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Texting With Damian Wayne (Civilian S/O)

jumping on the text train

Jason Todd

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When y/n does something so cringe that i have to stop reading the fic for a wile before start reading again

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Hello sis! Thank u for opening the box!!

What about Arkham Knight! Jason where he falls in love with the reader and is unexpectedly kind?

Thank uuuuuu🩷🩷🩷🩷

Too Sweet For Me

A/n: thank you so much for being my first req. I got super excited about the prompt and I hope it's what you were asking for.

Jason who despite everything he's been through, everything he's seen and done. How could you look at him and see anything but a monster? Let me tell you this, it's not easy and its not fast. 

Jason is the living embodiment of self sabotage and rage. And when you show him nothing but kindness and adoration? He can't take it. He’ll lash out on you, yell at you, might even throw you out. Honestly the thought of being in love and happy is a feeling Jason loathes. He loathes how much it scares him when he starts feeling his pulse racing when you touch him or how much he hates it when he hasn't seen you in days and begins missing the sound of your voice. Hes scared he wont be able to stop himself from wanting to consume you completely.

In Jason's head, the closer you are to him the closer you are to danger. How could he do that to someone who looks at him as more than the robin who died, more than the victim of the Joker. He needs to keep you safe even if it means having to remove himself from the equation.

Does not mean he's not looking at you. Cameras to the front of your apartment, gps tracker, following you around on patrol without you knowing. His defense is he is doing it purely to keep you safe. Which is true but also because he can't stand to actually be without you. 

As much as I think he would be avoidant, it's all tied to his trauma. He can't get close to people, he can't rely on people. His mother and adoptive father taught him just that, so why would you be any different? It's irrational and paranoid but his entire nervous system has been rewired from his time with Joker. He wants to be with you, he wants to hold your hand, hold you by the waist, he wants to kiss you. He can't understand why those thoughts exist next to all the bad ones. He feels he's not allowed to think about those things because he doesnt deserve it. But watching you fawn and looking at him with those soft eyes? He doesn't know why, despite all these fears, he falls to his knees thanking you. He worships you, he needs you, he'll take anything and everything you give him with a smile. 

He tries his best to never raise his voice around you, keeps you away from all his knight business, never tells you where he’s actually going so he doesn't worry you. I'd be surprised if he even let you out without him. Not in a controlling way but in an extremely paranoid, you might get killed way. He's your protector, a knight in a different sense from his main mission. The person he becomes around you is not the big bad knight he is outside of your home. This doesn't mean the relationship is perfect, Jason has so much going on mentally there's no viable way he’d ever be the non toxic partner. He's jealous, dangerously so. He's killed men for just looking at you wrong. He's killed more for even referencing you. On his worst days, he probably has accused you of cheating when you obviously are not. He sometimes apologizes. 

Hell start fights for no reason, no matter how little you actually give him to fight about.

He'd leave for days, not to make you upset but because he genuinely doesn't know how to navigate any healthy communication. You might find your favorite flower placed at your window for a few days when he really feels bad. The fact you handle each outburst of his with reason and understanding, are able to hold his face in your hands even after everything he's done? He KNOWS he doesnt deserve you. He probably is even aware of his toxic tendencies. But you? He loves you. There's no one in his head that registers as permanent, but you? The only constant of his reality and existence, he'd be damned if he ever allowed you to leave him. Which in retrospect also adds to the red flag that is Arkham Jason.

He'd do anything you'd asked. Complained once your shoes were uncomfortable? New expensive pair the next day. Want him to stay in bed a little longer? He knows he really shouldn't but the feeling of your warmth against his skin doesn't feel real enough to utter the word no. 

He would not do this for just anyone, but you? Someone who has only ever shown him the good, he feels like he should treat you like the most expensive diamond in his possession. Sometimes it is probably hard for him to even think about you as an entirely human being. He wants to keep that part of you intact. He wants your kindness to never run out. He knows how little of it exists in Gotham, how much of it is manufactured and dulled. To him, you're a bright oil painting at the louvre. Something to keep guarded and untouched by filthy hands. To corrupt you would be sacrilege.

As for intimacy, don't expect a lot. Doesn't matter how you engage with Jason, his ability to be vulnerable is sometimes non existent. But the few times he is like a dream, heavy breathing, his chest to your back because he refuses to let you see his scars left by that damned clown. All hes focused on is how you feel and react. How sweet and beautiful you sound. Hes obsessed with you, every part of you. No matter how much he pulls and acts out, your presence, your love, is his lifeline. He thinks he'd actually die again if you weren't there. 

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Something I love talking about in regards to Jason and headcanons is Which version of Jason we're talking About.

I like dividing them into threes. Robin Jason. Lazurus/ Arkham Jason and post lazurus Jason whens hes calmed down n shit.

I just think a character with that much shift from his original while still being well. Jason. Idk. I wanna write a bunch of stuff from different points of times I just hate picking just one ugh

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rewatching the under the red hood movie and i gotta say as much as i love jason’s speech to bruce about how mad he is that the joker’s still alive, i still maintain that a severely underrated speech in this movie is from ra’s when he’s talking to bruce and in essence says ‘yeah so i hired the joker to distract you which was my bad because he totally went overboard and killed your son :/ and i felt so guilty i decided not to try and fight you anymore and then i stole your son’s corpse and tried to revive him via lazarus pit so i could like. make amends. except that was also my bad because we fucked that one up real good and when he came back out BOY was he weird in the head. killed my guys and then fucking jumped out a window and we lost him. my bad. and i thought he’d died again but apparently he’s in gotham and is like. totally destroying your whole lives which again, my bad. shouldn’t have tried to help. sorry about that. i’ll just stay out of your business from now on.’ which is actually the funniest characterisation of ra’s i’ve ever seen

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Ain't tagging this bc I don't want anyone to see but personally I hate neglected reader 😭😭😭 idk they're so hard to read and I tried. I tried !!!

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Needa write give me those requests ppl !!

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“Freak like me…,”

Batboys x reader headcannons

sorry yall😔i keep disappearing,i have like major writing block and my husband and i are going to renew our vows.We got married at 16(I DONT RECOMMEND) and we have been dating since we were 12, i turn 20 this year😭😭😭

ANYWAYS LEAVE REQUESTS💛

BRUCE WAYNE

🏛 Favorite Place:

-His master bedroom — but specifically the bed with fresh sheets and dim lighting. He’s private and a control freak, and intimacy is something he treasures deeply.

-However… he’s absolutely taken you in the Batcave. Against the Batmobile. Once. Maybe twice. But he’ll never admit it.

⏱ Quickies?

-Not his favorite. Bruce prefers drawn-out, sensual, controlled sessions.

-That said, if it’s been a rough mission or he’s overwhelmed, he will pull you into a dark hallway, growl in your ear, and lose his mind for 5 minutes.

-“This isn’t enough—but I need you right now.”

⸻

Dick Grayson

Favorite Place:

- Rooftops. Balconies. Anywhere high up with a view of the city lights. There’s something about the rush, the stars, and you.

-Also? Showers. He loves the intimacy of washing each other, and then not staying clean for long.

⏱ Quickies?

-100% yes. He loves them. Elevators, bathrooms, pulled-into-a-closet vibes.

-He’ll whisper something filthy in your ear during a gala and have you against the wall five minutes later.

- Very into spontaneous affection. “Hey, you looked too good. I had to.”

⸻

Jason Todd

Favorite Place:

-His apartment — couch, kitchen counter, bed, wall. But more than anything, his safe space is wherever you feel safe.

-Has a real soft spot for post-mission sex in the shower or while still half-dressed. There’s something healing about it.

⏱ Quickies?

-Loves them when they’re emotionally charged. Not a fan of purely mechanical quickies — he wants a reason.

-Angry? Stressed? Jealous? Then yes, he’ll have you bent over in a parking garage before you can say “Red Hood.”

-He’s rougher during those moments, but always with aftercare. “That was fast. But you still okay, baby?”

⸻

Tim Drake

Favorite Place:

-His office chair. That boy works too damn much, and nothing clears his head like you straddling him mid-research.

-Bonus: the Wayne Tower penthouse library. Something about the shelves, the silence, and you on the table just does it for him.

⏱ Quickies?

-He likes the idea of quickies more than he actually enjoys them. They usually stress him out unless he’s really in the moment.

-f it’s an early-morning before-you-leave-for-work kind of thing? He’s all in.

-But mostly he’s a slow burn kind of guy. Think intense eye contact, slow hands, whispered “God, you’re beautiful.”

⸻

Damian Wayne

Favorite Place:

-His room, with the doors locked and the drapes drawn. Damian is private, intense, and not one for public displays.

⏱ Quickies?

-Not a fan. He hates the rushed feeling — he wants full focus, precision, and control.

-But if you challenge him, tease him, or catch him off-guard? He might grit his teeth, grab your wrist, and make it happen fast, rough, and possessive.

-Afterward, though? “Next time, we do this properly. You deserve more than just that.”

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Too Late

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 1.2 K warnings: fainting, no y/n used summary: Jason was poisoned during his patrol and doesn't realise until he is at your place. a/n: this was requested by @dreamzaremyrealityy, give them a round of applause for this new angsty request!

»Good morning, Jay...«

You yawn as the red vigilante climbs through your window, planting his feet on the floor beside your bed. A heavy sigh escapes him as he tugs his helmet off, his hands trembling ever so slightly. To be fair, it is pretty cold outside and christmas is around the corner.

»Hey...« He greets back before finally taking his domino mask off, kneeling down before your bed, his shoulders sagging. The exhaustion is written clearly across his face, eyebags deeper than usual, skin a little more pale, hair mussled from the helmet. Jason sees you frown before reaching out, your warm hand cupping his chin. His eyes manage to focus on you, taking in your still tired state after freshly waking up. The air around is peaceful after the gruesome fight with Poison Ivy, having had enough of all her various plants and alleged living creatures, that also have ‘feelings‘ and seem to be over obedient for her.

»Jason! C‘mon, get up,« you shake his shoulders before you finally manage to shift him onto his side, attempting to do a stable side position.

His body feels like he is floating, unable to register anything properly. His head pounds uncontrollably, his eyes taking a longer moment to focus on anything. At the sight of him cracking his eyes open, you feel reliefed, but also overly concerned over him. He just collapsed face first on the edge of the mattress before landing on the floor with a loud thud. At first, you thought he was just tired and plopped his head down, but after a second, you quickly realised he was passed out. That‘s one way to start your morning.

»Can you hear me? Can you talk?« You try to make him talk, trying to hear anything from him, even if it is just a pained groan.

»Come on Jason, talk. What‘s your name?«

»Jason?« He grumbles out weakly, feeling you adjust his body into a side position, grunting softly. Once he is stable, with no chance of passing out again, you sit back on the floor, checking up on him. The back of your hand presses against his forehead, frowning more as you feel him heat up. His skin feels hot, a cold sweat coating over his body.

»Did you sleep enough? Eat? Drink? Did you overwork yourself?«

So many questions and Jason is barely able to focus on your words. Instead of receiving an answer, his eyes roll back again, knocking out before being able to answer you.

Your heart drops at the sight and lay his head on your lap, making sure he stays as stable as possible.

What do I do? Is all you can think about while Jason lays unconscious on the ground, pale and shivering. Your mind races as you try to figure out what to do, being helpless at the moment.

The situation seems worse than it was initially once Jason wakes up, now laying in your own bed covered in any blanket you could find. He still feels cold, limbs aching and too heavy to move. It feels worse than a usual cold, and Jason doesn‘t want to alarm you any further.

You wake up once you feel some movement from his side, having been seated on the floor close by the bed.

»Jay— how do you feel?« He doesn‘t even know what to answer at first, throat tight and dry as if he survived a few days in the desert.

»Worse.« Jason croaks out finally, not even attempting to shift to be more comfortable in your bed, too small for his long legs to fit in fully. You frown further at his words, unsure what to give him so he feels better again.

»Think something on patrol happened to cause this?« You question and hope he remembers a thing or two from his patrol.

Jason sems to ponder for a moment, unsure if he wants to give you a rough picture of what he faced the night before or not. On one hand, he‘d rather choke on dirty rag than tell you about it, but he wants to ease your nerves in some way as well.

»Poison Ivy broke out from Arkahm. Her plants— fuckass plants, « He can‘t even finish his sentence before he needs to cough, a few painful wet coughs leaving him. You quickly stand off the floor and get him a glass of water first, unsure what else to give him right now.

He takes it gratefully and sips on it a little before settling back against the pillows behind him.

You never saw Jason in such a bad condition before, sweating and coughing, eyes teary and slightly red. His body is burning up but he shivers, unable to move much as his muscles feel on the verge of giving up. Without another thought, you end up in the kitchen and make him some warm tea. The best you can do is stay by his side and help him recover, and hope for the best. A while later, Jason is nursed with a big cup of tea, forced to drink up everything. For his high fever, you made him swallow two pills of paracetamol, feeling a little guilty for it.

Despite everything, Jason complies and stays in your bed, feeling somewhat better after taking some pills.

But as soon as it growa darker outside and the it gets late, his fever is going up again. He groans lightly, although he tires to act tough so he doesn‘t scare you. You give him a damp cold rag to hold against his forehead, but it doesn‘t seem to help much. The ideas are running out, and you find yourself being helpless again. Jason looks absoloutely drained and exhausted, and you can‘t do anything but watch.

»It‘s just one of Ivy‘s pollen. Don‘t worry too much.« Jason tries to reassure you, but you doubt it. Just when you want to say something about it, another coughing fit escapes Jason, his muscles tense and cramped up from laying all day.

The morning after is rocky, starting with Jason‘s high fever, added with new fatigue. He wakes up panting heavily, a cold sweat covering his body all over again, and eyes wide in terror. You can barely console him before it gets worse, eventually making him stay calm.

Jason insists on benig fine, but it doesn‘t work since he looks like wet, shivering dog. Luckily, he lets you feed him with some painkillers and something to soothe his fever before he ends up falling asleep again. Hopefully he‘ll wake up a little less banged up.

As expected, Jason wakes up a few hours later, able to sit up on his own.

»See, I‘m all fine again, sweetie.« He shrugs, hiding another coughing fit as you speak up too.

»Don‘t… you‘ll jinx it, I know it.« You narrow your eyes at him, growing a little annoyed at his constant insistence of being fine when he clearly isn‘t, even as he sits.

»Do you… want some soup? I made some, earlier.«

Jason grows quiet before he nods wordlessly, eventually leaning back into the heabdoard again.

»Can I help?«

»No.«

←MASTERLIST

taglist₊‧.°.⋆˚₊‧⋆. @143637-hrrm @dollyure @ibreathesmut @dreamzaremyrealityy @aceoffates

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WHEN LOVE MET WAR

Greek God AU | Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2k synopsis: The goddess of love. The god of war. A love that even death couldn’t end. a/n: Still working through requests! Work’s been kicking my ass lately, and for some reason, my brain decided to spiral into a Greek mythology mood. A little different from my usual writing and sorry if it feels rushed.

On the marble steps of your rose-draped temple, you the goddess of love stood still as stone, watching the sun bleed across the sky. It set in streaks of gold and crimson—colours that once reminded you of warmth, of flushed cheeks and tangled limbs, of whispered promises spoken beneath starlight. Now, they only reminded you of blood. Of his blood.

Jason.

The name still ached when it crossed your thoughts, still clung to the edges of your immortal heart like the scent of a dying flower. Jason, the mortal born so beautiful even the gods were jealous. Jason, whose laugh rang like bells in your ears. Jason, who looked at you not with awe, but affection. Not like a deity, but a woman.

The two of you had danced in fields of lavender, lay beneath silken skies, whispered secrets into each other’s skin. you, divine and eternal. He, gloriously human. And though you both knew the tragedy of that pairing, you dared to hope. Dared to love. For he was promised by the head of the pantheon, Bruce the God of night and Justice that he would be ascended to godhood.

But mortals die. Even beautiful ones.

Before he could be ascended, he fell—brutally beaten and cut down by a jealous god who dared believe that, in his absence, you might turn your affections elsewhere—you wept until rivers rose and gardens withered. The earth mourned with you, the skies dulling to ash, as though the heavens themselves recognized the injustice of his death.

The other gods whispered that you’d gone mad. That you were foolish to mourn so deeply for a mortal man.

But none of them had known Jason like you had.

The centuries passed like mist—soft, aimless, unbearably hollow. No touch warmed your skin. No glance stirred your spirit. No heart called to your’s the way his once had.

And for that arrogant god who thought you so fickle, so shallow, as to discard the truest love you had ever known…You made him pay for his foolishness.

Death, you decided, was far too kind. Instead, you wanted him to suffer eternal torment and cursed him with a mania so strong he would never know peace. Never to know what the warmth of love would feel like yet forever aching for it, forcing him to search for it like a man in a desert parched for water. 

He burned offerings at temples you never visited. Tore open his own chest seeking your favour. Begged the stars, the sea, the wind—to return what he had destroyed.

But love had turned its back on him.

Because he had defiled it.

His passion became prison. His desire, disease. And you watched from afar—silent, unblinking—as mania bloomed like a vine around his soul and slowly choking away the god he once was because compared to you, he was nothing. Seldom was a force stronger than love and he scorned the very embodiment of it.

No god dared to go against your punishment. The gods, in all their hubris, had all forgotten that love and war were not so different. Passion. Devotion. Ruin. Your soft beauty and lilting laughter had made them forget that beneath the silks and sweetness, you too were considered to be apart of the deities of war. Just as capable of wrath as you were of love. Your's was the battlefield of hearts, and you had long since learned that love—real love—was worth waging war over.

Yet, no amount of vengeance could fill the hole left in your heart, forcing centuries you grieved. Because even with your enemy broken, it did not bring him back.

Jason was gone.

Your temples faded into shadow. The world moved on, colder now, more empty. You wandered through centuries draped in sorrow, a goddess without purpose. Love came and went in mortals like tides against the shore—brief, fleeting, insubstantial.

Until one day, the earth rumbled with a new name.

The mortals whispered it in fear. One unlike the other gods. A scarred brute, they said, who neither sought glory nor revelled in carnage for sport. He did not charge into battle for honour or conquest. He moved like a storm driven only by rage and something darker—revenge.

They said he was mad. That vengeance had hollowed him out and filled the void with fury.

It was in the smoke-choked ruins of a battlefield—where the sky split with thunder and the ground ran slick with blood—that the gods gathered. They came not with swords drawn, but with questions. To see for themselves the new god born of vengeance and death. To witness if he would be friend or foe. To determine whether he was to be welcomed… or destroyed.

And then he stepped through the haze.

You staggered.

Your breath left you.

Because it was him.

Jason.

But not the Jason you had known—not the boy who pressed wildflowers into your hands or traced constellations across your bare skin with laughter in his eyes. That boy had been soft in the ways only mortals could be. He had lived with wonder in his heart and warmth in his touch.

That boy was gone.

Death had stripped him bare. It had carved the softness from his bones and replaced it with steel. It had turned his heart into something fiery and full of anger. Whatever mercy had once dwelled in him had long since been buried beneath the weight of pain.

He had been reborn in divine fire, not as the son of justice he was meant to become, but as something else entirely—something terrible, something untouchable. The boy you had loved was now a deity of war, the God of Death and Vengeance.

He hadn’t remembered his past at first. Not fully. Dreams came in shards—flashes of golden fields, of laughter and soft hands, of a voice that called his name with devotion. Yet, the sight of you brought forth more of the shattered remains of what life he once had lived.

You whispered his name, no louder than a breath, the one word filled with shock and reverence. The gods fell silent. None dared speak as you stepped forward—toward the once-mortal, the boy who had been your undoing, the man death had remade. You didn’t wait. Didn’t care what it meant or how he came to be. 

You crossed the blood-soaked earth barefoot, unflinching. The ruin of war clung to your feet, but you moved as if drawn by fate, as if the threads of your soul had never stopped pulling toward his.

Your gaze devoured him, taking in the new divine version of him. Your hand lifted, trembling, and you pressed your palm to his cheek. He was taller now. Armoured. Broad-shouldered and blood-streaked, his golden skin was no longer unmarked—burns curled along one arm trailing up to his neck, a jagged scar traced up from cheek to brow, and his once-gentle mouth was a hard, unsmiling line. His eyes, once the soft shade of summer storms, now burned like steel in winter.

His jaw tightened beneath your touch.

Among the gathering of gods stood four figures, two of which who had once considered Jason as family.

At the forefront stood Bruce cloaked in shadows and silence. His face betrayed nothing, but the air around him felt taut, like a bow pulled too tight. He had not spoken since Jason stepped through the smoke. He only watched.

It was said Bruce had found Jason in the ruins of a battlefield long ago—an orphaned mortal with enough fire, he dared to steal the wheels of Bruce’s midnight chariot. It was this fire that made Bruce choose to raise him as his own bringing him to Olympus where he eventually met and fell in love with you. 

Dick, Bruce’s eldest son, the god of light and duality, also once a mortal ascended to godhood stared at Jason with a gaze was bright with disbelief.

Beside him stood Tim, god of foresight and knowledge, lips pressed thin. His brilliant mind, always quick to calculate, struggled now to reconcile the impossible. His eyes flicked between Jason, you, Bruce, and Dick as if trying to read a history long before his time.

And then there was Damian, youngest and most volatile—god of wrath and beasts. His green eyes narrowed, not in malice, but suspicion. Like Tim, he had never truly known Jason. Not the boy with a crooked smile or the mortal brother with a quick temper and a quicker wit. Jason existed to him only in fragments—in stories passed down in whispers.

And the figure standing before him was no story.

This was the god who ravaged lands, who left cities smouldering in his wake, who painted rivers red with blood. The war-born storm whose fury bent steel and scattered armies.

Not one of them said a word. Because in that moment, they knew, only you would be able to reach him.

“I thought I’d lost you,” you whispered, your thumb brushing gently over the jagged scar that marred his cheek like a bolt of lightning etched into flesh. “He took you from me.”

“He did,” Jason rasped, voice low and raw, torn from somewhere deep inside him. “That man you remember… he’s dead. I remember little of him—just flashes. But one thing has never left me…” His gaze darkened, steel-hard. “…I want the head of the god who killed me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“He’s yours, if you want him,” you said, voice calm, almost casual in its finality. “Though I already ensured he would suffer eternally for the pain he caused you and I.”

Jason’s eyes slid past your shoulder, lingering on the looming figure of Bruce—the god of night and justice—his divine father. There was a flicker of something in Jason’s gaze, some buried expectation, as if Bruce might protest or claim otherwise.

But Bruce said nothing.

Only his jaw clenched, ever so slightly, as he looked away.

Jason’s focus returned to you. “You would give him to me so freely?”

“I would rip out his heart and place it in your hands if that is what you wished,” you answered without pause, your voice low, unshaking. “I would die for you. I would give you anything you desire.”

Something shifted behind his eyes. A storm, held back for centuries, calmed at the edge. Never would it be fully gone but something about your presence was stilling it. And in that moment, with war’s fire in his blood and your hand on his face, Jason realized one thing. He had been reborn not just by rage, not only by death—but by the echo of a love so powerful, it had called him back from the ashes.

His expression cracked. Just barely. A flicker of the man he had been.

“The man you once knew is gone,” he said quietly.

You lifted your chin, defiantly, beautifully. “Then I’ll love what rose in his place.”

His eyes flickered, but his tone remained cold. “I’m not gentle anymore,” he warned, voice darker now, coiled tight with the weight of all he’d become. “I don’t feel softness. I don’t remember how to be… that.”

“Then be war itself,” you said fiercely, “I’ll still love you.”

Because while you had loved him at his most radiant, this version, forged through pain and fury, was no less worthy. He was not the same—but neither were you. Love had never asked for perfection. Only truth.

His hands—bloodstained, trembling—rose slowly, hesitantly, as though he feared you were a mirage. He caught your wrists, holding them with reverence, with desperation. Then his forehead touched yours, and in that simple gesture, something ancient and sacred passed between you. Something that neither time nor death had managed to sever.

A goddess born of love.

A god reborn of war.

And in his arms, when he finally pulled you close, the goddess of love found her heart again—not in beauty, not in peace, but in ruin and rage, in the bloodied hands of war itself.

They had taken him from you once.

But not again.

You had crossed eternity to mourn him.

Now, you would cross it again to stand beside him.

Because whether mortal or divine, broken or whole, he was still yours.

And you were still his.

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Jason Todd Head Canons

(This is reallllyyyy rough but it's here bcs I missed y'all and disappeared for days - was dragged to a summer family trip against my will. I also wrote most of this half asleep on the bus. Bear with me.)

(warning: suggestive nsfw in one of the hcs, nothing explicit)

Jason Todd never ever sleeps with his back facing you. Why? He thinks it's just rude. And he has the need to protect you even in his sleep because what if he sleeps with his back to you and you're not there when he wakes up? I mean, if he has a bullet wound in his side, he'll just sleep on his back so he can keep an eye on you. He reaches out for you - your waist, your hand, your thigh - every time he has a nightmare or if a bad memory is resurfacing. He won't say it out loud, but you ground him. ALSO, why would he sleep facing the wall when he can stare at you falling asleep? (Not creepy, I promise.)

Jason Todd smokes cigarettes to deal with emotional pain (he has cigarette burn scars on his forearm. He says they were bad accidents. You know better), and he smokes weed to deal with physical pain. However, he tries really, really hard to give up both when he realises you clearly don't appreciate it. Besides, he has you now, he'd much rather hold you through it than a cigarette or a blunt.

Jason Todd comes from patrol exhausted and weary to the bone, but he wants to spend time with you anyway. Especially, if either of you has been away for a long time. Usually, he would just cuddle with you until you both fall asleep or have you read to him with his head on your chest and your fingers carding through his hair. It's the safest place he has ever known. But when you do have sex after a long night of patrol, I just imagine him collapsing on top of you. Like, you're done with the aftermath, he's peppering your skin with soft kisses, one lands on your shoulder, then your neck before Jason buries his face against it and then just thud, he passes out on top of you with his full body weight, sleeping like a child and he looks too much at peace for you to wake him up even though your ribs are probably crushed now.

Jason Todd never needed to make himself small. His height, size, body, and presence help him intimidate criminals. But with you? That's not the matter. He's not trying to scare, or loom, or prove something. He's just loving you, and being loved by you. With you, Jason doesn't care. He kneels before you and presses his face against your stomach in worship. He leans down to kiss you every time, and to hear what you have to say. He bends down to help you tie your laces, pick stuff you drop, or just help with anything he can. He knows he'll get on his knees again and beg without a second thought if you ever leave him. There's no ego, no pride, no toxic masculinity in him. There's just Jason. And he's more of a human and less of a weapon with you, because of you.

Jason Todd is proud of you. Not just of your accomplishments, but of you, as a person. I mean, of course, he rambles about your achievements to literally anyone who will listen. But more than that, he's so, so proud to just call you his. He always introduces you with: "This is my girlfriend/wife/partner," with a kind of pride he never seems to have for himself. You can see it in his eyes, the way they shine with: "Do you see this amazing person? I get to call her mine. Do you have any idea how much that means to me?" And you see it. Of course, you do. You're just as proud to call him yours.

Jason Todd helps around the household in every way he can. Because, yes, he's Red Hood and goes on patrol, but he also sees how hard you work. He always notices how you wait for him late into the night, even when he knows you're exhausted and just want to sleep. It's better with his arms around you, is what you say at least. Anyway, Jason always does what he can, because he loves you and loving you means taking care of you and helping you even when you don't admit that you need it. He fixes things, cleans shelves, wipes down counters, cooks for you, does the dishes, and so on. Also, he has this thing where he believes that he has to prove to be useful to be loved, that's just how he feels after being abandoned so many times. But you appreciate his help more than he knows, even if it doesn't always come from a place of safety. You let him know he's enough anyway. Helping just means he cares.

Jason Todd does not have a lock on his phone (like, poor baby barely knows how to use it), he only has it to talk to you and reply to your texts. He has three burner phones for Red Hood business tho, with the same numbers saved in them (probably Roy, Dick, and Bruce). He's just the biggest green flag. Never does anything to make you insecure, constant touches, constant check-ins, random compliments, no wandering eyes, just you.

Jason Todd might act all rough and grumpy, but when he loves, he loves with his whole soul. He's yours. Entirely. And you're his.

[dc-jxsontxdd]

┆ DATING J.TODD HEADCANONS ˊˎ-

Word count: 1k+

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Content: My headcanons of what dating Jason Todd would include!

Warnings: no warnings! Just slight mentions of Jason’s trauma.

Vilra’s notes: this man is unpredictable, like I actually had a little hard time coming up with realistic Headcanons for him . . Good lord my thumbs hurt . . enjoy!

Jason Peter Todd.

A man with a life of chaotic ballet on rooftops, distinctive smell of gunsmoke, halfway finished bad coffee, and the perpetual ache of old wounds.

He’d died, came back spitting rage, built a life (if you can call it that) out of defiance and semi-legal operations.

Yeah, that’s him.

But underneath all that stealth layers, there was another fragile layer. One he hadn’t anticipated, one that felt terrifyingly frangible and mulishly solid : Being in a relationship.

Jason? The man who exists in the shadows of the Crime alley? The man who was was built to destroy anything in his path? A man of vengeance? The whole concept felt alien to him, like wearing a second skin that’s not his.

He was a walking, talking paradox wrapped in Kevlar and a death wish. Yet here he is, the resurrected delinquent, the one who'd been branded a monster, a failure, too violent, too angry – having a little girlfriend.

BEING AN UNSUBTLE PROTECTOR

Now Jason, isn’t a man of subtle. This is applied doubly to protection. While on a mission, it’s painfully obvious — taking hits, dodging bullets, delivering punches, covering flank, laying down suppressing fire. But in a civilian life? It was almost comical if you think about it, IF it wasn't so intensely ingrained.

Walking down a busy street was a tactical exercise. He’d naturally place himself between you and the road and have you closer to him and away from any potential threat – an off looking guy, a group of loud drunks, even just someone walking too fast behind you . . His arm wouldn't necessarily be around your waist in a romantic gesture, but his hand might rest lightly on the small of your back, a grounding weight, or his body would simply shift, inserting himself as a physical buffer.

He would notice EVERYTHING. I kid you not. He’d notice when a guy’s gaze lingered on you for too long, or a car that slowed down just a tiny bit, or someone who would lowly whistle your way. He noticed. He’d tense and keep his guard up as his eyes scans over the area like second nature. Probably would murmur something non-committal like “stick close.”

He knows your routine better than you do. what time you usually left for work, which coffee shop you go to, the routes you took.

Not in a creepy stalking way (mostly), but in a 'knowing the vulnerable points of a target' way that had been repurposed, clumsily, for care. If you were ever late, his texts would start, deceptively casual at first -"Traffic bad?"- escalating quickly to the kind of blunt concern that made it clear he was ready to mobilize the League of Assassins himself if you didn't answer.

There was this one time where you’ve had been startled by a noise outside his safe house – just a black cat that sprinted from underneath a car and between your legs. You jumped and a tiny noise leaving your lips, and he was INSTANTLY between you and the car, gun half-drawn from its ankle holster within a second, body rigid, eyes narrowed. The transition from relaxed to coiled predator was terrifyingly fast. It took him a good agonizing moment to register it was just a damn black cat that’s scurried away now, another moment to visibly force himself to relax, holstering the weapon, and then, awkwardly, he’d just . . . put his arms around you, holding you tight for a second, burying his face in your hair, a silent apology for the scare his own reaction caused, and a reassurance of safety.

His protection isn’t just about external threats; it’s about trying to create a bubble of safety around you, even from the danger and echos of his violent world.

AWKWARD ACTION-ORIENTED AFFECTION

Words of sugary affection? Forget it. ALL of it. That man will utter the phrase “I love you.” Once or even twice if you’re lucky. perhaps in a moment of extreme vulnerability or after something near-fatal happened. It wasn't his primary language really.

His affection would be showed through actions. He would make sure you ate, even if it meant swinging by your work with a suspicious-looking bag of tacos from a food truck he vetted for poison and general sketchiness. He’d fix things that were broken in your apartment with surprising competence, muttering curses the whole time but getting the job done either way. If you were cold, he’d wordlessly drape his (usually slightly-too-big, worn and engulfed in gunpowder) jacket around your shoulders with his arm securely curled around you.

Physical touch is a key language. But then again, He isn’t exactly a traditionally-romantic guy. Less hand holding (unless it was to pull you out of danger) and more a heavy arm slung around your shoulders. when you were sitting on the couch, leaning his weight into you, Standing next to him, walking beside him. His arm will always find its way around your shoulder.

Along with sleeping together, it often involves him holding you tightly, almost possessively, one arm wrapped around your waist, his face tucked into your hair or the back of your neck. It felt less like a tender embrace and more like anchoring himself to something real and warm in the dark. Sometimes you’d wake up and he’d just be watching you sleep, a strangely soft, unguarded look on his face that vanished the second he saw your eyes open.

And when he gifts you things? Oh my god.

His "gifts" were either intensely practical for survival or incredibly thoughtful in a way that bypassed conventional romance entirely.

He brought you a sturdy lock for your door, mumbling about “more safety if I’m not here to protect you.” A surprisingly well-made (and maybe slightly weaponized) keychain he’d probably modified himself.

A high quality first aid kit that’s ridiculously expensive (you never asked where he got it from, he just did.) Or, conversely, something deeply specific and personal that showed he actually listened, a rare comic issue, a specific type of obscure tea, a beat-up copy of a book you mentioned ONCE. where can I find a man like him in this economy🥀

THE DOMESTIC ANIMAL (reluctantly)

Jason Todd wasn't built for domesticity. His apartments/safe houses were usually functional, spartan, and often smelled faintly of gunpowder and old pizza. Yet, having you changed some things, even if he resisted it.

He’d start noticing things — like maybe you needed more than one mug, or that having actual food in the fridge (beyond expired milk and questionable leftovers that had you concerned over his health) was a good idea. He might also grudgingly allow you to bring plants in, pretending to be annoyed by them but secretly finding the splash of green calming, even takes care of them gently when you’re not around. He’d clear a space for your things, maybe even buy a cheap dresser or shelf just for you, a small, almost invisible gesture of permanence.

Cooking wasn't his thing. Since all he was used to was cheap takeouts or a quick dry cereal with bitter black coffee, but he could manage basic, survival-oriented meals. Expect a lot of grilled cheese, pasta with jarred sauce, or whatever he could nuke when you’re with him. But sometimes – just sometimes, on a quiet night when he was feeling particularly grounded, he might attempt something more ambitious, following a recipe with intense from a cookbook, focused concentration, the results usually edible but slightly chaotic. He’d be absolutely proud of it, in his own gruff way of course. More often, domesticity meant ordering takeout together, sprawled on a worn couch, watching a terrible action movie, his head resting on your lap or yours on his chest. These quiet, mundane moments were islands of peace for him.

He found comfort in the simple rhythm of sharing a space – the sound of you moving around, the way you smelled, the shared silence after a long day. It was a quiet anchor in a world full of noise and violence. He’d pretend he preferred being alone, complain about your habits (lightly), but the truth was, having you there was a quiet hum of reassurance he hadn't realized he needed. It makes him warm in the heart that definitely got him questioning if you were slowly cursing him or not.

NAVIGATING HIS TRAUMA MINEFIELD

This was the hardest part. Jason is a literal walking bundle of trauma responses. Sleep wasn't always restful. Nightmares were frequent and vivid – the Joker, the crowbar, the Pit, dying, failing. He might wake up silently shaking, covered in sweat, eyes wide and seeing things that weren't there.

His reaction varied. Sometimes he’d bolt upright, ready to fight, taking a moment to re-orient himself while breathing heavily. Sometimes he’d just go completely still and quiet, staring at the ceiling, lost in the loop of memory. Initially, he'd probably hate being seen like that, vulnerable and scared. He might even push you away if you tried to comfort him, or snap, telling you to mind your own business with a tone he definitely didn’t mean to let out. But you know he means nothing bad.

You had learned his tells. Learned when to offer a quiet presence, a hand to hold without pressure, and when to give him space. Learned that sometimes the best comfort wasn't words, but just being there, a solid, warm weight beside him until the tremors subsided and his breathing evened out.

Over time, he might lean into it – turning into your embrace, burying his face against you, using your presence to ground him back in the present. It was a slow, fragile process of learning to accept comfort, something he hadn't done in years, maybe ever.

His past also meant certain common triggers. Loud, unexpected noises could make him flinch violently. Confined spaces, depending on the day, could be difficult. Anything resembling chemical manipulation or torture would send him into a dark, quiet fury.

You had to navigate these unseen edges, learning what sent him spiraling and how to help him find his way back, or at least how to avoid making it worse. Patience, understanding, and a willingness to sit with uncomfortable silences were essential. He appreciated every single moment of you trying, trying to understand him, see him, willing to just be there for him. but he wouldn’t dare to voice it out loud, just would reply with a tight squeeze of your hand or a huff while tugging you closer.

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Beneath the leather, the helmet, the rage, and the cynicism, there were layers of unexpected softness. These weren't things he'd show just anyone.

He might read to you. Not Shakespeare, probably some trashy sci-fi novel or a historical account of something grisly, but his voice, usually rough and sardonic, would smooth out, taking on a different rhythm. He had a surprisingly good reading voice when he wasn’t actively trying to sound like he was chewing glass.

He’d remember tiny details you’d forgotten you even told him – the name of your childhood pet, your favorite obscure band, the way you took your coffee. And he’d reference them later, casually, a small, quiet demonstration that he saw and heard you, distinguishing you from the blur of faces in his often-violent life.

He might sing along, quietly and off-key, to a song on the radio that he secretly liked but would mock relentlessly if anyone pointed it out. He’d have moments of absolute, uncharacteristic gentleness – brushing hair out of your eyes, tracing the line of your jaw with a calloused thumb, his touch surprisingly light. These moments were rare, fleeting glimpses behind the reinforced facade, and they were precious because of it.

He found genuine, uncomplicated joy in your happiness. Seeing you laugh, seeing you relaxed and safe, was a quiet victory in his internal war. He wouldn't say it, but the expression on his face, the slight softening of his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed – those were his declarations of affection.

[dc-jxsontxdd]

MICHELLE PFEIFFER- J. TODD

day fourteen of the june bug masterlist

pairing: older! mechanic! jason x innocent! fem reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: your car starts acting funny in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service or tow trucks in sight. you do the only thing you can do- wave now the nearest truck and pray for the best. luckily, your prayers are answered, because the man helping you turns out to be jason todd, a mechanic whose pretty... good with his hands.

warnings: SMUT! smuttiest of the smut, heavy praise kink, pet names, not manipulation per say (maybe a little but its jason todd who cares he can do whatever he wants to me) - but a power imbalance? (reader really has to rely on jason), daddy kink, finger sucking, degration/ heavy dumbification, manhandling and huge size kink

i was rlly horny when i wrote this lol. but im proud and happy with it :)

 “and everythings easier way out west, wholly mad and half undressed, i love the way it always feels to miss you. i tell all my friends everything you do, a sick obsession that i still try to prove- and but it's no good, cause who am i without you?”- michelle pfeiffer, ethel cain 

This was probably one of the worst things that could be happening at this very moment.

And of course, it had happened to you.

Here, all alone- in the hot summer heat, your tire gone flat. On the hottest day of the year, barely a tree for shade and your car already low on gas- you realized you had hit a new all time low.

Tears spilled out from the corners of your eyes, the humid wind brushing them away as you stepped out of the car- pulled off on the side of the road.

You had a spare tire- but you didn't know how to put it back on.

Needless to say, you could try.

There was no cell service out here to call for any means of help, as you were in the deep country, surrounded by hay bales and brush.

Your lower lip quivered, and you braced a hand on the car, as if your touch could magically fix the issue. You had to be a big girl, and figure this out yourself, you told yourself- but god you just wanted to sob more than anything.

Then- as if God himself had heard your call- a truck came up over the bend- leaving a trail of dust in its wake. All you could think to do was stand on your tippy toes, trying to get the driver's attention as you waved.

Please. Please stop.

And he slowed.

You could just make out his figure, tall and large, built of solid muscle. He looked strong. He could lift the tire, knowing damn well you couldn't by yourself.

His truck engine sputtered to a halt as he parked behind you, and you were so relieved you started to cry again. He stepped out, streaks of grey in his darkened hair, tattoos snaking around biceps that were the size of your head.

He was old enough to be your father. But his eyes were so pretty, all warm and coaxing as he approached you, as if you were a startled dog.

“Hey sweetheart what's going on?”

His gaze instantly dropped when he got close enough to see the tears staining your cheeks, rushing to place a hand to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Awh little fawn don't cry. Shh, shh it's alright. What's going on? Why are you here all by yourself?” he asked softly, as you tried to pull yourself together.

“I was just driving and I just- my car-”

”Hey, hey calm down. It's okay. I promise.” he smiled and you nodded, wiping your fresh tears.

“I got a flat tire and I don't know how to put on the new one. And it's too heavy for me to grab and I just-”

You sighed, trailing off, kicking the ground.

“Well you’re in luck, fawn, I happen to be a mechanic. M’ Jason. Jason Todd.” he rubbed your arms in a soothing motion, forcing you to look up at him, staring into his intoxicating blue eyes.

“I’m Y/N. Thank you, so, so much Mr. Todd.”

“Oh god don't call me that. You make me sound old. I don't need reminders.” he teased, making you giggle.

“There's that pretty smile. See? It's alright fawn. Let me just get your spare, okay?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him do his thing. He was so large he seemed to tower over your little camino, lifting the tire with ease from the trunk. You watched in awe as he hoisted it up onto his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

A drip of sweat trickled down his bicep, tracing the ink on his skin and you caught yourself ogling like a cartoon character. You wouldn't be surprised if little hearts fluttered around your head, and you trailed behind him as if he was a fresh pie through an open window.

Stranger danger was a foreign concept today, but honestly, you didn't like to think about that danger.

Everyone was nice, at least you liked to think so. And Jason was super nice.

Stopping to help you fix your car? He just seemed to be the nicest man in the whole wide world.

A cluck of his tongue and a sigh broke you from your lovesick trance, and you peered over his shoulder as he crouched, examining the tire with a shake of his head. “Is everything okay Jason?”

He sighed. “M’afraid not fawn. This tire is no good either.”

“Oh! Well…what's wrong with it?” you asked timidly, trying to get a better look. He blocked your view from the commotion though, sweeping you up with his syrupy voice and southern charm.

“Nothin you need to worry your pretty lil head about darlin. But, I dont think it's safe to drive on. Do you wanna come with me to my shop and we can grab a new one and come back?” he asked, empathy rolling off him in waves you were swept up in.

Why couldn't you trust him? He was nurturing, wanting only the best for you. Plus, wasn't it dangerous for a little girl like you to be out here all alone?

You would be safe with Jason, he was a nice old man who probably just wanted to keep you hydrated and out of the sun- and any bad onlookers who would lure you in their trap.

There was no question to be asked, no second guessing.

You felt yourself nodding, happy and eager for him to lead you, a large hand on your lower back, all warm through the thin fabric of your little white dress.

“Good girl. No more tears, okay? I got you sweetheart.”

·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

“Look at you, pretty lil thing. All those pretty tears.” Jason cooed above you, pounding into your tight cunt so hard you started to see stars.

All that could be heard was his sweet praises and gentle coos, mixed with the sound of skin slapping and your short gasps, and gentle moans. You couldn't help the tears from falling again as he splayed you out on a workbench, dragging you to the edge and splitting you in two.

He was so big and thick you couldn't think straight, and with the pace he was setting- it was as if he had no sign of stopping. You felt his thumb brush away the salty tears as you hiccuped, moaning as he slipped his fingers in your mouth.

You instantly sucked them, pacifying yourself as a means of grounding.

“Atta girl. Daddys gotcha.”

You clenched around him at the name he gave himself, and he chuckled lowly. “Oh you like that, don't you fawn? You like when Daddy takes care of you? Makes things all better, cause you're too lil to figure it out yourself?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he thrusted even harder, balls slapping your ass as the bench banged against the wall, making the tools above you jolt.

He had you wrapped around his finger.

That was the plan all along of course. He was always keen to help a stranger, but you? He knew he couldn't leave you, just quite yet.

So yes, he had told you there was an issue when there truly wasn't- but could you blame him? How else was he supposed to take care of you the way you so desperately deserved?

Jason could tell as soon as he saw the quiver of your lip and the anxious fidgeting with the hem of your dress that you had needed this- needed him for a while. And he was more than happy to oblige to your needs.

He watched as your legs started to quiver from pleasure, like a little newborn fawns. His little deer.

A thin line of spit trailed his fingers as he pulled them away, letting your whines and moans get louder. You clawed at his biceps, gripping them tight as his pace refused to falter.

Daddy daddy ohhh- Was all you could muster out, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Yeahhh sweetheart just like that. Grippin me so tight- s’like you were made for me hm? You needed someone to take care of you baby? To split this lil cunt in half like she deserves?”

You nodded absentmindedly as you let the pleasure wash over you- holding onto him as if he were your savour.

He was- your savior. And he’d be damned if he’d let you forget it.

“Gonna cum please daddy can I-”

“Can you? Oh look at you, using your manners without me even reminding you. You’re such a good girl baby, go ahead n cream around this cock lil fawn.”

You cried, wails bouncing off the walls- sounding like sweet music to his ears, as if it was coming from his old radio in the corner he’d whistle a tune to while he worked.

But your sounds were much, much better. So sweet and delicate- your face all contorted in pleasure, nose scrunched, eyes clenched shut as you let go around him.

All he could do was coo at you, his sweet little girl, planting soft kisses to your face. You were so soft and gentle to him on the ride over, thanking him endlessly, clenching your thighs as he dared to slip a hand down to rest on your thigh.

Swooning over him, like a love sick puppy.

He didn't miss the way you stared at him when you thought he wasn't looking. And maybe it was wrong, for him wanting to corrupt such a sweet angel like you, so innocent and eager to do right by him for a simple gesture of kindness.

But he couldn't help himself.

And this? Peering down at the bulge in your stomach from where his cock rearranged your insides?

This was payment, and then some. 

[dc-jxsontxdd]

Just wanted to say thank you for bringing to light that awful luv-lock person. Before they deleted their account, they had other accounts linked to a pinned post, so if you’d like, you can block these as well, so you don’t unfortunately come across them again (I remember blocking all these before they deleted, so it’s definitely them).

https://www.tumblr.com/crybabyx3

https://www.tumblr.com/fluffram

https://www.tumblr.com/chewii-404

Thanks I fucking hate racist Zionist pigs. I don't want them in our community. We should be making an active effort to keep these people out of it.

// I don't mind dark fiction or whatever tf u wanna write but if you are Literally racist and homophobic wtf and get OUT !!!

[dc-jxsontxdd]

Jason Todd who does not play about his ex at all. Your break up was mutual, too many arguments, not enough communication. Though you still loved each other, you both knew it was for the best. At least for now, because he always knew he’d come back to you eventually. And while you two weren’t exactly on speaking terms, maybe a slight nod if you crossed paths in public (his heart tore open every time), he never misses a chance to watch you from afar. Everyday, if he can. He just needs to make sure you’re safe, he needs that. Doesn’t matter if you’re apart for 6 months or 2 years, that man is never moving on- it’s kind of pathetic. You’re the only person that matters to him, after all- it’s you or nothing.

Exes does not always mean the love is gone, it’s still very much there. In fact, the love is so strong it sits heavy on his chest and crushes his ribs each night he spends away from you. He wants what’s best for you, but he prays that it won’t be much longer until you’re back in his arms.

After a while though, he starts to get a bit impatient. Dropping hints that you two have been apart for far too long, and he’s ready to try again. Every run in you have in public, there he is with this long speech of how he’s healing and working on himself. He wants you back, bad. And yeah, he agreed to the break up but he didn’t really mean it. Wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up to your place distressed, after months of dancing around each other, begging for you to just come back home.

And don’t get me wrong, yes he has actually been working on himself- more than you know. Part of it is because he realizes he’s in desperate need of some good healing. But for the most part, it’s you. It’s always you, always going to be. His sole purpose of anything has always circled back to you. So, he fixes his attitude just enough, eats 3 square meals a day, tries real hard to say what’s on his mind. Because he realizes he can’t rush this if he hasn’t made any progress. But along the way, he also sort of realizes.. why can’t you two grow together?

Reblogs are appreciated! ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

[dc-jxsontxdd]

Nsfw Alphabet :

Jason Todd

A = Aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

Jason Todd craves the feeling of your skin on his own. After finally cumming (and making you finish three times). If you let him he'll gladly lay his body right on top of you, careful to not actually crush you. He's whispering sweet nothings into your skin, your ear, your entire being. He's needy and in a vulnerable state, he focused on the way you both try to calm your breathing. The way your hearts are beating, trying to sync. Jason Loves the after that comes with sex. He loves being able to hold you, smell your scent, everything.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner)

Himself ? His arms or shoulders. He likes how big his stature is. He's intimidating, large and manly. He takes pride in it, he takes pride in being able to protect you if anything were to happen.

Yours ? Probably your stomach or chest. He loves laying his head on your stomach softly, loves how soft and easily grabble your waist and stomach are. It sounds weird but I think he'd love a thicker partner for this reason (soz!!)

C = Cum ( anything to do with cum, basically)

Ough he loves to cum on your chest. Definitely because it's one of his favorite parts of your body but also he loves how territorial it feels. It feels like marking you, soiling you in a nasty way that makes his brain fog and his dick hard. He also loves cumming in your mouth for the same reason. He liked watching you flinch or gag. He feels bad about it when his head is clearer but he can't deny how much it turns him on watching you take what he gives you with no complaints. If you weren't on board he wouldn't feel so warranted to it.

D = Dirty secret ( pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs )

Jason steals clothes absolutely. He feels so guilty about it lowkey but he'll take underwear, worn shirts of yours. Anything that has your scent and he's probably jacked off to or with it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I go back and forth on this but honestly? None to little. He's not one to just sleep around or hook up. To him sex is intimate, vulnerable. It takes a lot of time for Jason to even open up his heart to someone let alone his body. Doesn't mean he's bad at it though.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary is probably his favorite. It sounds boring and vanilla but he's a real romantic sap, he wants to see your face, to press himself chest to chest with you. He likes anything that brings your faces together. He loves being able to kiss you and talk in your ear. He loves being able to mark your neck so any position that allows him to do all this he Loves !!!

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Definitely serious. Not that he's incaple of being anything else but again because sex is so intimate to him, he acts like getting you off is his biggest mission.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn't groom in anyway in that regard. And he definitely has a happy trail. In general I think any hair Jason has is really thick. He also definitely doesn't care if you do or don't. He's just tryna get some with you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is so romantic usually. And I think it depends on which version of Jason were talking about. Robin Jason ? Literally sobbing about how much he loves you and how good you feel around him. Arkham Jason is a lot more quiet and rough. Post red hood Jason is a lot more like his robin self. Telling you how much he wants to be with you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't really masturbate all too often and if he is its always thinking about you. He'll particularly do it if he's away on mission or separated for any reason (and he hates being separated)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bro is a sucker for praise. Tell him how good he's doing and he's ready to jump off a cliff for you. He'd literally do anything if it made you want to call him amazing and good boy. He won't admit the last part though. He also has a thing for marking. He loves the idea of owning someone completely, not like a domsub thing but in a we are one soul split in two kinda love. (He definitely read that in a book and highlighted it)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His bed lmao. He might be adventurous if it's on the couch but he really would like for no one to be privy to anything he does in that regard. HOWEVER Robin Jason is a little shit and he's definitely tried to get you two to fool around in the batcave, training room, batmobile. He just likes being able to get away with things like that.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your sounds are his biggest motivator. He needs to be told he's doing well so praise as well. He just really wants to please you and make you feel so good you won't ever think of anyone else but him. So yeah he really liked when you're loud and crying out about how good he feels when he touches you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wouldn't ever think of impact play. The thought of leaving bruises or seeing you hurt in anyway due to himself. He'll choke you if you want but it'll only be so hard and it's purely to feel like he owns or is trusted enough with something like your breathing

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Bro is a munch !!!! He loves a good blowjob don't get him wrong but he loves having you in his mouth in any way. There's barely any time you two have sex he doesn't go down on you. It's his favorite thing and when you two first started he came from just eating you out. He was super embarrassed about it but it's literally because of how much he loves being able to have you fully.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends. He's definitely a fan of rough sex, he likes the feralness of it. Like an animal who can't hold back. But mostly he's intimate and reactive to you. You set the pace for than him. He's here to please not be pleased (but it's definitely a plus)

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's not opposed but he'd rather spend time actually getting with you. He loves foreplay and there's barely any with a quickie let alone aftercare.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

The most risky he'd ever get is choking tbh. He doesn't like putting you in any danger or situation where you'd actually be embarrassed or exposed. You're for him and him alone and he wants to treasure you and protect you at the end of the day. He's definitely a joker about it but he's definitely all bark no bite.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Robin? Sorry bro doesn't even last 30 minutes. Again horny teenage boy.

Red hood ?? Lazarus pit gave him the strength and stamina he has, and that includes his refraction time. He can go about maybe 3 times before he's unable to get hard again. He can go for hours if you let him, again his job is to please.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Probably not or very rarely, he's not opposed at all and if you suggest he's all game, but it's not something that automatically pops into his mind. (He loves the one time you sucked him off while he controlled the vibe he strapped on you)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves teasing. He really gets a kick out of making you desperate, desperate for him. He loves seeing how your face reddens with embarrassment and if he really takes it fat how much you beg and cry for him to finally get you off.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

I also think this depends. He definitely isn't quiet, that's for sure. But I think depending on the type of sex you two are having, if it's rough he's grunting and huffing, slow and sensual? He's probably whining and moaning. Either way he says the nastiest fucking things when he's having sex. “You feel so fucking good around me. Fuck do you know what you do to me?”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Demisexual Jason Todd 🙌🙌 I said it. It's my personal hc Jason does have sexual trauma and it takes him a Long time before he can even open up to the idea of actually being with a person let alone in a sexual way. It's just not something in the forefront of his mind. But he can't deny how much You specifically turn him on. He's obsessive like that, your his person, his to take care of entirely.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I don't think I need to you brother is Big. Biggest of all the batsons, about 8-9 inches like stupid levels. He isn't really aware of it, he's a large guy in general.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Fast 💀he hates falling asleep before you though (in any scenario) but he genuinely leaves the fucking planet when he finishes his brain needs to just shut off for a minute. He snores softly and is on you like glue. He will wake if you leave the bed.

His sex drive really depends on his partner. Sex is just an added thing to your relationship. If you decided you didn't ever want to have sex, he'd still be just as happy to be with you. As Robin Jason I think he was like any teenage boy, but as red hood considering his trauma (if u want to go that route) he's not usually the one to initiate things. Doesn't mean he doesnt want to have sex, but his drive is based on his partners.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

A/N: ough first post but imma do one for each Robin (idk Abt Damian) so look out and if you have any req please send them my way teehee

[dc-jxsontxdd]

So you’re telling me this in the guy who strikes fear into the hearts of Gotham’s most dangerous criminals? right…….