#i just have a lot of thoughts about jason todd

[crazydeershark]

Broken souls

Part 2.

AK!Jason Todd x Civilian!Fem reader

Summary: Your life at GCPD, uncovering Gotham’s criminals and darkest secrets. Jason coming back as Arkham knight.

Warnings: cat calling, violence.

A/n: This can be read as a stand alone, but I suggest reading Part 1.

Btw!! Its lightly based on the AK game but doesnt follow exact lore.

Arkham Knight. His name was everywhere. Gotham’s streets, the GCPD you worked at, the news, even your local convenience store.

And you despised it.

You despised not being able to do anything about it.

Your role wasn’t that big. You were just Officer Gordon’s assistant. Fresh new worker, untouched and incorruptible, unlike 50% of Gothams “police”. You payed close attention to conversations, sneaked in places you definitely shouldn’t have. A few months is what it took you to figure it all out. It made you feel foolish, for putting your trust in the police.

Gotham needed its justice. While most thought it was far beyond saving, you knew it still needed good people fighting for it. Like you and Gordon. Gordon was dedicated to fighting crime. You admired his commitment, but it was not sustainable, mentally especially.

You found out about his “friend” pretty soon too, or maybe Gordon just wanted you to know, about Batman. Their little check ins on the rooftop, every few evenings.

You couldn’t help yourself. So one night, when you saw your boss going up the stairs, you knew the drill. You followed him carefully. Maybe because you knew they were going to talk about Arkham Knight, or maybe you just needed to see Batman. To make sure he’s real. To make sure Robin was real.

You tried your best to stay hidden, and to hear their conversation through the heavy rain. The only words you could make out were “report” and “knight”, everything else sounded like gibberish.

When you heard heavy footsteps you ran back to your shared office. Pretending nothing happened.

You saw Gordon come in, files in his hand.

“Good evening, Officer Gordon.”

“As good as it gets, kid.” He scoffed out, clearly irritated. You decided not to question it. Old man, had a lot on his mind. What you did pay attention to, were the files and where he placed them.

You stepped out of your office,

“Done blowing the officer, huh?” One of the detectives made a crude gesture, hollowing his cheeks and mimicking a blow job, a few snickers came from the guys around him. You ignored them, nails digging in the flesh of your palm. Fighting back tears of anger.

Yes, being accused of sleeping with your older, married boss was one of the downsides of being a young woman who’s working in the Gotham police department.

You wanted to wipe those grins off their face, but you knew you couldn’t. Not alone at least, which, in this case, you were.

Officer was getting ready to leave from work, when you walked into the office.

“Don’t worry, I’ll close.” You pointed out to the keys in his hand, “still got a ton of papers to work on.” You felt guilty for lying.

You weren’t a bad person, right? You were just curious.

“Alright, don’t overwork yourself too much.” He nodded.

“Unless I wanna become like you?”

“You don’t, kid” He smirked, heading out.

You waited a bit, got up, closed the door.

The files. You gently got them out, eyes scanning over the words.

𝐆𝐂𝐏𝐃 𝐓𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭- 𝐀𝐫𝐤𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 & 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚.

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𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 - 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙂𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙨 𝙀𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙊𝙣𝙡𝙮

𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙞𝙩𝙡𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙊𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙨 & 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

𝙍𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩: 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙅𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙂𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙤𝙣

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𝙎𝙪𝙗𝙟𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙊𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬

𝘾𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙉𝙖𝙢𝙚: 𝙐𝙣𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣

𝘼𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝙈𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬

𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙇𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚

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𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 & 𝘾𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨

𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨: 𝙀𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝟮,𝟬𝟬𝟬+ 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢.

𝙑𝙚𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙡𝙚𝙨: 𝙈𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨, 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮-𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙨.

𝙒𝙚𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙨: 𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝-𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙝 𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙨, 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙮 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡��𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙪𝙣𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙧𝙨.

𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 (𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧),

𝙐𝙣𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 (𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩).

𝙇𝙤𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨: 𝙊𝙘𝙘𝙪𝙥𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙠𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢, 𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜:

𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨’ 𝙄𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙 – 𝙈𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩

𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙣 𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙩 – |abandoned|

𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙣 – 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚

𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙩 – 𝙋𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩

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𝙍𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙮 & 𝘾𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙨

𝟬𝟮:𝟰𝟱 𝘼𝙈: 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙤𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘽𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡. 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙟𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙙.

𝟬𝟯:𝟮𝟬 𝘼𝙈: 𝙀𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝘼𝘾𝙀 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙨. 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩.

𝟬𝟰:𝟬𝟬 𝘼𝙈: 𝙈𝙪𝙡𝙩𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙮𝙚𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝘾𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙏𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧. 𝙋𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.

𝟬𝟱:𝟭𝟱 𝘼𝙈: 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙡 𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙈𝙞𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙣𝙞 𝙄𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙. 𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧.

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𝙏𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 – 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙩 𝙎𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙨:

𝘼𝙙𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜.

𝙃𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙛𝙖𝙧𝙚.

𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙣’𝙨 𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙣𝙞𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨 (𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧𝙣).

𝙋𝙨𝙮𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙚:

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.

𝘼𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬’𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙖𝙡𝙨.

𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙧 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢’𝙨 𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

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𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙮

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 & 𝙣𝙚𝙪𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧.

𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙪𝙥.

𝘿𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧-𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨.

𝙎𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙩 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧—𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝟮𝟰 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨.

𝘼𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙙 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙢 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. 𝙃𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚.

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𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙂𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙢’𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮.

𝙂𝘾𝙋𝘿 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚, 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨.

𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙙𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙.

𝙀𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙍𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩.

You got your phone out as fast as you could, taking pictures of the papers.

There wasn’t a lot of useful information, not even pictures. You didn’t know what he looked like, you heard and read about his military style gear, his mask. That was it.

What you didn’t know about, was his “personal” fling with Batman. You thought he was crazy, well, not as far-gone as scarecrow, but at least similar intentions. Causing Gotham chaos.

You packed your bag, put your coat on and placed the report back neatly.

On your way home, you realized you shouldn’t have gotten so caught up back at the department. It was too late to be walking home alone. The alleys felt like hidden dangers lurking around the corner, like someone was constantly watching over you. Waiting for you to crack. You gripped your bag tightly, pepper spray in hand.

Like that would help you.

You thought back on the papers. You felt like you needed to do something. You needed to help. But how?

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw what seemed to look like a group of men, heading towards.. you. Speeding up as you were calculating your moves, panicking on the inside.

Walking in their direction was not a choice. If you turned around and started running? They’d be after you.

And you were anything but a good runner.

What other choice did you have?!

You took a deep breath, turned around, and ran as fast as you could. Not long after, you heard the group speed up, their steps echoing through the alley.

Fuck.

You were too deep into the alleys, you weren’t gonna make it to public space.

They were getting close. Too close.

Worst of all, you were running towards a dead end.

You turned around, what a bad choice that was.

Your foot got caught in an uneven crack in the pavement, you lost your balance. Colliding with the cold, hard concrete.

“Get up, sweetheart, let’s make this quick.” A nasty smelling man sneered, yanking you up. His grip so tight on your arm it bruised.

You trembled in fear.

“Make this quick? Look at her. She’s a piece of candy. Ain’t she?” Another man whistled, the other agreeing.

You were trapped, terror settled deep in your chest.

“That she is. Now be good for us, phone and wallet, and maybe we’ll let you go..”

You stayed silent, mind racing, your pepper spray was useless.

You reached your shaky hand in your purse, grabbing your phone and wallet, ready to hand them.

Suddenly, the air shifted, growing thick.

A figure appeared out of nowhere. It was like a blur of motion. He moved so fast you could barely process it, almost as if his movements were robotic, lacking humanity.

All you could hear were screams and grunts, pounces, thuds and bodies being slammed.

You and the figure were the only ones remaining.

Silence fell over you, along with a tension so thick you froze in place.

You stared at the figure, wide eyed.

He stood tall, intimidating. His presence was suffocating. Almost as if you forgot how to breathe. Body covered in dark, form fitting military armour, reflecting panels on his arms and chest barely catching the little light there was.

You squinted your eyes through the dark, trying to make out his helmet.

“Get out of here.”

You flinched when you heard his voice, distorted by what sounded like a voice modulator.

You took a deep breath, questioning if all of this was just a bad dream.

It wasn’t.

You speed up, passed the figure scared, and ran home. You didn’t have the guts to look up.

When you got home, you locked your doors, your windows, everything.

The only thing that was stuck on your mind was the figure.

You didn’t sleep that night, even with all of the pills you took.

Military gear, tall, intimidating.

No. You were paranoid. It couldn’t have been.

It couldn’t have been the Arkham Knight.

Right?

A/n: sorry guys you’re in for a wild ride cause I am notttt making this fast.😝Hope you enjoyed my loves!!

IMPORTANT: If there were any grammar mistakes or unclear phrases please let me know! English isn’t my first language!!

IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO MY TAG LIST PLEASE LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS🫶🏻🎀

Tag list: @koji-ibitsu @d1nne

[covertblizzard]

jaykyle au where they're theatre kids in the same school but they're not the actors jason's the scriptwriter/director and kyle is the prop manager (i don't know the official terms sorry) and they'd probably do an amazing job on the backstage setting if they could stop arguing for 5 whole seconds about their artistic visions and ideas and how "this would obviously work better this way"

[cluescorner]

I gave myself a writing challenge and I am fascinated by it

So basically I put the robins in a randomizer to give them a new order/role (because I just...kinda wanted to see what would happen + I like role-reversal AUs) and got results that are giving me a fucking brain blast.

Stephanie, the first sidekick who defines the role

Tim, the sidekick who dies and comes back wrong

Dick, the sidekick who saves Batman from himself

Damian, the sidekick who was never supposed to be a sidekick but would go on to prove everyone wrong

Jason, the youngest sidekick who is still the Kid Wonder

...So this is fucking wild. I've got some ideas and several of these fit perfectly (Dick's role is pretty similar to his one in canon), but some of these are fucking INCREDIBLE to explore (Steph being the first Robin is something I never even considered but tbh I kinda love it).

I probably won't write a fic or anything because tbh I don't like publishing my writing that much, but I might expand this into a full AU and post about it. I might randomize other stuff too (ie, stuff that I cannot change vs stuff that I cannot keep the same) but this fucking rules as a starting point.

[lesbiankermitposting]

an idea is forming where. in the alternate reality where jason doesn't die from the joker, instead of still becoming the Red Hood or some sort of other killer, he swings so wildly in the opposite direction that he still ends up morally opposed to batman, but this time in the Leslie Thompkins realm of radical anarcho-pacifist. jason still blames batman for what happens, but instead of trying to kill the joker he berates him for not SAVING the joker, and therefore not saving him. if batman hadn't become a vigilante maybe there would have been no joker etc etc. maybe if there had been more options for jason's father he would not have worked for two-face. Leslie has always been opposed to Batman because of her pacifism, and because she doesn't believe his methods actually work. that's why she helps everyone regardless of the crimes they've committed. something something jason realizes he was stuck in a cycle of violence -- from his father working for two-face to batman using force as part of his crime prevention -- and decides to remove himself completely.

[ladytauria]

any jason headcanons you enjoy?

oh this is a fun question, thank you <3

some of these are going to be more widely accepted fanon, i think, but! ^^;

smallest robin turned largest robin. (i actually think for size it goes jason > dick > tim > damian > steph. i also like the idea that as red hood he's taller than bruce, but bruce is broader/heavier.)

ik canonically he didn't join the school's theater/drama club bc of robin commitments, but in my head he was still part of a group <3 maybe they had a city one during the summer? idk

i also think he was starting to get involved with the martha wayne foundation before he died.

alfred & he are close. ik canonically alfred tends to be a lot more victim blame-y with jason (as all of them are) but i think that entire retcon was stupid so <3

he can cook and cook well!

related: he also stress bakes. and cooks, too. also a stress cleaner. actually, just in general, i think he responds to stress with action. anything that feels "useful" or "helpful"--so feeding people, maintaining weapons/armor, cleaning up a space, etc.

very neat, and meticulous about his space. like, he might have a few things lying around that are "in use" but for the most part everything has a spot.

phobia of needles! it was worse when he was robin, but as an adult he's worked on it & learned how to manage it. however, in times of high stress it shows back up. and he's not good with any kind of unexpected need for shots.

i saw something somewhere about jason having multiple copies of books--not necessarily editions (though def that too) but like... one to put on display & one he can annotate/dog-ear/mark up/etc as h pleases. which i like a lot!

also inspired by something else--this time a piece of art, i think for something set in the batman beyond universe--but. i think he develops hearing problems, and maybe even already has? (actually; on that subject, i think he probably has tinnitus now, and maybe develops hearing loss as he gets older.) [updating with a link to the art]

good with kids. that one might just be canon xD

does a lot of volunteer work when he's not vigilante-ing. he does work with various places, but i think one of his favorites is like, storytime with kids at a library, or something.

i go back & forth between "jason is warmer" and "jason is colder" post-resurrection, and i think i like to stick with somewhere in the middle---he gives off a lot of heat, but has a harder time retaining. so even tho he feels warm to everyone else, he's still cold.

not really a headcanon, but. white streak + autopsy scar is peak jason design~

& i'll stop there bc this is getting p long!

[jasontoddsno1simp]

Uh...

Where is all this Black Jason Todd discourse coming from?! Because, last time I checked, headcanoning Jason as Black is not exactly all that popular. Unless I'm missing a huge subset of his fandom; I've yet to come across the mob of He Did Nothing Wrong girlies who are deadass that Jason anti's swear run Butstan Twitter/Tumblr.

[whywoulditho]

has anyone ever written a no capes DC AU where Jason's pit rages are switched into OCD/intrusive thoughts?? because that's a concept i literally can't get out of my mind. i tried to write a pit rage once and i noticed the way i'm describing it is a literal projection of my intrusive thoughts back when my ocd was that awful. so i thought i might try to write something like an OCD!Jason fic but if anyone's read something like that before please let me know!!

[picturefirelizards]

Jason Todd would scream the lyrics to pink pony club send tweet

[redstarfish-art]

Q1: Who's your favourite Batfam character?

Me: Jason!

Q2: Who's your second favourite?

Me: Grayson~

Q3: Who do you get ideas for the most?

Me: ...

Brain: Tim. It's always Tim. Don't ask.

[authorityproblems]

been thinking about this post on my duke movie a lot lately and exactly how i would do it.

start out with the scene of baby duke talking to bruce when his parents take bruce in. duke explains that he’s going to help people, and we can see a hint of a smile on bruce’s face.

flash forward to duke taunting those kids on the basketball court. you can basically just take we are robin and robin war and throw them in here for most of the storyline. i would make some changes though, and i’m aware that these wouldn’t all be as easy as i’m suggesting, but i do think they’re necessary. return dick to nightwing instead of having him as agent 37. i hate most of new 52 anyway and i could definitely figure out a way to have him as nightwing instead. bring steph and cass in, the girls deserve to be there, and i’m not picky about their identities but i don’t want cass to be orphan. have mentions of babs, like little pop-ups with the oracle symbol helping out the bats along the way, but i’m not even sure if i want her to actually be shown much aside from little glimpses of her at her computer in her wheelchair, just hearing her voice over comms. and this will likely be controversial, but i barely want to see bruce in this thing either. his only appearance at least for the first half of the movie should be the intro scene.

the last 10 minutes of the movie show a training session between duke, bruce, cass, and jason (all people duke has trained with). at the end, bruce takes duke to the side and they have a little conversation about duke’s future as a vigilante, which ends with bruce showing him the signal suit he designed, on display in a glass case. the last camera shot is of duke staring with wide eyes, then he starts to grin and says something along the lines of “oh, fuck yeah,” before we cut out. also i think it would be great if every other swear in the movie was somehow taken out with basic sounds (train going past, car horn honking, crowds of people) except for this one swear, humour me.

dc don’t be cowards i’ve basically done all the work for you.

unpopular opinion, but I think a duke movie would be the perfect place to introduce the batfam to the dceu

introduce his story starting as a kid part of the we are robin movement, some interactions with the batfam during everything that happens, and eventually lead to him becoming the signal and maybe even include the outsiders

we get to see an intro to the rest of the batfam and duke’s story is the perfect one to include at least the batboys, and duke finally gets some of the damn recognition he deserves. I know we all want a nightwing movie or robin movie and don’t get me wrong I want that too, but I would love to see it after getting a duke movie to like bring everyone in and establish the characters with non dc fans

[mostly-imagines]

Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes while Tim has sat atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges into the room, past them and onto the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

But it’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He secretly wouldn’t really mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stayed behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out,” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason keeps his head down as he blindly reaches for the spoon in his cereal and chucks it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work,” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think,” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

✨ reblog fics or face the block button ✨

[enviedear]

thinking about jason todd finally becoming a family man. a thing he never truly imagined for himself, never let himself imagine. suddenly he’s got a kid on the way and his fuckin’ motorcycle and your ancient ass car aren’t going to cut it. so now he’s out with you, shopping for the most father-like car you two can find. he’s not used to safe vehicles, even in his own youth.

he's always been a man that subscribed to speed, to thrill, to scraping by with just a cocky smirk and a devil may care attitude that expertly shields the far softer crux of himself. a safe car—one with good mileage and enough cup holders—wasn’t something he’d ever imagined himself shopping for. but here he is, standing next to you in a dealership lot, staring at a lineup of SUVs and sedans with an expression that’s somewhere between disbelief and resignation.

“i feel like i’m betraying myself just by being here.” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flitting over the sensible, family-friendly options. “i mean, a fuckin’ minivan, babe? this is what my life has come to?”

you can’t help but laugh, hooking your arm through his and leaning into his side. “no one said we had to get a minivan, jay. but…maybe something with four doors—and airbags that actually work.”

“you’re really cutting into my image here.” he teases, though his hand falls to rest on your back, steady and warm. there’s a quiet shift in his tone when he adds, “but i guess i’m not just buying for me anymore, huh?”

he glances at you then, at the way you’re glowing in a way that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun overhead. his hand lingers on your back, sliding down to your hip as his lips twitch into something soft. it’s a look that says more than he ever could out loud—that he’s trying, that he wants to be the man you need him to be. for you. for the baby. for this whole new life he’s never let himself dream of, but now wants so desperately to protect.

you squeeze his arm. “well, you know what they say. nothing’s cooler than being a parent.”

“oh, sure.” he snorts. “because every kid wants to say their old man drives a…what is this, a fuckin’ toyota rav4?”

you laugh again, and it’s the kind of sound that grounds him, makes all the self-doubt and second-guessing fade into something bearable, burdens vanquished. he watches you as you step toward one of the cars, peering through the window at the interior.

“this one’s not so bad!” you say over your shoulder. “looks like it could handle groceries, strollers, maybe even a car seat…or two.”

he follows you, resting his arms on top of the door as he leans in to inspect it with you. “you’re really selling me on this whole ‘dad’ thing, you know that?”

you glance at him, your smile softening. “you’re gonna be really good at it, jay. better than you think.”

he doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you with those steady, blue-green eyes of his. and then, after a second, he nods, jaw tightening like he’s trying to swallow back something thick and emotional.

“yeah,” he agrees quietly. “maybe i will be.”

and for the first time, it all feels real—not just a looming, abstract idea but something solid and tangible. a life, a family, a future he never thought he could have.

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works | moodboard for this drabble

[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.

[dollishmehrayan]

# “THE WOMAN WAS TOO STUNNED TO SPEAK…” ── .✦ ( batboys w an unhinged!reader and blunt!reader )

a/n: this is from my little brain of mine , and I like to honor it for @kyriakis anywhoo I’m back and omg 1k?! Alsoo guys dw! I’m gonna do the event tomorrow && I’m gonna pick out some prompts I have organized, so i didn't forget okay but i just got a lot of DMs asking when I’m gonna do it for you guyss so yeah it’s gonna be tomorrow since I’m gonna re-edit + add some ideas of your guys votes!! Tags: (batboys x unhinged!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He’s always caught off guard but loves it. Your bluntness is a breath of fresh air for Dick, who’s so used to diplomatic conversations. You say whatever’s on your mind with zero filter, and he’s like, “Oh, wow. Okay. I respect it.”

Hates it when you don’t hold back with him. He’s used to being the charming, funny guy who makes everyone laugh, but you hit him with a “That was dumb, don’t do that again” and his brain short circuits for a second. “You can’t just say that!” “Why not?”

Finds it hilarious when you wreck other people’s egos. You have zero time for anyone’s nonsense, and when someone messes up, you let them know. Dick’s in the background, trying not to laugh. “Do you not think before you speak?!…” He’s always acts so shocked but hey, he’s kinda enjoying it unless it’s aimed at him. (He can’t fight verbally for the life of him without saying some cringe shit)

Doesn’t even try to change you. Dick knows what he’s getting into, and he loves you for it. He’s never going to ask you to ‘tone it down.’ He actually finds your unapologetic attitude pretty hot.

He’s 50% worried you’ll get into trouble, 50% impressed. But in the end, he’ll always back you up, saying, “She’s just honest. Get used to it.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Finally, someone who speaks his language. Jason lives for the fact that you don’t care what people think. He loves how blunt you are, especially when you cut through the BS with the precision of a sharp knife.

Gets protective when people try to push your boundaries. If someone dares disrespect you, Jason’s the first one to step in. “You’ve got a problem with her? You’ve got a problem with me.”, “Jason that was so fucking cringey..”

Appreciates that you don't sugarcoat things for him. You’ll tell him exactly how it is, whether it’s about his attitude or a bad decision he made, and he respects it, it’s like the tt sound where “that’s when it hit me, it was the best idea I ever had..” but like this: “Not gonna lie, that was a terrible plan, Jay,” and he’ll just nod. “Fair.”

You guys have the most chaotic, weirdest conversations. It’s a mix of witty banter, ridiculous one-liners, and deadpan sarcasm. Other people can’t even keep up with the energy.

The idea of dating a ‘good girl’ never appealed to him anyway. He thrives off your unhinged energy. You’re unpredictable, and it keeps him on his toes, which he loves. “Yeah, you’re definitely not boring.” (Although the thing is he does love innocent people, like if you’re like gen clueless he wants preserve your innocence.)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s brain can’t keep up with you. Your blunt, no-nonsense attitude constantly makes him blink in confusion. One minute you’re casually roasting someone, and the next, you’re giving a straight-up critique of his latest plan. He’s learning that he can’t outthink you.

He admires your unapologetic honesty. Tim has a lot of internalized doubts, so watching you casually reject anyone’s judgment is a nice contrast. You don’t apologize for your thoughts, and it’s something he secretly admires.

Constantly second-guesses himself around you. Your sharp tongue makes him want to be as confident as you. He gets nervous about saying anything that might sound soft, so when he stumbles, you’re like, “What was that? I swear you just whispered something.” And he’ll blush hard, muttering an apology.

You both have a sarcastic sense of humor that others don’t quite get. You say something outrageous, and Tim will respond with the driest remark possible. People in the room often wonder if you two are joking or just genuinely a bit rude.

Not scared to call him out. When Tim’s too nice, you’ll be like, “You need to stop letting people walk all over you. Grow some teeth.” Tim won’t admit it, but that does motivate him to be a little bolder.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian is a bit taken aback at first. He’s used to people being respectful or like seeing him as kinda a role model, so when you come out with a “That’s dumb, don’t even talk to me right now,” he’s not sure how to handle it. He will stand there, blinking, while processing your bluntness. (He’s too stunned to speak 😞)

Genuinely respects your forthrightness, though. “I’ll admit, I have never met someone so… honest.” He starts respecting you even more, thinking you’re someone he can’t manipulate or charm easily.

Loves that you’re as stubborn as he is. If you’re determined about something, there’s no changing your mind. You’ll fight for your opinions even if it gets you into a heated debate. And Damian’s right there with you, arguing like it’s the most fun thing in the world.

Tries to match your bluntness. “You talk too much,” he says one day, and you immediately reply, “And yet, here you are, listening to every word I say.” Damian actually pauses for a second, impressed. “Right..”

Loves how you’ll shut down his critics with zero hesitation. Someone says something disrespectful to him, and you’ll be the first to shoot back, “He doesn’t need your advice, trust me.” He’ll give you a proud little smirk. “I like the way you handle things.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

At first, Bruce is a bit disconcerted by your bluntness. Bruce’s the kind of guy who expects people to be formal and classy, and you just come in with “This entire meeting is a waste of my time. I don’t care about any of this.” He blinks, then quietly admires your bravery.

Totally respects your unfiltered honesty. Bruce has had enough of the world’s games, so when you don’t bother to pretend or hold anything back, it’s like a breath of fresh air for him.

Secretly loves when you don’t play nice." He knows you're not afraid of saying what you think, and when you call him out on his brooding or overly protective behavior, he listens. “You’re right. I’m sorry for not trusting you more.” (He totally doesn’t have a tracker on your hair clip..🥰)

You both have moments of pure savage honesty that no one else gets. There’s no need for filters, and you’ll both exchange one-liners so dry that it leaves everyone else in the room confused.

Finds it endearing when you make his plans more interesting. “This is ridiculous. Why are we doing this again?” You snap at him in a room full of his board members, and he just gives you a look that says, “I’m never apologizing for you.”

[julymusings]

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

listen to the inspo song!!!

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Mean! Jason Todd

Mean! Jason Todd who dated one of your old friends from highschool a few years ago before it fell through. Whenever you and your friends would meet up, he always had something to say about you.

"Jeez, thought we were going to the lounge, not a strip club."

Mean! Jason Todd who absolutely shattered your best friend's heart when they broke up. You were left to pick up the pieces as he did god knows what.

"Not my fault your little group is filled with whores. She just had to go and get another guy's dick wet." (You found out later that she had, in fact, cheated on Jason.)

Mean! Jason Todd who contacts you out of the blue after months of him being blocked on your phone because he wouldn't stop calling the rest of your friends cruel names.

"Hey, sorry to bother u. Just need a pick me up rn. U busy?"

Mean! Jason Todd coming over for a couple of drinks because he didn't want to be alone and really did care about your friend.

"I just... I thought it mattered. At least a little. And the only thing that sucks ass is that I know it would've happened whether I was a better person or not."

Mean! Jason Todd who gets a lot more bold while tipsy and takes your joke about '[his] dick probably not being the issue," and how he could get "any girl [he] wanted looking like that," a little too seriously.

"God, just tell me you're trying to get into my pants, already. What would your little friend think, hm?"

Of course, it was just a tease.

But you didn't care what your friends thought.

Mean! Jason Todd who you don't even know how you ended up underneath, his hands greedily grasping at your flesh as he pounds you from behind.

"Look at how well you take me..." A soft groan. "Almost like you've been waiting for this. This what you wanted? To get cockdrunk from your best friend's ex?"

Mean! Jason Todd who absolutely pounds you and is so mean about how much you whine and beg, even though he's to blame.

"All those pretty noises just for me? Fucking pathetic... Must've been so desperate for this cock and waiting for it. You wanted my cock that fucking badly?"

Mean! Jason Todd who thinks you have eyes too big for your holes. Sure, you guessed he would be big, based on what your friend told you when they were together but he was huge.

"Look at that... See how good you're stretching out for me? Must've just been made for this cock... Thats right. All youre good for is taking my cock so well."

Mean! Jason Todd who's gone before you wake up in the morning, but leaves an advil and cup of water on your nightstand.

"Got a new number. Call me when you need another drink."

The note he left next to your cup of water.

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