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Jerking off is incest

Sometimes I feel like you guys say things because you're bored

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owch.

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Idk man, TTG was pretty good for the most part

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PAN-DEMONIUM

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 1.5k synopsis: When your boyfriend forgets to mention his dad is the Batman, things can escalate quickly.  a/n: Instead of working, I found another idea that I dug up from the depths of my crack fic drafts, hope y'all had a laugh.

The apartment was quiet—eerily so, save for the low, comforting sizzle of eggs on the stovetop. It was a familiar sound in the late hours, part of a routine that had etched itself into your life since you found out about your boyfriend’s double identity. Midnight cravings were a constant in this place. Jason would drag himself in from patrol, bruised, half-dead, and starving, usually too tired to eat anything but dry cereal or a protein bar. Somewhere along the way, you’d started preempting his return, slipping out of bed before he could crash onto the couch and coaxing something warm onto a plate.

Tonight was no different. You stood at the stove, barefoot and comfortably wrapped in one of his worn shirts—black, soft, smelling faintly of gunpowder and his cologne. You hummed absently, the tune unrecognizable and slightly off-key, as you nudged the eggs with a spatula. The warmth from the burner was a pleasant contrast to the cool of the tiled floor beneath your feet.

And then you heard it.

A sound—barely audible, but wrong. Not the front door. Not the creak of a windowpane. But something. A shift of weight. The subtle scrape of a boot across hardwood.

You froze.

The spatula paused mid-motion. Your head tilted slightly, listening—straining. Jason always made noise when he came in. A thud of boots. A sarcastic remark. A muttered curse. Sometimes he’d whistle. Always something. And he never forgot to let you know it was him.

“Jason?” you called, your voice a notch quieter than you’d intended. “Is that you?”

No answer.

Your stomach dropped. A cold ripple of dread slid down your spine.

You moved quickly but quietly, turning the burner off. The comforting sizzle of eggs faded into silence. The spatula was abandoned in favour of the frying pan—heavier, more solid in your grip. You adjusted your hold on it, stepping away from the stove and edging slowly toward the hallway.

The shadow at the end of the hall was thicker than it should’ve been—wrong somehow, dense and unnatural. You squinted into the dark, heart hammering against your ribs as your eyes struggled to adjust. The hallway had always been dim at night, but this… this was different. It almost looked like the darkness itself was shifting. You took a cautious step forward—and then froze.

He was just suddenly there.

A towering figure. The black cape flowed down his frame like oil, and his cowl obscured his face, two glowing white slits where his eyes should’ve been. He looked like something out of your nightmares. 

You didn’t think. There was no time for logic or reason, only instinct.

With a half-scream, you swung the pan with everything you had.

CLANG.

The sound rang out like a bell, followed by a low, guttural grunt. The man staggered, head jerking to the side as one gloved hand came up to clutch where you’d struck him.

You stared, breathless, pan still raised like a weapon, frozen with adrenaline. Your heart was thundering in your chest, your mind spiralling—

And then the front door crashed open.

“What the fuck?!” Jason’s voice rang out, sharp and alarmed.

You spun around, the frying pan still trembling in your grip. “Jason!” you gasped, relief breaking through in a sudden tidal wave. “There’s a man—he—he broke in—I thought—I didn’t know what else to do—oh my god.”

Jason’s eyes flew past you, quickly scanning the scene—the eggs now dripping in gloppy streaks down the wall, the now-empty skillet in your hands, the looming figure still bent slightly forward, one hand pressed to his temple.

Jason blinked. His mouth opened. Then dropped.

“You hit Batman?!”

You blinked. Slowly turned back.

The man—Batman, the actual Batman—was slowly straightening up, gloved fingers rubbing his cowl covered temple where your frying pan had made contact. The cowl hadn’t even cracked. Not a single tear or dent. He just gave you the smallest, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, as if he were trying to process the sheer absurdity of what had just happened.

He looked less furious and more…inconvenienced. A little surprised, maybe. You hoped to God he wasn’t concussed.

You dropped the pan like it had burned you, it fell to the floor with such a loud sound both Jason and the Bat flinched. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed, stepping back as panic began to claw its way up your throat. “Oh my god.” You whirled on your boyfriend, wide-eyed and flushed with horror. “I just assaulted Batman. I attacked Batman. I’m going to jail. He’s going to disappear me. Jason, they’re going to find me in Arkham.”

“Jason!” you hissed, slapping his arm with a mixture of panic and outrage. “This is serious! I just committed a felony—with your damn midnight snack!”

Still snorting, Jason tried to compose himself but failed spectacularly. His shoulders were shaking, breath hitching with every suppressed laugh as he leaned against the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

He still hadn’t told you. Not the part about who Batman really was. That his adopted father was the Dark Knight himself. That the rest of his so-called siblings also ran around Gotham in capes and masks, playing vigilante just like he did. As far as you knew, Jason was the only one with a flair for crime-fighting and danger. He’d conveniently left out the bat-shaped elephant in the room.

“He’s not gonna press charges, babe,” Jason wheezed, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. “Jesus. You hit the Bat over the head with a pan. With a pan!” He bent double again, laughing so hard he nearly choked. “Oh man—this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You glared at him like you might hurl the pan at him next, and your mortification only deepened when you turned back to Batman—your face pale as chalk.

“I am so sorry,” you blurted, hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t know it was you. You were in the dark and you didn’t say anything and you’re—well—you’re literally terrifying.”

Batman’s silence stretched long enough that you were genuinely debating whether you should throw yourself out the window when he finally spoke.

Finally, he spoke, his voice gravelly and deep. “You hit me.” He almost sounded surprised, perhaps even confused.

You flinched. “I—I didn’t know it was you! You were just standing there in the dark! You didn’t even say anything! I thought you were a burglar! What was I supposed to do—offer you eggs?”

Behind you, Jason was biting the inside of his cheek, trying to smother his laughter. He wasn’t succeeding.

The Bat didn’t move.

You swallowed thickly, muttering now more to yourself than anyone else. “I can’t believe I assaulted Batman. I’m going to prison. Or Arkham. Or wherever he takes people when they attack him with a frying pan.”

Finally, Batman exhaled, the sound sharp and slow through his nose. “You should’ve been more aware of your surroundings.”

You gaped at him. “Excuse me? You brokeinto our apartment!”

Jason, ever helpful, mumbled under his breath, “Technically true.”

You shot him a glare but turned your frustration back to the source of your near heart attack. “You crept in like some B-rated horror movie villain!” you snapped, the lingering fear in your chest giving way to indignation. “And you have the audacity to lecture me about being aware of my surroundings? At least I listened to my instincts when I heard you move!”

“And your first instinct,” he said flatly, “was to attack me with cookware?”

You met his gaze without flinching this time. “It was cast iron.”

There was a beat of silence—and then Jason lost it all over again. He doubled over, wheezing, his laughter echoing off the hallway walls.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as if you could physically wipe away the humiliation. Your other arm remained wrapped around your ribs, like you were trying to hold together the shattered remains of your dignity. “Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palm. “This is so humiliating. I literally assaulted Batman.”

“I know!” Jason wheezed, nearly breathless with laughter. “It’s great. Literally the best day of my life.”

From behind you, the Dark Knight’s voice came again—low, grave, entirely too casual. “She’s got a strong swing.”

Jason turned toward him, still grinning like a lunatic. “You should see her when we play baseball.”

A long beat passed, silence settling again.

Then Batman looked directly at you, the white slits of his cowl narrowing slightly. “Next time,” he said evenly, “aim for the jaw. The cowl’s reinforced.”

You blinked. “Wait… what?”

But he was already gone, shadows swallowing the space where he’d stood.

You stared at the space he’d occupied, jaw slack. “I think I just made his criminal list.”

Jason came up behind you, arms wrapping snugly around your waist, still chuckling against the side of your neck. “Nah,” he murmured, amusement thick in his voice. “If anything, I think you impressed him.”

You threw your arms out in exasperation—nearly clocking him in the face with your flailing limbs.

He ducked with a laugh.

“Why else would he tell me to aim for the jaw?” you demanded. “He thinks we’re gonna fight again. He’s preparing me for our next encounter!”

Jason didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Want me to get a new pan?”

“Jason!”

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rewatching the under the red hood movie and i gotta say as much as i love jason’s speech to bruce about how mad he is that the joker’s still alive, i still maintain that a severely underrated speech in this movie is from ra’s when he’s talking to bruce and in essence says ‘yeah so i hired the joker to distract you which was my bad because he totally went overboard and killed your son :/ and i felt so guilty i decided not to try and fight you anymore and then i stole your son’s corpse and tried to revive him via lazarus pit so i could like. make amends. except that was also my bad because we fucked that one up real good and when he came back out BOY was he weird in the head. killed my guys and then fucking jumped out a window and we lost him. my bad. and i thought he’d died again but apparently he’s in gotham and is like. totally destroying your whole lives which again, my bad. shouldn’t have tried to help. sorry about that. i’ll just stay out of your business from now on.’ which is actually the funniest characterisation of ra’s i’ve ever seen

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nobody has been there for me like the ‘x reader’ tag has been there for me

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Jason Todd, age 12: *golf swings a tire iron into Batman’s kneecap*

Jason: BITCH.

Bruce, tearing up slightly: would you like to be my son?

Jason Todd, age 17: *shoots Batman in the knee with a gun*

Jason: PUSSY.

Bruce, tearing up slightly: would you like to be my son again?

Robin!Tim, shaking his head: you two have issues.

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Jason being the only one who gets to mess with his siblings is so valid. He can strangle them but if anyone else so much as looks at them wrong he’s taking them down

Scene: Rooftop fight. The Batfam is mid-mission.

Tim (over comm): Uh… slight problem. Got ambushed. I’m fine, but there’s, like, six of them and—

[Comms cut out with a crunch.]

Jason immediately freezing

“What was that sound?”

Dick: That… did not sound good.

Damian: Tt. Don’t be dramatic.

[No response.]

Jason (quietly but deadly):

I swear, if one hair on that nerd’s head is out of place—

[Cut to: Jason crashing through a window like a furious bat out of hell. Tim is cornered by multiple thugs, holding his side.]

Thug 1: Heh, Red Robin’s looking a little scrambled—

Jason (dropping in, full Red Hood mode):

WRONG BIRD, LOSER.

[Gunshots and screaming ensue.]

⸻

Tim (groaning): You didn’t have to go full John Wick.

Jason (checking him over): You’re bleeding.

Tim: It’s just a scratch.

Jason (dark glare):

I will set their van on fire.

⸻

[Later at the Batcave]

Bruce: Jason, I heard about the explosion. Was that strictly necessary?

Jason: You let the Joker live. I don’t want to hear about “necessary.”

Tim: For the record… that was awesome.

Jason: You I’ll allow to say that

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lmao

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So you’re telling me this in the guy who strikes fear into the hearts of Gotham’s most dangerous criminals? right…….

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I know the popular take is that Jason responds to familial affection by going ew fuck you gtf off me or whatever but to be honest I think if someone actually tried it he's ending up weeping wailing face red sniffling coughing collapsing to his knees in the rain type of reaction just completely sopping pathetic. his eyes are so swollen he can't see shit and falls off a cliff

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little baby Damian Wayne with his big brother Jason Todd

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you always knew your boyfriend was good-looking. that was never the problem. it’s just… sometimes, sitting across from JASON in public, it starts to feel feel like a cosmic mix-up, like you’ve wandered into a life meant for someone else. the girls sitting two booths over doesn’t help either. they’re giggling behind french-tipped hands, three pairs of eyes glued to jason as if he’s something decadent on the menu—something they’re hoping gets delivered to their table instead.

“he’s so hot,” one of them says, not even trying to be subtle. “oh my god, look at those biceps.” of course they’re looking at him. he’s beautiful. jason’s got the kind of face that makes everyone go stupid, and a body to match. throat dry, you drop your gaze to see that the ice in your drink have long melted, the straw squeaking against the bottom as you sip at nothing. the sound is thin and papery, an admission of your own awkwardness. jason stands, reaching for his jacket.

“you good?”

“yeah. just a bit tired, is all.” the skeptical look on his face tells you that he doesn’t believe a word of it. but instead of calling you out, he drapes the heavy leather over your shoulders.

you hadn’t even noticed the chill until it was gone.

outside, jason walks beside you, close enough that your arms might touch, but they don’t. usually, you don’t mind the space. it isn’t until you’ve made it halfway down the block that he finally says, “you’re doing that thing again.” there’s no rom-com script to fall back on. so instead of a coy what thing? you reply, “i’m fine. just…” your eyes drift to an oddly shaped crack on the pavement. “sometimes i think you could do better. that’s all.”

his frown deepens—not in irritation, not even exasperation. just tired. it pains him to hear it, because it’s not the first time you’ve said something like this. “unless you think i’ve got bad taste,” he deadpans, “i’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk shit about someone i care about.” then, his arms are around you—bridging that small but seemingly infinite space. one hand settles at the small of your back, the other gently cups the back of your head. a gesture he’s done a hundred times, but still means it every time.“i’m yours,” he murmurs into your hair. “you get that or no?”

and just like that, your chest doesn’t ache the same way it did.

꣑ৎ ‎ :‎ masterlist﹒꒱ requested by the lovely @soulsforsales