Commission

commission

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑶𝒇 𝑫𝒖𝒕𝒚:

𝑫𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑷𝑫𝑨 (𝑾)

𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 (𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔) (𝑾)

𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒚 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔 (𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔,𝑮𝒂𝒛,𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂,𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆) (𝑾)

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑺𝒆𝒎𝒊-𝑷𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 (𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔) (𝑾)

𝑩𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒙 (𝑾)

𝑼𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 (𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆, 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒐)(𝑾)

𝑮𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓 / 𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓 (𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑪𝒐𝑫 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔) (𝑾)

𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆 (𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆, 𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏, 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚) (𝑾)

𝑯𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒙 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑻𝑭𝑻141 + 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒗𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒎 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑾)

𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑻𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 (𝑺𝑭𝑾)

𝑻𝑭141 + 𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑯𝑪𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒛𝒂 𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒖𝒕 (𝑾)

𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒙 𝑲𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 + 𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒖𝒕 (𝑾)

𝑫𝒐𝒎!𝑮𝒂𝒛 + 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝑾)

𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒊𝒈, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? (𝑾)

𝑻𝑭141 + 𝑽𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒐 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒔: 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆, 𝑮𝒂𝒛, 𝑺𝒐𝒂𝒑, 𝑮𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 (𝑾)

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒓.

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄.

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄 𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑.

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓!𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏!𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 (𝑾)

𝑵𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒓!𝑮𝒂𝒛 (𝑾)

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒆𝒓!𝑮𝒂𝒛

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒆𝒓!𝑮𝒂𝒛 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 2

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆 (𝑾)

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆 141 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒋𝒐𝒃:

𝑲𝒚𝒍𝒆 '𝑮𝒂𝒛' 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌:

𝑾𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔. (𝑾)

𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓, 𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒍. (𝑾)

𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒅𝒐. (𝑾)

𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (𝒇𝒕. 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆) (𝑾) *will be edited

𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒚 𝑷𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒍. (𝑾)

𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒚 (𝑾)

𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝑮𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔.

𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒓 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 1.

𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚: 𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒆'𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆. (𝑾)

𝑹𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒔. (𝑾)

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆:

𝑰𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕 𝑨𝒇𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒔. (𝑾)

𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (𝒇𝒕. 𝑮𝒂𝒛) (𝑾) *will be edited

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔/𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓/𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 1, 𝑺𝑭𝑾) (𝑾)

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔/𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓/𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2, 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾) (𝑾)

𝑵𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑾)

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒙 141!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 (𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌) (𝑾)

𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 1.

𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝑨𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 2. (𝑾)

𝑷𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒑 𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔:

𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒔. (𝑾)

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔/𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓/𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 1, 𝑺𝑭𝑾) (𝑾)

𝑮𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔/𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓/𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆. (𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2, 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾) (𝑾)

𝑰'𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆. (𝑾)

𝑯𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒙 (𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔) (𝑾)

𝑩𝒊𝒈, 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓. (𝑾)

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.

𝑩𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒔 𝑺𝒌𝒚 .

𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒙 𝑲𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓:

𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒉 (𝑾)

𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕)

𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 '𝑮𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒕' 𝑹𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚:

𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒘 (𝑾)

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 '𝑺𝒐𝒂𝒑' 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑻𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉:

𝑰𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑼𝒔:

𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒚 𝑨𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏:

𝑨𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈. (𝑾)

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒆. (𝑾)

𝑬𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔:

𝑻𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒆 𝑶𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅. (𝑾)

𝑮𝒖𝒏 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚 (𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒚 𝑨𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏). (𝑾)

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒔. (𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒚 𝑨𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏) (𝑾)

𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑨𝒃𝒃𝒚 (𝑾)

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𝑹𝑫𝑹2:

𝑫𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒙: 𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓, 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏, 𝑱𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓, 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒊𝒈 𝑹𝒆𝒅 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔 (𝑾)

𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏:

𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒆, 𝑪𝒐𝒘𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍. (𝑾)

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏:

𝑺𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 (𝑾)

𝑱𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝑬𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂:

𝑨𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒕'𝒔 𝑻𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 (𝑾)

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝑺𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒉:

𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚. (W)

634 notes View Post

hinakamiya

6 months ago

Waterwork “Sit in water”

363 notes View Post

hinakamiya

8 months ago

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

3K notes View Post

hinakamiya

4 months ago

Rest in Red

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader

Summary: Sleeping next to Jason Todd is never boring. From his protective instincts to his late-night vulnerability, every night with him is an unpredictable mix of comfort, restlessness, and quiet love. Whether he’s pulling you closer in his sleep, mumbling sweet nothings without realizing it, or fighting his own inner demons, one thing is certain Jason sleeps best when he’s with you.

[Masterlist]

Sleeping Headcanons with Jason Todd x Reader

Big Spoon Energy: Jason loves being the big spoon. He won’t say it outright, but holding you close makes him feel grounded. Even on nights when he’s restless, having you in his arms calms him down.

Restless Sleeper: Thanks to his past (and, let’s be real, his terrible sleep schedule), Jason doesn’t sleep deeply. He tosses and turns a lot, and if he’s had a bad night, he might wake up in a cold sweat. But the moment you reach for him, he relaxes almost instantly.

Protective Even in Sleep: His arms are always around you, even unconsciously. If you move, he tightens his hold slightly, as if making sure you’re still there. If he senses any kind of disturbance (like a weird noise outside), he’s alert in seconds, ready to protect you.

Sleeps Better With You: Before you, Jason was used to sleeping alone or barely sleeping at all. Now? The bed feels empty without you. If you’re not there, he either stays up waiting or texts you to come back ASAP.

Mumbling in His Sleep: If he’s in a deep sleep, Jason sometimes mumbles. It’s usually just low, incoherent grumbles, but on rare occasions, you’ll catch him murmuring your name or telling you he loves you without even realizing it.

Forehead Kisses Before Sleep: No matter how tired he is, Jason always presses a lazy kiss to your forehead before drifting off. It’s his silent way of saying, I love you, and I’m glad you’re here.

Late-Night Talks: Some nights, neither of you can sleep, so you just lay there, whispering about anything and everything. Jason opens up the most during these moments, sharing thoughts he wouldn’t say in the daylight.

Mornings Are a Struggle: Jason is not a morning person. If you try to get up early, he’ll groan, pull you back into his arms, and mumble, “Five more minutes.” (Five minutes actually means an hour.)

Post-Mission Crashes: After a long night as Red Hood, Jason sometimes just collapses into bed with you, too exhausted to move. You’ll have to help him take off his boots or jacket, and he’ll murmur a soft, “You’re the best,” before immediately passing out.

Nightmares & Comfort: Jason’s past still haunts him, and sometimes he wakes up in a panic. When that happens, he grips onto you like you’re his lifeline. If you run your fingers through his hair and whisper soothing words, he’ll calm down, murmuring a quiet “Thanks, babe” before falling back asleep.

Unexpected Softness: For someone so tough and battle-worn, Jason is incredibly soft when he sleeps. His breathing evens out, his usually furrowed brows relax, and his grip on you becomes gentle. It’s one of the only times he truly looks at peace.

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@a-brilliante-mariposa

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hinakamiya

6 years ago