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it actually feels like a slap in the face when 20-30 posts are now directed at me because how dare you be accurate about my age im supposed to be 17 still
Another little fun fact about me: the first time I came out as bisexual at thirteen, it was through text to three friends lmao. And only one of them responded well lol. That was the first and last time I ever ✨formally✨ came out to anyone!!
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Had this idea that when thing settled down and Jason was in the Cave, he insisted his uniform be taken out of the case and just replaced with a plaque or something because it's morbid. Jason who when alone, picks up the costume and is like "damn I was tiny" and got some reason he picks up Tim's which is balled up in a laundry basket and he compares the weight and it strikes him that Tim's suit is at least three pounds while his is not even half that weight. No, wonder I died. And he says as much to Tim, not in a jabbing away but in a sort of commentary way and Tim is literally sat there like
Because is Jason's ass for real? Tim goes into detail how Bruce barely let him patrol without constantly updating the suit. More padding, more coverage, more shock absorbition. Bruce was frantic to make sure Tim was protected because he couldn't save Jason. "By the end of my first month, I couldn't fucking walk," Tim tells him. "The man was literally one bruise away from rolling me in bubble wrap."
Bruce who overhears this just apologises like he did back then but it's the withdrawn, sort of guilt ridden apology a parent makes when they know they're doing the right thing but is sorry their kid is so upset. Jason understands and says as much, saving his pride with a shove on Tim's shoulder than he's lucky Bruce didn't send him out in a suit of armour from downstairs when he came back, the big old mama Bat. Tim laughs but Bruce just says without thinking that if he had his way, none of the kids would be out on patrol and then hastily excuses himself after saying something like "because none of you are focused enough" but Tim and Jason know.
cw: smut/18+ only, Jason is a good partner, gn!reader (no description of features/clothing)
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PREVIEW:
Anything Jason can do for you, he will.
Jason Todd/Reader (18+)
Jason Todd can't help it. He loves spoiling you, and this is demonstrated in many ways. Shown amply in the way that you see how he looks at you, like he can't quite understand why he hasn't woken up from the dream he's having.
Like every time he touches you, he's still trying to memorize the shape of you, in case you ever disappear from his grasp. Like each kiss that he presses against you with the heat of his mouth will be his last.
So Jason Todd loves to spoil you. Loves to surprise you with lovely little picnic dates to Robinson Park when the clouds exhibit themselves in picturesque manner.
Where he can unspool checkered picnic blankets for the two of you to dine on meals he's specifically made for the occasion. Sinking teeth into thickly cut sourdough bread sandwiches he's assembled in those wide, masculine hands of his.
Refreshing yourself with long-necked bottles of soda that bear condensation still dripping down the length as you clink them together in the merry ambience of the park. Admiring the finely made desserts he's made—tiramisu, panna cotta, blancmange—and looking at him with wonder.
"You made this for me?" You ask with hushed disbelief, a smile taking reign on your face.
"I like to spoil you," Is all he answers with.
And Jason Todd does love to spoil you. He loves to find things that remind you of him, knick-knacks and tchotchkes that you mention take root in nostalgia from your childhood. Showering you with charms and keychains in your favorite colors, albums that you've hankered longingly after in glossy store windows.
Tickets to movies you've mentioned in passing, where he can shuck his jacket over your shoulders in the frigidity of the cool night air. Little adventures that show that not only does he remember, but he makes the effort to demonstrate his commitment.
"How did you know I wanted to do this?" You ask with a winsome grin as the two of you go to axe throwing at a new joint that opened up.
"I like to spoil you," Is his characteristic answer that he says as he presses a kiss to the slope of your temple.
And Jason Todd knows how to spoil you. He knows his way around your body with deliberate, practiced ease. He knows the right way to roll his hips against the curve of your ass as he pumps his cock into you.
Knows to hook your legs over his shoulders in a mating press, laving his tongue over the width of your ankle as you moan. Takes the slow, torturous way to work his fingers in you and flex that has you whimpering, thighs twitching, fingers clenching into bunched sheets.
Knows just the way to croon husked praise into the shell of your ear as he presses his body over you. Keeps protracted meter that has you holding on to him for dear life as you exchange expletive with prayer . All he does is lap up the beaded sweat your exertion tacks on your bodies joined in union.
"Jason," You whine into his ear, raking your nails down his back, "You're gonna make me come—"
"Good," He groans as he hikes his hands around your hips, pulls you flush—and thrusts into you at angle that has you immobile with the pleasure of your nascent orgasm. The rest of his statement remains articulated in the way he coaxes you through how you come.
But that's just his way—after all, Jason Todd loves to spoil you.
every day of my life i read someone being like “why doesn’t this story just solve the problem immediately and casually? they just drag it out and make it an issue” well. because that’s the Story
summary : when you’re husband gets put on time out after a nasty mission, you suddenly find yourself seeing him in ways you haven’t seen before. CW : suggestive, reader is a freak, breast play ᵎᵎ
masterlist ノ DC masterlist ੭﹕﹒
Bruce Wayne had been benched for three weeks.
A nasty hit to the ribs during a patrol gone wrong had Alfred putting his foot down: no suit, no rooftop jumping, no “I’m fine” excuses. The great Batman was stuck at home, healing, and slowly going insane from boredom.
You, on the other hand, were enjoying every second of it.
The first few days he was sulking in sweatpants and an old college hoodie, grumbling about “rusting” and “losing edge.” By week two, the stubble on his jaw had grown into a proper beard, and you were shamelessly obsessed with running your fingers through it.
But the real surprise came when the body hair started growing back.
Bruce had always been meticulous about shaving everything that the suit touched. Chest, arms, legs — smooth as marble. You’d never seen him any other way. So when he came out of the shower one morning in nothing but low-slung sweatpants, towel around his neck, you nearly dropped your coffee.
There it was.
A soft, dark trail of hair across his chest, thickening between his pecs and fading down toward his abs. Not overwhelming, just… natural. Real.
You stared. Openly.
Bruce noticed. Of course he did.
He raised an eyebrow, drying his hair with the towel. “What?”
You set the coffee down carefully. “You… have hair.”
He glanced down at himself, almost self-conscious for the first time in years. “It grows back when I stop shaving. The suit chafes otherwise.” He rubbed a hand over his chest, looking vaguely embarrassed. “It’s been a while since I let it. I can shave it if—”
“No,” you said quickly. Too quickly. “Don’t. It’s… nice.”
Bruce paused, then a slow, amused smirk tugged at his lips. “Nice?”
You crossed the kitchen, unable to stop yourself. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers threading through the soft hair there. It was thicker than you expected, warm from the shower, and felt ridiculously good under your palms.
“Really nice,” you murmured, voice a little breathless. You leaned in and pressed a kiss right over his sternum, then another, then another, working your way across his chest like you were discovering new territory.
Bruce’s breath hitched. His hands settled on your waist, thumbs stroking your sides through your robe. “You’re… very enthusiastic about this.”
“I’ve never seen you like this,” you admitted, kissing lower, right over his heart. “It’s… hot. You look like a real person. My husband. Not the polished billionaire or the statue in a suit.”
He let out a low, surprised laugh, but it turned into a soft groan when your lips brushed one of his nipples. His fingers tightened on your waist.
“Careful,” he warned, voice rougher now. “You keep doing that and I’m going to forget I’m supposed to be resting.”
You looked up at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe I don’t want you to rest.”
Bruce’s eyes darkened. He cupped your face with one hand, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “You’re going to be the death of me, Mrs. Wayne.”
“Good death,” you whispered, rising onto your toes to kiss him properly.
The kiss started sweet but quickly turned heated. Bruce pulled you closer, one hand sliding into your hair, the other slipping under your robe to rest warm against your bare back. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it — deep, slow, full of all the love and want he usually kept so carefully controlled.
When you broke apart, both breathing harder, he rested his forehead against yours.
“I love you,” he said softly. “Even when you’re ogling me like I’m a science experiment.”
You laughed, pressing another kiss to his chest, right over the soft hair there. “I love you too. Especially when you’re all… natural like this.”
He groaned, half-embarrassed, half-pleased. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But I’m your ridiculous,” you corrected, kissing lower, lips brushing over his abs. “And I’m keeping you exactly like this for as long as you’re benched.”
Bruce’s hands tightened on your waist. “You’re going to kill me before I’m cleared for duty.”
You looked up at him with a wicked little smile. “Worth it.”
He pulled you back up for another deep kiss, hands roaming your body with that perfect mix of reverence and hunger. The robe slipped off one shoulder. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, then higher, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.
You shivered, pressing closer, feeling the warmth of his chest hair against your skin. It was softer than you expected, and the way it brushed your nipples when you moved made you gasp softly.
Bruce noticed. Of course he did.
He smiled against your lips. “You really like this, don’t you?”
“Shut up,” you mumbled, kissing him again to hide your blush.
He chuckled, low and warm, and lifted you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. His mouth moved to your neck, then lower, kissing and nipping gently across your collarbone. One hand slipped inside your robe, palming your breast, thumb circling your nipple until you arched into him with a soft moan.
“Beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. “My beautiful wife.”
You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close as he worshipped you with slow, deliberate kisses. The world outside the penthouse didn’t exist. There were no missions, no galas, no Batsuit waiting in the cave.
Just Bruce. Just you.
Just the two of you, tangled together in the morning light, rediscovering each other in the quiet weeks of his recovery.
When he finally pulled back, lips swollen and eyes dark with want, he rested his forehead against yours.
“I love you,” he said again, voice rough but sincere. “More than the suit. More than the money. More than anything.”
You smiled, cupping his face. “I love you too. Hairy chest and all.”
He laughed — bright, genuine, the kind of laugh that made your heart feel too big for your chest.
“Brat,” he murmured fondly, kissing you once more.
The coffee went cold on the counter. The city kept moving far below.
But in the warm glow of your kitchen, Bruce Wayne held you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
And for once, the detective didn’t need to solve anything, and he already had everything he needed.
a/n : this is unbearably self indulgent because I like body hair. Just wait till I start writing about biceps 😊
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Tim: No, I mean as Robin. I have to fill out these forms for a new hero team but it won't let me submit it without a surname and they don’t know who I really am yet so...
Dick: Oh, it's Knight. That's actually Bruce sanctioned.
Tim: He agreed to it?
Dick: Not exactly. He had to full name me in the field once in front of Lex Luthor and said 'Robin the Boy Wonder Knight, if you do not get down from there this instant...'
Tim: Does he use it?
Dick: I think so. After I started using it. He's sentimental like that.
Tim: And it has nothing to do withthe fact that it means he can write alias: Batman, forename: The Dark?
damian wayne stressing tf out of himself, thinking he's going batshit crazy as he goes through all the dozens of medical books he has twenty times, diagnosing himself with ridiculous disorders/sicknesses, stressing the life out of dick with it, only to make dick realize after explaining what's wrong, that damian isn't dying from some weird illness, but that he's just stupidly, incredibly in love with you
Casual Photographer Tim Drake x Reader who keeps painting his photos but adding subtle references to Red Robin in her paintings to fuck with him
Tim: LOOK! In the original image this bench emerald green, but in her painting, she changed the color to HEX #8c0e16. THE EXACT SAME COLOR AS THE ORIGINAL RED ROBIN SUIT
Jason: Uh huh suuure. After last week’s “Floral declaration of malicious intent” I am no longer invested in whatever hate boner you have for this woman.
Tim: YOU CANNOT TELL ME THE INCLUSION OF ROSES, WOLFSBANE, AND BLACK DAHLIA ISNT A DECLARATION OF WAR
Jason: No I definitely can
Dick: Have you ever considered that you may be paranoid?
Tim: Absolutely not. I’m on to something. She’s obviously a threat to our security
Damian: I don’t see a problem here.
Jason: Oh course you dont. You find all of Tim’s mental breakdowns hilarious
Damian: I have no idea what you’re talking about. *To Tim* That branch formation looks suspicious. You should take a closer look.
Tim: OF COURSE! SHE REALLY THOUGHT SHE HAD ME THERE
One time I told my gastroenterologist that I thought the new immunosuppressant I was prescribed for my ulcerative colitis was causing my hair to fall out. I had not been warned that hair thinning was a potential side effect of the medication so I was startled and when I began shedding like a husky, not because I’m vain but because it is alarming when you suddenly begin losing significant amounts of hair with no cause you’re aware of. It took some googling to find out it was a somewhat common side effect of my new medication.
I casually informed my gastro about this phenomenon near the end of our next appointment because I hadn’t been informed that was something that could happen and I thought it might be important to note, possibly a sign of a deeper problem with the way my body was reacting to the medication or sometime like that. Instead of responding with ‘That happens sometimes.’ or even ‘Huh. Weird. Didn’t know it could do that.’ he turned around and looked at me and said in the most condescending and judgmental voice imaginable “Your colon is more important than your hair.”
Which is a really funny one liner out of context and if he had said it with any other expression and tone, I might have laughed. But he was so fucking serious. I was taken aback and immediately tried to explain I just thought it might be of medical relevance. Like, yes, I fucking know my colon is more important than my hair and it seemed like this man was prematurely annoyed with me and (I assume) he thought I was going to try to switch treatments for my severe ulcerative colitis because my fucking hair was falling out. Far from the cruelest thing a medical professional has ever said to me, not egregious enough to make me feel the need to comment on it or try to switch providers, just demoralizing in a way that felt like a branding. I left the appointment feeling so fucking small. I thought, oh, he thinks I’m stupid and vain. This doctor, who has seen me at my most vulnerable and heard me have to describe shitting blood so much I needed iron infusions for the anemia, this man who has shoved a camera up my ass on multiple occasions thinks I am a vapid dumbass who would value my hair over not being in fucking pain and incontinent and sick and bleeding.
Anyway, being chronically ill and always dependent on the healthcare system and medical professionals is death by a thousand paper cuts mentally. No dignity, attempting to perform being polite and genteel and not hysterical or emotional or troublesome while also being in severe pain, just so you will be taken seriously. And you can do your absolute best and still be put in the ‘stupid and annoying’ box while fighting a serious illness.
they give you a medication for a symptom you’re having. you have a side effect from the medication. they prescribe another medication to counteract the side effect. rinse and repeat.
i was in tears and begging for help, just after some reassurance that something was going to go well, and instead a nurse i spoke to told me, in short, to “suck it up and wait” for my infusions to start working properly (which have a record of taking a minimum of three months to kick in). all i asked was to move the infusion dates from every eight weeks to every six weeks, just to help me a long a little better, because id come off a different medication that was given to me every four weeks and suddenly going every eight weeks felt like i was just going backwards. and being told to “suck it up and wait” was the cruelest, harshest thing a nurse could have ever said.
there’s no dignity in ibd. you have to fight to be treated while you’re already fighting your own body.
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i like when you can tell a screenwriter thinks that being good at computers is all about how fast you type. you need to out-computer your enemies with your superior wpm. whoever types the fastest is the most elite hacker in the cyberspace. its all up to you, johnny quickfingers. we're counting on you.
