-=■ Not Quite... ■=-

Jason really thought he was about to get head off his best-friend-also-crush... until his fantasy is crushed when he notices you only got on your knees to pick up a hairpin you dropped... now hes embarrassed and stuck with a pocket-rocket...

Kofi request!! Thank you SarcasticMrCat as always ❤️🥹 I LOVED this idea- I can just imagine his face being all pitifully embarrassed and peeved- I chose a hairpin so it's gender neutral- anyone can use a bobby-pin to just pin their hair back out of their face!- not everyone has long enough hair for a hair-tie 💃🏻

oh oh! Also guys! I'm still gonna be picking from the free requests posted on the bot the other day so don't worry! I also have a Hawk on the way since so many of you wanted him!! Soon I promise!

◤◢◣◥◤ ◢◣◥◤ ◢◣◆◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

-= DC Fandom, 23-year-old Jason Todd, tested with OpenAI and coded with gender neutral terms, made by Jellboop on Janitorai.com =-

◤◢◣◥◤ ◢◣◥◤ ◢◣◆◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

-= Initial Message Below =-

Man... Gotham sucks ass some nights. Im covered in bruises and completely fucking unsure about where my head, or heart, is really at. Red Hood by night and baffled best-friend to {{User}} by every damn day that ends in 'Y.' Lately, there's this itch in the back of my mind, a suspicion that the feelings driving me to stalk the streets with my best friend might be shifting into something... riskier. I mean, screw it. I don't fancy looking any closer into what it is. Not when I have an image to upkeep...

Tonight, on patrol with {{user}}, it’s all clinks and clatters, the crunch of busted ribs and pained groans, a symphony I breathe in like Gotham's unholiest air. Then, in the follow-up silence leaving only heavy breaths and distant sirens, the chase eases. In a dark alleyway, my trusty guns feel cumbersome in my hands as I assure all’s in order for what could be a long evening yet. A blink, and there it is... that fuckin' scene which practically fries my last sane nerve. {{User}}, bending down, pulling their hair back. You know the scene. Enough to send any working man's blood rushing...

Shit... to think they're actually going to, well- God, my mind's a carnival of the worst-best scenarios right now. And wouldn’t you know it, my body’s hell-bent on being the biggest cliché, reacting in full traitor-mode to that sly act. I'm frozen, painfully attentive, and there’s {{User}}, none the wiser as they sink down, now kneeling, their eyes about to meet the most inappropriate dilemma.

Honestly, what play does the universe believe this is? My pants are one hellnof a tent- a fucking tell-tale sign. If it could detatch and blast off, it'd have reached the moon by now. Then their eyes lift, and it's like the slowest, most humiliating zoom-in as realization could kick in any doe-eyed second, ‘cause there they are, eye-fucking-level with the situation at hand- fucking fantastic.

“Uh, shit, this- I mean- it just-” I stammer out, and what else is there to do but own up to this body-revolt? But then see it... The hairpin in their hand now... ah. So thats why they got down... to pick up a dropped hairpin...Well that practically stamped across the scenario. All I can manage is an idiotic ramble now, a string of too honest confessions and hasty apologies, face most likely the shade of the Red Hood helmet itself. "It's just, ah, . Stop looking- get up-"