Nsfw Content ☆ 18+ Minors Dni. Ageless & Blank Blogs Will Be Blocked

Masterlist

Web Bound

Pairing: Batfamily x Reader x Superfamily (?)

Summary: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

YN Pronouns: Female - She/Her

Status: Incomplete

Chapters

Act I | Spider-woman has to navigate a new world all on her own, until she can get a solid foot on the ground while attempting to not attract unwanted attention. God please give this girl a break.

Prologue | A Whole New World Chapter 1 | Home Sick Chapter 2 |

Act II | Spider-woman finds it hard to keeping her double life separated with the newfound relationships and acquaintanceship. All because she ended up attracting unwanted attention. God please give this girl a loooooong break.

Act III | Spider-woman finds herself in a predicament, she just wants to get back home, again. God please just give this girl a fucking break.

---

don't take what I wrote up here seriously, I have no clue where I am taking this story, plus I'm not that knowledgeable of the dc comics. I left when Jason died and only came back because of Damian (plus Duke) so I have very little understanding of their characters. I am learning but comic issues and such would be helpful for me to check out, thanks

I've been tooooo obsessed with yandere bat fam honestly

---

Wanna buy me Ko-Fi? (:

oh my gosh

World’s Greatest Detective

Title: World’s Greatest Detective Rating: Explicit Pairing: Bruce Wayne/reader Word Count: 2519 Warnings: Sex in the batsuit, oral…. playful interrogation? Summary: You’re hiding something from Bruce, and he’s going to find out what.  One way or another. Author’s Note: As usual, this is in no particular universe.

Keep reading

you’re not sure how you ended up here—in DICK GRAYSON’S bed, with his hands on your waist, and the weight of his body leaning just enough against yours to make your pulse race. it had started with a quiet moment, a teasing comment, and then a look that lingered a little too long. one thing led to another, and now you’re tangled up with him, your heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of his lips moving against yours.

his bed smells like him ( faintly like clean linen, with a hint of whatever cologne he uses, something warm and grounding ). the scent wraps around you, mixing with the heat of his skin and the way his breath hitches when you tug him closer. his hands trail up your sides, calloused fingertips brushing over fabric and skin as if he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

you gasp against his mouth when his teeth graze your bottom lip, the sound soft and involuntary, and you feel him smile against you. “what?” he murmurs, voice low and husky, the kind of tone that sends shivers down the valley of your spine. his lips barely leave yours as he speaks, like he can’t stand the distance even for a second.

“nothing,” you manage but the way your voice wavers betrays you.

“liar,” he breathes out, his lips tugging into a smirk and pressing against the curve of your jaw as he moves lower, leaving a trail of warm, slow kisses down your neck. his hands slide up up cradle your face for a moment, tilting your head so he can reach a spot just beneath your ear that has you clinging to him.

your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging lightly as if to pull him closer. he shifts, the mattress dipping under the added weight and his knee brushes yours, caging you in but never making you feel trapped. his touch is firm but careful. he’s holding back, letting you guide how far things go.

when he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are dark with something between want and adoration. “you’re gonna kill me there,” he whispers and his thumb brushes against the apple of your cheek in a such tender movement it makes your heart ache.

tim: did you know demon spawn still sleeps with his stuffed giraffe? damian: is that so?? well i heard you still sleep with the night light on. jason: *walking past* you're both amateurs. tim: oh yeah? and what do you sleep with? jason: y/n.

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS THEY DO . . . without realizing

BRUCE WAYNE

rolling his sleeves

bruce wayne sat at his desk, eyes scanning the papers in front of him with a focus that bordered on obsessive. his brow furrowed slightly as he sifted through the reports, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. with a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his broad shoulders rolling as he stretched, the fabric of his shirt straining just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.

he reached down to his cuffs, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid the buttons. the action was simple, but there was an undeniable smoothness to it. slowly, he pushed the sleeves up, the fabric tugging against the defined muscles of his forearms as they flexed with the motion. the shirt rode up slightly, revealing the veins beneath.

once the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he flexed his fingers briefly, feeling the weight of the day settle into his body. there was no rush, no hurry. bruce wayne wasn’t just a man who wore suits—he was a man who controlled the world around him.

looking down and leaning in to hear you better

he stood tall, his imposing presence filling the space as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the difference in height between you made the moment feel all the more intimate, as though the world around you had faded into the background. his broad shoulders, strong and steady, seemed to fill the room with the weight of his silent power. every inch of him radiated control, and yet, there was something almost magnetic about the way he was focused on you now, narrowing the gap between you.

he tilted his head just a little, his gaze softening yet still intense, before his lips parted slightly. with a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, he leaned closer, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

“sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the words lingering in the air between you. there was no rush in his movement, no hint of impatience—just the steady presence of a man who knew the effect he had, who made every action feel deliberate, calculated.

DICK GRAYSON

stretching

dick grayson towered in the middle of your bedroom, a small stretch escaping him after a long day of training and patrol. with a soft grunt, he raised his arms high above his head, his back arching slightly as his muscles flexed in the motion. the action was simple, but the way his body moved with effortless grace caught the light in just the right way, accentuating the sleek, toned lines of his chest and abdomen.

as he reached upwards, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the faint line of his happy trail—dark and subtle beneath the fabric. his abs tightened with the stretch, his posture perfect and confident, yet so natural.

when his arms finally lowered, he relaxed, a small, satisfied smile curling on his lips, unaware of the effect the simple stretch had on your wandering gaze.

running a hand through his hair

he leaned back against the post of your bed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath after another long night of patrol. he was tired, but not exhausted—just enough to feel the strain of the evening settling into his muscles. his hand moved instinctively to his hair, running through it with a relaxed sigh. the motion was effortless, but there was something undeniably attractive about it. his fingers tangled in the dark strands, pushing them back, only to leave them even more tousled than before.

his hair, usually neatly styled, now fell in messy waves, a little wild and chaotic—much like dick himself. as he scratched the back of his head, his tousled look gave off a carefree vibe, as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite the weight of his responsibilities. the slight rumple only added to the charm.

his lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile as he caught the look in your eyes, momentarily lost in them—so damn predictable. he had you right where he wanted you.

JASON TODD

leaning against a doorway

jason todd stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed yet undeniably intimidating. his arms were crossed over his chest, biceps flexing slightly with the movement, a stance that spoke of quiet confidence and a hint of defiance. his shoulders were broad, his body leaning casually against the doorframe, but there was an edge to him—something hard and unyielding beneath the surface. the way his weight shifted ever so slightly to one side gave him an almost effortless air, as if the world had to adjust to him, not the other way around.

his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in everything with a sharp focus, though he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move or speak. the leather jacket he adorned hung from his frame, the subtle creases and folds of the material giving it an air of worn-in familiarity, like it had seen too much for too long. but his gaze—intense, guarded—never left your figure, as if he was watching for something just out of reach, something that only he could sense.

the way jason held himself in the doorway, arms crossed with a hint of tension in his posture, felt like a silent challenge for most, though there was nothing overtly aggressive about it. it was just the quiet power of a man who was used to being underestimated, a man who didn't need to say a word to command attention.

wearing a shirt that fits just right

he moved through the motions of his training with practiced precision, the rhythm of his strikes steady and controlled. his black shirt clung to his body, the dark fabric stretching over the defined muscles of his chest and back as he moved. the fit was snug, highlighting the sheer strength in his frame, the subtle curve of his biceps flexing with each punch and kick.

swaet began to bead on his forehead, trailing down his temple as he focused on his technique, his breathing steady despite the exertion. the shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders, rode up slightly as his arms reached high, the lines of his stomach momentarily visible as he performed another series of rapid, forceful punches. his torso flexed, muscles tightening and releasing with each movement, and the shirt seemed to accentuate the sculpted definition of his body.

as he paused, catching his breath, the shirt clung even tighter, the movement of his chest beneath it noticeable with every rise and fall of his breath. jason didn’t seem to notice—or care—how the fit of the shirt left little to the imagination. his focus was on the work, on pushing himself further, but the way the fabric outlined his form only added to the unspoken intensity of his presence. even when he wasn't speaking, his body did all the talking.

Dress - Jason Todd

Synopsis: Jason loves your dress, so much so that he wants to take it off. (loosely based on the song 'dress' by taylor swift)

Warnings: very suggestive but no smut

"The black dress or the red dress?" You hold up the two options on their hangers, staring down your boyfriend. He's smiling softly with eyebrows raised.

"You'll look good in either one, baby." Jason Todd doesn't mind which one you wear, as long as he knows he'll be taking the dress of choice off at the end of the night. That's one of the only reasons he bought them for you in the first place. Easy zips up the back, stretchy material. It all made it a lot easier for him when it was his turn to undress you.

"Can you please just help me pick?" you're far more stressed than you should be, taking every single one of Bruce's galas way to seriously and if it was up to Jason, the both of you would just stay in tonight. Regardless, he stands from his place on the couch, long legs closing the distance between you, then Jason takes the black dress off your hands, draping it over his shoulder.

"The red one."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go get changed." Jason kisses your temple then, before giving your shoulder a gentle push with two fingers, leaving you to go get ready. Once your gone he places the black dress over the arm of his chair, and waits for you. He remembers buying it, seeing it in a shop window and thinking about just how good you would look. He remembers the red one too, his personal favorite.

When you return to the room, Jason's hands itch to touch you, and lucky for him, you need him too.

"Can you zip me up?" You turn, showing him the undone back of the red dress and he's standing up again in moments, trying to hide his shit-eating grin.

"Love this dress," he mumbles, so quiet you almost don't hear him. His hands slip into the open back of the dress, sliding around to the bare skin of your stomach.

"If you love it so much, you can help me put it on." Jason can feel the laugh that vibrates through your words as his hands move back to slide up and down your ribs.

"I'd rather help you take it off." he peppers soft kisses over your shoulder, but before you can respond he zips up your dress with one swift motion. "You ready to go?" he asks, as if his previous comment didn't just make your knees weak.

You turn to look at him, a knowing look on your face. He winks back, and if you weren't late to Bruce's gala already, you would have taken him right up to the bedroom.

"let's go," you say, and you can tell that's not the answer Jason wants to hear. You watch his adams apple bob, and move forward to grab his hand, ignoring the horny puppy eyes he gives you on the way out the door.

-

The gala was bustling with life by the time you got there, but no amount of people bumping into Jason, asking to speak with him, could take his attention away from you. You looked better in this dress than he could have ever imagined, and he was having a hard time keeping his cool.

You'd gone over to the bar to get a drink, leaving Jason to fend for himself against the masses of tuxedo clad men surrounding him, but he'd be damned if he could bring his eyes away from your legs. He was trying his best to focus on other things—like your hips for example—but he was losing the fight.

Jason is trying to come up with ways he can politely excuse himself from the circle of people he's found himself in when you lock eyes with him from across the room. Drink in hand, you cross your legs on the barstool you sit on, and Jason is practically salivating.

"Fuck." it comes out as a whisper but the woman beside him, who had been discussing business ventures outside of Gotham, looks in Jason's direction, startled.

"Excuse me, young man?"

Jason ignores the her, his feet carry him in your direction without so much as a goodbye to the somewhat confused gathering he left behind.

"You don't know what you're doing to me." He leans in close to say it, one hand on your thigh as he whispers in your ear. His heart is racing, and he's sure yours must be too, with how sensitive you are to his touch.

"If you can't handle the dress, then you shouldn't have picked it." You slide your hands into the back pockets of Jason's trousers, pulling him closer. He almost growls, and the bartender turns a blind eye to the both of you.

"Let me take you home," Jason sounds desperate. "please."

"We haven't even been here an hour, Jay."

He removes his hand from your thigh, registering the way you shuffle on the stool in anticipation. Now Jason knows he's not the only one that wants to be doing other things.

"C'mon baby," he steps forward, lowering his head so it's level with the sweet spot on your neck. "let me be good to you." the words are muffled as he speaks them into the skin on your neck, kissing you there to punctuate his sentence.

He's so convincing, and you almost forget your at an event. A very public, and classy event. You're sure Jason has forgotten already, hands running over your sides in anticipation as you look around the room.

"Jay," you don't know what you're going to say, so you leave it at that. Just his name, hanging in the air between you to be interpreted in a thousand different ways.

"Is that a yes?" Jason asks, leaning back to look at you. He knows the look in your eyes all too well, and he's won. He knows it.

"Let's go home." You've been defeated, worn down by Jason's charm yet again.

He moves behind you, placing his hands on your hips as you lead the way out of Bruce's gala and into the cold night air. It's nice to feel the cool breeze on your flushed skin, especially when Jason turns you around. He kisses you quickly once you're facing him, nose bumping messily with his as he guides your lips toward his own.

His hands roam up your back towards where the zip resides on the dress. "Wait till we get home." You mumble against his lips, somewhat preoccupied with the kiss.

Jason doesn't want to wait, doesn't know if he can, but he'll do whatever you tell him. He's wrapped around your finger, something he can't deny, but tonight it's worse than ever. He pulls back from the kiss, eyes, glazed over with lust.

"I know I said I wanted to take this off," he pulls at the ruby red fabric of your dress, hand travelling down between your legs. "But I'm thinking it should stay on, just for tonight."

"Jason Peter Todd," you're voice is breathy and fast, the use of his full name making his mind run laps. "get in the car right now, and take me home."

Jason grins, pleased with himself. "Yes ma'am."

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!!

JASON TODD TAGLIST: @princessbl0ss0m @unofficial-jaytodd-wife @eternltys

Who Needs Heaven? : Safe & Sound

jason todd x fem!reader

aka your daughters learn what happened to jason

warnings: nonspecific discussions on how jason died

(1) the drop-in

The sound of water splashing under toy boats and fish fills the small room.

You ring the washcloth out over the suds, Rory’s idle hands scooping up the excess. She entertains herself with the slowly dissolving bubbles between her fingers as you fill up your cup.

“Put your head back,” you tell her, nudging her forehead.

She does, squeezing her eyes shut.

You pour the cup of water over her head, combing through her hair. You refill the cup again as she pipes up. 

“Mommy,” she says with a casual lull in her voice. 

You pour it out again, making sure to rinse the shampoo at her roots, “Hm?”

Her hand comes up to wipe the stream from off her forehead, “How did daddy get that scar?” 

“Well, daddy has lots of scars,” you say carefully. “You know that.”

She shakes her head, “Littler scars. He has a big one though, right here.” 

She points up and down her torso. 

“What happened?”

You take a breath, eyes focused on the dissolving suds. “What happened…”

She continues on, “He said scars come from when you get hurt and the bigger ones are bigger hurts. How did he get such a big hurt?”

“Um...” She’s quite young to hear that story, especially coming from you. Your older daughters have an awareness of what happened, though it’s never been formally discussed. You think Mia knows what the autopsy scar is and the twins definitely know he died at the very least. You’ve been made aware that there’s been…discussions at school about who their dad is and how he one day died and then years later magically reappeared. You and Jason had decided that you would talk to them about it eventually, but only when they were old enough to not be completely traumatized hearing it.

You just hadn’t assumed that day would creep up on you like this.

You sit back, tense. “Did you ask him that?”

“No…” she says gravely. “I don’t wanna make him sad.”

You nod, trying to collect your thoughts. How can you steer away from this without attracting more questions? 

“Do you know what happened?” she asks, scanning your face.

You do your best to reset your expression to neutral.

You start without really knowing where the sentence is going, “We…we can talk about it later…”

Rory tilts her head, “Not now?”

You shake yours, “Not right now.”

That’s enough to appease her curiosity for the rest of the bath, but you know with that one, it won’t last long.

You’d gotten her dressed and sent her on her way, but your mind stayed heavy the whole time.

You walk downstairs slowly, hands still damp from the bath. As you turn the corner from the stairs you find Jason, reading contentedly by himself in the living room.

You cross the room without hesitation, climbing into the spot next to him on the couch. He doesn’t need to look up, only adjusts the position of his arm so its draped over you, pulling you into his side.

“So…” you start, “Rory was asking about your scar..”

He turns away from the book, looking at you with serious eyes. “What did she say?”

“She wants to know how you got it,” you tell him. “I didn’t tell her, but she didn’t want to ask you either.”

“Why not?” He asks quickly, face brimming with anxiety.

You shake your head, calming his worries. “She said she didn’t want to make you sad.”

He relaxes a bit at that, taking in the information.

You break the silence after a minute, quietly telling him, “I think it might be time to talk about it.”

He looks dejected, eyes on the floor. “They’re still little..”

“I’m not saying tell them everything right now, just…acknowledge it.”

“I don’t—” He sighs, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell them that.”

You think for a moment, nodding. 

“Tell them how you told me. Just…more kid words.”

He still looks resigned at the idea so you continue, “You know how to talk to them. Just tell them what you want them to hear. They’ll listen.”

He nods, eyes low. “Okay…”

You stand up, and he grabs your hand as you rise, pulling himself up too.

You give each other one more confirming look before calling up the stairs, “Girls? Come here.”

There’s a ten second delay before a scuttle of footsteps starts down the staircase, arriving with a low-liveliness, nearly bedtime energy amongst them.

The second you’re within sight of them, they’re keen that something’s not right.

“What’s going on?” 

“Is—”

“Everything’s alright. Nothing’s wrong,” you tell them. “We just want to talk to you for a minute.”

Your words don’t do much to ease their minds, but after a moment they slowly gather onto a single couch. They’re all squished in together and Rory’s half on top of Anna and Laine, the latter of which can barely move. Still, there’s no complaints to be heard, only an air of seriousness throughout the room. 

Jason clears his throat, though he has trouble looking at them, the easier option seeming to be the carpeted floor. 

“Alright,” he starts with a deep breath. “So my, uh, my Y scar…”

The air in the room drops the second the words are out, the girls all quiet and listening closely. You can tell this is something they’d been wondering about for a long time.

“When I was younger and I’d just started doing the, uh, special job my brothers and Bruce do…” He takes another breath, “Some things happened that shouldn’t have and I got hurt..”

“What things?” Ryan asks.

“I…I got tricked by a bad guy and…I just got hurt.”

It’s uncharacteristic for the girls to all look so dejected and serious like this. Goes to show that you were right—they do have an understanding of what happened.

Anna is the first to pipe up. 

“Did you die?”

“Anna—”

“It’s alright,” Jason interrupts. He collects himself before eking out, “Um…yeah, I-I did.”

He’s still stuck on those words and you have to silently push for him to keep talking, so as to not give their imaginations time to run wild.

He takes the hint, stuttering, “But, um, it’s complicated, but I came back and—”

Laine interrupts this time, almost teary-eyed.

“Are you going to die again?”

Jason shakes his head quickly, “No. No, honey, not for a long time.”

It’s quiet for a moment as they process, sorting through the details into something their minds can understand.

Rory looks on edge, wide-eyed, as she asks, “Are you a ghost?”

“No, sweetheart,” Jason answers calmly with a shake of his head. 

That seems to calm her anxiety more than anything else.

“Are you better now?” Laine asks. 

Jason nods, “Yeah, I’m a lot better now.”

Ryan looks skeptical at the choice of words. “How did you…get better?”

He takes a shaky breath, “Well…your mommy helped me a lot. And then you helped me some more. And now…now I’m all healed.”

None of them seem to really understand, but they accept the answer anyways.

The next question is from Anna. 

“Is the bad guy in jail now?” 

Jason only momentarily stutters in his response, but pulls it together nicely. 

“It’s not something you need to be worried about. I promise. Nothing like that’s going to happen again to me or you or anyone.” 

This appears to appease most of the concerns flying around in their heads. 

He continues, “We can talk about it more when you get older, but…

You take the queue, nodding Rory and Lainey your way. 

“Let’s go get ready for bed, okay?”

You nudge the younger two upstairs, who, to your surprise, go without resistance.

You give Jason one last glance before heading up the stairs, happy to see him much more relaxed than he was at the start of this conversation.

He’s left downstairs with his eldest three girls, each nearly bursting at the seams full of their thoughts and questions. 

Jason thumps down on the couch between them, a heavy breath following.

The trio watch him quietly for a moment before Anna speaks.   

“I know what it is,” she tells him somberly. He looks at her with more melancholia than he would’ve hoped for.

She continues, “There’s autopsies on my show sometimes.”

Right, her show. The X-Files.

Jason nods, a bit remiss at the idea that she knows.

From his other side, Ryan pipes up. 

“Did it hurt?”

He shakes his head, “No, I-I wasn’t…” 

Wasn’t alive. He doesn’t want to say that, though. 

Ryan nods, understanding anyways. “Did it hurt when you died?”

He hesitates before answering, wavering between lying to protect their minds and telling them the truth. In the end, he decides that you’re right, they can handle it in small measures. 

“Yeah. It did, a little,” he confesses. ”But like I said, that’s not going to happen again.”

From behind Ryan, Mia speaks so softly Jason almost misses her words. 

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at her, brow furrowed. “For what?” 

“That that happened to you,” she says. Her eyes are filled with an equal sadness to his and it breaks his heart. Even more so that her words are so clearly meant sincerely.

“Oh.”

It’s all he can manage to say.

He was only a little older than Mia when his life had been taken away from him and he’d been forced to reset everything he ever knew. And now, all these years later, he sits here surrounded by his children, his world that he was given a second chance to create. His children that don’t see a monster when they look at him, don’t see the scarred giant that he sees. They just see their dad. 

When they were still young they’d started getting almost excited whenever they got a scar from playing too hard because it made them more like him. It took Jason years to just bear the thought of his scars, but his girls look at them like art. Even when they know he got them in bad ways, they pour out nothing but affection. No disgust, no fear, no hate. Just love.

His eyes close and his face falls in his hands, overwhelmed by the idea of his children being such angels, despite being products of him.

“Dad? Are you okay?” 

He nods, face still covered. His voice is muffled as he says, “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, I just, um…” 

His words die off with little fight, and when his hands drop his eyes are red. 

Anna, who’s usually compulsed to only touch emotion with a ten-foot pole, is the first to wrap her arms around him, holding him tight. The gesture takes him by surprise, especially from her, and he tenses briefly before deflating like a balloon. Mia and Ryan are quick to follow suit, basically dog-piling over his opposite shoulder.

“It’s okay, dad. We love you. And your scars,” Ryan tells him. 

Oh, they think he’s sad.

Hell, thirteen years ago he would’ve thought he was sad. He only started to understand his feelings after his first daughter was born. He doesn’t tell them he’s not sad, doesn’t tell them that he’s crying because life slapped him around and then gave him everything he could ever want five times over. 

Instead, he just nods, pulling them impossibly closer.

who’s your fav daughter

Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes and Tim sits atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges past them to the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

It’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He wouldn’t mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stay behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out,” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason kept his head down as he blindly reached for the spoon in his cereal and chucked it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work,” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think,” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

✨ reblog fics or face the block button ✨

I feel like boyfriend!jason would love watching you do your nightly routine, specifically when you go about your skincare.

He’ll lean on the doorway, broad arms crossed and bulging against his tee. His plump lips curl into a tiny smile as he watches your reflection in the mirror.

After cleansing, you apply your lengthy lineup of serums and toners. You didn’t use them every night, but every so often you’d go all out. Jason’s emerald eyes glint with a look of fascination. He adored seeing your natural, stripped-down self; a version of you not many people got to see. He felt special that he got to.

Jason may have been a bit obsessive with making sure you were taken care of. So he loved to see you taking some time to pamper yourself with your little skincare routine.

“You takin’ care of that pretty face, baby?” He pushes off the doorway and moves behind you. You feel his large hands slide up your arms to rest on your shoulders. Jason starts gently massaging, thumbs pressing into your muscles.

You sigh at the comforting sensation, and meet his gaze in the mirror. You can’t help but smile. “Mhm. You like watching?”

“You know I do. Love seeing you spending time on yourself..” He pecks a kiss to the top of your head. “Look at you, you’re glowing.” He trails kisses down your neck and you squirm in delight, his lips tickling your skin.

“Jason!” You squeal. He pulls back reluctantly, going back to watching you with a smile of content.

As you finish up your routine, a sudden idea pops into your head. You turn to face Jason with an excited grin.

“Can I use my skincare on you?”

Jason watches your eyes light up at the idea, and immediately he’s fucked. He can’t say no to you.

He laughs, “Why not.”

You’re then perched up on the counter, preparing your favorite hydrating serum and moisturizer for Jason. He stood in front of you, hands instinctively resting on your thighs as you lifted the dropper of the serum. Jason’s whole body relaxed, eyes fluttering shut, feeling you gently work the serum into his skin.

“Mm.. feels good, sweetheart.” He hums gently, opening his eyes for a second to look at you before closing them again.

Your fingers worked in circular motions as you went in with the moisturizer, being careful around any newer scars.

Jason’s heart swelled with emotion, skin tingling where you touched him so tenderly. Nobody ever went out of their way to care for him like you did. He felt he didn’t deserve you. You were too good—too sweet.

He was always so worried about making sure you were cared for, he sometimes neglected his own needs. But, you were always right there to remind him he deserved love and care too.

Under his closed lids, Jason felt his eyes water at the thought.

He knew right then—he was never letting you go.

Thinking about how Jason Todd can't deny you in sex. When you beg to come he doesn't even think about keeping it from you, when you whine to touch him and he leans closer to you, when he eats you out for so long and you cry for his dick he tells you one more and then he'll give you everything you want. When you ask to ride him until he gets or when you want him to pin you down and rut into you from behind why say no? Why would he ever want to keep anything from you when you look so pretty, moan so loud, and praise him so much. How could he possibly ever want to deny you when you look at him like he's your world.