Fighting the school to prison pipeline during the day and crime fighting at night.
(I put sub because I imagine that he canât work every day. Also students walk into a random classroom and ÂŤÂ Oh Shit itâs Mr. Todd here today instead of usual teacher  and theyâre both happy but also ÂŤÂ damn we like actually have to do Learning today )(I think that while Jason would be most comfortable as an ELA sub, heâll do anything and also with all that Bat and Assassin training heâd be pretty good in all subjects like Jack Of All Trades Style)(also I think the reason students like him is because heâd make the learning relevant to their lives ÂŤÂ your reading work is this today and hereâs how that can help you find shit clauses in a contract  or somth) (anyways I was just at the market and thinking about this and you were the first blog on my dash when I opened the blr so hereeeeee smooshing this into your inbox)
⯠⢠your ta refuses to give you a second chance for your midterm, so you resort to the oldest trick in the book.
ft. fem reader / teacherâs assistant jason todd
content. 18+ ,, wc. 5.7k
ââjust give it another read and iâll be out of your faceâ you plead, jogging to keep up with his long strides.
âshouldâve studied moreâ
jason todd had completely violated your midterm essay with red ink, leaving notes like âintro is too fluffyâ, âless explanation, more reasoningâ, and âweak connectionsâ
you really thought having a younger ta would be more convenient. someone close in age who understood the chaotic balance of a college studentâs life, the work hard, play hard lifestyle.
unfortunately, he seemed to have skipped the play hard part entirely and dedicated his entire life to taking his job too seriously.
âthe thing is, i did study. i studied so hard my brain almost started leaking out of my earsâ you huff, practically speed walking just to stay in his pace.
âbetter luck next time, thenâ he deadpans, turning sharply down a hallway.
you refuse to leave it alone just yet. âyou donât understand, this grade is holding my whole average down. if you just look really hard at my essay again, youâll realize itâs actually a masterpiece and change it to a b plus or an a minus. i'm okay with eitherâ
around you, students drift past. entirely ignoring your spectacle, you two were just two more students anyway.
âi know it was a piece of work. just not a very good one,â he mutters, reaching for the heavy glass exit door. âyou get what you earn, not what you think you deserveâ
in a desperate movement, you catch him by the forearm, the one not currently holding the door open. jason halts, turning back to look down at you with a gaze so intensely unamused you thought about dropping this whole thing.
your eyes briefly drop to the fact that his forearm is surprisingly solid under your fingers. you let go immediately, clearing your throat.
âj, please. youâre not breaking a single rule by glancing at a couple of papers for two minutes. call it an error when you fix my grade, nobody has to knowâ you bargain, your dignity completely abandoned.
âj?â is all he says, raising a single eyebrow.
you are more than infuriated that thatâs the only part of your speech he registered.
âcan i call you j? weâve practically known each other for three years, nicknames are important for friendshipsâ you argue, offering a helpless shrug.
a humorless chuckle slips past his lips. âwe know each other, yes. exclusively because we share the same department and we are definitely not friendsâ
you stick out your bottom lip. âwe could be. think of the matching tattoosâ
âgoodbye, sweetheartâ he says, shaking his head and giving you an unyielding nudge backward so the heavy door doesnât shut right in your face.
you stand there, staring at his retreating back through the glass.
sweetheart? ugh. that was what your professor, a sweet old lady, tends to call anyone whoâs a year younger than her.
unfortunately, you respect her way too much to walk into her office and make a fool of yourself over a graded paper, knowing sheâs already busy as it is.
plus, thatâs literally what a ta is for. and unfortunately, jason todd is a stubborn jerk who refuses to give you the time of day, let alone a second chance.
you turn on your heel and stalk back toward your dorm, thinking of ways to force him to read your paper again.ďżź
serving is an art and you definitely take pride in your work. tips arenât easy to come by but youâve mastered gaining them. a soft, sweet smile paired with a quick joke goes a long way especially with the older crowd who tips in loose bills and praise.
unfortunately, you live in a college town so itâs never a rare sight when the usual frat boy stumbles in without an ounce of basic manners.
thankfully, today is a slow day. youâve only spotted one of the usuals so far and the small diner you work at isnât anything fancy but it brings in just enough cash to keep paying for your housing on campus.
you lean against the counter, half listening to barbara engaged in a harmless but dramatic argument with one of the line cooks in the back. she must see the wheels turning in your head because she eventually breaks away and drifts over.
she bumps her shoulder lightly against yours. âwhatâs up?â she asks.
âjust thinkingâ you murmur, keeping your eyes on the floor.
âabout?â she inquires, resting her hip against the laminate.
âmy midtermâ you admit, letting out a heavy breath.
âhe still hasnât budged?â she asks, knowing how desperately you need those few extra marks to drag your grade out of the gutter.
ânopeâ you say, lingering on the pop of the letter.
as if heaven itself had suddenly heard your desperate pleas, the front door chimes and jason todd, in all his insufferable glory, walks in.
you both freeze and look up. he clearly has no idea you work here or you know for a fact he would have willingly walked into any other diner in town just to avoid you. you and barbara share a knowing look as he takes a seat at a booth in barbaraâs section.
you stand up straight, instantly planning to to fight barbara for the table.
she holds up a hand before you can even open your mouth. âall yours, babeâ she says, a smirk playing on her lips as she pushes herself off the counter.
you make a straight beeline toward the booth at the very back corner of the diner.
heâs already settled in, laptop open with a scattering of heavy looking papers taking up almost the whole table. you donât even wait to be invited, you just slide straight into the opposite bench of the booth before he can tell you to move.
he looks up, surprised for a fraction of a second before his expression flattens into that familiar look of rejection.
âstalker much?â he asks, raising an eyebrow.
âactually, you walked into my place of work, so technically that makes you the stalkerâ you fire back.
âmhm. a black coffee and a slice of pie would be great, assuming you can manage that before you start causing noise pollutionâ he says, making you roll your eyes as you violently swallow your pride.
âitâs on the house if you look over my essay againâ you press, leaning forward to try the persuasion again.
ânice offer but i can afford a cup of coffeeâ he replies, his eyes already drifting back down to his glowing computer screen.
âhow about free pie for the rest of the month?â you try again, narrowing your eyes.
âi donât even know if itâs good, never tried it. so why donât you do your actual job and bring it to me?â he says and that detached tone genuinely sets you on edge.
âactually, we donât serve pie after twelveâ you say, offering an unbothered shrug.
he looks back up at you then, raising a dark brow. âright. then a cup of coffee would be fantastic or do you not serve those past twelve either?â
you huff, sliding out of the booth to fetch his stupid coffee and march right back over, dropping into the seat again.
âdidnât know waitresses spent their shifts sitting with customersâ he remarks, not looking away from his screen.
âwe do hereâ you snap back. âhow about this, iâll pay you out of pocket for every single minute it takes you to review my paper?â
âi donât need your moneyâ
âbut i need your help!â you plea, resting your chin in your hands.
âcanât you take no for an answer?â he asks, his voice laced with a dry teasing and genuine exhaustion.
âwhat do you want then?â you demand.
he glances up at you briefly, the diner lights catching the sharp line of his jaw. âfor you to go awayâ
âyou have to want somethingâ you persist.
âi think you heard me clearly the first timeâ
âyou donât want money, what about drugs?â you blurt out in desperation.
âwhat?â he asks, his brows pulling together in genuine bewilderment.
âyou donât want drugs? maybe some illicit weapons? i could find a guyâ you offer.
he stares at you for a long moment. âyou do refills on this coffee?â
âonly if you agreeâ you counter.
âforget itâ
âplease, please, jason,â you beg, your voice dropping to a whine.
he gives you an unamused look just as your name gets loudly called out from the kitchen window.
you lean slightly over the table, close enough that his eyes are forced to lock directly into yours. âthis isnât over yet, toddâ
he just hums dismissively, typing on his keyboard.
you roll your eyes, actively fighting the fierce urge to smack him right across his unfairly well structured face.
âcute uniform, by the wayâ he calls out casually just as you finally slide out of the booth to leave.
you let out a loud scoff, the hem of your skirt shifting as you turn and walk away with a heavy footed force.
when you finally push through the swinging kitchen doors, your manager is standing right there, arms crossed with barbara lingering close behind.
âas much as we want you girls to have fun, we donât pay you to entertain your boyfriend of the week while youâre on the clockâ your manager says flatly before turning away.
youâre left standing there, glaring daggers through the small window toward your stupid ta.
grades arenât due for another three days and itâs like the universe is on your side because the second you step into the cafeteria, there he is.
the dining hall isnât too packed. a few students are laughing, others deep in their work. heâs leaning back in his chair, chatting it up with his friends. you vaguely recognize them, one is barbaraâs old (or current, you really couldnât tell with those two) hookup and the other is a sophomore, you think.
as you march toward their table, you rehearse exactly what youâre going to say to make him change his mind.
âdonât mind if i doâ you say as you slide into the empty chair next to the sophomore. he gives you a puzzled look but beside him, the other two exchange a knowing look.
âcanât even enjoy the company of my friends without you ruining it, sweetheart?â jason asks, at this point you know this is more amusing to him than anything else.
âevening, guys,â you offer a small greeting. âso, back to youâ you direct your gaze straight to jason.
from the corner of your eye, you can see dick, barbaraâs favorite toyboy, flashing an amused, knowing smirk similar to jasonâs. tristan or tyson, you really still couldnât figure out the sophomoreâs name, simply looks confused.
âthere has to be something that you so desperately need and i will be the one to get it for you, no questions askedâ you say, leaning slightly into the table.
he shakes his head, folding his arms and placing them flat on the surface to mimic your posture.
âitâs fine if you donât want to say it out loud. iâll start listing, and you just tell me when i hit itâ you press on.
âyou said no to drugs or weapons. how about some sort of technology? a phone, a computer, a secret gps tracker? no? how about⌠revenge? you must not like someone here, iâll steal their bike, i can get someone expelled? no? what about girls? you donât have a girlfriend, do you?â
he raises an eyebrow. âno. why, you offering?â he asks, heavily flirting.
you furrow your brows. âdo you want me to be? because iâll be the best girlfriend ever. iâll even become your wife if you bump my marks upâ you say with enthusiasm.
he chuckles, leaning back and sharing a look with dick.
âvery stubborn, arenât you?â richard asks, which you know better as dick, even though it doesn't sound like a question.
âlearned from the bestâ you reply, nodding toward jason.
âwhat about you guys?â you decide to pivot away from jason. âyou must want something? iâll do anything as long as your buddy over here fixes my grade before the deadlineâ
grayson shakes his head. ânot on my endâ
you catch the sophomore next to you debating it in his head before jason and dick shoot him a look that clearly promises a quick death if he even thinks about opening his mouth.
you huff, sinking back into your chair.
a heavy silence settles over the table as you all just trade glances.
âwhatâs your name again?â you turn to the guy on your right.
âdonâtâ jason warns him.
âwhat, canât i make friends?â you ask as innocently as possible.
âtimâ the guy mutters.
you offer your name in return, straightening up in your seat. âso, timââ
âtim, donâtâ jason warns again but you completely ignore him.
âis there something youâre tired of dealing with? i can take care of it for youâ you say, leaning in to give his shoulder a reassuring tap.
âdo anything for him and iâll never even give you the time of dayâ jason snaps from across the table.
you scoff. âyou hardly do anywayâ
you give tim, who you had been wildly off about, a deeply pleading look, eyes wide with a tiny pout. it actually looks like heâs about to cave until jason stands up, followed closely by dick.
âdonât be weak, drake,â jason says, turning on his heel. âletâs go.â
you roll your eyes and slouch down. âyou guys are no funâ
âfind other boys to mess with, sweetheartâ jason calls back, leaving you stranded at the table with your own crushed triumph.
before you can retreat to your dorm to probably cry, your phone buzzes in your back pocket.
you pull it out, seeing a message from barbara.
b <3: didnât succeed?
you: nope, how do yk?
b <3: grayson texted âyour friend is quite persistentâ
you: geez, u two still in contact?
b <3: at the moment
you: im seriously running out of bribes
b <3: you havenât offered the oldest trick in the book
you: which is?
your eyes widen and your jaw slightly drops as you read the message that comes right after.
the party is at full blast, the frat house packed with warm bodies and not nearly enough room.
you and barbara make way through the crowd, your tipsy state making every step almost impossible.
giggling the whole way, you stumble into the kitchen. itâs still packed, just not quite like the living room or the patio. you lean your back against the cool counter, attempting to chat with barbara or at least trying to hold her attention.
ââand then she said⌠b!â you call her out. she was totally checked out, her eyes already drifting away toward the edge of the room.
you follow her gaze. it lands on one of the guys who had left you stranded at the dining hall yesterday.
she and dick lock into some weirdly intense eye contact. you look away, but not before taking a second glance, if heâs here, that must mean jason is too.
you scan the room a little more until you spot him standing near dick, talking to someone else.
barbara seems to have spotted jason in that exact same group and she snaps back around to face you.
âgo talk to him â she urges.
âright now? are you crazy?â you exclaim.
she just shrugs her shoulders.
âif youâre actually planning on whoring yourself out, you need to be confident. itâs the whole reason youâre hereâ she offers bluntly.
you whine the second the words leave her mouth, the reality sobering you up instantly. âi need another shot or somethingâ
you two manage to get your hands on a sketchy mixed liquid thatâs twenty percent juice and eighty percent pure alcohol. it burns as it trails down your throat the second you swallow it.
âyou got thisâ she encourages as you turn to face probably the most humiliating thing youâve ever willingly subjected yourself to.
you navigate into the crowd until youâre staring at his back. weirdly enough, he looks even taller from this angle.
you reach up to tap his shoulder. he turns around, looking down at you with those piercing eyes.
âhiâ you say, your voice so impossibly meek you can hardly believe it came from your own mouth.
he excuses himself from the person he was talking to, immediately turning his full attention back to you.
his gaze drifts down, taking in your thin, tight top that clings to the curves of your torso like it was made specifically to seduce any guy in your vicinity. your skirt isn't helping your case either, sitting low on your hips and leaving little to the imagination.
he only wonders how you managed to make it this far into the house without a weird crowd of guys trailing behind you like lost puppies.
he chuckles darkly. ânot going to let me enjoy a party?â
âyouâre a senior, youâve attended plenty, iâm sureâ you say as he leans down slightly to hear you over the heavy bass of the music.
âiâve been to one or two,â he answers with a smirk before leaning down even further, right against your ear. âcanât hear you well, sweetheart. letâs go over hereâ he murmurs, guiding you with a warm and steady hand on your lower back.
he steers you back to that exact spot in the kitchen where you and barbara had been mere moments ago, though sheâs nowhere in sight now.
you lean your elbows back against the counter just slightly. he stands right in front of you, practically caging you in as one of his hands comes down flat on the counter beside your hip, grazing the fabric of your skirt.
âso, what offer have you come up with now?â he asks, at that point, it feels like he was practically begging for it.
âdo you want a blowjob?â you blurt out.
the second the words leave your mouth, you want to snatch them right back and leave, either from the party or the country, you havenât decided yet.
his entire body stills for a fraction of a second before he laughs and itâs not one of those dry, humorless chuckles heâd hit you with before.
his laugh is rich, carrying a low, rumbling sound that makes it impossible to tell if itâs the sound of his voice or the heat of the party thatâs suddenly rushing to your cheeks.
âiâm seriousâ you insist, though a soft and mortified smile tugs at the corners of your lips.
âare you?â he asks. the laughter has faded but the usual, lingering smirk remains. your eyes drop to his lips for a second before snapping back up to meet his.
he catches you looking. his expression softens into something a little more dangerous and he mimics your movement, his eyes dropping to your lips too. a delicious, nervous churn twists deep in your stomach.
if it hadnât been for your midterm, you wouldnât be standing here offering yourself to jason. the thought makes you mentally call yourself an idiot because heâs so painfully and effortlessly hot that you canât believe it took you this long to really notice.
no, you always knew he was attractive, but you had no idea just how much.
âthatâs a new oneâ he says, snapping you right out of your daze.
âwhat? youâve never been offered that before?â you snap back.
âno, i have. but the sincerity of the offer caught me off guardâ he replies smoothly.
âsincerity?â you echo.
âmhm. even if it werenât for your grade, youâd still want to sleep with meâ he says.
you scoff. âreal confident, arenât you?â you shoot back, even though your heart skips a heavy beat against your ribs. âplus, i asked if you wanted a blowjob, not to sleep with me. sounds like youâre projectingâ
he chuckles low in his chest. âcaught meâ
your heart practically stops.
âso, have you actually taken the other offers before?â you ask, narrowing your eyes.
âdependsâ he says, tilting his head.
âon what?â
âif they pass the testâ
âwhat test?â you ask, utterly baffled.
âthe kiss testâ he says, leaning in closer.
your breath hitches. it feels like some invisible magnetic force is pulling you two together.
the tips of your noses brush and a second later, your lips meet his.
his hand immediately finds its place at your waist, while yours naturally goes to the back of his neck, tangling in the hair at his nape.
the kiss is unexpectedly gentle. his lips are soft and as you linger, they mix with the sweet trace of lip gloss on yours.
he breaks the kiss for a brief second, just long enough to look down at you before diving right back in. this time, his other hand finds the nape of your neck, fingers seek to hold you securely and deepen the pressure.
this kiss is a lot more pronounced, a little sloppier around the edges but still firm and hungry.
his tongue brushes against your lower lip, just on the verge of parting your mouth entirely before he abruptly pulls away. youâre left standing there, chest heaving, completely breathless and panting.
âdid i pass?â you ask, trying to keep it light through the haze.
he lets out a dry, raspy chuckle. âoh, yeahâ
âhow many girls have passed?â you press, still struggling to wrap your head around the fact that this is apparently not a first.
âjealous?â he taunts.
you scoff, shaking your head. âyou wishâ even though you are very much dying to know the answer.
âmeet me tomorrow at my office during office hours for tutoringâ he says and for a fleeting second, you completely forget why you even agreed to this in the first place.
âi didnât ask for tutoringâ you pout.
âyou get what you earn, not what you think you deserveâ he echoes, throwing his own words right back at you again.
âyou still didnât answer my questionâ you point out.
he steps back just an inch, giving you some breathing room. âonly you have passedâ
âso iâm good enough to pass but not to fully get what i want? i guess iâll just have to work on my kissing techniques, thenâ you tease, a glint in your eye.
âas long as itâs not with a guyâ he replies, his voice dropping an octave.
âthen how am i supposed to get feedback?â you joke.
âbuy a teddy bear or somethingâ he fires back, turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you standing there completely flustered, flushed and utterly fucked.
you donât know why your pacing around outside of jasonâs office. this is what you had wanted, to persuade him into giving you better marks.
tutoring isnât exactly what you had hoped, especially after that little stunt you pulled at the party but itâs better than sitting alone staring at a blank piece of paper.
as you finally hold up the courage to knock on the door, itâs as if he was waiting right behind it.
it swung open and he was standing there, wearing grey sweatpants and an old white shirt that clung a little too well.
youâd never seen him like this, only ever trapped in conformity attire of a ta. never relaxed, and oh boy, were you in deep trouble.
âcoming in?â he asks, a slow smirk pulling at his lips and you really hoped he eventually did.
you stepped in and he closed the door behind you with a quiet click.
his office was neat, though empty. a couple of textbooks here, a half empty mug there. he clearly didnât spend much time here or simply didnât care to make it look like he did.
âyouâre quiet todayâ he says, closing the distance just a fraction as you finally turn to face him.
âjust ready to learnâ you say, letting out a dry giggle, instantly wishing you knew why you turned into a mess around him.
oh but you did know. the kiss hadnât left your mind for a single miserable second since he left you breathless by the kitchen. it was a miracle youâd gotten any sleep at all.
oddly enough, there wasnât a chair in front of the desk. usually, there was a visitorâs chair to talk over assignments but it was completely missing.
he probably noticed your hesitation over where to stand. âyou can sit in my chairâ he offers, gesturing to the massive leather seat behind the wooden desk.
you make your way around it and do as he says, sinking into the leather that still somehow smells faintly of his cologne. âwhere will you sit?â you ask, looking up through your lashes.
âah, i donât mind sitting hereâ he says smoothly, hopping up to sit right on the edge of the desk, facing you.
you gulp hard and quickly look down as his intense eye contact threatens to melt you right into the leather.
you clear your throat, reaching into your bag to pull out your essay.
âthought you might want to look at it again. since you were so pleased to tear it apart the first timeâ you tease, raising an eyebrow.
he grabs it from your hands, your fingers brushing against each other, sending a stupid little jolt up your arm.
he adjusts himself on top of the desk, his frame slightly hunched forward, legs casually spread. the confidence of his stance alongside those sweatpants is literally killing you.
you tried to look at literally anything else in the room but nothing was interesting enough to keep your eyes off him for ten seconds.
âi know which places you need improvement inâ he finally speaks up, his voice dropping an octave.
âwhich are?â you ask, crossing your arms defensively over your tank top.
âall of them, sweetheartâ he replies simply.
you let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back into the oversized chair âunbelievableâ
âwe can start from the top or the bottom, whichever you prefer to firstâ
âbottom. you said my conclusion wasnâtââ you start and he effortlessly finishes your sentence for you.
âstrong, yesâ
âi thought it was pretty solidâ you argue, tilting your chin up.
he shifts on the desk, crossing one ankle over the other. âwell, what makes you think it was so solid?â
âit summarized the main points, didnât it?â you shrug, trying to match his tone.
âa fifth grader could do that and maybe, some of them do it better than you. at a college level, you need that and a hell of a lot moreâ he fires back.
âi didnât just summarizeâ you retort, rolling your eyes.
âso, you admit you need more?â he says, a teasing, dangerous edge curving his voice.
âi didnât say it was a masterpiece, i said it was solidâ you snap, casually spinning your chair around.
he groans softly and your chair suddenly comes to a violent halt. he was no longer sitting on the desk, he had stopped it with his forearm right above your head, caging you in as he leaned heavily into your personal space.
âweâre here for tutoring, not play timeâ he murmurs in a warning tone.
âi wasnât playingâ you breathe out, your heart hammering against your ribs. âi actually know how to write a conclusion, you just love being a harsh criticâ
âthen prove itâ
âwhat?â your voice pitching up higher than you'd like.
âshow me you know at least the basics of a college level conclusionâ he explains, his face inches from yours.
you scoff, flashing a fake smile. âgreat teaching method, todd. really inspiringâ
he chuckles, unfazed. âyouâll get rewarded if itâs good enoughâ
that makes you instantly perk up, your eyes locking onto his. âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âdo you know how to write it or not?â he asks, his voice growing dangerously on edge.
you swallow hard, nodding. âfine. first, i explain what the overall point of my thesis was, tying it togetherâ
he nods slowly, still caging you in. you can practically feel the heat radiating off his body but you forced your brain to focus on the task at hand.
âfor example, i show how my connections, which you called weak, actually matter. very straightforward unlike the body paragraphsâ you continue.
he hums, a low vibration in his chest. his warm breath suddenly brushes against your neck as his head dips lower, his lips ghosting over your lower jaw.
your breath hitches in your throat and a soft gasp escapes you as his lips finally make firm contact with your skin.
he nips lightly at your neck, sending a shiver straight down your spine. âcontinue with your conclusion, sweetheartâ he growls against your skin.
ây-your conclusion only matters if itâs backed up by true facts,â you tried your absolute hardest to keep talking, ignoring the way his hands started tracing up your thighs, âso whoever is reading it doesnât doubt that the final point is...â
âis what?â he hums, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point.
âinaccurateâ you finish weakly, your hands instinctively coming up to grip his shoulders for support.
âwhat sort of structure do you use?â he ask, his thumbs tracing the hem of your skirt.
âthe conventional oneâ you whisper and even to your own ears, your words make zero sense anymore. his lips are entirely destroying your ability to form a coherent sentence.
he chuckles against your collarbone.
his warm pecks continue drifting down your shoulder. his fingers slowly tugging down the strap of your jacket, leaving your tank top exposed.
he presses a lingering kiss right to the top of your shoulder and your arms naturally wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.
âwhat makes a conclusion complete?â he asks against your skin, his hands mapping the curve of your waist now.
âs-synthesize the connections,â you sighed out.
he drops down to his knees right in front of the chair, his hands sliding up to grip the hem of your skirt and your hips involuntarily buck upward at the sudden friction.
âand restate your claim without copying the previous paragraphs verbatimâ you pant, your breathing coming in ragged gasps.
âsuch a smart, good girl, arenât you?â he praises against your skin as he slowly rolls your skirt up your thighs.
you nod your head at the praise, feeling completely no control over your own body at this point.
he chuckles, a low sound that vibrates straight into the heat between your legs.
he hooks your legs over his shoulder and without bothering with your skirt, he just slides your panties to the side.
âwhat?â you whine as he simply stares at you bare.
âcanât believe everything about you is fucking prettyâ he says, his gaze heavy as he looks at you.
you roll your eyes, your face heating up. âare you planning on just staring or are you actually going to do something about it?â you retort, biting your lip.
âim the tutor here, which means i have a higher authority. so you do as i say, not the other way aroundâ he teases, running a lazy thumb over your inner thigh.
âif you donât touch me right now, iâll find someone else who willâ you snark back, only half lying. âplenty of guys on campus would kill for this, jasonâ
his eyes darken at that. âalways this bratty?â he asks, leaving a deliberately slow trail of hot kisses up your inner right thigh.
âonly when asshole taâs waste my timeâ you say, squirming restlessly in the chair as he holds your legs firmly on his shoulders.
âta must really be a jerk, huh?â he teases, blowing a warm breath right against your sensitive core.
you gasp at the sudden contrast. âfuck, jason. shut up and put your mouth to better useâ you snap, growing entirely impatient.
jason gathers spit and lets it drip right onto your heat, making you whimper at the slick drop. before it can slide all the way down, he laps it back up, swirling his wet tongue directly over your swollen clit.
âj!â you cry out, your hands immediately tangling into his hair for stability.
âso fucking sweet, tooâ he raps against you and the low hum only makes wetter.
the noises you're making only seem to egg him on, making him work harder and faster for your release.
his middle finger slides smoothly through your entrance, pressing in and stretching your walls easily.
you try to stifle your moans, briefly remembering where you are and the fact that youâre supposed to be in tutoring.
he shoves his pointer finger in right beside it and it becomes completely impossible to keep your sounds to yourself.
âso tight fâmeâ he mumbles against your skin, his tongue continuing to work magic on your clit.
you feel your walls start to clamp down and he definitely feels it too because he begins to murmur soft encouragements, âthatâs itâ, âlet it out, sweetheartâ in between every stroke of his tongue.
your body trembles violently, crashing right down over his mouth and fingers as you ride out the intense high.
he pulls back slowly, his mouth glossy from your juices and his fingers dripping.
he sucks his own fingers into his mouth, staring right up at you as he lazily brushes the damp hairs stuck to your forehead.
he leans up to kiss you deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.
âwe still need to actually work on your essayâ he murmurs against your mouth.
you shake your head, kissing him back just as passionately. âfuck the essayâ
he chuckles, guiding you out of the seat. just as you think it's over, he sits down in the chair, pulling you by surprise right onto his lap so your legs bracket his waist.
âletâs work on the top this timeâ he says suggestively, his hands resting heavily on your hips.
you giggle, leaning in close. âare you referring to the essay or the position?â
âwhatever you want, sweetheartâ he whispers, his hands guide your hips down against his hard length.
you lean right down to his ear, breathless. âwhat i want are the three extra marksâ
he smiles and itâs softer than the usual smirk he gives you.
âyouâll get three extra marks on the grade book and maybe three red ones on your ass if you donât start behaving, babyâ he teases.
god, you were so glad you actually listened to barbara and her crazy ass suggestions.
august 2026 / merakiletters
danielaâs note: canât believe i know how to write smut but not the basics to a conclusion !?
⯠⢠your ta refuses to give you a second chance for your midterm, so you resort to the oldest trick in the book.
ft. fem reader / teacherâs assistant jason todd
content. 18+ ,, wc. 5.7k
ââjust give it another read and iâll be out of your faceâ you plead, jogging to keep up with his long strides.
âshouldâve studied moreâ
jason todd had completely violated your midterm essay with red ink, leaving notes like âintro is too fluffyâ, âless explanation, more reasoningâ, and âweak connectionsâ
you really thought having a younger ta would be more convenient. someone close in age who understood the chaotic balance of a college studentâs life, the work hard, play hard lifestyle.
unfortunately, he seemed to have skipped the play hard part entirely and dedicated his entire life to taking his job too seriously.
âthe thing is, i did study. i studied so hard my brain almost started leaking out of my earsâ you huff, practically speed walking just to stay in his pace.
âbetter luck next time, thenâ he deadpans, turning sharply down a hallway.
you refuse to leave it alone just yet. âyou donât understand, this grade is holding my whole average down. if you just look really hard at my essay again, youâll realize itâs actually a masterpiece and change it to a b plus or an a minus. i'm okay with eitherâ
around you, students drift past. entirely ignoring your spectacle, you two were just two more students anyway.
âi know it was a piece of work. just not a very good one,â he mutters, reaching for the heavy glass exit door. âyou get what you earn, not what you think you deserveâ
in a desperate movement, you catch him by the forearm, the one not currently holding the door open. jason halts, turning back to look down at you with a gaze so intensely unamused you thought about dropping this whole thing.
your eyes briefly drop to the fact that his forearm is surprisingly solid under your fingers. you let go immediately, clearing your throat.
âj, please. youâre not breaking a single rule by glancing at a couple of papers for two minutes. call it an error when you fix my grade, nobody has to knowâ you bargain, your dignity completely abandoned.
âj?â is all he says, raising a single eyebrow.
you are more than infuriated that thatâs the only part of your speech he registered.
âcan i call you j? weâve practically known each other for three years, nicknames are important for friendshipsâ you argue, offering a helpless shrug.
a humorless chuckle slips past his lips. âwe know each other, yes. exclusively because we share the same department and we are definitely not friendsâ
you stick out your bottom lip. âwe could be. think of the matching tattoosâ
âgoodbye, sweetheartâ he says, shaking his head and giving you an unyielding nudge backward so the heavy door doesnât shut right in your face.
you stand there, staring at his retreating back through the glass.
sweetheart? ugh. that was what your professor, a sweet old lady, tends to call anyone whoâs a year younger than her.
unfortunately, you respect her way too much to walk into her office and make a fool of yourself over a graded paper, knowing sheâs already busy as it is.
plus, thatâs literally what a ta is for. and unfortunately, jason todd is a stubborn jerk who refuses to give you the time of day, let alone a second chance.
you turn on your heel and stalk back toward your dorm, thinking of ways to force him to read your paper again.ďżź
serving is an art and you definitely take pride in your work. tips arenât easy to come by but youâve mastered gaining them. a soft, sweet smile paired with a quick joke goes a long way especially with the older crowd who tips in loose bills and praise.
unfortunately, you live in a college town so itâs never a rare sight when the usual frat boy stumbles in without an ounce of basic manners.
thankfully, today is a slow day. youâve only spotted one of the usuals so far and the small diner you work at isnât anything fancy but it brings in just enough cash to keep paying for your housing on campus.
you lean against the counter, half listening to barbara engaged in a harmless but dramatic argument with one of the line cooks in the back. she must see the wheels turning in your head because she eventually breaks away and drifts over.
she bumps her shoulder lightly against yours. âwhatâs up?â she asks.
âjust thinkingâ you murmur, keeping your eyes on the floor.
âabout?â she inquires, resting her hip against the laminate.
âmy midtermâ you admit, letting out a heavy breath.
âhe still hasnât budged?â she asks, knowing how desperately you need those few extra marks to drag your grade out of the gutter.
ânopeâ you say, lingering on the pop of the letter.
as if heaven itself had suddenly heard your desperate pleas, the front door chimes and jason todd, in all his insufferable glory, walks in.
you both freeze and look up. he clearly has no idea you work here or you know for a fact he would have willingly walked into any other diner in town just to avoid you. you and barbara share a knowing look as he takes a seat at a booth in barbaraâs section.
you stand up straight, instantly planning to to fight barbara for the table.
she holds up a hand before you can even open your mouth. âall yours, babeâ she says, a smirk playing on her lips as she pushes herself off the counter.
you make a straight beeline toward the booth at the very back corner of the diner.
heâs already settled in, laptop open with a scattering of heavy looking papers taking up almost the whole table. you donât even wait to be invited, you just slide straight into the opposite bench of the booth before he can tell you to move.
he looks up, surprised for a fraction of a second before his expression flattens into that familiar look of rejection.
âstalker much?â he asks, raising an eyebrow.
âactually, you walked into my place of work, so technically that makes you the stalkerâ you fire back.
âmhm. a black coffee and a slice of pie would be great, assuming you can manage that before you start causing noise pollutionâ he says, making you roll your eyes as you violently swallow your pride.
âitâs on the house if you look over my essay againâ you press, leaning forward to try the persuasion again.
ânice offer but i can afford a cup of coffeeâ he replies, his eyes already drifting back down to his glowing computer screen.
âhow about free pie for the rest of the month?â you try again, narrowing your eyes.
âi donât even know if itâs good, never tried it. so why donât you do your actual job and bring it to me?â he says and that detached tone genuinely sets you on edge.
âactually, we donât serve pie after twelveâ you say, offering an unbothered shrug.
he looks back up at you then, raising a dark brow. âright. then a cup of coffee would be fantastic or do you not serve those past twelve either?â
you huff, sliding out of the booth to fetch his stupid coffee and march right back over, dropping into the seat again.
âdidnât know waitresses spent their shifts sitting with customersâ he remarks, not looking away from his screen.
âwe do hereâ you snap back. âhow about this, iâll pay you out of pocket for every single minute it takes you to review my paper?â
âi donât need your moneyâ
âbut i need your help!â you plea, resting your chin in your hands.
âcanât you take no for an answer?â he asks, his voice laced with a dry teasing and genuine exhaustion.
âwhat do you want then?â you demand.
he glances up at you briefly, the diner lights catching the sharp line of his jaw. âfor you to go awayâ
âyou have to want somethingâ you persist.
âi think you heard me clearly the first timeâ
âyou donât want money, what about drugs?â you blurt out in desperation.
âwhat?â he asks, his brows pulling together in genuine bewilderment.
âyou donât want drugs? maybe some illicit weapons? i could find a guyâ you offer.
he stares at you for a long moment. âyou do refills on this coffee?â
âonly if you agreeâ you counter.
âforget itâ
âplease, please, jason,â you beg, your voice dropping to a whine.
he gives you an unamused look just as your name gets loudly called out from the kitchen window.
you lean slightly over the table, close enough that his eyes are forced to lock directly into yours. âthis isnât over yet, toddâ
he just hums dismissively, typing on his keyboard.
you roll your eyes, actively fighting the fierce urge to smack him right across his unfairly well structured face.
âcute uniform, by the wayâ he calls out casually just as you finally slide out of the booth to leave.
you let out a loud scoff, the hem of your skirt shifting as you turn and walk away with a heavy footed force.
when you finally push through the swinging kitchen doors, your manager is standing right there, arms crossed with barbara lingering close behind.
âas much as we want you girls to have fun, we donât pay you to entertain your boyfriend of the week while youâre on the clockâ your manager says flatly before turning away.
youâre left standing there, glaring daggers through the small window toward your stupid ta.
grades arenât due for another three days and itâs like the universe is on your side because the second you step into the cafeteria, there he is.
the dining hall isnât too packed. a few students are laughing, others deep in their work. heâs leaning back in his chair, chatting it up with his friends. you vaguely recognize them, one is barbaraâs old (or current, you really couldnât tell with those two) hookup and the other is a sophomore, you think.
as you march toward their table, you rehearse exactly what youâre going to say to make him change his mind.
âdonât mind if i doâ you say as you slide into the empty chair next to the sophomore. he gives you a puzzled look but beside him, the other two exchange a knowing look.
âcanât even enjoy the company of my friends without you ruining it, sweetheart?â jason asks, at this point you know this is more amusing to him than anything else.
âevening, guys,â you offer a small greeting. âso, back to youâ you direct your gaze straight to jason.
from the corner of your eye, you can see dick, barbaraâs favorite toyboy, flashing an amused, knowing smirk similar to jasonâs. tristan or tyson, you really still couldnât figure out the sophomoreâs name, simply looks confused.
âthere has to be something that you so desperately need and i will be the one to get it for you, no questions askedâ you say, leaning slightly into the table.
he shakes his head, folding his arms and placing them flat on the surface to mimic your posture.
âitâs fine if you donât want to say it out loud. iâll start listing, and you just tell me when i hit itâ you press on.
âyou said no to drugs or weapons. how about some sort of technology? a phone, a computer, a secret gps tracker? no? how about⌠revenge? you must not like someone here, iâll steal their bike, i can get someone expelled? no? what about girls? you donât have a girlfriend, do you?â
he raises an eyebrow. âno. why, you offering?â he asks, heavily flirting.
you furrow your brows. âdo you want me to be? because iâll be the best girlfriend ever. iâll even become your wife if you bump my marks upâ you say with enthusiasm.
he chuckles, leaning back and sharing a look with dick.
âvery stubborn, arenât you?â richard asks, which you know better as dick, even though it doesn't sound like a question.
âlearned from the bestâ you reply, nodding toward jason.
âwhat about you guys?â you decide to pivot away from jason. âyou must want something? iâll do anything as long as your buddy over here fixes my grade before the deadlineâ
grayson shakes his head. ânot on my endâ
you catch the sophomore next to you debating it in his head before jason and dick shoot him a look that clearly promises a quick death if he even thinks about opening his mouth.
you huff, sinking back into your chair.
a heavy silence settles over the table as you all just trade glances.
âwhatâs your name again?â you turn to the guy on your right.
âdonâtâ jason warns him.
âwhat, canât i make friends?â you ask as innocently as possible.
âtimâ the guy mutters.
you offer your name in return, straightening up in your seat. âso, timââ
âtim, donâtâ jason warns again but you completely ignore him.
âis there something youâre tired of dealing with? i can take care of it for youâ you say, leaning in to give his shoulder a reassuring tap.
âdo anything for him and iâll never even give you the time of dayâ jason snaps from across the table.
you scoff. âyou hardly do anywayâ
you give tim, who you had been wildly off about, a deeply pleading look, eyes wide with a tiny pout. it actually looks like heâs about to cave until jason stands up, followed closely by dick.
âdonât be weak, drake,â jason says, turning on his heel. âletâs go.â
you roll your eyes and slouch down. âyou guys are no funâ
âfind other boys to mess with, sweetheartâ jason calls back, leaving you stranded at the table with your own crushed triumph.
before you can retreat to your dorm to probably cry, your phone buzzes in your back pocket.
you pull it out, seeing a message from barbara.
b <3: didnât succeed?
you: nope, how do yk?
b <3: grayson texted âyour friend is quite persistentâ
you: geez, u two still in contact?
b <3: at the moment
you: im seriously running out of bribes
b <3: you havenât offered the oldest trick in the book
you: which is?
your eyes widen and your jaw slightly drops as you read the message that comes right after.
the party is at full blast, the frat house packed with warm bodies and not nearly enough room.
you and barbara make way through the crowd, your tipsy state making every step almost impossible.
giggling the whole way, you stumble into the kitchen. itâs still packed, just not quite like the living room or the patio. you lean your back against the cool counter, attempting to chat with barbara or at least trying to hold her attention.
ââand then she said⌠b!â you call her out. she was totally checked out, her eyes already drifting away toward the edge of the room.
you follow her gaze. it lands on one of the guys who had left you stranded at the dining hall yesterday.
she and dick lock into some weirdly intense eye contact. you look away, but not before taking a second glance, if heâs here, that must mean jason is too.
you scan the room a little more until you spot him standing near dick, talking to someone else.
barbara seems to have spotted jason in that exact same group and she snaps back around to face you.
âgo talk to him â she urges.
âright now? are you crazy?â you exclaim.
she just shrugs her shoulders.
âif youâre actually planning on whoring yourself out, you need to be confident. itâs the whole reason youâre hereâ she offers bluntly.
you whine the second the words leave her mouth, the reality sobering you up instantly. âi need another shot or somethingâ
you two manage to get your hands on a sketchy mixed liquid thatâs twenty percent juice and eighty percent pure alcohol. it burns as it trails down your throat the second you swallow it.
âyou got thisâ she encourages as you turn to face probably the most humiliating thing youâve ever willingly subjected yourself to.
you navigate into the crowd until youâre staring at his back. weirdly enough, he looks even taller from this angle.
you reach up to tap his shoulder. he turns around, looking down at you with those piercing eyes.
âhiâ you say, your voice so impossibly meek you can hardly believe it came from your own mouth.
he excuses himself from the person he was talking to, immediately turning his full attention back to you.
his gaze drifts down, taking in your thin, tight top that clings to the curves of your torso like it was made specifically to seduce any guy in your vicinity. your skirt isn't helping your case either, sitting low on your hips and leaving little to the imagination.
he only wonders how you managed to make it this far into the house without a weird crowd of guys trailing behind you like lost puppies.
he chuckles darkly. ânot going to let me enjoy a party?â
âyouâre a senior, youâve attended plenty, iâm sureâ you say as he leans down slightly to hear you over the heavy bass of the music.
âiâve been to one or two,â he answers with a smirk before leaning down even further, right against your ear. âcanât hear you well, sweetheart. letâs go over hereâ he murmurs, guiding you with a warm and steady hand on your lower back.
he steers you back to that exact spot in the kitchen where you and barbara had been mere moments ago, though sheâs nowhere in sight now.
you lean your elbows back against the counter just slightly. he stands right in front of you, practically caging you in as one of his hands comes down flat on the counter beside your hip, grazing the fabric of your skirt.
âso, what offer have you come up with now?â he asks, at that point, it feels like he was practically begging for it.
âdo you want a blowjob?â you blurt out.
the second the words leave your mouth, you want to snatch them right back and leave, either from the party or the country, you havenât decided yet.
his entire body stills for a fraction of a second before he laughs and itâs not one of those dry, humorless chuckles heâd hit you with before.
his laugh is rich, carrying a low, rumbling sound that makes it impossible to tell if itâs the sound of his voice or the heat of the party thatâs suddenly rushing to your cheeks.
âiâm seriousâ you insist, though a soft and mortified smile tugs at the corners of your lips.
âare you?â he asks. the laughter has faded but the usual, lingering smirk remains. your eyes drop to his lips for a second before snapping back up to meet his.
he catches you looking. his expression softens into something a little more dangerous and he mimics your movement, his eyes dropping to your lips too. a delicious, nervous churn twists deep in your stomach.
if it hadnât been for your midterm, you wouldnât be standing here offering yourself to jason. the thought makes you mentally call yourself an idiot because heâs so painfully and effortlessly hot that you canât believe it took you this long to really notice.
no, you always knew he was attractive, but you had no idea just how much.
âthatâs a new oneâ he says, snapping you right out of your daze.
âwhat? youâve never been offered that before?â you snap back.
âno, i have. but the sincerity of the offer caught me off guardâ he replies smoothly.
âsincerity?â you echo.
âmhm. even if it werenât for your grade, youâd still want to sleep with meâ he says.
you scoff. âreal confident, arenât you?â you shoot back, even though your heart skips a heavy beat against your ribs. âplus, i asked if you wanted a blowjob, not to sleep with me. sounds like youâre projectingâ
he chuckles low in his chest. âcaught meâ
your heart practically stops.
âso, have you actually taken the other offers before?â you ask, narrowing your eyes.
âdependsâ he says, tilting his head.
âon what?â
âif they pass the testâ
âwhat test?â you ask, utterly baffled.
âthe kiss testâ he says, leaning in closer.
your breath hitches. it feels like some invisible magnetic force is pulling you two together.
the tips of your noses brush and a second later, your lips meet his.
his hand immediately finds its place at your waist, while yours naturally goes to the back of his neck, tangling in the hair at his nape.
the kiss is unexpectedly gentle. his lips are soft and as you linger, they mix with the sweet trace of lip gloss on yours.
he breaks the kiss for a brief second, just long enough to look down at you before diving right back in. this time, his other hand finds the nape of your neck, fingers seek to hold you securely and deepen the pressure.
this kiss is a lot more pronounced, a little sloppier around the edges but still firm and hungry.
his tongue brushes against your lower lip, just on the verge of parting your mouth entirely before he abruptly pulls away. youâre left standing there, chest heaving, completely breathless and panting.
âdid i pass?â you ask, trying to keep it light through the haze.
he lets out a dry, raspy chuckle. âoh, yeahâ
âhow many girls have passed?â you press, still struggling to wrap your head around the fact that this is apparently not a first.
âjealous?â he taunts.
you scoff, shaking your head. âyou wishâ even though you are very much dying to know the answer.
âmeet me tomorrow at my office during office hours for tutoringâ he says and for a fleeting second, you completely forget why you even agreed to this in the first place.
âi didnât ask for tutoringâ you pout.
âyou get what you earn, not what you think you deserveâ he echoes, throwing his own words right back at you again.
âyou still didnât answer my questionâ you point out.
he steps back just an inch, giving you some breathing room. âonly you have passedâ
âso iâm good enough to pass but not to fully get what i want? i guess iâll just have to work on my kissing techniques, thenâ you tease, a glint in your eye.
âas long as itâs not with a guyâ he replies, his voice dropping an octave.
âthen how am i supposed to get feedback?â you joke.
âbuy a teddy bear or somethingâ he fires back, turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you standing there completely flustered, flushed and utterly fucked.
you donât know why your pacing around outside of jasonâs office. this is what you had wanted, to persuade him into giving you better marks.
tutoring isnât exactly what you had hoped, especially after that little stunt you pulled at the party but itâs better than sitting alone staring at a blank piece of paper.
as you finally hold up the courage to knock on the door, itâs as if he was waiting right behind it.
it swung open and he was standing there, wearing grey sweatpants and an old white shirt that clung a little too well.
youâd never seen him like this, only ever trapped in conformity attire of a ta. never relaxed, and oh boy, were you in deep trouble.
âcoming in?â he asks, a slow smirk pulling at his lips and you really hoped he eventually did.
you stepped in and he closed the door behind you with a quiet click.
his office was neat, though empty. a couple of textbooks here, a half empty mug there. he clearly didnât spend much time here or simply didnât care to make it look like he did.
âyouâre quiet todayâ he says, closing the distance just a fraction as you finally turn to face him.
âjust ready to learnâ you say, letting out a dry giggle, instantly wishing you knew why you turned into a mess around him.
oh but you did know. the kiss hadnât left your mind for a single miserable second since he left you breathless by the kitchen. it was a miracle youâd gotten any sleep at all.
oddly enough, there wasnât a chair in front of the desk. usually, there was a visitorâs chair to talk over assignments but it was completely missing.
he probably noticed your hesitation over where to stand. âyou can sit in my chairâ he offers, gesturing to the massive leather seat behind the wooden desk.
you make your way around it and do as he says, sinking into the leather that still somehow smells faintly of his cologne. âwhere will you sit?â you ask, looking up through your lashes.
âah, i donât mind sitting hereâ he says smoothly, hopping up to sit right on the edge of the desk, facing you.
you gulp hard and quickly look down as his intense eye contact threatens to melt you right into the leather.
you clear your throat, reaching into your bag to pull out your essay.
âthought you might want to look at it again. since you were so pleased to tear it apart the first timeâ you tease, raising an eyebrow.
he grabs it from your hands, your fingers brushing against each other, sending a stupid little jolt up your arm.
he adjusts himself on top of the desk, his frame slightly hunched forward, legs casually spread. the confidence of his stance alongside those sweatpants is literally killing you.
you tried to look at literally anything else in the room but nothing was interesting enough to keep your eyes off him for ten seconds.
âi know which places you need improvement inâ he finally speaks up, his voice dropping an octave.
âwhich are?â you ask, crossing your arms defensively over your tank top.
âall of them, sweetheartâ he replies simply.
you let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back into the oversized chair âunbelievableâ
âwe can start from the top or the bottom, whichever you prefer to firstâ
âbottom. you said my conclusion wasnâtââ you start and he effortlessly finishes your sentence for you.
âstrong, yesâ
âi thought it was pretty solidâ you argue, tilting your chin up.
he shifts on the desk, crossing one ankle over the other. âwell, what makes you think it was so solid?â
âit summarized the main points, didnât it?â you shrug, trying to match his tone.
âa fifth grader could do that and maybe, some of them do it better than you. at a college level, you need that and a hell of a lot moreâ he fires back.
âi didnât just summarizeâ you retort, rolling your eyes.
âso, you admit you need more?â he says, a teasing, dangerous edge curving his voice.
âi didnât say it was a masterpiece, i said it was solidâ you snap, casually spinning your chair around.
he groans softly and your chair suddenly comes to a violent halt. he was no longer sitting on the desk, he had stopped it with his forearm right above your head, caging you in as he leaned heavily into your personal space.
âweâre here for tutoring, not play timeâ he murmurs in a warning tone.
âi wasnât playingâ you breathe out, your heart hammering against your ribs. âi actually know how to write a conclusion, you just love being a harsh criticâ
âthen prove itâ
âwhat?â your voice pitching up higher than you'd like.
âshow me you know at least the basics of a college level conclusionâ he explains, his face inches from yours.
you scoff, flashing a fake smile. âgreat teaching method, todd. really inspiringâ
he chuckles, unfazed. âyouâll get rewarded if itâs good enoughâ
that makes you instantly perk up, your eyes locking onto his. âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âdo you know how to write it or not?â he asks, his voice growing dangerously on edge.
you swallow hard, nodding. âfine. first, i explain what the overall point of my thesis was, tying it togetherâ
he nods slowly, still caging you in. you can practically feel the heat radiating off his body but you forced your brain to focus on the task at hand.
âfor example, i show how my connections, which you called weak, actually matter. very straightforward unlike the body paragraphsâ you continue.
he hums, a low vibration in his chest. his warm breath suddenly brushes against your neck as his head dips lower, his lips ghosting over your lower jaw.
your breath hitches in your throat and a soft gasp escapes you as his lips finally make firm contact with your skin.
he nips lightly at your neck, sending a shiver straight down your spine. âcontinue with your conclusion, sweetheartâ he growls against your skin.
ây-your conclusion only matters if itâs backed up by true facts,â you tried your absolute hardest to keep talking, ignoring the way his hands started tracing up your thighs, âso whoever is reading it doesnât doubt that the final point is...â
âis what?â he hums, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point.
âinaccurateâ you finish weakly, your hands instinctively coming up to grip his shoulders for support.
âwhat sort of structure do you use?â he ask, his thumbs tracing the hem of your skirt.
âthe conventional oneâ you whisper and even to your own ears, your words make zero sense anymore. his lips are entirely destroying your ability to form a coherent sentence.
he chuckles against your collarbone.
his warm pecks continue drifting down your shoulder. his fingers slowly tugging down the strap of your jacket, leaving your tank top exposed.
he presses a lingering kiss right to the top of your shoulder and your arms naturally wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.
âwhat makes a conclusion complete?â he asks against your skin, his hands mapping the curve of your waist now.
âs-synthesize the connections,â you sighed out.
he drops down to his knees right in front of the chair, his hands sliding up to grip the hem of your skirt and your hips involuntarily buck upward at the sudden friction.
âand restate your claim without copying the previous paragraphs verbatimâ you pant, your breathing coming in ragged gasps.
âsuch a smart, good girl, arenât you?â he praises against your skin as he slowly rolls your skirt up your thighs.
you nod your head at the praise, feeling completely no control over your own body at this point.
he chuckles, a low sound that vibrates straight into the heat between your legs.
he hooks your legs over his shoulder and without bothering with your skirt, he just slides your panties to the side.
âwhat?â you whine as he simply stares at you bare.
âcanât believe everything about you is fucking prettyâ he says, his gaze heavy as he looks at you.
you roll your eyes, your face heating up. âare you planning on just staring or are you actually going to do something about it?â you retort, biting your lip.
âim the tutor here, which means i have a higher authority. so you do as i say, not the other way aroundâ he teases, running a lazy thumb over your inner thigh.
âif you donât touch me right now, iâll find someone else who willâ you snark back, only half lying. âplenty of guys on campus would kill for this, jasonâ
his eyes darken at that. âalways this bratty?â he asks, leaving a deliberately slow trail of hot kisses up your inner right thigh.
âonly when asshole taâs waste my timeâ you say, squirming restlessly in the chair as he holds your legs firmly on his shoulders.
âta must really be a jerk, huh?â he teases, blowing a warm breath right against your sensitive core.
you gasp at the sudden contrast. âfuck, jason. shut up and put your mouth to better useâ you snap, growing entirely impatient.
jason gathers spit and lets it drip right onto your heat, making you whimper at the slick drop. before it can slide all the way down, he laps it back up, swirling his wet tongue directly over your swollen clit.
âj!â you cry out, your hands immediately tangling into his hair for stability.
âso fucking sweet, tooâ he raps against you and the low hum only makes wetter.
the noises you're making only seem to egg him on, making him work harder and faster for your release.
his middle finger slides smoothly through your entrance, pressing in and stretching your walls easily.
you try to stifle your moans, briefly remembering where you are and the fact that youâre supposed to be in tutoring.
he shoves his pointer finger in right beside it and it becomes completely impossible to keep your sounds to yourself.
âso tight fâmeâ he mumbles against your skin, his tongue continuing to work magic on your clit.
you feel your walls start to clamp down and he definitely feels it too because he begins to murmur soft encouragements, âthatâs itâ, âlet it out, sweetheartâ in between every stroke of his tongue.
your body trembles violently, crashing right down over his mouth and fingers as you ride out the intense high.
he pulls back slowly, his mouth glossy from your juices and his fingers dripping.
he sucks his own fingers into his mouth, staring right up at you as he lazily brushes the damp hairs stuck to your forehead.
he leans up to kiss you deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.
âwe still need to actually work on your essayâ he murmurs against your mouth.
you shake your head, kissing him back just as passionately. âfuck the essayâ
he chuckles, guiding you out of the seat. just as you think it's over, he sits down in the chair, pulling you by surprise right onto his lap so your legs bracket his waist.
âletâs work on the top this timeâ he says suggestively, his hands resting heavily on your hips.
you giggle, leaning in close. âare you referring to the essay or the position?â
âwhatever you want, sweetheartâ he whispers, his hands guide your hips down against his hard length.
you lean right down to his ear, breathless. âwhat i want are the three extra marksâ
he smiles and itâs softer than the usual smirk he gives you.
âyouâll get three extra marks on the grade book and maybe three red ones on your ass if you donât start behaving, babyâ he teases.
god, you were so glad you actually listened to barbara and her crazy ass suggestions.
august 2026 / merakiletters
danielaâs note: canât believe i know how to write smut but not the basics to a conclusion !?
smut | fluff | cockwarming | domestic life with jason
after a long day, all you want is to sink into jason. all he wants is to help you relax, in anyway possible. rq
âstrip.â
peeking over the edge of his novel, jason raises his brow at you. he watches as you drop your bag onto the table next to the door and stride closer towards him on the bed, comfortably reading.
âwhy hello my beautiful girlfriend, how was your day?â barely concealing his amusement.
you sigh as you pull off your shirt and toss it lazily onto the ground. âi had a horrible, terrible, miserable day. iâd like to have sex with my boyfriend if thatâs okay with you.â
jason blinks and pulls off his glasses, revealing his pretty eyes.
âi mean thatâs a lot of adjectives,â setting his glasses on-top of his book on the bedside table, scooting up further against the headboard as if inviting you in. ââand of course iâm not opposed, but donât you wanna talk about it first ma?â
you donât even think before answering. ânope.â
tugging your socks off before you shimmy out of your pants. those get dropped into the corner of the bed just inches away from your shirt. the bed creaks lightly as you climb onto it, crawling closer to jasonâs lap until you straddle him. his hands find their way to your bare thigh, squeezing lightly as you pull him into a kiss. jason moans into it immediately, mouth opening wider as he tugs you even closer.
your fingers find the hem of his black tee, pulling it up until he leans his back off the headboard and makes yours arch. somehow, he manages you pull his shirt over his head, parting from you for less than a second while you grab at his sweatpants. thatâs when he parts again, a line of spit between you from just how feral youâd been making out.
âas much as i enjoy this,â he pants, hands moving up to cup your bare ass. âhow are you really feeling baby?â
he doesnât halt your movements as you drag his sweatpants further down, feeling his already hard length against your inner thigh. jason even helps further by lifting his hips when you tug on his boxers to go down with them. as you start to hum, the way you always do when youâre content and happy, he brings his hands lower again, bringing your panties along.
âiâm fine. i just really missed you.â
he answers with a smile and a soft whisper against your lips that heâd ââŚmissed you more.â
the movements between the two of you are fluid. changing and adapting like it was the easiest thing. his hands find their way to your bra, unhooking it easily as he presses his chest to yours, bringing himself closer while simultaneously pulling you. he knows when silence is all you wanted because jason has those moments too. he knows when exhaustion takes hold of you and how it makes you more comfortable just to feel his warmth, even for a moment. so jason doesnât pry, not yet at least.
he lets you lower yourself onto him, brings his hands behind your neck to hold your hair as you go. letting you watch yourself sink down and take him in as he drinks the sight of you, how relief washes over you. jason lets out a gorgeous sigh, pleasure taking form in the most domestic form. in awe as his girl takes whatâs hers. the moment feels sacred, so he tries not to get giddy over the little box hiding in the corner of his dresser.
the sensation draws out a small moan from your lips and a delightful groan from his honeyed tongue.
âyouâre so beautiful,â he coos by your ear, coaxing you to drop your full weight against him.
sighing, you smile, âsays you.â
then youâre finding his lips and kiss him again. tongue lapping at his slowly as he holds your hips and guides them just as gently. eliciting another moan that he just swallows down from you like sweet nectar. jason doesnât rush your movements, only guiding it along as he knows you like. slow, sensual guidance that is meant to make relax for him. lessen the exhaustion of the day while you tangle into one another.
the warmth only drags you in further as your aching muscles begin to give in to him, slowing your hips as you let him take over. slumping into him and letting your head fall in the crook of his neck.
though when you let out another sigh, jason stops shifting and pulls away just for you to lay on him like a fish out of water.
he laughs softly. âyou sure youâre okay ma?â
you make a small noise into his neck and jason chuckles as he rubs his hands up and down your back. from the soothing motion, you groan happily.
âthat feel good?â asking as he continues massaging.
âvery,â youâre humming while he moves his thumbs up along the curve of your spine.
with firmer fingers, he presses down in intentional circles, coaxing more sounds of contentment out of you as he works. you donât even have to move a muscle, instead he pushes the arch in your back and soothes your lower traps along. he feels a knot and circles it out with his thumb, not hard but just enough to get it.
âyouâre real tense babe.â he quietly says as he continues to move. youâre so relaxed at this point that you donât even think to respond, just feeling his fingers work.
delicate in his care, jason lets you rest over him as he bear hugs you, massaging your tender muscles simultaneously.
his lips find the curve of your neck now, pressing to the skin there as he continues with his hands. you completely melt into him, arms limp along his shoulders as you hugged him tight before. not it had simmered into a barely noticeable grip that he knew meant was you relaxing. as the sounds from your lips become less and less frequent, jason runs his roughened hands from your nape down slowly to small of you back, then up again. repeating the motion as you start to succumb to the sleep that had been threatening you all day.
though he doesnât make an attempt to move or to move you off of him. rather he continues his movements, watching from over your shoulder to see the warmed skin against his palm. he doesnât pull out either, he only holds you there in his lap while his practiced fingered soothed you further into a slumber you desperately needed.
as you fall entirely asleep and a gentle snore slips, jason smiles to himself and grips the edge of the blanket to not bother you. then, he holds an arm around you back while he eases himself further down from the headboard, keeping you tight against him as he lays flat on his back. your legs still on either side of him. he pulls the comforter over both of you as he kisses your cheek and whispers.
âsweet dreams ma.â
everyone say thank you @eatshitanddie- for putting this idea in my head. love you pooks ;)
Synopsis: When you first meet Jason Todd, the foliage has barely begun its preparation to hibernate. Between then and the barricades of snow, you begin to imagine a future among the colors of every season together. Too bad the flowers are in full bloom when you leave him. Jason Todd English major au, reader is a Psychology major
Word Count: 7,589
Trigger Warning: emotional abuse, child neglect, minor character death, trauma, survivorâs guilt, depression, anxiety, grief, mourning, talks of death, severe angst, reader does not have a good relationship with their parents, arguing, swearing, mentions of Jonothan Swiftâs âA Modest Proposalâ
MDNI: Minor's do not interact
Series Masterlist Full Masterlist
Now
The crisp morning air circulates around you like a barrier against the tendrils of memories haunting your dreams. It grazes the back of your neck, and the fluttering press of moving air is all you need to ground yourself in the reality of now, away from the then youâve traveled across the country to escape.
You let the breeze coat the back of your throat with a deep inhale, holding it longer than you know you should before releasing it back into the world around you.
The sidewalk in front of you narrows into a point across your vision, the building it leads to swaying in your mind even as it stands strong as a fortress against the Gotham atmosphere.
A few students mill around the entrance, some on computers and others talking amongst themselves. Fewer still are on the sidewalk itself, or the sidewalks branching off from the one youâve stilled on, darting across the paths centering the quad of Gotham U.
When you scuttle your feet, the straps of your backpack shift with you and the weight of your future presses against your spine with a reminder of what youâve lost for this.
One moment more, you decide. Then, swallowing the dryness building in your throat, you start for the building.
Youâre almost relieved the ability to recognize the silliness of your hesitation tickles the back of your mind as you make your way inside. Almost. The lingering presence of unwelcome thoughts and glances from everyone you pass solidifies the hesitation as the correct choice.
As if youâd woken this morning and deliberately made it.
Sweat gathers along your fingertips, and it takes you three tries to correctly swipe your phone open to check the room number. It hasnât changed since you looked this morning. You quickly repeat the number to yourself anyway, blindly stuff your phone back in your pocket, and shuffle down the hallway toward the stairs.
Your shoulders grow taught the closer you get to the room. When you enter, no one looks. You stiffen further for a breath even so before carefully mapping your way to the third desk back in the row closest to the door. The professor briefly glances up from where theyâre shuffling a pile of papers, smiles, and then returns to their task.
None of the handful of students lazing about glance at you, much less say hello. You quietly pull out your notebook and a pen.
Youâre debating how you should title the first page of notes for this class, if the name of the class itself is sufficient or if you should wait for the professor to name the first topic of lecture, when someone rather rudely drops into the desk next to you.
You blink, swiveling to look at every other open space in the room. The person next to you, dark hair curling over his forehead, grins easily, eyes sparkling.
âThisâll be an exciting class, huh?â he asks.
You look at the desk behind you. Empty. The desk in front of you. Also empty.
You frown. âHave we met?â though it is a question, you do not truly ask it as the literal one it is. Not when you know the answer. Not when distance and time has moved you from all the familiar into the unfamiliar and prep work for today has left you with little socialization outside of the necessary.
The man makes a sound low in his throat, half-chortle, half-indignant cough, you think. âNot that Iâm aware of?â When you say nothing to this, he nods slowly, dramatically, poking his cheek with his tongue. âOkay,â he drawls. âNot in the mood for friends?â
You can do little but blink slowly, in the manner a cat does. Though, your blink has nothing to do with affection and everything to do with the unanticipated interaction youâve found yourself an unwilling participant of.
âIs friendship a requirement for passing this class?â mentally, you scold yourself. Thereâs no reason to further whatever this is.
The man shrugs. âGuess not, but I imagine it would make the discussions easier.â
Your frown deepens. âThe factual discussions based on research?â
The manâs face contorts in a confused manner, his nose scrunching and eyebrows pulling in what you assume is thought. Slowly, he extends a hand. You stare at it but donât move to shake it. He holds it up for another minute before slowly dropping it back down. âIâm Jason,â he says slowly.
âOkay?â
His head tilts, his eyes darting across your figure.
You raise an eyebrow, glance at the professor, then the clock, and then return your attention to the notebook in front of you. Class will start soon, and you need to title your notes before it does. You lower your pen to the page, tap it once, and start scribbling a headline. You can always rewrite or retype the notes into a more organized fashion later.
âYou know,â the man, Jason, starts.
You sigh, your grip on the pen tightening.
The professor, bless them, chooses that moment to clear their throat and start the lecture. Jason shuts his mouth immediately. The rest of the class quiets, and the professor gives the room a small smile.
âWelcome to Social Psych 101. To start, weâre going to do an introductory exercise. If youâd all find the person closest to you, exchange names, majors, and something interesting about yourself? Weâll do five minutes, and then present to the class.â The professor waves their hands in a âget to itâ motion and turns back to their desk.
You grit your teeth, shut your eyes for a deep sigh, and turn to formalize your introduction to Jason.
His grin wavers, and he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. âSo,â he says, âIâm Jason Todd, Iâm an English major, and I just realized this is not British Literature 1. Nice to meet you?â
Silently, you curse.
Then
It wasnât so much that you chose psychology. Rather, psychology chose you.
The application blinked on the screen in front of you, the page threatening to die with the darkness of a screen that had been abandoned for too long.
You stared unblinking at the dropdown of choices available. The mouse cursor hovered over Computer Science, the decision that had been made for you years ago available to be solidified into truth with a single click.
Your fingers trembled slightly. One click, and your future was determined. One click, and your future was no longer the dreams youâd had but the plans theyâd made.
Hesitantly, slowly, you inched the bar down. The list of majors blurred as tears gathered in your eyes. The screen shone too bright in the dark room around you, the blanket pulled taught around your shoulders offering too little comfort for the herculean task before you.
Too much, too much, too much. How were you meant to do this? How were you meant to simply click and let the path youâd once danced to fade into oblivion for the hopes of another?
You blinked, and the cursor had stopped. It traced the option under it, Psychology, and for no reason other than the infuriating desire to rebel one last time before becoming the puppet youâd been born to be, you clicked it.
Your chest tightened, your throat closing even more. The air you breathed thickened into paste. Your hands shook as you filled the rest of the application out, typing and deleting and typing and deleting. One application, you told yourself.
It was a singular application to a university youâd never be accepted into anyhow. What did it matter if you applied for the Psychology program at Gotham University? It wasnât like youâd actually end up there.
And you had enough saved up. Theyâd never see the bill for the application fee; theyâd never know. It didnât matter.
You glanced at the door, cracked open, always cracked open, never fully shut. The hall beyond remained empty, silent.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you clicked one last button. The screen swirled for one second, two. And, then, the application had been submitted.
A sob tore through you, and you clamped a hand over your mouth before it could fully release. You rocked back and forth, carefully exiting the website, deleting it from your history.
Only when the laptop was off and out of reach, and still the hall empty and silent, did you wipe your face, take several deep breaths, and start to relax.
Beyond the confines of your room, the hall stood sentinel. Silent, empty.
Even had you wanted to, there was no one to tell of what youâd just done.
Now
The laminated orange leaf practically shines against the cardstock youâd traced random designs into. You lean the handmade bookmark back and forth, examining the way the light hits it from every angle.
Youâd found the leaf your third day of class, and though surprised to find such a thing so early in the season youâd kept it all the same.
You found purpose for it only days later when youâd stumbled into fellow Gotham U student Jason Todd who, no longer sitting in classes he was not paying for, had promptly dropped an anthology on the grass, cursed, and spent the next five minutes rambling about his actual professors while trying to find his page again.
At the end of the interaction, heâd somehow reaffirmed his goal of becoming your friend and decided that though you were in different majors and shared a total sum of zero classes together the two of you would make the perfect study partners.
In the weeks following the interaction, youâve found yourself silently agreeing with his conclusion.
Youâre still staring at the bookmark when the chair next to you is pulled back from the table. You donât even glance at him as Jason groans, plopping next to you. He, thankfully, pulls out his homework without a word.
After a few minutes of him working next to you and you still analyzing the bookmark, you glance at him from the corner of your eye. Heâs dutifully filling out a page of what you assume are annotations based on the open book in his lap.
You inhale sharply before nudging his leg with yours.
Other than the pause of his scribbles, he gives no indication heâs noticed your maneuver. You grumble under your breath before shoving your foot into his leg harder.
His lips twitch, and he clears his throat as quietly as he can, an effect you know is due to what happened the last time he laughed in the campus library. âYes?â he whispers.
With a quick prayer to the universe, you throw the bookmark at his face. He snatches it before it hits him without even turning his head. You huff.
Jasonâs hands are surprisingly gentle as he turns the bookmark over, humming quietly and inspecting its details with more thought and time than you think its warranted. âFor me?â he asks.
âDonât read into it too much,â you reply immediately. âIt doesnât mean anything.â
Jason visibly bites back a grin. âOh, I wouldnât dare to presume otherwise.â
âGood.â
With careful reverence, he traces the outline of the leaf and slowly, oh-so-gently, sets it in the book heâs reading. The cover closes in the same manner, and then Jasonâs turning in the seat to face you and youâre turning to stare at the bookcase along the wall across the room with the determination of a cat stalking a laser pointer.
âYou made me a gift.â His voice is soft. Each word is enunciated and clear, but none of it enters the space between you as anything other than the warmth of gratitude.
You scratch your hand along your cheek, and then your elbow, and then the back of your neck. Your foot taps a random pattern into the carpet and Jasonâs gaze burns into the side of your face every second you still refuse to acknowledge the moment.
The clock in the library ticks as it always does. Tick, tick, tick. The murmur of group projects doesnât rise any further than what it already is, and the librarians are too busy either reshelving or whatever else it is theyâre busy with to save you from Jasonâs patience.
âItâs just a bookmark,â you finally hiss.
The smile that spreads across Jasonâs face at that is so unlike any of the smiles youâve grown used to seeing on his face, you instinctually shrink in on yourself and focus on the edge of the table while picking at your nails.
Jason stills in your periphery. You risk a secondary glance at his face, and something you canât name flashes across his face in a brief furrow of his brow. You blink, and his smile is the same. It doesnât dim as he slowly tilts his head to meet your eyes.
âThank you.â The phrase is simple, his tone level.
Your nose twitches, but nothing your ears pick up signify anything but sincerity. So, you risk a small grin. His own widens.
You give a half-shrug before tapping your laptop and gesturing to his open notebook and assigned reading. âDonât get the wrong idea. The less youâre mumbling about trying to find your page again, the easier time Iâll have getting my own work done.â
The words sound wrong to your own ears: half-jumbled, half-coated in something that pricks your marrow the way embarrassment does.
But Jason doesnât laugh. His smile still doesnât change shape, and his eyes donât narrow or light with anything other than how heâs always looking at you. âWeâre friends now,â he croons. âYou made me a gift; you canât deny it.â
You groan but donât fight when he slowly, carefully, wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into a stiff hug. He doesnât argue when your arms remain locked in place against the table, and he releases you within seconds to turn back to his work.
You sniff, pull up your assignment, and stare at the words on the screen without reading.
The two of you last thirty minutes before Jasonâs humming catches the attention of a librarian and the two of you are politely asked to either book a room or study elsewhere on campus. Longer than last time, you note.
Then
The discussion started as it always did: over a dinner in which not a word had been spoken prior. The scrape of forks and knives remained the background tune of every mealtime, bar the singular, routine discussion.
It started, as it always started, as became routine, with your mother reaching for the empty chair next to her.
Her hand lifted.
Your every nerve froze.
Your fatherâs cutlery slowly dropped onto his plate.
And your motherâs hand touched, as it had touched for so many months, nothing but air.
Her head moved next. It wouldâve been better, you thought, if it was a quick snap. If she turned in surprise that air met her hand, if she gasped.
Instead, her chin slowly tucked into her shoulder as her eyes swept the empty place next to her, her fingers curling sharply into her palm.
âOh,â she said flatly.
That, too, remained routine.
Your father said your motherâs name: gentle, calm, a whistle back to the meal at hand.
Your mother tsked. âFor a moment, I had forgotten.â The words came curt, her gaze scathing as it cut from the empty space to you.
You lowered your hands into your lap, your fingers winding around one another. One ankle curled over the other, your shoulders hunched slightly.
Your mother sighed the disappointed sigh she always sighed. âI had almost forgotten,â she repeated morosely, âthat it is you that still lives and notâŚwell.â
You bit the inside of your cheek, kept your eyes on your plate.
âGod willing there will be something to be proud of soon enough,â your father filled in. âYou have sent in your applications, correct? All the places weâve talked about?â
Talked about. Mentally, you scoffed.
Visibly, you gave a singular, deep nod.
Your father hummed. Not a pleasant hum, not even a thoughtful hum. No, âtwas the hum of a man who could not fathom his inquiry could be met with anything other than what heâd suggested and had been told exactly what heâd wanted to hear.
A single laugh tore through the air immediately after, the sound not unsimilar to a wicked stepmotherâs from a childrenâs movie. Not routine. She never laughed, not now.
Your head lifted before you realized you were looking.
Your motherâs lip curled into what reminded you of a dogâs snarl. âAnd another, too, so Iâve heard.â
The automatic action of breathing eluded you. Your heart stopped and then started racing faster than itâd ever beat before. Your lip trembled, and your eyes grew dry and wet all at the same time with the sudden inability to blink.
Your father stiffened. âIs that so?â his voice grew low.
âMy friend Patricia from the ladiesâ crochet club, you remember her, her husband worked at that one church for a few years, well she has a friend who does business over at that one diner off East Elm?â
Every thought escaped you except one: shit. Shit, shit, shit. How had you forgotten?
If that was the information your mother knew, it was bad. Not as bad as if she knew about the Gotham University application, you knew, but almost.
It hadnât even been your idea, really. One of your school friends had suggested it during English. An application to the Computer Science associates program at the local community college would save you money: youâd get two years under your belt for less of the cost before transferring to finish the full four-year degree.
Youâd been hesitant, and your classmate had all but kidnapped you and made you fill it out under their hawkish gaze at the diner.
The diner your motherâs friendâs friend apparently saw you at.
âI was just appeasing a classmate,â you blurted.
Your parents both turned to blink at you. Your mother pursed her lips. Your father shifted to rest his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand.
You swallowed, suddenly aware of the fact that youâd just spoken. You hadnât meant to do that, not really.
Even if it was the truth.
Your mother readjusted in her seat, her back straightening further, her tin tilting ever so slightly as if to let her peer down at you from her almighty throne. A muscle in your fatherâs jaw visibly ticked and his nostrils flared as he assessed you.
âI donât remember asking you your version of events just now.â The sentence crawled out like a reprimand and you flinched.
âI thought youâd learned that no college professor will let you speak out of turn.â Your father rolled his eyes, turned his focus to your mother, and waved his hand. âYou shouldnât do things just because a classmate says to. Would you jump off a cliff if they told you to?â
âWith all your advanced courses I thought youâd be smarter than that,â your mother agreed.
They continued back and forth, trading remarks over your silence until the food called to them again. You pushed the remains of your portion around on the plate, but didnât scoop another bite.
When they finally dismissed you, you retreated to your room with the promise that you wouldnât accept the community collegeâs offer of attendance should it be offered and that you would apply to no more universities without their express approval.
Now
The moment September made way for October, your roommate took it upon themself to plaster the walls of your dorm with Halloween dĂŠcor.
Initially, you had questioned the need.
But between coursework, your job at the campus coffee shop, and your job at the closest off campus diner, you didnât truly have the time, effort, or desire to argue.
Thus, two days before Halloween finds you staring at a mosaic of neon fake webbing, ornamental jack-o-lanterns, a tiny mouse skeleton riding a broomstick for some reason, and a mechanical raven with soulless red eyes.
âItâs going to come alive and peck our flesh off,â you deadpan.
Your roommate snorts. âIt runs on remote batteries.â
âThat doesnât negate my previous statement.â
âThere are no batteries in it.â
âThere arenât any batteries in the stuffed animals that always turn into killers in the worst horror movies.â
Your roommate groans, a deep guttural sound, flops back on their bed, and dramatically shoves one arm over their eyes.
A pang rings through your chest, and you scuff your foot against the ground as you eye the ruby-eyed raven once more. âIt can stay,â you mutter. âIt does fit the theme.â
This, you decide, is technically true on account of youâre not sure what the theme is outside of every Halloween and Halloween-adjacent decoration your roommate could find.
Your roommate springs up. âIf you really arenât comfortable with it,â they begin.
You shake your head, quickly holding your hands out to assure them itâs fine. Once theyâve settled back once more, you glance at the time on your phone, smile apologetically, and stuff yourself into a light jacket before hauling your backpack up and leaving the room.
An arch of oranges, reds, and yellows spirals overhead as you make the familiar trek to the campus library. The trees themselves dance with the autumn breeze, and you find yourself watching the swirl of leaves as several flitter from their branches to a tune none but them hear.
The tingle the thought of sleeping in the same room as the mechanical raven had given you dissipates by the time you slink inside the comfort only rows of books and enforced quiet provides.
Jason is already seated at the table the two of you have all but claimed over the semester, notebook open, anthology cracked.
Heâs staring, unblinking, at the pages open in front of him when you creep up on him.
Your hands rise, fingers arching like pincers above his shoulder blades. As you start to lower them, ready to attack, he sighs.
âYour footsteps still give you away,â he tells you.
You pout, abandoning your plan immediately. âHow do you always know?â
Jason glares at you from the corner of his eye as you plop into the seat next to him. âYou still walk louder than most who grew up in Gotham,â is all he says before returning his focus to his work.
You cross your arms, leaning over to read the title of whatever his current assigned reading is. Your head brushes his shoulder as you shift in front of him to block his view. He lightly shoves you back into your seat, laughing, and pulls the anthology up, turning so you no longer have access to the book.
âDo your own work,â he chides.
You grumble, dutifully pulling your laptop out as you do. âBut reading Jonathan Swiftâs âA Modest Proposalâ is so much easier than writing a paper on prosocial and antisocial behaviors.â
âTough luck.â Jason points an accusatory finger at your computer screen. âItâs due tonight, isnât it?â
You scowl at the reminder and aggressively pull the document up.
When you next glance away from your assignment, Jason has turned his attention from schoolwork to staring at you. You blink, frowning at the lack of notebook and anthology on the table in front of him.
He shrugs when you point it out. âI finished half an hour ago,â he says.
âAnd you couldnât have started another assignment?â
He grimaces. âIâm supposed to have a family dinner tonight,â he says carefully, slowly. âI didnât want to lose track of time.â
Ah. âYou donât talk about your family much,â you note. In truth, you could probably count on one hand how many times Jasonâs mentioned âthe familyâ.
When youâd shyly brought it up to your roommate, curious if it was something you were close enough to you could bring up to him, your roommate, shocked at your lack of apparently common Gotham-lore, had detailed everything they knew of Jasonâs upbringing as the adopted son of Gotham Billionaire Bruce Wayne.
You hadnât believed them until Jason hesitantly confirmed it a week later after noticing your pathetic attempts to google it.
âWell.â You click your tongue absentmindedly. âIf you need to escape, just text me and Iâll call with a fake emergency. Surely, they canât fault you if my roommate and I need your help with a murderous mechanical raven.â
Jasonâs face scrunches in confusion. âA murderous mechanical raven?â
âMy roommateâs idea, donât ask. Halloween is apparently sacred. Which reminds me, actually. What are you doing Halloween? I think weâre hosting a sĂŠance for some reason.â
Something akin to horrified disgust crosses his face. âNo. Definitely not. No.â
âIf your dormâs available we could do a movie night instead?â
Jason hesitates, helplessly lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. âIâm busy Halloween,â is all he offers, the words an apologetic jumble tumbling forth somehow with both the speed of a crashing airplane and the crawl of a snailâs pace.
A cloud of disappointment envelops you, but you force a smile to your face anyway. âNo problem. Iâm sure the sĂŠance wonât be too bad. Might even be entertaining to watch, who knows.â
Jason opens his mouth, no doubt another apology on the tip of his tongue. You wave him off, hurriedly grasping for another topic to talk of instead.
He lets the conversation flow elsewhere, and neither of you return to Halloween again.
Then
For your last Halloween as a high school student, your class organized a lock-in. You had debated the pros and cons of going, of asking to go, and decided it wasnât worth it.
You stood by that decision. Up until the week before, when you returned home with the results of your last calculus test in shaking hand.
Your parents took one look at the 89.
âWhat happened?â they asked. âIâm sure youâll do much better next time.â They tsked. âDidnât you study for it?â
Despite their insistence, you didnât eat that night.
The next morning, youâd informed them of the lock-in. You banked on the fact that teachers would be there, and extra study sessions would be allotted for students who wanted or needed help with homework and preferred that over one of the planned activities.
And so, Halloween night you grabbed your backpack and joined your classmates and teachers at school.
Several of your friends attempted throughout the night to pull you into one of the planned activities: one room had been set up like a maze, another an escape room, a third was filled with board games.
You declined every time, rotating through homework assignments and study guides under the supervision of a handful of other students and the study hall supervisor.
When gaggles of students passed in the hall, dressed in costumes and imitating animals, you ached. Not to join them, but at the sounds and sights that would never fill your life within your childhood home again.
The following morning, neither of your parents asked if youâd had fun, only if youâd gained help with the material you were struggling with.
Youâd nodded, and that had been that.
Now
By mid-November, you had learned three important things about living in Gotham.
One, despite the rest of the countryâs opinions on billionaires and rich celebrities, Gothamites are, inexplicably, protective of Bruce Wayne and his children. The everyday person still gossips, of course, and Jason isnât followed around like some deity by any means, but if an outsider criticizes the Waynes, the outsider is criticized in turn. The result: Bruce Wayne is Gothamâs to love and hate, and only Gothamâs.
Secondly, despite the horror stories of what could happen in the city at night, the area around the Gotham U campus is surprisingly safe. According to a rumor your roommate uncovered, Harley Quinn and Batman have teamed up to make the campus a safe zone and none of the other criminals-regular or costumed-dare cross them.
Third, and arguably most important, no one really cares about your history unless it poses a danger to them. Such, youâve taken to telling no one other than your therapist and roommate any of it.
Perhaps thatâs why Jason raises an eyebrow and shifts uncomfortably when you decline your motherâs call for the fifth time in a row.
The two of you had left the confines of the library, where frazzled group projects had been unleashed, in search of sustenance and found yourselves at a quiet family-owned restaurant a few blocks off-campus.
Youâd been having a pleasant, normal conversation when your phone rang the first time. Youâd hesitated only a second before declining the call. Naturally, your mother didnât like that.
A sound escaped your throat; some mix between a groan and a hiss. To Jason, you specified âsorryâ.
He attempted a smile of reassurance. It did not reassure you.
You declined the next incoming call, and the next, and the next, and the next, and dear God how many times could one woman call you in the span of a single minute?
Jason clears his throat, his hands lifting and dropping the menu in front of him randomly as he glances around the small restaurant. âYou can take that if you need to,â he says. âI donât mind.â
âShe just wants to complain that Iâm not coming home for Thanksgiving,â you tell him. Itâs technically the truth, or as truthful as youâve found it can be without making your audience uncomfortable.
Youâd texted your parents three days ago to inform them youâd not be returning to your childhood home for Thanksgiving. Your father had asked about your plans for winter break, and then spring break, and then informed you that if you did not come home for the first Thanksgiving they were hosting in two years you could stay gone for all he cared.
Your mother had taken a slightly different approach. Sheâd emphasized that the family and friends whoâd been invited would miss you and wonder where you are if not at home. When youâd stood your ground, she questioned if youâd started dating someone and how you could not tell her such a thing demanded to be introduced.
That, of course, led to you assuring her that you were still single and yes, of course mother, when I date someone, Iâll tell you.
âŚ
Thinking back on it, you know your therapist would berate you for so easily promising her that.
Nevertheless, since your adamant refusal to return (ever, by your fatherâs law), your mother has taken to calling you as often as she can to demand you see reason and change your mind.
It is far easier to decline her calls than attempt to reason with her.
It would be even easier, you know, to block her number. But every time your finger hovers over the button to do so, you waver. She is your mother, after all.
âToo much homework?â Jason asks, the words tentative and soft despite the probing of a question no other Gothamite would ask.
You blink at him. âAlways,â is your solemn reply. Jason simply nods. You sigh, shake your head. âYes and no.â you say it before youâve fully committed to saying it, before the thoughts of his response to your explanation can paralyze you into never saying it.
Jason doesnât utter a single sound. He doesnât even move drastically. He just carefully, gently, lowers the menu and folds his hand on the table between you.
You swallow the dryness in your throat and avoid his eyes. âItâs not a money thing, either. Not really. Itâs justâŚâ you shrug, scratch your nose. âI donât want to be there. If I go back, Iâm not sure Iâll have it in me to come back.â
The words settle into the space between you, and for the next few minutes the white noise of a restaurant is the only sound you hear.
Then, Jason leans back, and the seat groans under his weight. Your eyes dart to him, and heâs crossing his arms, nodding, and looking out the window instead of at you. âI get that,â he says finally. He doesnât expand further, and neither do you.
Even still, when you reach for your menu, your arms feel lighter than they have in days.
âAnyone else know?â Jason waits to ask until youâve ordered, the menus no longer a buffer you can use.
You pick at your nails. He doesnât ask again. When your food arrives and the waiter leaves, you sigh. âI see a therapist.â
He considers. âDo you like them?â
âSomewhat.â
âThatâs better than not at all.â He picks up his glass, sets it down without taking a sip. He inhales sharply, and reaches across the table to still your hands. Bashfully, you meet his eyes. âThank you for telling me that,â he says.
âItâs not all of it,â you protest.
His nose scrunches. âIf you want to tell me all of it, Iâll listen,â he promises.
You nod, throat tight. Itâs another minute before you tell him youâd do the same. His head cocks to the side, eyebrow raised. You shrug. âYou havenât really told me about your family either. If you want to, Iâll listen. If not, thatâs fine.â
He smiles, and you smile back.
âBut,â you raise a finger, âdonât go getting a big head or anything just because youâre my best friend.â
His smile grows, a dazzling spectacle truer than the smiles he gave when you first met. âYouâre my best friend, too.â He reaches for his glass again before once again pausing, lowering it without taking a sip. âIfâŚif you want someplace to go for Thanksgiving instead of the campus cafeteria,â he starts slowly, âIâm allowed to bring a guest to the manor.â
You bite the inside of your cheek and shift the food on your plate around for a moment, debating what your therapist would say. Gathering yourself, you take a deep breath and square your shoulders. âDo you want me there or are you inviting me out of pity?â
The look Jason gives you is answer enough, and you smile meekly, squeaking a quiet apology. âI just said youâre my best friend.â He shakes his head. âOf course, I want you there if you want to come.â
He kicks your foot under the table. You kick his back. He laughs, and then you laugh, and thatâs that.
Then
Your parents rented a cabin for Thanksgiving. To get away from all the noise, they said. A whole week of vacation, how relaxing.
They didnât tell you if you were invited to any of your extended familyâs houses for the holiday. You didnât ask.
They left the Monday before the holiday. You spent the time not in school ravaging through the fridge for meal ideas. You hadnât saved for a full weekâs worth of groceries; you hadnât anticipated needing to.
Thanksgiving itself passed without notice to you. You woke, you did the chores you could, you ate what you knew they wouldnât miss, and you studied ahead.
Black Friday replicated the day prior.
And, then, Saturday tossed you through a window.
The mail came early. That should have been the first sign, really. The mail never came early, especially on a Saturday.
Most of it was expected. Normal mail delivered to your parents. One envelope was too large. Addressed to you.
You could do nothing but stare at it for a solid ten minutes. Your teachers and advisor had joked that half the time students received word from colleges they knew before they even opened the letter if they had been accepted or not. If accepted, there would be an entire packet of information. If rejected, a simple letter.
Your hands shook, and you carefully traced your name on the envelope before tearing it open.
Several sheets of things fell out, and you fell after them. Your knees landed hard on the kitchen floor, your hands scrabbling for a hold on something as the words pierced your eyes.
âŚGotham UniversityâŚpleased to accept youâŚPsychologyâŚ
Your breaths turned ragged.
They werenât supposed to accept you.
It had been one last act of rebellion.
A joke.
You hurried to gather everything, nodding to yourself.
Youâd tear it all up. Shred it.
Throw it away, and then throw the garbage bag away.
Theyâd still never know.
Theyâd never have to know.
They could never know.
Something dripped off your chin.
Another drop.
A third.
Only then did you realize your cheeks were coated with tears and sobs had been built and unleashed through your lips.
You curled in on yourself.
The dream of a dream shuttered under your eyelids.
You clutched the papers tighter.
A dream.
It shattered.
Now
You stumble after Jason as he leads you toward the entrance of Wayne Manor. You clutched the fruit platter your roommate and you had scoured the nearby stores for tighter the closer you got to the door.
âYou really didnât have to bring anything,â Jason says for the tenth time.
âItâs rude to show up empty handed,â you argue.
He makes a face, like heâs debating the truth of that statement in general to the truth of it in this situation.
The door opens before either of you can say anything more on the matter.
The man who peers down at you is fitted in a suit, his grey hair styled serenely.
Jasonâs shoulders drop in relief and he smiles. âAlfred.â
âMaster Jason,â Alfred replies warmly. He steps aside, ushering the two of you in. âDo you not have a warmer jacket?â he tsks.
Jason groans but doesnât argue as Alfred shoos the two of you further inside and rambles on about a cup of tea heâll have ready shortly. Then, Alfred is pulling the fruit platter from your arms, marveling at it, and telling you heâll set it up with the rest of dinner. You donât have time to respond before heâs gone.
You follow Jason down the hall, emerging in a large space you donât know the name of. At first glance, you think living room. What with the giant television and luxurious-looking couch and the several chairs perched about the room. But then you see the elegant table off to the side, more akin to the type found in a dining room and youâre blinking too hard and two people you donât know are standing up from where theyâve been conversing and Jason is tensing and it no longer matters what type of room this is.
The eldest man in the room appraises Jason with a look that sends a shiver down your spine, all too familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. âJason,â he says. Itâs low, but not the lowness of your fatherâs voice, not the timber of a growl. Just a pitch.
âBruce.â Jason reaches behind him. Pulls you forward until youâve stumbled next to him. âThis is my friend.â He says your name, and itâs the softest word to come out of his mouth since the two of you have entered this room.
You give a quick wave.
Bruce Wayne, Gotham Billionaire, Gothamâs sweetheart, turns his scrutinizing gaze that doesnât feel at all like the scrutinization youâre used to but is scrutinization all the same onto you.
âJasonâs talked about you,â you say to be nice. It isnât the full truth, but itâs not a lie either. Jason has mentioned his family, in that offhand way. Heâs even brought them up by name since you agreed to attend Thanksgiving dinner with him.
According to him, itâs so you know what youâre walking into.
You wonât tell him nothing heâs said could have prepared you for this.
Bruce Wayne dips his chin in a single, deep nod, but his eyes donât leave you. Without thought, your fingers move to pick at your fingernails.
Jason reaches over, sliding his fingers between yours and giving your hand a squeeze before you can commit to the act.
You glance at him, eyes wide.
Heâs not looking at you. His eyes are trained on his adoptive father.
When you look back at Bruce Wayne, his attention is back on Jason. His face has softened, you think.
The man next to him, who looks only a few years older than you, grins and waves, bouncing forward. âHi!â you tilt your head, picturing a dogâs tail wagging with excitement behind him. âIâm Dick Grayson, Jayâs older brother. Itâs lovely to meet you.â
He reaches a hand forward for you to shake. You extend your own arm, yelping when Jason pulls your entire body back, out of Dickâs reach, using your clasped hands.
Bruce Wayne sighs a tired sigh. Dick only grins wider, sharper, something sparking in his eyes as he raises his hands and backs away, laughing easily.
You clear your throat, unsure if you should say something or wait for someone else to speak first.
Thankfully, Alfred arrives. He sets a tray with several tea cups and a pot of tea down on a coffee table you hadnât realized was a coffee table, says dinner will be ready shortly, and excuses himself back out of the room.
Bruce Wayne uses that time to sit, pour a cup of tea, and motion for Dick, Jason, and you to join him.
Jason, still pulling you along with him, sits tersely on the couch. Bruce hands him a cup of tea. Jason doesnât take it. Bruce holds it out for a moment longer before, once more, sighing and gently setting it in front of your friend.
You smile, carefully accepting the cup he extends your way next with the single hand you have available. Jasonâs grip on your other hand tightens, but he says nothing as you take a small sip of tea.
Dick bounces in his seat, his head swiveling from Jason to you to Jason and back to you. You frown over the rim of your cup, but itâs Jason who snaps.
âWhat?â
âYou actually brought your friend.â To your ears, Dick sounds like someone whoâs seeing the Northern Lights for the first time.
âI said I was.â
âYou did.â
Jason scowls.
Bruce Wayne clears his throat before their banter can escalate into an actual argument. âJason mentioned youâre majoring in psychology. How did you choose it, if you donât mind me asking?â
âOh.â You set the cup down in front of you. All three men give you a moment to compose your thoughts. In the end, you shrug. âI guess Iâve justâŚalways been interested in understanding why people act the way they act.â
âGotham Uâs program is prestigious,â Bruce Wayne replies. âAnd they have wonderful assistance with finding internships should you need it.â
You fidget. Jason shifts next to you, and Bruce Wayne cuts himself off.
The silence only lasts a moment this time.
âHow exactly did you and Jason meet?â Dick inquires. âHe never did say.â
You glance at Jason. His eyes are shut, his jaw clenched. You squeeze his hand. âIf he didnât say then he didnât say for a reason.â The words leave with an undertone of confidence you do not feel as you say them. Jason squeezes your hand back nonetheless.
Thanksgiving dinner commences as such. Bruce Wayne and Dick prompt the conversation with questions, mostly aimed at you. You answer as best and willing as youâre able. Jason steps in every now and then.
Two times, itâs Alfred who informs Bruce Wayne that the question he has asked is too personal for the first time you meet oneâs childâs friend. Bruce Wayne looks especially bashful after that.
After, Dick offers to help Alfred clean up and Bruce Wayne disappears into another room of the manor with the quiet excuse of needing to finish something for work.
You follow Jason through a door and meander the Manorâs gardens for a while.
Itâs there, amid the dying roses and greying stems that seem especially bleak under the lightness of the upcoming frost, that Jason thanks you.
Itâs so quiet you almost donât hear it.
âI should be thanking you,â is all you can think of to say. âIâd have nowhere else to go if you hadnât offered to let me come with.â
Jasonâs nose twitches. âSo, itâs pity that made you agree to come?â he asks.
You shake your head. âYouâre my friend, Jason. Why would I pity you?â
He opens his mouth, and then closes it without saying anything. He watches you and you watch him, and around you, the lightest sprinkle of snow begins to dust the air.
âWhat?â you finally ask.
One of Jasonâs arms jerks like he started some movement he realized he didnât intend to start. âYouâre my best friend,â he says slowly.
You frown. âAs weâve established. And?â
âI think Iâm in love with you.â
Everything stops.
Thereâs a faint buzz in your ears.
You can no longer feel your heart, or your legs, or your arms.
You no longer feel your breath, or see it in the air in front of you.
In front of you, just out of reach, where heâd been standing, Jasonâs figure blurs in your eyes and then reappears clearly.
Heâs watching you with that careful gaze of his. Gently, oh so gently. Sincerely.
Iâve come here to ask for help again, I am absolutely craving the most angsty fanfic of Mr.Todd. Iâm talking about yearning on both ends and a bit of angst maybe fluff maybe not. Something along the lines of reader never getting over Jasonâs death not knowing he was back and just casually watching afraid he will ruin her life type stuff but they come together anyway đ, It doesnât have to be exactly that I just do not possess the talent of writing and Iâm not sure how to go about finding something like this, please tag me or comment any reccs!
đŤđ°đŞđ˛ đŽđšđ¨đđşđśđľ: Anyone being a cop in Gotham must be a glutton for punishment: long nights, long hours, being shot at, the whole nine yards. Scarecrow had released Fear Toxin while you were tracking him, and you'd gotten sick from it. You were already run down to the bone from being so tired, and this doesn't help.
Nightwing practically busted into the GCPD asking for you. Oracle had told him what happened, and he's never cleared the city faster. "Honey, you better be alright, or I swear to everything holy-" Dick saw you, the oxygen mask on your face...you look little, you look scared. The Fear Toxin's still got you seeing things that aren't there.
"Just close your eyes, okay? Just listen, It's me...You're okay, it's just me." He crosses the room and hugs you; he can feel the tension inside you and how worn out you are. Fear Toxins never been something easy to get over. "Just breathe." He turns up the oxygen container so your heart can clear the toxin from your bloodstream faster, but the can creaks, and you practically shoot off the gurney like a rocket.
"Calm, Honey...Keep your eyes closed." He climbs into the bed beside you, letting you bury your face in his chest, filling your nose with the smell of him.
đąđ¨đşđśđľ đťđśđŤđŤ: Today had been awful; Joker had blown up a school, and of course your morgue is slammed: parents, Teachers, Small Kids. It's just been awful; you're run down. You'd been up for the last thirty hours straight. Straight up exhausted. All the Batfamily had been working diligently to help victims and first responders.
Jason had gotten home after you; you'd showered and tried to rinse off the stress, but the days stuck with you. Your wet hair dampens the shirt of Jason's you're wearing; he came in looking just as exhausted as you are....
"Can you stitch me up, Babygirl? I cut my leg, and I didn't even notice it till now."
"Jason, I'm a mortician. I don't stitch up living people."
"It doesn't have to look good. Then I'll shower, and we can get some sleep." He pulls his coat and shirt off. He's got a gash along his abdomen; it's not deep, you can probably glue it.
"Come on." You grab the medical kit he'd brought over to patch himself up countless times, grabbing the medical glue, iodine, and some gloves.
"I know it's been pretty shitty the last couple days, and I hope this isn't overstepping, but I called your boss, and I talked to Bruce, and we have the week off. Bruce is calling in some people from other cities, and they'll help take over." He sits beside you; he can see you're terribly run down, how your battery is just empty, and right now, after you get him glued up, he just wants the two of you to be alone together away from the horrors you both had seen.
You put your gloves on and wipe the wound off, and he hisses softly, bringing a hand up to your back. He just wants to feel you close, just like you want to feel him. Squirting the glue on the wound to close it up, holding to keep it closed.
"I love you, Angel. I know it's random to say, but I do...I do love you." He tells you, but you take a breath and nod, trying not to break down.
"You wanna sit in the bathroom while I shower, Honey?" A regular question in the house when days were shitty like this, a way to support each other. You just nod and get up as he helps you to the bathroom, staying with him the entire time, grateful for him.
đŠđšđźđŞđŹ đžđ¨đđľđŹ: You know it's a bad day when Bruce comes into Gotham General; today's been long. You were supposed to have gone home by now, but of course he wants to check up on you and make sure you're okay when he sees you haven't texted him and told him you're home. More often than not, he comes in for the job, checking out bodies in the morgue before the police commissioner can say no.
Typing away at your computer, you see a dark shadow about your laptop and nearly shit yourself when you look up and see him.
"Sasha Presley, I need to see the body." He's using his Batman voice to keep you safe but also to keep his identity.
"Of course, Mr. Batman, Sir." You stand up and move across the room, guiding him to the morgue whete there aren't cameras in there, and in an instant his Batman persona falls.
"You're supposed to be off shift now, My Love." He gently grabs you by the hips, pulling you against him. The Batsuit smells like a mix of rubber and charcoal, a tinge of grease paint and sweat.
"I thought about it, but after today, I just know I'll stare at the ceiling all night if you're not there to pull me out of it." You look up at those blue eyes obscured by the white lenses he has in them; there are tired lines under his eyes just like yours.
"How long until the body's picked up?"
"Honestly? Probably not until the end of the week. The systems all backed up."
"Then we have time. The killer doesn't strike until after the body's been moved for the second time. We should both go home, get some sleep. I'll be by your side all night, all morning...just as long as you need me." He runs a gloved hand through your hair, kissing your forehead. You're going home for sure; many times you've gone with Bruce, but first time with "Batman."
đťđ°đ´ đŤđšđ¨đ˛đŹ: Yeah, let's join the night shift so our schedule aligns with Tim. What an awful fuckin idea. So far you've dealt with a pencil in someone's eye, an accidental shooting, an old lady that gave you a shiner, and about twenty-two people in a mass explosion downtown.
It's almost ten p.m. you've worked several, several hours of overtime, and thank god it's calmed down just enough to get home. You ordered yourself an Uber and texted Jason asking if he would please pick up your shitty Kia later on because you're much too tired to drive home.
Once you get home, you practically fall onto the bed and pass out on Tim's bed. He doesn't find you for a couple of hours, but when he does, he unties your shoes and pulls them off along with your socks. He moves to carefully remove the rest of your clothes besides your top and panties.
You sleep for several hours until about three in the morning. Tim isn't there because, of course, he's on patrol, but there's a debit card, ibuprofen, and a note on the side table.
"Order whatever you want, Pumpkin. Please rest. I called in and got you the day off. You can't keep working hours like that. I'm gonna talk to Bruce about you being our personal nurse. Better hours, better pay, and better for your health. I love you, and I won't let you run yourself ragged. - Love Your Birdboy, Tim. P.S. Ice your eye, please."
đŤđ¨đ´đ°đ¨đľ đžđ¨đđľđŹ: Usually, crime scene investigating was normal shit, not a group of little children slaughtered in their beds at Gotham's Youth Camp. You'd felt awful for throwing up the way you did, but the crime scene smelled awful and looked even worse.
"Get home, Works already had you eight hours, Beloved." Damian texted you. To an outsider, it looked controlling. This is far, far from that; he's just reminding you. Time blindness is a regular issue with investigators who worked cases like this, especially here in Gotham City.
"Drive me?" You texted him because on days like this you were extremely clocked out mentally, wanting nothing more than to stare at a wall like you enjoy watching paint dry or something. Damian knew these kinds of days and had them often, considering the nature of crimes that happen in the city. If you'd driven yourself home today, you'd get tunnel vision and wrap your sedan around one of the several telephone poles on the way home with no issue.
"Be there in fifteen, don't go anywhere, stay indoors. DO NOT WAIT OUTSIDE. I don't care if they have to wait to lock up." Damian honestly couldn't give a single fuck about your work, your boss, or your colleagues, and it's not because he doesn't think what you're doing is important, but it's because you are his priority and not some jackasses who couldn't wait while a woman waited inside for her fiancĂŠ.
"Yeah, of course. I won't." In times like this, it's actually nice to be able to turn your brain off and let him guide you and tell you what to do because you don't have to think for yourself.
A chic black sedan pulled up to the station; he got out and walked up to the front door to get you. "Give Dick your keys. He'll get your car back to the manor. We're gonna get some food, then we can go back to the manor. If you're up to it, a bath." Damian almost always seemed to have everything figured out; even if he didn't, he just started with "A" and ran through the alphabet.
đšđśđ đŻđ¨đšđˇđŹđš: Thanksgiving, the day that half the nation catches their house on fire via their oven. Nonstop calls, nonstop fires, exhausting to the point you might've blacked out a bit in the shower. No matter the length of the shower, you still smell of smoke. You don't even bother giving the Night shift a goodbye as you clock out and head to Roy's Bronco that he let you borrow. Quickly heading home.
"MAMA!" Lian runs up to you with a toothy grin, having lost her two front baby teeth at her gymnastics training. You lean down to pick her up, putting her on your hip, really just going through the motions. Food hits your nose, your mouth waters, and you practically float into the kitchen.
"Lian, give Mommy space; she's had a long day, Bug." He lifts her out of your arms and hands you a large plate of food that you can practically inhale. One housefires like running the Boston Marathon times a million, then times it by the fact you've had fire calls all fuckin day, no medical, no cat in the tree, just fire calls.
"Thank you." You murmur incoherently as you sit down to eat the meal Roy had spent all day making, texting you every few hours on updates. The texts were meant as a safeguard for the house, but also so you had something to look forward to when you got home. It's sweet, thoughtful, and nice to know he hasn't burnt the house down.
"Mama, I made a hand turkey." She runs in again, poking your side, and you have to force a smile with how tired you are.
"That's wonderful, Baby. I'm sorry Mama's so tired; I know you love Thanksgiving, Honey." You feel so bad; she loves all holidays, but for some reason Thanksgiving is her favorite, probably because for some odd reason she really, really loves turkeys.
"Mommy is like Daddy." She tells you, and you look at her with a confused look, which prompts her to explain. "Mommy's a hero." Your tired expression faces one of awe, appreciation, and happiness, tears falling down your cheeks.
"Oh, Bug..." You hug her tightly. Roy had come back in here from prepping your bed for your much-needed sleep to get the young girl to leave you be, but he smiles as he sees you both. Even exhausted, you always made time for both of them, and he couldn't have gotten luckier with you.
đŞđłđ¨đšđ˛ đ˛đŹđľđť: Being a paramedic sometimes can feel worse than being a full-fledged doctor, walking into a scene with only a slight idea of what's going on via what little info dispatch has decided to deem worthy enough to share. In Gotham, it's shootings, stabbings, bombings, but today was people- just normal people that Pyg had decided to essentially lobotomize, causing them to be angry and a danger to themselves and others, which meant having to escort them to Arkham.
"I know what you're thinking, Arkham?" Yeah, your dumbass decided to fill in for a friend over there for a few months while they find a replacement for her since she's on maternity leave. It's not too much of an issue, though. Bruce got you and Clark a temporary apartment in the nice part of Gotham; it's a loft, so it's quite large, even has its own balcony.
Anyways, Arkham Asylum is literally hell in a hand-basket; patients are escaping constantly, and everywhere you go you have to keep your head on a swivel. The place always has you and your coworkers on edge; it's eerie, unkempt, and just downright tragic how they treat the people in its walls. They're all treated like prisoners, from those who can be treated with a little medication to those who should probably have truly no hope, like the Joker. You believe in reform like your husband, but not at the cost of the lives that Joker had ended; entire graveyards make up the lives he's cut short.
You text Clark after getting out of the location. Everything had gone smoothly, and you'd soon be home, but one of the patients in the courtyard jumped on your back and wrapped their arm around your neck, and you nearly passed out if your partner hadn't loaded them up with a syringe full of what you guys like to call "The Sleepy Juice." Your partner, Jaiden, got you home safe, dropping you off personally because he's always seen you like the little sister he'd lost on this job a few years back because her partner had abandoned her.
Clark practically bolted to you when he heard your inconsistent heartbeat, opening the front door swiftly, causing it to nearly shatter with his strength. His fingers buried themselves in your hair, needing to be as close to you as possible.
"It's nothing, Clark. Just some guy at Arkham." You quietly try to reassure him, although it's clear you don't even believe the words coming out of your own mouth.
"You know I don't like you going there."
"I know, Clark, but it's part of my job; these people need help. It's not easy, but it's necessary. Can we talk about this in the morning?" You ask softly, just wanting rest.
"Of course, Darling." He says in a tone that says he'll drop it for now, but only just for the time being.
the last physical piece jason has of his mother comes in the form of a self-help bookâone bruce found and preserved following his passing.
the book is an unbearably cruel reminder most days, but he canât ever bring himself to leave itâs odd comfort behind. its gone everywhere with him for years; from safe house to safe house, from his apartment to your now-shared one.
yet, no matter where he takes it, itâs very rare he lets anyone hold it. with exceptions to usually only youâsave for the time he let roy borrow it for an evening.
jason reads his book every night before bed, despite how it weighs on his mind after. how the thoughts about âifâ and âwhyâ linger.
some nights, heâs too tired to readâtoo upset about the past or too overwhelmed from his day. but to not hold or hear that final piece feels like intentionally forgetting her. so instead, he slides the book into your lap.
âcan you read?â heâll ask as he slips under the covers, his back facing you so you canât see the slightly grim expression on his face. âplease.â
you nod and pick up the book. you know even if heâs not looking directly at you that he knows you canât deny him when he asks so politely.
jason lays there, tucked in like a little kid all over again, as your soft voice reads statistics like words of the angels.
other nights, when the two of you are fighting, or when an argument is too fresh, heâll sit on the edge of the bed next to you. you donât turn to face him, still upset or busy wiping tears from your eyes, but you feel him shifting next to you. it always takes a moment of hesitance, but he opens up a bookâusually one of yours, but sometimes his, and starts to read to you.
he doesnât know if you actually care about the recovery tips heâs already deemed useless, or the percentages about addiction, but he does know you listen to every word. because you care for what he has to say, even if his words come from a page.
note: for a man raised in a world of cruelty, and revived into one of anger, mundane things will always be more intimate than sex when it comes to jason todd
you come home tipsy and canât help showing your boyfriend and his little brother some love | [1.4k] established relationship, reader x platonic!damian, fluff
jason regretted agreeing to your girls' night out as soon as you left, leaving him behind in the absolute silence of your shared apartment.
he was by no means protective or jealous or controlling or anything like that. he actually loved when you dressed up and did your makeup real nicely for the occasion, whether it was for a night out with him or your girlfriends.
but you were going out for dinner with steph and cass which meant no good to begin with, and paired it with the âendless mimosasâ the restaurant you were going to was offering, jason was preparing himself for the worst outcome possible. he was not looking forward to bailing you out of jail, again.
an hour into the evening and he was already bored to death. no movie or TV show was fulfilling the hole in his heart that formed when you left him behind. he was being dramatic, but god did he miss you already. and if the night couldnât get any worse, he had to climb through the window.
"arenât you supposed to be out on patrol?" jason mumbled without sparing him a glance, voice so void of emotions.
"damn, what got you sulking this bad?"
but jason could only grunt in response as he continued to watch ahead at the stupid reality show playing on the TV that was providing him the tiniest bit of entertainment.
"where is she?" asked damian, settling inside the apartment and closing the window behind. he looked around, trying to find anything that could hint to jasonâs visible despair, but your shoes were by the door, your pictures were still on the fridge, and your perfume lingered.
"out."
"oh," he said. he couldnât lie that he was disappointed, after all he came to see you, not his idiot brother. he didnât want to go back out there, the night was looking boring and bruce could easily handle himself. if not... well, he was grown enough to.
damian wanted to know more, especially why you were out so late without your boyfriend because everyone knew that you had jason wrapped around your finger so much heâd go everywhereâreally, everywhereâwith you. it wasnât unusual for you to run errands alone or hang out with your friends by yourself, but at least it explained why jason looked⌠like that.
jason made space for him on the couch, silently inviting him to stay. "donât sit with that on,2 he nodded to his costume. "she washed your clothes from last time, theyâre in your room."
it wasnât really damianâs room. it was more like a spare room that you used half as storage half as your studio, which then turned into a makeshift bedroom for damian whenever he wanted to stay over for the night.
jason was quick to animatedly agree when you proposed to go bed shopping for his brother because ever since damian, like the little shit that he was, accidentally and casually fell asleep at your apartment more often than not, jason had been sleeping on the couch. a hard and uncomfortable second-hand couch you picked up from the side of the street.
it was only fair. you couldnât let the kid sleep on the couch, the poor boy needed a healthy night of sleep so instead he spent the nights in your bed, while jason laid asleep on the couch with the most visible frown on his face, a frown that lingered even when youâd wake him up the next morning for breakfast. it was fine, jason reassured himself, he didnât care if you teased him, he got to hear your giggles first thing in the morning.
damian dragged his feet to his room and changed out of his robin costume before walking back to the living room. he sat on the couch, on the opposite end from jason, and stared ahead at the TV waiting patiently for your return.Â
the apartment was quiet apart from the sound coming from the TV, not a single word was uttered from either of them since.
damian tried, he really did, to enjoy whatever jason put on the TV but it was the most idiotic thing he had ever seen and truly couldnât stand hearing another second of it.
"how can you enjoy this idiocy," he complained, getting up from the couch. "canât believe sheâs still with someone whâ"
his words stopped as a pillow hit the back of his head. he didnât turn around to give jason a nasty look, he didnât have the energy for it, all he wanted was for you to come home soon so he could spend some time with his favorite person. but he would never admit that. so instead he continued to his room and closed the door behind, isolating himself.
he was right, it was some absurd show that only aired at night because nobody would voluntarily watch something like this, he wasnât really paying attention to the program in front of him before, but a minute later jason sighed and turned the TV off. time seemed to pass ever so slowly in his eyes. an hour and thirty minutes, thatâs how much has passed. he had already texted you to see how the night was going but when no response came after five minutes, he had to add a âplease donât be in troubleâ. and then you didnât answer again and he prayed you were okay because the last thing he wanted was to sound like a desperate man.
he might have fallen asleep at some point because his mind was groggy and confused as he blinked his eyes open from the noise you were making. finally, he thought.Â
you were fighting with the strap of your heels by the door, growing impatient by the second as it wouldnât want to come undone, though you could easily blame that on your slightly inebriated current state. jason couldnât take his eyes off of you, you looked so beautiful with a pout on your lips before meeting his gaze and switching it with a smirk, happily hurrying towards him.Â
"hi baby," you whispered, sitting down next to him and cupping his face between your hands. "oh, youâre so warm."
you didnât leave him time to greet you back or say anything else that you were already peppering his face with kisses, not a single one landing on his lips. every time he angled his face so he could feel his lips on yours, even just one small, quick peck, you simply had other plans. "waitâmmphâbaby." there, at last.
"youâre so pretty jay," you said giggling. "my pretty boy."
jason was blushing now, hard. he loved when you got like this, always so eager to show him how much you loved him even though it always got his whole body blushing like a teenager who just got his first girlfriend. he was glad now the only light in the room was dim enough to not let you see his ears growing red by the second and his pink cheeks, because if you could see how gone he was you wouldnât have stopped teasing him.Â
you were so lost in admiring his face that when jason tapped your thigh and nodded behind you, you pouted out of confusion. what was so important for him to stop your affection?
so you turned around in the direction his gaze brought you to, and a gasp left your lips, immediately jumping off the couch, arms open wide. "oh my baby, come here."
damian stood confused and half-asleep by the corridor, rubbing his eye trying to process what was all the noise about, but then he felt a body crash into his, startling him even more. he instinctively tried to pull away, never keen to accept affections from strangers.Â
"whaâ" his words died on his tongue as a kiss landed on his forehead. he blinked rapidly, stunned by the sudden gesture. you pulled away slightly, giving him enough time to realize that it was just you, with a lopsided smile, smudged lipstick, and a lovesick look in your eyes that would have made damian roll his eyes with disgust if it came from anyone else.Â
"i love you so much, dami," you cooed. you pulled him back in your arms, mumbling some nonsense about how cute he looked and how squishy his cheeks were, to the point where you couldnât help but swing him left and right in your arms.
meanwhile, behind you, jason was sneering from his spot on the couch, ready to tease his brother for the red tips of his ears and his face covered in your sheer kiss prints. and unbeknownst to him, the same smirk damian was sporting was a mirror of his own, as Jason was covered too and blushing like an idiot.
tw; bad relationships with eating mentioned, mentions of starving and going hungry
jason todd who has always had a weird experience with food. growing up, he had barley any nutritional value in anything he ate, and he wasnât always able to get 3 meals a day. he already felt so spoiled and undeserving of the food bruce and alfred had given him years ago but your wonderful, warm and delicious meals make him feel both so spoiled and loved for but also overly lucky, thinking he could never deserve these meals and kind gestures you give him.
when he came back more scarred and ghostly he didnât have an appetite for days. he needed the food desperately but just couldnât bring himself to eat without feeling this disgusting pit inside himself. years later, that feeling has dimmed inside of him, after readjusting as much as he can and after finding you and your meals that you fill with love.
he truly never knew he could crave food so badly, even when not hungry, he didnât realize food could taste so good and so different. he starts observing how you cook and prepare different foods while slowly learning himself. one night he prepares dinner himself. (after many trial runs) just to surprise you and hope you feel the same way he does whenever you cook for him.
á° iâve noticed a large amount of fics with the âjason hides his girl from the batfamily and gets caughtâ trope and this is my contribution. also new writing format bc i wanted to try something different!! ALSO iâm sorry to the requests i havenât gotten to, i will <3 i just wanted to flex my writing muscles a bit. itâs been a while.
Itâs late, right around the time Jason gets ready for patrol and right around the time you head to bedâ a comfortable, familiar routine.
Until you hear a knock at the door.
Before youâve even entertained the thought of heading to answer the door, Jason calls from your shared room.
âI got it.â
He was always super sensitive about you answering the door, going out by yourself, basically anything that could potentially put you in danger, he didnât like.
âI canât keep them waiting all night!â You call back, half-joking as you unlock the deadbolt and pull open the door to see an unfamiliar face. Albeit a friendly one.
No crime lord from what you can tell. No vigilante. No superhero. Heâs in normal, everyday clothes. Possibly the most harmless person youâve seen at your doorstep.
âHi,â you beam up at the raven-haired man. âCan I helpââ
Youâve barely gotten out your sentence before Jasonâs there, face pulled into an expression that screams bad mood.
And the person at your door is unperturbed by it.
Not even when Jason practically inserts himself between you and the door, arm wrapping around your waist and yanking you against his chest, the sudden movement making you squeak in surprise.
âThe hell are you doing here?â Jason grits, tone pure gravel.
Your guestâs eyebrows shoot up, eyes flicking from Jasonâs death grip on your waist to your face, then back to his adoptive brother.
â⌠oh,â your guest says, far too cheerfully. Jasonâs arm tightens around you, the annoyance rolling off him.
âSo this is why youâve been MIA.â
Jasonâs eyes narrow. âLeave.â
But your guest steam rolls him.
âYou must beââ heâs all smiles as he looks directly to you.
âDonât talk to her. Get lost.â Jason cuts him off, and you can feel the tension rising quick.
This time, you step in, hand going to Jasonâs chest.
âWhoa, itâs okay!â You reassure, desperately trying to de-escalate before someone ends up hurt. Or dead.
Your guestâs head tilts, gesturing to you without breaking eye contact with Jason. âSee? Sheâs nice. Youâre being weird.â
And apparently because this person has a death wish, he turns to you again, giving you his full attention.
âSorry about him. Iâm Dick. Iâm his brother⌠itâs complicated.â
Jason, however, is seconds away from losing all patience. He makes a low, warning sound, your advice from before quickly forgotten about.
âI said donât talk to her.â
You can feel just how tense he is behind you, heart thumping hard against your back. You quickly realize heâs not just grumpy or sliding into overprotective tendencies. Heâs actually spun up about Dick showing up, whoever he was.
And now youâre feeling guilt for having ignored Jasonâs statement about being the one to get the door earlier. All of this couldâve been prevented if youâd just sat back.
Dick ignores the warning completely and keeps talking to you gently and curiously. âHas he even told you about us? The rest of the family?â
Jason shifts again, fully pushing you gently behind him, leaving you to stare at his back. âDonât do this right now.â
Dick is relentless as he peeks over Jasonâs shoulder at you, endlessly curious and apparently has a penchant for pissing off his relatives.
âYouâre allowed to talk to me, heâs just dramatic.â
Youâre left to stand there awkwardly, the calm atmosphere from before quickly dissolving into palpable tension. How Dick is so immune to it is beyond you.
With his hand on the door frame, seconds away from slamming it in Dickâs face, he looks over his shoulder at you, expression softening when he meets your eyes.
âBaby,â he says under his breath, anger simmering underneath. âPlease go in the other room.â
Anything to get away from this, from whatever argument â or worse â is about to break out, you backpedal one step, offering a shaky smile to Dick.
âMaybe another time,â you offer, though youâre not sure another time will ever come at this point. âBye!â
You turn, power-walking to the darkness of your shared bedroom, closing the door with an almost inaudible click. And as much as you know you shouldnât, you press your ear to the wood, anxious to hear how thisâll end.
can you do the classic ass or tits dc boys đĽ¸đĽ¸đĽ¸
what ever happened to personality?? anyway i made a chart
FEATURING: roy harper, hal jordan, oliver queen, victor stone, garth of shayeris, dick grayson, jason todd, clark kent, bruce wayne, and jean-paul valley
WARNING(S): NSFW (18+ only, mdni), explicit descriptions of sex and intimacy, mentions of anal and anal play, mentions of oral (reader receiving), mentions of nipple play, penetrative sex, afab! reader, not proofread
ROY HARPER: to me, he's like the epitome of 'i love you, but i'm going to fuck you like i hate you' and because of that he usually has you in positions where he can get a great view of your ass. he loves the more intimate, front-facing positions (esp when he's desperate and in need of reassurance of some kind), but more often than not you're in doggy or at least in any position that allows him access to your ass. like his hand will be on your ass at all times if possible.
if you're into it or open to try, he would so love to eat your ass out too, enjoying both your pussy and ass as if he were a starved manâand, because i love him, he'd cum from this alone. if you're not as open to anal in any way, he'd still love to eat you out from behind, leaving bite marks on the fullness of your curves and thighs, and spreading your ass cheeks a part just so he can memorize the way your body reacts to him. in general, i think he really gets off on watching the way your body moves and responds to him, regardless of if it's your moans getting louder at the way he tongues your clit or if it's your back arching and ass pushing back to meet his thrusts; it's just intimate how no matter how rough or soft he's being, your bodies move in such unison. even in casual everyday moments of domesticity, he would just playfully and lovingly squeeze your ass in passing and relish in the little ways you react to him. you could be pouring yourself some coffee in the morning or making yourself breakfast when roy would just pass by and cop a quick feel, causing you to giggle or slightly jump at the sudden touch you weren't expecting. i think he would just love that you love him very presently and openly
HAL JORDAN: he's honestly not that much better than roy here, but because of his complex relationship with gender and sexuality, he wouldn't be as open to anal like roy is, not at least until he's older and post-spectre. he'd still absolutely love any position that allows him access to groping and touching your ass. whether that be having you on your hands and knees with your face pressed firmly into the mattress while one hand grips your hip and the other palms the fullness of your cheek, or having you in reverse cowgirl he's really just indulging and admiring the view. outside of sex, he would also just take every opportunity to touch you; instead of his hand resting on your waist, his would just exist on your lower back and slowly inch its way down, probably and most likely resting his hand in the back-pocket of your jeans while you're both out at a bar for the night
OLIVER QUEEN: never met a socialist that wasn't an ass man! but tbh he's a closeted ass guy to me, one with a solid pr team to make him seem like he's a tits guy but the minute you're alone with him, he's feeling you up! i also just feel like he's so incredibly intimate and romantic about it too, like he's not just into your ass but incredibly in love with your back and how your body is shaped so perfectly, how the pathway of your spine and the contours of your flesh create one of the most delicate curves in the universe. and have you ever noticed how similar one's back can be to the spine of a bow? mechanically not the same, but metaphorically, analogously, i think ollie would find himself immensely in love all the same in how he would, in an effort to offer you a back massage after a grueling week, end up gently kissing his way from the nape of your neck to the very end of your spine all while softly massaging the fullness of your ass before finally pressing kisses there too. you'd probably laugh and giggle and sigh and hum at his declarations of love pressed to your skin like this but it's just music to his ears
also recency bias, i can't not think of @mick-is-asleep's fic and just the concept of him absolutely admiring your back and ass as you ask him to help zip up your evening wear or even have him help clasp your necklace for the night's galaâit's probably the only thing that keeps him sane throughout the event as well as the prospect of getting to undress you once home.
VIC STONE: i think he would know how to appreciate your body regardless, but yeah this man loves your ass. he would absolutely find any and every excuse to pick you up and toss you over his shoulder, and somehow his hand would be conveniently placed on your assâfor stability, he'd assure you. vic is generally pretty playful when he can be, so i don't think he would shy away from pinching and lightly slapping your ass in passing, or even just resting his hand on you as you're laid across his lap watching a movie together. but, vic is also a very competent and intelligent person, he knows exactly when to lock in and that's often during sex; even, if it's on the sillier side, he's still very much focused on teasing you for your pleasure. if you're into spanking, he'd definitely lean into that for you, but largely he's incredibly gentle with his touchesâeven when he's roughly palming and massaging the flesh of your ass before dragging his thick fingers along your walls
GARTH OF SHAYERIS: he's such a lover boy that if you genuinely asked him 'ass or tits?' he'd probably say your eyes. and he wouldn't be wrong to say that because i think he would genuinely be so in love with your eyes, and just every aspect of you. he's very middle-ground about this though because in the bedroom, where he would prefer any position where he can see your face (again, because of your eyes!), he would very much give a lot of attention to your chest, kissing a fevered yet delicately wet path from your lips down your jaw and neck until his lips are wrapped around one of your nipples, gently sucking before he eventually kisses his way back up to your lips. but outside of the bedroom, in those domestic moments where you're both cuddling on the couch and your head is laying on his chest, his hands would just be resting on the curve of your ass. he's just overall very gentle and tender with his affection (and his mouth)
DICK GRAYSON: perhaps this is also recency bias as i still have @patientofarkhamasylum's amazing fic on my mind, but while everyone does think dick would be an ass man, i think he finds much more comfort and love with his face pressed against your chest. like sarah mentioned in her fic, i think listening to your heartbeat would be incredibly grounding for him especially as things get hectic and out of control for him on patrols or casesâregardless of if it's bludhaven, gotham, or titans-related. there is something so deeply calming about falling asleepâa thing that dick actually rarely does!âwith your breasts as his pillow, whether that be in bed or on the couch. i can also see him seeking out hugs like this after grueling cases, after moments where he feels like a failure clad in black and blue (in bruises and design); the idea of coming up to him at his messy desk with water in hand, knowing he probably hasn't had any since the morning, only to have him turn to you with that boyish, tired smile of his before gently pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you as his head rests on your chest, beautiful eyes looking up at you with the wonder you always look at him with before he closes them to concentrate on matching his breathing to your heart's beating. he'd probably also sneak a hand underneath your shirt and unclasp your bra if you were still wearing one at that point in the evening, just so that he can be closer to you (and you'd probably have to stop him from trying to take your shirt off too, at least while the windows to his apartment are wide and open)
and for the same reasons, i think he'd very much prefer sexual positions and acts where you're both facing one another: he's a very sentimental romantic at his foundation so there aren't many positions he favors that you're facing away from him (except for when you're riding his face ig), but these positions, like missionary or lotus, just allow him to also massage and play with your breast as he's balls deep inside you with his tongue down your throat. he generally just likes to have his hands on you in some way, both in and out of the bedroom, because being intimate with your partner like this is something that means so much to him; it's a little overwhelming how all-consuming his presence can be when you're together, but he just loves the closeness, loves being grounded while simultaneously suspended by your presence, your love, your everything
CLARK KENT: this is a guy who actively memorizing heart beats of the people he loves, i really doubt he wouldn't want to bury his face between your breasts and just listen to your heart sing. i think he would also just enjoy pressing kisses down your sternum and relish in the comforting feeling of your heart beating against his lips. clark would also find himself staring at your chest, it's not something he intentionally does though. you can be stretching at your desk after a great writing session late in the evening at his apartment, your tank top riding up slightly and the upward pull of your arms bringing your breasts together, and clark would just stare at how lovely you look like this, even if it's momentary, even if you've already put your arms down and caught the direction of his eyes placed right at your chest. or, as you're both trying to be intimate, you'd take off your shirt and his breath would hitch as if he hasn't seen you in this particular bra before, as if he hasn't seen and loved your breasts before. you'd point it out every time with a giggle and he'd be a blushing mess about it, apologizing like he did something wrong and blasphemous by just looking as if you aren't straddling his waist and staring right at his own chest too..
BRUCE WAYNE: so like he's definitely not beating the breeding kink allegations. i really do believe his happy place is sucking on your tits where i think he could genuinely spend an entire round marking your chest as he moans and pants onto your flesh while his fingers curl inside your core until you're cumming and clenching on them (and ofc he'd cum just from sucking on and biting your nipples) but here's the thing about bruce wayne: he's going to deny and abstain from his wants, desires, and yearnings, especially if it brings him even a smidge of happiness. this is a guy who often doesn't allow himself to be happy (e.g. mask of the phantasm monologue), so while he would absolutely love to spend hours or the rest of his life buried between your breasts and kissing, sucking, biting, and playing with your flesh and nipples until you're forcing him off of you (and even then, he'd beg for five more minutes which would turn into another five minutes, etc. etc.) he really would not let himself indulge unless it was solely for your pleasure
but.. even then,. he's so so clinical with sexâor, maybe not so much as clinical as he is strict in a weirdly intense and try-hard sense. the strictness really only applies to him because, to be honest, this is a guy who grades himself and his performance in bed. so, while he's doing things for your pleasure, like sucking and kissing your tits, you'll start to noticeâesp if you've been intimate with him more than like three timesâthat he's like timing himself? that the way his tongue is moving across your nipples is oddly methodical before he moves to your other breast and does the exact same thing. it's not like it's bad but you can tell he's trying very very very hard to at least get a passing grade, except he's the one grading himself so the highest grade he's ever going to get is like a C.
that being said. if he ever allows himself to go nuts and be happy..best sex of your life. and if you're able, you'd probably end up pregnant
EXCEPTIONS / DEVIATIONS:
JASON TODD: i really do think jason is much more into thighs (and your arms!) something that his hands just naturally gravitate towards while lounging together on the couch or even while cuddling in bed. there is something very lovely to him about your thighs, and i can see him planting the most delicate kisses up and down the expanse of your thigh before he finds himself kissing your clit and tonguing at your entrance, his hands, of course, still holding onto the fullness of your thighs.
but for the sake of this spectrum, he would lean more towards tits simply because whenever you ride him, with one of your hands holding onto the headboard and another on his shoulder for stability, he can't help but take one of your breasts into his mouth and tongue at your nipple. he'd be incredibly sloppy and noncommittal with it though, as he can't pay attention for too long with how you're squeezing around him; he's just a mess underneath you, always, moaning and panting hot breath and pleads to your chest while his hands bruisingly grip your thigh and hip
JEAN-PAUL VALLEY: this man is so sad wet meow meow and generally afraid of anything remotely sexual that he would genuinely combust if he even thought of your body like that. like canonically he's the type to run away as fast as he can like an anime school girl with a nosebleed if you express sexual (or any) interest in him, and would probably explode if you kissed him on the cheek. i can't imagine what would happen if he saw you naked, but regardless i would laugh
⤿ summary đ fragrantica trend with some of the bat boys, wally and clark
⤿ tags đ smut (mdni) â¸â¸ blk! reader â¸â¸ riding â¸â¸ cockwarming praise â¸â¸ some angst â¸â¸ mirror sex â¸â¸ some fluff â¸â¸ rough sex
⤿ a/n đ first fic on this account yippee + im still getting used to writing smut so be patient it'll get better i promise. also credits to @unicornlover729161 for the idea
DICK GRAYSON
Dick has had you trapped in a bear hug from the minute he arrived, clinging onto you like he couldn't believe you were finally in his arms. He just got back from a mission and all he could think about was seeing you again, sure you guys texted and called almost every night but looking at you through a screen couldn't compare to the warmth of your skin or drowning in the scent of your shampoo. "I've missed you so much" he whispers into your hair before placing a gentle kiss on your hairline
or
"God I missed you so much" Dick kisses up your neck, moaning as at the sudden clenching around him. You can feel his nails digging into the flesh of your hips as he desperately tries to restrain himself from bucking into you like he's been doing for the past hour, all while you just sit on his cock with your eyes fixated on the TV. Dick finally caves and gently thrusts up, to which you respond by grinding back down on him.
JASON TODD
You and Jason were in the middle of the biggest fight of your relationship after you found him snooping in your private things. You were irritated, though willing to give him a chance to explain himself but instead he just threw out one shitty excuse after another and before you knew it "I hate you" escaped from your lips. The moment it came out you wanted to apologize but all you could do was storm off, leaving him standing there in shock at the harsh words.
or
"Still hate me baby?" Jason tries to bite back a moan, basking in the pretty sounds you were making for him. The sound of rough clapping filled your shared bedroom from his hips slamming into you, he's been going at this for hours but his thrusts remained steady. Jason wasn't stopping anytime soon, not until you apologized for your little slip up earlier.
WALLY WEST
"Ew you're such a messy eater" you chide as Wally looks at you with those soft blue eyes, ketchup staining his face from eating like he hasn't had real food in years. You take a finger and quickly move the stray hairs out of his face, melting at the appreciative smile he flashes.
or
"Mm you really are a messy eater huh?" you scoff at the ridiculous sound of him slurping and sucking on your sensitive clit. All the snide comments quickly turn into needy mewling as his tongue enters you, juices dripping down his chin. How could Wally care about being messy when he's too busy burying himself deep inside you?
CLARK KENT
You stepped out of the bathroom wearing a navy blue sundress. Clark's eyes lit up as he took in at the way the dress highlighted your best features, as soon as you got close he grabbed your hand and spun you around in front of the mirror. "Look at how good you look baby" his voice coated in admiration and poorly masked lust. He could tell, from the way his eyes caught yours in the glass, that you weren't happy with the reflection. Clark pressed a light kiss on the top of your head, hoping that one day you would see yourself the way he does.
or
You whimper as a third orgasm rips through you, shuttering at the added stimulation from Clark's warm breath tickling your ear. "Look at how pretty you are" his voice shaky as he lifts a finger to point at the mirror. All of this because he overheard you talking bad about yourself earlier so now he's made it his mission to show you that those thoughts couldn't be further from the truth. He's been taking good care of you, whispering sweet praises between thrusts while cradling your tear stained face in his hands so he can admire the beauty displayed in front of him.
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