#jason todd x y/n

[ahqkas]

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS THEY DO . . . without realizing

BRUCE WAYNE

rolling his sleeves

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

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

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

looking down and leaning in to hear you better

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

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

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

DICK GRAYSON

stretching

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

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

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

running a hand through his hair

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

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

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

JASON TODD

leaning against a doorway

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

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

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

wearing a shirt that fits just right

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

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

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

[mostly-imagines]

Who Needs Heaven? : Safe & Sound

jason todd x fem!reader

aka your daughters learn what happened to jason

warnings: nonspecific discussions on how jason died

(1) the drop-in

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

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

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

She does, squeezing her eyes shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She points up and down her torso. 

“What happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You do your best to reset your expression to neutral.

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

Rory tilts her head, “Not now?”

You shake yours, “Not right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think for a moment, nodding. 

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

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

He nods, eyes low. “Okay…”

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on?” 

“Is—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What things?” Ryan asks.

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

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

Anna is the first to pipe up. 

“Did you die?”

“Anna—”

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

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

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

Laine interrupts this time, almost teary-eyed.

“Are you going to die again?”

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

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

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

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

That seems to calm her anxiety more than anything else.

“Are you better now?” Laine asks. 

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

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

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

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

The next question is from Anna. 

“Is the bad guy in jail now?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go get ready for bed, okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right, her show. The X-Files.

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

From his other side, Ryan pipes up. 

“Did it hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

“Oh.”

It’s all he can manage to say.

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

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

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

“Dad? Are you okay?” 

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

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

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

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

Oh, they think he’s sad.

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

Instead, he just nods, pulling them impossibly closer.

who’s your fav daughter

[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances as his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him, and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and give a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There’s voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There’s some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night, a fighter, crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[sorawritesstuff]

dick: so, how are you and jason getting along?

y/n: oh, we're not dating anymore.

jason: *bursting into the room* NO WE'RE MARRIED

[debonairprincesposts]

You: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Jason: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks, I don't want to hear shit.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Jason: I would kill for you.

Me: You kill on daily basis. Is that supposed to be some confession of love? Come to me when you're willing to let someone live for me.

[gothamhappiness]

I like to flirt with you, Red Hood! (Jason Todd x f!reader)

This is part 2 of this imagine

Warnings: no proof reading, fluff

Red Hood insisted on bringing you back home that night. He had no idea how to thank you for what you did for him, so making sure you arrived safely at your place was the least he could do. Your presence was bringing him a new kind of peace he never felt before as well.

If you always felt safe on his territory, you felt even better by his side. You felt like nothing could happen to you. You were at ease with him, you just hoped Batman didn't hurt him too badly. You walked as close as possible to him without touching him. The warmth of his body was smoothing you in the cold night surrounding the two of you.

You both stayed silent as Red Hood was following you home. Once you arrived at your building, you offered him to come upstairs with you because "he was a great bodyguard", and then you offered him to get inside because "he needed to get some rest".

Red Hood stayed a few instants without reacting, as you were gesturing for him to get inside. He peered inside your flat before his eyes went back on you.

"You really trust me" Red Hood quietly commented

"You're the only person I trust in this city" you proudly admitted "But you, do you trust me?" you asked

Red Hood entered your home, without thinking. It was rare to be able to trust someone so quickly in Gotham. But you both wanted to take the chance.

Or maybe it was simply love at first sight.

You closed the door behind him, giddy he was there, in your home. You always had a crush on him, he was so tall, so strong, so violent and yet so kind. He had this aura of danger and yet, now he felt like a protector. A guardian angel.

"Can I take care of your wounds? Or at least offer you some food?" you asked

"Food would be nice yes" he hummed

"No worries. Settle on the couch while I cook something away. You can play with my switch or watch the TV meanwhile" you replied

Jason had pushed his luck by accepting the food. He half wasn't believing you were truly going to make something for him. It all felt like a dream anyways. None of this could be true, so he should enjoy it while it lasted, he thought.

He removed his helmet, and a black domino mask greeted you. You smiled at how smart the man was.

After a little while, he helped you dress the table and you both settled to eat the food you prepared. You usually were too tired to cook anything after work, but it was different with Red Hood in your home. You wanted to look after him, like he always looked after the people living on his territory. It was the least you could do.

You waited for him to taste the food, before starting to eat. You were ready to get him something else if it wasn't to his liking.

"This is good" he praised you as he brightly smiled at you

"Glad you're enjoying" you replied and you started to eat as well, hoping he didn't notice how flushed your cheeks got at his compliment and smile

You finished to eat in a comfortable silence. Red Hood had too many thoughts swirling inside his head to hold a conversation, but you didn't mind. You were happy he was here.

You didn't find him intimidating at all.

Especially not when he insisted to help you with the dishes, no matter how much you protested. You both liked the sort of domestic vibes it had to it. Your shoulders touched at some point too. Red Hood almost broke a glass then and you teased him.

Before letting him go back outside, you gently put a hand on his arm:

"I know we don't know each other, but my home is always open to you... If you need somewhere to crash at, just knock at the door or at the window" you smiled

"Keep your window open then" he replied as he put his helmet back on to hide the blush appearing on his cheeks.

You nodded and smiled even more. You couldn't express how excited your were getting.

Without any warning, he softly grabbed your hands and gave you a little device with a red button on it. You looked up at him with a curious look written all over your face.

"If you're in trouble, push the button. I'll find you and keep you safe" he instructed you and your eyes lit up

"What if I just want to see you again?" you cheekily asked

"Push the button too" he hummed before looking away

Even with his helmet on, he couldn't hide the effect you were having on him. He thought it should be illegal for sure an attractive woman like you to flirt with him like that. How was he supposed to no completely become putty in your hands?

Damn, he couldn't be falling in love so easily. So quickly.

And yet, here he was.

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

This part 2 was requested by @jasontoddsthunderthigh, hope you enjoyed!

[hadesrise]

murder for you, baby !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ➾ a justifiable serial killer on the loose, and jason finds himself being enamoured by him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➾ jason todd x dbd!ghostface!male reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➾ nsfw content, serial killer themes, dead dove do not eat, sexual arousal in response to violence or torture, murder, blood, deaths, gore, foul language, bottom!jason, top!reader, reader’s physique is described as tall and broad ( the slasher build ), possessiveness, choking, praise kink, blood kink, knife play ( reader carving his initials on jason ), toxic!reader ( ? ), sorta toxic relationship but also not, unprotected sex, love-making, pet names, overstimulation, dumbification, degradation if you squint, lil’ bit of manipulation, creampie, doggy style, mating press, biting, marking, oral ( r. receiving ), voice kink ( ? )

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ➾ not me coming back with halloween themed fic after halloween days have passed lol. i’m alive, y’all !! hope you enjoy this one that took a fucking month to write 😭

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ; this post may contain disturbing contents that may not be suitable for every reader — a reader discretion is advised. MINORS DNI.

Gotham’s been terrorized by the worst people you could ever imagine, the kind that’ll stick with you forever and take residence to your nightmares if you were unfortunate enough. Many were hurt or even murdered as a result of the villains’ terrorization, with vigilantes running through the night to capture and send them to Arkham Asylum.

With the existence of a Psychopathic Clown, his equally psychopathic girlfriend with PHD’s that’s been wasted down the line, the Mother Nature freak, the ridiculously huge man with a gas mask on, the green coloured living question mark, and many others, no one would’ve ever thought anything could get any worse.

Until some criminals’ bodies turn up across the streets in such disturbing manner that haunts the witnesses to death.

One, a criminal who murdered young and homeless boys, gutted deeply to the point of their intestines hanging out. Another, a criminal known for kidnapping and selling people’s organs, mutilated with their torso torn back to expose the organs settled inside of them. Another one, a priest-turned-criminal who’s been violating women and children, crucified naked in his own church with his eyes gouged out, a Bible verse carved in his chest; ‘And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.’ Matthew 18:9; his penis cut off and body seemingly violated as well. Another more turns up, a governor-turned-criminal who’s been feeding into the rich despite their oath of generosity towards the poor, severely tortured with the skin on his back cut open, ribs severed from the spine and broken to the sides in order to create the illusion of wings, fluttering lungs pulled out from their chest cavity to resemble an eagle’s wings, with the word ‘traitor’ carved on his forehead.

The brutality and gruesome nature of the murders has set an alarming panic and fear across Gotham City that forced civilians into locking their doors at night. Criminals who were unidentified and not found by Gotham Police Department were also turning up in a form of miserable, tortured soul, along with the evidence and proofs of their crimes being carelessly laid beside their lifeless corpse.

The killer taunts those who are in charge of justice within their city each time the damned were unfortunate enough to be hunted down; pigs of failure written in the criminal’s blood right beside the drawing of a police’s logo.

However, despite how gruesome and disturbing the murders were, most people couldn’t deny that it was doing the city a favor. Justice System has failed more times than one could count to the extent of victims yearning to exact revenge themselves against their perpetrator, which causes most to react rather positively to the wrongful, unlikely hero who had seem to suddenly appear out of nowhere. The haunted finally getting the chance to slay the traumatic demons with the help of another psychopath on the loose.

Another justified monstrosity shouldn’t be the counter against one inhumane monstrosity that caused so much pain, trauma, and misery. But kindness could not vanquish one’s tainted blood. Forgiveness could not suddenly wash away the sins engraved deeply into one’s soul.

Imperfect, the victims muttered. An imperfect yet perfect way to save our burning souls wrongfully condemned by the criminals.

Red Hood has heard their murmurs.

Silent whispers of gratitude that fell on deaf ears, their previously dim soul brightening in relief and sanctuary with smiles on their faces as the Universe had finally took mercy on them and sent a Fallen Angel to slay the Demons away. He’s watched their spirit uplift, no longer chained down by the trauma and fear of the monsters that once ruined their lives, able to walk the streets carefree of tormentors. He’s watched their stiff posture visibly loosen, lively peacefulness settling itself at last within their haunted eyes. He’s watched them glow with happiness not feeling the presence of their perpetrator every couple of seconds, finally capable of living without needing to constantly look over their shoulders in paranoia and fear.

Ghostface is what the serial killer’s called, nickname born out of the mask that resembled a ghost always being left behind in crime scenes, each slightly different.

Jason has seen you. He didn’t mean to, really.

The temptation to get at least one look at you was great every-time he patrolled, wishing to just catch glimpse of an immoral hero who could make sacrifices no actual heroes could — who’s doing exactly what he wished before for Batman to do.

The Universe seems to have granted his wishes when his eyes catches the void of ghostface’s eyes, your mask tainted in splatters of blood from the dead criminal below you. Jason feels his world come to a stop as you slowly rise from crouching position and reveal your unnaturally tall height, broad shoulders visible under the black hooded leather. You hold silence and calmness despite being caught, tilting your head slightly to the side.

His heartbeat quickens yet he doesn’t feel fear. Jason idiotically steps closer as if he was in a trance, burning your existence within his eyes to engrave in his memory. Your bloody knife barely grazes his neck to stop him before using it to tilt his chin up, your figure looming and towering over him while seemingly staring into his eyes through his helmet.

A sense of peacefulness overcomes Jason being in your presence despite the absolute brutality and mercilessness that surrounded your entire being. You were deadly, silent, certainly creative with your work that it deems almost artistic, as if the criminals’ bodies were your own canvas to paint on — and Jason finds solace in you. A man he always needed, someone who’d be willing to cross the line and get rid of the actual evil for the sake of victims that’d be forever haunted if it continues to exist.

“I’ve heard things about you, Red Hood.”

Low, raspy, monotone voice speaks, sending shivers down his spine. It sounds cool and handsome regardless of the obvious use of voice changer, somehow littered with tiniest hint of flirtatiousness.

It takes him quite a while to answer, barely managing to let out a “yeah?” as he feels you drag the knife slightly closer to his pulse. His heartbeat quickens, but slows down when the cold metal was finally pulled away.

“Pleasant things,” You hummed, before your voice lowered a few octaves, “Can’t say the same about Batman.” Anger seems to seep through your tone that felt a little more than just sympathy for victims of villains Batman refused to put six feet under. Jason wondered if you’re also one of the victims his father failed.

“You… You know him that much?” Jason’s voice shakes from the nerve, your presence somehow greatly affecting him.

“I think everyone knows him enough,” You chuckled, but it sounded so empty that Jason can’t help but feel the goosebumps rise on his skin. It was quite chilling to meet someone who shows only a certain amount of emotion which could even be felt expressionless due to the monotonous pitch. The ghostface mask certainly did its job of making you seem more less human, the unmoving expression of ghost being horrified to death adding to the eeriness of your toneless mechanic voice.

Jason’s breath hitched when you took one step closer.

“But I know more about you. Your little past and the sufferings you’ve endured,” It’s spoken as if his life was one of your necessary investigation in your twisted justice. “It’s unfair, don’t you think? I would’ve gutted the Joker like a fish if it were to happen to my son.” There’s a condescending way in which you spoke, not directed at Jason but to Bruce.

“How—” Jason swallowed. “How did you—”

“I can make your dreams come true,” You interrupted him with a tempting offer, shutting him up effectively. Wide grin plastered your face despite not being seen behind your mask. “I can kill the Clown for you, Red Hood. If it means it’ll silence your troubled spirit. If it’ll bring you peace. I can hurt him on your behalf just like he deserves.”

It was like a whisper from the devil, slithering its way into Jason’s heart and mind to possess his soul, mirroring the one which whispered on Adam and Eve’s ears.

He’s been wanting — needing — to hear those words come out of Bruce. His suffering and death seemingly being brushed off as a cruel accident shattered him more than he’d ever admit, Bruce’s unhealthy coping mechanism and morality getting in the way of showing his love for Jason that left the younger man feel lesser than he was. Bruce was a complex person that’s sometimes difficult to understand, his impressive ways to stick to his morals being exactly his character, but Jason wanted for once, to actually feel how important he was to his father.

Was that too much to ask for, or was he just unworthy of the entirety of it?

“Why would you do that for me?” Confusion and subtle suspicion filled his tone as Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out your intention despite the rush of hope that shot throughout his chest. He forced himself to feel nothing when you leaned in closer.

“Because you were wronged, of course.” You simply stated. “You are a victim. Not more, not less. You deserve a little more than just empty justice. And I’m a man who got tired of vigilantes that are afraid to make sacrifices for the greater good.” Then, you tilt your head slightly to the side in a way that’s somehow alluring. “But I can also say I’m intrigued by you.”

Jason’s heartbeat quickens again when your big hand seems to wrap perfectly around his throat, fingers resting just above his pulse points. It makes such filthy thoughts flood themselves into his mind, your long and quite thick fingers falling victims to his tainted imagination, and he had to give everything in himself not to bare his throat more for you. You seem pleased of his lack of disobedience and bite, having expected him to shove your hand away or flinch back before you could touch him. You’ve seen Red Hood once and how his uncontrollable rage resulted in violence, heavy burdens and extreme trauma turning him into a ticking time bomb that could explode any minute with the wrong move. He was absolutely lethal, the bullets serving as the evidence of his wrath and resentment towards the underground scumbags. It’s amusing that you have the man of violence himself now somehow completely under your control, surprisingly quiet and shy and obedient. You wondered if this is how he was before he was ruined by the cruelty of the world.

“You want it, don’t you? For me to kill the Joker.”

Jason feels as if you know everything he wants. Is this what it feels like to be important?

It takes a little while for him to answer, but he eventually came up with a “You’ll do that?” which sounded vulnerable and weak for the first time in his second life. Your heart clenched at the doubt and seemingly child-like vulnerability in which he uttered the words, as if he was afraid to trust something after being betrayed countless of times, reminding you of the sole person you’ve even began doing all of this for. They were quite similar yet so different — your older brother and Jason.

You hadn’t meant to cross his boundaries and unknowingly step into the empty hole that made home in his heart. Unconsciously slithering in like a snake by touching the subject his heart was longing for, not realizing his childhood’s still remaining within his spirit.

All he wanted was love and to feel safe again. You didn’t know the Red Hood was so adorably pitiful. A smirk plastered your face.

“I will,” You reassured and leaned your face inches away from his, the hand on his throat lifting his helmet slightly.

Jason doesn’t retaliate, blinded by a meat of hope dangled in front of him. He doesn’t move as the lower half of his face was exposed, and you lifted your own mask the same using your other hand. Jason willingly, obediently closes his eyes before your lips attached to his — a kiss of death, tasting like blood and cruelty. Warm and soft despite your rough, cold-blooded, corrupted soul. A kiss from the devil.

When Jason opened his eyes, you had already disappeared into the darkness with blood stains on the ground you stood before, a single note left behind; Hell will reopen for the Clown.

After neatly tucking the note inside his jacket and making sure no evidence has been accidentally left on the crime scene, Red Hood smiles for the first time in a long while and reaches for the comms without a heavy heart.

“Batman, I found another body.”

Whatever happens, he’ll have no knowledge of the following misfortune that’ll befall on the Joker. It’s the righteous serial killer’s doing, after all.

What was used to be a maniacal laughter turned into screams of agony and pain. Strong stench of death and blood makes euphoria rush within your mind, the feeling of slicing through flesh with your knife bringing pleasure and ecstasy that made your pants tight. There’s a certain amount of satisfaction in the way your own actions cause serious harm and scarring to criminals who once deemed themselves powerful, being reduced into nothing but a powerless prey that could easily be gotten rid of.

You feel increasingly powerful the more you strip them of their dignity and arrogance as they shed blood on the holy ground. Your existence alone striking them with crippling fear and anxiety feeds into your ego, yet you never stray away from the sole purpose or reason for your murders — making them taste their own medicine.

From what you found on countless deep dive and research, Joker preyed on Red Hood when he was still a young child full of life and joy, having been under the name Robin at the time. Second Robin to be exact, considering he was a lot different from the first one. It actually surprisingly pained you when you’d seen how much of an adorable, dorky, nice kid he was before misfortune cut his life short. You would’ve never thought you would find a kid adorable in your entire life, the little menaces often being nothing more than a headache to be around with that caused a certain dislike to grow towards them within you, but Jason was everything a cute kid was. Just excited to be there, to be fighting alongside Batman, to be relevant.

Such a precious boy ruined for the sake of shits and giggles for the Clown. For the sake of getting under Batman’s skin. And the Bat couldn’t even make fucking amends to his flaws as a father and mentor.

Well, he didn’t need to anymore.

You’ll give Red Hood— Jason Todd —what he wants. Yearned for. Perhaps, even what the other civilians who have fallen victims to this vile criminal want. You would stop at nothing until every criminal is gurgling and choking on their own blood.

Joker’s scream shoots a jolt of electricity within your body as your knife pierce through his skinny thigh and to the ground, pinning his leg down. You had been doing an effective job of reducing the maniac into nothing but a screaming, cowering average victim by torture. Bruises, burns, gashes, and stab wounds littered his body that was done carefully enough to not be life-threatening. Fucker was laughing maniacally at first, of course. It irritated you so much that you might’ve went a little overboard.

Watching Joker heave and struggle to breathe from the pain, you tilted your head and roughly grabbed his throat. It catches him off guard and he grips your wrist, barely even having the strength to fight you off. You’re amused by the entirety of Joker’s nature, how he’s still just an average man that can easily be overpowered — nothing that makes him special enough to not be killed, becoming proof of Batman’s selfish willingness to let the victims suffer than bring them actual peace.

You’ve never uttered a word since you captured him and it unnerved Joker from the beginning, but then, words finally come out of your mouth in a form of monotonous, mechanical, emotionless, eerie voice as you lean over him; “Laugh it out, Joker. Why so serious?”

It sounded like a death sentence.

He’s right in a way, because another of your knife pierced the corner of his mouth soon as you uttered the words. Your other hand tightened on his arteries to choke him while you drag the knife to slit the side of his mouth into a grin, following the lines of his red lipstick. It was certainly not a clean cut, but an artist has their own creative ways to make their art. Tears mixed in with blood that gushes out of his face, complete horrors written across Joker’s eyes which boosts your satisfaction. You go on and do the same thing to the other side of his mouth, before finishing your art piece by carving ‘J’ on his painted cheek.

You resist the urge to moan at the sight of blood coating your fine piece, always finding it to be an amazing finishing touch.

From then on, Joker was brought to literal Hell.

Jason flinches when a playful knock sounded from his safe house’s window, cautiously approaching to see ghostface waving at him through the glass. His eyes widened and immediately opens the window to let you in, not wanting anyone to see you — your sudden appearance distracting him from the fact he’s never given anyone the location of his safe house.

He stops in track at the blood splatters across your mask, and just then had he noticed you seemed to be hiding something behind your back with one hand. It definitely strikes his curiosity, but he somehow didn’t feel like you were holding something that could harm him.

“You got something for me, ghostface?” Jason feels you grin under your mask.

“Got you a present,” Your raspy, rough voice enthusiastically quipped.

Jason’s breath hitches when you show what you were holding — the Joker’s decapitated head in a square glass container tainted by its blood. You obviously had planned to bring it barehand, but you considered the possibility of its blood dripping down on his safe house and becoming a false evidence to point him to the murder, which prompted you to put it inside the container. An unbelievably sweet gesture for a fucking psychopath like you.

Jason could feel his heart beat rapidly as he takes in the animal’s state, carved up grin and the letter J and the horrors seen in its lifeless eyes proving the absolute misery and suffering it went through before being put down. The monster was finally, finally slain and gone forever from his life. Nightmares detangles from his spirit and the past unwraps away from his soul, utter peace and relief spreading throughout his chest. Tears gathered in his eyes at the feeling of being free at last from the life long torment, breath shaking as his knees wobbled.

The child in himself, the innocent Robin that was killed unfairly, finally rests in peace.

Then he sees you, his hero, waving your seemingly new knife playfully in the air with your outfit splattered in blood without a care that you actually saved him, and Jason feels a sudden surge of arousal and will to submit. To give you everything, anything.

“Do you love it, Red Hood?”

Without answering you, Jason grabs the glass container with shaky hands and sets it aside on the counter before stepping back closer to you again, blood rushing to his veins from arousal. He removes his helmet with a thud on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, lustful and yearning emerald eyes looking up at you.

“Let me thank you, please.”

It makes you groan as your pants significantly tightens more.

You slide your knife back into the holster before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, and thank fucking Heavens there wasn’t any blood on it that would taint his face, because he’s a sight to behold. He’s truly a gem, something precious you had never seen before. “So beautiful,” You whispered, making Jason flush. “Baring yourself to me for such a simple present, doll?”

“Not a simple present,” Jason mumbled as he snuggles on the palm of your hands. “You saved me.”

You hum appreciatively, getting the itch to bare yourself to him as well. “You wanna thank me by what?”

Jason looks back at you, face flushed with a little hint of uncertainty and embarrassment, doubts. “I— uhm,” He stammers, but encouraged by your thumb’s gentle stroke on his cheek. “By… by becoming yours.”

Your cock throbs. Fuck, he’s so fucking adorable, you just wanna fuck his guts out. You’re usually tempted to gut people, not fuck their guts— which is funny to say the least— but you weren’t going to say no when the Red Hood’s so willing to offer himself up.

“You wanna take my mask off, doll?” He seems surprised by your question as if he hadn’t thought of it, making you chuckle. “If you wanna be mine, I gotta be yours too, don’t I?” It was dangerous to reveal your identity to him, but you couldn’t care less, especially when you could just fuck his brains out to shut him up. That’s the plan, first time that didn’t include butchering or cutting a body up.

Jason fucking Todd and his effects on you.

The emerald eyed male hesitantly grasped your mask when you led his hands to it, slowly lifting it over your head. He’s met with a fucking luscious feature to ever be adorned on a man and dark, lustfully murderous blood red eyes that makes a whimper slip past his lips. You merely widened your eyes at the sound he made before immediately grabbing his jaw and smashing your lips against his, swallowing Jason’s surprised gasp.

He reciprocates the insatiable hunger you displayed, tongue dancing along with yours and moaning into the kiss when your fingers lightly tugged on his hair. You pull him up in amidst of making out and squeeze his ass, encouraging him to wrap his legs around your hips. You detach your lips from his to trail kisses down his jaw and neck as you walked towards his bedroom, questionably knowing where it is, and Jason tilts his head back to give you more access with closed eyes. Letting him stimulate both of your restrained cocks by grinding down, you sat down on the bed and sucked on his throat as Jason moaned.

“Please, please…” He whimpers, uncontrollably moving his hips in a perfect rhythm yet he seemed to want something else.

You pulled away and traced his lips with your thumb, watching as he naturally took it in and sucked, giving you a desperate look. Swiftly turning off the voice changer attached to your neck in a form of choker, you chuckled when his hands fiddled with the belt on your hooded coat. “So needy, aren’t you?” Your real voice sends shivers down his spine.

An alluring, low, slightly rough pitch and somehow more emotionless than when you were using the voice changer. It makes his cock twitch and empty hole clench down on nothing, the need to be stuffed full of your cum swarming in his belly. You’re fucking bewitching, a man made up from every guy and girl’s fantasy, wet dream, and your attractiveness mirroring the Devil’s that would tempt and lure others to sin.

How the fuck were you real?

“Speak up, pretty bird.” You smirked, “What do you want?”

“Your cock,” Jason mutters, cheeks tinted in pink. “Wanna suck your cock and make you feel good.”

“Fuck…” You shifted in place, “You’ll do that f’me? Get my cock nice and wet to take you apart? To fuck your guts out?”

Jason shakily inhales and nods, climbing off your lap and kneeling on the floor. You lean back on your hands as he unstraps your belt and slide your zipper down, slightly raising your hips to help him get rid of the excess clothes. Your thick and lengthy cock smacks against your clothed stomach, making Jason’s mouth water. Thick veins throbbed on your big shaft, the tip angry and red from arousal leaking precum. It wasn’t just big, it was long, and Jason squeezes his thighs together to keep himself from just riding your cock all day.

His hand wraps around the base, starting to stroke it with a content rhythm. God, you were so fucking big. It’d definitely split him open if you shove it in so suddenly and fill him up nice. It’d make him scream his head off from the unbearable length and girth, almost too much, and Jason wants you to force him to take it. Pin him down and fuck him despite his pleas to stop.

Jason swipes his thumb over the slit, smearing precum, pumping it for a good amount before licking a stripe up the underside of your cock. You shudder, removing your gloves to slip your bare fingers through Jason’s hair, encouraging him to take you in. He obeys, relaxing his throat first before sliding your cock inside his warm mouth, and you groaned at the warmth that surrounded you. It almost didn’t fit from how big you were, but Jason braced himself and took it in further until he gagged as the tip touched the back of his throat. Wrapping his hand around your shaft that he couldn’t take in, stroking gently as if to apologize.

A moan slips past your lips when he starts bobbing his head, tongue brushing against the underside of your dick. “Fuck… Doin’ so good,” You roll your head back. “Such a pretty face to fuck, ain��t ya?”

Jason whines, tears gathered in his eyes as he sucks and fastens his rhythm. Curses, grunts leave your lips that left him feeling all hot and bothered, his other hand moving to skillfully pull his pants down and free his aching cock.

You see him touching himself and a smirk adorns your sinful face, gently scratching his scalp with your nails which earned you a whimper from him. “Go on, fuck yourself. We both know it wouldn’t fit that easily without proper prep,” Expression twisting into a cocky one, your grip on his hair tightened. “I’ll do as I please with your mouth until you’re done.”

Without waiting for his approval, you roughly shoved your cock deep down his throat and moaned loudly, throwing your head back. Jason gagged with a loud whimper as his eyes rolled back into his skull and cum shot out from his throbbing cock, hips jutting forward and twitching due to the sudden orgasm. You chuckle lowly, amusement and lust glinting in your bright red eyes, before you pull back and ram on his throat again.

Jason’s cries and moans were muffled as you ruthlessly use his throat to gain pleasure. His mind has already turned into mush from your assaults, white cum and precum staining the floor yet he doesn’t put up a fight. Taking it all like the good, obedient boy that he is. He’s reached behind him to insert two fingers in his awaiting hole, walls clamping down on the digits from the arousal of his throat being utterly wrecked.

Yesyesyes, please. He chanted in his mind. Use me, mark me, cum in my throat, make me yours.

The moment you fulfilled your promise and delivered him the head of his enemy, he was already yours. It’s all he ever wanted. Unquenchable thirst that always gnawed on his throat and hunger that left his stomach restless, his soul practically teared in half from being battered and beaten. He matters now — mattered enough to you, that you went ahead and killed the source of his misery. The love exploding in his chest was almost unbearable; he was already high on cloud nine from the moment he’s seen you present the head so cheerfully.

You see how he looks up at you, emerald eyes almost displaying hearts with how much he was melting. He’s taken your murderous act as an affection, and you couldn’t be more happy, because it’s what you intended.

“Shit, baby… Gonna cum soon,” You panted, thrusting vigorously. Jason hums and flexes his throat to provide you more pleasure, making you tighten the grip on his hair. “You want me to cum down your throat?”

You earned a desperate whine from him, closing his eyes to prove he was waiting for it. His fingers kept their own assault on his prostate, scissoring and stretching the squishy walls, muffled moans escaping him.

God, he looked so fucking gorgeous. He’d look even more gorgeous with your dick ramming inside him.

Jason feels your big cock throb in his mouth and his fingers move more aggressively to pleasure himself, wanting to reach his high at the same time as you. Stimulating your tip with the back of his throat a few times, you moaned loudly with a curse when Jason slightly flicks his tongue over your sensitive underside, forcing an orgasm out of your body. White, thick, warm seeds spurt out from your slit to his awaiting throat as Jason whimpered in delight and shot another layer of cum on the wet stained floor, hips thrusting in the air.

He greedily swallows every drop that spilled down his mouth despite the euphoria making him feel dizzy as his body slightly trembles.

You chuckled, breathing heavily, pleased expression spread across your face. “Good boy. That was such a good throat-fuck.”

The raspy, sultry tone of your voice makes electricity and chills run through Jason’s spine as his walls clench down on his fingers, yearning to be filled. Jason certainly doesn’t have a womb — it’s anatomically impossible — yet he couldn’t help but feel like it’s there, waiting and aching to be fucked and bred. He needs your cum to be pushed so far inside him. Need to be marked entirely as yours inside and out. Need you to rearrange his guts, fuck his brains out, breed him full, then fuck your cum further back into him.

Jason pulled his fingers out, whimpering at the loss of contact, before looking back up at you with begging eyes. “Can you-?” His voice cracks as he swallows, “Take me apart, please. Make me yours, fuck, I wanna be yours.”

You noticed tears gathering in his eyes, as if being rejected of his want to be your possession would be an ultimate heartbreak in his life; a life-threatening, gnawing thorn in his heart that’ll tear him apart piece by piece and shredding his soul. Jason thinks he can’t live without becoming yours, his savior’s. He can’t live without the source of his safety, the man that fulfilled his silly little dream and sacrificed his own sanity for it.

It absolutely amuses you that he’s become so attached just because you’ve driven him away from harm’s way. A little dumb, but he was your little dumb doll.

You gently caress his face and Jason leans into your touch, making your lips curl upwards into a smile. “Of course, doll.”

It leads to Jason being pressed face first on the mattress as you rail him from behind, sinful and alluring noises leaving his lips stained in drool. Your name escapes him like a chanted prayer, hands gripping the sheets, electricity sparking within his mind that left him dumb and unable to think coherently.

“Fuh-fuck! mgh, ah- yes, oh my god—!” He cries out when you pulled almost entirely back and rammed your cock roughly into him, almost seeing stars in his vision.

The roughness in which you handled him, the perfect angle of your hips allowing you to force pleasure out of his body every-time you thrust, the way you push his back down on the mattress to make him arch more into your merciless tactic, leaves Jason absolutely delirious. You didn’t just fuck him good; you fucked him with absolute vigor and violence, occasionally biting strongly on his shoulder to draw blood, showcasing your natural instincts as a serial killer. He feels your big fucking dick throb and gets impossibly bigger inside him each time his blood seeps out the broken skin, and Jason’s head spins at how much it drove arousal in his core.

“Good fuckin’ sex toy,” You grunted, roughly slamming your hips against his and causing a sharp moan to erupt from Jason.

“B-big—! s’too big- fuck!” Jason whines, tears spilling endlessly down his cheeks.

You smirk as you feel your ego skyrocket at being able to reduce a rather muscular man into nothing but a whining, blabbering bitch. “Yeah? I do split you open, don’t I? But you love it since you’re such a fuckin’ slut.”

“oh- aghn! y-yours— hnngh! Your s-slut! No one else’s-!” He chokes out, desperately reaching for you behind him.

“So fuckin’ adorable,” You chuckled and grabbed his hand, pinning it back to the mattress as you hover over him. You seem to fit against each other perfectly well, your large and tall body able to encage him that left Jason’s stomach fluttering. He’s taken a lot liking of the fact you’re bigger than him, considering he’s never been the smaller one when he was with others. It gives him a sense of shelter.

“p-please— pleaseplease- oh! cum— fuck… cum in me again!” Jason blabbered.

You can’t help but comply to his request, fastening your pace and drilling more into him. Incoherent sentences spill from his drooling mouth when he feels your cock pulse within his walls that signified your soon release. There’s a purpose in which you thrust your hips now — more sharp and angled yet a little sloppy, aimed to brush against his prostate and make him feel utterly good.

“Shit… Cummin’, doll.” You grunted right in his ear before shoving him on the mattress by the back of his nape and slamming all the way down on his already gaping hole.

Jason nearly screams, voice cracking, as his orgasm hits like a strong tide of wave at the same time you spilled thick layer of white semen into his fucked out guts. You ride out your orgasm by thrusting slowly a few times as Jason’s body violently shakes from the aftershock. He subconsciously whines in annoyance when some of your previous cum seems to overflow and replaced by your recent one, bucking his hips as if to use your big cock as a plug to keep them all in. His belly felt full from how much you’ve been filling him with your seed yet it still didn’t feel enough. Jason wanted more; he knew you weren’t going full on him yet.

You swiftly turned him around on his back without pulling out and kissed him roughly. Jason mewls into the kiss when the position makes you push more deeper into him, his hands immediately clasping at the back of his thick thighs to pull them up and make it easier for you to fuck.

“My cute little thing,” You murmured against his lips and bit the skin to draw blood, Jason’s hole squeezing down on you from both the pain and pet name. He greedily whimpers your name, holding onto you for life and yearning for more of you despite already receiving what he wants.

It was so fucking adorable and arousing to see him desperate for not just you, but your entire being as well, willing to welcome such darkness with open arms and tearful smile. You weren’t really a desirable person; so many people have thrown themselves at you for your conventionally attractive features and masculine body type that swoons hundreds yet cower away in fear and speak of you in disgrace when shown the demons living inside of you. No one could seem to look past your murderous, cold-blooded psychopathy — some have attempted to, which only resulted in your darkness growing bigger when they break their own promises. You weren’t meant to be loved. Your destiny was written in the stars and the Gods have cursed you with eternity of living in loneliness and madness without cure. You were meant to be feared, a lonely and violent soul that couldn’t be tamed, your sole purpose of existence being a destroyer; nothing more or less.

Jason, however, seems indifferent to your fate.

Instead of running away in disgust and fear at your acts of violence around the city, he was seeking for you. He’s seen what you’ve done, what you could do without feeling remorse, what monsters lie beneath your existence — and still, he graciously opens his heart (and legs) for you. There’s love and desire within his eyes where distaste should be, touch so soft and warm it baptizes your tainted skin. You’re soaked in blood yet Jason takes his time with you to clean them up. Born with thorns yet he willingly prickles his fingers on them.

You’re a danger everywhere you go, but to him, you were home.

It makes your heart clench; he’s broken the Gods curse and it costs him his freedom, because now he’s caught up in your webs. You wouldn’t let him go, like a snake that’s wrapped itself around its prey in a death grip.

Jason wanted to be yours. What better ways to fulfill his wish if not possessing his body, soul, and spirit?

“Sweet dumb thing,” You purred, hips thrusting slow and sensual, unable to forgive parts of his walls that weren’t touched by your cum. “Mine to fuck, ruin, or make love to. That’s right, yeah?”

Jason nods, moaning softly. Your hands now replaced where his were on the back of his thighs, bending him almost in half as you roll your hips to gently brush against every weak spot he has. The sudden shift in rhythm and atmosphere confuses Jason for a bit, his fogged mind unable to comprehend the situation at hand, but the intimacy strikes a further pleasure that was nearly mind-breaking. He’s been reduced to a moaning mess, blood, sweat, tears and cum coating his body.

“p-please,” Jason keened, like it felt agonizing to be loved ever so gently. “I— ah… I want- I want you,” He stuttered out between moans.

“You’re having me, aren’t you?” Replying, you nipped on his neck and sucked, leaving behind a purple bruise.

He nearly cries, shaking his head. A waterfall of tears streamed down his face, and you find yourself captivated by them. It was almost ethereal despite being one of human’s responses to most things imaginable; your victims always shed one or two accompanied by begs of mercy, but all you’ve ever thought of them was amusing. It’s been used as an escaping tactic from you before, which was never successful due to your lack of morality and sympathy towards your target. They were pathetic, but Jason was divine. Tears suited him— not tears of fear, but tears of pleasure and utopia.

Your focus snaps back on reality when Jason suddenly pulled you down by the nape and bit down hard on your shoulder. A pleasured groan leaves your lips at the pain, hips bucking, making him whimper.

“Jason—”

“Please,” He cuts you off and finally murmurs; “Wanna f-feel how… mhm-! how you actually love…”

It strikes something in your core. Despite your perfect skills of hiding your true nature and never being caught, Jason saw it right through you, how you were holding yourself back for his sake. Quite ironic to witness a cold-blooded killer care for someone enough to go soft, even though it looked like you were going rough on him, and it warmed Jason’s heart. But he was a greedy, fucked up human being who wanted all of you. It wouldn’t be enough until he knows he’s taken you fully.

An amused laughter erupts from your chest. Eyes darkening in lust, Jason feels one of your hands wrap around his throat warningly as the other pushed his torso flat down on the mattress. “You… You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, Todd.”

You pull all the way back before ramming in, making Jason let out a loud, choked up moan as his eyes rolled back into his head. Your thrusts relentless and powerful, slamming against Jason’s body with an intensity that made his head spin, your hand holding his throat as a leverage. Your name spills from his lips like a prayer, something that seems to ignite a possessive feeling within you. Jason can’t help but mewl when your grip tightened on his arteries, throwing his head back to let you gain fully control.

The way he’s so obedient and putty in your hands despite knowing you can kill him if you truly meant to makes you love him even more, fucking him and taking away his ability to breathe wasn’t enough. Greediness turning overboard with the darkness and psychopathy that lies within your existence; you almost wanted to cut him open and crawl inside his guts so you could truly claim Jason, inside and out. You wanted to be more closer to him, see how far you can go without Jason pushing you away or getting disturbed.

Jason’s eyes widened when a cold metallic silver touched his cheek, seeing you holding your signature knife through blurred vision from his tears. However, he doesn’t flinch away like you expected him to, instead his walls squeezes down on your cock and his own twitched against his stomach. The unexpected reaction pulls a loud groan out of you, your hips bucking.

“Shit, Jay… You lettin’ me kill you or somethin’? Good fucking cunt just tightened on me,” You rasped, thrusting your cock against his prostate.

Jason gasps, his hands grabbing the mattress and holding it in a tight grip. It’s so shameful how turned on he was at the danger that lurked around you, his usually sharp instincts relinquished to be replaced by naiveté and stupidity for love. He must’ve gone insane; getting killed was one of his triggers because of his past yet his soul yielded nothing in retaliation to the possibility of your blade slicing through him. All of him seems to have come to love and trust you too much just because you’ve decapitated the beast his entire existence feared, which a part of him found utterly ridiculous and idiotic, but not enough to stop.

He wouldn’t stop himself from loving you — not when you’ve given him the love he always yearned for.

You lean in and ghost your lips over his as you dragged the knife on his torso, lightly scraping him. Jason’s breath quickens, his pupils blown wide in lust and need, anticipation seemingly running through his body as his moans turned into desperate whines.

“p-please…!” He chokes out a whisper, rolling his head to the side and whimpering when you snapped your hips warningly on his. “feels— fuck! feels g-good—! c-carve me… hngh! carve me u-up-! shit… make me fuckin’ bleed…! please,” Jason nearly cries for you.

Groaning out a curse, you reflexively bite down hard on the crook of his neck and push more of your cock inside him, causing a loud keen to erupt from Jason as he squirms and cums on his own stomach at the addictive sense of pleasure and pain shooting through his body.

You licked the blood that seeped out from his skin, satisfied at the clear bite mark you’ve left visible before sensually grinding your hips. Jason whimpered quietly, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“That’s it, doll. Let go, feel good. m’not gonna hurt ya, sweetheart. It’ll all feel good,” Whispering sweet words, you slowly press the tip of the knife just above the v line of his hip and drag it down. Jason hissed at the prickle of pain and tensed up, but the pleasure of your cock stimulating his sensitive walls was too great that forced him to relax. “It’s alright, doll. Jus’ carving you up with my name, so you’ll be mine forever. Isn’t that what you want? Be fuckin’ mine?”

Jason moaned softly, nodding his head. Series of pleasepleaseplease blabber out of him accompanied by heavenly noises he’s been making since you started taking him apart, his brain too fucked out that forcibly twisted pain into pleasure as all he could think about was becoming yours. You, his savior, his God, claiming him by marking him up with your name. Jason feels like he could fucking squirt from just that thought alone.

His blood seeping out from the letters of your name arouses you to no end, your cock throbbing inside him while you continue to move, the darkness within you being thoroughly fed of its bloodthirsty hunger. This is the first time it doesn’t gnaw at your skin to drive your knife deeper, pull the guts out, and splatter redness everywhere; instead, it wanted to be gentle, as if Jason was a significant existence too precious to hurt even for the Devil. A proof that Jason was always meant to be yours, the only one who the monster inside you would rather love than kill.

Carving the last letter, you laughed breathlessly in satisfaction and stabbed the knife on the headboard before slamming your lips against his, devouring his pleasurable noises. Jason whines, arms wrapping around your neck to pull you impossibly closer, arching his back when you switched into a much faster and rougher pace.

“Cummin’, fuck!” You grunted, to which Jason wrapped his legs around your hips to make sure it stays in.

“I-in— in me… fuck- oh my god— please… please, cum in me. Make me full again, p-please…” He begs, clenching his walls around you to push you over the edge, his own orgasm nearing.

Seeing him covered in his own tears, sweat, blood and drool fills you with nothing but pure ecstasy knowing it’s all because of you. The most appealing, ravishing man being a slutty mess right beneath you, begging to be bred and full of your cum, does feed too much into your ego. No one can do anything to take you away from him now, because you’re wrapped around his fingers as much as he is around yours.

“Anythin’ for ya, doll.” You chuckled, thrusting a couple more times before shoving your twitching cock deep into his guts with a moan and releasing your load. Jason mewls, his hole throbbing and squeezing down on you as he throws his head back, tainting his abdomen once more.

Riding out both of your highs, you let out a raspy groan and kissed his lips again, Jason weakly reciprocating due to the overstimulation. His body trembled hard, mind almost shutting down from the exhaustion and too much euphoria. “So good, doll. Took me like a good fuckin’ boy. Fuckin’ amazing.” You praised.

Jason could still see darkness in your eyes, the murderous devil, but there’s a hint of happiness he didn’t recognize before. Love and adoration filled your expression despite the violence engraved in your soul, and Jason finds himself smiling against your lips lightheadedly.

He whispers your name like a forbidden secret, then a curse that completely binds you to him; “I love you.”

You could get used to this, you suppose. There’s nothing more poetic than violence meeting love — two opposites can’t coexist with each other, but perhaps it’ll be forced to. After all, the Devil in you decided he was an untouchable divinity no one shall ever harm, not even yourself, despite its never-ending monstrosity towards humanity.

“I love you too, my Jason.”

When Joker’s decapitated head on a makeshift spear turned up that night, stacked upright in front of Arkham Asylum with blood splattered across the ground in words ‘True Justice for the Tortured Souls’ and a bloody ghostface mask laid aside for everyone else to see, Jason knew he was now in safe hands.

People say, never make a deal with the devil.

They never said he couldn’t love one, did they?

© all rights reserved to hadesrise. stealing, plagiarizing, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[maj-b-s]

Jason: So...

Y/n: smother me with your beautiful thighs!

Jason: WHAT? *blushes*

Y/n: what? *

Jason: What did you say?

Y/n: I said nothing, it's just your impression! *looks away whistling*

[sunsburns]

not you too (ii).

pairing: jason todd x ex vigilante!reader

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

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

word count: 7.1k+

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

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

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

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

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

But there was no silly note this time.

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

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

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

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

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

This killer wanted attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” You glanced at him, distracted

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

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

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

A chill shot down your spine. “What?”

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

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

You do remember those days, though.

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

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

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

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

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

Then you saw him.

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

You froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some fucking nerve he has.

You never wanted to strangle someone so badly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “What?”

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

“I know that.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You know—?”

“How do you know about—”

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

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

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

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

“No.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Then what?”

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

“Listen—”

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

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

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

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

“I know that—”

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

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

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

You almost hate how much sense he makes.

“What does this have to do with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t say anything though.

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

But he must care, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared at him.

And you stared and stared and just kept staring.

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

Out of town?

He couldn’t be serious.

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squared your jaw, rolling your eyes and scoffing.

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

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

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

Bruce Wayne. Batman.

You? Similar to him?

The was new.

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

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

“Uh… bad time?” Andy asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe a clearer mind would help, you thought.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

You’re going to die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re going to die.

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

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

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

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

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

And then, as if on cue, they moved.

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

Two figures stepped forward, emerging from the darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No worries...” you muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your world seemed to halt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t sound like a suggestion.

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

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

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

[debonairprincesposts]

Jason: When you said 'Magic in Bed', I wasn't expecting this...

You: *pulls out card from deck* Now, was this your card?

Jason: Holy moly-

[strangepoppy]

Master list if Jason Todd x reader fics

★ Jason Todd Fanfic Recommendations ★

Part One • Part Two

.★. .★. Hurt/Comfort .★. .★.

Text Me

Window Pains

Fight

↳ [ @sanguineterrain ]

Out of the Bag

Comparisons Pt.1

↳ [ @indulgentdaydream ]

° Be With You ~ [ @chaotic-birds ]

Pregnant ~ [ @millyhelp ]

Domestic Headcannons ~ [ @morverenmaybewrites ]

Nightmare ~ [ @fcthots ]

I Feel Safe With you ~ [ @acourtofidiots ]

Name ~ [ @gay-dorito-dust ]

Nightmares ~ [ @killishin ]

Angel Baby ~ [ @aries-writingblog ]

Don't Want you to go ~ [ @dollfacefantasy ]

Nightmare ~ [ @gothamhappiness ]

Touchstone ~ [ @baesonjason ]

[montagoves]

redamancy | jason todd

genre: comfort x3

warning: jason todd

summary: jason is reminded of how much he loves you–and how much you love him

a/n: after a handful of failed tinder dates, i just needed to write something to remind myself that if no one got me jason todd got me

Redamancy: a love returned in full

The word itself stems from the New Latin redamantia, and from the Classical Latin redamō meaning, “I requite love”. How we translate redamancy is this: a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the clicking sounds from your last-minute essay writing and the soft sounds of The Cranberries had lulled him into the first real nap he’s taken in the last few months. The book he had barely gotten a chapter through laid over his face, blocking the overhead lights you both hated but you swore made you more motivated to do homework. In reality, you just hated them so much that it drove you to work quicker so you could turn them off as soon as you were done. 

You had a lot of small things like that – things that made Jason’s heart swoon in a way he didn’t think it was capable of. Like when you tell him that pile of laundry would eventually get done, you just had to get hit with the cleaning zoomies which occur “approximately every 3-4 weeks.” And when you do get hit with the cleaning zoomies, you put on your headphones, blare Deftones, and deep clean your entire apartment. You could spend hours cleaning the bathroom, neglecting all your other responsibilities. 

Like eating your meals, which in that case Jason always came to your rescue. He’d pat your pretty head and once you took off your headphones and looked up at him with those eyes, he’d tell you he made your favorite meal. You’d reluctantly go to eat with him, and after enjoying the meal with your lover you’d feel lazy. You’d blame him for ruining your motivation, and Jason would just kiss your sweet lips and tell you he could find a way to motivate you again. 

Jason also likes the way he feels when you look at him. You two would be over at Roy’s place, Lian in Jason’s lap as Roy talked about some sports team that pissed him off recently. And Jason would be bouncing Lian in his lap or mindlessly curling her hair with his fingers. Roy’s voice would fade into the background and your focus would only be on Jason – on that smile that creeps on his face whenever Roy curses and Lian repeats it, on the way his eyes seem to gleam whenever he glances over at you, on the way you picture him holding your child, which you two have talked about but you’re both far too young to consider now. 

And Gods, when he catches on to you staring, his hands get clammy the way they did when he first met you. His cheeks turn as red as his vigilante helmet and he noticeably clenches his jaw to keep from nervously laughing. He’s never been looked at with that much love before. He’s had you by his side for years yet he still hasn’t gotten used to the feeling. 

What is he supposed to do when he wakes up to the feeling of you perching yourself on top of him during his nap? He remains still, for the most part, feigning sleep as you try to get comfortable. You must have finished your essay because from under his book’s pages, he can see a candle flickering, the smell of whiskey and vanilla filling the small apartment. He’s quick to close his eyes when you gently move the book away. He hears you take his bookmark, one you had handcrafted yourself, and save his page before setting the book aside. He feels as you lay down fully, your head resting on his chest and your arms attempting to wrap around his waist. Your head moves as Jason’s heart flutters, and your lips brush his jawline in a way he’d only let you do. 

“Baby,” you whisper to him, your hand moving to brush the bangs away from his face. He pretends to be woken up, his eyelashes fluttering open to see you. 

“Hi,” he manages to whisper, making a smile form on your lips. You lean in and nuzzle your face against his neck, and a shaky breath leaves his lips. 

“How’d you sleep?” you mumble against his skin. He slowly moves his hands, slipping them under your hoodie so he can hold your hips. You feel so warm. 

“Fine,” he mumbles back, watching as you lift your head. You look like Heaven, and Jason’s heart is pounding so hard against his chest he fears it may explode. 

What a beautiful way to die, he thinks. 

“Finished your essay?” he asks, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb slowly brushes your chin, then traces your bottom lip. You blush, leaning against his palm. 

“Mostly,” you admit sheepishly. “You looked so comfy and I was starting to get a headache, so I wanted to cuddle with you. I’ll finish it tomorrow morning.”

He bites back the smile you never fail to produce, and his thumb pulls back your bottom lip. 

“That can be arranged,” he says, tucking your outgrown bangs behind your ear. His fingers trace along your earlobe, fiddling with the earrings you wore. A peaceful silence falls over the two of you, and Jason’s extremely aware of the look in your eyes. His cheeks twinge that red shade, and he clenches his jaw. 

“I love you,” you finally whisper. He gulps, his eyes flicking to yours. At that moment, he swears no one could make his body react in the way you managed to do. 

“I love you too,” he whispers back after a few moments. The words are new to him, almost sounding foreign on his tongue. But he makes an internal promise to practice this language for you. 

He practices it as you lean down and press your lips to his. He cups the back of your head to bring you closer, in an attempt to become one. You let out a soft sigh that makes his body shiver, and you pull away with yet another gorgeous smile on your lips. 

You lay on him again, your head resting in the crook between his shoulder and neck. Jason’s fingers thread through your hair as soft snores leave your lips. 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but your body on his makes his eyes shut and his arms move to rest around your shoulders. His muscles relax and his heart returns to its natural pace. He feels you shift for a moment, your lips brushing his neck to give him one final kiss. To remind him you’re here, and that you’re not going anywhere. 

Another thing Jason loves about you – you love him back just the same.

[tooosterduos]

I knew there was something about you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!ex-vigilante!reader

Warnings: ANGST!!!, swearing, reader is sorta bitch?, not a happy ending! Not proofread

A/n: the people voted so here’s the Jason fic! Unfortunately I don’t know how to write gutting wrenching angst but enjoy!

Rain tapped against the picture window of Jason and your shared apartment. It was 3:30 am and you had been up all night waiting for him to come home from “patrol”

“Patrol my ass.” You muttered as the clock struck 3:30. The door creeped open at 3:35, making your heart jump as you were quite invested in the book you were reading.

“You’re home late.” You spoke softly, trying not to anger the man in front of you. The two of you had been going through a rough patch the past few months, you thought it would rollover..but when it hit 6 months, you started preparing for the worst.

“Yeah patrol took longer than I expected.” He deadpanned, removing his jacket from his broad shoulders, hanging it onto the standing coat hanger, next to your front door.

���Mhm.” You hummed, “what’s that supposed to mean?” He growled lowly. “Well I’ll tell you what it means. You reek of alcohol, your uniform is no where to be seen, and your hair has obviously been combed. You could’ve told me you were going to the bar.” You replied keep your tone steady, not wanting to give into his antics that were to come.

“Stop doing that.” He snarled at you again, “doing what?” You asked innocently. You knew exactly what he meant, you were reading his mind..quite literally.

“Stop using my mind against me!” He snapped, finally sick of your “bullshit” as he would call it. “I have no privacy with you!” He continued, “Oh baby, privacy left the room a while ago. Privacy left when you asked me to marry you. Privacy left when we started sleeping in the same bed. Privacy is nonexistent in this house.” You growled back.

Now you both were just making each other angrier. “Then maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to marry me if you’re just gonna act like this.” He snapped at you again.

Your chest ached, how could he say something like that? At the end of the day, no matter how much the two of you argued, you still loved him. If he was gonna go low, you were going lower.

“Was she at least pretty?” You question, “what?” He asked quietly. “I said, was she at least pretty.” you said repeating yourself, “what are you talking about?” he rolled his eyes with that sentence.

“Jason..I’m not stupid.” you retorted. “Don’t act like that. As if you haven’t cheated on me!” He yelled, “I haven’t! Why would you even say that!” you asked, your voice small and laced with hurt.

Jason knew how to piss you off, and he was doing everything in his power not to scream at you. You knew deep down that it was the alcohol in his system that was making him act like this. You knew deep down he would never treat you like this, no matter how mad he was at you.

Something more significant was making him act like this. However no matter how hard you searched, you couldn’t find what it was. 

You snapped back into reality, staring at him, hurt. Tears brimming your eyes. It took everything in you to not run from your current situation.

Jason’s eyes softened as he stared at you, realizing the damage he’d done. He crept towards your quivering body. “No.” You stated as you watched him creep closer towards you.

“Listen..I’m sorry.” He stated softly, reaching out his arms toward you. You were quick to move away from his grasp. “I’m sorry doesn’t cut it Jason. I’ve had enough of this! Constant arguing! Over stupid things!” You yelled, struggling to get the words out as tears ran down your face.

“I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind, I know I should’ve told you. I know I should’ve been more open instead of being an asshole and taking my anger out on you.” he spoke gently again, you could see the sincerity in his eyes.

Your heart and body however, couldn’t forgive him. Not tonight at least. “I’m sorry but I can’t forgive you, not tonight at least.” You said as you wiped a tear from your face, walking towards your bedroom.

Jason didn’t dare to follow, you came back out a few minutes later with a pillow, blanket, and a pair of clean clothes for in the morning.



[ahqkas]

♯ JASON TODD masterlist !

❛ 📜 ━ personal favorite

❛ 🎞️ ━ fluff

❛ 🪓 ━ angst

❛ 🪭 ━ suggestive themes

! SERIES ౨ৎ

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

! ONESHOTS ౨ৎ

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

! DRABBLES / BLURBS ౨ৎ

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

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

[maj-b-s]

Y/n and jason now in prison, Y/n being a ball of light and Jason being the opposite:

They are 15 years old, both being hero's sidekicks (Y/n being crazy and Jason being the sun)