pr1nceofg0tham

[pr1nceofg0tham]

little bird 𖥔 jason loves you, he just can’t say the words…

𖥔 pairing jason todd x gn!reader

𖥔 tw/genre hurt comfort kinda, fluff, est. relationship, sick fic, jason being sweet and self deprecating as per usual, reader is sick and in love, nods to a hallmark movie, inescapable longing and love for jason todd. unedited.

𖥔 w/c 1614

𖥔 a/n this is my first ever jason todd fic!! i've been wanting to start writing for him for a while now, and now that it's summer there is no excuse, i hope you like this fic as much as i liked writing it!

please please tell me how you felt about this one and if you have any ideas for future fics, i'm all ears!!! mwah mwah mwah!!

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, little bird,” he tells you—voice gruff and unsure in its sweetness. 

Jason never feels right giving comfort; more at ease with violence and anger, but you’re too precious for anything but soft words and softer touches. He loves you, that much he’s sure of, but he lacks the confidence. 

You’re everything to him, the only thing that matters as much as his rage, and how can that be? You’re nothing but love, nothing but soft smiles and golden hour laughs. He feels as though he’s loved you forever, even though it’s only been a few months–He’s still keeping you hidden away, placed inside his chest cavity and locked up safe from his family… more than a secret, less than a lie. 

So far the relationship has been clumsy and quiet; Friday night movies and diner dates–it’s fragile in its newness, but the love is bright. Jason knows he loves you, has told you in his own awkward way, but the words won’t come. 

You’ve said them, out loud and honest, yet for some reason he can’t get them out of his mind; they’re in his head, in his hands, even in his eyes, but his tongue is a stubborn bastard. Instead of saying it he ties your shoes for you and makes you breakfast, reminds you to take your meds and drives the speed limit. Every action he takes is in service to you, every time he steps out for patrol it's to make the city safer for you, yet still he can’t get himself to confess. 

He wishes he could say it as easy as you do, they way your lips curl around the vowels and snap out the consonants. It’s so simple to you, you love him so you tell him, but Jason is a stranger in the realm of love, and the language still fits clunky in his mouth. 

This morning he cursed himself for not being able to say it, it was impossible to see you in your work clothes–done up and lovely–and have to say goodbye. The emotion flooded over him, sweeping him away in a sneaker wave of pure unadulterated poison. He’d been familiar with pain, knew the shape of it in his bones, yet the violence of the moment–of saying goodbye to you when he wasn’t ready–had been horrid. Still the words couldn’t come. 

And now you’re here in his apartment, bundled up in his shoddy sheets, sick as a dog and crying about nothing. 

You got caught in the rain, (unexpected in the Summer Gotham heat) and you were drenched before you made it around the block. Jason’s apartment was closer, and while it might not have been the best option on account of the broken thermostat and generally bad insulation, the thought of being soaked through and tired was better if your boyfriend was around. 

The cold came on fast, hitting you before he was even home from the library, a gnarly inescapable thing that riddled you unable to breathe. Jason found you with a red nose and glassy eyes, and suddenly all of Alfred’s lessons came barreling into focus. Before you could kiss him hello he had you in bed, wrapped in his silken sheets and a thermometer under your tongue. He’d been so sweet, making you soup and turning on the cheesiest movie he could find–one about a young girl moving back home and falling in love with a cowboy or something. 

You love him so much, this sweet man… You know it’s hard for him– to show affection without worrying it will be used against him or torn away–but still he tries, venturing into life with you with the bravery of a wounded soldier. Seeing him fuss over you… the way he pouts as he brings his lips to your forehead to feel if you have a fever, and his bright smile when he discovers you don’t… You love him, maybe that’s what brings the tears–the fact that you love this sweet boy, and he loves you even if he can’t say it. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Why are you crying?” 

“I don’t know, Jay,” you tell him, “I think I just love you, y’know” 

“And that’s making you this sad?!” He doesn’t understand… Love’s supposed to be transcendent and happy, at least that's what people say. Yet, if you’re this sad when you think of him, he must be doing something wrong… He remembers that poisonous feeling of saying goodbye to you, is that what love is? Poison and tears and insecurity?

He thinks back to the first time he saw you: frostbitten and chilly from the winter air, you looked a little like you do now–red nosed and shivering–he fell into love like a skydive, terrified and gasping, but there you were: lovely and honest and everything he never knew he needed. He feels like that now, adrenaline filled and anxious. He just wants you to be okay, it kills him that you’re sick, that you’re crying over him instead of eating your soup. 

“No, baby, it’s making me happy…” you say, laughing through your gasping sobs. “I mean look at you, you’re so handsome and you’re taking care of me.” 

Jason laughs, sighing out a great gasp of relief. All he ever wants is to take care of you, to make sure you’re safe and happy. Still crying, you let him lead the spoon into your mouth, swallowing the broth slowly so as to not choke through your tears. He’s as patient as ever, using your hand to shovel more onto your utensil, feeding you bite after bite until the bowl is clean. 

You know he loves you. 

You can see it in how he looks at you, how his calloused hands graze softly against your skin, and the way his voice never raises. You know he loves you, and truthfully you don’t need him to say the words, just as long as he continues looking at you the way he is now–like you’re some lost treasure he just happened across. You hope he won’t be scared to say the words forever, but if he is you’ll take the looks and the soft touches… you’ll love him forever if it means he keeps looking at you the way he is now. 

“You sure, sweetheart?” He asks, still a little nervous. “I don’t want you to be lying to me just cause I’m tender hearted” The quick of his brow makes you giggle, nuzzling closer to the hand that wipes away your tears. 

“Of course, honey, I would never lie to you.” You tell him, and you mean it as sure as sunrise. 

His heart swells, stuttering in his chest as he watches your crumpled form, God he loves you. As if to prove it, he moves closer–moving your empty bowl to the side table and wrapping you in his arms. You’re close enough you can hear his heart, the familiar song lulling you with its quick rhythm. Jason feels bad, but he loves you like this: sweet and helpless, finding comfort in his hold when you could find it anywhere else. 

For a while you just lay there, chest to chest, neither of you truly paying attention to the movie but laughing at the corny parts all the same. Every once in a while he pulls away to give you a tissue or take your temperature, completing a list of steps that are only really obvious to him. He finally breaks the silence to say again, 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, little bird.” He says it is sweeter this time and quieter too, always earnest, your Jason.

“It’s okay, Jay, I’ve gone through worse.” You can feel him wince at your words, always sensitive to hearing about you hurting. He hates it, hates knowing that you’ve ever had any struggle–that there were moments where he couldn’t keep you safe, even if it's just because he didn’t know you yet. 

“I just hate to think of you in pain, baby,” He says, “Should only ever wear a smile.”He squeezes you tighter as he says this, and his accent gets looser, devolving back into that Gotham street kid he always was. 

You love him like this, cozy in his sweater and warm from your shared body heat. You love him, and you’d tell him everyday if it made him get closer to believing he deserves it. 

“Ah well, in sickness and in health and all that.” 

“Oh I didn’t know we took any vows,” He says, but his heart jumps and his hold on you gets tighter. 

“I love you honey,” you say. Honest and true, matter of fact. It’s a little out of place disjointed to the current conversation–there is no humor in your voice or in your eyes when they meet him– but it's true, and you promised him you’d always be honest. You love him, you would never joke about that. 

Jason thinks about all the times he wanted to say it back… All the times the words almost emerged and enveloped you, he wishes he could say it. Wish he could wrap you up in the phrase and not be afraid, but it’s still too harrowing. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, yet you’re the one that’s paying–that breaks his heart. He loves you so much, even if he can’t say the words… even if all he can do is make you soup and tuck you in at night, and make sure the world is safer for you. He loves you, and he tells you the best way he can. 

“Me too, little bird, me too.”

[pr1nceofg0tham]

little bird 𖥔 jason loves you, he just can’t say the words…

𖥔 pairing jason todd x gn!reader

𖥔 tw/genre hurt comfort kinda, fluff, est. relationship, sick fic, jason being sweet and self deprecating as per usual, reader is sick and in love, nods to a hallmark movie, inescapable longing and love for jason todd. unedited.

𖥔 w/c 1614

𖥔 a/n this is my first ever jason todd fic!! i've been wanting to start writing for him for a while now, and now that it's summer there is no excuse, i hope you like this fic as much as i liked writing it!

please please tell me how you felt about this one and if you have any ideas for future fics, i'm all ears!!! mwah mwah mwah!!

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, little bird,” he tells you—voice gruff and unsure in its sweetness. 

Jason never feels right giving comfort; more at ease with violence and anger, but you’re too precious for anything but soft words and softer touches. He loves you, that much he’s sure of, but he lacks the confidence. 

You’re everything to him, the only thing that matters as much as his rage, and how can that be? You’re nothing but love, nothing but soft smiles and golden hour laughs. He feels as though he’s loved you forever, even though it’s only been a few months–He’s still keeping you hidden away, placed inside his chest cavity and locked up safe from his family… more than a secret, less than a lie. 

So far the relationship has been clumsy and quiet; Friday night movies and diner dates–it’s fragile in its newness, but the love is bright. Jason knows he loves you, has told you in his own awkward way, but the words won’t come. 

You’ve said them, out loud and honest, yet for some reason he can’t get them out of his mind; they’re in his head, in his hands, even in his eyes, but his tongue is a stubborn bastard. Instead of saying it he ties your shoes for you and makes you breakfast, reminds you to take your meds and drives the speed limit. Every action he takes is in service to you, every time he steps out for patrol it's to make the city safer for you, yet still he can’t get himself to confess. 

He wishes he could say it as easy as you do, they way your lips curl around the vowels and snap out the consonants. It’s so simple to you, you love him so you tell him, but Jason is a stranger in the realm of love, and the language still fits clunky in his mouth. 

This morning he cursed himself for not being able to say it, it was impossible to see you in your work clothes–done up and lovely–and have to say goodbye. The emotion flooded over him, sweeping him away in a sneaker wave of pure unadulterated poison. He’d been familiar with pain, knew the shape of it in his bones, yet the violence of the moment–of saying goodbye to you when he wasn’t ready–had been horrid. Still the words couldn’t come. 

And now you’re here in his apartment, bundled up in his shoddy sheets, sick as a dog and crying about nothing. 

You got caught in the rain, (unexpected in the Summer Gotham heat) and you were drenched before you made it around the block. Jason’s apartment was closer, and while it might not have been the best option on account of the broken thermostat and generally bad insulation, the thought of being soaked through and tired was better if your boyfriend was around. 

The cold came on fast, hitting you before he was even home from the library, a gnarly inescapable thing that riddled you unable to breathe. Jason found you with a red nose and glassy eyes, and suddenly all of Alfred’s lessons came barreling into focus. Before you could kiss him hello he had you in bed, wrapped in his silken sheets and a thermometer under your tongue. He’d been so sweet, making you soup and turning on the cheesiest movie he could find–one about a young girl moving back home and falling in love with a cowboy or something. 

You love him so much, this sweet man… You know it’s hard for him– to show affection without worrying it will be used against him or torn away–but still he tries, venturing into life with you with the bravery of a wounded soldier. Seeing him fuss over you… the way he pouts as he brings his lips to your forehead to feel if you have a fever, and his bright smile when he discovers you don’t… You love him, maybe that’s what brings the tears–the fact that you love this sweet boy, and he loves you even if he can’t say it. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Why are you crying?” 

“I don’t know, Jay,” you tell him, “I think I just love you, y’know” 

“And that’s making you this sad?!” He doesn’t understand… Love’s supposed to be transcendent and happy, at least that's what people say. Yet, if you’re this sad when you think of him, he must be doing something wrong… He remembers that poisonous feeling of saying goodbye to you, is that what love is? Poison and tears and insecurity?

He thinks back to the first time he saw you: frostbitten and chilly from the winter air, you looked a little like you do now–red nosed and shivering–he fell into love like a skydive, terrified and gasping, but there you were: lovely and honest and everything he never knew he needed. He feels like that now, adrenaline filled and anxious. He just wants you to be okay, it kills him that you’re sick, that you’re crying over him instead of eating your soup. 

“No, baby, it’s making me happy…” you say, laughing through your gasping sobs. “I mean look at you, you’re so handsome and you’re taking care of me.” 

Jason laughs, sighing out a great gasp of relief. All he ever wants is to take care of you, to make sure you’re safe and happy. Still crying, you let him lead the spoon into your mouth, swallowing the broth slowly so as to not choke through your tears. He’s as patient as ever, using your hand to shovel more onto your utensil, feeding you bite after bite until the bowl is clean. 

You know he loves you. 

You can see it in how he looks at you, how his calloused hands graze softly against your skin, and the way his voice never raises. You know he loves you, and truthfully you don’t need him to say the words, just as long as he continues looking at you the way he is now–like you’re some lost treasure he just happened across. You hope he won’t be scared to say the words forever, but if he is you’ll take the looks and the soft touches… you’ll love him forever if it means he keeps looking at you the way he is now. 

“You sure, sweetheart?” He asks, still a little nervous. “I don’t want you to be lying to me just cause I’m tender hearted” The quick of his brow makes you giggle, nuzzling closer to the hand that wipes away your tears. 

“Of course, honey, I would never lie to you.” You tell him, and you mean it as sure as sunrise. 

His heart swells, stuttering in his chest as he watches your crumpled form, God he loves you. As if to prove it, he moves closer–moving your empty bowl to the side table and wrapping you in his arms. You’re close enough you can hear his heart, the familiar song lulling you with its quick rhythm. Jason feels bad, but he loves you like this: sweet and helpless, finding comfort in his hold when you could find it anywhere else. 

For a while you just lay there, chest to chest, neither of you truly paying attention to the movie but laughing at the corny parts all the same. Every once in a while he pulls away to give you a tissue or take your temperature, completing a list of steps that are only really obvious to him. He finally breaks the silence to say again, 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, little bird.” He says it is sweeter this time and quieter too, always earnest, your Jason.

“It’s okay, Jay, I’ve gone through worse.” You can feel him wince at your words, always sensitive to hearing about you hurting. He hates it, hates knowing that you’ve ever had any struggle–that there were moments where he couldn’t keep you safe, even if it's just because he didn’t know you yet. 

“I just hate to think of you in pain, baby,” He says, “Should only ever wear a smile.”He squeezes you tighter as he says this, and his accent gets looser, devolving back into that Gotham street kid he always was. 

You love him like this, cozy in his sweater and warm from your shared body heat. You love him, and you’d tell him everyday if it made him get closer to believing he deserves it. 

“Ah well, in sickness and in health and all that.” 

“Oh I didn’t know we took any vows,” He says, but his heart jumps and his hold on you gets tighter. 

“I love you honey,” you say. Honest and true, matter of fact. It’s a little out of place disjointed to the current conversation–there is no humor in your voice or in your eyes when they meet him– but it's true, and you promised him you’d always be honest. You love him, you would never joke about that. 

Jason thinks about all the times he wanted to say it back… All the times the words almost emerged and enveloped you, he wishes he could say it. Wish he could wrap you up in the phrase and not be afraid, but it’s still too harrowing. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, yet you’re the one that’s paying–that breaks his heart. He loves you so much, even if he can’t say the words… even if all he can do is make you soup and tuck you in at night, and make sure the world is safer for you. He loves you, and he tells you the best way he can. 

“Me too, little bird, me too.”

[pr1nceofg0tham]

super fan | jason todd

Summary: Three months into your relationship, your boyfriend Jason Todd finds your Red Hood poster. You're mortified. But Jason? Well, you've got his face in your room and your lips on his... truth be told, Jason maybe likes it a little too much that you're a super fan of his.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings/tags: bf!jason, you find jason and RH hot and that crosses some wires. jason takes advantage of your crush (in a hot way), competency kink, cocky jason, identity porn, minor violence, motorcycles, reader has a crush on RH but doesn't know jason is RH so it's a little complicated but NO cheating!! implied sexual content but NO explicit smut.

divider

Tonight, you're staying at Jason's place. You've only been dating three months, but it's going well enough that you're comfortable enough to stay over. Jason has hinted more than once that you can leave clothes at his place, but you insist on keeping all of your stuff at your apartment, just in case things go south. What's that rule? Six months and you’ll know whether he’s the one? Three months to go, then.

Call you crazy, but you think you might already know. Jason is fantastic and you’re sure you’re in love with him. Not that you're going to tell him that any time soon. But you know enough not to put all of your stock into a three-month relationship. Who knows what secrets Jason Todd might be hiding.

"How come you never invite me to your place?" Jason asks as he pulls up in front of your building. He'd offered to drive you both to his apartment on his motorcycle, and it's officially weird if you refuse him. He might think you're hiding something. And you are. Something mortifying.

"Because you're gonna try to install your special security measures," you say as he locks his bike.

Jason thinks about it, then nods. "Yeah, that's probably true. No, but it's your place. I wouldn't do anything you wouldn't know about."

"I know," you say, going inside and holding the door for him. "But my apartment is smaller than yours.”

"That doesn't matter to me, baby."

When did he get it into his head that he needs to be in your apartment? You go up the stairs with Jason behind you, thinking about how you can excuse not inviting him inside. Except, it’s suspicious if you make him wait outside. Even for Jason, who's about as cagey as they come. He seems to trust you fine, but you have no idea what freak raised him because he's eternally wary of people and unfamiliar places. He also insists on sitting close to the door when you go out to eat. But even he's invited you to his place. Many times now. Maybe you can extend the same favor. 

"Fine. You get a quick tour," you say against your better judgment as you get to your door, unlocking it.

"I'm honored, truly." Jason follows you inside. He clicks his tongue, pointing to the lock. "No deadbolt?"

"Jason..."

"I mean, what a beautiful lock on your door," he says sweetly, kissing your cheek. "Y'know what would make it even more beautiful?"

"You being less paranoid?"

"Seventy percent of Gotham break-ins are in residences that have only one lock. Sixty-five percent of them are on—"

You turn around and put your arms around Jason. He automatically puts his arms around your waist and stops talking. His beauty still stuns you: his aquiline nose, his freckles, those bright teal eyes. You get shy at times, flustered and delighted at the fact that this hunk of a man likes you so much.

"I'm extremely attracted to you, despite your raccoon demeanor," you say.

"You'd be the first," Jason says, gaze terribly fond. "I'll shut up now 'bout the statistics."

"No, statistics are hot. Just not when they're about home invasions."

"Point taken. How 'bout stats on Gotham's exports?"

You throw your head back, gasping. "Oh! You fiend. No more, please. I may just ravish you here on the floor!"

Jason bends you back a little, his hand fitting in the center of your back to ease you over. He doesn't do that very often, use his strength and wield you the way he wants, but when he does, you lose your breath. Your pulse quickens as Jason nuzzles your neck.

"This okay?" he asks. You hum an airy yes.

"'M in no rush," he says in your ear. "We can linger. Haven't finished your tour. 'S your room next?"

You straighten so fast, you nearly knock Jason in the teeth. It's only because of his quick reflexes that you don't.

"You can't see my room," you rush out, looking at him with wide eyes.

Jason squints, hands dropping to your sides. "What? Why?"

"Um... because... because my room is a mess."

"So? I don't care. My room looks like a solitary confinement cell."

You raise an eyebrow. Jason clears his throat.

"Well, I mean, it used to. It's better now that I have plants and shit."

"Lack of decor is nowhere near as embarrassing as my room, Jason. Mine is beyond messy. It's filled with half-eaten pizza crusts. And rats. And... slime?"

"Slime, huh? Well, good thing I wore my Doc Martens. I can withstand a little slime."

You sag. "You don't believe me."

Jason smiles and kisses your forehead. "Not particularly, baby. What's the issue, huh? You hiding nudie mags or something?"

You roll your eyes. "Who calls it that, Jay? You sound like Tony Soprano. Just say porn."

"Gracefully choosing to ignore that comment. Look, if y'do have porn, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You should feel safe to express and explore your sexuality however you—"

"Oh my God, it's not porn." You cover your face. "Jesus. It's—okay, just come in. If you're gonna break up with me over this, we might as well face it now."

"I'm not gonna break up with you," he says as you take his hand and lead him to your bedroom. "Nothing you show me could—"

You swing open the door Jason trails off as he follows you in, his eyes landing on your 4x6 poster of the Red Hood that's smack middle in the room, taped over your bed.

And then, obviously, one can't miss the Red Hood towel on your computer chair, or the Red Hood mug. And the limited edition Red Hood Bat Burger bobblehead, which was quickly discontinued after some public backlash.

"Wow," Jason says.

You groan and bury your face in your hands. "It's fine. I know it's weird. Just go."

You don’t know how it happened, this accumulation of Red Hood merch. It's not like people aren’t fans of heroes. Plenty of local heroes are revered across the world. You have an online friend from Brazil who has literally all of the Superman collectibles. But Superman is reasonable. Batman is reasonable. Nightwing is common and basically a Gotham staple—you've seen women in Nightwing bikinis.

But Red Hood fans are far and few. Plenty of people think he's a criminal and a borderline villain. Some people, working-class people mostly, adore him. You've heard plenty of wonderful things he's done to turn neighborhoods around, keep people safe, fight The Man. Hell, last week there was a video of him carrying an old woman to the hospital after she fell in the road.

Plus, you get the feeling he's really handsome under that helmet. You're sure he's physically overwhelming, at the very least. You've seen clips of him fighting. Oh boy, can he hold his own.

But if you told the average person on the street that your favorite hero is Red Hood, they'd definitely give you a side eye. You brace yourself for one now. 

"Huh," Jason says. "Didn't think you'd be a fan of his. Not really a hero, is he?"

You huff, squaring your shoulders. "He's helped a lot of people. No one actually cares about protecting us except for vigilantes. Red Hood protects innocents. If that takes a little bit of a heavier hand, so be it."

Jason raises his eyebrows. "Didn't know you played fast with morality like that, honey."

"You don't agree?" If this is where your relationship ends, you'd rather it happen sooner than later. "He's implemented a lot of fundamental structures that even Batman hasn't. He's more big-picture than the Bats. So, whatever, okay? If you think I'm nutty for liking Red Hood, then just go now."

You cross your arms and turn away from Jason. It's quiet for a long moment. You're sure it's done; you've just ruined the first relationship you really wanted to make work. But you've been on dates and let it slip that you admire Hood, and plenty of men let you know what an idiot you are to do so. You thought Jason would understand. Maybe not.

But then you feel arms around your stomach. Jason kisses your cheek.

"C'mon," he says chidingly, voice low and sweet in your ear. "Y'think it's that easy to scare me off? We live in Gotham, sweetheart. The only way I'd be worried is if you had someone's head sitting in your fridge. And even then, I'd hear ya out on whose head it is."

You lean into Jason's solid warmth, rubbing your cheek against his scruff like a cat. "I'd have my reasons if I did that."

"Mm, I know it."

You slip out of his grip enough to turn around. Jason's got a coy, little grin on, and you can't figure out why. But you suppose that's better than him leaving because of your local celebrity crush.

"You're really not annoyed?" you ask. "Because if you are, we should hash it out now."

"No, baby, 'm not annoyed." Jason glances at the Red Hood bobblehead. His grin widens, tongue resting between his teeth as he looks at you. You feel hunted, but the glint in Jason’s eye quickly disappears. "I think he does what needs to be done."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. Just surprised, is all. He doesn't seem like your type."

You blink, heart beating faster. "My type? Well, I-I just think he contributes a lot to the city. It's not... I appreciate what he does for Gotham."

"Wait." He tilts his head like he's genuinely trying to figure something out. "D'you have a crush on Hood or something?"

You blink, flustered at how quickly Jason picked up on that. How does he do that? "I don't—I mean, I admire him—he's—but I don't even know what he looks like, so—"

Jason's eyes light up, and you know you've made a mistake, just not the one you thought you would. He cups the back of your neck, which always makes you hot and squirmy.

"Oh, you do like him like that. Huh. Didn't know the helmet did it for you. Very interesting news, sweetheart. He doesn't scare ya?"

"No," you say, the word coming out weak. Wires are being crossed in your head between the image of the Red Hood and your boyfriend crowding you in your room and pressing his lips to your neck.

"That's very good to hear," Jason says, and you give in, tugging him over to your bed. He laughs. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

"It's embarrassing," you whine. "The poster was from a friend."

You let Jason climb atop you, permeating your senses with his bulk and his citrusy scent. He carefully keeps his weight off of you, but you wish he'd hold you down. This is exactly why you didn't want to bring Jason over; you don't need your old fantasies of Red Hood getting mixed up with your boyfriend.

"I don't think it's embarrassing," he says, gently taking your leg and crooking it over his hip. "You picturing him right now?"

"Jason!" You thwack his shoulder. You feel it more than he does, probably. He cackles.

"Teasin'," he says, soothing you with a kiss. "But I can get a helmet if you want me to."

You kick him off the bed. "No more tours for you!"

Work runs late a week later, so you're still out by the time eight o'clock rolls around. It's summer time, so it's not the worst thing ever, but you know what Jason would say. Your last message is still unread because Jason works most nights. You’ve chosen not to worry him by telling him you're also working tonight, instead texting him funny Gotham memes.

"Evening."

…Maybe you should've let him know.

You flinch, the voice startling you hard. Red Hood is leaning against the fence surrounding the park you pass by on your way to the bus stop. His arms are crossed, and his biceps bulge underneath his tight black t-shirt. You can't tell from here, but you're sure he must tower over you.

"Oh." Briefly, you wonder if you summoned him somehow after revealing your room to Jason last week. You've lived in Gotham your whole life and you've never run into Hood. The only vigilante you've met is Red Robin, and he's not a talker.

"Hi," you say, a little nervous, a little starstruck.

"Hi," Hood says, letting his arms drop. His posture is easy, but you know better. You know he's here for a reason. "Working tonight?"

You nod. "I just finished. I'm just going to the bus now."

"Pretty late for the bus."

"It's June."

"It's Gotham."

You open your mouth, then close it. Then you open it again. "Um... it's okay. I've done it plenty of times before."

"Plenty of times? Without letting anyone know?"

You wince. "Well, not plenty—"

"Nobody to pick you up?"

You shrug. "No."

"No? Think hard." There's the tiniest edge to his tone.

"I mean, my boyfriend could, hypothetically, but he works nights, so—"

"And you think his job is more important than making sure you're safe? It'd devastate him if something happened to you."

You blink. "I don't—I guess I didn't think of it that way."

Hood shakes his head. Then he pushes himself off of the fence and approaches you. Immediately, your heart rate increases. To be this close to the Red Hood, to have him worry about little old you, scold you for not calling Jason, it's causing a confusing mix of emotions to swirl inside you.

You've thought about how you'd act if you met Red Hood. Maybe ask for an autograph if the opportunity arises. You can't fathom asking him for anything now. He's intimidating. Maybe you are a little afraid, but it's intertwined with other feelings.

Hood pauses. "Everything okay?" he asks carefully. "Your heart rate spiked."

"Oh," you say breathlessly. "Yes, I'm okay."

You can't see his face but you feel like he doesn't believe you. "Sure?"

You wonder if he can see all of your vitals. Can he see how warm you feel? "Yes, I'm sure. It's just... I'm sort of a fan of you. So it's... it's an experience."

Hood laughs. "Fan? Don't think I have any fans."

You shake your head. "That's not true. I know a few people who like you."

He hums and approaches you slowly. You let him until he's close enough for you to take in his physicality completely. He's a couple inches taller than Jason. Not that it matters. Just an observation.

"'M flattered," he says softly. "But if you're jus' sayin' that 'cause you're a little scared, please don't."

"No, I'm not scared. I trust you, Red Hood."

He folds his arms, stretching his neck to his right shoulder. You catch a sliver of tanned, scarred skin. "So soon?"

"Uh-huh."

"Kinda crazy of ya."

You shrug. "Maybe."

"Hmm. We goin' home?"

"You want to take me home?" you ask, eyes wide.

"Not-not like that. I mean, I can't let ya go home alone."

"No, I know, I just... I didn't think Red Hood made home visits."

"Sometimes." He makes an aborted gesture to touch your cheek with his finger and you swallow hard. Your ears are very hot. You might choke on your spit.

"I didn't know Red Hood would care that much if I went home."

"'Course I do," he says softly. "Your safety is my priority."

"My-?"

"Civilians, I mean," Hood says quickly. "'S why I'm out here patrolling."

"But surely there's people who need you more than me. I'm just some nobody going home from work, I—"

"You're not a nobody. Don't say that," Hood says with so much force, it renders you silent. "Got it?"

You nod. "Okay. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry 'bout. C'mon, I'll take you home, okay?"

You really don't want to bother Jason at this hour. Besides, as far as vigilante escorts go, Hood really isn't the worst choice. Another person might be afraid. A sane person would refuse.

"Yes, I'm okay with that," you say, smiling. "Thank you."

"Sure. My bike is parked down the block."

He walks a little behind you, close enough for you to turn and talk to him, but angled so that nothing can sneak up on you. It's the way Jason walks with you sometimes. You wonder if it's a Gotham thing.

Hood's bike is a cherry red. He lets you type in your address into his GPS. Then he gives you a helmet.

"Safety first," he says. It's the same helmet that Jason wears for his motorcycle. For a second, you swear you can smell his aftershave. Orange blossoms.

Hood gestures for you to get on. He holds the bike steady and it seems like he's going to hold your back to help you onto the bike. But he doesn't touch you, not like Jason does.

"Ever been on a bike before?" he asks when you're on.

"My boyfriend's."

He hums, throwing a leg over and straddling the bike. You blink at the sudden wall of bulk in front of you. "He treat you right, that boyfriend?"

You nod. "He's amazing. I love him."

Hood is silent for a moment, then he clears his throat. "Good. Lady like you deserves to be treated like a princess."

You laugh. "You barely know me. I'm no princess."

"I got a good sense about people. Hold onto me."

You wrap your arms around his waist. He tuts at you.

"Gotta hold me tighter than that. Don't want you flying off. You know better."

You tighten your hold, flustered and speechless. Hood pats your hand.

"There we go. Good listener," he says. "Everything okay back there? You're quiet."

For a second, it sounds like he's teasing you, and your stomach jumps like when Jason teases you. But the Red Hood isn't playful like that, right?

"I'm okay," you say.

"Nervous?"

You shake your head. "No."

"No? Glad you've got so much faith in me."

"I do."

Hood turns on his bike, revving the engine. You squeeze him tighter as he flicks the kickstand up with his foot, pushing off and balancing. He does so effortlessly. Wow.

Hood gets you home quickly. He follows all the traffic laws and doesn't speed. He drives efficiently, like Jason, but he takes it slow on the leans... like Jason. Maybe he can feel how you get nervous on motorcycles.

"This is it?" he asks, slowing down next to your building.

"Yes. Thank you." You wait as Hood stops and gets off first, then helps you off. You take his gloved hand, and he helps you off like it's nothing, bearing most of your weight.

"No more secretly working nights," he tells you. "I'll know."

You don't question it. "Okay. I won't."

"Good. Have a good night."

He starts to mount his bike. You step off the curb, in front of him. Hood stops.

"What's up?" he asks, nodding at you. He addresses you so casually... so familiar.

"Um, I was... do you mind if I ask for your autograph?"

Hood looks at you for a long moment. You lose your nerve and turn around.

"Never mind! Sorry. Good night."

"Hang on."

You turn around. Hood beckons you over with two fingers. You go, eyes widening as he takes off his gloves. He gives them to you. You catch a glimpse of more scars and maybe a silver ring. Jason sometimes wears a silver chain around his neck. It dangles over you when he’s—

"Oh no! Oh my God, you don't have to—"

"Got a bunch." It sounds like he's smiling. "Always nice to meet a fan. Any trouble with that boyfriend, let me know."

You're not sure if you respond, you're so dazed. Hood pulls away from the curb like a bat out of hell, waving at you as he goes.

You're already in bed by the time Jason comes home from work. He comes home earlier than usual, and you're still awake when he crawls into your bed next to you. You've taken down the Red Hood poster, too embarrassed from last week. Jason insists he's going to get you an even bigger poster. You beg him not to.

"How'd you know I was at my place?" you ask, yawning.

"My apartment alarm didn't report anybody entering."

"Still think it's weird that you track who enters your apartment," you say.

"Safety first. You usually don't go to your place unless you're coming home from work. You wouldn't happen to have worked a shift tonight without telling me, would you?"

"Okay, yes, but please don't be mad. I didn't take the bus." You pause before finishing. "Red Hood actually gave me a ride home tonight."

You reach sleepily for Jason's arm. He tucks himself into place behind you, wrapping an arm and a leg around you. He smells like your shampoo.

"Yeah, don't think we aren't done with the conversation about you taking the bus home at night, by the way. Red Hood, huh? Should I be doubly worried then?"

You roll your eyes. "Not on my part. But I was definitely getting a vibe."

"A vibe? Red Hood's got the hots for my girl?"

Jason slips a hand under your shirt to rest on your stomach. He always runs a little cool and it feels good on warm nights like tonight. He doesn't mean anything by it, but desire creeps onto you, slow and thick. You think of the gloves in your dresser.

"It kinda felt like that," you say, a little embarrassed to even admit it. "He, uh, gave me his gloves."

"His gloves?" Jason sounds sleepy. "That's basically a proposal."

"Two centuries ago, maybe. Please don't be jealous. Nothing happened, Jay."

You'd never cheat on Jason, obviously, but you've had a crush on the Red Hood since he came to Gotham. Riding on his motorcycle tonight was exhilarating, to say the least. Still, you don't want this to be a thing. Another guy would probably get upset.

But Jason's tone doesn't change. He's still sleepy and peaceful. "'M not. Might have to kick his ass, though."

You laugh at the thought. Jason kneads the soft fat of your stomach. "Something funny?" he asks. "Y'think I can't take him?"

"I know you could," you say, and you mean it, even though you're not sure how well your boyfriend can dodge bullets. "But, I mean, you're too nice for him, Jay. Hood fights dirty when he needs to. You fight fair."

"Wow. So you don't think I could beat Red Hood in a fight. Way to bruise a man's ego, baby." Jason buries his face in the back of your neck in retaliation. You squeal at the tickles.

"I didn't say that!" you say, giggling. "It's a compliment. You're too nice to scrap with him. Ah! Jason, mercy, mercy!"

"So you're saying he's mean?" Jason asks, showing mercy and easing off. He returns to just holding you, leg over yours.

"Not... not to civilians. Not to me. He's just a little rough overall, I think. But he seemed nice."

"Oh my God, you loved it," Jason says, no longer sounding so sleepy. "You loved being on his bike. You loved him being a little rough. This was a dream come true."

"No! No, Jason, it wasn't like that."

"You got the hots for Hood," he sing-songs. "Hood hots, Hood hots!"

"I don't, I don't," you say, shoving your face into your pillow. "Stop. You know you're the only one for me."

Jason hums, pushing himself up so he's on top of you without putting his weight on you. He pets your hip. "Yeah, baby, I know. Don't worry. Not mad. I think it's cute. You got a little flustered around him. No biggie. I trust ya."

You sigh, turning your face to the side. "He was professional."

Jason snorts. "Yeah, he better have been. Pretty lady like you holding onto him."

"I'm sure he helps way prettier ladies in a night," you mumble.

Jason easily rolls you over, so you're facing each other. He tucks you into his chest, an arm and a leg returning to their places around you.

"I seriously doubt it," he says. You can feel his voice vibrate through his chest. "Everyone knows you're the prettiest princess in Gotham, baby."

You hesitate, thinking about Hood. "Princess?"

"Yeah. That okay?"

"Oh. Yeah, that's fine."

Jason makes a noise like he knows something you don't.

Every so often, you really hate living in Gotham. It's usually around a time like this: Scarecrow has broken out of Arkham, and he's causing serious damage. Everyone has been warned to stay inside, and the sky is hazy with fear gas.

You're mostly worried about Jason. He went out a few hours ago and he hasn't texted you since. You asked where he was and called him a dozen times but he didn't respond. You're freaking out.

You're about to go out and look for him, Scarecrow be damned, when suddenly Red Hood is on the balcony of your boyfriend's apartment. How did he avoid tripping the alarm? You go to open the window but he opens it himself.

Shit. Is Hood breaking into Jason's apartment? Who the hell do you call in this situation?

"Hey," he says, voice tight. "Get your bag. We gotta go. Scarecrow and Ivy teamed up and it's bad."

"What? Okay. Oh my God." You jump into action, running into Jason's room to get your stuff. You come back, about to climb out the window, but you stop. He waves you over urgently. You shake your head and take a step back.

"No, I can't go without Jason," you say. "He was supposed to be back by now. What if he's gassed? He hasn't called me."

Hood fidgets, his whole body restless. He looks around, then looks back at you. "I'm sure he's fine. You can call him again when you're—"

"No," you say, staring those glowing white eyes down. "I don't care what authority you might hold, Hood. I'm not leaving Jason. He might come back here and he'll worry if I'm not here. I was going to go look for him."

"Don't do that," he says firmly. "Jesus." He looks at you, rolls his shoulders, then sighs. He shakes his head and grabs his helmet.

"Fuck," he says. "Fuck, I didn't wanna do it this way. Shit. Okay."

The latches of his helmet click. And suddenly you have your boyfriend in front of you, dressed like the Red Hood. He drops his helmet on the floor. 

Your mouth falls open. "Wh—Jason? What? Are you–you were him the whole time? Are you fucking ser—"

"I know, I'm sorry." He takes your hands. "I'm sorry, honey. I wasn't gonna tell you this way but you're so stubborn, worrying about me and shit. I promise you can yell at me as much as you want after. You can throw stuff, hit me, break up with me, anything you want, just—"

You squeeze his hands. Jason stops his senseless ramble.

"I would never do any of those things," you say. "You don't know me at all if you think I would, Jay. I'm just, y'know, caught off-guard. Apparently, I've had a crush on my boyfriend since he before he became my boyfriend."

He cracks a smile. You roll your eyes.

"And you've been a smug asshole about it this whole time!"

"Kinda," he admits, looking away, and you see how pleased he's been about the whole thing. "I'll make it up to ya."

"Yeah, you better. Where are we going?"

Jason's shoulders slump with relief. You see it in his eyes too. 

"You'll go with me?"

"Always," you say.

He takes his helmet, shifting from your boyfriend back to Red Hood. Wow. "Okay. Down the fire escape. We're taking my bike."

Jason puts his helmet back on. You follow him down the fire escape and to where his—Hood's—bike is parked.

"Your bike, huh?" you ask.

"My other bike."

"Uh-huh."

Hood gives you a rebreather and you take off, headed toward the Diamond District. He goes down a ramp and through some pretty fancy gates. Where...?

Concrete walls slide open and Jason pulls into what looks like a lair. Holy shit. He helps you off and you take off your helmet, staring up at a cave ceiling that seems to go on forever.

"Hood," someone growls, startling your gaze back down. Batman is glaring at you. "Why is there a civilian here?"

Jason takes off his helmet. "Yeah, so, this is my girlfriend. She's staying here, and if you try to kick her out, I'm gonna blow up the Batmobile. Cool? Cool."

"Since when do you have a girlf—" begins Red Robin.

"No questions," Jason snaps. "Not one word. Be nice to her or I'll kill you all."

You gasp. Jason turns to you, pulling you closer.

"No, sorry, I wouldn't do that. No deaths. They would recover from my maiming," he says to you, petting your shoulder.

"Not better," you hiss.

He shrugs, smiling. "'M a man of habit. Gonna try to change me now?" He kisses your cheek and you melt like you always do under his affection. Jason leans in and whispers the last part: "You could. I'd let ya."

"Wow," says Spoiler. Is the entire Gotham vigilante taskforce here? "So it's true what they say about married life."

"We aren't married," you say, confused. Jason grunts in annoyance, cradling the small of your back.

"With how he's acting? You might as well be," she says.

"This is so awesome," Nightwing says, full of glee. "Oh, you'll never hear the end of this, Jason."

"Listen, Dickbag—"

"Focus," Batman says. "She can't be here. Take her upstairs and come right back."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Sure, fine. C'mon, baby."

Robin is glaring at you, which kind of makes you want to throw up. But then Black Bat and Spoiler wave at you, and that makes you feel better. You wave back.

"Batman's really mad," you say as Jason leads you upstairs.

"Yeah, that's his default setting. He's been mad for about twenty-five years. He'll get over it. You're gonna meet Alfred next. He's the best."

"Alfred?"

You get to the top of the stairs and step into what looks like a mansion. Wait a minute. You've seen this mansion before. In a magazine...

"Is this Wayne Manor? What the hell, Jason? Am I meeting the Queen of Denmark next?"

"Again, not how I wanted you to find out," he says.

"I'm–I'm not dressed to be in Wayne Manor!"

"Bruce dresses up as a bat every night. Rest assured that you are the most normal person in this house, and none of those freaks downstairs can ever take that away from you."

You frown. "Still..."

"Don't y'trust me?" Jason asks, tapping under your chin. He towers over you, and now you notice that his Red Hood boots are taller than his normal ones. Clever.

"Yeah, I trust you, but—" You stop as Jason herds you against the wall, helmet dangling from his hand. He looks very official with his guns and armored clothing. His black cargo pants are pulled taut around his thighs, outlining how thick they are. It's just now occurring to you how deadly competent your boyfriend is, now that you've learned that the Red Hood was never that far away. Maybe you should be scared but, well, the wires were crossed a while ago.

"I didn't even suspect anything," you say, blinking at him. "You had me completely."

Jason shrugs, eyes half-lidded. You're not mad. He knows it. "Made sure you wouldn't find out. Wanted to find the right time, see how you felt about Hood. And then imagine my surprise when I learn that you've got his face on your wall, and his gloves in your dresser."

"You liked it," you say, lifting your chin, challenging.

Jason leans in, cupping the back of your neck, lips going to your ear. He wedges a knee between yours. "How could I not? You're so pretty, so nice t'me. Y'like me that much? Want me even like that? Tellin' Hood you love me, God—"

Something beeps, loud and shrill, and you jump. Jason just sighs exasperatedly, pulling out his phone and denying the alert.

"You have to go," you say, suddenly guilty you've kept Jason for so long.

"I—" Jason grimaces. "Yeah. I'll be back. We're not done."

You bite the inside of your lip. "I hope not."

Jason kisses you, hot and hard, and then he seems to steel himself, shifting into whatever Gotham needs him to be. He puts his helmet on and brushes your cheek, then disappears down the stairs to the Cave. You lean against the wall, catching your breath.

Maybe you'll put your poster back up. 

[pr1nceofg0tham]

little bird 𖥔 jason loves you, he just can’t say the words…

𖥔 pairing jason todd x gn!reader

𖥔 tw/genre hurt comfort kinda, fluff, est. relationship, sick fic, jason being sweet and self deprecating as per usual, reader is sick and in love, nods to a hallmark movie, inescapable longing and love for jason todd. unedited.

𖥔 w/c 1614

𖥔 a/n this is my first ever jason todd fic!! i've been wanting to start writing for him for a while now, and now that it's summer there is no excuse, i hope you like this fic as much as i liked writing it!

please please tell me how you felt about this one and if you have any ideas for future fics, i'm all ears!!! mwah mwah mwah!!

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, little bird,” he tells you—voice gruff and unsure in its sweetness. 

Jason never feels right giving comfort; more at ease with violence and anger, but you’re too precious for anything but soft words and softer touches. He loves you, that much he’s sure of, but he lacks the confidence. 

You’re everything to him, the only thing that matters as much as his rage, and how can that be? You’re nothing but love, nothing but soft smiles and golden hour laughs. He feels as though he’s loved you forever, even though it’s only been a few months–He’s still keeping you hidden away, placed inside his chest cavity and locked up safe from his family… more than a secret, less than a lie. 

So far the relationship has been clumsy and quiet; Friday night movies and diner dates–it’s fragile in its newness, but the love is bright. Jason knows he loves you, has told you in his own awkward way, but the words won’t come. 

You’ve said them, out loud and honest, yet for some reason he can’t get them out of his mind; they’re in his head, in his hands, even in his eyes, but his tongue is a stubborn bastard. Instead of saying it he ties your shoes for you and makes you breakfast, reminds you to take your meds and drives the speed limit. Every action he takes is in service to you, every time he steps out for patrol it's to make the city safer for you, yet still he can’t get himself to confess. 

He wishes he could say it as easy as you do, they way your lips curl around the vowels and snap out the consonants. It’s so simple to you, you love him so you tell him, but Jason is a stranger in the realm of love, and the language still fits clunky in his mouth. 

This morning he cursed himself for not being able to say it, it was impossible to see you in your work clothes–done up and lovely–and have to say goodbye. The emotion flooded over him, sweeping him away in a sneaker wave of pure unadulterated poison. He’d been familiar with pain, knew the shape of it in his bones, yet the violence of the moment–of saying goodbye to you when he wasn’t ready–had been horrid. Still the words couldn’t come. 

And now you’re here in his apartment, bundled up in his shoddy sheets, sick as a dog and crying about nothing. 

You got caught in the rain, (unexpected in the Summer Gotham heat) and you were drenched before you made it around the block. Jason’s apartment was closer, and while it might not have been the best option on account of the broken thermostat and generally bad insulation, the thought of being soaked through and tired was better if your boyfriend was around. 

The cold came on fast, hitting you before he was even home from the library, a gnarly inescapable thing that riddled you unable to breathe. Jason found you with a red nose and glassy eyes, and suddenly all of Alfred’s lessons came barreling into focus. Before you could kiss him hello he had you in bed, wrapped in his silken sheets and a thermometer under your tongue. He’d been so sweet, making you soup and turning on the cheesiest movie he could find–one about a young girl moving back home and falling in love with a cowboy or something. 

You love him so much, this sweet man… You know it’s hard for him– to show affection without worrying it will be used against him or torn away–but still he tries, venturing into life with you with the bravery of a wounded soldier. Seeing him fuss over you… the way he pouts as he brings his lips to your forehead to feel if you have a fever, and his bright smile when he discovers you don’t… You love him, maybe that’s what brings the tears–the fact that you love this sweet boy, and he loves you even if he can’t say it. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Why are you crying?” 

“I don’t know, Jay,” you tell him, “I think I just love you, y’know” 

“And that’s making you this sad?!” He doesn’t understand… Love’s supposed to be transcendent and happy, at least that's what people say. Yet, if you’re this sad when you think of him, he must be doing something wrong… He remembers that poisonous feeling of saying goodbye to you, is that what love is? Poison and tears and insecurity?

He thinks back to the first time he saw you: frostbitten and chilly from the winter air, you looked a little like you do now–red nosed and shivering–he fell into love like a skydive, terrified and gasping, but there you were: lovely and honest and everything he never knew he needed. He feels like that now, adrenaline filled and anxious. He just wants you to be okay, it kills him that you’re sick, that you’re crying over him instead of eating your soup. 

“No, baby, it’s making me happy…” you say, laughing through your gasping sobs. “I mean look at you, you’re so handsome and you’re taking care of me.” 

Jason laughs, sighing out a great gasp of relief. All he ever wants is to take care of you, to make sure you’re safe and happy. Still crying, you let him lead the spoon into your mouth, swallowing the broth slowly so as to not choke through your tears. He’s as patient as ever, using your hand to shovel more onto your utensil, feeding you bite after bite until the bowl is clean. 

You know he loves you. 

You can see it in how he looks at you, how his calloused hands graze softly against your skin, and the way his voice never raises. You know he loves you, and truthfully you don’t need him to say the words, just as long as he continues looking at you the way he is now–like you’re some lost treasure he just happened across. You hope he won’t be scared to say the words forever, but if he is you’ll take the looks and the soft touches… you’ll love him forever if it means he keeps looking at you the way he is now. 

“You sure, sweetheart?” He asks, still a little nervous. “I don’t want you to be lying to me just cause I’m tender hearted” The quick of his brow makes you giggle, nuzzling closer to the hand that wipes away your tears. 

“Of course, honey, I would never lie to you.” You tell him, and you mean it as sure as sunrise. 

His heart swells, stuttering in his chest as he watches your crumpled form, God he loves you. As if to prove it, he moves closer–moving your empty bowl to the side table and wrapping you in his arms. You’re close enough you can hear his heart, the familiar song lulling you with its quick rhythm. Jason feels bad, but he loves you like this: sweet and helpless, finding comfort in his hold when you could find it anywhere else. 

For a while you just lay there, chest to chest, neither of you truly paying attention to the movie but laughing at the corny parts all the same. Every once in a while he pulls away to give you a tissue or take your temperature, completing a list of steps that are only really obvious to him. He finally breaks the silence to say again, 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, little bird.” He says it is sweeter this time and quieter too, always earnest, your Jason.

“It’s okay, Jay, I’ve gone through worse.” You can feel him wince at your words, always sensitive to hearing about you hurting. He hates it, hates knowing that you’ve ever had any struggle–that there were moments where he couldn’t keep you safe, even if it's just because he didn’t know you yet. 

“I just hate to think of you in pain, baby,” He says, “Should only ever wear a smile.”He squeezes you tighter as he says this, and his accent gets looser, devolving back into that Gotham street kid he always was. 

You love him like this, cozy in his sweater and warm from your shared body heat. You love him, and you’d tell him everyday if it made him get closer to believing he deserves it. 

“Ah well, in sickness and in health and all that.” 

“Oh I didn’t know we took any vows,” He says, but his heart jumps and his hold on you gets tighter. 

“I love you honey,” you say. Honest and true, matter of fact. It’s a little out of place disjointed to the current conversation–there is no humor in your voice or in your eyes when they meet him– but it's true, and you promised him you’d always be honest. You love him, you would never joke about that. 

Jason thinks about all the times he wanted to say it back… All the times the words almost emerged and enveloped you, he wishes he could say it. Wish he could wrap you up in the phrase and not be afraid, but it’s still too harrowing. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, yet you’re the one that’s paying–that breaks his heart. He loves you so much, even if he can’t say the words… even if all he can do is make you soup and tuck you in at night, and make sure the world is safer for you. He loves you, and he tells you the best way he can. 

“Me too, little bird, me too.”

[pr1nceofg0tham]

youtube content in the dc universe

two | three

[pr1nceofg0tham]

A boy and his cow🌾

[pr1nceofg0tham]

little bird 𖥔 jason loves you, he just can’t say the words…

𖥔 pairing jason todd x gn!reader

𖥔 tw/genre hurt comfort kinda, fluff, est. relationship, sick fic, jason being sweet and self deprecating as per usual, reader is sick and in love, nods to a hallmark movie, inescapable longing and love for jason todd. unedited.

𖥔 w/c 1614

𖥔 a/n this is my first ever jason todd fic!! i've been wanting to start writing for him for a while now, and now that it's summer there is no excuse, i hope you like this fic as much as i liked writing it!

please please tell me how you felt about this one and if you have any ideas for future fics, i'm all ears!!! mwah mwah mwah!!

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, little bird,” he tells you—voice gruff and unsure in its sweetness. 

Jason never feels right giving comfort; more at ease with violence and anger, but you’re too precious for anything but soft words and softer touches. He loves you, that much he’s sure of, but he lacks the confidence. 

You’re everything to him, the only thing that matters as much as his rage, and how can that be? You’re nothing but love, nothing but soft smiles and golden hour laughs. He feels as though he’s loved you forever, even though it’s only been a few months–He’s still keeping you hidden away, placed inside his chest cavity and locked up safe from his family… more than a secret, less than a lie. 

So far the relationship has been clumsy and quiet; Friday night movies and diner dates–it’s fragile in its newness, but the love is bright. Jason knows he loves you, has told you in his own awkward way, but the words won’t come. 

You’ve said them, out loud and honest, yet for some reason he can’t get them out of his mind; they’re in his head, in his hands, even in his eyes, but his tongue is a stubborn bastard. Instead of saying it he ties your shoes for you and makes you breakfast, reminds you to take your meds and drives the speed limit. Every action he takes is in service to you, every time he steps out for patrol it's to make the city safer for you, yet still he can’t get himself to confess. 

He wishes he could say it as easy as you do, they way your lips curl around the vowels and snap out the consonants. It’s so simple to you, you love him so you tell him, but Jason is a stranger in the realm of love, and the language still fits clunky in his mouth. 

This morning he cursed himself for not being able to say it, it was impossible to see you in your work clothes–done up and lovely–and have to say goodbye. The emotion flooded over him, sweeping him away in a sneaker wave of pure unadulterated poison. He’d been familiar with pain, knew the shape of it in his bones, yet the violence of the moment–of saying goodbye to you when he wasn’t ready–had been horrid. Still the words couldn’t come. 

And now you’re here in his apartment, bundled up in his shoddy sheets, sick as a dog and crying about nothing. 

You got caught in the rain, (unexpected in the Summer Gotham heat) and you were drenched before you made it around the block. Jason’s apartment was closer, and while it might not have been the best option on account of the broken thermostat and generally bad insulation, the thought of being soaked through and tired was better if your boyfriend was around. 

The cold came on fast, hitting you before he was even home from the library, a gnarly inescapable thing that riddled you unable to breathe. Jason found you with a red nose and glassy eyes, and suddenly all of Alfred’s lessons came barreling into focus. Before you could kiss him hello he had you in bed, wrapped in his silken sheets and a thermometer under your tongue. He’d been so sweet, making you soup and turning on the cheesiest movie he could find–one about a young girl moving back home and falling in love with a cowboy or something. 

You love him so much, this sweet man… You know it’s hard for him– to show affection without worrying it will be used against him or torn away–but still he tries, venturing into life with you with the bravery of a wounded soldier. Seeing him fuss over you… the way he pouts as he brings his lips to your forehead to feel if you have a fever, and his bright smile when he discovers you don’t… You love him, maybe that’s what brings the tears–the fact that you love this sweet boy, and he loves you even if he can’t say it. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Why are you crying?” 

“I don’t know, Jay,” you tell him, “I think I just love you, y’know” 

“And that’s making you this sad?!” He doesn’t understand… Love’s supposed to be transcendent and happy, at least that's what people say. Yet, if you’re this sad when you think of him, he must be doing something wrong… He remembers that poisonous feeling of saying goodbye to you, is that what love is? Poison and tears and insecurity?

He thinks back to the first time he saw you: frostbitten and chilly from the winter air, you looked a little like you do now–red nosed and shivering–he fell into love like a skydive, terrified and gasping, but there you were: lovely and honest and everything he never knew he needed. He feels like that now, adrenaline filled and anxious. He just wants you to be okay, it kills him that you’re sick, that you’re crying over him instead of eating your soup. 

“No, baby, it’s making me happy…” you say, laughing through your gasping sobs. “I mean look at you, you’re so handsome and you’re taking care of me.” 

Jason laughs, sighing out a great gasp of relief. All he ever wants is to take care of you, to make sure you’re safe and happy. Still crying, you let him lead the spoon into your mouth, swallowing the broth slowly so as to not choke through your tears. He’s as patient as ever, using your hand to shovel more onto your utensil, feeding you bite after bite until the bowl is clean. 

You know he loves you. 

You can see it in how he looks at you, how his calloused hands graze softly against your skin, and the way his voice never raises. You know he loves you, and truthfully you don’t need him to say the words, just as long as he continues looking at you the way he is now–like you’re some lost treasure he just happened across. You hope he won’t be scared to say the words forever, but if he is you’ll take the looks and the soft touches… you’ll love him forever if it means he keeps looking at you the way he is now. 

“You sure, sweetheart?” He asks, still a little nervous. “I don’t want you to be lying to me just cause I’m tender hearted” The quick of his brow makes you giggle, nuzzling closer to the hand that wipes away your tears. 

“Of course, honey, I would never lie to you.” You tell him, and you mean it as sure as sunrise. 

His heart swells, stuttering in his chest as he watches your crumpled form, God he loves you. As if to prove it, he moves closer–moving your empty bowl to the side table and wrapping you in his arms. You’re close enough you can hear his heart, the familiar song lulling you with its quick rhythm. Jason feels bad, but he loves you like this: sweet and helpless, finding comfort in his hold when you could find it anywhere else. 

For a while you just lay there, chest to chest, neither of you truly paying attention to the movie but laughing at the corny parts all the same. Every once in a while he pulls away to give you a tissue or take your temperature, completing a list of steps that are only really obvious to him. He finally breaks the silence to say again, 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, little bird.” He says it is sweeter this time and quieter too, always earnest, your Jason.

“It’s okay, Jay, I’ve gone through worse.” You can feel him wince at your words, always sensitive to hearing about you hurting. He hates it, hates knowing that you’ve ever had any struggle–that there were moments where he couldn’t keep you safe, even if it's just because he didn’t know you yet. 

“I just hate to think of you in pain, baby,” He says, “Should only ever wear a smile.”He squeezes you tighter as he says this, and his accent gets looser, devolving back into that Gotham street kid he always was. 

You love him like this, cozy in his sweater and warm from your shared body heat. You love him, and you’d tell him everyday if it made him get closer to believing he deserves it. 

“Ah well, in sickness and in health and all that.” 

“Oh I didn’t know we took any vows,” He says, but his heart jumps and his hold on you gets tighter. 

“I love you honey,” you say. Honest and true, matter of fact. It’s a little out of place disjointed to the current conversation–there is no humor in your voice or in your eyes when they meet him– but it's true, and you promised him you’d always be honest. You love him, you would never joke about that. 

Jason thinks about all the times he wanted to say it back… All the times the words almost emerged and enveloped you, he wishes he could say it. Wish he could wrap you up in the phrase and not be afraid, but it’s still too harrowing. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, yet you’re the one that’s paying–that breaks his heart. He loves you so much, even if he can’t say the words… even if all he can do is make you soup and tuck you in at night, and make sure the world is safer for you. He loves you, and he tells you the best way he can. 

“Me too, little bird, me too.”

[pr1nceofg0tham]

BUBBLE WRAP HEART ╱ with JASON TODD ꩜ smau .ᐟ

★ ˙💌 ̟ !! req : Could I maybe request text messages for Jason Todd x (gender neutral) reader where the reader is just. Generally very sweet and emotional? Think them sending Jason cute images of two cats and being like “this is us, I miss you :((“ and such,, if it’s not too much of a bother ofc!

⊹ 💬 · had sm fun making these! thank you anon for the req and your sweet words<3

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

directory ⋆˚꩜ rules !

INBOX OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

✶⋆.© 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐂𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 don’t use my work without my consent.

[pr1nceofg0tham]

Tim Drake as your bf! - SMAU

Content: Swearing, crack, Tim Drake x Reader A/N: Requested! For yerluvsabbyyy, sorry for the inconsistencies with the dates and times everyone I was tweaking

Hope you all enjoyed!

Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Requests are open!

Property of suigenerisisadiva

Sources! -

Tim Drake Icons - @pfpanimes

Red Dividers - @enchanthings

[pr1nceofg0tham]

ANIMATED LINES | rainbow 002.

──────── ⵌ PINK ...

──────── ⵌ RED ...

──────── ⵌ ORANGE ...

──────── ⵌ MUSTARD ...

──────── ⵌ YELLOW ...

──────── ⵌ GREEN ...

──────── ⵌ MINT ...

──────── ⵌ BLUE ...

──────── ⵌ LAVENDER ...

──────── ⵌ PURPLE ...

( tw : flashing ) the og animated lines, but in other sizes ! apologies for not making these in different sizes in the first place—it’s actually been a year since I first released them heh. anyway, here are the other sizes 〜

as always, they’re vvv smol so it’ll be easier to save on desktop !

please like, reblog, and credit 〜

support me through ko-fi | more dividers →

[pr1nceofg0tham]

Tim Drake🔄Mask OFF • Work Illust

[pr1nceofg0tham]

⌕ DC COMICS • stephanie brown.

♡ like or reblog if you save/use.

[pr1nceofg0tham]

HOW I THINK SOCIAL MEDIA IS LIKE IN ㅤㅤㅤㅤ GOTHAM CITY

tiktoks where people are like “day 54 of trying to get batman to notice me by looking helpless and holding a brick outside of wayne tower.” and then like. a day later they upload another one like “guys it worked. i threw the brick at a window and he SWOOPED DOWN AND YELLED AT ME. i think we’re engaged now.”

BATMAN FAN ACCOUNTS. “batm4nslut6969: yall i saw him last night and his thighs were THIGHING. i can’t.” “i want him to run me over with the batmobile. respectfully.” “what does it say about ME that i’m in love with a man who beats people up in alleys.” “he punched my cousin and now my cousin’s life is on track. king.”

you’ll see a tiktok like “get ready with me to testify against the penguin 😘” and they’re curling their lashes like “trial’s at 10 i’m wearing valentino. hope the DA is hot.”

facebook moms in gotham be like “hi!! anyone else’s toddler develop shadow powers after playing near the narrows??? normal or???”

“guys u wont believe what just happened i was literally just tryna get a tuna sandwich and then scarecrow gassed the 6 train again 💀” followed by: “ok but like did anyone else get lowkey productive on fear toxin bc same”

and like imagine those "what's in my bag" videos but it’s like “what’s in my gotham emergency kit” and they pull out like mace, an inhaler, one (1) batarang they found in an alley, a granola bar, and a tiny bottle of holy water just in case it’s some demon this time.

every batman chase has like. three angles. one guy from his apartment, one guy hiding in a dumpster, and one guy who just happened to be doing a GRWM video when batman crashed through the laundromat window behind him like a medieval poltergeist in kevlar.

there’s also that one tiktoker who’s like. always posting “day in the life as a gothamite 🥰” and it’s literally her dodging debris from a police chase while trying to get a matcha. like she’s got wireless earbuds in while the riddler is detonating something in the background. caption: “when i said i wanted chaos i meant eyeliner not explosives 😭😭😭😭”

people be going live from literal crime scenes. like “hey besties so i’m outside ACE chemicals rn and idk what’s going on but i just saw a clown sprint past. anyone know what’s happening???” and everyone’s commenting like “GIRL GO HOME” and “go inside nowwwwww” and “live laugh leave gotham.”

you'd see youtube videos like “i lived in gotham for 2 days and here’s why i left” and it’s just footage of a man watching fire rain from the sky while eating a pretzel in pure silence.

twitter’s a HELLHOLE. people tweeting like “batman knocked over my hotdog stand again. this is the third time. i’m filing a restraining order” and “why does bruce wayne look like he hasn’t slept since 2003” and “if the joker had a podcast i’d listen. just being honest.”

ALSO fancams of villains??? OF COURSE. edits of scarecrow like “your mental health isn’t scary but he is 😍🔥” and joker fan edits with lana del rey playing over it like “he slayed literally. like a bunch of ppl.”

there’s discourse about EVERYTHING. “does batman exploit underage sidekicks??” vs “no they CHOSE to be there 🙄”

imagine gotham love confession tiktoks like “i met him in an alley while harley quinn was robbing a jewelry store” and the comments are like “literally gotham's version of a meet cute 💘💘💘💘💘💘💘”

theres podcasts like “the ethics of vigilante justice” and then they go off topic and start debating if bruce wayne and batman have ever been in the same room and one of the hosts is like “they have different jawlines 🙄”

the gentrification discourse?? YEAH. “just moved to crime alley!! rent was SO cheap!! the vibes are kind of ✨✨ except for the screaming at night. also someone left a human tooth in my mailbox. i think that means i’m accepted into the neighborhood??”

and of course. OF COURSE. the joker thirst edits. like i wish i was kidding. i wish. but someone posts “what if he kidnapped me actually. like what if i let him.” and it’s a picture of him looking crazy with 15 different filters and a caption that says “he’s literally me (i need therapy).”

and GOTHAM INFLUENCERS. OH MY GOD. the way they would be the WORST. “hey guys today i’m doing a billionaire morning routine <3” cue 6 am ice bath in the wayne building gym someone does a house tour and people in the comments are like “i think that’s *insert famous rich socialites name's* old penthouse????”

homeless ppl getting filmed for fake charity clout. omg. “today we’re giving a makeover to this unhoused gotham citizen 🥺”

gotham meme culture is top tier. like they’re actually so funny. because they have to be. it’s trauma response meets terminal irony meets "oh the joker blew up a costco again time to live tweet." they have memes like: “you vs the guy she told you not to worry about” - it’s a pic of bruce wayne (or some rich socialite) in a suit and then batman looking like roadkill in a cape or something like “just got mugged by harley quinn and she said i have bad taste in shoes. kinda valid tbh.” or “why is scarecrow hot now. like when did that happen.” “penguin looked at me sideways in the club. should i press charges or kiss him idk.”

some of them are rich rich. and also literally host giveaways with captions like: “win a week in my tower penthouse if you repost and comment ur favourite crime i’ve survived 💋”

the drama is UNREAL. like gotham reddit?? a cesspool. like there’s this one post every week like : “AMA: i dated bruce wayne for 3 weeks in 2018 and he ghosted me after i found a batarang under his couch.” and then batman side of reddit is like “this guy tried to sell me fake kryptonite at a gas station AMA” and the replies are like “was it the guy in the trenchcoat outside the CVS?? i knew he was shady.” oh and you know there’s a gotham reddit thread called r/gothamCitizenSupport and it’s just “does anyone know how to get joker gas out of your vents” “batman smashed my windshield again how do i file an insurance claim” “my roommate joined a cult and now she glows in the dark?? normal or should i move out?”

you know the “hot takes” girlies?? yeah they’re deranged. “ok but like… what does batman really do for the economy.” or “i’m just saying gotham has more billionaires than public libraries and i feel like that’s not a coincidence???” or “why is no one talking about the gentrification of *xyz place name* just because ivy turned a building into a forest resort spa”

the comments are always fighting for their lives like: “he saved my life leave him alone??” or “girl i got evicted because catwoman turned my apartment into a goth club shut up”

ALSOOOO there are entire sides of gotham tiktok like:

“batman sighting alerts”

“gotham thrift hauls (featuring actual riddler merch)”

“bruce wayne conspiracy theory corner”

“citizen thirst traps featuring blurry robins”

“updates from people who work at arkham: the podcast”

and every time a villain escapes it’s like “uhhh guys. just saw mr. freeze at the bodega. he said he wants vengeance.

"guys...my parents just told me we're moving to gotham because its cheaper...help me what should i expect?"

OH AND BATMAN WOULD HATE IT. and there are so many compilations like “BATMAN GETTING FED UP WITH CITIZENS PART 7” where it’s just clips of him looking pissed af. dramatically because someone asked for a selfie mid-chase or tried to ask him to do fit check in their video.

[pr1nceofg0tham]

If I can't have you baby, no one else in this world can!

SYNOPSIS: The Batboys & Cass at their most unhinged, most protective, and most devoted. TAGS: FEMALE Reader! Fluff! Jealousy! Fake Marriage, Mild possessive behavior, Mild innuendo / suggestive banter, Mentions of weapons/violence + Older! Of-Age! Damian NOTE: Don’t take the content or characterizations too seriously! It’s literally just a goofy, for-fun fic :ppp AO3: yenwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

જ⁀➴ RICHARD GRAYSON

“I hate these missions,” came Dick’s voice, petulant and immediate in your earpiece.

You didn’t pause. Instead, you stepped delicately around a marble column, your heels tapping rhythmically across the ballroom floor. Your dress shimmered with every movement, a slinky midnight blue number that hugged your form like it had been stitched by jealous gods. Your fingers grazed the low curve of your hip, pretending to adjust the fabric, when in reality you were activating the mic hidden beneath a faux diamond brooch.

“Nightwing,” you said calmly, smiling at a champagne server as they approached. You took a glass with a graceful nod, flipping your hair over your shoulder with casual elegance. “We’re at a gala. There are hors d'oeuvres and a string quartet. Try not to combust.”

“I am combusting,” he muttered, like he was personally being subjected to torture. “You’re pretending to be married to Barry Allen. That’s basically infidelity.”

“We fake-filed a fake tax return together like, five minutes ago,” you said dryly. “Relax.”

Dick huffed—huffed—and you could practically see him brooding on some rooftop, arms crossed like a bat-gargoyle. “I just think I, your actual husband, should be there.”

You let out a quiet sigh, walking toward the ornate staircase where Barry stood chatting up a senator. You could already see the knowing glint in his eye as he spotted you, lifting his glass like a man trying too hard to appear casual.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath, smiling sweetly as you closed the distance. “You are literally in my ear. You’re more present than Barry is right now, and he's the one touching me.”

“What?!”

You glanced sideways at Barry. He shifted, his palm resting in the safe, polite territory of your lower back as he leaned in to whisper something to the senator. “Arm, Dick. It’s just an arm. We’re blending in. No need to send in the Batjet.”

“I swear to god if he tries the forehead kiss thing—”

You blinked. “What forehead kiss thing?”

“He does this thing,” Dick said, his voice a little breathless with outrage, “where he smiles all slow and soft and tilts his head, and he leans in like he’s gonna whisper something but instead he does this little forehead press like he’s in a rom-com. I hate it. That’s how he seduced Iris that one time!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a laugh, shifting your weight subtly as you allowed Barry to guide you toward the center of the room. The music shifted into a softer waltz.

“Pretty sure they were already dating when that happened.”

“Not the point. I should be the one fake-forehead-kissing you at fancy galas.”

You stepped past an older couple slow-dancing near the fountain centerpiece and turned, giving Barry a small apologetic smile as you pretended to be distracted by something in your clutch.

“Would that make you feel better?” you whispered.

“Immeasurably.”

You were about to respond when you caught the faintest flicker of movement overhead. The security camera nearest you pivoted. Just slightly. Just enough.

Your smile vanished.

“Did you just hijack the camera feed to watch me?”

Silence.

“Dick.”

“…No?”

“Dick.”

“Camera’s just doing its job.”

“You are the camera.”

There was a beat of long, silent guilt on the line.

“It’s a security sweep,” he finally muttered, defensive. “Totally standard.”

You turned and stared directly up at the rotating lens, narrowing your eyes. “You’re pouting, aren’t you?”

“No,” he said, full pout in his voice.

You glared at the camera, already knowing the exact pout he was pulling behind the cowl. Barry chuckled beside you, still in his gala-husband role. You looped your arm through his and leaned in with a soft smile, playing along for the watching donors. Wealth glittered across the ballroom. Pearls, tuxedos, and dresses worth more than a small country’s GDP.

And then Dick dropped the line.

“You just had to wear that gown, didn’t you?”

Your eyebrows twitched.

“It’s a dress.”

“It’s a crime scene, actually.”

You nearly snorted champagne up your nose. “Are you okay? Do you need to go punch a mugger and walk it off?”

“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “There are at least six guys pretending not to stare at you right now. One of them dropped a canapé. I watched it happen. I’m seconds from pulling the fire alarm.”

You hummed in amusement and tilted your head, letting the chandelier light catch the sheen of your lashes.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

You swirled the champagne in your glass, then took a slow, knowing sip, the bubbles tickling your lips as you smirked. “Are you gonna rappel in through the ceiling and punch Barry in the face mid-waltz?”

He didn’t answer immediately. And that was the worst part.

“…Maybe.”

You laughed under your breath, drawing curious eyes from across the floor. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever married.”

“I’m the only man you’ve ever married!”

“For now,” you teased.

Dead. Air.

You could feel it through the silence. The precise moment Dick’s jaw clenched, the way his hands probably curled into fists on some high-rise ledge. You almost felt sorry for the next criminal who looked at him funny.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally, voice dropping into that dangerous purr he only used when he was 70% teasing and 30% ready to commit felony assault. “If Barry so much as breathes too close to you, I’m driving over there and disguising myself as a waiter just to strangle him with a linen napkin.”

You giggled again, covering it with the rim of your glass and a quick flutter of lashes.

“Relax. You’re still my real husband.”

“I should hope so. I signed that marriage license in blood.”

“You pricked your finger opening the envelope.”

“It still counts.”

જ⁀➴ JASON TODD

The dim light of the bookstore warmed the space, the faint scent of old paper mixing with the musky air of Gotham’s streets. It was the perfect Saturday afternoon. You and Jason had been to this little corner bookstore a few times, tucked away near the flat you shared, where no one bothered you, just the way you liked it.

Today, the place had a sale. And you were taking full advantage. Because, books.

You bent slightly, pulling another book off the shelf. Your fingers lingered on the spine, the title catching your eye, but your gaze drifted briefly to Jason beside you.

He was holding a stack of books you'd already picked up, his strong arms braced beneath the weight. His other hand was occupied, casually flipping through the pages of a suspense novel. His worn-out motorcycle helmet hung off his elbow, the strap digging into his skin like it always did when he wasn’t too concerned about making a spectacle of himself.

The sight of him in his usual attire, tight compression shirt, cargo pants, and those damn ratty boots, was almost enough to make you forget why you were even here. You couldn’t help it. Your husband, who exuded that rough, untamed charm that always made your heart skip a beat, even after everything.

You coughed, quickly pulling your focus back to the shelf, cheeks flushed. You weren’t here to ogle at him. You were here to buy books, to stock up for the upcoming winter nights in your cozy little flat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him glance over at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he noticed the way you’d momentarily gotten lost in thought.

“You okay there, doll?” His voice was low, but that teasing drawl was there, practically sending your internal warning system into overload.

You snapped back to the shelf, cheeks now officially flushed. “Fine. Just… you know, checking out some new releases. That’s all.”

Jason took a step closer, his hand reaching out to adjust the stack of books he was holding, brushing against your side. You could feel his eyes on you, that damn teasing look in them. He knew.

"Uh-huh," he muttered, clearly amused.

You shot him a glare. “Stop being so obvious.” You grabbed a couple more books, pretending they were the most interesting thing in the store, while mentally trying to avoid imagining how good he looked in those pants.

The moment passed, and you made your way to the counter. But, of course, Jason insisted on carrying all the books for you, despite them weighing next to nothing. Which, really, wasn’t a huge shock. The man could bench press a car if he felt like it.

The cashier, a young guy in his twenties, greeted you with a friendly smile as he began scanning your newest babies.

“Oh, you read The Cruel Prince?” the cashier suddenly asked, lifting the book from your pile with excitement. “I’ve been dying to meet someone else who loves it.”

You couldn’t help but grin, excited to talk about one of your favorites. “Yes! It’s amazing. I love Jude as a character. She’s so strong, and the plot twists? Wild.”

The cashier, clearly eager to engage, leaned in slightly, his elbows resting casually on the counter. “I know, right? I just finished The Wicked King,” he said with a boyish laugh.

“I’m almost done with The Queen of Nothing now.” His eyes flicked up, lingering a moment too long on your face. “You into high fantasy like this, or was it just a one-time thing? ‘Cause if you’re looking for recs… I’ve got a few I think you’d really love.”

You smiled, delighted by the conversation. “Oh, I’m always open to fantasy suggestions. I love character-driven stuff with sharp worldbuilding.”

Completely absorbed, you missed the way the cashier’s eyes dipped briefly down your frame before flicking back up to meet yours. "Lucky for me, you stopped by today.”

Jason, who had been standing just behind you, tensed. Subtly, he stepped closer, the warmth of his body brushing your back as he shifted the weight of the books in his arms. His free hand settled on your waist, low and firm.

It was casual, at least outwardly, but there was nothing casual about the way his fingers flexed slightly against your coat.

The cashier, oblivious or ignoring the shift in energy, handed you the receipt, gaze still lingering. “Seriously, though. A doll like you geeking out over The Cruel Prince? That’s rare. Real rare. Kinda makes a guy believe in fate.”

Jason’s voice cut through the moment, cold enough to make the air around you drop a few degrees. “Yeah,” he said, eyes locked onto the cashier’s now, unreadable but intense. “She’s one of a kind.”

The cashier blinked, clearly feeling the shift, but tried to laugh it off. “Right, of course. I’ll, uh, finish ringing this up.”

Jason didn’t move, didn’t blink. “You do that.”

A moment later, the books were bagged, and the cashier’s enthusiasm had visibly dimmed. He offered a half-hearted smile, handing you the bag. “Enjoy your books.”

Jason took it before you could, his hand brushing against yours as he did. “We will.”

You followed Jason out of the store, blinking at the sudden rush of cold Gotham air. You were about to say something when you caught the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes stayed forward.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Jealous?”

He scoffed, but didn’t deny it. “Nah. Just making sure it’s clear. You’re mine.”

You slipped your arm through his. “Always.”

જ⁀➴ TIM DRAKE

“Hi, Timmy Junior,” you crooned, crouching low to the penthouse floor with a dramatic sweep of your coat as it slipped from your shoulders. Your fingers found the cat’s chin, scritching gently beneath the plush fur.

The feline let out a noise of pure bliss, an undignified grrrrrr-rup purr as he leaned his entire ridiculous body weight into your hand.

“You’re so spoiled,” you whispered like a secret, ruffling his ears. “Where��s your dad, huh? Inventing new molecules? Hacking the Pentagon again?”

You padded deeper into the apartment, your heels left by the door, your coat sliding neatly onto the rack with one smooth toss. The air inside was warm and low-lit, cast in that signature honey-gold glow Tim always adjusted for you when you worked late at the hospital. Cozy, inviting. The kind of lighting that lured you toward rest like gravity.

Your gaze landed on him instantly. Folded up on the couch in a soft Gotham U hoodie and well-worn sweatpants, socked feet tucked beneath him, glowing laptop balanced on his knees.

The blue light framed his face like a crime scene photograph. His fingers flew across the keys, precise, fast, controlled. His brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched just slightly, like whatever he was typing deserved war.

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you launched yourself forward like a sleepy jungle cat and collapsed into his lap, head-first, limbs folding as you burrowed in like you belonged there. Because you did.

Tim paused, but only for a second. Then one arm wrapped around your waist, locking you into place as his other hand resumed its furious typing like your sudden weight had simply activated some comforting subroutine. Like muscle memory. Like ritual.

“You’re late,” he murmured, finally meeting your eyes with that gentle, tired smile you’d always been weak for.

“Code blue,” you mumbled, curling tighter into his hoodie. “And two separate idiots who thought knife fights belonged in the ER lobby.”

He hummed low and familiar. “Gotham.”

You exhaled slowly, melting into him. The scent of him wrapped around you—green tea, clean soap, and ozone, like he hadn’t moved from this couch in hours. The safest smell in the world.

But something… tugged.

You felt it now. His body didn’t soften the way it usually did when you came home. His hold was there, but too controlled. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t kissed your forehead.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Tim’s lips parted like he wanted to deny it, but instead, he let out a breath that deflated his whole chest. “It’s nothing,” he said, almost too fast. “Just… internet drama. Dumb stuff.”

“About work?” you asked, brows raising.

“No,” he said after a beat, tone shifting. “About us.”

You stilled.

Tim blinked at you, then sighed. “You did an interview with Vicky Vale today?”

You blinked again, slower this time. “…Yesh,” you mumbled into his neck. “She was a nightmare in heels, but Bruce said something something ‘positive press,’ ‘curated coverage,’ PR speak, blah blah—”

“Right,” Tim cut in, nodding slowly. Too slowly. “And in that very public interview, broadcast to half of Gotham… you said Nightwing was your favorite vigilante.”

Silence.

You shifted.

“I stand by my words.”

He gasped in faux betrayal and grabbed your hand, holding it up like a piece of evidence. The diamond on your engagement ring caught the light dramatically.

“This is a literal rock,” he said, dead serious. “A shiny, cut-from-the-mountain, six-years-of-our-life-together rock. And that,” he gestured vaguely in the air, “is slander.”

You bit back a grin as he continued, spiraling.

“…Treason, even,” Tim added dramatically, eyes wide with mock hurt. “I should call Bruce. Or the League. Or Alfred. Someone’s has got to arrest you.”

You covered your mouth to stop the laugh threatening to bubble out. “You’re going to tattle on me to Alfred?”

“Damn right I am. He likes me best. He’ll understand.” He pointed a finger accusingly. “And you—you—are officially banned from Titans reruns, YouTube edits, and any content where Nightwing is in leather and doing that thing with his sticks.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “What thing with his sticks?”

Tim looked personally wounded. “You know what thing. The twirly thing! The one with the hip pivot.”

You smirked, throwing your arms around him like a blanket. “Hm. But you're still my favorite fiancé.”

He scowled into your hair. “Not good enough. I want it in writing. Signed affidavit. Notarized.”

“Fine,” you deadpanned. “I, under oath, declare Timothy Jackson Drake to have the second-best butt in Gotham.”

Tim pulled back sharply. “Second?!”

“Best fiancé,” you corrected with a squeal, kicking as he launched a tickle assault. “Best fiancé! Tim! Stop! I swear to—!”

He kept going, merciless and grinning, until you both dissolved into laughter and flailing limbs on the couch. Tim finally flopped beside you, chest heaving, arms still tangled around you.

You were still breathless, clutching your stomach, when he murmured:

“…Still should’ve been first-best butt.”

You reached over and kissed his nose. “You’re number one in my heart.”

“And in Alfred’s rankings.”

“Exactly.”

જ⁀➴ DAMIAN WAYNE

The wind bit at your exposed skin, Gotham’s chill cutting through every crack in your suit, making you shiver despite your best efforts to hide it. You tried to pull the oversized cape tighter around your shoulders, Damian’s cape, and flicked it dramatically, hoping for a bit of extra warmth. It made you feel a little ridiculous, but god, it was warm.

You glanced sideways at Damian, the stone wall of a man beside you, not even acknowledging the cold as he stared down at the street below, his jaw set and his posture as rigid as a statue.

You raised an eyebrow. “You know, I’m freezing my ass off in your oversized cape, and you’re standing there like a stone wall, making me look like a damsel in distress.”

Damian flicked a glance at you, his lips barely twitching into a smirk. "You do look ridiculous."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the cape again. It really did swallow you whole. You felt like an overgrown child in a giant’s cloak.

"Well, at least I’m warm," you muttered, "unlike some people."

“Tt. I’m fine, beloved,” he said, but there was a little something extra when he said beloved.

Something warm. Something intense. And despite the cold, your heart did a little leap.

Sexy stone statue, you grumbled to yourself. You were so not above it.

The night air crackled with tension for a moment before Damian broke the silence. “Something’s off. Stay close.”

You straightened, your body on high alert, instinctively leaning closer to him. You followed his gaze toward the flickering lights…A bank alarm.

The unmistakable shriek of Gotham’s most wanted sound—bank robbery.

“Trouble,” you said, giddy with the thrill.

“Indeed,” Damian replied, voice low and dangerous. Before you could respond, he vanished into the night, melting into the shadows.

“Show-off,” you muttered, launching a web and following him across the rooftops.

You landed beside him, crouched above a black van outside the bank. Thugs were unloading duffle bags—money and cologne, Gotham’s finest.

“Someone’s making a withdrawal,” you whispered.

“Then let’s make sure they don’t get too comfortable,” Damian muttered. With a single flick of his wrist, a Batarang flew out, slicing through the air and knocking one of the thieves out.

“Smooth,” you swooned, eyes wide with admiration. “Hey, this might be the best date night we’ve had all month.”

“Tch. I prefer less… crowded dates,” Damian shot back, already taking down another guy with a fluid motion that made it look effortless.

Fast. Precise. Unfairly hot.

You couldn’t help but grin, heart racing as you jumped into the action, doing a flip over one of the thieves to disarm him mid-air. You were all set to land on your feet, ready to keep up the momentum, when suddenly, a shadow slammed into you from nowhere.

The impact knocked the wind from your lungs, sending you crashing into the rooftop with a grunt.

Damian’s head snapped your way, eyes dark, hand flying to his blade. Ready to kill.

"Wait!" you said, breathless, as you pushed yourself up and caught sight of the person on top of you.

"Black Cat?" you breathed, disbelief flooding your chest.

She grinned down at you, that too-familiar cocky smile spreading across her face.

"Hey, Spider," she said, pressing a hand down on your shoulders, keeping you pinned, her fingers firm and possessive. "Long time no swing. You look… deliciously out of breath."

Your brain short-circuited. "Holy shit. What are you doing in Gotham?"

Before she could answer, a shadow dropped hard beside you. Damian. Radiating absolute fury in a tight, concentrated glare.

“Get. Off.”

Two words. Ice-cold.

Black Cat didn’t flinch. In fact, her grin widened.

"Ooooh," she said, drawing out the syllable like she’d just tasted something expensive. “You must be new. You gotta get in line, cutie. Spider’s got fans, you know.”

“I am not a fan,” Damian snapped. “I am her partner.”

You sat up. “Aw.”

Damian flushed.

“In combat,” he added stiffly.

You winced. “Less aw.”

Black Cat howled. “Oh, this is so much better than I hoped. You got yourself a territorial one, huh?” She leaned in close to Damian, eyes twinkling. “Tell me, do you bite?”

“I don’t bite,” Damian said coldly.

“Oh?” she said with a smirk. “Shame.”

“I maim.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” Black Cat tsked, her hips swaying as she walked forward with that signature, cat-like confidence. “Relax, Bird Boy. Just saying hi to my favorite Spider.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Guys! Seriously? We are not doing this right now. We’re literally in the middle of a robbery!”

Black Cat flipped her hair over her shoulder, unfazed. “Handled it already, sweetheart. I snagged the bank’s security drive, webbed the goons to their getaway van, and took care of the heavy lifting before I jumped you. You’re welcome.”

“…You webbed—my web fluid?!” you gawked.

“Borrowed,” Black Cat said airily. “Don’t be stingy.”

“I made that with bio-polymers and blood, you kleptomaniac bat-licking menace—”

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes. “I'm sure you can make another one of your web knick-knacks.”

Damian’s eyes flashed. “Those cartridges are proprietary.”

“Pro‑pri‑e‑tar‑y!” you echoed, stabbing a finger at her. “He means off-limits, you thieving furball!”

Black Cat rolled her shoulders, utterly unbothered. “I’ll return them. Hm… rented at a fair rate, of course. Maybe half a million an ounce?”

Damian growled low in his throat. “You—I'll—”

“Okay, okay, enough. Look. I’ll put them back before breakfast tomorrow, deal?” Black Cat offered, waggling her fingers like this was a brunch invitation and not felony-level theft.

You opened your mouth to protest because you absolutely did not agree to that, but it was too late. With a mock curtsy and a wicked glint in her eye, she vanished into the shadows, her laughter echoing like a warning shot.

You turned back to Damian, who stood tense, blade still in hand, every muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“I should have let her fall off the building,” he muttered.

You snorted. “You would never.”

“I could have accidentally loosened her grip.” He sheathed his sword with more force than necessary. “No one touches you like that. No one pins you but me.”

Your brows shot up. “So you do want to pin me—”

“Strategically,” he snapped.

“Strategically?" you purred, arms wrapping round his shoulders. "That’s what we’re calling rooftop makeouts now?”

“I—Tt—focus.” But Damian's hands settled at your waist anyway, traitorously warm. “We need to debrief. Secure the scene. Call in the GCPD. Recheck the vault—”

“Oh, Dames…”

જ⁀➴ CASSANDRA CAIN

You were no better than a man.

You were definitely not supposed to be staring. Or, at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself as you tried to focus on the workout in front of you. But there was no way you could ignore Cassandra right now.

She was… perfect.

Her form was flawless as she moved through her calisthenics routine. Push-ups, pull-ups, even backflips! Nothing seemed to faze her. And here you were, struggling not to turn into a puddle of goo on the gym floor.

It wasn’t fair, honestly. How was one person allowed to be so hot? You were supposed to be stretching, but instead, you were completely fixated on your girlfriend, who was now hanging effortlessly from the pull-up bar.

She wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, you were sitting here pretending to stretch, but your eyes couldn’t stop following her every move. How could you not? She was making calisthenics look like some kind of sexy ballet, and you were feeling some type of way about it.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you barely heard the guy who suddenly sidled up to you. You looked up, confused, to see him standing a little too close.

"Hey, uh…" He cleared his throat, clearly trying to sound casual. "I noticed you were watching your friend there… I could totally show you how to lift weights, you know. Maybe even you."

You blinked at him, trying to suppress a laugh. Your brain was still stuck on your friend? Was that supposed to be his pick-up line?

“Uh… really?” you said, raising an eyebrow as you glanced back at Cassandra, still breezing through her workout like she was in some kind of fitness commercial. You could barely keep your mouth from hanging open.

"Yeah!" He puffed out his chest like he was some kind of Greek god. "I can handle lifting your body weight, no problem."

You blinked again. "Oh??"

"Yeah," he said with a cocky grin. "I can totally do it."

You crossed your arms, trying not to burst into laughter. “Okay, then. Show me.”

The guy dropped to his knees in front of you and looked up, ready to lift you. You tried to brace yourself, but honestly, you weren’t sure what was going to happen. This was either going to be impressive or a disaster, and you were pretty sure it was going to be the latter.

He grunted. Nothing.

You raised an eyebrow, watching as he struggled. His face was turning red, sweat starting to drip from his forehead, and—yeah, this was as bad as you expected. He couldn’t even get you an inch off the floor.

“Need help with that?” you asked, barely able to hold back the giggle bubbling up.

“No—no, I’ve got it!” he snapped, lifting harder, but the effort only made him wobble like a newborn giraffe.

"Maybe next time, huh?" you said with a sigh, holding back your amusement.

Then, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Cassandra appeared. You didn’t even see her coming. One second, the guy was still struggling with the whole “lifting you” thing, and the next, Cassandra was casually stepping between the two of you. She looked at him like he was a bug she couldn’t be bothered with, then lifted you effortlessly with one hand.

You froze.

One hand.

The guy’s face drained of color as Cassandra set you down like you were a stuffed animal she was tossing back on the shelf. She didn’t even glance at him as she flicked her hair back, returning to her workout like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, the guy? He was just standing there. Shocked. Maybe a little bit scared. His mouth was moving, but no words came out.

Could not have imagined a more embarrassing moment for him…

Turning to Cassandra, your grin only widened. “Baby… you just broke his soul.”

Cassandra didn’t even glance your way. She simply raised an eyebrow, then shot you a small smile as she signed, He should have known better.

As you were about to respond, the guy finally seemed to snap out of his daze. He stammered something about ‘his form’ and ‘next time’ before practically sprinting off, likely rethinking every choice he’d made that led him to this moment.

You chuckled under your breath, eyes flicking back to Cassandra. “Well, looks like you just ruined his chances of ever lifting a girl again.”

Cassandra shrugged, clearly unfazed, and went back to her pull-up bar. Not my problem.

As she started packing her things, she shot you a sly smirk. Let’s go home. I’ll give you a workout of your own.

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “That… sounds promising.”

And just like that, the gym, the only thing on your mind now was what your workout would look like tonight.

Goopyness... This was very fun to write!

My requests are open! Please...Uwu

[pr1nceofg0tham]

ALWAYS WITHIN REACH

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 1.3k synopsis: Jason Todd doesn’t love loudly but he shows it with his constant presence and actions. a/n: To my anon who requested this, I love you and I loved writing this, but this made me feel so single. I need a man like Jason 😭

The first time you noticed it—really noticed it—was when you were heading out to grab a coffee.

You’d only grabbed your keys and a hoodie, ready to walk the two blocks to the corner store. The weather was mild, the streets quiet, and you hadn’t planned on being gone more than fifteen minutes. As you crouched to tie your laces, yawning mid-sentence, you called out lazily, “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Want anything?”

Jason was sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, blanket twisted around his legs. He’d groaned not five minutes ago about needing a nap and you figured he’d be out cold by now.

But then you heard the couch creak. He was sitting up.

“I’ll come with you.”

You blinked. “You just said—”

“I’ll drive.” He was already pushing to his feet, reaching for his keys like it wasn’t up for debate.

You stared, baffled. “Jay, I’m literally going across the street.”

He didn’t seem to hear you—or more likely, chose not to. Shirt half-buttoned, boots barely tied, he grabbed his jacket in one hand and your fingers in the other, dragging you gently toward the door. You didn’t argue, mostly because you were still sleepy and not quite ready to match his brand of  stubborn.

The drive took three minutes. He didn’t say much, just rested one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, thumb brushing slow, absent circles against your skin like he needed the contact more than the caffeine. Even when he pulled up to the drive-thru window, when you took the drink with a grateful smile and settled back in your seat, Jason didn’t let go. He shifted the wheel easily with one hand, the other still anchored to you, thumb still stroking your skin. 

You didn’t think much of it at the time.

The next time it happened, it was at the grocery store.

You were pushing the cart down an aisle while Jason trailed just behind, his hand warm and steady on the small of your back. It stayed there for most of the trip—absentminded, comforting. Sometimes he’d give a gentle nudge when you paused too long comparing brands, or he’d slide his fingers up your spine for no reason at all except to feel you there.

At one point, somewhere between the produce section and the towering shelves of canned goods, Jason muttered that he needed more protein powder. His voice was low and distracted, already halfway turned toward the far end of the store. He didn’t look back, thinking you were following but instead, you nodded vaguely and veered off toward the ice cream aisle, figuring you could cover more ground that way. 

You moved slowly, eyes scanning the frosty rows of half-gallons and pints. The doors of the freezer hissed quietly as you opened one, cool air spilling out as your reached for two pints, debating between cookie dough and mint chocolate chip. 

You weren’t even half way through the aisle when you felt him behind you again. 

His arms sliding around your waist and wrapping you up without a word. The warmth of him sank through your hoodie, his body pressing close to yours. A moment later, the weight of his head dropped gently onto your shoulder. His breath ghosted over the curve of your neck, soft and steady, the contrast to the chilled air in front of you making your skin prickle.

Leaning back into him just a little, you tilted your head, angling for a glimpse of his face, searching for something—an explanation, maybe. But all you found was the slope of his brow pressed close to your temple, his mouth relaxed, his lashes lowered like he might stay there forever if you let him.

“You okay?” you murmured.

He gave the smallest of nods, the movement brushing his cheek against yours. You stayed like that for a moment longer, Eventually, your fingers drifted toward the freezer door again, and you began to move. His arms loosened, but just enough to let you walk without pulling fully away. One of his hands slid down, fingers catching yours, while his other reached for the cart, reclaiming it without comment, guiding it forward to where you wanted to go.

And that’s when you started to see the pattern.

Jason always walked on the side closest to the street, his body subtly shifting until you were on the inside of the sidewalk, sheltered from traffic. Every single time. Even if it meant cutting mid-conversation to switch sides, or gently tugging you across with a hand to your waist or a brush of fingers against your wrist. It didn’t matter how casual the outing—he’d never let you walk street-side.

He held doors open without thinking, reaching out before you could even touch the handle. And whenever you were out together, his hand was never far. Sometimes laced through yours like second nature, your fingers intertwined as you walked in step. Other times, it rested lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through doorways, around corners, through crowds. 

He insisted on coming with you for errands. Always. It didn’t matter how mundane the task or how quick the trip—Jason was already pulling on his jacket before you finished asking, sometimes you didn’t even have to. And he never complained. Not once. Didn’t check his phone or sigh impatiently. He carried the bags. He waited while you debated between brands of ice cream. Even standing in line, he’d hook a finger through your belt loop and tug you back against him, chin on your shoulder, arms looped loosely around your waist as you two waited.

At gas stations, he always got out with you—even if all you were doing was grabbing gum and a drink. He filled the tank, too, waving off your protests with a quiet, “I got it.” In bookstores, he trailed behind you with a hand on your back, the other juggling the growing stack of titles you kept passing him with a sheepish smile. He never complained about those either. 

In crowded spaces, his arm always found its way around your waist or over your shoulders, pulling you into his side without a word.

And when you ran into people you knew—coworkers, old classmates, friends of friends—he didn’t interrupt or try to charm them. He didn’t puff up or shrink away, instead he seemed content to speak when spoken to. Otherwise he was content to stand at your side. One hand stayed low on your back, rubbing soothing circles.

They often stared at him warily—he was hard not to notice, after all. Tall, sharp-jawed, rough-edged. And yet, despite how intimidating everyone else found him, Jason was soft with you. Protective, yes. But never overbearing. He didn’t tell you what to do or try to keep you in a box made of fear. He just wanted to stay close.

It was subtle, but constant. And the truth was…you kind of loved it.

He was protective in the kind of way that didn’t feel like a cage—it felt like shelter. Like he needed to keep you close not because he didn’t trust you or because he thought you were weak. He stayed close because he knew what the world could be like. He didn’t want to control you. He just didn’t want to lose you.

And maybe that was it. Maybe that was why, no matter where you were or what you were doing, you never had to reach far to find him. In a room full of people, he was there. Even in sleep, he found you. Always.

Because while the world knew Jason as the Red Hood—fearless, violent, deadly—you knew this version. The one who always held your hand, who never let you walk alone, whose constant presence promised you that he was always there for you.

And in the spaces between who he was and how the world saw him, you found the truth of him. A man who had lived through hell, and loved you like it was his personal vow.

[pr1nceofg0tham]

Drew this some time ago when i had strong feelings about the Red Robin cowl suit

[pr1nceofg0tham]

I thought he’d like the shirt.