꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ drunk!jason todd x fem!reader, fluff, talks of pregnancies, art by ciricearts
“Sweetheart, we’re gonna have a baby?” he mumbles, lifting your shirt to press messy kisses up your stomach. You’re not sure where he got this idea from. The two of you have never talked about kids, mostly because you’ve been afraid to bring it up.
You learned early on that the future was something you didn’t mention around him. Every time you made an offhand comment about a ring, or how cute babies were, you’d see his shoulders tense, his throat bobbing.
Now, at his words, your heart speeds up. “Uh…”
“I hope she has your eyes and your nose and your pretty smile,” he slurs.
“Jay, what are you—”
He cuts you off when his nose brushes your stomach softly. “Our baby,” he adds.
When he looks up at you, his blue eyes are glassy, cheeks dusted in pink.
You can’t bring yourself to shatter the moment. Especially not when he’s looking at you like that.
“That’s…nice, honey,” you hum, fingers threading through his black curls, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.
He sighs like a puppy. “You feel nicer.”
Your lips curve up at that. "Come on, let's get you to bed," you whisper as you try to pull him up.
But the man's too stubborn. He stays rooted and grunts in disapproval.
"Not done talkin' to her," he tells you, arms wrapping around your hips.
“her?” you repeat softly. “How do you know it’s a her?”
"Father's intuition," he says it like it should be obvious.
You laugh and he pouts when he feels your shoulders shaking. "You really want a baby?" you ask him.
He tilts his head. And he's never looked so unguarded before.
"Wanna give you everything."
Maybe in the morning you'll find the courage to ask him again. But for now, your expression softens. You don't know what to say, so you kneel with him and throw your arms around his neck. He smells like gunpowder and leather, and this time a tang of alcohol clings to him.
꒰ Damian decided to pay Jason a visit & notice how his body got softer after getting a girlfriend! ꒱
Damian didn’t usually visit his brothers of his own free will. Most of the time, he only stopped by the apartment to grab a quick snack or pick up some accessory that might be useful to him.
But, surprisingly, on that day—on that perfect day—he had decided to be an inconvenience to Todd, simply because he had nothing better to do.
You were in the kitchen, finishing plating the dessert that would accompany one of your movie nights with Jason.
Used to your boyfriend’s entrances and exits through the window and balcony, you didn’t startle when you heard one of them being opened, continuing to hum absentmindedly.
It was only when you turned to wash your hands that you remembered a small detail—Jason was in the shower.
The humming slowly died in your throat.
You dried your hands calmly—much calmer than you actually felt—and turned your head toward the living room, just enough to peek through the doorway.
And there he was, sitting on the couch like he owned the place, legs crossed as he ate popcorn. He chewed slowly, eyes focused on the turned-off television, as if he were waiting for something to start.
He stopped the moment he noticed you.
You stopped the moment you noticed him.
For a long second, neither of you moved.
His green eyes narrowed slightly, calculating, suspicious. “…You are not Todd.”
You blinked once.
“No…” you answered slowly. “And you are definitely not Jay either.”
Jason appeared in the hallway, hair dripping, but already wearing sweatpants. “You started it without me? I told ya I wanted to watch the opening too—”
He stopped mid-sentence, falling silent, his mouth parting in shock—maybe at the scene? At your calmness with the intruder? Or at the intruder’s sheer audacity?
“Just what I needed,” Jason growled, voice sharp with irritation. “Why the hell are you in my apartment?”
Damian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, chewing calmly. He simply shrugged—after all, how was he supposed to explain that he had only come to check if he was still alive? It had been a whole month since he last saw him. But he wasn’t worried!
“That’s mine—Damian, you should be at home. Your home.” Jason sighed, running a hand down his face. “Get off my couch. And stop eating my food.”
Damian ignored him completely. He leaned further back into the cushions, posture relaxed in a way that made Jason’s eye twitch. Then his gaze shifted slowly toward Jason.
“You look… fuller. Softer,” the younger one commented, his gaze drifting briefly toward you, who watched the argument in silence, before quickly returning to his brother.
Damian tilted his head to the side, as if evaluating a painting.
“Have you reduced your training frequency,” he continued, his voice strangely neutral, not teasing, just observational, “or simply increased your intake of nutritionally void food?”
“Did you just call me fat?”
“…No,” he replied, but then paused to think for a few seconds. “Did I? I merely commented on your body fat—“
Jason crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
“…Whatever,” he continued, tone quieter now, more thoughtful than before. “You no longer smell like cheap takeout grease and smoke. That is an improvement.”
“…That would be because he finally eats real food now,” you cut in, smiling, proud of your contribution to your boyfriend’s health.
Jason shot you a look over his shoulder, a little wounded that you had indirectly agreed with the little demon.
Damian reached out to grab more popcorn, but Jason slapped his hand away.
“Stop. Eating. My. Food. Okay. Great. Family bonding moment over.” Jason clapped his hands once, sharp and final. “You’ve seen me. Now out. Door. Window. Vent. I don’t care. Pick one.”
Damian’s attention snapped back to you, still ignoring his brother. He straightened slightly where he sat, gaze narrowing with renewed interest.
“You prepare the food?” he asked.
You nodded once. “Most of it.” You smiled. “Do you want to try the dessert?”
“…Dessert?” he repeated.
“I made chocolate cake,” you added casually. “With ganache.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed again. “…Homemade?” he asked.
“Yes.”
You disappeared into the kitchen before your boyfriend could protest.
Jason took a deep breath and dropped onto the couch, far too tired to argue any further. When the younger one opened his mouth to speak, he cut him off immediately.
“Not one more question,” Jason muttered. “Eat in silence.”
summary : nobody could disturb jason peter todd when he was knee deep in a dostoevsky. except you, of course, his hot neighbour who liked making his lips bruise up and brain fall out as a friday night hobby.
contains : heavy making out, well read!jason, post Lazarus pit!jay, whipped!jay, thighs man!jay, grinding, basically dry humping, forearm tattoo!jason, but he’s actually a softie, reader wears warm sweaters, bookish!reader but that means she’s a lil freaky, neighbour!jason, booksmart!jason, streetsmart!jason, he’s a moaner I’m calling it, baddie!reader
inspiration : she’s my collar (g + k.u)
It started with a smile.
He'd been carrying boxes from the moving van Bruce had hired, in the middle of the rare heatwave in Gotham. His luck really was something.
He’d been hauling boxes in, wiping his forehead with the hem of his tee, dropping the wet fabric to hang by his waist. Your figure framed in the light of the hallway, like some sort of halo.
He blinked. “Uh, hey?”
You just smiled. Like you knew something he didn’t. “Hey, neighbour.” You disappeared into your apartment, slamming the door shut. With a mutter of “people”, he kicked open his door, resting the box of all his childhood photos on his new dining table. The thing was made of fucking MDF.
He’d failed to notice the copy of Twisted Love tucked in your elbow.
You’d done it, somehow. Ripped through his defences, your will a fist in his wet sheet of paper.
The copy of Twisted Love should’ve been a sign. It should’ve told him that you’d show up at his door after a few weeks of knowing him with a rain cloud over your head and an irrational desire to turn him on like a fucking switch every Friday since.
He’d pull a Glock 19 on whoever disturbed him when he was reading Crime and Punishment, but the annotated copy lay open beside him, his brain was engrossed in something else. Kissing you.
His hands gripped your thighs, sleeve of his plush hoodie sliding up and over the ink on his forearm, tugging you closer. Your lips burned his, nape of his neck stimulated by the drag of your nails.
“Bad day, ma?” His words were muffled by your mouth, tilting his head back into the gentle pressure of your fingers. You took and you took, sucking oxygen from his lungs, rolling your hips down so you dragged across his dick.
He couldn’t suppress a moan at that.
You hummed in agreement, dragging his bottom lip down with your thumb. He should’ve read the signs. Now he scheduled make out sessions with you in avoidance of admitting he liked the way you used him. He ached to be your boy toy whenever you saw fit. He wanted you to push him down, tint his lips with kisses and gloss.
Your teeth snagged at his lip, tugging, moulding him to you. His hands sliding up your back made your sweater drag up, bunching, cold of his apartment pricking at your skin. “Dostoevsky?” You mumbled, between wet, obscene smacks, pornographic moans and following the string of saliva that connected your mouths.
“Mhm,” He nodded dumbly, hips jerking up to catch his dick on your clit, the slow grind in response melted his brain. “Crime and Punishment.”
You chuckled, kisses burning down his jaw till your teeth pressed against his pulse. Nipping, latching, sucking a bruise. Maybe you got how to do that from Twisted Love, cause his toes fucking curled. He’d come, no joke. Right here, fully clothed, he’d do it. “Great book. Read Atonement, I still wanna watch it.”
He would, but he was a little tied up right now. “Later, ma.” He breathed, hand slipping in your jeans’ back pocket to squeeze your ass. Jesus, maybe that thing owed him rent. “Later.” He kissed back up to your mouth, allowing you to siphon his thoughts again.
He was 6’ 2”, 225 pounds and you had him like this. If anyone thought he’d been taken hostage, fuck no, he was right where he was supposed to be. Yes, he had patrol in ten minutes. Yes, he’d texted Dick to take his place while he dealt with a personal matter. Yes, he gave no fucks.
summary: for the entire year you and jason have known each other, he assumed you two were dating and had no idea that you weren't.
warnings: none but lmk if i missed something, just jason being oblivious, might be a little ooc
UNEDITED!!!
jason isn't stupid—he knows there's rules that define whether or not two people are dating. but he is just a bit dense.
you'd met on a rooftop about a year ago, a classic vigilante encounter. instant tension, instant bickering between you and jason. he hadn't been entirely smitten. he simply thought you were beautiful, but that didn't mean anything.
not until you two start working together. bruce sends the two of you out on a mission, and you say something along the lines of, "let's make it a date, then." you said it with such an arrogant, cheeky grin.
and because that mission had gone so well, you and jason are consistently sent out together. alone.
because you'd said "let's make it a date!" he began to say it back. just a little joke. he'd say something like, "save the date..." quite bashfully. and you'd snicker and agree.
and that consistency is what makes jason think the two of you have started dating.
every single time the two of you are dispatched on a mission, it's always "save the date" or "let's make it a date" with you.
it happened so effortlessly, in his mind. so seamlessly. he doesn't feel like he needs to perform around you. he's not a blushing mess, he doesn't stutter or even treat you very differently, hence why you don't notice that he thinks the two of you are together.
except for when he stops by and gets little trinkets. maybe a stick of chocolate for valentines day. not flowers, because he wasn't able to gauge whether or not you'd want some.
for your birthday, he got you a small gift. something that reminded him of a childhood story you'd once babbled on about.
he's just a little bit sweeter and a little bit softer around you, compared to when he's conversing with other teammates.
this you notice, and you begin to consider that maybe he has feelings for you. a little crush. but you'd never in a million years consider that he thought you guys were fully dating.
his strange acts of kindness spark a tiny crush inside of you. you're spending more time with him. enjoying your missions with him just a bit more. laughing, smiling. and he begins to feel like home.
you wonder—should you ask him out? he doesn't seem like he's going to make a move any time soon. and, after all, he's been picking up so many small gifts for you here and there. maybe he's waiting for you to do something.
so, one night, you consult his brothers.
"jason likes you. i can tell," dick reassures. "he likes being around you, whether that's as friends or because he likes likes you, i dunno."
"definitely," tim had said. "jason with chocolates in his hand? never seen before. until you."
damian rolled his eyes when you asked. he scoffed and said, "i've been waiting for you to catch on. why don't you just ask each other out already?"
they act like jason is acting so differently. perhaps you just don't know him as well as they do.
one night, on a mission, you gather enough courage to turn to him and ask. "hey..."
"yeah?" he says, tipping his head towards the starless sky.
"i...um...i know we do a lot together. and i don't want to ruin our friendship."
"friendship?"
you nod. did jason even consider you a friend? why did he seem so confused? "yeah. i just...i really like having you around. so don't make it weird, okay?"
he dips his head. "okay...?"
"do you...want to go on a date with me?"
he blinks. once, twice. "are we not on one right now?"
you shrug. "i mean, i would hardly consider this a date." you gesture to the honking cars below, to your feet swinging off the edge of the roof.
"why are you asking me out?" he says, leaning forward.
you're a little stunned. a bit hurt. "because...i like you? because we spend a lot of time together and i think you're fun to be around? i don't know."
jason waves his hands in the air. "yeah, i know. but...why? i mean, we're already dating. if you wanted to go for a date and not have to go on a mission at the same time, you could've just said—"
"i'm sorry, what?"
"you...could've just said you wanted to do something different for our dates?"
you shake your head frantically. "no, no, no. you said that...you just said that we're dating?"
he stares at you like you're the one not making sense. "yeah...?"
"we're not dating, jason."
his mask hisses as he pries it off his face. his brows furrow and his cheeks redden with embarrassment. "we're...not?" he says it so softly, so painfully that you almost want to convince him that you are dating him.
"jason...oh, jason. did you think that all our talk about dates made this a date?" you can barely stifle your laughter. "jason, oh jason...you're so sweet. darling, it's an expression."
"so we're...not dating?"
"how long have you thought that?"
"about a year now." bashfully, jason's shoulders sink. "i thought we were, since you never turned down any of my gifts."
"i just thought that was you being nice. i'm sorry, i never thought to give you anything back. i just...thought you were being nice."
"of course i was just being nice. i...liked having you around."
it sounds silly saying it all aloud, but now that you think of it, jason's loyalty to you was plain as day. he was a reserved person, so it was easy to think he was just being a loner, like usual.
there was time the two of you went undercover. two girls had been ruthlessly vying for his attention. both infinitely attractive. some men, too. and he hadn't even blinked. you assumed he was just playing his part when he scooped you into his arms and wouldn't let go of you the entire night.
the way he listened to you—that gift he'd bought you for your birthday. reminiscent of some stupid childhood story you'd told him on some meaningless, random night. yet he'd remembered.
because that night hadn't been meaningless to him. no night with you had been meaningless.
perhaps he wasn't dense or stupid for thinking the two of you were already dating. perhaps you were in fact the dense one, for not seeing the signs. for not seeing how sweet he was sooner, for how silently loyal he was.
"jason." you loop his hand in yours. his pulse beats steadily. he's not nervous around you. neither are you anymore. "how long did you say we were dating?"
"we're not—"
"how long did you say we were dating for?"
he bites his lip. "tomorrow would've been...uh, our one year anniversary. i didn't know if you wanted me to plan something. you didn't seem to care very much, like the people do in the movies." because you hadn't even known. "i did want to plan something, though. you just never seemed like an 'event' sorta person." he chuckles. "i guess...i guess i know why, now."
"i love surprises," you mutter. "you can still plan something. there's still time."
"but we're not...you said we're not dating." he just seems so damn sad about it.
you shake your head. "what're you talking about?" you grin and rest your head on his shoulder. you can't believe he thought you just didn't like events, you didn't want to cuddle. you just hadn't known.
so you smile, allowing the stench of gotham celebrate the countdown to your first anniversary. the moon hangs high in the sky, and you check your watch. midnight strikes, and you snuggle into jason.
IN WHICH... after a fight with your boyfriend, you force him to sleep with a pillow between you. here's how he handles it.
featuring: dick grayson, jason todd, bruce wayne, damian wayne, and tim drake.
warnings: fluff, crack, f!reader, established relationship (wife!reader for bruce, gf!reader for everyone else), EXTREME mommy kink!tim—dni if this is "too freaky" for you!!
inspired by this ask
dick grayson:
dick definitely would be upset and would try at least 3 times to ditch the pillow.
but each time he yanks the item from between you and tucks it under his head, you yank it right back and lodge it between your bodies.
he gives up on removing it after attempt #10.
you're turned on your side away from him, seeming way too unbothered for his liking. he's probably pissing you off even more, but attention from you is all he wants.
he pokes your shoulder repeatedly, arm draped over the barrier pillow. "baby, baby, baby, baby," he repeats with each poke.
he grins big and wide when you finally turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. "do i need to get a bigger pillow?" you scoff.
"no. this one's perfectly fine," he chirps. "though i'd prefer no pillow at all. i can't feel my baby up like this!"
you roll your eyes. "you don't deserve to feel me up, richard. go to sleep." you shuffle closer to the edge of the bed, juuust far enough that he can't reach you.
he groans dramatically, flopping down on his side with a huff. "fine, whatever. you don't love me, i get it. goodnight, i guess."
he falls asleep with a big, babyish pout on his face, his lip jutted out like a toddler's rather than a 20-something year old's.
his spirits are definitely raised in the morning, though, because he wakes up to his body being draped over the stupid pillow barrier, head nestled against your chest.
jason todd:
jason would take it much worse than dick. he'd feel personally offended, undoubtedly.
he'd glare daggers at the pillow separating his body from yours, wishing he could burn it to ashes with just his eyes. his arms are crossed over his beefy chest like a child told no to dessert.
finally, he tears his eyes from the pillow and onto your sweet body. your beautiful, worship-worthy body. "can i touch you yet?"
"no, jay! that's the whole point of the pillow. no cuddles allowed, i'm angry with you."
he grumbles. "no cuddles isn't the same as no touching. can't i at least hold your hand, ma?"
"no."
"ma, please?"
"jason peter," you snap, giving him the look. "i said no. goodnight."
his eyes remain trained to your back, watching it rise and fall as you breathe. "...night."
you feel much worse about how you spoke to him when you wake up the next morning. his side of the bed is cold, and the pillow in the middle looks as if it hadn't moved once since it was placed.
you get up, padding to the kitchen where jason is flipping pancakes at the stove. his shoulders are slumped, head swaying as if it's too heavy for his neck. he lets out a deep sigh. you frown.
your arms wrap around yourself as you approach. "jay?" you call softly, standing beside him at the stove. no touching, not yet. he doesn't look at you, so you tilt your head to get a look at his face and oh...
his eyelids droop with exhaustion, eyes a bit red from straining to stay awake. his under-eyes are dark bags. his lips are chapped. "baby? what's up with you?"
alas, he looks at you, his lips don't smile, eyes don't soften. he holds out your plate of pancakes and you accept it. "i did not sleep."
"...why?"
he looks at you as if it's obvious. "well, i did not have you to hold, and i can't guarantee your safety without holding you. i tried to sleep, but then i had a nightmare that i'd...lost you. every time i shut my eyes i saw the same thing as the dream. so, i decided to just stay awake."
you've never felt like a shittier person. you throw your arms around him, feeling him slump against you. you vow to never but him on a touch ban again, no matter how angry he makes you.
bruce wayne:
personally, i feel like bruce just...wouldn't even put up with it lol.
unlike how dick and jason kept the pillow and respected the rule (to an extent), bruce would just laugh in your face when he comes in for bed.
he stands at the foot of the bed, looking at your scowling face and the fluffy pillow at your side. "what's with the barrier?"
you huff. "no touching, bruce. i'm not in the mood."
he places his glass of water on his nightstand, casually crawling into bed and tossing the pillow across the room.
"bruce!" you glare, but you can't do much when he snakes his beefy arms around your waist and tugs you close until your back meets his chest. "i said no touch—"
"—i know what you said, darling. and—no offense—i don't give two fucks," he chuckles, the sound low and deep in your ear. fuck, why does he sound so good when you're so upset? "if i want to hold my wife, i'm going to hold my lovely wife."
you grumble, fighting his grip, but to no avail. "bruceeee," you groan.
"g'night, honey," he only croons, kissing your jawline so sweetly. "i love you."
moments of silence pass.
"i said i love you," he repeats, pinching your waist.
you squirm. "ughhhuh, i love you, too."
"good girl," he grins into your neck, holding you closer. "get some beauty sleep, i'll have alfred prepare you a spectacular breakfast tomorrow morning—y'know, as my apology."
true to his word, you wake up to his arms still locked around you like chains. however, the delectable scent of pancakes, waffles, berries and cream, eggs, and coffee wafts into the bedroom.
"ugh, i hate you, you promising, handsome bastard," you grumble, relaxing into his arms with the assumption that he's still sleeping. "i can never stay mad at you."
you feel lips curl into a grin against your shoulder. "yes, yes, you hate me," he mumbles sarcastically. "my wifey hates me and my lovely arms and the breakfast i make her."
"you didn't make anything. alfred made it."
"i made him make it. lovable by association, honey."
damian wayne:
when damian's told that you'd be sleeping with a pillow between you, your sweet baby's signature scowl is tainted with unshed tears. you feel bad, but your anger from the fight overpowers your remorse.
"a...pillow barrier?" he mumbles. "really, habibti?"
you nod. "a pillow barrier. i'm so upset with you, dami. i don't wanna cuddle."
he nods his head once. "i'll try to cope," he sighs, climbing into bed and throwing the covers over his head.
all of damian that shows is a little peek of jet-black hair from under the sheets. despite yourself, you have to bite back a smile. so cute.
"night, damian," you murmur.
his voice is muffled by the comforter. "goodnight, habibti. i love you oh so dearly, my world."
you're glad that he's hiding under the sheets, that way he can't see your grin breaks through—can't see your walls cracking. "i love you too, dami."
dami. the nickname makes your boyfriend smile. dami rather than damian, that's progress.
what you don't see is damian tossing and turning for hours until the clock strikes 2 am. he just can't sleep without his beloved woman in his arms, without your hair tickling his cheek as you drool into his neck.
so, he crawls out of bed and into the cool nighttime chill of the manor. if you won't cuddle him, he shall find a replacement. he returns to the bedroom a bit later with alfred the cat tucked under his arm and titus trailing lazily behind him.
he reunites with the warm blankets, holding alfred close under his chin. titus climbs into bed, sprawling comfortably over damian's legs.
you awaken the next morning the most adorable sight. your dami, arms (and legs) full of his cherished pets.
his hold on the cat is tight, the animal purring softly into damian's neck. titus has since inched his way up the bed, his head level with damian's—the dog is nearly spooning your boyfriend, doggy drool coating his sleep shirt.
well, at least he found a way to get his fix of drool and warmth. your walls finally crumble, and you reach over the pillow to stroke your knuckles against his cheek. that wakes him up.
he peels one eye open, grinning at the gooey look on your face. "what? i needed something to hold."
tim drake:
mommy kink!tim is activated almost instantly, and he tears each and every one of your walls down until you forget why you were even upset with him in the first place.
his face falls when you announce the pillow's presence. "what?!"
"you heard me, tim. pillow stays."
"no...no, no, no, no," he whines softly, feeling helpless. he tosses his phone haphazardly onto his nightstand, flopping onto the bed. "please, no."
you huff. "i'm upset, tim! i can't cuddle with you tonight, i just can't."
"mommy, please!" he begs pathetically, shoving the pillow out from where it's lodged between your bodies. he nuzzles up into your side instantly. his dark locks brush your cheek. "can't sleep without my mommy...need her to hold me, and love me, and tell me i'm a good boy."
you arch a brow. "but you're not a good boy."
he whimpers, eyes drilling shut in regret at your words. "o– okay, then to tell me i'm a bad boy. that i'm such a bad boy and don't deserve my mommy's affection."
"okay, fine. you're a ba—"
"—no! i change my mind. don't tell me any of those things," he whines, big blue eyes looking apologetically up at you through thick lashes. fuck, the eyes. "i'm so so so sorry, mama. i wasn't a good boy, but i can be! a good boy, that is."
you run a hand through his hair, and he whimpers—loud and desperate for more touch. "you promise you'll be good? you're not lying to mommy so she'll cuddle you?"
he keeps his eyes on yours, so melty and gentle. "i'd never lie to you, mommy. i swear."
"okay, then. if you say you can be a good boy, timmy, then i'll cuddle you tonight. but don't make me mad again, understand?"
"understand, mommy," he coos, smiling happily now that he's won you over. he snuggles into your chest, sighing contentedly. "thank you."
a/n: anyone peep the reference at the end of bruce's headcannons?🫣
summary: one of jason’s favorite pastimes is putting your things in places you can’t reach so that you have to seek out his help
word count: 0.9k
warnings: jason is taller than the reader (let’s be so fr, he’s taller than most people)
He did it again.
As you dropped yourself from your tiptoes to flat feet, you couldn’t help the huff of irritation that left your lips.
You could practically envision the shit-eating grin that was no doubt on Jason’s face when he finished drying the dishes earlier that day like you asked and conveniently just so happened to leave your favorite mug on the highest shelf possible.
The shelf that you- just so happened- to not be able to reach, no matter how high up on your toes you pushed yourself. Somehow, your poorly-done pottery red and black mug somehow found itself way up there more often than not nowadays.
“Jason,” You tone was clipped as you called into the next room, rounding on your heels to face the doorway just as your six-foot-something boyfriend peeked his head out from around the corner, almost as if he had been waiting there and expecting your call.
His eyes were wide and his expression feigned innocence so well that you almost would have believed it. Had this not been the fourth time in the last week that this very same scenario had happened, that is.
If his clear charade wasn’t the tipoff you needed to confirm your suspicions, it was the fact that he didn’t make a singular comment about you calling him by his full name. Usually when you did, he would automatically be on the defense, whining about how you only ever called him ‘Jay’ or ‘baby’ so something had to be wrong when ‘Jason’ slipped past your lips.
The man didn’t so much as blink as he finished rounding the corner, coming to a stop in front of you and immediately dropping his hands to your hips almost like second nature, “Yeah, sweetheart?” He asked gently, thumbs rubbing unconsciously against the slivers of skin visible at your waist.
You crossed your arms over your chest, clearly unimpressed. For a vigilante raised by the world's greatest detective, he sure wasn’t slick. That much was clear when you watched his gaze dart not-so-subtly to the perch he had set your mug on, and a smug smirk fought its way to be on his lips.
Even as he continued to mindlessly rub soothing circles onto your hips, you remained firm, eyebrows pinched together and lips drawn downwards, “My mug is on the highest shelf. Again.” You spoke, not bothering to keep the accusatory tone to a minimum.
Jason’s lips parted in theatrical shock, swinging his head up to the place you had just mentioned, “God, sweetheart, how did you manage to get it up there?”
Remaining unmoved, you let out a hum of disapproval, eyes narrowing at the way his green eyes snapped to you once more, seeming to enjoy your reaction way too much. You knew him well enough to notice the way he was drinking in every twitch of your eye and muscle tick in your jaw, causing him to attempt to stifle his laughter.
“I didn’t manage to do anything,” You grumbled, hating the way your body was betraying you by slowly melting into his gentle touch little by little, “You always put it up there because you just love when I have to ask you for help.”
He immediately perked up in a way that resembled that of a dog seeking its owner's approval, “You sayin’ you need my help?”
The scowl on your face deepened and you continued to glower at him despite leaning more and more into his warmth with every passing second, “I’m ordering you to get my mug down.”
Jason sent you a wink, “Even better, sweetheart.”
Without breaking eye contact with you- or so much as lifting his heels from off the ground- Jason causally reached one arm up and plucked your beloved mug from its place and delicately delivered it to your hands.
He dropped a quick kiss to the tip of your nose as soon as your hands wrapped around the ceramic, “You’re so cute when you’re mad at me.” His voice was gentle and full of adoration while he gazed down at you as if you hung the stars in the sky.
Ignoring the way he immediately sent butterflies erupting in your stomach at his words, you raised a singular brow his way, “So there was ulterior motive for placing my possessions out of my reach?” You challenged, though there was no bite to your words, “You just like to see me get riled up?”
“Always,” Came his immediate reply, teasing and soft. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“In that case, we’re gonna play a little game of hide and seek with your Red Hood gear.” You poked his chest playfully with your free hand, which wasn’t far away because you had unconsciously moved closer to him, “And I’m going to put it somewhere you can never find it so you can see how it feels.”
Jason’s smile widened, “Now you’re just trying to get me to not go on patrol so I can stay home with you.”
You opened your mouth then closed it, mulling over your thoughts because suddenly, that didn’t seem like too bad of an idea.
He laughed gently, a real laugh that rumbled in his chest and had the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most endearing of ways, “You want me to stay home with you, sweetheart? All you have to do is ask.”
His lips suddenly moved to meet yours in a sweet, unhurried kiss that had those butterflies spurring to life in your stomach once more. Even after all this time of dating, they had never gone away, and you were starting to doubt that they ever really would.
You knew that he would stay by your side tonight if you asked. He would do anything you asked of him.
Except put your mugs on shelves that you can reach. He enjoyed the fallout of his actions a little too much for that.
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
“strip.”
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.
“why hello my beautiful girlfriend, how was your day?” barely concealing his amusement.
you sigh as you pull off your shirt and toss it lazily onto the ground. “i had a horrible, terrible, miserable day. i’d like to have sex with my boyfriend if that’s okay with you.”
jason blinks and pulls off his glasses, revealing his pretty eyes.
“i mean that’s a lot of adjectives,” setting his glasses on-top of his book on the bedside table, scooting up further against the headboard as if inviting you in. “—and of course i’m not opposed, but don’t you wanna talk about it first ma?”
you don’t even think before answering. “nope.”
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 jason’s 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. that’s when he parts again, a line of spit between you from just how feral you’d been making out.
“as much as i enjoy this,” he pants, hands moving up to cup your bare ass. “how are you really feeling baby?”
he doesn’t 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 you’re content and happy, he brings his hands lower again, bringing your panties along.
“i’m fine. i just really missed you.”
he answers with a smile and a soft whisper against your lips that he’d “…missed you more.”
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 doesn’t 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 what’s 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.
“you’re so beautiful,” he coos by your ear, coaxing you to drop your full weight against him.
sighing, you smile, “says you.”
then you’re 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 doesn’t 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. “you sure you’re okay ma?”
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.
“that feel good?” asking as he continues massaging.
“very,” you’re 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 don’t 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.
“you’re real tense babe.” he quietly says as he continues to move. you’re so relaxed at this point that you don’t 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 moving his hands. you completely melt into him, arms limp over his shoulders despite how you hugged him tight before. now it had simmered into a barely noticeable grip that he knew meant you were 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 your back, then up again. repeating the motion as you start to succumb to the sleep that had been threatening you all day.
though he doesn’t 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. not pulling out either, he only keeps you in his lap while his practiced fingers soothed you further into a slumber you desperately needed. besides, there’s nowhere he’d rather be.
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 your waist 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 brings them a little lower to shift some weight off your knees so you wouldn’t be sore in the morning.
when he’s settled, he pulls the comforter over both of you as he kisses your cheek and whispers.
“sweet dreams ma.”
everyone say thank you @eatshitanddie- for putting this idea in my head. love you pooks ;)
in which you leave gotham for a not-so-long trip, and a deeply anxious jason tries to hide how much he hates letting you out of his sight, only to refuse to let you go for days the second you return.
Jason had been standing by the counter for twenty minutes, ostensibly making coffee he wasn't drinking, his eyes fixed on the open suitcase lying on the bed down the hall. Every clothes hanger that clicked, every zipper pulled, every small, mundane action of your packing seemed to strike a raw nerve he was trying very hard to cover up behind a posture of bored indifference.
He came down the hallway with that quiet, heavy footed tread of his, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, shoulders broad and hunched just enough to betray the tension coiled in his neck.
"You really need three jackets?" he asked, his voice low, gravelly, and entirely lacking its usual casual bite. He gestured toward the bag with a sharp tilt of his chin. "It’s a trip, not an expedition to the arctic. You’re overpacking"
You paused, looking up from the bag where you were trying to fit the last few essentials. A soft, knowing smile tugged at your lips at the sheer transparency of his irritation. "It's cold where I'm going, Jay," you answered gently, folding the third jacket smaller to save space. "And knowing you, if I get a cold while I'm away, I'll never hear the end of it."
"I'm serious," he grumbled, refusing to look directly at you, though his gaze tracked your every move through his dark lashes. He stepped fully into the room, crossing over to the bed. Without asking, his large hands reached down to refold a sweater you had just set down. He did it meticulously, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles with unnecessary focus, just to have something to do with his hands. "Flights get delayed. Luggage gets lost. Half the places out there aren’t safe anyway, and you’re going to be carrying all this weight around by yourself."
"I can handle my own luggage, big guy," you replied softly, placing a hand over his busy ones to stop their restless movement. "I've planned out the route, the hotel is in a good area, and it's only a few days. It's going to go by fast."
"A few days is too long," Jason muttered under his breath, his hands coming to a halt under yours, though he didn't pull away.
As you reached down to pack a pair of shoes, his hand caught your wrist. He didn't squeeze, but the weight of his grip was absolute, grounding, heavy, and reluctant. His thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist once, measuring the steady pulse there, before he let out a short, harsh breath through his nose.
"Call me when you land," he commanded softly, the roughness in his voice slipping into something fiercely protective. "Not a text. A call. I don't care what time it is over there. You don't hit the pavement until I know you're off the plane."
"I will," you promised, turning your wrist in his grip so you could press your fingers against his palm. "First thing after I clear customs, I'm calling you. I swear."
He pulled you in then, sudden and unprompted, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and burying his face into the crook of your neck. The embrace was almost suffocating, broad chest pressed solid against yours, his heart thumping a heavy, steady rhythm. For a man who spent half his life pretending he didn't care about anything, the way he held you right before you left was always a full body confession. He didn't say I'll miss you. He just held on until the very last second, his breathing warm and ragged against your skin, letting you carry the weight of his anxiety with you.
Three days later, the return trip felt like a haze of jetlag and noise, but the moment you stepped into the arrival terminal, the atmosphere shifted.
Jason was standing near the edge of the crowd, away from the main flow of traffic, trying, and failing, to look like a regular guy waiting for a flight. He had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark leather jacket, his eyes darting methodically over the faces coming through the gates. The moment his eyes landed on you, the tight, rigid set of his jaw visibly melted.
He didn't wait for you to drag your bag over. He closed the distance between you in four long, urgent strides.
Before you could even speak his name, he had hauled you straight off your feet, wrapping his arms tight around your waist and burying his face deep into your hair. He drew in a long, shuddering breath, taking in the familiar scent of you beneath the stale airport air, and held you suspended for several seconds just to prove to himself that you were actually there, solid and real in his arms.
"You took your sweet time" he muttered into your shoulder, his voice thick and rough. When he finally set you down, he didn't let go. One hand stayed clamped firmly on the back of your neck, his fingers threaded through your hair, while his thumb stroked your cheek bone with an intensity that bordered on fierce. His dark eyes searched your face, scanning every detail as if looking for any sign that the world had bruised you while you were out of his sight.
"Come on," he grunted, taking your heavy bag in his free hand without a second thought, while his other hand immediately slid down to interlock his fingers tightly with yours. "Let's get out of here."
The first night back, the clinginess wasn't loud, but it was absolute.
Jason didn't leave your side. If you went into the kitchen to get a glass of water, you’d turn around to find him leaning against the doorframe, watching you with quiet, hawkish intensity. If you sat on the sofa, he was right next to you, not just near you, but pressed up against your side, one heavy arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you into his side so tightly that your head rested against his chest.
By the second afternoon, the pattern hadn't broken; if anything, he’d settled deeper into it.
You were sitting on the couch trying to read, but Jason had effectively neutralized any possibility of productivity. He was lying down with his long frame stretched out across the cushions, his head resting squarely in your lap. One of his large hands was resting on your knee, his fingers lazily tracing random patterns over the fabric of your pants, while his other arm was tucked around your waist, tethering you to him.
"Jason," you murmured, running a hand through the dark hair at the crown of his head, your fingers catching slightly on the white streak near his forehead. "I need to get up for a second."
A low, rumbling groan came from his chest. His grip on your waist tightened instantly, pulling you down an inch lower.
"No," he said, simple and stubborn, his face burying deeper into your stomach.
"I've been sitting here for three hours."
"Good. You were gone for three hundred. You owe me." He turned his head slightly, peering up at you through dark, heavy lidded eyes. The sharp, violent edge he wore out on the streets of Gotham was entirely stripped away here, replaced by a quiet, protective possessiveness that he only ever allowed you to see. "You're staying right here."
"I was just going to grab my phone" you chuckled, your fingers massaging the base of his neck, feeling the thick tension in his muscles finally give way under your touch.
Jason reached down into his jacket pocket, which was tossed onto the floor beside the couch, pulled your phone out, and set it on your chest without even looking. "There. Problem solved. Don't move."
He brought your hand down from his hair to his mouth, pressing a long, warm kiss to the back of your knuckles, then to your palm, before resting your hand over his cheek. He held it there, his calloused skin warm against yours, his thumb absently rubbing your wrist where he had measured your pulse two weeks ago.
"I hated it," he admitted softly, the room quiet save for the distant murmur of Gotham traffic outside. He didn't look up, but the honesty in his voice was stark, stripped of any bravado. "Place felt like a morgue while you were gone. Couldn't sleep. Every time the floorboards creaked, I thought..." He let the sentence hang, shaking his head slightly.
He shifted, lifting his upper body just enough to rest his chin on your chest, looking up at you with a heavy, unwavering stare. His hand moved to wrap around the back of your neck, his thumb resting gently against your jaw line.
"You aren't going anywhere for a long time," he said, not as a command, but as a quiet, unspoken plea wrapped in his usual rough delivery. "Got it?"
You smiled, thumbing over the small scar near his lip. "Got it"
Jason grunted in satisfaction, leaning up just enough to press a deep, lingering kiss to your lips, slow, deliberate, and full of a quiet hunger that had been building for fourteen days. When he pulled back, he didn't move away; he just rested his forehead against yours, breathing in the quiet safety of the apartment, content to stay exactly where he was for as long as you'd let him.
