Jason Todd Thoughts™ - Blog Posts
Jason Code I
aka when what he says isn’t what he means
“You’re alright?” = he’s not asking if you’re okay he’s asking whats wrong
“You wanna come?” = please go with me
“I’m fine” = i’m irritated
“I’m okay” = ptsd triggered
“You’re good” = i’m here
“Whatever” = yeah, that’s completely fine
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
NSFT Alphabet
jason todd x afab!reader
warnings: >18 i’ll block ur ass stay away 18+
A = AFTERCARE
Aftercare is just as important to him as sex itself, if not more so. He’ll lay with you until you catch your breath, giving light kisses to the nearest part of your body. Once you’re back to baseline, he’ll get a warm rag to clean you up, being more gentle than he needs to be with your sensitive body. If you want it, he’ll grab one of his shirts for you to wear and pull it over your head for you. He’ll cover you up in your blankets and hold you close, murmuring to you how pretty you are, how good you did for him, how much he loves you.
B = BODY
His favorite body part of his own is his arms. He likes how strong he is, plus they emphasize his frame which plays into his size kink too. For you, it’s your waist. As we’ll discuss more later, he loves holding onto your hips during sex and he’s a big fan of kissing down your stomach as a way to initiate.
C = CUM
He prefers to come inside of you most of the time, but he likes coming in your mouth or on your body too. He will not come on your face though, he feels like it’s disrespectful to you, even if you’re into it. He’s a big guy and he comes a lot—more than he wished he would. That's part of the reason he’d rather come in you than on you, he thinks it’s embarrassing how much comes out. The first couple of times you had sex he’d tried to distract you with kisses as he came, hoping you wouldn’t notice it. Once he learns that you don’t mind it though, even like it, it eases his anxieties considerably.
D = DIRTY SECRET
He’s definitely masturbated once or twice when you were asleep next to him and he didn’t want to wake you. He felt gross about it but you looked so good with the way his shirt rode up against the curve of your ass, your panties on display. Your cheek was mushed up against the pillow next to him and he wanted to kiss you silly more than anything, but you had to be up early in the morning. So he took care of it himself, admiring your pretty face. No, he’ll never tell you that happened.
E = EXPERIENCE
He’s had sex just enough to know that he has a big dick and has to be careful when he’s fucking someone. Before you it was mostly a method of blowing off steam, but it wasn’t something he craved like he does with you. There was always minimal kissing, if any, and it was more procedural than anything. So when it comes to romantic sex, his experience was 0 but that makes it that much better. He didn’t have too much experience otherwise and he was fine with that. He had more important things to worry about than sex. That was, until he met you.
F = FAVORITE POSITION
He likes anything where he can hold your hips the most. So cowgirl and missionary are never misses, especially for how well he’s able to see your face. He also likes fucking you against the wall, it makes for easy access to kiss you. In spite of how much he loves seeing your expressions during sex, he can’t deny how much he loves holding your hips in place during doggy. His least favorites are probably prone bone and reverse cowgirl, they’re too impersonal and dispassionate.
G = GOOFY
He’s going to take it very seriously the first handful of times. He’s not taking any risks about hurting you or making the experience anything short of extremely pleasurable for you. And in his mind, to do that he needs to focus. After you get more comfortable with each other though, he starts to relax and trust himself to be able to take care of you, even with a more laid-back attitude. The silliest sex you have will be when you’re drunk/tipsy, it’s very smiley and giggly. Generally, he’ll make jokes now and again, smile at your smiles, but he’s still more serious about sex than not.
H = HAIR
He’ll trim to keep up appearances, especially after he meets you, but it’s not something he’s overly concerned about. For you, he’s really truly completely neutral about whether or not you shave, but he’s likely to encourage you not to, if not only so you know you don’t have to change anything for him. But he won’t blink twice either way.
I = INTIMACY
Sex with you is always intimate for him. He tells you he loves you during it often, praising you constantly. He brushes your hair back when it gets messy and wipes your tears away with a gentle hand. He’ll call you beautiful and kiss you nice as he fucks you, holding your hand all the while.
J = JACK OFF
He rarely needs to get himself off, really only if he’s away on a mission for a while. It’s definitely not the preferred circumstances but he’ll make do when he has to. He feels like a fucking perv when he thinks about you while he’s doing it, but he can’t come otherwise. He knows you wouldn’t care but he still feels gross about it. The way he remedies this is usually by communicating with you directly, telling you how much he misses you and how much he wants you there with him.
K = KINKS
Above all else, he has a major size kink. He absolutely loves how much bigger than you he is and it gets him going at the most random times. He likes being stronger than you and making you go/stay where he wants you. On a related note, he also likes to restrain you. The implied deepness of the trust you have in him turns him on so bad. Plus, he likes being in control, and you not being able to wiggle gives him the chance to take care of you however he wants. Edging is another one he likes but he’s not always so good at it. He has a hard time denying you and when you’re begging him so sweetly to let you come…who is he to say no? Though, if you’ve been a bit of a brat he’ll be merciless about it. On the flip side, sometimes he’ll overstimulate you but it’s not his favorite of the two because he can’t always handle seeing you cry like that. But he does like the idea of you getting lost in so much pleasure that you don’t know what to do with yourself.
L = LOCATION
His favorite place to fuck you is anywhere in your apartment. Your bed, shower, kitchen, couch, the rug…He likes it a) because it’s private and he’s free to take care of his girl whenever he wants and b) he likes seeing you in the same spot going about your day where he’d made you come just a few hours ago. He’s also not opposed to subtle car sex, especially for going down on one another. He’s not a big fan of public stuff, if he were to do it, it would be in a situation where he was certain you wouldn’t get caught. He’s too private to get off on the risk and frankly, he doesn’t much like the potential of someone else seeing you the way he gets to see you.
M = MOTIVATION
He gets turned on by just about anything you do. If you wear tank tops, his clothes, shirt and no pants, those will all get him going. Then there’s things like play fighting, seeing you stick up for yourself (especially against him), when you yell, if you just touch him. He really is in love with you and everything that you do.
N = NO
JTLHG!jason is mainly dominant, but he can be submissive for you if you approach it the right way. You’d have to be subtle and encouraging or else his pride will get in the way. Anything him or you do in these times would be very soft and gentle, more vanilla than anything for the sake of reassurance. His biggest no here is restraints. Sex requires a lot of trust for him and as much as he does trust you, he would feel much too vulnerable tied up and he wouldn’t like it. However, when he’s the one in control he’s not afraid to be more…adventurous. That being said, he wouldn’t be into choking you or hitting you. I think even if you were very clearly into it, it would make him feel bad about himself on multiple levels. He doesn’t want to hit you, even sexually, and hates the idea of his hands around your neck. Public stuff makes him uncomfortable and degradation is a hard no for him.
O = ORAL
He prefers going down on you by a mile. He’s usually hesitant to let you do it, he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to or for you to potentially lose any pleasure during sex. He really does think it should be all about you and he has a hard time grasping that making him feel good makes you feel good too. He likes to hold your hands when he eats you out, or your waist. He doesn’t want to lose any physical contact with you—it’s a very intimate thing and he’ll treat it as such. He’s also been known to rub soothing patterns into your waist or wrap his arms around your thighs to hold them apart. When you give him head it’s overwhelming for him. He denies himself of it so much that he can’t handle it when he actually gets it. He likes to hold your hands here sometimes too, but more often than not he’s holding your hair out of your face so he can see you—the gentle weight of his opposite hand on the back of your head. He’ll struggle to catch his breath, lips parted.
P = PACE
It all depends on the mood for him. He can and will switch it up as needed. He can be very intense and rough, fast thrusts and heated kisses. This can be passionate or angry sex. He can also take it very slow and sensual, and depending on his mood, this can be either very romantic or very torturous.
Q = QUICKIE
He doesn’t really like quickies that much, he definitely prefers to take his time with you. Quickie’s don’t really allow him to prep you properly, something that’s incredibly necessary when having sex with him. Anyways he wants to make sure he’s able to give you the best experience possible and he can’t do that if he’s rushing. No, he really prefers to take as much time with you as possible.
R = RISK
As mentioned, he’s not much for risky situations. The riskiest he’ll get is car sex or sex at the manor. He might make out with you in an alleyway but he won’t full-on do it with you outside. He doesn’t want to be caught, doesn’t want to worry about it when he has more important things to focus on.
S = STAMINA
He can go for several rounds most nights and even needs to often. He feels bad about it sometimes though, he feels like one round should be enough for him and he shouldn’t need to take even more from you. Once he eventually gets it through his head that it’s okay for him to need more, he’s relentless. The thing about him is that he requires little to no recovery time post-orgasm before he’s on you again so you might have to remind him to slow down a little.
T = TOYS
He’s not the biggest fan of toys, honestly. He doesn’t like the idea of a piece of plastic making you come, doing his job for him. It also means he’s less hands on and he doesn’t like that at all. That’s not to say he wouldn’t use them ever, he just wouldn’t go out of his way to make it happen. If you had a vibrator or something and you wanted to use it he probably would, if not only so you don’t use it by yourself instead. Beyond that there’s not too much I see him wanting to use, nothing very intense for sure.
U = UNFAIR
He’s a big tease but doesn’t always have the capacity to see it through. If you beg him just the right way he just has to give you what you want. Until you’re able to crack that code though, he seems like an unbeatable force. He’s constantly touching you and it’s hard for you to tell if it’s absentminded or if there’s something more behind them. He’s an expert at attacking that one spot on your neck and getting you just as desperate as he is within a matter of minutes.
V = VOLUME
He’s a groaner and a grunter, low and deep. He, maybe intentionally, stops himself from moaning more often than not, especially when you’re first together. The best way to get him to make noise is to suck just below his jawline, caress over his v-line, or blow him. He can’t control himself when you do any of that.
W = WILD CARD
Jason secretly loves it when you give him as much shit as he gives you. He loves when you tease him, when you tell him “no, we’re not having sex you were being mean.” He can’t stop himself from smiling when you yell at him and he doesn’t even wish he could. As much as he doesn’t want to be submissive, he loves it when you don’t either.
X = X-RAY
Yeah so he’s 8.5 inches hard. He’s a big guy, it stands to reason that he’d have a big dick. It’s fat too, enough to make you cry the first time you take him.
Y = YEARNING
His sex drive is pretty fucking high after getting with you. It operates half as a means of affection and half as a stress reliever. And boy does he need stress relief. There’s phases where he wants you as much as every day, but more often than not it’s like 3-4 times a week.
Z = ZZZ
He wants you to fall asleep before him afterwards, he thinks it’s rude or something if he dozes off first. He’ll often brush his fingers up and down your back, easing you into sleep. If he’s not tired afterwards he’ll read while you nap on his chest, comforted by the in and out of your breaths.
Sweetheart
jason todd x afab!reader
aka you catch an attitude with jason
warnings: smut, soft!dom jason, fingering & oral (fem receiving), edging, begging, mild restraint
18+, interacting minors will be blocked
It all happened when he was in a good mood. And it’s probably best that it did.
You haven’t really been this irritable with Jason before, so neither of you were really expecting the ensuing events. Him, the former portions, and you the ladder.
He didn’t say anything about it when you first came home, moping and grumpy, he’d only greeted you with a kiss like he always does and hugged you tight.
Early on in the evening, you’d grumble about the workload of chores you still have to deal with tonight. Again, he made no comment. Instead, he decided to split the work with you, standing shoulder to shoulder as you wash the dishes and he dries.
You hold a plate up in the air, frustrated when it’s not immediately taken from your hand. You glance over to where Jason is still drying the last bowl you handed him, despite it being—mostly—done.
“Jason, come on,” you complain, not thrilled with the leisurely pace he’s landed on.
He stops his drying movements, looking at you sideways.
“Sweetheart…try that again?”
His tone is enough to set you back, resetting your attitude. You don’t say anything more, moving along with your movements silently. He accepts the silence for what it is—yielding—and continues drying the dishes alongside you.
It only takes another twenty minutes for another slip up.
He’d sat down on the couch expecting you to curl up against him, like you always do, but this mood of yours wouldn’t even allow for an assumption as safe as that.
“Seriously?” you grumbled at him, unimpressed with the lack of space. It was quiet, but you know he’d heard you.
“What was that?”
His tone is a little sterner than it was before, but it’s just as daring of you to answer.
This time, you give him one.
“Can you just fucking move please?”
The look he gives you honestly confuses you at first. There’s the expected rise of the eyebrows, but a small smile plays at his lips too. It’s disbelieving and daring at the same time.
“Really? You sure about that one, sweetheart?”
Your chin lowers out of habit upon hearing his tone, but you say nothing.
He tilts his head, smirk growing. “Okay.”
You don’t immediately clock the comment for the promise that it is—in fact, you don’t realize until much later that this was the moment you should’ve known.
Later that night, he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, silently watching you move throughout the room, huffing. You’re looking for something that he’s not even sure you brought home, tearing through the apartment with little patience.
He tilts his head, eyes sympathetic.
“Baby.”
He coaxes you with that soft, low voice he uses when he’s trying to coerce you. “Come ‘ere.”
You pause your search, shoulders sagging.
You oblige his request, very much in need of his touch after the day you’ve had.
You straddle his lap, letting him hold you steady by your waist. You initiate a passionate kiss, hands circling the nape of his neck. He breathes you in deeply, rubbing slow circles against your hips. You start to grind your hips down over him, the resulting friction from where his jeans meets the thin fabric of your shorts being addictive.
He traces a light touch along your waist, kissing you with an unequal intensity.
You pick up your pace, grinding with more intent. You moan into his mouth and he kisses you with more intensity.
Just before you’re able to come, he suddenly flips you around so that your back is to his chest. The repositioning momentarily upsets you due to your lost orgasm but the words die off quickly as he begins rubbing at your clit. He kisses your neck as he rubs lucid circles at just the right pace.
His thumb takes over the work as he inserts two fingers in you, pumping slowly. You relax your body against his chest, craning your head to the side so you can kiss his neck. You can feel him hum under your lips, circling your clit faster.
You’re starting to squirm on his lap as your high approaches, lips parting in desperation. You can just see the horizon of bliss when his ministrations stop suddenly.
You glance down between your legs, brow furrowed, before looking back up at him.
He doesn’t look perturbed in the least, just as easy-going as ever.
He glances at you, tilting his head.
“Haven’t been very sweet for me today, have you?”
You frown and turn yourself around on his lap again, sitting over his thigh. You press your hands to his still clothed chest, eyes imploring. You start to move your hips over his but he forces you still like it’s nothing.
Despite your active protesting, he lays an unhurried, sweet kiss to your mouth, breaking away slowly.
“Good girls get to come,” he whispers against your lips.
You lightly thud your forehead against his, “I’ll be good.”
He hums, pursing his lips. “Not tonight.”
You’re fully whining now, “Jay…”
He nods faux-sympathetically, “I’m sorry, baby.”
You try to grind your hips against his thigh but he does little in the way of letting you move. His grip remains firm on your waist as he watches you struggle.
He tilts his head, “You want me to rub your clit some more? I will. But I’m gonna stop.”
The promise rings a scorching heat in your ears but the opportunity can’t be passed up. You know you’re stupid for thinking you can manage to come anyways, but you’re getting desperate.
You nod against him, and he makes a cooing “mhm,” before obliging.
He reaches down again, rubbing languid circles, not fast enough for you to even think about an orgasm.
“Please,” you beg quietly into the crook of his neck.
You feel him nod before picking up his pace. “Okay, baby.”
You’re too worked up to notice the lilt in his words, how they’re a little more ‘careful what you wish for’ than you would’ve liked. You catch up soon, though.
He starts up again, nuzzling his face against your neck as he works your body, hitting that exact right speed. You moan out, head falling back. You can feel his eyelashes flutter against the column of your throat, cheeks warm. This time you get so close that you think he’s going to let you come.
You hit his chest harder than you should when he stops again.
He doesn’t seem to care though, moving his hand away without an ounce of remorse.
“Jay—” you groan, forehead thumping against his shoulder.
He’s shaking his head before you can finish your complaint, “Nuh uh, baby. You’re not coming tonight.”
He kisses your cheek, nudging you back so he can see you.
“You’re supposed to take care of me,” you pout. “You said that.”
He hums, brushing your hair back. “I do take care of you. I am. Just not how you want me to, right?”
You borderline glare at him, not at all thrilled that this is the game he’s choosing to play after today. He doesn’t care in the slightest, not really, in spite of how sweet his actions read.
At this point you’re more frustrated and overwhelmed than you’ve been in a while, and you don’t even realize it as tears start to slip out.
Unfortunately for you, even that does little to sway his mercy. His indulgence only comes through with the way he kisses your tears away from your cheeks. His touch remains gentle with you, too gentle, and it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.
His hands slip under your shirt to hold you in place, undeterred by your squirming. He pecks a series of kisses all across your face, ignoring your whining.
You push his hands off of you with a huff, pulling yourself off of his lap and onto the couch cushions. You start to frantically rub at your clit yourself, subconsciously knowing that you only have a moment to get away with this. Your success lasts half of that though, before Jason scoops up both of your hands and pins them to your chest, holding you still.
He huffs out a laugh, “No, baby.”
His tone is almost mockingly sympathetic.
“Jason—!”
He leans over you, basically making out with your neck languidly. The intense affection directed towards the wrong place is maddening and it has you squeezing your eyes shut.
Several more rounds of this go on before you give up, collapsing onto his chest. His hands still keep your wrists pinned against him as you fall asleep, light kisses being pressed to your hairline.
You can’t be completely sure, but you think you dream of a scenario or two where he actually lets you come. Ha.
When you wake up you’re in your bed, sheets pulled up over you. The sky is glowing an orange-pink hue and the city is still mostly quiet.
As you push yourself to sit up, you notice the bedroom door is open and the sound of sizzling can be heard from the kitchen.
You creep out from under the covers, tip-toeing through the living room. You can be certain he knows you’re there by now but he makes no acknowledgement of your sneaking.
As you approach, he lets you duck under his arms, resituating them around you so you’re comfortable. He kisses the top of your head, not looking away from his work on the skillet.
You rest your cheek on his chest, murmuring, “Jay…”
“Yeah, pretty?”
“I’m sorry…”
“I know, baby.”
He sets the spatula down, using his now free hand to nudge your chin up to look at him. “You gonna be my good girl?”
You nod submissively, hoping to God that he believes you this time.
“Yeah?”
You nod harder, and he returns the gesture, mulling it over.
He wordlessly nudges you backwards to sit at the kitchen table. You watch dumbly as he turns back to the counter, scooping the entire contents of the pan out onto a plate.
He faces you again, plopping the plate of eggs down in front of you.
“Eat.”
You frown at him, fully ready to start pouting when he cuts you off.
“You haven’t eaten in like twelve hours. Eat, then we’ll talk.”
You don’t want to talk, but you slump your shoulders and take a bite.
He moves to stand behind you, pleased, resting his chin atop your head.
He caresses your waist as you eat, torturously gentle and kind.
After a few minutes of silently eating and enduring, you tilt your chin to look up at him, frowning.
“You’re being mean.”
He raises his brows down at you, “I’m the one being mean now?”
You break eye contact, dropping your focus back to the plate of half finished food.
“I said I’m sorry,” you mumble.
He brushes your hair back from your neck gently, “Yeah, you did.”
He says nothing more so you continue stuffing food into your mouth as quickly as you can without attracting suspicion.
When you’ve scraped the plate clean and can be sure he has nothing left to ask of you, you get up and set the plate in the sink.
You look up at him expectantly, still frowning.
“Jay?”
He looks almost bored as he contemplates, taking in your expression.
He concedes after a few moments gesturing you towards him.
“Yeah, come here.”
You’re too fast to have even tried to play it cool, but neither of you would’ve believed it anyways.
He drops a hand down to the edge of your shorts, about to slip beneath the fabric. You stop his hand before it can go any further, imploring.
“I want to come.”
He raises his eyebrows, “Yeah? I want my good girl back.”
You nod in yield, happy to give him whatever he wants at this point.
He removes his hand, and lifts you up by your thighs, bringing you up to his height momentarily. He sets you down on the table, laying you back.
“Jason, please—” you beg, trembling for what’s to come.
He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, “Yeah, I’ll make you come, baby. ‘Course I will.”
He pushes you to lay back, pulling your shirt up to your collarbone, and pressing sweet kisses to your chest.
He kneads your left breast in his large palm, kissing your right with a feverish amount of attention.
He switches after a moment, giving some love to the other side of your chest before beginning to work his way down.
He lays kisses down your sternum, leading to your navel. His affection is just as tender as it had been last night and you’re not sure whether to trust it.
You’re not given much time to mull it over before he’s pulling your shorts and underwear down in one go, letting them drop onto the tiles.
He leaves open mouthed kisses on your pussy, sucking gently on your clit periodically.
He wraps one hand around your thigh, keeping your legs open. His other hand rests atop your stomach, mostly idle except for the occasional reassuring brush of his thumb.
His eyelashes flutter as he eats you out, and you only realize now why he hadn’t last night. He’s not much for denying you when he gets you like this—he likes it too much to stop. Especially when you’re begging him so pretty.
You’re not quite sure when he’s taking the time to breathe but you can’t bring yourself to care right now.
Even if you weren’t still so on edge after last night, he’s really good at using his mouth. He works you up quickly, bringing you close after only a couple minutes.
When he can tell you’re there, he nods encouragingly, rubbing your clit with his thumb for the brief moment he breaks away. “Come on sweetheart. You can come.”
Warmth floods your body upon hearing the words, knowing that he wouldn’t lie to you.
You call out a noise that’s half a moan, half a whine. You shake under him, legs stiffening as he continues to work you through the orgasm.
He kisses your clit once more, humming.
“Oh, there she is. There’s my sweet girl.”
He moves back up your body, pulling you to sit up slowly. He holds you up by your lower back whispering soft praises.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your neck.
You sigh silently, catching your breath.
🔧 every time you don’t reblog a fic jason gets hit in the head with a crowbar 🔧
me reading this
Sweetheart
jason todd x afab!reader
aka you catch an attitude with jason
warnings: smut, soft!dom jason, fingering & oral (fem receiving), edging, begging, mild restraint
18+, interacting minors will be blocked
It all happened when he was in a good mood. And it’s probably best that it did.
You haven’t really been this irritable with Jason before, so neither of you were really expecting the ensuing events. Him, the former portions, and you the ladder.
He didn’t say anything about it when you first came home, moping and grumpy, he’d only greeted you with a kiss like he always does and hugged you tight.
Early on in the evening, you’d grumble about the workload of chores you still have to deal with tonight. Again, he made no comment. Instead, he decided to split the work with you, standing shoulder to shoulder as you wash the dishes and he dries.
You hold a plate up in the air, frustrated when it’s not immediately taken from your hand. You glance over to where Jason is still drying the last bowl you handed him, despite it being—mostly—done.
“Jason, come on,” you complain, not thrilled with the leisurely pace he’s landed on.
He stops his drying movements, looking at you sideways.
“Sweetheart…try that again?”
His tone is enough to set you back, resetting your attitude. You don’t say anything more, moving along with your movements silently. He accepts the silence for what it is—yielding—and continues drying the dishes alongside you.
It only takes another twenty minutes for another slip up.
He’d sat down on the couch expecting you to curl up against him, like you always do, but this mood of yours wouldn’t even allow for an assumption as safe as that.
“Seriously?” you grumbled at him, unimpressed with the lack of space. It was quiet, but you know he’d heard you.
“What was that?”
His tone is a little sterner than it was before, but it’s just as daring of you to answer.
This time, you give him one.
“Can you just fucking move please?”
The look he gives you honestly confuses you at first. There’s the expected rise of the eyebrows, but a small smile plays at his lips too. It’s disbelieving and daring at the same time.
“Really? You sure about that one, sweetheart?”
Your chin lowers out of habit upon hearing his tone, but you say nothing.
He tilts his head, smirk growing. “Okay.”
You don’t immediately clock the comment for the promise that it is—in fact, you don’t realize until much later that this was the moment you should’ve known.
Later that night, he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, silently watching you move throughout the room, huffing. You’re looking for something that he’s not even sure you brought home, tearing through the apartment with little patience.
He tilts his head, eyes sympathetic.
“Baby.”
He coaxes you with that soft, low voice he uses when he’s trying to coerce you. “Come ‘ere.”
You pause your search, shoulders sagging.
You oblige his request, very much in need of his touch after the day you’ve had.
You straddle his lap, letting him hold you steady by your waist. You initiate a passionate kiss, hands circling the nape of his neck. He breathes you in deeply, rubbing slow circles against your hips. You start to grind your hips down over him, the resulting friction from where his jeans meets the thin fabric of your shorts being addictive.
He traces a light touch along your waist, kissing you with an unequal intensity.
You pick up your pace, grinding with more intent. You moan into his mouth and he kisses you with more intensity.
Just before you’re able to come, he suddenly flips you around so that your back is to his chest. The repositioning momentarily upsets you due to your lost orgasm but the words die off quickly as he begins rubbing at your clit. He kisses your neck as he rubs lucid circles at just the right pace.
His thumb takes over the work as he inserts two fingers in you, pumping slowly. You relax your body against his chest, craning your head to the side so you can kiss his neck. You can feel him hum under your lips, circling your clit faster.
You’re starting to squirm on his lap as your high approaches, lips parting in desperation. You can just see the horizon of bliss when his ministrations stop suddenly.
You glance down between your legs, brow furrowed, before looking back up at him.
He doesn’t look perturbed in the least, just as easy-going as ever.
He glances at you, tilting his head.
“Haven’t been very sweet for me today, have you?”
You frown and turn yourself around on his lap again, sitting over his thigh. You press your hands to his still clothed chest, eyes imploring. You start to move your hips over his but he forces you still like it’s nothing.
Despite your active protesting, he lays an unhurried, sweet kiss to your mouth, breaking away slowly.
“Good girls get to come,” he whispers against your lips.
You lightly thud your forehead against his, “I’ll be good.”
He hums, pursing his lips. “Not tonight.”
You’re fully whining now, “Jay…”
He nods faux-sympathetically, “I’m sorry, baby.”
You try to grind your hips against his thigh but he does little in the way of letting you move. His grip remains firm on your waist as he watches you struggle.
He tilts his head, “You want me to rub your clit some more? I will. But I’m gonna stop.”
The promise rings a scorching heat in your ears but the opportunity can’t be passed up. You know you’re stupid for thinking you can manage to come anyways, but you’re getting desperate.
You nod against him, and he makes a cooing “mhm,” before obliging.
He reaches down again, rubbing languid circles, not fast enough for you to even think about an orgasm.
“Please,” you beg quietly into the crook of his neck.
You feel him nod before picking up his pace. “Okay, baby.”
You’re too worked up to notice the lilt in his words, how they’re a little more ‘careful what you wish for’ than you would’ve liked. You catch up soon, though.
He starts up again, nuzzling his face against your neck as he works your body, hitting that exact right speed. You moan out, head falling back. You can feel his eyelashes flutter against the column of your throat, cheeks warm. This time you get so close that you think he’s going to let you come.
You hit his chest harder than you should when he stops again.
He doesn’t seem to care though, moving his hand away without an ounce of remorse.
“Jay—” you groan, forehead thumping against his shoulder.
He’s shaking his head before you can finish your complaint, “Nuh uh, baby. You’re not coming tonight.”
He kisses your cheek, nudging you back so he can see you.
“You’re supposed to take care of me,” you pout. “You said that.”
He hums, brushing your hair back. “I do take care of you. I am. Just not how you want me to, right?”
You borderline glare at him, not at all thrilled that this is the game he’s choosing to play after today. He doesn’t care in the slightest, not really, in spite of how sweet his actions read.
At this point you’re more frustrated and overwhelmed than you’ve been in a while, and you don’t even realize it as tears start to slip out.
Unfortunately for you, even that does little to sway his mercy. His indulgence only comes through with the way he kisses your tears away from your cheeks. His touch remains gentle with you, too gentle, and it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.
His hands slip under your shirt to hold you in place, undeterred by your squirming. He pecks a series of kisses all across your face, ignoring your whining.
You push his hands off of you with a huff, pulling yourself off of his lap and onto the couch cushions. You start to frantically rub at your clit yourself, subconsciously knowing that you only have a moment to get away with this. Your success lasts half of that though, before Jason scoops up both of your hands and pins them to your chest, holding you still.
He huffs out a laugh, “No, baby.”
His tone is almost mockingly sympathetic.
“Jason—!”
He leans over you, basically making out with your neck languidly. The intense affection directed towards the wrong place is maddening and it has you squeezing your eyes shut.
Several more rounds of this go on before you give up, collapsing onto his chest. His hands still keep your wrists pinned against him as you fall asleep, light kisses being pressed to your hairline.
You can’t be completely sure, but you think you dream of a scenario or two where he actually lets you come. Ha.
When you wake up you’re in your bed, sheets pulled up over you. The sky is glowing an orange-pink hue and the city is still mostly quiet.
As you push yourself to sit up, you notice the bedroom door is open and the sound of sizzling can be heard from the kitchen.
You creep out from under the covers, tip-toeing through the living room. You can be certain he knows you’re there by now but he makes no acknowledgement of your sneaking.
As you approach, he lets you duck under his arms, resituating them around you so you’re comfortable. He kisses the top of your head, not looking away from his work on the skillet.
You rest your cheek on his chest, murmuring, “Jay…”
“Yeah, pretty?”
“I’m sorry…”
“I know, baby.”
He sets the spatula down, using his now free hand to nudge your chin up to look at him. “You gonna be my good girl?”
You nod submissively, hoping to God that he believes you this time.
“Yeah?”
You nod harder, and he returns the gesture, mulling it over.
He wordlessly nudges you backwards to sit at the kitchen table. You watch dumbly as he turns back to the counter, scooping the entire contents of the pan out onto a plate.
He faces you again, plopping the plate of eggs down in front of you.
“Eat.”
You frown at him, fully ready to start pouting when he cuts you off.
“You haven’t eaten in like twelve hours. Eat, then we’ll talk.”
You don’t want to talk, but you slump your shoulders and take a bite.
He moves to stand behind you, pleased, resting his chin atop your head.
He caresses your waist as you eat, torturously gentle and kind.
After a few minutes of silently eating and enduring, you tilt your chin to look up at him, frowning.
“You’re being mean.”
He raises his brows down at you, “I’m the one being mean now?”
You break eye contact, dropping your focus back to the plate of half finished food.
“I said I’m sorry,” you mumble.
He brushes your hair back from your neck gently, “Yeah, you did.”
He says nothing more so you continue stuffing food into your mouth as quickly as you can without attracting suspicion.
When you’ve scraped the plate clean and can be sure he has nothing left to ask of you, you get up and set the plate in the sink.
You look up at him expectantly, still frowning.
“Jay?”
He looks almost bored as he contemplates, taking in your expression.
He concedes after a few moments gesturing you towards him.
“Yeah, come here.”
You’re too fast to have even tried to play it cool, but neither of you would’ve believed it anyways.
He drops a hand down to the edge of your shorts, about to slip beneath the fabric. You stop his hand before it can go any further, imploring.
“I want to come.”
He raises his eyebrows, “Yeah? I want my good girl back.”
You nod in yield, happy to give him whatever he wants at this point.
He removes his hand, and lifts you up by your thighs, bringing you up to his height momentarily. He sets you down on the table, laying you back.
“Jason, please—” you beg, trembling for what’s to come.
He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, “Yeah, I’ll make you come, baby. ‘Course I will.”
He pushes you to lay back, pulling your shirt up to your collarbone, and pressing sweet kisses to your chest.
He kneads your left breast in his large palm, kissing your right with a feverish amount of attention.
He switches after a moment, giving some love to the other side of your chest before beginning to work his way down.
He lays kisses down your sternum, leading to your navel. His affection is just as tender as it had been last night and you’re not sure whether to trust it.
You’re not given much time to mull it over before he’s pulling your shorts and underwear down in one go, letting them drop onto the tiles.
He leaves open mouthed kisses on your pussy, sucking gently on your clit periodically.
He wraps one hand around your thigh, keeping your legs open. His other hand rests atop your stomach, mostly idle except for the occasional reassuring brush of his thumb.
His eyelashes flutter as he eats you out, and you only realize now why he hadn’t last night. He’s not much for denying you when he gets you like this—he likes it too much to stop. Especially when you’re begging him so pretty.
You’re not quite sure when he’s taking the time to breathe but you can’t bring yourself to care right now.
Even if you weren’t still so on edge after last night, he’s really good at using his mouth. He works you up quickly, bringing you close after only a couple minutes.
When he can tell you’re there, he nods encouragingly, rubbing your clit with his thumb for the brief moment he breaks away. “Come on sweetheart. You can come.”
Warmth floods your body upon hearing the words, knowing that he wouldn’t lie to you.
You call out a noise that’s half a moan, half a whine. You shake under him, legs stiffening as he continues to work you through the orgasm.
He kisses your clit once more, humming.
“Oh, there she is. There’s my sweet girl.”
He moves back up your body, pulling you to sit up slowly. He holds you up by your lower back whispering soft praises.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your neck.
You sigh silently, catching your breath.
🔧 every time you don’t reblog a fic jason gets hit in the head with a crowbar 🔧
Careless Accidents
jason todd x fem!reader
aka you get hurt and jason’s pissed
warnings: reader’s wrist is accidentally sprained from being grabbed to hard
You could hear scuttling from somewhere else in the garden, an estate more than sizable enough than the game afoot.
You were under the distinct impression though that the bats and birds are playing with you similar to how they would a child. Slower, weaker, and less experienced than the big kids. You weren't complaining though. Because, frankly, it was stressful. They tend to operate more like they’re in a warzone than a game, you felt like you were about to be sniped out at any second.
Rightfully so, apparently, seeing how silently Stephanie had crept up on you.
“Hey,” Stephanie hissed, ignoring the way you jumped. “We’re doing alright for ourselves,” she said smugly.
“Yeah,” you’d nodded, like you agreed with her more than you probably did.
“Okay listen, I think the flag—” what flag? “—is by the fountain so, I think because there’s three of us and two of them, we should bait-and-switch.”
“We’re on teams?” you asked, no longer completely sure you know what you’re playing.
“We are now!” she smiled, starting to run. “I’ll bait!”
She stopped briefly in her tracks and turned back to you hissing, “Don’t trust Cass,” before scurrying away.
Rather than sit around and wait there for…something?...to happen, you jumped up darting in the opposite direction with little to no indication whether this is a good move.
What you didn’t see is Cass rapidly approaching from your rear.
What you also didn’t see was Dick crouched down in a row of shrubbery, which gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch your arm up and yank you down with him. You’d mewled a bit as your wrist made contact harshly with the grass, immediately buckling under you.
Cass was keen to your pain immediately, slowing her sprint to a stroll as she observed you.
“Are you okay?” she signs.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
The response was instinctual and you didn’t actually have time to register whether or not you were okay by the time you gave it.
You pushed up on your elbows, trying to figure out whether Dick is even on your team, but the way the others approached had you halting consideration. They’re savvy to the situation at a speed in which you can only attribute to their vigilantism, looking at you with concern.
“You good?” Tim asked, approaching languidly.
“That looked like it hurt,” Cass commented, crouching down next to you to see your wrist better.
Dick shook his head, “No, she’s okay.” He turned to you, prodding, “You’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m, um…” you winced, looking at your wrist. “It hurts a little.”
Cass examined it closely, tilting it gently to the side. “It might be sprained.”
Dick paled.
“No.”
Tim pointed a thumb back towards the manor, “We can get it wrapped upstairs.”
“No.”
You were only then able to clock the barely contained grin on Stephanie’s face, begging to break.
“Ooooh. He’s gonna kill you.”
Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.
“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—”
Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident.
“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.
You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”
Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done.
You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.
He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”
“Dick.”
He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes,
He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.
“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.
You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”
Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”
You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically.
Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.
“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”
Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”
Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”
A deadpan from Tim.
“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”
Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”
Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”
Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?”
“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.
“Oh my God.”
He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?
He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.
The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”
The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”
Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.”
Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”
Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”
Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.
“I can’t help you.”
Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.
Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”
“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”
Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”
Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”
Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom.
You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you.
“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.
“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.
He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you.
Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back.
You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”
“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”
He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you.
You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”
The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature.
He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.
“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”
You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”
He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.
He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”
You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.
Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt.
“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following.
“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”
He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”
He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”
You nod, happy to ease his mind.
You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.
You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.
You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.
He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.
“Fucking idiot—”
You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.
“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.
“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”
He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.
You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him.
He scoffs, “It better have been.”
You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”
“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”
You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”
“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly.
You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”
He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”
His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”
You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”
He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”
He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”
“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.
“Dick!”
The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.
He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes.
“Where is he?”
Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding.
Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.
He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”
“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”
But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.
He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.
There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail.
“Really? Really?” Jason shouts.
“It was an accident! It was a fucking—”
He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.
“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”
Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.
Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”
Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”
He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him.
Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”
Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”
“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option.
“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring.
Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to.
“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—”
Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”
“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”
Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”
“Yeah, of course I did!”
For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body.
The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.
It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more.
“Jason.”
Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption.
You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.
He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.
“I didn’t hit him.”
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I’m not a little bitch 👽👽👽
Careless Accidents
jason todd x fem!reader
aka you get hurt and jason’s pissed
warnings: reader’s wrist is accidentally sprained from being grabbed to hard
You could hear scuttling from somewhere else in the garden, an estate more than sizable enough than the game afoot.
You were under the distinct impression though that the bats and birds are playing with you similar to how they would a child. Slower, weaker, and less experienced than the big kids. You weren't complaining though. Because, frankly, it was stressful. They tend to operate more like they’re in a warzone than a game, you felt like you were about to be sniped out at any second.
Rightfully so, apparently, seeing how silently Stephanie had crept up on you.
“Hey,” Stephanie hissed, ignoring the way you jumped. “We’re doing alright for ourselves,” she said smugly.
“Yeah,” you’d nodded, like you agreed with her more than you probably did.
“Okay listen, I think the flag—” what flag? “—is by the fountain so, I think because there’s three of us and two of them, we should bait-and-switch.”
“We’re on teams?” you asked, no longer completely sure you know what you’re playing.
“We are now!” she smiled, starting to run. “I’ll bait!”
She stopped briefly in her tracks and turned back to you hissing, “Don’t trust Cass,” before scurrying away.
Rather than sit around and wait there for…something?...to happen, you jumped up darting in the opposite direction with little to no indication whether this is a good move.
What you didn’t see is Cass rapidly approaching from your rear.
What you also didn’t see was Dick crouched down in a row of shrubbery, which gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch your arm up and yank you down with him. You’d mewled a bit as your wrist made contact harshly with the grass, immediately buckling under you.
Cass was keen to your pain immediately, slowing her sprint to a stroll as she observed you.
“Are you okay?” she signs.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
The response was instinctual and you didn’t actually have time to register whether or not you were okay by the time you gave it.
You pushed up on your elbows, trying to figure out whether Dick is even on your team, but the way the others approached had you halting consideration. They’re savvy to the situation at a speed in which you can only attribute to their vigilantism, looking at you with concern.
“You good?” Tim asked, approaching languidly.
“That looked like it hurt,” Cass commented, crouching down next to you to see your wrist better.
Dick shook his head, “No, she’s okay.” He turned to you, prodding, “You’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m, um…” you winced, looking at your wrist. “It hurts a little.”
Cass examined it closely, tilting it gently to the side. “It might be sprained.”
Dick paled.
“No.”
Tim pointed a thumb back towards the manor, “We can get it wrapped upstairs.”
“No.”
You were only then able to clock the barely contained grin on Stephanie’s face, begging to break.
“Ooooh. He’s gonna kill you.”
Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.
“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—”
Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident.
“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.
You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”
Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done.
You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.
He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”
“Dick.”
He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes,
He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.
“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.
You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”
Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”
You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically.
Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.
“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”
Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”
Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”
A deadpan from Tim.
“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”
Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”
Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”
Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?”
“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.
“Oh my God.”
He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?
He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.
The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”
The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”
Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.”
Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”
Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”
Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.
“I can’t help you.”
Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.
Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”
“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”
Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”
Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”
Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom.
You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you.
“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.
“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.
He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you.
Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back.
You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”
“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”
He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you.
You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”
The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature.
He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.
“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”
You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”
He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.
He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”
You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.
Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt.
“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following.
“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”
He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”
He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”
You nod, happy to ease his mind.
You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.
You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.
You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.
He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.
“Fucking idiot—”
You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.
“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.
“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”
He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.
You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him.
He scoffs, “It better have been.”
You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”
“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”
You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”
“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly.
You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”
He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”
His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”
You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”
He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”
He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”
“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.
“Dick!”
The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.
He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes.
“Where is he?”
Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding.
Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.
He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”
“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”
But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.
He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.
There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail.
“Really? Really?” Jason bellows.
“It was an accident! It was a fucking—”
He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.
“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”
Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.
Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”
Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”
He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him.
Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”
Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”
“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option.
“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring.
Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to.
“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—”
Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”
“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”
Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”
“Yeah, of course I did!”
For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body.
The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.
It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more.
“Jason.”
Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption.
You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.
He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.
“I didn’t hit him.”
⭐️ your options are: (1) reblog fics or (2) be a little bitch ⭐️