#Jason Todd Moves to Blüdhaven | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

corameiwrites · 6 months ago

Text

𖦹 i want somebody to want 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: When you turn 21, the name of your soulmate appears on your forearm. Not everyone is born with a soulmate, and Jason Todd never thought he would have one.

wc: 2k

authors note: I remember reading in a fic somewhere about the Wayne Scholarship, and I forgot who/where I read it exactly, so credit to them whoever they are. Also, some characters may seem a little ooc and tbh I don't really care. I had fun writing this which is all that matters, and I hope you have fun reading it!

pt. 2

The place Dick had dragged Jason to wasn’t all that bad, considering it was located in Blüdhaven. Unless it was near the University area, there was always something sinister and more corrupt happening under the alcohol, vomit, and blood-stained floors of Gotham bars. Normally no amount of bribery or guilting could make him voluntarily dress up and go out drinking with his older brother, but today was not normal.

It was his twenty-first birthday.

Meaning that by 11:59 tonight, if a name didn’t appear somewhere on one of his arms, he was destined to be alone. Not everyone is born with a soulmate, and realistically, after all the shit he’s been through, Jason Todd never thought he would have one. Despite that, there was some sort of dread slowly filling his body the more he thought about it. Maybe it was that small flame of the little boy he used to be—before Robin and the Bat and the Joker—igniting at the chance of finally having one. It was the same boy who would trace his parents’ names on their wrist, asking them to tell him once more how they met, what they felt seeing the names appear on their skin. Unfortunately, that little boy would be let down yet again by the end of the night.

His plans had originally been to stay in his main apartment (the one where he stored all his books and indulged in a comfy couch), buy a 6-pack of the cheapest beer and get drunk alone. That was ruined, however, when he received multiple annoying texts from Dick, begging to go out for drinks tonight, specifying multiple times that it would be on him. Jason told himself the only reason he agreed was for the free drinks and to keep himself from checking his forearm every five goddamn seconds (a night out with Richard Grayson was known to be entertaining and unpredictable).

If it was Dicks plan to get Jason blackout drunk, he was doing a pretty good job of it. After agreeing he would be the designated driver, Dick had laid back on the drinks and only taken 3 of the five rounds of shots they had already ordered. Jason was opening up bit by bit, reminiscing on their childhood together. By his fifth shot, smiling seemed to come easier to Jason.

Currently, they were both watching the flatscreen hung behind the bar showing a news channel covering Batman and Robin putting an end to another bank robbery.

Dick pointed at the screen. “Damian learned that move from me.”

“No, I taught him that.”

“I’m the one who taught you that move when you were younger, big dummy,” Dick teased.

“Oh, I forgot.” Jason's tone lost its joking edge, and Dick looked over at him. “You know,” he continued almost somberly. “Ever since coming back, I seem to forget a lot of things.”

His eyes were glued to the screen, watching as Batman jumped out a window in pursuit of the bad guy. Robin shouted after him.

“You’ve been through hell and back, Todd. Normal people wouldn’t have been able to handle it the way you did.”

“No, you see, that's the thing.” Jason's voice was frustrated, his previous smiles gone. His brows furrowed the longer he ranted. “I’m not normal. I cycle through apartments and bunkers like crazy to help me lay low. I sleep in until 3 pm and I put a helmet on to chase down crazy guys with guns for hours at night. The public knows me as some traumatized kid who somehow survived a terrorist attack.” He pauses to take a gulp of beer, slamming the glass onto the bar, lifting his arm to wipe his mouth. Dick watched his jacket slip down his arm.

“Jason–”

“I don’t have a home, I don’t have a stable routine, I don’t even have life insurance!” Dick had somehow managed to get the former deceased and outlaw brother of his drunk and ranting about life. And the worst part? Nobody was ever going to believe him.

“Jason,” Dick puts a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, gripping him like a vice. His eyes never left his arm. “Your soulmate.”

Both of them are silent for a moment. Jason sighs, shaking his head.

“Damn, you're good at this.Yeah, it's about the soulmate thing.”

“You fucking idiot,” Dick slaps him on the back of his head. “Look at your arm!”

Dick watched as Jason stared him in the eyes, his brain clearly trying to catch up with what his brother was insinuating. When he finally looked down, it was comedic the way his eyes bulged at the fresh ink on his left arm. Dick tried his best to keep his excitement at bay, biting back his proud smile. His grumpy, tough, and borderline psychotic little brother had a soulmate. After a couple more seconds of silence, Jason cursed under his breath.

“I’m too sober for this,” Jason mumbled, chugging down the rest of his beer.

Dick laughs, waving the bartender over and handing him a card to close their tab. Jason slams the empty cup down, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. “I have a soulmate.”

“Yeah man, congratulations!” Dick pats his brother on the back, but recoils at Jason turning abruptly and staring him dead in the eye.

“I have a soulmate.”

“I…yeah, you do bud.”

“...I have a soulmate.” He repeats, annunciating each word, as if he can’t believe it. “I need to find them,” Jason says, standing and walking towards the exit of the bar.

“Woah, Jason–” Dick hurriedly stands, apologetically yelling for the bartender and grabbing his card. Rushing outside, he sees Jason recklessly crossing the street to the parking lot. “Slow down!”

Jason stands awkwardly next to Richard Grayson's blue convertible, clambering over the door and into the passenger seat. Dick watches from across the street, shaking his head with a smile, making his way to the car. He couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed with Jasons drunken behavior.

Hopping in the driver's seat, Dick puts the keys into the ignition. “Alright loverboy, where are we going?”

“The mansion,” Jason struggles to get his seatbelt on (Dick intervenes). “The Batcave’s computer can find anyone.”

“Huh. That’s actually really smart considering you're drunk.”

“I’m not. Just shut up and drive.”

Dick laughs, hitting the gas pedal and doing as he was told.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ♡ ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

Bruce was home early, having quickly left the bank robbers tied up as Gordons responsibility. Currently, he was sitting in the library going over a case file. Damian had already gone to bed when he had gotten an alert of a vehicle coming up the manor's driveway. He checked the security cameras in the garage and was shocked to see his eldest rushing to the passenger side of the car to stop his sluggish brother from falling out. At first, Bruce had thought that he was poisoned or impaired in some way. He called for Alfred, asking him to prepare the medical rooms to tend to Jason. A few short minutes later, he heard faint voices approaching.

“I used to live here before I died, I know where I’m going.”

“Clearly not, we passed the entrance already.”

“The old man has a sensor on that door. We need to take the entrance in one of the bookshelves, they don’t notify him when someone enters.” No one but Alfred was supposed to know that.

“I doubt it’ll matter, he’s out fighting crime with—oh shit!” Bruce watched through his freakish peripheral vision as two figures hurriedly backed away from the doorway of the library. “Code Bat! Code Bat!” Dicks voice had dropped to a whisper, though not so quiet that Bruce couldn’t hear.

“B’s here?” A head with a white streak of hair popped through the doorway before quickly vanishing. “Oh no.”

“It’s only 11:45, what is he doing lounging around?”

Bruce chuckled quietly, now coming to the realization that they weren’t drugged or in danger; they were just drunk. Jason especially, which made sense. Quietly, he sent Alfred a message telling him to disregard the request. He feigned ignorance to their presence, going as far as flipping pages of the case file in his lap while they bickered, attempting to formulate a plan. Listening in to their not very secretive conversation, Bruce deduced that they had come to find Jason's soulmate on the Bat computer. It was his 21st afterall, and why else would he come drunkenly to the home he tried so hard to stay away from? Bruce found himself smiling for the boy. He had been through so much, and he deserved to have some good in his life. He only hoped that whoever they were, they took care of him in places where Bruce failed.

Sighing exaggeratedly, he stood, stretched and slowly made his way to the doorway, listening as the two brothers hushed. He allowed himself one last second of respite before wiping the smile off his face and walking out into the dark hallway. Dick stood alone, leaning against the wall and whistling. He turned his head, seeing Bruce standing, observing him.

“Oh, hey Bruce! I’ve been looking for you.” Dick pushed off the wall, going to stand next to his Father. “I thought I’d visit, wait for you to get home, but you’re here!”

“What do you need?”

“Oh nothing much,” taking Bruce's arm, he began to drag him in the opposite direction, past the library. “I just got nostalgic, and wanted to take a trip down memory lane with my Pops.”

“You smell like alcohol.”

“Like I said, I was feeling nostalgic!”

Dick rattled on, leading him down the dark halls, and Bruce noticed Jason slipping into the library. He smiled, turning his attention back to his eldest. He couldn’t find himself to be angry about his sons keeping secrets from him. If he felt anything about tonight's endeavor, it was disappointment. Bruce Wayne had taught his sons to be sneakier than they had been tonight.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ♡ ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

Jason, in his drunken haste, had almost tripped down the short flight of steps leading to the massive computer. He couldn't really blame the alcohol though—it was his fault for looking down at his arm every couple seconds, as though the black ink would fade away before he ever found out who you were. Even if it did, he had already committed the name to memory.

He knew how many letters were in your name, the number of syllables in the different parts of it. Despite this, he hadn’t yet spoken it out loud. For the last 30 minutes of his life, every breath he took held a certain weight to it, and the beating of his heart had persisted to be about 120 beats per minute.

He blamed it on the alcohol, but logically he knew the reason.

That little boy—the one he thought was dead and buried—was coming back to life, crawling his way out of the depths of Jason and settling into his gut.

His hand shook as he typed the name, every click of the keyboard ringing dully in his skull. Inhaling deeply, Jason hesitated for only a moment before clicking enter. Your name popped up surprisingly quickly, specifically registered under the “Wayne Scholarship” file.

His hand moved by its own volition and the link was clicked, a government ID popping up on the display.

Staring up at the photo of you in awe, his eyes flickered to the name and back to the photo, unbelieving that this was you. Your simple beauty was evident even through the low quality government ID.

He stared for a while, just taking in you. It was a little odd looking at the huge screen, knowing that you two were made for each other. The thought only made his heart speed up even more.

Digging into your file, he finds that you’re 20 and won’t be turning 21 for another seven months. The knowledge that he knows and you don’t makes him nauseous.

Clenching the edge of the table, he remembers that the reason he found you so quick was due to the Wayne Scholarship. You moved to Gotham for your third year of college to attend Gotham University, with most of the tuition paid for as long as you agree to stay away from any and all crime. Suddenly, he had found another reason to be thankful that Bruce was filthy rich. Your current residence was an old apartment complex in the University area, which was for the most part, free of crime. The more information he got from Bruce Wayne's files, the more his stomach fluttered.

That little boy was practically jumping up and down inside of him, chanting over and over again, “I knew it! I knew we would have a soulmate!”. As the information sunk in, he began to shake more violently, and he felt like his legs were barely holding his weight. In fear of throwing up or collapsing on the floor (or both), he fell backwards into Bruce's chair. A tear slid down Jason’s cheek, and then another, and another.

For the first time in a long time, Jason Todd sobbed.

2K notes · View notes

cipheress-to-k-pop · 5 months ago

Text

BFB (j.t.)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of fire, burns and shoulder dislocation

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Jason doesn’t want to be seen as your best friend’s brother anymore. Jason Todd yearns for 7k words

A/N: Again I feel like this played out better in my head honestly but oh well, it is what it is

10 years ago Jason Todd aged 14 (Y/N) (L/N) aged 16

The sound of thundering feet down the hallway was a common sound ever since the Wayne household had welcomed a new child. You, nor your best friend Dick, were the slightest bit disturbed when Jason slammed open the door to the family room and stormed in.

"You ate my Cheetos!" He cried to his older brother, ruddy face screwed up like he had just eaten a sour grape.

You chuckled under your breath, looking back down at your book that rested against Dick's legs that had been thrown in your lap. Jason glared at the offensive limbs like they were a parasite.

"Sorry, baby bird. (Y/N) here really wanted some Cheetos." Dick replied, hands gross and covered in orange dust. You scoffed, smacking his knee and he gave you an impish grin while looking over his phone.

Jason paused, his face reddening as he caught a glance at you. You offered him a lopsided smile, effortlessly covering for his pig of a brother.

“Sorry, Jace, I was hungry.”

He looked down, bashfully playing with the hem of his sweater, "It's okay."

You smacked his brother again when you felt his body shake with thinly veiled laughter. He had no problem abusing the knowledge that his younger brother had a childish crush on you. The poor thing had already lost most of his snack stash because of him.

"Thanks, kiddo."

Jason shot you a dirty look, “Don’t call me a kid. We’re not that far apart in age, you know.”

You raised a brow, “You’re a freshman, and I’m a senior.”

“That’s just because I joined a year late!” He argued, indignant.

Holding up your hands in a mock ‘I surrender’ motion, you glanced back at your book, but not before shooting a final warning look at his older brother.

“Whatever you say, kiddo.”

***

Present Day Jason Todd aged 24 (Y/N) (L/N) aged 26

"Sorry, B. I can't make it tomorrow, I promised (Y/N) that I'd help her build some furniture."

Jason perked up, practically shooting up straight at the sound of your name, "(Y/N)? She still around? What's she up to these days?"

He hoped—prayed—that his voice didn’t sound as elated to them as it did to him.

The two of you had lost touch after you graduated high school. Dick had moved to Blüdhaven, and you’d been accepted to university in Central City. Without your best friend in Gotham, there hadn’t been much reason for you to visit Wayne Manor.

It had stung. Jason knew you’d always had a closer relationship with his older brother, but he’d thought—hoped—that you liked him enough to at least give him a call on the odd weekend.

He’d get the occasional holiday text from you, wishing him well, and sometimes he’d text you for advice about school. But that was it.

When Jason had come back from the Lazarus Pit, he’d spent countless nights wondering what had happened to you. You would’ve been twenty-six by then. He imagined you’d graduated grad school and become a scientist, probably living in a cute apartment you’d been so excited to decorate—walls lined with bookshelves, couches draped in cozy throws you’d thrifted or maybe even crocheted yourself.

He wondered if you’d grown any taller, if you still dressed like a tomboy, or if you’d traded that style for something softer, something different. He wondered if you’d finally gotten a cat, since you’d wanted one so badly growing up.

But things between him and Batman were still tense, there was still a lot of hurt left on his part, a lot of stuff to work through. He wasn't good enough for you before; he was too young, too brash, too immature.

Now, he was too broken, too damaged; still not worthy of you.

So, he was left wondering.

"Yeah...she's back in the city, she's been working as a junior researcher in Gotham S.T.A.R. Labs."

Jason nodded, nonchalantly, looking down at the home screen of his phone like there was something interesting that happened to capture his attention, "Oh, that's good."

Dick raised a brow, clearly catching onto Jason's very poor attempts to appear unbothered, "And she still thinks you're dead."

He didn't need to see his younger brother's face to know he had frozen. That was quite obvious with the way his shoulders jumped til his ears and he rolled his eyes.

Honestly, how did loverboy manage to overlook that incredibly giant detail?

***

It had been a quiet evening. You were sitting on the couch, curled up with a book in hand and a cup of tea resting beside you, the hum of the city filtering in from the window. You had made peace with Jason's death years ago—taught yourself to move forward, or at least to pretend. The world had kept turning, and so had you.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. It was from Dick.

[1 New Message from Dick]: We need to talk. I’m coming over.

Your heart dropped. You’d known Dick long enough to recognize when something was wrong. His texts were almost always direct or lighthearted, but this—this was different. The sudden dread sinking into your stomach left you feeling nauseous, your pulse quickening.

[You]: What’s going on?

No reply came immediately, making the sick feeling grow. The silence was worse than the text itself. Something was wrong. Your thoughts spun in circles, dread clouding your mind.

The last time you felt like this was when Jason—

There was a knock at the door. You hesitated before opening it, half-expecting the worst.

Dick stood in the doorway, looking disheveled. His eyes were wide, a mix of exhaustion and something darker etched into his features. His foot scuffed the carpet as he stepped inside, pacing immediately, his socks leaving smudges behind on your rug.

You bit your lip, unsure of how to address the storm brewing within him, but you couldn’t find the heart to scold him. He looked too rattled.

"Take a breath, Dickie. Whatever it is, you can tell me." You said softly, trying to soothe him as he walked back and forth.

It wasn’t until a few minutes of pacing that he stopped, shoulders hunched and face tense. He finally turned to you, locking eyes as if bracing himself, "Jason’s alive."

Your breath caught in your throat, but you didn’t let the shock show. You stayed eerily calm. You had learned long ago how to keep your composure, especially with Dick, who was always more emotional in moments like this.

"Sit down. Let me make us some tea. You can stay here tonight." You stood, walking to the kitchen, trying to create a sense of normalcy, "We’ll talk about this in the morning, okay? Everything will make sense once you get some rest."

Dick stared at you, disbelief clear in his eyes, "What? That's your response?"

You kept your back turned to him, calmly preparing the kettle. "Honey," You called back, voice low and steady, "this isn’t the first time you’ve said you’ve seen Jason. Remember?" You turned to face him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. You couldn’t help it; this wasn’t the first time Dick had experienced hallucinations. When Jason died, Dick’s grief had twisted his mind in ways you knew all too well.

"No, (Y/N), I’m being serious. This is real," Dick said, his voice firm, steady.

You rubbed his shoulder gently, trying to soothe him, though you could feel the tension in his body. "I’m sure it feels that way," you replied, not fully buying into what he was saying. You had seen him go through so much grief, and the idea of Jason being alive, after everything that had happened, felt like an impossible fantasy.

"No, (Y/N), I’m serious. We can dig up his grave right now. He’s alive, and he’s here." Dick continued, his tone unwavering. He was no longer the conflicted man you had known during the years of Jason’s death. This wasn’t a joke or another hallucination. Dick was calm, composed, and absolutely certain of what he was saying.

You frowned, the disbelief still hanging in the air, "That isn’t funny, Dick."

He sighed, "You're right, I'm sorry but Jason really is back. I’ve seen him. He’s part of the family again. We’ve all met him, and he’s doing okay. I know it sounds crazy, but he’s here. And he’s with us."

The words hung in the air, your mind racing to catch up with the gravity of what Dick was saying.

“How—how is that even possible?” You asked, your voice trembling slightly as your mind struggled to make sense of the words.

“It’s a long story,” Dick replied with a quiet sigh. He looked at you seriously, “Listen, I just wanted to let you know this way because I care about you. He asked about you recently, so I figured it would be a good time to let you know.”

You frowned, trying to absorb the flood of emotions and information that seemed to hit you all at once, “How long have you known?”

“A couple of months,” Dick said, his tone more subdued now, “He wasn’t too happy with us when he first came back... not when he found out the Joker was still alive.”

Your stomach tightened, a knot of unease twisting in your gut. You had seen firsthand the kind of damage the Joker and the events surrounding Jason’s death had done to the family. You could never forget the way it had all shattered Dick, how broken he was in the aftermath.

"But we've made amends in the past month. He’s back where he belongs."

You nodded slowly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you, “And you're for sure not hallucinating this?"

Dick gave you a sharp look, “I can’t blame you for wondering, but no. This is real. You can meet him, if you want.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to see Jason. But the overwhelming weight of everything—the shock, the grief that you had buried long ago, and the strange sense of unfamiliarity now attached to his return—left you struggling for words. Was he still the same person you knew? “I do want to… I just… I need some time. I think I need to wrap my head around this. It’s not every day that you find out someone came back to life.”

Truthfully, Jason’s death hadn’t affected your daily life as much as you expected. After moving for college, you didn’t see him much, and the memories of him didn’t cross your mind as often as they once had. Yes, in the months following his death, you’d had to take care of Dick—making sure he wasn’t running himself into the ground—but that had always been your role as his best friend.

But there was something about Jason that left a lingering hole in your life. Something unexpected. Jason had been such a bright, sweet soul—too young, too full of life. You'd imagined your future in Gotham, with your parents, and your best friend, and in that little corner, Jason’s glowing face would always be there. You couldn't picture him growing taller than you, still that fresh-faced sweet boy from the Narrows. Always there.

And then he wasn’t. And that absence—it left a space you hadn’t expected to feel.

The loss had settled in quietly, like a low hum beneath everything you did. There were nights where it kept you awake, wondering how scared he must have been in his final moments, wondering if he had known he was being taken from this world far too soon. The fact that he was gone had been a sharp, permanent reality, one you had learned to live with—but now, knowing that he was back... it was almost too much to take in.

Dick nodded, his expression softening, “I know. It’s a lot. But he’s here, and he’s trying to make things right. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

***

A lot had changed.

The last time you saw him, he was shorter than you, all sharp edges and boyish energy, always talking too fast and trying to keep up with Dick. Now he was taller, broader, a man where a boy used to be. The once roundness of his face had sharpened into defined angles, his voice deeper than you remembered.

And his eyes—God, his eyes.

There was something older in them now, something jaded and unspoken. You had heard the stories, whispered half-truths that nobody wanted to confirm. You had no idea how much of it was real, but the Jason Todd standing in front of you was not the same boy you remembered.

Still, none of that stopped you from grinning as you stepped forward.

"Jaybird!"

His breath hitched.

You didn’t notice.

You threw your arms around his neck, the way you used to when he was a kid, laughing as you pulled him into a tight hug. You didn't know whether he hugged you back, you couldn't really feel it, only feeling pins and needles run down the length of your body.

You didn’t really care if he hugged you back. All you felt was awe and bewilderment, and underneath it all, sheer and utter joy at the fact that he was here.

"Damn," You laughed, pulling away just enough to hold him at arm’s length, "When did you get so tall? And jacked? Holy crap, Jay, you could bench press me."

Jason let out something between a scoff and a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, "Maybe I should, just to prove a point."

"Please don’t. That’s so undignified." You poked at his bicep, grinning but there was a mist to your eyes that neither of you were going to address, a red tint to the tip of your nose, "My scrawny little brother, all grown up and scary-looking."

His smile twitched. Something flickered in his expression—too quick for you to catch—before he shook his head, rolling his eyes, "You’re impossible."

"As always," You smirked, nudging his ribs playfully before stepping back, "It’s so good to see you, Jason. I mean it."

You didn’t notice the way he swallowed hard. Didn’t see the way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to pull you back before you got too far away.

Instead, you shot him a bright smile, completely oblivious to the way his heart ached.

You still saw him as that kid trailing after Dick. The reckless, stubborn little brother. Ten years, and he was still trailing after you like a lost puppy. Still, longing for your attention.

Jason clenched his jaw, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he exhaled slowly.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice softer now. "Good to see you too, (Y/N)."

***

Even though you should have been the one to notice the big, burly man stepping into the dainty little coffee shop, you didn’t.

Jason did.

He spotted you first—tucked away in the corner, bathed in golden sunlight as you read, a delicate hand curled around a warm cup of tea. You looked so peaceful, completely unaware of him. Maybe you had caught a glimpse of him in your peripheral, but it hadn’t registered. After all, it hadn’t been that long since you’d seen him again.

He almost hesitated.

He almost continued his visit like he hadn’t even noticed you, but despite everything he’d been through—despite the fact that he was a grown man now—he still found himself feeling like his teenage self, craving your attention whenever you were in the room.

"(Y/N)?"

Your head snapped up, eyes darting around to locate the voice—until they landed on him.

The way your expression changed made his heart stutter.

First, confusion. Then, slow realization. And finally—joy.

A sunny grin broke across your face before you could stop it. Without a second thought, you launched yourself at him, tackling him in a hug that had nearby patrons stepping aside awkwardly.

"Jason!"

He stumbled back a few steps, caught entirely off guard. His arms hovered uncertainly over your waist, but before he could settle them on your hips, you pulled away just as quickly—smoothing out his jacket as if brushing off imaginary dust before cupping his face, taking in his utterly bewildered expression.

That same expression that his younger self shared. It made your heart swell.

You were like a hurricane blowing through him.

He knew you were extroverted and energetic—he had seen it in your expressions and interactions with his brother while growing up. But this was the first time your affection had ever been directed at him.

"Sorry! Haha! I'm still not used to seeing you alive and all—guess I got too excited!" You laughed, a little breathless, your thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones, "How are you? Do you wanna sit down and catch up?"

Jason blinked, something unreadable flickering across his face before the corner of his mouth twitched up.

"Yeah," he said, voice softer than you expected, "Yeah, I’d like that."

And before he knew it, he was in the eye of the storm, caught in the calm, in you.

***

Jason leaned against his motorcycle, arms crossed, watching the entrance of your workplace with a kind of nervous energy he hadn’t felt in years. He had sent the invite on a whim—just a casual “Hey, it’s been a while. Wanna grab a coffee?”—but now that he was actually here, waiting, he was starting to regret it.

The automatic doors of the laboratory building slid open, and there you were, stepping out onto the sidewalk, scanning the street.

Jason felt like he’d been punched in the chest.

He swallowed hard.

“Jaybird,” You greeted, pulling him into a tight hug, “Been a while.”

Jason let himself sink into it for half a second before forcing himself to let go, “Yeah, well. You’re hard to pin down these days.”

You rolled your eyes, “Oh, please. You’re the one always disappearing. You’re worse than Dick.”

Jason smirked, “Low blow.”

You looped an arm around his, tugging him toward the sidewalk, “C’mon, walk with me. I wanna hear what you’ve been up to.”

He let himself be pulled along, shaking his head, “What I’ve been up to? You’re the one always buried in the lab.”

You groaned, “Don’t remind me. I swear, one of these days, I’m just gonna quit and run away to a beach somewhere.”

Jason laughed, nudging your shoulder, “Yeah? You’d last, what, a week before you got bored?”

You pouted, “Okay, rude. But true.”

He watched you talk, listened to you ramble about work, about a bad coffee you’d had the other day, about a stray cat that kept showing up outside your apartment. He nodded in the right places, chimed in with sarcastic comments, but mostly, he just took in the way you looked at him.

The way you looked at him like nothing had changed.

Like he was still the same Jason you’d always known.

Like you had no idea how much he wasn’t.

You sighed, bumping into his side, “I missed you, y’know?”

His heart fluttered, a jolt of electricity running through it in a way that made him feel giddy, “You did?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s so great that we can just pick up where we left off, no awkwardness or anything. I guess that’s the good thing about family, huh?”

He froze for a fraction of a second at the word family. It took everything in him not to flinch. He forced a smile, trying to keep his cool.

“Yeah... I guess that’s the good thing, huh?” He pushed the words out, though they tasted bitter on his tongue.

You glanced up at him, offering a grin that made his heart ache. “Exactly.” You said, as if that word was enough to sum up everything. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Just family.

Jason walked beside you, his hands in his jacket pockets, fingers curling into fists. The sharp edge of his feelings threatened to spill over, but he kept them at bay. He wasn’t going to ruin this. Not when he finally had a chance to talk to you again after so long.

You kept chatting, unaware of the quiet storm brewing inside him. You told him about a new research project you were working on and your latest failed attempt at cooking. His responses were automatic—smiles, laughs, and the occasional comment—but his mind was elsewhere, caught in the web of thoughts he couldn’t untangle.

It was so easy for you to slip back into the role of the confident, carefree person you always were around him. And here he was, still stuck in the same old cycle of longing. Family. That was all he would ever be to you. Just family.

But what if it wasn’t enough anymore?

As you continued to walk, your voice light and carefree, Jason couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever get the courage to tell you how he felt. Would it even change anything? Or would it ruin everything, forever locking him into the “family” role he had never wanted to begin with?

You bumped into him again, snapping him out of his thoughts, “Hey, Jay, I’ve been thinking—I do these little arcade runs with Timmy and Dami once a month, you know, like a brotherly-sisterly bonding activity.”

Jason’s chest tightened. He knew. You, Dick, and he used to do that all the time ten years ago. It left a bittersweet feeling in his chest.

“You should join us sometime. You know, like old times.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

***

When Jason saw the amber-orange glow of the building from afar, his heart dropped. Without hesitation, he signaled the remaining members of the Bat Family before sprinting toward it. He didn’t like the path he was taking. He didn’t like where it was leading.

It almost seemed like he was heading toward—

No.

Jason came face to face with the burning S.T.A.R. Labs building.

Even through his fireproof armor, he could feel the searing heat radiating from the inferno. He watched as waves of people poured out, coughing, screaming, their faces twisted in pain and panic. His eyes scanned over them, searching.

None of them were you.

Without a second thought, he moved toward the building.

His comms buzzed to life.

"Red Hood, do not engage! You don’t have a plan!" Batman’s voice was firm, commanding.

"(Y/N) is in there!" Jason snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then, he braved the flames.

He pushed through the burning hallways, doing whatever he could to help those in his path—clearing exits, carrying the wounded—until he reached the deeper levels of the lab. His lungs burned with the smoke, but he kept moving.

And then he heard it.

A bloodcurdling shriek.

Your shriek.

Jason sprinted toward the sound, shoving open what remained of your office door. The sight that greeted him made his stomach lurch—

You were trapped beneath a flaming bookshelf.

Soot covered your skin, your body trembling as you fought to free yourself. Your clothes were scorched, and judging by the way you were barely moving, you had sustained multiple burns. Panic filled your eyes.

Jason didn’t hesitate.

He threw the bookshelf off you, scooping you into his arms and holding you close as he ran out. You couldn’t think straight. The blinding pain in your shoulder overtook every other thought.

"You're gonna be okay. I'm gonna reset your shoulder." Jason murmured. The deep baritone of his gravelly voice had your panic subsiding by a fraction. He didn't sound worried, which meant you were going to be fine. Probably.

"Are you sure you know how to do that?" You really shouldn't have to ask that. Jason would never suggest it if he thought he might do more harm than good. You trusted him.

"Yeah, I've got you, baby. Trust me."

You inhaled sharply, pressing your bloody forehead to his and screwing your eyes shut. Jason watched as a fresh wave of tears poured down your cheeks and his stomach hollowed out at the sight of you in pain. You were trembling, chest shaking as you tried to contain your sobs.

"I do."

He rubbed a hand up and down your waist, trying to comfort you briefly before he grabbed your injured arm with both his hands. You took a shaky breath, trying to stifle another sob.

“You might want to hold onto something, doll—holy sh—!”

He was rudely cut off as your free hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, keeping his forehead pressed against yours—your only source of comfort.

In hindsight, you weren’t sure what logic had driven you to grab his hair. Perhaps you wanted him to feel as much pain as you were in—or as much pain as you knew he was about to put you through. Or maybe you just wanted to anchor him to you, to keep him close so you could draw comfort from his presence.

"Ready?"

You weren’t ready—but you sniffled and nodded anyway, hearing him count down from three. The next thing you heard was a crack, followed by the sound of your own scream as you clung to Jason’s hair, gripping so tightly you were afraid you’d tear out those perfect strands.

Jason pressed gentle kisses to the side of your head as you sobbed, his voice low and soothing. He told you how proud he was, that it was all over now, as he worked quickly to tie a tourniquet.

When everything was done, you collapsed against his chest, going limp in his arms as he carried you out of the building. You were handed off to a paramedic and gently placed on a gurney.

With bleary eyes, you watched him run back into the building, your consciousness slipping away before you could call out to stop him.

***

The steady beeping of the monitors was the first thing you heard when you groggily blinked awake. The second thing was the sound of someone muttering under their breath, followed by the unmistakable rustling of fabric.

You turned your head—slowly, because everything hurt—and found Jason slumped in the chair beside your bed, arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed. His jacket was draped over the armrest, his boots scuffed, the soles stained with char.

“Hey, doll.” Jason greeted, his voice softer than usual.

You gave him a sleepy smile, “Hey, hero.”

He looked… tired. The kind of tired that wasn’t just from lack of sleep, but from worry. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d been running his hands through it all night. His jacket still smelled faintly of smoke.

“How long have you been here?” You asked.

Jason shrugged, leaning forward so his forearms rested on the bedrail, "Not long." But you both knew he was lying.

Your heart clenched, warmth curling in your chest, “You didn’t have to stay.”

Jason’s gaze flicked to yours, unreadable for a moment, “Yeah, I did.”

Your breath caught slightly. He didn’t elaborate—he didn’t need to.

You swallowed, looking down at where your hand rested against the blanket. You hesitated, then shifted it slightly, palm up, an invitation. Jason hesitated too, just for a second, before lacing his fingers with yours.

His grip was warm, steady. He didn’t squeeze too tight, mindful of your injuries, but he didn’t let go, either.

There was something unspoken between the two of you, something different now. Neither of you could quite place it—maybe it was the quiet familiarity of being here together, or maybe it was the way his hand fit into yours, a little more firmly than before. But you both knew something had shifted. It hung in the air, thick and heavy, but neither of you dared to speak of it.

“You scared the hell outta me,” He admitted, voice rougher now, quieter.

“I’m okay.” You squeezed his hand, reassuring, “Thanks to you.”

Jason scoffed, but there was no bite to it, “Yeah, no thanks to your dumbass trying to save your research instead of yourself. Next time, leave the dangerous work to the big boys?”

You rolled your eyes, clearing your throat, “Next time, try not making me scream so hard when you reset my shoulder. I think I burst a blood vessel.”

Jason smirked, rubbing his thumb absently over your knuckles, “I can make you scream plenty other ways, baby.”

Your scoffed at this, rolling your eyes but choosing not to respond. Stupid bastard, pretending like he was all suave when you both knew underneath it all, Jason Todd was an unapologetic romantic.

You let your fingers tighten around his, anchoring yourself to the warmth of him.

Jason squeezed back, like he understood.

“Get some rest." He murmured, shifting slightly so his arm rested on the mattress, keeping your hands tangled together, “I’ll be here.”

You sighed softly, your body finally relaxing, “Promise?”

Jason leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your hand, “Promise.”

***

Jason climbed through your window with practiced ease and you didn't even flinch as he let himself in, still in his Red Hood get-up. This wasn't the first time he was doing this, nor would it be his last. It had been this way ever since you had been escorted back by him from the hospital.

Jason checked up on you almost every day, making sure you were dressing your burns properly, even redressing the ones on your back. On those nights, when you felt incredibly vulnerable, you knew there was no one you’d feel safer with than Jason.

You merely glanced at him from your spot behind the counter, continuing to slice the cucumber using the mandolin.

The fearsome Red Hood found his way into your kitchen, nudging you out of the way and washing his hands. He ignored your protests, grabbing the mandolin from you and snatching the cucumber, "This thing's sharp."

You rolled your eyes, "I was being careful."

He didn't even take off his domino, only tossing his helmet onto your couch in his rush to help you, "I didn't think you knew how."

You scoffed at this, lightly slapping his shoulder even though you were well aware that you could've put more strength into it and he still would've felt nothing, "Go shower while I heat up dinner you loser."

He laughed, stepping aside and letting you grab the freshly sliced cucumber so you could add the spices to make cucumber salad. He pecked your temple, grabbing the towel you had left warming for him in the dryer before stepping into the shower and washing the grime of Gotham away.

When he emerged from the shower, dressed in the sweats he had left there, you caught a glimpse of his bare chest. Letting out a flustered laugh, you quickly averted your gaze.

“Oh my god, put on a shirt!”

Jason just cackled, completely unbothered, as he rummaged through your dresser drawer. He disappeared for a moment, only to reappear in the kitchen after tossing his wet towel in the washer.

This time, when you looked at him, the laugh that escaped was less flustered and more outright incredulous.

“What on earth are you wearing?”

A baby tee on you was cute—it rode up just enough to show a teasing sliver of skin, something that Jason always found distracting. But on him? It was absolutely ridiculous.

The fabric strained around his biceps like it was fighting for its life, and you were genuinely concerned that if he flexed even a little, the sleeves would burst apart. The hem barely covered his pecs, leaving his abs completely on display. And across his chest, in bold letters, were the words:

“I’m sorry I have great tits.”

You covered your mouth, shaking with laughter, "Of all the shirts I have."

“And? Is it wrong to own my truth?”

You groaned, throwing a dish towel at his face while still giggling, “Take it off.”

“Make me.”

***

When Jason woke up to the sound of you bustling around his apartment, he sat up in bed, hair mussed, and found you rifling through his closet. You held up a formal button-up shirt, tapping your chin in consideration.

He watched you, still groggy, taking in your figure dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts. You’d stopped by after dinner last night and ended up crashing on his couch, not even stirring when he carried you to bed.

Jason glanced at the clock, “Don’t you— I don’t know— have a job to get to?”

You spared him a glance over your shoulder, “Oh, you’re awake. I figured instead of going all the way back to my place, I’d just borrow something of yours and wear the same jeans from yesterday. I’m in the lab today anyway, so it doesn’t really matter what I have on underneath.”

He hummed, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.

“Left breakfast for you in the microwave, by the way.”

Stepping behind you, he pressed a quick, absentminded kiss to your temple before heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When he emerged, you had swapped the button-up for one of his t-shirts, knotting it in the middle so it wouldn’t look so oversized. He smirked at the sight of you checking yourself out in the mirror, tugging at the hem, making sure it didn’t look odd.

“Looks better on you anyway.” He murmured, leaning against the doorframe.

You rolled your eyes but grinned at him through the mirror, “Yeah, yeah. I bet you say that to all the girls stealing your clothes.”

Jason scoffed, stepping closer, “Oh yeah, all the girls. My closet’s just a free-for-all at this point.”

You laughed, swatting at his chest as he loomed behind you. He caught your wrist with ease, fingers curling lightly around it, his touch warm and familiar.

You pouted up at him, flashing your best pleading puppy-dog eyes. He raised an amused brow.

“Give me a ride to work?”

Jason huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at you, “You’re really pushing your luck, you know that?”

You grinned, tilting your head slightly, “Come on, Jay. I’ll even let you pick the music.”

He narrowed his eyes, “You always let me pick the music.”

“Yeah, but this time, I won’t complain about your broody, ‘I’m a tortured soul’ playlists.”

Jason scoffed, releasing your wrist only to flick your forehead lightly, “First of all, my playlists are not broody—”

“They absolutely are.” You interrupted, smirking.

He ignored you, “Second, you know I’d drive you anyway. You don’t have to beg.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart, “So you like driving me around? I knew it. You’re secretly my personal chauffeur.”

Jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at his lips, “Yeah, yeah. Go make me a cup of coffee so I don't fall asleep at the wheel while dropping your lazy ass off.”

You saluted him playfully before bouncing toward the kitchen. Jason lingered for a moment, watching you move around his space so effortlessly, so comfortably. It was dangerous, the way you fit into his life so easily. But even as he tried to shake off the thought, he was already reaching for his keys, knowing damn well he’d drive you anywhere you asked.

***

You shut the door to your apartment only after the elevator doors finally closed, ensuring your friend had left. The lights in your home remained off, and darkness enveloped you as you carefully navigated the room, kicking off your heels.

"Who was that?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin, giving yourself whiplash when you swung around to face the intruder in your apartment—only to sigh in relief when you were met by the familiar hunk of a silhouette.

"You scared the hell out of me, Jason." You grumbled, now having to turn on the lights so you could look for where you had dropped your keys in shock.

"Who was that?" He repeated and this time you picked up on something in his tone. Less inquisitive and more interrogative. You arched a brow at him, dumping the keys into the bowl by the door and placing your handbag onto the kitchen island.

"What's with the attitude?"

Even though you continued to bustle about the apartment, you couldn't help but steal glances of his unmoving figure on the couch. He was never like this, he usually helped you out of your coat, ran the shower, something.

His indifference was making you antsy.

"Damian said he saw you out on a date."

That had you stopping midway of unloading your dishwasher, your reflection in the freshly clean dishes staring back at you with an expression of befuddlement.

'Damian saw me on a date? Me? On a date? When? Where? With who?!'

"What are you even talking about, Jason?" You scoffed, slightly off-put by this sudden turn in behavior. You hadn't been on a date since prehistoric times, it felt like. Jason felt the need to break into your apartment (not technically breaking in considering he had a key), sit in the dark and interrogate you in your own home all because of some baseless accusation that Damian of all people made.

"He said he saw you talking it up with some man at town square today and that you got into his car."

Jason finally stood up, walking over to where you stood in the kitchen and your eyes raked over his figure multiple times. Something about this was just wrong; his stiff posture, the frown on his face, the hard eyes.

"I was attending a conference happening there with a co-worker—we drove up there together."

Jason’s eyes scanned your face, and a flicker of offense sparked in your chest. Did he think you were lying? And even if you were—what business was it of his?

"A co-worker, huh?" He said, his voice tight and laced with something sharp, "How come this is the first I'm hearing of this? Lord knows you'd usually beg me to drive you there."

You frowned, "What is up with you? Why does it matter? You're behaving like a jealous boyfriend, and last I checked, we weren't dating."

That was clearly not the right thing to say, judging by the way Jason’s face stoned over—expression cold and unreadable, yet barely concealing the red-hot fury simmering just beneath the surface.

"Excuse me?" He seethed, stepping closer to you. If it had been anyone else, you would've taken a step back. But this was Jason, and you didn't feel any discomfort when he stepped into your bubble.

"You call me when you're down and need someone to talk to. We literally spend every night together to the point I have a drawer in my dresser for your clothes! (Y/N), you've held me on nights when I can't sleep!" He cried, voice tight with frustration, "If that isn't dating, then what the fuck is this? What the fuck are we?"

He stepped closer, crowding into your space until your back hit the refrigerator with a soft thud. His palms pressed flat against the wall on either side of you, caging you in.

"(Y/N)..." He whispered, leaning in closer. He smelled of artificial ocean in a bottle and sharp menthol, a mix that shouldn’t have been so intoxicating. Heat radiated off him, and suddenly, you felt far too warm.

You were so close to throwing away all your inhibitions until that one feeling—heavy and unshakable—anchored your stomach, dragging you back down.

"Stop."

He did.

You felt him sigh against your lips, a hair away from actually meeting his. He shook his head, "I should've known."

He didn’t look at you once, just left his key on the counter and shut the door behind him. Your back remained pinned to the fridge as the sound of his footsteps faded down the hallway, each one echoing in time with your pounding heart.

'Go after him. Stop him. Do something.'

And yet, your feet stayed rooted in place.

***

The next time you imagined seeing Jason, it would be at a family event neither of you could find a way out of. You’d steal a longing glance when his back was turned, spending the rest of the night waiting, hoping, that he'd return your gaze.

You never imagined that the next time you’d see him—talk to him—would be in the back alley behind a noisy club. You hadn’t meant for this to happen—really, you hadn’t.

You’d just gotten off a particularly rough shift, and even though all you wanted was to crawl into the quiet of your room and call Jason just to hear his voice, instead, a coworker had convinced you to blow off some steam and grab a drink.

You hadn't expected to see Jason there—especially not with another girl.

“When I said stop, I didn’t mean stop forever and get over me!” You cried out, frustration and overwhelming emotion cracking through your voice. Seeing him with Artemis had unleashed an arsenal of feelings you couldn’t even begin to sort through, and before you knew it, you were picking a fight with him—desperate for his attention to be back on you instead of her.

You were envious of her strong build and long, lustrous hair. You were angry with yourself for resenting her, even though she’d done absolutely nothing wrong. You were hurt because it looked like Jason was having a good time. And most of all, you were confused—why did it upset you so much?

“Would you rather I stay as your little plaything forever? Stringing me along just enough to keep me loving you, hoping for more, only to push me away with some bullshit excuse?”

His face darkened, and your stomach hollowed out. Jason had been frustrated with you many times before; you’d argued until he was red in the face. But he’d never looked at you like this—like he hated you.

You bit your lip, the fight seeping out of you. Because at the end of the day… he was right, wasn’t he? You had been playing with him—stringing him along, showing him glimpses of the most intimate corners of your life, but still expecting him to magically know where you’d drawn the invisible lines of unspoken boundaries.

His jaw hardened, and you dropped your gaze. Jason didn’t deserve this. Inside the club was a beautiful, strong woman who he had every right to show interest in. And you had no right to be upset about it.

“You’re right, Jason. I—I’m sorry for ruining your date. You should get back in there before she thinks you stood her up.”

With your hands pressed to your chest to stop yourself from reaching out for him, you sidestepped his domineering presence and turned to walk away.

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s it?”

You froze. Turning back, you found him ruffling his hair in frustration, annoyance radiating off him in waves as he stalked closer, stopping just a couple of feet away.

“You don’t get to fucking do that! You don’t get to tell me to stop, then get mad at me for actually doing what you asked. You don’t get to make a scene and not even tell me why!”

That was it.

You closed the distance between you two, clutching the collar of his jacket with trembling fists and yanking him down to you, slanting your lips against his in a rough, desperate kiss.

“That’s why,” You whispered, lowering yourself back onto your heels and letting go of his jacket as you turned to leave—

“Oh no, you’re not.”

Jason’s arm coiled around your hips, pulling you back against him as he crushed his lips to yours once more. You sighed against him, your fingers twisting into his hair, your other hand slipping under his jacket, fisting the fabric of his shirt.

It was everything you had spent months pretending you didn’t want.

And you couldn’t stop.

***

Bonus:

"Hi, honey." You said, voice sweet and saccharine, as you entered the dining room of the manor.

"Hi, pookie." Dick replied, not looking up from his phone, lounging on the couch.

There was a pause, followed by an exaggerated noise of disgust from you, "I could not have been more clearly speaking to my boyfriend." You teased, your tone playful but pointed.

This time, Dick looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow. His expression shifted from confusion to realization as he saw you standing with your hands wrapped around Jason's neck, very clearly leaning in for a kiss to greet him instead.

"Oh, for god's sake." Dick groaned, rolling his eyes, "Ugh, you both are disgusting. You know I used to be her honey?"

Jason raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, "Get used to it, geezer," he quipped, draping an arm around your shoulder and pecking your temple, "She likes younger men."

***

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viktateapot · 3 days ago

Note

HIII I HAD AN IDEAA WHERE

Reader twitches in there sleep so much that batboys genuinely think we are having a sezuire-

THAT WOULD BE SO FUNNY TEHY JUST LIKE YANK US BY OUR SHOULDERS AND WE'RE JUSG KIKE HUH?

Dick Grayson:

The Blüdhaven apartment was small, but cozy. The living room had a giant, comfy sofa, which was perfect for those chill nights. You’d been crashing hard this week from working so much.

Dick was on high alert.

He had gotten back from a long patrol, and all he wanted to do was fall asleep next to you. But, when you told him your situation, that was impossible.

You were restless even when you were awake, but now it was at max.

When you had explained that, since you were so tired, you would probably twitch a lot more, that had set off alarm bells in his head.

“Are you having a rough sleep or something?”

“No. This is normal."

Dick had always been a deep sleeper, used to sleeping through everything. But he hadn’t considered this.

He heard his phone buzz and took it.

‘If there is anything weird, contact us, he has super senses, there can’t be a chance for anything unexpected’

It was Bruce.

It was going to be a long night.

After all, how bad could it be.

As soon as he closes his eyes, the bed starts to move.

You suddenly began to jerk, your limbs flailing wildly, your face contorted in what looked like silent agony.

He was right on top of you, shaking your shoulders. It was as if you were struggling for air, but no sound to accompany you.

Was this a sign of trauma? Had you been injured as a child?

You woke up suddenly.

"Huh?" you asked, your eyes wide with confusion. "What's going on, Sunshine?"

Dick’s eyes widened.

"I was just sleeping" you exclaimed.

"Are you okay? You were… convulsing," he said, his voice laced with concern. "I thought you were having a seizure, My Love."

You chuckled, rubbing your eyes. "Oh, that?" you said, brushing it off. "I do that sometimes. I just twitch a lot in my sleep."

He stared at you, his expression a mixture of disbelief and horror. "You just twitch?" he repeated. "That was more than a twitch, Angel. That was… Olympic-level acrobatics."

"I am not hurting anyone, I’m just sleeping. I’ve had this problem since I was a kid.”

“But how do you handle this yourself, what if something happened?!”

You started smiling and grabbed his cheek. “Then I know my own super hero will be there to save me."

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. He knew it was silly to panic, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“I’m not sick or anything, I’m just a super deep sleeper. I was just exhausted, so don’t be scared", you explain

He sighed. “Okay, if you’re okay, then I’ll believe in you,” he said

“But please let me sleep, I will be better.”

As long as he was holding you, it was like saving the world. It’s better than saving Bludhaven or Gotham.

You had his back.

"Okay", he said in response, taking you into a tight hug. "Let me hold you for a little bit.

"Always" you said back and fell into a warm sleep.

Jason Todd:

The safehouse was a hole. A damp, grimy, utterly unromantic hole in a forgotten corner of Gotham. Jason usually preferred it that way. It kept things simple, kept the distractions to a minimum. But tonight, it was feeling particularly oppressive.

You had been over at his safehouse because you were tired. So he made you a space on the couch.

After a week of nonstop vigilantism and barely any sleep, you’d ended up crashing early.

Jason, however, was wide awake. He didn't need as much sleep as most people, and the nightmares tended to keep him on edge anyway. He sat in the armchair, cleaning his guns, his senses on high alert. Always prepared.

The plan was to do that, but you were sleeping.

You started the night pretty still.

He was staring at his guns, when he finally heard a gasp.

He was staring at you, for a while. He had never seen you so at peace before. So he was watching you.

He just saw your body moving. You were thrashing.

He was right there.

Jason lunged forward, grabbing your shoulders, ready to fend off whatever unseen force was attacking you.

"Hey! Hey! Wake up!" he yelled, shaking you roughly. He was seeing things on the news too many times. He has to protect you.

His grip tightened in pain and he woke up.

You’d gasped.

You were in pain, but it wasn't something serious.

You blinked open your eyes, staring at him, bewildered. "Huh? What's going on, Jaybird?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep. "Are we under attack?"

He stared at you, his face a mask of confusion. "Under attack?" he repeated. "You were the one under attack! You were thrashing around like a fish out of water, Hotshot. I thought you were having a seizure, Sugar."

You chuckled. “No, I just twitch,” you said

He looked a bit more.

"You did say you haven’t slept in a whole week?" he asked

"Yup" you stated, like it was nothing.

That might have been the problem.

"You don’t think that your body is going to shut down, so I’m scared for what it might do?”

You chuckled.

“If it helps, you’re the first person to ever pull me by my shoulders.”

Jason could tell he needed to start sleeping more.

But just for you.

“Come on then," he said, taking you into a tight hug.

"Where should we go to?" you asked.

He knew you more than you knew yourself. You always wanted to explore.

“Anywhere in the world," he replied.

"That's all it takes" you asked

“As long as you keep showing me new things, I promise to fall asleep."

“What does that mean?" you asked him and looked up to his face.

He pulled you into him even tighter.

"Let’s just go to sleep." he whispered.

That’s why you loved him.

There, in this life or another, you and this boy will be together forever.

Tim Drake:

The Batcave was oddly quiet. It was usually filled with the hum of computers, the clatter of tools, and the occasional frustrated sigh of Batman. But tonight, it was silent, save for the gentle snores coming from the cot in the corner. You, my dear, were sleeping soundly after a particularly grueling training session.

You were new to the Bat-family, a bright light in their typically dark world. They’d taken you in after witnessing your incredible skills and unwavering heart on a case. You were intelligent, resourceful, and had a wit that could rival even Dick Grayson's. But you also had a secret, a quirky little habit that was about to cause some major chaos.

Tim, ever the dedicated strategist, was poring over crime scene reports. He’d been at it for hours, fueled by coffee and a burning desire to keep Gotham safe. He was about to call it a night when he heard it - a sudden, sharp twitch from your direction.

He glanced over, concern furrowing his brow. You were still asleep, but your body was jerking erratically. Your arms flailed, your legs twitched, and your face scrunched up in what looked like intense discomfort. Tim's mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario: a seizure.

Without a second thought, he bolted towards you, his Red Robin reflexes kicking in. “Hey! Hey, Sunshine, wake up!” He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you gently at first, then with increasing urgency as your twitching persisted.

Your eyes snapped open, wide and disoriented. “Huh? What’s going on?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Tim stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest. “You were… you were twitching like crazy! I thought you were having a seizure! Are you okay, Sweet Pea?”

You blinked a few times, trying to process what was happening. “Seizure? Oh, you mean my sleep twitches? Yeah, I do that sometimes. It's nothing. I just have really vivid dreams.”

The realization dawned on Tim, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him, quickly followed by a surge of embarrassment. He’d overreacted, jumped to conclusions, and probably scared the living daylights out of you.

"Sleep twitches?" He echoed, trying to keep the crimson blush from creeping up his neck. "You mean... you do that often?"

You yawned, stretching your arms above your head. "Pretty much. Happens most nights, actually. Sorry if it freaked you out, Sugarplum. It's not like I can control it."

Tim ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. “No, no, it’s okay. I just… I was worried. We all were. It’s been a stressful week, and it’s made us all a bit jumpy.”

From the shadows, a stifled snicker escaped. It was Dick, of course, enjoying the spectacle. "Oh, so that's what all the commotion was about? I was wondering if you two were doing a late night dance lesson."

Tim glared at Dick, willing him to shut up with the sheer force of his gaze. He turned back to you, forcing a smile. "Well, now that we know it's just your... energetic sleep patterns, maybe we can all relax a bit. Just, try to be a bit quieter about it, okay, Buttercup? Bruce almost called an ambulance."

You chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that made Tim’s heart flutter. “I’ll try my best, Tiger. No promises though. My dreams get pretty wild sometimes.”

Over the next few weeks, the Bat-family learned to live with your nightly twitches. They even started betting on what you were dreaming about. Was it a dance-off with Killer Croc? A tea party with Poison Ivy? The possibilities were endless. But the one thing that remained constant was Tim's concern for you. He'd often find himself checking on you, making sure you were truly just dreaming. And sometimes, he'd simply sit beside you, listening to your gentle snores, knowing that you were safe, even if your dreams were a little... twitchy.

Fic 2: Operation: "Sound Sleep"

Your sleep twitches were legendary. They had become a running joke in the Batcave, a constant source of amusement (and occasional panic) for the Bat-family. You had no idea how much distress they caused.

This all started because you started sleeping in the Batcave because you were exhausted after all the training Bruce put you through.

Tim, ever the pragmatist, saw a problem and decided to solve it. He couldn't focus on his work when he was constantly worried about you having some sort of medical emergency. He resolved to make sure you got more rest and to research the sleep twitches that were occuring when you were passed out. Thus began "Operation: Sound Sleep".

The first step was research. He scoured medical journals, consulted sleep specialists (under aliases, of course), and even delved into ancient dream lore. He discovered that your sleep twitches, technically known as hypnic jerks, were perfectly normal. They were caused by a sudden muscle spasm as the body transitioned from wakefulness to sleep.

Armed with this knowledge, he moved on to the next phase: creating the perfect sleep environment. He replaced your worn-out cot with a memory foam mattress, installed blackout curtains, and even adjusted the Batcave's temperature to a soothing 68 degrees Fahrenheit.

He also decided to try aromatherapy. He filled the room with the calming scents of lavender and chamomile, hoping to ease your restless mind. Bruce raised an eyebrow at the sudden floral aroma in the Batcave, but Tim simply shrugged it off, saying it was for "scientific purposes."

He even tried playing white noise, hoping to drown out the sounds of the city and the Batcave's humming machinery. He experimented with rain sounds, ocean waves, and even a recording of a purring cat. Nothing seemed to work. You still twitched like a fish out of water.

One night, Tim sat beside your cot, watching you sleep. You were twitching particularly violently, your body jerking and flailing. He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He had tried everything, and nothing seemed to work.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. He remembered reading that physical contact could sometimes help ease muscle spasms. Hesitantly, he reached out and gently placed his hand on your arm.

To his surprise, the twitching subsided almost immediately. Your body relaxed, and your breathing became even and steady. He stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest. It had worked!

He continued to hold your arm, feeling a strange sense of peace wash over him. He watched you sleep, admiring your serene face and the way your hair fell across your forehead. He realized that he didn't just want to solve your sleep twitches; he wanted to protect you, to care for you, to be there for you in any way he could.

The next morning, you woke up feeling more rested than you had in weeks. You stretched, yawned, and looked around the room, noticing the changes Tim had made. The new mattress, the blackout curtains, the soothing aroma – it all seemed so… thoughtful.

You found Tim sitting at the computer, his face illuminated by the glow of the screen. He looked up as you approached, a nervous smile on his face.

“Good morning, Sleepyhead,” he said, his voice a little too cheerful. “Did you sleep well?”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Actually, yeah. I slept amazing. What did you do, sprinkle fairy dust on my pillow?”

Tim blushed, looking down at his hands. “Well, I did do some… adjustments. I just wanted to make sure you were getting enough rest.”

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you, Tim. That’s really sweet of you, Honeybear.”

From that day on, Operation: Sound Sleep continued, but with a new, unspoken element. Every night, Tim would sit beside you, holding your hand until you fell asleep, knowing that he was doing more than just easing your sleep twitches; he was building a bond, a connection, a love that would last a lifetime.

Damian Wayne:

The grandeur of Wayne Manor often felt wasted on Damian. He preferred the stark functionality of the Batcave, the silent hum of the computers, the purposeful movements of his father and brothers. Tonight, however, even the Batcave felt too crowded. He needed solitude.

He found himself drawn to your room. Not to invade your privacy, of course. Such a thing would be beneath him. He was simply…observing.

You were asleep, sprawled out on your bed in a manner he deemed undignified. Your hair was a mess, your clothes were rumpled, and you were snoring softly. But none of that mattered, not really. It was the twitching that held his attention.

You were jerking and flailing like a puppet with tangled strings, your body contorting in ways that seemed physically impossible. Damian watched, his brow furrowed, trying to decipher the meaning behind your bizarre movements. Were you fighting villains in your dreams? Dancing with dragons?

He couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility for you. You were still relatively new to this life, still adjusting to the constant danger and the relentless training. It was his duty to protect you, to guide you, to ensure that you were always prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.

But how could he protect you from something as unpredictable as your own subconscious? How could he guide you through the labyrinth of your dreams? The thought was both frustrating and oddly…endearing.

Suddenly, your twitching intensified. You let out a small gasp, your body arching off the bed. Damian tensed, his hand reaching for his katana. Were you truly having a seizure? Was something more sinister at play?

Without thinking, he rushed to your side and grabbed your shoulders, shaking you roughly. "Wake up! Now!"

Your eyes snapped open, wide with confusion. "Damian? What…what's happening?"

"You were twitching again. Quite violently, in fact. I thought you were dying."

You blinked a few times, trying to orient yourself. "Oh. Oh, right. The sleep twitches. Sorry about that."

Damian released your shoulders, his expression unreadable. "They seem to be getting worse. Have you consulted a physician? Perhaps there's a medical explanation for this…affliction."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "It's just a quirk. Nothing to worry about. I've had them my whole life."

Damian remained unconvinced. "Nevertheless, I find it…unsettling. It is a weakness, a vulnerability that could be exploited by our enemies."

You smiled, reaching out and taking his hand. "I appreciate your concern, but I can handle it. Besides, who knows? Maybe my sleep twitches are actually a secret weapon. Imagine the look on the Joker's face when I start flailing around like a maniac in the middle of a fight."

Damian's lips twitched, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I suppose that would be…entertaining."

He sat down beside you, his gaze fixed on your face. "Regardless, I will keep watch over you tonight. To ensure that you do not injure yourself, or attract the attention of any unwanted guests."

You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder. "That's kind of you."

And so, Damian stayed there, throughout the night, vigilantly guarding your slumber. He listened to your breathing, watched your movements, and waited for the inevitable twitch. And each time it came, he felt a strange sense of protectiveness wash over him. He may not have understood your sleep twitches, but he understood his duty to protect you.

#dc x reader #batboys x reader #batfam x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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dhazefawn · 3 months ago

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❀﹒﹒⇅﹒𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ╱ with JASON TODD & DICK GRAYSON ㄨ BLACK WIDOW ! READER ꩜ .ᐟ ⠀⠀ hcs & drabbles. ⠀·⠀ ୭

　　﹕ (✿˘͈ᵕ˘͈) ┈ #directory #rules . ♡ ﹒ this ask made me rethink the whole ‘reqs closed but suggestions open’ deal i gave going on rn. i cannot physically write everything req i get in my inbox,,, so i just take suggestions— no pressure to write it like a request.

❛ ꜝ ┈ ✺ cw ﹒ violence and abuse described in this work— it doesn’t take a big part of it though. a bit of angst because i cannot control myself.

𓏲𓏲⠀⠀.. ⠀Your reputation precedes you—former Black Widow, perfectly trained killer, someone who understands that justice isn’t always clean or merciful. But Gotham’s protectors seem determined to complicate things. You find yourself in unfamiliar territory— a certain vigilante has wormed his way into your heart. ✶

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 ︶︶

The warehouse explosion lit up Crime Alley like the Fourth of July, and Jason couldn’t help but grin as you dropped down beside him from seemingly nowhere, not even slightly singed despite having been inside thirty seconds ago.

“Show off,” he muttered, but there was admiration in his voice.

“Says the man who literally just drove his motorcycle through a second-story window.” You checked your weapons with practiced efficiency, muscle memory from a lifetime of survival. “Find what we needed?”

“Financial records, shipping manifests, and enough evidence to put half of Falcone’s operation away.” Jason held up a hard drive. “Plus whatever you did in there should send a nice message to the rest.”

You shrugged, the movement elegant even in tactical gear. “The message needed to be loud.”

“No arguments here.” He stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in your eyes. “Bruce is gonna have an aneurysm when he finds out about tonight.”

“Good. Maybe it’ll keep him busy enough to stop lecturing us about ‘excessive force.’” Your fingers found the edge of his jacket, tugging him closer. “Besides, you didn’t seem to mind my methods when I saved your ass in there.”

Jason’s laugh was rough around the edges. “Pretty, I never mind your methods. Just wish you’d give me a heads up. I like to watch.”

Your smile was dangerous and entirely too appealing. “Next time, I’ll put on a show.”

Jason absolutely gets your approach to justice and rarely questions your methods— if anything, he thinks you’re more efficient than the Bat-family’s usual “catch and release” program.

Will definitely team up with you on missions and enjoys the hell out of it, especially since you don’t try to hold him back from doing what needs to be done.

Gets incredibly protective when other people criticize your past or your methods, even though he knows you can handle yourself— old habits from his own experience being judged.

Loves sparring with you because you’re one of the few people who can actually challenge him, and there’s something thrilling about fighting someone who’s genuinely dangerous.

Sometimes you’ll find him reading up on Red Room techniques or Widow operations, not to judge but to better understand what made you who you are.

Has absolutely gotten into arguments with Dick and Bruce about your relationship. It’s a delicate situation. While Bruce and Dick understand you would never hurt Jason on purpose, they do worry how the methods you two choose will affect not only Jason— you as well.

There’s a twisted kind of understanding between you and Jason. I think in the end Bruce only wants the two of you to be able to find peace and not feel trapped by the blood you two have spilled.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 ︶︶

The Blüdhaven rooftop was slick with rain as you materialized from the shadows, silent as death itself. Dick didn’t even flinch— he’d learned to sense your presence weeks ago, though he still couldn’t figure out how you moved so quietly in those boots.

“You’re late,” he said, not turning around.

“I’m exactly on time. You’re just early because you’re nervous.” You stepped beside him, close enough that he could smell gunpowder and vanilla perfume. “The target’s already handled.”

“Handled how?” Dick’s voice carried that careful neutrality he used when he was trying not to lecture you.

You tilted your head. “Does it matter? The trafficking ring is shut down, the girls are safe, and the world has three fewer monsters in it.”

Dick closed his eyes briefly. “We talked about this—”

“No, you talked. I listened.” Your gloved fingers traced along his jaw, gentle despite the calluses from trigger guards and knife hilts. “I know you want to save everyone, even the ones who don’t deserve it. It’s what makes you beautiful, Dick Grayson. But some people can only be stopped one way.”

He caught your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And what does that make you?”

Your smile was sharp as broken glass. “Practical.”

Dick tries so hard to be the moral compass in the relationship, constantly walking the line between accepting who you are and hoping he can influence you toward less lethal methods. (He’s like “I can fix them” and just makes it even worse). It’s not as if he doesn’t want to see this side of you. He does. He just wants to help you navigate the pain jt took to get here.

He’s genuinely fascinated by your skills and will ask you to teach him your stealth techniques, though he draws the line at the more assassination-focused training.

Gets genuinely distressed when you disappear for days on missions, not because he doesn’t trust your abilities, but because he worries about what those missions might be doing to your body and mind.

Has definitely tried to introduce you to everyone else as a “reformed” anti-hero, which backfired spectacularly when you made a casual comment about eliminating witnesses. He learned not to sugar-coat you and your methods after that. Better to accept them head on.

Loves the way you move— there’s something almost hypnotic about your grace in combat that he finds beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

Will patch up your wounds without question, but always with that worried crease between his brows that you’ve learned means he’s planning another “conversation” about your methods and how you cannot keep putting yourself in so much danger.

Sometimes catches you staring at him like you’re memorizing his face, and it breaks his heart a little because he knows it means you’re always prepared to run.

Has started leaving his window unlocked specifically for you, even though you’ve never actually needed to use the window.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　

﹒ ♪ ┊ INBOX OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

˖ `· . 𓏵 © DHAZEFAWN don’t use my work without my consent. ... ⏤ㅤ Ⳋ ⊹

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demonic0angel · 8 months ago

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Christmas + Gotham City Spirits

Bruce sipped at his coffee, reading through the recent reports of a case a few days ago. The coffee blend was faintly peppermint-flavored because due to the holiday season, Stephanie had replaced everything in the coffee making station with Christmas themed items.

It tasted good, so no one complained too much.

The chatter in the cave was calming, a distant lull with the sound of his loved ones’ voices. None of them had gone on patrol yet, although they were all dressed in their vigilante suits. Dick and Jason were arguing over the movie they wanted to watch on their semi-weekly Movie Nights, and Cass and Steph were egging them on. Tim and Damian were gone, having left using the Batmobile to pick up something.

They would be back any minute now—

Tim and Damian drove into the Batcave in that moment, and although their parking was gentle, they both flew out of the car like it was on fire. Damian was holding an ice cream cup, despite it being the only a day from Christmas, while Tim was holding a milkshake.

Bruce looked back down at the reports, unconcerned after seeing no blood, limping, or drugs.

“The Batmobile is haunted!” screamed Tim, and Bruce paused in reading his papers. He looked up again and watched as the others approached, confused murmurs and questions filling the air.

“Huh?? What happened?!”

Tim and Damian were trying to explain the events that led up to this moment. Damian was standing next to Tim, who was ranting up and down about what happened.

“Okay, so I was taking Damian for ice cream,” cue some coos from Dick and Steph, with Bruce mentally joining in, “when we were arguing in the car. I hadn’t realized that I had taken my eyes off of the steering wheel until Damian pointed it out. The car was driving on its own! And the autopilot wasn’t turned on!”

Bruce resisted the urge to smack his forehead.

Of course this was how they were discovered. He could almost sense the awkward guilt coming off of the Batmobile from the distance where it was parked in the cave.

“So… you think it’s ghosts?” Steph asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tim and Damian shared a look and then nodded.

“Ghosts?” Jason snorted. “Are you kidding? I bet you’re seeing things.”

“It was real, Todd! Just because you’re brain damaged doesn’t mean the rest of us are—“

Dick interrupted him, “Well, I mean Deadman and Gentleman Ghost exist. Who’s to say that the Batmobile isn’t haunted?”

Jason opened his mouth to argue some more, but Tim spoke up then. “Bruce? You don’t seem surprised.”

Bruce paused on taking a sip of his coffee. All of his children turned to stare at him.

It was Cass who said, “He knows something.”

More than just knew.

Bruce had met and befriended the ghost that haunted the Batmobile. And the Batcomputer. And the gargoyles in Gotham. And the parks. And Arkham Asylum. And Crime Alley. And Blüdhaven. And Gotham City itself.

The point was… Bruce had more than just knowledge on the ghosts haunting the things around him.

————

It had first begun when Batman had started appearing within the city. He had just started working as a vigilante for a few months when one day, he had noticed odd circumstances happening around him.

It happened sporadically, almost randomly enough that he hadn’t gotten suspicious for awhile, but when a pattern was beginning to form, he began to notice.

Whenever he could’ve sworn his hook wouldn’t attach properly to the building, it seemed as though something moved and made it fit perfectly, allowing him to swing to his destination. Whenever he thought that he had lost a criminal, a new alleyway that he wouldn’t be able to recognize would pop up and allow him to block the runaway’s path. Whenever he felt like his computer wouldn’t be able to calculate something or find new information, it would miraculously give him data that he knew for sure that a mere computer could not find.

The most prominent evidence was with the Batmobile. At times, it would speed up on its own, even when he was extremely controlled in how he used the brakes and gas. At others, it would have minuscule but noticeable changes such as adjustments to seating and temperature inside of the car. At one point, Bruce distinctly remembered the car turning and sliding unnaturally past danger, which helped him avoid crashing into a narrow street’s wall when he was dodging gunfire. It had been strange because he was sure that he was going to scrape the car against the wall, but it never happened.

Bruce had personally worked on it with Alfred’s help, so any signs of tampering were impossible. There was no explanation for it, no matter how much Bruce dismantled the car and remade it over and over again.

Even Alfred had that strange look in his eyes now, as if wondering if Bruce had delusions from one too many concussions.

Bruce scoured his library for information, looked up anything on the internet, and even asked informants and help from the few contacts that he knew.

They had a few answers, but none of them made a lot of sense.

In the end, Bruce decided to just confront the problem head-on.

On a lonely summer night, Bruce entered his car and sat in the driving seat, breathing out slowly. Usually, the car did not act out everyday, but today, Bruce had been driving in order to dodge the police that wanted to capture him, and he had seen how the car moved without his turning of the wheel to drive past sharp corners. This had earned him a few precious minutes necessary to throw the police off his trail and allow him to get away.

All this told him was that the car was of help to him, but nothing else.

He started the car, allowing the familiar rumble of his car warm him up. He allowed the Batmobile to run as he thought of what to say.

When he formalized his speech, Bruce cleared his throat and stared at the inside of his car, sleek and polished all over.

“I-I’ve been noticing a few things lately. Strange things happening. I think that you’ve been helping me. I’m… thankful. Thank you for helping me away from the cops today. I appreciate it.”

His voice reverberated inside of the empty car.

“However, I want to meet you. If you’re there. Are you… sentient?” He asked.

The car did not speak.

Well, of course, it couldn’t speak.

He flushed with humiliation as he mentally berated himself. Was he so paranoid, so tired that he was now believing that a car could respond back to him? No wonder Alfred was thinking he was insane.

But in the next moment, he ate his thoughts as the car gave an answering rumble without him revving the car or doing anything.

Bruce stared. Then he said, “Make something move if that was real.”

Another moment of silence. Then there was a click and the windshield wipers began to turn on, swiping across the glass.

Bruce’s breath caught.

“You’re sentient!” He cried, unable to believe it. The air around him began to chill and he watched as the temperature of the air conditioner dropped rapidly until it was low, making his breath come out in vapor. He shivered and looked around frantically.

“Yes,” a soft voice said, “I am.”

Bruce turned to the side, where the voice appeared. A small girl, who looked barely even five, stared at him with wide eyes through a domino mask and a suit that wasn't unlike his. She was tiny, with a black ponytail behind her head and a cape attached to her neck.

He stared and watched as the fabric on her body sparkled with a metallic sheen and her hair flowed in a nonexistent breeze within the enclosed car.

"Are you... a ghost or something?"

The girl smiled. "Kinda." She kicked her feet and giggled. "I'm the spirit that haunts this car. But if you had a plane or a boat, I could haunt those too." She paused and then eagerly asked, "Could you get one? I think it'd be really cool!"

Bruce couldn’t help but smile. “I… I’ll try. What are you, exactly? Can you tell me more about yourself? What are you here for?”

Perhaps he could’ve asked more questions. Maybe he should’ve asked whether or not she was good. She was an unknown variable in his long-term plans, but he couldn’t muster up the animosity needed to interrogate her, not while she looked at him and like him in similar clothes and a smaller form.

“I’m a ghost, and my haunt is your vehicle,” she replied blithely. “I was brought here because my family is also here. They’re also ghosts, and there’s a lot of them around. I think all of my siblings are awake, and so are our friends. A few are still asleep, I think… but I promise we mean no harm. We’re supposed to protect life, as beings who have already crossed to the other side and made a deal with Lady Gotham and Lady Blüdhaven.”

Bruce stared at the ghost in his passenger seat.

“Pardon?”

She explained in more detail. Several centuries ago, Gotham City and Blüdhaven were the haunts of two powerful sister spirits who protected the city and powered it via the emotions of their citizens and their own strength. However, something had befallen them, and they had asked for help from the Ghost King. He had agreed to take over for them, and in one final sacrifice, both city spirits had died and then tied their cities to the Ghost King and his family, who he had asked to assist him.

They all separated and formed their own haunts via some time shenanigans that she would not elaborate on. And thus, several ghosts haunted both cities. There was supposedly one city spirit in Blüdhaven, since it was a much smaller city, and over six in Gotham.

She, ‘Dani’ as she called herself, was one of them.

“We’re usually asleep and we don’t really have awareness or sentience like a normal person most of the time. So it’s difficult for us to age too.” She yawned at this moment. “I’m a weaker spirit, so I have a really small haunt. My big brothers all have a city to themselves, but the rest of us get smaller stuff.”

Bruce asked, “Are you tired?”

She rubbed at the mask that covered her eyes irritably before nodding with another yawn. “I’ll try to come back,” she said, “but I’m usually not “out” like this, so it’s tiring. But the more you take care of me and Gotham, the stronger I’ll get, like my siblings.”

A hand seemed to clench at Bruce’s heart.

More people to depend on him. Another cause to be stronger, faster, and smarter. Further reasons for him to be better, so he could help his city.

“Oh.”

She smiled at him, and it brought a little warmth back into the chill surrounding him. “But I’ll help you. No matter what, we spirits are on your side, Batman.”

Bruce returned the smile. “Thank you.”

It was almost unbelievable, but the amount of details in her explanation proved her right and the way she explained things made sense. No wonder he had so much success as Batman. No wonder it felt like he could run forever on Gotham’s streets and catch criminals all night. No wonder it felt like the city called for him like a beacon, even without the Bat-Signal.

She nodded and in the next blink, she was gone. The temperature increased back to normal. The car was silent and so was Bruce, as he sat in the plush, leather seats and thought to himself. In the end, there was nothing else to do but harden his resolve to do better and help Gotham City.

He met her a few more times, and they officially formed a team, where she would help accelerate the speed of whatever vehicle he was using to get to fight crime and help victims quicker. In return, he would take care of the vehicles and allowed her to do what she needed to do without interference.

As time passed, Bruce met the rest of the city spirits.

There was one in Crime Alley, sweet and tall for the age that she looked and laden with bloody pearls that made him avoid looking at her, who was kind and clever. She told him that she had awakened when his parents died, but her gentle condolences did not infuriate him like others did. ‘Jazz’ was her name, and she told him that she would watch over the children in her domain.

He traveled through Gotham City knowing that she would take care of Crime Alley whenever he couldn’t muster up the strength to enter.

There was one in the parks of Gotham, thin and oddly goth, who was stubborn and cool and extremely opinionated. She was even younger than the spirit in Crime Alley, and had a lot of opinions on garden care and vegetarianism. ‘Sam’, she wanted to be called, and she told him not to call her Samantha or she’d make him trip over roots.

He spent money on maintaining the parks in Gotham, and Alfred noted how his own personal gardens in Wayne Manor never seemed to die or wilt.

There was a growing spirit in the computers of the Batcave, gangly and quick-witted and mischievous, who was the same age as the park spirit and grew slowly with advancing technology and only appeared when Bruce was in a rush or desperate. He was named ‘Tucker’, and he liked helping, but only when it was interesting or when he was really needed.

Bruce carefully developed new software and installed better tech every opportunity he could, and the Batcomputer never failed him.

There was another in Arkham Asylum, stern and strong-looking, who was confident and hot-tempered and the same age as the Batcave spirit. She was brave and strong-willed, hating the more murderous patients of the asylum, but had all of the forgiveness and patience needed for the more misguided ones. Her name was ‘Valerie’, and she promised to hold back as many escapees as she could.

He captured runaway patients for her and visited her personally to thank her every time he heard of a failed escape attempt.

There was also a spirit that haunted the gargoyles of Gotham, wily and observant, who traveled from each stone statue for information. He liked investigating things, but hated injustice and lies, and he promised to help Bruce whenever he could find the strength to manifest. ‘Call me Wes’, he had said, before launching into a rant about how annoying the Gotham City spirit was.

They would occasionally exchange information every now and then, with Wes offering blackmail and details for every case he needed.

Bruce had only met the spirit of Blüdhaven once. He was aggressive and murderous, but when Batman had visited the second time for a case, he recognized all of the signs of a spirit’s protection, even though he also attempted to throw him off a few buildings. The Blüdhaven City spirit was hateful but not unreasonable, and although Bruce was encouraged by the other siblings, he decided to just leave the city alone because this ‘Dan’ did not like leaving his domain.

Bruce largely did not bother him. In the future, he would make more frequent trips and bring news of the spirits in Gotham. At least falling beams didn’t drop on him anymore.

He had already met Dani, who haunted the vehicles inside of the Batcave. She loved driving and flying and racing through any part of Gotham. When needed, she could transport herself into any and all vehicles owned by Bruce and his associates, and then power it to be even faster through the strength given to her by Gotham City and the determination of the driver. She was small in size but big in personality, and her carefree, fun-loving personality gave him much relief whenever he needed her as he traveled to wherever needed him most.

He took care of all of his vehicles and crafts, and she pushed him to help quicker.

And lastly, the most impressive and unimpressive spirit of all was the spirit of Gotham. He was a small thing, slender and unassuming, dressed in ragged clothes in his human form with the sharp, haunted eyes of a child from Crime Alley. His name was ‘Danny’, and although he seemed unnoticeable at first, he was noble and kind. When he wasn’t dressed in the starry veil of his spirit form, he was out and about on the streets, helping others as a homeless kid. He helped the forgotten, the downtrodden, the poor, and sick as best as he could.

Unlike his siblings and friends, who were weak and could not be out as a human for long, Danny was not the same. Looking like a small pre-teen, he helped his citizens as much as he could by offering shelter, an extra hand, some random change, and a careful warning.

He supported Bruce in any way that he could, and Bruce wanted nothing more than to make him proud by helping the city.

Time passed.

The spirits, having now awakened with Batman’s debut, began to grow up.

Bruce did not allow himself to be left behind. He grew and learned and trained and did better for his city. The spirits did not appear often, but whenever they were truly needed, they never let him down.

Only a few years into being Batman, he adopted Dick Grayson.

When Dick became Robin, he had been worried about the reaction of the spirits, but they had not appeared angry and even seemed approving, with the way they protected Dick more than Bruce.

He could’ve felt jealous, but really, it was just cute. With how old Dick was and how some of the spirits looked, they could’ve been the same age.

Barbara Gordon soon joined their crew as Batgirl, and the trio helped Gotham by running through its streets for a few more years.

When Bruce had fired Dick in hopes of him retiring and living a peaceful life without harm, Dick had changed his identity of Robin to Nightwing and moved to Blüdhaven.

Bruce nearly had a heart attack from the thought of it, but Danny had laughed and reassured him that Dan had readily accepted him and chosen him as a champion.

“A champion?” Bruce had asked. “What’s that?”

“A champion is a specific hero that a spirit can support and defend. You’re my champion,” Danny smiled, tapping the little batarang-shaped brooch near his heart. “That means I support you. Dan will support Nightwing. He’s possessive, so rest assured that Nightwing will be very, very protected by him.”

And so Bruce breathed a sigh of relief, let him go, and tried not to worry.

Not that long after, Bruce met Jason Todd, who was also quickly adopted.

Jazz had seemed particularly happy, always at the edge of Bruce’s vision whenever she could as he and Jason soared over Gotham roofs.

“Is he her champion?” Bruce had asked Danny. “Since he’s born and raised in Crime Alley?”

Danny chuckled, but he seemed tired. “You’ll see.”

Bruce did not see, because Jason had presumably thrown someone off of a building and then ran off to find his mother, getting killed in the process. By the time Batman had arrived in a plane with its engines nearly combusting from going so fast, it had been too late.

Jason, his son, was dead.

He would no longer smile and make quippy remarks. He would no longer help Alfred in the kitchen. He would no longer fall asleep on the manor’s library, an open book on his lap. He would no longer fly over Gotham and be his partner.

Red, yellow, and green would no longer be by Batman’s side.

Because Robin was dead.

The grief nearly consumed him. He blamed himself. He blamed the Joker. He blamed Jason. He blamed Dick.

He blamed the spirits.

Anything and everything was a target of his sorrow and rage.

He couldn’t help it.

He had already lost family once and became a vigilante to fight crime.

He didn’t know what to do now that he had lost family again, when the cause of death was vigilantism.

Gotham City wasted away as the spirits and Batman mourned for the little Robin who would never fly again, buried in Gotham soil.

Bruce mourned and hated everything in equal measure.

"It's your fault!" He screamed, as Danny stared at him blankly. He was dressed in his extravagant and otherworldly spirit form, his face and eyes covered by a long veil train covered in stars. His clean, neat form only seemed even more infuriating as Bruce felt like he was dissolving from his own madness. "If-If Jason hadn't been— if he had— if only—!"

Danny responded to none of his words until he insulted Jazz, the Crime Alley spirit, for Jason's death. It had been an irrational statement from grief, but they cared not one whit. All hell broke loose as Bruce was kicked off of the roof. He narrowly got away by using his grappling hook, but after that, things began to go badly.

Computer malfunctions, never ending pop music in the Batcave, engine failure, vehicles that refused to open or work properly, tree branches that deliberately slapped him or roots that tripped him on every step, sirens of the Arkham Asylum wailing every day and night, gorgoyles that would move and bat away his grappling hooks— the spirits began to turn against him in petty revenge and pranks.

It had not resulted in deaths of innocents, as even they knew limits, but they never failed to make his life even more miserable or inconvenient than ever.

It wasn't until Batman, in his exhaustion, nearly fell off of a roof and became a splatter on the ground in Crime Alley, and was picked up by the neck like a scruffed kitten by a disgruntled Crime Alley spirit, did it all stop.

"I see you haven't been having a good time," Jazz said. She looked like a teenager now, with her hair in ironed curls and a blindfold around her eyes as she frowned at him.

"... yes," Batman said, because he almost never apologized in his life and in his depression, felt like it was unfair that she got to act out while he could not.

"Batman," she said, her voice stern. "We mourn with you. After all, Jason is one of our own too. He came from my domain and I allowed you to meet him. Danny accepted him as a protector of Gotham and he flew alongside you for years. It was Dani that tried to get you to him faster. It is Danny's soil that he is buried in. His brother lives in Dan's domain as his champion. We all mourn for him, Batman. That does not give you the right to unnecessarily take your anger out on us or any of Gotham's citizens."

"I am meant to protect Gotham," he spat. "I was chosen as his champion!"

"And yet you're breaking limbs for petty crimes. You're terrorizing the streets like a madman. You're making the citizens scared. You are a symbol of redemption and change in this city, Batman. You are not a sign of fear or hatred. Get your act together. Batman is still needed."

Then she dropped him on the roof and left.

Bruce went back into mourning, licking his emotional wounds, but none of the spirits pranked him anymore.

They seemed... pitying.

Bruce apologized to Jazz and blamed it on grief. She forgave him easily, and his world was nothing but gray again.

He tried, but it was hard. Dick did not care enough to come help, lost in Dan's city and his own mourning for his little brother while Barbara had been forced onto the sidelines from her paralysis, which left Bruce on his own, adrift and untethered, unable to blame anyone and unable to unleash his anger. Alfred was there, but like always, he was only a stony pillar in his life. The spirits refused to handle his rage, so all that was left was just an ache for a lost son and a mindless need to run himself to the ground to perhaps quicken his journey to join his family again.

It was the spirits who helped him once more.

Danny subtly nudged Timothy Drake in his direction, and he soon became another Robin with Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain joining his team.

Bruce got better, but he was not perfect. He was still angry and hurt and ever-so-slightly lost. But he continued on.

After all, if he quit now, then what was all of this suffering for?

The spirits continued to assist him, along with his family. They were powerful, not omniscient, but no matter what, everything they did was for the betterment of Gotham City.

Time passed with Tim as his Robin, when Jason came back.

With a hunger for revenge and to test Bruce's love for him.

Bruce was so, so, so tired.

He loved his sons. His daughter(s). He loved his family and his duty and he loved Gotham City, but sometimes, it felt as though it was pulling him apart.

Danny and the other spirits (especially Jazz and Valerie) had always lectured him on taking breaks and knowing when to rest, of knowing his limits and being willing to quit when necessary, but Bruce always found it difficult.

As he watched Jason almost self-destruct in his rage and hatred, Bruce wondered if they would blame him if he quit here and now.

But he didn’t.

Things changed. Jason had changed from that sweet, intelligent, charming boy into a young man with a short fuse and an even quicker urge to kill. He beat up Tim, killed dozens of people, and took over the underworld, all to spite Bruce.

In a way, he was proud and so disappointed.

It was Jazz who approached him on the nights that Danny usually spent with him.

Bruce looked up at her, lovely and beautiful and so hauntingly tall that she looked like a monster, just like the domain she haunted, both dangerous and amazing all in one.

She bent down and shifted into her civilian form, one with black and white formal wear, her hair straightened into its natural state as she smiled with bright, turquoise eyes. This way, she looked soft and gentle, a little different from her cold and strict persona as a city spirit of the most violent part of Gotham.

“I can help you with Jason,” she said, when he turned to look at her. When his eyes widened, she continued, “I was going to do it anyways, but I want you to know what you need to do as well.”

“�� what do I need to do?”

Jazz smiled. “Just try to welcome him back? It will all work out.”

“Both Jazz and I will help you,” Danny then spoke, from Bruce’s other side. When he turned, he saw Danny, dressed in a ratty hoodie and scuffed up sneakers. Danny smiled teasingly. “I can’t let my champion go without his family, right? Jason has been chosen as Jazz’s champion. You don’t have to agree with his methods, but that is a problem of Jazz and Jason.”

“And I don’t care,” Jazz said tonelessly. “I don’t like it, but it has proven effective. Do not try to stop him too much, Batman. He needs to learn for himself.”

Bruce scowled, hating the fact that both spirits condoned murders, even if they were the deaths of criminals and drug dealers, but Gotham City and Crime Alley had spoken and he had learned his lesson before in rejecting their advice and going against them.

They were not his enemies.

They did not have to agree with him, and he was not beholden to their beliefs either.

They trusted him, and they were his closest and longest allies.

He sighed. “I understand.”

Jazz smiled, patted his arm, and then disappeared back to her domain. Danny stayed behind and they chatted for a long while before he too, had to leave before coming back for the next meeting.

It was frustrating at times, how the spirits could not always be there, but Bruce knew that they could not help it. They still had not gained enough strength to appear constantly, and they tried their hardest to help him even in their passive states.

Bruce sighed and moved on to try and coax Jason into a healthier, less murderous lifestyle with a lot less lecturing and judging, which seemed to shock Dick and Jason. (He pretended not to be offended by this.)

When Bruce saw Jazz next time in her spirit form, he felt a little emotional and sentimental when she appeared with a symbol of Jason's Red Hood on her chest, tying her fur coat together as a brooch, not unlike the brooch on Danny’s chest that looked like Batman’s signal.

Jason got the help he needed from Jazz (Bruce wasn’t entirely sure how this was done since neither of them nor Danny said a word about it to him and Bruce knew that Jason had never met any of the spirits), and soon, he began to integrate himself back into the family. Tim was a little resistant at first, but things were looking up.

But this was life, where the chaos never ended.

Soon, Damian joined the team and tried to kill Tim. Bruce barely held himself back from shipping him straight back to the League, but Danny and Dani knocked some sense into him, and even Jazz came to scold him heavily. Bruce was lectured day and night by disappointed city spirits and eventually, he taught himself to be patient and kind to his youngest son, who had been torn away from a life he knew into one that was very, very different.

Damian was insufferable at times, but Bruce found that he truly did love his son. He grew up kind and honorable, and in the end, it felt worth it.

Bruce wished that life would become sunshine and rainbows, but this was Gotham City, covered in smog and clouds and haunted by a teenage ghost who was friends with a tech geek spirit and a goth spirit. Things happened one after another and although the spirits prevented some things from happening, it was inevitable that they could not help him when he was not on Gotham or Blüdhaven soil.

Bruce got knocked into the timestream. Danny traveled with him and throughout the different timelines, several other city spirits appeared, even Dan, and they helped him survive and get back to his family.

And finally, when Bruce was reunited with his family, with his sons and daughter and mentally adopted daughter and butler, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

————

Things had been relatively peaceful now, with no major fights or violent disagreements between any of his children or family. Even the city had been calm for awhile, most likely in preparation for the holidays.

Bruce snapped out of his memories when his children all turned to him, staring intensely for answers. He blinked as they all stared at him with wide eyes.

"B?" Dick asked, raising an eyebrow, "what do you think?"

Bruce was quiet.

He hadn't meant to keep the secret for so long, but he just could never find an opportunity to bring it up.

Eventually, as his children all stared at him with growing concern, doubt, and confusion, he said, “No, it’s true. Both Gotham City and Blüdhaven are haunted.”

There were gasps and then cries of confusion and demands for answers. Tim looked at him for clarification, as Damian gloated over the fact that he and Tim already knew. Bruce’s lips twitched in a smile before Jason suddenly asked, “Wait a minute! If it really is haunted, then how do you know and not us? Did you meet them before?”

Bruce tilted his head as his children turned to look at him again. Then he said, “I knew them in my first year of being Batman.”

“That was before I adopted,” Dick muttered to himself, but everyone only looked even more interested.

“So you met them? The ghosts or whatever? Can we see them right now? Are they in the car?” Stephanie rambled.

Bruce thought about it. The spirits did not mind being outed (in fact, they had protested to being kept a secret and Bruce was constantly nagged about his poor habit of doing so), so they wouldn’t be angry if he brought the entire family to meet them now.

It was high time his children met the spirits of the city.

Bruce nodded. “I can take you to meet them. I have to give them their Christmas presents anyways.”

They all cheered again and burst with more questions. Bruce ignored them, even Dick who was climbing him like a tree and whining to know more, as he collected the presents that he had gotten for the spirits. He went to the Batcomputer, still ignoring Dick and Cass who were now hanging off of him, and typed a short message into a document.

‘Meet up at Amusement Mile in 10 minutes.’

He left it open, as Tim then asked, “You can communicate with the ghost through the Batcomputer? Are they actually ghosts?”

“You’ll see,” Bruce said, as Dick and Cass were now attempting to choke him for answers. He collected a few more presents and a laptop. He tossed his kids off of him and dodged another attempt by Steph to catch him before he whistled.

He threw a pair of keys to Jason, who looked at it, confused.

“Take that bike, will you?” Bruce asked, pointing to the shiny new black adventure bike. “You can follow after the car.”

Jason whistled as he finally recognized the new bike. “Damn! When the hell did you get this beauty?”

Stephanie raised a hand enthusiastically. “Can I come with?!”

“Hop on, blondie. Can we go now?”

Bruce resisted the urge to sigh.

For a moment, he was unsure of himself.

For so long, the existence of the spirits were solely his. No one around him knew that they were there.

And now, both sides, his family and the spirits, would be officially meeting for the first time.

He shook off the thoughts and got into the Batmobile, where the rest of his team followed. He made sure that all of them were wearing the appropriate gear and uniform, since it was already winter and only growing colder. Damian complained but Dick was able to wrap a scarf around his neck.

Bruce didn’t fully close the door again when Alfred walked into the cave and asked, “When will all of you expect to be back, Master Bruce?”

He paused. Then he said, “Do you want to come with, Alfred?”

“Oh dear. Whatever for?”

“To meet the ghosts!” Damian spoke up for Bruce. “Come with us, Pennyworth. It’ll surely be interesting.”

Alfred sighed, though there was a touch of fondness before he also entered the Batmobile. Cass easily surrendered the passenger seat to him, slipping into the back.

Jason, from the new bike, laughed and crowed, “Hell yeah! Now it’s a full party!”

Bruce couldn’t resist a smile as he patted the steering wheel. The Batmobile began to purr and soon enough, they all sped out of the cave and through the streets of Gotham. The sun was starting to set, casting the world in orange hues. His children were all in the backseat, chattering and making theories as Jason and Stephanie joined in on their own comms. Both he and Alfred sat together in companionable silence as Bruce idly drove.

Then, as they reached a good spot, he let go of the wheel and said, “Dani, your turn.”

The car swerved out of control and just as Tim and Dick yelped loudly, the car steadied itself, straightening, and then immediately went into overdrive, zipping through the streets. The view outside of the windows passed into a colorful blur too fast to see as the engine rumbled like thunder.

“Holy Batman!” Dick screamed with a laugh as they swerved and turned crazily, narrowly dodging a sharp corner.

Everyone in the car tilted dramatically before Dani righted the car again and they all dropped back into their seats.

“Good heavens!” Alfred cried, hanging onto his chair tightly with wide eyes as the car continued accelerating into impossible speeds.

Bruce just smiled, sitting still while his kids were all squealing from the rapid maneuvers of Dani. They all looked like they were having fun though, and Bruce just held tightly onto the presents as Dani approached Amusement Mile.

After nearly jumping over the gates, she immediately slowed down to a smooth halt in front of an empty food court in the abandoned theme park.

“Oh my god, I think I’m dizzy,” Tim complained.

“You’re so weak,” Damian snipped back, although he looked a little dazed himself. Meanwhile, Cass and Dick were beaming wide smiles, looking as though they wanted to do that again.

“The autopilot wasn’t on, so was that one of the ghosts who controlled the car?” Dick asked cheerfully.

Bruce nodded, avoiding Alfred’s sharp glares. “You’ll meet them all today.” He left the car, helping out Cass and Tim. Jason and Stephanie arrived moments later.

“B! What the hell?! Why were you going so fast?!”

“It was the ghost!” Tim said. “He was controlling the car.”

“‘She’,” Bruce corrected. “It’s a she that’s controlling the car.”

When everyone turned to look at him critically for more answers, he turned his face away and opened up the laptop that he took from the Batcave. He opened it and placed it on a table placed in the outside food court. It turned on with a blink and Bruce put in the password.

“… did you just type 696969?” Stephanie asked, sounding extremely amused.

Bruce sighed as his kids all snickered like preteen boys.

The place around them was empty and dusty. His children, after observing him for a moment as he typed away on the laptop, silently found seats around him at the tables of the food court, all seated close to each other. Alfred remained standing, looking around in a slightly confused fashion but unwilling to say a word. Bruce looked down at his feet, where grass and weeds were growing in the cracks of the neglected cement.

Then he focused on the laptop again and pressed a few buttons on the laptop before taking a step back.

His kids all perked up. Even Alfred straightened the tiniest bit.

There was a crackle.

And then—

“Batman!” A voice called.

Everyone turned to look at the car, where Dani was sitting on top. She was dressed in her civilian clothes, a pair of jeans and a regular sweater. She waved happily, lovely and warm like sunshine. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail and when she hopped off of the roof of the Batmobile, it bounced around her face in wild waves.

She approached and everyone but Bruce stared in confusion and fascination.

“I thought I’d finally come out since you didn’t say anything,” Dani explained to Bruce. She turned to his kids and waved. A few waved back.

A new voice appeared. “Ugh, what took you so long to bring me here?”

Tucker stretched. He was also in his civilian form and he wiggled his fingers playfully when the others whipped their heads around to gape at him. He sat down at a table and said, “You took forever to bring me out. When is everyone else coming?”

“Already here,” Sam said, bored and in full goth, stepping out of a patch of grass to sit next to Tucker. “Wassup, Bruce.”

Bruce acknowledged her with a nod.

“We’re here,” Wes said, coming out of the walls with Valerie by his side. Both were also dressed casually. “Sorry, are we late?”

“We still have the other three,” Sam said. “B is introducing us to his kids.”

“Finally!” Valerie snapped, sitting down with a huff. “We’ve been telling you to tell them for so long!”

Bruce said, “I know, but none of them figured it out until now.”

“Hey,” Dick complained, “How are we supposed to know? They’re ghosts!”

Bruce gave him a level look. “Through observation and careful inspection. You should’ve—“

“Lay off of them, Bruce,” Sam interrupted with a small smile. “We kept ourselves hidden from them because it seemed like you didn’t want them to know.”

At this, everyone glared at Bruce, while he just sighed. Dani spoke up and said, “It was because I was careless today that they noticed. Don’t blame it on them.”

Another figure stepped out of the shadows and Jason startled, standing up. “Wolf?” He blurted, and Bruce looked over to see Jazz walking to them, a black helmet over her head and wearing a bodysuit. She paused when she saw Jason, gave a small wave, and then sat down next to Dani, who cheered when she saw her.

“Jazz!” She said, tackling her in a hug. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Jazz laughed. “What are you talking about? We saw each other the other day, remember?”

The five spirits burst into excited chatter, since it was rare that they ever met up like this, all together at once. Usually, it was only a few one-on-one meetups and Bruce knew this, so he stayed silent as did his family, giving the spirits the space needed to chat while also allowing his family to observe. Jason looked moody, but didn’t say a word.

Out of nowhere, Dan dropped in from the air, dressed in a stained bartender’s uniform. He scowled at Bruce.

“Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere closer to Blüdhaven? I had to travel over the entirety of Gotham City just to get here!”

Bruce bowed his head in apology. “I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll make sure it’s closer.”

Dan scoffed. “You better,” he snapped, before he made a complete 180 and beamed at his sisters. “Jazz! Dani! You’re looking lovely today!”

Bruce’s family stared between him and the Blüdhaven city spirit.

“Are there… more?” Stephanie asked, after sneaking over to him while the tables of spirits chatted.

Bruce nodded and raised a finger for one.

Tim also slid over and said, “They don’t look like ghosts.”

Damian, having crept alongside Tim, muttered, “They don’t look important or powerful either. Father, what is going on?”

Alfred sighed. “Young masters, please sit down and stop standing around and whispering.”

They sat down. Tim and Steph shared a seat, both hanging on via a buttcheek as Damian had pushed Tim off of his. Bruce didn’t say a word, though he was inwardly exasperated and already regretting this entire meeting.

Dick was staring at Dan critically, while Jason was staring at Jazz with a frown. They obviously knew each other, but Bruce still didn’t know how. Cass was just looking between all of the spirits, looking slightly confused.

Finally, the last guest arrived. Footsteps sounded from nearby and Danny jogged over to them with an easy smile.

“Sorry, am I late?”

“Yes!” All of the spirits shouted, glaring at him.

Danny just grinned and then looked over at Bruce. “Hello. Finally showing us off?”

Bruce nodded. Then he stood up and said, “Everyone. Meet the city spirits of Gotham City and Blüdhaven.” He began to gesture to them as he gave introductions. “This is Dani, the spirit of the Batvehicles. She controls all of the Batvehicles in the cave. This is Tucker, the Batcomputer spirit. This is Sam, spirit of all plant life in Gotham City. This is Wes, spirit of Gotham City gargoyles. This is Valerie, the Arkham Asylum spirit.”

This earned several shocked looks and gasps. Valerie gave a polite nod with a hint of pride. Bruce moved on.

“And this is Jazz, the Crime Alley spirit.” Jason’s expression twitched. “This is Dan, the city spirit of Blüdhaven, and this is Danny, the city spirit of Gotham City.”

Danny smiled at them.

When he finished, there was a burst of noise and confusion. Bruce endured it all for a moment before he raised a hand, quieting everyone, and then said, “Let me explain.”

Bruce talked about how he noticed them in his first year of being Batman (he got a very strong glare from Alfred for keeping this from him), then how he met Dani and befriended all of the other spirits. He talked about how they helped him, how they accepted the Robins as protectors of the city alongside Batman, how they taught him and assisted him in vigilantism, and how they were fundamental in protecting him and the city.

He went on to explain what and who they were in more detail, and when he described Jazz and Danny, everyone stared in a mixture of disbelief and awe. When it was done, everyone just stared at him with bafflement on their faces.

Bruce shifted uncomfortably. Alfred’s gaze was especially cutting.

“Wait… so… you’re saying that these all-powerful spirits look like… this?” Stephanie asked, clearly trying not to be rude as she gestured to them all.

Tucker snorted. “This isn’t our real form. It’s just our civilian one, so we can interact with you guys.”

Tim asked, “Could we see it? Your real forms?” He turned to look at Bruce questioningly, who just looked at Danny.

Danny shrugged with a smile and waved a hand in front of his face. In an instant, a veil slid over his head and back, inky black with twinkling stars lighting up the inside. He wore a formal vest and cape tie, with his coat shoulder robing him. His brooch shone brightly over his heart.

The air began to chill even further than the winter night.

Jazz took off her helmet and her red hair fell down in curly waves, her bodysuit exchanging for a dark fur coat and a long, blue dress with black gloves. Pearls circled her throat and wrists, dripping with blood. Her brooch flashed and Jason straightened his back at the sight of it.

Dan sighed and his bartender uniform melted away into a dark blue policeman uniform, formal and distinct. His skin turned translucently green and his hair bled white. His hat covered his eyes as he leaned back in his chair slowly. His brooch, cut in the shape of Nightwing’s symbol, was bright against his dark clothes.

Tucker waved his hands and his casual ware was exchanged for a high-tech suit that wasn’t dissimilar to Batman’s own appearance. However, there was no cape and the color was more gold and brown than black and gray. The white eyes were exchanged for a visor that flashed.

Sam brushed a hand against her skirt and her outfit turned into green and purple, something like what Poison Ivy would wear stretching and growing over her skin. Leafy clothes and flowery details covered her body until she could’ve blended into a garden perfectly. Flowers began to pop into existence beneath them all.

Wes shook his head and everything about him turned into granite. His clothes became formal, like a suit from the 1800s, and horns and wings began to grow from his head and back stiffly. He sat in his chair, unmoving and still.

Valerie flicked her hair behind her head and her yellow clothes began to bleed into white with red stains. She wore a uniform that looked like the combined versions of both a nurse and a doctor, with a cloth covering her mouth and red goggles over her eyes. Her curly hair seemed to have grown even messier.

Dani was the last to show off her form, and she spread her arms and her clothes transformed into that unique style she had developed not too long ago, something that looked like a cross between Batman and Robin. It was all black and gray, with yellow, green, and red accents. She had a bright yellow belt and a long cape that glimmered with holographic shapes.

“Ta da!” She cheered. “What do you all think?”

The air had become bone-freezing cold, frost appearing on Bruce’s eyelashes and his breath turning into white clouds. It was cold before, but now it was blood curdling. There was a pause where the spirits all looked at each other before they switched back in an instant, and the temperature flew up, warming them immediately.

Everyone sighed from the relief, and Bruce handed Alfred his cape, who sighed before taking it begrudgingly. Then in that moment, his kids stood up and approached the spirits as they immediately went to chat with one another, completely ignoring Bruce.

Dick ambushed Dan, who didn’t seem unhappy with him as he was immediately pulled into an animated conversation with him. Bruce recalled how Jazz and Dani talked about how much Dan liked his eldest son, so it was no surprise.

Dani was chatting with Stephanie and Cass, waving her arms exaggeratedly as she talked. Steph looked at her like she was the cutest thing on the planet, while Cass stared at her like she was an interesting, but endearing bug underneath a magnifying glass.

Damian and Tim were chatting with Valerie, Sam, and Wes in a serious conversation. They seemed to be debating something, with Damian and Valerie mostly doing the talking with Tim and Sam interjecting every once in awhile. Wes looked as though he was trying to instigate an argument, however, as everyone glared at him whenever he talked.

Jason had already pulled Jazz into a corner of the building, and they leaned against the wall and talked quietly, shoulders pressed together.

It looked… intimate.

Bruce almost wanted to march over there and pull them apart, but he barely held back when Danny and Tucker approached their table. Tucker immediately pulled Alfred into a conversation about the maintenance of the Batcomputer, mostly with the both of them complaining about how the kids were so messy around the keyboard.

Danny sat next to Bruce and said, “So why did you call us here?”

Bruce blinked, pulling his gaze away from his son and the spirit of Crime Alley. “What?”

“Why’d you call us here? You usually don’t summon us all at once.”

Bruce said, “Dani accidentally revealed herself to Tim and Dami. I thought it was high time that I introduced all of you.” Danny looked back at his siblings, all who were deep into their conversations.

Bruce followed his gaze, watching his kids have fun and make friends with the spirits.

He felt satisfied, looking at them. He wanted nothing more than for his children to be happy, safe, and protected. The spirits had helped him many times when he was still starting out as Batman, giving his advice and narrowly saving his life multiple times.

Now, hopefully, they would help his children too.

Bruce continued, “And it’s Christmas.”

Danny didn’t turn to look at him, only humming, “That’s true. It is the holiday season.”

“I got you and the rest of the spirits presents,” Bruce said, and Danny perked up.

“What?! Are you for real?!” Danny cried excitedly. “Can I see? Please? Now?”

Bruce laughed. He presented the gift to him, and when the other spirits took notice, they also approached, pulling away from their conversations. Jason and Jazz were the last to come over.

“Ooh, what is it?”

“Open it!”

“Do we also get one?”

Bruce passed out their gifts as his kids also crowded around and heckled them into opening it.

One by one, they all opened their gifts.

Dani received a bucket full of (human) treats and snacks, with a bottle of motor oil at the bottom. She cheered when she saw it and immediately opened a bag of gummies to share with everyone else.

Sam received several packs of the seeds of poisonous flowers and plants. She happily took it as the people around her took a wary step back away from her.

Tucker received a Bluetooth speaker. He declared that he would use it to annoy Bruce and Tim into sleeping whenever they stayed up too late, and everyone but Bruce and Tim cheered.

Wes received a high quality camera. Tim offered to help him use it efficiently, and he accepted, with both of them leaving the table to chat about it.

Valerie received a tube full of anesthesia. Like Sam, everyone took a step away from her as she hugged the capsule to herself.

Jazz received the bike that Bruce had asked Jason to bring. She jumped up and down and thanked him profusely and for some reason, Jason glared at him for it.

Dan received a photo album. He took a peek and then closed it tight, smiling to himself as he refused any questions asked. Bruce knew it was a photo album of the few times he was able to take pictures of the spirits, as well as an entire horde of Dick’s photos.

Danny received the deed to a new building built in Gotham City, an observatory tower for the stars. When he saw it, his face split into a beaming smile like a miniature sun and when the other spirits saw it, they also congratulated him, especially Dani who wanted to see it as well.

“It’s still being built,” Bruce explained, but Danny didn’t seem to care.

“Thank you so much!” He said happily, admiring the deed to the building in his hands.

Bruce felt various eyes from both spirits and humans on him. He didn’t mind. He smiled and enjoyed how much they all loved the gifts they got from him, gifts that they deserved. As all of the spirits admired their presents and chatted with his children, Alfred turned to him.

“If I recall correctly, I believe that you have mentioned them before. They must have been the friends you mentioned a long time ago, hm?”

Bruce nodded. “They’ve been with me since I first started.”

Alfred hummed. “They seem like good children.”

Bruce smiled and nodded again.

The hours passed and eventually, Sam and Valerie couldn’t handle the strain anymore. They disappeared back into their domains, signaling the end of the reunion. More and more spirits began to leave, with waning enthusiasm as their strength was being drained from being out too much. The car and laptop were left behind by Dani and Tucker when they disappeared. Only Jazz and Danny seemed relatively fine, as the rest began to leave back to their haunts. They still looked tired though, and Jazz politely excused herself.

“You’re leaving already?” Jason asked, as Jazz straddled her bike.

She nodded, her helmet covering her face once more.

“We’ll talk more later?” Jazz said, and Jason gave a firm nod.

“At 2. At the usual place.”

She nodded and left, fading into shadows.

Danny was the only one left. He held the deed in his hands and smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Bruce. You should go home now. Spend some time with your family. We appreciate the gifts you’ve given to us, champion, and do not worry, we will watch over the city and your family.”

Bruce gave a nod.

Danny reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. The weight of it was heavy and significant, but it also spread a warmth through Bruce’s body.

It was an extra blessing for the night.

Bruce gave him a minuscule dip of his head. Danny just smiled and like a cloud, dissipated.

Bruce released a small sigh of relief.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he had felt about his kids and the spirits meeting. He wanted the spirits to protect them. He wanted his kids to accept them. He was just… scared. For some reason.

But everything had gone well.

The spirits had always loved his children, and his kids were probably not ever going to be able to offend them. After all, they were also vigilantes of Gotham, and all of them risked their lives on the daily to help the city.

It was no shock that they got along like a house on fire.

The blessings of the spirits meant a lot.

His children would now have extra help by their side to keep them safe if he wasn’t able to.

It was Cass that spoke up and brought him out of his thoughts.

“B? Home now?”

Bruce nodded.

He felt… strangely full. Like eating a full meal. He felt satisfied and content.

He smiled, then. “Shall we go do some last minute Christmas shopping?”

Alfred sighed, as the kids cheered, enthusiastically agreeing since they now wanted to open their own gifts after watching the spirits. Bruce couldn’t help but laugh as Cass stuck by his side and Damian insisted on picking another fight with Tim with Jason instigating as always.

Bruce blinked and looked up as he felt something cold fall over his face.

Snowflakes drifted down, bright against the dark sky.

Alfred hummed. “It’s snowing. Master Bruce, shall we go back into the Batmobile?”

Bruce smiled.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

It was Christmas Eve. And with his family by his side and the blessings of the spirits, Bruce had nothing else to worry about for awhile.

“Wait, B! We’re not patrolling today?”

Bruce shook his head. The spirits had agreed to patrol for him, so he could spend the entire day with his family. They all looked surprisingly hopeful at him, even Jason.

Yes, it was a good day today.

Tomorrow would be even better.

“Nope. Today and tomorrow are days all to ourselves!”

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Merry Christmas (Eve)! I hope you guys enjoyed this fic. It’s scary how the year is already starting to end. Ty to @meditating-cat for betaing my fic for me!

Me: *writing a Bruce-sympathetic fic*

Me: Is this character development (for me)?

This fic is meant to be comical and fun, so I tried to breeze past the sad parts as best as I could.

At one point, Danny was acting too mature and this fic was starting to look like a Spirit Halloween ship fic, so I had to quickly change things up :,/

This fic is inspired by this idea specifically, but also about the Gotham City spirit Danny AU on my blog here. (Look at the tags for more).

Wolf is Jazz’s vigilante name and she is part of my assistant!Jazz AU.

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ahqkas · 8 months ago

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hey goergous!! I've been BINGING your writing on the batboys and I absolutely love them!! Is there a chance you can do Costco runs with the batboys? Weird idea but I was just at Costco and was thinking about it hahaha!! Thank you!!! ❤️🦇

♯HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH WITH YOU ( the batboys accompanying you to costco ! )

— gn!reader, bruce & dick & jason ( separated ), i had to google what costco is so i hope i got it right !! fluff, this is so short i’m sorry 😣

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

THE MERE IDEA OF BRUCE WAYNE IN SUCH A SHOP WAS AS SURREAL AS ENDEARING. it happened during a simple saturday morning, still when many people were busy sleeping in, when you got to the task at your hand: grocery shopping.

you glanced over at your company, noting how his well tailored black sweater and dark jeans contrasted with the whole place and its contents. his classy clothing looked so out of place among the sea of puffy jackets, hoodies, and sneakers. yet, as always, he didn’t seem to mind. he almost looked comfortable ( if you could call the expression on his face by that word ) by your side, but you had your suspicions it was only because he was with you.

he pushed the cart with one hand, his other resting warmly on your lower back as he guided you through the place like he knew exactly where to go. you’d begged him to come with you—not because you couldn’t do it alone, but because you were curious about him in such a place. the idea of bruce wayne, a billionaire who owned sprawling estates and could have groceries delivered with a snap of his finger, was far too good to pass on.

bruce picked up a bulk-sized box of protein granola bars and studied it like he was deciphering a riddle from the riddler himself. “do we eat these?”

you tilted your head towards him, eyes flickering between his handsome face and the bars in his hands. he managed to look good even under those fluorescent lights. “i eat them. you inhale them after your patrols.

a flicker of smirk danced on his lips while his free arm tightened around your waist, tossing the box into the cart with a nod of his head. “point taken, sweetheart.”

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

the idea to shop at costco was his.

it was funny to watch him move through the shop, one hand pushing the cart while he held your hand with the other. ( “costco? are you kidding? i love costco,” he’d said with excitement filling his voice, practically dragging you out the door before you could protest. ) . now, you were strolling through various aisles with your boyfriend. dick was dressed in his usual hoodie and jeans, although you knew he was hiding his suit under the casual clothes. his blue eyes sparkled whenever he discovered something that was ‘essential’ for your home.

“do we really need a 10 pound tub of peanut butter?”

“we do now.”

it was nice seeing him like this, doing normal things like shopping for once. he scanned the rows of fresh fruit like a normal guy instead of the acrobatic vigilante who swung through blüdhaven’s skyline every night. dick picked up a bag of green apples and tossed it into the cart. they’d bruise, no doubt. “do you approve of these?”

“i approve of anything that gets you to eat actual food instead of protein bars and instant noodles,” you pinched his biceps, feeling the muscle flex under your touch.

he swatted your hand away. “hey, i make a mean bowl of mac and cheese.”

“you mean you open a mean box of mac and cheese.”

dick shrugged with an ashamed smile on his face, hand reaching out and picking up a tub of pre-cut pineapple. “there. that’s balance right here. carbs and fruit. meal prep done.”

. . . JASON TODD !

THE TRUNK OF YOUR CAR GROANED UNDER THE WEIGHT OF WHAT FELT LIKE AN ENTIRE GROCERY STORE as jason hefted yet another bag onto his shoulder, the plastic handles straining under the bulk of sparkling water. his leather jacket creaked with the movement, and a few stray strands of his dark hair fell across his forehead as he turned to you with a playful look on his face.

“explain to me again,” he drawled out lowly, “why two people need this much stuff?”

you shrugged your shoulders and leaned casually against the car while sipping your iced coffee, looking far too pleased with yourself ( which you kinda were ). “because it’s costco, jay. you don’t go in for just a few things. you go in, black out, and come out with a year’s supply of paper towels and enough food to survive the apocalypse.”

your boyfriend huffed a laugh at that, shaking his head as he grabbed another bag, this one balanced with a carton of eggs and a bag of frozen chicken nuggets. “pretty sure you’re prepping for more than just the apocalypse. you’ve got enough granola bars in here to feed an entire boy scout troop.”

“don’t act like you’re not going to eat half of those on your next patrol.”

jason ate like he was the entire boy scout troop.

“fair point,” he admitted and you watched as his lips twitched into a smirk. jason had this way of making even the most normal activities feel like they were charged with a kind of electricity. the way he moved, the way he joked — it all carried that signature side of him.

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gothamhappiness · 1 year ago

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Don't hurt Red Hood, Batman! (Jason Todd x f!reader - Part 1)

Warnings: no proof reading, language, Batman is mean, mentions of fighting and wounds, reader got some nerves and aimed at Batman

You were living on Red Hood territory.

Actually you stayed in Gotham thanks to him. You felt safe thanks to him. Yes, he was the new crime lord in town, but women and children were off limit. Innocent people were off limit.

You knew Red Hood killed people but he killed bad people and kept innocent civilians safe. You weren’t for the killing, of course not. And yet you were grateful for what Red Hood was doing, for people like you. You weren't afraid to walk at night anymore.

The first time you saw Red Hood, he was arguing with Batman and Nightwing. Actually, Batman was fighting with Red Hood and Nightwing was in the middle, trying to stop them.

You didn’t really think before grabbing the small gun you had in your bag. And you were clearly out of your mind when you aimed at Batman.

"Leave him alone!" You screamed

The three men froze. You didn’t really think you would hurt anyone, you just felt better having a gun in your hand to face the dark knight

"Go away" Batman sternly told you and Nightwing moved his head to silently ask you to do the same

"No, you, go away. Leave Red Hood alone."

"What?" The three men muttered

"He is doing good for people like us. You don't give a shit about us, Batman. Go play with Harvey Dent or Oswald Cobleppot, and let Red Hood saves us from Black Mask and his goons." You stubornly replied

"Look..." Nightwing started but you cut him off

"You are both on his territory anyway" you said

"His territory? Wait you are in agreement with this?" Nightwing asked and you nodded instantly

"I live here, Red Hood keeps us safe without asking anything in return. He even feeds children of the street. What did you two do about it? Aren't you supposed to be in Blüdhaven, Nightwing, anyway?" You clearly knew no fear that night

Red Hood had sat down during the exchange, he was hurt but more importantly he was stunned that someone was actually taking his defense.

"He is a criminal" Batman finally said

"So are you" you replied

"He is trying to do justice by taking money from the goons and the prostitution. He is a crime lord, like all the others"

"What don't you understand in "He keeps us safe!". The money is always dirty in Gotham anyways." You justified Red Hood again

The silence following was defeaning. Batman made one step towards Red Hood, and you shot past his ear.

"It's a warning Batman, my mother taught me how to use guns against violent men" you threatened him

"Alright, let's go, Nightwing," Batman groaned. He didn't want to fight with a civilian

You watched them go before looking down at Red Hood, you felt the adrenaline slowly leaving your body and you felt a little bit sick. But aslo very proud of yourself. You smiled at the man who was still sat down on the ground.

"Are you alright? Do you need help with your wounds?" You asked

"What's your name, brave girl?" He asked in return

"Y/N" you said with a slight blush

"Y/N, thank you for making me happy for the first time in a very long time" Red Hood softly whispered to you

"Anything for you, Red" you smiled even more

Part 2

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x s/o #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood x s/o #red hood imagine #batman #bruce wayne #nightwing #dick grayson #batfamily #batfam x reader

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

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Lost Time

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!wife!reader

Summary: Jason comes home to you, his wife, after a mission and makes up for lost time.

Warnings: fluff and comfort! brief mention of the Lazarus Pit and human trafficking

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

A/N: I really want to write a lengthy oneshot for Jason but I don't know if I capture him well enough. I don't get many DC requests but I love them so much!!

Picture from Pinterest (WFA Jason >>>)

Masterlist | DC/Jason Todd Masterlist | Request Info

Jason Todd leaves, it’s what he does. Sometimes there are warnings, direct and indirect, but other nights he leaves while you sleep or simply doesn’t come home when he should. That’s who he is, what he does. There is more to Jason than meets the eye; he isn’t just Jason, Red Hood, or Bruce Wayne’s dead and nearly forgotten son. One piece of Jason makes him whole: being your husband brings him back, every single time. Jason leaves, but the time you spend alone is spent in confidence that he will come back to you, even if he’s broken and crawling.

While Jason is in Blüdhaven helping his brothers with a mission that Bruce doesn’t know about, you spend the time alone missing him. He hates leaving you, but you understand. That doesn’t mean, however, that you just wait for him to come home. Being married is supposed to be a 50/50 arrangement, yet you have given everything to Jason and there is not a single thing you wouldn’t do for him.

Tonight, nearly 96 hours after you last saw Jason, you make yourself comfortable with one of his books. The pages are yellowed from use, and highlights and notes fill the margins and the empty pages. Each word reminds you of Jason, and though you miss him, you refuse to look at his empty side of the bed. In the time since he left, promising to come back to you with a kiss and a tap to your wedding ring, you have read several of his books, cooked his favorite meal, and baked his favorite goodies. The distractions you created are all centered around Jason because despite what you tell yourself about needing to think about other things, Jason Todd takes up every single one of your thoughts. He’s captivating, and you never want to escape him.

Your phone beeps as you finish a page of Frankenstein. After taking a calming breath, you read the message from Barbara.

The bats are Gotham-bound.

The message makes you smile, and you rise from the bed to prepare for Jason’s return. He has come home without a scratch, drenched in blood, and everything in between. In sickness and health, you vowed, and you plan to keep it. With his favorite food already prepared and water heating in the kettle on the stove, you sit on the couch and wait for his entrance. The front door is behind you, and you watch as the Red Hood lands on your fire escape and expertly navigates into your home. His home.

The couch is empty by the time he turns from the now-closed window, and your arms loop around his waist as he moves. Jason chuckles at your immediate attention and pulls his helmet off.

“Miss me?” he asks.

You can hear his smile in his voice, and as Jason’s arms wrap around you, you sigh and release every fear and worry that had been pushed into the back of your mind.

“I need to shower,” Jason says, though he doesn’t move his hands from your back. “Blüdhaven is gross.”

“And Gotham is known for its cleanliness,” you argue.

“Get off,” Jason grumbles.

He raises his hands to your shoulders and easily pushes you back. You look at him as you raise your hands to hold his wrists. Jason’s gaze is soft and his touch is softer.

“Ten minutes,” he requests quietly.

“Someone needs pampering,” you tease. “Take your time. There’s food and tea if you want any.”

“Just wan’ you,” he murmurs.

Jason leans in and kisses your forehead quickly. He avoids your hands as you reach out for him. You laugh as he walks away, and the sound brings Jason home. He’s physically home, yes, but he is only home when you are completely and wholly with him.

The water echoes through the apartment as Jason enters the shower, and you prepare two mugs of tea before carrying them into the bedroom. You would wait forever for Jason, but as you lean back and close your eyes, content listening to him move through your shared home, you know that you’ll never have to wait long.

When Jason enters the bedroom clad in a pair of Wonder Woman sweatpants and smiles at you, everything seems better. The darkest Gotham day can’t cast a shadow on what you and Jason have. Before Jason left, he told you all you needed to know about the mission, and you won’t bring it up again. If he wants to talk about it, he will, and you’ll listen.

You raise the blanket as Jason approaches the side of the bed. He doesn’t hesitate to join you and pull you closer. After looping your arms over his shoulders, you push your fingers into Jason’s wet curls and twist them gently around your fingers. His white streak is closest to you, yet you concentrate your attention elsewhere to keep your eyes locked on his.

“You read it again, didn’t you?” Jason asks.

His eyes threaten to flutter closed, but he forces them open to talk to you.

“Read what?” you whisper.

“Tell me what I missed,” he requests.

You know he can see his books piled on your nightstand, but you enjoy the smile he gives you when you pretend not to know what he’s talking about. Jason pulls your hands away from his hair, opting to hold you against his side. You lay a hand over his heart and gently trace the bottom of a scar. You know his scars by heart, and each story behind them is ingrained in your memory.

“Not much,” you answer after a moment.

“Did you do anything? Because everything you do is important, and I want to hear about it,” Jason argues.

You lean closer and spread your fingers flat against his skin. His heart thrums steadily beneath your hand, and you think your heart beats in time with his.

“Maybe you just married me for the post-mission cuddles,” you say.

“Or maybe I just married you because I love you. I love you for accepting all of me and loving the parts that I don’t let anyone see.”

“Jason,” you hum.

“You didn’t tell me about what I missed,” he replies.

The first raindrop hits the window, and Jason is reminded that he’s back in Gotham. He’d move to Metropolis and listen to Clark as long as you were by his side, but being in your arms in his home town is a feeling unlike any other.

“I’ll take it you didn’t go to the manor,” you deflect.

“Why would I when I have a beautiful wife waiting at home for me and four days to make up for? Lost time with you will always be more important than Bruce.”

You sigh before you begin telling him about what you did. There isn’t much to tell. You read one of his books, cleaned, cooked, baked, and read another book.

“You baked?” Jason interrupts. “And didn’t bring it up until now?”

“I thought time with me was more important.”

Jason furrows his brows as he turns, pulling you to lay on top of him. When you first started dating, Jason was hesitant to initiate any sort of physical touch. Not long before, he had been Gotham’s most-feared crime lord and the rage caused by the pit was still present. Now, there is nothing to stop Jason from touching you: no fear of hurting you, no concern of scaring you away, and no doubt that you won’t love him once you see his darkest secrets. Jason’s scars, his past, and his nightly activities make him the man you love, and you love those parts of him, not the other way around.

As you cuddle with the man who recently scared human traffickers into turning themselves in to the authorities rather than running into him again, you simply enjoy being together. Your husband Jason and Red Hood Jason aren’t the same, yet you love them both equally.

“Do you really want to make up for lost time?” you ask over the rain.

Jason thinks your voice is more soothing and melodic than any rainstorm could dream of being. He pries his eyes open to answer, “Every second of it.”

You nod and lay your head against his chest. With your hearts pressed to one another and your fingers intertwined with Jason’s, you know that you are loved, and Jason knows you will always be here when he comes home.

You’re nearly asleep when you mumble, “’S a lotta time.”

Jason smiles but doesn’t move because he doesn’t want to disturb you. “Never enough time with you,” he whispers against your temple.

#hanna writes✯#jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd #batfam #red hood #red hood x reader #requests #fem!reader #dc comics x reader

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aroace-madness · 2 months ago

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What if Bruce being Batman was an open secret that literally every single gothamite knew that the bat vigilante that roams the roofs of Gotham during ungodly hours of the night is the same Bruce that fell into the fountain in the park just last week

They're not stupid, they figured it out during Bruce's first week as Batman, same height, build, showed up soon after Bruce came back to Gotham

They're going to deny that fact to any other hero that's not from Gotham, Bruce is their prince, their knight, they're not going to just rat him out like that no that's crazy

Bruce protects them both during the day with all his charity work and contribution and during the night fighting criminals and thugs making things at least a bit better

That extends to all the Robins

First Robin? Dick Grayson and after he grew up he became Nightwing and moved the Blüdhaven (the Gothamites are jealous of Blüd for "stealing" their bird but they're proud of Dick for making a name for himself)

Second Robin? Jason Todd, killed by Joker at 15 (a horrible tragedy but Hey he came back as Red Hood so that's great)

The batgirls? Barbara Gordon, the daughter of the Police officer Jim Gordon and now works as Oracle, Stephanie Brown who was briefly a Robin and now Spoiler and Cassandra Cain Wayne who's now the ever terrifying Orphan

Tim Drake? The son of Jake and Janet Drake? The Waynes neighbour? The fourth Robin and Red Robin, a terrifying kid who knows too much for his own good

And the current Robin? Damian Wayne, Bruce's only biological child. God only knows where he came from but the Gothamites don't mind one bit, he's a true sweetheart even if a bit blunt at times but that's why they love him

The newest addition to the Wayne Clan? Duke Thomas? Signal of course the only day time vigilante of Gotham, every Gothamites wishes his parents a quick recovery and is glad that he chose vigilantism and stepped away from "we are Robins" movements as good as they were (at least the boy has some adult supervision)

Those are their bats and birds, and they're not gonna let any outsider hero ruin it for them

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bluejaysandblackbats · 9 months ago

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A Stone’s Throw

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: The night Jason wakes up in the convalescent home, he’s accompanied by his favorite nurse (Nurse Kathy). Nurse Kathy follows her instincts and decides to foster him in the nearby city of Blüdhaven. Soon, her partner and roommates become Jason’s new family despite hopes that he’ll regain his memories.

Chapters: 3/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Original Characters, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon

Additional Tags: Disabled Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Doesn’t Know Jason Todd is Alive, Angst, Fluff, Found Family, Jason Todd Has a Foster Family AU, Jason Todd Moves to Blüdhaven, Original Asexual Characters, Original Lesbian Characters, Amnesiac Jason Todd, “Missed Him By That Much” Trope, Hurt/Comfort, Resurrected Jason Todd

Chapter Three: The Stepparents

Walter was a tall man, slender to the point of frailty as he organized books in a bedroom bookcase. His curly hair was gelled back and shining dark grey in the well-lit living room. His eyes dark and large, staring at the bindings to the books on the top shelf. He pushed his glasses up, warmly sighing as he cocked his head. The doorbell rang, and Walter smiled. “Lover? Is that you?” Walter shouted.

“It’s Donnovan—. Dodie Hines-Fletcher! You know my father!” Dodie shouted. Walter opened the door. “You’re my father’s boyfriend, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. Would you like a cup of coffee?” Walter asked. Dodie nodded. “You favor him. Your eyes are almost the same. Kind of hazel-ish… But your hair… It’s like your mother’s isn’t it?”

“Yeah… It’s a weird dark reddish brown,” Dodie answered as he looked around. “How’d you meet my dad?”

“We met at one of his art galleries. I bought A Conversation in Sage . I thought he was interesting, but I—. I saw the wedding ring. We talked for a while there, and he told me the situation. I was only in town for one night, so I gave him my address, so he could mail the painting to me. He um—. He started sending me letters. I sent some back… And we fell in love,” Walter answered, “Would you like to see the letters he wrote me? They’re lovely.”

Dodie sat on a crate, politely resting his ankle on his knee. “My father sold A Conversation in Sage when I was six years old. You’re telling me you’ve been his boyfriend for nineteen years?” Dodie questioned. Walter nodded. “And I don’t know… Should I see these? Aren’t they—?”

“Your father and I don’t have a physical relationship… Not in that way. We’ve done nothing more than kiss, and I held his hand once in secret. I’m—. Well, I’m impotent, and your father has no interest in sex,” Walter confessed. Dodie’s eyes widened as he looked away. “Would you like to see them? The letters? ”

“Sure,” Dodie answered, “So… You’ve known my dad for nineteen years, and I’ve never—. Did my mom know about you?”

“Yes… I’ve spoken to her several times. I’ve never met her, though,” Walter answered as he handed Dodie a stack of letters. “They’re in order. That’s the first twenty letters he sent me. He has a way with words.”

Dodie opened the first envelope. “ Dear Walter… I hope I’m not being forward by sending this letter. I’m afraid I find myself thinking of you without meaning to. I carry the image of you around in my spirit. The weight of your absence bears down on my soul. I long for your company. I desire nothing more than to sit beside you, passing the days. Your companionship calls to me. I fear I have nothing of substance to offer you. What I feel may seem juvenile because I am new to this. It would be enough to simply gaze into your eyes and bask in their warmth ,” Dodie read silently to himself. He smiled at Walter. He grabbed the last letter in the stack.

“ Dearest Walter… It was lovely seeing you. I feel giddy every time I think of what could be. I’m frightened that it will be too much for my heart. I paint pictures of men and women that don’t resemble you but do not be mistaken. All of them are inspired by your spirit.

“You are my first love. I feel alive saying that. There is nothing more exquisite than this feeling. It might even surpass the taste of food itself. You are everything I could’ve wanted in a companion. I love you. I crave you. I want to hear your laughter and wipe your tears when you cry. Walter, I look forward to the next glance. The next letter. The next earthy-smelling letter. You’re so comforting to my spirit.

“Thank you for loving me. Thank you for showing me that this could be possible. ”

Dodie looked away, his eyes welling up with tears.

“God… My dad loves you so much. Sorry—. I—. I was so selfish. I just—.”

Walter set Dodie’s coffee mug on a crate. “You’re his son. He didn’t want his romantic affairs to be your concern. He was hesitant to mention you. Daniel wanted to protect you from any hardship that he felt his personal life might’ve introduced. You weren’t selfish. You were unaware,” Walter reassured him, “As a young man, it must be a shock.”

“It is, but I’m getting used to it. You seem like a nice person, though. I don’t know what I expected. I’m still worried about my mom’s girlfriend. Have you met her?” Dodie questioned. Walter nodded. “What’s your opinion of her?”

“You know Sibyl. I was shocked when I met her, but you’ve probably seen her in passing. What was it like, by the way? I’ve always been curious. Your mother’s a nurse and your father’s an artist. What is that like? Was there any pressure to do one or the other?” Walter questioned.

“No, not really. I was always an artistic kid… So, I naturally ended up becoming an architect,” Dodie laughed, “And I sell dollhouses that are replicas of people’s homes sometimes. Mom really enjoys that.”

“Oh! How did you get into making dollhouses?” Walter questioned.

“When I was little, my mom used to have this dollhouse that her grandma gave her. Whenever she had a bad day at work, she’d sit beside it in her chair, and open it up. I used to climb into her lap, and she’d guide my fingers over the finer details, telling me stories about dollhouses being piggy banks for memories. Bad and good, ” Dodie answered, “And it stuck. I learned how to make birdhouses, then I learned how to build regular dollhouses. I kept doing more and more until I was making miniature houses.”

“That’s amazing. I’d like to see some of your work someday,” Walter smiled. A woman entered the house, grunting as she set grocery bags on the ground. Walter held a finger up as he went to meet her in the family room.

“Dodie’s here. You should introduce yourself,” Walter whispered.

“Is he upset?” she whispered.

“No, he’s a lovely kid. Go on. I’ll get the groceries,” Walter replied.

The woman stepped into the family room, taking off her powder blue heels and walking toward the young man. Her silvery curls were pulled back into a ponytail. The woman was buxom and older, but not so old that he didn’t recognize her face. “Hi, Deanie. Do you remember me at all?” she asked. Her voice was so sweet, it immediately sent Dodie back to his childhood. “You didn’t know me as Sibyl. I think you knew me as—.”

“Ms. Graves… This one is a little—. My dad—. We—. You were the model for my dad’s photography phase. Mom never spoke to you. Not once. I would’ve remembered. I practically lived in Dad’s art studio back then,” Dodie stated. He squinted as he tried to remember a time when his mother and Sibyl could’ve met.

“Dodie, I used to invite your mom for dinner when you and Daniel went to the movies,” Sibyl replied, “We were very discreet… The furniture people are on their way. So, we’ll have a couch in a little bit. Are you staying for dinner? Kathy said she’s going to cook.” Dodie nodded.

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pomegranatelifethis · 4 months ago

Text

I love you brother

The night air in Gotham was thick with the scent of rain and rust, a city perpetually teetering on the edge of collapse. In the Wayne Manor, nestled among the sprawling grounds and gothic spires, the Batfamily moved like ghosts, each carrying their own burdens. But none carried a weight quite like Jason Todd—and you, his twin, the fragile shadow tethered to his side.

You sat on the edge of Jason’s bed in the dimly lit room, your thin fingers clutching a worn copy of *Pride and Prejudice*. The book was a comfort, its pages soft from years of handling, but it couldn’t drown out the ache in your chest—not the emotional one, though that was ever-present, but the physical one. Your heart condition made every beat a quiet rebellion, a reminder that you were a guest in your own body, always one misstep from collapse. The doctors had been clear: avoid stress, avoid exertion, avoid *life*. But how could you, when your twin was Jason Todd, the boy who burned brighter than a Molotov cocktail and loved fiercer than anyone you’d ever known?

Jason was pacing, as he often did, his boots scuffing the hardwood floor. His leather jacket hung loose on his frame, the red bat emblem on his chest catching the faint glow of the lamp. He was eighteen, all sharp edges and barely contained fury, the first Robin to wear the mantle after Dick Grayson left to forge his own path as Nightwing. But to you, he wasn’t Robin or the Red Hood he’d one day become. He was just Jay—your brother, your anchor, the one who’d carried you home from the hospital when you were six and whispered stories of Gotham’s underbelly to keep you awake through the pain.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Jason muttered, glancing over his shoulder. His green eyes, so like yours, were stormy, but there was a softness there reserved only for you.

“Like what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, a habit that made you look younger than your years, like a lost duckling trailing after its mother.

“Like I’m gonna break something if I don’t sit still.” He stopped pacing, running a hand through his dark hair, the white streak at his temple glinting. “I’m fine, Y/N. You don’t need to worry.”

But you did worry. Always. Jason was your world, the only constant in a life that felt like it could slip away with one bad heartbeat. You’d followed him from the streets of Crime Alley to the grandeur of Wayne Manor, clinging to his shadow even when he donned the Robin cape and leapt into Gotham’s chaos. Bruce Wayne—Batman—had taken you both in, but while Jason thrived under the cowl, you remained the quiet twin, the one who flinched at loud noises and cried too easily. Sensitive, fragile, the family’s porcelain doll. Alfred had once called you “the heart of the manor,” but you felt more like a cracked vase, waiting to shatter.

“I’m not worrying,” you lied, setting the book down. Your hands trembled slightly, and you tucked them into the sleeves of your oversized sweater—Jason’s, stolen from his closet because it smelled like him, like gunpowder and cedar. “I just… don’t like it when you’re restless. It means something’s wrong.”

Jason sighed, crossing the room in three strides to sit beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he slung an arm around your shoulders, careful not to squeeze too hard. “Nothing’s wrong, kid,” he said, though the nickname was absurd—you were the same age, born six minutes apart. “Just… Bruce is being a pain. Wants me to follow his rules, play nice with the bad guys. You know how it is.”

You nodded, leaning into him. Bruce was a looming presence, a father figure who loved fiercely but demanded obedience. Jason chafed under his control, a wild thing caged by Batman’s code. You, on the other hand, adored Bruce, though you’d never say it aloud. He��d given you a home, a family, even if you felt like an outsider among the vigilantes. Dick was kind but distant, always off in Blüdhaven. Alfred was a steady hand, brewing tea and stitching wounds. And Tim, the new kid sniffing around, was too smart for his own good, already eyeing the Robin mantle Jason wore like a crown.

“You’ll be careful, right?” you asked, your voice small. “When you go out tonight?”

Jason’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Always am. Gotta keep my promise, don’t I?” He tapped your chest lightly, right over your heart. “Gotta come back for you.”

It was a promise he’d made years ago, after your first surgery, when you’d woken up sobbing and terrified. *I’ll always come back, Y/N. You’re stuck with me.* And he’d kept it, through every patrol, every fight, every close call. You were the reason he fought so hard, the tether that kept him from falling too far into the darkness.

The door creaked open, and Alfred appeared, his pristine suit a stark contrast to the chaos of Jason’s room. “Master Jason, Master Y/N,” he said, his British accent crisp. “Dinner is served. And, Master Jason, I trust you’ll refrain from bringing your… arsenal to the table this evening?”

Jason smirked, the first real smile you’d seen all day. “No promises, Alfie.” He stood, pulling you up with him, his grip gentle but firm. You swayed slightly, your vision spotting, and he steadied you without a word, like it was second nature.

Downstairs, the dining room was a rare gathering point. Bruce sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable, though his eyes softened when they landed on you. Dick was there, visiting from Blüdhaven, his easy grin a balm to the tension. Tim hovered at the edges, a skinny kid with too many questions, and you felt a pang of sympathy—he was as out of place as you were.

“Y/N, you feeling okay?” Dick asked, passing you a plate of roasted vegetables. His concern was genuine, but it always made you feel like a child.

“I’m fine,” you said, offering a shy smile. Jason snorted beside you, muttering something about “mother hens,” but he piled extra food on your plate anyway, knowing you’d barely eat otherwise.

The meal passed in a blur of conversation—Bruce and Jason arguing about tactics, Dick mediating with a roll of his eyes, Tim chiming in with some tech jargon that made your head spin. You stayed quiet, content to listen, your shoulder brushing Jason’s. He was your shield, your safe harbor, and as long as he was there, you could endure anything.

Later, when the manor was dark and the others had retired, you sat by the window in Jason’s room, watching the city’s skyline glitter like a broken promise. He was gearing up for patrol, his Robin suit a second skin, the domino mask dangling from his fingers.

“Don’t wait up,” he said, but it was a useless request. You always waited, counting the minutes until he slipped back through the window, bruised but alive.

“Be safe, Jay,” you whispered, your voice catching. He paused, then crossed the room to press a kiss to your forehead, quick and fierce.

“Always, Y/N. You’re my heart, remember that.”

And then he was gone, a shadow swallowed by the night. You curled up on his bed, clutching his pillow, your own heart stuttering in protest. Gotham was a cruel city, and Jason was its fiercest son. But you were his twin, his shadow, his fragile, sensitive other half. And no matter how dark the night, you’d follow him anywhere, a lost duckling bound to the boy who’d always come back.

@itsberrydreemurstuff @Welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #yandere jason todd x reader #batfamily x yn #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #bruce wayne x reader

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yourlocallgothamite · 23 days ago

Text

Can’t Help Crushing (On You)

Jason Todd x Outlaw!Reader Series

Chapter 10: Almost Lost You (But I Got You)

⸻

previous chapter - next chapter

⸻

“You know Roy’s gonna throw a fit when he finds out we got this one without him,” you said, dragging a chair up to the mission table and flopping into it.

Jason didn’t look up from the holographic map flickering in front of him. “Yeah, well. He’s busy playing undercover Romeo in Blüdhaven.”

You raised your brows. “Is that what we’re calling intel gathering now?”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth tugging up, but didn’t rise to the bait. “Kori’s off-world, Roy’s unavailable, and that leaves us. Dynamic Duo: Discount Edition.”

You gave him a mock-wounded gasp. “Excuse you?? I am prime outlaw material. I bring chaos and charisma to the team.”

“You bring snacks and questionable decision-making,” he corrected, pointing at you without looking. “Which, to be fair, sometimes works out.”

You leaned in, propping your elbow on the table. “And what about us? What’s our strategy tonight?”

He finally looked up, eyes locking with yours for a second too long. “Recon only. Dock 47. Black Mask’s crew is moving some heavy-duty weapons tonight—possibly meta-tech, maybe experimental, definitely not street legal.”

Your smile faded a bit. “Confirmed?”

“Babs intercepted some chatter. Enough to bet on.” Jason crossed his arms and leaned against the edge of the table. “Buyer’s unknown. We’re thinking international, possibly ex-military. They’re trying to stay off-grid.”

You tilted your head, brow raised. “And we’re just watching?”

Jason nodded. “Observe and report. No going in. No grand explosions. No—”

“—‘Accidental’ fights I didn’t technically start?” you finished with a sweet smile.

Jason gave you the flattest look imaginable. “Exactly.”

You leaned a little closer, just enough to make his shoulders tense.

“So,” you murmured, lips quirking, “in and out, no trouble? Just your classic no-explosions kind of date?”

Jason looked up sharply. You didn’t realize how close your faces were until you met his eyes.

“Mission,” he said, voice low. “Not a date.”

“Oh, totally. Definitely not a date.” You nodded seriously. “Unless we both survive. Then it’s kind of romantic.”

Jason blinked. Just once. And then—blush. A flash of red across his cheeks that he tried very hard to hide by glancing back at the map.

“Focus,” he muttered.

“I am focusing,” you said, resting your chin in your hand and absolutely not looking away from him. “On your face. While you blush.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“You’re a little pink. Kinda charming, honestly.”

Jason cleared his throat and gestured to the screen. “Look. We’re going in for recon only. No engagement unless necessary. We get eyes on the buyer, confirm the cargo, and get out. Quietly.”

You smirked and leaned back in your chair. “So, mission rundown: no contact unless necessary, ID the buyer, confirm what they’re moving, and get out?”

“Exactly.” Jason tapped the map. “Warehouse is on the edge of the Narrows. High security. Quiet approach. You stick close to me.”

“Gladly.”

His jaw twitched. You didn’t miss it.

“Focus. We will gather intel and make no contact.”

“Got it,” you nodded. “Be invisible. Like ninjas.”

“Cool. You can be the ninja. I’ll be the exhausted babysitter.”

You grinned. “Aw, don’t be like that. You love going on missions alone with me.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. His jaw worked. He looked at you, then at the table, then back at you, and finally said—

“I’ll be in the garage.”

You stood too, already heading for the door. “Try not to fall in love with me mid-mission, okay?”

“Not a problem,” he called after you.

And then he walked out, ears red, leaving you alone with the map and a smug smile.

⸻

The second the door slid shut behind him, your smile dropped.

“Oh my god,” you muttered.

You stood there, staring at the space where Jason had been like the silence might offer answers. It didn’t.

Was that too much?

You replayed the last few lines in your head—every single one of them suddenly sounding way more embarrassing than they had two seconds ago.

“Try not to fall in love with me,” you repeated under your breath, voice rising in horror. “What the hell was that??”

You turned in a slow circle like you were trying to physically walk away from the memory. “Why would I say that? Why do I speak?? Who gave me the right??”

You stopped pacing and planted your face in your hands.

“He definitely thinks I’m annoying,” you groaned. “He’s probably in the garage right now texting Roy like ‘please get me out of this mission with this lunatic.’”

Your cheeks were on fire.

“And then I said he was pink. I said he was blushing. Out loud. To his face. Oh my god, kill me.”

You flopped face-down onto the couch like it might swallow you whole. You were never flirting again. Ever.

You were going to be so normal on this mission. Ice cold. Professional. Like a sexy little robot.

No charm. No banter. Just you, your stealth skills, and the void where your dignity used to be.

⸻

Jason stalked into the garage like he was being chased by that conversation.

He made it to the tool bench, stopped, and just—stood there.

Staring at nothing.

For a full five seconds.

Then he muttered, “Kinda charming?”

He said it again, louder. “Charming??”

He slapped a hand over his face and dragged it down like it might wipe the memory from existence.

“Why would she say that?” he whispered to the empty garage. “Why would she call me that?”

He braced his hands on the edge of the bench, trying to breathe like a normal person. He couldn’t. He was full of static.

“She said I was pink. She said I was blushing. I was blushing.”

Jason let out a strangled noise and leaned forward until his forehead hit the cool metal surface.

“Try not to fall in love with me mid-mission,” he mimicked in a high voice. “Okay cool yeah no problem except I already freaking am.”

He stood upright again, ran both hands through his hair, and paced a tight circle.

He looked up at the ceiling like it personally offended him.

“I hate this. I hate that she does this to me. I hate her. Who am I kidding? I love her. Oh my god.”

⸻

You showed up in the garage exactly three minutes later, jogging in like you weren’t ten seconds away from a breakdown—fully suited up, boots on, jacket zipped… and completely helmetless.

Jason turned when he heard your footsteps, already straddling his bike, one gloved hand adjusting something on the dash.

Then he saw your empty hands.

And blinked. “...Where’s your gear?”

You froze.

Blink. Blink.

You tried to look casual. “Okay, so... funny story.”

Jason dropped his head with an audible thunk against the handlebar.

“Unbelievable,” he groaned.

“In my defense,” you started, jogging up to him like that would somehow make you seem more prepared, “I thought I grabbed it from the other safehouse. But it turns out I just brought... vibes.”

Jason raised his head to look at you, expression unreadable behind the domino mask. “You can’t wear vibes into a recon op.”

“Not with that attitude.”

He stared at you.

You smiled. Innocently. Slightly desperate.

With a sigh that sounded like it came from his soul, Jason reached under the seat compartment and pulled out his spare gear bag. He rummaged around, then tossed you something.

You caught it—and immediately froze.

The red helmet. His spare Red Hood helmet.

It was heavier than you expected. Scuffed in places. Clearly worn, clearly his.

You blinked. “This is—”

“—cleaned and recalibrated,” he cut in quickly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “Has a fresh comms link. Take it.”

You stared at it.

And then at him.

And then back at it.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god—

Jason cleared his throat. “Also brought extras.” He held out a holster belt and a set of throwing knives you recognized as his own design. “You’re lucky I overpack.”

“I’m gonna put that on a mug,” you mumbled, taking them from him as casually as you could, despite your hands absolutely shaking. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He was already looking away again, shifting forward slightly on the bike. “Get geared up. We’ve got a ten-minute ride to the docks. But before you put these on, just— stand still.”

He stepped closer and started strapping armor onto your elbows.

You blinked. “You’re helping me gear up?”

“I’m not letting you go in wearing fingerless gloves and vibes.”

You obeyed—lifting your arms, still holding the damn red hood helmet, as he adjusted the chest piece and clipped the side straps with practiced movements. His hands brushed your sides and your brain promptly blue-screened.

So calm. Totally normal. Not thinking about the way his fingers graze my ribs. Definitely not noticing how good he smells. Nope.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide the rising heat in your face. “You know, this is very ‘rom-com montage where the guy teaches the girl how to swordfight.’”

Jason clipped the last piece into place, stepped back slightly, and said flatly, “I’m not giving you a sword.”

You grinned. “A girl can dream.”

You nodded, turning away to hide the fact that your face was on fire.

As you strapped on the belt, slid the knives into place, and slowly—so slowly—put the helmet on, you tried not to notice how it smelled faintly like leather and aftershave and him.

Stay cool. Be normal. Sexy little robot mode: engaged.

Helmet in place. Weapons ready. You turned to face Jason like you weren’t internally combusting.

Jason froze. Just barely. Then cleared his throat and mumbled something that might’ve been “Let’s go,” or possibly a soft prayer for divine intervention. He then placed his own helmet on his head… the exact copy of the one you were wearing at the moment.

Your heartbeat? Off the charts.

You swung a leg over the bike behind him, trying to get comfortable—and then he said, “Hold on.”

“Right,” you nodded. Professional. Cool. Chill.

You wrapped your arms around his waist.

And immediately lost your damn mind.

His body was warm and solid beneath the kevlar. Your palms rested just above his belt and every inch of him screamed Jason—the scent of his cologne, the hum of his breath, the way his back tensed slightly the moment you touched him.

I’m fine. This is fine. I’m not internally screaming at all.

Jason twisted the throttle, trying very hard to focus on literally anything except the fact that your arms were around him and your helmet—his helmet—was resting lightly against his shoulder.

If she lets go I will crash this bike directly into the river. I will not survive. This is how I die. Again. The best way to go.

The engine roared to life beneath you, and the two of you shot out of the garage and into the night—hearts pounding, hands clutching, pretending not to notice the way your chests rose and fell in perfect sync.

⸻

The ride to Dock 47 was quiet, save for the roar of the engine and your heart pounding like it had something to prove.

You held onto Jason the entire way, helmet pressed lightly against his shoulder, the chill of the night doing nothing to cool your face. He didn’t say a word, didn’t glance back once—but you could feel the tension radiating off him every time you shifted even slightly.

Ten minutes later, he pulled off into a side alley near the edge of the Narrows. The docks loomed ahead: rusted metal, floodlights sweeping lazily across the yard, and the shadowed bulk of a massive warehouse at the end—Dock 47.

Jason killed the engine and lowered the kickstand, motioning silently for you to dismount.

You did, making sure the helmet was still secure (of course it was its high quality). He followed a beat later, and for a moment you both stood there, side by side, your matching helmets tucked onto your heads like some kind of weird, matching, tactical couple photo op.

“Ready?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Let’s go ruin someone’s night.”

Jason smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

⸻

Ten minutes later, you were inside.

The vents were wide—old infrastructure—and Jason had already mapped the layout. You crawled ahead, both of you ghost-quiet, the only sounds your breath and the faint creak of metal beneath your limbs.

You reached the vent above the storage floor and slid the grating open a crack.

Jason was just behind you. Close. Very close.

“Target in sight,” you whispered, peering down.

Below, half a dozen armed men were unloading crates from an unmarked truck. Black Mask wasn’t visible—yet—but the weapons sure were. Sleek, compact. Definitely meta-tech. Maybe alien, maybe WayneTech knockoffs.

You started recording on the mini-cam in —his—helmet, recording everything.

Jason synced his eye feed to yours to get a better look.

You didn’t mean to notice how warm he was next to you. Or the way his thigh brushed yours in the cramped space. Or the sound of his breathing through the mic in your shared comm channel.

But you did.

Focus. Intel. Mission.

“Buyer’s not here yet,” Jason whispered. His voice was low, gravelly in your ear. “They’re prepping. We’ve got time.”

“Should we move for a better angle?” you asked, shifting slightly.

His hand shot out instinctively to steady you. It landed on your waist.

Your. Waist.

You both froze.

“Careful,” he whispered.

“Right,” you whispered back, not breathing.

A moment passed.

Neither of you moved.

Then—slowly—he withdrew his hand and shifted back just an inch.

“Let’s try behind the crates on the lower level,” he said. “Vent exit leads straight into a blind spot. We can get closer without being seen.”

You nodded too fast. “Totally. Love blind spots.”

Jason’s expression behind the helmet was unreadable, but his voice crackled in your comms: “You are the most suspicious recon partner I’ve ever had.”

You smirked and started moving again. “Yeah, but I’m charming.”

He let out a short, soft breath that might’ve been a laugh. Maybe.

The grate slid open, and you dropped down into shadow.

Jason followed a second later.

The two of you ducked behind a stack of crates, hidden from the guards but with a clean line of sight to the truck. You crouched close together, back to back.

More whispers. More recordings. More heat in your chest that had nothing to do with adrenaline.

Everything was going smoothly.

Too smoothly.

Which meant, obviously, someone was about to jinx it.

⸻

Someone jinxed it.

Everything was going smoothly.

One second, the Black Mask crew was unloading weapons like good little criminals. The next—

BANG.

Gunfire erupted from the far end of the loading bay.

You flinched instinctively, crouching lower behind the crate as the sound echoed through the metal walls.

Jason’s voice snapped through your comms. “That’s not us.”

“Nope,” you whispered back, adrenaline spiking. “Definitely not us.”

More shots. This time, from the shadows near the truck. Figures emerged—half a dozen armed mercs in tactical gear, faces covered, weapons drawn.

“Buyers?” you guessed.

Jason cursed under his breath. “And they brought backup.”

The buyers wanted to steal the weapons without payment. That much was obvious.

Jason growled, “They’re hijacking the sale. Skipping the payment part.”

The Black Mask goons scrambled for cover, returning fire with zero aim and way too much yelling. You pressed tighter against the crate, just barely peeking through a crack.

“Should we intervene?” you whispered.

Jason hesitated. “Not unless—”

CRACK.

A stray bullet tore through the crate beside you—and then another hit low, splintering the wood at your feet.

THUNK.

The entire stack of crates tilted.

Your eyes went wide.

“Red Hood—”

CRASH.

The pile collapsed, and you fell with it, hitting the ground in a tangle of limbs and splintered wood. Jason landed beside you in a crouch, already raising his guns—but it was too late.

They saw you.

“WELL, WELL, WELL,” a voice drawled, cocky and loud from across the room. One of the buyers stepped forward, tall and broad, face scarred under his tactical visor. His rifle was aimed lazily in your direction. “If it isn’t Gotham’s favorite little psychopath. Mr. Red Hood.”

You scrambled to your feet beside Jason, brushing off splinters and broken crate debris. He didn’t look at you—just stood tall and tense, guns in both hands, locked on the threat ahead.

The buyer tilted his head. “Oh wow, and lookie here.” His grin widened, shark-like. “We got ourselves a Mrs. Hood too?”

You blinked under the helmet. “I’m sorry—what now?”

Jason did a full-body sigh like the universe had personally offended him.

Black Mask himself stepped out from behind the truck then, looking like a pissed-off mob boss who just got third-partied in a PvP match.

“Well this just keeps getting better,” he growled. “First you ambush my sale, now you’re playing dress-up with your girlfriend?”

Jason didn’t move. “She’s not—”

You spoke at the same time: “We’re not—”

Silence.

Jason groaned under his breath. “Great.”

The buyer raised his gun. “Doesn’t matter what you are. You’re outnumbered, outgunned, and stupid enough to wear matching helmets.”

You muttered, “Okay, rude.”

Jason shifted, raising one of his pistols a fraction higher. “We’re not outgunned.”

You tilted your head. “Or outmatched.”

A dozen weapons cocked around you. Red laser sights dotted your chests.

The buyer smirked. “Then let’s test that theory.”

Jason muttered through your comms: “On your cue.”

You nodded once, fingers twitching toward your borrowed knives.

“Let’s ruin everyone’s night,” you whispered.

And then the warehouse exploded into motion.

⸻

Gunfire cracked through the warehouse like thunder.

You and Jason moved as one.

He ducked left. You rolled right. Bullets splintered the crates behind you, ricocheting off metal and slicing through air—but none of them hit. Not when the two of you moved like this. Like a system. Like synced gears in a weapon forged for war.

Red Hood fired first.

One shot—clean, low—and a goon screamed, clutching his knee as he dropped. You didn’t even flinch. You were already in motion.

You launched forward, using a crate as a springboard and slamming your boot straight into another merc’s chest. He hit the wall hard enough to dent metal.

Jason fired again—over your shoulder. You didn’t need to look. You knew it hit.

The warehouse was chaos: crates toppled, sparks flew, smoke poured from broken light fixtures, and above it all was shouting—dozens of voices, weapons raised.

One man ran full-speed in your direction, firing shots at you. He missed them all.

He thought you were the weak link.

What a bitch.

You ducked under a swinging pipe and countered with a full spinning elbow to the jaw. The man went down, teeth flying. You snagged his weapon mid-fall and tossed it to Jason.

He caught it. Didn’t break stride.

“Thanks,” he grunted through the comms.

“Anytime,” you panted, ducking behind a support beam as a barrage of bullets peppered the wall beside you.

Black Mask was barking orders at the far end, and the buyer—still grinning, bloodthirsty—was flanking to the left with three men.

Jason noticed. “Left side’s pushing.”

“On it.” You burst from cover, blades drawn.

You spun low and fast, a blur of motion. Your borrowed Red Hood knives flashed silver, slicing across goons’ skin with surgical precision. One merc tried to grab you—big mistake. You twisted, dragged his arm down, and drove your elbow straight into his throat.

He dropped, choking. You didn’t stop.

Jason launched into a forward roll, fired mid-spin, and landed with one knee down. His bullet caught a sniper on the catwalk above—one shot, straight through the scope. Blood sprayed. The rifle clattered down beside him.

He stood, tossed his empty pistol, and caught the one you’d thrown earlier.

Another merc tried to flank him.

You were already there.

You swept in from behind, driving your heel into the side of the guy’s knee with a sickening crunch. He collapsed screaming—and Jason stepped in, clocking him in the temple with the butt of the pistol. The man crumpled like paper.

The two of you stood back to back, panting, surrounded by fallen bodies.

For a moment, everything slowed. The smoke swirled around your boots. Jason’s breathing was sharp and modulated through the helmet. Yours matched it, rhythm for rhythm.

Then came the growl.

“Well, well,” Black Mask snarled, stepping forward with the buyer at his side. “Cute little couple routine you’ve got going. Shame I’m about to put both of you in body bags.”

You raised your chin, bloodied knife still steady in your grip. “Yeah? You’re gonna need more guys.”

The buyer cocked his rifle. “Oh, I think we’ve got enough.”

Jason twitched slightly beside you. “Y/S/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You take the buyer.”

“Thanks,” you muttered. “He’s got a punchable face.”

Jason charged Black Mask without another word.

You launched yourself at the buyer.

He opened fire.

You dove into a roll, bullets hissing past your helmet. You came up low and slashed upward, catching the barrel of his gun and jerking it aside. He tried to knee you—you caught it. Twisted. Drove your head forward and slammed your helmet into his faceplate.

CRACK.

He stumbled back. You struck again. A slice across his arm. A jab to the gut. You twisted under his wild swing and drove your knife into the gap of his vest, just under the ribs.

He roared.

Meanwhile, Jason and Black Mask were trading blows like titans. Mask was strong—brutal and fast—but Jason was smarter. Cleaner. He blocked a punch, slipped inside his guard, and slammed his knee into Mask’s side.

Mask coughed blood. Jason didn’t stop.

You ducked a punch, drove your elbow into the buyer’s collarbone, and twisted the knife free. He was bleeding now—heavy and fast. Slower. You drove your foot into his gut and sent him crashing into a wall of crates.

Jason disarmed Black Mask with a brutal upward strike, then cracked the butt of his pistol across his face. Bone snapped. Mask went down—coughing, bloody, snarling.

You and Jason met in the center of the chaos—backs to each other again, surrounded by groaning bodies and scattered weapons.

A beat of silence.

Then Jason said, deadpan through the comms, “So. Romantic recon mission?”

You coughed a laugh. “Shut up and help me zip-tie these idiots.”

“Copy that, Mrs. Hood.”

You turned—ready to argue—but Jason was already kneeling beside a merc, securing cuffs with brutal efficiency. His pants were a bit ripped. His knuckles were bleeding. And still, he moved with perfect control.

You exhaled—shaky, adrenaline-thrumming—and muttered, “God, I’m so screwed.”

Jason didn’t hear it.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

(He did. You had comms on.)

⸻

It should’ve been over.

You were already on your third zip-tie, crouched beside a moaning merc with a busted leg, while Jason knelt across from you with his boot on another guy’s spine. The worst of it was done. Bodies littered the warehouse floor—unconscious, groaning, some very, very dead. Smoke still hung heavy in the air. Your muscles ached. The adrenaline was finally starting to fade.

Until—

CRUNCH.

The sound of boots on shattered glass. Fast. Rushing.

You looked up just in time to see two remaining men charging from the shadows—one raising a pistol, the other already mid-swing with a combat knife.

Your eyes went wide.

“Jason—!”

But he’d already seen it.

He moved before you could even register it—shoving you hard to the side.

Then everything happened too fast.

The gunshot rang out. You hit the ground with a thud. Jason caught the first guy with a shot to the gut—clean, brutal, final. But the second man—knife in hand—was too close. Too fast.

Jason spun to meet him, caught the arm, twisted—

—but not fast enough.

The knife plunged deep into his chest.

You screamed. “Jason!”

He didn’t fall.

Didn’t make a sound.

He just grunted—a raw, guttural sound—and ripped the knife out of the guy’s hand with his bare hand before driving his elbow into the man’s skull with enough force to knock him out cold.

Then—finally—he staggered.

You scrambled to your feet, rushing to his side just as he dropped to one knee, clutching his chest.

“Shit, shit—Jason—” You dropped beside him, hands already moving, eyes wide behind the helmet.

The gash was deep. Too deep.

The blade had pierced just under his pec, blood pouring from the wound in a steady stream. His Kevlar was slashed open, and the surrounding armor was cracked from impact. You tore off your gloves and pressed your hands against the bleeding without thinking.

His voice rasped through the comms. “You okay?”

You stared at him. “Me?”

He met your eyes through the helmet’s visor—breathing heavy, blood soaking his front—and said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “You were closer. You didn’t see him.”

“You—” Your throat clenched. “You took a knife for me, Jason.”

He didn’t answer.

Not really.

Just let out a ragged breath and slumped back against the floor, one hand weakly pressed to his chest. Blood coated his fingers. More was soaking through the shredded edge of his Kevlar, spilling from the gaping stab wound just above his heart.

It was bad. Deep. Messy. The kind of wound that didn’t wait around for help to arrive.

You dropped to your knees, scrambling to press your hands over it. “No, no, no—stay with me. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

His breathing was uneven—shallow, rasping, each one sounding worse than the last.

You didn’t even think. You tore your glove off, pressed your bare palm to his chest, fingers trembling. “C’mon. Just breathe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I’ve got you—”

Jason coughed, and a fresh wave of blood spilled out from under your hand.

“I’m serious—stay awake,” you said, voice shaking.

And then Jason laughed. Just a little.

A broken, breathless sound.

Soft. Rough. Nearly swallowed whole by the blood in his throat.

“Y’know…” His voice was gravel, barely audible over the comms. “You’re… kind of blurry right now.”

“Don’t you dare pass out,” you snapped, choking on panic. “Jason—Jason, stay with me.”

His hand reached up, shaky fingers brushing your arm.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You looked. Eyes wide. Hands trembling.

He smiled—barely.

“Just so you know…” He sucked in a breath, grimaced. “If I don’t make it…”

You looked down, eyes wild. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes found yours through the cracked visor of his helmet.

“I lo—”

You pressed harder over the wound, cutting him off. “Shut up. Don’t talk. Save your strength.”

You didn’t register the way his voice caught. Or what he was trying to say.

All you knew was that he was losing too much blood and you weren’t fast enough.

“Come on,” you whispered, leaning over him. “Come on, heal, dammit. Heal—heal—”

Your powers surged beneath your skin, like electricity in your veins. The warmth in your palm bloomed outward—sinking into his skin, knitting torn muscle, closing ruptured vessels. You felt it working—his blood flow slowing, the wound starting to close—but it wasn’t fast enough. It never felt fast enough when it was him.

Jason gasped. His back arched slightly under your hand.

“I know—I know,” you murmured, pressing harder. “It hurts. Just stay still.”

Jason shuddered under your hand. “That… tingles.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Shut up. I’m trying to save your life. You’re not dying tonight, not on my watch.”

His hand—bloodstained, still trembling—reached up and barely brushed your elbow.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he murmured.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Your throat was tight. Your hands were slick with blood. And you were so focused on keeping him alive that you didn’t hear the words he hadn’t finished.

Didn’t realize.

Not yet.

You stayed like that, crouched over him in the ruined warehouse, until the wound sealed and the bleeding stopped and the worst was over.

Only then did you whisper, “You’re okay. You’re okay now.”

But your hand stayed pressed to his chest long after the bleeding stopped.

And Jason didn’t ask anything.

He just leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “Thanks for saving me, Mrs. Hood.”

You smacked his arm—gently.

“Don’t make me stab you.”

“Too late,” he groaned.

You laughed again, shakier this time.

But he was alive.

And you were both still here.

Even after a few, long minutes, Jason didn’t move, still catching his breath, chest rising and falling under your palm. He didn’t repeat what he’d tried to say.

And you didn’t ask.

Because you didn’t hear it.

Didn’t register it.

Didn’t know.

Not yet.

⸻

The warehouse was silent now.

Smoke still drifted lazily through the air. Broken crates and shattered weapons lay scattered across the floor, the aftermath of chaos frozen in place. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed faintly. But for now, no one was coming. And for now, the two of you just… sat.

You had Jason’s head resting in your lap, one hand absently brushing back the sweaty strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. He was quiet, helmet off, face pale but alive. His chest rose and fell under the torn remains of his body armor. The wound was gone—sealed, clean, not even a scar was left—but your brain hadn’t quite caught up to that fact yet.

You kept glancing down at him like he might suddenly stop breathing.

Like if you blinked, he’d vanish.

Jason, of course, noticed.

“Hey.” His voice was rough, tired. “Don’t die on me.”

You blinked. “That’s… not how that works.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re the one doing the intense brooding.”

“I’m not brooding,” you muttered, eyes flicking back to the spot on his chest where the knife had gone in. Your hand drifted there again—hovering just above the place. You didn’t even realize you were doing it.

He reached up and poked your thigh gently. “Y/S/N. I’m literally fine. Calm down, Doc McStabby.”

You snorted, but it came out watery.

“I thought you were gonna die.”

“Well… you did scream like I died.”

“Because you were gushing blood like a horror movie.”

“And you were glowing and yelling at my chest to ‘heal, dammit.’ Pretty sure I saw God for a second.”

You huffed. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he said, then blinked. “I mean. A idiot. Not—y’know.”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t trust yourself to.

Instead, you let your fingers drift through his hair again, gently untangling the knots of sweat and blood. The way he closed his eyes at that—like it was the safest place in the world—made something in your chest twist.

The silence stretched.

Then Jason opened one eye. “So… Batburger?”

You stared at him.

“I almost watched you die.”

“Yeah, but now I’m not dead. Which means I deserve curly fries.”

You exhaled sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You’re so—”

“Charming? Handsome? Hungry?”

“Deranged.”

Jason grinned wider. “Come on, admit it. Grease and trauma are the perfect combo.”

You shook your head, finally, finally feeling some of the panic drain from your bones. “You’re covered in blood. Your suit is literally ripped open. You look like you just crawled out of a horror film.”

He sat up slowly, wincing as he moved—but the pain was gone. The wound had healed. Just soreness remained. You watched his muscles shift under the ruined kevlar, the fresh pink skin where the knife had been.

He caught your gaze.

“I am fine,” he said softly, more serious this time. “Thanks to you.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You just gave a tiny nod and stood, holding out a hand. He took it.

A minute later, the two of you limped out of Dock 47—still in your bloodied gear, ripped suits, probably looking like urban cryptids—and climbed onto his bike.

“People are gonna stare,” you muttered as you tugged your helmet back on.

Jason revved the engine. “Let ’em. I nearly died and didn’t even get a milkshake.”

And so, still covered in blood and smelling faintly of smoke and gunpowder, the two of you rode off into the Gotham night.

Straight to Batburger.

Because trauma tastes better with fries.

⸻

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