#jason todd fanfiction

[ahqkas]

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS THEY DO . . . without realizing

BRUCE WAYNE

rolling his sleeves

bruce wayne sat at his desk, eyes scanning the papers in front of him with a focus that bordered on obsessive. his brow furrowed slightly as he sifted through the reports, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. with a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his broad shoulders rolling as he stretched, the fabric of his shirt straining just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.

he reached down to his cuffs, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid the buttons. the action was simple, but there was an undeniable smoothness to it. slowly, he pushed the sleeves up, the fabric tugging against the defined muscles of his forearms as they flexed with the motion. the shirt rode up slightly, revealing the veins beneath.

once the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he flexed his fingers briefly, feeling the weight of the day settle into his body. there was no rush, no hurry. bruce wayne wasn’t just a man who wore suits—he was a man who controlled the world around him.

looking down and leaning in to hear you better

he stood tall, his imposing presence filling the space as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the difference in height between you made the moment feel all the more intimate, as though the world around you had faded into the background. his broad shoulders, strong and steady, seemed to fill the room with the weight of his silent power. every inch of him radiated control, and yet, there was something almost magnetic about the way he was focused on you now, narrowing the gap between you.

he tilted his head just a little, his gaze softening yet still intense, before his lips parted slightly. with a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, he leaned closer, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

“sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the words lingering in the air between you. there was no rush in his movement, no hint of impatience—just the steady presence of a man who knew the effect he had, who made every action feel deliberate, calculated.

DICK GRAYSON

stretching

dick grayson towered in the middle of your bedroom, a small stretch escaping him after a long day of training and patrol. with a soft grunt, he raised his arms high above his head, his back arching slightly as his muscles flexed in the motion. the action was simple, but the way his body moved with effortless grace caught the light in just the right way, accentuating the sleek, toned lines of his chest and abdomen.

as he reached upwards, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the faint line of his happy trail—dark and subtle beneath the fabric. his abs tightened with the stretch, his posture perfect and confident, yet so natural.

when his arms finally lowered, he relaxed, a small, satisfied smile curling on his lips, unaware of the effect the simple stretch had on your wandering gaze.

running a hand through his hair

he leaned back against the post of your bed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath after another long night of patrol. he was tired, but not exhausted—just enough to feel the strain of the evening settling into his muscles. his hand moved instinctively to his hair, running through it with a relaxed sigh. the motion was effortless, but there was something undeniably attractive about it. his fingers tangled in the dark strands, pushing them back, only to leave them even more tousled than before.

his hair, usually neatly styled, now fell in messy waves, a little wild and chaotic—much like dick himself. as he scratched the back of his head, his tousled look gave off a carefree vibe, as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite the weight of his responsibilities. the slight rumple only added to the charm.

his lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile as he caught the look in your eyes, momentarily lost in them—so damn predictable. he had you right where he wanted you.

JASON TODD

leaning against a doorway

jason todd stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed yet undeniably intimidating. his arms were crossed over his chest, biceps flexing slightly with the movement, a stance that spoke of quiet confidence and a hint of defiance. his shoulders were broad, his body leaning casually against the doorframe, but there was an edge to him—something hard and unyielding beneath the surface. the way his weight shifted ever so slightly to one side gave him an almost effortless air, as if the world had to adjust to him, not the other way around.

his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in everything with a sharp focus, though he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move or speak. the leather jacket he adorned hung from his frame, the subtle creases and folds of the material giving it an air of worn-in familiarity, like it had seen too much for too long. but his gaze—intense, guarded—never left your figure, as if he was watching for something just out of reach, something that only he could sense.

the way jason held himself in the doorway, arms crossed with a hint of tension in his posture, felt like a silent challenge for most, though there was nothing overtly aggressive about it. it was just the quiet power of a man who was used to being underestimated, a man who didn't need to say a word to command attention.

wearing a shirt that fits just right

he moved through the motions of his training with practiced precision, the rhythm of his strikes steady and controlled. his black shirt clung to his body, the dark fabric stretching over the defined muscles of his chest and back as he moved. the fit was snug, highlighting the sheer strength in his frame, the subtle curve of his biceps flexing with each punch and kick.

swaet began to bead on his forehead, trailing down his temple as he focused on his technique, his breathing steady despite the exertion. the shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders, rode up slightly as his arms reached high, the lines of his stomach momentarily visible as he performed another series of rapid, forceful punches. his torso flexed, muscles tightening and releasing with each movement, and the shirt seemed to accentuate the sculpted definition of his body.

as he paused, catching his breath, the shirt clung even tighter, the movement of his chest beneath it noticeable with every rise and fall of his breath. jason didn’t seem to notice—or care—how the fit of the shirt left little to the imagination. his focus was on the work, on pushing himself further, but the way the fabric outlined his form only added to the unspoken intensity of his presence. even when he wasn't speaking, his body did all the talking.

[mostly-imagines]

Who Needs Heaven? : Safe & Sound

jason todd x fem!reader

aka your daughters learn what happened to jason

warnings: nonspecific discussions on how jason died

(1) the drop-in

The sound of water splashing under toy boats and fish fills the small room.

You ring the washcloth out over the suds, Rory’s idle hands scooping up the excess. She entertains herself with the slowly dissolving bubbles between her fingers as you fill up your cup.

“Put your head back,” you tell her, nudging her forehead.

She does, squeezing her eyes shut.

You pour the cup of water over her head, combing through her hair. You refill the cup again as she pipes up. 

“Mommy,” she says with a casual lull in her voice. 

You pour it out again, making sure to rinse the shampoo at her roots, “Hm?”

Her hand comes up to wipe the stream from off her forehead, “How did daddy get that scar?” 

“Well, daddy has lots of scars,” you say carefully. “You know that.”

She shakes her head, “Littler scars. He has a big one though, right here.” 

She points up and down her torso. 

“What happened?”

You take a breath, eyes focused on the dissolving suds. “What happened…”

She continues on, “He said scars come from when you get hurt and the bigger ones are bigger hurts. How did he get such a big hurt?”

“Um...” She’s quite young to hear that story, especially coming from you. Your older daughters have an awareness of what happened, though it’s never been formally discussed. You think Mia knows what the autopsy scar is and the twins definitely know he died at the very least. You’ve been made aware that there’s been…discussions at school about who their dad is and how he one day died and then years later magically reappeared. You and Jason had decided that you would talk to them about it eventually, but only when they were old enough to not be completely traumatized hearing it.

You just hadn’t assumed that day would creep up on you like this.

You sit back, tense. “Did you ask him that?”

“No…” she says gravely. “I don’t wanna make him sad.”

You nod, trying to collect your thoughts. How can you steer away from this without attracting more questions? 

“Do you know what happened?” she asks, scanning your face.

You do your best to reset your expression to neutral.

You start without really knowing where the sentence is going, “We…we can talk about it later…”

Rory tilts her head, “Not now?”

You shake yours, “Not right now.”

That’s enough to appease her curiosity for the rest of the bath, but you know with that one, it won’t last long.

You’d gotten her dressed and sent her on her way, but your mind stayed heavy the whole time.

You walk downstairs slowly, hands still damp from the bath. As you turn the corner from the stairs you find Jason, reading contentedly by himself in the living room.

You cross the room without hesitation, climbing into the spot next to him on the couch. He doesn’t need to look up, only adjusts the position of his arm so its draped over you, pulling you into his side.

“So…” you start, “Rory was asking about your scar..”

He turns away from the book, looking at you with serious eyes. “What did she say?”

“She wants to know how you got it,” you tell him. “I didn’t tell her, but she didn’t want to ask you either.”

“Why not?” He asks quickly, face brimming with anxiety.

You shake your head, calming his worries. “She said she didn’t want to make you sad.”

He relaxes a bit at that, taking in the information.

You break the silence after a minute, quietly telling him, “I think it might be time to talk about it.”

He looks dejected, eyes on the floor. “They’re still little..”

“I’m not saying tell them everything right now, just…acknowledge it.”

“I don’t—” He sighs, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell them that.”

You think for a moment, nodding. 

“Tell them how you told me. Just…more kid words.”

He still looks resigned at the idea so you continue, “You know how to talk to them. Just tell them what you want them to hear. They’ll listen.”

He nods, eyes low. “Okay…”

You stand up, and he grabs your hand as you rise, pulling himself up too.

You give each other one more confirming look before calling up the stairs, “Girls? Come here.”

There’s a ten second delay before a scuttle of footsteps starts down the staircase, arriving with a low-liveliness, nearly bedtime energy amongst them.

The second you’re within sight of them, they’re keen that something’s not right.

“What’s going on?” 

“Is—”

“Everything’s alright. Nothing’s wrong,” you tell them. “We just want to talk to you for a minute.”

Your words don’t do much to ease their minds, but after a moment they slowly gather onto a single couch. They’re all squished in together and Rory’s half on top of Anna and Laine, the latter of which can barely move. Still, there’s no complaints to be heard, only an air of seriousness throughout the room. 

Jason clears his throat, though he has trouble looking at them, the easier option seeming to be the carpeted floor. 

“Alright,” he starts with a deep breath. “So my, uh, my Y scar…”

The air in the room drops the second the words are out, the girls all quiet and listening closely. You can tell this is something they’d been wondering about for a long time.

“When I was younger and I’d just started doing the, uh, special job my brothers and Bruce do…” He takes another breath, “Some things happened that shouldn’t have and I got hurt..”

“What things?” Ryan asks.

“I…I got tricked by a bad guy and…I just got hurt.”

It’s uncharacteristic for the girls to all look so dejected and serious like this. Goes to show that you were right—they do have an understanding of what happened.

Anna is the first to pipe up. 

“Did you die?”

“Anna—”

“It’s alright,” Jason interrupts. He collects himself before eking out, “Um…yeah, I-I did.”

He’s still stuck on those words and you have to silently push for him to keep talking, so as to not give their imaginations time to run wild.

He takes the hint, stuttering, “But, um, it’s complicated, but I came back and—”

Laine interrupts this time, almost teary-eyed.

“Are you going to die again?”

Jason shakes his head quickly, “No. No, honey, not for a long time.”

It’s quiet for a moment as they process, sorting through the details into something their minds can understand.

Rory looks on edge, wide-eyed, as she asks, “Are you a ghost?”

“No, sweetheart,” Jason answers calmly with a shake of his head. 

That seems to calm her anxiety more than anything else.

“Are you better now?” Laine asks. 

Jason nods, “Yeah, I’m a lot better now.”

Ryan looks skeptical at the choice of words. “How did you…get better?”

He takes a shaky breath, “Well…your mommy helped me a lot. And then you helped me some more. And now…now I’m all healed.”

None of them seem to really understand, but they accept the answer anyways.

The next question is from Anna. 

“Is the bad guy in jail now?” 

Jason only momentarily stutters in his response, but pulls it together nicely. 

“It’s not something you need to be worried about. I promise. Nothing like that’s going to happen again to me or you or anyone.” 

This appears to appease most of the concerns flying around in their heads. 

He continues, “We can talk about it more when you get older, but…

You take the queue, nodding Rory and Lainey your way. 

“Let’s go get ready for bed, okay?”

You nudge the younger two upstairs, who, to your surprise, go without resistance.

You give Jason one last glance before heading up the stairs, happy to see him much more relaxed than he was at the start of this conversation.

He’s left downstairs with his eldest three girls, each nearly bursting at the seams full of their thoughts and questions. 

Jason thumps down on the couch between them, a heavy breath following.

The trio watch him quietly for a moment before Anna speaks.   

“I know what it is,” she tells him somberly. He looks at her with more melancholia than he would’ve hoped for.

She continues, “There’s autopsies on my show sometimes.”

Right, her show. The X-Files.

Jason nods, a bit remiss at the idea that she knows.

From his other side, Ryan pipes up. 

“Did it hurt?”

He shakes his head, “No, I-I wasn’t…” 

Wasn’t alive. He doesn’t want to say that, though. 

Ryan nods, understanding anyways. “Did it hurt when you died?”

He hesitates before answering, wavering between lying to protect their minds and telling them the truth. In the end, he decides that you’re right, they can handle it in small measures. 

“Yeah. It did, a little,” he confesses. ”But like I said, that’s not going to happen again.”

From behind Ryan, Mia speaks so softly Jason almost misses her words. 

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at her, brow furrowed. “For what?” 

“That that happened to you,” she says. Her eyes are filled with an equal sadness to his and it breaks his heart. Even more so that her words are so clearly meant sincerely.

“Oh.”

It’s all he can manage to say.

He was only a little older than Mia when his life had been taken away from him and he’d been forced to reset everything he ever knew. And now, all these years later, he sits here surrounded by his children, his world that he was given a second chance to create. His children that don’t see a monster when they look at him, don’t see the scarred giant that he sees. They just see their dad. 

When they were still young they’d started getting almost excited whenever they got a scar from playing too hard because it made them more like him. It took Jason years to just bear the thought of his scars, but his girls look at them like art. Even when they know he got them in bad ways, they pour out nothing but affection. No disgust, no fear, no hate. Just love.

His eyes close and his face falls in his hands, overwhelmed by the idea of his children being such angels, despite being products of him.

“Dad? Are you okay?” 

He nods, face still covered. His voice is muffled as he says, “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, I just, um…” 

His words die off with little fight, and when his hands drop his eyes are red. 

Anna, who’s usually compulsed to only touch emotion with a ten-foot pole, is the first to wrap her arms around him, holding him tight. The gesture takes him by surprise, especially from her, and he tenses briefly before deflating like a balloon. Mia and Ryan are quick to follow suit, basically dog-piling over his opposite shoulder.

“It’s okay, dad. We love you. And your scars,” Ryan tells him. 

Oh, they think he’s sad.

Hell, thirteen years ago he would’ve thought he was sad. He only started to understand his feelings after his first daughter was born. He doesn’t tell them he’s not sad, doesn’t tell them that he’s crying because life slapped him around and then gave him everything he could ever want five times over. 

Instead, he just nods, pulling them impossibly closer.

who’s your fav daughter

[robinsfilm]

HOW HE LOVES | d. grayson & j. todd | 0.7k

SYNOPSIS: how do dick and jason, respectively show their love for you?

ANON: Hi! Can you please write headcanons 'how he loves' for Dick and Jason like you did for Damian? Thanks <3 <3 <3

A/N: tysm for the request <3 first time writing for dink and that was fun.

✹ ꕀ NAV. MLISTS.

DICK GRAYSON:

WONDERWALL: Dick is utterly captivated by you, unable to escape the gentle pull you have on him. His thoughts naturally wander back to you, no matter where he is or what he’s doing. The flower shop across the street from his apartment reminds him of the way you smile when you see fresh blooms. The warm cup of coffee in his hand brings to mind your laugh shared over countless café visits. Even the melodic song playing on the radio seems to echo your voice, leaving him lost in the memories of moments spent together. Every part of his day feels touched by you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

BUTTERFLIES: For a man as confident and experienced as Dick, his reaction to you is a mystery even to himself. Why does he suddenly lose his words when you're around? Why does his heart race, his breath hitch, and his usually steady voice falter? He’s never understood the cliché of “butterflies in the stomach” until now, but with you, it’s as if they’ve taken permanent residence. And strangely, he doesn’t fear them. On the contrary, he treasures the fluttering chaos you bring into his life, embracing the vulnerability you stir within him.

TO THE WORLD: While he might be bashful in your presence, Dick’s shyness vanishes when it comes to showing you off. He takes pride in being with you, in letting the world know that he’s yours and you’re his. His touch is constant—an arm resting around your shoulder, fingers threaded through yours, a warm hand resting lightly on your waist. In his eyes, you’re a treasure he’s lucky to have, and he makes sure everyone knows just how grateful he is to be with you. His actions are both a promise and a declaration: you’re the center of his world.

SACCHARINE: Dick’s love is a sugary-sweet devotion that knows no bounds. It’s in the gentle kiss on your forehead that wakes you in the morning, the perfectly prepared breakfast waiting for you—your favorite, of course. He anticipates your every need, from packing your lunch to knowing your schedule better than you do. His phone lights up with a special ringtone just for you, and his heart skips a beat every time it does. Throughout the day, he sends you little messages, checking in and reminding you how much he adores you. He loves giving you gifts, whether it’s your favorite snacks, a handwritten letter, or flowers—sometimes a vibrant bouquet that brightens the room, other times a single bloom tucked into your bag with a sweet note. And when the day is done, he’s there, waiting with open arms to welcome you back home, where you belong.

JASON TODD:

PROCESS: Jason’s love is a journey—slow, steady, and deliberate. It unfolds one step at a time, built on the foundation of mutual trust and understanding. At the start, he wrestles with unfamiliar feelings, trying to push past his instinct to hold back. But you teach him patience, reminding him that boundaries are just as vital as vulnerability. With every shared moment, every quiet conversation, he learns to open up, to let you in. The path may be long and winding, but the bond you create is worth every effort, a reward neither of you takes for granted.

REVERY: Jason’s life is a constant storm, weighted by responsibilities and the ghosts of his past. Crime Alley, his vigilante work, and the fragile threads of family ties often leave him tense and restless. But with you, he finds something rare: peace. In your presence, his defenses soften, his shoulders lose their rigidity, and his gaze takes on a gentleness that’s reserved for you alone. Your touch steadies him, your voice soothes the chaos in his mind. You are his haven, his reprieve from a world that rarely gives him rest.

THE ONE: For Jason, you aren’t just someone he loves—you’re his everything. In a crowded room, his eyes find yours first. His hands instinctively reach for you, seeking the comfort only you can provide. Your name is always on his lips, whether he’s asking for you, talking about you, or just thinking aloud. No matter who else vies for his attention, you remain his first choice. From mundane errands to quiet nights at home, he wants you by his side, sharing in every moment, big or small.

NOT ONLY LOVERS: With Jason, your relationship goes beyond romance—you’re his best friend, his confidant, his partner in every sense of the word. You’re the one he can laugh with until his stomach hurts, the one he can stay up all night talking to about everything and nothing. You do almost everything together—spending lazy Sunday mornings making pancakes, your laughter filling the kitchen as you both fight over who gets to flip the next one. Grocery shopping turns into an adventure, with Jason pushing the cart while you sneak in snacks he pretends not to notice. Even mundane chores feel meaningful when shared, like folding laundry while arguing about who left their socks all over the floor. In these shared moments, Jason realized just how deeply you’ve woven yourself into his life—not just as a lover, but as someone who makes every moment brighter.

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[ahqkas]

“HEAVENLY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! every moment with your boyfriend felt heavenly — even when he forgot to close the window

WARNINGS / TAGS! pure fluff

WORD COUNT! 1.9k

NOTES! it started snowing recently in my town soo i rewrote one of my older stuff . header below by @/v6que

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

HAVING JASON TODD AS A BOYFRIEND WAS LIKE INVITING A STORM TO STAY, both exhilarating and daunting. Some days, he was a menace—a tease with a roguish smile that made you want to throw a pillow at him even as you melted under his gaze. He'd linger in doorways with that devilish gleam, challenging you with his sarcasm, pushing just enough to light your fuse and revel in the spark. But he was also the blessing you'd never quite expected, with moments of gentleness, like finding a patch of blue sky amid dark clouds. He'd wrap his arms around you on nights when silence grew heavy, his warmth chasing away shadows you didn't realize were creeping in.

Waking up to the unsettling prickle of a shiver running down your body was hardly the best way to greet the morning. With a groggy sigh, you turned your head to the left, squinting at the vintage clock on your nightstand—the one Alfred had gifted you under the guise of "decor." In reality, it was less an adornment and more a tool of accountability, meant to ward off excuses like the last one you'd made: "I stayed up late because I lost track of time." It had been Alfred's gentle yet firm way of reminding you to take care of yourself. And while you had to admit it worked most of the time, today you were reluctant. The clock read 8 a.m., a perfectly reasonable time to wake, yet all you wanted was to sink back into the warmth of your blankets, to slip back into dreams.

Of course, that weariness was Jason's doing. Last night, he'd coaxed you into staying up late—well past the witching hour, maybe until 2 or 3 a.m. You'd lost track as the hours slipped away in the quiet comfort of each other's voices, filling in the gaps that too often felt like chasms in your time together. With his double life, Jason was like a ghost haunting the city's shadows, fighting to make Gotham safer, a noble but lonely battle. So when he could carve out time just for you, you treasured it, sleeplessness and all. He'd made you laugh, drawn you into those moments of closeness only the midnight hour allowed, where the world faded, leaving just the two of you. It was worth every yawn, every reluctant rise from your pillow this morning. Moments like that, with him, were a rarity you'd gladly lose sleep for.

You shifted slightly under the covers, your gaze drifting to Jason, who lay beside you. The sight of him, with his dark lashes resting softly against his cheek and his lips slightly parted, made a smile tug at the corner of your mouth. He looked so much like the term innocence in those rare moments of stillness, his usual sharp edges softened in sleep. His strong arm was draped across your waist, holding you close in that possessive yet tender way he always did, even in his sleep. The weight of it was comforting, grounding—like a reminder that no matter how chaotic his world was, you were his anchor, just as he was yours. His breathing was slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest the only movement in the room, save for the faint sway of the curtains from the morning breeze. You could tell he was still exhausted, his body betraying the fatigue that even sleep couldn't fully chase away.

As you lay there, your attention shifted from Jason's peaceful, sleepy form to the source of the chill that had pulled you from your slumber—the open window. The faint light of dawn filtered in, casting a soft glow over the room, but it did little to combat the cool draft creeping through the crack in the glass.

Shivering again, you curled closer into Jason's side, the cold air clashing against the heat his body radiated. His arm tightened slightly around your waist, almost as if sensing your discomfort, but he remained blissfully unaware, lost in the kind of peaceful sleep you rarely saw from him. His body was always so tightly wound, even in his rest, like a coil ready to spring at any moment. But now, his relaxed form and steady breathing made you feel safe, even with the chill around you.

A quiet realization settled over you as your eyes lingered on the open window. It hadn't been you who left it open. Jason, of course. He must've forgotten to close it after stumbling in last night, exhausted from his patrol. You could picture it—him half-dazed, muscles aching, eyes clouded with the weight of the night's work, and then . . . the window left ajar, as if his mind couldn't juggle the simple task with everything else on his plate.

You couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face as you watched him, still wrapped in the softness of sleep, completely oblivious to the cold creeping into the room. You reached out, your fingers brushing gently through his hair, tucking the messy strands away from his forehead. The motion was so familiar, so gentle, that it almost felt like a silent promise, a reassurance that you were there, even in these small moments.

Jason stirred slightly, the warmth of your touch pulling him from his dreams. His face twitched, and his eyelashes fluttered against the pillow as he tried to shake off the fog of sleep. Still, he didn't open his eyes, his lips parting in a soft sigh.

You continued, fingers grazing the soft waves of his hair, brushing them back with a tenderness that made your heart skip. The movement was slow, gentle, just enough to stir him without fully pulling him into wakefulness.

"Jay," you whispered, your voice playful but still soft. "Did you forget something last night?"

He groaned softly, his body shifting as if to pull you closer, but you pulled back just enough to keep him from falling back into slumber. His forehead creased as his eyes barely fluttered open, still trying to hang onto the warmth of sleep. The half-conscious look he gave you was adorable, though tinged with confusion.

"Hmm? What?" His voice was rough from sleep, a soft rasp that only made your heart ache in the best way.

You gave him a teasing smile, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "The window," you said, your tone laced with mischievous scolding. "It's freezing in here."

Jason blinked, clearly processing the words, before his eyes finally focused enough to glance toward the open window. Realization dawned on him slowly, and he groaned again, his face half-buried in the pillow as if wishing to escape the responsibility. But the corner of his mouth twitched upward into that familiar, apologetic grin he often sported.

"Guess I forgot," he muttered, though his voice was still full of sleep. "Sorry."

"You're lucky I'm comfortable here," you teased, brushing your fingers through his hair again, this time a little more deliberately, letting the soft texture soothe both of you.

"Yeah, I'm really lucky," he murmured, pulling you back against him, his arm tightening around your waist. "I'll close it in a minute."

You couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped your lips. "Nope, I'm not letting you off that easy."

Jason groaned, clearly not thrilled about leaving the warmth of the bed, but the glint in your eyes was enough to get him moving. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his bare chest exposed to the chill in the room. His dark sweatpants hung low on his hips, the fabric clinging to his frame in a way that left little to the imagination.

For a moment, you just lay there, frozen in the softness of the morning light, admiring him as he moved to close the window. His muscles rippled with each movement—his broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest and abs, all sculpted from the life he led, one of endless challenges and unspoken battles. There were scars, of course—some faint, others more pronounced—etched into his skin like a map of his past, each one a testament to the strength he carried, the price he paid for the man he was now.

You didn't need to ask about them; they were part of him. And though they were reminders of the violence and pain he'd endured, they didn't repulse you. If anything, they made him more real, more human. More Jason.

You felt your heart swell as your gaze lingered on him, his broad back flexing as he pulled the window shut with a soft click, his body turning toward you. The air felt warmer now, the room no longer biting with the chill it had moments ago. But the warmth you felt wasn't just from the room—it was him. It always had been.

Jason caught your gaze as he turned, his lips curving into that signature, lazy grin, completely unaware of the way you were drinking him in. "See? All fixed," he said, voice thick with sleep but still holding that certain edge.

You smiled back, but it was softer, more sincere than you realized. "Yeah, thanks." Your voice caught in your throat for just a moment as your eyes wandered over him again, and you had to blink a couple of times to keep the heat from rushing to your cheeks.

Jason's smile faltered as he noticed the way you were looking at him, that quiet admiration on your face. He took a slow step forward, his posture casual but with a subtle vulnerability underneath, something that always seemed to surface when he felt the weight of your gaze on him. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, but there was a touch of humor in his voice. "Something on my face?"

You shook your head, trying to snap out of your daze. "No," you said, voice a little quieter now, "just—just you."

He stepped closer, his expression softening like it always did in your presence. "What about me?"

You smiled again, but this time, it was all warmth and affection. "I love you," you said simply, your voice barely a whisper, but it was the truth. Every scar, every muscle, every part of him. It was all Jason.

Jason stood there for a moment, eyes locking with yours, as if reading the quiet sincerity in your gaze.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice a little raspier than usual, thick with emotion. He reached up, his hand brushing gently against your cheek, a soft gesture that seemed to speak volumes more than words could.

You nodded, your smile still there, but now tinged with a softness that only Jason could bring out of you. "Yeah," you whispered again, a little breathless, "just you, Jason."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He just looked at you, his gaze deep and knowing, like he was searching for something in your eyes. And then, with a slight curve of his lips, he whispered it back, his voice so raw, so full of everything he usually kept hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and nonchalance.

"I love you."

It was simple, but the way he said it—the way his hand lingered on the apple of your cheek, the way his eyes softened, like the weight of the world didn't matter as long as you were  there—made the words feel more real than anything.

You felt your heart skip a beat, warmth blooming inside you at the truth in his words. This was Jason, in every imperfect, beautiful way. And you loved him just as much, maybe even more, for all of it.

[strangepoppy]

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

<I>oh god</I>

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column. 

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound. 

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask. 

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh. 

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt. 

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it. 

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham. 

"How'd they get you?" you ask. 

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to. 

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?" 

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference. 

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly. 

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes. 

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded. 

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away. 

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself." 

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood. 

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink. 

"Can I crash here?" 

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines." 

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say. 

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again. 

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common. 

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love. 

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain. 

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say. 

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel. 

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?" 

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach. 

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask. 

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold." 

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead." 

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light. 

"You're tired of me," he says. 

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."  

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't. 

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit. 

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly. 

"I'd be tired of me." 

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.  

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say. 

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck. 

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask. 

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise. 

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst. 

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you. 

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow. 

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city. 

"I wanna try to use the door," he says. 

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming. 

"Then I'll leave it unlocked." 

[sunsburns]

not you too (ii).

pairing: jason todd x ex vigilante!reader

summary: after spending days trying to crack a case that's starting to haunt gotham, you've reached nowhere but a dead end. now, all of a sudden jason todd wants to talk and nothing could've prepared you for what he's asking from you and in hours your life just flips.

or: you never would've thought that taking this case would've caused so much fucking trouble.

word count: 7.1k+

warnings: mentions of violence, gore, death, major character death, blood, angst, reader is super stubborn, jason is lowkey an asshole, damian being damian, you don't need to read part one to get this lol

The next few days passed in a haze as you threw yourself back into your routine, trying to shake off Jason’s visit. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, his voice still echoed in your mind, his figure leaving a dark red stain in your memories and on your carpet, reminding you of all the things you couldn’t forget. You told yourself you had to focus; you couldn’t afford any distractions, not when Gordon especially with the case Gordon had dropped on your desk that morning.

The file was thicker than usual, the weight of it unsettling. Gordon hadn’t said a word when he handed it to you, just a slight nod as he left the precinct floor.

Usually, a note scrawled in his familiar handwriting was tucked inside. "Would be a shame if this got in the wrong hands," it would read, a crude smiley face scrawled beneath the words.

You knew Gordon's system—files left just so in his office, waiting for the quiet turn of dusk so the Bat could collect them under the cover of night. But he was slipping these directly to you now, his trust implicit.

But there was no silly note this time.

And what made you pause was the material itself: crime scene photos, and not the kind you'd pass off to Batman with a nod and a handshake. No, these were disturbing, brutal enough that even in Gotham, they warranted concern.

No usual suspect, no familiar mugshot of some abuser that needed to get beat up by the Bat or his birds; instead, it held haunting images of bodies, each more graphic than the last.

You scanned through the pages, your stomach churning. Each victim had been carefully posed, twisted grotesquely, as though some sadistic artist had orchestrated each shot. Their eyes were gone, darkness where they once were, tears of blood coating their cheeks, mouths twisted in gasps or grimaces. The blood was still dark in the photos, pooling and splattered, smeared in a way that almost looked intentional.

The victim profiles had a disturbing similarity—they were known to have ties to the criminal underworld, men and women whose names you faintly recognized from past reports and even your past when you used to run rooftops at night alongside under another alias. But they’d never gone down like this.

This wasn’t an accident, nor the signature style of the usual Gotham criminals. This was personal, with an intensity that cut deep, a method to every violent stroke. As you turned the page, each new image seemed more deranged than the last, the brutality escalating in what felt like a sick crescendo.

This killer wanted attention.

Almost a week had passed since you first opened that file, and despite your best efforts, sleep had been elusive, as though every image from the case clung to the back of your eyelids. Each night, you’d lie awake in the dark, replaying the grainy, haunting crime scene photos in your mind, the details sharper each time you thought of them. The taste of coffee on your tongue had grown stale, and bitter, as you poured yourself another cup just to make it through.

It was Friday again, and the precinct was as chaotic as ever. Phones rang, the background chatter of detectives comparing notes, typing reports, and bantering.

It was Gotham’s white noise, but for you, it barely broke through the pressure building in your head. You sat at your desk, bent over a stack of notes from the latest case briefing, trying to pretend the room’s sounds didn’t grate on you. This killer had changed the routine, breaking through the monotony of cases that always felt solvable, if not predictable.

You wonder when Gordon will give you the green light to hand the papers over to Batman.

Just another Friday. That’s what you told yourself as you tapped your pen on the desk, skimming through yet another detail on the case. But your mind kept circling back to that first folder, Gordon’s barely there glance as he dropped it on your desk without explanation.

Across from you, your partner tossed you a knowing look. He was holding another file, new and thick like they always seemed to be lately. He gave you a little shrug, pushing the folder toward you with a smirk. “Looks like you’re the lucky winner today. Courtesy of Gordon. You’ve got yourself a special addition.”

You sighed, muttering, "Fuck off," but took the file anyway.

Flipping it open, you braced yourself for what you might find, already steeling yourself against the shock. Just as you suspected, another crime scene, another gruesome display, and yet another criminal with a dark past—a past that made them seem almost deserving of what had happened to them. This killer was doing his work publicly now, practically begging for the precinct’s attention. As you flipped through, the images seemed to scream at you, vivid, twisted displays of violence so calculated it felt sickeningly theatrical.

You’d seen it in person last night, called out to the scene when you and your partner happened to be nearby on patrol. It was a bakery in Old Gotham, the call coming in after midnight when the owner discovered the body dumped in the alley out back. The scent of old pastries mixed with the acrid bite of death, and you remembered the bile rising in your throat as you stepped closer, squinting under the harsh glow of police lights. Your instincts had told you to look away, but you forced yourself to examine the details. If you looked away, you’d miss something crucial: the jaggedness of the cuts, the wild angles of the wounds. They weren’t clean, but deliberate, like an artist who’d chosen chaos as his medium.

"Feels kinda like déjà vu, no?" Your partner’s voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the bustling chaos of the precinct.

“Hm?” You glanced at him, distracted

He perked up as you met his gaze, leaning forward with a grim look. "The bodies—don’t they remind you of something?"

You stared, waiting. You felt sluggish, as if the endless coffees you’d downed had backfired, leaving you hollow and wired. Sleep had been a fleeting luxury.

Detective Andy leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "Red Hood."

A chill shot down your spine. “What?”

He pointed to a photo, tapping it thoughtfully. "The patterns. Big murder scenes, violent displays. Doesn’t it remind you of when Red Hood first came on the scene?"

You fumbled for a response, your mind stumbling. You hadn’t been in the GCPD during Red Hood’s first appearance; you hadn’t even joined the academy yet. It wasn’t so long ago, just a few years back, but it still felt like ages.

You do remember those days, though.

You’d been younger, wilder, and always running right along the edge of Gotham’s underworld. Back then, you’d worked for Selina Kyle, a phantom in leather with a knack for pretty gems and diamonds. Under her tutelage, you’d learned to break into penthouses, crack safes in under five minutes, and disappear without a trace. All the things Gordon had to turn a blind eye to when he personally hired you.

You remember one night, a supposed to be an easy job, just a simple heist in the wealthier parts of Gotham. Selina had given you explicit instructions: break in, grab the diamonds and get out before anyone was the wiser. But Gotham had a way of twisting “easy” jobs into something darker, something that left marks on you that never truly faded.

It had been just after midnight, the air was crisp and heavy with the city’s usual grit. You were supposed to head down Boulevard, make a left by the old brick post office, and hit the target—an art collector with more money than sense. But a wrong turn later, you found yourself in a different kind of darkness, somewhere off the beaten path, where street lamps flickered and silence took on.

You’d felt it before you’d seen him—a presence, sharp and cold, lingering like a predator waiting to pounce. At first, you thought it was just nerves after you realized you had just broken into the wrong apartment. All you could think was: shit.

You’d handled your share of tense moments, after all; but this was something else. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, a warning you hadn’t felt in years. You were no stranger to danger, but this was a different kind of threat, something that felt personal.

Then you saw him.

At first, it was just the faint gleam of red in the darkness, like a shard of blood against the shadows. But as he stepped into the faint light, you saw him more clearly—a figure clad in leather, the infamous helmet covering his face, standing over a man slumped on his knees, visibly trembling. In the Red Hood’s hand was something you couldn’t immediately make out, but as he turned slightly, the dim light cast a glint off it, and you realized with a shock that he was holding a head—a severed head.

You froze.

The man was pleading, begging for his life in a low, trembling voice. But the Red Hood only tilted his head, silent. There was no rage in his stance, only a dark calm that made the scene feel disturbingly deliberate.

You could see his fingers flex around the hilt of a blade, the kind used to skin prey, and he held it with a confidence that said he’d done this before—and would do it again without a second thought.

You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away. The man’s pleas grew louder, more desperate, words spilling out in garbled, terrified sentences, but Red Hood was unmoved. Then, in one swift, final motion, he silenced him.

You weren’t sure what made you react then, but a sharp gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it. Red Hood’s head snapped up, his gaze locking onto yours.

Your heart thundered as you ducked out the window, into the shadows, pressing yourself against the rough brick, willing yourself to become invisible. You knew better than to run; Selina had taught you that too. Quick movements drew attention, made you a target. And you weren’t exactly eager to test your skills against this fucking guy.

As you held your breath, you could hear his footsteps drawing closer, a slow, haunting rhythm that echoed down the narrow street.

For a second, it felt like he would find you. You could practically feel his gaze searching the darkness, his eyes tracking every inch of the alleyway. The fear was unlike anything you’d felt before.

And then he stopped. The footsteps paused, and there was a long silence. When he turned away and his steps faded back into the apartment, you felt your shoulders relax. It wasn’t relief, not fully. You’d seen something you weren’t supposed to, and you had a feeling Red Hood had let you walk away for a reason.

A part of you, distant but insistent, wondered if Jason could be behind these new killings. The thought twisted uncomfortably in your mind before you dismissed it. Jason was… different now. He had to be. He was reckless, sure, but this? Even if he wasn't currently on good terms with Bruce, he’d never return to those ways.

Right?

“Didn’t think of that,” you lied, the words tasting hollow as you struggled to find a convincing way to deflect Andy’s suspicion.

The last thing you needed was for anyone to start seriously considering Red Hood as a suspect. Wanted posters of that stupid red helmet already lined the precinct’s walls

Andy laughed a half-hearted chuckle. “Guess old habits die hard, huh?”

You could barely crack a smile, but you tried your best.

A voice behind you interrupted the uneasy silence. “Detective?” You turned to see a uniformed officer standing stiffly at the edge of your desk. “You have a visitor at the front desk.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. No one was supposed to come by today—maybe your mother had stopped by on one of her random check-ins. The officer’s expression, however, was tense, and you felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The precinct wasn’t exactly an open-door policy; even visitors to officers needed a reason. A visitor, especially unexpected, was rarely a good sign.

You nodded, swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth. Setting the file aside, you rose, your heart pounding faintly as you walked through the maze of desks and toward the elevator, half-convinced that this "visitor" was your mother showing up with her usual worried expression and a container of food because you’d forgotten to call her recently.

But the moment the elevator doors opened, your heart faltered.

Jason. Standing right there in the precinct lobby, dressed casually in a worn leather jacket, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other resting casually on the front counter as he flashed an ID—one that was definitely fake.

Of course, it wasn't real, because Jason Todd has been dead for who knows how many years.

You used to think that Jason wasn't stupid enough to walk into a police department swinging around a fake ID with a stupid name like Trevor Duncan.

It was that same old card he used to keep back when the two of you were together. He’d only ever had to use it a handful of times, mostly when he got pulled over for speeding on his bike, but he always had it ready, a smooth grin on his face, acting as if he had nothing to hide. But now? Now it looked out of place, almost surreal. Jason Todd standing here as if he were just anyone off the street.

As he looked up, his eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face before he offered a familiar, almost casual, “Hey.”

You took a sharp breath, trying to steady yourself. Words failed you, stuck somewhere between disbelief and frustration. Jason never showed up here. Not as the Red Hood, and certainly not as himself. Not after the way he left things a week ago.

Some fucking nerve he has.

You never wanted to strangle someone so badly.

Glancing over your shoulder, you moved closer to him, lowering your voice. “Jason,” you hissed, barely able to hide the shock. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re—”

“Wanted, yeah, I know,” he just shrugged, an almost defiant glint in his eyes, the same one that used to drive you mad. He lets you grip his arm and pull him toward a quiet corner of the lobby, away from prying eyes. “Technically, that’s Red Hood who’s wanted, not Jason—”

“Don’t. What the fuck is wrong with you?” you cut him off, voice barely a whisper but heated nonetheless.

His face hardened slightly, his voice dropping. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Right, of course. Important. And yet, it was unnerving how familiar he looked like this, standing just close enough that the faint scent of leather and gunpowder hit you, reminders of nights spent together in places you weren’t supposed to be.

Your gaze flicked around the room, anxiety prickling your spine. “What do you want, Jason? If Gordon sees you…”

“I think I’m being set up,” he said abruptly.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

“The murders,” he continued, voice steady but jaw clenched. “They’re not—it’s not me.”

“I know that.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You know—?”

“How do you know about—”

Jason scoffed, crossing his arms as his gaze bore into you. “C’mon. Don’t act like it’s some big secret behind closed doors. This shit is happening in my alley. Of course, I fucking know. And sooner or later, a lot more people are gonna know.” He paused, “And besides… Grayson might’ve filled me in on a few things I missed.”

Of course. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Dick had called you a few nights ago, asking for an extra set of eyes on a case he’d brought back from Blüdhaven. You’d tried to brush it off as usual, but there’d been something familiar about the weapon in the photos he’d sent, the way the scars on the victims matched the fresh crime scenes here in Gotham. You’d let it slip—against your better judgment—that those wounds looked eerily familiar.

You sighed, trying to push down the wave of frustration. Jason knowing more than you was one thing, but Dick going behind your back to clue him in? That threw you off.

“Right,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead. “Okay. So what is this? You just came here to make a statement? Give an alibi?”

“No.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Then what?”

He glanced down the hallway behind you, tense, as if he half-expected someone to overhear. Before you could turn to look, he grabbed your arm and pulled you aside, his expression unreadable.

“Listen—”

“I’m listening,” you replied, shrugging out of his grasp.

His voice dropped to a murmur, and you had to lean in to catch it. “I think you’re in danger.”

You scoffed, pulling back. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you noticed? The people turning up dead—this isn’t random.”

“I know that—”

“No, you don’t. Have you actually looked into their criminal records?”

“Yeah.” You spat it out, feeling a surge of defensiveness. Jason’s words were cold as if he was accusing you. This asshole, came in here, acting like he knows your job better than you do, acting like you haven’t pored over every detail, every link, every goddamn scrap of evidence that’s crossed your desk. “I looked into all of it. They’ve got some minor offences. A few of them were tied to Randolf, but they’re hardly worth anyone’s attention. I thought you took down Randolf Industries months ago.”

“I did.” His jaw tightened, and you know him well enough to recognize the anger in his clenched teeth. “But that doesn’t mean they’re done with us.”

You almost hate how much sense he makes.

“What does this have to do with me?”

Jason’s gaze shifted, softening just a fraction, and that subtle pity—pity for you—lit a fire in your chest. He’s looking at you like he’s sorry like he cares, like he still feels something. And for a split second, you wished he’d go back to hating you. “You worked under Randolf.” he said, reminding you of what you’d rather forget. “You were at their last event. A gala… an auction, remember?”

“Jason, I’ve worked dozens of events like that. Please stop wasting my time.”

He shook his head, frustration seeping into his voice. “Think, okay? It was an auction. You had a mission there. Probably to take some fucking diamonds or something. The night ended with a shootout in the south hall.”

The memory saw a slap in the face. You saw flashes of that night—the glittering, polished faces of Gotham’s elite, the diamonds, the weight of them, heavy in your hands. You remembered the gunfire, the chaos that tore through the hall. The blood. But to you, it had been just another job gone slightly wrong, another task to be done and forgotten. Sure, it may have been the end of Randolf but you never really liked the guy anyway.

Jason was still watching you, his expression dark. “Every person who’s turned up dead was there that night. And they all had ties to Randolf. And I know you used to do some of his dirty work with Silena. Whoever’s behind this isn’t stopping until they’ve crossed off everyone on their list… including Silena. Including you.”

Fuck.

You swallowed hard, clenching your fists. You kept your expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. Jason Todd, standing in your precinct, coming into your life after months of silence—after shutting you out, after telling you to keep your nose out of his work—telling you now that you should listen to him, that you should be worried, that you were doing your job wrong. Who does he think he is?

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust his judgment, but you were sick of hearing it. He used to shame you for what you do for work, hated that you had turned against him.

“I’ll look into it, I guess. But I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.” Your voice shook, but you pressed on, words spilling out before you could hold them back. “You always hated what I do—if it was stealing or fighting crime or getting my badge. Now, what, you’re here to play saviour? To swoop in like none of that matters anymore?”

Your eyes met his, and there was a look there that almost made you falter. It’s that mix of distress and conviction, a look that carries the weight of all the things he never says. You recognize it immediately because it’s the look he used to give you—before everything turned sour. But now, it feels almost mocking. Desperate and pleading, like he’s here to convince you of something, to beg you to understand.

He doesn’t say anything though.

It just fueled the anger that’s simmering in your chest. The thought that he could come here, to your work, and act as though he’s still allowed to care as if he’s entitled to it—that he can swoop in and remind you of things you don’t want to feel.

But he must care, right?

If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be here, right? If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be this close, standing right in front of you, risking everything to warn you about a threat he thinks exists. He could’ve just called, could’ve left a message when you purposely didn’t answer.

He could’ve sent a text and kept himself safe, kept himself out of your life. Holy shit, you knew him well enough to know he’s capable of watching from the shadows, lurking without getting involved. But he was standing there, in a police precinct of all the fucking places, surrounded by detectives who would do anything to bring the Red Hood to justice if they realized he was right in front of them.

He’s here, looking at you like he’d do anything to pull you out of this.

The thought wrapped itself around you, both comforting and infuriating. God, you wanted to kill this guy.

“I… I don’t know what you’re asking of me right now, Jason.”

He searched your face, frustration flickering across his expression like he was fighting the urge to shake you, to make you see something you just couldn’t. His mouth opened and closed as though he was running through every possible way to explain himself, to say whatever he came here to say, but the words... the words kind of just... died there. They died in his throat, stuck.

And now he looked… scattered, disarmed, like he hadn’t thought you’d put up this much of a fight.

“I…” he started, his voice dropping almost to a grumbled whisper. “I want you… you need to get out of town.”

You stared at him.

And you stared and stared and just kept staring.

And you probably stood there for a minute or two before biting back a bitter laugh.

Out of town?

He couldn’t be serious.

Your patience, already thin, was practically shredded at this point. You’d spent years building your career here—your life here, and he wanted you to drop everything because he said so? Because he had suddenly come back with some vague, half-assed—a fucking hunch—warning? Because he had a suspicion—with no real proof—that you could—possibly—might be in danger because of an old shady job you barely remember?

The words barely registered at first, almost as if they were so absurd that your brain refused to even process them. You blinked, your mind catching on his audacity—his audacity—to just show up out of nowhere and think he could tell you what to do. This man had left you, shut you out, made his choice to push you away, and now he thought he could waltz back in and tell you to pack up and leave the life you’d clawed your way into?

“What?”

“Go to Metropolis,” he urged, more insistent now as if saying the name of a different city was going to convince you. “Anywhere. Just… get out of Gotham until I’ve figured this all out.”

His words hit you wrong, each one stacking up like bricks in a wall between you. “Until you’ve figured it out?” you repeated, eyes narrowing, glaring.

“Yeah,” he muttered, the confidence slipping. He was realizing now, seeing just how badly this was going. “Just… just lay low until then.”

“Lay low?” you spat out, barely containing a scoff. “Jason, I can’t just drop everything and leave. I’m not some pawn you can just move around. Do you get that? This is my job. My case. My fucking case. I’ve earned every inch of ground I stand on here.”

He tried to say something else, tried to push back, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“You think I don’t know the risks?” you continued, stubbornly digging your heels in. “I knew the risks when I took it. I know what I’m fucking doing.” You paused, the words heavy and unyielding. “Do you have any idea how it would look if I just disappeared because things got tough?”

The frustration in his expression deepened, but there was something else there now, something almost pleading. He looked at you like he wanted to say more like he needed to make you see something he was too damn stubborn to say outright. You could tell he didn’t want to fight you on this, that he was wishing you’d just listen, but that only made you stand your ground harder, and dig your heels in deeper.

He was the same Jason he’d always been: relentless, unyielding, pushing at you even when he knew you wouldn’t budge. And you? You were no different—just as stubborn, just as unwilling to give an inch. It was one of the reasons things had fallen apart between you. Two forces constantly colliding, too similar in their defiance yet too different in their methods. Like opposite sides of a magnet, doomed to repel each other despite every effort to hold on.

“I don’t care how it looks,” he muttered, his voice rough and low, but there was a crack in his resolve. “You’re not getting it. This isn’t about the case—this is about you.”

“Me?” The word escaped before you could stop it, sharper than you intended. You squared your shoulders, leaning into the bite of your tone. “If this is about me, then you should know better than to think I’d just leave. I don’t care what you think. If Randolf’s involved or not, this is my case, Jason. My responsibility. And I’m going to solve it, no matter the risks—because that’s my job. And I’m really fucking good at it.”

“Good at it?” His laugh was low and bitter like he couldn’t believe you were still fighting him on this. “You’re not listening. You’re going to die, and you’re standing here talking about responsibility like that’s going to protect you.”

You squared your jaw, rolling your eyes and scoffing.

“You sound just like him.” The words left Jason's mouth before he could stop them, his voice raw with anger and something deeper, something almost… horrified. “You sound just like Bruce.”

The words landed heavier than you expected, and you felt them settle uncomfortably in your chest. He meant it. Jason wasn’t just being dramatic; he wasn’t here to stir up trouble or drag you into another one of his wild theories. He was scared. Scared for you in a way that made your stomach twist uncomfortably because he still cared—too much.

You could hear your own heartbeat in the silence, the weight of what he’d just said hanging between you like a physical thing.

Bruce Wayne. Batman.

You? Similar to him?

The was new.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a voice called your name from down the hallway. Jason turned, his body instinctively tensing like he was preparing for a fight, his broad shoulders blocking your view until you leaned to the side.

It was Andy, jogging toward you with a grin that faltered the second he saw Jason. His eyes narrowed, flicking between you and the man standing far too close, his hands gripping your arms like they belonged there. You don’t remember when he held you.

“Uh… bad time?” Andy asked.

Jason let go of you immediately, stepping back but not far enough. His glare hardened as he sized up Andy like he was trying to determine whether he was a threat—or maybe just because he didn’t like the way Andy had interrupted.

“Yes,” Jason muttered flatly, not bothering to hide his irritation.

“No,” you said firmly, “He was just leaving. Weren’t you, Trevor?”

Jason’s head snapped toward you, his jaw tightening at the fake name. “Right,” he bit out, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he turned on his heel. His broad shoulders stiffened as he stalked off.

Andy watched him go, raising an eyebrow as he turned back to you. “Trevor?” he asked, the question loaded with curiosity.

“Don’t ask,” you said quickly. But your hands trembled slightly as you stuffed them into your pockets, Jason’s words echoing in your mind: You’re going to die.

You cleared your throat, your voice much steadier than you felt. “What’s up, Andy?”

He smiled a warm, familiar thing that barely reached his eyes. “I thought we could pick up a call. Something small, just to ease your mind. I’ve noticed how tense you’ve been, so I figured something like a missing bike or a dog would help take your mind off things.”

You hesitated, the idea of a mundane, easy case almost too good to pass up. You’d been running on fumes for days, your mind still tangled in threads of murder, mystery, and now, whatever the hell Jason was trying to get across.

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed, a little too quickly, though a quiet relief followed your words. The idea of a short break, even a small distraction, felt like just the kind of thing you needed. Still, your instincts told you to keep pushing, to go back upstairs and keep raking through the case files, questioning witnesses, tweaking the map with the locations of the bodies. You couldn’t shake the sense that you were missing something—something crucial.

But Andy’s eyes were a little too glazed over like he’d stared at one too many corpses, and maybe he needed this as much as you did. You could tell by the way his shoulders sagged that he was running on empty.

Maybe a clearer mind would help, you thought.

You reached out and grabbed the thinner file from his hand, glancing over it briefly. “Okay, let’s go,” you said, a bit of your usual confidence slipping back into your voice, even as the anxiety from the case lingered.

Andy’s grin was wide, a flash of his usual spirit. He waved the keys in front of your face like a kid with a new toy. “Fuck yeah!” His excitement was enough to snap you out of your darker thoughts, at least for a moment.

You just hoped Gordon wouldn’t kill you for this detour.

---

The drive to the supposed “missing dog” case felt like it dragged on forever.

Andy hummed along to whatever random song played on the radio, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the case you had been working on. Your mind buzzed with the same unanswered questions that had been hanging over you all day.

What was Jason’s real point? And more pressing, what was really going on with the bodies? Randolf, the name haunted you. Have you been missing something this whole time?

The moment Andy stopped the car, your stomach dropped. The “case” turned out to be a dead end, no missing dog, no clues, just another pointless distraction. You both spent hours going over the same circle of leads that led nowhere, retracing your steps, looking at things from different angles, but it was all for nothing.

Andy finally threw his hands up in frustration. “Nothing,” he muttered, clearly over it. “This is a waste of time.”

You swallowed hard, trying to push the growing feeling of dread away. You were already getting that itchy, restless feeling again—the same one that told you you’d just wasted precious hours when you could have been moving forward on the real case. “I know,” you said quietly, nodding absently. “But maybe we missed something. I think I should—”

“No,” Andy cut you off, his voice blunt, but it wasn’t unkind. “It’s time to call it.”

You wanted to argue, to push on, but his tone made it clear that it wasn’t worth it anymore.

---

Andy had left you at your apartment, and by the time you reached the door, exhaustion was pulling you down like a weight. You fumbled with your keys, your thoughts disjointed, still tangled in the mess of the case that had led nowhere, hours wasted, your mind too worn to keep up.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you dropped your bag by your feet. The thought that had been haunting you all day echoed once again, a sharp, intrusive whisper. You’re going to die.

You’re going to die.

The words gnawed at you relentlessly, a constant hum that never stopped, lingering just beneath your conscious thoughts.

You sighed, trying to shake it off, but the dull ache in your chest remained. You slid off your shoes and left your jacket crumpled on the floor, not caring for the mess. Your apartment was quiet—too quiet. The stillness in the air felt wrong somehow, like something was out of place.

You reached for your phone in your pocket, the buzz startling you slightly. It wasn’t Gordon—who you expected to hear from—but a message from Silena.

Your fingers froze over the screen as you read: Are you in Gotham? We should get lunch or something.

The message didn’t make sense. You hadn’t heard from Silena in a few days, and the last time you checked, she was halfway across the country, doing who knows what. The timing of it unnerved you.

You shook your head, trying to push away the instinct to feel like something was wrong, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite yourself. Silena was one of the few people you trusted, but the oddity of the message made you pause.

Yeah, I’m around. Let me know when you’re free.

You tossed your phone onto the counter and stepped into the living room. The space was dim, lit only by the soft spill of moonlight from the windows. The glow from the streetlights outside filtered in, casting long, strange shadows across the floor, and stretching the furniture in odd directions.

The silence was muggy. It felt like something was waiting for you, something just outside your perception, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

You’re going to die.

You stepped deeper into the room, your senses sharpening as you instinctively reached under a chair where your gun was always kept. Your fingers brushed the cool metal, and your grip tightened. It wasn’t like you to jump to conclusions, but something about this moment made you feel like you needed the reassurance.

You paused, listening carefully, your breath steady. The shadows in the room shifted slightly—flickering, moving. The moonlight played tricks on your eyes, making the figures dance just beyond your sight. You narrowed your eyes, peering through the dark.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

The movement was subtle, but you saw it again. There were figures standing just beyond the edge of the light, still as statues. You couldn’t be sure, but something told you that they weren’t supposed to be there. You raised the gun instinctively, aiming it in the direction of the shadows, your finger lightly on the trigger.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

And then, as if on cue, they moved.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die.

Two figures stepped forward, emerging from the darkness.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to—

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, staring into the dim light as the figures came into sharper focus. It wasn’t an intruder, wasn’t some random threat.

It was Robin, eyes cold and calculating as always, his posture rigid as he crossed his arms. Beside him, standing just out of the reach of the light, was Red Robin, his body language tight with tension. His mask didn’t hide the unease that flickered in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched slightly.

It wasn’t the first time the birds had slipped into your apartment unannounced—Jason had certainly made himself at home recently—but there was something different about this. Something formal, purposeful. The silence was heavy, the air thick with the weight of unspoken things. It wasn’t a casual visit, not even close.

They didn’t come to grab a snack from your fridge or hang around on your couch, not this time.

For the first time all day, the familiar tension in your chest felt like a vice, suffocating you. You lowered your gun slowly, the metal was cold and heavy in your hands.

Robin gave you a quick nod, his eyes darting to the weapon. He made a small, annoyed sound under his breath—TT—but said nothing as you deactivated the safety and set it back down where it belonged. The tension in the air didn’t fade, though. It only deepened.

“Our apologies if we startled you,” Robin said, his voice tight, almost mechanical, like he had rehearsed the words a hundred times before they came out. His tone lacked its usual sharpness, and something about that made you frown.

But the formality of it all—the serious way they stood, barely moving, as though waiting for something—made your gut twist.

“No worries...” you muttered.

You reached for the lamp on the side table, flipping it on. The room flooded with warm, yellow light, and you blinked against the sudden brightness. Robin’s face was still shadowed by the low light, but you could see his face better now, the sharp edges of his gaze unwavering. Red Robin stepped into the light fully, his jaw clenched, the skin on his lower lip raw from constant biting.

“Damian, Tim,” you greeted them, but the words felt hollow.

Damian didn’t say anything, his arms still crossed, his posture unwavering. He only tilted his head slightly, observing you.

Tim stepped forward, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. The air seemed to thicken with every passing second as he came closer, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. When he spoke, his voice was softer than Damian’s, but there was a finality to it.

“We need to talk,” he said, his tone low, heavy with meaning. “Maybe you should sit down.”

You stood frozen where you were. “What’s wrong?”

Tim hesitated, his gaze flickering briefly to Damian before he let out a slow breath. “We know about your past with Selina Kyle, we know what she meant to you,” he started, the words heavy, “and we thought you should be one of the first to know… She was found dead in her apartment less than an hour ago.”

Your world seemed to halt.

The words didn’t land right. They didn’t make sense. Selina Kyle? She was—she had been so alive in your messages, in your mind. You had just texted her, just now—how could she have been dead? How could this be real?

Your breath caught in your throat, and the room tilted for a second. “That’s… impossible,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. How could she be—?

Tim’s expression softened slightly, but his eyes stayed serious. “That’s what we thought too.”

His words felt distant, almost muffled like they were coming from the other end of a tunnel. You couldn’t process what he was saying. None of it made sense. Selina—dead? You had just texted her. She’d sent a message barely five minutes ago, her words still fresh on your screen, vivid proof of life. Your phone felt like it weighed a thousand pounds now, sitting on the counter where you had tossed it, mocking you with its silence.

Tim shifted uncomfortably, dragging your attention back to him. “The cops should be arriving at the scene about now. But, uh, B wants to see you. He was the one who…” Tim hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “He was the one who found her. He said—”

You stopped listening. The words faded into a hollow hum, and your mind spiralled. Selina was supposed to be untouchable. Smart, agile, always one step ahead of the chaos in Gotham. And now, she was just… gone? And you were just... supposed to live with that? The thought slammed into you like a train, impossible to reconcile with the image of her that lived in your memory: vibrant, sharp-tongued, alive.

Jason’s warning echoed in your head, louder now. You’re going to die.

Your stomach churned. Jason wasn’t exactly known for his optimism, but there was a pattern here, a thread you couldn’t ignore. The timing, the dread you’d been carrying all day—it all felt too calculated, too deliberate. As though the universe—or someone—was playing a sick game, tightening a noose you hadn’t even realized was there.

Your legs felt weak, and you sank into the armchair beside you, the cushions swallowing you whole. You stared at the floor, the edges of your vision blurring as you tried to process the words. Nothing added up. How could she be gone when she’d just messaged you? Had you imagined it? No, you couldn’t have. You’d replied.

Your hand twitched toward your phone, desperate for confirmation, but the thought of seeing her name on the screen—knowing it could never light up again—made your throat close up.

Tim’s voice broke through the haze, but you only caught the last thing he said. “You’re gonna have to come with us.”

It didn’t sound like a suggestion.

And Jason. Jason had warned you. You’d brushed it off as paranoia, his usual tendency to jump to the worst conclusions, but now… Now you couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew something you didn’t. Something he hadn’t said.

You pushed yourself upright, your legs shaky beneath you. “I need to see it,” you said, your voice stronger now despite the storm raging inside you. “I need to see her apartment.”

Tim and Damian exchanged a look, and Damian had a wicked smirk on his face. He turned toward the open window, his cape swishing as he moved. “Try to keep up.”

[littleredwing89]

FAMOUS [PART EIGHT]

Bodyguard!Jason Todd x Singer!Reader

Summary: You nudged him with your elbow, grinning. “Stop ruining the mood”. “Oh… there’s a mood?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

Warnings: Nothing

A/N: Sending all my love to you wonderful readers & please enjoy the next chapter - Elle xoxo ❤️❤️

———

MIDNIGHT DELICACY

———

The night air was cool as Jason pulled into the near-empty parking lot of the late-night drive-through. The hum of the engine faded, leaving only the soft buzz of neon lights and the distant chirping of crickets. You had insisted on this stop, craving something sweet and simple after the long, stressful day.

Jason glanced around, taking in the desolate scene. “I’m starting to see why you like these 1 a.m. food runs,” he mused.

You smiled, leaning back in your seat, the smell of greasy food already wafting through the air. “I don’t get hassled as much. It’s a welcomed break.”

Jason nodded, his eyes softening. “I can imagine.”

You turned to him, your voice quieter now. “It’s not like I don’t appreciate my fans or where they’ve gotten me. But sometimes… I just want a little—”

“Peace?” Jason finished for you, his eyes locking with yours.

You smiled, nodding. “Yeah… I just don’t get to do normal things as much anymore.”

Jason smirked, taking a sip of his drink. “It is a little creepy, though.”

You nudged him with your elbow, grinning. “Stop ruining the mood.”

“Oh… there’s a mood?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

Jason chuckled, his voice dropping to a more playful tone. “Bet you bring all your boyfriends here, don’t you?”

You tried to play it off, but the hint of jealousy in his voice was unmistakable. “Well, not exactly.”

Jason turned to you, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Oh? What do you mean?”

You shrugged, your cheeks warming as you glanced down at your feet. “I don’t exactly remember the last proper date I went on.”

Jason’s teasing smile faded, replaced with something softer, more genuine. “Well, aren’t you lucky I’m here.”

You laughed, but it was nervous, your heart beating a little faster. “Does it really count if you’re getting paid?”

Jason swallowed, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Well, I mean… we could go when I’m not on the job. If you wanted?”

You blinked, surprised, your chest tightening with something unfamiliar. “Are you paying?” you asked, trying to lighten the moment.

Jason grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “On my wage? Guess I’ll have to start saving up.”

You laughed again, feeling the tension ease. “First date will be my treat. I’ll just charge you if I get bored.”

Jason’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Trust me, princess, that ain’t gonna happen.” He leaned over, grinning mischievously as he stole a bite of your ice cream.

“Hey!” you protested, swatting his hand away. “Get your own!”

He smirked, taking another bite. “I’ve got one here.”

You narrowed your eyes, pointing to the corner of his lips. “You’ve got some—”

Jason raised an eyebrow, glancing down at his lips. “Oh?”

For a moment, time seemed to slow. Your eyes locked with his, the playful banter fading as the space between you shrunk. He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes darkening with something unspoken. Your heart raced as you instinctively leaned closer, the tension between you thickening.

But just as your lips were about to meet, Jason’s elbow hit the steering wheel, and the car horn blared, making both of you jump back in surprise.

You burst into laughter, the moment shattered, while Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Smooth,” you teased, still giggling.

Jason shot you a sheepish grin, the heat between you not quite gone, just postponed. “Yeah, well… there’s always next time.”

You smiled, the thought of a “next time” hung in the air between you.

——

Jason and you lingered in the car for a moment after the horn blared, both still laughing softly, but the undercurrent of something heavier remained. His eyes flicked to your lips more than once, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what would’ve happened if the moment hadn’t been interrupted. The tension between you crackled, like an unspoken invitation hanging in the air, too tempting to ignore but too delicate to address outright.

Jason finally let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair as he broke the silence. “Well, I guess that’s one way to ruin the moment,” he said with a chuckle, but his voice was a little rough, as though he wasn’t quite ready to joke about it.

You swallowed, your heart still racing from the near-kiss, and tried to ease the mood. “Maybe the universe was saving you from embarrassment, Jay.”

He leaned back in his seat, eyes glancing over at you with a smirk. “Or maybe it was saving you,” he shot back, his voice teasing, but there was something else behind his words, a softness that made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

The weight of what almost happened hovered between you both, neither of you willing to push it further, but the moment still lingered, making your skin prickle with a mixture of warmth and frustration.

“Jason…” you began, feeling the need to say something—anything—but not knowing exactly what that was. You didn’t want to make things awkward, but you also didn’t want to let it slip away as if it hadn’t meant anything.

He turned toward you, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft. “Yeah?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your phone buzzed from your lap, breaking the moment again. You glanced at the screen, a reminder notification popping up.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, realising the time. “I have a meeting with Roman in the morning. You know how cranky he gets if I’m late.”

Jason groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “Ugh—who needs an early morning meeting?” His voice trailed off, but you could hear the clear disappointment haunting his tone.

You rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into your seat. “Yeah, tell me about it. If we don’t get home soon, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Jason gave a small, reluctant nod, his eyes shifting toward the road. “Alright, princess. Let’s get you home before he blows a fuse.”

As he started the engine, the moment between you both seemed to settle into a strange kind of peace. There was still something unspoken hanging in the air, the missed kiss now a lingering thought that neither of you could shake. But the conversation had shifted—back to reality, back to responsibilities—and neither of you dared to push the boundary that had been so close to breaking.

——

The ride back was quieter this time, not awkward, but filled with the awareness of what almost happened. You stole glances at Jason, watching the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, how his jaw tightened every time the thought seemed to cross his mind. And every time you met his eyes, there was a spark, a question neither of you was quite ready to answer.

As the car pulled up to your building, Jason shifted in his seat, turning to face you. “You should get some sleep before that meeting. Roman’s already a pain. Don’t give him more ammunition.”

You gave a tired smile, still feeling the weight of what hadn’t been said. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.” You paused, hand lingering on the door handle, before turning back to him. “Thanks for tonight, Jay. It… It was nice.”

Jason’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the tension seemed to melt into something warmer, something comfortable. “Anytime, princess,” he said quietly, the nickname sending a little flutter through your chest.

Your head span with the lingering feeling of what could have been. As you headed up to your apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder if this missed moment was just the beginning—if the next time you were both caught in the current, neither of you would pull away.

And the thought made your heart race all over again.

***

[x-gabrielle-x]

Withered Cards | IV

Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death.

Summary: Despite the many different problems you overcome with Jason Todd, you always eventually make it back to each other. Even after his death, how could you still love a man who changed so much? Even when you made a turn for the worst.

Series Masterlist

Your body still ached from the hits that Joker had blown at you only a week ago, the scab forming over your split lip leaving a metallic tang on your tongue. The bruises still had yet to heal, the purple blemishes littering your skin and serving as a fresh reminder of just how cruel and nasty the Joker really was. It had been a week. A week since your failed mission, and a week since you had last seen Robin.

You had found yourself mostly staying hidden away in your tiny room back in the warehouse, finding that it was much greater comfort than having to be around the tantalizing grin Joker always sent in your direction, like a lion baring its teeth to its prey. So of course, when you had heard a loud bang on your door with the Joker bidding you farewell, claiming he had 'unfinished business to attend', you were more than relieved to finally stretch your limbs and let your guard down; just a little.

Though even without the Joker there for the few days you had, your heart would leap into your throat whenever you thought to hear something similar to his maniacal laughter. You were constantly on edge even without him there, and Harley seemed to be mourning his absence just as much as you were enjoying it.

Sitting on a random rooftop with the glimmering city lights below did little to ease your running thoughts. The familiar chill of the freezing air pricked at your skin to which you folded your arms against your chest for a sense of warmth. Gotham had seemed to be a lot quieter tonight, a very rare occasion. Crime was low, and the usual distant sirens were quiet. You could even hear the occasional laughter and cheers from the bar just down the street.

You wished to bask longer in the silence, in your own company, but it was quickly gone when you heard the soft thuds of boots on the floor behind you.

You didn't need to look over to know that he was staring directly at you, observant and intrigued. In any other situation, you would have found yourself reaching for your knife and defending yourself against the charging enemy, fists flying and weapons drawn for blood, but this was different. Very different. There was no harshness to his steps, no attacks thrown at you, only silence.

The silence dragged uncomfortably long, and you kicked your legs back and forth over the edge of the building as you let out a long breath.

"I didn't think the Robin would be paying me a visit tonight," you kept your gaze trained below. "If I had known, I might have put on my better shoes!"

The pounding in your chest grew with each word you spoke, but if he had come to fight you, he would have done it by now.

He ignored your comment and instead came up beside you. It was then you finally turned your gaze up at him, noticing his yellow, red and green costume. The dominoe mask shadowed his face, though you could see little due to the dimmed lights of the city. He was staring right back at you, a little too much for your personal comfort.

He slumped onto the edge of the rooftop with a huff, maintaining the safe distance between you both. You had to resist from smiling a little to yourself at the silliness of it all. Robin, your enemy, the one who had made you fail your mission and make the Joker’s anger flare was currently sat five feet away as if nothing had happened.

He was playing a dangerous game, yet you were curious to see the reason of his arrival. If he wasn't here to start something, why was he here at all?

The tension was thick with something you couldn't place, but the feeling was oddly unsettling. Not because you were fearful, but because you were oddly excited for this coincidental meeting.

"Tough week?" he questioned in a tease, pointing to your split lip and the yellowish bruise poking out from under your mask. You merely scoffed at the boy before subconsciously licking the cut on your bottom lip.

"Maybe. It would have been a hell of a lot better if you had left me that vial, though," you looked at him, catching the smile that had appeared on his face triumphantly before he quickly disguised it with a bored look.

"What did the Batsy say when you handed it in," you continued. "It better have been good, considering the Joker wasn't too pleased when I returned without the one thing he had asked of me." You gestured to your eye again, his gaze lingering there for a few moments too long.

He tensed at the mention of Batman, lips twitching into a frown.

"Nothing you need to know," he mumbled out, irritation laced in his voice. You quirked a brow.

"I think I do," you laughed, though it was obviously fake. "Considering you're the reason I got my ass beat."

He ignored you, instead shifting himself so that his leg was now propped up on the edge of the roof. He tilted his head in question.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Another Joker deed or dwelling in your failure," he taunted.

"Having a breather," you were quick to reply in defense, and you noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise. He let out a soft laugh, something that surprised you considering you didn't hear laughter too often where you were, or perhaps too much from the Joker.

"Something that we have in common," he mused, and for the first time you felt a strange sense of welcoming with Robin. With anybody, for that matter.

The both of you remained at a safe distance, but his presence alone was one that confused you. Tonight, even with him a mere five feet away, you weren't worried about having to fight him, worried about hiding away, or worried about who you were raised with. It was nearly as if in this moment, you had somebody who didn't pose you as a threat. Or at least, not much of a threat.

Robin's movements were relaxed and composed, abandoned of any tension he may have held before regarding your presence.

“I’m guessing you don’t do this often,” Robin concluded. “If not at all.”

You frowned at him, slightly offended by his comment. “How would you know?”

The corner of his lip tipped into a smile, and he shrugged, flexing his shoulders in a way that caused for his suit to stretch.

“I’m here nearly every night, and I can positively say, I haven’t seen you out here once.”

“And I bet you wish you could see me, little birdy,” you fake pouted, watching him closely.

He breathed out a laugh, his eyes squinting under the dominoe mask that concealed his identity.

"Believe me, if it didn't end in you nearly breaking my nose last time, I might have considered it."

You just stared at him, your mind trying to figure him out. In all honesty, you don't remember the last proper conversation that you had with somebody. much less around your age.

"How old are you?" the question had slipped out before you could stop it.

Robin glanced back at you; a brow raised. "Not much older than you, I'd guess," he looked you up and down. "How old are you?"

"Thats not an answer," you deadpanned, ignoring him. "For all you know, I could be a sixty-five-year-old woman with insane plastic surgery."

"But you're not," he clarified. "No old woman would be able to jump off rooftops and work for criminals like him."

You cringed at the mention of the Joker.

Robin let out a low hum, and the city lights from below flickered across the right side of his face in what seemed to be like a dance.

You opened your mouth. "You're not-"

"Stop." He cut you off.

You paused. "Excuse me?"

He held up a hand, his gaze going past you. It was only then you heard the quiet grunts and rummaging from a nearby alley. You were already on your feet and moving toward the sound, steps cautious. Robin was right on your heel, and by the time you were both on the ground hidden by the shadows in the alley, you could see a hunched figure leaning against the brick wall, digging through what seemed to be a purse.

You turned to Robin, a mocking smile gracing your lips. You gestured an arm out.

"Well? After you, Wonder Boy," you said.

He frowned. "Is that some way you're going to get me distracted and then knock me out when my backs turned?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, do I look like a hero who fights purse thieves?"

He looked you up and down. "Honestly, no."

"You didn't have to answer, bird brain. Just go!"

The man who had been distracted for long enough suddenly snapped his head toward you both, snarling.

"What the hell?"

The man stood abruptly, stepping closer, though Robin was quick to move from the outstretched hand of the man. With a swift kick, the man was doubling over with a grunt and spilling the contents of the purse onto the floor.

The man growled in annoyance, lunging for Robin again, but he was quick to duck down away from the mans clenched fist before it could make contact. You, however, watched on with amusement.

"You could have been a bit more original rather than a purse thief," Robin called out to the man.

The grunts exchanged between the two continued, and you cringed at the few hits Robin had received. You had to admit, he put up a strong fight.

"Little rat!" The man yelled, holding his head where a punch managed to land before he stumbled out of the alley, disregarding the purse he previously held.

Robin huffed, brushing a dark stray of hair away from his face. He looked over, meeting your gaze as you clapped mockingly, stepping out from the shadows and closer to him.

He stooped down, picking up what looked to be an ID.

"Do you know a Lora Johnston?" He said, flipping the card in his hand.

"Can't you search that up on a special little gadget or something?"

He mumbled out something that you failed to hear.

There was a pause.

"I think you could improve on your movement," you said, and his eyes snapped to yours. Something changed in his features that you couldn't place.

"Teach me, then."

Your mouth ran dry. "What?"

"If you teach me, then ill teach you some stuff." He was quick to add, but you shook your head quickly.

"I don't need your help."

You went to turn, but you let out a yelp when you were suddenly tugged back and landed onto the hard floor.

"You let your guard down too easily," Robin teased. You only glared up at him with annoyance.

You stood back up to your feet and wacked him on the shoulder, pushing past him and walking toward the alley entrance to leave, but he quickly called out to you.

You ignored him, but he called out again.

"What do I call you?"

You stopped and turned to him, eyes wide.

There was a long pause. "Nothing," you said. "I can't give you a name."

"Well," he thought, a suggestive smile gracing his lips that you knew you'd see again. "I guess I'll just have to decide myself."

You turned again, waving a hand this time. "Until next time, birdy!"

He let out a chuckle. "Until next time, Princess!"

You remain silent the rest of the walk, your interaction with Robin nothing like how you would have imagined it. He confused you more than you'd like to admit, but oddly enough, tonight was a change, and you liked it.

You couldn't remember the last time you had spoken to somebody so casually, the sense of normality something you craved more of. Though the two of you barely knew each other, much less trust, you had hoped it wouldn't be your last interaction.

@annabellelee @stormz369

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

[strangepoppy]

Now they need a crochety old cat ;3

JASON TODD didn't want a dog. He lived in an apartment with you, with one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a living room that looked like the furniture decorated in it would fall apart at any moment.

But one day, he comes home to you, sleeping in your bed with a little bull mastiff puppy on his side of the bed. He stares at the dog for a few moments, before going to take off his Red Hood outfit, as though that would make the situation disappear. When he comes back, the dog was still there. Of course.

Gently, Jason shakes you awake, giving you a pointed look. "Got anything you want to share with me, babe?" He asks, eyes trailing down to the dog, still asleep on the bed. A sheepish smile crosses your face. "I can explain?" You say, though it comes out more like a question. "I was volunteering at the animal shelter and found him. He didn't like being with the other dogs in cage but they didn't have enough space to isolate him." "So you thought the best plan was to bring home a dog that can grow to be 150 pounds?" I scoffs lightly. "No, no! I'm fostering him. Just for a little bit," You say quickly. "I thought since he's still a puppy he would be adopted quickly, right? So we won't have to make space for when he gets that big." Jason lets out a soft sigh and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before speaking again. "You're too good," He murmurs softly. You smile up at him and return the kiss onto his cheek. After a few moments, Jason clears his throat and looks down at the puppy, still sprawled out onto his side of the bed. "So where am I going to sleep?" ... JASON TODD sucks at being a foster. He's terrible, horrible, even. If you were to look up 'How to not foster a dog', they would just show his face. It wasn't that he neglected the dog. He could never. He took him out on runs, fed him good food, washed him, played with him. Everything a dog owner could do. No, the reason Jason was so bad was because his first ever foster dog turned out to be a foster failure. Every time someone came by interested in adopting the puppy, Jason would be in your ear, whispering to you that it didn't seem like they knew what they were doing, or that the puppy wouldn't like living with them. Every. Single. Time.

It wasn't till the three month mark of fostering the pup, having moved to a more spacious apartment, that Jason popped the question.

"You know," He starts suddenly while the two of you were on the couch, eating Chinese take out with the dog resting on the floor nearby. "No one here seems to be right for Buster." Buster, his name for the dog. He's used it so much he actually started responding to it. "There's someone, I'm sure," You counter, taking a bite of your food. "I know there is," Jason counters. Just as you open your mouth to tell him that makes no sense, he cuts you off. "Us. We're right for Buster." "Think," He says, reaching out to grip your hand. "For three months, we've had him, we've moved with him. He has his spot in the bed, we've worked him into our schedule. He's happy. Why ruin that?" "So you want to adopt him?" You ask, making sure you understood just exactly what he was saying. It felt too good to be true. "Yeah, I do," He says with a small smile. As soon as he finishes speaking you practically lung at him, tackling him into a hug while whispering small 'thank you's. The action makes Buster jump up and want to join in on whatever is going on, leaping onto the couch and sniffing at the two of you, his massive head bumping you both. In that moment, Jason knew he made the right choice. This felt right. It felt good. It felt like home. You, him, and your giant dog.

[jasontoddweek2025]

Jason Todd Week 2025 - Thoughts, Timing, and Feedback

I'm going to be running a character week event for Jason Todd in January 2025! It will be centered around content-creation, but there will be other ways to participate as well. Prompts will be announced in late November.

This form is for any suggestions, thoughts, ideas, etc.! Feel free to share what you want to see, what types of prompts you like, any songs you want on the playlist, etc.

I'm also trying to decide what week is best to hold it, so let me know what weeks you're most available!

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

portrait for my father

if jason todd was reborn, he thinks he would want to be a painting

i want to be a work of art an old master’s lost masterpiece unearthed from a king’s tomb i want to be found by scholars donning kid gloves and restored with a reverence only zealots can possess i want the brushstrokes to retrace my face, flaws and all

i want to start a bidding war i want it to be long and cold i want it to be fought with fists and bombs and lies and steel i want fathers to bury their sons and wives to become widows i want to be presented to the last man standing as if i am not just the spoils of a war of ego

i want to be hung in a rich man’s home in some far-off wing that he does not visit i will never see the sun (to preserve me, he says) and when my paint cracks and yellows and my wooden frame rots from the inside out he will only know of me in my vibrant youth and he will have no reason to think otherwise ———— in another life, i am a block of granite and my father, a sculptor he will find my crude self and he will bring me home he will chip away at me, hunch-backed, for months on end, shaping me into some semblance of a form he can love when he lays down his hammer and chisel, he will never need to pick them up again and i will stand over him as he draws his final breath and i will be unbending and unbreaking and i will not bruise or bleed and i will have no scars and i will not kill nor be killed and i will perfectly fill his shadow and i will always be his, and nobody else’s and i will be a son worth fathering

[robinsfilm]

“It’s currently—” Jason leans back on the counter’s edge to glance at the clock, “—five in the morning.”

“We talked all night?”

The refrigerator’s light glows in the kitchen, casting its hue on you and Jason. You stay seated stubbornly on the counter. The cool surface biting into the bare skin of your thighs.

“I’m freezing.” You groan.

Jason coos. He moves to stand between your legs. Your head instinctively falls to his shoulders.

“Poor baby.” You can imagine the smug grin on his face. “Weren't you the one who decided not to sleep tonight–”

“But–”

“–to eat, what is this again?” He picks up the Ice-cream carton placed next to you.

“Ice-cream. I was craving something sweet.”

“No wonder you're freezing. Plus, we need to address your sweet tooth.” He laughs.

“I have a weakness for sweet things.” You place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Jason snorts. The corners of his lips curled.

You snatch the carton from his hands. Grabbing the spoon you take another bite. You can feel your mouth freeze as the cold spreads in your mouth.

“Oh no, poor baby–”

“Shut up, Jay.”

“Want me to warm you up?”

You give him a faux glare.

“How do you stay warm, anyway? You hog all the blankets, maybe that's why.”

He gasps. “No, I do not.”

“Take responsibility, Jason Todd. Warm my hands for me.” You reach out your hands in front him, fingers wiggling. The smile on your face reaches your eyes.

With a tender grip, he wraps your hands in his, the warmth of his palms spreading slowly into your cold fingers.

“I spoil you too much.”

“Kiss me,” you whispered.

He smiled, a pearl-iridescent grin that lures you in. “You always order me about.”

“Kiss me.”

“Now you want a kiss? Are you sure?” The corners of his smile curled, turning into a teasing smirk. “Because once I do, I might not be able—”

Your hands grasped the fabric of his collar and yanked him down.

His lips danced around yours. The taste of him seeped into you akin to honeyed nectar. His hands encircled your waist. Calloused hands fleetingly ghosted over your skin.

“I love kissing you.” You murmured.

“Spoiled.”

“Shut up. You love me.”

© ROBINSFILM ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[strangepoppy]

"I got held up" Lol thank you, English.

Aw, she was ready to defend younger co worker from possibily mean man. 💪

Don't Go Disappearing On Me Again

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason's lost too much to lose you, too. (We stan healthy communication in this house)

Word count: 2.3k

Ow.

You've never worked Friday nights before at the restaurant, and you never want to again. And you'd thought Saturday mornings were bad.

But one of your favorite coworkers had called you in a panic early this morning, begging you to take her shift, because her lab group's department at GCU was going out to bowling and it would be a great networking opportunity. You were the last person she called, but everyone else before you had declined because they were either scheduled or determined to avoid the shitshow.

And because you were weak, you gave in and said you would cover her Friday night shift as long as she covered your Friday morning shift.

So you two swapped shifts, and you went into your library internship in the morning instead of the evening. It wasn't a particularly hard job, but end-of-week returns had you dashing all over the three floors, so your feet already hurt before you walked into the restaurant.

Right before coming in, you'd texted Jason that you'd gotten held up, and it was a good thing you did, because you haven't had a single break to look at your phone the whole shift. He likely wasn't even awake yet—last night's patrol had been tough on the both of you, him because he came home half beaten to death, and you because you'd had a heart attack waking up in the middle of the night to your bloody boyfriend passing out on top of you in bed. But you usually got home around six from the library, and it was looking like you wouldn't be back until ten at the earliest, so you wanted to let him know. It was going on hour seven after starting at two p.m., when the restaurant switched from its brunch to dinner menu. Personally, you think two p.m. is obscenely early to eat dinner, but apparently rich people loved eating at weird hours, because you had had nonstop tables the entire night.

But the good thing is that the restaurant closes at nine, so you’re almost there. After your last three tables eat and leave, all you have to do is clean your section, close your checks, and clock out.

In the kitchen, you lean against the fridge, rubbing your hips and knees. You’re a little too young to feel so creaky after seven hours on your feet. After all, Jason works all night, doing athletic feats you could never dream of.

You can't really complain, though. You'd gotten lucky with your tables; they'd all tipped well. Maybe you could even add a little bit to your savings account instead of shoving every paycheck right at your student loans, which just keep growing, no matter how much you pay.

“Oh, no,” says Charlotte, one of the other veteran servers at the restaurant. She’s staring at the camera feed display, which is tuned to a livestream of the restaurant’s entranceway. “Don’t you dare seat me now, Ashley, I swear to God.”

“What time is it?” your head jerks up. “We’re about to close, right? Is someone looking for a table?”

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The hottest man in the world just walked in our front door.”

You just hum, not bothering to look in favor of pulling out your phone. You know for a fact that the hottest man in the world is actually at home in your bed right now. “The kitchen’s stopped receiving tickets. No way Ashley seats someone right now.” The screen doesn't light up when you click the power button. Well, shit. It's dead.

“I can’t tell what he’s saying.” Charlotte squints at the screen. “He’s, like, huge. Does Ashley look a little scared to you?”

You’re out of the kitchen without even looking at the screen. You speedmarch right past your tables, ignoring one man’s halfhearted attempts to flag you down for more ketchup. A righteous fire is boiling in your gut. You’ve been here long enough that the managers won’t fire you for telling off any customers that harass the younger workers that are more scared to stand up for yourself.

Your mouth is already open, ready to spew forth the beginning of your tirade, when you recognize the man in front of Ashley at the host stand.

Dressed in gray sweats and a dark T-shirt, slouching slightly, he looks even worse than when you kissed his forehead goodbye that morning. The bruise on Jason's his face has properly colored now, purple and blue along his jawline. His hair looks a little flat, like he's been wearing his helmet, which is strange.

Jason's eyes snap onto you the second you appear, and you falter at the intensity there. Something has happened, but you're not sure what.

"Hey," you say, a little hesitant. "What's up?"

Ashley exhales with relief. "So you do know him."

"Yeah," you say without breaking eye contact with Jason, who's staring at you with the same expression you think a wolf would wear when stalking a hare. "He's my boyfriend."

You expect Jason to tell you that someone was in an accident. Someone's in the hospital. Something terrible happened to your apartment while you were gone.

He says none of those things. Instead, Jason says, "I didn't know you picked up a Friday shift."

Ashley's face goes blank.

"I told you I would be home late."

“No,” he corrects. “You texted me that you were being held up.”

“Yeah, at work.”

“And then you disappeared.” Jason’s jaw clenched. “Did you know that a bank was held up this afternoon? Your bank?”

“Oh, shit,” your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “My phone died, I don’t know when. You couldn’t check my location and see I was here?”

He just shakes his head, stiff and wordless.

“Hey, Y/N.” It’s your manager approaching the host stand now, customer service smile on and eyes taking in Jason’s appearance. “What’s going on up here?”

“Hey, Steve,” you say. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend Jason—Jay, this is my manager, Steve—”

Jason gets the hint and smiles close-lipped, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“My phone died so he came to see if I needed a ride home.”

“As soon as your tables leave and your section’s clean, you’re good to go. Oh, and you have to roll silverware.”

“It’ll be at least another hour,” you say apologetically to Jason.

“Okay.” His eyes keep boring into you like he’s trying to send you a telepathic message. He’s mad, you get it, but it makes you a little mad, too. You’re a grown adult. Yeah, the miscommunication was your fault, and it’s fine for him to be worried, but he looks close to Red Hood levels of anger, which is totally unwarranted for this situation. “Is it cool if I wait at the bar for you, then?”

“Of course!” Steve answers for you. "Our bartender, Lacy, will be happy to serve you while you wait." He checks his watch. "Until last call, that is."

"He didn't scare you, did he?" you ask Ashley as soon as Steve leaves. You smile at Jason, trying to tease him, but his expression doesn't twitch. "He looks mean, but I promise he's a big ol' softie."

Jason just grunts, but on his way to the bar, he doesn't forget to drop a kiss to your forehead. It warms you from the inside out.

As soon as he's gone, Ashley blurts out, "What happened to his face?"

"Motorcycle accident," you fib. "Oh, my table's calling me."

You rush over to take care of the poor man's ketchup—he's been waiting almost five whole minutes—and check out another party. The back of your neck prickles as you do. Every time you glance at the bar, Jason's green eyes are locked on your every move. It flusters you so much that when your table leaves, they say thanks, and you respond with, "Good morning!"

"What?"

"Thanks, you too!"

You run back to the kitchen, and everyone immediately starts interrogating you about your 'huge hunky boyfriend' (Charlotte's words, not yours).

By some miracle, all your tables clear out by closing time, and you’re out by 9:20. There are still a couple people at the bar, but Jason’s up immediately to walk out with you, leaving his water glass on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything, though you can feel his eyes on you whenever you aren’t looking. You won’t fight in public, so you follow his lead and stay quiet.

He drove your car to pick you up, and even though he’s obviously mad, he holds the passenger door open for you before getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. He parks in the spot for your shared apartment, then immediately, quietly, asks, “Why’d you pick up a shift without telling me?”

"It was super last-minute," you say. He's still facing forward, so you do the same, eyeing his profile out of the corner of your eyes. "Like, it happened this morning. I thought you were sleeping, so I didn't want to blow up your phone with texts. I thought you'd just check my location and see where I was when you woke up."

Jason's hand clenches on the center console. "I woke up and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry—"

"And the bank, and your wording, and your phone was off—"

"I know," you say, putting your hand over his fist. He unclenches immediately to lace his fingers with yours. "I'll make sure I tell you next time."

Jason takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. In a rush, he finally turns to face you and says, "I don't mean to be controlling."

You blink. "I don't think you're being controlling."

"You don't?" Jason frowns. "Then why were you so mad when I walked into your work?"

"Mad? I'm not mad—you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, what are you talking about?"

"You've been glaring this whole time! And you didn't say a word this entire car ride."

"Because I thought you were angry. I wanted to give you space."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait." You hold up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad at me?"

"No," he says earnestly. "I was worried and scared, but you're an adult. You don't have to ask for permission if you want to pick up a shift at work." He makes a face like the thought disgusts him.

"Okay," you say. "Okay, well if you're not mad at me, I'm not mad at you, either."

"Then why did you look so pissed when I walked in?"

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. "Well, we have cameras that show us up front while we're in the kitchen, right? One of my coworkers was watching and said 'the hottest man in the world' walked in and I didn't look because I thought the hottest guy in the world was still asleep in my bed—"

Jason covers his face with his hands. You can't stop your smile now, and you pull them away so you can look at said handsome face. "And I didn't even look because I'm such a loyal, awesome partner—"

"You are pretty awesome," he agrees, trying to sound serious, but he's grinning like an idiot, too. His cheeks are flushed pink.

"I know I am. But then Charlotte said that the hostess, Ashley, looked a little intimidated by him, so I walked out to see if she needed help."

"Aw," Jason says. He lowers his chin to look at you from underneath his lashes, pretty as a picture. "Were you going to give me a stern talking-to?"

"I can still give you one," you offer.

"Maybe later."

He's still grinning, and you're still grinning, so the both of you are grinning at each other like idiots in the car.

You want to kiss him, and he's your boyfriend. You're allowed to do that whenever the two of you want, so you take Jason by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

Jason sighs against you, and it's like all the tension in his body melts away. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the other on the back of your head.

You break away to murmur, "Are you patrolling tonight?" He's still so beaten up.

"No," he whispers, voice low and gravelly in a way that has butterflies whipping around like a tornado in your stomach.

"Good. Wanna go up and be the hottest patient in the world while I look at your wounds?"

"Only if you're the hottest nurse in the world."

"Oh, but then who will be the hottest chef in the world who makes dinner?"

"The hot chef is on vacation right now," Jason joked. "But I can be a really hot food-orderer. What takeout are you in the mood for?"

"You're the injured one. What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want."

You narrow your eyes in a glare. "Well, I want whatever you want."

"You gotta make a decision," he says, already on his phone. "You're the hottest decision-maker in the world, I'm the hottest food-orderer."

"Chinese?"

"You got it."

Right before he dials the number, you grab him and kiss him again. When you pull back, he chases after your lips. It's so tempting that you give him another firm peck before you pat his chest once.

Jason blinks twice, looking dazed. "What was that for?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to kiss the hottest man in the world."

"Oh, my God." He groans and covers his face again, but you can see his red ears. "You're never gonna let that go?"

"Mmm." You pretend to consider it. "No."

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[ebodebo]

i know that’s right🗣️🗣️

[ahqkas]

♯ JASON TODD masterlist !

❛ 📜 ━ personal favorite

❛ 🎞️ ━ fluff

❛ 🪓 ━ angst

❛ 🪭 ━ suggestive themes

! SERIES ౨ৎ

i. white mustang — outlaw!jason todd x fem!reader ( 📜 🎞️ 🪓 )

! ONESHOTS ౨ৎ

i. heavenly — every moment with your boyfriend felt heavenly — even when he forgot to close the window ( 🎞️ )

! DRABBLES / BLURBS ౨ৎ

i. attractive things he does . . . without noticing ( 🎞️ )

ii. he’s jealous over your attention ( 🎞️ 🪓 )

[gay-dorito-dust]

Would they or would they not catch you…

Dick: yes. 100% yes but he’s -no pun intended- a little bit of a teasing dick about it.

He will catch you but then act as though he’s going to drop you by loosening his grip, making you scream out of surprise and cling onto him tighter, all the while beaming that bright and beautiful smile of his as though he wasn’t about to willingly let you fall flat on your ass on multiple occasions.

‘I fucking hate you!’ You whined, smacking Dick on the bicep.

‘Oh do you now?’ Dick inquires as he slowly begins to losses his grip on you, smirking.

‘Did I say hate you? I meant love you, a lot! Please don’t drop me.’ You cried as you tightened your grip on his neck whilst struggling to keep your feet from touching the floor. ‘Awww I love you too gorgeous.’ Dick coos as he pressed kisses into your face as you could only glare at the cheeky bastard.

You hate him sometimes but you weren’t going to complain about the affection you were being given. So you guess you’ll suffer for now.

Side note: he might even try and see if you can catch him. 💀

Jason: He will catch you but makes it a big deal whenever he can. He loves holding you in his arms.

He could keep you in his arms forever if he could but knew that he can’t, so he settles for going about his day carrying you throughout the apartment instead.

‘You can put down any day now.’ You’d tell him but that only makes Jason tighten his grip on you as he moved in his makeshift library for a book to read.

‘No.’ He simply replied, scouring the many book titles in front of him in the hopes that one might speak to him. You pout. ‘What do you mean no?’ Jason then looks at you and says. ‘No means no. As in no I will not put you down because I do as I like and will not be told otherwise, so the cutie currently in my arms has to deal with it.’ He then smiles as he presses a kiss to your forehead before looking back towards the bookshelves.

You end up falling asleep in his arms and Jason couldn’t help but smile at how cute you were, even if you did look like the living dead.

Damian: says no but will in fact catch you without hesitation.

However if you do try to tease him about it, then he will drop you without a second thought. ‘You can catch yourself next time.’ He would say as he walks away, leaving you with a bruised ass. Titus -who saw the whole thing- would come up to you to make sure you weren’t genuinely hurt and encourage you to get up by nudging you with his head.

Don’t test him because he will do it and then act like the whole thing didn’t happen if you were to bring it up.

‘Dick.’ You’d say as you stood up.

‘I heard that.’ He’d call back, his voice echoing off the walls. ‘You were meant to.’ You reply. ‘And at least Titus came to check up on me to see if I wasn’t hurt.’ You’d add while scratching Titus behind the ear.

Needless to say you were more cautious when choosing Damian to catch you. However he does apologise for dropping you on your ass by gifting you something he himself drew by hand; He secretly doesn’t like it when you’re upset with him and will do anything to rectify it.

What a sweetheart.

Bruce: he’s too use to you pulling this type of shit that it’s basically muscle memory for him to catch you as you’re running towards him, all with a straight face mind you.

Be grateful because he risked a much needed bowl of Mulligatawny soup just to catch you in his arms, but then again the kisses you bombard his cheek is more than reward enough, a small almost missable smile appears on his lips as he then proceeds to carry you for the rest of the day as “punishment.”

( this only occurs when Bruce is feeling particularly affectionate or playful)

Much to your batkids -Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke, Cass and Steph- dismay. They’d want to use this as blackmail, but they know that it will backfire as you’ll probably hang the photo on a wall somewhere in the manor, reminding them of how disgustingly their parents can be when given the opportunity.