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k1ranishf4 · 2 months ago

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☆ Ink and Instinct ☆

☆ Jason Todd x Female Reader

☆ His muscles were screaming, his bones aching and he wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed—or to end up in a coma, preferably. Tasteless joke, he knew, considering that he had literally died and came back, but oh well. None of that mattered when he saw his fiancée, though. Or rather, when he saw the pretty black ink on her radiant skin, right where her womb was.

☆ Content tags/warnings: 18+ content, engaged couple, explicit language, horny Jason Todd, explicit content, soft smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, NSFW, pet names (baby, sweetheart, pretty girl (1x), my love), praise, reassurance, reader got a womb tattoo without his knowledge, information broker!reader, shameless Jason Todd, newfound breeding kink and its consequences (don’t worry, no pregnancy in this), Jason’s thinking with his dick, momentarily shy reader, ticklish reader, humorous and sweet atmosphere, no beta we die like everyone in DC at some point

The fire escape groaned beneath his boots as he landed on the creaky metal, right in front of your shared bedroom window. It became a routine for him to enter the apartment through the window after patrolling, considering that the front door would raise too much attention to him. No one was supposed to know who the Red Hood was nor where he lived, thank you very much. He checked his surroundings again, like he always did, and then slid the window open to climb inside.

Patrol had been complete bullshit, in his opinion. Chasing down an amateur thief who ended up knocking himself out by running into a brick wall because he had looked back at Jason, disrupting a drug deal by the docks, gunning down Penguin's goons after one of them had spotted him—he was tired. And sore. He didn't even know anymore if the dried drops of blood on his jacket were his or someone else's.

He wanted nothing more than to get rid of his clothes, take a shower and melt next to you in bed. You, his perfect, smart fiancée who entered his life as the best information broker of Gotham's underworld. He sometimes still had moments of realization that, yes, he was, in fact, going to marry you. His heart felt way too heavy with love.

Jason thought you might be asleep by now, cuddled up in the warm sheets and sprawled out over his side of the bed again, despite your insistence that you always stayed on yours. He never asked you to wait up for him and you were out like a light by eleven o'clock sharp most of the time, so it was a surprise to see you still awake, music filling the air from the loudspeaker at a volume that wouldn't disturb your neighbors.

He closed the window gently, not wanting to announce his presence just yet. You were oblivious that he was even there, in the middle of changing. He leaned back against the windowsill and crossed his arms as he watched you, still in his whole Red Hood getup. Sure, okay, it might have been creepy of him to watch you change, but he didn't really see how anyone could blame him.

To him, you were the hottest, most sexiest woman in all of Gotham, hell, in the whole world. Smart, witty, beautiful, and so kind, he could die again and be much happier in his grave this time around. His gaze raked over you behind his helmet's white lenses, taking in every inch of skin you were showing as you stood there in nothing but black lace panties, pulling a shirt over your head and humming along to your favorite song playing in the background.

He smirked with amusement when you turned and yelped, jumping like a scared cat.

"Jason!" You threw the nearest object—an empty deodorant bottle that he didn't know why you still kept—at him and missed, the aluminium bottle clattering on the hardwood floor. "Don't just stand there, asshole, you scared me!"

He smiled at your indignant tone and looked you up and down again. "Calm down, baby. You know it's me," he mused smugly, his voice changed by the voice modulator. He didn't even make a move to take his helmet off or to put his guns inside the safe in the closet, still leaning against the wall.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You asked with a huff, walking past him to pick the empty deodorant bottle up and putting it back on a shelf instead of just throwing it away, then pausing the music. "Watching me like some creep, instead... Idiot."

But he wasn't listening. His gaze was on your stomach, which was hidden by the shirt again. He could swear that he had seen something there. He watched you reach up to the shelf inside the closet, his eyes still on your stomach while you rummaged through your clothes. For what, he didn't know, nor did he care, because now he could see it clearly.

"Lift your shirt," he said without any kind of context, not even looking at you. His arms were still crossed, but he felt tenser.

"Huh?"

He met your gaze, white lenses meeting hypnotizing but confused eyes.

"Your shirt," he repeated, still making no move to get out of his grimy clothes. "Lift it up."

He kept watching you as you looked at him with confusion for another moment before grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it up to your stomach.

His breath caught in his throat.

"I was gonna show you eventually," you started rambling, but he wasn't even hearing the words. "I thought it'd be cool, I guess, and I was waiting for it to heal properly, but then you became busier and—"

He called your name softly, so soft it could as well have been deadly. His head slowly lifted, looking into your eyes again. "When did you get it?"

The 'it' in question being a womb tattoo just above the waistband of your panties, a tattoo of his name. Cursive, elegant, the J underlining the rest of the letters and dipping beneath your panties.

He felt his heart race, his head tilting when you didn't answer. "Baby, when did you get that?" He asked again. Exhaustion who? He was more concerned about not jumping your bones right then and there.

Jason slowly got closer to you, gloved hand gently tilting your head up. "Don't be shy now, pretty girl. I just wanna know when you got it without me ever realizing," he reassured.

His thumb gently rubbed circles on your jaw, silently encouraging you not to get all shy on him now. "A few months ago," you mumbled. "Three, I think."

He paused. Months? Months of his name engraved on your skin, on your womb, and he was only seeing it now?

Taking a deep breath, he finally reached up to get rid of his helmet, tossing it on the bed carelessly. His eyes were dark, once emerald now appearing black. "You got my name tattooed right above your pussy and never told me?"

"Don't say it like that!" You slapped his chest, but he only smirked. His pretty fiancée, flustered about a tattoo she had gotten on her own volition.

"It's the truth, no? Fuck, baby." His hands went to your waist, his pants painfully tight. "C'mon. Let's get rid of this, hm?" He lightly tugged at your shirt.

"You haven't even put your guns away—"

"I know." He looked into your eyes. "I'll do that as soon as you're out of this shirt. Promise."

"Jason..." He could hear that you didn't believe him. Which was fair, considering that all of his thoughts were on you. Your body. That tattoo.

He felt dizzy from simply remembering that it was his name. His name. On your perfect body.

How would it look like if you were pregnant?

The thought made Jason pause.

Neither of you had ever brought up the topic of having children, not when you were dating, not now. But fuck, if it wasn't an appealing idea.

He never thought of himself as father material, nor did he have any intention of fantasizing about something that you might not even want, but the thought of your stomach becoming round and full of his child, with his name literally on your skin and claiming you, both of you—shit.

"You'll be the death of me," he told you hoarsely, voice thick with lust. "Get on the bed, baby. I'll put my guns in the safe, I promise, but I need you on that bed."

He'd throw you on it if he had to, but he was forcing himself not to go completely caveman on you. It was the last thing you needed, he could tell from your uncertain expression.

"C'mon." He gently guided you towards the bed, walking slowly with you until the back of your knees hit the edge of it. "Just like that. Sit down, baby."

Only when you were sitting did he go to the closet, helmet in hand, and put it along with his guns inside the safe that he had put there for this purpose. Aside from the things he personally needed as Red Hood, there were also some document files and USB drives that belonged to you—all filled with information about various criminals and crime lords.

You never stopped being his information broker and neither of you intended to change that.

"You're not mad, right?" The uncertainty in your voice made him pause, the fog of lust dissipating just enough for some rationality to return. He locked the safe and looked at you again.

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" Jason asked, confused. He stood up and walked towards you, sitting down on his knees in front of you and peeling his gloves off.

"I don't know, I just—" He watched you huff, his hands gently running up and down your thighs. "I never told you. I thought..."

"What?" He tilted his head, looking up at you with patience and so much love. His eyes flicked to your throat as you swallowed.

"I thought you might think I'm insane," you confessed quietly, avoiding his gaze.

Jason couldn't stop the smile that spread on his face. "Insane? Baby, the only one going insane right now is me because I'm trying very hard not to fuck you right this instant."

He laughed when you paused, looking at him like he was crazy. His heart swelled when he saw you getting out of that unsure headspace. Insecurity never suited you, in his opinion.

"You're so disgusting," you huffed, and his smile widened at the relieved humor written all over your face.

"That's what you do to me," he grinned. "Now take this shirt off. Please. I wanna see the ink again."

He looked at you with a mix of lust and adoration, not wanting to rush you but also feeling like a feral dog that's hurling its toy across the room.

With a sigh, you took the shirt off and set it aside. "Don't be weird about this," you muttered with faux sternness, making him smile.

"No promises," he winked at you, his hands traveling up your thighs to your hips. "Spread your legs. I need to get closer to you."

"And people say romance is dead," you mumbled as you spread your legs, making him chuckle softly while shifting closer, his lips immediately pressing a gentle kiss on your lower belly.

"You don't know what this makes me want to do," he breathed against your soft skin, his eyes fluttering when he felt your fingers run through the raven strands.

"You mean other than fucking me?" You asked teasingly, tilting your head.

"Oh, you..." He met your grin with his own and stood up, making you lie on your back in the middle of the bed before taking off his boots and settling between your legs.

His heart swelled when you giggled as his lips met your neck. He loved it, loved that you were sensitive and easily ticklish. It made sex even better. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, chuckling when you squirmed.

"Hey, now," he murmured against your neck. "No squirming, I haven't even started."

"That tickles!" You protested with a smile as more kisses were littered on your skin, down to your shoulder.

He smiled and pulled back, looking into your eyes. "Let me worship you, baby." His hand went to your lower belly, gently caressing your skin. He took a deep breath, feeling like he might combust.

Jason looked at you when your hand reached for his cheek. "What are you thinking?" You asked, your eyes looking like gems to him.

"You," he rasped. "This tattoo." He took a deep breath. You were his fiancée, sure, but he was still so afraid that he might scare you away. "I'm thinking about what it would look like if you were pregnant."

A crazy thing to say, he knew, as he watched your eyes widen. You weren't even married yet and he was already thinking about knocking you up. Just to see your skin stretch with his baby, with his name on your body.

"Jason—"

"I know," he interrupted, not even giving you the chance to finish speaking. "I won't do anything you don't want me to, I swear to you. But... Fuck, baby, I can't stop thinking about it. What it'd look like if your stomach was round with my name literally on it and our baby inside you."

He hadn't even been aware that he was hard. But he could feel it now, the unbearable tightness of his pants. He swallowed. "We don't have to talk about babies or anything right now. I just..." His hand gently rubbed your womb again. "Let me worship you, baby. Please. Let me show you how much I love this tattoo. How much I love you."

He watched you swallow before nodding. "Words," he murmured. "Give me words, my love."

"Yes," you breathed. "I.. I want you to show me."

That was all he needed.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, but without urgency. This wasn't like the countless heated make-out sessions the two of you had had or the rough sex whenever both or one of you was too pent up to release the emotions verbally.

No, this kiss conveyed all of his love for you, the adoration he felt for you. One of his hands cupped the back of your head when you let out a small noise against his lips, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

He hummed against your lips when your arms locked around his neck, pulling away with a soft intake of breath before his lips went to your neck.

He smiled as he pressed kisses on your neck, hearing your soft laughs. "You're still ticklish," he murmured against your skin, amusement in his voice.

"I'm blaming you," he heard you say, and laughed.

"Of course you are."

His lips traveled from your neck to your shoulder, down to your collarbones. Both of you started breathing more shallowly as he littered your perfect breasts and stomach with soft kisses, until his lips were on your womb. On that damn tattoo.

He heard your breath hitch when his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties, but they stayed there. He looked at you, pupils blown wide. "Can I?"

He watched your throat work as you swallowed. "Yes," you whispered. "Please."

"You don't have to beg me. Never beg me, baby." He inhaled sharply as he pressed a kiss on your clothed mound before pulling the black lace off of your body and tossing it on the floor. "Fuck, you're gorgeous."

He felt hot. Too hot. His skin was burning as he leaned down and pressed another kiss on your mound, on the small extension of the inked J. His heart was racing, especially when he heard you gasp softly.

"Jay—"

"Shhh, I've got you," he whispered. "Just lie down and let me take care of you, baby." He had to take his jacket off, the leather landing on the floor too. His body was on fire, molten lava coursing through his veins.

He let his eyes wander over your body again before shifting a little further away. "You're perfect," he whispered as he leaned down, his breath ghosting over your glistening cunt. He pressed a kiss on your flesh before licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit, his eyes fluttering as he heard your breath hitch.

He looked up at you. "Tell me to stop if it becomes too much or if something feels wrong," he told you before his mouth closed around your clit, his tongue swirling around it.

The sound of your breathing becoming heavier only turned him on even more as his hands went to your thighs, moving your legs over his shoulders. Death by suffocation wouldn't be a bad way to go if this was how it happened.

"Jason—mmm..." Your breathy moan went straight to his cock, still straining painfully against his pants. He had half a mind not to dry-hump the damn bed while eating you out.

His right hand left your thigh and went up to your wet entrance, slowly easing his middle finger into you as he kept lapping at your clit. The pleased sigh that left your lips made him moan in response, muffled by your flesh.

He added a second finger when you started rolling your hips against his mouth, meeting his fingers with your own movements. He let out a muffled groan and put his free hand on your hip, to keep himself grounded and not to pin you in place.

Jason didn't mind the movement, in fact, he took it as a sign that he was doing a good enough job. He kept his mouth on your clit as his fingers pumped faster in and out of you, your moans and sighs filling the air.

It was over for him when your hands landed in his hair as you arched your back. He could feel your legs trembling while you clenched around his fingers, greedy cunt sucking them in. He kept his ministrations up as he listened to you moaning his name, his eyes on the very tattoo of it on your belly.

"Jay—Fuck, Jason, that feels good—Mmmm—!"

He couldn't see your face from down here, but he didn't need to. His eyes were locked on the tattoo, watching it ripple with your skin as he curled his fingers against the spot that he knew made you see stars, listening to you moan with satisfaction as he repeated it.

"Jason—Jason, Jay—," he heard you mewl and whimper. "I'm gonna—Fuck, I'm gonna—"

It didn't take too long for him to groan in pleasure as he felt you pulling his hair, coating his fingers with your release while your thighs clamped down on his head. His nose was pressed against your skin, the flowery scent of your body lotion mixed with the musky scent of your cum filling his senses.

He worked you through your orgasm, his own body practically vibrating from the lust coursing through his veins. Only when you stopped squeezing his head with your thighs, did he sit up and slowly pull his fingers out of you.

"Shit," he breathed as he watched you pant and come down from your high. His clean hand rubbed your hip and thigh gently, wanting to soothe you as you caught your breath. "Easy, baby. No rush, take your time."

"Jason," you breathed, your eyes meeting his.

"Shhh... Take your time. We can focus on my issue later."

He kept his hand on you until your breathing was relatively normal again and your legs weren't shaking so much anymore. He helped you sit up, letting you use his arm to pull yourself up.

"You okay?" He asked softly, adoration and concern in his eyes as he watched you nod.

"That felt good," you breathed. "Was...really good."

He smiled as you leaned against him, his arm snaking around you and holding you close. He was still uncomfortably hard in his pants, but that wasn't going to stop him from making sure you were okay first. He rubbed your sweaty skin soothingly, letting you take all the time you needed to fully recover.

"Next time," he murmured, "tell me before you get a tattoo. Might save me from having to process it before I can fuck you."

He chuckled when you slapped his chest, muttering something about him being "a filthy animal", and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

He had come home wanting to sleep, but the red light of the digital clock showing him that it was 3:47 A.M. told him that neither of you two would be getting much sleep tonight.

Tomorrow would have to be a lazy day, he supposed, smirking as he watched your hands reach for his belt.

☆ A/N: Let me know if there’s something I can do better, constructive criticism is always welcome. Hope you enjoyed!!

☆ 3.4k words

#english is not my first language #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #soft smut #jason todd #red hood #dc #dc jason todd #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x female reader #fanfiction #dc fanfic #jason todd fanfiction

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k1ranishf4 · 3 months ago

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☆ Shared Warmth

☆ Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

☆ After getting back from dealing with those O'Driscolls and having brought a new addition to the gang, Arthur decided to take a look around the cabins before calling it a night. Surprise briefly flickered across his face when he saw her on her own in the main cabin, huddled up in front of a lantern and clearly trying to warm up. He noticed that it wasn't working well for her.

☆ Content tags/warnings: pre-relationship, late night talks, set in Chapter One of RDR2, no beta we die like Arthur Morgan, oblivious/ignorant idiot(s), kinda fluffy kinda neutral, implied angsty themes but overall lighthearted and as in theme with the game as I could get it, open “ending”

Colter's low temperatures might as well have been as bad as the whole ordeal in Blackwater. Even with a thick coat, the cold didn't stop seeping through his clothes, and he felt like a fool for not just staying in the room that Miss Grimshaw had pointed out to him earlier.

He hadn't felt like calling it a night just yet after having returned from the brief encounter with a few O'Driscolls, which was why Arthur was now walking around "camp" so aimlessly. His eyes fell on the fireplace that had been set up, and a huff escaped him. Sitting in the snow wasn't an activity that he was too keen on doing, and the fire looked like it'd give up soon, too.

Another strong gust of freezing wind made him lower his head, his hat obscuring his face and his nose burying itself in the collar of his coat. Grumbling under his breath, Arthur decided to check out the main cabin in which all of them had briefly gathered when they had first arrived. The rest of the gang had already retreated to their designated sleeping arrangements, aside from one or two exceptions, which was why he had thought the cabin might have been empty by now.

He was surprised to see that he had been wrong when he saw you peeking up at him from your curled-up form on the floor. "What're you doing here?", he asked, his tone as dumbfounded as he looked for a moment. He noted the lantern on the floor in front of you.

You had been a part of the gang for a while now, not as long as some of them but not exactly a brand new addition, either. "Trying to warm up", you muttered, tightening your arms around yourself.

He approached you, his steps slow. "With a lantern. Right." He saw you roll your eyes at his tone and the corner of his mouth curved upwards, hints of a smile on his face. He glanced around, then spotted one of the few blankets that they had brought from Mrs. Adler's house.

Grabbing it, he came to your side again and made you scoot over slightly so he could sit down next to you. "There," he murmured as he draped the blanket around your shoulders. Arthur heard your mumbled words of gratitude and only nodded, looking at the lantern in front of the two of you.

"Why're you still awake?"

"Could ask ya the same thing," he replied gruffly, leaning back against the wall behind him. Then he shrugged. "Ain't tired yet, I suppose." He heard you hum, then looked at you. "What about you?"

"I ain't tired," you echoed his words, your eyes meeting his.

A small, almost amused huff left him. "That so? If I recall right, you always fall asleep first." His amusement only seemed to increase when you gave him a pointed look. The graveness of their situation seemed to shift into the background, almost like he could just stop thinking about it for a moment.

"People change," you replied, shrugging.

He looked at the lantern in front of the two of you again, humming as his expression became somber for a moment. "Maybe."

Silence fell over the two of you, the only noise coming from the creaking wood every time the wind slammed against the cabin. It wasn't an oppressive silence, though.

Arthur's mind wandered for a moment. They had suffered because of the failure in Blackwater, and he didn't doubt that it would only become harder from that point forward. They had lost quite a few people and some were still missing, without any knowledge of whether they were still alive or not. Not to mention that they had had to leave immediately, leaving tons of money and other valuables behind. It didn't look good for them, nor was it easy to be optimistic at all, despite what Dutch had said.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when you spoke up again. "Aren't you cold?"

He looked at you, waving you off. "I'm fine."

"Right," you muttered sarcastically. "C'mon."

Before he could question what you were up to, you were already close to his side and had wrapped half of the blanket around him while the other half was still around you. He felt slightly warmer than before, not that he'd admit that.

Another moment of silence passed, neither of you speaking. Despite small moments of humor and lightheartedness, the situation was still dire. Everyone was even more serious than they usually already were. They had good reason to be.

"Arthur, do you think we'll ever return?" Your voice was quiet, almost like you doubted any positive answer to your own question. He looked at you, but your head was held low, staring holes into the floor.

A sigh left his lips as he turned his head and looked down as well. "I don't know," he murmured truthfully. His mind hadn't even been on the possibility of going back, instead focusing on surviving and making sure the rest of the gang did, too.

"Dutch seems to be convinced," you replied quietly.

"Are you?" He looked at you, his head tilted slightly. He noticed that you weren't expecting him to ask that, your eyes holding surprise and confusion, your lips parting slightly.

He watched you sigh. "I don't know," you mumbled. "We're already far away. I don't doubt we'll go even farther. I just..." Another sigh, then you lowered your head. He didn't like how defeated you looked, for some reason.

When Arthur realized that you weren't going to continue, he decided to push a little. "Just what?"

A moment of hesitation. Then, "I just want to live without a bunch of lawmen after us," you muttered.

He let out a breath as he leaned back against the wall. "Don't we all. But it ain't gonna be that easy."

"I know," you sighed.

He was caught off guard when he felt your head on his shoulder, turning his head to look at you. Your eyes were closed, and a bit of amusement washed over him. He didn't know how or why, but you made it very easy to forget everything else. He didn't know whether to consider it a liability or not.

"Not tired, huh?" The sarcasm was clear as day, but it wasn't as biting as he usually could be. When you grumbled at him to shut up, a genuine smile spread across his face. He let out a breath and leaned back, letting you rest against his shoulder.

It was warmer than it had been all night long, and he allowed himself to finally relax a little. Who knew if he would get the chance to do so again.

"Arthur?”

He wasn't expecting to hear you speak up again, assuming you'd prefer to try to sleep. He knew by now that you could be a chatterbox when you felt comfortable enough to talk as relentlessly as a waterfall; it shouldn't have surprised him to hear you again.

He hummed, indicating that he was listening.

"Do you think I could live a honest life if I wanted to? Or any of us, really."

He was beginning to wonder where all those questions were coming from. Not that he hadn't asked himself the same question before, but he knew that it would be impossible for them to become honest, law-abiding citizens. For him, at least.

"Sure," he replied after a moment. "You could. You and that Mrs. Adler, was her name. The rest of us, I ain't so sure."

He turned his head, seeing you looking at him. "Why?", you asked.

It seemed like a naive question, but he answered nevertheless. "The law don't like us. Not me, not Dutch or Hosea, not any one of us. They want to see us hangin'." A pause, then his voice lowered to something more serious. "They won't stop chasin' us until they get what they want."

As horrible of a thing as it was, it was the reality. He was a wanted man, almost all of them were. A group of wanted men and women. Arthur doubted that there was any chance of living an honest life for him. He'd been in this for far too long and he couldn't just up and leave. Not when Dutch and Hosea had been the ones who had taken him in and taught him everything he knew now.

He sighed and looked at you. "Shouldn't you be trying to sleep? Miss Grimshaw sure don't like slackers."

A small smile spread on his lips as he watched you roll your eyes. "She don't like nothing," you muttered. "Worse than my mother used to be when I was younger."

He said nothing. It was endearing to him, really. Not that he could explain why. "Just try sleeping, Miss.”

"Because it definitely works on command, Mr. Morgan," you muttered, and he could practically taste the sarcasm.

Still, he felt your head's weight on his shoulder, and the silence that followed minutes later showed that you were more tired than you had claimed to be.

He adjusted the blanket around you and mumbled a "Good night", then leaned back against the wall as his mind wandered again. He had left his journal in "his" room, which meant he had no other choice than to let his thoughts flow. He didn't want to wake you up, after all.

He couldn't explain why his heart was beating so fast, nor did he want to dwell on it. Must be from the whole moving lately, he told himself. Neither did he allow himself to think too hard about the way you were leaning against him as you gradually fell into a deep sleep. Surely you were just too exhausted.

Nothing too exciting about it.

☆ A/N: First time writing for Arthur, please let me know if there’s anything I could do better, be it writing style, his characterization or the text format! (I prefer the small print text format, but I’m also open to adjusting to your preferences)

☆ 1.6k words

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