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jellofish-plant · 2 days ago

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Table for One (Big Dysfunctional Family)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Genre: Fluff, Humor, Found Family vibes Warnings: Mild language, a lot of sibling banter, overprotective Bat-Dad Bruce

[Masterlist]

You were beginning to think you had walked into an ambush.

Jason had kept it suspiciously casual when he mentioned dinner at the Manor “Just a small thing, babe. Chill night, nothing fancy. I’ll drive.” You should’ve known something was up the second he actually wore a button-down that didn’t have a grease stain on it.

Now, sitting at an absurdly long dining table that could host a royal banquet, you were surrounded by all the Bat-kids. And Bruce.

Jason sat beside you, leg bouncing under the table in barely concealed anxiety. His arm brushed yours, grounding you both as you smiled nervously at the Wayne clan.

“So,” Tim said from across the table, peering at you over his glass of water. “How’d you two meet?”

Before you could answer, Jason cut in. “Not through crime, thanks for asking.”

“That wasn’t the question,” Damian muttered, stabbing a green bean like it had personally offended him. “But now I’m suspicious.”

“I was ordering a coffee,” you said, chuckling. “He was behind me in line and looked like he hadn’t slept in three days.”

“I hadn’t,” Jason said, leaning back smugly. “But I still got your number.”

“Pity,” you teased.

Dick grinned from the other end of the table. “Okay, but like real talk, how are you still with him after hearing him snore?”

Jason groaned. “I do not snore.”

You patted his thigh under the table. “He really does. It’s kind of adorable, though.”

“Betrayal,” he muttered, deadpan.

Bruce finally cleared his throat, his first real contribution to the conversation. “You seem… grounded.”

You blinked. “Thank you…?”

Jason raised a brow. “Wow, high praise, B.”

“I like grounded,” Bruce added gruffly, then focused back on his plate like he hadn’t just given you the Bat-version of a glowing review.

“You’ve passed the Dad Test,” Dick whispered dramatically, pretending to wipe a tear. “It’s beautiful.”

Alfred came in then with a tray of dessert and offered you the first slice. Jason leaned over, whispering, “They’re being weirdly nice. I think they like you.”

“They like me more than you, for sure,” you whispered back.

Jason snorted. “Yeah. No one’s surprised.”

As the night wound down, the conversation buzzed around you jokes, bickering, sarcastic jabs, and a warm undercurrent of love beneath the chaos. Jason looked at home here, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

Later, when you were slipping on your jacket in the entryway, Dick nudged your shoulder and whispered, “Hey. Thanks for being good to him.”

Your heart softened. “Thanks for letting me in.”

Jason appeared behind you, grabbing his keys, and held the door open. “Ready to escape this circus?”

You smiled at him. “We definitely have to come back.”

He blinked. “You want to?”

You nodded. “It’s messy. But it’s your messy.”

He kissed your temple, shaking his head in amused disbelief. “You’re crazier than I am.”

You grinned. “Yeah. That’s probably why we work.”

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo

@a-brilliante-mariposa

@fandomtrashsblog

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icarusignite · 3 days ago

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My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys (p.2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Civilian! GN! Reader

Summary: In a city where kindness is fleeting and warmth feels like a myth, a reclusive vigilante crosses paths with another ghost orbiting the same darkness. What begins as cautious companionship spirals into something tender, fragile, and terrifying. But when fear drives him away, and violence drags you to the edge of death, Jason Todd is forced to confront the one truth he’s always run from: some things, once lost, can’t be stitched back together. And some things are worth bleeding for.

Warnings: GROVELING (ish). more of Jason being a yearner like god intended, some religious metaphor shenanigans. Hurt/comfort, angst to fluff

Word Count: 3k

A/N: the amount of love part 1 received blew my mind omg, yall are the absolute sweetest, thank you. I hope you enjoy how I wrapped it up <3 Would love to hear your thoughts!

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

You woke into a scene that felt like something pulled from a fever dream, or worse—a cruel afterlife stitched together by the frayed edges of your longing. Everything was bathed in an almost sacred kind of stillness, so at odds with the agony blooming just beneath your skin. It was too warm. Your body felt swaddled in heat, sunk deep into softness, and for a moment you couldn’t remember why that should feel so strange. Why the warmth felt like betrayal. Why your ribs felt like they were being pried open with every breath.

And then it began to return. Not all at once, but in shattering fragments. The cold tiles, the sting in your side, the dim bathroom light flickering against the red that wouldn't stop coming. And the loneliness. God, the loneliness.

But you weren’t in that tomb of porcelain and mildew anymore. Someone had moved you. Carried you, tended to you. You were in your bed, the edge of your blanket folded over with care, and your pillow fluffed just enough, like a memory from childhood reimagined in a cracked mirror. The surrealism of it nearly brought tears to your eyes, until you turned your head, and saw him.

Your breath caught in your throat. He looked like hell. His jacket was slung over the chair, his gloves were forgotten on your nightstand, and his helmet was nowhere to be seen. But his eyes were the same. Wild and wide and far too human, locking onto yours the moment you blinked.

And then he moved. Bolted upright from his seat as if your gaze had yanked him forward with a chain, and his hand shot out to reach for you before he hesitated, curling his fingers into a fist mid-air, holding himself back.

“You’re awake?” he said hoarsely.

You couldn’t answer, because now you remembered. You remembered everything.

The rain. The sick, spinning cold. The dying.

And him of course.

His silence. His absence. The words he'd left you with, sharp as glass, tearing through you with more cruelty than any dagger to the ribs. The memories hit you like the tail end of a speeding car, and your face twisted as the grief crested again, too exhausted to cry but too full not to break.

Jason watched it happen in your expression, and he flinched like he’d been struck.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m—fuck, I’m so sorry. I should’ve never—”

But he didn’t finish. What was there to finish?

He should’ve never left. He should’ve never come back. He should’ve never let you in. He should’ve never pretended you didn’t already live somewhere in his very marrow.

You ignored his words. Your throat burned like you'd swallowed nails. None of this could be real. Not the warmth of the bed. Not the hurt terrorizing in your insides. Not him.

This was a hallucination, you decided, clawed up from the borderlands of death. And none of it mattered. What mattered was water. You needed water.

Gritting your teeth, you shoved the covers off, swinging your legs over the bed in defiance of your own body. The floor was far too cold when your bare feet touched down, and when you stood, your knees buckled. A tremor ran up your spine and you nearly folded in half from the agony that bloomed beneath your ribs. A tear broke loose, trailing your cheek like an apology you didn’t want to give. You told yourself it was from the pain. It had nothing to do with the figure at your bedside.

He was there in an instant. His hands caught your shoulders, steadied you before you could collapse into a heap of stubborn bones and bleeding skin. And you reflexively flinched at his touch.

You didn’t mean to, and you hated the way his face shifted when you did, like you’d just torn something open in him with your recoil.

“Where are you going?” he asked hesitantly. “You should rest—”

“Don’t,” you croaked, voice splintering. A sob caught sharp in your throat like a shard of glass.

Jason blinked. “Don’t what? I was only trying to—”

You shook your head, twisting out of his grasp, something volatile overtaking your features. Whatever mask of patience you usually wore had been peeled away, discarded along with the rest of your composure in some filthy alley.

“Don’t do this.”

His brow knit together. “Do what?”

“Pretend like you care,” you rasped. “Make room for yourself in my life, only to walk out again. I can’t—” The next breath hitched. “I wouldn’t survive it a second time.”

His mouth opened, but you cut him off.

“If you’re going to leave, do it now. Don’t play nurse. Don’t patch me up like it makes things even. Don’t do it for karma points or whatever misplaced guilt brought you here. Don’t do it because you think you owe me something. You don’t.”

"That's not what I—"

“Get out. Get lost. I don't want to be your goddamn charity case. I don't want your pity.”

Each word struck him like a hammer to the chest, and you watched it land. The recoil. The wince. The way the light in his eyes dimmed a little more with each sentence, his own words flung back at him.

But you couldn't stop. You were exhausted and hollowed out, emptied by loneliness and agony and the effort it took to survive when your heart felt like it had been left bleeding beside your body in that alley. And if you were going to be abandoned again, you’d rather be abandoned now. You couldn’t bear the slow unravelling of his presence settling into your world again, only to disappear without warning.

You didn’t want to relearn the shape of him in your life only to lose it all over again. You were already a ghost of yourself. You couldn’t become less.

Jason watched you fold like a dying thing. Quiet and slow, like paper soaked through, caving under its own weight. One second you were standing there, brittle and defiant, and the next, you were crumpled on the floor, your arms around yourself like even your bones didn’t want to stay inside you anymore.

He dropped down with you in an instant. Instinct, more than anything. His hands reached out to anchor you to the moment as if it might save you from whatever abyss you were staring into.

You didn’t fight him. That was the part that hurt the most.

He expected fury. He would’ve welcomed the worst of your vitriol because it was better than this lifeless resignation. As if you'd already decided that you should have died.

Still, he touched you, tentative at first, expecting to be struck. Cradled your cheeks between his scarred palms, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t even seem to notice you were shedding. He murmured your name like a mantra, forehead pressing to yours, letting his voice tremble with all the apologies he didn’t know how to shape into words.

And you just let him. For one suspended heartbeat, you let him in.

Your stare was empty, gaze sliding past him like a spectre, but then you focused. Met his eyes.

“Red,” you rasped. "Why..."

A name he used to wear like armour. A name you’d once said in jest, in irritation, in sleepy fondness, curled up in the cocoon of your mismatched apartment.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

“Jason,” he whispered. “It’s Jason. Call me Jason.”

He didn’t have anything else to give you. No house with a picket fence. No promises. No future carved from stability or peace. But he could give you this. Himself. Stripped down, unmasked, unhidden.

“I don’t want your pity,” you repeated.

You refused to say his name, and he didn’t let it show, how that sliced clean through him. How it burned like acid in the hollow of his chest. He’d taken bullets more gently than that omission.

He might’ve laughed if his lungs could move. Pity? You thought that’s what this was?

God. If only it were that easy.

No, this wasn’t pity. This wasn’t some obligation born of guilt. If it were, he wouldn’t have kept orbiting your apartment like some tragic satellite. Wouldn’t have looked for excuses to linger at the bodega you liked. Wouldn’t have memorized the light in your kitchen window during certain hours. Wouldn’t have felt the earth tilt whenever he caught you sitting at the table, staring absently at his old chair, a steaming cup left untouched across from you like a shrine.

It wasn’t pity when you handed him a mug, your fingers brushing his, and he spent the next three days wondering if you’d noticed how hard he swallowed. It wasn’t pity when, in the pitch-dark silence of a blood-soaked rooftop, he thought only of you. Your laughter. Your sighs.

It wasn’t pity when he walked past that bookstore you liked, the one with the crooked shelves and sleepy cat in the window, and found himself wishing he'd taken you up on your offer to accompany you on one of your many visits. He still had an annotated copy of your favourite novel, a sticky note with your handwriting in the margins: “This part reminded me of you.”

And it certainly wasn’t pity when every fight he picked, every near-death brawl he barely walked away from felt a little colder without your voice in his ear, grounding him.

It wasn’t pity. It was you.

And he hated that it had taken almost losing you to realize that he was not better off without you in his life.

He reached up again, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with the gentleness of someone afraid you’d shatter if he touched you wrong. His other hand smoothed the wrinkle between your brows as if he could erase even one fraction of your hurt.

Then, forehead to yours, he declared it like a vow. Maybe if he was sincere enough, the universe might spare you both.

“Not pity. Never pity. I swear it.”

Jason Todd had never known grace. Not the kind whispered in the hush of cathedral pews or sung in the devout voices of choirs beneath vaulted ceilings, but if it ever existed, he imagined it wore your face.

You were a prayer he had no right to say, but he uttered your name like one anyway, each syllable pressed to the roof of his mouth like a secret devotion. In a life stitched with broken psalms and carmine confessions, you were the only thing untouched. A quiet sanctity in the middle of his ruin.

He wasn’t meant for soft things. His world was serrated edges and retribution, bruised knuckles and smoke-stained silence. But you were something else entirely. You were Sunday morning light through grimy windows. The stillness after the storm. The first inhale after nearly drowning. He would have knelt at your feet if he thought it could keep you safe. Would have bled himself dry if it meant you’d never bleed again.

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was the height of blasphemy, to look at something so good and want it for himself. But the ache in him wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t even lust. It was longing, bone-deep and soul-starved. The reverent need to shelter you. To stand between you and the world’s worst cruelties, like an archangel guarding the last holy thing he’d ever know.

He didn’t deserve you. He knew that much. Jason had clawed his way back from the grave with dirt in his lungs and vengeance in his veins, not love. And yet, he wanted to believe that wanting could make it so. That yearning, in its purest form, might be enough to rewrite a man’s fate. Maybe wanting something so fiercely meant you could deserve a piece of it.

Maybe for once in his godless life, he would get to have something and keep it. Maybe that something could be you.

Something inside you broke the moment his fingers combed through your hair, like each strand was spun from gold and he feared his touch might undo you entirely. His hands quivered as they cupped your face, and it felt like he was trying to will you whole again through sheer desperation.

Then he gave you his name, and you felt everything go motionless, like the wind outside had paused mid-gust, like the ache in your ribs had dulled just for a moment, stunned into silence.

Jason.

It wasn’t a name you had guessed at. He had always been Red Hood to you, a shadow at your window, never quite real, never entirely yours.

But Jason?

Jason was human. Jason was a name carved in soft syllables, not the hard edges of the mask he wore. It was a name that felt like the sun on concrete after the rain. Solid. Honest. A name you could say in the dark and know someone would answer.

You held the syllables on your tongue like a secret. God, it fit so achingly well, like it had always been stitched into the seams of your life, waiting to be revealed.

And when he said it—“It’s Jason. Call me Jason.”—it wasn’t a demand. It was a gift. His truth, stripped bare, handed to you like an apology wrapped in longing. You hadn’t asked for it, but he had given it anyway, and now you knew it. Now it was yours. You never wanted to let it go.

The tears came hard and fast after that, like a dam rupturing, and you collapsed into him with the weight of it all. Your grief, your fear, the loneliness that had become a second skin. It spilled out in great heaving sobs that made your bruised insides scream in protest. Nonetheless, you sobbed, gasping for breath as though your lungs no longer remembered how to hold air.

Jason, as always, caught you.

His arms wrapped around you like armour, and you felt the tremble in them too. He held you not as if you were fragile, but as if he might fall apart if he let go. You hated yourself for clinging, for staining his shirt with tears, for taking up space in a life like his, like an old ornament someone had meant to throw out. You thought he’d pull away. You thought he should.

But he never did.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, choking on the words.

“Hey, none of that, now” he murmured into your hair. “You don’t apologize to me. Ever.”

Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, the scent of smoke and rain and something inherently him grounding you. “I didn’t want to be a bother. You said to let you go.”

Jason pulled back just enough to see your face, his thumb brushing beneath your eyes. His own shone with something terrible and beautiful—grief, regret, reverence. He shook his head, jaw clenched like it hurt to speak.

“You came?” you rasped. “You really came?”

He swallowed. “Of course, I came. You were supposed to call me. That’s what the number was for.” He held up the burner phone like it was a relic.

You looked away, the shame unbearable. “Didn’t want to be… a burden. You said—”

“I know what I said. And I was a goddamn idiot for it. I’m sorry. I can’t be sorry enough.”

“Yeah but��”

“You’re not a bother,” he affirmed, fiercely now. “Not to me. Not ever. You call me—any hour, any day—I will come. In a heartbeat. I don’t care where I am, who I’m with. I will always come for you.”

"Oh."

Held you tighter then, whispering your name like it was holy. Like you were something worthy. Something his.

“I’ve got you,” he professed, over and over again. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I swear it.”

And for once you let yourself believe it.

When your breathing finally slowed, you felt his arms move beneath you, one under your legs, the other steady at your back. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing at all, tucking you back into bed with a tenderness that made your chest throb all over again, but this time for a different reason entirely.

You blinked blearily at him, just in time to see him pick up something from the bedside table. A mug, steam curling faintly from the surface.

“Made you tea," he indicated. "Though it’s probably shit.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. It felt foreign on your face like it belonged to someone else.

“Thank you.”

He gave you a nod, awkward and a little unsure. Then he turned as if to leave, and you panicked at the sight. You reached out, not even grabbing him properly, just the ghost of your fingers brushing his wrist. Regardless, he stopped like you’d tethered him with chains. The expression on his face was hopeful, like a man on the edge of salvation. It was almost too much to bear.

“Will you stay?”

For a second, he said nothing. You felt the fear rise, a tide ready to swallow you whole. Maybe you’d pushed too far. Maybe this was where he decided it wasn’t worth it after all.

But then, he nodded. His shoulders relaxed, eyes softening as if he couldn’t believe you wanted him here. That you chose him.

He sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating through the space between you. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline, or maybe it was the rawness still bleeding at the edges of your soul, but the confession spilled out before you could stop it.

“Thank you... I’m glad you came. I didn’t... I didn’t want to die. I was—”

Scared. You were scared. You had been terrified of dying alone, with no one to mourn you, with no one to even remember that you had existed. Just another blemish on the tapestry of the city.

Before you could finish, Jason pulled you gently to him, your head finding the cradle of his shoulder like it had always belonged there. His arm wrapped securely around you, grounding you, steadying your breath. You closed your eyes, lulled by the beat of his heart beneath your cheek, the solid presence of him where the void had been.

And when you were just about to slip into sleep again, you felt it—or thought you did. The softest press of lips against your temple, so light it could’ve been a dream. All of tonight might as well have been a dream, one you never wanted to wake up from.

But his words? Those were real. They etched themselves into your mind with a gravity that no dream could hold.

“I will never let anything happen to you ever again.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #red hood #dc fanfic #dc comics #dc universe #batfamily #batfam

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dark-l-angel · 4 days ago

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The Storm We can't Escape

Jason todd x reader

Warning : Smut warning, mdni +18

A/N: Alright, listen up before you roast me.

I have no idea if this even qualifies as smut.. let’s just say it’s my "spicy but make it classy and passionately" attempt. No weird animalistic behaviors, no choking until someone’s a blueberry, no pee/shit consuming, no weird fetish or fucked up kinks. We’re keeping it cute here, OK?

Since some philosopher said that when you don't find the perfect fanfic you gotta make it yourself. right? 😂 Anyway, I rolled up my sleeves and did it myself. If it’s a mess, at least it’s my mess. Enjoy!

The storm outside had nothing on the one in Jason’s eyes.

He slammed the door behind him, but you hardly noticed too caught up in the way he looked at you.

Like you were prey, like you were salvation, like you were his next breath and he was starving.

“Been thinking about you all damn night” Jason’s voice came rough, dark silk woven with barbed wire. His jacket hit the floor, heavy with the weight of what was about to happen. His boots followed, fast and careless, like every second spent undressing was one second too long without you.

Your lips parted to answer.. maybe to tease, maybe to tempt.. but he didn’t give you the chance.

Jason closed the distance in two strides, one hand snatching your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck like you were something precious.. or dangerous. His grip was tight enough to remind you of your place: right here, caught between desire and destruction.

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?" he murmured, lips ghosting over yours, so close you could feel the heat of his breath. “Looking at me like you want me to ruin you."

Your pulse thundered in your throat as your body arched into him, a silent confession of your wicked craving. His eyes burned with dark amusement.. gotcha, they said.

"You want me to make a mess of you, huh?" His grin was sharp, all teeth and trouble. "Say it."

The words slid off your tongue like sin, breathy and reckless:

"ruin me baby~."

That was all it took.

His mouth crushed to yours, all fury and fever. His kiss wasn’t soft.. it was consuming, as if he was trying to swallow every sound you made, every gasp, every whimper. His hands were everywhere at once, greedy and unrelenting, like he couldn’t decide whether to pin you to the wall or pull you closer.

Your clothes came off in frantic motions.. torn, discarded, forgotten. His calloused hands left fire trails down your skin, fingertips grazing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, like he was memorizing you by touch alone.

"You feel that?" Jason rasped against your neck, grinding into you so hard your breath caught in your chest. "That’s what you do to me."

And God, the way he looked at you in that moment.. like you were both his favorite sin and his inevitable downfall.. it ignited something feral inside you.

You dragged him down to you, nails raking his back, desperate for him to mark you from the inside out. He groaned, deep and guttural, and you swore you’d never heard anything so goddamn filthy and perfect.

When he finally slid into you, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate. Relentless. Like he couldn’t get deep enough, like he wanted to bury himself in you so completely you'd never be able to think of anyone else again.

"You take me so fucking well" he growled, each thrust hard enough to make the bed creak, to make your head spin, to make you forget yourself.

Your moans tangled with his name, raw and aching, like a prayer begging to be heard.

“Louder” he ordered, breath hot against your ear. "I want the whole damn building to know you're mine."

And you gave it to him.. every ragged breath, every shattered cry of pleasure, like you were offering your soul on a silver platter.

He fucked you like he wanted to own you.

No. He already did.

His pace never faltered, even as you clawed at his shoulders, trembling beneath him. He chased your release like a man possessed, refusing to let you fall alone. When you shattered around him, he cursed against your lips, your name a snarl of pleasure on his tongue.

Jason followed you over the edge, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, body taut, breath ragged.

But even then, even spent and soaked in sweat, he didn’t let you go.

He kissed you slowly.. sensually, drugging.. as if he had all the time in the world to worship you, to ruin you all over again.

His forehead rested against yours, and in that quiet aftermath, his voice came low, dangerous, full of promise:

“Don’t think for a second I’m done with you, sweetheart.”

And you believed him.

You wanted him to prove it.

Again. And again. And again.

btw if you wanted any more character other than the DC to write for just tell me I'm all ears 🙂 and PLS.. my whole inbox is filled with damian wayne type shit. i told you he's a lil cutie kitten to me and i barely can think of any daddy spit on me typa thing on him.

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delusionsofgrandeur13 · 5 months ago

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your boyfriend, jason todd’s instagram

send an ask if you want some other characters too ;)

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dickgraysonsbitch · 2 days ago

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but jason can be a nerd and still be manly and a lil smooth though right? i feel like people see that he likes books/died early and automatically he’s bad with women😭 let my man be nerdy and smooth!😔

i see your manly and smooth jason and i raise you:

rizz without trying jason.

as in when he TRIES to be charming, it doesn’t work—he comes off kind of unsure of himself? kind of a klutz? but that’s only when he’s trying. when he’s NOT, he’s actually really smooth with it, and he looks the part, too, so that’s why it’s so surprising when he flirts with anyone and turns into mr potato.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd fanfiction

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mxxnechos · 4 days ago

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☆༻‧₊˚ first looks

a/n: first time posting some form of writing, kinda nervous ngl, but it's okay, we ball (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) art in the middle is by @/ciricearts on all platforms!! pairing: jason todd x gn reader!! genre: fluff, literally only fluff (i love fluff)

idea where when Jason and Reader are getting married, during the ‘first look’ thing where the couple get to look at each other for the first time in their wedding attire, instead of Reader being behind Jay, it's Roy.

like Jason is there, fiddling like crazy with his hands, picking at anything he can reach; his own nails, the cuffs of his sleeves, buttons on his suit, anything.

and then someone taps his shoulder and his heart genuinely jumps out of his chest, because he’s going to see you, in all of your gorgeous beauty, hair perfectly done, dress or suit perfectly fitting you, and just you being perfect overall because how could you be anything less in his eyes.

then he turns, and he’s faced with the most shit eating grin he’s ever witnessed on a person

Roy just stands there, looking like an absolute idiot, in a white dress far from his size, looking like it’s on the brink of its life span. the fabric is tight around him and he looks so extremely ridiculous

and Jay’s mind just… blanks

because what the fuck?

then there’s just laughter, because Lian (who is the flower girl and does her job in the cutest and best way possible) comes running up to her dad, where she starts to spew the most outlandish comments while giggling

and Jason just can’t stop laughing

until you actually do come up beside them.

you do it so casually too

silently walking up while Roy and Lian are being loud and making jokes, Jay is laughing hard next to them, and you just show up with a calm “What are you all laughing about?” with a smile evident in your voice

and he freezes, before his gaze snaps to you, and his breath is immediately lost. entirely.

because, woah. and that’s all he can actually say. it’s all he lets out as he keeps staring at you.

he doesn’t even notice Roy and Lian leaving, his entire focus is on you, only you, always you

because you’re so much more than gorgeous, so much more than perfect

in his eyes, you’ve perfected being perfect, you’ve gone beyond it really.

he just keeps staring at you, until you gently cup his face and remind him to breathe with that soft and calm voice he wants to bathe in so badly

and he does, because who is he to not obey you, who is he to not do what you ask of him, who is he to not breathe you in when you’re finally going to be his, and he yours, forever.

later on, he'll assume it was either Roy's or your idea, only to find out it was actually Lian's.

#echo writes!!#jason todd drabble #jason todd #red hood #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #dc #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #i love him guys #he's my baby #he's my baby boy #i need to give him smooches

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angelinloove · 8 days ago

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sweet carolina.

jason todd who takes up flower biology, studying what flowers are in season at what times so he knows exactly what to get you. only the best for his pretty girl.

in early spring, he makes you daisy crowns and gives you daffodils, adorn in shades of bright yellow to pale white, primroses, violets and harebell. all displayed in that lovely vase he watched you eye in the boutique last week.

in the summer, there's a fresh bowl of strawberries and sliced mango next to a vibrant bouquet of calendula, pink and yellow lantanas, white zinnias, and transvaal daisies. you share lemonade and try it with rosemary blossoms because apparently they're edible.

in the fall, along side alfred's wonderfully made pumpkin pie, there is a bunch of orange chrysanthemums and goldenrods. and he gives you a vase of snowdrops and lenten roses in the winter. not without a kiss underneath the mistletoe though, of course.

you have a journal, multiple actually, full of every different flower he has given you, all pressed against the pages. you write each other love notes, and sometimes jane austen quotes, between the free space.

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alikesical · 1 day ago

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Scars.

A retrospective in how Jason Todd can't help but think he was meant to be broken.

theme: angst

trigger warning: violence, abuse, death, murder

notes: here's the fic based on this little thought, Jason Todd was created for angst, no one does it like him

Jason isn't the person he thought he was. Not anymore.

He was Robin. Then he was dead. Now he's Red Hood, alive, but he doesn't feel like he is.

He was alive, but could he call this a life? If living meant feeling this emptiness in his heart, he didn't want to live. Not anymore.

From the moment he woke up, he could feel something was missing. He was alive, but his soul was still dead, buried six feet under in Wayne Manor, no chance of recovery.

He'd thought the Lazarus Pit would help him heal, make him whole again. But nothing in the universe was strong enough to.

Maybe if he knew what was missing, he could try to find it. But nothing from his life pre mortem resided in him. All the happiness, the sadness, the hope he had felt were gone, a notable gap in his psyche. All he could feel was anger, and even that seemed to have been taken from him, along with the need for vengeance.

Maybe he was meant to be broken, trying evermore to fill the gaps, mend the pieces.

His own mother left him. If it was to die, he did not know, but she might as well. He didn't know of her, always thought Catherine Todd birthed him, under a rainy sky. Because there wasn't a single chance someone like him would have born on a sunny day.

No, he was born and the universe wept alongside his mother. Wept for what he was—and for what he would become. Jason Todd was born with a hole in his heart, forever doomed to try to fill it.

Maybe if he was given to a better family he wouldn't feel it as much. Maybe their love could cover it with a blanket. Hide it long enough for him to forget it was ever there to begin with.

But he wasn't given to such a family.

Catherine, she wasn't fit to care for a child, much less provide for it. One of his first memories was him trying to wake her up, after she passed out from an overdose in the bathtub.

He called the police. Once. After that, he learned to knock on doors no one would open.

Nonetheless, Jason didn't hold it against her. She was simply trying to fill her own hole, they were similar like that. Maybe that's why he ended up in her care.

Like recognises like.

And sometimes that's enough.

Until it isn't.

Catherine died to her own demons. Jason wondered if she managed to fill the space up. He liked to think she did. It meant he could too.

Then Jason was left with Willis. He doesn't remember him as well as Catherine. He heard once that your brain blocks out bad memories to keep you safe.

That was a load of bullshit. If it were true, he wouldn't remember all that he does. He wouldn't have scars.

But he did, and Willis was the first one.

The man was a drunk, a junkie that thought himself a God. Until he tried to stroll amongst them and lost his life.

But until then he made sure to teach Jason how the world viewed him. A stray. Nothing more than the dust on the shoes of everybody bigger than him.

He taught him that he should take what he could, because no one would give anything to him. And if they did, he should be grateful, whatever it was that they were giving him.

Jason didn't say goodbye, not like he did with Catherine. There wasn't a body to say goodbye to. And besides, he didn't want to.

Willis wasn't like him, he wasn't missing something, if he did then maybe Jason would understand the way he acted.

No. Willis Todd was complete, but still grabbed things as if he was missing them.

He resented him for that.

But he couldn't deny that what he taught him was useful. It allowed him to exist in Gotham. Survive his fate.

So he stole, and he ran, and he hid, and he survived, constantly balancing life as if it was a tightrope. One wrong move and he'd be giving up the fight. One wrong step and he'd fall.

Until he tried to steal the tires of that fancy car.

He didn't feel guilt or remorse in doing so. Whoever owned it, clearly had the money to replace them, they didn't need them like he did.

But then he appeared, and Jason could immediately tell that the masked man was like him.

But not quite. Not really.

Bruce was missing something, but he knew what. He wasn't born in this fate, but forced into it like a lamb to the slaughter. And Jason thought that maybe, just maybe, he could tell him- help him find the missing piece.

And he seemed to have every intention to do so.

Bruce had done everything in his power to change the hand the universe dealt for him. He was kind, and he loved him like his own son, and he made Jason think that this was what he was missing. But it wasn't enough. He tried to bridge the gap - and he did try - but nothing could have been done.

He adopted him, allowed him to live in his lavish manor. He let him read, learn, and for the first time in his unfortunate existence Jason wasn't a stray.

The only times Jason felt whole, actually whole, was when he was in the Robin suit. Following Batman through the dark sky of Gotham, anger rushing through his veins, heading straight to his heart, cloaking the gap.

He loved the rush. The adrenaline. He felt like this is what he was meant to do. Meant to be.

He thought Batman thought so too, that's why he picked him.

But he was wrong, and as much as his mentor tried to hide it, Jason could see it in his eyes. Bruce looked at him as if he was waiting for him to snap, to revert back to his Crime Alley ways. He looked at him like he was unstable.

Young Jason had tried everything to prove that he wasn't. Now he knew he was. So he had accepted the anger, the precariousness as part of himself.

When you have nothing, you cling to what you do have, never matter if it's bad. Because it's still yours. And if it's yours, they can't take it from you.

So when he learned who his birth mother was, he set out to find her.

Jason didn't see it coming. How could he have? He had grown comfortable by Batman's side. He wouldn't have betrayed him. He knew that.

But his mother did. She betrayed him without a second thought, handing him over to the Joker, adding another scar to his ever growing collection.

Jason is still haunted by the pain. The cold feeling of the crowbar smashing against his temple. His blood running down his face. The metallic taste of it. The maniacal laughter that echoed through the room, as he prayed to either die or be saved. Anything to stop the pain.

But none of that happened. Not until the bomb anyway. A few excruciating seconds and he was gone.

At the time, he didn't blame Bruce for not saving him. He couldn't. Because he knew it in his malformed heart, that he had tried to, even if he failed.

A part of him still doesn't. Nothing could have been done.

He remembers a woman - he later learned that her name was Talia and that she could help him - pulling him up and taking him to a pool, laying him inside, whispering in his ear.

Jason doesn't remember what death felt like, only the excruciating pain in his lungs when he woke up, begging for oxygen. Begging for him to claw himself out of his own grave. He remembers the pain throbbing on his bleeding fingernails, the layers of mud that collected under it. He remembers coughing violently, spitting blood and dirt, as his body begged to be killed once again, just to feel relief.

The Lazarus Pit was supposed to heal him, body and soul. So, why did he still feel empty?

The first thing he managed to notice, past the pain, was his heartbeat drumming.

But a heartbeat doesn't mean you're alive. He was awake, but his soul would never be coming back. There was nothing left of it.

All that was left was the anger. The indignation, burning deep down inside, only that only grew stronger as he found out what he had missed.

The newspapers had called him a tragedy. He remembers scoffing, and tearing it to pieces.

He wasn't a tragedy. He was a soldier. He was taught to fight, to push through, to survive. And like any other soldier he had a purpose. A purpose he fulfilled, paying for it with his life.

A soldier without one was ineffectual. Replacable.

Jason saw very soon how replaceable he was. A new Robin by the Dark Knight's side, doing what he used to.

He felt the scar burning him alive. A tire fire in his heart. And for the first time in his life, he felt like this is what he was missing, allowing the pain, the anger, the betrayal overtake him. Allowing the pain in was easier than fighting it.

Jason was tired of fighting.

He was replaced like a pawn in a game, all the while his 'father' let his killer run free, as if his death meant nothing to him.

If he wanted him to be a soldier, then so be it, he'd become one. On his own front this time.

He'd carve the trenches with his own hands. He would sweep through the city like a Blitzkrieg, leaving nothing but chaos in his wake. He'd start a full-blown war against him.

He'd clean Gotham. Burn the rot out with fire. Do what Bruce couldn't ever do. And he'd calm the vengeance in his heart by taking his revenge in the meantime.

So he did. He assumed an alias, Red Hood - he gave a single nod of acknowledgement to the irony of assuming the mantle, nothing more, nothing less - and he made himself a problem.

And it was working.

He begged for it. Death. He deserved it. He knew that much. It might have been the only thing he ever deserved, his birth given right.

Until he came face to face with him. He was pointing a gun at Jokers head, giving his father an ultimatum. Either he kills him, or he kills the Joker.

It should be easy, Bruce had killed him once before, what is one more time?

He begged, crying and yelling, looking for a reason. Trying to understand why he didn't kill him all these years ago. Not everyone, just him. Just the man that took his life. The man that took his son away from him.

But Bruce wouldn't kill him, and whatever was left from Jason's heart shattered.

Instead, he apologised. He explained himself. His words ringing in Jason's ear, a haunting lullaby as he made his way to Crime Alley, battered and bruised.

So now he was laying alone. In an abandoned warehouse, wondering if it was all meant to fall apart.

He was still angry, it was etched in his bones forever a part of him. But it didn't burn like it used to. Now... Now it was just unbearably cold. It was dead weight that he'd forever carry.

Nothing could have been done, he decided. No one could change him. No matter how hard he tried, he was meant to fall apart. Meant to feel empty. Alone.

Jason was sure that it was inevitable that he'd end up with scars. Maybe he should just start accepting that.

Accept that he's nothing more than that.

#batman #red hood #jason todd #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd angst #red hood fanfiction #red hood angst #arkham knigh #batfam #dc #dc comics #dc fanfiction #Spotify

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confessionsofamoviefreak · 7 days ago

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SUNNY GOTHAM

Pairing- Jason Todd x gn! reader Warnings- first time writing ever?? Genre- fluff

The sun stalks across the sky, until it finds Jason. It makes him squint. His eyes, blue like the cover of the limited edition Oscar Wilde book he’s holding, burn brightly.

A rare sunny day in Gotham seems to have washed away the city's gloom—if only for a moment.

In the distance, children’s laughter echoes through the park. A mother picks up her child, who giggles at the motion. A teenage couple kisses shyly underneath an ancient tree.

And your Jason is next to you. His shoulder faintly brushes against yours, a silent reminder that, yes, he’s here- even though he’s being quiet, afraid to break the magic spell the sun had cast over the city in the past few days.

You watch as he flips the page with deliberate care, his eyes scan the page. Micro expressions, like the subtle furrow of his brows and the pout on his lips, show how focused he is on the story.

A small breeze runs through the trees of Gotham’s park and Jason’s hair. You run a hand through it, the white streak blends smoothly with the remaining mope of black waves.

Jason turns his head, just slightly, and smiled like he’d caught you staring. A soft smile adorns his lips, making the guarded edges of his expression fade. His book lays in his lap now, forgotten until he eventually would need to stand up.

“Do I have something on my face?”

His voice is warm and teasing, like the sun that was fighting to stay up now.

You shake your head, a small laugh catching in your throat.

“Just sunlight. Looks good on you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice behind it, only a playful connotation.

He often gets shy, still getting used to compliments being thrown around like confetti, but he is learning to accept them. That doesn’t stop the light pink blush from creeping on his cheeks, or maybe he is just flushed from the sun?

You spare him his dignity and glance away from him. The rustle of the leaves, the golden haze and people actively coming outside to enjoy their day- this didn’t feel like Gotham.

“You shouldn’t get used to it.”

His voice interrupts your thoughts, it snaps you out of your dreamy daze and back to reality.

“I never do, don’t worry Jay.”

The harsh reality of Gotham’s true nature is a harsh slap to the face, but it is the truth. His hand creeps through the grass, the blades tickle his palm, until he eventually places it over yours.

He’s already missing this moment.

#first time posting my writing kind of nervous!!#jason todd fluff #jason todd #batfamily #dc robin #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #red hood x you #dc comics #dc universe #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd drabble #jason todd x gn!reader #red hood

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dntaed · 27 days ago

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Jason’s known you for a year now, a year that’s turned his life into something brighter, something more than it ever was. It’s as if he’s a star, suddenly glowing with a light he didn’t know he had, basking in the warmth of it all.

But Jason’s family doesn’t know yet. He hasn’t told them about you. You’re tucked away from them, like the Polaroid he keeps of the two of you at the fair, hidden in his wallet. Like the black-and-white photo of you curled up next to him on the couch, cup in hand, dozing off—his home screen, a little secret he holds close.

Right now, in the manor’s kitchen, Jason angles his phone away from the one person who’s in the room—Alfred—as he hurriedly types a message to you. His fingers glide across the screen, almost too fast, as if he can’t get your words to him fast enough. But then, Alfred speaks, his voice soft yet pointed.

“How long have you known them?”

Jason looks up quickly, eyes meeting Alfred’s. The older man’s lips curl into a gentle, knowing smile, and it only deepens when he adds, “You smile at your phone whenever they text you. I also believe you’ve set a special ringtone just for them.”

Jason’s cheeks flush pink as he tries to hide his reaction, fumbling for words.

“A year,” he blurts, clearing his throat. “I’ve known them for a year. They asked me out. We’ve been together for a few months now.”

Alfred leans in a little, his curiosity piqued. “Mm? A year?” He raises an eyebrow, his smile widening.

Jason scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, eyes darting back to his phone. “Yeah, a year. And now we’re together.”

Alfred’s eyes soften. “Can I meet them?”

If Jason had been asked this before, his answer would’ve been a definite no—protective, defensive. You were his safe place, his home, and the thought of introducing you to his complicated family was terrifying. But now? With Alfred asking, it doesn’t feel so scary. It doesn’t feel scary at all.

The thought of you meeting one of the most important people in his life doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as it used to. In fact, it feels right.

Jason looks up, eyes meeting Alfred’s, and his answer is soft but certain.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

#jason todd #j. todd #*dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #jason todd fluff #red hood #red hood fluff #red hood x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd x you #red hood x you #dc red hood #dug up an old drabble!!

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jellofish-plant · 13 hours ago

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Third Wheel or Vigilant Chaperone?

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader featuring Damian Wayne being his sassy, judgmental self Genre: Fluff, Humor Warnings: Mild language, a lot of sibling banter

[Masterlist]

You weren’t sure what you expected when you agreed to help Jason catalog the books in the old Wayne Manor library, but you definitely didn’t expect to find Damian Wayne sitting cross-legged on the floor, arms crossed, looking at the two of you like you’d just declared yourselves enemies of the League of Assassins.

“This is not what the library was made for,” Damian said flatly, watching Jason toss a book over his shoulder with zero regard for its century-old spine.

Jason, lounging on the floor beside you with a pencil behind his ear and a devilish smirk, shot him a look. “What, romance?”

You choked on your laugh. “You wish.”

Jason nudged your side. “Oh please, you’ve been giving me heart eyes for the last twenty minutes.”

“I was looking at the fire extinguisher behind you,” you teased. “In case you lit something on fire. Again.”

Damian, clearly unimpressed, rolled his eyes. “If I have to witness one more moment of this grotesque courtship ritual, I will request to be transferred back to the Titans.”

“You say that like you didn’t willingly follow us in here and sit down like a judgmental cat,” Jason said, standing up and cracking his back. “You could’ve just not come.”

“I’m here to supervise,” Damian said primly. “Someone has to ensure the library remains in one piece.”

“He’s literally chaperoning us,” you whispered to Jason with a grin. “Like this is a middle school dance.”

Jason leaned in close, lips nearly brushing your ear. “Should I ask you to slow dance next? Maybe put on some Taylor Swift?”

“Absolutely not,” Damian snapped from behind a stack of encyclopedias. “I will not allow that in this house.”

You and Jason burst out laughing.

Eventually, Damian huffed, got up, and dramatically declared, “I’ll be in the Batcave where emotions are forbidden,” before sweeping out of the room like a tiny, angry prince.

You leaned back against Jason, shaking your head. “You know, I kind of love him.”

Jason wrapped an arm around you and smirked. “Yeah. He’s a menace. But he’s our menace.”

Tag list:

@dreamzaremyrealityy

@not-herexo

@a-brilliante-mariposa

@fandomtrashsblog

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glamourscat · 1 hour ago

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ᴘᴀᴏʟᴏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʀᴀɴᴄᴇꜱᴄᴀ | Jason Todd x Reader

reader is a magic user | i had this little one shot idea so here it is lol | Jason wasn’t supposed to be here. A quiet Friday night uined by Roy and a magical screw-up. He didn’t expect the too-bright house, the strange group of people, or the girl who walked in holding Dante’s Inferno like it was second nature. You didn’t expect much from the night either, just another mess to clean up. But then there’s him. A stranger who knows your favorite passage before you say it, who looks at you like he’s trying to read every hidden line beneath your words. This is a stroy of two people who met by chance, in the quietness between chaos. And found something in each other they weren’t looking for.

Jason was starstruck.

No, he wasn’t exaggerating. The moment he saw you walk into the room, his eyes widened instinctively. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was your style, uncannily similar to his. Or maybe it was the massive, spray-edged copy of Dante’s Inferno in your hands.

When Roy had said, “Hey man, sooo… I might, hypothetically speaking of course, have set off some magic curse loose and I need to meet with some people who work with magic—but I need you to come with me,” Jason had looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

Not just because it was December, close to Christmas but not quite. Which meant Gotham was a chaos pit and vigilante hours were hellish. But also because this particular Friday night had been, against all odds, a rare moment of peace. Free time. And now it is gone. All thanks to Roy’s persistence.

So here he was. In a questionably loud house with too much pink and too much light. With Roy, for some reason Stephanie and Tim, who showed up uninvited for some reason. And then there was the group that Roy had told him about, but there was one missing. And until they showed up he was stuck in this pink hell for the foreseeable future.

As Jason stood there, mentally debating the quickest way to disappear without offending anyone, his eyes wandered across the room. The bookshelves caught him first, a huge display of three bookshelves with everything on it. From fantasy to classics, manga and anime figures scattered among them. Whoever lived here had taste. No doubt.

And as he was lost in his thoughts, he almost missed it. The way the group talking to Roy suddenly shifted their attention to the opening front door. You walked in. Poised, calm, like you were used to this. Tired, maybe, but you hid it well thanks to the way you held your head high. You smiled when Stephanie and Tim greeted you with hugs, like a group of old friends reuniting. You welcomed Roy like he hadn’t just dumped another magical disaster on your plate.

And then, your eyes met his.

Jason felt his brain short circuit. You said something, he could see your lips move but everything else faded. Sound, movement. He just stood there, staring like a dumbass. Real smooth Todd.

“I—shit, sorry. Uh, nice book.” Nice book? Really? Pathetic.

But your eyes lit up, a smile crossing your face, as your eyes flick briefly to the cover. “You think? I’m studying it for my classical literature program.”

“What’s your favorite passage?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. His mouth had fully betrayed him now. “Mine is—”

“Paolo and Francesca,” you both said at once.

There’s a pause. Not long, but long enough that Jason feels it stretch between you like a thread pulled too tight until it snaps. Your eyes flick to him with curiosity. His heart beats faster than he’d like to admit.

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t want to sound too cynical. The way you are yapping about the book is not in a negative way, just… resigned, like you’ve thought about this before. Like maybe you've seen too many things you couldn’t explain away.

“I liked that it was written with compassion,” you add after a beat, your thumb brushing the book’s cover. “Dante judged them, sure. But he still let them be together.”

Jason watches you quietly. There’s something soft in the way you talk about tragedy. Not indulgent, not performative. Just… understanding. You didn’t flinch at the weight of it. And maybe that’s what struck him so much about you. Not the book, and sharing the same passage as your guy's favourite. Not the confidence. But your quietness, that was louder than any loudness he has ever heard in his 24 years of life. Like you could tell the difference between suffering that mattered and suffering that didn’t.

He clears his throat. “Didn’t expect to meet someone who could make hell sound comforting.”

You give him a look that’s unreadable, but not cold. “It’s not comforting. Just familiar.”

And again he doesn’t know what to say to that. So he just stays there, standing across from you, as you carry the conversation. The hum of the room fading out as his mind focuses on you and only you.

Neither of you notice when Stephanie leans over toward Tim and Roy on the couch, all three of them whispering and side eyeing the two of you like you’re part of some cheap television show that they’re consuming in real time.

“She’s never talked this much to anyone new,” Stephanie murmurs, impressed.

“She quoted Dante back to him,” Tim adds. “It’s over. We have lost her”

Roy grins like he’s won something. “You’re welcome.”

Meanwhile, Jason hasn’t moved. He watches the way your fingers graze the pages of the book. You look like you’re thinking about something else already. Or maybe about him. Your conversation. He can’t tell. He’s never been great at reading people like that.

But he wants to learn. Just this once. He feels the unexplainable urge to know everything that the pretty head of yours is thinking. To know your deepest fears. What your heart desires.

He doesn't know why. Jason doesn’t act like this, usually. Always. And he wants to hate it, he wants to protest against his head, but he can't. He can't find it in him to mind it. Not even a little bit.

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kateswallofweird · 4 months ago

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JASON TODD IS THE TYPE OF BOYFRIEND TO . . .

cw angst ish fluff ish, mugging, implied physical fighting, forgetting to eat

jason todd would let the world burn for you, but for now, he settles on loving you with all he has.

the echoes of your recent argument still ring loudly in your mind (it was something trivial, it always is), but you're grateful when jason drops down from the fire escape, coming between you and the poor muggers who'd chosen wrong tonight. despite his helmet and the domino mask covering his eyes, you can feel the anger washing over him in waves. he doesn't turn to you, but you avert your eyes and when you find him again, red stains his leather jacket and his gun is holstered at his side again. behind him, the men are bloodied and unconscious. "i didn't think—" you started, but he scoffed (not coldly, but like he knew what you'd say). "even if we're fighting," he answers your unasked question. even if we're fighting i will be there for you, and it's a quiet reminder that his love always supersedes his anger.

grumbling under his breath as you continue to work on your laptop, jason nudges a plate of food to you. it's warm and smells like heaven, and when you glance at the clock, you realize the time. it's late, and you've forgotten to take care of yourself amidst all the work you'd been doing. jason sets down utensils in front of you and a glass of water before taking your laptop and setting it down elsewhere. "eat," he says softly. "you can't work if you're not capable." he doesn't have to say it outright, you can hear the worry in his voice and you know what he means. i care for you is whispered through the hot meal he spent the last hour and a half making for you.

in the quiet of the night (or as quiet as gotham gets), jason slips in through your bedroom window. he locks it behind him and sheds his uniform—his helmet, leather jacket, and finally his armor. he leaves it in the corner so you don't trip over it when you get up, and he makes sure to wash up before slipping into bed. still, the faint smell of cigarettes, cologne, and gunpowder linger. he smiles when you curl into his touch, relief settling in his bones as he presses a kiss to your forehead. he doesn't have to speak because even in your sleepy stupor you know what he's saying, i love you.

the red hood may be a terror to the streets, but to you, jason todd was home. he was warmth, like sunlight on a cold day, solace in a storm. a heart that was once dead now beat to love you, and yours did the same.

💭 tbh i've never read any dc comics so my characterization of jason todd is from other fanfics

#dc comics x reader #dc comics x you #dc comics fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd headcanon #jason todd hc #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood fanfiction #red hood headcanon #dc comics headcanons #dc comics hc #red hood hc #kates wall of weird - jason todd

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luv-lock · 2 months ago

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTRAWBERRY BABYㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Jason Todd x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : You Just Gave Birth To Your Child, Jason's Child, The Love Of Your Life. But Everything Went Wrong When You Saw The Child...

☆⁠ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Your life was supposed to be perfect right now. You just gave birth to your beautiful baby—a moment that should have been magical, joyous, and filled with happy tears.

Instead, you were losing your mind.

Because the baby in your arms… did not have black hair. Not even a single dark strand.

No.

Because the baby—the tiny, fresh-out-the-womb infant that you had just spent hours screaming into existence—was blonde.

Blonde.

BLONDE.

And he looked exactly like Jason.

Now, for most normal people, this wouldn’t be an issue. In fact, it would be a cute, happy moment—"Oh wow, he looks just like his dad!"—but you? No. You were spiraling. Because Jason had black hair. Jet black. Dark as the night. Dark as his soul (romantically speaking).

And your baby?

Your baby had a tuft of blonde hair that made him look like a tiny cherub sent straight from heaven.

Which made no damn sense.

You hadn’t cheated. Hell, you barely even looked at other men since getting together with Jason because—let’s be honest—your man was already borderline psychotic when it came to his jealousy.

So, if you had cheated (which, again, you HADN’T), you would already be dead. There would be no hospital room. No baby. Just a Jason-shaped shadow standing over your shallow grave.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were staring at your son, this tiny, beautiful baby with blonde hair.

Which would be fine. If Jason had fucking blonde hair.

But he didn’t. He had black hair.

You were a hundred percent sure of that. You had run your fingers through that thick, inky hair so many times. You had tugged it when he pissed you off. You had yanked it when—

That didn’t matter right now.

Because either you had just given birth to the wrong child, or—OR—

“Oh my God,” you choked, your voice cracking as you looked at the baby in your arms with sheer, bone-deep horror. “Jason’s going to think I cheated on him.”

The room went silent.

A nurse looked at you with wide eyes, hesitating mid-step. Alfred, ever the picture of composure, cleared his throat, carefully folding a tiny onesie. And Dick—because of course Dick was here—froze mid-bite of his celebratory snack, a hospital pudding cup, before slowly turning to you.

“Uh… what?”

“I didn’t cheat on him,” you gasped, convulsing in hormonal sobs as you clutched the tiny baby closer to your chest. “I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”

“I mean, obviously,” Tim mumbled, looking more alarmed at your emotional breakdown than at the situation itself.

But you weren’t listening. You were spiraling, your voice getting more frantic.

“Oh my God. What if they gave me the wrong baby?” you whispered, eyes darting wildly around the hospital room. “What if some poor woman out there has my real baby? And I have hers?”

“Miss, please,” Alfred sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Damian, perched in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, made a disgusted sound. “That’s your child, idiot. It looks just like Todd.”

“NO, HE DOESN’T!” you wailed. “JASON HAS BLACK HAIR!”

Damian just scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I—WHAT?!” you shrieked.

Dick sighed dramatically, putting his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe we have to do this right now. Jason’s gonna lose his mind.”

That set you off even worse. Jason’s gonna lose his mind?! Oh God, oh God, he was going to think you cheated. He was going to leave. He was going to storm in here, take one look at the baby, and—

You sobbed harder. Ugly cried harder.

Bruce actually looked like he was reconsidering every decision that led him to this moment.

“Uh, wow,” Tim muttered.

“I didn’t cheat,” you repeated, voice breaking. “I mean—how would I even have the time?! Jason’s always around! He’d kill anyone who looked at me for too long! It doesn’t make sense!”

“Why are you trying to convince us?” Damian scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be telling Todd?”

Your stomach dropped.

Jason.

Jason wasn’t here.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

“I—I love him so much,” you sobbed, clutching your little (wrong?!) baby. “I—oh my God—what if he leaves me?! What if he thinks I—Oh God, he’s gonna think I cheated, and I didn’t, I swear—”

“Jason’s going to break the door down when he gets here,” Tim muttered, rubbing his temples.

“No, he won’t,” Bruce grumbled.

CRASH.

Jason absolutely broke the door down.

It slammed against the wall so hard that even your baby, who had been peacefully asleep through your meltdown, flinched.

"Fucking Gotham traffic, I swear to—"

He froze.

You were crying.

Sobbing.

Hysterical.

His brain ran a million miles per hour. Did something happen? Did you change your mind about the name? Did one of the nurses insult you? Did he leave the oven on? Did someone die?

His eyes darted to the baby in your arms.

Tiny. Swaddled. Breathing.

Okay. Not dead.

So why the fuck were you crying like this was a damn crime scene?

"Uh," Jason started. "Baby? What’s wrong?"

You let out another broken sob, clutching the baby to your chest.

Jason panicked.

You started crying so hard you couldn’t even get words out. Just absolute, gut-wrenching sobs while Jason rushed to your bedside, grabbing your face.

“Baby, baby, what’s wrong?!” he panicked, his voice an octave higher. “Did they hurt you?! Are you in pain?! Do I have to kill someone?! Is it Bruce?! I bet it’s Bruce.”

Bruce exhaled through his nose, deeply unimpressed.

It's just made you cry harder.

"Oh, God—what happened?! Are you okay?! Is the baby okay—"

"Jason, I SWEAR I didn’t cheat on you!" you blurted out.

Jason blinked.

Everyone collectively flinched.

"…What?" Jason said, voice flat.

"I didn’t cheat! I would never cheat! I love you, and you were my first, and I would never, I would never, I—"

"Baby," Jason said slowly, trying to wrap his head around this absolute fever dream. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You let out another shaky breath, eyes darting around the room in pure panic. "T-the baby, Jason. Look at him."

Jason frowned, stepping closer. He looked at the baby. Looked at you. Looked at the baby again.

"…Yeah?" he said, confused.

"He has blonde hair!"

Jason blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then turned to the rest of the family like they had the answers.

Dick rubbed his temples. "Jay."

Jason turned back to you, lips parting like he was about to say something, then stopping. Then opening again. Then stopping.

“I swear I didn’t!” Your sobs renewed, your shoulders shaking as you held up the tiny, peacefully sleeping baby. “But look at him! He has blonde hair! He looks exactly like you! But you have black hair! I think I got the wrong baby, or I cheated on you in my sleep, or maybe you’re going to leave me—”

Jason stared.

Then he turned, slowly, toward the rest of the room. “…Did you guys let her spiral like this on purpose?”

“Yes,” Damian said, unbothered.

“Absolutely,” Dick grinned.

Jason inhaled deeply.

Then, to your absolute shock, he let out a long, tired sigh—before shoving a hand through his hair and grumbling, “I fucking forgot you didn’t know.”

You hiccupped again. “Wh—what?”

Jason gave you a flat look. “Babe. My hair. I’ve been dyeing it black since I was a kid.”

Your breath caught. “Huh?”

“Because of him,” Jason added, jerking his thumb toward Dick, who just wiggled his fingers in a smug little wave.

Silence.

More silence.

The world stopped.

The Earth stopped spinning.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

Jason nodded.

"You… had blonde hair?"

Jason nodded again.

You sniffled. Sniffled again. Processed this information.

Then immediately let out a loud, gut-wrenching, ugly sob and buried your face in your hands.

Jason Todd. Your husband. Your big, scary, six-foot-four, muscle-bound, leather-wearing husband. The man who used to be the meanest street kid in Crime Alley. The man who could disassemble a gun with his eyes closed and had murdered actual people.

Had spent his entire life dyeing his hair because he wanted to look like Dick Grayson.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes wide.

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Babe—”

“Oh my God.”

“Listen, it’s not—”

“You mean to tell me I’ve been married to you this whole time thinking you had black hair, but you’re actually some kind of undercover blonde?!”

“Strawberry blonde,” Tim corrected.

Jason shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

You gasped, gripping his jacket like you might collapse. “You mean to tell me this baby is actually yours?”

Jason exhaled. Then he stepped forward, resting a warm, solid hand against your cheek before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, babe,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin. “He’s mine.”

"Oh my God," you wailed. "I’m so stupid."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Jason sat on the bed, grabbing you. "You’re not stupid. You just had a baby. And hormones. And clearly, no one ever showed you my baby pictures."

"This whole time," you hiccupped, voice muffled, "I thought they swapped our baby, and I stole some random kid. I thought you were gonna leave me!"

Jason sighed, rubbing your back. "Sweetheart, I would never leave you. Especially not over our perfectly fine, baby."

Damian scoffed. "Tt. As if anyone else would willingly have a child with Todd."

Jason shot him a glare. "Not the time, demon."

Dick sighed, stepping forward and ruffling Jason’s hair. "Guess we should’ve mentioned that whole blonde thing earlier, huh?"

Jason glared. "You think?"

Stephanie shook her head. "I thought everyone knew. It's, like, a family fun fact at this point."

"I DIDN’T KNOW!" you shouted.

Jason pulled you into his arms, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. "It’s okay, babe. It’s okay. I promise."

You sniffled, eyes red and puffy. "So… he’s really yours?"

Jason pressed a kiss to your forehead. "He’s really mine."

You let out a weak whimper. "I wanna see your baby pictures."

Jason chuckled. "Alright, sweetheart. When we get home, I’ll show you all of them."

Tim crossed his arms. "I have them saved on my phone."

Jason turned his head. "Why the fuck do you have baby pictures of me on your phone?"

Tim shrugged. "For emergencies."

Jason squinted. "…What kind of emergencies?"

Tim smirked. "Like this one."

Jason pulled back, finally looking down at the baby in your arms.

And—oh.

The storm in his eyes vanished.

Replaced by something warm. Something deep. Something soft.

The big, scary Red Hood, suddenly looked—small.

Awe-struck.

Because there, curled in your arms, was a tiny, sleeping baby with blonde hair and soft little features that looked just like his.

Jason swallowed.

Then, hesitantly, he reached out, brushing his fingers over the baby’s little fist.

“…Holy shit,” he murmured.

Dick grinned. “You made a clone.”

Jason turned to you, eyes softening.

Then he kissed you—long, deep, and full of love.

“I love you,” he muttered, lips still against yours.

— MASTERLIST ☆

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