#Jason todd x gn reader

[hattersrabbit]

SEE NO EVIL

batfamily x clairvoyant reader | sfw

CW! gn reader, hurt comfort, supernatural elements, good dad Bruce wayne supremacy, descriptions of crime scenes, descriptions of murder and injury, religious themes (not to harm or in bad faith), mental health issues, reader is vigilante (my oc's alias is used), john constantine is also there

Summary! You're family isn't all that believeable to the paranormal. Unfortunately, it's time that they come to terms that you can see it all, and it's really starting affect you in a bad way.

✎ᝰ. I was rewatching the conjuring movies since the 4th ones trailer is out and I got inspired so here 🫵 for you

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

It was easy for your strange powers to go unnoticed.

Also it helped you hadn't told anyone that you could see ghosts, or demons in visions. Seeing what could possibly happen in the past and what could possibly happen in the future.

You're family didn't believe in the paranormal despite the fact Gotham working with magic users.

In fact Gotham was haunted; you saw everything and it was horrifying.

Case and point; like when you were dressed as your vigilante person you were simply patrolling your route with Spoiler. What made it hard was the fact that you could see the ghost of a man at the edge of the buildings top.

A dangling foot and staring at you with those ghostly eyes. Taking every bit of yourself to stay calm. Not alert Spoiler that you were seeing something she couldn't.

It wouldn't turn away and you couldn't ignore it. You've been seeing these spirits for so long. You don't know if you can even handle this anymore.

"Nymph? Are you okay?"

"Huh!?" You jumped. Spoiler's eyes full of slight worry and confusion. "Oh I'm okay."

"Alright. Looks like you just saw a ghost." She dismissed you and went back to surveying your surroundings.

Oh how right she was.

Perhaps you should tell Bruce that his father was over his shoulder. Maybe you should by seeing how proud he was. His mother was bit of the way looking on with a smile.

A pleasant memory.

The two looked at you. Couldn't help but freeze up at those eyes of theirs. So much like Bruce's ice blue eyes. They were smiling at you with pride.

A whisper into your ear, "Take care of yourself, dear."

Every now and then you'd see them. Always a break from the scary figures you regularly saw in Gotham. Or the various demons that hung over apartments and houses.

And people.

Maybe the entities on your father's shoulder were sad, or angry? They came from all over. Some sobbing and some threatening for his very demise.

You didn't like such things.

Jason was the worst. The spirits and darkness that surrounded him was worrisome. For the longest time you watched over him despite being younger.

Always confused by it but he let it slide. You two were closer than most, but he didn't know that you did it to check on the ghosts.

They were horrifying.

Some had influence over emotions.

When Bruce and Jason would argue you could see them snickering. Voices loud in your ears. Forever to hear the unbearable. No one else heard or sense what was so dangerous.

The same went for Dick and Bruce. It hurt to see it happen.

Bruce always looked so sad after.

Alfred had questioned why there was rosary around your neck. One on your wall above your bed.

None of them really believed in such things, or magic despite the involvement in it. You knew the supernatural had its claw around you all.

The manor walked with monsters. They haunted everyone.

You dismissed it.

Alfred gave you a look but left it alone. You didn't want to explain any more than you needed. You preferred not having to describe what you were feeling.

Especially worse when even touching objects you could see and feel everything. When murders would occur, and you and Tim would find evidence you'd be the one to collect it all.

You two, along with Bruce were smart. While those two used their detective brain to solve it you could see it all. The pain and horrors of what was experienced. All the anger that was dealt to the dead person on the ground.

Relatively the killer would be found.

They would praise you.

The monsters simply glared.

The phantoms that hung over your father made you anxious. Always whispering for his death to become truth, but even so he survived.

The phantoms would torment you.

You wondered when the bruises started appearing on your skin. Wondered when your energy was just suddenly being sucked out of you.

Even one time you woke up with a gash in your leg. It wasn't hard for your family to notice the injury.

"How'd you get that, miss?" Alfred asked. His brows locked up suspiciously. You simply said you must have gotten it and hadn't noticed it.

He didn't believe you.

Bruce was worried. The man had been hovering more than ever. Recently during patrol you were patrolling with him and Damian more. Steph and Tim seemed quite upset about it but they understood.

You're recent behavior had been noticed.

Leslie did her best, but even so nothing could be done. You were simply tired. Tired of the monsters that tormented your sight and sleep.

Bless you when John Constantine came to visit. Exorcism was preformed on a presumably possessed man. The bats were less impressed, but they left it alone.

Again, you'd think they used to magic but bats were they were human. Even if they worked with meta humans, gods, and aliens.

You on the other hand found semblance with him.

On this recent case, a man, presumably possessed was going around killing people.

"Possessed? Killing people."

"Wasn't your boy under controll of the Lazarus Pit?"

Magic was a sore spot for Jason. The boy in this case rolled his eyes. "It was torturous to be under something else's control. We need to get it the fuck out of here."

You could attest to that. Sometimes Jason would go through rough patches and you'd calm him down. In the process you saw all the pain and you hated it.

The attempts on Tim and Bruce's lives were traumatic for you. You couldn't deny your image of Jason changed after that even if not of the Lazarus Pit's control. You were able to hide it relatively well.

Jason was good. You trusted him as he did you.

You didn't know how he'd react to your gift. That fact that you saw everything. No doubt he'd be shaken by that fact. Probably then pushing you away, because that seems to be everyone's method in this family.

Blood covered the floor. Bruce and Tim going over the crime scene. The rest of your siblings off trying different leads. You stood next to Constantine.

The blonde man surveyed the room closely. Looking for any signs of demonic or a evil spirit possession. His eyes had recognition as he looked around.

You wouldn't have left if it hadn't been for the pale man who was dirty and bloody. A ghost of another. His figure stalking towards you. John didn't seem to notice him, or maybe he did. Paying no mind to the ghost of a victim.

His ghostly figure whispering to you,

"He made me do it."

You didn't answer. Only stared wide eyed. Fear in your bones.

"He's gonna do it again...Stop him-"

His mouth opened. Blood came rushing out like a river. Trembling body. Almost like a reactment a knife seemed to appear. A stab to the heart.

Without warning you fled. Bruce and Tim's voices echoing. You couldn't find a care in the world to say why. It was all too much. Holding your head and body it was all too much.

Fear overcoming your body.

The stress was too much.

"Hey kiddo." John walking up to you with his hands in his pockets. "Some scene made?" His brow went up when seeing your face.

Bags, and less color in your complexion. "Hey what's wrong?" You didn't answer. Only collapsing onto the dirty hallways floor. Hugging your self when once again faced with another phantom.

"Do you see her?" You asked. A trembling voice echoing. Almost too quiet for John to hear. The woman being a woman with a slit neck. Ghostly eyes and bloody hands. "She killed her children." Her wicked smile confirmed it.

John seemed stunned. "You can see...ghosts?"

"All of them." You removed your glove and rolled up your suits sleeve. A giant bruise could be seen. Even going so far as to remove your boot to reveal a bandaged leg. "They won't leave me alone." Tears finally falling down your face.

"Oh, Kid. I'm sorry." He got down his knees. His arms snaking around you after you came a gentle nod. "They won't leave you alone? Like you can see them everywhere?"

"Even in my dreams." You shook your head. "I can't go to sleep normally. Everytime I wake up i have bruises or a sudden gash. It won't stop. Everyone's worried about me, and sooner or later I suspect I'll be dead." A sob finally fell from your lips.

"I know. It can be hard. Your attracting them, somehow, perhaps because of Bats. Or simply your that susceptible to you." He turned to look at you fully. "Some have attached themselves to you."

"Really?"

"Their weakening you. I'm assuming you see other than bad spirits, yes?"

"Yes. Sometimes I see B's parents. They always tell me to take care of myself."

"I can get Zatanna and we'll take care of it. Just hold out for longer while." John hugged you tightly. "Trust me, Kid. I know it's hard to see things that others can't."

You sniffled. "Okay, thank you." You hugged him back. You pretended that the breathing down your neck wasn't from a murderer; a man who killed several women.

They told you. For the sake of tormenting you.

After all the visions were just as terrifying.

They weren't done with you this night either. Having gotten home and everyone headed for bed (except Duke since he was day shift), and slept.

You settled into your bed. Eyes feeling heavy due to not getting the right amount of sleep. The visions of the future haunted you. Always so horrible. Your siblings and father getting hurt in ways you never wished for.

Your bed dipped and you realized it was Ace. Softly smiling the dog licked you hand as you petted him. Recently he had been coming to your bed.

Noted animals always seemed to see things humans weren't able. Never have you been so grateful for Ace. As a thank you Ace was awarded with kisses atop his forehead.

Finally settling down in your bed. Trying to get comfortable, and hopefully your dreams would be terrifying.

You were wrong.

The sight of the man you were after. A man wrapped in chains. White eyes and bleeding blood. Sobbing for it to stop.

Make it stop.

The ghostly sight of a demon reigned above. Black eyes. Mocking figure you treasured close to your heart.

It was a dream. This was all too much for you. Becoming lucid it became so much worse. The demon in your face. A hand around you neck.

Thorns pricking in your skin. Body on fire as you garbled out noises. Pleas for it all the stop. You could die in your sleep.

You'll die.

Gotham will be destroyed.

I'll never leave you alone.

You'll never escape us.

You screamed loudly. Your voice feeling like an echo and suddenly you were falling.

Ace was barking when you opened your eyes to find a demoic creature looking down at you. Blood and dirt on its body. A body of a human.

Giggling. It roared and you screamed. Thrashing as it attacked your. A blood curdling scream that mixed with Ace's barks.

"DAD!"

Like a screech you screamed for Bruce. The monster on you and tearing at your skin. Bruises no doubt forming on you as you rolled off the bed. Back hitting the wood hard, and pain rushed up your body.

Bloody injuries bleeding into the wood. Covering your skin. It wouldn't leave and for some reason it was attacking you.

Why? Why you?

Ace's barks never let up.

Even as the door slammed opened to reveal Bruce looking on with a shakened expression. He watched you moving on the floor like it was attacking you.

When had it left?

Ace having lept off the bed he joined you on the floor. Desperately trying to get you to stop hurting yourself even more. All the movement making your injuries worse.

"[ ]! Baby! Sweetheart it's okay!" He grabbed you into his body. You immediately clung to him, stopping your thrashing around. Ace's body not leaving you alone. Crying and sobbing from fear and pain.

"What happened?!" His voice was shaking. Eyes taking in the various bruises over your body. The blood hot on his nose and seeing blood through your night shirt. Three claw marks when he pushed up the damn thing.

"Make it stop- make them stop, dad!" Despite it hurting your arms you clung to Bruce. The cuts in your arms rubbing together as you sobbed. "They won't go away-!" You're voice was strangled as you sobbed.

"I keep seeing them- I can't sleep! I can't-" you couldn't speak any longer. Your chest was hurting too. No doubt tons of blood on your chest from scars.

Blood coated Bruce's silk pajamas.

You're siblings stood out the door with wide eyes.

Dick covering his mouth with teary eyes.

Jason's eyes were filled with unfamiliar fear.

Tim was bewildered.

Damian was beside himself. What the hell was he looking at?

Cassandra wanted to go to you.

Stephanie held Cass back. Horror and tears in her eyes.

Duke couldn't believe his eyes. His own anxiety shot up the roof.

Alfred came rushing in with a first aid kit. The old man shakened up, which was a rare sight. Far too disturbing for Bruce and the Kids.

Along, Alfred the Cat and Titus came rushing in. The animals joining Ace in crowding you with worry.

Bruce was whispering gentle nothings into your ears. He didn't know where to comfort you. Everywhere was injured. Your chest and back. Arms and legs. Neck and maybe even your head.

"Whats going on?" It was a simple question.

You stilled. Eyes wide.

Like you saw a ghost. "They won't go away. I saw him, the one John is looking for. He attacked me. All of them." You looked behind Bruce. He noted it.

"The phantoms want you dead, Dad." You turned to Jason. "They want you back in the grave." Your older brother was shakened by that news.

"Make them go away. Call Zatanna and John...I don't want to die...they'll kill me." You pleaded.

You were inconsolable. The family didn't know what to do. It was hard to cover your injuries as you refused to leave Bruce's side. You couldn't because you'd be alone.

Ace was there. But it wasn't enough.

You didn't want to be alone. You're family could speak to you, despite not being able to see it all. To see the horror of what you saw.

The living room was taken over. Pillows and blankets piled upon each other. A movie blaring on the TV.

A big space for you and house animals in the middle. Damian was quite appalled to see that Titus was refusing to leave you. Never seen him so close to someone else other than him.

The same could be said for Ace.

Despite that you refused to leave Bruce's arms. You're father didn't protest and your siblings let it happened.

You were so scared. They could see it clear as day.

A call was made by Jason quick to John. His voice threatening the warlock to come quickly tomorrow or else he'd have a bullet in the groin.

Late-night cookies prepared by Alfred. You were smothered in blankets and held by Bruce. You refused to let go.

The warmth of your siblings also refused to leave. Protectiveness swallowing them when you told them all you've seen. What you've seen all your life.

The ghosts of demons and spirits.

Bruce was crying when you admitted you could see his parents. Even saying you could feel Martha's ghostly motherly touch on you. A sad expression on her as she kissed you better.

Thomas next to Bruce. His expression hard as he looked at the injuries you recieved.

The supernatural was real and you could see it. All of it and it tormented you. A gift, sure, but you saw evil. It wouldn't leave you alone, and many attached itself to you.

"I promise baby it'll be okay." Bruce whispered to you. A kiss to your forehead just as Damian's arms wrapped slightly more tighter around you. You winced but you didn't mind.

"Sleep. We'll be here if something happens to you."

You were scared. Heavy eyelids threatening to close. Bruce's kissed the side of your temple. "It's alright."

You believed in your father, and all your siblings who were close. Closer than normal. Wanting to make sure you were never harmed again.

With that belief in your mind you slept.

Feeling content, even if the demon was in the corner.

A source of darkness can never defeat love.

And you had plenty of it.

[sanguineterrain]

most normal thing in the world | jason todd

Summary: You get hit with a love spell. Naturally, the first person you seek out is Jason Todd.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings/tags: love spell (so potentially mild dubious consent but all the feelings are reciprocated), lovesick you, lovesick jason, repressed jason, LOTS of cuddling/lovie stuff, needles, magic, pining, happy ending.

the divider

Jason's having a good night.

He made himself an indulgent lasagna, and now he's got leftovers for tomorrow. He's off from patrol tonight, which, he must admit, was nice of Cass to offer.

Yeah, Jason actually feels pretty normal. Feels like any young person would. Hell, he might put on a movie he won't pay attention to, or finally adopt a cat, just to keep the normal streak going. That's what young folks do, right?

(He can think of some other things young people do, things that Jason won't allow himself to dream of.)

Knock knock.

Jason sighs. Well. The streak was good while it lasted.

He gets up, shuffling over in his sweats. He undoes the four locks and opens the door to reveal... you.

"Uh, hey," he says, cracking the door wider. "Everything okay?"

It's late. You shouldn't be out now, even if the sun hasn't gone down yet.

Jason frowns when you sway in the doorway and don't respond.

Then you flash him the sweetest smile he's ever been on the receiving end of. Wow. Sure, Jason's seen you flash your pretty teeth before. But not like this. And not at him.

"Hi, Jaylove. Hi."

"Uh." He watches you walk right past him, into his apartment. He shuts the door. "Hi... What's goin' on? You alright?"

You turn to face him. "Why wouldn't I be? After all, you're here."

"What?"

You walk to him and take his hands in yours. Jason's eyebrows rise.

"Hey...?" Jason says, looking at your joined hands. You lace your fingers together.

"My prince," you say happily. "Your eyes are beautiful. Like emeralds. And you have a beautiful mouth. Your whole face is beautiful. I'd like to paint you."

"Are you on drugs?" Jason releases your hands to hold your face. He gently pushes your eyelids up to inspect your pupils. You just smile.

"I feel high when you touch me," you say. "Just being near you is drug enough."

Yeah, Jason's now feeling a healthy amount of paranoia. It's not that you don't stop by or that you're not nice. No, you're the sweetest creature Jason's ever had the pleasure of meeting.

But wanting to touch him? Thinking he's beautiful? Calling him your prince? Either you're drugged or he's died again and found paradise.

Then again, he probably wouldn't still be in Gotham if this were paradise. You'd definitely be here, though.

"Right. Your eyes are fine." Jason lets go of your face. "You sure you didn't take anything? Drink anything? Run into anyone?"

"I drank tea," you say, gazing up at him. "And I petted a fat orange cat. Don't you want a cat?"

"I surely do. You drank tea?"

"Mmhm. It was almost as amazing as you."

Jason nods and takes your hand. "Okay. We're going to the Cave."

"How come?" you ask, but you don't protest as he leads you out and into the elevator.

"Because I wanna make sure you're okay," he says, pushing the button labeled one. You're definitely not okay, but he doesn't want to worry you.

"Oh." You lean against Jason's arm. He stiffens and looks down at you. You just burrow into his side. "'Cause you love me?"

Breath catches in his throat. You can't mean that. Do you even know what you're saying? No, impossible.

You look up when he's silent for too long. "Jay-Jay? Didja hear me?"

"Yeah," he says slowly. "Yeah, I did."

You look at him, big eyes sweet. "Don't you love me too? I love you."

Jason swallows hard. "I, um, don't think you're in your right mind."

Your lip quivers. Oh, God. No, please don't cry, please don't—

"You don't love me?" you ask, tears welling.

"I do love you," Jason says quickly, panicking at your distress. "I do. Shit. Please don't cry, honey. I do love you."

You frown, cheeks wet. "You're just saying that! You hate me!"

Jason shakes his head. "No, no! Oh, never, I could never hate ya, honest! I was just... um, this is the first time we've said it to each other, y'know? I do love you. Have for a long time now."

He strokes your cheek with his thumb, soaking up your tears. You sniffle but accept this, nodding.

"Oh. I'm sure I've told you that I love you before. I love you so much, Jason. I'll never love anyone the way I love you."

God, this is fucking torture. As the elevator reaches the ground floor, Jason takes a deep breath, lets you link your fingers with his, and leads you out to the street. The universe is intent in never granting him a normal night. Noted.

There's no way you're in your right mind. Jason's figured this from the start. But that doesn't make the way you look at him, like he's anybody worth looking at, any less painful.

He pulls out his phone, shoots a quick text to Dick. ETA 10 min.

Dick responds two seconds later. What's up?

Possible Code 12.

Jason pockets his phone, running through potential reasons for what did this to you. Ivy's not wreaking havoc tonight, as far as he knows.

Meanwhile, you're in another world, humming and holding his hand. Jason's thought about this many times, holding your hand and taking you for rides, you adoring him, hugging him, kissing him. He's nothing if not a masochist.

"Okay, sweetheart," Jason says, and you immediately turn to him, like a flower showing its face to the sun. Jason is no one's sun, though. He's more like the worm under your boot.

"Hm?" you ask, stroking his arm. Jason does his best to be normal about it.

"We're gonna, um, go to the Cave. You okay on my bike?"

You glance at his bike, and there's a tinge of apprehension on your face. Jason reaches for your shoulder, stops, then forces himself to touch you. You're not going to recoil from him, not in this state. And he's not doing it for himself; he's only touching you so that you'll let him take you to the Manor and figure out what's what.

He's not a bastard for holding your shoulder, right? He's doing it just so that you'll be safe.

(It doesn't matter. Jason knows he's a bastard for being in your life at all.)

You lean into him when he touches your shoulder.

"Never been on your bike, Jay," you say.

"I know. But I swear to you that you're safe. You know I'd never let anything happen to you, right? Never."

You nod. "Yeah. You always look out for me. 'S part of why I love you so much."

Good God. Jason's going to be a ball of self-hatred for the next millenia over this.

He puts his spare helmet on you, helping you fit the chin guard underneath.

"Okay?" he asks.

You give him a thumbs-up. Jason smiles and puts his own helmet on.

"You gotta hold on real tight, okay? As tight as you can. Don't worry 'bout hurting me."

"Mmkay!"

He helps you mount the bike first, then follows. As soon as he's on, you wrap your arms around his middle and smush your helmet into his back.

How long has he dreamed about this? Taking you on late-night rides, feeling you pressed against him, squealing as he floats through traffic (he'd never speed the way he does when he's alone; Jason doesn't give a shit about his own body, but your safety matters).

"The bike is loud, so I'm not gonna hear you if you say something, but if you want me to stop, tap my shoulder three times, okay?"

"Okay, Jaylove." You squeeze him in what's clearly a hug. "Ready."

Jason's not sure he is. It's been a long time since anyone's touched him, much less someone he's head over heels for. You're so trusting, it makes him ache. Jason's just glad he's the first jerk you laid your eyes upon instead of the magic you're under pushing you into the arms of someone dangerous.

He starts up his bike. Jason's had guests on his bike before, mostly his brothers and, once, the old lady who runs the tea shop down the block.

He's never had a lovely thing like you snuggled up to him, clinging to him. Jason feels rabid. He feels like he needs to be shot and put out of his misery.

He follows all of the road rules so you won't be scared. You don't tap his shoulder or shake, so Jason figures you're fine. He's good. He's being good for you.

Jason slows as he goes down the ramp to the Cave entrance. He stops at the mouth of the Cave and dismounts first, pulling off his helmet.

"You alright in there?" he asks, offering his hand.

You wrap your arms around his neck and Jason wobbles as he recalibrates and snakes an arm around your shoulders instead and helps you off that way. He removes your helmet. You blink at the new light, then look at him, moony-eyed once again.

"I was kinda scared," you admit. "But I trust you, Jaybee. Always."

"Got you here in one piece, didn't I?" he says, winking at you.

"Uh-huh!"

Jason sees what you're going to do before you try. He sees the way you look at his lips, how you rear back, ready to leap and kiss him.

He redirects you immediately, preferring that to making you cry again. He hates it when you cry. Your soft mouth lands on his jaw instead.

Jason smiles, strained. You're annoyed at the fact that you missed, and Jason can see that you're about to try again when Dick and Tim come into view.

He's never been more thrilled to see his brothers.

"Fellow bretheren," Jason says. He knows his voice is thin. "Funny seein' you here."

You're briefly distracted and wave to be polite. But then you force Jason's left ear to your level and catch the lobe between your teeth.

Holy fuck. Jason nearly buckles at the sensation. He's never understood the ears as an erogenous zone before—now he gets it. He's ashamed of how heat pools in his gut as you nip his ear.

Jason balances you with an arm around your waist, gingerly trying to both hide his reaction and separate you. He accomplishes neither. Tim's eyebrows are at his hairline; Dick's mouth is open, no doubt ready to make a smart-ass comment.

"Well, it's nice to see you two so... affectionate," Dick says, holding back a grin.

Jason rolls his eyes. "I need you to run tests. They showed up to my door like this, all over me."

"Yeah, that is weird," Tim says.

"Thank you very much for that, Timbit," Jason grumbles. You kiss under his ear and weave your fingers through his hair. Jason manages to get your hands off, but your mouth is still firmly planted on his neck. He clears his throat. Normal!

"I dunno, Jason," Dick says. "It's not that weird. People fall in love every day."

And, okay. Jason can do teasing. He can even do borderline psychotic remarks. That's part of having siblings. He's made a few in his day. They've all stabbed or shot each other.

But now Dick is just being cruel.

Jason scowls. "Take their blood so we can fucking get this over with. They're clearly under a love spell."

His scathing tone surprises Dick, but it really startles you. You've moved away from his ear (Jason is both relieved and disappointed) and return to cradling his arm. You're alarmed by his reply.

"Jaylove?" you ask. "What happened? Are you mad?"

Jaylove? Jason sees Tim mouth. He forces himself to focus on you, be gentle for you.

"Hm, no, not mad at ya, sweetheart. Sorry 'bout that. But we need to run some medical tests on ya, 'kay? Can we do that?"

"Sure," you chirp, linking your arm with his.

Dick and Tim slip into Work Mode. Jason appreciates that. His nerves are frayed. He senses a self-destructive episode coming on after you're cured. Maybe he'll throw himself into a bar fight tonight.

"Symptoms?" Tim asks, going to the computer.

"Being in love with me," Jason says dryly.

"Besides that. Any physical symptoms like dizziness or nausea? Recklessness?"

"No, didn't notice any sickness. Not reckless; they did everything I said." Jason swallows, says the next part quietly, fearfully. "Probably jump into the Hudson if I asked."

Tim nods sharply. Dick prepares to draw your blood. Again, you're apprehensive. But Jason soothes you, pets you, and you're leaning into him like a cat in its favorite patch of sun as Dick takes your blood.

"I wanna get married," you say as red fills the second vial.

Dick shoots him a sympathetic look. Jason looks away.

"Soon, honey," Jason says, ignoring how his stomach's a pit.

He didn't think about love or relationships when he came back. Didn't care, not when he had revenge to plot.

But after all that was over, after he met you, after he found a reason to keep living, Jason started thinking about it.

And what he realized is that he's never getting married.

By choice? Yes, sure. Jason loves pretending he has a choice in anything. Sure, he chooses to abstain from marriage, like normal people out there do. But really, he avoids attachment because it wouldn't be fair to anyone. He knows he's not made for that. His death made him unsalvageable. It's a miracle he's here at all. How dare he ask for more?

And inside, he chokes on a vine of hatred for everyone else who can find someone. Who's capable of loving and being loved. It even, to Jason's shame, has reared its head at you, whispered in his ear about how you're not damaged, so of course you'll find someone one day. Of course you'll leave him eventually. It would be stupid of him to hope otherwise.

"When?" you ask as Dick starts on the third vial. You don't even notice. Dick could probably drain you dry as long as Jason's in front of you. "When can we get married?"

"How 'bout next month?" Jason says without thinking. He would. He'd marry you tomorrow.

You think about this for a moment, then nod. "Yes, that would be good. I've always wanted a fall wedding."

"Yeah? I always liked the idea of marrying in the spring. All the flowers."

"No," you say. "Pollen's out. You'd be sneezing your head off."

Jason laughs, then wants to cry, because you know that he's allergic to pollen.

"Yeah, y'right," he says, voice thick. "Fall wedding's better."

"Alright, all done!" Dick says, forcefully cheerful. He removes the needle and puts a Bandaid on the inside of your elbow. You rest your head on Jason's arm. Jason tries not to boil himself in a fire of misery. You probably won't even remember this.

Dick watches you both, then tugs your hand. "Hey, you mind helping me fill out some info? For the tests."

Your mouth shrivels. You look at Jason, and he can't believe he's your North Star, magic or not.

"I don't wanna leave Jason," you say.

"He'll be right here," Dick says quickly. "Won't leave your sight for a second. But I need your help."

"Just for a minute?" you ask.

Dick nods. "One minute."

You sigh and turn to Jason. "I'll be right back."

Jason nods, tries to smile. "Sure. I'll be here."

He'll be here. Forever and ever and ever...

Wait a second. Tea. Jason jolts.

"Tim. They said they drank tea. Could be something there."

"On it," Tim says. "Dick, we need a mouth swab."

"Right." He turns to you. "Can I—"

"No," you say, and march back to Jason. "You said a minute."

Jason would laugh at the pout on your face, the way you plop yourself next to him and curl around him like he's a new toy. He would laugh. If he could find the humor.

Dick looks at him. Jason sighs.

"Honey?" You hum. "We just need one more test, yeah? Q-tip on your tongue. Not the most pleasant, but it'll be quick. Promise."

"Okay," you say immediately, hugging his arm.

Jason knows it's a spell, or maybe a lab-made chemical. But he's still awed by how quickly you acquiesce. How you show no worry when Dick approaches because Jason's right there, patting your hand.

Dick swabs your mouth. You cough three times after, most of your body on Jason.

"Interesting how they're not lustful," Dick says.

"What," Jason says.

"Okay, the ear thing was..." Dick shrugs. "But it's not mindless. It's actually the most reasonable love spell I've ever seen. Like, their desires for you don't feel manufactured, they feel—"

"Don't," Jason snaps. "Don't fuckin' say it."

Dick holds up his hands. "It was just an observation. You've seen Ivy's pollen doses. This one seems different."

"Fine. Ivy's taking a break from the orgies. Doesn't mean this is real."

Jason's not stupid enough to hope.

"It can't be Ivy," Tim says, and Jason almost startles. He forgot Tim was there, so wrapped up in you. "No reports of Ivy attacks. And the substance, whatever it was, wasn't inhaled. It was injested."

You wrap your arms around Jason's neck and smush your face against his. You're warm and smell good. Jason feels feral.

He holds you with a hand on your back, mind turning.

"Sweetheart," he says. You hum. "You said you drank tea after work. Where exactly did you go?"

"Dunno," you say, spacey. "Went into a tea shop that's never been there before. And an old lady invited me in. She said I looked so sad. And I was, Jaybee! How did she know?"

"I don't know, honey," Jason says quietly, even though he has a suspicion. He's never letting you walk home alone again.

Tea shop. That's what he gets for trying to be a good Samaritan. How dare she drug you?

"Hm. Well, she gave me a tea sample, said it would make all my problems disappear. Then I petted her cat named Darcy. Like that book you like!"

God, Jason just wants to hug you tight and kiss your face. It's awful of him to think of you as cute in your state, he knows.

"Track their routes," Jason says. "They take two different ones home. One crosses Bank Street, the other goes over the bridge."

"I'd call you a stalker but I really have no right," Tim says, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"No shit," Jason mumbles, letting you play with his fingers.

"Jason," Dick says quietly. He glances at you, then at his brother. "If it's too much, we can sedate them."

"No. We don't know how it'll react to the tea. It's not Ivy's brew."

Dick frowns. He knows Jason's right. Jason knows he's right.

"Okay, I got something. Magic signatures from a building on Tenth Street," Tim says. "And I think I'm onto an antidote."

"I'll check it out," Dick says, going to suit up. He looks at Jason. "Are you-?"

Jason nods. "I'm fine. Go."

So Dick does. Tim is able to make an antidote within the hour. He gives it to Jason who injects it into your neck. He feels guilty even though this is what’ll cure you. You wince at the pinch but you don't so much as whimper, endlessly trusting.

"They'll probably crash soon," Tim says, out of your earshot. "I don't know if you should risk the bike."

Jason sighs. Tim's right, and it makes him all the more agitated that his brothers have been helpful and even kind of nice during the whole thing.

You're going to crash soon. Jason has no choice but to bring you up to the Manor.

"Come on, sweetheart," he says, taking your hand and standing.

"Where're we goin'?" you ask, yawning.

"Goin’ t’bed, honey. Aren't ya tired?"

"Hmm. Mmhmm."

"Yeah, thought so."

Jason leads you up the stairs and out of the Cave. He helps keep you steady as you trip up the stairs. He's tempted to just carry you, but he feels like that might be overkill.

Once at the top of the stairs, Jason stops. Swallows.

He hasn't been up here in a while. He slept in his room once after he returned, after a nasty encounter with Scarecrow.

"Wanna sleep in your bed, Jay," you mumble, cheek against his arm.

Jason sighs. "Yeah. Okay, love."

You go to his room. It's clean, as usual—Alfred never let it get dusty. Jason had hoped that if you ever saw his room it would be in much different circumstances. Normal circumstances.

But, well. Here you are.

"Hmm, 's nice," you say as Jason pulls back the bedspread and helps you out of your shoes. You start to take off your pants and he panics.

"Uh! Uh, baby, maybe keep the pants on. You might get cold."

You frown in confusion. "Doesn't feel cold."

"Yeah, but, whew, Alfred blasts the AC! Jus' keep 'em on."

Jason cannot handle seeing you in your underwear. He draws the line there.

"'Kay," you say, and flop onto the sheets. You wiggle around, getting comfortable.

Jason sits in the fat armchair in the corner of the room. Immediately, you sit up.

"Why're you over there?" you ask, eyes wide.

Oh, boy.

"Oh. I was, um, gonna read for a bit. I'll come in in a while."

Your lip trembles. No—

"Don't leave me, Jaybee. Don't leave! Stay with me. I love you!"

Jason rubs his forehead. "Honey—"

"You hate me! You do! I annoy you." Tears gather in your eyes.

Jason hurries to the edge of his bed, climbing in in his jeans and socked feet.

"No, no, love, we covered this. I don't hate ya, hm? Where'd ya get a silly thing like that?"

You quiet as he scoots in beside you. Then you throw most of your limbs over him. Jason stiffens.

"Just got scared," you say, and kiss his chest. "Promise you won't leave?"

Jason breathes in. Breathes out.

"Yeah. I promise."

And he stays.

You wake up with a faint headache and a dry throat. Sunlight peeks through the blinds. You feel warm and safe and well-rested, despite the slight pains.

You stretch, expecting air. Instead, you touch skin. You open your eyes.

Oh. You're in a bedroom.

No, scratch that. You see framed pictures of the Bats, books on shelves.

You're in Jason Todd's childhood bedroom. With the aforementioned tucked under your arm and leg.

You jerk away so hard, you land on the carpeted floor below.

Jason's up instantly, head poking over the bed. His eyes widen.

"Shit! Y'alright? C'mere."

He gets up and practically scoops you into a standing position. Your brain short-circuits: big strong man strong big good nice. Then you recover.

"Um," you say. "Uh. Hmm. Hi."

Jason smiles tightly. "Hey."

"What... how-?"

"Right. How much do you remember?"

You try to think. You remember walking home, drinking tea, an affectionate orange cat. You remember hands on your face and your stomach swooping on a motorcycle and a gentle voice. So gentle.

"You were magicked," Jason says quickly. "It was a, uh, tea shop. Dick's checking it out. You, um, came to me and I took you here and you got an antidote and you didn't want me to, um, leave. So, yeah. Sorry."

You tilt your head. "Why are you apologizing, Jason?"

He sighs. "Just 'cause."

You have no idea what that means. But you feel like Jason's telling you a very condensed version of what happened.

"What was the magic?" you ask.

He winces. "Love spell. You thought you were... in love with me."

Jason says it like he's the one who charmed you. Like he's ashamed of it.

"Oh," you say. Well, you certainly didn't need a spell for that to happen.

"Yeah." Jason's staring at your and his shoes by the door. "But everything's fine now. I can take you home. Dick and Tim'll take care of the tea shop witch."

He doesn't wait for a response, darting to the door and slipping into his shoes. You rush forward and close the door as Jason opens it. He looks at you in confusion.

"Jason," you say softly. "What happened?"

"Whaddya mean? I told you."

"Jason. I've known you for three years. You think I don't know when you're not telling me something?"

He looks at his feet. One of his socks has a hole in the toe.

"There's nothin' to tell," he mumbles. "Magic stuff. Happens all the time. Business as usual."

You frown. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Jay. I admittedly don't remember a lot."

Jason's expression is relief but there's a heaviness to his shoulders. "Well, 's for the best, really. Magic messes with your head."

"Did I make you uncomfortable, Jason? Not letting you leave and—God, I can't imagine how I was on the spell."

He shakes his head fervently. "No! No, no, my God, no. You didn't—you could never—I mean, I wasn't... fuck. No. You didn't make me uncomfortable."

"If you're sure," you say.

He nods. "Hundred percent."

Jason doesn't sound like he's lying. You're pretty good at detecting it, especially when it comes to his feelings.

So why is he acting weird?

Well, duh. A love spell. You probably freaked him out, especially since you really do love him.

"I hope we can still be friends," you offer.

Jason turns to the door.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "'Course we're still friends."

It shouldn't make you ache. Jason's perfectly in the right to not reciprocate how you feel. How can he reciprocate something he doesn’t even know exists?

"You, uh..." Jason scratches the back of his neck. He faces you once more. "You said last night that you were sad. When you were coming home. I just wanted to say, y'know... you can talk to me. 'Bout anything."

This will make all of your problems disappear, she had said. It'd tasted like kombucha—you hadn't had a lot of faith.

Jason begins to open the door. You slide in front of him and slam the door shut with your back. He steps back in surprise.

"Wh—"

"I have to tell you something!" you blurt.

Jason stills. "Okay."

"I adopted you a cat," you say.

He squints. "What?"

"Well, she's still at the shelter but I put her on reserve. Of a sort. I have a friend who works there. She's black and white and likes to cuddle and has two different colored eyes but she can't see very well. Her name is... whatever you want to name her. Because she's yours. And I think you'll love her."

He nods slowly. "I, uh, thanks. Thank you. I was thinking about adopting a—"

"I was sad last night because I kept thinking about how you're gonna love this cat I got you but you'll never love me, and how that's the fucking worst feeling in the world."

You've stunned him silent. Shit.

Seconds tick by. A minute. Two minutes.

"Okay," you say, wanting to jump out of Jason's two-story window. "I'm gonna go drop off the face of the Earth now. Bye."

You open the door. Jason closes it by caging you against it.

And then he kisses you.

Jason pours everything into the kiss. He's not a perfect kisser but it's good. It's magic. He holds your face completely, shuts out the entire world. Kisses the breath out of you.

Yes, you could go on. It's fantastic. It's fireworks. It's sunbeams.

And actually, it feels like the most normal thing in the world, kissing Jason Todd.

[cherryite]

barkeep

summary. as a bartender at one of the sketchiest bars in gotham and a med student, you and red hood aka jason todd have a symbiotic relationship. you give him free drinks and patch him up and he makes sure you don't get murdered walking home. at least, thats all you two say it is. (word count. 3.8k)

content. jason todd x reader, gn!reader, bartender!reader, yearning, friends?? (kinda but not really) to lovers, pining, idiots in LOVE ???

warnings. blood and injuries, mentions of alcohol, not proof read oopsie

author's note. why this took me 5 million years to write i don't know, but i'm excited to write more for jason because thats my shawty fr

Working at the sketchiest bar on Park Row, more locally referred to as Crime Alley, hadn’t exactly been your dream gig. But as a med student with a brutal class schedule and rent breathing down your neck like a wild animal, options were slim. And unfortunately, this place paid — mostly in cash, always on time. As much as you wanted out of this part of town, it always had a way of pulling you back in, like an addiction you couldn’t quit.

The bar’s nearly closed now. The lights are dimmed low, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls, and the red glow of the liquor store sign across the street bleeds through the grimy front window like blood out of a wound. All customers and staff besides you have left, leaving the bar quiet — almost eerily so. You’re hunched over the register, thumbing through crumpled bills, when you hear it: the soft click of the front door, followed by the heavy thud of boots against the old floorboards.

You don’t even have to look. You know who it is. Your eyes flick sideways, catching a glimpse of him in your peripheral as you finish counting the ones.

“Trying to sneak up on me, Hood?” you call out, voice dry as you click the register shut and turn around, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

He’s already slumped at the bar, a heavy silhouette of exhaustion wrapped in blood splattered leather. His cargo pants are scuffed and torn in places, the usual overkill of weapons strapped haphazardly across his frame. Classic Red Hood. Classic Jason. The low, rasping chuckle that rolls out of him is muffled beneath the red helmet, but it still manages to sound amused. His head tilts back, the movement slow and deliberate, his neck craning as he looks at you. Even with the helmet on, you can feel the weight of his gaze, sharp and unwavering.

“Key word tryin’,” he says, voice thick with static from the modulator. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes, and duck behind the bar. You retrieve the emergency med kit you started keeping there after the second time he stumbled in bleeding all over the bar floor. Sometimes you can’t stop thinking about how lucky he is — to have stumbled into an empty bar, conveniently being manned by a tired bartender who just so happens to be a medical student.

“Rough night?” you ask, circling around the bar and sliding into the seat beside him as you snap the kit open. Without a word, he shrugs off the jacket, grumbling under his breath as if his bones ache from the inside out.

“When isn’t it a rough night in Crime Alley?” he mutters, a tired edge making its way into the corners of his voice.

You wonder—do all of Gotham’s finest have it this bad? But you already know the answer. Crime Alley is his turf, and it chews him up more often than not. You’ve — unfortunately — lived in the Alley your whole life. Not that many places in Gotham are good places to grow up, but the Alley specifically was awful. You can remember nights when you wouldn’t sleep, the sounds of gunshots ringing in your ears, sirens haunting your dreams like lullabies from hell.

He lifts the helmet off and sets it gently on the bar’s freshly wiped surface. You almost scold him for dirtying the bar again but you don’t, you just glance at him. You still remember the first time you saw his face, just a few months ago. He’d come in the same way, trailing blood, a bullet having kissed too close to his jugular. Could have killed him if it had been just an inch closer. You’d needed to remove the helmet to keep him alive, keep him breathing. He’d let you see him. Really see him for the first time. 

After profusely apologizing and praying you wouldn’t ever say anything, he assured you — probably delirious from blood loss— that it was fine. He even tried to make a joke about knowing where you worked and lived if you talked.. You swear you nearly fainted and he had to quickly reassure you that he was joking.

Now, as you glance over, you catch the dark curls damp with sweat, the lone white streak stark against the rest, curling messily against his forehead. He’s handsome, annoyingly so in your opinion, with broad shoulders, a boyish face, and a sharp jaw. There's a crook in his nose, from having it broken one too many times and a thin scar on his left cheek, faded and pale from age. You turn back to the kit before you stare too long, but not before you catch the way his eyes linger on you. They’re blue with tinges of a stormy grey-green, and startling in their clarity. But you don’t have time to be distracted.

“What hurts?” you murmur, fingers sifting through gauze and bandage wraps, already prepping for the worst. He exhales slowly, the sound almost like a sigh, but heavier. You can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, like his muscles haven’t stopped bracing for a fight, even now that he’s sitting here with you.

“Side,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to his ribs. “Took a hit. Might’ve cracked somethin’.”

You wince sympathetically, tugging your stool closer. “And yet you came here instead of a hospital.”

He huffs another half laugh, dry and rasping. “Hospitals ask questions. You don’t. It’s good practice for med school anyway.” 

The silent ‘I’m also legally dead’ hangs in the air between you, so you don't argue. You just reach for the dark fabric of his undershirt, peeling it back to reveal the bruising underneath. It’s already a deep, angry color, shades of violet and black blooming across his side like a storm cloud under his swelling skin. Blood has started crusting over a shallow gash in his side just under it. 

Your hands hover a moment over the worst of it, instinctively gentle, and his breath catches just slightly when you touch him. You press gently, only to assess the damage, he groans when you press near a middle rib. The sound causes you to draw your hands back instinctively.

“Definitely bruised,” you murmur. “Maybe fractured at worst. I can’t feel any cracks and you’re not breathing as bad as someone with broken ribs would be. You got lucky.”

“‘M always lucky,” he says, voice dipped in sarcasm.

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You? Lucky?”

His lips twitch, and just for a second, “Always.” 

You think about how he can’t be that lucky, especially since he’s previously died. You try to not to bring that up, honestly it was an accident you even found out, like most things you learn about him. He had been bleeding profusely from a stab wound in his abdomen, and when you’d lifted his shirt, you saw it. A very real autopsy scar on a very not dead man. 

Maybe it’s the bartender in you that gets people to open up, to spill their secrets. Maybe it was also the high amount of pain meds coursing through his veins. He explained, very vaguely. You didn’t press more after he told you, didn’t ask how it was possible. Yust patched him up, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He doesn’t like talking about it, so you don’t.

You shake your head, grabbing a portable cold pack, cracking it to activate the cooling agent and pressing it against the worst of the swelling. He flinches, not much, but enough to betray how much pain he’s hiding..

“We should wrap this,” you say, nodding toward the gauze. “And you need rest. Like, actual rest. Sleep. More than three hours on a cardboard box somewhere.”

“You offering a bed?” he teases lightly, and the way he says it, soft, laced with something fragile beneath his typical aloofness, makes your stomach flip. 

You look at him fully, something warm curling in your chest as you finally push the words past the knot in your throat. “I’m offering my couch. Don’t push it.”

He chuckles again, and this time it sounds just a little more real. You wrap the gauze carefully around his ribs, your fingers brushing skin, and despite yourself, you notice the way his breathing hitches every time you get too close. When you’re done, you seal the kit shut and lean back a bit, observing your handiwork. 

“You’ll live.” You meet his gaze again, meeting his eyes as they stare down at you, just letting your words soak in. Just him. Just you. Just the quiet thrum of a city that never sleeps, and the two of you stealing a moment of peace in the shittiest part of it.

“Someone’s gotta look out for you,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “I’m serious. You can sleep on my couch tonight. Rib injuries make it hard to sleep, so you should really be resting somewhere safe. And semi-comfortable.”

He opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but ultimately he decides not to fight you on it.

You make sure the kit is fully secure, placing it back behind the bar in its hiding spot. You can feel his eyes tracking you as you move about the bar, going through the motions of closing. He doesn’t ask for a drink tonight. Usually you offer him your shift beer — the one drink you get free per shift — half out of gratitude for walking you home, half because the alcohol helps take the edge off whatever he endured that night.

Trying to ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you wipe down the final surfaces, flip off the neon sign that flashes in the window, and lock up the register. You try not to let your mind wander, try not to peek at the tired man still slumped at the bar as he gingerly attempts to pull his leather jacket back on with a grimace. You hover a bit, watching him to make sure he doesn’t need any help, even if he would never ask for it. He struggles a bit as he slides off the barstool, and he doesn’t stop you when you quietly nudge your shoulder under his arm, easing his weight across you to steady him. Once he’s steady, you slip away from him as you both make your way out of the bar. You lock it behind you, hitching your your bag over your shoulder

“Come on,” you say, your voice has a gentler tone to it now. He doesn’t argue, he just gives a nod quietly and falls into step beside you as you walk. This in itself isn’t new. He always walks you home after stopping at the bar. It’s part of the unspoken arrangement between the two of you: you fix him up and sometimes give him a beer, he makes sure you get home in one piece.

The streets are half asleep, half alive at this hour of the night. The buzz of faulty streetlights and the distant buzz of sirens are the only noise that fills the air, aside from your footsteps. The night air is cold and it bites at the skin of your face as your breath fogs around your lips. Jason’s walking a little slower than usual beside you, his stride careful but still steady, probably favoring his side so as to not agitate his ribs further. His broad shoulder brushes yours now and then as you walk beside each other, close enough that you can feel the rough leather of his jacket where it touches your sleeve.

“Thanks again,” he murmurs as he breaks the silence, eyes on the ground. “For patching me up.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, the corner of your mouth tugging up a bit. “It’s the least I can do.”

“But I do have to —,” he stumbles a bit over his words, his voice partially strained. “Thank you. I mean.”

There’s a beat of silence. He glances over at you, his bright eyes catch the light of the street lights overhead. “And for offering the couch. Thank you— again,” he adds. It’s quieter this time, and you can feel the uncomfortable thump in your chest when you realize he sounds vulnerable.

You look at him, and something in your chest aches a little. He isn’t one for showing his emotions, at least not around you. On occasion you catch him, flushing embarrassedly after he says something a bit awkward, but he manages to mask it well around you at least.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say. “Figured I should keep you overnight for supervision.”

He huffs a tired laugh, but there’s something in his eyes when he looks at you as it lingers—it looks soft. You wonder if anyone’s ever looked out for him like this before. You wonder if he’d even let them. You wonder why he’s letting you.

By the time you reach your building, he’s drifted a little closer. Not quite touching, but the space between you feels smaller somehow, like he’s a shadow attached to your back. He follows you up the steps, like he always does when he drops you off. You can feel his eyes in the back of your head and he just watches your back like he always does. But tonight’s different, because he always leaves you at the door, by the time you’re safely inside he vanishes like he was never even there. 

But tonight he won’t vanish, at least not right away.

You slide your key into the keyhole, trying to ignore his presence behind you. You unlock the front door to your apartment, shoving it open with the usual force because the door catches weirdly sometimes. You leave a mental note to yourself to text your landlord about it (again). The apartment is quiet as you lead him in, moonlight shines through the window in your kitchen, illuminating the small space. 

Your apartment is modest but yours and you’ve found ways to make it comfortable with your limited funds. A plush beige couch takes up most of the space in the living room, a large dark wood bookshelf that overflows onto the floor finds its home on the wall, and a coffee table that’s covered in medical textbooks. Various plants adorn the space, pots and planters scattered over nearly every surface that they would allow. Kicking off your shoes, you hang your jacket on a hook on the wall, turning to look behind you. Jason stands in the doorway, his gaze fixated on the deadbolt of your front door. 

“You should get this fixed,” he comments, opening and closing your door a few times to test the lock, twisting it a few times to investigate. “It’s not safe.” His eyebrows are pinched together, eyes fixated on the latch before he breaches the threshold of your apartment, closing the door behind him.

“I’ve texted my landlord about it like, three times,” you say with a sigh, dropping your keys into a ceramic dish by the door. “Scumlord’s ghosting me.”

Jason doesn’t say anything for a moment, dropping his helmet on the floor with a soft thud, his frown deepening. He shifts on his feet, like he’s weighing if he should say something. You think he mumbles something under his breath as you search for an extra blanket for him, but you opt to ignore it.

Jason almost immediately collapses on your couch once his boots are off, groaning a bit as he makes contact with the plush cushions. The sound is caught somewhere between exhaustion and relief. You have to suppress the small smile that curls at your lips as he sighs, shifting until he finds a comfortable spot. 

You hand him a blanket, before padding over to the small armchair across from him. you curl into the cushions, tucking your knees against your chest. Your fingers play idly with the hem of your sleeve as you observe him quietly. He tilts his head toward you, a few strands of his dark hair fall over his forehead. When he sees you’re already looking at him, his gaze falters. He quickly drops his eyes to the coffee table, like being caught under your attention makes him nervous. Something on the table catches his eye as he reaches out to pick up a book that rests there.

“You read these?” He says, inspecting your worn copy of The Hunger Games. 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft as the day starts to catch up to you. “I’ve read all of them. Started rereading them a few weeks ago.”

Jason thumbs through the worn pages with a surprising gentleness. You can’t help the way your eyes drag to his knuckles, bruised and scabbed over as he brushes through the first few pages, inspecting it.

“I’ve been meaning to read them,” he murmurs, absentmindedly flipping through pages. “Just— haven't had time.”

You nod, stretching your arms up over your head as a yawn escapes you. The motion pulls your shirt slightly at the hem, the fabric soft from too many washes as it exposed your midriff. Jason’s eyes flit to the movement—quick and fleeting—but when he meets your gaze again, he averts his eyes back to the pages in front of him.

“You can borrow mine if you want,” you offer, blinking sleep from your eyes.

His face expression changes a bit, vague disbelief tugs at his brows. “You sure?” he asks, his voice is tentative as his eyes flicker up to meet yours. 

You brush some of your hair out of your eyes sleepily and nod, your gaze steadily trained on him. “Of course. I have all of the trilogy. It’s no problem, really,” you insist. 

Jason’s eyes once again travel down to the book in his hands. His thumb runs down the crease of the spine, his expression muddled. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, though you barely hear it. You hum lightly in response to his thanks. The silence you two sit in isn’t uncomfortable, just peaceful and calm. The city hums faintly outside of your window, muffled now and more distant, like it knows better than to intrude on the moment. 

A yawn draws itself from your throat again, and this time you don’t fight it as you shudder a bit. The warmth of the room has made your limbs heavy, and the comfortable silence only deepens the tired pull of your eyelids.

Jason notices the noise, his eyes immediately finding your form. “You— You should sleep,” he says, gently, and the tone of his voice makes your skin tingle.

“So should you,” you murmur in response, already uncurling from the chair.

He doesn’t argue with you, but there’s a hint of hesitation in his eyes as you move to the short hallway that leads to your bedroom. You find yourself hesitating in the doorway of your room, your fingers brushing against the frame as you glance back at him over your shoulder. He’s watching you again, not bothering to hide it this time and it makes your stomach flip. He hasn’t moved yet—still perched on the edge of the couch, the book clasped loosely in one hand. The soft lamplight brushes over his features, highlighting the purpling bruise on his cheekbone.

“You can take my bed if you want,” you say quietly without really thinking of the implications, your fingers twitch from where they grasp the doorframe. "I feel bad making you stay on the couch."

Jason shakes his head almost immediately, and you think you should actually go to sleep because you swear you see a flush on his cheeks. God, you really should go to bed. “I’m good here. Couch is fine.”

You nod, trying not to let the twinge of disappointment show on your face, but what else would you have expected him to say. Of course he would say no. Still, a part of you wants to insist. Wants to say that he doesn’t have to sleep like a stranger on your couch. Wants to hold him close and protect him from whatever haunts his dreams. But you don’t. You just linger there for a moment longer before speaking softly.

“Goodnight, Jason.”

He looks up at you like he wants to say something more, his eyes searching your face but you aren’t sure what he’s looking for. He looks like there’s something lodged in his throat that he can’t quite swallow down, catching whatever he wants to say. Despite this, all he says is a quiet, “Night.”

You retreat into your bedroom quickly after that, the door left ajar behind you. You lie in bed longer than you mean to as you pull the cool sheets up to your chin, listening for the sound of movement from the living room. Your mind wanders as you allow your mind to drift to Jason, probably thumbing through the book in his hands still. A deep part of you wonders if he’s thinking of you. You wonder if he knows you’re thinking of him, or if he even cares.

For a fleeting moment as you fall asleep, you wish he’s followed you in— not for anything else than to bathe in the feeling of his presence.

When you regain consciousness in the morning, your eyes nearly snap open as you take in the sunlight spilling through your curtains, pale and golden. Immediately thinking of last night's events, you throw the covers to the side. You find yourself quickly padding into the living room, your bare feet slapping gently against the hardwood of your floors.

The couch is empty. There’s a thump of disappointment in your chest as your heart rate slows.

The blanket you’d left out for him is folded neatly on the back of the couch. The spot where he’d laid last night is faintly indented, like a ghost of him lingers in the cushions. The books you lent him are gone, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips.

And when you check the front door out of habit, peering out into the halls of your apartment, as if you will catch a hint of red disappearing from view. Your gaze catches on the lock as you close it, because the deadbolt doesn’t catch like normal.

It’s been fixed.

The lock, the one that’s been broken for weeks, now clicks cleanly into place when you shut your door. The deadbolt slides smoothly, no catch. You stare at it for a long moment, blinking against the sudden tightness in your chest. You don’t have long to bask in the feeling, because your eyes are now drawn to a small pink sticky note that clings to the door. Unsure how you missed it earlier, you pluck it off the wood of the door, examining the neat, small words.

Fixed your lock and thank you again for the books. Hope you sleep better knowing it’s fixed. Someone’s gotta look out for you. - J

[allllium]

Sleepy

[ Jason Todd x Reader ]

- Fluff, WC: 1005

- Jason struggles with comfort

You are usually very good at understanding things about your boyfriend, Jason. It took you no time at all to find about his nightly activities and everything about his family. But on the other hand, you can't seem to understand him at all.

You've tried not to ask him about certain things because based on hints from his family, he's had some bad shit happen in his life. More than he's been comfortable telling you so far in your relationship.

However, the more questions you don't ask, the more that seem to pop up.

You haven't asked him why sometimes he flinches away when you touch him but other times he leans in.

You haven't asked him why his hands make fists when you're trying to sleep at night.

You haven't asked him about the scar along his chest or his aversion to certain foods.

All because you're too scared to make him uncomfortable, or maybe because you don't know if you could stomach it.

You're laying bed and waiting for him to come out of the bathroom. Somehow, you take less time getting ready for bed than he does. You suspect it's because he needs a couple minutes to process everything that happened during the day.

As usual you have a million thoughts running through you're head all at the same time. 99% of them are about him.

When he finally comes into your shared bedroom and gets comfortable in bed, you're debating whether or not to talk to him about some of the things you can't get out of your mind.

You decide against it. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable or bring up any bad memories that might affect his ability to sleep through the night.

He can obviously sense your unease, you don't hide it very well.

"What's wrong?" His raspy voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Nothing, sweetheart." You try to play it off.

"Uh huh." He says blankly.

"I'm just thinking about things, is that a crime?"

"Depends on what they are." He pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms around you.

"Nothing bad."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"If someone's bothering you, you should tell me."

"Why is that?"

"Well I have an ability of getting rid of people."

"Oh my God, Jason, you can't joke about that." You look at him in amused shock.

"Who says it's a joke?" He asks, face completely serious.

"Okay no killing people on my behalf, pretty please." You chuckle and he copies. "I'm just trying to figure you out more."

"Why?"

"Cuz I want to know more about you?"

"Like what"

"Right now I want what's bothering you, and know what you want." You pull away from him in order to sit up a little bit.

"I don't want anything at the moment."

"Yes you do. If you didn't want anything your fists wouldn't be clenched and your eyes wouldn't have that look. Like you want to say something but can't."

"You really want to know?" He asks.

"Yeah I really do." You immediately reply.

"A couple months ago while we were watching a movie on the couch, you played with my hair and it was very comforting. And the best sleep I've ever had." He rambles off as quickly as possible.

"That's it? I've been driving myself crazy trying to think of explanations and you're telling me you just want me to play with your hair." You question him in disbelief. It's been months of overthinking thoughts and random mind rampages for something you haven't even noticed you were doing.

"I didn't know how to say it." He shrugs, not looking into your eyes. "It sounds childish."

"No it doesn't. Everyone has different ideas of perfect comfort and I happen to agree with yours. Jason, if you want something from me all you have to do is ask."

You lean over to give him a quick, sweet kiss.

"I'm not used to that."

"Well you better get started."

"Fine, would you play with hair so I can go to sleep, Angel?"

"Only because you asked so nicely."

It takes a second for you both to get rearranged so it's comfortable. You're now laying on your back with Jason half on his side, half on top of you with his head on your chest.

It's almost amusing how quickly he falls asleep but above all else you feel a sense of pride at the fact that you're the one giving him this feeling.

He said this was comforting. He said this was the best sleep he's ever had.

And you're the reason he's having these things.

You stay up longer than you probably should have. This time the thoughts running through your head aren't worrying or overwhelming.

They make you happy. Happy enough to fall into a very sound sleep.

You wake up to coffee on your nightstand and a missing Jason.

"Jason." You call out and he quickly comes running.

When he walks in the room, you immediately begin questioning him.

"What is this?" You ask with an ounce of suspicion. You're worried it's a repayment of some sort.

"It's coffee. A hot caffeinated drink."

"Why?"

"Because you like it and it makes you irritable for far less time in the morning."

"Jason you don't have to do things for me just because I did something for you."

"Yes I do. Because words won't let me explain how grateful I am for you."

"Since when are you so sappy?"

He sits on the bed next to you.

"Don't be mean to me right now, I'll take it away."

"Fine. Continue your speech."

"I know it's a small thing for you but I haven't felt comfort like you give me in a very long time. Maybe even ever. And I need you to know that."

"I can't tell you how happy I am to give that to you."

The next thing you know, you both have giant grins on your faces and you're both happier than ever before.

- send requests!!

[charliedakotariley]

A hilarious moment from a fic by @sanguineterrain / @sanguinelibrary that I requested.

Even after days I can't stop thinking about his reaction without laughing. Author, you're my hero. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🔥

People, pls read this piece (and others, which are just as beautiful as this one), the most human feeling Jason I encountered in fics in a hot minute and I absolutely love it.

❤️❤️❤️

The author put the link into the comments.

[ditzybeee]

❥・Jason Todd — free use partner (nsfw)

❥・tags: nsfw, jason todd blurb, established relationship, jason todd is lwk a loser, gn!reader, no use of y/n, no dialogue, implied dialogue, cnc, free use, thigh fucking

❥・word count: 415

❥・─────────────────────

Jason Todd is many things. If he is one thing, it's never satisfied. Filled with rage, filled with frustration, pent up with feelings good and bad.

Patrols are tiring, boring, annoying. Surveying Gotham nightly is exhausting—worse when it's a slow crime night. Sure, when there's action, he gets a kick out of it now and then. Until it's over. He's tired, sweaty, and spent.

That's when he comes home to see your sleeping form all warm and bundled up in the sheets.

He likes you—loves you, so much—especially one time when you woke up and he was halfway through beating himself off after patrol.

He didn't completely understand the concept of free use—all he heard was he could fuck you wherever, whenever. He took that and ran.

Sort of.

He hadn't fucked you when you were asleep. He doesn't think he'd like it. Not when you're fully unconscious.

But tonight? He'll gladly press your legs together and fuck your thighs.

He's rough with his pants, large fingers fumbling with the belt buckle, shoving them down as he kneels on the bed.

He's hesitant to pull the covers off, but he does. He keeps them on your arms, make sure you're not cold.

He pushes your shirt up—just to expose a bit of your stomach—and presses a soft trail of kisses on it.

Slowly, he strokes himself, breathing gruffly as he watches you sleep.

It felt dirty. It felt wrong. But Jason loved it.

He lifts your legs, placing both on his shoulder as he presses his tip against the back of your thigh.

He hisses when his sensitive tip brushes your skin, making sure you're still asleep.

Jason slowly, so very slowly, pushes his cock between your thighs. He blinks, before pulling out and rubbing lotion on your thighs before resuming—he'd rather you not wake up to chafed thighs because your boyfriend was pent up from crime fighting.

Despite your sleeping, he still whispers soft praises when he thrusts, just as he does when you're having sex. Because conscious or not, he needs you to know how good you're being for him.

His hips slap against your thighs when his speed quickens and his breathing becomes ragged.

His cum sticks to your stomach and thighs because somehow he was halfway through pulling out when he finished. He cleans up his mess, peppering soft kisses all over you before pulling the blanket back onto you.

Jason Todd is insatiable.

❥・─────────────────────

❥・a/n: jason being hesitant w a free use partner has been knawing on my brain for weeks ...

❥・masterlist

[lazy-ahh]

HOME IS WHERE YOU ARE

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

the blood on his gloves isn't yours. the ache in his chest is. it's been there since the first time you kissed him - this relentless, terrifying need that claws at his ribs whenever he's away from you.

the city sprawled beneath him like a living thing—glistening with rain-slick streets and fractured neon reflections, breathing in the way only gotham could. the air smelled like exhaust and distant rain, the kind of chill that seeped into bones no matter how many layers you wore. jason perched on the edge of a rooftop, one knee drawn up, his helmet resting beside him like a discarded thought. the wind tugged at his hair, sharp and insistent, but he barely felt it.

his fingers flexed against the concrete ledge, rough beneath his gloves. he should be moving. should be working. but his mind was elsewhere, tangled up in the warmth of your sheets, the quiet hum of your voice, the way your breath hitched when he kissed that spot just below your ear—

god.

all he could think about was you.

the way your voice softened when you said his name, syllables curling around it like a secret. the way your hands always found his, fingers slotting together like they were made to fit, like you were afraid he’d vanish if you didn’t keep him anchored. the way you smiled at him—soft, fond, like he was something good, something whole, even when he knew the truth of what he was.

he exhaled, slow, watching his breath fog in the cold air.

he missed you.

it was stupid. ridiculous. he’d seen you barely a handful of hours ago, before he’d dragged himself out into the gotham night. you’d kissed him slow, lazy, like time itself had unraveled just for the two of you—like he was something worth savoring. (and you, stubborn as ever, would argue that time spent on him wasn’t wasted, not ever. "time with you," you’d say, voice all soft and sure, "is the only time that matters.") your hands had lingered on his chest, thumbs tracing the edge of his kevlar like you were memorizing the shape of him, and for one reckless, dizzying moment, he’d almost said fuck it and stayed. almost let the city burn if it meant another hour tangled in your sheets, in your warmth, in you.

and now here he was, heart aching like some lovesick idiot, like he hadn’t spent half his life pretending he didn’t need anything at all.

a shout echoed from the alley below, sharp and panicked. the sound snapped him back into his body, into the night, into the work waiting for him.

right.

work to do.

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

blood bloomed across his knuckles, dark and slick, painting the cracked leather of his gloves. the sharp snap of bone beneath his fists echoed in his ears, followed by a choked-off scream that dissolved into whimpers. the air was thick with it—the copper sting of blood, the acrid sweat of fear, the gunpowder clinging to his jacket like a second skin. this was easy. this was simple. this was the language he spoke fluently, the only one that ever made sense in the jagged edges of his world.

but then—

silence.

just for a breath. just long enough for his mind to turn traitor.

how could you love him? how could you look at him—really look—and not flinch away? he was a patchwork of scars and fury, all sharp edges and half-healed wounds, a weapon honed by pain and rage. he knew what he was. knew the weight of the blood on his hands, the ghosts that clung to his shadow.

and yet—

you touched him like he was something precious. like he wasn’t already ruined. your fingers traced the scars on his skin like they were something to cherish, your voice soft and steady even when he was anything but. you held him like he was fragile, like he’d break if you held him too tight, and that was the cruelest joke of all—because he was already broken, and you were the only thing holding him together.

he didn’t deserve you.

he didn’t deserve the way your laughter warmed him from the inside out, didn’t deserve the way you sighed his name like it was a prayer, didn’t deserve the way you looked at him like he was something good.

but christ, he wanted to.

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

the bike roared beneath him as he carved through gotham's veins, tires eating up asphalt as streetlights bled into golden streaks in his periphery. his body ached with the familiar symphony of bruises and cracked ribs, his mind weighed down by the night's violence, but none of it mattered because all he could think was you, you, you—the phantom memory of your hands in his hair, your laughter ringing in his ears, the way your breath hitched when he kissed you like he was starving for it.

the apartment was dark when he finally stumbled through the door, save for the flickering blue glow of some late-night infomercial playing to an empty room. there you were, sprawled across the couch like some domestic daydream, tangled in that godawful batman blanket alfred had gifted you as a joke (the one jason pretended to despise but secretly adored because it meant you were warm, because it meant you were here).

he leaned against the doorframe, just watching. memorizing the way your chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, the way your lashes fluttered with some dream he'd never know, the way your fingers twitched like they were searching for him even in sleep.

then you stirred, blinking up at him with sleep-heavy eyes, and your lips curled into that soft, drowsy smile that never failed to unravel him stitch by stitch.

"hey, red hood," you murmured, voice rough with sleep but laced with amusement. "save any kittens from trees tonight?"

he huffed a laugh, already shrugging off his jacket. "nah, just a few assholes from getting their teeth kicked in. you know, the usual community service."

you grinned, shifting to make room for him. "gotham's lucky to have you."

"gotham's a pain in my ass," he grumbled, but he was already sinking onto the couch beside you, his body gravitating toward yours like it was the only thing that made sense.

his chest tightened when you reached for him, fingers brushing the fresh cut on his cheekbone with a tenderness that threatened to undo him completely.

"missed you," you whispered, like it was a secret.

he leaned into your touch, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in—laundry detergent and that stupidly expensive shampoo you loved and something so inherently you it made his ribs ache. "missed you more."

you laughed, quiet and warm and his, pulling him close until there was no space left between you.

home wasn't four walls or a roof or a city that never slept.

home was you.

always you.

1.1k words, short and sweet, all just about how jason misses you every time he's away from you for longer than five minutes. like. chronically. pathetically. scrap that, three minutes. okay, scrap that too, he'd miss you if you weren't in his sight after five heartbeats- (this man is a 6'2" weapon of mass destruction who folds like a lawn chair the second you smile at him. i respect it and i NEED IT.)

[kitkatscabinet]

WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH ME AGAIN

pairing: jason todd x gn! reader

summary: you would fall in love with him over and over again.

a/n: lyrics from Would you fall in love with me again from Epic.

You were exhausted, work had been an absolute bitch today. You'd ended up leaving nearly an hour late, and then the grocery store had been out of the products you liked.

All you wanted to do was collapse face-first into your bed and sleep all weekend. You close the door behind you with your foot, the street lights filtering in from your apartment window your only source of light as you step towards the counter.

That same window that you very quickly realised was open, with a distinctly human-like shape crawling halfway through it.

You screech, stepping back in alarm and raising the plastic bags in your hands in front of you as a flimsy and pathetic barrier.

"No, no! Please don't be scared. It's me. It's me." The stranger pleads, stepping through the ajar window hurriedly, extending to a frankly terrifying height.

Yet any words, or screams you may have conjured die a swift death in the back of your throat.

The groceries fall to the floor with a thud, eggs cracking and vegetables bruising. Though the lighting was terrible, you couldn't help the wave of familiarity that washed over you.

It was stupid of you. It couldn't possibly be him, yet your body moved forward with single-minded determination, ignoring the warning sirens going off in your brain.

"Is it really you?" you walked dazedly forward, shaky hands reaching out to cup his scarred cheek. "Or am I dreaming once more?" Your voice is hoarse, and hesitant, distant to your ears

The man leaned into your touch, Jason, leaned into your touch. The tension melts from his broad shoulders, much larger than you remembered him being. His eyes shutter closed, brow relaxing as he basks in the feel of your gentle touch.

He was different, how couldn't he be? With the years that had come and gone, the unknown sufferings and horrors he must have undergone. Aside from the grotesque J-shaped scar carved into his cheek, his face had developed faint stress lines, dark circles lining under his eyes.

His eyes. The deep cerulean you'd loved so much was still the same, but the playful spark was gone, replaced with a weary exhaustion you longed to erase.

"I'm not the boy you fell in love with. I've done things... monstrous things." Even his voice had changed, a gravelly rasp that you suspected wasn't just from the tears threatening to spill over his misting eyes. "Any kindness, any goodness I might have possessed, has long been snuffed out. I'm not the Jason you knew before."

He's pacing now, agitated as he avoids your gaze, fearful of rejection.

You approach slowly, as if reaching for a frightened stray, fingers entwining with his much larger and calloused ones in a gentle grip, stopping him in his tracks despite how easily he could undoubtedly escape.

"What have you done Jay?" There's nothing but open acceptance in your gaze, a softness he'd forgotten could even exist. Everything about you was softer than the harsh, cutting edges of the League.

"These hands you cradle so lovingly are soaked in blood. I've become an entity of violence." He croaked. "I've callously traded lives, all of it to bring me home to you."

His chest shuddered on his next inhale as he all but rips himself out of your grasp. Instantly, you mourn the loss of contact, "It's selfish of me, but I can't help wondering. Would you fall in love with me again? If you knew what I've done? Could you even love me the same?"

He couldn't bring himself to glance in your direction, terrified of seeing the disgust in your eyes. He heard your soft footsteps approaching as he stubbornly refused to look at you, seeing only your hands reaching out to him once more.

He's too weak to pull away, even as you snake a hand up his chest to splay across his neck gently, your thumb rubbing circles against his jaw as you tilted his head up to look at you.

"I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don't care how, where, or when. No matter how long it's been, you're mine. Don't tell me you're not the same person. You'll always be my Jason."

“What? You can’t possibly…” He shakes his head in denial. He was a killer, a monster. Why couldn’t you understand, you were far too good for him; he hadn’t even meant for you to find out he was still alive. 

“Don’t presume to know how I feel, Jason.” You said sternly before your face softened once more, your fingers tracing his skin almost reverently again. 

“But — ”

“No buts. I don’t… I don’t give a fuck what you’ve done. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but the only thing that matters to me is that you’re alive. That you’re here, with me.” Despite your soft tone, there’s a fierceness in your eyes and desperation in your touch as you grasp onto him as if he may evaporate into smoke at any second. 

Jason knows that he’s not a good man. He’s selfish, greedy, and so, so weak to your touch. He’s been dreaming of this for years, of your touch, of you. Now that he finally has it again, he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to leave like he knows he should. Watching from afar, checking in to make sure you were safe, wouldn’t be enough anymore.

He whispers your name, a choked prayer as he finally allows himself to fully succumb to your loving embrace. He drops to his knees, face buried in the crook of your neck as you both hit the floor together, his arms locking you against his chest. 

The noise of Gotham’s nightlife fades to a distant blur, salty tears wetting the neck of your shirt as he urgently inhales your scent, committing the long-lost smell to his memory. 

“How long has it been?”

“Six years,” you answer through your own tears before saying the words he’d ached to hear, “I love you.”

“Truly? After all these years?” He rests his forehead against yours, raw vulnerability on display. 

“Always," you firmly declare before pulling him into a deep kiss, and Jason temporarily forgets his worries and insecurities because all that matters is you. That after six gruelling years, he’s finally home.

[envyi5envious]

A COFFEE CRUSH.

࿐ — 𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂 : YANDERE (Red Hood) Jason Todd x GN Reader. 𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 : He hates the coffee but he likes you. 𝙒𝙊𝙍𝘿𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏 : 0.7k. 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 : Dark. Obsessive tendencies and stalking. 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 : English isn’t my first language. Enjoy ♡

The strong scent of coffee filled the air as you wiped down one of the tables, glancing at the last customer. It was almost closing time, and he was still there, reading a book with a cup of coffee by his side—probably cold by now.

You’d started noticing him a lot more lately; he was there during every shift. He never spoke to you besides placing his order, but he lingered, often stealing quick glances your way as if assessing you. At first, you thought about talking to him, telling him to back off, but something held you back. There was something interesting about him, or maybe you were just being superficial. You wouldn't deny that you found him attractive—pretty privilege at its finest. But tonight was different. You could practically feel his eyes on you, even when he pretended not to acknowledge you.

You were going to completely ignore it before you heard him speak. "Excuse me. Check, please." Just short of closing time. You made your way over to the man, holding a tray and the bill. You put it on the table, placing the half-full cup of coffee on your tray. That was until he spoke again.

"Do you always work this late?" He knew the answer. You both knew he knew the answer, but he still asked. You could feel your gut clench a bit at his phrasing; he made it sound like he actually cared. Like he knew you. "Yeah. I kind of have to." He gave you a soft hum in response. You lingered for a second too long, but seeing as he wasn't going to say anything else, you just walked back to the counter. The man took some money out of his wallet and placed it in the billbook before standing up and making his way out of the café.

—

Jason made his way to one of the back alleys, resting his back against the hard brick wall as he pulled out a cigarette pack. Pulling one out and lighting it, he inhaled the smoke into his lungs and waited. He waited for you to be done with your shift.

"Fucking hell..." he muttered to himself, watching your moving figure through the building's glass wall. He took another drag from his cigarette, then pulled out his phone. Nine minutes before 12 AM. He opened his messages app and tapped Bruce's contact, starting to type.

JASON : I need a favour.

His thumb hovered over the send button before hesitating. But then he glanced up at you, closing the building lights and opening the door. His pride didn’t matter when it came to you. He pressed send and crushed his cigarette against the wall.

—

Your perception skills could use some work; you didn't notice the man behind you until he lightly tapped your shoulder. You jumped slightly and turned to face him. "Jason," he said. "What?" "My name is Jason," he repeated. His face softened at your confusion, a small smile on his lips. "Sorry if I scared you. I'm a bit... shy." Shy? Right, just shy. "Oh. That's... fine. Um, I was just about to close up. Did you need something or forget anything?" You reached for the building keys, ready to unlock the door if he did.

"Actually, I was going to ask for your number. And if I could take you out sometime." That’s why he’d been at the shop so much—he liked you. How he knew your exact working days? Best not to question it.

You hesitated, caught off guard by his directness. "Oh, well, I didn't expect that." He seemed to sense your hesitation. "Hey, no pressure. Just thought I’d ask." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, attempting to relax the situation, but you could feel the tension behind it.

You glanced at the door, then back at him. You wanted to say no. Wanted to tell him that you thought he was weird. But you couldn't. Not because he wasn't, but because you didn't care. "Okay, I guess... what do you have in mind?"

"Maybe dinner? There’s a place nearby."

"Alright," you said, giving in despite the voice in your mind begging you not to. As you exchanged numbers, you couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. Saving his number, you waved him goodbye before walking away. But Jason didn't move... He lingered.

☆ 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩. ©◞✶ envyi5envious

[wingedblessing]

JASON TODD HEADCANONS : ESTABLISHED COUPLE VER! a/n: hey guys... erm so what if i told u that i may or may not have forgotten to upload this a week b4 i went out of town n when i DID get back, the electricity went out for a few days.... smiley face. and that this post is a filler too. heh...

his love language is annoying you, yes. if u think he could get anymore insufferable other then being alive, you are deeply wrong.

he would gladly disturb you over anything, from asking the dumbest questions while knowing the actual answers for it, even while you were expecting him to NOT test your patience, to just linger around you while you do the most mundane tasks.

example: him repeatedly asking you to let him try whatever you were cooking, even though he'd already tasted it ten times already. you unfortunately love him too much. depressing, i know.

he also tries to act nonchalant or mysterious in public even while you two are together, you are not him bro. 👎👎

hogs all of the blanket, or accidentally start a blanket war with you sleeping besides on your shared bed everytime he's asleep - he doesn't even know that he steals the blanket in his sleep.

you attempted to do a cute couple trend with him, keyword: attempted. let's just say that you two are never doing a couple trend in public ever again if you don't wanna end up embarrased.

[©]:; don't copy, alter, or repost any of my works on all platforms, including tumblr too .

[redsakura101]

Quiet Affections: Dead Roses

Jason Todd x Reader If you'd like to you can Read the Prologue. Quiet Affections:Silent Sorrows

Inspired by the quote Dead Roses: by AK

"Why do you keep dead roses?" he asks “I cherish dead roses as they live between the pages of my books. I believe, a fresh rose is loved for its beauty but the dead one is beyond beauty. A fresh rose is smelled for its scent but a dead one – for the memories. A fresh rose gives the feel of softness but a dead one gives the feel of the past. A fresh rose lives for days but a dead one – forever.”

In which Jason's love keeps and preserves the flowers he's given them over the years of their relationship.

word count: ~1.8k

In a moment of peace as his hand gently rubbed circles into your arm while you laid comfortably with him sprawled along on your couch.

After having spent the last few weeks unpacking, you’d both finally finished and were taking a much needed respite in your now shared apartment, a blend of both yours and Jason’s belongings - filled the space with a sense of home.  

In your hands was a well loved copy of Pride & Prejudice, its pages littered with underlinings of passages and notes in the margins, some were philosophical and others were humorous.

A combination of markings that both you and Jason had made since you started this little tradition of reading with each other, an intimate little book club.

A pastime you’d both come to enjoy since being together.

Sometimes he would read, that was always your favourite, as you’d listen to every word as though it were honey trickling in and soothing your soul. Though seeing his eyes gaze at you fondly while you read made you feel like everything else faded away, his body relaxed as the tension melted away, did come as a close second.  

It was during this time while you read to him that he asked, 

“Why do you keep dead roses?” 

An innocent question, one that had been ruminating in Jason’s mind, since his eyes first traced the pressed flower in your hand and the other ones dotted around the apartment. 

Some were placed in little frames picked up from op shops, while others filled glass jars tied with little ribbons - some even had labels, most likely the names of the flowers. 

He’d noticed in some of the other books that you owned or even some of his favourite ones that there would be little handmade bookmarks infused with pressed flowers. 

Now thinking about it, over the course of your relationship he’d noticed that slowly, but steadily it seemed this collection had grown. All coming to the forefront of his mind seeing them all unpacked and in the open of your shared apartment.

“In fact, why do you have a lot of dead flowers?”

Your eyes flick to follow his gaze as it lands on the pressed rose in hand, he notices that your eyes glaze over as though reminiscing and then sees as they glance to the other flowers in their home, before falling back to Jason. If possible you seem to curl even closer into his embrace turning slightly as you raise the rose before him. 

“Do you not like them?” you tilt your head, never having realised Jason would notice them. But you suppose it's a side effect of dating one of Gotham’s vigilantes, they’re very observant. 

He shakes his head and nuzzles his head into your neck breathing in your scent, “no, just wondering why?”  

You melt under his touch as your smile widens, 

“I cherish dead roses as they live between the pages of my books. I believe, a fresh rose is loved for its beauty but the dead one is beyond beauty.” Your hand clasps his hand that is one wrapped around your waist as you gently rub your thumb against his hand – almost as though inferring the words applied not just to roses but to Jason itself.

“A fresh rose is smelled for its scent but a dead one – for the memories. A fresh rose gives the feel of softness but a dead one gives the feel of the past. A fresh rose lives for days but a dead one – forever.”

You let the words settle in the air before continuing to say, “I always loved that quote. And in a way I always thought that by keeping these roses and flowers it was about preserving our love” 

You will never know the extent of how deeply these words affected Jason, his mind blank with what to say. You never failed to surprise him, your unending love and support despite all the mess he came with. You were always there. Through the thick and thin, you stood by him as he worked through the ghosts of his past and the hauntings that came with them.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve you but he will forever be grateful. 

Before he could even begin to try to express his unending gratitude for you and the peace you offer his soul, you continue on.

“Did you know that you gave me all these flowers. Every single one of these dried and pressed flowers I own, they’re because of you.” 

Now while his brothers may argue to believe that there is not a single bone in his body capable of romance, they would be mistaken. As demonstrated by you and him having been together for almost 3 years. 

Throughout your budding romance, Jason always struggled with conveying how he felt – coming up short as his words would get stuck in his throat. So he had to find other ways to express his love for you, long before he could find it in himself to let his walls come down. 

Little actions, gestures to show he cared for you, like always ensuring you were comfortable by giving you his jacket when you were cold, bringing you homemade chocolate chip cookies when he knew you needed a little comfort, and as you both were getting more serious he would spend more time over at your apartment and would cook for you, he'd fix up things at your apartment like fixing the squeaky door in your bathroom or the leaky faucet in your kitchen, or simply just make your coffee or tea. 

You went at his pace, never pushing him further than he could handle. It was new territory for both you and Jason. 

Sometimes when you had gone through a rough patch or a misunderstanding, you’d find a little posy of flowers either by your door or on your balcony typically of hyacinths, olive leaves with hydrangeas among the bundle.  

You’d carefully placed these in a vase to admire – even without a note you’d always know these were from Jason. It was during this time a friend you had over noted the meaning of these flowers. 

Purple hyacinths and blue hydrangeas are a symbol of sincerity, an apology of heartfelt emotion. The pairing with the olive branches asks for peace and forgiveness. 

This absolutely made your heart melt. At times when you were unsure of how Jason felt for you – you’d remember the flowers, the thought he put into the choices to convey to you what he couldn’t with words. 

This is where your little hobby began.

With each little posy, bouquet or flower he’d gifted you, either by being left for you to find or he had handed them to you directly –  you’d try to learn the meaning behind them. From endless dives into google, to eventually buying some books about the meaning of flowers. 

It felt like discovering a secret code. 

Honeysuckles for devotion and affection,

Sunflowers for adoration and joy,

Canterbury bells for gratitude,

Freesias for trust,

Baby’s breath for sincerity and hope,

And an array of many more beautiful flowers, made even more lovely through their meanings.

As your relationship grew and evolved so did the meanings behind the flowers he’d gift you.

Your most treasured were the forget-me-nots he had given you, just a gift for no particular reason, neither of you had said it aloud but could both tell you were falling for each other. This was cemented for you with the forget-me-nots as you learnt they symbolised true love and respect. 

So with each gifted flower you took great care for them, and when they eventually wilted you would find creative ways to preserve them. 

Placing them in jars, pressing them in bookmarks to even framing particular ones that meant a great deal to you. You kept them all. A love preserving. 

It became second nature to you, a habit you had no intention of breaking. 

The revelation that you had found a way to keep all the flowers he’d given you over the years, that you took the time and care to cherish each little flower. 

His body freezes at learning this as he blinks a little shocked by the tenderness of your words, you had taken the time to learn all the things he couldn’t say, decoding every meaning behind his flowers.

He thought it was a quiet secret, one that remained unnoticed by you, not that he minded. But now knowing you had always known what he meant, what he felt. It made his heart speed up. 

His arms hug you a little tighter, his eyes pool with love, kissing your cheek tenderly as a little smirk forming upon his lips. 

“Didn’t realise you were so sentimental, doll” 

“And I didn’t realise you were such a romantic, what would your family say? The rough and tough Jason Todd giving flowers with such a deep and thoughtful meaning – they’d never believe me,” you both fall into a fit of laughs over imagining his family learning how thoughtful he could be. 

“If you tell them, I promise you there will be no cookies for you” he playfully reprimands, you just look at him with big pleading eyes, to which he sighs a reluctant huff. He could never resist you. 

His mind drifts back to the flowers, his eyes soften “I didn’t think. I never thought that you knew what they meant. I just - ugh, it was always tougher for me to say what you meant to me, what you mean to me, it was easier to just silently tell you through flowers” your hands continue to glide soothing patterns against his as he speaks. 

“Sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in”

“That’s Jane Austen isn’t it?” you state recognising his words for the ones of one of his favourite authors. 

His smile simply widens as he begins to pepper kisses along your cheek, trailing your jawline and neck. Showering you with love.  A laugh bubbles from within you as you turn into his embrace to hug him properly.

His lips finally touch yours, slow and deep – conveying his feelings through another unspoken language. His hands gently trace patterns along the curve of your back, grounding him in this moment.

You pull back as you lean your forehead against his, eyes holding his gaze as the quiet timbre of his voice fills your ears once more “I will always be here for you, even when words fail me and I can only show you with my actions or with flowers, I want you to  know that I love you”

“I love you too Jay, always, even when words fail,” you words dripping with complete devotion that rivals the adoration found in his.

Your eyes close and just take in this moment., “One would think you’ve gone soft Jay” you lightly tease.

“Only for you doll, only for you.” He punctuates with a delicate kiss to your temple.

You spend the afternoon entangled in each other’s arms taking in each other’s warmth and presence, book now laid forgotten on the coffee table, the page marked with the dried rose that sparked this revelation.

As he hears your gentle snores, his eyes trace your features taking in detail and committing it all to memory. In this moment Jason makes a note to give you all the flowers in the world for as long as you’ll have him, if only to show you just how much you mean to him. 

This was just a little thing I had playing around in my mind, I've never really written anything for Jason Todd before but it felt like this kind of worked. Could definitely see him be a more actions speak louder than words kind of guy. I wrote a prologue if you want to read more, Quiet Affections Silent Sorrows (Part 1) & (Part 2)

Also updated note: I did not think this little story would get this much attention…it’s actually wild to me, thanks for loving it 💕

[jscrawls]

Not gonna lie kinda loving the Jason x Addams!reader x john ship, can’t imagine Bruce’s reaction

Omg y'all are killing me with the poly ship 😭

(it amuses me greatly)

🔹🔹🔹

Surprisingly Bruce doesn't find out for a long while, between Jason's avoidance of the manor and Bruce as a whole and John's surprisingly affective efforts to avoid him. (John's hardly scared of him, he just doesn't want the headache of getting cornered by the paranoid bastard more than he has to on their occasional overlapping jobs.)

You don't spill the beans in your weekly tea sessions with Alfred, and you don't have near enough electronics in your home for the bats to tap so they don't find out that way either.

It's actually your darling little niece and nephew who let the cat out the bag.

They were staying with you because there was a month long summer camp in Gotham with "views to die for" (it was outside of Grundy's swamp.) but the kids didn't wanna sleep there at night, they weren't allowed to torment the other children or teach them how to make deadly traps, unfortunately. The camp counselors didn't like it so the options were either they were kicked out of camp or they stayed somewhere else at night where they weren't unsupervised, being the good relative you are you offered your place to them to assuage both the summer camp counselors and your dear cousin and their family.

Pugsley and Wednesday weren't aware of the.... Tension between your partners and the neighbor though, so one evening after growing bored of playing with Pamela's poisonous plants and Harleys hyenas they wound up in a certain someone's yard.

"well hello there kids, are you two lost? how'd you make it over the fence over there?"

Bruce slowly approaches the two kids, one looks near Damian's age possibly and the other one is even younger, probably eight or nine if he has to guess. They don't look frightened or anything so hopefully they're not runaways, God forbid people start dropping strays in his yard just because he has an adoption tendency...

The younger one, the boy, blinks slowly and gives him a confused look. His baby fat full face tilting like a puppy. "We're not lost mister, we know exactly where we are."

All the older girl says is. "your fence needs more barbed wire."

Bruce blinks slowly, okay.... Not lost is good at least?

".... Alright. Where did you come from? I can call someone for you...."

The girl silently points her finger, a grave expression on her face as they all glance across the hill at the neighboring house that's half overgrown with vines and weeds.

"our relative lives right over there."

The girl sounds so dead serious that Bruce wonders if she's telling the truth about that, (name) Addams couldn't be serious if their life depended on it...

"...I didn't realize they had anyone over, how about I take you two back to their house?" He's trying to maintain a calm and friendly demeanor with them anyways, they're just kids after all. They shouldn't cross a road by themselves.

"that would be acceptable. right pugsley? Uncle Jason and John should be home soon. We can play stab-knife with them."

The girl straightens up and smoothes down her black dress like she's preparing for a throwdown, her dark brows furrowed in a glare the likes of which would be more fitting on a man preparing for war.

The boy smiles and latches onto Bruce's hand while already babbling excitedly In that way kids do when something exites them, but Bruce is frozen for a solid minute. "..... Uncle Jason and... Uncle John?"

He must be jumping to conclusions, those are extremely common names after all. The girl is already stalking away as she answers, barely even sparing him a glance over her shoulder.

"our relative, (name's) partners."

The boy again nods, backing his sister up quickly. "Mhmm, they're so cool! They told me they've both been buried before and died, it's awesome sauce!"

Bruce thinks he's gonna punch (name) or John into a coma.

🔹🔹🔹

Both kids knock on the door, the one apparently named Wednesday gives a few firm taps while pugsley stretches both his hands up above his head and slaps he's hands on the door repeatedly while giggling, he keeps this up until someone unlocks it and opens the door.

"oi knock it off, I was wandering where you-oh...tits."

John doesn't even bother to correct his language in front of the Rugrats when he meets the pissed off stare of Bruce Wayne on his partners stoop, he considers slamming the door in his face as hard as he can but.... The niece and nephew are standing there expectantly. Damn it all to hell.

"you're dating my son." Bruce grabs the edge of the door and starts to pull it open, John holds onto it just as tightly, he wants that barrier between them after all.

"who me? You know I don't 'date' luv. That's um, too many strings and... Whatnot."

Pugsley gasps and also his hands against his cheeks, both men near forgot the two were even there.

"are you leaving (name) and Jason!?" The kid nearly shrieks, are those tears forming in his eyes? That one's definitely related to (name).

Wednesday just looks slightly disgusted as she watches them both grabbing the door in a death grip, she rolls her eyes and starts pushing on both of them to try to wriggle her way through the small gap in the door.

"I'll inform relative (name) of this change. Come along pugsley, they'll want comfort."

John let's go of the door with a loud sigh, choosing to follow and plead with the child and preteen instead of fighting to keep Bruce out. "Now hold on a moment, hold your horses girlie. You're ruining my little white lie here."

Wednesday pauses and glares between the two men critically. "You're lying to the neighbor.... Are you ashamed or something?"

"of course not!"

Bruce slams the door roughly behind him. "You should be. Really? My son? You and the..." He glances at the two kids, who are again watching them silently. ".... Person, who lives here need to leave Jason alone, for good."

John rolls his eyes and turns on his heel to walk further into the manor, he does not wanna this conversation like this. Bruce and the kids follow after him.

"last I checked your boy doesn't even live with you, he's a grown man luv. Maybe you should keep that in mind before you do regrettable things in front of the little ones."

Bruce is practically grinding his jaw as he restrains himself, this would look so much different if the two kids weren't involved first. The slimy bastard surely knows it based on the way he seems to keep at least one in-between him and Bruce at all times.

"you say that like you're a normal, stable man that's trustworthy around him, how'd you and the Addams even talk him into this!?"

"talk who into what? Oh pugsley Wednesday there you are! I see you brought Mr Wade over for some afternoon poison!" You coo at the kids as you walk into the foyer, a big smile on your face as you happily wave at Bruce despite the obvious tension in the room.

Pugsley runs over to you and throws his arms around you and sags his weight against you dramatically. "Are you and Uncle Jason breaking up?"

You blue-screen a little at that.

".... Uhh, what? Could you say that again pugs?"

John sidles over to your side quietly, unsure if he should say something or hope that if he holds still long enough maybe Bruce will forget he's there and leave.

"(name) you and John can't leave Jason, mother was making a voodoo doll for him already." Wednesday pipes up, the girl already making herself comfortable with your table snacks on the couch.

".... Am I missing something here?"

John leans over to whisper into your ear. ".... Bruce is very upset about our... Proclivities with Jason, gorgeous."

Bruce frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. "Considering both of your track record, I don't think you're stable enough for Jason. Take that however either of you will."

"instability makes romance all the more whimsical, does it not? I don't see what your issue is, Mr Wade." You shrug and walk over to Wednesday -pugsley still clinging to you- to pour them a little arsenic after their outside venture.

"or you create an echo chamber for bad habits and harmful mindsets, Jason doesn't need this influence." Bruce gestures around your foyer, at the spell book collections on your bookshelf, the labeled poisons in glass cases, John, you.

You take a steadying breath and turn to face the man with your signature too-wide grin on your lips.

"Mr Wade, I respect you as much as any man respects a fellow mentally deranged violence obsessed lunatic, but I have to disagree with you you here. I want the best for both Jason and John, happiness, understanding, support, I myself don't have children but those are all things I would want my darling little niece and nephew to find if they ever chose to pursue romance. Don't you want that for Jason?"

"I...." Bruce trails off, glancing over your shoulder with an unreadable look on his face.

When you turn Jason's standing at the top of the staircase, watching all of you silently.

🔹🔹🔹

| m.list |

A/n: this got a little too long so I'm ending it here, sorry anon! This was fun so I hope you enjoy 💜💜💜

@viilan

[chosokamosbf]

(N)SFW JASON TODD / RED HOOD HCs.

☆ 18+ only/no minors.

WARNINGs: 18+, gn (gender non-implied)! reader, daddy/mommy kink, mentions of abuse (jason nor reader are doing it), minor mention of blood, sub/dom, pain play, fear play, "prey/predator," brat taming, reader is referred to as "prince(ss)" and "sweetheart" once.

WORD COUNT: 900-ish+

Based on canon, I firmly believe he's on the ace spectrum, specifically demisexual. And even then, he rarely experiences sexual attraction at all for his partners. This isn't because he doesn't love them (enough) or any other assumptions similar to that; it just doesn't happen much.

Furthermore, as much as he'll indulge you here and there if you do, (sexual) intimate moments with Jason would be far and few between, making them all the more important to him.

He's a switch, leaning on dom and top. Mostly because he likes the control and is more comfortable that way. Getting him to be submissive instead is a gradual endeavor. He doesn't hate it; it just takes a lot of patience and trust.

First and foremost on actual kinks, I think Jason has a thing for "daddy," both on the receiving and giving ends. He likes the title, and he's definitely the type to whisper something like, "C'mere, sweetheart. Give daddy a kiss." in even private, innocuous moments just to mess with you.

(Note: I don't think he'd have as much of a mommy kink because—y'know.)

Rough sex is a top favorite of his. This goes hand in hand with play wrestling as a form of foreplay, breathing heavily down on his partner just to continue that energy into bed with sweat-slick bodies. It's less about "winning," and more about being allowed to confide in someone in a way and the fun that can come with it. He wouldn't be against being the sub in this situation either, even if his partner is weaker than him, because he knows how important control can be in bed, so he'll let them win. Sometimes. He trusts you, and he wants you both to feel good.

Degradation/praise wise, he'll give either out depending on the moment. He's going to tease and utter dirty shit like, "C'mooon, prince(ss). You're sounding like a real whore for someone who didn't want it a couple minutes ago—" if you tried to struggle against. It depends more on the moment than position because he could be pounding into you and huffing out praise right next to your ear with what little air he's catching, to riding you, telling you to keep up while his head is already thrown back.

He enjoys pegging a lot, but as always, it's going to take some convincing to get him to comply.

Brat taming is another go-to of his, along with sub/dom. On the other end, it seems to be a near equal opposite—he's not into it, and it can get uncomfortable real fast. There's a few times he'll indulge himself, and they're all after more intense days to sort of solidify the trust he has in you. You're not going to hurt him; he's still in control in a way.

He doesn't seem like he'd like being on the receiving end of any sort of pain play. He already deals with chronic pain on a day-to-day basis. To have it overwhelm one of the few aspects of intimacy that he loves and simultaneously take his head off things for once just doesn't seem like it'd be enjoyable for him. No, on the giving end—

(Note: I'm not into pain play myself, nor do I even know what even makes it enjoyable for people, so I'll be segmenting this with fear play and "prey/predator.")

It wouldn't be something he'd ever bring up, far from it, but if it's what you like, he'll gladly take a knife in a steady hand to softly trace it down from your stomach to your underwear. In a smile almost cruel, he'd drag it across just enough so a few drops could be licked back up if you asked nicely enough again.

Jason knows you're just asking for it if you're weaker than him and bring up the idea of a different kind of foreplay. He'd pick a place, somewhere with a lot of spots you could try to hide away and run to (an abandoned office of sorts is the best go; he's not going to risk infections).  Just for him to stalk, pin you down with ease. If the spot he found his little prey in isn't satisfactory (or clean) enough, he'd have no qualms settling you over his shoulder like a sack and manhandling you where he wants it.

He definitely isn't going to go too far, though. As well-trained as he is, he's going to be especially attentive after any scenes involving that. Sadism isn't a big one for him. He'll enjoy it in the moment but then feel real guilty afterwards, so, just as a reminder, aftercare goes both ways.

I don't know why some people think he's into "dark" (ex. pedo stuff such as ageplay and actual rape.) kinks when he's canonically and literally has hunted down murdered several (sexual) abusers before. If you try to break boundaries, he's going to be reconsidering the relationship, and quite possibly if he even knew you as a person.

On a lighter note, consent is a big thing for him, and he's also big on aftercare. A go-to would be a bath for the both of you (stuffing the sheets in the washer right before and bandaging any "scratches" if need be.), then cuddling. Depending on whether he has the energy, he'll pop something in the microwave real quick. (Takeout is usually a last resort because the last thing he wants while enjoying the afterglow with a partner is social interaction with a stranger.)

If you wear make-up and it gets ruined by the end, like in the latter part of the previous section, if he can, he's going to help you wipe off the mess and maybe help you reapply it as a form of care.

[charliedakotariley]

Self insert here but imagine....

Jason having an artist partner, or a partner that LOVES to hord tiny decorations in their apartment/house.

They go out, sees a tiny mini figure of a bumble bee, buys it, takes it home and dedicates a whole ass shelf to it. Makes it a tiny house, a tiny garden and a general beautiful scenery.

Now imagine Jason, the buffed and huge mountain of a man, scary and violent, known to shaken everybody who meets him, ripped muscles and rough hands- and he's croutching to the level of the shelf, seeing the tiny Bumblebee with wonder and adoration in his eyes like a small kid in a Disneyland and softly asks "Does this cutie have a name?" and "If he could take it into his hands?"

The figure is as big as his pinky nail and he's holding it like it's alive, fragile and soft. He cooes at it, asking it how it's doing and what is it growing in its tiny garden.

After a while when he's putting it back he asks "Do you have more?" and his partner says "They're all over the place, you can try and find them all."

And DUDE- the way his eyes sparkles, a huge smile forming on his face, clapping his hands and doing this skippy jump while he runs around searching for those tiny creatures and their homes.

He finds a snail reading a book inside its shell above the fridge, a moth holding a caterpillar baby in a rocking chair in one of the cabinets, tiny kittens cuddling in a cozy bed behind a curtain, and a family of bats hanging from the ceiling holding wings in a book nook.

And he's tearing up. A tiny creatures having a praceful cozy lives without any trouble, nobody's hurting them, they need no savior, no one who would come late to their rescue, no shed tears and blood-

He gently puts the lastest figure back with a teary eyes, petting its head while turning and going back to your shared bedroom, stopping in a doorframe and looking at his partner who looks up and says something that has him bawling his eyes out...

"And you found the last one, Jaybird. Come here, to me, to our tiny peaceful home."

Thoughts?

I apologize for any mistakes, Grammarly isn't working-

[timwhore]

Event ; Kinktober - Day 1, Wax play

Pairing : Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Content / Warning : Big chunk of the fic is pre-activity talk (reader introduce the kink and talks / sets boundaries with Jason around it, because that is a huge part of kinks / BDSM that i wanted to put in at least one of my piece for kinktober) and there is aftercare, no penetrative sex ( wax play + hndjob ), reader is the one leading and Jason is the one on the receiving end, Jason call reader 'sweetie', its said that Jason is usually the one giving / you are usually on the receiving end, a bit of nipples teasing toward the end. (this is 1.5K words, wrote in around 3hours, on the 30sept, its 10am please be indulgent lol)

Jason was a bit taken off guard when you asked him if he had any 'kinks' he wished to engage in, sexuality was not a taboo for him, and it's not like you both never did anything sexual or engaged in not vanilla activity in the bedroom. He just didn't expect to get asked this question, at 8am while he was drinking a very bitter - and honestly disgusting - cup of coffee after sleeping for a grand total of 5 hours, courtesy of a certain group of thugs deciding to cause problem in the dead of the nigh - and courtesy of being the vigilante that had to deal with them.

He took a second before answering a simple 'uh maybe ?', before returning to his cup of liquid dirt not expecting you to continue this conversation that you seemingly started out of nowhere. But much to his dismay you continued, 'because, I've been wanting to ... uhm, to try something out ...!' with a sly smile on your face.

Jason decide to entertain you, why not after all ? It's just 8am on a weekend, what the worst that could happen ?

He nodded, encouraging you to continue, but instead of continuing speaking you pulled a candle from g-d knows where, and set it in front of Jason. He looked at it with a questioning look, he grabbed the candle, 'So, you mind expanding or ?' he asked.

'Well ... I'd like to try wax play ! And you kinda need a candle for that ...' You answered, before waiting a second you continued, 'This one is like, ... skin safe ? Not harmful, so safe for ... that kind of stuff ! I think its made out of beewax ? Or soy, either one of the two', he nodded once again, signalling that he understood. He took a long sip of coffee, finishing his cup, 'Okay, so basically I pour, uh, wax on you and that's the kink ?', before adding with a sly grin 'You did your researcher uh ?'.

'I was actually thinking about you, being on the, uh receiving end ? If you are okay with that ! Couldn't want to force you into anything, and that's why I asked if you had anything you wanted to do in the bedroom.' You stopped for a second before continuing 'It's like a two way street that way!'.

Jason stared at you deadpan for a moment, he did not expect that, usually you were the one that 'received' and he was the one that 'gave'. He gave it a thought and just said a simple 'Huh, if that's what you want sweetie, I'm open to it.'

Truly, he was open to it, what you proposed still seemed relatively tame and he could be lying if he said it didn't sound appealing.

(still havent found a way to just do a timeskip, sorry for the immersion breaking parentheses but this is better than just starting the next scene directly in the bedroom, later in the day)

Jason was seated on the edge of the bed, looking the set up you carefully put together, on the bed you laid a towel, because obviously neither of you two wanted to get wax onto your bed, but the towel wasn't one of those rough one, you had carefully chosen one that was soft but couldn't be missed if ruined. On your bedside table was placed the candle you showed him earlier, and on his, there was an somewhat damp rag and a small glass of water and a small tube of burn cream - which you simply took out of your first aid kit as well as a box of tissues, on the floor there was a larger bucket of water, off to the side, as you said it was 'Just in case something happen, you cannot be too sure!'.

As he heard your footsteps coming closer toward the door he decided to already strip himself of his shirt, you opened the door, entering the door with in hands a packet of matches, 'Found them ! They were actually still in the kitchen drawer', you said while making your way over to the bed.

You sat next to him and reached over to grab the candle, you looked up and smiled at Jason, 'You're sure you still want that ? Of course we can still stop in the middle of it but, are you sure right now ?', Jason grinned and answered, 'I am a 100 percents sure sweetie, don't worry, I trust you'.

You took a match out of the book and lighted it up, you brought the burning match over to the wix of the candle, as the wix took the flame, you brought the match over you and softly blow on it, blowing out the fire. You decided to let the candle burn a bit before using it, to make sure there was nothing wrong it, in the meanwhile, you signalled to Jason to lie down with his head on your tights, you brushed your fingers through his hair lovingly.

You took the candle in one of your hand and dropped a bit of wax on your other hand to check if it was good to go, you hummed and then looked at Jason, 'Okay where I go', you leaned the candle over Jason chest, the candle wax slowly dropped, drop by drop of red coloured wax fell on Jason chest.

You tilted the candle back up, Jason did let out a small hiss when the first drop reached him but he seemed fine, his face was a bit flushed and when his eyes meet yours, he gave you a small smirk. You took it as a sign to continue, tilting once again the candles over his chest, this time lower down it, and for a bit longer this time, 'Are you enjoying that baby ?', you asked, more so to tease him more than anything. Jason had been very aloof, and made it seem like he was going along it for you - that it didn't brother him to try but it was not something that he was very into, but he was betrayed by the tent that had formed in his pant.

You put down the candle on the bedside table for a bit, which earned you a small whine from Jason, but ignoring it, you reached over to unbutton his pant, and pull his penis out of his boxer. You gently gave it a few strokes, making beads of pre-cum get on your hand, before grabbing the candles once again, Jason face's was now flushed, he was groaning at the loss of your cold-ish hand on his dick which made him feel a weird, pleasurable contrast between the feverish sensation on his chest and the feeling of your hand on his lower-half.

While stroking him, you let a few drops of candles wax hit his body again, this time going higher, toward his nipples, a more sensible part of Jason's body.

Jason moaned softly as he felt the heat propage to his nipples, he rutted his dick against your hand, and started to lowly beg you to 'go faster' 'harder' 'more please'.

You decided to oblige him, you didn't want to drag this session on too much, after all this was your first one, and Jason was starting to look clearly overstimulated.

You continued to let the candles wax drip onto Jason, and started rubbing him faster, you softly blew on the candle wix and set it down on the bedside table. You continued to stroke him and used the hand that used to hold the candle to tease Jason's nipples, this tipped him over the edge, making Jason blow his load all over your hand and his chest.

You went to grab a tissue to clean your hand and ran your hand through his hair once again, 'Baby, are you okay ? Do you want me to clean you up ?', Jason was clearly spent, and he just nodded while closing his eyes.

You took another tissue to clean his cum off him first, then you strategically decided to first scratch, gently, the wax off his chest, once that was done you took the damp rag, and run it on his chest, Jason shrugged from the feeling.

'Baby, sit up' you told him, he groaned softly but did as you told, you handed him the glass of water that was sitting on his bedside table. 'Drink up, you need to hydrate your inside ~', you said teasingly. Jason did not brother to answer and simply took the glass and took a long sip of water before giving it back to you.

You grabbed the burn cream, 'I'm gonna put some cream on you 'kay ? Couldn't want your chest to be all burned, could we ?', you ruffled his hair once again, enjoying how calm and just submissive he was. You opened the cream and took a small dab of cream and spread it on his chest, first near his nipples, causing Jason to shivers, then spread the rest of his chest, where the rest of the wax was.

'It's done, you should let the cream sit and absorb, so why not take a nap, while I clean up ?' You asked him, giving him a small kiss on his check. Jason once again simply nodded and just let his body fell on the bed, where the towel still was, 'Well, won't get that back for now I guess' you thought. Before getting up from the bed and going to clean and put everything where it belongs.

[mosslikeschaos]

watching Captain America, so ofc im thinking about DC. ?

☆☆

Thinking about a tired Jason, who can't help but want to slump into the sofa and just sit in silence with his lover.

A tired and sore Jason who lays his head on their lap, sighing in contentment when they start running their fingers through his hair.

A now almost sleepy Jason who just hums when they ask if he wouldnt rather go to bed and instead of laying in the sofa watching something dull on the TV.

An asleep Jason, a little too tall to lay comfortably on the sofa without his feet falling off the edge.

A partner who rolls their eyes, covering him with a blanket, then resumes running their fingers through his hair. It comforts both of them.

Im thinking of a domestic Jason whos comfortable with his partner <3