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kaleidoscopewritings19 · 5 months ago

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Bruce Wayne x Bat!Mom

Title: Please Come Home for Christmas

Warning(s): NONE

Character(s): Bruce Wayne, f!x reader/Batmom, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth

Prompts used are in bold and italicized; italicized paragraphs are flashbacks/memories; song used is Please Come Home For Christmas (words are in red/italicized.)

SONG CAN BE PLAYED AT THIS SYMBOL 🎵 and the song should end about the time the last verse has been typed out. Song will be linked at that music note for your convenience. But here’s the link to song

MY WORKS ARE NOT TO BE TRANSLATED OR POSTED ANYWHERE ELSE! ©️

______

Christmas was your favorite holiday; the Christmas lights, the ambiance, the decorations, and being surrounded by your family made you feel complete.

The boys were in charge of decorating the seven foot Christmas tree. It was the first year you and Bruce had decided to let them take over putting up the tree and decorating it. While the boys decorated the tree in the living room, you were in the kitchen baking sugar cookies with the assistance of Bruce, while Alfred instructed the boys.

Bruce was going through the box of cookie cutters, “Seriously? You have a Batman cookie cutter?” He asked and you smiled, while pouring the two of you a glass of wine. “Of course. I figured we could do a Batman Christmas themed cookie.” Bruce rolled his eyes, and found the ziploc bag full of the normal Christmas cookie cutters.

As the two of you rolled out the cookie dough and began cutting out the festive shapes, the boys could be heard arguing in the living room. You wiped your hands on your apron, and Bruce followed quietly behind you.

Jason and Dick were trying to pull the Christmas tree out of the box, with Damian instructing them. “You have to shimmy it!” He yelled at his two older brothers. “SHIMMY!…. SHIMMY!….. SHIMMY!!”

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” Jason yelled. Alfred walked over to the credenza and poured himself a glass of bourbon before downing it in one gulp. Tim was in the corner testing the lights, and Damian turned to look over at you and Bruce. “Don’t we have people to do this?” He asked and Bruce shook his head.

“No. Since your mom and I got married, we always decorated the interior of the house. You don’t need hired help for everything, Damian.” He said, and Damian flung back on to the couch.

You walked over to the couch and ruffled Damian’s hair, “These type of things take time. Decorating is supposed to be fun, and not a chore. So c’mon. Get up. Dad and I can help get the tree out of the box.”

You and Bruce helped get the tree out of the box and then fluffed out the branches. “There, now all you boys have to do is decorate it.” You stood up from the floor, and the tone in the room seemed more bright.

Alfred walked over to the record player and put on an old Christmas record, “It wouldn’t be Christmas decorating if we didn’t have on a record.”

The boys agreed with him simultaneously, and then got to work sorting out the different ornaments. Bruce followed you back into the kitchen, and continued to cut out and bake the remainder of the cookie dough. When you had placed the last sheet of cookies into the oven, Bruce pressed a kiss to your lips. “I’ll be right back.”

You sipped from your glass of wine, and Bruce brought a smaller record player into the kitchen. He delicately placed a vinyl down, and music filled the kitchen.

The all too familiar tune of Please Come Home for Christmas filled your ears- the voices of the Eagles (one of your favorite bands) sang the first lyric. You smiled at Bruce, and he walked around the kitchen island.

He took the glass of wine from your hands and sat it down on the marble counter top. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Wayne?” He asked and you pulled his body into yours. “Always.”

He held your hips firmly and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

My baby’s gone, I have no friends

To wish me greetings once again..

His forehead leaned against yours, and the two of you swayed to the music. Unbeknownst to you, Alfred and the boys watched from the pass-through window, but the two of you were too lost in each other to notice. “Why are they dancing to a sad song?” Jason asked and Alfred watched the two of you in awe.

“Let me tell you a story.” Alfred started and the boys turned their attention to Alfred. “Your parents had married on December 15th— this year will be their 15th wedding anniversary. Your mum was 22 years of age and your father 25. They had decided they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.” The boys listened intently,

“Your father, had just become the Batman, and didn’t want to take a break from it. Even if it was taking time from them celebrating this new adventure in life. Your mum had left, because he decided that being Batman was far more important than staying home for a couple of weeks.”

You and Bruce had insisted on Alfred taking the night off so the two of you could celebrate your honeymoon, and decorate the Christmas tree alone. Bora Bora was the plan, but you had wanted to celebrate Christmas at home, and Bruce agreed. You were sitting on the floor next to Bruce as he opened a box of Christmas tree lights. “I don’t care what the box says, these lights are definitely not untangled.” Bruce mumbled, and you smiled.

“There’s glitter in my hair, on my clothes, and somehow, in my coffee. This is chaos.” You replied and Bruce pressed a kiss to your temple. “Well, you look hot covered in glitter.”

The two of you helped each other decorate the tree, and shared kisses in between. Wayne Manor was being filled with Christmas music, laughter, and lots of love.

The Christmas tree was big, bright, and beautiful. It lit up the entire room, and the fire crackling set the perfect ambiance. Bruce laid out blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace, and he convinced you that instead of sleeping in the bed, the two of you could sleep in front of the fireplace.

The two of you had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, wrapped up in nothing but the blankets. When you had woken up, your watch read 11:47 PM, and Bruce was no where to be found.

You had checked the bedroom, bathroom, the study, and even the garage. Then it had dawned on you; he was probably down in the batcave. You slipped on your silk robe, and pressed the keys on the piano, and the bookcase had opened, revealing the long, dark cave entrance.

The cool air nipped at your skin, and sure enough, there was Bruce on the platform in the middle of the water. He was pulling on his armor, and you started to walk across the short bridge; the sound of the waterfall covering the sounds of your feet.

“Bruce, what are you doing?” You asked and he jumped a little.

“Well, I decided to patrol. There’s a lot of criminal activity tonight.” He said as he turned around in the chair to face you.

You stepped in front of him; his hands traced up your bare leg, then pulling you closer to his body. You looked down at him, your fingers running through his hair, “I thought we had agreed that you wouldn’t patrol for two weeks. That we would enjoy our honeymoon, and Christmas together.”

He stood up from the chair and he sat his cowl on the desk. “It will just be tonight, baby.” He said as his fingers combed through your hair.

His eyes were your weakness, and he knew you would break underneath his gaze, “I promise it will just be for tonight.“ he whispered, and you loosened the tie to your robe, revealing your naked frame to him. A smirk worked its way across his face, and he pulled you closer to him, “When I get home, I’ll make it up to you Mrs. Wayne.”

Bruce pressed a kiss to your neck, and you sighed while covering up your body. “Fine. But only for tonight.”

But ‘only for tonight’ turned into a week. He went out every night that week, and you had decided enough was enough. One night, when Bruce had left, you packed a suitcase and booked a trip to London. If you were going to spend your honeymoon alone, you were going to have fun alone- in a different country.

“So your mum left the country and went to London. Your father, of course, did not notice she was gone until the afternoon of the next day.” Alfred stated, and he brought the boys to the living room to finish telling the story.

“Master B called me in a panic, and I came home straightaway. I feared that one of the adversaries had figured out who the Batman was, and took Miss Y/N.” Alfred pulled a piece a paper from the display books on the coffee table. “I found this note on this very coffee table, explaining where she was. Your father back then… He could be quite oblivious to these sort of things.”

~~~~~~~~~

Dearest Bruce,

I love you with all of my heart, but spending these nights alone made me realize that maybe I wasn’t meant to be the wife of the Batman. I married you, Bruce. I find it tough to share you with the people of Gotham. Deep down, I know this city needs you- desperately. But I need you too. I am going to London for the remainder of our honeymoon, and I promise I will come back to Gotham so we can sort all of this out.

With love,

Y/N

~~~~~~~~~

The boys passed the letter around, “Why didn’t she just stay and tell him?” Jason asked and Alfred shrugged his shoulders.

“Your father could hear words, but he never truly listened. They were young, Jason. Communicating is something that is learned throughout the course of marriage. It’s not always easy, and it takes two to learn, grow, and adapt with one another. Luckily, your parents worked through it, and learned.” Alfred stated and no one noticed you and Bruce standing in the doorway.

“Well, what happened next?” Tim asked and Bruce answered.

“When Alfred found the note, I read it. I realized I promised to take time off from Batman and spend time with my wife. And I didn’t keep that promise.” Bruce sat down in the recliner, and you sat down on the arm of the chair.

His hand rested on your lower back, “I didn’t know how to distribute my time- she was my girlfriend when I started Batman. She had her own life, and it wasn’t until after she left I realized that she gave up a part of her life to create one with me. She couldn’t do that alone.”

You turned to look at Bruce, “I went after her, and the entire trip there, all I could think about was the promise I made and didn’t keep. Most people wouldn’t see it as a big deal, but I made a commitment to you. A life long commitment- and if I didn’t keep my promise for those two weeks like you had asked, how would you ever trust my future promises, or the promises I made when we exchanged our vows?” He spoke to you directly now.

Bruce stared up into your eyes, and he pulled you down to his lap, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Going after you, was the best decision I ever made.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, and the boys made gagging sounds.

“Ew! Please stop!”

“Get a room!”

“Wait- what did them dancing to that sad song have anything to do with their marital problem?” Damian asked, and you turned to look at them.

You looked at Bruce for confirmation to finish the story. Bruce nodded and his cheeks turned red, “Well, I left the 22nd, and he didn’t find out where I was until the afternoon of the 23rd. Then it took him until the 24th to find pilots to fly the Wayne jet, and that night he arrived in London.” You smiled at Bruce. “So on the night of Christmas Eve, I decided to have dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. I wore my best dress, and strange enough, there was no one else in the dining hall. The lights were dimmed, and the waiter took me to a table in the middle of the room.”

Alfred took a seat on the couch, and smiled. “There was a candle, and two wine glasses and a bottle of my favorite red wine. I turned to the waiter and explained that it was just me, but he pushed my chair in and walked away.”

Bruce hid his face in your hair, “The stage lights turned on, and there was a group of men on the stage, and the opening notes to Please Come Home for Christmas started to play. 🎵

When my eyes had adjusted to these lights, lo and behold, the Eagles, were standing in front of me.”

“Bells will be ringin' the sad, sad news

Oh, what a Christmas to have the blues

My baby's gone, I have no friends

To wish me greetings once again”

You sat there in shock, and then through the corner of your eye, Bruce was standing at the edge of the stage. Slowly, you stood up and Bruce walked over to you; he was wearing his best suit and tie. All you could do was stare at him and then back at the stage, “You did this?” You asked and Bruce nodded.

“May I have this dance?” He asked and you gave him your hand.

Bruce pulled you into his body, his right hand held your waist, and his left hand met your right hand. You stared up into his eyes, and he leaned his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, as he spun you out away from him, and then he pulled you back into his strong embrace. “I didn’t keep my promise. I feel terrible about it. But I feel even worse that it took you leaving for me to notice the broken promise.”

“Sure as the stars shine above

But this is Christmas, yes, Christmas, my dear

It’s the time of year to be with the one you love.”

“Will you forgive me, Y/N? There is no one else I would rather solve problems with, or experience life with. I only want you. Please come home for Christmas.” He whispered in your ear, and you pulled away from him.

All you could say was “Yes.” And Bruce’s hand held the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“There'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain

And I'll be happy, happy once again.”

When he pulled away you pulled him back and pressed a long, needed kiss to his lips. “Thank you for coming after me.” You said against his lips, and then you smiled. “I guess there was a less dramatic way to discuss this. I’m sorry.”

Bruce shook his head, “Thank you for leaving. Otherwise, I don’t think I would have realized the error I made. I tend to hear, but not actually listen.” He said as he kissed your forehead.

“Ooh, there'll be no more sorrow, no grief and pain

And I'll be happy, Christmas once again.”

The final piano notes of the song played and you turned to Bruce, “How did you manage to get the Eagles to sing in a hotel restaurant? And why is there no one else here?” You asked and Bruce smiled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I bought the restaurant. And as for them, I bought out an entire concert to get them here, plus some since it was Christmas.”

Bruce pulled you into a hug, and he waved for the band to play the song again.

_________

“He paid a for an entire concert? To play one song?” Dick asked and you smiled.

“No, they played their whole set list, and we had dinner with them. But it was after all of that, that meant the most to me.” You said as you looked at Bruce.”

“Ew, mom, we don’t want to hear this.” Jason said as he buried his face into a throw pillow. “Not that, Jason.” You stood up and picked up a small Big Ben ornament. Bruce stood up and followed you to tree, and his hand wrapped around yours, and he helped place the ornament on a branch in the middle.

“The clock is set to the time that your father and I kissed at our wedding, after saying I do.” You said and Bruce pulled you into a hug.

The boys surrounded the two of you, and even Alfred joined in on the hug. “So that’s why we take off from December 15th until the 29th.” Tim said and you smiled.

“Unless Gotham is in dire need of its Dark Knight. I too, have learned sometimes the city needs him more than I need him. But he somehow manages to be there for both.” You say, and Bruce pulls you into another breath taking kiss.

“Shall we go ahead and take our annual Christmas photo?” Alfred asks and you smile.

All of you gathered around the tree, and Alfred set the camera’s timer. He raced over and straightened out his suit and tie, “Everyone say SHIMMY!” Alfred shouted and everyone burst into laughter.

“SHIMMY!” Everyone exclaimed and the camera flash went off. In the photo, Damian’s mouth was agape, and he looked over at Jason who was laughing.

Then the fire alarm started blaring in the kitchen, “THE COOKIES!” You and Bruce screamed, and the two of you raced into the kitchen.

Bruce opened the smoke filled oven, and pulled out the cookie sheet with a dish towel. He dropped the pan into the sink, and after the smoke had cleared, everyone had a clear view of the cookies.

They were completely burned. All everyone could do was laugh, “They’re cookies are as hard as hockey pucks!” Jason said as he banged them in the counter. “I wonder if a bullet would go through them?” He asked out loud.

Bruce pulled you into his body and pressed a kiss to your lips. After what Jason had said processed, you looked at him, “Don’t you even think about it! No guns in the kitchen, and not shooting at the cookies!”

That night after cleaning the kitchen, the seven of you sat in the living room enjoying sugar cookies in front of the fireplace, and enjoying the view of the tree, all while playing some Wayne Family Christmas Games.

The End!

Authors Note:

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this! Comments, likes, and reblog are always appreciated. Please let me know what you thought!

xoxo

#bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x batmom #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman x reader #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #batmom #alfred pennyworth

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icarusignite · 2 months ago

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My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys (p.2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Civilian! GN! Reader

Summary: In a city where kindness is fleeting and warmth feels like a myth, a reclusive vigilante crosses paths with another ghost orbiting the same darkness. What begins as cautious companionship spirals into something tender, fragile, and terrifying. But when fear drives him away, and violence drags you to the edge of death, Jason Todd is forced to confront the one truth he’s always run from: some things, once lost, can’t be stitched back together. And some things are worth bleeding for.

Warnings: GROVELING (ish). more of Jason being a yearner like god intended, some religious metaphor shenanigans. Hurt/comfort, angst to fluff

Word Count: 3k

A/N: the amount of love part 1 received blew my mind omg, yall are the absolute sweetest, thank you. I hope you enjoy how I wrapped it up <3 Would love to hear your thoughts!

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

You woke into a scene that felt like something pulled from a fever dream, or worse—a cruel afterlife stitched together by the frayed edges of your longing. Everything was bathed in an almost sacred kind of stillness, so at odds with the agony blooming just beneath your skin. It was too warm. Your body felt swaddled in heat, sunk deep into softness, and for a moment you couldn’t remember why that should feel so strange. Why the warmth felt like betrayal. Why your ribs felt like they were being pried open with every breath.

And then it began to return. Not all at once, but in shattering fragments. The cold tiles, the sting in your side, the dim bathroom light flickering against the red that wouldn't stop coming. And the loneliness. God, the loneliness.

But you weren’t in that tomb of porcelain and mildew anymore. Someone had moved you. Carried you, tended to you. You were in your bed, the edge of your blanket folded over with care, and your pillow fluffed just enough, like a memory from childhood reimagined in a cracked mirror. The surrealism of it nearly brought tears to your eyes, until you turned your head, and saw him.

Your breath caught in your throat. He looked like hell. His jacket was slung over the chair, his gloves were forgotten on your nightstand, and his helmet was nowhere to be seen. But his eyes were the same. Wild and wide and far too human, locking onto yours the moment you blinked.

And then he moved. Bolted upright from his seat as if your gaze had yanked him forward with a chain, and his hand shot out to reach for you before he hesitated, curling his fingers into a fist mid-air, holding himself back.

“You’re awake?” he said hoarsely.

You couldn’t answer, because now you remembered. You remembered everything.

The rain. The sick, spinning cold. The dying.

And him of course.

His silence. His absence. The words he'd left you with, sharp as glass, tearing through you with more cruelty than any dagger to the ribs. The memories hit you like the tail end of a speeding car, and your face twisted as the grief crested again, too exhausted to cry but too full not to break.

Jason watched it happen in your expression, and he flinched like he’d been struck.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m—fuck, I’m so sorry. I should’ve never—”

But he didn’t finish. What was there to finish?

He should’ve never left. He should’ve never come back. He should’ve never let you in. He should’ve never pretended you didn’t already live somewhere in his very marrow.

You ignored his words. Your throat burned like you'd swallowed nails. None of this could be real. Not the warmth of the bed. Not the hurt terrorizing in your insides. Not him.

This was a hallucination, you decided, clawed up from the borderlands of death. And none of it mattered. What mattered was water. You needed water.

Gritting your teeth, you shoved the covers off, swinging your legs over the bed in defiance of your own body. The floor was far too cold when your bare feet touched down, and when you stood, your knees buckled. A tremor ran up your spine and you nearly folded in half from the agony that bloomed beneath your ribs. A tear broke loose, trailing your cheek like an apology you didn’t want to give. You told yourself it was from the pain. It had nothing to do with the figure at your bedside.

He was there in an instant. His hands caught your shoulders, steadied you before you could collapse into a heap of stubborn bones and bleeding skin. And you reflexively flinched at his touch.

You didn’t mean to, and you hated the way his face shifted when you did, like you’d just torn something open in him with your recoil.

“Where are you going?” he asked hesitantly. “You should rest—”

“Don’t,” you croaked, voice splintering. A sob caught sharp in your throat like a shard of glass.

Jason blinked. “Don’t what? I was only trying to—”

You shook your head, twisting out of his grasp, something volatile overtaking your features. Whatever mask of patience you usually wore had been peeled away, discarded along with the rest of your composure in some filthy alley.

“Don’t do this.”

His brow knit together. “Do what?”

“Pretend like you care,” you rasped. “Make room for yourself in my life, only to walk out again. I can’t—” The next breath hitched. “I wouldn’t survive it a second time.”

His mouth opened, but you cut him off.

“If you’re going to leave, do it now. Don’t play nurse. Don’t patch me up like it makes things even. Don’t do it for karma points or whatever misplaced guilt brought you here. Don’t do it because you think you owe me something. You don’t.”

"That's not what I—"

“Get out. Get lost. I don't want to be your goddamn charity case. I don't want your pity.”

Each word struck him like a hammer to the chest, and you watched it land. The recoil. The wince. The way the light in his eyes dimmed a little more with each sentence, his own words flung back at him.

But you couldn't stop. You were exhausted and hollowed out, emptied by loneliness and agony and the effort it took to survive when your heart felt like it had been left bleeding beside your body in that alley. And if you were going to be abandoned again, you’d rather be abandoned now. You couldn’t bear the slow unravelling of his presence settling into your world again, only to disappear without warning.

You didn’t want to relearn the shape of him in your life only to lose it all over again. You were already a ghost of yourself. You couldn’t become less.

Jason watched you fold like a dying thing. Quiet and slow, like paper soaked through, caving under its own weight. One second you were standing there, brittle and defiant, and the next, you were crumpled on the floor, your arms around yourself like even your bones didn’t want to stay inside you anymore.

He dropped down with you in an instant. Instinct, more than anything. His hands reached out to anchor you to the moment as if it might save you from whatever abyss you were staring into.

You didn’t fight him. That was the part that hurt the most.

He expected fury. He would’ve welcomed the worst of your vitriol because it was better than this lifeless resignation. As if you'd already decided that you should have died.

Still, he touched you, tentative at first, expecting to be struck. Cradled your cheeks between his scarred palms, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t even seem to notice you were shedding. He murmured your name like a mantra, forehead pressing to yours, letting his voice tremble with all the apologies he didn’t know how to shape into words.

And you just let him. For one suspended heartbeat, you let him in.

Your stare was empty, gaze sliding past him like a spectre, but then you focused. Met his eyes.

“Red,” you rasped. "Why..."

A name he used to wear like armour. A name you’d once said in jest, in irritation, in sleepy fondness, curled up in the cocoon of your mismatched apartment.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

“Jason,” he whispered. “It’s Jason. Call me Jason.”

He didn’t have anything else to give you. No house with a picket fence. No promises. No future carved from stability or peace. But he could give you this. Himself. Stripped down, unmasked, unhidden.

“I don’t want your pity,” you repeated.

You refused to say his name, and he didn’t let it show, how that sliced clean through him. How it burned like acid in the hollow of his chest. He’d taken bullets more gently than that omission.

He might’ve laughed if his lungs could move. Pity? You thought that’s what this was?

God. If only it were that easy.

No, this wasn’t pity. This wasn’t some obligation born of guilt. If it were, he wouldn’t have kept orbiting your apartment like some tragic satellite. Wouldn’t have looked for excuses to linger at the bodega you liked. Wouldn’t have memorized the light in your kitchen window during certain hours. Wouldn’t have felt the earth tilt whenever he caught you sitting at the table, staring absently at his old chair, a steaming cup left untouched across from you like a shrine.

It wasn’t pity when you handed him a mug, your fingers brushing his, and he spent the next three days wondering if you’d noticed how hard he swallowed. It wasn’t pity when, in the pitch-dark silence of a blood-soaked rooftop, he thought only of you. Your laughter. Your sighs.

It wasn’t pity when he walked past that bookstore you liked, the one with the crooked shelves and sleepy cat in the window, and found himself wishing he'd taken you up on your offer to accompany you on one of your many visits. He still had an annotated copy of your favourite novel, a sticky note with your handwriting in the margins: “This part reminded me of you.”

And it certainly wasn’t pity when every fight he picked, every near-death brawl he barely walked away from felt a little colder without your voice in his ear, grounding him.

It wasn’t pity. It was you.

And he hated that it had taken almost losing you to realize that he was not better off without you in his life.

He reached up again, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with the gentleness of someone afraid you’d shatter if he touched you wrong. His other hand smoothed the wrinkle between your brows as if he could erase even one fraction of your hurt.

Then, forehead to yours, he declared it like a vow. Maybe if he was sincere enough, the universe might spare you both.

“Not pity. Never pity. I swear it.”

Jason Todd had never known grace. Not the kind whispered in the hush of cathedral pews or sung in the devout voices of choirs beneath vaulted ceilings, but if it ever existed, he imagined it wore your face.

You were a prayer he had no right to say, but he uttered your name like one anyway, each syllable pressed to the roof of his mouth like a secret devotion. In a life stitched with broken psalms and carmine confessions, you were the only thing untouched. A quiet sanctity in the middle of his ruin.

He wasn’t meant for soft things. His world was serrated edges and retribution, bruised knuckles and smoke-stained silence. But you were something else entirely. You were Sunday morning light through grimy windows. The stillness after the storm. The first inhale after nearly drowning. He would have knelt at your feet if he thought it could keep you safe. Would have bled himself dry if it meant you’d never bleed again.

Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was the height of blasphemy, to look at something so good and want it for himself. But the ache in him wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t even lust. It was longing, bone-deep and soul-starved. The reverent need to shelter you. To stand between you and the world’s worst cruelties, like an archangel guarding the last holy thing he’d ever know.

He didn’t deserve you. He knew that much. Jason had clawed his way back from the grave with dirt in his lungs and vengeance in his veins, not love. And yet, he wanted to believe that wanting could make it so. That yearning, in its purest form, might be enough to rewrite a man’s fate. Maybe wanting something so fiercely meant you could deserve a piece of it.

Maybe for once in his godless life, he would get to have something and keep it. Maybe that something could be you.

Something inside you broke the moment his fingers combed through your hair, like each strand was spun from gold and he feared his touch might undo you entirely. His hands quivered as they cupped your face, and it felt like he was trying to will you whole again through sheer desperation.

Then he gave you his name, and you felt everything go motionless, like the wind outside had paused mid-gust, like the ache in your ribs had dulled just for a moment, stunned into silence.

Jason.

It wasn’t a name you had guessed at. He had always been Red Hood to you, a shadow at your window, never quite real, never entirely yours.

But Jason?

Jason was human. Jason was a name carved in soft syllables, not the hard edges of the mask he wore. It was a name that felt like the sun on concrete after the rain. Solid. Honest. A name you could say in the dark and know someone would answer.

You held the syllables on your tongue like a secret. God, it fit so achingly well, like it had always been stitched into the seams of your life, waiting to be revealed.

And when he said it—“It’s Jason. Call me Jason.”—it wasn’t a demand. It was a gift. His truth, stripped bare, handed to you like an apology wrapped in longing. You hadn’t asked for it, but he had given it anyway, and now you knew it. Now it was yours. You never wanted to let it go.

The tears came hard and fast after that, like a dam rupturing, and you collapsed into him with the weight of it all. Your grief, your fear, the loneliness that had become a second skin. It spilled out in great heaving sobs that made your bruised insides scream in protest. Nonetheless, you sobbed, gasping for breath as though your lungs no longer remembered how to hold air.

Jason, as always, caught you.

His arms wrapped around you like armour, and you felt the tremble in them too. He held you not as if you were fragile, but as if he might fall apart if he let go. You hated yourself for clinging, for staining his shirt with tears, for taking up space in a life like his, like an old ornament someone had meant to throw out. You thought he’d pull away. You thought he should.

But he never did.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, choking on the words.

“Hey, none of that, now” he murmured into your hair. “You don’t apologize to me. Ever.”

Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, the scent of smoke and rain and something inherently him grounding you. “I didn’t want to be a bother. You said to let you go.”

Jason pulled back just enough to see your face, his thumb brushing beneath your eyes. His own shone with something terrible and beautiful—grief, regret, reverence. He shook his head, jaw clenched like it hurt to speak.

“You came?” you rasped. “You really came?”

He swallowed. “Of course, I came. You were supposed to call me. That’s what the number was for.” He held up the burner phone like it was a relic.

You looked away, the shame unbearable. “Didn’t want to be… a burden. You said—”

“I know what I said. And I was a goddamn idiot for it. I’m sorry. I can’t be sorry enough.”

“Yeah but—”

“You’re not a bother,” he affirmed, fiercely now. “Not to me. Not ever. You call me—any hour, any day—I will come. In a heartbeat. I don’t care where I am, who I’m with. I will always come for you.”

"Oh."

Held you tighter then, whispering your name like it was holy. Like you were something worthy. Something his.

“I’ve got you,” he professed, over and over again. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I swear it.”

And for once you let yourself believe it.

When your breathing finally slowed, you felt his arms move beneath you, one under your legs, the other steady at your back. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing at all, tucking you back into bed with a tenderness that made your chest throb all over again, but this time for a different reason entirely.

You blinked blearily at him, just in time to see him pick up something from the bedside table. A mug, steam curling faintly from the surface.

“Made you tea," he indicated. "Though it’s probably shit.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. It felt foreign on your face like it belonged to someone else.

“Thank you.”

He gave you a nod, awkward and a little unsure. Then he turned as if to leave, and you panicked at the sight. You reached out, not even grabbing him properly, just the ghost of your fingers brushing his wrist. Regardless, he stopped like you’d tethered him with chains. The expression on his face was hopeful, like a man on the edge of salvation. It was almost too much to bear.

“Will you stay?”

For a second, he said nothing. You felt the fear rise, a tide ready to swallow you whole. Maybe you’d pushed too far. Maybe this was where he decided it wasn’t worth it after all.

But then, he nodded. His shoulders relaxed, eyes softening as if he couldn’t believe you wanted him here. That you chose him.

He sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating through the space between you. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline, or maybe it was the rawness still bleeding at the edges of your soul, but the confession spilled out before you could stop it.

“Thank you... I’m glad you came. I didn’t... I didn’t want to die. I was—”

Scared. You were scared. You had been terrified of dying alone, with no one to mourn you, with no one to even remember that you had existed. Just another blemish on the tapestry of the city.

Before you could finish, Jason pulled you gently to him, your head finding the cradle of his shoulder like it had always belonged there. His arm wrapped securely around you, grounding you, steadying your breath. You closed your eyes, lulled by the beat of his heart beneath your cheek, the solid presence of him where the void had been.

And when you were just about to slip into sleep again, you felt it—or thought you did. The softest press of lips against your temple, so light it could’ve been a dream. All of tonight might as well have been a dream, one you never wanted to wake up from.

But his words? Those were real. They etched themselves into your mind with a gravity that no dream could hold.

“I will never let anything happen to you ever again.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #red hood #dc fanfic #dc comics #dc universe #batfamily #batfam

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thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 1 month ago

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And I will search for you (in every home I've ever made)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.5k

genre: fluff, comfort

warnings: it's soft, it's sweet, it's about building a home

a/n: pls enjoy this I did not really edit it

Jason wakes, these days, to cracks of sunlight spilling through the edges of his blackout curtains, little beams of brightness twisting into him and covering him in something warm. By the time he rolls over, always, throwing his arm across the empty space in bed next to him, it's cold, the pillows stacked neatly and the blankets pulled up and tucked around him.

The first time it had happened since he came back to you, it had startled him a bit too much - the realization of someone moving around him in his sleep, the feeling of waking up with things just a little bit different than they'd been when he fell asleep. Like most things these days, it was a slow, gentle process - to accept the kindness that comes with this new life of his.

He'd been awake one morning, just barely, keeping his eyes closed and his body relaxed. Crawling into bed with you in the early, barely-there light of the morning, aching from a night of stalking the streets as Redhood, he only ever gets a few hours of being with you - of feeling you roll over and curl up against him, pressing your palm against his chest to feel his steady, calming heartbeat. And then you wake fully, eventually, pulling yourself away from him slowly to rise for your own day.

But one morning he'd stayed awake, just enough to notice you - just enough to take note of how carefully you eased yourself away from him, afraid of waking him up and disturbing what little sleep he gets. Jason had felt it, then, the way you pulled the sheets and blankets up over his shoulders and the way you smoothed a hand through his hair. He'd noticed it, then, the feather-light kiss that you placed on his forehead before leaving, shutting the door behind you to keep in the quiet - to keep his little halo of peace intact.

He'd found, many hours later, that it didn't startle him so much to wake up alone with the pillows rearranged and the room not quite how he'd left it. He'd found that it felt a bit more like love, and that felt a bit more familiar than he ever realized it could.

So he finds that it's easier, on days like these, to rise slowly and let the sleep leave him in lazy waves, rolling his shoulders as he stands from the bed and tugs the sheets up, smoothing them and fluffing the pillows before pulling open the curtains. The light is jarring, of course - always, the bright shine of the city blowing over him and haloing him in a golden glow. It's abrupt, always, but he finds that it's a bit welcome these days.

And Jason finds, on days like these, that the only thing he needs to search for is you. He wanders out through the apartment and he finds, in a startlingly comforting sort of way, that he knows you'll be here. You'll be in the kitchen making coffee, or in the living room flitting around idly, or out on the balcony on the phone. He knows that, if by some strange coincidence you're not here when he wakes up, there'll be a note left on the kitchen counter, a message scrawled in your looping, messy handwriting telling him where you are and when you'll be back.

Jason knows that you're here, even when you're out, because there's always something, just one small thing that you've left for him to remind him that he's not alone. Today, there's a box of pastries on the kitchen counter, the logo of your favourite bakery smiling at him like an old comfort, like a new routine. A hand brushes against his back and Jason finds that he doesn't start, doesn't flinch or move away from it. He just leans into it, your palm warm and smooth as it traces over his spine.

"Good morning," you murmur, and when you wrap your arms around him from behind, he lets you easily, sinking into the feeling of your hands now running across his abs as your forehead presses against his back.

"Good afternoon," Jason replies pointedly, but there's a smile that he can't quite stop as he spins in your hold, a hand coming up to cup the back of your head protectively as you press yourself against him.

"Morning for you," you point out easily, the feeling of his lips on the crown of your head a silent reassurance, a quiet comfort. "Have a croissant." Jason huffs out a laugh as you squirm out of his arms and turn toward the coffeemaker, leaving him to flip open the pastry box and poke around.

"You working from home today?" Jason asks quietly, the coffeemaker whirring on with a gentle hum that fills the space.

"Mhm," you nod, putting a plate in front of him as he picks up a croissant from the box. "Are you… staying in today? You should sleep a bit more."

"Yea, baby, I'm with you today," he confirms, and something warms in his chest at the soft smile that you send his way. You don't respond, but you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek, knowing that he'll slouch down so that you can reach - knowing that he'll bend for you. Then you pluck the croissant from his hand, placing it on the plate before disappearing with it in hand, his coffee balanced in your other palm.

And Jason just trails after you to the living room, following the feeling of something soft, of something loving, as you sit back down on the couch, nudging his mug across the coffee table and towards him.

"You can put some music on if you want," you say easily, and Jason thinks for a moment that maybe you haven't noticed - maybe you haven't caught on to the way he hovers in the doorway, like he's not sure how much of this is real, or how much of it is deserved. But then he blinks at you, and there's something kind and patient in your gaze that makes him want to fall to his knees and pray.

"Sure," he says gruffly, clearing his throat and moving to the record player that's tucked in the corner of the room, brushing his fingers along the spines of the vinyls as he looks through them. Some of them are old, faded and worn by years of loving touches. As he presses his fingers against the grooves, he can almost feel the familiar touch of your hands against his - worn down by your love. He'd asked you once why you don't replace the ones that have begun to tatter, and you'd smiled in a beaming way that only comes out every so often.

"Why would I?" you'd said. "It just shows which ones my faourites are - which ones are the most loved."

Now, Jason can see you from the corner of his eye - watching carefully, softly, something that feels a bit too gentle in your gaze as he reels just a bit too much from it all.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you offer as he chooses a record, low music filling the space between the two of you. He hums out something unintelligible in response, dragging himself over to sit next to you on the couch. There's photos on the wall as he passes - pictures of the two of you, of the places you've gone and the things you've seen. Signs of life, it always feels like. Signs of love.

As Jason eases himself into the spot next to you and you throw a blanket over his lap almost instinctually, he can't help but feel the weight of it all. The weight of home.

"Nothing to talk about," he mutters, and you just hum in understanding at his gruffness.

"Eat your croissant, then," you respond simply, and he wonders - not for the first time, how easy it is for you to build a home around the two of you. "I bought them because I know you like those ones," you continue, and he thinks, for once - in a jarring, world-tilting sort of way, that maybe he gets it.

"I love you," he blurts out, and you look at him quizzically for a moment, moving to adjust the blanket that he's tucked under. He reaches for you like he has to, and you let him smooth a wide, warm palm over your cheek.

"I love you, too," you offer freely. "Always."

Always, Jason thinks. And it feels a bit easier, wrapped up in all of this - in something soft and warm and reassuring, to believe it. It feel a bit easier to want it.

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igotanidea · 11 months ago

Text

Like a baby: Jason Todd x reader

Warning: a little nudity and a breast kink, but generally fluf.

***

Jason loved when his girl wore oversized shirts - preferably his - but truthfully, any piece of fabric that was too big for her would do.

He loved coming home to her - sleeping or awake and finding out that those layers of material slid down her shoulder, exposing her soft, smooth skin.

He loved to take the opportunity to trail soft kisses up her arm and alongside her neck, effectively making her forget about the book she was reading or the movie she was watching.

He absolutely adored when she bent and the shirt exposed a little more of her cleavage.

But he loved it most, when she decided to fight the oppression inclined on women in the form of a bra and either took it off after all day or just refused to wear it all together.

Because that made it so much easier for him to get to those prefectly luscious breasts with those perfectly pert, hardened nipples. It's almost as if that part of her were begging for his attention while she herself missed the subconscious signals of ner body neediness.

"Oh, princess, you know all you have to do it ask, right?" he hummed with a teasing smirk and mischevous glint in his eyes, leaning to whisper in her ear

"What are you--?"

The sentence on her lips died halfway through as Jason pushed her onto the couch, tugging her baggy shirt down, nuzzling his nose in between her curves.

There was in fact nothing sexual about it, at least not always.

Most of the time, he just needed that warmth, that touch of a femininity and the sense of peace coming with having her so close, without any barriers between them.

Her heartbeat, loud and steady, going at a different pace than when they were making love.

He never felt that closeness to woman when he was a baby, cause his mother was not really affectionate for so many reasons.

And now it was his chance to fix that negligence.

Only that instead of a mother, he got a woman of flesh and blood.

A woman who was ready to share her body with him, without shame or without sexual tension.

Letting him just feel and drift in space, filling all the blanks he's been missing his whole life.

Running fingers through his hair, while his head laid on her bare chest, between her boobs.

He was safe like a baby.

And it was a really good feeling.

A feeling he could definitely get used to.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd smut #red hood smut #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff

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babyy-blossom · 1 day ago

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Bed Hog or Blanket Thief

📌 DC men, masterlist

Damien Wayne

Neither. Why? He isn’t necessarily a big fan of cuddling. In his mind if he has his own blanket, and you have yours, why is cuddling needed.

Bruce Wayne

Accidental bed hog. Why? On busy nights after he’s done patrolling Gotham City, he has two things on his mind. A shower and sleep. When he’s finally into his nightwear, he’ll flop down on the bed without a second thought until he hears the squeak of you being squished underneath him.

Dick Grayson

Hogger of everything. Why? Well it started with pillows, then it started with blankets, until finally he had taken over the whole bed. Don’t worry, he sometimes wakes up, sees what he’s done, and pulls you closer under the covers and off the corner of the bed.

Jason Todd

Honestly, I don’t think he would do a lot of sleeping with you. Most of his night life is spent in the streets, not in bed. When he finally does come home, he’s too worn and ragged to take a shower and get into bed. Most nights he falls asleep on the couch.

Wally West

Pillow thief. Why? You know how some people have to have the tv turned on sleep? Well that’s him with pillows. He needs two pillows under his head to be able to fall asleep. They can’t be flat either. He will actually beat and fluff the pillows for 20 minutes straight until they are fluffed up enough for him. Also, I think he needs to be watching/listening to the tv in order to fall asleep.

Kyle Rayner

Blanket thief. Why? Just look at him. I just know he’s drowning for a hug, and because he’s more on the introverted side of things, he doesn’t really ask you much. However at night when you’re freezing and he’s hugging all the blankets close to him, you can see that he’s just a boy waiting for a hug from a place of love and warmth.

Roy Harper

What does he steal while sleeping in the same bed as you? Your vir—

Okay okay, alright. That’s enough of that.

The whole damn bed. That’s what he is a thief of. Why? He likes to starfish.

#damian wayne x reader #jason todd x reader #bruce wayne x reader #roy harper x reader #kyle rayner x reader #wally west x reader #dick grayson x reader

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athenagc94 · 10 days ago

Text

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 26

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

TW: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

First | Prev | Next

Chapter 26

When Jason came to, it felt like someone had wedged his head between two flat stones. His eyes threatened to pop from their sockets with all the pressure built behind them. A sharp pain lanced down his neck and into his arm, leaving it prickling with pins and needles. He grunted, peeling one eye open before attempting the same with the other eye. After a few blinks, his vision cleared.

Crisp blue light illuminated the Batcave. It came from monitors on the far wall. Always on, always running some test or data search in the background, even when no one was seated in front of it. It was cold. It had always been cold, but now that he was shirtless (how the hell did that happen), the chill sliced to the bone.

He attempted to sit up, but a pair of hands sleeved in clean white gloves stopped him. Alfred peered down at him, his face a perfect mask of professional stoicism.

At least, it appeared that way, but Jason had known him too long.

He caught the subtle pinch of concern around his mouth.

“Master Jason, it would be ill-advised to move until you are fully coherent.”

“What happened?” he slurred, “How did I—ah.” His neck muscle pinched. He fell back on the cot with a groan as it throbbed. “I feel like I was hit by a truck.”

“Yes. Fear toxin is known to cause muscle fatigue.”

“Wha?”

His memories came back in a rush. The telltale spike of adrenaline, hallucinations, old wounds ripped open—both literally and figuratively. He lifted his hands, noting the fresh bandages that covered his forearms. He felt the tug of stitches beneath them.

“Self-inflicted wounds,” he provided as if that would make Jason feel better.

It did not.

He flexed his fingers, wincing as the stitches pulled taut. “Ah.”

“Given the amount of toxin in your system, it’s a marvel you’re still with us at all.”

“My nightmares haven’t killed me yet.” He meant it as a joke, but from the unimpressed arch of his eyebrow, Alfred failed to see the humor of his statement. Jason licked his teeth. “How long have I been out?”

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last week.” Alfred draped a blanket over his bare chest. Its sudden warmth caused a full-body shiver that rattled the flimsy cot.

His mind raced. A week.

All that time. Gone.

Alfred cleared his throat. “You know he will want to speak with you.”

He meant Bruce, of course.

Jason pinched his brow to alleviate the pressure building behind it. “We all want things. Maybe this will teach the old man he can’t always get his way. God knows he could stand to gain some humility. I need to head out before—”

Alfred pinned him with a look that suggested this wasn’t a fight he would win. Because he would always take Bruce’s side, even when he was objectively wrong.

“Fine. He gets five minutes.”

“I shall inform Master Bruce of this metaphorical time limit and that you are eager to see him.” He fluffed his pillow as he passed. It was as close to paternal affection that Alfred would allow. “Welcome home.”

Home.

There was that word again.

It may have been at one point, or maybe not. He wanted it to be his home, desperately, but there had always been that lingering fear that Bruce might change his mind and kick him to the curb. He could never be fully comfortable because of it. These days, neither the cave nor the mansion were all that familiar. He shifted uncomfortably and muttered, “It’s good to see you too, Alf.”

Alfred headed up the stairs, offering him a brief reprieve before Bruce arrived. He finally mustered the strength to sit up, his stiff muscles screaming in protest as he did.

Directly across from him, the Robin memorial taunted him. His uniform had lost its vibrancy despite the airtight pod that displayed it. There was something grossly poetic about a faded relic of the very thing that used to bring him joy. The plaque beneath bore the words: A Good Soldier.

That was all he’d ever be good for, he supposed.

He looked away, focusing instead on the small table next to his cot. A fresh shirt awaited him, no doubt one of Bruce’s as he was to only one large enough to share clothes with him, along with his jacket and the keys to his motorcycle.

There was also a painted mini of a beholder.

Jason reached for it with a soft smile as he turned it over in his hands. He could make out the individual brushstrokes, deftly painted in a way that suggested hours of effort.

Duke left a sticky note on the bottom that read: You should play a D&D session with Tim and I (he plays a warlock—shocker). Also, please don’t die. I really need help with my college essay. Thx.

Jason snorted and set the mini aside before shrugging on the shirt and jacket, careful not to jostle the bandages on his arms. His phone sat under it, plugged into a charger. A hairline fracture bisected the screen, but the screen turned on despite it.

At least he had that going for him. He hated how often he needed a new phone in this line of work. Sometimes, he wondered if it was worth having one at all, especially with how little use it got. Well, before he met you, that is.

You.

Your showcase.

Devastation pitted his stomach. He missed it. It was supposed to be your night, and he’d abandoned you. All because he just had to be the hero. He just had to find Black Mask. Altruism required sacrifices. Heroes always got the short end of the stick. He’d learned that the hard way. It was moments like these he wondered if doing good was worth it.

God, how could he do that to you?

Jason expected texts, so when the first notification dropped, he didn’t think much of it. Two more followed, then six and twelve, and so on until he had nearly thirty missed calls and texts. He stared at his phone in disbelief.

One would have thought he died or something.

Scratch that.

He knew how people would react when he died, and this wasn’t how it went down. The topmost notification was a video message from Roy. A large brown eye greeted him when he tapped it. Lian angled the camera toward the ceiling giving him a perfect view up her nose as she turned over her shoulder. “Daddy, help.”

“Is it going?” Roy asked somewhere off camera.

The frame tilted violently on its side as Lian dropped the phone.

“Ah, shit.”

“Shit!” Lian squealed with delight.

“Princess, what did I tell ya about repeating my spicy words?”

“Only repeat them after Grandpa Ollie says them first.”

“Atta girl.” The phone righted itself, revealing Roy and Lian in a more flattering frame. Her hair was thrown back in uneven braids tied off with red bows. “Hey buddy. Word around the street is you had a rough couple of days.”

“Hi, Uncle Jay!”

Jason mirrored Roy’s fond smile as he ruffled Lian’s hair. “You know I woulda been out there looking for you too, but by the time word got to me, you’d already been found. I’m glad you’re alright. No one wants to bury you a second time.”

Lian tapped the camera with a pout. “When are you coming to visit? I miss you.”

“Princess, he can’t hear yo—”

The video ended abruptly as the phone fell.

His heart thundered. That was a fluke. He helped Roy when everyone else abandoned him. Of course, Roy would do the same for him at the drop of a hat. Some might even say Roy was his only friend.

Which wasn’t sad.

It was fine.

Having more than one friend sounded exhausting. Jason tried to ignore the weird gymnastics happening in his chest as he moved on to the voicemails. He had several, but the most recent was from Artemis. It had been a few months since he’d heard from her.

“We have been informed that you let somethings as ornery as a toxin borne of fear weaken your resolve,” Artemis began dryly and without preamble, “You would have lasted less than a day among the Amazons of Bana-Migdhall. There are many reasons for this, but for the purposes of this call, it is because—”

“Listen to her!” Bizzaro cut in, “She no worry about you.”

“That is gross accusation, Biz. Worrying would be an insult to his character. If we are to continue to stand behind him, I will not stoop so low as to coddle...”

Oh, yeah, she was definitely worried about him. Honestly, he was touched that Artemis cared enough to call, let alone pin him with one of her lectures.

“If our brave leader can get his shit together for five minutes, there are several clients seeking our expertise and they promise payment worthy of our time. I am not your secretary, Todd. Find the man with the black mask and get your ass back in the field.”

“We no miss you,” Bizarro chimed in once more, his cheeriness the perfect complement to Artemis’ bluntness. “We are no friends.”

“Yes, what he said,” she grumbled under her breath.

The voicemail ended there, and Jason didn’t know how to feel. Hearing from Roy was one thing, but Artemis and Bizarro weren’t the type to express their feelings outright. Well, Artemis wasn’t the type to express her concern outright.

What if he was still under the influence of the toxin? It was willing him to let down his guard so it could tear him down all over again. It was—

No.

He was safe.

He was present.

He shook out his hands before pressing them flat against the cot, mapping the texture on his palms as he sought to ground himself. It was cold. Enough to raise the hair on his arms and leave him shuddering. The cave smelled earthy, undercut with the faintest hint of metal and motor oil. Bats chittered overhead.

Once the ground felt a little more solid and the fear had receded, he moved on. The next voicemail was yours. That pocket in his stomach yawned as he clicked on the oldest message. It was from the night of the showcase.

“Hey.” Your voice cracked like you were on the verge of tears. “I tried to text you and no answer. I doubt this’ll be any different. You’re not here. I can only assume the worst, and I don’t know what to do. It’s not like I have other vigilantes on speed dial. I don’t know if you’re busy or dead or—”

You hesitated.

Jason buried his face in his hand and held his breath.

“I can’t help you and that realization is more terrifying than not knowing where you are. Call me when you can. If you can.”

He switched over to his messages, and sure enough, there were several texts from you that night.

Are you coming?

The showcase starts in ten minutes.

Where are you?

Are you safe?

He cycled through your voicemails, each of them more frantic than the last as you begged him to pick up the phone, to be safe, to give you a sign that he wasn’t bleeding out in a back alley somewhere.

Warm bile crept into his throat.

Your most recent voicemail was from two nights ago. It was crickets after that, so he fully expected this to be the message where you told him to go to hell. Jason hit play and prepared for the worst.

“Spoiler found me. You’ve been recovering from your injuries. She didn’t say it was bad outright, but she didn’t have to. I’m—” He released a shaky breath in tandem with you. “Find me when you can. Please, I need to see you with my own eyes to put my mind at ease.”

He set it aside before threading his fingers through his hair. There was only so much he could take, and hearing the unadulterated relief in your voice nearly broke him. As a personal rule, he refused to cry within a hundred yards of Bruce. Never mind that he’d already broken that rule a few days prior, but he was under duress, and didn’t know any better.

“She’s an excellent writer.”

Jason inhaled sharply as Bruce pulled up behind him.

“Her public speaking could use a little work, but that comes with experience. From my understanding she’s also a freshman in the program which means there’s plenty of time to hone her skills.”

“No idea what you’re talking ab—”

Bruce tapped a few keys on the keyboard, maximizing your file on the largest of the screens. Age, occupation, address, and everything else that a cursory search through his databases could piece together. He built a fucking case file on you. As he scanned the information, he noted that it didn’t have your favorite cafe order, or which book you read when you were feeling sad. All the little anecdotes that made you human.

It did, however, make his obstinacy a moot point. He caught his tongue between his teeth and waited for Bruce to continue.

“Polite too. I had the most enlightening conversation with her,” he said as he finally turned to face him. He wore a cashmere turtleneck and pressed slacks. His usual black on black. “She thanked me profusely for a scholarship I don’t remember signing off on.”

The light from the monitor made his eyes glow as they settled on him. Jason, despite all his bravado, looked away first. He could still feel the faintest hint of toxin clinging like burrs to his resolve, and Bruce only served to heighten its effects.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Straight to business, eh?”

“I was informed that I only had five minutes,” he countered.

“Fine. The money was there, collecting dust. It’s not my fault you never cared enough to do anything with it.” That was a low dig, but Jason couldn’t be bothered to care. Being around Bruce brought out the worst in him. The street kid in him believed if he acted exactly how he expected him to (i.e. antagonistically), it would hurt less than failing to prove him wrong. “I had to hear about it from Tim. Tim, of all people.”

“I’m aware of the role Tim played in this scheme. Believe me, he’ll become intimately familiar with Wayne Foundation and the good it does for the community for going behind my back like this.”

Jason made a face.

Why did that sound like a threat?

Bruce crossed his arms and continued, “I’m assuming Tim never told you why I didn't make it live?”

“He said he had a few guesses.”

“He would know better than anyone.”

Bruce let that hang in the air between them for several seconds. Jason’s knee bounced as he waited for Bruce to break the silence.

“Doing so would mean I accepted you were gone.”

And there it was. It was his turn to look away from Jason. His voice rumbled in his chest, more of a purr than actual words, but he heard it all the same. It came at him like a blow to the head, and Jason narrowly avoided impact as he steeled himself for this rare show of vulnerability. Moments like these rarely ended in a heartfelt reunion between father and son. He knew that much.

“I wasn’t ready. I still refuse to accept it some days.”

Acceptance was probably a hard step to hurdle when his dead son was currently sitting in front of him. Still, Jason refused to fall for this when all the evidence pointed to the contrary. They were estranged for a reason.

“And then I found out you were alive and...” He trailed off.

For that, Jason was glad. He’d heard enough.

“So, you’re upset I used your money for its intended purpose?”

Bruce sighed. “It’s not about the foundation. If this is how you want to use the money, so be it, but I would have liked to know. I looked like an idiot in front of this girl as she talked about letters and thanked me several times. If Babs hadn’t called me when she did, it could have ruined this persona I’ve worked years to craft.”

Of course, he found a way to make this about him.

Jason gritted his teeth. “I can’t tell if this is a lecture or your shitty attempt at reconciliation.”

“Both.”

“Weird flex, but alright.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Jason picked up the habit from him during his short stint living at the manor. He hated seeing Bruce do it now because it meant admitting he had influence over him, but the signs were there. “The fear toxin left your heart rate abnormally high, and you suffered major blood loss. I was lucky to find you when I did.”

“So, you’re looking for my gratitude?”

His nostrils flared. “In addition to the blood under your nails, we were able to identify a second strand of DNA. That of your attacker from that night.”

It seemed his attempt at a heart to heart was over, though his heart was far from softened by his father’s bland attempts to make nice. No one did a quicker one-eighty than Bruce “I’m uncomfortable with my emotions” Wayne.

“It was enough.”

That was probably the closest he’d get to hearing Bruce commend him, pitiful as that sounded. “Tim and Cass have spent the last few days following the person of interest. We believe we’re close to Black Mask. Once we find him, I’ll pass him off to you. Do as you see fit.”

That was... oddly generous of him.

One would think a control freak like him would want the final say about what happened to one of the largest crime lords in Gotham. “Where’s the catch?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The asshole absolutely did. “There’s no way you’re going to hand Roman Sionis to me when all this is said and done. What if I shoot him dead?”

He inclined his head. “Will you?”

Jason wanted to say ‘yes’, just to spite him, but it would be a lie, and he was tired of lies. Killing Sionis would be an act of mercy and after being dosed with fear toxin, Jason wasn’t feeling particularly merciful. He found unraveling his precious crime syndicate far more fun, but he would never admit that to Bruce.

“Can I go?”

Bruce bristled. “You’re welcome to stay. Alfred offered to make your favorite for dinner tonight.”

“I highly doubt he offered to make chilidogs.”

“Your favorite of his recipes,” he clarified.

As if that warranted clarification. He was trying to make a joke, but Bruce wouldn’t know what a joke was even when one bit him in the ass.

“It would mean a lot to him if you stayed.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Just him?”

“Hm.”

He never expected this meeting to end with a warm embrace and hot chocolate by the fire, but damn, give him something to work with. “As much as I would love to stay,” and Jason meant that with every drip of condescension he could muster, “I gotta go. Someone is expecting me, and I’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

Again, Bruce looked away, his attention shifting back toward the computer. He closed your file. “Ah, well, when will I... when will we...” He trailed off, unwilling to finish the question, but Jason knew what he was trying to ask.

He smirked. “We were going on nine months without speaking. How does another nine months sound?”

“Hm.”

Classic.

Jason stood, swiping his phone and keys from the side table. His vision wavered from his sudden verticality as he approached Bruce. In a show of charitable grace, Jason clapped him on the back as he passed and said, “You’ll see me around. Just stay the hell out of my territory.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

Ah, it was good to see the fear toxin hadn’t changed anything. No one said a relationship with his estranged father had to be perfect, and that was fine by him.

“Jason.”

He paused.

“I know I’m not—” His shoulders bunched around his ears as he stared at the monitors. “Family is—” He couldn’t finish that one either. It was like pulling teeth with him sometimes. Finally, he settled on, “I hope she forgives you.”

Jason nearly stumbled. How did he...?

Never mind. Stupid question.

“Yeah. Me too.”

***

An hour later, he arrived outside your complex. It was much later than was probably appropriate given the nature of the gravity of what he was going to share with you. Nothing good happened after 2 a.m., but he couldn’t hold off any longer. He approached the front door.

Not the fire escape, not the window, but the door like a civilized human being. If he was going to do this, he wanted to do it right.

He found your apartment number and buzzed the comm, his grip tightening around a fresh bouquet. There wasn’t a florist open at this time, so he had to settle for whatever the tiny bodega on the corner had to offer. White lilies. The funeral flower, which didn’t bode well for him, but it was the best he could find.

It still wasn’t enough to make this right, but he hoped you would at least appreciate the effort.

“Hello?” Your voice crackled through the intercom.

“Hey, it’s me. I—”

The door unlocked with a loud buzz. Jason jolted, his heart rate spiked, and he swore the shadows darkened with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Okay, so there were still some lingering effects from the toxin. Not great, but he was already here.

Jason steeled himself before pushing inside. It was time to face the consequences of his actions, no matter how the pieces fell.

You met him halfway up, dressed in mismatched socks and the yellow hoodie thrown over a ratty T-shirt and sweatpants. Before he could speak, you flung your arms around his neck. He caught you with one arm, the flowers head aloft in the other hand to avoid squishing them.

“You scared the shit out of me. Never do that again.”

He nearly burst into tears right there on the stairwell. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to be there.”

“Wha—” You drew back, confusion creasing your brow. “Are you talking about the showcase? Forget about that. I was told you got hurt. You went radio silent. For a week. That’s way more important than a stupid competition. Are you okay?”

You grabbed his cheeks. The injection site throbbed as you threw his head this way and that to assess the damage. From your perspective, he would look fine. His jacket hid the bandages, while the bruise from the injection site barely peeked out from beneath his collar.

“I’ve gone through worse.”

Your expression soured. “Forgive me if that fails to rouse any sort of relief in me.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

He set you down, albeit reluctantly, his hand still resting on the small of your back. Now that you were here, in his arms, he could think of a million reasons why coming clean would put this moment in jeopardy and that left his teeth on edge.

Why would he ruin a good thing?

Or was it already ruined?

Tainted by his lies.

“Do you want to come in?”

Jason shook himself from his stupor. No. He had to do this. For both of your sakes. “Lead the way.”

He followed you up the stairs until you reached your apartment. Textbooks and loose leaf lay scattered across the coffee table and floor. Your place smelled vaguely of Chinese food.

His stomach clenched around nothing. It was feeling he knew all too well, though he hadn’t felt it in a while. He tried to avoid going hungry if he could help it.

As if sensing his discomfort, you asked, “Are you hungry?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s your food.”

“I bought extra. Just in case.”

In case he arrived.

You’d been waiting for him. Now that he was here, he had no idea how to start. His gaze fell to the bouquet. Flowers. He had flowers. Death flowers, but flowers, nonetheless. He offered them to you.

“I bought flowers for your showcase. They died, and this was all I could find at—”

You cracked a small smile as you kissed his cheek. “I love them.”

Relief washed over him. “Oh, thank God.”

You set them aside, your expression turning more serious. In the silence that followed, expectation began to form and he shied from it. He stared at you, and you stared right back. Someone needed to break the tension, and try as he might, it couldn’t be him.

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

He forced himself to breathe. “Thanks.”

“I thought you were dead.”

Woof. That was one why to start things off. He didn’t blame you, of course. How could you know it wasn’t his first brush with death? Nor would it probably be his last. “The reaper would have to catch me first.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized it was in poor taste, but he was desperate to lighten the mood before it smothered him. Your mouth pulled taut. “If Spoiler hadn’t found me, I would still think you were dead. I wasn’t ready to grieve you. I’m still not.”

Bruce said the same thing, but your admission endeared him more than Bruce’s did. You didn’t hide your pain, but it was misplaced. You had every right to be upset with him. He missed your big night. He let you down, but you were focusing on him instead. This interaction would be easier to stomach if you were angry.

Anger was easy. It was familiar. Your soft affection and concern left him unsteady. Jason gripped the back of one of your dining chairs to keep the room from spinning. “It’s a hazard of the job unfortunately. I’m going to get hurt.”

“I understand that,” you said slowly, “but I don’t want to sit around every night waiting for confirmation that you’re alive every time you take to the streets. Is that selfish?”

No, it was completely valid. You had every right to want what he took for granted. His other romantic partners had been fellow vigilantes like him. They knew the risks, but they also had the means to communicate with other vigilantes,

“I know. I feel awful about the way things panned out.”

“Jacob.” Your voice was gentle, but that name left him reeling. “I’m not saying this to make you feel bad about yourself. I’m trying to…”

See me.

Jacob.

Say my name.

Jacob.

Liar.

There was only so much more he could take before—

“Jacob!”

He jumped as he refocused on your face. You stared at him with your hands planted on your hips. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

His heart crept into his throat. “I-I’m sorry, love.”

You sighed. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re not in trouble. I’m not upset that you missed the showcase. I know you wouldn’t have left me alone like that without a good reason.“

He ducked his head, ashamed.

“I mean, yeah, it sucks, but I can tell you’re distraught enough for the both of us. No need to rub salt in a wound that I’ve already patched up. I’m worried about you. Can you at least tell me what happened? I couldn’t get any details from Spoiler.”

“I was dosed with fear toxin.”

That was one way to steer the conversation in the right direction.

“Don’t worry,” he insisted when you didn’t respond, “It’s not my first time.”

Your glare sent a shiver racing down his spine. “Again, that doesn’t make me feel better. Why didn’t you say anything? What did you—” You shook your head, seeming to think better of that question. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real. None of it was real.”

“It felt real,” he admitted softly, “It also put things into perspective for me. I haven’t been honest with you.” He searched your face to gauge your reaction. Your expression remained carefully neutral as you waited for him to continue. “I didn’t want to talk about certain things because I’m afraid of how you’ll react, but I know it’s not fair to you. If only you knew the things I…”

Jason was getting ahead of himself.

He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Fuck, why is this so hard?” he mumbled under his breath. Words failed him. Where you were concerned, that always seemed the case.

There had to be a way to ease his confession.

His hand fell to the zipper on his jacket.

“It might be easier if I showed you,” he said as he dragged it down, “Can I?”

“You don’t have to do this.” But he did, and you seemed to realize it too as you studied his face. He prayed he looked more confident than he felt. Probably not. Definitely not. But he’d spent enough time stalling. With another sigh, you amended, “Take all the time you need.”

He shrugged off his jacket and let it fall at his feet. Your gaze fell to the bandages on his arms—crisp white now dotted with pink. A muscle in your jaw tightened as your frown deepened, but you said nothing. Good. He might have lost his nerve if you did.

He rolled up the sleeve on his right arm to reveal a jagged scar on his bicep. “I got this one on Dinosaur Island.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Aptly named. I narrowly avoided becoming dinosaur food while on a case with my fellow mercenaries. We call ourselves the Outlaws. There’s a lot of reasons for that, but it’s mostly because we’re the rejects of our families.” And yes, he used air quotes for that word.

“The Outlaws?” you echoed.

“It was my idea.”

You almost smiled. “What are you doing?”

“I’d rather read a story than tell my own, but my scars do a better job at telling it for me.”

He walked you through each of them as if they were chapters in one of his books. A bullet wound in his hip. Courtesy of Black Mask, who got lucky during one of their earlier tussles. A mangled scar on his shoulder where one of Penguin’s goons got him with a serrated knife. He had a lot of bullet scars. Some stories were more interesting than others, and for some it was easier to say that the rogues of Gotham loved to see him riddled with holes.

He earned them.

They were his.

He wasn’t ashamed—not of the ones he’d shown off thus far.

You listened patiently, his stories eventually leading you both to sit on the couch as he found his groove. With each new scar, it became more apparent why he was doing it. He hoped every other story would soften the blow when it came time to discuss the autopsy scar. That’s when he would tell you his real name. From there, you would likely have questions, and he expected the truth about the letters would soon follow.

Soon only one scar remained.

He swallowed thickly as he pulled up his shirt to reveal the Y-shaped incision. “And this one—”

You stopped him. “That’s enough. You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” he insisted, “I need you to see me. I need you to know who I am.”

“But I already see you.”

You cupped his cheek and brushed your thumb over the scar on his cheek. Again, he could feel the toxin rear its ugly head. He was terrified of what came next. He couldn’t bear to see you turn your back on him.

Not again.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

“What?”

“I see a man who’s had a hard life. Too hard, if you ask me, but he’s still here. He’s living and breathing,” Your hand drifted down his neck and over the pulse point that hammered faster than it reasonably should. His vision narrowed with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Every instinct told him to run, but he was pinned in place by the gentle stroke of your fingers. “It means he’s done something right.”

Jason pressed his forehead to yours, hoping to find strength in the certainty that oozed from every facet of your being. “But there’s so much you don’t know.”

“I know, and we have time to figure out which pieces of your past matter to us. It doesn’t define you. All that matters to me is right here.” You flattened your palm over his heart. “I’ve seen the good in you, even if you don’t believe it’s there. I’ll keep reminding you until you do.”

“But—”

“I don’t want you doing this because the toxin told you to.”

His argument crumbled like debris with your declaration. The toxin didn’t help the situation. It was still there. He hadn’t escaped it. Not yet. When he looked at you, all he could think of was the disgust on your face as you called him a liar.

“That’s not the reason I’m doing this,” he insisted weakly.

“Then what is?”

“Because I need to.”

Before this went any further. Before he tumbled too deep into the abyss that was you. He opened his mouth, but the words refused to come out.

My name is Jason Todd.

I came back from the dead and found you.

It was my scholarship to give.

You’ve been writing me letters this whole time.

I chose you.

“I thought you were dead,” you pressed, “Grieving you was one of the worst feelings I ever had to experience. I don’t need you to list the reasons why I should hate you because I don’t. Quite the opposite, in fact.” You gave him a hard look that conveyed what went unsaid, but he was too focused on the words that refused to come from his mouth.

This was too much. He didn’t deserve your grace. You would think twice once you learned the truth, and that terrified him.

Jason removed your hands from him and stood.

You sank back on the couch with a broken expression. “Jacob?”

“I’m not—”

I’m not Jacob.

Say it.

His confession died on a wheeze.

“I need a second.” He aimed for the bathroom and closed the door before you could argue with him. It was comically small for a man as large as he was. Various soaps and candles littered the shelves on the walls. He tried to find comfort in its familiarity, but he couldn’t.

He approached the sink and turned it on. Cold water pebbled his skin as he splashed it in his face.

He could do this.

He had to.

And he would.

For a second, he almost believed that was true.

---------------------

It's gotta get worse before it gets better. Trust the process.

Don't be too mad at Jason. He's trying his best. And he's frightened.

---------------------

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to-the-stars8 · 6 months ago

Text

Reviving Love

Jason Todd x Reader Chapters AO3

Chapter 13

“So,” you said into the phone as you looked out the window. There was a hint of a coy smile on your face. “When do I get to see you again?”

You heard Jason chuckle on the other end of the line before saying, “Obsessed with me already, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, as you sat on the window sill. “But, seriously, it's nearly been a week since I saw you.”

Two weeks ago, Jason asked you to be his girlfriend officially, which was great. He was everything you had hoped for in a boyfriend; attentive, kind, sexy, and overall just a good guy. The only downside was that he worked a lot and was a bit secretive about a few things. It did raise a couple of red flags, but it wasn’t enough for him to put you off.

“Look across the street, sweetheart, ” Jason said into the phone.

You did and saw him there. He waved at you with a big grin on his face, and in his other hand, he held up a bouquet of roses. Happily, you told him to come over and started down toward the entrance of your building. Embracing him, you gave him a big kiss on the cheek, before taking his hand to lead him up to your apartment.

“You really didn’t have to get these,” You said as you shut the door behind you. Putting the roses up to your nose you took in the smell, before pulling a vase from one of the cabinets. “Thank you, Jason.”

“Don’t thank me, please. Your smile is thank you enough.” He winked at you as he took the flowers out of your hand. Damn, you thought, you wondered what planet he had come from to be so perfect. Jason started unwrapping the roses and cutting their stems for you. “Have you eaten yet? I could order something for us if you like.”

“No, no, I’m okay,” You said, looking up at him. He was so beautiful. All you wanted to do was pull him into you. “How was work?”

You didn’t know what his work was exactly, but, from what little he told you, he worked in trade. After a few moments, he answered, “It was work. You know what they say, sweetheart, another day, another dollar.”

“Another day, another dime, you mean.” You mumbled as you put the cut roses into the vase. You admired them, fingers reaching out to feel the soft petals as you carried the vase into the living room to place in the center of the coffee table. “They look perfect.”

You turned to Jason, who was suddenly standing behind you, and put your hands on his chest. You asked for a kiss and he shyly complied. Looking at him, you would have never suspected that a man who looked like he could be in Blackgate and run it could be so cute. When you went in for another he had started to pull away but stopped short when he noticed you moving.

He quietly said, “Oh,” before leaning down to meet your lips again.

Jason was a sweet kisser, you realized. He was attentive to all the smallest details—he never dared get too close, waited for you to pull away and initiate, and, finally, always studied you for anything you might give away with a look. Touching his cheek, you thanked him again for the roses before urging him to take off his coat.

“Make yourself at home, babe,” you said, taking his coat off his shoulders. “You know the saying, mi casa es su casa.”

Jason sat awkwardly as he watched you run about your apartment. First, you cleaned the coffee table, then you made him a cup of coffee and followed that up with fluffing up his pillows. You were pushing books out of the way, and he realized that you must have been in the middle of organizing your bookshelf.

You were setting down a glass of water for yourself, when Jason said, “Sit down, I came over here to hang out, not to watch your ass run about.”

If he had been any other man, you would have smacked him for talking to you like that. You hated to admit it, but you liked his rough tone and the way he hit the spot next to him for you to sit. When you sat, he inched a bit closer to you with the hesitance of a teenage boy on a first date. It was astounding how he could be so virginal one minute and the next ooze fuck boy charm.

After a second consideration, you decided to give him a bit more than he would have anticipated. You were sitting turned toward him, leaning against his arm that was slung on the back of the couch, and slowly reached up to touch his chest. As you did, you moved your face closer so he could kiss you again as his hand slid down toward the belt of his pants.

Jason caught your wrist. “What’re you…” He cut himself by pressing his lips to yours.

Your tongue darted across his bottom lip, encouraging them to part. When he let out a gasp, you took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. You felt Jason’s grip on your wrist tighten and you took that opportunity to press closer to him. His lips were chapped, and you could taste the tiny bit of cigarette still on them. He was getting you addicted to the flavor.

Jason said your name when you parted briefly for a breath, and you couldn’t help yourself. You took your hand from him to cup his cheek before pulling him to you. Jason welcomed it, moaning into the kiss, and that’s when you stopped.

“Jason,” You whispered against his lips. You didn’t want to give him too much. Instead, you pressed gentle kisses into his neck. As you did so, you noticed him slowly trying to pull a decorative pillow on his lap. You smiled against his neck before moving your nose to bump against his. “I need to finish re-organizing my bookcase, would you like to help or watch my ass do it?”

“I’ll…” He could hardly begin his sentence. You watched as his eyes flickered down to the pillow in his lap. “I’ll watch.”

“Okay.”

Getting up, you picked up book after book, striking up a conversation with him like you hadn’t just given him a hard-on. After a couple of deep breaths and thinking about literally anything else, Jason managed to calm down. He eventually started to engage in the conversation, finding himself liking you more and more with every word you spoke.

His eyes looked around at the books on the floor, taking in the titles that gave him hints of you. Right at his feet was an old copy of Persuasion. Upon first glance, he could tell it was slightly old and well-read. The corners of the paper-back were a little furled, the spine was severely creased, and the pages had started to yellow. Picking it up, he opened it to see his own handwriting on the title page.

Could I persuade you to go out with me? - JT

Jason couldn’t help but cringe. He was going to put the book down before something slipped out from the pages. A picture of the two of you fell onto the pillow on his lap. It was a homecoming photo. In it, he was wearing a black tux that Alfred had tailored for him and you were in a sparkly blue dress. The smile the two of you had was bright and sweet, and Jason remembered you quietly urging him to kiss him. He could remember that from under the bleachers, he could still hear the sound of music and his heart thumping in his chest. When you leaned in to kiss him, Jason felt his hands shake slightly from the nerves.

“Wasn’t I a cute kid?” Your voice cut through the memory. He looked up at you before nodding in agreement.

“Who’s…uh, who’s the kid? He looks familiar,” Jason asked as he handed you the picture and book.

You took it with a smile, admiring the photo before putting it back into the book and shoving it on the shelf. “That’s my first boyfriend. He’s a Wayne kid which might be why he looks familiar. His paper was in the newspaper for a minute after he died.”

Jason was a little hurt by the way you talked about him like he was some indifferent topic in a long conversation. It reminded him that, to the people he once knew, he was gone. Jason knew he shouldn’t have expected anything less, and had told himself a million times that you weren’t going to be stuck over some little high school romance. Life would move on after his ended, but he didn’t want to be an offhand comment or little article.

Jason suddenly needed to move and picked up some of the books on the floor. “Where do you want them?”

“Um, romance books are going on the second shelf and history books on the third,” You said as you slid another book in place. As Jason put up the books, you asked, “What’s your favorite book?”

“I know some assholes might say it's girly, but I like Pride and Prejudice,” Jason admitted. “It was the first book I picked up at the local library. How about you?”

You smiled before tapping the rough spine of Persuasion. “Looks like we both got a taste for romance.” Jason’s heart fluttered and he smiled at you.

Maybe the half-agony and half-hope hadn’t been something only he had felt.

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sanguineterrain · 2 years ago

Note

ooohh werewolf!Jason with the prompt "you make me feel so safe" is giving my brain the good tinglies

hell yeah werewolf jay!!! hope u like aud <3

werewolf!jason todd x gn!reader. fluff, werewolf shift, wolf form, jason being worried about hurting the reader (ofc he doesn't tho he's my honeybunch sugarplum).

i rb all fics to @sanguinelibrary | requests are open!

****

"Are you sure you want me here tonight?"

Jason stands at the doorway, looking unsurely at the pile of pillows, blankets, and your clothing that you've constructed into a semblance of a nest on your bed.

"Of course I do," you say, fluffing a pillow. "What side d'you want?"

Jason frowns harder and takes a step back. "I think I should go home tonight. I don't—what if I... what if something happens? What if I hurt you?"

"You won't hurt me, baby," you tell him, and draw the blinds closed. "You never have, remember? Batman monitored you when you came back."

"A hundred other things could go wrong—"

"And we've planned for that, Jay," you say gently. "But it's unlikely, remember? It's just like any other shift."

It's quiet for a long time. You finish setting up, until Jason speaks again.

"I'm so ugly."

You turn in alarm. "What? Jay, what are you—"

"I'm not one of those TV wolves you see on Animal Planet. I came back wrong. I'm scarred and my eyes glow horribly and I've got big teeth and a-a monster's face, and—"

"Hey." You put your hands on his face. His eyes slip closed and he leans into your touch. You rub your thumbs in circles on his cheeks.

"You're not a monster, Jason," you say, the very word upsetting you. "I don't care what you look like, alright? You don't scare me. You make me feel so safe, actually. Doesn't matter what form you're in."

His eyes fly open. "I don't wanna lose you," he says desperately.

"Oh, honey. Is that what you've been worried about? Jay, this isn't going to change anything between us. Even if something goes wrong, you won't lose me."

Jason stares longingly over your shoulder, at the bed. You smile and tug his hands.

"C'mon, we'll get comfy."

Jason stops at the edge of the bed. It's close.

"If something happens, don't hesitate," he says. "Protect yourself."

"It's alright," you soothe, reaching to run your hand through his hair. "Everything will be fine, Jay."

The shift is quicker than you expect. The moon rises to its highest point and there's the crack of bone and muscle, something that Jason assured you didn't hurt but you're still doubtful.

He's big as a wolf, bigger than his human self. It's true, he doesn't look exactly like a traditional wolf.

For a moment, when his eyes land on yours, your heart skips a beat. You understand who you've just entrusted your life with.

Jason tips his head uncertainly, and backs up. You reach out a hand.

"It's okay," you whisper. He'd told you his senses are on overdrive in this form. "Jay, it's okay. C'mon up."

Despite his size, the bed only creaks a little bit. Jason herds you to the center of the bed and then completely curls around you. His tail hangs off of the bed. You're dwarfed in his fur. You can tell he's trying hard to be as gentle as possible. He still hasn't relaxed, obviously waiting for the tiniest hint for you to push him away. The thought breaks your heart.

You wrap your arms around his neck and push your face close to his snout, nuzzling his head. Jason whines softly.

"No one I'd feel safer with," you whisper, and kiss the patches of scarred skin that have no fur. "And y'know what? You're way better than those Animal Planet hacks."

Jason chuffs, warm breath fanning your ear, and you squirm at the tickle. You burrow deeper into him, and Jason hesitantly accepts you, finally letting himself relax.

Jason keeps you warm the whole night.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fanfiction #werewolf jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #werewolf red hood #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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lunallaa · 1 year ago

Text

||calling him by his first name||

gotham knights!jason todd x gn!reader

{not edited/proof read please excuse any errors♡}

You honestly didn't even realize that you said it. It was one of those rare late nights where Jason was out on patrol, and you were stuck back home at your shared apartment, struggling to fall asleep ever since he had left for the night. Normally after a long day of work and errands like today sleep came easy, you'd take a hot shower maybe have a cup of that tea Jason buys specifically to help with sleep, and then gather you and the new kitten the two have recently adopted and sleep until he came home. Tonight however, was a different case. No amount of tossing and turning, fluffing your pillows, cups of tea, or white noise playing on your phone could help you sleep.

Thankfully after however many(few) hours your body must've finally realized that you were in fact tired and in need of sleep cause when you woke up next, it was to your kitten stirring and loudly meowing at the bedroom door. Jason was finally home, and from the sounds of things he had just put away his gear from patrol and was making his way to your shared bedroom. You were always confident in your boyfriend and his family's capabilities at what they do, that you never exactly feared one of them never coming home, but it always filled you with such relief and peace whenever he walked through that door. Most times he's worn down and maybe nursing an injury but he's in one peice.

“Welcome home Jason.”

You had barely managed to say it in an audible enough volume with how much sleep and exhaustion you were fighting off. Despite that, it was clear he had heard you anyways. Through half lidded eyes struggling to remain open for more than a few seconds at a time you saw him pause from loving on your kitten almost as if you had told him something ridiculous and he was taking a moment to process it. It wasn't until you had registered his silence lasting longer that it should've for a moment like this, that you started to sober up from you sleepy state and turn your full attention to him.

“What's the matter-”

“Are you mad at me?”

“What are you tal-”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Jason-”

“You're mad at me.”

With a huff you push yourself up and remove yourself from the plush warm covers and expose yourself to the surprisingly cold air of your bedroom as you sit and stare at your boyfriend who stands holding your cat just a few feet from you staring back at you.

“Why would I be mad?”

“You called me Jason.”

You're tempted to crawl right back under your blankets. For how large and scary your boyfriend tends to be, when it comes to you he can be so silly and endearingly pathetic. You will admit that you hardly ever call him by his first name after the first few months of dating and it had only been petnames and nicknames since. Both of your first names were a rare occurrence in your household with how disgustingly in love and sappy the two of you were.

“You're worried cause I called you…your name?”

“You never call me just Jason and you know that.”

“You're an idiot” he's your idiot.

The slight tension in his shoulders immediately deflates as he feigns a dramatic gasp and covers your kitten's ears as if you said a very nasty swear at the two of them.

“How could you say that in front of our daughter! Do you know how damaging it will be for her to see her parents fight?”

“Well seeing as she's only been home for a month and walked in on her parents being very loving with each other more times than we can count on both of our hands combined, I'd say she'll be just fine.”

With the tension fully dissipated now and the both of you all giggles and love sick smiles, Jason walks over to where you sit in bed and plops the kitten on your lap before kissing you softly. The sneaky bastard tries to heaten the moment up, but you (hesitantly) pull away before he's successful.

“Nuh uh. Go shower you smell like gunpowder and outside.”

“What? I thought you liked my natural musk.” He’s got that stupid playful smile on his face that never fails to get a giggle out of you.

“That is not your natural “musk”, you smell like Gotham. Now go shower before you're sleeping on the couch tonight. Jason.”

He immediately straightens up and pouts at your use of his first name again but still makes his way to the bathroom. You don't miss the way he leaves the door completely open as he turns on the water and undresses as an invitation for you to join him. With a dreamy sigh and a kiss to your kitten's forehead, you get yourself up and out of bed and make your way to the bathroom door.

Inspired by a blurb from @gay-dorito-dust !

Read it here!

#jason todd #red hood #dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd blurb #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x gn!reader #gotham knights #gotham knights jason todd

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bluejaysandblackbats · 4 months ago

Text

Keepsafes

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: AU where Martha and Thomas survive, and they adopt the batkids.

Chapters: 30/?

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne, Martha Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Harvey Dent, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain, David Cain, Talia al Ghul, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Relationships: Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne/Alfred Pennyworth, BruHarvey, BruTalia

Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, Hurt/Comfort, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Angst, Alfred Pennyworth Knows All, Bruce Wayne Only Has One Child, Bruce Wayne is Not An Only Child, Bi Bruce Wayne

Chapter Thirty: Kane

A few weeks later, Dylan visited Brussels as he promised. He whispered something to Martha once they got to Jacob and Gabi’s house. “What do you mean?” Martha asked.

Dylan frowned and whispered something else to her, while Bruce let Bette put makeup on him. “Alfred, how’s she doing? Be honest,” Bruce whispered.

Bette giggled and put blush on his cheeks. “Oh, Master Bruce, you look lovely,” Alfred answered in a deadpan tone of voice.

Bette held Bruce’s face in both hands as she steadied him. “No more moving,” Bette warned him.

“Yes ma’am,” Bruce replied.

Thomas sat at the table with Kate and Beth playing cards. “One of you is cheating,” Thomas replied.

“Uncle Thomas, you have an ace up your sleeve,” Kate pointed out as she stuck her fingers in his sleeve and pulled out a playing card.

Bruce asked Bette to stay with Alfred while he crept to his room to surprise Harvey. “Harv? Harv, close your eyes really quick,” Bruce giggled as he talked through the door, “Are they closed?”

“Yes,” Harvey answered, and Bruce tiptoed into the room and climbed onto the bed before kissing Harvey. “What the—?” Harvey opened his eyes and laughed out loud. Harvey wiped the gloss off his lips. “You’re not bad-lookin’ in makeup.” Harvey held a mirror up to Bruce’s face, and he laughed at the blue eye shadow and frosty blue gloss with bright pink blush on his cheeks and nose.

“ Juicy Couture or Victoria’s Secret ?” Bruce asked.

“Bodega on Fifth by the dirty video place. You know the one,” Harvey teased as he pulled Bruce in by his collar. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” Bruce replied.

“Your glossy lips are giving me a chubby,” Harvey confessed.

Bruce looked down and chuckled. “You’ve got problems,” Bruce smiled as he rolled off the bed. “I’ve gotta take a rain check on your chubby, though. I have to get to the airport.”

“Gilda,” Harvey whispered as if he’d forgotten.

“I can go get her by myself if you want to have a consultation with your right hand—.” Harvey whacked him with a pillow.

“Shut up. I’ll go with you. Just give me a second,” Harvey replied.

Martha pulled Alfred to the side and explained what Dylan had told her. “Miss Gabi?” Alfred questioned. Martha shook her head. “Master Jacob?”

“Jacob’s uninjured, but I—. I’m gonna go with Dylan to wait for Jacob. I don’t know what else to do… Jacob doesn’t want me to say anything to the girls yet, so I’m just—. I’m shaking,” Martha whispered. Alfred held her close.

Bette climbed on the couch to be close to Dylan. “Daddy? What’s wrong?” Bette asked.

“I’m just tired, Bun-Bun,” Dylan whispered.

Bette lay on the couch and pulled his arm over her. “I’ll be tired, too,” Bette whispered. Dylan chuckled.

“I’m being boring… Sorry. What did you come over here to ask me?” Dylan asked.

“Can I cut your hair?” Bette questioned. Dylan groaned playfully as he sat up, holding Bette on his lap, and he pulled the scrunchie out of his hair.

He fluffed out his light brown curls and smiled at her. “You want to cut Daddy’s hair? Did we practice on Yasmin or Jade first?” Dylan asked.

Bette turned to him and cocked her head. “Daddy, I cut Cloe’s hair,” Bette answered matter-of-factly. Dylan cocked his head in reply.

“Why? I’ve got brown hair,” Dylan replied.

“Yeah, but Cloe has blue eyes like yours… And she’s not my favorite. Yasmin’s my favorite,” Bette answered. Dylan nodded.

“Okay… Makes sense to me,” Dylan mumbled, “Can I see the job you’ve done on Cloe?”

Bette leaped from his lap to the floor as she ran to the guest room. She returned with a doll head, and Dylan blinked hard at the bob Bette gave her. “Oh my goodness, Bunny. This is really good. Did Nanny help you?” Dylan asked.

“No, Nanny’s tummy hurts. I did it by myself,” Bette answered. Dylan went to the hall closet and grabbed a blanket to throw on the floor before sitting perfectly still on the floor with his legs straight in front of him. “You’re really gonna let me?”

“Yeah. It’s just hair. Daddy promised you that he’d support you in anything you wanted to do. Didn’t I, Bun?” Dylan questioned in reply. “Cut away.”

“Are you gonna be mad if I mess up?” Bette asked as she wrung her hands.

“Nope. Just be careful and don’t cut your hand… And please don’t poke me with the scissors,” Dylan answered. He tilted his head back as Martha entered the room. “Hi, Sis. Wanna watch Bette cut my hair?” Martha chuckled and nodded as she took his place on the couch. Bette ran to the guest room to grab her kit, and she washed her scissors and brush in the bathroom sink.

Bruce lay face down on the bed and groaned as Harvey and Gilda argued. “I literally said the same thing to you, and you said no. I’m just wondering if I’m speaking another language or—.”

“I was under a lot of stress when you asked me, Gilda. It’s not that I wasn’t hearing you. I was freaking out because Bruce got shot, and I had midterms—. I—. And I wasn’t really—. We were so caught up in a routine that I thought I was literally living the same day over and over and—. Gilda, we haven’t been spontaneous since we got together,” Harvey interrupted her.

Bruce groaned louder, but they kept arguing until Bruce rolled over and shouted, “If you guys keep arguing, I’m going to throw up!”

Gilda grew silent and sat next to Bruce on the bed. “Are you alright?” Gilda asked.

“Why are you both fighting?” Bruce mumbled. “Harvey was in tears two days ago talking about how awful he felt for how he treated you… And I remember how you talked about him before you even knew him. You told me about all the little things that made him special, things no one else would’ve noticed… And an hour ago, I thought you guys were going to swallow each other in the airport. Can we just appreciate that there is more love in this room than distaste? We all have our hang-ups about one another. It doesn’t have to be the subject of today’s conversation.”

Gilda and Harvey exchanged glances and puffed out a sigh. “You’re right,” Harvey replied, “But what do you suggest we talk about?”

“I want to talk about boundaries if we’re going to make this work because there’s a solid chance you guys could get serious,” Bruce answered.

“What does our relationship with Harvey mean for us? Should we make more of an effort to get to know each other?” Gilda asked.

Bruce sat up and shrugged. “Ideally, we all get along and can both be present for Harvey’s major events. I can scrounge up a date to keep up appearances… And if you want to become friends, we can do that. I like you as a person enough to think that we could be close,” Bruce responded. Martha knocked on the door.

“Call from Uncle Jake,” Martha explained through the door.

“Urgent?” Bruce asked.

“Extremely,” Martha answered.

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