💖

jason todd never sits correctly the first time.

no matter where it is—restaurants, manor, home, benches—he cannot get it right the first time. his back, slightly hunched from months of being chained to that forsaken wheelchair, made him stiff and uncomfortable often times.

and he knows what it does to you.

the subtle lift of his hips, the way his thighs flex as he shifts around to get comfortable. he sees the way you try not to stare, the flush in your skin and the way your pupils dilate almost instantly.

especially in his suit.

the cargo pants that hugged him in all the right places, the stretch of the fabric over this lap and his thighs that spread immediately. he’d hang his arms over his legs, hips shifting downward. he’d press his back flush against the back of whatever he was sitting on, enticing eyes just swirling with amusement as the less-than-discreet glances you were giving him.

jason, at some point, had began to weaponize it in his favor.

if you were upset with him, he’d sit across from you. you’d cross your arms and watch him lift his hips, back sliding against the cushion as his legs spread wide. he’d tilt his head, a quiet invitation—a choice, not a demand.

he’d grin so arrogantly when you’d cave, climbing onto his lap and kissing that stupid smirk off his face. his hands would find your hips, adjusting you to sit directly on him.

“i hate you,” you’d mutter, feeling the way his hips shifted and his thighs flexed beneath you.

“yeah, sweetheart? tell me how much.”

vs

credit not needed. recoloring welcomed. feel free to edit as you need!