#jason todd reader insert

[kenobers]

what would a bat do | jason todd blurb

or jason finds you crying and decides to shoot first and ask questions later. gn!reader a/n: could be read as romantic or platonic

Jason is a lot like Bruce. He does not see this as a positive.

To be fair, "You're acting like Bruce" is the verbal equivalent of hitting below the belt for him and his siblings. Being compared to your parent is a devastating below in any sibling argument, but with their...respectively unique relationships with Bruce, it's downright lethal. Especially for Jason, who still hasn't found complete security with their father.

So, Jason only compares himself to Bruce with blinders on. He does it every time he snaps at someone just to get them off his case. He cringes every time he decides to go off the grid and shut everyone out instead of confronting his feelings. "You're acting like Bruce" echoes in his head as he draws a mental Venn diagram and desperately fills the opposing sides.

The worst is when he catches his reflection glowering back at him; if he had a nickel for every time he mistook it for Bruce sneaking up on him…

He only sees his father in himself when he's angry. When he's so blinded by the nauseating need for vengeance that the line between Hood and Bat start to blur. When all he can see is the mission. When he realizes just how much he’s chosen to isolate himself.

One of the reasons he hides as much of his face as possible is because then no one can tell him he looks just like a bat when he bares his teeth. He wears his emotions on his sleeve instead of leaving it to anyone's guess. He makes absolutely sure that there's no mistaking him for Batman.

All of this to mixed results, of course.

Because despite all of his valid issues with Bruce, deep down Jason knows that Bruce Wayne is still a good man.

And although he doesn’t quite realize it, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to admit that Bruce Wayne raised Jason Todd to be a good man.

Bruce is why Jason always holds the door open for the person behind him. Every time Jason buys a coffee, he pays for the next handful of customers, something he consistently watched Bruce do. Whenever a child talks to him, Jason always crouches to their eye level…that’s Bruce too.

That’s not to give Mr. Wayne too much credit. Jason Todd has had a good heart from the moment he was born. He never needed anyone to tell him to leave the world a better place than he found it. Just because he has an anomalous method of doing so doesn’t make that any less true.

But there are certain things, instincts, that Bruce cemented in his mind. Like knowing when to ask questions first and when to ask them later.

Like when he finds you crying just now.

He’d sent you a text earlier in the day. Something completely unrelated to your well being, something incredibly unimportant actually. Still, your lack of response made him anxious, so he went to check on you. Just to make sure you weren't, like, dead or something.

There's a split second of awkward silence as you both stare at one another. But you hardly have time to wipe your tears and blubber out, "Oh, hey, what's up," before Jason's engulfing you in a bear hug.

That's when you know you don't need to hold it together. That's when you know it's safe to completely fall apart.

Jason doesn't need to ask questions just yet. You don't need him asking questions. You both know he'll get answers, whether from you or his own investigation. For now he'll stay quiet, sans a few whispered comforts. He could try being a man of many words. He’s more than capable of waxing poetics. It’s just that he knows he can come across as mean and abrasive, even when he’s trying to be kind and soft.

Another way he’s like Bruce.

Nevertheless, he’s got two big strong arms that can speak for him. They’ve got you. They’ll protect you from whatever’s got you feeling like this.

One large hand anchors you to him. It holds you steady as your body shakes with sobs. The other cradles your head, every so often moving to pat your back whenever you hiccup.

You can hide your face in his chest. Ride along with the subtle rise and fall of it. Let the gentle sound of his heart beat drown out the sound of your stressors. He doesn’t care about the damp spot you’re leaving on his shirt. He just cares about you.

Jason is a rock, an absolute pillar of a human being. He can stand there for as long as you need. He can support your weight and hold you up if you’re too exhausted to do it yourself.

When you decide that you want to talk about it, then he tries to be all ears. He sits you on the couch and wraps an arm around you as you rest your head on his shoulder. Occasionally, his thumb drifts up to wipe your stray tears away.

He listens as best he can. He definitely would've dealt with your issue differently if he were you. In a different era, he would've let you know exactly what he would do - more likely, he would've just gone and done it for you. But he can recognize that this is probably a healthier way to deal with whatever upset you. And you know what, he can respect that too.

After you've vented until there's nothing left to say, Jason stays with you. It's that nagging voice that tells him that he has to make sure you're really okay, that you're not about to do something stupid as soon as he takes his eyes off you. After all, that's what he would do.

So he puts something on the tv. A show, a movie, a YouTube compilation, video essay - something he knows you like. He doesn't look away from you the entire time. He sits at the ready to catch any stray tears or soothe any sudden bursts of rage.

Until you fall asleep on his shoulder. He sits like that for another few minutes before he finally transfers you to your bed, tucking you in with so much care. The only sound he makes is a sharp gasp when he catches his reflection in your window.

Then he sits some more, still watching you closely. He watches until he's certain you're sound asleep, ignorant to the things that hurt you.

Then he slips out the window without a peep, off to get your justice.

That's exactly what Bruce would do.

[katsumox]

something about jason todd with a touchy!reader s/o is literally so yummie.

You’ve got him on his stomach, regrettably, he thinks, as you watch the hills and divots of his muscles roll and flex as he gets comfortable. The scarred herculean expanse of his back is exposed to you as you sit on his butt.

“Dunno why I agreed to this,” he frowns, not bothering to move his head, unmuffling his musings.

He really doesn’t; ten minutes ago you two were having a very civil discussion (read: arguing) about something or other. Next thing he knew, he was in your bed, on his stomach, half naked and under you.

“Cause you like me,” you sing, breaking him from his thoughts, as you drag manicured fingers up his back, pressing into his taut muscle, deftly massaging each sore part of him.

“You like this. ‘S okay to admit it,” you add.

He gives a noncommittal noise that gets cut off by a strangled gasp when he feels your hands pressing into the upper muscles of his back.

There’s a deep discomfort that settles in his stomach; he’s never been touched so lovingly, not without hidden motives tainting said touch. He isn’t sure if he should push you off him or beg you to keep going.

You hum as you work his muscles, letting his inconsistent breathing and occasional gasps guide you.

You continue rubbing him down, occasionally pausing to apply more shea butter to your hands before resuming your work.

You reach up to his neck, as he sighs. You press just a hair harder, feeling a knot loosen at the pressure. Jason inhales, trying to steel himself from any possible reaction.

Regardless of his efforts, a low “Fuck,” reverberates through his chest. He internally frowns at the sound of his low whine, sounding like a wounded animal. He reddens as he hears himself, internally cringing at his neediness, at your willingness, and the intimacy of it all.

“That was pretty,” you murmur, teasing lilt in your voice. He’s fighting the urge to shut down this moment of vulnerability the two of you are sharing. You know he’s really pushing himself, so you try to keep the extra teases locked away for another day, another less intense moment.

You shut yourself up, instead focusing your attention to Jason’s expansive back. You press harder in the same spot, shameless in your attempt to illicit more noises from him as you whisper, “Give me another.”

He shudders, giving a shaky exhale as he composes himself.

“You’re evil,” he grumbles, despite almost leaning up into your touch.

“So evil,” You smile, “Totally evil.”

Not once does your touch on his back falter. He hums in agreement, softly smiling into a pillow.

“Incredibly evil,” Jason sighs. “Lucky I like your evil ass.”

“Aw,” you say, “Red’s finally going soft. I got you up under me and now you don’t know how to act. ”

Jason can hear the smile in your words. Choosing to ignore it, he closes his eyes and focuses solely on your touch.

“Yeah,” He mumbles, before pausing to consider his words, “Goin’ real soft, only for you.”

[sanguineterrain]

restroom attendant | jason todd

Summary: Tonight is the worst night ever--you just got dumped on your birthday, and all you want to do is cry in the restaurant bathroom in peace. That is, until, the Red Hood bursts in. This city just won't cut you a break.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: humor, mild angst, reader's ex-bf cheats and dumps her, jason is such a silly goose, flirting, meet ugly, canon-typical violence, awkward jason, comic relief dick grayson.

A/N: this is probably the silliest fic i've ever written LOL! i hope you guys enjoy it. please support your local jason todd enthusiast and reblog :)

the divider

Tonight sucks. 

With a shaky hand, you attempt to soothe your swollen eyes. You’ve probably been in here for about twenty minutes. Your Uber has definitely left, as has your now ex-boyfriend of three years. 

Yoga instructor. It’s always the yoga instructor. They’re always fucking the yoga instructor.

You swallow a mouthful of tears and phlegm and try not to let the wet sink touch your dress. All you’d wanted was a little class on your birthday, maybe have some wine and play footsie under the table with your boyfriend. But no. That would’ve been too easy for you. 

You’re starting to think this city is cursed.

The door slams open. The force of it shakes the bathroom, rattles the mirrors. You spin around.

A man slides across the floor and smacks his head on the opposite wall. Red Hood appears in the doorway, the eyes of his helmet glowing eerily. 

Yep. Definitely cursed.

"Let's try this again," Hood says pleasantly, reloading his gun with a fresh magazine. "And in the interest of making myself transparent: when I ask you a question, Jerry, I expect a truthful answer."

He stalks over to Jerry and heaves him up by the lapels of his suit jacket. Hood's biceps bulge as he holds Jerry against the wall. You squish yourself against the sink. Water soaks the back of your dress. 

"You're crazy, I didn't do anything!" Jerry shouts, feet barely scraping the floor. 

"Volume, Jerry. People are trying to enjoy their meals.”

“Let go of me, Hood! I wasn’t anywhere near the Iceberg Lounge!”

“Yeah, see, words are coming outta your mouth, but they don't match the fact that I have three people who put you at the scene. How can we remedy this inconsistency? Any ideas?"

Jerry squirms, but he's no match for Hood's strength. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Don't give me to the cops!" Jerry begs. 

"Cops are the least of your worries right now," Hood snarls. "You're damn lucky Nightwing wants to talk to you, Jerry, or your head would hurt a lot more."

Slowly, you reach for your purse, trying to pull out your phone. Instead, you knock it to the floor. Tears gather in your eyes because this night just can’t cut you a break.

“Motherfucker,” you whisper. 

Hood turns, those frightening white eyes now on you. Jerry also looks at you, legs still dangling.

“Hey,” Hood says without a sign of struggle. “Shit. Y'alright? Did I swipe ya?”

“No,” you say, voice shaky.

His posture softens. “Okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I believe you. But, um… you're in the women's bathroom.”

Red Hood gives the room a onceover. 

“Huh. So we are. Dunno how that happened.” He shakes Jerry by the collar. “Why’d you run into the women’s bathroom, asshole?”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don't kill me!” Jerry wails. 

“Shut it, Jesus. I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet, anyway.” 

“It's fine, I was just leaving,” you say, bending down to get your purse. 

“Hey, no, don't let me push you out,” Hood says. “Sorry. I'll be gone in a couple minutes.”

Hood adjusts his grip so Jerry's face is against the wall, arms and legs restrained. Then he zipties Jerry and sits him down hard on the floor. Hood presses a button on his helmet. 

“Yo, N, I'm at Prescott's. Yeah, with Jerry. No, I didn't tell him to run in here, he did that all on his own! Well, I chased him for ten blocks, so I’d prefer if you’d keep your bitching to yourself. Thank you… Okay, we're in the women's bathroom, so—well, I didn't do it on purpose! No, I’m—will you just come here? There’s a side window.” Hood presses the button again with a grunt. “Dickhead.”

“Are you gonna erase my memory?” you ask. 

Hood jerks, turning back to you.

“What? Hell no, I'm not gonna erase your memory. I don't do that shit, I promise.”

You slump against the sink. “That's too bad. I would prefer it.”

He looks up from Jerry’s last ziptie and pulls it extra tight. Jerry whimpers. 

“How come?” Hood asks.

You shake your head. “It's nothing.”

“Hm. Doesn't look like nothing. If you're in danger—”

“I'm not in danger. I…”

You glance at Hood. You can't see his face, but his body language seems genuine. From what you've heard, Hood isn't known for mincing words or doing things he doesn't want to. And he’s good to Gothamites. Well, the law-abiding ones, anyway. He’s even been endorsed by Batman.

What's the harm in telling him about your disastrous night? Not like you'll see him again. Or Jerry. 

“I got dumped,” you say. 

“Ah.” Hood nods. “Been there.”

Somehow, the idea of Red Hood getting dumped is weirder than him beating up a guy in the women’s bathroom of Prescott’s.

You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. 

“Yeah, um. It was our three year anniversary today. He took me here, told me he was in love with his yoga instructor, and then left.”

You tear up thinking about it. Hood makes a quiet noise.

“Shit. Well, I haven't been there,” he says. “But I know infidelity. I'm sorry. Dudes are trash.”

“And it's my birthday today,” you blurt, sniffling. 

“Happy birthday,” Jerry says, clutching his stomach. 

“What a fucking asshole!” Hood snarls, and lets go of Jerry, who crumples like a sack of potatoes. He’s out cold in a second, frozen on the floor.

Your brows rise. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s his first time in Gotham.” Hood shrugs. “Anyway, where was I? Right, your asshole ex. Like it's not enough to publicly dump you, and then he goes and does it on your birthday? Who is this guy? I'll go talk to him right now.”

You laugh a loud, snorting laugh. It bounces off the tiles. 

Hood tilts his head. “What’d I say?”

You catch your breath and wave your hand. 

“No, nothing, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a crappy night and that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to me.”

“I mean it,” Hood says. “I’ll scare him if you want.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t want to be an accessory to a crime.”

You also don’t want to put your ex in the ICU, no matter how much he might deserve it. Best to let the universe do its thing.

“You’d be acquitted, don’t worry.” Hood leans against the stall. “I’d never letcha go to jail.”

You smile, your ears growing warm. “You don’t even know me. What if I deserve it?”

“Nah. I got a good sense about people. I can tell you’re sweet. Probably don’t even run through red lights.”

“I try not to,” you say, heat spreading to your face. 

“Yeah, a good girl. I figured as much.”

Your eyes widen. Hood coughs and rubs his neck. Even his coughs sound intimidating through the helmet, but that’s negated by his scrunched-up posture.

“Fuck. Sorry. That wasn’t a come-on,” he says. “I mean, it sounded like one, but I’m realizing what a creep I am, flirting with you in a bathroom with a zip-tied criminal. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I hate myself.”

You grin. “It’s okay. You made my night better, actually. Thanks.”

“That’s a testament to how terrible your night’s been if I made it better.”

You shrug. “Could always be worse. I bet Jerry had an even shittier night than me.”

“You’d win that bet. But I—”

The window swings open with a clunk. Nightwing pops his head in. He looks at Hood, then you. 

“Uh,” he says. “Evening. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is it took you almost ten minutes to get here,” Hood says, back in Vigilante Mode. “Did you get lost?”

Nightwing smiles with all his teeth. “I was actually cleaning up your mess at the Bowery, Hood. You’re welcome.” 

He looks at you. “Hi. Sorry about this. I hope we didn’t ruin your night. If there’s anything we can reimburse you for…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. My night was already sunk. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for keeping Gotham safe.”

Nightwing laughs. “The pleasure is ours.”

“Alright, enough chattering, Dickwing,” Hood says. “Take him.”

He lifts the unconscious Jerry, pushing him up to the window. He does so effortlessly, his jacket riding up to reveal his skin-tight jumpsuit. 

You look away before he catches you staring. There’s definitely something wrong with you. 

Nightwing takes Jerry and waves at you. Then he disappears.

“So, uh,” Hood says. “I gotta go.”

“Oh! Right, of course. Sorry to keep you.”

“Now what’re you apologizing for?” he asks, and it almost sounds like a tease. You wonder what his smile looks like. What color his eyes are.

“Well, I really didn’t mean to keep you…”

“You didn’t keep me,” Hood says, and you can hear the warmth even through his decoder. “This is probably the best arrest I’ve ever made.”

He starts to climb through the window, then stops. He digs into one of the pockets of his belt and pulls out a scrap of paper. 

“This is my number,” he says. “Well, it’s kind of the vigilante hotline. But you can reach me here, in case you ever need help.”

Hood walks over to give it to you. He smells like gunpowder and oranges. He’s even larger this close, the width of his shoulders dwarfing you. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He nods and backs up, clapping his hands.

“Right. So I’ll go… Bye.”

Hood looks at you for a moment more. Then he hops up onto the window sill and slides out, somehow graceful despite his bulk. The window closes. 

Your dress has dried, which is nice. You walk out of the bathroom. It’s a miracle no one else has come in. 

You get your coat and this time, when you see the empty seat across from yours, you don’t burst into tears, which is progress. You call another Uber and go to wait for it at the front. The hostess approaches you.

“Ma’am?” she says, and holds out a small, plastic container. In it is a slice of tiramisu. 

“I didn’t order this,” you say.

“It was called in and paid for by a Mr. R.H. He wishes you a happy birthday.” 

“Oh. Thank you.”

You’re definitely leaving a five-star review on Yelp.

[i-yap]

I just love thinking about jason x reader

Big bulky jason who has so much trauma and issues and needs and why would you even dedicate your entire life being patient and kind with him

But that same jason refuses to let u out the bed. The jason that will press Your feet after HE is the one who just went crime fighting

Jason who Hates being separated on his days off and will sit beneath the table between your legs hugging your waist with his on your thighs if you're doing work or meeting or studying

Jason who literally Hates work, vengeance, revenge, mafia stuff , crime fighting , saving the world ..basically anything that makes him spend time away from you.

Jason who prolly just leaves all this behind and genuinely works at processing his trauam . Becomes a literature teacher in a nice university. Settles down with you and have a normal life...give you the life you deserve

Not before saving up enough from mafia/batpay to give you the best luxury

Jason who just wants to stare at you , Hold you, get kisses from you forever

[luvrodite]

use your words | jason todd (1185)

cw: f!reader, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, praise, begging note: this is an old piece and my first ever jason smut that i wrote when i was 19 a billion years ago and posted on ao3 and then promptly took down the next morning because i was so shy. have at it! if it's shit build a time machine and yell at my 19 year old self for it <3 minors, blank and ageless blogs do NOT interact you will be blocked.

You’re restless when he comes home to you, almost needy in your movements as your body arches and twists to press every inch of your skin into him. Little sighs escape your lips as you shift, hands skating up his shoulders and looping around his shoulders, leg slotting between his and retracting in favour of hooking over his hip. 

He’s a little amused at all the attention and even more so when a whimper slips forth as his hand comes to rest against your back, effectively holding you still. 

“What’s up, huh?” he murmurs, tilting your chin up to search your eyes and finding your pupils blown wide with desire. “My girl need a little attention tonight?”

You shrug pitifully, pressing your nose into his neck, and laughter rumbles in his chest when he feels you press your mouth against the skin, teeth grazing ever so slightly.

“Please?” The hushed whisper goes straight to his head and he groans into your temple when you tilt your hips. “Please, Jay?”

With great difficulty, he shakes his head. “You know you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

He receives a whine in return. 

“Use your words, angel.”

You want to throttle him when you pull back and see the smug glint in his blue eyes - he isn’t going to be swayed at all by any sort of pretty noises, not tonight. He’s likely riding on some sort of high from a successful meeting with some associate or other, and your boyfriend isn’t coming down any time soon. You know he’ll drag it out even longer if you don’t give in. 

You almost hate him for it. 

Want wins over, as it almost always does, and you lean in. It feels as though you’re laying yourself bare - you soon will be, you suppose - when you tell him, 

“I want you. I need you. I’ve needed you all day.”

The room is stiflingly warm, despite the thin t-shirt you had worn to bed and you feel that heat crawl up your chest and neck, settling on your cheeks. A different kind of heat similarly pools low in your stomach, and you watch a deliciously wicked grin curve his mouth upwards. 

“Tell me what you need, and it’s yours,” he breathes out, mouth skating along your collarbone. “C’mon, sweetheart. What do you want?”

“I…” you hesitate, the words skidding to a halt on the tip of your tongue. Blue eyes stare up at you encouragingly, and you register fingers trailing up under your shirt against your ribs. 

“I want you to fuck me.” It feels as though everything is on fire when the words finally leave your mouth, but he beams, broad and satisfied as he swoops up to capture your mouth with his own. 

“That’s my girl,” comes the murmur, and you just about sag in relief, melting into his embrace as he kisses you. “Such a good girl for me. So fuckin’ pretty.”

He swallows your cries, eclipsing your body with his own and your fingers find purchase on his impossibly broad shoulders. Your t-shirt is tugged up and thrown into some dark corner of the room, a warm mouth pressing against every inch of skin revealed, reverent and something like worship in its touch. The sight of his head between your thighs is nearly enough to make you come undone, and by the huff of laughter that tickles your hip, you know he’s more than aware of it, too.

The first touch has you sure that you’re burning alive, flames licking your skin and your back arches off the bed when he lowers his mouth to you. You’re a live wire under his tongue, squirming, babbling pleas. One hand reaches down to tangle itself in his dark locks, the other gripping his forearm which has settled across your hip to pin you to the bed, nails biting into his flesh in your urgency. He nips affectionately at your thigh and you gasp, stinging mixing with the pleasure in a sensation that’s unexpectedly delightful. You rear off the bed under the quick lashes of his tongue, coming apart at the seams under the attention of his fingers and mouth. 

“You’re so pretty,” he praises, kissing your thighs as you come down, boneless and sinking into the mattress. “So pretty and all mine, aren’t you? Nobody else gets to see you like this, nobody else is half as lucky. No, you’re for me.”

“You’re for me,” you echo back at him and you swear you see his skin redden. You grin, turning your attention to his arm, still flung across your stomach.

“I think I left marks on you,” you whisper, tracing the indents of half-moons you had indeed left on his forearm. He shakes his head, resting it gently on your thigh. 

“The only marks worth having,” he mutters, lips moving over your thighs as he speaks. “Want all your marks. Let everyone know who I belong to.”

“Oh.” Is all you’re capable of in response, and he grins knowingly.

“Don’t think I’m quite done with you, though, angel,” he says and you blink. “No, you’ve got one more for me, don’t you sweetheart?” 

You’re watching him with half-lidded eyes, transfixed by the electricity that seems to flash in his eyes, blue and impossibly bright in the darkness. The sight of a slight sheen on his mouth, of you, has you swallowing, butterflies rampant in your stomach as you tip your chin down in a nod.

The smile you receive in return has you struggling to remember how to breathe.

He coos praise as you take him, whispers of yes, darling and there you go, that’s my beautiful girl, fingers skimming below your waist to find that sensitive spot in tandem with his rocking hips until tears are streaming from your eyes and he’s gasping as you shatter, following soon after. You aren’t sure where you end and the man pressed against you begins, delirious and drunk on his touch. You feel almost flayed alive under his fingertips, every nerve exposed and raw as he caresses you gently, blooming into something rougher, something less delicate and more desperate, but you feel the adoration in every stroke and trace.

After, when your breathing slows and your heartbeat returns to its normal skip, and when the twisted bedsheets are tugged over your body, and when you swallow every last drop of water from the bottle he brings you, he tugs you close, arm resting across your back. Your eyelids droop and your face is relaxed but he notes the lingering smile, sleepy and sated.

“You were so good for me, tonight,” he whispers, kissing your temple, once, twice and then a third time for good measure. “So, so good.”

“Love you,” comes the muffled reply, and he feels a kiss above his heart. 

“I love you,” he returns, squeezing gently. “Dreamgirl.”

You find sleep easily in the arms of the man you love, and the weight of his hand on your back draws you into your dreams, a protective cocoon that chases away any bad dreams. 

It’s bliss.

Fin.

hai bye this is an apology for not having anything to offer besides my yapping lately on this blog. i haven't edited or touched it up so again, if it's shit that's none of my business <3

[love-bugsy]

good ol' gotham | jason todd

the worst thing about love

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

two | three | four | series masterlist

content warnings: no editing, allusions to character death, (haphazard) depictions of grief, smoking + mentions of alcohol, swearing, completely ooc Jason bc he’s just my lil guy, medical terminology learned from greys anatomy lol

only jerks steal other people’s writing and mine isn’t even that good so no reposts

You and Jason sit across from each other in a diner booth, his restless leg bouncing under the table and your workaholic fingers tapping rhythms on the lacquer. The tired waitress who begged for your shift today brings over a plate of fries for you both, waving you off when you try to tip her. She gives your head an affectionate ruffle like she used to when you were 6, and you flush. As she goes to wait the next table, Jason laughs and says something about nepotism. You reach over and smack him.

He scoops up a heaping handful of fries, holding out his cigarette in his free hand so he can choke it down. He wipes his hands on his pants, taking another drag. You frown as your eyes dart between him and the ‘no smoking’ sign, glaring pointedly at the cigarette hanging half out of his mouth. He huffs, hiding a smile as he crushes the lit end on the underside of the table and flicks it into a nearby bin. You kiss your teeth, rolling your eyes but it’s entirely too fond to have any lasting effect. This damn boy’s got you wrapped around his battered fingers.

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” you huff, shoving a couple of fries in your mouth and basking in greasy diner heaven. Jason tilts his head, examining you, and snorts when you chuck a fry at his face. 

“So you tell me every time, and yet, miraculously, I’m still here.” He plucks the fallen fry out of his lap, not even brushing it off before he scarfs it down and reaches for another handful. You eye his hand, meant to shovel chips into his mouth but instead is littered with callouses and cigarette burns. It’s a stretching silence as you find your words.

“S’killing you slowly.”

“Lucky me.” He shoots you a toothy grin, leaning back into the booth, one hand laid out face-down on the table. The bruises on his knuckles are a motley of yellow and purple; your hand aches just looking at the scabs that litter the top of his hand. You’re sure he doesn’t feel it, though - he’s always healing, gaining new wounds before the old ones are finished scarring over. A veritable human ship of Theseus. 

His hand clenches into a fist under your gaze and you suddenly become very interested in the plate of fries between you. ‘M’not gonna stop,” he says, tone unyielding. You don’t know whether he’s talking about his smoking or the elephant-sized robin in the room. Probably both.

“But maybe you should.” You blurt out, and the way his face twists in anger makes you want to cover your mouth and hide. You hate how he clings to things - smoking, grudges, Robin - you think it’ll be the death of him one day. But you’re a hypocrite, because you love how he clings to you. Jason’s jaw feathers.

“Just fucking back off, okay?”, he snaps at you, and you go silent - you don’t want to have the same argument for the thousandth time. You study the way his eyes close and he sinks back into the chair - guilt washing away the enraged crease between his brows.

You forget - all the time - how angry he is, all of it built up under his rib cage. You think he gets scared to show it to you, like it’ll scare you away. For all his intelligence, Jason has yet to grasp the fact that you have Gotham in you too - spent your whole life atoning for the sin of your existence here. You’re angry too, of fucking course you are.

There’s no shortage of anger and fear and desperation in Gotham - they flood the gutters and hang dormant in the smog. Not many people choose to be kind here, it’s just too hard to. You think maybe your bleeding heart is at fault for how he tiptoes around you, but you wish he would just be honest. This diner, your friendship - it’s so far removed from the rest of his life… you wish he would stop treating you like a precious secret. 

“I-” You shake your head when he starts to apologise, waving your hand as if to clear the air between you.

“It’s forgotten,” you say, even though it never is. The tilt of his head reads you like an old book. Getting up, he rounds the table, shoving you further into the booth and looping an arm around your shoulders. Neither of you say anything - Jason reaching awkwardly for another chip - but the warm press of his side against yours is words enough. You shuffle - somehow - closer to him and take the hand that's over your shoulder, moving it delicately into your lap. You run careful circles around the bruises on his knuckles, trying to commit the warmth of him to memory. Trying to remember him while he’s still here. 

When you glance back at him, he’s looking at you with something wide and soft and world-ending in his eyes. The hand in your lap shifts around to thread your fingers together and he squeezes your hand almost uncomfortably. This boy, this fucking boy, who loves too much, too rough, too pure. “You can’t be real,” he whispers, and the diner melts away and all that’s left is his (blue blue blue) eyes and the way his hand holds yours like a lifeline. You hope you love him enough that it shows - that it spills out of the gaping seams of your stitched up heart. Clammy palms grip tighter to each other.

“I’m real, blue. This is real.”

“No. No,” he says, using your name in that careful, hard-edged tone he does when he’s serious, “It’s not.”

You wake gasping, shooting up in your bed as you try to catch your breath. Your hand crushes against your chest, trying to still your pounding heart. Fumbling in your sheets for your phone, you squint at the time. 4:02. You shuffle around, bare feet meeting hardwood floors and start to follow an unconscious morning routine - brain still foggy with sleep. It’s not until you’re wiping the steam off your bathroom mirror that you remember what day it is. The anniversary.

Reminders of Jason always hit you like a truck - blue mugs, cigarettes, hero complexes - but visiting his grave is another beast. You’re not one to let things get to you, moving too fast for anything to stick; but today is always cruel. In the entryway, you go back and forth between jackets, eventually yanking Jason’s old one from where it's hidden underneath all your others. Burying your face in the collar, you grab your keys and step into the biting Gotham wind. 

You take the metro up to the park by the Wayne Estate, stopping on the way to buy overpriced flowers and a travel sized bottle of whiskey. You stop outside the imposing gates - always closed but never locked - to take a shuddering breath. It’s never easier. 

Pushing open the rusted gate, you make the short trek up to the Wayne cemetery. Jason’s grave is a ways away from the others, hidden by an ancient sycamore tree. Autumn has come early this year, yellowing the sycamore’s leaves and burning your nose with the fresh scent of death. 

You really fucking hate this day.

It’s not the real anniversary of his death. You shudder to think about seeing Bruce Wayne here, and you doubt he’d even recognise you. Probably for the best. You’d tear him to pieces for existing when Jason is gone. No, today is the last time he left the diner - that’s the day Jason Todd died to you.

You remember staying up to watch the press conference Bruce Wayne gave after Jason’s death was reported. Sitting in a cold, empty diner, listening to his cold, empty responses, and grinding your teeth to bits. 

Wayne looks tired - beaten down, “No comment,” he says, when the questions steer to Jason. You’re furious that he could even bear to stay silent when you are tearing at the seams with things to say. Because Jason was kind, he was sharp as a whip and just as witty. And he was brash, and loud, and impulsive and full of a wild energy that hummed under the surface of his skin. And he was good. He was so good.

Somewhere between Wayne’s practised speech about the orphanage he’s opening in Jason’s name and his final statement, you mute the television and go back to washing dishes. It’s a herculean effort not to look up; waiting for Jason to start rambling about a book he’d read or someone he’d saved. You tuck your head down, avoiding the reminder that he was never going to keep you company again.

In the background, Bruce Wayne talks silently to a rapt audience.

And how they lauded him as Jason’s saviour - the homeless criminal turned social messiah by Wayne Enterprises. You want to scream; he was good already, he was good to the bone. But Gothamites - as much as they like to deny it - are obsessed with the idea of heroes. In a city of the uber wealthy and the poorest of the poor - everybody wants someone to save them. Big Brucie Wayne swooping in to reform a Gotham bottom-feeder? That’s a story everyone was taken by.

The crunch of a leaf underfoot pulls you out of your head and you realise you’re standing in front of Jason’s grave. Sitting yourself down, cross-legged, you face the grave; whiskey in one hand and flowers in the other. 

You’ve never liked his headstone. No pretentious quotes, no sardonic digs from beyond the grave. Just a dry, impersonal epitaph, etched permanently in his name: ‘In memory of Jason Peter Todd, loving son’.

You think he would’ve hated being reduced to someone’s son. You don’t think he was anyone’s anything. He was Gotham’s. He was yours. He was Batman’s. And then he was dead.

He was never any of those things at the same time. And he was certainly no one’s son. 

He was loving, though. You’ll give ‘em that.

“Well,” you say, unscrewing the bottle and downing half of it with a grimace, “Cheers, blue.” Nearly a decade and you still hate the taste of whiskey. You’d both made a pact that it would be your first legal drink - both with romantic ideas about what it would taste like. To you, it really just tastes like soap; but tradition is tradition. You reach out, brushing the thin layer of dirt that’s gathered over his headstone, eyes catching on the crude little bird carving in the top right corner. 

You’d carved it into his headstone the first year after he died; spent the whole year silently aching - haunted by empty space, reaching for him only to find air. That night was just the breaking point. It hadn’t helped that you were drunk off your ass either. 

You remember being miserably sick the next morning and - as you rested your head on the cool porcelain of your toilet - feeling selfishly satisfied that you were hurting at all. Visiting him early is selfish for you too. You want them to know you loved him first. You want them to know that somewhere, there is someone who mourns him into ruin. 

Or at least, into vandalism.

Now you drop the flowers on his grave - chrysanthemums and white lilies - and sweep away a stray fallen leaf. Crouched in front of his grave, you press your fingers to your lips, then to the bird. You feel the throb of a lump in your throat, and stand up fully, zipping up your jacket. The train home is loud and sweaty, but you feel more alone than ever.

You need a smoke.

~

Your apartment door is barely locked before you’re sliding up your window and ducking out onto the fire escape. Digging around in the pockets of Jason’s jacket, you fumble for your lighter, and the pack of cigarettes you’d bought on the way home. 

You lean over your fire escape railing, lighting up and taking a long drag. It’s a rare clear night in Gotham, and you close your eyes as you breathe out, listening to the faint, familiar whine of sirens. This. This is why you’ll never leave Gotham—these rare serene moments where you’re brought back down to earth by the familiar smell of rain and pavement; an early-Autumn breeze ruffling your hair.

Your moment of peace is interrupted when Red Hood swings down onto your fire escape, and you startle, dropping your - still-lit - cigarette over the railing. 

“Fuck!” You lean over the railing as if you’ll be able to catch it, letting your head fall against the cool metal in defeat. “Please tell me you don’t need stitches tonight,” you grumble, head still hung over the railing. A hand grasps the back of your shirt, pulling you - a little roughly - away from the edge. Your eyes flash up to his mask, only to find him looking away.

“No stitches.” He shifts uncomfortably. “I… I’m not- injured.” Your brow creases.

“Then… why are you here?” He pauses. If you hadn’t been slowly learning him over the past few months, you’d mistake his silence for stoicism, but his shoulders are drawn up slightly and his gaze is focused on a spot just above your head. He seems… sheepish? No. Caught. He clears his throat—hand in the cookie jar.

“I just…,” long pause, “Drop by sometimes. To check you’re… you know.” You do not know. You raise a brow and he nods over at the pack of cigarettes balancing on the railing.

“I’ve never seen you smoke before.” Not exactly a seamless subject change, but you know better than to pry when the other person has guns strapped to their thighs. Your eyes drift to the cigarettes, and back to Red.

“Only when I’m stressed.” He does that head tilt-y thing—trying to read you. 

“Something more stressful than surgery on a stranger in your apartment?” You just hum, turning away and reaching for another cigarette. Lighting it, you hold the pack out to Red as you take another drag and exhale. He shakes his head, “Quit a long time ago, doc.” Your surprise must paint itself all over your face because he laughs lowly, rasping out his response.

“Had a friend who hated it.”

Brows creasing, you tilt your head, appraising him in a quiet once-over. “You don’t seem like the type to change for anyone, Red.” Somehow he stiffens and relaxes at the same time; you get the sense that the answer to your observation is just as paradoxical, equal parts right and wrong.

“Yeah well, she was…” He trails off, gaze drifting from you and shoulders sinking. He looks… lost. Watching him feels like you’re intruding on a private moment, so you turn away, leaning heavily on the railing. You take another long drag of your cigarette and exhale the smoke into the wind.

“Was that you? The sirens?”     

He huffs, railing creaking as he settles next to you. “Yeah. Some asshole trying to rob a mom-and-pop store.” You kiss your teeth in mirrored disappointment, nose wrinkling.

“Good ol’ Gotham.” You feel his gaze boring into you and make a point to glare defiantly out at the skyline - avoiding him. The hand that isn’t keeping a loose grip on your cigarette begins to scratch anxiously at the rust on the railing. 

Red points vaguely at your cigarette, “What’s your stressor?” Without really noticing it, you clench your jaw and your hand moves halfway up to your mouth before you stop it. Old habits quelled by memories of bleeding nails bitten to the quick. You realise you’ve waited too long to spout a believable lie.

“Visited my friend’s grave.” You don’t even bother to school your voice, letting it claw its way across shards of glass to be heard.

“‘M sorry.” Red’s head inclines slightly, gloved hand inching towards yours. You just shrug.

“It’s been nearly ten years.” 

“Doesn’t make it easier.” He tells you and you know it isn’t false platitudes. Death is an old friend of the both of you. 

You pause, letting the city rush over you. “No,” you say finally, “It doesn’t.” Reaching again for your cigarette, you feel the weight of the day prickling at the backs of your eyes. The railing creaks as he leans heavier against it.

“Tell me about them.” 

“What?” 

“Your friend.”

You take a deep breath, brows knit, “He was…,” you roll your lips together, trying not to choke up, “Reckless.” Red snorts, hanging his head in surprised amusement. You smile for the first time all day. “I swear danger followed him around or something, I was always having to patch him up, even before—“ You cut yourself off, white-knuckling the railing. 

“He’s the reason I’m a doctor.” There’s a thick silence, which Red breaks with a staticky whistle. 

“You’re something else, doc.” Your brows knit, fingers drumming on the railing. The cold seeps into your bones, fire escape creaking with every gust of wind. Looking out over the city, you shake your head at nobody.

“I’m…” you swallow, dislodging the breath stuck in your throat, “I’m tired.” You fumble for the right words and Red waits, turning his back on the skyline, mask angled down.

Shaky hand brings your cigarette to your lips, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “So much of me is him… I don’t know—“ your voice cracks, “No one can help me carry the love he left me with. I don’t know where it goes.”

More silence—you’re starting to get comfortable with it. He lifts his head, and you think he might talk, instead, he carefully pulls off a glove, shoving it in his pocket so he can run a warm, calloused palm over your upper arm. You choke up at the gesture, gritting your teeth against the lump in your throat when your eyes catch on his bruised knuckles. Haven’t we been here before?

“Think ya just get bigger around it, doc.” Blinking at him, you dissolve into tears—a dam held in since this morning. Embarrassed, you close your eyes, tears running, unbidden, down your cheeks. 

Red’s mask pulls back slightly in shock, “Fuck, sorry, m’not good at this, don’t—” He flounders a little, hand gripping your arm with a ferocity you know is unconscious. The physicality of the action steadies you.

“I’m not—” you huff out a wet laugh, “It’s not you, I just… you lose someone and everything you used to share becomes a sign. My life is marked by a ghost.”

“Fingerprints.”

“… yeah.” You crush your half-smoked cigarette against the railing, flicking it over the edge. You stand, awkwardly, next to each other; neither of you wanting to leave but both empty of words. Your hands tap nervously on the railing and you shove them in your pockets - if only to have something to do with them. Pulling out your lighter, you flick it on and off absently, watching the flame flicker under your control.

The lighter distracts you for a little, but soon you realise that Red has gone rigid beside you; the silence between you just slightly too thick. You shoot him an inquisitive glance, trying to gauge what he’s thinking.

“Nice lighter.” he says, gaze locked on the bird etched into it. Your brows furrow.

“It’s not really mine.” The truth, if obfuscated a little.

“Is it… a robin?” You shake your head, a little laugh escaping you at how bad your etching job must’ve been.

“A bluejay.” The second the words leave your mouth, he goes still - so still you’re unsure if he’s still breathing. “Red?”

“Blue?” You wave a hand in front of his face, shaking him out of a thousand yard stare into his coffee mug. “Earth to Jason Todd.” He shoots you a flat look and watches as your face breaks into a world-ending laugh. Leaning forward, he raps bruised knuckles against the counter. You shake your head to hide the split second of worry in your eyes at the sight of his hands. Jason notices.

“So why do you call me blue?” He says, trying to innocuously tuck his hands back under the table. You huff, clumsy hands dropping the dish you’re washing in the sink with a clatter. You lean on the edge of the sink, collecting yourself before you answer.

“Why do you call me birdie?” 

“‘Cause you’re small. ‘Nd you got a pretty voice.” He must imagine the bashful way you tuck your head into your shoulder. Like you liked that.

Picking up the plate you dropped, you rinse and dry it, letting him stew in your lack of answer for a little. “It's a play on words.” Jason’s brows knit, trying to think of the connection you’d conjured. “Blue. Like blue jay.”

“Ha ha.” 

“I’m serious.”

His brows crease. “Why a bird?” (Why not a robin?)

You give him a funny look, eyes squinted like you’re reading his mind. You always seem to know what he’s thinking. Jason shifts in the barstool; feathers ruffled. 

“It’s just a nickname, Jay.” Jason knows you; he knows the word ‘just’ doesn’t have a place in your vocabulary. But he spots the tiny crease in your brow, your red raw hands, the single knot on your apron in place of a double knot—reads your language. He takes a swig of coffee from his baby blue mug, grinning toothily before he changes the subject. 

~

Bruce’s office door is closed when Jason returns to Wayne Manor, so Jason finds himself roaming the halls aimlessly. His feet carry him to the library—he still has to stand in awe every time he wanders between the statuesque shelves, spilling over with books. 

Slipping further into the maze of shelves, Jason doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for until he spots it. His fingers graze an untouched ornithology book, sliding it into his lap. Cross-legged on the floor, Jason flips it open to the chapter on blue jays.

... so i'm not dead, lol, and I am still writing - albeit very slowly and sporadically. the past few months have been very hectic, but I'm going to have a lot more writing time now that my first term of uni (!!) is nearly over. anyway, sorry to keep you guys waiting and I hope you enjoy reading my silly story :)

with love, bugsy

[littleredwing89]

FAMOUS [PART FOUR]

Bodyguard!Jason Todd x Singer!Reader

Summary: Roy leaned back, a grin plastered across his face. “Dude, they were totally gossiping about you. I mean, have you seen your arms? Of course they’re talking about you.”

Warnings: None. Girly banter. Innuendos. Teasing. Fun Roy & Jason.

A/N: And as promised, here is the next chapter 🥰🥰 sending all my love to you wonderful readers & please enjoy the next chapter - Elle xoxo

***

———

GIRL INTERRUPTED

———

The afternoon sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a warm glow over the garden complex as Jason moved around, lifting heavy boxes as if they weighed nothing. His muscles flexed with every move, the sun catching on his damp skin as sweat rolled down his temples. His hair, darkened with moisture, stuck to his forehead in a way that made him look effortlessly rugged.

Selina, lounging on a nearby chair with her sunglasses perched low on her nose, tilted her head, smirking. “That’s the guy you’ve been complaining about?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your gaze off Jason as he worked. “I didn’t complain about him that much.”

Ivy raised an eyebrow, her tone flat. “You spent at least an afternoon complaining about him.”

Harley snickered, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Yeah, you definitely plotted his accidental death.”

You crossed your arms defensively. “Not death.”

“Fine,” Ivy mused with a knowing smile. “Unalive-ment.”

“Yeah, that,” Harley agreed, her grin wide as she glanced between you and Jason, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

You shifted in your seat. “Well, I’m not anymore.”

Selina gave you a pointed look, her smirk growing wider. “Honey, have you seen him?”

Harley leaned in, conspiratorial. “Does he provide anything other than security?”

Ivy, never missing a beat, added, “Sex-curity,” her lips curling into a smirk.

You nearly choked on your drink, glaring at Ivy as you sputtered. “He makes pancakes, that’s all.”

Harley’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Before or after the deed?”

“No deed has been done!” you snapped, the heat creeping up your neck and to your face.

Ivy’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “The blush on your face says otherwise.”

You shot her a look, your cheeks burning. “I’m not blushing!”

Selina cackled, leaning back in her chair with an air of superiority. “Of course you’re not, babe. That’s just… red face paint.”

“Why do you all hate me?” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“We don’t,” Selina replied with a grin. “You just look adorable when you have a crush.”

You shot up in your seat, flustered. “I don’t have a crush! It’s just a work relationship.”

Harley patted your shoulder sympathetically. “It’s okay, sweetie. We get it.”

Ivy leaned forward, her gaze playful. “Don’t 80% of relationships spark in the workplace?”

Selina adjusted her sunglasses, her smirk never fading. “If he lived with me, I wouldn’t be spending my time fighting it.”

You huffed, crossing your arms again. “Well, he’s kind of an ass.”

“How so?” Harley asked, genuinely curious.

You waved your hands over your head dramatically. “Y’know…”

“Sweetie, I don’t,” Harley said, her confusion obvious as she blinked up at you.

You waved your hands more, as if that would clarify things. “He’s just… y’know!”

Selina laughed, shaking her head. “What you’re feeling is sexual tension, babe.”

“Sexual what now?” you muttered under your breath, clearly flustered.

“You should work it out with him,” Selina added, her voice dripping with amusement.

Ivy, ever the instigator, tilted her head towards the garden. “Oh, look, he’s coming over here.”

Your eyes widened in panic as you frantically fixed your hair, heart racing.

“Just kidding,” Ivy teased, smirking at your reaction.

You let out a breath, glaring at her. “Ha-ha-ha. Can we please stop talking about this?”

“I think you’d be cute together,” Harley said, her voice sing-song as she gave you a sly grin.

Selina raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking to Jason, who was still lifting boxes in the sun. “He clearly has a soft spot for you. He can’t stop looking at you.”

You froze for a moment, a tiny spark of hope flickering inside you. “You think he likes me?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, sounding almost… hopeful.

But before your friends could say anything, you caught yourself, straightening up. “Wait—of course he’s looking at me. He’s doing his job. Protecting me.”

Ivy leaned in, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. “What would you do if this wasn’t just a professional relationship?”

“I—I…” you stammered, suddenly unsure of yourself.

Harley giggled, elbowing you playfully. “You guys are totally gonna fall in love.”

Selina gave you a knowing smirk. “That’ll be great. When you two fall in love, the media will finally stop insinuating you and Sionis are a thing.”

Ivy’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Care to wager how long it’ll take?”.

You threw your hands up, exasperated. “I’m right here, y’know.”

Harley tilted her head, pretending to think. “Three months, max.”

Ivy leaned back, studying you carefully. “They seem like the slow burn type.”

Selina, her eyes still on Jason, watched as he stacked the final box and stood to stretch. “Nah,” she drawled, her voice playful. “Y/N won’t be able to resist those muscles.”

“Shhh!” you hissed, panic rising in your chest. “He’s going to hear you!”.

But it was too late. Jason, now aware of all of you staring at him, turned to face your little group. He blinked in confusion, his face flushing slightly as he quickly looked away, clearly bashful.

Jason muttered something under his breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I need Roy.”

Selina leaned over, whispering conspiratorially. “I don’t think you’ll need to wait three months after all.”

————

Later that evening, Jason found himself at the local bar, nursing a drink while Roy leaned against the bar, a teasing grin on his face. Jason had been reasonably happy to leave you at home tonight, especially since the girls had chosen to crash at yours, having a pamper and movie night with you. Selina frightened him more than Bruce sometimes. You’d be safe.

“Hey, brooding bird! What’s got you all mopey?” Roy asked, nudging Jason with his elbow.

“Nothing,” Jason muttered, taking a swig of his drink.

Roy raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Just like I’m ‘nothing’ when I wear these tight spandex shorts, huh?”

Jason groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you not? I’m serious.”

“Fine, fine! But you can’t just sit there looking all tortured without telling me what’s going on. It’s against the bro code,” Roy insisted, mock-serious.

Jason shot him a glare. “What I really need is a time machine to go back to when I didn’t care about—”

“Whoa, wait. Are you actually talking about feelings? Like, real ones?” Roy interrupted, eyes wide with mock horror. “This is better than reality TV!”

“I’m not talking about feelings, dammit! It’s just that… I think the girls were gossiping about me,” Jason said, the frustration creeping into his voice.

Roy leaned closer, excitement glinting in his eyes. “Oh, do tell! Who’s gossiping? Is it Ivy? She seems like the type to always knows the juiciest details!”

“No, it’s not Ivy. It’s…” Jason hesitated, glancing around as if the walls had ears. “It’s Y/N.”

Roy’s expression morphed into a knowing smirk. “You mean the one you’re totally not crushing on?”

“I’m not crushing!” Jason snapped, his cheeks flushing.

Roy cackled. “Oh, it’s even better than I thought! You are totally crushing. What did they say?”

“I don’t know!” Jason groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just saw them looking at me and whispering. It was… weird.”

Roy leaned back, a grin plastered across his face. “Dude, they were totally gossiping about you. I mean, have you seen your arms? Of course they’re talking about you.”

“I hate you,” Jason grumbled, but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Come on, lighten up! Just own it! You’re the guy they’re gossiping about. It’s like being a celebrity. You should be flattered!” Roy encouraged, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably.

“Flattered? More like mortified,” Jason retorted.

“Mortified or not, it’s too late now. You’re the star of their show,” Roy laughed, raising his drink in a mock toast. “To Jason! The man, the myth, the rumoured crush!”

Jason groaned again, burying his face in his hands once more. “I’m never telling you anything ever again.”

Roy just chuckled, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Too late for that! Now, when’s the date?”

“No date!” Jason protested, shaking his head vehemently.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that, Romeo. I’ll just be over here, waiting for the ‘I can’t believe we kissed!’ call,” Roy teased, winking.

Jason couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he downed the rest of his drink. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it,” Roy replied with a grin, raising his glass once more.

As they left the bar, Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, things might not be so bad after all.

***

[pricetagofficial]

Day 18: Snowball Fight

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, Snowball Massacre™️

A/N: Welcome to day 18! It has been a while since I have written for Jason, so I hope this lives up to it! Header by me, and divider by @cafekitsune

Masterlist

What had started out as a walk through Robinson Park, was not how things ended.

You and Jason decided it was a nice day to go out, and enjoy the snowy weather and each other's company. Lately, he'd been so busy helping the other bats in Gotham that he didn't have much time with you.

Both of you could feel that light tension, of weeks of not having longer than a few moments alone together. So this afternoon was long overdue.

Jason must have been so content, and honestly distracted by the time he spent with you he didn't notice the group of what he likes to call feral gremlins following you.

That was, until he got a snowball to the back of his head.

Turning on his heel immediately, Jason put himself in front of you effectively being the barrier for whoever threw that.

Peeking out around him, you looked up. "Jay, what happened?"

"Some fucker thought it'd be funny to throw a snowball." he grumbled.

"A snowball?"

Jason nodded, before he nudged you gently. "You see that log over there?"

Looking to your side, you saw the large snow covered log. Nodding in response, you gripped his hand.

"When I give you the sign, make a run and duck behind that. But first, be a doll, and make me a snowball real quick?"

You gave Jason an incredulous look, before you gathered a lump of snow and formed it into a ball before placing it into his hand.

"Thanks, Princess. The second this ball leaves my hand, make a break for it."

Jason looked around, his sharp eyes trained for moments like this. He knew they were there, even if he couldn't see them. But he didn't expect anything less from these people.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Not waiting a moment, Jason turned and threw the snowball. Immediately, you took off running hearing a grunt of pain.

Jason was right behind you as a barrage of snowballs began to fly towards you. The second you hid behind the log, you began to make snowball after snowball helping Jasno get supplied for the sudden snowball fight you were drug into.

Peeking up, you watched as Jason threw another and nailed someone in the face.

"Gotcha Replacement!"

"Fuck you! We're not all snipers like you are!"

The laugh Jason let out warmed your heart. There was once a time Jason tried to kill Tim, and hated him enough to do it. Now here he was, engaged in a snowball fight.

Grabbing another, Jason threw it and nailed another person in the face.

"What the hell! That's not fair!

"Not my fault you can't hide in that purple monstrosity of a coat."

One by one, Jason nailed everyone in the face. Tim, Stephanie, Duke, Damian, Cass, Barbara he got in the shoulder out of respect. That, and she might actually kill him if he got her in the face.

There was only one person left, and arguably he was more dangerous than Jason.

Both of you were at the ready for the slightest tell of where he could be. You were so focused, that you didn't until a snowball was mushed on top of both of your heads.

"Gotch, Little Wing."

Looking up, you saw Dick with his million-dollar grin, and a mischievous glint in his eyes. A glint you knew meant trouble, and you did not want to be caught in it this time.

Quickly you crawled away as Jason turned and tackled Dick into the snow and began throwing it at him while laughing.

What was a snowball fight, turned into a snowball massacre, and was now just a snow fight between Dick and Jason.

Stepping to the side, you were soon joined by everyone else as they all had marks on their face from where the snowball got them, Tim's right in the middle of his forehead.

"So, how long do you think these two will be?" Duke asked.

You shared a look with everyone.

"Might as well tell Bruce they will be running a little late."

Duke looked confused. "Patrol doesn't start for another five hours?"

"Better make that really late."

[siconetribal]

Put It On My Tab: Chapter 10

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Tag:

@vbecker10 @wordsfromthemoon @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali

Warning:

Banter, Fluff, Wit, Book-nerdiness, and more floof

Summary:

Everyone deserves time off, and the vigilantes of Gotham are no exception to the rule. The boys decide to take a weekend to let loose. Who knew a few drinks would lead to a stranger in bed?

Author Note:

A huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check the master list for the previous chapters!

Jason watched her turn her mug in circles, press a napkin to make it smooth, and shift her plate as if to find the perfect lighting to make her pastry most photogenic. One half of her lower lip was imprisoned by her teeth, the other half jutting out to the side. It was not hard for him to conclude that she was nervous, which made him curious. What does she have to say about what Cici said? How serious could it be? Maybe she’s embarrassed about the bill? Wait, if she brings it up I can insist on paying!

“So ,” Y/N finally spoke up after what felt like hours of silence. “I have been in a dicey situation because of the Joker and his gang of clowns. Wrong time, wrong place, sorta deal.” She paused again, but shorter this time. “I have been hit by his Joker Venom, but I was treated in time. It was a gas and it wasn’t one of the more lethal variants or long enough exposure to be permanently disabling. It’s…not something I talk about either. Cici wasn't trying to lie or cause trouble the day you came in. She was trying to help me out, because I recognized you.”

Great , she recognized me right away and I was just chasing 1’s and 0’s in a useless IP address! His lips scrunched to the side as he slouched in his seat, his pride was thoroughly bruised. 

“Don't pout, I was having a bad day, well week, and she was just trying to help me jot deal with another thing, and ended up blurting that out. So no, I’m not some lunatic because of it and yes, I’m perfectly normal, because who isn’t a little traumatized when living in Gotham City, right?”

“I would say ‘or insanely rich’, but they tend to be the actual targets and commoners like myself end up in the crosshairs.” She hesitantly added, seeing no flare of anger or annoyance, she sat up and took a bite of her flaky pastry of choice. 

“Are you sure ‘perfectly normal’ is the best term for you?” He grumbled. “You recognized me and did your damndest to be unrecognizable, why? You even got your friend in on it and made me think you're someone,” his voice steadily grew louder and his tone harsher as he sat up straight while she steadily shrank back into her seat, ducking her head to avoid looking at him. Shit , not what I wanted to do! “ Forget it , who am I to get pissed at a little white lie? I’m no stranger to bad days either.” Like being held hostage and left for dead by the Joker. He quickly deflated back in his seat. His foot lightly nudged against hers, making her jump and look up. “I also think anyone who isn't traumatized living here is either off their rocker or they've only just moved in.” His gaze softened as he smiled, coaxing her to relax with him again.

“Being rich comes with its own style of batshit crazy.” He rolled his eyes. Like throwing cash around for giant galas to make yourselves feel better about ‘charity’ which will obviously attract all the other criminals in Gotham. The only difference between them is that one group is considered legal.

 “Speaking of rich, you’re a Wayne, right?” Jason’s eyebrows shot up quickly before crashing down and furrowing together. “Cici told me, I was helping her with the drinks that day and she told me to not call it.” She quickly explained. “But that aside, what do I call you? Little Lordling? Littler Wayne? Wayne Jr the second? Wayne 3.0? There are a bunch of you, right? You're the second one, I suppose you'd be Wayne 2, or are you 3 because Bruce Wayne would be 1?” She thought aloud, watching his left eye twitch with each nickname she came up with. It was still oh so satisfying to see.

“Yes, I am an adopted son of Bruce Wayne and no , you can’t call me any of those.” His voice shook as his smile became a little strained, a little bit of a grumble in the undertones.

“Aww, not even ‘Little Lordling’? I thought that one would’ve won.” She pouted. The way her lower lip puffed and pushed out was adorable, but Jason needed to be strong. There's no way he was going to let anyone call him that. It would be the end of him if any of the other Bats heard of this. “So what do I call you by, oh nameless capeless savior?”

“How about you just call me by my name? Which you could’ve just asked me for instead of doing all this.” He rolled his left hand in the air as he gestured to the oddity that was this conversation

“It is absotively posolutely rude to demand such information! To ask without offering something of equal value is simply barbaric!” She scoffed and he snorted while trying to stop himself from choking on his drink. “Also, where's the fun in that? Now you'll remember me the next time you see me, you won't be so thrown off.” The smug grin on her face was frustratingly adorable and pleasantly annoying, he was not sure if he wanted to wipe it off her face or give her something else to gloat about. 

“And charging someone for asking questions is not memorable enough?” One of his eyebrows rose up in question. “I feel like we’re well past dinner and a movie first.”

“Who says that's my cup of tea? Maybe I'm a video games and books kind of gal?” She raised an eyebrow of her own in challenge to him.

Damn, games and books? “Well you’re in luck. I’m a bit of both myself.” He smirked. 

Oh that is cheating! You can't go looking like this, be a Wayne, and be into those! I’m trying to ask you for 4k, not a wedding ring! Her eyes narrowed as she leaned in closer. “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

“‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen, not bad.” Jason took a bite of his sandwich. Not bad, not bad. “There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm,” he calmly replied.

“‘The Song of the Lark’, huh, ‘a bit’ is what you said, right?” Y/N sat back. “Consider me impressed again, Wonder Boy.”

“Quit calling me that,” he grumbled as his eye twitched.

“I have nothing else to call you.”

“Then call me by name.”

“I don't have your name.”

“You could ask.”

“That’d be rude, of course. We haven’t properly met.” She smirked.

“And how do we properly meet?” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table.

“Dinner and a good book.”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“That depends, do you prefer me to ask or tell?” She leaned in closer as well.

“Doesn’t matter to me, so long as you say yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “I guess it’s settled then. Now all I need is your number.”

“Wait, what? My number?” She sat back a little in surprise.

“Yes, your number, how else am I going to get in touch with you?” He extended a hand towards her and she, still confused at what just happened, robotically handed over said device, the screen unlocked. He quickly sent himself a text through her phone and saved his number in hers. “Thanks, sweetheart, I’ll be sending you the details later. On that note, I gotta run. See ya,” he winked and finished his drink before heading out, Y/N sitting there mouth agape and utterly confused. The bell chimed again before she could even process any of it as she quickly cleaned up and got behind the counter once more, the rev of a motorcycle fading into the distance.

[sky-berrie]

Heartbreak - the batboys

Summary: How the boys (Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian) react (platonic) when you're broken hearted.

A/N: If you're going through heartbreak over a breakup or rejection I'm so sorry that you're hurting right now. I wish I could take your pain away. Although we don’t know each other, I can say with 100% certainty that you have so much to offer, way too much to waste it on someone who can’t/won’t appreciate you.

If you’re suffering right now, please don't give up. You got through yesterday which means you can do it again today. People often say that every day will get easier, but I know that it doesn't always feel like it; there may be good days and bad days and that's okay. Use that as a reminder that feelings, even negative feelings, don't last forever. But on the bad days, please stay strong. You've worked so hard to heal, don't let it go in vain. Progress may be slow and imperceptible from day to day, but progress is progress and I am proud of you.

You deserve all the love and happiness in the world. You deserve someone who will treat you the way you want to be treated. You deserve better and there is much better out there. If you need to hear it from someone else, take it from our BatBoys. Without further ado, here is how the boys react when you’re going through heartbreak.

Dick

If you’re hurting, Dick is hurting. He’ll do anything to help you feel better. He’ll ask you what you need from him, whether that’s someone to talk to or someone to sit in silence with, someone to wallow and eat junk food with, or someone to hit the gym with.

If you want to talk, he’s a great listener. He's patient and lets you vent and circle around and around as many times as you need, but he never lets you put yourself down. He’ll gently challenge your self-deprecating thoughts.

“Why am I not good enough?”

“Y/N,” he says firmly as he turns your shoulders to face him and leans down to connect with your eyes. “You are more than good enough.”

“Then why don't they want me?” you ask as tears pool in your eyes.

Dick shakes his head. His brows knit together in sorrow. “I don't know and we'll never know. Maybe they're going through something difficult that has nothing to do with you. Maybe they're confused. Maybe they're hung up on their ex. Maybe they think you’re too good for them and they got scared. Maybe they're looking for something different at this point in their life. There are so many possibilities but none of them matter because whatever is going through their head doesn't change anything about who you are. You are still the same amazing person that you have always been.”

"If I was so amazing then they would want me."

Dick shakes his head again. "That's like expecting every person in the world to love the same book, movie, song, food, you name it. Who's that comic book character that you're obsessed with? You're always raving about your hot take on why they're the best and how everyone's sleeping on them. Most people don't see their appeal but that doesn't make you love them any less, does it?"

Dick has a point. It's only a select group of people who share your adoration for your favorite character and that has never bothered you. In fact, that makes the character even more special to you.

If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, too. If you'd rather consume an unreasonable amount of junk food, then Dick will clear out the local convenience store and be at your place in five minutes. He won't let you make it a habit because he cares about your health, but sometimes you just need a day to drown your sorrows in sugar.

You’re both in your comfiest clothes sitting on the couch under a fluffy blanket, even if it's 100 degrees outside. You'll just turn on the AC so you can be cozy and snug. You lean against him with your head resting on his shoulder as you eat your favorite snack in dejection. If you want physical comfort, then he'll put an arm around you and hold you close until you've eaten yourself into a sugar coma and fall asleep on him.

Dick worries about you and can't bear the thought of you suffering alone. If you laugh together, you cry together. He will be by your side as much as possible unless you genuinely want/need alone time. Eventually you might start to feel like a burden for taking up his time and disrupting his life, but don't bother pretending to be fine just so he'll stop worrying about you.

You put on your best smile, though you feel it faltering. You hope Dick doesn't notice. "I think I'm good now," you tell him. "That was the last of the tears."

Dick doesn't say anything. He just eyes you, a mixture of concern and contemplation on his face as he evaluates the veracity of your statement.

You try to hold it together just a little longer, but you crack and break down in tears again. Dick pulls you in for another hug. "I'm sorry," you mumble against his chest.

"What for?"

"For being so annoying. You must feel like my babysitter."

"You are not annoying, Y/N. You know I love hanging out with you and I know you'd do the same for me, so please, don't be a hypocrite and just let me be here for you."

Jason

Jason is best at supporting you through the anger stage of your grief. In fact, he will perpetually be in the anger stage on your behalf. If you were cheated on, you best believe that Jason will pay said slimy cheater a special visit. He won’t ever tell you about it because you’re probably going to object, but when your friend tells you that your ex was randomly beaten up the day following your break up, you can make an educated guess as to what happened. Jason knows you don’t approve of violence or revenge but it helps him sleep at night. He hates seeing you cry and if you’re crying, he’s damn well going to make sure they’re crying too.

If you’re ready to talk shit about your ex, Jason is your boy. He has a slew of creative insults to call the person who broke your heart and this man does not hold back. “Y/N, you are way too good for that assmonkey bitchface douchebag. They were lucky you even gave them the fucking time of day. Seriously, you are so fucking far out of their league."

If that weasel has the audacity to beg you to take them back? Over Jason's dead body. You are not wasting a second more on that asshole and Jason will make sure of that. If they call or text, he will not hesitate to colorfully tell them off. If they are brave (read: stupid) enough to show up at your place and unlucky enough that Jason happens to be there, Jason is absolutely going to go berserk on them.

Even if your ex didn't cheat on you, Jason won't want you to take them back. He refuses to let you be someone's convenient option. Jason wants you to be with someone who values you so much that the thought of letting you go never crosses their mind.

If you start missing that person and wanting to contact them, Jason will give you some tough love. He will physically stop you by confiscating your phone or having Tim rig it so that it can't call/text or receive from that number.

“Fuck them, Y/N. They’re trash and you dodged a bullet. Don’t tempt fate now.”

You might be craving the feeling of being wanted and chased and you probably have all sorts of wild fantasies of you and your ex rekindling the relationship. It clouds your judgement and makes you forget about all their many negative qualities.

"But maybe they've changed. What if they really love me and I'm reading it all wrong? What if I'm throwing away something special?" you object.

"Have you lost your goddamned mind? First of all, they're a moron who took you for granted. Unfortunately being moronic is an incurable and terminal illness so it's all downhill from here. Second of all, there's a thousand more just like them. If you really want to waste your time on a jackass, at least pick a new one."

Your head says Jason's right but your heart says otherwise and it's written all over your face.

"Y/N," says Jason, a little softer now. He stands directly in front of you with a serious expression. "I know you're going through hell but I've been there and back. I promise everything will be okay. Walk away with your head held high. Let go of them." Jason offers his hand for you to take. "I've got you."

And with his encouragement, you decide to move on. To help you get through this tough time, his go-to tactic is to distract you with all sorts of activities. It’s 3am and you’re feeling sad? Jason’s over at your place in a heartbeat and you’re going for a drive to get your favorite comfort food in your pajamas. You want Jason to get all dressed up and take you to a gala? Under normal circumstances, he'd rather die again. However, Jason will gladly do that if it means you aren't talking to your ex.

Tim

When you're heartbroken, people invariably tell you don't be sad because everything happens for a reason, be glad that you didn’t waste even more time on them, forget about them and find someone who cares about you. Gee, what splendid ideas; why didn't you think of those before? You know they mean well, but feelings don't go away just because you think they should. As a result, you might act optimistic and upbeat around others to spare yourself the well intended lecture.

However, keeping up the facade gets exhausting. Being social or being around high energy people can become an emotional drain. Sometimes you might want to avoid the entire world, save for Tim. It’s easy to be vulnerable with him because he doesn’t tell you how you should feel. Of course, he doesn't want you to be upset, but he understands that you need to grieve and it's okay to feel sad. Similar to how some people can sit in comfortable silence, Tim can sit in comfortable sadness.

"Did you want to do something today?" asks Tim from the driver's seat.

You shake your head wordlessly. You barely had the energy to leave your home today. Anything else would be too difficult.

"That's fine. We can chill at the manor," he says without judgement. He doesn't make you feel bad for wanting to be a hermit and he doesn't try to force you to get back out there before you're ready.

You follow Tim up to his room and you plop down on his bed. If you want some comfy clothes, Tim will toss you something from his drawers or he’ll grab some of his brothers' or sisters' old clothes.

Tim pulls back the covers for you to crawl under. He tucks you in like a child and kisses your forehead affectionately. It makes you feel loved and for a fleeting moment, the pain is gone.

If you want company, Tim will jump in on the other side and you’ll both be idly scrolling on your phones for a while. However, if you're on your phone, there's a good chance that you'll see something that reminds you of the person who broke your heart. If you don't want to talk about it, Tim won't pry. He'll open his arms in case you want a warm safe place to rest. He might rub soft circles on your back if you don’t mind.

If you do want to talk about it, Tim offers a different perspective. Maybe you're plagued by a million "if only" and "what if" scenarios. Maybe you're stuck on things you did or didn't do.

"I screwed everything up. What if that was my once chance at happiness? I wish I could go back in time and do it differently."

Some people like to focus on the positives. "On the bright side, now you have more time for your hobby." Or, "at least you'll save money on expensive dates and gifts."

They might gravitate to the old cliches, "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," and "there are plenty of fish in the sea." Unfortunately, none of that makes the pain any more bearable.

Instead, Tim focuses on the negatives. He recognizes that you're always going to find something to dwell on but you can use that to your advantage.

“You are the king/queen/champion of pessimism, Y/N. Even if you did exactly what you think you wish you had done, I have full confidence in your pessimistic powers that you would still find something to regret.”

Maybe something about that resonates with you. Maybe you've always struggled with indecisiveness because you're afraid to make the wrong choice. Maybe you've always felt like you're damned if you do and damned if you don't, so picking one seemed impossible. Now you realize if you're damned either way, then there's nothing to worry about.

“You did exactly what you needed to do at the time,” he assures you. "You are exactly where you need to be right now."

Even though you're understandably still sad, something in your heart tells you he's right. Being here with Tim is exactly where you're supposed to be.

Damian

Damian isn't particularly adept at providing physical or emotional comfort. It's not that he doesn't care, it's just that it’s hard for him to empathize. He sincerely wants to be helpful and tries his best but he can be unintentionally blunt and may come across as insensitive sometimes.

“Why do you want to be with someone who does not want to be with you?” he asks. Ouch. That stings. Did he have to phrase it like that?

“I don’t,” you answer, almost defensively.

“Then for what reason are you sad?”

“Because they don’t want me.”

“But you do not want them either,” he points out, not understanding the issue.

“Yeah, I know. It just hurts, okay?” you bite, irritation creeping into your voice.

"I am sorry you are upset but I am not sorry they broke up with you, Y/N."

You're stunned into silence. How could be he so cruel? To kick you when you were already down?

Then he continues. "You are genuine, thoughtful, generous, strong, and brilliant. You are a once in a lifetime soul. And them? They were nothing but a lowly simpleton who lacked the capacity to offer you the rich and meaningful life you deserve. They were foolish to let you go - likely too foolish to ever comprehend what they have lost - but I am relieved that you will not be condemned to an unfulfilling life with such a halfwit. They were merely an albatross around your neck, preventing you from achieving and experiencing far superior things in life."

That might have been the kindest thing he’s ever expressed to you or anyone else. Given how much pain you are going through, it’s probably hard to believe him right now, but you have to admit that he made you feel at least fractionally better.

“Come now, Y/N,” Damian says, tugging on your hand. “Let’s go play with Titus.”

The two of you are sitting on the couch with Titus in between. Titus is keen and quickly picks up on your emotions. He cuddles and nuzzles into your side as you gently stroke his fur. The warmth of his body grounds you and brings you some peace.

If you need a change of scenery, you and Damian take Titus for a walk. During your walk, you might come across something that reminds you of your ex. Maybe you see a cafe that you used to go to with that person. Your eyes linger on the storefront longingly and your whole body deflates at the reminder.

Damian notices your shift in body language. “What is the matter, Y/N?” Damian asks.

You sigh. “Nothing, I just - Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“I will be the judge of that,” he says, a little teasingly. “Tell me,” he demands.

You take a deep breath. “That was my favorite cafe. I introduced them to it and now it's their favorite place, too. I can't go there without thinking of them or worrying that I'll run into them."

"For once you are right. That is stupid."

"Thanks, Damian," you mutter sarcastically.

"Shall we?" He cocks his head at the cafe.

"Shall we what?" you ask in confusion.

"Go in."

You stare blankly at him. Did he not hear what you just said?

Damian explains, "you can introduce me to this cafe and then you can think of me whenever you come across it. Look, they even have a Puppuccino for Titus."

You give him a hesitant expression.

"Come," Damian encourages. He doesn't want your ex to have any bearing on your life anymore. He wants you to reclaim the things you enjoy. "Even Titus is excited to try it." Titus takes his cue and barks enthusiastically.

You take a deep breath and bravely follow them inside. You look around nervously as Damian peruses the menu hanging above the coffee bar. If Damian can sense that you are uneasy, he doesn't acknowledge it. He casually asks you what you recommend as if this coffee run was as mundane as any other coffee run. His calm demeanor eases your nerves and you start to feel more comfortable. You realize that it wasn't nearly as tough as your brain anticipated. Day by day you make new happy memories with Damian and Titus. Little by little the happy memories outshine the sad memories.

[jvsons]

hiiiii l was wondering of you can do a headcannon/fanfic? of jason todd where the reader is a homo magi (magic-wielding humans like zatanna) l just got back into dc and I'm too scared for my life to read jason todd fanfics 😭so maybe this headcannon/fanfic can encourage me to read more

I’VE GOT YOU, ALWAYS.

JASON TODD X GN! READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST | EVENT

— WORD COUNT | 600

— WARNINGS | mentions/use of magic (?), arguing, panic attacks, mentions of jason’s past, mentions of injuries/trauma.

— SUMMARY | even the most hidden wounds can be healed.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | hi!! i am SO sorry i took this long to write. i was totally not ignoring you, just caught up in life and whatnot. i hope you enjoy my take on your request and want to get more into DC!!

He’s hurt. Rough gashes dripping blood on concrete, arms flayed open and soaking through his suit. His expression is nothing more than neutral, staring blankly down at the unconscious bodies around him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he sees you first.

You’re staring. Not at him, but at the blood pooling at his feet. Your eyes are pried open in shock, mouth slightly ajar as you watch it drip.

“Jason, your blood.” You stumble over your words, stepping forward to get a closer look. “You didn’t tell me that you’re…”

It clicks. He attempts to hide himself, but your hand is already on his shoulder, and he can feel your eyes studying, watching the gore that escapes him.

“It’s not important—“

“No, it’s very important.” You interrupt, subconsciously squeezing down on the shoulder that holds him. “Why didn’t you tell me that you had Lazarus in your blood?”

He snaps away from you, eyes sharp, squinting defensively.

“It’s not important.” He repeats, fully turning away from you. “Grab the burner so we can track it.”

You stand your ground. Jason should’ve expected that much of you. He turns around, looking down at you with a frustrated curve of his lips.

“What?”

“Jason.” You start, hands slowly leaving your sides. “I’ve dealt with your kind of blood before. It’s Lazarus tainted; I can fix it.”

Your attempt to reach out to him was immediately shunned, almost as if it was reflexive to him. He stands poised as if he’s facing a threat, yet his eyes reflect wide with fear, hands gently trembling.

“No… I dont— I don’t want,” His words jittered, traveling in a horrid vibrato. “I don’t want it inside of me.”

It’s instinct. The familiarity of you has nearly disappeared. Fear radiates from the core of his being; the smell clings to your senses. He must have contracted the Lazarus in a traumatic way. The thought makes your heart sink.

“You’re bleeding out.”

His hands race to cover the wounds grafting his skin. Another bad response.

“You know me, Jason. Only supernatural affairs.” You smile, lightly shaking your wrists. “It’ll heal your wounds, nothing else. I promise.”

You wait. Agonizing seconds of watching more and more blood spill from his body. When his breathing begins to shallow, you step forward, running a hand down the arm covering his stomach.

“Trust me, okay?”

A few moments pass before he blinks, teeth gritting in the slightest. All resistance from his arm falls, and you gently guide it to rest at his side.

“Okay.”

The process is fast. A few flashes of light and open wounds thread together, leaving only the remaining streaks of spilled blood to coat his skin. You watch as the strain slowly leaves Jason’s face, and his grip tightens on you, stabilizing with the familiarity of your touch.

As you finish, his mouth opens, closing and reopening as he searches for something to say. You stop him by planting your lips against his, running a hand along his arm to pat his hand comfortingly. When you pull away, he’s silent, and you smile.

“I’ve got you, always.”

[kenobers]

quid pro quo | jason todd x sionis!reader 18+

the official beginning of the jason todd x sionis!reader timeline you have an argument with your piss poor excuse of a father, only this time, it results in him draining your bank account. angry and freshly broke, you use the only logical coping mechanism; you fuck his rival's sexy son. tw: mndi 18+, problematic reader, daddy issues, oral sex, p in v sex w/ fem!reader, top!Jason, voyuerism (rooftop sex), brief daddy kink, jason is a little ooc but it's for the plot. reader doesn't know jason is red hood here. a/n: it's the prequel, baby !! quid pro quo | pride & periods | is this love? | tremble & shake | scorn to change my state

"Are you sober?"

"Am I what?"

You and Jason Todd were meant to be rivals. At least, you considered him a rival. He had never seemed to care. Granted, he was presumed dead for most of high school, taking any hope for legitimate academic competition with him. By the time he reappeared in Gotham, your father had already decided you weren't cut out to destroy anybody - although he hadn’t failed to remind you of what could’ve been the entire time Jason owned the Penguin’s hangout. 

You still hated the guy. His apparent death had killed all the worth your father saw in you. For him to have been alive this whole time was a major slap in the face. 

Secretly, you always thought your father wanted you to destroy Jason because he wished you were Jason. Was it really so fair that Bruce Wayne really had everything handed to him, including all the sons he could want. What was Roman Sionis stuck with? A squeamish daughter with no ambition, who couldn't even prove she was better than some adopted street kid.

Now you exist as more of a pet to him than anything else. Something for him to own, something he could keep leashed at his side, something he could brag about, as if he had any real pride for you. Which was why a single, sham threat to change your last name was enough to have your personal bank account closed.

Well, if you don't need daddy's name, you don't need his money either. It's just a lesson in responsibility.

Yeah, right. Like he wasn't going to find a way to keep you from making money of your own.

But, you could still prove your ownership over yourself. After several minutes of staring blankly at the wall when you realized your father hadn’t been bluffing, you dug to the bottom of your laundry to locate the cherry colored dress that got you into anywhere for free. You weren’t sure what it was you were aiming to accomplish, but the damn dress was going to ensure you didn’t need the Sionis money or name to get what you wanted. Your feet moved with a mind of their own right into your favorite bar, right into the perfect tall, dark and handsome ride. 

You hadn’t recognized him at first. You hadn’t seen him in person in God knows how long, not since you were 15, probably. There was nothing special about his jeans, Mickey Thompson t-shirt and leather jacket. He didn’t look like a prince with the lazy way he slouched against the counter at the far end of the bar. From the entrance, his face blended in with all the others, unremarkable and unimpressive. Until the slight tug of his upper lip suddenly had you back in freshman year English, pouting as the teacher praised your would-be rival’s take on Romeo & Juliet. 

Finally, a six-foot-something, Wayne branded plot began to formulate.

Of course, now you're rolling your eyes at him. You hate having to repeat yourself, even over the loud buzzing of the bar.

"I said, 'are you sober'. You look sober. Are you?"

Jason Todd blinks, like he still doesn't quite understand the question. He straightens his posture, jostling the untouched pint of something between his middle finger and thumb.

"I-yeah, I am. Are you?"

You cross your arms, roll your eyes again and ignore the question. Obviously, you're sober.

"Do you know who I am?"

He looks you over thoughtfully. His gaze conveniently lingers on the pop of your hip and the cleavage peeking out of your ruby neckline. Exactly where you want it. You snicker; so maybe he's a little slow, but at least he doesn't seem to be blind.

"You're Sionis' kid, aren't you? It's been a hot minute," Jason leans forward a little, magically more invested in the conversation. The ginger man standing next to him pauses his attempts to woo a brunette to raise an eyebrow at you.

"My dad hates you."

He scoffs, taking a half hearted sip of his beer.

"And bears shit in the woods, what else is new?"

You don't remember him having that stupid white streak in his too-well-tousled hair. It was sexy. You hated it.

"Fuck me."

IPA dribbles down his idiotically strong chin. His mouth goes a little slack as he blinks once again, harder and longer this time.

"What?"

Ugh, again with the repetition.

"Fuck me. Have sex with me," you reiterate as nonchalantly as if you're asking him to move over.

The redhead next to him starts cackling. Jason glowers at him, shoving the drink into his hand with one arm while pulling you closer with the other. It only takes him a gentle tug to pull your chest to broad chest. He leans down so his lips brush against your ear, his crooked nose nudging the side of your head.

"Hey, you sure you're sober?"

The warmth of his breath in contrast with his mouth, still cool from his glass, sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm dead sober."

"Okay, you see how I might doubt that given you just walked up to me and asked me to have sex with you."

You push him away and it's like pushing into a brick wall. A very muscular brick wall. "Look, Wayne-"

"Todd."

"Whatever. Even if I wanted to drink, I couldn't because my father drained my entire bank account."

Jason tilts his head, causing a lock of white hair to fall across his crooked nose. 

"And why'd he do that?"

You hum amiably, curling your pretty maroon nails around his thick forearm. 

"I'll tell you if you fuck me," you promise, batting your eyelashes as you place your other hand over his heart. Much to your frustration, his heartbeat is slow and steady. His sharp face has lost its earlier shock. He looks at ease, pleasantly entertained, with a slight smirk and a cocked slitted eyebrow. 

"I think that's called extortion, baby girl."

"It's only extortion if I'm threatening you," you snap back. You should know, your father's an expert in it. You take a small breath, smoothing out your tone again, "I'm just keeping my business to myself. So, I'd call this more of a quid pro quo."

"It's a quid pro quo if I'm getting something substantial out of it," he says this but at the same time, two large hands are sliding over your hips with a featherlight touch. His nails briefly press into your skin. 

Something in your belly tightens. Maybe he’s a more worthy opponent than you’d initially assumed. 

You tip your head up as you stand on your tiptoes and sneak your much smaller hands under his jacket, brushing up his warm sides. He sucks in a sharp breath. 

"If you really had no desire to fuck me, this conversation would've ended by now,” your voice is dripping in something venomously sweet. “And I'm not going to claim I have any idea of what's happening in your own business, but if I had to take a wild guess as to who in this room has the most to gain from fucking Roman Sionis' daughter, you'd be at the top of the list. Even if it's just for the bragging rights."

"You should know you’re worth more than just bragging rights, princess,” he says, rolling a fold of your dress between his fingers with a condescending shake of his head. You wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from underneath. 

"Prove it."

"...and you're sure you're sober?"

"Wanna test my breath?"

He snorts at your bad line, but his index and thumb are already caging your chin between them. He considers you for one more moment, then kisses you.

You can taste the single sip of beer, but it’s not as strong as the fading taste of a cigarette. His lips move against yours with intent, as if seeking out a falter in your sobriety. Their search comes up empty, leaving behind nothing but a thin string of spit and the overwhelming desire for more of him.

"What's your plan then? Risk it in a bathroom stall?"

You loath how utterly girlish the grin on your lips is.

"Nah, I know a spot upstairs."

***

"You're freaky, you know that?” Jason teases as you push open the roof access. 

"The cameras up here have a delay. My dad's people won't be able to snitch until tomorrow morning, so we have all the time in the world,” you smirk at the way his eyes bug out, tugging on the collar of his jacket with a sly wink. “Don’t worry. The cameras don’t pick up anything that happens on the ground. Plausible deniability.” 

He gestures to the roof set-up. The ledge comes up high enough to hide from peeping neighbors, but a string of yellow Christmas lights keeps the spot well illuminated.

"Yeah? And what about other prying eyes? You aren't worried Batman's gonna show up and scold us for public indecency?” 

The mental image is funnier than you let him think. You give him an amused little hum as you press yourself against his chest, walking two fingers up his ridiculously prominent bicep. 

"Hmm, technically this is private property and besides, this is Red Hood's territory."

"Red Hood? You really are freaky.” 

His lips are twinged ruby from being a human breathalyzer. A thin sheen of your lip gloss reflects the warm light surrounding you. Little scars decorate his hard face like freckles. You trace over a recent nick under his eye. 

"Please fuck me, Jason.” 

His arms are still at his side. His fingers twitch, either from anticipation or anxiety. 

"You're sure you want this?"

"Fucking positive. Do you?"

The green of his eyes are shadowed by his hooded eyes. His unflinching gaze is locked in on you. There’s a weight to it that seems to put pressures on all the right places. 

"Oh, fuck yeah, I do."

He doesn’t stop to think this time before he kisses you. It’s harder than earlier, his hands roaming your body. He had his moment to explore your cherry flavored mouth, now he’s taking what he wants. What you both want. 

There’s no shared breath between you as you suck on his bottom lip, ensuring your lip gloss is smeared everywhere. A large hand snakes its way up your spine to grip the back of your head. You gasp as fingernails dig into your scalp and Jason takes advantage of your parted lips to run his tongue over yours. 

You rack your nails over his stomach, catching the muscular grooves of his abdomen to make his shudder. You flatten your palm to sneak it downwards when he retaliates by grazing over your tailbone. You quiver under his touch, feeling that obnoxious smirk on his face. 

“Tell me,” he pants between wet smacks, “if”, smack, “if anything’s”, smack smack, “too much.” 

This gives you pause. What a chivalrous sentiment from a man who’s about to ram his cock into you on the dirty ground of a bar rooftop where Red Hood might see just to trifle with your father. Actually, you weren’t sure anyone had offered you that sentiment before. It has you rubbing your thighs together. 

Something unmistakable and hard pokes your belly as your hips meet. His tongue feels along the ridges of your lips before licking between them, once again filling your mouth with him. 

Cigarettes have never tasted so good. 

The arm around your waist slides to fill his free hand with your ass. You alarm yourself by letting out a muffled moan when he squeezes. He’s going to make a mess of you much quicker than anticipated. 

It’s just because the cameras are picking this part up, you think to yourself, I’m still in charge, Jason Todd isn’t going to get the best of-

Your thoughts are interrupted by the hand on your ass rounding your hip. Two fingers play with the hem of your short dress and pull the skirt up to reveal the skimpy thong underneath. Jason finally pries himself away from your mouth to get a good look, letting out a low whistle as he admires the coordinating colors. 

“You’re so organized, aren’t you?” He croons in a much gruffer voice than he’s been using. The rough pads of his fingers knead circles into your thigh, making you keen. “Daddy must really be stressin’ you out, baby girl. You’re so tight, need to unwind…” 

You let out a little breath as the hand on your head moves to cup your chin. Jason’s lips are satisfyingly swollen and a rash of scarlet has started to spread across his cheeks, although it’s nothing compared to the heat rising in yours. The fingers at your thigh skim inward, ghosting over the elastic of your underwear. 

“This alright?”

Later you’ll curse yourself for not saying something snarkier or dirtier, for not grabbing the outline of his cock and reminding him whose idea this was…but right now, there’s nothing in the world you want more than for this man to touch your pussy. 

You nod, “Please, Jason-”

“Please, what?”

Oh, this fucker with his little smug expression. 

“Please…Please touch me, Jason.” 

Although every time you say his name, his chest tightens up beneath your palms. 

He cups your sex, feeling along the thinning string keeping you covered. Your eyes widen as you realize it’s clinging to your lower lips. His index and middle fingers are cold against the thin fabric of your thong. It's a sharp juxtaposition from his hot breath on your lips, then your jaw, then your neck. 

Dagger-like canines whet the skin of your throat. The tip of his tongue drags a straight line down your jugular while the tips of his fingers trace circles over your flimsy underwear.

“So wet,” Jason lets out a pleased hum, snapping the string with a thawk to make you jolt. “And in these pathetic excuse for panties? I wouldn’t be surprised if you left something behind in the bar.” 

Your natural instinct is to retort, but you don’t have a chance to get a word in before he’s pushing the flimsy fabric aside and swiping his middle finger through your slit. 

“Daddy makes you mad and the first thing you do is parade yourself around with your fucking pussy out. You just went out looking for trouble, didn’t you.” 

“Nuh-ah-uh,” you protest weakly, gripping his shoulders for support. He’s massaging your lower lips with false mercy. “Wasn’t looking for anything until I-ah-until-ahh-til I saw you.”

His canine bites down as his thumb presses your clit like it’s a button. Two fingers slip inside you with an embarrassing amount of ease and you whine as they scissor you open. 

“You really know what you’re doing,” you huff, a half hearted attempt at a joke. He pauses, as if he’s surprised to hear you say that. His fingers freeze up inside you, then start to pump in and out carefully - cautiously even.

“Maybe that’s just what you needed, hmm,” he muses into your skin, planting another wave of kisses along your jawline. “Someone who knows what he’s doing to help you loosen up.” 

He’s straining painfully against you. It seems unfair to let him do all the work when he’s also begging to be fucked to shreds. You reach for his cock, only for his fingers to retract from your cunt and curl around your wrist. 

You whine, both at the sudden lack of him inside you and your foiled attempts to gain some control. Your knees nearly buckle as he removes his arms all together to shrug off his jacket. But he merely tuts, “None of that, princess. Why don’t you lay back down? I think the cameras got enough.” 

Well, fuck it. You told him to treat you like a trophy, no point in confusing the man now. 

He drapes his jacket on the ground before twining his arms around your waist and shoulders to lower you down on top of it. The inside is surprisingly soft against the exposed parts of your back. 

“You just gotta let me take care of you, baby,” Jason coos, gently grabbing your ankles to move your legs apart. He takes his sweet time dragging your panties off, letting each callous on his hands hit your smooth thighs. “Look at that pretty fuckin’ pussy. You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ sweet.” 

Taste?

“What’re you-”

“Shh, trust me,” he says, coming up to kiss you. He pushes your dress up to your waist, stopping to rub your hip affectionately. “You’re gonna be glad I did this. We can stop if you get uncomfortable.” 

He kisses either thigh as he dips his head between your legs, his black hair tickling your skin. You suck in a breath of anticipation, but he steals it when he places an open mouth kiss on your slit. 

You crane your head to look at him. Not a single other person has done this to you before. You were beginning to think it was just some sort of myth, but the way Jason licks from your hole to your clit with a blistering, flat tongue is suddenly very real - and very good. 

He blows a harsh breath on your clit before delving back into your cunt. He licks his way into you, filling you with a new strange, wet sensation. His tongue is hot on your already burning core and you think you might melt into a puddle. You bite your lip, but it’s not enough to stop the pathetic cries that come out of you as Jason Todd, your alleged nemesis who never paid you any mind, the son of the dull pain in your father’s ass, eats you out. 

The sound is obscene and loud, masking your soft pants. The wet noise echoes off the high walls of the ledge while Jason works your cunt with a stupid amount of precision. His mouth is sloppy, engulfing you whole. But, his tongue is tactical, taking its time to draw out a map of all the places that make you moan and squirm. 

“Oh God, oh God!” You cry out, your hands flying to grab a fistful of black and white hair as he laps at you. His arms hook around your knees to yank you closer. He’s unreal, unrelenting in his dining. When he switches to deliver kitten licks to your clit, two fingers take his tongue’s place in your hole. 

You buck upwards as his fingers curl inside you, easily stroking at that sweet spot just out of reach of your own fingers. His free arm pins your twitching hips down, and that’s when you officially relinquish all control to him. 

“Jason, ahhh” you groan, every muscle and nerve in your body quaking. “Jason, I’m gonna…please let me…”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He sucks down on your button, letting his teeth graze the nerves in just the right way to send that unforgiving twinge up to your belly until it whites out your vision. Your orgasm floods his face, but he keeps licking until it stops. Only then does he pull away, giving you a shit eating grin dripping in more than just lip gloss and beer.  

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl, asking so nicely. And so damn sensitive, it’s cute.”

Your heart races at being called a good girl. You should be spent already, but something about the fact that he made you cum in only ten minutes makes you want even more. 

He rises to his knees and you stare at him in awe as his body towers over you, blocking out anything but the hungry gleam of his eyes, the carnivorous bite of his lip, the mounting sweat of his skin. Anything but him. 

The lights glow gold behind him, crowing your own personal Apollo with his halo. His pupils are blown out, but his stare hasn’t lost its cool. You, on the other hand, are trembling beneath him, your pussy clenching at the sound of his zipper coming undone. 

Your eyes bug out to match the size of the cock he pulls from his jeans. It’s stiff as it fills his grasp, already leaking into his palm. He grins proudly at your awe. 

“See why I wanted to warm you up, pretty girl?”

The adrenaline of the moment gives you the strength to sit up and press your worshipful lips to the ruddy head, revealing in the way it twitches. The remnants of your lip gloss add to its shine. Jason mixes it with his spit as he spreads it across his veiny flesh.  

“You’re a God, Jason Todd.” 

He bends down to reward your praise with a kiss, a briny tang replacing the burn of tobacco. Your hands come up to caress his jaw before dropping to his shoulders, proactively digging into his t-shirt. Your lips pull away from his to connect to his neck, repaying him for the bruises he decorated you with earlier. 

He hums in pleasure, tipping his head to give you better access. He smears your lipgloss residue onto his hand and lubes his cock with a Lime Crime Wet Cherry and spit cocktail. 

You’re so wrapped up in leaving a toothy imprint in the junction of his neck that you miss the hard switch in his expression. You yelp as he grips your thighs and hooks them over his hips, pinning you beneath him. Your torso flies back, but he reflexively catches your head before it can smack against the concrete. 

He continues to cradle you, steadying himself as he drags his tip along your slit excruciatingly slow. He tuts and taps your clit when you bite back a moan. 

“Don’t hold back now, beautiful,” he taunts, prodding your entrance with his blunt head. “What’s the matter, worried Red Hood might hear you?”

You try to grind against him and snarl when he pulls his cock away, “Don’t fucking tease me, jackass.” 

Jason slaps his cock against you, then rests it on your belly. He lets out an amused scoff, “Wasn’t I a God thirty seconds ago?”

“Forgot to mention I’m an atheist.” 

You cross your arms like you aren’t flat on your back with your legs up, but no poker face can hide the desperate squirm of your hips. 

The bastard shakes his head and the weight of him shifts over your gut, “You just can’t help being a brat, can you? And to think, you were being such a good girl f’me.” 

“Only because you were being nice-”

“I can be nice again, sweetheart,” his voice is low as he spits out the pet name. “But you gotta be patient.” 

“I wasn’t raised to be particularly- AH!” 

The head of his cock bullies its way past your labia and sits at the ready. You can already feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. It’s just the tip and it’s already bigger than anything you’ve ever had. 

“You ready?” He whispers. You nod with a strained whine, but it’s not enough for him. “Take a breath, I gotta hear your voice, pretty girl.”

“I-”

Your heart pounds so fast, it stops for the split second that those sharp greens irises soften. His thumb rubs a circle behind your ear. 

“Yeah,” you suck in one last breath. “I’m ready.” 

“Just - hmm - Just tell me if you need me to stop.” 

Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in. When you first saw his size, you had expected it to sting. But instead of sharp pain, he fills you with an instant and, based on the snail’s pace he’s moving at, neverending pressure. 

“Oh, baby…Oh, that’s it, that’s it, nice and slow.” 

It’s so much. It’s so good. Every bump and groove makes itself known as he buries himself inch by inch, rubbing against you. 

"Fuck, you have a big cock," you groan, letting your head fall back on his jacket. He has the audacity to snort as he sinks the rest of himself into you, until his hips finally grate against yours.

The hand holding your head slips out from under you and pulls down the strap of your dress. Your already stiff nipple becomes absolutely statuesque when it meets the night air. 

"Yeah? Well, you got a big fuckin' attitude, asking a man you barely know to come fuck you on a rooftop. You do this a lot?"

The edge of a callous catches your nipple. 

"No! Just f'you!" You squeak with a jolt. 

The callous turns into an entire paw, squeezing your entire breast harshly. You push upwards into the base of his palm, brushing your nipple against the defined lines. 

"Just for me? Just had to have me?"

Jason leans in closer, so you can feel each hot strained exhale.

"Had to have you!"

There’s little more than a hair between your noses. That big strong hand finds its way to your throat. 

"No one else pisses off your daddy as much?"

You have no explanation for what slipped out of you next. 

In your entire sexual experience, you had refused to speak them. And more determined men than this one had tried to squeeze it out of you. 

But something about the hand on your throat and the breath on your lips had you shouting, 

"You're my daddy!” 

Something flashes in his eyes and for a moment, you’re worried you fucked up. He freezes up. His face falls blank and his mouth goes taut as he considers your words. The hand supporting his weight jerks next to your head while you pant anxiously. You get the sense that this is a first for him too. 

Then he lets out a breathless laugh. 

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right, baby. I'm your daddy.”

He pulls out of you without warning or sympathy. Your hips chase his blindly, your hole weeping for his cock to come back. He sits back on his knees and hauls your ass over his thighs, spreading you open on his wide lap. 

"You holding on tight, baby?”

You waste no time securing fistfuls of his shirt, the white logo distorting in your clutch. He lines himself up to your entrance again, brushing the sweat off your brow. 

"You tell me if it's too much, yeah?"

“Of course, daddy.” 

He grins, his sharp canines glinting. “Good girl.” 

He abandons his slow and steady routine to shove himself into you. He so graciously gives you a moment to re-welcome him with a little squeeze before he’s pounding into you, ramming in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. 

You make a valiant attempt to move with him. Really, you do. But the man is actively reducing you to a huffing and puffing ragdoll. The angle he has you at leaves you nowhere to go but the end of his cock. You want to say something, to egg him on, however all that tumbles out of your gaping mouth is a series of choked uhs and ahs. 

That is until he hits a spot you didn’t even know existed and you let out an honest to God scream. In your defense, the speed at which he fucks you is utterly inhuman. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was Superman taking his fill of you.

He slows, moving just enough to rub up against that sensitive point. He revels in the way your legs crush his sides, your trembling knees digging into his ribs. 

“Oh, that feels good, doesn’t it, baby,” he groans. He plunges in as deep as he can go, lifting your hips like you’re made of clouds. Something in you pinches and burns as you open up even more for him.  

He readjusts you with a grunt and sets a new brutal rhythm; fucking you fast and hard, then easing up when he strokes something that makes you shudder.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters, “Good girl…so good…so so fuckin’ good…”

Like clockwork, you gasp every time he slows down and drags his cock in or out of you. He lets you feel every minute detail, graciously allowing you to appreciate what he's giving you, before he's striking every sweet spot like lightning again.

“Come on, let Red Hood hear you.” 

White, red and gold flashes before your eyes. Your mouth falls open dumbly as you cry out for your former woud-be-rival. Although there was ecstasy exploding from your core to your belly, the best feeling was him gasping your name in turn. 

He pulls out of you just as he finishes, your name still falling from his swollen lips. With a heave of his chest, he rolls off of you and lands with a thump at your side. You pant together, waiting for the stars to pause their dancing. 

“Gonna tell me why your dad took your dough now?” He finally puffs out. 

“Fuck, I don’t even remember,” you laugh hoarsely. Jason snaps his head up to look at you. Dumbfounded is an adorable look on him. 

“So you lure me into making a sextape for you, then conveniently forget your end of the bargain?”

“It’s not my fault you fucked my brains out,” you shrug as you sit up. You take an agonizing moment to stretch so you can enjoy the glare on his face. “Why do you wanna know so badly anyway?”

He sits up next to you, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair, “I’m gonna need another deal if you want me to start revealing my secrets.” 

Jason Todd’s a quick thinker, you have to give him that. You consider him, consider the possibility of extending this hook-up into a full fledged thing. There has to be more to gain than lose. If you play your cards right, maybe you can beat your father to destroying the Wayne legacy. Or…maybe you can get your revenge by weaving yourself into it. Either way, you’ll ensure you come out on top. 

“Tell you what,” you say, standing up and trying to ignore the way your legs shake. “I’m free tomorrow night. Do that thing with your tongue again and it might jog my memory. I’ll do something with my tongue and see if that doesn’t inspire you to share.” 

He scoffs, “You’re a little business mongrel, y’know that?” You roll your eyes, but extend your hand out to help him up. He looks at your hand for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Then he accepts it, cautiously wrapping his large hand around your smaller one like he’s handling a snake. “No more rooftops,” he decides. “And no more up close cameras.” 

You nod, “Fair. But I’m not calling you daddy again either. That was a one time thing.” 

Jason laughs. It’s just a short bark, but it’s genuine. “No problem. It’s not really my thing either. I just appreciated its dramatics for tonight’s purposes.” 

The corners of your lips twitch upwards. 

“So…We have a deal?”

He gives your hand a firm shake, although it doesn’t betray the suspicion in those unnerving green eyes. 

“I think you said it best yourself, princess. I think we have a quid pro quo.” 

Something heavy settles in your chest like a weighted blanket as you shake his hand. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, it’s just that you sense Jason Todd is going to be around for a long time. And you’re going to get everything you can out of him. 

[katsumox]

hihi!! idk if ur reqs are still open but :,) thinking about jason coming back from a really bad patrol, like he's all bloody and bruised and shit. cleaning him up even when he insists he's fine and kissing his bruises, just like a lot of comfort. sorry if this makes no sense LMAOO i've never requested something before!! tysm for reading have a nice day <33

thank u for the request my love !!!!!! reqs for jason r always open<333

this is roommate!verse because hngghhhhhh okay anyways !

“Oh honey, I’m home,” a sarcastic modulated voice rings out from the balcony. You don’t even have to look up from your spot on the couch to know it’s Jason.

“Don’t ask me where the redheads are,”he continues, “Thing one and two are off doing… fuck if I know.”

His voice is tight with irritation and poorly disguised pain as he all but limps into the living room.

Your eyes widen at his state before your mind settles into work mode.

“Shirt. Off now,” you say, jogging to the bathroom for the med kit stashed under the sink.

“No warm welcome, huh,” Jason teases as he tosses his helmet to the ground. He hisses as he tugs off his shirt, exposing the bruise-littered expanse of his musculature.

“I’m fine,” he rumbles, “No life threatening cuts or nothin’. Just…” he trails off with a sigh as you apply the cold antiseptic to his wounds.

He shuts himself up, despite the quiet whines of discomfort clawing at his throat. He watches you work as he fights the urge to snake a hand around your waist and keep you there, pressed snugly into him.

“Just one more,” you mutter, tapping at the gash near his jaw, “Wonder Woman bandaid?” You ask, looking up at him with those big doe eyes.

He grunts in confirmation, eyes flitting from your form to something off in the distance.

“Let me kiss it better,” You coo as you press the bandaid to his jaw.

Jason frowns as he looks around the apartment’s living room. It’s dark and empty, save for the two of you.

“Thought we couldn’t do the whole PDA thing in shared spaces,” he rumbles, a smirk playing on his lips, “You’re breaking the rules.”

“Fuck rules,” You hum, “No one gives a shit about rules.”

You press a kiss to Jason’s jaw, right next to the bandaid.

“Fuck rules,” Jason parrots, slinging his strong arms across your hips.

You kiss the J shaped scar on his face before standing on your tip toes to let your lips ghost the yellowing bruise under his eye.

He exhales, watching you intently as you press feathery kisses down his bruised neck and collarbones.

His eyes stay glued to your lips as you kiss the now-scarring wound on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Jason airily murmurs to no one in particular, “No one gives a shit about rules.”

[adorephina]

Omg this is so angsty yet so sweet!!! It was so good I literally couldn’t stop reading! Love your work!💚💚

Only Friend

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader [Robin!Jason Todd]

Summary: Gotham mourned for Robin. But who mourned for Jason Todd? Y/F/N Y/L/N wasn’t just another one of Jason Todd’s friends. She was his only friend.  

Word Count: 7,000 [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, Death, Loss, Grief

Y/N didn’t know what time it was. She hadn’t opened the blinds in her room for days. And she didn’t plan on doing so anytime soon. In fact, she didn’t plan on getting out of bed anytime soon.

She heard a knock on her bedroom door. From the sound alone, she knew it was her mother.

“Y/N, dear. Can I come in?”

She wanted to say, ‘No.’ She wanted to say, ‘Go away.’ But Y/N didn’t even have the energy to do that. So she just laid still with the covers over her shoulders and said nothing. 

Her mom slowly opened the door.

Y/N’s family had been tiptoeing around her since it happened. They didn’t know how to handle the situation. Most parents don’t expect for their daughter’s best friend to die. No child should have to face grief like this.

But Y/N had no choice.

Because Jason Todd was dead.

Keep reading

[i-yap]

Jason thoughts with reader

unlike dick, he NEEDS PDA. just hold onto his arm, hand , ( may make a post on this specifically if u guys want?) . will randomly come behind you and place his head on your shoulder and glare at whoever stole your attention from him. will make u sit on his lap, will makeout with you ( but will hide you from public view Ex. have u pressed against a wall while he kisses you his tall frame hiding you from view) Refuses to leave you even for a second, hates being with other people when u guys can just be alone together.

wants to do childish stuff with you or likes it when u make him do childish stuff. acting like kids in love, running around being free and happy and together . he never rlly had all that before meeting you .

stares...a lot. after a long crime fighting night he is sitting on the kitchen stool watching u make your morning coffee and he just feels so warm and in love ...its like chocking on sunshine. He gets so overwhelmed by it he just needs to look away for a second to pull himself together. He wont ever tell you why he is staring ..may make a stupid quip like " just wondering why your face so weird" " weren't you just quoting me poetry on how my face rivals heavens last night jay?" "no shutup ur delusional".

Which brings me to - playful roasting. oh god he will roast u all the time but you can always tell he is joking. has that stupid smirk and even a small stutter sometimes. Cause he wanted to tell you he loves when u hug him and it may just heal him but instead he says " Le-leave me you si-silly uh MONKEY..yea monkey" but he is holding you so tight and blushing like crazy.

doesn't sexually tease you, straight up says the most vulgar things very randomly like " damn this dressing table looks nice, we could get a mirror too so that I can see your tits as I fuck you from behind on this thing " at a home depot. does not care where you guys are. does not blush, does not smile its like he is straight up listing facts.

Jason blushes a lot . catch him off guard and he is red as a tomato

you guys seem to really prefer jason over dick and the other characters..sad sort of I like writing dick a lot .

[luvrodite]

HALLWAY CRUSH JASON TODD (college!au)

↳ he's your boyfriend, but you've still got a massive crush on him

Four long, boring hours loom ahead of you when you walk to campus on Monday morning. Lectures all packed closely within the same building, on the same floor, you dread the day. Winter leaves your hands numb as you walk towards the building you’ll be spending your time in today, and you curse yourself for forgetting your gloves, sticking stiff fingers into your pockets.

There is only one other person in the lecture theatre when you walk in, sitting off to the side. You offer them a polite nod when their eyes meet yours, and continue up the stairs to take a seat, thankful for the warmth in the room. The both of you are early, and it’s quiet in the room as you take out your things, the faint smell of something lingering in the air, not entirely unpleasant, but peculiar in the way of old lecture halls. 

It’s this smell you have to endure for the next two hours. When the hour draws closer to 9 and the rest of the few students who actually bother to show up to lectures in person begin to trickle in, you’re already fighting off a yawn and wishing you’d gotten coffee from one of the vending machines in the lobby.

You switch your phone on and off, peering down at the lockscreen fondly. The black and white photobooth strip stares back, three rectangular photos stacked atop each other. The dark haired boy in the picture winks through the pixels at you, and you hide a grin. When your professor walks in and begins to set up, you tuck your phone away, finding a bit of comfort in the pretty smile of a lover.

It only lasts so long, however, and you’re soon back to staring grumpily at a set of slides and fighting back tears at the strength of your yawns–you’ve gone through so many in the last twenty minutes it’s getting rude. It isn’t his fault, your poor old professor, that he speaks so slowly, or that you’re not made for morning classes. After yet another yawn, you rub your eyes tiredly, trying to make sense of what he’s saying.

The text comes through in the middle of your lecture, an hour into the history of corporations, and you flick your gaze down to the bubble that appears over your lockscreen. Your boyfriend’s contact photo accompanies the message, and you bite back a grin, reading the two words.

>> look up

Confused, you glance up to the door of the lecture theatre that looks out into the hallway, propped ajar with an old textbook. In the background, your lecturer takes a question, and you really should be listening, but you’re wondering whether the message was actually meant for you and then–

Jason, stupidly handsome, and bright eyed, walks past the door, peering in and grinning when you make eye contact. You just about jolt in your seat, unable to contain your own smile when he glances at your professor and shoots you a cheeky wink. Idiot, you think fondly. 

He’s gone before you can blink, leaving you to return to the class once more. Only, how can you, when you’ve got to settle your silly little lovesick heart, grinning like a fool? 

>> you’re so pretty baby

And just when you think you’ve got a handle on your heart, the butterflies spring forth anew with his next text.

i had to sit in the same lecture theatre for FOUR hours today can you believe. anyway made eye contact with everyone walking outside because i was so tired and i just kept imagining this stupid (affectionate) boy walking past and timing his text so you'd see him when you look up. because this is fanfiction. and i can make him do that!

this is separate from the last college!au piece but you can imagine it to be set in the same au if you want! i just think boyfriend jason in a college au is something that can be so special