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Moonstruck

jason todd x reader

aka sober thoughts and all that

warnings: intoxication

Jason has a thing about drinking around you. He’d kind of skirted around it for a while when you were first dating, but after a while you’d noticed he never really has more than a drink or two regardless of how much you had. The only times you ever see him drink more is when he’s downing whiskey as a pain mitigater when he needs stitches. You’d initially assumed he just wasn’t a big drinker, but eventually you’d come to realize it was more of a matter of not wanting to lose his inhibitions around you. 

You know he’s still working on trusting himself, even sober, because he’s terrified of accidentally hurting you. But you have a hard time imagining him losing control like that in any state and you’re nearly certain he’s just being hard on himself.

You’ve been falling in and out of less than peaceful sleep for the past few hours, having trouble easing yourself while your boyfriend is still out. You at least attempted to get to bed earlier tonight because for once he isn’t out fighting crime and risking injury, though you haven’t found much more luck than usual. 

You lie on your back, half ready to give up and turn on a movie while you wait.

You’re momentarily startled to hear Dick bellow out your name, no regard for the fact that it’s nearing three in the morning and you have neighbors. He’s not much of a shouter so you’re instantly on alert, worried that he or Jason are hurt.

You fumble out of bed and rush to the living room, surprised to find your fire escape empty. You turn, proceeding towards the front door, opening it cautiously. 

“Dick? What—” You don’t need to finish your question because the second you take one good look at the two of them, the state of them is immediately clear. Dick, who’s barely standing upright on his own, supports your boyfriend's weight via Jason’s arm slinged around his shoulder.

“Hey!” Dick grins at you, far more lively than he has any business being this late at night. “Sorry, couldn’t remember which apartment was yours.”

You nod pensively, “Well the perspective’s different than when you’re coming in through the window.”

He continues on past that without thought, “I’ve come to deliver,” he says, gesturing up to Jason with a bit of a strain. You’re pretty sure there were supposed to be a couple more words at the end of that sentence but you understand well enough anyway.

You nod, eyebrows raised and try to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dick.” He shifts your boyfriend off of his shoulder to lean him up against the door frame, where Jason places a majority of his weight.

You eye him warily, not confident in his steadiness. He seems to hold well enough against the heavy door though, his eyes drifting around the tiled floor. Your attention shifts to Dick, who’s clearly satisfied with a job well done and ready to go.

You tilt your head, seeing him turn away. “You good?”

“I’m great!” He calls out with a thumbs up. You watch as he staggers away, nearly missing the exit.

You look back over at Jason, who’s already staring at you with a soft gaze. “You’re pretty,” he fawns, irises blown out and flickering all over your face.

“Oh you’re drunk drunk.” You grin, watching him stumble forward a bit.

He shakes his head, looking a bit dizzy after, “Shoulda seen Tim.”

You pause mid laugh, “…Who drove you here?”

He falters at that, gaze falling to the floor. “Uh…” He winces, “Damian…”

You nod slowly, eyes wide, “We’re gonna talk about that tomorrow.”

“He’s better than you’d think.” You’d hope so. 

Well, at least he’s spending time with his brothers.

You sigh, straightening your posture in preparation for the job to come. “Alright, come on big guy,” you pull him up from his slant against the wall, hauling him into the same position he’d been in with Dick—though you’re struggling significantly more to hold him upright. “You gotta help me out here, Jay,” you grunt, trying very hard not to fold under his weight. You swat the door shut behind you, making peace with the fact that he’ll scold in the morning for not locking it.

He presses an uncoordinated kiss to the side of your head as you try to shuffle him along, not interested in the least in easing your labor. His self discipline isn't quite gone, but his awareness of how big he is sure seems to be. 

You wobble from the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders, holding onto him by his waist. You manage to get him to sidestep your cat, narrowly, though Salem hisses at him all the same. Jason takes no notice. You stumble into your bedroom with only about 30% of his usual balance aiding your effort.

He collapses onto the bed the second his legs hit the frame, pulling you down with him. You lie, somewhat awkwardly, on his chest as he holds you tight—probably tighter than he would if he were sober. It feels nice though.

You lie your cheek flat on his chest, relaxing against him. “What’d you guys do? Thought you were just having an easy night.”

He takes a deep breath before answering, “Raided Dick’s liquor c—” he stops, mulling over his words. “...Bruce’s liquor that was in Dick’s cabinet.” He annunciates every word in that sentence very carefully.

You squint speculatively, “Didn’t take Dick for the stealing type.”

He grumbles, “He’s not. ‘Less it’s Bruce.”

You can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face, “Aw, you really do take after your big brother, don’t you?” 

He scoffs at that, “I don’t. I’m the one who gave him the idea.” Yeah, that sounds right.

He taps on your cheek lightly and you pick your head up to find him looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

“What’s that look for?”

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes drop down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you.” He’s nearly whispering and you feel your heart skip several beats at the feeling of his eyes on you like this.

You press a light kiss to his lips and he practically purrs.  

You pull back, admiring the serene expression on his face. “You taste like whiskey.”

“I like whiskey,” he says honestly.

You smile, nodding. “I know. Don’t know why, but..”

He leans in for another kiss but you parry, only letting his lips meet your cheek. He frowns grimly, attempting to chase your lips. 

“Lemme kiss you,” the pout on his face is adorable and while you hesitate to deny him, you retreat, resting your chin on his chest.

You smile wistfully, tracing his cheekbone, “You’re drunk, baby.”

“‘M not that drunk,” he tells you, though everything about him says otherwise.

Your hand falls flat on his shoulder. “Your eleven year old brother drove you here.”

He shrugs, “He can drive the bat…batcar? Bat…”

“Batmobile,” you finish.

“The batmobile.” he nods, as if he was seconds away from remembering. You suspect he wasn’t. 

“Bruce lets him drive it?” you question, wholly disbelieving.

“No.”

Enough said.

“You’re gonna be hungover as hell in the morning,” you mumble, taking in his uninhibited demeanor.

He nods that off, “‘S okay. You’ll be here, right?”

You tilt your head, observing him chalantly. “Where else would I go?”

His arms snake tighter around you at that, giving you a little squeeze before relenting. 

“I wanna marry you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it neatly behind your ear. 

You blink rapidly a few times, “What?” You push yourself up on his chest, sitting up on his abdomen.

“Wanna marry you.” He repeats, eyes lidded as he breathes easy under you. “You’re m’favorite person…want you t’be my wife.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “..You want me to be your wife?”

His lips are slightly parted and his pupils are wide as he stares up at you, taking in your features carefully. “‘Course I do.” He brings his fingers up to your cheek, touching you softly with all the wonderment of a little kid. “You’re so pretty.”

You’re quick to return, “So are you.” Especially right now.

He shuts his eyes momentarily, shaking his head morosely, “You gotta stop bein’ so nice t’me,” he lets his hand fall to rest on your thigh. “Don’t deserve it.”

“Shut up,” you lour, “You deserve it more than anybody.”

“No. Not more than you,” his hands knead at your thighs like it’s an instinct. “You deserve everything.” He closes his eyes, tilting his chin up as his head sinks further back into the pillow. “Think I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Jay—”

He continues on, “Want you t’be happy. Wanna make you happy.”

Your face falls into an expression of dazed awe, “You do make me happy.”

He dwindles at that, “No, really happy. Take care of you. Build you a house, give you babies. Wha’ever you want.”

He paws at your thighs, trying to get you to come closer again to him. You lay back down on top of him and his hand instantly buries itself in your hair, stroking softly. “You’re just…you’re so perfect…” He turns his head to mumble against your forehead, “Feel like I dreamed you, sometimes.”

You breathe deeply against the crook of his neck, eyes feeling glassy. “I love you.” It’s all you can get out, and it’s not enough, but it’s all of it. 

“I love you,” he says like he’s trying to turn it into gospel. “So much. I love you so much, so fuckin’ much.” His words start to get lost in his weary babbling.

Your chest feels full and you can distinctly feel every beat of your heart against it. Or maybe it’s Jason’s heart. But what’s the difference?

You press a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’re really sweet when you’re drunk, you know that?”

He hums lowly, head lulling against yours.

You still for a second, finding his breathing has slowed and his hand has seized its movement in your hair. His soft breaths fill the air as you press a kiss to his collarbone before settling in completely. “You’re gonna love when I tell you about this in the morning,” you whisper, letting your eyes shut too.

💗 likes are the poor mans reblog 💗

Jason Todd Simp

Sometimes being bilingual brings us some challenges regarding the translation and meaning of words. Pipoca? Popcorn. How do you translate cuddle? It's not "cafuné" And how do you translate "gostoso do caralho"?

There are no words to express the scandalous desire that the words refer to, so I'm going to put these images from Jason Todd's Pinterest and respectfully write what the voices in my obscene head think:

"FUCKING YUMMY"

"BITE THIGH BITE THIGH BITE THIGH"

"LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THE JADON 4-DOOR REFRIGERATOR"

"MY CHEST ALMOST SHAKES"

"GIVE THAT MAN TO ME GIVE THAT MAN TO ME GIVE THAT MAN TO NIM"

"EAT ALL OF IT WITHOUT ANYTHING LEFT, NO CRUMBS LICK THE PLATE"

"BEAUTIFUL PERFECT DELICIOUS"

"BITE BREAD BITE CAKE BITE BREAD BITE CAKE"

And this wonderful Webtoon creation:

"CUPCAKE HONEY SWEET CAKE CUTE EAT EVERYTHING"

(also, the voices in my head sound like Venom, I'm trying to control my symbiote)

Thank you for coming to our Ted Talk.

I just made the best Jason Todd fic of my life on c.ai, omg I was so involved, so wet, so passionate, I spent the day making it, letting myself study and work just to see where it would end up. The best Jason of my life…. until I updated the page. And when I came back, it had been deleteeeeeeeeed no other interaction did the same thiiiing.

#I'm in mourning

At Least I’m Not Alone at the Wake

jason todd x fem!reader

aka how jason feels safe even when he feels like he’s dying

HEY today we’re going to play a game where we practice reblogging fics: if you read this and like it—reblog!! lets try to get a 100:100 reblog:like ratio ie, if you like and dont reblog im blocking ur ass

warnings: angst w comfort throughout

It took less than thirty seconds for the silence of the night to drift into sounds of shrieks echoing off the buildings along the street. The sharp contrast had you and Jason bolting upright on the couch, ears on alert. It only took a few seconds more of listening for you to realize you’re not hearing shouting—it’s laughter. Maniacal, uncontrolled laughter. 

There’s a beat as you both freeze upon the implication, the unsettling realization dropping in on you. You barely have a moment to process it before Jason’s pushing up from the couch and heading towards the bathroom.

“Close the window,” he grumbles.

You blink as you register his words before jumping up to do as told, quickly sliding the frame shut and locking it. He returns soon with an armful of towels in hand, and you stand back as he stuffs a couple along the window sill with rough movements. He goes throughout the apartment, doing the same to the other windows. He rounds back to the living room window, looking down at the street with a heavy look on his face. 

You trust that the towels will do their job in preventing the laughing gas from getting in the apartment, but they’re unable to block out the bellows of hysteria.

He backs away from the window, letting the living room wall hold his weight. You both listen to the harrowing echoes with still bodies. 

You watch him, waiting for a reaction. You don’t mean to, but you know you’re looking at him like he’s a loaded spring. You try not to, you know how much he hates how his family does that to him, but fuck, it’s hard not to worry about him. .

When Joker incidents have come up, they’ve usually been something you’re able to ignore or even get ahead of and drive out of the city. But this is raucous and chaotic, clearly enough to shut down the city from the inside. Besides, Jason would be booking it out of here if he thought there was any chance of a clean getaway in this.

But you know he’s got no interest in inserting himself in anything Joker related, especially something so destabilizing. But, while  you know Jason’s family cares about him, of course they do, but you’ve noticed they sometimes put Gotham’s needs first and his second. So the severity of this attack is concerning for you for two reasons.

“Will they…” you shuffle, “Will they need you?”

He’s quick to answer, voice firm. “No.” A long moment passes before he adds on, quieter, “They won’t want me out there.”

You nod to yourself, trying to relax your body. You being on edge isn’t going to help him.

You watch as his head thumps against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. He’s tough—you know he’s tough. He can withstand a hell of a lot more than you’ll probably ever even know. But even for Gotham, this is a lot. And even for someone who hasn’t been through what Jason has, the ringing repetitions of laughter are maddening. You wonder if this is what the Joker hears in his head. You wonder if this is what Jason heard.

The intensity of the laughing increases, more people likely becoming exposed to the gas. You think you can hear it in one of your neighbor’s apartments too.

He thumps his head against the drywall again, hands clenching at his sides. It takes one more forceful thud for you to move over to him, cradling your hand to the side of his head, holding him still. He lets you, though still doesn’t open his eyes.

“Jay,” you say softly, stroking his hair. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?” Normally you’d try for a bath to calm him instead but you hope the waterfall from the shower might be enough to drown out the noise.

He takes a second to respond, letting your hand bear the weight of his head. “Yeah.”

His voice is splintered though, and his shoulders droop as he stands up. He waits to move until you start to lead him, flinching at every spike of laughter. You reach back and take his hand, giving it two squeezes. He squeezes your hand back but doesn’t loosen his grip.

As you enter the bathroom he wastes no time getting straight to the shower nozzle and turning it on. You press the door shut behind you, sealing out a decent portion of the chaos. You decide against turning the overhead light on, opting instead to let the small pink-shaded lamp provide a warm glow that you can easily maneuver throughout the shadows in. You figure he needs a more tranquil atmosphere than the harsh white light the bathroom ceiling can provide.

You turn to him in time to catch him pulling his shirt up harshly, movements jerked and impatient.

You place a gentle hand on his forearm, “Hey.”

He pauses his actions, eyes on the floor.

You don’t say anything else, but he understands your objection regardless. You remove your touch and he peels his shirt off slower, kinder to himself. 

You wait to make sure he continues this method with the rest of his clothes before you start to remove yours.

The downpour of water on the tiles does it’s intended job in creating your own little sanctum away from the noise. You climb into the shower after him, standing in the stray mist sprays that made their way past him. The bits of water that do manage their way to you are hot—not scalding, but hot enough that you know his chest is going to start getting numb very soon standing in front of the stream like this. 

You trace lines over the muscles of his back, outlining them and every little indent of a scar. When you run out of canvas on his back you move onto his arms, right then left.

It’s not until you trace down his wrist that you realize his head is angled down. You don’t need to be standing in front of him to know that his focus is zeroed in on his scar and you’re not sure how long it's been that way. Too long, in any case.

“Jay,” you say so softly that the water nearly drowns you out. “Will you look at me, please?”

He does turn to you, slowly, but he doesn’t look up.

You hold his face in your hands, nudging him to look up at you. He looks tired, drained. 

You know he has to hear that laughter in a different way than you do. It’s uncomfortable and frightening for you, but for him, it’s layers upon layers of the sound he heard while he was being beaten to death. And even beyond that horrible trauma, the reminder of it brings forth every memory of what happened afterwards, not to mention the heavy baggage you know he feels over being here at all. And you can see it all mulling behind his eyes.

“You know I love you,” you tell him with sincerity. His gaze stays heavy and you can tell it’s a struggle for him to hold the eye contact.

You lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, catching his bottom lip slightly. Your next kiss meets his lips fully. You have to push up on your toes a little bit but he does the work of meeting you halfway. It’s a slow, intimate exchange, as fluid and serene as breathing.

“I love all of you,” you murmur against his lips. You let your hands fall to his chest, resting as gently as they can over his pecs. “Everything about you.”

You kiss the top of his Y scar, trailing down soft pecks to where it forks off. You feel his shoulders sag a bit, tension forcing its way out of him. You lean down to continue your kisses down the vertical line marking his abdomen, your hands lightly following in your wake.

He says your name painfully, like he’s begging you to stop. You’ll give him partial reprieve, taking his hands in yours and kissing his scarred knuckles. It’s his instinct to push affection away, you know that, but you also know that he needs it. That’s why he doesn’t stop you now—he knows he needs it—it’s just a lot for him all at once, emotionally. Which is why he gives no warning before he picks you up by your thighs and pulls you close. 

He’s got you a full head higher than him and he uses the difference to hide his face in your neck. Sometimes he feels like that’s the only place he can go. He maneuvers you around so your back is pressed up against the wall as you hold each other tight.

You stay in there like that until the water runs cold, and then some. You have to nudge him a bit into setting you back down then, but he does, letting you collect and wrap the both of you in towels. The second the water turns off you can hear the cackling through the walls. 

As you return to the bedroom, he only bothers to pull on a pair of boxers before collapsing his weight onto the mattress. The lack of layers won’t help him any, but you know why he did it.

He can’t always look after himself the way he should—he disregards his own needs and has trouble even thinking of what could help him. You’ve developed a mind for it though—for him—and you know that being exposed and vulnerable like this isn’t going to help him calm down. He prefers being covered up when he’s stressed, it gives him more security, you think.

You open up the dresser and dig through for his most comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. He takes them from you, but he looks remiss at the thought of exerting anymore energy right now, so you help him tug on the clothes, successfully blocking out the now icy air from the AC. 

Once he’s fully clothed he pulls you forward to sit on his lap. You stumble a bit on the way but he compensates by holding you very tight, not giving your body any option to fall. His grip on you tells you that he’s not concerned with you getting dressed too, which you’re perfectly willing to oblige.

You have to force him to let you break away a little bit so you can reach over to the nightstand and grab your phone and earbuds.

“Movie or music?”

He doesn’t say anything, only nods his head once at the end of your sentence. You take that to mean music and open up your playlist on your phone, handing him the headphones.

There’s a harsh spike in the hysterics outside, mixed with what sounds like screams, and it has Jason flinching hard. You think you can see tears welled in his eyes as he fumbles to get the headphones in his ears. He takes the phone from you and picks the first song he sees and turns the volume up, up, up.

You shift yourself around so that you’re laying back against the pillows, giving him room to lay down over your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist with a firm grip. You pull the hood up over his head, but keep your hands woven underneath, threading through his hair. 

His cheek mushes against your bare stomach, and with the way he’s laying, you’re sure the earbuds are digging uncomfortably into his ear. He makes no effort to move in any case. You can hear the song playing word for word, and while the noise exposure concerns you, if there was ever a time to let it go, it would be now.

You’re both wrapped up nicely in the blankets and you can only see the tip of his nose and a few strands of ivory hair strewn past his forehead. Despite all the snug layers, he shakes a bit under your touch.

He falls asleep before the problem outside gets wrapped up, and you turn down the music. Not all the way, just enough that he can rest in peace. 

After a while the giggles die down and aside from a few first responder sirens, things get quiet again. About twenty minutes later, Nightwing ducks in through your window and scares the hell out of you. The interaction does not, however, wake Jason up, which is how you know tonight took a very heavy toll on him.

Even though the lights aren’t on in your bedroom you slide down from the pillows a bit more and let the blanket and Jason drown your chest out from visibility.

Nightwing gives you a silent, if not awkward, wave and scans over Jason. Even in the dark can see the worry in his eyes. He looks back up at you and throws up a questioning thumbs up with a tilt of his head.

You nod and he nods back slowly as he takes one more look at his brother before hopping out the window.

You peer down at Jason and brush his curls back gently. His hold on you tightens just a bit as he turns in his sleep.

reblog or get out seriously

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.

Jason Todd x Avengers Crossover

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

Ao3 // Wattpad

previous II next

Unexpected (part 3)

If he knew that he would be blamed for murdering someone the moment he got back to Gotham, then Jason would’ve waited another week or two before returning.

No matter what a lot of people said, Jason wasn’t stupid. He knows not to expect things that were unlikely to happen.

Jason couldn’t risk raising his hopes when it came to the bats.

He knew that he wasn’t gonna receive a warm welcome filled with hugs and cupcakes. Honestly, the most he expected was a nod of acknowledgment. And if he was lucky, then maybe- maybe he would’ve gotten a smile with the quiet whisper of a welcome back.

It made his heart twist in all the wrong ways to know that his family didn’t trust him as much as he thought. Jason genuinely believed that he and the bats were on good enough terms to earn him the benefit of the doubt.

He forced himself not to flinch as he met Batman’s harsh, distrustful gaze.

“I wasn’t even here when he was killed,” Jason tried to say as calmly as he could, knowing that if he loses his temper, everyone would use it against him. “I was following a case up in New York.”

He couldn’t go back to Arkham! Not again. Not with the Joker only a few cells away from him, taunting him with his laughter— his voice filled with cruel exhilaration as he continuously promised Jason that they would play together once again. How he would soon be reunited with his favorite playmate.

His favorite Robin.

He heard someone suck in a breath behind him.

Jason didn’t expect anyone to defend him. Not against Batman. But still-

He didn’t expect them to just stand and watch as Batman tore him into shreds once again. Batman threw accusation over accusation, yet he never once provided a single piece of evidence that proved it was Jason that did it.

He took a step towards Jason and he had to force himself not to flinch. Batman wouldn’t… not with his kids in the same room.

He ignored the rising panic in his stomach. Jason was safe.

He was safe.

Bruce wouldn’t beat him in the cave. Not in front of everyone. Not in front of Damian.

Jason would be able to walk out of the cave with his ability to walk. He was gonna be okay.

“Look, B. You can even ask them,” he pointed at the spot where Dick and the others were standing. “I told them that I was leaving Gotham for a while.”

Batman turned to where Jason was pointing. “Well?” he asked expectantly.

The cave was engulfed in eerie silence before Tim opened his mouth, faltering a little when he met Jason’s pleading gaze. “He’s not lying Bruce. He told me that he had a mission out of Gotham while we were hanging out a few weeks ago.”

Jason could feel his chest loosen up for a few seconds, thankful that Tim confirmed his statement.

He remembered the day that Tim was talking about. The bats were getting even clingier than usual. They weren’t even trying to hide the fact that they were following Jason anymore.

Tim asked Jason if he wanted to watch a movie and Jason agreed.

The bats were gonna be watching him anyways— they didn’t even try to hide the fact that they bugged him and all the known safehouses he has.

At this point, Jason didn’t know whether he should feel offended with how much they underestimated or relieved.

They already viewed him as dangerous and unpredictable. If they ever find out that Jason’s been holding back, even if it was just a little-

He won’t let them throw him back to Arkham. Jason would rather go back to the League of Assassins.

If Jason wasn’t watching Batman so closely, he would’ve missed the sliver of a nod the man-made.

Jason tried not to think of the fact that Bruce immediately accepted Tim’s answer without hesitation.

For the millionth time in this conversation, he wished that he was wearing his helmet. Instead, he forced his expression to remain calm. To remain bored as turned back to Bruce an eyebrow raised.

“Is that good enough proof for you, old man?” he couldn’t help but spit out, bitterness clear in his voice.

Batman remained unaffected, not even bothering to verbally answer Jason’s question. Instead, he just nodded.

Jason’s heart clenched, of course, he wouldn’t get an apology. Batman was too prideful for that.

“Truth.” Cassandra’s voice rang across the cave, breaking the heavy silence. “No… not lie.”

Batman nodded once again and Cassandra’s eyes met his. It took everything in him to stop a retort from coming out of his mouth.

Couldn’t she have said that a few minutes ago? Before Batman ripped him apart like he was nothing but flimsy paper.

Still, he guessed he should be thankful that she defended him. Even though it was too late.

After a few seconds of no one saying anything, Dick broke the awkwardness with an annoying smile on his face. “Now that that’s settled, why don’t we get that movie started?”

It was only because of all his training that Jason didn’t break down right there.

Of course this was just another thing that they’d sweep under the rug. Something that they would never want to speak off again.

Discussions of what movie they were supposed to watch erupted the room. It didn’t take long for an argument to break out between Damian and Tim.

Jason watched the scene for a few seconds before looking away.

They looked like a real family.

He turned away, these things happened frequently enough for Jason to know that he wasn’t welcomed.

He blocked out all the noise as he walked towards his helmet, eager to put it back on.

It was only a matter of luck that the universe hated him so much that he knocked something down, the thumping noise alerting everyone that he was about to leave.

Jason couldn’t help but feel relieved that he put on his helmet as soon as he got his hands on it.

At least he didn’t have to go to all the trouble to force his expression to remain impassive anymore.

Batman could use it against him.

Dick’s eyebrows furrowed, “Where are you going, Jay? I thought you were joining us tonight.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m not in the mood to watch a stupid movie tonight.” Jason spits out.

Was Dick being serious right now? There were so many things wrong with that question.

One: Why would Jason want to spend more time with the people who thought he murdered someone and didn’t even bother to defend him.

And two-

No one invited Jason.

Before anyone could say anything else, Jason hopped on his motorcycle. He needed to get out of the cave.

He could feel their eyes on his back but no one bothered to stop him.

The last thing he heard was Cassandra’s voice assuring the bats. “Be back,” she said with enough confidence that one would think that she could command Jason to turn around with only her words. “He will be back.”

Jason held in the harsh remark that threatened to leave his lips.

Plus, it wasn’t like Cassandra was lying. He knew it— and hell, the rest of Bats probably knew it too.

Jason would come back. He always did.

It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.

But for now, he needed to get away. He thought that one week would be enough to calm the pit.

It wasn’t.

In fact, he feels like the interaction with the bats today just made it worst.

He’ll stay away from them for two weeks. That should be enough time for the pit to stop screaming at him.

But who would he stay with?

Jason had enough experience to know that the best way to calm the pit was to surround yourself with people you trust.

Kori and Roy were still in space.

And Talia was busy with the civil war against Ra’s.

Jason had no one else.

Except-  

His phone grew heavier in his pocket and he remembered that an Avenger owed him a favor.

Clint said that Jason could text him whenever.

And the more he thought about it, the more Jason decided that he did trust the archer in some way.  

Jason soon found himself staring at the side mirror of the vehicle and poisonous green eyes stared back.

He quickly averted his eyes.

Clint was his last choice. And Jason couldn’t risk being in the peak of a pit episode without anyone to keep him in his place.  

He could do this.

It wasn’t like he had another choice.

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

notes:

Balancing out school and volleyball was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Only one month has passed and I am swamped with work.

I don’t know how I feel about this chapter. It’s not my best work but I wanted to put something out for you guys!!

I hope that you liked it.

I’m gonna spend this weekend to try and get my life together so hopefully, that means that next week will be easier for me.

Especially since I still need to finish my permit course. (If you couldn’t tell, I’m kinda hating sophomore year of high school right now)

Like always, please leave a comment. i love reading them and they just motivate me so much! And they would help an extra ton these days.

And once again, if you have any fanfic requests, questions, or just suggestions for a specific fanfic i’m writing, just leave it in a comment down below or you can just message me here on tumblr.  

Wounds

Commission for @self-deprecating-possum

Wordcount: 3,370 words Pairing: AK!Jason Todd x GN!reader Warnings: Physical assault, kidnapping

You were once abducted by the Scarecrow. Now you found yourself at the hands of another one of Gotham's criminals.

No matter what you did, you couldn’t forget that night. The night Scarecrow abducted you. 

Even though you were desperate to forget it, your brain latched onto it in a cruel act of self-preservation. Crystalline memories haunted you, seared into your mind, encroaching on your everyday life. Every time your mind wandered, there they were, taking hold of you and dragging you backwards. Back into the dark, kicking and screaming. So desperately did you want to forget — you would have given anything — but your mind was never so forgiving. 

You remembered the way he sent someone else to do the abduction. Some lowlife lackey who most-likely chose you at random out of the handful of strangers on the subway car heading for Miagani Island. The man who followed you off the subway at your stop, which led to you hearing a second set of footsteps just behind yours as you made your way down the desolate tunnel. 

You remembered way you picked up your pace gradually, not wanting to look paranoid at first, and how the speed of the man behind you changed to match yours. The way that by the time you had begun near-sprinting for the stairs leading up to the street — the unforeseen sanctuary of Gotham’s lit streets only steps away — it was too late. You remembered the man grabbing your hair, tugging you backwards with such force that the pain made you breathless, before an arm curled around your torso. Then a cloth pressed up against your face. Then blackness.

It was the middle of the night; you should have known better. At least that was what you kept telling yourself. 

You remembered waking up in what appeared to be a warehouse, though there was nothing identifiable to determine exactly where in the city you were. If you were even in the city. Though with how dilapidated the place was, you had a pretty good hunch that you still were. 

You remembered how you weren’t alone. Several others were there with you, regaining consciousness at different times, all tied to chairs just like you were. You awoke to the sound of their mumbling. Whimpering. Muffled cries of fear from gagged mouths. None of you could say a word to each other. None of you could provide each other any comfort, ease the agonizing anticipation of whatever was to happen to you. Not a single one of you knew why you were there, but you were certain that everyone else was thinking the same thing you were — why me?

You remembered the way your heart pounded in your chest with such intensity that it stung, feeling each beat radiate up your throat. You could hear it in your ears, as if your body was trying to tune-out the sound of all that surrounded you. 

And you remembered Scarecrow. You never paid much mind to the whereabouts of any of the city’s most notorious criminals. There were too many to keep track of, and you weren’t one to live your life in fear of them. The irony of that made you sick. 

You had heard that he was left horribly disfigured after an encounter with Killer Croc, whispers amongst fellow Gothamites about him having his face reconstructed to look intentionally grotesque. Seeing him in-person not only confirmed the rumors, but made you realize that they were an understatement. You had seen him referred to as the self-proclaimed “Master of Fear” on news ticker tapes; even without his use of nightmare-inducing hallucinogens, his face alone fit the bill. 

It was only after he began speaking, circling each of his victims like a hawk targeting its prey, that you noticed the IV hooked up to your arm. 

He explained that you were all to be his test subjects. How this was one of his first trials for his new fear toxin. How the last group of test subjects didn’t live long after being injected, but that he hoped this refined formula yielded better results. His voice shook you to your core. It was calm, calculating. That made it worse. 

One by one, he lurched over to each abductee, connecting bags of orange solution to each of their IVs, and one by one they fell victim to its effects. Their muffled screams fueled your fear, panicked cries escaped you as you prayed for someone to save you. 

And just as Scarecrow had given you your dose, someone did. Batman and Robin, just a second too late — they were the last thing you remembered. You expected fear to wash over you, but instead, everything went blank. 

You had spent months comatose in the hospital. You were told that you should consider yourself lucky. The toxin had been flushed from your system and you were spared from the fate of the others Scarecrow had injected. Had Batman and Robin arrived any later, you would have died like everyone else. You wished you could feel as lucky as you were.

The physical recovery process was nothing compared to the mental one — an ongoing battle that you still found yourself fighting. It got easier to live with the trauma over time, but the wounds were still there. Healing slowly, your mind’s remembrance of that night often tearing at the scabs and drawing flesh blood, causing the process to start over. 

It took what felt like ages to find someone who understood — truly understood — what it felt like to live that way. To have to piece yourself back together, picking up fragments of yourself as you navigated the world with newfound apprehension. 

How funny it was to find someone who had suffered at the hands of one of Gotham’s criminals like you did. One would think it would be a common enough occurrence in a place like Gotham, but with a population of 6.3 million people, it was easy to feel alone. 

Jason’s wounds were deeper than yours, tortured by the Joker for over a year in an abandoned wing of Arkham Asylum. You couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like. The fear he felt. The pain. The hopelessness. It was when you met him that you finally did consider yourself lucky. His body told his story, a branded ‘J’ under his left eye announcing a troubled past to everyone he met. You knew that he, too, was unable to forget. How could he?

It was because of his own past that he was so gentle with you, and you always returned the favor. Every flashback, every intrusive thought, every anxiety attack — you were there for each other. He knew how to navigate your trauma in a way that nobody else could. He knew what boundaries to never cross, what soothed you. Despite the way he carried himself, with unwavering brashness, he was always so soft in your presence. 

Every time your wounds were torn back open, he was there to aid in the healing. Sturdier than any suture, he held you together. 

Your paranoia was often unwarranted, though you figured it was better to be safe than sorry. If there was anything you had learned the hard way, it was that you can never be too careful. Not in Gotham. Though your life had thankfully gone without incident since your abduction, as far as you were concerned, you were living on borrowed time. 

You had only just left your apartment after scrambling to get ready for a date with Jason. You were running late, and had plans to meet at the restaurant around the block for dinner. After not seeing each other for a few days, you were looking forward to it. It wasn’t a far walk, and it was still light enough out to where the streets were still bustling with life. You convinced yourself it was safe, and for the most-part, it was. Your luck had just run out. 

Before you knew it, you were dragged into the alleyway beside your apartment building by a man who looked like he had affiliations with Two Face. Clearly he wasn’t paying his henchmen enough. He slammed you against the wall behind the set of dumpsters that lined the building’s exterior wall. You let out an instinctive whimper as pain shot through your back as it collided with the brick. 

The man looked into your panic-stricken eyes with such callousness, you weren’t sure if he was doing this to survive or for his own pleasure. Though you weren’t sure of anything. Your mind raced at such a speed that you could hardly keep up with it, misfiring short bursts of incoherent thoughts. 

This couldn't be happening again.

You let out a small pitiful “please” before his hand covered your mouth, knife suddenly pressed against your throat. You whimpered again, breathing becoming erratic at the feeling of the cold blade against your skin. “You’re gonna shut up and give me everything worthwhile in that bag, got it?” he demanded, his voice gruff and cold. His body was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your skin as he spoke. 

Surely people had to have seen you. Someone had to notice you get dragged into the alley. Help should have come, but then why would it? Gothamites were self-serving by nature. It was best not to get involved in these types of things. You never knew where they might lead, or who you’d be making enemies with. 

You fumbled around in your bag, not moving your head even slightly out of fear that the knife would press further into your skin, and pulled out your wallet. All you could think of was how badly you wanted to be freed from this situation; to be on your way to the restaurant, as torn up as you were, calling Jason and explaining what had happened. 

The man withdrew both of his hands and grabbed the wallet, dark eyes flicking back up at you with aggravation when you didn’t reach back into your bag. “What, you ain’t got a phone?” 

Your heart nearly leapt from your chest, and suddenly something in your mind seemed to snap. You felt it — the exact moment that all inhibitions were lost to your fear. 

In an instant, you were reminded of how you wouldn’t be able to call Jason. You wouldn’t be able to call anyone. You’d lose what felt like your only connection to the world. It wasn’t, but in that moment, it were as if your brain were irrationally latching onto the concept of your phone’s significance. A million anxiety-fueled questions were brought to your attention, inescapable questions that demanded answers. How would you call Jason, or the police? How would you afford a new one? Would this man use the information on your phone against you? Would he make use of your photos? Your contacts? Would he be able to find you again? The most irrational of all, your trauma crafting creative scenarios in which to paralyze you — what if you were abducted again?

You cried erratically, at full volume, unable to control yourself. You begged in incomplete sentences — something you couldn’t do the last time you found yourself a victim. Though the danger of this situation wasn’t on the same level, your body did not discriminate. 

You raised your shaking hands defensively as you pleaded. “Please— I— I don’t have the money to— I can’t—“ 

The man cautiously looked to the end of the alleyway before turning back to you and harshly grabbing your face. “You’re gonna shut up before I make you shut up. Give me your phone. Now.” 

You reluctantly reached into your bag, doing at least one of the two things asked of you. But you couldn’t stay quiet. Once you started crying, you just couldn’t stop. That might have been your savings grace. 

The man snatched the phone from your hand just as it barely left your bag and stuffed it into his pocket, but just as he did, you spotted someone coming down the alleyway. You could only make out a silhouette, his footsteps quiet, and for a moment you feared that it was another one of Two Face’s henchmen or someone else taking advantage of your vulnerability. His footsteps were quiet, but your fixation on him made the man in front of you turn around. 

The knife fell from your throat, and as the mysterious form moved closer, you realized that it was Jason. 

You spoke his name, voice violently trembling — an indirect plea for help — but before you could say more, the criminal lunged at him with the knife. You screamed, hands instinctively flying up as you flinched. 

Jason was quick to disarm him, and you were pretty sure you heard the distinct sound of bone crunching as Jason gripped his wrist and twisted it unnaturally. Jason fought with such ferocity, an anger in his eyes that you had never seen before. He slammed the man into the dumpster beside you, the sound of his body colliding with the metal echoed through the alleyway. You jolted, nerves fried. 

Jason stood just before the man, glaring him down. He kept a firm hand on his chest, gripping his shirt. “You give me what you took or I swear to God I will kill you and take it anyway.”

Reeling in pain from his likely-broken wrist, the man spoke through gritted teeth. “N-no way man.” Jason scowled. “Who do you think you are anyway, huh?”

Jason didn’t appreciate his defiance. He was going to make him realize that your phone and wallet were not worth the pain he was in for. 

He sighed sarcastically and shrugged, an heir of casualness laced the words he spoke. “Suit yourself.” 

His fist collided with the man’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the floor with a yelp. And Jason continued — kicking him over and over, with unrelenting fierceness that made it clear that this was personal. That nobody was to violate you or your boundaries, jeopardize your safety, or they would suffer violent consequences. You had been through so much, he knew how you suffered, and could not stand the idea of anything more being done to you. You deserved peace.

The man finally retreated, frantically pleading for Jason to stop before returning your belongings. Jason was courteous enough to let him run off, bruised and beaten — a blow to his ego that hopefully prevented him from seeking revenge. 

Your body buzzed as adrenaline began to wear off, watching the man scramble down the alleyway, back out to Gotham’s bustling nightlife that would pay him no mind or sympathy. You slid down the wall, mind blank, and curled your knees up to your chest as a means of self-soothing. You rubbed your neck, checking for any sign of injury, and watched silently as Jason gently picked your belongings up off the ground. 

The man before you was completely different than the one you had just seen. His face softened at the sight of you, his eyes alone disclosing his pity. His empathy was clear in the way he moved — slow and cautious, as if not to startle you. He could see the toll this took on you, your eyes glazed over your lip trembling as you tried to withhold your cries. Though that was all you wanted to do. 

Your thoughts felt fragmented, the world around you nothing more than a hum — unimportant background noise you couldn’t be bothered to pay any mind to. Yet you felt so overstimulated at the same time. If anything were loud enough to cut through, it’d feel like a defribulator to the chest, thrusting you back into reality, heart pounding. 

The feeling felt so familiar. 

You felt as if all the progress you had made had been undone. All your fear, all your precautions — they all ultimately meant nothing. You weren’t sure if you could handle that. 

Jason sat beside you, leaving a bit of space between you. He tilted his head to get a good look at you, brows furrowed over glassy eyes. “Did he hurt you?” he asked. His voice was soft, every word laced with concern. 

You were spiraling, but the sound of his voice was enough to bring you back, just enough. 

You removed your hand from your neck and shook your head — a knee-jerk response. Jason nodded. “Good.” 

He granted you the courtesy of a moment of silence for you to decide what to do next. He wanted you to feel in control. He knew that was important. Though it did not take you long to throw yourself into his arms. Gotham’s undertow was deep and forceful, and you clung to Jason like he was the only thing preventing you from getting swept up in its current. Though the salt of its tides stung your freshly torn wounds, Jason’s warmth offered you relief. 

He rubbed your back, letting out soothing shushes between affirmations that the nightmare was over. “It’s okay,” he told you. “I got you.” 

He held you in his arms with an ardent desperation that nearly matched your own, as if he felt guilty for not getting there just a bit sooner, trying to rectify that fact by putting every ounce of energy into consoling you. 

You pulled away when you were ready. “I’m so glad you found me,” you sobbed, wiping remaining tears from your face. “Why were you even here?”

“I texted you and told you I was gonna meet you here instead,” Jason noted. A distinct tremble was evident in his voice as he continued. “I heard crying in the alley as I walked by…” 

“I was running late and I—“ didn’t look at my phone was the rest of the sentence, but the words didn’t come. Instead, only the sound of your unsteady breathing escaped you. If only you had looked. If only you managed your time better. If only— 

“Hey,” Jason’s voice brought you back again. He could see the panic in your eyes. “That’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

He placed a hand on your cheek, keeping you grounded with his touch and your head steady so that your eyes could remain locked on his. His words were spoken with adamant sincerity. “I’m just glad I came.” 

Silence fell over you again as Jason’s hand fell from your face. He reached into his jacket pocket, collecting your wallet and phone, and quietly handed them back to you. You stared at them for a moment, almost resentful of their significance, and placed them back in your bag. “Thank you.”

A barely-noticeable smile appeared on Jason’s face, brief but earnest. “Of course.” 

You both sat there as you gradually returned to baseline. Jason quietly rubbed your back until you were ready to leave — ready to move on, but only physically. There was an unspoken understanding between you that moving on mentally would be a process, just as it was for you before. You would once again have to learn how to navigate the world. Once again find fragments of yourself. Though this time you would not be pieced back together so crudely. Jason would help you uncover those pieces as you would continue to help him uncover his. You would find each other, just as you had before, just as Jason had found you now. 

Tenderly, lovingly, he would help you heal, if only to witness the beauty of it. To see your wounds finally become scars, forever being a part of who you are, but fading into obscurity with time. That was all you wanted for each other.

Even if you were never able to forget a single grim detail of what occurred, you would remember Jason's actions as well. His protectiveness. His understanding. You would remember the panic you felt as you handed over your wallet, and Jason's softness as he returned it to you. You would remember the feeling of the man's breath on your skin as he made his demands, and the feeling of Jason's arms around you as you cried. You'd remember sitting on the cold asphalt of the alleyway, with Jason sitting right beside you for as long as you needed.

You'd remember that you would be okay. And you would heal. Together.

Finally done with the playlist for my "Jason kidnaps everyone because he thinks Batman is evil" wip! I'm so excited for that one you guys

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8RiHgGPDq6j7M1LkLKsGo2RmW_8aiJ4Y&si=ezEYgXesuBYeAdsP

(to clarify, this isn't my "writing playlist" this is the "soundtrack to scenes in chronological order of the story" playlist, so it you can use it to theorize about what's gonna happen.)

"That's good, he tells himself, tries to swallow past the taste of blood and cigarette ash. That's what a parent should do for their child. Many things can be said about Willis Todd but Jason knows, had he known what would happen to him, he would not have hesitated to pull a gun on the Batman."

Next up in The Protector, more dysfunctional communication

Chapter six of The Protector has now been split in two for tone consistency (it was super long anyway), so here's the updated chapter count.

"It's snowing on the rooftop where they find eachother. Compact chunks of ice crunch under his boots, white covering the black grime leftovers of Gotham's pollution. From up here, the twilight can reach them, and it falls with the snow on the Red Hood in sick red hues."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57542074/chapters/146407723

""You cannot win", her voice echoes through the wuthering hail, soaked in incense and gold and myrrh. "Abandon these futile attempts that will only harm you further."

What can a human do to a power like this, the Lord of Everything and Arbitre of unfairness, his deadliest warrior by his side with her gleaming lasso like a flaming sword? How is he meant to stand up tall, on these legs uneven?"

The Protector chapter 8: The Way The World Ends

Illustration for chapter 10 of The Protector inspired by that Fallen Angel painting

(please ignore how Jason's design keeps changing I'm trying to figure it out)

Can't decide which hits better so I'm putting my fanfic writing up to popular vote.

(for chapter 11/12 of The Protector, end of a scene between Jason and Talia after he comes out of the pit)

Shout out to the best jason todd fanfic ever written truly it has it all

Truly it has it all (fix-it, adorable jaybin, healthier batfam, made me cry real human tears)

WIP Game!

Rules: you will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

My word: CAKE

Tagged by @ghoulysaphomet , thanks! Do you have any idea how hard it was to find a k sentence lol. All quotes from chapter 12 of The Protector!

Can’t even walk to the bookshop in broad daylight without someone trying to rob you.

And you are not the deadliest assassin in the world, up until the day you change your mind and decide killing is worth it, after all.

Knows that if his therapist knew what he was doing, she’d do that disapproving eyebrow thing she’s not aware she does when he says something she dislikes.

Even now, it hurts to look at him.

Tagging: @malfiora @bestangelofall @dramaturgydrakes

These are just the people who I know write fic, but anyone feel free to do it! Your word is TAIL