Jason Todd And Kisses

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges. 

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently. 

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways. 

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung. 

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen. 

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.  

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that. 

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat. 

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch. 

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth. 

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing, 

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to. 

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it. 

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance. 

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands. 

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now. 

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.  

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.  

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot. 

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to. 

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated. 

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out. 

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly. 

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.                    

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?” 

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement. 

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.  

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered. 

“I love you too, baby. So much.”

🦟 if you don't reblog things i'm actively sending bad vibes your way 🦟 and maybe also a plague

warnings ! — SMUT, fem!reader, size difference, dirty talk, maledom

summary ? — jason shouldn’t be this big.

౿ . . ` ౨ৎ ENJOY ‼️

jason shouldn't be this big.

his hands that could crush your waist if he put a little more effort into them; his torso that you love to kiss every chance you get; his back that gets new red streaks from your fingernails almost every day; his fingers that stretch you so well and press against your sensitive walls so hard that you arch your back even more; his cock, my god, his cock...

sometimes you feel like it was made perfectly for you; the way it fills you feels so incredible you want to cry.

“such a responsive babygirl,” jason murmurs as he leaves kisses on your breast, “takin’ me so well,” he nibbles on your nipple as he pushes even deeper and you're almost thrown up on the spot.

his palms squeeze your waist, digging his short nails into your skin; you whimper as he makes another thrust. you swear it's todd that makes you feel so full.

one of his palms rests on your belly; he quickens his pace and presses against the spot below your navel. “you feel it, princess?” whispers jason, biting his lower lip, “i'm so fuckin’ deep inside you.”

jason shouldn't be this big.

but he is, and he uses it all too skillfully.

abt me | m.lists | inbox 📨 (reqs are open)

oh my gosh

I am in LOVE with your jason todd writing. You just write him so well 🥲

i have scoured the internet for thigh riding jason (because ya know hes KING of thunder thighs) and couldnt find a single one 😔

just thinking thots ab this mans meaty thighs and riding one

Pairing - Jason Todd X (F) Reader Words - 1.4k Warnings - SMUT 18+ - Thigh Riding - Praise!Kink - Swearing - Dirty Talk. Notes - No thoughts, just Jason Todd and his thick ass thighs. I’ve been wanting to write thigh riding for a while now so thanks my darling anon!! I hope you enjoy 😉

**

You’ve got that look in your eye again.

That one you get just before you say something that takes him to pieces–a teasing glint that flashes white hot at your pupil and spreads out like goddamn wildfire. You get a faint quirk at the edges of your mouth, a slight tug of a smirk on your lips and the sight of you, glittering and halfway to electric never fails to make his stomach drop straight through to his feet.

You’re leaning against the kitchen counter, watching attentively as he gears up for patrol. That no good look still flashes in your eye, but you manage to do a decent job of keeping it off your face–if Jason didn’t know you as well as he did, he wouldn’t know you’re about to suggest something obscene, something outlandish.

“Jason,” You almost purr, making him pause, fingers hovering over the clips to his weapons holsters. Looking up, he catches your gaze across the kitchen and swallows thickly when you hold his stare–refusing to let it go until you’ve said what you want to. “My pretty boy–”

He can’t help it, his brain short-circuits at the praise, stutters and freezes in place.

You push off the counter with an amused huff, wicked mouth twitching into a threatening grin. There's a firm confidence to the way you walk, a predator stalking prey. He knows he looks like an idiot, a deer caught in blinding headlights, but he can’t deny that you look powerful–goddamn fucking beautiful.

He thinks he might catch fire when you touch him, press your palm to his heaving, armour covered chest and shove.

You don’t stop there, you keep going, force him to backpedal until the backs of his legs nudge the sofa. You smile, smoothing your palm from his broad chest upwards, sweep your nimble fingers over the thick, fluttering vein in his neck to settle heavy along his jawline.

“Jay,” You say again, leaning in close enough to ghost your lips over his chin. “Lemme ride your thigh.”

His breath hitches in his throat.

His cock jumps.

“Sweetheart,” He tries, struggling to speak past the lump in his throat. “Baby, please. I’ve got patrol, I don’t have time.”

Your hands press insistently into his shoulders, holding him down. Jason knows he could overpower you, already has three ways planned out on how to have you flat on your back in a few blinding seconds. It wouldn’t take much. He thinks of flexing his hips and throwing you off, having you spread out underneath him, legs parted so he can slot between them and ruin you.

Jason can be patient. Can bide his time. Wait for you to have your fun and enjoy the intoxicating thrill of being in control before it takes it away again.

But he can’t quite ignore the way he fattens up in his boxers, blood rushing to his cock and making it twitch, ache, fucking throb at the sight of you.

“But Jay, your thighs are so thick. I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” You drag the length of your pussy over his leg. He feels the heat coming off you through his tactical pants and he wants to moan. “You’re not going to deny me this, are you? I can see how hard you are.”

“Fucking shit!” Jason croaks, throwing his head back. “Are you tryin’ to kill me?”

He wants to jerk off, wants to wrap his fist around his cock and pump it hard and fast until he empties his heavy, aching balls. He wants to wrestle you off his leg and bury himself in your slink cunt, maybe teach you a damn good lesson in the process.

Pressing your hips down you rock yourself over the hard muscle and reward him with a sweet little gasp as your clit catches on the fabric. It makes him feel dizzy, almost like he’s waking up with a concussion minus the blinding pain. Grabbing you by the hips he guides you over his thigh, flexing it just right as you pass over it, dragging another quiet sound from your mouth.

“D’that again.” You whimper, fingers tightening over his broad shoulders.

Jason watches as your composure shakes–dissolves right before his eyes. Something dark fights itself awake in his gut, blinks its eyes open and starts cataloguing all the ways to recover control, slip it from your clever fingers and choke you with it.

“Do what again?” Jason grins, looking up at you and cocking his head slightly. “This?”

Flexing his thigh as you drag your wet little clit over it your breath stutters, pupils blowing out with a violent wave of lust. Jason adores that look on your face, halfway to unhinged, neck deep in desperation. He loves it even more because he put it there.

“Y-yes.” You stutter, eyes rolling back into your skull.

Settling into an easy rhythm of back and forth you make sure to catch your swollen, sticky pussy on every dip and groove of his thigh. Jason tightens his grip on your waist, forcing you to rock against him harder, faster.

“Can’t believe you’re making me late for this.” Jason mutters, pressing his mouth along your jaw. “Makin’ me late because you want to rub your greedy pussy on my thigh.”

He listens to your heart skip, memorises the frantic beat so he can replay it later when you’re worn out and sleeping. Pressing wet kisses along the hinge of your jaw he smooths his hands around your back, sweeps the pads of his fingers over your spine.

“But Jay, please.” You whine, breathless, “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages, been thinking of riding your thigh for months. They’re so fuckin’ thick.”

Jason huffs into the crook of your neck, thrusting his thigh against your cunt, “Is that so?”

“Mmhm. S’not fair having to watch you strap on those holsters, it makes ‘em look so good. The amount of times I’ve wanted to bite them–” Your words taper off into a moan, mouth parted as Jason drags his teeth over your pulse point.

“Y’should have said something sooner, sweetheart. Could’a had you cumming over ‘em like a whore before now.”

He feels your steady motions falter, posture changing ever so slightly to allow you to focus on grinding your twitching little clit against his thigh. Jason knows you’re getting close, can sense your incoming orgasm almost as well as he can sense his own. Moaning desperately your legs shake, eyelids fluttering shut as you drag yourself up to the very edge.

“Fuckin’ christ, are you gonna come?” Jason asks, already knowing the answer. “Really? From this? From rubbing yourself on my thigh?”

“Uh–shit. Yes, m’gonna come.” You whine, twisting your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Jay–fuck–I’m so close.”

He feels you trembling, throat working hard as you swallow and pant out whimpering whines of his name. He knows you’re a hair-trigger away from exploding, from gushing over his thigh and drenching his tactical pants. Jason knows he’ll need to change before leaving. He can’t go out with your come smeared across his thigh.

“Oh baby,” He coos against your throat, “Come for me. Be a good girl, soak my thigh.”

A silent shudder works through your body, starts at your legs and bleeds through to your fingers. Your voice shakes and cracks as you come, pussy contracting wildly against Jason's leg. Sucking a dark mark over your fluttering pulse Jason guides you through your climax, keeping the pressure on your pretty pussy until it stops twitching.

You move to pull away and swing yourself off his thigh. He knows you’re doing it to let him leave, but he’s not quite ready to let you go, still wants to prove that he’s the one in control of the situation. So Jason grabs your hips, keeps you pinned.

“I think you’ve got another in you.” He smiles, all dangerous and threatening at the edges. “M’not letting you move your wet cunt until you come again sweetheart, I’ve decided I quite like having you grinding yourself on my thigh, it’s a very pretty view.”

Your eyes widen and he sees it then, that quick flash of ‘oh fuck’ over your face. You’ve been wanting to ride his thigh for months, and Jason can’t be blamed for wanting to make up for lost time.

**

☆ 18+ minors dni ☆

Frat!Jason Todd who was Vice President of Epsilon Theta Alpha. He had joined the frat when he was a freshmen and even though his rough and tough demeanour suggested otherwise, he was probably one of the most rule-abiding of the frat. But just because he was rule abiding didn’t mean he wasn’t an arrogant little shit

Frat!Jason Todd who began dating you literally a month into freshman year. He waved off your concerns that freshman relationships never lasted and promised then and there in the dining hall that he would put a ring on your finger the moment they threw their caps at graduation

Frat!Jason Todd who knew what he wanted and wasn’t going to let something as simple as ‘not knowing you for long’ get in his way

Frat!Jason Todd who brought you around the frat house so much that you became an integral part. Dick Grayson, the President of Epsilon Theta Alpha, even began to think of you as a sister

Frat!Jason Todd who loved how your relationship grew throughout the years. It didn’t matter if it was freshman year or senior year, he stayed by your side religiously and loved you all the same

Frat!Jason Todd who would get grumpy when he couldn’t see you for a while and everyone in the frat noticed it

Frat!Jason Todd who, for example, stayed at university during winter break freshman year and just pouted and whined the entire time. He called you every day, even though, at that point, you two had only been together a month or two

Frat!Jason Todd who was so relieved when you returned to campus and the next year (and every year after) you would take him home to spend the holidays with you and your family to save yourself from the grumpy boyfriend he would become when separated from you

Frat!Jason Todd who was very proud that your family loved him and he always returned back to the frat ladened with leftovers and sweets

Frat!Jason Todd who was also pretty big on working out. You had been hesitant at first, because of the stereotypical gym bros, but you soon came to appreciate his physique

Frat!Jason Todd who cajoled you into laying either on his back or under him whenever he was doing push ups. If he wanted you to lay on top of him, it was always, “but baby, I need a challenge. Push ups just aren’t doing it anymore. And if I have my darling girlfriend laying on me, then I get snuggles and a workout.” Sometimes, you read while feeling his muscles bend and contract underneath you as he worked, but other times you just held on and pressed lazy kisses to his skin. Whenever he wanted you to lay under him, there was never much complaining from you. You happily laid on the floor and gave him a quick kiss every time he descended. “Love you,” you would mutter and he would grin and reply with his own love

Frat!Jason Todd who also loved to play wrestle. Neither of you ever knew how it would start, but you would find yourself giggling and trying to tackle Jason on the floor. Of course, he would likely let you win, but there were always a couple of times when he would just flip you over and let out a pretend roar before smothering you with kisses

Frat!Jason Todd who didn’t mind that the play wrestling usually ended in hickeys and love bites

Frat!Jason Todd who wasn’t as much of a book nerd as other variants. He maybe was an English minor, but not a major. Whether that was just because he felt as if a frat guy shouldn’t be an English major, or he just preferred his major (pre-law), no one really knew. Jason confessed to you one night, late freshman year, that he wanted to go into law to help those who were growing up like he did. He wanted to fight against big corporations that kept kids confined to Crime Alley and he wanted to fight for the mothers and fathers who were getting swindled out of their homes

Frat!Jason Todd who much preferred to stay up in his room with you then go down to the party raging on the first floor of the frat. It had become a routine: lock the door (you two had learned that the hard way after a wayward couple barged in one time looking for a place to bang. Jason had promptly kicked them out with some well placed swearing and slammed the door behind them), fill the popcorn bowl, and settle in with a movie

Frat!Jason Todd who, however, every once in a while, would venture downstairs with you under his arm and indulge in a little partying. He would pour you a tiny amount of alcohol into a cup if you wished, but never drank a drop himself. Even if he was part of a frat, he was still the same Jason with the brutal memories of parents who hit or screamed when inflicted by alcohol. That didn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy a bit of beer or wine in private with you, but he wanted to stay vigilant around others who were drunk

Frat!Jason Todd who’s favourite thing to do at parties was dance. More specifically, watch you dance. He would stay right next to you, holding your hands or your hips as you sang along to the music. His eyes would never leave you, trailing up and down your body along with his hands. Another activity he liked whenever there was a party was to crowd you into a corner, arms braced by your head and just make out. He loved that bit of voyeurism, but would never take it farther than kisses when it came to you. He was incredibly protective and didn’t want to share you with anyone else

Frat!Jason Todd who was a very inconsistent lover. Let’s explain: he clearly loved you a lot and had told you a million times over. He wanted to pleasure you as such, so sometimes he took his sweet time with you that left you very impatient. Other times, however, he saw a guy checking you out and couldn’t help but bruise your hips as his slammed his own into you later that night

Frat!Jason Todd who, nonetheless, expressed his love in any way he could. Unbeknownst to you, he had bought a ring over the summer of sophomore and junior year and kept it locked in the top drawer of his nightstand

Frat!Jason Todd who, true to his promise, instead of throwing his cap at graduation, had found you in the crowd and immediately got down on one knee

Frat!Jason Todd who was crying when you said yes

Don’t Let Go 18+

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, very slight smut at the end 🚨

Notes: blah blah blah, my man my man my man 🫠

Jason holds your hand whenever he sees yours shake.

Any time you go to order at a restaurant, the words coming out stuttered and wobbly as you try to tell the waiter what you want, his hand finds your. Rough callouses holding your softer skin under the table, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

"You got this, princess."

Visiting his family at Bruce’s mansion (he insisted you call him Bruce) was no different. You sat through the fancy dinner, listening to Jason’s brothers try and tell you as many embarrassing stories as they could. He’d squeeze your hand when you laughed.

Then in the quiet, and not so quiet, moments in your bedroom. Jay’s body over yours, his eyes trained on your blissed out face as he rocked his hips into you. “Good girl. Good girl, mama.” Anchoring you, keeping you from drifting off on whatever cloud of pleasure he was creating, his hand in yours to remind you he was there.

Who Needs Heaven? : The Drop-In

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason meets his daughters

warnings: it’s not specific if the kids are bio or adopted — this probably doesn’t make sense on multiple fronts but i DON’T CARE

see for: the vibes

(2) safe & sound

His body jolts like he’s snapping out of sleep. The first thing he processes is loud conversations echoing, the sound of young girls talking over each other. He surveys over a book in his hands that he’s never heard of, though it’s opened more than halfway through and considerably worn. He drops the book to the side, coming to a stand and scanning over the environment. 

He looks around the adorned living room, taking in details rapidly. He doesn’t recognize the house he’s in but he can tell it’s somewhere he definitely does not belong. The room is filled with books on shelves and picture frames are littered in every free spot in between. The lights are warm and the furniture is colorful with pillows and blankets strewn all over. It’s a stark contrast to the refined stoic Manor he’s so used to; there’s a distinct feeling of homeliness and warmth that seeps through the walls.

He creeps into the front entryway to the house as quietly as he can, peering up the staircase to the landing above for any signs of familiarity or danger. From his right, a girl comes darting into the space, running face first into Jason. He immediately reaches out to steady her but she shows no sign of disruption. She makes a point of holding the wrapped popsicle in her hand away, keeping it safe. She blinks up at him before taking off past him, calling out, “Sorry, dad!”

Dad?

“Anna, I swear to God—” Another girl of similar age runs past, paying him no mind.

He gapes after her, thoroughly confused. Where the hell is he?

“Daddy?” He turns around and looks down to a younger girl who looks about six at most. She stares up at him with wide eyes and freckled cheeks. “Are you okay?”  

He can’t think.

This isn’t…this can’t be real. It can’t be. This is a dream. He got knocked out. He’s hallucinating. He’s dying.

He tries to keep his breath steady as this little girl peers up at him with curious eyes. “Daddy?”

He opens his mouth, struggling to find words, let alone get them out. “Where…where’s your mom?” He can barely make out his own voice.

“She’s in your room,” she tells him, looking up the stairs. 

He treds up the stairs slowly, the chatter downstairs barely getting any quieter. The second floor seems deserted in terms of the presence of children. If, if this were real (or more likely, a dream) you’ll be here somewhere. There’s no scenario where he’d ever imagine a life in a big house with a big family without you—subconsciously or otherwise. 

Several doors line the wide hallway, most of them open. He peers in the room closest to the top of the staircase, finding a heartily decorated bedroom with two twin beds. Polaroids and movie posters litter the walls and clothes are strewn across on top of the bed covers and in a few small piles on the floor. An orange lava lamp illuminates the room from a desk, shining off the glossy cover of magazines. Above, sports medals dangle off the wall against a white board, a scribbled on game of hangman midway through. A full-length mirror covered in stickers along the edges reflects a bookshelf across the room, dozens of books stuffed on each shelf. He blinks vacantly, pulling back from the doorway and continuing on.

He continues on down the right side of the hallway, passing up a bathroom and a closet before peering into the next room. It also has two beds, but it’s filled with remnants of young children. A small table with a tea set laid out on top sits in the middle of the room with various princess dresses draped across the short chairs. Pink bed sheets and butterfly-filled curtains joined by toy cars lined against the wall and strings of pink starry lights hanging from the ceiling. Both beds have stuffed animals arranged in thoughtful piles. It takes Jason a moment to notice the tattered, worn elephant with the green polka dot tie on the bed with the Cinderella comforter. Pickles. It was his when he was a kid. It’s placed delicately at the top of the pile, like he’s the king of the crop. A grand dollhouse sticks out against one of the walls, the dolls all lying asleep in their makeshift beds. Fluffy bubblegum and fuschia rugs scatter the floor just enough that you could jump across the room without ever touching the hardwood.

He turns to the last room, a door directly across that’s just cracked open. He can hear light music coming from inside and the almost inaudible shuffle of movement. He pushes the door open cautiously and takes in the sight of a woman, back to the door, folding laundry on the bed. He doesn’t even need to see your whole figure to know that it’s you.

“Sweetheart?” He sounds like he’s out of breath. 

“Yeah?” You turn around with your same kind eyes and gentle disposition. You look older, not much older but your face is more mature. You even hold yourself a little differently. You quickly notice the way he scans you with a look of bewilderment on his face and jump into concern. “What’s wrong?” You drop the shirt that you’re folding on the bed, approaching him with soft steps. Everything feels fuzzy.

“This—this is…” His voice seems far away, this body feels further. “This isn’t real…”

“What? Jay, what are you talking about?” You’re so genuinely concerned about him it makes his heart hurt and does nothing to help clear his head.

His breathing starts to stutter and his eyes can’t pick something to focus on. Everything is telling him that this is a false sense of security, he’s not safe, you’re not safe, everything’s wrong—

“Woah, hey, hey. It’s okay.” You take his face in your hands the way you know tends to ground him. “Catch me up.”

He tries to focus on the sliding clasp of the necklace around your neck. “I…I think this is…” He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to wake up in a few seconds and find that it was all pretend. Instead, he’ll settle for, “...This hasn’t happened…”

You frown at that, tilting your head. “What do you mean?”

He breathes out heavy, “I think I’m dreaming.” 

“What are you dreaming of?” You walk along this train of thought with him, though he has no idea why you would entertain it. This really must be pretend.

“The future…this is…is this the future?” He’s whispering, he’s not even sure if he’s asking you or himself or maybe even God. 

You’re quiet for a minute before you speak again. “Oh,” you say contemplatively, not nearly as alarmed as you should be. You should probably be calling him crazy, right? “This is—you told me about this. Yeah, it had something to do with that clock guy—”

He blinks a few times, “The Clock King?” That does sound…familiar. Was he—he was with Bruce wasn’t he? Or maybe Dick. Both?

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. You said you ‘time traveled’ for a minute...but that was in, like…”

He fills in the blank with the year as he remembers it and your eyes go wide. “Well, this would be a bit of a surprise then.”

“We have kids?”

You laugh, brushing his hair back gently, “Yes. Yes, we definitely do. Five girls.”

“Five?” He breathes.

“Yeah. Wasn’t the plan but…” you shrug easily, “Here we are.” 

He barely stops his next question from coming out of his mouth and replaces it. “Is this something I should be hearing?”

“What?” You tilt your head for a second before realization flashes across your face. “Oh, you don’t end up remembering any of this.” You shrug, mouth scrunched up to the side, “So why not?”

He does really want to hear about them. “Please.” He whispers faintly. 

You nod reposefully, “Okay, well…” you pause, eyes on the ceiling. “Oh, wait.” You dart over to the bookshelf against the wall and pull a book from the second shelf from the top, a large pink photo album.

You shuffle back, guiding him to the bed and sitting thigh to thigh with him and placing the album on your laps. You flip it open to the first page, which displays an array of photos of who must be his daughter.

“This is Mia—Miriam—she’s the oldest. She’s thirteen now, she’s very smart and a sort of a perfectionist. Really a perfectionist.” A couple of her baby pictures were taken in your apartment and it makes his heart absolutely melt to see you as he left you, holding a baby—his baby—with a glowing smile on your face. There’s another photo of her, kindergarten aged, dressed up as Spoiler for halloween. One shows her on a bike with shimmery handlebar streams, Jason holding her steady as she learns. He’s wearing the brightest smile he’s ever seen on his own face.

“Then there’s the twins,” you continue, flipping to the next page. You laugh when his breath hitches at that. “I know. It’s not as scary as it sounds. Well, not now that they’re older. Ryan and Anna.” You point to them as you say their names, and he recognizes them quickly as the two girls that had run past the stairs. The twins look identical, the only discernible difference found in that Ryan is grinning in every picture with a glint in her eyes and Anna nearly always has a stoic look on her face. 

“Ryan is her father’s daughter. She thinks she’s very clever and even more funny, and she is but don’t tell her that, it goes straight to her head.”

There’s a picture that has to be a couple of years old by now of the two of them dressed in what looks like brand new soccer gear. Another depicts one of them chasing Tim with a firework sparkler at dusk. He sees one of Ryan covered in dirt and tiny cuts, smiling big, helmet crooked on her head.

“Anna’s a happy kid, she is. Don’t let her attitude trick you—she just likes to keep her feelings to herself.” Anna’s pictures remind him of Damian in some ways. The very intentional lack of a smile but the happiness still seeps through anyways. One of her pictures has her cuddling with two rottweiler puppies in classic Damian style. Another one shows her a bit older, on Jason’s shoulders, surveying the land.  

You turn to the next page, “And Laine, uh, Elaine,” you smile, “She’s a bit eccentric. She lives in her own world but she’ll bring you into it with her. She likes magic and glitter and offbeat things.” Laine’s pictures leave a particular warmth in his heart. She has the absolute widest smile and the brightest eyes he’s ever seen. One photo shows her having a picnic with several stuffed animals, another has her drawing a rainbow with sidewalk chalk. One picture towards the bottom of the page grabs his eye, one of Laine happily braiding Cass’ short hair at what appears to be the Manor.

“And then the little one is Aurora—Rory,” You turn to a page full of pictures of the wide-eyed girl, who has the sweetest baby face. He can tell from the pictures alone that she has your personality. You point to a picture of her giggling with bubbles all in her hair as you explain, “She’s still small but she has a big heart and a very sensitive soul already.” Jason’s practically staring a hole in the picture of Rory as a newborn in the hospital, held delicately by Bruce.

You play with the hair at the nape of his neck as he processes quietly, letting him take his time.

“They’re happy?” He asks in a whisper.

“We’re happy.” You say affirmingly. He looks you in the eyes and you see a specific vulnerability in his that you haven’t seen in a long time. “You are a good dad, Jay.”

He’s still surprised that you can read him like a book, even though at this point you’d have been together for at least fifteen-some years. His eyes burn and he’s not sure he can keep it together. But you dig the knife in all the same, “They love you. A lot. We couldn’t live without you.”

You flip through until you find a page later in the book, plopping it back open fully. The first picture he takes note of shows him outside with picked flowers scattered in his hair wherever they’ll stay put, Laine and Rory trying to straighten them out. Another is of Anna hesitantly feeding a horse an apple, Jason crouched next to her, reassuring her. On the other page, Rory is mid-air being thrown into an absolutely massive leaf pile, glee adorning her face. He turns the page to find one of the girls with a red hoodie pulled over her head and a makeshift mask made from a red plastic plate with holes cut out for the eyes. One has Mia resting against his back, passed out, as he helps Ryan tie off a friendship bracelet on her wrist.

This isn’t—he doesn’t deserve this. This can’t be true, this is more than a happy ending and he’d never even expected you to love him this long, let alone give him the world and then some. He stares at the page for a while, trying to burn every detail into his head. 

You tear your gaze away from his face to glance at the clock on the side table, muttering, “Oh shit. Hang on.”

His eyes follow you as you stand from the bed and walk across the room to the door, cracking it open a few inches before shouting out, “Bed!”

There’s a brief delay before a clamor starts towards them, all five girls thumping up the stairs.  

You turn back to him, heedfully, “You can stay in here if you want. They’re a little…a lot.” You say tentatively. Well, if there’s anything he’s accustomed to it’s big families with bigger personalities.

Jason lingers behind you as you enter the hallway, looking like a little kid in an unfamiliar place. Whatever conversations were going on downstairs have simply moved location, no urgency present whatsoever to continue on with the progression of the night. You’re trying to verbally corral them towards their respective bedrooms, but it’s a tough job with two clear headed parents on a good day.

He stands frozen in the midst of the clutter of them as they rattle off to you and to each other. He’s scared to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. He doesn’t want to upset or alarm them. But because he is their father, they don’t need him to do anything strange to realize that he’s being strange.

Ryan squints up at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

The question grabs Laine’s attention and she looks to you with wide eyes, “What’s wrong with Dad?”

You shake your head, “Nothing’s—”

“He’s not having a stroke already, is he?” Anna faints, no alarm in her words. Mia thumps the back of her head for that with no returning acknowledgement given by Anna.

Ryan is looking at him like she’s sizing him up. Something you did not get a chance to tell him about Ryan is that she can smell blood in the water like a shark. So it’s not surprising to you that she picks up on Jason’s disoriented state.

“Father?” She calls out sweetly.

You sigh, “Ryan—”

“No, it’s okay. I want to ask dad specifically.” She turns him away from you with a smile. She doesn’t know what’s going on and she doesn’t need to. She’s an opportunist like that. “Could I have the last popsicle?”

Anna cuts in harshly, “You better n—”

“Hey Annie, few notes for ya,” Ryan says with widened eyes and a pointed finger, “One, you shouldn’t interrupt your father, it’s disrespectful,” Anna’s face contorts at that, and she’s about to bite back but she’s cut off quickly by Ryan’s dedication to dishing out her hypocritical sermon. “Two, you shouldn’t interrupt me because it’s potentially the single greatest sin you’ll ever—”

Alright, you gave her a chance to turn it around, she’s done now. “No, you’re all going to bed now and if you’re lucky that popsicle is still there when you get home from school tomorrow.” You tell Ryan with a pointed look. She gives you a half-hearted glare, absolutely nothing compared to her real one. 

“Mom, you said—” Mia throws her hands up as she recounts a promise that you may or may not have given her, it’s anyone’s guess. 

Then Anna starts up, “That’s not fair, I called—”

Rory pipes up from behind you. “We’re supposed to read our story first.”

You inhale sharply, turning to face her, “Oh—” you crouch down to her level, holding her waist. “How about I read it tonight, Rory?”

She frowns, “Daddy always reads it.”

Ryan taps on Jason’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Dad, listen,” she says lowly, like she’s trying to get him in on the deal of the century. “Anna doesn’t deserve it, she’s rooting for you to stroke out—”

You frown at Rory with repentance, “I know sweetheart, but—”

Laine looks quite contemplative as she announces, “It’s unholy to break tradition.”

You scrunch up your face and swivel your head to her, “What?”

This declaration does enough to break Ryan away from her scheme. She turns to her and says flatly, “You haven’t said anything that makes sense in like two weeks.” 

Jason’s mind is going a mile a minute, trying to process the fifteen things that are going on all at once and take in the fact that these are his children. His daughters and they’re so loud and opinionated and bold and he loves it. He thinks this is the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. Hell, he’d take this over heaven a million times over.

“Mom. Mom!” Mia urges, “Can you help me?”

Your head stutters between your daughters, “I—yeah. Rory, just—”

“I can do it.” He says quietly.

“Yeah?” You look up at him, hopefully, genuinely delighted that he wants to jump into this mess without the twelve years of prep that you’re dependent on. 

“Yeah.” He nods, determined and you and Rory smile up at him. Mia all but yanks you up from the floor, pulling you to her room and you can just barely make out Ryan’s hushed murmur of, “I’m getting the popsicle…”

Rory takes Jason’s hand, drowning her own in his. She leads him to the pink bedroom with all the toys, and climbs onto the unicorn bed, shoving all but a few of the stuffed animals onto the floor. Elaine follows close behind and does the same with her own bed, though the only one she keeps is Pickles.

He stands next to the bed a bit awkwardly as she pulls a book off the table next to her, the length of the book easily taking up half her arms. It takes her looking up at him expectantly for him to get the hint, shuffling to squeeze in next to her on the small bed. 

She hands him the book and he regards it with a smile. Little Women. He pauses as he starts to open it, “Where, um…where did we leave off?”

She looks at him funny, smiling like he’s messing with her. She flips the book open a little more than halfway through and stops on chapter fifteen. She presses her pointer finger down to the start of the chapter with a thump. “Right here.”

Jason takes a steadying breath and begins reading in the same soft voice he reads to you in, and it seems to appease both girls. He’s not processing what he’s saying as he sits there with his littlest daughter tucked into his side and hanging on to every last word. He can feel her breathing in and out softly and it all feels so surreal now. 

““I don't think you'll blame me, for I only sold what was my own." As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short.” Rory giggles as Laine gasps, and Jason can feel the rhythm of his heart fluttering in a new way. 

He reads to the end of the chapter and returns the book to its place on the side table, and reluctantly pulls away from Rory, standing up again. He tucks her nicely, if not inexperienced, into the sheets and kisses her forehead. She immediately holds out her toy bear, silently requesting the same treatment for him. Jason kisses the bear too, happily. He does the same for Laine, taking particular note of the way she hugs Pickles to her chest tightly. 

He starts towards the door, but is quickly put to a halt. “Wait,” Laine calls out. He turns back to her wide-eyed, terrified he did something wrong. “The lights,” she says, looking up to the ceiling at the dangling stars. Oh, right. She watches him skeptically as he innocently looks around for the switch, and Rory tilts her head at him, not sure what he’s playing at. 

“It’s right there,” Rory points with a mildly sullen look to where the mechanism dangles near the outlet. Jason quickly flicks the lights on, the soft orange-pink glow of stars illuminating against the walls. Rory’s pleased enough and adjusts to get more comfortable in her bed. 

Laine however, hisses out a, “Hey,” gesturing him towards her. He sidesteps the tea table and comes around to her side of the room, kneeling down by her bed attentively. She glances over at Rory before asking in a hushed voice, “Are you an alien?” 

That, he wasn’t expecting. “...What?” 

She shakes her head reassuringly, “It’s okay, I won’t tell. But um…I would like my dad back eventually please. If that’s okay.”  

His breath stutters and he forces out an, “O—okay.”

She holds out her pinky and it takes him a second to register what she’s asking. He wordlessly pinky promises her and she smiles big, pleased with the agreement.

He stands again, feeling light headed as he heads for the door. 

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Rory murmurs against the pillow, watching him leave.

His gaze flickers back and forth from them to make sure they like having the door closed, Rory watches him bemusedly and Laine nods at him slyly with a twinkle in her eyes. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight,” He exhales, not as loud as he meant to. He clicks the door shut softly and there’s a warmth in his chest that he could get addicted to.

He wanders down the hall towards the sound of your voice, passing Anna and Ryan climbing under their covers and murmuring something to each other, half eaten popsicle in the ladders hand. He passes the staircase, peering his head into the next room over. His eyes immediately land on you and Mia stood in front of an armoire, shuffling through clothes having an exchange of considerative words.

Mia’s room is very neat and put together, everything is placed with much more intention than in the other girls rooms. Her room has more mellow colors too, largely white with soft shades of pastels throughout. There’s a desk with organized notebooks and multiple vases of flowers, with bundles of yarn placed nicely in a basket in the corner. A tall bookshelf is filled with fifty-some books with a violin case leaning up against it. Nail polishes rest beside a jewelry box on the side table next to her bed. She also has picture frames across the walls, some containing photos of flora, others of the family, and a few of what appears to be her own sketches.

“—worried it’s too showy, you know?”

You hum, “I don’t think so, I mean, not for picture day.” 

Mia turns to Jason, shirt held up against her body. “What do you think?”

He takes a second to bounce back from the surprise of being asked the question, “I, uh…I like it.”

You smile at him as Mia faces you again, “Okay, so this with that flowy lilac skirt?”

“The lilac…yeah, that would be cute.”

She nods pleased, draping the shirt over the back of the armchair in the corner.

You and Jason head out of the room, closing the door on your way out so she can change into her pajamas. 

“Goodnight!” she calls out through the crack in the door. You and Jason return it in sync, clicking the door closed. You hold his hand as you walk past the twins' open door, giving them the same sentiment with Jason’s own following quickly after. They call it out back, louder than necessary, and you close your bedroom door behind the two of you.

You rest against the door and he leans his head back against the wall next to you, glancing over at you. “I won’t remember any of this?” He seems dejected at the idea, not happy to have been handed the world and then having it swiped from his memory immediately after.

You consider it for a second, shaking your head, “I don’t think so.”

He’s quiet for a bit, thinking. “Do you have a marker?”

“A marker?” You look around casually, “Uh, yeah.” You unclip a sharpie from the mini calendar pinned against the wall, tossing it to him. You watch curiously as he holds his forearm out in front of him, popping the lid off with his mouth.

The light in the room starts to dim dramatically until his vision is completely dark. The pull of gravity on his body feels wrong and a pang of fire shoots against the side of his head.   

“Hood.” He hears in the darkness, “Hood.” The commanding voice startles him awake once again. “Are you alright?” 

He blinks up at Batman blearily, feeling like he’s just gotten hit over the head with a chair. “What…what—”

“The Clock King. He threw some sort of device at you. It knocked you out for a few minutes. Are you alright?”

He feels dizzy. “Uh…yeah.”

He cranes his head to glance over at where the Clock King is hunched over on the ground, handcuffed, inspecting the cartridge of his device closely. “Damn it, I knew it wasn’t right. Meant to knock him into the past.” He tells Nightwing like it’s some common mistake they can bond over. 

Nightwing moues at him, “I don’t care?”

Knock him into the—did he go to the future? He can’t get his thoughts in order, let alone summon memories from the future. Frankly, it doesn’t matter that much to him right now—he’s sore and wants to just fall asleep next to you. 

He sits up slowly, grimacing as the pain in his head sharpens for a moment. Batman clasps his hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. “Can you stand?”

Hood grunts and pushes himself up, anchoring his weight against the ground. “Fuck. I’m going home.”

Batman says nothing to protest, instead joining Nightwing and pulling The Clock King up from the ground. Jason stumbles away towards his bike, thankful that he’s only a couple miles away from your apartment. Jesus, the future? You’re not going to believe that shit.

He climbs onto the bike with a groan, pushing up his sleeves as he prepares to start the bike. He doesn’t notice it until he revs it, but when he looks down at his left arm, he sees scribbled on his arm in sharpie:

WE’RE HAPPY

vote: do you have a favorite daughter?

❤️ REBLOGGING = SUPPORTING ❤️

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 ✨

size kinks and jason todd laying you flat on your stomach, your bed faces the mirror and one of his hands keeps your hands pressed flat against your back while the other is pressed against the back of your neck. the position doesn't help considering jason was already huge, it felt like he was bruising every part of you and he knew it "c'mon baby.. take it all" " 's too big sir.. slower" "nuh uh, you like mouthing off so much, you're so big and strong right baby? stay still and fucking take it"

with bruce wayne i feel like it's a little different, it's more subtle. he doesn't mock you the way that jason does, its simply something that's in the air. it's on display whenever he holds you up with one arm firmly wrapped around your neck and the other wrapped around your torso. your back pressed against his chest and he completely dwarfs you, and he knows you like it "that's it... such a pretty girl, taking me so well. fuck, fits like a glove."

bruce wayne was known to throw galas. while he didn’t do it often, when he did, it was a hit. all the paparazzi could chatter about. everyone who attended were either family friends, acquaintances, or whoever wished to move up in the world of Gotham.

jason todd hated galas. as bruce wayne’s second son — rather, dick grayson’s brother — if was expected for him to at least show up for a few hours. those few hours were compared to torture by him. worse than what he experienced with the joker all those years ago.

the only thing that made these galas semi tolerable was you. you were like the sun, shining your comforting light on the shadows who filled every crevice. being batgirl it was also expected of you to attend for a bit, you faced it with a stiff lip and a good attitude. might as well make the best of it, right?

tonight, bruce was hosting his annual christmas gala. tons of people gathered in the wayne household, all with cheerful enthusiasm. jason rested against the wall, a look of boredom etched onto his scarred face. he had been there for only twenty minutes — dragged by his brother — and already he just wanted to go to bed. that was, until you showed up.

decorated in a red silk dress, you entered the room. the very first thing you did was greet people. your smile was wide and true as you glided through the crowd. he knew where you were going and who you were going to.

“you look nice.” you purred, reaching to rub your hand on his shoulder. he almost scoffed at your words. you were over here complementing him when you looked stunning. your hair was beautifully styled, your entire body wrapped in gold jewelry. regardless, he smiled and moved his hand to your waist.

“could say the same for you.” his teasing words made you let out a giggle, and it’s safe to say jason almost died. again. your laughter was like a heavenly tune, one he wished to listen to for the rest of his life.

“cmon big guy, let’s go mingle. then we can leave, okay?”

jason realized at that moment — maybe these galas weren’t that bad.

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.