#wanted to add a fuck you middle finger to tim but i just imagined him balling his fists like arthur

[catmanbowser]

They’re mocking tim <3

#bart allen #kon el #cassie sandsmark #tim drake #young justice #dc #catman's art #like..they say this just to spite him #i like drawing tim being annoyed by his friends #so many scrunched up tims in my folders #wanted to add a fuck you middle finger to tim but i just imagined him balling his fists like arthur #this was..self indulgent #bcs i kept seeing that urethra picture bcs SOMEONE fucking spammed it to me on dc #AS IN LIKE THE MEME NOT THE URETHRA ITSELF

[always-andromeda]

I'm Not Looking at Your Junk | Timothy Klitz x fem!Reader

Timothy Klitz x fem!Reader

Word Count | 6,206

Summary | Despite being an infamous prude, Timothy Klitz wasn't expecting it when you said you hadn't watched the sex ed tape he and his friends made during senior year. Little does he know, however, college has given you a chance to become a bit more experienced.

Author's Note | The way I love and hate this so much is ridiculous. I had to get this idea out of my head because it was just clawing at the inside of my skull!! Also, I called him Tim the entire time because I definitely would've been hella uncomfy in high school calling him Klitz all the time if this was an irl man??? I hope I did my man Klitzy justice because I love him so much. I am so nervous about posting this but fuck it!!!

Warnings | smut, (protected!) sex, loss of virginity, fingering, mentions of masturbation, mdni, please let me know if I need to add anything else!

You sighed as you flopped down on Timothy Klitz's couch. The cushions had flattened so much that you were only raised inches from the ground. Even though he was going to Yale, Tim and his two other roommates were set on spending the least amount of money possible to furnish the place. So when one of the guys found the couch free for the taking on the side of the road, of course he picked it up and had it hauled up the apartment stairs.

Tim didn't even know the guys that well. They were nice enough but obviously weren't his type of people. He was sure they'd drop out before the end of the year. But the two brothers were holding their own. Sent there with daddy's money, they'd refused to stay in the dorms where the campus security could bust them for underage drinking and the litany of drugs they were using. When Tim had found out that there weren't any dorm spaces left, he outsourced. The brothers wanted a third person to get in on the rent so they could spend more on supplies for their weekly parties. And with the meager pay Tim was making at his internship, their range met his budget.

On the bright side, their absences made it possible for you to visit more often.

You had your own dorm room but both of your roommates had boyfriends. Most nights you were stuck in your room listening to the sounds of intense lovemaking on the other side of one or two of your walls. That being said, Tim's sparsely decorated apartment with cracks in the drywall was clearly the better option to hang out in.

Tim wasn't complaining about it either. He'd known you since freshman year of high school and considered you one of his closest friends. Having Eli and Matt at his side made it a bit difficult to spend alone time with you. Any time Tim would tell Eli that he had to get off the phone because you were on your way over to his house, Eli would be wailing at the other end: Klitz, you better bang her. Or else I really might kill myself this time. In Eli's eyes, Tim was wasting a situation that was just dripping with erotic potential. She adores you, man. You could slap her ass in the middle of class and she'd thank you! Eli was so sure of himself.

Tim would never do that though. Sure, he liked you, but he couldn't imagine you seeing him in any similar way. You weren’t really the type to just hook up with some guy like it was nothing, especially if some guy was your nerd of a best friend. So just like every other weekend before, he shoved the video tape into the VCR and settled on the uncomfortable couch alongside you.

He'd found some horror flick at Blockbuster a few days before that he thought you’d get a kick out of. As terrible as the effects were in movies like this, the sight of even fake blood freaked him out. You made enough jokes to compensate for the moments where he got too queasy, but this one might be the death of him.

The dramatic title card flew towards the screen: Return of the Bloody Boogeyman!

Your face lit up at the text, already excited for what the night would bring. "You gonna tap out on me for this one?" you spoke teasingly.

He shook his head, brown hair flipping with the action, "You know, I am insulted you'd think I'm that much of a chicken." You laughed with a nefarious anticipation. You couldn't wait for when he would break and start gagging at the low budget visuals.

Of course it started with a completely clothed sex scene. Two teenagers packed into the back of a Cadillac convertible, gasping and moaning exaggeratedly. The black and white filter made it difficult to scrutinize what was going on in the darkly lit scene but the point was made very clear.

"God, it must have sucked having sex back then." you mused.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's not like people were casually hooking up all the time. You had to wait until you were married to some guy and even then, they'd probably be super disappointing in bed. But by the time you figured that out, you're locked in." You were talking with your hands now.

Tim wasn’t really used to talking about the topic of sex with you. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. "Yeah, that probably sucked." Agreeing would probably be his best bet, he decided.

"Now, we have whole instruction manuals to show us the way." You poked at his side. You occasionally teased him about the sex ed tape he and his friends had made on prom night. Though you'd been there that night, watching doors with Tim while Eli and his actors were filming, you had tried not to get too involved with the actual crew. The whole prospect was way too awkward.

It's kind of weird, isn't it? You had said to Tim as you two stood outside a classroom door, guarding it. Your voice was hushed with a tinge of anxiety behind it.

What's weird?  He said vaguely. 

I dunno, it's weird that right behind us are two pornstars just...hanging out in our English class... Tim had let out a stifled snicker. You all would've done anything to help Matt and Danielle out. But that didn't mean it wasn't super uncomfortable.

"Oh yeah, like that taught you some actual techniques." Everyone knew how reserved you'd been in high school. No matter how informative the video was, you were set on being as prudish as possible. 

"That tape didn't teach me jack shit." You spat.

Tim scrunched up his face and shrugged his shoulders, "I didn't think it was that bad. It wouldn't be selling so well if it was complete nonsense, right?"

"I wouldn't know how much of it is or isn't nonsense." You mumbled, finally having gotten to the end of your teasing. And Tim now got what you were hinting at.

He scoffed and looked at you with a cheeky grin, “You haven’t watched the video?”

“Why would I?”

“I dunno, I thought you’d have seen it by now. Everyone has.”

“I’m not everyone.” You gave him a pointed look that kept him quietly fiddling with his fingers for a few seconds, deliberating on if the matter was worth questioning further.

His curiosity got the better of him, “Why haven’t you seen it?”

“Oh my god, Tim, why do you even care?” You exclaimed.

“Nothing, I was just wondering why you wouldn’t have watched it. You were there when we filmed it.”

“I left the room for a reason.” You said indignantly. Tim stared, brow furrowed. Your exit from the library on prom night had been quite dramatic. You had watched April's manicured nails run down Tim's bare thigh and heard her comment on how cute he was. You saw the ecstatic smile that crept across his face. The nervous little blush that grew just beneath where his oval glasses perched on his pert nose.

Before that moment, you hadn't considered yourself possessive over him. But the way his eyes lit up at the comment made you feel sick to your stomach. It made you wanted to storm across the room and kiss him right on his stupid lips. But you weren't that girl then. What chance did you stand with him when he could easily land a pornstar? So you spun on your heel and left the room, grumbling something about checking the hall for chaperones from the prom. You didn't even get back in the limo with the rest of them at the end of the night, instead opting to go home with one of your other friends from homeroom. Then you never talked about that night again.

Though you most certainly were the type of girl who would angrily kiss him just to prove a point now, the memory made you feel that same seed of insecurity and inadequacy fester inside you. But Tim was still staring expectantly, waiting for you to explain yourself.

“Because I’m not looking at your junk, Tim.” You couldn’t bear to let your eyes meet his.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” You hoped that would end the line of questions he was throwing at you.

A few beats of silence passed. The movie still played but neither of you were paying too much attention to it anymore. How had the conversation turned to this? He was suddenly wondering if he was so repulsive to you that just the thought of him being naked could throw off your usual teasing mood entirely.

He spoke again. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

You were annoyed now. If Tim knew what was good for him, he would've let the matter go entirely. “If I’ve never seen it, how could I think that there’s something wrong with it?” You said matter of factly through gritted teeth.

For a guy who was so smart, Timothy Klitz got in his own way quite often in these situations. He still wasn’t sure how to navigate a discussion like this. At some point, he’d have to stop feeling those butterflies in his stomach whenever sex or genitals were mentioned. But sometimes he still felt like he had about the same level of maturity as a pervy thirteen year old.

“Everybody says it’s big. Is that scary to some girls?” He wasn't trying to brag about it, honestly. But if there was something wrong with his size, he was sure you'd tell him about it. You typically weren’t afraid to be blunt about things.

“Oh, fuck off.” You didn’t need to be reminded of what people said about him. You being one of the handful of people who knew that it was his dick being described as “The Meat Rocket 3000” was life ruining. Of course you’d had a crush on Tim for years. Ever since the moment he’d nervously asked if you had a spare pencil during Algebra class in freshman year, you were head over heels for the gangly little nerd. He had a way of awkwardly nudging his way to your heart. Having any sort of awareness or perception of his dick made being his friend absolutely miserable. It was so much easier when you were pretending he was a featureless Ken doll down there.

“What?”

“You’re such an asshole.” You rolled your eyes and began to shake your leg, the anxiety setting in. This conversation was getting too personal for your liking.

“I’m just stating a fact!” He threw his hands up in defense.

An idea popped into your head. Maybe now he would shut up. “Think about it this way: imagine if you were watching a tape where someone was groping my tits. You’d never be able to look at me the same way.”

He absolutely could not think about it that way. Because the idea made him almost painfully hard. Fuck, he’d thought about groping your tits (and all your other parts) many times over. Mostly while he was jerking off or if you sat too close to him on a movie night or if you looked up at him through your lashes. Almost anything could get him going, if he thought about it for too long. He tried to casually hide his erection with the pillow under his arm, hoping and praying to every deity possible that you hadn’t noticed it.

The room had gone deadly silent and you beat yourself up internally. Even as the movie's monster, dripping with thick, sticky blood engulfed the couple in the car, Tim was all clammed up. No theatrical gagging or jokes. You shouldn’t have even said it. Now he was picturing your tits and it made things too weird. You guys had been friends for so long that he probably saw you as an annoying sister at this point. And no one wants to imagine their sister's tits no matter how big and squishy they might be.

“Tim?” You asked.

“Huh?” His voice cracked like he was going through puberty again.

“You got really quiet...” Crickets. “I didn’t make it weird, did I?”

“No! Of course not. It’s not weird at all.”

“Then why does your face look like that?” His eyes were fixed straight ahead of him and his lips formed a thin line. He looked like he wanted the couch to engulf him entirely. But it was the crimson blush that had spread over his almost pained expression that sent red flags up in your mind. 

He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, “This is how my face always is.”

“Shut up, I know what your stupid face normally looks like.” You quipped back.

“Your face is stupid…” He muttered.

“You’re gonna make fun of me now?” You needed a way to escape the awkward conversation and loosen him up again. You needed to convince yourself that Timothy Klitz was just your friend and would always be just that.

“You started it!” His voice raised a little, sensing the challenge laced into the edge of your words. You both picked on each other like this. It kept up the illusion that you two weren't hilariously and tragically in love with each other.

“Oh, I’ll start something.” You pounced at Tim’s side where you knew he was most ticklish.

Tim’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t even let himself laugh when you nearly tackled him flat on his back. With your knees planted on either side of his thighs, he was on the edge of hyperventilating knowing that the impact was imminent. If you moved any closer, his hard dick was going to be touching your crotch and everything was going to be a fucking mess. And before he could push you off, it was happening.

“Whoa, what the fuck?” You flew back as if he had the plague and pressed against the armrest on the other side of the couch. He sat up quickly and covered himself with his arms. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” His voice went high pitched. God, you were going to hate him forever.

“Oh my god. How long have you had that going on?” You tried to let out a laugh but it came awkwardly.

“A minute or so…”

You replayed the past few minutes over. Maybe it was the movie? The kissing couldn't have been that suggestive. You couldn't even see anything that well. Besides, that was a while ago. It couldn't be...was it? Your eyes went wide, realizing what got him so worked up. And his avoidant gaze only confirmed your suspicion. He had gotten hard thinking about you. The thought excited you more than you could’ve dreamed.

He felt so guilty. Not even the humiliation rushing through him could make the erection go away; at the worst possible moment of his life, it was proving to stand the test of time. You were going to think he was such a freak now. You’d stop going to his dorm and you’d never look back. Who wanted a friend who imagined them naked and popped boners at the thought? But against his judgment, you were creeping forward again and making a home between his legs. He watched as your hand extended towards one of his, currently shielding you from the single most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him.

“What are you doing?” He questioned.

“Just give me your hand.” Your voice was hushed and a little shaky.

Tim stalled. What you had planned for him he couldn't have predicted. You couldn't have possibly been enjoying this. Your worried expression indicated to him that you would rather be anywhere else.

You started over with a slow breath. He was overwhelmed, obviously. But you had to at least try to keep going. “You trust me, right?”

He nodded sheepishly.

“Then give me your hand, please,” He couldn’t tell if you were annoyed at him or…begging?

His hand shook a little as you took it and gently moved it towards your lower half. You guided him until his hand disappeared beneath your skirt and the pads of his fingers were pressed against your underwear. Your underwear, already soaked with slick. The groan he let out made his own cheeks go red hot. You continued to brush his fingers back and forth against your clothed heat and took sharp breaths, your eyes fluttered closed. He was losing his mind seeing how you were using him like this. This couldn't be real. Call the coroner, because he must have died and gone to heaven. Here lies Timothy Klitz, he couldn’t handle touching a vagina.

Your voice was a little higher now. “That’s why I didn’t wanna look at your junk.”

“Oh, shit.” He moaned.

“Yeah. Shit.” You gasped a little as he absentmindedly kept his hand against you.

“What do we do now?”

“I mean…I got you started…I’m sure we could figure it out.” Your finger teased the edge of the collar on his button up shirt. Your face had gotten so much closer to his. Your warm breath was fanning across his cheek and before he could fully process it, you were peppering small kisses along his jaw. When did you get this alluring? Tim could feel himself practically melting at your needy touch. But he had to have more.

Tim turned his head to the side to capture your lips with his. It started sweet with his glasses slightly fogging up. The kiss quickly became feverish when you mounted his hips once more, hovering over his bulge. When your tongue entered his mouth, he knew for sure he was a goner. This time he was desperate for you to touch him again. He whined into your mouth, clearly frustrated over the contact that you were just dangling in front of him. 

In a brave move, he laid his hands on either side of your thighs and pushed you down onto his lap. Immediately and with a soft gasp of your own, you ground into him and began unbuttoning his shirt quickly. His pale chest now exposed, you ran a tentative hand along one of his pebbled nipples. He laid his head back and you went for the kill, sucking on his bobbing Adam’s apple and leaving more kisses along his long neck. This was the sort of moment you had been stopping yourself from picturing for years. 

“God, Tim, you’re so pretty.” You whispered against his skin. That snapped him out of his daze pretty quickly.

“Can I touch your boobs?” He asked in the most nonchalant inflection he could muster.

You almost laughed at his tone. His hardening length proved he was anything but uninterested in this position. In your first few months of college you'd already become acquainted with a handful of college guys who didn't ask what they could do. They just did it in the heat of the moment while pressing you against a wall in some dorm hallway. But Tim had always been faint of heart, only diving into something headfirst if his friends were doing it too. Then again, you'd both changed a lot since starting college.

"You can do anything that you want to me." You finally replied.

He was certain he was dreaming now. You had been such a puritan and now you were letting him do whatever his filthy heart desired? He decided that if there was a god, they must really be looking out for him. 

Your oversized t-shirt had hidden your chest's true form, but now that Tim was tugging it over your head and tossing it away, he couldn't ignore how pretty they were. Your tits hung just perfectly on you, soft and waiting to be played with by him. He cupped one gently, circling the nipple with his long finger. It wasn't the first time he'd felt a boob, but this was different. 

Right behind that boob was your heart. And yours was a heart that he had fallen so hard for. You were so smart and knew just how to make him laugh. You watched every dumb documentary he wanted to watch with him. Even back in high school you would be in his room, sticking out the late study nights, determined to get into the same school together. Through everything, you'd been right there making him feel like he was cool enough to be around a girl like you.

He couldn't keep his cool anymore. "Fuck, I like you so much." He sobbed as he kneaded your tit in his hand.

You smiled and tilted your head, "You do?"

With his eyebrows pinched together, he was practically glowing, finally being able to say it to you, "Of fucking course I do. You're so cool that I can't believe you'd pay any attention to me. I-I'm just some guy."

Your heart was soaring. You'd always kind of hated the idea of him seeing you in a purely sexual light. With the way Eli watched porn like they were Sunday morning cartoons, you figured that mentality had to have leaked into Tim's own mind. Despite being good friends with Tim, Eli, and Matt, there was always a layer of removal between them and you. And you liked it that way.

As the token girl of the group, you had heard plenty of your old classmates gossip over which one of your nerdy friends was going to end up banging you. You were a tough nut to crack and wouldn't fold to any guy who would give you the time of day. So the school populace decided that the nerds you hung out with on a daily basis were the most likely to bag you before graduation. But you made sure to prove all of their bets wrong.

"You're not just some guy.” You cradled the back of his head in your hands, combing your fingers through his long, fluffy hair, “Besides, you're my guy." Your words were pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He was flabbergasted that he hadn't cum yet. Not even when your hand went down to start undoing his khaki pants. But, fuck, his end was too close for comfort.

"Wait, I'm gonna cum." He stopped you quickly.

"Already?" This was so wickedly delightful. "I haven't even done anything."

"I know. But I haven't ever..." He trailed off. Despite you being not even an inch away from his dick, he wasn't quite sure how to tell you he hadn't had sex. Luckily, he didn't have to explain it.

You stopped dead in your tracks. "You're a virgin? I thought you lost it on prom night?"

"Oh, uhhh...no..." That was the second most embarrassing night of his life. April had told him he was cute. So of course he'd taken her home. Before now, that was the most attention he'd ever gotten from a girl. 

But when they actually got inside, it took about twenty seconds into her giving him a hand job before he came. April explained that it was natural, especially for a guy so new to the whole game. And while he appreciated her reassuring personality, he was so crushed that it killed any arousal he'd had left in him. He didn't think he'd be a sex god, but with how often he jerked off he thought he'd be able to last longer than that.

Aside from all of that, you had looked so gorgeous that night in your glittery, floor length prom dress. The excessive eyeliner lining your waterline and eyelid was a little intense but quickly became more sultry when you were standing under the dim lights of the high school halls. He even found himself swooning when you kept tripping over your heels. It gave him an excuse to keep his palm on your hip the majority of the night. He concluded that night that that was as far as things would ever go. You'd both go off to college together and find different people and any idea of being with you would be long gone. But there you both were, at the precipice of a new chapter of your relationship.

"You're a virgin too, right?" he asked suddenly, sure that you would say yes and quell his nerves.

"Not exactly," You pursed your glossy lips.

"Shit, really?" You were pretty, yeah, and any guy would be stupid to not want you. But Tim hadn't expected you to have gotten around so quickly. Part of him still saw you as the girl who would shy away from allusions to sexuality.

You rolled your eyes. "It didn't really mean anything. Like my first few times were with Jason from Intro to Philosophy. But he never made me...finish?" Those had been disappointing times. You’d spent all of high school telling yourself you’d wait until college before letting a guy touch you. You were confident for some reason that college guys would be so much more mature about sex than any of your high school classmates. By now, you knew that you were very wrong.

Tim vaguely remembered you talking about a cute guy with that name. He'd been insanely jealous but had ignored the ugly feeling, convinced that nothing would come of your comments about him. You'd never pursued a guy like that before so why would you now? He wouldn't have guessed that the few nights you'd skipped out on movie night had been because Jason had been failing to make you cum. But of course Jason was just a clueless meathead who didn't think about your pleasure.

"I can try to make you finish." He said quickly, trying not to trip over the proposal.

"Tim, if it's gonna be your first time then I doubt you're going to make me-"

"I want to try. If I don't try, what kind of guy does that make me?"

You admired his sense of chivalry. What would be the harm in trying?

With your gentle, encouraging smile, Tim felt confident enough to let you keep undressing him. Butt naked on his own couch, he had never been more grateful that his roommates were party guys. There was no chance they'd be walking in on this. More exposed than ever, he was rock solid, cock bobbing against his abdomen.

The sight of him had your stomach doing backflips. You were so glad that this was his debut for you. His face had been covered in the tape. His throbbing cock paired much better with you being able to see his ruined expression, swollen lips parted in preparation. You grabbed a condom from your bag on the floor and ripped it open quickly. Tim was over the moon that it was you putting the condom on him this time.

When you pulled your panties aside and lowered onto him, the startling stretch made you hiss through your gritted teeth. You were sure he could split you in half just sitting there. Tim was right there with you, buried completely inside you, surrounded by your slick, silky walls. He wanted to move so badly but he knew he had to wait for you. You bounced once, testing the waters, your tits moving with you. When you landed again, you had to hold on tight to his button up shirt, still hanging off his shoulders.

Tim couldn't stay put, his hips were bucking up sloppily, thrusting impossibly deeper up into you. You got the hint and began to match his pace. You also came to learn very quickly that Tim was loud. He muttered a string of curses between low groans that bubbled in his throat. When the two of you were moving in harmony, he was seeing stars. For all of ten seconds after that, Tim was euphoric. Sweat dripped down his forehead under his bangs and it was just beginning to form on his upper lip too. Before he knew it, his climax culminated in a massive shudder of pleasure that coursed throughout his whole body, making him hold onto your hips for dear life. The last of his energy was spent cumming inside of you.

As soon as he went still, the arousal that had been building in your abdomen withered away. You couldn't say you were disappointed in him. If anything, it made you kind of proud of yourself. After a few seconds of listening to him groaning, coming down from the high, you dismounted him and dropped back on the couch next to him. Your skirt had ridden up during the experience so you adjusted it and rested your head on his bare shoulder, a small smirk playing on your face.

"That was fucking great." He breathed out.

"I'm glad." You looked up at the side of his face and placed a quaint, loving kiss on his freckled shoulder.

He was silent for a little while longer until he looked over at you, "You came, right?"

You giggled, "No, silly. But it's fine, I didn't expect you to make me come our first time."

Tim shook his head quickly, "No, it's not fine. It's not." He wanted to be good at this. 

Theoretically, he had all the equipment needed to get the job done. His technique was...less than ideal. He didn't want to be like that flake, Jason, leaving you all high and dry. 

"Hey, you don't need to beat yourself up." You said reassuringly and massaged his shoulder. You were leaning down to pick up your discarded shirt when Tim started to kiss up your shoulder to the back of your neck.

"Put that down," He spoke huskily, taking the shirt from your hands, "You don't need that yet."

You reclined back and Tim refocused his attention to your collarbone, "What are you doing?" You asked breathily. His hands roamed greedily up your sides, feeling up every inch that he possibly could.

"I said I wanted to make you cum." He whispered into the crook of your neck, "I just might need your help doing that, though." As assertive as he sounded, you detected his lack of experience and the nerves behind the words.

"Okay," You replied quietly. 

Tim adjusted so his back was against the arm of the couch. He nodded towards your bottom half, "Can you take those off for me?" So you stood, sliding your panties and skirt down in one slow motion, the garments pooling on the carpet as you stared into his eyes. Tim just stared and swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.

When you were done, he was motioning for you to sit between his legs. You followed his directions. Half hard again, you felt him press against your back. The sensation made you shiver a little. His mouth was giving light kisses on your shoulder and his long hair tickled the back of your neck.

"So, what do you want me to do?" He asked earnestly. He hoped that in your sexually active months on campus, you'd already discovered what you liked because he sure as hell didn't know what he was doing.

You thought back to his hand pressed against your heat and how divine his fingers had felt down there and blurted out, "Your hand. I want you to use your fingers” And then quickly tacked on, “Please."

He brought his hand around to your front, taking his time running his fingers down your abdomen until they were hovering over your cunt. You were on edge, just waiting for him to work some sort of magic on you. But you had to stay patient. You had to show him the ropes a bit. He was a novice in this area. So you placed your hand on top of his again, eager to be his guide to bringing you to your peak. You brought him to your folds, made him drag his fingers across them. 

You stopped right at the nub near the top, "Do you know what that is?" You asked faintly through a gasp.

Through his own volition, he flicked a fingertip over the bundle of nerves with the tips of his fingers, making you twitch a little in his arms. Making that sex ed tape had taught him just enough. 

"The clitoris?" He answered, all too happy knowing that he was right. He felt you nod against his shoulder.

"Then that means..." He trailed off and separated from your grasp, bringing his fingers back to your folds. He slipped one between them, covering it in your slick. The muscles in your cunt quivered, looking to clench around something substantial. Before any arousal could blossom there, he pulled his finger out and looked at the digit, glistening in the light.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he said under his breath with the smallest smile forming across his face.

Your frustrated voice broke his fascination. "Tim, baby, I know you're having fun right now but I really need you to do something now." The desperation dripping from the sentence made him more proud of himself than apologetic.

"Oh, yeah, shit. Sorry." He muttered. You managed a little giggle despite how exasperated he was making you. It was kind of cute, especially when you compared it to your other sexual encounters. He was such a dork. But he's your dork now.

You couldn't have imagined his long, thin fingers feeling so comforting. You hummed contently as you felt the flame deep within you begin to grow. When he got two fingers in, it wasn't quite as filling as his impressive length. But it would still work. As long as he kept pumping steadily the way he was, you had a one way ticket to cumming all over his fingers.

"Faster, please," You requested, your hips bucked into his movements, trying to get him deeper as his fingers barely brushed against your g-spot. He willingly obliged, quickening his pace, taking your whines to mean he was doing something right. But he still felt something was missing. He swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn't fuck up his rhythm as he took his thumb and started to rub rough circles around your clit. To his surprise, the contact made you throw your head back onto his shoulder and arch against his chest.

You gasped, "Oh, Klitzy, fuck, right there," For years you'd refused to call him by his last name like all his friends did. At one point, the nickname left you feeling uneasy, almost a mockery of how you felt about him. But now it seemed fitting. After all, that was the spot he was hitting with his thumb right then.

A shameless grin had formed on Tim’s flushed face as you sputtered bits of praise and curses at him. He was sure you were close when your voice broke. Never in all his life did he think he could have this sort of effect on someone. But, god, it left him knowing that it was you in his lap.

Your impending orgasm had your vision going white and fuzzy at the edges. You clenched your jaw, working through the intense impact that had your hips spasming against Tim’s thighs. You loved him. As you let out a final cry, you realized it fully.

All Tim could think about was how much he was enjoying all this. The scent of your perfume on your neck and sweat forming on your heated figure. The sight of your mouth gaping open, unable to hold back the strangled sounds of your pleasure. The filthy sound of his fingers moving in and out with that undeniable squelch. The feeling of your legs jittering against his and your cunt squeezing around his fingers as you released all the pent up friction. He would gladly do this all day if you would let him.

He slowly worked you through the aftershocks of your climax by languidly massaging your slit with his slick fingers. You were humming quietly, now sunken into the lazy tranquility of Tim's presence, occasionally jolting when he stimulated you too much. You felt boneless in his arms. This was paradise, you were convinced.

"Did I do good?" The question was quiet but brimming with delight in your ear. Like he knew the answer but was hesitant to let himself believe it.

You tipped your head a little further, realizing how much you'd slunk down in his grasp. "You've got to be kidding me." You exhaled heavily and shook your head.

"What?"

"You just want me to say you did good?" Your nose scrunched up.

"It would be nice to hear." He said hopefully.

You turned around to face him, resting shakily on your knees. "Tim, you did better than I ever could've imagined."

"Your imagination must be pretty boring then." He snickered.

"You idiot, just take the compliment." You cupped his cheeks with your hands and kissed him tenderly before he could give another smart ass response.

"Sorry I couldn't make you cum the first time." He apologized when you parted from him.

You simply laughed and bit your lip teasingly. "Maybe next time, Meat Rocket 3000."

#danonation #paul dano #timothy klitz #timothy klitz x reader #klitz x reader #the girl next door #klitz smut #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

[collectivefandomstuff]

Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him. 

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

-

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

-

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

-

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

-

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. ���We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

-

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

#fanfic #batfamily fanfic #batfam fic #pov: #jason todd #humor #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #Stephanie Brown #special appearance: #Bruce Wayne #rated t #for language #4k+ words #1-5k #oneshot

[ffakc]

The Boys of Fall - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

I based this off a dream I had where Jeff and my dad were watching football together. I was being super flirty the whole time while Jeff just wanted to watch the game 😂

The Chicago Bears versus the Seattle Seahawks. Tim versus Jeff. My loving dad versus my loving husband. I prepared a feast of game day snacks for my guys and picked up their favorite brews. Today was going to be intense, to say the least.

I build a plate of food and head to the living room. The game was well underway. Jeff taps his knee with a smile and I sit on his lap.

“Here, try this,” I run my fingers through Jeff’s graying hair and kiss him. I hold a chip with hot spinach dip up to his mouth. He takes a large bite.

“Oh my,” he rolls his eyes back, “Did you make this?” he takes a sip of ice cold beer. I gesture to my mom. “Ma, you’ve really outdone yourself!”

“Thanks, Jeff!” my mom smiles. My husband looks over his array of snacks, trying to decide what to sample next.

“I’m 24 years old and I still don’t understand football,” I laugh and continue petting Jeff’s hair.

“I’ve explained it to you before!” my dad says.

“Well, the gist of it is the defense tries to prevent the offense from scoring the football. The offense must advance the ball at least 10 yards every four plays or downs. Each time the offense is successful in advancing the ball 10 yards, they get four more downs or what is called a ‘first down’. Does that make sense, sweetheart?” Jeff explains.

“A little bit,” I reply, “You’re so cute when you talk about the stuff you love.” I curl up under the fuzzy blanket while Jeff’s hands rub my back.

“These wings are delicious too, doll. And you don’t even miss the meat!” Jeff remarks, biting into a cauliflower Buffalo wing.

“Yeah, she made those for Grandpa once and damn near killed him,” my dad jokes.

“It’s true! I think I added more hot sauce than barbecue,” I giggle.

“I don’t mind a little heat,” Jeff replies.

“Well, if you’re going to eat those spicy wings,” I lean into Jeff’s ear, my voice barely above a whisper, “You better brush your teeth real good later. I want your mouth all over me, Daddy.” I feel Jeff get excited in his gray Seahawks sweatpants, grateful he was under the blanket, for those sweatpants definitely didn’t leave much to the imagination. He squeezes my backside and bites his lower lip. His face quickly turns to frustration.

“NOT A PASS!!! GOD DAMN IT!!!” my husband yells, causing me to flinch, “Sorry, babe,” Jeff rubs my shoulder, “Didn’t mean to scare you.” My dad laughs maniacally.

“Well, Mr. Morgan! Look who’s not doing so hot!” Jeff tosses up a middle finger with a smirk. “Hey now, play nice. Just because your team sucks doesn’t mean you get to flip off your father in law.”

“Can I smack your dad?” Jeff jokes.

“Jeffrey!” I playfully slap his chest and we all laugh, “How about another beer?” Jeff nods.

“God, I really love your daughter, Mr. C,” Jeff says as I hand him the beverage with a kiss, “Thanks, baby.” I sit back on my husband’s knee.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else for a son in law, Jeff. Look at the way she looks at you.” I make a goofy face and Jeff wheezes, “Okay, maybe not like THAT. But it makes me so happy to see her happy. She never holds back about how much she loves you, and don’t we all want that in a partner?”

“Very true, I’ll drink to that. I love you, (name).”

“I love you too, Jeffrey,” I nuzzle my head in the crook of his neck.

***

I waited for my husband to finish his shower as I dicked around on my phone. We were sleeping in my childhood bedroom. I shut off the lamp next to the bed, letting the moonlight illuminate the space I used to call my own. The crisp, fall breeze feels heavenly. Jeff appears in the doorway, hair damp and pajama bottoms clinging to his hips. His manly, brunette chest hair turned me on like crazy. He shuts and locks the door behind him.

“Nice room you’ve got here. I dig the orange walls,” my husband looks around.

“Yeah, I think we repainted my junior year of high school. I was going through an artsy phase,” I giggle.

“It’s very cozy,” Jeff smiles and places his glasses on the nightstand. I beckon with my finger. “What are you doin’, Princess?” He climbs on top of me and kisses me deeply, tasting very faintly of cigarettes, but mostly like minty toothpaste, “Oh, I see. I know what you want. Don’t worry,” he glides his tongue over his teeth, “Nice and clean, no more Buffalo sauce,” he teases. I laugh as he buries his face in my neck, kissing and moaning. My husband smells so damn good. Jeff’s kisses trail down my body, “Look at my little girl. Oh fuck yes. So wet already, Princess?” he rasps, burying his nose in the freshly trimmed hair of my most sensitive area.

“You always get me there, Daddy,” I nod and bite my lip.

“You smell scrumptious. Good enough to eat, baby cakes,” Jeff lowers his voice to a whisper, “We’re going to have to keep it down a bit, doll,” Jeff makes a satisfied “mmm” noise and he sucks my clit, “Don’t want Mom and Dad to know how good I tongue-fuck you, hm?” He slurps loudly, “That’s my good girl.” He kisses around my outer lips and slides a finger inside.

“Daddy,” I whine, “Oh fuck!” I rock myself against Jeff’s hot, wet mouth as he grips my hips. He adds another slender finger and begins curling them slightly, hitting just the right spot. “Jeffrey, oh god yes! Jeffrey!” I gasp. Staying quiet while my silver fox’s tongue dove in and out and around every inch of me was damn near impossible.

“You sure have a pretty little pussy, my gorgeous wife,” I LOVED when Jeff called me that. I was Mrs. Morgan, now and forever, and he was never going to let me go. Jeff brings me to the edge of a mind blowing orgasm and readjusts himself. He hovers above me, pressing his lips into mine. “I’m going to fuck your pretty little brains out now,” Jeff lets out a vaguely Negan sounding chuckle. I beg for it as he taps the tip of his hard cock against my clit, “But maybe,” I run my hands over his stomach and across his chest, his nipples hardening from the stimulation and the cool night air. “Maybe I want you to beg for it, sweetheart,” his croaky voice gives me chills.

“Please, I need it so bad,” I can barely speak.

“I can’t hear you,” Jeff teases.

“Please, Jeff! I need your big, fat cock inside of me!” I speak a little louder.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Jeff sinks into me with a groan, “I ain’t going to last long, you feel so go-oh hell yes, that’s it. Right there,” he bites his lower lip as he thrusts deep and slow, smooth and even. The fullness makes me shake. He hushes me gently as he brushes two fingers over my clit, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, sweetheart, I’m so close.”

“Come on, Daddy. Finish inside me, Jeff. Please finish insi- oh fuck! Fuck me harder!” I whine. Jeff quickens his pace as small beads of sweat gather on his forehead. Jeff curses under his breath, making low growls of pleasure.

“You want it in your pussy, hm? You want Daddy to breed you good?” I nod quickly and inhale sharply as an intense orgasm overtakes me. I shove my face in the pillow, attempting to muffle my sounds. “I’m fucking cumming, Princess, oh fuck yes! Yes, baby girl! Oh god!” I drip with Jeff’s sticky, warm juices as he pulls out. He rests his head on my chest and I begin stroking his hair.

“Jeffrey Dean, you fucking animal,” I pant.

“I’ve still got it. At 54, I’ve still got it,” Jeff jokes.

***

Jeff pours himself a cup of coffee and joins us at the dining room table. He rests his head on my shoulder lovingly.

“Did you sleep good? You look tired, Jeff,” my mom laughs.

“Yeah, slept wonderfully,” Jeff smiles.

“Is everyone still coming over later?” I ask.

“As far as I know. If you two want to run to the store-“

“Okay, I have to say something. It’s bugging the hell out of me,” my dad speaks up.

“You okay, Mr. C?” Jeff looks confused.

“Yeah, um, I couldn’t sleep last night. Now, I can’t stop you guys from doing what married couples do, just know that the headboard in that bedroom is LOOSE and LOUD,” my dad says.

“Oh my god,” I bury my face in my hands and Jeff turns red.

“Just be more careful, okay bud?” my dad pats his son in law’s shoulder.

“Yes sir,” Jeff holds back laughter. I sip my coffee with a smirk, squeezing Jeff’s knee under the table. And here we thought we were being sneaky.

#denny duquette #fanfic #fanfiction #greys anatomy #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #the walking dead #older man younger woman #john winchester #supernatural

[thatblondeperson]

TimSteph, taking care of chronic injuries!

Hey look, another ask that got buried! Sorry friend!!!! 

This is all preboot, RR/Batgirl era.

Ok so Tim is super extra imo when it comes to treating any kind of sickness, injury, ANYTHING. He’s the type of guy who will go to CVS and buy out the entire “cold + flu” aisle as soon a Steph gets a runny nose. He absolutely drowns her in cough drops and tissues. I can see him being extremely attentive as well. Like bringing blankets and pillows around the clock, happy to carry her from point A to point B, almost insisting to do so on occasion, and just sitting with her for as long as she desires/needs company. He absolutely pays no mind to germs. Steph can cuddle all she wants.

Steph is similar but less extra. She’s got some more classic home remedies that Tim doesn’t have. She absolutely would baby the hell out of him if he got sick though, and probably more often than not she has to put her foot down on him trying to patrol even if he’s completely out of it and burning up. Tim has a hard time relaxing, but eventually the time is used for him to catch up on sleep. Tim getting sick is like a mini-hibernation. I can see Alfred stepping in occasionally if they were both sick because Tim’s an absolute mess, and Steph can only do so much before she gets wiped out. They’re hopeless and completely out of service if they’re both ill at the same time. Error 404: Dorks not found. 

Chronic injuries are a constant process. Steph obviously has a ton just from Black Mask alone. I’m sure she gets aches and pains on the regular due to the severity of the torture she experience. Power drills would leave some lasting abdominal pain for sure. Hell, I wonder if it makes cramps worse for her? It could in all honestly. She may need serious pain meds during that time of the month which are of course always kept on hand. On top of that, the physical trauma definitely left endless mental trauma. No question about it. Not to mention that time she got lightly shot in the head. I say lightly because I forgot this was a thing because they don’t really address it again. I imagine that would cause occasional headaches/migraines, and I’m sure Tim likes to run a scan every now and again to make sure there isn’t any lasting damage. And of course, we return to the medicine cabinet for more pain pills. (Thank you @incoherentbabblings for reminding me of the gunshot.)

I headcanon that both of them get nightmares on almost the regular. They’ve both got it set that if one of them is in the middle of a bad nightmare, the other just holds them close, doing whatever they can to soothe them until the calmness sets back in. The nightmares get more spaced out some time after they move in together because I think the constant safeness of having someone beside them every night would eventually help them both sleep through the night better. It is hard to get back to sleep though. Both of them have been put through the ringer, they’ve both seen death of loved ones up close and personal, and I imagine a lot of what they’ve experienced is still very vivid and intense for them.

Tim’s got his own fair share of recurring pain. The boy doesn’t have a spleen and tbh I don’t know how he’s not getting sick more frequently. But extra precautions need to be taken to keep him from getting infections when he gets any kid of open wound, thank GOD Steph is a nurse. Tim has to be kept pretty healthy though if at all possible, which brings us back to my previous headcanon about him not caring about germs when Steph is sick? Yeah, not his smartest move, but Tim’s an idiot and forgets that he’s fragile. 

Both of them have regular joint issues. They’ve dislocated enough things for just about everything to make awful clicking sounds now and again. Steph doesn’t have as much regular muscle pain, she’s far more flexible than Tim is so she stays pretty loose and limber, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have to work at it every day. Steph does yoga as a part of her routine. She gets Tim to join sometimes but he’s not very good at keeping up with it. He’s flexible too but not to her level, and he locks up easier if he’s had an especially tough night. They both try to put the time in to exercise when they can, spotting each other, keeping a routine going, because given how much they both get beaten and battered on the daily, if they don’t keep up with muscle pain, it’ll just get worse. On bad days when the pain makes any mobility difficult, massages ensue. They’ve got at least 15 ice packs in the freezer at all times, and a stack of heating pads in the medicine cabinet. And if all else fails, a nice hot bubble bath never hurts. With Epsom salts and everything. Steph likes to add a touch of lavender oil.

Immediate injuries they’re both very good at treating. Steph obviously has more technical knowhow, and she is the most medically trained of all the Batfam members, but Tim is detail oriented and good at focusing when he needs to so he can keep up just fine. They’re both good at stitches and general wound treatment, but Steph is better at consistent treatment. Tim will absolutely forget to switch out his bandages or clean things because his brain is soup and he cannot be bothered to think about injuries when he’s too busy with 50 other things on the constant. He needs to slow down. We get right back into “more prone to infections” again. Alas. Idiot. 

They both have their fair share of mental health issues, though Tim’s tend to be more intense. Steph has her ways of managing her own mental state but Tim gets stuck often. He falls into some pretty deep depression spells, and his anxiety acts up fairly frequently. Steph has started teaching him how to meditate, but also has a list of distractions and special remedies that she can utilize if need be. Movies and tea are a good base line, though Tim’s mind gets very far away sometimes and it’s hard to pull him back out. Like he almost wants to wallow in his sadness. Often she just tries to ground him as best she can so he doesn’t get so lost that he can’t come back. Steph likes to make sure that he isn’t always using patrol as a crutch for when he’s feeling upset or tense. It’s hard to sway him away from more pain when he lets himself get so close to the edge. It breaks her heart, sometimes she feels helpless.

Steph has anxiety as well, and some psychosomatic tics from her past abuse. She needs a lot of reassurance and gentleness when her mind starts racing. She’s still prone to trust issues, even now when she’s surrounded herself with stable people. She’s been let down and she fears losing her steady ground sometimes. Tim, let’s face it, hasn’t been the most reliable in the past, but I firmly believe that with some growing up he’d step up to the plate and try to be a solid home base for her to the best of his abilities. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. He’s very good at being gentle. That’s canon as fuck. I will die on the hill that Tim is as delicate with Steph as one would be with a priceless porcelain heirloom. Fight me, the boy would never intentionally try to physically or mentally hurt her. He tries so hard to reassure her but I thinks he feels a little helpless sometimes too. Some of her trust issues are his fault, and he can’t just snap his fingers and reverse his mistakes. He tries his best, but there will always be scars. 

All in all, I think they’re both very tender and caring with one another. They’re both beyond broken sometimes, and they are a mess and a half. But they know each other, they know each others pain and sadness and I think once they got back together they’d settle very easily into a care routine. Both of them are carrying the weight of countless consequences and mistakes and hardship on their shoulders. Pain is just a side affect that comes with carrying so much baggage, but it’s a little easier to manage when they have each other for support. I do think some of it would get easier over time, and my wish for them is that they can move somewhere just outside the city, maybe by a lake. Far enough away that things are quiet, but not so far that they would completely leave the hero gig behind. I agree with the consensus that neither of them could fully quit. Tim would just sink into the background, but Steph would be out there in the field for many years. Justas long as they have somewhere safe and comfortable to return to, I think they’ll both be just fine. Plus smooches are the best fallback medicine for all ailments and we all know that they never run out of those. 😘💋

THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK! More than half of this was not anything to do with chronic injuries but fuck it. We’ve tapped into the hurt/comfort section of my brain and there is a lot of material there to work with. Idk when you sent this in but I hope it wasn’t too long ago. I hope this answered more questions than you ever intended to ask. 💜❤

#TimSteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #robin iii #spoiler #robin iv #red robin #batgirl #batfam #batfamily #dc comics #dc #batman #personal #ask tbp

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 28

Mugged

Ao3

Summary: It's a simple get together, and for once everything was fine.

Warnings: GRAPHIC MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH AND GRAPHIC INJURY. DO NOT READ IF THIS KIND OF VIOLENCE BOTHERS YOU, WHETHER ITS DIRECTED TO A CHILD OR AN ADULT. SPOILERS FOR DEATH IS IN TAGS.

-o-o-o-o-

 "You have something on your face," Dick teases, smiling and leaning his elbows forward onto the 24 hour diner table. In the booth across from him, Damian scowls and wipes a smidge of strawberry ice cream from his cheek then elbows to his side to hit the laughing Tim straight into his gut. 

Jason snorts and takes a spoonful of his own ice cream, which is raspberry flavored with little chocolate chips. 

The time outside is very late. So late that when the four of them walked inside the diner after a long, team up for patrol, one of the workers actually glared at them. Which is valid. If Jason worked at one of these places when it was reaching the buttcrack of dawn, then watched as four annoyingly loud and too awake people barged in, he'd probably glare too. 

Maybe they should have came inside in their costumes instead of getting dressed first into their normal clothes. One of the waitresses literally has a Nightwing pin on her vest. They could have probably gotten the ice cream and fries for free. 

Oh well. The ice cream here is worth a little glaring and a few bucks. 

"So I was thinking-" Dick says through a mouthful of ice cream. He's already dipping another fry into his chocolate mint shake, so Jason gets the feeling that whatever Dick says for the next twenty minutes will be through food- "that after this, we can go to a Redbox and pick up a movie."

"What movie?" Tim asks.

Dick hums. "One that Cass hasn't seen yet."

Jason scoffs. "She hasn't seen a lot of movies. You're going to have to be more specific."

"Then what about a movie Duke hasn't seen," Tim asks, scraping the bottom of his shake with his spoon. "That way we can kill two birds with one stone."

"I hate that metaphor," Jason stands up from the booth with his empty shake cup and equally empty bag of fries. 

Dick glares at him with a face that says yes Jason, we all know you died. 

Jason smirks and throws his trash away. 

As they all walk out of the diner, Jason hears one of the workers mumble finally, and he's not even that mad about it. He hopes their shifts end soon and they can go home and watch anime or something. Working night shifts like that in Gotham isn't something to scoff at.

Dick pulls out his phone while Tim runs ahead to take the lead. Jason walks behind the group as Damian falls into step besides Dick and looks over at his phone screen to see what he's typing. "Where's the closest Redbox?" Dick mumbles to himself and Jason rolls his eyes. 

He's serious about the Redbox thing? "You do know we can just buy whatever movie we want with B's card. We don't need a Redbox."

"It's for the experience, Jay," Dick argues back, scrolling on his phone through Google. "Everyone goes to Redbox to get random movies they don't actually want to own."

"Alright, alright," Jason huffs, smirking a little. 

And okay, he'll admit it. Tonight has actually been… a little fun. Even if Dick had to threaten to go skiing without him next winter if he didn't join them for patrol. And while yes, Jason could just go skiing alone or force Roy to come along… and while yes, Dick would have gone skiing with him regardless of the threat and if Jason went through with it… he still found it enjoyable to just pretend to be a family with these idiots for the night. He almost wishes the others could have joined, but with Duke and Cass being busy on their own sibling bonding mission for the night where no one else were allowed they were forced to be just the four of them tonight. 

Dick will have to work with Cass to better schedule sibling get togethers'. Just imagining the shenanigans and trash taking about Bruce they could be doing if it were all six of them has him staunching down a grin. 

Even better if Steph joined as well. 

Jason follows along as Dick picks up speed to pass Tim—whos balancing on the curb of the street like an actual five year old—and lead them towards the nearest Redbox. 

"We should get Princess Bride," Tim suggests as they walk past an alleyway. "I don't think Duke's seen that."

"He has no excuse to have not seen Princess Bride," Damian huffs. "It was one of the first movies Richard showed me."

"And one of the first I showed Cass, too," Dick adds, turning to flash a lopsided grin. "So we need to think of another one."

"What about that new movie?" Tim suggests. 

Jason lifts an eyebrow. "What new movie?"

"You know," Tim replies, "the- the new movie. With that guy from Voltron. Where they go on the bridges and fight the monkeys?" 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's-" Tim growls, sounding frustrated with himself. Jason finds him amusing. "You know. That one movie."

"Timothy has no idea what he's talking about."

"I'm sorry I don't spend all day watching movies all the time. Oh! Dwayne the Rock Johnson was there!"

"… Are you talking about Jumanji 2?" Dick asks and Tim snaps his fingers. 

"Jumanji 2!" 

They turn a corner, then immediately all stop when they spot the entire road blocked off by orange coned and giant signs telling you to detour. In the middle of the blocked off road is a giant, dangerous looking hole in the ground leading towards the sewers. 

Huh. Jason's almost forgotten one of Two-Face's thugs had thrown a very powerful grenade of some sort last night. 

"Damn. Google hasn't updated this?" Dick sighs and begins tapping on his phone. 

"Crap like this happens all the time in Gotham," Tim sighs while stuffing his hands in his pockets, "you really think they're gonna catch everything?"

Dick's mouth turns into a frown, then he looks up at the building rooftops around them as if wondering how difficult it would be to climb up and parkour towards the nearest Redbox in civilian attire. He sighs, probably settling on it not being difficult, but potentially compromising of their identities ifanyone saw. 

He looks back at the phone. Then turns towards the alleyway they have just passed. 

"… We can cut through the alley," he suggests. 

Jason immediately scoffs while Tim walks towards them, shaking his head. 

"Um no? We shouldn't? Have you forgot what city we're in?" 

Dick gives an unimpressed look at Tim before sighing. "We'll have to go all the way around the block to get to the Redbox. That's like, another twenty minutes. Besides, we just finished patrol. Gotham's at its safest around now."

"We're going to get in there and then get shanked by some rando," Tim argues. 

Damian watches the two of them argue with narrowed eyes. When Damian opens his mouth, Jason decides it's his turn to step in. He grabs Dick by the back of his jacket and then behind to walk towards the mouth of the alleyway. He has his guns on him still, concealed under the belt of his jeans. If anyone is stupid enough to try and try to assult them in the alleyway, all Jason needs to do is pull out his guns and they'll go running for the hills. 

Gotham isn't filled with fighters. Gotham is filled with rats that only prey on those with smaller claws than them. 

"I'm not spendin' another hour out here to get a monkey bridge movie," Jason huffs, stopping in front of the mouth of the alleyway. "Now let's go."

"Fine," Tim mumbles, following behind as Dick takes the lead inside the alley. "But if we all get killed don't blame me."

"Dying isn't that bad, actually," Jason says, and Dick turns around and shoots that glare again. 

Damian huffs and trails behind Dick, but he watches the shadows like how a kid shouldn't. Thirteen years old and he's already seen the worst the world has to offer. Jason, once again, takes the back, fully aware of the weight hanging off his hip. The alleyway is long, and dark, and definitely not as surveillanced as it should be, but they continue anyways. So far, all there is to see is closed doors here and there that would lead into various shops and such if they weren't boarded up. Trash cans, litter, bags, and boxes of various contents dot the entirety of the alleyway. 

Otherwise, it looks pretty empty. 

Jason sighs. It should be fine. Gotham is always quiet around these early morning hours after Batman and his army of sidekicks have just combed through its streets. Criminals are back in there nests, shivering and praying they're not found tonight. Hours like these are usually the safest to go out for a after midnight stroll, or a very early morning jog. It's like a limbo. Where Gotham can actually feel like a normal city for once.

Of course, it's right when Jason let's his guard down that something goes wrong. 

Because something always goes wrong. 

Because some criminals are rats. But there's others who are like moths, too dumb to go back inside and persistent enough to jump at anything shiny enough to catch their attention.

A man, practically rags, skin, and bones jumps our from behind a dumpster, his hands already lifted in front of him with a gun in his grasp. Immediately, everyone pauses in their tracks. Jason goes to grab his own gun like he planned, but the man points his weapon at Jason with shaking, obviously trigger happy hands. 

"No one move!" The man shouts, trembling like a nervous mut. Jason holds off grabbing his guns for the moment, knowing that if he makes any sudden or threatening moves the man will fire. 

Dick, like the idiot he is, immediately steps in front of Damian. Damian growls, but doesn't make a move to fight that show of protection yet. Dick slowly raises his hands in surrender. "Take whatever you want," he says slowly. Evenly. 

Tim shifts behind Dick and glances at Jason, questioning in his eyes. 

"Give me your money- all of it," the man demands, and Jason can practically hear the body of his weapon tremble in his shaking hands. "No one will get hurt if ya give me all your money."

"Okay, okay," Dick says gently. Like he's soothing the mugger. Dick carefully lowers his arms to his pockets and uses smooth motions to bring out his wallet, which is probably only filled a debit card he can easily cancel, his driver's license which is definitely expired, and not even four dollars of cash. Jason only knows what's in Dick's wallet because Dick's his main victim for him to practice pickpocketing on. He holds out his Superman patterned wallet but the man keep his gun up and trained. 

"All of you," he wheezes. "All of you, give me your fuckin' money."

Tim snaps into movement with shaking hands, pulling out his wallet while Damian makes to do the same. Why the kid has a wallet with actual cash, Jason will never know. Something about Bruce wanting Damian to feel independent… like how he bought a lock for Jason's bedroom door that only Jason had the key for, just to make him feel like he had control while small and scared and barely eleven years old. 

The gun moves back to Jason, and Jason realizes he's been focusing too much on the wrong things. He lifts his hands and clears his throat. 

"I don't have anything," he says, because it's true. He doesn't carry his wallet while on patrol, nor does he stash personal belongings with his changes of clothes after patrol. Then, there's also the added fact that this guy is definitely one more nerve shot from firing his weapon. Him seeing a glock on Jason's belt might be the thing that pushes him over the edge. 

"I don't believe you," the man growls, taking a step forward and aiming directly at Jason now. 

And of course this is happening. Of course Jason's being mugged when he doesn't have any change on him. 

"Jason…" Tim hissed and Jason throws him a sideways glare. 

"I'm telling you, man, I don't have anything."

"Show me," the man snarls, jerking his pistol dangerously. "Show me your pockets."

And shit. This is what Jason was worried about. 

"Okay," he says, softening his voice, "alright. Just... I'm carrying okay? But I'm not gonna-"

"YOU HAVE A GUN?!" The man screeches, and Jason winces. Great. He was trying to warn the guy. There's no way Jason can show all of his pockets and his gun go unnoticed. It's grip is hanging out of his jeans waistband, black as night and clear as day. 

Jason lifts his hands immediately in surrender, watching the man wearily as his already panicked breaths become more labored. The tendons in his paper thin wrists are twitching. 

Jason's record for drawing and shooting a gun with accuracy is a little less than two seconds. Even with his hands up like this. 

But this man already has the gun aimed and finger on the trigger. 

"Let's calm down," Dick tries, "we have money, just take it and we can all-"

"You have a gun-" the man practically froths. 

And that is when Jason knew the sound of gunfire will be heard in this alleyway tonight. Jason can see the resolution in the man's eyes to shoot a moment before it happens. Jason doesn't have time to dodge or pull his own weapons. He will try to anyway. 

He goes to dodge, drops his hands to his waistline, and the enemies gun explodes. 

There's normally a moment of nothing between the time you've been shot and the time you realize you've been shot. But it doesn't happen this time. 

What happens is that Jason suddenly blinks on the grimy floor, his gun having skid across the cement from the force of his fall. 

He… he was pushed. 

"RICHARD!"

Jason looks up just in time to watch Damian run for the collapsing Dick Grayson… just to be violently knocked to the side by the sound of another bullet launching from the chamber. 

Jason doesn't watch or look anymore. He just scrambles to his gun, turns, aims, and fires.

The man chokes on blood as the bullet rips through his chest. 

And Jason thinks that this should be the end of it. This should be when he can get to his feet and look his brother's all in the eye one at a time. And- and he doesn't know. Go home? Call Gordon? Plead self defense?

However, when he stands up, he finds only Tim standing, his hands leaving his face from protecting himself moments before. 

Dick's on the ground writhing from pooling red in the center of his gut. 

Damian… Damian…

Jason thinks he's going to get sick. 

The damage a 9mil can do to a head at this close of range…

He doesn't look. He can't look. Not yet. He rushes towards Dick and ignored Damian's b- he-

He ignores Damian. He ignores Damian and slams his hands down onto Dick's stomach. 

Guilt twists in his gut like something he's never felt before. Rage. Helplessness. Disbelief. It's all he can do to force his limbs to press down as Dick jolts from agony beneath him. "Stay- stay still-" Jason snarls. His chest hurts so badly. His ears are ringing. 

His fault his fault his fault his fault-

"D-" Dick babbles, blood coating his teeth and dripping from the corners of his mouth. "No- n-"

Dick's not paying attention to anything. It's then, Jason realizes he's not struggling because of his own pain.

He's struggling because his kid is laying across from him in a puddle of blood, a hole in his skull. 

"No-" Dick twitches. Practically sobs. "M'suh- sorry- D'mi…"

"It's okay, just-" it's not okay, but Jason continues- "just focus on me, kay? Just- Tim, hospital?"

"Working on it."

Jason presses harder onto Dick's stomach. Dick sobs and his eyelashes flutter. 

He almost wants to tell Tim to stop. 

The ambulance isn't going to make it in time.

He knows this because he can hear Dick's protests begin to die down. He knows because he can see Dick's hand twitching towards Damian's limp one. He knows because he can feel the final shudder through his frame before his normally clear blue eyes cloud over. 

Jason… doesn't know what to do now. It's like his entire world just… stops. 

And he wants to scream. He wants to throw something. He wants to go back in time and shake Dick by the shoulders until he fixes this. 

He can't... he can't go back to a world where Dick and Damian aren't apart of it. 

Especially not if it's all. His. Fucking. Fault. 

"-we need help- my brother's been shot-"

And Jason clutches his fists in Dick's sopping wet, blood-soaked shirt and turns to find Tim kneeling against Damian, blood painting his fingertips. 

He wants to scream that there's no use of an ambulance. There's no point. 

But then Tim meets his eyes, tears trailing down in tracks, then looks down at Damian. 

It takes a second for Jason to see it. But Damian's chest moves. 

Damian's still alive. 

He's still alive. 

Jason forces himself to leave Dick so he can scramble over to Damian and get a closer, desperate look. Tim rattles off the details of their location the the details of the mugging while Jason just... Hovers. Holding his red stained hands above his- his baby brother. 

He doesn't want to touch Damian. He doesn't want to break him more.

So he sits there and counts every breath the kid stubbornly makes even with a bullet in his skull. 

He sits there until Tim hangs up the call and sits besides him. He sits there until a loud ambulance accompanied by at least three cop cars pull up and then a shock blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. He stays there until Damian is loaded into a gurney. Until he's left there, kneeling, not even realizing he's holding Tim's hand, until a female cop with sad brown eyes kneels down in front of him and tells him Bruce is on his way with Cass and Duke. 

He nods, and stands up, keeping Tim besides him even though he's caused this. 

He looks to his side to see Dick already covered by by a tarp. He can see red bleeding out from under it. 

Slender arms wrap around his waste, and it takes him a moment to realize Tim is clutching to him. 

Jason's... The big brother again. The big brother. 

He- he should…

He wraps his arms around Tim and let's his own tears finally fall.

#jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #nightwing #red hood #robin #red robin dc #drake #fic #fanfiction #jin writes #whumptober #no.28 #Mugged #major character death #major character injury #Dick-Death #Damian-Traumatic Brain Injury #traumatic brain injury tw #tbi tw #gun tw #gun violence tw #gunshot wounds tw #survivors guilt tw #unhappy ending #blood tw #guilt tw

[oopshidaisyy]

February Fic Recs

World Ain’t Ready by idiopathicsmile Enjolras presses his lips together. He already looks pained, and Grantaire hasn't even opened his mouth yet. That's got to be a record, even for them. "I need a favor," he says at last. "With what?" says Grantaire. "Ooh, are you forming a cult? Can I join? I'd be awesome at cults, I just know it." He ticks off his qualifications on his fingers. "I love chanting, I look great in robes—" (High school AU. Grantaire the disaffected stoner is pulled into a cause bigger than himself. Or: in which there are pretend boyfriends for great justice.) Enjolras/Grantaire, 185k, T

Five Things the Avengers Caught Tony Stark Trying to Put in His Ass by thingswithwings "This isn't what it looks like," Tony says. Tony/Everyone, 18k, E

Mac and Dennis Get a New Apartment by pavonine After Dee's landlord threatens to kick them out for squatting, Mac and Dennis get a place of their own and it's all downhill from there. Dennis tries to keep himself together. Life's got other plans. Set a few months after the end of Season 10. Mac/Dennis, 59k, E

Anti-Social by Unpretty Batman needs a Robin. Tim & Bruce, 10k, T

On Your Right by thingswithwings Sam puts the Trouble Man soundtrack on repeat, like a talisman at first, when he thinks that Steve might die.  The doctors are grim and serious, claiming that they did what they could for him, removing the bullets and stitching his insides back together.  A few hours later, the doctors' faces get less grim, more confused, and a few hours after that, they're throwing their arms up in the air in frustration and grinning with triumph at the same time, because apparently the Super Soldier Serum is worth more than just the fastest mile in human history. Sam spends that time beside Steve, in the position he's gotten used to after only a couple of days: on his right, waiting to see where he'll run next, ready to get his back. Sam/Steve, 5k, T

Mac and Dennis Conduct an Experiment by pavonine Dennis convinces Mac that the only surefire way to prove his straightness is to sexually experiment with another man. Of course that man happens to be Dennis. Of course Mac buys into this as a reasonable plan of action. Of course it backfires on them both. Set somewhere in the middle of Season 8. Warnings really only apply later on in the story. Mac/Dennis, 35k, E

Gotham’s Favorite Son by Unpretty Thanks, Gotham side of Tumblr. Bruce Wayne, Multimedia, G

Unpaid Internship by Unpretty The Justice League needs to stop a world-ending doomsday event, but that happens so often it's barely even interesting. What's more interesting is who Batman brought with him to work. This raises a lot of questions, and Batman isn't answering them. Bruce Wayne, 1k, G

Office Meeting by Unpretty Bruce Wayne deals with supervillains almost as much as Batman does. Bruce & Harley, 1k, T

Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile “Isn’t this nice?” says Aziraphale with badly feigned casualness the next time Crowley stops by for a late night drink. Crowley is all set to reply, words lined up in his mouth waiting to go, when Aziraphale adds, “I mean, all of the books and furniture and bottles of wine and things?” Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals. Aziraphale/Crowley, 3k, T

Head/Heart/Lungs by triedunture After the invasion, Steve Rogers visits Stark Tower to apologize; he was wrong about Iron Man, and he's man enough to admit it...if Tony would just let him. Luckily Bruce Banner is there to translate Stark Talk for Steve, and the three of them fall into a strange kind of routine. For once in his life, Steve feels like he might belong. But how can he belong when he wants...that? Bruce/Tony/Steve, 12k, G

a sequence that you never learned by annataylor "'Spock,' Jim breathes out, completely overwhelmed by the gesture—not quite believing that Spock knows him so well, that's he's already started researching, that he trusts Jim with a member of his own endangered species."  When Jim gets it in his head to adopt an eight year old Vulcan, Spock presents a logical solution to the issue of Jim's humanity: marriage to a Vulcan citizen. Kirk/Spock, 64k, E

No Shortage of Sordid by FreshBrains The first time Han tries it, Luke feels justified in giving him an entirely accidental nosebleed courtesy of his own tailbone. You can’t just spring that on a guy, anyways. Han/Luke, 2k, E

Resurrection, Reconstruction & Redemption by Elspethdixon, Seanchai Doom brings Steve back from the dead. Hijinks ensue, some of which might vaugely be considered plot. Steve/Tony, 90k, T

Nominal by Unpretty Don't ask why Batman is sad unless you're willing to give him the time to consult his spreadsheet. Bruce Wayne, Multimedia, T

By Definition by idiopathicsmile Aziraphale has certainly dabbled in the world of carnal delights over the years, most notably in the late nineteenth century, when a certain infernal adversary was enjoying a century-long nap and seemingly the only way to pass the time had been to develop some hobbies. Aziraphale/Crowley, 3k, E

versus by Unpretty Whoever wins... we also win. It's a win-win situation. Batman is lying when he says that it isn't. Don't listen to Batman. Batman & Superman, 1k, G

A Guide to Handling the Unhandleable Tony Stark by nightrider101 Written for the following prompt on the Avengers Kink meme: The rest of the Avengers assume Tony is an unbound Omega by the way he acts. He's reckless and carefree and does what he wants. Imagine their surprise when they find out that Rhodey is Tony's Alpha. They're all confused at the way Rhodey lets Tony act and how they can be away from each other for long periods of time and Rhodey's just like 'He didn't want to give up his career and I didn't want to give up mine. And I gave up trying to tell Tony what to do years ago.' Rhodey/Tony, 3k, T

Stark, A.E., and Banner, R. Bruce. (2013). “Biodosimetric Tools for Measuring Induced Isomeric Transition in Inverted Paired States.” International Journal of Radiation Biology 89.9, 43-85. by thingswithwings "And so," Tony concludes triumphantly, "you owe it to science, to yourself, and to the people of New York City to have tons of hot awesome monster sex with me." Bruce/Tony, 16k, E

between our bodies there’s a battlefield by thingswithwings Sam hadn't ever had cause to think about it, not really, but if someone had told him that he would end up in a pity fuck situation with Steve Rogers, gorgeous kind superpowered American war hero Steve Rogers, he would've assumed he was the one being pitied. Sam/Steve, 4k, E

#fic recs #idiopathicsmile #thingswithwings #pavonine #Unpretty #triedunture #annataylor #FreshBrains #Elspethdixon #Seanchai #nightrider101 #enjoltaire #macdennis #samsteve #aziraphale x crowley #stark spangled banner #spirk #hanluke #stevetony #rhodeytony #brucetony

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

Broadcast Torture + Jason Todd & Tim Drake

Written for the @badthingshappenbingo​ . X’s are finished & can be found on my AO3 (under the same username!!), asterisks are requested. Thanks to @whateverrrrwhatever​ for making this way better than it was <3

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The entrance to the Cave Jason takes is old and rarely used anymore. He isn’t sure if the kids even know about it, and really, he hopes they don’t. It feels like a little secret just between him and the Cave (and a few other assholes, plus Alfred). Anyway, he’s only going to the Cave tonight because no one else is here. B is out with the Justice League somewhere, Dick off with Kory and Roy, and all the rest of them, Duke included, are holding down the fort here in Gotham.

None of them will come back any time soon unless they’re grievously injured. Knowing, like, all of them, that’s a distinct possibility. He seriously hopes they can keep their shit together tonight, though, because if not? He’s going to have to interact with them. And he can only handle so much interaction with people, period, much less his intense family members. He worked with Damian the other night, and that’s enough time with another Bat to last him for at least a few more weeks.

Thankfully, what he’s here for shouldn’t take too long—he just needs some files on the drug trade down at the docks. The more he can get the better, especially ones from at least a few years ago, since he has suspicions that remnants of the Lucky Hand Triad have regrouped.

Technically, Jason can go without them. But they’ll help, and as long as he gets done before 3 am, it’ll be fine. Three is, of course, the witching hour of Bat injuries. (Trust him, he knows all about those.)

Really, the only person who might see him poking around—getting his files, he means, because poking around insinuates he’s here for anything else, and he is not —is Alfred. And Alfred won’t tell on Jason, so if he does happen to come down to the Cave and see Jason, well, it’ll be no big deal. It’s always been easier to interact with Alfred than any of the rest, anyway.

When he steps into the main part of the Cave, he can’t help but notice how weirdly small it seems. Wasn’t it bigger? It’s as empty as it’s ever been, though, the only sounds the humming of machines and the bats flying and screeching.

Maybe Jason should be scared by how dark and confined it is. Anybody in their right mind would be, but he’s never been frightened of this place and he’s not going to start now. Determined, he starts over to the big computer, trying not to think about how familiar everything feels, no matter how long he’s been gone. How every corner brings up a new memory, but all the new keepsakes mean nothing to him. How he still knows his way around. Or how he feels… weird here, almost like an apparition or something.

He casts his eyes on the place where his old suit used to be on display, and can’t help the feeling that maybe he’s just a ghost, the shadow of a boy in a picture who’s climbed out of its frame to haunt the city.

Shaking the thought away, he hurries over to the computer bay, flinging himself into Bruce’s chair with false ease. Sitting here doesn’t help him feel any better—it holds so many memories from his childhood that feel more like dreams, muted and far away. In soft focus like that, he can’t be sure what’s real and what’s imagined, what’s a lie. But ugh. God, he’s got to stop, now. He came here for a reason, and the sooner he can get his shit and go, the better.

Just as he’s about click into the huge storage drive of reports and files that Bruce has amassed over the years, he realizes something.

Babs has to know he’s in the Cave right now. There’s no way she’s not going to tell B or Dick, or both. Probably both. And probably Alfred, too, because why not, right? But what can she tell them besides the truth, which isn’t even that bad?

On the other hand, if he’s going to get told on, why not mess with the others a little bit?

Detouring from his original intentions, Jason cracks his knuckles and sets off to open up all of the weirdest porn Google can give him.

It gets old after a few minutes, and it’s best if he gets out of here sooner rather than later, so he moves on. (He leaves the pages up, of course. Let Dick or Tim find them when they get back. Hah.)

He goes to click into the database, but the cursor on the screen doesn’t move. He tries again and it still doesn’t work.

“What the fuck,” he says, because, seriously, what? The Batcomputer doesn’t get slow. And it can’t be Babs, because although she’s not shy about putting up her logo and locking people out of their hardware... no logo. Not Babs, then.

But if not her… by all rights, it shouldn’t be possible.

Discomfited, Jason wonders if he should try to fix it, or tell Babs. He leans down to make sure the mouse is plugged in, but a noise on the screen has him looking back up.

A video has popped up on the screen.

At first, it’s just black. Jason is confused and annoyed. Maybe Oracle is messing with him.

“Babs,” he says, because whether this is her or not, there’s no way she’s not tapped into whatever bugs she has down here. “Stop playing. I’m just here for some files and then I’m gone.” When that gets no reaction, he adds, “Won’t even take the originals, just need some copies.”  

Nothing happens. Jason looks around, struck once again by how empty and dark the Cave is.

Okay, his gut was right. It’s not Babs. But what, or who, the hell is it?

Before he can even begin to figure it out, the video changes, revealing a laboratory splattered with what looks like paint. Other than that, it’s practically devoid of color. The tall, peeling walls remind Jason of the warehouses at the docks. Medical equipment fills out the edges, somehow even more rudimentary and broken down than he’d expect.

As far as he’s aware, there’s nobody out there with a hospital gimmick. He looks closer, taking in as many details as he can. The paint catches his attention again, and he curses as he recognizes the colors. White, green, and red. Fuck. 

A huge metal table sits in the middle of the room, angled upwards, and there, strapped down on the table, unconscious, is the fucking Replacement.

Jason honestly doesn’t really like the kid. They’re civil enough. Jason has apologized for everything that happened when he came back and Tim has forgiven him, if not forgotten. Not that Jason can blame him. But other than a few conversations outside of the capes and a few missions they’ve teamed up on, they don’t interact much.

There are still days where Jason thinks about being replaced—he knows that’s not how it happened, exactly, but whatever. In those moments, he sees sickly green and has to forcibly calm himself down, punch a wall, something to get the feeling out. He has to tell himself it’s not Tim’s fault, not really.

Replacement or no, it’s hard to see him on the table like this. He really is just a kid.

The Joker moves into view on the screen, his hands clasped behind his back, casual as can be. And Jesus Christ, his smile is still as big and inhuman as it ever was, sickeningly amused by a 17 year old under threat of torture.

"Oh, Batsy,“ he sings, and the sound of his voice sends furious, painful shivers down Jason’s spine. Oh fuck no , he thinks, and wants to get up, but he finds himself rooted to the spot.

It’s the same spot where Jason’s dad sat for years, protecting the city, making it better , or so Jason had thought. But sitting here now, it feels like he’s Bruce. It feels like he’s that little kid who was murdered. It feels like a lot of gut-churning, ominous tangle of emotions he doesn't have a name for and doesn't care to learn.

"I’ve got another of your little birds,” the Joker says, leaning close to the camera.

Part of Jason wants to walk away. He can’t stand this. He doesn’t want to hear another word out of that fucking thing’s mouth ever again, and it’s better to just let the voice pass by over him than to actually listen.

But the other part of Jason, the part that’s been fighting this war since he was born, won’t let him ignore what’s on the screen. He has to know everything, all the details, can’t have only half the picture.

So Jason pays attention and catalogs everything. Forces himself to listen as the clown talks about kidnapping Tim off the street. How he distracted him and snuck up on him and beat him over the head until he was unconscious. How easy it was to capture the oh-so-weak Robin.

Eventually, the Joker stops talking. Must be bored, since he’s not getting an immediate reaction. The dramatic piece of shit only loves attention.

He walks over to Tim. The way he moves is disgustingly familiar to Jason. There’s a kind of switch near the table, far enough that there’s no way Tim could reach it, and then. Then. The Joker flips it.

Tim’s body convulses and shakes as electricity burns through him. He screams, straining against the table.

Jason clutches the armrests of Bruce’s chair, the leather creaking under his hands. Leaning forward, he finds he can’t look away, jaw jumping. He shouldn’t be surprised by anything the Joker does by now, but all he can think is an unending loop of what the fuck?

The Joker flips the switch again and goes over to Tim, crooning something the camera doesn’t quite pick up. A little louder, he says, “I think you need some air, little birdie.” He pulls an oxygen mask from  somewhere out of view and puts it on Tim’s face.

Alarm bells ringing in Jason’s head, he watches as Tim struggles, twisting his head and attempting to bite the Joker’s fingers. There’s nothing he can do but watch as Tim loses the fight. The mask is secured, and within a few moments, it fills with horrible green gas.

All he’s got to breathe is Joker toxin.

Jason watches for another minute as the Joker takes the mask off, deceivingly gentle. After a few moments, Tim starts hysterically giggling, the sound a wheezing and crackling and painful thing.

A message shows up on the screen, listing an address and quickest route to the location. Signed: ‘O’.

“Fuck this,” Jason says, because he doesn’t even want to think about what comes next, what’s going to happen to the kid’s body, how badly the kid is going to be hurt. He stands and hurries over to where all the keys are hung up, grabbing the first set he can reach. He runs to the motorcycles and high tails it the fuck out of the Cave.

Jason thinks he might throw up. The thought of seeing the Joker in person again is too much to bear even on his best nights, but. Whatever. He has to get through it. He’s managed it before, with other traumatic things, and he can manage it now. He can do it for Tim.

He doesn’t like the kid. They aren’t friends and they certainly aren’t brothers, but he’s not about to just let the Joker kill another Robin. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

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#badthingshappenbingo #jason todd #tim drake #kind of #batfam #batfam fic #my writing