scanner is all that's needed to determine the type of spell placed on Jason. One only deals with different dimensions or times so many times before implementing something like that.

It's a time based spell. Twenty-four hours minimum, a week maximum. Then Jason will automatically be sent home. There's nothing to do but wait.

"You can always stay at the manor." Dick suggests. Him and Jay (that's what Jason has decided to call other-him) are both out of their vigilante suits and dressed in casual clothes. Jason himself has only taken his helmet off for now. They all still have their scent blockers on though. The other two are standing in front of the computer monitor, Jay with his chin hooked over Dick's shoulder as they both look over at Jason. Jay's hands are on Dick's hips again.

"Fuck that." Jason responds. "I deal with it enough with my own Bruce, I don't need an alternate version of him going all alpha on me." Jay snorts at that, likely in agreement. "I'll figure something else out."

"Well what about staying with us? We already know you're here, if you want that number to stay small it's probably your best bet."

Jason considers the offer before stilling at the implications. "Us?"

Jay raises an eyebrow. "Yeah. Dickie and I live together." His eyes then narrow. "Ain't gonna be an issue, is it?"

"No, just shocked is all." Jason holds up his hands placatingly. "Dickhead and I aren't nearly that friendly with each other."

Jay scrutinizes him for a moment before finding something in his gaze. His eyes soften and he nods. He lets go of Dick and gestures for Jason to follow him to the locker room. "Lets find you something to change into for now. You can borrow something more comfortable when we get to the apartment."

Jason follows and gets changed into one of Jay's spare outfits. When he's done, he makes his way back into the main cave. He stops in the doorway when he catches sight of Jay and Dick. The two are close together, Dick's arms around Jay's neck and Jay's around Dick's waist. They do nothing more than stand there, whispering to each other in hushed voices that Jason can't hear. Jason can't help but wonder how the two got so comfortable with each other that Jay is willing to accept Dick's plethora of hugs and physical affection. He wonders if there's a chance he can get to that point with his own Dick.

Dick catches sight of him first, giving him a large smile as he detaches himself from Jay. "You ready to go?"

Jason nods and follows the two to where the bats keep their civilian vehicles. Despite having plenty of bikes to choose from, just like before Jay slides onto the back of the same bike as Dick.

"Just pick one." Jay calls. "Keys are all in the ignitions."

Jason hops onto one he is familiar with in his own dimension. He follows the two resident bats out of the cave, allowing them to lead him to where they, apparently, share an apartment.

Jason is still reeling at that fact. He can't imagine being able to live in the same space as the alpha. Constantly being surrounded by his strong comforting smell, but never able to do anything about it. It would be torture. It would be wonderful.

They lead him to an apartment building not quite in Crime Alley, but not far outside of its borders. A perfect central location for their patrol routes. They park their vehicles in a side alley and make their way to an apartment on the top floor.

Jason makes himself comfy on the couch while Dick goes to grab some better clothes for Jason and Jay goes to boil some water for tea. Jason tries to offer help, but Jay looks offended at the thought.

"I know Alfie taught you better than to let a guest help with refreshments." Jason doesn't argue. He's just as proud as Jay when it comes to Alfie's rules, so he allows himself to fall into the guest role.

Jason takes the time to analyze the room as the water boils. It looks lived in, unlike the safehouses Jason tends to live out of. Books line bookshelves, with many of Jason's favorites within easy reach, and there's not a single speck of dust in sight. He takes a deep breath, smelling the intermingling scents of Jay and Dick filling the home. Proof that this really is where the two live together. Except…

Jason takes another sniff. There's something off about the two smells in the room. Maybe it's just Jason smelling a different source of his own scent, but there is a twinge of wrong that fills Jason as he breathes in.

"Here's some better clothes for you." Dick interrupts him, holding out a pile of less worn-out and better quality clothes. Jason takes it with a thanks, and goes to where Dick points out the bathroom to get dressed.

He dresses quickly before leaving the bathroom once more. The apartment is small, so the little hallway Jason is in only has the bathroom door and one other. The other door is ajar, and the mixed scents of Jay and Dick waft out of it even stronger than the living room. Jason still feels that itch of wrongness in his chest even with the stronger scent.

Jason furrows his eye brows. Do the two… share a bed?

Jason shakes his head, not wanting to think about what that could mean. Doesn't want to get his hopes up. He makes his way back into the other room only to be stopped in his tracks. There in the kitchen, Jason watches as Dick stands on his tippy toes, his lips locked with Jay's as the two kiss each other softly.

Jason must have made a noise at the sight, because Jay breaks the kiss to look at him almost immediately. "Looks like our guest is back, Pretty Bird."

Dick looks over at Jason and smiles again. Only for his smile to fade just at quickly as he takes Jason in. "You okay over there?"

"Wha-" Jason doesn't know what to say. This… explains a few things and opens so many other questions. "How… when…?"

"I think we broke him." Jay chuckles out as he turns the stove off to make his way over to Jason. "You good dude?"

"You two are together." Is all Jason is able to get out.

"Yup" Jay responds, popping the p as he leans against the couch casually.

"How?"

"I mean, it took a lot of work, and a shit ton of communication, but we made it in the end." Jay looks Jason in the eyes as he continues. "You could too if you just talk to him."

Jason is already shaking his head. "No way. There's no way an alpha like Dickie would ever want such an aggressive omega like me. There's no way anyone would want someone who is the exact antithesis of what an omega should be."

It's their turn to look confused. They turn to look at each other before looking back at Jason.

"Alpha?" Dick asks, but Jason doesn't really register his question. He just continues talking as he starts pacing back and forth. If anyone will understand his insecurities, it'll be himself, right? And if Jay somehow managed to get with Dick, then surely the other man is already aware of these issues.

"It's just. What alpha would want an omega who's as fucking headstrong and stubborn as me? Someone who could rip his throat out as quickly as he could rip out mine? What could Dick possibly ever see in me?"

Jason stops his pacing when an arm catches his shoulder. He turns to see it's Dick who holds him in his grasp. "Well, I think you're the perfect omega. You're protective and fierce, and you care so much about pups that it drives me crazy. But even if you weren't the perfect omega, I would still love you, and I'm pretty sure your Dick would too."

Jason's still not convinced and Dick sighs. "Then again, there's a big difference between me and your Dick, apparently. But if anything, that would probably make it more likely that he wants you."

"And what's that?"

"Well," Dick reaches up to where his scent blocker is still covering the gland on his neck. He pulls it off as he finishes. "I'm not an alpha."

Dick's scent floods the room and Jason inhales sharply on instinct. The scent is mostly the same as his own Dick's, but there's one major difference. Suddenly the wrong feeling in his chest grows stronger, as instead of the spicy scent that his own Dick has that indicates his alpha designation, there is the hint of sweetness that indicates an omega.

Jason is stunned once more. Dick resumes his speech when he sees Jason isn't going to say anything. "Jay and I had to work through a lot of things in order to be together. Including the stigma of two omegas being together. If your Dick is anything like me, he wants you as much as you want him. And he's even more likely to be able to have you, being an alpha."

"But," Jason's throat is dry and he has to swallow before speaking again. "But what if it's just your omega instincts wanting to be with someone who resembles an alpha, even if he's not actually one?"

Dick gives him a soft look. "I already told you. I think you're the perfect omega. My instincts could never mistake you for an alpha. And besides." Dick cups Jason's cheek softly, and Jason has to hold back a whine at the touch. "You are more than your designation, Jason. If your Dick can't see that, he doesn't deserve you."

"You really think so?" Jason's voice breaks at the question.

"I know so." Dick smiles warmly, his scent flooding with the smell of care-protection-affection-love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

END NOTE: Wasn't sure how to end this, and I don't have much more time to write, so have an abrupt ending.

This is once again another fic that I had a smut idea for but ended up not writing it. One day I'll get comfortable writing smut more, and actually be able to write more of the smut ideas I get. And maybe one day I'll write more for this.

I wanted to make a fic for tomorrow, but I'm so invested in Wednesday's fic idk if I'll get to it on time or at all. Same with Sunday's fic. Ill definitely write that one but it may not be on time.

If there's any errors, feel free to say in the comments. Or if you just want to talk.

Come talk to me elsewhere AO3 Tumblr Twitter Bluesky

[krowscrawl]

sorry‼️ but i AM still thinking about an au where batman died in the helicopter crash along with the joker

[titansarmy]

and if i say canon adjacent, ivy inspired jasonxnico fic. i can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland.

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.

Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neck—anywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.

Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.

Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.

AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?

[rosaeh]

jason todd stares at people. whether it's consciously or not.

he does stares at people to intimidate them, get them to do what he wants, and reveal what they know. even when he wears the helmet, his stares are so intense that the thugs can feel it pierce through. it scares them even more to wonder how deadly his gaze must be without it.

he stares at his siblings too, to read them, to try to figure out if they are lying to him or not. dick is always uneasy under jason's scrutinising eyes and the depths of their green. jason almost always get what he wants out of a single stare with them.

yet, when it comes to you, it's often unconsciously that he stares. he often founds himself smitten by just the sight of you. the way you look at him always get him, and he cannot help but keep staring at you as the only thing ever.

you never feel uncomfortable under his gaze, though. the green of his eyes, a colour you've learnt to know, and started to fall for the second they landed on you.

you do, however, find yourself fidgeting and squirming when he consciously stares at you. as if he could read you, -he can. you could reveal your most embarrassing secrets for that stare of his. but unlike the thugs he deals with on a daily basis, his gaze his not deadly for you, but more fond. even when he is staring to catch your -whites- lies.

lying to him. as if he didn't know you. you would deny being in need of something, and he would just stare at you, the way his brow raise indicating the lack of anger, and more showing how he doesn't quite believe you. and God knows you would cave in -you always do-, not helping the small smile on your face as you dare look into his eyes, and just admit everything to him.

and oh, how he would smile at that. to know how much he is able to read your body language ? how much he is just able to get you ? he loves it. craves it even. and he loves to know you let him get you like that. that you willingly let yourself in the open for him, that you let him see you.

but more often than not, he just stares at you for the sake of it.

[ngjch899]

Jason collects stickers. He doesn't really use them, to scared to waste them. A habit from his childhood..his mother would always give Jason the sticker from her chewing gum, that she tried to use to get over her smoking addiction.

He has a whole sticker book, for his favorite stickers. Somethimes it's these fruit stickers, the ones he gets from the fruit a kind and grateful grandma will give him after helping her, or the sticker a street kid will hand him, like a good job treat. Or a sticker damian made in art class.

Dick of course, feeds into that addiction for jason. He finds out about jason having a hobby, and having a reserved spot for his favorite stickers.

He wants to make it to the favorite spot.

So he looks for stickers, like a bird does for sticks for a nest, or a pebble, just the perfect ones.

He goes and hands them to jason, like a dog will hand a big ol stick for their human to throw.

Jason was confused at first, because why is dick handing him stickers all the time? At first it were silly cat ones. He likes them, so they go to the box of silly animal stickers. Then he gets car themed ones. They are nice, he puts them to the transportation ones.

Dick, evrey week, asks to see jasons favorite sticker book collection, saying he just wants to see what made it on the list today.

dick is confused and frustated and how his never make the cut.

So dick just gave up with that. He didn't want jason to think that he was going distant with him, so he continued to hand him stickers evrey now and then, and ask to see his favorite stickers collection.

The other bats of course want stickers aswell. So one day, dick buys a sticker sheet with "god job!" "Great job!" "You are a star!" Ones,

Like praises for missions gone well.

The others don't really love stickers the same way as jason might, and dick knows. So he just sticks it to their forehead, or amor, like a joke. But hands it to jason carefully, so he can do whatever he wants with it.

One Friday, at the bar, dick looks over jasons collection.

To see his "God job!" Sticker, at the front page.

It made the cut.

No, Dick grayson made the cut.

because being himself was enough.

[acid-ixx]

You mention in the first story that the Batfam finally realizes where we are because jon showed Damian our picture while calling us his parent- so I was wondering about how Damian reacted to that? Like did he realize we’d left at that point or did he just get hit in the face with that info?

— related post !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated

a/n: y'all i have clogged nose and i hate it LMAO. anyways, i'm gonna write smth about this soon but damian's character for both the series again & again and this series is genuinely one of the more complicated to write because of how he's raised but it really goes like this—

"jon... what do you mean? that's my—"

he cuts himself off before he could continue running his mouth off. damian ignores the slight raise of jon's eyebrow, his thoughts running a mile every second.

his parent? no, never once in his life has damian considered you his parent, pushing you away whenever you try to bond with him. whatever gifts you gave him, no matter how small, or big, expensive, or inexpensive they are, he always makes a show of ripping them away right in front of you.

he told you himself. you are not his parent, never will be his parent, you'll never replace talia's standing, and there will never be a time where damian will see you as one. dick, jason, tim, literally anyone can consider you as theirs, but damian is a product of two genetically perfect individuals— you are imperfect, and it's not your business to coddle him just because you are merely married to his father in paper.

no matter how much you softly gaze at him with loving eyes, invite him with welcoming arms, praise his passion for drawing; all you'll do is weaken him and damian hates feeling weak, hates how you tempt him into melting into a puddle. that automatically makes you a burden in his book.

he hates you, and he should've been glad you disappeared off of the face of the manor.

yet the record stands still: why are you with jon? why do you hold him like he is the world in the picture? what does he mean by "sorry, damian, but me and my parents are gonna go to the carnival later!"? you, as in, bruce's spouse? why are you with them, of all people?

... why does jon get to have fun, with you? and he doesn't...?

and yet he couldn't reply to him, not when his friend babbles on for longer about his... parent. about how you, make him feel so complete. that you'll be the one helping him with his science fare project, how you two spent the night yesterday building a volcano, how you treat him with ice cream every time he achieves a good enough grade for a subject, how you, you, you always spoil jon, always comfort him, read him bedtime stories, matched bracelets, sung karaoke together, played board games with each other, picked him up from school, help him with assignments—

the more jon goes on, the more damian wants to rip his hair out. he doesn't know, doesn't know why he's suddenly pissed. is it because jon can never shut up, or because he couldn't shut up about you? about how perfect you are apparently? how you're the ideal parent he never once bat an eye on? the domestic life jon seems to brag about, it's something damian secretly wanted, and it's all ripped away from him.

it makes damian wonder, would you have done the same for him?

he knows it in himself, that if he hadn't pushed you away, he might've been in jon's place.

[himbosandhardwear]

"Look who's talking, Mr Ponytail and a Crop Top," Steve says with a smartass grin.

Eddie looks down. "Huh?"

"You," he waves toward Eddie's general vicinity, "looking like some kinda Metal Cheerleader." He noticably swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

Okay. This is it, this is the perfect moment to tell Steve he's sending signals that he definitely doesn't understand he's sending.

"Steve," he has to clear his throat before continuing, "I need to tell you something."

He leans in, wide eyed and focused. "Yeah?"

That's not helpful. "Um. So, to guys like me... Gay," he chokes out, still hard to say aloud even though he knows Steve knows, "sometimes you say things or do things that come off as...flirty. And I know you didn't know," he rushes to explain, "but I wanted to make you aware. To not do that. You know, in case the wrong person overhears it. It's a safety concern," he finishes lamely. Safety concern! Ugh. More like 'You're breaking my heart, I can't take much more of it.'

He waits for Steve to say something but he's just blinking owlishly.

"Steve?" He prompts, concerned.

"......yeah?" He finally seems to come back to himself. His eyes drift away, over Eddie's shoulder. "So...you want me to stop flirting?"

"Yeah, just in case, you never know who-" Wait. What? "What?"

Steve still isn't looking him in the eye. "What?" He mumbles.

"Did you say..." He can't even repeat it, it sounds like putting words in his mouth, but he did say that, right?

"Yeah. Sorry. I'll stop. I didn't realize it was bad, I guess. I thought... It's stupid. Nevermind. I'm gonna, um, take off actually. I'll see ya around, maybe."

He hops off the back of the van and actually starts walking away, like they're not 6 miles from his house. That snaps Eddie out of the paralysis spell he was under, adrenaline taking over like a bump of cocaine.

"No!" He shouts, like an insane person, and then takes it one step further by jumping up and tackling Steve into the grass.

"Uggff," Steve grunts when Eddie accidentally shoulders him in the gut, but he ignores the embarrassment in favor of crawling up his body so they're eye to eye.

He gets Steve's face between two hands and smooshes it. "Were you flirting with me on purpose?" He shouts.

"Are you serious?" He mumbles, half coherent, through pursed lips. "I'm gonna jump into the quarry."

"Answer the question!" He rattles Steve's head a little bit, for good measure.

"I work for Scoops Ahoy." Steve deadpans, unamused.

Eddie is going to throw one hell of a tantrum in a second. "Steve."

He smacks Eddie's hands away from his face. Doesn't bother to move out from under Eddie, he notes absently. "Yes, dude, obviously I was flirting with you on purpose! I thought that was, like, an understood thing that was happening. Why are you surprised?"

He feels like he's losing his mind. Why are you surprised the grass is made out of taffy? Would've made more sense as a question.

"Because you're straight." The duh is implied.

Sensibly, he asks, "Why would I flirt with you if I was straight?"

Eddie becomes very aware of every inch they are pressed together. Aware of the sound of the leaves rubbing together in the wind, aware of Judas Priest still playing through his speakers. Love Bites is a hell of a track to be having this revelation to.

"You're not straight?"

"No."

"And you were flirting?"

"Yes."

"With me?"

He rolls his eyes, not an ounce of bitchiness lost to his embarrassment. "No, Eddie, with the crusty blanket on your van floor. Yes, of course with you- Mmmphh!"

They probably shouldn't be making out on the ground at Settlers Quarry in broad daylight but, honestly, the shambling corpse of Jason Carver could show up right now and Eddie would not give two shits. Steve slides a hand down the back of Eddie's pants, grabbing what little bit of ass cheek he has, and Eddie thinks, Hope you're watching from hell, you bastard. Enjoy the show.

[gilverrwrites]

I love imaging Dick, Tim, and Damian sneaking around trying to meet Jasons new gf because they just wanna be involved in his life and they know if they they leave it to Jay they wont meet her u til they're married with kids 😭

AND ‘omg us meeting Jason’s siblings when’

AN: Ngl I love this idea too, its so shitty of them but they have the best of intentions.

Damian

A boy no older than 14 with eyes that pierce the soul was not what you'd expected to find on Jason's couch the very first time he'd left you alone there. Jason had to dip out unexpectedly early, and had promised you run of the place until he got back so you'd slept in as long as you could and were on your way to make breakfast when you're greeted by the hell-child.

Once your initial fright wears off you realise you recognize him from a photo Jay had showed you which makes you feel slightly more at ease.

“Good morning? Damian right?” You offer as you pass him, be-lining for the coffee machine, you're gonna need caffeine if you're meeting any member of Jay's family for the first time. “Can I get you anything?”

“Alfred says it's unbecoming to sleep past 9.” Besides the initial glare he'd graced you with as you emerged from the bedroom, he doesn't even look up at you, his eyes glued to the pages of a book. Like brother like brother, you guess.

“Oh, well. Good thing Alfreds not here then.” You add a small laugh, trying to inject some humour to the situation. Damian does not respond in kind. “Is that a no? I think there's some chocolate cereal around here somewhere.”

“What do you do for work that allows you to be in my brother's home in the middle of the day?”

Jeez this kid is no-nonsense. “Or I could make pancakes, I make really good pancakes.”

“And tell me what exactly are your intentions with my baby brother?” Baby?

“I think there's some chocolate chips around here somewhere. Jason says you like chocolate. Chocolate pancakes?”

“Do you always avoid questions?”

“Are you always so intense?”

He slams the book closed and you nearly jump on the spot. He finally looks at you, really looks at you and as you stare back his features begin to soften slightly.

“I’ll have a coffee.”

You're certain from the sly look on his face that he's probably not allowed coffee. He certainly doesn't need any. But screw it, he's not your kid and if it gets him to like a little, you'll take the risk.

So you pour two coffees and join him on the couch. His questions do not cease until Jason returns about an hour later. He couldn't care less about the coffee, but he does care about Damian breaking in to interrogate his partner and immediately kicks Damian out.

Dick

Dick finds out about your existence from one of Damian’s letters, and he's subtle but pushy about meeting you. Not that you're aware. He keeps ‘dropping by’ Jason's apartment ‘just to see his lil brother’, no other reason but is told to get lost or downright ignored anytime you're there, until he decides to cut out the middle man and turn up at your home instead.

“Let me tell you, you are a hard person to get a hold of.” He informs as he invites himself through your front door.

“Um, hello Dick?” As you stare at his lush hair and sculpted abs you wonder what Alfred feeds these boys.

“Yep! I can't stay so I’ve gotta make this quick.” he gestures for you to come closer, speaking in a playful, conspiratorial whisper. “Jay doesn't know I'm here.”

That would be why he can't stay, Jason is due at your door any minute now.

“But you two seem to be getting pretty serious and I think it's important that we all get to know each other. You following?”

You nod, and he gives you the perkiest, most genuine smile. That or he has that exact look practised to a T. From what Jay tells you, either is possible.

“So, Barbara and I, that's my wife” You nod once more, you're aware of Barbara also. “have booked a table at Casa Gotica for Thursday night. We need you to get Jason there without letting on that it's a double date.”

“I don’t know.” you finally give your nodding head a break. “Jay and I don’t lie to each other.”

“Right. I can't begrudge that. Very glad to hear he's picked an honest one.” He takes a moment to straighten his thoughts, but his moment is cut short but the echo of Jason’s combat boots approaching your door. Dick’s eyes rapidly scan the room for a secondary exit before he settles on an open window. “Don't think of it as lying, think of it as omitting the truth. Whatever you have to do just be there for 6.30. Oh, and it's great to meet you!”

“You too.”

“Thursday, 6.30!”

Before you can agree he’s gone, presumably scaling the side of your building as Jay steps inside.

Tim

Tim was actually the first to be aware of you and your relationship with his brother, however, the very real possibility of being gutted by Jason for snooping in his personal life was too high for him to make a move.

But you seeking him out is a different story; or rather, you being the first to say hi when you bump into each other in line at the grocery store is different. It would be rude not to respond to your attempts at initiating a conversation.

“Hello, hi, are you Tim? You don't know me but I’m Jasons partner. Its so great to meet you.”

“I know who you are.” He states rather ominously, eyes darting around behind you. “Is he here?”

“No, but he's picking me up after.” His shoulders visibly ease.

“Cool cool cool.” He’s suddenly much more personable. “So, I hear you're into…”

That chatting doesn't dry or lul at all as the queue dwindles and both buy your groceries. He waits with you until you get confirmation from Jay that he's on his way. He's easily the chillest sibling you've met thus far.

When Jason arrives he gets out of the car to open the boot and passenger door for you as always, but not before he thrusts his phone in your face. “Where is he?”

Displayed on the screen is a selfie of Tim with you in the background, you absolutely do not remember it being taken.

[dntaed]

oh, i’ve been gone for a few days, but !!! i have a little something for you guys <3 changing up my post’s styles a bit. i’d like to focus on headcanons and small imagines from now on. (dw my series won’t disappear). i just want to try something new! 🌷

a/n: not proofread, this work is sfw. have fun reading. MASTERLIST HERE !!

✹ ꕀ 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 : ‘ 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽? ’ ( ✦ )

( ✦ ) In a few words, to describe a relationship with Jason Todd would be a fever dream, a reverie you didn't even know you were in until those sea-green eyes hit you like waves; you find yourself wanting to lose yourself in this dream.

Despite being a man with a reputation of a rather not-so-savory kind, he unexpectedly shows the most softness and tenderness for his partner out of all the Bat-boys.

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 ⠀. ᰋ .. 🪻

JASON TODD loves quietly. He's subtle with his affections. The fact he loves you will be shown in the small details that collect over time. You don't even notice it at first. He's not used to expressing his feelings in a way that's obvious to the fleeting eye. Only someone who pays attention would see how utterly devoted your boyfriend is to you.

It's the way Jason always has a hand on the surface of your back or waist, guiding you through crowds or holding you while cooking in the kitchen. The touch serves as a safety net for you and a chain that connects the two of you. He needs you close to him. Your presence in the early morning or even in the busy streets of Gotham City has him feeling even calmer.

Jason devotes himself to learning everything about you. He silently watches you when you talk about the things you enjoy. It's a soothing sound to his ears. He makes sure to keep any important detail you mentioned tucked away in his mind.

The specific drink you like at that coffee place you've grown attached to, that book you've been reading (he's picked it up too, he wants to talk about it with you), what temperature you enjoy your tea, the route you take during your day—do you want that pretty ceramic cup he saw at the shop? He thinks you would. He's getting it for you, because when you're happy—he is too.

🗨️: Sorry, I talk too much.

J: But I want to hear you.

There are moments in your relationship when the confidence Jason tried to show you slowly crumbles around you. He doesn't realize that it's the walls he has built around himself finally disappearing when he's with you.

It's shown in the way he sleeps soundly next to you. The way your touch doesn't send spikes through his skin. The way he's more open talking with you. It comes to him naturally—talking with you all night, words slipping past his lips that he wouldn't trust anyone else with.

Acts of service is an important part of a relationship with Jason. He's up before you are. The hot cup of your favorite drink sits steaming on the counter. He's already fussing around the kitchen, trying to cook up a meal for you. (Keyword, trying. I don't have much faith in his cooking, and neither does he.) He's the first to go out for groceries. His hands are always full of the bags you carry. No matter how many times you reassure him you're okay on your own, he shakes his head. He's doing this because he wants to.

🗨️: It's okay. I can carry them.

J: No, no. It's okay. While we're at it, give me that bag you're holding in your left hand, looks heavy.

🗨️: You literally have five bags already!

He has a habit of resting his head on your shoulder or placing his chin on top of your head when he’s tired. He’ll murmur something like “Five more minutes, babe” if you try to move.

I already mentioned in a previous post that you two are not only lovers. Friends to lovers is the romance I see Jason being in. You're his best friend, and he's yours. You're the first one he looks for in a room because you're the only one who really knows him—in and out. He's Jason Todd to the rest of the world, but to you, he's your Jay. The Jay you met and slowly became friends with. The Jay you spent hours huddled away in a library with. You two discuss books non-stop in hushed whispers. Those whispers slowly turned into something even bigger, something that settled deep in your bones.

Jason adores physical touch, but only from you. He’s the kind of guy who acts grumpy about PDA but will still pull you into his lap when you least expect it. Forehead kisses, temple kisses, pulling you closer by the waist when someone walks too close to you—those are his specialties.

Dates include, you guessed it, library dates, that cozy restaurant you two found, the park during the evening, the homey feel of your shared apartment at midnight while a cheesy romance movie plays in the background, late-night walks around the busy streets while the kaleidoscopic colors of the city dance across your figures. It's all very saccharine sweet and simply soft.

The pet names I see Jason using are: a classic babe, pipsqueak (a more teasing one), a shortened version of your name, and pretty.

Jason isn’t a fan of social media, but he keeps a private account just to follow you. He never posts, never likes anything, but he’s always watching. If you post a picture of yourself, he’ll send a text: “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Might be surprising to some, but he's a big gossiper. He's talking about everyone and everything with you. It's a monthly talk you guys have. Basically, gossip buddies.

Arguments are rare with Jason. I've already mentioned that love with him is a process of boundaries and promises to take things slow. I think the two of you don't cross any lines.

Even if something happens, he cannot bear to get mad at you. You're his person, his other half. It ends with apologies, and he needs to be in your presence for the next few days (like a cat with separation anxiety, following you from room to room).

God forbid someone threatens you in any way. Which in itself is rare, because of the automatic scary boyfriend privileges you have. Though, if someone is foolish enough to try, all you need is to give Jason permission, and the person is getting into big trouble.

He likes to write little notes for you. Slipping them into your book, sticking them on the bathroom mirror, or tucking them into your pocket. They range from “Don’t forget to eat” to “You looked so pretty this morning, I almost forgot how to breathe.”

He walks you to class. Shyly, he takes your hand in his and has a small celebration in his mind that he managed to do it. Off you two go, strolling through the campus as if it's your own world.

I think Jason would playfully tease you too. He's your best friend and now boyfriend. It's a requirement now. That's where the pipsqueak pet name comes from. He enjoys your reactions, the little huffs of exasperation or the way you try (and fail) to glare at him.

If he ever catches you crying, Jason immediately goes into comfort mode. He might not always have the right words, but his arms are strong, his voice is gentle, and he’ll hold you as long as you need.

🗨️: You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be okay.

J: I know you will. But I want to be here.

Jason is so in love with you, it’s ridiculous.

But at the end of the day, despite all the teasing, all the quiet acts of love, all the soft whispers and quiet mornings, Jason Todd is just a man who loves you with everything he has. And he always will.

♥︎ . .. ♥︎ .. 🌷 ♥︎

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

[apatheticsunday]

Graveyard Favors

AKA "The Lazarus Pit doesn't exist and Jason Todd crawls out of his grave. Only for a huge, red-eyed dog to escort him to the Ghost King, who apologies for making him a zombie. But, uh, I can kill your murderer for you?" prompt!

(Also known as Grimm!Cujo plays fetch with a Zombie Robin and Danny's just trying to undo a really, really bad clerical error.)

I like the idea of Cujo playing as a sort of Church Grimm, Charon (Ferryman of the Styx River in the Underworld), and Cerberus. He protects graves, guides the dead, and is Danny's personal guard dog to the entrance of the Infinite Realms. There are portals in every graveyard across the Realms because ghosts typically haunt where their bodies are. The King's servants collect the ghosts from Earth graves and safely into the Ghost Zone.

But what happens when a ghost re-enters its original dead body?? Do the servants just... shrug it off, say it's an Earth problem? Or do they do the workplace equivalent of going to the manager? I like the idea that it's actually Danny's fault and he's scrambling to keep it under wraps, to not do any worse of a job than he already is (he's still young for a Ghost King, he's going to make a lot of mistakes early on, right?).

Maybe Danny wasn't paying attention to his paperwork, had been stamping documents with his Royal Seal without really reading it, and Clockwork slipped in an Undead Appeal form in Danny's pile to teach him a lesson. The Appeal is for one Jason Todd-Wayne, located in a small plot in Gotham City.

So, Danny does what any person trying to undo a really bad mistake does. He says, "Don't worry about it, I'm taking care of it!" Except it's literally a human being he reanimated after being dead for several months. He's utterly terrified he's created the first of an unstoppable zombie plague or he's going to Ghost Jail for unknowingly violating the Geneva Convention of the Ghost Zone. Either way, Danny knows he has to handle this himself.

And there's Jason, leaning against a wolf-sized Cujo, at the foot of his grave. He looks... lost. Exhausted, alone. And Danny's like, oh, Hells, I did that. That's my fault. Cujo snuffles worriedly against Jason's face.

"Jason? Jason Todd?" Danny calls out. He wonders belatedly if he should've worn his High King of Infinite Realms attire, but he's still in Tucker's ratty Amity-Uni sweater and ripped jeans. Jason looks up at him from where he's now slouched against Cujo, slowly inching his way closer to the ground.

"I-my name's Danny. I'm-"

"Hospital," Jason rasps, nearly fully on the ground now. And oh, yeah, being freshly undead probably isn't as easy as switching between human and Ghost. Hells, what was he thinking? So, Danny finds himself in the Gotham Hospital waiting room as Jason's being treated and he's sitting there thinking about how to reintroduce himself. He can't be a stuttering, unsure mess when he's admitting to a grave error. Would Jason even believe him? Probably not, right?

That's how Jason Todd wakes up to the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead next to his beside.

Danny admits his mistake, apologizes, and offers a Royal Boon in the form of an unbreakable vow. Anything his zombie needs or wants, the High King will provide. He probably should've expected it when Jason immediately says he wants to murder the Joker, brutally, painfully. Personally.

It's surprisingly easy to sign a Death Warrant.

(Later, after the Joker's prolonged and agonizing death is reported by the Gotham News, Jason asks Danny for money. Danny's like?? I already helped you avenge your murder?? And Jason just guilt-trips the ever-loving shit out of him. You brought me back from the dead a penniless and homeless zombie, you even said you'd provide for me, but now you're takin' it back?? Are you a fuckin' liar?? Danny's like, no, you're right, I'm so, so, so sorry, here's like 20k in Ancient Gold. Cue side-story of Danny unintentionally becoming Jason "Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss" Todd's sugar daddy.)

[killerplink]

CRAVE

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: It starts with innocent kisses, just making out on the couch. But then you're grinding against him, and now you're soaking through your shorts, panting, trembling, desperate for more.

Words: 3,8k

CW: established relationship, smut, explicit content, dry humping, overstimulation, oral fixation, nipple play, teasing, praise kink, dom/sub undertones, Jason Todd being obsessed with you, minors DNI

A/N: Bestie who requested the dry humping, I hope this is everything you wanted 👀

It starts off innocent enough. Just the two of you, curled up on the couch, your lips moving against his, lazy, slow, deep. His hands are on your waist, warm, steady, grounding, his thumbs tracing little circles over the fabric of your shirt.

You're not even trying to start something—not really—you just love kissing him. The way he melts into you, the way he lets out little breaths through his nose, sighs into your mouth like he's savoring you.

But Jason? Jason always wants more.

His hands start to wander under your shirt, smoothing over your ribs, skimming higher, teasing, just barely grazing the underside of your tits before they slide back down. And fuck, you shiver, gasping against his lips, and he notices. Smirks into the kiss. Does it again.

"What? That get you worked up already, baby?"

His voice is all low and cocky, but his grip on your waist tightens, like he's holding himself back.

And you? You just whine. Shift forward, pressing in closer, feeling the way his thick thighs spread beneath you, the way his muscles flex when you move. You love being on top of him, feeling how fucking solid he is beneath you. And when you roll your hips just slightly—just barely—against his lap, you feel it.

The way he's already getting hard.

Jason sucks in a breath, his hands squeezing your waist. "Fuck."

And you do it again. Slow, just testing, just teasing, your clothed cunt dragging over the growing bulge in his sweats, feeling the heat of him, the shape of his dick, even through the layers. And God, he's so fucking big, thick and heavy and hot, already pressing up against you, already straining. You're always in awe, even though you know every inch of his body like the back of your hand.

His jaw clenches, hands gripping your waist tighter, and for a second, you think maybe he's gonna stop you, maybe he's gonna flip you over, pin you down, rip your clothes off, fuck you proper.

But he doesn't. Instead, he lets you. Lets you grind against him, slow and teasing, testing the waters, even though you know he's not a patient man. And when you do it again, drag your soaked little panties over his dick, he groans.

"That's cute, baby. Keep goin'."

It's a challenge. An invitation. And you take it. Because sometimes, Jason Todd doesn't do teasing, and neither do you. There's no need for games between you two, no need to dance around it. The tension is just part of your dynamic, something familiar, something you've both come to crave.

He's always been like this, and so have you—uncomplicated, raw, and to the point. No room for hesitation here, not when the pull between you both is something you've both learned to savor. When he's this close, when his hands are on you, there's no question. You're already lost to it, and he's always more than willing to take you there.

His voice is low, rough, almost a growl in your ear, his hands tight on your waist, guiding you, rolling you down harder against him. And fuck, you can feel him—thick, heavy, straining against his sweats, rubbing right against your cunt, hot even through the layers.

And God, you're soaked. Can feel how your panties cling to you, sticky and useless, the thin fabric doing nothing to stop the slick mess you're making on him. Every slow drag of his cock presses right against your clit, damp heat pooling between your thighs, smearing over the hard shape of him, and you swear you can feel the twitch of it through his sweats.

It's messy, desperate, all slow friction and building heat, his grip firm, making you move exactly how he wants. And you need it, need him, need more, need everything, because the drag of his cock against your soaking wet panties is just enough—just barely enough—to have your clit throbbing, aching, sending shivers up your spine every time you grind down.

And he knows. Can feel the way you tremble, the way your breath hitches every time your swollen clit catches on the thick ridge of his cock. His fingers tighten on your hips, breath warm, lips brushing against your temple as he groans, deep and wrecked.

"Jesus fuck, baby. You feel that? How fuckin' wet you are? Got my dick soaked and I'm not even inside you."

His voice is strained, almost shaking, his fingers flexing on your waist, digging into the soft flesh of your hips like he's barely holding back. And you? You whimper.

Because it's not enough.

It's not enough and he knows it, knows it by the way you squirm, by the way your little hands grip his shoulders, by the way your hips start to move faster, chasing that feeling, using him to get yourself off.

And Jason? He fucking loves it.

"That's it, baby, keep goin'."

His voice is wrecked, his lips dragging over your throat, hot and wet, sucking at your pulse as you keep moving. And you're soaked, so wet that you can feel it, that he can feel it, his sweats growing damp beneath you.

His dick is already leaking precum, the fat tip pressing right up against your clit, dragging against it with every desperate grind of your hips. And when you roll down just right—when your swollen little clit catches against the thick ridge of his cock through his sweats—you fucking cry out.

"Shit, look at you," Jason groans, his fingers digging in harder, gripping your waist, helping you move, pushing you down against him. "Ruin my fuckin' sweats, baby. Soak 'em."

And you do. Because you can't fucking help it.

Your body is burning, needy, the friction sending sparks up your spine, your cunt throbbing, clenching around nothing. Your nipples are hard, rubbing against the fabric of your top, dragging against his chest, and when you lean forward, when your lips catch his again, it's sloppy, open mouthed, all panting little moans and wet heat.

Jason groans into your mouth, deep and wrecked, his lips parting against yours as his tongue slides in, licking into you like he's starved for it, like he needs the taste of you as much as he needs to feel you grinding against him. His teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging, a low, needy sound vibrating in his chest when you whimper for him.

His hands slip lower, squeezing your ass, spreading you open as he grinds up into you, as he meets your movements, making the kiss even messier—all spit and moans and ragged little gasps, your tongue stroking against his as you rock down harder.

It's desperate, greedy, like you're trying to swallow each other whole, like you're both chasing something just out of reach, the pleasure mounting between you, tight and unbearable. And it's so good, so fucking good that your fingernails dig into his shoulders, your body tensing, the pressure building, building, building.

Jason's growling under his breath, low and rough, all heat and gravel, his fingers squeezing into your ass, gripping, spreading, yanking you down harder against him. And fuck, he can feel you.

Soaking. You're soaking through your shorts, through his sweats, your pussy leaving a damp patch right against his dick, needy and messy, dripping for him.

His breath is ragged, hot against your lips, forehead pressed against yours like he's trying to ground himself, but he's fucking losing it.

"Baby, fuck—you're drippin' for me." His voice is wrecked, and his fingers flex, digging into the soft flesh of your ass, guiding you, rolling you down harder against his aching cock. "So messy, pretty girl. Keep goin'. Wanna feel you cum just like this."

"Jay…" you whimper, voice breathy, wrecked, your fingers fisting in his hair. "Fuck—"

And God, you want to.

Your clit is throbbing, rubbing right against the fabric, right against the shape of his dick, the flex of his muscles making you gasp. It's too much, not enough, too fucking good.

"God—feels so good," you breathe, hips rolling faster, more desperate, because you're so close, you can fucking taste it.

And Jason? Jason is fucking mesmerized.

Because you're so worked up, so desperate, using him to get off, grinding down like you need it to live. His cock is aching, leaking, straining against his sweats, and he can feel everything—the heat of you, the slick sticking to his clothes, the way your pussy's dripping with every little movement.

And then? He yanks your fucking shirt off.

Because of course he does. Because he needs to see you. He needs to see those pretty tits, needs to feel your bare skin against him. And his chest heaves, a rough groan slipping past his lips because fuck—fuck—your tits are bouncing, soft, perfect, your nipples hard, dragging against his skin as you grind down on him, desperate and soaked, making a fucking mess all over his lap.

His breath is ragged, his hands everywhere, groping, squeezing, a big, hot palm curling over your breast, fingers teasing your nipple, rolling it, making you gasp, making your pussy clench.

"Oh, fuck—"

Your head tips back, your back arching, pushing your tits further into his hand, and fuck, that does something to him.

Your skin is flushed, damp with sweat, your lips parted, moaning, your body soft and perfect, and all he can think about is how fucking good you feel, how good you look, how he wants to ruin you.

"Jesus Christ, look at you." His voice is low, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you down harder, making sure your clit drags over the length of his cock. "So fuckin' pretty, ridin' me like this. Can feel how soaked you are, baby. You're gonna make me cum in my fuckin' pants."

That makes you whimper again. Because you're so fucking close. Every slow, slick grind of your dripping pussy against him sends sparks up your spine, making your thighs shake, your breath hitch, your stomach tighten.

His mouth catches one of your tits, sucking hard, dragging his teeth over your sensitive skin, moaning against you as his fingers dig into your hips. His tongue flicks over your nipple, slow and teasing, before flattening against it, circling, making you gasp.

And then he sucks. Hard. Wet. Messy.

His lips wrap around your nipple, hollowing his cheeks, drawing it deep into his mouth as his tongue rolls over it, flicking, lapping, dragging delicious heat straight to your core. The sound of it is obscene, slick and greedy, the warm suction making your breath hitch, your back arch, your thighs trembling where they straddle his hips.

"J-Jason—" you gasp, your nails scratching at his scalp as he groans against you, eyes dark and heavy lidded, like he needs to taste every inch of you.

And he does.

He switches to the other, his mouth just as eager, just as hot, licking broad and slow before closing his lips around you, sucking hard. His teeth graze the sensitive bud, making you shudder, your hips grinding down harder on instinct.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, his voice low and wrecked, his tongue swirling over your nipple before sucking it back between his lips, tugging, teasing, until you're whimpering in his hold.

His fingers tighten at your waist, guiding you, keeping you moving against his cock, making sure you can feel just how hard he is for you. "Taste so fuckin' sweet, could do this all fuckin' day."

And that? That nearly fucking breaks you, And God, he wants to push you over.

"You gonna cum for me, huh?" His grip tightens, his breath coming in harsh pants, his hips twitching up against you. "Gonna soak my fuckin' sweats? Make a fuckin' mess all over my dick?"

And you moan, nearly there, nearly fucking there, grinding down harder, so fucking close.

And then you cum. Hard.

It hits like a freight train, tearing through you, leaving you breathless, boneless, shaking.

Your thighs tremble, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you cry out, grinding down hard against him. It's blinding, mind numbing, that sweet, hot rush of pleasure bursting through you, rippling through every nerve, making you whimper, making your toes curl.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Your head tips back, the strain in your throat making your voice come out high and wrecked, and Jason's fucking mesmerized.

Because Jesus Christ, you're perfect. Your face all scrunched up in pleasure, your tits pressed against his chest, spitnslicked nipples dragging against his heated skin, every slow grind sending little sparks of overstimulation up your spine.

And it's too much. Too fucking much. He grits his teeth, his hands gripping your ass, guiding you through it, forcing you to ride it out. Forcing you to drag your soaked cunt over his aching cock, his hips jerking up beneath you, muscles tight and flexing as a deep, guttural groan rips from his throat.

Jason tries to hold it back.

Tries to keep himself from tipping over the edge, but when he feels it—the way your cunt throbs against him, the way you soak through his sweats, hot and messy, leaking all over his dick, he just fucking snaps.

His body locks up, his jaw clenching so tight it aches, a harsh, ragged groan tearing from his throat as his orgasm hits him like a fucking wrecking ball.

His cock jumps, straining painfully against the damp fabric of his sweats, his hips bucking up into you, grinding into the mess you both made, desperate, helpless, his vision going white. The first thick spurt of cum soaks into the fabric, hot and sticky, making him moan, making him clutch at your ass, at your hips, dragging you down, forcing you to feel it.

And he just keeps cumming. His cock twitching, throbbing, sending thick pulses of heat spilling from him, the sticky mess pooling beneath his waistband, smearing between you, his abs tight, stomach clenching, body trembling as he rides it out.

His breath is ragged, shaking, his body taut and aching, every pulse of his dick making him jolt, making him curse, making his head tip back against the couch.

And he still doesn't stop. Still grinds against you, still pulls you down against his overstimulated cock, like he can't let go just yet, like he needs to squeeze out every last drop of pleasure. His whole body is buzzing, muscles locked tight, breath coming in heavy, uneven pants.

The mess between you is obscene. Hot and sticky, soaking through every layer of fabric, spreading with every little shift of your hips. His dick is still twitching beneath you, still so fucking sensitive, and yet he can't stop. Can't stop touching you, can't stop dragging out every last bit of it.

Fuck.

Jason Todd just fucking came in his sweats. And he doesn't even care.

Because you did this to him. Made him so fucking needy, so desperate, so fucking gone for you that he just spilled in his own pants like a goddamn teenager.

His chest is heaving, his forehead damp with sweat, his jaw slack, eyes blown wide, fingers still digging into your ass, keeping you pressed against him. His dick throbs, the fabric of his sweats sticky and hot, soaked through with his own mess and yours, and he loves it.

Loves that you soaked him through. Loves that you ruined him. Loves that you're still whimpering, still shaking, still clutching at him, pressing your slick, swollen cunt against the mess he just made.

And God, you're so warm. So soft and pliant against him, your body still trembling, every little breath catching in your throat.

"Jesus Christ, baby—" he pants, his grip unrelenting, his hands everywhere, sliding up your back, gripping your ass, keeping you there. "Made such a fuckin' mess of me."

But he's smirking. Looking at you like you're his whole fucking world.

Your body is still thrumming, overheated, your chest rising and falling in shaky little breaths as reality starts seeping back in.

And that's when it hits you. What you just did.

You just dry humped your boyfriend like a desperate little thing, got yourself off on his dick like it was the only thing that mattered, soaked through your panties and his fucking sweatpants.

But truth be told, so did he. Jason Todd—big, smug, cocky motherfucker—just came in his pants. Because of you.

Your face burns, stomach twisting, and you can't even look at him at first, fingers clutching at his shoulders, pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck as your mind scrambles.

Because holy fuck.

Jason's still catching his breath, but he knows you. Knows exactly how your mind works, knows exactly what you're thinking. And he's fucking grinning.

"Ah, fuck, doll, don't get all shy on me now," he murmurs, voice hoarse, teasing, still thick with lust.

His hands rub up and down your back, big and warm, grounding you, pulling you closer. You just whimper, hiding your face further, and he fucking laughs.

"You should see yourself," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "All fucked out and blushin'. It's cute, pretty girl."

You groan, trying to pull away, but he won't let you. His arms tighten around you, his lips ghosting over your temple, your cheek, making you shiver, making heat curl in your stomach all over again.

"What's wrong, huh?" he rasps. "That sweet girl brain of yours can't handle what we just did?"

Your thighs squeeze around his hips, still sensitive, and he chuckles, because he fucking felt that.

"Shut up," you grumble, still hiding, still flustered, and that just makes his grin wider.

"Can't, baby," he says simply, pressing a slow, open mouthed kiss to your jaw.

He pulls back just enough, waiting until your gaze finally flicks up to meet his.

He knows that look on your face all too well—the one where you start to overthink, where the heat of the moment makes you second guess yourself.

He can see it in the way your brows furrow, your mouth pressing into that little frown, the soft blush on your cheeks as you get caught in your own thoughts. And yet, he can't help but tease. It's a part of him that loves the way you respond, how it takes almost nothing to fluster you, to bring you back to him.

But beneath it, there's something else, something deeper, something he won't say out loud but feels in every inch of his fucking soul. He loves this. Loves that after nearly two years together, you still get all shy like this, still blush like he hasn't spent hours between your thighs, hasn't memorized every little sound you make, hasn't fucked you stupid more times than he can count.

Jason hums, tilting his head, eyes gleaming as he watches you squirm.

"Y'know," he starts, voice lazy, playful, "you got me so fuckin' worked up, I didn't even realize what was happening 'til it was too late."

You peek up at him, still flustered, still warm all over. His lips twitch.

"You ever do that before?" His thumb rubs slow circles against your hip. "Get so into it, you just—" he lets out a short, breathy laugh. "—fuckin' lose it?"

Your face burns hotter. You press your lips together, hesitating. And that's when he knows he's got you.

"Oh, baby," he grins, full and wicked. "You have, haven't you?"

But then, he sees it. That little flicker in your eyes, the way your brows pinch just slightly, your lips parting like you're about to protest.

And it clicks.

"No way," he breathes, his grin stretching even wider. "You haven't?"

Your stomach twists. The heat spreads down your neck, over your chest, the embarrassment creeping in like a slow burn. You shift against him, like you can escape it, but his grip is firm, his eyes locked onto yours, watching every little reaction.

"Jason." You say his name like a warning, shoving at his chest, and he just laughs, catching your wrists, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"S'fine, doll. No shame in it," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours. "Y'know the last time I came in my pants?" he says, voice low, almost smug. "Had a wet dream at fourteen."

Your eyes go wide, a little shocked laugh bursting past your lips. It's the way he does it—so effortlessly, so him—that makes your heart skip just a little. He knows exactly what he's doing, knows how to disarm you with just the right amount of teasing.

That's all he wanted. To make you laugh, to pull you back from that flustered little spiral, to remind you that this? This is just you and him. And you're fucking perfect.

"God," you giggle, cheeks still burning, still trying to wrap your head around it. "We're like animals sometimes."

Jason snickers, shaking his head, his hands brushing down your sides, over your hips.

"Nah, baby," he murmurs, tilting his head down, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your forehead. "We're just fuckin' crazy about each other. Nothin' wrong with that."

And then he kisses you. Deep. Slow. Drawn out. Like he never wants it to end.

His lips are soft but insistent, warm and plush, parting just enough to let his tongue slip against yours, coaxing, teasing, pulling you deeper.

And fuck, you give in so easily.

The kiss is lazy, indulgent, slow in a way that makes it even filthier, his tongue rolling against yours, sucking, licking, sliding, wet and messy, like he's tasting you, savoring you, not in any hurry to stop.

His hands stay firm at your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who's in control, who's keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And you can feel everything.

Your clothes sticking to you, damp, ruined, your panties a sopping mess against your swollen cunt, your shorts clinging to your thighs.

Jason's sweats? No better.

The thick, sticky mess of his cum is soaked through, clinging to his still hard cock, and when you shift in his lap, just barely, just a little, he grunts into your mouth, sharp and throaty, like he's barely holding back.

And God, you feel wrecked. Overwhelmed, drenched, raw, but so fucking good.

A little moan spills past your lips, high and breathy, and Jason drinks it down, sucking at your tongue, tilting his head, deepening the kiss even more, as if he can't get enough.

When he finally, finally pulls away, it's with a slick little pop, his lips red and swollen, a little smirk tugging at them. His breath fans over your cheek, his fingers tracing slow, teasing circles at your waist.

And then, low and rough, full of promise, "Next load goes inside that pretty little pussy."

[arandomao3user]

Felt bored, here's my projecting health issues onto the Batfam again:

Alfred, setting down a pharmacy bag, inhaling sharply: COME GET YOUR DRUGS!

Bruce, dragging himself in:

Tim, slowly looking up from his phone with a dead eyed expression: If it isn't a monster energy drink and seventeen caffeine pills I no no want it.

Cass: I am not on drugs?

Dick: It's our prescriptions, Cass.

Jason: You people are the reason I carry narcan around.

Alfred: You're all on enough prescriptions to fill a pharmacy. Now, let's begin...

Alfred, raising a pill bottle: Pain medication for Master Bruce for the back pain Bane inflicted on him from his wonderful career choices! Unfortunately we don't have the several other medications he should be taking for his mental state...

Bruce: Alfred, please...

Alfred, raising another two pill bottles: Anti-inflammatory and pain medication for Master Dick for his hypermobility he refuses to see a doctor for.

Dick, taking the pills: It's not that painful, Alfie, it's just my bones being slackers :D

Alfred: Master Jason's anti psychotics for the psychosis caused by the Lazarus Pit.

Jason: My therapist is less concerned than last week!

Alfred: Wonderful news, Master Jason... Master Tim, your sleeping pills and anemia medication.

Tim, slowly standing before promptly passing out because POTS sucks:

Alfred, sighing: Somebody please see to it that Master Timothy did not receive another concussion.

Alfred: Master Dick, your ADHD medication.

Dick: I forgot I take these.

Alfred: We know, master Dick.

Bruce, inspecting Tim: Have I failed as a Father?

Alfred: No more than I have. Now, Miss Cassandra, your anxiety medication.

Cass: Thank you, Alfred.

Alfred: You are most welcome, dear. Damian, your allergy pills since you insist on surrounding yourself with farm animals.

Damian: Tt, a runny nose and itchy eyes are a small price to pay for love, Pennyworth.

Alfred: Bipolar medication for Miss Stephanie.

Stephanie: Do you need to announce what the pills are for..?

Alfred: Master Bruce keeps all your information stored on a supercomputer anyone can look at if they guess his password, which is just Master Dick's birthday—

Jason: WHAT!? IT USED TO BE MINE!

Cass: Hurt.

Stephanie: Utter betrayal.

Dick: Wait really??

Bruce: Hrn...

Alfred: And Master Jason's inhaler.

Jason: Wish I had this when I was inhaling all that smoke and died from an asthma attack!

Dick: . . . WHAT!?

Cass: You what?

Jason: B never told you? Yeah, it wasn't the bomb or crowbar that did it, it was the smoke.

Jason: Haha.

Jason: My inhaler broke from the impact.

Jason: I spent my final moments suffocating.

Jason: I died painfully.

Bruce: Hrn...

Tim, slowly coming back to consciousness: Did I die?

Alfred: And Master Tim's testerone.

Tim: Nice. Dick drugs.

Alfred: . . . And birth control.

Tim: Yay, de-baby-nators.

Bruce, sighing: I have failed as a Father...

Jason: Wait, why doesn't Duke have to take medication?

Duke: I do, I just pick it up myself so I don't have to be put through this embarrassment.

Bruce: Are we done here?

Alfred: Yes, thank you for allowing me my weekly enjoyment of having the family in one place and admitting you're all deeply troubled.

Alfred: Good day.

—

[plethorawrites]

Jason Todd would be terrified to hurt you, even by just laying on you, so when he first has the desire to wrap his fingers around your neck, it's instantly shoved aside. The thought is pushed away and away, suppressed every single time he gets the urge because he doesn't want to scare you or hurt you.

If you were ever afraid of him, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

That said, when finally does indulge himself, losing his self control during one, extremely enthusiastic evening with you, he can't believe he didn't trust himself enough to do it sooner.

His hand envelopes your entire throat without any problem, not squeezing it even the slightest bit, simply holding it, his thumb pressed to the side of your neck where he can feel your pulse. It's rapid and gets even faster as the night goes on.

Even when you're laying still, holding him close, his hand is still there, draped over the base of your neck, counting the little thumps in your pulse.

He doesn't admit how much he absolutely love feeling your pulse. But it's not hard to tell. Especially since after that night, he wasn't the slightest bit shy about it.

He holds your neck at any opportunity, while standing behind you in the kitchen or bathroom.

He lays with his face against your neck to feel it under his lips.

He naps with his head on your chest, his ear firmly pressed against your heart to let the sound of it beating help him relax.

Even in public, he's holding your hand at lunch or dinner, his thumb pressed to your wrist to feel your pulse under the table.

Anything to remind himself you're real, alive, and his.