He's So Sweet And Lovely 🎀🎀

Literal poetry 😭💕

toxic!dad!rafe acting guilty and sweet around reader while she takes care of his kids because he acted her soo bad yesterday:( maybe hit her, maybe telling her reallyy bad things and she got hurt

This is so good wtf I love this idea it's lowkey fucked me up tho 😔

The morning was quiet, save for the soft tune of a lullaby Y/N absentmindedly hummed under her breath. She sat on the floor of the living room, legs folded beneath her, while her daughter sat in front of her, small and fidgety as Y/N carefully braided her soft curls. The little girl giggled every time her mothers fingers tickled the back of her neck, her chubby hands clutching her stuffed bunny tightly.

“Almost done, baby”

She murmured, gently smoothing her daughter’s hair before looping the final section of the braid. Her reflection in the door leading out to the garden, it caught her off guard. The faintest streak of red where Rafe’s signet ring had nicked her skin. The light swelling of her cheek, just enough to make her wince when she thought too hard about what had happened. Her breath hitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut, pushing the memory away but the calm didnt last for long.

She felt him before she saw him.

Rafe’s presence lingered in the doorway, heavy and suffocating. She knew he was watching- had probably been watching for a while now. Still, she didn’t acknowledge him, she just kept braiding. Rafe cleared his throat.

“I, uh- made you that tea y'like...”

Y/N didn’t respond. He shifted on his feet as he looked down to the little girl sitting. He muttered, nodding toward their daughter’s hair.

“Looks nice”

Y/N tied off the braid with a small elastic as she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her daughter’s head before nudging her forward.

“Go show your bunny baby”

The toddler wobbled off, giggling as she held the braid over her shoulder, showing it off to her stuffed animal like it was the best thing in the world. Y/N took a breath, exhaling slowly, then pushed herself off the floor. She barely got a step away before Rafe moved, cutting her off.

“Y/N…”

His voice was softer now. Careful. Like he knew he was treading dangerous ground. She felt his fingers barely graze her arm, his touch feather-light as they trailed down- over the bruise he left on her wrist, over the soreness beneath her skin. But then he stopped.

Right at her cheek.

The pad of his thumb brushed over the small cut, and she flinched causing him to pull away immediately. She turned to him then, finally looking at him. The guilt was evident in his face, but she said nothing.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t.”

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t waver. His jaw clenched slightly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. Not in anger- just restraint.

“I just... fuck Y/N, I don’t wanna fight—”

“You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

A hollow laugh escaped her lips, quiet and humorless. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, letting out a sigh as his head nodded a little.

“I know.”

She shook her head, turning away from him, her eyes landing on their daughter who now sat near her play pen, enamoured with some pink blocks wheezie had bought her.

“What were you even so angry about, Rafe? What was so fucking bad that you had to hit me?”

He paused at her words, yet her voice wasn’t yelling. It wasn’t even angry anymore. That made it worse.

“I—” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

“I don’t know.”

He did know.

It had started over something stupid. He had been out late- again. She had called him- again, multiple times, like she did every night. And when he finally came home, she had been pissed—rightfully so. Their argument had escalated soon after that;

"You can’t just disappear all night, Rafe."

Her voice was irritated but careful- not because she wasn’t angry, but because she knew better than to raise it in the house when everyone was asleep. Knew that if anyone overheard, it would just give him another reason to twist things around, to make her seem like the problem starter.

"I was handling business."

Rafe’s voice was humerously calm, but it wasn’t apologetic. It was clipped, defensive, like he was already prepared for a fight. Like he had expected this reaction from her. Y/N scoffed, folding her arms across her chest.

"Oh, right. ‘Business.’ That’s what we’re calling it now?"

That got his attention. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark crossing his face as he took a slow step closer. He muttered out, voice sharp and dangerously low.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means, jesus Rafe. You're a dad now—you can't do this shit anymore."

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. Her arms tightened around herself, her voice cracking just slightly before she forced it steady again.

"You can’t be out all night doing God knows what and then just waltz back in like nothing happened."

"I just told you, I was handling shit."

He exhaled harshly through his nose, running a hand over his face. She shook her head as she looked at him, her hands were shaking from the fact she was arguing with him in the first place but she couldn't stop herself anymore.

"Handling what?"

She shot back, her voice strained but still hushed. She was tired- exhausted even. She'd been looking after their baby girl all by herself, days and nights, and she'd had enough. She was miserable and that's not what she wanted to be

"Whatever bullshit mess you got yourself into again? Do you even think about her? Do you care you've left me by my—"

"Of course I care." His jaw tensed, his entire body wound tight like a spring.

"Don’t fucking act like I don’t care."

He snapped at her and she took a step back, shaking her head, the lump in her throat growing.

"Well you don’t act like it."

She let the words hang between them for a second, watching his expression shift, his lips parting slightly before pressing into a thin line. She was so sick of his shit, she just wanted to scream at him, but she didn't- she couldnt. Yet before she could stop herself the words fell from her mouth,

"You're just like him, you know that?"

His entire body went rigid as the sentense passed her lips, and he instantly tured around to face her.

"What?"

Her throat felt tight, but she didn’t back down. "You're just like your dad." she whispered.

"Someone who pretends to care about his family but in reality—"

The slap came fast.

A sharp, stinging pain shot through her cheek, her head whipping to the side as she gasped. His signet ring sliced against her skin, the warmth of blood rising in its place almost instantly.

Silence

She barely registered the sound of her breath hitching, or the way her vision blurred for a second before sharpening on the floor. Everything felt muted, heavy. Her cheek burned and her ears rang, the sound reverberating. Rafe was just standing there, breathing hard. His chest rose and fell quickly, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides at the burn in his palm. His eyes weren’t on hers. No, they were fixated on the mark he had just left, on the crimson dot blooming just below her cheekbone. And then, his voice—low but edged with something unsettling.

"Don't ever fucking say that to me."

Her eyes were now unreadable, dark with exhaustion and something heavier. He hadn’t seen her cry last night. Not in front of him. Not after she had staggered back from the slap, a thin line of red appearing beneath her cheekbone where his ring had nicked her skin. She had just gone quiet and that had fucked with him more than anything.

“I just wanna make it up to you.”

Rafe said now, voice barely above a whisper. Y/N blinked, eyes burning as she mumbled out in return.

“I don't know...”

She stood there, breathing him in- his presence, his guilt, his need to smooth things over like last night never happened. Her cheek still stung faintly, the cut from his ring a sharp reminder of how far he’d taken it. And yet, Rafe was standing there, looking at her like he was the one hurting. Like he was suffering under the weight of his own actions. Her lips parted, words barely forming before she was cut off-

“Dada!”

Their daughter’s voice broke through the thick tension, her small feet pattering against the hardwood as she toddled toward them. She latched onto Rafe’s trousers with both hands, tugging insistently.

“Up!”

She demanded, eyes big and expectant. Y/N’s stomach twisted the moment Rafe bent down without hesitation, scooping their little girl into his arms with ease. His large hand supporying her small frame, letting her rest against him.

“Forgive me, please”

He murmured again, but this time, his voice was softer, edged with something sweeter. Y/N swallowed, throat tightening.

She knew what he was doing.

He knew she wouldn’t start a fight with him while their daughter was in his arms. He knew she wouldn’t reject him, not with their little girl looking between them, not with her small hands resting against his chest, oblivious to the storm simmering beneath the surface of her parents relationship. Rafe studied her carefully, watching the way her expression shifted- conflicted, torn. His grip on their daughter tightened ever so slightly, a silent reminder of what was between them, what they shared.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered.

“Let me fix this.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her gaze flickering to their daughter. She was sucking her thumb now, head resting lazily on Rafe’s shoulder, so blissfully unaware. She clenched her jaw, blinking rapidly at the water pooling on her waterline, lips pressing together into a thin line. And then- their daughter, still nestled in Rafe’s arms- turned her head slightly, her little eyes locking onto Y/N’s. The small hand that had been contently resting against Rafe’s chest now reached out towards her, fingers wiggling with in a grabbing motion.

An unspoken demand for her to come closer.

Y/N’s chest tightened. The sight of their daughter’s small, innocent gesture, that soft yearning for her mother, cracked through her resolve. She had no words, just the flutter in her chest with caused her breath to hitch.

“Okay”

Y/N whispered, so quietly it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. Rafe’s eyes softened, a glint of triumph flashing briefly before he stepped forward, a slow, deliberate smile tugging at his lips. Before Y/N could fully process the shift, Rafe closed the space between them, pulling her closer and capturing her lips in a kiss.

It was slow.

Sweet.

The kind that carried an underlying ache, as though they both knew that they were only putting a temporary bandage over something far more complicated. But in that moment, Y/N didn’t pull away, she couldn't bring herself to. Instead she let him kiss her and let herself fall back into the illusion of peace.

this lowkey made me want to sob. . . ?

🧡

— A. Y.

🇳🇱 Netherlands please, Turkey 🇹🇷 cannot win so the Coach needs to step up and put my husband ( Weghorst ) on.

- Depay cannot finish for the life of him

- The whole Dutch team need to attack and bc all they do is stand still when Türkiye has the ball

- Xavi Simmons, my baby, in Midfield all by himself

- The fossil ( Van Dijk ) being useless and stumbling everywhere

- Dishonourable mentions : Dumfries

STEP UP NEDERLANDEEE

* My husband is subbed in

“We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back to see how far they have come.”

The most sweetest and gentlest Jason Todd fic I have read 😖💕

𝓜𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝓐𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 — 𝓙. 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒅

𝓢 YNOPSIS : : you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love, love, love you.

𝓒ONTENTS : : yearner!jason todd. yearner!reader. female!reader. injuries( his scars. not detailed, the fic is sfw ). mentions of the lazarus pit. povs are separated ( still in second person. jason's first, then reader's ). ooc(?) jason feeling underserving woah woah woah. fluff. angst (?). mentions of sex. some parts are inspired by lyrics. ( new ) established relationship. no beta read, we die like bruce's parents. wc : 2.4k

BOOKS — DC BOOK

REQUESTED ; SUGGESTED : : @yeoniverseee && @laufeysgoddess

ᨦ𓏲 ، ݃♟❜ : : this is kind of,, a remake of this,,, if u squint.. layout slightly inspired by @laufeysgoddess ' carrd mwah mwah.,, ig it can be gn!reader, ithinkitjinkiithink also. i made hannie & ellie pick a fic to remake & they picked this !! & i was feeling very most ardently these days lolzsk. i am a STRONG believer that jay cried the first time he has sex with someone he really, really loves. like my "my love, mine all mine" fic,, JAY DED CRIED THERE SHUT UP. okay, now im really just recycling the pictures and layouts hehehehe. also,, 800???? YOU GUYS?????? ARE???? 800??? EIGHT HUNDRED ?????? EIGHT FUCKING HUNDRED ???? IM MAKING BABIES W U ALL. some parts here are actually what i said to @fromdove 😋( this is also dedicated to her btw. all of my works r prolly dedicated to her, hannie & ellie ) i love her ( including my cherries ) as much as i love jay, btw !! i tried to be poetic, guys. i really did🥀. idk if i hate this or love THEM. also... @yintous jinxed the crying part........ yin, you freak. this took me a whole week gng #writersblockslanderer. probably not ur taste in fics bc it's more focused on how they love

every time. every single time he finds himself staring at you too long, he hears it in his head like a fucking prayer. not that he's still into that kind of thing, but anyway. there's something sacred about the way you smile at him. something that gives him the sense that he has god's favorite secret beside him on the couch, his hoodie wrapped around your with her hair tied up in a bun and your toes against his thigh.

he thinks you're unreal. and maybe a little unfair. because you're soft with him. too soft. you're gentle in ways he doesn't think he deserves, like you were made to prove him wrong just by existing in his space. just by existing on this planet, actually.

it's a new relationship. not new in the way that it's uncomfortable or awkward. just new enough that he still feels the flutter in his belly when you kiss him first. just new enough that anything little you do still surprises him.

like how you touch his scars.

not with pity. not with horror. and obviously, not even with that unattached interest people sometimes get. no. you touch them like they're part of a map you're memorizing. like your fingers are tracing out every inch of what made him and you don't want to miss a single marker.

"this one," you said once, tracing over the raised scar near his ribs, "looks like a half moon."

and he looked at you like you'd said something ridiculous. because who the hell gazes at a scar━━a remnant of a knife that nearly killed him( not really )━━and thinks of the fucking moon?

you do. apparently.

he wants to write that down somewhere. with a permanent marker. place it into the back of his head so he'll never forget the way you looked at him that way. like you saw something lovely in all the spaces he thought were destroyed. maybe a tattoo would do.

sleeping beside you is its own kind of pain. he doesn't sleep much, usually. his body doesn't find stillness comfortable. but when you're in his arms, curled into his chest, breathing slow and steady and trusting him with your entire heart, he sleeps like the dead. it's dangerous. it's silly( not to you ). it's addictive. he wakes with his arm around your waist and his nose pressed to the back of your neck and wonders if perhaps this is what peace feels like.

god, not once in his life. even when bruce wayne took him in, thought he'd get to feel that.

and when you kiss him━━god, when you kiss him━━it's like you can feel what he wants before he can. you kiss him slow. careful. sometimes sloppy, sometimes quick. but always as if he belongs to you. as if there is another place in the entire world you'd rather be. and he breaks down. melt. dissolves for it every time. he leans into it with his entire body, as if the only thing holding him to reality is your lips on his.

having sex with you isn't forgetting. not with him. not anymore.

it's not an escape. or temporary. it's a return. a coming home. it's permanent.

you're kind to him. not only in kisses. but in the way you look at him when he undresses in front of you. in the way you stroke his back like it's holy. in the way you whisper his name like it's fragile.

he recalls the first time you had sex. the day he first cried while having sex with you. recalls how he attempted to hide it. bury his face in your shoulder and try to convince himself that it was merely sweat. but you were aware. of course, you were aware. and you kissed his temple and whispered, "i've got you," as if he wasn't shattering in your hands.

you make him believe that he is worth the gentleness. worth, this.

and perhaps he is. perhaps, with you, he is.

because you stay. even when he's not speaking. even when he's being grumpy or distant or two steps away from breaking. you stay. you wrap yourself around him and fetch him tea and refuse to ask him questions he doesn't want to respond to. and somehow, that gets him to speak. not everything. but enough. enough for you to understand.

he spoke to you about the pit. once. and only once. you didn't flinch. just gripped his hand. and said he was here. now. with you.

he trusts you.

and that shit scares him.

love was never simple for him. even before the pit. it was always rough. always a distance. but with you, it is. still. not in the boring sense. in the safe sense. in the "i can finally breathe again" sense. it's rough. but no longer a distance.

sometimes you're singing in the kitchen. poorly. on purpose. or not. and he leans in the doorframe and listens to you spin around in your socks, spatula clutched like a microphone, and he thinks, i could die right now and it would be enough.

he doesn't say anything. not yet. but he thinks about it all the time.

and he loves you. most ardently. passionately. in every possible way that a person can love.

in the way he remembers your coffee order and has a hair tie wrapped around his wrist for you.

in the way he allows you to see him when he's at his worst.

in the way he handles you like you're fragile. like you're not. like you're his.

in the way he sleeps more soundly when you're breathing next to him.

in the way he wishes to believe again in the future.

he loves you. hurtfully. shamelessly. completely. perfectly.

and if he could cut that into the sky, he would.

he loves you in the "let's run barefoot across the universe together" sort of way.

to saturn and back and then beyond.

to the spaces between stars where time loses track of how to move.

and jason todd━━jason peter fucking todd━━doesn't want to be rescued anymore. the child. the second robin. red hood. jason todd.

they all just want to stay.

with you.

he has no idea what he looks like when he is in love. but you do.

you've committed it to memory. tattooed it( at least, in your mind you did ) near your heart. the gentle droop of his eyelids when he gazes at you as if you're a dream. the slight opening of his lips, as if there is something he would like to say but can't. how his hand lingers in mid air before it settles on the small of your back, as if requesting permission still, even now, despite all that has happened.

he stares at you as if you're the last sacred thing in a world of tombs.

and you feel it. every ounce of the burden he bears. not because he loads it onto you, but because he never does. he bears it all as though he was meant to endure it alone, and you have to press yourself into the crack just to make him remember that he doesn't have to. not anymore.

you love him like breathing. all the time, without thinking, with no effort at all. it's just there. like his name on your tongue. like his shirts in your drawer. like the way your heart slows when you hear the front door open and it's him. again. and god, you never felt more real.

you remember the first time he told you about the pit. how his voice sounded like it was scraping the edge of something sharp. how he didn’t look at you, didn’t blink, just stared at the floor like it held the truth and the punishment and the apology all at once.

he said it like it was a confession. like it would be the thing that finally pushed you away. that will make you want to not stay.

it didn't.

you simply leaned over, wrapped your fingers around his, and told him, "you're here now."

he blinked then. just once. as if he was trying to process your words. as if he had no idea that something so simple could mean so much.

sometimes, you wonder if jason todd doesn't know that he's still alive.

not just breathing. but alive.

in the way his eyebrow creases when you laugh too loudly. in the way he rolls his eyes when you steal fries from his plate but pushes the rest up towards you anyway. in the way he allows you to sit on his lap with a book in your hand, not saying a word, just,, existing.

his scars don't frighten you. they never have.

he showed them to you as if he was getting ready to be turned down. again. god. it's like he expects you to just vanish. as if he was showing you the remains of a city he didn't think anyone would want to live in.

you touched them all. one by one. kissed the one under his rib. trailed your fingers over the one that curves into his shoulder. learned the mosaics of him with devotion. patience.

"you're not broken," you told him. "you're written."

he didn't say a word for a long time afterward. just gazed at you like you'd reached into your pocket and pulled out the sun and given it to him.

he tries━━no━━he does his best. every day. every time.

that's what bothers you the most. the way he's doing so hard. not to be good. not to be complete. but to be gentle with you. to be with you. even when it hurts. even when he's afraid.

you notice it the way he cradles your face like you'll disappear. the way he asks you "this okay?" even when it's just your limbs knotted up on the couch. the way he wears your keys around his neck( just to make sure he won't lose it, he told you once. ) like they're where they're supposed to be.

you recall the first time you had sex.

how he touched you like prayer. how his lips shook against yours. how his voice cracked when he said your name.

you knew. immediately. when his breath caught and his chest faltered and he tried to hide his face in your neck, you knew.

and so you cradled him. gently and slowly. allowed him to rest in your arms as if he were something fragile. kissed his temple and said, "i've got you," repeatedly until he accepted it. until he relaxed.

you don't realize that no one's ever made him feel little before. like that. little as in the safe kind.

he clung to you as if he thought he'd lose you if he relaxed his hold.

he didn't have anything to say then. just sat there. still. for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

he looks at you as if you're cut out of finer stuff. but you look at him and observe someone who has been to hell and is still willing to be kind. still tries. still wakes up every morning and makes coffee and leans his head on your chest as if he's found home.

you'd adore him in all the iterations of this life. even the ones in which you never get to hold him.

but you do. and that's the part that takes your breath away.

when he kisses you, it's all. everything. like he's famished and you're the only thing that ever satisfied him. he kisses you like nothing else exists. like if he died the instant after, it'd be alright. because he got to have this.

when you kiss him back, you kiss him with the same desperation. the same longing.

he once held your face in his hands, he didn't say it. i don't think he needed to. you don't either. the words, "you feel like home." was a line the author made solely for him. to recite it to you, the love interest. his love interest.

and you smiled as though your heart was breaking.

because that's what he is. to you. every hurting bit of him. every bruise and sigh and quiet stare and kisses. he is home. he is the place you come back to. the one you'd wait for lifetimes. the one you'd fall in love with all over again.

he can't say it in words, so he says it in everything else.

he gives you flowers wrapped up in yesterday's newspaper. leaves you little notes in your pockets. sits with you through thunderstorms just because you hate the sound.

he stays.

even when he's exhausted. even when he thinks he shouldn't.

and you do, too.

you stay when he's quiet. when he's distant. when he's hurting and doesn't talk until you're kissing his bruised knuckles.

you stay when he's laughing and when he's too far gone to remember why and how.

you stay because there's not a piece of him you'd want to leave.

you love him in the gentlest ways. in the harshest ones. in all the ways he doesn't believe he's worthy of being loved.

you love him when he's in your bed, breath warm against you, arms wrapped around your waist like a lifeline.

you love him when he's disappeared for hours and returns with your favorite pastry because he "just happened to pass by."

you love him when he refuses to say he's hurting but lays his head in your lap like a silent surrender.

you love him because you do.

because something in you saw something in him and chose him anyway.

and you think━━no, you know━━that he is the great love of your life.

he doesn't think in miracles. but you do.

and you think he could be one.

because somehow, some way, despite it all, despite the blood and the grave and the fucked up environment, he's here.

with you.

and if you could have him write that in the stars, you would.

because you love him in the way the sky turns soft pink when the sun forgets how to hide, disappear, go down.

because you love him in the pauses between words, in the spaces between stars, in every what if, could be, maybe, probably, really, statistically speaking, almost, & someday.

he has bewitched you. body and soul.

and you never want it to shatter.

© spcherryygirl

let me love you, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (amelia mae egan)

content: what man wouldn't want to love on his wife?

an: 18+. steaaaaamy. @turn-thy-paige I'm doing your idea for gale :0

tags: to maintain your place on the taglist, you're expected to interact! @turn-thy-paige @neeville @ineedafictionalman @ihe4rtisa

Her side of the bed was empty. He slid his hand over the place where she once rested. It was still warm. He groaned lowly and ran a heavy hand across his bare chest before rubbing his eye with the stump of his hand. His movements were slow when he sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. His hands swept the floor for his pants, which were tossed near the foot of the bed. He slid them over his legs and trudged out of the bedroom. 

John looked curiously throughout their home for his wife, who seemingly disappeared during the early hours. Her soft hums coming from the kitchen led him straight to her. “Morning, baby,” she spoke once she noticed his presence. She gave him a tired smile and continued grabbing utensils from the drawers to begin making breakfast. John’s eyes glanced at the wall clock above her head. 6:28am. 

“What’re you doing up so early?” 

Amelia shrugged, stating she wasn’t extremely tired and wanted to occupy herself while he got rest. John hummed lowly and slipped past the counter to stand behind her. His strong arms traveled around her midsection, one hand rested on her lower stomach, while the other came dangerously close to chest that was covered by a thin nightgown. 

Amelia shivered at his touch. He was meticulous with the way he touched her. Even the simplest graze of his thumb against the peaks on her chest made her breath hitch. “John…” Her tone was warning. Her tone was warning yet she made no attempt to interrupt his movements. Rather she pressed against him.

“I just want to love on you for a second, doll. Can I do that?” He was an experienced man. The anatomy of a woman was engrained in his mind; he knew it like the back of his hand. Women were different, this he knew, but his familiarity with the body of a woman opened an entryway to a sacred world of pleasure and euphoria that he only felt with her. 

Amelia didn’t respond. John brought his lips to her neck, soft and warm. One of her hands fell from the counter and gripped one of his hands which lowered to caress the front of her thigh. Her chest heaved and her breathing pattern shifted. Unamused, John said, “You didn’t answer me.” 

“Yes,” she finally replied, allowing her head to fall against his shoulder. There it is. John hummed. He turned her body to face him, his hand now against the base of her neck. “Bedroom, doll.” 

Amelia turned on the balls of her feet, his fingers laced through hers, and walked to the bedroom. John’s eyes fell to her waist, focused on the way her hips swayed like the water. She pushed the door open, dropped her shaw on the floor, and laid on the disheveled sheets; looking like an angel in the all-white covers. 

“I love you,” John whispered against her lips as he hovered above her. 

She smiled softly and carded her fingers through his hair. “I love you more.”

I’m a changed woman after this. 🙏🏽

a love like religion

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: smut MDNI, unprotected sex, gentle dom!jason, size difference, creampie, biting and scratching hard enough to draw blood, all the pet names from Jason (baby, sweetheart, ma, mama, darlin’, honey), lots of aftercare, hints of codependency from jay and reader.

a/n: was daydreaming about jason (as per usual) and got to thinking about how if he were real I would be so down bad for this man it would be borderline unhealthy. something something about your lover becoming your god or whatnot. ngl wrote this with a bit of a “bones and all” vibe in mind of just needing jay in every conceivable way and it uhhhh…spiraled. so here, have some fucking with copious amounts of aftercare and maybe codependency if you squint?

divider credit: cafekitsune

There aren’t many things in life you can be certain of. The ever changing tides of fate have washed you ashore and swept you back into drowning more times than you can count. You’d grown used to it, the ephemeral nature of being alive. You relied on the two things you knew to be unwaveringly true: you are currently living and breathing; and one day you will die, and the living and breathing will be over. You did not anticipate adding any other unchangeable qualities to this list. You now have one that supersedes every other: you love Jason Todd.

You love him more than anything in this universe or the next. You love him like you love air to breathe. He’s your entire world. The sun holds itself in the smiles he reserves only for you, the stars in the gleaming of his seafoam eyes when the moonlight hits them just right, gravity residing in the weight of his hands on your waist.

You love Jason so much you wish you could crawl into his chest, nestle yourself between his ribs and feel the beat of his heart from within. You can’t, of course. But right now, with his broad frame between your thighs and his hips rocking relentlessly into yours? It’s as close as you can get.

It’s intoxicating, the combination of physicality and emotion. Jason feels so good. His cock pushes against every sweet spot you have, delicious toe-curling drags that have you whimpering his name. And he’s so big. It feels like he’s splitting you in half even though he’d spent a good half hour prepping you on his fingers and his tongue. You wouldn’t have it any other way. Feeling your body give way to him, conforming to the shape and weight of him—it’s like nothing else you’ve ever experienced. Nothing compares to Jason.

That’s part of it too. Sure, the feeling of him driving his thick cock into you would be amazing no matter what. But doing this with him while knowing how much he loves you, how much you love him? It’s divine. No heaven could come close to this. You’d take an eternity with him over anything else.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, ma. Feel so fuckin’ good around me,” Jason moans as he trails kisses down your neck.

“Jay–Jason, please,” you whine.

You’re not even sure what you’re begging for. He’s giving you everything you need. His hips rock back and forth at the perfect pace, deep thrusts that you swear you can feel all the way in your throat. Your legs wrap around his waist, ankles crossing over his lower back in an effort to keep him close. He’s buried to the hilt inside you and yet you still want more.

“What is it, baby? Tell me what ya need,” he pants. “I’ll give you anythin’, sweetheart. Anythin’ you want.”

“You.”

The word tumbles from your mouth over and over and over again. He’s reduced you to a crying, needy mess, incapable of thinking about anything other than him. But he knows you all too well and indulges you in your request. He leans in closer, using all his weight to pin you between his warm body and your disheveled blankets.

All you know is Jason. His large frame above you, so big that he blocks the candlelit bedroom from your sight. His voice cooing praises in your ear—you’re so beautiful, takin’ me so well darlin’, I’m all yours sweetheart. His lips kissing and biting adoring bruises into your neck, your collarbone. How heavenly the wet strokes of his cock feel inside your over sensitive cunt. He moves his hand down to rub your clit at the same time that he licks his way into your mouth and you’re done for.

Burning, bright—a white hot supernova that explodes across every nerve ending from your head to your toes. Your legs lock around him as your whole body shudders. Your nails rake across his back and biceps, pretty red lines blooming over his scars. Your teeth sink into his shoulder and you recognize the coppery taste of his blood. The pleasure-pain of your bite draws forth Jason’s orgasm and the warmth that floods you makes you dig your claws in deeper. You mark him as he marks you. A permanent claim, tangible evidence of the love that hums between you. You have one semi-coherent thought before your mind becomes static: you’re as full of him as you can be; mouth, nails, pussy—you’ve got him in every part of you now.

You don’t realize you’re sobbing until you feel his gentle hands wipe the tears from your face.

“You with me, mama?” he whispers, forehead resting against yours.

You hiccup. It takes all your energy to nod weakly in confirmation. You cling to him, not letting him move an inch away from you. His strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you as close to him as physically possible. The movement causes his half hard cock to grind deliciously inside you and you’re gasping into the crook of his neck.

“Stay. Please,” you beg through tears.

Jason just holds you tighter to his chest, and you find safety in the strength of his embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’m stayin’ right here with you,” he assures you.

After a few moments, your head clears ever so slightly. You become conscious of touch. Your hands twitch back to life and you discover that Jason has placed them around his neck. Your fingers rest against his pulse, the steady badum badum badum lulling you back to lucidity. You blink open your teary eyes and see concern swirling in the deep sea green of your lover’s.

“Was it too much? I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, baby. I’m sorry,” he whispers, gentle as the winter rain that’s beginning to fall outside.

“Not overwhelmed,” you mumble into his neck. “I just love you.”

Your voice cracks on those four words. You break under the bruising weight of your love for him. You think it could kill you, could bury you six feet under, and you would happily die for it. You would happily die for him. You don’t think you’d want to go out any other way. His hand in yours; it’s the only way you can exist now.

Jason feels it too. He knows you almost as well as you know yourself. He knows how complete your devotion is to him, how he could ask for anything and you would offer it up without hesitation. He knows his is the same. You could demand his heart on a silver platter and he’d go grab his daggers that are displayed neatly on the wall and the fine china back at Wayne Manor. And maybe it’s a lot, maybe you’re both a little too attached. But how could either of you possibly care when loving each other felt this good?

So he handles you delicately. He soothes you when your sobbing returns as he goes to grab a warm washcloth. He wipes your tears as he cleans your combined spend off your thighs. He gently pulls a pair of his boxers over your hips, one of his hoodies over your head. He cradles you in his arms as he carries you to the living room to eat some snacks and continue binging The Great British Baking Show. You’ve come back to reality now. A soft peace settles across your overworked body and mind as you lie intertwined with Jason on the sofa.

“I’m sorry I lost it a little there,” you mumble into his chest, cheeks flushed and more than a tad embarrassed.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for, honey. How many times have I done the same?”

It’s true. Most times it’s Jason that’s the sobbing, fucked out mess in the afterglow. It’s part of why the come down hit you so hard this time. You feel almost guilty, like you should’ve been able to hold yourself together better for him. You swear he can read your mind when he gently grabs your chin and turns your head to face him.

“Hey, none of that feelin’ bad bullshit. We take care of each other. It’s what we do. You’re the one always sayin’ that, right?” he asks, softly nudging his hooked nose against yours.

“Yeah, we take care of each other,” you whisper. “Forever and always?”

Jason absolutely beams at you, and suddenly nothing matters but him and the love you share in this little bit of time and space that’s all yours.

“Forever and always.”