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[starqwerty20]

Jason Todd is lucky enough to have a s/o who gets the vigilante thing, you have since he was Robin. Of course you’ll worry and fuss and absolutely rip him a new one while patching him up when he comes home hurt, but you let him do his thing, let him go out on patrol, because you understand it’s important - to him and the city.

And then one day he comes home to find his gear haphazardly hidden throughout the apartment. It’s not particularly well done; his helmet comes tumbling out from the cupboard under the sink when he opens it, his guns peek out from behind the plates and part of his armor almost trips him up from its’ new place under the couch. Meanwhile you’re nowhere to be found and he’s desperately trying to figure out if he’s walked into some half cooked, ridiculous prank or if he should actually be worried. And then the front door opens to you, balancing several containers from your favorite takeout place in your arms, and greeting him with a smile like always.

It takes Jason all of ten minutes to understand that, despite your best efforts to keep up appearances, something’s wrong.

It’s in the way you don’t let him out of your sight for more than five seconds at a time. In the way your eyes will find your wristwatch every other minute, like you’re waiting for something and time can’t seem to pass fast enough. In the way you’re constantly touching him one way or another: an arm around his waist, a hand on the small of his back or your shoulder against his when you both finally end up on the couch, takeout containers in hand and some silly, brightly colored game show on the TV in the background.

After you get up for the third time to convince yourself that the door and all windows are definitely locked, he almost asks what’s going on, but then you trudge back over and all but collapse on his splayed out form on the couch with a heavy sigh, body coiled tight like a spring and an absolute death grip on his shirt. And he decides against prying right then and there, because… because he’s had days like this.

Days when everything feels wrong and he’s hurting. Days when he doesn’t want to talk about that drug lord that got away or the kid he wasn’t fast enough to save or his last fight with Bruce. Days when he just wants to exist in the same space as his favorite person for a while without having to explain himself - and you don’t push or prod in those moments, you just let him be. He knows he can talk to you if he wants, but that’s not always what he needs. Not extending the same courtesy to you right now would make him nothing more than a cruel hypocrite.

So he simply wraps his arms around you a little bit tighter and gently, teasingly reminds you that, “You can always ask me to ditch patrol and stay with you. No need to turn my gear into a tripping hazard.” He receives a quiet, affirmative hum in response and that’s good enough for now. Eventually, even though he tries to fight it for a bit, he dozes off with you still tucked safely against him, his nose buried in your hair; god knows when he last allowed himself a proper nights’ rest. Any other day this would be enough to calm you; having him right here, letting his strong, steady heartbeat lull you to sleep - not today.

No, today you will not find rest for another hour and forty two minutes at least, if experience is anything to go by. Experience that says that the tension keeping your body wound tight and your brain abuzz with anxiety will not subside until you can watch the hands of the clock on the wall crawl over the twelve, signaling the beginning of a new day.

You’re not sure if he’s realized what today is; if he’s figured out the pattern. That you use different methods to virtually trap him inside the apartment on the same damn day every year. If he has, he’s playing along for your sake, if he hasn’t… just as well, you don’t want him to know. Rationally speaking, you’re aware that this is utterly ridiculous. It was a random day back then, it could be any random day now. And yet… you can’t help it.

He can go be a hero and risk his life any other day of the year, but April 27th? April 27th he stays right here with you, where you can keep him safe and sound and make sure history doesn’t repeat itself.

[starqwerty20]

Here for the ask game!

What about number 20 with Jason todd, pretty please? If it's not inspiring or something that's okay, but i guessed that i could try my luck.

🌛

for you, anon? anything 💛

sort of inspired by this one i wrote the other day

20. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

Things are going bad. Life-threateningly bad. Red Hood is out cold, bleeding on the ground kind of bad.

You and him have what you could graciously describe as a tenuous relationship. You're at your happiest when you don't have to deal with his sarcastic, smug face, but the truth of the matter is, the two of you work well together. So you got paired up.

Hood got hit because he had your back. You, who he seemed to take every step possible to irritate. And what's worse is you exerted the great effort to pull him to what little safety you could find in a place where everyone was looking for you. You, who did go to great lengths to make his life more difficult than it needed to be.

Now your gloves are warm and sticky with his blood as you hold pressure, hidden in some dark corner of the warehouse.

"Hey," you snap, keeping your voice low. You convince yourself it's so no one overhears you, not to hide the desperation you can feel gripping your chest. "You need to wake up. I can't do this without you."

He's supposed to cover you; that's why fear is nudging at your thoughts when you're doing your best to keep a clear head. If Hood dies, you're dead--that has to be what's got your heart pounding in your ears. Why it feels like you can no longer breathe.

When there's no immediate reaction, you squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a strained, whispered curse. A pain moan has your eyes pop back open.

"Don't tell me you're crying over me," he murmurs. His words are light, but both of you know the situation is far from that.

You try to find your breath after the split second it seems to leave your lungs. "You wish," you reply when you finally can.

At least things are no longer quite as dire as you thought.

[starqwerty20]

‧₊˚ ₊  𐙚 Jason takes his baby to the manor for the first time. And everyone absolutely loves her.

Thirty-five days. Thirty-five nights.

Damian had been counting each one—quietly, from a distance—but he had.

While everyone else was constantly invading Jason’s house, desperate to see and hold the newest member of the family, Damian had only visited her once, even though he was always watching from afar.

It took thirty-five days for Jason to finally be convinced to bring his precious baby girl to the manor.

He agreed because he couldn’t take Tim showing up in the middle of the night anymore—though he did help take care of his niece and let Jason and his partner get at least one hour of sleep.

He also couldn’t deal with Stephanie constantly asking for baby pictures—when she wasn’t showing up in person and ruining every attempt he and his partner made to just nap together in peace.

Still, Jason didn’t want to bring her into the hyena pit that was his family. Was he sleep-deprived? Yes. Did he cry four times in the shower and twice in his partner’s arms? Yes. But he was fine.

“Oh my God, how can something so adorable even exist?!” Dick bit his fist. “I wanna squish her until she explodes.”

“Dick…” Bruce looked at him, partially horrified by the choice of words. His arms subtly tightened around the sleeping baby in his hold—he was afraid of holding her too tight and hurting her, or too loosely and dropping her. But with a “threat” like that, his concern shifted entirely.

“She smells like milk,” Damian said, sitting next to his father on the couch, his fingers twitching in his lap. He wanted to hold his niece—he really did—but he knew Tim and Jason would tease him to death if he did.

“It’s literally her only source of food,” Tim said, that sarcastic tone of his making it clear he’d heard something obvious.

The baby opened her eyes, blinking, scanning the room until she locked eyes with the youngest uncle. “She’s staring at me—” His eyes widened when Bruce turned toward him and gently handed over the tiny human. “No, take her back—”

He inhaled deeply, trying not to scream when Dick tried to sneak a picture and forgot to turn off the flash. Jason snatched the phone out of Grayson’s hand and smacked his arm. “You want to blind her!?”

Despite the chaos, Damian’s attention returned to the niece in his arms, just as she sneezed against his hoodie. “She got my clothes dirty.”

“It was just a sneeze,” Stephanie said, poking the baby’s chubby cheek with her finger.

“I’m burning this hoodie,” Damian muttered.

“Oh my God—give her to me!” Tim jumped at the opportunity to finally get his turn, but Damian shoved him away with his foot.

“No. I got attached,” he said as the others stared, watching him try to rock her—awkwardly, but just enough that she didn’t cry.

“You’re seventeen and have never held a baby before?” Duke raised an eyebrow.

“What do you think?”

“Okay, Dami. You’ve held her long enough. As the oldest, it’s my right—”

Before Dick could finish, Cassandra took the baby right out of Damian’s arms. She smiled. “She really looks a lot like you, Jason.”

“There’s still time to get her exorcised.”

Cassandra adjusted the baby in her arms, settling her comfortably. Her tiny hand clutched the button on Cassandra’s blouse like she refused to let go—even with all her uncles fighting over her.

“She bit my finger once,” Tim said, pushing Damian aside to take his spot on the couch. “She wasn’t even hungry. It was just for entertainment.”

“She doesn’t even have teeth yet—”

“She should’ve gone for the throat!” Damian complained.

“Seriously, when is it my turn to hold her!? You’re all gatekeeping my niece from me!” Grayson whined.

[starqwerty20]

You having front seat privileges when in Jason’s car or something.

Like maybe you’re going somewhere right, and you use a car for whatever reason blah blah blah and roy joins youse for whatever reason (maybe you’re going out for food or to a store or whatever).

And your first reaction to going to the car is something along the lines of,

“Oh, I’ll let you both go in front so you can talk together.” as like you’re opening the back door for yourself.

And Jason just stands there so baffled, and honestly looking genuinely offended and even hurt that you would even EVER suggest that. (And that you opened the door for yourself cause like what are you doing?? That’s his job???)

He’s acting immediately. You don’t even have time to actually sit down in the backseat, he’s picking you up, leaving the back door open for Roy.

“Get in the back, Harper.”

“Yessir.” You just know Roy’s got a shit eating grin on his face cause he finds it hilarious to see Jason riled up like this, and for something so small too.

The car door shuts with Roy inside, while Jason is still outside with you still lifted up in his arms. He’s looking up at you, still looking offended when he speaks.

“Why would you even say that? You sit beside me. Always, I don’t care who’s with us, you always sit beside me.” He has this big dramatic pout on his face, acting like your suggestion just proved you didn’t love him.

You’re giggling your ass off in his arms, feet still off the ground. “Jay, lovie, it’s just so you can talk together. We never drive with him and he’s your best friend, least I can do is let him sit next to you so you can talk.”

“Noooo, stoooppp, you’re breaking my heart, stop.” Queue intensified pout and frown on his face, he’s whining like a kid who doesn’t want to go to sleep. “You sit next to me so I can hold your hand and touch you and be next to you when I’m driving. I can’t do that when you’re in the backseat.”

“Okay, okay,” you laughing again, pressing a kiss to his dramatic pout. “I’ll sit next to you.” His face instantly lights up, big smile on his face as if a frown had never been there to begin with.

He’s setting you down now, hand on the front door handle before turning to you again.

“also if you EVER open your own door around me again there will be severe consequences,” He says with the most serious voice and look on his face, before placing the sweetest kiss ever on the tip of your nose, and opening the door for you.

You’re kind of stood there baffled, before you let out a small laugh again and sit down in the passenger seat.

Jason’s got his hand on your thigh with yours above it while he’s driving, Roy’s sat in the middle in the back and leaning on yours and Jason’s seats to talk to you both, and everyone’s happy.

Yeah, idk, something like that

[starqwerty20]

— Don't Impress Me Much - DC Boys

Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Wally West

Genre: fluff

Summary: he's trying his best to win you over, the only problem? you're oblivious

late upload this week! i had a really busy time with work & then got busy preparing for canada day! <3 hope everyone has a great day! also this is like, day 1 of me trying to get better at writing slice of life, so bear with me here ^^

Dick Grayson:

From the outside, it doesn’t seem like Dick is trying very hard to win you over. He treats you with kindness, flirts until you’re a flustered mess and randomly brings you coffee at work. In your mind, these are all normal things for the man.

However, the amount of work that goes into his unabated flirting with you is what really shows his closest friends just how much he wants you. You throw Dick entirely off of his game, and the Titans and his brothers find it hilarious.

He blushes more around you, he has to force his hands to stop shaking when he hands you your coffee—he works twice as hard to get your attention than he ever has for anyone else. And the worst part? You don’t seem to notice.

Eventually, Dick comes to his senses and finally invites you out to a proper dinner, and you find yourself blinking slowly at him. His invitation comes as a major ‘oh’ moment for you and you realize: while Dick might be friendly with everyone, he only wants you.

Jason Todd:

Jason tries to win you over by mentioning the small details he remembers about you.

He doesn’t make a big show of it, there’s no boastful attitude behind it. It’s just him showing you he cares, remembering your favorite colour and that you love the rain and what your oddly specific coffee order is. 

It’s not something he goes out of his way to do for anyone else. He didn’t even do it intentionally at first, he just suddenly found himself bringing you coffee at work and listening to your favorite songs.

His family notices immediately but it takes you a little longer to catch on. Honestly, it takes Jason a little while to catch on too—he hasn’t felt this way in so long. 

Jason doesn’t waste time asking you out when he does sort through his feelings, though. Within a day he’s bringing you your favorite flowers and asking you out, and suddenly all those little details turned into something big.

Tim Drake:

When Tim is in love, he’ll do whatever he can to make your life easier, even if that means making his own harder.

Anything you need becomes his new project and honestly, he takes on more than he can handle. He’ll never tell you that, though. All you see is the wonderful things he does for you—the way he has Alfred teach him to sew to fix your favorite jeans, how he rewrites your notes for you when you’re researching something. 

In typical Tim fashion, he’ll lose sleep over it too. He just wants to help you, even if that means a couple nights of little to no sleep.

You notice he likes you before he can even confess to it. It’s when he hands you back your newly fixed jeans, embroidered with a red robin, that it finally clicks for you. Tim isn’t just doing this in a friendly way.

You let him confess on his own terms which happens after a particularly long all-nighter spent reading your favorite book. He’s half-delirious from the lack of sleep but it comes out sweet all the same.

Wally West:

Wally always shows off when you’re around. He wants you to see how helpful he is and how great he can provide for you, even if you don’t always notice. 

The thing he shows off the most is his speed. You love hearing his Flash stories and Wally takes full advantage. He’ll reenact entire fights for you, play clips of it on Youtube and even describe what was going through his head. 

He also pays every time you go out, no matter what it is. The only time he lets you pay is if you absolutely insist on it, but it’ll be a tough fight. You take him with you to the drugstore late at night to get Benadryl once and he insists on paying. 

To everyone around, it’s clear he’s crushing and wants to show off. You on the other hand are completely oblivious.

In the end, his showboating gets him nowhere and Wally is forced to tell you to your face. He almost laughs at how shocked you are—didn’t you notice how hard he was trying?

thanks for reading! have a fantastic day <3

masterlist | dc masterlist

[starqwerty20]

warnings. ooc(?), kisses! f!reader, nicknames. note. a repost from my old blog< 3 ( i changed it a bit + this was my first work there ong )

you hadn't realized the extent of the mess you made until JASON TODD turned his head. the light played over the faint smudges of lipstick along his face, neck, & even on his collarbone( so much for leaving only two or three or four lipstick marks ). it was marvelous in unintentional vandalism, & he was looking at himself in the mirror, face hinting amusement.

"alright, artist," he then says, tilting his head to the side. "mind telling me why i look like some kind of abstract painting?”

you held back a laugh behind your hand as you leaned closer. "i guess i got a little…,, carried away?”

"carried away?" he turned to you, eyebrows raised. "you were marking me up like a kid with a brand-new box of crayons.”

his teasing tone made your face burn. "i'll wash it off, i'll wash it off." you said, taking a towel off its rack, but jason caught your wrist, stopping you.

"hold on," he said, frowning at one particular smudge beneath his ear that was so,,, there & red you could see half of it from across the room. you watched in amusement as he gently touched it with one finger. he grinned. "red. like blood, almost intimidating. well, aren't you scary, trouble.”

you blinked. confused. "what are you trying to say?”

he shrugged, slouching back against the sink. "i'm saying if you keep decorating me like this, i might just keep one or two for effect. bad guys don't mess with the guy covered in battle scars & lipstick art.”

you couldn't help but roll your eyes in amusement. "oh, sure. nothing's more terrifying than a man with kiss marks all over his neck.”

"don't knock it ‘’till you see it in action," he said, with a growing grin. "but, next time." he tapped your chin lightly. "you better warn me before you turn me into your canvas. i've got a reputation to uphold.”

"reputation?" you teased, crossing your arms. "as what? gotham's most qualified lipstick model?” don't let dick know that, though.

jason groaned, pulling you into his arms as if it took no effort whatsoever. "keep it up, & i'll cover you with my art. fair warning.”

you couldn't help but laugh as you hid your face in his chest, the low rumble of his chuckle vibrating through you. hilarious, ridiculous, & utterly jason peter todd.

a few moments, your laughter—gone, you lifted your eyes, looking up to him with that sly grin for yours on. "at least you officially became the 'red hood.’”

jason narrowed his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "sweetheart…,”

and all you felt after was the boy's warm embrace as he pulls you closer.

▌⠀࣪ 🍒 ،، ٠ 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒗𝒔𝒉，﹞ my works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. mwah !

[starqwerty20]

Somehow, you got a hold of a picture of Jason when he was around 6 or 7. In the photo he’s posing with a drawing of a firetruck with a big toothy grin— Looking incredibly stupid in his opinion.

Yet, you can’t stop staring at the photo with a a little smile.

“Will you put that away?” Jason asks after a while. He’s not trying to be mean, but he’s getting a little self conscious. “You keep staring at it.”

“But you’re so cute!” You declare with a giggle.

Jason bristles and takes the photo from your hands. “It’s just a picture,” he says.

You roll your eyes and shrug—there’s still a playful smile on your lips. “If you say so, but it’s nice to know my kids are gonna be cute.”

Jason scoffs, but he can’t stop thinking about it. A little version of him, with all the hope in the world and given the love Jason longed for—prayed for. And maybe, even better, the baby would have your eyes. The same eyes that looked at him with a kind of soft love and warmth that left him feeling whole.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason mutters, but he can’t, won’t, shake the image of that baby.

[starqwerty20]

Zombieboy - Jason Todd x Detective!Reader

Pairing: Jason Todd x Detective!GCPD!Reader + Dick Grayson x Platonic!Reader

Summary: When Jason's down in the dumps, brooding for longer than he normally is, you take it upon yourself to make him feel better with your favourite artist, after all justice doesn't wait! Inspired by Zombieboy by Lady Gaga!

CW: Making out, Lady Gaga, Swearing

A/N: Requested by my pookie @gothicbatgirl, a lil present for you ml 🫶

This is a part 2 to my Halfway Between You & Justice fic! Read it here!

"Hey do you think you could check on Jason for me?" Dick asked softly.

"Why what's wrong?" You asked.

"He's... something's getting to him, and I don't wanna pry, I think he's kind of sick of me, so... I thought you could try maybe?" Dick responded.

Huh, you thought.

Dick wasn't wrong

Jason's been moodier than normal. He wasn't snapping back at you as often, he was grinding arms more at the gym, with his sets being longer (I'm embracing my love for beefy arms in this one gang) his sassiness dwindled and his hair ironically got flatter.

Jason hadn’t said much for two days.

Which wasn’t unusual , especially when Gotham had him in a chokehold , but this was the full-blown Jason Todd Radio Silence Deluxe Edition - hoodie up, jaw tense, earbuds in but no music playing, staring at a wall like it owed him money.

You’d given him space. Then tried small talk. Then food (You were really surprised Big Belly Burger didn't work) Then left a Post-it on his helmet that said “emotionally constipated” with a little drawing of a zombie.

Nothing.

You figured, you needed to look at whatever you currently had going on with Jason from a lover perspective, and not a detective perspective.

So tonight, when you walked into his apartment and found him slouched on the couch with the same blank stare, you decided it was time for a different tactic.

Without a word, you pulled out your phone. Tapped your Bluetooth speaker.

The first few notes of Lady Gaga’s “Zombieboy” filled the apartment, dramatic, pulsing, unapologetically theatrical.

Jason didn't move.

You, however, launched straight into a performance.

"Oh, I can't see straight and my hands are tied I could be your type from your zombie bite No, I can't see straight but the feeling's right I could be your type from your zombie bitе"

You spun. Flung your jacket to the floor. Did a full-body sway in front of him like you were auditioning for Gotham’s Most Unhinged Cabaret. You even snatched a whisk from the kitchen counter as a microphone.

Still nothing.

But you saw it , the twitch in his lip. The smallest raise of one eyebrow.

Target acquired.

You climbed up onto the coffee table mid-chorus, arms wide, stomping to the beat like you were Lady Gaga herself in crime-scene heels.

Jason snorted. Loud. He tried to cover it with a cough. Failed miserably.

You dropped to your knees in front of him.

He finally looked at you, a real grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you done?” he asked, voice hoarse with laughter.

“Never,” you said proudly. “Not until my Zombieboy smiles.”

Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees, expression soft in a way he only gave you when he forgot to be tough. “You’re such a menace.”

You booped his nose. “And you’re my favorite emotionally unavailable corpse.”

He rolled his eyes , but he pulled you into his lap anyway, arms around your waist, head buried in your shoulder.

You could feel him smiling against your hoodie.

Later that night, you changed his contact name in your phone to my Zombieboy 🖤

And when he noticed?

He didn’t change it back.

Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!

Sources! -

Dividers - @enchanthings @anitalenia @sister-lucifer

Icon Header - @mieczyslawn

Property of suigenerisisadiva, do not repost my work pls & ty

[starqwerty20]

· ➳ [WORD STAMP: REPORT]

tim’s only the first to see it because he’s scrolling through all the family files—no, he’s not stalking, thank you very much, it’s called being up to date on very important things like current mission, location, and emergency contacts, stuff like that. it’s very important—someone’s got to check on the mandatory report updates once in a while.

although, honestly, bat files don’t get updated often, but look! jason’s report is bolded to signify that he’s got a new update, and—

huh. what’s that supposed to even mean?

“bruce!” tim hollers, because the man can’t be far, “jason’s fucked with his file again!”

there’s a moment of delay, before the unmistakable pits and pats of bruce’s bare feet on the cave floor draws closer, and soon the man is leaning over the back of tim’s seat in front of bat-computer, squinting at the screen. tim should probably get him booked in with an optometrist sometime soon—the guy’s getting old.

“what? what is it?”

tim frowns, and points at the screen, finger jamming against the surface. “b, do you not see this? what is this emergency contact? does she even exist?”

bruce squints again. tim reevaluates and decides to get an appointment as soon as possible.

the batman is never caught off guard, but bruce wayne is. tim can see the exact moment when bruce registers that jason’s emergency contact is no longer roy harper but some woman who neither of them have ever heard of before. her first name is there, last name blank, and there’s a mobile number for contact. that’s it. 

not that having minimal details isn’t typical—honestly, roy’s previous file had only been filled because everything about the man’s life including the minute and second he was born was already in the system. but. this not a name tim recognises.

a letter appears in the last name box. both tim and bruce lean in at the same time.

T.

“oh, shit,” tim breathes.

O.

bruce is fumbling for his phone, hissing quietly as he jigs an injury that he just got last night. 

D.

“i’ve never been on the system at the same time jason is,” tim muses, “hey, you think it’s a coincidence that he’s updating his file at nine a.m. in the morning when everyone should be sleeping post-patrol?”

bruce doesn’t answer him, too busy squinting at the screen of his phone. tim grins, pulling his wheelie chair even closer so he doesn’t miss a single thing. 

D. the cursor blinks for a while, the red rhythmically flashing into existence and disappearing as jason stops editing the file. 

bruce’s call goes into voicemail. he tries again.

“todd,” tim reads aloud, because he’s a little shit and has to hold in a giggle as bruce chokes on thin air. “you think it’s a long-lost cousin or something? they reconnect recently?”

that is scenario six on tim’s list. scenario one includes secret wife, but hey, tim’s been told that he often jumps to conclusions without sufficient evidence, so he just waits patiently as bruce jabs at jason’s contact over and over.

it takes a total of six calls before jason is picking up, hissing, “aren’t you meant to be dead in your bed right now?”

“explain,” bruce demands, leaning in so close to the computer screen that he possibly can’t misread the text. “who is this…new emergency contact?”

there’s a beat. and then jason asks, incredulous, “are you live watching me update this right now?”

bruce grunts, because there’s no response to that. it’s rhetorical question, after all.

“it’s nine a.m.,” jason says, pitch rising, “why are you even up?”

“you’re updating your file for the first time in months,” tim points out. “it’s news worthy of staying up for.”

“you definitely should be in bed,” jason snipes. “what, decided you’d actually turn up to school today?”

“i dropped out,” tim replies, redundantly, because jason definitely knows. he’s just being a bastard.

“jason,” bruce says, very carefully, because bruce always manages to say the most useless stuff but set jason off at the same time, “we just need to know the credibility and background of your contact. it’s of paramount importance that we—”

“credibility? you think i’d put someone down who isn’t trustworthy? that’s how low you think of me?”

tim looks away. bruce’s said something wrong again.

“—know—wait, jason, please, that’s not what i meant and you know—”

“fuck you.” jason’s voice is quiet, and at first, time attributes it to bruce’s inability to put anything on speakerphone, but bruce’s expression has him pausing. typically, jason explodes when bruce does something or says something wrong, but this restraint is new. “fuck you.”

the dial tone rings. bruce clenches, and puts the phone down. he doesn’t try to call jason again.

tim’s pretty bad at shutting up, especially when it’s about stuff that interests him like jason’s new emergency contact, but he knows to shut up now. so instead, he just says, “uh, i’ll keep an eye on the file. you probably should go to bed?”

bruce shakes his head, reaching up to massage his temples. then he pauses, and stares at the screen.

“bruce?” tim prompts.

he points. tim looks back at the screen to see jason’s red cursor on a different part of the file, and his breath hitches when he sees the relationship title of the section. suddenly, both tim and bruce’s faces are plastered to the screen.

S. 

“oh, shit,” tim repeats, grin widening.

P.

O.

“master bruce and master tim, what on earth are the two of you doing? shall i call an optometrist to get the two of you checked?”

U.

S.

“yeah, this is a great fuck you,” tim agrees.

“tim,” bruce mutters.

E.

the cursor blinks. then, very deliberately, the file is saved—last manual save: 2s ago in the right corner—and jason’s cursor disappears. 

“what in the world is going on here?” alfred demands, heels clicking as he stalks over. “master bruce.”

bruce is buffering. tim just points.

alfred peers. for the first time in a very long time, tim sees his eyebrows raise at the word on the screen. 

SPOUSE. 

yeah. well. at least tim can say that he found out before dick did.

bonus:

“fucking nosy bastards,” jason grumbles to himself, slamming the laptop shut. “watching me live. what the actual fuck. it’s nine fucking a.m.! mandatory report updates my ass, these ungrateful little—”

“jay?”

jason’s entire demeanour changes. “yeah?”

“there’s a parcel out front,” you wander into the kitchen area, patting his shoulder in greeting as you pass where he’s hunched over the kitchen countertop, “do you mind go getting it?”

“no,” jason says automatically, already standing up. “just one?”

“just one,” you promise. “oh, what were you just talking about just now?”

jason’s eyes flit down to the golden band on your finger. small, discreet. it makes a smile flicker onto his face, and he just shakes his head. he darts around the counter to press a kiss to your temple. “nothing. g’morning, love.”

you laugh, batting him away as he grabs at you. “good morning, jay.”

[starqwerty20]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 2.3k a/n: it's the end! It's been fun(?). It's definitely been fun gaining new friends from this series (if we talk one (1) time we are friends idc I don't make the rules). anywaaaay enjoy the ending chapter 💛 prev: testing

Stage seven: Acceptance

Jason spent most of his mornings in silence these days. He has a routine now. Wake up, bathroom, coffee, journal. But today is different. Today marks two years since you've been gone. And honestly? Jason isn't in the mood to write down what he's feeling. He isn't in the mood to make coffee or shower or do much of anything.

And the family, without even needing to hear from him, can sense it.

Jason hates how in tune they can be when he gets a call from Dick. Of course he picks up, Dick never calls unless there's an emergency

“Hey, let's grab coffee and breakfast at that shitty place downtown.”

“Why would I go if it's shitty?”

“Okay well, I know you're going to call it shitty. I think they have really good bagels. Let's go, I'll meet you there in fifteen.” Jason can hear Dick's sympathetic smile and he wants to punch his brother's perfect smile through the phone.

“Who says I even want to spend time with you?” Jason's question comes out sharper, meaner, than he wants it to. He winces to himself at Dick’s silence.

“That's clear across town.” He mumbles to make up for the quiet, "Won't make it in fifteen.” Jason grumbles but he's already digging through his closet for something clean to wear.

“Sure you will. See you then.” Dick hangs up and Jason sighs.

But Dick is right, of course. After breaking multiple traffic laws on his bike he makes it to the cafe in thirteen minutes. He's parking it on the street when he sees Dick walking over to him with a warm smile.

“Told you,”

“Shut it.”

The two walk down the street after getting their coffee and pastries in tense silence. Not a bad one, but one that Jason wants desperately to ignore.

“So,” Dick speaks up.

And then time stands still. Dick stiffens because surely there's no way. He's on guard immediately. Jason, on the other hand, drops everything he's holding. His heart stops. He feels sick to his stomach and his knees feel weak.

“Dick,” he rasps out in a whisper. His hand reaches for his brother in a way to ground himself.

“I know.” Dick whispers back. “It's not. It can't be.”

The flow of the crowded sidewalk parts around them as if they were just an obstacle in the way. Two grown men stopped dead center in the sidewalk

Staring at you.

“It's not-”

“It can't be-” They both speak at the same time.

“What the fuck?” Jason whispers.

It's you. You. Standing there at the end of the sidewalk, like a ghost, in the outfit you wore on the day you died. You just stood there, staring.

Jason knows, logically, that it's not you. They had found your body, had you cremated, you were in an urn on his dresser safe at home in his dresser. His breath catches and his eyes fill with tears. And before he can stop himself, before Dick can even stop him, he's jogging down the sidewalk towards you.

You turn the corner as he gets closer and Jason calls your name, desperately trying to get you to stop.

“Please don't-!” He turns the corner, the same one you rounded just a second prior and for a moment he loses you in the crowd. Dick is hot on his trails and with a pant he points.

“There. She crossed the street.”

“Shit,” Jason crosses over with Dick behind him. He's already sending over texts about what's happening.

You're fast, faster than Jason remembers. You were never able to outrun him, let alone Dick as well. Yet here you were, running down the sidewalk away from them. Jason feels like he's in a never ending nightmare, the kind where you're running down a hallway that gets longer and longer with each step.

The two aren't sure how far they run, their surroundings begin to blur together as their focus is on you. It's only when Dick sees the warehouse uphead that he begins to slow down, his hand on Jason's shoulder to stop him.

“Jay, wait-” he pants.

Jason watches desperately as you run to the warehouse.

“Let me go!” Jason shrugs his shoulder away from Dick who grabs hold again.

“No. No!” Dick is stern, he turns Jason around to face him. “We have to think about this. It's obviously a trap. Jay that's not-” his voice wavers.

Jason visibly swallows, “I- but what if it is? What if I can save her this time?”

Dick shakes his head, “You can't. Because that's not her.” Saying it out loud feels like swallowing glass. “You know it's not. I know it's not.” He continues on. “We have to think about this.” He repeats.

“But-” Jason whines. He needs it to be you, needs you to be here with him again.

“Bruce and Tim are on their way.” Dick tells him. “We can't just rush in there, okay?”

Jason feels some sort of relief knowing Dick isn't stopping him completely from barging into the warehouse. Jason nods. He tells himself he needs to be logical but his mind is at war with itself.

“Good. Give me just a second, I'm calling Babs.” Dick says before taking a few steps away, keeping Jason in his eyesight. Jason runs a hand through his hair and paces anxiously.

“Okay.” Dick comes back. “Babs has eyes on the warehouse. She's only picking up on one heat source which means they're likely alone. Bruce and Tim are five minutes out-"

“Motherfucker,” Jason growls out, “we can take him. Easy. He's a p-”

“Easy there,” Dick puts on a hand on Jason's shoulder again to reel him back in. “We can. I'll let Bruce know. But when we get in there don't… don't freeze up on me, okay?”

“I won't.” Jason grits through his teeth. He's pulling his pistol, tucked neatly in the back of his jeans. Dick scrunches his eyebrows together.

“You seriously have that on you? We went out for coffee.”

“Never leave home without it.”

“Yeah…that checks…” Dick sighs before pulling an escrima stick from his boot. Jason lets himself smirk before the two walk to the warehouse.

Jason and Dick stand on either side of the warehouse door before Dick nods an okay to Jason. He proceeds to aim his gun, cocked and ready, before kicking the warehouse door open.

And there you are. In the dark with only one singular light overhead. You're tied to a chair with ropes and you look so defensiveless and small and real.

Jason's taken back in time to the moment he first saw you on the screen in the Batcave. The room you were being held in was dark with only a single light above you. You were tied to a chair and blindfolded. Slowly Joker walks into frame from behind you, crowbar in hand.

Jason is visibly shaking, the entire family watched with bated breaths.

“Where is she?” Bruce demands in a quiet voice.

“I- I don't know. I don't know, I'm <I>trying</I>.” Babs is heard through the comms. Her voice shakes as she typed furiously at her computer. “I can't pinpoint them-”

“That's not good enough.” Bruce is having trouble keeping his anger in check. No one can blame him.

Jason feels like he's going to throw up. The decades old blood on the crowbar has iodized, turning into a deep dark color.

“Hello, chat!” Joker gets close to the camera he's using to livestream his little event. He laughs in amusement. “My special guest here today is none other than Red Hood’s soon to be wife. Isn't that something?”

He casually strolls toward you and Jason's hands ball into tight fists.

“Don't touch her, don't touch her-” he's repeating quietly through clenched teeth.

“I didn't even get a wedding invite! I was heartbroken,” Joker goes on dramatically. He trails a finger over your jaw and you jerk your head away from him, teeth bared.

“Baba, let me go after him. I will burn down every building until I find him-” Damian is cut off by Dick shaking his head, silently telling him to stay quiet, that his outburst wasn't helping.

“Feisty.” Joker laughs again at how quickly you jerk away from him, before bringing the crowbar up to your cheek. “Robin, sorry-” he cuts himself off with a smirk, “Red Hood acted the same way. You two are just simply made for each other. Adorable.”

“I'll fucking kill him.” Jason spits.

“I think I almost have him.” Babs tells the family.

Steph and Cass stand beside Tim at the Batcomputer, Steph crying as Cass holds onto her.

“Do you think you can come back to life too?” Joker whispers in your ear. You rear your head back enough to headbutt his temple.

“Ow!” Joker reels back, holding his head.

“Alright, enough of that.” He spits before he brings the crowbar down against your thigh with a sickening crunch.

“Fuck!” You wail, your tears stain the fabric covering your eyes.

“Mother fucker!” Jason erupts back at the cave as he watches the livestream. “I'm going to fucking kill him, B!” He's already reaching for his helmet.

“Hold on, we don't know where she is.” Dick interjects.

“I don't fucking care. I'm not going to sit around and watch this when I can be out looking for her.” Jason snaps back at Dick.

Jason turns to look at the screen in time to see Joker right up close, like he knows Jason is watching.

“Poll time.” He sing songs. “Who thinks the little birdy’s girlfriend should die?”

The room swells with an aggressive tension. Every single comment on the livestream that pours in is a flood of yeses. Jason's blood runs cold. He's on the verge of throwing up again.

“No…” he whispers.

“You heard the people!” Joker laughs maniacally and saunters back over to you. “Any last words for your love bird?”

“Please, please-” but you're not talking to Joker, you're not begging him. You know, that if he's out there watching, Jason is blaming himself. And even in your final moments the last thing you want is for Jason to be taking any sort of blame for what's about to happen.

Joker rolls his eyes and pulls your blindfold down and Jason's heart stops. This can't be happening, he refuses to believe it. He's questioning everything.

How did the Joker find you? How did he know you were with Jason? If only he had been more careful, protected you better-

“Tick tock.” Joker muses as he begins to pull out his revolver.

“I love you,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

BAM!

“No.” Jason takes a faltering step. “I found them!” Babs speaks at the same time. Steph lets out a surprised yelp. Bruce slams his hand against the desk. “What the-” Tim whispers. It all happens in slow motion.

“Jay?” Dick asks in anguish, turning in time to catch Jason who's falling to his knees.

“No, no, no-” Jason shakes his head. His voice is strangled and choked and no one's ever heard him sound so small before.

“Baba?” Damian’s voice quivers, his eyes are glued to the screen.

There you're sat, tied to that damn metal chair. Your head hangs forward as blood drips down your face.

Jason's hand slams against the concrete floor. Once. Twice. A third time. Dick stops him when he hears the all too familiar crunch of bones breaking.

“No-” Jason breathes.

“Shit,” Dick's own voice stammers.

Then they hear it. The all too familiar sound of Joker’s laughter.

“Oh, how delightful! Two birds with one stone today? This couldn't have gone any better if I tried.” Joker steps out from behind the shadows.

“She said only one heat signature..” Dick whispers to himself.

“I'm so glad you're here to see your beloved die in person this time ‘round. I'm still upset I wasn't invited to the wedding.”

Jason's mouth is dry, his head is spinning. Dick takes a step forward.

“Why are you doing this?” He demands.

Joker stands beside you, his gun pointed to your temple again and Jason is frozen in place. He can't breathe let alone move.

“Why?” Joker laughs. “For putting me back in Arkham. And for fun, I suppose. It's always a good time celebrating anniversaries!”

He's quick to pull the trigger again. Dick and Jason both lunge forward, crying out. But instead of dying, again. Instead of watching your skull and blood splatter against the concrete, you begin to turn to a sickly orange matter.

“You said you wouldn't shoot!” Clayface pouts at Joker. Jason and Dick stop in their tracks in shock.

“Oh calm down, not like it can kill you.” Joker rolls his eyes petulantly.

Jason is seeing red. His vision is focused on Joker and Joker alone. He doesn't see Dick next to him with his hands reaching for Jason's arm, he doesn't see Clayface making a move to get out of the way.

All he sees is Joker’s surprised smile, like he's excited, as Jason raises his gun and pulls the trigger. He feels like he's moving in slow motion.

A second later everything rushed into him like a tidal wave.

“What did you do?” Dick whispers as Joker's body hits the floor in a spine chilling thump.

“What I should have done the first time he killed her.” Is what Jason replies before dropping his gun to the cement floor.

All of Jason's progress, all of the hard work he put into getting through his process of grieving was gone in an instant. Shot dead, just like the love of his life.

But this? His progress, his hard work, the months he spent pushing to get better, for you, only to have it all taken away from him in the blink of an eye because of a deranged clown? He wasn't going to grieve any of it.

taglist: @thy-crimson-king @vellichor01 @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm @eva-ngelionn

[starqwerty20]

COLD - English is not my mother tongue.

@blu3n - me.

Jason wasn’t one to get sick; his immune system was better than most people’s. But when he did… God help him.

You were listening to Jason’s hoarse voice as he dramatically claimed he was dying.

All because of a fever.

“Baby… I’ve literally been shot. Survived explosions. Death itself… This… this is worse,” he groaned, sprawled on the couch as if he’d been shot and stabbed — not just suffering from a common cold.

You tucked the thermometer under his arm, watching his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, barely holding back a smile.

“Jay, it’s 37.8 — you’re not dying.”

“Barely surviving,” he mumbled, already wrapping himself in three blankets as if it were his last day on Earth. His ridiculous 6’1” frame disappeared under the down.

You kissed his burning forehead softly, your hand smoothing his messy hair.

“Red Hood down with a cold and a runny nose.”

“Don’t mock the weak,” he whispered dramatically, and you just laughed, hugging him tighter.

“Don’t leave me,” his voice got huskier as he slid his hand into your arms, seeking comfort even while feeling like this.

@softwithissues - for you

[starqwerty20]

Interrupted Dates

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune 

Dick

The rooftop was aglow with fairy lights, strung haphazardly between a rusted chimney and a disused antenna. It gave the space a dreamy sort of charm—romantic if you squinted and ignored the faint smell of city smog.

You sat cross-legged on a blanket, sharing a plastic container of pasta salad with Dick. He was barefoot, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair ruffled by the breeze and the kind of smugly radiant that only came from retelling stories of childhood chaos.

“So then I yell, ‘Ta-da!’—naked, mind you—because I was four and thought I could fly,” Dick said, stabbing his fork into a piece of tomato like it had personally wronged him. “Bruce was mortified. Alfred just... nodded, like he’d seen worse.”

You snorted into your drink. “How are you not traumatized?”

“I am. But charmingly so.”

Meanwhile, twelve feet below, chaos brewed.

Behind a nearby billboard, a truly absurd stack of Batfamily members wobbled dangerously. Stephanie was on top, phone in hand and already live-streaming to a private group chat titled #OperationDickDates??!. Jason had the binoculars. Tim was beneath him, trying to triangulate audio with a dish he may or may not have stolen from the Batcave. Damian, at the bottom, bore the weight of them all with the bitter fury of a betrayed acrobat.

“This is a disgrace,” Damian hissed. “Grayson’s form is off. His landing on the blanket was a ten-degree deviation from optimal angle.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Tim whispered. “Not the fact that we’re spying on our grown brother having a date like we’re the Scooby-Doo gang on meth?”

Stephanie shushed them. “Shut up, I think she’s laughing. That’s like, third laugh. Fourth laugh is when I declare it true love.”

Jason adjusted the focus on his binoculars. “Is she feeding him? Bro. She just fed him a tomato. That’s a couple move. This is disgusting.”

“Why are you even here?” Damian growled.

“I was promised chaos and snacks. So far, I have neither.”

Above, Dick paused, brows knitting. “Do you… hear whispering?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe it’s wind?”

“No, that’s definitely someone whispering ‘move your elbow, I can’t see his dumb face.’” He squinted into the shadows. “Give me a sec.”

In one effortless flip, he vanished into the dark like some sort of spandex-clad raccoon. A loud yelp followed.

Moments later, Dick returned, dragging Jason Todd by the back of his leather jacket like a particularly mouthy duffel bag.

Jason looked entirely unrepentant. “Hi. Love what you’ve done with the vibe. Very ‘Pinterest meets crime alley.’”

You sighed. “Hi, guys.”

Stephanie popped up like an excited meerkat. “Hi! You’re really pretty, by the way.”

Tim climbed over next, holding what looked like a home-wired parabolic mic. “Please don’t hate us. I had nothing to do with this. Except the part where I helped rig the surveillance array.”

Damian dropped from the billboard last, landing in a perfect crouch. “This entire endeavor was idiotic. But I recorded Grayson’s subpar trapeze flip for future blackmail purposes.”

You blinked. “Wait—how long have you all been watching?”

Jason shrugged. “Since the pasta salad.”

Stephanie nodded. “She laughed four times. That’s how you know it’s real.”

Dick stared at all of them. “You built a totem pole. Behind a billboard. In a wind tunnel.”

Damian sniffed. “It was Tim’s idea.”

“Lies,” Tim said. “I organized it. There’s a difference.”

You glanced at Dick, who looked like he was oscillating between mild amusement and full-on big brother meltdown.

He sighed dramatically, then turned to you with a hand outstretched. “Would you care to join me in fleeing the scene of the crime?”

“With pleasure.”

As the two of you retreated—blanket in hand, pasta salad container tucked under your arm—you heard Stephanie whisper behind you:

“I’m giving this a nine out of ten. Docking one point for no kiss.”

Jason grunted. “Give it five minutes. They’re totally going to kiss on the next roof.”

 “So…should we… follow?” Tim whispered.

 “NO.”

Jason

You were tucked into the coziest corner of the bookstore café, the one with the overstuffed chair that made ominous creaking noises when you sat in it, but held firm like a trusted secret. The golden afternoon light pooled on the hardwood floor, catching the soft steam curling from your shared cappuccino. Jason sat beside you, strangely gentle today, his leather jacket shrugged off, sleeves rolled, as he thumbed through a battered paperback of Pablo Neruda.

He cleared his throat—gruff, a little self-conscious—and then looked at you like you were the only real thing in the world.

“‘I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,’” he read, voice low and slightly husky. Not quite polished—more like poetry scraped over gravel. Honest.

You smiled, fingers brushing his under the table, and he blinked like maybe he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have this—this calm, this softness, this weird, wonderful stillness.

Then—

“Is he blushing?” came a stage whisper from the bookshelf display to your right. You both froze.

From behind a rotating rack of pastel-covered romance novels, Dick and Tim peeked out, both wearing oversized, obviously fake glasses and pretending to browse.

Jason closed the book slowly.

Dick leaned sideways with all the stealth of a golden retriever trying to sneak a sandwich. “Look at him go. He’s quoting Neruda. Neruda, Tim. My angry cactus of a brother has feelings.”

“Do we have this on video?” Tim hissed, digging in his coat like he might’ve bugged the café.

Jason squinted. “Are they... wearing mustaches?”

Sure enough, both of them had slapped on wonky adhesive mustaches. Tim’s was starting to peel. Dick’s had migrated halfway up his cheek.

“They think they’re subtle,” you whispered.

Jason reached for the sugar packets, calmly selected one, then flicked his wrist like a sniper on a sugar-fueled vendetta. The packet arced cleanly over the romance display and smacked Tim right between the eyes.

“Ow!”

Dick choked on his latte.

Tim ducked behind the display, rubbing his forehead. “Did he just bean me mid-sonnet?”

You turned to Jason, impressed. “Did you seriously just assault your brother with sweetener while reading poetry?”

He grinned. “He deserved it.”

“Fair.”

From behind the shelf came Dick’s voice, unbothered and very much still spying. “Hey, we’re just trying to witness emotional growth.”

“And possibly blackmail material.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and called over his shoulder, “Get out before I start reading Yeats in a threatening tone.”

“Threatening Yeats?” Dick said. “You are in love.”

Tim emerged, dramatically clutching his sugar-packet injury. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in a tragic lab explosion. Murdered by Splenda™.”

“Get out,” Jason said, standing halfway. “Or I swear to God, I’ll recite sonnets until you sob.”

Dick raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, no need to traumatize the civilians.”

They backed out, knocking over a cardboard cutout of Jane Austen and leaving a half-eaten croissant on a poetry display. The barista glared. Someone in the back clapped.

When it was quiet again, Jason sat down with a long sigh and opened the book again. He didn’t look at you for a moment, just flipped a few pages like nothing had happened.

You leaned in, brushing his hair gently behind one ear. “You were blushing, by the way.”

He met your gaze, eyes warm and half-lidded, lips twitching. “Yeah, well... you’d blush too if you were reading love poems to someone you liked in front of two idiot brothers dressed like a community theater production of Sherlock Holmes.”

“True,” you admitted.

He found the page again, cleared his throat, and murmured, “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where…’”

And for once, no one interrupted.

(Not even when Dick and Tim snuck back disguised as a couple on a painfully awkward first date. But that’s another story.

Tim

  It was a clear night at Gotham’s old observatory—cold enough to see your breath, warm enough to be out without freezing, the kind of in-between that made you feel suspended in time. You were perched on a folding blanket with a thermos of hot chocolate between your knees, wrapped in one of Tim’s oversized hoodies, watching him fine-tune the telescope with all the reverence of someone handling a sacred artifact.

“This model’s based on the Cassegrain design,” he murmured, adjusting the focus ring, eyes narrowed in concentration. “The mirrors inside reflect the image back to a focal point—it’s more efficient for deep-sky observation. Which is perfect because Orion’s Nebula is peaking tonight, and you can see the whole trapezium cluster if—”

He stopped, mid-ramble.

“Too much?”

You grinned, sipping the hot chocolate. “Never. I like when you go full-nerd.”

Tim flushed just a little, half-hiding his face behind the telescope. “Right. Well. You’ll see it better if you look around there—” He gently guided your hands. “—past Rigel. That’s the blue supergiant. It’s—”

“—Eight-hundred sixty light years away,” you finished.

He looked at you like he might die a little from fondness. “I think I love you.”

A crunch echoed above you.

You froze. Tim’s shoulders tensed. Another crunch. Muffled whispering. Something—or someone—was shifting behind the dome’s inner wall.

Tim sighed, not even looking up. “They’re watching.”

You tilted your head. “Should we invite them down?”

He shook his head solemnly. “No. Let them suffer in their self-inflicted cringe.”

Inside the observatory’s mechanical guts, Damian muttered, “You’re breathing too loudly.”

Cass responded by flicking him on the head.

Steph hissed, “I told you to bring snacks. You said popcorn was ‘too loud,’ and now look where we are. Starving. Cold. Emotionally invested.”

“I am not emotionally invested,” Damian said with the conviction of someone absolutely emotionally invested.

A beat.

“They’re holding hands,” Steph whispered. “Look. Right there. Hand. On. Knee.”

Cass’s voice: “Aww.”

Damian gagged audibly.

Tim adjusted the telescope again. “Bruce is here too.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Tim just nodded toward the corner of the dome where, sure enough, Bruce stood in a trench coat and fedora like a noir film detective, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Possibly proud. Possibly plotting. Definitely out of place.

You whispered, “Why is he in a trench coat?”

Tim didn’t look up. “He thinks it’s ‘subtle.’”

Another creak. A hushed “Shhh!”

Five minutes passed in silence. Tim showed you the Andromeda Galaxy, soft-spoken and a little breathless as he described the gravitational pull between it and the Milky Way.

Then—

CRASH.

The trapdoor on the upper level flung open. Damian Wayne fell through it like a cat yeeted off a counter.

He hit the floor in a roll, popped up in a dramatic stance, and declared—very loudly—“That was intentional.”

Cass landed beside him a second later in a perfect superhero crouch. “We tripped.”

Damian hissed. “You tripped. I performed a tactical descent.”

Tim didn’t even blink. “Welcome. There’s cocoa in the thermos. Please keep the stalking to a minimum.”

Steph peeked her head down the ladder, grinning and holding her phone up. “I’ve been filming this whole time, by the way.”

Bruce descended the stairs silently like a disappointed cryptid.

You looked around at the chaos, then at Tim, who was now sitting with his head in his hands.

You gently patted his back. “You okay?”

“I was trying to explain redshift,” he muttered into his palms. “Now my little brother has announced his ‘tactical descent’ like he’s a D-list Avenger.”

From the floor, Damian snapped, “I heard that.”

Tim looked at you. “Please kill me.”

You offered him the cocoa instead.

“Same thing,” he mumbled.

Steph flopped onto the blanket beside you. “So... on a scale from one to tragically adorable, how serious is this?”

Cass stated calmly “Eleven.”

Damian made a face that would make the sun turn green as he stated that everything was disgusting. Bruce tried to argue that the kids were simply bonding, which resulted in Damian making yet another disgusted face at them.

You looked at Tim, smiling. “Want to get back to the stars?”

He nodded quickly, tugging you gently back toward the telescope, his hand slipping into yours like it belonged there. “Yes. Away from the goblins.”

“You love the goblins.”

Tim’s smile twitched. “No, I tolerate them. With... grudging affection.”

Behind you, Cass whispered, “He’s so in love.”

Steph whispered loudly  “Like... epic poem in love.”

“Please.”

Tim ignored them, realigned the telescope, and said softly, “Okay. Your turn. Let me show you something beautiful.”

And he did.

(The goblins mostly behaved. Until Damian tried to sabotage the cocoa supply. But that’s another story.)

Damian

It started with an invitation tucked beneath a hardcover book you’d left at the manor: On the Aesthetic History of Violence. Inside, in impossibly neat handwriting:

“You are cordially invited to a private tour of the Gotham Museum of Modern Art. After hours. Dress appropriately.”

Signed only: D.W.

You showed up in a black coat and clean boots. Damian arrived ten minutes early in a bespoke turtleneck and the kind of dark wool coat that whispered money and museum quiet. No cape, no scowl. Just a calm nod and a half smile when he saw you.

“You’re late,” he said, not unkindly.

“You’re early,” you countered.

His eyes softened like a secret.

The museum had shut its doors to the public at 6:00. By 7:15, it was yours alone. Echoing floors, tall ceilings, marble columns leading to hushed rooms, all flooded in warm golden light. Damian walked you through the Impressionists first. He spoke softly, almost reverently—about oil brushwork, the interplay of light and motion, how Manet weaponized color. There was something about hearing him—Damian Wayne, child of war and shadow—talk about atmospheric perspective like it was something holy.

“Look at the emotional architecture,” he murmured, pausing before a muted Chagall. “The structure of grief in the way the lines collapse toward the left. You can see the subject wants to leave the room, but the room will not let her.”

You turned toward him. “That one reminds me of you.”

He blinked. No quip. No snort. Just...stillness.

A breath. Then another.

You watched the silence settle into his shoulders, unsure if he was flattered or panicking. You were about to joke it off—when suddenly—

“HhhHKKk’CHHSHH!”

A violent sneeze echoed across the entire museum like a grenade in an empty cathedral.

You both turned slowly, as one.

From behind a marble bust in the Romanticism wing, a crackling voice came over the coms: “Sorry—allergies!”

“Stephanie,” Damian said in a voice usually reserved for supervillains and disappointed Shakespearean monologues. “This is why I don’t take them anywhere.”

You barely suppressed a laugh. “You knew they were here?”

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hoped I was wrong.”

Down the east corridor, two distinct silhouettes peeked out from behind a 9-foot sculpture of Artemis. Jason was wearing a museum security badge upside down and holding a clipboard he was clearly using as a tray for takeout. Stephanie—crouched beside him in a trench coat and baseball cap—was whispering into a walkie-talkie with the stealth of a small rhino.

“I told you the mic was too close to your face,” Jason muttered.

Steph hissed back, “Sorry, I sneezed. It’s dusty in here!”

Back in the Impressionist gallery, Damian rubbed his temple like this was all personally offensive.

“And why,” he asked the universe, “is Todd carrying egg rolls in a museum?”

“Because,” came a crisp British voice from the main atrium, “someone has to maintain standards.”

You turned to see Alfred Pennyworth—immaculate in a faux security guard uniform—holding a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres like it was wartime Versailles.

“Would you care for a prosciutto puff?” he asked you, deadpan.

Damian looked like he wanted to dissolve through the floor.

Alfred added, with a glance toward Steph and Jason: “Miss Brown tried to bribe the actual docent with a Crunchwrap Supreme. I had to intervene.”

You took a puff pastry and tried not to laugh.

A voice from the shadows: “Pfft. Amateur.”

From behind a false wall, a gloved hand polished a modern sculpture. You blinked. “Is that... Dick?”

“Richard has infiltrated as a janitorial subcontractor,” Damian muttered, sounding so tired. “He insisted it was ‘part of the immersive experience.’”

“I’m wearing coveralls and everything,” Dick’s voice called proudly from behind a giant steel cube. “Museum chic.”

Damian turned to you, exhausted. “Please believe me when I say, I wanted this to be romantic.”

You looped your arm through his and smiled. “It still is.”

He paused. “Despite the surveillance?”

“Because of it,” you teased. “It’s very us.”

Damian blinked. Then—slowly, reluctantly—smiled. A real one. The kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but was still a rare and quiet thing.

“I loathe you,” he murmured to the empty air.

“Love you too, baby bird,” came Jason’s voice over the coms.

“I have no siblings,” Damian muttered, guiding you toward a post-modernist piece shaped like an unraveling staircase.

From behind the bust, Steph whispered: “Did he just blush?”

Dick whispered back: “I’m so proud.”

Jason: “I’m gonna cry. That’s our boy.”

Steph: “Wait—can we do a slow clap?”

Alfred: “If you start clapping, I am tasering everyone and leaving.”

Back in the gallery, Damian took your hand and placed it over his heart. “Ignore the interlopers. This painting reminds me of you. Bold color. Sharp lines. Impossible to look away from.”

You smiled, a little breathless. “Now you’re being romantic.”

He tilted his head. “You started it.”

Behind you, Steph sneezed again.

Damian didn’t even flinch. “I will burn this museum to the ground.”

[starqwerty20]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

wc: 1.6k a/n: I listened to the kpop demon hunters soundtrack while writing this. Soda Pop has me in it's CLUTCHES. Bruce is a softie in this chapter bc me and my daddy issues say so. Also Christy? She's my irl therapist and we LOVE her here okay? prev: denial next: bargaining

Stage three: Anger

Jason sat on the couch, his worn journal in his hands. Despite only being written in a few times he continuously toyed with the edges of the paper - fraying them. He stares out the window, his mind a jumbled mess. He just got off the phone with Bruce and now he was in a worse mood than when he had woken up.

hi I miss you

it's the 17th. B just called. Wish you could've been here to hear it. Think he was guilt tripping me. Told me it's been almost a month since I've been to the manor. What does it even matter?

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

I can't. Feels like it gets harder every time I go over there. Yeah it's been a few months since

Between the call with Bruce and remembering your death, your funeral, the tombstone Bruce had placed for you in the family cemetery on the manor grounds Jason was at the end of his rope for the day. 

“Fuck!” 

It's loud, angry. Something that would have made you jump - he hates himself for it. His notebook flies across the room and smacks against the wall. His pen is broken in half. As he stands from the couch he pushes the coffee table out of the way with his foot, hitting the tv stand knocking over a picture frame.

The sound of broken glass makes Jason stop. It's like his heart is breaking all over again. It hurts. He feels his heart skip a painful beat, he feels his breath catch in his throat.

“Stop it!” You yell at him from the bedroom door.

It had started as such a stupid argument. So many little things during that day that resulted in heightened frustration between the two of you. 

“Don't tell me to stop. I didn't fucking do anything.” Jason snaps at you and you stare at him in disbelief for a split second before your expression turns hurt.

Jason knew he had some anger issues he needed to work on and he hated that he was taking it out on you even if it was subconscious. He hated himself for it.

“You're in here slamming stuff for no reason!” You shoot back when he tells you he hasn't done anything.

“Oh, boo-hoo.” Jason grumbles as he rolls his eyes. He can't stand the way he's treating you but he can't stop it.

“Jesus Christ, I can't have sunshine comin' outta my ass every second of the day for you. Fuck, you're so sensitive sometimes, you know that?”

You stop.

Jason stops.

Your disappointed scowl falters and your lips pull downward into a trembling frown. You've both said worse to each other before, more scathing biting insults. There was just something about this time that hurt.

Jason sees the way your eyes turn glassy with tears and the way you begin to frown. That's all it takes for all of his anger and frustration to completely melt away. He rubs his hand down his face and sighs.

“Baby, I'm sorry-”

You shake your head to stop him. You know that if you try to talk now you'll end up crying.

“No, no, please. Baby,” he takes a step forward and you take one back, making him stop in his tracks. He stares at you like you just burned him. With his mouth parted he watches as you turn and close the bedroom door behind you. It only takes him a second to register what happened.

He doesn't try to open the door knowing that if it was locked he might as well just rip his heart out of his chest and let you physically step on it in front of him. Instead he stands in front of the door with one tentative hand on the handle.

“Baby, please. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it. I'm sorry for being such an asshole.” He begs for your forgiveness through the door.

You stay silent. You know you need space, he knows you need space but he also has a codependency issue that makes it hard for him to stay away from you.

Jason's not sure if minutes or hours pass by. All he knows is his back hurts and his legs are stiff from sitting on the hardwood floor with his back to the door. Waiting silently for you to come out. Silently listening to you sniffle and cry, dying a little bit more inside knowing he can't do anything to comfort you yet.

But eventually you do. Slowly and quietly you open the door. You sniffle quietly and if you weren't still upset with a headache from crying you would've laughed at how ridiculous Jason looks as he scrambles to his feet.

“Hey,” your voice is hoarse and raspy from your much needed crying session.

“God, baby, I'm so sorry.” Jason whispers. He's on you immediately. Big strong arms wrap you in a warm hug. Jason sighs audibly in relief. He buries his face into the top of your head, eyes closing as he breathes you in. Your nose presses into his chest and you let him hug you, too tired to reciprocate just yet - wanting to soak in his warmth.

He repeats a flurry of “I'm sorry” and “I didn't mean it” against you. You can feel the way his heart thuds in his chest and you can feel your bottom lip tremble again. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“You're perfect. You're not too sensitive. I mean- okay. You are. But it's not a bad thing. I love that about you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, I'm so sorry. Please I'll do anything-” He was panicking because even though you've fought and argued before - as any couple does - he's never made you cry.

“I let my anger get the better of me, I should have never-”

“It's okay…” You interrupt him and turn your head to the side to rest your cheek against him, your ear against his heart. 

“No, it's not.” He kisses the top of your head.

You're quiet again, “Okay.. it's not… but we both weren't being the best. I'm sorry, too.”

“Don't apologize. Ever. You could shoot me and I'd never want you to apologize.”

Jason remembers how downright scared you looked that night when he slammed the kitchen drawer shut. He hates himself all over again. He walks over to the notebook and picks it up.

“Sorry…” he mutters. He's not sure if he's saying it absentmindedly to the notebook, himself, or you. Either way he exhales roughly and sits back on the couch. He looks over his journal entry and slowly gets back to it.

It's been a few months since I've been there. It's harder now with your headstone there. I wasn't at my best when Bruce had it put in. I was angry. You would have hated it. You were never afraid tho just gave me that damn disappointed look. That hurt more than anything. I <u>hated</u> that. I deserved it though I was such an asshole when I was mad

“What the fuck is that?” Jason asks as he stares out the floor to ceiling window. It's such a small thing, your tombstone being added to the family plot. But Jason notices immediately as he walks by, the way the number grew overnight.

“Hm?” Bruce hums as he positions himself near Jason.

“I said, what the fuck is that?” Jason's voice is laced with venom at this point.

Bruce finally inhales and opens his mouth to answer.

“Without my permission?” Jason asks with quiet outrage.

“I didn't know I needed your permission.” Bruce says quietly but firmly.

“Not even a warning?”

“She was part of the family-”

“Oh don't give me that shit!” Jason turns to Bruce with a look that could kill. “You didn't even ask! She didn't want to be buried, didn't want a headstone! That's why I put her in a fucking urn.”

Bruce is silent. Perhaps he was in the wrong on this one, he thought.

“What's it say, huh? Who'd you put her by?” Jason's breathing was ragged. He knew he was overreacting, deep down he knew, but with something so big to memorialize you - it made it all the more real to Jason.

“Al-” Bruce begins to answer but Jason cuts him off. He's crying. It's the first time he's cried in days but there's a small part of him that feels safe, comfortable, doing it in front of Bruce.

“Don't. Fucking don't-” Jason's voice cracks as he pushes Bruce's shoulder. “You shouldn't have-” He points a finger at Bruce. “She didn't fucking want-” Jason's crying now. Fat tears stream down his face, his eyes tired and heavy and red.

“Come here,” is all Bruce says softly, offering an open shoulder to Jason.

He stands defiantly for a second before his resolve finally crumbles. With a shaking sob he pulls Bruce into a bruising hug and cries into his shoulder.

“I'm so sorry,” Bruce murmurs as he hugs his son.

“S’not fair,” Jason cries.

Christy says I'm doing better with managing my anger. I tried so hard for you. To be better. I'm so fucking sorry I didn't do it sooner. Or try harder. I think you would be proud of me. You always said you were but this time I know you would be

Jason wipes at a tear in the corner of his eye. He mumbles a curse under his breath and grabs his phone from his pocket. He can feel his emotions beginning to overwhelm him, he sees the warning signs now and knows how to cope. 

Maybe therapy isn't as stupid as he thought, he thinks.

He sends a text to Dick asking to meet him at the gym.

taglist: @thy-crimson-king @vellichor01 @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm

[starqwerty20]

Old Friends

Your Character Settings: AFAB, Jason Todd's childhood friend, civilian, famous author

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

“When the cops told me they’d be sending over a bodyguard, I didn’t expect them to send in a superhero,” you said, setting down the frog-shaped pitcher on the coffee table. 

You then took a seat directly facing Red Hood. Tall. Bulky. Vigilante. Alleged colleague of the Bats if you were going by the giant red bat logo across his chest. He looked almost comical on your thrifted loveseat, but he kept his knees together and folded his hands politely over them, as though that would help make him look smaller. 

“I was told you were getting death threats,” he said. 

“Authors get that kind of mail all the time.”

“But it got worse, right?”

You shrugged. “I can deal with that type of thing, I called the cops for a different matter.” You gestured at the envelope on the table.

Red Hood examined the contents. They were photos of a shattered library window, specifically, the Jason Todd Collection, which was a library that doubled as a shelter full of secondhand sofas and couches and two bathrooms. It’s been around for three months and completely owned and funded by you. 

“I’ve heard about this place,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you think so because I want help finding the son of a bitch that broke in and beat up the people sleeping inside.”

“I’m pretty sure the cops already dealt with that.”

“They said they were going to deal with it, but a few officers took some pictures and didn’t even bother interviewing the victims.”

“I understand your concern for the victims and I don’t mean to be rude, but I came here to ensure that you were safe. It’s not exactly a secret that you own the Ja…” he paused briefly before continuing, “that you own the shelter. An attack on the place could’ve been a way of getting your attention. The shelter was attacked after your latest book release, correct?”

Your growing temper simmered and you reclined on your armchair. He was right. “Okay, I see where you’re coming from.”

“Ma’am–”

“Don’t call me that, makes me feel old. Just call me by my first name.”

He hesitated before saying your name and, “your new book’s controversial.”

“Yeah. Not everyone’s happy that I brought back a character from the dead. He was a fan favorite so half of my readers were happy to see him again, but the rest think that resurrection cheapens the plot.”

“I think you foreshadowed Hector’s return pretty consistently.”

“You read my books?”

He tilted his red helmet and you could feel him smiling under that thing. “I like love stories.”

“That–Jason!”

His whole body stiffened, but then a giant, furry thing emerged from behind his loveseat and started sniffing his shoes and thighs. 

You sighed. “That’s Jason. He usually hides in my room when I have people over. C’mere, boy.”

Instead of running to your lap like he always did, your seventy-kilogram, stranger-fearing rescue folded its legs and laid its heavy head on Red Hood’s boot. 

“Huh. That’s never happened before.” You eyed the hero suspiciously. “Can you talk to animals or something?”

He chuckled. “No superpowers, I’m afraid, guess he just likes me.” He bent down and gently rubbed the dog’s head. 

Your throat rumbled lowly with mild jealousy. It took you a whole year before Jason would let you approach him without peeing.

Red Hood then asked, “So…Jason?”

“What?”

“Was that always his name?”

“No. According to the shelter that found him he never answered to a single name. When I got him, I refused to just call him dog or it, so I reinforced the name Jason.”

“...you named him after Jason Todd?”

“Yes, I did.” You crossed your arms. “Now, can we please discuss the reason why you’re here?”

“I didn’t mean to get on your nerves, I was just–”

“–curious, I know.”

“You must’ve really cared for this Todd.”

You thought of Jason, beaming as he handed you a cheeseburger, laughing at a joke you told him, and you smiled. “He was my best friend.”

Red Hood said nothing.

“He died a few years ago. He was the smartest person I knew and he… he didn’t even get to finish high school.” You exhaled and looked at your bookshelf. “I want the world to remember his name, even if it’s just from the dedication pages in my books and a small library.”

***

Red Hood made himself comfortable on the rooftop overlooking your apartment. You may not have cared about several death threats but he did, and he wasn’t about to leave you alone unguarded.

“So this is where you’ve been,” a sing-song voice interrupted his thoughts.

Jason clicked his tongue.

Nightwing wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Heard everything from Babs. I can’t believe you approached her as Red Hood before you showed up as Jason.”

“Go away, dickhead.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tsk.”

“She’s really cute, are her books any good though? Never found the time to read, well, anything. But Babs said–”

Dick’s words merged with the city’s usual background noise as Jason continued to watch you behind your balcony door.

He watched as you knelt down to help Jason the Dog slip into a red hoodie before pressing a tender kiss between its eyes.

He then opened his phone and scanned your weekly schedule. You were too reckless. You left a lot of your things out in the open. What if a freak found your planner?

He made a mental note to install some cameras when you leave to get groceries tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The image of Red Hood used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It's by Dexter Soy and was lifted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/DCcomics/comments/h0iavp/cover_from_red_hood_and_the_outlaws_20_by_dexter/

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Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[starqwerty20]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 1.3k a/n: sorry for the slow update - work was crazy. being a stand in hotel housekeeper is no joke. i cleaned up a LEECH. if you or anyone you know leaves their hotel room looking like a pig sty? your mom's a hoe. also I messed up on the last chapter's title - ignore that, I fixed it. prev: shock

Stage two: Denial

Hey,

It's Friday the 13th. We should be watching scary movies right now like we do every year. The classics. Halloween, scary movie, Friday the 13 obviously. A new final destination came out. You always loved watching those stupid movies, making fun of everyone's stupid choices. Christy (the stupid therapist who's not that stupid) told me it can be “healing” to keep traditions like that alive. I think it's dumb. No one will ever have commentary like you do. No one else in the family can handle horror movies like you do. It wouldn't be the same. Besides - that was our thing. You and me. Ever since we were kids.

Jason can feel those heavy emotions weighing down on his chest. For a second it's harder to breathe. He takes a second to breathe, to let his mind relax. And then his phone dings. And then again. And again.

With a sigh he picks it up. An influx of messages from the Batfam group chat. Playful warnings to stay safe this Friday the 13th.

“Jay!” You let out an excited little laugh as you curl up into your favorite corner of the couch with a blanket draped over your lap. “Hurry up, you're wasting valuable movie time.”

Jay chuckles lowly from the kitchen of your shared apartment, “‘m almost done in here, baby. Start the movie - I'll be there in a second.” He's in the kitchen getting together snacks on a tray. Popcorn, your favorite candy, cookies.

“No way, I'm not starting it without you. I've been waiting all week for this.” You look over the back of the couch and catch sight of him with his back turned to you. Big, hulking Jason looking soft as ever in your top cramped kitchen getting sweets and snacks. You let out a small sigh, your smile turning soft. There's a warmth that spreads from your chest to your stomach as it hits you just how much you do love him.

“Stop it.” He finally speaks up with a tone of amusement. He knows you so well he doesn't even have to look at you to know you're staring.

“No.” You tease him back, your smile growing more playful. “I can't help it, you're too hot to ignore.”

And even though you can't see his face you know he's blushing.

“Shut up,” You hear him mutter, bashful. “Don't say stupid shit like that.”

You laugh at him, “What? It's true.” Your voice is more loving, adoring, and it makes Jason falter for a split second.

“Whatever, you're crazy.” He teases with a shake of his head before he's in the living room with you.

“Yeah, crazy in love.” You exaggerate batting your eyelashes before popping a piece of popcorn into your mouth.

“God, you're obnoxious.” Jason smirks with a roll of his eyes as he's sitting next to you. He props his feet onto the coffee table in front of the two of you and slings his arm over the back of the couch. A silent invitation for you to cuddle into him which you happily accept.

With your head on Jason's chest and your arm around his stomach he pushes play on the remote and pulls you even closer to him.

“Ready to watch some people die?” He asks and you snort a laugh in response.

part of me hates that they don't get it.

Jason is sidetracking now, putting his every thought down.

They haven't lost anyone like I have. I know they lost you too. They all loved you love you. But they don't get it. Normal things like today? It's just another Friday to them. To me it's one of the days I can't even turn on the tv or look at my phone without thinking of you even more than I already do. It's fucking hard baby. So fucking hard

Jason stops to blink away a tear, “Dammit…” he can hear himself sniffle and he hates it. He clears his throat and continues writing.

Some days I don't want to believe you're gone…

The manor was eerily silent that day. An official two weeks after your death, one after your funeral service. It was a small gathering; the Wayne's, the Kent's, Roy and Lian and your best friend. Your parents didn't show up, blaming Jason and the Wayne family for your “mysterious” death.

Jason doesn't like to think about it. So he doesn't.

As Jason walks through the manor he already knows where everyone is, where to avoid. Duke is on patrol, Damian is doing homework in the library, Tim and B are in the cave working a case, Dick is in Blüdhaven, Steph and Cass are training in the gym.

Except Dick wasn't in Blüdhaven. Jason rounds the corner to the kitchen to find him sitting at the island staring at a cup in front of him.

Jason doesn't greet Dick, not verbally anyway, just gives a grunt of acknowledgement. Dick looks up and he can see how tired Jason is. It makes his heart ache for his little brother. There's stubble on his face, the bags under his eyes are deep and purple.

“Hey,” Dick speaks up. His voice is quiet, a little tired. A sign that he's struggling just a bit. He watches Jason pull a beer from the fridge and he sighs. For once in his life he's <I>nervous</I>. He knows Jason stopped drinking a long time ago for you. It started as a bet that turned into a habit. He's scared to bring it up but there's something nagging at him in his brain to do so.

“Thought you stopped…” Dick mumbles. He sees Jason stiffen.

“Whaddya mean?” Jason asks, he's refusing to look at Dick as he takes a long swig.

Dick hesitates, “The bet… you both-”

“Look,” Jason forces a laugh, it doesn't even sound like him, “what she doesn't know won't hurt her. Just don't say anything and I won't get in trouble.” He jokes.

There's silence. It's heavy and tense and awkward and Dick audibly swallows. He stammers for a second. While still dealing with his own grief he was having to handle Jason's as well. He felt a pit open in his stomach.

“Jay…” Dick's voice is so soft and so tender that it makes Jason turn to face him. And when he does finally turn around Dick can see how hard he's fighting to hold it together.

“What?” Jason asks in a shaky voice.

“She.. there's no one…” Dick doesn't know how to navigate this. “She's not coming back, Jay…” the words came out thick and choked one.

Jason shakes his head and forces on another smile, it doesn't even look human at this point.

“You've always been pretty funny, y'know that.” Another drink of beer. “‘course she's coming back. She just- she's just.. not,” Jason clears his throat “, not here right now. It's fine. She'll be back soon.”

Dick wonders how long Jason's been feeling like this, how long he's been in denial or if it's a new thing he's going through. But part of him is afraid to call Jason out on it, to burst his little bubble of happiness in the midst of his despair. And honestly? A small part of him also wants to believe that you're gone, that you'll be back soon from some little trip or something.

“Oh… yeah, okay. I won't say anything, Jay.” Dick is almost whispering now as he chokes on the lump in his throat.

The part of Jason's brain that knows this is just a defense mechanism is relieved.

“Thanks, Dickie.” He claps Dick on the shoulder as he walks by.

But I know you are. I hate it. I hate accepting it. This

Jason pauses his writing before finally sighing in defeat.

this isn't how it was supposed to be.

taglist: @vellichor01 @thy-crimson-king @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm

[starqwerty20]

party on u ( part of u knew )

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SYNOPSIS: 〝 You know that I've been waiting for you. 〞 Batboys x Reader. ⋆˚࿔ A/N: Heavily inspired by Charli XCX and the devastating edits to this song lol. Dick's is the most literal interpretation of the song. Jason's weird. I love Tim Drake. Yearning bro. I'm taking requests + commissions! More details on that soon. Help a college girl save for car repairs<3

ᯓ★ DICK GRAYSON.

IT WAS SOMETHING UNSPOKEN YET PRESENT. You weren’t just friends. But you didn't call it love either.

It started with shared takeout food.

Shaky laughter while pinning you on the ground during training. Late night text messages. Sleepless nights spent on the same couch. Dick's hand laced yours in the dark, and he tried to match your breath's rhythm as you fell asleep on his chest, fingers curling into your sleep shirt.

Eventually, there were white tulips he brought after work and Bruce was asking about you.

He was always careful with you.

Because he'd done the song and routine before. Been left with the kind of bruises in places you couldn't see.

There were nights when he'd leave before you woke. He'd left you coffee on your nightstand like it was a consolation prize. And you let him. Let him stay his welcome way too long, and then let him disappear for a couple days. Maybe it was stupid, but it was better than nothing.

wonderboy i didn’t want to miss you tonight i already do when you’re still in the room

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not out of anger, not resentment. Still. It was on purpose. On both ends.

You'd stop asking if he wanted you to pick up candy for him at the grocery store and he had stopped asking when he could see you again. Maybe he had thought if he pulled away it would go away.

The invitation felt like a test. An unspoken, come if you still care. Or come so I know you haven't stopped.

It's his birthday, and silver balloons litter the hallway, and Donna laughter is already ringing through as you step in, and Roy's throwing gummy bears into Wally's glass.

You're wearing something that made you feel braver than you were, black fabric clinging to your hips--looking through the crowd with a tight chest.

His grin was the center of the room. His bright blue eyes found yours, and he didn't come over. His pupils were blown.

Kept staring, almost comically. Wondering if whether he still had the right to do that, even though he'd invited you. And you came. And he had worn that cologne you'd mentioned you'd loved, and even had tried to make his hair fall nicely. He kind of felt like a thirteen year old boy getting ready for his first Sadie Hawkins dance. It was wracking to feel like that again.

But maybe he was remembering just how much he'd hurt you by staying so close and never choosing.

You crossed the room slowly. Talked to Donna, and let Roy grab you a drink.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Dick's balcony's always been cold. Maybe he'd overstepped by draping his jacket over your pretty shoulders.

(But neither of you cared, and the lining was so nice!)

“I didn’t think you’d ask.” Your voice doesn't come out quiet, and you're surprised by its steadiness.

Dick looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t know if I deserved to.”

Your smile was glossy, close lipped. “You don’t get to disappear and then expect me to ask you to show up. It's mean.”

“I know.” A beat. “Uh, when I was halfway, I could pretend I wasn’t scared.”

“Were you?”

“Terrified.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I know that seems like such a shitty cop out. The whole, commitment phobe thing. But I still wanted you to come tonight.” Dick stopped. Cracked his knuckles. “I’ve missed you.”

“I don't believe in love that waits.”

Dick's brows are knit closely. “I know.”

“I'm not gonna be waiting.”

“I don’t want you to. I'll meet you where you are. Sorry I didn’t sooner.”

His breath clouds in the air. His voice cracks as he adds, “I get why you stopped asking.”

“Didn’t want to keep asking for something that wasn't fully ours.”

“That’s on me.”

“You were scared?”

“Still kinda am.”

He shifts beside you, steps closer. Adjusts his jacket, so the collar doesn't look rumpled. Dick's fingers brush the side of your throat.

Inside, he doesn't reach for your hand. Just walks close. As close as you'll let him. Close enough that it’s obvious.

You walk back to your car. Your phone lights up.

wonderboy thanks for coming beautiful you didn’t have to

you don’t thank me happy birthday 💙

ᯓ★ JASON TODD.

JASON IS ALWAYS AROUND. Your brother's second shadow. Not because they're attached at the hip. Roy is one of the few people that lets him stand beside him without flinching.

Initially, he barely acknowledges you.

He'll grunt a greeting when you grab a glass of juice, nods from across the kitchen. He always leaves his bike helmet on the counter tile like it's a centerpiece. It smells like gunpowder and iron, and you definitely think it says way more than he ever does with his mouth. Gun oil. Boots on the carpet. Pride and Prejudice folded in his back pocket.

You were studying journalism at university. Doing some stories. Freelance. An open notebook tucked under your arm. You asked questions too fast sometimes--half Harper nature--about everything, about nothing.

And Jason didn’t like it. Said so.

“Why do you talk to people like you’re digging for something?”

“Cause people lie.”

He didn’t say anything after that.

It was Roy’s fault! He left his phone out on the sofa. You didn’t care to look, but the cracked screen had some picture of you and Roy. Jason sent it.

jaybird when was this is she dating someone?

roy tf do you care lmao don’t be fucking weird

jaybird just asking.

roy that’s my sister.

jaybird shut up.

You noticed him staring more after that.

One time at breakfast, you spilled coffee on the edge of your sweater sleeve, cursing under your breath. You didn’t think he was even awake. Jason was slumped at the table over a bowl of cereal. His hoodie pulled up like he hadn’t slept at all. He passed you a paper towel before you even asked. Didn’t even look at you.

Later, your old press badge was pressed against the counter. It was lost for weeks. Bent but clean.

“You found this?” you turned to Roy, eyes glittering.

Roy rubbed his mouth. “Huh?”

Jason starts asking you things. Small things.

“Where’d that article of yours go? The vigilante case?”

“Sleep last night?”

He asked them like it didn't matter, like he didn't already know the answers. His fingers drummed while waiting for your replies, and he seems to drink in every single thing you say.

An interview that went south. A CEO with yellowed teeth called you doll. You bit your tongue till it stung.

Jason's in the garage, with a wrench.

“[Name], you okay?”

“I'm fine, Jay.”

“Don't lie.”

You set your leather bag on the hood of your car.

The wrench drops. “Wanna go hit something?”

You blinked. Slowly. "Sorry?”

“Gym. Pads. Gloves. I'll hold them for you.”

A smile stretches and he swears he feels like he's being lit from the inside. The way it's just for him. “Is that your version of like, a hug?”

“Take it or leave it.”

Roy didn’t pick up tonight. After a date that made your head ache, where the guy with a cheap haircut only spoke about himself, forgot his wallet, you stood outside alone. Cold.

Jason showed up instead.

His hoodie half-zipped, breath fogging in the air, from jogging, car parked across the street, his white streak a little matted. Green eyes scanned your face, and he grabbed the heels dangling from your fingers.

Your purse slipped off your shoulder, and Jason took it mid slide too.

He held both all the way home in his lap as he drove.

You let him walk you to your building, and the air had seemed to have hit you harder this time. Jason still had your bag and heels, and the space between you seemed to buzz.

The stairwell was bright, and the front light hummed over your head. Your throat was tight as you croaked out a "Thank you", softly and every word you wanted to say seemed to taunt you as you realize you rather liked his green eyes, and the golden rings inside them.

He seemed to notice your observation, and his eyes fell to the floor, the corners of his lips lifting so slightly. So, you let your hand fall between you, barely. So his could brush against it. Fingertips, then your pinky hooked his.

He turned his hand, observing the way they fit. Held it tighter, tighter than you expected.

ᯓ★ TIM DRAKE.

YOU'VE ALWAYS LIKED QUIET. Which is a good thing, because you have little else but that in a gas station working a graveyard shift. It's mostly peaceful. As peaceful Gotham can get. Little customers. No noise. Just you, and the fluorescents and the freezer that groans when it turns on.

Sometimes, you leave the counter to stand under the overhang light.

You see him for the first time at 3:24 AM.

The red and black suit. The insignia. A cowl that didn't cover his lips. Red Robin.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lands on the roof like he belongs there. Kinda freakish.

He was gone before you could look again.

The second time he shows up, he taps on the bulletproof glass with a gloved knuckle and gestures to the vending machine near the left of the entrance.

"It ate my dollar," he says.

You blink. "For real?"

"Swear on the mask."

Pretty big swear. So, you open the door. He's taller than you thought he would be. And younger. Same age, or around from what you can make of him.

You slide an energy drink and a bag of chips across the counter. "Next time you save the city bird boy, ask for some change."

He laughs. And you hate how much you like the way his lips curve.

He comes back after that. Not every single night. Although, that'd be fun. But it wasn't enough for you to expect him.

He never buys anything from you. He leans against the counter and asks how your shift was, and you hand him a bottled water and piece of bubblegum. He asks about the books you read behind the register.

"Jane Eyre?" he'd asked with a raised brow. "Sort of a dramatic choice for a Tuesday."

"Says the guy in a bird costume."

He laughed again. Now you hated how familiar it sounded.

But you didn't think much of it. Not until the week Tim stops coming to class.

He was in your study group. Quiet. He had the most gorgeous smile you think you'd seen. All toothy and boyish, despite the dark circles shadowing underneath his eyes.

You liked him more than you meant to. Still do. You swore not to, because there was something about him that seemed like if you reached out, he'd disappear like smoke. And it was getting ridiculous. You'd worn a skirt to class and curled your hair and hoped he'd notice. Forming a crush on someone because he had asked you how your day was and always helped look for your pen underneath your seat during lecture. But he was always noticing things. Listening to you, and he said your name like it was a secret that you both shared.

When he misses study group, then class, then that dumb open mic night you invited him to, you tell yourself it's nothing.

But then Red Robin shows up that same night, again.

He's chipper. "Long night?"

You let the silence stretch, doodling on some scratch paper.

He tilts his head, rocking on his heels. "Have a bad shift?"

"No," you say slowly, "Just kinda missing someone."

The mask twitches. You don't notice.

He starts coming around regularly.

You talk. About stupid shit, important stuff. Your morals. His commentary on the mayor.

You mention how sometimes you wish had a different life. How you want to graduate university already.

He's quiet as he nods, locking eyes with you.

Then he says, “I think you’re doing way better than you think.”

That's not fair to you. Because that sounds like something Tim would tell you over text casually. It makes your stomach twist and you wonder if you're falling in love with a mask, a voice, because he reminds you of someone else.

And he doesn’t even know that.

Tim knows.

He talks to you at night with a different voice, he holds himself differently and pretends that he’s not the same guy who used to try to make jokes clumsily to make you laugh. He loves your laugh.

He watches you watch him and says nothing.

If he tells you, it’ll ruin the quiet connection you’ve built. The thing he keeps crawling back to when the city’s too heavy.

[starqwerty20]

Hii! First : happy birthday!! 21 is such a lovely age!

Also omg.. I’m not one for gossiping but.. I saw Sirius black taking a shot earlier and he kept babbling nonsense! I learn it had 24% alcohol! Crazy I know.. right after he tried to quit drinking too!

(🍾)

24. Getting pinned down while a training session/sports practice

OMG?! No way???? Genuinely soooooo crazy.....

Playing Dirty

Sirius Black x gn!reader

WC: 1.1k

CW: smutty allusions but no smut; fluff; running (ew)

Summary: Cheaters never prosper (not related to relationship cheating but cheating at a game)

You know you’re supposed to be taking this seriously, and you know that James will probably give you more laps for goofing off, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Sirius really can’t either, it seems. The thing is, there’s nothing you hate more than running laps. Despite your protests that you’re on a broom- so why do you need to run- Captain James Potter insists upon it. He says it makes everyone stronger, mentally and physically. You think he just likes personally torturing each and every one of his teammates now that he’s in charge. 

Although Sirius doesn’t really mind the running- not ever since he became a dog animagus at least- he’s sympathetic to your complaints. He’ll return your pouts with gentle coos and kisses to your forehead in hopes of easing your distress. It helps, but some days you need a little extra motivation. Today is one of those days. Sirius’ solution? A race. Your boyfriend knows you well, because the thrill of a competition, of getting to beat him and gloat about it for the rest of the day, is incredibly alluring to you. Whoever finishes the laps first is the winner, you decide, and they’ll get a reward of their choosing. Your mind is already brimming with ideas. 

It’s why you’re now sprinting around the quidditch field faster than you’ve ever gone before- heart racing and blood pumping as you will your body to maintain its pace and keep the slight lead you have on your boyfriend. The endorphins pumping through your veins are exhilarating, but they have nothing to do with the exercise. Instead, your body is alight with the thrill of winning, giggles trapped in your throat at the thought of victory. It’s a childlike and youthful sensation, one spurned on when you catch a flash of raven hair in your peripheral. You nearly gasp when you spot Sirius taking the lead, toned legs, slightly longer than yours, carrying him down the field. You’d known he wasn’t going to just let you win, but you’d been suspicious at the way he’d been lagging right behind you the whole race. Now that his motives are clear, you curse yourself for not seeing it sooner. He was pacing himself- saving up some of his energy for a last minute burst that would propel him to the finish line right before you. It’s maddening and you push your feet into the turf even harder, willing your legs to move faster, faster, faster. 

Sirius, the bastard, looks over his shoulder and winks, “do try to keep up, sweetheart.”

You huff through your pants and laser in on his back as he nears what you’ve both deemed the finish line. It’s not likely you can pass him in time, but perhaps you can slow him down…or stop him. Your legs scream from the exertion but you push through, channeling the last of your energy into revenge. You inch closer to your boyfriend until BAM, you slam into the back of him, sending him tumbling down onto the turf. Unfortunately for you, you get caught up in his flying limbs and go straight down with him, hitting the ground with a loud oomf. 

The grass scratches against your skin as you land half on top of your boyfriend and he groans. 

“You little minx,” Sirius curses, voice sort of muffled by the earth.

“Whoops, was an accident,” you murmur sweetly, rolling off of him. You attempt to scramble up but don’t get far.

“Nuh uh!” your boyfriend protests, grabbing your ankle and promptly pulling you back down, “you’re not going anywhere.”

You yelp and fall on top of him as his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against him. Your faces are inches apart and you can feel his warm breath fanning across your face, “you, my love, are a big, fat cheater.”

“Me? A cheater? Never? How could you accuse me of such a thing? I just tripped and fell onto you.”

He raises an eyebrow, entirely unamused and unconvinced, “right, and Prongs is secretly a Slytherin spy. You were just mad I was going to win so you decided to play dirty.”

“This is blasphemy, Sirius!” You attempt to wiggle free from his grasp but he fights you, trying to keep you in a hold.

“So stubborn!”

The raven-haired boy sighs and flips the two of you over, your back landing against the ground. He straddles your hips and goes for your wrists. You flail about unflatteringly in an attempt to escape his grasp. It doesn’t help much because moments later he has you pinned beneath him with a cruel, cocky smirk on his smug, handsome face. 

“That’s more like it,” he drawls, his voice carrying that tone he knows makes your knees weak. 

“You wanna play dirty, sweetheart? I can play dirty too. Maybe even dirtier.”

Your breath hitches and Sirius hears it, his smirk growing impossibly wider. Fuck your boyfriend and his seductive sorcery. It was unfair, really, how he could turn you to goo with a few intentioned words and a grin. He leans in closer and your nose is filled with his scent- his favorite cologne, a hint of his shampoo, and the, surprisingly, not unpleasant smell of sweat. It sends a shiver down your spine and his grey eyes darken, “just accept defeat, sweetheart.”

“But I-” you trail off dumbly, all fight leaving your body.

“There you go, baby. Good job,” he murmurs against your lips, before closing the gap. 

The kiss, to put it simply, is hot. It’s messy and rough and sends heat right to your core. You whimper into his mouth despite the audience you most certainly have and Sirius chuckles lowly, the vibrations sending another shiver through your body. Your boyfriend presses one more searing kiss to your lips and then in a flash he’s up and gone, the heat of his body unfortunately absent from your skin. 

You blink slowly, brain not caught up to what’s just happened. Faintly, you hear Sirius cheer, and you curse. The bastard really does know how to play dirty. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your pounding heart, heaving chest, and the sparks of need flickering between your legs. 

You sense a shadow overcome you and you open your eyes, glowering at a smug looking James Potter. He offers his hand with a cheeky, “cheaters never prosper,” and you smack it away, growling softly. This only makes James laugh more and you kick his shin, reveling in the small hiss he lets out at the attack. 

“I can give you five more laps for that,” your captain calls out as you stalk away.

“No need, Potter. I’ll be getting in my cardio another way today,” you call back, grabbing Sirius by the wrist and dragging him back towards the castle.