Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader

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Had to when I saw the quote lol

I love Jason sm 😂

Og post @batfam-imagines

Okay but I need yall to help me figure out the character(s) for the following scenario:

Imagine a romantic yandere falling for reader, and ofc reader isn't in love with yandere for obvious reasons like red flags. Maybe they did try dating, Yandere is a charmer, comes from a rich family, he's smart and hardworking and oh so head over heels in love with you. He's always taking you out on best dates, HAS to get you the largest fucking bouquets (excellent taste in flowers) and buys you expensive but well thought out gifts.

But for whatever reason, things dont work out and you break things off hastily and most likely over the phone before leaving the country. And yandere just- breaksdown. I mean my man does not have a good mental health as is, but you leaving, actually leaving him just breaks him down and he has a full blown panic attack.

I'm talking about yandere falling to his knees, clutching his chest and gasping for air, tears streaming down his face as he screams your name like a mad man. His family, they love him, they adore their son/brother/grandchild sm, it pains them to see him in such a miserable state. Yandere man is so delirious that he has to be sedated, tranquillised by medical professionals because he's just losing his fucking mind, babbling your name over and over again like a mad man. His condition only worsens as time passes, and so his family decides to take drastic measures because they can't see their beloved son/brother/grandkid so fucking dead and depressed and a shell of a once bright man. They love him so much, they only want ti see him happy, so they use their money and influence to track you down and try to convince you to return and take yandere back. When you refuse, they take the high way and force you to come with them, dragging you kicking and screaming to their private jet and fly all the way home, where yandere is.

You're in a dishevelled state, tears running down your cheeks as you struggle to free yourself from their grasps as they take you to yandere. And when yandere sees you... for the first time in months, his family sees the light return in his eyes as the yandere reaches out for you, scared that you're just his mind playing tricks. When he finally touches you, he is immeadiately pulling you into a hug, arms tightening around your body like a gilded cage as he cries into your shoulder and thanks his family for bringing you back. His family only smiles with tears in their eyes as they lock the door behind them when they leave, so that you don't go running away. Meanwhile, yandere has pulled you into his lap and he's looking at you with such sad eyes, staring at each feature of yours over and over again as if to memorise it all again. He can't help the tears that continue to slip out of his eyes, maybe he's crying that you're finally here, or maybe he's crying for all the time that's been lost when you weren't here. You fall asleep soon due to exhaustion, but yandere doesn't sleep a wink that night because he continues to stare at you and play with your hair very gently, finally closing his eyes when morning comes and he wraps his arms around you and traps your legs with his.

By now, you guys realise that the yandere's family is not only yandere for their son/brother/grandson but also for you. They are yandede for you too, but they're not allowing you to leave them or their son or even make him unhappy ever again. Some members are willing to let all you "tantrums" slide, while others are not so kind. BUT one thing is for sure, you're ALWAYS safe with yandere s/o, no matter what.

Now, for the characters I've had in kind for this scenario are:

Halim Mehmet Shah and the Shah Family (my ocs)

Dabi/Shotou and Todoroki clan (I am the OG creator of Yandere Todoroki Clan)

I wanna say Naoya or Toji but the Zenin clan hates them both....

Dick Grayson/Jason Todd and Batfam

What do you guys think?

Mood board for this scenario^^^(I love Pinterest)

Damian: Love is weakness and an evolutionary mistake. Tim: You are literally making a Valentine’s Day card for Y/N. Damian, pointing their hot glue gun towards Tim: You’re on thin fucking ice.

Tis the author's curse, I'm sorry

The curse of every fanfic writer has you now in it's claws, take care 🫡

The sacrifices I make for yall😞😞

Bad Hair Day

[Jason Todd x Reader]

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Five times Jason's hair lets him down. Thankfully you're too gone for him to mind.

A/N: This was supposed to be silly, but I infected myself with Soft Bitch Disease HELP

Divider found here

Jason Todd had very nice hair. Dark and soft and unruly, it suited him well. As did the stubborn streak in the front that resisted any attempts to dye it (he’d tried once, on a day when his self-esteem had taken a nosedive). 

And ever since the first time you ran your fingers through his hair, he’d put significant effort into taking good care of it. Anything to entice you to do it again. 

So, yes, he was proud of it. He was proud of the way his bedhead made you smile. The way you wrapped that stubborn white curl around your finger and pressed a kiss to it. The way you couldn’t resist playing with it when he laid his head in your lap. 

…But that didn’t mean there weren’t mishaps.

Helmet hair was the most common problem, and largely inescapable. In the beginning, when he’d just barely started spending nights in your apartment and long before moving in together was even a thought, he’d rushed from the window to the shower, not even taking his helmet off until the bathroom door was closed behind him. You usually weren’t awake anyway. But he didn’t think you needed that particular image of him. 

Until the night where you got a little too caught up in a new show to go to bed at a reasonable hour. A summer night in the middle of a heat wave that had Jason flinging off his helmet the second his boots touched the living room floor, before he clocked you laying on the couch in the dim light from the TV. 

“Oh, I really got carried away,” you mumbled to yourself, scrambling for the remote as you noted the time on your phone lockscreen. “Yikes.” 

“H-hey,” Jason said awkwardly, not sure how he was supposed to act, at once happy and self-conscious.

“Hi,” you greeted with a smile, reaching to turn on a lamp before shutting off the TV. “You okay? I heard a lot of sirens tonight.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Heat wave makes people fucking crazy, though.” 

You nodded, giving a sleepy little stretch before vacating the couch and moving towards him. 

“Are you fine, though? I assume body armor isn’t exactly… breathable.” You poked at the thick padding covering his stomach.

“You’re right about that. I took way too many breaks.”

You frowned, unconvinced, as you took in his flushed face, the hair plastered to his forehead in damp swirls. 

“Not enough breaks,” you corrected decisively. “Strip and sit.”

“Uh, w- ” 

But you were already busying yourself with the tower fan in the corner, dragging it closer to the couch and turning it to its highest setting.

You looked back at him expectantly, gesturing towards his gear with an impatient hand.

“I’m serious. You need to cool down. And have you been drinking water? You need to drink water. I’m getting you water.” 

You were hurrying away again before he could respond, and a tiny smile stole over his face at your brusk insistence. You couldn’t be bothered with awkwardness when you were convinced he needed caring for. It was… nice. 

New. And nice.

So he was quick about following your orders, leaving all that heavy kevlar and plating in a messy heap by the window and dropping onto your couch cushions in just his boxers. The cool air of the fan offered immediate relief, soothing his overheated skin. 

You were back seconds later, a damp rag in one hand and your largest water bottle in the other, ice clinking against the sides in time with your steps. 

You opened it for him before shoving it into his hands, tossing the lid over your shoulder with a severe look that made him laugh. Drink it all. Message received. 

You dropped onto your knees on the couch cushion beside him, swiping the cold cloth over his forehead, his neck, behind his ears. 

Jason sighed contentedly at the sensation, lifting the bottle to take a long drink, the water inside so cold it almost made his teeth hurt. He drained a third of it in one go. 

“Good boy,” you said approvingly, brushing a kiss to his cheekbone and effectively undoing all your hard work as Jason’s skin warmed again from the praise. 

Still, he dodged back from your hands when you reached for his hair.

“I’m still really sweaty.” 

“I know,” you said with a laugh. “I can handle sweat, Jason.”

“It’s not gonna feel nice,” he said, eying you uncertainly.

“It will feel nice to you, which is the point.” 

And, well, he couldn’t really argue with that. When you reached for him again, he stayed still, sighing as you slowly swept damp and flattened curls back from his forehead. Your fingers worked carefully through the sweaty tangles, gently restoring order and lifting the strands away from his scalp, giving the cool air from the fan an opportunity to ruffle through them. 

“Good?” you asked after a few minutes, your voice almost a whisper.

Jason hummed appreciatively, his eyes half-closed. 

“Good. Keep drinking your water, honey.” 

Hair gel was only a problem once before he learned his lesson. 

And really, technically, it was actually your fault. Your fault entirely for leaving him to fend off the vultures alone. 

You’d promised. Looked him in the eyes, kissed his pouting lips, and promised to attend this charity dinner with him. 

Jason had begrudgingly agreed to attend four Wayne events per year, and the dinners, at least, had a clear and predictable end time. Not that it mattered as much when you were with him. You made an unbelievably charming party guest, skilled at pulling focus off of Jason exactly when he needed, unparalleled in your ability to set him at ease when the endless stream of self-important rich Gothamites started to get to him like an itch under the skin. 

But the universe decided to play with him that day, sending its opening move in the form of a frantic, heartbroken call from your close friend who needed you right that very second. Jason heard the crying from the other side of the room, and looked to you with alarm, hands freezing in the process of buttoning his shirt. 

You were making soft, soothing sounds, moving to slip the cocktail dress back off your shoulders, reaching for your sweatpants where they sat neatly folded beside Jason’s. 

“How long ago did he leave?” you asked.

Jason caught your eyes, raised his brow in question.

Fight with boyfriend, you mouthed to him. He sighed, head tipping back in defeat. 

And he did feel a little bad for the resentment that bubbled up at the realization that you were backing out of the event. Your friend was upset, and she had every right to seek you out. But that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Jason finished getting ready glumly, smoothing his hair into a more gentlemanly shape and using more gel than usual since you wouldn’t be there to fix it for him if it fell out of place. 

By the time he was ready to leave, you were finished with your call, waiting by the door in unfairly comfortable clothes and an empty tote bag for the snacks you’d pick up on your way. You started pouting before Jason could say anything, shuffling up to him to plant consoling little kisses over his face.

“So handsome,” you said, smoothing your hands over his shoulders. “Sorry, baby. I know you hate these things.”

“It’s gonna be so much worse without you.” 

“Maybe you’ll make a new friend,” you suggested hopefully, breaking into a giggle at the flat look he fixed you with. “Fine, probably not. Is Dick going?”

“Yeah…” 

“Well, that’s good then. Just shove him at anyone who gets too close to you.”

Jason snorted, failing to hide the smile the image inspired. 

“I’ll see you when I get home, okay?” 

And Jason clung to that promise for the whole night. When he saw Dick’s name card placed on the other side of the room. When he caught sight of the menu that listed twelve courses in excruciating detail. When the lady who was seated next to him at dinner wouldn’t stop trying to touch him. By the time the insultingly tiny slivers of cake were placed in front of each guest, Jason had a splitting headache, a thoroughly depleted social battery, and a recurring daydream about strangling himself with his own bowtie.

He inhaled his dessert at a concerning speed, made a show of shaking Bruce’s hand, and fled the venue like a bat out of hell. 

The shower was running when he got home, but all Jason could manage was kicking off his shoes, ditching his jacket, and half unbuttoning his shirt before faceplanting on the bed in a flawless starfish formation. 

There was no energy left anywhere in his body or mind. Give him a night on the rooftops and alleys, kicking ass and getting shot at, over a night with the Gotham elite any night of the week. 

He was half-asleep when you climbed over him on the bed.

“What have they done to you?” you whispered, amusement clear in your voice. 

Jason let out a wordless groan, and you laughed.

“All that, huh? You want a bubble bath?”

He shook his head, face never lifting from the sheets.

“Let me rinse this gel out of your hair before you pass out completely, then. We can use the kitchen sink.” 

He gave the most pitiful sigh you’d ever heard, and you shook your head with a knowing smile, nudging his heavy limbs over until you had enough space to crawl into bed.

When he woke the next morning, it was to the sound of your soft giggles, syrupy sweet and undeniable. Jason opened his eyes, already smiling at the sound. 

“What’s funny?” he asked sleepily, hands automatically seeking you across the sheets, latching onto your thigh, your waist.

You bit your lip, handing him your phone with the forward-facing camera open.

He looked like an electrocuted cartoon character, hair bound together in chaotic spikes sticking out in all directions. God damn hair gel. The look on his face had you laughing again, but you softened it with a fond stroke to his cheek.

“My little dandelion.” 

Occasionally, Gotham’s weather liked to toy with Jason too, sending him home to you looking every bit the sad, miserable wet cat.

He refused to carry an umbrella. Umbrellas were for old people and tourists. His hoods suited him just fine and allowed the added benefit of leaving both hands free. And mostly it was fine. Unless Gotham was in a Mood. 

Rain fell in hard, heavy sheets, large cold drops that landed with all the force of hailstones and bit at exposed skin without mercy. It was impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you, the effect only made worse by the blanket of dark, angry clouds overhead. Even that, Jason may have made it through relatively unscathed. But the wind was determined to have its fun too, running through the city in heavy gusts that made windows rattle and buildings creak and groan. Sending torrents of rain nearly horizontal, battering any unlucky pedestrians it caught wandering the sidewalk.

Unlucky pedestrians like Jason, whose hood had been blown off his head three blocks back. Whose eyes were nearly shut against the constant onslaught of wind and rain. Who had shoved a bouquet of flowers up his shirt ten minutes ago and was pretty certain he’d been leaving a trail of soaked flower petals behind him ever since. 

By the time he made it back to the apartment you shared, he was soaked to the bone and shivering, hair plastered to his face and down over his eyes from the weight and force of the water.

At the sound of the door, you came running, skidding to an unsteady stop in your fuzzy socks as Jason reached to catch you. He held you carefully away from his drenched body, frowning an apology at the wet handprint he left behind on your sweatshirt. 

“Are you okay? I was hoping you were camped out in a shop somewhere waiting for this storm to pass.”

“It’ll go all night,” Jason said, still out of breath and feeling half-drowned as he dripped all over the kitchen floor.

Your thoughtful frown shifted into something more concerned as you noticed the way he was keeping one hand tucked beneath his jacket. 

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

Before he could answer, you had his jacket unzipped and were pushing his sweatshirt up in search of an injury.

Jason cringed as several waterlogged flowers tumbled onto the floor, shifting self-consciously as you stared blankly at the sight before you. His palm was still pressing a handful of stems to his stomach, where several leaves and even more petals had plastered themselves to his skin rather than falling free.

“Oh.”

“Sorry, baby, I tried to keep them safe, but I think I just made it worse.”

“Jason…” you said slowly, reaching with gentle fingers to sweep aside the hair that was still dripping rainwater in his eyes. “Did you go out in a thunderstorm just to buy me flowers?” 

“N- It’s… It was barely raining when I left.” 

“Only you would try to downplay a romantic gesture,” you said, shaking your head with a fond smile.

Jason shrugged, the movement bringing your attention backed to his soaked clothing and prompting you to help him out of his jacket. 

He took advantage of your distraction, still finding it easier to say vulnerable things when you weren’t looking into his eyes.

“I had to get you something today. It’s our anniversary.”

Your face scrunched a little, turning to study the calendar stuck to the fridge with a goofy souvenir magnet. 

“Help me out, darling,” you said apologetically. “Anniversary of what?”

“Um…” Jason gave up on the rest of the flowers, letting them fall to the floor and brushing the clingy petals away from his skin. He wasn’t even looking at you now, but he didn’t seem offended. Just… embarrassed.

You gave him some space, taking your time grabbing extra towels and clean, dry clothes for him to change into. And you wanted to linger, to help peel wet fabric from cold skin, rub warmth back into numb fingers, kiss rosy color back into pale lips. But he still looked shy, eyes diverted and distracted, so you left him with the stack and a soft kiss to his cheek before moving to make him a cup of tea. 

He came back to you in his own time, bundled in his coziest clothes and wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Six months ago you told me you loved me for the first time,” he said softly. 

“Oh…” You leaned back into his arms a little more. “I should have remembered that. I’m sorry.”

You felt him shake his head, still resting against your shoulder. 

“S’okay… We had a night in. You made pancakes for dinner.”

“I remember the moment, just not the date…” you said, wiggling around in his hold to face him. His hair was still dripping onto the towel he had draped over his shoulders. 

“I put it in my phone the night it happened. When you were in the bathroom,” Jason confessed, pink creeping up in his cheeks. 

“I felt it a long time before I said it,” you confessed in turn, reaching for the towel and running it over his hair. “It took a while for me to build up the nerve to say it to your face.”

A face that was currently scrunched in boyish protest as you continued ruffling his hair with the towel, soaking up the extra water. 

“Yep, that one,” you laughed, dropping the towel back to his shoulders and giving his hair a little extra tousle. 

He kissed you twice. Once with a playful nip, then softer, slow and sweet like he’d quite like to stay there all night. 

“Thank you. For saying it.”

“Thanks for saying it back.”

You would never convince Jason that The Unicorn wasn’t a brilliant stroke of innovation.

His hair was getting too long, constantly falling in his eyes, tugging uncomfortably in his helmet, hanging out of his hood when he opted for the mask instead.  But he hadn’t been in the mood to get it cut, and you certainly never complained. It just gave you more to play with.

When you were home together, it was heaven. You couldn’t stay away from it, passing your fingers through it when you walked by, coming up behind him when he sat on the couch or at the table to press kisses into the unruly curls, playing with it idly any time you were cuddled up together. You had turned the Red Hood into a cuddly house cat, constantly placing himself near you and feigning indifference, only to melt at the first brush of your fingertips. 

He’d spill all his secrets for one of your scalp massages. Credit card number. Social security number. Terrible teenage poetry. Anything you wanted to know, as long as you kept touching his hair.

But when you weren’t around, his perspective shifted rather dramatically. 

Reading a book became incredibly frustrating, unless it was done with perfect posture and the book held at eye level or flat on his back. This graduated from annoying to fucking impossible the third time he dropped a book on his face. 

And cleaning his guns? Absolute bullshit. Grease that took two washes to get out of his hair from constantly trying to push it out of his face. Uncharacteristic clumsiness when taking them apart because he couldn’t see. 

So he came up with a… creative solution. 

Which is how you came home to find Jason lounging comfortably, tucked into the corner of the couch with a blanket, a book, and an absurd hairstyle, the front of his hair gathered into a little bun on the crown of his head. 

“Oh, hello,” you called with a surprised laugh, kicking your shoes off and dropping your purse onto the table by the door. 

He hummed distractedly, eyes still fixed on the pages. 

You plopped down on the cushion beside him, watching him read with an amused little grin until he finished his chapter.

“Hey baby,” he finally greeted you, placing his book on the side table. 

“Hi…” you said, eyes flickering back up to the tiny bun at the top of his head. “Who’s your friend?”

“A masterclass in ingenuity,” Jason said as he gave the bun a satisfied little pat. “Which lets me read without breaking my nose.” 

“I see.” You bit your lip, hard, trying not to laugh as you stared at it.

“Stop lookin at it!”

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. 

“Sorry,” you laughed. “It makes you look like a baby unicorn.”

“That better be a compliment.”

“Oh, of course. You’re a very dashing unicorn.” 

He scowled at you, but despite his best efforts it was entirely without malice. Disappointing, given glaring was one of his most natural talents. But he’d never been very good at glaring at you.

“It’s actually very cute,” you said through a smile, reaching up to squeeze the little bun before Jason batted your hand away. “Can I put a bow on it?”

“No.” 

He wouldn’t stop you if you actually tried. But you didn’t need to know that. 

“You could just cut it, you know. If it’s bothering you this much.”

“It’s fine,” he sighed. “I know you like it.”

“You know what I like even more?”

“Mmm?” He leaned his head back against the cushions.

“Your comfort and safety.”

“Lame,” he said solemnly.

You broke first, falling into a fit of giggles that dragged a laugh out of him too. 

“Seriously though,” you said, leaning into his side, a smile still on your face as he wrapped an arm around you automatically. “Why don’t you get it cut? I’ll come with you if you want.”

He shifted a little, let out a sigh that sounded more serious than the last. 

“I um… I’m not really in the mood to let a stranger with sharp objects near my face right now.”

“Oh,” you said softly, subconsciously snuggling a little closer. “Okay.”

“It… It comes and goes. That… feeling.” 

You nodded, gave a little space in case he wanted to say more. He didn’t.

“Could you? Trim it? I could buy you some salon scissors. And one of those trimmers with the different settings. If you want.”

“Yeah, maybe… Probably wouldn’t look very good though.”

“We could watch tutorials. Besides, you could pull off just about anything with that face.” 

He scoffed, but you could see a tiny spark of pride in his eyes, the inclination of a smile at the corner of his lips. 

“Could… Would you do it for me?” he asked hesitantly, glancing down at you.

Something fluttered in your chest at the gentle request.

“I can try. Do you think… I mean would that be okay? When you’re feeling like this?”

“Yes,” he said simply, no trace of doubt in his voice.

“Okay,” you answered, smiling at the sweet kiss it earned you. 

“Not too short,” he requested, barely moving his lips from yours. “Make sure there’s enough for you to play with.” 

Your stomach gave a little flip, and you kissed him back a little harder. 

“You’ve got it.”

Slicked back wasn’t a go-to hairstyle for Jason, in any context. And he was still adamantly anti hair gel since “The Dandelion Incident.” 

But fresh out of the shower, all it took was a comb. It would keep his hair out of his eyes for a little while, at least. And give him an excuse to seek you out, not that he needed one these days.

He found you in the living room, sorting through a basket of clean laundry in search of matching socks. You did a double take when you saw him, smiling as he dragged you closer by the hips. 

“Look at you,” you giggled, holding his face in your hands.

“What do we think?” he asked, moving easily with your touch as you tilted his chin to either side, looking him over with overplayed seriousness.

“Hmm. Very handsome,” you decided.

“Yeah?” 

“You’re always handsome,” you said, kissing his cheek. “This is just a different kind of handsome.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully, fighting a smile and squeezing you closer, a warm feeling fluttering in his chest.

“What kind of handsome?”

“Distinguished. Debonair.”

“I’ve never been debonair in my life,” he laughed.

You stepped back, forming a little frame with your hands as you continued to study him.

“This guy’s got a favorite jeweler. A permanently reserved table at a restaurant in case he feels like dropping by.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop you, watching you with a fond smile.

“He slips people their tip during a handshake. Orders a martini like James Bond. He - ” You broke off suddenly, pressing your lips together, eyes widening slightly.

“What?” Jason prompted, poking at your side. 

“Nothing.”

“Well now you have to tell me.” He caught your hands as they dropped, pulling you back into his arms.

“It was just a fleeting thought. Nothing important.”

“Great. Tell me anyway.” 

You sighed, grabbed at his shirt as if to brace yourself.

“This hairstyle might… maybe… make you look the tiniest bit like… Bruce.” 

The reaction was immediate and exactly what you expected, Jason jolting back as if slapped, his expression entirely horrified. 

“Just a little,” you insisted. “And only because this is usually how he does his -”

But he was already scrambling back to the bathroom.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope.”

“Jason, it doesn’t mean -”

The door slammed, and you bit at your lip, trying not to laugh at his dramatics. Your humor didn’t last long, however, as you caught the buzz of an electric  razor.

“Absolutely fucking not!” you yelled, bursting through the door and snatching the razor out of his hand. “Jason!”

“It has to be done.”

“No, it really doesn’t.” You turned it off, tossing it back under the sink. 

“Can’t believe you said that to me,” he groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face as if to wipe away the comparison.  

“Temporary insanity. Didn’t mean it,” you said, taking both of his hands in yours. 

He stared at you doubtfully  but followed without question as you started backing out of the bathroom, towing him along with you.

“I can fix it. Without shaving your head.”

Jason gave a fussy sigh, but you didn’t falter, pulling him into the bedroom.

“Sit,” you said, pushing lightly on his shoulders until he dropped down onto the foot of the bed, looking up at you expectantly. 

You placed a knee on either side of his hips, settling comfortably on his lap and cradling his face in your hands.

“Jason,” you said sweetly. 

“Hmm?” His eyes were locked curiously on yours, giving you his undivided attention, pout already beginning to fade.

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”

He looked mildly unconvinced. You continued on your course, pressing gentle kisses over his face until he gave a slow, heavy exhale.

“And I’ll keep thinking so no matter what. But I think we both like your natural hair better than this,” you whispered against his skin. “Can I fix it for you?” 

“Yes,” he whispered back, eyelids already beginning to droop as your fingers worked their way into his hair. 

You could fix this problem with a quick little ruffle. That’s all it would take. But that’s not how Jason liked to be touched. 

You started slow and gentle, your fingertips moving in little circles against his scalp starting at his hairline and moving back, pressure slightly increasing with every pass. Your nails scraped gently over the back of his neck, sending a pleased little shiver through his body as his head dropped to rest against your chest. 

“There we go,” you said softly, moving your hands to the sides of his head and working upwards to accommodate his new position. His arms wrapped around you as he gave another sigh, a much softer sound this time. Contented.

You got no words from him for a while after that, just the feeling of his slow, steady breaths and the warm sweep of his hand as it snuck under the back of your shirt. 

He loved it when you did this, always, had stopped trying to be coy about it a long time ago. Told you how sweet you were. Talked about how much you spoiled him. But you’d honestly never thought about it that way. 

It was a privilege to give Jason these moments of tenderness, to feel the tension drain out of him the longer you went on touching him this way. To see the way his face went serene, eyes soft and a little glossy. You’d do anything he asked to keep earning those content smiles, keep hearing those happy little sighs. You wondered if he knew that.

His hair was dry by the time you stopped, pulling him away from your chest with a gentle tug that had him releasing a low hum. He looked up at you, eyes half-closed and dreamy, his hair a sweet riot of messy waves and loose curls.

“There’s my Jason.” You stroked his cheek, feather light.  

“Still handsome?” he asked quietly.

“Devastating, my darling,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll never recover.”

He believed you this time, with a sleepy slow smile.

“Good,” he said, collapsing lazily back onto the blankets, dragging you down with him as he kept you tucked tightly against his chest. “Don’t want you to.”

A/n: Say something before I lose my mind

I hope this message finds you well. My name is azha,

Mother of four children and I’m reaching out from Gaza.

We are approaching a truce that brings a glimmer of peace and hope to our beloved land. We eagerly await the chance to return home, reunite with loved ones, and work together to rebuild after the devastation of war. 🥺

We look forward to building new hope with our children., who have been stranded for over a year And go out with them to Egypt for treatment after they were injured several times. Though we have lost our cherished home, many dear friends and relatives, and the vibrant city we once knew, we remain hopeful. With your help, I hope to support my father in every way I can. Your generosity during this time is invaluable. By reading our story, donating, or sharing our campaign, you can help us reunite, find safety, and start anew. 🙏🕊

https://whydonate.com/en/fundraising/save-a-family-with-4-kids-evacuate-?fbclid=PAAaZ2TGGLC5cDP33s3quRkKMWgNnnsP1h411FWvnyhs_35ToibDnhKKh8Wm0

Pls listen to them! And raise awareness to these people and need🙏have humanity.

gojo satoru would be such a pouty, jealous, and petty husband, especially when the two of you have a child.

what do you mean he has to watch you effortlessly lift your giggling baby girl into the air with your arms reaching out, and listen to her delighted squeals as you catch her and tickle her tiny belly? why haven't you ever done that to him? he's sulking, arms folded over his chest and eyes narrowed as if he does not realize the absurdity of his complaint; who's going to be able to lift up a huge man at the ridiculous height of six foot three?

what do you mean he has to watch you both come home from the mall, a shopping bag in your hand as you reveal a matching set of pajamas? his jaw drops, eyes widening in disbelief as you and your daughter emerge from the bedroom adorned in identical hello kitty pajamas, faces covered in masks and cucumber slices perched on your eyes. he slumps further into the couch as you two pose for selfies, looking absolutely adorable together. truth is, he loved hello kitty as much as his child did, he just . . . might have never had the courage to voice it out!

what do you mean he had to return home after a tedious fight, only to find you and your daughter cutely nestled on the couch, watching a movie together while cuddling?! he also wanted to watch boss baby :(

you quietly open the door to your shared bedroom and tiptoe inside, hoping not to wake satoru. to your surprise, you notice he was still awake, lying on the bed with his arms defiantly crossed over the blanket. his lips are jutted out in a pout, blue eyes narrowed as they glare at you.

“well? are you going to read me my bedtime story?”

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i know that mattheo riddle and theodore nott would become two fucking brats after getting used to an affectionate girlfriend.

suddenly, these tall tough slytherin wizards get all sad and moody, if they don't receive a good morning kiss.

where the fuck are you going? you didn't kiss me good morning. where's my kiss? you haven't hugged me yet. hey— come here. love me. >:(

imo mattheo would be a slut for scalp massages and having his significant other playing with his hair. (flashbacks of those headcanons i wrote about him.)

the type of guy that rests his back against your chest, using it as a pillow, sat between your legs as he nonchalantly keeps talking with his friends— this whole position feeling heavenly if you play with his hair, running your fingers through it, whatever there is to give.

theodore would be more into receiving a lot of kisses on his face, to the point where he expects 'well done' kisses all the time. he opened the door for you? kiss his cheek. he helped you with something? a kiss on the lips.

with some effort, i think that theodore and mattheo, being the only ones in the whole group that smoke, would smoke less.

not stop smoking as a whole, since it's a habit that grew on them; they could, however, compromise to only smoke one or two cigarettes per day. would give you their lighter so you can help them control the amount of daily cigarettes, too.

so imagine them coming to you, showing the pack of cigarettes with the same amount of the previous day, with a big smile.

expecting kisses. pampering. being spoiled. babied, even. if you're not going to praise them, then they'll glare at you and take the pack back.

'if you're not pampering me then i might as well smoke one to fill the void.' dramatic ahh bitches.

this looks delulu BUT i just know that they're touched starved asf. it would take a while for them to understand that your touch and affections are genuine, not to seduce or rile them up for something sexual.