#sweet soft jason todd?

[hoodzgyal]

ur so right abt jason being hard to date like canon jason and fanon jason r so different that its crazy

i don’t wanna fix him tho he’s perfect the way he is😍 (i’m delusional)

you get me😻😻 i’m also mad delulu

like the best you’re getting out of him, at least realistically speaking, is a on and off situationship where he runs away at the slightest chance of having to be vulnerable with you. literally just playing house with him until you freak him out by talking about your feelings or asking about his feelings, or looking a little too hard at his scars, or hitting any one of his many triggers, etc.

it’s incredibly one sided because your so forthcoming with your feelings and he’s just…. a brick wall kinda. idk i think it’d take literal therapy to make him emotionally available enough for a real relationship.

i….idc tho i need that #comeheresexy

[ofbatsandballads]

and if I said I was working on a fic where Jason meets the reader when she’s working at the Iceberg Lounge as one of Penguin’s best girls then what?

[yeahimcal]

Jason Todd who is a big strong guy but absolutely melts when you press your lips against any part of his body.

A playful kiss to the back of his hand? He’s giving you the biggest heart eyes in the world. A gentle kiss to his forehead when you’re snuggled up in his bed to hide from the Gotham winter? He’s making a noise that might actually be a purr and he’s pulling you as close as possible. His cheek? He’s melting into you and nuzzling against your cheek.

If you kiss his scars be prepared for him to be the most pliant hunk of man in the world. He’s just staring at you with so much genuine adoration and love in his eyes that he’s choking on his words and he can’t stop smiling. He’s returning the favor as soon as possible, of course, kissing you silly before worshiping all your insecurities and telling you how much he loves you…

[harpersdragons]

Theft in the Family, Chapter 7

This is the final chapter, and I’m a little sad it’s over. This was fun to write, definitely one of my favorites.

Words: 3448

The rest of the weekend passes peacefully. Jason and Damian run out to grab some groceries—dressing in old league gear, since he guarantees the Bats will still be looking for him. League gear is still conspicuous, to the Bats and civilians alike, but the hope was Gotham is weird enough most people wouldn’t bat an eye.

They spend the rest of their time in peace at the small cabin, reading (he’d picked up another book or two as well) and just generally taking a rest day.

By the end of the night, Jason felt suitably relaxed—despite the bone-deep exhaustion. He still hadn’t slept near enough in the past couple of days.

Jason is cleaning up the kitchen—making sure everything is in order so they can leave early in the morning—when he feels Damian lightly tug at his sleeve.

“What’s up, Habibi?”

“You are coming with me tomorrow, correct?”

Jason glances down, seeing Damian’s wide, hopeful eyes. He smiles softly. “Well, I have to take you there, don’t I? You can’t get all the way there by yourself.”

“No, you are coming in with me, you are staying.”

Jason sighs and crouches down to level with him. “Dames, I can’t stay, we’ve been over this. Bruce doesn’t want me. Even if he did, I’ve made too many mistakes. I’ve killed, hell, I took you from him. He’s not gonna let me back in his home.”

Damian stares at him consideringly, his green eyes narrowing in thought. “Well if that’s the case, he doesn’t want me either.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve killed! My body count is almost as high as yours!”

And if that doesn’t make Jason despair for this child—

“It’s different, bud. You were, are, a child. You didn’t have a choice. I, on the other hand…” He trails off, staring at some point of Damian’s shoulder.

He doesn’t regret his decisions, not really.

Crime Alley will only respond to one thing: more violence.

It’s taken over so completely, simply following the Bat’s plan and locking criminals away and hoping for reform, it would never work.

The only way to change Crime Alley is to fight fire with fire. The gang leaders, the instigators of the violence, speak one language. He must respond in kind.

He has to protect the innocents there, the ones who are stuck in the vicious cycle.

He gives chances to those who deserve it.

He protects the kids, the ones who are cast aside by the rest of society as worthless, just because they are from Crime Alley.

He became who he needed when he was a kid.

So no, he doesn’t regret it.

He does miss his family. He regrets that his decisions have severed any connection he might have been able to have.

Though, some may argue that his death had already done that.

Or before that, when Bruce flat out told him he’s not Jason’s father.

Jason does not have a family.

Not anymore.

Except Damian.

Jason shakes himself back to his conversation. “I can try, kid, but I can’t guarantee it’ll go well. I can’t guarantee I’ll stay longer than brunch.”

Damian brightens, ducks in for a quick hug, and then darts off. Jason smiles to himself as he gets back to cleaning.

He wants to get to the manor early, early enough no one but Alfred will be awake.

It’s not until much later that night, when he’s laying in bed unable to sleep, that the reality sinks in of what he just agreed to.

He just agreed to turn himself in.

He’s turning himself in, in a couple hours, to the man who can—and probably will—lock him in Arkham.

He’s agreed to submit himself to the rejection, to the pain of being told he’s not family, of seeing his family lock him in a cell, in the same building as his murderer.

He takes a shaky breath, looking down at Damian’s still form. The kid isn’t in a cuddly mood, so he’s curled up on the other side of the bed.

He’ll do it. He’ll do anything for Damian, but the weight of knowing what’s about to happen settles in him, makes it impossible to sleep.

He spends the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, counting down until they have to leave.

Brunch is at 11, but everyone will start waking up and filtering into the kitchen around ten. Alfred will start preparing food around 8:30 or nine. Jason will probably aim to be there at seven, so they should leave around 6:30 if they’re taking the (stolen) car.

Jason prods Damian out of bed at promptly six in the morning, having been out of bed himself for a while and making breakfast. He guides the sleepy kid to the kitchen, cleaning up his mess as Damian eats. Before they leave, Jason methodically puts his gear and weapons on. Bruce may have an idea of who he is, but that doesn’t mean he has to confirm it.

By the time they get to the manor, Damian is nearly asleep again. He ends up picking Damian up and carrying him to the door, steeling himself before knocking.

He’s had hours to come to terms with his fate.

He’ll survive, Arkham is a revolving door. If he gets locked up, he can break out.

He takes one more steadying breath before the door opens, and Alfred stands before him. The older man’s face softens as he takes in Damian practically asleep on Jason’s shoulder. He ushers the two indoors, shutting the door behind them.

Jason makes to walk straight to the kitchen, only to be stopped by Alfred’s raised eyebrow. “Now I know you remember our weapons rule, Master Jason. Kindly disarm and leave your weapons on the table.”

He did remember. However, walking into the kitchen and facing the Bats completely weaponless is the last thing he wants to do right now.

“Sorry, Alfie.” Jason sets Damian down, then begins unstrapping all his obvious weapons—that is to say, only his swords and guns, and maybe one additional knife. Maybe he can get away with a few concealed ones.

Alfred clears his throat just as Jason steps away. “Am I to expect this is all you’re carrying right now?”

Jason turns back sheepishly, though most of his expression is covered by his mask. “Yeah?”

Alfred pins him with an unimpressed look. “Hm. I expect at least 5 more weapons on that table.”

Jason deflates, and takes out a few more knives. That’s most of what he’s carrying, he has a few darts and shurikens, plus an additional switchblade, but that’s not near enough to be comfortable.

“Hm.” Alfred finally turns and heads towards the kitchen, gently guiding Damian along. “Ideally you’d lose that suit too, but I suppose that’s too much to ask. I hope you aren’t expecting a fight, because I’d hate for the kitchen to need remodeling.”

“They don’t know my identity yet.”

“And so the full suit is required?” Alfred leads Damian into the living room, quietly instructing the child to lay down on the couch.

“Alfie…” Jason’s heart rate picks up at Damian leaving his line of sight, but he doesn’t protest. And yes, the full suit is required.

“Fine, fine. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“Tell that to the Old Man…” Jason mutters.

“Now I know I taught you to speak clearly, young man.”

Jason clears his throat, then speaks up, “Nothing. Sorry, Alfie.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Do you want help preparing the crepes?”

“That would be lovely, my boy, it has been far too long since I had competent help in the kitchen.”

Jason smiles under his mask, and carefully sheds his gloves and cloak, leaving them on a chair. Alfred’s eyes catch on his mangled fingertips—side effect from digging his way out of the pine box—but they move on quickly.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm with Alfred again, and it’s not long before they have the crepes prepared and all that’s left are toppings. He smirks as he makes Bruce’s plate, throwing the butter and lemon on haphazardly, then carefully sprinkling the sugar in a distinctive outline.

Alfred frowns disapprovingly at him, but otherwise doesn’t say anything. Jason sets the plate at the head of the table, where Bruce has sat as long as Jason has known him, and returns to help Alfred with the rest of the plates.

He takes a lot more care with his brother’s plate—despite Dick’s monstrosity of a topping choice—especially Damian’s. He painstakingly picks out all the blueberries from the fruit mixture, much to Alfred’s amusement.

Damian wanders in as they finish laying out the plates, coming straight to Jason and burying his face in his side. Jason wraps one arm around his shoulders as he helps Alfred clean up.

Bruce comes in next, heading straight to the coffee machine and almost tripping over Damian.

Jason scoops his brother up and glares at Bruce, grumbling as he retreats out of his way. It takes a laughable amount of time for Bruce to become aware of the additional people in his kitchen.

He’s been leaning against the counter, practically glaring at his coffee, before he seems to startle and realize Jason’s standing across from him with Damian on his hip. Bruce directs his glare at Jason, and snatches Damian from his grasp—attempts to, anyway. Damian tightens his grip on Jason’s neck and lets out a muffled whine at being pulled away.

“Back off, jackass.” Jason growls. “I brought him back, take what you can get.”

“Language, Master Ja—” Alfred’s voice is sharp as the reprimand cuts off.

Bruce’s gaze sharpens as he glances from Alfred to Jason.

“What is going on here?”

“Your son has been returned to you, safe and sound, Master Bruce. Focus on that and go sit down.”

Bruce’s demeanor sours further, somehow, and he sulks over to his chair.

Jason rubs Damian’s back gently. “Time to wake up, kid, it’s almost time for brunch.” Damian shakes his head, trying to burrow deeper into Jason’s hold. “C’mon, you love crepes. There are no blueberries, I promise.”

Damian makes a huffing sound, but doesn’t move.

“Work with me here, Habibi, they’re gonna think I drugged you.”

“Well if I wasn’t before, now I am.” Bruce interrupts.

That finally gets a reaction out of Damian, who shoves out of Jason’s grip and flips to the floor. He levels a scathing glare at his father, a near perfect imitation of Bruce’s own glare. He doesn’t say a word as he takes a seat at the table, eyeing the bowl of blueberries set out suspiciously.

Jason chuckles as he crosses the room, ruffling his brother’s hair. “I made sure there were no blueberries on yours.”

“Tt.”

Bruce glances from his plate, to Alfred, and finally to Jason.

“You are Jason.”

“For fuck’s sake, can we not?”

Bruce sighs, all traces of anger dissipating. He pushes out of his chair and steps towards Jason until they’re nose to nose. “Take your mask off.”

Jason raises his chin, refusing to back down. “No.”

“Jason…”

“No. You don’t get to boss me around, Old Man. I’m pretty sure you have a few other birds around here that just looveee taking orders. I did my time.” Jason almost flinched at the words coming out of his own mouth. That sounded too close to reminding Bruce he should be locked up.

“Robin,” Bruce growls. “Take off your mask.”

Jason does flinch this time. “The fuck? I’m not fuckin’ Robin!” He shoves at Bruce’s chest, trying to create space between them.

Bruce goes easily, his posture softening. “My robin, my son. Always.”

Jason tilts his head, watching Bruce for a second. Then he turns and walks out the backdoor, into the garden. He keeps walking, heading deeper into the woods surrounding the property. At some point, he stops and hoists himself into a tree.

Fuck Bruce.

Fuck them all.

Except Damian, of course, but that was obvious.

How can Bruce call him son now?

How, when he refused to acknowledge Jason was his son before he died?

Jason’s not a Wayne now, maybe never was, but he’s not the boy he was when he died. Whatever he is now, he’s just the monster that crawled out of the grave.

Jason picks at a thread in his pants, staring absently into the distance. At some point, he hears Bruce calling his name and looks down. He’s standing under the tree, looking pleadingly up at Jason.

“Fuck off.”

“Jason, please, can we talk about this?”

Jason doesn’t answer, petulantly ignoring Bruce. He doesn’t know how long he sits in his tree, but eventually he’s dragged out of his head by a sickening cracking sound. He stiffens, trying to minimize his movement, while also looking for a way to grab another branch.

He can’t find one, and just as the branch gives way underneath him, Jason pushes off and tucks into a roll as lands.

A hand grabs his arm and yanks, and Jason prepares for the fight, readies himself for blows. He swings, but another arm pins his hands to his sides and tugs him into Bruce’s chest. Jason struggles for a second, before he goes lax. Bruce shifts his grip, letting Jason’s arms go. One of his arms comes up to clutch at Jason’s head, the other wrapping firmly around his waist.

Jason buries his face in his father’s shoulder, arm’s gripping desperately at his soft sleep shirt.

“Sh…Jaylad, I got you. No need for apologies, you’re alright.”

Jason didn’t even know he was speaking, let alone mumbling ‘I’m sorry’ repeatedly into Bruce’s shoulder.

After a bit, Bruce tugs gently at Jason’s hair, pulling his head back enough to make eye contact. “Can I take your masks off?”

Jason shrugs, averting his gaze. “Might as well.”

Bruce carefully unlatches the half mask, then peels the domino off. His thumbs skate over Jason’s cheeks, tears brimming in his eyes. “You’re home.” His voice is soft, reverent.

Something in Jason breaks a little, and he dives back into his father’s hold.

“Just…just don’t put me next to him. Please.” Jason doesn’t know if Bruce heard him, or understood him with the way his face is pressed into his neck.

He can feel Bruce tense under him.

Shit, shit, shit, he shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have reminded him—

“What?” Bruce tries to pull him back again, but Jason resists, gripping him tighter. “What are you talking about, Jay?’

“In Arkham…preferably you’d put me in Blackgate or somethin’, but just…just don’t put me next to the clown. Please.” Jason’s voice cracks and gets thicker with the tears in his eyes.

Bruce inhales sharply, “No, no, I’m not locking you up. I just got you back, sweetheart, what makes you think I’d willingly lose you again?” He tightens his grip, lowering them to the ground.

Jason grips even tighter, fighting against the tears and the sobs trying to break out. “You…you didn’t want me…”

“I do, I do, Jay, Sweetheart. I promise, you are welcome here. I want you to stay here with us. Why do you think I don’t?”

“You said you weren’t my father, and then I died, and I’m not that same boy, and you didn’t even want him, so how could you want me?”

“I messed up big time, then, but I promise you. You are my son, and I want you here. You understand? I don’t care how much you’ve changed, you came back. I will always be grateful for that.”

They stay like that for a while, and eventually Alfred comes out to get them.

“While I’m glad you two have worked out your differences, without bloodshed, might I add, the food has long since gone cold, and I must insist you come inside.”

They both stand together, Jason’s masks dangling from one of Bruce’s hands. The other arm is wrapped tightly around his son’s shoulders. They enter the kitchen together, and Dick and Tim have finally made their way downstairs. Dick is happily munching on his spinach and pesto monstrosity of a crepe.

Damian gets out of his seat and comes over to them, glancing from Jason’s tear stained face to Bruce’s. “You’re upset.”

Jason tugs him closer, “I’m good, kid, I promise.” C’mon, let’s go eat.” Jason and Bruce take their seats, and Jason feels true peace, for the first time in a very long time.

After, once the kitchen is clean and everyone’s moved to the family room, and Jason has taken off his armor and stripped to his undersuit, he asks Bruce how he found out who he was. Everyone’s sprawled out on various furniture, Dick is aggressively cuddling Damian. He’d mouthed at Jason to let him know he was next, but he’s not too worried. He can always tickle him to get him off. Jason is half laying on Bruce, letting his dad hold him again.

“It was a bunch of little things. The way you spoke, the way you protected Damian. I could see your influence on Damian’s mannerisms, plus he had your book, that I thought for sure was lost in Ethiopia. You called me Old Man, your reactions are the same. It just took me a second to put it together. The final straw, though, was the crepes. Alfred would never let them look that sloppy, especially not when everyone else’s were perfect. And you wrote out ‘FU’ in sugar, Jay, it was pretty obvious.” Bruce hugged him closer. “Alfred would never, and the list of people he allows in the kitchen is short. My very hurt, very angry son being one of them, well, he would.”

Jason let his head fall on Bruce’s shoulder, slumping down into his father.

“I don’t think I can stay here all the time. I don’t know if I can stand to stay here at all.”

Bruce sighs, “That’s ok, but you have a room here if you ever want it.”

“I want Damian some weekends. I can’t just leave him.”

“He has to have some stability, Jay, we can’t uproot his life all the time.”

“I refuse to leave him behind!” Jason struggles to sit up, his outburst drawing the attention of the others in the room.

“Then visit him here!”

“You don’t get full custody of him! I practically raised him! If you don’t agree, I’ll just randomly kidnap him.” He crosses his arms stubbornly.

“I would let him, Father.” Damian pipes up.

Bruce just sighs. “Fine. We can talk about it. Later.” He tugs Jason back into his arms, “I seem to remember saying you haven’t been sleeping. Time to remedy that.”

Jason huffs. “I’m fine, asshole. Not even tired.”

That’s a bold faced lie, but they don’t need to know that.

Bruce pins him with a disbelieving look. “Right. And I’m Superman.”

Dick snorts, “You wish.”

“Not helping, Dick.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Come on, Jay, just take a nap. You’re safe here, Damian’s safe here.”

Jason deflates, “Maybe a little one. But I have to leave soon!”

“How did you get here?” Tim asks.

“The car? Did y’all not notice it or something?”

“Car? What car?” Dick sits up, almost letting go of Damian. “Wait. You stole the car?”

“Y’mean my car? Yeah, I took it. Security was shit, by the way. It was super easy to get in here.”

“You had Barbara’s help.” Dick deadpans.

Bruce smiles at his kids, watching them bicker.

“Same difference.”

“Better not let her hear you say that.” Tim contributes.

“Anyway. Yeah, I took my car.” Jason leans back, further into Bruce. (Sue him, the man is comfortable). “Oh, B, one more thing.” He twists to face his father.

“Yeah, Jaylad?” The look on Bruce’s face is stupidly fond.

“Do not put Damian in the Robin suit until he is at least—and I mean the very minimum age—14. 16 is preferable. He can train, I don’t give a shit, he’s gonna do that anyway. But if you let him in the field, I’m shooting you and taking him with me.”

“Hey, I was Robin at eight!” Dick glares at Jason.

“Yeah and look how you turned out.” Jason glares right back. “I mean it, Bruce.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, besides, Tim is Robin until he decides for himself that he’s done with it.”

“Good.”

WIth that, Jason relaxes and lets himself doze off, surrounded by family, and totally at peace. There’s still a lot to work out, but for now, it’s enough. Damian is out of the League’s hands, Jason was somehow welcomed home, everyone is content. It’s better than he could have imagined.

[thebattybunch]

I will not elaborate

[gay-dorito-dust]

Sometimes you often forgot just how big Jason was in terms of physicality.

He was like a towering monster whose shadow could encase you but it was warm, protective and secure, leaving you feeling like the most safest person in Gotham.

You often forgot how big his hands were until his callouses were pressed against the back of your hand, hiding yours completely from sight as he closed his hand fully enveloped yours whole, keeping them warm from the cold that he knew you had a love/hate relationship with.

You forgot how effortlessly you could burrow yourself into his broad back, big enough to hide yourself behind whenever you felt fear, or just needed to be close to Jason in order to feel something in general as you nuzzled your face between his shoulder blades and hearing his strong heart beat that grounded you from just about anything.

You could hide away behind him and no one would be none the wiser until Jason stepped to the side, which he never did as he always assumed his position as your wall rather seriously, too stubborn to move for anyone who wasn’t you.

Jason has the physique that is told in Greek mythology, his hands were strong, his thighs were sturdy and powerful as his back and chest were nothing to scoff at either. He was beautiful with all his scars and callouses, for he was the most beautiful man to you who never failed to read chapters from his book to help you sleep, all the while he cradled your form against his larger one.

You often forget about Jason’s physical stature because it didn’t matter to you how big he was, or how strong he was because at the end of the day he was your Jason, he was the man you loved so dearly as you kissed his scars tenderly and caressed his callouses with softness as though you’ll hurt him somehow if you pressed too hard.

He was a giant teddy bear with you and you could only see the sweet, literature dork of a man who holds you close to his chest as though you were his personal teddy bear. His stature and physique didn’t frighten you, it reassured you and comforted you in more ways than one.

You forgot about his physique when his personality shone brighter for you to pay more attention to, his big strong arms that held you from behind, pulling you to his chest were merely a bonus as you snuggled into his neck and pressed kisses to under his jaw and making him hum in content. He was your sweet jay bird who always put you first no matter what, his unwavering loyalty left no room for insecurity or doubt within your relationship as you had found the perfect man in Jason Todd.

A man with flaws and errors of the past etched into his skin, but to you he couldn’t be more perfect as he smiled and laughed with you while keeping you close to him, as though afraid you’ll disappear but you’re more then willing to cling on to him in return…even if your hands don’t meet when returning his embrace in due to how big he was in general.

Yet still he was your precious Jason who was perfectly imperfect in your eyes, his towering and intimidating stature was merely a bonus to the awkward but endearing man that laid beneath.

[verxca]

Imagine Jason being so soft and sweet and clingy with you that when his siblings see him in a store with you they have to do a double take. It would be extra funny if his family didn't know about you yet xD

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ [ imagine #04 ]

[ j. todd ft d. grayson ] ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

── . ✦ in which dick spots something very unusual from his brother at the grocery store.

Late night grocery trips were preferable to Dick for two primary reasons; One, being as the stores were usually less busy, meaning less people would spot him. And two, crime was typically preformed at night here in Gotham, meaning he could keep an extra eye out. It was like killing three birds with one stone!

Turning the corner, Dick hummed a random tune to himself upon entering another produce isle. He was just here to pick up some cereal and butter, nothing too important. As he leaned down to grab what he needed, a friendly couple entered the isle from the other side— giggling and holding hands.

Not wanting to seem nosy or rude, he didn’t stare, still scanning to find the brand he liked.

“Nope- All they do is knock shit over, claw your back, and piss all over the fucking furniture.” The guys voice from across the aisle sounded familiar, a little too familiar— almost like his brother Jason’s. But he ruled that one out quickly… It was obvious that the dude and Jay acted completely different. Though, the mysterious guy did sound like one of his old friends from high school. Maybe it was him— Damn, how long had it been? What a coincidence to see him here!

Dick looked up— fully expecting to run into an old friend. Yet, the realization of his mistake came crashing down like a punch to the gut as the boyfriend moved his face into view, eyes still glued down to his girl. Oh, it was Jason! What was he doing here at this hour? Dick chuckled, looking back down before snapping his neck up for maybe the fourth time.

Wait— that was Jason?

“But, like- Same for dogs! You have to walk them twenty times a week, and pick up their shit too. No animals are easy to care for, but cats are definitely easier!” You argued with your boyfriend, squeezing his hand to try and enforce your point.

You two had been dating for a good couple months now, but still, Jay was ever so reluctant to get an animal! Every time you brought it up, he’d make the same five points. “Kay- That’s fair, babe, but-”

Jay teased once more, laughing as you tried to protest. Fuck, was it ever cute when you got all defensive like that. It was definitely Jason’s guilty pleasure, and he couldn’t help but tease you when the opportunity was in front of him— practically begging to be taken. Jay quickly leaned down for quick kiss, hands moving to your waist. He hadn’t even realized the two of you weren’t alone in the aisle, nor that the other person here was his brother.

You couldn’t help but just melt into your boyfriend’s touch as he kissed you— moving his lips down your jaw and neck. Your hands steadied on his abdomen, as he lavished your collar in desperate affection.

“Holy fuck.”

Dick was completely in shock. Jason was not only acting clingy with someone— completely vulnerable and desperate, but was also with a god forsaken secret girlfriend he had never told anyone about! It showed in the way he kissed the girl’s neck, and in the way he held her tight, that Jay was in love. But still, was this all some fucking witchcraft? How in gods name did someone get him to open up and act all lovey-dovey like that?

He didn’t know what to do, but sure as hell didn’t want to get caught. Dick slipped out of the asile, your collective giggles still faintly audible as he entered the parallel row. He was debating on taking a photo or not… but he didn’t want to invade the girl’s privacy.

Instead, he made a mental note of the encounter, checking out and leaving, already picturing the faces of his family when he’d bring it up at the next dinner.

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 20 - size kink jason todd x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, size kink, tummy bulge

"That's it, baby. Take it all. Oh, look at you go. Being so brave for me."

On the surface the words are soothing, but the tone of Jason's voice fills each syllable with condescension. Not in a bad way. The sickly sweet lilt strikes the perfect chord that has you wetter than any body of water on this earth.

Your hips rise and fall in measure rolls, your cunt embracing his thick cock with every motion. You have to take it slow. Otherwise, you feel like you'll tear yourself in half.

"Jay…" you whimper, lip wobbling and eyes gleaming with the need for him to coddle you, "You're so…"

A sharp whine from your throat cuts off your own words. Your head tilts back and then hangs forward. His tip brushes your sweet spot every time you sink down on him. It makes it nearly impossible to remain coherent. You'd never met somebody who could make you malfunction like this.

"I'm so what?" he coos, prompting you to finish your statement. He already knew the words on the tip of your tongue, but he still wanted to hear them spoken into the drafty air of your apartment.

"You're so big," you choke out.

Another moan falls from your lips before you grit your teeth. Your face scrunches up in tandem with your walls clenching around his length. Vaguely, you hear him chuckle. He then pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"And you like that, don't you?" he whispers.

He slumps further down on the couch. His feet press hard against the smooth wooden floor beneath the two of you. The muscles in his thighs flex as he begins to pump his hips up and down. You whine and clutch at his meaty bicep, melting against his warm skin and letting him do all the work right now.

You nearly forget he asked a question at all until he continues speaking.

"I know you do, doll. You like that when you're with me, you're helpless. Don't have to think. Don't have to move. Don't have to do anything but let me use this sweet, little pussy till I'm satisfied," he says.

Your toes curl, your thighs clamping around his own. The pressure doesn't stop him from moving though, not in the slightest. You inhale sharply before nodding against his neck. Of course, you like this. You love it.

You could never get enough of Jason's body. You'd study it forever if he let you. Your pupils felt magnetized whenever they had the chance to drift along his chiseled torso or mentally map the pathways of his scars. Adoration wasn't a strong enough word for how you felt in regards to his figure. Obsession seemed more appropriate.

Fortunately for you, Jason behaved much the same about your body.

In the mornings when he thought sleep still had a strong hold on you, he'd run his fingers over every curve he could find. He'd knead the swell of your ass and press tender kisses between your shoulder blades. As you'd start to wake, he'd wrap his hands around your waist and nearly pop a boner right then and there from how large they looked in comparison.

His favorite thing in the world after a long grueling patrol fast became coming home to you. Not even thirty minutes with your delicate body washed away all the stress caused by hard and rough people he dealt with beyond these walls. Some nights he'd prop your dainty legs over his broad shoulders and dive into your slippery cunt. Other nights he'd get right down to it, shoving his fat cock inside you and watching your belly bulge with the intrusion.

Tonight hadn't been either of those. He'd been home for a change. But having you curled up to his side and pressed against him while he read a book got him worked up pretty fast. It wasn't his fault the two of you just seemed to fit so naturally together.

"My good girl. Soft and sweet all for me," he praises as he continues fucking up into you. His heavy balls lightly slap against your ass with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as the repetitive strokes start to build on one another. Small, whimpered expletives drip from your lips like a leaky faucet. He knows you're getting there. All he has to do is ramp up his efforts a little.

His hands lock around your waist like they do on hazy mornings. Just like then, he's obsessed with the way your skin dimples beneath his digits now. He boosts you back and starts bouncing you up and down in addition to his thrusts.

Your eyes roll back at the sensation and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. You don't have to do anything in this position still. He's strong enough to hold you upright all by himself. The only thing you had to do was like he said - stay still and let yourself be used.

"Can never get enough of you, baby, fuck," he grunts. His head falls back against the sagging cushion as he keeps working himself into you over and over. He glances back up at you slightly. "Is it feeling good?"

"Mhm," you whine, "So fuckin' good. So deep. All the way inside."

Your head bobbles around with the way he jerks you up and down on his lap. He smirks at your words and the airy way you say them.

"I know. I can see it," he responds, eyes flitting down to that faint and familiar bump. Evidence of his place inside you.

You only whimper in response. He drops you back down against his chest so one of his hands can slot against your center and rub your clit in fast, tight circles. The flickering feeling draws even more noises of pleasure from you.

The edge sneaks up on the both of you fast. You fall over it first. Your body spasms and seizes between his hands, but his strong grip is enough to keep you in place. For him, it explodes in a muted burst of ecstasy before burning into a brighter one. He wraps his arms around your smaller frame and keeps you flush against his sweaty skin as he fucks his load deep inside.

The both of you stay there while you come down. His chest puffs up and down with deep breaths. Even with all his exertion, his hand rubs soothing stripes along the column of your spine. You lie against him completely motionless, limp against the muscles of his chest. A little pleasure doll all for him to play with.

[rottenfyre]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ SWEET GIRL 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Do They Eat That Kitty?

☆⁠ NOTE : Minors DNI. Damian is an adult. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

⎯ Bruce Wayne

Bruce eats pussy like it’s a goddamn art form—he’s precise, calculated, and maddeningly patient. He starts slow, always. Those big hands spread you open, thumbs keeping you vulnerable as he just looks at you, like you’re a meal he’s been starving for. Then, his tongue starts, slow and flat, dragging up from your entrance to your clit in one smooth stroke that has your breath catching. He doesn’t rush, not at first—he builds you up so slowly that you’re practically begging him to stop teasing. When he gets serious? Oh, you’re fucked. Bruce focuses entirely on your clit, his tongue pressing firm and circling in ways that have your thighs trembling. He slides two fingers inside you, curving them just right to hit that spot, and he watches you. His dark eyes stay locked on your face, reading every reaction like he’s solving some complex puzzle. And god, he loves control. If you try to squirm or close your legs, he growls, low and dangerous, “Stay still, or I’ll stop.” Spoiler: he never actually stops, but the threat alone keeps you in place. When you cum, he doesn’t let up. His tongue keeps working you, dragging you through wave after wave until you’re crying out his name, completely wrecked.

⎯ Dick Grayson

Dick? He’s a pussy-eating legend. You know how some people enjoy it? Dick fucking loves it. He dives in like it’s his favorite thing in the world, his hands gripping your thighs to pull you closer, his face buried between your legs as he moans like a man possessed. He’s messy about it, too—his tongue is everywhere, licking and sucking on your clit like he’s trying to ruin you. But Dick knows exactly how to build you up. He’ll start with long, teasing licks, making you squirm and whimper, and then he focuses entirely on your clit. His tongue moves in quick, flicking motions, switching it up with soft sucks that send shocks through your entire body. And he’s loud. He moans into you, murmuring things like, “You taste so fucking good,” and “I could stay down here all night.” His fingers? Fucking perfect. He slips two inside you effortlessly, curling them up in time with his tongue until you’re sobbing from the intensity. And Dick doesn’t stop when you cum. Nope. He keeps going, even as you’re begging him for mercy, his grin widening against your skin because he knows he’s got you falling apart.

⎯ Jason Todd

Jason eats pussy like he’s got something to prove. There’s nothing soft or sweet about it—it’s raw, filthy, and absolutely fucking primal. He doesn’t even bother teasing you. The second your legs are open, his face is buried between them, his tongue lapping at you like he’s starving. His grip on your thighs is bruising—he keeps you pinned in place no matter how much you try to squirm. His tongue is relentless, focusing on your clit with harsh flicks and sucks that have you seeing stars in seconds. Jason’s all about intensity—he groans against you, low and rough, sending vibrations through your body. And when he slides his fingers inside you, It’s game over. He pumps them hard and fast, curling them to hit that sweet spot over and over until you’re screaming his name. Jason loves watching you lose control. He’ll pull back just enough to smirk at you, his lips and chin soaked, and growl, “C’mon, baby. Let me hear you.” And when you finally cum? He doesn’t stop. He forces you to take every second of it, holding you down as he works you through the aftershocks, leaving you completely wrecked.

⎯ Damian Wayne

Damian is precise. He approaches eating pussy like a challenge, determined to reduce you to nothing but gasps and moans. He starts slow, dragging his tongue through your folds with maddening patience, watching your every reaction. His hands hold your thighs apart, firm but not rough, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Once he finds what works, Damian locks in like a man on a mission. His tongue circles your clit in perfect, rhythmic motions, alternating with soft flicks that have your back arching off the bed. He doesn’t get messy—everything he does is intentional, calculated, and devastatingly effective. His fingers join the party soon enough, sliding inside you with ease, curling up to hit your G-spot with every stroke. Damian’s all about control. If you try to move, he tightens his grip, growling, “Stay still. I’m not done with you yet.” He’s also vocal in a way that’s almost mocking. “Look at you. Falling apart for me already.” And when you cum? Damian doesn’t stop. He keeps going, overstimulating you until you’re trembling, tears streaming down your face as you beg him to let you breathe. He’ll finally pull back, wiping his mouth with a smug smirk, because he knows no one else can make you feel like that.

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

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

you’re borrowing your boyfriend!jason todd’s…

hoodie

it’s big, it’s warm, and it smells like your big warm boyfriend. of course you stole it. luckily jason runs hot..or that’s what he tells you at least. the man gets cold too, but he’d never tell you that. not when you look so cozy in his sweatshirt.

sweats

your favorite thing of his to match with his hoodie. his sweatpants are super warm, super soft, and super baggy. meant for ultimate comfort. jason loves it when you go full out sweatsuit in his clothes. like, loves it. you’re like his own personal teddy bear to hold on to while he falls asleep. who needs sweats when he has you to keep him warm..in his.

t shirt

sometimes, when the weather’s warmer, you’ll steal one of jason’s shirts to thrown on over a pair of panties. you’re oblivious to the fact that this combination makes jason go absolutely buck wild. somehow you’ve never made the connection. but more than once he’s found you sprawled across the couch, watching tv, and ended up going down on you. his head nestled between your thighs as you grip his raven locks. his hands are fisted into the loose fabric of his shirt that you’re wearing. he’s not satisfied until your legs are shaking, your moans intermingling with the wet, borderline pornographic, sounds that he’s creating with his mouth on your clit. he never lets you get him back either, even though you know he was grinding his crotch against the couch, chasing that sweet friction and release along with you. but he always just sits you atop his lap after, kissing your cheek as he brushes your hair out of your face. grips your thigh as he makes a comment about the show playing, your panties long forgotten on the floor.

underwear

you never get very far wearing a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers. for one, they’re pretty loose on you, so you have to roll the waistband a couple times, which just gives jason a prime view of your ass. they also just make it so easy for him to get his hand down the front, his strong fingers expertly finding your clit like he’s memorized a map of your body. which, in some ways, he has. it’s not long before you’ve come, once, twice, almost a third time, and he’s pulling his own boxers off to free his stiff cock. it points out, the tip leaking, and you’re opening your legs wider without even realizing it. he grabs your waist, sliding you closer to the edge of the bed, making sure you’re ready before he slides in, burying himself in you. he bottoms out, and you’re throwing your head back, a third orgasm threatening to crest as he starts up a rhythm. the muscles of his stomach ripple as he thrusts in and out. one of his hands is on your waist, the other slowly snaking its way back down to your clit. your toes curl at the feel of his calloused thumb rubbing circles on that sensitive bundle of nerves. he’s groaning, low in his throat, at the way you look on his cock. it never gets old for him, ever. the way your cheeks flush, how adorable your blown out pupils are when you look up at him. your wet lashes, your messy hair. your entrance clenches around his cock as you come a third time, your hands gripping the bed sheets. jason comes along with you, groaning loudly as he paints your insides with white ropes of cum. he pulls out, wetting a washcloth in the bathroom. the wet, warm fabric feels like heaven against your sensitive folds, your boyfriend wiping away the mixture of fluids between your legs. you feel pleasantly boneless, sinking into the pillows at the head of the bed. your boyfriend cleans himself up after, settling into bed next to you. jason wraps his strong arms around you, and it’s better than any clothes you might steal. but what you don’t know, is that he’d let you steal his clothes anytime.

[yandere-wishes]

⭒ㅤׂ Do You Think We'll Be In Love Forever? ㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!DC Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝑜𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 ♡ ｡ ゜

​𓆩☾𓆪 Nightwing - Dick Grayson | بالشب - دیک گریسون

He's mesmerized by the sight of you between his arms. Definite little doll smiling up at him through tear-soaked eyes. He floods your essence with saccharine kisses, sweet vows, and anguished 'I love yous' all paying testimony to his sugar-laced obsession. He's desperate to taste your sweetness on his tongue, lick through your flesh like a lollipop, and unravel your bones with his teeth.

He had been so young once, chasing virtue and strength into every dark alleyway, following bats and hope into vicious nights. Back then, he hadn't understood his mentor's desperation for paper-thin kisses and phony love. But now feeling the push of your body beneath his fingertips makes him understand how satisfying real love can be. To observe you in the sun's gentle rays. To feel your body curled next to his on cold nights. He plays hero under the moon's watchful gaze only to return home to you upon daybreak.

❀࿔ Red Hood - Jason Todd | نقاب قرمز - جیسون تاد

He glides your fingers across his scars, shuddering under the weight of your touch. Stardust cauterizes ancient wounds, licking away the rotten grime. Jason clenches his teeth, there's something so intimidating about the softness of your touch. It stings worse than any crowbar or bullet wound, intruding, harrowing. It's almost like you're plucking the constellations of his past from under his skin, trying to rearrange the stars into something cathartic.

He can't help the hapless way his nails scratch across your bones, the gurgling laugh that escapes his throat. You're Elizabeth Lavenza and Ophelia trying to mend a broken boy, with your wry smile and terrified eyes. Jason traces his lips across yours, his kiss is ravenous, frantic. Faux-hero desperate for an inkling of love, of bliss, of softness.

´ཀ` Arkham Knight - Jason Todd | سلحشور آرکام - جیسون تاد

He likes to think he's shed his human skin long ago. Left it to die in that burning warehouse with his old mask and youth. But when he hears your laughter, that haunting echo reverberates off the edifice walls. He can't help but think maybe, just maybe a trace of humanity still lingers beneath his armor. Your smile glares at him in every carmine puddle he treks through. He dreams it's your blood marring his gauntlets, syrupy sweet as he licks them clean. Daydreams about your ethereal face painted in reds and purples by his iron-clad hands.

His kisses are razor blades cutting through your lips, forcing his love down your throat, and watching as you choke on the rust and ache. He's trying to merge two bodies into one void, to engulf you. Mirror his scars upon your flesh with dull knives and jagged fingernails. He kisses you again, you swear you're going to drown in his sea of red. Maybe that's all the love he has left. He

｡♦｡ Red Robin - Tim Drake | رابین قرمز- تیم دریک

He plays hero in the night, little bird chasing villains and evil by moonlight. When he blinks it's you he sees lying on the couch watching TV. He's starting to think you're his favorite show, afterall your window is about the size of a flat-screen TV and he's always too eager to peak through for the next screening. Episode 84, you're hugging your favorite teddy bear, lost in euphoria as your knuckles turn white around the controller. Tim watches heart in his throat as you claw out the boss's eyes. Sanctimonious champion vying to save the holy princess.

Tim bites his fingers, addresses each tooth mark to you. He pens his love letters upon his own skin, sealing them in red when he finally punctures through. Maybe life is just a video game, an endless kaleidoscope of cutscenes. And he's just a besotted hero dying to kiss the precious princess who doesn't even know he exists.

ꨄ︎ Robin - Damian Wayne| سینه‌سرخ - دامیان وین

His heritage pounds between his bones. The deja vu of an ancestral lifetime runs rapid through his veins as he chases you across the rooftops. His father, his mother, his brothers, always chasing, running after things they know they'll never reach. Your blades clash against his and Damian can't help but wonder if this is the closest he'll ever get to kissing you.

You leave him with paper cuts that feel like venom, like saying 'I love you' while chewing on his bones. He ponders, does his father have the same scars, if Damian pulled away Bruce's skin what would he find? Kittycat claws and dragon bites engraved in the nth-wielded ivory. He feels legacy clawing at his throat as he pictures your fingers between his teeth. Tears blooming in your eyes as he uses diamonds and ceremonial knives to engrave his name upon your flesh. Dotting the I with a heart and entwining each letter. God, he's so tired of being lonely...

🦇 Batman - Bruce Wayne | بتمن - بروس وین

He can't help but pick you apart, chip away at the bones and flesh until he reaches your essence. Dissecting your heart with his tongue and savoring the ichor between his teeth. He's the world's greatest detective and yet he can't unravel his own ardor. This mania, this addiction festering within his crux gnawing at his sanity until every thought is consumed by the cadence of your voice and the stars scintillating in your big doe eyes. This desperate need burning inside of him are you really divinity? Will you bleed glod, if he tears you apart with his teeth?

You're so ethereal squirming beneath, kicking and screaming vying desperately for freedom. He's fought this love for far too long, tried to preserve you in the light. Cover your eyes and ears and make you forget about the monsters that roam in the dark. But he can't not anymore, maybe he never could. Maybe the only way he knows how to love is by trickling his darkness like nectar between your lips and watching as it paints you in his shades.

ᯓ★ Superman - Clark Kent | سوپرمن - کلارک کنت

His kisses melt into your skin sweet like molten sugar drizzled on jasmine rice. Like lava smothering roses, leaving a trail of fragranced ashes. Clark smiles and he notices how you cover your eyes. Like you're staring directly into the sun. Like you're scared of being burnt. Clark can't help but bury his head in the crock of your neck, inhaling your ather. Molten roses and floral ashes he likes the amalgamate of your scents. Like how his presence lingers upon you.

He holds you like a doll, like the little straw dolls his mother used to make. It's easy to be gentle, coddling when everything is so fragile compared to you. He kisses down your neck, your jaw, nuzzling his nose into your soft skin, trying to earn a giggle a gold star. Trying to wipe the fear from your eyes. He kisses you again, mumbling cloying words between your lips, wishing he could just push his love between your fragile bones.

˚✶˚ Superboy - Conner Kent | سوپربوی - کانر کنت

He's fighting back the urge to peel your heart from between your ribs. To trail kisses across it and marr his lips with your ether. He wonders if your heart beats as frantically as his. He wonders if your ribs rattle when he enters a room.

He wants to push little superboy earings into your ears, to lay upon you the piercings he could never have. It'll be his way of telling the world you belong to him, that you belong to Superboy. And yet he settles for draping his leather jacket across your shoulders when senses a shiver run up your spine. He settles for the friendly hugs and airy hello-kisses. He wants to say he's he loves you. he can't. It's all so annoying, tasting the dead words on his tongue.

𓂃✮ Superman - Jon Kent | سوپرمن - جان کنت

He's scaping his nails along the Hershey's kisses re-aligning the red blue and gold wrapping. It'll be obvious, right? If he leaves them in your locker you'll understand the colored metaphor you'll answer the question he can never ask. You'll know it's him, everyone always does, for the byproduct of the world's greatest hero, he's terrible at keeping his identity a secret.

He blames it on the legacy flooding his lungs. On the promises that beat in his blood. He's born to be a hero, to play the role of savior, but aren't heroes promised love too? Aren't they meant to save the girl from burning skyscrapers and crumbling sidewalks, to fly above the skyline and kiss her in tune with the setting sun? He's so desperate for the sweet fairytale ending, so desperate to kiss the girl who always knows just what to say. He leaves the chocolate in your locker before making a dent in the metal door.

˚｡⋆🪙⋆ ˚｡ Two Face - Harvey Dent | دو چهره - هاروی دنت

He can taste your pain on his tongue, swallow the barbed wire, and relish in the familiar sting of hope, expectation, responsibility. Maybe that's why he can't stop himself from chasing after you. Burning the world demanding you stop him, desperate for a silver of your deficit attention. God, you're so ethereal with his gun aimed at your head, his pretty little girl with big starry eyes laced with dread as they follow the cascade of his coin. 'I know' he wants to scream 'I know what it feels like' but the words never quite spill out that way. And Harv only laughs at his foolish attempts to play hero once more. Sanctimonious bastard, the words reverberate in his skull.

You may claim to be a hero but Two-face knows you'll fall, plunder to the ground like all the rest, that's what happens when you reach for the sky, deem yourself Icarus, and let the flames of glory engulf you until there's nothing left. 'You can't save them' Harv screams only for Harvey to hear. They want to get closer, to slip the coin between your lips and make you taste defeat, maybe then you'll understand why he's so keen on fighting you out of your crusade. Maybe then you'll take their hand willingly, letting them sprinkle kisses across your knuckles like dying stars.

˙⋆☠︎︎⋆˙ Black Mask - Roman Sionis | نقاب سیاه - رومن سیونیس

He wants to cut out your big heart and sink his teeth into it, engrave himself in every vein, and chew on the heartstrings. HIM he needs to be the only one in that plushie heart of yours. The only one with the right to be graced by your ethereal smile. He wants to awaken to your soft nimble fingers tracing hearts and stars across his chest. Pretty pink lips weaving feathery kisses across the scar of his pacemaker. Giggles tickling his neck as you bid him 'good morning' in that all too cheery voice of yours.

Roman almost moans as he hears his name spill from your mouth, each letter cradled carefully between your lips he can't help but want to push his thumb inside your mouth, to feel your purity and shock. There's so much he wants to call you so much he wants to whisper in your ear as he watches your cheeks glow red. To hold you in his lap and trail his fingers across your legs, to dress you in pretty dresses and short skirts and skin-tight tops. To taste the fear and dread on your tongue palpable like the blood he draws with every kiss.

༄✩༄ Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane | مترسک - جاناتان کرین

He likes the stars in your eyes, the mini constellations spelling out your greatest fears. The tears blooming in the corners of your dopey eyes have his lips twitching. You're so gorgeous like this, curled up on the floor trying to make sense of such an eerie world. Jonathan doesn't anoint himself a fool, he knows it's chimeric to think that you'd love him without the toxin, without the heavy drugs he's spilled into your veins. That's why he keeps you like this, scared and depressed. Always in need of him.

What's your greatest fear? He wonders when you tuck your head between your knees and sob all so quietly as to not disturb him. Is it him you see in your grandest nightmares? Is it the mask jumping at you from within the darkness, or is it Professor Crane abandoning you in such a macabre world? Mask on mask off it makes no difference. He just hopes he's the star of every nightmare, as long as you fear him as much as he fears losing you.

｡??｡ Riddler- Edward Nygma| ریدل - ادوارد نیگما

It's frivolous to think he will not solve this riddle. That he will no unearth this plague you have bestowed upon him. This fixation, this obsession, he needs to understand you, to peel away your skin and glimpse at your inner clock workings. To undo your screws one by one and find out what exists between that haunting laugh and those knowing vicious eyes. To rip apart your wires, and feed upon your mind. To understand, he needs to understand you.

He got close once when he had your neck under his shoe, but the evil lith of your laughter rings across the room and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't unnerved. He doesn't know what question to ask first. 'what have you done to me'? 'why do you think you're better than me?', 'Why don't you love me?' Instead, the silence shatters with your voice, proud melody rivaling his own, your eyes lock on him and he can't suppress his shutter. "Well Eddie, riddle me this. What can kill any man, but isn't even alive itself?"

⁺♡⁺ Deathstroke - Slade Wilson | مرگ سکته - اسلید ویلسون

You're like a shooting star, dancing across the night as you stalk his latest kill. Little asssasin, you know your stuff but he finds your thirst for ineage and morality both exhausting and honorable. Most people grow up and spit out their morals with blood and broken teeth. Let the world's cruel realities claw and gnaw at their skin until it's hardened enough to survive. He's yet to see you extend such a courtesy to the world, makes him think that pulling the trigger on you would be some sort of mercy. Bullet through the heart leaving your body coated in his essence and one final kiss pressed onto your paling lips.

He dosen't notice the inkling of you rattling around in his brain until he realizes that this is the eighth him he's seen you smile at the end of his barrel. Pretty little girl chasing after morals and sand, hoping to escape the endless night by spilling just a little more guilty blood. You look like some sort of ethereal doll, immortal in your innocence and vicious in your virtues. He can respect that, truly but Slade isn't naive enough to think you have what it takes to survive. Maybe that's why he wants all so badly to feed you his victim's hearts and eyes and livers, to push them past your pretty lips, staining them the deepest red. Watching your delicate throat constrict as you swallow everything he gives you. Reveling in the sensation of your greedy little tongue swirling around his fingers licking up the access gore. Can almost picture your smile and stupid little head tilt as you thank him for the 'candygrams'.

⭑.ᐟ Respawn | احیا

Respawn drowns in his love. Pulling apart his heart to lay at your feet. It's all he's ever known, broken boy built to harvest spare parts. But you don't look at him like that, you don't even look at him like an assassin. No, you smile fondly as you nuzzle his neck with your nose. You look at him the way his father used to, like he's actually worth something more. He's never quite kissed you, he's not even sure he knows how. Instead, he holds you close to his chest making sure you hear the dull patter of his jagged heart.

He's born from greatness, left to rot in the dark. He refuses to play pawn, anymore. So maybe that's why, when he finally kisses you -with all the grace of a schoolboy's first kiss- it's so desperate and erratic, clumsily licking your lips and nicking his tongue along your teeth trying to think what his father would do. His fingers dig into your arms, preassing prayers into your flesh, screaming 'Don't leave me, you're all I have left'.

⭑☽ Ghost-Maker - Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan | روح ساز - مینه خوا "خوا" خان

There's nostalgia in your essence, in your presence, something he can never wash away. He's grown addicted to the erratic reverbate of your pulse between his teeth. Kissing the bites he leaves marring your perfect body.

Why can't you just love him, let him haunt your every thought, and erode those pesky creeds, until he is the only thing you'll ever need? Khoa hates to admit it but he sees something in you, something so reflective of the little boy laying in the sand of the gobi desert, shooting phantom bullets and mocking stars. You scream every time he kisses you, recoil your tongue, and cry at the bitterness sweeping in. But Khao loves the challenge, the fight, loves forcing you into submission, even as your knife digs between his ribs. He's only ever content when your pith floods his mouth and your melodic voice rings through his ears. His precious little princess tucked away between his arms forever.

☾⋆ Phantom-one | روح یک

he never shows you his face. He blames it on his upbringing too used to old rules that he can never escape their clutches not even for you. His kisses are always clouds dancing across your skin, so light and airy they may as well be the wind. But tries to leave traces of himself with every kiss. Desperate pleas for you to look at him, to touch him, to love him back. All so he knows he's alive, still real enough to love.

He's always trapped between the land of the living and the realm of the deceased. Always so gentle with the love he's stolen, so careful to not break his lover, as his mentor did to him. He laces his fingers through your hair, sucks gently on the length of your neck, all while pushing 'I love yous' into your soul, marking you as his forever.

🎀𖹭🎀 : @your-yandere-kiss @fancyfeathers @yandere-writer-momo @nxdxsworld @lilyalone @neverano @natsukicookies @googeecat44 @starrydollita @mune-writes @a4g3lstarfire @yourhornysister @froggy-voidd @rissareader @6helpneeded9

@blacklunardice @princesstrunkz @mona1704 @testification

[ofbatsandballads]

remy’s first smut, woo! saw this post and wrote this in a mad dash so, uhhhh, have some whiny, needy jason getting the blowjob he so dearly deserves. 18+ mdni or I will haunt you through your walls.

Jason Todd is a powerful man. He’s big; all 6’5” of him towers over damn near anyone in any room. He’s strong; 235 pounds of pure muscle and all the force that that weight can inflict. He’s skilled; body ready to be wielded with deadly precision. Jason Todd is a powerful man.

How powerful you must be to have made him weak.

He’s whimpering. The big, bad Red Hood is whimpering in your bed as you kiss bruises into his thick thighs. You lick the soft flesh after you bite it and feel the tremors that wrack his corded muscles. He’s panting wildly, chest heaving up and down with the effort it’s taking him to force air in and out of his lungs. You smile to yourself at how worked up he’s gotten from a few kisses to his inner thighs. You’d learned how sensitive he was there after patrol one night; he’d gotten a shallow cut after barreling through a window, the superficial wound paining him far worse than it should have. You felt bad at the time for thinking about all the wicked little ways you could use this new information against him—what a terrible partner, thinking about how to get your boyfriend off when he’s hurting.

But he’s not hurting now. Well, not in any way he doesn’t enjoy.

“Please, baby, please,” he begs, voice gravelly and desperate, “Need you so bad.”

You giggle, the sound muffled as you continue to leave hickeys along his thighs. You part yourself from his legs—and, oh, it truly is a struggle—and nuzzle your cheek against him through his boxers. He whines high and reedy, hips bucking up to grind against your face. You yank your head back, raise a questioning eyebrow at his boldness. He flushes red all the way down to his chest.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry, sweetheart,” he babbles as he forces his hips back down on the bed, “Want you so bad it hurts.”

And you can’t very well leave your sweet, strong boyfriend in pain, can you? No, after all the good he does, he deserves something nice. He lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob when you tell him as much before pulling his boxers down and closing your fist around his cock. You admire how your thumb and middle finger don’t even touch around the thickness of him. He whines at the stillness of your hand, thrusts his hips up to give himself the friction he so desperately needs.

You indulge him the pleasure of doing as he wishes. You indulge yourself the pleasure of watching his pretty green eyes roll back when you wrap your lips around his leaking tip. You revel in your own sick little joy as your jaw locks up, as your eyes burn and your gag reflex kicks when you take him down to his base. You think you may need mental help when you feel your slick drip down your thighs as tears track their way down his face, his whiny punched out ah ah ah’s echoing in the room. You don’t really care how deranged you may be when he cums down your throat, warm thick ropes that you swallow the second they hit your tongue.

Jason Todd is a powerful man. But the second he comes back down from heaven, you’re the one that has him on his knees.

[harpersdragons]

New Fic!

...This was actually posted about 3 weeks ago, I just forgot to post here as well.

Anywayyyy

If My Engine Works Perfectly on Empty...(Spoiler: It Doesn't)

Title from Growing Sideways by Noah Kahan

My first Dick-centric fic!

Summary: Dick has a hard time accepting help, Bruce is more emotionally competent than usual and somehow helps

Tags: Hurt/comfort, emotional Hurt/comfort, soft batfam

TW: I don't think there are any, but if there is let me know

Words: 3776

Dick is fine.

100%, completely fine.

Ok…maybe not right now.

But he will be, he always is.

He just maybe feels like he’s drowning, currently.

But it will be fine.

He will be fine.

He has to be.

He just has to go home for a couple hours, have dinner with his family, and make them believe his life is going great. And ignore the restless energy clawing under his skin, ignore the endless torment of his thoughts, all his responsibilities, and then everything will be fine.

Easier said than done.

Dick is currently sprawled on his couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

He has so many things to do, it’s only lunch time and he hasn’t eaten all day. He needs to make food, needs to look over a few cases—some of his own, a couple of Jason’s—he needs to sleep.

He hasn’t been lately, not for lack of trying. If he does sleep, it’s not restful. The itching, restless energy burning under his skin makes sure of that.

When he first started feeling it, he did extensive blood tests. It almost feels like Ivy’s pollen, though that feels more like cold, stabbing needles.

The craving for human touch is there, though.

Perhaps he could ask his family for a hug, but none of them seem to enjoy physical affection. When he was a child he threw himself at Bruce often, used to affection being freely given. As he grew he learned some people didn’t enjoy it, or crave it, like he did.

And that’s fine.

He’s not going to force affection on his family.

He just needs time, and real, restful sleep, and then he’ll be fine. He can get past this.

He needs food too, but that takes so much effort.

Maybe he could just take the day, lay here for a while.

The next couple hours pass in a haze, it seems like half an hour passes every time he blinks.

He needs coffee.

Or a 3 week nap.

He sighs heavily, glancing at his phone. He has to leave, if he wants to get to dinner on time.

Tonight’s family patrol night too. Maybe he should get six shots of espresso and call it good. That should keep him up for a bit.

Is it the smartest idea when he hasn’t eaten in 36 hours? Probably not.

But fuck this.

He could just skip.

He’s not really family, is he? He wasn’t adopted, they won’t miss him. Nightwing doesn’t have official patrol routes in Gotham, he just rotates teaming up with the others.

Dick barely stays at the manor, he’s barely been going at all outside family dinners or meet ups at the cave.

If they haven’t missed him by now, they won’t miss him tonight.

He sighs, and banishes that thought process. He has to go.

He told Alfred he’d be there, back when he was feeling social, and he doesn’t want to disappoint Alfred.

Dick heaves himself off the couch, grabbing his keys and finally making it out the door. He can grab his concerning espresso monstrosity on the way. At a coffee shop where the baristas do not know his name.

The drive is short—too short, in Dick’s opinion—and he doesn’t remember most of it. All he knows is his coffee is gone, and he’s mostly sure he didn’t break that many traffic laws.

If he doesn’t remember it, it didn’t happen.

The knot in his stomach only got tighter the closer he got to manor. He’s not even entirely sure why, he loves his family. He just…maybe doesn’t have the energy to pretend tonight. And he’s out of time to put himself back together enough for them to be fooled.

The thing is, your family is supposed to be your safety net, right?

Well, his just…isn’t.

Not that they don’t care, they do.

…He thinks.

Anyway, Bruce is, well, Bruce. And he would never burden his younger siblings with his problems, they have more than enough of their own.

DIck throws his car into park in the garage, not entirely sure how he made it in one piece. The caffeine made him mildly more awake, but even that didn’t make him more aware. He definitely wasn’t in a state to drive, and he’s probably not in any state to properly interact with his family.

Who is he kidding, there’s no way he can fool his family of detectives. His only hope is if they’re all preoccupied. In the case of his younger brothers, that’ll be in the form of trying to kill each other, even if they’ve gotten better about it.

Dick thinks it’s mostly playing now, but you can never quite be sure.

He hopes Cass isn’t here tonight, and immediately feels bad for thinking it. He loves her, but she’s way too perceptive. He’ll barely be able to fool Bruce, let alone Cass.

Dick takes a few more minutes to collect himself.

He rubs a hand down his face, wishing, for once, he could wear his physical mask. It could at least hide some of his mental state. Taking one more deep breath, he forces himself out of the car.

Damian greets him at the door, Titus just behind him. “Grayson.” Oh great, Damian already sounds pissed, and Dick only just walked through the door.

Dick didn’t even do anything to him.

“Where were you? We were supposed to go to the art museum in Metropolis.”

Shit. so maybe Dick did do something to him.

“I’m sorry, Dami, I—”

“Whatever.” Damian huffs and storms off.

Dick sighs, leaning back against the door.

He’s such an idiot. He’d had the plans in his calendar for weeks, he was looking forward to it! He knew Damian was looking forward to it too. Hopefully someone still took him, though knowing Damian he probably brushed them all off.

“Dick, you alright?” Bruce takes him by surprise, and Dick jumps a little.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be?” He hopes the fake cheery tone is enough to fool his father, because he really doesn’t think he can summon anything else.

“Well you sat in the garage for 15 minutes, and now you’ve made it two steps inside and you look like you’re going to collapse.” Something in Bruce’s gaze sharpens as he scans Dick. “Are you injured? Your reports didn’t say anything—”

“I’m fine, B, really.” Dick interrupts him before he can come closer. If anyone touches him, he might fall apart. “Just been a long day.” It really hasn’t. It’s been a strangely short day, and Dick doesn’t know where most of the time has gone.

“Hn.”

“I’m fine! Let’s go, I’m sure Alfred’s almost got dinner ready!” He practically bounces past Bruce, heading towards the kitchen.

“You’re early, actually. We still have a bit before everyone else shows up. Why don’t we go hang out in the living room?”

“Who all’s here?” Dick pauses in the hallway.

“Tim is upstairs, Damian is around somewhere, Jason is hit or miss on whether or not he’ll show up, Stephanie and Cass will be along eventually.”

So it’ll be a full house. Everyone gets to witness his mental breakdown/whatever the fuck else is going on with him.

“Yeah I saw Damian. I…I messed up with him today.”

“You did. We can work that out later. I took him to the art museum, so he still got to go, but he was looking forward to spending the day with you.” Bruce’s voice is light, but Dick still flinches.

“I know. I didn’t mean to forget.”

“I figured you didn’t. Come on, let’s go sit down.”

Great. Bruce is purposefully not pushing. Bruce never does that.

He lets Bruce walk ahead of him, carefully stepping out of the way of the arm his father tries to sling around his shoulder. Bruce shoots him a look, but keeps walking.

Dick’s really not doing a good job pretending to be normal. He should have just skipped, no one would miss him after all.

Damian’s pissed at him, Jason’s…Jason, Tim and he still haven’t gotten back to normal after what happened while Bruce was in the time stream, and Bruce…he doesn’t know where he stands with Bruce. Surely it would have been better if he stayed home.

“Dick, you coming?”

Oh, he stopped walking. Oops.

“Yep! Right behind you.” Dick forces himself to start moving again, “Am I really that early? I thought I was running late.”

Bruce hums, “Dinner was pushed back a bit, rough night on patrol last night.”

Really? He didn’t hear about anything going wrong last night.

Or maybe he did? Did he just forget?

“Oh. Is everyone ok?”

“Everyone’s fine, it was in the mission reports. Just a busy night, and we all got in late.”

Oh, so he wasn’t told explicitly. He meant to read the reports last night, but he’d been so tired he collapsed in bed immediately. Not that it did him any good, he still laid in bed awake for hours, but he tried.

Dick nods as they finally make it into the living room. There’s a show already on the TV, but Dick can’t even begin to figure out which one it is.

DIck’s legs almost give out as he tries to sit, so instead of sitting like a normal person, he practically flops onto the couch. The gracelessness of it draws Bruce’s sharp eyes back to him.

“You sure you’re alright?” He scans Dick even as he takes a seat himself.

“Perfectly fine, B,” physically anyway, “just lost my balance for a second!” The anxiety that has been ever present only tightens in his chest, a thick, unbreakable coil.

Just a few more hours.

A few more hours, get through dinner, then patrol, then sleep.

And do it all again the next day.

Dick is fine.

Will be fine.

He has no other choice.

____________________________________________________________________________

Bruce knows something is going on with Dick. He just can’t figure what. His son isn’t injured, there was nothing in the patrol reports from the last few days, he’s not favoring one side or another.

But he’s been jittery since he arrived, and at the same time, he hasn't been fully present.

There’s something weighing on his son, even as Dick tries to bounce around like he would normally.

Watching him fold himself into the corner of the couch only confirms his suspicions. Dick likes to spread out, he doesn’t like being confined. Even most of the family is on the couch—because the whole family absolutely can’t fit on the same couch—Dick likes to spread across them, joking and laughing.

Whatever’s going on, Dick is determined to not talk about it, and for once, Bruce isn’t going to push. It’s never gone well for him in the past, so until Dick actually says something, or the problem gets worse, Bruce can drop it.

Despite deciding not to push the subject, Bruce keeps a close eye on Dick. He watches the way Dick appears to be watching the show, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. The way he curls in on himself, arms wrapped around his abdomen, legs tucked under him. The way he lets his hair fall into his face, slightly greasy from going too long without washing it. That, in itself, is a red flag. Dick has always been careful about his hygiene, especially his hair. It’s a point of pride for him.

It only serves to make Bruce more determined to get to the bottom of this.

It doesn’t take much longer for the rest of his kids to start showing up. Tim and Damian both emerge from their rooms—Tim only stayed because of how late they got in last night—Jason shows up not much later.

Dick doesn’t even seem to notice when they walk past him to the dining room, content to stare off into space with his head on the armrest.

Jason frowns, watching Dick for several seconds. Then he throws himself on the couch next to him, and jabs a finger into his side.

Dick has always been ticklish, so Bruce is expecting a reaction. He’s not, however, expecting the magnitude of the reaction.

Dick startles, somehow throwing himself into a backflip over the couch, ending up almost in the wall behind them. Bruce and Jason both stand, facing Dick.

Dick’s eyes are wide, and his chest is heaving. His eyes dart around the room, and once he seems to register where he is, he collapses, like a puppet with its strings cut. He shoves himself against the back wall and buries his head in his knees.

Bruce and Jason share a glance, and Bruce rounds the couch to get closer to his eldest. He stops a few paces away, making sure not to crowd Dick.

“Dickie, it’s ok, it’s just Jason and I. Can I come closer?”

Dick shakes his head vigorously, then seems to take a few deep breaths and look up, much calmer now. “Sorry, I’m fine. I just got startled. Dinner?”

By all appearances, Dick is perfectly calm now, except for the way he’s still curled against the wall. It’s a flimsy lie, he trained Dick himself. He knows how hard it should be to catch him off guard. Especially to the magnitude it seemed to occur today.

Bruce hums, scanning Dick again. He decides to let it go, for now. He should probably bench Dick from patrol though, if he’s this jumpy, patrol won’t go well.

Bruce nods, standing and offering a hand to his son. Dick ignores it, bracing against the wall to stand. Bruce lets Dick walk ahead of him, heading to the kitchen. He gestures for Jason to follow, it is dinner time, and Cass and Stephanie will show up when they show up.

Jason watches them, disbelief clouding his gaze. “No, hold on. That’s it? Dick gets so startled he vaults over the couch and apparently has a breakdown, and you just let it go? What the fuck happened before I got here?”

Bruce glances at Dick again, noticing the way he tenses when Jason speaks. “It’s fine Jay, nothing happened.”

“Obviously something did. Dick is not fine, and you’re just letting it go? Where’s the Bruce that’s pushy and doesn’t know when to keep his thoughts to himself?”

“I’m learning, Jaylad. If Dick doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t have to.” Bruce fixes a look on his second eldest, urging him to drop it. He’ll talk to Dick later, while everyone else is on patrol.

Jason huffs and stalks towards the kitchen, shoulder checking Bruce as he passes.

Rolling his eyes, Bruce follows.

They time it perfectly, getting to the kitchen just as Alfred finishes up. They each take their seats, Tim and Damian having already claimed theirs.

Dinner passes quickly once Alfred lays the plates out—though Stephanie and Cass never showed, they must have gotten caught up elsewhere—and his kids chatter amongst themselves. It seems they’re all concerned about Dick, they’re noticeably subdued as they eat and interact. There’s no fighting or yelling, and they keep obviously stealing glances at the oldest. Bruce himself keeps an eye on Dick, watching as he pushes food around his plate and seemingly forces himself to take bites every so often.

After dinner, Bruce pushes his chair back, and collects the dishes for Alfred. “I’ll meet you in the cave. Start pre-patrol checks.” He delivers the dishes to the kitchen, thanking his pseudo father for the meal, and then heads back to the dining room. Jason, Tim, and Damian have all headed to the cave, but Dick is still sitting, staring at the table

“You don’t need to bench me, I’m fine.”

“Why do you think I’m going to bench you?” He is, but maybe if Dick lists the reasoning it’ll be less of a battle.

“I can see it on your face, B, I know you think I’m not fit to be in the field right now.” Dick’s still staring at the table, his voice soft.

“Chum…Tell me honestly, do you think you’re completely safe to be in the field? Do you think you have the reaction time to fight, or watch your brother’s backs?”

“I…” Dick’s breath hitches, “I have to be ok. I don’t have another option.”

Bruce sighs, sitting in a chair next to Dick. “Can you look at me, Chum?”

Dick shudders, but eventually looks up.

“You have to let yourself feel what you’re feeling, right now, before you can be okay. You can’t suppress it, or run from it forever.”

Dick snorts, looking away: “Hypocrite.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, brat. Do as I say, not as I do.”

“That’s a terrible parenting tactic.” Dick laughs a little, but the sound is harsh and grating, nothing like his usual laugh, “But I never was your son, was I?”

Bruce recoils, brows furrow as he scans Dick’s posture. “Do you actually believe that?”

Dick just shrugs, stubbornly staring at the table again. “What proof do I have otherwise?”

“Dick, you have been my son from the moment I chose you, and brought you home from that detention center. You are my son, and that will never change.”

Dick doesn’t have a response, he peeks at Bruce from underneath the fringe of his hair, studying Bruce’s face.

“I will do everything in my power to fix this, sweetheart, but I can’t help unless you talk to me.”

“...Not right now. I don’t think I can handle any more right now.” Dick’s eyes are glassy, voice getting wet and nasally.

“Okay. Why don’t we take the night and hang out? We can have a movie night, like we used to.” Bruce stands, but waits on Dick to follow.

Dick gives a weak smile, though it looks more like a grimace. “You have patrol, I’ll be fine.”

“Gotham has the rest of the family. I think it’ll survive if I take one night off.”

“Are…are you sure?”

“My kid is more important. Why don’t you get set up in the media room, and I’ll let the others know not to wait on us. I’ll grab snacks on my way up.”

DIck nods, standing and heading out of the dining room.

“Hey, Dick?” Bruce asks, waiting until Dick turns back to continue. “Do you want a hug?” He gets his answer, in the form of his eldest son colliding with him, almost before the words are fully out of his mouth. Dick’s arms latch around Bruce’s neck, his head buried in his shoulder. Bruce wraps his arms around Dick, squeezing his son tightly. One hand comes up and cradles the back of his head, the other wrapping securely around his back. Bruce can feel Dick go lax against him, trusting Bruce to hold his weight. Bruce smiles softly, through the undercurrent of worry.

He had missed his son, Dick had been getting more withdrawn, spending less time in Gotham. He’s not happy he let it get this bad, but he is happy they’re finally getting somewhere.

After a few minutes it becomes evident Dick isn’t letting go, and like hell is Bruce letting go first. Not when his son went this long without knowing he is Bruce’s son. Not when he’d clearly been longing for the contact.

____________________________________________________________________________

Dick barely registered anything after launching into the hug Bruce offered. As soon as he’s wrapped in his father’s arms, his mind stops spinning. The restless itch finally ceases. Hell, even the jitters caused by the caffeine seem to ease, his headache practically disappears. He sinks deeper into the hold, mind finally quiet, no longer in fight or flight. Bruce takes his weight easily, and Dick barely registers a command to jump, and then they’re moving.

He feels like he should be embarrassed at how he’s being carried like a toddler, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s still mostly supporting himself with his legs wrapped around Bruce’s hips.

He doesn’t know how long they’re walking, only distantly registering as Bruce sits and Dick lets his legs drop. Bruce arranges them on the couch, letting Dick lay flat on top of him. A fluffy blanket is tucked around him, followed by a weighted blanket.

Dick appreciated the thought, he prefers the texture of the fluffy blanket, but he needs the weight to help ground him.

Dick doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he does register the position they’re in getting uncomfortable. His arms are squished awkwardly under Bruce, and it’s not all that comfortable to lay across him. Dick has to work himself up to shift positions, nudging Bruce until he’s sitting up and Dick can lay against his shoulder.

“What do you want to watch?” Bruce asks softly.

“I…I don’t know. Something funny?”

“I can do that.” Bruce fixes the blankets from where they had fallen, tucking them securely around Dick and then turning his attention to the screen as he sets the movie up.

“Wait, don’t you have to go talk to the others?”

“I texted them. They left from patrol, if there’s an emergency they’ll contact me. Alfred should be bringing up some snacks for us before he goes to monitor them.”

“Right here, sir.” Alfred enters with a tray and a big bowl. The tay has fruit, some desserts, and pretzels. The bowl is piled with popcorn. He rests his hand on Dick’s shoulder after he drops the food off, “I am glad you are here, Master Dick.”

Once Alfred leaves, Bruce hits play on the movie. Dick doesn’t pay a lot of attention, he’s finally relaxed enough to feel sleepy and he finds himself dozing off.

“Love you, kid.” Bruce murmurs into his hair.

“‘M not a kid.” Dick responds tiredly, words muffled and slurred.

“My kid. You’re always my kid, I don’t care how old you are.”

Dick hums, drifting off.

At some point, he wakes to Titus making himself comfortable by their feet, curling up on the couch with his massive head on Dick’s legs. Alfred perches near their heads, tail curled neatly around his white paws.

Dick is asleep by the time his siblings find them there, but he wakes up briefly at the jostling as they all settle in.

In the morning, he and Bruce will need to have a more in depth talk. In the morning, he’ll have to come clean about how he doesn’t feel entirely safe to show when he’s not ok.

But that’s the morning.

Right now, he can sleep peacefully, surrounded by his family and wrapped in his father’s arms.

[ahqkas]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS TOXIC TRAITS / RED FLAGS + GREEN FLAGS ── .✦

a/n: the thing is, they all aren’t like problematic when it comes to relationships but they do have some things and flaws which when heard sound “oh okay that’s fine” but may be like super annoying in a irl relationship also this was a request by anon (here)! (Tags: batboys x reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Chronic People-Pleaser: Will prioritize everyone’s needs over his own (or yours), leading to burnout… and you having to remind him you exist.

Flirty by Nature: He’s not trying to flirt… it just happens. That waitress? Nope, not on purpose, but yeah, you’ll roll your eyes a lot.

Hero Complex: He always has to “save” people, including you, even when you’re perfectly fine handling it yourself. “I got it, babe.” No, you don’t, Dick.

GREEN FLAGS:

Emotionally Intelligent: He can read your mood like a book and knows exactly how to make you smile (with pancakes shaped like hearts).

Physical Affection Expert: Hugs, cuddles, forehead kisses—you’re basically his personal teddy bear.

Supportive King: He’s your biggest cheerleader, hyping you up in the most genuine, heartfelt ways. “That’s my girl.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Anger Issues: He’ll throw hands for you at the slightest provocation. Guy looks at you wrong? Jason’s already removing his jacket.

Emotionally Guarded: Good luck getting him to open up. He’s more likely to tell you his deepest fears after you’ve fallen asleep.

Reckless Behavior: He’ll drag you into the most insane situations and act like it’s no big deal. “What do you mean this is dangerous? It’s fine.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Loyal to a Fault: He’ll defend you with his life, no questions asked. “You mess with her, you mess with me.”

Soft Romantic: Beneath the tough exterior, he’s writing you sweet notes and remembering the little things, like how you take your coffee.

Protective (in a good way): He won’t smother you, but he’ll make sure you always feel safe, even if it’s just crossing the street.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Workaholic: He’ll forget to eat, sleep, and sometimes text you back because “the case was just getting good!”

Overthinks Everything: Spends hours analyzing your last text to figure out if you were mad or just tired. “Was that period passive-aggressive?”

Terrible Self-Care: You’ll have to force him to drink water and go to bed like a mom with a rebellious child.

GREEN FLAGS:

Incredibly Thoughtful: He remembers every detail about you, from your favorite flower to that obscure hobby you mentioned once.

Adorably Awkward: His shy smiles and fumbling over words when you flirt back are endlessly endearing.

Problem Solver: He’ll find solutions to all your problems, from fixing your computer to making your bad day better with tea and soft music.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Insanely Jealous: He glares daggers at anyone who looks at you too long. “Why is he breathing near you?”

Judgmental: He might critique your taste in music, books, or anything else with his usual bluntness. “This… is what you listen to?”

Control Freak: He likes things done a certain way and will try to “help” you by micromanaging your life.

GREEN FLAGS:

Devoted Partner: Once he’s in, he’s all in. You’ll never doubt his commitment because he’s always showing up for you.

Loyal Beyond Measure: He’ll defend your honor to anyone, even Bruce. “She’s perfect, Father. You simply lack taste.”

Surprisingly Gentle: Despite his tough exterior, he has a soft side that only you get to see, like the way he pets animals—or you—so tenderly.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Emotionally Repressed: He’s basically a human brick wall when it comes to expressing his feelings. “I’m… fine.” No, Bruce, you’re not.

Work Comes First: He’ll disappear into the Batcave for days unless you drag him out by the cape which becomes quickly annoying.

Overprotective: He’ll want to track your every move, not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he worries too much. “It’s for your safety.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Quietly Romantic: He may not be overly expressive, but he’ll show love through subtle gestures—like a bouquet of your favorite flowers left on the table.

Ultimate Provider: He makes sure you never want for anything, whether it’s emotional support or physical comfort.

Unshakable Devotion: Once you’ve captured his heart, he’s yours forever. There’s no halfway with Bruce—he’s in it for the long haul.

[faesdreaming]

cardinal concept

yandere platonic batfam with a resurrected reader

a/n: because as much as i love neglected reader, dead (then alive again) reader just has so much potential

the dynamic duo, batman and robin. bruce wayne and dick grayson. then, you came along; a result of bruce’s irresponsible coupling with a young woman he’d long since forgotten about. you grow up in the nastier parts of gotham with your mother, where you’re forces to grow up faster and become more mature, until she has an accident.

after you’re mother’s untimely death, you find yourself under his care. bruce is hesitant and unsure, he’s already struggled with raising dick. he doesn’t want to fail you too. he dances around telling about batman until you happen upon the batcave, at your insistence and a few instances of you following them, he relents and lets you join.

suddenly, it’s batman, robin, and cardinal.

bruce is initially unsure what to do with you, even after you become cardinal. unlike with dick, who needed to become robin lest he go down a darker road, you’re only cardinal because of him. it draws out an agonizing guilt, causing bruce to practically coddle you. but you’re emotionally intelligent, in a way bruce isn’t, you’re able to communicate with soft words and gentle reasoning instead of shouting matches and tearful pouting like your brother. you’re his angel, his sweet, understanding angel. it reminds him of his own mother. you’re kind, empathetic disposition is everything bruce needs in his life. because yes, to him, your brother needs his guidance. but bruce needs yours.

as for dick his relationship is with you as simple as this: he’s the big brother and you’re the little sibling. you can fight and argue, but you two always make up and head off to snuggle or play. you’re bond grows stronger the more time you spend on patrol— having each other’s back, getting into trouble with batman— or at school— although you’re in a younger grade, you still see your big brother at school and go to him when you have problems— or at home— snuggled up, watching a movie and eating snacks provided by alfred— you two are extremely close.

you’re little of family of four— including alfred, of course— is tight-knit. you fight and argue but always make up and you’re always there for each other.

until dick becomes nightwing and a scruffy teen named jason todd joins you. as close as you are with your older brother and father, you bond with him far quicker. maybe it’s because of how close you are in age, or maybe it’s because of your shared past experiences.

the family dynamics shift and change, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. dick grows more distant, going off with the titans. but that’s to be expected, he’s grown up now. you still visit him, of course. and he still pops by to see you. bruce, you notice, softens, almost. he’s grown accustomed to parenthood. jason is your favourite change, though. a sibling close in age, but still younger, so can justify (playfully) bossing him around. your family isn’t perfect, but it’s yours and you love it.

then, jason and bruce start fighting. dick goes off world. a fight with bane leaves you injured and out of commission. it’s just a rough patch, you tell yourself. until, suddenly, jason’s birth mother contacts him. something’s off about it. you want to tell your dad, however, jason is adamant you shouldn’t. reluctantly, you don’t, opting to go along with him just in case.

your gut, as it turns out, was right. you’re injured and unable to do much as the joker captures you and jason. you’re helpless to watch as your brother, your sweet baby brother, is beaten mercilessly with a crowbar. your voice is hoarse from screaming during your own beating and your body is sore, but despite it all, you still rasp out pleas to let your brother go. one child will be effective enough. the joker can spare one. of course, in his cruelty, he doesn’t.

you’re left aching, battered, and bruised. the ticking of the bomb serves as the count to your death. jason, brave jason, tries to gather enough strength to get up. and maybe, just maybe, he could escape if he weren’t focused on trying to save you. he won’t listen to your pleas for him to go, to leave you behind. he’s adamant upon accompanying you to your doom.

you hear the final ticks. with all the strength you have left, you move towards him. you cannot save yourself. you cannot save him. all you can do is die beside him. pressing your forehead to his, the last thing you see is your little brother’s face before the final tick sounds and the ensuing explosion consumes you.

and that’s the end of it, your journey, your life. you’re buried alongside your brother in a sombre ceremony, your uniform cased in glass as a memorial to bruce’s failures. he becomes angrier, loses himself. he’s lost two of his children and is fighting with his only remaining one. dick, is utterly furious, with himself and bruce. he blames bruce. for letting his precious siblings die, for starting them all of this heroic crusade. he blames himself for not being there, for being distant with you and jason.

alas, time marches forwards and batman needs a new robin, in the form of one tim drake. he’s a clever kid, one way too smart for his own good. one you used to babysit while his rich parents were away to earn some extra cash. it wasn’t right, leaving him with no one his age to play with. so, when you could, you’d come over. you’d soothe his loneliness. and for that, he’s forever grateful.

your influence continues beyond your death. for you life has impacted so many. barbara gordan, for example, who viewed you akin to a little sister. who fought alongside you as batgirl. you were loved by many as (Y/N) Wayne. your friends and family still hold candles for you. even as they accept your lose, they never stop fully grieving for you and the lost potential brimming inside you. then, there are those who you impacted as cardinal. as a hero, you saved numerous lives, including that of one stephanie brown, who will forever feel indebted to you and strives to become just like you.

the justice league, who knew you as one of the first sidekicks, who functioned like extended family, mourn deeply for your loss and offer sympathies to your father and brother. they will remember you and your tenacity, carrying on their pursuit of justice with you in mind. certainly villains, such as poison ivy and even harley quinn, are enraged with the joker. while you could occasionally be a pain, you were their favourite kiddie hero. and of course the likes of selina kyle and talia al ghul, your father’s paramours, women who became like family to you.

cardinal will be forever immortalized in the hearts of heroes and villains alike, your legacy of compassion and kindness living on in memories transformed into stories, your death a testament to sacrifice and love and heroism— except, that isn’t how it ends, is it? no. your story doesn’t end with your death, it’s how it begins.

and your real story begins by waking in the constricting confined of your casket, bursting out with inhuman strength, fueled by the adrenaline boost, and digging your way out of your grave, the cool mud giving way to harsh ground until you break through the service. that night, that stormy gotham eve, is the day you are reborn.

you flee then wander the streets of gotham until you regain your mind. you remember, you remember everything and you, you don’t want to go back. not to your family, not to your friends, not the life you once knew. you were given a new life. and this life, you would live for yourself.

sans your old attachments, you live encumbered, untroubled by past woes. yet, you seem to forget your festering memory, the mark you’ve left on people. you forget that while you may be willing to leave your old life behind, they aren’t as willing to let you go. especially when they learn you’re within reach.