Red Hood X Reader - Blog Posts

Okay y'all HEAR ME OUT

Jason Todd x male reader WITH the dynamic from The Boy and The Wolf in mind.

LIKE IMAGINE IT... The size difference.

I just need y'all to understand 😩

Not only that The Wolf has a MOTORCYCLE and is a vigilante literally perfect

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ So beautiful I want to have his chunky babies ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

A Different Kind of Love

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader

Summary: Life as parents in Gotham isn’t easy, especially when one of you is the infamous Red Hood and the other is trying to keep things together at home. But when it’s just the three of you—your partner, your child, and yourself—the chaos of Gotham can feel a little less daunting. Jason Todd never thought he’d be a father, but with you by his side, he’s learning what it means to love unconditionally.

Warnings:

Parenthood and family fluff

Mild violence (Gotham-style crime-fighting, no explicit content)

Emotional moments

Mentions of Gotham’s dangerous environment

Gotham had a way of testing you, and Jason Todd knew that better than anyone. He’d faced the city’s worst criminals, had lived through death and resurrection, and still nothing had ever made him feel as vulnerable as the day he held his child for the first time.

It had been months since your daughter was born, and in that time, Jason had learned how to protect her just as fiercely as he protected you. But there was something else something softer and more terrifying than any criminal he’d faced: the overwhelming love he felt every time he saw her smile, every time she reached for him with her tiny hands.

He had never been good at emotions. His childhood was a wreck, and he’d never had the luxury of being part of a “normal” family. But with you, everything had changed. The little moments he shared with you and your daughter those were the things that made him believe there could be more to life than just surviving.

The sound of soft giggles drifted from the nursery, and Jason’s lips twitched upward as he adjusted his helmet, finishing up the last of his nightly routine. He knew he should’ve been out on patrol, but tonight, he had made a promise to stay home. Gotham would survive for a few hours without Red Hood especially when it meant he could be with you and the little one.

The door to the nursery creaked open, and there you were, standing in the doorway with your daughter in your arms. Her big eyes shone in the dim light, and when she saw Jason, her little face lit up in a grin.

"Hey, kiddo," Jason said, his voice unusually soft as he knelt down in front of her crib, taking in the sight of her tiny hands reaching toward him.

You watched from the doorway, smiling at the scene. Jason, the fierce vigilante who struck fear into the hearts of Gotham’s criminals, was completely undone by his little girl.

"I think she’s ready for her bedtime story," you said, a playful hint in your voice. "But maybe she wants her dad to read it tonight."

Jason raised an eyebrow, glancing up at you. "She’ll probably fall asleep halfway through, but you know what? I’ll take that as a challenge."

You laughed, and Jason gave you one of those rare, genuine smiles—one that he reserved only for you. He reached out for your daughter, taking her gently from your arms. His protective instincts kicked in as he cradled her against his chest, his strong arms instinctively holding her close, his fingers brushing over her tiny head with the utmost care.

"Alright, little one," Jason murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Let’s see if your old man can do this."

You leaned against the doorframe, watching as Jason settled down in the rocking chair, his daughter resting comfortably against his chest. For all the chaos in his life, for all the times he’d been pushed to the edge of his humanity, moments like these made him feel like he finally had something to fight for something to protect.

Jason cleared his throat, grabbing the book from the small shelf beside the chair. You’d been reading bedtime stories to your daughter for months, but tonight, Jason was in charge.

"So, uh… This one’s called The Brave Little Knight," Jason began, glancing at you for reassurance. "Don’t expect too much, kid. I’m not exactly a storybook kind of guy."

You smiled softly at his self-deprecating tone. Jason had never been good at this type of thing being soft, being gentle but for you and your daughter, he was trying. And that made your heart swell more than you could put into words.

As Jason read, his voice growing more confident with each sentence, your daughter’s eyes fluttered as she fought to stay awake. She was still young enough that the world was mostly about the comfort of your voices, the softness of your touch. But even now, Jason could see the spark of her growing personality in the way she tilted her head toward him, her tiny hands gripping his shirt like she was already trying to keep him close.

"You know," Jason said, his voice quieter now, his gaze softening as he looked down at the baby in his arms, "I never thought I’d be here, doing this."

You leaned against the doorframe, heart in your throat. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated for a moment, his fingers gently brushing your daughter’s cheek as he kept reading. "I wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s father. After everything… after the way I grew up… I never thought I’d be able to be the kind of dad she needs."

You stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look at you, but you could feel the weight of his words.

"You’re exactly the kind of dad she needs, Jason," you said softly. "You might not have had the best role models, but you’re doing everything you can to be better for her. And that’s all she needs. All we need."

Jason swallowed hard, looking down at your daughter as she began to drift off in his arms. "I just… I don’t want to screw this up. I don’t want her to go through the same things I did."

"You won’t," you assured him, your voice steady. "We’re in this together. And no matter what happens, she’ll always know she’s loved. That’s more than we had, right?"

Jason finally looked up at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that was so raw it took your breath away. "Yeah," he whispered. "You’re right."

He shifted in the chair, adjusting your daughter in his arms as she began to fall into a peaceful sleep. He kissed the top of her head and then looked back at you, his gaze softer than you’d ever seen it.

"Thank you," he murmured. "For giving me this. For giving us this."

You smiled and moved closer, brushing a hand through his hair. "I didn’t do it alone, Jason. You’re a great father. And she’s lucky to have you."

Jason nodded, his lips quirking into a small, almost hesitant smile. "I’m lucky to have you."

And in that moment, with the quiet hum of the night surrounding you, the chaos of Gotham seemed miles away. In that small, safe space, everything felt right. Just the three of you, holding onto each other as a family.

Jason Todd, Red Hood and protector of Gotham, was learning that love had a way of healing even the deepest wounds. And for him, that love was right here small, fragile, but unbreakable.

This man could put me in a chokehold anytime!!! ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡(✿ ♥‿♥)(✿ ♥‿♥). ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

content — black fem! reader, mirror sex, fingering, chokehold, dumbification, backshots, deep penetration, praise, jason talks you through it.

nsfw content ☆ 18+ minors dni. ageless & blank blogs will be blocked

jason todd is the type to fuck you in front of a mirror when he wants to prove a point to you. feeling insecure? he’ll make you watch your reflection while he holds you, his chest to your back as he pumps his fingers in and out of your hot, sticky pussy.

feeling bratty? he has no problem providing you with an attitude adjustment, one massive bicep flexing around your neck and the other holding you by the hip to keep you steady while he pounds you from behind. he stares you down the whole time, grinning smugly at the way you whine and babble for more.

and his absolute favorite? he loves fucking you in prone bone after you’ve had a long day, his weight pressing you into the mattress so he can reach nice and deep. he’ll hold your chin in one hand, directing your attention to the large mirror in the corner of his bedroom so you can see exactly how wrecked you look under him.

“just focus on us, baby.” he husks in your ear, littering kisses along your neck and shoulder while he watches you fall apart. “see how pretty you look right now? you’re doing so good f’me.” he chuckles when you gasp his name, choking out half coherent sentences in between the garbled moans he wrenches from deep in your throat. “shh, princess. don’t want you to worry about a thing, ‘kay? jay’s gonna take care of ya.”

꒰ © nymphodiety 2024. DO NOT copy, modify, repost, translate, and/or enter my work into ai or other platforms! plagiarism will not be tolerated! please read all rules before interacting! ꒱

I need this man Now \(^ヮ^)/(*^‿^*)\(^ヮ^)/(❤ω❤)(❤ω❤)(❤ω❤)

Keep It Down

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Trying to not wake anyone up while staying over for the holidays…

Warnings: Intense feels, trying to stay quiet, hand over mouth, Smut 18+, literally just pp in vv moment, petnames (Ma (ofc, this is Jaybird we’re talkin’ about), baby), crying but…in the hot way?, obsessed with this concept ngl. Yes, I got lazy at the end, don’t judge.. :(

Word count: 1k

======

It was all quiet pants and silent tears. 

The holidays had rolled around and the two of you were staying at Wayne Manor for the week. A classic Gotham storm raged outside, snow gently falling as lightning flashed through the closed curtains of Jason’s room. Thunder shook the house, momentarily deafening what was happening. 

You and Jason were always recklessly in love. So, no wonder you couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves for more than a day. The only problem was volume. And shit, could Jason make you lose your voice moaning and crying out his name. On the other hand, it would be sucky to be caught by one of his brothers, let alone Alfred or Bruce… 

“Gotta stay quiet, baby.. Can you do that for me?” Was what he murmured in your ear before you got started. 

He was slow, loving with his slow but deep thrusts. His dick hitting that spot within you that made your back arch and nails drag down his back, leaving angry red streaks in their wake. Fuck, he knew how to make your head spin. 

Tears streaked down your cheeks, shallow breaths leaving your parted lips. Jason ate it up, kissing and nipping along your neck. Tasting your skin and groaning into your neck to keep his own noises to a minimum. Calloused hands gripping your thighs to haul them up around his waist to get a better angle. The whine you let out was quickly muffled by his lips capturing yours in a deep kiss. “Shhh.. I know, ma, I know..” He mumbled against your mouth. 

As he had your lips captured, his hands moved up. Pulling you up into an arch by your waist before wrapping his arms around. Shoving his arms between you and the bed. Chest to chest, arms hugging your middle like he was scared you’d slip away. When he finally pulled away to breathe, his forehead dropped to your shoulder. Hot breath fanning across your skin making a shiver run up your spine. 

“Oh shit…” You breathed, hand coming up to drag through his dark hair. Gripping with shaky fingers, lightly tugging, making Jason practically growl into your skin. Brows pinched in pleasure as tears fell back into your hairline. Every roll of his hips takes your breath away and makes you tremble. His fingers dug into your back as he squeezed you tighter. 

Fire.. that's what you felt. Crawling beneath your skin, licking at your core making your stomach flip. Pushing you closer and closer to your high with every thrust, sharp breath, and moan. Trying to keep quiet. Desperately. But it was so difficult with how overwhelming it was. The thrill of accidentally being too loud. Passionate tenderness that made your head spin and tears prick your eyes. In a vulnerable state of intense pleasure and connection. All while your loving boyfriend whispered sweet nothings into your skin. “That’s it, ma..I’ve got you.. Just let go, I’ve got you..” 

Flushed and blissed out, your head pressed back to the pillows. Whimpering an, “Oh my god..” into the darkness of the room. Maybe a little too loud than you should’ve… 

Jason was quick to remedy your loss of volume control. His hand coming up to cover your mouth, his other arm still securely holding you to him. While he loved how wrecked you sounded, he didn’t want to get caught..You breathed harshly through your nose as you let out a ragged moan that got muffled by his palm. “Baby, baby.. Gotta keep it down..” He murmured, voice laced with desire.

Despite his words, he picked up the pace a little, rocking against you with more intensity. Hitting harder, somehow it felt deeper too. Eyes squeezed shut as you tried to focus on your pleasure and keep your moans down. 

Pressing closer, practically suffocating you with his weight. Draping himself over you like a protective blanket made up of over two hundred pounds of muscle. His hand left your mouth to grip the pillow next to your head. His head dropping once more, groaning right into your ear. “C’mon, ma..” You were so close…

You choked and pressed your face to his neck. Letting out a strangle moan you muffle against his skin. Finally reaching that peak. It wasn’t fast and strong like it usually would be. The kind that would have you moaning shamelessly and crying out his name. No.. This twisted your spine and burned through your veins. Making you choke on your own air and hold your breath. Crashing over your body like waves on an ocean shore. Tensing as you gripped him where you could. Pawing desperately at his skin for purchase as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. 

Then you let out a sob of raw pleasure, still muffled against his skin. Shaking as you rode out your high. Thighs trembling around his waist as your body pulsed with the aftershocks. He slowed down for a moment, cooing softly in your ear and pressing kisses to your tear-stained cheeks as he helped you ride out your orgasm. 

When you finally calmed down enough, he took your chin in hand, “Yeah..?” He mumbled to you. Seeking permission, seeing if he could be selfish now. Chase his pleasure. All you could do was tighten your legs around his waist again and nod weakly. Arms pulling him closer once more. “Yeah..” He quickly sought out your lips, locking you in a deep and needy kiss as he picked up the pace again. 

Panting and pressing as deep as he could. His groans went straight into your mouth as he chased his release. He wasn’t far behind. His hips stuttered before he let out a strangled moan, “Baby..” he grumbled against your lips. Giving a few short thrusts as he finished. Jason finally broke the kiss with a heavy sigh. A string of saliva connected you still before he licked his lips. “Fuck, you did so good for me..” He praised softly as he caressed your cheek. Thumbs wiping away the tears. 

“Fuck yeah, I did..” You gave a tired smirk. He paused before he gave a slow smirk of his own. 

“As if, you were loud as hell.”

“Shut up…”

Crawling back to you.

Jason todd x neutral! Reader

Disclaimer : it's my first time writing and English is not my first language! Jason is completely obsessed and inlove with his partner argue with the wall.

Jason todd is a man who has walls built around him. Always guarded, never caught off guard. Even in the face of his tomb he was said to be "a good soldier", never a good son. He laughs at the face of his enemy, and remains standing tall, still, stoic, guarded. The moment he met the evil face of him, his father's worst enemy and greatest obsession-the hands that forever doomed his faith, he knew he wasn't going to make it out alive. the painful strike of the cold metal in his face, every limb never to be spared was less than the pain of the knowledge his "father" never took revenge for all the pain he endured. Every tears he shed, every bones that was broken, and every blood that bled through his clothes; just to be called a good soldier. Even the harsh burn of the glowing forest green pit could not distract him from the crawling desire of revenge. With this new life, new identity, he became someone who shoots, who kills, who's hands are filled with countless of lives. In his eyes he became someone his father couldn't be for the better of the city who never sleeps-the city who never rest. The red mask he wears reminded him of who he is now. A soldier-and guarded man.

But he's just a man. Many might not know it, maybe not even himself—but he's been waiting. Waiting for someone to save him from his own thoughts, from the depths of hell, the hole he fell into, which he dug himself. So when a person that's oh so sweet as an angel, a soft light covering their frame, their presence bringing him a sense of comfort, a feeling he never thought he'd feel after years of suffering from the past, chained to his body, thickening his tall, strong, indestructible walls. Yes, he was a criminal, a killer, a demon.

But with you he was a servant. You completely own him, body and soul. You are his God, and he is completely devoted to you. Dare someone be bold as to touch you, scare you, or harm you, they will face the wrath of his anger and the hands of a faithful devotee. You, who can do no mistake in his eyes. You, who he crawls to; no strong currents the god of the sea can bring nor thunder the king of Gods can unleash upon him can ever stop him from running into your arms. Even if he was trapped with thousands of attractive naked men or women, he will not waver; he will always crawl back to you and only you.

He's been waiting for you.

°•*⁀➷ 𝗘𝗡𝗭𝗢'𝗦 𝗟𝗜𝗕𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬

key: ♡ fluff | ✮ angst | ☼ suggestive

𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗦:

001 | smut prompts 002 | soft angst prompts 003 | angst prompts 004 | fluff prompts

𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗢𝗥 𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗦:

⌀ 1k followers celebration [DC THEME]

MY CHARACTERS:

001 | JASON TODD

002 | DICK GRAYSON

003 | BATSIS!READER

004 | WALLY WEST

005 | SIRIUS BLACK

006 | ROY HARPER

007 | LUKE CASTELLAN

𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗘𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗙𝗜𝗖𝗦

SERIES:

FEATHERS ⟶ five hargreeves x reader ♡

↳ befriending diego was the worst idea you’ve ever had because now you’ve been sucked into his family drama

FICS:

I WILL ALWAYS STAND BY YOU ♡ [DCU]

↳ where jason finds out that dick grayson killed the joker for murdering him [wc. 0.3k]

ANGEL WINGS ⟶ five hargreeves x reader ♡ [wc. 1.0k]

↳ the mix up during time travel leads you and five to the second apocalypse and it’s your job to fix it… again.

HEADCANONS + DRABBLES:

random drabble ⟶ gojo satoru x reader

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?

synopsis; no matter what he did, he would always be the kid you knew from crime alley. (UTRH jason todd x fem!reader) wc; 2.5k

cw; angst, happy ending, mention of dismemberment, mentions of violence, brief mentions of stabbing, brief and possibly incorrect descriptions of first aid, heavily based on would you fall in love with me again by jorge rivera-herrans from epic the musical

a/n; this man has been on my mind lately and the song was stuck in my head so this stems from that, enjoy.

don't use, copy or steal my works.

is it you? have my prayers been answered? 

is it really you standing there, or am i dreaming once more?

“jason?” the name leaves your lips in shock, you never thought you’d see him again, only in your dreams if you were lucky.

you look different, your eyes look tired.

your frame is lighter, your smile torn.

the man in front of you holds barely any resemblance to the child you once knew. his eyes, although tired, are darker and sharper, a hint of recognition in them. his stature is bigger, muscles filling out his frame and he’s grown taller. there’s a broken smile on his lips and it doesn’t reach his eyes.

is it really you, my love?

jason’s been back from the dead for almost six years now, and he’s been back in gotham for two of them. it’s been a year since he worked his way to the top of the crime syndicate as the red hood and enacted his revenge on bruce.

he would catch glimpses of you throughout that time, not necessarily stalking you, but just wanting to keep an eye out, make sure you were okay. this would be the first time he speaks to you since coming back.

i am not the man you fell in love with.

i am not the man you once adored.

“can i come in?” his voice is deep, it no longer carries that light whimsy tone it did when he was a child. the sound of it both scares and comforts you, he’s grown into a man. but at what cost?

you let him in and lead the way to the kitchen where you nervously begin to make a calming lavender tea.

“i’m dreaming again, aren’t i? there’s no way you’re actually in my kitchen right now.” you mutter while shaking your head as if to force the dream away.

“you’re not dreaming, i’m real.” his voice startles you again, you just stare at his hulking frame as he sits in a chair at your table eyeing the way you flit around nervously.

“if this is real.. if i’m not dreaming, what’s something only you would know?” you’re skeptical, jason realizes, and you have every right to be. the whole of gotham knew he was dead. bruce wayne’s second son, dead in an accident, little did anyone truly know.

i am not your kind and gentle husband.

and i am not the love you knew before.

he scoffs as you sit across from him, two mugs filled with tea sit on the table's surface, one in front of each of you. of course you’d be the one to ask him to prove it. you were never one to take things at face value, perks of growing up in crime alley.

“we had our first kiss behind the giant penny in the bat cave, the night you discovered bruce and i were batman and robin.” he watches your hand flex, fingers tapping an unknown rhythm on the table as you consider his words.

“how old were we?” you fire back, he seems so confident and you want to believe it’s him but you have to be sure.

“i was fifteen, you were a week shy of being fourteen. i died a year later.” you wince at the harsh way he speaks but nod nonetheless.

“how old are you now?” you know he’s aged since he’s bigger now, you just want to know if he’s still a year older than you.

“twenty-two.” his answer confirms that he is.

would you fall in love with me again,

if you knew all i’ve done?

the next hour passes by with him catching you up on everything. how he died, how he came back, what he’s been doing since coming back. you stopped drinking your tea once he mentioned severed heads.

he speaks casually, as if he’s not bothered by any of this, but you know him enough to know when he’s faking, at least you used to. you can detect the hurt and anger hidden behind his words and actions, you were pretty upset yourself when you found out bruce wasn’t going to do anything about the joker. you cried over jason for months.

the things i cannot change,

would you love me all the same?

silence fills the air around you after jason finishes his story, you moved from the table to the balcony halfway through, and now you sit on the couch. your legs are pulled to your chest as you lean against the armrest and peer at jason from lidded eyes. 

he sits facing the dark screen of the tv, legs manspread and an arm hooked over the back of the couch, the other rests at his side.

“you know, we never actually broke up.” you mentally facepalm as the words leave your mouth, why in the hell would you say something stupid like that? 

your cheeks flame up as jason bursts out laughing, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest that filters throughout his entire body. the couch shakes slightly from the vibrations of his body as he tosses his head back. the sound of his laughter and the sight of him makes you chuckle in turn. you laugh together for a bit until his next sentence has reality crashing in again.

“yeah cause i fucking died y/n.”

“well i’m sorry you’ll have to forgive my heartbroken depressed fifteen year old self for assuming since neither of us said the words ‘i’m breaking up with you’ that meant we were still together even if you were dead.” you grumble and use your hands to showcase air quotes.

“please tell me you haven’t spent the last six years thinking we’re still together.” he’s looking at you now, trying to gauge your reaction while waiting for your response.

“i grew out of that at sixteen, so only a year really. i’ve dated here and there, but most didn’t last long. there was one guy who lasted longer than the rest, but even that fizzled out pretty quick.” you explained with a shrug and watched as the tension left his shoulders, his body sinking into the cushions behind him.

“why didn’t they last?” you tilt your head back to look at your ceiling and inhale deeply at his question.

“i was just too in love with my dead boyfriend to move on with anybody else.”

i know that you’ve been waiting, waiting for love.

it’s been a couple months since the day jason showed up at your door, you talk everyday, whether he calls or texts you. he visits when he can, if he’s not patrolling as red hood. his relationship with bruce is still rocky, but slowly mending. you’ve started visiting the manor again, alfred appreciates your company and the atmosphere you bring with you while you’re there.

your dead boyfriend isn’t so dead anymore, and there’s something unspoken between the two of you now. jason has his own apartment, though you aren’t sure how since he’s still legally dead, bruce is apparently working on rectifying that. despite having his own place, he spends a lot of time at yours, and it only adds to your ever growing confusion.

unbeknownst to you, jason isn’t faring much better. he has trouble sleeping because of the nightmares, but lately when he does sleep, all he can think about is you. you’ve told him time and again that you don’t care what he’s done as a crime lord, that all you care about is the fact that he’s alive and back in your life. he’s paranoid that this is some awful trick his mind is playing on him.

he’s supposed to crash at your place tonight, hopefully he can control himself around you.

would you fall in love with me again,

if you knew all i’ve done?

the things i can’t undo,

i am not the man you knew.

you’re both laying across the couch, your body atop his, legs intertwined with his, and his arms around your waist while you both watch tv. some random horror movie playing that neither of you are really paying attention to, too caught up in your thoughts and each other.

that unspoken something hangs tensely in the air as your head rests on his chest, fingers tracing inconsequential shapes and patterns on his side. his eyes are closed and it heightens the feeling of your body against his.

“so… are we going to talk about it?” your voice breaks him out of his thoughts and he sighs heavily. he knows you’re talking about the unspoken thing that’s wrapped itself around you two like a thick blanket in the cold winter months, but he doesn’t think spring has arrived yet and he’s not quite ready to leave the comfort and safety of the blanket.

“i guess not.” you answer your own question after several minutes of nothing coming from him aside that first heavy sigh. his body tenses as you push yourself off him and stand away from the couch. he sits up once you turn off the tv, eyes finding yours in the dimly lit living room of your apartment.

“i’m sorry.” it’s the first thing he’s said since before the start of the movie and it’s your turn to sigh deeply while your shoulders sag as you stand in front of him.

“it’s fine jay, i’m going to bed.” it’s too early for you to be going to bed and you both know it, but your statement is said with such finality that he doesn’t try to argue. he only sighs as he watches you walk away to your bedroom, before throwing his head back with a heavy groan, knowing he’s sleeping on the couch alone tonight.

i know that you’ve been waiting, waiting,

after that night, jason distances himself. he’s hoping that some time apart will help him get his shit together and figure things out before he loses you completely. bruce, alfred, and dick all think he’s being an idiot, and honestly? he’s starting to think the same.

three months have passed since that night, and jason can count the number of times he’s seen you on both hands. the distance hasn’t done anything other than make him yearn for you more and wish to be by your side.

he doesn’t realize he’s left the comfort of the thick winter blanket until the night he crash lands on your balcony, bleeding out from a stab wound he got while fighting some goons with batman. he knocks only once before you’re pulling open the door and tugging him into your apartment.

“bruce called me when you disappeared after the fight, said you might’ve gotten hurt and to be expecting you.” you explain once you notice his head tilting in confusion. you help him onto the towel covered couch, a first aid kit and a bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table.

he takes off his helmet and the domino mask he had on underneath before letting you help him remove his jacket and pull up his shirt. the stab wound is on the left side of his stomach, no vital organs were hit but he will need stitches.

you work in silence, cleaning up the wound and the area around it with alcohol wipes from the first aid kit before stitching him up and covering them up with bandages. you give him the bottle of whiskey while cleaning up the mess on the coffee table and floor.

a flash of something catches his gaze, his eye zoning in on your throat, his breath hitching as he recognizes what it is. it’s the last thing he stole before bruce took him in when he was eleven, a necklace that he gave you for your tenth birthday. a silver chain holding a pendant the color of his eyes.

‘so that you’ll always have a piece of me close to your heart.’ is what he said when he gave it to you.

“i didn’t know you still had that.” his voice comes out hoarse from lack of use and your eyes flick to him in confusion before following his gaze to the pendant that rests at the bottom of your throat, just above where your heart would be.

“oh yeah, i still have a lot of the things you’ve given me but this one is my favorite.” you replied as you grabbed the pendant in one hand.

a symbol of our love everlasting.

jason knew what he had to do, but he just couldn’t find the words to use. he’s lying in your bed on his back, your head on his chest, body pressed against his injury free side as his arms are encircling you. 

he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being this close to you, his paranoid mind is giving him anxiety, making him think this is just another nightmare.

“how could you possibly care about me still? i’m a murderer, a monster.” the words leave his mouth before he has time to second guess them, your hand stops the tracing of shapes and instead rests palm down on his stomach.

“jay you’re not a monster, you’re a traumatized kid. the same one that saved me from getting bullied back in crime alley, the same kid who would make sure i was fed even if you were also starving. the same kid who brought me along with him after he got adopted by the richest man in the city.” you look up at him now, chin resting on his chest as he tilts his gaze down to meet yours.

i will fall in love with you over and over again,

i don’t care how, where, or when.

no matter how long it’s been, you’re mine,

don’t tell me you’re not the same person.

“no matter what you do, you’re still that same kid i knew from crime alley. my dead boyfriend who i’m just too in love with.”

i’ve been waiting, waiting,

waiting, waiting,

waiting, waiting,

waiting, oh,

for you.

“well i’m not dead anymore.” he chuckles and you roll your eyes.

“yeah but according to you, you’re not my boyfriend anymore either.” you don’t even get the chance to laugh before he’s cupping your chin and pulling you up for a passionate long overdue kiss.

lips connecting with yours roughly as his hand slides to your throat, tongue pushing its way into your mouth. gasping, your body presses against him, hand clutching his side. 

he pulls away wincing and you quickly apologize, having forgotten his stab wound. but he merely shakes his head and presses another kiss to your lips.

“you’re still jason todd to me, the kid from crime alley.” you smile resting your head on his chest again.

“i know.” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“and you wanna know something else?” you start tracing random shapes and patterns again.

“what?” he asks, relaxing his body into yours while sighing happily.

“i love you.”

Can I request headcanon of Jason Todd/Red Hood (Under the Red Hood movie) being with fem s/o who can magically heal just about anything no matter how severe the wounds are and how deadly the diseases, but she can't heal herself; she is serene, gentle and soft spoken please?

I think Jason Todd deserves the world, so yes, I shall! Thank you for the request!

You Playing Doctor Now? Jason Todd x Meta!Reader

The door slamming open and shut had become a sound you were used to. Months ago it would have startled you, made you jump nearly out of your skin, especially given the area you found yourself living in. Now, however, the sound was almost comforting to you.

The slam of the door meant your boyfriend was home, alive, but from the sluggish sound of his footsteps, not uninjured. You paused what you were doing, carefully chopping vegetables for the stew you had been planning on making.

You set the knife down, washing your hands rather quickly, before making your way into the living room. Sure enough, Jason was sat on the couch, having taken his helmet off himself, sweaty and breathing heavily, his eyes shut.

His hair was nearly plastered to his forehead, and he didn't open his eyes to your entrance, despite hearing your footsteps grow closer. You took stock of his appearance, cuts and fresh bruises lined his cheeks, and you were sure there were other injuries beneath his armor if the thin trail of blood from your doorway was any indicator.

"You should see the other guy," Was the first sentence he offered you, lips curled in an attempt of a smirk, but his labored breathing made it appear more of a grimace.

"I'd rather not waste my time looking at dead bodies," Despite your worry, you joked back, voice soft as you knelt down in front of him.

He cracked open his eyes, sighing as he took in your sight. Your eyebrows were furrowed with worry, eyes raking over his appearance, no doubt calculating just how injured he was. He shifted, leaning towards you, prying a glove off before caressing your cheek, thumb softly brushing the cheek bone.

"I'm fine."

You rolled your eyes, rather used to hearing that line fall from his lips, "You and I both know that's a lie," You stood up, hands on your hips, "Take the armor off."

He raised an eyebrow, trying to deflect your concern, "Take me to dinner first."

You barely rose to the bait, "Dinner will be ready sooner if you let me treat your injuries without a fight."

The two of you stared at each other for a silent moment, before he relented. He had never thought he'd meet someone whose stubbornness outweighed his, and he never would have thought that someone as sweet as you could be harder-headed than him.

"Alright, alright," He hated that he was struggling to remove his own armor, muscles sore and screaming at him.

You shook your head as he dropped his clothes onto the ground, stepping forward, tender hands pressing gently to his skin. You started on his face first, palms cupping his jaw, and he relaxed into your hold, the warmth of your hands fighting the nippy cold from outside that still lingered in his bones.

You made a soft tsk, and he felt the odd sensation of the cuts on his cheek closing themselves up, not having to open his eyes to know that your gaze was unwavering, eyes glowing inhumanly, the color a brighter hue of the normal ones he fell in love with.

"The scars will fade quickly," You murmured, voice low as you moved your hands from his face, gently pressing against his shoulders, biceps, forearms, taking assessment of the damage.

He opened his eyes to watch you, a smile forming on his face as you continued muttering to yourself, cursing him for trying to hide his injuries, easily reversing the damage that had occurred to him hours before.

"Jason Todd," You scolded, pressing your hands against his ribs, eyes narrowing into a glare, "You were going to hide broken ribs from me?"

He chuckled sheepishly, "I've handled worse."

"Doesn't mean you have to now," He felt energy buzz under his skin, sucking in a quick breath as he felt his ribs fuse back together, "I'll do whatever I can to make sure of that."

He knew that, he knows that. But more often than not he feels as if he's taking advantage of you, of your abilities. He didn't know if your powers made you selfless, or if your selflessness manifested your powers. But he does know that you would run yourself ragged if it meant you could help every injured or ill-ridden person you came across.

He didn't want to admit it to anyone, let alone the rest of the stupid bird family of his, but he did go out of his way now to avoid massive injuries. If he came back with just a few scratches or bruises, he could talk you out of healing him, telling you paper cuts hurt worse than the injuries he had now.

He had less luck when he came home with cracked bones or bullet holes. He knew, and you knew, he would heal faster than normal thanks to the Lazarus Pit, but your powers worked almost instantly. You'd rather heal him immediately, rather than let him set for a few hours, body healing itself.

In a matter of five minutes, all his injuries were gone, leaving nothing but dried blood and faint scaring in their places. You sat back on your heels, eyes their normal shade, smiling up at him.

"There you are," You stood, leaning to place a soft, quick kiss to his lips, pulling back to run a hand through his hair, "Good as new."

"You enjoy playin' doctor, huh?"

The blush on your cheeks had him grinning like mad, and you rolled your eyes to avoid eye contact. He caught your hand in his, resting your knuckles against his lips, "Thanks doll."

You went to move, more than likely heading back to finish tonight's meal, but a flash of white caught his eye, and he grabbed your hand, turning it palm up. You stood, eyebrow raised in confusion as he ran his fingers across your skin gently, feeling the rough bandage across your palm.

"What happened?"

Your lips formed a quick 'o', grinning almost sheepishly, "I nicked myself cutting the carrots a bit earlier," You let him fiddle with your hand, your fingers for a moment longer, shrugging, "It's fine, I dressed it."

"I wish you could heal yourself."

He had found himself saying that so many times, wishing you could use your abilities selfishly. You healed him, no questions asked. You used to babysit some of the kids in the area, kissing away scraps and bruises under the guise that kisses healed everything when they looked at you in wonder. You held injured birds, cats, and dogs in the alleyways, taking care of their illnesses brought by hunger, correcting broken wings and crooked paws like it was as simple as breathing.

But whenever you were injured, struck down by a fever, found yourself in a situation where you needed help, you were helpless to do anything for yourself.

Your powers, Jason thought, were a blessing and a curse.

You shrugged, "Even if I could, wasting my abilities on a little cut? I'm fine."

His gaze met yours, and you understood the look he was giving you. You were repeating his own sentiments to him now, but you stood by it. Even if you could heal yourself, there were others who needed your energy and powers more than you did. Why would you have been born with this power if not to help others?

That's the notion you were raised on, and while Jason wanted you to put yourself first, protect yourself over strangers in the streets, he also knew that mindset was why the two of you met.

No one else would have rushed to the side of a downed Red Hood in the streets, covered in a mixture of his blood and the blood of those he killed. Everyone else would have run off or ignored him, but you rushed to his side, not asking questions, not trying to remove his hood or armor, hands placed where ever you could put them, and before he knew it, the dizziness brought on by blood loss was gone.

The rest was history.

He stood up, "Let me redress it at least," He squeezed your hand gently, "A lifetime of healing and you don't even know how to properly apply a band-aid."

You pouted but laughed along as he dragged you behind him to the bathroom, the first aid kit he forced you to buy still laying out on the counter.

You chattered away, talking about how your day had been, the kittens you saw coming back from the store earlier, how you got rid of their flea-ridden infections, and how you went back a few hours later and set up a box with some blankets in it for them. You mentioned keeping an eye on them, and bringing them home if no one claimed them in the next few days. He listened intently, cleaning the cut and dabbing some neosporin on it, wishing he could do more for your injuries, regardless of how small there were.

He'd do whatever he was able to though, wrapping any cuts you got, icing any bruises that appeared, he'd carry you everywhere if you required him to. He'd do that for as long as you'd let him.

Sorry, I had no idea how to end it. I hope you liked it!

Jason Todd loves kissing you.

But even more than that… he loves you kissing him. Loves it when you hold onto his face, press kisses along the fat of his cheeks and his temples, the sides of his nose… loves when you pull him flush against your body just to shower him in your affection. 

On days where the world is a little kinder to him, and he comes home neither battered nor bruised, he loves tearing off his mask and reaching for you immediately—hands wrapping around your hips, lips chasing after yours. The sweat and humidity of hunting bad guys in places where heat prevails, even with the night’s chill, leaves his hair curlier (and dare you argue fluffier). When Jason returns all your lovin’ with his own affection the fluff of his hair tickles you and you scrunch up your face and laugh, and he laughs, and it’s just…

Pure bliss.

Jason Todd // shark week

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader ☆ fluff ☆ ~700 words

Jason Todd finds you sniffling over your phone one night. 

It's nearing the ungodly hours of the morning when he finally returns, lugging himself over the fire escape and cracking open your window. 

He's got one leg in your room when he freezes. You. Your form, on the bed—curled up, sniffling, shaking—you’re crying, he realises, and that gets him moving faster than you could acknowledge that he’s back. 

You startle at the feel of his hands wrapped around your shoulders, dropping your phone in surprise. “Redh—Jay? What’s—”

“Talk to me.” Jason says, voice crackling through his vocalizer. He still has the helmet on, and the way he practically shoves himself into your view makes your head spin.

“What’s going on, Jay?” You croak, “How was patrol?”

He shakes his head, moving to your side, hovering over you less. “Talk to me, honey, c'mon. What happened?”

“No, it’s—” You sniffle, “Was just on the phone, waiting for you.”

“Y’know you don’t gotta do that, baby,” he grunts, and you shoot him an unimpressed look. You've been over this; he knows you do it because you want to. “Phone got you crying? S’there someone I need to talk to?”

You huff out a watery laugh, “God, no, I was watching some videos. Got me emotional is all. S’ shark week.”

He crosses his arms. Under his helmet, he’s probably giving you an unimpressed look as well. Eyebrows arched and everything. The thought makes you giggle, “Honest, baby—here, lemme show you.”

As you reach for your phone on the floor, Jason removes his helmet, shrugs off his gear. (There’s little to no scratches on him tonight, you note.) He’s about to take his shirt off when he sees you eyeing him impatiently, patting your thigh.

“Outside clothes, hun.”

You pout at him. 

He sighs, and relents. His feet shuffle against the carpet as he moves to curl against you on your side of the bed. You scoot over a little to make space for him, eagerly tapping through your phone to show him the wholesome dog videos you were watching.

“Lookit this guy,” you urge, “saved his owner in a robbery, can you believe it? Almost got hurt in the process, too.”

Jason huffs, sounding half-relieved and half-amused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! And this little guy—” you swipe to another video, “Look, Jay, isn’t she so sweet? I could cry!”

“Mhmm, I bet,” he says. 

When you glance at him he’s already watching you, a faint smile on his lips. You feel your cheeks flush.

“What, not gonna make fun of me?” You joke. Jason looks utterly offended. 

“Never,” he murmurs, “y’know I’d never. Not like this.”

“Aww,” you bump your shoulder against his, fighting the giddiness that threatens to consume you. You love this man. “Special treatment for the special occasion?”

Jason‘s body shakes as he huffs a laugh into your neck, “For my special girl, yeah. Y’still hurting?”

“Mmh, not anymore.” 

 “Want something warm?” He asks, leaning further into your side, “I can make you hot chocolate…”

“The way Alfred makes them?” You quip, perking up.

“Yeah, sure,” He says, “or I could go grab something for you, if you’re craving anything.”

“In the middle of the night? I don’t know if anything would be open, Jaybird,” he pinches you when you poke him, but sighs affectionately as you burrow into his side. “Plus, you’re plenty warm yourself.”

“Y’know I still gotta go shower, hun.”

“Aww, boo.” 

There’s a chuckle that makes you smile, and Jason presses his nose to the top of your head, inhaling your scent. Setting your phone aside, you turn to face him fully. He doesn’t get a chance to sass you when you press your lips to his cheek, then nose, then jaw, trailing kisses all over.

A warm blush dusts his cheeks when you’re done, and he can’t meet your eyes when he asks, “What’s this for?” 

You grin up at him, “Gotta thank you, Jay.” 

“Oh yeah? What’ve I done?” 

Eyes rolling playfully, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss. Jason meets you halfway, his own hands settling around your waist. 

“Welcome back,” you murmur against his lips, “thanks for coming home safe and sound, Jay.”

He grins, almost shy, entirely boyish, “For my special girl, always.”

The Night We Met

PAIRINGS:

Titans! Jason todd x reader

SUMMARY:

Bruce has taken in Jason Todd as his youngest son and the new robin some months ago, Bruce's goddaughter also came back to Gotham after being away for a year.

Some months after meeting Jason she starts a friends with benefits relationship with him, suddenly Jason has to move to the Titans tower and two weeks later Bruce sends her too, but, why is Jason ignoring her and acting like he doesn't know her and why does it get worse when Rose Wilson arrives to the tower??

A/N: I finally figured out a song to base this chapter off, I’m sorry I went so off with their conversation and didn’t really get anywhere with it, I just really want them to bond and I don’t think ahead of writing I just start and see where it takes me, I know this can be really boring but I want this to be a LONG fic and a slow burn and that can’t happen if the whole plot happens in two chapters so bare with me please!

TWS: slow burn, angst, blood, canon violence, mentions of death, anxiety, jealousy, friends to friends with benefits to enemies to lovers?, maybe death of a main character (haven't decided yet) change of plot

Keep in mind that English is not my first language, I also know nothing about guns, human anatomy or fighting in the language so I'm sorry if I make a lot of mistakes

Gif credits to Titanstv on Pinterest

Story Masterlist / Main Masterlist

You felt a throbbing pain in your head and started slowly opening your eyes and becoming aware of your surroundings, you were trying to figure out how long you had slept for since according to the sky it was night now and you didn't know if it was the next day now or if you had just slept some hours, now that you think of it, you didn't actually remember falling asleep either, well thats what happens when you cry too much after not sleeping for two days i guess, you decided that you would really love a glass of water right now and started making your way to the kitchen, you hoped no one was awake or at home, after your whole emotional moment with Bruce and Alfred you realized how embarrassing it had been to cry your heart out in front of someone who did not even know you and how much of a big deal you had made things that seriously were not that deep, then you cried more of embarrassment, and then you realized how much of a baby you were being, and realized you were really sleep deprived and really needed some sleep.

You arrived to the kitchen and just as luck would have it, there was no other than Jason Todd, the guy who had to awkwardly witness a girl he didn't know sob her eyes out but while thinking about it you realized that making it a bigger deal than it was would only make it actually embarrassing and would probably ruin any chance of friendship with that guy so you decided that you would let it go and it had never happened.

Jason didn't acknowledge you at all, he was too concentrated on eating what he had cooked for himself earlier and honestly he didn't seem like a very social guy so you just let him be.

You reached for a glass but then decided that maybe you should grab a thermos so you could bring it to your room and not have to make your way over to the kitchen every time you were thirsty, the noise made Jason acknowledge you but he just gave you a nod while he looked at you and you just returned it, you went to fill the water and you could still feel Jason staring at you, the environment was really awkward and Jason looked like he wanted to say something, or maybe he just wanted you to leave, well, this was your chance to talk to him, if he didn't want to talk to you back then you would just let him be, no harm in trying to make friends in your own home.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there with Bruce?" you asked him

He shook his head and pointed to his ribcage "got stabbed, Bruce wouldn't allow me to go back out there"

"Huh, how'd you get stabbed?" you asked not being bothered by it, you were used to these kind of things

"Harley" he said nonchalantly

"Oh" you said and nodded at him

"Mhm"

"I thought she hadn't been active in a while?" I said, Dick had told me before he left Bruce that Harley hadn't made an appearance in almost a year and it looked like she might want redemption.

"Yeah but Joker was put back in Arkham some months ago, we thought they had broken up but turns out it was just an act and she was just plotting something to try and get him out or get revenge or something like that, and well i may be skilled but Harley is Harley" he said taking bites of his food.

"Yeah I get you, even I am scared of going against Harley"

"You are? haven't you beaten her like a lot of times?"

"Yeah but miss girl is not just crazy and skilled but she's also in LOVE like not cutesy love, but maniac love that's a dangerous combination" you said in an exaggerated way to get your point across.

"I wouldn't call that love" he said while shaking his head before taking another bite of his food which you had no idea what it was.

"Then what would you call it?"

"Obsession I guess, she's like obsessed with him, she would throw herself against chemicals that will probably kill her if he asked for it... oh wait she already did"

"Yeah, poor girl would give her life for someone who just manipulates her and uses her”

"I mean yeah, but I wouldn't call her poor she's still a psycho" he shrugged.

"Maybe, but she's in love, even if you wouldn't call it that i think i would, its not a healthy love but she just loves him in a really obsessive unhealthy way, also if you see it in a way, we are psychos as well" i say before taking a sip of my water.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he sipped what must be coffee from a mug and looked at me curiously.

"Well, what kind of people just beats up other people every night?"

"Well yeah, but we only beat criminals and people who deserve it, they actually kill" he said trying to defend his point.

"I mean, yeah they may kill and we don't, but what's worse? dying or being paralyzed and basically tortured for life?"

"What do you mean?" he frowned and tilted his head a bit, he was intrigued in the conversation now.

"Well do you honestly think everyone will just be fine after being thrown around and beaten up until the point where you know if you give one more punch they'll die? I mean even professional fighters get brain paralysis or quadriplegic or like vegetative state from a bad blow and they have like precautions in those fights, now imagine in a fight where there's no precautions and the only stop sign is either them going unconscious or them not being able to move or them being a step away from death keep in mind that the criminals that you beat sometimes aren't trained or don't even know how to fight like regular thieves and shit, im obviously not talking about criminals like Ivy or Harley and stuff and a lot of the vigilantes have actually killed at least one person, maybe not intentionally but yeah" I explained to him.

"Huh, I guess if you think about it like that you're right" he nodded and took one last bite out of his plate

"Of course I am, I"m always right" I smiled at him

"Sure you are" he rolled his eyes in a playful way and stood up to wash his dirty dishes.

"I am!" I say pretending to be offended

"Uh huh, whatever you say" he smiled at me, "well, uhm its pretty late and I guess I should try to get some sleep, so see you tomorrow, I guess" he said before starting to head out of the kitchen.

"Sure, goodnight" I said to him.

"Night" He replied before finally leaving the kitchen.

taglist:

@fairyeoll @singitoutgirl26 @mad-die45 @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @pariahsparadise

Moonlight

PAIRINGS:

Titans!Jason todd x reader

SUMMARY:

Bruce has taken in Jason Todd as his youngest son and the new robin some months ago, Bruce’s goddaughter also came back to Gotham after being away for a year.

Some months after meeting Jason she starts a friends with benefits relationship with him, suddenly Jason has to move to the Titans tower and two weeks later Bruce sends her too, but, why is Jason ignoring her and acting like he doesn’t know her and why does it get worse when Rose Wilson arrives to the tower??

A/N: in this story Dick and Jason will not have such a big age gap as they do in the show, Dick will be 23 while Jason will be 19, but for the sake of the plot it will, also ignore that there’s already a dc character called moonlight, also the powers I made up for her make no sense at all but we’ll have to deal with it.

TWS: slow burn, angst, blood, canon violence, mentions of death, anxiety, jealousy, friends to friends with benefits to enemies to lovers?, maybe death of a main character (haven’t decided yet) change of plot

Keep in mind that English is not my first language, I also know nothing about guns, human anatomy or fighting in the language so I'm sorry if I make a lot of mistakes

Story Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Superman by Eminem was playing as the car Bruce sent to get you from the airport approached the gothic styled manor you hadn't seen in a year or so, the way everything looked the same brought you a sense of comfort, you knew Dick wasn’t Robin anymore, you were really close to Dick and he had told you all about how Bruce was a bad father and how he didn’t want to become him, you understood him, although you couldn’t help but feel bad for Bruce, you knew he was trying his best and he may not have been the best father, but he was a great godfather, it probably was because he wasn’t 100% responsible of you, he didn’t have to teach you about emotions, life, problems, or shit like that, he just had to spoil you and talk to you, so it was probably easier for him.

As you grew closer to the manor you noticed that Bruce and Alfred were already waiting for you by the door with some guy, he looked a little bit younger than you, but not too much, you couldn’t see him very well from the distance, but he seemed to be in casual clothes so you assumed he lived here, he was probably another stray that Bruce took in after Dick left so you paid it no mind. Eventually you arrived to the mansion and you could cry, it had been a year since you had last seen Bruce and Alfred, it had been a year since your dad had died, he was the only parent you ever knew, your mom wasn’t a deadbeat who abandoned you or anything like that, but she wasn’t “normal” she had special abilities (which you also have) that you didn’t know were special until you showed them to a boy in kindergarten and made him cry out of fear, at that moment you didn’t get why the boy had cried when you just tried to show him how your hands could glow, you then got a long talk from your mom about how most people don’t have the same abilities as you, therefore you have to keep them a secret, otherwise people would be scared or even worse it would put you at risk because there were bad people who wanted those abilities for themselves. You learned to take the talk seriously when your mom got killed by some scientist who wanted to have her powers and it was all thanks to not hiding them too well, leaving your dad and yourself on your own.

The sound of the car’s door opening pulled you out of your thoughts, and you immediately started getting off the car, you started walking towards the entrance of the Manor and all of the memories came flooding back making you emotional, you approached Bruce and just crashed into him with a hug, he became stiff, but he tried to comfort you as you cried in his arms, you hadn’t seen him ever since your dad had died, you had ran away from your problems and went to Europe for a year thinking it would help, but it didn’t, you were completely alone at Europe, at least here in Gotham you had Bruce and Dick and Alfred, you weren’t completely alone, but over there you were, and it just made you realize how much you missed and appreciated them.

When you calmed down, you moved on to Alfred who looked just as neat as always and also hugged him tight, after all Alfred reminded you of a loving grandfather and always gave you comfort, Alfred pulled away and excused himself to bake your favorite desserts, just like he always did whenever you were sad, it all felt so familiar that you felt comfort for the first time in a year. After hugging Bruce and Alfred and breaking down you realized there was still a boy who probably didn’t know who you were and had to witness you being a mess as his first impression of you, poor boy probably would be really uncomfortable after seeing a stranger come into his house and break down while he just stood there, the thought of it made you feel embarrassed making the atmosphere really awkward as you just stood staring at each other not knowing what to do, or say, Bruce took on the tense atmosphere and started introducing you to each other in hopes that the tension would fade away. You learned that his name was Jason Todd and he had just gotten taken in a year ago, some months after you left for Europe, Bruce also told you about how he found him and how he was now the new Robin, Jason have you a short nod as his way of saying hi and then Bruce started telling him about you, he told Jason about your abilities and how you were the vigilante known as moonlight which made Jason look excited, Bruce seeing Jason’s reaction told you how he was a fan of Robin and Moonlight and it sparked a bit of pride inside of you, but then made you feel embarrassed as you realized you had probably disappointed the boy by showing him how weak you actually were.

After the introductions finished, Alfred came out telling you all to get inside and to let you go to your room and accommodate, which you thanked him, You loved Bruce and Jason seemed nice, but you were exhausted after flying and you just wanted to get some rest, Alfred guided you to your room as if you hadn’t bern there a thousand times and insisted on carrying your luggage for you even though you said you could handle it.

“Here we are Miss (Y/N), you already know where Master Bruce’s and my rooms are in case you need anything, and if you ever need Master Jason his room is the one that’s right in front of yours in Master Dick’s old room .”

You thanked Alfred who excused himself and went to the kitchen and you decided you were too tired to unpack and that you would do it tomorrow, so you took the book you were reading and your headphones out of your bag and laid down to read a bit, you were really tired and after some pages your eyes started to get really heavy and you felt yourself drifting off to sleep.

taglist:

@fairyeoll @singitoutgirl26

are we still friends?

PAIRINGS:

Titans!Jason todd x reader

SUMMARY:

Bruce has taken in Jason Todd as his youngest son and the new robin some months ago, Bruce’s goddaughter also came back to Gotham after being away for a year.

Some months after meeting Jason she starts a friends with benefits relationship with him, suddenly Jason has to move to the Titans tower and two weeks later Bruce sends her too, but, why is Jason ignoring her and acting like he doesn’t know her and why does it get worse when Rose Wilson arrives to the tower??

TWS: angst, blood, canon violence, mentions of death, anxiety, jealousy, friends to friends with benefits to enemies to lovers?, maybe death of a main character (haven’t decided yet) change of plot

AN: Hii! so I decided to make this a series but I haven’t decided if red hood and Jason’s death is gonna happen yet!!! anyway i hope anyone who reads this enjoys

1. Moonlight

2. The Night We Met

Chapter 3

Hope

IMAGINE: I have no absolute way to describe this fluffy mess of a story. I hope it’s sweet enough that it’ll give you cavities. WORD COUNT: 1.4k

“Jason! I swear to god; stop leaving this damn mask around!” You exclaim.

You had just found this creepy mask made to look like a rotting human face in your dresser. Your lovely boyfriend thought it was funny to constantly hide this horrible costume around the apartment the two of you shared. Jason always got a kick out of it.

Jason emerged from the bathroom, his face red from laughing. “I-I’m s-sorry babe,” he choked out, wiping a tear as he did so. “I couldn’t help it!”

Rolling your eyes, you grab the mask and toss it in his face. “You dick! You’re going to make me late!” Rummaging through the drawer, you find a dark blue t-shirt. “Aha!” You exclaim. “Thought you could hide from me!’

Pulling out the shirt, you quickly tug it on before heading towards the kitchen. You hear Jason follow you quietly as you prepare your lunch.

“Do you have to go?” He whined childishly. Playfully glaring at him, you nod.

“Yes, you know Brett would kill me if I didn’t. I promised him I’d be there today.”

“Why?” Jason grumbled again.

“The shelters’ been down on workers lately, and most people are too busy to volunteer. I said that I’d put in more hours to even it out.” Hearing him groan again, you cock your head.

“What’s the matter, you big baby? It’s not my fault people don’t enjoy working with animals.” When he doesn’t reply, you shrug your shoulders. Finishing up your lunch, you search for your keys.

“Can I come with you?” Jason pipes up.

Pausing in your search, you look at him curiously. “You?” You ask, amazed. “Badass Jason Todd wants to help at an animal shelter?” Jason shrugged meekly before smiling.

“I’m bored. Besides, it might be nice to help for a change.”

“Brett! We got company!” Your boss poked his head out of his tiny office and grins when he sees the two of you approach.

“Well, I’ll be darned!” He exclaimed, letting his country roots show. “Now who is this young gentleman?”

“I’m Jason,” your boyfriend introduced himself. “I’m here to help with whatever you need.” Brett clapped his hands and cheered.

“Thank heavens. We’ve been needing volunteers lately.” Jason looked to you, a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“So I heard; now what can I do for you, chief?”

Your boss quickly explained that all they had fed the animals, and all that was left was to interact with the dogs. “Now boy,” Brett directed Jason. “You need to watch yourself around Charlie. She’s sensitive. You can’t keep your back to her for long.”

After Brett left, you calm Jason down. “Don’t listen to what he said. Charlie’s a sweetheart. You got to give her time to warm up to you.”

Soon, you approach the kennels, where the dogs greeted you with much enthusiasm. Chuckling, you grab a bag of dog treats.

“Here.” You hand Jason a meat stick. “Give this to Charlie.”

Glancing at the row of cages, the anti-hero raised an eyebrow. “Which one is Charlie?” Gesturing to a certain kennel, you head over.

As you get closer, the dog inside doesn’t budge like the others do. Jason follows close behind.

Getting to the door, you open it. The dog still doesn’t move. “What’s wrong with her?” Jason asked curiously.

“Charlie… She’s had a bit of a rough past. Worse than the other dogs here.” Nodding his head, your boyfriend knelt beside you.

“How come she doesn’t have a label on her cage like the others?”

You observe Jason as he eyes the white-furred canine. “Her name isn’t actually Charlie. We just call her that because her… Previous owners didn’t give her a name. She doesn’t really respond to anything we call her.”

As Jason lowly whistles, you watch ‘Charlie’ perk up her ears. The pitbull hesitantly turns her head, causing your boyfriend to gasp.

They scarred her face; several marks ran across her face in perfect symmetry. Her eyes were a vibrant blue; they seemed so bright until you noticed the left side of her face. The fur was gone, leaving only pale pink flesh.

“She used to be a fighter,” you explain gently, holding out your hand. You watch as the dog flinches but continues to reach for your open palm. You practically coo when she leans into your touch. “We consider her lucky to be alive.”

Jasons silent, so much so, that you hesitate to ask if he’s okay. You’re surprised when he shakes.

“What kind of monster does that? What sane person turns an innocent creature into this… This weapon?”

Taken aback by his response, you look at your boyfriend with wide eyes. Taking a deep breath through his nose, Jason shut his eyes. Sensing his stress, the pitbull slowly approached the door.

Amazed, you watch the dog nudge the anti-hero carefully. When he doesn’t react, she tries again.

Jason’s anger melts as he opens his eyes. The pitbull’s stubby tail wags as she leans against him. You watch as your boyfriend eagerly responds; gently scratching the sides of her neck to rubbing her ears.

“She really likes you,” you tell him, watching the way the dog melted into Jason’s touch.

“How long has this beauty been in here?”

“About five months. Soon to be six. Usually, when people come in here, they want a puppy or a ‘proper’ looking dog. 'Charlie’ here doesn’t fit the bill.”

Jason continues to shower the dog in affection as you say your hellos to the others. By the time you finished your rounds, the brunette was still with the broken puppy.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” You ask him, feigning anger. The playfulness fades away as you watch the two.

“You’re really attached to her, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t respond, but even you know the answer. A blind man could see the bond beginning to form.

“Why wouldn’t anyone want this sweet little thing? She’s perfect.” Jason rubs her head once more before turning to you. You can already see the wheels turning in his head.

“You want to get her, don’t you?”

His cheeks turn red as Jason stutters. “W-well… She could use a n-nice home. And you always wanted a dog. She’s perfect. We can give her the life she deserves.”

Joining in, the dog gives you kiss after kiss, coaxing you to adopt her.

“Well you are adorable,” you tell her, teasing Jason. “Is that a yes?” He asks excitedly.

If that man had a tail, it would probably cause a tornado with the way your boyfriend was acting.

“I’ll go get the paperwork from Brett.”

“Sign here,” Brett directs you and Jason. As you write down your signatures, your boss pulls out another paper.

“Now, since you want to adopt a dog without a name, you can call her whatever you want.”

Jason looks to you hopefully, silently begging you to let him choose. Smiling, you nod.

“Go for it.”

Ecstatic, he quickly presses his lips to yours before turning to Brett. “I think Hope seems like a fitting name.” Hearing him talk, the pitbull’s ears perked up.

“Hope. Not bad son. Not bad at all.”

Brett prints down the name with a smile. You watch as he stamps the paper with ease, adding his signature soon after.

“There you go,” he tells you, handing you the official papers. “You are all free to take Hope home.”

Jason looks ecstatic as he brings Hope out to the car. A smile never leaves your lips as he helps her into the vehicle.

“This is where you are going to sleep,” Jason instructs Hope. He points to the foot of the bed. “You can get as many cuddles as you want.”

“Cuddles?” You ask him. “Since when do you use the term cuddle?”

“Since I wanted to. Ok?” Your boyfriend asked in a rush, hiding his pink-tinted cheeks.

The two of you then calmly watch as your new pet inspects the home. Deciding it was suitable, Hope faced you. Her muzzle lifted at the sides as she eagerly wagged her tail.

Today was a good day.

jason todd has a hoodie. the hoodie. oversized with sleeves long enough he can pull them down to swallow his hands when he’s anxious. thick, jersey knit cotton in a rich red that’s been worn down and washed out to something more faded. a deep hood that can block out the world down to what’s in front of him. a front pocket big enough to fit a medium sized paperback. it’s a feature he’s abused often. the elbows are worn soft, not thin, and it’s perfectly broken in, fibres soft from heavy use.

it’s his favourite hoodie. one of the first things he bought just for himself after his resurrection. the first bit of creature comfort he had allowed himself. a little silly, but it feels like a magic charm. he pulls it over his head fresh from the dryer and poof, nothing bad can touch him.

that’s why when he drops it into your lap one day, it means something. his two lucky charms, bundled up together. you run covetous hands over the thick material, still warm from his skin, and he knows he’s gonna be finding it draped around you in the future. the hoodie finds itself in the bedroom floor time after time but jason doesn’t really mind. he’ll just pop it in the wash on the regular cycle, then in the dryer with the wool dryer balls you cajoled him into getting, and it’ll be good as new. ready and waiting to work its magic whenever he needs it.

have this thing I wrote in a flash of pure, unadulterated love for Jason that I felt while doing my hair routine after my shower. never needed a fictional guy more in all my life and honestly this may be my personal favorite thing I’ve ever written.

Thinking about domesticity with Jason Todd. Building a home with him, a life. How ever so gradually mine and yours becomes ours.

You’re brushing your teeth one morning and decide to try out his toothpaste, the one he always buys from the bodega down the block owned by the little abuelita that loves him to death. It’s fresh and it’s minty and you swear it leaves your teeth whiter than the brand name stuff you buy, so you let your tube get used up and never buy toothpaste again. Jason, without question, simply starts buying it twice as often as usual.

You’re fresh from the shower together after a night off for both of you. You’re warm and you’re happy and you’re both so in love it almost hurts. You watch enraptured as he towel dries his hair, roughly scrunching the water from his inky curls. You don’t like how he lacks gentleness with himself, so you take the towel from him and gesture for him to lean down. Ever obedient to you, Jason complies and smiles softly as you dry his hair for him. You think suddenly that while his curls are always soft to the touch, they could do with being a bit more defined. They tend to get really frizzy and poofy by the end of the day. So you grab your curl cream and gel and just absentmindedly do your own routine on him. He raises his eyebrow in question only to quickly relent when he realizes it means you’re playing with his hair for longer. Your hunch is right; once his hair dries, his curls are so pretty you think you could get lost in the waves of them. Jason’s just happy cause now his hair smells like you.

The only clothes Jason has that are his now is his Red Hood gear. The rest of his closet has quickly become co-owned by you. His brain never fails to short circuit when you walk out in his hoodies, or his sweatpants, or his t-shirts, or his boxers. There’s not one piece of his civilian clothing that hasn’t been on both of your bodies at this point. Sometimes seeing you in his clothes has Jason blushing and his heart pounding with how much he loves you, how grateful he is to have this life with you. Other times seeing you in his clothes has him calculating the fastest way he can get them all off of you. You’re just disappointed that it can’t go both ways. But, alas, the struggles of having a massive boyfriend are that he’ll never be able to fit in your clothes. Whatever; it still does something for you when he finally wears the old Gotham Knights shirt that you’d stolen for months.

It’s also kind of funny sometimes. You two own a set of old, dark gray towels affectionately labeled “The Blood Towels”. The Blood Towels are only brought out after a really rough patrol or post-showering when you’re on your period. They came about after you’d nearly slipped while soaking wet from how quickly you’d tried to dry off to avoid bleeding on his good, fluffy towels. Jason just looked at you like you were a little ditzy, a flat “Do ya know how many times I’ve bled on these towels?” coming from his mouth. “I don’t care! I still don’t wanna ruin them!” you’d insisted. And thus, The Blood Towels were born.

Your bookshelf is never going to stop growing. You’ve actually had to go to IKEA more than once to get a larger one with how often you and Jay visit the old bookstore two blocks away from your apartment. Neither of you can resist a pretty cover, or a new annotated edition, or, heaven forbid, those rare, expensive first edition copies. At this point you’re not really sure which of the five copies of Pride and Prejudice first belonged to who, but really what does it matter when you’re both reading them anyways? And it’s always funny when you have to drag home a bigger bookshelf. You can never hold your laughter when Jason inevitably shouts “What the fuck! This wouldn’t be so goddamn hard if they actually gave you coherent instructions!” It’s also always nice to drag the old bookshelves to the apartment of the single mom downstairs whose kid loves reading. You both know she can barely afford the second hand books she gets him, so the shelves are happily given. You’re actually thinking of asking Jay if he’s willing to part with one of your first edition copies of Frankenstein for Christmas; the kid would freak.

All of this comes to a head with a cat. A big, fat, black cat that crawls up on your fire escape one night. You’d both been a little distracted–okay, a lot distracted by the feeling of being lost in each other's touch. You’d been making out for over an hour, just relishing in the intimacy of being together. It was definitely going to go somewhere until you heard the caterwauling of an animal outside your window. “The fuck is that?” Jason had asked as he pulled away from kissing bruises into your neck. “Sounds like a cat.” You’d begged, actually begged, Jason to let him stay. The next morning you came home with a grocery bag full of cat toys and bowls while Jason hauled a value-sized 40 pound bag of cat food on his shoulder. Atticus sits with you both while you watch TV now. Atticus still sometimes ruins the mood when he sees Jason sink his teeth into you and immediately swats his dad on the cheek. But Atticus is also undeniably your boy. And whatever, maybe you do start thinking about what Jason would look like with an actual baby in his arms when he’s cradling Atty as he shuffles around your home. But there’s time for that yet. You both know that. You know that beyond anything else, you’ll always have this life, this home together. It’s the best gift either of you have ever been given.

Sweetheart

jason todd x afab!reader

aka you catch an attitude with jason

warnings: smut, soft!dom jason, fingering & oral (fem receiving), edging, begging, mild restraint

18+, interacting minors will be blocked

It all happened when he was in a good mood. And it’s probably best that it did.

You haven’t really been this irritable with Jason before, so neither of you were really expecting the ensuing events. Him, the former portions, and you the ladder.

He didn’t say anything about it when you first came home, moping and grumpy, he’d only greeted you with a kiss like he always does and hugged you tight.

Early on in the evening, you’d grumble about the workload of chores you still have to deal with tonight. Again, he made no comment. Instead, he decided to split the work with you, standing shoulder to shoulder as you wash the dishes and he dries.

You hold a plate up in the air, frustrated when it’s not immediately taken from your hand. You glance over to where Jason is still drying the last bowl you handed him, despite it being—mostly—done. 

“Jason, come on,” you complain, not thrilled with the leisurely pace he’s landed on.

He stops his drying movements, looking at you sideways.

“Sweetheart…try that again?”

His tone is enough to set you back, resetting your attitude. You don’t say anything more, moving along with your movements silently. He accepts the silence for what it is—yielding—and continues drying the dishes alongside you.

It only takes another twenty minutes for another slip up.

He’d sat down on the couch expecting you to curl up against him, like you always do, but this mood of yours wouldn’t even allow for an assumption as safe as that.

“Seriously?” you grumbled at him, unimpressed with the lack of space. It was quiet, but you know he’d heard you. 

“What was that?” 

His tone is a little sterner than it was before, but it’s just as daring of you to answer.

This time, you give him one.

“Can you just fucking move please?”

The look he gives you honestly confuses you at first. There’s the expected rise of the eyebrows, but a small smile plays at his lips too. It’s disbelieving and daring at the same time. 

“Really? You sure about that one, sweetheart?”

Your chin lowers out of habit upon hearing his tone, but you say nothing. 

He tilts his head, smirk growing. “Okay.”

You don’t immediately clock the comment for the promise that it is—in fact, you don’t realize until much later that this was the moment you should’ve known.

Later that night, he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, silently watching you move throughout the room, huffing. You’re looking for something that he’s not even sure you brought home, tearing through the apartment with little patience.

He tilts his head, eyes sympathetic.

“Baby.” 

He coaxes you with that soft, low voice he uses when he’s trying to coerce you. “Come ‘ere.”

You pause your search, shoulders sagging. 

You oblige his request, very much in need of his touch after the day you’ve had. 

You straddle his lap, letting him hold you steady by your waist. You initiate a passionate kiss, hands circling the nape of his neck. He breathes you in deeply, rubbing slow circles against your hips. You start to grind your hips down over him, the resulting friction from where his jeans meets the thin fabric of your shorts being addictive.

He traces a light touch along your waist, kissing you with an unequal intensity.

You pick up your pace, grinding with more intent. You moan into his mouth and he kisses you with more intensity.

Just before you’re able to come, he suddenly flips you around so that your back is to his chest. The repositioning momentarily upsets you due to your lost orgasm but the words die off quickly as he begins rubbing at your clit. He kisses your neck as he rubs lucid circles at just the right pace.

His thumb takes over the work as he inserts two fingers in you, pumping slowly. You relax your body against his chest, craning your head to the side so you can kiss his neck. You can feel him hum under your lips, circling your clit faster. 

You’re starting to squirm on his lap as your high approaches, lips parting in desperation. You can just see the horizon of bliss when his ministrations stop suddenly. 

You glance down between your legs, brow furrowed, before looking back up at him.

He doesn’t look perturbed in the least, just as easy-going as ever.

He glances at you, tilting his head. 

“Haven’t been very sweet for me today, have you?”

You frown and turn yourself around on his lap again, sitting over his thigh. You press your hands to his still clothed chest, eyes imploring. You start to move your hips over his but he forces you still like it’s nothing.

Despite your active protesting, he lays an unhurried, sweet kiss to your mouth, breaking away slowly. 

“Good girls get to come,” he whispers against your lips.

You lightly thud your forehead against his, “I’ll be good.”

He hums, pursing his lips. “Not tonight.”

You’re fully whining now, “Jay…”

He nods faux-sympathetically, “I’m sorry, baby.”

You try to grind your hips against his thigh but he does little in the way of letting you move. His grip remains firm on your waist as he watches you struggle. 

He tilts his head, “You want me to rub your clit some more? I will. But I’m gonna stop.” 

The promise rings a scorching heat in your ears but the opportunity can’t be passed up. You know you’re stupid for thinking you can manage to come anyways, but you’re getting desperate.

You nod against him, and he makes a cooing “mhm,” before obliging.

He reaches down again, rubbing languid circles, not fast enough for you to even think about an orgasm.

“Please,” you beg quietly into the crook of his neck.

You feel him nod before picking up his pace. “Okay, baby.” 

You’re too worked up to notice the lilt in his words, how they’re a little more ‘careful what you wish for’ than you would’ve liked. You catch up soon, though.

He starts up again, nuzzling his face against your neck as he works your body, hitting that exact right speed. You moan out, head falling back. You can feel his eyelashes flutter against the column of your throat, cheeks warm. This time you get so close that you think he’s going to let you come.

You hit his chest harder than you should when he stops again. 

He doesn’t seem to care though, moving his hand away without an ounce of remorse.

“Jay—” you groan, forehead thumping against his shoulder.

He’s shaking his head before you can finish your complaint, “Nuh uh, baby. You’re not coming tonight.”

He kisses your cheek, nudging you back so he can see you.

“You’re supposed to take care of me,” you pout. “You said that.”

He hums, brushing your hair back. “I do take care of you. I am. Just not how you want me to, right?”

You borderline glare at him, not at all thrilled that this is the game he’s choosing to play after today. He doesn’t care in the slightest, not really, in spite of how sweet his actions read.

At this point you’re more frustrated and overwhelmed than you’ve been in a while, and you don’t even realize it as tears start to slip out.

Unfortunately for you, even that does little to sway his mercy. His indulgence only comes through with the way he kisses your tears away from your cheeks. His touch remains gentle with you, too gentle, and it’s making you feel like you’re losing your mind.

His hands slip under your shirt to hold you in place, undeterred by your squirming. He pecks a series of kisses all across your face, ignoring your whining.

You push his hands off of you with a huff, pulling yourself off of his lap and onto the couch cushions. You start to frantically rub at your clit yourself, subconsciously knowing that you only have a moment to get away with this. Your success lasts half of that though, before Jason scoops up both of your hands and pins them to your chest, holding you still.

He huffs out a laugh, “No, baby.” 

His tone is almost mockingly sympathetic.

“Jason—!”

He leans over you, basically making out with your neck languidly. The intense affection directed towards the wrong place is maddening and it has you squeezing your eyes shut.

Several more rounds of this go on before you give up, collapsing onto his chest. His hands still keep your wrists pinned against him as you fall asleep, light kisses being pressed to your hairline.

You can’t be completely sure, but you think you dream of a scenario or two where he actually lets you come. Ha. 

When you wake up you’re in your bed, sheets pulled up over you. The sky is glowing an orange-pink hue and the city is still mostly quiet.

As you push yourself to sit up, you notice the bedroom door is open and the sound of sizzling can be heard from the kitchen.

You creep out from under the covers, tip-toeing through the living room. You can be certain he knows you’re there by now but he makes no acknowledgement of your sneaking.

As you approach, he lets you duck under his arms, resituating them around you so you’re comfortable. He kisses the top of your head, not looking away from his work on the skillet.

You rest your cheek on his chest, murmuring, “Jay…”

“Yeah, pretty?”

“I’m sorry…”

“I know, baby.” 

He sets the spatula down, using his now free hand to nudge your chin up to look at him. “You gonna be my good girl?”

You nod submissively, hoping to God that he believes you this time. 

“Yeah?”

You nod harder, and he returns the gesture, mulling it over. 

He wordlessly nudges you backwards to sit at the kitchen table. You watch dumbly as he turns back to the counter, scooping the entire contents of the pan out onto a plate. 

He faces you again, plopping the plate of eggs down in front of you.

“Eat.”

You frown at him, fully ready to start pouting when he cuts you off.

“You haven’t eaten in like twelve hours. Eat, then we’ll talk.”

You don’t want to talk, but you slump your shoulders and take a bite.

He moves to stand behind you, pleased, resting his chin atop your head. 

He caresses your waist as you eat, torturously gentle and kind. 

After a few minutes of silently eating and enduring, you tilt your chin to look up at him, frowning.

“You’re being mean.”

He raises his brows down at you, “I’m the one being mean now?”

You break eye contact, dropping your focus back to the plate of half finished food. 

“I said I’m sorry,” you mumble.

He brushes your hair back from your neck gently, “Yeah, you did.”

He says nothing more so you continue stuffing food into your mouth as quickly as you can without attracting suspicion.

When you’ve scraped the plate clean and can be sure he has nothing left to ask of you, you get up and set the plate in the sink.

You look up at him expectantly, still frowning.

“Jay?”

He looks almost bored as he contemplates, taking in your expression. 

He concedes after a few moments gesturing you towards him. 

“Yeah, come here.”

You’re too fast to have even tried to play it cool, but neither of you would’ve believed it anyways.  

He drops a hand down to the edge of your shorts, about to slip beneath the fabric. You stop his hand before it can go any further, imploring. 

“I want to come.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Yeah? I want my good girl back.”

You nod in yield, happy to give him whatever he wants at this point.

He removes his hand, and lifts you up by your thighs, bringing you up to his height momentarily. He sets you down on the table, laying you back.

“Jason, please—” you beg, trembling for what’s to come.

He nuzzles his nose against your cheek, “Yeah, I’ll make you come, baby. ‘Course I will.”

He pushes you to lay back, pulling your shirt up to your collarbone, and pressing sweet kisses to your chest.

He kneads your left breast in his large palm, kissing your right with a feverish amount of attention.

He switches after a moment, giving some love to the other side of your chest before beginning to work his way down.

He lays kisses down your sternum, leading to your navel. His affection is just as tender as it had been last night and you’re not sure whether to trust it.

You’re not given much time to mull it over before he’s pulling your shorts and underwear down in one go, letting them drop onto the tiles.

He leaves open mouthed kisses on your pussy, sucking gently on your clit periodically.

He wraps one hand around your thigh, keeping your legs open. His other hand rests atop your stomach, mostly idle except for the occasional reassuring brush of his thumb.

His eyelashes flutter as he eats you out, and you only realize now why he hadn’t last night. He’s not much for denying you when he gets you like this—he likes it too much to stop. Especially when you’re begging him so pretty.

You’re not quite sure when he’s taking the time to breathe but you can’t bring yourself to care right now.

Even if you weren’t still so on edge after last night, he’s really good at using his mouth. He works you up quickly, bringing you close after only a couple minutes.

When he can tell you’re there, he nods encouragingly, rubbing your clit with his thumb for the brief moment he breaks away. “Come on sweetheart. You can come.”

Warmth floods your body upon hearing the words, knowing that he wouldn’t lie to you.

You call out a noise that’s half a moan, half a whine. You shake under him, legs stiffening as he continues to work you through the orgasm. 

He kisses your clit once more, humming.

“Oh, there she is. There’s my sweet girl.”

He moves back up your body, pulling you to sit up slowly. He holds you up by your lower back whispering soft praises. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing your neck.

You sigh silently, catching your breath.

🔧 every time you don’t reblog a fic jason gets hit in the head with a crowbar 🔧

A SIGHT SO SWEET

PAIRING: jason todd ✗ gn!reader ;

SYNOPSIS: jason can't seem to get enough of you – his watchful eye never once leaves you ;

REQUEST: “ hello! i went to a party today and i kept thinking about jason. well, i think he'd be the kind of partner who'd watch you from afar to make sure you're okay, he'd definitely have access to your location 24 hours for his own peace of mind. i went to a party today and i wondered what it would be like for him to watch me while he's on patrol to make sure i'm ok, he'd want to know when you're leaving your house, when you've arrived the place you're going to and when you're leaving as well. especially given the fact that i've been drinking i think... anyway, could you write something based on that? xx 💋 ”

WARNINGS: nothing to worry about in this fic. it can get a bit suggestive at the end ;

WORD COUNT: 1.0k ;

NOTES: i enjoyed writing this fic so much! i'm not sure what sparked it, but the process was so fluid and enjoyable. thank you for this request <3 it was a joy to write. it is honestly such a marvel to try and understand jason's character with every piece of work i write. i started around june-july and now i feel confident to call myself a writer and i have all of you to thank <3 ;

── .✦ NAVIGATION ; MASTERLIST & AO3 ౨ৎ

“I'M TOUGH.” you remark as Jason’s rough fingertips dance over your knuckles ever so delicately.

He regards you as if he'd break you if he grabbed on too hard. His soft touches light a candle in your heart. Your skin feels hot as his touch grazes over it.

He nods, “I know you are.” His voice is laced with the all too familiar worry you've grown to hear from him.

You wish you could take all of it away and protect him. Unfortunately, you can't do that. You settle with trying to carry the burden together and prove to him he doesn't have to face any of this alone.

“C’mon Jay—” you pout, his eyes dart between your charming eyes and lips - dewy from the cherry lipstick you wear.

Cherries, an angel's kiss in spring.

“—It’s just a simple bar, a small get-together with some of my UNI friends. Nothing bad will happen,” you put the emphasis on the last bit of your words as an effort to soothe Jason's fears and reassure him, “I can take care of myself.”

“You have,” he says, “you still do and will do so, I’ve just joined in too. I want to take care of you too.”

His words strike a chord inside your heart, the saccharine taste of them fills every corner of your body. Those endearing eyes he sneaks glances at you, not aware that you notice them and do the same, break into the surface of your skin and steal your breath away.

He has a way of consuming every bit and part of you. That never fails to mesmerize you.

“We take care of eachother.” You reply as your lips graze over his scarred knuckles. “I don't want you to worry so much, baby.”

He sighs as he leans into your touch. “I know, I just—” he stammers, the words getting stuck on his tongue.

“It's normal to worry, but you can’t let it consume you.” You bring your hands to cradle his face. Jason doesn't shy away from the touch and sinks into your embrace – the sight makes your heart ache in the best way.

You grab onto his hand and place it on the inside of your wrist, letting him feel your pulse.

You give him a cheeky grin as you whisper, “feel that?”

He chuckles quietly, “Mhm, yes.”

“As long as you see, hear and feel me – I will never leave.”

*****

In Jason's mind there is not a single person in this world who compares to you. No one is as dreamlike and otherworldly like you. Especially now, as he watches you sway and move in the kaleidoscopic hues of the bar. The prismatic lights kiss your delicate and inviting skin.

Oh, how he wishes to do the same.

Jason wonders if you know that he’s keeping an eye on you right now, if you can feel his watchful gaze on your form. Do his glances light a fire in your heart just as yours does in his?

He should be patrolling right now, making sure everything is okay. But he find his eyes following your every step as you glide through the dance floor.

He knew when you left the shared apartment that belongs to the two of you – 6:31 pm, knew when you arrived at the bar – 7:05 pm, knew when you finally met up with your friends – 7:18 pm.

Jason engraves every detail in his mind, because he has to. He's making sure that you're okay, that you're safe.

He catches a glimpse of you drinking some vibrant drink. You scrunch your nose at the taste of it and the sight sends butterflies in his stomach.

You laugh at something your friend says. The infectious and melodic sound of it reaches Jason. He can’t help the moonstruck grin that spreads on his face.

Jason's thrown for a loop when he spots your gaze pin him in place. Your eyes fixate on him as if you're entranced, as if he's the only one in the room.

He feels his heartbeat speed up.

Without tearing your gaze off of him you mumble something to your friends, something that he can only guess was a short goodbye. The surprised looks on your friends faces quickly disappear from his mind as you stride to him with confident, but light steps.

“Come to take me home?” You question with a curious voice with a taste of something he can't yet place.

He sheepishly runs his hand down his neck. “What gave it away?”

“Well.” You click your tongue. A smirk dances on your lips. “You've been pretty attentive all night long, watching my every move. I hope the show was up to your standards.”

“Show–?” He chokes on his words. You tease.

You laugh. The sound is akin to honeyed nectar on his tongue.

Jason tries to collect his thoughts. “I still haven't had my fill and I don't plan on leaving you unsatisfied either.”

“Really? I wonder who's the greedy one in this relationship.” You hum playfully.

“Dance with me,” he suggests unexpectedly.

Your eyes dart across his face, taking in his nervous demeanor. “You don't dance.”

“For you I will.”

*****

He spares a single glance at the time. 10:46pm. Time for you to head back to the apartment.

He counts himself a lucky man as the one who takes you home, as the one who waits for you outside the bar, as the one your wobbly steps guide you towards, as the one you wrap your arms around while he caresses your face and tells you to let me help you with the helmet, honey.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. The skin is velvety to the touch.

Jason's eyes don't leave your own dazed and enchanted eyes. To him you are a vision so captivating, so sickeningly sweet, all he wants is to get a taste of you.

He is taking you home, isn't he? He is truly a lucky man.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

Jason grunts.

"Sorry, sorry.." you mumble. You're on your knees, unstrapping Jason off his leather and armor as you try to get at the wound on his thigh.

He sits with his legs spread open and his head thrown back, waiting for another slice of pain as you work. His palms are sweaty and he knows he's going to get shivers soon.

For now, he only flinches as you work; trying to hold back more sounds to keep you from panicking.

You carefully pull out whatever shrapnel he'd got stuck in there and though you can't see his face, you know he's in terrible pain. Thighs were such a delicate body part and thinking of him limping his way through work fills you with dread.

"I'm done. You need bandages" you say as you walk away from him. Your words are clean of any sadness, trembling, shivers, tears but he can hear the underlying panic in your calm.

He wants to cradle you in his arms and soothe your worries but he can't get up, nor can he pull you onto his lap. He settles for taking off the rest of his clothes and finds himself shivering at a completely new kind of vulnerability.

Had he bared his body to anyone before this? And in such a vulnerable state?

You come back with the bandages and are quickly on your knees again.

Jason wonders at why he's so weirded out as you work on him.

The realisation is a slap across his face.

You were on your knees.

Tending to him.

The situation looked an awful lot like a devotee with an object they admired!

You looked like you were devoted to him!

Guilt suffuses him as he takes in this new milestone in your relationship. He never did think twice before showing up to you...

You finish your work and lay your head against his knee.

"Jason"

He runs his hands through your hair.

"Yes?"

"Nothing"

"Okay"

Y/n: Fuck you

Jason: No, fuck you. You're the bottom in this relationship.

Y/n :

Y/n, confused: But we haven't even slept together?

SCRIBBLENAUTS????

jason is the only one who is not talking to anybody and this makes me really sad i wanna give him a hug

Tether ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When a battered Jason stumbles into an alley and finds unexpected refuge in a stranger’s kindness, it sparks a fracture in the walls he’s built to survive. Trust was never a luxury he could afford, but as survival blurs into something more, Jason is forced to confront the most dangerous risk of all, love.

Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries and scars. Hurt with comfort.

Masterlist

Notes: A couple of weeks ago, I posted a pair of headcanons, 'when he realised he loved you' and 'when he admitted he loved you'. A few people were interested in an extension of Jason's parts, and this is the result. So, if some moments sound familiar, that is why. It follows Jason as he meets, gets to know, and, eventually, falls in love with the reader.

Words: 5,992k

The air was thick with the acrid scent of oil and looming rain. The Gotham sky threatened a storm, as it always did, the kind that lurked but never quite arrived, it pressed down upon her shoulders; she huddled against it. Y/N did not intend to be outside long. It was just the rubbish, nothing more than a trip down two flights of stairs to the alley behind her apartment, a chore too mundane to warrant much forethought. But that is when she saw him.

At first, Y/N was not sure what she was looking at. Just a shadow, too still, too broken at the base of the brick wall. Then it moved, a sharp, pained shift, and the outline resolved itself into something unmistakably human. 

He was bleeding. Not in the way of scrapes and gashes; this was deeper, darker. New wounds layered atop old scars. She froze, bin bag clutched within her grasp, knuckles white. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He did not look at her. He was watching the mouth of the alley, just past the corner, breath coming fast and shallow. Voices echoed from somewhere beyond. Sharp. Searching.

‘Where the fuck did he go?’

‘Check the rooftops. Check the damn dumpsters. He couldn’t have gone far.’

His eyes flicked up, just barely, only enough to register her. His shoulders fell slack, ever so slightly. She was not a threat. Just a girl.

Jason Todd had been in more confrontations than anyone should survive. He had bled in them, broken in them, died in one. There was a pattern to this kind of moment, the hush before pain returned, the liminal space where adrenaline gave way to his collapse. He had learned to expect nothing from strangers. No mercy. No help. Just the turning away of eyes and the closure of doors. So when she stepped forward instead of flinching, when her voice did not falter or fill with fear, something within him stalled.

‘My place is just there,’ she said, nodding toward the fire escape tucked beside the alley’s edge. 

‘You can’t stay here. They’ll find you.’

He did not react, nor move; he simply watched her.

‘You need to get off the street,’ she added, lower now. ‘You won’t make it five minutes if they come back this way.’

Still, he hesitated. His whole body was coiled with his refusal. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his fingers hovered near his belt, ready to draw, to run, to die fighting. She dropped her gaze, it fell to rest on his boots.

‘I’m not trying to trap you,’ she said, voice quieter now, nothing more than a whisper. ‘I’m trying to help.’

That was the part he could not understand, would not let himself believe. Why would anyone help him? Especially like this, so suddenly, without demand, without recognition. She did not know who he was, not really. If she did, would she have still reached for him?

Another voice rang out nearby. Closer this time.

She stepped forward and reached for his arm without thinking. He flinched, not from pain, but reflex. The kind born of being mishandled too many times. But he did not pull away. She guided him to his feet, shocked by how heavily he leaned once upright, how much weight he was carrying in silence.

And he followed.

All the while, Jason could not make sense of it. A thousand voices in his head, Bruce’s warnings, Alfred’s caution, his own brutal sense of realism, all shouted at him to resist, to stay low, to get out. But this woman, this stranger, offered him nothing but quiet resolve. And something in him, something tired and long frayed, gave in.

Her apartment was small, neat, yet well-lived-in. Warm lights, blankets strewn unceremoniously over the couch, a kettle still warm upon the stove. He stood in the centre of her living room, stiff and vigilant, akin to a stray dog unsure if the hand reaching for it would offer food or a harsh blow.

He should not have come. He knew this was a mistake. He did not belong in spaces like this. Every breath of its domestic warmth grated against the sharp edges of his being, reminded him of everything he had lost and all he had ruined. And yet he stayed, frozen beneath the soft lighting, the aromatic scent of bergamot and quiet calm surrounding him like a haze.

‘You need a hospital,’ she muttered, though her tone already bore traces of defeat; she knew this sentiment would be futile.

He turned immediately, preparing to leave.

‘Or not,’ she amended quickly, voice grim, and stepped into his path. ‘You’re not going back out there like this. At least sit down.’

He halted. Only because the pain had lanced through his ribs like a warning. He hated this, the helplessness, the imbalance. But she did not look upon him as a burden, but simply as someone who needed help.

Reluctantly, he eased himself onto the edge of her worn armchair, its leather creaking beneath him. His mask remained on, armour still clinging to him; blood was now beginning to seep through the layers. He shifted his weight, conscious of ruining her chair.

She returned with a first aid kit, unassuming, but well-stocked. He did not stop her when she knelt beside him, did not flinch when she pulled back the material of his jacket and placed it aside, though his hands twitched at every passing sound beyond the apartment. When she reached for his armour, the woman hesitated, not wanting to overstep, though Jason understood and quickly pulled it back in parts, revealing only what was necessary.  

She did not ask questions. Not the ones he had expected when he followed her here. She was not probing for his name or what he had done to deserve this, what had happened for him to pursue it. She just worked, focused and calm. Her touch was gentle, but not tentative. She bore a steadiness he had not expected, not from someone who should have recoiled, who should have been scared.

Jason found himself watching her, not with suspicion, but with something near disbelief. Why? Why was she doing this? Did she think she was helping some misguided hero? Did she see something redeemable within the blood and ruin of him?

Did she not care who he was? Did she not care about what he does?

These thoughts gnawed at him more than anything else. It bothered him that this kindness may not be the fallacy of a skewed perception, but rather a simple resolve to help, despite everything he was.

When she finished, she offered him water. He took it, fingers brushing hers. It grounded him more than he cared to admit.

‘There’s a spare bed in the study,’ she said. ‘You can rest there tonight.’

He did not answer. But he followed again as she walked away, grabbing his clothes that lay discarded on her floor. Something about her voice, soft, steady and undemanding, made resistance feel pointless.

Then she opened a door. It was a small room, books lined the shelves, and a narrow bed was tucked into the corner, with clean sheets and a folded quilt.

‘There’s a lock,’ she said, gesturing to the inside of the door. ‘If you need it. You can take your mask off. I won't be able to open it from the outside.’

He looked at her then. Truly looked. Not for weakness. Not for a motive. But for the truth. And what he saw left him stunned, not simply because it was unfamiliar, but because it was real. There was no pity within her unrelenting gaze. No awe. Just, quiet offering.

He did not say thank you. He could not. Jason could feel the words billow on the edge of his tongue; he yearned for her to understand his gratitude, and though he could not utter them, she nodded as though she had heard them anyway. His relief was palpable. 

Then he stepped inside as she hovered in the doorway. For the first time, he spoke up,

‘What’s your name?’ He wanted his voice to come across as gentle, but there was a gruffness he could not quite quell. She did not seem fazed by it.

‘Y/N.’ She murmured, and when it became clear to her that this conversation would not expand beyond this simple query, she closed the door.

He remained there for a moment longer, staring where she had just been, before shifting the latch of the lock. Jason peeled back the remaining layers of his ensemble until he was left in nothing but his boxers. It was not ideal, but he could not bear the notion of crawling beneath her covers in his grimy, blood-uncrusted getup. The bed was small yet inviting, his frame hardly fit, though he could not recall the last time he had been this comfortable. He was not sure if it was the sleeping arrangement or the soft snores of the girl across the hall that acted as a reminder of someone who had been so unusually kind. Regardless of the catalyst, he fell into a quick slumber as a foreign warmth bloomed within his chest.

By morning, the door was open.

Not just unlocked, but wide and unoccupied. The bed was made, the quilt folded precisely. The only trace of him was a faint indentation left upon the pillow; if she had not known better, if she had not just thrown away his bloodied gauze, she could easily believe he was never there. 

She stood in the doorway for a prolonged moment, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. The quiet lingered around her, louder now, and she caught herself wondering if he would ever come to fill it once more.

Jason should have known better.

The notion built upon him slowly, like bruises forming beneath his skin, invisible at first, until the ache settled and colour bloomed. The morning he slipped from her apartment, he had told himself it was nothing more than a fleeting refuge. He left nothing behind. He would not burden her with the aftermath of last night’s choices. But it was not until he had cleared the block, boots light, breath even, body stitched back into shape, that the thought hit him like a bat to the ribs.

He led them to her.

Not intentionally. Never that. But reckless all the same. The alley had been a haven born of desperation, not strategy. He had not known where he was going, he only knew that he had needed to get away. And when she opened that door to him, he walked through it without so much as a second thought. Without calculating the risks.

And now the calculation was catching up with him. This kind samaritan was in danger because of him.

He returned that night. However, Jason did not allow himself to venture too close. He perched three rooftops down, crouched low in the shadows, eyes locked on the slow hum of the street outside her building. The fire escape remained still. Lights flickered softly inside.

She was fine.

But that did not soothe him.

He stayed longer than he meant to. Hours passed. Long enough that the shadows stretched and yawned, long enough that his body reminded him it had not properly healed. Still, he waited. Not for her. Not really. That is what he told himself, at the very least. He was not watching her. He would never do that. He never allowed his gaze to touch her window. He was not here for her.

He was here for them.

The ones who had chased him. The ones still searching. If they had half the sense he wielded, they would retrace his escape route. They would check for kindness. They would look for open doors and cracked windows and people foolish enough to help. He hated how plausible it was.

And so he came back again the next night.

And the one after.

It became routine, though he refused to admit that to himself. This was a stakeout. A surveillance effort. He was not lingering. He was not tethered. He certainly was not attached.

But even in the silence, even with his gaze anchored on the street, he could sense her behind that wall; he pictured her reading in that chair, sipping from the chipped mug he could envision near the sink. She did not know he was out here. She could not. He would never be that careless.

Yet, somehow, it still felt like he was trespassing, even though he had not so much as looked at her in all this time. That strange warmth she had offered him, freely, like it had cost her nothing, haunted him more than pain ever had.

He told himself he would stop. Every night, he told himself it would be the last. 

He was so very close to relenting when he laid eyes on her for the first time since that night, she was not in the hazy warmth of the apartment, but under the jarring clarity of daylight. Mid-morning. A street corner in Park Row. She had a velvet bag slung over her shoulder, a paperback in one hand and half a pastry in the other. Casual and effortless.

He nearly walked past her.

Jason knew he should have.

But the moment he registered her, truly saw her, without the fog of blood loss and alleyway silence, something happened. Something ridiculous. His stomach flipped. Not in fear, but... something worse. Something more dangerous. Something soft. A breathless kind of jolt that made his chest feel too tight.

Butterflies.

He scoffed aloud at the word.

Ridiculous. Juvenile. Weak.

But they were there, fluttering behind his bruises, beating against ribs that had withstood so much worse. And the worst part? He did not hate the sensation.

Though he certainly did not trust it.

She did not recognise him. How could she? They were meeting in a new context. She stood before a different version of him. No mask, no blood, no warning in his eyes. Just a hoodie, dark jeans, hair still mussed from too little sleep. He looked... normal. That was the trick of it. That was the danger.

He could speak to her now, and it would not be an invasion. This was not some rooftop vigil. It was not surveillance steeped in adrenaline and exhaustion. This was his chance.

A chance he should not take. Though Jason felt the butterflies once more and spoke anyway.

‘Hey,’ he uttered, too rough, the word catching against a throat unused to casual conversation.

She turned. Eyed him.

No recognition.

‘Sorry, this is probably strange,’ he added quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as though that could hide the nervous itch crawling under his skin. ‘You just looked like you could use a second cup of coffee. Or company. Or both.’

She blinked. Then, a slow, small smile.

‘Is that your way of asking me out?’

He froze. Not because she was wrong. But because she was direct. Unflinching. Just as she had been before. Could it really be that easy?

He laughed. A low, surprised sound that felt foreign against his tongue.

‘Yeah. I guess it is.’

She studied him for a breath longer, then nodded, easy as anything.

‘Alright. But I’ll take a tea.’

He wanted to ask her name again. Wanted to tell her his.

But instead, he fell into step beside her, quiet, casual. Just another face on the street, a casual trip to a café. He felt a blush creep onto his skin, and he turned away from her, fidgeting hands buried deep in his pockets.

It was not love at first sight. Jason did not believe in things like that, not anymore.

If anything, it was suspicion at the first conversation. Interest at second. Uncertainty for the next dozen or so. She had no idea who he was, and he preferred it that way. There was a freedom in this anonymity, in being seen without history clawing at his heels. She did not look at him like she was waiting for something to fall apart. She did not glance at his hands like she expected them to be bloodied. She saw him for who he truly was, it felt like the rarest thing of all.

And so he kept showing up.

Cafés became a habit. A tether. Once a week, then twice. Never planned, always on a whim, or so they liked to pretend. They visited bookstores and late-night markets. Together, they would walk past the same food trucks where Y/N would consistently order the wrong thing as though it were a rule, never complaining. Though she would smile sheepishly when Jason offered his much more appetising selection. 

Y/N would ask him about books. Music. The kinds of questions he had not been asked in years. He did not always answer. Sometimes he just watched her talk, let the cadence of her voice steady the parts of him that threatened to fray.

She had looked different in the daylight.

Less shadowed. Still sharp, still grounded, but without the weight of the tension that had hung between them that night. She had laughed once, and the sound had startled him. It was unguarded. Open. He had not heard anything that unafraid directed at him for a long time.

He had to stop himself from reaching for it.

Jason tried to keep it casual, whatever this was. Whatever they were circling. He made sure never to cross certain lines. He would not stay too long. He would not text first. He would not touch her unless she touched him. There was an instance where she had brushed her fingers over his knuckles on the edge of a café table, he had stared down at the spot as though it had caught fire.

She did not comment. Just went back to sipping her tea, Earl Grey. He could smell the bergamot wafting from it, as he had in her apartment that first night. 

He could not define when it changed. When the space between them stopped feeling like distance and started feeling like an invitation. Maybe it was the first time she made him laugh, not a small chuckle, not one of those scoffs of disbelief, but a genuine, gut-twisting kind of laugh that left him breathless. She had just looked at him with raised brows, like she was not sure whether to be proud or concerned.

Maybe it was the night she found him again, bleeding, no more than that first time. A busted lip, bruised jaw; he had already changed into his regular clothes and considered turning around. He should not allow her to see him like this. But before he could bring himself to move, she opened the door and ushered him inside without question. 

Did not so much as blink. Just helped him again, only her touch was familiar and welcome now. Still careful, still steady.

And when she looked at him, saw past the blood and the scowl and the silence, she reached up and brushed his hair back from his face, her thumb resting at the corner of his temple. Nothing more. How could she accept him so willingly, without question? How could she not demand the catalyst of his newly mangled face and bloodied knuckles?

Jason had kissed her then. He had not planned it. It was simple instinct, or rather an impulse, or some failing of his exhausted restraint. But she did not flinch. Did not push away. She just leaned in, met him halfway, soft and certain.

After that, there was no use pretending.

It was not some grand explosion, not as books had made him believe. There were no bold declarations, no breathless confessions. Jason did not see romance the way others did. He did not show up with flowers. He did not call just to say he missed her. He barely knew how to say what he felt, let alone trust that it would not crumble in his grasp.

But she understood him in a language he had not known he was speaking. When he disappeared for three days and came back with split knuckles and a haunted look, she did not demand an explanation. Just held his gaze for a moment too long and set a cup of tea on the table beside him.

He would never deserve her. He knew that. This concept was stitched into every part of his being, the sense of ruin, of fracture, of being too far gone to love or be loved back. But she never asked him to deserve her. She just asked him to show up. And over time, he did. More than he thought he could.

Eventually, she saw through him.

Not all at once. But in pieces. The subtle way he scanned every room before they entered it. The half-second delay before he ever turned his back. The scars he never explained, the exhaustion he carried within his shoulders.

He realised he could not lose her, the very thought of it left him asphyxiated, left him gasping and sputtering for air. It terrified him more than anything ever had. It was worse than the crowbar, worse than the vestige of the green glow left shimmering behind closed eyelids. He remembers how he had met her, how she had helped him so unflinchingly, how he had been bewildered by her lack of fear. And he realised this actuality left him horror-struck. What if she helped someone in this manner once more? What if they were not so kind? 

This is how he justified his need to remain in her orbit: that his vigilance was the only way to keep her safe from all lingering dangers, but even as the words circled his mind, a deep, gnawing doubt took root. Was he truly only here to protect her? Jason knew better, a heinous selfishness had been sown, and he stayed because he could not bear the notion of parting with her. Could he ever atone for how these mistakes had already placed her in harm’s way? The weight of that guilt threatened to crush him, but he could not walk away now; he was in too deep.

It happened with a shift of fabric. A flash of his skin. A scar.

They were in her kitchen. She had been making him breakfast. Jason, barefoot and groggy, was pretending not to enjoy the way she fussed over the frying pans. He had reached for something on the top shelf, muttering under his breath about her terrible organisational choices. Y/N had laughed and leant against the counter, trying not to watch the way the muscles in his back shifted beneath the thin cotton of his shirt.

Then the hem lifted.

Just a little. A second, maybe less. But time had a strange way of stretching in moments like this, in moments that mattered.

The scar was thin and brutal, a memory carved into his flesh. Indented above the waistband of his jeans, angled on his side. She remembered it too well. The jagged line. The way this shiny white mark had gleamed underneath blood-soaked skin, beneath dour body armour…

Her breath caught.

She did not mean to gasp. It was soft. Barely audible. But it was enough.

Jason froze.

Then, akin to a fiend caught suspended within a spotlight, his hand dropped from the shelf and yanked the shirt down with quiet, desperate precision. He met her gaze.

But it was too late.

She had seen it. And more than that, she recognised it; he could discern familiarity as it flooded her perception. 

He moved toward her, slow and measured, but stopped over a metre short. He already knew what was written across her face, he had no choice but to meet it head-on.

Their eyes locked, though neither of them shifted.

Silence bloomed between them, vast, tense and electric. Though not empty. It was full of all the acts and secrets he had not disclosed to her. Visions of the alleyway, of blood and heavy breaths, the weight of him leaning against her to stay upright, and her hands pressing gauze against the cuts that circled that familiar scar.

‘You remember.’ He spoke quietly.

It was not framed as a question, it was a statement, an observation. 

She swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. ‘That night,’ she whispered. ‘The one in the alley.’

He nodded once. Just once. Nothing theatrical. Nothing dramatic. But it felt like the earth beneath them had shifted.

Red Hood.

It all slotted into place, the bruises, the silence, the way he would flinch ever so slightly when she would reach for a part of him he did not want seen. She had known he carried secrets. Had made peace with the fact that some parts of him were locked behind years of pain and choices she might never fully comprehend.

But this… this was different.

‘You should’ve told me,’ she murmured, not out of anger, but the truth felt heavy against her tongue. Like it had waited too long to be spoken aloud.

Jason’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘I didn’t want to lose this.’ He motioned around them, motioned towards her.

‘This?’ she echoed, almost hollow.

He looked upon her as though she were deserving of reverence, as though he could scarcely believe she was his to hold, yet, even now, his manner was crumpled with wretched trepidation. Jason awaited her outburst, anticipating the command to leave; he could not bear the weight of her silence.

‘You. This place. The quiet. The version of me that you know.’ He added. 

She stared at him, truly stared, and realised something terrifying: she had known. Maybe not consciously, not in the way of facts, names and alter-egos, but within her bones. In the way he moved. The way he disappeared. In the weight he bore like a shroud, constricting him with every breath.

And she had loved him anyway.

The hood, the violence, the vigilante beneath her kitchen light, none of it overwrote the man who made her tea when she could not sleep. The man who listened to her gush about books and could recall her favourite lines. Who kissed her like she was something he did not think he deserved, and treated her like she was the only real thing in a world full of spectres; Y/N was sure this was what he told himself. 

Her voice was soft when she finally spoke again.

‘You didn’t have to be someone else to be wanted, I hope you know that.’

He closed his eyes, and she watched as something in him fractured, not like breaking glass, but like old tension unravelling; she could see his apprehension flow out from beneath his skin.

‘I know,’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘But I didn’t know how to be him… and still be this.’

She stepped forward. One pace. Two. Slow. Careful. As if approaching something transient.

Jason flinched, not quite pulling away, not quite reaching out. A lifetime of rejection was hardwired into his muscle memory. Though he caught himself before he could move away, standing rigid as she closed the space between them.

Her hand found his, warm and steady. He looked down at their entwined fingers. Jason could not believe that something so simple could feel so profound.

‘You’re simply you, boyfriend by day and regrettably, vigilante by night. Knowing this won’t change how I think of you,’ she affirmed. Then she tilted her head, thoughtful, and spoke once more.

‘Though… it may just heighten my anxiety levels. Knowing you’re out there.’

And for the first time since that fateful night in the alley, Jason let himself believe that maybe this could work. 

Jason felt it before he understood it, like the first rays of sun on his back after a winter that had lasted far too long. A warmth he had not asked for. Had not expected. It crept into his system uninvited, compelling and unfamiliar, thawing places he had long since numbed for survival.

It struck him suddenly, not like a realisation, but like a tempest. He thought he had not wanted it. He did not trust it. But it was there all the same, pressing against his ribs, blooming beneath his skin.

Love.

It was not loud. It was not cinematic. It was not even convenient. It arrived in the middle of a quiet evening, while she was brushing her teeth, half-asleep, one of his old shirts covering her frame, bare legs beneath the hem, humming something tuneless under her breath. A song he did not recognise.

The bathroom door was ajar. Lamp light filtered in behind her, soft and pale, painting the air gold. She was swaying gently where she stood, oblivious to the weight of his stare. And Jason, standing there in the threshold, rooted to the spot, watched her like she was something too precious for this world. As though she might flicker and vanish if he exhaled too harshly.

And in that moment, watching her in that domestic stillness, he could believe, even just for a breath, that the world was not a place of carnage. That outside the window, it was not broken. That pain was not inevitable. That this could last.

But the thought brought with it a sharp, biting panic.

It was in this moment that he knew he loved her.

His body tensed, his mind retreating into old reflexes. Not to run, not literally. He could never leave her. But something within him tried to pull away, to armour up, to prepare for the moment when this would inevitably be ripped from him.

Because that is what always happened. Moments like this, soft, perfect, undeserved, were fleeting in his world. They were the eye of the storm, not the end of it.

He did not deserve this. And even if he did, the world had a cruel way of taking beautiful things and turning them to ash.

She caught his reflection in the mirror, stilled, and turned toward him. Her eyes met his. Sleepy, soft, utterly unguarded. A small smear of toothpaste clung to the corner of her lip, and yet she looked at him like she could see through him. Not with fear or judgment, just mild concern and a gentle curiosity.

‘You okay?’ she asked, voice thick with sleep, amused by the way he loomed in the doorway like he had stumbled into a scene too fragile to touch.

It disarmed him. Utterly.

Jason swallowed hard. After everything he had seen, everything he had survived, the Lazarus Pit, the alleys, the gunfire and betrayal, he was not sure he had ever been less okay. And yet, standing there in her bathroom doorway, heart thundering like he had just survived a firefight, all he could do was step forward.

He did not speak, not at first. He just reached for her and kissed her temple, soft and fleeting, like the moment itself. It was not meant to answer her question. It was not meant to fix the chaos unravelling inside his chest. It was just the only thing he could offer that was not ruin.

‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Just tired.’

But it was a lie.

He was not tired, he was reeling.

That night, he did not sleep. Not because he was unable, but because he would not. He lay in her bed, curled beside her, her breath slow and even against his collarbone. One of her arms was draped across his ribs, anchoring him with a kind of warmth he did not dare disturb.

He memorised it. Every part of her.

The cadence of her breath. The shape that her hand made against his chest. The way she murmured in her sleep. He memorised her like a man convinced the morning would seize her from his grasp. Like this was all a dream and he would wake back in Gotham’s dirt-streaked alleys, alone, masked, and untouched by her grace.

But she was real.

And for now, it was enough.

Y/N was stitching him up again, hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, his skin cold under her touch. She sat cross-legged before him, knees meeting his.

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ Y/N murmured. It was not the first time she had said this, and it would certainly not be the last. Her sorrow clung to her like a second skin; he would never stop hurting himself and, by extension, hurting her. Her fingers twitched, and she forced them steady. 

Jason did not answer her. What would he tell her? Definitely, not the truth; she would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that she cared; he could not resist the temptation. It was how they had met, it was why he had allowed himself to grow close to her. Jason did not believe she could love a man like him, but when he felt her gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn.  

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned her face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’  

And then, something unspooled. It was akin to a thread that had been pulled taut for too long, it snapped under the tension. Jason sighed.  

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you…’ He looked into her eyes, gaze piercing, willing her to see the truth of it.  

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open. 

‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere she did not grace; the very notion made him ill.  

She stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work. He was not looking for a response, only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But she gave him one anyway.  

‘I love you, too.’ She had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching her lips, he might have missed it. His breath caught, not in fear, but in awe, as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.  

Her words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin, like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.  

He spoke up again, softer this time, ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave her one of his rare smiles, and her heart jolted.  

She silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing her head against his shoulder. After a short while, she shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment. He felt that same electricity once more, humming under her touch. 

Her hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message she was trying to convey, what she was trying to have him understand.  

Once again, Jason did not sleep at night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

We saw small glimpses of domestic Jason here. Why is it everything I want in life? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

TAGLIST: @aidansloth

DC ✢ When he admitted he loved you

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark. This is a companion piece to another headcanon called 'When he realised he loved you' linked here. Though, you can still read it independently.

B R U C E⠀W A Y N E

Bruce did not say it in a quiet moment — for such moments were rare. Though, when they did find him, he spent them with you in silence. Not with words but simply by being near, by existing in your presence.

No. It came during an argument. One of those arguments that shakes the very foundations of a relationship — not because of what was said, but because of what had never been, what was expected.

You had asked him — raw, wounded — what you meant to him. What all this was. Why he kept forming barriers between you, when all you had ever wanted to do was break through.

His answer had been frigid. Precise. Calculated and sharpened. A blade forged from old habits, Bruce wielded it with an unconscious mastery, a last-ditch defence mechanism perfected over decades.

You left. Not in fury, but in heartbreak, disappointment — the kind that does not cry, does not scream, but simply broods into silence. Your absence rang louder than a slammed door, louder than any yell you could have mustered.

Alfred did not speak. Just passed Bruce in the hallway with the kind of look that had once made him sit straighter as a boy. And now, it made him feel small once more, as though he were still a child.

Time passed and still, silence.

He found you in the garden, beneath a sky now thick with stars, the sun had still been gleaming when you had hurried away. You had not been crying. You were still. And in that stillness, he saw the damage he had inflicted upon you.

‘I can’t seem to protect what I love,’ he said, words fractured, conflicted. ‘Not my parents. Not Jason… Not you —’ 

You turned. Not startled by the confession, but by the break in his voice. You had never seen him like this before, never so fragile. 

‘But I do. I love you. I want… I need you to know that.’

It was not cinematic. No kiss. No arms thrown around shoulders. Just him, standing before you, hollowed by an atypical honesty, praying you would believe him — even if he was undeserving of that trust.

And you did. You believed him. Bruce could see it in the ease of your countenance, in the smile that now warmed your face. But even so, he apologised as though he had committed a most heinous crime.

You pulled yourself to your feet, still wordless. And enveloped him in your arms.

‘I love you too, Bruce.’

D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N

Dick meant to say it casually — with that charming nonchalance that usually came so naturally to him. He had rehearsed it, even. Smiled in the mirror once or twice. But it never felt right, never felt adequate. It was too simple a word to describe what he felt for you. 

But love, he discovered, should not wait for perfect timing.

It came unexpectedly late one evening, while a movie played in the background — some low-budget film neither of you had been truly watching. Your head was on his shoulder. His thumb was tracing invisible shapes into your side.

And then — suddenly breathless, it had grown too large to contain, he could not hold it any longer,

‘You know I love you, right?’

You blinked like someone newly roused from a dream, and looked at him as though he had spoken in a foreign language. Dick was not confident he had not. 

When you remained quiet, he chuckled, uneasy. And brought his hand to the back of his neck, in a nervous, boyish manner. 

‘I mean — I have. For a while. I just didn’t want to ruin it by...’ He trailed off, not quite sure what he was saying. 

You remained quiet for a few moments more, contemplating. The juncture of silence stretched taut, he held his breath. And then you smiled. 

As soft as the moonlight now shining through the curtains, you whispered, ‘I love you, too.’

He kissed you gently, as though he were trying to make up for all the times he had not said it sooner. In that moment, he was not Dick Grayson, he was not Nightwing or the Boy Wonder — he was simply someone lucky enough to be loved by you.

To this day, he cannot for the life of him remember the movie that had been playing. All he could remember was that smile — the way it had already lit up your eyes by the time it reached your mouth and the enthralling, glowing warmth that had flooded his system.

J A S O N⠀T O D D

You were stitching him up again — hands steady, breath shallow, a routine so familiar it hurt. Nothing fatal. Nothing new. His form was half-draped in shadow, skin cold under your touch. You sat cross-legged before him. 

‘You’ve got to stop doing this,’ you murmured, not for the first time and certainly not the last. 

He did not answer. Because what would he tell you? Not the truth, you would not want to hear it. Every stitched-up wound felt like proof that you cared; he could not resist the temptation. He did not believe you could love a man like him, but when he felt your gentle fingers work over his skin, he let himself consider it; he let himself yearn. 

‘I’d die for you, you know?’ he muttered. Off-handed. As though it were the most obvious thing, as though it were as easy as breathing.

A frown turned your face. ‘That’s not comforting, Jason.’

And then — something unspooled. A thread that had been pulled too tight for too long. Jason sighed.

‘What I was trying to say… What I meant was… I love you —’ He looked into your eyes, gaze piercing, willing you to see the truth of it. 

The words had flooded out like a barrage breaking open. ‘That’s all I’m trying to say. I’d die for you because… I can’t picture a world without you in it. I wouldn’t want to.’ He shivered at this, at the concept of a sphere you did not grace, the very notion made him ill. 

You stilled. Hands held suspended above him, pausing their work.

He was not looking for a response — only a release; he had needed this off his chest. But you gave him one anyway.

‘I love you, too.’ You had uttered it so softly, had Jason not already been watching your lips, he may have missed it. His breath caught — not in fear, but in awe — as though his lungs had momentarily forgotten their most natural function.

Your words felt like electricity brimming beneath his skin — like every nerve had been awoken at once. A new fullness bloomed within his chest, as though the ribs could no longer host his heart; as if it had suddenly grown too large to contain.

He spoke up again, softer this time,  ‘I’ll try to live for you too. That part’s harder. But believe me when I say I want it. More than anything.’ He gave you one of his rare smiles, and your heart jolted.

You silently placed the first aid materials to the side and leaned in, placing your head against his shoulder. After a short while you shifted, leaving scattered kisses across his fading scars, lingering on each for a moment, he felt that same electricity once more. 

Your hands ghosted over him like he were something precious, as though the ruin of him was worth loving, and that was the message you were trying to convey, what you were trying to have him understand.

Jason did not sleep that night. Not out of pain or panic, but because he was afraid it had been a dream. That peace, for someone like him, was more fragile, more fleeting than any reverie; and he could not stand the idea of waking up.

T I M⠀D R A K E

You both had been working late, each focused on your own tasks, yet relishing in the silent company of one another; the peace of it. Tim sat at his desk, while you lay across his bed, legs swinging behind you with a pen in hand.

Tim had asked you to stay at the manor for the night, but you had gently refused, reminding him you had work in the morning. You got up and walked over, placing both hands on either shoulder. You then pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered in his ear.

‘I better head off now.’ He leaned his head back into you, and his eyes met yours, smiling.

And then — too casually, too instinctively — he said, ‘Okay, love you.’

The words had flowed out like a torrent. A sudden, unexpected failure in his system.

Then a silence dropped like a stone in deep water — sudden, heavy, and irreversible; absolute.

He froze. His eyes were wide, as though the phrase had been spoken by an imposter, by someone else within his skin. He had known this fact for a long time, it had only been a matter of time.

‘I didn’t — I mean — that wasn’t—well, it was, but —’ He stopped. His words crashed over each other, panicked and sputtered.

You tilted your head. Shock the dominant expression on your face.

‘You love me?’

He nodded, slowly, it would be silly to deny it; to lie. Shame crept into the corners of his expression. What if he had said it too soon? What if the word drew you away?  Then suddenly you smiled, as though you had been waiting for this exact failure, this exact slip-up.

‘Well… that’s good,’ your whisper was tender. ‘Because I love you too.’

And just like that, his spiralling mind halted. His thoughts — so often a storm of what-ifs and whys — were suddenly still.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

The tension in his shoulders eased and melted away. He let out a breath he had not realised he had been holding — shaky, but smiling. It was not his usual tight-lipped smirk, nor the polite upward curve he would give strangers — this one was real. Quiet, disbelieving and full.

You leaned downward and rested your forehead against his, your hand moving to cradle his cheek. Tim leaned into it like he had been starved of its softness. You spoke through a grin.

‘Maybe I should stick around. Was that your plan all along?’

D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E⠀(Aged up as Batman)

Damian did not like the word love. Not at first. The word felt paltry. Trite. A flippant syllable never built to hold the sheer weight of what he carried for you.

You had just bested him in sparring. You always did, but only because he allowed it — Damian would sooner impale himself on his training blade than admit it, but it was not as though you were unaware. You had thought it cute, an adjective you would never dare utter to his face. 

Damian had no shortage of self-pride. The fact he was willing to sacrifice it, simply to please you, always left you breathless. 

You extended your hand to guide him up, but he simply stared at it from his place on the mat, his gaze shifting upward. You were standing over him, a barely contained smirk donning your features. 

‘You do not understand what you mean to me,’ he said, voice low and filled with a thousand ulterior meanings, though they bled through, his tone turning earnest.

You did not speak. You simply waited.

‘This feeling,’ he tried again, ‘it disrupts everything. My training. My thoughts. My plans. Everything. It… it…’ He trailed off, not sure how to finish what he was saying, not confident that the words capable of conveying these feelings were extant across any vernacular, it seemed too implausible. 

You smiled, faintly. ‘You mean love?’

He flinched like you had cursed. But then — after a moment — he nodded.

‘Yes. That.’ It was not enough, but he figured he would concede. ‘I feel it. Unwillingly. But truthfully.’

You laughed, it was warm and bell-like. It struck something tender in him, something still learning to hope.

‘I love you too, Damian.’

How was it, that word he had held with such contempt, such scrutiny and scepticism, was suddenly so weighted, so gorgeous uttered from your lips? How was it so impactful now it was directed towards him? 

He looked away, not from shame, but from overwhelm. He had fought assassins, atrocious criminals, and the weight of his father’s legacy — but never had he felt something as all-consuming as being wanted, as overwhelming as the thought of your love.

C L A R K⠀K E N T

He had told you on a rooftop. Not because it was histrionic, but because it was distant — far above the world’s inescapable noise, yet still beneath its stars. 

You were talking about something entirely ordinary. Rent, perhaps. The cost of your water bill.

But he was not listening, not truly. He watched as your lips moved and thought only of how he yearned to kiss them, to wake up to them each and every morning. 

And then he looked at you. Really looked. And the words came like wind through the ether — soft, inevitable.

‘I love you.’ He had cut you off, but it needed to be said. He could not have lived another moment without these words held suspended between you. 

You smiled, easy. ‘I know.’

But he shook his head. Shifting closer. There was an ache in his voice, a gravity to it.

‘No. I love you. Not in the way people say when they’re hanging up the phone. Or when they leave for work in the morning. I love you like… like…’ He paused, eyebrows furrowed, ‘I’m not sure I can put it into words —’ He places his hands on either side of your cheeks. 

You stopped breathing.

‘You’ve given me something no one else has,’ he said, his voice near breaking. ‘Not because you wanted a hero. But because you saw me — as nothing more than a man. The farmboy. The one who still forgets to fold his laundry, after you’ve already asked him five times…’

You let out a sudden laugh, but it was not for his joke, your joy at his admission could not be contained; it surged out. You kissed him.

‘I love you, too.’ You murmured, Clark could hear the smile within your voice. Then he thought of the stars glimmering upon them, they shone bright, yet still somehow paled in your comparison. 

I was thinking of expanding upon the Jason Todd section and turning it into its own one-shot, would anyone be interested in that? Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

DC ✢ When he realised he loved you

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

B R U C E⠀W A Y N E

The moment had been a quiet revelation, in a silence so profound it frightened him. The kind of silence that followed the first crack of thunder, one moment loud and undeniable, the next building with tension, waiting for it to strike again. 

You were sitting in the library of the manor, an arcane book resting open upon your lap, the fire crackling softly behind you. He had just returned from patrol — broken, bloodied, and defeated.

You looked up, eyes wide, alarmed at his state and asked, ‘Bruce?’ You had spoken as if he were not the Batman, not an emblem of vengeance and grit, but a man, just a man, whose hurt mattered.

Something in him gave out. Not in an ostentatious, cinematic collapse, but in the subtle yielding of defences too long held taut. His mind, a fortress of rationale and boundaries, fell silent.

She sees me, for all I am, it whispered. And yet she stays.

He had not believed in unconditional love since the alleyway. But in that moment, with the stench of blood from his suit and the leaden weight of the city upon his back, he saw love for what it was — not a sanctuary, but a quiet understanding, and a choosing. And she had chosen him.

It terrified him. Because now he had yet another thing to lose, to protect, something that was not abstract. It had a name. A voice. A laugh. It sat in his home and softened his world.

He had never been the same since.

D I C K⠀G R A Y S O N

It crept up on him — not a wave, but rather a tide. Quiet and constant and utterly irreversible.

You had fallen asleep in his bed, still holding a game controller, your brow furrowed even in your unconsciousness. He watched you in the blue glow of the screen and thought, God, I’d die for her.

And then came the laugh — low, bitter, surprised. Because of course he would. He was always ready to die for someone.

But this felt different. This was not a compulsion, a sense of duty. It was not about legacy or guilt. It was about you. And the way your presence grounded the part of him that had always been just suspended above the world, half-grieving, half-trying.

He remembered kissing your forehead before leaving for patrol that night. Slow. Lingering. The kind of kiss that was not about want, but reverence.

That was when he knew.

Love was not a thrill. It was a weight. And he had never wanted anything to anchor him, to tether him to this sphere, more than you.

The realisation made him smile. And then it made him ache.

J A S O N⠀T O D D

Jason felt it like the first rays of sun upon his back after a piercing winter, it flooded his system, warm and compelling. It struck him all of a sudden — new, unfamiliar, and… unwelcome. He did not want it. He had not asked for it.

You were brushing your teeth, half-asleep, wearing one of his old shirts, humming a song under your breath as though nothing was wrong in the world, as though it were not in a state of disrepair just beyond the window. And while watching you, he could believe it for a moment too.

Jason stood in the doorway, paralysed. Because he had seen too much tragedy, too much carnage. He could hardly believe that a quiet instant of peace, like this, could even exist, let alone in his reality.

His first instinct was to run. Not literally — he could never leave you. But to emotionally retreat, to steel himself for the moment this fleeting softness was stolen from him.

But you looked at him. Just looked — toothpaste foam and all — with a kind of amused concern, and asked, ‘You okay?’

After everything he had been through. He was not sure he had ever been less okay.

He loved you. He loved you with a passion that made him feel unworthy, as if he had tainted something holy.

A voice in him protested — said it was weakness. Said this would end in catastrophe. But he ignored it, just this once. He stepped forward and kissed your temple.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Just tired.’ But he was not. This was a lie. His mind was reeling.

He did not sleep that night. He lay awake memorising your breathing.

T I M⠀D R A K E

It was a question you asked that did it. Something ordinary, like, ‘Did you eat today?’

Tim wanted to laugh because it was such a cliché, wasn’t it? But clichés exist because they are true. No one ever asked him that, not like you had, not like it genuinely mattered. 

Then you brought him a coffee, one of those orders so tailored it was essentially an identity. You did not need to ask what he wanted. You simply knew.

He blinked down at the cup, then at you, and suddenly the task he was completing meant nothing.

He felt the world tilt. Quietly. Like the axis of his orbit had shifted. And it had.

Love, to Tim, had always been a puzzle he did not have time to solve. A thing for normal people, with normal lives, for people who lacked the responsibility he had garnered.

But there it was — simple, unassuming and irreversible.

He did not tell you. Not for a long time.

But he began cataloguing what made you smile. The way your face changed after a laugh, crinkled and carefree. He noticed the way your eyes sparkled just a little brighter when you spoke of things that made you passionate, and how the corners of your lips turned up when you were lost in a quiet thought.

This love became his sustenance, it was the first time in years he feared forgetting something.

D A M I A N⠀W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)

It had infuriated him. The sheer idiocy of it.

Love was chemical, juvenile, a distraction. Or so he had been taught. So he had believed.

And yet there he stood — across from you in the garden, where you were speaking to a stray dog as if it were royalty, and something in his chest pulled.

At first, he mistook it for contempt — annoyance at your softness in a moment where he was attempting to be serious. But then you looked up, grinned, and said, ‘I think she likes me.’

And the words caught in his throat. Not because he did not believe them, but because he liked you. Against every grain of his upbringing.

He wanted to scold you, retreat, build walls. But instead, he asked the cat’s name.

That was the beginning. The fracture.

He loved you. In an old, mythic sense. In the way poets spoke of their love — fierce, unyielding, as though it could bend the very fabric of time. 

And that it did, time slowed every time you entered his concentration.

He began to dream of futures — a concept once as foreign to him as mercy.

He has not told you. But he will. In his own time. For now, he will continue to relish in it, and continue in this alluring descent. 

C L A R K⠀K E N T

He did not realise. Not at first. Because what he felt for you was too immense, too intrinsic, to label with as small as a word as love.

It was not until you fell asleep in his arms, mumbling about a stressful day, completely unaware of the god you were held by, that it hit him.

You did not see him as Superman. You saw him as Clark Kent. You simply saw him. The man. His hope. His grief.

And he realised then — you are his tether.

He thought of Krypton. Of its loss. Of the gaping emptiness it had left as soon as he had learnt of it. And for the first time in years, he did not feel hollow. He felt… full. He realised, that the planet could never have been home to him like she was. 

You snored softly. He laughed. Then cried.

Love, he realised, was not loud. It was simply your hand over his heart. It was your laughter in the next room. It was your body next to his.

He had not fallen in love. He had found it, unexpected and irrevocable, and for all the power he had been bestowed, this force had left him helpless to resist.

And now he guards it with everything he is. Because you are not just his world.

You are his home.

If you're interested, I've since posted a follow-up called 'When he admitted he loved you' linked, here. Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

Disarray ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: She had become his sanctuary, the one unshaken constant in a life fractured by violence and resurrection — the only person who saw beyond the wreckage and chose to stay regardless. Jason Todd returns to the person he considers his home, only to find it in disarray.

Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns. Warnings: Angst (with comfort).

Masterlist

Notes: I set out to write a short piece, nothing over a thousand words, I was successful! Normally I write way too much.

Words: 923

Jason never knocked, never felt the need to announce his arrival; he did not possess the disposition for this courtesy, and he already knew she would be anticipating him, with an easy smile, as though she relished his company. Jason could not compel himself to understand, to comprehend why a person so pure, so gentle, would allow themselves to be tainted by someone so burdened, someone like him. 

He reached out, the old window yielding with a decrepit creak as he moved it upward, and climbed through the aperture without grace. 

The room was fractured. His hands began to tremble.

This space, so wonderfully hers, had rapidly become his sanctuary; the one place on this sphere where he felt truly at peace, where he felt he could be himself. Now, it lay in ruins before him, a body of motion and disorder. Cushions were sprawled across the expanse of the room, drawers were cracked wide open, and papers lay scattered across all surfaces. 

The breath he had been holding sputtered out; he was gasping, fighting for air. Jason’s eyes swept through it all, not taking it in, not registering; he needed to snap out of it, to make sense of it. He unwillingly looked up, stomach crumpled with the realisation that the clasp of the front door had been left unlocked. Her name claws at the back of his throat, but he does not call it. He cannot get himself to name her absence, to solidify it in his reality.

The place was not big, and yet it felt like lifetimes had passed as he scoped through it, shattering with every room that failed to offer her silhouette. His dread grows not in a line, but in every conceivable direction, fractal and fast; erratic. The fragment of him that still knows reason suggests she went out. The rest of him, the person carved hollow by Lazarus and consequence, had already begun to grieve.

The unlocked door is a wound. A violation.

Someone knows. Someone traced the pattern, mapped their connection, and found the one seam he should have reinforced. He pictures her hands, how unarmed they are, how gentle, how tender, and it is unthinkable to entertain that they are subject to a stranger’s mercy.

His mind does not race; it plummets. The catastrophe is palpable; he can almost taste it. It cuts sharp against his tongue and sears like acid. She is gone. Y/N is gone. The word nests in his chest like a cancer, malignant and burgeoning, defiling everything in its wake. He dropped to his knees. He had always been so sure of himself, so confident in his resolve, but he knew he could not overcome this; his dread left him immobilised, obsolete.

And then —

The door opened.

Y/N stands calm in the frame, flushed from exertion, keys in hand, with a ghost of a smile on her lips, until she sees him. Or rather, perceives what was left of him; feeble upon the floor.

‘Jason...?’

Her voice is quiet at first, tentative. The light that had been in her eyes began to dissipate, concern filling the place it left vacant in its departure. She moved to him, quickly, dropping the keys somewhere behind her.

‘Are you... Are you hurt? What’s wrong? What happened?’

But he only shakes his head, eyes wide, breath shuddering, he felt it quake in his chest. Then he pulled her down to him, taking her in his embrace. His arms tightened with something akin to desperation, like a man who had already begun to bury his world. She feels it in the tremor of his breath. In the way his jaw locks against her shoulder.

‘I thought... ’

He does not finish, he cannot. The words collapse on the edge of his tongue.

Y/N pulled him in tighter, beginning to trace his scars where she knew they lay underneath his shirt, a ritual that brought him great ease.

‘I thought someone took you,’ he whispered against her shoulder, again and again, as if the repetition might bleed the terror out, extricate it from where it festered beneath his skin. ‘I thought they knew. That they connected you to me. I thought I’d gotten you hurt.’ 

Or worse, he wanted to utter, but the notion was too revolting, too vile.

‘No,’ she murmured, hands on his face now, grounding him. ‘Jason, no. I’m fine. I just... I couldn’t find my keys. I tore the place apart looking for them.’ She motioned around her, to the disarray encircling them, the catalyst of his anguish. He looked into her eyes, savouring the sensation of it, of having her in his arms.

‘I left to check my car, I didn’t think... I’m so sorry... ’

Jason did not respond, for he no longer possessed the capacity to commit thought to speech. He simply pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck like a man anchoring himself to the last artifact capable of keeping him afloat. His breath was still uneven, ragged with the aftershocks of a panic that refused to fade. She was here; warm, real and speaking, but his body had not yet caught up with the truth of it. All he could do was hold her, tighter than he ever had before, as if that force alone might keep his world from collapsing. Because some part of him, raw and relentless, still feared that if he let go, she would vanish, not in a torrent, but quietly, like sand through his fingers.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3

DC ✢ What scares them and how you help them cope

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

B R U C E W A Y N E

Bruce, for as long as he can remember, has always suffered in silence. A perpetual brooder.

People have come and gone in his life, but he has never been comfortable opening up to them.

And for the longest time, you were no exception.

Though, as time passed, and an intimate familiarity grew, you began noticing a shift in his behaviour. Where he normally would have isolated himself in the Batcave, overburdened himself with his work, he instead began seeking you out.

In those moments, he would gently approach you, and you would offer him comfort. That was when he finally opened up about his deepest fear, losing the people he loves, especially you.

He is terrified that, despite all his vigilance, one day he will be unable to protect those closest to him and the thought of losing anyone, of them being taken from him, is something he cannot bear to face.

He still does not show his vulnerability easily, but when you are there, he is not as afraid to let his guard down, even if only for a brief moment.

He will never admit it, but he is always so grateful for your presence. Whether it is a quiet moment holding your hand, your steady voice in his ear, or simply leaning against you, he finds comfort. He lets you sit with him, no words necessary, knowing you will stay with him.

D I C K G R A Y S O N

Dick has always been the life of the party, the one who could crack a joke to break any tension in the room, always for the benefit of others.

But as you spent more time with him, you began to notice how he would sometimes go quiet, how his smile fell a bit too easily when he thought no one was looking.

You would see the insecurity flicker across his face; like he was afraid he was not good enough. He was afraid that one day, he would let you down, it would push you to walk away from him and he would be alone.

On the rare occasions that Dick opened up about his fears, it was never in big, dramatic moments. It was during quiet, vulnerable times when you were curled up on the couch, or after a mission where he had felt everything had gone wrong.

He would admit to you, softly, that he worries he is not enough for the people he cares about. That maybe, despite all his effort, he could fail them.

When you reassure him, he would brush it off with a laugh, but deep down, it comforts him more than he lets on. And from that moment, he tries harder to show you just how much he values you.

J A S O N T O D D

Jason’s tough exterior had always seemed nearly impenetrable, to everyone who knew him and you had not been an exception to this rule.

When you first met him, Jason did not want to let you close. He pushed you away. Any attempt at trying to comfort him was futile.

Beneath this façade, there is a deep-rooted fear of being forgotten and unimportant, as though his death had been just another part of Gotham’s tragic history, another statistic.

Slowly, you began to perceive beyond his mask of resentment. During late-night conversations, when he allowed his frustration to ebb away, Jason would reveal just how much he fears that Gotham — or worse, his family — will not remember him as the person he is now, the person behind his carefully constructed veil, the boy he once was.

When Jason lets his walls down, it is never in public. It is solely within quiet, private moments with you, his eyes soft and vulnerable in a manner only you have ever known.

Over the years, you have learnt that showing patience and care, letting him know you are there even when he is at his lowest, is one of the most important ways to help him feel like he matters, to prove you see him for everything that he is, to prove you love the man beneath the veil. 

T I M D RA K E

Tim has always been the strategist, the planner; constantly running scenarios in his mind to ensure things go right.

However, with that constant need for control comes an intense fear of failure and not living up to the expectations he has placed on himself.

Early on, when you spent time with him, you noticed how tightly wound he always was; always thinking, and nearly always overthinking.

There were nights when he would finally collapse into bed, eyes wide with worry, unable to rest. You would feel this unease radiate from him throughout the night.

Tim never truly usually let his fear show, but one night, after a particularly difficult mission where he felt responsible for things that had gone wrong, he finally admitted how much pressure he felt to always be perfect.

You comforted him with a soft smile, telling him that it was okay to not have all the answers and that he, like everyone else, was allowed to make mistakes. You helped him realise the unrealistic expectations he had placed on himself. 

Since then, Tim still overthinks, he still plans, but, at the very least, he has learned, with you by his side, that it is okay to let go sometimes.

D A M I A N W A Y N E (Aged up as Batman)

Damian was fierce and proud, he never outwardly showed weakness if he could help it. His fear was simple, he was terrified that someone would see through this, that he would be perceived as feeble or unworthy of his name.

When you first met him, he wore his arrogance and pride like armour, it was designed to keep people at a distance.

However, as time progressed, you began to notice cracks in this façade; moments where he looked at his family and felt like he was not measuring up.

Damian never directly opened up, but you saw it in the way his shoulders tensed when his father praised others or when he failed at something that he believed should have been effortless.

One day, you found him alone, practising relentlessly in the training room. His frustration was palpable, and when he finally stopped, he turned to you, admitting woefully that he was afraid he would never be as good as his family and never live up to his father’s legacy.

You had been shocked, you had yearned for him to be open with you and had already resigned to the fact it likely would not happen. Despite this, you were quick to reassure him, reminding him that his worth was not measured by perfection, but by who he strived to be.

Over time, he began to trust you more, slowly letting you see the person beneath his well-constructed bravado. Though he would never admit it, your support meant the world to him.

C L A R K K E N T

Clark, the ever-hopeful, never-giving-up superhero, covertly harboured a deep fear of losing control — specifically, of accidentally hurting those he loves with his less-than-ordinary abilities.

His fear was embedded in the idea that his immense capabilities could go terribly astray, causing harm to someone he holds dear.

It is a quiet fear, one he does not often voice, as he does not want to burden you with it. But you can sense it in the way he is constantly holding back, constantly choosing to act in ways that minimise risk, even if it means sacrificing your mutual need for physical affection. 

One evening, after a particularly difficult escapade, where unbeknownst to you, his powers had nearly hurt an innocent bystander, you found him standing in front of the window, his hands clenched in silent frustration. He had been bitterly reminded of how dangerous he could be. If he lacked control for even the briefest of moments, you could be lost to him forever. 

You walked up behind him with the intention of loosening his hands with your own. At first, you made no impression on his unyielding frame, but eventually, he melted into your touch and let you intertwine your fingers. You gently asked him about it, and he admitted his fear, his voice softer than usual.

At this you embraced him, hoping you were not pushing any boundaries after this particular admission. You let him know that you trusted him entirely and that you believed he had an unwavering ability to protect, despite the weight of his fear.

From that night on, while Clark still remained cautious and vigilant, he knew that you were there to support him and, at the very least, you were not afraid of him. 

This is my first-ever attempt at a Headcanon, so any advice would be much appreciated <3

Detective Comics ✢ Masterlist ✢ The Halloween Jack

All my DC pieces are written with different iterations in mind, but they are not plot-specific, so you can picture your favourite <3 All my works, minus headcanons, use female pronouns for the reader. Besides this, I keep the reader undescribed, the only filler I use being 'Y/N'.

B R U C E W A Y N E

One-Shots:

Asphyxiated ✢ Y/N’s once-adoring relationship with the charming Bruce Wayne begins to unravel as his nightly disappearances and distant demeanour create an insurmountable chasm between them. Unaware of his double life as the infamous Batman, Y/N is left to wonder where she went wrong, seeking solace in an old friend, Jonathan Crane. 

Fleeting Moments ✢ Y/N and Bruce Wayne share quiet moments of love amidst the chaos of Gotham. In rare stolen hours between nightfall and dawn, she clings to the man behind the mask, not aware of the double life he leads. She watches as bruises form across his skin and holds him through his restless nights, grateful that, for once, he is by her side. (Prequel to Asphyxiated)

Hostage ✢ When Bruce Wayne hears of an active hostage situation the reader, his long-term partner, is involved in; he has no option but to take action as the Batman. (This is an older work, I am currently in the process of editing it.)

Enigma  ✢ Bruce Wayne has a secret that he has been keeping from the reader for over two years, fearing his vigilante escapades will only draw her away, completely unaware the reader holds a secret of her own. (This is an older work, I am currently in the process of editing it.)

Drabbles:

Coming soon...

J A S O N T O D D

One-Shots:

Déjà Vu ✢ When the reader's comms grow suddenly silent, Jason Todd's worst fear takes shape — not just the possibility of losing someone, but the cold, inescapable echoes of a past he could never bury. As he fights his way through the grime of Gotham City, one truth becomes undeniable: some nightmares never cease, they resurface.

Disarray ✢ She had become his sanctuary, the one unshaken constant in a life fractured by violence and resurrection — the only person who saw beyond the wreckage and chose to stay regardless. Jason Todd returns to the person he considers his home, only to find it in disarray.

Tether ✢ When a battered Jason stumbles into an alley and finds unexpected refuge in a stranger’s kindness, it sparks a fracture in the walls he’s built to survive. Trust was never a luxury he could afford, but as survival blurs into something more, Jason is forced to confront the most dangerous risk of all, love.

Drabbles:

Coming soon...

D I C K G R A Y S O N

One-Shots:

Late-Night Escapades ✢ Blüdhaven, well past dusk, is irrefutably no place to wander. Though, Y/N ventures out regardless, in need of a few essentials. She knows it is irresponsible, she knows what Dick would say, but the store is just a few blocks away...

Drabbles:

Coming soon...

T I M D R A K E

One-Shots:

Coming soon...

Drabbles:

Coming soon...

D A M I A N W A Y N E

(Damian Wayne will be aged up in all my work. Though, upon request, I would be happy to write something platonic for a young Damian.)

One-Shots:

Coming soon...

Drabbles:

Coming soon...

C L A R K K E N T

One-Shots:

Coming soon...

Drabbles:

Coming soon...

H E A D C A N O N S

Characters: Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Clark.

What scares them and how you help them cope.

When he realised he loved you.

When he admitted he loved you.

There is just something about DC men...

Déjà Vu ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When the reader's comms grow suddenly silent, Jason Todd's worst fear takes shape — not just the possibility of losing someone, but the cold, inescapable echoes of a past he could never bury. As he fights his way through the grime of Gotham City, one truth becomes undeniable: some nightmares never cease, they resurface. Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Angst, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of past domestic violence. Masterlist

Notes: This is my first Jason Todd piece after many years of reading them. Hopefully, it is the first of many <3

Words: 3,181k

The first hit split her lip.

The second sent her to her knees.

The third stole her breath, left her gasping, hands splayed in the warmth of her own blood beneath her.

‘Oh, sweetheart.’ He drawled, ‘I have to say, I love the symmetry of this.’ 

The Joker laughed, one hand gesturing to her, the other twirling the gruesome crowbar between his gloved fingers like a baton. Y/N spat red onto the warehouse floor, teeth bared with something akin to a smile, though it was distorted with her wrath. ‘Go to hell.’

He tutted, shaking his head as though he were a disappointed teacher. ‘Now, now, don’t be like that, darling. You should be honoured! Not just anybody gets a starring role in one of my reruns.’

Her knees remained on the glistening crimson concrete as she forced herself upright, muscles shrieking with the exertion. Y/N could feel the blood seeping into the fibres of her clothes; it was quickly turning cold. She was trembling. Weak. But she refused to stay down, to yield. She knew what this very situation had done to Jason, witnessed the wreckage it left in its wake. The man it had turned him into.

She would not grant Joker the satisfaction of her fear.

He sighed dramatically. ‘Honestly… I was hoping for a bit more fight from you; after all, I did a number on you.’ He waved the crowbar, a looming threat. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep the rest quick. After all, we wouldn’t want lover boy to catch the show.’

Jason.

Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. She could not comprehend how he knew what Jason was to her. They had always been so careful.

He was coming. Y/N knew it; she could feel his pending presence like a tempest looming in the ether. But he would not make it here in time. That was the whole objective. The Joker had planned this, crafted it. It had all but nothing to do with her, he stitched it together like a grotesque puppet show designed solely to torment him.

Just as he had before.

Her whole form rattled with each sputtered breath; she swore she could feel her fragmented bones shift within her, but she forced herself to move, to push forward. There was something she yearned to tell him, something he needed to know; it was long overdue. If she could only stall, draw out this awful night, but she could only stretch so far before it would splinter. She could feel it; her life was drawn like a string, taut and thrumming. She feared with one more blow, it would snap under the strain. 

Y/N could not bear the thought of him finding her like this, discovering her body; it left a bad taste in her mouth, it burned bitter; she choked on it. 

The Joker noticed this. His wicked grin stretched wider, more daunting, eyes alight with sick amusement. ‘So you do have some fight left in you. That’s adorable.’

Then, he swung and her vision erupted with stars, they burned with a white-hot agony.

She barely felt herself hit the ground, as though her body was not hers anymore, it was something distant, something leaden, she could already feel reality receding. A small, bitter part of her recognised the poetry of it. Saw what the Joker was trying to achieve, the symmetry, as he had called it.

Y/N had spent so long learning how to crawl her way back from death. This could not be the exception. 

The Joker crouched beside her, his shoes shifting against the concrete, she watched them from her new place on the floor and stared as the newly shed blood glistened from his soles. 

‘Aw, don’t check out on me just yet, peaches. The real fun hasn’t even started.’

He reached out for her face as if in a caress, his gloved fingers grazing ever so gently down her cheek as though he had not just beaten her within an inch of her life. Bile rose in her throat at his touch; it burned like acid. 

She could barely see him now. Her vision was oscillating, black setting in at the edges. But she could hear him. She could feel the suffocating weight of inevitability settle over her like a burial shroud.

Jason was not going to make it; this realisation settled like a cold, unforgiving weight in her chest, smothering each breath she took. The fragile threads of hope she had held onto retreated into the abyss. Her heart ached as the cruel truth settled over her; Jason would arrive too late. He would never hear the words she so desperately longed to convey; the unspoken confession burned in her chest, restricted by time.

She was not going to survive this, the Joker would never allow it. Jason would find her like this, broken, derelict. She would not get the chance to explain. 

He leaned in close now, breath hot against her ear; it sent a shudder down her form. ‘I adore the symmetry I’ve created thus far, there’s only one thing left to do; I want him to see the damage I’ve done.’

‘Y’know,’ he murmured, still close to her face, voice low and sweet like the whisper of a lover, ‘he’s never gonna forgive himself for this.’

She ached to tell him he was wrong, that Jason would endure. That she would be okay. That he would not be unmade by this. But the words curdled in the warmth of her throat, thick with blood, the murk coiled around her like a patient tide; she was already ebbing from the world, conceding to its darkness.

Joker pulled away, sighing. ‘Ah well. C’est la vie.’

He stepped aside, allowing a red glow to seep into her stunted view, steady, unrelenting, and ominous. Her wavering vision had the numbers mangle into indistinct shapes, but she required no clarity. Y/N already knew what they meant. She braced herself, eyes fluttering shut. 

Jason could feel it like a thrum, like static in the air, like pressure boring into his skull. He grew tense, as though a spectre gripped the back of his neck in an unrelenting grasp. The comms had gone silent. Her comms. She never went silent.

His fingers wreathed tighter around the throttles of his bike as Gotham blurred past him, neon lights receding into its gloom as he tore through the streets. The city was too loud, too alive, too unaware of what was festering beneath its surface.

His mind clawed at the last words she had said before the line cut out, ‘I’ve got it, Jay. Don’t worry.’

But he did worry. He always worried. And now that worry had shifted into something sharp and breathless, twisting deep in his chest; he fought for air.

A crackle in his ear. Tim. ‘Jason…’ 

‘Where is she?’ He did not like the desperation in his voice, but he could not quell it.

A pause. Too long. Too weighted.

Then, a sigh. ‘An abandoned warehouse off of Dock 52.’

He was already turning the bike. Already forcing the engine to its limit. He ran red lights and tore through intersections, deaf to the horns, blind to the people, heedless to everything but the address burning itself into his mind, searing to his vision.

A warehouse.

His stomach plummeted. He knew what that meant.

He knew what would happen there.

He knew what Joker planned to do.

His pulse pounded in his ears. His breath turned shallow, quick and useless. His grip on the handlebars was white-knuckled, and his mind — his mind was a reel of tainted memories, a horror film of times gone past. This was not happening. This was not happening. This was not...

‘Jason.’ Dick’s voice this time. Steady. Trying to ground him. It only made it worse.

‘We’ll get her.’

But Jason already knew he was too late. It could never be that easy.

The flames licked and devoured the crumbling ruins around him, their heat pressed against his skin, yet somehow, he had never felt colder. It was the awful crimson that had first caught his eye; her body, once so strong and sure, now lay in a heap, decrepit and ghastly in a pool of her own blood. He did not recall making his way to her beaten frame, but abruptly, his knees had hit the concrete, a hollow, sickening sound swallowed by the vast emptiness of the desolate space. With trembling fingers, he reached for her and pulled her into his embrace.

Blood crept up his knuckles, stark and seeped within the crevices of his pale, illuminated skin.

It crept beneath his fingernails.

Her blood.

His hands shook violently with this foul revelation. The warehouse smelled of rust and rot, of soot and smoke, of something macabre. Shadows stretched against the walls, twisted structures caught in the flickering light of bare bulbs, but Jason could not see them. He could not perceive anything beyond her.

His breath was trapped somewhere in his ribs, clawing at his throat, fighting its way out as a broken, trembling sob.

No. No, no, no, no...

She was still warm.

That was the worst part.

Her body had not yet caught up with the brutal finality of her death. He had been close, so close. The blood that seeped from her skull was fresh, staining the floor, staining him, sinking into the creases of his clothes, into the cracks of his skin, imbibing itself into his very bones.

He glanced unwillingly to his side and saw a joker card weighed down by a battered crowbar. It was left there to taunt him; he felt a stinging pain rise in his throat.

He already knew this story.

He had lived this story.

Jason pressed a shaking hand to her cheek, fingers skimming over the torn skin of her temple. Her head lolled, lifeless, into his palm. His vision blurred. The world was shattering around him, the air closing in too fast, too tight.

This was not supposed to happen. Not again. Not to her. Not her.

A choked sound wrenched itself from his throat, raw and brutal. He wanted to tear the world apart, wanted it to burn, wanted to take everything Joker had ever touched and reduce it to ashes, bone and dust.

But there was no world left to destroy. His world lay broken in his arms.

‘Jason...’ a voice called from somewhere behind him. Distant. Muffled beneath the rush of blood pounding in his ears. ‘Jason, we need to... ’

‘No.’

It came out hoarse, a ragged snarl carved from the wreckage of his throat. Hands were on him now, Dick’s, maybe Tim’s, he did not care, they tried to pry him away, tried to separate him from the only thing that mattered. He wrenched free, curling over her like a shield, as though if he were to hold her tightly enough, he could put her back together, force her into place, will her soul back beneath her skin.

He loved her.

And he had failed her.

Jason felt something unravel within him, something fragile and irreparable. The grief inside him was not humane. It was raw, feral, a grief that gnawed at the edges of reason, hollowing him out until only the cavern of what he had been remained.

‘Jason,’ Bruce said, he did not remember him arriving. Bruce was quieter than the others, as if his words would be enough to stop the sky from collapsing, as though it would be enough to salvage what had already been destroyed. ‘We need to bring her home.’

Home.

The word felt like a mockery. 

He swallowed back the scream rising in his chest. She was his home. His arms curled tighter around her, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath shuddering as it ghosted over her cooling lips. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to rewind time. This could not be real.

But there was no waking up from this.

Joker forced her from him in the same manner he had taken him from Bruce. And this time, Jason had been the one who arrived too late.

History had repeated itself.

And she had fallen victim to it.

He was still holding her hand.

It was cold now, sickly. She looked like stone under the low light of the cave, sculpted into something reverent, something holy. If he were any weaker, he might have prayed. But there was never a god in Gotham, only ghosts, only graves.

His grip tightened.

‘Jason,’ Dick had murmured from over the threshold. He had the tone of someone who knew he had already lost his battle but was too stubborn to walk away. ‘You need to rest.’

Jason did not answer. What was the point? None of them understood. Not Bruce, who had watched him succumb to the same fate, but had seemingly not suffered the same. Not Dick, who had watched on. Not Tim, not Damian. They had not been shattered and put back together wrong. They had all known loss, but none of them, none of them, had lost her.

They tried again, in softer voices. Even Alfred, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder, spoke to him like a wounded animal. Jason did not move. He did not blink. He barely breathed.

They would not take her from him.

Eventually, they left him with her. Hours passed, or maybe minutes, or maybe lifetimes. He did not know. He just stayed, his thumb running absently over her knuckles, tracing circles into the skin. He should have been there sooner. He should have known. He should have...

Her fingers twitched.

Jason flinched, tearing his gaze from the blank, hollow of her face and down to their hands laying connected, both now dried crimson with her blood. The movement had been so slight he almost thought he had imagined it. His chest was hollowed out, a cavern scraped raw, and his mind was cracked wide with grief. He must have been seeing things.

Then it happened again.

Her breath hitched. Her shoulders jerked. A sharp inhale wrenched her back into her body, into the cage of her skin, into the cold and then to him.

Jason scrambled to his feet, the gurney rattling with the force of his pushing away. The world tilted, his stomach plummeting because this was not... this was not possible. His hands shook as he pulled away, as he stared down at her, heart hammering like a war drum in his ribs.

‘What... ’

‘Jason,’ she whispered, barely audible, as though she was speaking through water, through a fog, through the thousand miles that should exist between her and life.

He stumbled back. No, no, this was not... it could not...

She pushed herself up on her elbows, slow, deliberate, blinking the haze from her eyes. Her gaze swept the room before settling on him. He looked wrecked, as though he were unravelling at the seams.

‘I… I don’t... ’ he choked out, but his voice barely worked. ‘I held you. You weren’t breathing. You were dead.’

‘I was.’ Her voice was solemn, yielding. 

He took another step back, shaking his head, trying to force this into something he could make sense of. But there was no logic here, no reason. Only his own past being referenced before him.

She watched him for a moment. Then, gently, she reached for his hand.

‘Let me explain.’ Her voice was soft, pleading.

Jason moved, did not resist, just let himself be drawn back in. The contact burned through his clothes, through his skin, down to the bones that had once shattered against the Joker’s crowbar, just as hers had.

She exhaled, steadying herself, and then began.

‘I was seven the first time I died.’

Jason felt something splinter in him, he drew in a quick breath.

‘My father…’ she trailed off, lips pressing into a thin line. A flicker of something old and ruined crossed her face before she buried it again. ‘Though he didn’t mean it. He was by no means… kind. And he…’ 

She halted her words a muscle in her jaw twitching.

Jason’s fingers tightened in hers. His heart was still hammering, still trying to keep up with a reality that had seemingly stumbled sideways.

‘My… return shocked him.’ Jason did not like the implications behind her words, they made him sick, but he let her continue. 

‘He needed to know how I survived it; he hated the uncertainty. So he…’ She paused again, eerily composed. ‘...experimented. I always woke up. I always came back.’

Jason’s stomach twisted, nausea creeping up his throat like acid. This was too vile. Too raw. The thought of her helplessness, her fear, and the cycle of pain she had been subjected to was enough to debilitate him. The air suddenly tasted like metal, sharp and bitter, but it was nothing compared to the taste of rage searing through his veins. 

He stepped back and stood still, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms, but still, his breath remained steady, almost serene. The world around him felt muted, like a muffled beat, the edges of his vision fading to red with the sudden weight of this truth. He could not believe that someone meant to nurture and cherish her could cause her such anguish. Anger, raw and relentless, rose, it begged for vengeance. Wherever this foul man resides, he must pay; but not yet. 

He watched as she sat pouting, she was not happy that he had drawn himself away from her, so he stood forward once more and grabbed her still outstretched palms.

She quickly enveloped his hands, grounding him. ‘I was afraid to tell you,’ she admitted, sheepish. ‘I thought you might look at me differently.’

Jason let out a hollow, humourless laugh. ‘Differently?’

Her lips twitched, almost amused, almost sad. ‘I know it’s ironic, if anyone would understand, it was you. I know, it’s a lot.’

A lot. Right. That was one way to describe the phenomenon. All Jason knew was that his world had imploded, that the grief that had so recently shifted him into something unrecognisable, was chased away with relief coiled so tightly in his gut he thought he might shatter beneath it.

But all he did was drag her forward, arms closing around her so tightly he could not be sure where he ended and she began.

‘I was going to bury you,’ he rasped against her shoulder, shaking. ‘Bury you.’

‘I know,’ she whispered, fingers curling into the leather of his jacket. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.’

He exhaled shakily, pressing his face into her hair, trying to anchor himself to the warmth of her; the solid weight of her in his arms. Alive. But the moment ended too soon as light flooded suddenly into the room. Jason and Y/N turned, eyes narrowing begrudgingly toward the interruption, only to be met with a group of gaping faces that stood shocked beyond the threshold.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3 On a side note, the reader's ability to come back from the dead and the father's experimentation that then follows was inspired by a character from a different source material. I'm not going to say who because it is a spoiler for anyone who may end up watching the show, but I wonder if any of you picked up on the allusion.