rosaeh

[rosaeh]

husband !!!

i did both versions hehhe

[rosaeh]

so cute omgg

I have a grandchid?

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WARNINGS: none really, just funny banter

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Jason Todd liked to think he wore many masks.

The city knew him as Red Hood. To his brothers, he was the snarky, trigger-happy one. To Bruce, a question mark with a temper. But every Tuesday and Thursday, in a tidy, sun-filled classroom, he was something else entirely:

Mr. Jay.

He taught third grade English Lit. Paperbacks. Book fairs. Glitter-covered essays. Small chairs. Lots of stickers.

And somehow? He loved it.

Jason never expected to find peace in a room full of tiny, chaotic humans, but here he was—"Mister Jay" to twenty-four third-graders at Gotham Academy’s lower school, reading Charlotte’s Web with more expression than he thought humanly possible.

He wore cardigans now. He drank peppermint tea. He even had a bulletin board labeled "Our Word Wall."

And he hadn’t told a soul in his family

Not because he was ashamed—he actually liked it. He liked the simplicity, the structure, the way little Brian Jennings waved at him with both hands every morning and offered him a friendship bracelet made of rainbow rubber bands. He liked the chaos he could understand for once.

“Okay, who can tell me what the monster in Where the Wild Things Are really represents?”

Rory’s hand shot up first—Rory with wild curls, a constant sprinkle of glitter on her cheeks, and a reading level two grades above her age.

Jason grinned. “Hit me, Rory.”

“His FEELINGS. Because Max was MAD and monsters are mad feelings!”

“You nailed it.” Jason gave her a fist bump. “A plus level insight. Someone write that down.”

Rory beamed like she’d just won an Oscar.

It started during the fall parent-teacher conference, when you arrived ten minutes late, breathless and apologetic, your daughter’s glitter-covered backpack slung over your shoulder.

Jason took one look at you—coffee-stained shirt, wild bun, tired eyes and soft voice—and immediately short-circuited.

“Sorry—my car wouldn’t start, and then I had to stop Rory from feeding goldfish crackers to a raccoon.”

Jason blinked. Smiled. “Sounds like a Tuesday.”

“Sorry again,” you huffed, taking a seat. “I’ve had a long day.”

He blinked. “No problem. Uh, Rory’s doing great.”

You sighed in relief. “She talks about you all the time. Mr. Jay says this, Mr. Jay says that. I was starting to think she liked you more than me.”

Jason laughed—and it was a real one, the kind that crept into his ribs and stayed. “Don’t worry, she just likes that I let them write haikus about dragons.”

“Haikus?”

“Very serious educational practice.”

You smiled. Something clicked into place.

It started slow. A cup of coffee after conferences. A chat outside after school pickup. Then, one Saturday, he ran into you and Rory at the Gotham public library. Rory sprinted into his legs, squealing “MISTER JAY!!!” loud enough to startle nearby birds.

That day ended with the three of you at a bakery. Rory passed out with a cookie in her hand. You gave him a look—surprised, amused, softened—and said, “She’s never warmed up to someone like this.”

Jason didn’t say anything. Just wrapped Rory’s scarf tighter and said, “She’s a good kid.”

What he meant was: I’d do anything to keep her happy.

Jason fell hard. Harder than he’d fallen in years. He kept it quiet at first, didn’t want to spook you with his baggage, didn’t want Bruce to send a drone overhead and “investigate” why his second-oldest son was skipping crime fighting for PTA meetings.

He just wanted this one thing for himself.

And somehow, it worked.

You dated quietly. Rory loved him instantly. He helped her with spelling words and listened to her detailed theories about dragons living in Gotham’s sewer systems. He fixed your heater when it broke and always remembered your favorite snacks.

By the time spring rolled around, he was yours, completely.

Jason was...gone. Just absolutely a goner. He’d found a rhythm in the chaos—dinner with you, homework with Rory, bedtime stories, and night patrol. It was weird and messy and full of glitter.

And it was home.

He was there when Rory lost her first tooth. When she scraped her knee on the playground and insisted only Mister Jay could clean it. When she had a nightmare and called him, not you, because "Daddy Jay fights monsters."

He didn’t correct her. Not once.

You saw it—how she clung to him, how he always bent to her level, how she crawled into his lap like it was the safest place on earth.

You asked him once, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

Jason kissed your forehead. “She’s my kid, too. Blood or not.”

So when you had an emergency work trip and your usual babysitter canceled, you didn’t even hesitate.

“You sure you don’t mind watching her overnight?” you asked, handing him a list of instructions and emergency contacts longer than a novel.

“Go save the world, I have this covered.” 

You kissed his cheek, hugged Rory tight, and left.

“Alright,” Jason turned to her. “Movie or fort?”

Rory’s eyes sparkled. “BOTH.”

Jason kissed your cheek. “She’s my favorite kid. We’re going to build a pillow fort and eat suspicious amounts of mac and cheese. Go save the day.”

What neither of you accounted for... was Bruce Wayne.

Two hours later, the living room was a pillow apocalypse. Jason wore a glitter crown and had his nails painted purple. Rory was asleep, snuggled in his hoodie, soft snores muffled under a blanket castle.

It started at 6:37 p.m., when Bruce—who was supposed to be on a League mission—showed up at Jason’s apartment.

The door creaked open.

Jason glanced up.

And froze.

Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway.

“I need to talk to you about the armory in Blüdhaven,” Bruce said, standing in the doorway like the world’s most dramatic bat.

“Uh.” Jason didn’t move. “Hey.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked to the bright pink tiara sitting crookedly on his hair. The glitter smearing his cheeks. The empty sippy cup peeking out of his pocket.

Jason, his Jason, was wearing a pink apron that said “Kiss the Cook” and holding a bowl of glitter slime, staring at him dumbfounded. “Now?”

Then Rory ran into the room with a towel-cape tied around her shoulders. “JAY. THE UNICORN IS UNDER ATTACK.”

She froze when she saw Bruce.

Bruce froze when he saw her.

There was a long, loaded silence.

Jason opened his mouth.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “...Is there something you want to tell me?”

Rory looked up at Jason and whispered, “Is that Batman?”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, that’s Batman.”

“COOL,” she whispered loudly.

“She looks like you,” Bruce said.

“WHAT?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you WHAT?!”

“That you have a child.”

“She’s not—! I mean—! I’m babysitting!”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“I’m serious! She’s not mine!”

A pause. Then a tiny voice mumbled, “Daddy Jay?”

Jason died.

Bruce looked like he had transcended.

“She calls you—”

“She’s SIX and I READ TO HER. It’s a TITLE OF AFFECTION, not a PATERNITY CLAIM!”

“She has your nose.”

Jason screamed, his arms wildly flailing. “She has a BUTTON NOSE!”

Bruce just stated “I expect pictures at Christmas.”

Rory interrupted cheerfully, “He’s dating my mom!”

Bruce looked like he aged ten years in one second.

“...You’re dating a civilian... with a child… and didn’t tell me?”

“She’s not mine!” Jason repeated, clutching the slime bowl like a lifeline. “I’m just babysitting!”

Rory handed Bruce a plastic tiara. “Do you want to be the princess or the dragon?”

Bruce stared at it. Then at Jason.

Jason shrugged helplessly.

Bruce sighed. “Dragon.”

When you came back the next morning, you were greeted by a sight you would never forget:

Jason, asleep on the couch, Rory curled up beside him like a cat. The apartment was a war zone of glitter, tiaras, and cookie crumbs.

And Bruce Wayne, sitting in a tiny plastic chair at Rory’s tea table, wearing a paper crown and reading a bedtime story.

He looked up at you. “She made me tea.”

You blinked. “Is it real tea?”

“No. It’s glue and glitter water.”

“Ah.”

“She named me Sparkle Dragon.”

You smiled. “Fitting. What happened?”

“Your kid called me Daddy Jay. In front of Bruce.”

You blinked. “Okay. And?”

“He thinks she’s my biological daughter.”

“... Did you correct him?”

Jason stared at you. “She said I have her nose. Bruce believed her.”

You covered your mouth to hide your laugh. “Well... she has told people you’re her ‘real’ dad since February.”

Jason groaned into his hands.

You kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay. Honestly... I don’t mind. You are kind of her dad.”

Jason looked up.

You met his eyes. “You show up. You care. You paint her nails and make dragon haikus and fight the blender when she wants smoothies. That’s more than biology.”

Jason’s chest tightened. Then softened.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Love you more”

Jason opened one eye. “Tell me you brought coffee.”

You laughed. “Only if you tell me why Batman is babysitting my child.”

Jason sighed into the pillow. “Long story.”

Bruce stood. “She’s a good kid.”

“She’s a menace,” Jason mumbled fondly.

Rory woke up and shouted, “GLITTER PANCAKES?”

[rosaeh]

AHH LOVE THIS 😫😫

omg yes like cowboy jason working around the ranch in a tank top or without it tbh, all sweaty, muscles flexing. what a sight for sore eyes😫😫 and the hat !!! he'd never take it off i bet

teehee 🤭

farmhand!jason todd x reader. reader owns a farm, jason helps. tw minor cut. lots of ogling 😋

****

"Horses need to be taken inside."

You look up from your seat on the porch swing. You've spent the better part of the hot afternoon in the shade, doing your taxes. Possibly the worst part of running a farm, besides all the excrement.

Jason's got a bridle over his shoulder and a pail of feed in the opposite hand. His neck gleams with sweat. His biceps bulge in his flexed arms. His hat sits low to block the unforgiving sun, so you can't see his eyes. You hope he can't see your wandering gaze.

"Oh, okay. Because of the heat?" This is your first summer on your farm. You're trying to learn everything you can for the future.

He nods. "Then I'll move the rest of the hay."

You make a mental note to watch when Jason starts tossing hay bales. Woof. "Okay. Thanks, Jason. I'm gonna make lunch soon."

He gives you a thumbs up and walks away. You do not (repeat, do not) stare at his broad backside as he walks away. That would be unprofessional and really, really stupid because Jason's the only good farmhand you've found in a sixty-mile radius, and it was sheer luck that brought him here. You can't afford to go searching for someone else because your little crush got out of hand.

It wasn't your dream to own a farm. Your uncle died suddenly in March, and no one else in the family wanted the land. You were convinced by a family friend that a farm was a great way to be self-sufficient. Start anew.

They weren't wrong; you just aren't much of a farmer. It's only because of Jason that you've made any profit at all, or you might've run the farm into the ground.

Jason Todd. You met him by accident in town when he was passing through one day. He told you he was looking for work in an accent that wasn't from anywhere around here. He refused to answer any further questions. That suited you fine in your desperation. You were too frazzled to think about the consequences of hiring a mysterious, handsome stranger. But it's been two months now, and you're regretting everything.

Oh, he's fantastic help. That's not the issue.

The issue is how gently Jason speaks to the cows and the horses, squeezing them affectionately when he thinks you're not watching. It's how he doesn't say much, ever, but he somehow knows when you need help with a chore or when you're daunted by the responsibility of a farm.

Wordlessly, he goes where you go, shouldering the majority of labor. Jason will let you do chores long enough so you learn how they're done, and then he'll take over, shooing you away in minimal words.

He's good at what he does; he's worked on plenty of farms and ranches before. It's entirely professional on his end. It's a little more than that for you.

It almost feels domestic some days: Jason tending to the livestock, you handling the business end of things. Jason offered to make deliveries for you, and you agreed, but he wouldn't accept extra payment for it. At first, you tried to pay him for everything, unsure of the proper etiquette. Jason had very firmly told you that that was a good way to be robbed blind.

Jesus, you're already housing me, feeding me, and paying me. This is my damn job, got it?

And did that deter you from developing a crush? No! If anything, it made it worse, working with a guy who insisted upon being honestly compensated. You overdo it now by making extra pies or chicken bakes for Jason to graze on throughout the day, especially if you're not home. He tells you it's too much, but he won't refuse the extra food.

Sometimes, it feels like he knows exactly what you're doing and why you're doing it. He looks at you with such a piercing gaze, you feel unraveled. He must know your feelings. You hope he doesn't. You hope he does.

You finish the last tax form, happy to be done. Then you stand and stretch before going inside to start lunch. On his days off, Jason cooks for both of you. But being that he takes on the chores and deliveries, you don't mind cooking most days. It's nice to cook for another person, especially one who appreciates your efforts.

Embarrassingly, you've fantasized about Jason coming into the kitchen and sipping kisses from your lips, squeezing your waist, telling you how good the food smells and how good you taste. Your spine goes straight when Jason passes by and gets close to you, so close that you can feel his earthy heat. But he never touches you. And he certainly doesn't tell you how you good you taste.

The curtains on the kitchen window are parted. You have a perfect view of Jason in his white undershirt and jeans and boots. He's stocky and taller than any man you've ever met, all muscle and fat, built like an ox. He told you once it's all he's good for, his strength. You don't know about that, but you can't deny that he's built for farm work.

He lifts the hay bales now, tossing them easily. You absently prepare chicken salad sandwiches while you watch Jason work. You feel like a pervert, gagging for a glimpse of your employee doing his job. You don't possess quite enough shame to stop, though.

Maybe you need to start dating again. Maybe this is just because you're lonely and Jason is the person you interact with the most. You should go to the events they host a few miles away for single people. You're sure you'd at least find someone to occupy your time for a little while.

Then again, you need to focus on the farm. You can't let yourself get distracted by some nobody. Jason cares about your farm's success, so he's okay. But you can't invite anyone else into your life right now.

Cosmic forces deal you your payback then. You're chopping celery for the salad and the knife slips. It's not a serious cut, but it's deep enough for blood to gush from your finger.

The porch door swings open then. Jason hangs up his hat on the hook. His eyes immediately fall onto your bleeding finger.

"It's just a little cut," you begin, but Jason ignores you. He herds you like a sheepdog into a seat at the kitchen table, and you obey, dazed by his bulk and easy command. No wonder the horses listen easily to him and not to you.

Jason washes his hands, then gets the first aid kid from under the sink. He's the one who insisted on you getting it. It's been used quite a bit, you being accident-prone, especially with unfamiliar equipment. The first time you needed it, Jason looked at you with a little smugness, proud that his suggestion came in handy. Your crush blossomed.

"I can do it," you say when Jason sits down next to you with the kit, but he wordlessly ignores you and you watch, almost through an out-of-body experience, as Jason takes your wrist and gently cleans your cut. It stings, and you hiss. He squeezes you in apology, then continues, sealing your cut with a band-aid.

Jason's hair is spiked with sweat. He's got a smear of dirt on his cheek. God, what you'd give to see him in the bath. He only takes five minute showers for as long as you've known him: quick and efficent.

As soon as your cut is tended to, Jason stands, the chair scraping back. He puts away the kit and continues where you left off with the celery, using a fresh knife and a fresh board. Luckily, no blood got on the food.

"I can keep cutting," you say. "Jason, you go wash up. I can do it."

Again, you're ignored, and it's not like you can muscle your way to the counter. So you huff and take the iced tea out of the fridge instead. It's not long before Jason's putting two plates down, yours with potato chips inside of the sandwich, just how you like it.

"You're so stubborn," you say, huffing without any heat.

"Takes one to know one," he says neutrally, filling the glasses with water first. He's always getting on you about staying hydrated. Caffeine is a diuretic, he reminds you.

You grumble. "Kicking me out of my own kitchen..."

But you can't shake the feeling of Jason's calloused hands on yours. His skin was sun-hot. How are you going to manage when he inevitably leaves for more work?

"Thank you for taking care of everything, though," you say, unable to stop your soft words. "And me."

"'S my job," he says, hunched over his sandwich, not looking at you.

"To take care of me?" you ask, face getting warmer.

"You're the boss. You're part of the farm."

"Oh."

God, you're in trouble.

[rosaeh]

weird little spirit child following some undead guy like a puppy

[rosaeh]

this is everything actually

No no no, Jason is not the one who is emotionally repressed, all the other bats are, and they are emotionally repressed in a way that makes them many times unable to receive each other's emotions as well. And in Jason's case...well, there is always the layer of him being seen especially untrustworthy, always too much, always making things bigger than they are. Jason is painfully open with his emotions, actually, and many times he gets absolutely nothing back when he shows them.

And then one day he is upset with Roy over something and he lays it out incredibly clearly, using so many words to describe it, to really, really hammer it in, to just make him listen-

-and only for Roy to go okay. Yeah, I can see that, I'm sorry. I'll work on it. You think this would help with you feeling more comfortable?

This leads to Jason just bluescreening because. his brain has already been conditioned to expect nothing he says to be actually acknowledged. So now he is standing there, staring, and Roy is getting kinda nervous.

[rosaeh]

let him sleep well!!

[rosaeh]

let him sleep well!!

[rosaeh]

i’m aliiiiiive!!! please have this offering that I started writing last month and finally finished this month (it is literally the only thing keeping me going imagining this rn). anyways, i’ve always thought that jay would be great with periods bc one: he’s a grown ass man who knows it’s perfectly natural, and two: he’s seen way, way worse on a nightly basis. also he’s a yearning lover boy who would take care of his partner like they were precious.

tw: explicit discussion of menstrual cycles (symptoms + treatments + the messes that come with it), moderately suggestive at the end

Thinking about Jason Todd who is so good at handling your period that he ruins you for any other man. You wake up to the telltale ache in your lower belly and the feeling of damp fabric sticking to your thighs and you just know. Your face burns with embarrassment and you foolishly contemplate if there’s some way that you can extricate yourself from his arms and change the sheets without waking him. But Jason has a sixth sense when it comes to you and he’s fluttering his pretty seafoam eyes open the second he feels your breathing shift in rhythm. He smiles sweetly at you and hums as he pulls you closer. Normally you’d snuggle into his chest and savor the warmth he provides, but right now you can feel the blood slowly seep out of you, your back and belly feel like someone is stabbing you, and you’re so frustrated you could cry.

“Good mornin’, baby,” Jason yawns.

“Morning, Jay,” you wince. “I’ve got to get up, angel. Can you let me get up?”

Perhaps your pain drifts into your tone because Jason’s gaze sharpens, all traces of sleep vanishing.

“Are you okay? What��s wrong, ma?” he asks, eyes scanning you like he’s assessing for injuries.

God, he’s going to make you admit it. Your face burns hotter.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say unconvincingly as a cramp tears right through you. “Just have to get up and change my clothes. And probably our sheets. I’m sorry, Jay, I should’ve known it was coming.”

You hope he gets it without you having to say outright that you’ve gotten blood everywhere. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You choose to focus on the wall right over his shoulder instead. You’re bracing for some reaction of disgust or annoyance, but Jason is surprising as ever.

“I’ll get the sheets, sweetheart,” he says softly, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead. “You just get yourself a shower and try to relax. I know our water heater is shit, but try to get it as warm as possible for yourself, okay?”

Oh. Oh, he’s perfect. You already knew that, of course. It's just nice to be reminded of it.

“You’re not…upset?” you ask hesitantly.

Jason just laughs low and gentle, soft as the sunlight that filters through your bedroom window.

“Baby, why would I be mad about a bit of blood? It’s natural. Far more natural than all the times I’ve come home bleedin’ over everything,” he reassures you.

He kisses you sweetly and rubs your lower back before ushering you off to the shower. You do as he says and you swear that he’s magic or something, because against all odds your water stays hot the entire time. You get out warm and refreshed and find that Jason was true to his word. Your bloodstained pajama shorts have been removed from the bathroom floor and replaced by a fresh pair of your underwear and a set of Jason’s soft black sweatpants. Beside the fresh clothes sits the dark gray set of towels that you two always use when Jason comes home bloody and bruised. They’re warm to the touch, likely straight from the dryer, and if you loved him any more you think you might combust with the sheer energy of it.

You will explode with it, you realize, when you see him in the kitchen chopping up fresh fruit for your breakfast. Jason sees you and the blend of fondness and concern in his eyes is a testament to how much he loves you.

“I read somethin’ about how fresh fruit helps with period cramps, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to try,” he explains a bit sheepishly as he pours you a glass of orange juice.

You nod and hum softly, your throat suddenly choked with emotion and tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You can’t help it. You literally throw yourself at him. Your hands grasp his sleep-tangled curls and you kiss him desperately, messy and warm and full of love. Jason’s left panting, his lips kissed red and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion when you’re done with him.

“If I knew fresh fruit would get me that, I’d be goin’ to Louie’s produce stand every fuckin’ morning,” he chuckles breathlessly.

“You do know you’re perfect, right? And I can’t possibly live without you, right?” you confess.

You’re holding on to him so tightly that Jason might just be inclined to believe you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, because I’ve got no plan of goin’ anywhere any time soon,” he whispers sweetly. “Now drink your orange juice.”

Jason is true to his word. He stays by your side all day. He lets you cuddle up to him and steal his body heat for your own, only making a few little jabs about how he’s “nothin’ but a personal space heater to you”. He presses his big, warm hands to your tummy when your cramps hit and rubs firm circles that miraculously ease the ache. Your beloved heating pad serves a dual purpose wedged between his stomach, bruised and sore from a few hard hits on last night’s patrol, and your lower back.

When evening comes and you start to drift in and out of consciousness, body exhausted from the pain and hormones ravaging it, Jason cradles you in his arms and carries you to bed. You’re hazy and tired, but you still giggle when he cleverly lays down your fluffy, waterproof blanket. It usually serves to protect your poor sheets from your rather…messy sex life, but it works just as well in this instance.

“You’re a very smart man, Jason Todd,” you say as you make grabby hands at him.

“Hm. I try,” he replies.

The second he’s within reach you’re burrowing into him again. Jason, as always, obliges and wraps your entire body up in his. A sense of peace and pride courses through him at the satisfied sigh you let out.

“Y’know what else helps with period cramps?” you ask through a yawn.

Jason just watches you lovingly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as he shakes his head.

“Orgasms,” you nod sagely.

Jason snorts loudly, his joyous laughter echoing across your bedroom walls. You smile and think that you’ve never been happier, body actively fighting against you and all.

“Uh huh. Sure. Maybe we can work on that one in the mornin’, ma. Now go to sleep,” he says, his face lit up with a boyish grin and a warmth in his sea green eyes.

You hum in agreement and smoosh your face into his chest. He’s warm and he smells like cedar and something distinctly Jason, and you can barely keep your eyes open a second longer. You idly hope you dream of him when you finally fall asleep.

“I love you more than all the stars in the universe, Jason Todd,” you murmur sleepily.

“I love you more than life itself, sweetheart.”

You drift off to sleep nestled between the warmth of your lover and your electric blanket, content and happy and vaguely looking forward to the promise of trying that one in the morning.

[rosaeh]

lil robin steph <3

robin 3.5 my beloved <3

[rosaeh]

cuties

Have a birdflash pride everyone:3 couldn't decide which lyrics suited better so here's the other one under the cut hehe

Inspired by this page

[rosaeh]

Doodling on the train

[rosaeh]

What kinda dog is that?

[rosaeh]

the scar !! 😫

where did all the years go?

[rosaeh]

not a masked post anymore thank god !!!🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

❦ jason «if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more. i lack the words to express my love for you but, please, let me show you. » todd

he cannot tell you how much you mean to him, the solace he finds in you. but he hopes his actions show you enough.

❦

more often than not, jason unfortunately finds himself not being able to speak up his feelings for you.

he used to resent himself for this. for not being able to truly show you how much he loves you, how much you improved his life.

before realising that, maybe, the only reason he couldn't find the words for it was because he felt too much. maybe if he couldn't speak it up, it was not because he lacked the words for it, but because there was no word meaningful enough to describe his utter love for you.

he wished a single word could wrap it all up. all his love for you, all his longing. the way he feels you within his very soul.

his heart is beating for you. you're the first — and only — thing it has beaten for in a while.

but he cannot show you. he cannot rip his chest open and show you the beating of his heart — no matter how much he wants to. so he has to settle with taking your hand in his, put it above his heart, and let you feel it — all while he has the great pleasure of keeping his gaze fixed on your face.

maybe jason couldn't voice his love for you, but he sure could show it. after all, actions do speak louder than words. and he finally understands why.

when he cannot express how grateful he is that you always wait for him to come home, he'd wrap his arms around you, and hold you close, as if he could merge his body with yours.

and when you come home from a tiring day, he'd have you resting your head on his lap, one of his hands holding yours while the other hoover over your face, caressing your features in such a delicate way. each caress holds his love for you. the one he cannot express. he loves you. he wishes he could take away your tiredness. you're everything to him, and he'd be willing to do anything for you. so he keeps you close, watching over you and appreciating how safe you look in his arms, while his fingertips trace the shape of your nose.

when he wakes up next to you, and is so struck by the sight of you by his side that he cannot even say the simplest words, he'd lean in and press kisses all over your face. he's not saying anything, but you understand. you know the meaning behind his kisses. he's grateful to have you by his side. grateful to have you with him, and he will never get tired of waking up next to you. no matter how long it's been this way. and he looks down at you with a fond gaze as he kisses your forehead.

he cannot voice the way you're always in his mind. how you're the only thought that ever crosses it. how dumb you make him. everything he encounters makes him think of you. but there are no words coming out of his mouth, and instead he brings these things home to you. he brings you this bouquet of your favourite flowers he saw while walking past the flower shop. he brings you this book he thought you'd like. he sends you picture too. no caption. but when you see the pictures, you know. this made me think of you — when do i not ? and you ? you keep these things close. you dry the flowers he brings you, read the book in one go, and put the pictures in a folder. "i love this man".

that's how he knows that, maybe, maybe, he's doing good enough. because that's all he wants, really. to do right by you. to give back to you all the love he feels in your presence. he wants to give you all that and so much more.

because if his words wrong him when it comes to expressing his love for you, he knows his actions don't.

[rosaeh]

"oh, you're working" says dad as i tap on my laptop, writing some jason x reader.

yes, dad, i guess so.

[rosaeh]

melting | 18+

take one look at you, you’re heaven’s incarnate; what is this spell, baby, please show some mercy.

or; after a long, grueling patrol, jason comes home to your sleeping figure laid temptingly on display for him. [3.1k]

jason todd x f!reader; SMUT‼️ CW: soft sex😛somnophilia/free use(prev. consent implied), thighjob, unprotected p in v, cockwarming. + a lil biting; needy touch starved jason😈😈 but then fluffy; based on ask!!; can you tell i'm ovulating.

It’s almost dawn when Jason climbs in through the window of your shared bedroom, tossing his gear bag on the ground and landing after it with barely a sound. His limbs are heavy and bone-tired from the last five hours spent beating up criminals on the street, and he wants nothing more than to plant face-first into bed and pass out for the next twelve hours. The ceiling fan whirs on the highest setting in your bedroom, and the cool current is a welcome change from the dry summer heat outside. He runs a hand through his hair, still damp from the haphazard shower he took at the safe house where he peeled off his suit and stashed it away in his bag.

He slides the window shut as his eyes adjust to the darkness, making sure to draw the blinds to keep the sunrise from disturbing his sleep. And then he sees it.

Right there, on display like an oil painting in a museum, blankets pushed aside, your naked form lies draped across the bed like a marble sculpture in a museum. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, which only accentuates the dip of your waist before it rounds into the curve of your waist, like the perfect handle for him to grab onto and squeeze until you make that high-pitched gasping sound you always do when he grips you with the promise of purple and red stains the next morning. His gaze traces down your body leaving a burning trail in its wake until he lands on the plump lips of your perfect cunt that peek through your thighs.

His heart speeds up in his chest, a burst of adrenaline and anticipation coursing through him. He dares to take a step closer, though he knows that the closer he gets, the less control he’ll have. What was the agreement? Right— wearing pajama bottoms meant you didn’t want to be disturbed, but anything else was fair game. He can count on one hand the number of times he has felt compelled to do this— he much prefers you awake so he can hear the sound of your pleading moans begging for more, feel your nails sinking into his skin and clawing down his back when your release is too intense to bear. But tonight, after the debilitating patrol he just endured, after you so kindly put your perfect body on display for him, he needs this release— needs you.

Jason takes off his shirt and tosses it on the foot of the bed, with the rest of his clothing quick to follow. The clink of his belt buckle, the ceiling fan static; all are drowned out by the roaring blood rushing from his head and straight to his dick. He feels desperate—pathetic, even, with how much his body trembles as he gingerly crawls onto the mattress, careful not to jostle you around and wake you. He kneels over you and rests a hand on your hip. The feel of your warm, soft skin punches out a shaky breath from him, and he drags it down your figure, following your body’s dips and valleys down to your thigh. He gently grips the skin tighter, groaning lowly at the feeling of your soft body moulding to his touch. His fingers trail back up, tracing the slit of your pussy with his middle finger. You hum lazily in your sleep. He slips his finger between your lips and runs it up and down, circling your entrance and stopping just before he reaches your clit. He leans down and brushes feather-light kisses up your arm, inhaling your scent and savoring the warmth and growing wetness.

“My pretty girl,” he whispers into your shoulder.

His dick is fully hard now, but he can’t bring himself to stop. He loves this feeling, loves you and the heat of your body, enough to get lost in it for hours. A sigh escapes your sleepy lips when he circles your slick entrance again, and your hips move forward. His finger slips out of you, covered in your essence. Jason pants, already breathless as he spits in his hand and strokes his cock with a mixture of his saliva and you. He gives himself a few pumps and presses his tip to the juncture of your thighs.

He pushes it in, biting back a groan at the feeling of your soft thighs encasing him. He fucks himself between them, captivated by the sight of it slowly slipping in and out. His hand jumps from your hip to the bed, and he fists the sheets between his fingers, clenching his jaw so hard it might pop. Though he keeps his thrusts slow, your silken skin feels so good around his dick, and he can feel pearls of precum dribbling from his tip, which his strokes smear against the inside of your thighs, painting you with him. His length is sliding against your pussy, gathering more of your slick. He pulls himself out far enough for his head to drag against your folds, and you moan softly in your sleep. Jason peeks at your face; your brows are drawn tightly together, teeth pressed a fraction of an inch into your bottom lip as your hips start moving back and forth of their own volition. 

You want more, and he’ll gladly give it to you. But he knows that if he gives in too quickly, he won’t last more than a minute before he’s spilling inside you, and he needs this to last. The visual itself in his mind—finding his release in your warm pussy, pumping his hot come inside you and watching it leak out of you and all over your thighs, dripping onto the bed and ruining the sheets—he’s throbbing between your legs. He needs to pull away from you completely so that the image alone doesn’t make this end before it has even started.

He lets out a pained whimper, leaning back into a kneel with his hands fisted so hard into the sheets that they’ve turned a stark white. His breathing is labored, and his cock aches from the deprivation of you. His entire body is clenched so tight it hurts, bringing tears to his eyes.

But then, you move. The loss of him, hard and heavy, and rubbing against your lips, makes you whine. You turn over in your sleep, pressing your thighs together tightly to abate your need, and your back hits the bed, baring to him your full face, your tits your stomach. Jason curses under his breath when your knee falls open and reveals your wet, leaking pussy practically begging for him to fill it with his cock

He can’t stop staring at you, though. You are so beautiful, he thinks. And you’re all mine. And I’m all yours. 

Jason adjusts himself so that he’s kneeling over you, caging you between his legs. One hand finds the bed right beside your head to hold him up, and the other comes to cup your face. His thumb lightly traces your cheek, and he lowers himself to brush his lips against your forehead, then moves lower to your lips, and then continues, blazing a trail down your throat with his mouth, his hand following suit.

He kisses down to your breast, all around your nipple, before finally using the flat of his tongue to press into it and mimic a similar sensation on the other with his thumb. He keeps his touches feather-light, enjoying the way your body unconsciously responds: the faint moans that get stuck in your throat, the sharp breaths that escape from your lips. Your body twitches when he takes it into his mouth and sucks, and your back arches slightly off the bed, but he releases you before you can get too worked up.

His cock is heavy and aching, and his whole body feels hot with an urgent need to be inside you. He takes it in his hand and pushes the tip between your lips. He slides it down to your entrance to feel your wetness before dragging it back up and pressing his head to your clit. Your hips jump at the sensation, and it only pushes him harder against you. A groan escapes him at the same time as a breathy whine blows through your lips.

“I know, baby,” Jason mutters quietly. “'M gonna take care of you.”

When he slides into you the first inch, his entire body shudders. Your sleeping figure twitches as he withdraws to his tip, then thrusts in further. Slowly, he continues, pulling out and pushing back in a little further until his hips are flush against yours. He’s holding himself up on two trembling arms with raggedy breathing, and you’re sleepily, mindlessly grinding against him.

He whispers your name into the darkness, and his voice is so soft, so enamored with every part of you. With the way your hair spills perfectly over your shoulders, your fluttering eyelashes, and velvety lips that are drawn into a pout as you search for a pleasure only he can give you. Your body, your nipples that have hardened to stiff points against the night air, the fading teeth marks on your shoulders, the red and purple love bites scattered over your hips. Enamored by how much you love him, enough to not only give your body to him like this, but also to trust him with it. He remembers the first time you were in his bed, when he was so nervous about messing this up, about losing control and scaring you away. And how you cradled his face in your hands and kissed him all over, whispered those four words against his lips, and he knew he was forever gone for you—

I trust you, Jason.

Then, he starts to fuck you— really fuck you, with slow, deep strokes that send shockwaves through his entire body. He pushes your legs out a little wider so he can fuck you even deeper and angles himself just so, in the way that always makes you throw your head back and squeeze him until he sees spots— and that’s exactly what you do. You clamp down on him hard, and he whimpers brokenly, dropping his head to rest next to yours. Your breathing is much heavier now, tiny whines escaping from your throat with each breath.

What started as long, hard strokes has turned to shallow, messy rutting, with Jason reduced to simply grinding his hips against yours. He buries his face into your pillow to muffle the embarrassingly desperate moan that comes from you gripping him so tightly. It’s so good, but he needs more. He speeds up the movement of his hips, keening into the pillow because he’s so needy it hurts, but it still isn’t enough.

But he can feel the pattern of your breathing change, feel your heart rate increase, and he knows that you’re both on your way there. He pushes himself up on one hand to hover over you, and lets the other hand slide under your lower back and lift it by a few inches. He drags his cock out, all the way to the tip, and thrusts it hard back into you. Your head falls back with a sharp gasp. He does it again, and your legs tremble, eyelids fluttering as you begin to stir. He keeps going, both of you close to coming and moaning through your half-asleep pleasure.

Your legs are practically quaking now, and your back arches of its own volition as your cunt leaves a creamy white ring around the base of his cock. Jason’s hand slides around to your front and his thumb rubs circles over your clit. All it takes is one more thrust and your eyes flutter open, hands fisting into the sheets and mouth falling agape with a silent scream.

“Jason,” you gasp, followed by a loud, broken moan as you come. Your walls clench and contract, and his forehead drops to your shoulder with a choked gasp as he follows right behind you. Your cunt spasms around him and he finishes inside you with hot, sharp bursts of come.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. He rides out his orgasm with wet, sloppy thrusts, and you keep grinding against him throughout yours; all the while his pressure remains even and firm on your sensitive clit. 

“Baby,” you whine. You’re stuffed so full of him, you can feel him in your bones. But he’s still coming; it leaks out of you and drips down your thighs, around his balls, onto the sheets.

He moans into your neck as the spurts of come begin to die down, and his thrusts slow. You’re out of breath, breathing heavily into his hair when it’s over and still trembling from aftershocks. Your hands release the sheets and slide up to wrap around him. He does the same with your waist, holding you so tight, as if you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip. One of your hands finds his hair, and you scratch at his scalp.

“I thought I was having a very vivid, very good dream about you,” you joke quietly, still panting.

Jason chuckles into your neck. His breathing is rapid, and your hearts beat frantically against each other.

“I missed you,” he breathes, so quietly that you wouldn’t have heard it if his lips weren’t moving right against your skin.

“You have a nice way of showing it,” you mumble back, tired but still feeling giggly and fucked out.

You use your grip on his hair to pull his head up to yours. His eyes are shiny, gazing at you like you’re a sight to behold. You guide him to your lips, capturing him in a kiss so sweet his body feels like warm honey is seeping through it. 

He keeps kissing you as he turns to lie on his side next to you. He hugs you tight, pressing your back against his chest. He cradles your jaw, and you make a soft sound when his dick brushes against that spot inside you.

“I love you,” you whisper into his mouth, but it gets lost in a sigh when he sucks on your bottom lip.

You’re in love with the taste of him, the feel of him pressed against you, inside you. So you hold him tight, not letting him leave you, staying intertwined, living on stolen breaths and drunk on the afterglow.

He breaks the kiss to pull the blanket over your damp, sticky bodies. 

“Can never get enough of you,” Jason says into your hair, sounding utterly wrecked.

Your hands settle over his, drawing shapes on the arms wrapped around your torso. “You’ll always have me,” you say softly.

And when you wake again a couple hours later, worked back to the brink with his hands on your hips and him groaning whispers of praise and declarations of love into your hair as he fucks you again, this time from behind, your hand reaches up behind you to thread through his hair and push your lips to his. You moan into his mouth when his thick cock fills all the space you give him, dragging along all the right spots.

“Baby,” he whispers, mouthing along your jaw and down your neck, across your shoulder.

You sigh dreamily when he nips at your ear.

“Feels good?” He asks.

“Faster,” you moan, tipping your head back to fall on his shoulder.

He tightens his grip on your hips and fucks you faster. The sound of his skin slapping against yours rings in your ears.

“’S that better, baby?” Jason croons, and you can only moan in response.

He grins into your hair and wraps one arm around your waist to keep his grip on you, while the other slips between your legs to rub your clit. He does it hard and fast, and pain melds with pleasure in the short moment it takes for you to break once more. You shudder around him, quieter and more relaxed than the first time, but your body is set alight all the same. You roll onto your stomach, pulling him along with you, deaf to his confused protests. Your mind is tunneled on feeling, gone completely blank except for the feverish desire to have him harder, deeper, more.

He gets the message and follows you. Your salacious noises are buried in the pillows and your back arches, pushing your ass against him as he pumps into you through his own strenuous moans. His weight is heavy on top of you, but it only feeds into your desperation to be surrounded by him.

“So—ugh—so good, baby,” Jason slurs into your skin, his voice rough and guttural from where sleepiness meets euphoria.

The chain hanging from his neck taps against your back with each of his thrusts before following the length of your spine when he kisses his way down each vertebra. You feel the cool metal scraping back up when he licks his way back to your neck, tasting the sweat that beads along the column.

His palm slides up your side to grab a handful of your breast, which he squeezes and kneads with a searing grip.

“Gettin’— fuck.” He buries his face in your shoulder, letting his words turn to unintelligible whines.

“Jay,” you whimper. “I’m—I need—”

“Me too,” he groans. “T-touch that pretty clit for me, honey.”

You reach between your legs to find the swollen, sensitive bud of nerves. Your cunt flutters and drips your arousal around him. His cock makes a wet, squelching sound as he fucks you harder. His rutting gets more erratic until he sinks his teeth into your shoulder and comes again with a final slam of his hips. The pressure in your core builds and builds, and it reaches its crescendo when you feel the sting of the bite and his warmth spilling inside you. You arch into him with a loud cry and come all over his cock, just in time for your body to give out and collapse on the sheets. Jason goes down with you, going limp atop your back. The weight is welcome and grounding.

The two of you lie there for some time, enjoying each other’s heaving breaths that fill the silence as you float back into your bodies. You must drift off again, because the rest of the early morning is hazy and you only recall brief flashes of sensation; sticky come from now and before spilling out of you when Jason lifts himself up, something warm and damp running over your thighs and your center.

And when a warm weight settles in at your side, and your forehead is ghosted with a kiss, whispered into your skin is something that sounds like thank you.

is it unrealistic that reader stays asleep through all that😭tbh idc i like that she stays asleep until right before her orgasm i think it's hot. and anyway why am i worried about a fanfiction about a superhero vigilante who was resurrected from the dead by a magical immortality pool being realistic! get a grip girl!

anyway. this was fun to write because i just like the idea of obsession + devotion + complete trust w someone & writing that manifestation in somno. idk. i rlly put my hole heart and soul and julussy into this lmfao

[rosaeh]

Jason's day off