— i write for jason todd a lot, but i can write for any other character if you’d like. my requests are always open!! talk to me or ask anything! i’ll try and be quick to answer :P—
he’s a brute, a mammoth. and yet he remains shaking—quivering even, beneath you.
every gasp, every whimper and every devoted plea contrasts against his hardend exterior, from both width and length to sharp features and drawled accented words.
Jason Todd is a sensitive man. it’s a quiet type of sensitive, and it’s not shared with many.
he’s sentimental, soft.. tender even. but with only who he chooses.
he’s the type to buy those lego key rings only to place it on the coffee table, not speaking of it.
if it’s not seen, only then will he nudge the conversation towards the topic.
he’s the type to skim a finger over a sentence in a book that resounds with him.
he’s the type to say ‘no worries, take your time. ’ to a worker, when they are quite obviously stressed, busy.
he’s sensitive in ways that highlight him. but no doubt is he sensitive in ways that.. you’d only half expect from him.
when hips collide, fingers grasp heavy and clothes shed.
his eyes will turn droopy, lips formed into a smudged like pout. his words crisp, only softly spoken, hardly heard above a far away siren.
he won’t beg for it. he will beg for every inch of you. every part of you that you’d allow him.
he’ll tilt his head to the side, aching for your lips to swallow the skin, to swallow him.
even when he’s above, when you lay beneath him, sweaty and gasping. he’ll stare with nothing but reverence.
his limbs will shake like a baby horse. yet he splits you apart nothing short than a stallion.
in his mind, you’re the god and he’s the priest. devoted to your every word, ready to spread the message you want.
if you manage to find yourself with your knees sunken into the carpet, lips wrapped around him. he won’t place his hands on your head, won’t grasp your hair.
he will fist the feathers out of the pillows, he will scratch claw marks into the lounge.
he’s a devoted man, he devotes himself to what he preaches. he devotes himself to his work and his messages, and above all, he devotes himself to you.
—
this is my apology for disappearing.. work has been butt fucking me!
jason todd who works at the gym. not as a personal trainer or anything, just the front desk.
one of those jobs he gets to pass the daytime, to get some money. not a serious commitment or anything. he’s not even a full time worker.
he spends most days head down. not even remembering the regulars. sometimes on his phone, sometimes skimming through cases. (he doesn’t take the job too seriously.)
you don’t workout often, maybe once a week—if that. you slide your headphones on, carry your water bottle in and get thirty-five minutes worth of workouts in.
however, there had been one day. the treadmill was bugging out. skidding to a stop every minute or so. you had given a frown and clenched your eyebrows together before moving to the front counter.
he hadn’t even realised you’d come up until you cleared your throat loudly (for the third time) he gave a half interested smile before listening to your compliant.
it only took three minutes to fix. but somehow and he couldn’t find out why.. you had intrigued him, just a bit. so, from then on you were the only reoccurring face he remembered.
what started off as recognising nods turned into tight lipped smiles and a hand wave, and after four months he would get a ‘Hey, Jason.’
it’s not like he had a crush on you, what is this highschool? he had made sure to work on Friday’s.. you often came then.
and it’s not like he was familiar with you. your nose scrunched just the tiniest bit before letting out a muffled groan.
you just happened to frequent his job. he had managed to find out you were quite a fan of red hood however.
that one, finding out you were a fan of red hood, that had his chest puff up just a bit for a day.
he hadn’t figured out in the ways you think he would. no, just happened to see the red hood keychain dangling out of your pocket.
and so, maybe he had peeked through your information. maybe he had taken note of your address, and maybe he made sure to frequent that spot on nights he wasn’t too busy
one night he had been lucky. he had been kind of just hanging around your block. and he knew that wasn’t very productive, so when a mugging started he was quick to help.
only thing he didn’t expect was you were being mugged. only way he noticed with all the commotion was that muffled grunt he grew used to hearing.
you had given many thanks, tried to offer him the most cash you had (eight dollars) and given just the cutest smile. just a part of him was cocky, knowing he was your favrioite ‘vigilante’ and all.
when you left he had noticed you’d lost your bracelet. he had plucked it up between his fingers and frowned. only issue was he couldn’t exactly go to your apartment.
(if it had been anybody else he would’ve, but with the fact he was purposely near it for you, he hesitated.)
it had been two weeks later. he was severely tired, spent the entire night beforehand trying to bust black masks newest operation and had far too many bruises on his body.
he was glad to see you, considering you’d missed the previous week—and weekend. he had given you the same smile and wave. and then that’s when he made his mistake.
just as you had turned your foot left to put your stuff down he had risen from his chair, calling your name out.
‘here’s this.. it’s yours’
you had reached your hand forward, giving a thankful smile and grabbing it off him. you’d stared at it for a few minutes and just as you realised so did he.
his eyes had gone wide, not even meaning to give it away further. you’d pointed a finger at him and your jaw went slack. the ‘screech’ of your joggers could be heard as you rushed towards the desk.
‘oh my god..?’ he had shook his head, almost pleading for you to not say it out loud. the more he tried to stop you, the more you kind of.. fangirled.
if it weren’t for the fact he was internally freaking out he might’ve been prided of that.
you had spent fifteen minutes at the front desk. he hadn’t said a word. he left his shift early that day.
had more to this but idk if i wanna continue just a drabble (hope you liked!)
jason todd x f! reader | angst & fluff | 4.7K words | other works
— ʚїɞ — —ʚїɞ— —ʚїɞ—
He's never been one for Jazz, that was Bruce's thing. So, as he stood in the far expanse of the rather lavish hall his eyes could only roll as the entertainer continued to sing of an old love. He could appreciate the art, the instruments.
But with one too many nights of Bruce playing the music in the sullen cave, he grew tired of it.
His back ached. The wooden material behind him was growing more rocky every second he balanced his weight on it. His fingers blindlessly toyed with the cigarette he ached to taste on his tongue.
Every second that passed was far too long for him. Yet the earlier days of when he had attended these things taught him to never leave early. ‘For that's just rude to the host’ would it be rude if the host was Bruce? Maybe he'd understand..
As his eyes trailed the glassy globe that sat on the roof, he had forgotten to remain vigilant. his heart gave an extra thump when a woman's voice spoke. “Hiding away, are you?” the words had carried so softly, so kindly.
The way your hair sat, your perfume wafted over and your lips tilted closer to a smirk than a smile felt ever so perfect for him. The Jazz seemed louder now. But not in a way that irritated him, in fact it was almost as if a spotlight had shined on you.
His tongue weighed heavy and all he could respond with was a nod. That had a humorous laugh leave you and with that his lips joined the smile you held. His cheeks puffing as he admired what stood before him.
A gasp ripped from him as he sat up.
Sweat slid down every crevice of his chest and his fingers held painfully tight onto his bed sheet. a bitter laugh slipped at the memory. His eyes–only for a moment–drifted over to his phone. Would he be a fool to reach out? To hear your voice even if it berated him for calling.
His hair bopped up and down furiously with a shake of his head. He would be a fool. The pillows gave a squish as he landed back down. Hands not even darting from the bruises on his cheek. What had become of him. He's been through worse, he's been through literal death.
if he closed his eyes he could imagine his hands skimming the skin of your back. Nose taking in the rich scent of your shampoo.
But every time, without a doubt. Your eyes held that anger. That fire and fury from the last time you saw each other. And every time he ended up head above a toilet bowl. Wretching up the bitter taste of his tears.
two months. nine weeks and five days. ninety-seven thousand nine hundred and twenty minutes. all without you.
the fabric of his bedsheet stuck to his skin. sweat almost as glue. he wanted you back. he wanted it all back.
he’s been throwing hits harder, broke two ribs on a poor guy just a week ago. he’s been lacking food, barely keeping water down. he hasn’t changed his sheets in a month (atleast)
but what could he do. He'd accepted the breakup, truly did. He understood why. Far too many nights of you unmoving on the lounge with a gut resting of anxiety. but he hated it, loathed it.
he didn’t want his night time activities to be the reason you left, to be the reason he pushed you away. two days after the breakup he had gone to reflect on the messages, only to see you had blocked him.
now he’s using dicks instagram account just to see what you’re up to. you went to metropolis the other week, went to the beach. his eyes had stayed on the swimsuit you wore. part of him believing the dark red was for him. it wasn’t.
after minutes—long enough to be uncountable— had passed, he had shifted up. shoveling his jacket on and some boots. not caring he was in his pajamas, not caring his hair was downright grotty.
“what flavour is blue raspberry..” you questioned out. causing his eyes to search for you. his mouth felt numb, unable i conjure up a response. Only thing he could do was admire.
puddles remained on the pavement. and he watched as a bus closed its doors before sputtering off. A traffic light turned green and some of the only trees in Gotham blew south.
your lips were stained faintly in the creases. A mindless shrug was given, hands toying with his phone. “uh..dunno.” Your laugh following afterwards had him smiling back.
“whatever it is i love it..” you smiled out. he could faintly see your stained blue tongue and he felt his eyes crease with the smile that crinkled. “i’m more of a cherry guy” a faux offended gasp shot out of you. “Oh Boo! that’s so basic..”
your words cried out as the sight of a playground came into view. his shoes crunching a leaf before soaking into dew-dusted grass.
his eyebrows shuffled up and down like caterpillars for a few moments. his jacket swiping away the few droplets that remained on the park's seat. you did the same, opposite him.
“Ok Calm down miss pixie dream girl.” he feigned an eyeroll yet his eyes drifted towards you the second it finished. “you just can’t handle whimsy”
his hands shook as he held the large cup. fingers drifting towards cherry only to grasp the handle of blue raspberry. a taste of you, or atleast.. the best he can get.
he didn’t look up at the cashier as he dropped scattered coins onto the counter. didnt even hear the sound of them pebbling over his headphones.
the cold whooshed over him once the doors slid open. a beat played brash in his ears, a song he’s liked since before bruce. same song he listened to the first night he saw his mom..
before you, he had smoked marlboro. it was the first brand he had gotten his hands on at the ripe age of eleven. He'd gotten used to the taste and it’d been his.
until one night. you had managed to hurl him away from an originally planned stake out, trotting him all the way to the pier. he didn’t mind the clowns, not with you. for he couldn’t stray his eyes away long enough to process it.
the two of you hadn’t even spent more than five dollars. the entire night just spent talking. bumping into people as your elbows rubbed together, frothing the same heat that curled in his lungs.
the two of you had been watching the ferris wheel. making up stories of different people as they found their seats. one lady was a ceo and the other was in a secret gang.
he had pulled the cigarette out. you hadn’t minded, instead, you pulled your own pack out. the two of you trading the different sticks of nicotine. from then on he bought newport.
but not because you smoked it. but because everytime his lips wrapped around the stick, he tasted you.
from then on, every inhale was like a kiss. and just as a kiss from you, it’d settle on his tastebuds many minutes later.
the smoke plunged out, mixing with the continued cold that settled over Gotham. thunder crackled with the lack of rain that would only follow minutes later. his tongue ran over the divots in his lips.
he stood there, like an idiot. a man bumping into him and whispering out a curse before the doors whipped open behind him. He doesn't know where to go.
if he could—and he wanted to—he’d go to you. curl up into your chest like a little boy. like you’ll shield him. The only thing is, you’d shield him from himself and that’s a burden he can’t forgive himself for placing.
He doesn't have many friends. not the type of friends he could just go to. He had work friends, but he didn’t have his own friends. He wouldn’t go to Bruce, he couldn’t go to Richard.
and he doesn't want to go back home. for his home won’t take him. his jaw shifts left, hollowing out. rain was falling, it splattered onto his forehead as his eyes traced the murky clouds above.
the cigarette burned into his finger. Nicotine no doubt stains the ghastly skin of his. and he gave a huff, he knew where he could go. At this time of night at least.
his keys hit the desk as bats squeaked and trilled out above him. He didn't even take the time to take his hoodie off. already smashing his fists into the red leather.
music thundered into his eardrums, breaths bouncing off back into his face with every forced punch. He wasn’t even using the proper technique, he just needed something to hit, without killing it.
another lecture, another argument. It's the least of his wants right now, especially from b. the leather squished and cracked. He was almost drumming into it. meeting every hit with the beat of his music.
somewhere along the line tears sprouted. trailing into his gasping mouth. he just wanted you, he didn’t want the anguish nor anger. He didn’t want the yearn nor the ache.
He was a selfish man. only, it was taught. He wanted to fix it, always has. but now, he couldn’t be more desperate to rid of it. He doesn't deserve you, never has.
the halo that had graced you the first time he laid his eyes on you should’ve been a sign. good things aren’t given to him, good people aren’t his company,
his knuckles rested on the mat. crouched over and sobbing, he was sobbing. jason was emotional, and when people learn that they only think of the anger, the angst.
the cracks in the skin surrounding his eyebrows showcase that. the scars and bruises that littered his hands seconded it. but he wasn’t just angry, he wasn’t just fury filled.
he’d spent his entire life crying. Not physically, at least not always. as a baby he'd cried, as a toddler his voice raised as much as it could.
and in that warehouse, he hadn’t cried, not how the clown wanted him to. but his voice had shriveled into a squeak. trying to find reasons as to why his mother was doing this while also begging for her to listen.
and when the rubble landed on his skin, when the smoke clawed into his lungs. He cried, as loud as he could, for Bruce. even as his eyes fluttered shut, even as he felt the numbing sting of broken bones, he cried til his lungs were too full.
his sobs rack against the hollow walls of the cave. knuckles aching. He felt his body wobble, his chest shake in a repeating motion. It was gritty, it was loud.
muted steps found their place beside jason. knees cracking softly before a hand moved up and down comfortingly. withered skin offering comfort the best way for jason, in silence.
panting gasps that hurt his raw throat turned into sniffled hiccups. and he knew the older man didn’t see the twenty six year old before him, rather the fifteen year old he had learnt to know.
“What did I do wrong, Alfred?” he ushered the words out . sticky venom that rested in his gums. soft pats ceased. knees cracking once more as fabric shifted. Only then did Jason look up, on his hands and knees.
eyes puffy, lips rimming with red and snot stuck to his nose. The older man made a ‘tut’ with his tongue, looking further down on the man. but not in a degrading way, not in a way that felt uncomfortable.
“it was never you, master todd.” the clang of silverware on metal softly sprung out, the food resting before his eyes. and he couldn’t dull the ache of hunger. his own fingers moving towards it. “it was merely circumstances”
The food was a grateful gift. not realising the hunger until he was halfway through shoveling it down. It was bland, but he had a feeling that was purposeful. Alfred hadn’t remained, and he was once again thankful.
when he felt ready, and it had taken awhile. He sprouted upwards. legs shaky with the dread that had nested so heavily into him, before he plucked his keys up.
This time, he had to go home.
He called your name out, the sound violent against the high buildings. bouncing off each one. this wasn’t how he wanted you to figure out who he was, but he couldn’t stop it.
you were sobbing. tears racing down your cheeks, the bittersweet salt mixing with the downpour. he could see the concern, the fear etched into you.
he felt the iron mix into his clothes, protruding to his front. his hands gripped the wound tightly. fingers blotching with the crimson color. yet he placed one foot forward, one foot towards you. his only healer.
“Jason..” the word mixed with sorrow, with a haunting grief. his eyes were wide, glossy with unshed tears. he felt his being shake, unable to stop the crinkle of his knees.
he could see the shock that rested in you, the surprise. it’s not everyday your friend reveals they are an anti-hero. He couldn’t help the quell of guilt. This wasn’t how you were supposed to find out.
but he had been hurting, in any aspect. and the one thing his mind could target was you, going to you.
“Please stay..” his voice wasn’t just bordering on pleading, it was begging. He didn’t want to scare you. He didn't want to push you away. “please..” the rippling cry mixed with the loud thump of thunder.
yet with that your shoes banged into the dribbling rooftop. water splashing at all sides. He was losing blood, felt faint. but his hands rafted up towards you, bloody fingers smearing over your cheek.
he didn’t want the carmine pigment to splotch over your skin. yet it did. as shaky and cold fingers cradled your cheek. you leaned in despite yourself.
his helmet had been discarded ways ago, and his body was fighting through the want to collapse. “we need to get you somewhere..” the anxiety and rush present in your voice had his lips curling in for a moment:
he hadn’t answered. rather he had just shaken his head, leaning into you. His forehead pressed roughly against your chest, hands grasping onto you like leverage. blood soaked from him into your clothes.
he remembered the day afterwards. He had shuffled his way to your job—hesitant, wringing his hands together nervously. almost nauseous.
he still remembers the horrid guilt he had felt when he crossed his arms over, trying to protect himself incase anything backfired. and he was certain it would.
but it hadn’t.
no, instead you were nice. offering a soft smile. he could see the hesitant way your cheeks remained in place. the way your fingers stilled over the keyboard. yet the smile was still there.
words were hardly spoken. but an underlying knowing was given. you were aware of who he was, what he did. and even more, he was trusting you with it.
of all people, Jason Todd was trusting you with a secret.
now, those memories of what he had trusted now rung through his mind like a haunting chime. reminding him of what he had lost.
would it be the same had he not done what he did that night. would it be the same had he not revealed himself to you.
he ached for the answers. he ached to hear them come from you. yet, not once had he reached out. not wanting to disturb you, not wanting to upset you.
had you had reason, and you did. then the most he could do was respect it. and what is he if not your dog, a man barking for you, for your attention. a need for it all while simultaneously begging to not latch.
he was a dirty dog. one with rusted canines and claws. pawing into you so deeply you bled. for he is selfish, for he had a sickening satisfaction knowing you were his, that the blood you bled pumped for him.
but where had that gotten him? searching streets for a reason after losing all that was his. his home was gone, his meaning had vanished. the dust clinging onto his hands and all he could do was nuzzle his nose in it.
pebbles of rain tangled into leaves. wishing with the wind, every breath of air a burning sickness against his raw lungs. his boots smushed, crinkled and creased.
he had no place to go, no destination to lead. for all he wants is to wind up outside your building. to take the tortuously slow elevator and slump into your grasp.
he’d hope your hands would cradle his scars like they had done hundreds of times. he’d hope your hair would hold that scent that casted relief.
you were his healer, your hands casting a revival of what he had been before. he mourned. mourned the times you traced the pain crested into him, offering sweet words.
an angel. is what you had been. he had been foolish to believe he earned that reverence. he had been foolish to believe he earned you.
water sunk its way into your clothes. hands clasped together as a form of heat. he felt rocky pebbles graze the skin of his neck. but it all casted away.
music chimed out a ways down. sirens blared mindlessly and chatter swirled its way around the city. but in this moment, side by side with you. none of that is what he took in.
rather it was the wonderful scent of your perfume. the way it wafted over to him like a pie on a windowsill. beckoning him over to you.
and he had learnt by now, that if you called he’d always answer. the tune of your voice a sirens call and he was a devoted sailor.
“i think.. i might love you.” the words tumbled out effortlessly. like a passion known yet not spoken. he heard the soft crunch of your puffer jacket move. felt the squeeze of your fingers.
“you know what… i think i might love you back.” he couldn’t help the sharp snap of his neck. the rooftop grazing his cheek painfully and he could see the compassionate wince that dawned you for a moment.
“yeah..?” the words breathy, hoping for confirmation for what he so dreamed of. for what he had spent nights waiting for. the nod of your head was precise, no uncertainty. “yeah..”
he was a fool for coming here. yet it was as if he couldn’t escape from the pictures of memory’s. always finding himself retreating to times with you.
he remembered the way you tumbled over towards him. the heaviness of rain splattered into your clothes not a weight to derail you. he remembers the way your lips had connected.
the first time it was spoken, first time it was done. every anniversary afterwards was taken to this rooftop. and to his horror.. so was the breakup.
only that time instead of rain tasting kisses it was grumbled words and poisonous finality. what was he even doing here, hadn't he said he was going home?
as he watched silohutes down below he had a foolish thought. only this time time he didn’t retract his finger, this time he allowed it to ring out.
“Jason..?” oh how he wanted to savour that noise. those words. if he believed this was a different situation, a different scenario.
than maybe just maybe a part of him could believe he were calling you, as your boyfriend. he couldn’t speak, words far too meaningless. he just rested himself agaisnt the wall.
“Jason..” this time it was defeat, and that was a punch far too heavy than he was used to. far too emotional, far too meaningful. He sputtered your name out, and he himself could hear the sorrow that laid thick.
“why are you calling me..” he picked up on the soft ruffles of your bedsheets. That's right, it was late. you probably had work tomorrow. He never did learn how to stop being selfish for you. “I..I need to hear you.”
the heavy sigh that left your lips had him drawing his lips inward. the taste of iron resting on his tongue. He tilted his head up. allowing the rain to mix with the dollops of tears. “i just..” he couldn’t finish his words.
but you both knew what was coming next. “I know.” and for a second, just a split one. it felt as if there was time for reconciling. maybe a hearty conversation. only the hum of beeping followed with.
you’d hung up—of course you did. this wasn’t a conversation you wanted, you had work tomorrow. it made sense. for a second his fingers curled inwards, would it be so bad if he called once more.
only he stopped. that would be annoying for you, and you’d hardly be as kind as you had been. and that would be far more painful.
this time, he did go home.
“You smell” he felt your breath hit his chest. his fingers flexing for a moment before padding against the soft flesh of your back once again. “if i recall that is your fault..” he teased back.
eyes flicking down. eyelashes thumping softly against his cheeks as he took you in your glory. the soft way you illuminated. the warmth of the orange light from outside the window highlighting your skin.
your body covered with the bedsheet. his hand on your back. your body’s combined the closest you could get. “You still smell..” the whispery words had his head cocking to the side slightly.
he breathed in. a boyish grin resting on his lips “you do too..”
one hundred and three thousand, six hundred and sixty minutes without you. or, 10 weeks and two days.
after that phone call he had promised—dedicated even, to not reaching out. even when he rested his head against his pillows. the packed feathers cushioning him. eyes tracing the cracked ceiling.
even when he was curious as to how you made that one recipe. even when he wondered if you wanted that shirt back. he had promised, not wanting to carry any more guilt.
however, tonight he believed he deserved it. with shaky hands stained with harsh primary. wobbly lips calling out to you in final gasps. he rapped his finger against the window.
he could see the dim flicker of the candle. he knew what one it was as well, always your favorite scent. you were probably getting ready to relax, and if he were in a more clear minded state he’d recognise how ironic that was, with him showing up.
but he wasn’t in a clear state, so he continued to tap his finger against the window. dribbles of water causing his half assed grip on the railing to slip. he let your name slip, calling for you.
and you answered. although quite frustrated, with the stitch of your eyebrows. crossed over arms and a puffed out chest. for a moment it wilted away though.
“Hey..?” he offered, lips curving up half humorously before he felt your hands clench onto the fabric of his arms. pulling him in as much as you could. he was partly dead weight at this point.
“Seriously, Jason!” he could hear the eyeroll, but he didn’t mind. not when the scent of your place curled around him like a blown out birthday candle. nostalgia warming him. He only offered half assed hums. He let his body relax against the floorboards.
“I’m sorry..” the taste of iron smudged into the divots of dead skin. He craned his head back, his neck offering a quick relief of a ‘pop’.
the entire time you cleaned him up, helped him, healed him. He could only focus on your beauty. everytime—without a doubt, you managed to steal his breath. Even after everything was done, medical supplies packed away and soaked paper towels thrown away, he didn’t move.
“you can’t keep doing this..” despite this you rested yourself beside him. hand smoothing over his arm. “I know.” he mumbled out. He felt weak near you, dumb.
minutes ticked by. the clock in your lounge room making that present. He had closed his eyes, instead allowing his other senses to take in you. Your hand hadn’t drifted from his arm.
“You should come over...” he heard the stifled out and humorless laugh that fell from you. saw the way you drew back. The empty space on his arm felt more like a burn than anything. “No” he chewed on the inside of his cheek.
He saw the way you looked away, saw the way you refused to notice him. He sat up, awkwardly and almost comically but he needed you to look at him, see him for what he became with the lack of you. “just come over.. to get your things..” It was a half assed excuse.
you knew it, he knew it.
“fine.”
the soft ‘thump’ of clothes hitting the bed could be heard. So did the soft grating noise of his bedside drawer, he offered a hand out and a soft smile. He was buzzing with excitement but would hardly let you see.
although, you did.
the flush on your cheeks as well as the dilated way your eyes tracked him had him flushing like a mad man. “So uh.. just keep your things here” he had to look away, knowing that if he held your gaze any longer the only place clothes would be going was the floor.
“means you can stay anytime..” he offered, and the way your arms wrapped around him. the way your lips offered soft butterfly kisses had him practically purring. nuzzling his nose into the top of your hair.
“anytime?” you teased and he smirked back, pulling back just an inch to stare at you, eyes tracing the curve of your lips. “anytime.”
his foot tapped wildly against the ground. hand thumping an unknown beat into the rough fabric of his sweatpants. He wanted to look nice when you came by. Instead, he had been working out when you texted him, letting him know you’d be dropping by.
so he sat there, probably reeking of sweat. unwashed hair and partially unshaved as he just awaited for when those three knocks sounded out. toying his lip between his teeth nervously.
ten minutes went by. he kept checking his phone. twenty minutes went by and he remembered he had a good glass of wine, maybe you’d want it—or want to share it. thirty minutes went by and he was pacing the living room.
an hour went by and he felt defeated. by hour two you sent off a text. the ‘ping’ noise having him lurch up from the couch.
won’t be coming by.
his fingers shook violently, mouth agape. that wasn’t what he thought would happen. He gave a frustrated groan, not at you—never at you. rather at him for being so.. clingy? so needy.
hope u have a good night.
baited breaths landed into the soulless apartment, feeling quite dreadful and even emptier now.
you too.
one thousand and thirty eight, two hundred and twenty murmurs without you. or, 13 weeks and five days.
he hated these things. always did. this time, he had tried to leave. only, dick stopped him.
he hid on the opposite side of the building. tried to make sure nothing would replicate what brought him to his hurt in the first place. yet, every woman who even somewhat looked like you, he hoped were you.
his fingers clenched tightly onto his cigarette. The nicotine shavings falling into patterns on the inside of his jacket. He clenched his teeth tightly together, bidding the burning tears away. not wanting it, not needing it, not right now.
he reluctantly turned his head towards the stage. eyes following the singers, the band players. the slow volumes of vocals drifting over the elite crowd.
he’s never been one for Jazz, that was bruce’s thing. his thing, was traded cigarettes with a girl only kept in his memory.
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notes; so this wasn’t what i originally had planned but i kinda just let it happen. not proof read at all!
also this is dedicated to a wonderful @mariyabumcheeks (hope i did it justice)
do NOT feed my work to a.i or take any inspiration for a.i.
his breathing will shorten, puffs of air leaving faster than normal. his hands will shake causing him to drop a lot of stuff, his body will lack its usual quietness when moving around.
but, there’s one other way you can tell he’s angry.
either you two had a fight, one that resorted in heightened vocals and sarcastic laughs. or, you’re calming him down after something particularly aggravating.
either way, you’ve ended up in bed. your legs wrapped around his torso as your nails dig fiercely into the moonlit skin of his.
he’s huffing, hot breath smacking itself onto either your neck, your forehead or your shoulder. his eyes will glare at you, especially if you’ve just had an argument.
but, just because he’s mean with every piston of his hips, every bounce of skin tumbling into skin. that doesn’t mean he’s mean to you.
his hands will still cradle the strands of your hair as a silent forgiveness, his lips will peck soft nibbles, afraid to taint your skin.
he won’t drawl out degrading words..
(he had spent far too many nights hearing the girls standing on the Corner be berated with them to ever direct them at you.)
infact, he’ll be even kinder when handling you. he had watched people his entire life take their anger out on somebody they loved over something so trivial, he’d be dammed if he did that.
so instead, he’d tighten his fingers painfully into the softened fabrics that trailed under the two of you, when he’s getting close he won’t nip onto your collarbone this time, rather he will shove his face into the pillow above you.
and when all is said and done, he’ll roll the two of you over, his hand on your back as he moves to position you laying on top of him, head shoving itself into your now sweat stained hair.
his fingers will trace every digit and crack from your spine, his mouth will mumble out every love caressed word and he will soak up every complaint or compliment.
because, jason’s not a mean person. he’ll tell himself he is or the gotham gazette will paint him (red hood) as one, but he isn’t.
he’s brash, he’s irrational. but never is he mean.
jason todd x f!reader | fluff | 1.7k words | other works & ao3
single mum reader with neighbour jason ʚїɞ
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the city could be quite peaceful, you had learnt.
when the late hours mingle, the yelling gets softer and the ever present jazz music dwindles. it’s so very peaceful.
before everything, before the baby—before you’d ended up where you were, you weren’t one to stay up past midnight.
always having one excuse after another for why you shouldn’t. however, with the incessant cries from your daughter—no matter what hour that is, you’d learnt to appreciate the night.
it wasn’t the best time for gotham. when the sun sunk low, when crimes could be hidden in alleyways ignored by the council.
but it was.. peaceful, very much so.
the night is when gotham is herself. maybe that’s why you sat there, in a rather stained and old chair, a baby to your chest as you hummed to an old song you listened to as a teenager, absolutely appreciating her beauty.
the small lump against your chest squirmed, her breaths getting louder only to grow into its peaceful rhythm again. your fingers tapped against her back softly as you found the beat to your song.
and, as if on cue, a certain neighbours boots thumped as he landed into his apartment. every night.
and you’d, only minutes later, land into your own bed with the crib beside it.
you hadn’t meant to learn his identity, it had happened early on when you first moved in. when you could barely remember his name and only knew him as the guy who bought sandra’s dog treats.
but, that aside. you hadn’t meant to find it out. it had been a stressful night, you’d finally gotten the baby to bed and you’d given a drawn out groan when you’d noticed the sun was peeking over the hundreds of buildings.
you’d stepped out onto the fire escape, needing some ‘fresh’…air. you hadn’t been a mother long, it was all weighing on you. and the fact your daughters father had so mysteriously vanished ..well, it was truly too much for you to bare.
but then you saw it, he had grappled in, using some sort of gadget. he’d lifted himself up, his leather jacket squeaking as he moved. he had thumped against the metal and given a modified groan.
and then he heard the shuffle of your dressing gown, he had snapped his head to you and tilted it. you remember being able see the way his shoulders drew in, the extra breath he gave and the tense curling of his hand in and out.
but, nothing was said.
and so, you both ignored it.
he had stopped by the day after, coming by on a false pre-tense. but nothing was said and nothing was done.
that had been a few months ago now, and you could both understand the silence that settled. the understanding.
one thing you had taken a keen eye on was well—he’d begun to show up more. and it wasn’t just for you. showing up with diapers, some baby food you remember telling him your daughter liked—and much more.
it was almost too much, too much for you to be able to repay without feeling guilty. but anytime you even tried to refuse he’d justified why you’d need it.
‘she’s six months now, right? she needs the peas, needs to grow strong’
‘Aw cmon, snow is picking up and the tiny fleece jacket will be great for time outside!’
‘she needs a teddy, needs to remember who i am..’
the last one had left you spiraling, not by what he said. (well, partly) but by how he worded it, the almost anguish layer that hovered over the words.
you’d sucked in a breath that time, just giving a nod as you watched your daughter wrap chubby (carrot juice stained) fingers around his arm, hardly getting an inch around the large muscle.
and she, well she’d grown fond of jason.
from paintings of jason with a massive splotch of black to signify him (in almost every painting there is just a large smack of black.)
to late nights, when the baby wouldn’t sleep and you were almost in tears, when your neighbour would lay on your couch. shirt off and the small baby grumbling to itself on his chest.
and to.. “Ja!” she cried, she had just learned to crawl and she was on a mission. jason stood by the poorly lit hallway, jacket still on and coated in rain with a bag of god knows what digging into his fingers.
he gave a boyish smile, his eyes crinkling and his head tilting slightly. he moved to his knees as he softly placed the bag down and gave a laugh.
“Well look at you go!” he says, and the encouragement alone has your heart beating. you stare from the place you sit, the old carpet resting your feet as you watched.
watched the large pound of man curl into himself, lower himself as much as he can to look at your daughter. watch as the ‘anti-hero’ deemed of pain,bring a finger out so she can curl around it and he can lift her up.
and watch as he holds her to his chest and rests his gaze on you, ruffling the hair that was slowly growing on your daughters head as her cheeks grow puffy and she grows giggly.
“Let’s say hi to your mommy” and he’d point, his head moving closer to your daughter as he’d give a brief glance only to look back at you. mouthing a ‘hi’ as he giggled in sync with your daughter.
you didn’t know when it happened, when moments such as these caused you to erupt into a bundle of softness, when you’d spend nights together in silence as tranquil as lavender.
when you’d crawl over his lap, the two of you whispering hushed apologies for what you knew what was inevitable, before eventually pressing your lips together.
when he’d lower himself ontop of you, only to make sure you were silent for the sake of the baby.
when… you slipped up and referred to jason as your daughters father, only for him to give a brief swallow and then nod to the old woman who had complimented the tiny hat she had on.
and then, it became nights where you’d trace a finger over every scar. both naked without any need to grow hot. he’d recount every one, every one he can remember at-least.
when your heart aches too much at the sound of the dread in his vocals you’d cease the questions, instead opting to kiss the side of his head.
it was never said, not verbally. but it was understood, almost like everything else in the growing relationship.
something had kindled, something deep and permanent.
jason would watch you scurry around as you searched high and low for the perfect stuff for daycare, he’d wrap two arms around you tight enough to calm you as you babbled on about how you’re not ready.
“is she old enough..” you’d sob out, tears clinging to the fabric of his shirt as snot rubbed up against it. “She’s nearly a year old, it’s best we put her in now, before it’s too late..”
he’d be there for you the day you drop her off, making sure to hold you tight enough you don’t rip out of his arms to retrieve your daughter once she begins crying herself.
he finds out a month later that you put him down as the other parent, and with that newfound knowledge he begins to do pick up’s and drops offs.
he’ll stomp in, blood and dirt sticking to him as he quickly washes up with the water from the kitchen sink.
shaking you awake softly to find out where the bag is, where her change of clothes is just incase, finding anything and everything she would need.
on pick up nights he’ll stop by right before patrol, shedding his red hood helmet and jacket and retrieving his daughter.
his daughter.
the first time he thought that, said it out loud he’d needed a minute to himself.
however, a week later when the three of you are out and he’s asked if it is his daughter, he holds his chin high and smiles.
for her first birthday he thought it’d be hilarious if it was red themed, he was too happy picking out banners and balloons for you to disagree.
your daughter had minded the coulor, instead opting to laugh as the balloons squeaked.
the first time dick met her he had been shocked. mainly because he thought he was a horrible brother, not picking up on the fact jason had had a daughter.
only for jason to laugh and explain the story. and from then on dick was ready to be an uncle, jason had pulled him up on it.
jason may be rekindling it all, but he had found himself a home, found himself a need to push through the many stab wounds or punches, the many iron tasting nightmares.
and he wasn’t too fond of dick—or any of the others, pushing themselves into something that was his own.
“Happy birthday to you!!” You laughed out, eyes on your daughter. jason remained by your side, hand on your hip as he watched, watched the two of you.
his two girls.
the polaroid photo taken of that moment showed the admiration, the way his eyes glistened as he adored the two of you.
the polaroid photo had also been copied, it’s on his fridge, it’s on the back of his phone, in his wallet.
and now, as he sits there, listening to you ramble on about her getting sick—causing you to grow sick, the stuffy nose and congested voice softens him a bit—about how you lost the fleece jacket and you shouldn’t of taken her outside.. he can’t help but smile.
the rains pattering on his shoulders, the cold is sweeping underneath his jacket and he’s crinkling the polaroid in his fingers, but he feels warm.
“go to bed, baby.” you gave a laugh, a little deeper due to the sickness, he can hear the sheets ruffling as you sighed. “I’ll be there when you wake up.” he added on.
and with that you said your goodbyes, he slid the polaroid photo back into his phone case, and he got ready to show his daughter the new teddy he got her.. in the morning though.
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author notes! (skip if u want to) so i kinda disappeared after doing that poll, my apologies! however im going to try and now quickly get it all done to make up for it!
this wasn’t made how i normally make my fics, so tell me if u like the way i wrote it this time idk! anyway, hope you enjoyed and with all love.. shady!
my work is to not be copied and especially not to be given to a.i.
jason todd x fem reader | smut | cowboy au | 3.7k words
notes; gets a little lazy at the end cause i got sick of having it sit in my notes app, was supposed to be a small Drabble but.. yeah, and check out my other work! (if u want to)
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he had been trying to lay low, trying to find a way to stay near the ever growing and bustling city without making a new name for himself.
the bounty he had obtained wasn’t much to dwell about. but he wasn’t too keen to get back to his operations until it was cleared.
another factor, he needed a back-up place, somewhere to hide when things were too risky, or if someone where to go knocking asking about ‘red mask’
and well, he hadn’t meant to find it, he had just been strolling through the growing city. his eyes had flickered around noting all the law that hung in every crevice.
and then, he saw it. a flyer, for some ranch not that far from here. yes, it was still a way ways out but it was close enough to keep him keen.
he had rested his hands into his belt, fingers wrapping around the worn leather as he leaned forward, lips pulling into a puff as his eyes lazily skimmed every word.
some ranch needs extra help, the pay ain’t too horrible, they offer living and if you got no experience they’ll train you. His lips curl into a smirk and he rips it off the lamppost.
after all, he didn’t need any competition, and everyone in this city needed a new dollar here and there. his boots smack against the concrete as he continued his walk, it was getting far too dark to appear at their ranch now.
but next morning, he’d be determined.
even if it wasn’t just some handy thing for cash or even a place to lie down until his bounty washes over, it was still a damn good deal.
—
when morning came he was already on his horse, in-fact he’s been on his horse since before the sun began rising. the misty air could be smelt, a morning that was damp in the early hours only to become gruelling heat later on.
birds chipped loudly, the grass remained sticky and wet, glossed over with it’s own residue of water and ice. the sun was the only comfort of some warmth, it lacked for now but with the somewhat cold morning he’d woken to, it was pleasant.
the ranch wasn’t too far, about a fifteen minute ride. however, he decided he wanted to find a way to get there without using the main paths.
after all if he was ever in a sticky situation, the main paths would be a fools mistake. and Jason was taught to never be a fool.
maybe he hadn’t been taught how to be a gunslinger, an outlaw. but people only ever listen to outlaws, the law ain’t doing much except teaching people of the new ways.
and a lot of people, especially the older folk, they don’t like the new ways. it was all just a big mess.
when he finally saw the wooden fences appear he gave a hum, it seemed generations old, maybe made when people first settled here or what not.
the wood wasn’t old, but it sure wasn’t new. he could hear cow’s and some sheep, maybe even some chickens. the same few you’d see on any ranch, out the corner of his eye he noted some horses.
when his horse trotted all the way to the entrance of the ranch he could see some beautiful swivels, an old faded green. it marked the name of the ranch and he gave a nod to himself.
he continued on, eventually pulling up and giving his horse a few pats, maybe some self confidence to himself more than anything.
Jason was never taught how to apply for a job, never taught nothing except how to fend or fight, and as his boots crackled at every step on the porch, he was very aware of those facts.
he rang the bell a few times, trying to position his body to come off relaxed yet not lazy, however with his muscle and height it just became rather awkward.
when the door opened his breath stuttered, he had not once thought about a woman appearing. which spiralled his mind for thinking so lowly.
but here she stood, her fingers tapping against the door as she offered a polite smile, hair decorated into a beautiful up-do that compliments every feature on her face.
her mouth parting to speak only for Jason to hold out his hand and stutter his own words out. “I saw your flyer, need help on the ranch or something like that..”
a chuckle left her, as her hand dropped from the door and she moved to make room for him to step in, as he did he was aware of how homely the place was.
every light was warmly tinted, candles flicked despite night not yet creeping. a dog could be heard yelping from somewhere. there were portraits, paintings, some carpet here and there—although looking a little old.
“Finally” she spoke up, a laugh leaving afterwards. moving to step infront of him and redirect him to wherever she had in mind, Jason was still marvelling at how peaceful the house was.
her heels tapped against the floor, the corset hung around her body and blended so carefully into her dress. “We’d put it up a while ago, but.. we’re growing quite fearful it might not work” she hushed out, only to give a laugh afterwards.
she sat at a table, putting her hand out to motion for him to join.
only for them to get into the interview. the entire time Jason would direct his attention momentarily to something else, weather that be the softness of her palms as she waved them around.
or possibly, it would be the animals chirping from one part of the ranch to the other. eventually, Jason had left with a job, a stomach full of food and a new home to stay at.
weeks would further pass, getting to know his other ranch hands. laying low so perfectly he hadn’t heard nothing about himself even when he stopped into town.
only problem that had raised since it all was, well, your father. he was a nice man, always helping everybody despite the fact age was quickly getting to him.
he’d help with patching up a fence as his words trailed on to talk about your late mother.
but we’ll, the only problem was. if any man were to direct his attention to you for longer than a second, or to drawl a conversation out longer than needed, he made sure to let the men know he wouldn’t think twice about shooting them.
despite those warnings, Jason had taken to watching you. only sometimes, only ever on your morning walks. your eyes were still a little hazy with sleep, your dress fresh and new as it would trail over the path you’d made for yourself.
you’d walk the entire fence line, taking note of some fixes here and there that would be needed, letting the men know to keep an eye or to fix it if it was too bad.
and jason revelled for these moments, keeping an eye at all times to watch. you held a sense of grace, a sense of beauty he hadn’t been gifted.
he dosent truly belive you’d find him as much of a suitor as he does you, he’s too burly. he has muscles that makes many fear, his hands are only good for hurt—never to cradle nor care.
but those early mornings, where the soft wind is only ever slightly present as it whispers through your hair, as your fingers sometimes cradle a cup of some coffee, the smoke wafting over you face as some warming comfort.
you’ll wave a hand to the small group of men, every single one of them saying their own greetings. and once that’s done you retreat back to the house, doing whatever you do in the days.
you’d only had a handful of conversations with jason, the first one being the interview, the other time being when you had a worry about a horse and wanted him to take a look and the most recent being if he could fill up the feed for the sheep.
but oh he graciously laps it up, the soft sing of you voice, the way the light frames your figure like an angel. he hadn’t realised he’d been finding an attraction for you until too late.
maybe it was due to the fact he was often on the ranch now, maybe it was due to the fact he’d never been graced with a woman so delicate. or maybe, you just had that way to soften him.
—
maybe those thoughts, those moments where he watches you— admittedly not very secretly— had sunk deeper than he thought, because for the last few nights now he can’t go to sleep without thoughts of you.
and maybe some nights, those thoughts drift. not too anything scandalous, he dosent want to disrespect you like that.
but he does wonder how a peck to your neck would cause you to react, how a drifting hand over your lower back would make you shiver, would you cast him a look or not?
he refuses to let his thoughts tempt anything other than that.
—
autumn was dwindling to an end and it wouldn’t be long til winter took its place.
the entire farm was being prepped for the lack of materials it’d be able to sell, pounds of food was brought in and placed into the shed, enough for well past winter and into spring.
and you, you’d grown frantic.
having a lot on your plate mainly due to the fact your father was too old now to do much, aswell as too ill.
you’d been running around, trying to keep the house clean and inviting, making sure your father stayed well fed and rested and making sure every ranch hand had a meal.
you’d been nothing but doting as the ranch prepared for snowfall, and jason couldn’t help but admire it.
your hands swift and precise as you saddled up the horses, most men in the ranch were growing ill, sick with the weather as the reason.
due to the fact you were losing men quicker than bees could sting, you were becoming antsy.
most winters weren’t good, anyone could drop ill—or dead— at any moment, the animals were a further priority and you hardly made any money.
it had been easier when your mother was around, when your father wasn’t as old. but now the property’s of the farm were left to you, and whatever ranch hands hadn’t got ill.
that had only been jason and another guy called john.
the first day snow had fallen you were quite upset, mainly because snow wasn’t meant to come for atleast another week.
you’d had ushered Jason in. john hadn’t been able to make it that morning, his pa or whatever reason he’d given.
“Brush that snow off yer boots” you’d called out, the harshest he’d ever heard. he tried not to think about how delicately that tone had made him feel.
he’d done as told, brushing off any and every speck of snow or dust, making sure to keep your floors top notch and clean.
jason sees how hard you put into it after all, how hard you put into everything.
he’d slunk off his jacket, dusted his hands onto his pants —mainly due to how sweaty they were becoming— and hovered over you, waiting for an order.
you looked over at him, hands fidgeting with the ruffles of your skirt and the laces of your corset, before bringing a hand to your forehead.
“I’d send you home but.. you’d be shivering and that’s not quite fair to you” you said, a tired laugh leaving you as your lips raised with an uncertainty.
he waved a hand around as he leaned into the wooden banister, “It’s quite alright.” he said, his voice a drawl as he tried to stay quiet.
when he’d originally applied for the ranch hand job, few months back now, there had been places for him to stay if he needed housing, but a month ago you’d asked for his permission if you could change it to a storage place.
he’d agreed. (mainly to see your smile) and reassured that he had a place to stay, he didn’t.. kind of, he could set up camp most nights, he was used to that.
however, it truly wasn’t a problem. he had bared worse than a winter breeze or snow.
your heels tapped loudly against the ground as your teeth nibbled against your cheek, huffing to yourself in annoyance.
the ranch was somewhat ready for winter but not to its standards, it was too late to try and work on it now though, the snow was already causing its disruptions.
You turned your head his way and offered a smile, he tried not to focus on the fact he felt larger than usual around you.
he’s aware of his statue, of the fact he’s taller than most of the fact most shirts will dwarf just by the size of his forearms alone, but around you, well..
you made him feel double that size, and something about that caused a heat to settle in him, he couldn’t place if that was pleasant or not.
“Could you get some firewood, should be some under the porch” you said, voice a little quieter now as you raised a hopeful eyebrow his way.
in order to get under the porch he had to go back outside, maybe in your mind you’d decided that was a reason to say no, but it was hardly an inconvenience to jason.
you would say bark and he’d bark his throat raw, kneel and he’d bruise his knees til their bloody.
so maybe it had grown into more than he’d realised, or maybe he hadn’t been faced with you in such close quarters for a long enough time for him to realise what it was.
but now he was, and he couldn’t stop it.
He gave a nod, turning around and putting his boots back on and jacket aswell before he made his way under the porch.
by the time he got back you were sitting in the main room, staring at the dwindling fire. jason plopped the wood in, poking it and blowing at it to make sure the fire stayed. the warmth that carried was met with a gracious sigh from you.
he turned his gaze to you, eyes heavy as he took in your frame, only this time he wasn’t as quick to look away, there were no hay bales to move, horses to tend to or a fence to inspect.
instead he was met with your gaze, catching him admiring you. a part of him felt sheepish for that and he looked away, only for you to softly whisper his name.
“I think we need to talk..”
his body was in flames, every nerve possible suddenly awaken. you were going to fire him, maybe you were so disgusted at the fact some ranch hand had looked at you in a way that you were possibly even gonna shoot him.
he tapped his fingers against his thigh,
gave a weighted sigh, and followed you to the table.
the two of you remained quiet, your eyes on his face as he let his gaze drift outside, although he still watched out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m sorry..” he started only for you to cut him off, “You ever been with a woman?”
even if you hadn’t cut his words off he’d be choking on them anyway. he trailed his gaze to you, a ruggish eyebrow tilting upwards as his mouth sat dumbly open.
when no response came from jason you stepped forward, reaching your hand out to trail the bones of his wrist.
he gave a choked out breath, “Not exactly ma’am” he said, voice suddenly wavering. suddenly nervous beyond belief and he’d be embarrassed about it, if it weren’t for the smile you sent his way.
you put both hands flat on his chest and he had to remind himself to stay upright. “What are you doing..” his voice was shaky, caught off guard and unable to believe what was happening.
you pressed your body into his and he had to bite down a long drawn out groan, his fingers digging into his thigh to remind himself to act accordingly—however that is in this situation.
“I see the way you look at me, i see how hard you work too..” you whispered, your hands moving up and down, the warmth of your fingers making his body shiver.
he couldn’t process words, couldn’t process a single thing. he reached a shaky hand out, and planted it in the curve of your waist.
“Look Miss, i ain’t sure what you’re tryna do, but you don’t have to do it..” his face looked down at you, his eyes taking in every piece of you he could, still admiring the beauty even when he’s refusing whatever you’re giving.
You gave a chuckle, pushed him further back causing his knees to buckle and for him to land flat on one of the chairs. one of his palms smacked down onto the dining table, trying to ground himself.
“What if i want you to?” you whispered, your lip slowly captured between your teeth as you stood in-front of him, both of your thighs pressing against his spread legs.
he threw his head back, eyes shut as he struggled to contain a groan. he was trying to hold himself back, not wanting to do anything incase he was misreading it, but you were tempting it all.
he was swiftly brought out of his thoughts when he felt a kiss to his neck, only for you to straddle his lap next. his hands quickly punched to wrap around your hips as he looked at you.
you only smiled back, he bit his lip. but he wasn’t able to stay contained for long, he gave a feral groan as he dove in, kissing at your neck and feeling up your hips all at once.
the pretty little meek moan you have caused his hands to shiver, making him trace his tongue over that sweet spot right under your jaw.
you were making quick work of your corset as he did the same with his vest. as soon as your corset fell off he was quick to unbutton the floral shirt you had underneath, his hands quick to grab at any every inch of skin he saw.
he dove his mouth onto your breasts, swirling his tongue right over the nip and looked up at you as you gave a guttural whimper.
the cocky laugh he gave reverberated against your skin, and all he could do was appreciate the sight, your hands grabbing at his forearms, your ass grinding into his bulge, the way your lashes fluttered and your lip wobbled.
you were captivating to jason.
after awhile of petting at each other the two of you had twisted your body to end up over the table, jason’s hands flat on your thighs as his heavy cock hung right over you.
you laid like a beautiful meal, and he couldn’t help but stare down hungrily. “Take me.. Please” you begged and he gave a groan as he dove in once again to kiss you.
your tongues fighting against each other as he stroked at himself, pushing himself in. the shiver you gave had him on a high, but he gave you a few moments to settle.
he wasn’t a cocky man, most of the time, but he knew he had a pretty impressive cock.
Your breath was shaking, wilted out yet so desperate. “I’m good..” you breathed and he nodded, pushing in again, the thrusts starting slow, almost teasing.
he had to pull himself back from slamming into you a few times, with the way you dragged your nails down his body or gave some sweet little sounds that caressed his ear.
but eventually you were practically begging for him to go faster, and he couldn’t hold back. his hips fell forward, meeting you every single time.
he held a hand in your hand, mainly so you wouldn’t smack it against the table, but also to kiss you at any moment he wanted to, and he really wanted to kiss you.
he gave a moan himself when your legs wrapped around him, suffocating himself to you. he slapped a plan onto the table as he leaned down closer to you, digging his head into your neck.
he was panting like a beast, unable to suck up enough air in time. “Goddamn miss.. you feel perfect” he held tight onto your hips.
he licked up your neck, pressed kisses here and there. his thumb dragged down over to your clit to give some teasing petting.
“I tried to never think about it.,” he huffed out. “you’re a lady after all, but.. god, this is perfect” he’d groan, heavy breaths sinking into your skin.
you were jumbling out your own words, curses he’d never heard you say of some praises that left his cock swirling heavy, until eventually you lightly smacked his back, voice high pitched and shaky as you practically screamed. “i’m close.. i’m so close”
just the words alone, the way you said it and the fact it came from you caused him to lurch forward, a heat signalling in his gut as he toyed with your clit.
he kissed you, gulping down all your sounds as the two of you came together. he was cautious to pull himself out.
when the moment had settled, the heat of your skin slowly passed and your breaths grew steady he turned his head to look at you.
offering a smile as he moved to grab your clothes for you, settling them beside where you laid as you looked up at the ceiling,
he moved to search for a washcloth, spending an embarrassing amount of time before eventually finding the cupboard.
however when he got back you were already dressed, he stood there, felling a little dumb as the water dripped down his hand before you gave him a soft smile.
you stepped closer and he remained in place, but when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to give a feather light kiss, anxiety washed away.
it’s very obvious i mean you can identify him as robin because of the two puffs of curls, however i feel like the rest of his head isn’t as prominently curly because he was never taught how to properly care for his curls.
so, it’s all just a mess and somewhat frizzy when he does partake in properly brushing it.
another one is he cannot grow a beard.
he can have stubble, yes. but because he has a bunch of scars here and there all over his face, he physically cannot grow a beard, it’s all just some chunks of hair.
he kind of really hates it, mainly because he also hates his scars and he can’t hide it but also he died when he was a teenager, and most teenage boys are a little excited to grow a beard, so, when he grows up into a man and can finnaly grow one he’s a little irritated that he still can’t.
another head cannon is anytime he tries to fix his posture it hurts, his bones physically hurt if he stands properly for more than an hour.
in this head cannon of mine i believe that a lot of jason’s bones were broken when he was in the pit, so they had been mended together, but had been mended together while still—failing— to heal.
so yes he’s a tall man, but he’s slouching, not meaning too and he’s had a couple of old lady’s comment on it from time to time.
want another one? (of course you do) he is a human heater, and that’s because he’s taught himself to be, from all the years on the streets as a kid or from when his mom would kick him out of the house time to time, he’d grown used to hoarding heat.
and it hadn’t gone away, it was something almost natural to him, from the nights spent in greasy, trash filled alleyways to nights on unwashed roofs near gargoyles, he’d spent so long in the cold that he was used to it.
im a strong believer his eyes are still blue, mainly because my favrioute comic artist is dexter soy, i love green eyed jason don’t get me wrong but blue.. woo!
but i like to think they are a murky blue, tinted with a very glossed over dead look, if he tears up his eyes look like a corpse.
that’s because of the lazarus pit, it had messed with them, he had once had deep blue striking eyes, almost akin to bruce’s, but when he came back they lacked that colour.
another thing, is jason todd as a teenager had the squeakiest voice ever.
voice cracks almost everywhere, when jason came back he could not understand his own voice coming out, too deep.
he definetly has a thick jersey accent and that’s not up for debate, gotham is based in jersey and jason lived around hoards of drug dealers and just overall mucky people growing up.
not to mention when he comes back a lot of his goons are just some average joe’s, so his accent is thick and i stand by it.
he refuses to drink coffee just because dick used to give him shit when he first met him, constantly repeating it like a parrot to jason. “cawfe is it?”
(i might be putting too many but i seriously have a lot of jason headcannons)
dosent know what to count as his birthday, his original day he was born or the day he came back? when he’s asked he ends up just spewing a fake one, not like he even celebrates it anyway.
jason is fond of kids. i mean, tries to make funny faces to a baby on the subway only for it to cry, that leaves a sour taste on his tongue for a week.
he’s not used to his frame, at all. he might have a hundred bruises from late night activities but there’s about a hundred more just from underestimating his true height and width.
smacks his hands or arms into everything, trips over a lounge a couple times, goes to grab a pillow only to have it dwarf two sizes down as he grips it.
his nose is crooked as fuck, both from genetics and many fights. he can’t tell anymore if it’s broken or healed.
his pain scale is off the charts, cannot feel pain unless he’s looking directly at it, he’s more of an emotional pain person, could take a knife to the thigh and wouldn’t realise until his skin feels sticky but someone throws a dirty look his way and he’s a little hurt.
i mean, he’s spent years searching for approval from everybody in his life. bruce, dick, alfred, both of his moms.
and one last one, he’s no older than like 26.. maybe! he’s a young guy, seriously!!
basically, Jason finds a baby and takes care of it with reader (his girlfriend)
you’d never spoke of having children, never. there was a sort of underlying knowing there that it wasn’t on the table.
for many factors. childhood trauma leaving a dent, jason’s late night activities or well—the fact you lived in Gotham.
so children weren’t a keen interest, something you both were hungry to have.
ironic since you fucked like bunnies in heat, but that’s not too important. no, what was important was the fact there was a baby sitting in your living room.
jason looked guilty, his lip was jutted out as he chewed on the inside of it, his eyes were both straying far away and latching onto yours to see your reaction.
and you’re not too pleased.
“Jason..” you breathed out, not wanting to argue with him—and not wanting to wake the small child. as much as you weren’t thrilled to have kids, you were very aware of just how softly he held the child.
how those hands, the ones he often believed held a sense of sin with them, the ones he believes are only good for hurt, cradled a small, vulnerable thing ever so kindly.
it tugged in your heart a little, left a kiss mark that burned. you had to snuff it out, at least for now.
“look.. baby.” he said, rising to his feet as he shifted the baby to rest comfortably, you had to force your eyes away due to it. “It’s just temporary, until i can find her auntie” he said, voice almost a quiver, a plead.
you were reluctant, staring at him. but as horribly as he saw himself, as horrible as he deems he is, he was a good man. caring and soft in the ways he has to hide.
he means good, he’s always meant good. and it’s not like you were heartless, you weren’t going to throw the child away, make it fend for itself, it’s a baby for Christ’s sake.
you didn’t say anything, just nodded.
a week is what it took to gather everything, from a crib to a stroller. enough diapers and food, clothes. (which you couldn’t kid, had been quite enjoyable)
Jason was thriving, if it wasn’t for the fact the two of you knew you weren’t the right candidates for children, you’d suspect this came naturally.
he was perfect with the baby. awake at any single peep, washing, bathing, cleaning, cooking. he was there for it all.
you’d grown quite fond and used to the child aswell, falling asleep with her on your chest, swaddling her late at night as the two of you awaited jason.
it was becoming a new normal that you two honestly (however quite quietly) enjoyed.
the sound of the television could be heard, you were focusing on gathering all the dirty clothes around the house. (that had doubled since the baby had joined) when you heard a quiet cry.
it wasn’t a cry that left you worried however—lord knows how long it took to distinguish that— instead it was a cry of curiosity.
your feet padded into the carpeted floor as you swiftly made your way to the small child. eyes darting over to where she laid in her crib.
her hands grasped at her, inching for something you could not yet see. however the closer you came you could make out the figure of jason.
her murmurs grew quite loud, giggling and babbling at jason, or more so—red hood. who was now looking at you, busy unsheathing his gloves.
“Was going to try and come in quietly” he mumbled, tone drowsy with needed sleep and weary from whatever attacks his body had endured.
The baby continued to mumble and mutter as her hands grasped rather aggressively, or as aggressively as a newborn can. “‘ts alright..” you replied.
slowly moving over closer to jason who was quick to rest his hands on your waist, his body instinctively curling itself in to you.
Your fingers moved and curled underneath the helmet he wore, the distinctive hiss of it coming off padded against the walls.
however the laugh that followed form neither of you and rather the small child in the crib is what made it a rather tender moment.
it was hearty, one that used all of the baby’s tiny lung capacity to push out, causing her face to turn beet red as she giggled and stared up at jason ever so adoringly.
your laugh followed out next which had the frown lines in his face to disperse and to rather crack his own smile at it all.
over the last few weeks since the small thing had joined, a quiet sort of family was settling in. and with every day that a response isn’t heard from her auntie is another day you silently plead she never responds.
You feel horrible for it, of course you do. the child belongs with her blood, her family. but is family only blood?
you’d grown to learn all sorts of things about the baby, how she disney like the potato and mash baby food and rather prefers the peas and carrot’s one.
how certain tops of baby bottles are her favrioute, what socks irritate her skin, what cry’s call for what and even the warmth of her body on top of your heart.
and jason well, he’d never verbalise his own feelings. but the more you know jason the more you can see jason, in his eyes or his facial expressions or even the simple way he carries himself.
with that fact, it was clear as day that he’d be as torn as you once the baby goes. after all he now often works with the baby sitting on his lap or his foot rocking the baby seat you had gotten.
he has many notes from weeks of focusing on what’s good for the baby (which had caused him to freak out one night for letting the baby try an almond)
it was safe to say that quietly, ever so slowly, had you become a sort of family. despite that, you didn’t have a name for her.
she was nearing two months old and had spent nearly a month with you and yet there was no name.
turns out the mother never named it and the two of you were reluctant to give her a name, after all how could you ever pull her away from yourselves if you named her yourself.
Jason was quiet for a few moments, just flicking his eyes between his two girls, something he’d noticed he’s been thinking to himself often.
he couldn’t deny that often his thoughts swayed to what it would be like if you two were to keep her, or if you two were to ever have your own child.
he’d never thought of it before, he never wanted it. to pass down the ‘todd’ name felt like a curse in his eyes, his blood was posion and he wanted to refrain from passing it on.
not to mention the what if’s, what if something like joker happened again, what if he never makes it home.
he didn’t want that, he didn’t want the endless possibility’s of negativity to ever happen.
however when the lights are dim and the scent of you and jason mixed into the bedsheets engulf him, when he tilts his head and sees you, face relaxed and content with a small shuffling baby, he reconsiders.
He doesn’t notice that you’ve picked her up, he doesn’t notice that your hand is rubbing soothing circles into the side of his arm while the baby’s head rests over your heart, he doesn’t notice until your soft voice murmurs “have a shower, then come to bed.”
so he does, he moves to the bathroom while you heat up some baby formula for her. you change her into a onesie with (ironically) bats on it, and position the two of you into bed.
jason’s quick with the shower, obviously ready to rest and go to sleep. his body slides in and is quick to press against yours, one hand moving to rub your arm softly while the other patters soft motions into the baby’s back.
you’re both silent, both laying there. blankets heaped up like fluffy marshmallows, the lingering scent of a candle from hours ago sticks and both of your breaths mingle.
“Shyla..” jason’s quick to turn his head as your voice speaks out, he raises an eyebrow in confusion but says no more. “Her name.. it should be shyla”
your body shuffles closer to his as you press your nose into the head of her hair, its neither your nor jason’s colour yet it suits her beautifully, you take in the smell of a baby and your body relaxes ever so more.
he makes a huff like noise, not out of anger or discomfort, rather just acknowledgment. “why’s that” he mumbles out, his fingers continuing to move as he rests the side of his head on yours.
your voice rumbles into his skull and he sighs. “Well, it’s a more modern sheila.. don’t you think?” and jason’s quick to snap his head up.
his mothers name, not exactly but the intent is there, after all you’d been with jason long enough for him to finally be comfortable enough to even mention (let alone speak) about his upbringing.
however, he doesn’t hate it.
in-fact, a part of him fawns at it. heart warms at not only the way you think of him, of connecting him. but at the fact you remember those parts.
“Yeah..” he mumbled and you relaxed. it went quiet again for a few moments, the baby moving and shuffling as she often did, your hand moving to rest ontop of his while the two of your eyes remained closed.
“I don’t want to give her back” you admitted and jason let a snort out. “neither”
somewhere along the line the three of you had fallen asleep, jason waking up at one point to put shyla into her crib, only to lazily slink back into the warm sheets.
all that could be hoped was she could stay.
—
hope you enjoyed! i kinda whipped this up quick cause i wanted to do some fluff, its kinda shit i won’t lie, it’s unedited and done on my notes app mwhaha
the clanking of dishes could be heard as the soft sound of talking from the television filled the lounge room. your fingers scrubbing endlessly.
bubbly soap filled the sink and your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, trying your best at making sure your sweater didn’t get wet.
jason was in today, for some odd reason. he didn’t often stay inside the apartment but today he was, not that you minded.
you continued scrubbing at the dishes as the flips of crinkling paper could be heard, jason was reading some book. he had given a mumbled ‘finally have a moment’ and you settled with that.
you’d only just gotten home, feet still aching from the incessant walking that gotham provided. and you could practically feel mascara flakes sitting under your eyes—you were exhausted.
“Hey.. take a moment, why don’t ya’” you heard and you looked up. taking in the fact jason had so quickly moved from one spot to the other.
right, vigilante.. or anti-hero.
whatever shit he wanted to be called, that’s what he was.
you gave a hum and a grumble mixed in one as you huffed. “come on, let me wash the dishes and then i’ll have a shower..” you said, eyes looking up at him.
he stayed silent for a moment, he often does that. he goes silent and his eyes dart from one place to another, but jason’s odd—he’s always been odd.
not in a bad way, more just a.. that’s how he is. it’s a sentimental fact, something you remember when you think of a person.
he stays silent, giving a shrug but not moving. instead opting to just rest his side into the counter as he watches.
jason was a good roommate, he was nice, clean.
and he payed his rent on time so.. much better than your last roommate.
once your done with the dishes you don’t even get a moment to lift your head before you see his expectant eyebrow raise, you give a reluctant grin and move you hands into a surrendering pose.
“fine fine!” you laugh out, moving to the bathroom and making sure to give the loudest shut you could, you could faintly hear a chuckle behind the door.
Jason’s been feeling guilty.
he normally feels guilty, but well—he’s feeling a lot more guilty at the moment.
it’s almost every night now where he can’t stop thinking of you, wanting you. what started as an observation of something unusually tender has dived into pure.. love?
no, he wouldn’t use love. (he doesn’t believe he’s capable of it) maybe just a deep rooted attraction, an attraction that has him holding his pillow at night to think of you.
an attraction where he’s noted every food you often buy and the candles you bring home, an attraction that caused him to pick up the cherry lipgloss you have at the store.
he had handed it to you, and he still remembers the crinkle of your eyebrows before he explained. ‘it was on special’ it wasn’t. ‘just thought you’d need another if your’s runs out soon’
jason’s feeling guilty because—what if you don’t love want him the way he loves wants you, what if you curl your pretty lips into one of disdain, what if you slam your door.
what if you stop making those disgustingly sweet strawberry desserts, what if you stop washing his clothes with your washing powder, what if you hate him.
what if—. it’s all he can hear in his mind. what if, what if, what if. and the shame, oh god! the shame, waking up in the same apartment and you know he loves wants you
he’s been clawing his hair out, chewing on his lips so much he swears all he tastes is blood.
every part of you was seeping into him and he can’t handle it, he can’t handle it because he knows he dosent deserve it, dosent deserve you.
the other day, you’d been out at work and jason had decided to do the laundry (he wanted to do your clothes for all the times you’ve done his) he remembers picking it up.
it was something so trivial, so stupid. but a dark red lacy thong, he remembers freaking out. dropping the piece of underwear as he stared agape.
maybe it was the coulor, red was his coulor after all. or maybe it was the fact he could so perfectly imagine you in it, or atleast the small slithers of everything underneath the clothes.
he ended up leaving that specific piece alone in the dirty hamper, instead focusing on the grandma panties you had, but even then he could only think of domestic moments with you.
he wanted to slam his head into a wall, he was absolutely whipped for you and he has no idea what to do.
jason’s had attraction—duh! but he’s never been so needy for just a moment with you. he felt like a creep, knowing you had no idea that the man you live with wants you so dearly.
he hears the door open and he realises he’s been staring dumbly at his page for awhile now, however by the time your stepping in he’s only now realised he’s also made a dumb face.
you give a laugh, one that his him smiling despite himself but he snuffs it out.
“what’s that look for?” you say, moving to throw your now damp towel into the laundry bin as you make a smile at the fact you’d been able to throw it in from such a distance.
jason turns his head up, and even now all he can imagine is you. you walking up behind him and wrapping your arms around him, snaking your head into the crook of his neck as he moves a hand up and down your forearm.
he dosent respond and you don’t say anything back, something he highly appreciates. he likes the moments when you decide he dosent need a explanation or a response.
he sometimes feels like a hurt dog finding a caring home, settling in and finding a place where he’s accepted—accepted enough that he’s comfortable.
he gets a whiff of your strawberry and coconut body wash. and he smiles, you and strawberries. you’re like a fruit basket.
“wanna feel my legs?” you laugh out, your more bubbly today. more talkative, he’s noticed that too in the few months, you’ve started talking more.
and he likes it—he actually likes it!
jason often scares away from all that, from conversation that seems to never end, from those who don’t know when to be quiet.
maybe it’s the fact you don’t make him have to respond, that you can just ramble and ramble and checking if you’ve spoken too much.
maybe it’s the fact that you can also just adore the silence as-well, just as he does.
“sure..” he says, and you quickly bring your leg up, laughing when it sits at an awkward angle and you practically force his hand onto your leg, you’ve shaven.
“smooth like a bald man” you say, eyes crinkling at your own stupid joke. and jason just stares, dumbly stares. taking in every feature as you glow.
if he dies, he hopes he has the chance to be welcomed in your embrace and not the other that once had been given.
eventually time moves, you both sat while you worked on some stuff on your laptop and jason watched the television—well, he looked like he was.
the entire time jason was just thinking of everything he could possibly have with you. another scary thought for him because well, he’s never thought of the future.
even in the womb probably, it’s always been one hour ahead and nothing more.
he’s conditioned that way, made that way. you don’t have a life like his and expect to make it to fifty.
another night goes by. with his hands gripping a pillow and imaging its you, laying onto of him as he traces swirls into the bones of your back.
morning comes, you wake at the time you do and jason wakes later, afternoon comes and he’s having ‘breakfast’ and by night he’s out of the window just minutes before you step in the door.
it’s not until a week later, when jason’s at the store. you’d sent a quick text that you needed chocolate chips ‘asap’ and so—even in his red hood get up, he’s buying chocolate chips.
and he holds no shame, he’d do anything—everything for you, it’s you!
he gets home. and he can faintly smell the scent of baking, the hiss of his helmet sounds out and you whip your head around.
he lifts the bag of chocolate chips and just by the smile you give he’s glad he had instantly run and got it.
by the time you’ve finished your baking jason’s by the counter and shoveling it into his mouth, a quick and enthusiastic ‘delicious’ escapes his lips even as the melted chocolate can be seen on his teeth.
you give a soft smile, a giggle and your eyes remain on him. and he freezes, not actually, but he feels like his body does. almost like he’s tryna paint it into his skull.
you look as if you go to say something—but then you give a laugh and a wave of your hand, dismissing yourself.
another day goes by. same routine.
and then it’s night again, and your awake, way past your usual bedtime. although your not awake for you normal reasons—your just awake.
something about ‘couldn’t sleep’ but jason was too tired to care, so he shrugs it off. takes his boots off and..
“goodnight, love you”
the words leave his mouth and he’s suddenly very awake.
‘goodnight, love you. goodnight, love you. goodnight, love you’
it plays over and over again in his mind, he refuses to turn his back to you but he hears the way you jolt up from the seat, he hears the soft rustling of the cushion.
it’s silent, very silent. for way too long.
“what?” you say, voice hesitant to speak and almost a whisper, your intrigued, or was that anger.. he swears he heard anger.
he gives a huff, a forced laugh as he turns around. his hair is a mess and he’s suddenly very self-conscious of all the scars he’s allowed visible.
“what?” he says back, repeating your words. and he sees the way your lifted eyebrow moves deeper as you quickly move from the couch to him.
“what did you say?” he gives a laugh and wave of his hand. “what do you mean.. i said nothing?” ‘real smart todd..‘ he thinks. you give an incredulous laugh. “no… i’m fairly certain i heard something”
he goes silent, and he dosent know what to do! he didn’t even want to explore these possibility’s of such feelings and suddenly he’s having to face it to you.
you remain there, eyes trained on him as you move closer.
and in a flurry of stupidity he walks to his room, fast. but your moving with him. “jason..” you say, and just as his hand wraps around the door handle your hands curl into his shirt.
“must’ve been your show..” he mumbled, refusing to make eye contact, refusing to even acknowledge you. and your not looking to thrilled.
it remains like that for a few moments, and if he wasn’t to focused on having to swipe past what’s happening he would be freaking out over the fact your hands on his skin.
he can smell the soft waft of your strawberry perfume and your lychee shampoo and he’s already feeling his boxers fill out.. god, he’s so depraved just the smell of you turns him on.
you both stay like that, your eyes flicker up and down him and then you let go. you step back and the creak of the floorboard is deafening.
“must’ve been..” you hum and jason’s glad because as soon as he can he’s slammed the door open and shut, he runs his hands over his face and gives a groan.
that night he goes to bed without even thinking of holding a pillow to his chest. (he wouldn’t admit it but it ended up being harder to sleep)
when morning comes everything’s normal, and he’s beginning to think it’s all just some nightmare, cause lord knows he has enough of those.
you give your normal smile, normal recap of what your days going to be. he sets a reminder of why he suddenly loves waking up so early about halfway through telling your plans.
you go to work, he decides to go to the gym, he comes home, showers, cleans up a little, goes out and you come home.
everything remains the same—for awhile.
it’s an afternoon, the weekend. it’s one of those days where your schedule has somewhat aligned and your both on the lounge, he’s tinkering on his guns—cleaning them up.
and your busy watching some show, you’ve watched it about a hundred times and yet every joke never fails to amuse you, he loves it.
somehow along the hour that’s passed you’ve moved from the middle of the lounge to his side, and he’s giddy—somehow.
that reaction alone repulses him. berating himself for acting like some little kid just over some simple spared space.
“Hey.. “ you hum and jason’s perking his head up for what you might say, eyes finding yours and resting his own there.
he doesn’t make a response with words, rather a sound. and he watches as you stew for a moment before letting up and deciding to speak.
“about.. last week.” you say, eyes darting from his. he focused on the way your gaze remains on the television, the way your fingers twirled the trim of the pillows.
“look..” he starts to say only to have your gaze finding his once more, you offer a kind smile and he goes quiet—deciding to focus on you instead, focus on whatever you have to say.
“i get it.. probably just a slip of tongue..” the chuckle that follows your words have his heart aching, he can’t figure out if he prefers you brushing it off or prefers you facing his words for what they were.
he gives a grunt. moving to find a more comfortable position as his legs dig into the soft plush of the couch, he runs a hand over his face and sighs.
‘now or never.’
“what if.. it wasn’t a slip of.. tongue” he says, every word hesitant and he’s watching your face with a precise look, needing to know how you’d contort your features at his half assed confirmation.
he’s scared, what if you do hate him, what if you scowl and scream and slam your door shut.
but you don’t, you just focus on him for a moment. his heart is beating rapidly and being under you stare for too long causes him to look away.
he’s never been like this, never been nervous. well—he kind of has. but when he’s faced with you it’s like his body forgets he was ever bruce’s second protege or forgets he knows his way around guns a little too well.
you move closer, your thigh resting on his and he leans himself back incase you hadn’t meant for the connection, your hands move to his cheeks and he’s forced to look at you.
his breathing stills, his eyes rake over you and he’s relived when he dosent find any anger, instead he’s found something softer—something alike what he’s felt for so long.
want.
before he can even open his mouth your kissing him. he wraps an arm around your waist and is practically pawing at you, like your everything he’s ever wanted, ever needed. and maybe you are.
you move to sit more comfortably on him and he gives a groan at the realisation of how hard he is, he feels himself flush.
he’s popped a boner and all you’ve done is straddle him, he couldn’t feel anything but shame. the shame does quickly melt however the more your breaths mingle, the more you press yourself against him.
it’s everything he’s wanted, every dream, every imaginative moment. and it’s all in his hands. he’s gripping tightly onto your shirt yet remains conscious enough to not hurt you.
his fingers snake into every strand of hair and he’s desperately pulling you further into him, it’s only when your hand rakes onto his bicep a little too roughly does he pick up on the fact you need to breathe.
you’re panting.
he shakily lets his hands rest onto your thighs, his fingers experimentally moving up and down. he watches—everything.
you lean back into him and his hands shake with excitement, when you give an arch he traces his fingers up the curve and he devours every little breath you mange to let escape.
then your hands begin to snake down his chest and under his shirt, and he didn’t mean to he really didn’t but he lets a moan out.
he feels embarrassed, moaning.
he’s quick to move his hand to grasp your wrist, stroking the skin ever so tenderly as his eyes bore into yours, pleading almost to not laugh at what he says next.
“i’ve.. never”
your mouth shapes into an ‘o’ and he’s a little disappointed this is how he first sees it and not when he’s buried deep in you.
“we don’t have to.” you mumble, moving to withdraw your hand once his words have settled in your mind. jason’s quick though, he places your hand back onto his chest and shakes his head.
the hair that rests there gives a little swerve with every movement as he profusely refuses. “no, i want to it’s just.. what if im not good enough for you”
he can see how your heart breaks at his words, and he’s suddenly feeling guilty for bringing it up.
no words are said. instead, you move your lips down to his neck, pressing every tenderly given movement softly. moving from his neck to his collarbone all the way to his shoulders.
his body shivers and he can feel every feeling he’s pushed away crawl up his ribs and nestle in his heart.
you direct his hands to under your shirt, and he gives a barely hidden gasp when he finds you wear no bra. he dosent know what to do, so he cups them.
he’s practically moments away from coming and he is embarssed at that, so undeniably filled with shame. his head leaned back into the pillows and he gives a groan.
“can we..” you don’t finish your words and instead point to his room, and jason gives a nod.
jason’s thankful. mainly because the entire way you both somehow got undressed (all while making out).
but also because, what if his sheets smell like you, what if he can actually curl up beside you in his bed likes he’s tried to pretend to almost every night.
you get sloppy, quick. your lips trail every scar he has and jason’s eyes are practically soaring with love and care that he’d be disgusted at himself for.
he’s shaking, with need and excitement. and when you lay underneath him, hand wrapped around his cock with ever so loving eyes, he feels complete.
you direct him into you and despite the fact he’s the one with the (massive) cock, he has to sit there for a moment. he listens to your pants, and even when you let him know your ready, he has to give himself a moment.
one part was due to the fact he was so close to coming it was shocking. and another part was because he just had to take a moment to admire you, naked and in his sheets.
he’d like to believe this is the one moment he’s ever been graced with an angel. and if this is what it’s like then he’d commend his spirit to god (you) any day.
once he starts moving he has to force himself to remain calm, he wants to drive himself deeper into you. your breaths mingle and he leans his head on your shoulder.
you moan, loud. and he’s in love with it, he’s in love with everything you do but god, your moans.
when you wrap your legs around his waist and force his hips into yours he speeds up, he bends one leg of yours up and grips it, tightly.
every slap is heard within the walls of his room, every dirty, sinful sound echos and he feels feral.
your back is arched, your hands claw over his arms and your gripping at anything you can find. he smiles and you moan, he slams into you and you arch.
“jason..” you say, so desperately. so needy. and he stutters out a groan. he drives himself deeper, needing you to feel all of him, want all of him.
“yeah?” he says, smiling down at you. his hair is laced with sweat and his arms bulge as he curls his hands into fists and rests them beside your head.
“wanted this for so long..” he panted out beside your ear once he rests his head in the crook of your neck, trailing down sloppy little nips just as you had done earlier.
your getting slurry. your body is becoming weak and any sound is whimpers or moans that would out-do a pornstar.
“wanted you..” he practically snarls out, and he feels himself getting closer. infact he’s real surprised he’s managed to get this far.
however a part of him hardly can tell if your close. he brings a hand down to your clit, it takes a few moments until he can properly identify it but with the moan you give he’s sure he has.
he’s obviously inexperienced with how he rolls the pad of his thumb over it, he gives a spit.. like he’s seen in porn, however he can’t tell if your truly loving it or not.
well he wasn’t able to until you practically yanked his hair, arched your back and moaned “don’t stop.. please jason.. don’t fucking stop”
the orgasm is all a blur, all he can definetly remember is that’s the hardest he’s come. he made sure to pull out, not knowing if you were comfortable with that yet.
but when your both panting, sweaty and tired. he’s thankful he ever allowed his mouth to think first.
this time, instead of anxiously hoping. he wraps an arm around your waist and presses his back into you, he’s delighted when all you do is relax some more.
and he’s even more delighted to now know that you do taste as good as you smell.
—
can you tell i got lazy towards the end? like genuinely cause if so im so sorry!!
also apologise for any spelling mistakes this was made quickly. lmk if u want any more stuff!
!wrote this in like 30 mins. it’s unedited and just a drabble!
pt.2 here
The dripping of gotham’s downpour reverberates around your apartment, your fingers dragging idly against your phone screen.
the clunking footsteps of his boots is what causes your head to lift, eyes trailing over to him. your roommate—jason.
he was an interesting person, always so quiet. withdrawn into his own character. nevertheless the apartment doesn’t become overthrown with his belongings, he’s never too loud and the bathroom remains relatively clean.
he stalks through, giving a brief grunt of acknowledgment before focusing on the pastries left out on the counter, taking one and sliding it into his mouth.
your eyes dart away, instead moving to once again focus on the dull blue light that gave enough occupation inside your mind.
a silence sits, as it often does.
you could hear the ‘thunks’ hitting the hardwood floor as he drops his boots off, the crackles of his leather jacket being taken off and the clinks of his guns.
because he was an ‘outlaw’ as he liked to call it, the first time you heard the term you gave a swift laugh only to be met with a pointed look from him.
since moving in, becoming roommates and somewhat learning about him you had begun to search up on ‘red hood’.
it was an interesting side to see of the man you lived with, how the same person who gave loud coughs in the darkest hour also managed to tremble fear into the crime of gotham.
“you going to bed soon?” he mumbled out and your gaze once again lifted to the man, his hair was ragged, his pallid skin sporting some more bruises here and there.
You didn’t answer for a moment, genuinely thinking. you should—you know you should, however your day had been so busy that you’d decided this was the first time you’d frequent some personal moment.
“maybe.. soon?” you hummed, eyes darting over the fresh bruises, the purple fading into the ones he held under his eyes. he often came home like that, with blood dripping or new cuts and scrapes littered.
jason focused on you, holding his tongue against his cheek as he gave a nod before slithering off to the bathroom, yanking one of his towels as he did.
his roommate, the same one who often worked at that restaurant on forty-eighth street, the same one who took it upon themselves to help with his washing if found, the same one jason longed for.
he felt so..childish. yearning for a woman who possibly only saw him as the other half of the rent. however he couldn’t help it—heaven knows he’s tried to quell it.
he’s tried to keep his distance, do what he’s done since he’s moved in. and a part of him can’t properly figure out why he’s so captivated with a person he only half knows.
Jason wasn’t often one for intimacy, he turned away from it—revolted at the thought of anyone’s eyes seeing the scars that littered his skin and soul, but you, ohh you.
maybe it was the fact he had seen you in the latest hour, curled up and reading a book he knows every word to. maybe it was the fact you always managed to help him out when you knew he needed it.
or maybe it was the fact you didn’t coddle him, you didn’t force a friendship or a connection, you had this understanding—knowing, that he didn’t want that. and jason loved it.
he loved the fact he didn’t have to try to remain pleasant, or the fact he didn’t need to swerve from some soul opening questions, no. because all you would do is see a new wound and let him know where you’d last placed the bandages.
or, you’d notice his toothbrush was looking a little worn in and you’d get a new one, or you noticed his dirty clothes had piled up and washed it, or—there were a lot of reasons.
and jason loved it, the unsaid words, the comfortability with somebody who doesn’t expect something, he can deal with that, he wants that!
and okay—maybe! just sometimes when he’s finally in bed for the night and not prowling the rooftops, and maybe when he hears a certain vibration does his ears perk up, maybe he still’s his breathing and maybe his sweatpants go a little lower than his crotch.
maybe his hand wraps around himself as he matches the moans you make, maybe he thinks of all the ways he can have you arch yourself into him and—
he wanted you, deeply. and not just sexually. (although he does want that) he wants to sit and talk about books, he wants to learn why you always manage to sneak strawberry into any dessert you make, he wants to taste cherry every time he kisses you.
but, jason died when he was 16.
so he wasn’t exactly good with women, he can be friends. obviously he’s not a weirdo, however the moment a woman shows any interest or he himself is attracted, he scatters away like a wounded dog.
he’s afraid, he’s 23 and the most action he’s had was with his own fist, and your so gorgeous—to him, especially to him. he reasons with himself, on the nights when the wind picks up and the rain casts sideways.
he reasons that, you wouldn’t want him. he’s a traumatised man who’s spent more time on his strength then he has on his personal growth.
so, he instead focuses on the moments when your shirt rides up when reaching for a cup, when you get stuck in thought and your lip slightly juts out or when your moans and whimpers paint the cracking wallpaper.
a part of him is scared to ruin that silent agreement, to remain as friendly roommates who never pry, who always help but never with words.
once he’s moved from out of the shower he can already feel himself half-hard and a ugly feeling settling in his gut, the two contradict each other and yet it stings.
“i’m gonna kill you if you used all the hot water!” you shout out, an empty threat and more of a joke than anything and despite that ugly mess sitting in his gut, his lips crinkle up.
however he offers a mumble apology and moves to his room.
he hadn’t realised until he heard the soft ‘click’ of your bedroom door shutting that he’d ended up staring at a wall again, deep in thought.
he gives a sigh, deciding that he should go to bed. his bones hurt, his head hurts and he has many cuts and bruises he’s refused to heal, and just as he bundles up in his sheets, ready to rest his head from all that plagues him.
he hears that sound, the one that haunts him when his cock gets too heavy. he bites down on his lip—and as most times, he feels guilty. he always feels guilty.
but when you let a particular sinful whimper out he gives a groan, his head slumping against his pillow as his fishes his hand into the boxers he has on.
he gives a few soft strokes, the crevices of himself felt by his hand, and as he often does he ceases as many sounds as he can just so he can hear your voice.
he listens, and he imagines. imagines all the way he can have you, have those cherry glossed lips wrapped around him, have his hands on the soft planes of your skin as you direct yourself on him.
he imagines having your voice not be restricted, having you moan so loud the apartment a street over yells at him. he wants it all, so selfishly does he.
he can imagine himself curling into you, or you curling into him once all is done. he’d slither his hands up and down your spine and relish in the way you’d let a giggle out or maybe shiver.
he’d whisper all the ways you light up, the ways you make him feel floating. he’d smell the strawberry on you and he’d hope you taste as good as the fruits.
he begs—pleads! to have his hands wrapped around your thighs as you threaten yet fail to clamp them shut as his tongue works you to heavens you’d never known of, he’d have you all pitchy, all whines and whimpers.
he’d be dirty, but only if you like it. he’d spit all over your glistening cunt and rub it into your folds, tease your begging hole and whisper sins into your ear.
or, he’d map out every perfection on the god-like body you donned, making sure you know how gorgeous you are every time his hips met your ass. he’d hold tightly, afraid it was all a dream.
and the closer he got he’d heard you beg for him, beg to have him, that you need it. you need his cock, you need him. and he’d cum, anywhere you wanted—he’d do anything for you.
it’s only when he hears you shuffle and get comfortable in bed, and when his cum gets cold on his chest that he remembers he doesn’t have that, no matter how much he hopes.
