#STOP HITTING JASON. JUST. PLEASE FUCKING STOP

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Happy Anniversary || Jason Todd ||

A/n: I love this man.

Warnings:Breeding kink, cock warming, cum play, soft x rough mix

The apartment was quiet except for the soft crackle of the candle flames flickering on the dinner table. Jason’s hand lingered on your lower back as he leaned in, brushing a kiss against your cheek. His cologne and the faint scent of gun oil clung to him—Jason Todd, ever the contradiction of danger wrapped in tenderness.

You’d cooked his favorite meal. Worn that black silk nightgown he could never keep his hands off of. The dim lighting had turned his eyes molten.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” he murmured, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “You always know how to make me feel like I don’t deserve you.”

You turned, smirking as your fingers traced the curve of his jaw. “Good. That means I did it right.”

Jason chuckled—but there was something in your gaze that made him still.

“Jason?” you said softly. “I want to give you something.”

“Babe, you cooked, you wore that dress—” His eyes dropped down your body, throat bobbing.

You took his hand and placed it over your belly.

“I want us to try,” you whispered. “I want to have your baby.”

Jason froze.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because the idea—the reality of it—hit him like a freight train.

You, pregnant. Round with his child. His to take care of, to protect, to claim fully.

“…You mean it?” His voice was hoarse. Shaken.

You nodded. “I want to see your eyes on our kid. I want you inside me and I want it to count.” Your hand reached up to play with the single white strand of his hair.

His lips crashed into yours before the sentence even finished. Hands roaming, desperate. He didn’t take you to the bed. He carried you.

Your back hit the mattress, silk hiked up your thighs. Jason knelt between them, dragging his hands over your skin like he was memorizing it. His cock was already hard—thick, flushed, dripping from the tip.

“You sure?” he asked, already breathless.

“Yes.” You spread your legs. “Fuck me like you mean it. Like you want to see me full with your baby.”

His groan was animalistic.

He didn’t start slow.

He buried himself in one deep thrust that knocked the air from your lungs, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You gasped, body arching, eyes fluttering as he rocked into you—hard, deep, slow.

“This what you want?” he growled, leaning over you, forearm pressed beside your head as his hips slammed into yours. “Want me to fill you up like a good little wife?”

“Y-yes—fuck, yes—Jason—”

His hand curled around your throat—not tight, just grounding.

“Say it. Say you want me to breed you.”

“I want it—I want you to come inside—fuck me full—please, Jay—”

He kissed you hard. Possessive. His tongue slid against yours as his thrusts grew rougher, louder, wet and obscene.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking him in, and he growled.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Keep me in. Gonna fuck a baby into you.”

His pace stuttered, hips grinding as he bottomed out and stayed there—deep inside, cock twitching against your cervix.

He didn’t pull out.

You moaned as you felt it—hot and thick—his cum spilling into you in heavy, warm spurts, pulse after pulse.

But he didn’t stop.

He stayed buried inside you, hips flush, forehead resting against yours as his breath trembled against your lips.

“Keep me there,” he whispered. “Just like this. Let me stay in you. Let it take.”

You whined softly, already sore, stretched, full in every sense.

He kissed you again—slow this time. Reverent.

⸻

You stayed like that for minutes. Breathing together. Him still hard inside you, cock twitching every so often.

You clenched around him on purpose.

“Don’t,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’ll start something.”

“Maybe I want to,” you murmured, teasing.

Jason pulled back just enough to watch as his cum dripped out of you—only to push it back in with two fingers.

“You’re not wasting a fucking drop.”

Then he pressed his tip right back inside—still hard—and settled into you again.

“Happy anniversary, Mrs. Todd.”

"Happy anniversary, Mr.Todd."

Jason held you throughout the night, the man afraid to let you go.

A month later; Jason Todd was crying over a positive pregnancy test.

[literary-dolly]

DOLLY CONGRATS ON 500 🎉🎉🎉 you absolutely deserve it and all the love in the world, so please accept my humble offering: 🫶❤️❣️💕💞🫶❤️💕💗💞❤️💝💖💗🫶💞💕💝💖🫶💗❤️🫶💞💝💖💕❤️💗💝🫶💖

anyways i would love to request a 6 and 61 for jason! you are gonna cook my love and in the meantime i will be cooking on your coffee order hehehehe

RYYAAAA my SOOUULLMAATEE!!!! i would take a breadcrumb if you offered it to me. My coffee order is phenomenal, I have read it 5 times since you posted it and it hits every time. nobody deserves 500 more than you ❤️

i went angsty with this one, really tapped into Jason's more ahhhh angry side, abandonment issues, you know? i'm not sure how i feel about it (but i tried my best). i hope you enjoy it, my best mutual 4 eva.

jason todd x fem!reader warnings: canon typical violence, reader!injury, arguing, somewhat toxic relationship, jason is mean but he has abandonment issues word count: 4.8k prompts: (6. making it to the safehouse) (61. reaching out after a period of no-contact)

There’s no statement that seems to ring out clearer in your head than old habits die hard.

It’s all too familiar: the warm, sticky, wet sensation trickling through the gaps in your fingers, coating your skin in an almost midnight black tar. The smell of blood isn’t one you’d thought could be forgotten, but when the nauseatingly metallic twang hits your nostrils, it’s a stark reminder of just how much time had lapsed since you’d been in the fray. But the shock does little to prevent instinct kicking in, there isn’t much in this world that could undo a lifetime of training, not of the ilk you’d endured. You’re instantly scouring the environment, looking for any mark that might point you in the direction of salvation – a street sign, a certain shop or restaurant, hell, a familiar face wouldn’t go amiss.

It's times like these you missed having a comm.

You can only seem to wander blindly, perching against corners to keep yourself steady as your guts feel like they’re about to slap out onto the concrete in front of your very eyes. It was a rookie error, not seeing the giant fucking knife, and one that your fourteen-year-old self would ridicule you for not seeing coming. But your fourteen-year-old self was always wearing Kevlar, not a stupid button-up shirt.

Gotham, for a city so resolute in being the embodiment of mayhem itself, is unusually serene. You can just about make out figures in the distance, the wail of a siren a few blocks over, the raucous music dribbling out of the bar down the street – but it’s all just noise, nothing tangible. No one there to watch you bleed out into a puddle on the ground. Not that they would stop if they did.

It’s the Batburger on the corner that consumes the last of your brain power. You recognise it, clear as day; you used to go and grab dinner together after patrol, they’d started to know you, bag your order up before you got there. They stopped making you pay for half of it, and the two of you always left a roll of notes where you knew the cashier would find it.

You were round the corner from one of Jason’s safehouses.

“Fuck. God-fucking-damn it.”

You don’t have the time to waste standing around second-guessing, loitering like a ditsy schoolgirl afraid to make conversation on the playground, but you do it anyway. Everything in your body longs for it to be someone else, anyone else, but your body also longs for a hefty dose of painkillers and more than a few stitches, and you’re not going to find that at Batburger.

You can almost feel the life trickling out of your skin, the corners of your vision beginning to swirl uncomfortably into shapes you can’t quite make sense of. If you were going to Jason’s, you needed to go now – you weren’t particularly fond of the idea of seeing him tonight, but you’d rather that than him find your corpse on his fire escape. It would probably draw too much attention to the whole ‘secret-safehouse’ thing, anyway.

So, you grit your teeth and move, move as fast as your body will let you along the sidewalk. The fire escape is the next obstacle; to your mind it’s second nature to navigate your way up the broken structure (Jason had done his utmost to make it as difficult as possible for anyone to get up there, without raising suspicion of course), but your body says otherwise, muscles tender with disuse, screaming out in protest. It’s a herculean effort to make it to the top, and you’re barely conscious as your fingers jimmy the window in all the right places with a familiar ease. You hear the thud of your body hitting the rug, but you barely feel it. It’s probably not a good thing.

The upside is that, in spite of the eruption of noise you made coming in, nobody has appeared in the safehouse to come and interrogate you. Jason isn’t here. That thought at least steadies your breathing, pumps enough strength into your blood to let you hoist yourself to your feet. You can only pray that Jason still keeps his first-aid kit tucked under the couch – if it’s not there then you have no clue. You collapse onto the leather, scrabbling with your feet to try and kick the damned thing out from underneath. Aha. There she is.

Jason always had the best safehouses because everything was always stocked. He didn’t have the luxury of relying on the Cave like the rest of you. Well, the rest of them. Medical supplies. Food. Clothing. He had it all in excess, everywhere. It doesn’t take long for you to find sutures or a needle in the kit, and you pull out a handful of gauze to jam between your teeth, a desperate attempt to null the screams you’re certain are going to try and rip from your chest. You had plenty of experience stitching yourself up, as anyone that had spent time as a vigilante did, but that didn’t make it in anyway more pleasant. Especially not with a wound this bad. In all likelihood, you would pass out before you even got the job done.

You get about seven stitches in before you hear it from behind you.

Click.

Such a familiar sound. A gun being cocked.

“Hi Jason,” you mutter weakly, “fancy seeing you here.”

Jason whispers your name thick with surprise, voice still heavily modulated from his helmet, and you can feel him draw back as he takes in the full picture of you splayed on his couch, bleeding out, attempting to glue together your own abdomen, “Holy shit. What the fuck? Just fucking hold on.”

Jason’s ripping of his gear in record time, gun, gloves and helmet all clattering to the ground. You get your first look at him as he darts into the kitchen, the sound of the tap confirming your suspicion – you were about to get emergency surgery from Jason Todd.

A stab is one thing, but you feel like you’ve been shot when he emerges, a familiar ache ebbing in your chest at just the sight of him head on. He still bares all the boyish charm that you found so endearing, even when you were younger, but he seems to have grown so much even in the past year. His hair has gotten a little longer, a tad shaggy. Filling out even more than you thought was possible, he’s a behemoth of a man, floor creaking as he moves – but hidden behind the maze of tired lines and bruises that decorate his face, there’s a tenderness that, once upon a time, you’d like to have believed was saved only for you. He looks terrified as he practically slides to the ground at your feet, wrestling the needle out of your stained, slick hands.

“Give it to me. Give it to me.” It’s a command not a question, and you’re too broken to fight it, “C’mon, that’s it.” He gets to work immediately, threading in and out of your skin with more precision than you ever could’ve managed. “How much do you think you’ve lost?”

“A lot,” you grit out, white knuckling the arms of the couch.

“I’m being fucking serious.”

“I’m gonna go with at least a pint,” you manage, eyes screwing shut as a growl tears its way out of your mouth, “Not ideal.”

“Well,” Jason sends you a pointed look after a particularly grim stitch, “I’m glad this trauma hasn’t robbed you of your stellar sense of humour. How the fuck has this happened? Did someone attack you?” Jason has always had the ability to keep his voice scarily even, but you know him well enough to hear the wavering in it. The rage. “Tell me.”

“Nobody attacked me, shortstack,” you manage a grin, relishing in his scoff at the old nickname, “I poked my nose in where I shouldn’t have.”

“You know, that’s something a vigilante normally does,” you don’t miss the danger that laces his tone, the sharpness in his eyes as they connect with your own, “civilians should be more careful about what they get involved with.”

You can only scoff, “We’re not doing this now. Not when I have about ten good seconds left in me.”

“What? Hold on, no–”

“And in five, four, three, two…”

The world goes black.

Everything hurts when you come to. It’s the sunlight that does it, beating through the window directly into your eyes, and the groan you let out as you twist round is ungodly. You feel like you’ve been hit with a truck (you would know, you have been), but the bed is a nice touch.

Hold on, the bed.

It’s surprisingly cosy with its thick weighted sheets that engulf your entire form, the mattress seems to stretch for miles, cushioning each tender limb. The smell is so devastatingly homely, the aroma of stale cigarettes, cedarwood and leather bleeding into every one of your senses. It’s so characteristically Jason – and what was comforting very quickly begins to feel like something you can’t escape. But you’re far too weak to move, to fight against the comforter strapping you in, and if you’ve ever known anything about Jason, it’s that he won’t let you leave without a fight.

It takes a while for your eyes to adjust, glancing round at the room. It hasn’t changed at all: the walls are still the same sickly shade of cream, chipped and bubbled, the bookshelf stacked in the corner is overflowing, but you recognise a few of Jason’s favourite titles hidden away on the top shelf. It’s still pristine, everything folded and put away exactly as it should be, just like he’d always kept it. There’s something emotional that lodges itself in your throat, the memories trapped in the woodwork flooding back so vividly. You’d spent hours, days in this exact spot, chatting about nothing and everything with your closest friend. The man who for a long time, had felt like your only friend. It wasn’t a place you’d ever thought you’d get to revisit.

It's at that moment that he strolls into the room, so leisurely, without a care in the world. No acknowledgement that this is the first time you’ve seen each other in a year, and that you’ve missed him like you would miss a limb, still recovering from the spasming nerves of a phantom bond ripped away so suddenly. Jason’s always been fairly apt at masking his emotions, knowing how to read a room and morphing to fit what it needs, regardless of what other people might think – but you’ve known him since you were children. Since Bruce took him in. His emotions may as well be written in bold across his forehead.

He's pissed, you don’t need to be a mind reader to know that.

“Sleeping beauty finally wakes,” his polite tone is curt, forced, “How you feelin’?” He offers you a glass of water, and it may as well be ichor based on how it revives you as it trickles down your throat.

“How long was I out for?” it comes out as a grimace as you force yourself up the pillows slightly, feeling somewhat more level with the man opposite.

“Three days.”

“Three days?” Holy shit. It was even worse than you’d thought. You hadn’t been out for three whole days since that mission with the Justice League when you were, like, seventeen.

“I had to keep you pretty medicated,” Jason sighs and his shoulders seem to deflate. He seats himself on the foot of the bed, “You kept waking up – screaming and shouting and all of that. You were gonna tear your stitches.”

The silence that lingers in the air is thick, so undeniably awkward as the two of you glance around the room in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact. You jump out of your skin as he lets out a cough, and he offers little more than a stiff apologetic quirk of the lip in return. You hated it, hated being like this with him – your relationship had been crafted in comfort, a closeness that you had only ever shared with each other – to see the man you loved so dearly sit only inches away but feel so distant felt like a slap to the face. Over and over again. You’d lost him twice, in different ways, but this felt an awful lot like a third.

“What were you thinking?” Jason’s words are severe when they drip off of his tongue, “What were you doing?”

“I was walking back from work, and I saw a guy being mugged,” you spit back with just as much venom, “They had him at gunpoint, and there was no sign of you or anyone else showing up any time soon. They were Mask’s men, Jason. I wasn’t going to let him just die.”

“You gave this up,” he’s standing now, his hazy shadow creeping further up the wall, “That doesn’t sound like the actions of someone who doesn’t want to be a vigilante to me, does it?”

You long to stand, to meet him in the field and push back with just as much vigour. In your current state, you can’t do much more than let him tower over you, “I gave up being a vigilante, Jason. That doesn’t mean I gave up being a decent fucking human being.”

“And what?” he throws his hands up angrily, boots screeching against the hardwood, “You thought it would be a good idea after a year of being out of the field to jump back into what – what was it? A three-on-one fight?”

“It was four-on-one,” your voice is deathly quiet, “and I still fucking won.”

Jason falters back in what can only be shock, his eyes narrowing as they lock in on you. It quickly shifts to a sardonic grin, “Right, really looks like you won from where I’m standing. You could have called someone. For back-up, at least.”

“And who exactly was I supposed to call? You, Jason? You wouldn’t have fucking picked up the phone.”

He’s as still as a statue. You’re not even sure you can see his chest rising and falling. The only sign of life on his entire form is the occasional twitch of his fingers, or a deeply unnerving rattle leaving his lips. It feels like an eternity before he speaks again, so quiet you can barely make it out, “This isn’t about me. Don’t you dare make it about me.”

“No, Jason, no. This is about you. If I had called, would you have picked up the phone? Honestly, would you?”

You can practically hear his teeth grating against one and other, “You could have called Dick. Tim. Babs. Bruce. They still talk to you, right? Still treat you like family. I’m sure any of them would’ve rushed to be your knight in shining armour.”

“I should be able to call you, Jason. You’re my best friend,” you hate how desperate it sounds when you say it, so much more feeble than what had played out in your mind. You can feel your stitches tugging at the way your entire body is taut, but you can’t soothe the ache that has you strung like a live wire.

“Oh, so me not answering when you call is on the same level now? Oh, okay,” his laugh is brutal, rattling against your skull, “My bad, Princess, I’ll text you back next time.”

“Level? Same level as what?”

“Leaving me,” it’s earth-shattering, the way his shout reverberates off the walls, the harbinger of a silence so lethal you could hear a pin drop from space, “You left me. And it was a choice.”

Something so terrible twists its way around your gut, extinguishing the fire that had toiled in your belly. You feel like you’re about to crack, a precious artifact marred by the dents in the clay – because he looks forlorn. There’s a crazed desperation in his eyes, something you’d only ever seen in his arguments with Bruce. A rabid longing that festers like an infected wound.

“Jason, that’s not–”

“Fuck off. I’m going out.” He nearly pulls the door down as he yanks his jacket off the back, shoving his arms through it furiously.

“Jason, please–”

“Go the fuck to sleep.”

He’s gone before you can get a word in edgeways, the front door slamming shut only seconds after he’d left the room. There’s a void that nestles in your chest, an unfurling sense of deep sadness that stings more than any stab wound.

But there’s also an anger, something so wretched and wrathful that it almost sends you flying out the door at him.

It had taken you an embarrassing amount of time to get standing and gather your things; every time you caught sight of yourself in the mirror it had been a pitiful image – hair stringy and unwashed, blood still caked around the areas Jason hadn’t quite managed to clean it away, skin lifeless and eyes bloodshot. It’s embarrassing that you wished he’d seen you in your prime, all dressed up and perfect, wanting to make him miss you and see just how good you were doing. It makes you cringe, the act of a desperate ex, one so blatantly hung up on their other half. Not that you and Jason had ever dared go there, you were friends, nothing more.

Instead, he got you as a shell of yourself, the weakest you’ve been in a decade. Undeniable proof that, to him, you’re worse off without the Bat and cowl and all of the rest of it.

So, you’ll be gone before he gets back.

He’d hidden your bag, no doubt anticipating some kind of Houdini-style escape attempt, but you knew all of his hiding places – the one’s he would put stuff in when he wanted you to find them, and the one’s he thought you didn’t know about. Like you didn’t know that the washing machine had a false bottom. You have to stop every thirty seconds or so to take a breather, fight the tears that threaten to spill over – whatever Jason had you on was the good stuff, and it fucking sucks to be confronted with the sheer agony that adrenaline had so helpfully blocked out at first.

You’d managed to find one of his least favourite jackets in the bottom of his closet, stale-smelling from disuse, and half-heartedly sling it around your shoulders. It was torrential outside. The worst storm Gotham had seen so far this year. Not the ideal time to be making your escape, but needs must.

It takes a whole truckload of self-discipline to steady yourself as you reach out for the door handle, a dangerous tilt forward to try sling the thing open. But you must have gained magic powers through your small coma, because before you can even wrap your fingers around the thing, it comes flying backwards – sending you with it. You’re a heap on the ground, groaning and spluttering.

“What the – oh, Jesus Christ. Seriously, prison break?”

You feel his presence next to you before you can see it, before the burst of pain subsides enough for your vision to draw back into focus. Jason’s hovering over you, a hand threaded gingerly under your head to check it for injuries, fingers looped through the flyway strands of your hair. He’s soaked to the bone, fat droplets of water dripping off his hair and onto the floor, the tip of his nose a dark red flush from the cold. There’s none of the anger you’d seen earlier in his eyes as they dance across you, checking for damage, just a concerned amusement that reminds you so deeply of how things used to be.

“C’mon, you idiot,” he laces his arms around your body, hoisting you in the air as if you weigh nothing, “back to bed.”

“Stop it, Jason,” you hiss, writhing around as best you can manage, “I don’t want to go back to fucking bed.”

He mutters a soft series of okay’s before placing you down on the couch, taking more than a few steps back with his hands raised cautiously at his sides, “I’m not going to apologise for trying to make you rest.”

“Oh, give it a break,” you hiss, all malice, “two hours ago you were shouting at me for abandoning you and now, what? We’re all–”

“What I will apologise for,” he pauses, interrupting you with a knowing look, “is how I behaved earlier. I didn’t, ah, broach the subject in the right way. Or at the right time.” He slowly lifts a memorable brown bag up in his left hand, the branding has been worn away by the rain, but you’d be able to pick it out in a police line-up. It’s Batburger.

“You trying to win me over with gifts, Todd?” you grumble, refusing to look in his direction, “you should know it’ll take more than that.”

“I know,” he huffs, a small grin drawing on his face, before dropping to something more serious, “but I think we need to talk.”

You can’t help but gape, turning to face him with your jaw on a hinge, “It’s been a year, Jason. And you’ve only just now decided we need to talk?”

The frustration is clear as day in the way his body coils, the way he drops the bag onto the coffee table with a wet thud. He slowly begins to peel off layer after layer of wet clothing – shoes, jacket, hat – and you try to act like you’re not helplessly admiring the way his muscles stretch and contract. “I thought that I was fine with the way it was. No contact. I’m the one that did it. But seeing you so, so vulnerable, so close to death. I don’t think I could forgive myself if I found out something happened to you, and I’d been the dickhead who never found it in his heart to hear you out.”

You can only blink incredulously at his sheer stupidity, lurching back upwards again regardless of how it makes your head spin, “Oh, so you’re hearing me out? I’m the villain in this situation?”

“Yes, I am hearing you out. You’re the one who decided to up and leave me–”

“For fucks sake, Jason. Yes, I left. But I didn’t leave you. You were the one that left me.”

Jason’s practically bellowing, and it’s the first time in a long time that he’s there. So devastatingly close, “No, you left me. We were doing real work, helping people. Between me and you we were sorting this city out, more than any of the rest of them. You had my back in a way none of them ever did. We were a team, we were partners. The whole of Gotham knew that. You were everything to me and I didn’t know how to be a vigilante without you. You were there from day one and then you weren’t. After everything we went through together, I thought what we had meant more than that to you.”

“Jason,” you can’t help but lift a hand up to cradle his jaw, and your heart does a loop when he leans into the touch, so entirely vulnerable in your hands, “I didn’t abandon the mission, and I never stopped having your back. You should’ve known that I would’ve always been there for–”

“Why?” There’s a fire that ripples around his green-flecked eyes, “Why did you leave?”

You draw in a breath as deep as your stitches will allow, “I left because I was tired, Jason. I was haunted. Every day since I was 9 years old, I woke up, put on a costume, and went out to go and stare the worst this world has to offer dead in the face – and I just couldn’t look away from it anymore. My body was broken; my mind was going – you know how I was that final year. And,” you bite your tongue with a soft curse, “I never made the impact anyone else did. I wasn’t like Dick with his glowing leadership, you with your mission, Tim with his intelligence, Cass and Damian with their skill. I never had that. I was tired of being everyone else’s supporting actor, and I wanted to try and do something different to make a real difference.”

“You were never a supporting actor to me,” Jason’s words are so solemn, so lacking in lustre, “you were always the main character in my story.”

“I never meant for you to think I was leaving you behind,” you whisper, tracks of tears appearing on both your cheeks.

“I loved you,” his voice breaks in the middle, a rough hand coming up to scrabble at the wetness on his face, “I love you.”

“Jay, Jason, we can’t–”

“Why? Why can’t we? Don’t tell me you don’t love me too, please.”

“Of course I love you,” it comes out harsher than you intended, and Jason flinches back in surprise, “but I’m scared. I’m scared that if I love you, I’ll never be able to leave this all behind.”

“What?” Jason seems stunned, drawing away from your embrace. His jaw sets, “I wouldn’t stop you–”

“Look at us, Jay,” you plead, “We haven’t spoken in a year because I left this life behind. I’m scared that if I let myself love you, I’ll never stop being a vigilante. Not really.”

“You think I’d force you?” The rage begins to resurface, a slow magma threatening to boil over as Jason seems to brace himself for the attack, “You really think I’d force you into that lifestyle–”

“No, Jay,” it’s difficult to calm your breathing, the breaths drawing thicker and faster from your lungs, “I don’t think you’d force me. But I’d always be worried about you. If you didn’t come home, I’m not just a civilian that can sit on the sidelines and let it happen. I would have to go out, I would have to look for you. I could never sit with all the knowledge I have now and not get involved.”

The room goes silent after that, and it’s painful. Jason appears to tick on repeat, jaw tensing and releasing, shoulders squaring and dropping back down again – the war ravaging his insides is palpable. He sits, he stands, he paces around the room. The rain is the only constant, the rageful pattering of droplets against the windowpane.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jason, I do love you and I want this to work out I just don’t know how–”

“It’s okay. It’s okay that you’re not strong enough,” there’s a resignation in his voice, a petrifying calmness that shoots right to the base of your spine. You knew Jason could lash out, use people’s insecurities to manipulate them – it was practically part of his job description. He’d never used it against you.

“Jason,” you can’t mask the hurt, the pain bleeding from every part of you, “I know you. I’ve known you for over a decade. I know what you’re–”

“Maybe you were right to quit. You never had what it took anyway.”

It’s the killing blow.

It hurts more than any stab wound. Tears a hole deeper than any stitches could hope to knit back together again. You can’t move or speak or think or feel, it settles over your body as nothing more than a numbness. To hear Jason act as the microphone for your greatest fear, the deepest part of yourself that you bore only to him. The pain in your side is nothing as you gather your things without a word, and although you can see the panic flitting across Jason’s eyes, his body remains unmoving. He doesn’t even try and stop you.

“Goodbye, Jason. Thank you for your help, you really cleared some things up for me.”

You faintly hear him call your name as you turn to the door, the palest utterance of wait, I’m sorry. You slam it behind you before he can get the last syllable out.

When the rain hits you, it burns, and you hope that just maybe it can wash away the life that ended in the safehouse that morning.

[andi-o-geyser]

“we’re doing another groundbreaking storyline with batman fighting his greatest enemy, the joker-” pack it up.

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[soulsforsales]

“Try me”

summary: your ex might still be hopelessly in love with you. The only problem? He’s crazy:)

a/n: wrote this at 2am and literally had so much fun maybe I’ll do a part two hehe^^

Part 02

“You want me to beg, sweetheart? I’ll beg. Say the word.” Jason’s voice doesn’t hint at the desperation you can clearly see in his eyes.

He’s in your kitchen again. After he broke up with you. After he left you behind for weeks, wondering if he was even coming back this time. After he did come back with red rimmed eyes and a stubble on his jaw. After he left—over and over and over fucking again.

You cross your arms, despite the way your heart races. He still looks as good as the first day you met him. Though his hair is longer, as if he couldn’t be bothered to cut them off, you usually did that for him anyway. Jason Todd doesn’t know how to take care of himself, it used to be your job. And you loved doing that. You loved… loving him. But you had to stop before your love for him swallowed you whole.

Because Jason Todd is a complicated man. Because you could’ve spent your whole life loving him and it still wouldn’t have been enough to silence the demons that sit in his head.

“It wouldn’t matter.” You tell him, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m with someone else now, Jason.” His name is still soft on your tongue, but it doesn’t change anything else. You are with someone else now. Someone who stays. Someone calm and steady and… normal. Someone who works a day job and sleeps in at night. Someone who doesn’t disappear for days. Someone without scars and ghosts. Someone… almost boring.

“Oh please,” Jason’s voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife, “we both know the boyfriend thing is temporary. Let’s stop pretending.” You sigh, you know Jason well enough to know that the swagger he’s showing off is to hide whatever vulnerability he’s feeling at the moment.

“I’m not pretending. I’m very serious, Jason. I’m happy with him.”

Jason steps closer, blue green, glowy eyes fixed on you in a way that used to make your breath catch. It still does. He walks closer and closer until your face almost hits his chest and you have to look up to face him.

“Jas—“

A hand comes up to brush against your cheek. You stiffen. “I miss you,” it’s whispered to you. Jason’s eyes searching your face for something—anything. Gone is the cool guy act, and before you is the Jason you so clearly remember. He’s all soft touches, and teary eyes, lips parted in wonder that he’s not sure this is actually happening. That after everything, he’s touching you again.

“I’m sorry,” another whisper. He leans in until the familiar scent envelopes you whole and you breathe him in like you’ve craved to for so long.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I fucked up. So, so bad. And I don’t know what to do to fix it… I… but I can, okay?” His palm moves to the back of your head when Jason drops his forehead to yours. Your breaths mingling. “God… just… just don’t do this to me.”

He’s so close that for a moment, you almost falter. All others thought float from your brain except the ones your body whispers to you. You could kiss him right now, fill your mouth up with the familiar taste of him. You could—

You won’t. You can’t.

Because Jason isn’t promising you wonders for the first time. You shake your head, pushing him back with a hand on his chest.

“No. No… there’s nothing you can fix. It’s over, Jason. We’re over.”

His jaw clenches, “the fuck we are.”

You stare at him, scoffing. You really can’t believe this guy sometimes.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“You know damn well what I mean!” He yells, hands flying in exasperation. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want this guy! This—this fucking trust fund asshole—what’s his name again? William? Walter? Fucking British twit…” you just stare as Jason rambles on. You can almost smell the hatred and jealousy coming off of him. But more than that, is fear. A silent terror. One that says he’s lost you for good this time.

“Jason—“

“Bet he sleeps through the night, huh? Does he fuck you like I did, baby? Does he make you scream like I did? Does he make you feel good en—“

“Stop it!” Your voice lands, loud and clear and Jason—for once—shuts up. You push both hands through your hair. “Do you hear yourself? This is crazy, Jason! You left me! You refused to step up! You—I loved you! I loved you so much and what did you do with that?! You threw it out the fucking window. You—“

“I know!” His scream cuts through, eyes glassy and red, “I know! You think I don’t wish every single day that I could go back and change things? Stop you? Chase after you and beg for you to fuckin stay with me?! I ruin things—that’s who I am! That’s what I do! But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. And you can hate me—you should hate me but god, please don’t push me away. Just say it. Say the word, baby, and I’ll do anything. Anything to win you back.”

You sigh. He is practically begging now, and you can see what the sleepless nights and guilt has done to him. How miserable he looks.

But it’s not your job to fix him. It’s not your job to hold the broken parts together and get yourself cut open in the process.

“There’s nothing you can do.”

You watch the way his expression breaks. Like his chest cracked open, like this will be Jason Todd’s last straw. His breaking point. And you hate yourself for it, but for once, you need to choose yourself.

Jason walks back to the window quietly. His whole stance is rigid and wrecked at the same time. He pauses near the ledge, back turned to you and then, barely a whisper but you hear it loud and clear.

“I’ll kill the fucker.” Your heart drops. You don’t even know if he’s talking to you or himself.

You step forward, eyes wide, heart thumping.

“Jason. No. You won’t.”

His fists clench, the leather jacket creaks with the movement of his shoulders.

“Try me.” He mutters and then he’s jumping out of your fire escape, disappearing into the lifeless, rainy Gotham night.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Side Quest

"Okay, we're sitting here doing nothing for twenty minutes already," Tim crumbles the burger wrapper in his hands, absentmindedly trying to shape it into a sphere just because he needs to keep his hands busy. "Care to spill why are we here?"

"We ain't doing nothing," Jason doesn't even look up at him — isn't that a surprise — instead leaning back in his seat. He doesn't take his eyes off the window. Tim hates sitting by the windows in BatBurgers, it always makes him feel like a fish inside the aquarium.

"That's exactly the point," he debates if he should throw his misshapen missile at his brother. Not like it will get any more sphere-like, anyway.

Jason rolls his eyes and spares Tim a quick glance, "No, I meant, we are not doing nothing. We're waiting."

"Waiting for what, the second coming of Jesus Christ?" Tim succumbs to his heart's deepest desires and throws the wrapper at Jason. It hits him right in the forehead, score for Tim. And yet, the man still doesn't rise the the bait; instead, the motherfucker laughs. It's quiet and breathless and short, but it's still a laugh.

"Close enough. Has anyone ever told you you're the most funny when you don't intend to be, Timberly?" Jason smirks at him, and Tim really wishes he's had something else to throw at him. But at this point, his options are only the table and chairs, seeing that he's already wasted the wrapper, and he doesn't want to cause an actual commotion. Yet.

So he leans back, mirroring Jason's position, and crosses his arms on his chest. "I'll take it as a compliment," it's a weak retort, but he doesn't have the energy to come up with anything better. The recent murder case, one involving a sorry excuse of a cult, an out-of-town drug dealer and, by some crazy twist of events, three nuns from Missouri, has been driving him nuts for the past week, sue him.

He so regrets asking Jason for help right now. It's not even the matter of his dignity — it's just that Jason is not helping, and most likely, doing it on purpose.

"Please, do," the unhelpful asshole gives him his grand permission, turning back to the window. But, a second later, his whole face lights up like Christmas came early, and he sits up, "Oh, there he is!"

In the next moment, the door to BatBurger slams open, and in steps... a guy.

Black hair, blue eyes, lanky, slim build — makes sense why Jason never mentioned him before, Bruce would have flipped his shit at the sight of an unadopted Bat-bait.

Worn denim jacket with rolled up sleeves, black t-shirt underneath, loose pants and sneakers — nothing out of the ordinary, really.

Except the guy has a fucking crowbar that he carries on his shoulder, and both the tool and his hands all the way up to his elbows are drenched in something dark red and wet. Tim would say it's blood, but then, would the guy really be showing up here covered in blood?

On the second thought, it's Gotham. He definitely would.

The guy looks around and wrinkles his nose slightly when he spots Jason. Then, he makes his way towards their table, the crowbar still on his shoulders.

"'Sup," he greets Jason, and as he stops right in front of the table, Tim sees that it's not only his hands that are stained with red. There are splatters of it on his face and neck as well.

"You've got something on your cheek," Jason gestures to his own face, trying to show where said 'something' is. The guy throws him a deadpan look and then licks it off without second thought.

His tongue is a lot longer than it should be. Tim takes a deep breath, looking between the bloody dude and Jason. He really hopes that his face is expressive enough for the latter to read the 'what the actual fuck' through his eyes alone.

"Okay, just so you're aware, an absolutely marvelous kind of high school reunion had to be put on pause because you called," the guy starts, wiping one of his hands on his jacket. "So, like, explain your fuck-up situation to me in ten words."

Jason, the absolute traitor, looks to Tim. The guy follows him, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Okay, ten words. He can totally do that.

"A sacrificial pentagram of dead nuns high on mystery cocaine," Tim says after a moment, looking the guy straight in the eyes.

He blinks. Then, he tilts his head sideways, like he's not sure if he heard Tim right. Tim just keeps staring at him — that was precisely ten words, and he is definitely not chickening out of this little-shit-superiority contest.

"O-kay," the guy finally says, slow and begrudgingly respectful, "I'm eighty seven percent certain this is about to be the highlight of my week." He gestures for Jason to move over and drops the bloody crowbar on the table before sitting just opposite to Tim.

"Spill."

[kitkatscabinet]

"THE WAYNE SIBLINGS READ THIRST TWEETS"

requested by anon

summary: the internet is horny for you, your brothers suffer for it.

pairings: platonic! dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake x batsis! reader

A/N: 18+, on account of horny twitter users ;)

You and your brothers are lined up in a semi-circle, Dick, you, Jason then Tim, each of you sporting different expressions as the cameras begin rolling.

You and Dick are cheerful mirrors of each other, while Jason and Tim look like they'd rather be anywhere but here as the four of you settle into place.

"So today we're going to have you reading thirst tweets, but the twist is, they're all about your sister." The producer says from out of frame. Abruptly, your brother's moods swing violently.

"No!" Dick cheers, the blinding smile plastered across his face never even twitching.

Jason's frown has evolved from "mildly disgruntled" to "about to start shooting people."

Tim, meanwhile, appears to have stopped working altogether. "Timmers?" You giggle, waving a hand across his face.

"Ew... I mean, people find you attractive?" He scrunches up his nose, and your face turns murderous.

"RIGHT! Listen here you little - " you lean across Jason to strangle your little brother when a giggle from somewhere on set reminds you where you are, and you paste on a practised grin.

"I can see why Damian wasn't invited now."

"None of us should have been invited, this shouldn't be happening." Tim mumbled with a thousand yard stare.

Relishing in his stress, you quickly pull a piece of paper from the oversized thirst jug, staring directly at Tim as you read. "Bruce Wayne's daughter could smack me across the face with a brick and I’d say ‘thank you, mommy’"

Tim dry heaves, face a little green.

"Damn, now I can never use that in bed again." Jason grumbles, causing Dick to spit out his water as Tim gags once more.

"You're disgusting." He kicks Jason as you hum in consideration.

"I don't know, I think I could get behind it."

"Never speak again, actually." Tim fires back.

"Well, if you liked that, then you'll love this one: Sit on my face, I'll pay you, anything! please, SIT ON MY FACE! SIT ON MY-” Dick, who's only just recovered from his previous near death experience starts choking again, making you hit his back a little harder than strictly necessary.

Jason starts attempting to take the jug off your hands, but you quickly dance out of the way, "Oh look, this one's not even that bad." Your brothers look sceptical, but they don't stop you, "She's so fine, I'd kill a man just to breathe the same air as her."

"What is with people and committing crimes?" Jason seems genuinely concerned. How chronically offline of him.

"I attract a very passionate demographic." You shrug.

"You attract future convicts," Dick mutters in devastation.

A shit eating grin covers your face as you read the next one, having lulled them into a false sense of security.

"Need her to pull on my hair like a leash as she fucks me into next week with the strap." Dick wails, falling sideways off the chair like a fainting Victorian woman.

"Hmm, you want the pink or the green one, baby?" you smile seductively at the camera.

"That's it! You're done, you're done!" Jason lunges for you at the same time as Dick, your older brother getting the jug whilst you're hauled over Jason's shoulder.

You shriek, but you refused to be deterred, unfolding one of the papers you'd managed to grab before Dick attempted to thwart your fun. "Not to be dramatic, but if Jason’s sister looked me in the eye and said ‘kneel’, I’d hit the floor so fast I’d break my - hey."

Tim pulls the paper from your hands, staring at it like it killed his puppy. "Why are you encouraging this?" Tim gestures accusingly at the Buzzfeed staff members laughing behind the cameras, before he does a double take at the twitter handle.

"Wait... This is from Roy's Twitter account!" Tim yells, whirling on Jason like he's personally responsible for all of his grievances.

"There's one here from Conner too," You clear your throat, holding the paper far above Tim's head with your superior height courtesy of Jason's unwilling help, "I’d treat you right. You ever want someone to make you cum till you forget your own name, hit me up babe."

Your brothers scream, and you’re having so much fun that you only mildly worry about Conner’s safety in the near future.

(You wonder if you’ll have time to take him up on his offer before his inevitable funeral.)

The video ends with a message flashing across the screen: "Several of the tweets submitted came from Wally West's Twitter account. Some were deemed too explicit to share."

[fear-is-truth]

hello! i’ve been reading your work for a while and i just adore it. this is a bit of an odd request, but i was wondering if you could do some head cannons of funny/embarrassing stuff that happened while reader and jason were doing the deed? i think that would be hilarious

𓂃 ꒰ headcanons.꒱ fem!reader x jason ࿐ ⸝⸝ ⌗ cw : p in v. backshots. oral (f!receiving). smut mdni 18+ ( 💌 let’s chat ! ) ⋆ ( m.list )

that one time . . . jason lost all respect for you when you made motorcycle noises while he was hitting it from the back. you were both fully in the zone—until you suddenly went, “vroom vrrrmmm,” right as he bottomed out. jason froze. you, however, were losing it, body trembling with laughter. “are you fuckin’ kidding me?” he groaned, dropping his chin against your shoulder. you doubled down with “brrrrm brrrrm.” he immediately pulled out, lightly smacked your ass. “heyyy! what was that for, jay?”

that one time . . . he fell asleep while eating you out. five minutes in, right as you were tugging his hair and moaning his name, the rhythmic laps of his tongue started slowing, before stopping altogether. and… was that a snore? when you look down blearily to find that he was fast asleep between your legs, cheek smushed against your inner thigh like a pillow. you poke at his cheek, trying to wake him, and he just groaned and nuzzled deeper, his big arms are still locked tightly around you. “jay… what the hell?” his response was an unintelligible mumble, followed by a soft snore.

that one time . . . he tried to rip your panties off in one go, but the fabric held strong, and he just ended up yoinking you toward him instead. you yelped as you nearly face-planted onto his chest, and he just sat there, looking betrayed by physics. “goddamnit,” he muttered. “that was supposed to be hot.” he eventually just took them off like a normal person, but he was so bitter about it the entire time.

that one time . . . you’d completely forgotten to lock your pet kitten out before jason bent you over the kitchen counter. mid thrust, he stiffened behind you, his whole body going rigid as your kitten, whiskers twitching with curiosity, trotted up right beside him. a soft meow. then she started to climb up his jeans. he carefully scoped up the tiny intruder with both hands—his cock still pulsating inside you—and passed her to you with the gravitas of someone disarming a bomb. “hold her. she doesn’t need to see this,” he grunted before getting right back to business.

that one time . . . jason got too into it that the bedframe collapsed beneath you both like the wrath of god. awkward silence. a beat. then finally, “i meant to do that.”

that one time . . . his life and death briefly flashed before his eyes when you passed out post-orgasm. he had worked you over thoroughly, and as a result, you came harder than ever. apparently, a little too hard. the moment you came, your body seized up, you let out a tiny gasp, and then—completely limp. jason panicked. he shook you gently, pressed a hand to your forehead, checked your pulse. when he was sure you were alive, he weighed the pros and cons of reviving you with cold water. luckily, you woke up thirty seconds later to him hovering over you like a concerned mother hen.

that one time . . . he accidentally sent an audio file to the family group chat. the two of you were still basking in the afterglow when jason’s phone suddenly exploded with notifications. you watched a myriad of emotions cross his face—annoyance, confusion, and horror. a solid four seconds of pure filth play before he pauses the audio and you both realise what he’s done. he goes pale. you’re staring back at him in horror.

──────────────────────────

Tim: this put an itch on the roof of my mouth that only a shotgun could scratch

Damian: I am blocking you two degenerates.

Dick: ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

Babs: I’m pretty sure it’s y/n 🤷‍♀️

Alfred: Master Jason, please kindly remove me from this conversation

Bruce left the group

──────────────────────────

that one time . . . he got a note from alfred that said : “master jason, if you two must defile the furniture, i request that you at least clean it afterward.” jason still hasn’t recovered from that one.

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[saltwaterburns]

Hi:)!! I love your writing, but just wondering if ya'd do some dick Grayson smut, like with the sex pollen stuff just making him all needy,

Fem reader? Even nb reader o_O?

Like ur real good at writing man^_^.

And I mean if you'd add some of your own kinks? I'd love to see him acting like an lil whiner it's cute in a way, feels so odd to ask lmfao please laugh LMFAO 💔..

pretty bird

Summary: Dick gets hit by a new Poison Ivy pollen, and there's only one way, or rather one person, to get it out of his system.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ SMUT - sex pollen but explicit consent is given, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh riding, praise/degradation, sub!dick, biting (lmk if i missed any)

Author's note: The fact that this took me over 3 months to finish is embarrassing and I'm sorry and please don't hate me and fuck how I love bottom Dick. I also fear that you can kind of see my kind of worryingly high ao3 screen time in between the lines, because I am not ashamed to admit it that omegaverse is one of man's best creations. Enjoy !!!!! No beta we die like Jason (Todd and/or Grace)

Word count: 2,4k

You wake up with a jolt. Somewhere, a door slams shut, but the noise comes from someplace a lot closer than you'd like when living in Blüdhaven. A string of soft curses float through your apartment, something falls and breaks, and by then you’re sat up atop your mattress, reaching for the knife Dick always insists you keep nearby. It could be him, it probably is, but since when does your acrobat make this much noise when coming back home in the middle of the night?

Dick stumbles through the doorway, one of his hands resting on the wall, seemingly to keep him upright. The lights of the city that bleed in through your bedroom window illuminate his face, and you know instantly that he’s been hit with something, whether that's a gas or some pollen, you’re not sure. His skin is glowing under a sheen of sweat, his cheeks flushed pink. He growls in frustration when a strand of inky black hair falls on his face and he pushes it away with a bit more force than necessary, chest heaving up and down with short and shallow breaths. 

You push the blanket off your legs, ready to stand up and walk over to inspect him for any injuries, possibly force him to take a bath with you when a throaty whine makes you stop in your tracks. He shakes his head and you look at him with furrowed brows, tilting your head in confusion.

“Ivy hit us with a.. ah, a pollen. Bruce sent me home right after, but that was before…before the effects showed up.” He rests his head against the doorframe, eyes squeezed shut. He swipes his tongue over his lips, the pink muscle heavy in his mouth which went dry the second he spotted you on that bed, waiting for him.

“What effects, exactly?” You ask him, the little crease of displeasure between your brows that Dick has a habit of soothing over with his thumb making an appearance. You cross your arms on your chest, both to show off your worry and to protect your body from the chill of the bedroom. “Are you in pain?”

As if on cue, another wave of something hits him and he lets his head fall back, his Adam's apple bobbing before he lets out another one of his drawn out whines. The sight of him like that makes something turn inside your gut, a dull ache in between your legs making itself known. “In pain, yes. Just not in the way you might, fuck!..think.” He claws at his Nightwing suit, seemingly desperate to get it off his heated skin and that's when it clicks. Ivy, pollen, not letting you come near him, sweaty and flushed as if…

Dick Grayson is currently standing in the doorway to your room, desperate to get his dick inside you and fuck his brains out. 

The sheer absurdity of the situation almost has you barking out a laugh, but it dies down in your throat when a soft plea leaves his lips, now slick with spit, reddish pink from his teeth abusing the soft flesh.

"There isn't an antidote for this. Not yet, anyway. 'N I was wondering if you'd maybe, shit, help me uh, get it out of my system? If you'd want, of course. 'S all good if not, sweetheart. Not really sure it'd be safe for you if I can't really, ngh, control myself."

His eyes stay locked on you, the usually light hues of blue tinted dark as the flush on his skin deepens, the worst of the pollen only starting to take effect. You don't say anything, but instead take a few quick steps towards him and before he has a chance to open his mouth to protest, you cup his cheek with your hand, other one laying flat on his chest. His heart is practically vibrating inside his ribcage from the sheer speed of it beating but that quickly leaves your mind at the absolutely obscene sound that leaves Dicks mouth at the feeling of your skin against his. It's a sob of pure relief mixed with agony because somehow even more blood pools at his groin, making him harder than he has ever been in his life. He turns his head and nuzzles his face into the palm of your hand, his heated lips nipping at your skin like flames of fire.

You coo at him, moving your hand up so you can run your fingers through his hair, now curly from the moisture of his skin. You grab a handful and gently pull his head back, letting your lips leave a trail of open mouthed kisses all over his jaw. His mouth has fallen open, spewing out soft pants and incoherent sounds.

"Wait, wait, baby," he hiccups softly, pulling away from you. "Don't know if m'gonna be able to control myself. Promise me that you'll tell me to stop if it gets too much 'n if I don't listen you'll punch me in the face?"

"Promise, Dickie." You nod, letting your other hand fall down to rest on his waist. You can feel the muscles of his core flex at your touch, and you gently drag the tips of your fingers through the divots of them. His eyes never leave yours and he's looking at you so earnestly, so devotedly it makes you feel sick for a moment. It's as if you are a god, a divine creature who has seized his ability to think, to breathe, and who he needs to guide him, tell him how to do the simplest things in case he even dares to think about doing them in a way you dislike.

You pull him down into a kiss, one slow, sweet and earnest. He has your face cradled in his hands, not daring to let them wonder in case it gets him punished later on. You gently guide him backwards with you, pulling him along by his hip, until the back of your legs meet the edge of the bed, and you fall back on it, pulling him with you. It's as if a switch has been flicked - the once languid and adoring kiss now turned messy, needy, desperate. His mouth is hot as it parts against your lips, tongues brushing against each other in an erotic dance. He tastes sweet, he always has, like honey and mint from the gum he seems to chew at any given moment.

He pulls away to catch his breath but somehow his hands have wandered under your shirt and are now tugging it over your head, throwing it over his shoulder. Your chest is bare in front of him, skin glinting under the light of the night, and he mewls, desperate. He brings his mouth down on your collarbone, leaving open mouthed kisses down until he reaches your breast, and before you can react, his sharp teeth have pressed down into the supple flesh. It hurts, and you keen off the bed with a soft cry.

He slides his tongue over the bite in a soothing manner, pressing a kiss on it as well. Despite the initial pain, by the fifth bite (which has your breasts positively red), your back is arching off the mattress for a different reason, and you're sure that if he'd try to slide your panties off, they'd stick to your cunt in the most obscene way possible.

Your insides are aching by now, desperate to be filled to the brim by his cock. You let him know by tugging on the top half of his Nightwing suit, pulling it over his shoulders. His hair is sticking up in every direction after that and you can't help but giggle, his lips silencing you with a playful kiss. He gets the lower half off by himself and is left just in his boxers, the visible tent in them making you unconsciously part your legs further.

Dick, however, decides that he needs something and he needs it now because another wave of pollen is tugging on his insides and the pain of it makes his stomach cramp up. He starts to slowly rut against your thigh, riding it like he has many times before as a punishment for being bratty. Each movement of his hips has him panting out soft ah! ah! ah! 's and his face is pressed against the crook of your neck, where he's desperately mouthing at the skin, drool soaking it up. You coo at him, masking the degrading terms of endearment under the guise of your sweet tone, but it's still just egging him on, and before he can realise that he's close, he's already come inside his boxers with a high pitched whine. His whole body shakes as the orgasm crashes over him in waves, and his arms give up, making him fall on top of you. You slide your arms over his bare back, pressing small kisses around his hairline.

"You did good, baby. So good for me, aren't you? Gonna fuck me now, pretty bird? Get your cock inside me, fuck yourself stupid 'til all the pollen is gone?"

He keens again, baring his neck to you in an act of submission. His head is fuzzy and he can't really understand what you're saying, but he heard "pretty bird" and "fuck" and suddenly his cock is all hard and leaky again, desperate to be surrounded by something warm and wet and tight. The pollen is making his skin itch unbearably and he needs you to bite him just like he bit you, marking you with pretty shapes and colours. You lean down and do just that, digging your canines right above his pulse point, sucking on the flesh until its angry and purple and so, so pretty, just like the man in front of you.

His body goes seemingly more lax at that, though his hips are still squirming. Somehow, you manage to tug your panties down and off your legs and you slide your fingers into his curls, harshly tugging on them to bring him back to the real world.

"Fuck me, Dickie." You purr, bringing him into a kiss. He can't seem to catch up with your pace, but his instincts speak for themselves, and although the kiss is way sloppier than it should be, all the happy noises he's making makes it worth it.

He cages you between his arms and you help him guide his tip to your opening, clenching around nothing but air. You hadn't noticed when exactly he'd gotten rid of his now soiled boxers but there's nothing exactly to complain about. Your arousal mixed with the cum thats covering the length of him make it easy for him to slide fully inside you with a single thrust, the feeling of so suddenly being filled to the brim punching all the air out of your lungs.

He starts fucking into you like a madman, incoherent whines and pleas and moans spilling from his swollen lips like wildfire. You can't understand anything, but you hold him close, pressing kisses on top of any strip of skin you can reach. "Good, birdie, just like- fuck! that. Fucking me so good, you're the best boy."

You wrap your legs around his, digging your heels into his thick thighs, letting your head fall back in bliss. You can feel a few droplets fall onto your skin and then trail down, and you can't help but giggle e. "Is my pussy so good that it's making you cry, baby? You're so pathetic, Dickie, it's embarrassing. Just look at you."

Your voice is sickly sweet in his ear and he just cries harder, cheeks burning red from embarrassment, but it's as if his body has a mind of its own, continuing to fuck into you like a dog, a dog in heat. He doesn't want to feel stupid and incompetent, and he hates the fact that you're laughing at him, making him feel like he isn't doing a job good enough, but despite your cruel jokes, you're choking on moans of your own, and he also knows by the wet sounds of your cunt that he's fucking you better than anyone ever has and anyone ever will.

He brings one of his hands between your two slick bodies and starts to rub aggressive and tight circles on your clit, eyes locked on you as your face scrunches up, mouth falling apart at the mind numbing pleasure. He knows you better than anyone, so when your muscles start to tense and the pitch of your moans is getting higher and higher, he knows you're close. He picks up the pace of his hips, the sound of skin slapping echoing all around the bedroom. One, two, three snaps and you're coming on his cock with a loud cry, body convulsing painfully. He follows you not even a moment later, coming in the tight heat of your stomach with a loud whine, his whole body shuddering. Despite your vision swimming, you let your hands wander all over his skin, pulling his shaky body to your chest, where you shower him with kisses, touches and soft praises.

"Good, good boy, birdie. You did good, fucked me so good. How are you feeling?"

He just, whines softly on your chest, looking up at you with glassy eyes, blinking owlishly. You pepper his face with tiny kisses until he comes back, and when you feel his nose scrunch up under your lips, you know he's with you once more.

"Talk to me, baby. Are you good? Do we need to go again?" You run your fingers through his hair, letting your nails scratch over his scalp. He leans into your touch and you're pretty sure that if he could, he'd be purring.

"M'okay, I think. At least for now. I feel good, but I can tell that it's not completely gone from my system. Might need to do another round later." His voice is scratchy, and you reach for the water bottle on your bedside table, making him drink half of it. He thanks you with a soft kiss and settles back down on your chest, arms curled around your body.

You can't help but smile at him, heart overflowing with affection. "We should take a shower, pretty bird. You're sticky and I'm sticky, and we could do another round there. That sound good?"

He perks up at the mention of showering together and you laugh, pulling him up with you.

"Come on, then. If you're good then I'll use my mouth on you."

[literary-dolly]

A Study in Scarlet

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k warnings: nothing, really - treachery maybe? A mention of alcohol, some swearing

Tim loves a good podcast, but when his favourite podcast host is getting cosy with a new special guest, it rocks his world (A.K.A how Jason Todd makes his first podcast appearance).

If there was one thing to know about Tim Drake, it was that he was always plugged into something. Never working without some kind of stream, podcast, or music feeding into his ears – it makes chipping away at some of the more monotonous, less glamourous hero tasks a tad easier to stomach. Why would you go about life in silence if you could listen to someone discuss the history of monster trucks? Or the hidden harmful properties of household plants?

It's times like the current, while he sits in the Cave reviewing a week’s worth of CCTV footage in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the perp Bruce was trying to track down, that a good old-fashioned podcast comes in handy. And although Tim would like to see himself as a purveyor of all genres of entertainment, there’s something about a local story that really captures his attention.

The Gotham Goods. For surveillance purposes, of course.

It’s remarkable how much intel he’d gathered from the podcast, truly. Almost embarrassing. He was fairly certain that the woman must be some kind of vigilante – for a period, he was convinced that it was Babs herself moonlighting in casual entertainment (until she’d chewed him out for even suggesting it – she was a fan too, deep down). He’d tried to convince the Oracle to track her down, an idea to which Babs had vehemently protested. That was, until he realised that she had tried to track her down, and failed.

It was witty, funny inside jokes that only Gothamites got to make, interviews with the famous baker down on Crest Hill, the one-million-year-old homeless guy down in Gotham Bay who everyone and their mother has been robbed by at one point or another. It was safe to say he was a fan. So, best believe, when the latest episode pops up on his screen with another 4-hours of footage left to troll through, he’s on it immediately.

It’s impossible to stop the quirk in his brow at the title: A Study in Scarlet. Nice reference. He’s practically buzzing as he hunkers down into the chair, reclining back leisurely with a freshly opened Gatorade.

“Hello, dear, dear Gothamites, and welcome back to another episode of The Gotham Goods. I’ve got an interesting one for you, I must say. I know I’ve stepped back on the interviews in the past few weeks – death threats, am I right? – but I have been trying to get this interview for so long so when he finally agreed, I had to take him up on the offer. So, rather than leaving you in suspense for any longer, may I introduce todays guest – I’m sure you’ve heard of him – the Red Hood!”

And Tim thinks he just about passes away. If it’s possible for him to phase out of existence and back again, he does. There’s Gatorade all over the Batcomputer, Bruce will be pissed, but Lord knows he’ll be more shocked at what the actual fuck is going on. He knows immediately that he should call Jason, both to chew him out for being sloppy about his identity, but also to ask what exactly possessed him to entertain a podcast appearance.

“Hello, hello,” the voice is modulated, but still maintains the familiar cadence of Jason’s words, “Yes, it has been a long time coming and a lot of begging.”

“Well don’t say it like that, you make me sound desperate,” your voice is teasing and light, and Tim can practically hear the smile on your face.

“No, no, you’re right. Begging isn’t right – grovelling might be more apt.”

“Alright, smartass,” you quip, “I suppose we should move onto the hard-hitting journalistic questions, right Mr. Hood?”

“Please, no need to be so formal, Hood is fine.”

It’s only from the ache that begins to burn in his jaw that Tim realises he’s been sat with his mouth wide open this whole time. It’s unfathomable. It’s impossible to get Jason to listen to a voice note, let alone speak for an hour-long podcast. He doesn’t think he’s heard Jason speak for an hour total in the entire time he’s known him. There’s a disarming warmth to the conversation, one that sits in the hollow of Tim’s stomach, he’s seen it in videos of Jason, well, before, but not in the years since his return to Gotham.

“Soooo, quickfire question numero uno,” you pause emphatically, “thoughts on Gotham tap water? Love it? Hate it?”

“Ooo,” Jason croons, “Tastes like home. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fucking vile. It has that aftertaste like a science experiment gone wrong, right? But I feel like me and everyone else in this city has developed an immunity to it. Normal water tastes too clean.”

“Totally get it, you’ve put that into words in a way I don’t think I ever could,” you hum thoughtfully, “Next question, Condiment King? What the fuck is up with him?”

Jason bursts out into actual laughter, and Tim isn’t sure if it sounds like the gates of heaven or hell opening, “Don’t. Don’t even. I mean I respect the message, condiments are king, a wise man once taught me they make or break a dish. I feel like he’s like one of those kids who picked his Xbox username at like 8 years old and had to live with it for the rest of his life. He picked condiments and now he’s stuck in the niche.”

“Lost in the sauce, you could say?”

“Fuck off,” Jason’s wheezing now, “Christ, I’m gonna piss myself.”

“Okay, okay, final quick question,” you mutter out between wheezes, “Do you have a favourite rat? And before anyone makes any sweeping statements about it being gross or whatever – this is Gotham, dude. The rats have more rights than the people.”

“My favourite rat,” Jason plays up his pondering with a variety of noises, “Yeah, I would have to say my favourite rat is the one that I always see in the back of the bodega. I know he’s putting the work in back there, ya know?”

“Which bodega?”

“Top secret, I’m afraid,” Jason quips, “There’s no way I’m getting that place shut down, they feed me most nights of the week. Incredible chopped cheese.”

The conversation about convenience stores in Gotham continues for a few minutes as Tim attempts to recollect himself. Gather some restraint, focus on the task at hand, try not to lose his shit.

That is until Dick bursts in the door.

“TIM!” It’s deafening, echoing around the cave, and he can hear the thundering of footsteps heading rapidly towards him, “Tim this is going to sound crazy but –”

“Dick, Dick, I know.”

“You listen to The Gotham Goods too?”

“Don’t be stupid, Dick. Of course I do. Everyone does.”

Dick’s breathless, and Tim isn’t sure if it’s the strenuous activity or just a panic attack, as he huffs in and out, “What is Jason doing? And why does he sound so- so- dopey? Do you think he’s been drugged or something?”

“I thought that,” Tim muses, “but we’ve seen Jason hit with all kinds of gas and toxin, he’s never been like this.”

Dick reaches over to furiously rip one of Tim’s headphones out, regardless of how Tim attempts to swat him away; their squabbling is silenced as soon as they clock back into the light-hearted conversation drifting through their ears.

“So, dare I say, workout routine?” you tease, “For those of you that have never had the pleasure of seeing the Hood in person, his biceps are about as big as my head.”

“Aww, stop it,” Jason quips, but his words are full of mirth, “You’ll make me blush.”

“I can see you blushing, you idiot,” you bite back, “You can’t play coy with me, you know that.”

Tim can practically feel his bones grating against each other as he jars his head to the side to stare at Dick, who’s eyes have widened to the size of saucers.

“Did she just say he’s blushing?” Dick’s words come out loose and airy, clearly lost in whatever horrifying conclusion they have both just come to.

“He’s there without a helmet? He’s there as Jason?”

 It’s at that moment that another set of footsteps can be heard echoing throughout the Cave, and if Tim and Dick had been shocked before – the image of Bruce Wayne sprinting down the stairs in a full suit and tie to skid to a stop before the computer leaves them reeling.

“Jason’s identity has been compromised.”

That’s all he has to say.

“You listen to The Gotham Goods?” Tim lets out what can only be described as a guffaw, turning to Dick who (for the first time in his life) has been stunned to silence.

“Casually,” Bruce snips, “Alfred often has it on in the car.”

There are no words, truly. Much like Dick, Tim can seem only to stare into space meaninglessly as you and Jason continue to chirp in his right ear. Tim is a child of the Bat, he has a contingency plan for every single obscure event that could ever befall him or his family, but he had never for one second thought Jason’s podcast career would be one he would have to contend with.

The Cave is silent bar the sounds of the podcast chattering (which Bruce has taken the liberty of pulling up on the computer), nobody able to do anything other than sit and listen. Tim sees Alfred slip behind them, and if he didn’t know any better, he would say that by Alfred-standards that the butler has a smirk on his face.

“We need to stop him,” Bruce growls, “has anyone tried to get in touch with him?”

“It’s prerecorded, Bruce. Jason patrolled last night he’s probably still asleep.”

“I don’t care we need to –”

“Bruce,” Dick starts slowly, “Jason is, begrudgingly, an adult. And he’s in charge of his own life. If this is something he wants to do, then we can’t just tell him not to.”

“He’s compromising his identity,” Bruce bites, “Our identities.”

“He sounds happy, Bruce,” Dick’s words have a finality to them, and Bruce quiets fairly quickly after that. The glower across his features doesn’t go unnoticed, but there’s a strange resignation in his eyes.

They blow open wide at the next question.

“So, to actually get to a question of substance,” you start tenderly, “I know we talked about this before, and you agreed, but we don’t have to talk about it now. I think it’s a question a lot of people have about the Red Hood. The Bat symbol? Your relationship with Batman? You’ve never had the opportunity to speak about it before, and is there anything you would like to say?”

Jason’s sharp inhale picks up on the mic, and everyone in the room winces, “It’s not something I’m going to say too much about, but I know it’s news in Gotham every time me and Batman clash. I don’t hate the guy, not at all, we just have a difference in, ah, belief systems that I’m sure everyone in Gotham can put together. I do think Gotham needs the Bat; he’s our hero at the end of the day. But I don’t think I’m amiss in saying that I think we need someone with a less delicate touch too.”

“That was very well said,” your words are earnest, laden with the suggestion of knowing something deeper, “thank you.”

“He’ll probably find this at some point anyway,” Jason sighs, “so hiya Big Bat.”

Bruce physically winces at Jason’s words, and Tim shares a look with Dick at the point the man starts pacing back and forth along the walkway.

“Batman is crazy work though,” you add, bemused, “Talk about picking your Xbox username as a child.”

“Oh, totally,” Jason sniggers, “That’s a childhood fixation gone way too far.”

“I mean who looks at a bat and goes ‘real, that’s so me’ and then bases their entire personality off it? I’m a hypocrite though, I think I did that in high school.”

“I know –”

“Hold on, hold on,” you’re wheezing already at whatever has popped into your head, “Don’t tell me he hangs upside down. Please, you can’t, I’ll go crazy.”

“I have,” Jason begins slowly, almost tantalizing, “on occasion, seen him –”

“No, stop,” you’re shrieking, and the sound of you jumping up and down in your chair is audible through the mic, “Stop it, you’ve never told me that before. Oh, my lord.”

Dick turns to face Tim with a suspicious look, “You’ve never told me that before. This isn’t new, Tim, this is – they know each other.”

“You think that they’re… you know?”

“There’s no way. They can’t be.”

“An analysis of their tone does suggest,” Bruce begins half-heartedly, waving his hand with exasperation, “something of a fond affection for each other.”

It’s only as the podcast begins to wrap up that Alfred chimes in, that same whisper of a smirk gracing his features, “Well, Master Bruce, Master Tim, Master Dick, I would have to applaud you for your fine detective skills once again.”

“What are you suggesting, Alfred?” Bruce begins steadily, turning to face the older man.

“I’m suggesting that it used to take Jason roughly 17 minutes and 43 seconds to travel from his home apartment to the Manor. In the last 6 months, it has only taken him an average of 15 minutes and 29 seconds, suggesting he has changed residences. He has gotten regular haircuts for the same period, changed his cologne, and in general had a happier and more agreeable disposition, wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s at that moment that every cell phone in the room dings, and a look of dread passes over all of them accept Alfred. It’s Dick that opens his phone first, drawing back with a completely flabbergasted expression, “No, no, there’s no fucking way.”

Tim scrambles for his own, inputting his password as quickly as he can manage. And then it’s there. Jason has sent one photo into the family group chat: it’s him sat in some kind of recording suite, headphones pushed back casually, a beer in one hand, and in the other is someone else’s hand. A woman’s, clearly. Only the hand is visible. Interlaced with his own. The grin on Jason’s face can only be described as sharkish, completely smug.

The photo has a caption.

I hope you enjoyed the show, you nosy fuckers.

“No fucking way has Jason pulled THE GOTHAM GOODS?”

You’re desperately trying to gather intel for your next interview, having been cramming at the kitchen table for the past three hours. Jason has been sat lounging of the sofa for a similar amount of time, bursting out into a fit of hysterical laughter every 30 seconds or so.

“You do just think you’re hilarious, don’t you?” You sigh, closing your notebook for the day.

“Oh, princess, I am hilarious,” Jason chuckles, “This might be the best thing I’ve ever done. They’re losing it.”

He’d hacked into the camera in the Batcomputer hours ago. He’d been watching them since they started.

You settle down next to him with a huff, and he brings an arm to rest around your shoulders out of instinct, “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to you? I’m hurt, truly.”

“Nah, I’m just being dramatic, baby,” Jason presses a kiss to your temple, “Obviously you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Is that right?” You grumble, shoving his side with a playful grin.

“Absolutely,” there’s a wide smile plastered across his face, “Now, let’s watch them desperately try and figure out who you are. I’d like to see them try.”

“You are an evil, evil man Jason Todd.”

“You know it, baby.”

This idea came to me in a cold and flu medication infused haze. I actually think it's really funny, but then again, that could be the cold and flu.

If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it leave me alone.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Fic Title: Whispers You Barely Know

  “Hello,” breathed the voice. Tim opened his eyes slowly, realizing he'd fallen asleep at the computer again.

 “Hello,” he said back.

 “Where… you….” the voice whispered. Tim sighed. 

 “I’m in Gotham,” he told it. 

 His soulmate didn't answer. Tim tried not to let the same angry twist in his gut affect him. He shut his eyes, breathing in.

 There wasn't a reason to be angry. There wasn't a reason to be mad.

 There…

 “I… in… Park…” the voice said. 

 “I can't hear you,” Tim said. 

 No answer.

 The mantra of no need for anger snapped, and Tim shoved himself away from the computer. He stomped his way into the kitchen, chewing on his lip. He bit too hard and winced as the copper tang of his split skin hit his tongue. 

 Tim’s shoulders dropped. 

 You could hear your soulmate. They could speak to you, and usually it was a good guide. You couldn't say your name, but you could tell where you lived.

 Tim, though, could never hear his soulmate clearly. It was just whispers. Sounds he could never quite make out.

 It pissed him off, even if he tried to hide it. It felt funfair, in the way many things felt unfair to him. His parents always left him alone, barely bothering to hire a babysitter or nanny when he was younger. 

 Bruce had tried everything short of actually beating him to get him to stop being Robin. Stephanie got a free pass and Bruce TOLD HER Tim’s identity. 

 Dick had tried to make him into a replacement for Jason. Jason had tried to beat the shit out of him for being Robin. 

 Damian got to be an aggressive brat to Tim, including trying to murder him, but Tim was a danger because he wanted to hurt the man who killed his father.

 Stephanie faked her death and then basically harassed everyone to get her to talk to Tim after their breakup, despite him asking for space. She then proceeded to try to team up with Bernard to ‘tease ‘ him, and got offended when Bernard shut that down. 

 Then Bernard found his soulmate and Tim got fucking whispers in his head not a voice. 

 It wasn't fair. It was never fair.

 Tim stood in his apartment kitchen feeling drained.

 “Park…” whispered the voice. Tim closed his eyes.

 -

 “Amity Park,” Danny begged his soulmate. “Please, please hear me!” 

 The despair and hurt from his soulmate ripped apart Danny’s heart. 

 Ghosts were weird with their soulmates. Unlike living people, the voices were barely there. Johnny had described it as if you were trying to speak on the opposite side of a canyon. 

 However, you could feel your soulmate. Their emotions vibrated in you. Not enough to influence you, but enough that you knew what their pain felt like.

 Danny hadn't been sure what would happen with his soulmate, not until he'd turned eighteen and gotten whispers along with emotion. 

 It burned, feeling how it broke his soulmate. It clawed at Danny, and he couldn't breathe. He hated it. Hated how it hurt whoever he was bound to. 

 “Danny?” A knock at his door. Danny wiped at his eyes, feeling some wetness. 

 “I… come in,” he said. Tucker opened the door, looking sad to see Danny’s tears.

 “Your soulmate?” Tucker asked.

 “Yeah,” Danny sniffed. “It's so dumb-”

 “No, it isn't,” Tucker said. “You’ve been through so much shit and then the one thing you looked forward to sucked so hard.” Tucker sat down on Danny’s bed, nudging the other with his shoulder. “Want to focus on the positive or vent?”

 “Positive,” Danny decided. “We’re moving to Gotham next week. Leaving behind my parents.”

 Leaving behind their disdain for him. One that Jazz and Sam kept insisting was fixable. No matter how much his parents insulted him or said, ‘if you weren't our son’. 

 “It’ll be a blast.” Tucker jumped into the conversation, trying to convince Danny Wayne Enterprises would be the best choice in their lives.

 Danny sure hoped so.

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Food is Good for the Core

~

Jason met Danny months ago when he stopped by one of the diners,

Danny was on his lunch break about to eat his ecto infused food when he felt someone with a starving proto-core enter his dinner, his head snapped towards the entrance his gaze locking onto a rather tall man with the expression of someone who was hangry for lack of better words.

His core chirped a greeting, he felt the mans proto-core rumble a barely there response.

The man stumbled towards him his eyes flashing green

"Wha-who are you?"

Once he was close enough Danny grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down onto the seat next to him, pushing his food towards him.

"There you go Firecracker, you look like you really need it"

Jason was about to protest not sure what was even happening when the smell of the food hit him, next thing he knows he's swallowing the last bite.

He leaned back staring

Just staring

He had't felt this satiated and calm since, well since a very long time.

"My name is Jason not Firecracker , now what the hell was in that? Why did I react like that?"

"Well Firecracker, my name is Danny and please tell me that you know that you ..uh died?"

-Time Skip-

"-And so basically you need ecto to be healthy and happy, did you understand all that?"

"Where will I need to go to find that?"

"No worries big guy, I'll make you the food free of charge and in the future I'll start showing you how to properly make it. Also you need to be careful with the ecto food, normal humans tend to act weird even with just a little taste to our foods."

~

Danny & Jason eating together getting along

Dick: "My baby brother has a friend and didn't tell me!"

~

Danny & Jason cooking together: "Oh that's why they say food is the way to a man's heart"

~

Danny & Jason being smitten with one another & starting to unconsciously do ghost courting things.

Oracle watching from the cameras: "What the fuck?!"

~

Dick being nosy realizing that Jason's new boyfriend is putting something into the food Jason and he eat that goes into an extremely secure case.

Dick being suspicious and investigating, manages to steal a bite feels super loopy and weird for the next few days

Dick: "I've connected the dots!"

Jason: "You didn't connect shit."

Dick: "I've connected them!"

Dick thinks they're doing drugs

~

Dick slamming the door open: "Jason is doing drugs!"

Tim: "That doesn't sound like him are you sure?"

Dick on the ground wailing

Tim: "..."

~

Just an Idea

[cloudyzeusy]

If ur still taking requests, do u write for Jason Todd? 👀

Wanna manhandle him and rail him against a wall in Crime Alley, bonus points if we get to grab him by his gay little mask

The Alley ||

pairing: jason todd X top male reader

warnings: creampie, manhandling, slight rough sex, short

He tries to pivot away from your body, but you grab his jaw hard with one hand, turning his masked face back toward you. His red helmet’s long gone- discarded or smashed in the fight' and all that’s left is the domino mask clinging desperately to his sharp cheekbones, already starting to peel at the edges.

“You think you can just walk away from me, Hood?”

Jason snorts, mouth twitching like he wants to smart off, but your hand slides up the back of his neck and grabs a fistful of his hair, wrenching his head back.

“Still pretending you’re in control?” you growl, voice low and dangerous. “Even like this?”

He shudders. Doesn’t answer. But his hips twitch forward, just slightly, brushing yours.

You slam him back against the graffiti-stained brick wall, one arm across his chest, pinning him in place. The other hand rips that little mask from his face—slow, deliberate. He gasps like it’s wired to his nerves.

“Don’t—” he starts, but you toss the mask to the ground, and his eyes flutter shut, lips parting like he’s just orgasmed.

“Yeah,” you whisper, leaning in to nip his throat, relishing in the breathy moan you earn. “Bet you like that. Bet you get off on being seen. No helmet. No mask. Just you—flushed and shaking for me.”

He whines when your thigh slots between his legs, grinding against the bulge straining in his Kevlar pants. You kiss him hard, punishing, biting his bottom lip until you taste copper.

His fingers scramble for your shoulders, gripping tight like he wants to fight or fuck—doesn’t matter which. You break the kiss only to whisper, “Gonna rail you right here, Todd. Just like this—wet, messy, desperate so that you know my name."

His breath stutters.

Oh, he clearly liked that.

You spin him roughly, chest to the wall now, his palms slapping against the bricks. You yank his belt open and shove down his pants just enough to get what you need, letting the cold air bite his flushed skin. His back arches, and you don’t miss how wrecked he already looks over his shoulder—eyes glazed, mouth open, no trace of Red Hood’s steel left.

“Beg,” you say, lips brushing his ear. “You want it? Say it.”

He growls at first—defiant—but then: “Please. I want it. Fuck me. Right here. I need it.”

You used your spit and precum to slam into him. Jason was a little masochist anyway only proving your point as you could feel growing wet spot on the front of his suit. You ignored the rattle the fire escape above you.

His moan echoes off the alley walls, feral and cracked open.

You set a brutal pace, hand tangled in his hair again, wrenching his head back so he’s got no choice but to take it. You whisper filth into his ear:

"You're so tight around me."

"You feel just like a onahole molded for my cock."

Yet, he only groans louder, pushing back into every thrust.

“Fuck, you love this. Getting ruined in the same street you bled out on,” you pant, slamming deep. “You’re mine now, Jason. Say it.”

He’s boneless now, trembling. “Yours,” he gasps. “I’m.. fuck- yours.”

When he comes, it’s with a broken cry and his face turned up to the sky like it’s salvation.

You don’t stop until your own release hits you like a detonation, lips pressing hickeys into his skin, fingers bruising his hips. And you inevitably filled him up like the good cunslut he was.

Afterward, he slumps against the wall, panting. You pull up his pants and hook a finger under his chin, making him look at you.

“You dropped your mask,” You murmur quietly.

He stares at you, dazed, then huffs a laugh. “Keep it. I think you earned it.”

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 13. Damian attempts self-reflection

PREV PART trigger warning: medical + physical + emotional neglect, name is officialy fucking done and they'll make it known, Name is no longer hiding that they want to leave, Damian centric chapter, short filler  main m.list       series m.list

You are about to kill a motherfucker, and that motherfuckers name is Damian. Not only is he following you, he continuously attempts to place trackers and to get your medication to give to Bruce. And after your latest shift, you were done. Robin was now spying on you while you were working, and you are absolutely fucking done.

So when you see him at the dining table you couldn’t contain your anger. “You and I are going to have a talk, privately,” you hiss at him, smacking a bag of broken trackers on the table. “or so help me, and I actually get a fucking restraining order against you.”

This sure as hell got his attention, and he nods and follows you to the kitchen. You need a room that can be trashed, and in the kitchen you have more shit to throw. “You are out of line,” you say, looking at him with a stare that one could describe as threatening, enraged and calculating. “if you do this again I’ll be sure to fuck Robin up the next time he comes to visit me at work.”

You didn’t want to play your cards out, they have no need to know that you know. Of course Duke knows, but he’ll always be the exception.

Damian laughs, he can’t help it. You think you can fuck up Robin? Please, he didn’t know you had a sense of humour. What a delightful surprise.

At least he has enough sense to stop laughing when he felt your stern gaze become a glare. Truly, you aren’t like Bruce a lot, but your stare… your stare is purely Bruce. “Why do you think you being followed by Robin has anything to do with me?” he asks, genuinely curious. He just hopes you won’t put all the clues together, he’s quite relieved with the fact that your pain keeps you oblivious. Unable to use all of your intelligence.

“Nightwing and then Robin, it’s obvious they are in Bruce in pockets,” you say trying to make it seem like you weren’t omitting something. But Damian did notice a slight change in your body language, but he’ll dismiss it for now. “get him to back off, or I will file a formal complaint of stalking against him. Wouldn’t be so good for his already shitty reputation, right?”

Seems like you hit a nerve, Damian looks away ashamed, regretful and at the same time grateful. Good, let him think you’re oblivious, the more he underestimates you the safer you will be. A boy like Damian is even more dangerous than a man like Jason, Damian was raised to kill, but Jason just copied the aggression he learned. And when he lost his joyful nature, he became the monster he is today. You take Damian’s silence as compliance. “Do me a favour and tell Brucie that I will be at Maria’s for the rest of the week,” you say as you turn around, ignoring how he takes a sharp breath. “I don’t want to see your face until I return.”

Damian knows your hyper independent nature is due to their actions, due to what they’ve done to you. But he can’t help but feel bitter, he didn’t know better. He didn’t understand your side, and he wants to be your brother. He always wanted to be your brother.

From the moment you defended Tim he knew that he wanted you to defend him like that, that he wanted you to love him like that. But after Jason’s attack he learned how your family treated you, and he wanted nothing to do with you. Fearful of losing his father’s approval, and you don’t know about their life. Involving you would lead to you being kidnapped and at worst killed.

He knows he could have had a civilian relationship, but after he chastised you for your anger towards Jason he knew he no longer had a chance. He knew, so he didn’t try.

He didn’t try because he didn’t understand.

So now, as you pull away from them instead of them pulling away from you Damian doesn’t know what to do. He wants to be your sibling, he wants the bond you seemed to have with Tim (a bond he now knows doesn’t exist), he wants to be loved by you. And he wants to protect you.

Can’t you let your brother protect you?

You’re the older sibling, shouldn’t you do anything to make your younger siblings happier?

NEXT PART guys, I know this is short, but listen, I wanted this out because I keep having Damian being a gremlin brother thoughts and not in a good way. also I keep seeing one specific username that is such a typical name where I am from that I'm like; shit do I know this person?

taglist CLOSED!: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[nutmegtales]

Fucking Clowns - Part 2

Barbara replayed the grainy video recording of the initial assessment of one Danny Smith. The boy had been admitted for causing a scene and then reportedly being detached from reality, and a potential risk to himself.

As per their newer procedures the cops had brought him to the lower security section of the Arkham facility for observation. At least 24 hours to let the body cycle through whatever drug might have triggered a psychosis. Arkham was well equipped for this kind of cool off period now, and they weren't unaccustomed to being flooded with fear toxin patients or other mass victims.

After those 24 hours though with no sign of improvement or other casualties displaying similar symptoms he was brought through to the initial assessment.

To say it had not gone well was an understatement. Babs hit pause on the moment when the doctor had begun to explain the situation: where Danny was, that he would go through a number of tests for his health, that he might have to stay for a while, and they may trial some medication for him. The frozen image was grainy but she could still see the look of absolute terror on the kids face.

She fast forwards through the outburst, as the kid refuses to be a lab rat, as he shoves out of the chair and goes to storm off before stopping in mid path, like someone was blocking his way. As he turned around again and was seemingly stopped again. And again. And again. As he shouted at the air to leave him alone, to let him go. As he rounded on the psych screaming that he would not take anything, no pills, no needles, that no one could make him. That he wasn't a lab rat over and over and over.

She hit play again once she reached the point they'd calmed him down and walked him through his options. They were going over why the kid thought he was here "Because I died" he said it so matter of factly, she could believe him. He said it the same way Jason did, in the tone of a 'fuck you'. But that didn't mean it was true.

"Because the ghosts want me here" another point in favour of psychosis.

"Because Batman wouldn't kill the Fucking Joker". It had been a quiet admission, almost too quiet for the recording equipment to pick up. Babs rewound and replayed that moment another few times, checking over the notes but not able to find a reference to it. She watched further on in the recording as the psych asked what Danny had just said, but the boy refused to repeat it.

Babs knew though, she was pretty certain she was not mistaken in what she heard.

She clicked open some of the more recent notes the nurses made. And yeah, her heart sank a little as she read there were quite a few mentions of Batman's name screamed in accusations, and a few little notes about oddities here and there. Cold spots, times where the kid had caught something that someone his size shouldn't have been able to lift. Times where he had items there was no explanation for him having. She'd gone over the rest of the recordings but hadn't found anything concrete herself.

She opened up a file of her own titled Potential Future Rogues, and added the name Danny Smith to the list with a check against Grudge and a question mark against Meta. That's all she'd do for now, without anything more solid or a real name to go on there was no point bringing this to anyone else's attention yet.

She sighed to herself and rubbed her eyes. It had already been a long night, and she was only part way through her long list of preventative procedures she'd made for herself. This might end up being nothing, but she'd still rather have a leg up on the situation if it ever does become an issue. This and the million other potential problems.

'Ah Babs', she thought to herself 'you really like to make work for yourself don't you.'

---

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[jaysgirlx]

"Need help sweetheart?" Bookstore Customer!Jason Todd helps you reach the books on the higher shelves. You were his favorite employee and he wanted to make your day easier. He'd been coming here for a while but you always forgot how tall he was and how good his body felt pressed against yours. You only knew how to mumble out a couple words because you didn't know what else to say to a man like that. "Uh sir, you don't need to-"

"Please call me anything but sir sweetheart, you know I'm not new here"

Bookstore Customer!Jason enjoyed teasing his favorite employee aka you of course. He teases you about working at the bookstore even though he's constantly there and he'll always be flirting with you even if you're working the counter that day. He knows he's holding up the line but he's a paying customer so he doesn't care.

"How's my favorite pretty girl doing?"

"M'tired today Jay, I can't handle your nonsense right now"

"Okay that was mean- wait, Jay? that's a first"

"Buy a book or get out Jason"

You could easily tell Jason liked classics and poetry but for some reason he was willing to read your favorites even if they were a smut-filled mess. One time, he backed you up into a corner, after reading one of those books you liked, "Hmm, you like this kind of shit baby? cause I can do all that to you and so much more"

Over time, you learned that Jason also likes to follow you to the store, whispering to you about all the things he could do to you if you'd let him. His hand is always on your hips, pressing his body fully into you. He knows you like it especially when you roll your hips into his when nobody's looking. He wishes you'd use your words and just say you were his but he knew he wasn't even close to getting that, at least not yet.

Jason tried to buy a new book every week, sometimes not even to read. He needed an excuse to be there since your boss has never been fond of him ever since he had caught him feeling you up near the back shelves once. He learned his lesso so now he purposefully buys the books you like, just so he can watch you ramble on and on about them without getting kicked out of the store.

Bookstore Customer!Jason thrived on the feeling he got from watching you go from being so nonchalant around him to the most talkative girl in the world. he wants you comfortable if he's going to fuck you. You find yourself shutting up one time because you thought you had bored him but he quickly gets rid of that thought for you, "Keep talking sweetheart, I'm just wondering how pretty your mouth would look with my cock stuffed down your throat"

"Jay I don't- I can't- I haven't-"

"Don't worry, you will and I'm sure you're a fast learner"

It wasn't that hard for you to notice that Jason got a little jealous when his brother Dick hits on you the first and last time he brings him to the bookstore. Dick easily chats you up and Jason watches the two become a bit too friendly for his liking but it wasn't his place to speak, "Now I see why my little brother brings home so many books"

"It's good he does, I like guys who read"

"I actually quite the fan of classic literature-"

"Oh shut up Dick"

Bookstore Customer!Jason had all your coworkers wondering if you'll ever let the poor guy hit. They weren't sure if Jason was interested in you or your body, regardless they couldn't ignore the smile you got whenever he walk in. Or the way you'd laugh at his dumb jokes. You had him on a leash and you didn't even know what to do with him. He's begging to take you out or just even spent a night with you. He didn't just want you, he needed you. "C'mon I promise to take care of you princess, I'll even take you to that little coffee shop in Bludhaven"

"Who told you about that?!"

"…Dick"

When he finally manages to convince you to let him kiss you, you're nervous as fuck. You thought this was just another one of his antics but no, this was real. He'd promised to stop hitting on you if you felt nothing and you should've know it was bad idea when you could hear your own heartbeat still your let his lips touch yours. It was such a bad idea because before you knew it, he's got you pushed up against the wall, leg parting your thighs with your hands gripping at his shirt. "Jay, more please" Suddenly after all this time, you're pleading for him. Oh how the tables have turned. You're begging for all he's got, and you know he has so much more to give.

"Just give me a moment baby, got be patient" Within a matter of minutes your pants are discarded on the floor, and your panties are still on but being pushed aside while two fingers are being pumped in and out of your pussy. He's got one hand on your hips holding you down while one of your legs is wrapped around his waist. "Didn't I tell you I could do some much for you baby?"

You nod quickly while he's sucking on your poor neck, that would definitely be red all tomorrow. you feel his teeth sink into your skin, not too hard but rough enough to leave a mark. "Now keep quiet, I don't want any of your coworkers hearing us back here" The next thing you know you're cumming on the boy's fingers and he wants you to do it again. and again. and possibly 50 more times if you're willing.

The next time Jason comes, he's holding what you think is flowers and you know he'll be your victim today.

"So I thought real flowers would be cheesy and you'd probably not want to take care of em, so my brothers taught me how to make these paper flowers and…here just take them"

"Wow, I'm getting hand-crafted flowers from THE Jason Todd? Someone must have a really big crush on me huh? Are those bandaids on your fingers? Want me to kiss your boo-boos? "

"Are you going to finally go out with me or do I have to make you cum-"

"Yes yes! Just do not finish that sentence out loud"

"You are soooooooooo in love me"

"Jay, get out"