redhoodsdeer

[redhoodsdeer]

nonsense (in love!reader x bf!jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where when your eyes meet his, your mind goes blank with nothing but how much you lovingly adore every detail of the rugged, broken man who wakes up next to you every day. or, when jason admires back.

a/n: i'm back! i know i really really disappeared this time, but tbh, i felt absolutely no inspiration at all, i couldn't write one line without thinking it was awful, but i really like this one, it's one of my personal favorites, and i hope you enjoy reading just as much as i liked to write it, it's just the sweetest fluffest cutest thing ever, and has one my fav things ever, green eyes jason

english is not my first language

Even on the quietest nights, like a thursday night when he chose to hang with you, the streets were calm, at least for gotham, and the couch felt extra comfortable, his chest was like a cloud under your head after a day that was too exhaustive for someone who only had time for a cup of coffee before having to run off to work.

An old movie was playing on the tv, the movie sounding like background noise, because now, there, in the calm of your apartment, with his arms around you, your head on his chest and you curled up together, all you could think about was how you could have been so lucky. Jason was like the universe had decided to reward you for a bad childhood with the best thing that could have happened, with the person who understood you the most. And when your eyes met his focused face in the black and white scenes on the screen, everything seemed worse, because now your little head was empty, nothing but nonsense was going through it, it was just him.

Your eyes never got tired of admiring him, night after night going to sleep next to him, and before closing your eyes, knowing that the dreams would be good, because it was his arms around your waist.

And, damn, you could only think nonsense in moments like this, because his hands lovingly caressing the exposed skin of your waist always made you wander.

The laugh got out before you could hold it back, at the silly thought that crossed your mind, his eyes focusing on you almost at the same instant, mostly because it was a tragic point in the movie, the main love interest was dying or something, you stopped watching about forty minutes in when you got lost in how green his eyes were.

His confused expression stared at you with a silly smile, because your laugh would never stop being interesting to him.

"I was thinking about something so silly, did you know that sometimes I still get nervous when I see you? Like a teenager girl or something."

And of course she wasn't going to say that happened all the time, because in her eyes, every detail of him was angelic. "Like, it's stupid, but I can't help myself when you get close to me." She smiles through her laughter, which only brings a bigger smile to his face. "Jay, it's like my tongue goes numb, sounds like 'bleh-blah-bleh'."

"Oh, stop, I'm getting flustered," he teases, as he plays with your hair in such a nice way that it makes you want to sink deeper and deeper into his chest, until you two merge into one.

"No, stop, I'm serious, I might change your contact to 'don't leave me alone,'" she teased, laughing as she shifted so she was on top of him, your faces pressed together as she leaned in for a gentle kiss, you two only separating when the the air seemed to disappear from your lungs.

"I'm starting to think you're only with me for kisses," you hear him say, your face less than inches away, an arrogant grin on his face that you knew was anything but truly arrogant.

"Maybe, I might have started because of the kisses, but who knows, maybe I'll stick for the content." You smile almost against his lips, stealing a cheeky kiss, pulling away with your head tilted slightly to the side, as if you were analyzing him. "Nah, just the kisses." your voice comes out as if, at that same moment, he wasn't everything that was on your mind.

He rolls his bright green eyes playfully, turning you around so easily, as if you were a doll. You didn't think you were heavy, but he lifted you as if you weighed nothing, and that always left your cheeks burning.

He starts leaving kisses all over your face, intentionally tickling you in the process, your laughter quickly filling the room. "Then I better make it worth it, huh?" And there, all that was going through your head was how much you loved this man.

On a sunday afternoon that you two optionally spent hidden in jason's favorite bookstore, it was a small, cozy place, downtown, but hidden enough for only locals to frequent, the bookstore's coffee was terrible, but the friendly old man who always tried to convince you to buy dostoevsky, even if you had already read it a thousand times, and the warm atmosphere made it worth it.

Jason was sitting on one of the couches tucked away in the back of the bookstore, you two having been there so many times that you had already memorized the path to the comfy couch behind the sci-fi slash period romance section.

You were walking nearby, down the fantasy aisle, as if you hadn't seen each of those books twenty times and read at least half of them, coming back with a book that had everything to be horrible, but you were more than willing to risk it, and finding your boyfriend lost in the reading (thirtieth rereading) of some Jane Austen classic, his green eyes scanning the page, his leather jacket placed next to him on the couch as if he were saving your seat, his hair slightly messy, and a little wet from the snow that was now starting to melt, thanks to the heater, older than safer in the place.

And he looked so comfortable, like he belonged there, and like you belonged right next to him, that again, your mind forgot about the maybe traumatic fantasy book in your hand, and everything else as your eyes focused on the figure sitting in front of you, too focused on the book to notice his girlfriend leaning against a bookshelf staring at him with hearts in her eyes.

After a while, you recovered from the fog that take over your mind every time you stared too much at your boyfriend's sinfully handsome features, and slowly walked to the couch, as if you hadn't spent the last five minutes staring at him like a lovesick teenager.

He pulled his jacket almost without thinking when you arrived, placing it over your shoulders and waiting for you to settle down next to him, you settled down, you read for the rest of the afternoon, he noticed your stolen glances in his direction here and there, he didn't say anything, you knew he had seen you staring at him like a fool, you didn't say anything.

On a surprisingly calm monday morning, you were enjoying your few days off, and the even more limited, days that coincided with Jason's day off from patrol. At nine in the morning, when he got up (after you had turned off his alarm so he could sleep more, knowing how tiring the last night was), he found you in the kitchen, wearing an oversized band t-shirt that you had stolen from his things, and an apron that originally said 'Kiss the Cook', gifted to him as a joke by his brothers. After Dick found him making brownies (which you had taught him), they wouldn't leave him alone for a week, and in retaliation, he corrected the apron to a humorous 'Kill the Cook' with a red fabric pen, which caused more bleeding than writing, leaving the letters L bloodier than expected. You thought the t-shirt was hilarious, and since then you always wore it to cook.

He was leaning against the kitchen door, silent, only wearing his sweatpants, because last night was especially warm, Gotham's summer was always like a tease straight from hell, you were so focused on fervently mix the bowl full of cookie dough in your hands, that you didn't even notice him leaning against the door, just as you didn't notice the flour on your face, and covering a part of your shirt.

Your distraction gave him more than enough time for him to admire you this time, your hair messy from the long night of sleep, your flour-stained clothes, your flour-stained face, contorted and focused on stirring the heavy dough in your hand, because of course you didn't pick up the mixer, anyone else would have said you were a mess, but, God, you looked magnificent in his eyes, his shirt on you making something warm squirm in his chest, a smile taking over his face, because, how did he get so lucky?

He finally moved himself away from the kitchen door, his eyes still glued to you as he silently walked towards you, his head resting on your shoulder and giving you a slight surprise, which only made his smirk grow.

"You're baking cookies at nine in the morning on a monday?" he asks, his voice still thick with sleep.

Her previously focused face lit up the second his voice rang out "I remembered you saying you missed my cookies, I couldn't let that go" she smiled, turning her head to give him a sweet kiss on the lips, spiderman style, since his head was still on her shoulder and she had to turn her head slightly upside down.

"See, you keep proving that you're only here for my kisses," he says playfully, still on her lips, before pulling away from the kiss and her shoulder and taking his place leaning against the counter next to her, scrambling any coherent thoughts she might have.

"I never denied it," she shrugged with a small smile, placing the container in his hands and gesturing for him to start stirring as she walked away to look for the vanilla extract.

"You know, now I understand what you meant," he says, making her eyes meet his curiously, a slight 'hmm' murmured in a doubtful tone as she turns to open a cabinet, and coincidentally hide the blush that has taken over her face. "What do you mean, Jay?" She asks vaguely, trying to think of anything else to chase away the blush, and again, failing, because her head was full of 'jason jason jason', as it happened every time.

"I'll be honest, looking at you got me thinking nonsense," he says, his voice husky as he slowly mix the cookie dough. "It's like cartwheels in my stomach when you walk in," he says, a smile on his face that says it all, shows it all, how madly in love he is with her. And when she turns around, no vanilla extract in her hand, a blush on her cheeks, and a smile that says exactly the same thing, he knows she's the one.

"You're insane, Jay, and I love you for this."

[redhoodsdeer]

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.

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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. 

[redhoodsdeer]

Red hood's witness protection services

summary: Reader works for a private forensic investigation firm but when it gets bought by Penguin she turns to Red Hood for help

wc: 5.1k

a/n: decided to scrap the smutty part last minute so if it feels weird that's why

warnings: forensic psychologist! reader, fem!reader, mentions of death, guns, violence, etc. making out and implied sex (aka a badly cut to black scene), mentions of a plan b. Unedited as per usual lol

You found yourself in a dangerous situation; your boss' new boss was none other than Penguin, another one of Gotham's infamous crime lords. And you wanted nothing more but to leave, this is not what you signed up for. It was not your fault that he decided to buy the organization you were working for. There was an implicit "no one gets to quit and walk away with their life" rule since you handled sensitive information and someone in your office already got killed. Essentially, you and the very reduced number of co-workers handled every investigation and background check he needed done. The air was tense in the office, it wasn't a private forensic investigation firm that mostly worked with law firms or the occasional rich family. Now he used you to find information on anyone he suspected or even tell him if his own people were betraying him. It was sick. You used to handle interviews, given you had a natural talent to read people, and years of studies in profiling.

It was a relief when you finally got a hold of someone who could help you in your situation, Red Hood. Or rather, he got a hold of you first, he needed information which you were more than happy to talk. Cops weren't going to be of much help since he had some on his payroll, and you'd likely end up dead before getting to make a statement. So in Gotham, your next best option-- or let's be honest, the best-- was a vigilante who was dead set on screwing the man who's making your life a living hell.  The worst part was giving him information in a way that couldn't be specifically traced back to you, like where to find his accountant. You did notice he hired a new one two days after you told Hood about him, and couldn't bear the thought of being the reason he was dead.

You had fallen into some sense of partnership, maybe even friendship, with the masked vigilante and former crime lord himself. Maybe it was the, probably empty, promises that he'd stop that more people get hurt, or that once he's done with Cobblepot, you'd be able to move away and disappear completely. The fact you could tell that he was around your age, even if you had never seen his face, how he always treated you with respect and seemed to genuinely care about your safety made you develop some type of affection towards him. At that moment, he was the only reassuring thing in your life.

But you were foolish to think you could balance working for Penguin and being Red Hood's informant without anyone finding out, until you walked in your shared office. You go quiet at the scene; you drop the disposable coffee tray so both your hands can cover your mouth even if no noise could come out of it. Tears are fast to cloud your vision as you watch the bodies of all of your coworkers lying there. All of them killed with a clean single head shot, some fell at their desk, blood dripping from the paperwork to the carpeted floor. Your boss was on the floor of her separated office, the glass wall that divided her space was broken by the bullets. You were saved by pure chance, just because it was your turn to do the coffee run. A choked sob escapes in the dead quiet, and only when you hear steps do you realize that whoever did this might still be there. You think about running out the door, but what would you after? you needed something to use as leverage. You decide to grab the external hard drive from your boss' desk and make a run for it. It has everything, from emails to transcripts of interviews, crime scene analysis, and even contact and financial information of at least a dozen of Gotham's richest and more of Penguin's people. You bite your lip, holding back the need to puke when you see the body on the floor, her death seemed to be more brutal than the rest. Peeling your eyes off the gruesome scene, you kneel to the safe, trying to remember the combination amid all the fear and trying to hurry. 57, 89, 23, you let out a sigh of relief when you got it right on the first try. Your boss had only mentioned it once, that she needed you to empty it in case anything went wrong. She only confided the password in you a week after Cobblepot showed up.

The first thing you see is money, probably to hide the more valuable things behind. You are shocked to find a revolver inside too but take it with you, just in case. Not that you knew how to use it. Finally, the hard drive was well hidden under a necklace in a jewelry box. You throw everything inside your purse and close the safe before leaving and don't look back as you run as fast as your legs allow you into the street. You make it to five streets before you catch a cab and go home. Not your safest option, but your judgment was very disturbed given the circumstances. Once inside the car, you frantically search for your phone to call him. He picks up after the first ring, he always does, no matter how busy he might be.

"Hey, uhm, something happened" You try to keep it vague since the driver was listening "Can you meet me at my place?"

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"Yes, uhm..." You sniff before continuing: "I got fired"

"I see, are you alone?"

"No, can you hurry?" He knows something must've shaken you pretty badly to call him crying like this. You've never cried in front of him before, he's almost too shocked to react.

The driver only gives you a sympathetic look in the rear view mirror, and you're grateful he's not chatty. Jason is in your apartment before you even get there, and you can tell he's worried too by the way his words lost their usual cool. Normally, he's sharp, calculating, and even witty when he's in a good mood, but today he's spitting question after question. And he's even holding your shoulders tightly, he's never done that before. You barely brushed arms or hands once or twice, you figured he liked his space or didn't like being touched.

"They are dead," Is all you could manage to say between sobs "it's my fault"

"You didn't pull the trigger, you didn't give the order to kill them" He tries to reason with you, to make you pull it together. Partially because he needs it to work his case, partially because --and he wouldn't admit it out loud-- he's fond of you.

"Might as well have, they're dead because what I did" You ramble "Just like that accountant I told you. He suspected all of us so he-"

"We have no way of knowing that, Cobblepot gets rid of his employees after a while" He tries grounding you "like that guy, I got to him and he was already dead"

"Really?"

"Yes, why don't you tell me what you saw?" You start shaking your head no, and his grip tightens, forcing you to look up at him. "You've analyzed crime scenes before, I need you to do it now"

"I don't do that, I just do profiles and interviews and shit" You argue, even though you've worked long enough to know how to do it."I've only read crime scene reports"

"Get a grip" He demands. His tone is too serious, that combined with how it feels like he's lifting your feet off the ground with no effort are enough reasons to knock the fight out of you.

"Three people, at least two of them professionals" You sniff, remembering the horrifying scene. You recognized the wound as soon as you saw it, and from their positions, you knew they were quick and ambushed them. That's why some of them were still sitting on their desks, and only one fell on the floor, who likely got up and failed to run away. "they- they used silencers,"

"What about the third person?"

"They used a different gun," tears start to fall down your eyes again, remembering how your boss' face was unrecognizable. "They shot my boss, I think she was the last one, and she was shot from much closer"

"Anything else?"

"God, her face, it was-" When your eyes drift off and find the spots of blood on your cuff, he can tell there's another episode of being unable to speak and choking on your own tears. He knows the feeling all too well. "What if they are after me next?"

"It's okay, I'll keep you safe" He pulls you against his chest. Despite the surprise, you accept the hug, pressing your cheek against his leather jacket as you decide to trust his promise. "I told you I protect my people"

You're lucky he can't see how flustered that made you, or the wave of confusion that comes after that. How can you be feeling like this in this moment? You just nod in response.

"There's one more thing, I emptied the safe and took a hard drive with me"

"Which has?" He encourages you to go on.

"Everything, every case, email, picture, anything we ever worked with"

"Good girl," He whispers, and again, your heart is doing somersaults and cartwheels inside your chest. Is he even aware of what he's doing? You're too vulnerable for this right now. "I have to get you out of here before they realize they missed someone and lost that drive"

"What? No" You lift your head off his chest, pushing him away to get some distance. He mourned the loss of your warmth for a split second before he argued back.

"Yes, you said they were pros, do you really think they're not looking for you already?" He sounds exasperated, as if he couldn't afford to waste the time it'd take to convince you. The way your lip trembles and tears start streaming down your face once more makes him feel like the biggest asshole. Jason's been called every possible insult, but can't tell why this hurts way more. "Sorry, I'm a jerk"

"No, you're right" You wipe your tears, this was not the moment to act impulsively. Besides, if there was someone who knew how to handle situations like this, it'd be him.

"You'll stay with me until this dies down," His hand reaches your wrist and drags you a step closer to him. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was dying to hold your hand. You found yourself nodding along as he spoke: "I'll take care of everything"

"Okay"

"I need your phone, and your wallet" He requests, and you were opening your mouth to ask why when he tells you the reason "and help me make a mess, it needs to look like you were taken from home"

"But my friends, and my family, they have to know-" Your eyes move slowly to the purse where the things he asked for were.

"You can't tell anyone, it's too dangerous" He's deadly serious, it's starting to scare you. Yeah, you understood that this was the type of thing that'd put someone under witness protection, but couldn't you at least tell your mom you weren't dead? "Understood?"

You agree, putting all your trust in him. He cracks the screen of your phone and you wince, you were lucky you had made backups recently. You reluctantly help him make your apartment look like someone was looking for something. Your coffee table is knocked over, every single drawer in your kitchen is opened, and some plates and glasses are broken too. Your clothes were scattered all over your room, and even some of your decorative pillows were torn to pieces. Though you'd never admit trashing your apartment would feel so satisfying. It all helped when a few days later a friend filed a missing person report and your apartment was now a crime scene under investigation throwing off both the GCPD and Penguin's people. You don't know if trusting him this much was even more reckless than staying in your apartment on your own, but you'd make peace with it over time.

You'd admit you were a horrible guest for the first week. Once you found out the drive was encrypted and neither of you could access it, it dawned on you how you may need to stay for longer than you initially thought. The guilt of being saved only because you lost a game of rock paper scissors and you had to go buy coffee, and how people who know you must be worried and can do nothing to let them know you're alive and okay without risking their safety too, all weigh on you. So for that first week, you barely left your room, he understood and didn't invade your space. However, you would wake up sometimes to a glass of water on your nightstand, or he'd knock on your door to leave you something to eat, which you'd only take a few bites of. One night, he even held your hair while you threw up over the toilet. Brought you a glass of water and let you sob on his chest while rubbing your back for as long as you needed. Once the initial depression wore down, then came the second stage of dealing with a problem, doing absolutely everything you can to avoid it.

But you'd get a lot of time to make up for it now that you were off the grid and not allowed to leave his place. Not that you minded, it was a big apartment; actually, he told you it was two apartments which he bought and remodeled into one. Lucky for you, since that meant you had your own room and bathroom. You didn't take Red Hood for an interior decorator, but the place was surprisingly cozy, despite the concerning amount of weapons he had hanging on the walls. He had a brown leather couch—easiest material to wipe blood off, he'd say— and a huge unorganized bookshelf. One afternoon, you took it upon yourself to put the books in alphabetical order by the name of their author. If his eyes weren't hidden under a mask, you'd think he was tearing up by the way he had to clear his throat to thank you. Speaking of his eyes, he took the helmet off when you arrived, you instantly looked away to protect his identity—which he found adorable. When he told you it was okay, and you turned to see he wore another mask under the helmet you scoffed and called him paranoid. Only to hide that what you really thought was "Oh great, of course he's hot"

His kitchen was big, you could happily dance around as you cooked or baked, which you picked up as a hobby. You also found out he had an impressive vinyl collection, so you always listened to that. He even bought some records you liked considering he cut off your access to the internet entirely and that was your only way to listen to music. You understood why, but it didn't mean you weren't bored out of your mind. But however bored you were, it didn't erase the fact that for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like yourself again.

He had been trying to be as nice to you as you were to him. Coming back home to home cooked meals was something he hadn't experienced in years, so more often than not, he'd grab a big bite nearly to the point of choking to not cry in front of you. You always talked to him, and always listened to what he had to say. His words never fell on deaf ears with you. He'd even dare to say you were making him happy, so he allowed himself to linger when you got too close. Maybe he dared to touch your waist as he moved behind you. Let you put your feet up on his legs as you both read in silence on the couch, remembering the first time you did it without thinking and quickly apologized as you cuddled back to your side. Then, feeling the warmth on his cheeks when he grabbed your ankles and put them back on his lap without looking at you in the eye, too embarrassed to admit he liked it. Isn't this what he always wanted? Someone to come home to?

Your routines were adjusted to each other, and you worked together as perfectly as all the little pieces of a watch. He bought you books of whatever you were interested in, came back home carrying whatever extensive list of groceries you gave him, and mostly did anything you asked him.

"Red?" You ask, moving closer to him on the couch.

"Yes?" He tries to hide behind the book he's reading, your sudden closeness making him blush. Tries even harder to avoid looking at you knowing it'd make it even worse.

"Talk to me," now he does give you a little side eye unsure of how to act "c'mon, I'm bored, ask me something"

He sighs putting his book down, and hopes you don't realize it's to calm his nerves down. Where did his personal space go? And why doesn't he mind that it's absolutely thrown out the window? You look up at him waiting for him to say something, anything, it feels a bit... loving? It certainly did not help that you were so pretty, and you made it more difficult by being so kind to him. He needs to break eye contact for that, he can't go around thinking like this.

"What's the weirdest case you've had?" It's all he can come up with on the spot.

"Well most of my cases were boring, but—" He feels like a jerk, his eyes get distracted so easily. Looking at your lips moving as you speak, how your arm rests on the back of the couch, they even lay on the tank top you're wearing for half a second before he reprimands himself. He's lucky he kept his domino mask so you wouldn't notice where his eyes wandered to. "turns out the lady just had early signs of dementia and they couldn't sue her, what about you?"

"I'm the chosen one of a secret cult in the Himalayan mountains" He blurts out, then regrets not telling you something more "normal". Whatever his parameter for normal is.

"You—" You laugh nervously "you're kidding me, right?"

"I've got magic swords to prove it"

"And you let me talk about some boring civil lawsuit?" You gasp, putting your hand on his chest to shove him lightly. He gets the urge to put his hand on top of yours so you'd stay there. "I'm so boring"

"It's not— you're not boring, I like hearing you talk about your job"

"You're just being nice" He wants to kiss off the pout on your face so badly.

"When have I ever been nice?" Jason thinks maybe a sassy answer can fix it.

"All the time," He feels your tone shift, now more soft than playful. Maybe you can't tell where his eyes lay, but he can definitely tell where yours do, and that makes him stop his attempts to mask how much he wants to kiss you. "you're always good to me"

You are so close, and you smell good, and your skin looks soft; he bets you'd feel just as soft under his fingertips if he had the guts to reach out. But do you even want him to? Maybe you were just this caring and tender with him because you had no other choice, just because he's protecting you. And as he gets stuck on thinking the million reasons why you wouldn't want him to kiss you—and ignoring the clearly obvious signs that you do like him—his phone starts ringing on the coffee table. Jason takes a few seconds to consider if he should just let it ring before he speaks.

"I should get that" You just nod and give him space to get up.

He answers the call with an unusual "hey", instead of an angry "what do you want?" like he normally does when getting a call from a sibling. Tim wanted a favor, some info on who knows who, who was involved in a case he had not the slightest will to pay attention to. How could he? When he felt so stupid, he should've gone for it. Or maybe he shouldn't have, cause what if you were not flirting with him and he ended up looking like an asshole and making things awkward? He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back while going back and forth in his room. Only half listening to the voice on the phone.

He ends the conversation with a "yeah, whatever, just text me the guy's details and I'll see what I can do". He gets dressed in his Red Hood gear after hanging up, deciding to leave early tonight to go for a ride to clear his head. His heart shrinks when you only reply with a distracted "see ya" while doing the dishes when he tells you he's leaving. Not that he would know that you feel bad for cornering the guy on his couch, in his own home. Or that you screamed into your pillow as soon as he left.

The ride does little to ease his worries as he spends most of the time thinking about you, when did you stop being just an informant? He knew better than getting this close to you, but it never helped that since the moment you met, you treated him like a normal human being, not like he's a bomb waiting to go off like his family does. And he thinks that maybe they're right about him, that he is bad and rotten, and all those things they think about him. That he ruins everything he touches, and it's his fault you're in this situation.

It didn't help either that you were easy on the eye, from your office wear to walking around in sweatpants, to the few times he saw you in casual wear when meeting him. There has always been something about you that lured him in, maybe that is why his mind was so quick to think that the safest option was to keep you with him, because he wanted to spend more time with you. Perhaps that's why he feels extra guilty about anything that happens to you, in his eyes, you're his responsibility. But he can't have you, not when he could so easily ruin everything. So if he has to take a cold shower every time your foot presses higher up his thigh, then so be it.

That's why he worries when he comes home one day earlier than usual, calling out your name while taking off his helmet, but the music is too loud, and he gets no answer. He starts to panic when he finally spots you in the kitchen with your head inside the oven, he drops everything—his guns—in his hands and rushes to you. His mind moving faster than his body thinking about every bad thing he could think of, was it something he did? was it something he didn't? You only feel two large hands grabbing your hips and pulling you out, you let out a confused "huh?" as he sighs in relief. He sits down on the floor next to you trying to calm down as you just stared at him with furrowed brows.

"Fuck, sweetheart," He nervously pushes his hair back, and you don't miss the way his hand is lightly shaking, "you scared the shit out of me"

"Wait, you— you thought I pulled a Sylvia Plath?" He just nods, leaning back against the fridge.

"Hey, I was just cleaning the oven," You explain while taking off the rubber gloves to hold his face. "Breathe with me"

You take a deep breath, counting to four when you inhale, keeping it in for another 4 seconds, and taking the same time when you exhale. It takes him a couple of minutes before he settles down and stops feeling the lump on his throat or that his heart is trying to force its way out of his ribcage.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, won't happen again" You smile.

"Why are you smiling? This isn't funny" He wants to sound offended, but you know there's some playfulness in his tone.

"I think it's cute you had a panic attack 'cause you thought I died" To that Jason just rolls his eyes. You may be the one teasing him, but your hands haven't stopped touching him, and it's not like you were keeping your distance from him.

"What were you even thinking? Cleaning at this hour?" You just shrug in response. It's not like you had to be up early tomorrow, or any other for that matter.

There are a few silent seconds as you both stare at each other, your eyes subtly drifting down to his lips. And he just leans forward without really thinking it through. There's been a million times where he wanted to do this, but now that he thought he lost you, even if it was for a few seconds, he's coming to terms with the fact that he can't hold it in any longer. You only hum and give in. Finally! He's making a move. You want to smile, maybe giggle a bit too, but he's kissing you with such a strong desire that you can't do it.

"Sorry, I shouldn't—"

"Why would you stop?" You sigh, almost exasperated, before tightly grabbing his leather jacket to pull him close again.

He chuckles as you straddle him, maybe he should've kissed you sooner. You're sure you've never wanted someone as badly before. You could reason it was due to a lot of factors: first, he was hot. Second, he made you feel safe; third, he was the nicest guy you've met in years, and fourth, he had no problem with you living basically rent-free with him—even seemed to like it. And now he's kissing you like his life depends on it. It's desperate, messy and hurried, like he can't get enough of you. His hands pull up your shirt, and you raise your arms to help him.

"I just have to warn you," He's out of breath, and his voice barely above a whisper: "I'm incredibly touch starved"

"Yeah, me too"

You can't be bothered to make any remarks or teasing comments, and apparently neither can he as he takes his jacket off. He folds it and uses it as a make-shift pillow to rest your head on when he rolls you over to be on top of you. The movement was swift, and he put his hand on the small of your back to make sure you didn't get hurt in the process. You could only hope he'd understand your kisses as the thanks you mean them to be. Your fingers cling around Kevlar clothing and pull it up until you get rid of it. Soon enough, your pants are out of the way too, and he takes a second to admire the view.

"You have such a crush on me" You tease with a playful smirk when you catch him staring.

"Yeah, the biggest" He scoffs, lowering back down to kiss his way down from your collarbone to your hips. He stops for a brief second, weighting his options and what he's doing. Then, once he's made up his mind, he whispers his name against your thigh.

"Jason?" You question

"Yeah, that's my name," He replies, looking up at you again.

"Okay, Jay" Your lips tug up in a smile, and he can't help but do the same.

"Should we-" He hesitates "Should we do this somewhere else?"

"Floor is clean, if that's what you're worried about"

"I know, but your back... and your head, I don't want to hurt you"

"Hurt me?" You gasp, teasing him, "What are you gonna do to me?"

You laugh at the redness that paints his entire face, and he sits up pulling himself away from you. But you don't want him to feel bad over a joke, so you get up too and kiss his cheek, telling him you're just messing with him and that you could go to your room if he wanted. He gives you a shy nod, as if his head wasn't between your thighs a second ago.  You lead him to your bedroom, and in between kisses and sighs, you can feel how desperate his touch was, like he couldn't get enough of you. You are surprised at how soft he is, the way he keeps on kissing you, the way his hands hold you. And it becomes obvious how needy both of you were when you remember that pregnancy is a real thing and birth control methods exist.

"Fuck-" He groans "I'm sorry, I'll buy you a plan B."

"It's fine, don´t apologize" You tease him as if you wouldn´t have begged him to finish inside if he didn't.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Maybe a book about Stockholm syndrome" Your joke is met with a sigh and his teeth grazing your skin playfully threatening to bite your shoulder.

You playfully shove him off, laughing as you tell him to stop and that's when he notices the little notebook on your nightstand. He reaches an arm over you to get it, your eyes following his movement but too distracted with how his bicep looks so bite-able to notice what he's doing. Until he asks: "What's this?"

"My journal, don't touch it" You try to pry it out of his hand, but he extends his arm to leave it just out of your reach. "It's personal"

"Oh, it's personal?" While he fakes a pout with a mocking voice, you manage to wiggle out from under him and take your journal back.

"Wait, I actually have to write about this" You open a random blank page and pretend to write as you say: "dear diary, today I finally slept with him. It was fun and he had a huge d-"

"Okay, enough, it's personal" He laughs, cutting you off.

You giggle. Yeah, he definitely should've kissed you sooner

[redhoodsdeer]

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

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

“you good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[redhoodsdeer]

hi! i couldn't find any age indicator in your blog, maybe you can add one? that's just so we know in case you're a minor or an adult. have a nice day!

tysm, i actually forgot to add one, and since i don't write any smut or 18+, i kinda forgot, but i'm 19!

[redhoodsdeer]

on wheels (tired!reader x mechanic jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where the reader's car decides to mess it up on the worst day possible, fortunately the mechanic jason was quite willing to help.

a/n: i finally posted again, and tbh, i didn't really like this one, but i have a thing for mechanic jason that just can't be put into words, i hope you guys love this as much as i love mechanic jason.

english is not my first language.

It was 10pm on what seemed like the most stressful day of your entire life, everything you wanted was to get home and take a shower long enough for your neighbors to think you were dead, but since this was definitely the worst day of the year, of course you couldn't, and of course your car broke down on a dark Gotham street at 10pm.

Every little thing that could go wrong today, did. Your ran out of coffee and you were way too late to stop by a coffee shop, your work clothes that you were supposed to pick up at the dry cleaners yesterday? still stuck there, your important meeting with your boss? the biggest disaster of your whole career.

All you wanted to do was curl up in an fetal position and cry on the floor until this day became a really distant memory, but instead, you were calling the tow truck at 10pm on a terribly suspicious street in Gotham.

After what seemed like hours of no one answering your calls, you finally got an answer and arrived at the garage, which seemed to be the only 24-hour garage in town, and you were infinitely grateful for that.

Okay, now, you were expecting a mechanic twice your father's age, on a dirty white tank top and a beer belly, you didn't expect that at ten o'clock at night on the day that seemed endless, you would come face to face with a greek god who had escaped from Olympus.

Biceps so big they could break you in two (and you kinda wished they did), the most angelic face you've ever seen, not to mention the white streak in his hair, because of course your mechanic had to be absolutely divine, on the day you were absolutely mundane, your tight skirt stained with coffee (which wasn't even yours!), your face as tired as a construction worker's on the end of the day, and your makeup had abandoned you three disasters ago.

"Ma'am, so what's the deal with the big guy here?" he asks, his voice so deep you thought you might melt. Your voice barely came out, your eyes struggling to stay on the car between you two.

"I don't know, I was on my way home when it broke down, I have no idea what happened, my dad was the one who used to take my car to the mechanic."

And of course the perfect day for you to get used to going to the mechanic by yourself was the same day you tripped in a mud puddle on your way to work and had to walk three blocks back just to take a shower.

He stares at you like you're from another world, before shaking his head and lifting the hood of the car, looking for whatever was wrong with your car.

Your eyes followed every move of his methodically, as if, if you looked away he would disappear and be replaced by a regular mechanic with a beer belly and a bad attitude.

And when he took his grease-stained hands off the hood of the car and turned his blue-gray eyes to you, you felt like you might faint.

"Lucky for you, it's nothing really bad, you've just been a while without an oil change and it's easy to fix." The raspy voice echoes through the shop and you feel your heart beat faster as you slowly nod your head to show that you understood.

"And how much will this cost?" Your voice asks, politely, already searching through your bag for your wallet, which was a bright pink, because you simply felt like everything around you was black, white and gray, and you wanted to have something colorful to remind you of the existence of colors.

As he walked around the workshop, just before he put his grease-stained hands on the hood to open it and change the oil, he gave a little laugh that could have been mistaken for a smirk, and coming from that man, you felt like you needed to lean on something to keep your composure, more specifically, him.

He finished and closed the hood of your car, wiping his hands on a cloth that was lying on a shelf, it might have just been because it was him doing it, but every movement he made sent a wave of heat over you, because everything looked so fucking hot.

But before you could even find your card inside the colorful wallet, a smirk appeared on the man's face, who was now leaning against the side of your car, looking as attractive as humanly possible.

"Chill, it's just some oil change, it's already 11pm on a Tuesday night, you look exhausted, it's on the house, maybe that way you'll become a regular customer" His voice teases and you swear you just felt your heart entangle with your lungs.

There was no way this divinity in human form was flirting with you, of all people, you, at your worst, you were sure your hair that you had delicately styled the night before had given up a long time ago, and you swore you looked as much of a disaster as you could.

But still, there he was, openly flirting with you. "In the face of such an irresistible proposal, maybe my car will break down more often around here, who knows, maybe I'll forget to change the oil again." You shrug, putting your wallet back at your purse and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you smiled at him.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he tossed your car keys back to you. “Maybe you should get my number in case you need help and you’re too far from the shop.” He shrugged, just before writing his number on a worn-sided post-it note that was stuck to the counter and handing it to you.

Your hands touched for least than half a second, and as cheesy as it may sound, you swear you felt an electric wave run through your body the moment your hands touched.

And right there, on the scribbled paper, was 'Jason' written in a sloppy handwriting that made you smile to yourself as you read it.

"Jason, huh?" You ask, looking up from the small note. He just shrugs, a silly smile on his face.

"You'll have to call to find out."

As you drove out of the garage, driving your now, not-quite-broken car, with a smile so big they might think you were leaving a casino after winning a jackpot, finally get to you that this interaction had actually happened, and that the neatly folded post-it note inside your pink wallet really had the number of the hottest guy you had ever seen.

And now, you were hopefuly waiting for your car to break down, willing to even crash into a tree if it would make him appear faster.

It turns out, in the end, your day wasn't so bad after all.

[redhoodsdeer]

one of my favorite things ever is to write jason in a relationship where he gets all the love he deserves, where it's all very domestic, cute, lovely, because after everything he's been through, he deserves all the love in the world, and as much domesticity as he wants

[redhoodsdeer]

"I love DC" "I hate Jason Todd"

Same thing goes for Dick tho, so don't fw me

[redhoodsdeer]

I love your writing and was wondering if you could do something fluffy with Jason Todd.

My birthday is on Valentine’s Day and I was wondering if you could write about Jason celebrating reader’s birthday on Valentine’s Day.

Like making her breakfast in bed or showering her with gifts, or making the whole day about her.

👉🏼👈🏼

cookies'n love (aka in love jason todd x reader)

prompt: where the reader is already used to not celebrating her birthday, because it's on a day where all her friends are celebrating with their valentines, it turns out that her very excited to celebrate boyfriend has something to say about it.

a/n: hi, i'm back with a really really late request (i'm so so sorry), and i know valentines day were a whole month ago, but happy late birthday! i changed a bit of what you'd requested, but keep the soul of it (jason in love), i hope you like it!

english is not my first language.

It was around 8AM when you woke up to the shattering noise of several things falling, your bright eyes blinking away the sleep, while a very sleepy you moved towards the source of all the noise.

Now, dating and living with a vigilante boyfriend for so long, it's expected that a loud noise early in the morning could be absolutely anything, especially when your boyfriend is Jason Todd.

But still, you're not sure anything could have prepared you for the sight of your huge boyfriend, in your pink kitchen apron, trying to quietly tidy up the mess of cookie cutters and cake shapes that were scattered across the counter.

With a heart-shaped cupcake pan in one hand, and an oven mitt in the other, your boyfriend's eyes meet yours that were incredible confused, sleep long forgotten in the surprise of the situation.

"Jay? You're baking? At eight in the morning on a tuesday?" Your sleepy voice comes as you walk into the kitchen, helping him tidy the mess of baking pans and cookie cutters on the counter.

"Babe, you're not supposed to be awake, it's your birthday, you should sleep until 10AM while your handsome boyfriend bakes cookies for you."

And just then, you smell the distant scent of vanilla and the very close smell of burning. Spotting the pan of burnt cookies cooling near the sink. "Huh, don't you think you overcooked it a little, Jay?"

You blink your pretty eyes at him while trying to be as sweet as possible about it, because your boyfriend with zero cooking skills had gotten up early to make cookies for you, just because it was your birthday.

And you knew, that for some people, birthdays were a big deal, but they just weren't for you, not since you were 12 years old, when all your friends started having boyfriends and you were left behind, your birthday being replaced by cards and cheap chocolate.

But, Jason actually cared about your birthday, cared enough to try to bake you cookies, and your heart warmed at the thought, not knowing what you had done to deserve him.

You watch him slowly wither at the comment about the burnt cookies. "Yeah, I guess, but there's another batch coming out that's going to be perfect." He says, shining up again.

And a silly, lovestruck smile appears on your face as you stand on your tiptoes covered by colorful socks to reach his face and shower him with loving kisses.

"Don't worry, Jay, they're perfect, all of them." You say as you kiss all over his face, feeling his smile appearing and he placing his hands on your hips, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing and placing you sitting on the, slightly less messy, counter.

"Yeah? Is that what you think? I just feel bad for waking you up from your sleep, you already sleep badly enough without me knocking over the whole kitchen." He jokes as he now returns the kisses on your face, forgetting about the burnt cookies in the sink and the cookies baking in the oven.

"Don't be, now we can do it together, maybe I'll even teach you my secret recipe" A smile playing on your sleepy face.

His smile widens as you wrap your arms around him, wanting to stay as close to him as you can, as if to ensure that he is real. "Oh yeah? I'll hold you to that promise, huh" he teases as he kisses your lips softly.

"They say the secret ingredient is only found in the highest mountain, and you're only worthy of the recipe if you love a Jason Todd, so it's not for many." A laugh comes out of him as he grins goofily, kissing the tip of your nose.

"Happy birthday, silly."

[redhoodsdeer]

i'm cooking a little something, or should i say baking? anyways, a jason requested imagine is comingg, it's a lil bit short, but so cute, that's worth it! ❤️

[redhoodsdeer]

i just found this rafe gif and i'm truly obsessed, he looks so insanely good in it, like he just needs someone to kiss the tears away of his beautiful face, he looks so pretty when he cries, i'm mesmerized

[redhoodsdeer]

so american (aka civil!reader x vigilante bf jason)

prompt: where the reader is not used to be loved in the right way, or, where jason finds the reader sleeping wrapped in his t-shirt and does everything to show how much he loves her.

a/n: omg hi! i know, i really disappeared this time, but i'm back and with a new imagine! i promise i will post every request that it's on wait list, and become more active in here, anyway, i hope u guys like this one

english is not my first language.

"he says i'm pretty wearing his clothes" so american, olivia rodrigo

It was already late at night when the window of your tiny apartment opened, showing that your boyfriend had arrived from his usual patrol, unfortunately, you had been asleep for a long time, on the couch, curled up in a shirt at least twice your size, an open book sprawled on the coffee table, in a probably very uncomfortable position.

Jason's eyes lit up when he found your peacefully sleeping figure on the couch, his satisfaction growing even more when he recognized the oversized t-shirt you were wearing, his shirt, the one that had been missing for weeks, but he seen it hidden on your side of the closet, a smile started to take over his face.

He carefully approached you, pulling the blanket from the edge of the couch to cover your soft body, but no matter how gentle his touch was, he saw your eyes slowly opening, blinking slowly as you tried to shake off the desire to return to your deep sleep.

"Jay? What time is it? I'm sorry, I tried to stay awake, but the couch was so comfy" the girl said, trying to defend herself, of nothing, because he was not accusing her at all, and it's obvious when he looks at her face with an expression of pure confusion.

"Why are you apologizing, sweetheart? It's really late, you didn't have to wait for me, come on, let's get you on bed" he says as the girl blinks her big eyes, shaking off the sleep, her arms wrapping almost instinctively around his neck, as he picks you up bridal style, wrapped in the fluffy blanket and takes you towards the bedroom.

It didn't matter how many nights had passed, how many patrols there were, how many times he told her it was okay for her to go to sleep, and that she didn't need to wait for him.

The routine in the end was always the same, him finding her passed out on the couch, curled up in some uncomfortable position, and then carrying her back to the bedroom while she grumbled about how he didn't need to carry her, even though she made no sign of moving, and just curled up tighter into him.

And yet, night after night, she kept apologizing for doing something as silly as falling asleep while waiting for him to come, and as cute as he thought it was, it was starting to get tiring.

"Honey, you know you don't have to apologize every time you fall asleep, right? It's okay to sleep, besides, I love the routine of having to carry you to bed" He teases with a smile on his face that said everything that was hidden behind his gaze.

She curls up on the bed as she waits for him to finish taking off his gear, watching him take off his combat boots and heavy jacket.

"I don't know, I just feel bad, you already do so much for me, the least I could do was wait for you." She says with a look on her face that expressed how much she wished she could do more, how much she felt she needed to do more.

His head tilts slightly to the side as he lets out a tired sigh.

"The only thing I want from you is for you to rest, so you can be beautiful and happy the next day, and not look like a tired zombie, you know that's more like my thing." He teases, smiling mischievously, drawing a little laugh from her pretty lips, as the bed moves with the new added weight.

His arms go straight to her waist, as if there was a supernatural force pushing them towards her. They curl up comfortably around each other, his head tucked into the space between her neck and shoulder, leaving kisses that were anything, but innocent.

"Maybe I have to tire you up, so you finally stop being so stubborn and go to sleep," he jokes, smiling as he bites lightly her earlobe, making her let out a cute sound between a nervous laugh and the beginning of a moan.

"Jay, stop it, you're tired, let's go to sleep." She protests, moving in his arms as he warmly holds her in place.

"Nah, never too tired for you, love."

His voice sounds huskier as his open-mouthed kisses start to trail down her neck, causing nervous giggles. "You know, I think you should-" He begins as she let out little nervous laughs and giggles, he murmurs against her skin, causing goosebumps, an effect only he could cause on her. "...Wear that shirt more often, you look pretty in my clothes." He says with a naughty smile as he places kisses on the lap of her chest, the part that's not covered by her (his) shirt.

This was going to be a really long night, at least you got a good rest.

[redhoodsdeer]

masterlist ꩜

jason todd:

bad time (aka crampy!reader x worried!jason)

valentine (aka sunshine!reader x in love!jason)

dizzy (aka clumsy!reader x protective!jason)

boyfriend (aka insecure!reader x bsf!jason)

rough night (aka civil!reader x vigilante bf!jason)

so american (aka civil!reader x vigilante bf jason)

cookies'n love (aka civil!reader x in love!jason)

on wheels (tired!reader x mechanic jason)

rafe cameron:

imperfect for you (aka insecure!reader x comforting!rafe)

[redhoodsdeer]

Past the Cemetery Gates

I haven't written ak!red hood in a while so here he is! This was originally for a request but I read the ask wrong and didn't realize until it was too late cause I'm mostly running off cough medicine and coffee  CW: You get chased and harassed by some creeps, and then there's some possible murder ~6.2k words

Every Sunday at three in the afternoon, you have a routine. You walk to the train station, take the six train four stops north, and, if the weather is good, you'll walk exactly six blocks to get to Gotham Cemetery. (If the weather is bad, however, you're more inclined to wait for the three-thirty-five bus, which stops almost exactly in front of the old, iron gates that lead into the graveyard)

This is the routine you have followed for every week of your life since Jason Todd died, ripped from your side by a cruel twist of fate. They called it a disappearance, an accident, a runway, all things you knew it wasn't. But it was Dick, after months and months of begging for the truth, for crumbs of anything to help ease your grief, who called it for what it was. A murder. A life ended by the bloodstained hands of the Joker.

It became a fact that engraved itself to the very core of your soul. Jason Todd was murdered. Jason Todd was murdered, so every Sunday, you find yourself standing six feet above where he should lay resting, where he should be resting forever. But the coffin you helped bury is empty, devoid of anyone or anything to care if you appear on Sundays or not.

Even so, visiting him, visiting the headstone with his name, just feels like what you have to do. He was your best friend, your foundation, and no matter how many months or years pass, it doesn't change that he is at the core of who you became. Your jokes mirror his humor, your favorite color was his too, your room is still littered with trinkets that remind you of him. You still throw punches just the way he taught you.

You couldn't just move past Jason, it never felt right to even try. So when you do go see him– his grave– you tell him about your week. Scrub the marble rock and leave flowers while you ramble about whatever is going on in the world, share jokes, relive memories, spill secrets, all to the boy who can never answer again. 

This is what you do, rain or shine, whether the city is in havoc or in some semblance of peace, in a rare calm before the next storm of mayhem whatever rouge designs to inflict on the streets of Gotham. (You've missed this tradition only once. Only the week Batman was revealed as Bruce Wayne, only after Batman died, and you had another empty coffin to stand by as it was lowered into the dirt)

It's something you're so used to, a task you know like the back of your hand. Every other Sunday, you'll run into a family with flowers, the ones that stop at a pristine white headstone to tell their grandmother about how big her grandchildren are getting. Every third Sunday, the flowers and gifts you leave behind are cleaned up by the caretakers once you leave. Every Sunday, save one or two, you smile at the elderly woman who walks in with a coffee and newspaper in hand.

These are all things that you're used to, facts known in your soul. It's why you notice him. The man in the ball cap and hoodie that hovers two rows and seven headstones behind you. The one that's been standing there before you arrive, and stands there no matter how long you stay, for the past three Sundays you've been visiting Jason. 

It's not exactly wrong for him to be there. It's just new. Different. And ever since Bruce died– ever since Dick disappeared without a whisper– you've been on edge. The whole city has been, really, but you can't help but feel like there's still a price you have to pay. That your time is somehow up. That after years of knowing who Batman is– after losing Jason and being able to do nothing about it– you're going to face something. 

You think it might be karma. Or maybe it's retribution. But there's a score to settle with the universe–  with something or someone out there. After all, knowledge has never been free in Gotham, and the weight of being associated with Batman always comes with a cost. 

It's not like you were a hero, or even the slightest bit a vigilante, but it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that you cared for Jason, and that Jason was Robin, Batman's protege.

And with no heroes left in Gotham to exact revenge on, why wouldn't they look for the next best thing? Why wouldn't that eventually make you a target? 

The paranoia isn't exactly your notion, but Tim's last, frantic warning before he went dark. But his words ring true, you've seen how everyone who's ever even talked to Bruce Wayne has been put under a microscope but the media, the GCPD, the world. And even if they haven't gotten their claws into you, it's only a matter of time before they, or someone with a score to settle does.

(Tim wasn't even the only person to warn you to watch your back, The GCPD's very own commissioner mentioned his own hushed concerns at Bruce's funeral. You had thanked him, and tried not to think too hard about what Babs not being there meant)

It should scare you, but all you feel is a vague sense of resignation. You just hope, that if whatever's coming finally catches up to you, if the slow creeping dread and feelings of being watched catches up to you, you'll find your way back to Jason.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when a voice speaks lowly behind you, you jolt, scolding yourself for getting caught off guard. But then his words register, and you whirl around, fuming, "What did you say?"

The stranger jerks his head towards the gravestone– Jason's headstone– "He was a stupid kid."

"He was not–" You start to hiss, huffing up in defense of the boy that meant everything to you, before he cuts you off.

"He was. He got himself caught. Caused a lot of problems. Trusted the wrong people. Did everything wrong and for what," he scoffs.

Your glare hardens as you step forward, trying to see under the ballcap and hood drawn low over his face, "He helped people. You can't just come here and spew whatever you feel like–"

He cuts you off again with the sound of your name, almost a warning, almost a threat. "Why are you really here," He asks, and you feel a chill creep up your spine as he digs his fists further into his pockets.

"I– always come here," you settle on. You know Bruce would chastise you for giving away your routine, but you can't find it in yourself to care when he already knows your name, with your blood simmering beneath your skin. 

"It's a waste of time. There's no one here to care," he protests, lips curling into a sneer.

"I care," you mumble, the fight draining out of you. You know that, in a way, he's right. There's no body. No Jason. No reward or salvation in your weekly visits. But you come anyway. It's just what you do. 

He stares at you for a moment more, you assume if you could see under the shadow of his ball cap he would be scowling. He doesn't say anything more, just turns and leaves you to a silent headstone and an empty grave. 

You don't mean to stay as long as you do, after he leaves. But you linger among the marble and granite gravestones for a long time, lost in your own thoughts, the feeling that, even in death, you find new ways to fail Jason Todd. It's not a feeling that makes sense, but grief rarely is. 

It's not until you realize you've missed your usual train home, that you finally find your bearings, that you force yourself to smile and wave to someone that's not there. Never there. Never will be there. 

The walk to the train station is fine, if not a bit windy. The train ride is normal, if a little quieter than normal. But the problem comes as you step off the stairs of the subway and onto the streets, and a low whistle breaks the strange silence that's been cast over the city just as the sun begins to set. 

"Come join us, sweet cheeks," a voice drawls, stumbling and slurred as he trips over his feet and words, "You look like you need the company." Four equally drunk men follow him, grins leering as they take you in and lewdly gesture for you to come closer.

Dread settles in your stomach, far worse than it did when the stranger approached you in the cemetery. Night is falling, and everyone knows that there's no solace in the shadows anymore, no watchful eye in the dark to save you. You drop your gaze and start walking, steady, but quick as you ignore their groans of annoyance and agitation. 

"Hey, hey, where are ya going," one of the men calls after you, and their pace quickens to match yours, "No need to be all shy. We just wanna be friends."

Another of them snickers, "Oh, yeah, close friends."

A gust of wind blows through your clothes, and you suppress a shiver, every nerve on edge as you focus on putting on foot in front of the other. 

The teasing tone in the air shifts, and a rough hand grabs your shoulder, turning you around– you hadn't realized just how close they'd gotten. 

"Would ya look at that? Knew I recognized you from somewhere. Yer one of the Bat's little friends. Why don't ya tell us what it was like cuddling up to old Brucie, " he leers, grin wide and menacing. 

"Back off," you snap, fed with strangers who think they have a right to your past.

"Don't be such a killjoy," He huffs, half playful, half a real, honest threat, "Just give us a chance to get to know ya. We only wanna have some fun, is all." His hand starts to drop along your shoulder blade, and his voice goes vicious, "It'll be a good time, baby, promise." 

Instinct takes over before you can think better on it, and you aim a hook right for his chin. It's one of your better punches, one that sends him stumbling back into the arms of his drunken friends. 

Everything freezes, their gazes dart between you and the reeling man pushing himself back to his feet. There's a snarl on his face, a manic look in his eyes, and all it takes is for him to open his mouth and start hissing cusses at you for you to turn on your heel and run. 

It takes less time than you'd hope for them to realize you're running, even less for them to start following you. 

You're going to die, is what runs through your head as you duck around corners and rush through the darkening streets. You're going to die and they're going to hide your body and no one is ever going to find you and you're going to rot at the bottom of Gotham Harbor and you'll just be another statistic in the never ending plague crime that always seems to win.

Laughs and jeers sound behind you as you run, the sound of heavy feet hitting concrete follows you down the twists and turns of Gotham's alleyways. They're close, too close. You don't know how a group of drunken catcallers could be so fast, but they are. 

"Come back here," They snap at you, practically breathing down your neck. You can feel fingers brushing against your back, hear their taunts in your ears. But you just need to keep running, if you can make it to your building– make it to other people– 

A hand catches your arm painfully, cutting your thoughts short and throwing you to the ground. "Caught you," the man sneers, grabbing the back of your shirt to drag you in an isolated alley. The other four men follow behind, panting and jostling each other as snide grins fill their faces.

You kick, claw at the hands pulling you into the alley, but it only makes them laugh harder as he hoists you up to slam you into a wall. You wince, head spinning as you push and shove at his arms, but he hardly seems to notice as his friends creep closer, eager and excited. 

"Shouldn't have done that, there ain't anyone here to save ya" he grumbles, the air rancid with the smell of alcohol as he grabs at your jacket, "We coulda had a good time, but ya had to go be difficult and run the fun for–"

The weight is ripped off you in an instant, you barely have time to process the relief that floods your senses when you're jarred to stillness by the blood red bat that meets your eyes. There's not supposed to be any bats left in Gotham, but your mind is quick to supply the faint recollection of whispers you've heard of a new vigilante. Rumors made fact by the truth in front of you, Red Hood.

"You're dead," he says, even and tight, even though the modulator. He says it not to you, but to them, the men backing up wearily and uneasily. "You're all dead," he repeats, voice dropping as they exchange glances, not knowing what to make of him. 

You don't quite know what to make of him either. His fists are clenched, his muscles are tense, but the set of his shoulders is confident, self assured that he can deliver on his threats. He's steady and shaking all at once, and you have the distinct feeling he's shaking out of sheer rage, of holding back from whatever he's planning on doing. 

The air is heavy, you're practically holding your breath as you press back against the wall, unable to look away. They're afraid. You can't help but be too. Red Hood– hero or not– is dangerous. You can feel his anger vibrating against your skin, taste his vow to kill them in the air.

One of the men laughs, "You can't take all of us–" he starts, and the tension snaps, Red Hood snaps.

You know you should run. You know you should turn away, but you can't. You watch every punch that meets flesh, every splatter of blood that hits the concrete, every limb that twists in a way that it shouldn't. You hear every plea for mercy, every sickening crunch of bone, every gasp and wheeze for air. 

You witness it all, every time his boot comes down onto mangled limbs, every time his gloved hands drags back a man that tries to flee. He doesn't stop, doesn't offer a hint of compassion until the alley is silent, save for his heaving of his chest beneath his armor. 

Only then does he turn back to you. You regret not running while you had the chance. But even as your knees shake and you curse your frozen state, you have the feeling he would have followed you if you had run. 

He walks closer, your mind goes blank in fear, and he gently brushes his fingers over your cheek, observing the wetness that soaks into his gloves when he pulls his hand away. You didn't even realize you were crying.  

"Did they… hurt you," he asks, words short and clipped and not at all comforting. 

It takes all of your strength to will yourself into shaking your head. You're scratched up from being dragged, your head hurts from when it hit the wall, but telling him any of that? You're afraid of giving him any excuse to stay.

He studies you, judges you, and you do the same. His helmet glows eerily in the dim light of the alley, as red as the crimson bat on his back. He's not shaking anymore, but he doesn't seem calm either. You imagine he's still feeling the same adrenaline that's coursing through your veins. But you doubt he feels the same urge to get as far away from the situation as possible.

The silence drags on for too long, and you feel like you have to break it, get him to stop staring at you. Especially when it feels like he's picking you apart, like he knows exactly what's going on in your head. "Thank you," you settle on, words careful and quiet as you do your best to wipe the tears from your face.

He straightens out, a huff of a laugh filling your ears like he can't believe what he's hearing, "You're thanking me for killing them?"

"I'm thanking you for saving me," you correct, focusing your gaze on a random brick of the alley, doing your best to avoid looking at the carnage he laid waste behind him, to ignore the unnatural silence save for you and him. 

He hunches back into himself, and you can't help but feel uneasy that he's still here, like he's waiting for something. "You shouldn't be out here," he tells you.

You think that's obvious enough and you almost want to roll your eyes, but your knees are still shaking, and you can't find the strength to push off the wall yet. So you nod instead, hoping he'll leave you to figure it out alone, to have a moment where you can let it all wash over you and just break down. 

"I can take you home," he says, after another long moment of silence, voice flat without a hint of emotion to betray his true feelings. 

That grabs your attention, pulling you out a spiral you didn't even realize you were in, "No, it's–" you start. 

"You're scared of me," he cuts you off, demanding.

You think that this is obvious too. "Anyone would be," you admit reluctantly, and you hate that you feel like you're answering wrong, like he expects something different from you. 

You watch as his fists clench than unclench, and his head ducks like he's lost in thought, "Fine. You're scared. Be scared," he lifts his head again, tone almost accusing, "It doesn't change that it's not safe for you to stay here, or that I'm taking you home."

"I can get myself back–" you begin, pushing yourself off the wall as your heart rate spikes. The last thing you want is for him to know where you live, for you to get involved in anymore people that wear the symbol of the bat. But your protests count for nothing when pain shoots up from your ankle, making your knees buckle under your own weight.

You wince, expecting to hit the cold concrete, but it's warm, leather covered arms that catch you instead, cradling you against sturdy armor. 

You freeze, you think he freezes too, until he exhales softly, tension draining from his body, "You said you weren't hurt."

"I didn't think I was," you mumble, almost embarrassed as you brace your hands unsurely against his arms trying to push yourself back up onto your uninjured foot. You roll your ankle slowly, wincing quietly at the pain that radiates when you move it. You must sprained it at some point, you realize.

Red Hood just holds you tighter when you try to move, silent as if he's weighing his options. "I'll carry you," he tells you, already maneuvering you to lift you into his arms.

It just makes you squirm, uneasy over this stranger, how easy this all seems to be for him, "I don't need to be carried."

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, a noise you can only hear because he's holding you so close, and says your name like he's trying to find all the patience in the world to deal with you, "You didn't used to mind being picked up."

Your world tilts on its axis and he lifts you into his arms like his words didn't change everything– like the fact that he knows you means nothing at all. You should be scared, should be terrified of him, but you just feel resigned. It was only a matter of time before the consequences of knowing Batman– knowing Robin– caught up to you. Really you're just surprised it didn't happen sooner.

But something about his words itches at your skin. It's not far-fetched for him to know your name. What is strange, what's wrong even, is that he thought you wouldn't mind being carried. Because you didn't used to.

"Why do you know that," you ask, surprising yourself with how steady your voice sounds.

He doesn't answer for a moment, just carries you through the dark twist and turns of Gotham's alleyways, "Lots of people know your name," he decides on telling you, once you start to squirm in his arms.

"That's not what I asked," you protest, but even as you press him for details, you're starting to get more concerned about where he's bringing you than why he knows your name.

"I keep track of all of Batman's associates," he says, voice more strained than truthful, even through the modulator of his helmet.

"Is that why you wear the bat," you prompt, curiosity making you speak before you can think on your words, "Did you know him?" Honestly, while you don't claim to know all of Bruce's vigilante friends, you'd like to think you would have known about someone like Red Hood. (and really you would feel safer if he was a friend of Bruce)

His grip shifts on you, the only indicator that he's uncomfortable with your line of questions, "It's a reminder."

You both ignore how he avoids your second question. Even if he saved you, you still haven't gotten comfortable with the vigilante that attacked those men with such ruthlessness and precision. You start to ask another question, torn between wanting to know what it's a reminder of and wanting to know where he's taking you, before he cuts you off.

"Do you always interrogate the people trying to help you," he sighs out, head tipping down as if he's trying to get a look at your face.

"Only when I don't know where they're taking me after," you snark out, with more bite than you probably should have. 

"I'm taking you home," he supplies, picking up his pace like he can't get rid of you fast enough.

"Whose home? My home? You know where I live," you rapid fire at him, throat tightening with panic.

He stumbles a little, a noise of alarm escapes the back of your throat, but he doesn't drop you.

"I– my home?" he tries, but you know it's a lie. He knows that you know he's lying, and his shoulders deflate a little when you start accusing him of it.

"You know where I live," you say slowly, voice sure and steady despite your fear.

"I know where lots of people live," he grumbles, and goes right back to his quickened walk, just shy of jogging and nearly jostling you in his arms.

"Is this some kind of revenge plot," you start, finality sinking into your bones, "Because if you're trying to get back at anyone– at Batman– I'm not gonna try to–"

He snorts, cutting off your words, and you note that it sounds unpracticed. His grip softness before he speaks again, "No, been there, done that. Didn't help. I really am just trying to get you home safe."

A part of you believes him, but a bigger part of you just wants to grab his helmet and rip it off his head. He's frustrating, and even as your apartment building comes into view, even as the ordeal comes towards an end, you find yourself wanting to know him. 

It's a feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can't explain. He knows you. He knows– knew– Batman. And you want to know him, or at the least, how he's aware of all of it. 

"Who are you," you breathe out, the sound barely a whisper. It's the one question that's truly been plaguing you since he said you didn't used to mind being carried. You can count the people who knew that on one hand. And for him to say it so casually, to say it like he's experienced it first hand, you don't like what it implies. 

"Red Hood," he answers gruffly, voice clipped, "Do you think you can get up to your place by yourself?"

"No," you huff out, annoyance creeping into your face. In truth, you probably could limp your way up to your apartment, but you're not willing to let this go. Not when there's more to this– to him– than he's willing to share with you.

He stands still outside your building for a full thirty seconds before mumbling, "Fine," and carrying you inside. Neither of you try to start a conversation. You don't dig for answers when he presses the correct number for your floor in the elevator. You don't even get angry when he walks right to your door without asking for directions.

He starts to put you down, but even with the clear unease and tension in his body, he's still careful.

"Wait," you say quickly, "I need help wrapping my ankle."

"You know how to do that," Red Hood sighs out, annoyance clear as day in his voice.

"I forgot how," you lie. You know you're being stubborn, you know inviting him in is dangerous, but every part of you feels like you need answers from him. That knowing will solve something. 

His silence is enough to pick up on that fact that he doesn't believe you in the slightest. But he doesn't try to pull away or leave when you lean into him and unlock your door. He doesn't even seem upset when you look up at him expectantly when the door swings open, he just loops an arm around your waist and guides you to the couch.

"Where's your kit," he asks once you've settled and seated.

"Bathroom," you supply easily, and he turns and walks in that direction without another word. It unnerves you that he knows where it is without you needing to guide him, but you can't say you're surprised. 

He comes back with the first aid kit quickly, and kneels in front of you to carefully take off your shoe. Red Hood observes your ankle for a moment before he tugs off his gloves and starts to dig through your first aid kit for bandages.

It gives you a chance to observe him. His armor looks strong enough, but his jacket is full of rips and tears. His hood hides most of his helmet, but what you can see seems more technologically advanced than you expected. There's guns and knives strapped to his thighs and you think you see a grenade hooked to his waist. It all radiates danger.

You turn your attention to the rest of him. Even with the hunch in his shoulders, he's big. You think he might be as tall Bruce is– was. You get the distinct, strange feeling that you would like the color of his eyes. 

His voice breaks the silence as he starts to wrap your ankle with calloused, warm hands.

"What," you ask dumbly, so lost in studying him, in the feel of his steady hands ghosting over your skin, you've missed what his words were. 

"You should keep ice on it, about thirty minutes at a time. And elevate it until the swelling goes down," He repeats, movements practiced as he finishes tending to your injury, "You got that?"

You remember that well enough, Jason had more than his fair share of sprained ankles when you were growing up, but there's no point in sharing that when you're meant to be playing dumb. "Got it," you say confidently.

"Good," he murmurs, standing up faster than you expected, like he can't wait to get as far away from you as possible.

"Wait," you startle, grabbing his wrist, "You still never told me who you are."

"I never said I would," he half-growls at you, but he doesn't tear his arm away from your hold.

"What if I need to contact you," you counter, fingers tightening into the fabric of his jacket.

He lets out a heavy sigh, and for the first time he seems genuinely annoyed. Red Hood levels you with a glare you can feel even through his helmet and grits out, "Why would you need to contact me."

You almost drop your grip on him, feeling as uneasy as you did watching him beat your attackers, "Well– those men went after me– they knew who I was. That I knew Batman, I mean, Bruce. And if they can figure it out–"

"You don't have to worry about that," he tells you, voice softening at the nervousness you don't quite mean to show him, "I took care of it already."

That does get you to drop his wrist, "But there's more people out there than them. What if Two-Face decides I'm an easy target? Or Penguin gets out of jail. Or–"

He says name sternly, cutting off your rambling, "I took care of it already."

"You– what" you question, confusion and surprise spreading across your face.

"I took care of it," he repeats again, nothing but fierce, decisive truth in his voice, "Anyone who thought they could get to you. Anyone who wanted to use you because of your connection to– to them. I took care of it."

It stuns you, and half expect him to leave you to your shock. But he stands there waiting, patient as if he's ready and willing to face your fury or your understanding. "Why," is all you manage to ask.

"I owe you," he murmurs, like it's his greatest secret, "If it wasn't for me… If I hadn't– If we didn't–" he cuts himself off with a pained groan, "It doesn't matter. It's too dangerous for you to be involved in this."

"I'm good at keeping secrets, and I'm already involved," you breathe out, feeling like you're at the edge of the abyss, "I might as well have a bat branded on me, you know."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you feel like with just one push, everything will change. You need to know. You need to know why he's gone out of his way to keep you safe, why he's offered you so much help, why his fingers lingered over your skin while he wrapped your ankle. 

His shoulders slump, defeated and drained, "I know. It'd be better if you just got out of the city."

"There's nowhere to go, even if there was, Batman has enemies everywhere," you say gently, shifting forward on the couch. "Please? I'm just– so tired of being in the dark." And it's the truth. You're exhausted by the radio silence from Dick and Tim and Barbara. You're sick of jumping at shadows, and you know it's not wrong to reach for something real– a raft in a storm. 

His head snaps up at your plea, and he lets out a low, almost inaudible curse, "You won't like the answer, sweetheart. They say ignorance is bliss."

"Ignorance is a curse," you counter, eyes meeting the blank red of his helmet in quiet defiance. 

"Just– don't freak out," he mumbles after a strained, heavy moment. You nod, and it takes a long, long minute for him to finally move. He reaches up, and the air disappears from your lungs. You expected him to tell you how he knew Batman, why he feels like he owes you, what he's been through to even want to care about your safety– not to reveal his identity. (Even if you had asked for it)

He removes his helmet, letting it hang loosely in his grip. And suddenly everything makes sense. Desperate, clear blue eyes stare right back at you. Red Hood– Jason Todd– clenches and unclenches his fists gaze unwavering as he waits for your judgement. When you offer none but silence, he speaks, "Do you understand now? Do you get why I took care of it? Why I'll keep taking care of it?"

"Jason," you finally manage to choke out, not bothering to hide the way your vision blurs with tears, "They said– I thought– I thought you were dead."

He cringes slightly, a pained look that scrunches his nose the exact same way it did when you were kids, "Yeah."

"You're not dead," you gasp and you don't mean to cry in front of him again, but your tears spill freely as the entire night, every awful thing that's happened since you've lost him, crashes over you, "You're not dead."

That breaks something in him, and he's back on his knees before you, cradling your face and wiping your tears with his thumbs without you even really registering that he's moving, "Yeah," he repeats, like it's the only word he can find in his vocabulary to say.

You press your palms to the back of his hands, distraught and frantic to keep him there, "I missed you."

A myriad of emotions flick over his face, disbelief, hurt, guilt, and a few you don't quite catch before he squeezes his eyes shut and mutters your name with such pain you want to scream, "I'm not– what you remember. I'm not good. You saw first hand what I'm capable of."

"I don't care," you stumble out quickly, "If you hadn't been there– if you didn't save me they would have–"

Your voice trails off when his finger tighten for the briefest second against your face, and his eyes open, flashing with a darkness you don't recognize, "I wouldn't have let them. It won't happen." His voice is hard, firm with certainty, and if the rage simmering under his voice was directed at you, you think you would have run.

But it's Jason, and the anger disappears as quickly as it comes once he starts drying your tears again. You exhale shakily and lean into his touch, relief outweighing any nerves settling in your stomach, "I'm glad you're here."

His fingers still over your skin for a moment before his fingers continue their soothing pattern against your cheeks and under your eyes, "Me too," he says softly, like admitting it too loudly will break something. His gaze darts to the window, and your heart drops in your chest. 

"I don't want you to go," you plead, and before you think better of it, you push off the couch to bury your face in his throat, arms hooking around his neck like they're your last life line.

He stiffens, and you freeze. You messed up, you messed up and now he's going to hate you and he's going to leave and never come back and you're an awful person for even thinking he'd want to hug you and– and his arms come up to hug you back, crushing you to his chest. 

He runs his hand up and down your spine, soothing you the same way he used to, "I'm not going anywhere, unless you want me to. Okay?"

You nod into his shoulder, the tension draining from your body. He's warm. You have no idea how you didn't catch on to the fact that it was him sooner. He still smells the same– save the gun powder– and he's still as gentle as he's always been when he touches you. 

"I'm so sorry–" you choke out, pressing yourself as close as you can to him, wanting to hold him against you forever, to prove to yourself again and again that he really is alive.

"We don't have to do that," he murmurs, and you nearly melt when he presses a kiss to your temple, "We can save the apologies for later."

You find yourself nodding again, wanting to savor him, the moment, the feeling that for the first time in longer than you can remember, something like hope is blossoming in your chest. You giggle a little when an absurd thought crosses your mind, unable to stifle it.

"What is it," He– Jason– asks quietly. 

"I need something new to do on Sundays now," you say into his shoulder, a smile forming on your face, "I used to– it's not funny– but I'd visit your grave then and now you're not dead and now I–"

"Don't have to," he finishes for you, gentle and almost fond. 

You hum in agreement, even if it wasn't what you were going to say.

"We can do something," he offers, tucking you closer. 

The suggestion makes you feel like you're floating on air, and longing wells in your throat, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he echoes, and this time you do melt when he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, "We'll make a tradition of it."

"I'd like that," you admit, shy to reveal how much that means to you.

Jason squeezes your waist in answer, voice as tender as yours, "Me too." 

Your smile grows wider despite yourself. You still have more questions that you can form right now, but Jason is rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. So, Red Hood can wait. Gotham can wait. Everything else can wait until you both start to stitch yourself back together in each other's arms. 

[redhoodsdeer]

hiii I really love ur writing I eat it up everytimee ❤️❤️❤️😍😍😛

I was wondering if I could request a Jason Todd like thingy where reader is new to Gotham and she doesnt know her boyfriend (jason) is red hood or who he is really . And one night he just passes out straight in bed without even thinking about his suit and helmet and reader wakes up to this masked man in her bed and is like screaming and being like “wtf who the hell are you” “my bf is huge and he’ll fuck you up” and calling Jason and stuff and he’s just like tf?

Ik this request is like all over the place but I just randomly had this cute idea and I thought you’d eat it up 😍

thankkk uu ❤️❤️❤️

rough night (aka civil!reader x vigilante bf jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where jason still keeps being a vigilante a secret from you, and you continue to be clueless that your boyfriend is red hood, until one rough night he forgets something a little important.

a/n: omg hi! i'm so happy with your request, sorry that it take so long, but here it is, i love how your mind work btw, hope you like it, i actually don't think my writing is good on this one, but the prompt is amazing! feel free to send requests!

english is not my first language.

It was a particularly calm night, at least for you, who had already done your bedtime routine, and were curled up in the couch with your favorite book, waiting for your boyfriend.

You watched on the news that there was a chasing, but this is Gotham, there is always a chasing on the news, you may not have lived here for long, but you are used to the special way of the city, fights, deaths and crimes that flooded the city on an ordinary weekday.

As much as you enjoyed waiting for your boyfriend to get home, so you could go to bed with him, he was pretty late today, and it was already late night, sleep was starting to overtake you, the book slowly becoming less interesting and more hazy, finally making you decide it was time to go to bed.

Now, even though Gotham is a dangerous city, and more than anything, unexpected, you definitely didn't expect that on a cool tuesday night you would walk into your room in your pretty pajamas and comfortable robe and find a huge vigilante lying on your bed, comfortable, as if he lived there his whole life.

And no one can blame you that your first reaction was to scream, scream for your life, while the book falls from your hand, you were in complete shock, the vigilante waking up confused as he looks around and finds you wrapped in your pink robe looking absolutely terrified.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? How did you get into my fucking apartment?" she said frantically as tears began to well up in your eyes as you grabbed the closest thing to you, to defend yourself, which turned out to be the lamp on your nightstand.

And the man lying in your bed looks just as confused as you do, even more, his head tilted to the side, you can't see through the intimidating red helmet, but you're sure if you could, you'd see a huge question mark hanging on his face.

"What do you mean who the hell am I? Have you lost your mind, honey?" And it wasn't until his voice came out modified by the modulator that Jason realized he was still in his full uniform, including his helmet, which explained his girlfriend's complete panic upon seeing him.

"Look, my boyfriend is going to be here any minute, and he's huge and he's going to beat the hell out of you, so please leave."

The words might have been intended to be threatening, but they lost their effect almost instantly when he knew that the boyfriend she was referring to was the one lying on the bed being threatened at that moment, and also by the tears he desperately wanted to wipe from your face.

And, as Gotham is the city of the unexpected, the unexpected happens, and the huge vigilante lying on your bed starts laughing, but not a threatening laugh, or a shy little giggle, he starts to really laugh, the kind of laugh that you throw your head back for laughing so hard, while slowly removing the helmet from his head.

And when your beloved boyfriend reveals himself, the lamp in your hand slowly lowers as your lips part in pure shock.

"Jason? What the hell is going on right now?"

She said while still holding the lamp, and looked at him more confused than ever, and the once scary and threatening vigilante stands up and wraps you in a hug, while you remain in complete shock.

"Did you have any intention to tell me about this at some point?"

Your mind, still recovering from the shock, manages to elaborate and ask, while you return the hug, as tight as you can, still shaking from finding out that your boyfriend is the fucking Red Hood.

"Honey, I'm so sorry, I swear I was going to tell you, I just didn't know if you were going to be ready to hear it, and if you would still be with me after you found out."

"If you would still see me the same way, you would love me the same way"

And now your shock is for a completely different reason, as you pull away from his embrace softly, your brows furrowed in pure indignation.

"Are you kidding me right now? Jason I would love you and be with you even if you were the fucking Batman."

And a comforting smile appears on your face, as you, on your tiptoes, hold his face in your hands as if he was the most precious thing in the world, and for you, he was.

"Jay, I love you regardless of any of this, if you're a secret vigilante at night, your secrets or anything else, because I love you for who you are and I need you to know that."

And now the bright tears in your eyes were for a completely different reason, you just didn't expect him to think that way, when right there in front of you is the man you loved the most in the world.

"God, what did I do to deserve someone like you?" he murmurs into your hair as you're wrapped around each other, you guiding him towards the comfortable bed.

"I ask myself that every day, Jay."

And now, with no secrets and curled up comfortably in each other, as it should be, he whispers to you.

"About that Batman thing, we need to talk."

[redhoodsdeer]

boyfriend (aka insecure reader x bsf jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where the reader has a terrible boyfriend and always ends up crying about him to her best friend, jason todd, or, where jason finally gets tired of seeing his girl being mistreated and does something about it.

a/n: i know i kinda say pretty much the same thing here, but these two are really cute, okay? i was like giggling and kicking while writing it, hope you guys love it. feel free to send requests!

english is not my first language.

At 8pm, on your birthday, the day that was supposed to be about you, for you, where you were supposed to be going out and partying, you were curled up on the couch, wearing a sweatshirt three sizes too big for you, after the worst fight you've ever had with your boyfriend.

Your hand wrapped around your phone as you dialed the number of the only person who would understand you, who always did, your best friend, Jason. Your voice sounded tearful on the phone as you almost begged him to come to your apartment, you didn't have to say much, or wait long, before he shows up at your frontdoor.

As you wiped the tears away from your face and dragged yourself to open the door, trying to force a smile on your face, as he pulled you into his arms, before you could even say anything. "You need to break up with that asshole, you know that, right?"

Your voice sounds like a whisper against his chest as he softly guides you into the apartment, with you still clinging to him. "He already did it, he broke up with me, because he's seeing someone else" Your voice barely comes out, the tears running down your pretty face again, and Jason feels his blood boil, as if that asshole wasn't enough of a jerk to you.

With a quick look around the apartment he was able to catch the signs from the fight, the shards of glass on the floor, the broken flower vase, besides the complete mess that the apartment was in, your boyfriend was never exactly a controlled person.

"He doesn't deserve you, he never did," he whispers against her hair as he sits the two of you on the couch, which by some miracle, was in perfect condition, and he hears her whimper against him. "What if the problem is me? What if I wasn't interesting enough, or pretty enough-" His eyebrows furrowed together in the purest expression of disbelief before he shuts you up. "Honey, I'm sorry, but shut up, are you even listening to yourself? You're doubting of the best person I know for some asshole who didn't know how to value the fucking treasure he had."

Your eyes, shining with tears, stare into his, without any words to express how you felt. Jason hated your boyfriend, he always did, and with a good reason, he always treated you as if you were less than him, and you accepted it, because he made you believe that you were less.

Your eyebrows furrowed in doubt slightly, your body moving away from his a little so you could finally look properly at him.

"I would never leave you crying alone on your own birthday for the God's sake, or leave you alond at a party at two am for someone else to take you home." He grabs your hands, an almost pleading look in his eyes, and there it was, you finally understand, all the hate directed at your boyfriend, is because he knew exactly how you should be treated, he knew exactly how to treat you.

Your eyes were shining with something different than tears this time, affection, as your head slowly tilted to the side, absorbing the information. "I could be a better boyfriend than him, come on, I doubt that idiot knows that you only drink tea with cream and a ton of sugar? That you bake cookies to the children at the shelter, so they can feel loved?" He shook his head, he wouldn't let the guy who left you crying on your own birthday after telling you he cheated on you go unpunished, but that was a story for later, for when you understand that everything you ever needed was right there.

"Shut up, I love you," she says with the most genuine, silly smile she had in weeks, maybe months, before wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a heated, well-deserved kiss.

"I've loved you since the day I saw you eating snow when you were six, Jay, I guess I just never thought it was mutual." He smirked, rolling his eyes, his arms keeping her wrapped around him. "I saw you having a crush on Edward Cullen when you were thirteen, do you really think I would still be here if I didn't love you?" You laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

"Shut up and kiss me."

[redhoodsdeer]

imperfect for you (aka insecure reader x comforting rafe)

kook!reader x rafe cameron

prompt: a party that was supposed to be relaxing and to clear the head goes terribly wrong, leaving a very anxious and insecure reader, good thing she has her very caring boyfriend who knows exactly how to take care of her.

a/n: okay, that's the first time i write for rafe, i really like obx and rafe, so i tried my best in here, but i didn't really like it, i think it's bcs it's my first time writing about him. i hope you guys like it

english is not my first language.

You weren't exactly excited about going to this party, but you knew your boyfriend was, and you didn't want to be a party pooper, and at least you'd be with him, nothing bad would happen if you gave up and went to a party, right?

Well, you were wrong, terribly wrong, even though you were a kook, you never exactly fit in, you never got the right friends, and even though you were pretty, guys just didn't seem to be interested in you.

That was until, Rafe Cameron laid his eyes on you, in your little sundress, having a drink at the club, just looking for some peace, you looked almost ethereal in his eyes, and he just knew you were meant to be together, it took a while to convince you of that. You spent most of the talk thinking it was some bad joke, because there was no way, Rafe Cameron, the king of kooks, was there, talking to you, interested in you and not on your hot friend, or literally anyone else.

You two get along almost instantly, his charm had you wrapped around his finger, and you loved it.

It had been months since you two started dating, but you still didn't feel like you fit into his social circle. So when, the first moment he separated from you at the party, a girl purposely bumped into you, spilling her drink on your short dress and whispering 'Whore' in your ear, you were sure.

Rafe didn't get it why you suddenly looked so upset, but he wanted everything, but to see his girl upset, so when he suggested for you, that you two go home, you happily headed towards the truck.

"Sweetheart, you need to talk to me. What the hell happened that you suddenly look like a kicked puppy?" and it only took his playful words for you to burst into tears in the passenger seat, it wasn't just the girl or the stained dress, everything looked too much, and you looked so small, a girl being an bitch was all you needed to lose it.

Rafe immediately looked at you with his blue eyes filled with concern. "Hey, love, I was just kidding, you don't look like a kicked puppy, I swear." he says trying to understand what happened to make you break down.

You looked up at him, your pretty eyes shining with tears. "I just-, I don't feel like I fit in, Rafey, like i fit right in with you, but i'm just unwanted by everyone else," she says, her voice cracking with tears. "I tried to fit in, but I've been around these people my whole life, and they've never liked me, and now I feel like I'm holding you back, or making them look down at you"

Now, he looks like a kicked puppy as he looks at you with a worried expression. "Honey, you don't have to fit in, those people at the party, they don't like me either, they look at me like shit too and that's not your fault, not at all, you don't need to fit in with them because you think you have to because of me, the only person I need by my side, is you."

She blinks her bright eyes at him, as if the words had run away from her mind. The car stops in front of the house, and he gets out, opening the door for her, greeting her with a kiss before the words even come back to her. "I love you, no matter what any of those assholes think, because you're the one who's here for me, not them."

She looks at him, looking almost wonderstruck, a smile breaking across her face, wrapping her arms around his neck. "The only person I need is you, Rafe," she says, knowing that the feeling was mutual. "What do you say we go inside, put you in some comfy clothes, and watch Sex and the City?" She laughs at how well he knows her as they walk into the house, his hand around her waist.

"Sounds perfect."