PUPPY JASON?? CALLING JASON PUPPY?? AND THE. HE CREAMS HIS PANTS??? tell me more
Warnings: Suggestive, mdni
OHHHHHH BABY DOES HE LOVE IT!!!
I think the sweet little pet name just works for him?? Not even just in a sexual way, but during those arguments about how silly (deranged) he's been lately (thinking maybe pre-interaction with Batman, during his whole killing-the-Joker arc), it's easily one of the quickest ways to make him cave to stop being stubborn for once in his life.
He'll drop his head onto your shoulder and bury his face in your neck, dark hair tickling against your face as he peppers little kisses against your skin. Those big, strong arms of his find their way around your waist while his hands squeeze the soft flesh of your sides, holding you just a little tighter than before. He'll mutter a quiet "sorry" before going right back to giving you love. 🥰
However, during more - ahem - intimate moments, you could be straddling and teasing him, biting at his neck, muttering about what a sweet puppy he is as he looks up at you with those green eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, a blush dusting his cheeks as his solid frame melts beneath your touch, already rutting beneath your hips and practically panting against your lips for more. It's almost easy to ignore the wet spot growing on his jeans each time you mutter that little pet name to him. Tease too much, and he might start acting like the street mutt that he is.
IN WHICH... after a fight with your boyfriend, you force him to sleep with a pillow between you. here's how he handles it.
featuring: dick grayson, jason todd, bruce wayne, damian wayne, and tim drake.
warnings: fluff, crack, f!reader, established relationship (wife!reader for bruce, gf!reader for everyone else), EXTREME mommy kink!tim—dni if this is "too freaky" for you!!
inspired by this ask
dick grayson:
dick definitely would be upset and would try at least 3 times to ditch the pillow.
but each time he yanks the item from between you and tucks it under his head, you yank it right back and lodge it between your bodies.
he gives up on removing it after attempt #10.
you're turned on your side away from him, seeming way too unbothered for his liking. he's probably pissing you off even more, but attention from you is all he wants.
he pokes your shoulder repeatedly, arm draped over the barrier pillow. "baby, baby, baby, baby," he repeats with each poke.
he grins big and wide when you finally turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. "do i need to get a bigger pillow?" you scoff.
"no. this one's perfectly fine," he chirps. "though i'd prefer no pillow at all. i can't feel my baby up like this!"
you roll your eyes. "you don't deserve to feel me up, richard. go to sleep." you shuffle closer to the edge of the bed, juuust far enough that he can't reach you.
he groans dramatically, flopping down on his side with a huff. "fine, whatever. you don't love me, i get it. goodnight, i guess."
he falls asleep with a big, babyish pout on his face, his lip jutted out like a toddler's rather than a 20-something year old's.
his spirits are definitely raised in the morning, though, because he wakes up to his body being draped over the stupid pillow barrier, head nestled against your chest.
jason todd:
jason would take it much worse than dick. he'd feel personally offended, undoubtedly.
he'd glare daggers at the pillow separating his body from yours, wishing he could burn it to ashes with just his eyes. his arms are crossed over his beefy chest like a child told no to dessert.
finally, he tears his eyes from the pillow and onto your sweet body. your beautiful, worship-worthy body. "can i touch you yet?"
"no, jay! that's the whole point of the pillow. no cuddles allowed, i'm angry with you."
he grumbles. "no cuddles isn't the same as no touching. can't i at least hold your hand, ma?"
"no."
"ma, please?"
"jason peter," you snap, giving him the look. "i said no. goodnight."
his eyes remain trained to your back, watching it rise and fall as you breathe. "...night."
you feel much worse about how you spoke to him when you wake up the next morning. his side of the bed is cold, and the pillow in the middle looks as if it hadn't moved once since it was placed.
you get up, padding to the kitchen where jason is flipping pancakes at the stove. his shoulders are slumped, head swaying as if it's too heavy for his neck. he lets out a deep sigh. you frown.
your arms wrap around yourself as you approach. "jay?" you call softly, standing beside him at the stove. no touching, not yet. he doesn't look at you, so you tilt your head to get a look at his face and oh...
his eyelids droop with exhaustion, eyes a bit red from straining to stay awake. his under-eyes are dark bags. his lips are chapped. "baby? what's up with you?"
alas, he looks at you, his lips don't smile, eyes don't soften. he holds out your plate of pancakes and you accept it. "i did not sleep."
"...why?"
he looks at you as if it's obvious. "well, i did not have you to hold, and i can't guarantee your safety without holding you. i tried to sleep, but then i had a nightmare that i'd...lost you. every time i shut my eyes i saw the same thing as the dream. so, i decided to just stay awake."
you've never felt like a shittier person. you throw your arms around him, feeling him slump against you. you vow to never but him on a touch ban again, no matter how angry he makes you.
bruce wayne:
personally, i feel like bruce just...wouldn't even put up with it lol.
unlike how dick and jason kept the pillow and respected the rule (to an extent), bruce would just laugh in your face when he comes in for bed.
he stands at the foot of the bed, looking at your scowling face and the fluffy pillow at your side. "what's with the barrier?"
you huff. "no touching, bruce. i'm not in the mood."
he places his glass of water on his nightstand, casually crawling into bed and tossing the pillow across the room.
"bruce!" you glare, but you can't do much when he snakes his beefy arms around your waist and tugs you close until your back meets his chest. "i said no touch—"
"—i know what you said, darling. and—no offense—i don't give two fucks," he chuckles, the sound low and deep in your ear. fuck, why does he sound so good when you're so upset? "if i want to hold my wife, i'm going to hold my lovely wife."
you grumble, fighting his grip, but to no avail. "bruceeee," you groan.
"g'night, honey," he only croons, kissing your jawline so sweetly. "i love you."
moments of silence pass.
"i said i love you," he repeats, pinching your waist.
you squirm. "ughhhuh, i love you, too."
"good girl," he grins into your neck, holding you closer. "get some beauty sleep, i'll have alfred prepare you a spectacular breakfast tomorrow morning—y'know, as my apology."
true to his word, you wake up to his arms still locked around you like chains. however, the delectable scent of pancakes, waffles, berries and cream, eggs, and coffee wafts into the bedroom.
"ugh, i hate you, you promising, handsome bastard," you grumble, relaxing into his arms with the assumption that he's still sleeping. "i can never stay mad at you."
you feel lips curl into a grin against your shoulder. "yes, yes, you hate me," he mumbles sarcastically. "my wifey hates me and my lovely arms and the breakfast i make her."
"you didn't make anything. alfred made it."
"i made him make it. lovable by association, honey."
damian wayne:
when damian's told that you'd be sleeping with a pillow between you, your sweet baby's signature scowl is tainted with unshed tears. you feel bad, but your anger from the fight overpowers your remorse.
"a...pillow barrier?" he mumbles. "really, habibti?"
you nod. "a pillow barrier. i'm so upset with you, dami. i don't wanna cuddle."
he nods his head once. "i'll try to cope," he sighs, climbing into bed and throwing the covers over his head.
all of damian that shows is a little peek of jet-black hair from under the sheets. despite yourself, you have to bite back a smile. so cute.
"night, damian," you murmur.
his voice is muffled by the comforter. "goodnight, habibti. i love you oh so dearly, my world."
you're glad that he's hiding under the sheets, that way he can't see your grin breaks through—can't see your walls cracking. "i love you too, dami."
dami. the nickname makes your boyfriend smile. dami rather than damian, that's progress.
what you don't see is damian tossing and turning for hours until the clock strikes 2 am. he just can't sleep without his beloved woman in his arms, without your hair tickling his cheek as you drool into his neck.
so, he crawls out of bed and into the cool nighttime chill of the manor. if you won't cuddle him, he shall find a replacement. he returns to the bedroom a bit later with alfred the cat tucked under his arm and titus trailing lazily behind him.
he reunites with the warm blankets, holding alfred close under his chin. titus climbs into bed, sprawling comfortably over damian's legs.
you awaken the next morning the most adorable sight. your dami, arms (and legs) full of his cherished pets.
his hold on the cat is tight, the animal purring softly into damian's neck. titus has since inched his way up the bed, his head level with damian's—the dog is nearly spooning your boyfriend, doggy drool coating his sleep shirt.
well, at least he found a way to get his fix of drool and warmth. your walls finally crumble, and you reach over the pillow to stroke your knuckles against his cheek. that wakes him up.
he peels one eye open, grinning at the gooey look on your face. "what? i needed something to hold."
tim drake:
mommy kink!tim is activated almost instantly, and he tears each and every one of your walls down until you forget why you were even upset with him in the first place.
his face falls when you announce the pillow's presence. "what?!"
"you heard me, tim. pillow stays."
"no...no, no, no, no," he whines softly, feeling helpless. he tosses his phone haphazardly onto his nightstand, flopping onto the bed. "please, no."
you huff. "i'm upset, tim! i can't cuddle with you tonight, i just can't."
"mommy, please!" he begs pathetically, shoving the pillow out from where it's lodged between your bodies. he nuzzles up into your side instantly. his dark locks brush your cheek. "can't sleep without my mommy...need her to hold me, and love me, and tell me i'm a good boy."
you arch a brow. "but you're not a good boy."
he whimpers, eyes drilling shut in regret at your words. "o– okay, then to tell me i'm a bad boy. that i'm such a bad boy and don't deserve my mommy's affection."
"okay, fine. you're a ba—"
"—no! i change my mind. don't tell me any of those things," he whines, big blue eyes looking apologetically up at you through thick lashes. fuck, the eyes. "i'm so so so sorry, mama. i wasn't a good boy, but i can be! a good boy, that is."
you run a hand through his hair, and he whimpers—loud and desperate for more touch. "you promise you'll be good? you're not lying to mommy so she'll cuddle you?"
he keeps his eyes on yours, so melty and gentle. "i'd never lie to you, mommy. i swear."
"okay, then. if you say you can be a good boy, timmy, then i'll cuddle you tonight. but don't make me mad again, understand?"
"understand, mommy," he coos, smiling happily now that he's won you over. he snuggles into your chest, sighing contentedly. "thank you."
a/n: anyone peep the reference at the end of bruce's headcannons?🫣
summary: you try to beat your writers block by going to a cafe only to find a hot guy reading your novel, and he has some strong opinions about it
warnings: dark romance books bashed on briefly, kind of ooc jason ngl but shushshshshs, jason is a romance lover canon in my world idk, you think youre annoying, youre a little insecure but like its fine, cringe ig idk
Two and a half years ago, your very first novel was written. It was a romance, but it was the swirling, gentle kind that didn’t involve an abusive biker mafia boss. You pulled the good parts of yourself out and put them in the main character. You made something that was beautiful. You didn’t mind that it wasn’t exactly a smash hit. You weren’t getting billions of sales, but the people who did read it loved it. And your publishers wanted more from you. You wanted more from you. Your days had hit a lull, though. Your keyboard seemed to twist into something untouchable. Like it grew ten feet tall and glared down at you. You couldn’t even start to climb it and reach the first letter. Much less write something enjoyable.
You tried to find inspiration out of your house. You’d sit in the park and watch all the couples and eavesdrop on conversations. You’d take walks down the street, looking at advertisements and regular day-to-day people. You searched for inspiration in your own reading. You looked for it in museums and art. Nothing came to you. It was all boring.
You hoped maybe you needed a scenery change. So you packed up your laptop and headed down to a cafe. You settled into the corner, peeling open your laptop. You stared at the blinking cursor as the barista prepared your drink. You hovered your hands over the keys, focusing on the feeling of the cafe.
The warmth of the coffee shop prickled at his skin.
Prickled? Cold prickles. Not warmth. That makes no sense. Is this your first day writing holy-You eyes shot up at the sound of your name being called. You stood from your table, leaving your laptop behind. You pulled your coffee from the counter, turning back around to head towards your seat. Only your eyes caught on the cover of your book. You paused.
A big, hulking man was hunched over a small table. His back was to the window, the sun framing his large shoulders. At the part of his hair was a small patch of white. His face was scarred, but the pale lines didn’t cut through his beauty. It seemed almost like his face was carved with the scars in mind. They fit his face and made him look…
What’s that word? Reminds you of aubergine. Almost stunning. Not amazing, that’s too childish. Oh, what is that word?
He lifted his eyes, meeting yours. He curved an eyebrow. You felt doom crawling up your back and digging into your shoulders. You were being a creep and staring. Either you silently move away, pack yourself up and leave, or you start a conversation. You took a step closer.
“Enjoying the book?” You asked, glancing down at the page he was on. He looked about halfway through it. Your lips quirked at the sight of pen and highlighter covering the page. He was annotating your writing. The man glanced down at his book. He let out an awkward laugh, the points of his canines flashing. Hot.
“Yeah. It’s pretty good. Have you read it?” He asked, pulling his eyes back to you. You stared at the cover. What have you gotten yourself into? You technically have.
“Oh yes, a year or two ago.” You stated, feeling your face start to burn. His brows furrowed. He tilted his head to the side.
“I thought it came out this year.” He questioned. His hands started flipping through the pages to find the publication date. You jumped.
“Oh! Um- I got it early from one of those Goodreads giveaways. They give a couple people the books before the publication.” You covered. You were digging a hole and digging it fast. The opportunity to hear someone’s real thoughts was pushing you ahead. Especially because he was hot. His hands stopped flipping through the pages, returning to his last page. He nodded.
“That’s pretty cool.” He stated. He sounded genuinely impressed.
“It was signed too.” You added. Which was true. You had fucked your signature up so bad you couldn’t imagine anyone but you having it. The man looked up, his face twisting into a cringe.
“Doesn’t mean as much when it’s an unknown, does it? That would be cool if it was like-” He paused, tilting his head up to think. “Jane Austen or something.” He finished. You tried to ignore the twinge of pain that hit your stomach with the word ‘Unknown’.
“Well, that would be very impressive; they’d have to bring her back from the dead.” You chuckled. He grinned at you, letting out a small laugh.
“That’s a bad example.” He mumbled, pulling his bookmark from the table. He pressed it between the pages, closing his book. He turned all his attention to you. You felt your chest warm; this stranger was giving such a sign of devotion. To put your book away for a stranger? Obscene. He might as well have stripped down in front of you.
“What’s your favorite part?” You asked, drawing his attention back to your book. He thought quietly, wringing his hands on top of the table. He hummed. He turned his head from you, staring out the window in thought. You bounced on the balls of your feet. Jeez, your writing was so awful he couldn’t think of a single good part. His eyes snapped back to you.
“The letters. They’re incredibly moving and very clearly show their devotion,” he whispered, almost too quiet to hear over the chatter of the cafe. You nodded. That was your favorite part too.
“People don’t write love letters anymore.” You wistfully said. You truly missed love letters. You hadn’t gotten one, but you wished they were a part of society again. The man nodded.
“They really don’t.” He mumbled. You pointed to the book again.
“What’s your least favorite part?” You asked. You really wanted to know. You could use his input on your second novel.
“The main character.” He didn’t have to think for a second this time. You were starting to regret this conversation. He had to think so hard to find his favorite, but he didn’t have to consider anything to find his least favorite.
“Too annoying?” You asked. Yes, well, you were considered annoying sometimes, so clearly the character based on you must be too. He furrowed his brows, glaring at you.
“Not in the slightest. The issue I have is that they’re too perfect. There are no flaws. Real people aren’t like that. I understand it’s fiction, but it’s disappointing. It’s such a beautiful book that kind of falls flat because the main character is kind of two-dimensional. The book has this stunning message of unconditional love. It falls apart because it’s easy to love someone perfect. Real people aren’t like that. They’re horrifically flawed. They’re assholes sometimes; they blow up; they have things wrong with them. This character is like if the author made someone fall in love with a robot.'
'I can tell they’re capable of writing people with flaws because the love interest does. They just didn’t use that skill on the main character. But I guess I’m thinking about it too hard.” He rambled, leaning back to cross his arms over his chest. Your eyes dipped to his arms, following over the dipping and rising ocean waves of muscle. You sucked in a breath, looking back to his eyes. He’s right, of course he is. You didn’t give them any flaws. You worried that if you added the shitty parts of yourself, every reader would hate them. Your character was perfect, and that’s how you wanted to publish them. A simple character had to be better than an unintentionally hated one.
“You’re right. The main character is a little two-dimensional. You’d be great in a book club.” You said, pulling your coffee to your mouth. You stared at him over the rim of your drink. He watched you from the corner of his eyes.
“I don’t know about that.” He mumbled. He dropped his eyes to his lap, almost like he was flustered. You stared at his hair, zeroing in on the white streaks. At first, you thought it was bleached, a very good bleach job. But he didn’t have any black roots. So, unless he bleached it last night, it was natural.
“Do you have vitiligo?” You asked, your eyes still examining his scalp. He lifted his head, making you meet his eyes.
“What?” You lifted your hand, gesturing toward your head.
“Your hair. Vitiligo sometimes causes white streaks in hair. It looks natural; you don’t have any roots.” You furthered, dropping your hand from your head. He scoffed at his lap.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He grumbled. You hummed. Weirdo. A hot weirdo. You gasped as the word came back to you. You snapped your fingers.
“Alluring. That’s the word I was looking for.” You muttered. The man stared at you as you started to mutter about amazing aubergines. You slipped away from his table, dropping back into your seat across the shop. You set your coffee down.
An alluring man with hunched shoulders sat in a coffee shop with a well-loved paperback book twisted in his hands.
That’s almost something. It's a good opener, maybe. He’s hot; that's made clear. The book has been read before, and he twists his books around. He’s hunched; he’s a little shy. You have something. You glanced over the edge of your laptop to find the man staring at you. His mouth was parted like you just called him a bitch. You tilted your head to the side, asking him a silent question. He pressed his mouth together, patting his hands against the table.
He’s been playing eye tag with the only other person in the shop engrossed in a novel for the past thirty minutes.
The man stands from his seat, taking his book with him. He advances on your table, sitting across from you.
“You left.”
“You’d make a great detective.” You mumbled, dropping your eyes back to the screen.
He liked to bend books to his whim. He got to lay claim to an entire universe and twist and pull it however he liked. Which was how his universe had treated him. Its twists and yanks left trailing scars across his skin.
“My name is Jason,” Jason mumbled. You lifted your eyes, tracing over his face again.
His cutting green eyes trailed across the pages.
You hummed in response. He frowned at you, pinching his lips together.
“What’s yours?” Jason pressed. You pressed your laptop screen down, breaking down the wall between the two of you. You leaned forward. You pointed your finger at your name sprawled across the cover of his book. Jason looked down at your hand, his eyes widening. He looked back up at you.
“You’re joking,” Jason stated. All the humor in his voice was gone; he was begging you to say yes- you were joking. You pulled the book from his hands, flipping to the back cover. You held the small black and white picture of you next to your face. Jason groaned, dropping his face into his hands.
“This is embarrassing.” He mumbled to himself. You hummed, closing your book again. You slid it across the table.
“It’s okay.” You tried. Jason shook his head in his hands.
“No. I totally insulted your writing to your face.” Jason grumbled. He pressed his hands into his face, completely mortified. You sighed.
“You were right. I didn’t give the main character flaws. You gave me good analysis. I appreciate it, seriously, Jason.” You reached out, gently pulling on his wrist to reveal his face again. He gave you an embarrassed look, hiding his lips inside of his mouth.
“I can’t believe I did that.” He whispered, staring at the cover of his book again. You smiled at him, watching him carefully. You were incredibly grateful he was reading his book in this coffee shop.
“I’m glad. I think I beat my writer’s block.” You almost giggled. Jason huffed.
“I’m mortified. I don’t think I’m living this down.” Jason muttered. You rolled your eyes.
“Let me make it up to you. We could maybe get dinner.” You ventured. Please say yes. Say yes. You could spend only one evening with him and still write a whole book. Clearly something about him was pushing all the buttons you needed to be inspired. He was hot and smart. That’s not a frequent combo. Jason lifted his eyes, his eyebrows shooting up. He nodded quickly.
“Yeah, yeah.” Jason stumbled out. You hummed. You moved to pull your phone out. The bell above the cafe door rang; another incredibly muscular man stepped through the door. His face was solid as his eyes swept over the people. His eyes landed on Jason, his face lighting up. He lifted his hand, waving back and forth.
“Jay!” He shouted, making the quiet cafe-goers grumble. Jason clammed up, his shoulders tightening.
“Oh, my god.” He mumbled. Jason pressed one of his pens into the cover of his book, sliding it towards you.
“I have to go.” He said. You hummed, peeling open the front cover of his book. You scribbled your signature on the cover and left him your number. You slid it back to him. Jason snatched it up, making quick work of the cafe. He herded the loud man out of the cafe. You could see them arguing through the window. You grinned at the sight of Jason pressing the book to his chest.
found out fanfic authors and their readers can fall in love and get married not saying i want that just saying it's something i learned 5'3 feminist with DDDs btw or i mean wtv
yearner!jason x yearner!reader who are both in denial… or: two pining idiots
Just thinking about everybody else noticing, bets running on the duration of this mutual pining phase before one of you gets their shit together and tells it how it is. But alas, you are both as stubborn as you are in love.
You’ve met through Dick, who again met you through Barb; it’s a whole thing. But as soon as you and Jason clicked, you were inseparable. Rarely does one come across either of you without the other tagging along. Oh, Tim wants to go to the cinema with you? Jason’s been itching to watch that movie too! Roy wants to go out for a drink with Jason on a rare night without patrol? Suddenly Jason remembers you love that bar he chose and have been slumped with work, in need of a night off.
Neither of you sleeps alone in their apartment anymore. Never sharing a bed, of course. Jason insists on the couch, or the floor, so long as you take the bed. His back is fine, don’t worry…
You two notice as well, of course, you’re not oblivious, but it’s one thing to notice and a whole other thing to admit to mutual feelings. Of course, nobody gets Jason’s humor quite like you do, always a crinkle along your eyes when his sarcasm comes through. Jason always knows exactly which coffee (or tea) you crave when you’re grumpy or studying. Whenever you look over at him during group activities, his eyes seem to have found yours long before the thought even occurred to you, as if he was calling to you unconsciously, and vice versa. The others (safe Damian, who truly couldn’t care less he says— but secretly is your biggest shipper) were getting fed up with your “insufferable besotted gooey looks that make them want to throw up.” (They’re jealous.)
Red Hood was a whole different thing, however. You knew; being friends with more than a handful of vigilantes makes you connect the dots. As soon as you know, you’re the only one allowed to patch him up— Alfred gave you a crash course on suturing and first aid. Multiple times have you told Jason that you are the worst choice for medical assistance he could possibly make, but that doesn’t deter him. “You’re a fine choice, I trust you.”
I see confessing going multiple ways, but alas it’s up to you to decide.
Maybe Wally, whom you meet through one of the Bats, develops a flirty friendship with you. It’s all in good humor and never meant as more than the occasional comment. Wally speeds around and suddenly you say, “run slower so I can look at your ass properly.” Or you getting dressed up for the club and him whistling appreciatively (“Man, I’d like to be the guy that gets to see you like this every day”). Jason is seething, Dick is having the time of his life watching him. You’re getting ready for a group hangout, Jason sprawled on your bed with a crease between his brows, deep in thought when he blurts out. “I think I’m in love with you.” He couldn’t keep it inside anymore, not risking losing you to anybody else.
Or… Jason getting shot on patrol and it’s more blood than you’ve seen on him before. You’re panicking, he’s laughing. Then you’re quiet while digging out the bullet, possibly a little less careful than you could be. If he can laugh, he can take the pain. But then it doesn’t stop bleeding, and, while applying pressure with fresh gauze to it, you call Bruce in a panic. Jason’s getting woozy. With Alfred’s help you manage to contain the damage and suture the wound.
Bloody hands make you think, stuck in your head until Jason regains consciousness. “You scared me,” you whisper and he gives you a weak grin. “Sounds like you care for me.” “Well, I love you, obviously I fucking care for you.” It’s an accident, you barely notice, he does though. When you don’t hear a smart retort, you look up to find him staring at you with eyes full of wonder and disbelief. “Come again?” “What?” “You love me?” That’s when your words register with you as well. “Oh… yeah, I do.”
a/n: Just another random scenario I had in mind. Not proofread, just a word vomit really. Working/Brainstorming something longer, but my Bachelor thesis is kicking my ass atm lol
I want a yearner so badly wow Need me somebody obsessed with me.
Synopsis: Reader and Jason have been friends for a long time. Both of you are vigilantes. Tonight, after escaping from a few cops on your tail and coming down from your adrenaline high, a heated moment turns into your first fuck and some feelings are confessed.
Details: jason todd x fem!reader, smut, piv, fingering, praise, confessed feelings
w.c. 4k+
"You're an idiot, you know that?" Jason huffed as he dropped down beside you on the roof of your apartment building, groaning and rolling back his sore shoulders. "You do know look both ways before you cross the street, right?"
You rolled your eyes at him, still panting lightly from your quick escape from the cops who pulled up as you finished tying the group of idiots you were kicking the asses of up to some broken light poles. While running, a car almost turned you into roadkill, but Jason yanked you back by your pants so hard you got a wedgie.
You rubbed your sore bottom as he leaned against the nearest vent, pulling off his hood and the mask covering the lower half of his face, chuckling softly as he shook his head. "You know, im getting tired of saving your ass all the time."
"You're one to talk, Todd. That cut on your outer thigh would have been a stab to your dick if i hadn't thrown the trash can lid at him." You pull off your own mask, the breeze carding though your hair and cooling your flushed cheeks, sweat drying on the back of your neck.
It's Jason's turn to roll his eyes, tsking as he looks down at his left thigh, muttering about how he liked these pants as he ripped the tear in the open a bit more to get a better look at the cut. You noticed it looked deep, but before you could say anything, he waved a gloved hand.
"Its fine. Just a scratch."
"Its not a scratch, and you're not nonchalant enough to pretend it doesn't hurt, even just a bit."
Blood was oozing from the wound and doen his leg. It wasn't fatal, it didn't hit an artery and it wasn't large enough to be at risk of him bleeding out, but you were still worried. You stayed silent though, not pushing right now.
"C'mon, lets get cleaned up." You turned and hopped down onto your fire escape just below, knowing that if you pushed to help him, it'd just make him shut you out. You didn't want to push any boundaries by asking to patch him up yourself, so you asked to make sure he was okay in this subtle way. Come down and you can both clean yourselves up together in a way that would let the other know they're okay without getting too intimate. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him or make him uncomfortable.
You didn't look back to see if he was following you, knowing he would eventually, and there was a heavy thud of his boots on the metal of the fire escape behind you. You slipped in to the window of your living room, turning on the lamp next to your couch as you sighed and started to strip your suit off, glad to be rid of the tight fabric.
Jason moved behind you, quiet as he slowly stripped of his gear first, then he took off his shirt aswell. His muscles were broad and tight, his skin littered with bruises and puckered with thick, pale scars. There was a bit of blood on him, much less than the last tine you'd seen him topless. Last time, you didn't have the time to admire the sight in front of you and were focused on stitching a gash on his side that he wasn't able to reach it properly to stitch himself.
You took your time watching him now, the way his muscles bunched and stretched beneath the tanned skin, the olive tone mixing with the purples and greens of abused flesh quite nicely. His autopsy scars were clearly visible, deep and darker than the rest of the raised and healed flesh from blades and other things. Below that, the muscles in his abdomen flexed nicely as he moved, tapering off into the nice V of his hips and down lower, where a dark trail of hair snuck into his pants, down to what you could only imagine as a beautifully big-
"My eyes are up here, babe."
Your gaze snapped up to his, the green of his iris piercing into you as you met eye to eye. Your neck felt hot as you scoffed, looking away and putting your an old shirt on before dropping the bottoms of your suit, standing in your panties. You ignored the way he called you babe and the way heat pooled low in your belly. "Yeah, and your shirt is over there so put it on."
Jason was quiet then and when you looked to see what he was doing, you caught him staring at your ass and thighs before looking away, clearing his throat and putting a shirt on.
"Neon green lace?" He shook his head, amused, eyes half-lidded as he looked at you again. "Well that's a first."
"They're comfortable, Jay. Maybe you should get a pair in your size and see how you like 'em." The words left your mouth in a rush, a hot flush filling your face before you could think, and Jason started laughing again.
"Oh, I wont deny it. They match my eyes a bit, so im flattered." His cheeks also flushed slightly, and he stepped closer, looming near your shoulder as you reached for the first aid kit you had. You felt his heat radiating off his chest and seeping into you through your back, felt his soft breath against your neck, felt the warmth pooling low in your belly.
"You look tired," he murmured, and you almost wanted to groan at the low rasp of his voice in your ear, wanted to lean back into his chest as he subtly pressed you against the back of your couch.
"Adrenaline is just wearing off," you replied, grabbing some alcohol and a bandaid for a cut on your cheek, when you saw his hand twitch, jerking upwards toward your own as you moved. It hovered in the air for a moment, and he let it drop when you turned to face him fully.
His eyes raked dragged over you slowly, and you felt bare beneath his gaze, bare in a way that made you press your legs together, feeling a bit slicker between your thighs. Your face felt hot now, embarrassment and want turning in your stomach as he looked at you like that.
He stepped foward, close enough that your faces were only a few inches from each other, and murmured, "you have a cut." Before you knew it, he was pressing a cotton pad soaked in alcohol against the cut, the sting making you hiss, and when you parted your lips to protest, he stuck the bandaid over it, smoothing it over your skin for a second too long before pulling away.
Your breath was shallow now, a slow and faint throbbing pulsing between your legs that intensified with his eyes drifting across your form. Mentally you berated yourself. You needed to calm down. You're both exhausted, now isn't the time to get horny.
You swallowed thickly, throat bobbing as you stepped away, excusing yourself to go shower and disappearing into your bathroom. You stripped quickly, eagerly stepping into the cool shower to relax. It didnt seem to help, your muscles were still tight, shoulders bunched up to your ears, and you were still slick between your thighs. You sighed wearily, gathering soap on a washcloth and starting to scrub blood and grime off of you.
You were rinsing shampoo out of your hair when you heard the bathroom door creak. At first you passed if off as a breeze just moving the door, then it fully opened. The glass door of the shower was blurred with the running water running across it, but you could still make out a figure slipping into the bathroom.
"Jay?" You called, voice shaking a bit. It was silent before the shower door opened, and all six feet (give or take) of jason and his gloriously toned body stood on front of you. Naked.
"Jason-!" You couldn't help but look down between his legs and-wow, you were right it wss beautifully big-had to force yourself to keep your eyes on his, still shocked and confused at him coming into your damn shower. You crossed your arms and legs to cover your breasts and your cunt.
"Jason, what the fuck-?" He cut you off with a kiss, stepping fully into the shower as you gasped against his lips, his tongue taking the opportunity to slip between your lips. The door closed behind him and he gently pressed you against the shower wall, the cold tile making you shiver against him. "Mmph-!"
He pulled back after a moment, breath heavy as his eyes searched yours, visibly nervous and embarrassed with their intensity. He bit his lip before asking, "Was that okay...? I'm so sorry if it wasn't, i-i just really wanted to kiss you."
You were shocked into silence, mouth gaping like a fish out of water, and his cheeks turned bright red, him mistaking your reaction for rejection. "Christ-im so sorry. I just-"
Your lips crashed down on his, kissing him to shut up up because you wanted this. You've wanted this for a while, honestly. Jason was so beautiful, not just physically. He was funny in that sarcastic way that scratched your brain just right, he was sweet beneath all that sass and muscle of his, he was scarred but still let you patch him up and see him bare because he trusted you, he was passionate about books and poetry and loved ranting about whatever novel or old play he borrowed from the library near his apartment and wa snow reading.
You liked him. A lot. So you kissed him back, sliding your tongue into his mouth and gripping his hair ro pull him closer. "Yes," you whispered against his lips. "This is more than okay, Jay."
He let go then, groaning as he devoured your lips again, grabbing the backs of your knees and hauling you up, slotting his hips between your thighs in such a delicious way, the friction at this angle feeling heavenly as he held you against the wall.
His kisses got sloppier, pressing his lips against your neck, trailing slow, lingering kisses down to your collarbone. He whispered softly against your skin, confessing how long he's wanted this, how he's felt about you.
"I didn't think you'd feel the same." He nipped at your jaw, making you gasp softly, your hips bucking against him, grinding slowly against his lower stomach as you moaned. "I-god-i havent been able to get you out of my damn head. [name]." He slows then, breathing heavily against your shoulder.
He lifted his head to look at you, eyes soft. "How far do you want this to go?" His hand squeezed your thigh, thumb stroking softly. "We won't go any further than you want. I promise. Just tell me."
Your heart was hammering in your chest, fast and insistent against his as you swallowed, throat bobbing, before responding. "All the way." Your cheeks turned red as you said it, but you continued. "A-all the way, Jay. I'm sure. As long as you're okay with it."
He watched your face for a moment before a small smile touched his lips and he kissed you again. "I'm more than okay with it, baby." He paused then, pressing his forehead against yours. "But we aint doing it in the shower. Not for our first."
He hauled you against him, turning the water off before stepping out of the shower door, grabbing a towel as he walked out of the bathroom and to your bedroom. The warm lighting your lamp gave off washed over you both, accenting the flex of his mucles as he carried you toward your bed.
He placed you down gently, using the towel to dry water off you and then himself, and you noticed the cut on his thigh was till bleeding. "Jay-"
"Not now, baby," he said gruffly, tossing the towel away and slowly pushing you back on the bed, getting on top of you and kissing down your chest. "Not when i have you right here, open and wanting me like this."
Your hand slips down his chest to his stomach and lower, slowly wrapping your hands around his firm cock and making his groan. Your thumb flicks over the tip, smearing precum as he hisses softly, nipping your shoulder. "Fuck-"
He kisses you again, slowly thrusting into your hand and making soft noises of pleasure into your mouth that turn you on even more. "God, you feel so good. Don't stop," he whined softly, biting his lip as his face ducked between your neck and shoulder. Your pussy was throbbing now, slick and warm and waiting. God, you wanted him inside you.
"Jason," you panted against his shoulder, impatient, and he groaned quietly.
"I know, beautiful. But we gotta warm you up first." His hand reached between your legs, slow enough to give you time to pull away if you wanted, before his thumb flicked your clit. You gasped softly, whimpering as he rubbed slow circles on the little bud. "Oh, god-"
"This okay?" He whispered, gently kissing along your jaw before pulling back to see your face, eyes half lidded as he watched all your reactions to his touch. "Just tell me if its too much, baby. Ill stop if it is, i promise."
You moaned again, shaking your head and tangling your fingers in his hair. "No, its okay. Just-more. Please. Please, Jason-"
He kissed you softly, smiling against your lips gently as he murmured, "There's no need to beg. I got you." He plunged a finger inside your pussy, then a second to slowly stretch you, and a third was added not too long after.
You cry out as he finds that spongy spot inside you, his fingers curling as your walls clench around his fingers. "Jason-"
"God, you're so tight." He kisses down your chest gently, sucking marks down between your breasts as he breathes the scent of you in. "You okay, baby? You close?"
You nodded, too blessed out to form a coherent response as you felt yourself orgasm rapidly growing in your belly. "M'gonna-"
"Let go, baby. I got you, I promise." Hos thumb flicked harshly over your clit again and you shattered, crying out as you gushed all over his fingers, drenching them in your slick with his name on your tongue as your orgasm crashed over you.
His fingers keep moving through your climax, slowly easy you back down to earth as you come back down, legs trembling as you whimpered from overstimulation. "Hmph... Jay..."
"You did so good," he whispered, the praise sliding off his tongue as he trailed kissing along your neck and pulled his fingers out of you. "You okay, baby? It wasnt too much, right?"
You shook your head, trying to slow your breathing as you trembled in his arms, tucking yourself against him and his solid warmth.
He rolled you both over, letting you relax against his chest, you both breathing in sync in the warm room.
You spoke after a while, murmuring, "I didn't think you'd be able to do all that."
He scoffed softly, amused, and turned his head to look at you, brow arched. "So you thought about it?"
"Well-no, but..." you trailed off, biting your lip as you pressed your cheek against his chest. "I just... I didn't think it'd feel that good." You cheeks flushed again but before you could hide your face in his neck, he tilted your chin up to look at him.
His eyes were soft, now the shade of evergreen in this light as he looked at you, gentle but intense. "I'm glad i made you feel good. I..." he hesitates, closing his mouth before continuing. "I dont have a lot of experience with this. Im just glad I didn't hurt you or anything."
He was shy all of a sudden, looking at the sheets as his hand trailed down your spine. "I... I'm sorry for barging into your shower like that. It wasnt right. I just... god, it was shitty of me. Cornering you in the shower and just kissing you. Even if you wanted it, I should've asked. I'm so sorry."
You paused, looking at his profile, at the flush in his cheeks, the small guilt in his eyes as he mentally scolded himself, and a soft smile touched your lips. You lifted your hand to cup Jason's cheek, turning his face back to yours.
"Jason," you said his name, making sure his attention was fully on you. "It's fine. Yeah, maybe you should've asked, but I didn't mind what you did. I... I've been wanting this for a while too. I think if you didn't do it, we would still be dancing around each other. Its okay, I promise. If it wasn't, you wouldn't be in my bed right now."
Your smile widened as he chuckled softly, pressing his forehead against yours. "Yeah. You would've beat my ass if you didn't like it."
You stay like that for a moment before you slowly lean in, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss. He makes a soft noises lips parting to taste you as he reciprocates.
The kiss deepened quickly, both of you grinding against each other before you turned you onto your back again, his body hovering over you as you continued kissing.
You felt his hips press between your legs hesitantly, and he pulled back to see your face, shy again, and you understood what he wanted.
"We... we don't have to if you dont want to. I just..." he trailed off, his neck turning red as he hesitated, and you kissed him again, tangling your fingers in his hair as you nodded.
"I want it. I want you, Jason."
He was silent for a moment before groaning, pressing his lips hard against yours as he got into position, lining his tip up with your entrance before easing himself inside. You both gasped as the feeling of his tip inside you, moving in unision as he slowly pushed himself in, inch by inch, until he bottomed out.
"God, you're so tight," he practically whimpered, not moving to let you get used to the stretch. "Fuck-"The stretch burned deliciously, the tip of his cock sitting against thats gummy spot deep inside you, making you whimper. "Jason."
You moaning his name seemed to do something to him. "Fuck, baby, please let me move. You feel so good around me." You nodded eagerly and that was all he needed. He pulled back slowly before sliding back in, faster and faster each time, fucking you hard enough that the bed frame hit the wall with each of his thrusts, his soft moans and grunts muffled against your neck.
You moved in unison, your nails digging into his back and hips rising to meet his as he pistoned in and out of you, breaths heavy with the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room.
You almost cried out when you felt his thumb on your clit, pinching and flicking in time with his thrusts. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and you whined his name, your stomach tightening as you felt yourself on the edge.
"Jason, im close-"
"I am too, baby, just hold on, okay?" He wanted heavily, moaning into your neck as he fucked you deeper into the mattress, groaning. He grabbed your hands and intertwined your fingers, pressing them into the sheet on either side of your head.
It wasnt long before you both shattered, moaning into each other's mouths as you came. He pulled out, releasing onto your stomach with a groan against your neck. He collapsed on top of you, almost crushing you, but you were too dazed to protest. He nuzzled into your neck, shy again all of a sudden. "Im sorry," he murmured, trailing soft kisses down your jaw. "I was too rough, im sorry. I didn't mean to be."
Your heart melted at his sweetness and you cupped his face in your hands, pulling him back to see his face."Jason, im okay," you assured him, pressing your head against his. "I liked it. And you didnt hurt me, I promise. I'd hit you if you did." That got a chuckle out of him and he leaned in slowly to kiss you, lips meeting in a tender embrace.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for this. For... for feeling the same."
You ran your nose along his. "I've felt like this for a long time, Jason. I dont plan on stopping any time soon either."
He kissed you again, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling same and warm in his embrace, as you did for every night after that
A/N: This is probably so ooc, sorry if it is! Also haven't written smut in a while so if its weird, im also sorry! This is also much longer snd more in detail than the male version (mostly with the confession and fluffy parts), for that I apologize. I wrote the male one at like 1 am and was super tired towards the end so I kinda rushed it. I do plan on going back and editing the male version, though, so that should fix things.
summary: you call him as your husband when you are still dating.
pairing: Jason Todd x reader
tags and warnings: talks of marriage, haven't written for Jason in a while so here it is! Maybe OOC, also cooking and food mentioned, art by @/ciricearts
wc: 1.1k
It's a quiet afternoon as you sit on the marble counter, legs swinging side to side while Jason slices some tomatoes next to you. Golden streaks of sun seep in through the window, casting circles of yellow across the linoleum flooring and wooden shelves stacked with cutlery.
You had been explaining to him the plot of a 90s TV show you had stumbled upon while browsing during the late hours of the night.
"So the female lead, she decides to go to his house — ugh, I keep forgetting his name "
"Jerry." Jason murmurs, eyes focused on the bowl of ingredients in front of him. Regardless of what work Jason was doing, he always listened to you when you spoke. It almost felt like it was his duty to catalogue every word that left your lips. And he performed that duty to the best of his abilities. It did not matter if he was in the middle of a mission or doing the mundane tasks of living — Jason listened.
Always listened.
"Ahh yes, Jerry, " you repeat, looking up at him with a slight smile that curves into a scowl as you gather your thoughts about the plot. "now Gabriela should dump Jerry's ass, right?"
"Yes," Jason affirms as he takes in your face, painted with annoyance.
Cute.
"But instead she begs him, like what the actual fuck ? Why do these directors even —" the vibration of your phone against the counter cuts your rant short, a wide smile replacing the frown on your face.
"It's Zara."
A few minutes into the conversation, Jason can see you hunched over, giggling about something that your best friend told you over the phone. Meanwhile, Jason had finished making the paste and, almost as a reflex, scooped a spoonful of the paste and brought it to your mouth.
His hand is under the spoon, making sure the red doesn't fall on any of your clothes. He had already made sure it was not too hot by blowing over it multiple times. You open your mouth as the stainless steel presses against your tongue, coating it with red. Jason looks at you, eyes wide with hope and lips pressed into a line.
You hum, squeezing your eyes before kissing your fingertips and moving them away towards him with a spread of your fingers accompanied by a dramatic flair.
Chef's kiss.
Jason huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he starts prepping the pan on the stove. The sudden sound of sizzling onions next to you has Zara asking whether you were at some street food corner.
"No, It's just my husband —"
You wished he hadn't listened to the slip of your tongue over the sound of his cooking but Jason always listens and you knew he had heard when you saw his entire body going still.
His back is turned away from you, broad back covered in black cotton with a spatula in hand as it remained stuck in the air, just a touch from the pan. You don't do any better as you get off the counter and scamper into your shared bedroom, all the while Zara is giggling in your ears.
It was not that Jason did not want to be your husband.
No, it would really be his honor.
But Jason Todd was not completely beyond his insecurities.
Why would anyone want to be with him for a lifetime out of their own will?
You were not one of his siblings who were obligated to be with him as a reason of familial relationship, nor were you part of his team of outlaws who possessed a shared goal.
You had been someone he had fallen in love with at the bookstore.
Was he even worth everything?
"Jason."
He turns at the soft whisper of his name. There you were, standing with your hands rubbing against each other as those angelic eyes of yours refused to meet his. You had cut the call short once the panic had morphed into fear. Zara had understood and reassured you, but your heart wanted the answer from only one person.
"I-I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, " you murmur, eyes blinking rapidly at the tears forming along your waterline. Both of you had only been dating for a year now but it would be a lie if you never thought about the prospect of marriage with Jason.
They say you know the one when you meet them.
He was the one for you.
But you never voiced it. It had been a slip of the tongue, something you wish you could take back if it had made him even a tiny bit uncomfortable.
"No angel," He takes your hands, rubbing smooth circles onto your skin over the back of your palm. "I-You want to spend the rest of your life with me?"
Jason almost doesn't let the words slip out from him, throat dry like all the moisture had been sucked. His green eyes gleam like those of the vast forests under the soft golden light of the sun. They murmur to you of peace, of love, of eternity.
"I would gladly spend every minute with you Jason. Every waking moment with you," you vowed as you peer at him, "and every non-waking moment too in my dreams." Jason chuckles, a faint glow surrounding him like love emanating from the previously filled crevices of nervousness.
Jason envelopes you, the softness of your cheek pressed against his beating heart. His chin is on the top of your head as you see the slight movement of his Adam's apple, almost like he was trying not to cry.
For the first time, someone who had no moral duty to Jason wanted to stay with him forever.
For eternity.
All because you loved him for him.
He presses a small kiss against the top of your head, gently pulling you even more closer, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.
"I will gladly spend a lifetime with you too, my love"
Jason could feel the curve of your smile, tracing against his black t-shirt. The both of you stay wrapped in each other's presence like a warm blanket accompanied by the smell of something burning — burning?
"Jason, I think something is burning, " you say, trying to peek through the gaps of his muscled arms, but to no avail. He only lets out a contented sigh, still blissfully bathing in your warmth. You pinch his skin, a sharp yelp resounding from his mouth.
" SOMETHING IS BURNING."
Finally, Jason lets you go as you both turn towards the source of the smell. The once sizzling onions were now burnt to a crisp.
Summary: During a much-needed beach holiday, Jason Todd forgets sunscreen and ends up with a brutal sunburn. His girlfriend (reader) spends the rest of the trip babying him with over-the-top care, turning his misery into a hilarious, loving comedy of errors.
For my DC summer event ◞ DC masterlist
The beach was supposed to be paradise.
White sand, turquoise water, palm trees swaying in the breeze, and a private villa Jason had rented for the two of you after months of back-to-back missions. He’d been insistent on it — “We need a break, babe. Real one. No patrols, no Bats, no nothing.” You’d agreed immediately. The idea of Jason relaxed, shirtless, and happy under the sun sounded perfect.
What you hadn’t counted on was how stubborn he could be about sunscreen.
The first morning, you’d slathered yourself in SPF 50, the kind that smelled like coconut and left a white cast. You’d offered the bottle to Jason, shaking it playfully.
“Come on, big guy. You’re pale as a ghost. You’ll burn.”
He’d waved you off with that cocky smirk, already pulling on his swim trunks. “I’m fine. I don’t burn. I tan. I’m basically a Greek god, remember?”
You’d rolled your eyes but let it go. He was a grown man. If he wanted to be stubborn, that was his problem.
By noon, you knew it was going to be a problem.
Jason had spent the morning in the water, showing off with lazy laps and dramatic dives, then stretched out on a lounge chair like he owned the beach. You’d been reading under an umbrella, occasionally glancing over to admire the way the sun glinted off his wet skin and the white streak in his hair. He looked good — too good. Broad shoulders, toned arms, that dangerous edge even in swim trunks.
But by the time you suggested lunch, his shoulders were already turning pink. By mid-afternoon, they were bright red. By the time the sun started to dip, he looked like a boiled lobster.
“Jason,” you said, trying not to laugh as you poked his shoulder gently. He hissed, jerking away. “You’re burned. Badly.”
He grunted, sitting up with a wince. “It’s fine. Just a little sun. I’ve had worse.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Your back looks like a stop sign. Come on. Let’s get you inside before you peel like a snake.”
He grumbled the whole way back to the villa, but he let you steer him. Inside, the air conditioning was a blessing. You guided him to the bedroom, making him lie face-down on the bed while you rummaged through the bathroom for aloe vera.
When you came back, he was already complaining. “This is stupid. I don’t need babying. I’ve survived worse than a sunburn.”
You sat on the edge of the bed, squeezing a generous amount of aloe onto your hands. “You’re right. You’re a big, tough Red Hood. But right now, you’re my big, tough, very red boyfriend, and I’m going to take care of you. So shut up and let me.”
He huffed but didn’t argue when your cool hands touched his back. The second the aloe hit his burned skin, he hissed, muscles tensing.
“Cold,” he muttered.
“Necessary,” you replied, spreading it gently across his shoulders. “You’re going to peel so bad tomorrow. I’m going to have to wrap you in gauze like a mummy.”
He groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “This is humiliating. The Red Hood, taken down by sunscreen.”
You laughed softly, working the gel down his back in slow, careful strokes. “It’s kind of cute, actually. Big bad Jason Todd, forgetting the basics. Makes me feel useful.”
He peeked at you over his shoulder, one green eye narrowed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.” You leaned down, kissing the unburned part of his neck. “But I also hate seeing you in pain. So let me fix it.”
He sighed, relaxing under your hands. “Fine. But only because it’s you.”
You spent the next twenty minutes massaging the aloe into every burned inch — his back, shoulders, the back of his neck, even the tops of his ears. He made the most pathetic little sounds when you hit a particularly sensitive spot, half-grumble, half-whimper, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
When you finally finished, you wiped your hands and crawled onto the bed beside him, pulling him carefully into your arms. He curled against you immediately, head on your chest, one arm slung over your waist like he needed the contact.
“You’re going to be miserable tomorrow,” you said, stroking his hair.
“Worth it,” he muttered. “Got to see you in that bikini all day.”
You laughed, kissing the top of his head. “Flatterer. Even burned to a crisp, you’re still thinking about my bikini.”
“Can’t help it,” he said, voice already sleepy. “You look good in everything. Even when you’re laughing at my pain.”
You stayed like that for a while, holding him gently, listening to his breathing even out. The sunburn was going to be hell tomorrow — peeling, itching, the works — but right now, he was soft and warm and yours.
The next morning was exactly as predicted.
Jason woke up groaning, rolling over with a wince as the sheets brushed his burned skin. “Fuck. This is worse than getting shot.”
You were already up, mixing a concoction of aloe, cooling lotion, and a little bit of your fancy face cream. “Come here, drama king. Let me fix you.”
He grumbled but let you help him sit up, shirtless and flushed. The burn was angry red across his shoulders, back, and the bridge of his nose. You worked the lotion in carefully, smiling when he made those little hissing sounds.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered.
“I’m enjoying taking care of you,” you corrected, kissing his shoulder. “Even when you’re a big baby about it.”
He huffed but leaned into your touch. “I’m not a baby. I’m a grown man who forgot sunscreen. There’s a difference.”
You laughed, moving to his chest. “Sure. A grown man who whimpers when I touch his sunburn.”
He glared, but there was no heat in it. “Keep that up and I’ll show you how grown I can be.”
You raised an eyebrow, fingers trailing lower. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
He caught your hand, pulling you into his lap despite the wince. “Both. But not until I’m not on fire.”
You kissed him softly, careful of his burned nose. “Deal. But I’m still babying you today. No arguments.”
He sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “Fine. But only because it’s you.”
The rest of the day was spent in full caretaker mode.
You made him stay in bed with the AC blasting, brought him cold water with lemon, and slathered him in more aloe every few hours. He complained the whole time — “This is ridiculous,” “I’m not completely useless,” “Stop laughing at me” — but he let you do it. Every time you kissed his forehead or stroked his hair, he’d soften, pulling you closer despite the burn.
By evening, he was a little less grumpy. You’d gone into the town and bought his favourite food, set up a movie on the laptop, and were carefully applying lotion to his back again when he caught your hand.
“You don’t have to do all this,” he said quietly. “I’m a big boy. I can handle a sunburn.”
You smiled, kissing his shoulder. “I know. But I want to. You take care of me all the time. Let me take care of you for once.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he pulled you into his lap, careful of his back, and buried his face in your neck.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Even when you’re babying me like I’m five.”
You laughed, wrapping your arms around him. “I love you too. My big, strong, sunburned boyfriend.”
He held you tighter, the TV flickering in the background. The vacation wasn’t perfect — he was going to peel for days — but it was theirs. And in the quiet moments, with Jason’s arms around you and his grumpy complaints turning into soft sighs, you wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
Jason Todd might be the Red Hood.
But on this beach vacation, he was just your boyfriend — sunburned, stubborn, and completely loved.
And you? You were happy to be taking care of him, the way he takes care of you.
a/n: this was so freaking cute to write I’m so freaking AAAA. I can’t find AC, sorry ☹️
taglist: (comment to be added) @batwngs @naymysweetangel @pinklyred @theamazkngskye @the-shape-of-water @sillygayfreak @nightwingsbaddie @starrydustedwinter @imgoinglococrazy
15:00 ── Albert Park Grand Prix Circuit, Melbourne
The hum of your Mercedes engine was the only thing you could hear apart from the heavy beating of your heart. Your nerves were on fire with anticipation and your foot sat comfortably on the gas petal, carefully awaiting the first lights out of the season. Your eyes were fixated on the traffic lights above you as you stared at the back of Tim Drake’s scarlet Ferrari. Dick was on pole, just a few places in front of you as you sat in the fourth row across from the Mclaren of Gar Logan. A green flag flashed on your steering wheel, signaling you to turn your attention back onto the lights.
…1
The crowd roared with excitement as the first of the five red lights lit up. You shifted slightly in your seat, the anticipation killing you.
…2
Your heart was beating and you could feel the blood rushing in your ears. The media had sent one clear message this weekend: all eyes were on you.
…3
Lois and Clark’s commentary boomed somewhere distant, counting down the moments until the Australian Grand Prix would be underway.
…4
You thought back to your last street race and the moments before the flag girl signaled the start of the race. You had looked over at your friend Zatanna next to you and she flashed you a bright smile, which you reciprocated. Back then you hadn’t had the same sickly feeling in your stomach that you did right now, but rather the knots were from excitement.
…5
As the fifth and final light turned red, you narrowed your eyes and focused, awaiting the moment when you would slam your foot down on the pedal and make your dive up the grid.
“...And it’s lights out and away we go!”
Pressing the gas hard, you jerked the car to the right, attempting to overtake Stephanie Brown and make your way from seventh to sixth on the grid.
“Fantastic reaction time from rookie Y/N L/N in the Mercedes! She makes the pass on Brown and looks to be taking the inside line into turn one! Up at the front of the pack Jason Todd is going the long way ‘round and is gaining on Dick Grayson, who had a slow start. At the back, Koriand’r has just overtaken Hal Jordan for tenth place and is into the points!” Lois Lane announced.
The race to the first two corners was tough and you defended hard against Gar as you pushed to take Tim. Soon enough, however, you fell into a rhythm and muscle memory took over. At turn five, you made your move against Tim, overtaking his Ferrari from the inside. Babs crackled onto your radio, informing you that you were now in P5. You didn’t let up and continued to close the gap to Roy Harper, who Babs informed you was just 3.7 seconds ahead of you. By lap three, you would catch him.
“Amazing stuff from our rookies, with Damian Wayne climbing up into twelfth place. L/N looks to be catching Harper as well!” Lois spoke. “In an interview yesterday, L/N told me that she thrives in wheel-to-wheel racing, which is clearly proven to be true! To get a podium on debut would be monumental, but Harper won’t make it easy for her. And if she manages to get past the Red Bull she’ll still have to fight Wally West for third.”
Several laps go by and you still haven’t made the pass on Roy.
“We’re on Lap 10 out of 58 now, meaning we’re just entering the first pit window for a two stop strategy,” Clark took over. “Looks like Dick Grayson is going in early, hoping for a ripple effect throughout the race leaders…and that’s what he’ll get! Jason Todd and Wally West come into the pits, bringing Roy Harper to race lead.”
You watched the cars in front of you pull into the pit lane for fresh rubber and you hit your team radio button. “What’s the plan here?”
“Plan A, Y/N, Plan A.” Barbara told you. You thought back to your team strategy meeting beforehand. Plan A meant that you would be on a one stop strategy, exchanging your medium compound tires for hards around laps 20-26 of the grand prix.
“Copy,” you replied.
It didn’t take long before you were passed by Dick, Jason, and Wally, as they were on fresher rubber and had that advantage over you. You were shuffled back into P5, and stayed there for the next several laps of the grand prix.
At lap 25, Barbara spoke to you again; “Box box.”
You pulled into the pit lane, lining up into the Mercedes pit box and squealing to a stop. Your tires were changed in the blink of an eye, and just seconds later you were pulling out of the pit lane and back onto the track. You’d dropped to P9 while you were in the pits, which was expected. You still had over 30 laps to make it up and you did so quickly. By lap 29 you had overtaken three cars and were in P6. You were catching Tim again, chasing him down the straight and well within DRS range. At corner seven, you made your move. It was risky, but who were you if not daring? You pushed the car hard, positioning yourself right behind the Ferrari. The corner was tight — too tight — but you saw your opening and took it. Tim defended hard, jerking his car hard to the left to block you and you didn’t have the time to move. Your right wheel hit his rears and you spiraled off into the gravel.
“Fuck!” you exclaimed into the radio. “I had it!”
“I know, Y/N. Can you get the car back on track?” Barbara asked.
“Yeah…what position am I?” Your race engineer was quiet. “Babs, where am I?”
“...P16.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Damnit!” You swore, whipping the car around and pulling back onto the track, now behind Hal Jordan. “Does Tim have a penalty for that at least? That prick pushed me off the track!”
“It’s under investigation, I’ll keep you updated. Just focus on making up the places, we’re not detecting any damage and want to move forward with Plan A.” She informed you.
“Fuck…okay.”
You dove hard into the first corner, overtaking Hal and gaining on Conner Kent. You spent the next several laps with pure tunnel vision, focusing hard on making up your lost places. By lap 39 you had climbed back into the points and at the first corner of lap 51 you overtook Tim successfully for P5. He had backed off quickly, not putting up nearly as much of a fight as before, which made you think he may have been issued a warning by the FIA.
“What we’re seeing here we haven’t seen by a rookie in decades, Lois!” Clark exclaimed from the commentary box. “Y/N L/N started off strong, but took a devastating spin after contact with Tim Drake. She’s made a terrific stint back to the top however, climbing ten places— and wait, we’re just seeing now that the contact between the two has been ruled a racing incident and there'll be no further investigation!”
“I don’t know about you Clark, but it seemed pretty clear that L/N was forced off the track by Drake…” Lois added.
“Well, penalty or not, Y/N has gotten clear of Tim and is now in a tight battle for fourth place with Red Bull driver Roy Harper. Now it’ll be interesting to see what Y/N does here— Roy Harper is a seasoned driver but we know he isn’t strong on defense and Y/N seems to be quite an aggressive driver. She isn’t backing down and is attempting to go the long way round on turn ten, but she’s quite close…and Y/N L/N overtakes Roy Harper for P4! This is the best first race we’ve ever seen from a rookie!” Clark exclaimed. “She may have had a tough qualifying, but Lois, she sure wasn’t lying about her racing! Now up at the front, we have a tight fight for P1 between reigning champ Dick Grayson and Jason Todd. Todd is diving down the inside, Grayson’s putting up a fight but to no avail! Jason Todd gets by and takes the lead from Dick Grayson!”
The last laps of the grand prix remain fairly uneventful. You fight tooth and nail to catch up to Wally but he’s too fast and the gap is too large. By the time you cross the white line, you’re in P4, just one spot away from the podium.
“And Jason Todd wins the Australian Grand Prix,” Lois announces. “Followed by Dick Grayson who had an astounding qualifying but just couldn’t match the pace of the Red Bulls today. Wally West follows and Y/N L/N comes in P4 on her debut race! What a day for the rookie sensation!”
yourusername
liked by j.todd, f1, dickgrayson and 4,203,846 others
yourusername not a bad start
view comments first
user1 YEAHHH GO Y/N!!
dickgrayson THATS MY TEAMMATE
╰┈> yourusername unfortunately
╰┈> dickgrayson ?????????
user2 P4 ON DEBUT IS INSANE
user3 tim shouldve gotten a penalty wtf
╰┈> user4 no she was being a crybaby thats literally just racing
╰┈> user5 ik shes so emotional lmfaoo
j.todd not bad, rookie
╰┈> yourusername high praise from the winner himself
╰┈> j.todd gotta stay humble somehow
user6 shes so bad
╰┈> user7 um she made up 12 places?!?
╰┈> user6 last year dick went from p18 to p1, shes nothing special
j.todd
liked by roy_harper, yourusername, f1, and 12,029,384 others
j.todd 🏅
view comments below
user1 THE GOAT 🐐🐐
user2 THIRD WDC INCOMING!!
yourusername how much red bull do u drink on a daily basis
╰┈> j.todd too much
user3 hes so much better than dick idk why ppl still support merc
user4 YEAH LETS GO REDHOOD
user5 driver of the day for sure
╰┈> user6 what about y/n? she drove a hell of a race
╰┈> user7 who cares about her she spun out and blamed tim like a crybaby
╰┈> user8 literallyyyyy
22:09 ── Grand Hyatt Melbourne
After the long day you had, you were glad to get back to your hotel and crash onto the soft bed, but it seemed fate had other plans for you. The elevator doors opened to reveal none other than Jason Todd, who apparently was staying at the same hotel as you.
“Hey,” he greeted casually. You nodded in reply, stepping in beside him. “What floor?”
“Nine,” you said. Jason hit the button for you and you smiled in gratitude before stopping and remembering what Dick had said about his rival. Although you were never really great at doing what you were told, you felt you needed to back Dick at least a little bit, even if that looked like standing awkwardly in an elevator with your teammate’s (hot) competitor.
The silence that followed was beginning to become unbearable as the elevator slowly ascended so you said, “Congratulations, by the way…on the win.”
“Thank you,” he smiled. “You did great too, P4 is really impressive, especially after that run in with Tim.”
“Oh yeah, that…” you said with a slight scowl. You couldn’t help but be a little bitter that Tim had gotten away with forcing you off the track. You were used to dirty racing and were guilty of it yourself, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you would’ve been on the podium today if you hadn’t been spun off.
“You know, he should’ve gotten the penalty…just sayin’.”
“What?” you snapped your head up to face Jason.
“He pushed you off the track, clear as day.” He turned his body to face you, looking into your eyes. “Bet you could’ve caught West if he hadn’t forced you off.”
“Uh huh…you know, I heard your interview the other day. Still think I could use ‘a couple years of development’?” you quipped.
“You heard that, huh?” Jason cringed. “Just accept the compliment, will ya?”
“Think of a better one and I just might.” You smirked and stepped out of the elevator onto your floor, waving goodbye to Jason who just shook his head at you with a trace of a smile on his lips.
WARNINGS: there is the implication that Jason was s/a'd by the Joker and there's some slight trauma mentions around that
Jason Todd X Reader
It’s silly, he knows it is… Yet, the cold metal of the key weighs heavily in his palm.
A soft sigh leaves Jason’s lips as he stares at the peephole, knowing that you sat behind the door, on the couch… waiting for him. He knows that you wouldn’t have given him a key if you hadn’t wanted him to use it, but he can’t help the pit in his stomach at opening the door at the wrong time.
His fist tightens around the key, leaving indents in his flesh before he shoves it back in his pocket.
Coward.
His mind rushes to cloud him with overbearing thoughts not a minute later, before he’s knocking on the door. There’s a quiet shuffling behind the timber before it’s opened to reveal… you.
So breathtakingly, you.
“Jay, hey baby.”
You smile up at him and he smiles down at you – you rush forward, on your tippy toes before wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He wraps his free arm around your waist, balancing you, before huffing a small, “Hey Sweetheart.”
You squish a kiss against his cheek before letting him in, and the place you kiss starts tingling – mixture of the bitterness in the air, or your effect on him – he’d never admit. He sets the grocery bag down on your kitchen counter, and you tilt your head down at it.
Your hair follows your movement and all Jason wants to do is run his fingers through it.
You point at the bag and look up at him, “What’s this baby?”
Jason shrugs his jacket off – mostly trying to find anything to do with his hands other than to stand there like an idiot – he puts his jacket against one of the chairs near your kitchen island.
“Uh, it’s just coke… and some of your pantry snacks that I finished last time I was over.”
He coughs slightly to clear his throat before starting to dig in the bag, putting the groceries away for you – he can’t help it; he thrives on being useful to you in every way. He closes the fridge before he looks at you again, and you have… a sad look on your face.
Your soft lips are twisted into a frown and he wants so badly to kiss it away… the most he can will himself to do is to stand in front of you, green eyes looking into yours. A calloused hand reaches out and hesitantly strokes your arm, too unsure to intertwine with yours.
“Baby? What’s wrong?”
He wonders briefly if he got the wrong brand of snacks – but he knows he didn’t. He knows what you love, and he wouldn’t mess that up, so it has to be something else. A soft sigh leaves yours, and you lower your gaze towards his chest.
“Jay, you didn’t have to do that…” Your gaze veers off to the side, and there’s an awkward air around you, like you’re shrinking in on yourself.
“Baby, I don’t mind.”
A frustrated sigh leaves your lips and a small flinch presents itself in his body language. He straightens up almost immediately afterwards, hoping you didn’t notice.
“No, I know but… Jay, I’m worried I make you… uncomfortable.”
You? No, no, never you…
“What? No, of course not–”
Jason’s quick to place his hands on your shoulders now and he almost throws up from grief when you take a gentle step back, opting to comfort yourself inside.
“Then why…” You sigh, defeated and Jason can tell with the way you’re hugging yourself that you’re uncomfortable with facing – what you think is – the truth.
“Why do you like… stay so far from me?”
You finally look back at him and this time, your eyes are watering and Jason wants to smack himself for being the cause of your tears. He strives not to ever burden you and now he’s done the worst of it all… been the cause to your anguish.
“It’s not that baby, I–” He cuts himself off to let out a breath through his mouth, he places a hand at his hip, the other coming up to tug near the nape of his neck.
There is a reason he’s so… far. He doesn’t want to be but this thing that lives in him, just… won’t let him get closer sometimes. It strangles him, and he ends up choosing – what he thought – was the safer option for you. For you both.
But he’s starting to think maybe he’s given his trauma a bit too much power. He drops his hands back beside him again. He doesn’t know where to start but he just needs to start.
“I…” He clears his throat before trying again, “I… ache to be near you, and I am so sorry for making you feel like it was you who made me want otherwise.”
The watering in your eyes gets a bit heavier and the sight makes Jason’s chest sting, but he doesn’t want to step into your space… the space you’d asked for.
“Baby, I– I’m not good at this – and that’s not an excuse – I just mean that… well, you know what happened to me when I was… Robin.”
You drop your gaze to the ground, the tears now pooling on the kitchen tiles. Jason’s gaze follows yours, and he finds himself counting the teardrops to calm his shaky hands.
One, two, three, four…
It was a hard conversation, but back when you and Jason were friends, there was a soft implication that Jason wasn’t used to physical intimacy because of his abuse during… that night in the warehouse. That was all Jason needed to say for you to understand, and for the tears to follow, and after telling him that he’s always welcome to talk about it if he needs, you never brought it up again – out of respect for his comfort.
Once that friendship had blossomed into love, you were slow and gentle with your advances towards him – and oh, how he loved you for it – but… after it had been six months of dating, and well, you began to wonder if maybe your advances were making him… uncomfortable and he was just enduring them to be polite.
To clarify, you have no qualms with the fact that you and Jason hadn’t gotten sexually intimate at all in these six months – you’d never rush into that nor do you expect it… but you did want to be kissed more by your boyfriend… and held, and just innocently touched.
“W- Well, I understand that, and again, I’m so sorry but… I feel like I’m initiating everything,” You’re quick to whip your head up, hands out before clarifying, “Which I don’t mind initiating! But… uhm, I’m… I’m not getting any… feedback?”
Jason tilts his head at you, a look of sincere confusion etched into his dark eyebrows.
“Feedback?” His voice is soft as he whispers the word, and you nod, trying to find your next words before wiping your face with your hands.
“Uhm, yeah… for example,” Jason nods along to your words encouragingly, and you take the courage to take one step back into his space. His shoulders lower a bit at your closeness and his hand reaches out before falling back at his side again. You reach out courageously, before grabbing his hand, and he squeezes it almost immediately. You pretend not to notice the slight tremor of his hands.
“When I kiss you, you respond but I have trouble understanding if you… like it or if you’re just tolerating it. And… uhm, you don’t… initiate that sort of stuff with me often so I don’t know if I’m going the right way about it, or… not.”
You look up at Jason and watch as he nods slowly, as if he’s dissecting your words in his mind before his head comes a little closer to yours. His green gaze turns slightly more shimmering than you remember before he whispers down at you, “I want to kiss you, and… I love it when you kiss me.”
A soft fluttering inside your chest makes you sigh out into the space between you.
“So, why don’t you then?” You whisper your words just like he did, not wanting to disrupt the gentleness between you.
“Why leave me so cold? Replace my food, or be so hesitant to take up space with me? Why not just kiss me?”
The distance closes between you and he rests his forehead against yours. His other hand comes to hold yours, and your hand relishes in the warmth of his palms, still and letting him run his thumbs on your skin… scared a twitch would have him letting go.
“I’m scared.”
The confession comes out soft, hesitant. Yet, you understand, so completely. He’s scared of being intimate because he’s only ever known violence, he’s scared he’ll make you uncomfortable.
Scared… his version of intimacy is… not right.
“Jay?”
He hums before slowly leaning away from you, as if he wishes nothing but to get closer… so you give him the chance.
“Kiss me.”
A soft breath leaves his lips before he leans back in again, his nose brushes yours and you almost wince at the coldness of it before gently pushing the tip of your nose against his. A soft smile breaks out onto his face as he mimics the movement.
“Well… now I’m nervous.”
You giggle at him before pulling your hand away from his in favour of wrapping them around his neck. He gently places his hands on your waist, and they feel so natural on your skin, you almost groan. He looks at you expectantly before you nod at him, and he’s quick to wrap his arms around it instead, pulling your body flush against his.
“I guess you’ll have to be courageous. I’m not kissing you.”
A teasing smirk breaks out on your face and he looks at you with faux annoyance, before the softness of the moment brings a smile to his lips again. He leans his forehead against yours again, this time admiring the hues in your eyes as you count the brown specks in the forest of his eyes.
His eyelashes flutter so gently against his gaze before you watch them go down to your lips. His eyebrows frown upwards as he memorises the curve of your lips before he leans closer to you. You let your eyes flutter closed as you feel his soft breath against your lips. Your smirk softens down into a relaxed smile, and his bottom lip grazes ever so slightly against yours before he presses his lips to yours.
A soft groan leaves your lips and he eats it straight up, as his hold tightens on you. Your fingers tangle themselves in the hair at the back of his neck, and you feel just how slightly overgrown it is… you really hope he doesn’t cut it. Your lips dance with his, the kiss ever so gentle yet ever so passionate.
He pulls his foot in between yours and you realise he’s walking you back. You follow his lead before your back hits the cool metal of your fridge, you surpass your squeak, so selfishly needing him to keep kissing you before – much to your chagrin – he pulls away from you.
You chase after his lips with a groan and he lets you – gladly – steal a few more pecks from him before he whispers your name, causing you to stop.
“How– how can I be better to you?”
You smile up at him before cupping his face in your hands. He treats you, amazingly, but you know he’s asking in regards to the concerns you’ve raised.
“I love when you initiate physical intimacy with me, I only ask that you… aren’t so afraid of what I’ll think about it, and just do it.” You can see the slight hesitation in the creases between his eyebrows before you add, “Jason, trust me to tell you if I’m ever uncomfortable with something and just act on how you feel with me… about me.”
Jason nods down at you now, and you smile, feeling triumphant. You watch as he opens his mouth to say something, closes it before opening it again, feeling more courageous with your new – reaffirmed – promise of communication. He seems to finally ‘bite the bullet’ and blurts out.
“Can I keep kissing you please?”
You manage a nod through your giggling before his lips are against yours again, kissing you with a newfound bravery laced with love.
Yeah, you could so get used to this.
---
omg i love jason so bad :( ok there WILL be a part 2 to this one bc i have more ideas for him AND im still working on how i want to write him soooo lmk ur thoughts guys xx AND i have noticed some comments on other posts about taglists and I PROMISE I WILL ADD Y'ALL SHOULD THERE BE A PART 2 TO THOSE POSTS! and i will start working on part 2s to my other fics soon!!! ok bye love u guys ;>
im thinking reader kiss jason todd before patrol (reader forget they put on a lipstick and left a mark on jason cheeks) as reader want to tell him, he already left.
jason put off his mask infront of the batfam and thats how they find out about reader. lol
anw thank youu, i love ur work SO MUCH!😻
kisses for my valentine
IN WHICH... you and jason did a good job hiding your relationship...until you didn't.
warnings: fluff, crack, f!reader, reader is shorter than jason but the exact amount isn't specified, cussing
wc: 1k
"Mmmmmwah!" you exaggerate, lips smacking against Jason's cheek. The apartment is dark, the lights all off as you prepare to go to bed and Jason prepares to leave for patorl.
Your arms wrap around his broad torso as you look up at him. "I'll miss you."
He chuckles, a hand coming up to stroke your hair. "You act as if I'm going into war, ma."
"You might as well be, with the crime you fight!" you reply, pressing another kiss to his other cheek. "Plus, I like to be around you all the time. Of course I'm gonna miss you!"
Your lips keep peppering sweet kisses all over Jason's face. His forehead, his nose, the corner of his mouth...
You seem to have forgotten that you put on a bold lipstick today.
"Alright, babygirl, I gotta go," he sighs, rubbing your shoulders soothingly. "Be good for me, m'kay?"
You nod. "I will. I'm just going to watch a movie then go to bed," you say, smiling softly at your boyfriend. "Go fight bad guys, or whatever."
He laughs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. His hands cup your cheeks as he admires your face in the dark room one last time before his departure. "I love you, doll. Be safe."
With a final ruffle of your hair, Jason heads out the window of the apartment. You watch him go before shutting the window and curtains and leaving to your bedroom.
"What's B want?" Jason frowns as he walks alongside Dick—well, alongside Nightwing—toward the manor.
Dick only shrugs. "Dunno. But we gotta answer to the old man."
The moment they enter the manor, Jason removes his helmet, shaking out his hair. "What'd you need, B?"
"What the fuck?!" Dick exclaims, removing his domino mask. Jason frowns, watching as his older brother erupts into laughter.
"Oh, my god," another voice murmurs. It's only then that Jason realizes the rest of the batfam is in the room. The voice had been Tim's.
Jason scowls down at Dick, who's doubled over. "What?" he asks. "What the hell is so funny?"
"Never thought I'd see the day." Damian.
Another giggle sounds from beside Jason. "You got a little something," he teases, gesturing to his entire face.
A frown tugs at Jason's lips. Tim chuckles. "That pink is so your color, man."
"You look ridiculous." Damian again.
Jason lets out a low grumble, "is someone going to tell me what's goign on?" he demands.
Bruce only cracks the smallest grin. "Check the mirror."
With the attitude of a stubborn toddler, Jason stomps over to the nearest, full-body mirror, and...oh.
He blinks at his reflection, eyes darting across his whole face. Eight prints total. Eight pink marks the shape of your pretty little lips, scattered across his face like a branding.
"That little brat," he groans under his breath, wetting his thumb and rubbing profusely at one of the marks.
It won't budge.
"Damn good lipstick, I'll give you that, baby," he sighs, accepting his defeat as he rejoins his family.
Dick, who seems to have calmed down, lets out another laugh when he sees Jason. Tim is smiling like the cat that got the cream. Damian is...being Damian, staring into Jason's soul with a look akin to disgust on his face. Bruce only smirks.
"Wanna explain?"
Jason sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do I need to?"
"Yes!" Dick exclaims.
"You can't imply anything from...this?" Jason asks in annoyance.
"We never know, brother. You could've had a hookup before patrol. You could be married. It could be a bunch of things."
In Jason's mind, he's hurling a bazillion insults at Dick...and the rest of his brothers for laughing.
He groans rather dramatically. "Fine. I...have a girlfriend."
Alas, Damian grins. "When can we meet her?"
Jason scowls. "Never. She doesn't need to be dragged into all...this."
"You just dragged her in, I'm afraid," Bruce chimes in. "She'll join us for dinner next Thursday."
"B—"
"She'll join us, for dinner," he repeats.
Jason could crawl into a hole and die. "Okay. If she agrees."
"Oh, my god, I'm so sorry, Jay!" you exclaim.
It's early the next morning, you're still rocking bedhead and puffy eyes when Jason gives you the rundown of his night.
You groan. "Ugh! I should've realized. How did I forget that I tried that lipstick?"
"Doll, it's not your fault," he reassures, placing a piping hot cup of coffee in front of you. He brushes your hair back soothingly, kissing your temple. "They would've found out eventually. Plus, it was—admittedly—pretty cute. I liked your lil prints all over me."
You look up at Jason, forking at your breakfast and taking a bite. "Aww, that's sweet, baby."
"Don't talk with your mouth full, ma," he chastises, stroking your cheek with his knuckles. "Well, anyways, they've invited you to dinner next week. You don't have to go if you don't want to. I already told them that I refused to force you to come—"
"—Jay! I want to meet your family!" you assure him, bringing a hand up to his on your cheek, holding it there. "I wanna meet the man who created you."
"He didn't create me, baby, you know this."
"Yes, yes," you roll your eyes. "You know what I meant! The man who raised you, the annoying siblings you always talk about. I wanna know them!"
He smiles fondly. "You know I didn't want to get you caught in the mess that is my family."
"Jason," you groan at his density. "I want to be a part of your mess, don't you get it?"
"Doll—"
"—don't try to talk me out of it."
He laughs. "I hate you sometimes," he sighs, arms snaking around your neck as he stands over your chair. He tucks his face into your neck. "Stubborn girl. We can go shopping tomorrow, find you a cute little outfit."
"You just wanna dress me up," you giggle, ruffling his hair that tickles your neck.
"Guilty. And we're finding you a lipstick that's easier to remove while we're out."
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: roy calls you at 2 am, apparently jason is drunk and needs you
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 1.1k words, none, fluff, CRACK, sort of part 2 for this, roy is there too, 1 sexual comment, not edited just proof-read 🚬
<𝟑: art creds to @quezartt
You’re currently wearing one of Jason’s Gotham U hoodies (you suspect it’s not actually Jason’s) that reaches down to your legs, along with your winter boots. Aside from that, you’re wearing your pyjamas and nothing else.
You’re absolutely freezing your ass off, and by the time you barge into the club Roy sent you the address to, you swear you’re on the verge of hypothermia.
You would’ve told him to fuck off because it’s literally two a.m. But he called with Jason’s phone, and told you to come right now.
You need to come. It’s Jason.
Your heart absolutely stopped for a second. What? You can’t even hear your own voice.
He laughs. Nothing serious. He’s just worried you’re hungry.
Huh? Your voice is still raspy from sleep.
Just come.
So now you’re here, climbing the stairs to the VIP lounge. And it’s just your luck that someone is guarding the door.
He scans you up and down, then shuffles a bit closer to block the entrance.
"Hi, um, my friends are inside waiting for me."
He raises a brow. "Sure.”
"Yeah," you insist. "Roy and Jason—"
His face falls. "You’re Jason’s girl?"
"Sorry?" You blink twice. "What do you mean—"
But you’re interrupted for a second time. You frown and check your phone again, to see if there are any missed calls. There’s not.
The man turns around and taps his earpiece. A moment later, he spins back to you, smiling brightly. "You can absolutely come in." He opens the door for you. "Jason’s girl."
You mumble a thanks, still very weirded out by the whole experience.
The second you step inside, all eyes snap to you. Granted, there are only five other people besides Roy and Jason, but it’s still very weird for everyone to be tracking your movements and whispering to each other.
You ignore the stares and make your way to the boys’ table in the corner of the room. Just where Jay would’ve chosen it— away from any potential threats.
"Roy! Jason!" you call.
Jason is rambling to Roy, waving his hands around and smiling brightly. But the second he hears you, his whole body freezes. Even his hands stop mid-gesture. His pretty green eyes immediately start scanning the room until they land on you.
And then he waddles. He waddles toward you. His movements are clumsy as he tries to grab you, nearly walking straight into a decorative plant.
"Baby!"
You catch him just as he’s about to collapse on top of you. Struggling to support his weight, you try to steady him.
He lets you. Then he picks you up.
He kisses you on the nose, and all you can do is blink in confusion before he throws you over his shoulder.
"Jason?" you whisper-yell. "Put me down right now."
"Nuh-uh." He sounds smug. "Can’t."
The world flips again as he plops you down beside him on the velvet couch. Now you’re sandwiched between the two of them.
You look at Roy, raising a brow. "What did you even give him?"
He smirks, raising his hands innocently. "He said he could handle it."
Jason is playing with your hair. He tugs on a strand before curling it around his index finger.
"Why is everyone looking at us?"
Roy laughs, bright and loud. "Jason couldn’t stop telling everyone about you. The cocktail guy, the—"
"Bouncer?"
He snaps his fingers. "Yeah." Roy grins. "You know, I thought he'd eventually run out of facts."
You blink. "Facts?"
"Oh, yeah." He starts counting on his fingers. "You brush your teeth for ten minutes— you’re a psycho for that, by the way. You like your toast overly done. You cry at movies, even if they’re not sad. He’s dissected the meaning of all of your favourite songs...”
You’re too dumbfounded to properly answer. Roy continues.
"You apparently have the prettiest smile in the tri-state area."
Jason nods solemnly. "It's true."
Roy whistles. "He's got it bad."
Jason is still playing with your hair. "You’re so pretty."
You turn to him with a smile, brushing his cheek softly. He immediately nuzzles into your touch. "Not as much as you."
He shakes his head. "No, no. You’re ridiculously pretty. Sometimes"— he drops his voice, as if you’re sharing some great secret—"when you smile, I forget how to think. Or when you do anything, really."
He wraps an arm around your waist until there isn’t even an inch of space between you. You can feel every line of his body, the hard muscle beneath his clothes. "My pretty, pretty girl."
You place a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you, Jay."
"And you also make me really hard."
Roy’s laughter is impossible to ignore. He slams a hand on the table, wheezing as he mumbles something between fits of laughter. You see him fumble for his phone out of the corner of your eye.
"Yesterday, for example, when you—"
"Jason," you say sternly.
His face falls. "Don’t be mad at me." He’s frowning now, his big green eyes glossy and wide.
You cup his face. "I’m not angry, baby."
"Oh, okay." He nods slowly. "I’m sorry I told Roy you snore."
"I do not—"
Roy nudges your shoulder. "According to Jason, you do."
Jason nods matter-of-factly. "When I can’t sleep, I listen to you breathe. So yeah. You snore."
Your heart pounds in your chest, steady and hard. You want to kiss him. Not just his lips. Everywhere.
Because who decided kisses on the lips were the most intimate? You’d kiss every scar, every freckle, every crook of his beautiful body. You want to worship him with kisses.
"And you make me soup," Jason continues, completely oblivious to the look of pure love on your face.
Roy blinks. "Okay?"
Jason sighs dramatically. "Not canned soup. Actual homemade soup she spends time and effort making."
"Congratulations.”
He rolls his eyes. "You don’t get it." Then his eyes find yours, unwavering. "But you do. You get me, and you love me."
"Of course I do, Jay.” You smile softly.
Jason smiles before resting his head in the crook of your neck. His eyes flutter shut as you run your fingers through his hair. "You’re my definition of an angel."
The next morning, Jason wakes up with a killer hangover and his entire body wrapped around you.
Then he bumps into Roy in the kitchen. He dies of embarrassment the second Roy holds up his phone to show him something.
The video shows nothing but the club ceiling, dim lighting, and red velvet. The audio, however, is crystal clear.
What if she’s hungry?
Jason physically cringes at the sound of his own whiny, worried voice. He’s never drinking again. Roy is barely holding in his laughter, the phone slightly shaking.
She’s an adult, man.
She forgets to eat. There’s a frustrated grumble. I can’t unlock my phone. Stupid numbers. A brief shuffle. The password is her birthday. You call her.
Jason wants to crawl into the Lazaurs Pit and disappear.
In which: Bruce Wayne's daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.
Chapter twelve. It almost worked.
Fic masterlist!
cw: mentions of addiction, mentions of underage drinking, Reader has bad mental health, suicide ideation- suicidal talk, depressive thoughts, reader is not well mentally, mentions of trauma. - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school
The next week is both the slowest and fastest of your life. Each day starts the same. You don’t wake up alone, there’s always someone in the room. Sometimes it’s Alfred, and you’re able to relax a little, other days it's Bruce, and you find yourself subconsciously acting on your ‘best behaviour’.
You eat breakfast, if it’s an Alfred day you go at your own pace, but when it’s Bruce you make sure to eat quicker, even though he implores you to slow down.
After breakfast, the others come in intermittently throughout the day. Dick comes first and brings some stupid gift in, sometimes it’s a plush toy, other times it’s flowers. The generic kind. A collection of roses and peonies, the kind that fits any occasion. He talks your ear off and you offer small, non committal responses. Too afraid to give your real opinion, in fear that he’ll just get up and leave.
It’s easier to just nod. He seems happy at least. He seems to enjoy fussing, fiddling with the pillows or adjusting whatever he can reach. But then he has to go to work. You don’t take it personally. He ruffles your hair but you can tell he’s holding back, as if he’d rip your head off if he used too much force.
In the hours between Dick’s departure and lunch, you occupy yourself waiting for the phone. No one’s called or texted you yet. You aren’t sure who you’re waiting to hear from, but anything would be nice. At first you blamed the signal, but when you got a spam call from a car insurance scam you threw that idea out.
Jason comes with food around lunch time and you thank your lucky stars he did. The hospital food is bland, it’s like eating cardboard soup. He brings greasy fast food and your mouth waters at the smell. You’ve gotten to know him over the fortnight. Your old apartment, the one before the Manor, was two streets away from his old place. It’s easy to talk to him, because you don't need to dig into any of that deep stuff.
You didn’t want to explain how you got here, and he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to explain how he ‘left’, so you didn’t poke the bear. The conversation isn’t alive, it isn’t a constant back and forth with quips and laughs, it’s just a slow stroll.
Alfred and Bruce would scold him for bringing food in, saying that your body needed real food, not just slop, and he’d bat them off. You wished you were confident enough to stand against Bruce. Instead, you’d just look at the floor while they talked.
The book Tim bought from home for you became a topic of conversation. You quickly realised how seriously Jason took it, whereas you just liked having something else to talk about. You weren’t the most ‘literary’ person, but you didn’t mind. Eventually you worked up the courage to make a joke. You called him a ‘real nerd’ and he gave you a non patronising laugh and jab back.
It was nice to be treated like a person and not a time-bomb.
Tim and Damian always arrive at the same time. Just after four. The older had left work early and the younger had come straight from school. Tim couldn’t sit still, so you’d take a walk around the ward whenever he came.
On the first visit he bought some clothes from home, a welcome change from the thin hospital gown. Walking around the ward in bedazzled sweatpants, spelling ‘juicy’ on the rear wasn’t the most appropriate, but it felt like heaven compared to the previous outfit. The ward wasn’t loud or quiet, but rather a constant lull.
You’d ask how work was and he’d ramble while you walked.
Damian keeps sitting on the blue chair on the left side of the bed, and if anyone tries to take his spot he just walks behind them and tips them out of the chair, with a ‘tt’. The first time he did it, you laughed out of surprise. It was a welcome change from the droning beeping of the machines. It felt a little like normal, whatever normal was.
On the second day, you were able to get him alone for a couple of minutes. When Bruce had left to use the Men’s room, you asked Alfred if he could ask the nurse for a new blanket. Tim had left to get a snack from the vending machine. When you finally had the room cleared out, you addressed the elephant in the room.
“Damian, I’m, I’m really sorry for the other night. I wasn’t really thinking- and I know that isn’t an excuse at all and what I did was really fucked up, I should never have hurt you and I’m really sorry.” It was a generic apology because you couldn’t remember all of the details. You remember a fight but that’s about it. Although you couldn't recall the entire ordeal, the spectre of guilt clung like Mold to the memory.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then you heard a small “it’s fine” out of him.
“No, it’s not fine. I was horrible.”
The silence returns, then dissipates.
He shuffles the chair a little closer to the bed, and the front legs batter the edge of the bed. You shuffle to the edge of the bed. Before he has the chance to squirm away, you reach out and pull him in for a hug. Bracing for a struggle, you tighten your grip, but to your surprise he doesn’t thrash or fight against you. Although he doesn’t embrace you back either. His arms stay by his side, like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
In between dealing with the new, strange family dynamics, you were pestered by the Doctors and taken in and out of surgeries. Minor ones, not as bad as the one you needed on intake, but enough to leave you sore. They remind you to pace yourself, but truthfully you want to just speed-run recovery and get out of there.
But the part that keeps you up, the invisible itch you can’t scratch, is the fact that no one’s talking about it. No one’s asking why you were there in the first place. You’re scared of scratching, in fear that you’ll scar yourself.
The phone doesn’t ring all week.
On the first night of the second week, you’re alone. Something about work kept them home. It makes you feel like you’re going mad. The week before last, you’d be begging for a situation like this. One where everyone acknowledges that you aren’t well. That the suffering you kept hidden would finally be seen and fussed over.
Unable to sleep, you opt to take a walk around the ward. Under the fluorescent lights, the tiles underfoot are blindingly bright. It makes you feel nauseous. You’re used to obnoxiously bright lights, the strobe lights you’re normally basking in are way more flashy, but you aren’t used to how clean everything looks.
When you were a kid, the doctors office was a small, shoebox size room, with tatty gray carpet. If you squinted you could see a rainbow of lint ingrained in the carpet. Here, it was so clean you could eat off the floor. The corridors never seemed to end, and there wasn’t a single thing wrong with the place.
It made you feel sick. Small, broken things were comforting. Familiar. This place was so alien. Your feet find their way to the stairs and you keep walking until you find a direction sign. Observatory balcony, toilets, fire exit.
The observatory balcony overlooks Gotham from an untouchable vantage point. That grime and sleaze can’t touch you from up here. God you wish it could. You hate being so clean. Pressing yourself against the railing gives cold comfort, the metal bar freezing against your belly.
You wonder what would happen if you held your arms out. Could you fly? Feel the wind beneath your wings. The breeze below peppers your wind battered face. A kiss, a promise. Freedom. For one moment, just one stolen moment, you could belong to no one, just a piece of litter thrown around in the wind. To become directionless by nature.
No. You know better. Almost reluctantly, you step back. Like a child leaving the birthday party before the cake could be cut. The ground underfoot is cold and harsh. It bites. The tiles look like the ones from the corner store you'd visit as a kid. They should bring sweet nostalgia, but instead it just reminds you how much time has passed. It's been ten years. And you still feel like a little kid. When does that feeling end?
At the end of the week, you’re eager to get out. Back to your room. It’s still not over, all this new family stuff, but at least you can be in your own bed.
On the morning you were set to be discharged, Bruce came into the room, same time as always. But this time, you were awake. Already packing up your bag and dressed for the day. He was relieved to see you with some energy.
He came in with something behind his back. You didn’t see it at the time, but he was holding the leaflet. The one the nurse gave him just after intake. The one for rehab.
While your back was turned to him, you spoke over your shoulder. “As soon as we get back, I need some tea. The earl grey one. The coffee machine tea tastes like rainwater.” He saw the way you angled your body while packing, careful not to put too much weight on the left. Clearly it hurt. You must’ve lied about the pain to get discharged quicker.
His eyes flickered to your open bag and he narrowed his gaze when he spotted the neon orange tube poking out. He’d have to confiscate those once he found out what they were.
For a moment, he wondered if they were actually prescribed, or if you had… no, he couldn’t think like that. You’re a good kid, you wouldn’t steal, would you? Then again, he reminded himself, he doesn’t know you enough to promise himself anything. God, some man he was.
He knew he should’ve said something. But at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to. It felt like a punishment. It could be talked about at home. Something could be arranged. Without announcing it, he began to help you pack. When you turned to grab something on the bed, you let out a startled yelp.
“Oh my God I thought you were Alfred.”
Your voice was half nervous-laugh and half breathless. He noted the way your posture shifted immediately, how you closed yourself up. Like a cornered street cat. Whether you know you’re doing it or not, your body keeps trying to make itself smaller.
The two of you pack in silence. Bruce keeps thinking you’ll try and start a conversation, like you used to, but he’s just met with silence. You haven’t opened up about that night yet. There hasn’t been a moment where you broke down in front of him and confessed everything, all those horrible thoughts swirling in your head like scum circling a drain.
It will happen, won’t it? When he held you, you had been so vulnerable, begging for him. Between the seizing and choking, you begged someone to call your Father. So why weren’t you talking to him?
“When we get back, we need to talk about something.” He hopes his voice comes out as gently as he means it. Bruce knows he can be harsh, he knows he’s rough and sharp, but he has to try.
He lost one child once, he nearly lost another. Forever this time.
It has to get better.
“Can’t we just talk now?” You still don’t face him, back turned against him, a wall built to keep him out. He can’t blame you, he placed the first brick. Without seeing your face, he knows you’re afraid. Every muscle tensed up defensively.
“I think it’d be better somewhere.. Private.”
Bruce Wayne can smell paparazzi rats from miles away. Of course he noticed the way the staff whispered to one another, it was just a matter of time until it slipped that Bruce Wayne had been spending a strange amount of time in the private hospital with a mystery girl. Sooner or later there would be cameras, and cameras brought questions.
“Okay.” Your protest dies before it can take flight. You’re tired, you’re hungry, you want everything to be over. To just go back to normal, for everyone to just back off and leave you alone. You can take care of yourself, you don’t need all these people suffocating you.
Before you can register what's happening, a pair of arms reach around and hold you from behind. Feral, you push them away and spin round to face the body. Bruce looks at you with a mix of shock and pity, what you can’t tell is who he’s feeling sorry for. You, or himself.
“Don’t touch me.” Is all you can get out, before tears well up and embarrass you.
“You can’t do that- you can’t avoid me like a plague and then act all close. You- you- you weren’t there! You don’t get to be here now.” The words tumble out and fall over each other on the way out.
“I’m here because you wanted me here.” His voice was deceptively calm.
“I- what are you talking about? I never asked you to come, I would’ve been fine.” You don’t believe yourself for a second.
“You asked him to call your Father.”
You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from spitting ‘Not you!’ out at him. It wouldn’t do any good. Defeatedly, you turn your back to him again and resume packing.
“That’s not fair. So when he wants you- when some guy in a costume says you have to be there, you come running. But when I wanted you, when a child wanted you, you were nowhere to be seen.”
The folding turns into a rhythm, and you can’t stop yourself from talking.
“You don’t think I asked for you before? I used to knock on your door every day. Every night. I didn’t ask for anything. I just wanted you to see me. Call me selfish but I wanted your attention. Maybe if I had Batman’s number you would’ve been there. Too bad he isn’t my dad huh?”
I'm back from the dead! had the craziest month of my life- the major updates: new job! yay! finished moving! yay! then i got so sick i couldn't move my hands AT ALL. I have this thing where I'm allergic to certain products/chemicals, and if i touch them at all my hands basically shut down- its hard to describe but TLDR my hands are in constant agony and immobile for a week, so, makes it kinda hard to write. BUT IM BETTER NOW!
home advantage
soccer player!jason todd x fem!reader
summary: watching your boyfriend score the winning goal makes you incredibly proud but also unbearably horny.
tags: athlete au, early but established relationship, reader tries to care about soccer but keeps getting distracted, teasing, fluff, post-game smut (fingering, protected piv, multiple orgasms), soft!jason but he's a tiny bit cocky
wc: 2.3k
before jason, you never would’ve chosen to spend a saturday night watching soccer. now, only a few months into dating him, you’ve already spent several of them in the stands watching him play for gotham.
you’re still not a huge fan of the sport, exactly, but you really like jason, and that’s been enough to make you pick up more than you expected. you don't understand what makes one formation better than another and probably couldn't explain half the rules without jason filling in the gaps, but you're starting to recognize when his team is playing well and when he's definitely going to complain about the referee afterward.
tonight’s an away game, but only about an hour outside the city. you would’ve gone if your shift hadn’t ended too close to kickoff for you to make the drive. before he left, jason told you that you could watch from his apartment if you wanted. “i’ll come straight home after,” he added, trying not to sound too hopeful.
you agreed before you could pretend to think about it, which is how you end up curled into the corner of his couch a few minutes before kickoff, one of his spare jerseys hanging loose over your pajama shorts. the fabric smells faintly of his detergent and cologne, tempting you to pull the collar closer every so often just to breathe it in.
jason appears on-screen during the starting lineup, already slightly flushed from warming up. he shakes out his arms, rolls his neck, and glances toward one of his teammates with an easy smile. then the whistle blows, and it vanishes.
throughout the game, the camera keeps cutting back to jason. he’s shoulder to shoulder with another player one moment and sprinting after the ball the next, waving his teammates forward and shouting things you can’t make out over the crowd. his expression stays focused through all of it, and by halftime, his hair is plastered to his forehead.
you try to follow what's happening—there are passes and penalties and several moments where the commentators become very excited for reasons that escape you—but mostly, you watch jason. you watch the muscles in his legs flex when he sprints and the sweat shining along his throat whenever the camera catches him breathing hard. you watch another player slam into him and stumble sideways from the impact while he barely breaks stride.
at one point, jason lifts the bottom of his jersey to wipe the sweat from his face, exposing his stomach and the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. the camera cuts away way too quickly, and you glare at the wide shot of the field in disbelief.
“oh, come on,” you mutter at the television, offended that the broadcast apparently has no sense of priorities.
the camera finally finds him again with only a few minutes left and the score still tied. a second later, jason sends the ball into the back of the net. you’re on your feet before you even realize it, grinning as the stadium erupts around him. his teammates swarm him, grabbing at his shoulders and shouting into his face while he laughs beneath the stadium lights.
pride swells warm in your chest. you’ve come to know how quickly he starts picking apart his own performance, and you love seeing him celebrate before he can overthink everything he could’ve done better.
when his teammates finally let him go, jason drags both hands through his damp hair and tips his head back, his chest still heaving beneath the jersey clinging to his skin. the sight goes straight between your legs. you shift against the cushions and press your thighs together, but the friction only makes it worse.
the last few minutes of the game barely register after that. gotham holds the lead until the final whistle, making jason’s goal the one that wins them the game. by then, though, you’re mostly wondering how long it’ll take him to get home.
✮⋆˙
the lock turns sometime after midnight, and you’re halfway across the room by the time jason steps inside.
he’s changed out of his uniform into dark athletic shorts and a black v-neck t-shirt, his duffel hanging from one shoulder. a bruise is beginning to darken just above his knee, and exhaustion sits heavily around his eyes, though neither makes him any less attractive.
“hey,” he starts, then his eyes drop to the jersey you're wearing. “is that mine?”
you glance down at it, smoothing a hand over the number as if you need to check. “maybe.”
“i like seeing you wear my number.” his gaze lingers for another second. “looks better on you anyway.”
you answer by wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him, his bag hitting the floor as his hands find your waist. his hair’s still a little wet from the shower, and he smells like soap, but you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked during the game: sweat-soaked and running on adrenaline, his jersey plastered to his stomach tightly enough to show every line of muscle beneath it.
“congratulations,” you tell him when you pull away. “i’m really happy for you.”
a boyish smile crosses his face. “you watched all of it?”
“of course.” your hand slides down his arm, lingering over the thick curve of his bicep before you give it a small squeeze.
he kisses you again, softer this time, then leads you toward the couch. once you’re settled beside him, he stretches one arm along the back behind you. “so, what’d you think about the game?”
you look at him, meaning to give him a real answer, but your eyes drift to the chest hair peeking just above the neckline of his shirt, then lower, where the cotton pulls tight across his chest. by the time you meet his eyes again, you have no idea what you were about to say.
“i thought you...” your eyes dip again. “you looked good.”
jason blinks, amusement creeping into his expression. “you watched the whole game, and that’s all you got?”
“well, you did.”
his smile turns smug. “even all sweaty?”
especially then, you think, and your expression must give you away because jason tilts his head, studying you like he already knows the answer. heat floods your cheeks, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“you’re being annoying,” you mutter.
“that’s not a no.” he leans closer, one hand settling at your waist.
you kiss him before he can tease you again, drawing a low sound from his throat as his grip tightens. when you move closer, he pulls you onto his lap, your knees coming to rest on either side of his hips, hands bracing against his shoulders.
one of his hands slides up your back while the other rests on your thigh, thumb tracing absent circles over your bare skin until goosebumps rise beneath his touch. his lips move to your neck as he adjusts you on his lap, bringing one thigh between yours. when you rock against him, the loose fabric of your pajama shorts slips aside, leaving the damp cotton of your underwear pressed against his leg.
he laughs quietly into the crook of your neck. “you’re already this worked up?”
“since the game,” you admit, a little breathless.
he pulls back just enough to look at you. “seriously?”
you arch an eyebrow. “you thought i was lying when i said you looked good?”
his eyes darken at that, and the hand on your thigh slides higher, stopping right at the line of your panties. “can i?”
"please," you say, guiding his hand the rest of the way. his fingers slip past the fabric, and his breath hitches against your neck.
"oh, fuck," he groans before pressing one finger inside you, then another once you've adjusted. jason curls them slowly, the heel of his palm dragging over your clit with each movement. you grind against his hand, chasing each stroke of his fingers. when he presses even deeper, your next breath breaks into a low moan that he catches in another kiss before his mouth trails back to the hollow of your throat, open-mouthed and messier this time.
your fingers slide into his hair and tug, and his teeth graze your pulse. "jay—"
"i've got you," he murmurs against your skin.
the next curl of his fingers sends you over. you come with a sharp cry, your thighs closing around his wrist as your body trembles against him. he works you through it, slowing only when your hold on his hair begins to loosen.
when he finally draws his fingers from you, he tastes them with a quiet hum. your legs are still shaking, but the sight of him has your hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. "i want this off."
jason leans back without argument, letting you drag it over his head. your hands are on him immediately, palms flat against his chest before sliding down his stomach. every muscle tightens beneath your touch.
you kiss him again and let your hand drift even lower, palming him through his shorts. he stills beneath you for a second before pressing into your touch, one hand slipping beneath his jersey to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple until neither of you has much patience left.
“i’m taking you to bed,” he says, his voice rough. “i want more room.”
you nod, and jason rises from the couch with you still wrapped around him. one hand grips beneath your thigh while the other presses flat against your lower back as he carries you down the hallway.
he kicks the bedroom door open and sets you near the edge of the mattress, kissing you until you fall back against it. the jersey comes off first, followed by your shorts and underwear, all of it left somewhere near the foot of the bed.
jason pauses between your knees, his hands resting on your thighs as his gaze drags slowly over you until you can feel it like a touch. you hook your fingers into the waistband of his shorts, and he helps you tug them down before kicking them aside. his cock slips free, the weight of it settling against his stomach.
your teeth catch your bottom lip as your legs fall open wider, and before you can reach for him, he dips down and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "hang on," he murmurs, reaching into the nightstand for a condom.
once he’s rolled it on, he settles between your legs and braces one hand beside you. the other wraps around himself, dragging his head through the slick between your thighs. you’re still sensitive from his fingers, and the contact makes your hips jerk beneath him.
his eyes meet yours as he lines himself up at your entrance. you curl a hand around the back of his neck and draw him down into a kiss as he pushes inside. the stretch draws a shaky breath from you, your hands sliding to his shoulders, nails digging in as he fills you. once his hips meet yours, he pauses, his mouth brushing the corner of yours.
“tell me you’re okay,” he whispers.
“i am.” you wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. “keep going.”
he draws almost all the way out before easing back inside, slow enough to let you feel every inch. the initial tightness begins to ease as he moves again, replaced by warmth spreading through you with each thrust. your hands travel down his back, fingertips tracing the raised scars scattered there before gripping his ass and pulling him closer.
jason groans and picks up the pace, each movement harder than the last, his breathing ragged in your ear. his free hand grips your hip and tilts you upward, and the change in angle makes your heels press harder into his back.
“right there,” you gasp, your head falling back against the pillow.
jason keeps the angle and drives into you, hitting the same spot with every roll of his hips. his chest presses heavy against yours as you bury your face in his neck, the pleasure building again. he kisses your temple and doesn't let up, each movement pushing you closer.
you come again with his name spilling from your lips, clenching hard around him. jason curses under his breath, his rhythm faltering, hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge.
he buries himself fully inside you, shuddering against you as his weight settles carefully over your body. his breathing gradually slows against your shoulder while your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
eventually, jason shifts just enough to meet your eyes. he looks spent, his expression softer than usual. "this might be the best part," he murmurs.
you cup his cheek. "better than winning?"
“yeah.” his arms tighten around you. “i could get used to coming home to you.”
he pauses after saying it, like the thought slipped out before he could stop it. before he can take it back, you pull him down into a slow, sleepy kiss and feel him smile against your mouth.
he doesn't move for a while after that. just stays pressed against you, his heartbeat steady against yours until he nudges his nose against your cheek. "c'mon, let's clean up."
when he starts to get up, you catch his arm. "wait."
he turns to you. "what?"
you press your teeth gently into his bicep. he looks down at his arm, then back at you, and the confusion on his face melts into a tired, helpless laugh. "did you just bite me?"
"i've been thinking about doing that all night too."
he shakes his head, still laughing as he leans down to kiss your forehead. "yeah. definitely the best part of my night."
a/n: watched two world cup games and immediately had to make it about jason todd bc i'm annoying <3 also if any of the soccer stuff is wrong... no it isn't!
Warnings: None that i can think of! // Part of the 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 smau series <3
Morph's thoughts: gotta love that all the pictures that give Jason have a similar colour palette even without intentionally trying to match them, he's just that guy // also i haven’t had access to my laptop all weekend again (it’s getting old for laptop years so baby is struggling, i’ll have a new one soon) so requests are a bit delayed again, sorry :((
izzy806
germansingergirl
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
andulkaphoto
dededos
discoholicmusic
areudirty
