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raspberrydoughnut · 8 days ago

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Situationship final boss

ALL THIS TIME I'M THINKING—WE COULD NEVER BE A PAIR

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

wc 1.1k | based on this thought i had, situationship!jason...kinda, lowercase intended, female coded!reader, cursing, miscommunication trope (shock and horror), and reader being in her head abt her love life 🎧ྀི

you don’t know how long it’s been going on—this thing with JASON TODD.

you could count it beginning from the first time he kissed you, sure. could say it started the second he got you into his bed and fucked you like you were the only real truth in the world. or maybe the night he showed up with a busted elbow and collapsed into your bed without a word. you could make a moment out of how he left his toothbrush at your apartment—right beside your own. you could let yourself care about the top drawer he quietly claimed within your dresser.

you could trick yourself into platitude by the fact that you’ve memorized his gait, his moods, the way his voice drops when he’s tired or trying to say something he can’t quite let out.

but you still don’t know when this started. or what it is.

and the worst part? you’re not even sure if he’d care if it stopped.

that’s what eats at you—what gnaws at your mental stability.

because he doesn’t say things. not out loud. not the important things.

he touches you like you’re his, but he doesn't call you that. not really.

you’ve had your hands rubbing circles in his back while he shook in his sleep. you’ve sat in the bathroom at four in the morning while he bled into a towel, refusing to go to the hospital. you’ve kissed him slow, and hard, and desperate. he’s kissed you back like he meant it, like he needed it every time.

but none of it means anything without words—and he doesn’t give you those.

so you spiral. quietly.

the doubt and miscommunication builds in the spaces between things. the things left unsaid and unnamed.

like when he leaves without saying when he’ll be back. when he texts you something funny (sardonic, always) but doesn’t respond for hours after. when he’s quiet in the way only he can be—shut down, unreadable, impossible to reach unless you don’t make it a big deal, even when it is.

you try not to take it personally. you remind yourself of the things he does do.

he fixes shit around your apartment. never asks—just notices and handles it.

he shows up with food when your texts are dry and clipped. helps clean and reset your space when your eyes are a little too tired and heavy.

he sleeps next to you every night he can.

but—when your friends ask what you are to each other, you have nothing to give them.

you shrug. say, “it’s complicated.” change the subject. and every time you say it out loud, it carves a deeper hollow inside you.

because it shouldn’t be. there shouldn’t be complication.

not when you feel it this deep. this often. not after truly getting to see him.

the final crack comes quietly.

you’re at his place. half-asleep. a shitty jason pick of a movie droning in the background. you’re tucked under his arm, cheek pressed to his chest, the steady thump of his heart loud in your ear.

you feel warm. safe even.

he smells like gunpowder and sandalwood soap. there’s motor oil crammed deep into his nail beds. a new cut along his forearm. he’s just back from patrol—shoulders tense, a few fresh bruises—but calmer now. loosened by your weight, your voice, your presence. that’s how it always is with you. he softens without realizing.

your eyes are heavy. you’re fading fast, you always do with him.

and then, out of nowhere, jason speaks, “you should leave a few more things here.”

you blink, “huh?”

he shrugs, huffs a bit, “drawer’s already yours. just makes sense. clothes, hair shit. whatever. i’ve made room.”

you lift your head. search his face.

he’s not looking at you, his eyes are still on the tv. he’s saying it like it’s nothing.

like it doesn’t mean everything.

you nod slowly, “...okay.”

and then, because you can’t help it, you push—just this one time.

“so, what is this to you?” and god help you, your voice sounds too faint. too unsure.

jason finally looks down at you.

his thick brows furrow, expression muddled, “what do you mean?”

“this.” you gesture between you. your body in his arms. his apartment, “us.”

jason doesn’t answer immediately. his jaw flexes. he sits up slightly, the arm around you sliding off, like he needs immediate space to think.

and right there—you feel your stomach sink.

you think, he’s gonna dodge it.

of course he is. this was a mistake. you shouldn’t have asked.

but then he exhales. long. slow.

“you’re mine.” he says simply.

like he’s telling you the weather.

you blink again, “excuse me?”

“you’re my girl,” he repeats, murky cerulean eyes on you now. firm. clear. “that’s what this is.”

you stare at him, “you’ve never said that.”

“i didn’t think i had to.” he gestures, a bit boyish.

his tone isn’t defensive. just…confused. frank.

“you never called me your girlfriend. never said—”

“you didn’t know?” he asks, voice low. “after all this time? after the way i treat you? what the fuck did you think this was?”

you open your mouth. “i didn’t know. you never—jay, you never say anything.”

“i put batteries in your goddamn smoke detector when i know you’ll forget. i check your tire pressure. i keep a med kit under your sink. i carry a picture of you in my helmet. you think i do that for just anyone?”

the silence that falls between you is almost pungent. still and heavy.

“every time i’ve said something like that—something too real…i’ve lost the person right after,” he says, not looking at you. “so no—i didn’t want to say it. i was just sure of it, and i thought you were too.”

“i was—wait, you’re sure?” you whisper.

jason nods, “i’ve been sure.”

you let out a shaky breath. your throat is tight, “i thought i was in some weird fling. like you didn’t want to say it, so i couldn’t say it either. i thought maybe…maybe i was just you biding time.”

jason’s expression breaks—just barely.

“you’re not a some placeholder,” he says. “you’re the reason i bother staying alive most days.”

and that’s it. that’s all you need to hear.

not because it’s romantic.

because it’s him.

because jason todd doesn’t hand out words like that. doesn’t even think to say them unless they’re real. unless they’re serious.

unless he’s already built a life around you in his head and just forgot to mention it.

you swallow. nod. “okay.”

“okay?”

you slide into his arms again. this time, you hold him like he’s the one about to disappear.

“okay, jason,” you murmur. “but next time, maybe use your words.”

jason huffs a breath that’s barely a laugh, “yeah. workin’ on that.”

he kisses your temple, fingers tightening on your hip.

and for the first time in a long time, you let your mind stop spinning.

a/n: finally posting this and idk it was too good of a trope to waste on a drabble/thought so here—full (tiny) fic !! lmk your thoughts and if you liked it, as always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and encouraged !!

🖇�� masterlist | askbox | recent works

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raspberrydoughnut · 8 days ago

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Metaphorical letters?😫

❥・Jason Todd — late nights

❥・tags: jason todd blurb, jason todd fluff, a man who yearns is a man who earns, gn!nicknames (angel), gn!reader, no use of y/n, jasons kinda ooc but idc this is self indulgent

❥・word count: 585

❥・─────────────────────

Jason's calling.

"Hello?"

"Hey, angel. Did I wake you?"

His voice—all too familiar—was different. Thick and husky words drooled from his throat as he spoke, an exclusive trait he only picks up this late at night.

"Yeah, kind of," you huff a short laugh.

"Are you okay? It's 3 am," you mumble, pulling the phone from your face to see the time.

"Fine. I finished patrol. Didn't want to go home. I just needed to hear your voice," he replies, revving his bike.

"Are you driving somewhere?" You blink at your dark ceiling, trying to stay awake.

"Just... anywhere."

"Why not go home? You don't want to, but why?"

"You're full of questions."

You shift to sit up in your bed. "You're not full of answers."

Jason sighs into the mic—at least, that's what you can assume over the loud wind and the engine rumbling.

"I didn't want to go back to the mansion, or an empty apartment. I don't- I don't want to be alone tonight."

Maybe it was the way his voice was gruff and low, maybe it was the fact you were still drunk off sleep, but for some odd reason, your response came all too quickly.

"Come over."

Years of pining and awkward "will they? won't they?" tension led to your stupid offer. And he said yes.

Once he arrives, he's here. In front of you, crowding in your door frame. And you?

You don't know what to do.

You resorted to the couch—a neutral area to maybe sleepily confess your feelings to your best friend.

"I'm sorry for waking you. I- we can just sit here. Or you can go back to bed. I just need to know you're in the same area. Same apartment as me. Proximity," he mumbles quietly, watching your tired face.

"No sir. You called me, you're dealing with waking me up," you press a finger to his mouth with a short laugh.

"You always pick up," he smiles, pushing your hand away.

"It's fine. I'm up most nights anyway."

"Why?" He furrows his brows, recalling the number of times he's called you in the past few months—it's a lot.

"Because I know you'll call. And when you don't, you always text me when you're done with patrol anyway," you blink.

"You... you wait up for me?"

"You're the one who gave me this habit. What kind of person texts their best friend that they're home safe from an activity the best friend didn't participate in?"

"You're blaming me, now?" Jason huffs a laugh.

You nod, a tired smile on your face.

"Angel, go to bed. I'm tired too. I'll be outta your hair in the morning, yeah? Promise," he mumbles, frowning at how exhausted you look.

You nod and stumble off to bed. He follows close behind—to ensure you don't collapse in the 30 feet walk from your living room to your bedroom.

You hop onto the bed and mumble nonsense at him and he responds back.

"You don't have to stay up for me. I'll stop calling you so late, angel."

"No, I like the calls. Nice to know you're alive."

"I'm alive," he mumbles.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple—and you swear he said "I love you"—before you drifted off to sleep.

He crashed on the couch and was gone by the morning.

Jason left fully written love letters throughout the years of your friendship on your nightstand before leaving, though. Yes, multiple.

❥・─────────────────────

❥・a/n: im not 100% back but im getting back into reading novels and im reading like ten comic runs rn but life is alr :3 fall semester is starting soon so ill be posting even less but ill ofc interact w yall if you reblog or comment <3

❥・masterlist

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raspberrydoughnut · 8 days ago

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BAHAHA he’s such a dog

hey so idk who relates but im a sucker for the best friend’s brother trope and i was thinking prompt 38 and the reader is like steph or tims bsf whos always had a crush on jason and theyre all hanging out doing some summer activity and the reader overheats perchaps…

Thanks for requesting! 38. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” jason x gn!reader. ft timmy! tw fainting, heat exhaustion

****

You take the seat next to Jason as Tim sets up the intel. He always goes through the plan one last time before you set off.

"Hi, Jason," you say, a little shy. "How are you?"

Jason nods at you. "Hey. Been alright. You?"

"I'm good," you say, trying not to sound so giddy.

You can't believe your fantastic luck. You'd mentioned working with Jason off-handedly to Tim, trying to be casual. You know their relationship hasn't always been the best, and you're friends with Tim first, so you wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to work with Jason.

It's certainly not his fault that you have a ginormous crush on his brother.

Tim's talking. You're not really listening, too busy catching glances at Jason. He looks incredible in his vest and boots. He doesn't have his helmet on yet, so you can admire his face for a little longer.

"Got it?" Tim asks. You nod on instinct.

"We got it the last three times you went through it," Jason says, rolling his eyes. "In and out. 'S not rocket science, dude."

"There’s nothing wrong with being prepared," Tim says coolly.

So now you're here, in a plastics factory in downtown Gotham.

The boiler room is unbelievably hot. Nausea hits you immediately, but you swallow it down. It would be really unprofessional and lame if you had to sit down and take a break when Tim and Jason are fine. You're working with legendary heroes—you have to make a good impression.

You're acutely aware of Jason on your six, and you turn your head to look at him. But that evidently is your body's last straw. You panic, searching for a wall to lean against. Nothing.

"Rob," is all you manage to say before you're falling backward, the edges of your vision going dark.

You come to with cool air on your face. The sounds of the city are louder, and instead of factory ceilings, you're looking up at Gotham's light-polluted night sky. Something warm and firm is cushioning your head.

"There y'are. Lost ya for a second."

You crane your neck but that makes you dizzy and nauseous again, so you close your eyes. Your mask has been removed. You hope you haven't been captured by a rogue. That would suck.

"Can y'hear me?"

Fingers tap your cheek. You open your eyes, and now you can see Jason's face, upside down, helmet off. He frowns and it looks like he's smiling.

"Oh my God," you mumble, still woozy.

"'Jason' is fine. You know where you are?"

"Um." You close your eyes and swallow. "Plastics factory."

"Yep. D'you remember what happened?"

"I was hot," you say, and you open your eyes and turn your head. Holy shit. It would appear that the soft, firm thing you're lying on is Jason's thighs.

"Yeah, y'fainted... straight into my arms. Y'know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes."

You sit up, eyes wide. Your heart rabbits, face burning with embarrassment. "I wasn't—I didn't faint so you'd catch me."

Jason squints. "Yeah, I know... it was a joke." He tilts his head. "Huh. Tim was right."

"About what?"

He licks his lips. "Just somethin'. How d'you feel?"

"Fine." You need to get out of here ASAP. Where's Tim? He'd have diffused the tension by now. You can't handle Jason looking at you like that. "I can go back in now."

You try to stand up, but that gives you a head rush. You wobble. Jason reaches to hold your arm, easing you back to the ground.

"Hey, take it easy. There's no way you're goin' back into the factory, so cool it."

"But the mission—"

"Timbo is doin' fine on his own. If he needs help, I'll go in."

You sigh, hunching over in defeat. "I ruined it. Sorry."

"Wow. This is, like, Batman levels of self-deprecation. Are you beating yourself up for fainting? Don't be ridiculous."

"I should've been more prepared—"

"Stop. That boiler room was at least a hundred degrees. Not everyone regulates their temperature equally, and your suit isn't made for high temperatures. Tim'll fix that. 'S not your fault."

Jason stands and offers a hand. You take it, marveling at how easily he pulls you up. He pats your shoulder.

"All good?" he asks.

You smile. "Yeah. Thank you, Jason. You're really nice."

He shrugs. "It's been known to happen. To be honest, I'm surprised that Timmy wanted to partner up at all. He's pretty particular about his team."

"I suggested we call you," you say. "Since it was your case."

Jason lifts an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Sweet of ya." He leans in, resting an arm over your head. "No other reason?"

You nearly choke on your spit. You've never been close enough to see the mix of blue and green in Jason's eyes. His lashes are dark and cast shadows over his cheeks as he looks at you.

"N-no." You blink owlishly, voice barely a whisper. "No other reason."

"Hm." Jason steps back, putting his helmet back on. "Birdboy should be done soon. C'mon."

Maybe you should've thought longer about what working with the Red Hood would entail.

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raspberrydoughnut · 8 days ago

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Awwww 🙁😭

Hi rya!! New follower here and I love what you've written (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡. Can I get two lattes, #3 and #7 for Jason please? Thank you very much! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

☕︎ 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 ━━━━━ two lattes for anon and jason todd .ᐟ.ᐟ

☕︎ coffees from rya’s 500 coffee cart .ᐟ.ᐟ

prompts chosen .ᐟ.ᐟ “you never came to bed last night.” & “look, all i’m trying to tell you i- oh god, no, please don’t cry.”

genre/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ 1.9k, angsty (but with a happy ending!), miscommunication/misunderstanding, pregnancy (pregnant!reader), long-term undercover mission.

barista's notes .ᐟ.ᐟ anon~~~ thank you so much for participating! ugh i am so honoured to know that you love what i’ve written so far - hopefully you love this one too!! please enjoy your coffees :)

It has been one hundred and four days since you last saw Jason.

He promised that he’d be back in ninety, and you even got him to swear it, but alas, nothing ever goes to plan when it comes to Jason Peter Todd. Not the way the two of you met, not the way the two of you fell in love, and most definitely not the way the two of you realised you were going to have a child together.

You know it’s not his fault that the undercover op is running over—that’s why Bruce fucking Wayne doesn’t dare set foot in your apartment, even though you know the family has promised Jason to keep an eye out for you, especially in the first trimester. You’re pretty sure you’re going to rip that rich man’s hair out if he’s ever within an arm’s reach, and so he’s smartly kept his distance, instead sending over groceries and nursery items for when the baby does arrive.

In his stead, you get the lovely company of Dick and Tim, who alternate who comes to visit you and waits on you like your own personal version of Alfred. They never complain, always obedient to your snaps, but all of you know who you truly wished was abiding by your every whim.

“He’ll be home soon,” Dick promises one night when you had been on the verge of feeling overwhelmed by the whole pregnancy thing.

You had just burst into tears at the sheer tragedy of your fiancé not being here when you needed him, and that Richard Grayson somehow looked fucking perfect at the ass crack of dawn with at least three days going no sleep. You looked like a zombie, for fuck’s sake, and all you’ve been doing is sleeping non-stop.

Dick had just hugged you, and rubbed your back as you kept sobbing. He even made you a warm cup of tea, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead with a gentle smile. You apologised after, saying that you never should have underestimated his ability to stay attractive even in the worst of situations.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard worse.”

Tim had been with you when the call came, and the way his entire body had just relaxed when he had hummed an affirmative in response was all you needed to confirm that Jason was coming home.

But you had waited, not breathing, just for Tim to turn around and pull his phone down as he regards you seriously. “He’s coming home,” he affirms, breaking out into a massive grin. You threw your arms around him, shrieking with excitement, and he had just laughed and helped steady you when you lost your footing.

Then, of course, you had cried tears of pure joy and passed out from the exhaustion of it all.

When you wake up, you’re tucked into bed, a pillow tucked perfectly under the curve of your hip to keep you comfortable. You snuggle into the sheets eagerly, hands splaying out to the other side of the bed to—

He’s not there.

Where is he? Where is your fiancé?

Your eyes peel open groggily, just to double check that you hadn’t hallucinated feeling Jason’s arms around you to carry you to the bedroom. A gentle candle burns on the windowsill, the one that Jason always lights, and so he’s definitely back. But why isn’t he in here, in bed with you? What is he doing?

Distantly, you register the clicks and clanks of the dishes being washed out in the kitchen, and the scent of rosemary and lavender wash over you, wafting over form the candle. It’s an intensely familiar experience—the scent, the sound, and even the touch of the bedsheets around you, it’s just it.

You relax even further into the bed, turning into goo. Jason’s home, is the only thing you can think in your half-awake state. He’s home.

You close your eyes. He’ll probably come to bed after he does the dishes.

The next time you wake, it is with much more clarity yet simultaneously much more confusion. The fatigue from the past few months have been completely washed away, and your muscles feel so well-rested, but your mind is still befuddled.

You reach out to Jason’s side of the bed just to double check. No, it’s still cold.

He never came to bed. Did he sleep out on the couch or something? Why would he do that?

Dread seeps into the depths of your stomach, and you rub at it self-consciously. Sure, you’re staring to show a little now; those who don’t know you might just think you’ve gained some weight, but if they know you’re pregnant, it’s obvious that it’s the baby growing. You just didn’t expect Jason to be put off by it, or something.

Is he? You haven’t changed that much in the past couple of months, have you?

Oh fuck, you think, spiralling. What if he’s had a change of heart? Maybe something about the undercover mission made him rethink his decision of opening up his vulnerability to a civilian wife and a literal baby?

But you’ve had these talks before. You’re sure he’s sure…right?

With a groan, you force yourself onto your feet. You have to brace yourself against the bed as the inevitable back pains are incited once more, and the sound of your movements must wake Jason because there’s an inelegant thud somewhere in the living room and he comes scrambling over.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says, immediately coming over to steady you, “you should sleep some more. God, Dick was saying how you barely got any sleep recently—fuck, c’mon. Lie down f’me?”

“Jason,” you say accusingly, “you never came to bed last night.”

He blinks at you, a pinched tightness pulling at his face. “Can we talk about this when you’re back on the bed?”

“Are you going to lie next to me?” you argue, scowling, batting off his attempts to coax you to bed. “Otherwise, no.”

“Sweetheart—”

“I’m not fucking glass,” you say over him, voice loud, “don’t treat me like I am. Jason. Jason!”

Instantly, his hands are off of you, and you lament at the loss of the heat as he takes a step back. Holding his hands up placatingly, he clears his throat awkwardly, trying his hardest not to look up into your eyes.

In that moment, you take him in. His T-shirt is newly washed—it was in the laundry basket from two days ago, you remember hanging it out to dry just yesterday—and his hair has that distinctly poofy quality to it that means he’s washed it recently. There’s some stubble on his chin, a few new bruises across the left of his jaw and across his collarbone, but otherwise, he’s still your Jason.

“Look at me, Jay.”

He glances up, but not a millisecond later he has to look away, instead focusing on your forehead.

“Jason.”

“I can’t,” he says.

“You can’t look your fiancée in the eye?” you demand, crossing your arms. “It has been one hundred and four days, Jason. You promised it would be under ninety!”

His gaze drops down again, this time with shame. “M’sorry, sweetheart. Really. It got complicated, we wanted to reduce the casualties—I just—”

“I’m not mad because you were out there doing good and actually making change,” you say, suddenly tiredly, and you stumble back to the bed to sit on it. Jason jerks forwards at the movement, arms spasming outwards as if he was afraid you were going to fall, only to stiffen awkwardly when he realised you were just sitting down. “I’m just frustrated that I haven’t seen you in so long, Jay. It has been over three months, you can’t even look at my face, much less cuddle me.”

“I want to cuddle you,” he mumbles, weakly. “I just—I just can’t. Uhm.”

You feel tears rush to the forefront of your eyes, and you angrily blink them away because now is not the time for pregnancy hormone interference. “Was it the mission? Are you okay? Are you injured?”

He shakes his head, shuffling closer. “M’fine, sweetheart. Promise.”

“Then what is it?” You just want a kiss and a hug from the love of your life okay? It’s pretty hard not to overthink things when he literally hasn’t seen you since the pregnacy announcement. “Is it…is it the baby? Are you having second thoughts?”

“Fuck no,” he says vehemently, and it makes you relax marginally, “fuck no, sweetheart. Absolutely not. It’s just—okay, look. I’ll cry if I look at you properly.”

You pause. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll cry,” he states, very matter-of-fact. “I almost sobbed last night, carrying you to bed. Had to go clear my mind with the fucking dishes—I could tell you had Tim around, by the way, because only he would order such greasy shit.”

“Jason,” you start, but he shakes his head, clearing his throat to indicate he has more to say.

“It’s just something about your eyes,” he gestures abstractly, still not looking at you, “it just—it hurts to look at, sweetheart. I just missed you, that’s all. Didn’t think it was gonna trigger a fuckin’ cry or whatever, but I swear. If I look at you right now, I’m gonna be a puddle in the ground and I don’t think that’s what you need right now.”

The incredulity of it all gets to you, and you burst into tears at the same time you throw your head back to laugh.

“Look, all I’m tryna tell you, is—oh God, no, please don’t cry,” Jason protests weakly, instantly engulfing you in a hug, pressing your face into his chest. “Oh God, if you cry, I’m going to cry.”

“Jason,” you say into his chest, in between hiccups, “please shut the fuck up.”

He tightens his embrace, and you think he might be crying by the way he buries his face into your hair. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers. “M’sorry. M’sorry, it just got to me, that’s all—I just, those eyes, man, I can’t—”

“Jason. I’m only going to say this once.”

He stiffens. “Okay.”

“I don’t fucking care if you ugly cry right now, but I need a kiss and a cuddle session approximately two hours long, so get your fucking ass in bed and if you’re crying at the same time, so be it.”

He laughs, sniffling in the way that means he’s definitely crying, but he acquiesces and gently releases you to allow you to get comfortable on the bed. You have to wait a little, tucked under the sheets, because he scrubs at his face in a fruitless attempt to staunch his tears, but all it does is make his shoulders shudder with more sobs.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before. He’s vulnerable before you, sure, but never like this.

It…it almost comforts you, knowing that he’s just as emotionally raw as you are. It makes you open your arms, beckoning back to bed. One look, and he’s instantly allured, kicking off his shoes and shuffling across to get on the bed.

He slips under the covers right next to you, arms wounding right around your waist—just below the baby, the first time he would’ve touched them, you marvel—and instantly, he’s covering you with his warm body again.

“M’sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. It’s just been so long. I didn’t know if I could control myself.”

“Don’t be,” you reply, tightly, “make it up to me with cuddles.”

“Okay,” he whispers, gently and with a warm breath on your neck. “Okay. I love you.”

You smile, squirming so you’re even closer to him. “I love you too, Jay. I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he says, firmly. Just yesterday, you wouldn’t have believed him. But now, honestly? You’re not sure you can underestimate just how much he’s missed you.

check out other coffee orders from the cart here .ᐟ.ᐟ

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