The Ones Without Packs

((Gifs used are not mine unless stated other wise)) SLIGHTLY SELECTIVE NSFW content will be present sometimes under read mores and sometimes not ALL NSFW THINGS WILL BE TAGGED USFW. WILL NOT RP SMUT WITH MINORS. Mun is 30)) Welcome to the home of the insanity, just kidding, but it does get really crazy around here since there's so many of us living under the same roof. ((MULTIVERSE, MULTICHARACTER MULTIFANDOM ROLE PLAY BLOG. FCs used: Jensen Ackles, Steven R. McQueen, Coltan Haynes, Nina Dobrev, Matthew Daddario, Dylan O'Brien, Cody Christian, Dominic Sherwood, Cody Saintgnue, Danielle Rose Russell, Gal Gadot, Tyler Posey, Chris Evans, Sebastian Stan, Hero Fiennes Tiffin, Bob Morley, Brandon Flynn, Margot Robbie, Michael Trevino, Skeet Ulrich and Tyler Hoechlin. I do not own any of these people nor am I claiming to be them.)) Discord- theoneswithoutpacks#9117

[theoneswithoutpacks]

Updated Muses List/Pinned Post

Dean Winchester

Em Tyler (OC)

Stiles Stilinski

Beau Raeken (OC)

Alex Claremont-Diaz

Prince Henry

Jason Todd

Roy Harper

Emmett Winchester (OC)

Beau Swan (Life and Death Twilight reimagined)

Fox Storm (OC)

Jaxson Atlas (OC)

Jace Herondale

Ben Winchester

Eddie Talbot (OC)

Kaiden Whitlock (OC)

Fallon Nightshade (OC)

Scott McCall

Desmond “Dez” Hellfire (OC)

Dallas James Claremont-Diaz-Fox (OC)

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Memes

Starter Calls

Discord

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Master List

[bloomcissa]

your vibrator dies! (red hood’s version)

⟢ content jason todd x fem!reader, smut? idk man, not proofread

“Jason, please," you whine into your phone. It's connected to his comms. You can hear his heavy grunts and the bodies of goons slamming to the ground.

All that only made you wetter and more desperate.

Now you have needs. Needs that Jason can’t always take care of from miles away. That’s fine. You have your trusted pink vibrator. Expect this time it decided to give out in the middle of it all. You'd been thinking of Jason while you played around, thinking about how he'd whisper filthy things into your ear, all while somehow still being so sweet and careful. him trying not to crush you when all you needed was for him to do just that. it was all you could think about while you were on the phone with him, your body buzzing with need. You want your man to crush you.

"i need you," you beg, all sense of shame gone. Your fingers play around with your clit, but god, none of it—not even your beloved vibrator—had or will ever compare to your boyfriend.

He's panting on the other side. though, for completly diffrent reasons. "fuck, sweetheart, you know i cant—

"Then talk me through it," you argue.

"I'm fighting criminals, theres nothin' sexy about it." he grumbles. "Just a bit longer?" then, he lowers his voice. "please, baby?"

Nothing sexy his ass. As if any of that mattered when he has you talking to him so wonderfully.

"Fuck you, todd," you mutter, not really meaning it.

"Later," he says as he—you think—swings at someone becasue you hear a crack.

"Damn that's hot," you tell him.

"Can't even see me, sweetheart."

"everything you do is hot."

"Your just fucking horny."

"Always horny for you, my love, now hurry up."

masterlist

[theoneswithoutpacks]

I need to come back here and work through the drafts I have and some are from last year, but I just haven’t found my motivation yet. Life’s been hard and a lot of stuff has been going on and now I’m starting to think I might never come back here, but I want to try. I hate disappointing people. I am so sorry to everybody.

[fancy-possum]

𝐍𝐨 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. || 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

You, for some reason, decide to make a bet with your physical touch obsessed boyfriend, Jason Todd. Let’s see who lasts the longest! CW : smut, protected, oral, flirty

masterlist || 1k follower event || based on this request

The bet started as a joke.

You and Jason were sprawled on the couch after dinner, his arm slung lazily around your shoulders. A random comment about how touchy he’d been lately turned into a challenge.

“Bet you couldn’t last a full day without touching me,” you teased, poking his chest.

Jason raised an eyebrow, that cocky smirk appearing. “Baby, I survived death. I can survive not touching you for twenty-four hours.”

You grinned. “Loser cooks dinner for a week.”

“Deal.”

The day was torture.

Jason was a man of his word. He kept his hands to himself — no brushing past you in the kitchen, no pulling you into his lap when you walked by, no sleepy kisses when he woke up. But he compensated with everything else.

He’d walk past you shirtless after his shower, towel slung low on his hips, water still dripping down the defined lines of his torso. He’d “accidentally” stretch in front of you, arms above his head, shirt riding up to show the trail of hair leading down.

You lasted until noon.

Then you cracked.

You cornered him in the kitchen while he was making coffee, pressing yourself against his back, hands sliding around his waist.

“Not fair,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “You’re cheating.”

He chuckled, low and rough, but didn’t touch you back. “Rules are rules, princess. No touching. You’re the one breaking them.”

You huffed and pulled away, cheeks burning.

The rest of the day was a slow burn of tension.

He’d catch your eye across the room and smirk, knowing exactly what he was doing. You’d “accidentally” bend over in front of him while picking something up, watching his jaw clench. The air between you grew thicker with every passing hour.

By 10pm, you were both on the couch, pretending to watch a movie. The space between you felt electric.

Jason broke first.

He turned to you, eyes dark. “Fuck the bet.”

You barely had time to react before he had you pinned beneath him on the couch, mouth crashing into yours. The kiss was desperate, weeks of restraint exploding all at once. His hands were everywhere — sliding under your shirt, gripping your waist, pulling you closer like he couldn’t get enough.

“Been dying to touch you all day,” he growled against your lips. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as he ground against you. He was already hard, pressing insistently between your thighs.

“Jason—”

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he rasped, kissing down your neck. “But I’ve been thinking about this since you made that stupid bet.”

“Don’t stop,” you breathed.

He didn’t.

He stripped you efficiently but reverently, hands mapping every inch of skin like he was memorizing you. When you were bare beneath him, he groaned, eyes dark with hunger.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmured, kissing down your body. “Been dying to taste you all day.”

He settled between your thighs, spreading you open with careful hands. The first slow lick drew a broken moan from you. Jason groaned against your core, the vibration making your hips jerk.

“Taste so good,” he rasped, tongue working you with devastating skill — long, slow strokes, then focused sucks on your clit. Two thick fingers slid inside you, curling just right as he devoured you.

You came hard, crying out his name, thighs shaking around his head. He worked you through it, gentling his tongue until you were trembling and oversensitive.

Then he crawled back up, kissing you so you could taste yourself on his lips. He rolled on a condom with quick hands, then settled between your thighs again.

“Still okay?” he asked, nudging at your entrance.

You wrapped your legs around his waist. “Need you. Now.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, groaning as your walls clenched around him. When he bottomed out he stilled, forehead against yours, breathing ragged.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he whispered. “So tight. So warm. Missed this so much.”

He started moving — deep, steady thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot. One hand braced beside your head, the other gripped your hip, holding you in place as he fucked you with that perfect rhythm he always knew.

“Look at me,” he murmured. “Want to look at you when you cum around me.”

You did, eyes locked on his as the pleasure built again. His pace stayed deep and rhythmic, grinding against you on every thrust, one hand slipping between you to circle your clit with gentle pressure.

You came with a moan of his name, walls clenching around him. Jason followed right after, burying himself deep with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, holding himself up so he didn’t crush you, pressing soft, lazy kisses to your face.

When he finally pulled out and disposed of the condom, he came right back, pulling you into his arms on the couch. You curled against his chest, head over his heart, legs tangled with his.

“You okay?” he asked softly, stroking your back.

“Perfect,” you whispered, nuzzling closer. “Missed you.”

He kissed the top of your head, arms tightening around you. “Missed you more. Next time we make a deal like this, we better actually do it.” He chuckled slightly.

You laughed softly. “I doubt it. But deal.”

a/n : this is hawt lemme jork it

[fancy-possum]

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

masterlist || 1k event || based on this request!

Jason used to think self-care was “taking a shower after patrol and maybe eating something that wasn’t cold pizza.” Now he has a whole shelf in the bathroom dedicated to the skincare routine you introduced him to. He grumbles about it, but you catch him using the fancy moisturizer you bought him when he thinks you’re not looking.

He lets you paint his nails black when you’re having a lazy Sunday. At first it was “just this once,” but now he picks the color himself sometimes — usually deep red or dark green to match his Hood aesthetic. He wears them under his gloves on patrol like a secret.

Shopping with you used to be torture for him. Now he actually enjoys it. He’ll let you drag him into stores and try on clothes you pick out, even if he pretends to hate it. The first time he bought a soft oversized sweater because “it smelled like you” when you hugged him in it, you knew he was hooked.

He started using your hair products. His hair is softer now, the white streak less brittle. When you run your fingers through it at night, he melts and pretends he’s not purring.

Jason used to wear the same three hoodies on rotation. Now his closet has actual outfits — nice jeans, button-downs you picked out, even a leather jacket that isn’t battle-worn. He wears them when he takes you on dates and looks ridiculously good doing it.

He lets you give him face masks. The first time you put a bright green one on him, he complained the whole time. Now he asks for the “blue one that smells like berries” when he’s had a rough patrol. He falls asleep with his head in your lap while it dries.

Bath bombs. He discovered them through you and is now lowkey obsessed. He’ll come home after a long night, run the water, and drop one in without saying anything. If you join him, he gets all soft and quiet, just holding you in the warm water.

He buys candles now. Not the cheap ones — the expensive ones that smell like books and rain and the cologne you like. He lights them when you’re over and pretends it’s “for the vibe” when really it’s because he wants the apartment to feel like home for you.

Jason used to cut his own hair with kitchen scissors. Now he lets you trim it in the bathroom, sitting on a stool while you carefully shape the white streak. He watches you in the mirror the whole time with the softest look on his face.

He wears your scrunchies. At first it was just to keep his hair out of his face while cooking. Now he has a drawer full of them in different colors you picked out. He’ll wear one on his wrist like a bracelet when he’s out in civilian clothes.

Self-care nights are sacred now. You introduced him to sheet masks, bath salts, and fluffy socks. He complains the whole time but always participates. The first time he asked for a “spa night” after a bad patrol, you almost cried from how proud you were.

He lets you dress him up for dates. You pick out button-downs and nice jeans and he wears them without argument. He even asks for your opinion now: “Does this look okay? I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Jason used to think cologne was “for rich assholes.” Now he has a signature scent you helped him choose — warm, woody, with a hint of spice. He wears it because he knows you like burying your face in his neck and breathing him in.

He takes baths with you. Not just showers. Full baths with bubbles and candles and him sitting behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. He’s quiet during those moments, just holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

On bad mental health days, he lets you pamper him. Face masks, head scratches, you reading to him while he lies with his head in your lap. He used to push you away when he felt like this. Now he leans into it because you make him feel safe enough to be soft.

He buys you matching pajamas. Soft, oversized ones in your favorite color. He pretends it’s “just practical” but the way he smiles when you wear them says otherwise.

Jason started journaling. Not the dramatic kind — just little notes about his day, things that made him happy, things he’s grateful for. Most of the pages end with your name. He keeps it hidden but leaves it open sometimes so you’ll see how much he loves you.

He lets you take care of him. When he comes home hurt, he doesn’t hide it anymore. He lets you patch him up, make him tea, hold him until the nightmares fade. He whispers “thank you” against your skin every time, like he still can’t believe he gets to have this.

The biggest change? He tells you he loves you now. Not just in grand gestures or quiet moments. He says it in the kitchen while you’re cooking, in the shower when you’re washing his hair, in the middle of the night when he thinks you’re asleep. He’s still learning how to be soft, but he’s trying — for you.

a/n: hope this fit the request well.. it was so fun to write omg

[dontyouworrydaddy]

dc smau idea???? your first texts with them, like a ‘hey __ gave me your number, hope that’s okay” or “hey it was nice meeting you” DOES THAF MAKE SENSE I just want like some awkward super cute fluff of first texts. or maybe even like a comparison, first texts vs. established relationship texts. LOVE YOU BTW SMAUS ARE MY FAV

Nice to Know You

featuring: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Wally West, Clark Kent

warning: suggestive (MDNI!!), fluff!

A/N: omggggg wait this is literally such a great idea, thank you!!? Love you too and I hope you enjoy this<33

✧˖° 𝐷𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑦𝑠𝑜𝑛

✧˖° 𝐽𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑇𝑜𝑑𝑑

✧˖° 𝑇𝑖𝑚 𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑘𝑒

✧˖° 𝑊𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑊𝑒𝑠𝑡

✧˖° 𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝐾𝑒𝑛𝑡

[anne-chloe]

Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne giving their girl the princess treatment…

warnings : only slightly suggestive in these? tooth rotting fluff, the boys are whipped for their girl, female reader, mentions of feet, golden retriever type boyfriends fr

Taglist : @i-dearbambi-dxx | please let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my ongoing works!

note : my first time ever writing a request >.< actually had a lot of fun writing this and will defo do more in the future :)

Based on this request

Bruce Wayne has zero ability in restraint when it comes to spoiling his girlfriend—you. If there’s anything he sees you looking at, humming in consideration of buying at all, he’s whipping out his card and he’s buying it without hesitation.

“What’s this?” You ask, shrugging off your outdoor coat and handing it to a patiently waiting Alfred in the foyer. The butler takes your coat and folds it in his arms, his greying brows raising with intrigue at the expensive designer box in Bruce’s hands.

Bruce holds the box out for you to take, and you do so without hesitation. Though, you give a suspicious look to him before delicately removing the lid and pushing aside the crinkling tissue paper inside.

You gasp as you reach in and reveal the backless designer dress you had stared at for a millisecond yesterday at the store.

“Bruce!” You squeal, eyes sparkling in adoration for the gift. Alfred wordlessly takes the box from your hands as you fly forwards to wrap your arms around Bruce’s midriff. Bruce only chuckles, fondness in his expression, pure adoration for your reaction and you in general.

“Do you like it?” Bruce leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your temple. His fingers, calloused and blemished from the years of his work as Batman, trace patterns into the skin under your shirt. You do your best to conceal a shiver at the touch, but nothing can slip past the detectives trained eye.

You hum. “I love it. You didn’t have to buy that for me—it must have cost a fortune.”

An ironic statement considering Bruce Wayne is the richest man in Gotham. A billionaire philanthropist sitting pretty on a wealth dating back several generations.

Bruce shakes his head and presses his lips again to your skin, this time lower and nearing your mouth. “Money doesn’t matter,” he assures, his voice lowering to a husk. “You’re worth every penny I’ll ever spend.”

You tilt your head back and lift yourself onto your toes, lips gently colliding with his. He reciprocates immediately, his fingers digging into your waist while he holds you steady. Then, he breaks the kiss and glances over at the box that Alfred is still holding—where he’s still standing nearby and not at all looking embarrassed by the affection.

You follow his gaze and rest your head to his chest. “I should try it on—make sure it fits.”

Bruce reaches over and takes the box from Alfred with a small “thank you”.

He turns his steely blue eyes down to meet yours, and you try not to shudder under the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes sharpen in that way he’s plotting something.

“You absolutely should try it on,” he encourages after a beat, his smile turning deliciously wicked before he adds: “then we can see how it looks on my bedroom floor.”

~*~*~

Dick Grayson is constantly on the move. He’s never known the ability to stay in one place; his thoughts are constantly running in overdrive with plans for the future. And that’s not limited to his role as a leader or vigilante, it also shows in his relationship.

“This was wonderful,” you say with a breathy sigh, closing your eyes as the golden sun sets over the horizon. The final rays of light glow upon your face, a warmth that feels like the sky itself is placing kisses across your skin. “Thank you for planning this, I’ve had an amazing time.”

Dick bumps his shoulder into yours, his hand moving from behind him to rest on your thigh. His thumb moves in small circles, a soothing motion that simply makes you melt at the touch.

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself,” he admits, his smile as beautiful as the sunset itself. “I was thinking of a shopping date tomorrow—and then we can watch that new movie you were talking about last week. I was also thinking dinner at that new Italian place that opened up last month.”

You turn to look at him, amusement barely concealed in your fond smile. “Another date? Dick, you’re going to go bankrupt if you keep spending your money on me like this. You know I’m perfectly happy with lazy days with you.”

Dick leans his head down and nuzzles his nose against yours, his lips brushing your own. You lean into him and chase the kiss, but his hand reaches up and holds you in place. He knows if he kisses you now he won’t be able to stop, and there’s still more to this night that he planned. Instead, he rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.

“I know, but you’re my girl and I want to spoil you,” he admits. He doesn’t sound ashamed by that at all, and the genuineness in his voice melts your entire body into a puddle. “Let me enjoy spoiling you. Please.”

You pretend to hum in thought. “Alright. But you’ll have to let me spoil you at some point, okay?”

There’s a woosh of air and suddenly you’re on your back on the picnic blanket, one hand braced next to your head while the other settles onto your hip. His legs cage you in, and he swoops his head down to press a deep, loving kiss to your lips. You reciprocate without hesitation, a hum vibrating your throat at the unfiltered taste of him. And just as you’re turning to goo underneath him, just when that familiar fire is sparking low in your stomach, he pulls away and steals all the warmth with him.

“You existing is enough for me,” Dick says, his voice low and husky and absolutely addicting.

You reach your hands up and thread your fingers through his thick, dark locks. If he were a cat, you’re sure he would have started purring, just from the way his eyelids droop at the pleasant sensation.

And then Dick is no longer above you. He tucks himself at your side and pulls you into a hug, ensuring the both of you are angled in a way to see the sky perfectly. “Are you ready for the show?” He asks.

You try to look at his face for clues, but find nothing. So you look back to the sky curiously, just as the first star shoots across the darkening background. You gasp in delight at the sight, awed by the series of stars that follow.

“Shooting stars,” you whisper, your hand reaching to rest on Dicks chest. He encases your hand with his own, his thumb rubbing gentle circles across the your fingers.

“Make a wish, baby,” Dick tells you, his head tilting to the side to gauge your reaction.

“I don’t need to wish for anything.”

Dick hums, a little confused. “You don’t?”

You roll to the side and lift yourself so you’re sitting on his lap, legs straddling him and pinning him to the floor—not that he’d fight to be above you, he loves every angle of yourself that you give. You lean down and press your lips to his, devouring him before trailing kisses down his jawline. He groans at the tingling feeling each kiss leaves behind on his skin, craving more.

You stop and lean back, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Everything I’ve ever wished for in the past—those wishes were all granted the moment you came into my life, Dick Grayson.”

A shooting star flies across the skyline behind you, and in that very same moment Dick makes the wish that this moment will last forever.

~*~*~

Jason Todd is quiet with his displays of devotion. He’s always felt things more strongly than others, and maybe it’s because he missed some vital development points during his teen years—but his devotion to Gotham, his home city, his love for the people seeps into his love for you.

It’s early evening when you arrive home from work. Sweaty, exhausted, rosy cheeked and desperate for a shower; you lock the door behind you and kick your shoes off into a messy heap. You don’t even bother heading to the lounge room at the end of the hall, because you’re so tired and desperate to just collapse in bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.

But as you enter your bedroom, fingers fumbling with the button on your jeans, you pause in the threshold and blink slowly at the bouquet of flowers placed neatly on your side of the bed. A beautiful arrangement of red and pink roses, tied at the stems with a red ribbon that looks utterly perfect. You shuffle further into the room and scoop the bouquet from the bed, a knowing smile on your lips.

Then, footsteps approach from behind, and two buff arms encase you from behind. Your back presses into a solid chest, and you tilt your head until you’re staring up into the adoring, beautiful eyes of your boyfriend, Jason.

“Was work okay?” Jason asks, his lips brushing against the crown of your head.

You hum and close your eyes, basking in the warmth of his love. “It went,” you answer shortly, not wanting to discuss your gruelling day as a waitress. Instead, you lift the bouquet higher to draw Jason’s eyes to it, and you watch in delight as he briefly looks away from your face and to the flowers.

“Do you like them?” He whispers, leaning down again and kissing your forehead once more. Needy and uncertainty disguised as lazy confidence—you’ve been with Jason long enough to know his tells; the way his eyes crinkle at the corners with worry, the way his lips twitch downwards in an effort to not frown.

“I love them,” you tell him honestly. Without fully breaking free from his hold, you manage to swivel in his arms so you’re standing chest-to-chest. He’s looking down at you still, and you take advantage of the position and brush your nose against his. “I’m going to need more vases, though.”

Jason raises a brow. “More vases? You already have an entire cupboard dedicated to them,” he points out, confused.

You stifle a laugh and pull from the embrace, slipping your hand into his and tugging him out of the bedroom. He follows without question, eyes wide with curiosity as you lead him into the kitchen.

You pull open the cupboard under the sink to reveal very empty shelves, where you like to store the glass and ceramic vases. At the back corner is a cobweb and a tiny spider weaving in the middle, making the most of the vast empty space. You gesture to the shelves with an amused smile, watching as Jason’s face drops in realisation.

“Oh. Where did they all go?”

You resort to staying quiet as you squeeze his hand and take him on a tour around the apartment. There you point out the ceramic vase and flowers on the centre of the coffee table, and then to the glass vase with flowers on the decorative table underneath the window. The bookshelf next to the hallway has two more vases filled with flowers, looking just as fresh as when Jason had presented them to you two days ago.

But you’re not done, even as realisation starts to dawn on Jason’s face. You lead him to the bathroom, where another vase is perched next to the sink, where lilies spill out over the top. Next, you show him to the bedroom, where a vase and flowers are sitting pretty on your dresser, by your vanity table next to the mirror, and one sitting on the window.

You slowly turn to look at Jason, your smile teasing and easy. “Hm—I wonder where my vases have all gone?” You ask with a teasing lilt.

Jason huffs a laugh and pulls you back to his chest. “Okay, I get it. I buy you too many flowers. If you’re expecting me to apologise then you’re out of luck.”

You conceal a snort of laughter and shake your head. “Apologise? Jason, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t imagine ever being upset at the fact that I’ve run out of vases.”

You lean up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He presses back into you, his eyes sliding shut at the warmth of your mouth against his. He pulls away briefly to gaze down at the roses in your hand.

“They’ll die if we don’t put them in some water,” he mutters, sounding sadder than you’d ever expect a large man such as himself to be at flowers. “Maybe we can put them in a jug for now and I can get some new vases tomorrow?”

You hum in thought. Then, you turn your gaze to your bed and a bright idea sparks behind your eyes.

“I need to take a shower,” you tell him, lifting the bouquet up for Jason to take. He does without hesitation, but he doesn’t look any less confused about it. You continue, “why don’t you decorate the bed for when I finish up? I hear roses always look pretty as petals scattered on sheets.”

Jason opens his mouth to say something, then he immediately shuts his mouth again. The apples of his cheeks morph into a shade of red, and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into a boyish smile. He gives a firm nod and presses a kiss to your mouth once again, then gently pushes you away so you can go and shower.

“Go shower, baby. I can handle a little bit of decoration. But don’t take too long, yeah?”

~*~*~

Tim Drake can’t exist longer than a few minutes without needing to be in some form of contact with you. Whether it’s through texting updates about his day—including asking about yours, even if you’re doing the most basic, mundane of tasks—or draping his body over yours. There is no scale, because he’s simply content to be with you regardless.

“Your muscles are so tight…”

You strain through a hum of agreement as Tim works his long fingers into the arch of your foot, his thumbs pressing hard and tender to roughly soothe out the tension that’s been bothering you for the better part of your day. You fight a groan at a particularly sensitive spot, one that feels both painful and like instant relief—like pressing on a bruise repeatedly and not learning your lesson that it’s sore.

Even though it was Tim who insisted you sit down and let him ease the stress from your muscles, you still feel riddled with guilt at the fact that you’ve indirectly pulled him away from one of his many detective cases.

“You don’t have to do this,” you remind him softly, brows scrunching together as he starts a circular motion beneath your toes. It takes every ounce of your strength to not openly whine at the sensation. “I can just go and soak in the bath like I usually do.”

Tim shoots you an accusing stare, like he’s offended at the very suggestion. “Like you usually do?” He echoes back, scandalised by the mere thought. He doesn’t ease up with his ministrations, but instead presses firmer into your foot. “You’re telling me you deal with this a lot?”

You watch as he lowers your left foot and begins showing the same amount of attention and care to the right. He dollops a generous amount of lotion onto his pale hands, rubs the cream to spread it evenly, then begins the circular motions to your other foot. The entire process is Heavenly and unmatched, and you question why you’d never recruited him for foot massages before now in the first place.

“Sometimes,” you answer softly, a soft sigh leaving your lips as he digs the pads of his thumbs into another tense spot. With every motion you can feel the discomfort roll its way out your foot. “I don’t want to pester you with how busy your job is.”

Tim tuts and shakes his head, his black hair brushing his pale forehead. “Unbelievable,” he grumbles, like your selflessness is an inconvenience to him, “I can’t believe this whole time you’ve let yourself be uncomfortable when I’m literally right here and capable of helping you.”

You slyly lift your left foot and poke his cheek with your toe, hoping for him to grumble some more. Instead, Tim catches you by the ankle and begins pressing gentle, tender kisses up to the middle of your shin.

“Tim—“ you whine, attempting to tug your foot back so make him stop.

But Tim doesn’t let go, and instead he starts pressing kisses to your right leg for good measure. An even distribution of love and attention for every inch of your body—the very body he worships and would be damned if he had to live a day without.

“Let me take care of you,” Tim mutters, his nose nuzzling into your skin.

~*~*~

Damian Wayne shows his love in the most oddest of ways. Through his childhood of being raised in the League, he had to learn that attachment to others could be exploited and used against him. But after meeting his girlfriend—you—several years after moving to Gotham City to live with his father, he threw himself in the deep end in exploring how to show affection and unlearning the negative repercussions of forming attachments.

“Beloved,” Damian calls out, his voice as sharp as the blade he has hidden at his side, “where are you going?”

He stands in the threshold from the corridor to the lavish foyer, his dark brows furrowed against tanned skin. He watches as you finish buttoning up your autumnal jacket, mind running with replays of the conversations he has held with you over the past few days in search of an explanation for why you’re leaving. But when he finds no such recollection, his heart skips a beat.

You peer up at him through long lashes, your lips tugging into a gentle smile at the sight of his tight expression. “My friends planned a last-minute shopping trip,” you explain softly, offering the reassurance he refuses to admit he needs. “I’m about to head out to meet with them. I think we’re getting lunch, too.”

Damian’s shoulders drop a fraction with relief, but his posture remains steadfast in the way it was vigorously trained to be as a child. “I see,” he mutters, his hand already reaching to his pocket to retrieve the black leathered wallet. The motions are familiar as he flips it open and slips out the credit card with ease, his eyes waiting and expectant of you.

You blink at the offer and sigh. “Dami—you don’t have to give me your card,” you remind him, your gentle hand reaching up to touch his wrist and direct it away. “You spoil me so much already.”

Damian frowns. “I fail to see the issue with that,” he counters, clicking his tongue at your refusal. “Is it wrong for me to provide for you?”

“No, no it’s not. It’s cute. But I don’t want you thinking you have to give me your card every time I go out with my friends,” you say, closing the gap and standing almost chest-to-chest with him. You guide your hands up his arms until they loop around his neck, silently prodding him to lean down until your lips brush close to his. “You already pay for everything when it’s just us. I can fund my own spending habits when I’m with my friends.”

Damian shakes his head and then brushes his nose against yours. You inhale his scent, heart fluttering at the scent of his cologne. “I don’t think I have to,” he corrects without missing a beat, his green eyes boring into your own. It’s then that you feel his fingers brushing the skin of your cheek, a motion that’s loving and adoring. “I want to, my love. Let me spoil you.”

Arguing with Damian has always been futile, so you relent without putting up a fight or attempting a logical argument.

Instead, you suggest the next best thing that you can possibly think of as repayment for his generosity:

“Then perhaps I’ll visit that one store you like so much?”

There’s an obvious pause on his behalf, an extra second taken as he visibly composes himself. His lips curl up at the corners, his eyes creasing. “What time can I expect you home?” He asks, the question feigning pure innocence.

Your eyes sparkle. “Early evening,” you murmur in promise, now standing on your toes to reach up and fully press a kiss to his lips. “Do you want your gift before dinner or after?”

Damian’s forehead presses to yours, and you feel his shuddering breath across your face as he visibly restrains himself. His fingers flex into your hips, a sign that he’s fighting himself to not force you to stay with him.

Instead, he pulls back and firmly places his credit card into your hand, his long fingers closing yours around the plastic. Then he guides your hand to his mouth and kisses each finger, like he’s willing his love into your digits.

“There is no limit,” Damian reminds you, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’d like a full show of everything when you come home.”

“Even the boring parts?” You tease.

“My love, there are no such thing as boring parts where you are concerned.”

[eicssbs]

don't leave Jason's girl near a knife

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader, platonic!damian wayne x fem!reader, platonic!tim drake x fem!reader, platonic!dick grayson x fem!reader

summary: Teaching Jason's girlfriend self-defense didn’t turn out as they expected.

word count: 890

warning(s): English is not my first language, not proofread, no use of y/n. Only dick, damian and tim on this fic, sorry! fake gun and knife

author's note: my ig's feed keeps popping this account, and i knew i had to do something with this hahah

˗ˏˋ ♡ fic inspired by this video and this one tooˊ˗

Boredom had arrived at Wayne Manor.

Everyone was gathered for a family lunch. It was customary for the whole family to get together at the Manor once a month to spend some family time—away from their vigilante lives.

It had been a couple of months since Jason had introduced his girlfriend to the family. Or rather, formally introduced her; after his siblings had invaded his apartment looking for answers about his disappearances.

The group was in the living room. Each one held a drink in their hands or had one by their side.

It had been a while since boredom had swept over the group, and now they were talking about the first thing that came to anyone’s mind.

“We could teach you some moves,” Dick said to the girl.

The conversation had drifted toward the lack of coordination among Gotham’s criminals.

Jason’s girlfriend turned to look at one of her brothers-in-law, frowning in confusion.

Jason laughed under his breath, the bottle of beer just inches from his mouth.

“Yeah... good luck with that.”

For space reasons, they moved several pieces of furniture so they could move around freely without worrying about breaking something and getting a scolding from Alfred.

“What is this?” the woman asked, referring to an extendable wooden ruler Tim had handed her.

“It’s a ruler.” Jason’s girlfriend looked at him, stating the obvious. “But we’ll use it as a knife.”

Dick leaned against a table next to Jason, crossing his arms.

“Bruce used it with us at first to train us,” the boy explained. “After that, he moved on to real knives.”

“Huh,” she muttered under her breath, inspecting the ruler. “What a nice family,” she murmured sarcastically, raising both eyebrows.

“And yet you’re still here, doll.”

The girl winked at her boyfriend.

“All right. First I’ll show you how it’s done, then you’ll try,” Tim announced. “Extend your left arm forward with the ruler.” The girl did as asked. “Perfect. I’ll block your move.”

With a nod, the woman extended her arm forward again.

Tim raised his left forearm upward to prevent her from attacking him by pulling her arm toward him. With his other arm, he would strike the girl’s wrist with his elbow to disarm her.

However, the girl raised the ruler upward, pretending the blade was up.

Faced with the new movement, Tim stopped his arm.

“What just happened?”

Jason smirked and took another sip from his bottle.

Dick’s turn.

“After that weak job from Red Robin, Nightwing will show you how it’s done.”

The three boys rolled their eyes and sighed tiredly.

“Go ahead, Wonder Boy!” Jason exclaimed with amusement.

“All right,” Dick said, mentioning her name. “You’ll attack me from above and I’ll block your move, okay?”

The girl nodded.

Dick had given fewer instructions than Tim, which showed he wanted to catch her by surprise and prevent her from making a move he didn’t expect.

“Now.”

With her left hand, she raised the ruler above her head. Dick, with a quick movement, blocked the action by forming an X with his arms, preventing her from lowering her arm any further.

However, the girl dropped the ruler, quickly catching it with her other hand, and hit Dick on the head with it, taking advantage of the fact that he was distracted by the unexpected move.

Jason burst out laughing at that.

“Another wonderful job by the incredible and marvelous Nightwing.”

“Tt. I’ll show these fools how it should be done.”

Pff... it didn’t turn out as the boy expected.

Unlike his brothers, Damian hadn’t even given her instructions.

The boy let her approach to secure victory.

The girl, just as she had done with Tim, extended her left arm.

Damian grabbed that arm to immobilize it and take the weapon away.

However, when the boy turned his head, Jason’s girlfriend pulled a toy gun from her pants and pressed it against his head.

“Bang!”

The room was suddenly plunged into silence, as three out of four vigilantes blinked, assessing the situation that had just occurred.

Damian looked up to observe the woman, who was smiling at him while still holding the toy gun against his head.

“Impossible.”

Damian’s eyes went to the toy gun.

“How do you do that?”

“Where did you get that from?!”

The girl laughed, handing both things back and moving closer to her boyfriend.

“I took it from the box while Dick was thinking about what move to make.”

Jason extended his arm around the girl’s waist, pulling her closer to him.

“I used to take self-defense classes when I was a kid,” she said, feeling Jason’s fingers slowly caressing her waist.

“Before I knew he was Red Hood and before I could do anything, she stopped us from being robbed with a broomstick.”

Damian looked at the girl and narrowed his eyes.

“Would you be interested in being a vigilante?”

Before the girl could say anything, Jason began pushing her away to get his girlfriend away from his crazy family.

“We’re leaving, it’s time for our son’s dinner.”

When both disappeared from the room—which happened incredibly quickly thanks to Jason—to say goodbye to Alfred, Dick frowned and tilted his head in confusion at what had been said.

“Son? Since when do they have a son?”

Damian sighed, then clicked his tongue.

“He means the cat.”

© eicssbs all rights reserved

[ghxstrobins]

Please?

Summary - Jason plans out a whole proposal only to forget everything when he gets down on one knee.

Jason has always been a planner. Even when he was young he took comfort in making a plan. It makes him feel more confident in himself and in his abilities if he can make a plan and at least a dozen contingencies for said plan.

So when it came to him proposing to you he planned it out for months in advance.

You had begun dropping hints after your third anniversary, staring too long at rings in the windows of a jewelry store, making a secret wedding Pinterest board that he found open on accident on your phone, bringing up the future often.

Jason would be an idiot to not see your hints and come hell or high water he was going to make it happen.

So he started planning out the best date and time to propose to you. He probably looked a little crazy to his siblings as he set up a cork board in one of his many safe houses with ideas and dates.

Dick was the only one that thought his planning was sweet, everyone else thought he was stressing out about your answer. And maybe in a different time he would be but after three years of you staying and reassuring him that you wanted him he was sure that you would say yes.

He had the ring custom made with your anniversary etched on the inside of the band and a garnet in the center alongside two small diamonds. Dick and Roy had helped him pick it out, they argued most of the time but in they end helped, three months before he planned to propose.

There were multiple phone calls from his brother and best friend to hype him up in the two days before he planned to propose. He had outwardly scoffed at them calling him to tell him that you would obviously say yes but inwardly he appreciated the support.

When you walk out of your shared bedroom he almost gets on one knee there. You look radiant and Jason almost forgets his whole plan. He restrains himself because him proposing before dinner wasn’t planned.

First, Jason takes you to the bookshop where you met and has become a semi-frequent date spot.

It’s a small hole in the wall shop that really only people know in the upper east side know about. He knows the owner, an older woman named Meredith whose family had this shop for generations, and she was extremely excited to know that you two were getting engaged. She keeps it a secret for him but does give him a discount on the books you end up buying.

He really enjoys watching you read through the backs of books with a slight pinch between your brows. You eventually end up getting two since you couldn’t decide between them.

After you finish up at the book store he takes you a couple blocks down to an Italian restaurant that he knows is a front for the mafia but makes the best cannolis he has ever had so he lets it slide. You talk about your work, friends and anything else that comes to mind and Jason is happy to watch you talk.

When the check is dropped off by a gruff looking guy who gives Jason a knowing smile you reach for it and Jason lightly smacks your hand away from it.

“Nope.” He states simply.

“Jay-” You go to protest with a frown on your face.

“Nope!” His voice increases in volume as he takes the bill away from your hands.

You give him a huff and an eye roll before giving in. Jason feels particularly accomplished as he walks up to pay the bill.

Once the bill is settled Jason leads you back to your building and up to the roof.

He had some help decorating the roof since he was with you for most of the day. Steph and Cass had taken point on that because Steph had told him that his taste was tragic, Cass had agreed before pulling out Bruce’s credit card that she swiped off of him somehow.

“Jason.” You gasp softly at the lit up rooftop decorated with pillows and blankets for stargazing. “This is beautiful.”

He runs his hand over the back of his neck in embarrassment, “I just came up with the idea, Steph and Cass set everything up.”

You squeeze his hand softly, “You still thought of it and that’s what matters.”

Jason takes a deep breath, reaching for the ring box in his pocket. “I also have something else.”

You get a confused pinch between your brows that evens out into shock as Jason gets down on one knee.

He goes to say the long speech he had planned, the one where he told you how much you mean to him, how you love him the way he is, how you make him want to live again rather then just survive. Jason had pondered what to say for months.

But now as he look up into your shocked face and teary eyes his brain stutters to a stop.

“Please?” Jason breathes out, no other words in his mind.

“Yes.” You sob and throw yourself into his arms. “Yes! Oh my god Jay. Yes.”

Jason holds you with a smile on his face that’s so wide it hurts because you love him when he has a plan and even when he doesn’t.

Blue’s Notes - Late night update inspired by this post! It’s so Jason that I couldn’t not write it.

[yourfavoritehorseman]

Jason Todd NSFW Headcanons

(Written mostly as GK!JasonTodd)

A/N: I have so many things I want to write for this man. One of these days I'll get them down! If nothing else, maybe I can at least share the prompts for someone else to explore. Enjoy! :)

Warnings: As titled, this is a NSFW hc post. Please read at your own discretion and forgive any grammatical errors!

--------

Jason is not necessarily the kinkiest man to ever do it. That's not to say he's a prude, but he's selective of what he's willing to try. However, that man absolutely does have a praise kink. When you tell him how well he's doing, a blush will immediately spread across his face, and he'll whimper under your touch.

He's not generally one for one-night stands. It may have happened once or twice, but it requires a certain level of trust he's not capable of. If you end up as a friend-with-benefits with him, he's respectful (but that isn't ideal for him either if we're honest).

Absolutely talks during. There's a lot of "are you okay?" and "does that feel good?" Once he's more comfortable and you find a rhythm together, it's more "fuck baby, you feel so good" and "I want to make you feel as good as you make me" mixed with soft curses or "I knew you could take it."

That dick absolutely fills you up and hits all the right spots. Foreplay with this man is absolutely essential because of his size. Thankfully, he enjoys those more intimate moments and especially enjoys giving oral.

Prefers giving over receiving but won't say no if you're offering.

Once he really gets close to his partner, it takes almost no time for him to really get hard. Sometimes he can get somewhat embarrassed about it, even if you insist it's actually flattering.

Finishes quickly the first few times you're together, which pisses him off with himself, but he always makes sure you cum. He's not one to leave you unsatisfied.

Loves it when you ride him and use his cock to reach your orgasm. That's probably his favorite position. He's able and willing to try any other but watching you bounce up and down on his cock until you reach oblivion is a euphoria of his own.

This man loves a bush. He's not vehemently against shaving, but there's something about a tuft of hair down there that makes him crazy in the best way.

After patrol, when the adrenaline is still high, he's pinning you against the wall before the suit is fully off. That's when he feels the most confident and dominant.

Lingerie can get him worked up, but his real weakness is seeing wearing one of his shirts and nothing else.

Memorizes your body and knows it almost as well as you do. Likewise, he remembers things you mentioned enjoying months after the fact.

Sometimes will laugh and joke during, especially if someone gets a leg cramp, makes a weird noise, or says something diabolical. Once you've reached that level, you know he's in love.

Aftercare is subtle, but an absolute must for him. He'll bring you food and whisper little assurances to you afterwards. When he needs it for himself, it's damn near impossible for him to ask, but he'll fish for reassurance in small ways. "Will you stay here with me tonight?" or "Are we good?"

The gentleness and care he takes will amaze you every time.

[hauntedhouseofhorrors]

the art of noticing ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ jason todd

word count: 1.2k+

warnings: fluffy fluff fluff, mentions of stalking, ocd tendencies, nightmares, jason's past...lmk if i missed anything

check out my other work here! | join my taglist here!

the art of noticing.

critically acclaimed as the conscious practice of paying attention to the most trivial of things in everyday life.

jason finely practiced that art.

when it came to you, he regarded you as though you had placed every star up in the sky for him.

he noticed the way you mindlessly played with your nails when you were too caught up in something, or the way you pulled several facial expressions in the mirror when styling your hair for the day. he noticed the way you stacked your outfit for the next day ― always bottoms, undergarments, top, and socks.

he especially noticed and deeply adored the way you allowed yourself to be soft around him.

you were walking the streets of gotham after a morning at the farmer's market. your hands were stuffed into the pockets of your (really jason's) hoodie that gloomy morning, hood covering your head, yet leaving enough for onlookers to see the peeved expression pulling at your features.

you weren't an angry person, just not one to be messed with. without jason there, you needed some way to make sure that no one would test you. you moved with intent: get in, get out, go home.

unbeknownst to you, he had gone to your favorite coffee shop, grabbing you two breakfast so you could sit out by a park for a bit. and, yes, of course he has your order memorized!

nonetheless, in a crowd of millions, he wouldn't miss you. stepping out of the shop, he spotted you like clockwork. he observed you from afar, though, watching as you continued to stroll with this weird, vexed expression.

it felt new to him. he hadn't seen you so guarded in forever.

when you first met is an obvious exception ― both of you needed to learn, to feel the other, before fully letting your guards down.

he wasn't looking for anyone when you met, but you were absolutely breathtaking. dick said that he'd be a complete moron if he let you walk out of that coffee shop without at least getting your name. but jason, being jason, he memorized your schedule instead ― pocketing the times you popped in for your morning coffee and for your lunch break.

as the days passed, you were very wary of him sitting in the corner, knee deep in a copy of the count of monte cristo. you showed up on your day off with a fully annotated copy of your own, plopping into the seat right next to his.

he would take sips of his drink, using it as an opportunity to look at you. you didn’t look up from your book once, only speaking when you felt his eyes on you.

“you’ve been stalking me,” you spoke with a hint of interest.

“stalking is a bit harsh,” he tuts. “i’d rather say that i’ve been observing you.”

his breath gets caught in his throat when you did finally look at him, somehow even more beautiful up close.

“well,” your voice carries a teasing lilt. “find anything you like?”

he laughs, more so to himself because he can’t believe that he’s really talking to you.

“uh, yeah,” he scratches the back of his head. “a lot, actually.”

some years in, and life with you was like a breath of fresh air.

you inched closer to him without knowing it, humming along quietly to the music resonating through your earbuds. it wasn't until a white streak of hair glimmered in the distance that you really honed in, eyebrows furrowing. in a matter of milliseconds, your eyes softened, a sweet smile tugging at each corner of your mouth.

it felt like his heart was doing backflips as you approached him, your smile beaming brighter than any ray of sunshine ever could.

"what're you doing here, stranger?"

you stood on your tiptoes before he could process it, pressing a mushy kiss to his cheek.

and just like that, he was a goner.

quietly noting the way you now walked around with a subtle grin, the way your eyes lit up even as you carried on the most mundane conversations, and the way your body physically relaxed.

your shoulders were no longer up to your ears, nor were you walking like you were on a mission. you took your time, fell into paced steps with him. still, though, you held his hand with such a grip that made it seem as though you were scared to let go, scared to lose him.

but it was deeper than that. a small gesture to say 'thank you', to let him know how safe he made your world feel.

you also practiced the art of noticing, very quietly.

you noticed the way he double checked, triple checked, quadruple checked every lock in your apartment before getting ready for bed. he even made sure to install extra secure locks on all of the windows, insisting that "you never know what could happen."

you notice the way he polishes his guns meticulously. one wipe down isn't enough, neither are two. he checks the parts at the end of every week. it doesn't matter if he's just dying to crawl into bed and sleep; he makes sure that he looks over each firearm multiple times.

he locks them up safely afterwards, too ― at least the ones that he uses out on the field. they aren't saved from his nightly lockup ritual. he never forgets to check the gun that he keeps primly on your nightstand, making sure it's fully loaded because again, "you never know what could happen."

and yes, it is quite unsettling to fall asleep with a gun just a few meters from your head. but he always caps the trigger off with a safety lock, never uttering a word when he noticed your inability to fall asleep one night.

you notice the way he jerks in his sleep and the tiny pleas and whimpers that rip from his chest. his nightmares have calmed down since he started living with you, but when he is haunted by the suffering that the joker inflicted on him, and when he relives his moments in the lazarus pit, it shakes him up. it wreaks havoc.

you don't have to wake him up. all you do is scoop that six-foot, two-hundred-twenty-five-pound man into your arms, and hold him tight. hug him to your chest. cling to him like it's the last time you'll ever get to hold him.

eventually he stirs in his sleep, breathing in your scent, and the world settles around him. suddenly, his dreams are replaced by images of you, memories that the two of you have created with each other.

in that little world, it's only the two of you. you're not in gotham. he hasn't been forced to hell and back, he hasn't died and come back to life. he doesn't have to fight to protect you in that world, but in this world, his arms keep you in place, afraid that you'll slip away.

when he twitches softly, the ghost of a laugh puffing past his lips, then you'll know that it's over, that no one's hurting your sweet boy anymore.

the art of noticing is arguably one of the most intimate expressions of your love.

yes, you can whisper 'i love you' in a thousand different languages, but nothing compares to the way he notices every wordless shift in your energy, or the way you notice every small gesture that conveys the depth of his love for you when he can't say it.

and isn't that love in its simplest form?

a/n: i wrote this in one sitting. my back is now hurting but CAN I GET A HELLLLLL YEAHHHH???? i absolutely live for tooth-rotting fluff w jason. k. goodnight <3

[ghxstrobins]

We don’t have to talk about it

Warning - Depression, referenced drug use and addiction

Jason knows when you spiral before you do. He knows when your texts are start coming slower, when your smile is too strained and when you begin joking about how tired you are most days. It’s a spiral he knows far too well since he took care of his mother on nights when the pain was too much for her.

He lets you lie about it for the first few days, letting you put up a front with everyone about how everything is fine and you aren’t drowning. Jason checks on you regularly though, making sure that you aren’t alone even if you insist that you are okay and don’t need his help with making sure that you eat or get out of bed.

Every time you lie he has to remind himself that it’s not that you don’t trust him it’s just you try to make the lie true.

It all crashes down on you on a Tuesday, nothing particularly important happens, the sky doesn’t fall, you don’t get hurt, you just don’t get out of bed that day. Jason’s text is left unread but he knows that you don’t have anything going on today so he knows that you are collapsing into yourself.

He has a key to your place. It was gift you gave him after he kept coming in through your window all the time. You had brushed off how much trust it was to give him a key but he still felt the impact of it.

When he walks in the door he recognizes the heavy silence in the whole space. It blankets the apartment in a thick sense of lethargy that Jason has to combat a lot himself. After finding you it is better, you help him on his bad days and he returns the favor on yours. He sets the take out he got on the counter to look for you.

You are laying in bed, some random video playing on your phone as you stare at it without really looking at it. He knows that you see him out of the corner of your eye. You aren’t subtle enough about how your eyes flick to him and then away.

“Have you eaten today?” Jason asks in place of a greeting as he approaches your bed.

There is a sigh you let out from deep in your chest, “No.”

“Can you get out of bed right now?” His voice is softer now as he kneels beside your bed to look at you face to face.

You look guilty as you put your phone down.

“Not right now.” You whisper.

Jason nods and walks out of the room to the kitchen to put the food away. He puts the entire back in your fridge and takes off his shoes to put them at your door.

When he gets back you haven’t move to get up or to pick up your phone. You are just staring vacantly at the doorway until he walks into it.

“Scoot over.” Jason tells you.

“You don’t have to-” You go to protest him entering your bed but he cuts you off.

“I’m going to hold you until you feel like you can get up.” Jason climbs into bed with you and pulls you into his arms.

It doesn’t take long for you to latch onto him like he is a raft in a storm.

He isn’t very talkative in situations like this, he enjoys pushing peoples buttons often but in these intimate moments he feels awkward if he says anything.

Jason pushes through his own awkwardness as he begins to talk about his day, last night’s patrol and really anything else that comes to mind.

Eventually you both will get up. You will be bullied, lovingly, into eating and taking care of yourself but for right now Jason is going to hold you in his arms until you get the strength to move.

Blue’s Notes- This is extremely self indulgent since I am going through a bout of depression myself. Having someone to just be there for you is so important. If you are feeling depressed or are just having a bad day I hope that this helps you like it did for me.

[flimsily-flimsy]

MY HEART IS FULL OF DOUBT

Masterlist

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: Jason Todd x Artist!gn!Reader

Synopsis: Jason is consistently perceived in a bad light, so much so that he struggles to find himself beautiful, much less as art. Though, luckily for him, his lover is an artist and they’re determined to prove him wrong. It just so happens that his back is the perfect canvas to do so.

A/N: I’m aware that I wrote this idea over a month ago now, but I finally go the motivation to write it (though I’m not sure how much I like this, rip) :> Anyways this song actually makes me levitate, I had to name something after it immediately

Art is subjective. To some, it’s marked by extravagance; the maximalist blend of vibrant colours into one piece, jewels that exude wealth and glamour with just a glance. While, to others, it takes a simpler form; whether that be nature’s raw beauty, the meaning behind a primitive cave painting or even the most ‘mundane’ objects. Regardless of one’s perception, art is inherently human.

It captures someone’s anger, pain, happiness. It escapes time, it raises awareness, it shows appreciation and, often, it shows what someone finds beautiful. Which is exactly why Jason cannot understand your request.

Jason’s body tells the stories his mind cannot escape. Every muscle takes you one step closer to Red Hood, each scar is another “long story”, even the white streak of hair that hangs above his eyes roots back to a past that scares him. He cannot simply look in the mirror and not see all of his decisions–good and bad–laid out in front of him. His body isn’t art but rather tears waiting to fall and, while he may not be willing to connect the dots, some deep part of him is unwilling to see himself past it.

So, why would you want to paint on him?

–

It was early enough in the morning for Gotham to look half-decent. The sad, concrete buildings brightened under the rising sun, the menacing smog that characterises the city has momentarily retreated and the coo of birds returns as a serene backdrop outside of your window. Yet, it’s the sight of Jason’s bare back that holds your attention.

As he lays atop of a mat, you straddle his thighs with your supplies laid out either side of you. It’s an organised mess, is what you’d told him when he’d seen the array of palettes and brushes surrounding him; though you can still see the suspicious look in his eyes where his head rests atop his crossed arms.

“You’re looking like I’m about to defame you, Jay.” You murmur with a chuckle as you meticulously blend a mix of colours.

Your point is only proven when he peers at you over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “I still don’t understand the appeal of this, baby.”

You meet his eyes with a smile. “Just trust the process.” You respond. “You know I love you. I’m not going to ruin your skin.”

When he teasingly rolls his eyes, you can’t help but laugh. There have been occasions where you’ve painted small pictures poking fun at him or decorated something of his impulsively. He’d act playfully offended, though he’d never gotten rid of any of it.

Still, you reassure him. “You can always wash it off immediately after, honey. It’ll come off eventually.”

“It better.” He murmurs lightheartedly, burying his face into his arms with a sigh.

You trace your fingers, still smudged with paint from your other works, down the ridges of his spine in thought.

Characterising Jason into one thing is an impossible task. He’s transformed from a young boy–brave, excitable, energetic–to a guarded man. He’s always firm in his morals, he’s always driven by his emotions and feels too deeply, he’s never felt entirely like he’s fit in aside from when he’s with you. Brought up too poor to be used to being rich, too loving to be entirely safe, too traumatised to ever feel normal. Jason Todd isn’t a stagnant person, he feels in contradictions, he hurts and he loves. But he’s still here.

How can a painting capture all of that?

Letting your hands work before your mind catches up, you begin to paint over his back regardless.

You spend time meticulously stroking your brush over his skin, letting your hands flow at points and taking a more controlled approach for other sections. A few times, your paints dry out and you have to mix them all over again, but Jason lies there without complaint. In fact, his shoulders gradually ease and his eyes remain closed as if this were some sort of massage.

It must take over an hour for you to finish it and, by the time it’s dried, you can’t help but nervously bite your lip. “I’m done.”

You see his eyes flutter open as he hums. “Hm?”

An endeared smile instantly crosses your face. “Did you nap?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m finished now.” You run your hands down his sides before standing up, reaching for a tissue to wipe off your hands.

“What did you paint?” He asks softly, pushing himself up on his elbows to rise to his feet beside you.

“Why don’t you have a look?”

He narrows his eyes at you skeptically but you give him a reassuring nod in response and reach for his hand, carefully pulling him alongside you to the bathroom.

“Here, honey.” You murmur as you direct him to the mirror, carefully turning him around so he can look over his shoulder at the results.

Across his muscles and scars, you’d painted a landscape: a red, swirling storm above the silhouette of a gothic city, punctuated by a pale sun shining behind the clouds in the corner. Within the storm, there are a few dots of light peeking through, the buildings beneath it standing firm despite its force.

It’s simple and detailed simultaneously. The array of reds clearly reflect Jason’s colour scheme, while the tragedy grounded in the architecture and the turmoil of the storm reveal his inner conflict. Perhaps, in combination, the warm colours are what makes the storm seem so ferocious. Maybe it’s the reds that draw the attention from the sadness in the buildings below it. Yet, the light somehow still stands out. A literal array of lights in his storm that is overshadowed by the conflict around it yet still so bright.

“I know the goth stuff isn’t entirely your vibe.” You stammer out, watching as he stares at himself in the mirror. “But… this is how I see you, I guess, so…” You trail off, nervously clasping your hands as your eyes flutter between his face and the landscape.

“This is how you see me?” He murmurs, finally finding your eyes.

“Well, close enough to it.”

His breath catches and he looks back at his reflection once more. “It’s so beautiful.” He responds after a moment, eyes scanning over the array of colours. “You… included my scars.”

You nod, looking back at your painting. Some of the city’s towers follow the jaggedy turns of his scars, while some of the storm curves with their path. It’s nothing more than a light bump within the piece, a subtle detail, but Jason notices it because it’s more than that to him. His history entwined with his being.

“Do you like it?” You whisper.

“Like it?” He repeats, a small smile creeping onto his face the longer he gazes at it. “Sweetheart, I love it.”

You grin. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen my body in this kind of light before.” He reaches over to you now, cupping your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, my love.”

It’s only when he pulls back that you see the utter, unmistakable adoration in his eyes.

Jason is painted in a bad light by many: the gullible Robin, the dangerous vigilante, even the angry member of the family. It’s far too easy for him to fall into these assumptions when he doesn’t have a proper understanding of himself.

But to see himself as something more than that? Something beautiful?

It’s something he never realised that he’d never had before.

Title’s song: the cure by Olivia Rodrigo

[alderwood44]

Domestic/random Jason Todd headcanons

-Not a fan of dating. It's hard to put yourself out there. Even harder to put trust in someone. He'd almost certainly get with someone he already knows well, or a fellow vigilante.

-Once he's comfortable enough, he's a cuddle monster. He has a major case of great dane syndrome. He's massive, but he will either A. curl up and rest his head on your lap while you rub his head or B. He's laying on top of you like a weighted blanket.

-And he is a big boy. About 6'2 and 215lbs

-He has a bad habit of smoking. He did cut down when getting into a relationship though. Now it's just one cigarette after patrol quickly followed by a shower and brushing his teeth.

-Jason can cook, but he's not too adventurous with food. He'll cook a steak to perfection, but he does not have the time to try something new every night. Between being a vigilante, having a day job, workout out, and everything else.

NSFW

-Yes he cries during sex. Not often. It's not because of bad memories, but because the intamacy just means so much to him.

-He's not some hard dom sex god some people act like he is. He's pretty vanilla. He'll try something new so long as it doesn't involve pain or degrading you.

-He is a munch though.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

{This is my first post, just trying it out. Sorry for any grammar errors. Got in a writing mood because my mom made me sad}

[fancy-possum]

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝 𝐱 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Part of my 1k diner event 🥞 || based on this request || masterlist

Jason learns your pain patterns better than his own patrol routes. He keeps a mental log of what days are bad, what weather makes it worse, and what small things help. He never makes you explain yourself twice.

On flare-up mornings, he wakes up before you and has the heating pad already warm on your side of the bed. He’ll gently place it on the worst spot without waking you if he can.

When you get frustrated because your body won’t cooperate with simple tasks (like opening a jar or tying your shoes), he never says “here, let me do it.” He just quietly takes over while kissing your temple and whispering, “I’ve got you.”

He carries pain meds, a spare brace, and your favorite snacks in his utility belt during patrol. If you text him that it’s a bad day, he’ll find a way to swing by with supplies no matter where he is in the city.

Jason gets angry at the world on your behalf when the pain is bad, but he never lets you see the full rage. He saves the soft version for you - holding you while you cry, stroking your hair, and reminding you it’s okay to be angry too.

He researches every treatment, every specialist, every possible relief method. Not because he thinks he can “fix” you, but because he hates seeing you in pain and wants to give you options.

When you’re too exhausted to cook or even order food, he learns your favourite comfort recipes by heart. His cooking isn’t perfect, but it’s made with so much love that it always tastes better than anything else.

He never rushes you. If you need to cancel plans because the pain is too much, he just says, “That’s fine, baby. We’ll do it when you’re ready.” No guilt. No disappointment.

On days when you feel guilty for “being a burden,” he pulls you into his lap, wraps his arms around you, and lists every single reason you’re the best thing in his life until you believe him.

He installs grab bars in the shower and puts non-slip mats everywhere without being asked. When you notice, he just shrugs and says, “Didn’t want you to fall.”

Jason learns massage techniques specifically for chronic pain. He’s surprisingly gentle, using just the right pressure, and he’ll spend hours working on your back or legs if it helps you relax.

When the frustration boils over and you snap at him because the pain makes everything feel impossible, he never snaps back. He just holds you tighter and says, “I know. Yell at me if you need to. I can take it.”

He keeps a “bad pain kit” in the living room: fuzzy blankets, your favorite hoodie of his, noise-canceling headphones, and a playlist of calm songs. He calls it “the emergency comfort station.”

Jason is fiercely protective of your boundaries. If someone suggests “you just need to push through it” or “have you tried yoga?”, he shuts it down instantly with a glare that could melt steel.

He celebrates the small wins with you. A day where the pain is only a 4 instead of an 8? He brings home flowers. A day you managed to cook dinner? He acts like you won the lottery.

When you feel unattractive because chronic pain makes you feel heavy or limited, he worships every inch of you. Slow kisses along your aching joints, gentle hands tracing your body, whispering how beautiful you are exactly as you are.

He never makes you feel like a burden for needing help. If you need him to carry you to bed, he does it like it’s the most natural thing in the world and kisses your forehead the whole way.

Jason keeps a journal of things that help you on bad days. He adds to it constantly. It’s his quiet way of saying “I see you. I remember. I care.”

On the worst nights, when the pain won’t let you sleep, he stays up with you. He reads to you in that low, gravelly voice until you finally drift off against his chest.

At the end of every day, no matter how bad it was, he pulls you close and says the same thing: “You fought hard today. I’m so proud of you. I love you exactly like this.”

a/n : my first fic of my event! I will be making a masterlist for all of the ones I write! :) thank you anon for requesting this!

[ghxstrobins]

AITA for kidnapping a Crime Lord?

Summary - After a disastrous night all Jason wants to do is sleep off his concussion and bullet torn side but when he climbs into the wrong apartment he is knocked out and wakes up zip tied on your couch.

Event Masterlist

Jason has had a horrible night. 

First Batman somehow managed to figure out his shipping routes so he has to make new ones. Then he got a voicemail from Dick about him shooting Bruce in the thigh since he stopped Jason's shipment. And lastly one of Black Mask's men got the drop on him so he is dragged himself back home, side bleeding, in shame.

All in all it’s been a shitty fucking night and he needs to sleep this off- preferably with a bottle of whiskey by his side. 

He opens the window to his apartment and feels relief fill him. 

Home sweet home. 

Once he is in and the window is shut he begins to strip himself of his armor. The helmet is set on the coffee table, his jacket is flung on the couch along with his chest plate. 

Jason needs to patch up his side and eat something before he passes out. 

The first thing he realizes that is off that his book shelf is in a completely different place. It usually besides his TV but the book shelf here is next to the window.

And sure, he should have realized that as soon as he climbed in but he has a concussion so give him some slack.

The second is the lights turning on and a baseball bat hitting him in the back of the head. 

What's with people hitting him in the head today? 

He hits the floor in an unfamiliar kitchen and blacks out.

When he resurfaces he is restrained on the couch of a stranger's apartment, zip ties on his hands and legs. They must have went through his utility belt then.

"Okay!" A forcefully cheerful voice says, drawing him out of his thoughts.

You are standing above him with a bat still in your hands and pointed at him. 

There is a determination in your eyes that makes Jason go along with whatever this is. You don't seem to want to turn him into the police since he hasn’t been hauled off to black gate yet so he will just figure out how to get out of this.

"Okay?" Jason prompts with a raised eyebrow.

"Um-" You seem to get a little off balance now that he is speaking to you. "-to be honest I don't have time to call the police today. My kids have to give their presentations today and I have to get the groceries I have been putting for a good few days now."

That certainly wasn't how he thought that this conversation would go.

"So you are just going to stay here- okay? I need to get to my job but I will be back to check on you during my lunch so you don't die." 

You suddenly look very stressed about him not dying in your apartment and hug the bat to your chest.

"How you know that you can keep me here?" He asks with genuine curiosity and a hint of amusement.

"Well…" You rock back and forth on the balls of your feet, "I found the zip ties in your belt thing and I took away all of your weapons that I know of so from my very limited experience with kidnapping you should not be able to get out but if you do I will be gone by then."

"You got this all figured out huh?" Jason chuckles. 

"I am very efficient when I want to be." Your voice is back to cheerful as you walk away from him.

Jason stares up at your popcorn ceiling as he hears you roam around your apartment getting ready for work.

He is surprised at how fine with this he is. From what he can feel you wrapped his side up well so he isn't at risk of bleeding. And he needs to rest because of his concussion.

When he hears the door shut behind you he decides to take the weekend off, might as well go along with this for his own curiosity.

Blue’s Notes- I might do a longer one shot of this because this idea is hilarious to me.

[batwngs]

everything is coming up roses ft. jason todd

Gotham in the spring was, oddly, much too bright. Outside of those stretches of greying rain and thunderous downpour, there were pockets of blinding light that ushered massive crowds into the day-lit streets of the city. There were more people laughing and talking and singing loudly in the presence of their companions, there were more cars honking as they sped through the streets, there were more bodies passing by one another as they maneuvered through the now crowded streets—more sound, more movement, more life.

And Jason, of course, hated it.

There was something about the spring that felt vile and rotten to him, despite the bursts of life that existed so prominently in the air as May approached. Where everyone basked in the warming sun of the season, in the joyous symphony of time spent in the company of others, in the rhythms of life beating incessantly in every corner of even a city as morbid and cruel as Gotham, Jason found himself yet again at the sidelines, some enemy unable to experience the winds of life getting lost in his hair.

He didn’t like to see the world alive like this; he didn’t know how, or if, he could belong to a spring that called for life instead of what was gravely his. It was almost as if his body knew that spring wasn’t for him, that his being alive in May was some faulted error that allowed him to slip through the cracks or some cruel form of punishment for whatever sins he carried at the forward curve of his shoulders. His body must have remembered the weight of springtime dirt, naming that his home rather than the life and breath that shaped the season above him, that populated the city before him. After all, the world came to life while he lay dead just days before the call of May; it only made sense that he would feel uneasy at the life spring awakened when his body was already accustomed to a silenced slumber. This had to be the case, for why else would he feel so strange, so out-of-place—or rather, out-of-time—on the warmed streets of Gotham? Maybe his body truly did remember that, just a few years back, all there was to presence was dirt.

In an attempt to distract himself before his mind spiraled too far into some shitty station that would only dampen the otherwise bright and warm day, he thought about you and why he was even outside when he would much rather be holed away in his apartment. It was you who wanted, begged, and pleaded with him into coming to this café all so that you could try some new desserts in his company. He didn’t care for whatever new flavor of confectionary sweets were being invented just steps away from where he sat on the street-lined patio, but when you had asked him to join you just a few nights ago, Gotham’s streetlamps the stars glimmering in your eyes, he found it impossible to say no, even if he feigned a string of no’s just to hear you plead for his time.

Despite how he slouched and slumped into the chair under the helpful shade of the café’s umbrella arch or how his sunglasses threatened to slip from the bridge of his nose as he watched the world exist loudly around him, it was undeniable that you had an impact on him. Your presence in his life felt so antithetical to what he imagined for himself, like a persistent coffee ring burning itself a home on his coffee table—you didn’t do anything other than be there and yet somehow, he couldn’t keep his attention away from you for long. With his insistence on working alone damned, over the long months you have come to lighten his darkened nights with your laughter and prodding into his affairs. After so long, it was expected for you to emerge from the shadowed alleys into his plans or for him to find you leaning casually against his bike while criticizing—playfully or otherwise, tone for some reason escaped him when it came to you—his methods and overly thought-through decisions. You, like a thorn he can’t help but press his thumb across, always managed to push his every button with just a few words, playing at the gaps between each syllable that fell away with his masked late-night drawl—and he let it happen each and every night.

As much as he hated to admit it—and would deny if ever questioned—he did enjoy your persistent presence in his routine of things. You had become his list of nevers reimagined: he never would have brought himself to this café if it weren’t for you; he never would have spent several nights after patrol watching movies you briefly mentioned in conversation, foregoing sleep just to do so, if it weren’t for you; he never would have allowed his heart to be swallowed in the overwhelm of softened brushstrokes that painted his scars blush if it weren’t for you,

He never would’ve chosen to sit outside the café either, only doing so as you much preferred the people-watching aspect that comes with outdoor seating, especially on temperate days like this where almost all of Gotham had managed to find their way outside. With you, it seemed as if his life became a series of inconveniences that no longer felt inconvenient. If anything, it felt more inconvenient for him to not have the image of you cloud his mind, to not consider you in his logic of thinking. Even now, he would suffer the brightness of a world ripe with spring’s life only for you.

Yet he didn’t know why he was so nervous now, his leg bouncing and his hands finding purchase tapping the somewhat wobbly outdoor table as he waited for you to arrive at the café. Whether it was the anxiety of anticipation melded against the brightened loudness of a season so wholly unfamiliar to him, Jason sat there forcing busy hands and busy minds to distract. You weren’t even here and still you stung him into a fidgeting mess so unlike himself. Maybe you were the tiding of spring that awakened something unfamiliar and warm within him, something he didn’t know was his to be consumed by.

People continued to pass by, laughing and smiling and barking their words into Gotham’s warming sky. He was lucky his sunglasses concealed his eye movements, as he tracked the crowded street corners searching for you amongst the life before him. Neighbors being walked along sharp corners by their dogs, hurried suits brushing past leisurely strolls, bike bells chiming through the bustling life—it was the kind of mess of life that you somehow loved dearly while he, cornered to the margins, envied. Despite his distaste at the world before him, he couldn’t help his gaze fixed on watching this lively cast stage itself. What started as an intentional scouting to find you hidden amongst the swaying and dancing crowd turned into this study of movement and color and light in the school of your teaching. He wanted to understand the world through your eyes, see the life before him for what it was instead of the strings of curses he felt were destined for his flesh and tongue—to see the world as you do and not the fragmented ache he can’t help but see in every corner, interaction, and breath drawn.

Suddenly, the world turned red—a violence of reddish florals and the sweetened powder of velveted earth crushing his senses, ripping him away from his study of the world crowding Gotham’s spring, his unfamiliar season. The gentle tapping of the crisp brown paper on his head, a delicate bouquet of roses crowning him in a wave of greetings held in your precious hand, alerted him back to his reality.

“Hey,” you smiled, your presence finally in his line of sight as you peered up from behind him before sliding into the empty seat next to him. You rested the bouquet of roses on the table, the collection of ribbon-tied roses rich in their vibrancy pointed right at Jason.

“What’s this?” he questioned, masking his joy at seeing you with the peeved air he was already carrying at the world’s parade of life surrounding him.

“Roses.”

“For?”

“For you,” you grinned as you nudged the bouquet closer to him on the table.

“No thanks,” he said indifferently. Despite the nonchalance he was projecting, a sudden biting worry clamored at his chest: should he have brought something for you? The thought of bringing you a gift completely evaded him, too preoccupied in having to leave his cooled apartment for the warmth of these brightened streets and seasonally flavored sweets he didn’t care for.

You scoffed in response, breaking Jason’s anxiety with your sharp tongue, “The fuck do you mean ‘no thanks?’”

“I don’t do roses.”

“You don’t do roses?” you echoed.

You looked as if you were trying to hold back from laughing at his statement, but Jason pressed forward: “Yup. Or flowers in general.”

You chuckled, a mischievous, teasing smile slowly etching your features, “Too much of a tough guy for flowers?”

He crossed his arms and huffed, almost pouting really. You had gotten him flowers: how else was he to act? It’s not every day that affection is thrown so openly in his direction, especially in the shape of something as soft as flowers, given unabashedly by your hands.

“Get over yourself and take the fucking flowers,” you said, chuckling as you, once again, scooted the bouquet closer to him and leaned back in your chair, mimicking his stance with your arms now crossed too.

Jason scoffed playfully, “Attitude.”

“Rich coming from you.”

“Couldn’t you have at least gotten a better flower?”

“I thought you didn’t want them,” you taunted, a soft goading carrying over your words.

“I don’t, but roses? They’re basic, I can’t help but feel insulted.”

“You’re insulted that I got you flowers?” you chuckled. Jason knew what you were doing: the quiet laugh as your words fell from your lips and were carried by the soft breeze, the inquisitive tone in your voice that pried for more from him, the slightest lean forward—you were revving up for the snap of your Venus flytrap, ready to catch him tangled in his own web of words.

“No, I’m insulted that you got me roses,” he countered. “Do I look like a rose kind of guy?”

“So, you like that I got you flowers.”

The jaws of your quick wit were coming down, almost choreographed in how easily you were able to maneuver him to the metaphorical corner he found himself backing into. He quickly retorted, “I didn’t say that.”

“Well, if you don’t like roses, what flowers do you like?”

“I don’t like flowers.”

“You seem to have a lot of opinions on flowers for someone who doesn’t like them.”

“I’m just saying that if you’re going to get flowers for someone, maybe consider getting ones that match their personality, or vibe, or whatever.”

“You don’t think you’re a rose?”

“I’m not a basic bitch if that’s what you’re implying,” he mused. If you were going to walk away from this conversation a victor, he at least will go down with the dramatics.

But, even in his attempt to remain stoic and serious at your sly game of words, he found himself cracking a brief smile. You always managed to grab a smile out of him, as if your words and incessant pandering chiseled him down to some abstract, unnamed feeling he couldn’t even conceive of let alone tame with a definition. Even after almost a year of working together late into the night, running case after case and cleaning up those forgotten corners of Gotham’s grief, you so easily bring forth a side of him that he thought wasn’t there anymore. Your presence, your smile—it left him to be devoured by metaphors.

You kept your eyes trained on him, watching him with an edge of softness that still left him vulnerable and seen, unsure of what to do with himself. He unfurled his crossed arms and reached for the protruding rose, its red extending further beyond the others like a hand grasping for his. He let his fingers gently catch one of its petals, feeling the velvet of its touch under his fingertips. Did you really think of him as a rose, as something this delicate and soft?

He didn’t really know how to think about this emerging question—either you thought of him as this soft plushness that laid between his index finger and thumb or you didn’t know him at all—at least not as well as he thought. He felt sick in this spring light. Was it possible that, after countless nights spent in each other’s company and comfort, you came away with a version of him that didn’t exist? Had you come into each night seeing him as something that wasn’t there, as so many others have and continue to do? Do you look at him and see a ghost there, too?

In reality, it was more likely that you didn’t think too deep into your floral arrangement, probably having passed a shop on the way to this café and saw the first bouquet of flowers within your reach. Yet, he couldn’t help the gnawing wonder of gifting him a flower so emblematic of his losses. You knew nothing of his endings, of course, but did you somehow look upon him and see these gaps of life laid out in his turned posture and stance? In looking at these passing roses, you had somehow noticed his out-of-placeness on the streets of Gotham like some specter or spectacle unable to fit in amongst the swelling of life that evaded him?

He knew you were watching him overthink and run his mind wild with these thorned thoughts, your eyes casually glossing over his hands still playing with the petal as you eyed through the café’s menu. You were casual and cool, and he a wreck right before you; you truly didn’t know the extent of what you do to him.

You gently closed the padded menu before running your fingers over the brown paper covering the bouquet, your soft voice beaming through the crowded streets, over the gentle crinkling of rose-kissed paper, like a quieted melody only for him: “I got you roses because you’re a complicated person, Jason. I never know what you’re really thinking, but I like to think I have some idea of what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. I felt like roses would be a classic option, nothing too much or too little, but still dramatic like you.

“And these were so beautiful and lively; roses, in general, bring a lot of joy to people, and I figured,” you paused, letting the air softly ease from your lungs and the words hesitate on the tip of your tip. You rubbed the waxy brown paper between your fingers, just as Jason continued to do so with the rose’s delicate petals, as if the material would offer some strength or softness needed to wield your next words: “I figured you deserved some joy too.”

Jason felt your gaze pointed at him as your words stretched out like a comforting hand, but he kept his eyes locked on the roses between his fingers; ironic, he thought, how he, the Red Hood, didn’t feel strong enough to look into your eyes at this vulnerable moment. He felt heat blooming up his neck at your words and at the very thought of you thinking about him, especially this deeply and kindly. For some reason, he didn’t think you would even think of him outside of your shared evening contexts, let alone think of him in such a way that a newfound life erupted in his core.

“And, well,” you continued, your voice like the velvet between his skin as a smile kindly graced your features. “Because I like you.”

His eyes widened, his hands leaving the velvet plush of the rose’s petals as he finally met your gaze, “You like me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at Jason’s expression, his eyes gleaming with such sincerity as his question fell from his lips, as you laughed, “I thought we went over this.”

And you both had— several times, in fact. He remembered the night you told him your feelings, blood-stained hands and reddened bandages tossed to the side as you patched one another up after a grossly miscalculated series of events that quickly escaped your once easy night of patrol. You were so careful to explain your whys and hows and wants, your logics and reasonings as if presenting some detailed fact-finding theory on the complexities of something so personal as feelings. But, it was your eyes—glimmering and shining and starlike as you gazed at his bruised and scarred face gently—that spoke loud enough for him to believe it and think it all to be true.

A flicker of a shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips: “Still always a shock to hear you say it.”

You leaned closer, resting your chin in your hand, elbow planted onto the table, as you looked upon him with a smile bright on your face: “Guess I should say it more often. And get you more roses.”

“No roses.”

“Tell me another flower, then.”

He thought about it, his fingers returning to play with the petal’s softness. A blushing heat creeped from his neck onto his ears and, surely, his cheeks: “Roses are fine.”

—

note: didn’t proofread this at all but uhhhh happy belated jason’s death day

taglist: @luviery @cherryvvave @starr-jazz @arfemiz @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger + @bloomcissa @vcmpirus @patientofarkhamasylum @lechelovestoyap

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