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pridecomethbeforethefall · 32 minutes ago

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I love the secret gf stuff with Jason so much juat in general but you write it so incredibly well! It’s such a pleasure to read. Do u have any ideas or hcs about how the Batfam eventually finds out? My personal fav I’ve seen is Babs seeing a photo reader uploaded of Jason to their private ig that Babs somehow found anyways. Do you have a fav iteration of this theme or anything more like it?

I feel like the info hits one of them and spreads like an incredulous wildfire. (Ie. Once someone says something NO ONE believes them.) I think it would be most realistic if Roy slipped up to Dick, given he's in the Titans (yay for the recent issues) and Jay's close friend.

I think Roy would have 100% met you before and maybe even repeatedly to the point you have each other's phone numbers and the three of you occasionally go out for drinks, which is literally just him third wheeling while you sit in Jason's lap.

Needless to say, you're all close. And he's sworn to secrecy. Which he keeps up, for the most part.

Until he's on a stakeout with Dick and realizes it's where you and Jason were going for dinner... Cue confusion.

"Oh, shit, that's where Jay's date is..." He would mumble without even realizing it, more worried about the fact that the place might get blown up than about who was standing next to him.

Dick of course heard him and turned in disbelief. "Jason's what?!" He exclaimed. "He has a date?" Jason never went on dates. Ever. They had all tried a dozen times to get him to go out and he never did.

Roy quickly realized his mistake and (poorly) attempted to rectify it. "No. Of course not! Why would you think he's got a girlfriend? He has no game."

Dick's eyes widened. "I didn't say girlfriend, I said date because you said date. He's got a girlfriend?" He wasn't sure if he should be happy for his brother or try to kill him for hiding it. "Who is she? For how long?"

He'd instantly start trying to comb through his memories to find any signs he could have missed or start making assumptions about you based on his brother's type.

Roy promptly shuts the hell up and says nothing else. Dick, however, says plenty.

He tells the entire family, obviously.

And no one believes him.

He's a jokester and they think it's some elaborate stunt to get back at Jason for pissing him off. It takes weeks before any of them finally believe it and it's only because they start looking at Jason through the lens of someone with a significant other—something they never really considered.

He's always been a bit distant so no one ever considered that when he disappeared after a mission before check in he was actually calling you to make sure you knew he was safe. They notice the slight smell of something nicer lingering on him than his usual soap, because you liked it and he loved you. They realize the slightest discrepancy in his behavior in the field, how he's a bit more cautious and restrained because he doesn't want to risk getting hurt and facing your sad eyes.

Alfred, of course, knows. He's the one Jason always goes to for advice.

That's when the truth finally came out and Dick was believed. Jason had, like usual, gone to Alfred for advice, this time about the idea of proposing. He wanted to know if he thought it was the right time and of course Alfred told him if he was considering it to the point of asking for an opinion, then it was already a thought imbedded too deeply to push away.

A few weeks later, he was showing Alfred the ring when Damian, hungry for a snack after school walked into the kitchen and saw it. He then, promptly and politely excused himself from the room before loudly screaming "Grayson was right!" Through the whole house.

Jason just groaned, trying to escape before the endless questions could start. Not that it worked. They had him cornered in minutes and Dick looked like he had finally been validated.

"Who told you? Was it Roy?" He demanded, already envisioning ways to kill him.

"The better question is why didn't you?" He retorted. "We're supposed to know these sorts of things. Don't you think we'd be happy for you?"

That had nothing to do with it. He knew they would love you. They were just...a lot. A lot of trauma, a lot of darkness, a lot of danger. He already hated putting you in danger by association to him, he couldn't imagine what could happen if you got embedded in the entire family.

"I just- you're all are a bit hectic you know? She's not like us. I don't want her around all the trouble." And the endless embarrassing stories that his siblings could tell...but that was besides the point. "I want her to be safe and happy and...I didn't want to risk either by introducing her to you guys."

...

That...was the remarkabley sweet of him.

"I still need to meet her," Bruce would insist firmly.

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 37 minutes ago

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Imagining Jason Todd who got turned into a cat Klarion the witch boy...(This is so random but I can't stop thinking about it???)

Cat Jason Todd: Who naturally got turned into a giant Maine Coon, weighing twenty pounds with a giant tail, bright yellow eyes, and massive paws.

Cat Jason Todd: Who scratched up half his family while they tried to run tests on him before they gave up and nearly broke your door down, throwing Jason on your couch barely muttering. "It's Jason, we're working on it," before leaving.

Cat Jason Todd: Who refuses to eat the cat food you try to give him and instead steals one of your French fries before hiding behind the drapes, giving a grumbling meow when you try to take it from him.

Cat Jason Todd: Who watches you do the dishes while you talk to him, promising him that his family will be able to figure it out and turn him back.

Cat Jason Todd: Who you realize will meow once for yes and twice for no when you ask a question which makes communication easier.

Cat Jason Todd: Who instinctively tries you make biscuits on your legs while laying next to you on the couch and immediately feels bad when he remembers he has claws and realizes he's hurting you.

Cat Jason Todd: Whose tail flicks in annoyance when you threaten to put a collar on him or give him a bath for scratching the carpet or stealing your favorite hair tie.

Cat Jason Todd: Who you struggle to pick up because of how massive he is in cat form, wrapping your arms around his fluff.

Cat Jason Todd: Who you pull close to you, petting him at night and laughing each time he purrs which he hates but can't help.

Cat Jason Todd: Who is humiliated by how much he enjoys having you hold him, scratching under his chin.

Cat Jason Todd: Who falls asleep purring, your hand still resting on him.

Jason Todd: Who wakes up as himself and feels relieved to be able to wrap his arms around you in the morning.

Jason Todd: Who presses a kiss to your forehead, thanking you for taking care of him, even if you did try to feed him tuna.

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 39 minutes ago

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Can i please request batboys x reader whos really flirty and comments a lot of inappropriate things?

Of course you can!!! I hope you like it.

Bruce: Wouldn't even blink. But only because he's heard some of the most unhinged ever said on earth and everywhere else in the solar system. Inside? This man is trying his best not to let his eye twitch when you walk behind him at his desk (either at WE or in the cave) and run your hand over his chest, leaning down to whisper in his ear "Why don't you work on something else with those fingers for a while?" He's a sensible man, so most of the time your teasing won't get much of an outward response (aside from his ears turning a bit redder as you nibble on them, trying to provoke a reaction as he types) but you know it's rattling him inside. Just like you know that at a later date he'll remind you of every single time you've teased him, realizing that he was just accumulating valid reasons to torture love you for an entire night with at least 4 breaks in between. One would think you might stop, knowing that every time you said something inappropriate at the wrong time he added it to the running tally in his head and began thinking of new ways to get back at you for it. But you don't.

---

Dick: Does a whole ass double take. He's standing in the kitchen when out of the corner of his eye he sees you sucking some of the frosting you made for some cupcakes off your fingers and to say he nearly falls over would be an understatement. He whips his head back around, nearly tripping over the rug under his feet when he realizes his eyes weren't in fact deceiving him. He'd be flabbergasted when you, with all your adorable qualities like a soft smile and gentle eyes look up at him not breaking eye contact while you swirl your tongue over your own fingers cleaning them. He swallows hard, trying desperately not to make it into something it's not because there's no way you of all people could be purposely teasing him like that. "What is, baby? Mad I'm not sharing?" You ask, scraping the side of the bowl for leftover frosting, holding your fingers out for him. "Want some?" It's then that he realizes you were in fact doing this on purpose. So much for the cupcakes, he thought, crossing the room to lift you onto the counter, much preferring to eat you instead.

---

Jason: Blushes harder than you've ever seen before. I'm talking, redder than his red hood. His eyes widen and immediately dart down to the menu when he feels your foot creeping up the side of his leg at lunch. In public. He clears his throat, trying to remain calm, asking what you want to eat. You just sip on your drink, tilting your head a bit. "Are you on the menu?" You ask, causing another small hitch in his breath. He laughs nervously, swallowing harshly before looking up at you, his cheeks tinted bright red as he struggles to find any words. Your foot creeps higher up his leg until he jumps slightly, his elbow knocking the table making it rattle. "You trying to kill me, doll?" He asks, taking a sip of his water to fill his dry mouth. You just shrug. "Just trying to find a way to keep you at home tonight." You were sick of going to bed alone and if this was what you had to resort to—starting foreplay several hours earlier in the day to tempt him into staying with you—then so be it.

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 2 hours ago

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I’m kinda curious as to how the batboys would react with a partner that randomly compliments them (like really sweet and sappy things too, “you’re so pretty, I love how smart your are, you’re perfect,” etc.) + refers to them as Boyfriend, no name, just Boyfriend

Like the reader would be all “hey! This is Boyfriend,” while holding onto him.

Ahhh, I love this concept!! (I only did part of it, but please let me know if you want the other part!)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Bruce: Would be very confused at first because he's always used to his partners introducing him as Bruce Wayne. And he always knew they did it so people realized their partner was dating a billionaire. He'd expect it from you, like with everyone, but then you simply introduced him as your boyfriend. Alright, that was strange. He assumed it was because it was just your coworkers he met and you didn't care much what they thought. Then it happened with your friends and your parents and each time you introduced him to someone, not as Bruce Wayne the billionaire, but simply your boyfriend, he felt his heart clench a little. His wealth or status hadn't won your heart, he had.

---

Dick: When you don't introduce him by his name the first time he meets your friends, he says nothing about it. He assumes it was a one off. But no. You kept calling him that, barely saying his name at all, if ever. It was always "Oh, my boyfriend likes that restaurant too!" And "Actually, my boyfriend has an early day tomorrow, we'll pass." He soon realized it was your own subtle jealousy showing. You called him your boyfriend every chance you got because you didn't want a single one of your friends looking at him for too long, let alone any strangers getting the idea they had a chance. He was a bit proud, honestly. He found it adorable how you'd drag his arm around his waist to emphasize your point.

---

Jason: He feared love more than anything. It terrified him to give his heart to someone when it felt so fragile he thought if it broke one more time he'd die for good. But then he gave it to you. He still felt hesitant and you knew that. Which is why you would call him your boyfriend every chance you got. You wanted him to know how much you liked people knowing who he was to you. He realized quickly that you did it for his benefit but couldn't bring himself to ask you to stop. He really liked having you say it and it made him a bit more confident in your love for him each time he realized you weren't ashamed of him.

---

Tim: You do it to tease him, but he never responded in the right way whenever you did. He'd lean in as well and start referring to you only as his girlfriend/boyfriend/partner just so it was fair. He rather enjoyed the way it sounded when you called him that. He still couldn't believe you'd actually put up with him, so hearing you state so proudly that he was your boyfriend made him elated. How would it not? He knew you meant it as a dramatic, over the top joke, but he loved hearing it anyway. So much so that you both eventually stopped with the theatrics and began using it sincerely.

---

(Aged up) Damian: He's a proud man, typically. With an ego far taller than him. You called him your boyfriend once before you started dating and he lost it, angry that you didn't give him the chance to ask you to be his girlfriend properly before you began using those labels. Then, you'd use it to annoy him at first. Never saying his name when you introduced him to your friends or family bugged him and you knew it, but you slowly came to enjoy it for reasons other than his frustration. He had to admit, he learned to like it after a while, too. You

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 2 hours ago

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"Haven't I given enough?"

Character: Jason Todd x Reader

Content: Hurt with comfort

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: First post?!? I've written a few of these and published them anonymously on AO3 but figured I'd give it a shot on here as well.

Jason was troubled. It was a label that others had branded him with, but one he never tried to deny either. He thought it was true. He was screwed up, his body marked by years of scars and his mind equally as traumatized with the kind of scars you couldn’t see but definitely knew were there. It didn’t mean he couldn’t be kind or gentle, especially to you, but sometimes, the only way he really knew how to cope was through doing something physical.

At first, that was running, or hitting something. Even going to the salvage yard outside of town to scream for a while. That’s what he had always done when things got really bad. Then, slowly he realized you’d be there and you could take him. Literally. You could tolerate him fucking all his stress out through you. Using you.

Sometimes he felt bad about it, but you always seemed so sure that it was okay. That even if he happened to leave bruises (like he usually did) they never hurt too bad. You enjoyed too, so he kept doing it. Not often, just on the particularly bad nights.

Nights like the one he just had.

When he slammed the door shut behind him all the lights were off in the apartment and he was worried you might have been asleep. He really hated the idea of waking you up, but God, he was so...unexplainably upset. Angry, frustrated, sad in ways his mind couldn’t quite comprehend.

His mind was a mess and to be completely honest, he was so worked up he couldn’t figure out what to do. Kicking something, screaming, maybe crying. No, definitely not crying. Even if he could feel a few tears pricking in the back of his eyes he choked them down, refuses to let them fall. Instead, he walked towards the bedroom, just hoping you were still awake.

You were, of course. But even if you had been asleep, the door slamming would have woken you up.

He pushed the door open and his expression immediately softened upon seeing you, sitting up in bed, wearing one of his shirts.

“You’re home late,” you remarked, closing your—his—book and setting it on the nightstand. “Did something happen?”

He knew you knew something was wrong. You could always tell. But you were too nice to outright tell him how shitty he looked and instead sat up even further, causing some of your hair to fall over your shoulder, grazing your collarbone.

“Nothing I want to talk about,” Jason replied. He hated talking about his feelings in general, but would do it occasionally, under the right circumstances. These were not them.

He kicked his shoes off by the bedroom door and started pulling his clothes off as he walked towards the bed, dropping his gloves on the floor alongside his pants and the rest of his things. He could see the shift in your demeanor; you knew what he wanted. To forget, to let you take away all of his anger and pain so he didn’t have to deal with it for the night. He wanted to get lost in you and forget about how bad everything hurt. Physically and emotionally.

He sat on the bed, instantly reaching for your face, pulling you towards him, kissing you harshly. His teeth scraped yours, noses bumping against each other as the tightness of his shoulder’s coiled further, the action seeming to make things worse. Still, he didn’t stop.

Jason pressed his other hand to the back of your head, pushing himself further into you as your hands instinctively began to roam his abdomen. “Bad night?” you mumbled just before he bit down on your lip, tearing a bit of skin.

“Bad night,” he responded succinctly, grabbing your waist, squeezing it tightly. His head was a jumble of loud thoughts, for some reason harder to ignore than usual but he kept trying.

Reaching for the bottom of your shirt, he pulled it up over your head you let him. To his dismay, you had a bra on under it, and panties too.

Wrapping your arms around his neck as he laid you down on the pillows, his body pressing into yours firmly as your lips locked again for a moment. Jason kissed down your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin eliciting a gasp.

For a split-second, the voices were quiet. They always were when he heard you moaning and whimpering or saying his name over and over. The pain always stayed though, but usually he could tolerate it if he just focused on the motions, on pushing you as deep into the mattress as possible, on rutting his hip into yours until he physically ached from something other than sore bones and old scars.

His hands groped the soft flesh of your waist and hips as he tugged at the top of your underwear, his hand slipping inside.

Jason froze.

His hand still in your underwear, his lips paused against your neck, breathing heavily as the heavy silence made his ears ring.

That had never happened before. Ever. But in that moment, he couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

He couldn’t do this with you, not tonight.

Quickly, he removed his hand, pushing himself off you until he was sitting up. He couldn’t breathe. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller than he always remembered it being. Had it always been so cramped? Or this hot, for that matter. Did you turn the heater up tonight?

Jason swallowed, his throat feeling dry and heart hammering in his chest. “I- I’m sorry,” he apologized as he got up. “I need to get some water.”

“Wait a minute-” you sat up as quickly as he had, grabbing his wrist. You knew he could easily pull away, but he didn’t. He didn’t turn to face you either, though. “What’s wrong?”

Jason’s chest heaved as he tried to breathe, it felt tight, it ached. He hated it. “I just can’t do that tonight,” he managed to say.

He remained—mostly—calm as he kept his eyes glued to the floor. He hated to envision the look on your face. Was it confusion? Was it anger? Something worse, like pity? He didn’t know which of those options seemed preferable.

“Okay,” you agreed easily, tugging on his wrist lightly. “We don’t have to do anything,” you assured him. “Just come lay down.”

He shook his head, swallowing again, his heart still thumping rapidly. “No- no I have stuff to do, I—”

“Jay,” you said calmly, the sound of his voice soothing him slightly. “You’ve been working all night and it’s late. Just lay down.”

Jason bit the inside of his cheek as he stared at the ground. He could feel it, the tears pricking in his eyes again. It had been like that all night and each time he kept pushing them down and now he heard your voice, so gentle and sweet and it made them reappear again.

He took a deep breath. You wouldn’t let this go. If he left the room, you’d follow him and stand with him in the kitchen while he drank his water. He didn’t want that. He wanted this day to be over as soon as humanly possible.

But... “I’m not tired,” was all that came out of his mouth.

Exhaling, Jason turned around, barely able to look at you. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you with your haired messed up and your neck covered in two or three small bruises on your neck, your chest falling and rising as you caught your breath as well.

Should he hand your shirt back? Apologize again? Leave?

Before he could decide, you were sitting up onto your knees, reaching for him, trying to pull him back towards the bed. Back towards you. He reluctantly let himself be moved, taking a heavy step closer, then another. He sat back down, his gaze falling to the blanket.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, even though you both knew it was futile. He shook his head, his jaw clenched tightly to remind himself to keep it together. At least in front of you. You held his hand, your thumb swiping over the back of his knuckle as you nodded slowly, taking your other hand and placing it on his shoulder. “Just lay down,” you suggested.

Jason nodded and tried to move to his side of the bed, but you wouldn’t let go of his hand. Instead, you gently pulled him forward, laying back down, insisting he follow. He hovered above you, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to hurt you.

“Lay down,” you repeated gently, your eyes softening even more.

“I don’t wanna crush you,” Jason confessed.

“You won’t,” you assured him.

He hesitantly lowered himself down, pressing more and more of his body weight against you. He could feel the mattress dipping as he did. He’d pushed you into it plenty of times, but not like this.

With his entire body weight on top of you, he exhaled, propping his chin on your chest, staring at you for a few seconds, not quite sure where else to look or what else to do with his hands or legs.

You fixed that.

Jason could feel you tangle your legs with his, wrapping your arms around him, one of your hands finding the locks of his hair to fuss with while the other traced random shapes on his shoulder.

Suddenly, the heat from before that felt like it was suffocating him evaporated, replaced by the warmth of your bare skin against him. He carefully wrapped his arms around you. He’d sure they would go numb soon, after all his entire weight, plus yours were laying on top of them now that they were under your back.

He wondered if that was uncomfortable for you, if maybe he should pull them away and just with them by his sides but before he could ask your hand was tugging at his hair, gently pressing his face into your neck. Not to kiss or mark it. Just to lay there, to breathe you in and hold you.

“I’ve got you,” you promised him, running your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

Jason nuzzled your neck slightly, inhaling deeply, the scent of you filling his senses. Before he knew what was happening, the tears in his eyes started to fall without warning.

He didn’t have the chance to fight them at first, a few dampening your neck, but the second he realized what was happening he pulled away, pressing his forehead against the valley of your breasts while taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. “Sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. The sound was so pathetic it made him hate himself even more.

You shushed him gently, still playing with his hair as your other hand laid flat on his back. “It’s okay,” you assured. “You’re okay.”

That was the final straw, the supportive tone of your voice broke the dam he had built and his tears started to fall as he shook his head. “I’m not okay,” he confessed, his words spoken into your skin. “Nothing is okay.”

Your heart broke for him, feeling his grip on you tighten even more. You let your hand fall from his hair, wrapping around him, trying to pull him closer or at the very least keep him from leaving like you knew he was contemplating doing.

What could you say that would help? Nothing seemed good enough, so you just let him bury his face in your chest, holding him as he shook from the tears, muttering apologies and words of self-deprecation.

“I’m right here,” you swore. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. Not to me.”

Each word you spoke was like a dagger to his chest, the soft reassurance and whispered praise mixed with how firm your grip on him was made his chest swell as all the pain he refused to let himself feel hit him all at once with an overwhelming force.

Jason hated the burning in his chest, the sting in his eyes, the weakness he felt. Most of all, he hated feeling all of this in front of you. But more than that, he refused to pull away or deprive himself of your touch. He needed it to damn badly. It was the only thing keeping him afloat most days.

“It hurts,” he told you. “So badly. All the time.”

Your arms tightened around him again as you tried to keep yourself from crying with him, the sound of his sobs escaping making your heart hurt more with each failed attempt to make himself stop.

“Let it,” you breathed, resting your jaw on the top of his head as he hid his face in your breasts. “Just for tonight.”

Feeling the pain seemed like a foreign concept to him, but you made it sound so appealing, to just let himself feel weak. Just this once. Just for tonight. He could do that. The only reason why was because you were holding him, comforting him as the pain in his chest grew and grew until he was nearly hyperventilating.

Once again, you were shushing him, your hand softly stroking his hair. “Breathe,” you murmured, inhaling deeply, hoping he could feel it while laying on you. “I know it’s hard, I know it hurts. Just breathe.”

Jason sniffled, taking a shaky breath, timing it at the same time as your own deep inhale and holding a few seconds like you did before exhaling.

“Again,” you whispered, your nails trailing up and down his spine in a soothing motion. He listened and you could feel his body calming down just a little. “Just like that.”

His continued to cry, this time much softer. Like a residual that he needed to get out. Your skin now wet with his tears, but it didn’t matter much.

You placed a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you,” came out in a small whisper as you nuzzled the dark locks of his hair. “So much.”

Jason sniffled again, lifting his head to look at you. He was ashamed to. He felt weak and pathetic and hated to think of you seeing him like that, but he needed to say something and he needed to see your dace when he did.

You could see the redness in his eyes, a stark contrast to the dark purple circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. His nightmares had been particularly bad lately, no doubt contributing to the mountain of problems that led to his breakdown.

“I don’t know how you can love me when I’m this messed up,” he confessed, his voice sounding vulnerable and raw from crying.

You pushed the white streak in his hair away from his face, gently running the back of your knuckles over his cheek. “Everyone is messed up, baby,” you told him quietly. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason’s hands had gone numb underneath your back, so he couldn’t feel them, but he was fairly certain he was trying to squeeze you harder. That’s what he thought he’d be doing, at least.

He dropped his head, kissing the middle of your clavicle where your collarbones met. Just once. Softly. He could the salt from his tears on your skin and it made them prick in his eyes again. He didn’t fight them as hard this time.

Laying his head in between your breasts, he inhaled and exhaled, closing his eyes. Another tear rolled down his cheek and he let it, choosing to instead focusing on the feeling of your skin. Your bare stomach against his, your arms around him, your nails scratching his scalp and back.

This wasn’t what he wanted when came home tonight. But falling asleep in your arms, using your chest as a pillow, listening the sound of your heartbeat and feeling the steady rhythm of your breathing was so much better.

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 2 hours ago

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So, we all know Jason Todd would spoil the hell out of you, right? He'd know every detail, remember every important date, always do anything to make you feel special and wanted. The compliments would never stop, the random gifts always showed up, the physical affection never dwindled.

You loved it and he loved that you loved it.

But it was so normal (not to say it went unappreciated) that you almost didn't realize how lacking your own gestures were. Jason doesn't notice either, obviously.

However, he certainly starts to when instead of blowing a kiss to him from the couch when he leaves or comes home, you start getting up and draping your arms around him, kissing his cheek and lips. He'd never fault you for falling asleep when he's out on patrol in the middle of the night but feels a sense of warmth wash over him when you start leaving notes on his side of the bed telling him you missed him, or hope he was safe.

(+Bonus points if you told him his favorite food was waiting in the kitchen if he was hungry.)

You always match his energy when it comes to physical affection, holding him right back when he wraps his arms around you from behind or wrapping your legs around him while he holds you during the night, but realizing you almost never initiate it makes you reevaluate.

He notices, obviously, when you start asking him to join you in the shower or begin tugging him into your lap until his head is resting on your thighs and you can play with his hair. When you start smoothing out the few wrinkles on his shirt for him, or kissing his shoulder from behind while he works, sliding him a snack and telling him to eat.

It eventually all comes to a head when he's reading and you randomly start massaging his shoulders out of nowhere. Not that it doesn't feel good, because he always loves your soft hands on him, but he starts asking why you've been so affectionate lately you have no choice but to admit that you feel like you've been taking advantage of him.

"I never seem to give you the same kind of attention you give me," you confess, your hands softly kneading at the knots in his neck as he reads.

His head turns, one of his hands covering yours to get you to stop. "Is that what you think?" He asks, his voice much quieter, almost disappointed when you nod. He sets his book down on the table, dragging you around the chair and into his lap. "I give you attention because I like to," he explains, stroking your hair. "I don't need you to fawn over my every move."

You were his partner, not his parent. He didn't need to be watched over or fed and worried about to the extent you'd started leaning into. He needed your love, your support, your respect. Your honesty, kindness, compassion. Your smile, your laugh, your kisses. You, as you. His best friend and the love of his life.

Your lips pull into a tight line, arms wrapping around his neck. "You don't feel neglected?"

He almost laughs, shaking his head. "No," he states. "Never. I feel grateful as hell that you love me despite my past." He fusses with your hair for another moment before cupping your face. "I like showing you how much you mean to me."

You press your forehead against his. "I just don't ever want you to think you don't mean the same to me," you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper. You had always had a similar problem to him, struggling to accept love, let alone show it. He knew that.

His lips pull into a small smile. "I know. Believe me I know," he replies. "You don't need to follow me to the door every day or rub my shoulders for me to know you love me." He pauses for a moment, his voice getting a bit more playful. "But if you want to keep inviting me into the shower I won't complain."

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 2 hours ago

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everywhere, everything

♡Jason Todd x reader

♡Fluff. Shopping with Jason Todd. Risqué hand-holding and forehead kisses, oh my!

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The sun and Jason Todd were a rare combination you couldn't get enough of. You were so used to seeing him under dim streetlights or the glare of cheap LEDs that now in the brightness of the afternoon you were struggling to keep your eyes anywhere but him as you walked through the arcade. His hand keeps a protective grip on your hip to hold you close through the crowds. There's a serious expression stuck on his face, as if this is a mission he'd rather be in uniform for and not simply a Sunday shopping trip.

You reach up and pinch his cheek. The seriousness in his eyes doesn't wane, but it's tinged with slight irritation when he narrows them at you. If it wasn't for the corner of his lip twitching you'd actually believe he was upset. "Couple more stores," you say. "Can you handle that?"

Jason makes a face. You reach up again, this time to ruffle the bangs that hang messily over his forehead. He grabs your hand and brings it to his mouth to bite the tips of your fingers gently.

You elbow him in the ribs, knocking him off-balance. His hand leaves your waist, and you take the opportunity to storm ahead of him, slipping into the crowd.

He's never far behind, hands fisted into the pockets of his leather jacket. Your steps take on a rhythm. You know he's watching the way your ass sways in your dress. The fabric clings in a way that's better suited for a night out, but Jason likes it on you too much for it to stay stuffed in your closet.

You glance over your shoulder as you pull open the door to a bookstore. Blue-green eyes meet yours for the briefest moment before a family of five passes loudly between the two of you, and you take advantage of the distraction to slip inside and disappear.

Inside is calm and quiet, shoppers milling about the shelves. Music plays low over the speakers and from the café the scent of warm coffee wafts over towards you, mingling with the familiar smell of paper. You wander among the books, gaze dragging over the spines, mind elsewhere.

His presence is felt before his hand even grabs yours. It's like a weight on your soul, a squeeze on your heart that causes a skipped beat, a flutter in your stomach. His fingers lace through yours and tug you back to him.

"Don't run away from me." Jason pinches your chin. You scrunch your nose and narrow your eyes, a cat caught in its owner's arms, but you don't pull away. Arms wrap and capture you in a tight embrace, and he kisses your forehead, the smack of his lips against your skin loud enough to be embarrassing.

He smells like...musk, citrus... and nightfall, which to you is a mixture of cold city air and gunpowder. More a feeling than a true scent, but it's wholly him. Your hands find their way under his jacket, under the plain black shirt, to brush against the skin of his back. Fingertips trace muscle and scars, paint small circles as he keeps you close.

You break the embrace. Jason couldn't; the air is heavy with words unsaid, kept behind teeth tightly clenched. You take his hand and lead him. This time, his eyes are glued somewhere more appropriate...on that tangle of fingers, yours through his. How much smaller your hand is. All the thoughts in his head swirl into one: keeping you safe.

"Are we looking for something?" His eyes dart up to your face, catching the concentration in your expression as you're now reading the book spines. He glances at them, but nothing stands out.

You shrug. "Anything interesting."

Now he's concentrating, looking for the answer in the hardcovers. Something you'd like. It has to be him that finds it. The desire to be useful burns in his fingers and toes, twists his heart tight.

If he's not useful, then what is he to you?

You stop, a particular title catching your eye. Jason frowns when you pull the book from the shelf, but remains quiet, reading the blurb on the inside of the jacket from over your shoulder. A romance, set in the future. The promise of rain and heartbreak.

"Really?" Jason cocks an eyebrow.

"Why not? Sounds good." You close the book and hug it to your chest in one arm, the way they taught you in elementary school. "Maybe you can read it with me."

He nods but won't admit out loud how much he wants to. You take his hand to lead him once more, this time towards the back of the store, away from the crowds at the café and registers.

Quiet, except for the low hum of the music. You step away from him but don't let go of his hand, and he uses that to tug you back. His free hand grabs your waist as his body crowds you against the shelf of books pertaining to European history.

Jason dips his head down. This time his lips meet yours, for a kiss that starts short and sweet but inevitably evolves into one that has you clutching your book in one hand and his bicep in the other. His tongue smooths over yours. Hearts beat a weighted pattern, both anxious and overstimulated, with purpose and need.

"Jay," you whisper, on a rare breath. He pauses, eyes sat on your mouth as it shapes around the nickname.

He wants to go home. He won't say it because he doesn't think it's what you want, and he'll follow you wherever you like until you're tired. His wants are coated in selfishness anyway, instead of proper reasons.

Your head rolls back against the shelf. Despite what Jason thinks, it's not hard to tell what's on his mind. "Maybe we should go home. I'm getting kind of tired."

He nods. "Me too."

You're a weakness. He knows it's not right, not safe, to have you like this. You're his heart, and one stray bullet, one misstep, and this world - you, his entire world - comes crashing down around him.

He furrows his brow. You catch it, the almost imperceptible movement, but before you can speak, his lips are closing on yours in another kiss.

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 2 hours ago

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shelter

♡ jason todd x reader

♡ fluffy angst. Jason Todd questions his ability to love and be loved.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

There was a time when you could sleep through the night sounds without stirring - every siren, every shout from the sidewalk, every blaring alarm rolled off your body without so much as a toe twitch.

Nothing was the same anymore. Not since Jason had entered, since you discovered what he did at night, who he was. Now you heard the mice in the walls and the wind on the glass. Always hanging off some precipice, always wondering, asking. Tonight?

Was it worth it? Mostly.

So it's a restless sleep you're pulled from when your phone rings. It jerks you into a sitting position and has your heart punching bruises against your rib cage, your hand reaching to the nightstand to answer before it stops.

One deep breath, to calm your heart, though it doesn't have the desired effect. Your voice still trembles. "Hello?"

"Hey. Did I wake you up?"

Jason sounds the same. His voice is always rougher behind the mask, but the image of him in your head has him without it. Somewhere alone in the darkness of Gotham. You imagine an alley; you don't really know where he goes on these nighttime patrols.

"No," you lie. Your eyes dart to the television, asking if you're still watching? "I was a watching a movie. Where are you?"

He grunts, a noncommittal noise meant to be the answer you're looking for. "I didn't mean to. Sorry."

"It's fine anyway, Jay. I don't mind you waking me." You settle back against the pillows. Habit keeps the spot on the side of the window open for him. "Are you coming over tonight?"

"I don't know."

His words, their tone, wash over you like ice water. Fixing the blanket over your shoulders does nothing. But you don't ask, don't overstep the boundaries he keeps around himself. Don't know how yet.

You're not imagining him right.

Not an alley. He's in an apartment. It's trashed, holes in the fabric of the couch, mold on the walls, trash scattered across the floor. Aside from him, there are two others, a woman and a child. He doesn't know them, but he hurts for them: she's blissed out on some new drug, and the kid's asleep without a care or the knowledge of where the night had taken Jason, or why that even matters to a kid like him. He doesn't know the mistakes that have been made. Not until the sun rises.

He wants to believe it's everything that's happened to him, that's why he's so angry, why he sometimes feels like a million pieces of broken glass trying to fit together again. Why control feels like such a far-off thing, always out of reach. His hands react before the rest of him catch up, and he wants to act like it's everything else - his mother, his father, dying and coming back, Bruce - to blame.

Because if it's on him, then that means he has to be the one to admit it. He has to be the one to fix it.

"Jason." Your voice is soft, like a pillow against his ear. He's woken you up, he knows, and he hates himself for that. He shouldn't have called. Didn't want to talk anyway, but hearing you is fixing something inside him.

"Go back to bed," he says. "I have to take care of some things. You have work tomorrow?"

A little noise, hmm, from your pursed lips. He knows it, makes him smile. The woman nearby moans softly. "Maybe," you say. "Feeling like I might be getting sick, though. Maybe I should skip, just in case."

He's ruining you. Upending your life and throwing it off course, and how undeserving he was of that privilege. This needed an end. It would only get worse from here, and you would end up hating him, or dead.

That thought cuts like a light through the fog. Blinding. Consumes him, swirls in his skull. He looks up at the woman again, and how deserving he is of this scene - of this particular mess he's made, not even considering the kid in the other room who no longer has a father, soon won't have a family at all. Another life destroyed.

Can't destroy yours. This has to end and it has to be now. Better to be hated than speaking at your funeral.

Jason swallows. "I...we need to talk."

"Then come over," you say. "I miss you. I'm worried. You don't sound good."

The words don't come. He's not sure what to say.

"If something happened, you can tell me. Or not, if you're not feeling up to it. I'm not going to act like I understand or I know, like, the shit you do, but you need a space to talk, I'd like to be that space."

Again, he can't answer. He listens not just to your voice but to the sounds you make on the line: the bed complaining as you shift, the rustle of the blanket. And he decides, maybe not yet. Maybe a little longer.

Cruel, that. You deserve more. He can't give it.

"How much longer will you be?" You ask, as if this is the most normal thing.

"Might be morning before I get to you," Jason says. "Don't wait up."

You laugh, and he can't help but smile. "You're not the boss of me. Besides, I don't think I can fall back to sleep. Your fault. I'm not complaining though."

Just a little longer, then he'd figure out a clean break. "Alright. I'll try to be quick."

"Careful over quick, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." His fingers tighten on his phone. There's words he wants to say but he knows he shouldn't, if only because it will make things worse in the end. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll be waiting. Be careful, Jay. I want you home."

Home. Was that you?

"I will. Go back to sleep," he says, again, for no reason. Bids you goodbye and hangs up finally to deal with the situation in front of him. More lives he's about to ruin.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The sun is shaking sleep from her eyes by the time Jason makes it to you, appearing on your fire escape with a soft thud. The sound pulls you from your show, and you watch his grand entrance: prying open your window and slipping inside, still in uniform, mask and hood concealing his face. You leave the warmth of the bed to help him undress wordlessly, and retrieve from your closet clothes he's left here.

"Sorry I'm late." He tugs on a pair of sweatpants while you catefully arrange his uniform on the armchair by the window.

"Better late than never." You close the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist before standing on tiptoes to kiss him. "Tired?"

He nods. "Long night."

That's all he'll tell you, and for now you have no option but to accept it. It's fine.

You wonder what he thinks, as he slips into bed with your, pulls the covers up and you into his arms. What goes through his head. Tonight, he smells like iron and gunpowder, like he does so many nights. Maybe that's part of it; there's things he's done he doesn't want forgiveness for. How do you deal with a man like that? One who sees himself in the most undeserving light?

It's confusing, and there were times to give it up, but those have long passed. Now his future is mapped on yours.

You brush your fingers lightly over the scar that cuts down the center of his abdomen. "I love you, Jason," you whisper, words light kisses to his neck.

He hugs you tighter. He won't say it, and that, too, is fine for now. There is always tomorrow, and there always will be.

In time, sleep will come for you both: you first, then Jason. But for now he lays awake, holding you as your lips part and eyes close, your body relaxing into exhaustion again. He thinks about too many things. Can't calm his thoughts.

But maybe there is tomorrow. Maybe for now, you can be his home.

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 2 hours ago

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routines in the night

♡ Jason Todd x reader

♡ semi-angsty fluff

♡ a nighttime routine, adjusted to having a vigilante for a boyfriend. It's not all roses and bedtime kisses.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Lately you’ve been getting ready for bed earlier, when the moon is still low in the sky. The stars are washed away by the lights of the Gotham skyline. Outside your apartment window a street light flickers, but it’s nothing but a dull glow behind the curtains.

Jason sits on the edge of your bed, watching your movements through the open bathroom door. It has become something of an obsession for him, your nighttime routine. Maybe it grounds him. Makes it all feel real. His eyes never leave your face in the mirror as he watches your fingers swirl cleanser over your cheeks. Remain steadfast when you swipe a cotton pad soaked in toner over those same cheeks, upward motions, then across your forehead and jaw. Next, careful dots of serum, pat in with pretty fingertips.

Thick lotion, and you purse your lips at the mirror. He notices the fight you have, trying not to wrinkle your forehead and keep your face relaxed as you work. Then his favorite part comes, though he doesn’t know why – you lean forward to dot eye cream under your beautiful eyes, your mouth hanging open and your brow unintentionally furrowed in concentration. Maybe that’s what it is, the way you seem so serious about something so simple. You cap the tube and replace it in the drawer before patting the cream with your ring finger until it’s fully absorbed.

You tug off the fuzzy headband keeping your hair in place and stuff it back into the drawer with your other skincare supplies. Jason’s still watching as you shut the bathroom light off and close the door. He’s already in uniform for the night; the only thing missing is the mask.

You stand between his legs at the end of the bed. He gazes up at you, the look in his eyes heavy, almost back-breaking. You both know what comes next. These routines in the night, so predictable.

“Do you have to go out?” You ask, though the answer is always the same:

“Yeah.” Jason takes a deep breath, his shoulders sinking with the exhale. “I’m working on something.”

You want to say no, forbid him, demand he give up the bullshit and settle down, but you think it’s not within your rights. Who are you to ask that of him? You can’t imagine a Jason that sits still, that thinks of himself before this stupid city.

So you do what you always do. You cup his cheeks, you kiss his forehead. “Be careful,” you say, in the same tone you had last night – same fight against the break in your words, same swallow around the knot in your throat – your lips linger against his skin. Don’t let go.

Jason takes your hands. Like last night, he has to be the one to end this. “I will.” He kisses your fingertips first, then the tops of your hands, before tugging you gently. Your lips meet his in a chaste kiss. Short, because he wants you to think of it as a prequel, and that when he returns some hour after midnight he’ll give you a proper one.

You step back and let him stand. He pulls you against his chest. Thoughts run through his head – say it, just say it – but his mouth remains closed, better used to kiss your cheek for now. The words are difficult for him to form. Maybe he’s afraid, because if he admits something like that, what happens when he doesn’t come back? Despite the past, he’s not immortal. He doesn’t know if he wants to come back this time, even if he says those three words.

He doesn’t want to imagine how broken you would be then.

“I’ll be back.” Another kiss. Jason steps away – again, it has to be him – and grabs his mask from the armchair by the window. “Don’t wait up.”

The words fall to the floor at his feet. You don’t hear them.

He leaves through the front door. You lock it after him, fix the chains, the deadbolt. His orders. He’ll come in through the window; he knows the alarm code. It’s safer that way, he says.

You climb into bed. Alone. The darkness is a weighted thing, crushing the air from your lungs.

Sleep won’t come until you hear that window slide open.

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 2 hours ago

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

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 2 hours ago

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red-handed

♡ MDNI 18+

♡ jason todd x fem!reader

♡ you catch jason doing something a little...inappropriate.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

A thought knocks at the back of Jason's skull as he lays in your bed long after you'd left for work: maybe he was spending a little too much time here.

He was getting comfortable. Too comfortable. His clothes hung in your closet and his toothbrush sat in the cup next to yours. His boots had taken up residence next to the front door near the slippers you wore around the apartment. After patrol, yours was the only bed he wanted to greet. He was scattered around the space, in the corners and the blinds and the cushions of the couch.

And what did he do to repay you? Mess up your sheets and pile dishes in your sink. You'd posed the question - why not move in? - but Jason felt too strongly that he didn't deserve it. If he took that step, how much you'd discover...you'd grow to hate him.

With a sigh, a heave of shoulders, he sits up. Ugly, purple bruises paint his back, a result of last night's messy patrol. You'd been asleep by the time he crawled back to you, and as hurt as he was, as much as he needed you, he'd remained quiet. Stripped off his gear and left it on the armchair by the window, changed into a pair of sweats. You'd rolled over when you felt the bed shift from his weight, pressed your back into his chest. Like instinct.

And he hadn't even noticed you leaving.

Up. There were dishes in the sink, junk mail scattered over the kitchen counter, clothes to be washed. He'd earn his keep. He'd show you he deserved to be here.

Jason grabs a shirt from the closet and tugs it on, wincing at the movements required. Take care of the laundry first - that's a walk down the stairs to the laundromat. Then back to wash the dishes. Another idea - he should make dinner. He can do that. Maybe.

He can definitely order dinner. Something nice. You'll like that better, he feels.

The basket of dirty clothes sits on the bathroom floor. The pile is close to collapsing, and with another wince Jason realizes half of the items are his. It's too much for one trip. He needs another basket, a bag, something to hold half of it...

He grabs a trash bag from under the kitchen sink. It's only for a little bit, but he's careful to only grab his dirty clothes and stuff them into the bag. It's important to take care of your things first.

Done, Jason leaves the bag in the bathroom and carries the basket of your dirty clothes to the living room, sets it on the coffee table. He needs...he needs his shoes...

He swallows.

Atop the clothes is a silky red thong. A tiny black bow adorns the front. At one point, there was a plastic diamond at the center of the bow, but it broke off that night he nearly tore the panties ripping them down your legs. His gut tightens at the memory of that night, of you draped across the bed like a piece of art, hickeys on your thighs and breasts and neck, your nails in his back as he fucked you so rough the headboard scraped the paint from the wall.

Jason glances at the door, where there's no movement at all, before down at the growing trouble in his sweatpants. A quick one, just to get it out of his system. Then he'll do the laundry. Can't be productive with these distractions, can he?

He grabs the panties from the basket. They'll get washed after he's done. You won't know; he doubts it would bother you anyway. It'll be faster with the stimulation.

His eyes close as he brings your panties to his face. God, your fucking smell. A little sweet, strong, delicious. He lays his head on the back of the couch as he sinks into comfort, one hand dipping under the waistband of his sweats, and sniffs again. Like he's buried between your thighs, lips wrapped around your clit, your fluids dripping from your aroused cunt onto his tongue.

Jason pulls his cock free. Pre-cum beads at the tip, and he smears it over the head with his fingers as his tongue darts out to taste you on the fabric. Not as strong as having you spread open in front of him, but close enough for more pre-cum to dribble out, streaking down his cock.

God. You. He grunts as he gives his almost painful erection a single pump, and licks the panty crotch again, this time saturating the silk with his spit. He wraps it loosely around his cock and gives himself another pump. The silk is smooth, soaked with pre-cum and spit, brushing the sensitive underside of his cock head with every stroke.

His hips stutter upwards. Buried in you, your tight walls soft, warm...that's what he needs. Needs you wrapped around him and milking his cock, bouncing in his lap, your tits matching your eager rhythm as you chase your release. His hand tightens, stroke quickens, at the image in his head.

He misses the sound of the lock clicking on the front door.

The scrape of the door on the threshold, that he does notice. He shoots up, quick to untangle your panties from his cock as the door opens wide. He fixes his sweatpants as you step inside - as if that makes a difference with the way his erection tents the fabric, immediately drawing your gaze downward.

Your mouth hangs open. Everything fits together in little pieces: the laundry, the pre-cum staining the front of Jason's sweats, the panties bunched in his fist.

"Hi." You blink, meet his wide-eyed stare. The tips of his ears burn red. "You're up."

Jason buries his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. "Yeah. I was...gonna do your laundry. For you. While you were at work. You're not at work."

"I left early. Migraine." The slight throbbing behind your eyes is so light you nearly forgot it was there. More an excuse to leave early than anything else. "When you say 'do' the laundry, do you mean you were going to wash it, or fuck it?"

Jason's mouth flaps wordlessly. He clears his throat. "I was gonna take it down," he insists. "I got distracted."

You close the door before taking a step forward, letting your bag drop to the ground. "You did? How terrible."

"I didn't mean - I'm sorry." His fists clench in his pockets. "I mean, I was gonna wash them anyway, I just thought..."

His words fade as you approach and shift off your coat. "You poor thing. What am I going to do with you?"

Jason's gaze drops to your lips, entranced by the way they form around the question, no doubt imagining them in other, more provocative situations. You reach into his pocket to free your panties from his fingers and hold them up in front him. "They're drenched." You sigh, fighting to keep up the facade and hide how soaked the panties you're currently wearing are.

"I'm sorry," he says again, this time a little more out of breath, a little less apologetic. In his pockets, his fingers dig into his palms as he holds on to control. All he wants - no, needs is to pick you up and throw you onto the bed, and fuck you until the metal frame breaks and you're screaming his name at the top of your lungs.

Heart beating in your fingertips, you push down his waistband. His stare remains locked on your face until your fingers brush his engorged cock, the touch cool and soothing as well as infuriating. You tie your panties loosely around the base of his member.

Jason lifts your chin and brings your eyes back to his again. "What're you doing?"

You don't answer, not out loud, but your fingers do. They undo the buttons on your top, strip the fabric from your shoulders, before slipping down the straps of your bra. Jason lifts his hands in an attempt to help. "No," you say, taking his hand as you undo the clasp at your back. "Not yet. Punishment first."

"Punishment?" He grins. Hand in yours, he follows your lead to the bed. You let go of him to unbutton your jeans.

"Strip," you order.

He's quick to listen as you climb onto the bed and lie back against the pillows. Your core is in knots, pulsing internally with rhythmic need. When he's undressed, he places a knee on the bed, one destination in mind. You stop him with a foot to his chest.

"Since you want to taste me so bad, go on." You spread your legs for him, inner thighs wet with the arousal that drips from your cunt. He salivates at the scene, you so exposed and drenched for him. It's better than his imagination.

Jason grips the backs of your thighs and lifts your legs, opening you further for him, until your knees are at your chest. His cock twitches with excitement as he lowers his lips to your pussy. You inhale sharply as he drags his tongue flat through your slit and flicks it over your clit. Another drag, wetter, hotter, his tongue thrusting into your cunt to taste you.

"Good," you whisper. You take a breath, back arching and hips lifting. His grip tightens and keeps you in place as he fucks into you with his tongue, upper lip just brushing your clit - enough to entice but not enough to stimulate. You swallow. "Good boy, but I need more than that, Jason."

His tongue drags up to give your clit a few teasing circles before his lips wrap around and trap the bud. You scrape your fingers through his hair and hold tight, cementing him against you as the suction from his lips and the vibration from his moans bring you higher. Your movements are restricted but that doesn't stop your body from trying, seeking more, more, more.

You whimper, fingers tangled at the back of his head, heart pulsing in your core as it knots. "Almost. So close, Jason..." Your head lifts off the pillow and you meet his intense gaze. His hips jerk, cock in desperate need of friction he can only get from humping the bed at the moment. Forget telling him off; that desperation is what throws you over the edge.

You cry out as your orgasm reaches boiling point and rips through your body, causing you to collapse against the pillows again. Release drips from your cunt to his lips, and he drinks it messily.

"Stop," you pant, body trembling with the aftershocks. Jason drags his tongue up your slit one more time before moving to kiss your stomach. A trail of wet, messy kisses marks his path up, attention slathered at each of your breasts in turn. You sigh and moan when he wraps lips around a pebbled nipple and sucks.

Teeth scrape your neck but never break skin. His lips are shiny and wet when they meet yours, and the taste is sweet. Your legs make attempts to wrap his waist and goad him on, but he keeps you folded into position. All you get is his cock grinding in your slick, the head brushing against your overstimulated clit and your panties, still tied around the base, tickle your cunt.

"What punishment next?" Jason pushes up and slides his hands down, but you don't move your legs. "Or is that enough? Am I still in trouble?"

You shake your head, though he's not looking, too caught in playing with your pussy to notice. His thumbs spread your swollen lips for him as he continues to grind his cock on you.

"Jason. Jason."

He looks up. You reach down and wrap your fingers around his cock, keeping him still long enough for you to untie him. "You can fuck me now," you say.

"Yes, ma'am. Don't want to keep you waiting, huh?" He leans to give you another kiss, your legs crushed down by his broad shoulders. He takes your hands and places them at the backs of your knees. "I need you to hold on," he says. "Need you spread open for me, got it?"

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out - he takes that moment of stunned silence to sink his cock into your heat, slow and dragging, giving you seconds to adjust to his size before pulling back partway.

What's louder - the squelch of your pussy as he slams into you, the creak of the bed frame, or the cry he rips from your lips? You can't tell. You don't have time to figure out before he slams into you again. Your fingers dig into your own legs, the limbs already going numb as he fucks into you without abandon. Every thrust is accented with a moan, an almost breath, a grunt from him.

It's a steady pace, rocking and slamming into your cervix, fucking every thought out of your head. "So tight, babe," Jason pants, sweat dripping down is forehead, tracing his jaw. He grits his teeth, pleasure building at the base of his spine. He was never going to last, not after that so-called punishment, that taste of your orgasm still on his tongue. Though he's close, his pace doesn't relent, holding firm.

"This wet for me?" He manages to ask between groans. "You liked it, huh? Want more? Want me to fill this..." He grunts as your walls clench around his cock, sucking him in, threatening to end him. "Fill this pussy? Tell me, babe...tell me you want it."

Your entire body is in shambles, tightening and knotting and close to coming undone again. You nod because it feels like all you can do, crying out, "Yesyesyesyesyes." One long mess of a word, begging as that rope in your core snaps.

You can't hold your legs. You grab the headboard instead, slam it to the wall and silence it as your back arches and body tightens. Pleasure burns like lightning through your nerves. He doesn't give you space to break, to breathe, fucking you through the orgasm without mercy, relishing the way you clench and pulse around him. Exactly what he needs to send him crashing over the edge after you.

The feel of his cock throbbing as he pumps his release into you is enough to knock you off once more, this orgasm smaller and tighter and rough in your overstimulated state. Jason grinds against your cervix as you milk him for every drop, so much your combined fluids are already dripping out of your cunt, down your ass to pool on the bed. His lips crash on yours. You whimper into his mouth, heart about to leap out of your chest.

Then he's gone, pulling out of you, but his cum has no time to leak out further before his mouth is on your pussy again. You gasp - it burns, everything from your toes to your cheeks, but especially your clit as he circles it with his tongue.

"Jason!" You whine, push at his head. "I can't - no more."

He sinks his tongue into your heat, tasting the combined flavors of the two of you, salty and sweet. "One more for me, please," he says. The words flush over your clit, the last bit of air the bud gets before it becomes trapped in his lips again. Fingers this time - two of them, not as thick as his cock, but thrust with precision, finding that rough patch of pleasure almost immediately as he sucks hard.

Your body resists; it doesn't have the heart for another orgasm, and the build-up is slow, dragging, riding the edge between pain and pleasure. It swells in your core as he thrusts his fingers harder, faster, increases suction on your clit.

"Right...there." The words leak through gritted teeth. Every muscle tenses, every bit of fiber in your body concentrating on this pleasure. You keen in frustration as the peak sharpens.

Then it snaps. Your vision goes white when his fingers press that spot a final time, the suction on your clit harsh, and your release squirts from your cunt with enough force to soak his face, drip down his chin to his chest.

Jason pulls back and quickly moves to kiss you again, to guide you through the aftershocks as your body trembles. "So good," he whispers, kissing your cheeks, the tip of your nose. Showering you in him as the orgasm ebbs. "All that for me, huh, babe? You did so good. I didn't think you'd make such a mess though."

You whine, punching his shoulder with weak fists. He laughs softly and wraps you in his arms before collapsing next to you.

Still shivering, you bury against his chest, chasing the wild beat of his heart as he comes down. His fingers make lazy circles on the small of your back as your breathing steadies.

"You still have to do the laundry," you mumble.

"Mm." Jason kisses the top of your head. "After a nap."

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pridecomethbeforethefall · 3 hours ago

Text

JASON TODD yearns for you.

like actually, truly yearns.

it’s not lust, or having, or craving your skin or body — it’s needing. needing for your hand in his, your arms around his shoulders, his face in the crook of your neck. needing, so intense that the first time he can put a word to it he feels like a fucking character in a romance novel.

because who the hell yearns if they aren’t? and when the hell did he start to consider himself romantic enough to fucking yearn for you like a forlorn widow?

he doesn’t know. but he does.

fuck, he does.

jason yearns for the way you laugh, head tipped forward as you wheeze at the stupidest shit. he yearns for that look you give him when he says something out of pocket, upper lip curled in disgust and brows knitted together. it’s like he can see the words ‘he’s trying to give me an aneurism’ tattooed on your forehead.

he yearns for the way you sleep, clothes and covers a mess because you never stay still, and drool pooling in the corner of your lips. he yearns to swipe it away, to press the pad of his thumb to your chin and wipe at your skin so gently, and kiss you awake like a princess. he won’t wake you though. not with his silly romanticisms.

he yearns for the way you look in your ( his ) oversized shirts and your ratty pajamas you’ve had for way too long, the way your bonnet hides your hair and gives him the best view of your sleep flushed cheeks, the way you pick the crust from your eyes and blink up at him while you wobble into the kitchen before the sun is up.

he yearns for you on missions, and long patrols. yearns to just have you again. to be in your arms instead, to have his head on your tummy and his arms hooked around your back, pulling you so close as he breathes you in and settles his body between your thighs, because it’s his favorite way to fall asleep.

he yearns for your presence, for the damn sight of you. he yearns for your voice, and ‘yapping’, when he gets to hear every thought in that pretty head. he loves it. he yearns for your hand on his arm, for your thigh pressed against his while you sit, he yearns like a man starved.

and he is, starved of you, no matter how much he gets.

he would crawl into your ribs if he could, wedge himself into the most vulnerable part of you — deep in the cavities of your heart, behind your sternum and between your lungs, where he could feel that steady thrum of your pulse always, and know you’re alive, well, safe, his.

jason yearns for you. just yearns. he wants for you like it’s his religion, he needs for you like it’s devotional.

and you see it. you feel, in the way he keeps you close.

in the way he lets you touch him, baring the parts of himself that he can barely stand for you to caress and keen over because you like them so. he lets your fingernails scrape along his scalp, lets you press tender, gentle kisses to scars you know better than to ask about. he seeks it out.

in the way he takes care of you, always making sure you’ve eaten, offering to bring or make you food when you haven’t, always offering to do something for you, even if it’s just to keep you company while you start the laundry.

in the way he holds you, so tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. he presses every inch of himself to you that he can, like he wants to fuse the two of you together. you’d let him, if you could.

you feel it in the kisses he gives you, always somewhere you don’t expect — your eyelids, and the back of your neck, the shell of your ear when you’re trying to sleep, and the place between your shoulder blades — and his favorite, the palm of your hand, just like everytime you cradle his face.

it’s like he can’t bear you touching him so sweetly, without him touching you.

he always pulls your hand to his lips, eyes clamping shut like he’s trying to absorb you, fingers twisted with his as his lips press to your skin. every time.

and it’s like every kiss says something.

the apple of your cheek, ‘my heart’. the column of your throat, ‘my blood’. your shoulder, ‘my love’. the valley of your chest, ‘my breath’. the length of your arm, ‘my mercy’. the pulse point on your wrist, ‘my heaven’.

his favorite, your ring finger, the one he knows he’ll adorn one day, when you’re ready. ‘my life’.

jason peter todd yearns for you. his salvation, his saving, his grace, his life. for you.

A/N i am perpetuating the jason ‘yearning’ todd agenda one day at a time bitch. that man is NOT NONCHALANT in the goddamned slightest. he is the most loud and chalant man to ever exist and he loves HARD. like it’s his purpose bro

type of guy to loveeeee when you ask him dumbass shit like ‘would you put me in ur pocket’ because he can be like ‘yes!!!! yes i would!!!! take you everywhere with me!!!’

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