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[internetb3by]

i did both versions hehhe

[internetb3by]

jason who drives fast but never when you're passenger. not that he's a careless driver normally, he just cares much more about what could happen to you than what could happen to him. normally he's the type who accidentally runs a red light because he misjudged the distance and thought he could pass a yellow. maybe he's went over a couple curbs here and there when turning, and maybe his stops aren't the smoothest either. what could he say? it's not like he ever took a drivers ed class. however, when his everything is sitting right next to him, how could he not be careful? he's slowing down into his stops, eases into his turns, and doesn't speed before the yellow light could turn red. he takes passenger princess literally in the way he makes sure you're comfortable and cared for.

he was much more precautious about his motorcycle. jason hesitated for months to finally let you on. he originally wasn't going to let you on at all, but unfortunately for him, he's susceptible to your pleading and gave in eventually. he gave you a lecture about the proper clothes and making sure your helmet was on at all times beforehand, setting a clear rule that could not be broken. there's nothing he's more serious about than your safety. he keeps your arms wrapped his torso and gently taps your thigh when he feels you're not hugging him tight enough. he even got a custom helmet made to fit you perfectly, despite him rarely letting you join him. that's not to say he doesn't like it when you're with him. he likes feeling you behind him, likes the way your hair is tousled by the wind and helmet combo. but best of all he likes the way you smile afterward, a toothy grin with stars in your eyes and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. he loves making you happy most of all, and if a late night ride on his motorcycle does the trick, he can be persuaded.

[internetb3by]

dad bod jason heheh

[internetb3by]

𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 “....and she tortures me, tortures me with her love... the past was nothing. in the past it was only that infernal body of hers that tortured me, but now i've taken all her soul into my soul and through her i've become a man....” 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃

[internetb3by]

ik i just run a tumblr smut page BUT!!!

FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!

i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛

[internetb3by]

let him sleep well!!

[internetb3by]

jason todd kisses like jazz. fucks like it, too, but that's for another day. he's all teeth, heart, and begging.

he's a busted tenor sax with a chewed up reed like his split lip, crying for some sort of response to his call.

he tastes like blood, cheap yellow mustard, sour black coffee, and a spearmint gum that does a poor job of trying to lead the band.

his fingers are covered in band-aids and scabs, getting caught in your hair, on your skin, and your clothes like sticky, grimy keys. god, he feels bad when his blood stains your nice clean shirt, but he couldn't bear the alternative of keeping his hands to himself.

yeah, maybe he needs a good polish, but the sound... well, it ain't too bad in a duet.

requests are : open , hmu !

[internetb3by]

— ʚїɞ — —ʚїɞ— —ʚїɞ—

when jason’s angry you can tell.

his breathing will shorten, puffs of air leaving faster than normal. his hands will shake causing him to drop a lot of stuff, his body will lack its usual quietness when moving around.

but, there’s one other way you can tell he’s angry.

either you two had a fight, one that resorted in heightened vocals and sarcastic laughs. or, you’re calming him down after something particularly aggravating.

either way, you’ve ended up in bed. your legs wrapped around his torso as your nails dig fiercely into the moonlit skin of his.

he’s huffing, hot breath smacking itself onto either your neck, your forehead or your shoulder. his eyes will glare at you, especially if you’ve just had an argument.

but, just because he’s mean with every piston of his hips, every bounce of skin tumbling into skin. that doesn’t mean he’s mean to you.

his hands will still cradle the strands of your hair as a silent forgiveness, his lips will peck soft nibbles, afraid to taint your skin.

he won’t drawl out degrading words..

(he had spent far too many nights hearing the girls standing on the Corner be berated with them to ever direct them at you.)

infact, he’ll be even kinder when handling you. he had watched people his entire life take their anger out on somebody they loved over something so trivial, he’d be dammed if he did that.

so instead, he’d tighten his fingers painfully into the softened fabrics that trailed under the two of you, when he’s getting close he won’t nip onto your collarbone this time, rather he will shove his face into the pillow above you.

and when all is said and done, he’ll roll the two of you over, his hand on your back as he moves to position you laying on top of him, head shoving itself into your now sweat stained hair.

his fingers will trace every digit and crack from your spine, his mouth will mumble out every love caressed word and he will soak up every complaint or compliment.

because, jason’s not a mean person. he’ll tell himself he is or the gotham gazette will paint him (red hood) as one, but he isn’t.

he’s brash, he’s irrational. but never is he mean.

— ʚїɞ — —ʚїɞ— —ʚїɞ—

[internetb3by]

Thinking about Jason Todd finding out you have a crush on him…

It would make Jason’s day. Honestly that man would be giddy about it, though he’d never outwardly show it. He’d sit around and smile to himself, thinking about all the times you’ve been flustered when he’s near, all the times he caught you looking his way. It would make him more confident, which would in turn make him insufferable.

At least in the sense that he would tease the living hell out of you. Obviously he won’t let on that he knows you have a crush on him. He’d play you like a fiddle, trying to get you to confess.

He’d start small, brushing a hand over your lower back when moving past you. An innocent set of touches that could be excused by the cramped space of the kitchen or wherever it happened.

He’d lean down and whisper in your ear in crowded spaces, brush strands of hair back from your face so he can “get a good look at you.”

And with each little thing, he would watch you grow more bashful, more confused and muddled. He would watch you fan yourself from the corner of his eye as he walked away, and after a few weeks of it, it was Jason who was desperate.

He’d wanted you to tell him how you felt, dammit, he was flirting so hard that he hoped you might just kiss him on the spot, but he underestimated your self control.

He doesn’t know exactly when you caught on to what he was doing, but the day you did was his downfall. Because that was the day you started teasing him back. It didn’t happen like he thought it would, you didn’t give in and admit how you felt. Instead you turned the tables, made it war.

Payback was bitch, Jason now realised, after the second time you brushed up against him in a very important meeting. Or when you leaned over him, while he was having breakfast the previous day, supposedly to grab some salt. You’d placed a hand on his shoulder, the other reaching across for the salt shaker, your neck so close to his mouth that he damn near kissed it.

Surprisingly enough, the final straw was late one night when Jason was headed to bed. You’d stopped him in the hallway feinting to bid him goodnight, before you frowned at him, an innocent kind of expression.

“You’ve got something in your hair.” It sounds like you are telling the truth, but deep down Jason knows this is another play. At this point, he’s so down bad, he doesn’t care.

“Oh yeah?” He runs a hand over his head, in an attempt to wipe the nonexistent thing away, and you just smile at him, something that makes his cheeks heat.

“Here, let me get it.” You step forward, and tilt his head toward you. He’s so tall, you have to stand on your toes to look through his hair, for the absolute nothing that’s there. You pretend to pluck something out, and Jason thinks your tricks are over until you run your fingers over his scalp, and despite the tough guy reputation he’s built for himself, he practically purrs.

And just like that, you’ve won. You’ve got him like putty in your hands, and you laugh. Just a quiet chuckle, but it’s there nonetheless. Something that makes Jason just a little bit feral.

“How long are we gonna keep doing this?” His eyes fall down to lock on yours as you pause your actions, raising an eyebrow.

“Doing what?” You’re playing dumb, making him do all the hard work. He respects it though, considering he started all this, he may as well be the one to finish it.

He brings his hands to your hips, his touch warm even through the fabric over your skin. “This.” He puts emphasis on the word and punctuates it by squeezing your hips. To his delight, it’s you that’s purring now, allowing yourself to find pleasure in his touch.

“As long as it takes.” You answer finally, running your hands through his hair again, your nails trailing gently over the nape of his neck when you’re done.

“As long as it takes until what, exactly?” His voice has lowered, somewhere between a growl and a whisper. And you finally give him the answer he wants. The one he’s been craving since he found out how you felt.

“Until you fucking kiss me, Todd.” You would roll your eyes, but you’re so infatuated with him, with the way his streak of white hair falls effortlessly into his eyes, with the way his gaze is locked on you. And then he does it. He kisses you, after months of tests and teasing. After years of your pining for him.

And it sure is sweet.

-

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!! Please tell me your thoughts darlings!!!

JASON TODD TAGLIST: @princessbl0ss0m @unofficial-jaytodd-wife @eternltys

[internetb3by]

— the “informant” (jason todd x reader)

Summary: You mark up one of Jason's case files, and it slips both of your minds the next day. So, when Jason brings the file with him to the cave, everyone quickly catches on to the fact that Jason is working with someone. He's able to pass it off as just an informant, but one sibling stumbles upon the truth. Word count: 1.1k

Jason lands as quietly as possible on the fire escape attached to his apartment — top floor corner, adjacent to an alley with almost zero lighting and a building with no windows. Great for a vigilante at least.

He crouches down by the window, pressing a disguised button to disable the alarm attached. After the soft popping sound, he pushes up the window and steps through into his apartment. His boots land on scuffed hardwood with a thud and he quickly shuts the window, turning the alarm back on while doing so.

The apartment is silent besides the soft rush of air coming from the air conditioner. As he moves into his kitchen, he hears a mug be placed on the counter gently, then the scratch of a pen against paper. A small fond smile forms on his face, hidden by his helmet, which he takes off as he passes through the archway.

You're sitting at the counter, a cup of tea to your right and a file in front of you. "You snoopin' through my stuff now?" He teases. You pick up your head the slightest, and he can make your sheepish smile. "You seemed a little stumped, thought I could offer my expertise." Jason is reminded of the past you once held, following your "mentor" around the world as they battled assassins and the like. You had a similar life to him, but you left your cape behind for a new start in Gotham of all places. He got lucky meeting you.

Jason watches as you twirl a glittery, purple gel pen in between your fingers. He silently removes the rest of his getup as you return to making small notes in the margins of the case profile. Being with you is easy, because sometimes his presence in the room is enough. No words have to be exchanged even as time passes.

He peels off his mask and washes away the 'glue' on his face. Jason can feel your eyes on him, watching as he shrugs off his leather jacket, then his gloves. "You joining me?" He asks when he turns around, tipping his head toward the hallway that leads to the bathroom. Sometimes, when he arrives home and you're awake, you'll join him in the shower. It's never anything sexual, but relaxing nonetheless; with your hands gentle as you run the soap through his hair, and your soft words. "Mmm...sure. I'm about done, anyway." You slip off the stool silently, closing the file before stretching your arms above your head.

A moment later, Jason is in front of you, placing a kiss on your temple, your cheek. "I think they might be selling to Scarecrow, some of the chemicals are similar to what he's been using lately." Jason groans at your statement and his head falls to lean against your shoulder. "Not now, I do not need more motivation to go back out there."

"Later, then."

Later never comes; Jason picks up a shift at the auto shop near the edge of Park Row, and you go into work as you usually do. He completely forgets about your 'annotations', so he brings the file with him when he visits the cave later that night.

"Since when do you own a glitter pen?" Tim teases from his spot by the computer, Jason's file open in front of him. "What— Gimme it." Jason springs forward, memories from the previous night coming back to him. Tim quickly grabs the papers, holding them in the air and leaving the manila file folder on the desk.

"What's going on?" Steph questions, eyes narrowed as Tim stands on his chair to get a height advantage over Jason. "Todd uses a glitter pen." Damian rolls his eyes before going back to sparring against a hologram.

"It's purple," Tim grins and laughs as Steph gasps dramatically. "You do like purple! I knew it!"

"I do not! Give me the file, replacement. I'm serious." Jason wraps his arm around Tim, pulling off the chair and into his arms. Tim squirms, then falls to the floor with the papers still in his hands. He scrambles up quickly, and extends his staff. "This isn't your handwriting...you're working with someone!" Tim exclaims, poking Jason away from him as he quickly reads through the top paper.

"Jason, we should talk before you let anyone else read our case files," Bruce comments as he easily grabs the papers from Tim's hands. "I'm not working with anyone," Jason grumbles, rolling his eyes behind his mask. However, his cheeks are red hot, thankfully hidden by his helmet.

Dick peers over Bruce's shoulder, reading as well. "Tim's right though, this isn't your handwriting," He grins brightly, walking over to Jason with a giddy smile. "Did you make a new friend, Little Wing?" Jason can hear Steph and Tim laugh in the background as he groans.

"It's— They're just an informant, I did background checks and I've known them for a bit. I trust them." Everyone goes quiet for a bit, staring at him like it's hard to believe that he'd let anyone else get that close. "That's good," Dick comments, and everyone murmurs their agreements. It's awkward, because they still step around like he'll snap at them any second.

"I'm leaving." He stomps over to his bike, the engine roaring loudly as he starts it up. There's eyes on his back until he's out of the cave.

After Bruce and Tim read through the papers annotated by Jason's informant, Cass grabs them. Tim had taken pictures to try and analyze the handwriting, and she could see Bruce's silent questions about who the informant could be. Whoever Jason gave the file had insight even Tim missed the first time, and they added funny little comments on the side. When she goes to put the papers back in the file folder, she finds a sticky note on the inside in the same glittery purple pen. You're welcome Jay; I <3 U :).

Cass smiles softly, taking out the sticky note carefully and putting the papers back. When she goes out, she starts in Crime Alley first, even if it's Jason's territory. He finds her quickly.

"What're you doing here, Bat?" Jason asks, arms crossed over his chest. Cass opens one of the pockets on her belt, and pulls out the sticky note. She unfolds it before handing it to Jason. He reads it, then quickly looks at Cass again. "You didn't show anyone, did you?"

She shakes her head and Jason sighs in relief. "Thanks." Cass nods before leaving the rooftop just as fast as she came.

Jason folds the note back up with a smile. He'll have to delete some of his mask footage tonight.

my first time writing for jason, i hope you enjoy ☺️

[internetb3by]

sleepyyy

[internetb3by]

a prompt of jason after his uniform gets shrunk in the wash hehe

[internetb3by]

“is that another one of your porn books?”

the smell of tobacco and old leather wafts into your nose as jason leans over your shoulder, a dark eyebrow cocked as his green eyes look down at the book in your hand. a soft piano melody plays through the aisle of the bookstore you’re in. probably one of the composers he likes to listen to at home, given the way his finger taps against his thigh along with the measure of the song. and though no one else is in the section with you two, you still feel the embarrassment of someone possibly overhearing him.

you playfully smack him with the hardcover, then motion towards the book he has tucked under his arm. “is that another limited edition of wuthering heights?”

he shrugs. “in my defense, emily is the best brontë sister.”

you feign offense with a mock gasp. “i know you did not just diss my girl jane eyre. besides, you’re only saying that because you love hareton.”

“he deserved his own book!”

“i know, baby.”

“he wanted to learn to read for her…”

“i know, baby.”

with a mischievous glint in his forest eyes and the reflexes of cat on adderall, jason snatches your book out of your grip, swatting away at your hands and protests as he flips to a random page and begins to skim through it.

“jay—”

“so what’s this one about?” he asks, completely ignoring your whine. “werewolves? fairies? an adult modern retelling of a classic children’s tale and the pirate is now a mafia boss with a gun fetish?”

“jay, i swear to god—”

“it’s rude to swear.”

“jason—”

and, of course, because jason wouldn’t be jason if he didn’t get on your nerves at least once during an outing together, he decides to hold the book above your head, just out of reach, a low rumbling laugh reverberating in his chest. he lets you try to jump and plead and bargain your way into getting your book back, a shit-eating grin on his face the entire time, and sometimes he even lowers it enough to allow your fingers to graze it before snatching it up again. you quietly curse and pout the entire time, and all he can think about is how he wants to be able to annoy you like this for a long, long time.

he does give the book back eventually. after a worker walks by and smiles in a way that lets jason know he’s being perceived fondly by someone that isn’t you, and he hates the way his skin crawls at it.

when he goes to pay for both of your stacks of books (he always acts so appalled whenever you offer to, and after he embarrassed you in front of a different bookstore clerk by sighing and huffing throughout the entire interaction, you gave up that fight), you’re delighted to see that it was, in fact, a limited edition of wuthering heights tucked under his arm earlier. this, in turn, leads to you teasing him as you two walk out of the store, to which he teases you about the fact that you bought the first three books to a series you haven’t even read just because the covers were pretty.

“i thought we weren’t supposed to judge a book by its cover,” he challenges you.

you easily counter with, “they wouldn’t make the covers so pretty if we weren’t meant to judge them.”

“did you judge me by my cover?”

“i found you cursing like a sailor and bleeding out by a garbage bin behind a walgreens.”

“and that’s a hollywood-worthy love story according to gotham standards.”

the banter between you two continues as you walk into the coffee shop you always pop into after bookstore trips, and both of you put in your orders between smartass quips and razor-sharp comebacks. jason tries to stealthily slide the barista his card while you defend your choice in literature, but you easily swat his hand away and offer your card instead without breaking eye contact.

once your drinks are ready to go, you both venture off to the park with the pretty, giant tree you love to read and sip under.

(“a weeping katsura tree,” jason had informed you when you first took him to the spot months and months ago. “they’re native to japan and china, but they can grow pretty much anywhere they’re planted as long as the soil is well-drained.”

you blinked at him. “how do you know these things?”

“doesn’t everybody?”)

jason watches as you settle yourself against the trunk of the tree, drink in hand while your book sits in your lap, and he can’t help but think that this is what all of the love songs are all about.

they’re about going on monthly bookstore dates with someone that matches him witty comment for witty comment.

they’re about being able to tease you about your taste in books, and you knowing that’s his way of saying, “i know what you like because i see you and i love you”.

they’re about having to compromise about who gets to pay for the books and who gets to pay for the coffee because both of you want to spoil each other and neither of you know how to give up.

they’re about sitting under a weeping katsura tree together, your head on his shoulder while you read your book and he pretends to read his but, really, he’s just watching the way your eyelashes brush against your cheeks.

they’re about the way you always always always kiss him when he gets back from patrol.

they’re about you knowing when he and bruce had another argument by the way his jaw is set and how quiet he gets when you ask him how his night went.

they’re about how you brush your lips over his knuckles and whisper, “i love you no matter what.” before falling asleep tucked under his arm.

“how’s your book, baby?” you ask him.

he has to blink a few times to remember that he’s supposed to be reading, and takes a sip of his iced black americano to give him time to think of a reply. “eh, you know how it goes. they meet in a café and fall in love. there’s probably an estranged rich uncle somewhere in the mix.”

you turn to face him, an incredulous expression on your face, and look at the book on his hands. “all of that happens in, what, the first forty pages of the wasp factory?”

oh, so that’s the book he’s supposed to be reading. he’s pretty sure it’s a horror book too, which makes his fake review of the plot so far even less believable. fuck. he decides to take the conversation off of himself instead of giving you the satisfaction of admitting he was too busy thinking about how sickly in love with you he is to read.

“how’s your werewolf-fairy-pirate-mafia-boss man book going?”

you scoff. “he is not…whatever the hell you just said. he’s a hockey player.”

“and they’re fucking, right?”

you swat the book at him, your lips pursed. “they are not fucking.”

he grins. “but they will fuck.”

you sigh in defeat at the knowing smile on his face and sink back against his shoulder, fully resigned. “they might fuck. i’m not sure yet. she’s pretty adamant about not fucking but he thinks he can win her over.”

he rests his cheek against your head and pulls you a bit closer to him. “he should try offering to teach her how to set trip wire around her apartment just in case someone tries to break in. worked for me.”

“jay, i only let you do that because you came crashing into my apartment at 4 in the afternoon fully ready to murder someone.”

“you didn’t reply to my text.”

“i was taking a nap—”

oh yes, this is exactly what stephen sanchez had in mind while he wrote until i found you.

—

“would you love me if i was the orphan nephew of the man who was in love with your mother, beat into being an uneducated farmworker, and then tried to destroy all of your books because i was insecure about being uneducated?”

“jason, my love, it is 3 in the morning. i am begging you to get some sleep.”

“…is that a no?”

“i think i’m going to haunt emily brontë in the afterlife.”

[internetb3by]

maybe dressing like that wasn't a good idea

[internetb3by]

JASON TODD thinks he doesn’t know how to love, but…

a/n: I missed writing for my man!! Also, thank you for 600 followers I can't even begin to explain how sweet and welcoming this Tumblr community has been, I love u all! cw: mentions of sex, fluff, fem!reader

Jason Todd thinks he doesn’t know how to love, but when it's late at night and you're tired he'll undress you and take your make up off with gentle but clumsy hands. His eyes glued to your face like his life depended on it, like he needs to memorize it, engrave it in the back of his brain before you go away.

He thinks he doesn't know how to love but he never lets you walk on the side of the pavement closest to the road, always keeping a steady hand at your waist.

Jason Todd thinks he doesn't know how to love because he can't bring himself to say the words out loud, they catch in his throat, get jumbled up into a ball and come out weird. He fears if he says it out loud the spell will break, the bubble will burst, and you'll see something you won't like in him.

He makes up for it by showing you how much he loves you.

He memorizes your coffee order, knows exactly how cold it has to be before you ask for his jacket, and he gives it to you before you can even notice the discomfort; he knows each and every expression you make, can feel your gaze on him from the other side of the room, warm like a blanket, holding him tight like a boa constrictor, taking his breath away.

He thinks because he isn't saying it you won't notice, but you do. You notice how there's always flowers and coffee in his hands when he comes home too late in the morning, apologetic smile on his lips and a purple bruise blooming on his jawline.

You notice how the ac always works, no longer stops in the hottest days of the year, how the sink is no longer dripping in that constant manner, how you never register that you're feeling cold before he carefully drapes his jacket over your shoulders.

"Should've brought yours, told you it'd be cold, ma." He'd mumble, the twitching of his lips and the glint in his eyes betraying his annoyed expression.

Jason Todd thinks he doesn’t know how to love because he's surly and standoffish, sort of like a cat. His physical affection comes slowly at first, he tests the waters, proves to himself that you want to touch him as much as he wants to touch you. An arm slung over the back of a couch, fingers grazing your shoulders, the back of your neck; or maybe a hand on your thigh in the car, his eyes on the road but his mind on you, heart beating so fast he could have sworn you heard it.

His touch comes hand in hand with his trust, and once he's assessed you can be trusted his hands are on you constantly, eyes wide and filled with love as he looks up at you from in between your thighs, presses kisses up your legs and down your stomach.

He thinks he doesn't know how to love, but he touches you like you're holy, like you're made to be worshipped. He is enthralled by the way you pant when he's knuckles deep inside you, the way you arch your back and let out whiny breaths and broken moans, the way you call his name like a siren.

Jason Todd thinks he doesn’t know how to love because he's clumsy, tripping over his own two feet for his girl, but he doesn't know that's what love is about. It's the clumsiness, the blushing cheeks and brushing hands, the kisses with too much teeth and drool, the awkwardness, the 'lights on or off?' conversations.

Jason Todd thinks he doesn’t know how to love but you know better.

tags: @cherrycolaheartss @xoxorory @laceyfaeryy

[internetb3by]

"Jason, you're crushing me."

The heavy pile of warmth sitting on top of your chest grumbles, the sound vibrating through you and reaching like a hand to shake your heart.

With a heavy smile pulling at your lips, you whisper, "What was that?"

You brush your nose against Jason's scalp, breathe in the mint-white scent of his shampoo.

"I said," Jason says, lifting his face only a little from your neck, enough so that you can hear him. "That you like it."

"You're ridiculous."

"And terrible," he adds for you. "You said that last week."

"It's still true. I mean, you licked my hand."

"So?"

"Like a child."

"So?"

You push out a long sigh and feel Jason mimic you. His back arches like a cat's as his lungs fill with air, before deflating like a balloon. You feel the shift of his body beneath your hands, the coils of muscle loosening as he settles like water.

For a while, you let the silence stretch, feel the beast of a man tighten his grip around your waist. Outside, you can hear the rush of the afternoon traffic, and the pigeons sitting on the windowsill cooing.

Your fingers move to card through Jason's hair, and if it were possible, Jason melts further into you like butter. Warm skin pressed against yours, his nose digging into the meat of your neck.

"Feels good," he murmurs, voice thick like gravel.

You hum softly, not wanting to say anymore so that the villain vigilante might drift into a sun-kissed slumber.

"Love you, Jay."

His own three-worded devotion is whispered into your skin, before he dips into oblivion.

tags: @kitkatlover015 © harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[internetb3by]

a twt prompt<3