#Jason Todd Reader Insert

[katsumox]

something about jason todd with a touchy!reader s/o is literally so yummie.

You’ve got him on his stomach, regrettably, he thinks, as you watch the hills and divots of his muscles roll and flex as he gets comfortable. The scarred herculean expanse of his back is exposed to you as you sit on his butt.

“Dunno why I agreed to this,” he frowns, not bothering to move his head, unmuffling his musings.

He really doesn’t; ten minutes ago you two were having a very civil discussion (read: arguing) about something or other. Next thing he knew, he was in your bed, on his stomach, half naked and under you.

“Cause you like me,” you sing, breaking him from his thoughts, as you drag manicured fingers up his back, pressing into his taut muscle, deftly massaging each sore part of him.

“You like this. ‘S okay to admit it,” you add.

He gives a noncommittal noise that gets cut off by a strangled gasp when he feels your hands pressing into the upper muscles of his back.

There’s a deep discomfort that settles in his stomach; he’s never been touched so lovingly, not without hidden motives tainting said touch. He isn’t sure if he should push you off him or beg you to keep going.

You hum as you work his muscles, letting his inconsistent breathing and occasional gasps guide you.

You continue rubbing him down, occasionally pausing to apply more shea butter to your hands before resuming your work.

You reach up to his neck, as he sighs. You press just a hair harder, feeling a knot loosen at the pressure. Jason inhales, trying to steel himself from any possible reaction.

Regardless of his efforts, a low “Fuck,” reverberates through his chest. He internally frowns at the sound of his low whine, sounding like a wounded animal. He reddens as he hears himself, internally cringing at his neediness, at your willingness, and the intimacy of it all.

“That was pretty,” you murmur, teasing lilt in your voice. He’s fighting the urge to shut down this moment of vulnerability the two of you are sharing. You know he’s really pushing himself, so you try to keep the extra teases locked away for another day, another less intense moment.

You shut yourself up, instead focusing your attention to Jason’s expansive back. You press harder in the same spot, shameless in your attempt to illicit more noises from him as you whisper, “Give me another.”

He shudders, giving a shaky exhale as he composes himself.

“You’re evil,” he grumbles, despite almost leaning up into your touch.

“So evil,” You smile, “Totally evil.”

Not once does your touch on his back falter. He hums in agreement, softly smiling into a pillow.

“Incredibly evil,” Jason sighs. “Lucky I like your evil ass.”

“Aw,” you say, “Red’s finally going soft. I got you up under me and now you don’t know how to act. ”

Jason can hear the smile in your words. Choosing to ignore it, he closes his eyes and focuses solely on your touch.

“Yeah,” He mumbles, before pausing to consider his words, “Goin’ real soft, only for you.”

[sanguineterrain]

restroom attendant | jason todd

Summary: Tonight is the worst night ever--you just got dumped on your birthday, and all you want to do is cry in the restaurant bathroom in peace. That is, until, the Red Hood bursts in. This city just won't cut you a break.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: humor, mild angst, reader's ex-bf cheats and dumps her, jason is such a silly goose, flirting, meet ugly, canon-typical violence, awkward jason, comic relief dick grayson.

A/N: this is probably the silliest fic i've ever written LOL! i hope you guys enjoy it. please support your local jason todd enthusiast and reblog :)

the divider

Tonight sucks. 

With a shaky hand, you attempt to soothe your swollen eyes. You’ve probably been in here for about twenty minutes. Your Uber has definitely left, as has your now ex-boyfriend of three years. 

Yoga instructor. It’s always the yoga instructor. They’re always fucking the yoga instructor.

You swallow a mouthful of tears and phlegm and try not to let the wet sink touch your dress. All you’d wanted was a little class on your birthday, maybe have some wine and play footsie under the table with your boyfriend. But no. That would’ve been too easy for you. 

You’re starting to think this city is cursed.

The door slams open. The force of it shakes the bathroom, rattles the mirrors. You spin around.

A man slides across the floor and smacks his head on the opposite wall. Red Hood appears in the doorway, the eyes of his helmet glowing eerily. 

Yep. Definitely cursed.

"Let's try this again," Hood says pleasantly, reloading his gun with a fresh magazine. "And in the interest of making myself transparent: when I ask you a question, Jerry, I expect a truthful answer."

He stalks over to Jerry and heaves him up by the lapels of his suit jacket. Hood's biceps bulge as he holds Jerry against the wall. You squish yourself against the sink. Water soaks the back of your dress. 

"You're crazy, I didn't do anything!" Jerry shouts, feet barely scraping the floor. 

"Volume, Jerry. People are trying to enjoy their meals.”

“Let go of me, Hood! I wasn’t anywhere near the Iceberg Lounge!”

“Yeah, see, words are coming outta your mouth, but they don't match the fact that I have three people who put you at the scene. How can we remedy this inconsistency? Any ideas?"

Jerry squirms, but he's no match for Hood's strength. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Don't give me to the cops!" Jerry begs. 

"Cops are the least of your worries right now," Hood snarls. "You're damn lucky Nightwing wants to talk to you, Jerry, or your head would hurt a lot more."

Slowly, you reach for your purse, trying to pull out your phone. Instead, you knock it to the floor. Tears gather in your eyes because this night just can’t cut you a break.

“Motherfucker,” you whisper. 

Hood turns, those frightening white eyes now on you. Jerry also looks at you, legs still dangling.

“Hey,” Hood says without a sign of struggle. “Shit. Y'alright? Did I swipe ya?”

“No,” you say, voice shaky.

His posture softens. “Okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I believe you. But, um… you're in the women's bathroom.”

Red Hood gives the room a onceover. 

“Huh. So we are. Dunno how that happened.” He shakes Jerry by the collar. “Why’d you run into the women’s bathroom, asshole?”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don't kill me!” Jerry wails. 

“Shut it, Jesus. I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet, anyway.” 

“It's fine, I was just leaving,” you say, bending down to get your purse. 

“Hey, no, don't let me push you out,” Hood says. “Sorry. I'll be gone in a couple minutes.”

Hood adjusts his grip so Jerry's face is against the wall, arms and legs restrained. Then he zipties Jerry and sits him down hard on the floor. Hood presses a button on his helmet. 

“Yo, N, I'm at Prescott's. Yeah, with Jerry. No, I didn't tell him to run in here, he did that all on his own! Well, I chased him for ten blocks, so I’d prefer if you’d keep your bitching to yourself. Thank you… Okay, we're in the women's bathroom, so—well, I didn't do it on purpose! No, I’m—will you just come here? There’s a side window.” Hood presses the button again with a grunt. “Dickhead.”

“Are you gonna erase my memory?” you ask. 

Hood jerks, turning back to you.

“What? Hell no, I'm not gonna erase your memory. I don't do that shit, I promise.”

You slump against the sink. “That's too bad. I would prefer it.”

He looks up from Jerry’s last ziptie and pulls it extra tight. Jerry whimpers. 

“How come?” Hood asks.

You shake your head. “It's nothing.”

“Hm. Doesn't look like nothing. If you're in danger—”

“I'm not in danger. I…”

You glance at Hood. You can't see his face, but his body language seems genuine. From what you've heard, Hood isn't known for mincing words or doing things he doesn't want to. And he’s good to Gothamites. Well, the law-abiding ones, anyway. He’s even been endorsed by Batman.

What's the harm in telling him about your disastrous night? Not like you'll see him again. Or Jerry. 

“I got dumped,” you say. 

“Ah.” Hood nods. “Been there.”

Somehow, the idea of Red Hood getting dumped is weirder than him beating up a guy in the women’s bathroom of Prescott’s.

You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, um. It was our three year anniversary today. He took me here, told me he was in love with his yoga instructor, and then left.”

You tear up thinking about it. Hood makes a quiet noise.

“Shit. Well, I haven't been there,” he says. “But I know infidelity. I'm sorry. Dudes are trash.”

“And it's my birthday today,” you blurt, sniffling. 

“Happy birthday,” Jerry says, clutching his stomach. 

“What a fucking asshole!” Hood snarls, and lets go of Jerry, who crumples like a sack of potatoes. He’s out cold in a second, frozen on the floor.

Your brows rise. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s his first time in Gotham.” Hood shrugs. “Anyway, where was I? Right, your asshole ex. Like it's not enough to publicly dump you, and then he goes and does it on your birthday? Who is this guy? I'll go talk to him right now.”

You laugh a loud, snorting laugh. It bounces off the tiles. 

Hood tilts his head. “What’d I say?”

You catch your breath and wave your hand. 

“No, nothing, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a crappy night and that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to me.”

“I mean it,” Hood says. “I’ll scare him if you want.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t want to be an accessory to a crime.”

You also don’t want to put your ex in the ICU, no matter how much he might deserve it. Best to let the universe do its thing.

“You’d be acquitted, don’t worry.” Hood leans against the stall. “I’d never letcha go to jail.”

You smile, your ears growing warm. “You don’t even know me. What if I deserve it?”

“Nah. I got a good sense about people. I can tell you’re sweet. Probably don’t even run through red lights.”

“I try not to,” you say, heat spreading to your face. 

“Yeah, a good girl. I figured as much.”

Your eyes widen. Hood coughs and rubs his neck. Even his coughs sound intimidating through the helmet, but that’s negated by his scrunched-up posture.

“Fuck. Sorry. That wasn’t a come-on,” he says. “I mean, it sounded like one, but I’m realizing what a creep I am, flirting with you in a bathroom with a zip-tied criminal. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I hate myself.”

You grin. “It’s okay. You made my night better, actually. Thanks.”

“That’s a testament to how terrible your night’s been if I made it better.”

You shrug. “Could always be worse. I bet Jerry had an even shittier night than me.”

“You’d win that bet. But I—”

The window swings open with a clunk. Nightwing pops his head in. He looks at Hood, then you. 

“Uh,” he says. “Evening. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is it took you almost ten minutes to get here,” Hood says, back in Vigilante Mode. “Did you get lost?”

Nightwing smiles with all his teeth. “I was actually cleaning up your mess at the Bowery, Hood. You’re welcome.” 

He looks at you. “Hi. Sorry about this. I hope we didn’t ruin your night. If there’s anything we can reimburse you for…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. My night was already sunk. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for keeping Gotham safe.”

Nightwing laughs. “The pleasure is ours.”

“Alright, enough chattering, Dickwing,” Hood says. “Take him.”

He lifts the unconscious Jerry, pushing him up to the window. He does so effortlessly, his jacket riding up to reveal his skin-tight jumpsuit. 

You look away before he catches you staring. There’s definitely something wrong with you. 

Nightwing takes Jerry and waves at you. Then he disappears.

“So, uh,” Hood says. “I gotta go.”

“Oh! Right, of course. Sorry to keep you.”

“Now what’re you apologizing for?” he asks, and it almost sounds like a tease. You wonder what his smile looks like. What color his eyes are.

“Well, I really didn’t mean to keep you…”

“You didn’t keep me,” Hood says, and you can hear the warmth even through his decoder. “This is probably the best arrest I’ve ever made.”

He starts to climb through the window, then stops. He digs into one of the pockets of his belt and pulls out a scrap of paper. 

“This is my number,” he says. “Well, it’s kind of the vigilante hotline. But you can reach me here, in case you ever need help.”

Hood walks over to give it to you. He smells like gunpowder and oranges. He’s even larger this close, the width of his shoulders dwarfing you. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He nods and backs up, clapping his hands.

“Right. So I’ll go… Bye.”

Hood looks at you for a moment more. Then he hops up onto the window sill and slides out, somehow graceful despite his bulk. The window closes. 

Your dress has dried, which is nice. You walk out of the bathroom. It’s a miracle no one else has come in. 

You get your coat and this time, when you see the empty seat across from yours, you don’t burst into tears, which is progress. You call another Uber and go to wait for it at the front. The hostess approaches you.

“Ma’am?” she says, and holds out a small, plastic container. In it is a slice of tiramisu. 

“I didn’t order this,” you say.

“It was called in and paid for by a Mr. R.H. He wishes you a happy birthday.” 

“Oh. Thank you.”

You’re definitely leaving a five-star review on Yelp.

[kenobers]

what would a bat do | jason todd blurb

or jason finds you crying and decides to shoot first and ask questions later. gn!reader a/n: could be read as romantic or platonic

Jason is a lot like Bruce. He does not see this as a positive.

To be fair, "You're acting like Bruce" is the verbal equivalent of hitting below the belt for him and his siblings. Being compared to your parent is a devastating below in any sibling argument, but with their...respectively unique relationships with Bruce, it's downright lethal. Especially for Jason, who still hasn't found complete security with their father.

So, Jason only compares himself to Bruce with blinders on. He does it every time he snaps at someone just to get them off his case. He cringes every time he decides to go off the grid and shut everyone out instead of confronting his feelings. "You're acting like Bruce" echoes in his head as he draws a mental Venn diagram and desperately fills the opposing sides.

The worst is when he catches his reflection glowering back at him; if he had a nickel for every time he mistook it for Bruce sneaking up on him…

He only sees his father in himself when he's angry. When he's so blinded by the nauseating need for vengeance that the line between Hood and Bat start to blur. When all he can see is the mission. When he realizes just how much he’s chosen to isolate himself.

One of the reasons he hides as much of his face as possible is because then no one can tell him he looks just like a bat when he bares his teeth. He wears his emotions on his sleeve instead of leaving it to anyone's guess. He makes absolutely sure that there's no mistaking him for Batman.

All of this to mixed results, of course.

Because despite all of his valid issues with Bruce, deep down Jason knows that Bruce Wayne is still a good man.

And although he doesn’t quite realize it, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to admit that Bruce Wayne raised Jason Todd to be a good man.

Bruce is why Jason always holds the door open for the person behind him. Every time Jason buys a coffee, he pays for the next handful of customers, something he consistently watched Bruce do. Whenever a child talks to him, Jason always crouches to their eye level…that’s Bruce too.

That’s not to give Mr. Wayne too much credit. Jason Todd has had a good heart from the moment he was born. He never needed anyone to tell him to leave the world a better place than he found it. Just because he has an anomalous method of doing so doesn’t make that any less true.

But there are certain things, instincts, that Bruce cemented in his mind. Like knowing when to ask questions first and when to ask them later.

Like when he finds you crying just now.

He’d sent you a text earlier in the day. Something completely unrelated to your well being, something incredibly unimportant actually. Still, your lack of response made him anxious, so he went to check on you. Just to make sure you weren't, like, dead or something.

There's a split second of awkward silence as you both stare at one another. But you hardly have time to wipe your tears and blubber out, "Oh, hey, what's up," before Jason's engulfing you in a bear hug.

That's when you know you don't need to hold it together. That's when you know it's safe to completely fall apart.

Jason doesn't need to ask questions just yet. You don't need him asking questions. You both know he'll get answers, whether from you or his own investigation. For now he'll stay quiet, sans a few whispered comforts. He could try being a man of many words. He’s more than capable of waxing poetics. It’s just that he knows he can come across as mean and abrasive, even when he’s trying to be kind and soft.

Another way he’s like Bruce.

Nevertheless, he’s got two big strong arms that can speak for him. They’ve got you. They’ll protect you from whatever’s got you feeling like this.

One large hand anchors you to him. It holds you steady as your body shakes with sobs. The other cradles your head, every so often moving to pat your back whenever you hiccup.

You can hide your face in his chest. Ride along with the subtle rise and fall of it. Let the gentle sound of his heart beat drown out the sound of your stressors. He doesn’t care about the damp spot you’re leaving on his shirt. He just cares about you.

Jason is a rock, an absolute pillar of a human being. He can stand there for as long as you need. He can support your weight and hold you up if you’re too exhausted to do it yourself.

When you decide that you want to talk about it, then he tries to be all ears. He sits you on the couch and wraps an arm around you as you rest your head on his shoulder. Occasionally, his thumb drifts up to wipe your stray tears away.

He listens as best he can. He definitely would've dealt with your issue differently if he were you. In a different era, he would've let you know exactly what he would do - more likely, he would've just gone and done it for you. But he can recognize that this is probably a healthier way to deal with whatever upset you. And you know what, he can respect that too.

After you've vented until there's nothing left to say, Jason stays with you. It's that nagging voice that tells him that he has to make sure you're really okay, that you're not about to do something stupid as soon as he takes his eyes off you. After all, that's what he would do.

So he puts something on the tv. A show, a movie, a YouTube compilation, video essay - something he knows you like. He doesn't look away from you the entire time. He sits at the ready to catch any stray tears or soothe any sudden bursts of rage.

Until you fall asleep on his shoulder. He sits like that for another few minutes before he finally transfers you to your bed, tucking you in with so much care. The only sound he makes is a sharp gasp when he catches his reflection in your window.

Then he sits some more, still watching you closely. He watches until he's certain you're sound asleep, ignorant to the things that hurt you.

Then he slips out the window without a peep, off to get your justice.

That's exactly what Bruce would do.

[i-yap]

I just love thinking about jason x reader

Big bulky jason who has so much trauma and issues and needs and why would you even dedicate your entire life being patient and kind with him

But that same jason refuses to let u out the bed. The jason that will press Your feet after HE is the one who just went crime fighting

Jason who Hates being separated on his days off and will sit beneath the table between your legs hugging your waist with his on your thighs if you're doing work or meeting or studying

Jason who literally Hates work, vengeance, revenge, mafia stuff , crime fighting , saving the world ..basically anything that makes him spend time away from you.

Jason who prolly just leaves all this behind and genuinely works at processing his trauam . Becomes a literature teacher in a nice university. Settles down with you and have a normal life...give you the life you deserve

Not before saving up enough from mafia/batpay to give you the best luxury

Jason who just wants to stare at you , Hold you, get kisses from you forever

[love-bugsy]

good ol' gotham | jason todd

the worst thing about love

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

two | three | four | series masterlist

content warnings: no editing, allusions to character death, (haphazard) depictions of grief, smoking + mentions of alcohol, swearing, completely ooc Jason bc he’s just my lil guy, medical terminology learned from greys anatomy lol

only jerks steal other people’s writing and mine isn’t even that good so no reposts

You and Jason sit across from each other in a diner booth, his restless leg bouncing under the table and your workaholic fingers tapping rhythms on the lacquer. The tired waitress who begged for your shift today brings over a plate of fries for you both, waving you off when you try to tip her. She gives your head an affectionate ruffle like she used to when you were 6, and you flush. As she goes to wait the next table, Jason laughs and says something about nepotism. You reach over and smack him.

He scoops up a heaping handful of fries, holding out his cigarette in his free hand so he can choke it down. He wipes his hands on his pants, taking another drag. You frown as your eyes dart between him and the ‘no smoking’ sign, glaring pointedly at the cigarette hanging half out of his mouth. He huffs, hiding a smile as he crushes the lit end on the underside of the table and flicks it into a nearby bin. You kiss your teeth, rolling your eyes but it’s entirely too fond to have any lasting effect. This damn boy’s got you wrapped around his battered fingers.

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” you huff, shoving a couple of fries in your mouth and basking in greasy diner heaven. Jason tilts his head, examining you, and snorts when you chuck a fry at his face. 

“So you tell me every time, and yet, miraculously, I’m still here.” He plucks the fallen fry out of his lap, not even brushing it off before he scarfs it down and reaches for another handful. You eye his hand, meant to shovel chips into his mouth but instead is littered with callouses and cigarette burns. It’s a stretching silence as you find your words.

“S’killing you slowly.”

“Lucky me.” He shoots you a toothy grin, leaning back into the booth, one hand laid out face-down on the table. The bruises on his knuckles are a motley of yellow and purple; your hand aches just looking at the scabs that litter the top of his hand. You’re sure he doesn’t feel it, though - he’s always healing, gaining new wounds before the old ones are finished scarring over. A veritable human ship of Theseus. 

His hand clenches into a fist under your gaze and you suddenly become very interested in the plate of fries between you. ‘M’not gonna stop,” he says, tone unyielding. You don’t know whether he’s talking about his smoking or the elephant-sized robin in the room. Probably both.

“But maybe you should.” You blurt out, and the way his face twists in anger makes you want to cover your mouth and hide. You hate how he clings to things - smoking, grudges, Robin - you think it’ll be the death of him one day. But you’re a hypocrite, because you love how he clings to you. Jason’s jaw feathers.

“Just fucking back off, okay?”, he snaps at you, and you go silent - you don’t want to have the same argument for the thousandth time. You study the way his eyes close and he sinks back into the chair - guilt washing away the enraged crease between his brows.

You forget - all the time - how angry he is, all of it built up under his rib cage. You think he gets scared to show it to you, like it’ll scare you away. For all his intelligence, Jason has yet to grasp the fact that you have Gotham in you too - spent your whole life atoning for the sin of your existence here. You’re angry too, of fucking course you are.

There’s no shortage of anger and fear and desperation in Gotham - they flood the gutters and hang dormant in the smog. Not many people choose to be kind here, it’s just too hard to. You think maybe your bleeding heart is at fault for how he tiptoes around you, but you wish he would just be honest. This diner, your friendship - it’s so far removed from the rest of his life… you wish he would stop treating you like a precious secret. 

“I-” You shake your head when he starts to apologise, waving your hand as if to clear the air between you.

“It’s forgotten,” you say, even though it never is. The tilt of his head reads you like an old book. Getting up, he rounds the table, shoving you further into the booth and looping an arm around your shoulders. Neither of you say anything - Jason reaching awkwardly for another chip - but the warm press of his side against yours is words enough. You shuffle - somehow - closer to him and take the hand that's over your shoulder, moving it delicately into your lap. You run careful circles around the bruises on his knuckles, trying to commit the warmth of him to memory. Trying to remember him while he’s still here. 

When you glance back at him, he’s looking at you with something wide and soft and world-ending in his eyes. The hand in your lap shifts around to thread your fingers together and he squeezes your hand almost uncomfortably. This boy, this fucking boy, who loves too much, too rough, too pure. “You can’t be real,” he whispers, and the diner melts away and all that’s left is his (blue blue blue) eyes and the way his hand holds yours like a lifeline. You hope you love him enough that it shows - that it spills out of the gaping seams of your stitched up heart. Clammy palms grip tighter to each other.

“I’m real, blue. This is real.”

“No. No,” he says, using your name in that careful, hard-edged tone he does when he’s serious, “It’s not.”

You wake gasping, shooting up in your bed as you try to catch your breath. Your hand crushes against your chest, trying to still your pounding heart. Fumbling in your sheets for your phone, you squint at the time. 4:02. You shuffle around, bare feet meeting hardwood floors and start to follow an unconscious morning routine - brain still foggy with sleep. It’s not until you’re wiping the steam off your bathroom mirror that you remember what day it is. The anniversary.

Reminders of Jason always hit you like a truck - blue mugs, cigarettes, hero complexes - but visiting his grave is another beast. You’re not one to let things get to you, moving too fast for anything to stick; but today is always cruel. In the entryway, you go back and forth between jackets, eventually yanking Jason’s old one from where it's hidden underneath all your others. Burying your face in the collar, you grab your keys and step into the biting Gotham wind. 

You take the metro up to the park by the Wayne Estate, stopping on the way to buy overpriced flowers and a travel sized bottle of whiskey. You stop outside the imposing gates - always closed but never locked - to take a shuddering breath. It’s never easier. 

Pushing open the rusted gate, you make the short trek up to the Wayne cemetery. Jason’s grave is a ways away from the others, hidden by an ancient sycamore tree. Autumn has come early this year, yellowing the sycamore’s leaves and burning your nose with the fresh scent of death. 

You really fucking hate this day.

It’s not the real anniversary of his death. You shudder to think about seeing Bruce Wayne here, and you doubt he’d even recognise you. Probably for the best. You’d tear him to pieces for existing when Jason is gone. No, today is the last time he left the diner - that’s the day Jason Todd died to you.

You remember staying up to watch the press conference Bruce Wayne gave after Jason’s death was reported. Sitting in a cold, empty diner, listening to his cold, empty responses, and grinding your teeth to bits. 

Wayne looks tired - beaten down, “No comment,” he says, when the questions steer to Jason. You’re furious that he could even bear to stay silent when you are tearing at the seams with things to say. Because Jason was kind, he was sharp as a whip and just as witty. And he was brash, and loud, and impulsive and full of a wild energy that hummed under the surface of his skin. And he was good. He was so good.

Somewhere between Wayne’s practised speech about the orphanage he’s opening in Jason’s name and his final statement, you mute the television and go back to washing dishes. It’s a herculean effort not to look up; waiting for Jason to start rambling about a book he’d read or someone he’d saved. You tuck your head down, avoiding the reminder that he was never going to keep you company again.

In the background, Bruce Wayne talks silently to a rapt audience.

And how they lauded him as Jason’s saviour - the homeless criminal turned social messiah by Wayne Enterprises. You want to scream; he was good already, he was good to the bone. But Gothamites - as much as they like to deny it - are obsessed with the idea of heroes. In a city of the uber wealthy and the poorest of the poor - everybody wants someone to save them. Big Brucie Wayne swooping in to reform a Gotham bottom-feeder? That’s a story everyone was taken by.

The crunch of a leaf underfoot pulls you out of your head and you realise you’re standing in front of Jason’s grave. Sitting yourself down, cross-legged, you face the grave; whiskey in one hand and flowers in the other. 

You’ve never liked his headstone. No pretentious quotes, no sardonic digs from beyond the grave. Just a dry, impersonal epitaph, etched permanently in his name: ‘In memory of Jason Peter Todd, loving son’.

You think he would’ve hated being reduced to someone’s son. You don’t think he was anyone’s anything. He was Gotham’s. He was yours. He was Batman’s. And then he was dead.

He was never any of those things at the same time. And he was certainly no one’s son. 

He was loving, though. You’ll give ‘em that.

“Well,” you say, unscrewing the bottle and downing half of it with a grimace, “Cheers, blue.” Nearly a decade and you still hate the taste of whiskey. You’d both made a pact that it would be your first legal drink - both with romantic ideas about what it would taste like. To you, it really just tastes like soap; but tradition is tradition. You reach out, brushing the thin layer of dirt that’s gathered over his headstone, eyes catching on the crude little bird carving in the top right corner. 

You’d carved it into his headstone the first year after he died; spent the whole year silently aching - haunted by empty space, reaching for him only to find air. That night was just the breaking point. It hadn’t helped that you were drunk off your ass either. 

You remember being miserably sick the next morning and - as you rested your head on the cool porcelain of your toilet - feeling selfishly satisfied that you were hurting at all. Visiting him early is selfish for you too. You want them to know you loved him first. You want them to know that somewhere, there is someone who mourns him into ruin. 

Or at least, into vandalism.

Now you drop the flowers on his grave - chrysanthemums and white lilies - and sweep away a stray fallen leaf. Crouched in front of his grave, you press your fingers to your lips, then to the bird. You feel the throb of a lump in your throat, and stand up fully, zipping up your jacket. The train home is loud and sweaty, but you feel more alone than ever.

You need a smoke.

~

Your apartment door is barely locked before you’re sliding up your window and ducking out onto the fire escape. Digging around in the pockets of Jason’s jacket, you fumble for your lighter, and the pack of cigarettes you’d bought on the way home. 

You lean over your fire escape railing, lighting up and taking a long drag. It’s a rare clear night in Gotham, and you close your eyes as you breathe out, listening to the faint, familiar whine of sirens. This. This is why you’ll never leave Gotham—these rare serene moments where you’re brought back down to earth by the familiar smell of rain and pavement; an early-Autumn breeze ruffling your hair.

Your moment of peace is interrupted when Red Hood swings down onto your fire escape, and you startle, dropping your - still-lit - cigarette over the railing. 

“Fuck!” You lean over the railing as if you’ll be able to catch it, letting your head fall against the cool metal in defeat. “Please tell me you don’t need stitches tonight,” you grumble, head still hung over the railing. A hand grasps the back of your shirt, pulling you - a little roughly - away from the edge. Your eyes flash up to his mask, only to find him looking away.

“No stitches.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I… I’m not- injured.” Your brow creases.

“Then… why are you here?” He pauses. If you hadn’t been slowly learning him over the past few months, you’d mistake his silence for stoicism, but his shoulders are drawn up slightly and his gaze is focused on a spot just above your head. He seems… sheepish? No. Caught. He clears his throat—hand in the cookie jar.

“I just…,” long pause, “Drop by sometimes. To check you’re… you know.” You do not know. You raise a brow and he nods over at the pack of cigarettes balancing on the railing.

“I’ve never seen you smoke before.” Not exactly a seamless subject change, but you know better than to pry when the other person has guns strapped to their thighs. Your eyes drift to the cigarettes, and back to Red.

“Only when I’m stressed.” He does that head tilt-y thing—trying to read you. 

“Something more stressful than surgery on a stranger in your apartment?” You just hum, turning away and reaching for another cigarette. Lighting it, you hold the pack out to Red as you take another drag and exhale. He shakes his head, “Quit a long time ago, doc.” Your surprise must paint itself all over your face because he laughs lowly, rasping out his response.

“Had a friend who hated it.”

Brows creasing, you tilt your head, appraising him in a quiet once-over. “You don’t seem like the type to change for anyone, Red.” Somehow he stiffens and relaxes at the same time; you get the sense that the answer to your observation is just as paradoxical, equal parts right and wrong.

“Yeah well, she was…” He trails off, gaze drifting from you and shoulders sinking. He looks… lost. Watching him feels like you’re intruding on a private moment, so you turn away, leaning heavily on the railing. You take another long drag of your cigarette and exhale the smoke into the wind.

“Was that you? The sirens?”     

He huffs, railing creaking as he settles next to you. “Yeah. Some asshole trying to rob a mom-and-pop store.” You kiss your teeth in mirrored disappointment, nose wrinkling.

“Good ol’ Gotham.” You feel his gaze boring into you and make a point to glare defiantly out at the skyline - avoiding him. The hand that isn’t keeping a loose grip on your cigarette begins to scratch anxiously at the rust on the railing. 

Red points vaguely at your cigarette, “What’s your stressor?” Without really noticing it, you clench your jaw and your hand moves halfway up to your mouth before you stop it. Old habits quelled by memories of bleeding nails bitten to the quick. You realise you’ve waited too long to spout a believable lie.

“Visited my friend’s grave.” You don’t even bother to school your voice, letting it claw its way across shards of glass to be heard.

“‘M sorry.” Red’s head inclines slightly, gloved hand inching towards yours. You just shrug.

“It’s been nearly ten years.” 

“Doesn’t make it easier.” He tells you and you know it isn’t false platitudes. Death is an old friend of the both of you. 

You pause, letting the city rush over you. “No,” you say finally, “It doesn’t.” Reaching again for your cigarette, you feel the weight of the day prickling at the backs of your eyes. The railing creaks as he leans heavier against it.

“Tell me about them.” 

“What?” 

“Your friend.”

You take a deep breath, brows knit, “He was…,” you roll your lips together, trying not to choke up, “Reckless.” Red snorts, hanging his head in surprised amusement. You smile for the first time all day. “I swear danger followed him around or something, I was always having to patch him up, even before—“ You cut yourself off, white-knuckling the railing. 

“He’s the reason I’m a doctor.” There’s a thick silence, which Red breaks with a staticky whistle. 

“You’re something else, doc.” Your brows knit, fingers drumming on the railing. The cold seeps into your bones, fire escape creaking with every gust of wind. Looking out over the city, you shake your head at nobody.

“I’m…” you swallow, dislodging the breath stuck in your throat, “I’m tired.” You fumble for the right words and Red waits, turning his back on the skyline, mask angled down.

Shaky hand brings your cigarette to your lips, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “So much of me is him… I don’t know—“ your voice cracks, “No one can help me carry the love he left me with. I don’t know where it goes.”

More silence—you’re starting to get comfortable with it. He lifts his head, and you think he might talk, instead, he carefully pulls off a glove, shoving it in his pocket so he can run a warm, calloused palm over your upper arm. You choke up at the gesture, gritting your teeth against the lump in your throat when your eyes catch on his bruised knuckles. Haven’t we been here before?

“Think ya just get bigger around it, doc.” Blinking at him, you dissolve into tears—a dam held in since this morning. Embarrassed, you close your eyes, tears running, unbidden, down your cheeks. 

Red’s mask pulls back slightly in shock, “Fuck, sorry, m’not good at this, don’t—” He flounders a little, hand gripping your arm with a ferocity you know is unconscious. The physicality of the action steadies you.

“I’m not—” you huff out a wet laugh, “It’s not you, I just… you lose someone and everything you used to share becomes a sign. My life is marked by a ghost.”

“Fingerprints.”

“… yeah.” You crush your half-smoked cigarette against the railing, flicking it over the edge. You stand, awkwardly, next to each other; neither of you wanting to leave but both empty of words. Your hands tap nervously on the railing and you shove them in your pockets - if only to have something to do with them. Pulling out your lighter, you flick it on and off absently, watching the flame flicker under your control.

The lighter distracts you for a little, but soon you realise that Red has gone rigid beside you; the silence between you just slightly too thick. You shoot him an inquisitive glance, trying to gauge what he’s thinking.

“Nice lighter.” he says, gaze locked on the bird etched into it. Your brows furrow.

“It’s not really mine.” The truth, if obfuscated a little.

“Is it… a robin?” You shake your head, a little laugh escaping you at how bad your etching job must’ve been.

“A bluejay.” The second the words leave your mouth, he goes still - so still you’re unsure if he’s still breathing. “Red?”

“Blue?” You wave a hand in front of his face, shaking him out of a thousand yard stare into his coffee mug. “Earth to Jason Todd.” He shoots you a flat look and watches as your face breaks into a world-ending laugh. Leaning forward, he raps bruised knuckles against the counter. You shake your head to hide the split second of worry in your eyes at the sight of his hands. Jason notices.

“So why do you call me blue?” He says, trying to innocuously tuck his hands back under the table. You huff, clumsy hands dropping the dish you’re washing in the sink with a clatter. You lean on the edge of the sink, collecting yourself before you answer.

“Why do you call me birdie?” 

“‘Cause you’re small. ‘Nd you got a pretty voice.” He must imagine the bashful way you tuck your head into your shoulder. Like you liked that.

Picking up the plate you dropped, you rinse and dry it, letting him stew in your lack of answer for a little. “It's a play on words.” Jason’s brows knit, trying to think of the connection you’d conjured. “Blue. Like blue jay.”

“Ha ha.” 

“I’m serious.”

His brows crease. “Why a bird?” (Why not a robin?)

You give him a funny look, eyes squinted like you’re reading his mind. You always seem to know what he’s thinking. Jason shifts in the barstool; feathers ruffled. 

“It’s just a nickname, Jay.” Jason knows you; he knows the word ‘just’ doesn’t have a place in your vocabulary. But he spots the tiny crease in your brow, your red raw hands, the single knot on your apron in place of a double knot—reads your language. He takes a swig of coffee from his baby blue mug, grinning toothily before he changes the subject. 

~

Bruce’s office door is closed when Jason returns to Wayne Manor, so Jason finds himself roaming the halls aimlessly. His feet carry him to the library—he still has to stand in awe every time he wanders between the statuesque shelves, spilling over with books. 

Slipping further into the maze of shelves, Jason doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for until he spots it. His fingers graze an untouched ornithology book, sliding it into his lap. Cross-legged on the floor, Jason flips it open to the chapter on blue jays.

... so i'm not dead, lol, and I am still writing - albeit very slowly and sporadically. the past few months have been very hectic, but I'm going to have a lot more writing time now that my first term of uni (!!) is nearly over. anyway, sorry to keep you guys waiting and I hope you enjoy reading my silly story :)

with love, bugsy

[littleredwing89]

FAMOUS [PART FOUR]

Bodyguard!Jason Todd x Singer!Reader

Summary: Roy leaned back, a grin plastered across his face. “Dude, they were totally gossiping about you. I mean, have you seen your arms? Of course they’re talking about you.”

Warnings: None. Girly banter. Innuendos. Teasing. Fun Roy & Jason.

A/N: And as promised, here is the next chapter 🥰🥰 sending all my love to you wonderful readers & please enjoy the next chapter - Elle xoxo

***

———

GIRL INTERRUPTED

———

The afternoon sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a warm glow over the garden complex as Jason moved around, lifting heavy boxes as if they weighed nothing. His muscles flexed with every move, the sun catching on his damp skin as sweat rolled down his temples. His hair, darkened with moisture, stuck to his forehead in a way that made him look effortlessly rugged.

Selina, lounging on a nearby chair with her sunglasses perched low on her nose, tilted her head, smirking. “That’s the guy you’ve been complaining about?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your gaze off Jason as he worked. “I didn’t complain about him that much.”

Ivy raised an eyebrow, her tone flat. “You spent at least an afternoon complaining about him.”

Harley snickered, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Yeah, you definitely plotted his accidental death.”

You crossed your arms defensively. “Not death.”

“Fine,” Ivy mused with a knowing smile. “Unalive-ment.”

“Yeah, that,” Harley agreed, her grin wide as she glanced between you and Jason, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

You shifted in your seat. “Well, I’m not anymore.”

Selina gave you a pointed look, her smirk growing wider. “Honey, have you seen him?”

Harley leaned in, conspiratorial. “Does he provide anything other than security?”

Ivy, never missing a beat, added, “Sex-curity,” her lips curling into a smirk.

You nearly choked on your drink, glaring at Ivy as you sputtered. “He makes pancakes, that’s all.”

Harley’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Before or after the deed?”

“No deed has been done!” you snapped, the heat creeping up your neck and to your face.

Ivy’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “The blush on your face says otherwise.”

You shot her a look, your cheeks burning. “I’m not blushing!”

Selina cackled, leaning back in her chair with an air of superiority. “Of course you’re not, babe. That’s just… red face paint.”

“Why do you all hate me?” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“We don’t,” Selina replied with a grin. “You just look adorable when you have a crush.”

You shot up in your seat, flustered. “I don’t have a crush! It’s just a work relationship.”

Harley patted your shoulder sympathetically. “It’s okay, sweetie. We get it.”

Ivy leaned forward, her gaze playful. “Don’t 80% of relationships spark in the workplace?”

Selina adjusted her sunglasses, her smirk never fading. “If he lived with me, I wouldn’t be spending my time fighting it.”

You huffed, crossing your arms again. “Well, he’s kind of an ass.”

“How so?” Harley asked, genuinely curious.

You waved your hands over your head dramatically. “Y’know…”

“Sweetie, I don’t,” Harley said, her confusion obvious as she blinked up at you.

You waved your hands more, as if that would clarify things. “He’s just… y’know!”

Selina laughed, shaking her head. “What you’re feeling is sexual tension, babe.”

“Sexual what now?” you muttered under your breath, clearly flustered.

“You should work it out with him,” Selina added, her voice dripping with amusement.

Ivy, ever the instigator, tilted her head towards the garden. “Oh, look, he’s coming over here.”

Your eyes widened in panic as you frantically fixed your hair, heart racing.

“Just kidding,” Ivy teased, smirking at your reaction.

You let out a breath, glaring at her. “Ha-ha-ha. Can we please stop talking about this?”

“I think you’d be cute together,” Harley said, her voice sing-song as she gave you a sly grin.

Selina raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking to Jason, who was still lifting boxes in the sun. “He clearly has a soft spot for you. He can’t stop looking at you.”

You froze for a moment, a tiny spark of hope flickering inside you. “You think he likes me?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, sounding almost… hopeful.

But before your friends could say anything, you caught yourself, straightening up. “Wait—of course he’s looking at me. He’s doing his job. Protecting me.”

Ivy leaned in, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. “What would you do if this wasn’t just a professional relationship?”

“I—I…” you stammered, suddenly unsure of yourself.

Harley giggled, elbowing you playfully. “You guys are totally gonna fall in love.”

Selina gave you a knowing smirk. “That’ll be great. When you two fall in love, the media will finally stop insinuating you and Sionis are a thing.”

Ivy’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Care to wager how long it’ll take?”.

You threw your hands up, exasperated. “I’m right here, y’know.”

Harley tilted her head, pretending to think. “Three months, max.”

Ivy leaned back, studying you carefully. “They seem like the slow burn type.”

Selina, her eyes still on Jason, watched as he stacked the final box and stood to stretch. “Nah,” she drawled, her voice playful. “Y/N won’t be able to resist those muscles.”

“Shhh!” you hissed, panic rising in your chest. “He’s going to hear you!”.

But it was too late. Jason, now aware of all of you staring at him, turned to face your little group. He blinked in confusion, his face flushing slightly as he quickly looked away, clearly bashful.

Jason muttered something under his breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I need Roy.”

Selina leaned over, whispering conspiratorially. “I don’t think you’ll need to wait three months after all.”

————

Later that evening, Jason found himself at the local bar, nursing a drink while Roy leaned against the bar, a teasing grin on his face. Jason had been reasonably happy to leave you at home tonight, especially since the girls had chosen to crash at yours, having a pamper and movie night with you. Selina frightened him more than Bruce sometimes. You’d be safe.

“Hey, brooding bird! What’s got you all mopey?” Roy asked, nudging Jason with his elbow.

“Nothing,” Jason muttered, taking a swig of his drink.

Roy raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Just like I’m ‘nothing’ when I wear these tight spandex shorts, huh?”

Jason groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you not? I’m serious.”

“Fine, fine! But you can’t just sit there looking all tortured without telling me what’s going on. It’s against the bro code,” Roy insisted, mock-serious.

Jason shot him a glare. “What I really need is a time machine to go back to when I didn’t care about—”

“Whoa, wait. Are you actually talking about feelings? Like, real ones?” Roy interrupted, eyes wide with mock horror. “This is better than reality TV!”

“I’m not talking about feelings, dammit! It’s just that… I think the girls were gossiping about me,” Jason said, the frustration creeping into his voice.

Roy leaned closer, excitement glinting in his eyes. “Oh, do tell! Who’s gossiping? Is it Ivy? She seems like the type to always knows the juiciest details!”

“No, it’s not Ivy. It’s…” Jason hesitated, glancing around as if the walls had ears. “It’s Y/N.”

Roy’s expression morphed into a knowing smirk. “You mean the one you’re totally not crushing on?”

“I’m not crushing!” Jason snapped, his cheeks flushing.

Roy cackled. “Oh, it’s even better than I thought! You are totally crushing. What did they say?”

“I don’t know!” Jason groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just saw them looking at me and whispering. It was… weird.”

Roy leaned back, a grin plastered across his face. “Dude, they were totally gossiping about you. I mean, have you seen your arms? Of course they’re talking about you.”

“I hate you,” Jason grumbled, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Come on, lighten up! Just own it! You’re the guy they’re gossiping about. It’s like being a celebrity. You should be flattered!” Roy encouraged, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably.

“Flattered? More like mortified,” Jason retorted.

“Mortified or not, it’s too late now. You’re the star of their show,” Roy laughed, raising his drink in a mock toast. “To Jason! The man, the myth, the rumoured crush!”

Jason groaned again, burying his face in his hands once more. “I’m never telling you anything ever again.”

Roy just chuckled, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Too late for that! Now, when’s the date?”

“No date!” Jason protested, shaking his head vehemently.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that, Romeo. I’ll just be over here, waiting for the ‘I can’t believe we kissed!’ call,” Roy teased, winking.

Jason couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he downed the rest of his drink. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it,” Roy replied with a grin, raising his glass once more.

As they left the bar, Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, things might not be so bad after all.

***

[luvrodite]

HALLWAY CRUSH JASON TODD (college!au)

↳ he's your boyfriend, but you've still got a massive crush on him

Four long, boring hours loom ahead of you when you walk to campus on Monday morning. Lectures all packed closely within the same building, on the same floor, you dread the day. Winter leaves your hands numb as you walk towards the building you’ll be spending your time in today, and you curse yourself for forgetting your gloves, sticking stiff fingers into your pockets.

There is only one other person in the lecture theatre when you walk in, sitting off to the side. You offer them a polite nod when their eyes meet yours, and continue up the stairs to take a seat, thankful for the warmth in the room. The both of you are early, and it’s quiet in the room as you take out your things, the faint smell of something lingering in the air, not entirely unpleasant, but peculiar in the way of old lecture halls. 

It’s this smell you have to endure for the next two hours. When the hour draws closer to 9 and the rest of the few students who actually bother to show up to lectures in person begin to trickle in, you’re already fighting off a yawn and wishing you’d gotten coffee from one of the vending machines in the lobby.

You switch your phone on and off, peering down at the lockscreen fondly. The black and white photobooth strip stares back, three rectangular photos stacked atop each other. The dark haired boy in the picture winks through the pixels at you, and you hide a grin. When your professor walks in and begins to set up, you tuck your phone away, finding a bit of comfort in the pretty smile of a lover.

It only lasts so long, however, and you’re soon back to staring grumpily at a set of slides and fighting back tears at the strength of your yawns–you’ve gone through so many in the last twenty minutes it’s getting rude. It isn’t his fault, your poor old professor, that he speaks so slowly, or that you’re not made for morning classes. After yet another yawn, you rub your eyes tiredly, trying to make sense of what he’s saying.

The text comes through in the middle of your lecture, an hour into the history of corporations, and you flick your gaze down to the bubble that appears over your lockscreen. Your boyfriend’s contact photo accompanies the message, and you bite back a grin, reading the two words.

>> look up

Confused, you glance up to the door of the lecture theatre that looks out into the hallway, propped ajar with an old textbook. In the background, your lecturer takes a question, and you really should be listening, but you’re wondering whether the message was actually meant for you and then–

Jason, stupidly handsome, and bright eyed, walks past the door, peering in and grinning when you make eye contact. You just about jolt in your seat, unable to contain your own smile when he glances at your professor and shoots you a cheeky wink. Idiot, you think fondly. 

He’s gone before you can blink, leaving you to return to the class once more. Only, how can you, when you’ve got to settle your silly little lovesick heart, grinning like a fool? 

>> you’re so pretty baby

And just when you think you’ve got a handle on your heart, the butterflies spring forth anew with his next text.

i had to sit in the same lecture theatre for FOUR hours today can you believe. anyway made eye contact with everyone walking outside because i was so tired and i just kept imagining this stupid (affectionate) boy walking past and timing his text so you'd see him when you look up. because this is fanfiction. and i can make him do that!

this is separate from the last college!au piece but you can imagine it to be set in the same au if you want! i just think boyfriend jason in a college au is something that can be so special

[pricetagofficial]

Day 18: Snowball Fight

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, Snowball Massacre™️

A/N: Welcome to day 18! It has been a while since I have written for Jason, so I hope this lives up to it! Header by me, and divider by @cafekitsune

Masterlist

What had started out as a walk through Robinson Park, was not how things ended.

You and Jason decided it was a nice day to go out, and enjoy the snowy weather and each other's company. Lately, he'd been so busy helping the other bats in Gotham that he didn't have much time with you.

Both of you could feel that light tension, of weeks of not having longer than a few moments alone together. So this afternoon was long overdue.

Jason must have been so content, and honestly distracted by the time he spent with you he didn't notice the group of what he likes to call feral gremlins following you.

That was, until he got a snowball to the back of his head.

Turning on his heel immediately, Jason put himself in front of you effectively being the barrier for whoever threw that.

Peeking out around him, you looked up. "Jay, what happened?"

"Some fucker thought it'd be funny to throw a snowball." he grumbled.

"A snowball?"

Jason nodded, before he nudged you gently. "You see that log over there?"

Looking to your side, you saw the large snow covered log. Nodding in response, you gripped his hand.

"When I give you the sign, make a run and duck behind that. But first, be a doll, and make me a snowball real quick?"

You gave Jason an incredulous look, before you gathered a lump of snow and formed it into a ball before placing it into his hand.

"Thanks, Princess. The second this ball leaves my hand, make a break for it."

Jason looked around, his sharp eyes trained for moments like this. He knew they were there, even if he couldn't see them. But he didn't expect anything less from these people.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Not waiting a moment, Jason turned and threw the snowball. Immediately, you took off running hearing a grunt of pain.

Jason was right behind you as a barrage of snowballs began to fly towards you. The second you hid behind the log, you began to make snowball after snowball helping Jasno get supplied for the sudden snowball fight you were drug into.

Peeking up, you watched as Jason threw another and nailed someone in the face.

"Gotcha Replacement!"

"Fuck you! We're not all snipers like you are!"

The laugh Jason let out warmed your heart. There was once a time Jason tried to kill Tim, and hated him enough to do it. Now here he was, engaged in a snowball fight.

Grabbing another, Jason threw it and nailed another person in the face.

"What the hell! That's not fair!

"Not my fault you can't hide in that purple monstrosity of a coat."

One by one, Jason nailed everyone in the face. Tim, Stephanie, Duke, Damian, Cass, Barbara he got in the shoulder out of respect. That, and she might actually kill him if he got her in the face.

There was only one person left, and arguably he was more dangerous than Jason.

Both of you were at the ready for the slightest tell of where he could be. You were so focused, that you didn't until a snowball was mushed on top of both of your heads.

"Gotch, Little Wing."

Looking up, you saw Dick with his million-dollar grin, and a mischievous glint in his eyes. A glint you knew meant trouble, and you did not want to be caught in it this time.

Quickly you crawled away as Jason turned and tackled Dick into the snow and began throwing it at him while laughing.

What was a snowball fight, turned into a snowball massacre, and was now just a snow fight between Dick and Jason.

Stepping to the side, you were soon joined by everyone else as they all had marks on their face from where the snowball got them, Tim's right in the middle of his forehead.

"So, how long do you think these two will be?" Duke asked.

You shared a look with everyone.

"Might as well tell Bruce they will be running a little late."

Duke looked confused. "Patrol doesn't start for another five hours?"

"Better make that really late."

[ineylesian]

CHANGE.

— JASON TODD X FEM! READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST

— WORD COUNT | 3.1k

— WARNINGS | mentions of weapons, smut, unprotected p in v, oral asphyxiation, biting, scratching, handjobs, fingering, fingerfucking, mentions of blood, cumming inside, use of aphrodisiacs (sex pollen), dubious content, overstimulation.

— SUMMARY | disobedience is strictly off the field in the militia, and just one slip up could spell your end.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | had to wait all day to post this bc i got hit by a massive snowstorm. this is based off of arkham knight’s version of jason btw!

Steel. Smoothing coolness over your fingers and onto the metallic flow of your veins. Your eyes sweep frigid layers over the expanse below, narrowing down on one stranded wire amongst the mass.

Click.

“The main door’s open, Scarecrow. Ready to proceed on your word.”

Silence passes over the sea of crackles in the fuse box, dripping down to slither against the ground. Your eyes close at the breach of static in your ear, coiling three fingers against the box’s interior.

“Use the backup elevator on your way down. If it isn’t in working order, fix it.”

The call is lost to you. The world is dark and your senses are dulled by the residing pound in your head. Thick waves of raptured nerves pound against your skull, tightening against the surface and latching to the bone as a parasite would. There’s a muffled chorus scraping the barrier, forcing your eyes to shut tighter than you could ever imagine, fisting the other hand into your hair to—

“Stay focused.”

The illusion shatters, painting a revisited world of gloom and steady rain to your vision. Blood trickles from the inside of your cheek, running down to settle in your molars and paint your tongue with iron.

You brush his hand off of your shoulder without bothering to give a response, gums clasping together at the soft grunt that follows. The heavy clink of boots echo your descent into the abandoned mall, soft, yet lingering on your trail.

Just an hour had brushed past since Batman had destroyed the Cloudburst for good. Annihilated Scarecrow’s greatest creation and sent the Militia into complete turmoil in one hit.

You bite the corner of your lip, running a hand up your temple to soak up the light streak of sweat that had gathered there. The weight of such a rapid change of plans sits uncomfortable in your spine, weighing you down from the inside out. The Knight, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected by his own grave mistake. His stance is pin straight, pace overtaking yours within a matter of seconds.

And then he stops, reaching out to press the service button on the elevator in front of you.

You step into the elevator, gaze raking against dust and cobwebs as your hands grasp the railing supporting your back. The Knight almost mirrors your stance, only letting himself lean fully against the wall whilst his hands cross against his front.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

His voice is stagnant, devoid of the bark it usually carries. The very depth of it makes your skin crawl, and you’re hit with the feeling that it might sink into the bone. Slowly, your eyes trail upward, falling to rest on the LEDs that blaze back at you.

“You’re-“

“I’m not out of control.” He reads your mind to a tee, gloved fingers tapping rapidly against the arm they hold. “And I haven’t lost sight of the mission.”

Flashing, receptive, and unyielding. The scald of his mechanical gaze shoots daggers into your face, drilling a hole into the deepest parts that lurk within. You nearly flinch at the severity; his shoulders reel back in satisfaction.

There’s a tick in the back of your throat, latching onto your breath and spreading like wildfire throughout the rest of your body. The sight of him— acting so relaxed, so unbothered by the fact that he had compromised you all so effortlessly. Trapped you just as bad while he did it, and ended up in the same corner himself.

He was like a dog, thrashing against the leash bound to his neck. Always testing the limits at the expense of others. And when that post finally broke..

“You just wanted it so bad, didn’t you?” Anger. Your response comes through cold, throwing his guard off and allowing you a step forward. “You’ve lost sight of yourself ever since we got here.”

You’re standing right in front of him now, eyebrows furrowed together in a rivalry with the absentminded tilt of his head downward. Your chest swells with bile, held back by the sudden lurch of indignation that pushed you forward.

“Do you ever..” You pause, drawing a thick strand of breath from the bottom of your lungs. “..fucking think before you lash out? Do you even know why we’re going down here?”

Ding.

The pressure of your knife against his chest plate is swatted away in one swift motion. Tears threatening to keel over your eyelashes are held back with a rough tilt of your head, brushing away stray hairs and pulling your mouth into a tight line. The Knight’s arm is still extended towards the blade punctured through the wall, but he’s looking at you, and what was the threat to snap seconds ago is now confusion.

In the very last stretch of your peripheral vision sits Crane, behind him enough militia soldiers to kill you within seconds.

“The Hell..” He mutters, stealing a glance toward the mass of his men ahead. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“We were afraid you’d run.”

Silently, you can’t help but feel the same. A sudden hesitation rising at the sound of Crane’s voice. There’s an edge to it that makes your skin prickle, and you glance back at the Knight. He’s looking straight forward, fists lightly clenched at the sides.

You turn away from him, stepping out of the elevator, and into the repurposed expanse that had become the Arkham Knight’s HQ.

He’s waiting for you with his fingers clasped, vials of fear toxin dragging at the cloth on his wrists. With a small nod, your militia soldiers disperse, heading for the other exit and leaving the two of you with him.

“Make it quick, Crane.” The Knight spits, crossing his arms to impose a threatening stance. “We have places to be.”

The modulator hides it. But you can see the way he’s placed most of his weight on the front end of his boots. Ready for something to let him off of his leash.

That was exactly why you were here. Crane knows it, you know it. The Arkham Knight had turned into something beyond the leader of the militia, and it was slowly costing you your chance at winning the war you waged. Snapping and snarling at everyone and everything for a chance to kill the Batman, with no clear sense of control. It was almost as if your commander had been replaced with a rabid dog.

He’d changed, and not for the better.

“You destroyed my greatest creation, Knight.” Crane’s tone blankets over you, condescending and twisting over your throat like a lethal serpent. “And you didn’t stop him.”

Your heart drops at his sudden change of direction, watching as Crane takes a step away from you. The Knight immediately reaches for his gun holster, and you’re quick to follow. Your attempt is simply laughed at, followed by the sudden intrusion of pitch darkness everywhere you look.

A sharp hiss simultaneously breaks out at your side, dousing your arms in a lukewarm breeze. You slap a hand over your mouth, but the substance is already sinking into your skin, leaving a trail of warmth as it spreads. The Knight swears from beside you, and it’s apparent that it’s reached him too.

The low flash of his modulator disappears with a zip, and you follow the noise with your own grapnel. Stumbling over a few railings and a staircase, you hear him stop, and light returns to your vision soon after.

The Knight breaks out into a coughing fit, and your eyes screw shut in reaction. What was once warmth is now an uncomfortable settling of balm throughout it the topside of your body, rendering your limbs pulsing and stiff.

“Fuckin- gas.” The Knight’s modulator rings out, muffled, bubbling with the crisp tone of his real voice underneath. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

Fire was an understatement. The sensation is unbearable, scalding waves of naught branching through your system to layer over, filling you with utmost dread at what Crane could’ve possibly dosed you with.

It’s worsening by the second. Another string of coughs from the Knight and it increases by what feels like tenfold, traveling down to settle in the pits of your stomach. You almost cry out when you hear him groan, burying your head into your arms and crossing your legs to lessen the heat.

And then you understand.

Crane knew he wouldn’t be vulnerable to any regular fear toxin. He knew the Arkham Knight was gullible when it came to seeing his mission through, and learned to reap the benefits in his own way.

That being, the violent shaking of his hands, back slouched and slid up against the wall to keep him up.

And you? What better way to test out one of his newest toxins with his partner right beside him? He could’ve used a sample that would’ve had you tearing each other’s faces off, but no, that was too simple.

This was worse. So much worse.

Your right knee hits the wall with a light thump, overturning one of the vials Crane had left behind into your hand. If there was any doubt in your mind before you raised the label eye level, it was gone within moments.

“Aphrodisiacs.” You scoff, tossing the empty glass into the distance. “I’m sure you know what that is.”

This was the worst way he could’ve punished you. Introducing fear in the loss of self control, sadistic rather than violent.

The Knight lets out a noise similar to the one that you had, pushing himself up against the wall before turning away from you.

“Great.”

There’s a strain to his voice that slithers into your ears, invasive and loud. It pushes its way past your esophagus, flowing down through your ribcage to pool at the center of your uterus. The sudden burn causes you to stumble forward, and by the time you’ve reached him, you’re nearly panting.

“Jason..” The call comes out dry, barren with a need to be washed away. “I can’t.”

You stop mid sentence, mustering a light groan as his hands latch onto the base of your armor, holding you firmly in place.

“I know, I know I know I kn…” His breathing is uneven, slurred words weaving around you in a delightful vibrato. “Take the helmet off.”

In that moment, your self control is ripped away completely. Your mind feels like it isn’t yours anymore, and you can only think about him, the Arkham Knight, Jason Todd. An animalistic desire erupts within you, begging for contact, for all of him at once.

Your fingers curl around his neck, index stiffly pressing down on the release button. As soon as the glass layer of his visor opens, you tug it off, clumsily setting it down on the table behind him.

The sight of him almost makes you lose it right then and there, twisting a knot of friction between your legs. Jet black hair coats his forehead in unruly strands, slightly damp along with the thin layer of sweat coating his face. And his eyes, iced over almost entirely with lust and mimicking a fatigued droop.

You’re interrupted by the sharp prick of his teeth, scraping skin off of your lips as they sink in. The breath you let out is cut off by the sudden intrusion of his tongue, shoved flat against yours and edging deeper still. It’s the aphrodisiac, wanting nothing but to consume you whole.

You can’t say you’re any different, as the loss of breath makes your hands work even faster on his suit. Pieces of armor are rudely dragged off and left to fall on the ground as you strip him of his outer layer, heading straight for the zipper once you’re done. Once you begin to pull, the Knight releases his hold over your mouth, gasping lightly at the wave of cool air washing over his exposed skin. You take his initiative of tugging your own zipper down to grasp his chin between your fingers, lifting up to dip your teeth into the center of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He breathes, running a hand under the lower portion of your bodysuit. “Don’t stop.”

The intrusion of metal against your pussy makes you gasp, front teeth dragging a rigid line down the Knight’s jugular. Spit paints sores of red and pressured white, covering his neck almost entirely before you move. Feeling his index finger run over your folds, you clamp down on the ridge of his collarbone. Tanged iron floods your taste buds, eliciting a muffled moan from the depths of your throat as you swallow greedily.

Blood streaks down the unshadowed part of the Knight’s chest as you retract, bringing a hand down to tug his glove off. Your spare reaches the end of his zipper, hastily clicking his belt off before dipping a hand under his waist. The inside of his thigh is searing hot, prickling under your touch. You can feel the pulse on the underside of his dick, unwavering and spilling beads of precum onto your fingers.

The stroke of your hand conjoins with the jerk of his fingers, causing the both of you to cry out in synchrony. You couldn’t feel any more full in the moment, yet, you need endlessly more. Your spare hand clutches a fist full of his hair, forcefully jerking his chin up to for another kiss. The scrape of your teeth against his makes you feel pyretic, the ignition of need on your body almost oppressive.

Your senses are almost lost to you as the Knight pulls away from your lips, leaving a deafening drum in your ears and your vision blurry. The only clear feeling is the shove of his fingers deep in your walls, twisting in a pattern that makes your head hang back. You can feel his cock throb violently in your fist, and the stretch of his fingers brings you right there. Your hand smoothes over the tip as he coats your stomach, feeling yourself gush over his fingers moments later.

Your panting is cut short by the abrupt shove of the Knight’s fingers in your mouth, lathering you in your own seed. The brush of his cock over your clit makes you whimper, biting down on his fingers to ease the scorch. Yet, you crave it all the same, tugging his fingers out of your mouth to stuff his own.

“Come on.” You cough, fingers curling against his tongue. “Fill me up, Jason.”

A brash moan cuts through the release of your fingers as he sinks down into you.

“Shit.” His breathing is nothing short of labored gasps, sliding you closer to his chest. “Need to feel all of you, sweetheart.”

You’d expect no less sweet talk from him even under such a nefarious high, words smoothing over you like a fresh douse of water. The pair of soft murmurs of how good you feel and the stretch of his cock fills you with a warm haze, evaporating in layers with each drag of him against your walls. Desire swiftly replaces the serenity, and you suddenly feel like the pace is too much. Your fingers run under his suit’s collar, nails digging into the plain of his back.

“More.” You mewl, dragging a course line through his shoulder blades. “Ah- give me- more.”

The Knight quickly obeys, picking you up by the plush of your ass and setting you against the edge of a table. Sultry invades every part of you as he burrows even further, and you feel like he might reach your intestines at this rate. He has you curled up against his waist, relentlessly pistoning into your cervix.

It’s all too fast— too much and too little all at the same time. The slap of skin against skin grows sloppier as your juices spill over his cock, winding the coil in your abdomen further than you thought it could go. You cry out as he practically manhandles you, curling your back further so you can take more of him. You can feel his skin cake under your fingernails at the pressure, and you’re forced to lick the salty trail of fresh tears as they trail helplessly down your face.

He paints your insides with ecstasy for the third time, and all you can feel is how full you are. Remnants of his seed drip out of your pussy and down your leg, something you’d certainly never felt before now. Even you knew the Arkham Knight wasn’t capable of holding you over the edge for this long— at least, not when his mind was his.

Over an hour had passed by now. You could feel desire being sucked from your body with each coming orgasm, eyes shut tight to prevent the tears from blurring your vision. The Knight had slowed down tremendously, having set you further against the table as he stretched you slowest he had all night.

“One more.” His voice is reduced to a complete rasp, eyes bloodshot and lashes dripping with tears. “It’s.. almost out.”

You nod, teeth grinding together as the adrenaline wears off and reality sets back in. The Knight’s fingers no longer burn your skin on contact, and he holds you still as he rides out his last orgasm.

The pounding in your head resides, and you’re left with nothing but the light chorus of your mixed pants and the soft squelch of his dick slipping out of you. Every inch of your skin is dewed with sweat, and a sore sits deep within the pits of your stomach, throbbing painfully in between your legs.

“Shit.”

You slowly zip your suit up, only managing to slide yourself off of the table before you’re sent tumbling over. The Knight feebly pulls you into his side, allowing the both of you to slide against the wall and onto the ground.

A glance is shared between you, and a sudden heat breaches your cheeks.

“Shit.” He mirrors, running a hand through dampened locks of hair shadowing his eyes. “Crane knew what he was doing.”

You saw it, too. The exhausted crease of his eyelids, the absolute agony running through your entire system. He’d planned this perfectly.

This hadn’t fixed anything, but you were too tired to shatter the peace you felt now, even if it was momentary.

“Hope you learned your lesson.”

He attempts to harden, scrutinize you with every ounce of energy he has left. The exertion leaves his head flush against your shoulder, and you run a hand over the scar on his cheek before you’re spent as well. His breath stalls at your touch, and only for a moment, you can feel the skin on his face tug upward.

“Maybe.”

[siconetribal]

Put It On My Tab: Chapter 10

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Tag:

@vbecker10 @wordsfromthemoon @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali

Warning:

Banter, Fluff, Wit, Book-nerdiness, and more floof

Summary:

Everyone deserves time off, and the vigilantes of Gotham are no exception to the rule. The boys decide to take a weekend to let loose. Who knew a few drinks would lead to a stranger in bed?

Author Note:

A huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check the master list for the previous chapters!

Jason watched her turn her mug in circles, press a napkin to make it smooth, and shift her plate as if to find the perfect lighting to make her pastry most photogenic. One half of her lower lip was imprisoned by her teeth, the other half jutting out to the side. It was not hard for him to conclude that she was nervous, which made him curious. What does she have to say about what Cici said? How serious could it be? Maybe she’s embarrassed about the bill? Wait, if she brings it up I can insist on paying!

“So ,” Y/N finally spoke up after what felt like hours of silence. “I have been in a dicey situation because of the Joker and his gang of clowns. Wrong time, wrong place, sorta deal.” She paused again, but shorter this time. “I have been hit by his Joker Venom, but I was treated in time. It was a gas and it wasn’t one of the more lethal variants or long enough exposure to be permanently disabling. It’s…not something I talk about either. Cici wasn't trying to lie or cause trouble the day you came in. She was trying to help me out, because I recognized you.”

Great , she recognized me right away and I was just chasing 1’s and 0’s in a useless IP address! His lips scrunched to the side as he slouched in his seat, his pride was thoroughly bruised. 

“Don't pout, I was having a bad day, well week, and she was just trying to help me jot deal with another thing, and ended up blurting that out. So no, I’m not some lunatic because of it and yes, I’m perfectly normal, because who isn’t a little traumatized when living in Gotham City, right?”

“I would say ‘or insanely rich’, but they tend to be the actual targets and commoners like myself end up in the crosshairs.” She hesitantly added, seeing no flare of anger or annoyance, she sat up and took a bite of her flaky pastry of choice. 

“Are you sure ‘perfectly normal’ is the best term for you?” He grumbled. “You recognized me and did your damndest to be unrecognizable, why? You even got your friend in on it and made me think you're someone,” his voice steadily grew louder and his tone harsher as he sat up straight while she steadily shrank back into her seat, ducking her head to avoid looking at him. Shit , not what I wanted to do! “ Forget it , who am I to get pissed at a little white lie? I’m no stranger to bad days either.” Like being held hostage and left for dead by the Joker. He quickly deflated back in his seat. His foot lightly nudged against hers, making her jump and look up. “I also think anyone who isn't traumatized living here is either off their rocker or they've only just moved in.” His gaze softened as he smiled, coaxing her to relax with him again.

“Being rich comes with its own style of batshit crazy.” He rolled his eyes. Like throwing cash around for giant galas to make yourselves feel better about ‘charity’ which will obviously attract all the other criminals in Gotham. The only difference between them is that one group is considered legal.

 “Speaking of rich, you’re a Wayne, right?” Jason’s eyebrows shot up quickly before crashing down and furrowing together. “Cici told me, I was helping her with the drinks that day and she told me to not call it.” She quickly explained. “But that aside, what do I call you? Little Lordling? Littler Wayne? Wayne Jr the second? Wayne 3.0? There are a bunch of you, right? You're the second one, I suppose you'd be Wayne 2, or are you 3 because Bruce Wayne would be 1?” She thought aloud, watching his left eye twitch with each nickname she came up with. It was still oh so satisfying to see.

“Yes, I am an adopted son of Bruce Wayne and no , you can’t call me any of those.” His voice shook as his smile became a little strained, a little bit of a grumble in the undertones.

“Aww, not even ‘Little Lordling’? I thought that one would’ve won.” She pouted. The way her lower lip puffed and pushed out was adorable, but Jason needed to be strong. There's no way he was going to let anyone call him that. It would be the end of him if any of the other Bats heard of this. “So what do I call you by, oh nameless capeless savior?”

“How about you just call me by my name? Which you could’ve just asked me for instead of doing all this.” He rolled his left hand in the air as he gestured to the oddity that was this conversation

“It is absotively posolutely rude to demand such information! To ask without offering something of equal value is simply barbaric!” She scoffed and he snorted while trying to stop himself from choking on his drink. “Also, where's the fun in that? Now you'll remember me the next time you see me, you won't be so thrown off.” The smug grin on her face was frustratingly adorable and pleasantly annoying, he was not sure if he wanted to wipe it off her face or give her something else to gloat about. 

“And charging someone for asking questions is not memorable enough?” One of his eyebrows rose up in question. “I feel like we’re well past dinner and a movie first.”

“Who says that's my cup of tea? Maybe I'm a video games and books kind of gal?” She raised an eyebrow of her own in challenge to him.

Damn, games and books? “Well you’re in luck. I’m a bit of both myself.” He smirked. 

Oh that is cheating! You can't go looking like this, be a Wayne, and be into those! I’m trying to ask you for 4k, not a wedding ring! Her eyes narrowed as she leaned in closer. “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

“‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen, not bad.” Jason took a bite of his sandwich. Not bad, not bad. “There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm,” he calmly replied.

“‘The Song of the Lark’, huh, ‘a bit’ is what you said, right?” Y/N sat back. “Consider me impressed again, Wonder Boy.”

“Quit calling me that,” he grumbled as his eye twitched.

“I have nothing else to call you.”

“Then call me by name.”

“I don't have your name.”

“You could ask.”

“That’d be rude, of course. We haven’t properly met.” She smirked.

“And how do we properly meet?” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table.

“Dinner and a good book.”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“That depends, do you prefer me to ask or tell?” She leaned in closer as well.

“Doesn’t matter to me, so long as you say yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “I guess it’s settled then. Now all I need is your number.”

“Wait, what? My number?” She sat back a little in surprise.

“Yes, your number, how else am I going to get in touch with you?” He extended a hand towards her and she, still confused at what just happened, robotically handed over said device, the screen unlocked. He quickly sent himself a text through her phone and saved his number in hers. “Thanks, sweetheart, I’ll be sending you the details later. On that note, I gotta run. See ya,” he winked and finished his drink before heading out, Y/N sitting there mouth agape and utterly confused. The bell chimed again before she could even process any of it as she quickly cleaned up and got behind the counter once more, the rev of a motorcycle fading into the distance.

[sky-berrie]

Heartbreak - the batboys

Summary: How the boys (Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian) react (platonic) when you're broken hearted.

A/N: If you're going through heartbreak over a breakup or rejection I'm so sorry that you're hurting right now. I wish I could take your pain away. Although we don’t know each other, I can say with 100% certainty that you have so much to offer, way too much to waste it on someone who can’t/won’t appreciate you.

If you’re suffering right now, please don't give up. You got through yesterday which means you can do it again today. People often say that every day will get easier, but I know that it doesn't always feel like it; there may be good days and bad days and that's okay. Use that as a reminder that feelings, even negative feelings, don't last forever. But on the bad days, please stay strong. You've worked so hard to heal, don't let it go in vain. Progress may be slow and imperceptible from day to day, but progress is progress and I am proud of you.

You deserve all the love and happiness in the world. You deserve someone who will treat you the way you want to be treated. You deserve better and there is much better out there. If you need to hear it from someone else, take it from our BatBoys. Without further ado, here is how the boys react when you’re going through heartbreak.

Dick

If you’re hurting, Dick is hurting. He’ll do anything to help you feel better. He’ll ask you what you need from him, whether that’s someone to talk to or someone to sit in silence with, someone to wallow and eat junk food with, or someone to hit the gym with.

If you want to talk, he’s a great listener. He's patient and lets you vent and circle around and around as many times as you need, but he never lets you put yourself down. He’ll gently challenge your self-deprecating thoughts.

“Why am I not good enough?”

“Y/N,” he says firmly as he turns your shoulders to face him and leans down to connect with your eyes. “You are more than good enough.”

“Then why don't they want me?” you ask as tears pool in your eyes.

Dick shakes his head. His brows knit together in sorrow. “I don't know and we'll never know. Maybe they're going through something difficult that has nothing to do with you. Maybe they're confused. Maybe they're hung up on their ex. Maybe they think you’re too good for them and they got scared. Maybe they're looking for something different at this point in their life. There are so many possibilities but none of them matter because whatever is going through their head doesn't change anything about who you are. You are still the same amazing person that you have always been.”

"If I was so amazing then they would want me."

Dick shakes his head again. "That's like expecting every person in the world to love the same book, movie, song, food, you name it. Who's that comic book character that you're obsessed with? You're always raving about your hot take on why they're the best and how everyone's sleeping on them. Most people don't see their appeal but that doesn't make you love them any less, does it?"

Dick has a point. It's only a select group of people who share your adoration for your favorite character and that has never bothered you. In fact, that makes the character even more special to you.

If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, too. If you'd rather consume an unreasonable amount of junk food, then Dick will clear out the local convenience store and be at your place in five minutes. He won't let you make it a habit because he cares about your health, but sometimes you just need a day to drown your sorrows in sugar.

You’re both in your comfiest clothes sitting on the couch under a fluffy blanket, even if it's 100 degrees outside. You'll just turn on the AC so you can be cozy and snug. You lean against him with your head resting on his shoulder as you eat your favorite snack in dejection. If you want physical comfort, then he'll put an arm around you and hold you close until you've eaten yourself into a sugar coma and fall asleep on him.

Dick worries about you and can't bear the thought of you suffering alone. If you laugh together, you cry together. He will be by your side as much as possible unless you genuinely want/need alone time. Eventually you might start to feel like a burden for taking up his time and disrupting his life, but don't bother pretending to be fine just so he'll stop worrying about you.

You put on your best smile, though you feel it faltering. You hope Dick doesn't notice. "I think I'm good now," you tell him. "That was the last of the tears."

Dick doesn't say anything. He just eyes you, a mixture of concern and contemplation on his face as he evaluates the veracity of your statement.

You try to hold it together just a little longer, but you crack and break down in tears again. Dick pulls you in for another hug. "I'm sorry," you mumble against his chest.

"What for?"

"For being so annoying. You must feel like my babysitter."

"You are not annoying, Y/N. You know I love hanging out with you and I know you'd do the same for me, so please, don't be a hypocrite and just let me be here for you."

Jason

Jason is best at supporting you through the anger stage of your grief. In fact, he will perpetually be in the anger stage on your behalf. If you were cheated on, you best believe that Jason will pay said slimy cheater a special visit. He won’t ever tell you about it because you’re probably going to object, but when your friend tells you that your ex was randomly beaten up the day following your break up, you can make an educated guess as to what happened. Jason knows you don’t approve of violence or revenge but it helps him sleep at night. He hates seeing you cry and if you’re crying, he’s damn well going to make sure they’re crying too.

If you’re ready to talk shit about your ex, Jason is your boy. He has a slew of creative insults to call the person who broke your heart and this man does not hold back. “Y/N, you are way too good for that assmonkey bitchface douchebag. They were lucky you even gave them the fucking time of day. Seriously, you are so fucking far out of their league."

If that weasel has the audacity to beg you to take them back? Over Jason's dead body. You are not wasting a second more on that asshole and Jason will make sure of that. If they call or text, he will not hesitate to colorfully tell them off. If they are brave (read: stupid) enough to show up at your place and unlucky enough that Jason happens to be there, Jason is absolutely going to go berserk on them.

Even if your ex didn't cheat on you, Jason won't want you to take them back. He refuses to let you be someone's convenient option. Jason wants you to be with someone who values you so much that the thought of letting you go never crosses their mind.

If you start missing that person and wanting to contact them, Jason will give you some tough love. He will physically stop you by confiscating your phone or having Tim rig it so that it can't call/text or receive from that number.

“Fuck them, Y/N. They’re trash and you dodged a bullet. Don’t tempt fate now.”

You might be craving the feeling of being wanted and chased and you probably have all sorts of wild fantasies of you and your ex rekindling the relationship. It clouds your judgement and makes you forget about all their many negative qualities.

"But maybe they've changed. What if they really love me and I'm reading it all wrong? What if I'm throwing away something special?" you object.

"Have you lost your goddamned mind? First of all, they're a moron who took you for granted. Unfortunately being moronic is an incurable and terminal illness so it's all downhill from here. Second of all, there's a thousand more just like them. If you really want to waste your time on a jackass, at least pick a new one."

Your head says Jason's right but your heart says otherwise and it's written all over your face.

"Y/N," says Jason, a little softer now. He stands directly in front of you with a serious expression. "I know you're going through hell but I've been there and back. I promise everything will be okay. Walk away with your head held high. Let go of them." Jason offers his hand for you to take. "I've got you."

And with his encouragement, you decide to move on. To help you get through this tough time, his go-to tactic is to distract you with all sorts of activities. It’s 3am and you’re feeling sad? Jason’s over at your place in a heartbeat and you’re going for a drive to get your favorite comfort food in your pajamas. You want Jason to get all dressed up and take you to a gala? Under normal circumstances, he'd rather die again. However, Jason will gladly do that if it means you aren't talking to your ex.

Tim

When you're heartbroken, people invariably tell you don't be sad because everything happens for a reason, be glad that you didn’t waste even more time on them, forget about them and find someone who cares about you. Gee, what splendid ideas; why didn't you think of those before? You know they mean well, but feelings don't go away just because you think they should. As a result, you might act optimistic and upbeat around others to spare yourself the well intended lecture.

However, keeping up the facade gets exhausting. Being social or being around high energy people can become an emotional drain. Sometimes you might want to avoid the entire world, save for Tim. It’s easy to be vulnerable with him because he doesn’t tell you how you should feel. Of course, he doesn't want you to be upset, but he understands that you need to grieve and it's okay to feel sad. Similar to how some people can sit in comfortable silence, Tim can sit in comfortable sadness.

"Did you want to do something today?" asks Tim from the driver's seat.

You shake your head wordlessly. You barely had the energy to leave your home today. Anything else would be too difficult.

"That's fine. We can chill at the manor," he says without judgement. He doesn't make you feel bad for wanting to be a hermit and he doesn't try to force you to get back out there before you're ready.

You follow Tim up to his room and you plop down on his bed. If you want some comfy clothes, Tim will toss you something from his drawers or he’ll grab some of his brothers' or sisters' old clothes.

Tim pulls back the covers for you to crawl under. He tucks you in like a child and kisses your forehead affectionately. It makes you feel loved and for a fleeting moment, the pain is gone.

If you want company, Tim will jump in on the other side and you’ll both be idly scrolling on your phones for a while. However, if you're on your phone, there's a good chance that you'll see something that reminds you of the person who broke your heart. If you don't want to talk about it, Tim won't pry. He'll open his arms in case you want a warm safe place to rest. He might rub soft circles on your back if you don’t mind.

If you do want to talk about it, Tim offers a different perspective. Maybe you're plagued by a million "if only" and "what if" scenarios. Maybe you're stuck on things you did or didn't do.

"I screwed everything up. What if that was my once chance at happiness? I wish I could go back in time and do it differently."

Some people like to focus on the positives. "On the bright side, now you have more time for your hobby." Or, "at least you'll save money on expensive dates and gifts."

They might gravitate to the old cliches, "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," and "there are plenty of fish in the sea." Unfortunately, none of that makes the pain any more bearable.

Instead, Tim focuses on the negatives. He recognizes that you're always going to find something to dwell on but you can use that to your advantage.

“You are the king/queen/champion of pessimism, Y/N. Even if you did exactly what you think you wish you had done, I have full confidence in your pessimistic powers that you would still find something to regret.”

Maybe something about that resonates with you. Maybe you've always struggled with indecisiveness because you're afraid to make the wrong choice. Maybe you've always felt like you're damned if you do and damned if you don't, so picking one seemed impossible. Now you realize if you're damned either way, then there's nothing to worry about.

“You did exactly what you needed to do at the time,” he assures you. "You are exactly where you need to be right now."

Even though you're understandably still sad, something in your heart tells you he's right. Being here with Tim is exactly where you're supposed to be.

Damian

Damian isn't particularly adept at providing physical or emotional comfort. It's not that he doesn't care, it's just that it’s hard for him to empathize. He sincerely wants to be helpful and tries his best but he can be unintentionally blunt and may come across as insensitive sometimes.

“Why do you want to be with someone who does not want to be with you?” he asks. Ouch. That stings. Did he have to phrase it like that?

“I don’t,” you answer, almost defensively.

“Then for what reason are you sad?”

“Because they don’t want me.”

“But you do not want them either,” he points out, not understanding the issue.

“Yeah, I know. It just hurts, okay?” you bite, irritation creeping into your voice.

"I am sorry you are upset but I am not sorry they broke up with you, Y/N."

You're stunned into silence. How could be he so cruel? To kick you when you were already down?

Then he continues. "You are genuine, thoughtful, generous, strong, and brilliant. You are a once in a lifetime soul. And them? They were nothing but a lowly simpleton who lacked the capacity to offer you the rich and meaningful life you deserve. They were foolish to let you go - likely too foolish to ever comprehend what they have lost - but I am relieved that you will not be condemned to an unfulfilling life with such a halfwit. They were merely an albatross around your neck, preventing you from achieving and experiencing far superior things in life."

That might have been the kindest thing he’s ever expressed to you or anyone else. Given how much pain you are going through, it’s probably hard to believe him right now, but you have to admit that he made you feel at least fractionally better.

“Come now, Y/N,” Damian says, tugging on your hand. “Let’s go play with Titus.”

The two of you are sitting on the couch with Titus in between. Titus is keen and quickly picks up on your emotions. He cuddles and nuzzles into your side as you gently stroke his fur. The warmth of his body grounds you and brings you some peace.

If you need a change of scenery, you and Damian take Titus for a walk. During your walk, you might come across something that reminds you of your ex. Maybe you see a cafe that you used to go to with that person. Your eyes linger on the storefront longingly and your whole body deflates at the reminder.

Damian notices your shift in body language. “What is the matter, Y/N?” Damian asks.

You sigh. “Nothing, I just - Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“I will be the judge of that,” he says, a little teasingly. “Tell me,” he demands.

You take a deep breath. “That was my favorite cafe. I introduced them to it and now it's their favorite place, too. I can't go there without thinking of them or worrying that I'll run into them."

"For once you are right. That is stupid."

"Thanks, Damian," you mutter sarcastically.

"Shall we?" He cocks his head at the cafe.

"Shall we what?" you ask in confusion.

"Go in."

You stare blankly at him. Did he not hear what you just said?

Damian explains, "you can introduce me to this cafe and then you can think of me whenever you come across it. Look, they even have a Puppuccino for Titus."

You give him a hesitant expression.

"Come," Damian encourages. He doesn't want your ex to have any bearing on your life anymore. He wants you to reclaim the things you enjoy. "Even Titus is excited to try it." Titus takes his cue and barks enthusiastically.

You take a deep breath and bravely follow them inside. You look around nervously as Damian peruses the menu hanging above the coffee bar. If Damian can sense that you are uneasy, he doesn't acknowledge it. He casually asks you what you recommend as if this coffee run was as mundane as any other coffee run. His calm demeanor eases your nerves and you start to feel more comfortable. You realize that it wasn't nearly as tough as your brain anticipated. Day by day you make new happy memories with Damian and Titus. Little by little the happy memories outshine the sad memories.

[katsumox]

hihi!! idk if ur reqs are still open but :,) thinking about jason coming back from a really bad patrol, like he's all bloody and bruised and shit. cleaning him up even when he insists he's fine and kissing his bruises, just like a lot of comfort. sorry if this makes no sense LMAOO i've never requested something before!! tysm for reading have a nice day <33

thank u for the request my love !!!!!! reqs for jason r always open<333

this is roommate!verse because hngghhhhhh okay anyways !

“Oh honey, I’m home,” a sarcastic modulated voice rings out from the balcony. You don’t even have to look up from your spot on the couch to know it’s Jason.

“Don’t ask me where the redheads are,”he continues, “Thing one and two are off doing… fuck if I know.”

His voice is tight with irritation and poorly disguised pain as he all but limps into the living room.

Your eyes widen at his state before your mind settles into work mode.

“Shirt. Off now,” you say, jogging to the bathroom for the med kit stashed under the sink.

“No warm welcome, huh,” Jason teases as he tosses his helmet to the ground. He hisses as he tugs off his shirt, exposing the bruise-littered expanse of his musculature.

“I’m fine,” he rumbles, “No life threatening cuts or nothin’. Just…” he trails off with a sigh as you apply the cold antiseptic to his wounds.

He shuts himself up, despite the quiet whines of discomfort clawing at his throat. He watches you work as he fights the urge to snake a hand around your waist and keep you there, pressed snugly into him.

“Just one more,” you mutter, tapping at the gash near his jaw, “Wonder Woman bandaid?” You ask, looking up at him with those big doe eyes.

He grunts in confirmation, eyes flitting from your form to something off in the distance.

“Let me kiss it better,” You coo as you press the bandaid to his jaw.

Jason frowns as he looks around the apartment’s living room. It’s dark and empty, save for the two of you.

“Thought we couldn’t do the whole PDA thing in shared spaces,” he rumbles, a smirk playing on his lips, “You’re breaking the rules.”

“Fuck rules,” You hum, “No one gives a shit about rules.”

You press a kiss to Jason’s jaw, right next to the bandaid.

“Fuck rules,” Jason parrots, slinging his strong arms across your hips.

You kiss the J shaped scar on his face before standing on your tip toes to let your lips ghost the yellowing bruise under his eye.

He exhales, watching you intently as you press feathery kisses down his bruised neck and collarbones.

His eyes stay glued to your lips as you kiss the now-scarring wound on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Jason airily murmurs to no one in particular, “No one gives a shit about rules.”

[jvsons]

hiiiii l was wondering of you can do a headcannon/fanfic? of jason todd where the reader is a homo magi (magic-wielding humans like zatanna) l just got back into dc and I'm too scared for my life to read jason todd fanfics 😭so maybe this headcannon/fanfic can encourage me to read more

I’VE GOT YOU, ALWAYS.

JASON TODD X GN! READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 600

— WARNINGS | mentions/use of magic (?), arguing, panic attacks, mentions of jason’s past, mentions of injuries/trauma.

— SUMMARY | even the most hidden wounds can be healed.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | hi!! i am SO sorry i took this long to write. i was totally not ignoring you, just caught up in life and whatnot. i hope you enjoy my take on your request and want to get more into DC!!

He’s hurt. Rough gashes dripping blood on concrete, arms flayed open and soaking through his suit. His expression is nothing more than neutral, staring blankly down at the unconscious bodies around him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he sees you first.

You’re staring. Not at him, but at the blood pooling at his feet. Your eyes are pried open in shock, mouth slightly ajar as you watch it drip.

“Jason, your blood.” You stumble over your words, stepping forward to get a closer look. “You didn’t tell me that you’re…”

It clicks. He attempts to hide himself, but your hand is already on his shoulder, and he can feel your eyes studying, watching the gore that escapes him.

“It’s not important—“

“No, it’s very important.” You interrupt, subconsciously squeezing down on the shoulder that holds him. “Why didn’t you tell me that you had Lazarus in your blood?”

He snaps away from you, eyes sharp, squinting defensively.

“It’s not important.” He repeats, fully turning away from you. “Grab the burner so we can track it.”

You stand your ground. Jason should’ve expected that much of you. He turns around, looking down at you with a frustrated curve of his lips.

“What?”

“Jason.” You start, hands slowly leaving your sides. “I’ve dealt with your kind of blood before. It’s Lazarus tainted; I can fix it.”

Your attempt to reach out to him was immediately shunned, almost as if it was reflexive to him. He stands poised as if he’s facing a threat, yet his eyes reflect wide with fear, hands gently trembling.

“No… I dont— I don’t want,” His words jittered, traveling in a horrid vibrato. “I don’t want it inside of me.”

It’s instinct. The familiarity of you has nearly disappeared. Fear radiates from the core of his being; the smell clings to your senses. He must have contracted the Lazarus in a traumatic way. The thought makes your heart sink.

“You’re bleeding out.”

His hands race to cover the wounds grafting his skin. Another bad response.

“You know me, Jason. Only supernatural affairs.” You smile, lightly shaking your wrists. “It’ll heal your wounds, nothing else. I promise.”

You wait. Agonizing seconds of watching more and more blood spill from his body. When his breathing begins to shallow, you step forward, running a hand down the arm covering his stomach.

“Trust me, okay?”

A few moments pass before he blinks, teeth gritting in the slightest. All resistance from his arm falls, and you gently guide it to rest at his side.

“Okay.”

The process is fast. A few flashes of light and open wounds thread together, leaving only the remaining streaks of spilled blood to coat his skin. You watch as the strain slowly leaves Jason’s face, and his grip tightens on you, stabilizing with the familiarity of your touch.

As you finish, his mouth opens, closing and reopening as he searches for something to say. You stop him by planting your lips against his, running a hand along his arm to pat his hand comfortingly. When you pull away, he’s silent, and you smile.

“I’ve got you, always.”

[kenobers]

nsft alphabet | fem!Jason Todd

but first free palestine !! once more...what the title says ! this time, jason's a woman tw; explicit wlw sexual content, jason's insecurities, afab!reader a/n: this is a lot of the same stuff in the original jason alphabet, but it's all rewritten with lots of new content added. i'm still suffering from writer's block, but fem!Jason is such a powerful muse...

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jason's gonna make sure you're comfortable afterwards. She'll wipe you down, check that she didn't go too far. If you leave afterwards, she'll make sure you get home safe. If you stay, she'll offer you a t-shirt to sleep in. Outside of the actual act of sex, she's incredibly awkward about intimacy, so for a while, she wasn't big on the physical aspect of aftercare. In fact, the first couple of times you came over, you thought she was maybe trying to usher you out of her apartment afterwards. However, as the two of you grow closer, holding you close becomes second nature. It feels so comforting and so right to have her arms around you after driving you to your limits. She's big on eating after sex. If you have enough energy, she'll turn on the tv and order some Chinese or throw a frozen pizza in the oven. Sometimes it's kind of astonishing how the woman will fuck you until you're more than a ragdoll, then immediately demolish like three Big Macs.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

She loves hands. She loves her hands. They're big and strong, they can protect you, please you, provide for you. She adores the way you feel under them, soft and clean. She loves to feel you press against her palm while her fingers disappear inside of you, until the tips of her fingerless gloves tickle your entrance. She loves your hands, the way they feel on her skin. They always look so beautiful against her breasts, which fit so perfectly in your palms. She cherishes every mark your fingernails leave along her back, every sting they leave on her scalp when they twist her hair as her own fingers make your writhe. She loves that your hands can go from caressing her scars to replacing them with a much more loving display.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jason likes to think she can hold out. Well, she can, but she's so damn impulsive. Fuck if she doesn't loves the sight of you, sweaty and panting, with your mouth, thighs and fingers glistening with the proof of how good you make her feel. And yeah, she's a little possessive. The sight of your excitement all over her fills her with a very specific, very strong sense of pride. It makes her want to give in again and again and again.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

She loves having high sex. Drunk sex is so clumsy and disconnected, but when the weed hits just right, so the world reduces to nothing but you...that's that good shit right there. Especially when the mood lights and the playlist are working in tandem...oh man, she gets so locked into you that it's like nothing else exists. You're in your own beautiful universe, creating new constellations with every mark she leaves on your body. She's numb in every place that isn't touching you. It adds a certain level of passion, of desperation, for each of you because your senses are so heightened to each other. There's never any goal in mind, you aren't racing towards an orgasm. It's just the two of you moving against each other, making each other feel so so good. She also likes a little bit of role play. What can she say? The Big Bad Red Hood persona lends itself to the bedroom quite well. It's so cheesy and if it were to ever get out, she'd go on a spree, but she really loves the idea of being your (Arkham) knight and coming to your rescue. Like in a very bodice ripper kind of way - although she would argue it's in a much more gothic romance way.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

She isn't as sexually charged as you would think and she typically waits to get to know a person before having sex with them. And not just because she never knows how to react when someone flirts with her. So in that regard, one of her body counts is significantly higher than the other, but she's had enough experience to know what she's doing. She knows what she likes and she knows how to figure out what you like.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

So long as your legs are hooked over her hips, she's happy. If the strap is on, Jason particularly loves it when she's on her knees while you're on your back with your hips angled over her thick thighs. It lets her get deep inside of you while still getting a good view of your pretty pussy and your gorgeous face. Not to mention, she loves grasping your hips, spreading your legs wide. (According to trusted resource, SexPositions.Club, this is position 5. Aquarius) She also loves having you up against or bent over things. Against a wall, on the kitchen table, the handle bars of her motorcycle. The way you hold onto her in more ways than one really adds something to the moment. And yeah, maybe it allows her to show off her strength to you. But she also loves to make you ride her, whether you're sinking down on her strap or grinding your cunts together. She love love loves to make you work for what you want. The way you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes as you put your back into it, the way your tits bounce like a hypnotist's clock...mmh, she could watch that all day. But don't worry, she'll always make sure you get what you want...and then some.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jason's tone depends on the time and place. For the most part, she's serious. She teases you, lets out a low chuckle when she gets a sought after reaction from you, but it isn't humorous. But sometimes...sex is just incredibly unserious. Like lazy morning sex, when neither of you can be bothered to do much more than stroke each other. Like you're horny, but Jason looks so goofy with her hair sticking up and you're a real beauty queen with your crusty eyes and that fuckass alarm keeps going off. Or the aforementioned high sex, when both of you are so lost in your pleasure and laughter. One time she said the word "clitty" and giggled about it until she fell asleep. Then giggled some more when she woke up.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

She lives and dies by the dark curls. Maybe she'll trim here and there, but she lives free.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jason doesn't take sex lightly. It's either a tool or a declaration of love (no matter how lazy). If she's using sex as a tool, she isn't going to be very intimate. She'll praise you, sing songs about your body, but it isn't going to be very personal. She's going to bounce you on her strap to keep some distance between you. However, when you're in an established relationship, she's very intimate. There's much more kissing and eye contact, lots more "that's my baby" instead of "that's it, baby". She'll press every inch of her warm body against you, invite you to see and feel every part of her.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Oh yeah. Usually only if you're gone though. She'd rather have the real deal, but if she can't have you and thinks about you for too long, she'll help herself. It's never as satisfying as she hopes, but it gets the job partially done.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jason's kinks are sort of a revolving door. She likes to go rougher and she likes to be in charge typically, but everything else is dependent on your moods. One day she'll blindfold you, the next you'll tie her hands together while she gives you orders you have to follow on your own. She lowkey likes being called daddy and sometimes she'll promise to make you a mommy when she really gets going with the strap. But mostly, she just likes to hear you cry out Jason. She also gets a thrill out of doing it with the Red Hood mask on - and she'd be lying if the whole "Oh, Red Hood, my knight in bloody armor, what are you doing my bedroom at this hour?" routine didn't work for her. She's also got a praise kink. There's nothing that gets her going more than hearing you babble about how good she's making you feel, about how much you love her. It goes the other way as well. She loves to tell you how good you feel, how beautiful you are.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Where ever the mood strikes. Generally speaking, her apartment is her favorite place. There isn't a particular room, she just likes the knowledge that this is your space to do as you please. But she does get a little thrill whenever you manage to do it somewhere risky.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's cliche as hell, but the sight of you in red really does work wonders for her. Whenever she notices that that little red thong is missing from your underwear drawer in the morning...it's all she'll think about all day. If she can see your nipples through your shirt, it's over. If you don't already own one, trust that she'll buy you a tight little red satin party dress - one with an open back, so you can't wear a bra with it. Watching you doing or say something intelligent is a huge turn on. Watching you get impassioned is her own personal kryptonite. She likes to watch you work for it. The way you oh-so-conspicuously bend over to pick something up or shiver so your chest sticks out. Make a suggestive face as you drop an innuendo only she understands and she'll see to it that your efforts don't go unrewarded. But also the sight of you all helpless and needy...she knows it isn't very feminist, but fuck if it isn't sexy as hell.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

She's not a voyeur. If she's gonna do it in a public setting, it's gonna be in a closet or a bathroom stall; somewhere that still shields your bodies from prying eyes. That's just for the two of you. It's fun to risk getting caught and she loves the thrill of it, but only so long as she can pull the "do you know who my father is" or "can you not see I'm thee Red Hood" cards should you actually get caught. She's also not going to do anything that could result in you being injured. Maybe in concept, like if you wanted to suck on her gun or have her wrap a hand around your throat, but she's not going to make you bleed. She's also not going to hit you anywhere but your fine little ass.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jason is nothing, if not a giver. Just lay back and let her take care of it, baby. She can spend hours between your legs, holding your thighs wide open and high. Her tongue knows just where to work you, she knows just how much teeth you like, where the biting boarders on pain. And if her fingers aren't right next to her mouth, they're kneading your skin, raking her nails across your stomach with a featherlight touch, massaging the kinks in your thighs so you can open them a little more. If nothing else, her mouth and hands can cover a lot of ground. Once she's secure in your sexual relationship, she'll rarely say no to allow your own bite to eat. It secretly made her giddy when she realized you had every inch of her cunt committed to memory...but anyways, she likes to sit on your face or have you kneeling on the ground when you eat her out (although she leans towards the first option, unless she's feeling real cocky).

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jason likes it fast and rough. She'll drag out foreplay to her heart's content, but once you're good and ready, she's fucking you like her life depends on it. Then she's flipping you over and doing it again. You're going to bounce on that strap like it's a damn trampoline. That said, she has her slow and sensual moments. After a rough night when she's feeling particularly sentimental and grateful for you, she'll take all the time in the world just to watch you underneath. She'll just soak in the feeling of your warm cunt on hers, cooing about how lucky she is that you even let her glance your way.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Pro quickie, but usually if it's an appetizer for what comes later on. So, most of the time quickies look like her fingers sneaking down your pants during your lunch break, her head between your thighs in the bathroom at a charity event, or you on your knee taking care of her before patrol like it's not going to leave her twitching for the rest of the night.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As mentioned earlier, her kinks are a revolving door, so she would be down to experiment. She's pretty good about saying no when she needs to, and if she trusts that you can do the same, then she's open to trying new risks.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

No one recovers like this menace. She can go for as many rounds as your heart desires. Unless she's already been yearning the whole damn day, Jason can last until the cows come home. That's part of the reason she lets herself give in so easily - she knows she'll bounce back.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

She has toys, but nothing fancy. She has a little pocket vibrator she bought from Target on a whim (and was very embarrassed to discover could not be purchased via self checkout). She invested in a bigger one when your relationship became official. The real crown jewels are her small collection of strap-ons. It started out as a joke, where she'd come across a ridiculous dildo and buy it, thinking it was funny because...well, when would you even use something like this. But then she got with you and realized she did, in fact, have occasion to use them. She's got a double ended up she'll use on herself, but mostly their appeal for her is about how they look going into you. She'd rather you use a vibe on her.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

She likes to tease up to a certain point. If you're out doing something, she'll keep sliding her hand higher and higher up your thigh, then pull away completely, or lean down to say something to you so that her breath hits your neck in that one sensitive spot. She wear a sports bra that's just a smidge too small as a top and make a phony complaint about how she's got a knot in her shoulder so she can arch her back and stick her chest out... But once your clothes are off, she can only restrain herself for so long. Although she does like to make you beg before she lets you finish sometimes.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Low groans and swears. Her mouth as a mind of its own when she really gets going as she praises you, teases, calls out to you. You're her Baby, her Pretty Thing, her Gorgeous Girl, so so good for her, taking it all like this. Oooh. Look. At. You. Sometimes she surprises herself with what comes out of her mouth. You can always tell when she's close because her panting turns to grunts, her sweet nothings become more intense as they strain between her teeth.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

She's secretly a little self conscious about her body, particularly about her scars. Like, yeah, she's big and muscly and people always say they dig scars, but...some of hers are, like, real nasty. Not to mention, that some of them have triggering memories attached to them. She finds her autopsy scar to be especially gross. It takes up so much of Her torso and it doesn't seem to want to fade like the rest of her marks tend to do. Not to mention that it's hard not to compare herself to other smaller, softer, cleaner women. So for a while when you first started having sex, she found ways around taking her shirt off. And if it did come off, it was in the dark. It takes a lot of proving just how divine you find her goddess-like body before she really lets you get a good look at her. Once she works up the courage to finally show you all of her in proper light, she's surprised when you're more fascinated with it than anything. She can't suppress the shiver that runs down her spine when you press your lips to the crux of that T-shaped stamp. She probably won't ever love her scars, but she'll always adore the way you treat them.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Jason Todd is easily over six foot with never-ending muscles, tits designed by Aphrodite herself and a side of love handles in every iteration. This one is no exception.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Her libido is strong for you. As previously stated, she's not as sex charged as you would think, but she does have a strong desire for you. She initiates sex fairly regularly, but she doesn't feel the need to have you bent over 24/7. She is very touchy though. She can't help it, she's anxious.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

She almost always waits until you fall asleep. If you manage to fall asleep quickly, then she'll follow suit typically, especially if she's spooning you. She's putting American Dad on for background noise though.

♡ i see your reblogs ladies, and they make me smile ♡

[i-yap]

Jason thoughts with reader

unlike dick, he NEEDS PDA. just hold onto his arm, hand , ( may make a post on this specifically if u guys want?) . will randomly come behind you and place his head on your shoulder and glare at whoever stole your attention from him. will make u sit on his lap, will makeout with you ( but will hide you from public view Ex. have u pressed against a wall while he kisses you his tall frame hiding you from view) Refuses to leave you even for a second, hates being with other people when u guys can just be alone together.

wants to do childish stuff with you or likes it when u make him do childish stuff. acting like kids in love, running around being free and happy and together . he never rlly had all that before meeting you .

stares...a lot. after a long crime fighting night he is sitting on the kitchen stool watching u make your morning coffee and he just feels so warm and in love ...its like chocking on sunshine. He gets so overwhelmed by it he just needs to look away for a second to pull himself together. He wont ever tell you why he is staring ..may make a stupid quip like " just wondering why your face so weird" " weren't you just quoting me poetry on how my face rivals heavens last night jay?" "no shutup ur delusional".

Which brings me to - playful roasting. oh god he will roast u all the time but you can always tell he is joking. has that stupid smirk and even a small stutter sometimes. Cause he wanted to tell you he loves when u hug him and it may just heal him but instead he says " Le-leave me you si-silly uh MONKEY..yea monkey" but he is holding you so tight and blushing like crazy.

doesn't sexually tease you, straight up says the most vulgar things very randomly like " damn this dressing table looks nice, we could get a mirror too so that I can see your tits as I fuck you from behind on this thing " at a home depot. does not care where you guys are. does not blush, does not smile its like he is straight up listing facts.

Jason blushes a lot . catch him off guard and he is red as a tomato

you guys seem to really prefer jason over dick and the other characters..sad sort of I like writing dick a lot .

[love-bugsy]

trouble | jason todd

the worst thing about love

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

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tw: no editing, allusions to character death, (haphazard) depictions of grief, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, completely ooc Jason bc he’s just my lil guy, medical terminology learned from greys anatomy lol

only jerks steal other people’s writing and mine isn’t even that good so no reposts

The paint on your door is chipping, some of it flaking off when you shove it in that particular way to unstick the lock, dropping your keys on the side table in your entryway. Your eyes flick down to your watch, bleary eyes reading that you’ll only get a solid four hours of sleep tonight - by fault of a sadistic attending with a mountain of charts. Still half-asleep, you lock your door, habitually double-checking the deadbolt. Good ol’ Gotham. Taking a single step into your apartment, you freeze. Faint sound echoes from the living room; your TV is on.

Cold fear spills down your spine - you aren’t under any delusions that your neighbourhood is safe, but people here usually keep to themselves. You pull your baseball bat out of the umbrella stand by the door, clammy palms gripping the barrel too tightly. Wielding the bat haphazardly, you creep into your living room.

Old cartoon reruns play tinnily on your shitty TV, the nostalgia doing nothing to calm the prickling anxiety that crawls up the sides of your neck. Rounding the corner fully, you brace yourself for a murderous intruder to leap out at you; heartbeat in your throat.

Instead, your anxious heaving is broken by a gruff mumble from a lump taking up half of your couch. Fucking Red Hood. It’s the third time this month. Shoulders sagging, you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut like he’ll disappear when you’re not looking. You swear that mask glints at you mockingly when you look up again. You set the bat down, pulling off your coat and unwinding the maroon scarf around your neck. You’re being influenced, birdie.

You approach the couch, stepping around muddy boot prints to turn the television off. You drop your bag against the coffee table and slot yourself between Red Hood’s wide-spread legs. He’s slumped upright in the middle of your couch, one arm slung out over the back; scuffed leather jacket chucked over the other side. Something stutters in your chest at the sight of him taking up so much space in your home; the evidence of his presence.

You think he’s unconscious at first, but there’s a tenseness to his shoulders still; a rigidity you’ve seen lax when he was bleeding on your living room floor. The sight of him so relaxed spurs you into a bit of a panic - you doubt he would ever be so unguarded unless he had a serious injury.

Reaching out, you feel around his torso, frowning at the rough patch of dried blood seeping from his left shoulder. You unbuckle his makeshift pauldron and hunt around in your work bag for a pair of scissors to cut away his sleeve. You’re leaning over him with the scissors when he huffs, head shifting in his sleep. You flinch - nearly nicking him - and draw back holding the scissors a safe distance away.

“Shit!” You gasp out, as his mask lifts to meet your eyes. He lets out a gravelly laugh at your shock and you frown, taking your scissors to his sleeve again.

“Not gonna buy me dinner first?” He rasps drowsily. You can hear the shit-eating grin he’s sporting under the mask and you shoot him a dry look - fighting a smile as you gently pull his sleeve away. Pursing your lips at the dried blood caking his shoulder, you press around to find the wound, pausing when he draws in a sharp breath. You raise an incredulous brow.

“Is this a bullet wound?” You don’t know how he manages to look sheepish from behind the mask. He winces when you start cleaning away blood with an alcohol wipe.

“You should… shit- you should see the other guy.” You purse your lips a little, focused on cleaning the wound. Occasionally, he huffs when you get a little too close to his injury. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from scolding him for getting shot in the first place. You should examine him impartially - years of training scream that one oversight could be fatal - instead, you slip up into something instinctual; something gentle.

“Jesus, Red… this is… how the hell have you been keeping yourself alive?” For some reason this yanks a dry, barking laugh from him. That damn familiar laugh. You just can’t place it.

“You’d be surprised.” You give him as flat a look as you can manage, absently gnawing on your bottom lip as you examine his injuries. He flattens his head against the back of your couch, staring stoically up at the ceiling as you prod around the bullet wound. You yank your phone out of your pocket, aiming the weak flashlight at his shoulder. Shit. Bullet’s still in there.

He lifts his head when you turn your back to him, putting your phone down to grab what you need. You shoot him an apologetic look, “Got a bullet in there, Red.” He grunts, shifting so his shoulder is angled towards you. You pull on a pair of rubber gloves, dousing the palms in Betadine. “This is gonna hurt.” He huffs out an amused breath.

“Always does.” You lay a repentant hand on his other shoulder before digging your fingers into his wound, trying to find the shell. His breathing starts to get more laboured, his head lolling back a little. Wincing in his stead, you pull out what’s left of the bullet, wiping it off to see if there’s shrapnel still in his shoulder.

“You’re lucky, this looks intact.” You feel the way he looks at you, biting your bottom lip to hold in a laugh. He is less amused.

“Lucky, huh?” He says, gaze locked on the bullet as you hand it back to him - clean of his blood. Taking it in his good hand, he fiddles with it as you dig around for bandages in your first aid kit; you’re starting to run out. You find the bandages at the same time as you find your response; part fond, part disciplinary.

“Just be glad you don’t need stitches.” His head shifts slightly and you get the distinct feeling he’s trying to read you. He’s silent for a long while after, watching you bandage his injury quietly.

Not for the first time, you’re unsettled by the blank slate of his mask; you don’t like that you can’t figure him out. His anonymity makes the silence unnerving.

“So… you gonna tell me how you got shot?” He just looks at you, mask hiding any indication of his response.

“My self-preservation skills aren’t all that honed.” You can’t help the snort that escapes you at that, covering your mouth with both hands in embarrassment. You have to look away at how intensely he’s staring at you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you go back to securing his bandages.

“I noticed.” You mean for it to sound dry but you can’t fight the little smile that betrays you. You’re getting too comfortable with him, forgetting that he’s a killer, forgetting that he’s a criminal, forgetting that he isn’t him. Maybe that’s why you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Reminds me of someone I used to know.” Stupid.

“Never heard that one before. Maybe you should introduce us.” His tone is joking, but you tense up all the same.

“No.” You say, tightly, averting your eyes. It’s cold, and mean. You grit your teeth to stop the flood of memories. Red doesn’t notice.

“Ashamed of me are ya?” He teases, voice rumbling out of his modulator. The sound is somehow twisted, grating against your ears. Unknowingly wrenching up a buried grief into the pit of your stomach; kicking dirt in a minefield.

“He’s dead.” You marvel at how cold you sound, how detached, when your chest is tight with a phantom pain. He shifts up immediately, sobering in an instant. He reaches out a gloved hand, gently pulling your wrist from where you’d unconsciously crossed your arms. He rubs an apologetic circle into your pulse point.

“Shit, sorry.” You look away, though you know it’s unfair. He winces. “I didn’t- I’m…”

“... sorry.” You nearly drop the tray of dirty dishes you're carrying at the sight of Jason in your door; hand cradling his profusely bleeding nose. Shoving the tray onto the closest table, you sit him down at a chair behind the counter and wander off to find a clean towel. Wetting it under the sink, you sigh, nudging his hand away to tenderly daub at the blood under his nose.

The silence stretches, broken only by Jason’s foot tapping on the floor as he fidgets in the chair. He winces when you bring your hand up to check his nose and you snap.

“If this was one of those Castor boys again, I’m gonna kill ‘em.” That pulls a little smile out of him, imagining you up against those 6 foot ogres. You don’t think even the Gotham in you could give you a fighting chance with those two.

“S’okay. Can handle it.” Little crease between his brows. You sigh fondly, running a curious finger over the tiny scar on his cheekbone. If you were paying a little more attention, you might have noticed the red flush crawling up his neck at your touch.

“I know that. Doesn’t mean you should.”

“Sorry I… it just makes me so angry- I,” he huffs in a tight breath, like he can’t get enough air in, “I can’t stop myself.” You frown, torn between being angry at him or with him.

“I don’t want you to apologise, blue, just,” you draw in a pensive breath, brows furrowed, “They got you bad this time.”

“They were jumping a kid, ‘dee, couldn’t stand by and watch.” His hands are as restless as his bouncing leg and you feel a twinge of endearment and jealousy all at once. He’s always moving, so much that sometimes you feel like you’re at a standstill; only a matter of time before he leaves you behind - grit in your teeth and grit in your heart. But today, he’s your best friend and he could’ve gone anywhere, but he’s here. You wrinkle your nose, worry creasing your forehead.

“You and your hero complex.” You hand him the bloody cloth to fiddle with, before gingerly checking his nose again - barely ghosting your fingertips over his nose. You didn’t know - back then - what being careful meant - to him, to you - you just knew you meant it. Your eyes are locked on his nose when you speak again, “S’gonna get you killed one day.”

He narrows his eyes at you, head tilted to the side - a language you aren’t fluent in yet. He’s serious for a long moment, watching you dart your eyes away and begin to pick at the skin peeling off your fingers. His brows loosen.

“Not when I got you lookin’ out for me, birdie.” He shoots you a toothy grin - god, you love his grin. All his teeth bared like he never learned how to smile properly. You always want to make him smile like that. Still, you can’t help the way your brows knot up, jaw tight as you watch a trickle of blood drip from his nose.

“I’m tired of watching you get hurt, Jay.” The lump in your throat makes the words come out thick; the fear makes them small. Despite your best efforts to hide them, stubborn tears pool on your lashes as you blink furiously. Jason looks devastated.

“Shit.” He brings his free hand up to take your wrist, rubbing comforting circles against your pulse. (An effort to stop your tears that only makes them fall harder.) “I’m… I’m not used to people worrying about me. I’m sorry. Fuck, please don’t cry, I hate it when ya cry.”

You let out a watery laugh, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. The little voice that tells you you’re going to lose him one day. You must look utterly pathetic when you meet his gaze because he pulls you into a tight hug, tucking your head into his shoulder as you cry.

Distantly you recognise the uncomfortable position you’re folded in, nearly bent in half to press your face into his neck, his shoulders pushing against yours. You don’t know how long the hug lasts - a lifetime in a minute and a half - but when you finally pull back, eyes puffy and red, Jason hangs on to your wrist, thumb brushing the hollow where your hand meets your wrist.

“I got your shirt all wet,” you say, laughing self consciously, “I’m sorry.” Jason just shakes his head, grinning sheepishly.

“I got blood on yours.” You nearly get whiplash from how fast your head turns to your shoulder, which now sports a deep maroon splotch. Gross, nose blood. He laughs heartily at your expression, “Guess we’re even then, birdie?” You roll your eyes, pulling your hand from his grip to cross your arms over your chest, raising a brow when he pouts in return.

His eyes dart between your unamused expression and the clock behind your head, smile faltering a little. He has to go. You hold out a hand for the cloth and he jumps up - his constant energy is a marvel - dropping the bloodied tea towel in your open palm. He runs his hand under his nose, smearing a last drop of blood over his upper lip.

You stop him as he’s about to leave, running the clean corner of the cloth gently over his mouth to wipe away the mark. He looks straight into your worried gaze, bringing up a finger to smooth the crease between your brows. “Hey, birdie, no wrinkles over me.” Your mouth twists.

“S’you and me, ‘dee, promise. Not gonna go anywhere else.” Jason holds out his hand, pinky outstretched. He cocks his head with that stupid, glorious grin of his. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.” You roll your eyes, wrapping his finger in yours.

“You and me, blue.”

“Doc?” You jolt back into the present, hands frozen over the clip you’re securing Red’s bandage with. His hand is still wrapped carefully around your wrist and you yank it back - face heating - letting his hand fall forlornly by his side.

“Shit, sorry, I- sorry.” You finish your, somewhat shoddy, job, chucking your supplies back into your bag haphazardly.

“You okay over there?” With your back to him, you hum a less than convincing agreement that he seems to believe. You hear him rustling about behind while you zip up your bag, and assume he’s getting ready to sneak out your window, leaving you with only traces of him until he fucks up on patrol again.

Instead, when you turn around, he’s holding out a scratched up burner phone, mask tilted. You shoot him a confused look, taking the phone into your hands.

“What… am I doing with this?” He laughs, and you fight the heat rising in your cheeks at the sound.

“You know, for someone so smart, you’re pretty dense sometimes.” Now your face really does feel hot, brows furrowing at his chastisement. He chuckles at your quiet indignation, pushing the phone closer to you, “Your number, pretty girl, so you don’t get scared half to death next time I show up.” You fumble the phone, glancing between him and it as you enter your phone number. You tuck your hair behind your ear as you hand it back to him, crossing your arms again.

“Next time, huh?” You think he might be smiling under the mask, though you’d never be able to tell.

“Not getting rid of me that easily, doc.” He gets up, dusting off invisible dirt from his pants. Absently, you follow him over to your window, sweeping up his leather jacket before he can. When you hand it to him, your hands brush - a cliche jolt sparking up your arm when you touch him. He looks away as he takes it.

Red ducks out of your apartment and onto the fire escape, putting the jacket on fluidly and adjusting his mask. He gives you a little mock salute and you shake your head, biting back a smile.

“Don’t text me unless it’s an emergency.” You say, not meaning it at all.

“Swear on m’life.” He returns, fingers crossed behind his back. He turns after a last, charged stare, grasping the railing with his good arm. Flustered, you scramble, not one to let him have the last word.

You lean out of your window as he swings, one-armed (christ almighty, your knees might be weak), down onto the fire escape below. “You can use my door, you know!”

He meets your stare from below, as you hang half out of your apartment. He belts out a chesty laugh, “Now where’s the fun in that?” He swings over the fire escape, and disappears into the night.

Oh yeah, you’re in trouble.

some “emergency” texts:

y’all I wish I had an excuse but the truth is just that I have adhd and I got really into pjo haha, uh so here’s chapter 3. it’s not great but it is done so I hope you guys enjoy it, gonna make less promises about my fucked up schedule now lol.

with love, bugsy :)