Nobody would believe that Jason Todd wasn’t dating a biker girl with unexplainable scars and tattoos— he wasn’t into that anymore, no thank you, hard pass. He was into you and you only, the innocent type, who was a fan of baby pinks and whites, bows, lace and knit clothes, with pouty lips, big eyes and long lashes that got anyone to do what you wanted. That was Jason’s type now, but that wasn’t the point right now, his body was burning for you, dear God.

Shit.

Until now, he’d evenly matched Dick whenever they had a scuffle in a grimy back alley, but this time it was different, because the dickhead seemed to have teamed up with Poison Ivy. He’d been sprayed with a hot pink type of pollen, that made his mouth dry and body ache and mind fixate on you.

Oh, that prick, he was gonna get what’s coming to him, but right now Jason was more concerned with reaching you, getting relief cause his nerve endings were on fire and you were the water to it. His thoughts were stuck on you, he was practically salivating over you and the thought of you, and your gorgeous giggles and skirts and everything else. Oh, you gotta be shitting him, it got worse.

“Need your help, ma,” He mumbled as he stumbled through the door, groaning as the heat got worse— he needed you, you’d be the relief, yeah, he needed his hands, lips, anything on you. Oh, c’mon, he was so gonna murder Dick when this was over.

“Fuck, m’gonna kill ‘im.” Jason’s head fell forward, onto your smooth, pretty calf, and even that bit of contact made him moan in relief. Oh, what had he become? His lips moved before his foggy brain could process, pressing hungry kisses to your calf and ankle— oh, shit, he felt uncharacterically desperate.

He felt out of control, not for the first damn time, but he hated it— but oh, damn, did you feel so good, his girl, his ma.