This is a dream I had last night that was so vidid an wild I wanted to write it up and archive it somwhere.
(I worote this immediately after waking up so my spelling is dogshit sorry)
I was in some horror video game backrooms level type of bullshit. It was a bar/diner fusion in a snow blizzard. I had died in a diffrent level and a group of people at the diner 'revived me' but they were sus. Like overly friendly video game npc sus. Spoiler alert: mind control. I then I asked if any of my friends with me could be revived bscause i was in a group and they said no it was 'too late for them'.
In the dinner I watched how all the other people looked and acted and it was packed almost all seats taken. Everyone was eating but they also looked high and their eyes we're red. They introduced me to the manager and it was some steryotypical middle aged white guy with a bald spot and an attitude. He sat me down at a bar stool and told me to eat somthing. immediately didn't trust any food when he said that. He handed me some biscuits and gravy with chicken fingers dipped and sticking out. I pretended to eat them and apparently I did a good enough job that the manager told me I should go to the bathroom and freshen up because I don't look like I'm not doing too well.
The walk to the bathroom was horrible because I had the food in my mouth that I was descretly going to spit into the toilet. I was beginning to get really bad hallucinations and it looked like all of the customers were staring at me, I was getting the stereotypical drunk/bad weed trip effect, and I felt dizzy. The minute I got into the bathroom I spat the food directly into the toilet and then started panicing about how to get out with my friends bodies without them finding out. Additionally it's not like I could easily leave with the blizzard outside. I still had some side effects from the food in my system but not as bad so I tried to peek out of the bathroom and it didn't look good. I ended up looking in the other stalls and found a girl in one. For some fucking reason because dream logic, I took my thumbs and wiped away the redness in her (open) eyes and thats how she broke out of mind control (Idk why that specifically).
So yay somone else is dragged into this lucid too. Bad news the manager guy knows and now theres a bunch of people trying to find us. What do we do? Go from place to place finding isolated peoole and convert them back. It works be cause of plot armour (except for a scene where he cwtches me and attempts to butcher my arm off) and now theres a much of people activly in the open un-mind controling people or fighting them. The manager guy is pissed as fuck because he's the ring leader. My friends end up getting revived and they also join in and its a fucking mess. One of them thinks its a perfect time for some tunes picks up an electric guitar from the wall, stands on the bar table and shreds.
Summary: Jason’s on a sex ban— or quite literally, a complete touch ban!
warnings: whiny, pathetic Jason.
Jason Todd was an absolute idiot, there was no denying that. But he was a very desperate idiot. And he was willing to do anything if it meant you’d touch him again. You see, you’d put him on a complete sex/touch ban for three entire weeks, and well? Jason was not taking it well.
By day twelve of the three-week sentence, the fearsome Red Hood had effectively ceased to exist. In his place was a six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-fifteen-pound disaster who was entirely losing his grip on reality.
Jason didn’t do things by halves. When he was a crime lord, he took over the East End. When he was an Outlaw, he traveled through space and time. And when he was put on a strict ban by the only person who held his entire heart in her hands, he turned into this absolute menace of compliance.
The apartment had never been cleaner. It was, quite frankly, terrifying.
When you walked through the front door after an exhausting shift, you didn't just smell the familiar scent of Gotham rain and Jason’s expensive cologne. You smelled lemon verbena. You smelled freshly bleached tile
You stepped into the kitchen and paused. The countertops were sparkling so intensely they practically caught the light. Every single dish was not only washed, dried, and put away, but the spice rack had been meticulously alphabetized. Even the labels on the canned goods were facing perfectly forward.
And there, standing by the stove, was Jason.
He was wearing a pair of dark sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a tight, sleeveless black compression shirt that showed off every single rigid muscle, and scar, across his broad back. And the sight normally should’ve been enough for you to jump onto him, He was currently plate-stacking three different Tupperware containers of custom-marinated chicken breasts, a batch of freshly roasted vegetables, and a pot of handmade gnocchi.
The moment the lock clicked, Jason didn’t just look up. His entire body snapped to attention. His dark eyes locked onto yours with this frantic, high-alert energy that reminded you of a stray puppy.
He didn't break the rules. His large, heavily calloused hands clamped firmly onto the edge of the kitchen island to physically anchor himself in place, but his broad shoulders slouched instantly into a pathetic, pleading posture.
"Hey," he said. His voice was incredibly rough, a deep, gravelly rumble that sounded completely worn out, like he hadn't slept in a week— which he hasn’t. How could he without your hugs and kisses?. "I made dinner. I made the gnocchi from scratch. The way your grandma does it, with the potato-to-flour ratio you like. And I prepped your lunches for the next four days."
You set your bag down, looking at the sheer volume of food, then at the pristine kitchen. "Jason... did you scrub the baseboards?"
"Yes," he blurted out, shifting his weight from one heavy foot to the other, his eyes tracking your every movement with an agonizing level of pining. "And I ran the vacuum over the carpet three times to get the lines perfectly straight. And I picked up Lily’s toys and sanitized every single block with baby-safe wipes so she doesn't ingest any rogue bacteria. I did it all."
"Wow," you murmured, leaning against the counter. "You've been busy."
"I'm losing my mind," Jason confessed, his voice dropping into a soft, intensely whiny pitch that would have shocked anyone who had ever seen him pull a trigger. He let go of the counter, taking one agonizingly slow step toward you, but stopping exactly two feet away to respect the boundary. He looked down at you from under his dark lashes, his jaw tight, his white streak of hair falling messily across his forehead. "Babe. Sweetheart. Light of my life. Look at me. I am literally vibrating. I haven't slept in forty-eight hours because every time I close my eyes, I just think about how I'm not allowed to hold you."
"It's only been twelve days, Jay," you teased, crossing your arms and fighting the massive smirk tugging at your lips.
"Twelve days is two hundred and eighty-eight hours!" Jason groaned, a loud, muffled sound of pure misery escaping his throat as he dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Do you know what I did last night? On patrol? I didn't even break any noses. A guy tried to mug a tourist in an alley, and instead of hurting him I settled on throwing him into a dumpster. I'm broken. You've broken the Red Hood."
He dropped his gaze back to you, his chest rising and falling in a heavy, desperate exhale. He slowly sunk downward, dropping his massive, muscular frame right onto his knees on your kitchen tile. He looked up at you from the floor, his hands resting on his own thighs, completely and utterly humbled.
"Please," Jason pleaded, his gravelly voice cracking slightly as he looked up at you with wide, desperate eyes. "Look at me. I'm on my knees. I'm saying the words. I'll be a good boy, sweetheart. I swear to God, I'll be the best boy you’ve ever had. I’ll never let Roy inside a three-block radius of this building again. I’ll make him sign a legal waiver. I’ll personally rewrite Lily’s vocabulary list. I will literally do anything.”
You looked down at him, your heart melting just a little bit at the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of Gotham’s most dangerous vigilante begging for his life on your kitchen floor.
"Are you begging, Jason Todd?" you murmured, stepping half an inch closer.
"Yes! Yes, I am absolutely begging, I have zero shame left," he whispered frantically, his dark eyes instantly tracking your movement, glowing with a sudden, fierce spark of hope. He leaned forward slightly, though he kept his hands firmly on his knees. "I don't even need the whole thing. Just a deal. Let me negotiate. A partial payout. Five minutes of cuddles on the couch. You don't even have to move. I will just lie there like a giant, silent weighted blanket. I won't use my hands. I'll tuck them under my chest. Just let me smell your hair, babe. Please."
"Just cuddles?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A kiss," he corrected instantly, his voice taking on a thick, desperate edge as he looked at your lips. "One kiss. Short. Sweet. Clean. Well, maybe not entirely clean, but just *something*. My lips are falling off, sweetheart. They’re dying. I'm a dying man."
You let out a soft laugh, finally breaking your resolve. The sight of him on his knees, completely devoted, utterly whiny, and entirely yours was too much to resist. You reached out, your fingers gently sliding into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.
Jason practically shuddered at the touch, a low, ragged sigh breaking from his chest as he immediately leaned his face into your palm, his eyes closing in pure, unadulterated relief.
"Alright," you whispered, running your thumb over his sharp jawline. "The ban is suspended. Just for tonight."
Jason didn't even wait for you to finish the sentence. He surged up from the floor, his large, powerful arms instantly wrapping around your waist and lifting you completely off your feet. He pulled you flush against his broad chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a deep, shaky inhale.
"Oh, thank God," he mumbled against your skin
He didn't waste a second moving you to the living room, collapsing onto the couch and pulling you down on top of him. He was a man possessed by pure, desperate compliance, his massive frame sinking deep into the cushions until he was completely flat on his back, using his own chest as a platform for you.
"Rules," he breathed out, his voice a rough, scraped-raw whisper against your hair. He immediately tucked both of his massive, scarred hands flat underneath his own chest, pinning them between his body and the sofa cushions. He looked up at you from the pillows, his jaw open slightly, his eyes wide and completely glazed over with absolute devotion. "Look. Hands are away. I’m not moving 'em. See? Good boy."
You couldn't help the soft laugh that bubbled out of you, leaning your weight fully against his chest. Even stripped of his weapons and armor, Jason was a solid wall of muscle, but right now, he felt completely pliable beneath you, his entire body relaxing into a soft, heavy puddle the second your warmth pressed into him.
"Very good boy, Jay," you murmured, tracing a slow line down his cheekbone.
Jason practically whimpered at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his face aggressively into your palm, chasing the friction of your skin like a man dying of thirst. "More," he pleaded, his voice cracking, entirely unbothered by how pathetic he sounded. "Babe, please. Just keep doing that. Left side of my jaw. Right there. Oh, God."
You smiled, leaning down slowly until your lips were just a fraction of an inch away from his. You could feel the frantic, heavy thump of his heart hammering against your ribs, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The fearsome Red Hood was completely paralyzed under your gaze, his chest rising and falling beneath you as he waited for permission.
"Can I?" he whispered, his dark eyes snapping open, staring at your mouth with a hunger that was almost frightening, yet he didn't move a single muscle to take it. "Please, sweetheart. Just a little bit. I’ve been so good for you."
"Go ahead, Jay."
The second the words left your mouth, Jason didn't lunge—he just reached up with his face, his lips meeting yours with a soft, trembling reverence that completely dismantled the tough-guy persona. It was a deep, heavy, agonizingly slow kiss, full of the built-up tension of the last twelve days. He drank you in like oxygen, a low, needy vibration rumbling deep in his chest as his lips parted against yours, begging for more without his hands ever leaving their pinned position beneath him.
Hunhbknhjnkk oh my goodness this man he’s so fine wtf
pairing: jason todd x gn!reader
synopsis: getting out of bed in the morning is never easy with him...
cw: none, fluff, established relationship, jason being clingy
wc: 600
a/n: wrote this half asleep, so it's ass but idc
art creds: the talented @ciricearts!
Jason masterlist
You slam your palm against your alarm before it can ring a second time—a habit you’ve developed out of your hatred for it.
You take a moment before stretching and yawning. The heavy arm draped over your waist twitches before it tightens its grip on you. You let your head fall back and sigh.
Not again.
He nuzzles closer, slotting his face right in the crook of your neck.
“Baby?” You whisper.
No response.
“Jay,” you mutter, a little louder.
He stirs, his eyes fluttering open. He lets out a groggy groan.
“‘S too early… go back to sleep,” he mumbles, his words slurring together as he speaks against your neck.
“No, it’s not early. I have work in two hours. So could you please get off me? I need to get ready.”
“Don’t go, stay with me.” He finally pulls away and looks up at you with those hypnotizing green eyes.
They’re dim and half-lidded from sleep, and his hair is sticking up in all directions.
You smile at the sight. He always made it hard to get out of bed.
“I can’t, you know that.” You lean down to kiss his forehead.
He seems to take that as an invitation because he immediately props himself up with his arms and moves to loom over you, before peppering your face, jaw and neck with lazy, sloppy kisses.
“Jason—“ you click your tongue in annoyance.
“Yes?” He asks in between pecks.
“We’re not doing this again— get off me!”
He pulls back to stare down at you with a serious expression, as if this were life or death to him.
“Just gimme a minute,” he mutters before leaning down again, this time meeting your lips with his, effectively stealing the air right out of your lungs.
He breaks the kiss for just a second to stare at you, before diving back in.
You turn your head to the side, making him miss his target, but he instead just resorts to pressing a tender kiss to your cheek.
“I’m gonna be late!”
“Jus’ one more, please.” He mumbles, chasing your lips and splitting them apart with his tongue. He swallows the little gasp that escapes you.
You kiss him back, letting him have this one. When he's finally done, you speak again.
“Satisfied? Can I go now?”
He looks down at you, eyes foggy and face blank. “... fine." he releases you, and you take the opportunity to quickly get up before he can change his mind.
He slumps against the mattress again, face smooshed against the pillow.
You make your way to the bathroom to shower and get ready.
Once you come back out, you rummage through the dresser and find your clothes.
Finally done, you make your way back to his side of the bed. He's still half asleep.
"Jay," you whisper.
He lets out a small hum, his eyebrows lifting, as he opens one of his eyes to look at you.
"I'm gonna go now, okay? Leftovers are in the fridge." you brush his hair out of his forehead, and cup his jaw, before landing a soft kiss on his lips.
You try to pull away, but his arm has already snaked itself behind your neck, keeping you close to him. His other hand finds your hip, and he tugs you back down on the bed with him.
You gasp, and try to get out of his hold but it's no use. "Jason, I have to go!—" you mumble against his lips.
"I know, just give me a minute," he breathes out.
You giggle despite being mildly irritated, unable to help yourself.
Maybe you should make him sleep on the couch from now to avoid having to deal with this.
A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about this and wrote it in the past three days.
The apartment was quiet in that ugly, airless way it always was after a fight.
It felt like the walls had heard too much and were holding their breath, waiting for the next thing to break. Outside, the city kept moving, with ribbons of light and traffic dragging red and white across the dark. Inside, only the lamp on the side table, the hiss of the radiator, and the silence Jason wore like a punishment he thought he deserved remained.
You sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, angled away from him just enough to make the distance obvious. The book was open in your lap. You hadn’t turned a page in ages. You didn’t look at him. That, more than the argument, was starting to get to Jason. You could see it.
He was still in the clothes he’d come back in. Black shirt stretched across his shoulders, sleeves shoved up his forearms, collar pulled out of shape from where he’d dragged a hand through it. Scarred knuckles. Shadowed jaw. The white streak at his temple catching the lamp light every time he moved. Usually, he wore his size like armor. Like a threat. Like something you couldn’t move if you tried.
Tonight, he looked restless.
He’d already tried twice.
The first time was a rough, muttered, "look, I know I was a dick." Tossed into the room like he hoped you’d catch it and save him from having to say more. You didn’t answer. The second try was quieter, lower, a real attempt hiding under irritation. "You gonna keep ignoring me all night?"
Still nothing.
You heard the breath leave him then. Jason recalculating. Jason, who could bulldoze through anything when he was angry, who knew how to fight, threaten, deflect, and charm, was now forced into the humiliating shape of patience. He had been wrong, and you both knew it.
The fight still hung between you in pieces. Sharp pieces. Him saying something cruel because he was angry, because he wanted the last word, because sometimes Jason’s temper arrived before his better instincts and scorched everything softer on its way through. You telling him to get out of your face. Jason not listening quickly enough. The slam of a cabinet. The scrape in his voice when he realized too late that he’d gone too far.
Now the apartment wore the aftermath like smoke in the air.
You finally turned a page.
It was a small movement, but Jason’s eyes snapped to your hands like he was starving for any sign you were still there. He hovered near the kitchen for another beat, shoulders tight, then dragged a hand down his mouth and did something that made a hot, incredulous pulse of amusement flicker under your anger.
He crossed the room and lowered himself to the floor.
At first, it wasn't in front of you. He settled beside the couch, close enough that his knee brushed the rug near your foot. Then he shifted, one big hand braced on the cushion, and leaned in until his chin rested on your knee.
The contact was warm through your pants. Heavy. Intentional.
You looked down at him at last.
Jason looked up under dark lashes, blue-green eyes sharp in the low light. Watchful. Careful. Like he was stepping barefoot over broken glass and trying not to bleed. His mouth was set in that stubborn line he wore when he was forcing himself not to get defensive.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
Then you closed the book over one finger to mark the page and asked, very flatly, “Are you a dog now?”
Something in his face changed.
The tension in his mouth bent around the edge of something dangerous and entertained. His eyes flicked over yours, reading, measuring.
Then Jason made a low sound in his throat and barked once.
It wasn’t even close to a real bark, which somehow made it worse. Or better. It came out rough with amusement, low from his chest, making the room feel smaller. After, he raised one eyebrow at you like he was offering politeness as a performance, like he knew exactly how ridiculous he looked on the floor at your knee and was choosing to use it anyway.
Look? See? I can behave.
I’m yours. Notice me.
The laugh that almost rose in you burned off before it could reach your mouth. You were still angry. That mattered. Him trying didn’t erase the way he’d spoken to you. Didn’t erase the silence you’d wrapped around yourself to keep from saying something just as sharp back.
Still, your fingers twitched on the spine of the book.
Jason noticed. Of course he did. His pupils were already a little blown in the dim room, but they widened at that tiny movement, a dark bloom eating into the color of his eyes. You saw the moment hope touched him, ugly, eager, and badly hidden. He didn’t move away from your knee. If anything, he let more of his weight settle there, as if he wanted you to feel the apology in the shape of him.
“C’mon,” he said quietly. “You gonna make me grovel forever?”
You held his gaze for another second, then set the book aside on the arm of the couch with deliberate care.
Jason’s eyes dropped to your hand as if it were a weapon.
You just sighed in return.
His breath changed.
It was subtle at first. A deeper pull through his nose, a pause after. You saw the muscles shift in his throat when he swallowed. Jason liked control, even when he pretended not to. Maybe especially then. He liked knowing where the ground was. What you were doing now, giving him just enough to keep him kneeling there and nothing more, was getting under his skin in a way shouting never could.
Good.
He deserved to squirm.
You uncrossed your legs slowly. Jason’s chin slid with the movement, his mouth parting for half a second before he caught himself. Up close, you could see the tension collecting in him in small, precise places: the flex in his jaw, the pulse in his neck, the way his fingers curled once against the cushion and then flattened. A man built for impact, for speed, for force. All of it going taut under stillness.
When you leaned toward him, he went very quiet.
One of your hands came up first, hovering near his face just long enough to make him track it. Then your fingers slid into his hair.
Jason shut his eyes for the briefest instant.
His hair was thick, softer than his reputation had any right to be. Still a little messy from the fight and from the hands he kept shoving through it when he was frustrated. It curled faintly at the crown when it got too long. Your fingers threaded through the white highlights first, then settled into the darker strands towards the crown of his head, sinking into his scalp, and Jason exhaled.
There.
That reaction.
You felt it move through him all at once. The drag of his inhale, suddenly unsteady. His shoulders dropped and tightened at the same time. The smallest press of his chin into your knee, unable not to lean into the touch that had finally come after all that silence.
His eyes opened again, slower this time, and they were darker than before.
You tightened your hand in his hair and yanked.
Jason’s head snapped back.
Not violently. Maybe closer to a sting. At least enough to make his face tilt up to you, to strip away the angle he’d been hiding behind and make him look. His breath caught. His pupils blew wide, swallowing almost all the color from his eyes. For one sharp second, every line in his body went still with shock.
Then heat rolled through his expression so fast it was almost brutal.
His lips parted. The tendons in his neck stood out under the skin. One hand came off the cushion and landed against your calf, big and warm and instinctive, but he didn’t grip. He just held there, like he knew one wrong move would break whatever wire had just gone live between you.
Your anger hadn’t left. It sat under your ribs, heavy and smoldering, feeding the pulse in your throat. But now it had changed temperature. Now it had teeth.
Jason stared up at you like he couldn’t decide whether he’d been punished or rewarded.
You could feel the shape of his breathing through your hand, tangled in his hair. Every inhale scraped him on the way in. His lashes flickered once. There was something almost wrecked in the look he gave you, not because he was sorry, though he was, but because he knew exactly what you were doing with the apology he’d brought you, and he was letting you do it anyway.
You want forgiveness, you thought, watching his throat work again. Look at you.
The room pulled tighter around you. The lamp hummed. Somewhere outside, a siren passed and faded. Jason’s thumb shifted once against your leg, a tiny involuntary drag that said more than any argument. His body knew before his pride did. Maybe that was always the problem. Jason felt everything with his whole body. Anger. Loyalty. Want. Regret. He carried all of it like it had mass.
You leaned closer.
His gaze dropped to your mouth, then jerked back to your eyes. That quick flicker of attention made something sharp and mean curl in your stomach. You kept your hand tight in his hair, holding his head tipped back, and saw another shiver move through him when your knees nearly brushed his chest.
He did not speak.
Smart.
Your other hand came down to the back of the couch for balance as you bent toward him, slow enough to make him live inside every inch of it. Jason’s breathing was audible now. Quiet, but there. You felt the warmth of it against your wrist. Saw the way his chest expanded under the black fabric, too fast, too deep. The scar near his throat moved when he swallowed.
When your mouth reached his ear, his eyes shut.
Not all the way. Just enough to betray him.
Your lips barely brushed the shell of his ear as you whispered, “You’re so fucking pathetic.”
The effect was immediate.
Jason inhaled like the words had gone straight into his bloodstream. His fingers flexed against your calf, not enough to hold, just enough to confess. The hand in his hair went tighter by accident, and you felt the tremor that ran through him, small but unmistakable. Want, humiliation, apology, frustration, all of it colliding behind the hard plane of his face until he looked almost feral with the effort of staying still.
His eyes opened again after a second, and there was nothing careful left in them.
No, that wasn’t true. There was still care. He was still watching you for the line, for the point where this stopped being punishment and became something else. But it had gone molten now, threaded through with a hunger he wasn’t even trying to hide. His pupils were huge. His mouth slightly open. You could feel the heat coming off him in waves.
It would have been easy, right then, to kiss him.
Maybe that was what he thought you were going to do, because his head tilted by a fraction against your hand, not pushing, just offering. A question he didn’t dare ask aloud. The old instinct to meet force with force, heat with heat, to let the fight burn into something else entirely.
Instead, you let go of his hair.
Jason’s breath hitched at the loss.
You stood.
He stayed where he was for one stunned heartbeat, staring up at you from the floor. Hair mussed from your fingers. Face sharpened by the amber light and the flush just starting to rise under his skin. You could see his mind catching up, trying to decide if you were dismissing him or leading him somewhere worse.
Better.
You stepped around him and moved toward the bedroom.
The apartment felt different at your back now. Charged. Close. You heard Jason turn before you looked. You heard the quiet sound of his hand bracing against the floor as he shifted to follow you with his eyes. There was weight in every step you took, not because you hurried, but because you didn’t. You knew he was watching the line of your shoulders, the tilt of your head, and the cruelty of walking away after leaving him kneeling there, lit up with nowhere to put it.
Halfway down the short hall, you glanced back.
Jason was still on the floor, but barely. One knee up under him, his body already coiling to rise. His expression had gone intent, almost dangerous. Like a dog hearing the click before the command, every nerve turned toward you. The lamp light caught in his eyes and turned them wild. He looked bigger suddenly, all that force gathering itself.
You leaned one shoulder against the bedroom doorway.
For a moment, you just looked at him. Let the silence stretch. Let him feel it.
Then, with a faint tilt of your head, you said, “Come, boy.”
Jason moved immediately.
The speed of it made your pulse jump.
One second, he was on the floor, the next, he was up, crossing the space between the living room and the hall with that stripped-down purpose he only showed when he stopped pretending to be civilized. His breath was rough now. Shoulders tight. Eyes fixed on you like there was nothing else in the apartment, nothing else in the city, maybe nothing else in the world. The old anger hadn’t vanished. It had been taken apart and remade into something hotter, heavier, and meaner at the edges. It made the hair at the back of your neck stand on end.
He reached the doorway just as you stepped back into the bedroom.
For one second, framed in the doorway, Jason looked at you with wrecked disbelief. Like he couldn’t quite believe you’d done this to him; taken his apology, put your hand in his hair, called him pathetic, and then beckoned him after you anyway. His chest rose hard beneath his shirt. His hands flexed at his sides. The air between you felt close enough to bite.
Then Jason came in after you and slammed the door.
Took everything in me not to scream at this fic. I have indents from where I bit my left hand to hold a squeal in lmao.
So far it has dominantly been a "Jason todd x (((FEMALE))))) reader fic BUT this LOVELY author does plan to add more love interests further into the plot!
So far romance is slow burn but not mind bogglingly slow so I've really enjoyed the pacing and world building as I understand MCs personality and her interactions with the world around her!
So far tho as a Jason lover I AM NOT COMPLAINING (I love that man so muchhhh HE IS CONFIRMED endgameeee) . This is SO FUCKING PEAK AND IT'S 26 chapters, each chapter is fairly long, AND currently still UPDATING!
This fic makes me so fucking happy and I hope it makes some other people happy tooo!!!! :33333
every day I learn bot comments on ao3 are stooping lower and lower
anyway if you get a comment like this, chances are that they are bot and their goal is to do whatever it takes to get you to delete your work, most certainly (from what I’ve heard) it’s because they want to “safely” steal your work, use it to train their ai without you being able to rightfully claim ownership of your work since “there’s no proof that the work was stolen/was posted elsewhere first by you” because the original source has already been deleted.
THEY ARE ALL BOTS. at first it was “ao3 is deleting fics and your entire account will be affected unless you delete the fics yourself” then it was “this work contains contents that are illegal and they have already reported you and your fic to the police” (yes, that’s how desperate these bots are), and now it’s this.
report their comments to ao3 for spam—in this case, specifically, I think you may be able to report them for harassment too—and don’t pay attention to them, most importantly don’t delete your works, don’t feel discouraged by their comments. remember that they are bots and they mass comment something like this on people’s works at random to get people to delete their works. (or even if they’re not bot, they are still pathetic bullies who don’t deserve your time or attention.)
MORE ABOUT BOTS AND SCAMS PLAGUING AO3’S COMMENTS SECTION HERE
I wanna see some Batfam × Batsib fics where the MC takes care of all the bats in the bat cave and no one knows about it because they assume Alfred does it or that the bats take care of themselves. And then one day the MC gets into an argument with someone and 🔥𝘛𝘌𝘕 𝘛𝘏𝘖𝘜𝘚𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘍𝘜𝘊𝘒𝘐𝘕 𝘉𝘈𝘛𝘚🔥 come out from no where to protect MC.
I wanna see some Batfam × Batsib fics where the MC takes care of all the bats in the bat cave and no one knows about it because they assume Alfred does it or that the bats take care of themselves. And then one day the MC gets into an argument with someone and 🔥𝘛𝘌𝘕 𝘛𝘏𝘖𝘜𝘚𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘍𝘜𝘊𝘒𝘐𝘕 𝘉𝘈𝘛𝘚🔥 come out from no where to protect MC.
But it's Volt and Eddie. God I remembered this song exists and IT'S SO THEM CODED.
Volt: Now is this really how you like to spend your days? Whiskey and misery, and parties and plays?
Eddie: If I were mixed up with you, I'd be the talk of the town. Disgraced and disowned, another one of the clowns.
Volt: But you would finally live a little, finally laugh a little. Just let me give you the freedom to dream. And it'll wake you up and cure your aching. Take your walls and start 'em breaking. Now that's a deal that seems worth taking, but I guess I'll leave that up to you~
It's so good!!! If it was a human au or something where volt is trying to convince Eddie to stop bartending and partner with him to do a big dream business like the cannon real estate or even something else!
As someone who knows NOTHING about Batman but is absolutely EATING the "X neglected reader" fics because I love angst I just wanna say,
Michael in the bathroom - but it's neglected sibling MC at another one of the Waynes charity galas who escapes to the bathroom after seeing batfam take a family picture for a magazine. nATuRalLy MC has been ignored/forgoten about for ages so they aren't included in the family photo, leading them to escape and vent in a bathroom.
(Bonus if they WERE close with one of the other siblings like Jason but slowly ended up distanced from them as they grew into their 18-20s because their sibling thought 'im protecting them from myself and my work'. And at that point they're completely different from who they were when they were close.
As per usual, communication is nonexistent with the Waynes so rip MC🥀💀)
You guys can decide if it would be better if the batfam ease-drops or not :)
