#red hood/you

[mostly-imagines]

The Venus Drug

jason todd x afab!reader

aka the side effects of a run-in with poison ivy

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), sex pollen so its inherently not strictly speaking consensual, oral (f & m receiving), free use, overstimulation

A clattering in your living room has you blearily shifting awake. The dark of your bedroom takes your eyes longer to adjust to than usual, it feels like. You peer at the time, finding it only just past midnight. Even on the good nights, midnight is pretty early for him to be coming back. 

Though, there’s really little concern of the noise-maker being anyone but your boyfriend, he’s set up too many security measures and failsafes around your apartment for anyone to get lucky waltzing in. It does worry you though that he is making such a clamor when he’s usually so careful about entering silently as to not wake you. 

You’re about to climb out of bed to investigate when the door creaks open, though light doesn’t flood through the crack like you’d expected.

Jason stumbles into the doorway, falling into a lean against the wall for support.

You sit up quickly, instantly on alert. “What’s wrong?”

He takes one glance at you and immediately averts his gaze to the floor like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to.

You look down, thrown by his behavior, only to see your usual nighttime attire: one of his shirts over underwear.

You blink back up at him, furrowing your brow. “Jay?”

You can vaguely make out a sigh from him, “Fuck…” he squeezes his eyes shut. “Ivy..”

Ah. This has happened before to the others, but this is the first time you’ve seen him affected by it. You’re prepared for it, though you hadn’t anticipated that it would be so seemingly debilitating.

“What can I do?” You try not to look as concerned as you feel but you can’t say with confidence that it’s working.

He slowly pushes himself off the doorframe, heading wearily towards the bathroom. He tugs his shirt off with difficulty, tossing it to the side. “Nothing, nothing..I jus’ need to…” he takes a deep breath, “Get it out of my system..” He’s trying to be comforting but the pain in his voice rids it of all believability.

You frown, watching him linger. “That seems like the exact kind of thing I could help with.”

His eyes close helplessly as his head falls back, “You can’t, baby.”

“Why not?”

He sighs, “I’m not…as in control as I’d like to be right now.”

Your pout deepens. This is something you’re working on with him—trusting both you and himself with vulnerability. Especially when it comes to situations where he feels like he’s putting you in a vulnerable place too. But you trust him with your whole being and you want him to know it. “That’s okay.”

“No,” he shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say resolutely. “I trust you.”

He wavers, “No, I…No. I can’t.”

He says that, but he’s still not retreating to the bathroom. Instead, he loiters awkwardly, like he’s caught between decisions.

You feel a twinge of heartache in your chest, “Does it hurt?”

He’s quick to answer, “I’m alright.” Though he doesn’t try his hardest to sell you on the idea. 

Your face pans, “That’s not what I asked.”

“I—” he huffs, conceding. “Yeah. Yes.”

You extend your arms out, beckoning him towards you. It clearly goes against his better judgment but he can’t help himself from moving closer to you. An evident testament to the strength of Ivy’s work.

You take his hands in yours, looking up at him with begging eyes, “Let me help you? Please?”

Up close like this you can really see how labored his breathing is and how pained he looks. You sit up onto your knees, pulling his hands closer. “I wanna take care of you. Let me help my boy out. He deserves it.”

He steels his jaw, trying to replenish his rapidly weakening resolve. He exhales heavily before grabbing your chin, eyes serious. “Look at me,” he says sternly. “You stop me if I’m too rough.”

You nod adamantly, “I will.”

You fidget with the loop of his belt, waiting for permission. 

He squeezes your hands slowly, head bowing. “Help me, sweetheart.”

You’re instantly up on your feet, maneuvering him to switch places with you and sit down on the bed. You kneel down in front of him, undoing the clasp on his belt.

You tug his belt off, letting it clatter on the floor before freeing him the rest of the way. To your surprise, his eyes remain on you rather than your actions. He brushes your hair out of your face haphazardly, murmuring, “Pretty fucking girl..”

You keen at his words, fighting the urge to pause and rub up against him. Instead, you busy yourself and lick a line up his cock, immediately feeling his body stutter. You lick another stripe, this time adding a kiss afterwards.

His hands squeeze at the comforter under him, “Baby, please.”

You give a short nod before taking him in your mouth completely. He groans like it’s automatic, body practically vibrating in place. You rest your hands over his and he’s quick to turn his own over to hold onto yours.

It only works as a momentary distraction, as one of his hands leaves your grasp to move your hair from blocking his view again, petting your head nicely as you suck him off. “Oh, good girl. My good girl.”

He babbles when he gets overwhelmed during sex, though it doesn’t happen often. And especially not like this.

“Fucking—” he stammers, “God, you’re so—”

Frankly, the image of you on your knees in front of him, so willing and eager to help him out…it’s killing him. He’s putting absolutely all of his remaining restraint into not taking over and fucking your mouth the way he wants to—and it shows—so you’re doing your best to take as much of him in your mouth as you can and using your hand to compensate for the rest.

His head bobs back as his hand falls to a rest atop your head. His breathing is deep and heavy and you can see the way his abs flex through his restraint. His hand briefly fists up before stuttering back to lay open-palmed on your head.

“Oh, baby—” he lets out a gravelly moan and his arms nearly give out from holding him up as he comes.

You happily collect it on your tongue and he audibly groans when you swallow.

He’s quick to pull you up off the floor and place you on the bed so he can clamor over you. You fall back to have your arms hold you up as he finds your lips. 

“Take your shirt off,” he tells you breathlessly. “Please.”

You oblige without hesitation as he kisses and gropes along your torso. You don’t realize what he’s doing until he’s at face level with your underwear, fingers dipping under the band.

You sit up onto your hands, “Jay, you don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, “‘M not gonna hurt you,” he mumbles, very adamant. “Not doin’ it.”

It’s been a long running personal requirement for Jason to thoroughly prep you in some way before fucking you, and he’s right for it—you would definitely get hurt if he didn’t.

You feel conflicted about it now though, like it’s not fair of you to let him pay such mind to you when he’s quite literally in unprecedented pain.

But he slips your underwear down without hesitation, not wasting any time in getting to work. He doesn’t start with his usual teasing and build-up, instead he goes straight into licking at your core, eyes closed and strands of white hair stuck to his forehead. 

He hooks one hand around your knee and the other wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer. He used the newfound proximity to lap at you with more concentration and purpose, quite literally devouring you. You struggle to keep your breathing in tune with the rest of your body, not having been prepared for so much so quickly.

He’s eating you out like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, not giving himself any time to breathe or even think about anything else. You’re about to push him away so that he’ll take a breath or two when he moans into your cunt, instantly veering your brain straight off course.

He breaks from licking your pussy only to change course in favor of sucking on your clit, leaving open-mouthed kisses every few seconds. You thread your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him as best you can.

This is a new experience for both of you in terms of intensity and desperation and it has you feeling like you were injected with the same toxin he was. It throws you so completely out of your senses that you don’t even notice that he’s rutting into the bed as he kisses you. Though, odds are he doesn’t realize he’s doing it either.

His grip on you tightens as he gets more fervent, the dig from the indents of his fingers promising to bruise. His eyes flutter as he makes out with your pussy, little mewls making their way through periodically.

“Jay—” you cry, tugging harder than you’d meant to on his hair. He hums in response, letting you know that he’s here, he’s with you, he’ll take care of you. 

Even high out of his mind he can still read you like a book, and can tell that you’re nearing your peak. He gets meditated and precise with his actions, leading you right up to the edge. You whimper again and he begins to rut harder.

It takes only a few moments of this repetition for you to briefly tense up before you start to tremble, heat flooding through your body. The saccharine new taste of your cum motivates him to reach his own end, moaning into you and sending a second wave of rapture over you.

You exhale heavily as his forehead drops against your stomach, catching his breath. It doesn’t take him very long. 

You can just start to realize the persistent trembling in your thighs when he licks another stripe down your pussy. You whine, sitting up on your elbows and squirming higher up on the bed.

He pulls back murmuring, “Sorry.” He kisses the inside of your thigh, “Sorry.”

You watch as he pushes up on his forearms to look at you proper, seeming almost dizzy. “I need..I need…” his shoulders drop. “Please.”

You just nod, giving him permission to do whatever he needs. 

He pulls you up by the waist and tugs you into him as close as he can, kissing you hard. You move to hold his jaw in your hands, stroking your thumb across lightly. He leans you backwards to lay you down flat, head just below the pillows. He folds over you easily, kisses becoming less and less intentional in placement as his hands stroke and squeeze up your sides. 

He pulls away only to glance down as he lines himself up with you, pushing in slowly. He peers back up at your face as he does, watching carefully to make sure it doesn’t hurt.

You hold onto his shoulders as you take him, the stretch feeling significant but familiar.

He kisses your cheek once he’s fully inside and begins to rock in and out of you slowly. The pace picks up quickly as he continues to makeout with you.

A particularly intense thrust has you wrapping your arms fully around the frame of his shoulders, hugging him close to you. He immerses himself in the crook of your neck, fucking you with deeper and more punctuated strokes than you can remember.

“Jay,” you gasp as he places firm kisses across your jaw like he’s trying to hammer it into your head that he fucking loves you.

His thrusts gradually get faster and while it’s perfectly overwhelming for you, it doesn’t seem to be enough for him. 

He huffs before pulling out of you without warning. He untangles your arms from around him so he can flip you over to lay on your stomach. He pulls you back up just as quickly, arm wrapped around your torso, leaving you to hold yourself up by your hands and knees as he kisses on your neck messily.

This time when he reenters you he continues on with his previous pace, taking you by surprise once again. Your mouth is practically hanging open as he ruts into you, successfully sending your thoughts straight out of your head.

He lays kisses down your spine murmuring, “I love you.” He moves in and out of you without falter, “Thank you, thank you..”

His hands hold your waist in place, keeping you steady for both of your sakes. Multiple times his grip tightens only to loosen the second he realizes how hard he’s squeezing you. You don’t mind though, you’ve never had any trouble revering marks left behind by him before. 

“It’s—” you pant, “It’s okay—” you reach back to put your hand over his, pressing down.

His brash hold returns upon the permission, more assured. “Good girl, good—” he praises, “So fucking good for me, baby.”

He reaches around and dips his free hand below your hips, beginning to rub circles on your clit.

Your arms shake and you worry that they’re nearing buckling, but, attuned with you as ever, his arm wraps tighter around your middle, pulling you up a bit higher so that you barely have to mind any of the work of holding yourself up.

He makes sure to support your weight nicely, holding you in a way that he knows won’t be uncomfortable for you. His circles never cease, never falter from that just right pace he’s come to know like the back of his hand.

You’re brought to your high by the arrival of his, struggling to keep your head upright as you come.

He thumps down over to the side to lay on his back, chest heaving. You pick up your head to look over at him, finding that he doesn’t look nearly as exhausted as you’re sure you do. Still, he breathes heavy, pupils blown out and sweaty.

You notice how his fists clinch up and loosen a couple times over, trying to convince himself that he’s done, he doesn’t need any more from you, he’s all better now. 

But you also notice that he’s still hard. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, dead set on not looking at you and having to confront that he really, really does still need you.

So you force yourself to sit up, placing a hand on his chest for balance. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to relax for your sake but that’s the last thing you want him to do.

You push yourself up and over his waist, perching over his abs and brushing his hair back from his forehead. You press a kiss to his head before sitting up on your knees and reaching down to line his cock up with your entrance.

You plant a hand on his chest as you sink down onto him with a deep breath.

“You’re okay,” he rasps, watching in mesmerization as you start to lift your weight up slowly off of your thighs and sink back down.

“I’m okay,” you confirm, guiding his hands to your hips. The presence of his hands on you feels like reassurance and works wonders to help you pick back up some of your energy.

The pace you latch onto feels good, for both of you, but you realize fairly quickly that you’re not going to be able to go as fast as he needs you to.

His hands slip down from your hips to your upper thighs, helping you bob up and down. It doesn’t take long for this to give way to him grabbing your hips and moving you entirely himself.

You watch his arm muscles flex as he shifts you around, leaving you awed with the way he shows virtually no struggle while shifting the majority of your body weight up and down over and over again. Just being completely manhandled by him has you letting out an involuntary moan, letting your head fall back.

“There you go, there you go,” he coos, motions without cessation.

He has you riding him faster than you ever have before and it becomes overwhelming quickly. But Jason, ever the caretaker, coaches you through it, encouraging your every movement.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, watching the way your breasts bounce. “Perfect fucking thing.”

The acclaim in his voice makes your eyes shut and your diaphragm shake, all while he continues to fuck you senseless. 

Your body stutters above him, hands flying onto his for support. He comes only moments later, seemingly the only thing that could break his concentration for ragdolling you. The following release of your hips has you slumping over onto his chest, face laying in the bend of his neck.

He turns his head wearily to you, rubbing a hand up your back. “‘R you okay?” he slurs out.

You hum feebly, eyes unable to stay open.

“Can I…?” It takes hearing the words for you to realize that somehow he’s still hard.

You try to nod hard enough that it can be distinguished against the heaviness of your breathing, though you can’t be sure you were successful.

He sighs, “Baby…”

His hangup is immediately clear to you, even through the haze of being post-three orgasms in less than thirty minutes. It takes real, measurable effort to get this singular word through, but you manage.

“Yes,” you breathe out. A ‘yes’ is going to have to work for him because you don’t have a shot at stringing together anymore syllables.

He places a gentle hand on the back of your head, his other landing on your lower back. He slowly starts to fuck you again, this time much softer than before. It’s calm enough that you can settle into the fatigue in your bones and start to feel the exhaustion sweep over your consciousness.

In between kisses laid sweetly upon your neck, He murmurs affections to you the whole time, though you lose almost all of them to sleep. He moves you around a bit more as he goes, though careful to be gentle enough that he doesn’t disturb your peace anymore than he has to.

By the time he’s done he’s bordering on completely out of it and can’t do anything but collapse atop you, nuzzling into your neck.

There’s a pretty consistent pattern that can be found when helping him deal with post-patrol aftermath. Scarecrow’s never any good, his pop-ups tend to end in winding Jason down from panic. There’s always injuries after Bane and invariably there’ll be a mess from Clayface. Half the time he has to get an entirely new suit after a run-in with Killer Croc. So as far as Gotham’s problems go, Poison Ivy isn’t the worst. 

the morning after epilogue

✨ oh you don’t reblog? that’s…no, that’s totally fine for you! im so happy for you…i mean its just been out of fashion for like three seasons but yeah, that shows a lot of…confidence! ✨

[bicycle4two]

batman: arkham knight fanfic masterlist

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

one-shot

built to love, but broken now // soulmate au 

Read on AO3

ficlets

to the one that your love masterlist 

Jason and his little mouse’s lives after the events of built to love, but broken now

Read on AO3

[arunneronthird]

he will use every chance he gets to be a drama queen and if he doesnt have one he will create one

[julnites]

Red riding hood comic collab with the wonderful @yeehawpim (go check out their blog for loads of great comics!) 🌷 See the layouts he did here!

[thefriendlyneighborhoodace]

sometimes i think about how funny it would be if bruce had a slight english accent as a result of alfred being the only adult in his life for most of his formative years. that or he just says british slang instead of english.

this either drives his children insane, or they think it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

__________________________

Bruce: Can you pass the chips?

Dick: Sure, B. *passes over the potato chips*

Bruce: No, the chips.

Dick: ???? … yeah? here?

Bruce: NO! THE CHIPS! *gesturing wildly for the french fries*

Damian: Father, are you having a stroke?

———

Batman: Alright, this mission is very important. It is imperative that everything goes to schedule. (shh-edule)

*red robin and red hood snicker*

Batman: *glare* As I was saying, it all must go to shh-edule…

RR & RH : *uproariously laughter *

Batman: *harsher glare* Is something funny?

RR: Oh nothing, B, don’t worry.

RH: Absolutely nothing wrong, “left-tenant”

RR & RH: *dying of laughter *

———

Bruce: *reaching the end of a long rant about responsibility and making sure you are keeping yourself and others safe* And what do you have to say for yourself??

Duke: … You sound like Alfred…

Bruce: *horrified look over coming him* … what

Cass: *furious nodding*

*Some time later, after B has been fished out of Gotham Harbor, which he jumped into after declaring that he “couldn’t turn into his father”*

Alfred: *reaching the end of a long rant about responsibility and making sure you are keeping yourself and others safe* And what do you have to say for yourself??

Bruce: *white as a sheet* … Sorry Alfie…

*Steph is heard furiously cackling in the background*

_______________________

anyways i just thought this was fun

[liart-ez]

I have a cara account, if you’re interested I have the same username :)))

[sourkreem]

birthday hangout!! they went to jasons favourite shitty diner afterwards :)

not him eating a very sugary burger fondant cake

[peacheskoo]

Saw these panels the other day and—

LET JASON BE SILLY YOUR HONOR

He knows he won’t no balls

[ditzybat]

tim: mr red hood, i know you’re about to kill me, but can you just proof read my essay on macbeth before you mutilate my body with bullet holes?

jason: kid, do i look like someone who did well in school?

tim: …

jason, 4.0 gpa teachers pet, whose built like a tank and looks like an escaped convict: shut up, don’t answer that, and hand me your shitty essay

[fact-dogsarehappiness]

Another reason why I’m a firm believer in letting Bruce get old is because the idea of him looking and his dark haired children without his glasses on and genuinely not being able to tell them apart is unparalleled

[mostly-imagines]

At Least I’m Not Alone at the Wake

jason todd x fem!reader

aka how jason feels safe even when he feels like he’s dying

HEY today we’re going to play a game where we practice reblogging fics: if you read this and like it—reblog!! ie, if you like and dont reblog i might block bc im getting sick of the lack of decorum

warnings: angst w comfort throughout

It took less than thirty seconds for the silence of the night to drift into sounds of shrieks echoing off the buildings along the street. The sharp contrast had you and Jason bolting upright on the couch, ears on alert. It only took a few seconds more of listening for you to realize you’re not hearing shouting—it’s laughter. Maniacal, uncontrolled laughter. 

There’s a beat as you both freeze upon the implication, the unsettling realization dropping in on you. You barely have a moment to process it before Jason’s pushing up from the couch and heading towards the bathroom.

“Close the window,” he grumbles.

You blink as you register his words before jumping up to do as told, quickly sliding the frame shut and locking it. He returns soon with an armful of towels in hand, and you stand back as he stuffs a couple along the window sill with rough movements. He goes throughout the apartment, doing the same to the other windows. He rounds back to the living room window, looking down at the street with a heavy look on his face. 

You trust that the towels will do their job in preventing the laughing gas from getting in the apartment, but they’re unable to block out the bellows of hysteria.

He backs away from the window, letting the living room wall hold his weight. You both listen to the harrowing echoes with still bodies. 

You watch him, waiting for a reaction. You don’t mean to, but you know you’re looking at him like he’s a loaded spring. You try not to, you know how much he hates how his family does that to him, but fuck, it’s hard not to worry about him. .

When Joker incidents have come up, they’ve usually been something you’re able to ignore or even get ahead of and drive out of the city. But this is raucous and chaotic, clearly enough to shut down the city from the inside. Besides, Jason would be booking it out of here if he thought there was any chance of a clean getaway in this.

But you know he’s got no interest in inserting himself in anything Joker related, especially something so destabilizing. But, while  you know Jason’s family cares about him, of course they do, but you’ve noticed they sometimes put Gotham’s needs first and his second. So the severity of this attack is concerning for you for two reasons.

“Will they…” you shuffle, “Will they need you?”

He’s quick to answer, voice firm. “No.” A long moment passes before he adds on, quieter, “They won’t want me out there.”

You nod to yourself, trying to relax your body. You being on edge isn’t going to help him.

You watch as his head thumps against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. He’s tough—you know he’s tough. He can withstand a hell of a lot more than you’ll probably ever even know. But even for Gotham, this is a lot. And even for someone who hasn’t been through what Jason has, the ringing repetitions of laughter are maddening. You wonder if this is what the Joker hears in his head. You wonder if this is what Jason heard.

The intensity of the laughing increases, more people likely becoming exposed to the gas. You think you can hear it in one of your neighbor’s apartments too.

He thumps his head against the drywall again, hands clenching at his sides. It takes one more forceful thud for you to move over to him, cradling your hand to the side of his head, holding him still. He lets you, though he still doesn’t open his eyes.

“Jay,” you say softly, stroking his hair. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?” Normally you’d try for a bath to calm him instead but you hope the waterfall from the shower might be enough to drown out the noise.

He takes a second to respond, letting your hand bear the weight of his head. “Yeah.”

His voice is splintered though, and his shoulders droop as he stands up fully. He waits to move until you start to lead him, flinching at every spike of laughter. You reach back and take his hand, giving it two squeezes. He squeezes your hand back but doesn’t loosen his grip.

As you enter the bathroom he wastes no time getting straight to the shower nozzle and turning it on. You press the door shut behind you, sealing out a decent portion of the chaos. You decide against turning the overhead light on, opting instead to let the small pink-shaded lamp provide a warm glow that you can easily maneuver throughout the shadows in. You figure he needs a more tranquil atmosphere than the harsh white light the bathroom ceiling can provide.

You turn to him in time to catch him pulling his shirt up harshly, movements jerked and impatient.

You place a gentle hand on his forearm, “Hey.”

He pauses his actions, eyes on the floor.

You don’t say anything else, but he understands your objection regardless. You remove your touch and he peels his shirt off slower, kinder to himself. 

You wait to make sure he continues this method with the rest of his clothes before you start to remove yours.

The downpour of water on the tiles does it’s intended job in creating your own little sanctum away from the noise. You climb into the shower after him, standing in the stray mist sprays that made their way past him. The bits of water that do manage their way to you are hot—not scalding, but hot enough that you know his chest is going to start getting numb very soon standing in front of the stream like this. 

You trace lines over the muscles of his back, outlining them and every little indent of a scar. When you run out of canvas on his back you move onto his arms, right then left.

It’s not until you trace down his wrist that you realize his head is angled down. You don’t need to be standing in front of him to know that his focus is zeroed in on his scar and you’re not sure how long it's been that way. Too long, in any case.

“Jay,” you say so softly that the water nearly drowns you out. “Will you look at me, please?”

He does turn to you, slowly, but he doesn’t look up.

You hold his face in your hands, nudging him to look up at you. He looks tired, drained. 

You know he has to hear that laughter in a different way than you do. It’s uncomfortable and frightening for you, but for him, it’s layers upon layers of the sound he heard while he was being beaten to death. And even beyond that horrible trauma, the reminder of it brings forth every memory of what happened afterwards, not to mention the heavy baggage you know he feels over being here at all. And you can see it all mulling behind his eyes.

“You know I love you,” you tell him with sincerity. His gaze stays heavy and you can tell it’s a struggle for him to hold the eye contact.

You lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, catching his bottom lip slightly. Your next kiss meets his lips fully. You have to push up on your toes a little bit but he does the work of meeting you halfway. It’s a slow, intimate exchange, as fluid and serene as breathing.

“I love all of you,” you murmur against his lips. You let your hands fall to his chest, resting as gently as they can over his pecs. “Everything about you.”

You kiss the top of his Y scar, trailing down soft pecks to where it forks off. You feel his shoulders sag a bit, tension forcing its way out of him. You lean down to continue your kisses down the vertical line marking his abdomen, your hands lightly following in your wake.

He says your name painfully, like he’s begging you to stop. You’ll give him partial reprieve, taking his hands in yours and kissing his scarred knuckles. It’s his instinct to push affection away, you know that, but you also know that he needs it. That’s why he doesn’t stop you now—he knows he needs it—it’s just a lot for him all at once, emotionally. Which is why he gives no warning before he picks you up by your thighs and pulls you close. 

He’s got you a full head higher than him and he uses the difference to hide his face in your neck. Sometimes he feels like that’s the only place he can go. He maneuvers you around so your back is pressed up against the wall as you hold each other tight.

You stay in there like that until the water runs cold, and then some. You have to nudge him a bit into setting you back down then, but he does, letting you collect and wrap the both of you in towels. The second the water turns off you can hear the cackling through the walls. 

As you return to the bedroom, he only bothers to pull on a pair of boxers before collapsing his weight onto the mattress. The lack of layers won’t help him any, but you know why he did it.

He can’t always look after himself the way he should—he disregards his own needs and has trouble even thinking of what could help him. You’ve developed a mind for it though—for him—and you know that being exposed and vulnerable like this isn’t going to help him calm down. He prefers being covered up when he’s stressed, it gives him more security, you think.

You open up the dresser and dig through for his most comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. He takes them from you, but he looks remiss at the thought of exerting anymore energy right now, so you help him tug on the clothes, successfully blocking out the now icy air from the AC. 

Once he’s fully clothed he pulls you forward to sit on his lap. You stumble a bit on the way but he compensates by holding you very tight, not giving your body any option to fall. His grip on you tells you that he’s not concerned with you getting dressed too, which you’re perfectly willing to oblige.

You have to force him to let you break away a little bit so you can reach over to the nightstand and grab your phone and earbuds.

“Movie or music?”

He doesn’t say anything, only nods his head once at the end of your sentence. You take that to mean music and open up your playlist on your phone, handing him the headphones.

There’s a harsh spike in the hysterics outside, mixed with what sounds like screams, and it has Jason flinching hard. You think you can see tears welled in his eyes as he fumbles to get the headphones in his ears. He takes the phone from you and picks the first song he sees and turns the volume up, up, up.

You shift yourself around so that you’re laying back against the pillows, giving him room to lay down over your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist with a firm grip. You pull the hood up over his head, but keep your hands woven underneath, threading through his hair. 

His cheek mushes against your bare stomach, and with the way he’s laying, you’re sure the earbuds are digging uncomfortably into his ear. He makes no effort to move in any case. You can hear the song playing word for word, and while the noise exposure concerns you, if there was ever a time to let it go, it would be now.

You’re both wrapped up nicely in the blankets and you can only see the tip of his nose and a few strands of ivory hair strewn past his forehead. Despite all the snug layers, he shakes a bit under your touch.

He falls asleep before the problem outside gets wrapped up, and you turn down the music. Not all the way, just enough that he can rest in peace. 

After a while the giggles die down and aside from a few first responder sirens, things get quiet again. About twenty minutes later, Nightwing ducks in through your window and scares the hell out of you. The interaction does not, however, wake Jason up, which is how you know tonight took a very heavy toll on him.

Even though the lights aren’t on in your bedroom you slide down from the pillows a bit more and let the blanket and Jason drown your chest out from visibility.

Nightwing gives you a silent, if not awkward, wave and scans over Jason. Even in the dark can see the worry in his eyes. He looks back up at you and throws up a questioning thumbs up with a tilt of his head.

You nod and he nods back slowly as he takes one more look at his brother before hopping out the window.

You peer down at Jason and brush his curls back gently. His hold on you tightens just a bit as he turns in his sleep.

reblog or get out seriously

[everwalldigan]

I love the idea of all the robins kinda being clones of each other with just a few differences and a concussed Bruce not being able to tell who he’s squinting at so he just says generic statements and avoids saying any names

Bruce (sitting at the breakfast table): so… how’s the weather… dick?

Jason (grinning): you do know I’m gonna hold this against you for like, the next 2 months right

Bruce: (groans into his hands)

Bruce (walking into the living room): hey have you read through the files I gave you yesterday?

Dick: (confused cause he took a day off to surprise Bruce) ?

Bruce: so?

Dick: er… no?

Bruce: Dick?? What are you doing here?

Bruce (walks into the kitchen with a fresh concussion): Jason? I thought you were on a mission with the outlaws?

Tim: (frozen through mid fridge raid, having assumed they were past Bruce calling him Jason since yk. He’s a shit brickhouse now and Tim is, well, obviously not): uh?

Bruce: *turns around and leaves*

Bruce: Oh hey Cass, when did you arrive from Babs’?

Damian: (slowly turns around in the black hoodie he’s wearing) we’re not even the same gender

Bruce: (under his breath) yeah but the same height

[melmov]

They’re meeting Bruce and Damian at the boardwalk

Part 2

[pacificwaternymph]

Batfamily Beauty and the Beast AU where Bruce is the beast and with every child he adopts he becomes slightly more and more human.

He finds Dick in the woods, sobbing over the loss of his parents. A year later, he looks in the mirror and wonders if he's only imagining that he's gotten shorter.

Jason sneaks into the castle and steals a loaf of bread, hungry and desperate. Bruce takes him in and offers him a proper meal. As he's putting his new son to bed one night, he notices that his claws have shrunk.

Tim marches into the castle and demands Bruce take him, knowing the stories of the monster who kidnaps children. Bruce's snout feels flatter than it used to when he presses a kiss to his forehead.

Cassandra lasts a full two weeks before anyone even notices she's there. The fur on Bruce's arms begins to thin as he holds her close, and she smiles up at him.

Tim brings home Stephanie, who loudly insists that she does not need nor want a new father. His skin grows less leathery, and the beginnings of crows feet appear on the corners of his eyes.

Damian is brought to them by Talia, rigid and wary of everything, convinced of his birthright as the Bat's heir. The fangs in Bruce's mouth seem to smooth over as he learns to gentle his speech.

The day Duke joins the family, still reeling from the plague that claimed his parents, something clicks. Bruce steps out, and before them stands a perfectly human man, finally made whole by his love for his children.

[ivysangel]

Jason Todd has a raging size kink. He tries not to make it too obvious in public, tries to pretend that he doesn't notice how standing next to you really highlights just how large he really is. But it's always on his mind, always front and center, even when he doesn't want it to be.

He'll have a hand on your back as he ushers you through crowded parts of Gotham, trying not to think about how large his hands are and how one of them can cup an entire asscheek when he's fucking you.

He grabs things off of tall shelves at grocery stores when you can't reach them. Comes up behind you and picks them up with ease while he's pressed into you from behind. He's peering down at you, a soft grin on his face as he thinks about you on your knees, struggling to take him in your mouth.

When you're playing twister at a Wayne family function, and you end up falling on each other during a wrong move, he watches you break out into a fit of laughs while he turns red in the face. Not from embarrassment, he couldn't care less about that, but because the first thought that popped into his head as you were pinned under him was how much he wished you could stay there.

For a split second, an image is projected into his mind of you squirming beneath him as he puts all of his weight on you. All 200+ pounds keeping you firmly in place as he fucks you good and deep just how you like.

He's scrambling to get off of you now; a shade of crimson akin to the one he dons at night colors the visible parts of his body, and he clears his throat awkwardly as he helps you to your feet.

"In hindsight, he should've played with one of us," Dick says from the couch. He's gesturing toward you when he continues, "he's just too big in comparison. Throw's everything off."

Jason doesn't hear the second part. His ears start ringing the moment he's reminded that everyone else is aware of how big he is next to you, and he's very quickly calculating how many more rounds of twister he has to go before the two of you can politely duck out and head home for a more...intimate version of the game.

[violent138]

The idea of the Batkids doing normal people things while suited up is hilarious to me, you know, like Red Robin and Spoiler making the 9 o'clock news while racing through a grocery store because they totally forgot to get the things Alfred asked them to bring for the family dinner. Or Damian and Dick swinging into the Bludhaven Zoo mid-patrol because Dami really wanted to see the new baby tiger. Red Hood buying lemonade from a kid's stand and then standing there awkwardly messing with his helmet, trying not to hurt the kid's feelings. Black Bat, on a particularly tiring day randomly appeared in the nosebleeds of the ballet hall and started sniping phones out of people's hands. Or Signal and a deeply irritated Batman changing out a blown-out tyre in some back alley, earning amused looks.