#jason todd reader

[margotwhites]

Jason Todd x Singer reader (fem)

Author's note: I received such a surprisingly positive reply from this! I haven't posted in months, so this caught me off guard completely. (Yes 15 notes is good for me lmao 🥹) In this version, Jason knows who reader are since the beginning. I thought it'd be more fun.

So, basically this a longer version of the first part + a second part. I intend to write this in chapters. Enjoy and please give me your thoughts ❤️

Part two:

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Jason Todd knew one thing or two about twitter. Or X, whatever. The thing is: he's at least three times a month in the trending topics. Not him exactly, but Red Hood. Red Hood is always there.

It goes from people hating on him, to young girls (psycho's in his opinion) calling him babygirl or daddy. He doesn't understands and he doesn't want to. He's not much one from social media, so when he is on the trending topics, normally someone from the family teases him about it.

This time is no different. Dick Grayson and Tim Drake are laughing way too hard. Looking from Tim's phone directly towards Jason. He sighs, closing the book he is reading. Currently they are all comfortably sitting on the library, eating Alfred's cookies and tea.

"What is it?" Jason asks, already regretting the question.

"Open twitter." Tim says, a huge smile on his face. Jason feels a chill down his spine because he knows it's going to be bad. Not that he cares. He doesn't give a shit about public's opinion.

But sometimes the comments about him, the mean comments wishing him to die... Those get to him. So he's prepared for that. For people hating, or for his fangirls fighting deciding who'd be his next imaginary girlfriend.

But he never expected to be shipped with someone else. He knows who you are. Everybody knows who you are. A talented young singer, that ascended till the top in less than three years. Doing some works on modeling from time to time for McQueen or Vogue or Versace, because you're that beautiful.

He wouldn't call himself a fan, but he does think you are musically talented. Anyway, everyone is shipping him with you.

And he doesn't know why.

"Why am I being shipped with her?" He asks, out loud. Before Dick or Tim can answer, Steph bursts into the library's door laughing.

"Jason-"

"I know."

She laughs again. He starts to scroll down the comments, until he finds a video of a live interview you did on Kurt's show, that prick. The journalist is famous for doing weird questions.

"So, everybody knows you have a bit of thing for vigilantism. How did that start?" Kurt asks, crossing his arms and giving the public a charming smile.

"Oh, it started with Batman, of course. I was a little kid when I heard the stories about the man that haunted the nights in Gotham. I am a L.A girl, but either way I absolutely felt enchanted. It's just so cool that is there someone out there that takes justice in their own hands."

Yeah, right. She's a fan of the Batass. Jason scoffs while watching the video, but continues anyway.

"And who is your favorite vigilante?" Kurt asked, leaning closer to her. He was a charming man, young and successful, just like her.

"Oh, Red Hood, definitely." She says that without a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Just a plain, simple answer.

"Red Hood? Isn't he a bit... extreme?" Kurt said, tilting his head.

"I think he is doing good in his own ways, and that is so freaking cool, you know? And I think his motorcycle is super... uh, how can I say? Hot." She says, and gives the public a little giggle. She continues:

"Which doesn't mean I agree with everything he does. But I find his persona interesting and refreshing. He's different from the rest, different approaches and all. It makes me curious about who is the man behind the mask."

"If you could say anything to him, what would you say?" Kurt asks, smiling.

"Oh! I'd probably ask him to take me on a ride with his bike. And to get a girlfriend. I think he needs a feminine touch in his life." She answers, with an amused grin.

The video ends and Jason doesn't really know what to think. You just said he needed a girlfriend. A feminine touch.

The truth is, he can't really disagree. When was the last time he felt a woman's body close to his? More time than he wants to admit. Months. Maybe more than a year. In his defense, it's not that he doesn't have the game. He just don't have the energy to play it.

Steph laughs takes him out of his wandering thoughts. He looks up at his siblings, an irritated expression in his face.

"Read the tweets, the tweets are the best part!" She says, chuckling again. Jason goes straight to the shipping hashtag. People saying they want to be Jason, people saying they want to be you, people saying they want to be the bed where you both - forget it.

He sighs and throws his cellphone on the couch, sitting back and beginning to read his book.

"That's it? That's your reaction?" Dick asks, tilting his head like a curious dog.

"It's just a bunch of tweets. People will forget eventually. Nothing I should worry about." Jason replies, not taking his eyes off The Catcher in the Rye.

Little did he know.

__________________________________________________

Okay. Maybe you shouldn't have said that. Maybe you were dumb and reckless. And now your agent and her team are almost killing you.

It's not your fault. You were always told to be honest, because your fun and outgoing (at least on stage) personality were one of your best traits.

"Are you crazy! This could have led to terrible repercussions. What if everyone focused on the fact that you support a murderer?!" Claya, your agent says, almost shouting.

"Well, they didn't. Now they are just shipping him with me." You say, trying to defend yourself. The truth is, behind the cameras and the stage and all the "popstar" persona you have to pull out, you are an introvert. You have two lifes.

"Yeah, and you should be grateful for it. This can even be a good sign. It seems people are interested in your love life. We can use that for our advantage." Claya says.

You adore her, really. And it's her job to figure it out how to make your career ascend. And she does it very well. But sometimes you just wish it wouldn't be about money or status. It would be just about how to do good music.

Anyway, you don't want to be ungrateful. You're living your childhood dream. So you take those thoughts out of your mind.

"Well, what do you have in mind?" You ask, blinking in confusion.

"We're going to Gotham. You're going to do a show there." Claya says, confidently and typing on her computer.

"Are you out of your mind? Shows in Gotham always go wrong. The Chase Atlantic show from last month was attacked by Pyg!" You say, trying to contain your agent's wicked ideas.

"Honey, don't worry. Maybe Red Hood appears in to save the whole ordeal. It couldn't be better." Claya says, standing up and closing her computer.

Claya and the team leave you alone to think. It's not like you have a lot of choice in the matter, anyway. If she says you're doing the show, you gotta do it.

But it's just a show, right? Nothing to worry about.

Little did you know.

[hearts4robs]

𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭.🖋️

———

Fandom. DC - Batman - Red Hood

Pairing. Jason Todd x gn!reader

Genre. fluff/soft/sfw🍊

Word count. idk, not a lot

Warnings. A bit of cursing

Req. This was not requested, I just felt motivated and inspired(for once)!!

Summary. Just Jason reading and always having a book on him cuz my mans a nerd and I love him for it🤞😛 this is not proof-read!!!

Notes. Idk how to explain this layout or what it is, but it’s some kind of mix of a short drabble and some head-canons, yk?

———

“Did you pack an extra pen?”

“‘Course I did, I always do.”

Jason almost sounded a little annoyed at you, not that he really was. He always brought extra pens with him when it came to books.

“Just making sure.” You say, raising your hands in defeat with a soft, breathy scoff. Jason rolls his eyes at you, hurriedly grabbing his bag, books clattering against each other as he swings it over his shoulder.

“I’ll be out then.” He announces, messily stepping into his shoes. You walk to the hallway, arms crossed over your chest as you lean against the wall, watching, as your big, beefy, book-worm of a boyfriend struggle to shove his feet into his shoes.

“Just untie them and step into them normally, Jay-“

“Oh, piss off, I’m behind schedule.” He quickly cuts you off, finally slipping his heel into the shoe successfully.

“Alright, alright.” You chuckle, stepping forward as Jason yanks his jacket off of its assigned hook. “Bye,” you kiss his cheek, a matching kiss meeting your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. “love you! Say hi to Alfred from me, please.” You remind him, both that you love him and to say hi to his beloved (and absolutely amazing) butler.

“Will do.” He says simply, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Love you too, stay safe and don’t burn down my kitchen.” Jason reminds you, hastily, as he makes his way out the door, jacket carelessly resting over his arm, rummaging through his bag.

“Our kitchen, Jason!” You yell after him, shaking your head with a stupid grin on your face, the door to your apartment falling closed. You turn around to leave and return to the kitchen before the door swings open again.

“Babe, I need my pen. Have you seen it?”

You whip around, frowning with a soft, confused look as Jason stands up the doorway, halfway inside, open book folding in hand.

“Did you not just say you had it?” You question, cocking your head slightly to the side as you go to the nearest countertop, moving various books to try and search for his pen.

Jason rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

“Just give me my pen, please.” He pleads, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment lacing into his tone. You laugh, grabbing his pen from a half-finished book. You walk to the hallway, throwing it to him. He grins, shoving it between his teeth in a small grin before he waves, disappearing out the door again.

—— ≛ ——

He forgets his pens all the time. He can’t help it, let my poor man be.

He always has a book on him. As a man who mainly wears cargo pants, he always has a book in one of those side pockets. A book small enough to fit and slip right into and out of his pocket when needed. 5 minute bus ride? He’s reading. 10 minutes walk? You best believe he’s reading while walking.

Jason writes every first thought into his book. He analyses everything, scribbling down on the pages, slapping on sticky notes if he runs out of space.

He cracks the spines of all his books(same). He doesn’t mind the messy look, he likes to think they look a bit more, loved, if that makes sense.

He doesn’t own a single bookshelf. All his books are piled on anything but bookshelves. Sure, the mansion has a library, but so does he. In the form of a kitchen cabinet, top of his fridge, beneath his bead and the floor. Works just fine!

He has a very specific system when it comes to writing in his books. He’ll underline a lot of stuff, but it depends on the thickness of his line, what the line makes him feel. The thicker the line, the more emotion.

He once got a book where whenever a character spoke, there was no “__”, not even a -__-. He spent double the time reading the book because he to re-read and self insert the “__”’s. Never bought a book from that author again.

#proudcolleenhooverhater (he’s never read her books but Babs said they were a no-go either way)

He loves to gift you books he’s already read and annotated. Once gifted you a book and whenever something reminded him of you, he’d make a little star beside the line.

This man cannot spell the word ‘lullaby’. (This has nothing to do with the headcanons, I just thought abt it.)

Jason has a 36 hours long playlist for reading (and assigned vinyls if he feels more for vinyls)

He does not give a fuck about where he is, he will read if he wants to. Gala? Ok. Family dinner? Dick stfu, he’s reading. Patrol? He has cargo pants, let him be.

Jason uses reading glasses but only when he’s at home, in the safe walls of his apartment because he will not be giving his siblings bullying material FOR FREE.

[lealdern]

Werewolf jason. Whether it's NSFW or sfw is up to you.

Thanks for the ask! Here's some not explicitly graphic but still nsfw Werewolf!Jason

Beast

Werewolf!Jason x fem!reader / public sex / p in v

There’s a low growl next to you and you look away from the tv above the bar that’s playing the news, feeling Jason’s arm slip around your shoulder. He crowds closer still and in the mirror in front of you, covered as it is with liquor bottles and bar junk, you see he’s looking over your head to the man sat on the bar stool next to you.

The one that had sat staring at your tits for the last few minutes Jason had been gone to take a leak.

Nails, growing a little sharper, stick into the skin of your arm, and it sends a thrill through you, riding the wave of that low growl rumbling from Jason’s broad chest.

You finish your drink quickly, noting the seat next to you is now empty, as is the space around the two of you in this busy bar, and you try not to grin. You fail, and your grin is wolfish enough that the people around you think you’re also a were, but you’re not, you just run with one.

“You wanna go home, Jason?” You know how he gets, his hackles risen and his energy high, you know you’re in for a good and thorough fuck tonight that will leave you panting and noodle legged and Jason still won’t be done with you. The thought makes you squeeze your legs together and bite your lip.

Jason scents the arousal between your legs instantly, over the smell of beer and bad cologne, and he grins a true wolf grin, “Think we can make it that far?” Your answering smile is coy and not five minutes later, ten minutes away from your apartment, you’re up against a brick wall, legs wrapped around Jason’s thighs as he fucks up into you, his deep growls of pleasure reverberating along the walls, making sure no one disturbs you both for fear of what beast is in the dark.

[technowoah]

THE ABCs OF JASON TODD (w League of Assassins!reader)

⚠︎:unedited, mentions of violence, swearing????

A for Adorable

Jason finds it adorable when you relax. Its kind of cliche, but you're tense 24/7 so when you relax its like seeing an angel from heaven treat herself. He walked in on you treating yourself to a nice bubble bath with scented candles Stephanie gave you for Christmas and music playing and everything. He made his presence known and left you to your solace.

You find it adorable when he smiles, or laughes. Or when he tries not to smile or laugh. You're blessed to hear his laugh and see his brightness of a smile. He'll restain his smile and finally give in and smile. Makes your day brighter and your heart soar. That little twitch in his lips finally breaks into a smile.

B for Bliss

Jason loves nights with you. Anytime at night no matter if its falling asleep next to you or patrolling at night, late night naked swims at the lake under the moon, dimly lit galas he begrudgingly goes to to only dance and banter with you. You're like the moon to his world he felt like he lived his best moments at night, or in the dark, so he loves to share the dark with someone who lights up his world.

You love that he lets you into his arms and life. His arms are inviting and hes the only one who he lets inside of his arms. Whether is on a rooftop or in your shared apartment watching movies. Your bliss is in his arms with kisses lost between eachother. Even when you dont want to be touched he'll still annoy you with touches. He loves to see you exhausted with his teasing and you secretly love it.

C for Children

Jason dosent think he'll be a great dad. He grew up with a shit mother and father so he believes his expertise would funnel into his own actions. You continue to tell him that he is not the same as his father. And when he continued to berate Bruce for his actions against him and his brothers he thinks that his actions would rub off on him.

Honestly he would never let his children get into vigilante buisness. Even if you both are vigilantes. He protects you with his life and vice versa. If both of you are loose cannons he coulr never deal with 2 or 3 other people.

Hes already stressed enough with hie own work and whenever bruce calls him so he dosent think he'll have time for children.

Jason secretly wants to have kids with you. No matter what your job is vigilante or not. But its ultimately up to you. And I mean when he works his own shit out too.

D for Dangerous

LOA! Reader (Leauge of Assassins)

People think that Jason is the most dangerous one and they are right. You are mostly the calm one but once someone threatened you are Jason's body guard. You lose all compassion for anyone that threatens Jason or you. You both can get terrifying, burning cities for eachother, Bruce's no-killing rule has nothing on you two.

Being apart of something so sinister, both of you have no filter.

Jason's enemies are hesitant about laying a finger on you. Knowing all hell would break loose with

When Jason gets hurt, you see red, crimson. You always makes sure to make the people who hurt him pay. You becomes the worst version of yourself, you hate that version of yourself but it just comes out and you actions start to give you quite a reputation of being downright cruel when Jason gets hurt.

Jason snaps when he sees you hurt, guns already in his hands. He knows she can protect herself, knows she can kill him with a flick of her hand, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to see you hurt, he wants you happy and healthy by his side and he'll take a whole town down if he has to.

E for Everything

(You're My Everything - The Temptations)

That is Jason's favorite song. He had heard that song been played by you when you were both cleaning up the house. The first time he heard the song, he didn't think too much about it until the 3rd time he heard it from your playlist. Now oncr he heard the lyrics he is 1000% sure if you two get married he will play that for yall first dance.

Anytime he plays that song you know thats his way of saying what he never could. That's his way of being vulnerable. Those nights where you both are swaying on the fire escape to this song. When he claims to be "practicing for when he gets dragged to Bruce's galas" you know he means "I wanna spend time with you cause I love you"

When my way was dark and troubles were near

Your love provided the light so I couldn't see, girl

Just knowing your love was near when times were bad

Kept the world from closing in on me, girl

I was blessed the day I found you, gonna build my whole world around you

You're ev'rything good, girl and you're all that matters to me

F for Forbidden

Jason didn't want you around him at all. His job was dangerous and didn't want you to get kidnapped or killed. He never wanted you around his apartment, his brothers, or even around him when he had his mask off. But slowly he found himself following you at night just keeping an eye on you making sure you're not in any danger and sooner or later he let down his walls and surprisingly, to him, you accepted him scars and all.

(LOA! Reader)

You were both killers, it wasnt meant to be and the Wayne family had their ups and downs with the Leauge so Jason Todd and a warriors from the Leauge of Assassins wasnt so much of a shock. Its Jason Todd. And you were already breaking free of the Leauge already so to rebels coming together to unite and fight crime wasn't normal, but wasn't a shock.

Honestly your relationship in the beginning was filled with other people doubting you, but you both proved them wrong.

G for Grace

(LOA! Reader cause I love them sm)

He loves seeing you in your traditional clothing, he had to wear them one time, but you look like a true queen in them.

You walk with your head held up high, and every step is precise. You walk and act with a grace that he loves to see. Every move is calculated, like the warrior you are.

Jason loves to see both sides of you. Your fighting, dominant side and your calm, loving vulnerable side. The good and the bad, hes so lucky

You loves to see him with a gun in his hand. You how he could go from a loving devoted boyfriend to Red Hood. Every move is done with calculative intent. You love the way he moves when he fights.

You're so happy that you can see both sides of him, the good and the bad.

H for Home

Jason is your home and you are Jason's home. Home is wherever the other person is no matter where. Simple as that. Jason didn't need to go back to the manor when he had you in his arms. This home he made with you had to be the best one he has had in a while. Loving, caring, trust filled home.

I for Impression

Jason isnt the best at first impressions. But he can read a person at first glance. All the detective work he indulged in. He couldn't say he loved you at first sight but he was definitely intrigued by you. Wanting to know more and more. Either fate was working for him this time or he just did it himself.

You knew Jason was a hunk. His muscles moving as he walked, the shirt that was just a little bit too tight, his hair, his walk, his gaze, you wanted more of him. To know what he was like, how he lived, what his personality was. You wanted more. And he did too.

J for Jealousy

Normally people think you would be the most jealous of the two of you, but Jason dominates that field.

He cant stand to see other people look at you like an object. Makes his teeth clench and a vein pop you would think he was gonna pass out from turning red. He hates it when people come up and flirt with you when you're clearly not interested, and if they dare touch you pray for them.

You like how jealous he gets cause the sex is so much better. He's usually rough, but now he's all fired up and 10x rougher.

Jason remember vividly you almost broke a girls hand because she reached up to grab his white streak. Jason couldn't pull you off the girl, I mean he wasn't gonna try to anways. It was hot to him

Kisses

Jason always makes kisses so enticing. Kissing him everytime give you butterflies like your first kiss with eachother. Pecks, makeouts, neck kisses, hand kisses leaving you wanting a imprint of his kisses on you. He loves giving you hickeys and biting you making sure you leave satisfied, you cant have him kissing you all the time so that would do.

J loves kissing you as much as you do him. Spending the morning with slow kisses is the best way to start the morning making him want to stay inside with you. His favorite pastime is kissing you on the forehead, as a way of saying "i love you" or "i got you"

L for Love

There had not been an official "I love you" but if you can remember correctly you said it first. Jason had never been in love before to feel love, this feeling was new to him. He was caught by surprise when you said it, he was in love with you yeah, but he didn't say it yet saying it outloud was foreign like another language. He loves you and you love him he knows that but he needs constant reassurance. Tell him you love him often because he cant love himself some days.

M for Memory

(Loa!reader maybe????)

Jason and you had found this secret place, this place with a lake and a waterfall, you both knew it wasnt in Gotham, but you two travel there all of the time. No bathing suits just you two enjoying the quietness in the dark, the moon and stars, and the extra lights you both brung, lighting up the water as you both swam through. No words had to be said, just light touches, kisses. Memory like this keep coming and going just them together and their love.

N for Nonchalant

He tried to be nonchalant with you he really did, but it didn't work. Anything you did would gain a reaction out of him. He was the nonchalant bad boy of the Waynes but with you he couldn't put up that front. He tried, but now he wouldn't allow himself to. He tried to be flirty you would match his energy and catch him off gaurd. His favorite thing is to do when no one is looking is to kiss your temples until you laugh, he couldn't keep up his stone cold persona around you as much as he tried. He couldn't

O for Overwhelming

Once out of the Lazarus pit Jason was not loved, he couldn't accept any love given to him either. Even when Bruce continued to love him despite his killing streak hr could never accept that someone as torn and broken as him was able to be loved.

When Jason gound you and you gave him as much love in your hear as you could, he as overwhelmed. Going back and forth with himself if he should run away, or stay because he loved you as much or arguably even more than you.

Somedays he teared up to himself as his mind raced between the people he killed, the mistakes he made, and how you loved him unconditionally made him wanna bawl. He dosent deserve this, or does he.

His heart ached. But with love nevertheless

P for Possessiveness

(Loa!reader 🤭)

His insecurities had slowly dissappeared as he spent more of his time with you. He devoted his life to you as you do him and your country.

He was very possessive of you, and you are possessive of him as well.

If looks could kill you have killed over 5 other people. Hating the thought of someone else getting his bear hugs, his kisses, his body, his mind, his ups and downs, makes your skin crawl. He already knows you would stand up against his own family for him (because you already have, putting a sword against Bruce's neck multiple times) he knows you would burn the world in a heart beat.

Meanwhile he has killed for you, even when you havent known. Anyone who hurts you physically as apart of their job, he doesn't care what happens to them. He hates the idea of other people seeing your laugh, seeing your intimate side where you open up to him. His skin crawls when he knows that you could find so much better than him, but you stick by his side and he does you. Loving you to the afterlife where you will meet again.

Who doesn't want a badass warrior by their side?

Q for Quiet

He used to love the quiet and you did as well. You two were seperated before you two met and now you both cant get enough of eachother. You both hate being away from eachother, but you both have duties, but when you two are together the room is filled with lively talk, sounds of kissing, music, something always to fill the silence. Yeah call yall clingy, cause yall are, and hes proud of it. He'll wait till you get home, but to fill the silence he'll play your favorite song until you come to fill the silence once again.

R for Realization

(Loa!reader cause I said so 😌)

Jason realized he loved you when it was a rainy day. He took you out on his motorcycle during the rain without helmets, your laugh and rain ringing in his ears is peaceful. He also realized he loved you when you two met again. Sneaking away together because of the Leauges track on you and Bruce's disdain for the Leauge. He called you Romeo and Juliet with a hint of Bonnie and Clyde.

You loved him on the same day, the freedom you both felt believed that you both can be together you can both be loved. He loved you, and you loved him. It felt like the brightest of lights clicked in your minds. It was beautiful you loved. You were loved. He loved. And he was loved.

S for Sunset

The sun was orange. Orange is the color of unity. The both of you were sitting on the fire escape of his apartment. The orange waves blanketed over the both of you. Both of you unified under the sun. Complete and calm after a hard days work the orange completes the day, making you both see the beauty of that day no matter how hard or deadly it was, you both were alive and in that you both sent a silent "I love you" that glowed in the orange of the sunset.

T for Traitor

(LOA!reader)

He wasnt able to see you, and you weren't able to see him. Months and months without physical touch or sight. The Leauge was more strict with your freedom you had priorities, they didn't want you to love Jason. Especially Jason. The bat family didnt have the best umm....reputation with the Leauge of Assassins. But once you and Jason got together the Leauge called you a traitor at first you had to fight, but Jason fought by your side. The bat family wanted Jason to be happy, but they were still cautious. He stayed by your side. The Leauge kept you at your high rankings even though some did not approve of your relationship waiting for an "I told you so" moment, but that would not happen.

U for United

The world could not be against Jason anymore. He died, came back to life, tha5 couldn't be enough could it. The world tried and tried again to take you from him. Many times they tried and every time they failed. He wouldn't let you go and you would let him go. One day he wouldn't leave your side during a gala because he knew there was an evil presence.

Communication is a huge thing, no matter how big the fight is Jason wants to talk it out, he wants to fix things with you, find a solution together. He also made a pact with himself to make sure youre happy, and his forever. He wanted to make sure your relationship lasted the longest. When the topic of marriage came up he was happy, he didn't care if it was official or not, he really wanted to spend the rest of his life with you marrige or not, but he will happily marry you in a heartbeat.

He already has a ring for his soulmate, his backbone, his lifeline, his support, his lover.

V for Vampire

Biting. Jason loves when you bite him and he calls you his little vampire. You love making marks on his skin, claiming him to be yours and after those moments you love to stand back and look at the artwork you've created on his body, while wears them like a medal.

Bruce stopped over while he wask taking a shirtless nap. When Jason opened the door Bruce couldn't stop looking at the hickeys all over his chest. It wasn't embarrassing to him at all.

Jason loves biting you as much as you love biting him, hes a giver after all but Imma get into that in the next letter

W for Worship

Like I said before Jason loves giving 10x more than what you give him. He lobes your body, your mind, and soul. He worships the ground you walk on. The top of your head to the soles of your feet. You loved making him feel loved as well worshipping his body and mind by touches, kisses, licks, and appreciating, listening to his mind.

Making sure you feel loved and appreciated is his life's job. You are his priority and if you dont feel like it then he believes hes doing a bad job. But you always assure him that if he was you would tell him.

You made it your mission to make him realize that it wasn’t just him worshiping your body, but that you worshiped him as well. That he was just as important as you are to him, and that you cherished him.

X for X-ray

Yall hearts grow so much bigger for eachother. Hearts aching for eachother when you both are apart, you know that feeling of "I dont deserve this" and it feels like your heart is heavy. Thats how your hearts feel. Glowing and full of love for eachother. Beating for eachother.

Y for Yours

Will you marry me?

Will you...do me the honor - fuck

I would be the happiest man alive...

He couldn't get it right jesus christ. No matter how hard he tried how would this broken man staring at the mirror get you to take his hand in marriage.

"Love what are you doing?" You came into the room and he immediately shoved the ring into his pants pocket.

"Nothing." He murmured but you immediately knew so you walked over and wrapped your arms around him and he did the same to you.

"I love you Jason. I hope you know that."

"I love you too."

He could go a lifetime without proposing. It didn't matter. He loved you no matter what. Married or not.

"you still wanna get married one day?" He asked cautiously.

"It would be nice. Theres no rush. As long as I have you forever I'm fine." You smiled up at him and he couldn't be happier.

Z for idfk what to put here

"Jason"

"Yes beloved"

"I love you"

you mean so much to me, I love the way you talk, your mind, and the love you give me. You are not broken, you are loved by your family and me Jason. I love you now and your history. I dont care what you did before all I care is what you are to me now. Jason I know you would never hurt me, i love you more than you love yourself. You are my everyday, my everything.

"I love you too"

You are the love of my life. I need you around me you are the light of my life, the sunshine to my darkest days and my guardian angel. You are the best thing to happen to me and I thank the heavens everyday for you being in my life. You are the sun to my moon lighting me up each night. Thank you my love for believing in me. Thank you for loving me and in return I give you my life, me soul, my love

[filthycagedsoul]

the sluttiest thing a man can do is be adopted by a billionaire playboy with issues because he dresses like a bat at night, sign up to be said man’s sidekick, die violently at the hands of a sadistic clown, be revived by creepy healing waters in a raunchy looking pit, come back to the city that birthed him and 1) get his blood-soaked revenge on the man who fucked up his life and 2) try to clean up the crime infested city using his wit, humor and guns.

yup sounds pretty slutty to me🫦👅

[johnnysilverhandeeznuts]

I love jason todd as much as the next girl but I loooooove to hc him as aromantic now.

because i’m also aromantic and I feel like it makes so much sense for him.

[bicycle4two]

built to love, but broken now || Arkhamverse!Jason Todd x F!Reader || soulmate au

Summary:

"-you had your monsters. I only had this connection to you." . . . or Jason and you are soulmates but the connection you share has done more harm than good and maybe the universe is wrong about this pairing, that maybe two people can be too broken to love.

...

tags: soulmate au, hurt and comfort, healing, lonely characters, mentions of abuse and torture, reader blames jason for their pain at first, swearing, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, post-batman: arkham knight

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Read on AO3

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Word Count: 11K+

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Before

It had brought you some solace, the words on your skin.

They appeared suddenly, the letters slightly ticklish, like a ballpoint pen gliding across your skin, maybe even just a feather with how light and gentle it was. You’d been in class when you first felt the sensation, saw a list of food and toiletries being jotted down the palm of your hand. By your wrist, a quick computation followed by a couple of snacks being crossed out.

It was confusing, alarming, but at the same time, comforting.

Because these words, no matter how simple, how random, how inconsequential, kept you company in your loneliest moments.

In the darkness of your room, the ink on your arms, sometimes drawings, other times quotes from books you’ve never read before, made you feel like you were seen, that someone wanted to let you in.

And even when the ink was replaced by wounds, cuts, and bruises that you watched heal and fade, you weren’t scared. You felt the pain, the impact of the injuries, but instead of worrying about yourself, about how you were getting hurt without doing anything, you couldn’t help but think that this, this is only a fraction of what it felt like on the other end.

Because you aren’t alone in this. There’s someone out there who used to write poetry for you, lyrics of songs that you’d hum to yourself on the school bus, and that person is fighting and hurting, and how can you feel anything but worry, sympathy, for the person whose scars now litter your own body.

There’s a story out there of pain and suffering, maybe even triumph, and you can do nothing but read between the lines on your skin, piece together the clues it gives you, how the skin hardens to protect itself and how ugly it can get the more its torn apart.

…

You wake up in the hospital and for once, you don’t panic. By now, it’s a familiar, almost like home. The white walls, the steady beeping of a monitor, the murmured chatter. In a twisted way, you feel calm, relaxed, peaceful. Because no matter how isolated you are, how lonely it is when no one is there to welcome you back, at least you are no longer in pain.

Maybe it’s the drugs they’re pumping into your blood stream or maybe, maybe you’ve been out for so long that you’ve healed, come back to earth good as new, or as good as you can be. Chipped, cracked, but not broken beyond repair, not yet.

But you know it won’t last long, that the pain always comes back.

If you didn’t know the cause of it, you’d almost think you were cursed, that maybe you had offended some deity or witch. Because this pain is different from before. Before, the pain only took your breath away, stopped you in your tracks. Sometimes, it knocked you out, but you’ve only ever woken up with a headache after. Nothing some Advil couldn’t fix. But now, now it feels like a joke, like you’re somebody’s plaything. The pain inflicted is like a test—a little experiment to see how much you can take, how far the human body can go before it gives up.

There were days when it felt like you were being electrocuted, your body crumbling to the ground, convulsing, and you’re left with nothing to do but scream while the people around you call for help, watch in horror as you’re attacked by an invisible force. Other times, you’re knocked out of your seat, head flung back, nose bleeding, jaw aching.

And maybe if it was just that, shocks to your system, blows to your face, your gut, that would be okay, because if the scars on your body had anything to say, it would show that you’ve survived at least that much.

But this, this constant torture, makes you think that you only have so much fight in you, and you’re tired and afraid. You’re scared to leave your room, scared that some outside factor could hurt you, too. That maybe you’d feel a hit in the ribs so hard, so strong, that you’d trip down the stairs, fall into traffic.

And maybe the impact on your side would push the other person over the edge, aggravate what already fatal injuries they have, and it could be the last straw.

Because this, this phenomenon—blessing? miracle? voodoo? curse?—is rare, almost unheard of, a fairytale, and there’s no telling how it works, the extent of it, the connection. What once was just simple doodles across your skin was now a black eye, broken bones, a burst appendix, internal bleeding.

And from the pain in your chest, the way it’s become so obvious to you that you’re breathing, that something that’s supposed to be reflex, natural, now feels like a great effort to do, you think that this, this could be the end. That any more of this and you’re not going to make it to tomorrow.

“Do you want us to call somebody?”

“It’s alright. I can make it back on my own.”

“No, I mean, should we get someone from the police to come? Are you safe at home?”

The doctors and nurses look at you in sympathy, concern, making up their own stories in their head. You tell them that you’re clumsy, that you were probably born under an unlucky star, but there’s only so many injuries that you can pass of as consequence of losing your balance, of not looking where you were going, of the natural misfortunes of living in Gotham City.

You don’t want to get anyone involved, don’t even know what to say to the police if they asked, even the doctors can’t figure it out, how a person’s body can just hurt itself the way yours does. How can you explain the scars around your chest, wrists, and legs, the way it looks like you’d been tied down with rope and barbed wire? The bruises on your back? The way it looks like you’d been beaten with a bat, maybe even something stronger, with sharper edges? The scar on your check, the raised skin spelling the letter J?

Even you don’t know how to cover that up, in all sense of the word. You stare at it in the mirror and somehow it glares back at you as if it’s supposed to mean something, remind you of something. It feels like a label of sorts, a brand.

And of all the stories the scars on your skin can tell, this is the one you want to hear the most. And yet, you’re scared to know what’s behind it. Because it can’t be good. Surprisingly, it’s the worse of the marks on your skin, worse than the gash down your leg, the new bullet sized one on your chest.

Because this, this simple letter, somehow carries a weight to it. It’s heavy on your face, distorts your features. And maybe that’s why it’s ugly. Because it’s taken something from you, made it difficult to recognize yourself, to remember the person you were before it was forced upon you.

And it’s this stupid J that made a connection that once brought you comfort, made you feel less lonely, dirty, tainted it in ways that you feel like it will never be clean again, never be the same, never be beautiful again.

_____________________________________________________________

After Part I

Jason knows what to expect with cheap apartments in Gotham City—a shitty living experience.

The shower water is cold, if there is even any coming through the pipes at all, the floorboards are creaky, and the walls are thin. Which is fine. Jason prefers that he knows what the people around him are doing anyway, would hate to be caught by surprise. And, he won’t admit it, but nowadays, silence unnerves him, leaves him with his thoughts, which, haven’t been good to him recently, for a while now.

And frankly, it’s entertaining, listening to the petty squabbles happening in the apartment to his right, how they argue over the trash piling up, and why the TV only seems to be broadcasting porn. The drug dealers living above him were a talkative bunch, too, always laughing, bragging about some kid they recruited last week, how fast he was, how easy it was for him to get away from the cops. There were talks about bringing along his sister, someone less inconspicuous. At least, that was before Jason took care of them.

Again, there is some benefit to the lack of privacy his apartment building provides. In this part of Gotham, people tend to keep to themselves anyway, have learned that it’s better to mind your own business. So, the other tenants may choose to ignore the kind of activity that happens in the back alley, turn a blind eye at sketchy neighbors, the kind that walk funny, smell a little weird, but Jason’s always been able to handle himself, always knew how to fight people so much bigger than him.

All things considered, after everything, Jason has been doing okay for himself.

Sure, he isn’t great. He still has his nightmares to keep him company at night, still has this rage bubbling inside him, the feelings of hurt and betrayal still leave a bad taste in his mouth, but he’s okay. He’s alive, at least.

It helps that he can keep himself busy. That the criminals on the street, no matter how many guns they carry on them, no matter how much armor they have on, are still scared of things that go bump in the night. And Jason has been trained to work in the shadows, knows how to use them to his advantage.

…

It was like a mouse was living next door.

Jason knows that the apartment to his left is occupied, hears the quiet signs of life through his living room wall, but he’s never seen them. They shuffle around their room, their footsteps light, careful, almost deliberately silent, the music they play is always just a soft hum, gentle vibrations that lulls Jason to sleep when he’s staying on his sofa, beat from the night out. Sometimes he hears them when they’re about to cook, pots and pans being placed on the stove. Other times, he hears them rearrange the books on their shelf, the sound almost therapeutic, and in the early hours of the morning, he can hear the typing of a keyboard, the clicking of, well, a mouse.

But other than that, Jason’s never heard them speak, never heard the front door open the entirety of his stay. Chances are their times have never matched up, that they leave and come back while Jason’s out, but still. If Jason didn’t know better, he would think that maybe the apartment next door was haunted by a ghost cursed to go about the motions of its previous life.

Which is why, he’s uncharacteristically caught by surprise when he sees his neighbor in the hallway, arms wrapped tightly around a brown grocery bag. It’s late, Jason’s just about to head out to follow up on a lead, and his neighbor, a girl no older than he is, is just coming in.

She looks up at him when she feels his stare and the first thing he notices is that half her face is covered by a surgical mask. The light blue fabric somehow highlighting the dark circles under her eyes, the fading bruise on her temple. Jason thinks he should probably avert his eyes now, go back to what he was doing, leave before she does something he’ll regret, like strike a conversation.

But something about her keeps Jason in his place.

It’s probably because she’s looking him over too, her tired eyes studying him from head to toe. And Jason has to wonder what she sees. Because like everyone else, she looks at him warily, sees his large size, the scowl on his face, the bruises on his knuckles, and knows that he’s bad news. There’s this aura about him that tells people that they should keep their distance, to mind their own business. And somehow the scar on his face helps seal the deal, makes him look like someone you don’t want to associate with.

And people in the halls, on the street tend to look away once they see the pale, puckered flesh, their eyes twitching to look at anything but him. And he waits for her to do the exact same, waits for the widening of her eyes, the sharp intake of breath before she scrambles to get back into her apartment, away from him.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, the moment her eyes land on the J, a series of emotions play on her face, and none of them fear. He doesn’t have much to go on, the mask obscuring most of her tells, but her eyes, her eyes are expressive despite being worn out. They’re sad at first, almost weepy, and Jason knows this look, loathes being pitied, but in the next second, there’s a fire in them, anger. And that’s familiar, he’s seen that same look in the mirror more than once, which is probably why he should have seen it coming.

But honestly who would have expected his mouse like neighbor to attack? To go absolutely feral?

…

There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, and you always thought that when you meet them, you’ll know the exact words that would come out of your mouth. You figured you’d introduce yourself, maybe even explain this connection you have, ask if they want to be friends because something as special as this cannot be ignored, dismissed.

But what comes out is a snarl, a sort of inhuman noise that perfectly fits your actions.

You didn’t think you could actually take him down, he’s so much bigger than you and obviously stronger, but if you could maybe get a scratch in, wrinkle his clothes, rip a bigger hole in his jeans, then you’d feel better. Never mind the fact that whatever pain you inflict on him would come back to you, at least this time, you tell yourself, this time you’ll see it coming, this time it’s going to be your choice.

But of course, things don’t go your way. Because of course this man’s reflexes were quick, catching you and twisting your arms in such a way that they were now behind your back, immobilizing you. His grip is strong, almost painful, but you don’t care. You’ve had worse and frankly if he hurts you, then that would be the best wakeup call he could have. Because you’ve been so careful over the years and he probably didn’t even know you existed, how strong this link between you two is, and if he breaks your arm then you’ll get to laugh in his face when the same thing happens to him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He growls out.

“You are!” You bark back, pulling against his hold. He only tightens his grip to an almost bruising extent, and you feel yourself smile when he lets out a hiss. “Painful, isn’t it?”

“What the heck are you doing?”

“Pretty sure you did that, big guy.”

And he’s quiet after that, probably confused, you can’t tell with him standing behind you, but you feel him test his hold on your arms, varying the strength of it. And it hurts, sometimes, but you let him figure that out on his own. When it goes on for too long, you take matters into your own hands. You twist your wrist so that you can pinch the skin of your forearm and he yelps, releasing you.

“Stop that.” He says with a sour look on his face.

“You stop it,” you retort childishly. He obviously doesn’t appreciate your tone, but you don’t care. You have bigger problems, like the fact that he looks like he’s leaving for the night. Which isn’t good news. “You’re going out again aren’t you.”

He turns his nose up. “What’s it to you?”

And you really want to hurt him, but again, you can’t, which is getting more frustrating the longer you’re in the same vicinity.

“Do us both a favor and don’t get your ass kicked, will ya?” You gesture to the bruise on the side of your temple, the hit you felt knocking you out of your seat while you were working. You had seen stars, almost missed a deadline because of it.

You don’t give him a chance to respond, reveling in the almost guilty look on his face, and you march back to your door, unlocking it with little difficulty, thankfully. You don’t know what you’d do if you somehow messed that up in front of him.

It’s only when you’re in the comfort of your living room that you realize that you left your groceries on the floor outside.

“Asshole.”

…

Jason doesn’t realize how lonely he’s been until he had someone else’s welfare to think about.

Back then, before…before, he had a partner, a family, and he made sure they didn’t get hurt, tried his best not to get hurt either if only just so they don’t worry about him, have to take care of him when he can’t do it himself. And, it was good, back then, he remembers how nice it felt to have people to depend on and to be depended on as well.

But it’s been so long. And he’s been on his own for years, the people he worked with were nothing more than colleagues, employees, only there because they were beneficial to him and vice versa. Now, recently, he’s been going out without caring about what happens to him, not really. Yes, he’ll make damn sure that no low-level goon gets the best of him, and he won’t let the likes of Batman’s ex-rogues get away without a fight, would make damn sure that if he’s going down, they’re going down with him, but he’s only human and although there was a time he felt like after all he’s been through, he was invincible, maybe even thought that he could live forever, he has a clearer mind now, a better grasp at reality.

Not the best, but thankfully better than before.

Which is why after a moment of confusion, of disbelief, of denial, he can now admit what his mouse of a neighbor is to him, what she’s supposed to be, and he’s trying to be better now, doesn’t want to hurt innocent people, so he’s a little more careful at his job because of it, because of her.

Which is a good thing, all things considered. He dodges quicker, that’s for sure, thinks of better, sneakier ways to subdue criminals, to keep the fight from getting too big, too chaotic, and really, it’s all he can do to avoid the worst of injuries. He really can’t say the same for his fists. The guns are more efficient, sends a better message, but really, when someone gets too close, punching the daylights out of them is more of a reflex than anything.

Bruised knuckles are ten times better than a black eye or a shot to the knee so he’s not going to be picky about it, tells himself that she would know that it could be worse.

And for the past few weeks he’s been good, comes home whole, the heavy-duty stuff in his first aid kit mostly untouched, but he’s not made of stone. When he gets shot in the arm, he bleeds. A lot.

It’s really the voice of Alfred in his head that forces him out of his sofa to get the first aid kit from the bathroom. It says a lot about his injury, the amount of blood he’s lost, that that wasn’t his first instinct when he got back. Really, he’s just so tired that all he wants to do is go back to sleep.

And although he isn’t psychic, doesn’t know shit about what his future holds, he knows that this isn’t how he’s going to die, alone in his apartment, swimming in his own blood, so, he moves, sluggishly, but he’s further from the sofa than he once was so that’s progress.

It’s the series of knocks on his door that stops him halfway through his journey. He thinks to ignore them, that whoever’s outside is going to grow tired, probably think that he’s not even home, but the knocks continue, there’s an insistence to them, a demand that he open the door.

And Jason would hate for that noise to be in the background while he patches himself up, thinks that it would probably make things worse somehow, agitate him. So, he drags himself over, angles his arm in a way that the person on the other side won’t see it, and opens the door with a glare.

It’s her. The mouse.

“About time,” she says by way of greeting, pushing past him easily. Jason sees that she has her own first aid kit in her hand and her arm is wrapped in bandages. It’s the same arm as his, almost like looking in the mirror, only he’s still bleeding all over his floor.

And maybe, maybe that’s why she’s here. She knows he needs help, knew the minute he got hurt, and she could have ignored it, dealt with her own injury, and call it a day. Yet she’s here now.

And Jason sags in relief, glad to know that he isn’t alone tonight.

…

It would have been easier to pretend he was still some stranger on the other side of your link, some faceless figure, if he wasn’t so nice to you.

But he just had to leave new groceries by your front door. He just had to fix your broken lock when he saw you struggling with it the other day. He just had to glare down the creepy tenant on the fifth floor, the one who looked at you for too long whenever you passed by, threatened him, told him to mind his own business, to not bother you.

He just had to be careful.

It doesn’t escape your notice that it’s been a while since you’ve been hurt, since you’ve felt a punch in the gut, a hit to the head. So long that your bruises have finally had the chance to fade and your skin looks almost like it did before. It’s never going to be the same, time cannot heal the scars, but at least you’re no longer black and blue.

That’s why when you’re jolted out of sleep with a scream inducing pain, you know something’s wrong. The blood no longer scares you, no longer makes you sick, but your hands still shake when you gage the damage, clean it up, and wrap it. And it’s supposed to end here. There’s nothing you can do now but go back to sleep, hope that you’re not woken up by another mystical attack.

But you can’t. The apartment next door is quiet, empty, and you find that you won’t be able to rest until you know he’s back.

So, you don’t care about the ruckus you’re making in the early hours of the morning. You don’t care that the parents down the hall are glaring at you through the crack of their door, the sounds of a baby crying are quiet compared to your knocking. You don’t care. Because he’s on the other side of this door and he could be dying and no matter how angry you were, are at him for getting the both of you hurt, you can’t just leave him now that you know he’s right there.

“I have so many questions,” you say when you’ve finished your wrapping. It took longer than you would have liked, but he aggravated it on his way back from wherever he was, and you had to make sure that it wouldn’t get infected. You don’t know what would happen to you if it did. “But something tells me I won’t like the answer.”

“Smart girl,” he rasps out. He’s tired, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t let himself rest. He watched you the whole time you worked, probably making sure that you did it correctly.

“But I feel like I deserve it. You don’t know how it was like, getting hurt without seeing what it was that was attacking you.”

And it’s obviously the wrong thing to say. Because although he wasn’t relaxed, at least he wasn’t angry. He seemed all too happy to let you patch him up, probably delirious from the blood loss, unable to turn you away, but now that he’s no longer bleeding all over the floor, he has the strength to glare, to scowl. And you should probably be scared. But you know he won’t hurt you. Can’t. So, you stand your ground.

“Are you in some sort of gang?”

“I don’t have to answer you.”

“I don’t think you work for the police. You have that lawlessness to you. So, what is it? Drugs? Mafia? One of those costumed freaks outside on the street?”

“Shut up.”

“You don’t look like a follower though. I doubt you’re some goon. Maybe you’re new, been training for this moment. Are you some up and coming villain here to take over Gotham now that Batman’s de—”

And you choke, his hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing. It’s not enough to kill you, no, of course not, because then that would be counterproductive on his part. It’s just supposed to scare you, to keep you quiet, the way his fingers tighten. And you think that the connection you share somehow dampens the effects the receiver gets from the original source because he doesn’t look the least bit affected by his hold. That, or he’s been through worse. Which wouldn’t surprise you.

You really should have kept your mouth shut. The original plan was just to take care of him and leave, a sort of repayment for the groceries, the door, the creepy tenant, but you’re angry, have been angry for so long. Because all his good deeds these past few weeks don’t erase the hurt you’ve experienced the past two years. Old feelings of resentment bubble to the surface and you don’t care that your life is in his hands right now.

“You don’t know anything, little mouse.” His words are low but the stillness in his apartment makes it easy to hear him, to feel the impact. “You think just because we have some voodoo link, I won’t hurt you?”

“You won’t kill me.”

“No, of course not, mouse. But I can make you regret ever speaking to me like that.” His grip tightens slightly. “You think I’m scared of a little pain? I’ve crawled out of hell myself.”

And you imagine that this sneer shakes people to the core, the way it twists the simple letter on his face. But you have the same thing on yours and you feel pity instead. Because along with all the anger, there is hurt, and sadness, and confusion, and loneliness.

Because this link was supposed to be a gift, a miracle. At least that’s what the books said, the old folktales, and it was, it was something to celebrate, to cherish. Until the years tainted it, mangled its magic in such a way that something that was supposed to be, had potential to be, love left you broken.

“D-don’t underes-estimate me.” You say between struggled breaths. “Y-you may not ha-have se-en me b-but I, I was there, t-too.”

You don’t expect to be let go so you crumble to the floor, knees taking the brunt of your fall. You see him twitch slightly but other than that, he seems fine. Physically. He’s staring you down like he doesn’t know what to do with you, what to make of you, and you can’t blame him. You don’t know what’s happening either, what’s going to happen. Because everything’s a mess and you don’t know if the two of you are tied together because you’re supposed to be together or you’re supposed to ruin each other.

“It—It wasn’t my fault.” He grits out like the words are painful to say, like they’re tearing through his vocal cords. “I, I didn’t choose to be tortured.”

And you want to say that neither did you, but you have enough tact to keep quiet because this, this is one of those things that you’ve wondered about for so long.

“You think you understand, but you weren’t there, not really. You didn’t see these monsters, what they did to me. You didn’t see the looks on their faces. They—they were angry with me, hurt me for things I didn’t do. And for the things I did, they did so much worse. And, and they were happy to do it. Glad that I couldn’t fight back, that I wasn’t in my right mind, that I was bound. Helpless. For all my training, I couldn’t do shit.”

“So don’t you dare put this on me, mouse. I’m not to blame here. I’m as much a, a victim as you are.” he spits the word out like he hates the fact that it’s the truth, that it’s a part of him as much as anything. Because you can see now that he’s built to fight and although you don’t know him, not really, not at all, you know that he was made to protect. That for all his anger, his glares, his scowls, his brute nature, he was someone who could do so much more, that he was someone who once never thought of hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it.

And maybe it’s the link, maybe it’s the way you can see him clearly now that his walls have been kicked down, burned, but you can see why his presence, the very idea of him existing somewhere in this world, once brought you comfort, peace.

And you remember.

You remember the writings on your skin, the way they tickled with every stroke that appeared on your your arms, the palm of your hands. You remembered the lists he’d make, the little reminders. The doodles you can imagine him doing in class when he simply couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. You remember the quotes, the poems, the song lyrics. And you wonder how you could ever think that someone who was so gentle, who seemed so kind, could ever think to hurt you. And you think that you always knew about him, but never once did you make yourself known. You never wrote back to him, never completed his songs, never drew anything for him.

And you think that although he had kept you company, you had left him alone.

…

Jason expected the tears. He has that effect on people he’s threatened, verbally attacked. But this, this is different.

Because there’s something almost childlike to her crying, the way she curls up and just sobs, screaming like she can’t find the words to express whatever it is that she’s feeling inside, the frustration, the hurt, the anger. And, Jason understands, knows what it’s like to just want to scream at the world because it’s done nothing but hurt him. But he’s never had to luxury to do so, not really, could never bring himself to openly sob, let his emotions out as freely as she does.

Because it’s a sign of weakness. It shows that there’s a breaking point. That some things can be too much.

And he’s jealous. Jealous that she can be weak, that she can break, that she can show that there is only so much she can take. So, he lets her. He lets her cry in the middle of his apartment until she goes hoarse, until there’s no voice left in her, no tears, only harsh breathing, and the shudder of her shoulders to show that she’s hasn’t passed out on him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers when she’s finally calmed down. She hasn’t moved from her spot, from the little ball she’s made herself into, and Jason thinks that maybe she can’t look at him.

“You’re not the one who did this to us,” Jason says, feeling exhausted. It’s been a long night and all he wants is to just go to sleep. Lately he’s been too tired to dream or, at least, too tired to remember his nightmares, so he’s been getting some rest. It’s not much, but it’s better than before.

“Neither did you. So, I’m sorry I blamed you.” She looks at him now. Her cheeks are soaked, her hair and the mask stick to her skin but she doesn’t do anything about it. “This link, this connection, I thought it was like a fairytale come true.”

And Jason snorts. Because he once thought so, too. When he was younger, he had found a book in Bruce’s library about links like this, the different varieties, the way it brought people together. It was nice knowing that there could be someone out there specially for him, someone who would love him. Because for so long he went without anyone on his side, without anyone who wanted him. And the idea that someone in the universe was made to love him? Well, he couldn’t be that lucky.

But he wished he was. He really wished that he was part of that one percent that had this link.

And here she is, his little mouse, and he’s done nothing but hurt her. Even if he didn’t want to, didn’t mean to, the damage was done. To both of them. And Jason has to wonder if a link can break, if the people on either side were too hurt, too angry, too broken to be put together.

“I bet it looks like a horror story right now.”

“I think I could have loved you,” she begins, and Jason feels what little of his heart that’s left twinge, ache. “I wanted to love you. But, but the pain…it was so much. I was so scared. And I didn’t know what was causing it, not really. You had your monsters. I only had this connection to you.”

She pushes herself up to sit, to look at him without her hair in her face, without tears in her eyes. And Jason, Jason doesn’t know what to do. Because what can you do when someone tells you that they wanted to love you, that the thing you wanted the most, the thing you prayed for as a child, was right there in front of you, broken?

“I’m, I’m sorry,” Jason whispers, not knowing what else to say. He’s sorry that he wasn’t careful when he was Robin, he’s sorry that the Joker put them through torture, he’s sorry that even when he got out, he only fought harder, didn’t care what happened to him as long as he got his revenge. But again, it wasn’t, isn’t his fault. Not all of it, really. He didn’t know she was there, that she existed. “Why…why didn’t you try to contact me? If, if I knew you were there… I…”

I would have been careful. I would have fought harder. For the right thing. I wouldn’t have been alone.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t, don’t apologize. I…I should say sorry—I am sorry.” She traces the skin of her arm with her fingers in an almost comforting manner. Like how you’d stroke a puppy, lightly, gently, with love.

“When you grow up and no one wants to listen to you, you start to think you don’t have anything important to say at all,” she explains. “I was happy when I found out you existed. I, I didn’t know who you were, of course, but I was happy you were somewhere out there, you know? I just, I didn’t want to scare you away with…me. No one really wants to stay with me.”

“What was the universe thinking, putting us together?” Jason breathes out. “What? We’re both fucked up that’s why we’re perfect for each other?”

“Misery does love company,” she says with a shrug.

But she doesn’t look as hopeless as Jason feels right now, doesn’t look betrayed. Because Jason thought this link was supposed to be good, pair him with someone who was going to love him in a way that he’s never felt before. Unconditionally. But how can she love him when he’s hurt her? How can he love her when there’s no love in him to give?

It all just seemed like another middle finger the world just loved to send his way.

“Maybe we aren’t supposed to be fucked up together,” she says breaking the silence, taking Jason out of his thoughts. “Maybe, maybe we’re supposed to heal. Together.”

And Jason hasn’t been one half of a duo in so long and, and he’s so tired. So tired of all the pain, the anger, the loneliness. And here’s someone the universe is saying could love him, is supposed to love him, and all Jason really wanted was to be loved, to be seen, and he’s broken, she crumbled to pieces right before his eyes, but maybe together, they can build something, make something that would turn all the ugliness they have into something beautiful.

_____________________________________________________________

After Part II

No matter how magical the link seemed, how the stories described it as something that brought two people together, made people fall in love, you and Jason aren’t friends. Not yet.

You don’t hate each other, don’t glare, or spit out poisonous words at one another, but you aren’t friends. It’s hard, after everything, to be anything more than neighbors, but at least you aren’t strangers. Not anymore. You can’t pour your heart out, scream into the heavens in someone’s apartment and remain strangers.

So, neighbors.

It’s an interesting relationship to have. In all your years living in Gotham City, you don’t think you’ve ever looked at your neighbors let alone talk to them in the hallway, have them help you bring your things up the staircase when you run into each other in the lobby. And. It’s nice. After being on your own for so long, it’s nice to have someone welcome you back when you’ve been gone, to ask how you’ve been even if it’s just a question to fill the silence, to seem polite.

It's nice to know Jason, to have someone make you feel that you aren’t alone.

…

It’s late.

You’ve always found that you work better in the night, that editing videos with all the lights turned off, with nothing but Gotham’s city noise to keep you company, was so much easier than it was in the daytime. Maybe it’s because you know no one would disturb you this late, that you wouldn’t receive any phone calls or expect to answer emails at this time so you can work uninterrupted, get into the zone of putting videos together, find out the best transition between clips, to make them more interesting, more engaging. Or maybe it’s the aesthetic of being dressed in your pajamas, headphones on, sitting on your swivel chair in a way that you can’t do in an office that makes you think that this, this is how an editor should work.

Either way, the point is that you’re awake and maybe that’s why he comes to you, drags himself through your open window, landing on your floor in a heap.

It’s a miracle that you don’t scream.

“Jason?” You ask dumbly, scrambling to grab your mask from your table, hiding your face from him. It seems almost fair seeing as he’s currently concealed by a red helmet. “Is that you?”

“Hi there, mouse,” he groans, stretching out on your floor, hands petting your fluffy rug. “This is nice. Where’d you get this?”

“I ordered it online—What’s happening? Why are you dressed like that?”

“Just took care of some business. Nothing to worry about.” But the way he hasn’t moved from his   spot on the floor makes you worry anyway. “You got some ice here?”

“Sure, let me—” And it hurts. You feel it when you stand, the way your ankle throbs when you put your weight on it. You didn’t notice while you worked, too focused on adding animation to the video to make it funny, to emphasis a joke, but now, now it hurts. It’s not blinding, not to the point that you can’t walk. It’s the link, you think. Whatever injury Jason has, you get the dampened version of it, which says a lot about how much pain he’s really in, what he isn’t showing you. “It’s broken, isn’t it?”

“Nah. I doubt it. I just landed wrong.”

“You don’t normally make that mistake,” you say.

“I’m only human.”

And it’s the way that he says it, the edge in his tone, that makes you drop the subject. You limp out your room and make quick work getting the things you need to ice and wrap both your ankles. When you pass by the mirror outside your room, you pull your mask down to check if Jason has any other injuries he isn’t telling you about. Luckily his helmet shielded him from most of the damage, but it seems like he’s bit his lip. You lick the blood off your own before slipping your mask back on.

“I can do it myself,” Jason says when you reach for the clasps of his boots. You see the guns he has strapped to his thighs but think that like any gun wielding person you see in Gotham, it’s none of your business. “Mouse. Stop.”

“Let me help you.” you say, suddenly tired. Your own ankle is nagging at you now, your position on the floor isn’t doing it any favors, and you wish you had at least finished your draft because you don’t think you’ll be getting back to your computer tonight. “Please, Jason, let me at least do this.”

“You’re hurt, too.”

“Not as bad as you.”

And, finally, he lets you take care of him. And you think that it’s been a long time coming. That you were always the first person to know when he was hurt, when he needed help, and finally, finally you’re here to do so. It’s not much, he’ll definitely be better off at a hospital, but something tells you that he isn’t going to go to one even you have to drag him there yourself. So, you do your best. He helps you remove his heavy-duty footwear, and you wince at the swelling.

“This is more than a bad landing,” you say, icing the ankle. You have a timer for twenty minutes already counting down on your phone.

“It’s two years’ worth of bad landings.”

You know that can’t be true, that there’s more to that statement. That the weeks you’ve been bedridden because you couldn’t walk was because of his monsters. That wherever they kept him, they made sure he couldn’t leave. But you keep quiet, knowing that Jason doesn’t do well when prodded for answers, that he’ll tell you things on his own time.

“Well, you better decide what we’re watching this week because we’re not leaving the bed for some time.”

And Jason laughs, a low chuckle that makes a shiver run down your spine. You look at him through your lashes and you hate that you can’t see his face right now, that you don’t know what he looks like when he laughs.

“Now, mouse, if you wanted to get me into bed, you only had to ask.”

“Oh my God. Shut up. You’re the worst.” And your glad that he can’t see your face either. That he doesn’t see how affected you are by him.

“You love me.”

He doesn’t mean to say it. You see the way he stiffens after the words leave his mouth and you don’t have to see his face to know that he’s cringing, grimacing. And you should ignore it. Act like you didn’t hear him. It’s the polite thing to do. You’d probably want him to do the same if the tables were turned.

But, at the same time, you think that maybe, just maybe, this is a chance. That maybe this link between the two of you hasn’t twisted in such a way that it can’t go back to how it was before, that it can still be fixed, cleaned, brought back to its former glory.

“Not yet,” you tell him quietly, almost like it’s a secret, something that only the two of you should know. “But I could, Jason Todd. I want to.”

…

“Hey, you didn’t forget the dog food, did you?”

“How could I? Your reminder took up my entire forearm.”

“I wanted to make sure you got my message!”

“Well, I did. So, congrats. What do you need dog food for? I thought mice only ate cheese.”

“Haha. Very funny. It’s for the puppy that stays by the back door. She makes me want to cry.”

“Oh. You should have said so. I could have gotten some toys, too.”

“And a bed? And treats? Wait, I’ll write it down.”

“Paper! Write it on paper!”

…

Jason hears the scream in his dream.

It breaks through the scene, distracts him from what’s happening, and it tears him out of the dream almost violently. He shoots up from his place on his living room floor, his breathing quick, gasping, almost panicked, and he has to tell himself—out loud so that it’s real, that it’s not just wistful thinking—that it’s over, that it’s all over and he’s free. That by some miracle he’s okay, he’s safe.

But the screams weren’t from him, weren’t caused by his nightmares. It’s coming from next door, his little mouse’s apartment, and he’s moving before he knows it, practically tearing out his door in the process to get to her.

(It’s a good thing that her apartment is practically baby proofed, her table’s corners guarded with soft padding, because Jason hip checks into one in his rush. It’s something he’s been meaning to bring up for a while, how her apartment is carefully designed to keep her safe from those small accidents people have with their furniture—stubbed toes, bumped hips, pinched fingers. He doesn’t want to be cocky, to think that this thing between them is more than it is, that the link is just that, a connection, doesn’t dictate what they are to each other, not really, but he wants to think, believe that maybe, just maybe, she did it for him. That she tries her best to not get hurt so that he wouldn’t either.)

She’s awake when he reaches her room, knees to her chest, hands covering her face, shoulders shuddering with every exhale. She looks smaller like this, somehow, more vulnerable, and Jason, Jason has never been good at handling things that were fragile, breakable, but he wants to try.

He thinks that she was with him in hell, and she survived, so she won’t fall into pieces just from his touch.

But honestly, it’s Jason who’s having a hard time reaching out. It feels like he’s going to fall into pieces because it’s been so long, too long since he’s touched somebody without it hurting. And maybe, maybe it would be the same for her, maybe she’d rather he just stay in the same room, comfort her with his presence, maybe he’ll even find the right words to say.

But he remembers the way her fingers trace over her skin when something’s bothering her, when she’s distressed. Thinks about how she grabs hold of her own hand, squeezing it to ground herself. And he thinks about how his writings used to bring her comfort, how she said they always made her feel less alone.

So, he grabs a pen from her table and slowly, carefully, writes the first thing he thinks of on his arm.

I’m here for you

I’ll always be here

…

“So, you edit videos for…vloggers?”

“I do commercials for small businesses, too. But yeah, vloggers.”

“Vlog…gers. Video bloggers.”

“It’s not that strange.”

“Why would you want to watch what people do in their life?”

“I don’t know… maybe it’s entertaining to see how people live outside Gotham City? I edit for a Metropolis vlogger. I saw Superman in the background of some of her shots.”

“I just don’t get it.”

“You watch reality TV.”

“That’s only because I lost the remote and you know it.”

…

It’s easy to forget with how he carries himself, confidently, dangerously, like he’s bigger than everyone else, that Jason slouches, that he walks with a hunch in his shoulders, that his back curves in a way that can’t be comfortable.

It’s not so bad when he wears his brace, when there’s something to support him, but some days, some days he can’t bring himself to put it on. That he’s just so tired from the night before—maybe even consecutive nights when things in Gotham City get too hectic, when the bad people get cocky, in over the heads— that he just chooses to be in pain. Or he just can’t help it. That maybe staying on the floor, on top of his new rug that you ordered for him, was better than moving.

Which is frustrating. But it’s not like you can wrestle him into one when he doesn’t want to wear it. You learned quickly that you can’t force Jason to do anything, that it’s a surefire way to end the day in a bad mood, so you think that there must be another way to help him because no matter how much he brushes it off, no matter the fact that pain is something he’s used to, he doesn’t have to deal with it.

“No, mouse. No drugs.” Jason says weakly when you kneel beside him, warm compress, massage oil, and some pain relievers in your hands. The internet said it should help. You even looked up some stretching exercises.

“You sure?”

“Definitely. I hate that shit.”

And you don’t ask. You think that it’s related to his monsters, to those two years, so you tuck the pills into your pocket and gently coax Jason back on his stomach. It would probably be better if he were on a bed, someplace more comfortable, but he’s never been able to relax on one, not really. He’ll sit with you, sometimes long enough to finish a movie, but he’ll never stay, never let the pillows cushion his head, never tuck himself under the duvet.

Jason visibly sags in relief when you apply the warm compress on his back, lets out a low groan. His eyes flutter close, and you think this, this is what he looks like when he’s at peace, when he feels safe and, well, warm. You think that Jason Todd deserves to rest, that he of all people needs a break.

“How is it you’re not in pain?” He mutters out after a few minutes, one eye cracking open to look at you.

“Maybe it’s like a loophole in the link,” you say. You move the warm compress away when the timer rings. “Like how you don’t feel my period cramps.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Nothing compared to what we’ve been though, no. But they’re inconvenient. How are you feeling?”

Jason stretches a bit, and you hear a pop. He lets out a sign, melting into the rug once more. “Better.”

“You think you can get up? Want to put on your brace?”

“It’s better if I do.”  

“I’ll go get it.”

You don’t remember when Jason’s apartment started becoming familiar. You think that it’s normal to think so, that your apartment has the same layout, but it’s different. You know Jason’s apartment, every nook and cranny of it, the things he keeps on display and the things he prefers you don’t know about, or at least see.

You know where he keeps his medical equipment, all the places where he’s tucked a first aid kit, where he keeps his everyday braces, the ones he has for his back, his knees, his bad ankle. They’re different from the ones he wears to “work.” The more heavy-duty ones are in the room you try to stay away from, scared that you might touch something the wrong way, set something off.

You know how he likes to keep his books organized, putting away the paperbacks he’s forgotten to tidy up when he leaves, making sure the bookmarks don’t slip through the pages. You know how he likes to put his groceries away, how he organizes his pantry so that the items close to expiring are in the front, so they don’t get forgotten, don’t go to waste.

What you don’t know is how long ago you and Jason have moved on from simply being neighbors, how long it took for you to know his life as intimately as you do now, to know how he lives in his little world on the other side of yours.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

Jason asks when you come return to the living room, still lying on his stomach, not in a rush to move, to disturb the comfort he’s found himself in.

“Like, outside?” You look out his open window, see that the sun’s behind the clouds but it��s still bright. It’s been a while since you thought Gotham as bright, having lived in its shadows for so long. “I heard the park has been renovated.”

It reopened last week and you’ve seen nothing but good news about it online. People were excited to see something nice, something new, untouched by the incident.

“We can,” Jason begins, pushing himself off the floor. You reach out to help him, but he holds up his hand, stopping you. Somethings, he prefers to do by himself. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He looks nervous. Almost shy. Which is cute if not a little unnerving.

“How about we move? Move out of this apartment?”

“Together?” You’re surprised that you’re not opposed to this idea. In fact, you like it. A lot. “That’s, uh, are we ready for that?”

“We’re at each other’s place all the time anyway and I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe. With me.” He scratches the back of his head, eyes darting away from you, blush crawling up his neck. “This place is a shithole, mouse. We can get some place better—better plumbing, better ventilation, better security.”

And you smile. “Getting sick of the cold showers, huh?”

“I just wanna feel clean, mouse. I miss hot water.”

“Well, if you put it that way.”

And Jason, you always thought Jason was good-looking, beautiful in that rugged way of his, but when he smiles, looks at you like you’ve given him something he’s always wanted, he’s breathtaking.

…

“So, how do you propose we move our things?”

“You have a car in the garage don’t you? Why don’t we just use that?”

“Oh yeah? Who’s going to drive it?”

“You? Mouse, it’s your car.”

“No. It was my dad’s. I don’t know how to drive.”

“How can you not know how to drive?”

“I’m barely out of high school, Jason. Why can’t you drive?”

“Bruce and Alfred never got around to teaching me.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to look up moving companies then.”

“…You’re, you’re not underage, are you, mouse?”

“I’m nineteen. Twenty this August.”

“Oh. Good, good. Same.”

…

This, this is difficult.

The bed. He’s not used to it. There was a time when he was excited about it, after living on the streets for so long, the bed at the Manor was godsend, never believed he’d ever touch something so soft yet firm with such a high thread count. He imagined that his old bed was something Goldilocks looked for, the exact bed baby bear had.

And there’s no doubt about it. This bed in their new apartment is good, comfortable, one of the best that they could afford. It’s just, Jason can’t sleep on it, can’t get himself to relax, to allow his body to accept the comfort. Because it’s been a long two years with nothing but wood or concrete to pass out on. Jason’s even found himself hanging on a meat hook once or twice, dozing off from the blood loss, the beatings. And maybe back then he’d give anything to be back on his bed, even the one he had before he was on the streets, the old lumpy mattress with the springs sticking out.

But now, now all Jason wants is to move to the living room floor, to sleep on the rug they brought over.

“Jason?” She asks from outside her bedroom door, voice sleepy, barely above a whisper. She has her hands up to cover the lower half of her face, probably not expecting to see Jason out this late at night. “Is that you?”

“I have to ask, mouse, what would you do if it wasn’t me?” Jason asks from the shadows, from his place on the floor in front of their sofa.

“Scream. Then you’ll come out and beat the intruder’s ass.” She shuffles closer, her bedroom slippers muting her footsteps. “Are you okay?”

And isn’t that the million-dollar question? Jason thought he was. He thought he was getting better. He thought he’s moved on from the worst of what’s happened in the abandoned wing in Arkham Asylum. He thought he’s moved on from that Halloween, moved on from the Arkham Knight. Yet here he is, on the cold living room floor, unable to fall asleep in his own goddamn bed.

“Y’know, I never thought about it, but this is pretty comfy.”

All of a sudden, she’s next to him, the throw blanket over her shoulders, corners held up to cover her face. She’s made sure that there’s still space between them, that she doesn’t sit too close, but it’s enough, enough to feel her warmth, to know that she’s there.

“It sort of feels like a sleepover, doesn’t it?”

“Have you ever been to a sleepover, mouse?”

“Don’t be rude. You know how much people scare me.”

“Not so much anymore though, right?”

And although he can’t see it, he knows she smiles. Because she’s still his little mouse, still a bit skittish around strangers, but she’s trying, she’s getting better at meeting people’s eye, at returning greetings. She’s even made friends with the kid across the hall, helps her with her homework sometimes.

“Not so much, no, but I live in fear of the water bowl trick.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the worst. I see it in movies all the time. So, you wait for someone to fall asleep first, right? And you warm some water…”

Jason doesn’t realize what she’s doing until it’s too late. Doesn’t realize the way the gentle tone of her voice lulls him to sleep, her steady speech providing some comfort he didn’t know he needed, wanted. And Jason never really liked the silence, not like before, no longer found comfort when all he could hear were his own thoughts. So, this little story, some nonsensical tale about warm water and waking up in a wet bed, allows Jason to relax, allows him to succumb to his exhaustions, allows him to sleep.

…

When Jason wakes in the morning, the first thing he realizes is that he feels well rested, his nightmares decided to give him a break for once, finally let him experience what it’s like to not wake up tired. The next, the blanket she was using was now thrown over him, tangled in his legs. Last, she’s cooking.

It’s nothing extravagant, nothing like the breakfasts he’s had at the Manor once upon a time. But it’s enough. Jason’s been having trouble with food again. Some days it’s hard to stomach the heavy stuff, the greasy kind of food he used to salivate over when he was younger. He’s glad that she somehow knew this, predicted that he needed something light after last night.

And he’s grateful. Thankful. Thinks that this, this is what he read about in those books all those years ago. Thinks that this is what the link promised him.

…

“I know it’s none of my business but…”

“But?”

“But you should know that, that it’s okay. It’s okay to show your face around me.”

“I, I didn’t think you’d want to see it.”

“I have it on my own face, mouse. It’s not like it’s going to surprise me.”

“I know. I, I just thought it would be harder to look at when it’s on me.”

“Mouse. You’re always going to be easy on the eyes.”

“Flatterer.”

“It’s true. Just, think about it, okay? I mean, I’m no stranger to masks. I get it. I just wanted you to know that it’s okay. You’re okay. With me. I, I’d like to see your face if you’d let me.”

…

It’s quiet tonight.

Gotham, for once, is quiet in a good way.

It’s almost like everyone decided that tonight, tonight was going to be a break from, well, everything, and for that, Jason is grateful.

He’s tired. He’s been tired for so long. And it’s nice that he gets this moment of peace. With her. In the quiet.

And it’s different than usual. Because although it’s quiet, Jason’s thoughts aren’t hounding on him, aren’t reminding him of what he’s done, what’s been done to him, aren’t telling him that this peace he’s found with her is temporary, that this link they have is too weak after all its been through, that sooner or later it’s going to break and she’s going to leave. Because of course she’s going to leave him if there’s nothing tying them together. Because they always leave. Because why would anyone want to stay—

And.

And Jason can finally tell his thoughts to shove it, to go back in that dark corner of his mind and to stay there. Because he knows, he knows now that this connection is stronger than they thought, that no matter how much they went through, no matter the bruises, the scars, the trauma, it only got stronger, only held them that much tighter. And Jason knows that she isn’t going anywhere, that she’s here to stay. With him.

“I think this link is getting stronger,” she says in a whisper, almost like she’s afraid to disturb the quiet. “I can hear your thoughts from here.”

“Oh yeah? What am I thinking?”

And she smiles, a shy little quirk of her lips that makes Jason want to shield her from anything and everything that can threaten to take it away from him. Because he earned that smile, longed to see it, and if he could keep her smiling, keep her happy, keep her at peace, then he’ll know he’s doing something right.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll let you know if it’s the same thing I know.”

And what is Jason supposed to say? Is he supposed to tell her that after so long he now feels safe? Warm? Wanted? Is he supposed to tell her that he’s dreamed of her since he was a child, that he’s longed to have someone out there who was meant for just him? That the universe saw the two of them and thought that there is no way that they should not be together?

And Jason thinks that the answer is yes, yes, he should tell her that. Because she deserves to know. But, but can he really? Is he really capable of the feelings he has swirling inside of him? He’s been angry for so long, hurt for even longer, believed that he was broken. Could someone like him feel this way about her?

“Hey, Jason, why are you crying?”

He thinks of the way she was once curled up in his living room, screaming, tears running down her face. He remembers thinking that she cried in almost a childlike way, the kind of cry you do when you don’t have the words to express everything that’s in your heart. He remembers being jealous. Jealous that he couldn’t do the same.

But maybe, maybe he can. Maybe that’s what he’s doing right now. Maybe the child in him just couldn’t sob openly the way she could. Maybe, just maybe, the child in Jason could only cry quietly, could only cry without gaining attention so he wouldn’t get into trouble.

And isn’t it a relief that when the tears slide down his cheeks, wet the pillow he’s lying on, she doesn’t scream, doesn’t get angry. She only coos, speaks to him in a gentle way, in a way that makes him know that this, this is okay.

“It’s okay, Jason. You’ll be okay.”

“Can, can I, is it okay for me to feel this?”

“Feel what?”

“Because, for…for so long, all I wanted was to be loved. And, and I thought that I didn’t deserve it, that after everything I’ve done, no one could love me and…” The words are difficult, almost painful to say, but he has to, he has to try because she has to know. “And I thought maybe, maybe I was too fucked up, too broken to love, but mouse. This, this feeling. These feelings I have for you, what else could it be? How can someone like me feel this way? How is it even possible?”

And she’s quiet. Thinking. She wipes his tears with the soft pad of her thumb, traces his cheeks like he could break if she pressed too strongly. And it took a while before he allowed her to touch him like this, allowed her to treat him with such kindness. Because he’s gone too long without it and it scared him. But now, now he looks for it some days. Craves her touch, the warmth, the kindness. And he revels in it.

“I think,” she begins, her voice shaky, like the words are trying to come out all at once and she’s trying to get control of them. “I think you are love, Jason. For so long you had to be tough, you had to be cold and hard and unfeeling, but I think, I think if you were only given the chance, you would have been nothing but love.”

“I was made to fight. To protect.”

“No, Jason, you were built to love.”

And there’s no way he can keep it to himself now. No way that he can keep it from pouring out when she tells him that, looks at him like that.

“I love you,” he rasps out. “Is that okay? Is it okay to love you?”

“It’s more than okay, Jason. I love you, too. So much.” And she laughs, a weepy sort of laugh, but she looks happy, so happy, and Jason has a hard time believing that it’s because of him, that he can make someone as happy as she is right now. “Even without the link I think I would have found you and I would have loved you. You make it so easy to love you, Jason. And I love you. I love you. I love you.”

…

When Jason wakes up, the first thing he realizes is that he’s in bed. He’d fallen asleep next to her, wrapped his arms around her in his sleep, pulled her close so that her back was pressed against his chest. It’s a first. Sleeping in bed. Sleeping with her. The next, he realizes that he’s in love. So, in love that it almost feels like a dream, but he knows dreams and this, this isn’t one of them. This is real. Last, he’s okay. More than okay, really. He’s finally happy.

...

author’s note: the conversation about jason not knowing how to drive is inspired by scaryscarecrows post. also jason's broken ankle and bad back is from lananiscorner

.

.

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ps. want to see more of these two? check them out here

[marivelsblog1503]

📚 𝐌𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐬. 📚

Bienvenidos mis Lectores, yo soy Marivelsblogs, anteriormente me encontraba en Wattpad, bueno eso se puede ver en la primera publicación que hice y es que Wattpad tiene unas nuevas políticas por las historias con contenido para adultos. Y yo la verdad, no quiero cambiar nada de lo que llevo a cabo, espero les guste muchísimo estas historias que a penas van en proceso, alguna de estas historias tienen contenido de autolesión, violencia, violación (probablemente no es seguro), personajes de la comunidad LGBTQI+, y demás temas que no es acta para todas las edades, lee bajo tu propio riesgo si te gusta este contenido.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑶𝒍𝒚𝒎𝒑𝒖𝒔: 𝑬𝒍 𝑪𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒐́𝒏 𝑫𝒆𝒍 𝑭𝒆́𝒏𝒊𝒙. - 【 𝑯𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 】

Publicado el: 31/07/2023.

Finalizado el: ??/??/????

2. Gᴜᴇʀʀᴇʀᴏs ᴅᴇʟ Fᴜᴛᴜʀᴏ | | 𝖳𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗅 𝖥𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗈 x Fᴇᴍ﹗Oᴄ - 【 Dʀᴀɢᴏɴ Bᴀʟʟ Z Fᴀɴғɪᴄ 】

Publicado el: 31/07/2023.

Finalizado el: ??/??/????

3. 𝓐 𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 || 𝓔𝓻𝓮𝓷 𝓙𝓪𝓮𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝖝 𝕱𝖊𝖒!𝕺𝖈 - 【 𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓴𝓲 𝓷𝓸 𝓚𝔂𝓸𝓳𝓲𝓷 𝓕𝓪𝓷𝓯𝓲𝓬 】

Publicado el: 31/07/2023.

Finalizado el: ??/??/????

4. 𝘿 𝘼 𝙍 𝙆 𝙋𝙖𝙨𝙩 || 𝙅𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙙𝙙 𝙭 𝙁𝙚𝙢!𝙊𝙘 - 【 𝘿𝘾 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙘 】

Publicado el: 31/07/2023.

Finalizado el: ??/??/????

5. 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨 || 𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐎𝐜 - 【 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 】

Publicado el: 08/08/2023.

Finalizado el: ??/??/????

6. 𝐿𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑘: 𝐿𝑎 𝐻𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑘 - 【 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑙 𝑆𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑖𝑜 𝐹𝑎𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑐 】

Publicado el: 22/10/2023.

Finalizado el: ??/??/????

7. Tᥕo Sριdᥱrs ιᥒ 2096 || Mιgᥙᥱᥣ O'hᥲrᥲ x Fᥱm!Oᥴ - 【 Mᥲrvᥱᥣ Comιᥴs Fᥲᥒfιᥴ 】

Publicado el: 05/04/2024.

Finalizado el: ??/??/????

8. 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎 『𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚓𝚊𝚖 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚒 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝙾𝚌 』 - 【 𝟿𝟷𝟷: 𝙻𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌 】

Publicado el: 06/04/2024.

Finalizado el: ??/??/????

Todas estas historias están en proceso, y las actualizaciones son muy lentas, esto debido a que soy estudiante universitaria y casi no tengo momentos libres, pero primero hago borradores en papel y luego las registro, ténganme paciencia ya que soy muy nueva en Tumblr y que sigo aprendiendo poco a poco.

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.”

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist and yours resting on his thighs as you tell him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me—back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

[sleepyangelkami]

smut's fun. have you ever read soul crushing, heart aching, head throbbing comfort that makes your eyes burn out of your head to the point where you just have to crawl into a ball because your inner child feels so safe? haha... yeah smuts fun.

[margotwhites]

Jason Todd x Singer reader (fem) Part 2

Author's note: First of all, thanks everyone for the amazing feedback of the first part! It made me a happier person.

summary: After the first repercussions of what you said in Kurt's interview, your agent decided it was time to do a show in Gotham. Nothing could go wrong... Right?

Here's part one: https://www.tumblr.com/margotwhites/742612810749591552/jason-todd-x-singer-reader-fem

__________________________________________________

Jason doesn't know how he ended up in the line for your show. He was at Wayne's Manor, chilling, and Steph, Babs and Dick suddenly grabbed him, made him take a shower and put a nice outfit (that they choose), a perfume and get his hair done.

And now he is on the line for the VIP entrance of your show in Gotham. The interview you did happened just two weeks ago, and suddenly there was an announcement in your social media about a show in one of the Gotham's city biggest stadium.

He didn't like the idea. Everybody knows what happens in shows at Gotham City. There's always some lunatic ready to fuck up the whole thing, always people getting hurt. That's exactly why he didn't refuse going to the show: if any shit happens, he prefers to be there to be able to kick the ass of whatever idiot that causes the commotion.

He just didn't expected to end up in the VIP.

"How much did you pay for this?" Jason asks Dick, staring at the small concert VIP bracelet that was placed around his wrist.

"It doesn't matter." Dick says, dismissively. Babs and Steph share a look and both start to giggle. Jason arches an eyebrow, but doesn't insist on the matter. He sighs, putting his hands on the pockets of his dark jeans.

If he was being honest, he wasn't a huge fan. Yeah, some musics were good, and overall you had talent, but it was simply not his style of music.

The line finished and they entered the VIP room; where after to show they would have access to the backstage. And actually meet you. Jason is not dumb, he knows what his siblings are in for. They weren't exactly discreet. They want to set up Jason with you.

"You guys are aware she said she likes Red Hood, right? Not Jason Todd. She probably doesn't even know me."

"Of course she knows you. You're a Wayne. She certainly have seen your face in one of the Galas footage that are around the web." Babs said, tilting her head.

"This is stupid. I don't know what you people expect to happen." Jason sighs, rubbing his temple. He wasn't exactly going to complain though.

"Look! There's food!" Steph says, walking towards the huge table with a diversity of sweets and savory. Jason follows her, but instead he walks towards the bar. He orders an Old Fashioned. He needs a drink to get his head in the mindspace.

At least he's not in the middle of the crowd. The VIP is crowded, but it's a private space with couches and other fancy stuff. Dick must've paid a hell amount of money for them to be here. Or he had some contacts. He always does.

Jason sips his drink and sighs, observing the surroundings. Well dressed people. It looks almost like a Wayne Gala. Which pisses him off a little. He sits on one of the couches, besides Barbara, who is drinking a Cosmopolitan. Steph is still attacking the food table and Dick is talking with some guys. Probably the ones who gave him the tickets.

"Take that expression out of your face, Jason."

Babs said, a smirk on her face. Jason scoffs.

"I just don't understand what the heck we're doing here." Jason replies, sipping his drink again.

"To listen to music. To have fun. To go to the backstage later."

"I don't want to meet her, anyway. The hell are we going to talk about?" Jason says, untrusting his friends plans.

"Come on! It's gonna be fun. And it's not because she said she liked Red Hood or whatever. It's because I want to meet her. Not everything revolves around you, jaylad."

Steph says, a plate full of sweets on her hands. She sits on the other side of Barbara.

"Then there was no reason for you to drag me along." Jason says, a bit irritated.

"Yes there was. Shows in Gotham always end up bad. We should be here in case we're needed."

She says, whispering. But nobody was really paying attention to them, so she relaxes.

"So why ain't Tim here too? Or hell, even Bruce?" Jason asks, rolling his eyes.

"Tim is with Bernard and Bruce is taking care of a case he's not talking about it. You know how he is."

Yeah, he knows. Batman sometimes doesn't share the cases. Especially the ones he should share. The ones he needs help with. But Jason shoves that to the back of his mind, sipping the Old Fashioned again.

A song starts to play and everyone goes towards the balcony of the VIP area. Babs and Steph grab Jason's hands and drag him towards the parapet, so they can take a better view of you, appearing on the stage. Dick joins them two seconds later.

"Good night, Gotham!" You say in the microphone, your voice echoing. With a huge smile on your face, the wind blowing your hair. He had to admit, you were more than good looking. You were gorgeous.

People are dancing and singing along, the whole stadium thrilling in your energy. You sing and move around, touching people's hands and even letting some fans get the mic for some seconds to show their own talent.

Jason can feel the energy and the music, and hell, he can't deny it. You are good. He even finds himself beating his feet in the rhythm of the songs he knows, and murmuring the lyrics along while you sing.

And then, because this is Gotham, and because Gotham can't have a single moment of peace, some shit starts to happen in the stadium floor. He can't understand what's going on - it's far away from the VIP area, but there is a strange moviment of people in the middle of the lower crowd.

"Hey- something is happening." He says, grabbing Dick's arm and pointing at a group of guys that is... fuck. Holding guns? He can't see it properly, it's too far away.

Dick observes what Jason is pointing.

"Our costumes are in the car." He says, and soon they are all moving. Jason places his drink on the parapet while Dick tells Babs and Steph what is going on. People start to scream in the lower crowd, opening space for the armed man. There are five in total. No- five in one side of the stage, other five close to the exit.

They run towards the exit of the VIP area, rushing down the stairs. A hell of an ordeal of everyone changing into their costumes inside the fucking car, losing time when someone could be getting hurt goes on, and five minutes later they are invading the entrance of the stadium dance floor.

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

You stopped singing as soon as you hear the screams. Something is not wrong and you should've known this would happen, because this is fucking Gotham.

Your security guards invaded the stage, escorting you out of there against your will. You don't understand what's going on, you just heard a gun noise and someone screaming, and then more loud noises and your ears start to do a high pitched sound, the world becoming a blurr in that moment. You go to the backstage, but then there are people armed there too.

A guy from the lighting team is on the floor, blood sprawling under him. Your security team raised their guns at the goons - or whatever the hell those people are - while the goons raise their guns and points each single one of them at you.

You try to stay calm. In fact, you are feeling strangely calm. There are five man pointing guns at your face, and the only strange, unsettling thought that crosses your mind is that you forgot your car keys on the bathroom counter this morning.

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

Dick punches one of the goons on the nose while Jason shoot's at another's leg. People start to scream even more now, Babs trying to control the crowd so nobody falls and gets trampled while everyone rushes towards the exit. Steph is already close to the stage, taking care of the five other goons.

Jason knows she can handle five idiots on her own, but even so, he runs forward, people opening space for him, and he's almost there when he sees a woman falling on the ground and almost getting crushed by other people's feet.

He helps her stand up and hears a small 'thank you' before she starts to run again. He has no time to lose. Not that armed men is a big of a challange for him and the rest of them, but people were shot. And everything that happens in a crowded space causes more casualties.

He reaches Steph and soon enough all the goons are down, people still rushing towards the exit, where now Dick and Babs take care of those who are wounded.

"I think we took them all down." Steph says, stepping closer to Jason.

But then Jason looks at the empty stage in front of him.

"Let's check the backstage." He says. Steph nods.

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

They started shooting at some point. You threw yourself at the ground, because you didn't know what else to do, and you felt a hand around your wrist, pulling up. You feel something cold in your back, and five masked man staring at you.

Your bodyguards are wounded or dead, and you're alone.

"Walk." The man behind you say, the gun pressed on your lower back. You take a deep breath and starts to walk, following them. You get out of the backstage through the back door, walking on the empty parking lot at the other side of the stadium, a simple white van waiting for you.

It was one of those kidnapping movies white van. That's what went through your head. You almost laughed at the thought. You would have if it wasn't so damn terrifying.

You started to think about all the possibilities of what could happen to you once you enter that van. What happens to the people in the movies? Torture? Rape? Death? Canibalism? Yeah, you saw something like that in the TV when you were younger.

Or maybe they just want your money. That, at this moment, is the best option. They'll ask for money and once they receive they're going to let you go. That's probably what's going on.

You try to calm down. The van seems so far away from you, the time is going so slowly, and so fast, because now you are being tied and blindfolded, thrown behind the van, and they are driving you somewhere.

You try to create the map of Gotham in your head: trying to perceive by the movements of the van where they could be leading you. That would be the smart thing to do, right? Maybe. But the truth is that you can't figure it out. You don't know Gotham. You have no idea where you are being taken.

You have no idea how many of your fans, the people who paid to see you, the people who adore you and who you adore back, were shot. If any of them died in your show.

It makes you try to stand up behind the van, desperate. That odd calmness you were feeling till now suddenly disappeared, and you started to do muffled sounds, trying to throw yourself against the van's back doors so maybe they would burst open and you'd be able to get out of here.

The van is at high velocity and maybe you'd break some bones, but that didn't matter. You just needed to get out of there.

Someone grabs you by the hair.

"Be quiet, slut!" A sharp slap on the left side of your face. It makes you flinch.

You were absolutely fucked.

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

Jason recognizes the man on the floor as your security team right away.

And you're nowhere.

"They took her." Stephanie says, through the comms for Dick and Babs. Jason observes the scene, remembering everything Bruce ever thought him.

"They're not hiding. They took her somewhere." He says, walking towards the backstage exit, towards the completely empty parking lot.

"At this point, they can't be more far than 50 kilometers." Babs say through the comms.

Jason curses under his breath at the reality that his motorcycle wasn't here. He looks at Steph, who also seems quite lost in what to do.

"There are any security cameras on the stadium or the parking lot?" She asks.

"Probably. If I was at home, I could figure it out." Babs answer. She's the Oracle, of course she could figure it out. She always does.

"Go home, then." Jason says, clenching his fists. They were losing time, damn it.

Jason just wants to get you back. He doesn't even know you, you don't even know him. But he knows you support him as Red Hood, and that's not something a lot of people do. He can't help but care for you.

He'll get you back. As Red Hood, as Jason Todd, it doesn't matter. This man is getting you back.

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

Author's note part 2: Oof! I was expecting this fic to be more light than this, but my mind took a different turn. I hope you guys enjoyed!

Tags: @duduvea @cynical-ghost

[c1nnam00n]

me seeing that my fav character barely/doesn’t have any fanfics OR imagines

[lealdern]

Can I request 2 swf with jason please?

This is so very late for halloween! My asks are open, especially to write more in established stories like ghost, vampire, eldritch, Talon (she's not ready yet) or maybe start new ones 🔞 blog

Ghost!Jason Todd x gn!reader / SFW

He was a ghost, you knew that much.

Gotham had enough ghosts that they were a whole other population in and of themselves, not that anyone else really saw them. You don’t pay them mind, you’d learned it was better to do as you did with the living of Gotham, and that was mind your own business.

But this one, this burly tank of a man was… persistent. He’d seen something in you, some micro movement or a too-long lingering glance his way and he knew instantly you could see him.

“Please.” He said with the dead (hah) air of someone who wasn’t used to saying please at all.

You ignored him and shuffled your groceries onto the counter of your small apartment.

“I know you can hear me.” He grumbles, frustrated, as he comes around your side; you turn away to slot a box of cereal into the cupboard. You’ve avoided looking at him since he caught sight of you as you’d walked past the alley he lingered in, but his voice is handsome and rumbly and you feel like his face will also be handsome, the temptation for a peek isn’t too much though.

“Listen, I’m a ghost, I can do this all day: I don’t sleep I don’t eat I could just talk and talk, I wonder how long it’ll take for you to get sick of hearing me talk? It’s not like I can run out of breath-“

“What do you want?” You seethe, slamming down a packet of fancy cheese, the kind with holes in it.

“Hey, there we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He smirks and your heart skips a beat as you take in his handsome features, deep eyes with dark brows, cupids bow lips dinted with a straight scar. You sigh looking him in the eye.

“What do you want?” You grab the cheese packet and toss it in the fridge, feeling tired already. It was going to be a long night, no doubt this ghost had unfinished business to be fixed.

“I- I don’t feel dead.” He sounds unsure, a turnabout from his cocky attitude.

“How do you not feel dead?” You ask, squinting as you try to think about how being dead does feel.

“I’ve been dead before, this ain’t it.”

“How would you even-“ you put up your hand to stop him from answering, “I don’t want to know, actually… And you need me because?”

“I don’t know who I am, I need to- to know. Something isn’t right.” He huffs, making the mistake of leaning against your counter and slipping through it after a moment.

“You need to believe you won’t slip through, then you won’t slip through,” you advise, setting up some water to boil so you can have tea, because you’re sure it’s going to be a long night.

“How would you know?” He asks smartly, a frown pulling his dark brows down.

You look up at him with a glare and he near-smirks, “I see dead people, jackass, you think I haven’t picked up a few pointers from them?”

You make your tea as he perfects leaning against things. You don’t point out he’s already doing it considering he’s not fallen through the floor into the apartment below, since it would make him fall into the apartment below.

You grab your tea, and sit on the couch, pulling your old beat up laptop out, and Jackass follows you, sitting precariously on the couch. He’s mastered it quick at least.

You open google and look to the handsome ghost, somehow balancing on cocky and unsure at the same time, and sigh. “So… tell me about yourself.”

[technowoah]

Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better

Moments between Jason Todd and his lover, whos apart of the League of Assassins btw

- Based on these headcanons I made

⚠︎: mentions of death, injures, not much gore, swearing and complicated feelings, also this is unedited so sorry for any typos or errors

"This shit sucks ass."

"Jason please stop with the swearing."

You both stumbled into his apartment, well your shared apartment. Coming from patroling the city you two were beaten pretty badly. Your League outfit that was once green and gold was now ruined in a blood red that was from your gashes and wounds.

Jason was beaten up badly too. His helmet was broken and he was supporting a black eye. His suit was ripped open showing newly fresh wounds.

The fight was just a hazy memory, you've both hit your heads a couple of times and right now it dosen't even matter. Whet matters most is that you both made it home.

To be honest you dont even know how you had the energy left to get back to his apartment. You thought you were going to bleed out so thats why you have Bruce's number on speedial at the moment.

You and Jason ended up in the kitchen before slowly falling to the cold ground. Not making it fully to the living room and covering the floor with dirt and blood. Both of you were breathing heavily without your masks on.

You two were lying on your backs heads faced toward eachother while your noses were almost touching. You beathed in his scent which smelt like blood and smoke and just smelt like the outdoors.

Some might say this would be a romantic moment.

Except for the fact that you both were bleeding out on the kitchen floor.

After a while of staring at eachother and wondering which one was gonna call for help first you whispered to him.

"We need to call for some assistance Jason."

"Its fine." He said while trying to get up from his spot on the floor. "I can get the medical kit, its in that cabinet."

The cabinet which he was talking about wasn't on the floor, it was a high shelf. Jason tried to stand up on his knees, but groaned in pain as he found his way back to the floor.

"Let me call Bruce."

"Hell. No"

"Jason-"

"Im not letting him save me. Im not weak." He groaned and you rolled your eyes.

"Jason, I am weak."

He paused for a moment. Seeing you both are in the same predicament. Both beaten, bloodied, hand and knees, chest and arms, canr barely move. He didn't want to pass out here, he didnt want you to either. He didn't want to calm Bruce.

"Call Alfred."

~~~

"Seems like you two got into some trouble?"

"Yeah a little bit." Jason responed to Alfred.

Alfred got you both to the couch and started on stiching your wounds. You both looked like mummies, but you both were cleaner than you were before.

"Thank you again." You spoke.

"There is no need for that, it is my job after all. Ive taken care of about 4 kids for all these years."

"Yeah, thank you Alfred." Jason responded.

"You're welcome." Alfred smiled at Jason and he gave a small smirk back. "So when are you going to tell master Bruce about the two of you?"

"Never." Jason said quickly. "I dont want him in my buisness, he'll try to take over my love live."

"Love life." You whispered but no one heard.

"He'll find out eventually you know?"

"Yeah"

"Until then we'll be fine Jason, I promise."

He was silent, he was thinking too hard and you could tell. The dim lights of the room gave a gloomy aspect but it highlighted his face well. Jason opened his mouth to protest like he always does, but you beat him to it.

"Im very good at keeping a secret am I not?" You teased waiting for his reaction.

It was a slight smirk but it dissappeared. "Yeah took a while to figure out you were from the Leauge. When you pretended you weren't apart of the League, that messed me up when you started training me."

"My best student." You whispered, guilt filled your heart when he brung up the past.

"Damn right." He smiled at you. For the first time today.

The moon was brighter than usual as you stared at it encapsulated by its beauty. The Leauge made a huge deal about the moon. It felt like you were home.

Jason had left you outside by yourself a while ago saying he needed wine. You both took lawn chairs outside to Bruces huge acre garden to have some sort of alone time at Bruce's house. He's been taking a while to get the wine and you probably should assume that his brothers were taking up his time. You kept staring at the moon.

"Is it that interesting as they say?"

You sat up and turned slightly to see Damian taking Jason's seat next to you.

"If you look yes it is."

"Is it true you studied the moon?"

"A lot of questions young one." You smirked and he scoffed. "Yes I did. One time in Egypt I studied it and immediately got immersed in the study of space."

Damian hummed in response and was about to ask a question, but remembered your response to him asking another question.

"Why are you hesitant?" You asked and he tensed beside you.

"You can tell from the Leauge right? Their training?"

"It was interesting, but yes. Like Jason per say." He raised his eyebrows in question. "His senses are heightened because of the Lazarus Pit right?"

He nodded and you admired his focus to your words. "Think like that. You're truly advanced Damian, but not as advanced as me." You laughed.

"How can I be?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want to be better." He looked seriously into your eyes with nothing but determination.

"You dont want to go back there Damian."

"I know but-"

"But nothing, Damian." You cut him off sternly. "It's horrible, a bad place with bad people. I dont care if they are considered family. Family can be bad as well."

"What if I want to change the Leauge of Assassins."

"Change the Leauge of Assassins, the very same one that's under Ra's rule?"

"Yes. Didn't I make myself clear."

"Clear as the moon Damian."

It's not like you hated the Leauge. You had a love-hate relationship with them. But you and Damian had seen the worse of it all and both of you know you're both better off here than back there.

"Think about it." Damian spoke into the air. You nodded as you both satnin silence with the tension slowly releasing the air. The only noise was the occasional crickets and your own mind.

"Why?" You asked Damian.

"Again you ask me why?"

"I ask you "why" because I want a plan from you. I dont do anything without a plan."

Damian scoffed, "You and Jason go on rouge missions all the time."

"Those are supposed to be secret." You chuckled.

"He's not as discreet as you are."

You laughed and at the sound of your laughter Damian had a small smirk. These times with the Waynes had helped you highten your emotions. Always been taught that emotions will hold you back, that they'll make you weak is nothing now. Jason and you work out your emotions. Both expressing things you both never expressed before. Joy, love, compassion, jealousy, sadness, rage. All because of Jason, every day you see yourself grow more. And he can say the same about you.

"You tryna steal my girlfriend demon?"

Speak of the devil.

"No Todd, just having lively conversation." Damian spoke as he stood up. You noticed he was more relaxed than when he came out to the garden before.

"We'll I'll appreciate it if you would leave us alone for now." He sat down the red wine and glassed on the grass then he occupied himself with opening the bottle, his muscles flexing while he did so distracted you for a bit while Damian was yelling at Jason for taking up too much of your time.

Jason somehow got the last and Damian left with a huff.

"We'll talk later Damian!" You yelled after him. He just turned around with a nod acknowledging your statement and closed the glass door behind him.

"Lively conversation huh?" Jason asked as he handed you a glass and filled it up as you held it.

"Yes." You smiled.

"Thats all I get is a "yes"?" He complained.

"Mhm."

"You're an ass."

It was a quiet night for Jason, I mean except for the Gotham noise below him. Crime has been slow, so he found his favorite rooftop that overlooked the city illuminated in its own beautiful way. Peaceful wasn't what followed him so he wondered why the universe gave him this.

"Funny seeing you here."

He turned his head slightly to see you walking towards him in all your assassin glory. Your outfit and mask was still on, but he could tell you're smiling. He really hit the jackpot today huh?

"You're back huh? To gloomy old Gotham."

"The mission was quick, too easy."

"Did you kill someone for me?" He chuckled while leaning against his shiny red helmet on the side of him.

"Of couse I did. For old times." You laughed while taking a spot next to him.

"Yeah, old times."

He had no idea why you were in his life. Why was the universe being so kind to him? This beauty sitting next to him, the night lights glowing softly on your face. You changed his life in so many beautiful confusing ways. Nothing was perfecy between you two and nothing will be stable, but to him its a perfect love story.

"Jason?"

"Yeah."

"Just I need-" You huffed out of frustration. "Kiss me." You blurted out while he just stared at you.

"Jason this was so long without you I need you to kiss-" You finally got what you wanted when he molded your lips together.

Your lips moved in unison while your hand traveled up his shoulder and to his neck and his hand help your waist. It felt like heaven ti Jason, your lips on his. His home. His gaurdian angel back in his arms. His hand around your waist gripped the fabric tightly wanting nothing more to rip the traditional armor off of you and feel you close.

He parted for a second for air. "You're home." His breath tickled your lips

You both were and hour away from your shared apartment, but you knew what he meant.

You pecked his lips. "Im home."

The motel stinked, but it was the only temporary option.

Jason was lying on the bed on his laptop he somehow brought, am6d you were polishing your swords when he sat up beside you and pushed the computer in your lap.

"Egypt?"

"Egypt doll!"

You could tell he was excited about this. "What are you implying?"

"I'm implying that we go to Egypt. For a week? And we're going there for fun this time. You spoke very highly of it."

You glared at him

"5 days." He srunk

"Why Jason-"

"You always said you wanted to travel the world." Jason rebuttals.

"Yes I have expressed that, but-"

"But nothing. Im making this dream a reality."

Jason scooted closer to you closing the gap that was once inbetween you.

"Jason," You started. "Egypt is just one place."

"Yeah, but then we can travel from there." He smiled.

"Like Brazil?"

"If you want baby."

"Greece? Tokyo? Greenland?"

"All that and more doll." You gave him a look. It was a look of uncertainty. He knew that look too well.

Jason was reckless, you were too, in the field, not in real life. Money wasn't much for you because the Leauge would take care of it all, but Jason was different. You wouldn't want him spending money on you so frivolously.

"I'll do anything for you, you know that right." He whispered leaning in closer to you.

"Sometimes."

"I'll burn the Earth for you if you wanted."

"Im not used to hearing stuff like this said to me. You make me feel love again Jason." You whispered back to him.

Jason wasn't one to voice his emotions often so he just kissed you, hard. It felt like he wanted to devour you before breaking the kiss for a second.

"So, am I buying the tickets or nah?"

"Jason im not leaving my home!"

"I thought you hated that place?!"

You and Jason had been fortunate enough to get back home before you both exploded on eachother. The pent up frustration from the last mission you were sent on by the Leauge caused tension between you, Jason, and his family as well.

Dick was worried sick about you. You came back with cuts and bruises adorning your body like jewels.

Tim did not expect the Leauge to not treat you after such a mission. He expected for them to take carew of your wounds but after you told them that and I quote, "We're told to take care of our own wounds, not to be a burden to others." He was fuming.

Damian was dissapointed. He knew you were the Leauge's top fighters, he respected you for that, but one of their top fighters should know their limits. You should have a say on what mission you take or not, but you don't which leads him to try and convince you to leave.

"They made me who I am Jason."

"Who gives a fuck?! I dont care! You're not a killing machine! You're a human!"

You scoffed at that comment, but that made him evem more enraged.

"Are you listening to me?"

"I hear you loud and clear cause your fucking damaging my eardrums!" You ran your hands over your head. "I dont know."

"You dont know what?" Jason sternly questions.

"Im conflicted."

"It shouldn't be that fucking hard."

"Maybe its okay for you to leave your family Jason, but I cant! My mother-"

"You dont have to." Jason interrupted you. He knew your mom died a long time ago. He knew that the Leauge took care of you in her place.

"I feel like that's all I have of her."

"Thats not true."

You both we're silent for a while. You refuse to let tears fall on your cheeks. Jason's hands were slowly releasing their hard clench.

"Im sorry." You said.

"Me too." Jason follows.

"We're really fucked aren't we?" You laughed a tear trickling down your cheek. Jason stepped closer to you and took his thumb and wiped your tear.

"Now look who's swearing now." He laughed. He pulled you in for a hug encased in his broad arms and rested his head ontop of yours. "And yes we are."

..........

You and Jason were cuddled up againt eachother with him fast asleep. He was snoring pretty loud and that woke you up out of your peaceful sleep.

Carefully, you slipped out of his arms and the covers and headed towards the kitchen for a glass of water.

You padded to the kitchen when you felt a presence in the apartment with you.

"Damian."

"How did you know?"

"I felt your presence." You smirked and he scoffed.

"Are you better?" He asks while sitting on the kitchen island.

"No." You chuckled.

You both were quiet with him not knowing what to say.

"Will you take my offer?"

"Which one?"

"To reform the Leauge of Assassins." He spoke in some sort of heroic tone he learned from his father.

"Ah I forgot about that one. When was this? December?" You teased

"June 13." He deadpanned.

"I know. Why would I take up your offer now?" You questioned trying to get him to spill.

"I want to go back just as much as you. But its horrible we could run it together!" He shouted.

"Keep it down." You shushed him "Jason is alseep."

"What's there to loose?" He grunted.

"Everything, Damian."

"What are you doing here at 3am?" Jasom stumbled into the kitchen wrapping an arm around you.

"You always have to interrupt our conversations Todd?"

"Yeah I want my girlfriend back to bed." He snipped while taking your glass and stealth a sip of your water.

"Damian?" You softly spoke.

"Yes?"

"Stay here tonight. I'll call Bruce and tell him that his son was worried about me." You joked and he scoffed again already gathering the blankets and pillows from the last time he stayed on the couch, turning on the TV making himself at home.

"Its like we already have a kid."

"Shut up." Jason rolled his eyes and chuckled before filling up the glass again and going back to bed.

"Damian." You called out his name again and he lifted his head from the couch.

"Let's have this conversation when you're older okay?"

He gave you a small smile before turning his attention back to the TV.

You cuddled back with Jason under the covers, he gave you a small kiss on your forehead before shutting his eyes.

"I think I want to change the Leauge of Assassins."

"You do you babe." He slurred.

"Jay Im serious."

"Im serious too. Do whatever you want I'll be here right by your side. No matter how dangerous."

"No matter how deadly?" You sighed.

"You know I love a good deadly mission once and a while." He smirked with his eyes closed.

"I love you."

"I love you too doll. And I'll follow you to the ends of the earth."

[filthycagedsoul]

boy wonder back from the dead ~ red hood

baby’s first moodboard in my jason todd series

[chikaras-garden]

Batboys as your sugar daddy

What’s the point of all this money if you don’t have someone to spend it on?

Pairings: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake x fem!reader

Contains: Sugar daddies. Possessive, controlling men. Power imbalances. They’re all a little toxic. These relationships are not aspirational babes. Oral sex (f!receiving) in Dick’s.

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked.

BRUCE WAYNE 💋

“Wear the diamonds,” Bruce rumbles from behind you, lips right next to the shell of your ear. Before you can answer, his warm hands are already on your throat, and cool platinum touches your skin. A hundred diamonds arranged in three dainty layers sparkle in the low light of Bruce’s bedroom, clinging tightly to your neck.

With the choker clasped in place, one of Bruce’s hands traces up and down your neck while the other rests heavily on your hip, holding you flush against his chest. His touch is hypnotic, pulling you in like a planet pulls a moon into orbit. Your whole world revolves around him—and that’s exactly how he likes it.

But like the moon, the subtle gravitational pull you have on him keeps him in place, keeps him stable, calms his most wicked of storms.

He bows his head. The way he looks at you through his eyelashes is almost reverent while he kisses your bare shoulder, skin interrupted only by your dress’s hair-thin silk strap.

“Beautiful,” he says, and you know he’s not talking about the necklace, the dress, or any of the other jewels and silks he’s drowned you in over the last year.

When your eyes meet in the mirror, one corner of his lips quirks up into a smirk, which he buries under a kiss to your jaw. 

There, with a quick, sharp nip of his teeth, he lays his claim. “And all mine.”

DICK GRAYSON 💋

Dick’s on his knees, head buried between your legs when you hear—feel—him say, “I need you to take a week off work.”

Well. What he really needs is for you to just quit your job already, but you got upset the last time he suggested it. Baby steps. For now.

“Why?” you gasp, blinking hard as you try to focus on the fact that he’s starting a conversation now when his tongue is making you smart and shake with pleasure.

“I want to go to the Maldives,” he says as if it’s the most inconsequential thing in the world, as if he’s saying he wants to go across town, not across the world.

His tongue flattens out and dips into your weeping hole, and your thighs tighten around his head in response. He groans, and you choke out, “A week for the Maldives?”

You feel his lips twist and curve around you, paired with a little graze of teeth; he’s smiling, and the sensation makes you dizzy. There it is, he wants to say. You want more. Finally, your expectations are starting to match his bank account.

But he decides to play the dumb, pretty boyfriend he likes to make people think he is. “You don’t think it’s enough time? Wanna take two weeks?”

“I don’t have the—” He kisses up to your clit and gives it a tentative little suck, which makes you fist his hair. “—vacation days.”

“Why don’t you just take them without pay?” he proposes as his tongue laves up your swollen sex. “It’ll be okay, just this once. You’ll feel so much better after some time off; I promise.”

JASON TODD 💋

Jason is currently scrutinizing the contents of your pantry, a box of macaroni and cheese in his hand. After seeing the scowl on his face, you’re not surprised when he starts to lecture you. “You eat this crap?”

You raise a brow because he’s one to judge. “I’ve seen you eat an entire party box of tacos.”

“I’m not you,” he fires back. His voice is still low, still calm, but you can sense an edge in his tone; this conversation is about a lot more than boxed macaroni and cheese.

In the beat of silence that follows, his heated gaze dulls to a smolder. “You don’t know how precious you are.”

You open your mouth to reply, but whatever retort you were going to argue back with is silenced when Jason’s big hands cup your face, tilting your head up so he can kiss your forehead. He lingers there, and you feel him tremble. His breath is ragged, rough—as if he’s afraid.

“I’m not you,” he repeats in a whisper. It’s like he’s talking to a child, like he knows you don’t know any better. Poor little you—you need him. “Just let me take care of you like always, okay? How about I sign you up for one of those meal prep kits? No more processed food; it’s not good for you.”

When he pulls you against his chest and strokes your hair, you feel yourself nod, unable to disagree. You know he’s right, after all; and isn’t it sweet that he treats you like a delicate angel even though he’s seen the worst of the world? That nothing without his stamp of approval is good enough for you?

TIM DRAKE 💋

“Oh, you’re all set,” your manicurist smiles at you as soon as you take out your wallet, nails freshly done. 

Caught off guard, all you can reply with is, “Huh?”

She just smiles a little brighter, and there’s a sparkle of something in her eyes. It looks a little wistful, but also a little vapid—is that jealousy? “Your boyfriend paid already,” she explains as her eyes not-so-subtly look around, trying to catch a glimpse of said boyfriend, but you’re just as surprised as she is.

“For the next year,” she adds in a dry tone. Slowly, you drop your wallet back into your purse. There’s only one man alive who could figure out where you get your nails done, what day and time you like your appointments, and call ahead to pay off your manicures for the next year without you ever finding out about it.

So when you get back to your car, you call him.

“Do anything fun today?” he asks over the phone, pretending to be way more innocent than he actually is.

“Tim—”

“Actually,” he cuts in, and you hear a bashful tremor in his voice. That tremor makes your stomach do flips, which beckons you to give in to whatever he wants. “I was just thinking about you. You’ve got the prettiest hands.”

“Tim—”

“Let’s go shopping later,” he rambles on, completely ignoring you. “I think you need some new jewelry. You’d like a new set of rings, wouldn’t you?”

🔖: @mrs-kurooo; @lovely-loren05