Sooo I love anime....and a hoe for Kakashi and Nanami....I don’t feel the need to validate anything else besides the fact Beel owes me a pizza and my age (26) for 18+
imagine jason making comments about his death except you thought he meant it figuratively than literal so you make fun of him for being “so emo” and it’s an ongoing thing until you actually learn about the lazarus pit and all those flashbacks of you roasting and bullying Jason about being dead has your jaw to the floor.
“🎶Back to life, Back to reality, Back to life, Back to- The here and nooow🎶”
“So yeah, if i was resurrected, sing that every year!”
“I’m going to send you back to Jesus if you keep messing with me-“
“Okay, you’re the devil, then I’m sending you back for a comeback tour! STOP PUSHING MY FOREHEAD-“
“Doesn’t that give me two birthdays if i die and resurrect? OW-“
“If you had religious trauma like me and you actually resurrected, we have the funniest thing to do right now- What! What I say?!”
“Can you not talk about being dead, FOR ONE TIME!”
“Why do you keep talking about being dead?!”
“Oh my god, i guess your demons know how to swim too?”
“If I actually died and wasn’t avenged, everybody dying, me included.”
“BECAUSE TONIGHT WILL BE THE NIGHT THAT I WILL FALL FOR YOOOOHHHHHH”
“WHY DO YOU KEEP HITTING ME- STOP- EMO BOY!”
“Hey, Emo Boy”
“Hi, Emo”
“Whatever, you’re emo”
*Cue “Emo boy” by Ayesha Erotica*
“🎶Back to life, Back to reality, Back to life, Back to- The here and nooow🎶”
It’s a mystery on how you’re still his friend, in fact, his closest friend that’s still alive to tell the tale of roasting Jason Todd.
synopsis: Jason assumes that you want kids. He assumes wrong.
pairing: Jason Todd x f! Reader
warnings: hunger, poverty, child neglect and emotional abuse, swearing, patient and understanding reader, CPTSD or PTSD maybe (unsure if it’s clear with how I wrote Jason), Jason’s POV, vasectomy, birth control (condoms and pill), nsfw talk of sex at the end, claiming kink Jason, mentions of cockwarming
more from my blog
Jason doesn’t want kids.
His decision was cemented at eight years old. Rummaging in dumpsters, making himself small and quiet enough so that no one would see him as annoying or greedy, a cold hunger that would only momentarily go away, showers that were seen as a luxury. No time for fun. No money for toys or books. Barely even a functional mattress to sleep on. If this is what childhood was like, why would he ever want to replicate that with his own kid?
And then he started dating you. First dates where he made an effort to impress you turned into mundane comforts and celebrations and eventually even living together. Now a little over two years together and he knows that things are getting serious. He wants things to be serious. But he just can’t give you everything you want.
He’s been ruminating over it for days. His patrols have been going on for longer, an escape for his mind and a way to get his anxious energy out. Every soft ‘Jason?’ you’d mutter in the quiet walls of your shared apartment would send a cold shiver down his spine. He caught you staring at the milk powder and baby formula at the grocery store.
He can’t do this. He can’t give you kids, adopted or not.
His footsteps are quiet, they always are, even as he’s pacing the floor between your living and dining room. You’re in the shower, distracted for long enough for him to calm the fuck down. The ratty t-shirt he insists on wearing even when he isn’t working on his car or bike is covered in wrinkles. There’s a stain on his sweatpants from the food you had for lunch. He feels like the bags under his eyes are worse than usual. Maybe they are. He’s barely able to doze off after coming back home to you at four am and having taken a few more hits than he should’ve. He just can’t stop fucking thinking about you and kids.
He knows you want some. You’ve never officially had a conversation about it but he’s seen you. You with Damian, talking to him like an adult while still indulging his pre-teen interests. Smiling at toddlers at the bookstore. Bouncing a baby on your hip because a poor parent had to go run after their other child. You’re good with kids. They don’t freak you out. You don’t constantly overthink the possibility of fucking them up.
“Jay?” He jumps about a foot in the air, as startled as a stray cat. You’re at the end of the hallway, leaning your hip against the archway as you run a towel through your hair.
“Shit-“ he calms his heart with a hand over his chest, absorbing the loud pounding. “Hey, baby.”
His voice doesn’t even sound right. High pitched and with a ‘you caught me’ lilt. He’s supposed to be a trained vigilante and detective for fuck’s sake.
“Hi,” you only smile at him quizzically, letting the towel drape over your shoulders as you approach him. “Everything okay?”
“Yep.” He nods quickly, tight and too controlled. You spare him another confused look but continue past him to the kitchen. The lights flicker on, warm and cozy.
It’s how the apartment usually feels. Something you’ve managed to curate. Sure, he’s able to make spaces feel lived in and homey, but you make it thrive and buzz. There’s the tea towels you insisted on embroidering hung over the oven door. A mirror above the hutch in the foyer, marked with a permanent ‘I love you’ sticky note. A huge black and white framed picture adjacent to the couch, a photo of you and Jason’s third date. The small burger joint diner where he bought the two of you dinner after a long day. It was nice. Neither of you had the energy for an actual date but still wanted to see each other. The bookshelves he insisted on helping you install, spanning the entire length of the hallway and into the office off of the living room. You sat on an armchair he pulled all the way across the room for you, offering kisses and cold water while he didn’t let you lift a finger. In your bedroom, soft sheets and even softer pillows you insisted on buying. You said it was worth it to splurge on those. Good sleep and all. Or the special mirrors in the bedroom and bathroom. With a click of a button they fog up. Something you had implemented without even making a big deal about it, noticing that Jason sometimes needed some time off from seeing his reflection.
God, this entire life he’s built with you in just the span of two years. He loved it. He loved it like this. You were in love and happy with him, he was more than happy and in love with you. Devoted to each other and still your own individuals. That’s all he wants in life and for the next sixty years to come.
He hasn’t even noticed that you’re now paused, standing in front of him with a worried frown. There’s a pot over the stove, simmering with something but neither of you move to tend to it.
“Jason,” you say softly and he braces himself.
This is it. You’ll learn that he’s some heartless piece of shit who doesn’t even want children. The one thing that everyone says makes their lives infinitely better. Worse? He can’t even give it to you. He can’t get you pregnant or foster or go through the whole adoption process. He just can’t. He can’t stomach through the thought of being a dad, a bad one.
“What’s going on, baby?” You cup his cheek, warm and gentle like always. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch and being called ‘baby’.
He doesn’t reply. It’s always hard for him. Voicing his worries, his emotions. Growing up how he did, it makes it hard to be emotionally vulnerable or even take that first step. Yelled at for crying when he twisted his ankle or rummaged through the empty cabinets for a snack. Belittled and mocked for ever bringing up wanting to be listened and taken care of. Every moment of pain and sadness stuffed deep, deep down all because his birth parents couldn’t care about anyone other than themselves. His problems aren’t problems. He’s just a kid, Jason. He just needs to get over it.
But when he opens his eyes, finding your concerned and understanding ones staring back at him, he pulls away.
He can’t do this. The way you’re looking at him. The rational part of him knows you don’t mean to. You’re just looking at him with love but all he sees is pity. Taking a few steps back, his knees knock against the back of the couch.
“Do you want me to sit on the couch while you write?” You suggest, your voice barely breaking over the simmering stove and Gotham’s soft rain.
With a nod, everything changes. You’re no longer looking at him. You don’t perceive his vulnerability and weaknesses, he can’t see whatever he wants to find in your eyes. In hurried, messy, and tear-stained scribbles he writes it out. Then, it’s handed to you and he doesn’t stay turned long enough to watch.
Instead, he focuses on the digital clock on the oven. No ticking, just the numbers slowly changing. There’s a nice smell coming from the pot, rich and spiced and warm. The rain outside hits your fire escape in little metallic clangs. His foot taps on the hardwood in quick rhythmic bursts.
Finally, after what feels like an hour when it really was only five minutes, you speak.
“First of all, Jay,” his shoulders slump before tensing up at the use of his nickname. You could be reassuring him as much as you could be softening the blow for what you’ll say next. “I don’t want kids. Never really have.”
His head turns before he even realises that he’s looking at you. Your lips are turned up in a small smile. You’re not angry. There’s no malice in your eyes. No hidden anger you’re going to bring back later.
“Is this what you’ve been worrying about for the last few days?” You finally touch him, reaching for his hand and wrap your palm around his.
“Yeah.” He can’t help but feel embarrassed, a pressure tickling the back of his eyes and he feels fucking stupid for crying now.
“I get it,” you don’t comment on his crying, letting him go through it, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. “For a moment, I was worried about that too.”
“What?” His voice cracks.
“That you wanted kids. You’re so good with them.”
He raises his eyebrows and a soft laugh of disbelief interrupts his tears.
“Yeah,” you nod, like this is obvious. That Jason of all people is good with kids. He barely gets along with Damian on a good day (albeit that it’s his moody little brother). “You’re always looking out for them. You crouch down to talk to them and your voice softens but you never speak to them like they’re dumb. Remember that time there was that attack during our picnic at Robinson Park?”
He nods, climbing over the back of the couch (something you usually throw a pillow at him for) and sits glued to you.
“And how some kids running on the grass near us got separated from their parents. You immediately opened your arms and made sure we were all behind you. They all clung onto your legs. Then, when everything died down and we went to find their parents, you double checked for a safe word or confirmation of their name before handing them off.”
“Oh.” He just blinks dumbly, not even remembering that. He was just doing what comes naturally to any of Gotham’s vigilantes.
“I assumed you wanted kids but since we never spoke about it too much, I never asked. I guess I was scared too. I didn’t want to disappoint you, you know.”
“You-,” Jason guffaws, blinking and closing his mouth. “You don’t disappoint me. You never have. Even if you didn’t want kids and I somehow did.”
“Thank you.” You smile sweetly at him and he feels his heart grow three sizes. “You never disappoint me either. Even when we disagree on things.”
Fuck, he feels the tears well up again. He didn’t even know that he needed to hear that. That even in disagreement you aren’t disappointed in him. That he doesn’t go from your boyfriend to a worthless pathetic child in a matter of seconds. That your love isn’t dependent on your mood or his mistakes. Well, of course he’s going to give you a kiss for that.
His hands find the small of your back and the side of your jaw, pulling your lips against his in a grateful and searing kiss. When you part, he’s pressing a few more just for good measure while he has you in his arms.
“So, just to be clear,” your hands smooth down the fabric on his chest, looking up at him with so much love that he can’t look away, “we’re not having kids.”
“Oh, thank god.” He sighs, pulling you with him as he drops his heavy body back onto the couch cushions. “I like what we have.”
“I like it too.” You curl up against him. Your head lands on his pec, his arms wrapped around you. It takes a little fidgeting to find the right spot before you still. Jason takes a few big deep breaths, his mind finally clearing as you rub his hand in soothing circles.
“Maybe I should get a vasectomy?” He says into the comfortable silence. That earns him a loud laugh and a soft smack to the chest.
“Give it a bit more time.”
“What? It’s not like removing an half an inch would drastically change my size.” He ignores your groan of ‘that’s not how it works’. “Plus, no condoms or birth control. Just you and me, and your pussy filled with my cum.”
“Jason!”
“Shhh,” he chuckles. “Think about it. You’re all dewy-“
“Who uses dewy?”
“Me. You look dewy after we have sex.”
“I look sweaty.”
“Dewy. Like a goddess or an angel. Or like a flower after the morning rain. Warm to the touch. Panting and gorgeous. Your lips are always parted and super soft afterwards. Plus, your hands always cling onto something. It’s the cutest thing ever. And then your sweet pussy dripping with my cum while I keep my cock inside of you and you squirm just a little more.”
“Oh my god.” You hide your face behind your hands and he just presses a kiss to your hairline. This conversation he can steer.
“You always make these sexy fucking noises when I keep my cock in you. These little moans and whines that get me hard all over again. And then when I pull out, I’ll put your panties back on and make sure that it stays there.”
“I’ll get a UTI.”
“Shit.” He groans. “Well, just a fantasy then. Instead, I’ll make sure you pee and we take a nice bath. I’ll find other ways to mark you.”
“Like a wedding ring?” You grin and he glances down at you, unable to do anything but smile back.
Another conversation. He just hopes that you don’t find the ring before then.
—
A/N: this just popped up and I needed to get it out!! I love the idea of the reader having kids with Jason but I also love the option of not wanting nor having kids. I feel pretty happy with the banter at the end. Let me know if there was anything too OOC for Jason or his backstory! I feel like I say this every time but feel free to comment or contact me if there’s a mistake! Even small or not that important! Thank you!
you noticed that you couldn't move. you blinked slowly, staring at the ceiling as your sleepy brain pieced together why.
an arm was wrapped securely around your waist.
another was tucked beneath your pillow.
one of jason's legs had somehow ended up tangled with yours.
"…jason."
nothing.
you tilted your head just enough to glance over your shoulder.
his face was half-buried against the back of your neck, dark hair sticking up in every direction. his breathing was slow and even, though you were almost positive he wasn't actually asleep anymore.
you smiled to yourself.
"jason."
a low hum vibrated against your shoulder.
"so you are awake."
"no."
"you literally answered me."
"didn't."
you laughed quietly.
"i need to get up."
"no, you don't."
"i do."
"you've got nowhere to be."
"i have to use the bathroom."
"…"
his grip tightened just a little.
"jason."
"five more minutes."
"you said that twenty minutes ago."
"i don't remember saying that."
"you were awake?"
"no."
you couldn't help laughing again.
"you are impossible."
"so i've been told."
finally, he cracked one eye open, meeting your amused expression.
his lips twitched. "there she is."
"good morning."
"mornin'."
his voice was rough from sleep, making it sound even deeper than usual.
he studied your face for a second before reaching up and brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"what?"
"nothin'."
"you've been staring."
"i know."
"…why?"
"'cause you're pretty."
the words came so casually that your brain stopped working for a moment.
"…you can't just say things like that before coffee."
jason smirked.
"sure i can."
"you fight crime."
"i multitask."
you nudged him lightly with your shoulder.
"you are ridiculous."
"so are you."
you tried sitting up again.
his arms immediately pulled you back against him.
"…seriously?"
"i'm comfortable."
"i'm trapped."
"exactly."
"you've become a human weighted blanket."
"i'm hearing zero complaints."
"there are several complaints."
"liar."
you sighed dramatically, though the smile on your face betrayed you.
"…fine."
jason buried his face into your shoulder again with a satisfied hum.
"there it is."
"what?"
"acceptance."
"i accepted my fate."
"same thing."
silence settled over the room again.
it wasn't awkward.
just… peaceful.
outside, rain tapped gently against the apartment windows.
jason lazily traced circles against your side through one of his oversized hoodies you'd stolen weeks ago.
"you know," he muttered, "i was looking for this hoodie."
"no, you weren't."
"i absolutely was."
"you watched me steal it."
"i thought you'd give it back."
you looked over your shoulder.
"you've known me for how long?"
"…fair."
"i've claimed it."
"my hoodie."
"our hoodie."
he groaned dramatically.
"you've become a wayne."
"i'll start calling it 'our emotional support hoodie.'"
"i regret teaching you sarcasm."
"you practically invented it."
he laughed quietly, that alone made your heart melt. after another comfortable minute, he spoke again.
"…thanks."
you frowned.
"for what?"
"for staying."
the joking tone had disappeared.
his gaze was fixed somewhere on the blankets instead.
"you know… most mornings after patrol, i wake up expecting the apartment to be empty."
you turned around carefully until you were facing him.
his expression was softer than usual.
guarded, but honest.
you reached up and rested your hand against his cheek.
"i'm not going anywhere."
his eyes searched yours for a long moment.
"…promise?"
"i promise."
something in his shoulders finally relaxed.
he leaned into your touch almost instinctively.
then, with a tiny, almost embarrassed smile, he rested his forehead against yours.
"…good."
"you worry too much."
"i know."
"you know i like waking up with you..."
"i was hoping."
"i'm telling you."
another small smile.
"the apartment's a lot quieter when you're not here."
"so i'm loud?"
"you sing while making pancakes."
"i hum."
"you perform concerts."
"they're private concerts."
"they're not private if i can hear them from the bedroom."
you gasped dramatically.
"i've been exposed."
jason chuckled.
"i kinda like it."
"you do?"
"mhm."
"you'll never admit that in front of the others."
"absolutely not."
"good."
"dick would never let me live it down."
you both laughed.
the room felt warmer somehow.
jason reached over and pulled the blanket higher around both of you.
"one more minute?" he asked quietly.
you smiled.
"one more minute."
he nodded once, satisfied.
"…then coffee."
"and breakfast."
for just a little while longer, neither of you moved. the rain continued to patter softly against the windows, and wrapped up in blankets and each other, the rest of the world could wait.
you guys should totally give me more sfw ideas for this series 👀
also i js started posting on this acc too @cityafterdark so go check that out!!
"Again?" he laughs, that bright, easy laugh that made you fall for him in the first place.
Oh god oh fuck you're horny again.
Don't get him wrong, he's not complaining. He's never complaining. He loves you. He worship you. He gets off on making you cum.
But his dick is literally chafed and he's running on two hours of sleep and a protein bar he ate between round three and round four and—
You're already tugging at his belt.
His belt. Which he just buckled. Thirty seconds ago.
He's hard again.
How?
How is he hard again?
He's not twenty anymore, he's pushing thirty, his knees click when he does certain positions, he pulled a hamstring last week doing that thing you like where he folds you like a pretzel—okay, he has been slacking lately BUT it's your fault because you don't even let him leave the house—
"No, no, baby, I'm— I'm not complaining," he says, already breathless, already getting to his knees because you've got that look, with glassy eyes, and pouty lips, "I just— hah— give me five minutes? Ten? I need to rehydrate, I need to—"
"You don't want me?"
What?
The words hit him like a bullet to his chest.
No. No no no no. Don't ever say that. Don't ever think that. He wants you. He wants you so much it's ruining him. He wants you when he's asleep, wants you when he's awake, wants you when he's bleeding out on a rooftop wondering if he'll make it home in time to taste you before patrol—
He's already got his mouth on you. Already. Didn't even make a conscious decision. His body just moved because his body wants you and your pleasure, your smile, the little gasp you make when he gets it just right—
"I want you," he mumbles into your thigh, "I want you, I want you, I want you, don't ever say I don't, I'll— I'll prove it, I'll stay down here all night, I don't need sleep, sleep is for people who aren't dating a goddess, I'll just—"
You pull him up by his hair. He whimpers. He whimpers like a puppy because his girlfriend touched his scalp.
God, he's pathetic.
He loves it.
He loves you.
"You were saying something about rehydrating?" you ask, and your voice is teasing but your hand is wrapped around him and his vision goes sparkly at the edges.
"Who cares—ah fuck," he hears himself say, "I-I don't...ugh... Give a f-fuck."
And later, when he's lying on top of you, every muscle screaming, a single tear is rolling down his cheek, because fuck he's overstimulated, He press his lips to your sweaty forehead.
"You're gonna break me someday, you know that?"
You smile.
"That's the plan,"
His dick twitch again, and he'll laugh hysterically into your hair because he's the luckiest man walking in the entire goddamn world.
JASON TODD
He doesn't get it.
He doesn't fucking get it.
You— you— want him? All the time? Every second of every day? You, with your soft hands and your pretty smile and your laugh that sounds like something he doesn't deserve to hear— you want Jason Todd, the dead Robin, the black sheep, the one with blood under his fingernails and a body count longer than his book collection?
"Again, sweetheart?" he rasps, and his voice cracks, actually cracks, because his throat is raw from moaning your name, and his thighs are shaking, and there's a bruise forming on his hip from where you grabbed him too hard and he didn't even notice because he was too busy moaning like a whore.
You nod. Just nod. Like it's nothing. Like you're asking him to pass the salt.
His heart lurches.
He's scared. Not of you— never of you— but of the moment you realize you can do better. The moment you wake up and think why am I wasting my time with this broken, angry, fucked up excuse for a man when I could have someone better?
So he fucks you like his life is depended on it.
Every time. Every single time.
"Alright," he says, rolling on top of you even though his arms are jelly, even though he came so hard ten minutes ago he nearly blacked out, even though he's so tired he gonna pass out at any moment— "Alright, c'mere, I got you, I got—"
"Jay." You catch his face in your hands. "You're crying."
What? No he's not. He's not— shit.
He scrubs at his eyes, pissed, embarrassed, and you're looking at him with that soft, worried expression and he can't handle it, he can't handle this.
"I'm fine," he lies, "I'm fine, I just— I got something in my eye, it's fine, do you wanna do it from behind this time or—"
"Why are you crying, baby?"
Baby.
The word break something in his chest. Something that was already cracked. Something that's been held together with spite and rage and the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he's allowed to have nice things.
"I-I don't know," he chokes out, and now he's really crying, ugly sobs tearing out of his throat, "I'm just s-so overwhelmed and I-I *sob* I don't d-deserve you *sob* you should be with someone who isn't a—a—a—"
You kiss him.
You kiss him through the tears and the snot and the self loathing, and you don't pull away, and you don't look disgusted, and your hands are so gentle on his scarred skin, and he just— he just breaks down.
But it's just because he's overwhelmed by sex, okay?
He buries his face in your neck and sobs and you hold him, you hold him like he's something precious, something worth keeping, and his stupid dick is still half hard against your thigh because he doesn't know what else to do.
"I want you," you whisper into his hair, "just you, Jay. Always."
"...Promise?"
"Promise."
He pulls back, eyes red, face blotchy, looking like a mess.
And then he laughs— his cracked, broken laugh.
"Okay," he says, "okay. But if you're gonna kill me with sex, at least let me grab some water first. And maybe a snack. I'm not dying of dehydration before I make you come again."
You grin.
Yeah his girl's so pretty.
"Alright."
He's still crying a little. He's still hard. He's still certain he doesn't deserve this.
But you're here.
And you want him.
So he'll keep going until his heart gives out, because dying in your arms sounds like the best way to go.
TIM DRAKE
He has a spreadsheet.
No, wait, hear him out— it's not weird, okay? It's organized. It's practical. It's what any rational person would do when confronted with a girlfriend who wants to have sex literally all the time and he needs to make sure he's— that he's—
Meeting expectations.
Performing adequately.
Being a good boyfriend.
Column A: date. Column B: time of day. Column C: position. Column D: duration. Column E: number of times you said his name (sub-column for "just Tim" vs. "oh god Tim" vs. the rare, precious "Timmy" that makes his whole body shudder). Column F: notes. (You like it when he flick his tongue. You didn't like when he tried to flip you over and almost dropped you. He needs to work on his upper body strength. He'll add more pull ups to his training regimen. Done. Noted.)
He's on his third coffee and it's 3 AM and you're asleep next to him— finally, finally asleep, worn out after four rounds and a fifth that he had to tap out of because his vision started doing that staticky thing—
And he's updating the spreadsheet.
Because he loves you. And love means making sure you're comfortable. Love means making you happy. Love means making sure he's the best possible version of himself for you, that he's anticipating your needs, that he always make you cum, that he never, ever falls short—
"What's that?"
Oh fuck him.
You're awake. You're squinting at his laptop screen. He slams it shut, but it's too late, you already saw the color coded tabs, the pie chart (yes, there's a pie chart, he was curious about the distribution of positions, sue him).
"Tim." Your voice is still sleepy and it does things to him, weird things, his body is already responding and he just finished updating a row that said he couldn't go again, scientifically, medically, his body has limits—
"It's nothing."
"Timothy Jackson Drake."
Full name. He's in trouble. He's so in trouble. His stomach flips and his dick twitches and god, why does you being like this make him harder—
"It's— a spreadsheet."
"Of our sex life."
"...Yes."
...
Why aren't you saying anything?
You're in shock aren't you? You're in so much shock you can't even talk.
Of course. You just saw your supposed normal boyfriend as the obsessive freak that he is.
"I'm sorry," he blurts, "I know it's weird, I just— I wanted to make sure I was doing a good job, that I wasn't missing anything, that you were— satisfied— because you want it so often and I thought maybe I wasn't enough and I had to do something—"
"Tim."
"—and I know it's creepy, I'm creepy, I'm a creepy insecure little bitch who can't just enjoy things—"
"Tim."
He shuts up.
You're smiling. A soft, fond, adoring smile.
"You want to know if you're doing a good job?"
He nods, throat too tight to speak.
"Come here."
He crawls into your arms and you pull him against your chest and he can hear your heartbeat and it's the most beautiful sound in the world.
"You're doing amazing," you murmur, stroking his hair, "you're perfect. You're so good to me, Tim. The best."
Best.
The words hit his bloodstream like a drug. He makes a sound— a high, needy, embarrassing sound— and presses his face into your collarbone, his whole body trembling.
"I love you," he whispers, "I love you so much, I'm sorry about the spreadsheet, I'll delete it—"
"Don't you dare. It's hot."
"...What?"
"Knowing you put that much thought into making me cum is honestly..." Your hand slides lower, and he sucks in a breath. "The sexiest thing anyone's ever done for me."
What the fuck?
"You— really?"
"Mmhmm. Now... you said that you couldn't go again, but maybe we should test that hypothesis?"
He's already kissing you before you finish the sentence.
He's going to need a new row. And a new coffee. And possibly a medical professional.
Worth it.
DAMIAN WAYNE
This is absurd.
You are absurd. Your libido is absurd. The fact that he— Damian al Ghul Wayne, heir to the League of Assassins, Robin, the son of the Batman— is currently hiding in the bathroom like a coward because his Beloved crooked her finger at him for the seventh time today is—
"Damian~"
Tt.
He clenches his jaw. His body betrays him instantly, heat pooling low in his stomach, his cock stirring traitorously against the zipper of his tailored slacks.
He is not a beast. He is not ruled by base urges. He was trained from birth to master his desires, to transcend the weakness of the flesh—
"Habibti, please, if you need release I will happily provide it, I am more than capable, but we have already—" his voice drops to a whisper, "—six times today, and I have a Wayne Enterprises board meeting in an hour—"
"And?"
And. You says and like it's nothing. Like his legacy, his reputation, his carefully constructed facade of cold professionalism isn't crumbling around him because of a woman who looks at him like he's a three course meal she hasn't finished.
He emerges from the bathroom.
Big mistake.
You're on the bed. His bed. Dressed in nothing but his shirt— the one with his family crest embroidered on the pocket, the one he wore the first time you fuck him— and you're looking at him with those lustful eyes—
"I missed you."
"You saw me twenty minutes ago."
"Too long."
He's already walking toward you.
Why is he walking toward you?
He should be walking away. He should be asserting dominance. He is a master of seventeen forms of martial arts and he cannot, for the life of him, make his feet move in the opposite direction of you.
"I have a meeting," he says, but his voice is pitiful, needy, and he hates how much he wants you, hates how you've turned him into this— this creature who craves your touch more than anything—
"Cancel it."
"I cannot cancel a board meeting, Beloved, there are protocols—"
"Tell them your girlfriend needed you."
"They will not accept that as a valid excuse—"
"Then make them."
Make them.
The sheer, casual authority in your voice sends a shiver down his spine.
You speak like you own him. Like he should do as you say. Like he should obey every order, as if—
He has his phone out before he can stop himself.
"Pennyworth. I will be... indisposed this afternoon. Inform the board the meeting is postponed."
"Very good, Master Damian. Shall I prepare a nutrient rich smoothie? You've been quite occupied lately."
He can hear the smirk in Alfred's voice.
Very amusing Pennyworth. Very amusing indeed.
He wants to die. He wants to crawl into a hole and never emerge. But then you're crooking your finger again and all thoughts of dignity evaporate like morning mist.
"I canceled the meeting," he says, approaching the bed, trying to maintain some shred of dignity, "I hope you are satisfied—"
You grab him by the tie and pull him onto the bed.
He yelps. He yelps. Like a startled cat. Like Titus when the vacuum cleaner turns on. And then you're straddling him, pinning him down with your body, which shouldn't be possible given his training but his muscles have apparently decided that being pinned by you is exactly what they want—
"I am never satisfied," you murmur against his lips, "not when it comes to you. You know that, right?"
His heart— his cold, closed off, carefully guarded heart— warm up a little.
"Beloved..."
"You're mine, Damian. Every inch of you. Every minute of your day. And I'm going to enjoy what's mine. Understood?"
He swallows hard.
"...Understood."
"Good boy."
His face flushes a deep, humiliating red, and his whole body trembles with the desperate need to hear those words from your lips, to know that he has pleased you, that he is worthy—
One day, he'll tell you. One day, he'll confess how much he needs your approval, your praise, your love. One day, he'll stop pretending he's above these feelings.
But not today.
Today, he'll just lie back and let his Beloved have her way with him for the seventh time, and he'll bite his lip until it bleeds to keep from begging, and when it's over he'll hold you like you're the most precious thing in the universe—
"Love Drunk Confessions (and other bad habits)" 1/1
Summary:
Your boyfriend Jason Todd has a problem... he can't buy anything for himself without also buying you something, which means you often come home to bundles of items from your wish list waiting for you. Your racoon boyfriend also has another problem though, he can't keep his hands off of you and well... mumbling and drunk of sex he makes a confession you weren't expecting.
Shameless fluffy smut with Jason being enamoured by you where he can't hold himself back and is down so so so bad.
Tags: Jason Todd x Reader; Jason Todd x y/n; shameless smut; 0ral!fem receiving; Jason Todd is a munch; p in v s3x; overstimulation; established relationship; Jason Todd has a light breeding kink; unsafe s3x; cr3amp!3; Jason calls reader Baby;
Ao3 Link here
Word count: 3,426 words
Hi!
I don't tend to write a lot of y/n fics since I actually find these quite challenging to do but decided to give it a go when I had the idea of Jason's childhood poverty affecting how he interacts with money and buying things from himself once he does have some of it. The breeding kink part sorta popped up as I was trying to figure out how to wrap up the fic by bringing back his love for spoiling you and well, you'd surely need a whole lot of new clothes and everything for the baby if you were to actually have one so, why not?
-
You hear the door closing and Jason’s heavy steps over the sound of running water. You rush to wipe away any soap from your eyes just in time for him to catch up to you in the bathroom, poking his head inside the steamy and fragrant room.
“Mmmn… hey baby…” – He says leaning by the doorframe and catching sight of you naked for a moment with dreamy eyes.
“Hey, honey! I’ll be done in a bit, you wanna join?”
“Nah, I’ll just chill for a bit…” – His actions betray him and he can’t help but rush inside the bathroom, opening the glass door and taking a playful squeeze of your ass. – “Mm gimme a kiss.”
You kiss his cheek and then lips, making him and the white streak in his hair wet.
“See you in a bit.” – He squeezes you again before rushing out.
You smile and giggle and you don’t hear the hurried footsteps rushing in and out of the bedroom. You don’t hear the sounds Jason makes planking on the floor by his side of the bed as he squeezed another few books to his existing pile. You also don’t hear him fuss over perfectly folding the clothes he has set up on your bedside. You don’t hear him change his clothes and you don’t hear him collapsing onto the couch with a loud exhale. You hear the water running and the sound of your own thoughts rushing around with desire.
He looked so good when he stood by the doorway.
There had been something about Red Hood that was so enticing, forbidden, thrilling. Jason though… the more Jason put his walls down the more attractive he became somehow. It was the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at you, how young he looked in the early morning with his hair messy against the pillow, his lips poutty and slightly parted. Red Hood was hot, Jason was beautiful.
You left the bathroom on your tip toes, hoping to be able to get dressed without him seeing you when you froze by the door to the bedroom: there was a small pile of clothes on your side of the bed, a bottle of perfume over them, again. You smiled and shook your head, rushing to inspect the loot with the towel falling off of your body. You inspected the clothes to find they were all items you’d been looking at the night before – all items you wanted but couldn’t possibly justify.
“You’re so sneaky…” – You mutter to yourself smiling as you pick up item after item, all the right size of course.
You circle the bed and drop the towel, getting on your knees and spying under his side of the bed. As expected you found three new residents there, three large hard cover books.
“Oh Jay…” – You sighed getting yourself up and rushing to your closet, putting on your and Jason’s favourite pyjamas, a set he gave you much the same way, of course.
He is half asleep on the couch by the time you get to him, his legs spread so wide it was almost rude, his hand tucked in under his t-shirt rubbing his chest and stomach in slow movements and a juice box hanging off the side of his mouth, the straw lazy on his bottom lips.
You prance over to him and sit down at the coffee table between his legs, your hands finding his thighs and rubbing them up and down.
“Jay?” – You ask with a naughty smile. – “Jaaayy…”
“Mm… hey… shit, almost fell asleep!” – He exclaims opening his eyes and dropping the empty juice box beside him. – “Oh, helloo…”
His eyes inspect you, his hand frozen over his stomach as he takes in the sight of your glowing skin under the silky little two piece he loves so much. He swallows hard and his eyes narrow, his hand slowly making its way down until they reach his belt buckle. He thrusted his hips up and bit his lip at the sight of your legs spreadings open while your arms squeeze your boobs, making them pour out of the cami top.
“Baby, what is that on my side of the bed, huh?” – You ask shifting your own hips, his eyes darting all over you, undecided.
“Uhm… just, just stuff…” – He says with fingers that played with the button in his jeans, aching to undo it.
“How did you know I wanted those, huh?” – You ask straddling the coffee table, your boobs bouncing from the motion.
“You- damn… you were looking at it last night… saw you put it in and out of the basket three times…”
“And how did you know I didn’t buy them?”
“I just did… you never buy yourself stuff like that…” – He says finally undoing the buttons and pulling the zipper down, his mouth hanging slightly open.
“Stuff like what?”
“Stuff that’s just pretty, that you might only wear a couple times cause it’s too much for the office or stuff…” – His bulge pressed over the open gap in his jeans and you squeezed your eyes shut, too much to take in.
“Hmm… well thank you, Jay…” – You say drawing one hand over the inside of your thigh, reaching the crotch of the mini shorts and pulling them to the side. – “Was that before or after your little trip to Barnes & Noble, huh?”
He widens his eyes catching sight of your pink flushed lips blinking at him, your greedy fingers trailing the outer labia. His tongue runs over his lips.
“After… I… shut up…” – He gives up halfway pressing his bulge with hungry eyes that finally settled for only one part of you.
“You know you don’t have to do that, right? You can just buy yourself things… you don’t have to buy me something every time you buy yourself something…” – You ask pulling your fingers away just a bit to display the wetness growing.
“I know… I know I’m messed up but come on, baby… you really gonna sit there wearing that set I got you and complain about it?”
“I want you to buy yourself things guilt free, baby… why do you always do it?”
“If I have extra cash to treat myself I can treat you as well…” – He says pulling his cock out of the underwear, the head poking out of the foreskin glistening.
“Except my stuff was hundreds more dollars that your three books…” – You say with a whimper, two fingers circling your clit making you lose composure for a moment.
“Four actually…” – He replies running his hand over his length with a deep sigh, nodding at a small pocket book on the coffee table beside you. – “Four… the other ones… were really expensive too… hardcover…”
You lean back to your elbows and run your fingers lower, aching to go inside.
“No.” – He stops you slowing his own movements. – “Bad… don’t…”
“Oh come on…” – You circlle your entrance aching to go inside.
“Please… please let me…” – He says getting up in one fast movement and picking up up in his arms.
He kisses you hard and desperate, kicking his jeans off his ankles and rushes you to the bedroom. He holds you with one hand under your pussy to stabilise you and as he approaches the bedroom moans and whimpers escape his lips as he feels the wetness of your cunt soaking through the silk.
He drops you onto bed slowly, removing his t-shirt and underwear while staring at you. You make mention of removing your shorts but he quickly dissuades you, grabbing the sides of your hips himself and squeezing them tight in his wide palms. He mounts you in bed, crawling over you with a boner so hard you imagine it must hurt a bit. He pays no mind to it though, obsessed with you.
Jason moves up in bed, carrying you with him with one arm hooked around your waist and switches places with you, laying back by the bed frame. You giggle, his pleading eyes all you need to know.
“You sure?”
“Please… you smell so good… you’re so wet, I wanna taste it…”
“You’re gonna make a mess…” – You say drawing your fingers around his pouty lips, Jason always made a mess when he ate you out.
“I promise.” – He begs with a glint in his eye and hands that finally pulled the pyjamas off of you.
You undress fully and he smiles stupid at your figure, his hands caressing your every curve and taking handfuls of you where he could while you bring yourself up above him. You hover over him for a moment, throwing your hair back and he can’t take it anymore hooking his arms around your thighs and yanks you down to him. You sit on his face with force and moan at the feeling, your clit pressed against his full lips.
“Jay! Mnnhnm…” – You exclaim grabbing the bedframe.
“Mmmnnn…” – He moans against you, kissing your clit.
Jason keeps you low, his huge biceps bulging as he made sure you wouldn’t lift yourself off of him. He kisses your clit until he felt a familiar warmth on his face, then suckling on it like he was trying to draw something from it. The sweet sounds you make his reward for holding his breath so long. His tongue came later, slow and soft he circles you and runs it up and down over your clit and hole soft and sloppy. You shudder and your hips twitch, a shaking of your thigh giving it away.
“Oh baby…” – He moans against you, his warm breath making you shudder. – “Already?”
“Mmnnhn… Jay… oh god…”
“Shhh… I got you…”
He points his tongue, pushing it against your entrance and refusing to touch your clit again, he wanted you to be so on edge you’d melt over him the moment he came inside you. He needed you to be so turned on you’d relinquish any composure and completely surrender to his whims. A tricky gamble to play, he knew he was in danger of making a fool of himself the moment he bottomed out.
As promised Jason eats you out sloppy and messy, his face covering in a mix of his saliva and your sweet juices as he can’t get enough of you. He eats you out with soft moans an whimpers leaving his throat until he pulls you off of him abruptly. You falter forwards, holding yourself up against the wall struggling to catch your breath.
“Woah!”
“I need to fuck you, baby.” – He says manhandling you, pulling you lower down towards his cock. – “Fuck, I need to fuck you…”
You smile and rub your wet pussy against his tip, grinning as his head falls back against the pillow. His arms tighten around your hips and he urges you to take him inside. You didn’t need much encouragement, Jason had given you everything except the sweet relief you needed.
You need it bad.
Dripping and twitching already you take him inside with a switch of the hip, not needing to hold him to guide him inside you. You lower yorself slowly, taking him inch by inch watching his breathing grow ragged, his abs tense and his bulging adam’s apple move up and down obscenely as he swallows hard. You wish you could see how it looked when he ate you out.
“That’s it… oh my god… that’s it…” – He moans moving his hands up to your waist, caressing the soft part between your waist and hips with delicate thumbs.
“Mmmnnnn yeah… you feel so good, baby…” – You respond reaching the bottom of his dick, his length completely enveloped inside your walls.
You shift your hips keeping all of him fully tucked inside and his eyes roll to the back of his head. You do it for some time before he mumbles something.
“What?”
“Please, fuck… that’s too much…” – He repeats himself louder.
“Oh, that’s too much? How about this?” – You pull back and start riding his length, indulging in dropping fast and hard against his crotch the moment you reach the base of his dick.
Jason’s whole body jerks at the motion, and he brings his legs up behind your back. He forces himself to watch you, the sight of your tits bouncing making him delirious.
It is too much, too good. He can’t keep it all to himself. He knows you like to ride him but he also knows you weren’t going anywhere like this, he knew he had to give a little more so you could feel as good as he did and Jason?
Jason is a very generous man.
Jason wraps his arm around your waist and brings you closer down, your breasts squish against his plump chest and he begins to thrust into you, hard. You try to steady yourself by wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers aching to play with his hair, to tickle the back of his neck but you can barely hold on. Jason groans and pants as he grabs you and thrusts into you with a faster and faster pace. You feel your clit throbbing, your walls so wet it makes an obscene squelching sound that only turns him on further.
“No, I can’t… switch…” – He begs with a pained moan. – “Let me top you, baby…”
You have no say in the matter, a hum stays stuck in your throat as he throws you off to the side and tops you, all while still staying buried deep inside you.
“Ahh that’s it, fuck…” – He celebrates unwrapping his arms from you and grabbing your thighs instead.
His grip is tight, the yellow bruises marking his favourite spots getting pressed down under his greedy fingers. He yanks you so your back would be halfway off the mattress and you sigh at the position, his dick rubbing a tender spot inside you that makes you cum explosively and without warning. You yell, you pant and you moan all at the same time with your arms tossed around your head, limp against the soft bed.
“Yeah, baby? That good?” – He asks smiling through heavy breathing.
One of his hands find their way around your thigh to your stomach, resting gently on your lower belly and he caresses you sweetly through your orgasm all while he carries on pumping into you.
“I won’t be long now, baby… fuck… you feel so good…” – He says drinking in the sight of your furrowed brows, your ribcage expanding as you try to breathe through the waves of pleasure demolishing any strength you had left in you.
It was always good, it was always better than the time before, somehow. This time, this time Jason made sure it would be even better. He thrusted into you, pounding and slamming his balls against your ass while his hands caressed your belly and your boobs, touching all the spots that made you tickle, all the spots he knew were sure to get you back to that edge again.
“Jay… mmm…”
“Yeah that’s right.” – He says squeezing your waist on his way up from cradling your lower belly, your bouncing tits all his eyes can focus on. – “You think you can come for me again?”
“Yeah… mmm… yeah I will… just a little- just a little more…” – You moan with your eyes closed, a shame you couldn’t keep them open to watch him as his fingers flick your hard nipple.
“Mmmnnn… so pink… you’re so… you’re so sweet for me baby, you’re so good to me…”
“You’re the one who spoils me, Jay…” – You msuter through gasps and soft whimpers.
“Shh… no I don’t… bare minimum… bare minimum, baby…” – He whispers grabbing your boob and squeezing it tightly in his plam. – “Fuck! Y/n!”
And with a loud groan shouting after you, Jason comes so hot and heavy inside you you can feel his warm seed flooding you inside. It was a feeling like no other that you cherished so deeply it always made you want to do it all over again.
“Fuck… baby… mmmnnn…” – His head hangs low and his grip grows softer on you, his hand falls from your breast and rests heavy over your stomach. – “Did you-”
“Jay, quick… rub me…” – You order thrusting his throbbing dick with what little strength you had left in you.
“Shit, yeah…” – He lowers his hand and with two fingers draws circles around your clit, varying how heavy he pressed.
You sigh heavily and moan, your walls clasping around him twitching hard as you came again.
“Yeah, good… good… oh, you’re so beautiful… baby you’re so beautiful when you come for me like that… I love when you tell me what to do… I love when you make sure I give you the best…” – He says leaning down and smothering you in kisses on your neck, cheeks and finally lips.
“Mmnnhnn… god… I’m… hhmmnnn…” – You can’t speak, waves of pleasure crashing over your chest and rippling through your body making you feel so loved you could cry.
“Imma stay inside for a bit yeah?” – He asks caressing your face, his thumb running circles over your pouty lips.
“Mmmnnn don’t go…”
“I won’t… I’m staying… it’ll be a mess when I pull out… fuck, I came so hard baby you have no idea…” – He mumbles as his body starts to weigh heavier over you but you don’t mind, it feels good to be pressed under him with nowhere to go.
He does just as he promised, staying buried inside you for as long as he could until he grew too soft to keep it in any longer. He pulls out of you with a soft moan and immediately sat back on the bed watching you. His eyes were lowered watching his cum drip from you.
“Baby?”
“Hm?”
“Imma finger my cum back into you…” – He says coming closer to you and spreading your thighs wider.
“Jay?”
“You look so pretty, a little swollen… was I too hard?” – He notes playing with his cum against your entrance, rubbing it around your raw pussy.
“Just the right amount, baby…” – You say smiling. – “Does that look good?”
“You have no idea…” – He pushes his cum back inside you slowly, gentle with you. He knew he’d fucked you maybe harder than he should’ve but he couldn’t help it, it felt so good he forgot himself. – “You look so good full of me…”
“Mmmnnn…” – It feels good, you wouldn’t come again from it, not so soon but it still felt so good, so soft you close your eyes.
Jason played with your pussy with the tips of his fingers, driving his cum back inside you and rubbing it all over your sore and swollen labia with heavy breathing, his dick twitching. He didn’t notice your eyes were closed.
“Y/n… imagine how much more I could buy you if you were carryin…” – He stops abruptly.
“Huh?” – You ask being pulled back from a dazed state, unsure what he’d said, he always mumbled to himself after sex.
“Oh, you’re falling asleep?” – He chuckles drawing his fingers out of you. – “That’s fine, sleep… I’ll clean you up…” – He says kissing your inner thigh and caressing your stomach again.
“What did you say?” – You ask resting a hand over his, caressing him gently.
“Oh… nothing…” – He says with a nervous chuckle, drunk of sex like usual saying more than he should. – ”Nothing…” – His hand betrays him, caressing you softly over the curve of your lower belly, the softest part of you.
“You said you were gonna buy me something?” – You ask furrowing your brow.
“Yeah… I said…” – He leans over and kisses your forehead. – ”I said, imagine how much more I could buy you if you were carrying my baby…” – He says quietly, soft chuckles stopping him from speaking clearly.
Your eyes shoot open and meet his an inch away from his face, his hand splayed wide over your womb territorially.
“What now?!”
He shuts you up with a kiss, his wide eyes shifty.
“Nothing!” – He exclaims squeezing you in his arms. – “Nothing! Don’t listen to me! I’m not used to having money and I’m getting all sorts of crazy ideas! Don’t listen to me!”
You roll in bed laughing as he hides his face from you, embarrassed by just how much he’d said and afraid of seeing your reaction. You don’t let him hide though, you seek his beautiful blushing cheeks and cover him in kisses, the bed turning messy and dirty but neither of you mind – you’re not done for the night, not even close.
I need someone to make a jjk smau where the guys say they want to break up with us(reader) but instead of being upset, we were ecstatic about it and took that chance bc they were negligent or just plain shit to us making them upset that we were more than happy to break it off. Bonus if we take the chance to get with someone else(the rival) mutually afterwards.
Can be modern au, or canonverse. Whatever works~ 🙃🙃
you’re already clinging to him. that’s the first thing you notice when your mind slips back into your body — how tightly your arms are around his shoulders, how your fingers are hooked under the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you stop holding on. and he’s above you, warm, heavy, inside you in slow, devastating strokes that make your breath break every time he pushes in.
the room is quiet. too quiet. just the soft gasp you make when he shifts his weight, just his breath against your cheek, rough and uneven like he’s trying to hold himself together for both of you.
his wedding band brushes your waist again. you feel it every time. you feel everything.
“look at me,” he whispers, and it isn’t a command this time — it’s something softer, something almost fragile. you open your eyes because you can’t not, because his voice pulls you upright from inside your own chest.
he’s already looking at you.
and god, he looks wrecked. not just from sex — from you. from the way you touch him, from the way your mouth falls open when he thrusts deep, from the way you say his name like it means something. his pupils are blown, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his forehead, and he’s watching you like you’re the only thing in the room worth breathing for.
“you feel so good,” he murmurs, forehead dropping to yours, hips rocking slow and perfect, like he’s savoring every inch of you. “i swear… i swear you’re gonna kill me.”
your lips brush his, just barely, and he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t keep touching you — warm n tender in a way that contradicts everything he tries to pretend he is. he cups your face with one big hand, thumb tracing your cheek like he’s memorizing you under his palm.
you’re shaking. he feels it.
“baby…” he whispers, and it’s the way he says it low, almost reverent — that pulls the truth out of you.
“jason,” you breathe, nails dragging down his back, “i want your baby.”
he stills. completely. like your words hit some hidden place in him that’s never been touched. his eyes open — slow, stunned — and he searches your face like he needs to see if you’re serious before he lets himself believe it.
you are. he sees it. something in his expression cracks open.
“sweetheart,” he whispers, voice shaking, “don’t… don’t say that unless you mean it. not now.”
you lift your hips into his — tiny, desperate — and that’s all it takes. his control slips like water through his fingers. his mouth drops open in a groan he can’t swallow down, and he pulls you tighter beneath him, chest pressed to yours, like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together.
“fuck,” he mutters against your mouth, “you want that? you want my baby for real?”
“yes,” you breathe, the word trembling out of you, “i want it — want you — please…”
he kisses you again, but it’s different now — deeper, hungrier, full of something you don’t have a name for. his hand slides down your stomach, slow, reverent, settling low where your bodies meet, where he’s stretching you open with every slow thrust.
his voice is barely a whisper. “i could give you one,” he says, breath trembling, “god, you don’t even know what that does to me.”
you tighten around him — involuntary — and he gasps, hips jerking like he’s losing control. his forehead presses to your cheek, lips brushing your ear.
“you’re gonna make me cum,” he rasps. “say it again. tell me you want it.”
you do. you tell him.
you feel him fall apart because of it.
he grabs your thigh, pulling you open under him as he thrusts deeper, faster but not rough — desperate, loving, overwhelmed. his voice breaks, his rhythm falters, and he buries his face in your neck like he can’t handle looking at you while he unravels.
“take it—” he groans, “take all of it—fuck—i want—i want you pregnant with my kid—”
and you feel it — the moment he gives in, the moment he pushes in deep and stays there, shuddering, trembling, filling you with everything he’s been holding back, everything he couldn’t say until now.
his arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest, holding you through every pulse of it. he doesn’t let go. he doesn’t even try.
when he finally lifts his head, his lips brush yours — soft, slow, intimate.
“you’re mine,” he whispers, voice wrecked, tender in a way that steals whatever breath you had left. “and if you want my baby… sweetheart, i’ll give you anything.”
summary: jason and reader go for a ride on his motorcycle, but end up getting into a crash
word count: 2.2k
warnings/tags: sfw, fem!reader, cursing, car crash, angst, comfort, fluff, mentions of injuries, no y/n, use of pet names
The low light of the lamp lit the room enough for you to make out the words inked onto the page of your book. The TV playing in the background was loud enough to fill the quiet of the apartment while you waited for Jason to come home from patrol. He was supposed to be home 2 hours ago, but the door has remained locked since he left this morning.
You’ve been on the same page of your book for the past ten minutes–none of the words truly sinking in because you’ve been stuck worrying about your boyfriend's safety. Usually he’s able to let you know if he’ll be late, but tonight, there wasn’t even a text. You give up, tossing aside the book and instead choose to sit on the fire escape to watch over the city with hopes of seeing a glimpse of his familiar red.
The wind nips at your cheeks and you pull the hood of Jason’s old hoodie over your hair to protect from the cold. His scent envelopes you as you gaze at the broken city below your feet. You whip your head around at the sound of a lock turning from inside the house, and crawl back through the open window, and toward the front door.
Jason steps inside the quiet apartment and catches your eye immediately. His shoulders are hunched, his brow set in a furrow, and overall looks utterly defeated. You don’t care to wait for him to toe off his boots before walking into his arms to mold your body against his.
“You were gone.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers as he pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline, “it was a shitty night and things kept coming up.” His voice holds a hint of frustration behind it.
You look up, resting your chin on his chest. “Bad night?”
“Very.”
You stay quiet as you try to read his expression. He’s always been bad at asking for help from anybody, so you’ve learned to adapt to his needs and figure out what he wants instead. However, it's difficult to do so when his face stays set in the grim expression like he’s holding all his emotions behind that brick wall he's forced around himself.
“I’m gonna go for a ride.”
You let your hand run down the length of his arm until your fingers brush his before stepping back from him and nodding. You’ve learned that when nights are really bad, he’ll go for a ride on his motorcycle by himself to clear his thoughts. He never asks you to go and you never push to go either.
You watch as he walks to the bedroom to grab his helmet and keys before walking back out to where you now stand in the kitchen to make a cup of tea. You feel his gaze burn on your back as you turn on the stove for the kettle to warm before turning to face him again.
“Come with me?” His voice is so quiet, that you barely hear him.
“You want me to go with you?”
He nods once, and that's all the confirmation you need to turn off the stove and walk into the bedroom to change into the riding gear Jason bought you–he’s made it very clear from the beginning that you won’t get on the bike without it. He’s never told you how much he spent on all of it, but when you looked up the brand Alpinestars one night, you found it was the most reliable, but expensive gear on the market.
You walk back out and let him lead you out the door and toward the usual spot where his bike is parked. He helps you into your helmet, like he always does, and then throws on his own with much less care than he did for you. As you throw you leg over the bike and wrap you arms around his chest, you decide to remain quiet for the ride to give him the chance to sort out his own thoughts.
It doesn’t take long to get onto the highway where Jason speeds up to merge on and you keep your arms tightly around his torso as the wind hits your helmet harshly. A quick glance at the speedometer tells you he’s being vigilant about the number and choosing not to speed, likely because of you being on the back of the bike.
It’s quiet this late at night. You don’t pass many other cars as you drive down the street, most establishments that you can make out don’t have any lights on to invite customers, and you’re left with your thoughts. You think about Jason mostly–about how some nights you selfishly wish he didn’t have a double life to fulfill that leads, more often than not, to danger.
About twenty minutes have passed before he's slowing down to take an exit then turning around to get back on the highway, but this time to go back home. There's a few more cars on the road going this direction, which you only notice because Jason has to weave around them more often than he did previously.
You were looking up at the sky, when you heard Jason for the first time through the comms set up on the helmets as the bike sharply move to the left.
“Shit!”
You barely process the car on your right moving into the lane Jason is riding in, before it's too late. Jason tried to avoid the car, but the sharp movement sent the bike out of his control and into the concrete barrier on the side of the road. The bike flips from under both of you, bucking you off and throwing you across the shoulder of the road. You faintly feel your back slam into something painful, but the world quickly falls out of focus and then into nothing.
Jason tried to correct the movement in time, he really did, but the car forced him to turn so sharply that he just couldn’t get the bike to pull away from the barrier. He felt every tumble against the asphalt as he was thrown off.
He’s disoriented, but that's nothing new for him, so he locks the pain into a different part of his mind, and pushes himself to a kneeling position. The now mutilated bike rests on the side of the road with scraps of the motorcycle trailing from where the first collision had happened. As he looks further, his eyes lock onto you, laying on the asphalt, unmoving. His mind narrows to this moment and for the first time since his death, he feels genuine fear.
He pushes himself up the rest of the way, ignoring the protest of his legs, and runs to you as fast as he can while yanking his helmet off so he can see better. Every step he takes feels like he's trudging through mud and can’t get to you fast enough. He’s begging and praying to every God he doesn’t believe in for you to be breathing. He’d give his life again if it meant you could live right now.
Please. Not her. Not my world.
Finally, he's standing before you and dropping unceremoniously onto his knees and pulling your helmet off as quickly as he can while still being gentle. Your eyes are shut, your lips barely parted, and skin indented from the helmet staying securely on you. His fingers make quick work of finding the pulse at your neck, and he could cry at the solid and steady life he feels beating against his fingers. There’s a couple scrapes on your hands, but the gear did good work of keeping you from getting any roadburn like he did.
You likely blacked out from hitting the concrete barrier harshly and having the breath knocked out of you or maybe a concussion depending on how harshly your head collided with the wall. That doesn’t matter to Jason right now though. All he cares about is the fact you're alive.
His forehead drops against yours, and he whispers broken apologies that you can’t hear against your skin. He pulls back to adjust you carefully so your head rests on his lap, then he reaches for his helmet he set aside to rip out the comm inside. He changes the channel from the one he uses when biking with you to the private channel the Bats use.
“Babs?” His voice breaks only slightly as he speaks.
“Red Hood? I thought you were off patrol, what's going on?”
He stares down at your unconscious body, “We got into a wreck on my bike. She's unconscious. She needs medical. Please.”
“Shit, okay I’m on it.”
The faint sound of steady beeping pulls you from your sleep. Your limbs feel too heavy for your body, your head is fuzzy, and as you slowly push your eyes to blink open, everything is five levels too bright. All you see is a plain ceiling and panic rushes through you at the unfamiliar space, and you move to sit up, but a warm hand lands on your shoulder to keep you down.
You quickly look to the side, ready to fight the stranger, but instead you catch sight of the familiar white tuft of hair and emerald eyes. Jason. Your body relaxes against what you now realize is plush bedding beneath you as Jason watches your every move.
“You’re safe.”
“Wh– What happened?” your voice is raw from not using it for a while.
His eyes harden slightly as he blows out a harsh breath through his nose, “I swerved to avoid a car about to hit us, but I lost control of the bike and we crashed.” His voice is gentle as he asks, “Do you remember that?”
Pieces fall into place in your memory as everything comes back to you. The quiet. The car. Swerving. Being thrown off. Hitting the barrier. You nod carefully.
“Good. That's good.”
“It’s bright in here.” You mumble quietly as you blink against the harsh light hitting your eyes.
He lifts his hand to run it across your brow carefully, “You got a concussion. The helmet did what it could, but with the speed you took that hit…,” he trails off. “You’re lucky to have worn the helmet.”
He steps away from you and walks to the light switch, flipping off the light. You're left with the much more tolerable glow of the moon shining through the window to illuminate the room. “Thank you.”
He takes the seat next to the bed you're laying on and you take a moment to glance around the room. There's a desk pushed against the window that's piled high with books that look well loved and some other clutter. A dresser across the other wall with two picture frames: one of Jason, his brothers, and Bruce while the other is a photo of you and Jason. Then as you look to your right, against the bed is a machine that was making the rhythmic beeping–you now realize as your pulse–that pulled you from your sleep.
It slowly hits you that you’re in Jason’s room at Wayne Manor, which is why it wasn’t instantly familiar, because you don’t stay here very often. You turn back to Jason and he's staring at you with watery eyes.
“Jay?”
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I– I couldn’t protect you. I should’ve done something different. Should’ve tried harder.”
You quickly shake your head, but stop when it makes you feel a little dizzy. “No. Jason this wasn’t your fault. You did what you could.”
“I thought you were dead,” his voice is barely a whisper, almost haunted by the memory.
“But I’m not.”
His forehead drops to where your hands are intertwined. “I’m sorry.”
“Jay, honey.” You lift your free hand to run through his soft waves. “It’s not your fault.”
He just clings onto your hand more desperately.
“If it weren't for the gear you bought me, I wouldn’t be here. If you didn’t notice the car coming toward us, this would’ve been worse. You can’t change other people's actions, only how they affect you. You did that for me. I’m here because of you, okay?”
He nods ever so slightly against your arm.
“Thank you for keeping me safe.”
He lifts his head and rests his chin on your arm. A lone tear falls down his cheek and you quickly wipe it away.
“Come here,” you whisper, “the bed’s cold without you.”
He stands up and slides under the covers to wrap his arms around you gently, not wanting to hurt you where you might have bruises. His warmth soothes you immediately as you curl against his side.
“What happened to the driver?”
“Tim’s working on it.”
“Don’t do anything too severe.”
“No promises.” He leans down to press another kiss to your brow as a laugh bubbles from you, even though you know he’s likely not joking.
He holds you through the night and doesn’t let himself fall asleep until you do, wanting to ensure you really are here, alive, in his arms. Once he felt your breathing even out against his chest, he brushed some of the stray hairs from your cheek to gaze at you. He leans in, pressing a feather light kiss to your brow as he whispers, “I won’t fail you again.”
authors note: soooo one of my friends now knows about my account and it's very weird to know she's probably reading this so... hey!
| Synopsis: The two times Jason almost told you he liked you, and the one time he finally did.
| Fluff. Some swearing. 3k words
| Important A/N: I am very sad while posting this tonight. After posting a sneak peak of this in my 'WIP List' a week ago, someone copied and wrote my exact idea days later (unashamedly with the exact same synopsis), and I only found out while browsing the Jason x reader tag last night. (Here is the link to my OG post so you can check the postdate for proof). I'm beyond upset because they uploaded their work before I got a chance to share mine, and I'm worried now people will accuse me of copying them😞. I almost just deleted this entirely, but that would mean hours of work lost. It's one thing to be inspired, but to use the exact same words on such a specific fic without asking is not okay! Anyways, sorry for rant. Please enjoy.
The first time, it was a slip of the tongue. It was as an honest mistake too, one he was surprised he hadn’t made long ago…
That day, like with most days, Jason had preferred to spend it with you.
On one of your many adventures in the winter months, the two of you had found a used bookstore that Jason had come to love, both for the books but also for the hours he could spent with you more or less uninterrupted. It was rundown and smelt heavily of dust and old paper, owned by a little old widow named Mrs. Ruth who liked to pinch his cheeks when saw him. And while Jason thought the location was significantly less important than the company he kept, the rusty shop walls had quickly grown on him, much like the mold near the windows kept growing on the drywall.
It had become something of a secret, one made more special from sharing it with you.
You both hung out there so often lately that Mrs. Ruth had come to expect you, smiling cheerfully when she saw her favorite pair enter the shop. She was nice enough to let you both come in and stay as long as you wanted, just so long as you promised to help her unload new donations whenever they got dropped off, to which you both happily agreed to. A small price to pay for a guaranteed respite from Gotham rain.
“Horror is overrated,” he scoffs on that faithful day, careful hands skimming through the bundles of donated books at his feet.
He was quietly impressed; it was a good haul this week. 15 boxes, each one overfilled with decent quality paperbacks. Must of been a charity thing.
The banter between you both was effortless, but the bickering came just as easily; just as craved.
“So’s being a vigilante… yet here we are.” you fire back, making sure your voice was low enough for only him to hear.
Not that you thought Mrs. Ruth’s 80-year-old ears were perky enough to pick up on your words- often you had to yell while right in front of her- but there was something undeniably more playful about whispering an insult than yelling it.
“I think,” he interjects as he takes a few books out, “you’re just jealous.”
“I think, you’re a dork,” you correct, focusing on sorting the chaos of your own pile, momentarily distracted by the embroidery on an artsy cover.
“And I think I love y-” and he catches himself.
Thank fuck he catches himself.
The words had come too easily. Being with you lately had become way too easy. You didn’t seem to notice his grave slip up- too preoccupied with appreciating the covers of a fresh pile of dramas- and thank fuck for that too, because he wouldn’t have known what to do if you had.
Jason Todd liked you, and it was far past the point of friendly. But he wasn’t ready to accept what that meant. Not yet.
He goes back into digging in his own box, hoping his ears stop burning by time you look back up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The second time, it happens in the quiet sanctuary of the Belfry, and you had been the one to make the first step.
Well, kind of.
That night, you had heard through the grapevine, also known as Barbara Gordon, that one Helena Bertinelli had come to visit Gotham. Her visit (or more accurately, her mission) had been a short and successful one, but she apparently had one more goal in mind before disappearing again.
And that goal had been to ask out the infamous Red Hood to a night out and dinner.
It was the kind of gossip that would have left you sick to the stomach and with a broken heart if not for the smug update Barbara had been quick to bestow to you—while yes the Huntress had asked, the Hood had said no.
And just like that, the huge weight in your stomach had turned to featherlight butterflies. Those pesky bugs had yet to leave, even as you found yourself in his presence hours later.
He had said no.
You weren’t sure when exactly your feelings for him had evolved, but with each passing day it was becoming more and more of a chore to lie to yourself. To lie to him. The only thing keeping your silly crush at bay had been the fear of rejection and potentially ruining your friendship, refusing to ever bring up your feelings for him until you knew with utmost certainty that he felt the same.
Was this it? What this that moment?
He had said no.
Jason’s working on his bike when you enter the tower, his brow furred in the way it always was when he was focused on something.
“So…” you hum in a singsong voice, pretending to look over his handiwork as if you knew what he was doing. As if it actually interested you right now.
Amused, he raises an eyebrow as his eyes follow you, your suspicious behavior not going unnoticed.
Not that you were genuinely trying to hide it.
“I heard through the grapevine that Huntress asked you out on a date.” You smile at him impishly, and he rolls his eyes and turns away.
“By grapevine,” he scoffs, moving back to the machinery, “I take it you mean Barbara?”
You shrug, still playing the part of pure innocence.
“…Well?” You ask, and he just shakes his head.
“Well what, sweetheart?”
The name makes your heart do flips in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he called you a pet name, but it had always seemed platonic in the past. It didn’t feel that way anymore.
“Did you say yes?” You urge despite knowing the answer already, finding yourself needing that confirmation.
You needed to hear it from him. Needed it, like your lungs needed air. Like your life needed Jason. And with the way his shoulders suddenly tensed up, he must have sensed your feelings too.
He takes a deep breath before turning to look out you. His eyes are warm in a way that was different then how he usually looked at you. It was almost foreign. He looked vulnerable— scared.
“No. I told her no.” He murmurs, and the butterflies multiply.
“Is she not your type?” You ask just a breath too eager, inching into a territory you knew you wouldn’t be able to get back from.
Judging by the subtle blush that now dusted his cheeks, Jason felt it as well. He makes no effort to stop it.
“…No. She isn’t.” He breathes out, eyes scanning over the fuel system of his bike so he wouldn’t have to look at you in that moment.
You knew what he was doing. You push anyways, and he’s so thankful that you do.
“Who is your type?” You murmur, and take another step towards him.
He looks up at you again, and there is a rawness in his eyes you hadn’t ever seen before. Not fear, not anymore. It was yearning. It makes you take another step closer. And then another one. He takes one too.
He reaches a tentative hand toward you like he can’t decide if he should pull you close, and you reach out to entwine your fingers through his. He shudders; It was a perfect a fit, like his flesh had been molded with the sole purpose of holding yours. Jason looks you over with a desperation that matched yours, his mouth opening to say the words you waited months to hear.
…What you hear instead is the hooting and hollering coming from a discarded intercom, the dramatic voice recognizable even through the static.
You both pull back, startled. The moment was gone.
“Anyone have any updates on the Croc situation? Or just want some company? I’m lonely. Over.” Dick continues, completely oblivious to what he just interrupted.
Jason hisses at the sound and glares dagger towards it, running a hand through his hair as he curses his brother out with passion and vocabulary only an expert booklover could have possessed. It shouldn’t be funny- you should be fuming that the moment was ripped from the both of you- but when you hear him mutter the term “plague sore” all you can do is laugh.
The sound catches him off guard from his Shakespearean rant, but after a few seconds of basking in the sound of your cackles, Jason tries to laugh too, mostly to diffuse the thickness still in the air.
The smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
This was the second time he had almost told you he liked you, and he while he had escaped from facing the repercussions once again, he knew in his gut that next time he wouldn’t be spared, and he would have to face you and tell you what he’s wanted to for months.
The prospect frightened him, but with the way your laughter was making his heart beat, he knew it was inevitable.
After all…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Third time’s the charm.
It had been almost a week since the almost confession. The almost kiss.
It was also almost his birthday, and you were clinging to the haphazardly wrapped gift in your hands like your life depended on it. Well… maybe life was too far a stretch, but your breathing certainly depended on the feeling of the crinkly plastic beneath your fingers.
You had wanted to wait for the actual day to give it to him, really you did. But there was a new sense of impatience in the air as of recently, and it seemed it would not be so kind as to spare his birthday.
Especially with what the gift was, and what it meant once you gave it to him.
After the incident at the Belfry, and the almost success of you making the first move, you were only inspired to try once again. Jason wasn’t shy by any means; at least he hadn’t seemed to be in the time you had known him, but he was frustratingly very good at hiding what he really felt when the situation hinted towards romance.
Being the good friend that you were (and hopefully after today, something more), you had decided for him. Enough was enough.
So here you were, knocking on his apartment at 8:16 in the morning.
Immediately you can hear the frantic, panicked thumps of his feet through the door- surely you wouldn’t be here so early if you weren’t okay?- and you felt bad for not feeling bad at all. He opens its and instantly looks you over, his hair disheveled and eyes red with exhaustion.
You had woken him up, that much was obvious, but instead of anger all he had for you was concern.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?”
Your heart flutters as you take him in. Woken up in a start and the first thing he had been was worried about you. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. You hadn’t heard the peephole move either. He had recognized you by the sound of your knock.
The butterflies were quick to come back.
“Nothing, I just wanted to see you.”
“W-what?” He rubs his eyes like he didn’t hear you properly.
“I just wanted to see you.” You repeat, fidgeting with the gift you were still hiding behind your back, “I have your birthday gift and I wanted to give it to you.”
You move around him to get out of the doorway, walking into his living room while offering him a sheepish smile. The alertness in his posture slowly fades as he registers your words.
He looks at you bewildered, more tired than ever.
“But… my birthday’s not until next week,” he says sleepy and exasperated, and you can’t help but laugh.
“I know that, I’m here to give it to you early! What kind of friend do you think I am, I have your birthday memorized.”
“Oh.” He says, and he offers you a small smile back. “Can I have it, then?”
“Tsk. Patience is a virtue, you know.” you chide, but there’s no real bite behind it. You don’t think you would be able to wait another minute either to be honest. His gift is still tucked away behind your back, but it wouldn’t have take a masterclass detective to figure out you were hiding it back there. You’re looking at him with a giddy smile, practically bouncing with excitement.
Jason isn’t able to stop the growing smile that spreads across his sleepy face. Patience is absolutely not his virtue. But your excitement is just so damn infectious, so damn sweet, standing there with your mysterious little gift behind your back and that soft goddamn smile on your face... God, he's smitten. Yeah, he could be patient for you, even at 8am in the morning. If that’s what you wanted him to be.
“Are you ready?” You ask, butterflies swarming.
"Yeah, yeah. Ready.” he laughs, eyes fixed on you in intense anticipation.
Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you slowly move the gift from behind your back and hand it to him. You bite your lip nervously, watching as he takes the colorful thing and begins to gently rip off the wrapping paper.
It was now or never.
He’s quick with his fingers, the wrapping paper falling away to reveal an old, lovingly torn book that has been clearly reread a hundred times, littered with multiple sticky tabs and annotations all around the edges. The spine was breaking and the pages smelled like dust. To anyone else, it wouldn’t have meant anything, maybe even have been junk. But Jason wasn’t just anybody, and he recognizes what it was immediately. He freezes.
You begin to fidget. You know that he knows what it is, but you can’t help but want to explain yourself anyways.
“It’s…it’s the first book you ever recommended to me. The one you bought for me back at our bookstore? I wrote all my thoughts and annotations in it since then; shit, I must of read it a dozen times. I also got Mrs. Ruth to sign it inside and write a few things on her favorite parts, since she had been so stoked that I was reading it… You know, just to make it more special…” and your voice fades away.
His fingers, rough and calloused, pause over the book’s worn cover. He remembers every damn detail about giving you this book like it had been yesterday. And now here it was, returned with your touch all over every page.
Your face is warm, and you’re glad he’s too busy staring at the gift to notice how utterly dorky you look right now. You continue to speak to fill up the quiet room.
“I know I don’t share my feelings with you all the time. Or I guess, I don’t say what I feel, even when I feel it for you. And feel it bad. When I know you feel it too.” Tentatively you beckon to the book.
“I found it easier to write out my thoughts than just deal with them silently, and I figured you would appreciate that, especially with this book. I know you mentioned being super curious on what I thought about it, so I wrote everything. Thoughts, feelings, plot guesses, who I liked… all that. Just… Everything.”
Jason stares down at the book in his hands, completely stunned. His jaw clenches, like he's having to physically keep himself from getting too emotional. No one has...no one's done anything even remotely close to this for him before. No one has put this much goddamn thought, this much care, into a gift. He feels his chest tighten, a lump starting to form in his throat as he gently opens the book to a random page. He immediately sees the first annotation and it's like a hit straight to the goddamn chest.
You look over and see what he’s looking at, a cheesy smile taking over when you recognize the page. It was at a section where the main character finally confronts her soulmate to tell him she loved him, after finally having the courage to do so. On the page, you had made a note: ‘I hope to be this brave for you too, one day’.
He doesn’t move, just stares down at the silly gift that looks much smaller in his large hands. You gulp, slightly nervous that this gift was stupid, or too much, or too clear, but it was done. The ball was in his court now.
There was no words that could be taken back. No Nightwing’s to ruin the moment. Just you, him, and a gift that could change everything. One you hoped would.
His voice comes out rough when he finally speaks again.
"Honey..." And he sounds completely fucking wrecked.
Your heart beats frantically in your chest.
Jason can’t help the way his fingers tremble ever so slightly as they trace over the words you wrote. Your hope, your vulnerability, your fucking heart, splayed out in ink for him to see. He had spent countless nights worried you would never know of his love for you due to his own cowardice, and yet here it is, returned right back to him, written down in a way that he can hold onto forever.
He looks back at you, his expression completely raw. You look back at him, with a burning that is just as bright.
He slowly puts the book down, and walks over to you like he’s being pulled by an invisible leash. He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in, and does what he should of done about two incidents ago.
“I love you,” he says, and he’s ready this time.
He closes the distance and pulls you in for a kiss.
You might have seen me recently throughout tumblr with the name @ jtsoneandonly
However I got hacked because I fell for a scam 😭
I'm hoping that tumblr will give me access back to my account but for the time being, this is my new account. Please reblog this post, especially if you ever interacted with my account before! If not, please just let people know incase they use the account to message others.
I've honestly never felt more stupid but I also can't stay away from tumblr so i've made a new one.
Please don't report the account or anything, I do not want them to delete my account! I just want to warn anyone that any content posted from now on will not be me, the last post I made was about how my account might be deleted. Please don't message the account either as I don't want the hacker to do anything to the account.
Im honestly so upset because I've had the account for over 8 years and have so many memories and posts on that account that I don't want to lose. 8 years of pain, 8 years of shit posts and so many followers and friends made.
Please please PLEASE don't fall for any scam that someone reported your account for scam and phishing. Especially since they have my account, they'll use it to message people about the same thing
If anyone has advice at all, please do message me. I'm at a complete loss and have never felt so down and dumb than now.
im not gonna harp on and on but like your feelings as a non black person will never be more important or valuable than those of the black people in your life when they’re telling you that you’ve made them uncomfortable and if you are uncomfortable hearing this you need to sit back and unpack why and make an effort to undo and address whatever existing racist biases you may have bc your allyship and how you want it to appear isn’t worth more than a living, breathing persons comfort and never will be
i think its been made clear that no minors or people w ageless blogs cannot interact w my blog. you will be blocked.
if theres any miscommuntication and you happen to have not added your age by accident, input your user and ill run it through.
no hate comments, and no hate in general ill block/ignore you. dont waste your time in trying. if my writing bothers you, then dont interact with me. its simple.
obviously, be kind in my inbox, messages and comments.
my reader will always be female, i apologise if thats not enough for you, but as someone who is a female and i ak comfortable with writing female characters, that is what you will be given. though i will take requests for writing trans jjk men. thatll be fun.
reader will be bisexual in some oneshots, smaus and long fics, i will put that in warnings beforehand.
i will only take requests for female characters in smaus and oneshots, though requests are closed until further notice.
i will take smau reqs for minor characters, as long as its not nsfw.
requests for smaus are always open!! thats a plus.
any assumptions of ai will be ignored. its utterly offensive. and plain rude.
no heavy venting, spamming, allowed.
dni w me if you are racist, homophobic, charlie kirk supporter, misogynistic, donald trump, ICE or an isreali supporter.
do not ask my ethnicity. i will ignore you.
when requests are closed, DO NOT SEND ME your requests. save them for when they are opened.
do not ask me to write for another anime/fandom. if i choose to do so i will make another blog to centre around writing a diff fandom. this certain blog is for jjk only.
i will write for - sukuna, gojo, toji, shui, choso, nanami, and sometimes ino and higurama.
i will never do a face reveal. i have done it once and it didnt end very well. so dont ask me.
you are free to send in insta links, i do not have tik tok so tik tok links wont come through.
dont ask for my socials. thats none of your business.
pls tag me if you take inspo from my works. itd be nice to read it!
i can be insanely blunt sometimes, so i apologise if you interpret it as rudeness. no i will not change my way of speech.
dont talk to me if your a toxic feminist. (yes the women who hate men get away from me) your not at all special for thinking women are superior. it cringes me out.
i will ignore your messages/inbox or comments if they make me feel uncomfortable.
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
titsay
