angel

just a writer.....

[amourrangel]

﹒ @amourrangel ﹕☆ ㅤ ﹟ her · she ㅤ࣭ ㅤׂ : ᯓ enfp ! ﹐m.list

poetically yours, angel

[amourrangel]

would look just like you... with a temper like you

summary : jason todd and you had once been together, but the relationship fell apart when life became too overwhelming. then, everything changed the day two pink lines appeared on a pregnancy test. left to raise the child alone, you never reached out for help—and no one came. years later, fate intervenes when jason crosses paths with a child who looks unmistakably like him, a mirror of the man you once loved.

genre : angst, hurt/comfort, happyish ending?, y/n is female, mentions of depression and anxiety attacks, miscommunication

angels note : this was lowk hidden in drafts but oh well ...

GOTHAM ALWAYS HAD A WAY OF PULLING PEOPLE APART.

the city thrived on broken promises and shattered glass, and you and jason todd were no exception. both vigilantes, both carved out of trauma, both driven by the kind of revenge that ate people alive. you worked side by side in the streets, fists bruised and knuckles bloody, yet somehow… never on the same page. miscommunication, pride, fear — it stacked up until every mission became a battle not just against gotham’s criminals, but against each other.

it all came to a head one night.

jason stormed into the apartment, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. his mask had long been torn off and thrown on the couch, and rage clung to him like smoke. he slammed a chair back into place, muttering curses under his breath.

“jason—” you started gently, but he cut you off.

“WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP FOR ONCE?? god i can never live in this house without you trying to baby me.” his voice was sharp, and when he finally turned to you, his eyes burned with something raw. words spilled out, ones you knew had been festering. ruthless. unforgiving. the kind of things you couldn’t unhear.

you froze where you stood. jason froze too, regret already painted across his face, but it was too late. the air in the apartment turned icy. without another word, you stepped back, retreating into the bedroom. the door clicked shut with a gentleness that hurt worse than a slam.

jason sat down hard on the couch, the leather squeaking under him. he buried his hands in his hair, dragging his fingers down his face. just a broken man with too much weight to carry. and you? you were the same. jason was the back bone whilst you were all the little bones keeping him and yourself together.

while he stood on the balcony later, a cigarette glowing faint in the gotham night, you quietly packed. it wasn’t much — just your essentials, the pieces of your life you couldn’t leave behind. everything he had given you, you left. the house key rested neatly on the table, a symbol of everything you were walking away from. you closed the door softly, heart shattering even as your hands steadied.

a month later passed, you thought you were piecing life back together. no more vigilante life. a new apartment in a half-decent neighbourhood, a job at a run-down diner, days that blurred into nights. and then — the test.

two lines. two small, pink lines.

you sat on the toilet seat, knees pulled to your chest, sobbing until your lungs hurt. alone. you had left jason — the man who had loved you in his own broken way — and now you had no one to turn to. abortion was an option, but the cost was too much, and the thought of ending something that was already a part of you… it twisted your stomach.

the old woman, susan who you worked with at the diner noticed. she stayed late shifts with you, brought meals to your tiny apartment, helped you figure out insurance and cribs. she became the lifeline you never expected.

and then, four years and nine months later, you had lewis.

your pocket of sunshine.

he was four now, full of laughter and tantrums, a mirror of the man you once loved. his dark hair, the sharp tilt of his nose, the same stormy eyes. unfortunately, lewis had developed an obsession with red hood. posters, doodles, stories — he called him a “hero,” no matter how you tried to nudge him toward someone else. but your boy was stubborn, temper flashing just like jason.

it all came crashing down the night lewis ran away.

upset over something small — a broken toy, an argument, something insignificant that felt massive to a child — he slipped out into gotham’s streets. you were frantic, searching, calling his name until your voice went hoarse.

lewis, meanwhile, sat curled on a grimy sidewalk, knees tucked to his chest, shoulders shaking as he cried.

that’s when a shadow loomed.

red hood.

jason paused mid-patrol, his helmet reflecting the glow of a nearby streetlight. he saw the small boy and, for once, the crime-ridden city seemed to fade around him. with a quiet sigh, he crouched down, the leather of his jacket creasing.

“hey, kid,” he said, voice muffled through the helmet’s modulator. “what’re you doing out here?”

lewis sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. when he looked up, his teary eyes widened like saucers.

“you’re—” his voice cracked in awe, “you’re red hood!”

jason tilted his head, caught off guard by the starstruck look. “yeah. that’s me.”

lewis’s lip trembled, but he tried to be brave. “you’re my favourite… you’re my hero....”

jason chuckled under his breath, the sound bitter. “not sure about that, kid.”

but then, lewis lifted his face fully into the light, and jason froze. the boy’s features… god, it was like staring into a smaller, softer version of himself. same sharp jawline in the making, same stormy eyes. his chest tightened painfully.

“what’s your name, kid?” jason asked, voice quieter now.

“lewis,” he whispered.

jason swallowed hard, staring at the boy like he’d seen a ghost. his hands twitched, resisting the urge to reach out.

“lewis, huh? you got someone looking for you? mom? dad?”

lewis frowned. “just mom.” He hesitated, then whispered, “dad’s… gone.”

jason’s chest ached. he glanced down the street, then back at lewis.

“c’mon,” jason said softly, standing and offering a gloved hand. “let’s get you home before she worries herself sick.”

lewis’s small hand slid into jason’s. “you sound like her,” he muttered innocently.

jason blinked behind the helmet, his heart stuttering in his chest.

before they knew it, a familiar voice cut through the evening air, warm and anxious:

“lewi! sweetheart!”

the sound of your voice was like honey. lewis’s eyes widened, still clutching red hood’s gloved hand, but the moment he heard that nickname—so unique to you—he pulled free and sprinted toward you. his little feet pounded against the cracked gotham pavement, heart racing and tears streaking down his cheeks.

you were already kneeling, sweatpants loose and long sleeves sliding down your wrists, and wrapped your arms around him as he collapsed into your chest. his sobs shook against you, muffled by your shoulder, and instinctively, you pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

“shh… it’s okay, baby. it’s okay,” you murmured, your voice breaking slightly as your hands ran soothingly through his hair.

jason stopped dead in his tracks, barely breathing. time seemed to freeze around him. every little detail hit him like a freight train—the small resemblance.. he didn’t need to ask; the truth was undeniable.

lewis continued to cry into your shoulder, hiccupping, his small arms wrapped tightly around you.

“i’m sorry! i'm sorry!” he sobbed between gasps.

you gently rubbed his back in circles, rocking him slightly. “it’s okay, lewis. you’re safe. everything’s okay now.”

slowly, you looked up. the world had shifted in an instant. jason stood a few feet away, boots planted on the cold concrete, red and black armour catching the dim streetlight, helmet tucked under one arm. his posture was rigid, yet there was a softness there that hadn’t been visible in years. like a ghost emerging from the shadows of the past.

lewis, still holding onto you, finally raised his tear-streaked face toward jason. his small hands were trembling, but he didn’t move. he hugged your leg tightly, seeking reassurance. you bent down slightly, pressing your palm to his damp hair.

“say thanks, lewis,” you whispered gently.

“thanks!” lewis blurted, voice cracking, cheeks red, eyes wide as he looked up at the man beside you.

jason’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly, watching the boy’s expressions flicker between awe and relief. he could see the resemblance clearer than ever—the dark storm in lewis’s eyes, the subtle flare of pride when he tried to be brave. every small detail felt like a punch to his chest. he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, just watched.

after a moment of silence, jason finally broke it, his voice low and careful:

"i can walk you two home.”

you started to shake your head, preparing to refuse. “no, it’s fine, I—”

but lewis didn’t give you a chance. “yes! please! yes, yes, yes!” he interrupted, tugging at your hand with desperate excitement. his little body practically bounced with relief and joy.

jason let out a quiet, almost humourless sigh, the corners of his mouth twitching as he allowed lewis to lead the way. the boy jabbered endlessly the entire walk, talking about his favourite books, describing the characters, retelling stories you had read to him before bed. he mimicked voices, recited lines with exaggerated gestures, and occasionally glared at Jason in playful accusation:

“and the knight! he wasn’t scared at all! I told you! he's braver than than the king!”

jason, despite himself, chuckled under his helmet, a sound he hadn’t allowed himself to make in years. “sounds like she knows how to handle herself,” he muttered, glancing down at the boy.

lewis beamed, puffing out his little chest. “mama says im like the knight!” he added proudly.

you kept a steady pace, holding lewis’s hand, occasionally brushing your fingers across his hair or resting a comforting hand on his back. every so often, you stole glances at jason, who now walked a few steps behind. he didn’t speak much, but his presence was undeniable. the red-and-black of his armour, the way his hands flexed slightly as if restraining himself, the quiet tension in his shoulders—it all screamed both recognition and restraint.

“you like me a lot, huh?” Jason asked quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

lewis’s head whipped around. “of course you're favourite! you're brave, and you never lets anyone hurt the city! right, mommy?”

you smiled softly, squeezing his hand. “yes, he’s very brave.”

jason nodded, eyes narrowing faintly. “just like his mom,” he said, almost under his breath. the words weren’t for lewis; they were for you, carried in the shadows between memories and reality.

the boy then launched into another story, animatedly flapping his arms like a miniature storyteller: “and then the dragon tried to eat the knight, but he tricked it with a magic spell! you know, the one you read me, mommy! and then—”

jason found himself slowing to keep up, listening with a mixture of awe and heartbreak.

finally, as they approached your apartment building, lewis glanced back at Jason, eyes sparkling. “can you come in for a bit? just for a little while? please? i didn't get to finish..”

jason hesitated. he glanced at you, silently asking if it was okay. you met his gaze for the briefest moment, eyes flicking down to lewis again, and gave the tiniest nod. it wasn’t forgiveness—yet—but it was recognition of a bond that neither of you could ignore.

lewis grabbed your hand tightly, chattering non-stop about his favourite books as you reached the steps. jason followed quietly, letting the boy lead him home, silently wondering how he had ever imagined losing this life—and realising, with a pang, that some parts of fate could not be undone.

you opened the door to your small apartment, and immediately the familiar scent wrapped around all of them—warm pasta bake from dinner long since cooled, the faint hint of lavender from your cleaning spray, and the faint undertone of scattered toys across the floor. the apartment smelled like home. your home now.

jason stepped inside slowly, letting lewis tug at his hand. the boy practically dragging him, babbling nonstop about the day, his adventures, and all the little things he had imagined while waiting for you to come home. jason didn’t speak. he simply followed, quietly observing this strange new world he had never known existed—never imagined he had a family at all.

when he bent to remove his boots and slid off his mask, the familiar weight of his armour gone, he realised he could finally just… exist here, as himself. for the first time in years, he wasn’t red hood. he was just a man, quietly following a small, bright child whose eyes reminded him of someone else—someone he used to know.

you stayed in the kitchen, cleaning dishes from dinner that had long since gone cold. you heard him enter but didn’t look up immediately, brushing your hair back and trying to focus on the mundane task. you could feel his eyes, though—sharp, assessing, lingering on your movements. you resisted the urge to glance at him.

“lewis, time for bed, okay? get ready and I’ll tuck you in,” you called softly from the kitchen.

“mommy! but I’m not tired yet! I was just telling him—” lewis protested.

jason raised a hand, quiet and unthreatening. “she's right kiddo” he said gently. his voice startled you slightly—it was soft, but something in the tone carried weight.

and that’s when jason noticed the little gestures, the energy, the unmistakable spark of someone he hadn’t realised could exist: a small version of… you.

meanwhile, you moved quietly toward lewis’s room, guiding him with soft hands. he ran ahead eagerly, barely containing himself, and Jason followed silently, watching from the doorway as you tucked the boy into bed. every gentle kiss to his temple, every careful brush of hair from his face, hit jason with a piercing reality: this child is yours. and I didn’t even know you existed until half an hour ago.

lewis’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he yawned. “mom, can you read me the dragon story? the one you read every night?”

you smiled softly, settling beside him. “of course, baby. close your eyes and listen.”

jason lingered in the doorway, unsure whether to speak or just stand there. the quiet hum of the apartment, the soft rustle of blankets, and the small rise and fall of lewis’s chest as he finally relaxed—it was all surreal. he felt like an intruder in a life he had no idea he had left behind.

finally, lewis drifted off to sleep, murmuring about dragons and knights. you stood quietly, brushing your hands over the blankets one last time before heading back to the lounge room. jason remained there, hands in pockets, helmet gone, boots removed, silently observing you.

“i—” he started, voice low and rough, as if every word cost him something. “i… didn’t know.”

you stopped mid-step, turning slightly, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in years. there was no anger, no accusation. Just a stillness full of weight. “now you do,” you said softly.

jason exhaled, leaning back slightly, absorbing it all. the apartment, the quiet, the child he didn’t know he had, and the woman he once loved. everything he thought he’d lost had a face, a voice, a heartbeat right in front of him.

lewis, asleep, mumbled softly in his dreams, his little hand curling around the blanket—innocent, unaware of the storm he had just calmed in the heart of the man who had no idea he existed.

jason sank onto the couch, quiet and conflicted, every scar and memory aching as he realised life had moved on without him, and yet here they were: a family he hadn’t known he had, all in one small apartment.

jason’s gaze lingered on you, a quiet hurt hidden beneath his usual stoic mask. “you… you never told me,” he said softly, voice low, almost cracking.

you sighed, looking down, fingers nervously twisting together. “i couldn’t, jason. it was the best I could do at the time. you were driven by rage, consumed by everything you were going through. i had already left—I couldn’t risk you getting pulled into it, or him..”

he didn’t speak immediately, letting the quiet settle between you. slowly, he tilted his head, looking at your face. the soft glow of the streetlights spilled across your features, the same face he had kissed countless nights ago, the one that haunted his dreams.

"i want to be there again,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “i want to… be part of this, of him. of your life. if you let me.”

you swallowed, your heart hammering. the words were heavy, too heavy, and uncertainty gnawed at you. “i… i don’t know, jason. it’s late,” you said finally, rising to your feet.

he didn’t protest immediately. quietly, he followed you to the window, the apartment silent except for the faint hum of the city below. you leaned against the frame, the old, familiar ritual of saying goodbye to him before he disappeared into the night resurfacing like a ghost of the past.

but now, four years later, the scene felt painfully different.

jason crouched at the window again, boots back on, a soft shadowed presence against the glow of the city. he looked down at you with those stormy eyes, vulnerable and steady all at once. “please… just think about it,” he whispered.

you looked up at him, heart tightening, swallowing the weight of guilt and longing. you nodded softly, unable to speak, letting the words settle in the silence.

he searched your eyes, seeking any sign of forgiveness, of permission. “you must allow me,” he murmured, voice trembling with raw intensity, “to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

a soft chuckle escaped you, light and tender, breaking the tension. “quoting pride and prejudice now, are we?” you teased gently, smiling despite the tension.

jason’s lips curved faintly at your words. you reached up impulsively, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “i love you too,” you whispered, your voice full of warmth and fragile hope.

he lingered for a moment, the quiet stretching between you. then, like he always did, he climbed onto the fire escape stairs, a familiar silhouette fading against the night. one last glance, one last moment, and he disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone with the city—but not without a flicker of possibility, a thread of connection that had survived the years.

[amourrangel]

LOOK LIKE AN ANGEL, KILL LIKE AN ANGEL, DEVIL IN DISGUISE

summary : meeting a vigilante wasnt on your hitwoman job bucketlist. except you had the information he needed.

genre : semi tension, fem reader, semi features given

pairing : jason todd / red hood x fem hitwoman

angels note : second part! yes! (lara raj mention)

previous

IT HAD BEEN A MONTH.

jason never dwelled much on women—his life left little room for intimacy, for weakness—but she had burned her presence into his mind. not just the way she moved, or the way the dim lighting had carved her features into something unforgettable. it wasn’t even just how the leather outfit had clung to her curves, her confidence making the night itself bow to her.

it was her.

the way she carried herself like she was untouchable.

and now here he was, hunting whispers of a group known as the angels of gotham.

angels in name, but devils in practice.

assassins, mercenaries, executioners of the city’s elite filth—depending on who you asked, they were either a vigilante dream or a nightmare dressed in silk and smoke.

jason pressed himself against the cold brick, listening.

soft music poured from the warehouse, a sultry rhythm that slipped through the cracks like a secret—glory box by portishead. the faint bass trembled in his chest, threaded with laughter and clinking glasses. he crept closer, boots silent against the ledge, until he found a broken window to peer through.

the scene below almost startled him.

a makeshift bar stood in the corner, bottles of expensive liquor lined haphazardly against crates. low couches sprawled across the centre, occupied by lounging figures. cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, mingling with the glow of dim orange bulbs strung like stars overhead.

and there she was.

the girl from the rooftop.

she lay stretched across a couch, draped in decadence, a black lace bra hugging her chest, low-rise shorts accentuating the curve of her hips, her legs adorned by knee-high loose-heeled boots. A fur coat slipped carelessly around her shoulders, framing her like a queen of shadows. (outfit here)

a cigarette dangled between her lips as she exhaled, the smoke curling away from her face as her eyes stayed closed, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the song.

jason’s throat tightened despite himself. yes, the outfit was revealing, but that wasn’t what struck him—it was how effortlessly she wore it.

as if the city bent for her.

as if she belonged to gotham’s darkness itself.

near her, two other girls completed the strange tableau. one, perched atop the bar counter in a shredded baby-pink dress and ripped stockings, her pastel hair a violent contrast to her vicious laugh. the other sat in a chair, grimacing faintly as a tattoo needle buzzed over her arm, the ink glistening dark against her skin.

jason’s eyes flicked between them, calculating, analysing. how many were here? how many angels prowled the city? from the snippets of their conversation, he caught only cruelty woven with purpose—discussing targets, men who had crossed lines, names that deserved bullets.

they were killers, yes. but killers with a cause.

and still, his gaze betrayed him—sliding back to her.

as if on cue, she exhaled another plume of smoke, lips parting slightly before she sighed. then her eyes opened, those lazy yet razor-sharp eyes—and locked directly onto him.

jason froze. his chest tightened. he was in shadow, hidden perfectly. but somehow, impossibly, she saw him.

a smirk tugged at her lips, and one eyebrow arched knowingly.

what the hell?

jason’s pulse quickened, the sound of his heartbeat drowning out the music for a moment. she shouldn’t have been able to spot him—not from here. not with the noise, the smoke, the chaos. but her gaze clung to him like a spotlight.

eventually, the others filtered out, one by one—the tattoo finished, laughter trailing into the night as the women scattered to their grim “schedules.” the warehouse grew quieter, shadows reclaiming the corners. she remained.

the cigarette burned down to its filter, and sat up, she dropped it to the ground. her heel pressed down on it with a soft crunch, snuffing it out.

“i know you’re there, hood,” she said, her voice a calm, sultry melody that echoed in the empty space.

jason exhaled sharply, knowing the game was up. with a heavy thud, he dropped from his vantage point, boots hitting the ground inside.

she didn’t flinch. didn’t even glance at him as she leaned lazily back against the couch, fur coat slipping further down her shoulders.

“you don’t strike me as the type to watch girls from the shadows, quite a pervy move no?” she murmured, her smirk lazy but cutting.

jason stepped forward, arms crossed, helmet hiding the flicker of heat in his eyes.

“you don’t strike me as the type to sit around in a fur coat, chain-smoking in abandoned warehouses.”

her laugh was soft, like a purr. “touché.”

she tilted her head, studying him with that same unnerving calm.

“so tell me, red hood… what are you really looking for? because you wouldn’t come sniffing around the angels if you didn’t need something.”

jason’s voice dropped low.

“maybe I’m looking for answers.”

Her smirk deepened. “or maybe you’re looking for me.”

jason stayed standing, arms crossed over his chestplate, looming above her. his helmet hid his expression, but the way his shoulders tensed gave him away. she lounged back on the couch like he wasn’t even there, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, her coat slipping dangerously off her shoulder.

her lips curved. “what’s the matter? cat got your tongue?”

jason’s voice came low, gravel rough.

“not much to say when I don’t know if you’re worth talking to.”

her eyes flicked up to him, lazy but sharp, catching the reflection of the dim orange bulbs overhead.

“careful. a line like that could almost hurt my feelings.”

he tilted his head slightly, the faintest glint off his helmet visor. “doubt you’ve got any to hurt.”

that earned him a soft chuckle, smoky and warm. she leaned forward now, elbows on her knees, her fur coat falling open to reveal the black lace beneath. Jason forced his eyes up to hers.

“yet you’re still watching me,” she said softly, matter-of-fact. “why?”

“because you shot the man i needed in the head right in front of me,” jason snapped back. “ and because you’re a threat now.”

her smirk widened. “and because you liked it.”

the silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. jason shifted his stance, grounding himself, trying not to let her words crawl under his skin. she knew exactly how to get to him—confident, deliberate, never breaking her rhythm.

finally, he broke it.

“tell me about the Angels.”

she tilted her head, considering, running her tongue briefly across her teeth before speaking. “the angels don’t talk to outsiders.”

“you talked to me once.”

“that was strictly business.”

jason stepped closer, boots crunching softly on scattered debris. the air between them grew taut, electric.

“so is this.”

she looked up at him through her lashes, slow and deliberate.

“you really think you can just… walk in, demand answers, and I’ll hand them over like some kind of informant?”

“I think you want me to keep coming back.”

that landed. for the first time, her smirk faltered—just a flicker—but it was enough. she leaned back again, cigarette box in hand, tapping one out before slipping it between her lips.

she lit it with a soft flare, inhaled, then exhaled a stream of smoke in his direction. “dangerous assumption, Hood.”

jason stayed silent, visor locked on her.

she let the smoke curl lazily before speaking again, her voice dropping into something softer, silkier.

“you think you’re hunting me. that’s cute. but deep down, you know it’s the other way around. you’re here because I let you be here.”

jason’s gloved hands curled into fists at his sides.

“don’t play dumb with me.”

“oh,” she murmured, eyes glinting as she exhaled another puff of smoke, “but it’s so much fun to.”

the music from the old stereo in the corner shifted into a soft beat, it was almost like it was matching the tension between them. jason finally moved, dropping into a crouch so he was at her level. his helmet was inches from her face, their proximity charged with unspoken challenge.

“you’re gonna tell me what I need to know,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

she smirked, blowing smoke directly toward the visor.

“then make me.”

her fingers trailed up the front of his jacket, the soft drag of her touch deliberate, her smirk curling when she felt the rough texture of the leather.

“cute jacket,” she whispered, almost like a secret, before finally peeling her hand away.

jason didn’t move. he didn’t trust himself to.

she stood with a lazy elegance, the fur coat brushing down behind her knees as she sauntered over to the bar. her hips swayed in rhythm with the low hum of the stereo, smoke from her cigarette curling lazily behind her like a trail. she bent slightly, digging into the fridge, her voice floating casually over her shoulder.

“wanna drink?”

jason’s voice came low, controlled. “i'm fine.”

“suit yourself,” she sighed, pulling out a bottle but not opening it. she lingered there for a beat, deliberately not looking at him, as if making him wait was part of her game. then, without warning, she padded back across the warehouse floor, boots soft against the concrete.

jason shifted slightly, bracing himself—only for her to push him suddenly, firmly, down onto the couch. his back hit the cushions, the springs creaking under his weight. his hands hovered near his weapons out of instinct, but she was already leaning over him, cigarette glowing faintly between her lips.

“now…” she drawled, her tone almost sing-song,

“you said last time you needed information about the trafficking guy, right?”

jason didn’t answer right away. he just stared up at her, silent, visor glinting in the dim light.

her smirk faltered into a sigh. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, tapped the ash to the floor, and turned away.

“quiet as always…” she muttered, almost to herself.

she crossed the room, her coat sliding off one shoulder as she bent over a stack of boxes. jason watched in silence, muscles tense, as she sifted through papers and folders with one hand while keeping the cigarette perched between her lips.

then, with a triumphant little gasp, she straightened.

“yay, I found it!”

she spun on her heel, clutching a file to her chest like it was treasure, and made her way back to him. her grin was almost girlish for a moment—before it turned sharp again.

without hesitation, she climbed into his lap, straddling him, her legs folding comfortably on either side of his thighs. the fur coat draped around them both as she flipped the file open, smoke curling past his visor.

“thomas walter…” she read aloud, her voice soft but edged with amusement. “trafficking man.” She flicked her eyes up at him, the corner of her mouth quirking. “charming title i gotta say.”

jason’s jaw tightened beneath the helmet, but he didn’t move her.

“he was a banker,” she continued, tapping the photo clipped inside with a manicured finger. “money laundering, offshore accounts, playing daddy’s golden boy while he got his hands dirty with other people’s misery.” She chuckled softly, smoke slipping past her lips.

“typical Gotham story, don’t you think?”

jason’s voice finally cut through, low and dangerous.

“why are you showing me this?”

she leaned closer, her forehead nearly touching his visor, her voice dropping to a whisper. “because, hood… sometimes the right monster needs to know what the other monsters are doing.”

the file rested against his chest, her weight pressing him into the couch. Her smirk softened into something almost thoughtful, though her eyes stayed sharp. “or maybe…” she teased, “I just like watching you squirm.”

she plucked one of the papers from the file—something that looked important, lined with numbers and names—and carefully folded it in half. her eyes never left his visor as she slid it into the inside of his jacket, fingers brushing his chest through the leather. she gave the spot a soft, deliberate pat.

“take care of it, kay?” she whispered, her breath warm against the edges of his helmet.

jason’s fists flexed at his sides, fighting the instinct to push her off, to break the spell she was weaving around him. but he stayed still, silent.

She reached over to the table, ground her cigarette into the ashtray with a lazy twist of her wrist, then turned back to him. Her arms slipped easily around his neck, pulling herself closer, the fur coat sliding open to reveal bare skin and lace.

“now, hood…” she whispered, her lips brushing the edge of his ear guard. “what are you going to do now? you have the information…” she shifted slightly in his lap, a deliberate press of her body against his. “…and an angel on your lap.” Her smirk deepened. “what are you going to do now?”

the tension snapped taut like a wire between them. jason’s sigh came out heavy through his modulator, the sound distorted, mechanical—almost like a growl.

his gloved hands finally moved, not to shove her off, but to settle firmly at her waist, holding her in place.

“you think this is a game?” he said, voice low, dangerous.

she tilted her head, eyes half-lidded with lazy amusement.

“everything’s a game, hood. the question is…” her nails grazed the back of his neck, sharp and teasing. “…are you playing, or are you just another piece on the board?”

jason leaned forward slightly, closing the space, the red of his helmet reflecting in her eyes.

“I don’t play well with others.”

“mm.” She smirked, lips curling like she was savouring the answer and moment. “good. neither do I.”

for a moment, silence. Just the faint hum of the stereo and the echo of distant Gotham outside. the tension between them wasn’t breaking—it was building, stacking higher with every heartbeat.

she pulled back just an inch, studying him, her voice soft and husky. “careful, hood. you linger too long with the angels…” she let her fingers toy with the edge of his collar, tracing the leather. “…and even devils start to look like saints.”

jason didn’t move. he couldn’t. every nerve in his body was coiled tight, but the helmet did its job well—concealing the flush creeping across his face, the way his jaw clenched at every whisper she left in his ear.

before he could think, she leaned over and plucked a sharpie off the table. with a mischievous little hum, she caught one of his gloved hands and tugged it toward her before sliding it off gently. his fingers twitched under her touch, but she held them steady, turning his palm upward.

she traced her eyes over the callouses and faint scars that told his story better than words ever could. “hm…” she breathed, almost admiring, before uncapping the sharpie and scrawling across the rough skin. mumbers. a string of them, bold and black against the pale lines of his hand.

“they’ll be back soon,” she murmured, capping the marker and tossing it back onto the table with a soft clatter. her gaze lifted to his visor, locking on. then she smirked, lips curling like she knew the effect she was having on him.

“so run now, little red riding hood.”

before he could answer, she leaned forward, pressing her lips against the cold curve of his helmet. a soft kiss. when she pulled back, a faint crimson print marked the glossy surface—a claim, a taunt, a reminder.

and then, just like that, she slid off his lap, the weight of her gone, the fur coat falling loosely back over her shoulders.

From down the hall came the murmur of voices, chatter, footsteps approaching. the angels were returning. jason’s instincts kicked in—he slipped away into the shadows without a sound, the warehouse swallowing him whole.

the moment the echo of his boots disappeared, her expression shifted. the smirk fell, her shoulders slumped, and she exhaled a long, weary sigh. she dropped back onto the couch, head falling against the cushion, cigarette box clattering softly to the floor.

alone now, she let the mask slip. the tough, teasing angel melted into something softer, lonelier. her eyes lingered on the kiss print she’d left on his helmet—now only a ghost of a memory.

“damn you, hood…” she whispered under her breath, before closing her eyes and sinking into the quiet, right as the laughter of her sisters drifted closer.

[amourrangel]

masterlist ⊹ ࣪ ˖

DC

♡ ) jason todd

look like an angel, kill like an angel, devil in disguise , pt2 meeting a vigilante wasnt on your hitwoman job bucketlist. except you had the information he needed.

would look just like you... with a temper like you jason todd and you had once been together, but the relationship fell apart when life became too overwhelming. then, everything changed the day two pink lines appeared on a pregnancy test. left to raise the child alone, you never reached out for help—and no one came. years later, fate intervenes when jason crosses paths with a child who looks unmistakably like him, a mirror of the man you once loved.

ANIME

...

LADS

...

more to come!! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

[amourrangel]

LOOK LIKE AN ANGEL, KILL LIKE AN ANGEL, DEVIL IN DISGUISE

summary : meeting a vigilante wasnt on your hitwoman job bucketlist. except you had the information he needed.

genre : semi tension, fem reader, semi features given

pairing : jason todd / red hood x fem hitwoman

angels note: first post boom

next

JASON CROUCHED LOW ON THE COLD, GIRTTY ROOFTOP, HIS FINGERS BRUSHING AGAINST THE ROUGH EDGES OF THE BRICK PARAPET.

the wind swept through gotham’s skyline, tugging at the edges of his coat, chilling him to the bone. below, the warehouse sprawled like a fortress, dimly lit with sporadic amber lights that barely cut through the fog rolling in from the docks. every shadow seemed alive, every corner a potential threat.

weeks of digging, weeks of running down leads, chasing whispers through alleys where the city forgot to watch, had led him here. the trafficking boss he sought wasn’t a small-time crook—he was a kingpin of the underground, untouchable, surrounded by loyalists who didn’t blink before spilling blood. jason’s mission was simple in theory: get close, gather intel, get out. the execution, however, had been anything but simple.

jason adjusted his position, scanning the yard below. guards patrolled the perimeter in predictable loops, their flashlights carving circles through the darkness. cameras blinked red, tracking every movement. one wrong step, one miscalculated shadow, and the rooftop he perched on would be his last refuge. he flexed his fingers, muscles coiled with anticipation, knowing he had to move soon—but careful planning demanded patience.

then, a sound cut through the wind.

a soft metallic click, almost imperceptible, yet jason froze mid-breath. his instincts screamed at him: he was not alone. Slowly, his head turned.

she was there.

perched just a few feet away on the same rooftop, a figure clad entirely in black leather moved with predatory grace. her heeled boots made barely a sound as she shifted, the subtle glint of her pants catching the muted city light. her jacket hung semi-unzipped, hinting at her lithe, controlled movements underneath. strapped to her head, goggles reflected the scattered lights of gotham, strands of her hair swaying gently in the night breeze.

jason’s gaze locked with hers. her eyes—cold, calculating, amused—studied him, taking in the detail of his presence without flinching. In her hands, a sniper rifle rested, carefully adjusted, the barrel pointed downward but ready. she smirked, that faint, knowing curve of her lips that made the moment feel both dangerous and intimate.

“you’re far from the usual crowd tonight,” she said softly, voice low, smooth, and edged with amusement. the wind carried it just enough for him to hear.

jason’s jaw tightened, muscles coiled. he couldn’t afford distraction. yet even as he focused, he noticed the small details: the precision in the way she handled the weapon, the effortless way she balanced herself on the edge of the rooftop, the cold elegance in every movement. she was gotham’s shadow personified, a ghost in leather who could kill or vanish without a trace.

“i’m not here for you,” he said carefully, measuring every word. “move, and you’ll regret it.” he added on.

her smirk widened ever so slightly, just enough to unsettle him.

“not my target either,” she replied, voice teasing, almost playful.

“but tonight… everyone plays a part, hood.”

jason felt the tension coil tighter in his chest. he had seen ghosts of gotham before, killers who struck like lightning and disappeared, leaving only whispers and blood. she was one of them—but there was something more here, a familiarity he couldn’t place, something in the tilt of her head, the glint in her eye, that made him hesitate.

the city itself seemed to pause. even the distant hum of sirens faded into silence, leaving only the wind and the faint creak of metal beneath their feet. the rooftop became a stage, the two of them the only players in a deadly, silent ballet.

jason slid back slightly, into the shadows, calculating his next move. below, the warehouse awaited, full of secrets he needed—but with her watching, every step had to be perfect. One false move, and the sniper would make sure he never left the rooftop.

yet he knew he couldn’t retreat forever. the information he sought—the names, the ledgers, the connections—was too valuable, too vital. he inhaled, letting the cold night fill his lungs, feeling the adrenaline sharpen his senses.

“who are you really working for?” he asked, voice low but steady.

she didn’t answer immediately. instead, she adjusted the rifle, fingers dancing over the mechanisms with effortless precision. her eyes, unwavering, never left his. finally, she leaned slightly forward, letting the barrel trace the skyline.

“gotham has its rules,” she said softly, almost as a whisper to herself. “and I enforce them… my way.”

jason’s mind raced. this wasn’t just a random killer on a whim—she had her own mission, her own agenda. and tonight, somehow, their paths had collided on the cold, unforgiving rooftop.

a beat of silence. then the wind picked up again, tugging at the edges of their coats, whipping loose strands of hair across faces. the city below seemed to breathe, alive and dark, as if waiting for the storm about to erupt.

jason knew the moment of decision was approaching. every second counted. and as he watched her smirk once more, a spark of both challenge and recognition in her eyes, he realized that tonight, survival wasn’t just about evading the trafficking boss—it was about surviving her.

the game had only just begun.

she moved with effortless grace, almost catlike, as she lowered herself to the rooftop. her boots touched the gravel silently, knees bending as she slid forward, placing the sniper rifle with meticulous care. the scope glinted faintly in the dim city light, perfectly aligned with the warehouse below. every movement was precise, rehearsed, almost ritualistic—she was a professional, and jason could feel it in the tension that filled the air.

once the rifle was set, she leaned back slightly, propping herself on her elbows. her head tilted just enough for her hair to brush against the cold rooftop, strands catching in the pale moonlight. she looked at him—red hood—with eyes half-lidded, lazy yet piercing, like a predator assessing its prey.

“you really think you can just stroll into gotham’s underbelly and not get noticed?” she asked softly, voice like velvet over steel. her smirk was playful, teasing—but every word carried weight.

jason’s jaw tightened.

“i’m not here to play mind games. i’m here for information. you’re… just in my way.”

she raised an eyebrow, amused.

“in your way? or… maybe i’m just curious. hood. always running headfirst into danger. you don’t pick easy targets, do you?”

he crouched lower, keeping his shadowed form close to the rooftop’s edge.

“gotham’s full of monsters. I need to know who’s pulling the strings before they pull me apart.”

she let out a soft hum, almost like a chuckle, though it carried a dangerous edge.

“and you think information comes easy? you think you can just waltz into their lair and waltz out with answers?”

jason’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve survived worse than this.”

her lazy eyes met his, unflinching, almost challenging.

“oh, I’m sure you have. but survival isn’t the same as control, hood. control is what they crave—and right now, you’re just a guest in their game.”

he exhaled, the cold night air sharp in his lungs.

“so what about you? you’re not… a random ally, are you?”

she smirked, the corner of her lips twitching with amusement.

“ally? enemy? depends on the night… and on the target.”

she leaned closer, just enough for her gaze to bore into him, lazy but intense, as if testing his composure.

“tonight, i’m curious about you. and curious can be… dangerous.”

jason felt a pulse of tension tighten in his chest. he had faced killers before, but something about her—her confidence, her precision, the way she seemed untouchable even while lounging on the gravel—made him hesitate.

“curiosity won’t save you,” he said, his voice low, warning but steady. “and it won’t help me either. step aside, and we don’t have to turn this into a fight.”

she tilted her head, considering him, letting the night stretch between them. the city below remained oblivious, the distant sounds of traffic and sirens fading into a muted background. finally, she let out a soft laugh, almost musical, a lazy sound that sent a shiver down his spine.

“step aside?” she murmured, dragging a finger lazily along the barrel of the sniper. “why would I do that when I might actually help you… if you survive the next ten minutes?”

jason’s fingers tightened around his own weapon, the tension between them thickening. he could feel the unspoken challenge: she could strike—or vanish—at any moment. and yet, there was something about her gaze, lazy but calculating, that forced him to pause, to consider her as… not just a threat, but a potential—if dangerous—ally.

he exhaled slowly, mind racing. “fine. but if you try anything—”

“try anything?”

she interrupted, her voice soft, almost teasing.

“oh, hood… I don’t try. I do.”

her smirk widened, lazy eyes gleaming in the pale gotham night, and the game was set.

the rooftop seemed to shrink around them as she finally spoke, her voice soft, deliberate, cutting through the cold gotham wind.

“you’re here for the boss of this, correct?” she asked, sitting up slowly, her movements fluid and precise. her heels clicked faintly against the gravel as she shifted, eyes glinting in the dim light.

jason kept his distance, muscles coiled, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off her. the tension between them was palpable, almost electric, like two predators circling in the dark.

she stood, moving toward him with quiet confidence, smaller in stature even with the heels she wore, yet her presence felt overwhelming. her gaze locked with his, lazy and teasing, and she stepped closer, the night between them shrinking with every careful step.

“you really should watch where you step, red hood,”

she murmured, dragging a single finger down the centre of his chest, her touch slow, teasing, leaving a trail of tension in its wake. jason’s breath caught, not from fear, but from the raw, deliberate intimacy of the move. it turned him on. she smirked faintly at his reaction, letting the moment linger like a blade pressed to the skin.

then, from below, a roar of cheering shattered the fragile tension—the big boss had arrived.

“perfect,”

she whispered, eyes flicking to the ground, her voice barely audible but sharp with intent.

jason shifted closer, squatting near her, and she leaned back carefully onto the metal structure, the sniper rifle resting securely under her hands. her movements were slow, deliberate, teasing the line between danger and seduction. she slid a bullet into the chamber with precise fingers, her actions almost languid, yet every motion screamed lethal efficiency.

she hummed softly, a faint sigh escaping her lips as her gaze returned to jason.

“why do you need information on him, anyway…?”

she asked, voice low, almost intimate.

“he’s from a big company… daddy’s money, doesn’t do much… just runs a trafficking ring. there’s your information, hood.” her words hung in the air like smoke, laced with teasing and danger.

jason’s jaw clenched.

“i’m not here for money,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the boss below. “i’m here for the lives he’s ruined. every single one of them.”

she let out a soft chuckle, almost a hum, the tension between them coiling tighter. “hmm… noble. but noble doesn’t last long in Gotham.”

she leaned slightly, adjusting the sniper, eyes narrowing on the boss as he moved confidently into the warehouse. her finger hovered over the trigger. jason felt the vibration of her intent, the precision in her preparation—it was all prelude.

“boom,” she whispered softly, almost reverently, as the shot rang out, quiet but deadly.

the bullet hit its mark, clean, decisive, straight through the boss’s head. chaos erupted below as guards scrambled, unaware of the unseen predator above them.

jason’s eyes widened, his breath catching at the perfect, silent execution. she didn’t pause. with fluid efficiency, she packed the sniper back up, the movements smooth, practiced, almost ceremonial.

“see you later, Hood,” she murmured, smirk curling on her lips. before he could respond, she discarded the rifle, vanishing into the shadows of the rooftop, leaving nothing but the faint echo of her presence and the chaos of the warehouse below.

jason remained crouched, adrenaline still surging, heart pounding as the reality of the strike sank in. in gotham, ghosts like her didn’t leave traces. they simply appeared, shaped destinies, and disappeared into the night.

and tonight, he realised… she had just reminded him why.