#batfam drabble

[lacedwithpoetry]

────★ THINKING ABOUT… JASON TODD, who is obsessed when he gets a peek of your whale tail.

୭˚. ᵎᵎ contains… Jason Todd x teasing reader

୭˚. ᵎᵎ warnings… contains nsfw content (mostly at the end.) — mentions of him being hard, dry humping, female-receiving!oral, making out, thigh kissing, etc. not heavily described.

when he first sees it . . .

• Jason’s mind short-circuits the first time you bend over and he catches a glimpse of lace peeking over your waistband.

• He tries to play it cool. Fails miserably. Probably mutters “Jesus Christ” under his breath while pretending not to stare.

• You notice. Of course you do. And you smirk over your shoulder like you planned it. Because you probably did.

he’s obsessed.

• It becomes a thing. You in low-rise jeans or short shorts with the strap of a black thong peeking out? That’s his new obsession.

• Jason will literally forget his entire train of thought. You’ll ask him something important and he’ll just blink like,

“Sorry, what? I—uh—do that again.”

• He has no shame about it. At this point, he’ll openly say “You do that on purpose, don’t you?” and you’ll just laugh and walk away.

you, obviously, weaponize it.

• You’ll stretch during training. Lean over the counter in the kitchen. Lounge on the couch half-draped in Jason’s shirt and low-rise sleep shorts. He’ll be hard within seconds.

• If you do it in front of the Batfam (intentionally or not), Jason’s jaw tightens and he throws his jacket over your waist like mine.

• He tries to act calm, but he’s not calm. At all.

— You: “You good?”

— Jason, looking ten seconds from death: “No. Not even a little.”

he tries not to be touchy, really. but cmon !

• If you’re sitting in his lap and your thong shows? His hands slide right under your shirt and grip your hips like he needs to hold onto something, maybe deciding to rock his hard length into your clothed cunt just to tease you back.

• If you’re standing? He’s the type to hook his fingers into the waistband and pull it higher, just to see you react.

• He’s 100% a waistband snapper. Little flicks of his finger when you pass by. Smirking while he does it like he’s not the one sweating.

• “Careful, baby,” he’ll rasp, “keep teasing me like that and I’m gonna stop being polite.”

the effects . . .

• Jason’s already a thigh/hips guy. The stringy thong combo just kills him. That little strip of skin, the curve of your lower back? He’s obsessed.

• He thinks you’re the hottest thing in Gotham. Genuinely can’t wrap his head around how you exist and let him touch you.

• Sometimes he’ll tuck his hand into the waistband absentmindedly when you’re cuddling. Just resting there. Holding you. Possessive and warm. Rubbing his thumb back and forth on your warm ‘n soft skin.

• You catch him staring too much? You pull up your flimsy straps just a little higher on your hipbone, tilt your head and say,

— “Problem, big guy?”

• Jason groans and grabs you like you’re his last goddamn nerve.

• You absolutely win. Every time.

Jason wasn’t paying attention to the TV. Or his drink. Or whatever ridiculous mission briefing he was supposed to be reading over.

Because you were in front of him — back to the living room, swaying just a little as you reached for something on the high shelf. And the low rise of your shorts, hugging your hips like a second skin, dipped just enough to show a black satin triangle peeking above the waistband.

Lace. High-cut. Teasing.

His eyes dropped. Locked.

The slow arch of your back. The little rise to your tip-toes. That damn strap cutting across the curve of your waist like it knew it was ruining him.

You glanced over your shoulder, half a smirk in your voice. “Something wrong, Red?”

Jason didn’t answer right away. He stood — slowly — and crossed the room like a storm on muscly legs.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and thick. “That thing you do with your back? Illegal. Gotta lock ‘ya up.”

You turned just in time for him to press in behind you, hands slipping over your waist like he was claiming territory.

“You keep wearing things like this,” he muttered into your neck, “and I’m gonna forget how to act.”

You tilted your hips back against him. Just barely. Just enough.

“Then don’t act,” you whispered.

His hands dropped lower, fingers brushing under the band of your thong — not moving fast, not tearing, just pressing, exploring. One thumb traced the line between bare skin and fabric.

“You really trying to get me on my knees in the middle of the kitchen?”

Your breath caught — and he felt it.

You turned, slow and smug, letting him trap you against the counter.

And with his mouth hovering just at your jawline, Jason’s voice dropped even lower.

“Gonna keep showing that little strip of lace like you want me to lose it, sweetheart. Is that what this is?”

Your only answer was a slow grind of your hips against his.

He groaned.

And whatever patience he had left? Gone.

Then his mouth was on you — hard, hungry, desperate. He kissed you like you were the only thing that could shut his brain off. Like the sound of your breath hitching was more important than breathing.

His hands slid under your shirt, palms hot and broad against your back, tugging you closer until your thighs brushed the edge of the counter and his belt buckle pressed flush to your stomach.

You arched into him.

He hissed. “Don’t— don’t start unless you want it finished.”

“Who says I’m starting?” you whispered, dragging your nails up under his shirt. “Maybe I’m already halfway there.”

Jason groaned — forehead pressing to yours, eyes squeezed shut like he was praying for mercy he didn’t actually want.

Then he dropped to his knees.

Just like that. Fast. Hungry. No hesitation.

His hands smoothed down your thighs, then back up — thumbs teasing along the sharp curve of the thong strap, the line that had started this whole thing. He mouthed along your hip like he was thanking it.

“You wear this,” he rasped, “and expect me to behave?”

You didn’t answer. You just reached for the counter behind you, bracing.

Jason looked up — pupils blown wide, jaw tight, hands firm as they gripped your thighs and pulled you forward to the edge.

“Hold still, baby,” he said low, reverent. “I’m gonna make you forget your own name.”

And when he kissed the inside of your thigh — slow, deliberate — you believed him.

Jason kissed higher. Slower.

His breath ghosted over the strap of your thong, mouth hovering just beneath where the fabric met skin. You felt him grin when you shifted, a sharp twitch of muscle under his lips.

Your breath hitched the second his teeth grazed the curve of your hip.

Jason chuckled darkly.

Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband, dragged the thin fabric down just enough — not all the way, just enough — and kissed the inside of your thigh like it was sacred.

You trembled.

His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you just a little so your hips tilted toward him. The pressure of his mouth, the way his stubble scratched where he kissed, the way he held you steady like you might try to run — it was all too much. He was too much.

And then he flattened his tongue along your inner thigh. Not high enough.

You let out a soft sound, and Jason’s fingers flexed.

“Say it,” he rasped. “Tell me you want it.”

You met his eyes — dark, feral, locked on you like a man starved.

“I want it,” you whispered.

Jason didn’t waste another second.

His mouth moved higher, slower, hotter. He took his time — lips and tongue and breath, dragging sounds out of you like he knew your body better than you did. He held you firm, letting you squirm, but never letting you go.

Your hands tangled in his hair. His name spilled from your mouth.

And when your legs trembled, he didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

Just kissed harder — groaned against you — like your pleasure was the only thing he cared about.

When he finally pulled back, lips slick, voice wrecked, he looked up at you with something hot and wild in his eyes.

[callmeizukunotdeku]

jason and tim have a huge sibling rivalry, not because of any actual drama going on between the two of them, but because tim runs a corporate conglomerate and jason runs a small business

specifically, tim runs WE and jason is a crime lord. tim has repeatedly argued that jason runs what might as well be a drug conglomerate and jason knows it's true, but refuses to acknowledge it, and instead talks about how Big Business is shitting on the little guy

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.

Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neck—anywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.

Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.

Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.

AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?

[soulsforsales]

Imagine Jason Todd and you attending a friend’s party.

You’re laughing, making small talks, looking fire in your fit and Jason; all 6’4 of muscles, scars, and tattoos of him, is just standing beside you with a scowl and looking like he’ll shoot anyone who even breathes wrong. (He’s just terrifying like that.)

And his expression only softens when he looks down at you and his hand doesn’t leave your waist—not once.

I just know people mistake Jason for that kind of toxic, overly possessive, controlling boyfriend because he looks like it.

When in reality, he’s just a big ass puppy who cries when you’re mad, holds you like you’re sacred, cooks for you, pouts when you say no to cuddles, and gets anxious in gatherings if you’re not with him.

And I think that’s everything.

[squipa]

baby, i want some of your love

aka how you healed him

———

jason todd wears glasses now.

jason never really took care of himself after dying. his body was so hopelessly out of rhythm, everything slightly wrong and out of place. his bones creak underneath his skin, his muscles, which had nearly rotted and decayed, could never quite figure out how to relax. sometimes he’d forget to breathe, or blink, the actions no longer involuntary, and before you? he didn’t have it in himself to care. his health had fallen to the least of his worries.

but you were always so worried about him. you noticed things about himself he hadn’t even realized, how he winced when he chewed with the left side of his mouth, how he squinted at street signs whenever you went on walks, how his muscles were always tense until you massaged them into relaxation. you pointed them out, pouting whenever he’d shrug it off. to him, it was nothing, he was used to the pain, the inconvenience; he didn’t consider his own wellbeing important enough to pay any mind to.

to you, it was torture. watching the man you loved so dearly treat himself with so little care had you ruined. all you wanted for him was happiness and safety, for him to have what he had given you so freely, what he guarded himself from so intensely. he didn’t realize how much you cared until he noticed how much you finally pushed him to treat himself better.

“i scheduled you a dentist appointment.” you said, matter-of-factly setting down a few documents in front of him begging his patient history. he looked up to you, eyebrow raised, entirely confused. you answered his question before he could even think to ask it. “you wince when you chew.”

he wouldn’t say no to you. despite his disdain regarding the idea of a check up, he went. you came with him, fiercly speaking a language of medicine he didn’t understand. when he left the dentist, you gave him a lollipop. “i’m not five.” he ate it anyways, savoring the taste between strawberry-stained lips as you drove him home.

he stopped noticing when you made him appointments to get shots, or when you subtly slipped the card of a dermatologist behind the picture of you he kept in his wallet. he started actually caring about what he did to his body— gut health and all that. yes, he was jacked, his body had been built like a machine ever since it had patched itself back together in the lazarus pit, but he couldn’t remember the last time he ate a piece of fruit.

he didn’t realize how much better he felt until dick pointed it out for him. “you got glasses?” he asked, pointing to the thick black frames that sat on the bridge of his nose.

he nodded. he does wear glasses. he has silver caps on two of his teeth. he has a nice layer of body fat covering his muscles because he eats three well-balanced meals a day. he has a standing appointment with a chiropractor every other wednesday at two, and another with a therapist on mondays at one. he gets a checkup every six months and goes to the dentist every four, he’s been to the dermatologist three times in two years, he has all of his shots up to date, he takes vitamins in the morning and he sleeps at least five hours every night.

he cares about himself. he puts effort into making sure he stays healthy— and at first it was for you. only for you, to ease your constant worry about him. but now it’s second nature, your guiding hand has healed him, made him want to stay alive and healthy and whole, not for just you, but for himself.

the moment the realization washes over him of just how much you’ve given him, he rushes home and tells you in no less than a thousand ways just how grateful he is to have your love.

———

[adddddiiii]

Thinking about sleepy Jason Todd...

He was dead weight on top of you — warm, heavy, completely unbothered as he dozed against your shoulder.

“Jay,” you whispered, nudging him. “You’re crushing me.”

A sleepy grunt. No movement.

You tried again, shifting beneath him. Big mistake. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer. “No,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “You’re my pillow.”

You huffed, fingers threading into his messy hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jason let out a slow, satisfied sigh, completely content. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, voice fading into sleep. “Y'know, baby, pillows don't talk."

[superbat-love]

Batman may claim to have no powers, but Green Lantern knows better. He’s convinced that Batman’s cape is sentient.

Green Lantern has observed it on quiet nights in the Watchtower, when Batman thinks no one’s paying attention. He releases control over his cape, letting it unravel and float menacingly around him in different directions. It moves on its own, sweeping across nearby surfaces, carelessly knocking over items.

There’s one thing Green Lantern knows for sure—Batman’s cape has a sweet tooth. Every time Batman passes the candy bowl, it’s mysteriously emptied.

Even stranger, it seems to influence other capes. Once, while Batman was talking to Superman, their capes briefly touched, and Green Lantern saw Superman’s cape come to life—swirling and fluttering as though it had a mind of its own. Superman, unfazed, didn’t even react to the way their capes were flapping erratically around them. Green Lantern was relieved he didn’t have a cape.

He told the others about his theory, but they were skeptical at first. They eyed Batman’s cape with suspicion as he was distracted by a mission briefing with Wonder Woman. But even the Flash had to admit Green Lantern might be onto something when Batman’s cape swiped their feet out from under them, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Martian Manhunter nodded sagely and agreed on its intelligence, having felt the minds of four little beings flitting around underneath Batman’s cape. Maybe one day they’d feel comfortable enough to run underneath his cape too.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

"DAD!"

Bruce sighed at the familiar call, instantly recognizing the voice. It was you, the child he never intended to have, thrust into his life by forces beyond his control. He still wasn't ready for this—wasn't ready to be a father.

In the early days, you’d tried calling him "father" or "dad," hoping for a connection. But he’d ignore you every time, barely acknowledging the title. Frustrated, you’d started calling him "Mr. Wayne" out of spite. And to your surprise, he responded. Since then, you'd settled into calling him as if he were just another public figure, like some distant acquaintance. You learned quickly that Bruce Wayne didn't want to be publicly labeled as your father, that he wasn’t comfortable with the label at all.

But now, hearing that word—"Dad"—from you in public, his irritation rose. He’d told you ages ago not to call him that outside the manor. Yet, there was also a sliver of satisfaction; he finally had a reason to confront you over it, something he’d oddly wanted since you’d moved in.

Turning around to find you, Bruce stopped short. There you were, arms around Harvey Dent, laughing in a way that sent a pang through him. It was the kind of bright, easy laughter he’d never heard from you in his presence. The warmth in your eyes, the carefree lightness in your smile—it all seemed reserved for Dent, a scene that felt oddly father-child-like.

His grip tightened unconsciously, fingers curling around the grass he’d been holding. Harvey looked back at you with an almost fatherly pride, and it stung in a way Bruce couldn’t have anticipated. In that moment, the crowd faded around him, and all he could focus on was the two of you, bonded in a way he hadn’t managed to be with you.

Your laughter rang in his ears like a melody he’d never noticed before, something beautiful and elusive. And for the first time, Bruce felt something new—a desire to be the one to make you laugh like that, a yearning to hear it directed at him. He wanted all of it for himself.

Bruce’s hands clenched involuntarily, his fingers digging into his palms. He told himself that he was better than Dent in every way that mattered—stronger, more capable, more disciplined. But in this, seeing how effortlessly Dent could make you feel safe and valued, he felt an unsettling flicker of doubt. Bruce could face any enemy, any challenge, but standing here, watching someone else make you feel what he couldn’t, he felt almost... inadequate.

The feeling was absurd. Jealousy wasn’t supposed to affect him; he’d trained himself to be above such things. But he couldn’t stop the bitterness gnawing at him as he watched Dent with you, a man whose easy warmth contrasted so painfully with Bruce’s own guarded nature. It stung to realize that, for all his power and reputation, he was losing you to his own friend. Dent looked at you with pride and affection, the kind that came naturally to him—and Bruce hated that Dent could offer you what he hadn’t even known you needed.

And then, through the murmur of the crowd, your voice rang out again—“Dad!”—directed at Dent, not him. Something twisted painfully in Bruce’s chest, his vision blurring as he watched you lean into Dent’s embrace, trusting and relaxed. The sight was a punch to his pride, yes, but more than that, it was a revelation of all he’d pushed away, all the moments he’d let slip by because he hadn’t wanted to be vulnerable.

For the first time, Bruce felt an unfamiliar desperation creep in, a fear he’d never faced even in the darkest moments of his life. Losing you to Dent seemed almost absurd, yet it was becoming a reality before his eyes. He was starting to see the damage his own indifference had caused, each unspoken word and dismissed gesture now cutting him deeper than he would ever admit aloud.

If only he’d turned around that first time you called him "Dada." If only he’d been there, shown you warmth instead of distance. Now someone else was in the place he’d abandoned, and he feared—truly feared—that you were already too far out of his reach to bring back.

(A/n: feel free to use this idea to make a story! Though you needa tag me too😼)

[imheretoreadafic]

Alfred stood at the sink, scrubbing dishes with much more force than necessary. Bruce was doing horribly mentally lately. Near constant nightmares, preforming poorly in school, only talking when he was snapping at someone.

"I shouldn't have agreed to take care of him," He couldn't help but think. "I haven't the foggiest clue how to raise a child! He's better off if we never see each other again."

"Uhm, where does this go?" Alfred flinched and looked over his shoulder. Ten-year-old Bruce stood in the kitchen, holding a serving spoon.

Silently, Alfred nodded to the drawer, watching as the boy put it away and then reached to grab more clean dishes.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked and Bruce paused, looking unsure.

"I, uhm... I figured we could watch the new episode of Gray Ghost together sooner if I helped you clean up... Am I in the way?"

"No," Alfred said softly. "No, I think you're just where you belong, my dear boy."

20 years later, Bruce sits at a desk, organizing physical copies of case files. 12 year old Dick was running circles around the man and he was exhausted.

"Oh who am i kidding?" He thinks to himself. "I can't keep up with Batman, Wayne Industries and Dick. I love the kid but I have no clue what I'm doing. He's better off if he forgot he ever even met me..."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Dick asked and jeez Bruce really was tired because he didn't even realize he was in the cave.

"Since when do you file things?" Bruce joked dryly and Dick rolled his eyes.

"I want to show you a routine I've been working on and I can't do that till you finish up." Dick explained, sounding exasperated.

Bruce blinked a few times.

"You're willing to file if it means I watch your routine?" He asked bluntly. Dick blushed and scowled like the angsty pre teen he was.

"Don't make it sound all mushy..." he grumbled, crossing his arms. That startled a laugh out of Bruce and Dick looked at him in surprise. "That's what gets you to laugh?! Not my hilarious jokes?!"

Snickering, Bruce replied, "What hilarious jokes?"

Dick gasped dramatically and turned around with a flourish. He put a hand to his head and exclaimed, "Well, if me and my jokes are just getting in your way, I guess I'll leave!"

Bruce laughed and stood up. Without a second thought, he grabbed the small boy and pulled him into his arms, planting a kiss on top of his head.

"You could never be in my way, chum."

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

BFB (j.t.)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of fire, burns and shoulder dislocation

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Jason doesn’t want to be seen as your best friend’s brother anymore. Jason Todd yearns for 7k words

A/N: Again I feel like this played out better in my head honestly but oh well, it is what it is

10 years ago Jason Todd aged 14 (Y/N) (L/N) aged 16

The sound of thundering feet down the hallway was a common sound ever since the Wayne household had welcomed a new child. You, nor your best friend Dick, were the slightest bit disturbed when Jason slammed open the door to the family room and stormed in.

"You ate my Cheetos!" He cried to his older brother, ruddy face screwed up like he had just eaten a sour grape.

You chuckled under your breath, looking back down at your book that rested against Dick's legs that had been thrown in your lap. Jason glared at the offensive limbs like they were a parasite.

"Sorry, baby bird. (Y/N) here really wanted some Cheetos." Dick replied, hands gross and covered in orange dust. You scoffed, smacking his knee and he gave you an impish grin while looking over his phone.

Jason paused, his face reddening as he caught a glance at you. You offered him a lopsided smile, effortlessly covering for his pig of a brother.

“Sorry, Jace, I was hungry.”

He looked down, bashfully playing with the hem of his sweater, "It's okay."

You smacked his brother again when you felt his body shake with thinly veiled laughter. He had no problem abusing the knowledge that his younger brother had a childish crush on you. The poor thing had already lost most of his snack stash because of him.

"Thanks, kiddo."

Jason shot you a dirty look, “Don’t call me a kid. We’re not that far apart in age, you know.”

You raised a brow, “You’re a freshman, and I’m a senior.”

“That’s just because I joined a year late!” He argued, indignant.

Holding up your hands in a mock ‘I surrender’ motion, you glanced back at your book, but not before shooting a final warning look at his older brother.

“Whatever you say, kiddo.”

***

Present Day Jason Todd aged 24 (Y/N) (L/N) aged 26

"Sorry, B. I can't make it tomorrow, I promised (Y/N) that I'd help her build some furniture."

Jason perked up, practically shooting up straight at the sound of your name, "(Y/N)? She still around? What's she up to these days?"

He hoped—prayed—that his voice didn’t sound as elated to them as it did to him.

The two of you had lost touch after you graduated high school. Dick had moved to Blüdhaven, and you’d been accepted to university in Central City. Without your best friend in Gotham, there hadn’t been much reason for you to visit Wayne Manor.

It had stung. Jason knew you’d always had a closer relationship with his older brother, but he’d thought—hoped—that you liked him enough to at least give him a call on the odd weekend.

He’d get the occasional holiday text from you, wishing him well, and sometimes he’d text you for advice about school. But that was it.

When Jason had come back from the Lazarus Pit, he’d spent countless nights wondering what had happened to you. You would’ve been twenty-six by then. He imagined you’d graduated grad school and become a scientist, probably living in a cute apartment you’d been so excited to decorate—walls lined with bookshelves, couches draped in cozy throws you’d thrifted or maybe even crocheted yourself.

He wondered if you’d grown any taller, if you still dressed like a tomboy, or if you’d traded that style for something softer, something different. He wondered if you’d finally gotten a cat, since you’d wanted one so badly growing up.

But things between him and Batman were still tense, there was still a lot of hurt left on his part, a lot of stuff to work through. He wasn't good enough for you before; he was too young, too brash, too immature.

Now, he was too broken, too damaged; still not worthy of you.

So, he was left wondering.

"Yeah...she's back in the city, she's been working as a junior researcher in Gotham S.T.A.R. Labs."

Jason nodded, nonchalantly, looking down at the home screen of his phone like there was something interesting that happened to capture his attention, "Oh, that's good."

Dick raised a brow, clearly catching onto Jason's very poor attempts to appear unbothered, "And she still thinks you're dead."

He didn't need to see his younger brother's face to know he had frozen. That was quite obvious with the way his shoulders jumped til his ears and he rolled his eyes.

Honestly, how did loverboy manage to overlook that incredibly giant detail?

***

It had been a quiet evening. You were sitting on the couch, curled up with a book in hand and a cup of tea resting beside you, the hum of the city filtering in from the window. You had made peace with Jason's death years ago—taught yourself to move forward, or at least to pretend. The world had kept turning, and so had you.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. It was from Dick.

[1 New Message from Dick]: We need to talk. I’m coming over.

Your heart dropped. You’d known Dick long enough to recognize when something was wrong. His texts were almost always direct or lighthearted, but this—this was different. The sudden dread sinking into your stomach left you feeling nauseous, your pulse quickening.

[You]: What’s going on?

No reply came immediately, making the sick feeling grow. The silence was worse than the text itself. Something was wrong. Your thoughts spun in circles, dread clouding your mind.

The last time you felt like this was when Jason—

There was a knock at the door. You hesitated before opening it, half-expecting the worst.

Dick stood in the doorway, looking disheveled. His eyes were wide, a mix of exhaustion and something darker etched into his features. His foot scuffed the carpet as he stepped inside, pacing immediately, his socks leaving smudges behind on your rug.

You bit your lip, unsure of how to address the storm brewing within him, but you couldn’t find the heart to scold him. He looked too rattled.

"Take a breath, Dickie. Whatever it is, you can tell me." You said softly, trying to soothe him as he walked back and forth.

It wasn’t until a few minutes of pacing that he stopped, shoulders hunched and face tense. He finally turned to you, locking eyes as if bracing himself, "Jason’s alive."

Your breath caught in your throat, but you didn’t let the shock show. You stayed eerily calm. You had learned long ago how to keep your composure, especially with Dick, who was always more emotional in moments like this.

"Sit down. Let me make us some tea. You can stay here tonight." You stood, walking to the kitchen, trying to create a sense of normalcy, "We’ll talk about this in the morning, okay? Everything will make sense once you get some rest."

Dick stared at you, disbelief clear in his eyes, "What? That's your response?"

You kept your back turned to him, calmly preparing the kettle. "Honey," You called back, voice low and steady, "this isn’t the first time you’ve said you’ve seen Jason. Remember?" You turned to face him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. You couldn’t help it; this wasn’t the first time Dick had experienced hallucinations. When Jason died, Dick’s grief had twisted his mind in ways you knew all too well.

"No, (Y/N), I’m being serious. This is real," Dick said, his voice firm, steady.

You rubbed his shoulder gently, trying to soothe him, though you could feel the tension in his body. "I’m sure it feels that way," you replied, not fully buying into what he was saying. You had seen him go through so much grief, and the idea of Jason being alive, after everything that had happened, felt like an impossible fantasy.

"No, (Y/N), I’m serious. We can dig up his grave right now. He’s alive, and he’s here." Dick continued, his tone unwavering. He was no longer the conflicted man you had known during the years of Jason’s death. This wasn’t a joke or another hallucination. Dick was calm, composed, and absolutely certain of what he was saying.

You frowned, the disbelief still hanging in the air, "That isn’t funny, Dick."

He sighed, "You're right, I'm sorry but Jason really is back. I’ve seen him. He’s part of the family again. We’ve all met him, and he’s doing okay. I know it sounds crazy, but he’s here. And he’s with us."

The words hung in the air, your mind racing to catch up with the gravity of what Dick was saying.

“How—how is that even possible?” You asked, your voice trembling slightly as your mind struggled to make sense of the words.

“It’s a long story,” Dick replied with a quiet sigh. He looked at you seriously, “Listen, I just wanted to let you know this way because I care about you. He asked about you recently, so I figured it would be a good time to let you know.”

You frowned, trying to absorb the flood of emotions and information that seemed to hit you all at once, “How long have you known?”

“A couple of months,” Dick said, his tone more subdued now, “He wasn’t too happy with us when he first came back... not when he found out the Joker was still alive.”

Your stomach tightened, a knot of unease twisting in your gut. You had seen firsthand the kind of damage the Joker and the events surrounding Jason’s death had done to the family. You could never forget the way it had all shattered Dick, how broken he was in the aftermath.

"But we've made amends in the past month. He’s back where he belongs."

You nodded slowly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you, “And you're for sure not hallucinating this?"

Dick gave you a sharp look, “I can’t blame you for wondering, but no. This is real. You can meet him, if you want.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to see Jason. But the overwhelming weight of everything—the shock, the grief that you had buried long ago, and the strange sense of unfamiliarity now attached to his return—left you struggling for words. Was he still the same person you knew? “I do want to… I just… I need some time. I think I need to wrap my head around this. It’s not every day that you find out someone came back to life.”

Truthfully, Jason’s death hadn’t affected your daily life as much as you expected. After moving for college, you didn’t see him much, and the memories of him didn’t cross your mind as often as they once had. Yes, in the months following his death, you’d had to take care of Dick—making sure he wasn’t running himself into the ground—but that had always been your role as his best friend.

But there was something about Jason that left a lingering hole in your life. Something unexpected. Jason had been such a bright, sweet soul—too young, too full of life. You'd imagined your future in Gotham, with your parents, and your best friend, and in that little corner, Jason’s glowing face would always be there. You couldn't picture him growing taller than you, still that fresh-faced sweet boy from the Narrows. Always there.

And then he wasn’t. And that absence—it left a space you hadn’t expected to feel.

The loss had settled in quietly, like a low hum beneath everything you did. There were nights where it kept you awake, wondering how scared he must have been in his final moments, wondering if he had known he was being taken from this world far too soon. The fact that he was gone had been a sharp, permanent reality, one you had learned to live with—but now, knowing that he was back... it was almost too much to take in.

Dick nodded, his expression softening, “I know. It’s a lot. But he’s here, and he’s trying to make things right. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

***

A lot had changed.

The last time you saw him, he was shorter than you, all sharp edges and boyish energy, always talking too fast and trying to keep up with Dick. Now he was taller, broader, a man where a boy used to be. The once roundness of his face had sharpened into defined angles, his voice deeper than you remembered.

And his eyes—God, his eyes.

There was something older in them now, something jaded and unspoken. You had heard the stories, whispered half-truths that nobody wanted to confirm. You had no idea how much of it was real, but the Jason Todd standing in front of you was not the same boy you remembered.

Still, none of that stopped you from grinning as you stepped forward.

"Jaybird!"

His breath hitched.

You didn’t notice.

You threw your arms around his neck, the way you used to when he was a kid, laughing as you pulled him into a tight hug. You didn't know whether he hugged you back, you couldn't really feel it, only feeling pins and needles run down the length of your body.

You didn’t really care if he hugged you back. All you felt was awe and bewilderment, and underneath it all, sheer and utter joy at the fact that he was here.

"Damn," You laughed, pulling away just enough to hold him at arm’s length, "When did you get so tall? And jacked? Holy crap, Jay, you could bench press me."

Jason let out something between a scoff and a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, "Maybe I should, just to prove a point."

"Please don’t. That’s so undignified." You poked at his bicep, grinning but there was a mist to your eyes that neither of you were going to address, a red tint to the tip of your nose, "My scrawny little brother, all grown up and scary-looking."

His smile twitched. Something flickered in his expression—too quick for you to catch—before he shook his head, rolling his eyes, "You’re impossible."

"As always," You smirked, nudging his ribs playfully before stepping back, "It’s so good to see you, Jason. I mean it."

You didn’t notice the way he swallowed hard. Didn’t see the way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to pull you back before you got too far away.

Instead, you shot him a bright smile, completely oblivious to the way his heart ached.

You still saw him as that kid trailing after Dick. The reckless, stubborn little brother. Ten years, and he was still trailing after you like a lost puppy. Still, longing for your attention.

Jason clenched his jaw, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he exhaled slowly.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice softer now. "Good to see you too, (Y/N)."

***

Even though you should have been the one to notice the big, burly man stepping into the dainty little coffee shop, you didn’t.

Jason did.

He spotted you first—tucked away in the corner, bathed in golden sunlight as you read, a delicate hand curled around a warm cup of tea. You looked so peaceful, completely unaware of him. Maybe you had caught a glimpse of him in your peripheral, but it hadn’t registered. After all, it hadn’t been that long since you’d seen him again.

He almost hesitated.

He almost continued his visit like he hadn’t even noticed you, but despite everything he’d been through—despite the fact that he was a grown man now—he still found himself feeling like his teenage self, craving your attention whenever you were in the room.

"(Y/N)?"

Your head snapped up, eyes darting around to locate the voice—until they landed on him.

The way your expression changed made his heart stutter.

First, confusion. Then, slow realization. And finally—joy.

A sunny grin broke across your face before you could stop it. Without a second thought, you launched yourself at him, tackling him in a hug that had nearby patrons stepping aside awkwardly.

"Jason!"

He stumbled back a few steps, caught entirely off guard. His arms hovered uncertainly over your waist, but before he could settle them on your hips, you pulled away just as quickly—smoothing out his jacket as if brushing off imaginary dust before cupping his face, taking in his utterly bewildered expression.

That same expression that his younger self shared. It made your heart swell.

You were like a hurricane blowing through him.

He knew you were extroverted and energetic—he had seen it in your expressions and interactions with his brother while growing up. But this was the first time your affection had ever been directed at him.

"Sorry! Haha! I'm still not used to seeing you alive and all—guess I got too excited!" You laughed, a little breathless, your thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones, "How are you? Do you wanna sit down and catch up?"

Jason blinked, something unreadable flickering across his face before the corner of his mouth twitched up.

"Yeah," he said, voice softer than you expected, "Yeah, I’d like that."

And before he knew it, he was in the eye of the storm, caught in the calm, in you.

***

Jason leaned against his motorcycle, arms crossed, watching the entrance of your workplace with a kind of nervous energy he hadn’t felt in years. He had sent the invite on a whim—just a casual “Hey, it’s been a while. Wanna grab a coffee?”—but now that he was actually here, waiting, he was starting to regret it.

The automatic doors of the laboratory building slid open, and there you were, stepping out onto the sidewalk, scanning the street.

Jason felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

He swallowed hard.

“Jaybird,” You greeted, pulling him into a tight hug, “Been a while.”

Jason let himself sink into it for half a second before forcing himself to let go, “Yeah, well. You’re hard to pin down these days.”

You rolled your eyes, “Oh, please. You’re the one always disappearing. You’re worse than Dick.”

Jason smirked, “Low blow.”

You looped an arm around his, tugging him toward the sidewalk, “C’mon, walk with me. I wanna hear what you’ve been up to.”

He let himself be pulled along, shaking his head, “What I’ve been up to? You’re the one always buried in the lab.”

You groaned, “Don’t remind me. I swear, one of these days, I’m just gonna quit and run away to a beach somewhere.”

Jason laughed, nudging your shoulder, “Yeah? You’d last, what, a week before you got bored?”

You pouted, “Okay, rude. But true.”

He watched you talk, listened to you ramble about work, about a bad coffee you’d had the other day, about a stray cat that kept showing up outside your apartment. He nodded in the right places, chimed in with sarcastic comments, but mostly, he just took in the way you looked at him.

The way you looked at him like nothing had changed.

Like he was still the same Jason you’d always known.

Like you had no idea how much he wasn’t.

You sighed, bumping into his side, “I missed you, y’know?”

His heart fluttered, a jolt of electricity running through it in a way that made him feel giddy, “You did?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s so great that we can just pick up where we left off, no awkwardness or anything. I guess that’s the good thing about family, huh?”

He froze for a fraction of a second at the word family. It took everything in him not to flinch. He forced a smile, trying to keep his cool.

“Yeah... I guess that’s the good thing, huh?” He pushed the words out, though they tasted bitter on his tongue.

You glanced up at him, offering a grin that made his heart ache. “Exactly.” You said, as if that word was enough to sum up everything. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Just family.

Jason walked beside you, his hands in his jacket pockets, fingers curling into fists. The sharp edge of his feelings threatened to spill over, but he kept them at bay. He wasn’t going to ruin this. Not when he finally had a chance to talk to you again after so long.

You kept chatting, unaware of the quiet storm brewing inside him. You told him about a new research project you were working on and your latest failed attempt at cooking. His responses were automatic—smiles, laughs, and the occasional comment—but his mind was elsewhere, caught in the web of thoughts he couldn’t untangle.

It was so easy for you to slip back into the role of the confident, carefree person you always were around him. And here he was, still stuck in the same old cycle of longing. Family. That was all he would ever be to you. Just family.

But what if it wasn’t enough anymore?

As you continued to walk, your voice light and carefree, Jason couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever get the courage to tell you how he felt. Would it even change anything? Or would it ruin everything, forever locking him into the “family” role he had never wanted to begin with?

You bumped into him again, snapping him out of his thoughts, “Hey, Jay, I’ve been thinking—I do these little arcade runs with Timmy and Dami once a month, you know, like a brotherly-sisterly bonding activity.”

Jason’s chest tightened. He knew. You, Dick, and he used to do that all the time ten years ago. It left a bittersweet feeling in his chest.

“You should join us sometime. You know, like old times.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

***

When Jason saw the amber-orange glow of the building from afar, his heart dropped. Without hesitation, he signaled the remaining members of the Bat Family before sprinting toward it. He didn’t like the path he was taking. He didn’t like where it was leading.

It almost seemed like he was heading toward—

No.

Jason came face to face with the burning S.T.A.R. Labs building.

Even through his fireproof armor, he could feel the searing heat radiating from the inferno. He watched as waves of people poured out, coughing, screaming, their faces twisted in pain and panic. His eyes scanned over them, searching.

None of them were you.

Without a second thought, he moved toward the building.

His comms buzzed to life.

"Red Hood, do not engage! You don’t have a plan!" Batman’s voice was firm, commanding.

"(Y/N) is in there!" Jason snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then, he braved the flames.

He pushed through the burning hallways, doing whatever he could to help those in his path—clearing exits, carrying the wounded—until he reached the deeper levels of the lab. His lungs burned with the smoke, but he kept moving.

And then he heard it.

A bloodcurdling shriek.

Your shriek.

Jason sprinted toward the sound, shoving open what remained of your office door. The sight that greeted him made his stomach lurch—

You were trapped beneath a flaming bookshelf.

Soot covered your skin, your body trembling as you fought to free yourself. Your clothes were scorched, and judging by the way you were barely moving, you had sustained multiple burns. Panic filled your eyes.

Jason didn’t hesitate.

He threw the bookshelf off you, scooping you into his arms and holding you close as he ran out. You couldn’t think straight. The blinding pain in your shoulder overtook every other thought.

"You're gonna be okay. I'm gonna reset your shoulder." Jason murmured. The deep baritone of his gravelly voice had your panic subsiding by a fraction. He didn't sound worried, which meant you were going to be fine. Probably.

"Are you sure you know how to do that?" You really shouldn't have to ask that. Jason would never suggest it if he thought he might do more harm than good. You trusted him.

"Yeah, I've got you, baby. Trust me."

You inhaled sharply, pressing your bloody forehead to his and screwing your eyes shut. Jason watched as a fresh wave of tears poured down your cheeks and his stomach hollowed out at the sight of you in pain. You were trembling, chest shaking as you tried to contain your sobs.

"I do."

He rubbed a hand up and down your waist, trying to comfort you briefly before he grabbed your injured arm with both his hands. You took a shaky breath, trying to stifle another sob.

“You might want to hold onto something, doll—holy sh—!”

He was rudely cut off as your free hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, keeping his forehead pressed against yours—your only source of comfort.

In hindsight, you weren’t sure what logic had driven you to grab his hair. Perhaps you wanted him to feel as much pain as you were in—or as much pain as you knew he was about to put you through. Or maybe you just wanted to anchor him to you, to keep him close so you could draw comfort from his presence.

"Ready?"

You weren’t ready—but you sniffled and nodded anyway, hearing him count down from three. The next thing you heard was a crack, followed by the sound of your own scream as you clung to Jason’s hair, gripping so tightly you were afraid you’d tear out those perfect strands.

Jason pressed gentle kisses to the side of your head as you sobbed, his voice low and soothing. He told you how proud he was, that it was all over now, as he worked quickly to tie a tourniquet.

When everything was done, you collapsed against his chest, going limp in his arms as he carried you out of the building. You were handed off to a paramedic and gently placed on a gurney.

With bleary eyes, you watched him run back into the building, your consciousness slipping away before you could call out to stop him.

***

The steady beeping of the monitors was the first thing you heard when you groggily blinked awake. The second thing was the sound of someone muttering under their breath, followed by the unmistakable rustling of fabric.

You turned your head—slowly, because everything hurt—and found Jason slumped in the chair beside your bed, arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed. His jacket was draped over the armrest, his boots scuffed, the soles stained with char.

“Hey, doll.” Jason greeted, his voice softer than usual.

You gave him a sleepy smile, “Hey, hero.”

He looked… tired. The kind of tired that wasn’t just from lack of sleep, but from worry. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d been running his hands through it all night. His jacket still smelled faintly of smoke.

“How long have you been here?” You asked.

Jason shrugged, leaning forward so his forearms rested on the bedrail, "Not long." But you both knew he was lying.

Your heart clenched, warmth curling in your chest, “You didn’t have to stay.”

Jason’s gaze flicked to yours, unreadable for a moment, “Yeah, I did.”

Your breath caught slightly. He didn’t elaborate—he didn’t need to.

You swallowed, looking down at where your hand rested against the blanket. You hesitated, then shifted it slightly, palm up, an invitation. Jason hesitated too, just for a second, before lacing his fingers with yours.

His grip was warm, steady. He didn’t squeeze too tight, mindful of your injuries, but he didn’t let go, either.

There was something unspoken between the two of you, something different now. Neither of you could quite place it—maybe it was the quiet familiarity of being here together, or maybe it was the way his hand fit into yours, a little more firmly than before. But you both knew something had shifted. It hung in the air, thick and heavy, but neither of you dared to speak of it.

“You scared the hell outta me,” He admitted, voice rougher now, quieter.

“I’m okay.” You squeezed his hand, reassuring, “Thanks to you.”

Jason scoffed, but there was no bite to it, “Yeah, no thanks to your dumbass trying to save your research instead of yourself. Next time, leave the dangerous work to the big boys?”

You rolled your eyes, clearing your throat, “Next time, try not making me scream so hard when you reset my shoulder. I think I burst a blood vessel.”

Jason smirked, rubbing his thumb absently over your knuckles, “I can make you scream plenty other ways, baby.”

Your scoffed at this, rolling your eyes but choosing not to respond. Stupid bastard, pretending like he was all suave when you both knew underneath it all, Jason Todd was an unapologetic romantic.

You let your fingers tighten around his, anchoring yourself to the warmth of him.

Jason squeezed back, like he understood.

“Get some rest." He murmured, shifting slightly so his arm rested on the mattress, keeping your hands tangled together, “I’ll be here.”

You sighed softly, your body finally relaxing, “Promise?”

Jason leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your hand, “Promise.”

***

Jason climbed through your window with practiced ease and you didn't even flinch as he let himself in, still in his Red Hood get-up. This wasn't the first time he was doing this, nor would it be his last. It had been this way ever since you had been escorted back by him from the hospital.

Jason checked up on you almost every day, making sure you were dressing your burns properly, even redressing the ones on your back. On those nights, when you felt incredibly vulnerable, you knew there was no one you’d feel safer with than Jason.

You merely glanced at him from your spot behind the counter, continuing to slice the cucumber using the mandolin.

The fearsome Red Hood found his way into your kitchen, nudging you out of the way and washing his hands. He ignored your protests, grabbing the mandolin from you and snatching the cucumber, "This thing's sharp."

You rolled your eyes, "I was being careful."

He didn't even take off his domino, only tossing his helmet onto your couch in his rush to help you, "I didn't think you knew how."

You scoffed at this, lightly slapping his shoulder even though you were well aware that you could've put more strength into it and he still would've felt nothing, "Go shower while I heat up dinner you loser."

He laughed, stepping aside and letting you grab the freshly sliced cucumber so you could add the spices to make cucumber salad. He pecked your temple, grabbing the towel you had left warming for him in the dryer before stepping into the shower and washing the grime of Gotham away.

When he emerged from the shower, dressed in the sweats he had left there, you caught a glimpse of his bare chest. Letting out a flustered laugh, you quickly averted your gaze.

“Oh my god, put on a shirt!”

Jason just cackled, completely unbothered, as he rummaged through your dresser drawer. He disappeared for a moment, only to reappear in the kitchen after tossing his wet towel in the washer.

This time, when you looked at him, the laugh that escaped was less flustered and more outright incredulous.

“What on earth are you wearing?”

A baby tee on you was cute—it rode up just enough to show a teasing sliver of skin, something that Jason always found distracting. But on him? It was absolutely ridiculous.

The fabric strained around his biceps like it was fighting for its life, and you were genuinely concerned that if he flexed even a little, the sleeves would burst apart. The hem barely covered his pecs, leaving his abs completely on display. And across his chest, in bold letters, were the words:

“I’m sorry I have great tits.”

You covered your mouth, shaking with laughter, "Of all the shirts I have."

“And? Is it wrong to own my truth?”

You groaned, throwing a dish towel at his face while still giggling, “Take it off.”

“Make me.”

***

When Jason woke up to the sound of you bustling around his apartment, he sat up in bed, hair mussed, and found you rifling through his closet. You held up a formal button-up shirt, tapping your chin in consideration.

He watched you, still groggy, taking in your figure dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts. You’d stopped by after dinner last night and ended up crashing on his couch, not even stirring when he carried you to bed.

Jason glanced at the clock, “Don’t you— I don’t know— have a job to get to?”

You spared him a glance over your shoulder, “Oh, you’re awake. I figured instead of going all the way back to my place, I’d just borrow something of yours and wear the same jeans from yesterday. I’m in the lab today anyway, so it doesn’t really matter what I have on underneath.”

He hummed, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.

“Left breakfast for you in the microwave, by the way.”

Stepping behind you, he pressed a quick, absentminded kiss to your temple before heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When he emerged, you had swapped the button-up for one of his t-shirts, knotting it in the middle so it wouldn’t look so oversized. He smirked at the sight of you checking yourself out in the mirror, tugging at the hem, making sure it didn’t look odd.

“Looks better on you anyway.” He murmured, leaning against the doorframe.

You rolled your eyes but grinned at him through the mirror, “Yeah, yeah. I bet you say that to all the girls stealing your clothes.”

Jason scoffed, stepping closer, “Oh yeah, all the girls. My closet’s just a free-for-all at this point.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest as he loomed behind you. He caught your wrist with ease, fingers curling lightly around it, his touch warm and familiar.

You pouted up at him, flashing your best pleading puppy-dog eyes. He raised an amused brow.

“Give me a ride to work?”

Jason huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at you, “You’re really pushing your luck, you know that?”

You grinned, tilting your head slightly, “Come on, Jay. I’ll even let you pick the music.”

He narrowed his eyes, “You always let me pick the music.”

“Yeah, but this time, I won’t complain about your broody, ‘I’m a tortured soul’ playlists.”

Jason scoffed, releasing your wrist only to flick your forehead lightly, “First of all, my playlists are not broody—”

“They absolutely are.” You interrupted, smirking.

He ignored you, “Second, you know I’d drive you anyway. You don’t have to beg.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart, “So you like driving me around? I knew it. You’re secretly my personal chauffeur.”

Jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at his lips, “Yeah, yeah. Go make me a cup of coffee so I don't fall asleep at the wheel while dropping your lazy ass off.”

You saluted him playfully before bouncing toward the kitchen. Jason lingered for a moment, watching you move around his space so effortlessly, so comfortably. It was dangerous, the way you fit into his life so easily. But even as he tried to shake off the thought, he was already reaching for his keys, knowing damn well he’d drive you anywhere you asked.

***

You shut the door to your apartment only after the elevator doors finally closed, ensuring your friend had left. The lights in your home remained off, and darkness enveloped you as you carefully navigated the room, kicking off your heels.

"Who was that?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin, giving yourself whiplash when you swung around to face the intruder in your apartment—only to sigh in relief when you were met by the familiar hunk of a silhouette.

"You scared the hell out of me, Jason." You grumbled, now having to turn on the lights so you could look for where you had dropped your keys in shock.

"Who was that?" He repeated and this time you picked up on something in his tone. Less inquisitive and more interrogative. You arched a brow at him, dumping the keys into the bowl by the door and placing your handbag onto the kitchen island.

"What's with the attitude?"

Even though you continued to bustle about the apartment, you couldn't help but steal glances of his unmoving figure on the couch. He was never like this, he usually helped you out of your coat, ran the shower, something.

His indifference was making you antsy.

"Damian said he saw you out on a date."

That had you stopping midway of unloading your dishwasher, your reflection in the freshly clean dishes staring back at you with an expression of befuddlement.

'Damian saw me on a date? Me? On a date? When? Where? With who?!'

"What are you even talking about, Jason?" You scoffed, slightly off-put by this sudden turn in behavior. You hadn't been on a date since prehistoric times, it felt like. Jason felt the need to break into your apartment (not technically breaking in considering he had a key), sit in the dark and interrogate you in your own home all because of some baseless accusation that Damian of all people made.

"He said he saw you talking it up with some man at town square today and that you got into his car."

Jason finally stood up, walking over to where you stood in the kitchen and your eyes raked over his figure multiple times. Something about this was just wrong; his stiff posture, the frown on his face, the hard eyes.

"I was attending a conference happening there with a co-worker—we drove up there together."

Jason’s eyes scanned your face, and a flicker of offense sparked in your chest. Did he think you were lying? And even if you were—what business was it of his?

"A co-worker, huh?" He said, his voice tight and laced with something sharp, "How come this is the first I'm hearing of this? Lord knows you'd usually beg me to drive you there."

You frowned, "What is up with you? Why does it matter? You're behaving like a jealous boyfriend, and last I checked, we weren't dating."

That was clearly not the right thing to say, judging by the way Jason’s face stoned over—expression cold and unreadable, yet barely concealing the red-hot fury simmering just beneath the surface.

"Excuse me?" He seethed, stepping closer to you. If it had been anyone else, you would've taken a step back. But this was Jason, and you didn't feel any discomfort when he stepped into your bubble.

"You call me when you're down and need someone to talk to. We literally spend every night together to the point I have a drawer in my dresser for your clothes! (Y/N), you've held me on nights when I can't sleep!" He cried, voice tight with frustration, "If that isn't dating, then what the fuck is this? What the fuck are we?"

He stepped closer, crowding into your space until your back hit the refrigerator with a soft thud. His palms pressed flat against the wall on either side of you, caging you in.

"(Y/N)..." He whispered, leaning in closer. He smelled of artificial ocean in a bottle and sharp menthol, a mix that shouldn’t have been so intoxicating. Heat radiated off him, and suddenly, you felt far too warm.

You were so close to throwing away all your inhibitions until that one feeling—heavy and unshakable—anchored your stomach, dragging you back down.

"Stop."

He did.

You felt him sigh against your lips, a hair away from actually meeting his. He shook his head, "I should've known."

He didn’t look at you once, just left his key on the counter and shut the door behind him. Your back remained pinned to the fridge as the sound of his footsteps faded down the hallway, each one echoing in time with your pounding heart.

'Go after him. Stop him. Do something.'

And yet, your feet stayed rooted in place.

***

The next time you imagined seeing Jason, it would be at a family event neither of you could find a way out of. You’d steal a longing glance when his back was turned, spending the rest of the night waiting, hoping, that he'd return your gaze.

You never imagined that the next time you’d see him—talk to him—would be in the back alley behind a noisy club. You hadn’t meant for this to happen—really, you hadn’t.

You’d just gotten off a particularly rough shift, and even though all you wanted was to crawl into the quiet of your room and call Jason just to hear his voice, instead, a coworker had convinced you to blow off some steam and grab a drink.

You hadn't expected to see Jason there—especially not with another girl.

“When I said stop, I didn’t mean stop forever and get over me!” You cried out, frustration and overwhelming emotion cracking through your voice. Seeing him with Artemis had unleashed an arsenal of feelings you couldn’t even begin to sort through, and before you knew it, you were picking a fight with him—desperate for his attention to be back on you instead of her.

You were envious of her strong build and long, lustrous hair. You were angry with yourself for resenting her, even though she’d done absolutely nothing wrong. You were hurt because it looked like Jason was having a good time. And most of all, you were confused—why did it upset you so much?

“Would you rather I stay as your little plaything forever? Stringing me along just enough to keep me loving you, hoping for more, only to push me away with some bullshit excuse?”

His face darkened, and your stomach hollowed out. Jason had been frustrated with you many times before; you’d argued until he was red in the face. But he’d never looked at you like this—like he hated you.

You bit your lip, the fight seeping out of you. Because at the end of the day… he was right, wasn’t he? You had been playing with him—stringing him along, showing him glimpses of the most intimate corners of your life, but still expecting him to magically know where you’d drawn the invisible lines of unspoken boundaries.

His jaw hardened, and you dropped your gaze. Jason didn’t deserve this. Inside the club was a beautiful, strong woman who he had every right to show interest in. And you had no right to be upset about it.

“You’re right, Jason. I—I’m sorry for ruining your date. You should get back in there before she thinks you stood her up.”

With your hands pressed to your chest to stop yourself from reaching out for him, you sidestepped his domineering presence and turned to walk away.

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s it?”

You froze. Turning back, you found him ruffling his hair in frustration, annoyance radiating off him in waves as he stalked closer, stopping just a couple of feet away.

“You don’t get to fucking do that! You don’t get to tell me to stop, then get mad at me for actually doing what you asked. You don’t get to make a scene and not even tell me why!”

That was it.

You closed the distance between you two, clutching the collar of his jacket with trembling fists and yanking him down to you, slanting your lips against his in a rough, desperate kiss.

“That’s why,” You whispered, lowering yourself back onto your heels and letting go of his jacket as you turned to leave—

“Oh no, you’re not.”

Jason’s arm coiled around your hips, pulling you back against him as he crushed his lips to yours once more. You sighed against him, your fingers twisting into his hair, your other hand slipping under his jacket, fisting the fabric of his shirt.

It was everything you had spent months pretending you didn’t want.

And you couldn’t stop.

***

Bonus:

"Hi, honey." You said, voice sweet and saccharine, as you entered the dining room of the manor.

"Hi, pookie." Dick replied, not looking up from his phone, lounging on the couch.

There was a pause, followed by an exaggerated noise of disgust from you, "I could not have been more clearly speaking to my boyfriend." You teased, your tone playful but pointed.

This time, Dick looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow. His expression shifted from confusion to realization as he saw you standing with your hands wrapped around Jason's neck, very clearly leaning in for a kiss to greet him instead.

"Oh, for god's sake." Dick groaned, rolling his eyes, "Ugh, you both are disgusting. You know I used to be her honey?"

Jason raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, "Get used to it, geezer," he quipped, draping an arm around your shoulder and pecking your temple, "She likes younger men."

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

@that-one-fangirl69

@el-hrts

Requested tags:

@theendofthematerialgworl

@itzmeme

@catharticdesire

@joonunivrs

@mercuryathens

[fromdove]

STOLEN HOODIES & OTHER CRIMES OF THE HEART ! d.grayson x reader

The first time you “borrow” one of Dick’s hoodies, it’s an accident.

You’re soaked, shivering, and hiding in his apartment after a very unfortunate encounter with Gotham’s finest rainstorm. He offers it without thinking, tossing it at your head while digging around for tea like he’s hosting some kind of wet cat rehabilitation center.

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Wear it with gratitude,” he says over the sound of cabinets slamming. “That hoodie’s done more patrols than some beat cops.”

It’s warm. It smells like him — pine, soap, something faintly electric — and it swallows you whole. Your fingers disappear past the sleeves, your knees tucked into the hem.

You don’t give it back.

Not that night. Not the week after.

And definitely not after he texts you “bring my hoodie back, thief” and you send a picture of you wearing it… paired with sunglasses and the caption “possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

He stops complaining after that.

He starts leaving hoodies at your place “by accident.”

The fifth time, you're curled up on his couch in yet another one (this one black with a faded Nightwing symbol), and he just stares.

You glance up, lips brushing a mug. “What?”

“You realize you’re wearing my identity,” he says, blinking.

You take a casual sip. “Better than you do.”

Dick puts a hand to his chest like you’ve shot him. “Rude.”

“True.”

“Betrayal. In my own home.”

You gesture at the hoodie. “Your own hoodie.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks skyward like he’s praying for patience.

“You know,” he says, leaning down until he’s eye-level, voice softening into something warm and teasing, “I could just start wearing your clothes.”

You narrow your eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“You’re six feet tall and built like a Greek god. You’d stretch out every sweater I own.”

“Bold of you to assume that’s a downside,” he murmurs.

Your heart stutters. Your breath catches.

He grins like he heard it.

A week later, you come home to find him standing in your kitchen — barefoot, making pancakes, wearing your pastel pink hoodie with a tiny embroidered duck on the chest.

The sleeves are tight. The hem doesn’t quite make it past his waist. He looks absurd.

And also unfairly hot.

You stare.

He flips a pancake.

You still stare.

Finally: “Dick.”

He glances over his shoulder. “Yes, dear?”

“Why are you in my hoodie?”

“You started it.”

You blink. “This is revenge?”

“This,” he says, sliding a perfectly golden pancake onto a plate, “is escalation.”

Later, he lets you steal the hoodie back off of him by kissing him dizzy.

You think that counts as a win.

He lets you think that, too.

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

THE HELL YOU MEAN YOU GOT A GIRL ?

summary : in which Tim's brothers find out he not only has a girlfriend but she's actually real and attractive and idk dating HIM of all people ???

Tim Drake is a busy man , his family knew that I meant come on ?? The kid is Red Robin, juggling Wayne Enterprises , solving cases, and not mention he attends college.

Not in a million years would they guess he of all of them would have a girlfriend and that he of all of them would have a functional relationship before any if them.

It started subtle at first - he'd finish patrol early , not really a big deal since they'd all assume he was busy with school and just had to go home.

Well truns out he was going home just not to do work just to simply have dinner with you.

The next sign was that he had a picture of you at the back of his phone - it's encased safely behind the clear casing . Dick saw it at first and shrugged it off, thinking it was a kpop idol or some model Tim liked alot - nope it was just him being in love with you and just showing it off.

Tim unironically smells better ? Damian doesn't know how to place it - its not that Tim ever smelled bad or had bad hygiene it's just that he's been particularly very into it as of late - he literally even has a skin care routine now but Damian writes it off as Tim being curious or weird.

Tim also starts dressing classier too like he wears good slacks or nice baggy jeans with fitted tops - showing off his slim but muscular figure as of late - he even asked Jason to borrow one of his old leather jackets and hey - Jason didn't mind lending his brother one - he just thought Tim was getting into the grunge style like him. Nope, it turns out Tim overheard you saying guys in leather jackets were hot, so of course, he had to get the real thing.

Flash forward to like a year and a half down the line and one day all three of them were talking about how Tim was glowing up and getting himself in shape .

Dick : " you know Tim's been idk dressing up as of late ".

Damian : " smh it's like he's pathetically trying to impress someone "

Jason : " I thought he was just idk changing his style ?"

Dick : " you think ? Plus he's been ending patrol early lately"

Damian : " he's a nerd Grayson , knowing him he gets home earlier to study or what not ".

Jason : *cackling* " and he wonders why he can't get a girlfriend "

*Tim who just walked in and overheard jason* : " I literally have a girlfriend. What do you mean ?"

Pin drop silence . Everyone stares at him, eye wide and then they burst out cackling.

Jason : " Timmy boy a blow up sex doll doesn't count a girlfriend"

Dick : *laughing* " Tim the day you get a girlfriend is the day the world would end"

Damian : " Timothy, that's the best joke you have ever uttered."

Tim scowls at them , " I LITERALLY HAVE A GIRLFRIEND AND SHES A REAL PERSON"

Damian *still laughing* : " Alright Timothy, let's meet your so-called very real girlfriend."

Flash forward to two hours later and they're at a local Lego shop at the mall , the batboys are all confused .

Jason : " Tim, when we said a real girl, we didn't mean a Lego woman figure"

Tim just rolled his eyes - annoyed because he can't fathom why they didn't think he can't have a girlfriend .

Not even two minutes passed, and you bolted out of the store and engulfed Tim in a big hug and began kissing him all over his face. Tim wore a big , smug smile as he wrapped his hand around your waist and pressed you a forehead kiss.

Dick's mouth is too the floor , Jason's eyes just widen so big you'd swear his eyes will roll out and Damian looks like he's gonna hurl.

Damian : " I think - I think I going to die "

Jason *still in shock* : " There is no way this is real - literally no way I've got to be imagining shit "

Dick : " Someone pinch me " *Damian pinches him hard* " OUCH WHAT THE FUCK"

Jason points at you and then at Tim , " Miss is he holding you hostage -"

Tim rolls his eyes , " SHES MY GIRLFRIEND"

Damian tuts , " She's too hot to be with the likes of you she should date someone better "

Dick : " Like me -"

Shutting him down immediately, Tim : " Fuck no"

You awkwardly laughing , " So you're Tim's brothers ?"

Jason : " unfortunately ". *dick nudges him hard* " OW WTF"

You : " It's nice to meet you all I'm Tim's girlfriend "

Dick : " yeah that's the part we are all processing"

Damian : " Are you sure you're not talking about another tim?"

Tim , scowling : " Shut the fuck up demon she said she's my girlfriend so can yall stop being so annoying now "

You : " They didn't think you'd have a girlfriend ?"

Tim : " no and I don't know why especially since they themselves don't have one either "

Jason : " in my offense I died -"

Dick : " Pack it up. It's been 4 years since you came back. You got no excuse "

Jason : " I know the man who has fumbled every relationship he touches is not talking "

Damian : " This is all pointless. Love is stupid and worthless"

As the both continue to bicker back and forth, you turn to Tim with a wide grin , " Who do you think is worse ?"

Tim , pulling you in closer , : " Definitely Bruce "

*in a very far distance*

You laugh as you grab his hand and left him off somewhere , " Let's go get milkshakes".

Bruce *sneezes* : " Someone is trash talking me "

ty for reading !!!

[callmeizukunotdeku]

"You're lying," Damian said. 

And honestly, Tim had to laugh, "I don't know why you think I am. I asked to keep a cat, Alfred said no, and that was that."

"But that..." Damian furrowed his brow. Tim's voice was taking on a different tenor than usual. Something a bit more strained. "He let me have a cat."

"Yeah," Tim said, cringing when his voice cracked on the word, before trying to play it off with a casual shrug, "you're his son."

And Damian was fooled for a moment. He had his mouth half open to reply that he was the blood son. He was different. Superior. 

But he paused upon the fact that Tim hadn't just made that point for him, he'd given him an example. 

The cat. 

Tim had wanted one and been refused. Damian had wanted one and had been obliged. 

He had wanted a dragon and been obliged. 

But Tim couldn't have a cat, and Damian, whenever he asserted his superiority, had thought he was lying. 

He was lying in a way. They were the same. Tim was a well-respected associate of his father, but... 

You're his son. 

But that didn't mean as much as Damian assumed it did. 

Damian assessed his options before doing something he usually avoided. He swallowed his pride, looked at Tim, and said, "I...don't fully understand what your place is here."

Tim gave him a smile filled with enough sympathy to make something ugly roll in Damian's gut. "Me neither, kid. Me neither."

[juicykvnture]

LOVEDRUG

JasonTodd x fem!Reader

tags: AFAB reader, established relationship, drug use, intox (dubcon), dirty talk, dumbification, nicknames (doll, baby) manhandling, spit, praise + degradation and not much plot I fear

a/n: IM NORMAL I SWEAR IM NORMAL! (i scream as they drag me away)

wc: 3.5k | masterlist

“That’s it?” Jason’s eyes narrow as he stares at you measuring out the sedative for your upcoming mission, his arms crossed over his chest watching as you crush it up. In true Jason Todd fashion, he always has to give you his two cents.

“Stay in your lane Jay, I know what I’m doing,” you roll your eyes, leaning over the counter to get your half-empty cup of tea, staring down into it and then back to the little heap of powder.

“That wouldn’t be enough to knock a fucking squirrel out.. let alone a grown man.”

He can’t afford this job going tits up, you need to knock tomorrow’s target out cold.

“What’s a half teaspoon gonna do? Make the bastard a little dizzy?”

“Only one way to find out,” you murmur under your breath, dumping a teaspoon of it into your tea, offering a noncommittal shrug to Jason’s utter dismay.

“Excuse me?”

“For science.” you clarify, tilting the cup in your hand to swirl the mixture around a little.

“Cheers,” you mumble before he can even stop you downing the mixture in one go with a grimace before he can reach over and pry the cup out of your hand.

You set it down, empty on the counter with a soft clink, rubbing a hand over your face.

This just has to take the cake for the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. He’s actually fucking astounded at your level of impulsiveness, disregard for your own health and downright stupidity.

He has a lot of very colourful adjectives he wants to call you right now - he could fill a whole dictionary without even trying.

“Is there something fundamentally fucking wrong with you?”

His eyes are wide, his usual lazy drawl now full of concern, confusion.

With the kind of bullshit you pull, you’re bound to send him to an early grave (again)

“What?” You blink, leaning back against the counter with a sigh.

“Worst case scenario I’ll pass out and you have to carry me to bed. I’ll live! You said it ain’t enough to even knock a squirrel out, right?”

That makes him sputter slightly, running a hand through his messy black hair. That’s unfair, you’re using his words against him.

“M’fine, Jason.” you’re trying to reassure him, stepping away from the counter with your hands raised as if in surrender.

But now that you think about it.. the room really is spinning.. just a little bit.

Okay, you aren’t fine.

Maybe don’t test out sedatives on yourself next time?

“Hey-” Jason caught you a little too easily when you face-planted into his chest, his arms tightening around your waist to keep you upright. He let out a low sigh, a mix of frustration and concern.

“You sure about that being fine?” He sighs, his voice a soft murmur as his eyes scan over you again. “You’re about as steady as a baby deer.”

That makes you giggle, your lips slowly curling upwards.

“..baby deers are cute.”

Seeing the grin on your face, despite your situation, was simultaneously endearing and frustrating.

“You’re implying I’m cute,” your words are starting your slur a little, less stable against him than you were moments ago.

Your grin and the flutter of your lashes cause his eyes to narrow slightly, a sense of dread starting to pool in his stomach. He knows that look, even through the haze of whatever you’re under.

He shakes his head, his hands moving down to your hips with a scowl, trying to keep you steady.

“Nope,” he muttered, his grip on you tightening. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, just—”

Before he could finish, your hand shot up and seized a weak fistful of his shirt, planting your face right into his neck with a dramatic sigh.

“Y’smell nice.”

Jason suppressed another eye roll as he felt your grin against his skin. You’re damn near delirious right now and this was what you chose to focus on?

The feeling of your teeth lightly scraping against his neck caught his attention, a flash of something crossing his eyes.

“Quit it,” he murmured, his fingers under your chin as he lifted your face to meet his gaze again. Your eyes were unfocused, clouded with the effects of the drug.

“M’not even doing anything!”

He doesn’t believe that for a second. It’s a miracle you haven’t tried to climb him yet.

You’re down bad enough for him when you’re in a normal state of mind, but loopy off of your ass? God help him.

“Sure you ain’t.” Jason huffs as he stares down at you, unable to hide the flicker of fondness that crosses his features.

You’re aimlessly mouthing at his neck now, mumbling on and on about how much you love him. He should probably throw you over his shoulder and put you to bed. You clearly need to lie down, you’re off of your head completely.

But he can’t bring himself to.

“You’re a mess,” he murmured, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern - maybe a tiny hint of amusement somewhere in there.

“Nuh-uh,”

Jason couldn’t help the exhale at the sight of you and your attempt at denying the truth. He’s chewing on the insides of his cheeks, trying to hold back the barest hint of a smirk.

Honestly? You do stupid shit all the time, if you feel sick or something.. maybe you’ll learn your lesson for once.

The little bit of drool at the corner of your lips, how you’re shaking a little, the way you’re already starting to look a bit too comfortable in his arms - it’s equal parts adorable and worrying.

But worst of all, it kinda turns him on.

“You really are a mess right now, though..” he leans you back against the counter, one hand staying on your waist to keep you steady. His other hand raised to touch your chin, thumb swiping away the drool at the corner of your mouth, lingering on your bottom lip for a little bit too long.

“Fuckin’ droolin’ all over yourself.”

“You’re mean..” You stare at him for what feels like an eternity in your compromised state, your lips twitching upward into a stupid, shaky grin, leaning further into his hand.

“I’m not mean. Look at you.” He sighs, resting his hand against your flushed cheek.

He feels almost guilty for a split second. He knows you should probably go and sleep this off.

“Try leaning on the counter, yeah?” He lets go of you for a moment, just to check how messed up you really are right now, his hands still hovering around your hips to catch you just in case.

“Right..” you slur under your breath, your knees a little shaky without Jason to hold you.

He tried to ignore the way his stomach coiled at your obedience, at the sight of you looking up at him with those half-lidded, cloudy eyes. You’re trying to prove to him that you’re totally fine - even when you know you’re far from it.

Jason leans closer so can examine your dazed expression, your pupils blown wide like saucers. The effect the drug was having on you even more pronounced now that you were so close. It was hard to ignore the raw desire that was pooling in his gut, the urge to fuck you right then and there.

God, he needs to rein himself in a little bit.

“You still think you’re just fine?” Jason’s mouth hovers over yours, hands finding your hips again, slotting his leg between your thighs.

You’re too out of it to tell if it’s out of concern or if he’s just downright mocking you at this point. All you can do is huff out a small laugh, lashes fluttering.

“M’doin’ great..” You blink slowly, pressed between his body and the cold marble counter, your fingers going to hook into the belt loops of his jeans, trying to grind yourself against his thigh a little harder.

That makes his pants feel tighter than they should, hand moving from your cheek to slide behind your neck, tilting your head around in his firm grip just to see if you’d stop him.

You don’t - you’re letting him just sway your head around with a slurred giggle.

“Dizzy, baby?”

“Uhuhh..” you manage, your head hitting his shoulder with a soft thump, a random giggle leaving you every few seconds until he gives your neck a small squeeze, making you look up at him again.

"Uhuh?" he echoes in a gruff mockery of your slurred words, his mouth a thin line. His hand pushed your skirt up, his fingers grazing over the edge of your panties.

He’s right in front of you but the sedative in your system makes it feel like he’s far away, his wobbly words echoing in your skull paired with the sound of your own heartbeat.

You feel him shift against you, pressing his hips against you firmly. You feel the heat and hardness of his bulge through your skirt hiked-up skirt, leaving no room for imagination as he presses his bulge against the wet patch in your underwear.

Another slurred giggle and your hands are fumbling with his belt, mouthing at his neck since you’re too dazed to tilt your head up and try to actually kiss his mouth.

"Easy there, doll," Jason murmurs as he grabs your wrist, though there was no mistaking the roughness in his voice now as you continued your barrage of messy kisses against his neck.

His fingers press into the soft skin of your thighs as he hoists you up - the action making you squeak slightly as he perches your ass atop the counter.

You seem to forget he’s fully capable of throwing you around sometimes. He makes sure to remind you every now and again.

“..not fair,” You writhe a little against him and he just chuckles at your squeak, his fingers grazing the fabric of your drenched panties. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the dampness staining the soft cotton.

"Not fair?" He taunted, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass for a moment. He pressed his crotch against you, grinding his denim-clad cock against your damp panties, your hips moving out of their own accord to try to press against him too.

What’s not fair is how you think it’s okay to tease him, shameless about it too.

“You’re making a mess of these,” he points out, his voice huskier than usual as he pulls the hem of your underwear taut, releasing it to let the elastic smack against your skin.

You’d normally scoff at that shit and try to get him back for messing with you.

But not right now, it makes your shaky knees fall open actually - teeth pressing into the plush of your bottom lip, drool at the corner of your mouth again.

He can tell you liked that.

Perhaps you’re too out of it to hide what you’re really thinking. You’re usually so composed.

“Slut.” Jason mumbles into your hair, voice deceptively soft.

“..huh?” you slur, managing to frame your head up slightly despite the fact it feels way heavier than it should, lips still in a dumb grin.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry bout it.” he sighs, pressing a small kiss to your forehead, pressing his fingers against your clothed pussy.

“Think you’re too dumb to understand right now, anyway.”

The fact you’re not even questioning what he’s saying, the fact you’re nodding along to everything he says just makes him want to push you a little further.

“M’not dumb..” you frown slightly, your face kinda falling into his hand before he catches your jaw once more.

“You will be.” He applies more pressure with his fingers, circling your clit through the thin fabric, still holding your neck up. You can feel his growing bulge pressing against your thigh, grinding against you hard.

“I mean, that shit you pulled was pretty dumb, wasn’t it?” He grits out, still acting like he’s mad that you got yourself into this state with those drugs.

He isn’t.. not really.

“Little slut like you tellin’ me to stay in my fuckin’ lane.”

“M’sorry..” you slur, barely able to remember why.

He watches your lips curl into an unsure pout, he’s not sure if you’re even able to tell what he’s talking about.

“Sorry, are you?”

Your eyes are getting a little droopy now, grinding yourself against his fingers before the hand that was holding your head smacks your jaw with a small “tsk,” under his breath, the action making you choke out an unintentional whimper.

“Sure you are.” Jason's eyes flickered with a mix of satisfaction and dark desire as he felt your legs spread obediently. His fingers slipped under your panties, his thick fingers wasting no time as they plunge deep into your slick cunt, watching with an almost feral grin as you cry out.

He isn’t even on anything, but he feels just as fucked up as you are right now.

"Jesus," he murmured, his voice rough. "You’re fucking dripping all over my fingers," his thumb soon found your clit, stroking it in quick, rough circles. He’s relentless.

You choke out a small whine and nod barely, his words bouncing from one ear to the other before sinking into your empty skull.

You’re just nodding along to everything that comes out of his mouth. He could say absolutely anything to you right now and you’d take it - with a giggly nod, nonetheless.

Jason's fingers easily pushed past your wet folds, sliding into your tight heat with an ease that left no question of how badly you wanted this.

You can't even form a proper thought, your mind consumed by the overwhelming sensation.

He catches your jaw again before your face hits his shoulder, letting out a small “tsk,”

You’re not allowed to hide from him right now. No way in hell.

You whine under your breath as he pulls his hand out from under your panties, smirking to himself at how much of a mess you’ve made on his fingers.

Jason grins at your immediate pout, it’s like he’s mocking you silently, one hand still holding your face up, the other working to free his strained cock from the confines of his pants.

"You want this, doll?" He leans closer, lightly grinding his leaking top against your clit, his hooded eyes not leaving you for one second,

"You want me to fuck you dumber than you already are?"

“..yeah..” your eyes are glassy, your grin lopsided, hips stuttering to try and get him inside you already, you’re truly not in the state for his stupid teasing.

He’d normally take his time with you, but he can’t right now - entering you in one hard thrust, roughly pushing his thumb into your mouth at the same time.

Jason let out a groan as he felt your needy little pussy clenching around him, his thumb pressing down against your tongue - forcing you to meet his eyes since he knows you can’t even manage something as simple as that on your own.

He’s perfectly content to do all the work actually, he’s not gonna miss this opportunity for the whole fucking world.

"Fuuuck," he hissed, his head falling forward as he started to fill you up, almost going cross-eyed at how eager you are, even if you’re too dumbed down to realise it.

He’s borderline obsessed with how your thighs shake on either side of his hips, the fact he has to actually lift your legs to wrap them around his hips cause you’re just too fucked up to do it makes him almost cum on the spot.

“Jay-“ All you can do is whine around his thumb, drooling down his wrist, shiny in the dimly lit space.

You can’t think - you can’t tell left from right and you don’t even need to, your heels digging into his lower back when his large hand comes down in a firm slap against your ass - then another.

"You like being slapped around like a little bitch sometimes, don’t you?"

Each thrust is rougher, harder than the last, his mouth grazing against your neck as his hands explore your body. His grip on your hip is tight, his movements growing more urgent as the pleasure builds between you.

“Jasonnn..“ His name is the only thing that falls from your lips, a mix of plea and curse, moaned out in a desperate, mewling wail.

The sight of you looking up at him with that hazy, submissive expression made his hips jerk involuntarily, driving into you deeper.

Jason's hand moved down from your face, pulling his thumb from your mouth, finding your clit and started thumbing it in hard, rough circles.

"Look at that," he groaned, his movements growing rougher still, "cockdrunk and slurring your words. Is it the drug or did it always take this little to turn you into a needy slut?"

“..jus’ you-“ you manage to whine, your hips stuttering desperately against his.

“Just me, yeah?” Jason grins at your eager nod, his hold on your hip becoming almost painful. His pace quickened, his thrusts deep and hard, making you moan and writhe in his arms.

His strokes were deep and hard, each one punctuated by a sharp slap against your ass.

"You're just a little pain slut, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You love it when things get a bit rough, huh?"

“Jay-“ You whine and nod faintly, once more, and your forehead hits his shoulder. He’s having none of it, pulling at your hair so you look at him again.

The plea of his name makes him smile actually, almost feral as he pulls back before slamming his cock inside you again.

“You still know who’s fucking you then? Maybe there is something left in that skull of yours.”

“..my head hurts,” you’re panting, your thighs still trembling either side of his hips.

“Bet it does, need me to think for you, huh?” He’s almost cooing now, pressing his lips to yours to muffle your little whines.

All you can do is nod faintly, your mouth falling open against his. It’s like you’re trying to kiss him but just can’t seem to manage right now.

“You tryna kiss me, huh? Too dumb to even do that?” There’s that smile of his again, it’s kind of sinister - almost mocking as his thumb presses against your clit to watch your mouth fall open in a shaky plea.

He sees an opportunity and he takes it, his lips hovering over yours. But no, he makes no move to kiss you

“Huh-“ You don’t even realise what he’s at until you feel a glob of his spit land on your tongue, your back arching against him.

You swallow.

What’s worse is you can’t even hide the fact that you like it, not when he can feel your cunt squeezing him even tighter.

“Good girl,” his free hand moves to grab at your tits through your shirt his fingers digging into the soft flesh through the fabric as he finally kisses you.

"You're a mess, baby," he sneers against your lips, his words punctuated with each thrust of his hips, stretching you open on his leaking cock, rubbing at your clit even harder.

"Look at you, taking my dick so good, even when you can’t think, y’gonna cum for me doll?”

Trick question.

You’re not sure if it’s the spit or the way he’s talking or the way he’s slamming his hips but you know you’re going to cum, hard.

You’re barely able to verbalise it, your vision blacking out as you cling onto him, legs all shaky and twitchy when you feel him dripping down your leg, hiding your face in his neck with little sobs.

Your eyes flutter open upon regaining consciousness, the soft spray of the shower filling your ears, droplets clinging to your skin as large hands run up and down your back, working through the knots in your muscles.

“There’s my girl, look who’s back,” Jason murmurs into your neck, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder.

You offer a tired nod as you tilt your head back against him, one of his hands resting atop your hip to keep you steady - just in case.

You blink, the distinct smell of his body wash fills the small space between your bodies in the shower - clinging to your skin.

Well, that definitely isn’t your strawberry sundae shower foam, is it?

“I’m gonna smell like a man.” You yawn softly, your head falling forward a little, staring down at the soapy suds going down the drain.

Jason just huffs against the back of your neck, pressing a little kiss behind your ear.

“You were slurring on about how nice I smell earlier, shuddup.”

a/n: mama needs a cigarette after this one.. goodnight.

I could write the most bizarre fiction in the world but I try include at least a little bit of fluff/aftercare at the end in 90% of them because it’s EXTREMELY important - be kind to yourself 🤍

thank u for reading!!

[soulsforsales]

Jason Todd head canons

Because I love that man<3

Jason always sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door because if danger ever arrives, he wants it to find him first.

He reads to you. A lot. Sometimes it's sweet, mostly it's to annoy you when you don't give him attention. (He would read something like, "And thus she disappeared into the dark abyss to find her lover", aloud just to add, "but my lover won't shut down their laptop for me." Insert a pout.)

He says the most romantic things at the most random moments. (You could be sitting across the room, reading, while he sits at the table cleaning his guns. He would stop, look up, and go, "I don't think my life truly began until I met you." Then go back to cleaning like nothing happened. )

He offers to buy you anything you even look at for too long. (You two could be on an evening walk, and while he shuffles for something in his pockets, he realizes you've been staring at someone's pet dog for a long while with a smile, and he just goes, "Do we want it?" Simple. Plain. You stare, "I am sure that's someone's pet, Jay." He smirks, "I could arrange something." You roll your eyes, laugh, "Shut up.")

When he says, "I'll do anything for you," he means it. And not just the big things. Not just "I would die for you," "I would live for you," "I would build a house from scratch for you." No, even the small ones. (Because the first time you ate a chocolate-dipped waffle, you looked like you'd just tasted heaven and won't stop gushing about how delicious it was. The next morning? Jason is learning how to cook the exact same thing from a YouTube video at 6 in the morning. And when you ask him "why," he shrugs nonchalantly and goes, "I just like to see you happy.")

Jason's utterly, loveably clueless of how devastatingly handsome he is. The most normal things he does are so attractive and turn you on, and he has absolutely no idea. (He hangs around the house shirtless with damp hair like it's no big deal while you're just dying inside. You could be climbing this man like a tree, and he still won't get it. You could be on top of him - so fucking gone - and he's like, "You really think I'm hot?" You're in disbelief. "Jason, I want to sit on your face." He blushes, blushes, "...Oh. Wow. Okay.")

Also, this reminds me. He blushes. Like, a lot more than anyone would expect from the seemingly cold, terrifying Red Hood. (He blushes when you compliment him. He blushes when you call him your boyfriend/husband/partner. He blushes when you talk proudly of him to your friends or his family. He blushes when you kiss him, give him coffee, remember his favorite books or things, or treat him with decent human kindness. He blushes the most when you call him pet names (Jay, Jaybird, baby, babe, pretty boy, honey), anything other than "Jason," and he's got pink ears and flushed cheeks. Just overall shy and loves you too much for his own good.)

This is it for now because I fear if I keep writing, I'll never stop.

Enjoy!! I love y'all<3

[squipa]

let me shatter into you

— aka jason knows better than to let anyone get away with hurting you

———

your eyes trace the brown-yellow bruise forming on your wrist, the consequence of some asshole on the street too drunk to remember it isn’t polite to grab pretty girls. you would’ve let it go, really, it’s gotham, this kind of thing happens. unfortunately for the poor bastard, he had the misfortune of forgetting his sense in front of jason todd.

you try to hide the bruise before your boyfriend can see it, sliding the tarnished patch of skin under the sleeve of your jacket with haste— but he catches it anyways. of course he does. you can faintly see shocks of green lightning crackling in his ocean blue eyes, a precursor to the white hot rage stemming from his chest to the rest of his body.

you gently squeeze his arm, noting how tense the muscles in his bicep are. you know jason. you know he loves you differently— like you’re something fragile. he worships you, taking care of you like you’re a marble statue and he’s terrified of finding cracks. so something as small as a bruise, no matter how tiny or how minor, it makes him lose control.

he gently removes your hand from his arm, pressing a chaste kiss against your bruise. “why don’t you go back to that café, yeah? i’ll join you in a minute.” he says, looking down at you with a soft smile. if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think he’d completely gotten over the situation, happy as a clam.

but you do know him, and you know that the way his shoulders are tensed and his free hand is fisted in the pocket of his jacket means that he’s enraged.

“jay—“

he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, giving you a gentle smile. “please, baby. i don’t want you to see this.”

you should stop it. you should try. but he’s looking at you like that and your morals suddenly become incredibly loose. you hesitate, remembering the waves of repulsion you felt moments ago when that idiot bastard yanked you towards him. “just… don’t hurt him bad.”

jason nods, turning you around and guiding you forward, watching until you turn towards the cafe before he focuses his attention on the man, who is still too piss drunk to comprehend how badly he had fucked up. you hear jason before the door fully closes behind you, an echo of “so you think that’s how you should treat a woman?”

he’s terrifying. that drunk idiot must be terrified.

and he’s yours. scary dog privileges and all that. it makes you feel warm, safe, loved, protected— you’re irrevocably in love with that. with him.

he comes back in a few minutes, maybe fifteen? the wait stretched on for hours in your mind. his knuckles are bloody, but none of it is his. he cleans up in the bathroom before sliding next to you on the cushioned side of your half-booth, wrapping an arm and your shoulder, breathing you in like a man starved.

“he’s fine.” he says quietly, so only you can hear it. “just made sure he learned to keep his hands to himself.”

you close your eyes, leaning into him, into his warmth. you don’t say anything— you don’t have to, the way you bury yourself against him is admission enough. his arms wrap around you and the bruise fades back into your skin. your heart beats with more love than you thought it capable of producing, your chest swelling like it’s about to burst.

you press a gentle kiss against his chest and everything makes sense again.

———

it’s always when i say i’m not gonna write that inspiration strikes