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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
Summary: You never really cared if you lived or died, throwing yourself into missions and neglecting your health while pretending everything was fine. But Bucky saw through the cracks, and when you pushed yourself too far, he finally forced you to stop running from the truth. (Bucky Barnes x suicidal!reader)
Word Count: 3.5k+
Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Themes of depression. Implied past trauma. Unhealthy coping mechanisms. References to death/suicide ideation. Suicide attempt (Reckless mission self-sacrifice). Angst. Hurt/Comfort. You are responsible for the media you consume. [A/N: This is purely self-indulgent. I didnโt tag anyone since this is a heavier subject.]
Main Masterlist
There wasnโt some grand, tragic moment that broke you.
No villain with a grudge, no deathbed promise to keep. There was no particular moment of sobbing in the rain, no final phone call, or shattered photo frame. It wasnโt like that, but that wouldโve made it easier almost. It wouldโve given you something to point to. Something to blame.
Instead, it was slow and quiet. A steady erosion, like standing in the ocean and pretending you didnโt feel the current pulling you under until your feet were gone from the sand. You didnโt remember when exactly it started, but it was long before the Avengers called you โfamily.โ Long before the missions, before the team, and before Bucky.
At some point, you just stopped caring.
Not in an angry, reckless way. Not the kind that screamed for attention. Yours was the silent kind. The kind that let you smile during breakfast and bleed out during battle without concern. The kind that let you pretend everything was fine even when the thought of tomorrow made your stomach twist in disappointment.
The kind of tired that sleep doesnโt fix.
You showed up to missions on time. You laughed when Tony cracked a joke. You trained, ate, functioned, and masked. And no a single person asked about it, because why would they? You were the dependable one. The brave one. The one who never hesitated to take the dangerous route, to volunteer for the high-risk extraction, or the solo infiltration. The thing that should terrify anyone with an ounce of self-preservation.
You told yourself you did it for the team. That you were just fearless and that it made you useful.
But that wasnโt the honest truth.
Because if one day you didnโt come backโฆ that would be okay. And some part of you. Some broken, buried part of you hoped that day might be soon.
You didnโt actively wish for death. It wasnโt that poetic. You just didnโt fight for life the way you used to. You didnโt protect it like something precious. If the odds were bad, if the mission was suicide, if the enemy outnumbered you five-to-one?
So be it.
Youโd faced worse. And at least out there, in the blood and chaos, there was no time to think. No room to feel the ache in your chest or the hollowness that sat behind your ribs. It was clean, in a way. Simple.
And over time, youโd grown comfortable with the idea of dying as a soldier. It made everything easier and painless. You wouldnโt have to keep pretending. Wouldnโt have to keep showing up with a smile that didnโt quite reach your eyes.
The only person who seemed to be watching too closely was Bucky for some reason.
Sometimes you caught him watching you when he thought you werenโt looking. His expression was always unreadable, neutral almost. But his eyes were sharp and searching. Like he was trying to figure you out without asking the questions out loud.
He never did ask and you never offered.
You kept your secrets, wore them like armor, and buried them deep under sarcastic quips and shrugging shoulders. You laughed when Steve called you reckless or when Natasha arched a brow and said you had a death wish.
You responded, โCome on, itโs me,โ with a grin. And they all let it go because you were still breathing. You were still standing and fighting.
So it had to be fineโฆ right?
Right?
But Bucky saw it before he even knew what he was looking at.
At first, it was just small things like how you forgot your jacket before heading into a snow-covered extraction zone in Poland. The time you shrugged off a gash on your shoulder without cleaning it, left it to scab beneath your suit until medical had to corner you post-briefing. Or maybe how you waved off rest after missions, passed on food, with the excuse that youโd grab something later, even though later never came.
He noticed you didnโt sleep either.
Heโd walk past the common room at 3 a.m. and find you sitting on the floor with your knees to your chest, eyes unfocused and face dimly lit by a muted TV screen. Other nights, you'd be training in the gym alone, pushing your body past the point of pain like you were trying to bleed something invisible out.
You always looked fine the next morning though. Smiling and sharp. Joking with Sam, mocking Tony, business as usual.
But Bucky had spent too many years watching people pretend, and you were pretending.
He started watching you more closely. He began keeping track of what you did and what you didnโt do.
How you skipped breakfast three days in a row, then scarfed down a protein bar during mission prep like it was enough. How your hands shook slightly after combat, but you always tucked them into your pockets before anyone noticed. How you laughed a little too quickly, a little too loud, and always deflected when someone tried to get close.
You were unraveling in silence, drowning in plain sight, and no one else saw it.
But he did.
The final straw was when you collapsed in the hallway.
It wasnโt even dramatic. You didnโt cry out or stumble. One second you were walking, and the next, you were on your knees, blinking up at him in confusion like you couldnโt quite figure out how you got there.
You tried to brush it off, of course. Told him youโd skipped lunch and that it was nothing. Probably just low blood sugar.
โYou havenโt eaten in two days,โ He said flatly.
You blinked again, slower this time. โHave I not?โ
Your voice was so calm, too calm. Thatโs what scared him most. You werenโt panicked. You werenโt even embarrassed. You were justโฆ blank. Like none of this mattered, like you didnโt matter.
He crouched in front of you, searching your face. There were shadows under your eyes, dull bruises that hadn't healed because your body never had the resources to do so. You looked like you hadnโt slept properly in a week. Maybe longer.
โWhy are you doing this to yourself?โ He asked quietly.
You tilted your head, confused. โDoing what?โ
โYouโre not taking care of yourself.โ
You shrugged, like that answered everything.
It made something in his chest twist. โYou donโt care, do you?โ
โAbout what?โ
โAbout living.โ
That got your attention. Just barely. Your eyes flicked to his sharply, for a fraction of a second but you didnโt respond. Just looked away and pushed yourself to your feet like the conversation hadnโt happened.
โYouโre wrong,โ You muttered, and walked off.
But he knew he wasnโt.
Because people who cared about living didnโt act like you did. They didnโt throw themselves into fire with a smile. They didnโt skip meals until their hands trembled. They didnโt fall asleep standing up at the firing range and pretend it was nothing.
They didnโt look like they were waiting for the world to finally stop asking them to keep going.
He didnโt follow you that time, but he knew this wasnโt over. He was going to find a way through the armor, even if he had to break it open with his own hands.
Because maybe you didnโt care about living, but he cared enough for the both of you.
And thatโs exactly why it shattered him when the mission went sideways.
The intel was bad.
Not just โoff by a few guardsโ bad, more like fatally wrong. What was supposed to be a quick in-and-out data grab turned into a full-on ambush. Twenty hostiles deep, tripwire-rigged, and half the building wired to blow. It wasnโt a mission anymore. It was survival.
And someone needed to stay behind.
You didnโt hesitate.
โGo,โ You ordered, already moving toward the exposed wiring in the corridor, eyes flicking to the timer counting down from sixty. โIโve got it.โ
โSomeone has to disarm it,โ You replied calmly, even as you cut into the panel with shaky fingers. โYouโve got the data. Samโs injured. Get him out.โ
โWeโll all go,โ Steve snapped. โWeโve done it before. We canโโ
โThereโs no time.โ
You didnโt yell. You didnโt plead. You just looked at Bucky and for one horrifying second, you let the mask drop.
And he saw it.
That empty, bone-deep relief in your eyes. That soft flicker of peace, like you were finally getting what youโd been waiting for. Like this was your out.
โNo,โ He repeated again, quieter, begging now. โDonโt you do this.โ
But you just gave him a crooked smile, blood dripping down your temple.
โSomeoneโs gotta save the day, right?โ
And then you shoved the door shut and locked it behind you.
You heard his shout, muffled and desperate, but it was too late. You were already inside. Already slicing through wires you didnโt understand fast enough, already preparing to die if it meant theyโd live. Already thinking:
Finally.
But fate, cruel and merciless as ever, didnโt let you go.
You woke up to beeping, sterile lights, a monitor, and the unmistakable feeling of clean sheets on a medical bed.
You were alive.
And it felt like a punch to the gut.
You stared at the ceiling, hollow inside. The ache in your ribs told you youโd been pulled from the explosion barely. The burns on your arms were wrapped, your throat was raw from smoke, and youโd passed out before the last wire disconnected.
You didnโt save the day. You didnโt even die. You justโฆ failed, at everything.
The door creaked open, but you didnโt bother turning your head. You already knew it was him.
Bucky didnโt speak at first. He stood there silently like he was trying to decide which version of his rage was most appropriate. Eventually, he moved to your side. His voice was low and controlled, but that steel was barely hiding the cracks underneath.
โYou almost died.โ
You blinked up at the ceiling. โBut I didnโt.โ
โYou wanted to.โ
The silence stretched. You didnโt respond and that was answer enough.
He sat down, his fists clenched. โYou think we wouldnโt notice? That I wouldnโt see it? You looked at that bomb like it was a gift, like you were finallyโฆ done.โ
Your jaw clenched. โI did what needed to be done.โ
โNo,โ He said. โYou did what youโve been trying to do for months.โ
You looked at him then, and your voice was tired, cracked, and honest.
โWould it have been so bad if I didnโt make it?โ
The question wasnโt bitter. It wasnโt even angry. It was quiet. And somehow that was worse. Because you werenโt trying to manipulate him. You werenโt being dramatic. You meant it.
His chest heaved once. โTo me? Yeah. It wouldโve been the worst goddamn thing.โ
You didnโt answer.
Because a part of you, maybe the part that had already let go, didnโt believe him. Or maybe you just didnโt think you deserved that kind of grief. So you closed your eyes and whispered the only lie you knew how to tell.
โIโm fine.โ
And Bucky didnโt believe you, not for a second.
As time passed, the world didnโt stop just because you almost died.
It never did.
After a few days in the med bay, you were released to your quarters, bruised and burned, but upright. You moved slowly, ribs taped, hands bandaged, and throat still raw from smoke and debris. You werenโt cleared for the field, not for weeks. Maybe longer. And even then, they told you strictly support only until further notice.
You nodded, took the orders, and smiled.
โSure. Iโll rest.โ
You lied with ease, but more carefully this time.
They couldnโt technically prove your actual intentions during the mission, but the team treated you like glass now with cautious smiles and gentle jokes. Sam brought food to your room and lingered like he expected you to open up. Steve checked your vitals more often than the nurses had. Natasha offered to watch movies at night, pretending it wasnโt surveillance in disguise.
You played along because it was easier that way.
โBetter,โ You told them when they asked how you felt. โJust tired.โ
It wasnโt a lie completely. You were tired, but not in the way they thought or were trying not to think.
Meanwhile, Bucky barely spoke to you that first week after that initial conversation. He kept his distance, watching from corners, hovering near your door, and saying nothing. You werenโt sure if he was angry, heartbroken, or both.
He didn't ask if you meant to die even though he already knew the answer.
When he did finally approach you, it wasnโt in confrontation this time. It was quieter than that.
One night, youโd slipped out of your room and padded barefoot into the common kitchen, reaching for the tea cabinet out of habit. You didnโt expect anyone else to be awake as you grabbed something random. But when you turned around, he was already there.
Leaning against the counter, watching you like you were the most dangerous thing in the building.
โYouโre up late,โ He commented.
You glanced down at your trembling hand. โCouldnโt sleep.โ
He nodded like he understood, because he did.
He poured the water for you, steeped the tea, and set it down in front of you without a word. Then, he sat on the other side of the table like he wasnโt going anywhere.
You stared into the cup as the steam curled gently upward.
He watched you for a long time before he finally spoke again.
โEveryone thinks youโre doing better, that youโre okay.โ
You didnโt answer.
โI donโt.โ
Your throat tightened. So, instead you took a slow sip and swallowed against the lump rising.
โThen donโt say anything,โ You whispered.
He flinched like you'd struck him, but he didnโt argue. He just stayed.
The days blurred after that as your body healed slowly.
You walked the halls, smiled in meetings, and watched missions from the comms room. You threw yourself into the gym too early and too hard. Your ribs werenโt healed yet, but you pushed through the pain. You always had.
Everyone called it grit, strength, or dedication. But no one called it what it was.
Punishment.
And Bucky saw it.
Every late-night training session, every skipped breakfast, and every polite nod when someone asked how you were holding up. He didnโt push yet. He didnโt lecture. But you could feel the weight of his gaze every time you pretended to be fine.
Like he was waiting for you to break and maybe you were too.
And when the fateful night came, you were at the gym. The space was empty and the hour was obscene.
But that was the point.
No one was there to ask questions or to look concerned. Just silence, sweat, and the repetitive rhythm of self-destruction masked as discipline.
You hit the bag harder than you should have. Your body was still bruised and your knuckles still raw. Youโd wrapped your hands poorly too fast and too tight, but it didnโt matter. You welcomed the sting.
Until your vision blurred and your chest burned as something in your arm gave a warning jolt you chose to ignore.
You didnโt hear the door open. Didnโt notice Bucky until his voice cut through the air, rough and sharp.
โStop.โ
You didnโt. You struck the bag again and again. Your entire body ached, screaming at you to quit. But you didnโt, you couldnโt.
โStop.โ
Then his hand was on your wrist, firm and unyielding as he yanked you back just before your knees buckled.
You winced, stumbling. You still didnโt give in though.
โIโm fine,โ You snapped, breath hitching as you pulled away. โI can keep goingโโ
โYouโre not fine!โ He exploded. โYou havenโt been for a long time and Iโm done watching you tear yourself apart just to pretend otherwise.โ
His voice echoed through the empty gym as you froze: chest heaving, hands trembling, and pain lancing up your side.
He stepped closer, jaw clenched and eyes wild. Not with anger, but with fear. Fear, heartbreak, and helplessness all wrapped in frustration.
โYouโre punishing yourself,โ He spoke quieter now. โYou think I donโt see it? You think I donโt feel it every time you walk into a room like youโre already halfway gone?โ
Tears burned at your eyes as you blinked hard and furious.
โI never asked you to care,โ You bit out.
โWell, I do!โ He nearly shouted. โI care if you eat. I care if you sleep or come home. And I care that you almost died and acted like it was the right thing to do.โ
You looked away. Because everything he was saying hurt more than the bruises, more than the fire, and more than the explosion.
Because it was true.
โIโฆ didnโt mean toโโ
โYes, you did,โ He cut in gently. โYou did.โ
Your throat closed and you shook your head.
โI donโt know how to want to live,โ You whispered.
It was the first real thing youโd said in weeks. Your voice cracked around the words like something broken finally let go.
โI wake up and I justโฆ exist. Iโm tired, Bucky. All the time. I donโt want to die really, I justโฆ wouldnโt mind if I disappeared.โ
The silence after that was suffocating, but Bucky didnโt flinch. He didnโt walk away. He didnโt yell or push.
He just reached out slowly and carefully, and pulled you against him. And this time, you didnโt fight it.
You broke.
Right there in the middle of the gym in his arms, body shaking from exhaustion. From the pain and the weight youโd been carrying for far too long. You let yourself cry. There wasnโt much sound, rather just hot wet tears on his shirt and a choked breath in your throat you hadnโt released in years.
He held you like you mattered.
Like you werenโt a burden. Like you werenโt a grenade counting down. Like you were here.
Alive.
And maybe that was enough for now.
You didnโt heal overnight.
The movies made it seem so simple. Like all you needed was one breakthrough, one tearful collapse, one person to catch you, and suddenly everything was better.
But this wasnโt real life. Real life was slower, harder, and messier.
There were still days you didnโt want to get out of bed. There were mornings where the world felt too loud, too bright, and too heavy to carry. Youโd sit on the edge of your mattress for an hour, trying to find a reason to stand. Sometimes, you didnโt.
There were many nights you stared at the ceiling until the sun came up, fingers twisting in your sheets and heart heavy with something nameless and sharp. And more often than not, Bucky was there. Sometimes sitting on the floor just outside your door or on the couch in your room, silent and unwavering, acting as a quiet guardian against the dark.
He never asked to come in, always let you invite him in first. He never pushed either, just let you know he was there, anchoring you to something other than the ache.
And for onceโฆ you let him.
You stopped lying.
Not all at once. But the tiny, automatic masks containing the deflections and the easy smiles started to fall away. You told Sam when your chest felt too tight. You admitted to Natasha that you werenโt sleeping. You let Steve see your hands shake when a mission briefing hit too close.
You let them see it. The bruises inside, not just the ones on your skin. And no one turned away. No one made you feel weak. They stayed.
And slowly, so slowly you didnโt notice it at first, something inside you began to shift.
You stopped hoping for the end. Not because everything was fixed. Not because you were suddenly full of sunshine and strength. But because there was something, someone, beside you now.
Someone who held you when your knees gave out in the hallway. Who sat with you through every doctorโs appointment or waited outside every therapy session you agreed to attend. Who made you soup on bad days and said nothing when you couldnโt eat it. Who never asked you to be okay, only to be honest.
Bucky never tried to save you. He just stayed while you figured out how to save yourself. And in the quiet, in the moments between the ache and the healing, you started to feel something new. A flicker of something unfamiliar began living within you. Not a burdened feeling or an emptiness, but something fragile.
Something that felt a lot like hope. Something that cared a lot for him.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
Enough to stay, enough to try, and enough to live.
A thing I really appreciate about supergirl is that Kara is never shown to be pretty. Yeha she is pretty regardless because they casted millie fucking alcock but the never show her to be put together. They let her be messy. They let her be rude. They let her fuck up. Every time we see strong confident women in media they are always wearing the tightest bodysuit and look beautiful even when they have been beaten to shit. Not here. Every scene Kara is in she looks like a car had run over her. And they don't "transform" her and make her look prettier by the end to show that she has started to heal. Nah they keep her like that and they change how she acts. I love supergirl.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
Thinking about giving Jason the silent treatment after an argument and him turning absolutely pathetic.
Itโd probably be about him being reckless on patrol or something, usually thatโs the only thing you two really fight about. Heโs exhausted and youโre worried, so he gets snappy and defensive, expecting you to fight back. At first you do, but ten minutes into bickering, you just huff and turn around. With a quiet โyou know what, Jason? Just do whatever you want, I donโt care anymore,โ you head into the bedroom.
Cue the silence.
At first he tries to act like it doesnโt bother him, silent as well, but when he comes back from patrol the day after and the cold shoulder persists, he grows desperate. The usually comfortable quiet that settles between you after long days feels suffocating. He misses your voice, how youโd tell him about your day while making dinner, or complain about work. You decidedly ignore the looks he sends you, his eyes pitiably soft. He underestimated how much he needs to hear you talk to stay sane during the day; Beating up criminals was one way to stop his mind from spiralling, but you were his main way of coping.
โPrincess, please,โ he whispers at some point, next to you on the couch while you scroll through whatever streaming service you first landed on. Something in his tone makes you cave, the slight crack maybe, or the way his hands rub against his pants to get rid of the thin sheen of sweat that clings to his palms.
When you look back up again the instant relief that fills his chest is visible, he practically lights up. โIโm sorry for snapping, I know you care, I was exhausted. Thatโs not an excuse, sorry. Just donโt ignore me again, I canโt handle that.โ
โThen take better care of yourself and donโt go out there acting like you have nobody waiting for you to make it back alive,โ you grumble, glaring at him, although it lacks the heat now.
He nods, โI will, promise. Just keep talking, baby.โ
The show you settled on to rewatch never gets played, Jason insistent on you talking to him until he has to go on patrol to make up for the hours he went without hearing your voice. He might call you while heโs out, addicted to the sound of you, and entirely dependent on you giving him the time of day.
a/n: i like pathetic loser boyfriend jason. he might be buff and hot but that man has zero game. he went from street kid to robin to dead to red hood. i think heโd feel incredibly lucky to have bagged anybody. so yeah, my headcanon is he wouldnโt be able to cope when youโd ignore him.
this is my interpretation of course, and iโm not as familiar with the canon as a lot of you probably :)
IN WHICH... i've mentioned before that jason likes to fuck in mating press...let's talk about it
MDNI 18+ โ SMUT BELOW THE CUT
warnings: smut duh, basically porn wo plot, piv, raw๐ซฃ, rough!jason, belly bulge, afab, f!reader, breeding ig idfk, ur both sluts, uh yeah
wc: 659
a/n: first smut writing kinda nervy...
Jason's had you in a mean mating press for what feels like forever, the mattress digging into your back, your legs tossed over Jason's shoulders as he drills into you. Your fingernails claw at his back, leaving behind nasty scratch marks that are sure to be there in the morning.
"Oh, fuck, Jay," you whine, tossing your head back to dig into one of the only pillows remaining on the bed. Your tits bounce softly in his face, moving in tandem with his thrusts.
He groans, the sound throaty and hoarse as his hips plap against yours. His fingers tangle in the sheets beside your head, the strain on his arms making them flex beautifully.
Jason's bigโthis is a known fact. His cock stretches you so deliciously, filling you up so deep in this position. Jason loved to fuck like thisโevery time he had you, it was his go-to. Not only did he like to see your face as he elicited sweet mewls from your lips, but he also loved to see the head of his cock nudging against your stomach from the inside.
So, he glances down to your belly, seeing the unmistakable bulge of him rutting into you. He presses a hand down on the spot, making you garble a moan. "Ahโ oh, god, Jay, that feels soโ mmmph." Your eyes roll back in your head.
He chuckles softly, pausing his thrusts to grind his pelvis against yours. "Yeah, it feels nice, baby, hmm? You can't even get a sentence out," he coos, groaning softly as he feels every thrust against his hand.
You can't seem to shut up, moans tearing from your throat even as he's barely moving. But alas, he picks back up the punishing pace, pounding into you rough and deep.
A string of drool escapes your mouth as your head digs into the pillow. "C'mon, baby, give it to me," he urges, removing his hand from your belly and using it to push your legs further back. "Fuckโ she's squeezing me so tight. She loves this, doesn't she, baby? Pretty pussy's gushing all over me."
"Oh, Jay," you whine. Soft trembles begin to wrack your legs, the pleasure overtaking your body. "Harderโ"
He obliges and speeds up, his fat tip nudging your cervix with every thrust. "I know, baby, I know. Look at me," he orders.
You only whimper, mouth in an "O" shape, head thrown back. He growls softly, his hand gripping your cheeks until you finally meet his eyes. "Fuck, yes. That's it, baby. Such pretty eyes, even when I'm fucking you stupid."
"Ahโ! Jay, m'gonna cumโ" you moan, legs shaking persistently.
He groans, head falling to your neck. He sucks warm, wet kisses into the flesh, surely leaving a mark. "Good girl. C'mon, cum for me, baby. Soak me."
His hand snakes down to slot between your sweaty bodies, thumb quickly finding your clit and rubbing tight, firm circles on the sensitive nub.
"Oh, fuck, fuckโ I'm cumming," you wail, making sure to look into his eyesโyou know he loves that, he always says it feels more intimate.
At the same time as you, Jason also releases with a soft, teary-eyed moan, planting his hot, sticky load deep inside you. Almost immediately it begins to seep out around his cock, creating a sticky, stringy mess as he shallowly fucks his cum back into you.
Slowly, he pulls out, watching as his creamy seed trickles out of your sweet, puffy pussy. "So good for me, ma. Always so good. My pretty baby..." he whispers, sniffling. You wipe away a stray tear with your thumb, smiling up at him.
Yes, Jason, your big, tough Jason, cries during sex. Sometimesโlike tonightโit's only a little. Other nights it's a full-on sob. He's your broken boyโyour broken boy who so happens to fuck like a pornstar.
He smirks, eyes glued to your messy, pulsing cunt. "So...now you gonna let me lick it out of you?"
I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesnโt feel like a website youโd find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasnโt clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
Summary: Jasonโs on a sex banโ or quite literally, a complete touch ban!
warnings: whiny, pathetic Jason.
Jason Todd was an absolute idiot, there was no denying that. But he was a very desperate idiot. And he was willing to do anything if it meant youโd touch him again. You see, youโd put him on a complete sex/touch ban for three entire weeks, and well? Jason was not taking it well.
By day twelve of the three-week sentence, the fearsome Red Hood had effectively ceased to exist. In his place was a six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-fifteen-pound disaster who was entirely losing his grip on reality.
Jason didnโt do things by halves. When he was a crime lord, he took over the East End. When he was an Outlaw, he traveled through space and time. And when he was put on a strict ban by the only person who held his entire heart in her hands, he turned into this absolute menace of compliance.
The apartment had never been cleaner. It was, quite frankly, terrifying.
When you walked through the front door after an exhausting shift, you didn't just smell the familiar scent of Gotham rain and Jasonโs expensive cologne. You smelled lemon verbena. You smelled freshly bleached tile
You stepped into the kitchen and paused. The countertops were sparkling so intensely they practically caught the light. Every single dish was not only washed, dried, and put away, but the spice rack had been meticulously alphabetized. Even the labels on the canned goods were facing perfectly forward.
And there, standing by the stove, was Jason.
He was wearing a pair of dark sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a tight, sleeveless black compression shirt that showed off every single rigid muscle, and scar, across his broad back. And the sight normally shouldโve been enough for you to jump onto him, He was currently plate-stacking three different Tupperware containers of custom-marinated chicken breasts, a batch of freshly roasted vegetables, and a pot of handmade gnocchi.
The moment the lock clicked, Jason didnโt just look up. His entire body snapped to attention. His dark eyes locked onto yours with this frantic, high-alert energy that reminded you of a stray puppy.
He didn't break the rules. His large, heavily calloused hands clamped firmly onto the edge of the kitchen island to physically anchor himself in place, but his broad shoulders slouched instantly into a pathetic, pleading posture.
"Hey," he said. His voice was incredibly rough, a deep, gravelly rumble that sounded completely worn out, like he hadn't slept in a weekโ which he hasnโt. How could he without your hugs and kisses?. "I made dinner. I made the gnocchi from scratch. The way your grandma does it, with the potato-to-flour ratio you like. And I prepped your lunches for the next four days."
You set your bag down, looking at the sheer volume of food, then at the pristine kitchen. "Jason... did you scrub the baseboards?"
"Yes," he blurted out, shifting his weight from one heavy foot to the other, his eyes tracking your every movement with an agonizing level of pining. "And I ran the vacuum over the carpet three times to get the lines perfectly straight. And I picked up Lilyโs toys and sanitized every single block with baby-safe wipes so she doesn't ingest any rogue bacteria. I did it all."
"Wow," you murmured, leaning against the counter. "You've been busy."
"I'm losing my mind," Jason confessed, his voice dropping into a soft, intensely whiny pitch that would have shocked anyone who had ever seen him pull a trigger. He let go of the counter, taking one agonizingly slow step toward you, but stopping exactly two feet away to respect the boundary. He looked down at you from under his dark lashes, his jaw tight, his white streak of hair falling messily across his forehead. "Babe. Sweetheart. Light of my life. Look at me. I am literally vibrating. I haven't slept in forty-eight hours because every time I close my eyes, I just think about how I'm not allowed to hold you."
"It's only been twelve days, Jay," you teased, crossing your arms and fighting the massive smirk tugging at your lips.
"Twelve days is two hundred and eighty-eight hours!" Jason groaned, a loud, muffled sound of pure misery escaping his throat as he dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Do you know what I did last night? On patrol? I didn't even break any noses. A guy tried to mug a tourist in an alley, and instead of hurting him I settled on throwing him into a dumpster. I'm broken. You've broken the Red Hood."
He dropped his gaze back to you, his chest rising and falling in a heavy, desperate exhale. He slowly sunk downward, dropping his massive, muscular frame right onto his knees on your kitchen tile. He looked up at you from the floor, his hands resting on his own thighs, completely and utterly humbled.
"Please," Jason pleaded, his gravelly voice cracking slightly as he looked up at you with wide, desperate eyes. "Look at me. I'm on my knees. I'm saying the words. I'll be a good boy, sweetheart. I swear to God, I'll be the best boy youโve ever had. Iโll never let Roy inside a three-block radius of this building again. Iโll make him sign a legal waiver. Iโll personally rewrite Lilyโs vocabulary list. I will literally do anything.โ
You looked down at him, your heart melting just a little bit at the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of Gothamโs most dangerous vigilante begging for his life on your kitchen floor.
"Are you begging, Jason Todd?" you murmured, stepping half an inch closer.
"Yes! Yes, I am absolutely begging, I have zero shame left," he whispered frantically, his dark eyes instantly tracking your movement, glowing with a sudden, fierce spark of hope. He leaned forward slightly, though he kept his hands firmly on his knees. "I don't even need the whole thing. Just a deal. Let me negotiate. A partial payout. Five minutes of cuddles on the couch. You don't even have to move. I will just lie there like a giant, silent weighted blanket. I won't use my hands. I'll tuck them under my chest. Just let me smell your hair, babe. Please."
"Just cuddles?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A kiss," he corrected instantly, his voice taking on a thick, desperate edge as he looked at your lips. "One kiss. Short. Sweet. Clean. Well, maybe not entirely clean, but just *something*. My lips are falling off, sweetheart. Theyโre dying. I'm a dying man."
You let out a soft laugh, finally breaking your resolve. The sight of him on his knees, completely devoted, utterly whiny, and entirely yours was too much to resist. You reached out, your fingers gently sliding into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.
Jason practically shuddered at the touch, a low, ragged sigh breaking from his chest as he immediately leaned his face into your palm, his eyes closing in pure, unadulterated relief.
"Alright," you whispered, running your thumb over his sharp jawline. "The ban is suspended. Just for tonight."
Jason didn't even wait for you to finish the sentence. He surged up from the floor, his large, powerful arms instantly wrapping around your waist and lifting you completely off your feet. He pulled you flush against his broad chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a deep, shaky inhale.
"Oh, thank God," he mumbled against your skin
He didn't waste a second moving you to the living room, collapsing onto the couch and pulling you down on top of him. He was a man possessed by pure, desperate compliance, his massive frame sinking deep into the cushions until he was completely flat on his back, using his own chest as a platform for you.
"Rules," he breathed out, his voice a rough, scraped-raw whisper against your hair. He immediately tucked both of his massive, scarred hands flat underneath his own chest, pinning them between his body and the sofa cushions. He looked up at you from the pillows, his jaw open slightly, his eyes wide and completely glazed over with absolute devotion. "Look. Hands are away. Iโm not moving 'em. See? Good boy."
You couldn't help the soft laugh that bubbled out of you, leaning your weight fully against his chest. Even stripped of his weapons and armor, Jason was a solid wall of muscle, but right now, he felt completely pliable beneath you, his entire body relaxing into a soft, heavy puddle the second your warmth pressed into him.
"Very good boy, Jay," you murmured, tracing a slow line down his cheekbone.
Jason practically whimpered at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his face aggressively into your palm, chasing the friction of your skin like a man dying of thirst. "More," he pleaded, his voice cracking, entirely unbothered by how pathetic he sounded. "Babe, please. Just keep doing that. Left side of my jaw. Right there. Oh, God."
You smiled, leaning down slowly until your lips were just a fraction of an inch away from his. You could feel the frantic, heavy thump of his heart hammering against your ribs, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The fearsome Red Hood was completely paralyzed under your gaze, his chest rising and falling beneath you as he waited for permission.
"Can I?" he whispered, his dark eyes snapping open, staring at your mouth with a hunger that was almost frightening, yet he didn't move a single muscle to take it. "Please, sweetheart. Just a little bit. Iโve been so good for you."
"Go ahead, Jay."
The second the words left your mouth, Jason didn't lungeโhe just reached up with his face, his lips meeting yours with a soft, trembling reverence that completely dismantled the tough-guy persona. It was a deep, heavy, agonizingly slow kiss, full of the built-up tension of the last twelve days. He drank you in like oxygen, a low, needy vibration rumbling deep in his chest as his lips parted against yours, begging for more without his hands ever leaving their pinned position beneath him.
Hunhbknhjnkk oh my goodness this man heโs so fine wtf
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