mads 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖

ᰔ 𝓢ugar High ˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—

｡𖦹°‧ Pairing — Jason Todd x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧Content/summary — What starts as you taking up baking as a hobby quickly turns into a full-blown crisis. Jason goes from dutifully eating your rock-hard practice brownies to becoming addicted to your homemade pastries. He gains a little comfortable soft layer over his abs, smells like vanilla and cinnamon 24/7, and couldn't care less what his brothers have to say about it.

At this point, it was getting ridiculous.

When you first started baking, Jason was basically a hero just for swallowing the messes you made. Chocolate chip cookies that tasted like straight salt, loaves of sourdough dense enough to dent the wall, and strawberry cupcakes that tasted like garlic…!

He ate all of it anyway. Sitting on the counter in his sweatpants, jaw working overtime through a brick-hard brownie, crumbs flying everywhere. "Baby, it’s not bad…. you’re getting better. You should keep going.”

So you did. You learned how to brown butter, and mastered high-fat pastries.

And that's when Jason officially lost his mind.

Now, the apartment constantly smelled so sweet it was almost criminal. Warm yeast, caramelized sugar, browning butter, and that heavy, rich scent of real vanilla bean that hung in the air.

It got to the point where Jason smelled like it 24/7. It didn't matter if he'd just spent six hours fighting guys in a damp sewer—the second he pulled off the red helmet, he didn't smell like Gotham air or cordite anymore. He smelled ridiculously like warm vanilla bean and spicy cinnamon. It clung to his skin, his hair, his jacket, even his sweat. It was his natural scent at this point.

And he was completely, hopelessly feral for it.

The man was eating continuously. You’d wake up at three in the morning to the sound of plastic wrap rustling in the dark, finding him leaning against the fridge in his boxers, shoving a cold, glaze-covered cinnamon roll into his mouth before he’d even turned the light on. He’d come home from patrol covered in rain and soot, kick his boots off, and walk straight past you to grab a warm vanilla cupcake off the cooling rack.

Not one. Three. In about thirty seconds flat.

You’d sit on the counter and watch him eat like he’d been starving uin the desert, his eyes half-shut, frosting smeared across his thumb. He didn't even use plates anymore. Just stood there in his gear, breathing in the sweet bakery air of the kitchen, completely hooked.

Naturally, eating his weight in heavy cream, butter, and sugar every single day caught up with him.

He was still huge—the man was broad as a barn and could still throw a guy through a windshield—but the tight, shrink-wrapped abs were completely gone. In their place was a noticeably soft, solid layer. A cozy kind of soft. The kind where resting your head on his chest while watching TV felt ten times better because he actually had some padding over his ribs—and he smelled like a fresh tray of cinnamon buns while you cuddled him.

He didn't care. He was living in a sugar-induced bliss.

The rest of the family, unfortunately, had eyes (and noses).

It came to a head on a Tuesday in the Batcave. Jason was leaning back against the console, jacket half-unzipped, lazily listening to Bruce rant about precinct logs.

Dick walked past, stopped dead in his tracks, and sniffed the air like a hound dog before looking right at Jason’s middle. Before Jason could react, Dick darted a hand out and jabbed a finger right into his side.

"Dude," Dick said, his mouth twitching into a wide grin. "Are you getting... doughy? And why do you smell like a bakery?"

Tim didn't look up from his screen, but he snorted into his mug. "It's all he eats. Every time I radio him, I can hear him chewing a muffin. He literally smells like sweet vanilla from ten feet away. He's an addict."

"It's embarrassing," Damian muttered from across the room, scowling over a batarang. "You look like you're preparing to hibernate, Todd. And you smell like a confectioner's shop. Your conditioning is shot."

Jason didn't even blink. He reached out, slapped Dick’s hand away hard enough to leave a red mark, and reached straight into his inner jacket pocket.

He pulled out a soft, foil-wrapped vanilla bun you’d snuck into his gear before he left, peeled the foil back with his teeth, and shoved half of it into his mouth right in front of them.

"Cry about it," Jason mumbled around a mouthful of soft dough, icing sticking to the corner of his lip. "You guys are up here eating cardboard protein bars and drinking grass water. My girl makes these from scratch. Every day. I'm taking this to my grave."

Dick stared at the bun, the smug look instantly evaporating as the rich smell of cinnamon drifted across the cave. "...Is that cream cheese frosting?"

Jason zipped his jacket up over his soft stomach with zero shame, smelling like pure vanilla sugar, and took another huge bite.

"Don't even breathe near it, Dick. Get your own girl."

They should have left it at that. But Dick and Tim thought it would be funny to test the theory.

The next afternoon, while Jason was out doing a routine sweep of Crime Alley, Dick swiped the tin of fresh cinnamon rolls and the box of vanilla-bean cupcakes you’d sent Jason off with for the shift.

They realized their mistake within two hours.

Without his daily influx of sugar and butter, Jason didn't just get annoyed—he turned downright vicious.

By hour three of patrol, his radio comms were just a series of low, terrifying snarls. When Tim tried to check in on a lead, Jason cut him off by telling him to "shut your mouth before I cave your visor in." When a mugger in an alley hesitated to put his weapons down, Jason didn't negotiate; he threw the guy through a brick wall, kicked his gun across the street, and slammed the alley door so hard the hinges bent.

By the time everyone regrouped in the Batcave, the tension was suffocating.

Jason practically stomped down the glass stairs, helmet yanked off, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles were twitching. His hair was sticking up, his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked ready to murder a man with his bare hands.

"Where is it," Jason snapped, his voice dangerously quiet, stepping right into Dick's personal space.

Dick swallowed hard, suddenly realizing that a withdrawal-addicted Red Hood was not a joke. "Jay, calm down, we just—"

"I asked you a question, Dickhead," Jason barked, slamming a heavy tactical gauntlet onto the main console hard enough to rattle the monitors. "Where are the fucking cinnamon rolls."

You would’ve thought Dick killed someone by the way Jason was staring at him,

"We took them!" Tim blurted out, holding up hands in surrender from behind his chair. "We wanted to see if you were actually addicted! You've been a nightmare on comms all night, man, you're literally going through sugar withdrawal!"

"Give. Them. Back." Jason’s eyes narrowed into slit-like glares. "I have had a twelve-hour day, my head hurts, I smell like cheap exhaust, and I am five seconds away from beating both of you into the concrete if my girl's baking isn't back in my hands."

Dick frantically reached under the desk, pulling out the sealed tin and handing it over like a bomb squad tech disarming an explosive.

Jason snatched the tin, popped the lid off immediately, and took a massive, angry bite out of a roll. He stood there in the middle of the cave, breathing heavily, chewing aggressively while staring daggers at both of them.

Within thirty seconds, as the soft dough and heavy glaze hit his system, his shoulders slowly dropped. The vein pulsing in his temple calmed down. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, the scary edge melting away as that familiar, warm vanilla aroma washed over him again.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gave Dick one last, lethal glare, and hugged the tin tightly against his chest, his softer stomach pressing into the metal lid.

"Don't ever," Jason grunted, walking back toward the Batmobile, "touch my food again."

Requested by @nightwingsbabydoll tysm! This was so fun to write.

Pairing: Estranged Husband! Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

WC: 3.5K

Summary: The former Mrs Morgan asks Arthur for a favour.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, oral sex, premature ejaculation, mutual masturbation, marriage, divorce, fingering, arthur is very pathetic, reader is implied to be a lawyer but can be any job, established relationship, wait and dry humping

photo credits: here, here, here

shapsara's masterlist

A/N: This is brought to you by a night shift and a Tesco meal deal. First part to a series that I hope will be something I can dip in and out of for fun when I'm feeling writer's block. I'm trying to get into the mindset of "it doesn't have to be good, it just has to exist. Title is taken from a poem called "Object Permanence" by Hala Alyan.

"Arthur?"

lying to BOXER! JASON TODD about being a virgin… so don’t be surprised when you cum so easy!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 CONTENT WARNINGS: lying about virginity, overstimulationnnn, teasing! boxer! jason todd, MINORS DNI ノ fem! virgin! reader, gentle sex, dirty talk, technical virginity loss, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, praise kink, tiny bit of a strength kink!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: sorry, I’ve been on a boxer! jason todd high so muchhhhh, I just love him, sorry not sorry! this is inspired by the hot concept of men lying about being virgins and cumming prematurely but make it reader because lowkey? it’s just an excuse for jason to abuse that pussy 🫠 dare i say i have knight/medieval! jason todd in the works rn cause finn bennett as aerion targaryen awoken my soul for knight! characters.

honestly, you weren’t that much of a liar.

you didn’t like to lie— there was something weird about it. something weird about looking someone in the face and lying your ass off. you only lied a couple of times about small things; being sick, not wanting to go on a date, not wanting to hang out… simple things. not things like this.

and to be completely and utterly honest; you didn’t exactly stop lying when it came to getting into bed with jason todd.

you knew who he was— a famous boxer with too many wins to count, but you acted oblivious to his boxing resume when he first approached to you at a small diner. he found you attractive when he was eating with his big brother, dick— yes. his name is dick, doesn’t like going by richard— and dick encouraged him to approach you. so you shared your number with him and began to text him.

things fell into place and a month of talking… he invited you to one of his fights. a big boxing fight, he’s the biggest name on the card. and watching from the third row as jason knocked his opponent out in the third round… you knew damn well what was going to happen later that night.

the problem? you were not quite… experienced at sex.

you have masturbated, you have touched yourself and have used sex toys on yourself. you’ve kissed people in high school and you’ve let them touch you up… but nothing as far as that. just, it hasn’t happened naturally. it wasn’t some weird obligation thing, you weren’t saving yourself for marriage or for anyone special… it just didn’t feel right any time it came down to it, so now? as a hard working adult seeing this boxer? you knew damn well you’d have to face it.

so after celebrating jason’s win at his favorite local burger place— always feeling his rough hand on yours even as you ate, you brought him to your place… and of course, when two hot people who are very attracted to each other are alone… things get hot and steamy.

he got you over the finish line with ease the moment his mouth sucked on your clit, flicking his tongue up and down and using two of his fingers in your tight cunt to cum, eating the cum off his fingers with glee as clothes came off, hair was pulled, and jason was stroking his cock with lube (mixed with a little bit of your own cum cause how could he not?).

“jason… mhm…” you whisper, your legs already spread on the bed as your hands clasped in the bedsheets. you couldn’t lie; you were absolutely nervous.

sure, you’ve played with yourself before— you’ve stuck a dildo in your cunt a couple of times. you know what it feels like to be stretched by a silicone toy that was listed as six inches long and was about five and a half inches… but this was different.

this was a real dick, a real cock attached to a very attractive boxer that you just happened to get the attention of.

jason smiled down at you as his right hand stayed on his seven inch cock, his left hand gently stroking up and down your leg as his body keeps your legs open. “you’re pretty, baby.” he whispers, leaning down and kissing your left knee. “such a cute girl… all spread f’me…”

your face heats up internally at his compliments, it felt good to be flirted with, especially by jason with his stupidly hot voice and his demeanor. “jason, mhm…” you respond back, mentally preparing yourself for how this is gonna feel— it’s just like a dildo, the stretch and the feeling, you could handle it; of course you can!

jason lined his tip up with your folds and leaned down, kissing your lips and whispering against your lips. “if you can’t handle it, tell me sweetheart, ain’t trying to hurt you, promise.”

you nod your head, wrapping both arms around his neck. “of course, jay… now fuck me.” oh the confidence you have.

he smiles at your words and press against your cunt, his tip feeling the warmness of your cunt as you seemingly let him in with no problem. he’s slow to push into you, being oh so gentle with his hips as his left hand digs into the bed, his right hand pressed on top of your abdomen as he’s careful with his ease into you.

and fuck fuck fuck— it feels so good. it feels too good.

you could barely feel anything else besides jason stretching you with his cock— naturally, this felt different than the dildo, the skin of jason’s cock different than the silicone. he was so much better and thicker than the toy, warmer than the toy as well— everything felt overwhelming that you didn’t know if you could handle much more… and the pathetic part was that he was only three inches in, he still had four more inches to go and you already feel like this.

“jason! jason! oh fuckkkkk, jayyyy.” you moan out, fingers digging into the back of his neck, your pussy fluttering ‘round him as your toes curled in the air. “s-so good… so full… oh fuck.”

he smiles above you as he kisses your moaning lips, gently continuing his movements, taking your moans as good enough to keep moving. “good girl… taking me so fuckin’ well, bet this pussy misses being treated so good.”

yeah; my pussy has never been treated any which way, but obviously— you couldn’t fucking say that, so you just moan in response, vibrating against his skin.

you felt so warm inside, you couldn’t stop your pleasure from climbing just by him pushing into you and his lips on your skin, you just couldn’t help it. it felt too fucking good.

not knowing what to do— you couldn’t stop yourself, and with barely three thrusts in… you felt yourself slipping over the same edge that his mouth brought you over. his hips don’t sputter once, his face hidden in your neck as he pressed kisses in your neck— your eyes rolling back as your nails dug into his biceps.

it felt so fucking good, your pussy was fluttering and you felt pleasure push and flow through your veins.

jason mutters a curse as he watches you, star struck by your expression and almost surprised— he’s not mean about his expression either, he’s shocked he was able to make you cum this fast… “oh baby, you already cummed?” he questions, leaning down and pressing a kiss on your lips. “good to know i make you feel this good.”

“ah— ah! oh fuck, jay!” you moan in overstimulation, back arching off the bed and pressing your breasts against his broad chest. “ah— ‘m sorry! ‘m sorry… didn’t me-mean to.”

jason looks at you with soft eyes that even makes you tear up, leaning down and kissing your cheek. “don’t apologize f’me baby, don’t ever apologize for cumming so beautifully.” he encourages, continuing his thrusts even with your orgasm melting through you. “this pussy loves me, huh?”

your fingers digs down into his back as you whine, breathing deep as jason continues to ruin you. “jay— jay, c’can’t take it— oh fuck… oh fuck!”

“you’re taking it great baby, just hold out f’me, hun, you’ll feel good again.” he whispers, kissing your lips.

the kiss is sloppy and barely there on your side, but you try to kiss him again, heat overtaking your entire body as overstimulation slowly subsidies and suddenly feeling that same build up as last time.

you whimper against his lips as your hands both thread through his messy black hair, nails yanking on him as you feel his cock drag against your walls again, his balls slapping against your cunt.

he moans as you squeeze around him, both hands holding onto your thighs. “beautiful girl… betcha you need to cum again, huh?”

nodding your head, you bite into his shoulder, the pain of the overstimulation and the pleasure of your orgasm ruins you before you could confirm anything to him; your eyes rolling back and the scream of his name gives him the confirmation.

you just cummed again and he’s looking at you like a fucking angel on this earth.

“there you go… cum, cum all over my shit, baby.” he encourages. “lemme see this pretty face fucking wrecked for me again.”

maybe lying about your virginity to your boyfriend was the best idea ever, cause it got you fucked like this!

masterlist is here! click here for more!

summary: dick fixes things around the house and pretends he isn't waiting for you to notice. you always do. tags: domestic fluff, love languages (acts of service, words of affirmation), praise, pet names, emotional intimacy, dick needs reassurance wc: 1.1k

There’s a certain way Dick acts when he’s done something for you and is waiting for you to notice. He likes to think he plays it cool, but subtlety has never been his strong suit, least of all with you.

One afternoon, you walk into the kitchen and find the cabinet door that has been hanging crooked for the past month sitting perfectly flush on its hinges. You open it, close it, then open it again. It no longer scrapes against the cabinet beside it or makes the low, miserable groan you had started to accept as part of your daily life. It swings the way it’s supposed to and clicks shut with a clean, satisfying sound.

Dick's standing at the counter eating an apple, doing his best impression of casual. When you glance at him, he takes a very deliberate bite and looks out the window.

“Did you fix this?” you ask.

“Hm?” He turns as though he had forgotten you were there. “Oh. The cabinet? Maybe.”

You open and close it once more. “It works really well now.”

His eyes flick toward you before returning quickly to the window. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Dick lowers the apple slightly, and you bite back a smile as you cross the kitchen and stop in front of him. His eyes are doing that thing they do when he wants your praise but refuses to ask for it, bright and watchful and a little too fixed on your face.

“You did a good job, baby.”

Dick grins. He sets the apple down and places his hands loosely at your hips, his thumbs brushing over your shirt. “It was bothering you.”

“I know.”

“So obviously I had to fix it.”

You run your fingers through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his forehead. They fall right back, so you smooth them away again. “You take such good care of me.”

Dick doesn’t answer. His smile stays, but it changes, growing softer and less certain. His gaze drops to where his hands rest against your hips. You’ve seen this before. Tell him he’s handsome and he laughs. Tell him he’s clever, capable, impressive, and he soaks it up without shame. But tell him he’s good to you, and suddenly he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You slide your hand from his hair to his cheek. “Look at me.”

He does.

“I mean it,” you say softly. “You’re always looking out for me.”

Dick leans into your palm. “I try.”

You rise onto your toes and kiss his forehead, then one cheek, then the other. Dick closes his eyes for each one, leaning into every kiss as his arms settle more securely around your waist. When you scratch lightly at the nape of his neck, he lowers his head until his forehead rests against your shoulder. You fold your arms around him and hold him there.

Everywhere else, Dick is so capable, so sure of himself. He throws himself from rooftops without hesitation, walks into danger smiling, and makes impossible things look effortless. Then he comes home to you and folds himself into your arms, still carrying the cruel lie he learned far too young: that being loved meant being useful, and that he was only enough when he had something to give.

You comb your fingers gently through his hair. "You’re such a good husband," you murmur.

For a moment, Dick doesn’t move. Then his arms tighten around your waist, and he presses his face more firmly into your shoulder, as though he can hide what the words have done to him. But you feel the unsteady breath he lets out against your neck. You feel his fingers curl into the back of your shirt.

You kiss his temple. “You are.”

Dick stays there for a few more seconds before finally lifting his head. His expression is painfully open, all his practiced confidence stripped away.

“You’re really happy with me?” he asks.

The question breaks your heart a little because he asks it so quietly, as though the answer could be anything but yes.

You cradle his face in both hands. “So happy.”

“Even when I’m annoying?”

“You’re always annoying.”

His mouth falls open. “Wow.”

You kiss the tip of his nose. “And I still adore you.”

The mock offense fades from his face, which you keep between your hands. “You make this place feel like home,” you tell him. “You make every bad day easier. You know when I need to laugh and when I just need you to sit with me. You listen to me. You’re patient with me. You notice things I don’t even know how to ask for.”

“Baby.”

“You love every part of me, even the parts I’m still learning how to love myself.”

“Always.” The word leaves him so quickly, with such certainty, that your throat tightens. Dick may wonder whether he is enough for you, but never whether he loves you.

He lifts you onto the edge of the counter and settles between your knees. You go willingly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he buries his face against you again. He draws you close until there’s no space left between you, and you rub slow circles between his shoulder blades.

You stay that way until his breathing evens out and the last of the tension leaves his shoulders.

After a while, his voice comes muffled against you. “I fixed the bathroom door too.”

You smile into his hair. “Did you?”

“The lock works now.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“And the towel rack was loose, so I tightened that.”

You lean back to look at him. “Are you fishing for more compliments?”

“No.” He looks almost offended by the accusation, which would be more convincing if he weren’t fighting a smile.

You kiss him, slow and sweet, one hand holding his cheek while the other stays curled in his hair. When you pull away, Dick follows your mouth for another kiss. You give him that one too, then another when he chases you again.

“Very impressive, handsome,” you murmur against his lips.

His grin returns in full, and he looks more like himself again.

You shake your head. “You are shameless.”

“I also re-caulked the tub.”

You laugh and bury your face against his neck. Dick holds you closer, pressing a kiss into your hair. “I love you,” he murmurs.

You turn your face just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.”

Dick’s gaze slowly drifts toward the hallway. “So, about that tub.” He looks back at you. “Want me to run you a bath?”

You stare at him. Of course. Dick can’t go five minutes without finding some new way to take care of you.

“Only if you get in with me,” you say, and you barely finish the sentence before Dick is pulling you off the counter.

navi | m.list | © 2026 patientofarkhamasylum. all rights reserved.

angst | fluff | “it’s okay to love them both”

synopsis: jason todd swept you right off your feet, until he couldn’t handle how close you got to him. but his brother doesn’t act the same way when you meet him at a college bar so why can’t you stop thinking of jason?

tags: angst, fluff, reader knows jason first but he’s emotionally and idiot apparently. dick doesn’t know they used to talk. suggestive. eventual smut.

a/n: there is absolutely no overlap in their talking or relationship. jason is terrible at communication here and dick is oblivious. #iloveyoujasontodd

if tenderness could be personified, it would whisper jason todd’s name. and if love could pierce your soul, you’d feel his arms around your heart, clenching to pump through your veins.

that’s how much he convinced you of it in the last four months you’d known him. it was almost immediate how you knew you’d like him, and he made him clear with his actions that he felt the same. though you quickly realized that while his words were enough to penetrate your thoughts profoundly, he didn’t know how to put emotions in relation to how he was. he only used humour.

jason peter todd held the key to every good and every bad because he was the most human anyone could get. his hands clasped around yours on that cold summer night. fighting the urge to just pull you into his lap and share his warmth because you were his brothers girl. the one that met him at a gala before jason saw you there. but grayson didn’t know you’d seen jason at that coffee shop first. that he’d ordered something off the menu thinking it was a black coffee but really it was an americano with two lumps of syrup and he grimaced when he drank it. or that he softened when he saw you laugh and point to the menu that no one ever really bought that drink. how his eyes crinkled when you made him a new drink and how he thanked you generously when you told him he didn’t have to pay because he wasn’t used to this.

no one found out that jason would come to your shop often then, bringing his cheeky humour and his roughened edges that you’d dulled. you’d take your breaks around the same time everyday and he’d be sure to be there, sit with you by the patio and talk about the future he knew was uncertain. how his hands would linger near yours but never close enough to really touch. just warmth radiating.

the two of you walked home a few times. only when you casually mentioned you lived close by. he frowned and shook his head at you like you were the innocently naive, saying.

“gotham is dangerous and she is evil, but she’ll love you if you protect yourself, y’know?” He watches you blink at him before he shoots you a smile. “i’ll be back to walk you. wait for me.”

and he did walk you home everyday for the following few weeks.

jason was hesitant on touching you, always needing some reassurance to do so but when he finally took the courage and kissed you, it felt like sparks flew. his palms were clenched tight while he leaned you backwards, just enough for your back to arch. then you guided them to you hips and they found their way around.

he put one of his hands on the small of your back while he changed his tempo, lips curving around yours as he held you closer. desperately, he pressed himself to you, keeping you there like you’d run. god, you wouldn’t dream of running. but that was that. you kissed once and it was insanely good. he’d grown into your mouth and touch your hair like he needed more. you’d feel the weight of him, unmistakable against your body, warm and heavy.

then he disappeared again for a few days.

but by the eighth week, he came by your house when you were off, lounging on your couch. giant t-shirt draping over your body as you ate takeout from the box. he opened the window and let himself in, crawling inside like it was hard to do.

you ran to him, of course you did. grabbing his arm more roughly than intended, you draped it over your shoulder and lugged the man to his feet. pulling him with immense difficulty to the couch and dropping him there to run wordlessly and grab the first aid kit before panicking when you sat.

“i—fuck, what happened? who did this?” rasping as you sat on your knees to clean the cuts on his face. “are you hurt anywhere else? should i take you to the hospital?”

he grabs your wrist when you reach for your phone and brings it to your chest. “no,” the it’s almost a breathless gasp. “please don’t.”

you nod slowly as you start to pull up his shirt and cut through the fabric. not entirely sure what to do but trying nonetheless to help the regular you’d been silently crushing on for the last month. cleaning up the slash on his abdomen and watching his face contort when you put ointment and a bandage. you watch as he falls asleep and his lips part in his sleep. hands reaching out for you when you stand and his eyes still closed, he whispers your name in a sigh.

“thank you ma.”

you let him sleep off whatever the hell it was and wash the blood from your hands despite the shakiness it presented. you shower silently and then the evening over in your mind. nearly forgetting that this man passed out in your couch had gotten into your apartment though you’d never brought him up with you. he’d only walked you to the building. part of you was terrified of him but the other part was worried. you check on him repeatedly on the night but when you see his breathing has evened out, you head back to your room after dealing a blanket over him. you fall asleep unwillingly with your bedroom door locked and a desk in front of it.

when you wake in the morning, he’s gone with all traces of himself with it.

jason doesn’t come by for days later though you don’t stop looking for him. the stain you swore was on your couch is cleaned and the seat he took in the shop was cold. he hadn’t gotten his bitter drink from you in a while and despite his sudden appearance at your place, you miss him.

you look for him even though a part of your brain was nagging you to stop. you ask your coworkers, and even your manager for camera access, they all say no. people say they don’t even remember him, and you start to feel crazy.

did you imagine him?

but when you go to the library by your place to study, you see him hunched over a copy of animal farm and oversized hoodie engulfing him. not even a minute goes by before he sees you too. though to your surprise, he comes up to you.

“hey,” his voice the same strong yet unsure tone that you grew to love.

“hey,” continuing to flip brought your page and sparing him a short glance. “haven’t seen you in a while.”

he sighs and sets his book down at your desk, pulling a chair out to sit next to you. “i’m sorry. i haven’t come by i just didn’t know how to apologize.”

you blink at him, “apologize for what? scaring me shitless and then disappearing without letting me know you were okay? fuck you dude.”

“wait,” grasping his long fingers around your wrist when you try to get up to leave. “i didn’t know where else to go. just let me explain. please?”

his eyes shone with a gentle sheen of wetness that showed his sincerity. the nagging disappeared as you listened to him and nodded, letting him lead you to the corner of the library.

only then does he tell you about his family. about the way the life has treated him like a punching bag and how the man that he thought was protecting him wasn’t willing to take all of the risks. he told you about how he wanted to fix this place for good. how all of the bad people seem to keep winning and that he didn’t want to be part of that anymore. he started to see how his anger was always warranted, and how the world had turned their back on him. the love that fostered over these last few weeks only bloomed further.

noticing how his eyes flicker across your face or how he watched, you take a drag of a cigarette when you stood outside. the both of you had become accustomed to one another, and the familiarity of his gaze didn’t burn, but it warmed you up. It was no surprise when he finally let his eyes fall to your lips. though he was taking aback when you took the initiative and pressed his hovering hands onto your hips.

then you kissed him and it felt like church bells rang in his mind as he lost all resemblance of himself. jason walked you back to the brick wall and pressed you there, hand caressing your cheek as you moaned softly into his mouth. he swallowed it down and shivered when you bit his lip. his strong hands lifted you up and he deepened the kiss, slowly grinding his lips back into yours when you shifted you hips against him. the moment gets heated when you drop your fingers to wiggle at his belt, letting the metal clink and fall open before he reluctantly pulls back. his breath warm and heady as he gasps for air and rubs your cheek with his free hand.

“no,” breathlessly gasping. “i can’t do this to you.”

furrowing your brows at the implication of his words, you shake your head. “do what?”

“this,” he says quickly before gently moving you off of him so he could move away. “touching you.”

entirely confused by his sudden change you only take a couple steps backwards too. hand coming up to touch your lips like it could hold his memory there. jason seems to notice and moves in a little closer.

“i have done bad things in my life. i’ve hurt people because i was angry and i’ve lost control more times than i could remember.” he rasps. “i don’t want to do that to you. i can’t do that to you.”

you can’t help but scoff. “i’m a grown woman jason and you’re the one who broke into my apartment bleeding and ran away before we could discuss it.”

“and i shouldn’t have done that.” he sighs. “i shouldn’t have involved you.”

this time you press on. the tension between you unbearable as you yearn for the touch of his skin. “maybe i want to be involved.”

an incredulous laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. “you are not involved.”

crossing your arms over your chest in defiance, “i think a guy showing up in the middle of the night, bleeding all over my living room makes me involved.”

“it doesn’t. trust me, you don’t want any part of this life. you’re just gonna get hurt.” he argues back.

squinting your eyes at him, you sigh. “let me worry about myself.”

“i can’t.”

“that’s not really my problem now is it?”

jason takes a moment to look you from eye to eye. “listen to me. you are not apart of this.”

“and you listen to me jason.” you reply quickly wanting him to understand without realizing how both your voices had risen. “you made me a part of this the day you walked into the shop.”

“yeah and i regret that!” the words escape him before he can think about how it could hurt.

your lips part and your brows had a soft furrow in them. a breathless gasp slips in shock. “you don’t mean that.”

“i do mean that.” doubling down on his words. “it was idiotic of me to involve you and i shouldn’t have brought some civilian girl into this so let’s just forget it ever happened.”

trying not to show how your heart crumbled, you take a couple backward steps. you watch as his face contorts and returns back to its original form.

“i thought...” you trail off when he finishes it for you.

“you thought i was the boyfriend type?” he throws back more harshly than he needed to. “that i’d be all loving and mushy? that’s not me and that’ll never be me so just drop it.”

he didn’t take the words back. he didn’t try to stop you from believing what he said was true. he wanted you to believe it and part of you did even if most of you was screaming that he was trying to protect you. deep down you knew this was his coping mechanism. this was how he saved you both even if it meant sacrificing himself.

but mostly, a deep rooted sense of distain took for him. this was cowardice. this was a kind of protection that you never asked for and it was all his fault. he was the one to involve you in this in the first place and now he was blaming you for trying. now part of you was blaming yourself for letting yourself believe that this could’ve been something.

a soft sigh escaped you as you slowly nod your head at him. “right.”

turning around and walking back towards where your things sat. You collect your belongings and leave without another word letting him ponder on his own if that’s what he was even really doing. You decide then and there you won’t look for him, but this was not something that you needed to weigh heavy on your mind. So many other responsibilities had already taken form in your life and here he was making it harder for the both of you.

the following weeks you find yourself, looking for traces of him in mundane things. orders of black coffees with no milk and no sugar you find yourself thinking of him. leather jackets and cargo pants seem to bring you to his attire.

you accidentally cut your hand cooking dinner on the third month and the blood droplets seem to capture you. Why did they take you back to him? Why couldn’t he have just been a normal guy?

You try to throw yourself back into the thick of everything else. Your friends invite you out for parties for birthdays and you don’t skip any of them. You go out for lunch you take them to dinner and inevitably you go to a bar.

You tell yourself that this is gonna pass and that you just need to find someone to take your mind off of the guy, the mysterious one, who broke your heart without ever really knowing him.

That’s when you meet him—Dick Grayson.

His dark luscious hair and his beautiful piercing eyes. He was the life of the party. He is everything that you needed to pull you out of the slump. There’s something faintly reminds you of someone else you pushed that feeling and that thought down and instead you let him buy you a drink. And then another. And then another. When he goes in for a kiss, you pull back and you’re not even sure why.

This gorgeous guy was trying to get with you and here you were thinking of some idiot who left you high and dry at a public library.

When you go to work a coffee bar at some fancy gala, there Dick is again.

only this time he’s lost that sleazy unbuttoned shirt that he was wearing at the bar and it’s been replaced by a sleek neatly tucked in suit. one that looked like it costs double what your rent is for the month. you tell yourself you’re not being a look at him you’re not even gonna give him satisfaction or yourself the heartbreak even if that wasn’t even a sure thing.

But he’s the one to approach you and all you really wanted was a distraction.

“well hello gorgeous. i didn’t think i’d see you so soon.”

you blink up at him, hand still holding a half made drink as you awkwardly smile. somehow dick finds entire thing endearing and he gets you out from behind the table, pulling your apron off and leaving the banquet entirely. charming as ever, it doesn’t take much for him to convince you to follow along and fall into his advances.

slowly, he makes his way into your life too. but the difference is dick pulls you into his, bringing you gifts and lavish things that you’d never really cared for. he invited you to parties that aren’t your scene and he introduces you to his friends.

when he kisses you, it’s hunger and delight. it’s on your way back to his apartment, when the both of you had a little too much to drink at one of bruce’s galas.

his hands reach yours while you walk and he brings you closer by your waist. fingers lingering by your hip when he says your name quietly. when you turn to look at him, he presses his lips to yours, soft and plump. it’s teeth and lips when he pushes you against the door, desperate hands trailing down your waistband when he tries to feel your underwear through the silky dress. you gasp his name into his mouth and press your hand to his chest. a small whisper of a not yet, that he nods and takes like it was no big deal.

yet here you were, yearning for something more difficult. something more devastating that you felt guilty for taking this moment for granted. there’s no explicit label on the two of you, but the message is clear to everyone around you and him alike.

you’re his girl.

months go by like this, where nothing progressed beyond sitting in his lap, kissing him hard and apologizing when he wanted more. but dick was patient and he was understanding and he waited.

now you’re sat at another one of the many galas you’d attended in the last year and dick is busy chatting away a group of stupidly rich people. conversing with them like he’s meant to and slyly receiving touches and remarks about his looks that should’ve made you angry or jealous. but you never were. his personality was flirty as is and you didn’t care that other people appreciated how attractive he was. if anything it was like a compliment.

coddling a fruity drink in his hand and another to gesture wildly, dick laughed all evening and secured a couple of deals for his fathers company. the company he’d never truly elaborate on so you wouldn’t know why he was away at odd times in the night. or why he sometimes got phone calls mid-date and needed to leave for a while before texting you that he’s sorry he can’t make it.

somehow, none of it really mattered. part of you knew that dick grayson wasn’t yours.

by the time you get to the manor with dick, he’s wasted and bubbly enough to be looser. though it amplifies his flirty personality and he spends the limo ride home kissing down your neck, leaving marks that you definitely didn’t want to stay. you tilt your head for him and hum his name.

“gray, you’re gonna leave a mark.” you hum even as your eyes roll in pleasure.

“i want to leave plenty.” groaning against your neck as the car stops by the house.

he reaches over and pulls the window up to hide from the rear view mirror, and pulls you up onto his lap. the plush of flesh in his hands are kneaded as he shifts your hips against him. minutes go by like this, friction burning between you as his dark dark sticks to his forehead from how much he was working himself up.

“can we?” he rasps, not needing to say the whole thing before you already understand.

you pull away to look at him and see the desperation etched on his face. part of you wants to give him what he wants, to finally give in to that temptation but the rest of you says to wait for some reason you couldn’t understand.

here was this gorgeous man, sculpted like a greek god with his perfect teeth and his chiseled jaw. he was beautiful and everything anyone could ever want, but you couldn’t just say yes.

“you’re drunk,” you state, pulling yourself off of him and opening the door. “let’s go inside and sleep this off.”

he groans like it hurts when you pull him out but his hands. “hasn’t anyone ever told you how much it hurts when you don’t take care of it?”

you hum and bring his face closer to yours as you walk to the door. hand settled low on his back as he holds himself up with an arm around your shoulders.

“nice try dickie. you can help yourself when you take a cold shower.” kissing his cheek as you shut the door behind you.

coherent enough to hold himself upright, he huffs softly and then smiles. leaning over to kiss your lips again, pecking like he was soothing himself before nodding and pulling off his shoes. from across the corridor you could hear a faint sound coming from a television. low enough to be mistaken for sounds of the house.

dick guides you further into the house by your waist and settles his hand by your hip when you reach the living room. along the way you leave you purse on the counter, phone tucked inside it as you start to see the black haired man sitting on the couch, facing the television.

“took you long enough dick head.” the man’s voice echos with barely concealed annoyance. “you were supposed to help cass tonight.”

dick sighs as he walks himself to the kitchen to grab a beer. “i told her i had to go to bruce’s thing. she’s old enough to patrol on her own now.”

“well duke had to go and—” cutting himself off as he stands and turns his body to where you stood. his eyes widening as he sees you there, standing in a pretty dress and a softly dishevelled appearance, as though perfectly imperfect.

jason’s lips part at you, and you take in the look on his face as one of disbelief. something in his appearance had shifted in the months you hadn’t seen him. something about his face had gotten more mature and intense. like he’s seen a couple things more than from when you last saw him and he looked tired.

“—you shouldn’t be out doing that shit right now anyways. bruce told you to lay low after what happened last time.” dick says as he takes a swig of his beer.

when he noticed how you and jason were looking at eachother, he looks between you. quickly you break the eye contact, but jason doesn’t.

“oh jason, this is my girlfriend.” dick says your name. “this is my brother, jason.”

girlfriend. you nearly grimace at the name he calls you but somehow keep it inside. mentally you’re cursing yourself for not meeting his family before this happened. had you known that they were related you would’ve never even spoken to them. you would’ve never started to talk to Dick in the first place. now you’re stuck in this awkward position where you have to tell the guy you’ve been seeing casually for the past couple of months that hey I actually used to have a huge crush on your brother and I actually made out with him and sometimes I imagine his face on yours. 

well, maybe not the whole thing. he probably doesn’t need to know all of the details.

your mind is going a million miles a minute and you can’t even think about what you’re supposed to do next. do you shake his hand? or maybe you’re supposed to stand frozen like you have been for the past 30 seconds.

but then jason raises his hand, and offers it out to you like it’s the easiest thing. he smiles softly.

“hey, i’m jason.”

somehow this option didn’t even occur to you and it was the one that burned the most.

you offer your hand as well and let him take yours in it, shaking it really really softly. almost intimate if anyone was looking too hard, and thankfully, dick was inebriated enough just to not notice that part.

“hey,” you offer back and repeat your name, trying to forget how bitter it tasted on you tongue right now. he holds your hand for a moment longer than necessary, and you find yourself looking into his eyes like you didn’t know him completely already.

“he’s gonna be staying here for a while since his apartment has roaches and shit.” dick pats jason’s back and still doesn’t notice how he couldn’t pry his eyes off of you. “his rooms across from mine.”

his grip tightens ever so slightly when you try to pull it away.

“guess we’ll be seeing a lot of eachother.” jason says with a gaze on you that could light a thousand fires in your soul.

this was going to be a long, long summer. 

night patrol went fine.

Summer in Bluebell Wade Kinsella x GN!Reader (AO3) Summary: A summer cookout at the river is supposed to be nothing more than good food, old friends, and a long day in the Alabama sun, but something about the way Wade is looking at you through out the day changes a few things.

Tags: Fluff, Kissing, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Feelings Realizations, Friends to Lovers, Pet Names (Darlin', Sugar other country nicknames...), Yearning a/n: I'm only on s1 so it might not be biblically accurate. Please enjoy, <333 If any pronouns are in here, I'm sorry and send me a dm to let me know. I'm trying to make my fics as GN as possible so all can enjoy.

dividers by uzmacchiato

꒰ content ꒱ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ knight!bruce wayne x princess!reader

knight!bruce wayne collection

Bruce's muscles ache. The healers have been fussing over him, trying to get him to lie down. There's a dull throb in his arm where a dagger had gone too deep. 

None of that matters right now. Not when you'd almost died because he lost focus for a mere moment. The absence of your warmth haunts him more than any wound he's ever had. So you're all he needs as he stumbles to your chambers—a risky move he hopes doesn't make its way to the gossip mills.

When you open the door, a gasp escapes you. "Bruce—

"No." His jaw clenches. "I failed you."

You—not the kingdom, not your father. He failed you.

He's covered in blood. It's drying on his armor and staining his skin. He moves into the room, making sure not to get blood anywhere as he kneels in front of you, head down as if he's somehow guilty of treason. The sound of metal against the floor is jarring.

"Stop it," your voice wobbles. He couldn't possibly think that when he's the one who found you and brought you back. He's the one with bruises littering his beautiful face, the one you'd memorized in your dreams as if knowing the shape of him was enough to keep him. 

He looks up then with a ferocity that makes you simultaneously want to step back and throw yourself at him. Torchlight glints off the sword at his side, its edge as sharp as his jaw and the determination in his eyes. 

But when he opens his mouth, your name is mumbled so softly you could barely hear him.

And following that is a declaration that would stay with you for the rest of your life.

"I swear my life to you."

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