Could You Please Do Bruce Calming Tim From A Panic Attack Or Nightmare Please?

Could you please do Bruce calming Tim from a panic attack or nightmare please? 🙏

simple

jason todd x gender neutral reader. 613 words.

notes:

warnings: vague descriptions of messy, yucky feelings on reader's part, including vague feelings of inadequacy.

"are you alright?"

a simple question.

theoretically a simple answer.

as you turned the question over in your mind, preparing an answer (simple question, simple answer, it could be simple) you heard him step through the doorway he was lingering in.

the sound- as quiet as it was- shook you from your muddied train of thought.

it was him. it was jason.

jason knew better than anyone it wasn't always simple.

and, just as importantly, jason- your jason- wasn't asking just to be polite.

holding onto those two points, you allowed yourself the complication and, instead of churning out an overly simplified response, you looked at him.

his brow was furrowed, but he gave you a small smile.

you attempted to return it.

given the way he moved further into the room, you weren't very successful.

he crouched next to your chair, looking up at you with soft eyes and a small frown. "what do you need?"

another simple question.

this time, you opted for the simple, honest answer. "i don't know."

his frown twisted into something of a pout, one of his hands coming up to rest on your leg and rub gentle circles into the side as he thought. "you should take a break."

"i can't." and when the simple answer wasn't enough, you continued. "i need to get this done."

it struck you, then, how something you love can also bring great frustration- his eyes, deep and thoughtful and completely focused on you, were usually one of your favorite sights on earth.

right now, they just made you feel like you were falling short somehow.

you looked away.

"okay," he said, voice calm and steady and warm in a way that you weren't sure you deserved. "can i come sit with you while you finish it?"

"if you want to."

he hummed, squeezing your leg gently as he stood up. "do you want anything while i'm up?"

"no, thank you."

"i'll be right back." he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and then he was gone.

the room was deafeningly quiet. intolerably still.

now there was a simple answer. you needed him.

the two minutes it took him to come back felt like twenty, but he eventually came back with two mugs of tea in one hand and a chair from the kitchen table in the other. "here, let me just-" he sent the chair next to yours, tilted so it faced you more than the desk, and paused as he met your eyes. "hm?"

"...can you sit with me?"

it sounded.... so stupid, considering that was his entire plan. but he seemed to understand, nodding seriously and setting the mugs on the desk. "i'm here."

"thank you."

he slid into the chair, tucked one leg up under the other and leaning forwards to take your hand in both of his. "of course."

it was so him, the way he said it. so jason it almost hurt. "of course," like he was commenting on the weather, "of course," like he was pledging his life to you, "of course," like the contradiction he was.

the surge of emotion in your chest was another contradiction: love, gratitude, anger, fear, all at once.

and he saw it, somehow. squeezed your hand gently, giving you an anchor.

"...this sucks."

"i know."

"i'm sorry."

"you have nothing to apologize for."

you gave him a flat look, tears pricking at your eyes.

"do i sound like i'm kidding?"

he did not.

you didn't bother to respond.

"i'm gonna stay right here until you finish this, and then we'll do whatever you want to do. a movie, sleep, whatever. okay?"

another simple answer. "okay."

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."

in your hands | jason todd

Summary: Jason thinks he's too big to be loved. You show him that that's impossible.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.

A/N: as always, if you like this fic, tell me through comments and reblogs :)

the divider

Tonight, Jason comes home far away.

You clock it as soon as he walks in. He’s moving on autopilot: boots by the door, helmet on the shelf, gear in the closet. He washes his hands, hangs up his jacket, and then he stands at the doorway. And waits. 

You’re never quite sure what he’s waiting for. But you know that he’ll stay stuck in his head if you don’t step in. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, cupping his cheeks. “Hey. You wanna eat or clean up first?”

The change is instant. As soon as you touch him, Jason is there. You’ve never mentioned it to him. It frightens you too much to explore, knowing that you’re his tether. You don’t want to think about what that means, having the power to anchor a man who used to be dead.

He looks at you, meets your gaze head-on.

“Did I disappear?” he whispers.

“Little bit. It’s okay.”

You keep stroking his cheeks, avoiding his shaving cuts and the freshly split lip. There’s a bruise around his eye and on his temple. 

“Wanna wash up,” he finally says, but his hands cling to your waist. 

You pet the back of his neck. “Want me to go with you?” 

“Please?” He glances at the kitchen. “But if you’re in the middle ‘f something, then—”

“No, Jay. C’mon.”

You take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. Jason undresses while you draw a bath. Soon the bathroom starts to fog up with steam. You pour in some Epsom salts for his muscle aches—you know he should soak more than he does. 

You turn off the faucet. Jason is in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. He picks at his autopsy scar, presses the puckered white flesh until it turns red. 

“Jay,” you say gently. “C’mere, honey.”

His hands drop to his sides. Jason goes to the bath, pulls off his underwear, and sinks into the water. It’s a generously-sized tub. Jason had gotten his old tub replaced for a larger one after you’d mentioned that you liked baths. Soon enough, you’d introduced him to the wonders of hot baths for his sore muscles. 

Even with its size, Jason still has to bend his knees slightly to fit. He pushes himself up easily. A little water sloshes over and dampens the edge of your shirt. Jason curses.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay, honey. You want me to come in?”

He nods. You pull off your shirt, then your pants and underwear. Jason folds in on himself to make room, but you stop him.

“I’ll just sit between your legs, Jay. No problem.”

You step into the bath. Jason holds your wrist so you can sit down without slipping. He stares at his hand on your arm after you’ve sat. 

You reach over for a washcloth and pour a lightly-scented soap. You lather it up first, then rub it over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Jason is perfectly still. 

“Can you lean over, baby? So I can get your back.”

Jason obediently leans over. You smile at him as he holds himself up with his core. You know Jason’s not just strong, that he’s agile too. He’s very good at wielding his body.

You wash his back. This close, you can see the contours of his muscles, how broad he is. 

When you’re done, you wring the soap out of the cloth and cup water in your palms to rinse the suds off of his skin. You catch his gaze in the mirror across the tub. Jason turns his head.

“God, look at me. How are you not afraid every time I come stompin’ around?”

You stop pouring water and rest your hands on Jason’s biceps. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “I’m like a huge, fuckin’... monster. Too big, too loud. I’m—” He swallows, bows his head. “How can you look at me?”

“Jay, honey. You’re not a monster.”

“Bruce thinks so,” he whispers, and straightens. “He can barely look at me. Every time he does, ‘s like he doesn’t even recognize me.”

His hand quietly swishes through the water to claw at his autopsy scar. 

“This is all I am. Just violence. ‘M too big for anything else.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull his head into your chest. Jason hugs you back. His shoulders begin to shake. 

“You’re more than your body,” you say. “You’re more than what the Pit made you. What you were.”

He shakes and cries into your neck. “I was small. People loved me when I was small.”

You pick up his head. Jason’s eyes are thick with tears. You lean in and kiss his Cupid’s bow.

“I love you.” You brush away his tears with your lips. “I love you so much, Jay. That’ll never change.”

“Too big for it,” he rasps.

You shake your head. “No, Jaybird. You’re never too big to be loved.”

“I’m s-scary.”

You kiss his temple, rub between his shoulder blades. Jason clings tighter.

“You don’t scare me. You never have.”

He pulls you closer, so you’re chest-to-chest. You straddle his stomach with your legs and hug Jason as tightly as you can. 

“I was good when I was small,” he says. “I don’t–I don’t know how to be good anymore. I wanna be good, I do. I don’t want Bruce to think I’m bad. I’m still good.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jay. Baby. You are good. You came back to make a change. You’ve always been good. You’ve got a good heart. Nothing’s going to change that. Bruce is stubborn and stuck in his head. But you’ll always be his son. And you’ll always have people who love you.”

“What if I’m not worth it?” he whispers. “What if I’m too lost?”

“Then I’ll go out and find you. And we’ll come home together,” you say. “You’ll always find your way back home.”

He smells like soap and Epsom salts. You kiss his autopsy scar. Jason shakes more. 

“Let me wash your hair, baby,” you say.

He nods, tears on his lashes. You wet his hair and pour shampoo. You rest your lips on his cheek as you lather the shampoo, detangling tiny knots with your fingers. Jason bends at the waist so you can rinse off the soap with the faucet.

You tap his hip and Jason sits up. He slips his arms around you again and tucks his chin into your neck.

“Don’t let go,” he says, suddenly desperate. “Don’t–don’t let me go.”

“I won’t, Jay. I’m right here.”

so… so many new jason authors i can’t believe this

Sunlight filters through sheer curtains, bathing the two of you in a warmth typically found in the comfort of each other. Cotton sheets pool around your waist as you sit up, leaning back on your arms to stretch out a little, and let out a soft yawn. 

The silence inside the room is interrupted by the sound of Jason stirring in his sleep, wrapping his arms around a pillow, and snoring lightly. You’re careful not to move too much when he’s like this. Peaceful and still, not haunted by the terrors of his past and present. When he’s just your boyfriend and not the man trying to avenge everyone who can’t avenge themselves.

He rolls over, his back towards you now, and you can hear him exhale a heavy breath. You want to reach out and touch him, to hear the sound of his morning voice, to have him hold you close for a few minutes until he’s slipping a hand up your shirt and laughing in your ear like he does when you react the way he knows you will.

But he’s a light sleeper and he deserves this; deserves to wake up on his own time, well rested, and to the sound of birds chirping. Not from the ghastly white of Joker's face haunting his dreams. 

He’ll be up soon, and you’ll pretend to be asleep so he pulls you close, slides a hand up your shirt, and laughs in your ear. Until then you’ll silently watch him from your side of the bed, cherishing this moment and locking it away for a rainy day when he isn’t so lucky. 

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!