#Jason Todd angst

[blu3n]

https://x.com/_red_insomniac?s=21

OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

IS MY MAAAAAAAN

Artist : INSOMNIC. (I don't know if it's Instagram or Twitter.)

R

E

D

[cupidsworstcrime]

Jason Todd x reader

angst angst angst

contains character death & non descriptive smut

Jason didn’t plan on it.

He stood at the edge of the Lazarus Pit, hands clenched, shaking, mouth drawn into something tight and desperate. You looked so small wrapped in that sheet, like sleep had stolen you away. Like all you needed was someone to shake you awake.

And God, he wanted to be that someone.

He shouldn’t have brought you here. He knew the price. He lived the price. The Pit doesn’t give without taking—but Jason? Jason had never been good at letting go.

But there you were—too still, too quiet. Your blood was already drying on his shirt.

He was shaking when he knelt beside your body, brushing your hair back with hands that hadn’t stopped trembling since he'd found you.

But he couldn't bury you. Not when he had a way to bring you back. Not when he needed you breathing, fighting, yelling at him for leaving the milk out again. He couldn’t live in a world that didn’t have you in it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kneeling beside your still form. “You’d hate me for this. You should.”

But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t walk away. Couldn’t live in a world where you didn’t exist.

So he did what he swore never to do to anyone else.

When your body hit the Lazarus waters, he held his breath.

And when you screamed—raw, unnatural, rage and confusion and pain—he was there. Hands grabbing, arms wrapping, holding you like he could anchor you back to yourself.

“I’ve got you,” he said, over and over, voice cracking. “I’m here, baby, I’m here, I’m sorry—”

You thrashed, nails raking down his arm, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t flinch. Just kept whispering your name like a prayer. Like penance.

Because he brought you back.

And now he’d have to earn you back, piece by piece.

You didn’t speak much in those first few weeks. Not in words, at least.

But your fury—that spoke loud enough.

Jason never blamed you. Couldn’t. Not when he recognized every scream, every punch, every shattered glass as something he’d once done, too. Rage so big it didn’t fit in your chest. Pain so loud you wanted to rip your skin off just to make it stop.

You punched holes in the walls of his apartment. Tore doors off hinges. Broke a mirror with your bare hands and left a trail of blood in your wake. You’d taken swings at Jason—hard ones—more times than he could count, fists cracking into his jaw, chest, shoulder. Sometimes you hit until you cried. Other times, you hit until you laughed.

Once, you collapsed into his arms mid-swing, shaking. He caught you without hesitation.

He never hit back.

He never even raised his voice.

He just let you rage—because he knew what it was like to drown in it. Knew that if someone had let him fall apart instead of holding him together too soon, maybe it wouldn’t have taken years to find himself again.

So he gave you space.

And when you let him, he gave you comfort.

Bandaged your hands.

Cleaned the blood.

Laid on the floor beside you in silence when you refused to sleep in a bed.

And every night, when you were finally still, he’d whisper quietly into the dark:

“I’m here. You don’t have to come back all at once… just come back to me.”

He wanted you—God, he wanted you.

But when it finally happened again, after all the pain, the months of silence broken only by the sound of your fury... Jason was terrified.

Not because he doubted you. Not because he didn’t want to be touched, to feel your skin on his, your breath in his mouth. No. He feared what it meant. What you might become. What he might’ve done to you when he dragged you back from the dead.

You didn’t kiss him gently. Didn’t ask permission. You growled, low in your throat, and shoved him backward onto the mattress like your body had decided for you.

Your eyes flashed neon green in the dark, glowing Lazarus-pit rage bubbling just under the surface as you climbed on top of him and took what you needed.

He could barely breathe as you rode him—hips frantic, body hot, fingers gripping his shoulders like he’d disappear if you let go. There was nothing slow or romantic about it. You were feral. Animalistic. Like you wanted to crawl inside him and live there.

Jason gasped your name like a prayer, eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest.

But he didn’t stop you.

Because deep down—beneath the green, beneath the grief—was you. His. Alive. Shaking. Needing him like breath.

And if this was how you came back to yourself, he'd let you take everything.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Jason heard the crack before he saw it—the wet, final snap of a neck under your boot. Some nobody from Crime Alley. Petty dealer. Pulled a knife on you. You didn’t hesitate.

By the time he caught up, you were standing over the body, panting, your fists bloodied and your face unreadable. There was no Lazarus Pit in your veins now, no bubbling madness to blame, your eyes didn't glow with that rage he'd come to know. This was you. Cold. Calculated.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, smearing blood across your cheek like war paint. You didn’t even look at him.

And that was when it hit Jason.

This wasn’t the person he brought back. Not entirely. He hadn’t revived you—he’d dragged a ghost from the pit and tried to make it fit in your skin.

You were broken. Different. And it was his fault.

He wanted to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t work. He could only stare—at the body, at your trembling hands, at the hollow in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He loved you so much it hurt. And now… he wasn’t sure he’d saved you. Only that he’d damned you both.

You didn’t speak for months—maybe a year and then some.

Not after the pit. Not after the screaming stopped. Not after the rage burned through every cell in your body and left you hollow. You were breathing, moving, existing—but the part of you that laughed, touched, loved—it hadn’t clawed its way back with you.

Jason stayed close. He always did. Quiet, patient, too afraid to ask if you still hated him for what he’d done.

And then one night, while the city moaned outside and the lights flickered low in your shared apartment, you looked at him. Really looked.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, knees tucked to your chest, fingers twitching like they ached to wrap around something sharp. He sat across the room, still in his gear, helmet on the nightstand, staring at your reflection in the window.

“Why?” you asked.

Soft. Raw. Like it hurt to speak.

Jason’s breath caught. He blinked once, twice, like maybe he imagined it.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t need to.

“Why… why would you do it?”

And god, the guilt that crashed through him could’ve drowned an army. He wanted to lie. To tell you he did it because it was right, because you deserved life. But instead, all he could whisper, hoarse and small, was—

“Because I couldn’t do it without you.”

And that silence that followed? It wasn’t forgiving. It was empty and cold. Unnerving.

Jason watched you sleep like he was waiting for you to vanish again.

The curve of your spine, the way your hand twitched even in rest—tension always thrumming beneath the surface, even now. Especially now.

You weren’t the same person he had fallen in love with. That person had laughed too loudly at reality shows and made him sit through every damn episode with them. That person had read novels faster than he could keep up and left little annotations in the margins just for him. That person painted when the nightmares got too loud, smeared color on canvas instead of blood on skin.

But the Pit had taken that from you. He had taken that from you.

Now, you couldn’t sit still long enough to read, your eyes skipping over words like they meant nothing. You abandoned your paints after one attempt ended in a smashed easel and red—real red, not acrylic—on the walls. You hadn’t smiled at a dumb TV show since you rose.

Now, you lived for vengeance. Slept with it curled beside you like a loyal dog. Ate in silence. Breathed like your lungs were filled with acid and you were still trying to cough it all out. You were hunting al Ghul. Hunting anyone who had a hand in your resurrection. And he didn’t blame you.

Not for a second.

Because he had done it. He had pulled you back. He had clawed you from peace and dropped you into fire because he couldn’t bear to live in a world where you didn’t exist.

And now you did—but only halfway. And it was killing him slowly, watching you burn from the inside out while he could do nothing but stay close enough to catch the embers.

The blood on your hands had long since dried, but the weight of it never left. Your boots echoed in the silence of the apartment as you walked toward him—Jason Todd, the man who ruined you in the name of love.

He didn’t fight.

Didn’t plead, didn’t run. Just looked at you with those tired blue eyes, like he’d known this moment was coming from the second you clawed your way out of the Lazarus Pit, screaming and spitting fire.

He sank to his knees in front of you like it was a prayer.

Like it was penance.

Even then, he looked at you with a kind of reverence that only made your rage burn hotter. Because he loved you. Because you loved him. In your way. In the only way you knew how anymore—with rage on your lips.

The barrel was cold against his forehead. Jason didn’t flinch.

He didn’t beg.

There were no dramatic last words. No 'I love you's, no 'I'm sorry's. Just the two of you—standing in the wreckage of everything you'd once shared. Blood on your hands. Ash in your lungs. A silence between you so thick it made the air feel unbreathable.

Your hand didn’t shake.

He watched you like he always had—eyes soft even as his lip split from the last kiss you gave him, like love could taste like copper and regret. He had taken you from death once. Dragged you back into a world that didn’t deserve you, and made you into something it feared. And now—

Now you were ready to return the favor.

You leaned in, whispering against his ear like a benediction: “I hope God forgives you. Because I can’t.”

And he believed you.

And he didn’t stop you.

When the trigger clicked, and the world went white behind his eyes—he didn’t feel pain.

He felt peace.

Finality.

And for once, Jason Todd didn’t come back.

[jellofish-plant]

Burnt Pancakes and Leather Jackets

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Genre: Fluff, Domestic, Humor Warnings: None (unless you count bad cooking)

[Masterlist]

You woke up to the smell of something burning.

For a split second, panic surged through your chest until you remembered who you lived with. You tossed the covers off and padded down the hall in your fuzzy socks, following the unmistakable scent of smoke and… syrup?

The scene in the kitchen was exactly what you expected: Jason Todd standing in front of the stove shirtless, wearing plaid pajama pants and your pink apron that said “Kiss the Cook (or Else).” He had a spatula in one hand and a very blackened pancake in the other, staring at it like it had personally betrayed him.

“Morning, chef,” you said, stifling a laugh.

He glanced over his shoulder, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Morning, babe. I made you breakfast.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You made me charcoal.”

“I attempted pancakes. That’s basically the same thing.”

You walked over and peeked at the plate. A stack of three pancakes two burned, one undercooked. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Jason leaned in and pressed a syrup-flavored kiss to your cheek. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

You grabbed a fork anyway, cutting off the least offensive corner. “Mm. Crunchy.”

“Crunchy’s good!” he argued. “It’s, uh, texture.”

“Jason, it’s a pancake, not a Michelin star experience.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in as you half-heartedly chewed your bite. “Hey, admit it you like waking up to me nearly burning down the kitchen.”

You leaned against him, looking up. “I like waking up to you. The chaos is just a bonus.”

Jason smirked, eyes softening as he brushed a crumb off your lip. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever come home to.”

You poked his chest. “Flattery doesn’t make these edible.”

“Damn. Guess I’ll just have to keep trying then.”

You both stood there in your little kitchen, the morning sun slanting through the window, casting warm light over the disaster zone. It wasn’t perfect but it was yours. Together.

And Jason, for all his vigilante grit and brooding charm, was exactly where he wanted to be: at home, with you, laughing over burnt pancakes.

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo 

@a-brilliante-mariposa

@fandomtrashsblog

[preciouslilmonster]

does god cry when it rains?

jason todd x tired college! female reader

⋆.˚ warnings: ANGSTY (mentions of depression, anxiety and grief) and a lil suggestive MDNI!

⋆.˚ desc: totally inspired on Nessa Barrett's song! jason comes back to reader's life, he's not the same but so isn't she.

⋆.˚ notes: this is my first published drabble (writing tbh) ever, i was inspired by many of my hyperfixations before but Jason Todd broke me :) english is not my first language so if something sounds off thats why

hope you enjoy!

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back then he had berated you endlessly about walking in the streets of Gotham this late all by yourself. you would snark back reminding him that you too had grown in these eerie streets. he would roll his eyes.

for some years now, he wasn't here anymore. so you had let yourself stay in the library into the thick dark night, only to give up mid study-session and find the quickest route home to recover from the sleep deprivation which was most certainly affecting you.

as you walked the heavy rain filled the atmosphere and the ghoul figures of Gotham were hiding from the wrath of the skies. or so you though. out of nowhere something yanked your backpack sideways with enough strength to send you flying against the ground. a yell stuck on your throat.

feeling the gashes forming in your palms and bruises settling on your knees, the adrenaline pushed you to stand up and figured who attacked you. in the curb stood a man in a red mask violently assaulting what seemed to be a thug. your red backpack discarded to the other side. and that was the night jason todd returned to you.

═══════════════════════

morning came. the raindrops settled on every surface and you didn't get a wink of sleep. you were now almost in a overdrive mode of exhaustion. jason had agreed to stay with you through the night, to hold you while your heart poured out and shook in between his strong arms.

buried in his equally built chest, which wasn't that familiar to you yet, his breath had evened out and you had never stayed as quiet and still out of sheer panic. jason had explained to you that he was not the same. that he had gone through through hell and back, but some of the flames scarred him inside out eternally.

you had listened tenderly, and told him how it felt like your biggest dream come true that he was right there in front of you. jason almost cursed himself for not coming to you sooner. his sweet girl. he brushed your cheek stained tears, kissed your bitten lips. but the illusion that his arms posed right now, created something suffocating inside you.

what if you closed your eyes and he was gone? vanished into the misty air of Gotham again, to haunt you in a near future again? were you going insane? you most surely felt like it. besides that, if he changed irreparably, so had you.

loss, hardship and grief had dimmed your light. you weren't the ray of sunshine he had fell in love with. indifference for what was a unfair and ugly world had replaced a childish sense of wonder. cold had dissipated through your insides extinguishing a warmth which had been abundant enough to share with everyone.

as his chest rose and fell softly, guilty settled in the back of your throat. could that be the girl he was dreaming off right now?

══════════════════════

the first fews weeks you kind of held him at a distance. you cozied up together, you spent nights catching up about the past years... but Jason could sense that you were somewhere else. he had asked about it straight to your face, telling you didn't need to be with him in commiseration.

instead of letting him know what was running through your mind, your brain just decided to cause a full meltdown. it was the first time Jason saw you having a panic attack and he was scared for his life. the feeling of not being able to receive air, of feeling that your heart would beat out of its ribcage was familiar to him. he was just not ready to witness it happening to you.

after that happened he just let it go. watching over you more thoughtfully, giving you space to work out what you needed to about him. but it was a hard task. it was a hard task to gaze over your figure from the couch as you sat nearby on the kitchen table doing some readings.

your reading glasses down the bridge of your nose, the furrowed look you gave those pages full of non sense letters, the way your hand kept stretching his hoodie so it would hide your knees as you pressed them against you. in a sigh he was standing next to you. hand sliding to the back of your neck, to massage the skin.

you'd look at him and stop chewing the bottom of your pen in nervousness but then he just kneeled. a rough but gentle hand going inside the hoodie to pull your knees down, so he'd stand in the middle of your legs gazing up at you kissing the skin of your shin, asking for permission silently.

shuddering you'd nod softly and his hand would come to your lower back, sliding you further to the edge of the seat. and the way he moved over you, the dedication and care he put on his motions had you going out of your body, unconsciously gripping the contour of the table to stay grounded.

in that moment, Jason laid you completely bare as only he knew how to do. the devotion of this one act of intimacy proving wrapping your hazed mind in a pained but tender realisation. no matter what stood in his path, he would always make it back to you. and you'd be damned if you wouldn't do the exact same thing for him.

so as his name died on your mouth and your lungs lurched for air, you slowly pulled your trembling body from the chair to kneel in front of him as well. for Jason you'd be anything, you'd crawl out of the pit of sadness you had created for yourself. because you know he would fight to pull you out of there himself.

your head curled against the crook of his neck, as you wept without restraint. the light had gone in, burning, igniting your insides. and he didn't need to ask why you were crying. he simply held you once again, while tears fell from his own eyes too this time.

from that moment on there was no more mourning, no more overthinking. just two souls bind by an affection that surpassed tragedy, by a love which survived time. just his sweet girl and him. forever his baby.

@ your precious little monster ⏾

[messenger-of-babel]

Just Like Him

Summary: When you argue with Jason, you slowly start seeing less of Jason Todd and more of Bruce Wayne. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 1.9K

Notes: I legit came back home from a night out and sat here editing this till 3am cause I refused to miss a post haha. A little bit shorter due to that and I'll do a second look over it later. Only warning for this is mentions of violence as usual for most of these, and that it hasn't been as edited cleanly as usual. Tomorrow's post might be really delayed too since I've got events tomorrow too. Anyways, enjoy my Lovelies~! xx

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You had loved Jason. You did love Jason.

You loved the boy who was too awkward to hold your hand when you went out in public, who left you notes at your door when he was too frustrated and too pent up to explain himself properly. You loved his habits, his quirks, the way that he cooked you food if he knew he was going to be out for a few days, silently leaving it in the fridge in the hopes you’d keep yourself healthy.

You also loved the dark sides of him, the nightmares he woke up to, skin sticky with sweat. You loved him even when his eyes were lost in the darkness, unable to tell who you were exactly but still seeking the comfort of your arms to shield him. You loved him even when he tensed outside in public, a sound, a smell, setting him off and making him clench onto your hand. His eyes were scared, but you didn’t mind bringing him back into reality, letting him know that you were here for him. 

Yet on nights like these, you love for him faltered slightly. These were the nights that you couldn’t temper, the ones here he burned angrily and bit hard. He was currently pacing the kitchen, hands in his hair after a rough patrol. 

“You just don’t understand.” He murmured over and over. “Maybe you just don’t get it. Maybe you just never will. How could you even try to?” 

That hurt you, the way he talked like you weren’t even there. Like you weren’t in tears on the other side of the kitchen island. Like you hadn’t been having this argument for an hour how, sunset drinking its way into the dusk. 

This was the part of Jason that hurt you, the coarse side that snarled and growled at you like he was an injured dog. The side that looked at you with those striking green eyes narrowed into slits, who spat words like he’d never seen you before.

“I do understand Jason.” I you sigh. “You want to protect this city, you want to change Gotham, but don’t you dare tell me what I know or don’t, when I’m asking you to just be home more. Is it really that hard to protect the city and go out for a date?” You sigh, heart beginning to falter under the scrutiny of his gaze. “I know you can’t always be there. Neither can I, but please,” you say, folding your arms across your chest. “Please be there for me.”

“I am.” He groans back out, making a flicker of irritation spark in you. 

“Not you’re not.” You counter. “You leave dates, you leave dinners, you don’t come home some nights. No warning, no text, no notice.” You snap back.  “Being there for me is being at those dinners, going on those dates, coming home, spending time in bed with me.” You snap. "it's not cold sheets, cold food, cold feet on date nights. Step up."

He throws his hands up in the air, teeth clenched. "Can't you see I'm trying to save the city? trying to stop it from eating itself from the inside? You know its corrupted, you know about the violence. Hell, you got shot." he snaps back. His fists are tightly clenched by his side, eyes burning into yours. You stare back at him defiantly, and it makes the frustration in him rise.

He knows he's not good at words, knows that he's rough around the edges. The voice in his head tells him that when he sits up at night, when he finally comes home. His head leans back against the headboard whole you sleep peacefully beside him, rolled completely onto your side. His fingers twist in the sheets, as it speaks at him, tells him that he's not good enough to be with you. That the city isn't safe enough, that he needs to make it safer. He wasn’t the safest out of Batman's gang of protegees. He had a hit list that had started while he was just a young teenager and continued to have names added every other week. He'd been shot at, stabbed, thrown into and off of buildings, and that was something he was fine with. that was his job, his burden.

But when you got shot, that's when life really had caught up with him. It was like he had been living his life in slow motion up until that point, until it all rushed forward like a wave on double speed. He hadn't erven been there, halfway across town with Nightwing on some stakeout when he got the call. Dick had let him go without a word, merely watching him speed away on his bike before calling in backup from the cave to replace him. He didn't care that Bruce would get mad at him for abandoning his post, he could go to hell. What he cared about was you, and the fact that he hadn't been able to protect you, been able to stop it from happening. He heard about it only when the hospital called him, informing him that you were being prepped for surgery immediately.

How bad was it? Was it just one shot? Did it go cleanly through? Where were you hit? What calibre? What make? What model? Where did it take place?

Those were all questions that Red Hood might have been allowed to ask if he had worn the mask and marched through the emergency department, but he couldn’t do that. If he did it would be a giant target on your back, associating you with his vigilante life in the most obvious way possible. Instead, he had to race through the doors breathless as Jason Todd, the worried boyfriend who had to be held back by security trying to get to your ward.

 You had of course recovered, learnt to walk again on the leg that caught a stray bullet from a gang shoot out in Lower Gotham. It had been worryingly close to your artery, but you had pulled through. Jason couldn’t deny the fact that his status as a Wayne kid helped your care and the way the hospital aided your recovery. With a harsh word, Jason could have any of their licenses revoked.

That's why Jason did it. To make sure that the fear that gripped his heart that night never had the chance to wrangle him like that again. He'd fight night after night and come home with a string of broken and bloodied knuckles if it meant that you would be okay. It's all he can think about as he stares you down in the kitchen, watching your jaw twitch.

"Don't you dare use the fact that I got shot, against me." you seethe, hand coming up to point at him. "That wasn’t my fault, and it could have happened to anyone in the town, it's Gotham, Jason." you bite back, and he throws his hands up.

"That's exactly the problem! It's Gotham." he shouts. "You can get shot, or stabbed, or killed. Anyone can. one day you're here, the next you ain't. You really want to go out there, sweetheart? You got shot and you want to tell me not to clean the streets up? The sheets are cold? Well, they'd be a lot colder if you were dead." he spits back, and you are too stunned to say anything. You shake your head, a look of realisation coming over you.

"Oh my god," you breathe out. "you're just like Bruce. You’re no better."

That makes something in his freeze, halting all of his movements and shutting down his train of thought. You see it, see the way his bright green eyes widen and his head tilts slightly, making the white tuft in his hair flop over his eyes as you continue. "You're so obsessed with cleaning up the city. So obsessed with fighting out there that you can't give it up even for a second. You both can't. You criticize the man, tore him apart for his neglect just to do the exact same god damn thing.” Tears begin to prick your eyes in helplessness, lump building in your throat.

"You can’t see yourself out of that stupid helmet." you say, choking up as the tears clog your vision. "When was the last time that you read?" you ask, sniffling. "When was the last time you did a hobby, or rode your bike as a civilian? When's the last time we went on a date or held hands, or went to the park, or the library or anywhere?" you yell at him, hand coming to claw at your heart.

"When was the last time you were Jason?" you whisper softly. "Because right now, I feel like Jason Todd has died for a second time." you choke out. "Except this time, it wasn’t Joker who killed him."

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve while you leave him stunned, pushing past him to go into your bedroom. When the door slams harshly it snaps him out of the stupor he had found himself in, body swivelling on his heel immediately to follow you.

 You didn't respond to his soft knocking at the door, or his calls. You didn’t accept the apologies he murmured into the wood, didn't bother to listen to his promises or ways that he swore he could make it better. It was only when he began knocking desperately, worrying building, that you swung it open violently.

Your face is a mess, sticky with tears and chin wet. Your breath comes out in small hiccups as you try to collect yourself, still mid sob as you shout at him. "Couch." you seethe, your puffy eyes glaring at him with a hurt filled dagger before the door slammed in his face. He sighed, forehead against the wood before pushing off the door frame with a click of his tongue. He plops down onto the living room couch with a groan, legs thrown over the side to try and accommodate for his size. He raises an arm to cover his eyes, other arm grabbing a couch cushion and bringing it to his chest.

"You're just like Bruce, no better." rattled around in his skull, making him chew at his lip. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like being compared to Bruce, even if he respected the man at times. He had come back, intending to be everything for others that Bruce had failed to be for him. Yet according to you, he was walking the same steps the man before him had traced.

Was he really no better than Bruce?

He groans and removes his arm from his eyes. He casts them over to the turned off TV, catching the sight of a much younger Robin peering back at him. With a smile the boy took off the domino mask and revealed the childish figure that was young Jason Todd. He raises a hand to his face as well, mirroring what he had just seen the reflection do. Except when he pulled his hand away, studying the digits instead of the TV screen, he could still see the remnants of the Hood he failed to leave at the door.

[ktkat99]

Jason comes back from the dead and, as he's still a bit out of it, heads to the manor.

Crawling straight up through six feet of compacted earth is hard, especially after waking up suddenly in a coffin, so after he makes it inside, he sits down to rest on the couch.

And immediately falls asleep.

Hours later, Bruce returns home to find Jason's body, covered in dirt, dug up from the grave and left on his couch.

[sassatoru]

Dahlia with String then Burlap plsss

What about him and the reader being lovers in highschool. After his death ,the reader went mad and stuck at the age of 15 when he was still alive. After he got back,he visits her everyday since he believed there is still a way to get his girl back 😭

COME HOME TO ME

pairing. jason todd x reader

warning. angst to fluff, character death + revival, age regression, reader in a psych ward

a/n. i really liked this prompt thank you

“hey baby,” jason whispered, his hand on the glass separating the two of you, oh how he wished he could break this down and take you home. but he knows that you wouldn’t react well to being taken.

you don’t reply, your eyes are staring forward. they’re so dull now, not like the girl he loved when he was younger, his girl.

you’re wearing one of the hoodies he left here for you. you may not recognise his face and voice but you’d never forget the way he smelt, you used to tease him for the pine smell but now it was all you had left of him.

“baby,” jason calls out again, a little louder this time. “come on, doll. look at me, it’s me. it’s jay.” jason wants to cry, he wants you back, he wants you home, his voice is pleading, there’s a lump in his throat when you finally look at him.

you shake your head at him, “you’re not my jay.”

jason feels like he’s dying again, it feels the same. he feels like he’s dying inside, the breath leaving his lungs, eyes closing and he can hear that bomb again. the maniacal laughter of the bastard that killed him, the sound of his skull cracking under the force of the crowbar.

because he’s not really your jay, is he? no, he knows he isn’t. that boy died a long time ago, but jason can be jay, because you need jay, not jason.

“yes i am, baby.” it’s me, doll.

when did baby turn to doll, he wonders. another sign that he’s changed.

“look at me, really look at me.”

and you do you look into his green eyes— green? that can’t be right, jay’s eyes were an icy blue you adored dozing off to. but there is something familiar in the way this man looks at you, like you could massacre cities and he’d still love you.

but he can’t be jay, your jay died.

you shake your head again, turning away from him to curl up on the bed — jason has to remember to say thanks to bruce for getting you somewhere that takes care of you — to hide from him.

“baby don’t go,” he whispers.

this was routine by now, everyday for the last three months he came here. to sit by the glass that separates you from him. and everyday you do the same thing, refuse to believe him.

“baby, don’t you remember me? remember that day we snuck into the theatre, in the roof and took out that part of the ceiling so we could watch? and you said—”

“—we’re like ninjas.”

a smile crosses his lips, and he laughs. your heart flutters and you peek a look at him, only to find his staring right back at you. “hi baby.”

“jay,” you mumble, he nods.

“that’s right, doll. it’s jay.”

“doll?” you ask.

he shrugs, “maybe it’s time for something new.”

“i like it,” you say.

it takes weeks before you’re discharged. the doctors don’t believe the sudden change in you, the hallucinations suddenly gone, you’re not seeing a teenage lover, you don’t believe you’re 15 anymore.

they run their test but nothing wrong comes back. jason takes you home at the end of it all.

it’s different, the way he walks, or talk, the way he stands. so different yet so familiar. he’s bigger, not the scrawny boy you knew, his size triples yours.

he laughs when you mention it to him.

he keeps his distance, trying to keep you comfortable but you want him closer. you want him to hold you, more than anything you want to curl up next to him, letting some corny horror movie you play in the background, you’d jump despite knowing the jump scares are coming, and he’d tease you, promise to keep the monsters away. before he screamed himself, and you laughed, fingers running through his hair.

his hair was different too, still black but he had that white streak in it. you told him you liked it, he gave up on trying to dye it.

he stays with you at night, holding your hand when you wake up from the nightmares of losing him.

it takes months before he holds you, causally like he used to. hands dragging along your hips when he walks past you. he coddles you months later despite your insistence that you can take care of yourself.

you don’t get over the years of your life you lost, but you both have that in common. your life started and ended together. now you get another chance to start again.

jason won’t leave you again. jay won’t let you hurt again.

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

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Dan, bound to a clone body and experiencing a relatively calm life with the Fentons, gets de-aged by a jealous Vlad and is held hostage by the man, who wants to be involved with family things. Vlad, somehow, loses the baby.

14 years later, Jason Todd is desperately looking for his mother, only for the DNA test to match him with a 30-year-old transman and a billionaire over 60.

Oh, and his own missing person's report.

[the-halloween-jack]

Disarray ✢ Jason Todd

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

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

Masterlist

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

Words: 923

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

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

The room was fractured. His hands began to tremble.

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

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

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

The unlocked door is a wound. A violation.

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

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

And then —

The door opened.

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

‘Jason...?’

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

‘Are you—are you hurt? What’s wrong? What happened?’

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

‘I thought— ’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[blu3n]

OMGGGGGGGG!!!!!!

SHE DID IT AGAIN!

https://x.com/_red_insomniac?s=21

she or he, still had a reflex, my god!!!!!

[plethorawrites]

I feel like Jason Todd, being the paranoid, mistrusting man he is, would pick up on every single habit you have. He'd know the meal you always order at a restaurant, the steps of your skin care (from watching you do it while leaning on the door), the scents you loved, the weather you hated. He'd know the time you wake up, the time you go to bed, the time you typically get hungry, etc.

So, when you make ANY changes, he instantly gets suspicious. Like...super paranoid.

And he hates it. He does.

It kills him that when you say you're going to the grocery store on a Saturday evening, he doesn't believe you. Because you hate going on the weekend, since it's too busy and you hate driving between 5-6 because of the glare from sunset.

And then, you had to go and take a work call at three in the afternoon when you guys were getting lunch. But you always shut your phone off for lunch. Always.

He hates how paranoid it makes him. He hates how he starts to assume the worst because he wants to trust you. He does. And if you knew that his mind wandered to thoughts of betrayal, you'd be furious or heartbroken. Maybe both.

But when it does eventually come out (Either through a fight or just him finally being honest) you're neither. You're, to his surprise, completely understanding about his worry. Because everyone betrayed him at some point and you never wanted him to think you would do the same.

You explain every past discrepancy that had him worried and from then on— your boss told you to keep your phone on specifically to reschedule something, you were out something you needed desperately from the store, etc.

You also explain any future changes.

Yes, you typically went to the dentist every three months, but you were going twice in a single week (not because you were hooking up with your dentist, the way his stupid intrusive thoughts told him) but because your tooth started hurting. You know it's a bit overboard, having to explain every change in your routine, but you do.

Because it helps him.

And it takes a bit, but that constant need to know why things were off, even slightly, eventually fades.

You say you'll be home late and his mind no longer assumes you're stopping at someone else's house. You say you're too tired to go out to eat and his mind no longer wanders to thinking you're ashamed of being seen with him. You fall asleep with your back to him and he no longer immediately feels like you're falling out of love with him.

He trusts you.

You would never betray him or break that bond. Never.

And let's be honest...how often do you willingly choose to sleep on your side of the bed when you could be in his arms? Not often.

[jellofish-plant]

Red Truth

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Swearing, lying, emotional confrontation, secret vigilante life revealed

[Masterlist]

You weren’t sure what woke you maybe the quiet creak of the window latch, or the way the floor groaned under unfamiliar weight. At first, you thought it was a dream. Your brain, half-lulled in sleep, registered it as Jason coming in late from one of his “nights out,” maybe after a bar crawl with friends you’d never met. But the red gleam caught your eye.

You sat up in bed, the sheets pooling around your waist, heart stuttering as your sleep-fogged mind processed what you were seeing.

A figure had slipped in through the window, not the front door. A figure wearing a blood-red helmet. Body armor. A black leather jacket with a red bat emblazoned across the chest.

Your voice was a ghost. “Jason?”

He froze like you’d slapped him, hand still on the window ledge. Slowly almost painfully he turned. You watched in stunned silence as gloved fingers reached up, twisted, and pulled the helmet off.

Jason’s face was damp with sweat, a split on his bottom lip, a smear of dried blood on his jaw.

“(Y/N),” he breathed. Like a prayer. Like a curse.

You blinked. “You’re—Red Hood?” You stood, the mattress groaning behind you. “You’ve been lying to me?”

“It’s not like that,” he started, stepping toward you. You backed away. He stopped.

“How long?” you whispered. “How long have you been sneaking out of our bed to go shoot people in the streets?”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t shoot to kill anymore.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, voice raw. “If you knew, you'd be a target.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. “You live with me, sleep beside me every night, and you thought I couldn’t handle the truth? That I didn’t deserve it?”

Jason's hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you. “I didn’t want this life for you. I didn’t want to bring it into our home.”

You let out a humorless laugh, hands shaking. “It was already in our home, Jason. You made that choice for me.”

The silence stretched between you like an open wound. Jason looked down, fingers tightening around his helmet.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said, barely audible. “Every time I came home bloody, every time you patched me up and didn’t ask questions—I wanted to tell you.”

“But you didn’t,” you said, your voice cold now. “You just kept lying.”

His eyes met yours. “Do you want me to leave?”

Your breath hitched. The words hovered on your tongue, but they didn’t come out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t even know who you are right now.”

Jason nodded, slowly, like the weight of your words was dragging him under. He turned toward the door this time not the window and left without another word.

You stood in the silence he left behind, staring at the red helmet still sitting on the windowsill like it was mocking you.

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo 

@a-brilliante-mariposa

@fandomtrashsblog

[fear-is-truth]

jason todd doesn’t miss.

not with guns, not knives, not even when his knuckle are torn open and blood is pooling copper on his tongue. his body knows how to land a hit.

you are a permanent fixture in his life. stealing his fries, parading around in a hoodie that’s way too big to be yours, the sleeves swallowed past your fingers. knocking into him when you walk side by side, your arm looped through his. jason knows you. has known you long enough that it feels like you were always meant to be there.

he’s not a particularly imaginative person, but he can see it with hellish clarity—the shape of a future with you. you, in his passenger seat, years down the line, still stealing his fries. you, waking up beside him, hand splayed over his chest, feeling his heartbeat because it belongs to you. (always has)

but sometimes, he wonders.

you love him, that much is obvious. but does it mean the same thing in your head as it does in his? or is he just your best friend, whom you trust with your life but not with anything deeper? the thought buries itself inside him like shrapnel. he shouldn’t care, being used to not getting what he wants. but you—he ‘s not sure if he can survive losing you. if there’d be anything left of him after.

every time you smile at him, it feels like le coup de grâce.

only it’s not a deathblow. it’s a new beginning.

because jason todd doesn’t miss.

and this time, he’s pretty sure he’s not going to.

[i-yap]

Jason todd x reader - clingy thoughts

(guys i have no motivation to start writing most days so like whenever I get comments or requests in my inbox I get rlly excited and actually feel like writing)

if jason could, he would melt his skin so it could stick to yours . He is so touch starved but more than that he is just ...starved. like he hasn't ever had anything properly good in his life. and then you're just there and he doesn't think something better could exist

he wants to look at you, he stares a lot. even when he is cuddling you, he's looking at your hands, your hair, whatever he can see in the position

he likes casual intimacy more than fancy intimacy. like linking pinkies when walking, resting your head on his shoulder on the bus, your legs being pressed against each other when you're sitting on a rooftop. something you'd do without thinking but he is constantly thinking about it.

he isn't the lift and spin sort of guy ( like after a mission or something) he is a holds you and falls to the ground from the pain of being separated from you for too long. he is the don't to dare pull away, tears in his eyes, body shaking sort of guy.

he hates being away from you, even across the table is too far. wants to sit next to you or hold your hand if you're sitting across. make sure the table isn't too big. the distance hurts him, its like he has an internal radar that if you cross , his head goes red .

give him any sign that you are just as clingy or even that you don't hate his guts and he will just freeze. he doesn't know how to reciprocate touch, feelings, words, everything but he really really wants to. so just because he stiffens up when you hug him doesn't mean he is gonna let you leave the hug .

his sweetest words come out at like 4am , when you're in the bathtub, sitting on a roof, eating snacks on the floor of your room or lying in bed . you cant be facing him cause he will forget whaT he wanted to say once he sees your face. he is super tired from crime fighting or after s'x or after a nightmare. don't make a big deal out of it cause he wont take it well and will get embarrassed.

he is just so protective, you rlly cant blame him.

[messenger-of-babel]

Coloured Red

Summary: He likes you in his colour, just not that like that. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.1K

Notes: blood and injury. Hope everyone's having a good week so far! Not my favouriteeeeee Jason piece I have written but please enjoy anyways. xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Never like this.

He had been working out of the manor for a few days, something he was already reluctant to do. However, you had sent him off to "work" with a bright smile and a kiss on the cheek, wishing him well for whatever convention Librarians had. Instead of your boyfriend being the gruff librarian sorting returns every night, he was in fact the red masked vigilante cooped up in the cave, pacing back and forth in front of the Bat computer while Tim tried to trace their latest suspect.

Dick had called him back for some extra firepower in the latest case, and if he hadn't owed him one Jason would be back with you in a heartbeat. "Get anything?" he grunts to Tim, who's fingers are typing strings of code into the keyboard.

"Not yet," he hums, the younger man's face twitching with annoyance as the firewall warning flashes across the screen again.

"Give it time, Jay. we don't want to let them know we're onto them." comes Dick, who’s leaning against a railing and still fully suited up from his earlier patrol. "I've checked all through The Cauldron and Southside, no trace of them there. Penguin must have closed up shop around Cobblepot Steel when he started working with his new friend. Going through great lengths to gatekeep his new buddy from us." he hums.

"Well I want to get this meet and greet over with," Jason grumbles, crossing his arms while he scuffs his boots impatiently.

"Bee in your bonnet, Red?" Dick calls and Jason scoffs.

"You put it there. You wanted me to help take 'em down while the Bat is out of town with Superscout, but you don't even know where they are. I've spent a full night just waiting for boy genius here to get a lock."

Dick puts his hands up in mock surrender. "We'll be done soon, promise. Then you can go home to your sweetheart. Hey, you can even say you came back early just to see them. I'm helping you get brownie points." he grins, nimbly dodging the hand Jason had swung out to slap the back of his head. "Where are they anyways? Their place?"

"Safehouse." Jason grunts back. "Staying at mine while I'm helping you lot. Old Gotham, near the GCPD. Besides, I told them to mark down I'd be back tonight on the calendar anyways."

Dick whistles. "Didn't think you had a place that close to the cops."

Jason just shrugs. "They're not after me, and if they were it would be somewhere they wouldn't look. Plus it's a nice distance from you all." he grumbles.

Dick pushes off the wall coming to lean over a monitor near Tim. "Well if our mystery person is teaming up with Penguin, and he isn't interested in the drug business, what is he here for?" he hums, eyes focused on the map of Gotham that Tim has pulled up. He taps the screen after a second, zooming in. "Here. Dixon Docks. We haven't checked here yet. Penguin used to smuggle through here, but it also became a bit of a meet up spot. He might have gone back to old ground."

"Yeah, but Penguin shifted his focus into drug running. Bruce put him under pretty heavy surveillance, managed to shut down a lot of his operations for a while. You really think he'd be that stupid to start trying to smuggle firearms again?" Tim piped up.

"Maybe. But Maybe its not firearms. This spot used to be a mob meeting spot. He never visited the operation personally unless-"

"Unless he wanted to order a hit." Jason cut off his older counterpart, voice becoming modulated as he fixed his mask to his face. "Seems there's a chance his new play pal is a hitman."

"For who though?" Tim asks.

"Maybe the hit isn't one Penguin is ordering. maybe the Penguin's selling info." Dick calls, testing his in earpiece before giving Jason a nod. "Me and Hood are going in to take a look. Track our location and keep the cameras on."

Tim nods while Jason and Dick head for the bikes, mounting each of their respective vehicles.

"Finally something to do." Jason groans, stretching his arms above his head before catching the cocky grin from Dick speeding past him. "Show-off." he murmurs, his own engine roaring to life as he follows suit.

They had cleared the dock pretty easily, Dick's hunch being correct. Between the two of them the middlemen and thugs were strewn across the floor of the warehouse, and Tim had already called the GCPD to come pick them up for the arrest. "No sign of our flightless friend." Jason grumbled, stepping over an unconscious thug.

"Nor our new mystery visitor." Dick concludes, tucking his escrima under his arm as he goes through the stack of papers at the makeshift desk tucked behind some shipping containers. Jason has known the eldest robin enough to know when he was worried, and the tight way he now held his body was a clear sign. "You find something?" he asks, boots thudding as the come to stand beside him.

"You think Oz was beginning to catch on?" Dick asks quietly, turning the page to show Jason the blurry CCTV photo of Bruce, a crude cowl and ears drawn over the image in sharpie.

"Shit," Jason breathed, taking some of the papers from Dick and beginning to flick through it. "This is all of us." He confirms, worry beginning to gnaw at his bones. There were photos of Tim leaving the city library and entering the Wayne Tower. Photos of Dick back in Bludhaven in a police uniform, photos of him at galas. Photos of Damian at school and meeting with Alfred. The more he flipped through them the more his heart dropped. There was a photo for nearly every 'apprentice' of Batman, surrounded by question marks.

"Whoever is joining the dots isn't fully convinced of it themselves." he murmurs, blood freezing as he sees a photo of himself there. A photo with you on his arm next to him. Dick comes to peer over at it, cursing under his breath.

"Hood, don't panic-" he tries to soothe, but Jason is already pushing past him to tear at more of the documents on the desk. He rifles through the papers, the sound of approaching sirens and Nightwing's urging to leave the scene deafened by the ringing in his ears. In his tightly clenched hands there was a leger, with a list of addresses. In the middle, was his address. The address he had given you, highlighted in yellow.

"We need to go." Dick urges, hurrying him to mount his bike. Jason jaw clenches, and he shoves the piece of paper into his brothers’ hands.

"Yeah. We do." he grits out, but he hopes Dick can't hear the sheer fear held behind his teeth. His bike speeds off, roaring through the side street they came on as he reroutes for Old Gotham. Dick looks down, eyes wandering over the red written date next to the highlighted address, tonight date. "Jesus," he breathes out, quickly following behind his brother before he does something reckless.

Jason doesn't think that he'd ever driven that fast since he'd been on the run from Bruce, throwing the bike into park so violently outside his apartment that the tires burnt as they squealed. Dick wasn't too far behind him, calling out for him to wait in between talking to Tim on the other end of his earpiece. His heart is thudding in his ears, hands feeling cold as he scales the stairs to the fourth floor, knocking on the door rapidly. He didn't care he was in his full suit. He could make some bullshit excuse if you were fine, claiming some noise disturbance or the wrong door.

But if he wasn't?

Then someone was going to fear the fact he was already suited up.

"I told you to wait, Hood-" Dick snaps at him, slightly out of breath from having to run behind him. Jason doesn't listen, shoulder slamming into the door when you don't come to answer.

"Don't you have the key?" Nightwing hisses to him.

"Left it in my civvies." he grunts, stumbling slightly as the door gives way. "I wasn't really expecting to…" he trails off, bile rising in his throat and blood draining from his face. Dick pushes in next to him, still scolding. "You can't just go in like this-" he cuts himself off, catching sight of what Jason was burning into his brain. "Oh no, Jay..." he whispers, but Jason is already moving to your side.

His hands come to your head, softly cradling it in his large palms. Two fingers come to press against your neck, his breathing evening out as he finds a weak pulse. "They're still kicking." He grunts out, other hand coming to cradle the back of your head. He closes his eyes trying to scrub the image of you lying there in the living room, sprawled on the carpet surrounded by the shards of the broken window and white rug drinking your blood.

Your eyes flicker weakly and you make a faint cry when he presses down on the wound by your ribs, a sound that tears him up inside. "Shhh," he tries to say softly, but the modulator makes it robotic, stripping the emotion from it. "I gotta put pressure on it. Did you see who did it?" he asks. He can faintly hear Dick calling for Robin on the end of the commlink, calling for paramedics to come to his address.

He hates how warm his hands feel, gloves heating up as if they were stealing the life force from out of you. Blood is flecked across your lips from the spray, faintly mumbling the words, "didn’t see them."

He nods along. "That’s okay, that’s okay." he murmurs, but he wasn't sure who he was telling that to.

"Red Hood…" you groan out, hand coming the grip his wrist as he pushes firmer on the bullet wound. Your fingers are bloody, smearing the crimson across his suit. "You gotta…you gotta find my boyfriend," you cough weakly. "They were here for him. He’s just…he's just a librarian…" your eyes tear up, throat swelling with the weight of your words. "He was just coming back tonight…oh god…you have to find him… what if they-" you sob, causing your face to scrunch up at the pain that ripples through your body. "I wanna…I wanna see him."

Jason's heart is tearing into pieces as Dick kneels to your other side, hands coming to your non-wounded side as he preps the area, Tim faintly heard giving instructions on how to stabilise you until the paramedics arrive. Jason shakes his head, fighting back tears. Despite the side glance he gets from Nightwing, he pulls one hand up to his face, feeling for the latch under his jaw to release his mask.

When he pulls it away his eyes are red, tears already built in the corners. His lips have a tremble that hasn't been felt since he was in the single digits on the streets, and his hairline is beaded with sweat from worry. He offers you a weak smile, unable to stop the shooting pain that wracks his mind watching the hazy confusion on your face.

"Jay?" you whisper, the word more mouth than sound. He nods reluctantly.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Oh god, it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

He dreamt of the day that he could tell you his identity, of his real profession. He imagined all the best scenarios of you accepting him, of letting him spin you around the kitchen when he picked you up by the waist like he did so often. Of telling you while you both read together on the couch, your legs pulled across his lap. He never imagined the bad scenarios. He pushed those to the back of his mind. But as you reached up with bloodstained fingers, dragging the sticky red across his cheek in that oh so familiar motion, he knew right then that this was the worst situation imaginable.

He lets his tears wash the red from your fingers, trying to blink them out of his eyes so he could focus on saving you.

"Hold on, sweetheart." he murmured weakly, desperately praying for the wailing of the siren to reach his ears.

He had always said how much he loved red, loved you in the colour. Loved you in his colour.

Now he was thinking he never wanted to see you bathed in this much red ever again.

[in-som-niyah]

oh nothing, just jason’s cute little eyebrow crease