#the red hood/reader

[birdmeh]

. MakeDamnSure .

Chapter 1: City Lights

Jason Todd / Reader Warnings: canon typical violence Summary: Working at The Velvet Room had its pros: free movies, paid time off, and flexible schedules. But with every pro comes a con; for you, that con was Jason Todd. Rude, intimidating, and strangely passionate about romance movies.

Days would pass you by in a series of stale popcorn, sticky floors, dim lights, and faded posters. This specific day was a Tuesday night, which for any average person is nothing more than that, but for you, Tuesdays were the best day of your week. You got to leave work early, meaning your daily shift at The Velvet Room Theater was cut short by four hours. Instead of closing at twelve, you found yourself leaving at a promising eight o’clock.

This felt particularly rewarding following long harsh days of grueling classes and mountains of homework. The early escape allowed you to have a few extra hours of deserved freedom to unwind and keep to yourself. Despite this, you still felt as if your energy was at an all-time low, especially after being posted at the outdated ticket booth of all places. You sat aimlessly in the small gazebo-like structure at the entrance of the theater feeling completely confined by the four suffocating walls.

Business was slow, so like usual, you found yourself getting lost amongst the little things. The chipped yellow paint that lined the walls that you would gently scrape at it with your nail. The people that walked by, some the usual suspicious characters you would see roaming Gotham, others being families and businessmen on their commute back home. And most importantly the captivating neon signs that decorated the streets around you, pubs, bodegas, doctor's offices, psychics. No matter the place, the cramped street that The Velvet Room resided on had it.

When the occasional customer would stop by you would greet them with a sheepish tired smile and a default customer service voice that was warm and far too kind. Your robotic routine would consist of a greeting, understanding what movie the customer was looking for, naming the price, giving change when necessary, and handing over the ticket while informing them of their theater number. This routine ensured that every interaction went smoothly and up to par with your boss’ standards. Unfortunately, there are customers who feel the need to make the exchange much more difficult than it should be. Being the person you are you will always try to give them the benefit of the doubt not knowing what could have played out in their day to make them treat you with such hostility but sometimes assholes just want to be assholes.

This was the case for Jason Todd. _

You don’t know when but at some point throughout your shift you were taken by sleep, waking to a slow steady stream of drool dribbling from the corner of your lip to the oak desk your cheek was plastered onto. Squinted eyes take a moment to adjust to the newfound light and manage to jolt upwards at a dark-haired man aggressively tapping on the glass that separated you from him. Like a startled zoo animal, you readjust yourself into a much less compromising position, shooting upwards, flattening your wrinkled maroon shirt, wiping your face, and plastering on that award-winning customer service smile. The man did not seem amused by this. Instead, he greeted you with this intimidating cold gaze that only seemed to harden as he slowly racked his eyes over your disheveled form, clearly displeased at what he saw. He leaned over the counter making the small booth you reside in feel much smaller with his overbearing presence. The walls now seemed to be slowly closing in on you as the man inched his face towards the glass nearly fogging it up in the process.

“I’m sorry did I wake you?” There was no sincerity in his voice upon asking the simple question, instead, it was dripping with scrutiny. This made you feel small.

“No, no, not at all,” it takes the entirety of your being to recall the internal script that guides every customer interaction as he continues to look at you with that blank stare. “I’m so so sorry, is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah, I need one ticket for the 8 pm showing.” he's blunt, to the point, and almost snappy.

“Okay so one ticket for City Lights, would that be it?” The choice of film makes you press your lips into a thin line suppressing a smile. With all the new cliche douchebag action movies out there that you could only assume he liked, this man settled on a classical romantic comedy. A silent film about this tramp falling deeply in love with a lonely blind flower girl. He makes various efforts to help her regain her sight throughout the film in heartwarming and silly ways. It truly was a captivating piece, one of your favorites.

His fingers drum against the counter. He's irritated. “That's it.”

“Alright, that’ll be fifteen.”

The black-haired man pulls a twenty-dollar bill from an obnoxious tactical looking wallet. He slides it across the table without another word before reaching towards his chest pocket and pulling out an out-of-date flip phone as he awaited his change.

You quickly open up the register in the hopes of ending this painfully rude interaction only to realize that there are no singles or fives. There was definitely enough change to gather five dollars worth to return to the man but you used your best judgment to not do that, knowing for a fact that any Gothamite would be glad to throw said change back in your face. You were hardly able to meet the brooding man's eye as you glanced up, nervously gnawing away at the inside of your cheek. “I’m so-so-soooo sorry but we don’t have change. Do you have a ten and a five or anything more exact?”

He looks annoyed as he slips his phone back into his pocket. “No, I don't have exact change. What do you mean you don’t have any fives? It’s a five-dollar bill, any movie theater has to have fives. What kinda business do you think you’re running here?” He rambled on annoyance growing more and more present.

“We're low on small bills and we usually clear the register every few hours cause you know-,” you make a sheepish circular motion with your finger in an attempt to put emphasis on the area around you “Gotham.”

He crosses his arms over his gray sweater-clad chest, the furrow in his brow only deepening. “Listen, don’t be giving me attitude. Just because this is Gotham doesn’t mean it’s a free pass for shitty service.”

“No- that wasn’t what I was trying to do? I-” Panicked eyes glance at the digital clock beside you only to be met with a harsh red 8:03 flashing back at you.

This man was late for his movie and you were about to miss the next bus home. Trying to ignore his rude quip you spin on your heel towards the bag residing on a small stool beside you before reaching in and pulling out five crumpled-up singles. You then turn to your side to print his ticket and hastily slide both to him. Sure you wouldn’t have enough for your daily overpriced coffee tomorrow but anything was better than dealing with a disrespectful customer off the clock.

“Thanks,” he muttered, a scowl still etched onto his face as he narrowed his eyes at the ticket and crumpled loose bills that now resided in the palm of his hand. He then moved to turn away but not before backtracking and shooting you a glance that was not only laced with annoyance but curiosity as well. This was the last you saw of him before he made his way into the theater, door slamming shut behind him.

You release an exasperated breath thrilled by the fact that the confrontation was over. Obviously, you had dealt with many “colorful” personalities in your time working at The Velvet Room, it is just one of those things that you are forced to come to terms with when living in Gotham. Despite this, each confrontation does not fail to leave you more shaken up than the last.

You shot your manager a text informing her of your leave so she could ensure that one of your coworkers relieved you for the night shift. By now the clock read 8:06, and given the fact that your bus was set to leave in ten minutes, you were sure you were going to miss it. Making haste, you grab your purse, phone, and jacket, clumsily sliding the heavy leather garment over your shoulders.

As you finally step out of the ticketing booth the refreshing night air nips at your ears and nose; it wasn't like this in the morning yet with autumn coming in full swing the weather was becoming a bit more extreme. This makes you wrap your jacket around you a bit tighter as you make a beeline towards the bus stop.

— Surprisingly the bus was still there upon your arrival, sure you had run after it and flagged it down by flailing your arms around like the average Gotham madman but it was worth ensuring you got home on time. Once you're at the glass doors they swing open with a hiss allowing you to make slow calculated steps up the metallic stairs. You hesitate at the entrance scouring through your bag looking for the cash that you swore you had to pay the fare. Your hands then drift towards the pockets of your coat but are only met with empty fabric. The realization soon hits you that you overestimated the amount of cash you had in your bag and the money meant for your bus fare now resided in the pocket of the boorish customer from earlier.

Your stomach drops as you begin to acknowledge the ticketing machine waiting expectantly as well as the growing traction from the curious passenger around you, puzzled at what was taking so long. Now you make the choice to weigh your options. You could either A, ask for a free ride and explain your situation to the visibly annoyed driver or B, hop off and make the twenty-minute walk home.

With the circumstances making you wildly uneasy the second option seems like the clear choice.

You fade back into the sidewalk sheepishly as you feel your chest tighten with anxiety.

It isn’t like you haven’t walked alone in Gotham before, but with the sun having already set and the streets becoming more and more vacant by the minute you can't help but worry for your safety. To this, you found solace in the form of a small tube of pepper spray attached to your home keys that would, in the case of emergency, keep you safe. Of course this would only ever apply to some low level thug, because god forbid some Riddler or Scarecrow type decided to make an appearance. _ The street around you was dimly lit by the occasional faulty lamp post or neon bar sign that you refused to pay much attention to; for the sake of your personal wellbeing you knew to keep your head low and consciousness forward. Rapid steps carry you across the uneven pavement feeling forced to watch your footing and prevent a nasty fall.

A feeling of unease would only grow in your gut as your eyes linger on each person that passed you by. You scan their faces, taking note of the way that some would glance at you curiously while others seemed to be lost in their own world. A growing sense of vulnerability weighs heavily on you, but despite this you push on, determined to reach your home. The feeling of being watched however lingers over you, gnawing away your already decreased composure.

There is one particular man that catches your eye as walks towards your direction. He is tall and slim, the moon casting a sharp and twisted silhouette on the ground below him. A black zip-up hoodie clings to his pale figure, worn with age. His face is partially obscured by a baseball cap only allowing you to take note of piercing brown eyes that do not leave your own. He walks by allowing you to pick up on the smell of old cigarette smoke and booze. Your heart races and your posture stiffens as you pass him praying that he would not stop.

As you continue down the street you hear his foot steps slow to a halt. You cautiously look over your shoulder only to find that he has turned to completely face you, eyes locking intensely.

“Lost?” he asks, his voice low and teasing. There’s an edge to it that makes your skin crawl. He takes another step closer and you can’t help but be frozen where you stand.

“Listen..I’m just trying to get home” you squeeze out, making a weak attempt at keeping your voice steady while slowly raising your hands to put an emphasis on the fact that you meant no harm. The pepper-spray began to burn a hole in your pocket but the fear of making any sudden movements prohibited you from reaching for it.

“Here's what we’re gonna do,” he says, cutting you off as he pulls his sweatshirt up a tad exposing an old stained tank top and an opaque gun tucked into his waistband. “You’re gonna give me your bag, phone, and wallet.” His words are sharp and confident like he has done this before, and with the way things were going he definitely has. The tension is so insanely thick you could cut it with a knife. Sweat begins to bead at the palms of your hands, nape of your neck, and forehead while your chest rises and falls with quick breaths. You felt warm all over.

You try to swallow down the lump in your throat. “I don’t really have—”

“Save it,” he interrupts. “Just hand it over. Now.”

All it took was a second of hesitation and a slight twitch of your arm in the direction of your pocket for him to lunge towards you, fist connecting hard with your eye socket. You swore you saw stars. The pain shoots down your skull into your spine sending you into a panicked frenzy making you stagger away clumsily and almost immediately, you feel swelling around the eye. You don’t have the time to register what has happened before the man barks orders at you to keep it moving while shoving you towards a faulty lamp post, the cold surface biting into your back. Instinctively you raise your hands before deciding to toss your bag to the man's feet, watching helplessly as he rummages through it, pulling out whatever he finds of value.

Once satisfied he meets your terrified gaze once more. “Get out of here,”

You nod quickly, heart still pounding in your chest as you cautiously step away not even attempting to reach for whatever remained in your bag. He could keep it. You turn to sprint down the street, pain in your eye throbbing with each uncoordinated step, serving as a constant reminder of how dangerous these streets truly were.

You are not safe here in Gotham. You never were. You never will be.

[parkjammys]

the audacity of the official dc account to even post this 😭

[mostly-imagines]

La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

[vinamari]

How it feels going to bed after reading some words

It was angst

[elvinapandra]

POV : you have been scrolling for the past hour and all you see is SMUT

Please...life is lot more than fucking🙏🏻

[dxckgrxsonx]

mhm. thinking of you having eyes too big for your cunt.

meeting jason as a one off little hook up because you’re bored and want a decent fuck for once and him immediately warning you that he’s big. bigger than he thinks you can handle and you taking it as an immediate challenge. all cocky and adamant than you can take him, “im a big girl, hood. ill be able to fuck myself on your cock for fun.” and “just because others can’t take your dick doesn’t mean i can’t. you can’t be that fucking big.”

being forced to eat your own stupid words when he barely sinks the tip into your soft little pussy and you start fucking whining, gasping little breaths as he stretches you open. face scrunched up in a wince, teeth pressed together as your pussy tries to force him out.

jason’s voice knocking up a pitch in response, a knowing drawl making his mouth start watering. tone all mocking and condescending, “poor baby, can’t even take the tip before tapping out.” and “what happened to you? why’re you crying? i thought you said you could take me?”

sniffling and trying to control your tears as he keeps sinking more and more into your cunt, the stretch hurting so bad your legs tremble. jason cooing, kissing you so deeply it’s dizzying and leaving you half in love. all whilst telling you how good you’re being for him and holding you open by the backs of your knees so you can’t close your legs, all to watch your poor pussy weep and struggle to swallow him up.

it turns him on so bad to feel you clench so goddamn tightly around his cock he can hardly move. your voice wobbling and hitching when he pulls back only to push back forward and nudge himself that little bit deeper.

you cry and cry but you’re so wet it’s almost disgusting and jason decides there and then that he’s never letting you go.

[luv-lock]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ A 10/10 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

𐙚 Pairing: Batboys x Fem Reader

𐙚 Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

𐙚 Headcanon: General thought about their d!ck.

𐙚 Notes: Minors DNI. Yes I'm ashame of myself... And for people that says "but Damian is 14-16" we literally have at least 5-6 version of him as an adult, so yeah. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

𓈒   ⎯ Bruce Wayne

Let’s be real here—Bruce is packing. Not just in the Batmobile but in his pants too. You knew Gotham’s favorite billionaire had to be compensating for all the emotional repression somehow, right? Soft, he’s a solid 4.5 inches, but when he’s hard? This man is pushing 7.8 inches, and girthy enough that the first time you see it, your eyes might widen just a little (and he notices). Bruce is so well-kept it’s almost infuriating—clean-shaven, smooth, with a slight curve upwards that hits places you didn’t even know existed. The veins? Immaculate. He looks like something out of a sinful art gallery. And oh, he’s so smug about it. The type to whisper in your ear, “You’re taking me so well,” while his cock stretches you open in the most delicious way. His stamina is next level—he doesn’t cum quickly, but when he does? It’s thick, warm, and comes in heavy spurts. Not too salty either, with a clean taste (you’re welcome). He’s also quietly obsessed with how you react to him—it feeds his ego.

𓈒   ⎯ Dick Grayson

Alright, ladies, let’s talk about Dick. The first Robin, the golden boy—of course, he’s a damn gift in the bedroom too. Soft, he’s a respectable 4 inches, but when he’s fully hard that’s 7.5 inches, sleek and just slightly slimmer than Bruce’s (he jokes about being “aerodynamic”). Dick’s cock curves upward just right, a natural curve that always hits your G-spot perfectly, and his veins are prominent enough that you feel every ridge as he moves inside you. He’s smooth down there, neatly trimmed, and he has a little beauty mark just above his shaft (you discovered it while going down on him one day, and now you can’t stop kissing it). His tip is super sensitive—run your tongue along it, and he’s putty in your hands. And when Dick cums? It’s a lot. Like, a lot. He’s a messy boy—warm, thick, and he always gasps your name when he finishes, pressing his forehead to yours like it’s the most intimate thing in the world.

𓈒   ⎯ Jason Todd

Jason’s cock matches his vibe: thick, heavy, and absolutely commanding. Soft? This man is 5 inches, and when he’s hard? He’s a beast at 8.5 inches with a girth that’ll make you question if you can handle it (spoiler: you’ll love it). He’s got a slight downward curve, which hits your walls just right when he’s thrusting deep. And god, the veins. Jason’s dick looks like it was carved by a lustful Greek god—thick, prominent veins that press against every inch of you in the most obscene way. He’s not as neatly trimmed as Bruce or Dick—just enough to stay presentable, but it’s Jason, so you’d expect a bit of ruggedness. His tip is flushed and sensitive, and when you wrap your lips around him, he curses low and filthy under his breath. Jason cums hard—his orgasms are so intense that he growls through them, his whole body trembling as he empties himself inside you. His cum is hot, thick, and just slightly salty, like he’s been drinking too much coffee (which, let’s be real, he has).

𓈒   ⎯ Damian Wayne

Listen, Damian might be the youngest of the bunch, but don’t underestimate him. His cock is a masterpiece. Soft, he’s around 4.2 inches, and when he’s hard? A respectable 7 inches—not as long as Jason or Bruce, but he’s thicker than Dick. Damian is proud of what he’s got, too, the type to smirk and tease you about how flustered you get every time he pulls it out. His tip is a little darker than the rest of his shaft, and the veins are subtle but enough to feel every time he slides into you. He’s meticulous about grooming, of course—everything is perfectly trimmed, and he smells so damn good it drives you wild. When Damian cums, it’s deliberate and controlled—he’s not the type to lose himself completely, but that just makes it hotter. His release is warm, thick, and there’s always a smug smirk on his face when he watches you struggle to catch your breath afterward. He’s the type to kiss you deeply and whisper, “You can take more, can’t you?” because he loves pushing your limits.

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

[angelfic]

— A BOY WHO’S JACKED AND KIND

jason todd x reader summary: you trick jason into participating in a certain tiktok trend a/n: a little drabble because I’ve been doomscrolling on tiktok and jason is most definitely jacked and kind and I need him desperately

You can tell that Jason is getting more annoyed by the second. He can’t continue reading his book for longer than five minutes at a time before glancing up at you from across the room with a curious frown. You move around the kitchen fixing yourself an iced coffee while absentmindedly scrolling through your phone and occasionally letting out a laugh or smiling.

By the sixth time you let out a snort, Jason decided he’s had enough and shuts his book, flinging it onto the coffee table before walking over to join you in the kitchen. “What’s making you smile that isn’t me, babe?”

“Huh?” You pull your eyes away from your phone to see Jason attempting a casual pose, leaning against the refrigerator, but he’s borderline pouting. You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing at him and shake your head. “It’s nothing, just some videos.”

“What kind of videos?” he asks quietly, reaching out to start playing with a strand of your hair that’s escaped your claw clip as if by reflex. He’s still frowning slightly and you roll your eyes, deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Just a cute TikTok trend,” you explain, pulling one of the videos up as Jason peers at your phone eagerly. “See, you get your boyfriend to see if he can pick you up and put you on his shoulder. Some of them are really cute, but look, there’s some who can’t hack it.”

Jason nods slowly in revelation, still engrossed in the rest of the video that’s currently playing before he huffs and shakes his head. “How the hell is that guy struggling? Easy work,” he mumbles.

You’re about to tell him that not everyone has that Red Hood strength on their side before a plan starts forming in your head. Suppressing a smirk, you glance up at him and raise your eyebrows. “Oh yeah? You think you could do it better?”

Jason looks at you with a blank expression. “Was that a joke, or…?”

“I know you’re strong,” you say, shrugging as you nonchalantly take a sip of your coffee, turning away to hide your grin as you walk over to the living room. Jason is hot on your heels as expected. “I just don’t think you could do this as easily as you think.”

“Let’s go,” he says, clapping his hands together. You slowly turn around and tilt your head in questioning. “Let’s make the video, c’mon.”

Hook, line and sinker.

“Alright,” you sigh, setting down your coffee to prop your phone up against it. You pull up the app. “If you insist. Do you want your face in it or should we do it facing backwards?”

“I’ll just cover my face with my hand,” he waves you off, rocking on his heels impatiently. “I only need one of ‘em to lift you.”

He says it so matter-of-fact, and the knowledge that he’s not actually trying to boast has your mouth going dry. It doesn’t help that he’s now shucking off his hoodie and wearing a short-sleeve black t-shirt. His biceps flex as he flings the hoodie onto the couch and you resist the urge to forget about the video and pounce on him. Just for a second.

Clearing your throat, you busy yourself with pressing record and turning a timer on to allow you to step back towards Jason.

“Moment of truth,” you say, challenging him with your doubtful expression and he merely smirks. “Try not to pull any muscles.”

Jason snorts and goes to cover his face with one of his hands, the other already seeking out your waist.

“Wait, not yet!” you remove his arm to place it back at his side and he peeks through his other hand to let you see him rolling his eyes. When the timer is done, you allow yourself to grin, unrestrained and count to 3 in your head. “Okay, go.”

Before the audio has even played halfway through, Jason bends down slightly to factor in your height compared to his and his one large hand grips your hip to lift you off the ground. It feels effortless as he settles you on his shoulder, steady as a rock and you yelp, not expecting him to be that quick.

The rest of the video is you squealing as Jason unexpectedly spins you around in a circle, his one hand gripping your thigh as the other still covers his face. “Jay!” you shriek, looping your arms around his neck to steady yourself. The only reason you’re unsteady is because Jason’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

The video stops recording when the audio ends and you tell Jason as much, making him drop the hand covering his face to grin up at you. He raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘I told you so’, before flexing his free arm for dramatic effect.

“See?” he says, rubbing small circles on your thigh with his thumb and talking up at you with all the ease of talking to you as if you were on the ground in front of him. “What did I say? Easy work, babe.”

“Big show off,” you say, wrinkling your nose at him as you begin to slide down his body. You go slowly, considering the man is basically a human skyscraper and he seems to take advantage of the fact, hands shamelessly roaming up your legs and your sides. He hooks your legs over his own waist, making you cling to him like a koala.

“Can I help you?” you ask, squinting at him when he doesn’t say anything, choosing to just stare at your face instead, drinking you in. You break his concentration by leaning in to press a short, sweet kiss onto his lips that he chases when you pull away. “Earth to Jason?”

“Y’know, I’d be more inclined to participate in your stupid TikTok trends if they all end like this,” Jason mutters, running his nose along your jaw and down your neck before nestling his face there. He doesn’t initiate anything, simply wanting to bask in the comfort of your skin.

You grin at the successful ending to your grand plan, disentangling yourself from your boyfriend to jump down, ignoring his groans of protest.

You run to your phone to save the video to your drafts - no one else needs to see how good Jason’s arms look in a tight black tee - and pull up your folder of couple TikToks. “Oh, well, if you’re finally offering,” you start saying, circling Jason’s wrist with your hand and pulling him onto the couch. He sighs, previously sweet smile being replaced by something skeptical. “I have a whole bunch of ideas.”

“This feels like a set-up.”

© angelfic 2024.

[ivysangel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fluffy-anna]

SOMEWHERE IN THE WAYNE MANOR

[cat-castors]

having Jason Todd as your boyfriend means that he's often covered in random bite marks, some people assume he owns a cat and he hums and agrees with them

yeah, sure, he's got a feral kitty at home, one that randomly bites his thick thighs and stomach when he's doing nothing but innocently reading in the comfort of his own home.

trying to stop you from biting by putting your head in the crook of his arm does little to deter you as you just bite his meaty, muscled forearms so he just accepts his fate and lets you get out your excess cuteness aggression by biting him

maybe he'd even push a finger or two in your mouth for you to gnaw on, pushing the pads of his fingertips to your tongue and letting you look stupid and drool all over his fingers before he lets you drool over something bigger.

Just.. maybe don't bite him over there, yeah?

[ahqkas]

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS THEY DO . . . without realizing

BRUCE WAYNE

rolling his sleeves

bruce wayne sat at his desk, eyes scanning the papers in front of him with a focus that bordered on obsessive. his brow furrowed slightly as he sifted through the reports, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. with a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his broad shoulders rolling as he stretched, the fabric of his shirt straining just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.

he reached down to his cuffs, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid the buttons. the action was simple, but there was an undeniable smoothness to it. slowly, he pushed the sleeves up, the fabric tugging against the defined muscles of his forearms as they flexed with the motion. the shirt rode up slightly, revealing the veins beneath.

once the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he flexed his fingers briefly, feeling the weight of the day settle into his body. there was no rush, no hurry. bruce wayne wasn’t just a man who wore suits—he was a man who controlled the world around him.

looking down and leaning in to hear you better

he stood tall, his imposing presence filling the space as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the difference in height between you made the moment feel all the more intimate, as though the world around you had faded into the background. his broad shoulders, strong and steady, seemed to fill the room with the weight of his silent power. every inch of him radiated control, and yet, there was something almost magnetic about the way he was focused on you now, narrowing the gap between you.

he tilted his head just a little, his gaze softening yet still intense, before his lips parted slightly. with a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, he leaned closer, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

“sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the words lingering in the air between you. there was no rush in his movement, no hint of impatience—just the steady presence of a man who knew the effect he had, who made every action feel deliberate, calculated.

DICK GRAYSON

stretching

dick grayson towered in the middle of your bedroom, a small stretch escaping him after a long day of training and patrol. with a soft grunt, he raised his arms high above his head, his back arching slightly as his muscles flexed in the motion. the action was simple, but the way his body moved with effortless grace caught the light in just the right way, accentuating the sleek, toned lines of his chest and abdomen.

as he reached upwards, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the faint line of his happy trail—dark and subtle beneath the fabric. his abs tightened with the stretch, his posture perfect and confident, yet so natural.

when his arms finally lowered, he relaxed, a small, satisfied smile curling on his lips, unaware of the effect the simple stretch had on your wandering gaze.

running a hand through his hair

he leaned back against the post of your bed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath after another long night of patrol. he was tired, but not exhausted—just enough to feel the strain of the evening settling into his muscles. his hand moved instinctively to his hair, running through it with a relaxed sigh. the motion was effortless, but there was something undeniably attractive about it. his fingers tangled in the dark strands, pushing them back, only to leave them even more tousled than before.

his hair, usually neatly styled, now fell in messy waves, a little wild and chaotic—much like dick himself. as he scratched the back of his head, his tousled look gave off a carefree vibe, as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite the weight of his responsibilities. the slight rumple only added to the charm.

his lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile as he caught the look in your eyes, momentarily lost in them—so damn predictable. he had you right where he wanted you.

JASON TODD

leaning against a doorway

jason todd stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed yet undeniably intimidating. his arms were crossed over his chest, biceps flexing slightly with the movement, a stance that spoke of quiet confidence and a hint of defiance. his shoulders were broad, his body leaning casually against the doorframe, but there was an edge to him—something hard and unyielding beneath the surface. the way his weight shifted ever so slightly to one side gave him an almost effortless air, as if the world had to adjust to him, not the other way around.

his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in everything with a sharp focus, though he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move or speak. the leather jacket he adorned hung from his frame, the subtle creases and folds of the material giving it an air of worn-in familiarity, like it had seen too much for too long. but his gaze—intense, guarded—never left your figure, as if he was watching for something just out of reach, something that only he could sense.

the way jason held himself in the doorway, arms crossed with a hint of tension in his posture, felt like a silent challenge for most, though there was nothing overtly aggressive about it. it was just the quiet power of a man who was used to being underestimated, a man who didn't need to say a word to command attention.

wearing a shirt that fits just right

he moved through the motions of his training with practiced precision, the rhythm of his strikes steady and controlled. his black shirt clung to his body, the dark fabric stretching over the defined muscles of his chest and back as he moved. the fit was snug, highlighting the sheer strength in his frame, the subtle curve of his biceps flexing with each punch and kick.

swaet began to bead on his forehead, trailing down his temple as he focused on his technique, his breathing steady despite the exertion. the shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders, rode up slightly as his arms reached high, the lines of his stomach momentarily visible as he performed another series of rapid, forceful punches. his torso flexed, muscles tightening and releasing with each movement, and the shirt seemed to accentuate the sculpted definition of his body.

as he paused, catching his breath, the shirt clung even tighter, the movement of his chest beneath it noticeable with every rise and fall of his breath. jason didn’t seem to notice—or care—how the fit of the shirt left little to the imagination. his focus was on the work, on pushing himself further, but the way the fabric outlined his form only added to the unspoken intensity of his presence. even when he wasn't speaking, his body did all the talking.

[parkjammys]

nothing but the truth

[mostly-imagines]

Careless Accidents

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you get hurt and jason’s pissed

warnings: reader’s wrist is accidentally sprained from being grabbed to hard

You could hear scuttling from somewhere else in the garden, an estate more than sizable enough than the game afoot.

You were under the distinct impression though that the bats and birds are playing with you similar to how they would a child. Slower, weaker, and less experienced than the big kids. You weren't complaining though. Because, frankly, it was stressful. They tend to operate more like they’re in a warzone than a game, you felt like you were about to be sniped out at any second.

Rightfully so, apparently, seeing how silently Stephanie had crept up on you.

“Hey,” Stephanie hissed, ignoring the way you jumped. “We’re doing alright for ourselves,” she said smugly. 

“Yeah,” you’d nodded, like you agreed with her more than you probably did. 

“Okay listen, I think the flag—” what flag? “—is by the fountain so, I think because there’s three of us and two of them, we should bait-and-switch.”

“We’re on teams?” you asked, no longer completely sure you know what you’re playing. 

“We are now!” she smiled, starting to run. “I’ll bait!”

She stopped briefly in her tracks and turned back to you hissing, “Don’t trust Cass,” before scurrying away.

Rather than sit around and wait there for…something?...to happen, you jumped up darting in the opposite direction with little to no indication whether this is a good move.

What you didn’t see is Cass rapidly approaching from your rear. 

What you also didn’t see was Dick crouched down in a row of shrubbery, which gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch your arm up and yank you down with him. You’d mewled a bit as your wrist made contact harshly with the grass, immediately buckling under you.

Cass was keen to your pain immediately, slowing her sprint to a stroll as she observed you.

“Are you okay?” she signs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” 

The response was instinctual and you didn’t actually have time to register whether or not you were okay by the time you gave it. 

You pushed up on your elbows, trying to figure out whether Dick is even on your team, but the way the others approached had you halting consideration. They’re savvy to the situation at a speed in which you can only attribute to their vigilantism, looking at you with concern. 

“You good?” Tim asked, approaching languidly.

“That looked like it hurt,” Cass commented, crouching down next to you to see your wrist better.

Dick shook his head, “No, she’s okay.” He turned to you, prodding, “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m, um…” you winced, looking at your wrist. “It hurts a little.”

Cass examined it closely, tilting it gently to the side. “It might be sprained.”

Dick paled. 

“No.”

Tim pointed a thumb back towards the manor, “We can get it wrapped upstairs.”

“No.”

You were only then able to clock the barely contained grin on Stephanie’s face, begging to break.  

“Ooooh. He’s gonna kill you.”

Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.

“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—” 

Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident. 

“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.

You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”

Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done. 

You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.

He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”

“Dick.”

He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes, 

He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.

You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”

Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”

You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically. 

Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.

“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”

Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”

Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”

A deadpan from Tim. 

“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”

Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”

Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”

Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?” 

“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.

“Oh my God.”

He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?

He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.

The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”

The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”

Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.” 

Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”

Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”

Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.

“I can’t help you.”

Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.

Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”

“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”

Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”

Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”

Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom. 

You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you. 

“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.

“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.

He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you. 

Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back. 

You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”

“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”

He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you. 

You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”

The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature. 

He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.

“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”

You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”

He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.

He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”

You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.

Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt. 

“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following. 

“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”

He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”

He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”

You nod, happy to ease his mind. 

You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.

You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.

You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.

He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.

“Fucking idiot—”

You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.

“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.

“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”

He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.

You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him. 

He scoffs, “It better have been.”

You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”

“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”

You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”

“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly. 

You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”

He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”

His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”

You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”

He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”

He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”

“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.

“Dick!”

The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.

He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes. 

“Where is he?”

Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding. 

Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.

He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”

But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.

He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.

There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail. 

“Really? Really?” Jason shouts. 

“It was an accident! It was a fucking—” 

He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.

“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”

Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.

Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”

Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”

He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him. 

Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”

Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”

“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option. 

“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring. 

Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to. 

“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—” 

Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”

“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”

Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”

 “Yeah, of course I did!”

For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body. 

The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.

It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more. 

“Jason.”

Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption. 

You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.

He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.

“I didn’t hit him.”

⭐️ your options are: (1) reblog fics or (2) be a little bitch ⭐️

[sleepn0tfound]

Imagine Neglected!Super/Kent!Reader

We always see neglected batsis!reader but imagine neglected Super/Kent!reader.

Super/Kent!Reader who was born without any powers or any meta gene.

Super/Kent!Reader who doesn't get intentionally ignored by Clark and the family but he would always spend more time with Jon to train him and would always tell her next time.

Super/Kent!Reader who was the most welcoming towards Connor when he first came but as he got accepted by the others she slowly faded into the background as if she didn't exist, like she was a ghost in her own house.

Hacker!Reader who was actually born with different powers compared to the Supers but hid them.

Hacker!Reader who graduated MIT very early on and started to become an anonymous hacker that stole money from the corrupt rich and gave them to places in need, such as crime alley.

Hacker!Reader who toyed with the Justice League, none of them able to find out who she is. Occasionally, she hacks the Watchtower, making the screen glitch, and her signature mark appears; the star of Themis.

Hacker!Reader who even outsmarts Oracle in terms of hacking.

Hacker!Reader who provides Red Hood with all the information he needs.

Hacker!Reader who excels at making tech and frequently teams up with Red Hood and gives him very advanced and specialised tech that is unrivaled, much to Batman's displeasure since Red Hood won't tell him who the new vigilante is.

Hacker!Reader who only gives her tech out to one person, Red Hood. Which can be seen from her signature mark, a four-sided star surrounded by swirls of energy, nicknamed 'the star of Themis'

Hacker!Reader who nobody knows the identity of, except for one person.

Super/Kent!Reader who regularly hangs out with Jason. (Jason finally acquired his own Super)

[allllium]

Jason's love language is 100% touch

I don't care what anyone says I know this man has been craving a nice cuddle under a warm blanket for so long

At first he'll put firm boundaries in place, asking you not to touch him in any intimate way, not unless he initiates it

Which makes total sense considering everything he's been through, all the scars on his body that makes him sick to touch

But over time, surprisingly not a long time, he warms up to your touch and even finds himself craving it

It starts small with an arm around your waist and a warm hand placed in yours, but it quickly turns more intimate

Something he never thought he'd have is suddenly there whenever he wants and he doesn't know how to feel about it

He gets more comfortable with things he never thought would be so nice

He lays his head in your lap as you lay on the couch watching TV, showing a kind of vulnerability neither of you ever expected

He starts sleeping without his shirt on and continuously pulls you closer to him

He almost always has a hand on you now

Now that he's comfortable he's not even gonna think twice before keeping his arm around you or laying his hand comfortably on your thigh

He can't even begin to understand why he feels the happiest he's ever been when you do something as simple as playing with his hair or placing your lips to one of his many scars

Safe to say once he gets to this stage, there's no way to go back

p.s he will totally pout the entire day if you lean away from his touch