#jason todd x fem!reader

[ivysangel]

Jason Todd has a raging size kink. He tries not to make it too obvious in public, tries to pretend that he doesn't notice how standing next to you really highlights just how large he really is. But it's always on his mind, always front and center, even when he doesn't want it to be.

He'll have a hand on your back as he ushers you through crowded parts of Gotham, trying not to think about how large his hands are and how one of them can cup an entire asscheek when he's fucking you.

He grabs things off of tall shelves at grocery stores when you can't reach them. Comes up behind you and picks them up with ease while he's pressed into you from behind. He's peering down at you, a soft grin on his face as he thinks about you on your knees, struggling to take him in your mouth.

When you're playing twister at a Wayne family function, and you end up falling on each other during a wrong move, he watches you break out into a fit of laughs while he turns red in the face. Not from embarrassment, he couldn't care less about that, but because the first thought that popped into his head as you were pinned under him was how much he wished you could stay there.

For a split second, an image is projected into his mind of you squirming beneath him as he puts all of his weight on you. All 200+ pounds keeping you firmly in place as he fucks you good and deep just how you like.

He's scrambling to get off of you now; a shade of crimson akin to the one he dons at night colors the visible parts of his body, and he clears his throat awkwardly as he helps you to your feet.

"In hindsight, he should've played with one of us," Dick says from the couch. He's gesturing toward you when he continues, "he's just too big in comparison. Throw's everything off."

Jason doesn't hear the second part. His ears start ringing the moment he's reminded that everyone else is aware of how big he is next to you, and he's very quickly calculating how many more rounds of twister he has to go before the two of you can politely duck out and head home for a more...intimate version of the game.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤDUMB PUPPYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When You Give Them A Collar.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : Kinda spicy. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

You present it in a little velvet box. All black leather. Expensive. Sleek.

“It’d look so good on you, baby.”

He raises a brow like you’ve lost your mind.

“You expect me to wear that?”

“I expect you to kneel too.”

He glares. Refuses. Walks away.

But next night you find him in the dark, shirtless, wearing it. Doesn’t say a word.

He won’t bark or crawl. But he’ll let you hold the leash while he eats you out on his knees.

“I’m still in control,” he growls.

“Keep telling yourself that, pup.”

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You don’t even have to explain. You show him the collar and leash combo and he’s already wagging his metaphorical tail.

“Oh my god, is this for me? You want me to be your puppy???”

“Down, boy.”

He wears it proudly. In the apartment. On video calls. At brunch. He’s your golden retriever boyfriend and he’s LIVING for it.

“Can I get a tag with your name on it? Maybe like a bell?? Ooh! A harness???”

He lets you walk him on all fours, panting, tongue out. When he misbehaves, you tug the leash and he whines.

He even sends you selfies in it, after jerking off, with cum on his chest. Caption:

“Bad boy waiting for your punishment.”

— JASON TODD ⋆

You toss the collar on the bed like a challenge.

“Put it on.”

“You think I’m a dog, princess?”

“I think you bark a lot.”

He fights it. Glares. Snarls.

But five minutes later he’s shirtless. Leather collar snug around his throat. Chain leash in your hand.

“You gonna make me sit too?”

“No. I’m gonna make you beg.”

He growls when you tug him. Tries to act feral. But the flushed ears? The panting? The trembling thighs? You’ve turned the Red Hood into your whimpering pit bull.

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You present it like a gift. He looks offended.

“I am not some mutt to be paraded.”

He resists. Until one night, in private, he kneels at your feet and presents his neck.

The collar clicks. The leash dangles. His breath is shaky.

“This is… humiliating.”

“And yet your cock is hard.”

You walk him around the room like royalty leading her chained beast. He never breaks eye contact. You slap his thigh—he growls. You make him crawl—he obeys.

And afterward? He stays in the collar. Lays his head in your lap like a cat.

“I belong to you. Don’t ever remove it.”

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

You pull out the collar, sleek black with red accents to match his suit, and flash him a grin.

“You wanna be my pup tonight?”

“...I mean… only if you call me ‘good boy.’”

Terry is SO down bad for you it’s ridiculous. One little pout and he’s on his knees with the leash between his teeth, wagging his ass.

You tug the leash and he yelps. You make him crawl to you and bark? He does it. And he looks hot as hell doing it.

“Is this degrading or kinda hot?”

“It’s both, baby.”

He loves the attention, the control, the way you stroke his hair and say,

“Such a pretty little pet.”

He will wear it under his Batsuit. Just a little secret between you two.

�� BARRY GORDON ⋆

You show him the collar and he snorts.

“Oh? You finally decided to leash your man, huh?”

“I’ve always owned you, Barry. This is just proof.”

He acts like it’s a joke. Makes snarky comments the whole time.

“Ooooh nooo I’m your pretty little pet now, what ever shall I do?”

But when you buckle it around his neck and yank the leash? His eyes flutter shut.

And when you murmur,

“Mine,”

he goes silent.

It breaks something in him—in the best way.

After? You find him wearing it while working at his computer, casually.

“Don’t mind me. Just a man in love.”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

You don’t even ask. You just hold the collar out. Cassian looks at it… then slowly gets on his knees and bows his head forward.

No words.

You buckle it around his throat and hook your finger in the ring. He follows you without resistance. Crawls behind you silently. His body lean, powerful—but tamed.

You speak gently:

“My good boy…”

His breath catches. His fingers twitch. He nuzzles into your thigh like a trained dog.

Cassian doesn’t speak during it. He just moans. Whines. Purrs.

And afterward, he sleeps at your feet like a contented panther.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

You show him the collar and leash and this man practically jumps into your arms.

“OH MY GOD is this real? Do I get to be your pet??? Please tell me you bought the matching ears too???”

He’s running around shirtless with the collar jingling like a bell.

“Bark bark! Ruff! Ruff! I’m such a good boy, aren’t I??”

“Stephen, sit.”

immediately drops to his knees wagging his ass.

He is the definition of “enthusiastic consent.” You walk him around the house. You make him beg. He even licks your hand.

“You gonna feed me treats next? Or am I the treat?”

The leash is practically glued to him. He even wears it during movie night and cuddles in your lap like your oversized lapdog.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

I’m Just Chock-Full of Ideas (jason todd x reader x roy harper smut)

Jason accepts the invite to join you and Roy in bed. (After getting himself off while watching Roy eat you out). You and Roy act immediately.

—

The sequel to I Know You Want Me on Your Team, but you don’t have to read it to understand. because guess what it’s mostly smut

I have so much fun writing this dynamic! If you have any thoughts please please lmk

Anyway—

SMUT, PWP, oral, penetration, established relationship (Roy x reader), swearing, as always

I don’t know how long this is

———

You’re laying in bed, on the verge of falling asleep for the night, when Roy’s text comes through:

JASON IS COMING WITH ME BACK TO YOUR PLACE

THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL, CHANGE THE SHEETS

Gasping, you throw yourself out of bed, texting back furiously.

How long till you get here???

You don’t expect an answer, and after a few seconds, you drop the phone and rip the sheets from your bed. Dashing to the linen closet, you grab the first clean sheets you see and wrestle them onto the bed. Then you strip and throw yourself in the shower.

Jason’s on his way here, Roy in tow. You don’t want to get ahead of yourself, but you’re pretty sure you’re going to get dicked down. Fucking finally.

It’s been two weeks since you and Roy had invited Jason into bed, two weeks since he’d watched Roy eat you out with a hand down his pants, and fuck-nothing has happened since then. By the time he’d left Roy’s place that night, tucking himself back into his pants and mopping up his come with a t shirt, Jason still hadn’t answered if he wanted to join you and Roy for anything more than vouyerism. And in the last two weeks, he hasn’t said anything. It’s got you climbing the walls.

But now he’s on his way here, with Roy. To your apartment, a crucial detail. And Roy said change the sheets. Another clue.

Yeah, you’re pretty sure Jason wants to fuck. You exhale into the steam of the shower, then scrub yourself methodically, making sure you’re clean all over. You don’t know exactly what’s going to happen, and you want to be prepared.

Just as you’re rinsing conditioner from your hair, you hear pounding at the door. “Hold the fuck on!” you shout as you shut off the water and wrap yourself in a towel. Crossing your apartment, hair dripping onto the floor, you unbolt your door and hold it open. Jason and Roy wait at the doorway.

“Couldn’t wait five minutes?” you gripe. Roy laughs, moving inside to pull you into a kiss.

“Sorry, babe,” he snickers into your mouth.

“I had conditioner in my hair,” you pout, but you don’t mean it. Roy’s excited; his hands are darting here and there across your body and his kisses are electric, lips like a livewire. He knows something is going to happen. Your anticipation rises, and you grin, bumping your teeth against his.

“And just how’re you doin’, babycakes?” he asks, pressing his cheek to yours.

You roll your eyes at the nickname. “‘M good. Today was good. How ‘bout you?”

“Same old, same old,” Roy answers.

You step slightly out of Roy’s arms. “And how are you, Jason?” you ask politely.

He seems caught off guard. “Uh—okay.”

“Good,” you nod. An awkward silence brews. “Glad you’re here,” you offer.

“Yeah, uh…” Jason’s hand rises to worry at the back of his neck. “Look, I, I already said this to Roy, but, uh.” He bites at his lip. “But uh, I wanted to let you know that I want to…to try something. With you. Both of you.” He looks to Roy, who grins at him. Jason answers with a look you’ve never seen before, giving Roy a soft, almost tender smile. It does something complicated to your insides.

You decide to do something stupid. “Hell yeah, brother,” you say earnestly. Jason’s face twists in disgust while Roy groans, shoving at your shoulder.

“You just suck the mood right out of things, huh? Fucking dipshit,” he chastises you while you laugh loudly.

Still hesitating at the doorway, Jason rolls his eyes. “Come on in, Jason,” you say happily. “Take off your boots—”

“—take off your pants,” Roy adds cheekily, stepping out of range of your elbow jabbing at him.

“Stay a while,” you beckon him further inside. Jason steps carefully into the apartment, leaving his shoes neatly by the door.

He stands in your living room, looking at you expectantly, if a little unsure. Roy speaks up.

“Listen, Jay, we…” he moves behind you, pulling you to his chest. “We really wanted you to say yes.” He rests his elbows on your shoulders, rubbing slow circles into your chest with the pads of his fingers.

“Mmm,” you add, letting desire color your gaze. “Had us waiting on pins and needles for two whole weeks.” Your hand slides into Roy’s hair as you stare appreciatively at Jason. “Bet it’s worth the wait though.”

Jason blushes, eyes falling to the ground. “Can I do something,” Roy mutters in your ear. You nod.

All of a sudden, he knocks his knees against yours, clutching your towel as you stumble away from him, fully naked. “Fucking hell, Roy!” you shout as you right yourself, slapping him upside the head. “What was that for?”

Roy shrugs, wearing a sly grin. He steps back into place behind you, taking your hips and squaring them forward. What the fuck is he doing? You frown, elbowing at him, but he’s not even looking at you, he’s looking at Jason over your head. You follow his gaze.

Oh. Jason’s stare is a knife.

He looks at you like his narrowed eyes are cataloging every inch of your skin. His gaze is razor-sharp, and it darts from point to point on your body with strict focus. Roy moves his hands from your hips, lightly tracing up over ribs, across your stomach, down to just the edge of your sex. Jason tracks the movement eagerly, likely noting the goosebumps that form in the wake of Roy’s fingers.

Eventually, Jason’s gaze moves to your face, almost questioning. You nod, giving a slight smile. He begins looking you over again, eyes still sharp, but this time he lets himself linger. Roy notices the change and lets his hands wander wherever Jason pauses, caressing your hips, the skin just under your breasts, the meat of your thighs. He groans in your ear and kisses you, neatly sliding his tongue in your mouth. “Too fucking beautiful,” he mutters. “Can’t believe you’re mine, can’t believe I get to have you in my bed.”

He pulls back, eyes dark and glittering. “You in a porno or somethin’?” he teases, voice low and rough. “Waitin’ in just a towel for the pizza guy to come dick you down? For us to come dick you down?” he adds gleefully, turning to Jason.

“Shut up! That wasn’t what I was doing!” you insist, then gasp when Roy lets his teeth catch your earlobe.

“Mm, sure,” Roy purrs. “Keep telling yourself that, babydoll.”

“Ugh!” You ignore the desire leaking into your gut. “You know what, just for that, you can hang the towel up.” You hold it out to him, staring pointedly.

Sighing dramatically, Roy grabs the towel and stalks off to the bathroom. Leaving you and Jason alone.

He’s still staring. You meet his gaze head on, holding it before letting your eyes carefully tread down his body, just as he did yours. He’s so beautiful, you have to tell him so.

“Jason, I—” you take a slow, careful step toward him. “I’m so glad you’re here, I was so hoping you’d say yes.” Your voice shakes, cracking slightly. “I’ve wanted to touch you all week, wanted to touch you since you left Roy’s place.” Looking at him earnestly, you say, “couldn’t get you out of my mind. Kept thinking about how beautiful you are, how gorgeous you looked last time.”

Jason looks slightly shocked. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been thinking about it too,” he mutters eventually.

You break out into a wide smile. “Can I touch you now?” you ask carefully. He opens his mouth but stays silent. “Only if you want to,” you add, holding your hands out in front of you.

After what feels like ages, Jason nods. “Oh—okay.”

You step into his orbit. “On your arms?”

Jason nods again. It feels like he’s holding his breath.

Slowly, telegraphing every move, you rest your hand on his bicep. Jason closes his eyes, tensing, and you wait, stilling yourself. Eventually, he opens his eyes and looks down at you, and you begin to trace your fingers around the hard muscle.

Good lord. His arm is huge. You splay your hand flat and you can’t even reach the curve of it, even stretching your fingers. You take your other hand to see if you can lock your fingers around it; you only just manage.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. You hear a chuckle above you, and you look up to see Jason smirking. You color, and he laughs at you.

You see an opportunity. “I mean, fuck, Jason.” You let your voice dip, eyes wide. “Don’t know what you expect me to do with those.” You run a fingernail up to his shoulder. “Makes me want to…” you trail off, biting your lip.

Jason stifles a shiver. Slowly, always slowly, you move your hand over his shoulder and back down his arm, skimming his forearm. You rub your thumb into the muscle there. “So pretty, Jason,” you murmur, moving to caress his wrist. “You’re so beautiful.”

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth like he’s trying to keep himself together. You examine his arm again, without an audience. Jason has a lot of scars. A lot. Way more than Roy, even though they’re in the same line of work.

Jesus. No wonder he’s insecure, he’s got a body that’s been ripped apart.

You hear a step, and suddenly Roy’s arms come up around your middle. You try to meet his eyes, but he’s looking at Jason, smile half encouraging, half smirking. Huh.

“So what’re we doin’ tonight, Jaybird?” he asks, grinning, hands softly caressing your breasts. You gasp, leaning heavily into Roy.

Jason pulls his face together, cools his eyes so they can stare you down. “Can I eat you out?”

Uh, yup.

“Yeah, of course,” you breathe. “Whatever you want.” Especially if it’s that.

“Hold on.” Roy frowns. “Slow your roll, there.”

What is with him today? You pinch at his thigh, and he looks down at you, willing you to understand something. “We want to make you feel good, too, Jay,” he adds, sliding a hand up Jason’s arm.

Oh. Okay, fair. Jason’s not going to be getting much attention if he’s giving you head. Damn Roy for his insight.

“Will you let us take care of you, Jason?” you add softly.

He freezes, then nods.

“Can I blow you?” Roy asks, voice breathless. You pull in a sharp breath.

Jason looks shocked all over again. “Uh, ye—yeah.” He gives Roy that soft smile again. Roy smiles back winningly.

All well and good, but what about you? You’re not ready to just sit back and watch, not yet.

As if thinking the same, Jason opens his mouth. “But I still want to eat you out.” He looks at you, determined.

You grin at him. “I think we can make that work.” You stroke your fingers up Roy’s arm. Annoyingly, he stays quiet.

Jason’s face settles, and he gives a confident grin. “Wanna sit on my face?”

Yes please! But Roy’s been weird, so you turn to him first.

He looks down at you, sees how eager you are, and gives a mock sigh. “I guess I can let you fall on that sword,” he teases. Then he grins wickedly, and you smirk in return.

“Not the sword I wanted to fall on!” you say together, laughing.

“Christ, that was bad,” Jason mutters. You and Roy grab him by the arms and muscle him into your bedroom.

As soon as you get inside, Roy shoves him toward the bed. Rolling his eyes, Jason unbuttons his pants and starts to slide them down. You and Roy freeze, watching eagerly.

“What?” Jason looks at you, frowning over his shoulder.

“Nothing, nothing,” you answer quickly.

“Keep going,” Roy prods impatiently.

Cheeks going pink, Jason lets his pants drop to the floor, followed by his underwear.

Good god. “Batman’s training has that ass tight,” Roy notes.

“Harper, I will walk the fuck out right now,” Jason threatens.

“Yeah, Roy, how about you go ahead and shut the fuck up,” you mutter. Roy frowns, and you soothe him by sliding a hand into his sweatpants and gripping his ass tightly. He stands ramrod straight at your touch, grinning at you. “I mean, this is just unfair,” you add. “Surely too much of a good thing is too much of a good thing, right?”

Jason turns, eyes zooming in on your hand down the back of Roy’s pants. “You got me excited,” you say, shrugging. “I needed a stress ball.”

Jason snorts while Roy laughs outright.

“Come on, cowboy,” you say to Roy. “Don’t leave Jason and I hanging.” You start to tug his sweats down. Roy kicks them out of the way and shrugs off his shirt.

You look at Jason and frown. “Can you take your shirt off?”

Jason’s face goes stony. You can almost hear his armor slot into place. “Nope.”

You try to recover. “Okay, no worries.” You look over at Roy, whose face is even, resigned.

Turning, Jason climbs onto your bed. “Come on then, princess.”

Princess? And just who does he think he is?

You take him in, strong arms cradling his head on your pillow, cock leaning against his muscled thigh in a bed of thick, curly hair.

Your mouth goes dry. Yeah, okay, you can be princess. For now.

You glance at Roy, then climb onto the bed. “You ever done this before?” Jason raises an eyebrow. “Just—just don’t let me suffocate you, okay?”

“If you can’t breathe, tap the thigh three times,” Roy adds.

Jason rolls his eyes. “I think I can handle it. Come on.”

Cautiously, you position yourself over him, holding onto the headboard and keeping most of your weight on your knees. Looking down, you see Jason roll his eyes again before grabbing your thighs and forcing you down onto his face, lips suddenly in your cunt.

“Fuck, Jason,” you hiss, pulling his hair. “You good?”

He ignores you, kissing his way lightly through your folds. You settle against his face and grip the headboard. “Ah-ah, feels good,” you smile down at him. Jason’s lips skim your clit and you gasp. He kisses it eagerly, still soft in a way that has you sighing.

Jason keeps it for another minute, alternating between kissing lightly at your clit and moving his lips down your folds. It feels nice, but it’s not giving you enough. You need more.

“Jason.” You look down to see his eyes staring up at you, guarded. “Jason, use your tongue,” you instruct.

His eyes narrow. Immediately, his tongue runs flush up your folds, laving heavily at your clit. Sparks fly from your core, and your entire body jolts.

“Jesus, fuck!” you scream. Jason digs his hands into the meat of your thighs and positions you right where he wants you, tongue reaching up and rubbing ceaselessly against your clit.

Your hips chase away from him. “Jason,” you pant, “Jason, it’s too much.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “A second ago it wasn’t enough.”

He jerks you back down, tongue going greedily back to your clit. The shocks to your core are too intense, too much too soon. You whine, moving your hips against his face to try as find a rhythm you can handle. Jason lets out a groan when you grind against him.

You smile, running your fingers in your hair. “Yeah? You like it when I grind on you?”

Jason’s answering stare is brutal, and you laugh out loud. Then he gets his lips around your clit and sucks and sucks and sucks, and you almost lose your mind.

“F-fuck! Fuck, Jason, that feels so good, please don’t stop—”

“Yeah?” Jason smirks at you. “Not too much anym—ugh!”

He moans, and you can feel his hips buck. “Fuck, Roy,” he growls when he resurfaces.

You gasp out loud; you almost forgot. Roy is sucking Jason’s cock, in this room, right behind you.

You shift your weight onto one knee, hips eagerly turning to get a better look. The strong hands on your thighs tighten, pulling you back into place.

You look down. “Nuh-uh.” Jason’s wearing a stern look. “You’re staying right here.”

“But Jason, I wanna see!” you whine, craning your neck.

“Tough shit.” He resettles you against his face and picks up right where he left off, lips wrapped around your clit.

“Fuck,” you groan, melting against his lips. “Jesus, Jason,” you pant. “Who knew—fuck—who knew you were such an asshole,” you say, grinning at him through ragged breath. He looks up at you like he knows exactly what you mean, and you thread your fingers into his hair and pull.

“Mmh,” he moans into your pussy as his hips buck again. His chin jumps, nose bumping against your clit. You gasp, gripping the headboard and grinding down on him.

“That’s it, princess,” he growls. “Fuck my face, wanna see what it feels like.”

Holy fucking shit. Is this man for real?

You gasp, nodding. Then you do what you’ve wanted to do from the start and slam your hips down against him, bucking and rolling and chasing an orgasm that’s getting closer every time Jason’s hands squeeze your thighs.

Jason doesn’t let up, licking and sucking at your clit. You find a rhythm that burns you all the way to your fingertips and ride his face just like he told you to. “Shit, Jason, it’s too good,” you pant. “‘S too good, I’m gonna—”

The crest of your orgasm punches through you. You cry out, limbs going stiff around Jason’s head. His eyes run through you as he carefully watches, carefully licks against you as you come down.

“Fucking hell, baby, that was so good.” You smile down at him, moving to get off and let him breathe. Again, his hands lock you in place. You roll your eyes. “Jason, what—”

He shakes his head. “Not done,” he grunts, panting against you. You place a hand behind you and feel his abs flex and roll under his t shirt; can hear the slick sounds of Roy’s head bobbing on his cock.

Ah. Guy’s got an oral fixation, or something. Whatever.

You nod, settling back around him, letting him lick against you. A thought pops into your head, and you give him a wicked grin, fingernails scraping against his scalp.

“Roy’s really good at that, huh,” you say, voice slick and smooth and loud enough for Roy to hear.

Jason’s eyes widen a fraction, then narrow. You stare him down, grin widening.

“What’s he doing, Jason-baby?” you coo. “Is he taking you down his throat, are his lips moving up and down around your cock?”

Jason’s hips stutter, and you hear Roy groan.

“Or is he taking his time,” you continue. “I bet you are, Roy, you always like to enjoy yourself.” Roy laughs, and Jason’s eyes widen again. “He’s like that, baby,” you tell him, gently caressing his hair. “I bet he’s—ah!”

Jason sucks viciously at your clit. You roll your hips against his face, then find your voice again. “I bet he’s dragging his tongue up and down your shaft,” you say confidently. “Is he, baby? Has he run his tongue along your tip so he can taste your pre? Or were you too sensitive?”

Both of them moan at that. You shiver happily, moving both arms down to cradle Jason’s head in your hands. “Has he played with your balls?” you ask, then purse your lips, considering. “I bet he has, Roy, have you?” you call over your shoulder.

Roy grunts, and beneath you, Jason nods shakily. “Uh-huh, I knew it.” You nod in satisfaction. “Knew he got his hands there to make you feel good. Or was it his mouth? Did he suck gently at the skin around them? Did he take one into his mouth?”

Jason moans, hips stuttering wildly. “Harper,” he calls out, voice unsteady. “Harper, ‘m—”

His sentence is cut off with a strangled groan as he comes. You look down at him happily. Jason’s eyes are squeezed shut, face twisted. You run your dingers through his hair as he pants through it, grinning at him as he opens his eyes. “So fucking hot, baby,” you tell him.

“Okay,” you hear Roy call from behind you. “Get the fuck over here.” He grabs you, manhandling you over Jason’s body to his side of the bed.

“Jesus, Roy!” you shout in surprise, turning to look at him. His face shuts you right up.

Roy’s eyes are dark, gaze heavy. You look at his lips and gasp—Jason’s come still lingers at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t have you talkin’ like that all the way over there,” he growls. Getting up on his knees behind you, pulling you upright, he grinds his dick into your ass.

You smile, moving with him. “Got you all riled up, huh?"

Roy shakes his head. “Both of you,” he says, voice rough. “Fuck, babydoll, talking so fucking filthy, made me wanna fuck you till you scream.” His hand reaches around for your cunt, easily sliding his fingers between your folds. He goes right for your clit, and you gasp, hands holding his arm in a vice grip. “Lemme fuck you, babygirl,” Roy coaxes, sucking a hickey into your neck.

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Yeah, Roy, c’mon.”

“Jay,” Roy calls, fingers sliding maddeningly against your clit. “Grab me a condom from the nightstand, would you?”

Shit, that’s hot. Jason looks like he’s been struck dumb. Nodding unsteadily, chin still shiny after you rode it, Jason turns and reaches for the nightstand, rummaging for a condom. Fishing one out, he tosses it to Roy.

“Thank you, baby,” Roy sighs, ripping it open and slipping it onto his cock. He bites your neck in warning, then slams his way inside you.

You groan. “Mm, already so wet, huh?” Roy pants. “So ready for my dick.” He swipes at your clit faster, and when you pull your hips back for breath you find yourself trapped, grinding on his cock.

“Ugh, Roy,” you whine. “Too much.” You rake your nails down his arm hard enough to scratch and he hisses, relenting. “Sorry, sweetheart.” He circles your clit instead, passing over it in a rhythm that has you grinding in time with his thrusts. “Jus’ can’t get enough of you.”

“Mmh.” You grin, tilting your head back and looking at Jason. Just like last time, his eyes—slightly wide—are trained on the two of you. You’re closer this time, and facing him, you can see his eyes dart between your faces, down to your breasts, to Roy’s hand on your cunt. “Always seem to be putting on a show for you, huh, baby?” you say, smiling.

“Can’t, help it, Jay,” Roy pants. He shifts and suddenly his dick hits a new angle.

“Yeah, there, Roy,” you mumble. He drills into you hitting that spot again and again. His fingers circling your clit give you sharp bursts of heat before letting you relax, only to hit you again. Roy knows what you like, and every time his finger hits home the heat burns hotter, getting you closer to the edge.

“Taking your dick down my throat just got me too excited,” Roy says to Jason, growling into your ear.

“Shit Roy!” you sob as he pinches at your clit, electricity flooding through your core.

“I know, babydoll, I know,” he says soothingly. “Jus’ let me—” he grabs at your hips and slams into you wildly, all rhythm gone as he fucks into your pussy till he comes. You feel it when his hips slow, when he lets some of his weight fall on you. His hand in your pussy doesn’t stop, though, and you widen your hips to get a better angle.

“Gonna make you come again, yeah?” Roy asks sweetly, almost condescendingly, and you nod dumbly. “Gonna make you come on my hand.” And he fucking is. Once he brings his other hand up to play with your nipples, it’s all over. You crumble in the face of your orgasm, and Roy lifts his arms up to catch you.

“Mmh, so good, Roy,” you mumble, dropping onto the bed with a thump.

Roy quickly joins you, reaching out to smooth a hand over your hip. “Mmh,” he agrees.

You both look up at Jason. He hesitates, then makes to get up.

“You can stay,” you say hastily, motioning him toward you.

Jason studies the two of you and shakes his head. “Nah. But uh—” his gaze flits between the two of you. “Uh—thanks.” He rolls off the bed and quickly dresses himself.

“Of course!” you say cheerily, feeling like a customer service rep.

“Anytime, Jaybird.” Roy’s voice is thick with satisfaction.

Pants on, Jason stares, nods once, and makes his exit.

“Let us know when we can do this again!” you shout after him, then collapse against Roy.

“Mm, that was great,” Roy says, putting an arm around you.

You narrow your eyes. It was, but you have a bone to pick with Roy. “That was weird.” You poke him in the chest. “You were being weird.”

Immediately, Roy’s demeanor changes. He moves away from you, getting off the bed. “No, I wasn’t.” He leaves your bedroom.

You follow him to the bathroom. “Yeah, you were. What is it?”

Roy pulls off the condom and throws it in the trash, refusing to meet your eyes.

You sigh, leaning against the doorjamb. “Okay, well, that shit with the towel? Presenting me to Jason like I’m some animal?” You wait until he meets your eyes, gaze uneasy. “Wasn’t a fan of that shit, Roy.”

He blows a strand of hair out of his face. “I know.” He moves to the sink, running the tap to wash his hands.

You run a tongue over your teeth, then hug him from behind. “Tell me what’s going on,” you say quietly.

You feel Roy’s back tense. “It’s just—he’s so pretty, you know?” he says finally, shutting off the water. “He’s so gorgeous, and jacked as fuck to boot. When we’re out, he always gets more attention. Not that I want it.” He reaches down to rub your thigh. “But it’s so obvious, all the time.”

“Ah.” You rub a cheek against his back. “But what’s that got to do with me?”

Roy deflates. “Was using you, I think,” he mumbles. “To prove…” he trails off.

“To prove?” you nudge him with your chin.

“…if I can pull you, and he thinks you’re smokin’ hot, then that means I’m…” again, he doesn’t finish, but you get the gist.

You kiss your way down his spine. “Sounds like I’ve been neglecting my kitten, hm?” you murmur. “Sounds like I need to remind him how pretty he is.” You slide your hand over the curve of his ass, teasing between his cheeks. Roy jolts, then shifts his hips back into your hand. He’s blushing, you can see it in the mirror, but he’s wearing a wide grin.

Raising your eyebrows, you give him a challenging look. “What do you think, baby? Do I need to fuck you until you remember how beautiful you are?” You slip your hand in further, fingertips just skimming his asshole.

Roy nods in the mirror, smirking, flush creeping down his neck. “I think you do.”

Quick as a flash, you drop to your knees and sink your teeth into the flesh of his ass, making him yelp. “Anything for you, babygirl.”

Ten minutes later you’re lying on your back, watching Roy fuck himself on your strap. “Jesus, baby, aren’t you a picture,” you praise. He looks impossibly sinful, muscles flexing as he rolls himself down against you. He smiles widely at you, brow twisted in concentration, moaning as he grinds his hips just right. You rub your hands up and down his thighs. “You know these thighs keep me up at night, don’t you, kitten?” you coo softly.

Roy stifles a groan. “Ye—yeah?” he pants.

“Mm.” You run your fingers over the corded muscle. “Don’t even need the headboard, don’t even need to use your arms,” you murmur, voice awed. “Just bouncing yourself up and down on my cock with only your thighs and your abs.”

He grins happily and increases his pace, showing off. “Fuck, kitten,” you moan, “you look like you could do that all day.”

“Bet I could,” he smirks. “Bet I could—ah—fuck myself on your cock for hours straight.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, babygirl,” you tease. You bring a hand up to swipe at his nipple. Roy gasps, then whines, chasing your hand with his own and bringing it back to his chest.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I’ll play with your tits,” you reassure him. “Just gotta get my fill of your abs first.” One hand on his hip, you lay the other flat on his stomach, tracing the outline of his muscles. “God, Roy,” you say, mesmerized. “Your body is so fucking perfect.” You look him dead in the eyes as he goes uncharacteristically shy, turning his face away from you. “Such a gorgeous, perfect body, I want to kiss every inch of you.”

“Yeah?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Yeah. And you’re so handsome. Every time I look at you it’s all I can think about, how beautiful you are.” You caress his hips, running your thumbs over them gently. “I’m so lucky,” you murmur, “I’m so grateful that it’s me that gets to be with you.”

Roy smiles softly, leaning down and putting an arm on either side of you. You tilt your hips up, planting your feet on the bed, and raise your chin to meet his lips with your own.

You kiss him as softly and sweetly as you can, bringing your hands up to cradle his face. “Love you so much,” you whisper against him.

Roy exhales. “Love you too, baby. Thank you.” He knocks his head lightly against yours.

“Anytime.” You run your hand up his side and he shivers. You grin at him. “Almost forgot you had a dick inside you.”

“I didn’t,” he pants. Knees driving into the mattress, Roy grinds himself on your strap, inching toward you before slamming himself back down. This time, you roll your hips to meet him, making him moan and pick up his rhythm.

“Since you love me,” Roy breathes, “how about you jerk me off, hm?”

You eye his cock, laying flushed and stiff between you. “Please, baby?” he wheedles.

You slap his ass, making him shriek. “I don’t think so, kitten.”

“So mean to me,” he mutters, absolutely shaking.

“Oh, come on.” You bring a hand up to sharply pinch his nipple, rolling it between your fingers. “We both know you can finish all by yourself,” you call over his moan, hips keeping pace to drive the strap inside him.

“Don’t—don’t stop,” Roy pleads.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I know what you need.”

And you do. You play with his nipples and roll your hips and Roy grunts and moans and comes all over your chest. After his breathing calms down, you dip a finger in his spend and hold it up to Roy, who licks it clean.

“Rating?” you ask.

He scrunches his face. “Two out of ten.”

“Really?” You taste his come yourself. “Ugh, Roy, what did you eat? It’s nasty this time.”

“Dunno.” He rolls off of you and into the bathroom.

“Eat more pineapple,” you call after him. He returns and tosses you a damp washcloth. “Especially before we see Jason again,” you add meaningfully.

That stops Roy cold. “Holy shit. You think he’ll blow me?”

“He gave me head,” you reason. “That means you’re next, pal.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” he resettles himself on the bed while you pull the strap off of you. “You good, by the way?” Roy asks. “You want me to,” he mimes fingering you.

You shove him. “Dumbass. No, I’m good.”

He grins at you. “Yeah, I bet you are. ‘Cause Jason gave you fucking head.”

“I know!” you squeal, kicking your legs.

“You lucky sunovabitch,” Roy says longingly.

“Well, you sucked him off,” you remind him.

“Ugh, dude.” Roy shakes his head. “What a privilege.”

You burst out laughing. “Okay, tell me all about it in the shower.” You get up from the bed.

Roy stands up. ��Only if you tell me all about it.”

“Done.” You follow him into the bathroom.

———

That was so much fun!!

I had to establish that reader can also be a dom. So two sex scenes for the price of this taking me fucking forever

Tag list:

@xxwelshqueenxx

@porcelain-winter-doll

[devilishvalentine]

Y/N: Sit down, i'm gonna torture you now

Jason, smirking: Kinky.

Y/N: I think you're sweet and beautiful.

Jason: What—

Y/N: You deserve to be cared for.

Jason: Stop, now—

Y/N: Your feelings are valid and deserve to be heard.

Jason: I NEED A SAFE WORD!!!

[fromdove]

WHAT EACH BATBOYS' LOVE LANGUAGE WOULD BE !

“God help me, I think I’d let you burn every part of me, just to feel your fire.”

— bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd & duke thomas.

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

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

Bruce Wayne — Acts of Service

Bruce Wayne speaks in the language of absence. Not just the physical kind—but the ache that blooms in the hollow of a sentence never finished.

He remembers, with the grim precision of a ticking clock, the last words his father said before the world cleaved open. They were nothing special—a reminder about theater etiquette, half a laugh. Ordinary, so utterly human. And then: gunpowder, scream, silence. Since then, Bruce has distrusted words. They are fleeting, breakable, unable to stop death.

So when he loves, he does not say it. He builds it, piece by trembling piece, behind the scenes. A second suit, custom-fitted for your frame. A silent wire transfer to cover your mother’s hospital bills. Patrol schedules adjusted so you never cross paths with the villain who left you limping. It is not spoken, but it is known—like the steady thrum beneath Gotham’s streets. Like the warmth in the gloves he leaves you before a snowstorm.

He is a man who wears grief like a second skin and still—still—teaches others how to survive it. That, perhaps, is his most intimate offering.

But sometimes the silence he trusts falters. His hand will linger too long on your shoulder. He’ll ask a question with more softness than precision. And in that moment, you are not just a soldier under his command, but someone who frightens him—because you matter. Because you could be lost, too. And he could not bear it.

For Bruce, love is not red roses or soft mornings—it is the constant readiness to shield you from a world he long ago stopped believing could be kind.

Yes, you’ll sometimes hear “I love you” from his lips. You’ll feel it in the way he drapes a blanket over your shoulders at 3AM, after you’ve fallen asleep at the console—no sound, no comment, just the quiet choreography of someone who remembers what it means to be cold and alone.

Dick Grayson — Physical Touch

Where Bruce is structure, Dick is soul. And his soul speaks in touch.

Raised in the spotlight of the Flying Graysons, his first language was the grasp of a hand mid-air, the trust-fall embrace between trapeze and skin. He was taught to reach, to catch, to cling—not just as a performance, but as a promise: I will not let you fall. That promise never left him.

Dick is the kind of person who will brush your arm when he passes by, lean his head on your shoulder just because, give the longest hugs and never pull away first. He’s that rare kind of warm who makes you forget cold ever existed. For him, physical closeness is grounding. He’s lived through enough loss to know how fast everything can be taken away—and so, when he loves you, he stays close. Literally. Always an arm around your back. Always the warmth of his hand over yours.

When you're hurting, he doesn't always know what to say—but he knows how to be there. He’ll sit with you on the floor, cross-legged, your knee touching his, until the words come. Or don’t. That’s fine too. He’s not there for the conversation. He’s there for you.

Dick loves like a campfire—glowing, open, steady. He lets you sit beside his warmth until you can feel your fingers again.

Jason Todd — Words of Affirmation

Jason loves like he’s running out of time.

He came into the world loud—gritty, rough-edged, smart-mouthed. But underneath that exterior was always a boy who wanted to be seen, heard, valued. When he first became Robin, Bruce gave him a purpose—but he also gave him silence. And when Jason died, when he came back to a world that barely whispered his name, something inside him shattered. He decided he’d never again sit in silence and wait for love to show itself. If it mattered, it had to be said. Out loud.

So now, Jason speaks with fire. With honesty. With vulnerability that burns in the back of his throat but comes out anyway. He tells you when you impress him. He tells you when you scare him. He tells you that you mean something, because he's not sure you’ll believe it unless you hear it. Over and over.

But more than that, he needs to hear it too. He needs someone to look at him and not see a mistake, or a weapon, or a ghost. He needs someone to say, I’m glad you came back. To remind him he’s not just the aftermath of tragedy, but someone who can still be loved and chosen, now.

He doesn’t want compliments. He wants truth. He wants raw, cracked-open honesty. When he loves you, he’ll write it into the way he talks to you. He’ll defend your name in rooms you’re not in. He’ll remember every little thing you say and bring it up a month later to prove he was listening.

Jason doesn’t say I love you casually. But when he does? It sounds like a promise. And it is.

Duke Thomas — Quality Time

Duke Thomas loves like a summer shadow—wide, warm, stretching long across the pavement beside you. Never ahead, never behind. Always beside.

His world cracked early, its colors blurred by the slow unraveling of his parents’ minds. And still—he reached toward the light. Still, he chose tenderness. There is something miraculous in that. Not naive. Brave.

Time is his love language because it was the first thing taken from him. He gives it now as offering, as resistance, as prayer. When you speak, he listens with the weight of someone cataloging galaxies. When he laughs, he laughs with his whole body—shoulders, chest, throat—as if joy is something sacred that must be honored, not hoarded.

He remembers your grandmother’s name. The stupid inside joke you made three months ago. The song you skipped, and the look in your eyes when you did it. And he never brings these things up to impress you. He remembers because you said them, and to Duke, what you say is part of who you are. And who you are is already worth remembering.

Love with Duke is not loud, not possessive. It is presence. It is walking to the edge of the rooftop and sitting beside you for an hour, saying nothing, letting the silence build a shelter. It is the beat before a battle where he catches your eye and nods—not a command, not a question. Just: I’m here.

He will never love halfway. He cannot. Even when the world turns brutal, he offers his whole self like a field of sunflowers that somehow blooms after the fire.

Time with him doesn’t feel like a countdown. It feels like breath returning. Like finally being seen not through a sniper’s scope, but through the steady gaze of someone who stays.

[mtcloudsworld]

"We shouldn't do this, what if we get caught?~" you ask through soft whimpers, loving the way his soft yet calloused hands roam all over your body, feeling nothing more but touch starved for this man

There was no room for you two to escape. To escape the reality and truth that you two have been needing each other for the longest.

No space for you two to break apart when your lips, unreluctantly, continued to give lingering pecks. Pecks, that soon turned to deep rooted, passionate yet selfish, slow kisses. One that felt hard to break from. "Mm' I know but I just..need a little bit more. just a little bit longer, please?" He mumbles between heavy breaths, pulling your face closer.

There was no room for you to break free from his hold when he has you possessively seated on his lap, comfortable and defenseless, you have no choice but to rock yourself against his thigh. Whining and pleading for him to do something, he presses you back against his chest. One hand slipping underneath your shirt, gropes and fondles at your soft tit while the other played between your chunky thighs, at that wet and needy pussy, he listens to you whimper his name for the fifth time tonight.

There was no chance of leaving him-- not that you'd want to any way, but you were built on a trance. Low lidded eyes keeping contact, never breaking tension as you listen to the deep raspy vibrato of his coos and raunchy words against your parted lips, sends a stream of goosebumps down your arms.

Eloquently articulating his words with charm till he feels your knees buckle in response, sends him into an ultimate high, smugged at the idea of you nearly coming just by the sound of his voice, "such a pretty baby, such a fucking good girl, taking my fingers so well... You know couldn't resist me for much longer, baby? You needed me that badly huh? Yeah? She's so wet, mama, fuck. You're practically dripping in the palm of my hand....Oh, you like when I do that hm? Love when I'm fucking you like this don't you, baby? Yeah? Feels good now don't it? Pussy feels so amazing wrapped around my fingers, keeping 'em all nice and warm, clenching and begging for me to go deeper..."

Slithering his sly tongue past your lips, it becomes a heated sloppy mess. Swallowing every yearn, moan and whine that escapes from your pretty lips while his fingers give your pussy deep, slow strokes, "Mm, you're getting closer baby, I can feel it," he chuckles with confidence. His hand slamming against your core, speeding up the pace to hear plap!plap!plap and your broken whimpers fill up the car.

Your thighs try to clench close at the ticklish vibration against your clit, but he coos, "please baby let me see? i wanna see my pretty cunt slobbering all over my fingers. I wanna see how greedy she is. Yeah, spread those legs for me baby, wider, mhmm."

Under mischievous intentions, he doesn't hold back. With all his strength he pounds deeper into your leaking hole till he reaches your g-spot, till he hears your juices squelch and gush in the palm of his hand, effortlessly sending a crack through your armor. "Yeah, mhm, there she is," he sing-songs, smirking from ear to ear. "Feels so much better right mama?~"

Head tilted back into his shoulder, legs spread wider and hiked up, you whimper breathlessly, "ohmygod, yes.. ohmygod.. ohmygod~" Your eyes begin to flicker and roll, unable to hold back for much longer, your resistance dissolving like water, melting in his hold and allowing him to do whatever he pleases to your body.

He doesn't let up when he feels you start to lessen, "mm'yes ride my fingers, baby, just like that. Yeah, there you go, such a good fucking girl." He grunts, frowning down between your legs in concentration and then, he hears the way you call for him, like you wanted to say something but couldn't. "You ready baby? Ready to cum all over my fingers? Yeah? Well then go on, cum for me, cum for daddy... mhm, there you go doll," he watches as remnants of you coax his fingers, bringing his hand up, he observes how it shines beautifully underneath the moon's light, silky, sticky residue leaving strands between his fingers.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 | lowkey couldn't decide whether this was dick or Jason, what y'all think? I'm leaning more towards Dick with this one. Anyways like, comment, reblog, ignore any errors pls and ty <3

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 ©𝐦𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[jasonsdoll]

jason todd x reader!

requested!

────୨ৎ────

𝓳ason noticed the subtle difference between when he was dating you—and when he wasn’t. he couldn’t care less about looking both ways before crossing the street or making sure to try to block the villain’s he fought so they wouldn’t hurt him as much. those things didn’t matter to him. he had no point. until you came into his life.

it all started when you scolded him for not looking both ways. he never saw the appeal. but you clearly did. so, he slowly—but surely—started to do your habits. looking both ways before crossing the road, making sure to drive slower on his motorcycle when it’s raining or when it’s bad outside, or even trying to block the villains’ attacks so it wouldn’t hurt him as much. he knew you hated when he came back, soaked in blood.

you started to see it too, little did he know. he would never tell you, of course, but the way he was holding onto you spoke volumes that his words couldn’t comprehend. he didn’t know what time it was—it was dark outside, but right now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. all that mattered was the person in his arms, wrapped around him tightly. your legs were intertwined messily with his, but no one moved.

your plushies were around the bed, some behind jason—guarding him, as you would say cheekily—while others were near your feet. his hand lied on the back of your head, his other wrapped around your waist so you were cuddled against the larger man. the old jason couldn’t even think about someone like you, hugging and snuggling against his hard and scarred body. but you were.

his heart clenched with something that wasn’t love—no, it was something more. way, way more than love. not yearning, not desire, not love, not warmth, but something all in between. something that jason would never give up. your soft snores filled the quiet room and his eyes softened into something only you could see. his hand ran up and down your waist and back soothingly.

no, he could never imagine that he was with someone who treated him with such kindness, who made him want to stay safe so he could be with you longer. but he was.

he grabbed the fluffy blanket that you forced him to bring, pulling it up to cover the both of you. you nuzzled further into his neck, your delicate hands pressed against his chest filled with scars almost perfectly. yeah, he would never give this up for anything. “g’night, doll,” he whispered quietly, voice filled with something not even the poets could write and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

[vssail]

From: (...)

To: Jason Todd

Subject: Soo... you coming?

Yeah, yeah, I know what you want to answer me. "I don't like crowded places". You're lucky I'm a genius.

If we can't go to the cinema, we can celebrate Joe Wright's 2005 Pride and Prejudice aniversary at my place!

I got the movie on DVD. I know we could watch it directly on TV, but this way it feels more real, you know? With the 2005 vibe and everything. And I already bought like a lot, lot, LOT of popcorns. All flavors imaginable. So, you have to come now, unless you want me to die trying to eat all these popcorns by myself.

You better be at my door at seven, Todd.

(Please, come.)

(...)

From: Jason Todd

To: (...)

Subject: Re: Soo... you coming?

You're terrible. But sweet. Let's leave it at adorably terrible.

Give me five minutes to get there.

(You didn't have to do all that for me. But I appreciate it. Thank you.)

J

From: Jason Todd

To: (...)

Subject: New recipe

Alfred revealed to me the recipe of the brownies that you loved so much. I'm cooking them right now. If you get here quickly, you could be the tester.

And again, thank you for the other night. I had a great time. We should do it again. Chicken run turns 25 this year, if you need inspiration for the next movie.

J

P.S. Don't. Make. Jokes. About. The. Apron.

From: (...)

To: Jason Todd

Subject: Re: New recipe

[jason todd on a ripped batman apron.jpg]

Muehehehe

(...)

From: Jason Todd

To: (...)

Subject: Delete the pictures.

You have 30 minutes to delete them. Don't ask me what will happen if you don't.

J

From: (...)

To: Jason Todd

Subject: Mission Accomplished

Okay, okay, I deleted them. The only thing left of those pic is the one I printed and framed. I have it in a safe, so no one will be able to see it (unless they know my birthday).

Tho I must warn you someone may have hacked my phone before I got to delete them. I think so because an unknown number sent me a paypal payment and told me to get more pictures. Creepy.

Don't worry, I won't take more pictures. I am the only one that deserves to see that side of you ;)

(...)

P.S. You up for movie night tomorrow?

From: Jason Todd

To: (...)

Subject: Re: Mission Accomplished

I'm taking the food, there are some brownies left. I can make something else if you want. Maybe I can cook dinner before we watch the movie? Alf handed me another recipe, I could try it with you.

I'm taking an apron. Black. No pictures.

J

From: Jason Todd

To: Tim Drake

Subject: You're dead

Prepare your last words.

From: (...)

To: Jason Todd

Subject: Re: Re: Mission Accomplished

Awesome! I really love it when you go full Gordon Ramsey, like really, your cooking skills never fail to surprise me. Sometimes I think about kidnapping you so you cook for me everyday, but I back off when I remember you hide guns in the toaster.

Oooh I searched through my dad's old DVD's collection and I have a full list of films that we HAVE TO watch! Not gonna lie, the options could be better - but I want to keep the DVD thing. It's like our thing <3

[top best films to watch with jay - millenial dad edition.pdf]

We could do a Final destination marathon. I think another one is coming out this year so the timing is perfect!

(I know, no crowded rooms. I'll just get it somehow, don't worry.)

See you tomorrow, Todd :)

(...)

From: Tim Drake

To: (...)

Subject: Calm your dog

Yeah, I know, I'm sorry for hacking your phone. I was curious about who was Jason talking to through e-mails in this day and age. The picture was there and I couldn't let it go, yk? Now, I would appreciate if you talked with him to calm him down. I'm afraid his threat may not be as light as I thought it was.

Please, be quick. I think I'm hearing things in my appartment.

T. D.

[plethorawrites]

(A/N...blurb because I'm burnt out)

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

Thinking about how Jason Todd would be obsessed with you regardless of your garments in bed. Like, you want to wear lingerie...for him? Seriously?

He would never consider someone wanting to actually look pretty for him, but you're already gorgeous so of course it makes his brain go fuzzy and the urge to run his hands over every inch of fabric (what there was of it) was impossible to resist.

He loved it.

But seeing you in a T-shirt, especially his? Just as perfect.

Because you're comfortable with him, claiming a piece of his life like it was your own, too. It was massive on you and he could fuss with it as he wanted, sliding his hands under it or pulling the shoulder down to kiss your skin. You were "lazy" those nights, and yet so damn beautiful.

He didn't care which it was. He loved them both. Loved you in anything, everything, and nothing.

[gothvenus505]

I think this fixed me mentally, at least a little bit anyway.

lonely and unlovable jason todd

mentions of: sad and insecure jason, fluff - i’m sorry for abandoning you guys im slowly coming back i swear

never in jason’s life did he think he’d be loved, let alone bringing someone into it. he was alone for the most of his life, spent countless nights in his cold bed with only a thin blanket to keep him warm, but it never did, nor did he buy a new one because he thought that he wasn’t deserving enough. his apartment was sad to say the least, and old shabby couch that had its fluff coming out and a bathroom so small he could barely fit in, plus a shower that never had warm water.

alone and insecure.

he had an old thin towel covering his mirror in the bathroom, because he physically couldn’t look at himself.

the rough scars that were engraved on his torso haunted him, a reflection of his dark past and a visual reminder of just how unlovable he really was. he found himself in the usual routine of work, eat, sleep. occasionally going to the downtown shabby gym in the middle of the night with a jumper to ensure that no one sees his scars. then back to his cold bed.

loneliness felt normal, because that was all he ever knew.

essentially, jason deprived himself of everything. he never replaced the old creaky furniture simply because he thought that he wasn’t deserving of it. his apartment looked empty, the bare necessities. despite the heating it always felt cold, colder than it should be. it was unbearable, his skin around the scars would flare up, and he felt like the same abandoned kid he was.

then he met you.

you were the kindest thing, pretty beaming smile with the warmest eyes he’s ever seen. usually, people would stare at him with pity, and if not - disgust.

but not you.

you didn’t seem to care that he looked like a loser, wearing old shabby clothes with rough scars and callouses all over his hands. it was a long day after work and he found himself at the local dive bar, tucked away in a corner until you came. you didn’t care about his rough appearance or the way he was so awkward and stuttered with every few seconds.

as the relationship progressed and somehow you convinced him to let you move in, his apartment seemed to bloom alongside him. small trinkets, flowers, and thick pink blankets that were draped over the couch and on his bed.

you were a literal sunshine, spreading rainbows and flowers everywhere you went, including his apartment.

his old dimly lit apartment that had the constant hum of the air conditioner and never seemed to be cozy enough changed. instead of coming home to an old lonely apartment, he came home to you in one of his old work shirts cooking his favourite meal. instead of going to bed alone and cold he had you to cuddle up with, your warm soft body in his hands as he snuggled into the crook of your neck.

and his scars.

you pressed soft gentle kisses on the one engraved on his torso, the soft pad of your thumb gently tracing it as you whispered a three word confession that he never got bored of.

i love you.

and not only did you make him capable of loving someone, you made him love himself.

[fandomimaginez]

Imagine Jason started dating a civillian and the batfamily has no clue how he's managing to hide his vigilante life from her while he's barely doing anything to hide it.

meanwhile this is them like two weeks into the relationship:

Her: Are you in a fight club?

Jason: What?

Her: I'm just sayin', i see you bruised more than not and this is gotham so it wouldn't really surprise me

Jason: I'm not in a fight club

Her: Ah, got it. First rule of fight club is don't talk about fight club

Jason: Sweetheart, no.

Her: No, no, i complete understand

Jason: I truly doubt it

Her: No, i get it. You are absolutely not in a fight club *wink*

and that is how Jason managed to hide his Red Hood identity from her for a good year before he finally told her the truth.

[debonairprincesposts]

You: Wow, Jason, you want to hold my hand before marriage? How awfully lewd of you.

Jason: We literally slept together yesterday.

You: That's NOTHING compared to the lewdness of holding hands.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤLOVE MY BODYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : The Most Basic Question. Tits, Ass Or Thighs?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : There are some +18 parts. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Tits. 100%. Classy.

You catch his eyes dipping to your chest mid-conversation. Doesn’t matter what you’re wearing—a tight dress, his button-down shirt, or even just a tank top and pajama pants—he’s looking. Bruce is an ass man in public, a thigh man in theory, but when it comes down to it? He worships your tits in private like they’re sculpted by gods.

He's the type to wrap a diamond necklace around your neck, only to trail it slowly down between your breasts, eyes hooded, voice gravelly:

“You have no idea how hard it is to focus when you look like this.”

Loves sucking on them when he’s stressed. Burying his face in your chest when he gets home late. One hand palming your breast while the other types on the Batcomputer like nothing's wrong. He’s obsessed in that quiet and unrelenting way. The way a storm looms on the horizon. Cold fingers sliding under your bra while you’re trying to talk about something innocent.

And when he’s really in the mood? He’ll sit you in his lap, kiss down your chest like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste, and say with that low rasp:

“These are mine. You know that, right?”

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Ass. Without shame.

Dick is an ass man to his core. It’s not even a debate. He’s the type to openly admire it in the mirror while you’re getting dressed. The kind who walks by and gives you a casual, playful slap that’s way too possessive to be innocent.

His hands naturally find your hips, always pulling you closer until your butt’s flush against him. He’s the type to lay on the couch with you on top of him, hands running down your sides just to grip your ass like it's his anchor.

“God, babe… you’re killing me. You seriously expect me to behave when you’re walking around looking like that?”

When you bend over—even slightly—it’s over for him. He gets feral. He’ll pause mid-sentence just to gawk. Like a golden retriever seeing food.

Dick’s favorite position? Anything where he can grip, spread, and praise that ass like it’s the eighth wonder of the world. He’ll smack it, groan like a sinner in church, and whisper against your skin:

“You’ve got the best ass in Gotham, baby. Don’t even argue.”

— JASON TODD ⋆

Thighs. The Sinner’s Choice.

Jason is a thigh man and you know he is. It’s the way his gaze lingers when you’re sitting with your legs crossed. The way he kisses your inner thighs for way too long before doing anything else. The way he grips them like a man starved.

Big hands squeezing your thighs while you're straddling him? That’s his therapy. That’s his church.

He especially loves when you wear thigh-highs or those tiny shorts you think he didn’t notice. You’ll catch him staring, jaw clenched, knuckles white, and five minutes later he’s on his knees, spreading your legs, murmuring,

“You really gonna tease me like that, baby? After everything I’ve done for you?”

Jason doesn’t even try to hide it. He’ll rest his head on your lap and just inhale you like your thighs are made of heaven. Obsessed with hickeys on your inner thighs—territorial and tender at the same time. And when he's feeling really possessive?

“No one gets to touch these but me. Say it.”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Tits & Thighs, but he lies and says it’s your mind.

Damian acts like he’s above it. That he’s too focused, too honorable, too disciplined to be distracted by something so carnal.

But the second you stretch, yawn, or lie on your stomach in one of his shirts? His eyes zero in like a falcon on prey.

He’ll never say it out loud, but he’s a tits and thigh man. Dual weakness. He worships your body with that intense, reverent devotion that makes your heart race. He doesn’t just look—he memorizes. The curve of your thighs when you're asleep, the weight of your chest in his hands, how your nipples react to his touch. He's studious and unrelenting.

When you ask him directly?

“What do you like most about me?”

He’ll narrow his eyes, smirk like the smug bitch he is, and reply,

“Your intelligence, obviously.”

All while his hand is halfway up your thigh and his other is resting on your chest.

He kisses your thighs like he's pledging allegiance, palms your breasts like he’s claiming a throne. In private he’s downright filthy. He’ll pull you into his lap, growl in your ear in Arabic, and say with absolute finality:

“You are mine. Every inch of you. And I will never tire of you.”

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

Ass. But he tries to pretend he's not down bad.

Terry thinks he’s slick. Thinks he’s keeping it cool. The boy grew up in Neo-Gotham, wears a skintight Batsuit, flirts like he’s Bruce Wayne himself—but he’s not fooling anyone.

He’s an ass man through and through.

You’ll catch him staring when you walk away. You’ll feel his hand ghost over your lower back during hugs, just low enough to be suggestive. And when you call him out, he’ll smirk like he’s innocent.

“What? Just admiring my girl. Can’t a man appreciate fine art?”

Terry likes bending you over his bike, holding you tight against his chest with a hand planted firmly on your backside. Night flights? Always an excuse to touch. Back home? He’s got your ass in both hands, eyes glazed over like it’s the cure to every bad day.

But the filthiest part? He talks during. Low, breathy praise in your ear:

“All mine. You know that, right? Nobody else gets to see you like this. Nobody touches what belongs to me.”

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

Thighs. Gentleman. Pervert. Dangerous combo.

Barry looks like a soft, calm man. Wheelchair-bound, polite, smiling, with warm hands and careful eyes.

But beneath that? He’s got the mind of a freak and a thigh fixation that runs deep.

It’s all about control for Barry—the way your thighs twitch when he kisses the inside, the way you squirm when he goes slow. His hands are always on your legs. Stroking them, gripping them, resting possessively over your knees in public like a silent claim.

“You're always so tense, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

He has a special seat adjustment in his chair so you can straddle him when he pulls you into his lap. There’s something sinful about the way he kisses your thigh with adoration, then bites like he’s claiming you inch by inch.

And when you wear short skirts around him? You’re not leaving the house without a long, lingering stare and:

“Don’t test me. I may not walk—but I’ll drag you back to bed.”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

Tits. Doesn’t understand why he’s obsessed. Just is.

Cassian doesn’t speak a lot. He expresses himself with action. Touch, breath, the sound of a soft grunt in your neck.

But the one thing that makes him visibly weak?

Your tits.

He gets flustered when you’re in anything low-cut. His eyes dip without meaning to, jaw tightening like he’s mad at himself for looking—but he can’t stop. He likes resting his head there. Likes the feel of you against him. The way you fit in his lap, soft and warm and everything he doesn’t think he deserves.

But don’t mistake his silence for innocence. Cassian touches you like he’s memorizing. Like your breasts are sacred, fragile, and sinful all at once.

kiss, kiss, press his cheek to them, breathe hard—groan like a sinner breaking.

He’ll get rough sometimes—biting, sucking, marking—but afterward, he looks at you like he’s ashamed of how much he needs you. Like he’s afraid he’ll ruin you just by loving you too hard.

You tell him you like it, and he just nods. No words. Just pulls you to him again and palms your tits with reverent, desperate hands.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

Ass & Tits. Greedy.

Stephen is energetic in the sheets. The type to laugh mid-makeout, worship you like a goddess, and never stop touching you. But if he had to pick?

“Ass. No, wait—tits. Shit. Can I pick both? Please? Come on, don’t make me suffer.”

He’ll literally spin you around in his hands, grabbing your ass, motorboating your chest, moaning like you just gave him a million bucks. Every moment with him is hands-on, mouth-on, needy.

He’s the one smacking your butt in the kitchen, squeezing your tits while you brush your teeth, throwing himself into your lap like he deserves it all.

“You’re so hot, babe, I could write poetry about your curves. Limericks. Whole damn musicals.”

Stephen’s a playful lover, but when he gets serious? He gets serious. Pushes you against the wall, whispers in your ear with a trembling voice:

“No one’s ever gonna touch you like this. I’ll kill them. You get that, right?”

Then immediately follows it with, “Also, your tits are amazing. Just saying.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[starl1ght444]

jason todd x reader

── .✦ angst

[ jason bought you, your favorite flowers for the first time ]

long story — [8.2k words count]

second person writing

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

phase one ; blooming [dating]

you loved carnations.

jason learned that on your third date. It was a small, throwaway moment—something you said while sipping a lukewarm latte in a dingy coffee shop tucked away from gotham’s chaos. you’d been talking about nothing in particular, just bantering like usual, your legs tucked under you in the booth as the sky darkened outside.

“they’re not fancy,” you said, absently stirring cream into your coffee, “but they’re strong. they last longer than most flowers, you know? and they come in so many colors.”

jason raised an eyebrow. “you really into flowers?”

You shrugged. “they’re just… comforting. It’s like a reminder that something can be soft and still survive.”

he didn’t answer. just stared at you for a moment like you were something he hadn’t figured out yet—like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

you weren’t like the people in his world. you didn’t carry trauma like a weapon. you didn’t flinch at loud sounds or look over your shoulder in paranoia. you had a softness to you that he hadn’t expected in gotham. and he didn’t know what to do with it.

when he walked you home that night, you paused at a flower stall outside your building. rain was drizzling, the kind that clung to your lashes and curled your hair, and you stopped to look at a small bouquet of pale pink carnations.

“they’re my favorite,” you said, smiling. “someday I’m gonna fill my whole apartment with them.”

jason rolled his eyes. “flowers are a waste of money. they die in a week.”

you blinked. just a second. just enough for him to notice. “well,” you said, voice light, “some things are worth it, even if they don’t last.” he didn’t understand what you meant. not then. not yet.

you started seeing each other more often—slow at first. you were cautious with your heart, and jason was dangerous with his. but he started staying the night. started showing up at your place with bruises and bullet grazes and that haunted look in his eyes. you never asked where he’d been. you only asked if he was hungry. If he was okay. If he wanted to talk.

he never did. not about the big stuff. but you’d find him in your kitchen at 2 a.m., heating up leftover pasta, or sitting on your couch with your cat in his lap like he belonged there. and he did.

he didn’t say “I love you,” not for months. but he watched over you like he did. he’d show up outside your job with a scowl and coffee if you had a rough day. he knew the fastest route from your place to every hospital in the city. he installed cameras at your front door and never told you. — you noticed. you just didn’t say anything.

carnations bloomed on your windowsill. a new one every week. you bought them yourself—white-blush and lavender. you kept waiting, hoping maybe jason would walk in one day with a bunch in his hands. not because you needed them, but because you wanted to know he’d remembered.

he didn’t.

one night, curled up with him under a ratty old blanket, you brought it up gently. “I used to get flowers when I was little,” you said. “my dad would bring me carnations on my birthday. I think that’s why I still love them so much.”

jason looked at you from where he lay on your chest, his brow furrowed. “didn’t know your dad was around.”

“he’s not.. not anymore.” silence settled between you.

“I used to think… if someone brought me carnations, it meant they really saw me,” you admitted. “not the ‘I’m fine’ version. the real me.”

jason didn’t say anything. — you didn’t push.

the first time you told him you loved him, he froze.

It had been a good day. one of the rare ones—no crime scenes, no emergency calls, no red hood business dragging him into gotham’s underbelly. you’d spent the afternoon in the park, lying in the grass, his head on your stomach as you read a book aloud.

that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back, you whispered, “I love you.” — jason’s whole body tensed.

you felt it. every muscle. then he pulled back. looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. “you don’t have to say it back,” you murmured.

he didn’t. but he kissed you like he meant it. held you all night like he was terrified you’d disappear. you told yourself it was enough.

phase two ; budding [fiancé]

It wasn’t a proposal. not really.

It was three in the morning, and jason was sitting on the edge of the bathtub while you brushed your teeth, eyes half-lidded with sleep, his hair a mess from the pillow. you wore one of his old shirts, threadbare from a hundred washes. he wore the quiet panic of someone who had never believed they’d live long enough to consider a future.

“hey,” he said, voice low. you glanced at him in the mirror, mouth full of toothpaste. “If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?”

you froze mid-brush. he didn’t flinch or try to recover it with a joke. he just watched you—blue eyes soft and serious, hands clasped between his knees. you spit into the sink and turned to face him.

“Is this the part where you propose with a ring made out of dental floss?” a breath of laughter left his nose, and the tension eased from his shoulders.

“I’m serious,” he said. you stepped closer, cupped his jaw with a wet hand. “then ask me like you mean it.”

jason paused. his eyes searched yours, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “(y/n) (m/n) (l/n), will you marry me.”

and you—heart pounding, love swelling in your chest like it would break your ribs—smiled. “yes,” you said. “of course I will.”

he pulled you into his arms, buried his face in your stomach, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself breathe like it was safe.

the ring came later.

It wasn’t new—wasn’t even something he’d gone out to buy. one night, you found him sitting in the closet, the small wooden box in his hand. It had belonged to catherine todd—passed down, like love that tries to survive the storm.

“she kept it hidden,” jason said quietly, running a thumb over the aged velvet. “I think she always meant to give it to me… if I ever found someone.”

you sank down beside him on the floor, resting your head on his shoulder. “she’d be glad you did.”

he gave it to you that night, no speeches or ceremony. just slid it onto your finger while you sat together on the floor of the hallway, bathed in moonlight from the window. as jason kissed the ring on your finger.

It fit perfectly.

planning the wedding wasn’t easy. you didn’t want much. jason didn’t want attention. but it was yours—intimate, quiet, full of stolen glances and laughter that didn’t belong in a city like gotham.

dick cried during the vows — roy forgot the rings.

alfred gave you a smile that nearly brought you to tears.

jason kept his hand in yours like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. you didn’t walk down the aisle with roses or lilies or orchids.

you held a bouquet of white carnations, tied with a silver ribbon. jason saw them, saw the way your fingers curled around the stems, and something flickered in his expression. he didn’t say anything. but you caught the way he looked at them—like they were a language he hadn’t learned yet.

life settled into something that almost resembled normal. at least, your version of it.

your mornings were soft. you’d wake first, kiss the scar on jason’s temple, whisper something into his sleep-dazed hair. he never told you what it meant to wake up to that. but he held you tighter every day.

sometimes he cooked breakfast—burned eggs and all. sometimes you did. the coffee was always too strong, but neither of you minded. the routine mattered more than the taste. — your nights were more complicated. jason still went out. still fought gotham’s darkness with red and black. but he came home now. always came home.

and he talked more.

he told you about things he’d buried—things no one else knew. his mother. the pit. the dreams he still had where the coffin never opened. the pain of coming back to a world that had moved on without him.

you never asked for those stories. you only listened, threading your fingers through his, anchoring him with silence and steady breaths. — one night, after a particularly rough patrol, he came home soaked in rain and blood. you helped him out of the kevlar, your hands gentle, your voice quiet.

he sat at the kitchen table while you cleaned a deep gash along his ribs. “I thought I was gonna die tonight,” he muttered.

you paused, heart in your throat. jason looked up at you. “and the weirdest part? I wasn’t scared for me. I was scared you’d be alone.” you pressed gauze to the wound, leaned in, and kissed his forehead. “you’re not dying, jason.”

“someday I will,” he said, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. “and you’ll have to go on without me.”

“then you better keep surviving,” you said, voice firm. “because I’m not planning on loving anyone else.”

he pulled you into his lap, held you there like he was trying to fuse your heartbeat with his.

you kept carnations in the apartment. a vase in the kitchen. one on the nightstand. always fresh. always soft. jason never brought them home. but he started noticing them—more than before.

he’d run his fingers along the petals absently while sipping his coffee. tuck a fallen one behind your ear with a fond little smile. you caught him once, standing in front of a grocery store flower display, just staring at them. — but he walked past.

you didn’t mention it.

you never asked for them anymore. not because you didn’t want them. but because you wanted him to want to bring them. — some small part of you still hoped.

one afternoon, you were lying together on the couch, your legs draped across his lap. he was reading something—an old paperback with cracked pages—and you were watching the sunlight paint gold across the hardwood floor.

“do you think we’ll ever leave gotham?” you asked suddenly.

jason looked up. “you want to?”

“I don’t know. sometimes.” you shrugged. “sometimes I imagine a house with a garden. somewhere quiet. I’d grow carnations.”

he smiled, brushing your ankle with his thumb. “you and your damn flowers.”

you chuckled. “they’d be all over the place. kitchen, bedroom, porch. even in the bathroom.”

jason leaned down, kissed the inside of your knee. “If you want a garden, I’ll build you one.”

you reached for his hand. “I don’t need a garden. just you.”

but still, in the back of your mind, you pictured it—soft soil and early mornings, dew on petals, and jason beside you, older, whole. — you didn’t know it would stay a dream.

phase three ; blooming [marriage]

married life with jason was unexpectedly sweet.

you never imagined the red hood would be the type to make tea in the mornings or memorize your grocery list, but he did. he kept your mugs on the lowest shelf so you didn’t have to stretch. he learned how to braid your hair, poorly but determinedly, just so you’d smile.

your new apartment was bigger, higher up—safer. there was a little balcony with just enough space for a few flower boxes, and you filled them with carnations in every shade. jason helped you plant them, dirt under his fingernails and a look on his face like maybe, just maybe, he was starting to understand why you loved them so much.

“you said they’re strong, right?” he asked one evening, watering them carefully.

you looked up from your book. “yeah.”

he watched a pale yellow bloom tremble in the breeze. “they remind me of you.”

you didn’t cry. but your throat ached as you crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him, resting your cheek against his shoulder. you were happy. really, genuinely happy.

jason had been changing—slowly but surely, like stone shaped by water.

he didn’t punch walls anymore. he let himself laugh more, sleep more. he still fought, still bled for gotham, but he came home more often than not. he started going to therapy, though he never told anyone but you. he even made peace with bruce—if only in small pieces, quiet dinners, and fewer arguments.

“I think I’m finally starting to feel human again,” he told you once, curled in bed with you at dawn. “you made me human.”

you kissed his chest, hand over his heart. “you were always human, jason. you just forgot for a while.”

you talked about kids more openly now.

“we could adopt,” you said once, the thought half-formed in your mind as you watched him fix the hinge on a closet door. “someday. maybe.”

jason looked up, surprised—but not alarmed. “yeah. maybe. I’d want them to be safe first. you to be safe.”

“we’re close,” you said. “gotham won’t be forever.”

he stood, brushed the dust off his hands. “no. just a little longer. then we’ll go.”

you imagined a place with less noise. a porch. a yard. real mornings without sirens. carnations blooming around the edges of a little house.

jason kissed you that night like he could already see it too.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

the last morning was warm.

you watered the flowers on the balcony while jason made eggs and toast, humming some rock song under his breath. the windows were open. the world felt light for once.

you had plans to meet barbara for lunch, to run errands, maybe grab groceries. jason had patrol later that evening but promised to be back before midnight. you kissed him at the door like it was any other day. — he kissed you twice.

“text me when you get there,” he said. — “I always do.”

you smiled, leaned back against the doorframe, watching him disappear down the hallway with a peace in your chest you hadn’t felt in years. you didn’t know it was the last time.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

you weren’t supposed to be anywhere near Ivy’s old sector.

the lab had been quiet for months—dormant, some said, shut down after the last run-in with her plant toxins. but something pinged on the surveillance net—unusual bio-activity—and you, being who you were, decided to check it out.

It was just a recon mission. you were careful. you always were.

you never saw the vines until it was too late.

jason got the call from babs, her voice tight and scared.

“something’s happened,” she said. “(y/n)… we lost her signal near Ivy’s old territory.” he didn’t hear the rest.

he was on his bike in seconds, tearing through Gotham like the city itself had betrayed him. he didn’t stop at lights. didn’t slow for anything.

he found the lab half-collapsed, tendrils of greenery coiling through the wreckage like veins.

he screamed your name.

he dug through debris with bare hands, shoving aside branches that moved like they were alive. the air was thick with the scent of earth and blood.

then he saw you. — your body was tangled in vines, arms limp, head turned slightly to the side. you looked peaceful.

but you were too still.

and around you—blooming like a cruel, beautiful grave—were carnations. each one having a meaning.

white — purity, innocence, remembrance

pink — gratitude, admiration, undying love

purple — unpredictably, capriciousness, free spirit

all curling around the vines like some terrible mockery of love.

jason dropped to his knees. — “no,” he whispered. “no, no, no—please..please.. (y/n).. no no.. please…”

he tore at the vines with shaking hands, not caring that they cut into his skin. he gathered you into his arms, blood staining your shirt where the toxins had entered.

you weren’t breathing.

“come on,” he choked out, pressing his forehead to yours. “you’re strong. you’re stronger than this. you said—you said they were strong.”

he rocked with you in his arms, howling into the air like something feral. screaming like his heart had been physically ripped out of him. sobbing into your shirt, the same one he had watched you put on this morning asking if you looked good. and of course you did, jason was always mesmerizing by you. and right now he was spiraling into a new unknown feeling.

bruce was the first to arrive. then dick. then tim.

they found jason cradling you, his jacket wrapped around your body even though you were already cold.

he didn’t look up when bruce knelt beside him. “she’s cold.. i put my jacket...and she’s still cold.. i couldn’t save her,” jason whispered. “I wasn’t there. I promised I’d be there.”

“I know,” bruce said softly, eyes glassy. his daughter-in-law peacefully covered in blood and carnations. he never truly got to tell you how much he appreciated the way you helped jason grow into the man he had become— you taught jason everything he couldn’t. jason slowly became emotionally mature, your marriage teaching him how to love and be  patient everyday.

dick stood nearby, hands over his mouth, unable to speak— the way he watched his younger brother holding his lifeless wife in his arms. tim just stared, stunned— not being able to believe the scene in front of him, as the wind tugged at the scattered petals around you.

“look at them,” jason murmured, brushing a blood-streaked carnation with his thumb. “she loved these. I never… I never brought her any. n..not once.”

jason looked up at bruce with hollow eyes. “I was going to. this week. I swear. I saw some at the store. I almost bought them.” — looking back down at you, squeezing you hard. trying to look for any sign of life left in you.

bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. “she knew.”

jason shook his head. “I should’ve told her more. I should’ve done everything more.”

Dick finally stepped forward, kneeling across from his brother. “you did love her, jay. you loved her more than anyone. she knew. she felt it.”

jason’s face crumpled. “she died alone, dick. In pain. In fear.”

“no,” bruce said gently. “she died trying to help people. that’s who she was. that’s why you loved her.”

jason buried his face in your hair, silent now, his grief no longer words—just broken, shaking breath. staying like that, planting himself on the ground sobbing into you. tracing your body trying to remember every detail about you, like you always did for him. “i love you (y/n).. i love you.. please.. god we were going to leave.. we should’ve... i can’t.. (y/n) please baby, wake up… what am i supposed to do.. sweetheart please.. pleaseplease.. you’re so strong.. my beautiful wife.. we were gonna adopt.. you would’ve been a p..phenomenal mother..my sunshine.. please babygirl.. i can’t do this without you.. im so sorry.. im sorry..god please” jason holding your hand, rubbing his moms ring — the ring he vowed to love and protect you forever.

they had to pull him away eventually. jason fighting each one of them, not ready to let go of his wife. “please.. stop.. please.. a few more minutes.. please.. i can’t..please..i need her” he sounded defeated. bruce helping him up while he still clung to you. carrying both of you out of the building. struggling, not because of holding you two — but struggling not to sob along with his sons.

phase four ; wilting [death]

the funeral was three days after they pulled your body from the vines.

gotham had turned grey that week. the sky hung heavy, like even the clouds mourned you. the streets were quieter. the city somehow knew it had lost something bright.

they dressed you in soft fabric. nothing flashy. just something gentle and familiar. jason picked the dress. he remembered how it looked on you the first time you danced in the living room, barefoot and laughing.

you had flowers around you. carnations. barbara brought them. white, pink, red—your favorites. jason couldn’t stop staring at them.

he hadn’t cried since that night. now, at the funeral, he was quiet, but this time it was different. empty.

a shell wearing his face — everyone was there.

dick stood beside him, barely breathing. tim sat stiffly, not blinking. bruce kept a hand on jason’s back, grounding him, like he was afraid he’d float away.

barbara gave a speech. so did roy. even alfred, voice trembling, spoke a few words about love and grace and the way your laughter changed the manor the few times you visited.

jason didn’t hear any of it — he just looked at you.

laid out in the casket like sleep had taken you mid-sentence. lips soft. lashes resting against your cheeks. skin too pale, but peaceful. like you were waiting for him to say something.

the carnations framed your face like a crown.

and jason— he hated them.

not because they were ugly. not because they were yours. but because they were there, blooming, when you weren’t breathing. —because you always asked for them, and he never brought them.

and now they were here. too late.

someone touched his shoulder after the service. maybe dick. maybe bruce. maybe god himself—jason didn’t look.

“she loved you,” the voice said. “she never doubted you.”

but jason didn’t believe it.

not when he’d failed you in the most final way possible.

the grave was at the edge of the cemetery, under a weeping willow. the headstone was simple. your name. your birth and death dates. and a small engraving at the bottom:

“still the light in the dark.” he visited the next day. and the day after that. and the next. — he came without flowers. he didn’t know how to carry them.

weeks passed.

the apartment stayed quiet. your shoes still by the door. your toothbrush still in the cup. your pillow still untouched. the only thing touched were parts of your clothing. lingering perfume you’d sprayed on your shirts — jason needed the items to help him sleep. craving any ounce of you he could find. clinging onto the fabric imagining it was you. your body laying on top of his, cupping his face and kissing him endlessly. whispering about the good life they had. it broke jason. everything reminded him of you. it was killing him in a way he couldn’t grieve properly.

he didn’t move anything.

he didn’t patrol much anymore. bruce didn’t force it. dick stopped asking. jason barely responded to texts. calls went unanswered. roy left voicemails. barbara stopped by once and found him curled on the living room floor, clutching one of your sweaters, rocking slowly.

“it still smells like her,” he whispered. barbara didn’t say anything. just sat beside him and cried quietly.

he didn’t dream of you. not really.

just flashes. the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. the sound of your laugh in the kitchen. the scent of carnations on your skin. the feel of your hand in his—soft and warm and alive. soft words leaving your lips — “i love you jay, i love you, i love you” you said like a prayer to him. your sweet voice haunting him in a way he hoped he’d never forget. wanted these cruel dreams, just to listen to you until his brain slowly fades it away.

then he’d wake up. and the cold would remind him. you weren’t coming back.

one night, he sat in front of the flower shop you used to visit. they had carnations in the window. he stared at them for an hour. then he walked inside. — the woman behind the counter gave him a curious look. “need help?”

he cleared his throat. “just… just the carnations.”

“any color?”

he looked down. his hands were shaking.

“all of them.”

he brought them to your grave the next morning. the sun hadn’t risen yet. the cemetery was still wrapped in mist, cold and soft. the carnations trembled in his grip. red, white, pink, purple, yellow, orange, lavender— tied with a pale ribbon. the kind you would’ve picked.

he knelt beside your headstone, laid the flowers gently across the grass. “you deserved these,” he whispered. his voice cracked. “i should’ve brought them sooner.”

he brushed his fingers across your name, eyes stinging.

“i thought they were pointless. i thought flowers died too easily.” his breath hitched. “but they were never about that, were they? they were about love. about life. about choosing something beautiful even when everything else was dark.”

he laughed, bitter and broken. “you knew that. you were that.”

the wind shifted, gentle and cold, like a simple answer.

“i miss you,” he said. “god, i miss you so much it fucking hurts.” he pressed his forehead against the stone. “i don’t know who i am without you.”

days blurred. he kept bringing flowers.

sometimes he talked to you. sometimes he just sat. sometimes he cried. he never stayed dry-eyed for long.

he stopped going to the apartment eventually. moved back into one of the safehouses. colder. emptier. more fitting.

he stopped shaving. stopped eating well. he looked thinner, paler, his eyes sunken like the weight of grief was dragging his soul down with it. — no one could reach him.

not dick, not bruce, not even alfred.

roy visited once. found jason standing in the rain at your grave, drenched and shaking. “you need to come inside,” roy said.

“she’s alone,” jason whispered. tears and rain mixing together, not knowing which was which.

“she’s not,” roy said. “you carry her everywhere.”

jason shook his head. “it’s not enough.”

roy didn’t know what to say. because maybe jason was right. and roy didn’t leave his side. they both sat in the rain. his best friend holding him and rubbing his shoulder in a ‘i’ve got you’ way. sitting in silence while jason continued to cry.

jason would be walking down the street, trying his best to clear his mind when he would see a little girl walking with her dad holding hands while the girl had a carnation, a small reminder. the ghost of you she saw in that little girl. — crushing him. these flowers were now everywhere he went. he couldn’t get away from them. it was a sign just like roy said — that you were everywhere.

jason never moved on. he didn’t date. didn’t laugh like he used to. he existed. he survived. that was it.

every year on your anniversary, he brought nine carnations. three white, three red, three pink. one for every phase of your life together—dating, engaged, married.

every year, he whispered the same thing. “you were the best thing that ever happened to me, i love you eternally sweetheart. i miss you.. every.. every fucking day.. it’s so difficult.. you were my favorite person…god i hate this city.. i gutturally hate ivy for taking you away from me…i miss you..so much.. please know that… i love you (y/n) todd”

and one night, sitting by your grave, his back against the cold stone, he looked at the flowers and finally said it aloud: “i think… i think i was a carnation too.”

his voice was hoarse. the wind tugged at his coat. “strong. stubborn. quiet. always trying to survive. but…” he blinked slowly. “i needed care. i needed you. you were the one who watered me. gave me sunlight. made sure i didn’t wither.”

he closed his eyes. “you kept me alive.. and now—” he didn’t finish. he didn’t need to. because the silence answered for him.

the carnations on your grave never wilted for long. he always replaced them — always brought fresh ones — always sat with you. — in every lifetime, you had been his light. his warmth. his reason.

he was just a flower with cracked petals. and you— you were the hands that kept him blooming. and without you, he wilted. and never truly grew again. stuck in the endless cycle of grief. still having dreams of you, bright and beautiful. a cruel reminder of what he can’t have anymore. “i use to be scared that if i went you’d be alone.. now.. i..”

jason was alone. he shut everyone out. he knew it wouldn’t be what you wanted. jason was afraid of actually accepting your death, grieving properly and moving on. you were the most impactful person in his life, and couldn’t imagine moving on from you. he was only alive for you, knowing you had dreams and passion about life, it was taken from so you abruptly that jason wanted to find comfort in your activities. his routine meshing with your old one. “i built a flower bed.. right outside that coffee shop where we had our first couple date.. i know you’d love it. a couple kids painted it for me.. it’s stunning, just like you baby…” jason said kissing the headstone, placing a bouquet of carnations down.

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

i love jason 🫂 i should write something sweet next time, or would ya’ll like more angst? — have a good day / night xx !!!

i hope this was an okay read!! i could’ve gone more in depth at some parts, but i kept training off :p !!!! mwaahh byyee <3

[dark-l-angel]

I have a really cute idea that I want to share with you. So, there is Batman, Night Wing, Red Hood, Red Robin and Robin but their chibi versions.So, like themselves but a small version of themselves. Very cute and funny, their chibi abilities and characters are also the same.I want to know how they will react when they see the chibi version of themselves, it's so cute, OMG

A/N : AAAAHHH- That’s criminally adorable. I’m melting already. Like, imagine Bat-boys forced to stare into the abyss of their own big-eyed, tiny-bodied counterparts. You’re in for some serious giggles and probably a few “Tt”s from a certain gremlin.

Batfam x chibi batfam

Bruce Wayne :

His reaction : Deep sigh. Squints. Crosses arms.

"This… is impractical."

But let’s be real.. he’s already taking mental notes on how to weaponize the cuteness. He tries to stay stoic, but the moment chibi-Bruce waddles up and dramatically throws a mini Batarang, yelling "Justice!" even Alfred sees the twitch of a smile. Just once. Blink and you miss it.

Dick Grayson :

His reaction: Immediate heart explosion.

"OH MY GOD, IS THAT ME?? Look at the hair! Look at the little sticks!! AND THAT DAMN CUTE BOOTYYYY!!!"

He picks up chibi-Dick and spins him around like a proud dad at a baby photo shoot. He’s already planning merch, stickers, plushies. "We are putting this little guy everywhere."

Jason todd :

His reaction: Confused violence. Finger on trigger.

"…Why does it still have guns?"

Chibi-Jason just yeets a tiny grenade with a "pew pew!" sound. Jason’s horrified… and impressed. He'd pretend to hate it, but five minutes later, he’s teaching his mini self how to flip someone off with both tiny hands. Secretly makes chibi-Jason his phone wallpaper.

His reaction: Panicked spiraling.

Tim Drake :

"What is this? How is it functioning? It’s sentient?! Is it drinking coffee???"

Chibi-Tim is a caffeinated gremlin who never sleeps and hacks the Batcave security system for fun. Tim tries to analyze and fix it.. then gives up and just starts talking to him like a coworker. They start coding together. Two tired insomniacs bonding in chaos.

Damian Wayne :

His reaction: Immediate rage and denial.

"This is an insult. I do not look like that."

Meanwhile, chibi-Damian is riding a tiny Bat-cow, stabbing cardboard cutouts of enemies with a toy sword, and yelling, "For honor!"

The Batfam is cackling. Damian is fuming. But you know… the moment no one's looking? He tucks chibi-him into a shoebox-turned-bed and gives it a plushie Talia doll.

This whole thing is just chaotic adorable energy. Imagine them trying to do missions while being followed around by their pint-sized versions. Bruce trying to give a serious debrief while chibi-Dick keeps booping chibi-Jason on the helmet. Damian challenging his chibi-self to a duel. Tim asking his mini-me to update his files.

I can already see the Batcomputer background changing to a group pic of the whole crew + chibis. And Alfred? He’s already sewing matching capes for the mini versions, sipping tea like, "Master Bruce, you are clearly outnumbered."

🫠

[fromdove]

THE GRAMMAR OF YOUR THIGHS ! j.todd x reader

“Every time you touch me, it feels like being rewritten in a better language.”

— gn!reader (but my fics are always written with a fem reader in mind), obsessive adoration, jason’s unhealed edges, thigh worship (emotional + physical)

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

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

there’s a way jason looks at you— like your body is a story he’s only just learning to read, and god, he wants to read it right.

his hand rests on your thigh like it belongs there, like he’s trying not to squeeze too tight, because he still doesn't trust himself with beautiful things.

"you don't get it," he says one night, voice low, rough like sleep and truth. "your thighs are..." he trails off, shakes his head, laughs at himself. "i sound like a goddamn idiot."

you wait. he always circles before landing.

"they make me feel calm. that’s all. like maybe this world isn't so ugly after all."

and maybe that’s the most honest thing he’s ever said.

he’s always got his head on your lap. like muscle memory. like instinct.

sometimes he falls asleep there, muttering something half-awake: "don’t move. not yet."

and you don’t.

you let him stay. because the way he relaxes when he’s tucked between your legs is the only time he looks like he isn’t carrying hell in his chest.

it’s not about sex. not always. sometimes he just presses his lips there like he’s grounding himself. like this—this skin, this softness, this you— is the only real thing in the world.

he hums against you, low and thoughtful. "there’s nothing cleaner than this,” he whispers. "nothing in my life’s ever been this good."

and you know what he means. you know what he’s lost. what he carries.

so when he clutches at your thigh in the dark, or tucks his face into it like he’s hiding, you let him. you let him need you.

because you’ve learned that jason todd doesn’t say i love you like most people do.

he says it through touch. through presence. through the careful, quiet worship of the place you let him rest. he'd die between your thighs and call it peace.