Rissa, 28 | she/they | actual smol bean irl | once a writer always a writer | also a witch, no one is surprised | fandoms galore! | this blog is a safe space for myself and others | MDNI | im too old and have been here too long to have a SFW blog | sorry not sorry kiddos
this 'being really tired after work' thing is really getting in the way of this 'pursuing my artistic hopes and dreams' thing has anyone else noticed this
if you’re wondering why spellcheck and grammar check is worse now, it’s because they replaced it with AI! 🥰
now, instead of maintaining a comprehensive, nuanced, and human-maintained encyclopedia by which to check your document, they have switched to an AI that just compares what you’ve written to what other people write in, say, Google Docs, and use the most commonly used iteration.
ever have it change something like “all intents and purposes” to “all intensive purposes” or “should’ve” to “should of”? that’s why!
people make the same spelling and grammar mistakes so often, AI thinks that’s the way you say it because it is a PATTERN DETECTOR and cannot THINK let alone use language.
"New Yorkers bite more people than sharks annually" is an excellent example of how statistics can be misleading. Like yeah no shit, do you have any idea how rare it is to even encounter a shark in the wild? They're not exactly urban animals. I'm pretty damn sure that if sharks were living in big cities like pigeons, just strolling down the streets looking for food scraps, you'd see a lot more news stories about New Yorkers biting them.
people are absolutely EVIL about the boundaries of "picky eaters". no, they do not have to try it. yes, they can know they don't like it without having eaten it before. no, they probably have not suddenly grown a taste for the food they've said they hate. no, they probably are not going to like it in the Special Way This One Place Cooks It. yes, you are being a bad friend if you try to "trick" them into eating it anyway
#all this being said I’m still going to silently judge my picky eater friends for their weakness
cool, that wasn't necessary to add at all! Just a quick note that people who are picky enough to have a reputation of being a "picky eater" often have undiagnosed Sensory Processing Disorder and severely picky eaters often have Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. SPD is shit to live with (I'd know <3) & ARFID is literally an eating disorder. Even then, totally 100% neurotypical picky eaters are still not harming you in any way.
There is nothing wrong with being a picky eater. Not eating things that you dislike is not a weakness, it's a sensible personal boundary.
In my paralegal classes my teacher kept referencing this movie and character- the ideal expert witness! Law firms have paid more for less useful expert testimony!
smut 18+ only, fucking jason on the kitchen floor, feral horny afab reader who wants to maul jason, unprotected sex, breeding kink, submissive jaytodd!!! rock on!!!
The first time you go absolutely batshit feral over Jason, he's cleaning the apartment.
He's done nothing to provoke your ferality (he never does), and usually, you keep it to yourself. Thoughts like if I were a vampire I'd suck his blood and I need my boyfriend to hold me down until I orgasm or pass out, whichever comes first, are inside thoughts, and you do a great job at keeping them as such.
So you're not quite sure what compels you to act the way that you do.
First, Jason's in clothes that don't help your insanity. The shirt is Dick's (Jason insists that he did NOT have an emo phase, thank you), so the cropped quality of the My Immortal t-shirt isn't by design. Jason's just big.
Yes, yep, your boyfriend sure is a big boy. That's all you can think about as you watch him over the top of your open book while he attacks the kitchen floor with his Swiffer Jet. He's humming a song you don't recognize.
You love him so much. The thought hits you square in the chest. You love Jason Todd. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.
The next thought that hits you is how soft and squishy your boyfriend is. Jason's sweatpants are baggy, the baggiest he could find, and they still can't hide how humongous his thighs are. His thighs are pure muscle, but when not in the middle of a fight, they are soft. Bitable. Very bitable.
Your gazes moves to the strip of belly that flexes and flutters with every movement. Jason's stomach isn't perfectly flat, a fact that you know sometimes bothers him. You take care to treat it delicately, not wanting him to be self-conscious even though every part of him makes you rabid.
You want to kiss Jason's stomach. Feel it twitch under your hand as you do, uh... other stuff besides kissing. You love watching Jason in action, love watching him wield his powerful body. But you also love him like this: using his body to take care of himself, his space, and you.
Jason's arms. You could write prose poetry on such magnificent creations. More than once you've had the urge to wrap one of Jason's arms around your neck and let him squeeze until you lose consciousness. Another inside thought! Jason would staunchly refuse and probably get you checked for head trauma if you requested such a thing, but you can dream.
Once or twice, Jason's flexed for you, silly and smiley. You've managed to hide just how fucking hot you found it. It's been well over a year and you still want to jump your boyfriend. You try to keep it to a manageable level, not wanting to startle or overwhelm him. You know Jason's complicated relationship with his body. You respect his boundaries.
But still, the thoughts linger...
Your feet carry you to the kitchen before you can think about it. Jason's done with the mop and has moved to wiping the counters. You seize the opportunity to get behind him.
"Hey, baby," Jason says before you reach him. He keeps wiping. And that's another thing: Jason is highly competent. His training makes him hear you before you've reached him. If you were an evil goon, you'd be on the floor before you could inhale. You also find that concerningly hot.
You stick yourself to his back and wrap your arms around his stomach. You grab handfuls of the layer of fat that covers his muscles, brushing your thumbs over where his hair thickens below his bellybutton.
"What's up, hm?" Jason asks, patting your hand.
"You're really hot," you say.
He snorts, glances behind at you. "I'm what now?"
"Hot. Juicy. I wanna maul you."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah," you say peacefully, groping his waist. "Soon as possible."
"I'm free for a mauling in ten minutes. That work for you?"
"I don't know if I can wait that long." You slip your hands up his shirt. "Mind if I feel you up while I wait?"
Jason laughs but it comes out a little airy. "You're a menace."
"I'm crazy about you."
"Mm, I've noticed. Feeling's mutual."
"No, no." You move your head so that your mouth is on his exposed bicep. You feel the hot flesh in your mouth, lave your tongue over it for some time. As soon as it flexes, you bite the hard muscle.
Jason drops his dishcloth. You soothe your teeth marks with your tongue.
"You don't understand," you say, shifting so you're pressing Jason against the counter edge. He lets you keep him there. "I'm crazy about you. I wanna eat you, Jay. Let me eat you."
"Jesus, what's gotten into ya?" he asks, turning his head to look at you.
"Hopefully you," you say, unrepentant.
Jason's eyes widen. You adore how squirmy he gets whenever you're bold about wanting him. Despite how long you've known each other, Jason never fails to get flustered. Perhaps that's half the fun.
"C'mon, Jay, let me fuck you. I wanna fuck you on the kitchen floor," you say, past coyness.
He full-body shudders. "I jus' cleaned."
You grin against his arm, pawing at his hip. "I'll help you mop again, honey pie. Deal?" You're eyeing his stomach next, ready to suck his skin there.
Jason can't deny you for long. You both know that.
"You're persuasive," he says, eyelids fluttering.
You hum. "Didn't take much, though, did it? Is your dick hard already?" You squeeze him through his sweats. Jason whines, bracing himself against the counter. "Never takes long, huh? You're always ready for me in no time, stud. Ready to fill me up, right?"
"Oh m'God," he says, looking at you like you're divine. That look swells your ego every time.
"Is that a yes?" You cup his balls like you're choosing a bull for breeding. Jason buckles under your brazenness. "Yes, you want me to let you fuck my pussy? Yes, you want me to fuck you on the floor?"
"Yeah, yeah, please."
So Jason lets you push him down onto the tiles. You yank his sweats down first, then his underwear. He's already leaking onto his stomach.
"Fuck," you say, grabbing and holding Jason's wrists on either side of his head. "You gonna give me what I want, sweetie? Love of my life, handsomest guy I've ever seen?"
Jason nods vigorously. "Yeah, yes, an-anything y'want. Oh my God, I'm s-so hard. I love you. Y'so nice to me."
You smile gently.
"I'm nice for taking you on the kitchen floor, huh?" you ask, bending your knees and lining up his cock to your cunt. "What if I make you wait until I come first?"
Jason nods again, already breathing hard. "I want to, I wanna wait. You should come first. I want you to come first. I don't have ta come at all."
You raise an eyebrow. That's new. New, but not unwelcome.
"So even when I..." You sink down on his cock, just the tip. Jason whimpers in the back of his throat. "Do that? You don't need to come?"
You feel him flex under your hands but he's good and stays put. He doesn't break your hold even though he could. You grin.
"Oh-oh. Sweet boy. My best guy. Look at you, big and hard. You could take me if you wanted, but you don't want that, do you? You want me to take what I want from you. All that muscle and strength, but what d'you need, Jaybee? Hm? Tell me."
"Need you," he says, voice strained. "Need you to do whatever y'want."
You kiss under his jaw and dig your nails into his wrists. Then you sink further onto Jason's cock. His hips twitch but he doesn't thrust like he usually does.
"Will you kiss me?" he asks when he bottoms out, body strung tight like a bow.
"I did kiss you," you say, smiling into his neck.
"On th'lips," Jason says, fingers shaking. "Please? Please."
You thread your fingers with his to steady them. Then you lean in to kiss his mouth. Jason moans, greedily kissing you back. You begin to move. Jason's shoulders tense.
"You're so perfect," you say against his lips. "You'd be so perfect at knocking me up. Any time I wanted, you'd be hard and ready to come in me, right?"
"Ah-ah," Jason says, voice wrecked. "Y-yeah, yeah. As much as y'want. Do anything y'want. I'd do anything."
"Yeah, I know," you say, grunting as you slide back onto him. "I know, sweetheart. Pretty boy. Y'dunno what you got with this fat cock. Can barely speak when your dick's wet."
You do a particularly hard grind and growl against Jason's sweaty throat. You lick the salt from his Adam's apple, feel it bob against your tongue. Then you bite.
"Oh, oh," he whines, and your gut tightens further at his sounds.
"Don't come," you snarl, pussy like a vice. "I come first."
Jason shakes his head, lips parted. His pulse throbs against your mouth. "No, no, won't. I won't. I'm good. I'll be good. 'M I good?"
You pet his hair, voice softening. "You're good, Jason. So good, baby. So good that I gotta take you right here on the floor. You understand, right? I was aching over there, watching you. I had to fuck you. Had to use your big dick for something."
"Uh-huh," he says, voice wet and sticky with pleasure. "Y'had to. I can do it. I wanna be good for you."
He looks up at you, and you're struck again by your difference in size, and how easy Jason gets when he's inside of you. You feel that familiar tightness, the edge of your impending orgasm.
"Rub my clit," you say, letting go of his right hand, and Jason obeys instantly, locating and deftly rubbing your clit.
"Harder," you tell him, and he rubs harder. Your mouth falls open as the pleasure swells. "Yeah. This is what you're made for. Pleasing me."
One of these days, you'll broach the subject of Jason putting those muscles to good use and fucking you doggy-style, whining in your ear as he shoots load after load into you.
"I'm gonna come," you say, cunt tightening. "Are you gonna come?"
Jason shakes his head desperately. "No. No, no, y'said not to. Not gonna come!"
"A-are you sure?" you ask, grinning as Jason makes uh-uh's in the back of his throat.
"Won't come, I promise, won't come," he says, near tears.
You come, tightening hard around Jason's cock. He nearly howls, the corners of his eyes wet, tendons pulled taut in his neck.
But he doesn't come, true to his word.
Sloppily, you kiss him. Jason kisses you back, but it's frenzied. You know his brain must be soup with the effort it's taking to not come.
"Look at you," you say, gaze hungrily roving over Jason's swollen nipples, his red face, his drawn eyebrows. "You listened so well. Y'wanna touch me? Wanna hold me?"
Jason nods frantically. "Yeah, yeah, please, baby, please, can I?"
"Go ahead, sweetheart. Hold me how you want and make yourself come. Don't be gentle."
Jason hesitates at the last direction. "Don't be gentle? Are y'sure?"
You pinch his nipple lightly. Jason bucks his hips. Your eyes narrow.
"I'm sure. Gimme everything you got, big guy."
You bite your lip as Jason's body comes alive, strength kicking in as he draws your thighs up over his hips, plants his feet, and drives into you. He punches the air out of you with each thrust, sobbing as he does. You hold on to his arms as he moves.
It only takes him a few thrusts before hot cum fills your pussy. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, nails scratching Jason's biceps.
"I want more," you say, grinding shallowly against his cock. Jason cries out, and more cum fills you.
"Was that good?" Jason asks, holding you closer.
You grin. "We're definitely doing that again."
Except, maybe not right after Jason's cleaned. You're not that mean.
I'm too much of a sucker for the tragedy of Wicked's ending to take any of this seriously, but the funniest possible fix-it concept is that Glinda just. Does not know. How the fuck. To send this 12yo back to Kansas. Like why the hell would she know how to do that?? Who thought it was a good idea to leave her in charge of this???
And from Dorothy's POV, this is such a funny concept: imagine for a minute that you (a child) wake up in a Fairy-Land, become best friends with a (possibly mentally unstable?) talking scarecrow, and are told by the god-kind that you must go murder his political rival before he'll send go home. Fine. This might as well happen.
And when you return from said murder - which is somehow successful - it turns out the god-king is a fraud and cannot help you. Whoops. Well, how about the OTHER seemingly most powerful person in the country? Ah, no....it turn out she had pretty limited powers in the magic department. And they're mostly bubble-related.
So she takes you (by bubble) to a tiny seaside town on the edge of the map to seek the help of her most powerful friends….the woman you just murdered and your scarecrow best friend who was an accomplice to that murder. And apparently, they’ve all three been dating since undergrad.
Worse, they can't figure out how to transport you between realms either, and now you're stuck being raised Two and a Half Men style by your murder victim (she got better), your scarecrow BFF (aka your murder victim's situationship), and their girlfriend....the new Pope.
The best part of all of this is that, canonically, you can get back to Kansas from Oz on foot. You don’t even need Magic, just a halfway decent sense of direction!
(Of course, all of this is assuming that we never run into Communist Girl-boss TGirl Queen Ozma, who canonically takes on Dorothy as Head Consort once the Wizard is deposed, and returns Oz to a matriarchal monarchy)
But seriously The Twister that grabbed Dorothy wasn’t Magic, and neither was Oz’s Balloon:
The Land of Oz is in North America!
These Disaster Bisexuals are just shit with directions
Oz was traditionally a Monarchy. The royal throne was overthrown by Evil Witches, however, who kidnapped the Princess Ozma and left Oz leaderless. The evil witch Mombi, one of the witches responsible for the royal kidnapping, transforms the infant princess Ozma into a Boy, whom she names Tippetarius, and raises him as her son. The boy Tip does not know his true nature; and all the old loyal royalists are looking for a princess, not a prince, so the throne sits empty for over a decade.
Enter Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, better known as The Wizard. He accidentally blows into town on his balloon, which coincidentally has OZ (his initials) emblazoned on it. The people of Oz, however, take it as a sign from the heavens. In classic American style, Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs seizes the opportunity, and the power vacuum, and sets himself up as ruler of Oz. The Wizard is not possessing of any real magic, however, simply a very advanced understanding of stagecraft, and a high Charisma modifier…
…and who is likely based on Washington Harrison Donaldson, a real life Circus Performer and Balloonist, under the employ of PT Barnum, who ascended one day in a hot air balloon, was carried off by a thunderstorm, and never heard from again.
Hilarious. Anyway.
So, enter Dorothy, another fairly non-magical person being whisked away into the sky by forces beyond her control. At some point, she’s supposed to hook up with Tippetarius, and help him along in his own quest. They will become Very Close.
Actually. That links us back into OPs fixit idea nicely. See, Glinda is the one who figures out the magic spell that lets Tippetarius turn back into the royal Princess of Oz. Glinda helps him turn into a Girl, and helps get the newly cracked Ozma back into her rightful throne.
After which, Ozma moves Dorothy into a room in the palace right next to hers; they are each other’s confidantes and advisors, and Dorothy is the only one who may enter Ozma’s room whenever she wants.
I think it bears mention that L Frank Baum was raised by a Woman’s Suffragette, and was an ally to the cause of Women’s Liberation all his life. He and his wife were both Political along that axis, and the Baum’s would at one point host a traveling Susan B Anthony. It is hardly a stretch of the imagination to postulate that Baum may have known a few Queer Women irl.
Summary: After you're kidnapped, you end up staying at Wayne Manor without Jason. Nothing seems to help you get better.
content warnings: implied SA, self harm, forced drug use, kidnapping, angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
(Jason does NOT perpetuate any of the shit that happens to reader)
A/N: honestly, was unsure if I should post this or not, buuuuuut... here we are. This just what I had started to write, and theres going to be more too, but this may end up being a Jason x OC fic instead of Jason x Reader because I think my backstory for reader might be too specific? Idk someone give me some feedback I beg
also @netflix-addict dared me to post this sooooo
word count: 3K
You and Dick Grayson did not get along these days. What once was a somewhat easy friendship had turned sour over your relationship with Jason.
Part of you knew that if you just told him what happened, what Jason rescued you from, what Jason saw when he rescued you, that he’d probably understand. But he never even gave you a chance to explain. He just told you that you were a bad influence - worse - that you were bad for Jason.
You didn’t belong.
It hurt, hearing him say that. The entire family was skeptical when you and Jason first started dating. You didn’t blame them, since you were from a family of criminals - the kind of people they were working against on a daily basis. But you’d escaped to Gotham, changed your name, actually changed your entire life before you had even met Jason. Because you were from Bludhaven, of course Dick knew who your family was, but he was the first to warm up to you. He convinced the others that you and Jason were a good match.
But things had changed. Being kidnapped, sold, and worse changed a person.
---
You’d been walking home from a late dinner with two girlfriends - Katie and Charlotte - when a dark van pulled up alongside your group. You weren’t stupid, and the three of you huddled together without a word and tried to hurry away before they could grab you. You also knew what the girls didn’t that night - that the Riddler had escaped Arkham (again) and that the Bats were stretched thin trying to find him. You’d held on tight to your friends and started to run, But Charlotte tripped, and you turned back for her.
That split second was all the time they had needed to pull the three of you into their van.
The captivity had felt endless, your time being drugged and shuffled between different warehouses, different men using you and your friends as punching bags, as -.
It was too much to think about. You still couldn’t even think about what they had done to you, much less say it out loud.
You were the lucky one, honestly. You’d made it out relatively unscathed in comparison to your friends. Katie was still in the hospital, recovering from injuries she’d sustained both during your captivity and while being caught in the crossfire of your rescue.
Charlotte hadn’t made it.
It was Red Hood and Batman who stormed the warehouse where you were being kept. And it was Red Hood who found you in the little makeshift cell they were keeping you - nearly naked, lying on a dingey blanket half drugged after just being injected with whatever they had been using to keep you docile (the doctor had told you what it was later, but you could barely remember anything the man said to you). It was all too obvious what your captors had been doing to you, even if the doctor hadn’t confirmed it for him, Jason wasn’t an idiot.
You had begged him not to tell the others. You didn’t want anyone to know. You wished that Jason and Bruce didn’t have to know either, but you couldn’t change that now. They had both agreed to respect you and your friends’ privacy.
You may not have wanted to think about what happened while you were awake, but you didn’t have a choice while you slept. The nightmares were never ending, and Jason was so patient with you. You felt terrible, but he understood, and you selfishly couldn’t bear the thought of going through this without him.
He promised you he would make the men who hurt you pay, but he realized the promise of justice wasn’t offering you any comfort. One night, after months of comforting you after being woken by your screams, he asked point blank what would help you.
“I don’t know,” you sobbed, hiding your face in his chest, “I can hardly remember their faces but it’s like I can’t rest knowing they could come back for me.”
Jason just held you tighter, trying to swallow the lump that was in his throat. “What if you knew they couldn’t come for you? If I made sure they’re never coming back?”
“W-what are you talking about?”
“They’ll be dead, sweetheart. I’ll make sure they’ll never hurt you or anyone else ever again.”
Your breath caught in your throat, afraid to answer him.
“You don’t have to say anything. I will make sure those fuckers take their last breaths.”
You nodded, tears in your eyes at what he was offering you. You knew that he didn’t have the same moral quandaries against killing as everyone else, but he had made strides to be a better person. You knew his actions could alienate him from his family, undoing the healing you had been encouraging in him.
But you couldn’t keep living like this. You needed rest, needed peace, and Jason was the only one willing to give it to you.
---
Bruce had figured out pretty quickly what was going on. His solution had been to send Jason away to help the Kents with some equipment repairs on their farm. Jason hadn’t wanted to leave you, or his mission, but Bruce had convinced him that you’d be safe at the manor. He’d tried to talk to you, as had Alfred, and Barbara, and Tim, but you hadn’t been open to it. You’d spent most days locked in your room, barely picking at the food left outside your door, only occasionally coming out to play a game of chess with Damian.
You liked his company, mostly because he didn’t try to talk to you about what happened, or about Jason, or your eating or sleeping habits.
You thought it was Damian knocking on your door when Dick finally showed up, his brow furrowed in concern when you answered the door to your room.
“Yikes.” He said, his eyes scanning you up and down. You’d lost weight, you knew that. You were also wearing one of Jason’s shirts, which didn’t do you any favors with the way it hung off of you. You hadn’t left the manor since you arrived, and the nightmares were worse than ever with Jason gone. You were sure it was written across your face, even if you hadn’t been able to force yourself to look in a mirror.
“What do you want?” you said softly, too tired to muster up the indignation you wanted to.
“Jay asked me to check on you. He said he doesn’t trust Bruce’s reports… and Damian called him to ask when he was coming back. Wouldn’t tell him why, but it got his attention.” He glanced down, and his brow furrowed even more. “You’re bleeding.”
You followed his eyes to where a drop of blood was trailing down your thighs from underneath the gigantic shirt that you were, “Oh. It’s fine, just a scratch.”
“What’d you scratch yourself on?”
You looked back up at Dick, shocked he was questioning your story. “What?”
“What’d you scratch yourself on? It’s gotta be in your room, I can fix it, or Alfred can, so you don’t hurt yourself again.” He looked at you pointedly.
“Stay out of my room.”
He sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Look -”
“I don’t really want to talk right now.”
Dick ran his hand through his hair, clearly aggravated. “I get that you’re struggling, and that you’re without your person. But you’re part of this family, we’re all here for you. You just have to let us in.”
“I don’t have to do shit, Dick. Please, leave me alone.”
You go to close the door on him, but his next words give you pause. “Bruce isn’t going to let him come home until he’s sure he’s not going to kill anyone else.”
“And what do you think I can do about it?”
“He’s going after the men who kidnapped you. If you tell him he doesn’t have to do that for you, that you don’t want him to kill them -”
“I can’t lie to him Dick.”
His eyes widened in shocked. “You - you’re okay with this?”
You looked away when his expression morphed into one Dick had never directed at you before - disappointment. “You’re not the person I thought you were.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He sighed. “It means I was wrong. If you can’t be a good influence on Jason, the kind he needs, then maybe you don’t belong with him.”
You staggered back as if you’d been slapped. The cuts on your thigh may have been an attempt to get through the crushing numbness you’d been experiencing as of late, but you shouldn’t have bothered. One scathing comment from Jason’s brother and it was like he had sharpened every edge of every broken piece of you until you were cut and raw and bleeding all over.
So you swallowed back the tears and slammed the door in his face.
You locked the door, curled up on the floor, and ignored everyone’s knocks and pleas until you fell asleep.
---
You aren’t sure when you dozed off, but for the first time in as long as you can remember, you aren’t woken by your own screams. Instead, it's the sound of the lock turning the lock in your door, and the soft click it makes as it opens.
You scramble to back away from the door, limbs flailing as your heart leaps to your throat. Your reaction is irrational, you know that somewhere deep down, but the fear is real, stemming from something unexpected happening, a change in your routine.
Jason’s voice is what snaps you out of it. He’s crouched low, just inside the door, and you can see Damian standing in the hall behind him, his katana strapped to his back and his face twisted in an unfamiliar expression. If you had your bearings, you might be able to recognize it as concern, but in your state, you aren’t quite able to clock it.
“Sweetheart, breathe for me.” Jason holds both hands up in front of him, so he doesn’t scare you any more than he already has. “I’m here now, ok? Can I touch you? Help you up?”
You nod slowly, but as one hand reaches to grasp your elbow, you find yourself throwing yourself into his arms.
If Jason was any other person, the momentum would have knocked him on his ass. As it stands, he has to rock back on his heels to keep you both upright in this position.
“It’s okay. I’m here now, I’m here.” He mutters as he kisses your forehead, his fingers lightly running over the knotted mess that is your hair. He stands, lifting you into his arms as easily as he does anything else, and turns back to Damian. “You can stand down, kid. I’ll take it from here.”
Damian scoffs, clearly not ready to move from his post, and points to the floor. “She needs a shower, and food,and there's blood on the floor.”
Jason sighs. He saw it too, saw the spots on the edge of your tshirt, and he has a pretty good idea of what is going on, and it’s more than he’s willing to reveal to the youngest Robin right now. “It’s okay. Get some rest, I’ll take care of her.” He turns his head to lock eyes with Damian. “Promise.”
Jason kicks the door closed behind him, and gingerly carries you to the ensuite bathroom, setting you on the vanity counter. He pushes your hair away from your face but you aren’t able to meet his gaze. You hold too much guilt, too much shame, and too much sadness..
“Can I lift your shirt sweetheart? I just want to see if you need stitches.”
You squeeze you eyes shut, feeling terrible, ashamed, and guilty that he was able to read the situation so well. You know he’s an amazing detective, but really, you were hoping he wouldn’t see you like this. Because he deserves better.
You feel his fingers graze the outside of your thigh as he lifts your shirt above your hips. He hear him tsk as when he sees the three shallow lines you left on your upper thigh.
“Baby, look at me, please?”
You’re unable to deny him anything, and the look on his face when you finally do open your eyes brings you to tears. There's no judgement, or disdain, or disgust, like you think you deserve. It’s just love, and concern, and determination. He looks at you the way he’s always looked at you, even if you don’t feel you deserve it.
“These cuts need to be washed and bandaged, and I’ve been on the road for hours. I’m going to run us a bath, ok?”
You try to nod, but instead a sob rips it way out of your throat, and you bury your head in your hands. Jason sighs, cupping the back of your head and pulling you into his chest.
“I’m so sorry. I should have come back sooner. I knew something was wrong by your texts, but Bruce kept saying that you were fine. Well, he kept saying you were the same, keeping to yourself, but that Damian was checking on you. He said he thought you needed space. I should have read between the lines. I started on my way back as soon as Damian called me, but I should have known something was wrong when Dick didn’t return my calls.”
You sobbed harder at that, remembering what Dick had said to you earlier, and Jason clutched you tighter.
“I don’t know what he said to you, but I promise it doesn’t mean anything. Dick can be… well, a dick.”
Part of you wants to laugh, but you’re just too distraught and mixed up to do so. Jason keeps you there, holding you, until your sobs slow. When he pulls back, he looks you up and down, and only turns to run the bath once he’s satisfied that you’re not going to fall apart again.
He undresses you carefully, talking you through every step of the process. He tries not to let it get to him when you still flinch occasionally. You hate that you’re like this now. You didn’t used to be this fragile, this scared. Even though you’re not scared of Jason, your body reacts like you are. It’s not fair to him, and you think again how he deserves so much better.
He sets you gently in the tub, and strips down to his boxers, before stepping in behind you. You stop him from sitting down with a hand on his leg, and he tries to hide the hurt on his face.
“Right, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed -”
“Why did you keep your boxers on?” You interrupt his apology, and the hurt smooths away to bemusement.
“Oh. I just thought you’d be more comfortable… I haven’t been naked in front of you since…” he trails off.
You hate this. You fucking hate how your kidnapping has changed everything. “You’d actually be naked behind me…” You try to joke, and even though it sounds hollow to your ears, it does pull an amused smirk from your boyfriend.
“If you’re sure.”
“I am. Please, Jay, I need some normalcy. And sitting in the bath with your underwear on is not normal.”
He sighs. “Okay, but turn around. I don’t think I’ll be able to take it if I see fear in your eyes when you look at me.”
You wish he didn’t have a point, but you turn around anyway. You hear the soft thump of his boxers hitting the floor when he tosses them, and the water sloshes around you as he settles behind you. With an arm wrapped around your shoulders, he pulls you tight against his chest. The scent of him - sweat, gunpowder, leather, motor oil, and something you can only ever define as man - envelopes your senses. You feel surrounded by his warmth, and there’s something about the feeling of his skin on yours that makes something click back into place.
You relax against him, and it feels like the first time your muscles have relaxed in months. You sigh, and you can feel Jason’s lips pull into a smile as he kisses your neck.
You sit like that for a while, until the water starts to cool, and Jason leans around you to run the tap again. Wordlessly, he moves around you, keeping you against him in some way. He pulls you out of the water and sits you on the edge while he cleans your cuts, and sits you pack into the water while he uses the shower wand to wash your hair. You’re almost in tears in embarrassment at the state of knots and matting, but he just gently works through it, alternating between your comb and brush, and massaging your scalp at the end once everything has been worked out.
He kisses your shoulders gently as he moves away to wash himself quickly, then pulls the plug and helps you up so he can rinse you both off. He wraps a towel around his waist first, making sure he’s covered before coming over and wrapping one towel around your hair and another around your body. Then he scoops you up like you weigh nothing, making you squeal a little in surprise.
“You know I can walk, right Jay?” You tease, and he kisses your forehead as he sets you down on the bed. You notice that the bed is made, when it wasn’t before, and it’s a different comforter than before.
“I haven’t seen you in a month. I’ve missed you, sue me,” he teases back. Nodding towards where you’re stroking the comforter, he says “I’m pretty sure I heard Alfred come in and clean up a bit while we were in the bath.”
You cringe, biting your lip in shame. “I didn’t realize it had been that long,” you whisper.
Jason sits next to you on the bed and wraps an arm around your shoulder. “I know. It’s okay baby. I’m going to bandage your leg, and then we’ll get dressed and get something to eat, okay?”
word count: 4.6k
warnings: minor injuries, alcohol (reader gets drunk), a hint of implied sexual content, major injuries at the end, a bit of angst (it’s mostly fluff, i promise)
A collection of the times Jason is your hero, and the odd occasion when you have to be his.
1. The Step
One, two, three. God, you were so desperate to get home that you were counting the steps from the car to the doorway. It had been a truly terrible day: you’d woken up alone (boyfriend nowhere to be seen), dropped the necklace that said boyfriend had brought you behind the fridge with no hope of getting it back, your engine light had come on as soon as you got in the car (job for boyfriend to fix) and your boss had been a dick about the notes you’d made for your upcoming presentation.
The desire to get home, collapse onto the couch in Jason’s arms and watch shitty reality TV with a Chinese takeaway from down the street, was almost overwhelming. There wasn’t an idea that seemed sweeter, and you can almost taste it.
That is, until your foot begins to slip off the step outside your apartment building.
In an act of desperation, you shoot out your right leg to try and catch yourself. A pathetic attempt, really. Instantly, your ankle begins to scream, pain ebbing from the area into the rest of your body. The position you land in is twisted, like some kind of sad ragdoll left out by the trash, ready to be taken away first thing in the morning.
Your eyes close as you try and muster up the wherewithal to pull yourself together and assess the damage, and you can feel your throat beginning to tighten to avoid any stray tears that might fight their way out.
Deep breaths.
One, two, three.
In an instant, you feel two arms close themselves around your body, lifting you up off the ground without a smidge of hesitation. You don’t need to open your eyes to know who they belong to, instead opting to burrow into Jason’s chest in a feeble attempt to hide from the world.
“You okay, Princess?” His words are soft, tinged with an affection you’re sure is saved only for you. It makes your heart swell in spite of the circumstances.
“Hurts, Jay,” it comes out as little more than a mumble into his sweatshirt.
He keeps you tight in his grasp as he manoeuvres his way through the lobby of the apartment building and up the stairs, kicking your unlocked front door open with a soft tap of his foot. Whispering sweet words of encouragement, he places you down gently on the couch before promptly falling to his knees at your feet. A hand shoots out, calloused and scarred, to cradle your cheek with a tenderness that was seemingly unwavering.
“That looked like a pretty nasty fall. You gonna to let me take a look at that ankle, hm?” The words are barely more than a rumble in the back of his throat, his eyes never leaving yours.
Your cheeks immediately begin to burn red. “You saw that?”
“Got home a few minutes ago,” he pauses to press a kiss to your temple, letting out a soft chuckle, “I saw your car pull up and was watching you come in.”
“Creep,” you let out a wet laugh, wincing as Jason slowly begins to examine your, admittedly, fucked-up looking ankle. You let out a hiss as he traces his finger over a particularly tender spot, pulling back ever so slightly from his grasp.
“Looks like a sprain to me,” his lips are pursed tightly, and you can practically feel the concern oozing off him, “Gonna have to wrap it up and ice it.”
“I’ve had a shit day, Jay,” you whine, cursing yourself for feeling so pathetic.
“I know, Princess, I know,” Jason’s words act like salve on your wounds, physical and otherwise. You allow yourself to collapse against him, letting out a guttural groan. His palms move across your shoulder blades, bleeding the tension out of them with each pass, “Chinese is on the way though.”
“Really?” You shoot back, straightening up ever so slightly. Maybe the day was salvageable after all.
“Course it is. What? You think I just came home and fucked about? I’ve got my priorities in order,” Jason’s words, as usual, come accompanied with a sarcastic bite that never fails to bring a smile to your face, “We got ten minutes until it gets here, I think we might manage to get ya’ sorted out by then.”
“Ten minutes you say, Dr. Todd?” You can feel the grin growing on your cheeks, “A lot can happen in ten minutes.”
You don’t miss the smirk on his lips as Jason begins to retreat to the bathroom, or the swing of his hips.
Yeah, the voice in your head calls out, today is definitely salvageable.
2. The Bike
“Sweetheart, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Jay, you promised!” You huff, swinging your leg over the motorcycle like it was second nature. Well, it was, but normally Jason was sat on the front of it ready to whisk you away to wherever it was you were headed. Sometimes you went out together just for the closeness, the wind whipping around the pair of you as you sped through Gotham without a care in the world.
You love Jason. Jason loves you. But, Jason also loves his bike. He can’t blame you for wanting to know what all the fuss is about. You’d managed to get him to promise to teach you one night when you’d both been gasping and panting, dazed from your previous activities. You’d done your absolute most to ensure his head was spinning before you popped the question.
“I know, I know,” he concedes, holding his hands up in surrender with a quiet tut, “I just don’t know that this type of thing is your, ah, forte.”
You feel the scowl beginning to etch itself into your brow, “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s just… you remember that time you crashed the car into the pillar in the parking lot? And the time that you hit that shopping cart. And the-“
“Those were all a long time ago!”
“Baby, you hit the shopping cart last week.”
“You just care about your precious little bike getting scratched!” You huff, crossing your arms pointedly across your chest.
“That is the least of my-“ You cut him off abruptly, turning the key in the ignition and letting the engine roar to life. You can hear Jason’s sharp intake of breath from across the parking lot, brow pinched between his fingers, “Lord, give me strength.”
“Okay, I’m going now!” You shout over the engine rattle in the most sing-song tone you can muster, much to Jason’s chagrin, who seems to have turned a sickly shade of green.
For the first five seconds you and the bike are in motion, it’s a glorious feeling. It’s sturdy, it’s empowering, and your heart begins to thunder in your chest as endorphins flood your system. Instantly, you get it. You get why Jason loves this bike so much.
And then you can feel your hands begin to slip on the handlebars, and your body begin to migrate backwards in the seat, pulling you further and further away from the front of the bike. It happens in a flash, as the bike whizzes out from underneath you and splutters off aimlessly into the distance, unceremoniously dropping onto the concrete with a loud smack. Your body hits the ground with a decidedly less dramatic sound, more of a sharp oof, and pain shoots through your tailbone from the impact.
Jason is by your side in an instant, skidding across the concrete without a second thought. With a flurry of movement, he’s pulling off your helmet, restlessly patting different body parts as if to assure himself of their integrity. His eyes are wild, darting up and down and all over as he tries to assess every part of you.
“Jay, baby. Jay. Jason!” You nip, letting out an exasperated laugh at the way his eyes widen almost comically, “Baby, I’m fine.”
For a second, he’s completely still. You’re afraid to move, lest you scare him away like some kind of spooked deer. His chin drops down towards his body, and for a moment you fear you’ve taken it too far – until his chest starts to vibrate up and down, and a low, melodic chuckle begins to fill the air. Within seconds, it’s transformed into raucous laughter, Jason able to do little more than shake his head in disbelief and wipe at the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
“It’s not funny, you dick!” You swat at his shoulder, collapsing into your own fit of laughter beside him, “I could’ve been seriously injured!”
“I tried to tell you,” He wheezes, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, “God, I’m going to remember this forever.”
You pout in his direction, pulling dramatically away from his affections for all of one second before promptly falling back into his grasp. “I’m sorry about your bike.”
“Is’alright Princess,” Jason sighs, carding a hand through the back of your hair with a smile, “Just gives me something to fill the time this week, I suppose.”
3. The Friend
“So, then me and Roy were all ‘Oh fuck! I didn’t think that guy was gonna turn out the be the alien!’ and we started pulling out all of our…”
Under normal circumstances, it would be the highlight of your day to hear the stories of Jason’s adventures all over Gotham – he was so rarely in the mood to chatter about these things, usually preferring to listen comfortably with his head rested in your lap as you mused over the day you’d had. He’d come home from patrol this evening an uncharacteristic bundle of energy, and it broke your heart that you couldn’t put your all into listening to him.
Earlier in the day, you and your closest friend had gotten into a fight. It was brutal. It was catty. It was downright mean. You could barely remember the last time the two of you had even a minor disagreement, let alone a blow-up screaming match. It was a shock to the system that you’d fought at all, especially with such malice and vitriol. Quiet feelings of rage still simmered beneath the surface at the things that they’d said to you, things that they knew would cut deep beneath the surface, things that you’d spoken about in confidence and were now being used against you.
As much as it would be easier to act high and mighty, you had thrown out your fair share of insults, including dealing a particularly crushing final blow that had caused your friend to storm out without a word. You had both been as bad as each other – you couldn’t even remember what started the argument in the first place. All you knew was that the thoughts of it were gathering around above you like a storm cloud, a tornado ready to reach down and unleash its fury on everything in its path. But as the minutes passed, it was becoming harder and harder to defuse the bomb that felt like it was ticking over in your chest.
You were trying your best to listen to Jason’s story, adding in the occasional sigh or noise of affirmation to show that you were following. It’s sudden when Jason’s palm, which had been spread across the small of your back moving in languid circles, yanks you forward into his lap, causing you to let out a soft grunt as you settle yourself across his thighs. The look in his eyes is one of knowing, and you don’t know how you’d missed it in the half an hour he’d been home. His fingers continue to draw dainty patterns between your shoulders as he waits for your posture to relax, the tension in your body to dissipate.
“I think I’ve been very patient,” Jason begins, voice tentative, “waiting for you to tell me that’s wrong. But clearly that isn’t going to happen. So, baby, I’ll bite. What’s wrong?”
Of course, he knew something was wrong from the moment he’d walked in the room.
It hits you all at once, the tears beginning to flow freely down your cheeks. The idea that your boyfriend, who was probably exhausted after his patrol, had gone out of his way to put on a peppy attitude to coax you out of your slump, made it all too much to handle. He was being so good to you, and you’d done nothing but sit and simmer the entire time.
“C’mon, beautiful,” he’s peppering kisses across your tear-stained cheeks, “Don’t cry.”
“It’s just them,” your voice breaks, refusing to name the friend you’d felt so betrayed by. Jason knew you were having a visitor earlier in the evening, and he also knew of the frustrations that had been building under the surface for the past few weeks. “It just all came to a head, and I’m just not used to fighting with them.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m an expert in the area of mending friendships. I’m more of a burning bridges kinda’ guy,” Jason starts with a smile, eliciting a quiet snort from you, “but it’s probably a good thing that you’ve said what you’ve been thinking, right? Means you can move forward, clean slate.”
You scoff, his words breaking you out of your stupor, “Did you just say move forward with a clean slate? You are like the least qualified person in the world to say that.”
The rumble of Jason’s laugh shakes you both, and you move your arms to rest comfortably around his shoulders, fingers curling into the strands at the nape of his neck.
“No, I suppose I’m not,” he pauses, before adding with a grin, “but I am very good at being right. Did they say anything you don’t think you can bounce back from?”
You sigh, dropping your head forward to rest against his, “No, I think they said some things that I probably needed to hear. I’m more worried about what I said.”
“I’m sure they’re probably thinking the same thing,” Jason hums, and you can tell that he’s stifling a yawn from the way his teeth seem to grind together.
“When did you become so wise, hey?” You tease, tracing a finger round his jaw.
“I’m like a cat with nine lives. Probably ought to have learnt something from some of them.” The laughs that come from both of you are subdued, veering dangerously close to sleepy. For a man most believe to be so full of fire, it’s miraculous how quickly Jason can wash over you with a deep sense of calm.
“C’mon then, Whiskers. Bedtime,” you tease, barking out a laugh at the way his face contorts in disgust at the nickname.
In a flash, he hoists the pair of you upwards and begins taking long strides towards the bedroom, hands splayed underneath your thighs, the yawn he had been fighting for so long finally pushing its way forward. With every step Jason takes, the burden of the day seems to drop off piece by piece, and you’ve never felt more weightless in his arms.
By the time he pushes the bedroom door closed, it’s feels like it there was never really a problem at all.
4. The Tequila
“JASON!” If you were currently more self-aware, you would realise how shrill the noise that had just come out of your mouth was. It was halfway between a shriek and a flat-out scream, and your heels are thundering across the pavement to you boyfriend, who leans casually against his beat-up, old beamer. Once again, if you were more in tune with your surroundings, you would likely have realised the way your dress was rapidly riding up your thighs, putting on more than a show for the miscreants of Gotham that lingered around the outside of the club.
“Hey, baby,” His face is bemused as you finally arrive in front of him, skidding to a stop so sudden it forces him to stick a hand out and steady you. This, you take as a sign to just lean into the movement, stumbling sideways as he straightens you up with a soft tug.
He’s so handsome. So pretty. Gosh, he’s so dreamy. You want to just bite him. Would Jason care if you just devoured him whole? No, he’d probably like it.
“- Ya’ listening to me, Princess?” Shit.
“What are you doing here, Jason? Oh my gosh, you’ve come to party!” You send him an enthusiastic thumbs up, words dribbling out between incoherent giggles. The world seems to spiral around in swathes of colour, lights blurring into one big swaying movement. You lean towards him with a soft psst, prompting him to hunch over towards your lips, “I am definitely where the party is at.”
“I don’t doubt that.” His words are teasing, and his other hand reaches down softly to tug your dress down at the hem ever so slightly to preserve a smidge of your dignity, “You certainly are a sight to behold.”
“Come on! Come on!” You giggle, pulling fervently at his worn Wonder Woman work out shirt. Not exactly club attire, you suppose, but it mostly definitely will do the job.
“Baby, what I was telling you, is that your friend called me. They think it might be time for you to call it quits for tonight.”
Instantly, you spin on your heel to throw a glare at said friend, who was lingering in the doorway of the club with a sheepish look. You see Jason give them a soft wave out of your peripheral and watch them mouth a few words to him that you can’t quite discern in your current state. You can hazard a guess it might be ‘thank you’.
“No, no, no, no, I’m fine, look!” You flash a smile in his direction as you promptly demonstrate your abilities to walk perfectly normally back and forth on the sidewalk.
A grin spreads across Jason’s lips, “Was that supposed to be a straight line?”
“Jay!” It comes out as a protest, and you can feel your foot slam down into the concrete, “I’m literally a whole adult. I can stay if I want to.”
Jason’s hands come up in surrender, glee written across every one of his features. Without a sound, he pulls the car door open and slides into the driver’s seat, feigning disinterest. “Okay, okay. That’s fine, you’re right. I’ll just go get into bed, all alone.”
Your brow draws tight at the idea. It wasn’t that you wanted Jason to leave, much less go back to your apartment to no doubt sit up waiting for your return like he usually did on your nights out in the city. You didn’t want him to be sat there by himself.
With a huff and one more longing glance towards the club entrance, you stumble round to the passenger side and yank the door open with an unnecessary level of force. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you looked like an octopus trying to squeeze into a jam jar as you attempt to position yourself in the seat, limbs moving without much thought or cause.
Jason turns the key in the ignition, soundlessly reaching over to pass you an opened bottle of water with a pointed look. You don’t miss the bowl either, usually found in your apartment’s top cupboard, stashed in the footwell.
“Thanks for keeping me company, Princess,” Jason leans over to press his lips to your brow, purposely ignoring the way you grab at his face to try and deepen the kiss. You should know better, he doesn’t kiss you properly when you’re this drunk.
“You’ve played me like a fiddle,” You pull the water up to your mouth, grumbling profanities under your breath as the world continues to spin like a kaleidoscope around you.
Jason only lets out a chuckle and pulls into the road, resting a hand gently on your thigh as you turn to corner back towards home.
0. The Injury
You’d tried to stay up for when Jason returned from patrol, you really had. It wasn’t that he expected you to, if anything it was the opposite, him often chiding you for being awake at this ‘god-forsaken hour’ as he slipped through the bedroom window. Hypocrite. In spite of his words, it was clear that he appreciated the sentiment (particularly after a rough night), more often than not leaving his suit in a sweaty, bloodied heap on the floor as he raced to the shower, desperate to crawl into bed and fall asleep in your arms.
But the old reruns of shitty television and combined force of multiple coffees hadn’t been enough to keep you awake. You’d slipped off peacefully into a deep slumber on the couch hours before Jason was due to be home. It would be fine, you’d considered in your brief moments of consciousness, you would just wake up in time for his return.
As a result, the heavy thud that echoes around your apartment sends you shooting upwards in record time, hands scrambling for the gun you knew Jason kept slotted under the coffee table. It’s only when you look up over the cushions that you realise that Jason was the culprit, obviously.
You call his name softly, expecting him to stand and peel his domino off like he normally does before sauntering over to press a kiss to your lips. Instead, he stays down, and you can hear the labouring of his breath clanging metallically from the modulator. It’s not meant to sound like that.
In an instant you’re by his side on the ground, just as he uses the last of his energy to flip himself haphazardly onto his back, chest heaving with effort and occasionally letting out a strangled groan. It’s only then that you notice the deep wound etched into his chest, ripped through his suit and Kevlar alike, blood pooling out far quicker than you even comprehend. Jason had come home beaten up before, but he normally laughed it off with a wince and went to patch himself up in the bathroom. You’d never even seen an injury this bad before.
“Jay? Jason!” You move to pull his modulator off, letting in clatter on the floor as Jason grimaces at the sound, pressing a hand to his cheek hurriedly. The tears are thick and cloudy as you chant his name over and over, “Jason, please, I don’t know what to do.”
With a burst of effort, Jason fumbles for the phone in his pocket, letting it clatter out onto the carpet. You’d only seen it a few times before, it was high-tech, Wayne Tech, saved only for patrols and emergencies.
“0…8…0…4…” The numbers spill out of Jason’s mouth between laboured breaths, and you feel him beginning to slip from consciousness as the hand he had clamped tightly around your wrist begins to loosen.
Without hesitation, you scramble to pick up the phone, punching in the numbers and holding it up to your ear mumbling soft words of encouragement to Jason as he twitches and whimpers on the ground. It connects instantly.
“Penny-One.”
“It’s Jason. Jay,” You let out a huff of frustration at your own inability to find the words, scrubbing a bloodied hand over your face, “Redhood. It’s Hood. He’s been hurt, uhm, badly. Really badly. I don’t know what to do. Please, help me.”
“Miss, do you happen to know where Master Jason keeps his first-aid kid?” The British voice is crooning, uncharacteristically calm in comparison to your own frantic disposition. You let out a gasp of relief that you haven’t accidentally revealed Jason’s identity to some sinister stranger who could use it against him. Your feet are moving towards the bathroom before you can even gather your thoughts together.
Penny-One continues to instruct you on how to care for Jason, telling you where to put pressure to try and quell the bleeding. You’re sure your sobs are ragged down the phone; Jason had lost consciousness just minutes before, you had no one to keep your composure for anymore.
“Miss, humour me, but may I ask how your day has been so far?” A choked laugh bites out at his question, and your certain the look on your face would be one of absolute disbelief.
“I can’t…” Your laugh gets caught in your throat, “I can’t…”
“You can,” there’s a conviction within the man on the end of the line, “You have already proven yourself capable, Miss. Humour me.”
You steel yourself with a deep breath and begin to tell the man the mundane stories of your day so far: your breakfast with Jason; your presentation at work; Jason leaving flowers on the table for you when you got back as a congratulations. Every so often, Penny-One raises a question about Jason’s condition, or prompts you to shift to a different task, but for the most part he chats casually back and forth offering tit-bits of praise on your daily life. You’re surprised when you feel yourself begin to calm, in spite of the situation, working methodically through the tasks you’ve been set like it’s second nature.
“Someone will be with you in around 28 seconds, Miss, I hope you’ll forgive me for divulging your address so openly,” Penny-One’s voice is earnest, and you can understand why Jason had picked him to call in his moment of crisis. “Try your best to not be alarmed.”
As if your day couldn’t get any stranger, its Nightwing that bursts his way through your front door. He’s not even from here, is he? You knew Jason played nicely with the other vigilantes on occasion, but you didn’t think he knew any of them well enough for them to be bursting through your door to save him in the early hours of the morning.
The vigilante crouches next to you on the floor within seconds, prying the bloodied rag from your taut fingers with a gentleness that seems out of place for the urgency of the situation.
“Thank you,” Nightwing smiles delicately, and even beneath the domino you can sense the tender look in his eyes, “You’ve done a great job. I can take it from here, if that’s okay? Why don’t you go and try and get cleaned up? He’ll be more than little sore, but fine. I promise.”
It takes you a few seconds to gather yourself as Nightwing begins to work, muttering admonishments to Little Wing who lays pale on the carpet. You dread to think how he would have reacted had he been awake. You feel yourself float towards the bathroom, and you have to choke down a cry and as the water in the sink runs pink from the blood crusted under your nails. On your hands. Everywhere. Jason’s blood.
“You’ve done an excellent job, Miss,” Penny-One’s voice echoes around the room from the phone you had hastily shoved in your pocket, “Nightwing is right. There is no doubt Master Jason will make a full recovery. You should be incredibly proud, as I’m sure he will be. It was an honour to meet you, although I wish it had been under better circumstances.”
“Thank you, Penny-One,” It comes out as barely a whisper. You don’t think you could manage more than that, anyway.
“Please, call me Alfred,” Alfred muses, “I’m sure Master Jason will have much to tell you about me when he wakes. As much, I’m sure, as he has to tell me about the woman that saved his life this evening. Goodnight, young hero.” The phone line clicks. Dead.
You take a moment to stare at your reflection in the mirror, taking in the absolute state of the tear tracks on your cheeks, hair a mess atop your head, streaks of blood decorating your cheeks.
A hero.
It was the least you could do, really. It pales in comparison to just how much Jason does for you every day.
Dedicating this one to all my clumsy bitches out there. You’re seen. You’re heard. I am you.
If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don’t like it, leave me alone.
word count: 3.6k
warnings: sexual humour, implied sexual content (non-explicit), mention of insecurities
Jason accidentally leaves a comm behind in your apartment - it would be rude not to have a listen, right?
It’s safe to say your evening is currently painfully boring.
Make no mistake, scrolling through Netflix is a treasured pastime most days. Somehow, it just wasn’t scratching the itch alone on a Friday night, disappointed and aching for the presence your boyfriend.
Jason had left for patrol roughly an hour ago. It was supposed to be your night together – both of you had made sure to make time in the calendar to go on a long overdue date. Between your work and Jason’s late-night patrols (which often left him fast asleep until at least midday), it was difficult to orchestrate time specifically for the two of you. Yes, you ate dinner together most evenings, often casually basked in each other’s company as you tinkered around your shared apartment, but it wasn’t the same as date night.
Jason had been more than a little pissed when he’d gotten a phone call from Dick asking him to help with the patrol this evening, face falling as soon as the caller ID lit up his phone. Bruce had to rush out of town, he’d claimed, and they needed the extra manpower after a recent Arkham outbreak. You’d known the moment Jason’s shoulders sagged that he would go. It was in his nature as a vigilante. Presenting him with the opportunity to save some poor, unfortunate Gothamites was like dangling a bone in front of a dog and not expecting it to bite.
You tried not to let it sting. When Jason had confessed to you about his alter-ego, you’d known that there would be certain sacrifices in your relationship most would not have to contend with. You doubted there were many people who were jealous of the amount of time their boyfriend spent with the Penguin. It was an unconventional set-up by most standards, but the two of you made it work. It was only on the odd occasion that you truly felt the impact of Jason’s ‘career path’.
The silence in the kitchen had been deafening when he’d hung up the phone. It’s not that you were angry with Jason, or Dick, or anyone for that matter. You were just disappointed. You’d kept your mouth clamped shut as best you could out of fear that if it opened, words would trickle out in the heat of the moment you’d come to regret later on. Clearly, your silence was statement enough, because Jason had only pressed a kiss into your hair with a quiet promise to make it up to you before retreating into the bedroom to get ready for the long night ahead of him. He knew better than to press the issue.
As a result, you were perched on the couch exactly where Jason had left you. The absence of any plans you’d had for the evening left you restless, unable to settle into any particular task. And fucking hell you were bored.
It's just as you go to retreat into the bedroom to try and sleep off your lingering frustrations that you hear the crackling from the bookshelf tucked away in the corner, a short static sound that cuts through the silence of the apartment. It takes a few seconds for you to spot it, the tiny earpiece shoved behind an old, tattered paperback. Jason had been working on his suit earlier in the week, and you’d overheard his curt conversation with Bruce on the phone about needing a new set after breaking his old ones.
Not so broken, clearly.
Your curiosity is piqued enough to venture over to the shelf, plucking the tiny object up carefully to avoid breaking it any further. You’d seen Jason tinker with them before, most likely to scramble the tracking features that came with most of the tech Bruce had given him in recent years. You can hear the muted mumble of conversation, not clear enough to make out any distinct words but enough to know that there was a lengthy talk being had on the line.
It’s not your proudest moment as you slot it into your ear, and definitely, most likely, a severe invasion of privacy. Guilt twangs in the pit of your stomach, but hey – if Jason’s allowed to follow you home from the bodega to make sure you don’t get mugged in the precious fifteen seconds it takes, you can listen to a few minutes of radio chatter, right? You’re just looking out for him. Want to be close to him.
Yeah, right.
It’s uncomfortable, designed to be completely moulded to Jason, and there’s a persistent hum that won’t seem to fade (definitely a little broken) but the voices come to life almost instantly.
“I’m just saying, Empire Strikes Back is by far the superior film, and I won’t hear otherwise.”
“Must you fill our ears with such incessant chatter, Drake.”
“Codenames. And I don’t know, Robin, he’s kind of cooking.”
You recognise the final voice as Dick – the only member of Jason’s family you’d had the pleasure of meeting despite your nearing year-long relationship. It hadn’t been on purpose, naturally, Dick had spotted the pair of you in the window of a coffee shop and rushed over to corner Jason before he could formulate an escape plan that didn’t involve blowing up your favourite date spot. Jason had honest-to-god hissed when he saw his brother approach, and for a split second you were certain he was going to throw his tea over him.
In spite of Jason’s grumbling, you’d taken an instant liking to the elder. He was charismatic, exuberant and kind, and quite frankly it was hard not to bask in the warmth of his presence. As soon as he’d left, however, Jason had sworn that you were never going to meet the rest of his family if he could help it – and thus far he’d kept his promise.
Still, you were aware of the players on the board from the pieces you’d gathered in time spent with your boyfriend. The second voice, you had correctly identified, was Damian – or the Demon Brat as Jason often took to calling him when he came up. You have to stifle a laugh at his bravado. Much like the picture your mind had painted, the kid definitely had an aura about him.
That just left Tim, the first voice. Jason mentioned him the least of all of his siblings, and you found that when his name came up Jason seemed to shrink into himself somewhat, sometimes fading away, seemingly lost in memories he couldn’t quite escape. You knew that Jason had a troubled relationship with most of his family members at one point or another, having been spared the specifics, but your gut told you that there was something about his relationship with Tim that cut a tad deeper than the rest.
It was strange, to finally put voices to names. You can’t help the small smile that curves on your lips.
“Right, fess up, who taught Nightwing about ‘let him cook’,” A female voice rings out.
You filter through your previous conversations with Jason as you try to figure out who it could belong to, rapidly considering the vague descriptions he’d given you of Steph, Cass and Babs. It doesn’t take you long to decide it’s most likely Stephanie.
“Hey – could I not have just, I don’t know, learned about it myself?”
“Not likely, they probably didn’t have the internet until you were, what? Forty?”
“Tough talk coming from a girl who gave The Last Jedi five stars on Letterboxd.”
“You did what?”
“I must admit, Spoiler, that is disappointing.”
“Do any of you ever shut the fuck up?”
Your body thrums at the last one, and a breath tears its way out of your throat. Jason. It throws you off balance to hear him so brusk, a fire in his words that he rarely brought to the conversations you had - in your experience, it was typically reserved for when he stubbed a toe or let the pasta boil over on the stove. His voice sounds somewhat thick, and your stomach churns at the idea that your demeanour from earlier had rattled him so deeply.
You were well acquainted with Jason’s compulsion to work; he was completely and utterly addicted to it. So much so, that you’d failed to consider just how disappointed he might feel about missing your date too.
As if on cue, Tim’s voice rings out, “Aww, Hood’s upset because he was going to wine and dine his girlfriend tonight.”
“Red Robin…”
“I was being polite the first time, now I’m telling you. Shut the fuck up.”
The statement throws you a little, hearing Jason’s family discuss your relationship as though it were a common topic. The scraps of information Jason had given you about them were so few and far in between that you could only assume he had been the same on the other side of it. Quickly, you realise, that he probably had been – you could hazard a guess coming from a family of famed detectives didn’t exactly make it easy to keep secrets.
“I refuse to believe that Red Hood has a partner,” Damian’s words are impossibly snide, “Who could possibly want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary?”
You make out a few giggles after that, namely Tim and Steph, who seem to be basking in the concept of making Jason as miserable as possible. It’s Dick that steps in to shh them, chiding Damian with a measured tone that you’re sure could only have developed from years of dealing with this exact situation. The babble continues back and forth for a few minutes, and you can almost feel yourself beginning to sink into sleep as you listen to them bicker, someone occasionally slipping in some useful intel about a warehouse or rogue sighting.
The line goes quiet when Jason lets out a harsh, “Oh, fuck!”
A pulse of lightning seems to shoot its way down your spine, and it takes more than you thought yourself capable of to not scream down the comm line.
“Hood?”
“Red Hood?”
“Hood, you okay?”
“Hood, status report, now.”
“I’m fine,” Jason bites out, a little bemused if nothing else, “My hip and knee are just stiff. Getting colder outside, ya’ know.”
The silence is deafening for a few seconds, and you can’t claim to know where everyone’s thoughts sink to, but you could guess it was to do with Jason’s sordid history.
That is, until Tim pipes up dryly, “So, what is that, like, rigor mortis?”
“Oh my god.”
“That’s so not okay, dude.”
“Holy shit.”
You wait eagerly in anticipation to hear Jason’s response. You couldn’t claim to know every detail of Jason’s past – it was something the two of you were slowly working on together. He was understandably cagey at the idea of talking about his experiences, so you never pressed, instead allowing him to offer up bits and pieces of information in his more vulnerable moments. In spite of that, you knew that Jason had died. There wasn’t another plausible explanation for the giant Y-scar that stretched its way across his chest. You’d worked for a long time on getting him to feel comfortable enough to be around you without a shirt on, comfortable enough to know you weren’t going to turn tail and run just at the sight. He hadn’t told you how or why – but the look in his eyes when he stared in the mirror for a second too long was enough to let you know it was certainly no fairytale.
Which is why it’s such a surprise when a deep, rumbling laugh filters through the earpiece, and you’re struck with the image of Jason perched on a rooftop somewhere chuckling to himself as he watches over the city. Within seconds there’s an orchestra of maniacal cackles pouring through the comms, and you’re fairly certain that the only one who isn’t laughing is Damian.
“Hood, does your partner know of your death and resurrection?”
Jeez, Damian, way to soften the blow.
Dick quickly jumps in to chastise his brother, sounding increasingly more exasperated with every word, “Robin, you can’t –”
“Yeah, she does,” Jason’s voice is surprisingly earnest, “Don’t think it bothers her, not really.”
Tim and Steph jump in almost immediately to make outrageous kissing noises, crooning Oh, Hood and I love you, Hood and other slightly more inappropriate comments. You’re certain if you looked in the mirror the colour of your cheeks wouldn’t be far off Jason’s helmet.
“Honestly, you two need to stop behaving like I don’t have your exact coordinates,” Jason huffs out, but you can hear the twinge of humour in his words. He’s not angry, not at all, if anything you’d say he was finding it funny.
“Seriously though, Hood,” Steph’s voice is somewhat strained from laughing, “When are you going to introduce us?”
“Never.”
“Come on, man.”
“Dick got to meet her!”
“I would be interested in assessing the capabilities of this civilian.”
“Yeah, well, she’s more than capable.”
Now that has a little more bite to it, and your chest swells with pride at Jason’s defensiveness. You’d always felt a tad insecure about how you compared to the rest of the people in Jason’s life – surrounded by superheroes, metahumans, and some of the most proficient individuals in the world. You were just a civilian, and in your opinion, nothing all that special. But Jason had always made sure that you felt equal, that the differences in what you did outside the walls of your apartment had no bearing on the fact his world started and ended with you.
“So… does the mask stay on when you get freaky or –”
“Steph, don’t make me come over there, you know I will.”
“Codenames.” Honestly, you can’t help but respect Dick for his seemingly unwavering patience, although you could guess it might be due to the noticeable absence of Batman himself to rein in his children in his place. “Spoiler, we have a child with us.”
“I don’t understand Spoiler. What is getting freaky–”
“Please,” Dick’s begging now.
“Oh, B is gonna have fun with that when he gets home.”
“Pfft, you think B is going to know what getting freaky means?”
“You know that means he’s going to ask us, right?”
“Shit.”
Your brain starts to feel fried just listening to them. And the most obscene part of it all is that you can hear them fighting, subduing local criminals while simultaneously having one of the weirdest conversations you’ve ever been a party to (well, secretly a party to). You have to place the earpiece on the other side of the room and retreat into the bathroom to let out what could be a laugh or a scream – you can’t be sure.
Unsurprisingly, when you slot the earpiece back in again, the conversation has shifted.
You only catch the end of Tim’s words, but it’s enough to send your entire body into a state of shock, “– when the wedding happens.”
“When the wedding happens,” Jason bites out breathlessly, clearly in the middle of some kind of confrontation, “Your sorry ass isn’t going to be fuckin’ invited.”
And the comm line erupts.
“When the wedding happens?”
“WHAT?”
“Guys, fuckin’ hell, I didn’t mean it like –”
“I’m presuming this means you have a ring, yes, Todd?”
If you weren’t already sat, you’re certain your legs would have given way underneath you. The room is spinning, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of the world shifting on its axis and you can feel your heart vibrating in your throat.
You and Jason had never made any point of talking about marriage. It had come up casually, as it did in the conversations of most couples – but you had never had any particularly serious discussions about the subject. You, for one, had avoided it out of fear of spooking Jason, whom you’d already spent enough time coaxing out of his shell without potentially scaring him back in again. You had no idea that it was something that he was thinking about.
Of course, you wanted to marry him. From the moment he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, you’d known that he was the only option.
“One last time,” Dick’s voice tears you from your thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. It sends a chill through your entire body and for a brief second you can envision what it would be like to be confronted by Nightwing on a bad day. “Codenames. I don’t care if you don’t think anyone is listening –”
“Funny you say that. Someone is listening.”
It’s a woman’s voice. That must be Babs.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Abort. Abort. Abort. Immediately.
If you thought the comm line had exploded before, this was an atomic bomb. It’s a cacophony, instantly. Not the casual chattering over each other of minutes prior, instead it’s angered shouts, concerned whispers and vehement speculations about who it could possibly be.
The last thing you hear when you drop the earpiece into the garbage disposal with a sickening clang is Jason’s concerningly enlightened ‘Oh shit’.
You’ve been lying in bed practicing pretending to be asleep for an hour when Jason finally peels through the bedroom window. It takes everything you can muster to regulate your breathing, steady your heartbeat and lay still enough to feign unconsciousness.
The telltale rustling of Jason pulling off his costume as quietly as possible is enough to make you let out a barely-there sigh of relief. There’s a fleeting sadistic pride that burns in your chest at the thought that you’ve fooled the mighty Red Hood.
“So, where is it?”
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Maybe if you don’t answer, he’ll just lay off –
“I know you’re awake.” You nearly jump up to the ceiling because he says it directly into your ear and you didn’t even hear him move from beside the window. Fucking vigilantes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you borderline whimper, and abruptly realise if you were going to double-down you probably should have done it with a bit more authority.
“Really, sweetheart? That’s what we’re going with.”
You roll over ever so slightly, just enough to pull your face from the pillow. Jason’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark of your bedroom and his face is not even an inch from yours. He’s close enough that you can make out the ever so slight sweaty dampness of his hair, that you could trace the freckles and scars alike that are dotted across his face – you can also make out the unmistakable curve of his lips, upwards ever so slightly at the corner.
“Garbage disposal.” The words come out quicker than you thought was physically possible and could potentially be mistaken for the creaking of a door in a different context given the pitch of them. You’re not sure if you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest or tied to your foot and subsequently flung into a river.
The silence is painful. Agonising. It’s too dark to completely make out Jason’s expression, his body completely still. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing.
And then he starts to shake, shoulders first, before the rest of his body follows. He collapses onto his side of the bed, jolting the mattress, and the vibrations are enough to confirm your suspicions. He’s laughing his fucking head off.
“You put it in the garbage disposal?” There’s disbelief lacing his words, and his own question only sets him off again. You throw a weak punch at his arm out of fear of him waking the neighbours.
“You’re not mad?” Your disbelief matches his own as you finally flip over to face him, now draped in the moonlight pouring through your bedroom window.
His laughter subdues, and he pauses contemplatively before sighing, “I probably should be. But, no, I’m not. I’d be a liar if I said I wouldn’t do the same fuckin’ thing.”
That’s the only signal you need to traverse the bed at break-neck speed, throwing yourself into Jason’s arms and burying your face into the crook of his neck. Without missing a beat, his arms come around to draw soft patterns up and down your back, and he lets out a relaxed hum of approval.
“I’m sorry about tonight, baby,” he won’t quite look you in the eye as he says it, and you can practically feel the guilt emanating off of him, “I know how much you were looking forward to it. We were looking forward to it.”
“Jay,” you sigh, raking a hand through his hair, “I love you. What you do makes you who you are, if I couldn’t accept that your aggressive vigilantism was going to have to come first sometimes, we wouldn’t be together.”
He presses a chaste kiss to your neck with a soft mumble, “I love you too. Too good f’me.”
“Shut up and go shower,” you giggle, shoving him away, “You stink, pretty boy.”
Jason feigns offense comically, drawing back with a scandalised grin and a shake of his head. You instantly feel the loss as he clambers out of bed, keeping your hands against him for as far as you can reach. There’s a quaint smile on his face as he begins to saunter over to the bathroom. God, you love this man.
“Jay?” You call, just before the bathroom door clicks shut.
“Yeah, princess?”
“I like your family. They seem nice.” You get little more than a grumble in response, and you’re not sure there were any discernible words in there to begin with as he pulls the door to again.
“Oh, and Jason?”
“Yeah?”
“You know that thing Steph said – uh, you know – about the mask?”
You can hear the echo of Jason’s forehead smacking against the doorframe through the wall.
microsoft word giving me italics is like Prometheus stealing fire and giving it to humanity - best believe its a power i'm going to abuse
If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it, leave me alone.
A/N: I'll be so honest, this was way better in my head lol my execution needs work because aint no way this is 7k words and im still not satisfied perhaps this would be best as a series? but tbh i dont think i can write much more than this
It's based on this post from @batbusiness-schooldropout
"Alright, who the hell snitched?"
Jason stormed into the Batcave, helmet tucked under his arm, pissed.
Tim barely looked up from the Batcomputer, "What are you talking about?"
Jason gestured wildly, "I just had a fun little run-in with a couple of GCPD officers who very politely informed me that I have an outstanding legal matter that needs my attention. Which is news to me because I don’t exactly file taxes or have jury duty, so what the hell are they trying to pull?"
Tim blinked, "You have a warrant?"
"That’s what I’m asking you!" Jason snapped.
Tim, now curious, spun back to the screen, "Alright, let’s check."
He typed in Red Hood and cross-checked it with Gotham’s legal system. A few minor infractions came up—nothing serious—but then…
There it was.
Tim frowned, "Huh."
Jason narrowed his eyes, "What?"
"It’s… not a warrant," Tim said slowly, "It’s a summons."
Jason crossed his arms, "For what?"
Tim clicked on the file. A scanned document popped up, the words 'LEGAL NOTICE' at the top.
"Looks like someone filed you as a legal guardian," Tim muttered, "Gotham’s courts have been trying to notify you for a while now. They probably flagged it to GCPD just to get it on your radar."
Jason scoffed, "Guardian? Of who?"
Tim clicked again, "A kid named Aria (L/N)."
Jason frowned, "That name means nothing to me."
Tim went still.
Jason’s stomach sank, "...What?"
Tim very slowly turned the screen toward him.
Jason stared.
Child’s Name: Aria (L/N)
Mother: (Y/N) (L/N)
Father: Red Hood
His brain just stopped working.
Dick, passing by with his coffee, glanced at the screen, "Oh, damn. Jay, you finally settling down?"
Jason whipped around to glare at him, "I don’t know this woman! I don’t have a kid!"
"Legally, you do." Tim pointed out.
Jason turned back to the screen, rubbing his temples, "Why is my life like this?"
Tim scrolled further, "Looks like the mother put your name down instead of the real father’s. And since Gotham courts don’t do DNA tests without permission from both parents… that guy got screwed out of custody."
Jason clenched his jaw, "And now they’re trying to find me because I’m on record as the dad."
Tim squinted at the file, then choked.
Jason looked at him warily, "...What?"
Tim covered his mouth, trying so hard not to laugh, "There's a comments section."
Jason leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the document. Then he saw it.
Additional Comments: "He kept the helmet on the whole time."
The Cave went dead silent.
Jason stared. Tim bit his lip. Dick was turning red trying not to lose it.
Then—
Tim wheezed.
Dick howled.
Jason smacked his forehead against the Batcomputer, "I hate everything."
He then exhaled sharply, cutting off his mental breakdown before muttering, "Okay. Fine. I’ll go find the mother and figure this out."
Dick snickered, "Tell Aria Daddy’s coming home."
Jason threw a batarang at him.
***
"Hi, honey, I'm home."
The distorted, robotic voice from his helmet made you freeze in place. Your pulse thundered in your ears, dread settling like a stone in your stomach. You knew exactly why the Red Hood was in your apartment.
You turned slowly, keeping your hands in sight as if that would make a difference, "Please, don't. My daughter is in the next room. She only has me."
"Don't you mean our daughter?" He bit out, sarcasm cutting through the voice modulator.
Despite whatever anger he held toward you, he hesitated, feeling pity. You must have looked terrified.
"I'm not here to hurt you," He said after a beat, "I just want an explanation."
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay calm, "Her father is an asshole. I couldn’t let him have any rights over her, so I wrote your name down on all her documents. Gotham has no way of verifying, so they just had to take my word for it."
You met his gaze, your voice steady despite the situation, "I’m sorry if I made things complicated for you, but this was the only way I knew to keep his hands off her."
Jason exhaled sharply, shifting his weight, "How long did you think this would go unnoticed?"
You hesitated before answering, "Well… 'our' daughter turned five last month, so I figured you weren't going to find out anytime soon. Guess I was wrong."
You knew of Red Hood. You knew what he stood for. No matter what, he would never hurt a child. Ever. And if the rumors about him were true, then he would realize that you had only been acting in Aria’s best interest.
He studied you, the lenses of his helmet unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his scrutiny. This was an invasion of privacy—probably illegal, even—but instead of anger, he seemed... intrigued. You weren’t what he expected. You were clever, maybe even reckless, but clearly devoted to your daughter.
And—if he was being honest—pretty. Definitely pretty.
"Why me?" He finally asked, "Why not any of the other Bats?"
You shrugged, "Of all of them, you seemed like the least likely for civil court to track down." That much was true—any time someone tried to drag Red Hood into Gotham’s legal system, he either ignored it or laughed in their face before firing a warning shot.
"You're also the scariest, aside from Batman. And I didn’t want him getting any ideas about recruiting Aria for his next child vigilante project once Robin retires again." You smirked, "Lastly, having a baby daddy without a no-kill rule seemed like a great way to keep that deadbeat asshole far, far away from us."
Jason flat-out laughed at that. The sound, even through the voice modulator, carried warmth.
"You make an excellent argument," He admitted.
You relaxed slightly, "I am sorry. If I knew it was going to bother you, I never would have done it."
He shrugged, completely unbothered, "Doesn’t bother me. You were doing right by your kid. I can respect that."
Relief washed over you, and you smiled. You didn’t push the conversation further—if he wanted to be taken off her documents, he’d ask.
Instead, he surprised you.
"Can I meet her?"
Your breath caught, "Who? Aria?"
"I mean, legally, she’s my kid, right? That means I have visitation rights."
Apprehension prickled at the edges of your mind. Had you just swapped out one danger for another? You had gone to great lengths to keep Aria safe from one man—had you unknowingly invited another into her life?
Jason seemed to sense your hesitation. "You can say no," He said, almost gently, "But I just found out I have a daughter today. I’d like to meet the girl who made you pull a stunt this reckless and brave."
You could say no. You probably should say no.
And yet, as you looked at the masked man standing in your too-small living room, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
"...Okay," You said at last, "But you might want to take off the mask. She scares easy."
Jason chuckled, low and amused. You half-expected him to refuse, to make some offhanded comment before declining the invitation and leaving, but instead, you heard the soft click as he unlocked his helmet and pulled it off.
Dark, slightly messy hair with a single white streak. Stormy blue eyes. Sharp cheekbones and full lips.
"Wow," You breathed before you could stop yourself.
He raised a brow.
You cleared your throat, cheeks warming, "I can see where our daughter gets her good looks from."
Jason snorted, shaking his head.
"Aria, honey!" You called, turning toward her room, "Come out for a second, please!"
The door creaked open, followed by the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet. Aria emerged in a pink tutu, a plastic wand in her hands, and a sparkly tiara perched on her head.
She blinked up at Jason with wide, curious eyes.
"This is Mommy’s friend, Red Hood," You told her, "He wanted to say hi."
Aria beamed, "Hi, Mr. Hood!" She grabbed the edges of her tutu and curtsied, just like the princesses in her favorite cartoons.
You glanced at Jason. His expression had softened, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For a man who had probably seen the worst the world had to offer, he looked completely in awe.
Jason, the Red Hood—the most terrifying name in Gotham’s underworld—cleared his throat, gripping his helmet a little tighter.
"Uh. Hi there." He said, voice definitely shaking.
You bit your lip, looking down to hide your smile.
This huge crime lord, who had probably seen more murders tonight than you had in your entire life, was nervous talking to a five-year-old.
Aria giggled, "You talk funny."
Jason blinked, "I do?"
She nodded, "Your voice is all rumbly! Like Batman!"
Jason made a very undignified sound, "I am nothing like Batman, princess."
Aria gasped dramatically, "You know Batman?!"
***
Jason didn’t know exactly how he ended up in this position.
After that first meeting with Aria, he’d been more than ready to let you both get back to your lives. You had only put his name down as Aria's father to scare off her real father; he had no place here.
And yet.
When he found himself alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling, or in the rare moments of silence while working on cars, his mind drifted. He’d think about Aria—her wide, innocent eyes staring up at him, the way she had curtsied like a damn princess, completely unafraid of the man Gotham whispered about in fear.
An unfamiliar squeeze tugged at his heart.
He had a daughter.
And the more he thought about her, the more he wanted to protect her—to keep that innocence untouched, to make sure she was safe and happy. He wanted to be a father.
Then, inevitably, his thoughts turned to you.
You hadn't spoken for long, but somehow, you’d managed to stick in his mind. Despite it being the end of the day, exhaustion tugging at you, there had been a light in your eyes—something warm, something alive. He found himself drawn to it.
The confidence in your posture, the way you had no trouble meeting his eyes, the sheer sass you had thrown his way despite knowing exactly who he was. And above all, the love and protectiveness you had for Aria.
You were nothing like anyone he had ever met before.
A couple of days later, he found himself knocking at your door again.
He had told himself it was just to check on Aria after a Joker attack. That was reasonable, right? He had to make sure she was safe. That’s all it was.
You had offered him dinner. He declined.
Then, a couple of days after that, he found himself there again—this time after a Poison Ivy incident.
You offered him dinner again.
This time, he obliged.
That night, he sat at your dinner table with you and Aria, listening as she excitedly told him about school. He learned about your job, about the little details of your life, and—much to his amusement—was introduced to what Aria called the greatest meal in the entire world.
Hello Kitty-shaped pasta.
He raised a brow at you.
You shrugged, "It’s expensive, but it makes her happy."
Jason huffed a small laugh, "What’s the special occasion?"
Aria beamed, practically vibrating in her seat.
"I got made line leader today!" She announced proudly.
You glanced at her with a mix of amusement and pride, eyes warm, "It’s a big deal."
Jason turned to Aria, his chest tightening at the way she puffed herself up with pride. Without thinking, he reached out and ruffled her hair like it was second nature.
"Good job, princess," He murmured.
Her entire face lit up.
And just like that, Jason Todd was done for.
It had been two months since Jason first met the both of you, and now, sitting at the dinner table, he was experiencing his first real parental crisis.
It was obvious that Aria was in a bad mood.
She barely touched her food, half-heartedly pushing it around her plate. Even when you suggested ordering takeout—usually a foolproof way to lift her spirits—she just shook her head. You and Jason exchanged a concerned glance over her head.
Something was clearly wrong.
You sighed, resigning yourself to the hope that she’d tell you before bed or at least over breakfast tomorrow.
"I'm just gonna go take a shower, do you mind?" You asked, gesturing toward Aria.
Jason didn’t hesitate before nodding.
You smiled gratefully, pressing a kiss to Aria’s crown before leaning over and doing the same to Jason.
A month ago, that would’ve made him jump out of his skin. Now, after two months of shared dinners—some planned, others happening more naturally—he only sat there, heart racing in his chest, pretending that wasn’t the highlight of his day.
When he heard the shower turn on, he turned to Aria with a mischievous grin.
"Okay, Mom’s in the shower. What do you say to ice cream for dinner?"
Jason liked to pretend you had no idea whenever he and Aria snuck ice cream together. But ever since he convinced you to let him make homemade ice cream with protein shakes and sneaky healthy ingredients, you had stopped putting up much of a fight. Besides, he wasn’t exactly subtle. If he didn’t outright tell you, the dirty dishes in the sink were more than enough of a giveaway.
More than anything, though, he just wanted Aria to eat something.
But tonight, instead of the excited little gasp she usually gave, Aria just frowned.
"Mommy doesn’t like that."
"Princess," He said more gently, shifting in his seat, "is something wrong? You love ice cream. And Mom made one of your favorites tonight, but you’re not eating, and…" His voice softened, "That makes me sad."
Aria hesitated for a few seconds before pushing her plate away and sliding off her chair. Jason tensed, heart thudding slightly faster. Shit, did I upset her? Is she about to cry?
But she didn’t.
Instead, she ran off, returning moments later with her pink Barbie backpack. She unzipped it and rifled through its contents before pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper and handing it to him.
Jason smoothed the paper out.
And felt his stomach drop.
Daddy-Daughter Day!
"My teacher told us to give it to our parents," Aria said quietly, her lip trembling, "So our daddies can come visit one day."
She fidgeted, looking down at her hands.
"But… I don’t have a daddy."
And just like that, Jason Todd’s heart broke in two.
***
When you came out of the shower, towel-drying your hair and now dressed in your pajamas, you immediately looked around for Aria.
"She didn’t really want to eat, so I just put her to bed," Jason informed you.
You sighed, sinking into a chair at the dining table, "Do you think I should call her teacher tomorrow and ask if something happened? Maybe someone was being mean to her at school?"
Wordlessly, Jason slid a folded piece of paper across the table toward you. You furrowed your brows and picked it up, unfolding it to read.
Your face immediately darkened.
"This can’t be right!" You hissed, voice sharp with anger. "I thought schools had outfashioned practices like this! What happened to inclusivity and all that crap? What about kids with two moms? Or no parents at all? I’m calling up the school. I’m gonna be a full-blown Karen. I’m gonna—"
"(Y/N)—"
"No, Jason, this isn’t okay!"
Despite your fury, you kept your voice down for Aria’s sake. Jason wasn’t sure if you were about to explode or just strain your vocal cords with your whispered screams. But then, just as suddenly as your anger had flared, you seemed to fizzle out.
You slumped back into your chair, rubbing your face with trembling hands.
"I’ve done everything I can to make sure Aria never feels the absence of a father," You murmured.
"I’ve tried. I’ve—" Your voice cracked.
You let out a shaky breath and shielded your face with your hands, "My poor baby. I can’t believe she held onto this all day without telling me."
Jason think twice before he pulled you into his arms, letting you rest your head against his neck as you composed yourself.
After a moment, he spoke, "Look, I know it might not be the same, but… I was thinking. What if I attended the event with Aria?"
You stiffened, then slowly pulled back, meeting his eyes. Your expression wasn’t hopeful—it was guarded.
Jason’s stomach soured.
"Jay, I know we’ve been having a good time lately, but you can’t do that to Aria," You said, shaking your head, "If you go to this event as her dad, she’s going to see you as that. And you can’t—you can’t do that to her."
Jason swallowed hard. His voice was quieter when he asked, "What if I wanted to? To be seen as her dad? Would that really be so terrible?"
You didn’t answer.
You just stood up from the table and walked away.
Jason almost would have laughed at how much you resembled Aria in that moment if he didn't feel his stomach sinking to his feet.
But just like Aria, you also came back.
Clutched in your hands was a camera. You placed it in front of him, watching as he stared at you with unsure eyes.
"I record all of Aria’s school events," You said softly. "Don’t miss a second of it."
Jason blinked. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
Before you could react, he grabbed you and twirled you around the kitchen.
You let out a surprised squeal before bursting into giggles, clinging onto his shoulders. But then, realization hit.
You were definitely not wearing a bra.
Your giggles faded, and Jason froze as well, both of you suddenly very aware of how close you were. You stared at each other, identical blushes creeping up your cheeks.
You cleared your throat.
"You can—um—you can put me down now."
***
It was almost comical how small the classroom was.
Jason had to duck his head to step inside, barely squeezing through the low doorframe. The room was packed—about fifteen other dads crammed into tiny plastic chairs that looked like they could barely support one ass cheek. Jason didn’t even bother trying. Instead, he just lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs as he settled in.
The dads around him nodded politely as they all waited for the teachers to finish setting up and taking attendance.
"I don’t think I’ve seen you around before," A man beside him said, shifting his son in his lap, "I’m David."
"Jason," He replied, shaking his hand with a firm but polite grip.
"This is Harry," David continued, gesturing to the little boy who peeked up at Jason shyly before quickly burying his face in his dad’s shirt. Jason chuckled.
"So, which one’s yours?"
Jason glanced across the room, "Over there, in the book corner."
David followed his gaze. In the far corner, a little girl in denim dungarees rifled through a stack of picture books with a very serious expression, clearly determined to find a specific one. Jason had picked out her outfit today—he’d even let her wear the tiara she refused to take off, despite your insistence that it was an inside toy.
No doubt, she was making a mess that her poor teacher would have to clean up later.
David frowned, "Who?"
"The one with the tiara," Jason said.
David's confusion deepened, "Aria?"
Jason’s brows furrowed, "Yeah."
"Aria (L/N)?"
"Yes."
David blinked, "I—I didn’t know you were—I thought (Y/N) was single."
Jason’s expression darkened. A phantom of a scowl flickered across his face before he forced himself to relax. He wasn’t about to scare off the other parents at an event that was supposed to be important for Aria.
"She isn’t," He said simply.
David paled, "Oh. Uh—sorry." He quickly bowed his head, clearly embarrassed.
Jason smirked, barely hiding his haughty attitude. So what if he told a little white lie? It wouldn’t do any harm for Dave—or Dan, or whatever his name was—to keep his sights off you.
Really, you deserved better than some average, boring guy who probably filed his taxes early and grilled chicken without seasoning. Someone like that wouldn’t know how to handle you. He wouldn’t know how to make you laugh when you were stressed, wouldn’t know how to handle your sass, wouldn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.
No, you needed someone confident. Someone strong. Someone who could protect you and Aria. Someone with a soft side, sure, but also someone who wasn’t afraid to fight for you. Someone who would go to hell and back if it meant keeping you both safe.
Someone like…
Oh.
Jason's smirk faltered for half a second before he recovered, clearing his throat and forcing himself to focus on Aria, who was still knee-deep in her book hunt.
Well. That was something to unpack later.
***
"Now, all together, everyone! On the count of three—one, two, three!" the teacher announced cheerfully.
A chorus of tiny voices rang out.
"I love you, Dad!"
It was loud, chaotic, a jumble of high-pitched shouts that somehow blended into something warm and sweet. Parents chuckled, kids giggled, the room filled with laughter and joy.
But Jason’s heart sank.
While the other kids beamed up at their fathers, Aria clutched the handmade card in tight fists, her knuckles white. She kept her head down, lip wobbling, shoulders trembling as she struggled to say the words.
Jason knelt in front of her, his heart twisting. God, she’s so small. Both of her tiny hands barely covered his palm as he gently took them in his own.
"You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to, Aria," He told her softly, "I’m not going to force you to do anything. Just know that I love you very much, princess. That’s enough for me."
She finally looked up at him, somehow seeming even smaller despite the fact that he was kneeling. Her big, glassy doe eyes searched his face.
"You really love me?" She asked in the quietest whisper.
"More than anything, baby."
The words slipped out before he could stop them, before he could think about the weight they carried. About what it might mean for a little girl who had spent her whole life without a father.
For a moment, she just stared at him. Jason barely had time to register the emotion in her eyes before she launched herself at him, tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck. She burrowed against him, her small frame pressing against his chest as she whispered into his ear—
"I love you, Daddy."
Jason felt his breath catch in his throat.
Oh. Oh.
He squeezed her tighter, pressing his face into her soft curls, "I love you too, princess," He murmured, voice thick with something he wasn’t ready to name.
And for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd felt like he belonged.
***
Aria had been absolutely beaming after Daddy-Daughter Day, her excitement carrying her through the evening—especially since Jason had taken her to the park afterward. She had barely managed to get through telling you about her day, slurring her words sleepily as you tucked her into bed.
You pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, smoothing down her hair before stepping away, only to find Jason waiting for you in the doorway.
You smiled at him, reaching for his hand and leading him back to the living room. Without a word, you poured him a glass of wine, knowing that, even though he wouldn’t admit it, the day at her kindergarten had probably exhausted him. The proof was in the way he let out an almost comically heavy sigh the second he sank onto the couch.
You settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder like it belonged there, both of you staring at the very much off television in comfortable silence.
“She has a lot of energy, doesn’t she?” You murmured, amused.
Jason huffed out a laugh, “Yeah. I like to think I’m somewhat athletic, but Aria put me to shame today.”
You smiled, tilting your head slightly to look up at him, “Thanks for going today. It meant a lot to her. And to me, too.”
There was a beat of silence before Jason reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours like second nature. His grip was warm, grounding.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
***
Living in Gotham, you considered yourself one of the lucky ones.
Sure, you weren’t immune to the constant calamities that plagued the city, but you had managed to avoid being caught in the worst of them. Your bank had never been robbed while you were there. You had never been held hostage. You were one of the few people left who had never fallen victim to Joker venom.
Sure, your house had been broken into before—before Aria—but you were never home when it happened.
Really, you should’ve known your luck was going to run out eventually.
You had gotten too comfortable with Jason’s late-night visits, so when the knock came at your door, you didn’t even hesitate. You didn’t check the peephole. You didn’t ask who it was. You just…opened it.
Rookie mistake.
The man standing on the other side was a stranger. Tall. Built. And he made no effort to conceal the gun in his pocket.
Your blood went cold.
A smirk curled at his lips, sending goosebumps crawling up your skin. Your throat tightened.
“Hello, sweetheart. Did your baby daddy stop by?”
Your voice barely came out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man tsked, stepping forward, making you instinctively press yourself against the doorframe.
“Now, now. Don’t lie,” He murmured, “It won’t end well for you—or the little runt back there.”
Your heart stopped.
Aria.
Terror clawed at your chest, your breath shuddering. Tears burned your eyes.
“Please,” You whispered, “Don’t hurt her. She’s just a child.”
“The child of the infamous Red Hood.” He tilted his head mockingly, “You can’t possibly think that means nothing.”
You shook your head violently, “She doesn’t know anything. I don’t know anything. Please.”
Your hands were iron on the doorknob, but it meant nothing.
With a single sharp shove, he flung the door open.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
***
Jason had been having a good night.
He had just finished his patrol and was on his way to your place, eager to see you and Aria. Maybe he’d bring her some hot chocolate, tuck her into bed, and spend the rest of the night with you, pretending—for just a little while—that the world outside didn’t exist.
Then he saw the door.
Wide open.
His blood ran cold.
Jason didn’t think—he moved. Gun drawn, he stormed inside, heart hammering against his ribs like a caged animal. The second he stepped into the apartment, his stomach dropped.
The place was trashed.
Aria’s toys were scattered across the floor, your coffee table overturned, and the framed pictures on the wall had been knocked down, the glass shattered.
There had been a struggle.
Jason’s throat tightened as his eyes landed on a streak of blood smeared across the hardwood floor.
His world tilted.
No. No, no, no, NO.
His hands shook, but his grip on his gun only tightened. His pulse was pounding in his ears, deafening, drowning out everything but the rage that ignited in his chest like an explosion.
His vision blurred with fury.
Someone took you. Someone took Aria.
His family.
Jason turned sharply and stormed out of the apartment, his movements lethal and precise. He going to hunt down the bastards who thought they could take his girls and live to tell the tale.
They were going to pay.
***
"I need you to find two missing people."
That was the first thing out of Jason’s mouth the second he entered the cave. His urgency didn’t seem apparent enough to anyone, judging by the way Dick and Bruce didn’t even look up from sparring.
Tim, who didn’t bother glancing away from the Batcomputer, simply asked, “Who?”
“(Y/N) and Aria (L/N).”
At this, Dick perked up, “Your fake baby mama and kid? She might not be missing, Little Wing. Maybe she’s just at Superman’s baby shower.”
Dick wasn’t expecting boisterous laughter, but at least a huff of breath or a chuckle would have been appreciated. Instead, he suddenly found himself grabbed by the collar, yanked forward until he was forced to look Jason in the eye.
Jason’s expression was thunderous—fury on the surface, but something even more unsettling lurked underneath.
“The mother of my child and my daughter are missing, and you want to make jokes?”
Dick raised a brow, forcing himself to stay calm, “I thought you didn’t know them?”
Jason’s grip tightened for a second before he let go, stepping back. His voice was low, unwavering.
“I do now.”
***
The world felt like it was spinning in slow motion. Every breath was a struggle, your head pounding from the blow you’d taken earlier, your body screaming in pain with every movement. You tried to focus, tried to tell yourself it was going to be okay—that Aria was okay—but you weren’t okay.
You had been firm in your resolve, refusing to reveal anything about the Red Hood, willing to die on the hill that you knew nothing. But you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it up. So far, they had only hurt you—because when they had turned to Aria, demanding answers, she had wailed and sobbed until she peed herself. The memory made tears well in your eyes.
Your poor girl might walk out of this untouched, but she wouldn’t leave unscathed. This would haunt her for years to come.
And you knew—the second they turned back toward her, the second they so much as raised a hand in her direction—you would break. It didn’t matter how much you loved Jason. You couldn’t, wouldn’t, ever put anyone above Aria’s safety.
Her terrified little eyes stayed locked on you, watching as a trail of blood ran down the side of your face.
Then the door slammed open.
The sound echoed in the empty space, sharp and deafening. Your body tensed, your breath catching in your throat. The man holding you captive turned toward the entrance, a sneer curling his lips.
“Well, well,” He drawled, his voice sickeningly amused. “Looks like Daddy's finally joined us for the party.”
Your heart leaped in your chest. But you couldn’t show it. Not when Aria was still in danger.
With the momentary distraction, she crawled into your lap, and despite the blinding pain searing through your body, you pulled her in. She trembled against you, clutching onto you as if her life depended on it—and in a way, it did. You shielded her, wrapping your arms around her tiny frame, covering her eyes with your bloody hand.
You whispered sweet nothings into her ear, pressing weak kisses to her temple, hoping—praying—that it would be enough to comfort her.
Then came the first gunshot.
You didn’t dare look. You knew what was happening. You could hear it in the crack of bone, the dull thuds of bodies hitting the floor, the sharp gasps of dying men. Jason was swift. Merciless. Tearing through the people who had dared to lay a hand on you and his daughter.
He was here.
He was going to save you.
Another body collapsed nearby, and your breath hitched. You felt yourself slipping, your limbs numb, your eyelids growing heavier by the second.
Then, his voice cut through the haze—low and desperate, but still gentle.
“Sweetheart?”
You wanted to look up at him, to reach for him, but your body was betraying you. Your vision blurred, the pain making it impossible to move.
His hand cupped your face, his warmth seeping into your skin, grounding you. You tried to focus on that, tried to hold on.
“Talk to me, baby,” He murmured, his voice tight with worry.
But you couldn’t. You could barely breathe. The only thing keeping you tethered to consciousness was the familiar scent of leather and gunpowder—the scent of Jason, of safety, of home.
You felt him shift, carefully lifting you into his arms, cradling you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You instinctively leaned into him, letting his presence surround you.
Aria clung to him just as tightly, her tiny voice muffled against his chest.
“Daddy!”
Despite everything, despite the agony consuming your body, your heart swelled at hearing her call him that. When had she started calling him Dad?
Then Jason’s fingers brushed against your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. His voice was softer now, almost breaking.
“Stay with me, sweetheart.”
You forced your eyes open, locking onto his—those intense, unwavering blue eyes that had pinned you to your place the first time you had met in your apartment.
That day you had been apprehensive at best when he had asked to meet Aria, second guessing every choice you made but in the end choosing to follow your gut when it said it had a good feeling about him.
Now, you were sure of it.
“Jason,” You rasped, barely above a whisper. His head snapped down toward you instantly, his grip tightening as if he were afraid you might slip through his fingers.
“I need you to promise me something,” You murmured, your breath shallow, your chest tight.
His brows furrowed. “Anything,” He said, but the hesitance in his voice told you he already knew where this was going.
“I need you to promise…” You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to keep going, “If something happens to me… you’ll take care of Aria. Promise me, Jay.”
He froze.
For the first time since he’d stormed in, tearing through your captors like an avenging angel, he looked terrified.
His lips parted, but no words came out. You could see the battle raging inside him—the part of him that refused to believe he could lose you and the part that was too afraid not to make that promise.
“Don’t you dare say that,” He finally whispered, voice trembling, “I’m not losing you. I won’t—”
“Promise me,” You urged. You barely had the strength to grip his jacket, but you pulled weakly at the fabric anyway, needing him to understand.
His eyes glistened with unshed tears, his breath coming out in uneven bursts. But he wasn’t crying. Not yet.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he swallowed hard and nodded.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” He swore, his voice breaking. “I won’t let her grow up without you. I promise.”
The relief that washed over you was instant. Even as your vision darkened at the edges, even as your body started to give out, you felt… safe. At peace.
With your last burst of strength, you reached for Aria’s tiny hand, wrapping it in your weak grasp. You gave her a faint squeeze, managing the smallest of smiles.
“I love you,” You whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, “Both of you.”
Jason's breath hitched. His grip around you tightened, as if he could physically keep you here, tethered to him, to Aria, to the life he couldn't bear to lose.
“No, no, sweetheart—stay with me," He pleaded, his voice cracking, raw with panic. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky, "You don’t get to say that like it’s the last time. You don’t—Please (Y/N)—" His voice broke completely, and for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd was afraid.
Because he knew what loss felt like. Knew it too well.
And he couldn't—wouldn't—survive losing you too.
Aria let out a whimper, squeezing your fingers with her tiny hand. "Mommy?" Her voice was so small, so scared, and it shattered something inside him.
He shifted you in his arms, holding you closer, keeping you upright even though your body was limp.
“I love you too, sweetheart," he whispered, but the words felt hollow, like a plea rather than a promise.
Aria began to sob loudly, little hands grabbing at your sleeve, trying to shake you awake, “Mommy, wake up! Please!”
Her wails were raw, desperate, but Jason had to hold her back, had to keep her from accidentally hurting you any further. His grip on her was gentle but firm, even as his own body trembled with barely restrained terror.
He buried his face in her hair, biting back the sob threatening to claw its way out of his throat. He held you tighter, as if he could physically keep your soul tethered to him, as if just holding you close would stop the light from fading from your eyes.
He had never felt this helpless.
Jason Todd, the Red Hood, the man who had clawed his way back from the grave, who had survived horrors most people couldn’t even imagine—he was useless when it mattered most.
He was holding the broken pieces of this family.
A family that had been good, that had been safe before he came into the picture. A family that had welcomed him with open arms, treated him as though he had never been missing in the first place.
And what had he done in return?
He had ruined it.
He had brought his war, his bloodstained hands, his cursed existence into your lives, and now you were paying the price for it.
If he had never been selfish enough to stay, to want this, to think—even for a second—that he could have something good, that he could deserve you, this never would have happened.
This was his fault.
It was always his fault.
His mother’s betrayal. His death. His resurrection. The people he killed. The people he couldn’t save.
And now you.
Jason clenched his jaw, his breath coming out in ragged, uneven gasps. His heart slammed against his ribs as guilt and fury warred inside him. His hands, hands that had broken men, hands that had torn Gotham’s underworld apart, could do nothing but hold onto the only two people in the world who had ever made him feel like he was worth something.
But what was he worth now?
What good was he if he couldn’t even protect the people he loved?
Jason let out a shaking breath, pressing a kiss to Aria’s head, squeezing his eyes shut as he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
He never should have stayed.
***
Jason kept his head down as he exited your hospital room, feeling his heart break under the weight of his own resolve—to stay away from both of you.
He spotted his father waiting at the reception, handling the paperwork and payment. As much as Jason felt like the lowest he had ever been and didn’t want anyone to see him like this, he was a little relieved. At least Bruce was here. At least he could leave knowing you were taken care of. He could go home, lock himself in his apartment, and spend the next few weeks trying to forget you. Trying to convince himself that he had been an idiot for ever thinking he had a place in your family.
Because thanks to him, your family had almost been destroyed.
With his head down, he walked up to Bruce, hands stuffed in his pockets. His father gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, but Jason didn’t want to talk. If he opened his mouth now, if he let himself breathe wrong, he knew the lump in his throat would break, and the tears would come pouring out.
"Daddy!"
The sound of Aria’s voice snapped his head up just in time for her to crash into him, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck in a desperate grip. Before he could even think, he was holding her, hugging her tight, feeling her little body shake.
"Daddy, don’t leave! Mommy and I need you! Please don’t go!"
Jason looked at her tear-streaked face and felt something deep inside himself crack. He beat himself up for even considering walking away. How could he? How could he leave while you were still lying in a hospital bed? How could he abandon Aria when she needed him most?
His baby girl.
She needed him. And the truth was—he needed her just as much. He needed both of you.
Right then and there, he made a promise to himself. He would protect you both more than anything. He would love you both more than anything. And he would stop at nothing to make sure you were happy and safe.
Pressing his nose against Aria’s wet cheek, he kissed away her tears, "I’m not going anywhere, princess. Daddy’s not going anywhere."
He stole a glance at Bruce, who gave him a small smile and a nod. With a steadier heart, he carried Aria back to your hospital room.
The second she saw you, Aria gasped, "Mommy!"
You gave Jason a tired smile from your place on the bed, the cut on your lip making it painful to do so, but you still reached out for his hand.
"I thought you would’ve left, wallowing in your guilt. Your masochistic streak and all that," You teased softly.
Jason let out a shaky breath, giving you a glassy-eyed smile before pressing another kiss to Aria’s temple.
"Our girl knows how to keep me grounded."
You grinned at that, exhaustion clear in your features but warmth shining in your eyes.
"She’s her father’s daughter, alright."
***
State of New Jersey
Department of Family and Child Services
Official Adoption Certificate
This document certifies that on 17/03/2025, Jason Peter Todd has legally adopted Aria (L/N), hereafter known as Aria Todd, and is recognized as her father with all parental rights and responsibilities.
Adoptive Parent: Jason Peter Todd
Child’s Name (Amended): Aria Todd
Birth Mother: (Y/N) Todd
Previous Father Listed: Red Hood (Alias) — Amended
Additional Comments: "I’m not the stepdad. I’m the dad who stepped up." — Jason Todd
synopsis. it’s harder to keep your relationship with jason a secret from the world's greatest detectives than you thought. (3 times each wayne family member tries to prove that you and jason are together and 1 time they actually do.)
notes. ooc. tooth. rotting. fluff. like 3k words of it and im sick. my first time writing for jason ever yay!
“You know, if you stare any harder, you might actually burn a hole through her head.”
Dick’s teasing voice slices through the comfortable silence between the two brothers, save for the distant sirens and the low hum of Gotham’s never-ending nightlife below them. They’re perched on a rooftop across from an upscale bar, the neon sign casting a soft glow on their suits. Through the massive glass windows, you sit at the bar, leaning in with an easy, disarming laugh as the suspect, some sleazy drug trafficker falls right into your trap.
Jason, crouched beside Dick with his elbows on his knees, grumbles beneath his mask. “I’m not staring.”
Dick lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Then I must be hallucinating.”
“I thought we got you checked out for that already,” Jason shoots back, his voice sharp.
Dick winces, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Low blow.”
“It was pretty funny.”
Dick doesn’t argue, just settles into a knowing silence, watching as Jason’s hand unconsciously flexes against the holster at his hip.
Jason exhales through his nose, his jaw ticking. “I don’t understand why she has to flirt to get intel. We could just beat the answers out of these guys. Hell, we’d probably get it faster.”
The older vigilante shakes his head. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘covert op’ like bashing heads through walls.” His voice is light, but his eyes flicker to the way Jason’s fingers tighten around the grip of his gun. “Relax. Your sweetheart can handle herself.”
Jason freezes, but only for a fraction of a second. His heart, though, does that annoying thing where it skips a beat, both traitorous and stupid.
Your sweetheart.
Not that anyone knew. Not that anyone could know. As much as he wanted to grab you by the waist and kiss you breathless after missions, he wasn’t about to hand his family more ammunition for their relentless teasing.
Dick, for one, was proving exactly why this relationship stayed a secret.
The silence should have been Jason’s first warning. The way Dick just sits there, absently swinging a batarang between his fingers, watching the bar with an all-too-pleased expression.
“You know,” Dick hums, as if lost in thought, “it’s important to let that special someone know how you feel. Your twin flame. That one person you’ve been pining over since– oh, I don’t know, your youth.”
Jason doesn’t move.
Dick pauses for dramatic effect, then casually props his chin in his hand, his gaze flicking to Jason. A slow grin tugs at his lips.
“Hm. You’re blushing.”
Jason’s breath stills. His eyes snap to Dick, but his head remains stubbornly forward.
“I am not blushing.” His voice is gritted steel. “And I haven’t been pining over her for that long.”
Dick tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Huh. Funny.” He leans back with an exaggerated stretch. “I never said who.”
Jason’s fists clench.
Damn it.
His mask covered his whole damn face. There was no way Dick could have seen a blush, no way he could have known.
Jason grits his teeth as realization dawns.
He walked right into that.
Like a lovesick fool.
The next time Jason’s nearly caught is at one of Bruce’s galas.
Jason had grumbled and rolled his eyes when you insisted on attending—something about not wanting to spend the night in a “stuffy ass ballroom pretending to care about Gotham’s elite.” You had countered that it was for a good cause, something you actually cared about, and that Bruce would appreciate the support. Begrudgingly, he agreed.
But, of course, he couldn’t just let you go without making things complicated.
“Matching colors,” Tim observes, arms crossed, his sharp blue gaze flickering between you and Jason.
You school your expression into something neutral. Jason, standing entirely too close to you, does no such thing.
“What a coincidence,” Tim drawls, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“It really was,” you force out a laugh, silently screaming at Jason for his careless mistake.
He had seen your dress before the gala, made a gruff noise of disapproval, and then—without a single word—had left only to return an hour later with a tie in the exact same deep shade of red.
You had almost thrown a shoe at him.
As endearing as the gesture should have been, it was infuriating. He was the one insisting that your relationship remain under wraps, but he was awful at hiding it.
Right now, you can practically feel his warmth radiating onto you, his fingers twitching at his side, itching to settle on your waist. His entire presence screams possessive, yet he’s standing there trying to play it cool.
“Right, Jay?” you prompt, hoping begging he plays along.
“Total accident,” he deadpans.
You mentally facepalm. He is not selling it.
Tim’s smirk deepens, thriving off Jason’s obvious discomfort.
“Well then,” Tim shrugs, barely suppressing his amusement. “If she’s not your date, do you mind if I steal a dance?”
Jason’s shoulders tense. His jaw clenches so tight you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack.
“Go ahead.”
His tone is flat, but you know better. His hands may be in his pockets, but you can see them clenched into fists. His entire body is rigid, like he’s forcing himself to not grab your wrist and pull you back to his side.
You want to laugh. It’s so obvious.
Tim takes your hand and whisks you away onto the dance floor before Jason can change his mind.
He’s is a smooth dancer, you’ll give him that. He moves with confidence, leading you effortlessly through the slow, sweeping steps of the waltz. The ballroom around you is a blur of glittering gowns and dark suits, the music swelling in a soft, romantic rhythm.
You try to focus on the dance, but you can feel Jason’s stare.
It’s burning into you from across the room, a weight against your spine that makes your pulse spike.
Tim notices. Of course, he does.
“I know I have a grand total of one song before your guard dog comes back,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly as he spins you. His fingers press lightly against your back, his mouth close to your ear. “So, between you and me… you can just tell me if you’re dating.”
You groan. “Why is everyone so obsessed with this?”
Tim pulls back just enough to give you a pointed look. “Because the two of you have been dancing around each other for years. I’m in pain just watching.”
“You’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “Buzz off and focus on your own romantic life, Drake.”
Tim just grins. “Yours is so much more interesting.” He spins you gracefully, his smirk growing as he catches sight of Jason still watching. Still fuming.
He tugs you back in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “So tell me… are the two of you together? Because I’ve been sensing–”
“You’ve been sensing jack shit, Drake.”
The voice is low, sharp, and pissed.
You barely have time to process Jason’s arrival before you feel a hand—his hand—on your waist, warm and grounding and claiming.
Tim barely gets a breath out before Jason smoothly steps in, seamlessly taking his place as if he had planned this from the start. His movements are precise, natural, possessive. The transition is so smooth it’s like the dance was meant to end like this—with you in his arms.
Tim watches, looking utterly delighted.
“Wow,” he muses. “Not even a full song? Possessive much?”
Jason doesn’t acknowledge him. His grip on you tightens, and you feel his breath against your temple as he leans in just enough to send a shiver down your spine.
You should step back. You should do something to break the illusion.
But you don’t.
Because his hand is on your waist, his other hand holding yours just right. His body is solid and warm against you, moving with you effortlessly like he was made for this. The scent of leather lingers on him, comforting and intoxicating.
He is looking at you like you are the only person in the room.
And you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until he speaks.
“I don’t like how low his hands were.”
The words are gritted out, low and quiet, meant just for you.
Your heart stumbles. You should not find that as attractive as you do.
“Jason–”
He exhales sharply through his nose. “He knows. He’s just trying to het under my skin.”
You blink up at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Jay, it was just a dance.”
His fingers flex against your waist.
Your breath catches in your throat. The words send something electric through you, something dangerous. You don’t have time to respond.
Because Tim, damn Tim, is still standing there, watching the whole exchange with way too much satisfaction.
“Well,” he muses, rocking back on his heels. “That was interesting.”
Jason finally acknowledges him by glowering in his direction.
“Get lost, Drake.”
Tim grins. Because while he may not have gotten a confession, he definitely got confirmation.
After your encounter with Tim, you and Jason had agreed to lay extra low. No unnecessary risks, no slip-ups. No feeding into their suspicions. That plan, of course, went up in flames, quite literally when you almost lost a damn arm.
Jason had nearly lost his mind.
Now, standing in the training room with Cassandra, you tug absentmindedly at the hem of your sleeve, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your arm.
Cass, however, does not.
“That’s one nasty burn,” she winces, crouching slightly to get a better look at the angry, blistering wound.
You shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “It’s nothing, really,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “I was just reaching into the oven to grab some muffins, and my arm accidentally hit the hot rack.”
Jason, standing beside you with his arms crossed, snorts.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Told you to be careful this morning.”
The second the words leave his mouth, his body goes rigid. His eyes widen slightly, realizing his mistake.
Shit.
Cass doesn’t even blink before zeroing in.
“What was that?”
Jason schools his expression into mock confusion. “What was what?”
“Don’t play coy, Todd.” Cass’s voice is sharp, her dark eyes locked onto him with an intensity that could crack glass.
Jason ever so stubborn and entirely unwilling to admit defeat, doesn’t back down.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He doesn’t flinch.
Cass tilts her head, unconvinced. “I heard the two of you were on patrol pretty late last night.” Her gaze flickers between you and Jason, noting every shift in body language, every subtle tell. “So tell me, Todd… what were you doing with [Name] this morning too? Did you, perhaps, sleep together?”
Silence.
The tension in the room thickens, settling over you like an impending storm. Your pulse spikes. Jason’s jaw locks. Cass’s eyes remain unmoving, sharp as a blade.
The stalemate stretches too long.
Before Cass can press further, you jump in.
“What Jason meant,” you say quickly, forcing an easy laugh, “is that our patrol ended at around six in the morning. I invited him over for a snack, is all.”
You will her to believe it.
Jason exhales subtly beside you, relaxing ever so slightly at your quick save.
Cass, however, is not satisfied.
“You never invite me over for snacks,” she states, arms crossing over her chest.
You frown. “I’m sorry, Cass. How about next time?”
She considers for a moment, expression unreadable, before nodding.
“I’ll be there at sunrise.”
You smile, nudging her shoulder. “It’s a deal.”
Cass eyes the two of you for another long second before finally, finally, grabbing her bag and exiting the room.
The moment the door clicks shut, Jason lets out a heavy breath.
Without warning, his large frame topples over yours, his solid weight pressing against your back as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.
“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he mutters, lips brushing the sensitive skin near your ear. His voice is low, gravelly, full of something raw and unguarded.
His arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him.
You bite back a smile, leaning into his warmth.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” His lips graze the nape of your neck, lingering.
“Not nearly enough,” you murmur.
It’s a lie.
Because Jason tells you every single day.
If not with his words, then with the way he looks at you. With the way he touches you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. With the way he freaks out over every little injury, over every near miss, like the thought of losing you would be enough to unmake him.
And God, if he wasn’t so damn obvious about it.
Your charade finally comes to an end on a rare night. The entire family gathered around the Wayne Manor dining table. It had taken weeks of convincing, countless rescheduled plans, and Alfred’s unshakable will to make it happen. You silently applaud him, watching as he moves seamlessly around the table, topping off glasses and making sure everyone eats.
The conversation is lively but controlled, an unspoken agreement hanging in the air: no fights. Bruce was actually eating rather than brooding, Damian had only thrown out two insults so far, and Tim was at least half-awake. For a Wayne family dinner, this was practically peaceful.
No one notices that you and Jason are sitting a little too close, they’re all too engrossed with the hearty meal and a rare opportunity of having a civil conversation with each other.
Jason, ever the attentive boyfriend, wordlessly reaches for the serving platter and places another thick slice of roast onto your plate. Then, he carefully spoons asparagus onto your dish, making sure it’s coated just enough with hollandaise sauce just the way you like it.
“Eat up, sweetheart.” His voice is low and smooth, meant just for you.
Your heart does a little flutter at the name, and your lips tug into a smile as you pick up your fork.
But then a familiar voice turns the entire night around.
“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Damian’s voice cuts through the table, as sharp as one of his throwing knives, “but doesn’t ‘sweetheart’ have romantic implications?”
Silence.
A few forks hover mid-air. Bruce pauses as he cuts into his steak. Dick, who had been talking to Cass, freezes mid-sentence. Tim, who had been half-heartedly scrolling through his phone under the table, suddenly looks very awake.
“No, you’re absolutely right,” Dick leans back in his chair, grinning like he just hit the jackpot. His eyes flicker with amusement as he clasps his hands together.
Jason’s chewing slows. Your eyes flicker to his face, trying to gauge his reaction. This was it. The moment he always dreaded.
“Todd just called [Last Name] ‘sweetheart,’” Damian supplies, ever helpful, pointing at the two of you with his fork.
Cass and Tim share a knowing glance, both nodding in quiet confirmation.
Dick gapes. “In front of my salad?”
Jason, rather than looking panicked, looks entirely unbothered. Too unbothered. His jaw moves as he stuffs another carrot into his mouth, chews deliberately, and then–
“It’s our one-year anniversary next month.”
Chaos erupts.
“WHAT?”
“I KNEW IT!”
“Called it.”
“Took you guys long enough!”
Tim smacks the table, rattling the silverware. Dick throws his hands in the air. Cass laughs silently, shaking her head as if she’s just been vindicated after months of waiting.
Stephanie, meanwhile, grabs Tim’s arm and shakes him. “You owe me fifty-bucks, Drake.”
Bruce, to his credit, looks unfazed, save for the slight twitch of his eyebrow. He sets his knife down and looks at Jason with a measured expression.
“Well done, son.”
Jason stares at him for a moment before giving him a single nod, as if they’re discussing business strategy rather than his romantic relationship.
You’re still flustered under the sheer weight of all the attention, but then Jason’s fingers interlace with yours under the table. Warm. Steady. Protective. He gives your hand a light squeeze, and just like that, your nerves settle.
The chatter continues, voices overlapping.
“I suppose that means I won the bet?”
The room stills.
Jason’s head snaps up. “Wait. What?”
Tim, not even looking ashamed, shrugs. “Technically, nobody won. We all knew already.”
Damian scowls. “The condition was that someone had to prove it. I did that tonight. Therefore, I win.”
Jason straightens in his chair, voice dangerously low. “Hold on. You had a bet?!”
You grimace, bracing yourself as the night takes a turn.
Tim leans back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, yeah. This has been going for months.”
“How much?” Jason demands, his eyes narrowing.
Dick, grinning, raises his glass. “A hundred bucks.”
Jason turns to you, betrayed. “Did you know about this?”
You shake your head furiously. “I would’ve rigged it to win if I had.”
“Unbelievable,” Jason mutters, rubbing his temples.
But then he feels your thumb brush gently over his knuckles, and suddenly, the noise fades into the background. He turns to you, the frustration melting from his features as he takes in the warmth of your smile, the way your eyes are only on him.
You squeeze his hand. “Well,” you say softly, just for him. “At least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”
Jason exhales a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning to you fully. There’s adoration in his eyes, open and raw and entirely unguarded. His lips form the silent words, ‘I love you,’ and though no sound escapes, you hear it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly around yours. Your breath catches, warmth blooming in your chest, and without thinking, you smile radiantly, mirroring the love on his face.
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