Ive Been Obsessed With Soulmate AUs Recently, So Heres A Little Idea Ive Been Playing Around With:

I’ve been obsessed with soulmate AUs recently, so here’s a little idea i’ve been playing around with:

Everyone’s born with words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. The youngest person to get their words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young.

You and Jason meet at school, outsiders in your own way. You, the new transfer student to Gotham Prep, and Jason the newly adopted son of Bruce Wayne. You bond over your outsider status and shared interests, fast friends in no time. The kind of best friends that tell each other almost everything, comfortable in each other’s trust. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day (he’s very careful to talk around being Robin, it’s not only his secret after all). He listens to you when you feel homesick, worried that you’ll never feel at home again. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better. You’ve never met Bruce or Alfred or the rest of Jason’s family. He asks you about it once, but you simply reply you prefer having Jason to yourself. That maybe one day you’ll meet, but for now your friendship is a private thing for you two alone.

Sometimes you and Jason will speculate about what your words will be, fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin. Privately you hope your words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

When Jason dies, it’s like the whole world turns to ash. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death rips you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave? Once you emerge from the fog of your grief, you turn it into fuel. You graduate and then hurry through a degree as quickly as you can. You take a position in a charity working with underprivileged children, determined that no child will ever be afraid of being tossed aside like Jason was. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. You keep yourself so busy that when your words come in, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

Your world ends for a second time when you catch sight of the newspaper headlines at the local newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. You call out sick, a first for you, and in your fog somehow make it to Wayne manor. You are indescribably rude to poor Alfred, pushing right past him, almost hypnotized by the voices coming from inside. A body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time. Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason. Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones.

“Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you felt the same.”

(I’m actually so sorry, this ask ran away with me and turned into this monster, oh my god. This AU has me in a chokehold and i need to scream about it)

- 🍂 (@fic-over-cannon)

i’ve been hoarding this in my inbox for AGES because work has been so busy lately that i never seem to get enough downtime to come up with a coherent thought let alone the brain cells to read but.

tumblr user fic-over-cannon i need u to write this immediately so i can devour it. i’m such a sucker for the childhood friends to lovers with jason because it holds so much potential. and a soulmate au too!! i’m beside myself. the last few lines of this had me feeling like i was genuinely running to find him - i can just imagine the urgency and the pain that propels you forward like you might lose him all over again if you’re not fast enough this time (not unlike bruce, i’m realising)

sighing over this and weeping into my hands

if ur asking for kinktober requests... dick grayson or roy harper... maybe playing with some ropes... maybe a little hate... maybe overstimulation... maybe edging... idk just throwing out ideas im feening

-🎀

dick hated when he had to be the bad guy. he hated when you’d run your mouth and be a brat, because that was just proof that you couldn’t be the good girl he knew you could be. he’s seen you on your best behavior before, so why couldn’t you just stay that way?

maybe if you could hold the title of his good girl, you wouldn’t have a rope that’s tied your hands on either side of the bed posts. maybe if you didn’t run your mouth at dinner, you wouldn’t have your own cum dripping out of your swollen cunt from fingers alone. maybe if you apologized instead of being a brat, throwing around words you didn’t mean when you got home, dick wouldn’t be sat on his knees between your legs, nasty smirk pulling at his lips as he watched you squirm with flushed cheeks.

brat taming was something dick didn’t know he had the ability to do, that is, until he met you. the man was used to women falling under his every word without a complaint or say so. that’s how it always has been. he didn’t know women had the ability to have the mouth that you did.

"two words, princess," his voice was rough and mean. have you never heard of an apology before? apparently not by the way you shake your head and refuse to meet his eye, groaning out something instead.

dick’s cock was becoming excruciatingly hard, and his own strokes of his hand weren’t cutting it. he wasn’t going to fuck you until you apologized, half-promised that to himself when he’d opened the door to his home. but, he had his own needs too.

his hands sit on either side of your torso, knees underneath your thighs as he teasingly brings his length to rub against your folds and clit. never pushing inside, but pushing himself past your entrance with help of your wet slick.

overstimulated and fucked out, you whimper and whine underneath the man. unknowing if you want his cock to fill you up or if you want nothing to do with him at all. your body can’t decide when you attempt to writhe away from him, but your pussy flutters while doing so.

"two words, fucking slut," he reminds, hot breath fanning your face. he lowers his head, pressing a rough kiss to your cheek in which you attempt to move away from. "c’mon, be my good girl. y’know i don’t like being mean to you baby."

the sweetness of his words almost make your guard fall, wanting to turn and lock your lips with his. but you don’t. instead turning your head to scrunch your brows at him and pull your lips back. "’m a good girl, you’re just dumb," you say, words ending in a whine at the feeling of dick’s tip pushing against your clit.

dick’s teeth find their way into your neck, sucking a dark purple hickey and then pulling back with his cock in hand. his eyes never leave yours as he pumps himself a few more times.

and then his tip reaches you again, only this time he pushes only the beginning of his length inside of you as you squirm and moan below him. he thinks it’s cute, the way you’re helpless until you say the two words he wants you to say.

"wanna be a slut?" he questions, letting only his tip fill your entrance. his eyes move down to watch the way your cunt’s reacting, attempting to suck it inwards despite your nasty words.

with one fluid and fast motion, he bottoms out in you. the entirety of his length filling you up and kissing the sweet spot inside of you. dick doesn’t care for the moans or whines you give. doesn’t care that your hands are balled into fists and pulling on the rope he tied tight.

"i’ll fuck you like a slut then."

dawn, daylight. (495)

this baby drabble is for keke beloved

waking up next to jason and it's earlier in the morning, the blue fog of dawn just barely creeping over the horizon and into your shared bedroom. it's cold, but the blankets – and jason – trap in the heat between you both. you're still tired, eyelids heavy and gravitating closer to your lover, pressing against him because he's warm, pressing your fingers against the flat of his stomach and tucking your chin into his chest, burrowing underneath the covers completely until your face no longer feels icy.

and you let the moment pass, feeling him breathe under you, the soft whistle of his nose muffled through the blankets and his arm loosely curling around you. outside, you can hear the fainter sounds of the city, cars passing by and a cat outside meowing – one of the neighbors', probably. but everything remains soft, as if trapped under a layer of snow. your mind feels cottony, still waking and foggy, and all you know is that you're here and jason too. affection colours your hazy vision in rose, and your body moves before your mind to press a kiss to his sternum.

downy hair tickles your cheek, and you kiss the spot once more, fingers stroking the skin of his stomach tenderly. even unseeing, you can feel the raised skin, can envision the jagged pink lines that criss cross his body. in his sleep, jason lets out a harsh breath and you still your movements, flattening your palms against him. he settles slowly, tensed muscles relaxing little by little until he goes soft once more, curving over your body protectively.

you can hear the moment he begins to wake, some few minutes later. it's a slight jolt, as though he's thrust out of sleep violently, dreaming one moment and awake the next. his arm tightens against your back, hand splaying under the fabric of your shirt against your skin, fingertips pressing into your spine. you're here, is unsaid in the minute breath he lets out, relief evident in the shudder that wracks through him and you shuffle a little – slowly, so you don't startle him – and peek your head out.

teal eyes soften when they find yours, lips curling ever so slightly into an immeasurably fond pout.

"where'd you go?" he says quietly, unwilling to shatter the silence. it amuses you that for all the gravel in his voice, hoarse and unused, he manages to sound petulant. i couldn't find you, he says.

"cold," you whisper. i was always here, you tell him.

he blinks at you slowly, lashes fluttering around opaline eyes, and draws you into him in silent response.

dawn creeps in, blue spilling in through the cracks in your curtains at first and then pale gold. gotham, so unforgiving and cold usually, shows you her beauty in the early hours of the morning as you cradle jason. you count his breaths, and then steal them, as she pours into your room and over your sheets.

started listening to daylight while writing the end of this and wanted to start weeping. i want him to make his home in my bed, i want to hold him carefully, and brush his hair and love him so tenderly.

making jason a friendship bracelet (i guess just bracelet if yall are together lol) and he wears it everywhere and when he’s fucking you and he’s got his hand around your throat (gently or not, but I’d feel like half the time he’d just keep it there gently) and he’s all smiley because he can see it in his vision right there next to your gorgeous fucked out face

whoever sent this. you're a genius.

tags: smut, fluff, little bit of slapping, bit of dumbification, fem!bodied reader

your shared bedroom was filled with the clinking of beads hitting each other as jason rutted into you. "fuck- jason!" you're moaning, clawing his back as he grunts. "you're so fuckin' tight baby, shit." what had gotten him so worked up in the first place? you made him a bracelet. he came home in the early hours of thee morning and you were absolutely beaming, shoving the bracelet in his hand excitedly. he was more than ecstatic, kissing you roughly as his thigh slid in between your legs.

"fuck- please please please" you ramble, not even knowing what you're begging for. jason's smiling, slapping your face gently a few times before his hand slides down to your neck. he squeezes just a bit with a lazy smirk. "gone dumb on me baby? like when i fuck you like this?" he already knew the answer but you whined in response anyway. out the corner of his eye, he could see the bracelet you made him. it makes his heart flutter as he thrusts into you harder. "g-gonna fucking milk me, sweetheart" he chokes out. your loud whines and moans spur him on as his hand trails to your clit, rubbing fast circles.

you both cum with loud moans, absolutely spent as you spend the next few minutes panting heavily next to each other. he's never taking that bracelet off.

A/N: umm hopefully i'm getting better at smut writing!??!@&*727 anyways i love this man.

Thinking about how Jason's first word after being resurrected, still in his coffin, is "Batman".

oh my god off anon is so embarrassing but congrats babygirl!!! a milestone!!! My guilty pleasure is like... a spit kink n i gotta request DC as the fandom <3 I honestly do not know what song I would fuck someone to but I have exes by tate mcrae on loop rn so maybe that for a concept 🤔 but idk if I had to choose I would fuck to oh my god by gidle. That song just screams sensual sex... congrats again bby!!

you know who would love spitting in your mouth cressie? none other than mr. dick grayson himself.

c'mon, he already can't get enough of himself as is, so when you ask him to spit on your tongue, he gets hard like a light switch. he doesn't even wanna fuck you yet, because he knows he'll get too lost in the feeling of you. dick will finger you while he lets a big fat glob of spit fall from his to yours, etching your face in his memory as he does so. he makes sure to remind you of the slut you are, to ask something so vulgar of him afterwards, maybe will help clean his spit up on you with his own tongue <3

xi’s 1k event!