#jason todd fanfiction

[harbours-lighthouse]

“Hey, so…” you clear your throat, “I’m gonna die someday and—” 

Jason visibly recoils at that. The painful reminder of both of your fragile morality is not one he wants to think about, or for his case, remember. 

You keep going, though your words come out slow, hesitant and soft.

“I want…I want to let you know that I love you. A lot. More than what I know what to do with.” 

“Baby—” Jason’s voice falters, and he drops his head, shaking it.

What is he supposed to say to that? It feels as if you’ve taken a sledgehammer to his chest and cleaved it in two. You’re not breaking up with him. You’re not screaming that you hate him. But why does this feel worse than those two combined? 

Jason swallows thickly, feeling the burn of the rope chafing against his wrists, and the blood leaking down his temple is hot and thick.

“And,” your voice begins to shake, “I don’t wanna die without telling you—” 

“I know,” Jason cuts in, a sense of helplessness clawing inside his chest. Bringing his gaze back up to you, he says in a softer tone.

“I know, sweetheart.” 

You purse your lips together, willing the burn in the back of your eyes to fade away. The desolate cell around you both feels like a cage. Mildew clings to the stale air. The coppery scent of blood lingers in your nose. How many people have died here?

Jason’s heart is rampaging against his ribcage, like a frightened bird violently beating its wings and desperate to be freed. 

He says your name firmly, and you lift your head from where you’d been staring at the floor; the tiles are cracked, dried blood stains the grout lines in a black-red.

Your eyes are bright, watery in the dim light. It sends Jason’s stomach churning with dread. 

“We’re gonna get out of here, okay?” there’s a weight to the words, and you can almost imagine them burning themselves into your skin, marking you with a severe promise. 

Keys being jingled unharmoniously against someone’s hip—coming closer to you—sends your skin crawling, erupting into goosebumps and fear. 

Jason’s eyes harden. His shoulders tense. The clinking metal becomes louder.

“You just need to listen to me. Listen to what I say, yeah?" he eyes bore into you, sapphire and jade burning. It urges you to nod your head.

The clanking sound echoes, loud and shrill and horrible. Jason's eyes don't leave yours, and you can see the plan formulating behind them; a sequence of actions you can't envision for yourself, but you know you won't have to.

He'll tell you, but you'll also have to listen to the unsaid things, too. 

and then i lost the plot...literally. there is absolutely no context here and i don't know what this is or where it's going, or if i should burn it or expand it into a fic.

[fanfictionlover277353]

I would have like to know I married someone who is blonde?!

# STRAWBERRY BABY .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥...

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

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

Instead, you were losing your mind.

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

No.

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

Blonde.

BLONDE.

And he looked exactly like Jason.

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

And your baby?

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

Which made no damn sense.

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t. He had black hair.

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

That didn’t matter right now.

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

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

The room went silent.

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

“Uh… what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—WHAT?!” you shrieked.

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

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

You sobbed harder. Ugly cried harder.

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

“Uh, wow,” Tim muttered.

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

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

Your stomach dropped.

Jason.

Jason wasn’t here.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

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

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

“No, he won’t,” Bruce grumbled.

CRASH.

Jason absolutely broke the door down.

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

"Fucking Gotham traffic, I swear to—"

He froze.

You were crying.

Sobbing.

Hysterical.

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

His eyes darted to the baby in your arms.

Tiny. Swaddled. Breathing.

Okay. Not dead.

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

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

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

Jason panicked.

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

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

Bruce exhaled through his nose, deeply unimpressed.

It's just made you cry harder.

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

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

Jason blinked.

Everyone collectively flinched.

"…What?" Jason said, voice flat.

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

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

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

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

"…Yeah?" he said, confused.

"He has blonde hair!"

Jason blinked.

Then blinked again.

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

Dick rubbed his temples. "Jay."

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

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

Jason stared.

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

“Yes,” Damian said, unbothered.

“Absolutely,” Dick grinned.

Jason inhaled deeply.

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

You hiccupped again. “Wh—what?”

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

Your breath caught. “Huh?”

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

Silence.

More silence.

The world stopped.

The Earth stopped spinning.

Your breath hitched. "You…"

Jason nodded.

"You… had blonde hair?"

Jason nodded again.

You sniffled. Sniffled again. Processed this information.

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

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

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

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

Jason groaned, rubbing his face. “Babe—”

“Oh my God.”

“Listen, it’s not—”

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

“Strawberry blonde,” Tim corrected.

Jason shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason glared. "You think?"

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

"I DIDN’T KNOW!" you shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim shrugged. "For emergencies."

Jason squinted. "…What kind of emergencies?"

Tim smirked. "Like this one."

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

And—oh.

The storm in his eyes vanished.

Replaced by something warm. Something deep. Something soft.

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

Awe-struck.

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

Jason swallowed.

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

“…Holy shit,” he murmured.

Dick grinned. “You made a clone.”

Jason turned to you, eyes softening.

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

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

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[custardtartsfan]

Jason Todd uses a flip phone. No he will not upgrade.

a little bit proofread! youd think the child of an ESL teacher would know whats up but youd be wrong! anywho this is vv off the dome and i didnt exactly know how to end it so please tell me if you feel like it flows right i appreciate any and all feedback very dearly ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Jay!” his partner calls from the other side of his apartment, making their way from the kitchen to where he was cleaning his guns in the living room. A very ritualistic process for him. They're all uniformly laid out on his coffee table (which he did not own before getting into a relationship, shout out the wife) , unassembled and being very carefully cleaned with a level of precision you seldom see outside of scientific glass blowers. Hes locked in

“What?” Jason looks up from his gun cleaning ritual 

“Can i borrow your phone? I wanna order food” they smiled, leaning over the back of his couch

“Whats wrong with yours?” he asks, “dead” y/n replied simply, and Jason reaches into his pocket with minimal grumbling

Jason was not a fan of technology, as a rule. He thinks its evil. He doesn't have any social media, does not watch any tv that isn't the news, and doesn't particularly like having his photo taken on anything digital. But still, none of that knowledge about their boyfriend couldve prepared y/n for being presented with a tomato red  Motorola RAZR V3 Flip Cellphone after it was dug out of Jasons cargo pants

“...what the fuck is this” they gawked at him. They hadnt been together all that long, but long enough that y/n feels that they should have noticed this piece of ancient history in his possession

“What?” Jason replied casually, unclear why they were looking at his phone like that “you have my phone no? Order your food” he said while getting back to the gun cleaining 

“Im- what is this?? Jason, be serious” y/n said, still absolutely rubbernecking at the phone. They went around the couch to look him in the eyes

Jason made a face “im being serious, order your food” he rolled his eyes at his partners ridiculousness. 

“Jason.” y/n gawped “look me in the eyes and tell me this is your actual primary cellphone.” they said, leaning down to look their boyfriend in his soul. Jason furrowed his brows

“Thats my phone. Why is this a big deal? I dont like apples and samsongs. Or whatever” Jason responds, puting down the half put together glock hes cleaning to cross his arms and lean back against the couch 

“My phone number is in this. You answer my texts from this thing??” they asked, still holding out hope this was a really stupid elaborate prank. From their boyfriend. Who had the driest sense of humor on the- okay yea he wasnt joking

“Yes??” he said incredulously, looking at his partener like they were being unreasonable. Actually- they were being unreasonable. It was a razr phone, not some far future star wars trans communicator. y/n needs a second to think about this

They plop themselves onto the couch next to their boyfriend, staring at the ceiling

“You really are a drug dealer” they murmured. Jason snorted

Jason snorted. “Below the belt” he retorts, snickering as he went back to his gun cleaning. Locked in. clear eyes, full hearts, cant lose.

“You need an actual phone” y/n states, like its the word of god. No protests will be tolerated, this studio apartment is not a democracy. Jason makes a face.

“I dont trust that shit” he murmured, continuing his surgical precision glock cleaning. y/n tilted their head

“Whys that?” they questioned. Jason scoffed, like its obvious

“ ‘don't want the government knowing my business” Jason loured

“Don't want-” y/n looked at him, in his soul “Jason. Whats a drivers license?”

Jason scoffed, smiling since hes won the argument now,in his own mind at least “i dont have one” he said triumphantly. y/ns eyes widened to the size of frisbees. They'd been in a car he was driving. Many times. Yesterday actually

“What the fuck d’you mean you dont have a drivers license??” “i never got one” he answered simply, like that was chill 

“Im- yes i get that. But you drive!” they argued, turning their body to fully face their insane boyfriend

“Well yea,obviously” jason rolled his eyes. y/n guffawed at him

“You're- a prolific criminal” they murmured, deciding not to question it anymore. He dresses up like red riding hood grew up and transitioned and got REALLY into body building. He used to kill people. Hes literally cleaning his multiple unregistered firearms in front of them. 

“Does the pope shit in the woods?” Jason retorts. y/n and jason stared at each other for a second 

“not what that means” “yea not what that means”

.𖥔 ܁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ �� fun with formatting! i like the coloured text but i wish the shades weren't so jarring. i also find the images incredibly annoying to format properly but maybe im just being dense i dunno. the drivers license bit was inspired by my co worker because she too doesn't have a drivers license and yet owns a car and drives it and isnt in jail yet. you go icon

also the term wife is used GENDER NUTREALY !!1! i wanted an actual gender neutral term for nuptial partner but nothing hits like wife does imo. anyways tysm for reading! i love you sleep well ₍ᐢ._.ᐢ₎♡ ༘

[jellofish-plant]

Focus on You

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Photographer!Reader

Summary: As a photographer for the Wayne Charity Banquet, your job is to capture Gotham’s elite in their finest moments. What you don’t expect is to catch the attention of Jason Todd Bruce Wayne’s estranged son and Gotham’s most infamous ghost. When a single snapshot leads to a playful yet charged encounter, you find yourself caught in his orbit. Will he be just another fleeting subject, or is this the start of something worth focusing on?

Warnings:

Flirty banter

Mild tension/attraction

Mentions of Jason’s past (his death/reputation)

A hint of mystery & intrigue

[Masterlist]

The Wayne Charity Banquet was the kind of event that dripped with wealth, elegance, and just enough scandal to keep Gotham’s elite entertained. You weren’t here for any of that. You were here to work.

Dressed in sleek black to blend in with the catering staff and security, you maneuvered through the grand ballroom, your camera in hand, capturing candid shots of Gotham’s high society. The chandeliers cast golden light over the crowd, and the hum of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air.

You weren’t expecting to see him tonight.

Jason Todd had been a name whispered in your ear before—a ghost of Gotham’s past, a tragedy people pitied, a storm you weren’t supposed to chase. But here he was, standing at the edge of the room, brooding in a way that made him look both effortlessly cool and completely out of place. The black suit he wore was well-tailored, but you could tell he hated it by the way he tugged at the collar.

And then, just as you lifted your camera, he looked straight at you.

Click.

You barely had time to process before he was walking over, weaving through the crowd with ease.

“You take pictures of strangers often, sweetheart?” His voice was low, amused, and far too smooth for someone who had just caught you in the act.

“I take pictures of everyone,” you countered, tilting your head as you checked the photo. “You just happen to be particularly photogenic.”

Jason smirked, leaning in just slightly. “Flattery gets you everywhere, but I don’t think Bruce hired you to make me look good.”

“I don’t think Bruce hired you to be here at all,” you quipped, glancing up.

That made him chuckle. “Smart. You always this nosy, or am I just lucky?”

You shrugged, raising your camera again. “You tell me. You’re the one who walked over.”

Jason’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t move away as you snapped another shot, the lens capturing the sharp angles of his face, the way the soft lighting made him look less like the Red Hood and more like the boy who had once been a Wayne.

“If you’re gonna take pictures of me all night, at least do me a favor,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket.

You raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a sleek black card and slipped it into your palm. His number.

“Send me the good ones,” Jason murmured, before stepping back with a wink.

You stared at the card, then at him. “And if I don’t?”

Jason smirked, already turning away. “Then I guess I’ll just have to crash the next event and make sure you do.”

The night had just gotten a lot more interesting.

[pengmar]

the love that was once ours -

jason todd x reader (1.4k wc)

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐡𝐢 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬!! 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞…😜. 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 (𝐢 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭—𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤!) 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 & 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊. 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠; 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝟖𝐚𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 ☺️. 𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡—𝐢’𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐨! 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞-𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 & 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞!! 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥 🥹💖

(𝐩.𝐬. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫í𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐜 𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐤 𝐛𝐲𝐞☺️)

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“I’ll always be yours.”

He could still feel the whisper of those words, ghosting over his skin every night he sleeps in the bed that was once shared. He thought that after everything that happened, it would be more relieving for him. After all, he never once believed that he was worthy of love. Not when he didn’t love himself. He was left with the absence of affection, too confused and scared of commitment.

Not even when he somehow ended up with you—his saving grace. The beginning of everything, perfect. Shy glances, hesitant smiles, his warm calloused hands holding yours. It was all he could’ve dreamed of. Yet even in the best moments, the self doubt and fear began to make its way into his mind again. Thinking it was for the best, he slowly and painfully began to push himself away. After all, who would’ve dealt with the mess he’d been perceived for his entire life? Just for a relationship, he just wanted you to be with the best. It was the least you deserved.

Yet even with the ghost of you running your fingers through his hair, it wasn’t enough to heal the aching in his heart. No, it was nothing compared to the real thing. Not even when he balls his fists into his blankets, eyes brimmed with the tears he’s held in since that day. He can still hear you, smell you close, feel your hair tickling his neck when he holds you close. But he knows you’re not here anymore. It’s for the best, he says to himself. But even his words can’t stop the tears that fall every night.

—

You scream happily as Jason splashes the cool water on you, the ocean breeze blowing through the two of you. “Jay! Knock it off!” You yelped, giggling as you splashed him back.

He smiled back, rare yet genuine. Maybe it was the cool December that day, or just the way you looked with your smile he could never forget. The two of you decided to take a day trip to another city for the day, to celebrate your year-long anniversary together. It’s not like you had a whole lot of time to leave the city, considering you had your own career to pursue. Jason had his night ‘job’: beating up criminals in the night of Gotham.

But to take a day vacation like this, for you, was something he never thought he’d need.

The two of you had your splashing contest, your laughter and his washing out with the crashing waves. The setting sun glimmered on the water, crystal clear, the fresh water making your teeth chatter. The sea foam scattered across the sand like the stars in the night, soon to be seen by the two of you.

“If I get sick I’m 100% blaming it on you.” You grinned, rolling your sweatpants back to your ankles. It wasn’t too much of a cold December day, so the two of you decided to at least dip your feet in the water.

“Oh yeah? So I’m the one who’s getting blamed?” He sarcastically asked, raising a brow. “Says the one who proposed the great idea of getting our feet in the water.” He jokingly added.

You let out a laugh, sliding your warm socks back on your feet. “I saw in an article that leaving your feet in cold water helps your blood circulation—so thank me later.” You smiled, helping Jason out of the water.

“Besides—the only bad thing is you splashing me with water! Now that’ll actually get me sick.” You grinned, messing around with your snarky boyfriend.

Jason nudged you playfully, jokingly about to push you into the water in reply. Instead, you giggled and chased him around the sand. He laughed happily, his eyes warm and soft.

Even in the bed you shared with him that night, watching some random TV show, wearing his clothes, just felt right. The exhaustion of being in the water for practically the entire day started to hit, your eyes fluttering shut as he held you close.

“I love you—y’know that?” You hummed into his chest, your arms squeezing him a bit tighter than before.

He hummed back in acknowledgment, pressing his lips to your hair to give you a gentle kiss. “I love you more,” he whispers your name, his eyes drooping. “More than anything.” He adds, giving your body one last squeeze as the two of you drifted to sleep.

Even after that memorable day, you’d always wait for him every night. The creaking of the floorboards, going up the stairs to his apartment. Waiting outside his door when he started to get a bit tired from everything. You’d always be there to hold him, listen to his heart beat for you.

Wearing his favorite sweater as you looked at the sunset, waiting for him to come back from missions or whatever he had to do. It was still cold during that time, your breaths puffing out like the cigarettes you used to smoke.

It was practically second nature for you to do, wait. Wait for Jason to come back, waiting for him to come clean about what’s going on in his mind, waiting for him to look at you with that loving gaze you fell in love with.

But you got tired of waiting.

He stopped updating you about everything, his messages becoming drier and shorter by the day. He began hiding things from you, reciprocating less of the gentle love he used to give you.

And as much as you loved him, you knew that this was for the better. You had gotten a new job opportunity across the country, and as much as you loved Jason, maybe it was time for a break. Something to stop the pain in your heart.

Even when you brought it up to him, his eyes slightly widened. He looked away, fidgeting with his hands. He awkwardly said you should go, that maybe you’d be happier.

Why couldn’t you be happier with him?

Although you really didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to hear him say it. It can’t be that easy, his words shattering the last broken pieces of your heart you desperately stuck together for him. His eyes and words were distant, Jason’s back on you as he walked away.

This would be the end of everything. Your everything. The future you would dream of as you watched him sleep, a family, you thought. You’d settle down together, a nice house near the beach so you’d both swim together every day. And a daughter, who’d look exactly like him. His temper, smile, sensitivity. Would’ve been cute.

As you said your last goodbye to him, his expression was unreadable. There were hints of hesitation in his eyes, yet his body language was still distant. The two of you didn’t exchange any words, merely a look of understanding that this could be the last time you’d see each other.

“..I’ll always be yours, Jason.” You whispered to him, hugging him tight. It was the promise you made to him everyday, never breaking it. Up until now.

“..Good luck out there.” He murmured, his voice slightly trembling.

He held you tight in that moment, hands slightly trembling on your skin. Jason placed one last kiss on your forehead, the warmth he once held replaced by your absence as you left.

You smiled to yourself of the times you had together, before reality had hit the two of you. The waves of the ocean, the endless possibilities you would’ve had together, his smile, eyes, kisses, touch, everything. Your everything, gone without a single tear.

—

He didn’t want to be fair anymore, not to himself or whatever stupid thoughts he had. Just for this once, for this moment, he just wanted to be selfish.

So he ran, somewhere to at least get to have the memories of you in his mind. He ended up on his rooftop, the night sky matching the same one from the night on the beach. He couldn’t control the tears falling from his eyes, nor the desperate sobs he let out as he dropped to his knees.

There it was. Jason’s and your initials carved into the ground, surrounded with a messy heart you did yourself. Remembering your giggles as you messily made it, your soft kisses, everything.

So he did the only thing he could do. Call you.

He let the phone ring. Once, twice.

For the rest of the lonely night, holding on to the hope that maybe—just maybe you’d reassure him like all those other nights in the past.

But he knew at that moment, that those nights of reassurance were gone. And so were you.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ

[fablehaven-rulez]

*insert incoherent screeching /pos*

JASON TODD is constantly in pain.

ever since he came back from the pit, he’s felt like a stranger in his own skin, metaphorically and literally. in a body he was suddenly forced to awake in, the ache in his bones is always there, simmering beneath the surface and pressing into his muscles with every movement.

he never talks about it, but you can see it in the way he rolls his shoulders too often, like he’s trying to work out a knot that won’t go away. you see it in the way his jaw clenches when he’s been sitting for too long in the same position, or how he winces whenever he moves a little too quickly.

at first, you thought it’s was just his mannerisms to be all surly and intense all the time. it isn’t until you catch a flash of pain flickering across his face in the middle of a conversation in which he’s happily talking to you.

after that, it’s all you notice and the only thing you want to do is relieve him of his pain.

tonight is no different, when jason comes home late from patrol and his muscles are stiff and practically seizing. blood stains his knuckles from a particularly nasty run-in with gotham’s lowlifes, but jason doesn’t bother removing his gloves or his boots as he collapses onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

you’re there, as always, waiting for him. you crouch down beside him, reaching out to stroke his hair and he nearly forgets he’s in pain for a split second. the minute he shifts to look at you however, his neck feels like someone’s taken a crowbar to him all over again and he can’t stop his face from twisting into a grimace.

“rough night?” you murmur, chin resting on your arms against the edge of the couch. your voice, soft and warm, cuts through the fog of exhaustion clouding over him.

jason hums in answer, too tired to pretend with you. you hesitate for a moment before standing up and holding out a hand for him to take.

“come on,” you say, tone allowing no room for argument. jason knows better than to protest and he’s already achy, so what’s a couple more steps?

you lead him to the bedroom and he kicks off his boots before entering. you sit him down on the edge of the bed and silently begin to peel off his suit until he’s in nothing but his boxers, as still as a statue depicting a greek god in all his glory. jason knows you better than to assume you’re trying to initiate anything sexual, your expression full of love and care, mixed with almost clinical intentions.

“will you lay on your stomach for me, jay?” you ask, softly. jason would hang the stars in the sky for you if you asked him, but he settles for nodding and climbing onto the bed obediently to lay where you want him.

he feels the bed dipping under your weight as you climb over him to straddle the back of his thighs and he opens his mouth to ask what you’re actually doing. but then your hands are on him and your thumbs are pressing into knots he didn’t even know he had and the question dies on his lips.

jason makes a little sound in his throat as your fingers work on his shoulders, kneading the taught muscles along his spine and neck and drawing out a deep grown from his lips.

despite the years of discomfort, jason begins to melt under your hands embarrassingly fast, huffing out a breath somewhere between a moan and a laugh.

“fuck,” jason mutters, his voice coming out in a low, gravelly rumble and anyone would think you were doing sinful things to him with the noises coming out of him.

“feel good?” you ask, quietly and jason can hear the smile in your voice as your hands continue to relentlessly chase the aching out of his bones.

“yeah,” he practically whimpers, shuddering out a breath as you work on his lower back, one hand continuing to twist as the other reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes. he didn’t even notice it since he let them flutter shut the second you touched him.

jason feels himself sinking into the mattress, unravelling from within and when he shifts from his position slightly, it isn’t nearly as painful as it was before.

“your hands are fucking magical, angel,” jason breathes out, voice muffled from where his face is pressed into his arms.

you let out a laugh and that, combined with the way the soft pads of your thumbs run against the hard, scarred skin of his back, makes him think he’s died all over again. yet this time, he’s made it to heaven. “nah,” you whisper, leaning down to press a kiss against his spine. “just love you, is all.”

a/n; sorry idk what came over me writing this. the idea came to me in the form of my own aching muscles. i’m not a vigilante i’m just a brown girl deficient in every vitamin under the sun

[k2ntoss]

i saw a reel before going to sleep last night so…. tattoo artist! jason, who also does piercings ofc and makes you sit almost on his lap when you go see him, he leans in closer to pierce your lip, making you shift so you are almost laid down, each leg on each side of his waist and his hips pressed against you.

y/n: jason, are you sure this is how it’s done?

jason: yeah, i’m the professional here, angel…

he’d enjoy getting you flustered, his way to see if he has any chances with you and once you’re finally dating he’d be confident enough to grind against you every now and then while he gets some of your other piercings done.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

💘 THAT’S ALL, FOLKS!! 💘

thank you for reading!!!!!!

i’d like to thank:

vee, @cottage-worm for beta reading all EIGHT THOUSAND words i wrote, and giving me extremely helpful feedback—i seriously cannot overstate how grateful i am. thank u so so so so so so much. besties for life, i say 🫶🏻🫶🏻.

bria, @arkhamsgirl (read her stuff too.. @arkhamsbrat) for hyping me up and going feral over like every single fic i sent, thank u queen and i’m very excited for our nuptials on the morrow. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

mimi!!! @pink-panda-pancakes i am sending you your own personal tim drake in a box.. shipping should take a week. lmk when you receive him. thank you for ur endless encouragement and enthusiasm meem 🫶🏻🫶🏻.

my boyfriend, @redacted, for putting up with me putting on an extremely time consuming writing event on my blog dedicated to fictional man cock. much love to him. 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

to all my lovely readers, old and new, this post might be dramatic but i don’t care! i love you guys and really appreciate the support you give by liking, commenting, and reblogging.

thank you, thank you, thank you!!

xoxoxo,

ness rose

p. s. if you read this far, you must really like me! here’s my masterlist and the completed fics for this event!

post divider courtesy of: @sweetmelodygraphics

[menziiee]

Fractured Echoes

The story begins with Jason Todd’s resurrection from the Lazarus Pit, and the aftermath of his brutal fight with Nightwing (Dick Grayson) on Infinity Island. Jason is confused, disoriented, and has little to no memory of his past life or his relationship with Dick. He’s haunted by fragmented visions of his past, including his time as Robin and his eventual death at the hands of the Joker. In this chapter, Jason is battling with his fragmented identity, trying to understand who he is while dealing with the overwhelming rage that seems to drive him. He’s caught in a limbo of trying to reclaim his former self, but the darkness that surrounds him is suffocating, making him question if the man he once was—if he ever was—still exists.

(It is posted up on Ao3, more chapters are coming out soon!)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63177757

[mostly-imagines]

La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

[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.

[allllium]

Jason's love language is 100% touch

I don't care what anyone says I know this man has been craving a nice cuddle under a warm blanket for so long

At first he'll put firm boundaries in place, asking you not to touch him in any intimate way, not unless he initiates it

Which makes total sense considering everything he's been through, all the scars on his body that makes him sick to touch

But over time, surprisingly not a long time, he warms up to your touch and even finds himself craving it

It starts small with an arm around your waist and a warm hand placed in yours, but it quickly turns more intimate

Something he never thought he'd have is suddenly there whenever he wants and he doesn't know how to feel about it

He gets more comfortable with things he never thought would be so nice

He lays his head in your lap as you lay on the couch watching TV, showing a kind of vulnerability neither of you ever expected

He starts sleeping without his shirt on and continuously pulls you closer to him

He almost always has a hand on you now

Now that he's comfortable he's not even gonna think twice before keeping his arm around you or laying his hand comfortably on your thigh

He can't even begin to understand why he feels the happiest he's ever been when you do something as simple as playing with his hair or placing your lips to one of his many scars

Safe to say once he gets to this stage, there's no way to go back

p.s he will totally pout the entire day if you lean away from his touch

[eyeheartboobiez]

nicknames that bruce + the batboys would call you

warnings: sexual themes in jason’s part, fem!reader a/n: just sumn slight. enjoy😁

⁎⁺˳ 𝒷𝓇𝓊𝒸𝑒 ミ

❀ bruce grew up wealthy so he would definitely call you something more on the classy side

❀ things like darling, angel, dear, my love, etc.

❀ he also has a habit of referring to you as “my wife” (because he’s possessive asf)

❀ “sorry guys, i really can’t stay for another drink. i’ve got to get back to my wife.”

❀ “you said these shoes were dior? oh, im sure my wife would love these.”

❀ on the flip side, he also really likes referring to himself as your husband (one might say he does it for the ego boost)

❀ like whenever you too are meeting someone for the first time, he'll introduce you first and then only introduce himself as "your husband"

❀ because why should someone care about him, a mega rich billionaire, when his lovely and radiant wife is standing right next to him?

⁎⁺˳ 𝒹𝒾𝒸𝓀 ミ

❀ dick would definitely be the type to call you something super lovey-dovey and over the top

❀ sugarplum, honey bunches, buttercup, (and if he really wants to get on your nerves,) shnookums

❀ he knows it’s lame, but he genuinely doesn’t care

❀ since his love language is acts of service, you tend to hear a lot of "let me get that for ya, honeybun"

❀ or something like “hey sugarplum! im on my way home from work, you want me to pick up anything?”

❀ or even "don't worry about dinner honeylove, lemme take care of things tonight."

❀ regardless of how annoying it is, you can't help but love his teasing nicknames for you

❀ like you two are that annoying couple that everyone loves can't stand seeing at the function (i know valentine's day hatesss to see yall coming)

❀ off topic but if the two of you had a kid together, i imagine him nicknaming your daughter ‘love bug’ (AWWW)

⁎⁺˳ 𝒿𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 ミ

❀ despite his thick exterior, jason’s a lover boy at heart

❀ he’d call you stuff like babe, doll, sweetheart, hon, y’know all that cheesy stuff

❀ most importantly though, this boy lovesss to call you mama

❀ like for example, he usually likes to greet you with a casual "hey mama, you doin okay?" followed by a quick peck on the check

❀ or if you're being goofy trying to get him to feel better, he'll probably say something like "c'mon mama, cut it out" as a smile inevitably blossoms on his face

❀ alongside this, he also has a weird kink thing for calling himself papa

❀ either “thatsss it sweetheart, come to papa” or “let papa bear handle it, ‘kay? you just sit down there and look pretty f’me.”

❀ you have absolutely no idea where he got it from because jason swears up and down that he's never done it until he got in a relationship with you

⁎⁺˳ 𝓉𝒾𝓂 ミ

❀ while tim is such a sweetheart, so his pet names for you would most definitely reflect that

❀ sweets, pretty, baby love, cutie; simple stuff like that

❀ also, let’s not forget that this boy is a certified LEWSER, so that also shows within you guys’ relationship

❀ he sometimes calls you pookie (he’s chronically online…)

❀ he'd probably be up texting you at 2am (because why wouldn’t be be up at that time) and is like “hey pooks u wanna check out this new italian place i found? i saw that they serve a few of ur faves”

❀ he also has a nasty habit of referring to you as dude or bro

❀ you'll often get random tiktoks from him throughout the day like "bro look this is totally us" or "me & u fr🥹"

❀ sure it's corny but the sentiment is sweet so you don't really mind

❀ a lot of people think the relationship you both have may be a bit odd, but neither of you care (and that's all that matters <3)

[angelfic]

thinking about JASON TODD watching you get ready for the day.

part of his morning routine is watching you do yours. he’s lounging on your bed, mindlessly scrolling on his phone as he waits for you to get out of the shower, looking up curiously when he hears the water shut off.

a few seconds later, you’re stepping out of the bathroom, steam curling into the bedroom as you towel dry your hair.

jason watches you like it’s his day job. he’s got nowhere better else to be, nothing else to do except lay on your shared bed, one arm tucked behind his head as he watches you move through your routine.

you grab your moisturiser, lathering up with a scent that jason always finds delicious enough to eat (he’s probably going to bite you later).

when you’re satisfied with your dewy, hydrated skin, you pick out a couple of tops, considering them with just as much indecision as before. he tries not to laugh when you huff, arms sore from holding them both up against the mirror. eventually, like always, you turn to him and hold them up in question.

“black one,” he replies easily. he’d already chosen a favourite, but he likes it when you ask for his opinion.

you blow him a quick kiss and start dressing, before moving on to sit at your vanity.

he loves this bit, watching you apply every cream and serum with intense concentration. fuck knows what they’re all for, but he happily walks around for hours, holding the basket as you shop for them and he’ll happily sit and watch as you apply them.

you never rush the next part, applying droplets of foundation to your glowing skin and taking your time to blend it in. concealer is next, and then the coloured products.

when you’re applying the bronzer, you tilt your head and assess the angles of your cheekbones carefully and he finds himself mirroring you, enraptured.

blush comes next, swirling onto the apples of your cheek generously and giving you that soft flush of colour that he loves seeing on you. he makes a mental note to compliment that more.

sometimes you forgo eyeliner and jason himself a little disappointed. the way your brows furrow and your hand is steady as a rock as you swipe on the dark lines is like nothing he’s seen before. and considering his job, he’s often in high stress situations.

when you apply the mascara, making your lashes thick and dark, jason exhales as you blink at yourself in the mirror. your eyes might be his favourite feature of yours.

as soon as jason hears the familiar chime of different lipsticks clinking together in your drawer, he sits up slightly. just like everything else, he knows you’re going to struggle deciding on a shade.

after a whole minute of you uncapping and capping liner after lipstick after lip gloss, he finally gets up and leans down behind you, arms snaking around your waist. jason rest his chin on your shoulder and nods to your obscene collection of lip products.

“use the red one that you like,” he mumbles, voice muffled by your neck.

“you mean the red one that you like?” you shoot back at him, raising a brow in the mirror.

“semantics.”

you laugh, uncapping the product before dabbing it onto your lips. jason doesn’t even realise he’s staring so hard in the mirror until you turn around to look at him, cupping his face in your hands. “satisfied?” you ask, grinning.

he hums, distracted by your lips and he can’t help himself from sneaking a kiss. the colour is practically hypnotic on you, so you can’t really blame him for going in for another one. or two.

a/n; rip jason todd you would have loved clinique black honey and elf jam session

[custardtartsfan]

Jason Todd head canons that have accumulated over time

many thoughts about the boy constantly rattle around my brain and i would like to share them ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) nothing hanky panky ish for i do not like to think about that

general bullshit ᝰ.ᐟ

he doesnt trust modern technology. he has a Motorola razr. no he will not upgrade, stop asking

has VERY messy hand writing. straight chicken scratch. barley legible

smoked during his late teens (post resurrection period, he was going through it). tried quitting in his early twenties, he bought a menthol flavour geek bar but threw it out cause Roy made fun of him

it wasnt even one of the cool ones with a screen. smh

he has a weird nostalgic affection for the thrift

it reminds him of being a kid, in the rare moments that his mother was sober enough to take him somewhere. and it was nice, his mom was conscious, all was well

and he could get whatever he wanted! he wanted a toy? sure bud, its only a dollar. why the hell not?

he recently walked into a Goodwill and damn near burst an artery when he looked at the tag on a pair of pants. it was NOT like this back in his day

his hair is like wavy, like not curly but wavy. however, he has no idea how to really care for it. shits dry is what im saying

i think hes very competitive about stupid shit

not like he gets pissy about mario kart, he will race you to see who can fold their socks the fastest

largest of the batfam. vertically and horizontally. hes a beefy dude. a brick shithouse

i think hes also the kind of dude that needs to know someone very well before he could consider dating them. id even go as far to say hes somewhere on the aro spectrum

i think he has a very high spice tolerance. like youll pry his siracha out of his cold re-dead hands. he LOVES African curry (yes this one is based off me) thats like his perfect kind of spice

back to his hatred of technology, he collects cds to listen to instead of streaming

he has one of those hip disk players with the headphones. Red Hood has been seen with a walkman

also hates tv, but will watch the news willingly. he will sit down and watch Wolf Blitzer of his own accord

romantic (୨୧• ꒳ •)=:♡

remember when i said he has the handwriting of an 18 month old toddler? yea well thats a little unfortunate cause he LOVES leaving notes for his lover. when he has to slip out the window for a job in the middle of the night, he writes a little note - “had to take care of something, be back soon. with bagels. love, Jay :)” but its written so janky his lover is spending the whole time hes gone trying to decipher it

dont tell him that though, he might cry

hes not a talker particularly. words tend to come out wrong in his experience. instead, he likes gifts acts of service to show you he cares

shopping with him and youre eying a particular top for a while? guess what’s mysteriously appeared in your laundry basket

lowq doesn’t have motion though..soo it might have been Bruce card. but honestly? money is money who gaf

what he occasionally lacks in funds he makes up for in willingness to let you do whatever you want to him

he will waddle after you in sephora, freaking out the occasional employee cause holy FUCK who invited the punisher, letting you swatch whatever you want on his hand

if you’re concerned about the milk in the fridge being yuck, give it to him to taste. he’ll let you know

there is no mountain to high, no dubious forgotten leftover too unhappy looking

cannot cook for SHIT. but he loves to eat

he will mention wanting food and stare at you longingly until you go to the kitchen

hes not gonna be playing fortnite while you’re cooking though, he can chop stuff. you may not want him within 50 feet of a place where food is prepared but he will offer

bless his heart

runs hot like a furnace. probably because hes a large meaty boy

he will grumble like a pensioner when you tuck yourself into his chest at night when its cold, but we both know damn well hes gonna be giggling and kicking his steel toed boots when he tells Roy about it later

he had pretty mixed, strewing negative opinions, about his little white tuft of hair at the front. hes tried cutting it, it grew back the same. he bought box dye, it doesnt take. so hes stuck with it. and he cant say hes happy about it

until you came along, all full of love and life, telling him you loved it. you though it framed his face perfectly and suited him great. you and your fancy affection fuck you

(he was cheesing for hours)

okay lets get sad now

hes got BADD anxiety about hurting you without meaning to. its a reasonable concern, hes a big dude. and these hands dont do a lot of cradling as a rule, more beating heads in

he needs to be reassured, but would rather roll around in broken glass then swim in lemonade than let that be known. hes more of a stare at you until you sooth him

he likes to be kissed and cuddled and cared for. so what? hes only incredibly ashamed. it doesnt matter how many times you re iterate that he has no reason to be, hes a stubborn bitch

thats all ive got! i hope you enjoyed reading my real time jason todd related word association. most of these were typed in a fury on the mobile web app on the subway so..if the formatting is yucky thats up to god (-.-;)y-~~~

[harbours-lighthouse]

you give jason todd a scare

(inspired by this post).

author's note — what’s this? another post about jason? wild.

You should have been home three hours ago.

Jason’s hands tighten around the handlebars of his motorcycle. The leather fabric of his gloves crease, slick with rain and pinching around his fingers. It’s not often that you hang back for so long afterhours, though Jason is well aware that you offer your help without second thought, often forgetting about everything else in favour of assisting where you can.

But it’s been three hours since your usual closing time, and you haven’t sent him a text yet. You always send him a text.

Clenching his jaw, Jason wipes his arm across his face harshly, brushing away the rain that lingers on his lashes. It’s not the vibrations of the engine beneath him that’s sending his thighs subtly shaking—no, it’s the adrenaline slowly inching into his system, the panic he can feel twisting inside his chest.

What if you’re alone in the pouring rain? Soaked to the bone?

The traffic light blinks green, and Jason squints through the sheets of rain while kicking back the stand. The line of cars jolt forward, brake lights dimming as tires roll across rain-soaked asphalt.

Exhaling sharply, Jason’s eyes constantly search around him, feeling as if he’s some sort of cop looking for the slightest infraction. None of Gotham’s cops do that here, but it’s what he’s seen in the few movies you’ve made him watch.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Jason murmurs beneath his breath, body leant forward as rain pricks against his skin, tapping violently against his leather jacket.

“Where? Tell me where…”

The traffic lights ahead glow a bright red, blurred by the onslaught of water, and Jason holds down several curses and a groan. He can feel the dread in his stomach, wrapping around his intestines as he slowly comes to a stop behind a white KIA.

He needs to reach your workplace—he has to see if you’re still there, and that, maybe, your phone is just dead. It must be, because he tried to track down the location of your mobile, but nothing had come up. No blinking blue dot on his screen revealed your location to him, and nothing on Earth would get him to ask Oracle to step in. He has this under control. He’s not going to panic. Not yet.

As cars rumble around him and the bike’s engine rattles beneath him, Jason silently berates himself for not having some sort of conversation about things like this with you. He should have given you instructions on what to do if your phone dies, or if you can’t get home for some reason—he could have prevented all of this if he had just given you the right steps to take. And what if you’re in more danger than he thinks? Wouldn’t it be his fault if you weren’t prepared at all or trained to some small degree in order to defend yourself? If anything bad has happened to you, that would fall on him. Without a doubt.

A horn blares behind Jason, echoing painfully in his ears. The lights have flashed green, the neon colour reflecting off the cars as they lumber forward again. He would have sent the guy a rude gesture over his shoulder, but you’re running through his head—bright eyes made gentle when they lock with his, and your words quiet and low like always. He’s sure that you speak quietly for him personally, like it’s your mission in life to never speak abruptly around him, and he’s never been able to explain to you why that matters to him.

But you’ve never needed him to explain anything. You’re too intuitive for your own good. Too understanding. Too good.

“Jason!”

His heart stops. Beats once. Skips a beat. Beats erratically again. That couldn’t have been…was that…you?

Swivelling his head around frantically, Jason pays no mind to the driver behind him angrily blaring his horn, the sound filling up the street. He knows he just heard you, however faint it was over the rain.

“(Name)! Baby!” Jason calls out, voice thick with worry.

“Jason!”

Yes, that’s you—that’s you.

And you’re flailing your arms above your head, jumping up and down on the side of the curb.With his pulse drumming inside his ears, Jason barely gives it a second thought as he floors it, weaving through the moving cars and crossing lanes to reach you.

People surrounding you glance at him wearily as the engine roars, but you don’t pay them any mind as Jason screeches to a halt directly in front of you.

You barely blink and Jason’s kicking the stand and hopping off his bike. For a moment, you think he’s angry as he strides up to you, with his brows pinched together and his jaw clenched.

Your mouth opens pitifully as you prepare to stumble out your rehearsed apology, but your words die on your tongue as strong hands wrap around your biceps, and Jason grapples you to him. A huff of air escapes you as you’re shoved against his chest, but the shock instantly melts away, and you grab fistfuls of his jacket in your hands.

“I’m so sorry,” you say into his shoulder. Guilt gnaws at your stomach, and you let him tighten his grip around you, even if it feels like your ribcage might snap.

“My phone died.” Your voice shakes, and you squeeze your eyes shut as rain taps against your scalp. “And Meggie wanted me to help her with something after closing, and then her ride ditched her so we were trying to figure out an uber for her cause the taxis are terrible and—”

“Stop talking.”

You inhale sharply. “Okay.”

The silence feels tense, and the rain pricks into your skin like needles, sharp and relentless. But it’s nothing compared to the turmoil you feel on the inside, the guilt that’s threatening to send you into tears—but you can’t cry. No, this isn’t about how you feel, this is about Jason.

“Sweetheart,” Jason murmurs against your scalp, and you catch the tremor in his voice.

“Yeah?”

“I—baby, don’t do that again.” Jason pulls away, and he brings his large hands to cradle your face. You’re reminiscent of a wet alley cat, your hair sticking to your skin and your coat hanging from your frame, heavy with water. But he’s never seen you look as remorseful as you do right now. Any anger or frustration lingering in the back of his mind vanishes within an instant, as if it weren’t even there to begin with.

Purple and pink light from the overhead billboards reflect off your face, haloing your hair. You look beautiful, but more importantly, you’re okay. You’re safe, and he’s holding you in his arms. Despite the rain, despite the chill that clings to the air, your skin is still warm with life.

And that’s more than enough for Jason.

Shaking his head, he brings a hand to gently push against the back of your head and press you closer to him again. He presses a firm kiss to your temple, as if to hammer into your skin the relief surging through him.

Bystanders glance your way, eyeing what simply looks like two people embracing each other with an overwhelming amount of emotion. Feeling the panic in his chest slowly start to ebb away, Jason lets his lips fall to your cheek where he presses featherlight kisses.

You hum softly, fingers tightening around the creases in his jacket.

“I love you, Jay,” you say quietly, because you know he needs to hear it.

Jason’s heart rampages against his ribcage.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading, God bless <3