Hii my name is Iris!! I am an on and off fanfiction writer-my previous blog is @hyperfixationstati0n where i wrote for Spencer Reid, Billy the Kid (Tom Blyth’s version), and quite a few hunger games characters. I was super consistent for awhile but then sort of fell out of love with it and I wasn’t having fun anymore.
However…the Superman/David Corenswet worms have infected my brain…the urges are strong. I’d love some ideas or suggestions on what to write for clark (and/or characters from Challengers!) Pretty much no limits, i’m open to everything :) even just to chat!
Hope to talk to some people soon-I have like one friend irl who’s seen Superman and I need more people to chat about it with
Okay, okay, but instead of Bruce being oblivious to everyone’s relationship and not knowing his children are dating, like everyone says, he actually knows before they do
He catches a smile that’s a tad too fond, and he’s like ‘oh, they’re dating,’ and when they announce it a few months later, Bruce is unsurprised cause he labeled them as dating forever ago in his database
He doesn’t realize that some relationships are secret and being kept from him, because he naturally finds those things out. He is the world’s greatest detective after all. Any microexpression made in his presence has been analyzed and dissected easily
One of the kids thinks they’re hiding their relationship so well, but Bruce already knows how long they’ve been dating and where their first date was (cause they used his card to pay for everything)
He doesn’t say anything because… well, why would he? As long as there isn’t too much interference with their vigilante life, most of his children are grown adults and can do what they want.
Bruce is only oblivious to his own relationships. Or maybe, he simply chooses to ignore the obvious signs and act oblivious, simply because he believes it’s a better solution
If there’s someone who likes him, he knows it. Of course, he does; he’s been flirted with and hit on his entire life.
But if someone likes him and he also likes them back, then he suddenly can no longer use that big brain of his to tell what the other person is actually feeling
He truly believes he wouldn’t be able to give the other person the kind of love and attention they deserve while he lives his double life, even if this person was also a hero and had their own double life
It’s illogical, so he’ll pretend that he has no idea the object of his attraction also seems to be attracted to him, and he’ll keep them at arm's length. It’s the best he can do for them
Sooner or later, they’ll come to understand that he is nowhere near the wonderful, caring, compassionate, and good person some people see him as. He’s got darkness in him. He’s a monster that is barely being contained by his crusade to make his city a better place
Imagine surprising Clark by shaving your bush into the shape of a heart.
Like, he gets home after a long day at the Daily Planet; he's exhausted, and all he wants is for you to suffocate him with your thighs and pussy for at least an hour. Multiple hours if he had his way.
Of course, you don't deny him; his puppy eyes are impossible to resist, but when you finally tear off your panties, he's met with…
A heart.
He’s met with a heart.
Yeah, he audibly whimpers. Like full-on whines. He also might've just cummed a little. Ignore the stain, please. If he wasn't so pussywhipped, he'd be embarrassed.
“So, uh—” he gulped. “—watcha got going on there?”
You giggled, more like cackled, at his awestruck demeanor. “Do you like it? I did it just for you.” You pointedly wiggled your hips, and for a moment he swore he saw heaven.
This was unfair. You sprawled out on his bed, completely bare, and with a fucking heart between your legs. How was he supposed to survive?
Superman, Kal-El, the last son of Krypton, defeated by his girlfriend shaving her bush into a heart.
“Thank you, Universe, for blessing me with this gift of a woman.” He bowed his head in silent prayer, muttering the words beneath his breath.
“Are you seriously praying?” you snickered.
“I’m saying grace.”
“Amen.” He gave one final bow of his head, then leaped forward, burying himself between your thighs. Where he was meant to be.
hey guys i’m a littlen drunk right now and i jaunts wanted you for knwtjag even though o only posted on here for a short amount of time it was fun and it weirdly saved my life so thank you to anyone who read my fics
while not abnormal, it was strange having jason out so long. you've managed to will yourself to perform menial tasks to pass the time, laundry, picking up your boyfriend’s books, sharpening his knives.
anything to fight the urge to be that girlfriend. in actuality, you're not, and you trust JASON TODD more than anyone.
you simply…miss him. in a different way than when he's out on patrol. no, tonight—while he's out with his friends—you selfishly miss him more than when his life's on the line. because at least then, he’s working. serving a purpose. and you can't really fault that.
but drinks with roy and dick? that’s leisure. that’s laughter and warmth and something you selfishly crave as much as you can. you try not to stare at your phone. somehow successful. but the moment you hear the front door open and the soft shuffle of boots against hardwood, you're practically at attention.
he stumbles a little—just a little—and kicks the door shut behind him. hoodie down, jacket open, trademark black tee, cheeks absolutely flushed. his eyes are trained on you, soft and glossy.
“hi, sweetheart.” he says, voice a little too loud for the quiet apartment. “miss me?”
you blink at him from the couch, blanket still pulled over your lap. “you’re drunk.”
he grins, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “little bit.”
you tilt your head, watching him, skeptical. “you drove?”
“nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ as he drops his keys in the bowl by the door. “dick called us a ride. he’s annoying like that.”
“responsible, you mean.”
jason points to you, swaying just a bit. “that too.”
he trudges toward you with all the grace of a man who’s fought off armed gangs but now can’t quite coordinate his feet. the couch dips and groans when he crashes beside you. he immediately flops sideways into your lap with a dramatic groan, stifled by your sweatshirt and blanket.
“ugh. my girl.” he mumbles, face smooshed against your thigh. “missed you.”
you fight the smile curling at your lips, running a hand through his hair. “you smell like cheap whiskey, todd.”
“it was expensive whiskey.” he says into your leg, offended.
you hum, fingers dragging gently along his scalp. “you hungry?”
“nah. full of street vendor shit—buncha bad decisions.”
you laugh quietly, smoothing your thumb over the little scar near his temple. “you good?”
he rolls onto his back, head still pillowed by your thighs, blinking up at you like you hung the stars, “m’okay. just tired. and maybe a little tipsy...and definitely in love with you.”
your breath catches, eyes softening. he's too good at this—really. he says it so casually, so sweetly, it knocks the wind right out of your chest.
“…yeah?” you ask softly.
“mhm,” he coos, eyes fluttering shut. “love you so much it’s stupid.”
writer's note .☘︎ ݁˖ you mfs loved drunk!reader and jason so ofc i had to give you drunk!jason. he's hot and i missed writing for him!! i'm glad to be back from my break—i hope you like my first little writing back! if you do—consider reblogging and/or commenting <3
and it’s not that she’s cruel or hateful, she’s just navigating some issues with control and disorganized attachment. she’s hot and cold—sometimes at the same time. she’s draws him in just to feel suffocated. she presses for signs of weakness in their relationship like they’re bruises.
jason, for all his flaws, does love deeply. truly. earnestly. he broods, he definitely has issues with trust, and tends to not be able to let go—he needs to talk things out, seriously—but he’s perceptive. he can see echos of himself in her, in ways. she challenges him, pushes him, brings him to his wits end…but she also loves him like so right. he feels it in his bones.
he knows she need her space from time to time. that she operates best when given ample opportunity to examine her own mind and emotions. he’s fine with that—he enjoys the restraint she exhibits in that way, making time for herself. he loves her, and he never wants her to feel or get lost in the dynamic she shares with him.
say she’s particularly stressed. a mix of everything hitting all at once. all she wants is time to indulge in herself and her own mind—divulge into her own activities, maybe see friends she hasn’t spent time with in a while, or maybe catch a movie alone—something that’s just about her, what she needs. so she brings it up to jason, “babe? can you find something to do for the evening? i need some time.”
and it’s as simple as that. jason respects when she’s up front.
only—she’s not always up front. sometimes she tries too hard to mold herself into what she assumes he wants or needs. maybe he had a bad patrol week, got hurt, and is doing that silent sulking only he can do so well around the apartment. she doesn’t voice much, but she’s there. ignoring her own issues and feelings in hopes he’ll feel better. trying to play the role of perfect—not that jason ever asked. and besides, that’s not how it works—she gets too overwhelmed—it’s just not sustainable.
it always reaches a breaking point. something boils over. a snap. she’s fine and gentle until she’s not. she suddenly feels like she’s been asked too much of—and there’s a guilt with that feeling as well. the nagging idea of, ‘he deserves peace. be that for him’.
but despite the guilt, the feeling remains, and she feels a need to test and scrutinize the relationship. to make problems before he can notice she feels like one.
like when he comes home bloodied from patrol and she’s had a day from hell. her boss was a condescending prick, her friend canceled plans last minute, and she’s running on three hours of sleep—but jason’s lip is split and there’s that look in his eyes that means someone died tonight.
so she swallows it. make him tea, starts his shower, lets him hold her while he stares at the ceiling processing whatever fresh trauma gotham served up.
three days of this. three days of being what he needs while her own shit festers.
then he has the audacity to stare at her. notice her. say, “you seem off lately.”
“off?” her voice could cut glass.
“yeah, distant. like you’re not really here.”
she slams her coffee mug down hard enough that the counter echos, “not here? i’ve been nowhere but here, jason. wiping blood off your face, pretending i don’t have my own problems because, god forbid, you have to deal with anything that isn’t your own guilty conscience.”
“baby, that’s not—”
“no, shut up. you want to know what’s off? what’s off is that i’m so tired of shrinking myself into whatever shape you need that i can’t even remember what i actually feel anymore. it’s all just you.”
his jaw ticks. the vein that appears when he’s fighting his temper mares his forehead, “nobody asked you to do that. that’s all you.”
“didn’t they? because every time i even think to bring up my own shit, suddenly there’s some new crisis. some new reason why your problems are bigger and more important than mine.”
“that’s not fair.”
“fair?” she laughs, and it’s ugly. mean, “you wanna talk about fair? fair would be dating someone who doesn’t treat me like an emotional support system with tits.”
and that’s when jason’s patience snaps. because he can take a lot—has taken worse than she could ever dish out—but that particular accusation hits every insecurity he has about being too much, too broken, too damaged, and too dependent for anyone to love.
“you know what? fuck this.” he’s off the couch, grabbing his jacket, eyes glaring into her own, “you want space so goddamn bad? have all the space you want.”
“oh, so now you’re leaving? because…what? i’m right? perfect. very mature, jason.”
“what do you want from me?” he rounds on her, shadowing her, and there’s something dangerous in his voice now, “you snap, pick a fight, tear me apart, then get mad when i don’t stick around for more. it’s fuckin’ exhausting.”
“i want you to notice before i have to snap—and stop running away the second i’m not perfect!”
he tugs at his hair, eyes rolling, legs moving toward the door, “you think this is me running? baby, when i run, you’ll know it.”
the apartment door slams hard enough to rattle the windows.
he’s gone for two days. doesn’t answer texts, doesn’t come home. her disorganized attachment goes into overdrive—half convinced he’s never coming back, half planning what cruel thing she can say if he does.
she gets through it the way she always does—detachment. short responses to everyone, cutting remarks that leave people emotionally bleeding. her coworker with no sense makes a joke about her hair, and she smiles sweetly just to ask how his divorce is going. a guy at the coffee shop tries to buy her drink and chat her up, and she looks him up and down like he’s something rancid she stepped in.
because if jason’s not coming back, she’ll be in hell—and everyone else can go to hell too.
except he does come back. walks in like nothing happened while she’s aggressively reorganizing her (their) bookshelf.
“we need to talk.” he says, tone like he’s trying to diffuse a bomb.
she doesn’t even look at him, “do we? or are you just here to grab more of your shit before you disappear again?”
“i wasn’t disappearing. i was thinking.”
“how very enlightened of you.”
“jesus christ, would you just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “look, i get it, okay? you’re pissed. you can be pissed. but we can’t keep doing this.”
now she turns around, “doing what?”
“this thing where we hurt each other just to see if the other person will stay.”
she wants to argue, but he’s right and they both know it. so instead she deflects, “maybe some of us are just too much for other people to handle.”
“maybe. but i’m still here.”
“for now.”
“no, not for now. period.” he steps closer, “you think you’re the first person to try to push me away? sweetheart, i’ve been rejected by everyone i’ve ever cared about. if i was going to leave because you’re difficult, i would’ve been gone after the first week.”
“i’m not difficult, i’m complex—”
“you’re mean as fuck when you’re scared.” his voice is matter-of-fact, “you go for the jugular. you say things specifically designed to make people give up on you. and you know what? sometimes it works.”
her throat feels tight, “even with you?”
“no. not with me.” he cups her face, forces her to look at the broken man that loves her, “i’ve been dead, baby. i’ve been tortured, betrayed, abandoned, replaced. you think a few nasty words are gonna break me?”
the thing about jason is he doesn’t just love her despite the mean streak—he loves her because of it. because he knows what it’s like to be sharp edges and defense mechanisms. because when she bares her teeth, he doesn’t just see a snarl—he sees the hurt underneath.
“you know what your problem is?” she says later, when they’re both calmer, sitting on opposite ends of the couch like fighters in neutral corners.
“enlighten me.”
“you think you deserve to be treated like shit. so when i’m awful to you, part of you thinks it’s justified.”
he’s quiet for a long moment, then shrugs, “maybe.”
“and you know what my problem is?”
“tell me.”
“i think everyone’s going to leave eventually. so i try to control when and how, even if it means burning everything down myself.”
“and how’s that working out for you?”
she gestures between them both, “jury’s still out.”
but here’s the thing about loving jason todd—he doesn’t stay because it’s easy. he stays because she’s worth it. even when she’s testing every boundary, pushing every button, daring him to prove her right about being unlovable.
especially then.
because jason knows something about being too much for people. and he’s decided—fuck those people. he’d rather have all of her—sharp edges, and mean comments, and midnight fights—than some watered-down version that fits into other people’s idea of comfort. she fits his.
“come here.” his voice is low, gentle in his own way.
“why?”
“because i love you when you’re mean. i love you when you’re scared. i love you when you’re picking fights just to see if i’ll stick around.” he holds out his arms, “and ‘cause i’m tired of sitting on opposite sides of the couch like we’re enemies. c’mere baby.”
she doesn’t take his embrace immediately. because this is the part that scares her most—not the fighting, but the making up. the moment when he proves, once again, that she’s not too much, that he can handle all of her.
“what if i’m always like this?” she huffs, burying her face into his side.
“then you’re always like this.” he shrugs, “i knew what i was signing up for.”
“i’m serious, jason. what if i never get better at this? what if i’m always going to be the girlfriend who says terrible things when she’s scared?”
“then i guess i’ll always be the boyfriend who leaves for two days instead of dealing with his feelings.” he pulls her closer, his hand at her waist. “we’re both fucked up, baby. might as well be fucked up together.”
and finally—finally—he feels her relax.
a/n: this is my first time really giving reader a set personality or personal issue…do we hate it? also trying something a bit different for how i structure thought drabbles—idk if i like it. i may delete this LMAO, tbh i just wrote it mostly for personal comfort. but shoutout the mean!gf’s of the world and our disorganized attachment. we will prevail. love is not always scary or meant to be analyzed like a true crime case. speaking from experience.
he’s not the kind to be a performative girl dad. he’s not the dad who coddles her purely based on gender, hell no. he respects her, because she’s a person. one he helped make. one he’d level the earth for. jason is not the dad who does it for show. what he does do it for—her, and her mom. the people he loves. the girls who matter.
he’s the kind of dad that learns, actually and practically. he does her hair with the practiced precision of a man who uses a gun more than hair ties, but it always comes out perfect. jason todd is not the kind of man that would half-ass his own kids’ hair. he learns how to speak softer, even when he’s mad. even when she ruins his last good pair of gloves with glue and stickers. when she draws on his case files. sticks smiley face stickers on his helmet. uses his body like a jungle gym when he’s sore from patrol. he never stops her. not once.
she makes him softer, but never weak. just…clearer. sharper in the ways that matter. more deliberate with his time. with his words. with his hands.
he doesn’t shout unless something’s on fire. he doesn’t punish emotion, hers or his. when she loses it in the cereal aisle, he doesn’t walk away. he kneels. breathes with her. says, “hey, we’ll figure it out.” until they do.
he knows how to sit on the floor with her, knees cracking and all, and listen to her talk about things he doesn’t fully understand—schoolyard drama, cartoons about friendship, the difference between mermaids, naiads, and sirens.
he listens like it’s gospel, because it’s her voice saying it, so it is. because she’s excited to tell him. because he never wants to be the reason she stops sharing.
jason learns how to handle being scared again. not the kind of fear he knows—bullets or shadows or defeat—but the kind that creeps in quietly when she coughs too hard, or when she doesn’t answer right away, or when she starts growing up and away from him.
he learns that fatherhood isn’t about protecting her from everything, it’s just about showing up, over and over, even when he’s tired or guilty or convinced he’ll fail.
he’s not overly sentimental, but he keeps every note she leaves in his nightstand drawer. he lets her doodle in the margins of his favorite books, right beside her mother’s inscriptions and notes. he’s not sappy, but he is loving. always.
jason doesn’t do bedtime stories in the traditional sense. he tells her toned-down versions of fairy tales with his own twists, where the princess saves herself and her best friend is a motorcycle, and there are no love interests aside from a man and woman eerily similar to him and her mother.
he learns how to apologize, too—when he’s too short with her, when his temper flares and her’s does too, when he sees a flash of the old him in her stubborn little frown. he says sorry and he means it, because he never wants her to grow up thinking love comes with sharp edges.
he’s not soft. but for her, he is safe. secure.
and that’s better.
˖ ࣪ ⊹ writer's note | this was a request and i just had to. so here, my thoughts on girl dad!jason. i love him. most of this is based off of how he was as robin (staunch based feminist jaybin save us) !!
if you liked this lmk with a reblog and/or comment <3
thinking about jason todd finally becoming a family man. a thing he never truly imagined for himself, never let himself imagine. suddenly he’s got a kid on the way and his fuckin’ motorcycle and your ancient ass car aren’t going to cut it. so now he’s out with you, shopping for the most father-like car you two can find. he’s not used to safe vehicles, even in his own youth.
he's always been a man that subscribed to speed, to thrill, to scraping by with just a cocky smirk and a devil may care attitude that expertly shields the far softer crux of himself. a safe car—one with good mileage and enough cup holders—wasn’t something he’d ever imagined himself shopping for. but here he is, standing next to you in a dealership lot, staring at a lineup of SUVs and sedans with an expression that’s somewhere between disbelief and resignation.
“i feel like i’m betraying myself just by being here.” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flitting over the sensible, family-friendly options. “i mean, a fuckin’ minivan, babe? this is what my life has come to?”
you can’t help but laugh, hooking your arm through his and leaning into his side. “no one said we had to get a minivan, jay. but…maybe something with four doors—and airbags that actually work.”
“you’re really cutting into my image here.” he teases, though his hand falls to rest on your back, steady and warm. there’s a quiet shift in his tone when he adds, “but i guess i’m not just buying for me anymore, huh?”
he glances at you then, at the way you’re glowing in a way that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun overhead. his hand lingers on your back, sliding down to your hip as his lips twitch into something soft. it’s a look that says more than he ever could out loud—that he’s trying, that he wants to be the man you need him to be. for you. for the baby. for this whole new life he’s never let himself dream of, but now wants so desperately to protect.
you squeeze his arm. “well, you know what they say. nothing’s cooler than being a parent.”
“oh, sure.” he snorts. “because every kid wants to say their old man drives a…what is this, a fuckin’ toyota rav4?”
you laugh again, and it’s the kind of sound that grounds him, makes all the self-doubt and second-guessing fade into something bearable, burdens vanquished. he watches you as you step toward one of the cars, peering through the window at the interior.
“this one’s not so bad!” you say over your shoulder. “looks like it could handle groceries, strollers, maybe even a car seat…or two.”
he follows you, resting his arms on top of the door as he leans in to inspect it with you. “you’re really selling me on this whole ‘dad’ thing, you know that?”
you glance at him, your smile softening. “you’re gonna be really good at it, jay. better than you think.”
he doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you with those steady, blue-green eyes of his. and then, after a second, he nods, jaw tightening like he’s trying to swallow back something thick and emotional.
“yeah,” he agrees quietly. “maybe i will be.”
and for the first time, it all feels real—not just a looming, abstract idea but something solid and tangible. a life, a family, a future he never thought he could have.
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