I Have Zero URs Oh Well

hi, pepp!!! i just wanna say that your art is sososo pretty ;>∆<; so i was wondering if we could get a disheveled dr. ratio after being smothered in lipstick kisses on his face (and neck maybe.... #scandalous)?? i think he deserves lots of smooches... even if he'd try to deny them at first. thank you!!! and i hope you're having an amazing day. your art & friendly vibes give me so much serotonin ♡

Hi anon!!

Ty!! I hope you have a great day as well! I’m happy that my art gives you a shot of serotonin :)

I’ve decided to make your request into a comic!

There’s space for more kisses!!! For you!!

Bruce Wayne except he texts like an ominous boomer

wdym you can't tell if he's threatening them?

Based on this post by @mysterycitrus :)

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Bonus:

Happy birthday, Tim 🥰

childe’s ❝night terrors❞

❏ plot: you get an eerie feeling he’s been looking forward to this. humor, fluff, minor angst, fake dating au. based off this prompt.

❐ pairing: childe | tartaglia x gender neutral!reader.

❐ words: 2.9k.

❏ warnings: none!

It’s been a long day. You’ve followed Childe everywhere: from the mountaintops of Snezhnaya to the hillsides of Liyue and finally, finally, you’re getting some rest for the night.

“There’s only one bed.” But there’s only one bed.

Childe looks completely unbothered despite the look of exhaustion in his smile. He tosses his bag on the foot of the lone bed, puts his hands on his hips, and turns to you with a gleam, “We are a couple.”

“No, we’re not,” you’d had to say that multiple times today, more than you ever expected you’d need to, “now hand me a Mora so we can flip for who gets it.”

Okumaya devam et

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.”

masterlist; simon “ghost” riley

updated: I’ve put them in order of time if you want to read them that way.

just practice

simon eats you out for the first time.

your first christmas

simon is hurting and takes it out on you.

patient

simon comes home to find a joint in your apartment, something that reminds him of the past.

candied ginger

simon starts touching you on the way home from the grocery store.

nightmare

simon accidentally hurts you after having a nightmare.

a relationship with simon is far from easy

you and simon have a fight.

soft ramblings over tea

you and simon share tea the night before he leaves.

against the wall

simon finds himself wanting to give you a baby.

it’s safe here

simon says “I love you” for the first time.

surprising ghost with a pregnancy

...you surprise ghost with a pregnancy

merry christmas, lieutenant

soap runs into his lieutenant off-duty and meets the girl he has been keeping a secret (you).

buckshot

simon teaches you how to shoot so you can protect the family.

soft around the edges

ghost’s son runs up to him in front of the team.

uncle johnny

soap and ghost stay at your home for the night.

drabbles:

TLC from simon

anniversary

your son has a tantrum

ghost + your son's teddy bear

ghost's daughter runs up to him

your native language

domesticity turns him on

all dad!ghost here

au where ghost d*es here

Please give me mona from genshin impact

reblog and make a wish! this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)

in my head Ratio is invited guest on Astral Express and everybody hates him because he took "feel yourself at home" literally (he's very comfy here)

Bad Hair Day

[Jason Todd x Reader]

Word Count: 5k

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

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

Divider found here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, w- ” 

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

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

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

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

New. And nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m still really sweaty.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Jason hummed appreciatively, his eyes half-closed. 

“Good. Keep drinking your water, honey.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason caught your eyes, raised his brow in question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason let out a wordless groan, and you laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My little dandelion.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you. For saying it.”

“Thanks for saying it back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he came up with a… creative solution. 

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

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

He hummed distractedly, eyes still fixed on the pages. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop lookin at it!”

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

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

“That better be a compliment.”

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

“You know what I like even more?”

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

“Your comfort and safety.”

“Lame,” he said solemnly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something fluttered in your chest at the gentle request.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm. Very handsome,” you decided.

“Yeah?” 

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

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

“What kind of handsome?”

“Distinguished. Debonair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

“Great. Tell me anyway.” 

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

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

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

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

But he was already scrambling back to the bathroom.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope.”

“Jason, it doesn’t mean -”

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

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

“It has to be done.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jason,” you said sweetly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still handsome?” he asked quietly.

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

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

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

A/n: Say something before I lose my mind

Based on that little blurb you reblogged can I request the batfamily finding out that Jason has a girlfriend by him rummaging through the stuff in his pockets?

They're like dang dude what do you have in there? and it's all hair ties, lip stick, and a recipe for two 💕

-🍬

oh I love a good “Jason hides his lover from his family only for it to get revealed dramatically” fic and now thanks to you, nonnie, I get to write one!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include canon typical injuries, sibling violence, and slight hints at the batfam’s more traumatic interactions. this is mostly a good ol’ batfam fic, because reader is only alluded to, but I really like it. sorry I made it angsty for a sec there, I just can’t resist the Dynamics™️.

Jason should’ve known better. Really, he should’ve. Taking on Killer Croc alone? A fool’s mistake, but he was just too stubborn to say yes when Bruce asked if he’d like some backup. So now here he is, loopy in the Batcave after Waylon absolutely rocked his shit.

“‘S not even that bad,” he slurs.

The fact that he trips on his own feet and nearly faceplants before Bruce catches him says otherwise.

“Sure it’s not, Jaylad. Let’s get you to the medbay,” Bruce grumbles, worry creeping into that stone cold exterior.

“I’m fine, old man. Lemme jus’ go home,” Jason whines.

He’s met with a grunt that firmly negates his request.

“You can stay in your room tonight,” Bruce says.

“Not my home. Wanna go home,” Jason mumbles as he drops onto the medbay bed.

If Bruce’s face drops a bit, if guilt and sorrow flash across his eyes? Well, Jason’s too concussed to notice. Bruce just nods and begins to assess any other injuries Croc may have left on him. When he reaches for the collar of the Kevlar top, Jason flinches away from him so hard that he slams into the wall behind him. It’s only when Bruce realizes that he’d brushed his fingers against the scar on Jason’s neck that he realizes why. His heart sinks and he can’t even look at his son. His shame doubles when he hears a trademark sigh of disappointment from behind him.

“C’mon, Littlewing. Let’s get all of this off you,” Dick says gently as he pushes past their father.

Jason doesn’t flinch when Dick starts to remove his gear. In fact, the presence of his older brother sets him at ease.

“I told ‘im I had it covered, Dickie. He didn’t fuckin’ listen,” Jason complains.

“Yeah, had it so covered you’re concussed in the family home?” Dick teases.

“What the fuck, Richard?” Jason groans before breaking out into giggles.

“How hard did Waylon hit him?” Dick jokingly asks Bruce.

“There’s no fractures, but the contusions are appearing rapidly. Jason’s lucky that’s all he got.”

Dick stares blankly at Bruce. He goes to open his mouth to retort that he was kidding, then decides it’s not worth his effort. Tim thinks it is, though.

“Wow, for a guy that’s chronically online for vigilante reasons, you still know nothing about the internet,” Tim laughs as he wanders into the medbay and flops down on the bed next to Jason’s.

Bruce ignores the teasing and catalogs all the injuries that are revealed to him as Dick strips away Jason’s tattered gear. There’s plenty of lacerations on his torso and likely some on his back. A few are deeper but nothing they’ll need to call Leslie for.

“Or maybe your jokes just aren’t funny, Timothy” Damian says haughtily as he sits himself next to Jason.

The thirteen-year-old tries to put on a mask of indifference, but it wavers when he spots the gash on the back of Jason’s right shoulder.

“Akhi, in what world did you think apprehending Waylon Jones alone would go well for you?” Damian scolds.

Jason narrows his seafoam eyes at Damian and lowers his voice.

“Ya really wanna talk about apprehending people alone, demon spawn?” he taunts lightly.

Damian’s eyes widen and he drops the subject because no, he actually does not want to talk about that on account of the fact that he tried to bring in Clayface alone two weeks ago and nearly got immortalized as a clay statue until Jason swooped in. The two of them had scrubbed his Robin suit within an inch of its life to try and hide the excursion from Bruce. It worked; only Alfred noticed the faint hint of clay in the threads of the cape and all he’d done was sigh and shake his head.

Jason’s gear is fully removed and his head is starting to clear a bit, wooziness replaced by a hammering pain in his temples. The headache masks any pain he would feel from the stitches being placed in his back, though he also suspects that those are less painful because Damian is doing them.

“Your technique is gettin’ better, y’know?” Jason whispers, the compliment unheard by the other three men bustling around the room.

The hands stitching him up freeze and he can imagine the look of surprise on Damian’s face even without turning around.

“Thank you,” he mutters. “I think it will be useful for future endeavors.”

Jason smiles to himself. He knows the kid wants to be a doctor, and he thinks it’s a damn better fate for him than whatever Bruce or Ra’s could’ve planned. The silence that settles over the medbay is peaceful, only broken by the sound of clacking computer keys or the zipping of evidence bags. Then, like an unholy boom of thunder, comes the voice of Tim Drake.

“What the hell is all this?”

Jason’s head whips to the side and he sees Tim rummaging through the pockets of his tactical pants. He goes to scramble off the bed and feels the harsh pull of thread that was mid-stitch through his skin.

“Mind your fuckin’ business, replacement!” Jason shouts.

He grabs a pillow and chucks it at Tim’s head, but he just ducks and continues to empty Jason’s pockets. The contents that spill out on the sterile tray are…perplexing to say the least. Two lip balms (one tinted red), three scrunchies (one black and two red), a grocery list with the word strawberries and a woman’s name underlined, a recipe for chicken stir fry with enough for two portions, and one single soft chocolate chip cookie lay unexplained in the harsh white light of the medbay.

If looks could kill, Tim Drake would be dead and buried six feet under.

“What part of mind your fuckin’ business did you not get?” Jason growls, glaring daggers at the nineteen-year-old.

“Holy shit, he’s got a fucking girlfriend!” Tim exclaims.

The pillow hits him square in the face this time. All four sets of eyes turn to him with varying emotions. Shock is evident in the forest green of Damian’s gaze, smugness and vindication in the icy blue of Tim’s, panic and guilt in the ocean blue of Dick’s, and some weird mix of sadness and fondness in the gunmetal blue of Bruce’s eyes that Jason doesn’t want to think about for too long. The acrobat quickly moves across the room and sweeps all the belongings off the tray and back into the pockets of the tac pants. He grabs Jason’s gear from Tim and hands it back to its rightful owner, who clutches it to himself protectively.

“Don’t make assumptions, Tim,” Dick says. “Civilians leave stuff on us all the time.”

It’s true. They’ve all come home with someone’s forgotten work badge or piece of jewelry before. The oddest thing was when Bruce had a Hello Kitty keychain stuck to the end of his cape. Jason casts a subtle look of gratitude at Dick for trying to give him plausible deniability. Not that it works. Tim stares not at Dick, but through him with his pale eyes in a way that makes a chill run down the spine of the eldest son.

“You knew already? How?” Tim asks incredulously.

Really, he’s a bit miffed that he hadn’t figured this out already. He has contingency plan files on each member of his family (himself included) and he had not a clue that Jason might be in a relationship.

“Drop. It. Now.” Jason warns.

Tim doesn’t consider it until he sees Jason’s fingers twitching in the direction of the butterfly knife on his belt. He doesn’t need another scar from Jason shanking him. Well, at least not today.

“Fine. Whatever. But if I have to bring Bernard here for Thanksgiving, then you have to bring,” and he pauses to remember and recite the name on the grocery list, “home too.”

He knows he’s pushed it when Jason lunges at him, dragging Damian and a threaded suturing needle behind him. Tim barely jumps out of the way in time to avoid a punch to the jaw.

“Robin! Knock it off!” Bruce barks.

It’s almost comical the way all four of his boys freeze in place. It is slightly less comical the way they all proceed to glare at him.

“Fuck it,” Jason grumbles as he settles back on the bed for Damian to continue stitching his wounds. “Just get these done so I can go home.”

“Home to his girlfriend,” Tim murmurs.

“I will fuckin’ slash your throat again, you second-rate fuck!”

Bruce lets out one long suffering sigh. He doesn’t know you yet (a quiet part of him hopes he may one day be allowed to) but he already feels sorry that you’ve been roped into all of this. He feels even more sorry when the butterfly knife flies past his head and buries itself into the wall inches from Tim’s neck. Really, what is he going to do with these boys?