a tortured poet🪐

Daniela, 28 yrs old, Mexico. A big fan of everything.

[lectoresap]

[hotchhner]

he is unfortunately the prettiest person that has ever lived

[hotchhner]

full dimple smile and his eyes crease omg i am so down bad it is genuinely embarrassing

[lectoresap]

[jellyfishsthings]

Hii, I love your writing and I saw this reel on Insta about two gay birds and the first bird reminded me soooo much of red hood and I thought it could be some fun inspiration for something and if not I hope it can make you laugh :3 https://www.instagram.com/reel/DYSue2ADHqt/?igsh=bjZsNHZhdG91MWxw

Birds of a Feather

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

You were having a perfectly normal day at the Gotham Botanical Gardens—well, as normal as any day could be in Gotham—when you heard it.

A crash. A yell. The unmistakable sound of something very large hitting something very solid.

You looked up from the bird rehabilitation area where you volunteered to see Red Hood stumbling backward from the aviary wall, a massive red cardinal perched aggressively on the fence, puffing up its feathers and chirping with what could only be described as violent intent.

"What the—" Red Hood started.

The cardinal dive-bombed him.

"JESUS—" He ducked, the bird missing his helmet by inches.

You couldn't help it. You laughed.

Red Hood's helmet snapped toward you. "You think this is funny?"

"A little bit, yeah." You walked over, trying to suppress your grin. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything! I was chasing a guy, he ran through here, and this—this demon bird just decided I was the problem!"

The cardinal—who you recognized as Cardinal, because the volunteer who'd named him had the creativity of a brick—was still puffed up, hopping aggressively along the fence line, chirping what were clearly bird profanities.

"That's Cardinal," you explained. "He's... temperamental."

"Temperamental? He's homicidal!"

"He's protective of his territory. You probably scared him."

"I scared him?" Red Hood gestured at his helmet. "I'm wearing armor! He's got feathers!"

Cardinal chose that moment to lunge at the fence again, and Red Hood actually flinched.

You were definitely laughing now.

"This is not funny," Red Hood growled. "I've fought supervillains. I've fought the Joker. I'm not getting punked by a bird."

"Maybe don't threaten him?"

"I'm not threatening him! I'm just standing here!"

"Aggressively."

"I stand aggressively everywhere! It's my thing!"

Cardinal was still death-glaring at Red Hood, feathers puffed up to twice his normal size, looking like a very angry red pom-pom with a vendetta.

"Okay," you said, trying to be helpful. "Just back away slowly. Don't make eye contact. Show him you're not a threat."

"I am a threat. I'm Red Hood."

"Not to the bird, you're not."

Red Hood stared at you. Then at Cardinal. Then back at you.

"I hate Gotham," he muttered, but he backed away.

Cardinal, satisfied with his victory, ruffled his feathers back to normal size and went back to preening like he hadn't just committed assault.

"There," you said. "See? Easy."

"That bird has it out for me."

"That bird has it out for everyone. He's been attacking volunteers all week."

"Great. I have a nemesis that weighs four ounces."

You grinned. "Want me to explain bird behavior to you? So this doesn't happen again?"

Red Hood tilted his helmet, considering. "You work here?"

"Volunteer. I do bird rehabilitation. Injured birds, mostly. Sometimes territorial assholes like Cardinal."

"And you're not afraid of him?"

"He's a cardinal, not a cassowary. He's more bark than bite."

"He tried to bite my helmet."

"And failed, because you're wearing a helmet."

Red Hood seemed to process this. "You're laughing at me."

"A little bit."

"I could arrest you."

"For what? Finding you hilarious?"

"For disrespecting a vigilante."

"That's not a real crime."

"It should be."

Despite the helmet, you could hear the smile in his voice.

Two weeks later, you were checking on the injured hawk in the recovery area when you heard a familiar voice.

"Is the demon bird here?"

You turned to find Red Hood standing at the entrance to the bird sanctuary, hands in his jacket pockets, trying to look casual.

"Cardinal? Yeah, he's in the aviary. Why?"

"Just want to know where the danger zones are."

You raised an eyebrow. "You came back? After Cardinal tried to murder you?"

"I'm patrolling the area. Can't avoid the gardens forever just because of one homicidal bird."

"Mm-hmm." You didn't believe him for a second. "Want me to show you the safe routes? So you don't accidentally trigger Cardinal's wrath again?"

"That would be... helpful. Yeah."

You led him through the gardens, pointing out which areas were Cardinal's territory (most of them) and which were safe (approximately none of them, but you didn't tell him that).

"So you just... work with birds?" Red Hood asked.

"Volunteer. I work at a vet clinic during the day. This is evening stuff."

"And you like it?"

"Love it. Birds are fascinating. Smarter than people give them credit for."

"Smart enough to hold grudges, apparently."

You laughed. "Cardinal's not holding a grudge. He's just territorial. It's instinct."

"Feels personal."

"That's because you take everything personally."

"I do not—how do you know that?"

"You came back to a place where a bird attacked you just to prove you're not afraid of it. That's taking it personally."

Red Hood was quiet for a moment. "Okay, maybe a little."

You reached the aviary, and sure enough, Cardinal was there, perched on his favorite branch, looking like the world's angriest pompom.

"Watch," you said. You made a soft clicking sound, and Cardinal's head swiveled toward you. Another click, and he flew down to the feeding station, calm and docile.

"How did you do that?" Red Hood sounded genuinely impressed.

"Trust. He knows I'm not a threat." You glanced at him. "You want to try?"

"Try what?"

"Feeding him. Make peace."

"With the bird that tried to murder me?"

"He didn't try to murder you. He tried to scare you. There's a difference."

Red Hood looked at Cardinal. Cardinal looked back, suspicious but not actively hostile.

"Fine," Red Hood said. "But if he attacks me again, I'm blaming you."

You handed him some birdseed. "Hold out your hand. Stay still. Let him come to you."

Red Hood, to his credit, did exactly that. He held out his gloved hand, staying perfectly still.

Cardinal hopped closer. Suspicious. Wary.

Then he took a seed.

"Holy shit," Red Hood whispered.

"Don't move."

Cardinal took another seed. Then another. Then he flew back to his branch, apparently satisfied.

"I did it," Red Hood said, sounding genuinely delighted. "The demon bird didn't attack me."

"Told you. He's not that bad once you understand him."

"That was actually... kind of cool."

You smiled. "Birds are cool. People just don't take the time to learn about them."

Red Hood looked at you, and even through the helmet, you could feel the weight of his attention. "You're really into this, huh?"

"Yeah. I know it's not as exciting as fighting crime—"

"It's better. You're actually helping things. Making a difference without punching people." He paused. "That came out wrong. I meant it's good. What you do. It's good."

"Thanks." You felt your cheeks warm. "You know, you're welcome to come back. If you want. Learn more about the birds. I do evening shifts three times a week."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. As long as you promise not to start any more fights with Cardinal."

"No promises. He started it."

You laughed, and something shifted in the air between you.

One month later, Red Hood became a regular.

He'd show up during your evening shifts, help with feeding, ask questions about bird behavior. He was surprisingly gentle with the injured birds, his large hands careful and steady.

"You're good at this," you said one evening, watching him carefully wrap a sparrow's injured wing.

"I've had practice with injuries."

"On yourself?"

"Mostly." He finished the wrap. "How's that?"

"Perfect." You put the sparrow back in its recovery cage. "You could do this professionally, you know."

"What, bird rehabilitation?"

"Wildlife care. You've got the temperament for it."

"I've got the temperament for punching criminals."

"You can do both."

He laughed. "Maybe in another life."

You were cleaning up when Red Hood spoke again.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why birds? Why this specifically?"

You thought about it. "Because they're resilient. They get hurt, they get scared, but with the right care, they heal. They fly again. I like being part of that."

"That's a good answer."

"What about you? Why the vigilante thing?"

"Because someone has to. Because Gotham's broken, and someone needs to protect the people who can't protect themselves." He paused. "And because I'm good at it."

"You are. I've seen the news."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're brutal, but you get results. You make Crime Alley safer."

"You live in Crime Alley?"

"Yeah. For three years now."

Something changed in his posture. "It's dangerous."

"It's home. And it's less dangerous now than it used to be. Because of you."

Red Hood was quiet for a long moment. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not being scared of me. Most people are."

"Most people don't see you hand-feed Cardinal or carefully wrap sparrow wings." You smiled. "You're not as scary as you think."

"I'm terrifying."

"You're a softie who's afraid of a four-ounce bird."

"I am not afraid—Cardinal is a menace—"

You laughed, and Red Hood's helmet tilted in that way you'd learned meant he was smiling underneath.

"I need to show you something," Red Hood said one evening, approximately two months later.

He'd been acting weird all shift—more quiet than usual, almost nervous.

"Okay?" You followed him to the aviary.

Cardinal was there, and next to him was another cardinal. Smaller, female, with more muted coloring.

"Is that—"

"Cardinal got a girlfriend," Red Hood said. "Or a mate. Whatever birds call it."

"Oh my god." You stepped closer. "When did this happen?"

"She showed up last week. He's been showing off for her ever since. Puffing up, singing, bringing her food. It's actually kind of cute."

"It's very cute." You watched Cardinal hop closer to his mate, offering her a seed. "He's in love."

"Birds don't fall in love."

"They absolutely do. They mate for life, most species. Cardinals especially."

Red Hood was watching the birds with an intensity that seemed like more than casual interest. "That's a long commitment."

"It is."

"What if it doesn't work out?"

"Then it doesn't. But if it does? They've got a partner for life. Someone who understands them. Someone who stays."

Red Hood was quiet.

You glanced at him. "Are we still talking about birds?"

"Maybe."

Your heart skipped. "Jason."

He went very still. "How did you—"

"Your voice. The way you move. The fact that you know way too much about Crime Alley's layout." You turned to face him. "I've known for a few weeks."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"I was waiting for you to tell me. When you were ready."

Jason—because it was Jason now, not just Red Hood—pulled off his helmet. His hair was messy, his eyes tired but warm.

"I wanted to tell you," he said. "I just didn't know how."

"How about 'Hi, I'm Jason Todd, and I'm Red Hood'?"

"That seemed too simple."

"Sometimes simple is good."

He smiled, and it transformed his face. "I really like you. Like, a lot. And I know this is complicated—I'm a vigilante, I'm dangerous, I've got more baggage than an airport—"

"Jason."

"—but I think about you all the time, and I look forward to these shifts, and I really want to take you on a date where I'm not wearing a helmet—"

"Jason."

"—if you're interested, which you might not be, because again, dangerous vigilante with issues—"

You kissed him.

He made a surprised sound, then wanted to kissed you back aggravatedby his helmet, his hands coming up to cup your face gently.

When you pulled back, he was staring at you with wonder.

"So that's a yes to the date?" he asked.

"That's a yes to the date."

"Okay. Good. Great." He was grinning like an idiot. "I'm going to take you somewhere nice. No helmets. No birds attacking me."

"I like the birds."

"I like the birds too now. Because of you." He kissed you again, softer this time. "Fair warning though—I'm probably going to be as awkward as Cardinal was when he was courting his mate."

"Cardinal was very awkward."

"Exactly."

You laughed, and Jason pulled you closer, and from the aviary, Cardinal chirped approvingly.

"Even the demon bird approves," Jason said.

"He's not a demon bird."

"He absolutely is. But he's our demon bird."

"Our?"

"Yeah." Jason looked at you seriously. "If you want. The bird thing. The dating thing. All of it."

"I want all of it."

"Good. Because you're stuck with me now. Fair warning—I'm very territorial. Like Cardinal."

"Are you comparing yourself to an aggressive bird?"

"I'm comparing us to birds who mate for life."

Your heart melted. "That's actually really sweet."

"I have my moments." He kissed your forehead. "Now help me feed these birds before Cardinal decides I'm a threat again."

Six months later, you moved in together—an apartment in Crime Alley that Jason insisted on securing with every safety measure known to man.

The apartment also had a small balcony, which you'd converted into a bird feeding station.

Cardinal and his mate showed up every morning.

"They followed us," Jason said, watching them from the kitchen window.

"Birds remember faces. They know we're safe."

"We've been adopted by territorial demon birds."

"You love them."

"I tolerate them. There's a difference."

But you'd caught him multiple times refilling the feeders, making sure there was fresh water, even building a small shelter for when it rained.

Jason Todd, Red Hood, crime lord vigilante, had become a bird dad.

And you loved him for it.

"Hey," he said, wrapping his arms around you from behind. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For seeing past the helmet. For teaching me about birds. For not running when you figured out who I was." He kissed your neck. "For everything."

"Thank you for feeding a random bird even though you were scared of it."

"I was not scared—"

"You were terrified."

"Cardinal is objectively terrifying."

"He's four ounces."

"Four ounces of pure rage."

You turned in his arms, kissing him properly. "I love you."

"I love you too." He smiled. "Even if you did laugh at me that first day."

"You got attacked by a bird. It was objectively funny."

"It was humiliating."

"It was the start of our love story."

"Our love story started with me getting punked by a cardinal?"

"The best love stories always have a ridiculous beginning."

Jason laughed, pulling you closer. "Fair enough."

Outside, Cardinal chirped, and his mate chirped back, and you and Jason stood in your kitchen, watching the birds that had somehow brought you together.

"You know what?" Jason said.

"What?"

"I'm really glad I got attacked by that bird."

"Me too."

"Even if he is a demon."

"He's not a demon!"

"Agree to disagree."

You kissed him again, and somewhere in Gotham, Cardinal ruffled his feathers proudly.

His work here was done.

Bonus Scene:

Dick found out about the whole "Jason got attacked by a bird and fell in love" story and never let him live it down.

Tim made a presentation about it for family dinner.

Damian declared Cardinal "a worthy adversary" and tried to recruit him for the Bat-family.

Bruce just sighed and added "bird safety" to the patrol training manual.

But Jason didn't care.

Because he had you, and an apartment in Crime Alley, and two cardinals that showed up every morning like clockwork.

Life was good.

Even if Cardinal still occasionally dive-bombed him when he got too close to the feeder.

Some things never changed.

And Jason wouldn't have it any other way.

[jellyfishsthings]

Hi lovely! If you’re still taking requests I was wondering if you could do angst/ comfort where reader doesn’t know Jason is red hood and he keeps missing important events, reader confronts him which leads to a fight so reader stops including him in outings, night outs, work events, etc thinking he’s just not interested.

When he realizes he grovels and confesses? I would eat that up ❤️❤️❤️

The Space You Left

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

The first time Jason missed something important, you told yourself it was just bad luck.

Your company's awards dinner—the one where you were receiving recognition for the project you'd spent eighteen months leading—fell on a Friday night. Jason had promised he'd be there, had even helped you pick out your dress the week before, spinning you around your apartment and telling you that you'd be the most beautiful person in the room.

"I'm so proud of you," he'd said, kissing your forehead. "I can't wait to watch you accept that award."

But when the night came, his seat beside you remained empty.

You checked your phone obsessively between courses. No calls. No texts. Just silence where his support should have been.

You accepted your award with a smile that felt like it might crack your face, thanked your team, and tried not to notice the pitying looks from your coworkers who'd heard you mention your boyfriend would be there.

Jason showed up at your apartment at 2 AM, bruised knuckles and a cut above his eyebrow that he brushed off as "a stupid accident at the gym."

"I'm so sorry," he'd said, pulling you into his arms. "There was an emergency at work. I tried to get out of it, I swear, but my boss—"

You'd accepted the apology because you loved him. Because accidents happened. Because he looked so genuinely devastated that you couldn't stay angry.

The second time, you told yourself it was coincidence.

Your best friend's wedding. You'd been talking about it for months, had your dress picked out, had confirmed with Jason at least five times that he'd be your plus-one.

"I promise," he'd said the night before. "I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it."

But when you waited outside your building in your bridesmaid dress, makeup perfect and hope still intact, he never showed.

You went alone. Smiled through questions about where your boyfriend was. Made excuses about work emergencies and unavoidable conflicts. Caught the bouquet and felt nothing but hollow.

Jason had shown up the next morning with flowers and apologies, another cut on his face, moving stiffly like his ribs hurt.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," he'd repeated, and you'd wanted to scream at him but he looked so broken that you'd just cried instead.

By the third time—your mother's birthday dinner, the one where you were finally introducing him to your family—you'd stopped telling yourself anything at all.

You'd just started recognizing a pattern.

The fight happened on a Tuesday night, after Jason missed your work anniversary celebration.

Three years at your company. Your boss had taken the team out to celebrate, had specifically asked you to bring your boyfriend because he'd "heard so much about him."

Jason had promised. Had sworn up and down that he'd be there. Had even set three separate alarms on his phone while you watched.

You'd waited at the restaurant for forty-five minutes, making increasingly desperate excuses, before finally admitting he wasn't coming.

When Jason showed up at your apartment that night—late again, another bruise blooming on his jaw—you didn't let him in.

"We need to talk," you said, blocking the doorway.

"I know. I'm sorry. There was—"

"An emergency at work," you finished flatly. "Right. There's always an emergency at work."

"It's not like that—"

"Then what is it like, Jason?" Your voice cracked. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you just don't care. About me. About my life. About anything that doesn't involve whatever mysterious job you have that always seems to require you at the exact moment I need you."

"That's not fair—"

"Fair?" You laughed, and it came out bitter. "You want to talk about fair? I've sat alone at four major events in the last six months. Four, Jason. My awards dinner, my best friend's wedding, my mom's birthday, and now this. Do you know how humiliating it is to constantly make excuses for you? To watch people's faces when I tell them my boyfriend couldn't make it again?"

"I know, and I'm sorry, but if you'd just let me explain—"

"Explain what? That your job is more important than me? I already figured that out."

Jason's face went hard. "My job is complicated—"

"Then uncomplicate it! Get a different job! Do something that doesn't require you to disappear at random intervals with no explanation!"

"I can't just—it's not that simple—"

"Why not?" You were crying now, angry tears that you couldn't stop. "Why can't you just be honest with me? Tell me what's so important that you can't even send a text to say you're not coming. Tell me why you keep showing up with bruises and cuts that you brush off with obvious lies. Tell me why I feel like I'm in a relationship with a ghost!"

"I'm trying to protect you—"

"From what?!" You shouted. "From your job? From the truth? Or from having to actually commit to this relationship?"

Jason flinched. "That's not—I'm committed. I love you—"

"Do you? Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm an afterthought. Something you fit in when it's convenient. When there's no 'work emergency' pulling you away."

"You know that's not true—"

"Do I?" You wiped at your eyes. "Because all I know is what you show me, Jason. And what you show me is that I'm not a priority. That whatever you're doing is more important than being there for me."

"It's not about importance—"

"Then what is it about? Because I'm tired of guessing. I'm tired of making excuses. I'm tired of feeling like I'm in this relationship alone."

Jason reached for you, but you stepped back.

"Don't. Just—don't." You took a shaky breath. "I can't keep doing this. Waiting for you to show up. Hoping that this time will be different. I deserve better than this."

"You do," Jason said quietly. "You deserve so much better than this. Than me."

"That's not—" You stopped. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe I do."

You closed the door in his face and pretended you couldn't hear him standing outside for the next twenty minutes before finally leaving.

After the fight, you stopped inviting Jason to things.

It started small. Your coworker's happy hour on Friday—you just didn't mention it. The gallery opening your friend invited you to—you went alone. Your company's quarterly dinner—you told them your boyfriend couldn't make it and didn't bother asking.

Jason noticed.

"Hey, didn't your team have that thing tonight?" He asked one Thursday when he showed up at your apartment.

"Yeah. It was fine."

"Why didn't you tell me about it?"

You looked at him over your laptop. "I didn't think you'd be able to make it."

"You didn't even ask."

"Would you have come?"

The silence was answer enough.

Jason's jaw clenched. "That's not fair. You can't just assume—"

"I'm not assuming anything. I'm just saving us both the disappointment." You turned back to your screen. "Besides, you were probably busy with work anyway."

"I would have tried—"

"Jason." You closed your laptop. "It's fine. Really. I'm not mad. I just... I've adjusted my expectations."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I've stopped expecting you to be there. It's easier this way."

You could see the words hit him, watched his expression crack before he carefully put it back together.

"I don't want you to stop expecting things from me," he said quietly.

"Then maybe you should have shown up," you replied, and opened your laptop again.

Your birthday was the breaking point.

You didn't tell Jason about the party your friends were throwing. Didn't mention the dinner reservation. Didn't say anything when he asked what you wanted to do to celebrate.

"Nothing special," you'd said. "Just a quiet night in."

"Are you sure? We could go out, do something nice—"

"I'm sure. I'm pretty tired lately anyway."

It wasn't a lie. You were tired. Tired of hoping. Tired of being disappointed. Tired of feeling like you were the only one trying.

Your birthday fell on a Saturday. You went to brunch with your friends, then to the spa, then to dinner at your favorite restaurant. You laughed and drank wine and accepted gifts and tried not to think about the fact that your boyfriend wasn't there.

Tried not to think about the fact that you hadn't wanted him there.

That night, when you got home to your apartment, Jason was waiting outside your door with flowers and a small wrapped box.

"Happy birthday," he said, smiling. "I know you said you wanted a quiet night, but I thought maybe we could—"

He stopped when he saw what you were wearing. The dress. The heels. The makeup that was clearly not for a quiet night in.

"You went out," he said slowly.

"Yeah."

"You said you wanted to stay in."

"I changed my mind."

"You didn't tell me."

"You didn't ask."

Jason's hands clenched around the flowers. "Where were you?"

"Out with friends. Dinner. The usual birthday stuff."

"You didn't invite me."

"No."

"Why not?"

You looked at him—really looked at him. At the hope in his eyes, the hurt, the confusion. At the flowers he'd brought and the present he'd wrapped. At this man you loved who could never seem to show up when you needed him.

"Because I knew you wouldn't come," you said simply. "Or you'd promise to come and then cancel last minute. Or you'd show up two hours late with an excuse I'm supposed to accept without question. And I didn't want to deal with that on my birthday."

"I would have come. If you'd asked, I would have—"

"Would you?" You unlocked your door. "Because you didn't come to my awards dinner. Or my best friend's wedding. Or my work anniversary. Or any of the other dozen things I've invited you to in the last six months. So forgive me for not believing that my birthday would be any different."

"That's not fair—"

"Stop saying that!" You turned on him, suddenly angry. "Stop telling me what's fair and what's not when you're the one who keeps disappearing! When you're the one with the secrets and the bruises and the mysterious job that always takes priority!"

"I'm trying—"

"Are you? Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like you're just... going through the motions. Showing up when it's convenient. Leaving when something better comes along."

"You're not—there's nothing better than you—"

"Then prove it!" The words came out broken. "Show up. Be present. Stop making me feel like I'm in this relationship alone!"

Jason looked at you, and you could see him struggling with something. Some secret he wanted to tell but couldn't. Some truth that was caught in his throat.

"I can't," he said finally. "I can't explain. Not yet. But I need you to trust me—"

"I'm tired of trusting you, Jason. I'm tired of waiting for you to let me in. I'm tired of feeling like I don't actually matter to you."

"You do matter. You matter more than anything—"

"Then act like it!" You were crying now. "Because right now, all I feel is alone. And if I'm going to be alone anyway, I might as well make it official."

The words hung between you, heavy and final.

"What are you saying?" Jason's voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm saying that maybe we should take a break. Figure out what we really want."

"I know what I want. I want you—"

"You want the idea of me. The convenient girlfriend who doesn't ask too many questions. Who accepts your excuses. Who waits patiently while you live your secret life." You shook your head. "But I can't be that person anymore. I won't."

"Please. Just give me a little more time—"

"Time for what? For you to miss more events? To come up with more excuses? To keep me at arm's length while you do whatever it is you're doing?" You stepped into your apartment. "I've given you six months, Jason. Six months of understanding and patience and benefit of the doubt. And I'm done."

You started to close the door, but Jason caught it.

"I love you," he said desperately. "I know I've been shit at showing it, but I love you. Please don't do this."

"I love you too," you said, and your voice broke. "But love isn't enough when you're the only one fighting for it."

This time when you closed the door, he let you.

Jason stood outside your apartment for a long time after you closed the door, the flowers wilting in his hand, the birthday present in his pocket feeling like a lead weight.

He'd fucked up. He knew he'd fucked up. But he hadn't realized how badly until tonight, seeing the look in your eyes when you told him you were done.

Done waiting. Done hoping. Done with him.

He made it three blocks before his phone rang. Dick.

"Can't talk right now," Jason said.

"You need to get to the Bowery. There's—"

"Handle it without me."

Silence. Then: "Are you okay?"

"No. But that's my problem. I'm taking the night off."

"Jason—"

He hung up and went to the only place he could think of.

Roy opened his door to find Jason standing there with wilted flowers and a devastated expression.

"She broke up with me," Jason said.

"Shit. Come in."

They sat on Roy's couch, and Jason told him everything. Every missed event. Every excuse. Every time he'd chosen Red Hood over you because it seemed more urgent, more important, more necessary.

"I thought I was protecting her," Jason said, staring at his hands. "Keeping her separate from the vigilante shit. Keeping her safe."

"By lying to her?"

"By not telling her. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Roy leaned back. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've been lying by omission for six months. And she noticed."

"I know." Jason's voice was rough. "I just—I thought if I could keep her away from this life, she'd be safer. Happier."

"Was she? Happy?"

Jason thought about your face tonight. The resignation in your eyes. The way you'd stopped expecting him to show up.

"No," he admitted. "She was miserable. Because of me."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. She said she's done. That she can't keep waiting for me to let her in."

"Then let her in."

"It's not that simple—"

"Why not?" Roy interrupted. "You love her, right?"

"Of course I love her—"

"Then tell her the truth. All of it. The Red Hood stuff. The reason you keep disappearing. Give her the choice instead of making it for her."

"What if she can't handle it? What if knowing puts her in danger?"

"What if keeping her in the dark is what loses her?" Roy met his eyes. "Jason, you're already losing her. At least if you tell her the truth, you're losing her honestly."

Jason was quiet for a long time. Then: "What if she hates me? For lying for this long?"

"She might. But she'll hate you more if you keep lying. And at least if you tell her now, you're giving her the respect of the truth." Roy paused. "She deserves that much, don't you think?"

"Yeah." Jason stood. "She deserves a lot more than I've been giving her."

"So go give it to her."

"Not tonight. Tonight she needs space." Jason headed for the door. "But tomorrow... tomorrow I'm telling her everything."

You weren't expecting Jason to show up at your door Sunday morning.

You definitely weren't expecting him to look like he hadn't slept, or to be carrying a duffel bag, or to say "I need to tell you everything" before you'd even said hello.

"Jason—"

"Please. Just—let me talk. And then if you want me to leave, I'll leave. But I need you to hear this."

Against your better judgment, you let him in.

He sat on your couch, hands clasped between his knees, and for a long moment, he just looked at you.

"I've been lying to you," he said finally. "Not about loving you. Never about that. But about everything else. About my job. About the bruises. About why I keep missing things."

"Okay," you said carefully. "So tell me the truth."

Jason took a deep breath. Then he unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out a red helmet.

"I'm Red Hood," he said.

You stared at him. At the helmet. Back at him.

"You're... what?"

"Red Hood. The vigilante. The one who operates in Crime Alley." He set the helmet on your coffee table. "That's my job. That's why I keep disappearing. Why I have bruises. Why I can never explain where I've been."

You sat down hard. "You're a vigilante."

"Yeah."

"You fight crime. Violent crime. Dangerous crime."

"Yeah."

"And you didn't tell me because...?"

"Because I was trying to protect you. Keep you separate from that part of my life. Keep you safe." Jason's hands clenched. "But all I did was push you away. Make you feel like you didn't matter. Like you weren't important enough to let in."

"Jason—"

"Wait. Please. I need to—I need to explain." He took another breath. "Every time I missed something, it was because someone needed Red Hood. A trafficking ring that couldn't wait. A hostage situation. A tip about a weapons shipment. Things that felt urgent. Important. Life or death."

"So you chose them over me."

"I thought I was choosing both. I thought I could keep you safe by keeping you separate. But I was wrong." Jason looked at you, and there was devastation in his eyes. "I was so wrong. Because all I did was hurt you. Make you feel alone. Make you feel like you didn't matter when you're the thing that matters most."

You were quiet, processing. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Years. Since before I met you."

"And you never thought to tell me?"

"I wanted to. So many times. But I was scared. Scared that if you knew, you'd be in danger. Scared that someone would use you to get to me. Scared that—" His voice broke. "Scared that you'd leave me if you knew what I really was."

"What you really are," you repeated. "And what's that?"

"Someone who's done terrible things. Someone who's killed people. Someone who's more comfortable with violence than he should be." Jason's hands were shaking. "Someone who doesn't deserve you but loves you anyway."

You looked at the helmet on your table. At this man you loved who had been living a double life. Who had been lying to you for six months while you slowly fell apart.

You should be angry. You should throw him out. You should tell him that this was exactly what you were afraid of—that he'd been keeping secrets, that he hadn't trusted you.

But mostly, you just felt tired.

"I wish you'd told me sooner," you said quietly.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." Jason's voice was rough. "I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was push you away. Make you feel like you weren't important. Like you weren't worth being honest with."

"Why are you telling me now?"

"Because I'm losing you. Because I've already lost you. And I realized that I'd rather lose you honestly than keep you with lies." He moved closer, but didn't touch you. "You said you felt alone. That I was making you feel like you didn't matter. And I can't—I can't let you keep believing that. Not when the truth is that you're everything."

"Everything except important enough to be honest with."

Jason flinched. "You're right. And I have no excuse for that. I was scared and stupid and I convinced myself that keeping you in the dark was somehow protecting you. But all I did was hurt you."

You stared at the helmet. "You're really Red Hood."

"Yeah."

"And every time you disappeared—"

"Someone needed help. Or there was an emergency. Or something that couldn't wait." Jason's jaw clenched. "I'm not making excuses. I chose that life over you, over and over again. And I hate myself for it."

"Why didn't you just tell me? Why let me think you didn't care?"

"Because I thought if you knew, you'd be in danger. That someone would figure out you mattered to me and use you against me." He laughed bitterly. "But I put you in danger anyway. Different kind of danger. The kind where you slowly stop believing you're worth showing up for."

You were crying now, angry and hurt and confused. "I spent six months thinking I wasn't enough. Thinking that whatever you were doing was more important than me. Making excuses to my friends and family and coworkers about why my boyfriend could never be bothered to show up."

"I know—"

"Do you? Do you know how humiliating it was? How alone I felt? How many times I cried because I thought you just didn't care?"

"I care." Jason's voice broke. "I care so much it terrifies me. You're the best thing in my life, and I've been sabotaging it because I was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of putting you in danger. Scared of—" He stopped. "Scared of a lot of things. But most of all, scared of this. Of you looking at me like you are right now. Like I'm someone who hurt you."

"You did hurt me."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Jason was crying now too. "I would take it all back if I could. Every missed event. Every lie. Every time I made you feel like you weren't the most important person in my world."

"But you can't take it back."

"No. I can't." He wiped at his eyes. "All I can do is promise to do better. To be honest. To show up. To fight for you the way you've been fighting for me."

"What if that's not enough?"

Jason's face crumpled, but he nodded. "Then that's what I deserve. For being too scared to trust you with the truth. For making you feel alone when you should have felt loved."

You looked at him—really looked at him. At the man you loved who had been carrying this secret. Who had been living two lives and somehow managing to fail at both.

But also at the man who had shown up to tell you the truth. Who had brought his helmet, his secret, his entire hidden life and laid it at your feet. Who was crying because he'd hurt you and couldn't take it back.

"I need time," you said finally. "To process this. To figure out what it means."

"Okay." Jason stood. "Take all the time you need. And if you decide you can't do this—can't be with someone who lives this kind of life—I'll understand."

"Jason—"

"I mean it. I want you to be happy. Even if that means being happy without me." He picked up the helmet. "But if you decide you want to try—if you think we can make this work—I promise I'll do better. I'll show up. I'll be honest. I'll prove to you that you matter."

"How?"

"However you need me to. Whatever it takes. I'll fight for this. For you. For us." He moved toward the door. "I love you. I've loved you from the beginning. And I'm sorry it took losing you for me to realize I needed to show it better."

He left, and you sat alone in your apartment with the truth settling over you like a weight.

Jason was Red Hood. A vigilante. Someone who fought crime and saved lives and put himself in danger every night.

And for six months, he'd been doing it alone, keeping you separate, thinking he was protecting you when all he was doing was pushing you away.

You should be angry. Should be furious that he'd lied for so long.

But mostly, you just felt sad. For him. For you. For the relationship you'd both been trying to save in completely different ways.

Your phone buzzed. A text from Jason.

Jason: I know you need time. But I wanted you to have this.

A link to a folder. Inside were dozens of photos—you at your awards dinner, taken from a distance. You at your best friend's wedding. At your work anniversary celebration. At your birthday party.

Another text.

Jason: I was there. Not the way I should have been. But I couldn't let you be alone. Even if you didn't know it.

You stared at the photos. At the proof that while you'd felt abandoned, he'd been watching. Protecting. Trying to be there in the only way he thought he could.

It didn't excuse the lying. Didn't make up for the loneliness.

But it was something.

You texted back: We need to talk. Really talk. About all of this.

The response was immediate: Whenever you're ready. I'll be there.

You: Tomorrow. 7 PM. My place. Jason: I'll be there. I promise.

And somehow, looking at those photos, at the proof that he'd been there even when you couldn't see him—you believed him.

Jason showed up at 6:45, because of course he did.

When you opened the door, he was holding coffee from your favorite place and a bag of pastries from the bakery you loved.

"I know it's not much," he said. "But I wanted—I needed to show up. Properly this time."

You let him in and took the coffee. "You're early."

"I wasn't going to risk being late. Not for this."

You both sat on the couch, careful distance between you, and for a moment neither of you spoke.

"I don't know where to start," you admitted finally.

"Me neither." Jason set down his coffee. "But I meant what I said. About being honest. About doing better. So... ask me anything. I'll tell you the truth."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

You took a breath. "How did you become Red Hood?"

And Jason told you. About dying. About coming back wrong. About the Lazarus Pit and the rage and the years of trying to figure out who he was supposed to be. About choosing to be Red Hood because he could help people in ways the law couldn't.

You listened, and your heart broke for him. For everything he'd survived.

"I'm sorry," you said when he finished. "That's—that's a lot."

"It is. And I didn't want to burden you with it. I thought if I could keep you separate from all of that, you'd be safer. Happier."

"But I wasn't happy. I was miserable."

"I know. And that's on me." Jason looked at you. "I chose wrong. Over and over again. I chose the mission over you because it seemed more urgent. More important. But I was wrong."

"Were you?" You challenged. "If you'd come to my awards dinner instead of stopping that trafficking ring—would those people have been saved?"

Jason was quiet.

"That's the question, isn't it?" You continued. "Because I understand why you chose what you chose. Lives were at stake. People needed Red Hood. And me—I just needed my boyfriend to watch me accept an award."

"That's not—you're not just—" Jason struggled for words. "Yes, people needed Red Hood. But you needed me. Jason. Your boyfriend. The person who's supposed to show up for you. And I failed at that."

"Because you were saving lives."

"That doesn't make it okay. There had to be a way to do both. To be Red Hood and be your boyfriend. I just—I didn't know how to balance it."

"So you chose."

"I chose wrong." Jason moved closer. "I thought I was being noble. Heroic. Putting others first. But all I did was neglect you. Make you feel alone. Make you feel like you didn't matter when you're the person who matters most."

"How do I know that?" The question came out small. "How do I know I'm not always going to be second to Red Hood? That the next time there's an emergency, you won't choose it over me again?"

"Because I'm going to do better. I'm going to—" Jason stopped. "I can't promise there won't be emergencies. I can't promise I won't have to leave sometimes. But I can promise to communicate. To let you in instead of shutting you out. To stop trying to protect you from my life and start including you in it."

"What does that look like?"

"It looks like honesty. It looks like telling you when I have to leave for Red Hood business instead of making up excuses. It looks like introducing you to my family—the Bats—so you understand the world I'm part of. It looks like showing up when I say I will, and if I can't, actually explaining why."

You were quiet, processing.

"I know it's not perfect," Jason continued. "I know there will be nights where I have to choose. Where someone's life is in danger and I have to go. But I'm asking for the chance to do it right this time. To be honest about it. To let you decide if this life—if I'm—worth it."

"And if I decide you're not?"

Pain flashed across his face, but he nodded. "Then I'll accept it. I'll hate it, but I'll accept it. Because you deserve someone who can be there for you. Fully. Completely. And if I can't be that person—"

"Jason." You cut him off. "You can be that person. You just have to actually try."

Hope flickered in his eyes. "Does that mean—are you willing to try? To give this another chance?"

"I don't know yet." You were being honest. "I'm still hurt. Still angry that you lied for so long. Still processing all of this."

"That's fair."

"But I also—" You stopped. "I also love you. And I understand why you made the choices you made, even if I don't agree with them. So I'm willing to try. If you're willing to actually let me in this time."

"I am. I swear I am." Jason reached for your hand hesitantly. "Can I—"

You let him take it.

"I'm going to do better," he said. "I'm going to show up. I'm going to be honest. I'm going to prove to you that you can trust me again."

"How?"

"However you need me to. Starting with this." He pulled out his phone and opened his calendar. "These are my patrol nights. The nights I'm Red Hood. I'm giving you access so you know where I am. What I'm doing. When I'll be back."

You stared at the phone. "You're sharing your vigilante schedule with me?"

"I'm sharing my life with you. All of it. No more secrets. No more lies. Just—honesty. Even when it's hard."

Something in your chest loosened. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. We can try. But Jason—if you miss one more important event without a really good explanation, I'm done. For real this time."

"Understood." He squeezed your hand. "I won't let you down again. I promise."

"Don't promise. Just do it."

"I will."

And looking at him—at the determination in his eyes, the hope, the love—you believed him.

It wouldn't be easy. There would be hard nights and difficult conversations and moments where you'd have to choose between being understanding and standing up for yourself.

But maybe—maybe—you could make this work.

Together.

Honestly.

Finally.

Three months later, your company's holiday party was the first real test.

You'd told Jason about it weeks in advance. Had marked it on both your calendars. Had confirmed multiple times that he'd be there.

And when the night arrived, you were prepared for disappointment. Had your excuses ready. Had steeled yourself for another lonely evening.

But Jason showed up.

Not just showed up—he arrived early, in a suit that fit him perfectly, with flowers for you and charm for your coworkers. He held your hand. Laughed at your boss's terrible jokes. Told anyone who would listen how proud he was of you.

When your boss pulled you aside to tell you about a promotion, Jason was there to celebrate. When your coworker asked to take a photo, Jason pulled you close and smiled.

"You came," you said later, standing on your apartment balcony while the party continued inside.

"I promised I would."

"I know. But I was still—"

"Scared I wouldn't." Jason pulled you closer. "I get it. I have to earn your trust back. This is part of that."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being here. For trying. For actually doing what you said you'd do."

"I'm going to keep doing it," Jason said. "For as long as you'll let me. I'm going to keep showing up. Keep being honest. Keep fighting for us."

"Even when it's hard?"

"Especially when it's hard." He kissed your forehead. "You're worth it. We're worth it."

And looking at him—at this man who had finally learned to balance his two lives, who made time for you even when it was difficult, who showed up—you knew it was true.

It wasn't perfect. There were still hard nights. Still emergencies that pulled him away. Still moments where you had to be understanding when you wanted to be angry.

But he was trying. Really trying.

And that made all the difference.

"I love you," you said.

"I love you too." Jason smiled. "Now come on. Let's get back to your party. I promised your boss I'd tell him the embarrassing story about your first date."

"Jason, don't you dare—"

But he was already pulling you inside, laughing, present, there.

Finally, completely, honestly there.

And it was everything you'd needed all along.

[puddleries]

clark calling lex from a daily planet bathroom stall sheepishly mumbling about needing to hear his voice, a clumsy hand loosening his tie that feels like a vice around his neck. he’s uncharacteristically out of breath and stumbling over his words— muttered syllables, really.

it takes lex longer than he’d like to admit to realize the purpose of clark’s call, but when it clicks in his head he’s all calm words and feigned disinterest. he’ll mention his boring paperwork, gives clark an update on luthorcorp’s most recent projects. all the while clark is nodding and humming on the other end, his heavy breathing becoming panting and gasping now.

“you really shouldn’t call while on the job. it’s severely unprofessional. i’m also busy, you know.”

“you—answered.” is all clark gets out. touché.

lex just scoffs quietly and drums his fingers against his desk, fighting a smirk.

“how close are you?”

“enough. needed to hear you.” clark whines.

“more like you needed my permission.”

“that too, both. lex…” and lex thanks god his office is empty at that moment, but thrills inside at the thought of his staff so close by, possibly overhearing. he bites the inside of his cheek.

“well, where are your manners?”

“please, lex. can i come? wanna come for you.”

lex nearly buckles in his chair.

“pathetic,”

clark moans and lex hears the sound of skin on skin growing louder and more frequent over the line. something is truly wrong with them, but he’s figured that out long ago.

“lexlexlex, i can’t—please you have to let me—“

lex sighs as if he’s being inconvenienced, using all his willpower in keeping his own dick flaccid (a battle he was just barely winning).

“go on then, since you’re so incapable of controlling yourself.”

clark manages a choked off thank you before he’s bucking violently into his tight fist, imagining it’s the other man on the line’s suffocating grip on his cock coaxing him to orgasm as he comes with a shake.

“get back to work clark,”

“yes, sir.”

there’s a click and clark is, once again, alone in that daily planet bathroom stall. now, with come cooling in his palm and lex’s memorized heartbeat and voice pounding in his head.

[mishtiiiikrishnaa]

why is this my most liked reblog. huh. WHY.

[lectoresap]

[lectoresap]

[soytufanboy]

[stcrgazerlily]

━━━━━━━ TIED HIM DOWN TO MY QUEEN BED

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: boyfriend!jason todd x female!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: steph calls jason drunk, he has to come pick you up right now. only problem? you insist you won’t be leaving with anyone who isn’t your amazing boyfriend, not recognising the man in front of you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none, fluff, crack, reader is lowk a freak for jason (#me2) , flustered jason, 1k words, working on a jason version of this!

<𝟑: art creds to @quezartt

Jason had broken several speed limits, but he didn’t really care. His mind was solely focused on you—or more specifically, you in the background of Steph’s call.

He'd checked his phone enough times to kill the battery twice over. Not because he was worried, Steph was with you and he knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself.

Still, the movie had long faded into background noise. Every time his phone buzzed, his head snapped up before he could stop it.

Pathetic. Jason blamed you.

He was only half-aware that he’d parked the bike somewhere out of view—someone was bound to steal it if not—and entered the bar where you and Steph had gone for drinks.

"I miss him," you’d drawled, stretching out the i's, clearly drunk, while Stephanie giggled as she spoke. "Oh yeah, definitely come pick her up."

At the end of the place, where the music was loudest and didn’t bother the other patrons as much, were you and Steph, with an empire of empty drinks populating the wooden table.

Your head was tossed back, smiling and laughing as you played with the edge of Steph’s dress.

"Where is myyy husband?" You frowned—bottom lip wobbling—then you giggled. "Well, we aren’t married just yet, but in my mind we are."

Steph nodded very seriously, feeding into your delusions.

"Mrs. Todd has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?" You looked the blonde girl dead in the eye. "Doesn’t it?"

She nodded. "Mrs. Todd sounds kind of expensive."

Jason coughed awkwardly, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

Stephanie smiled. "Took you long enough."

You swept your eyes up and down him.

His heart kicked once against his ribs. You were unfairly gorgeous. Not that he'd ever tell you that to your face of course.

"Is this your ride, Steph?"

She looked between the two of you. "No?"

You raised a brow, still looking him dead in the eye. "Then why is he standing there looking at us?"

Steph’s brows furrowed before she began laughing as if there were no tomorrow.

"It’s not funny, Steph," Jason said.

She pretended to wipe a tear from her eye. "It’s hilarious."

"Do you need something?"

"I’m picking you up." He stated.

Your eyes widened so much it was almost comical. “No way! I have a boyfriend, thankyouverymuch, and I won’t be leaving if it’s not with him!"

Jason bit the inside of his cheek. "Baby, I’m your boyfriend."

You scrunched your nose. "Stop lying. My boyfriend is the prettiest man there is, I’d recognise him anywhere.” You sighed dreamily. Wow, talk about whiplash. "He has beautiful eyes," you continued, licking your lips, "and amazing biceps." You looked at him in anger again. "You either leave, or I’ll tell him to beat you up."

Funny thing was, Jason didn’t exactly know how to feel. He was slightly heartbroken that you didn’t recognize him. But the same time, you were threatening complete strangers on his behalf.

Something stupid happened in his chest, right where his myocardium was. "Beat me up, huh?"

"Yes!" you said, very self-assured. The you dropped your voice to a whisper. “He’s a massive softie, though, but don’t tell him I told you."

Steph patted your back. "He won’t, babes."

"Good." You rested your chin on your fist. "He’s so dreamy."

"Good for you," Jason said, and headed to the bar to ask for two glasses of water.

When he came back, you were still mumbling about munching on his bicep like it was an apple.

He was never recovering from this.

He offered the drinks, and Steph drank hers down without hesitation.

"This is not tequila."

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "It’s water."

You eyed him skeptically. "You again. Didn’t we tell you to shoo?"

He offered you the drink.

You stared at it, then at him. “I’m not taking drinks from strangers."

"You’re clearly drunk, baby."

"Only my boyfriend calls me that, you can’t." Your lip wobbled again. "I miss him."

Jason's chest tightened. "I think you should take the water."

Steph pulled out a couple crumpled bills and left them on the table. "Let’s go."

You let her drag you out of your chair, but at the last moment, you nearly lost your balance— Jason immediately caught your waist, steadying you.

You shrieked.

Like a cat that had just been kicked in the street, the whole bar turned toward the source of the noise and Jason thought death didn’t sound that bad after all.

"I." You smacked his arm. "Have." Again. "A boyfriend!"

And because things couldn’t possibly get worse, a tall, jacked man approached the two of you.

"Is he bothering you?"

You sniffled. "Yeah."

The man gave Jason the meanest stink-eye. "I think you should leave, man."

Jason was suddenly very aware that this was exactly how kidnappings looked.

"It’s her boyfriend. She’s just really drunk," Steph said, coming to his rescue like an angel.

The man crossed his arms. "And I’m just supposed to believe that?"

Steph sighed and pulled out her phone. Her movements were shaky as she tapped the screen with too much force. At least she could still see it. "Here. This was last week."

The man inspected the photo for a beat too long before nodding and leaving. Not before glaring at Jason one last time.

You rested heavily against Steph as he walked the two of you—a pair of newborn fawns learning to walk—outside. Jason right behind you, making sure that if any of you fell nothing bad would happen.

He immediately scanned the street; parked cars, empty sidewalk, three people across the road. No apparent problems.

Then you started singing. "You know that song by Doja Cat?" You coughed and began singing extremely off-key.

"Tie him down to my queeeeen bed—ugh, I love him so much. I’d let him put me in—"

Steph smacked a hand on your mouth. “Ew, not about Jason.”

You shrugged and raised your arms.

Heat crawled up the back of Jason’s neck. He ignored it.

Thank God it was late at night and there wasn’t sufficient light to rat him out.

"I’m sure he knows." He said finally.

You spun around, and for a horrifying second he thought you’d fall.

Somehow, you stayed upright.

“Jason!"

Before he knew it, you were wrapping your arms around him and dropping like dead weight.

He caught you automatically. Of course he did.

He hoisted you up gently so you wouldn’t get dizzy, then you nuzzled your face into his chest.

"I missed you. There was this guy who kept standing there. What a creep!"

He rubbed slow circles into your back. "I’m sure he was."

"But you’re here now, so it’s okay."

Steph could be heard laughing in the background.

Jason didn’t care.

[blueboy-affection]

[mirrorball-leclerc]

another mexico win!!!!!

[jellyfishsthings]

hi pretty! how u doing? could i request a jason t x reader where they have a girl born in secret and only when the baby is born that jason tells the batfam, either through just a picture or telling them to hush over the hospital just to see a baby??

The Secret

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

The family group chat had been quiet for exactly four hours—a record, honestly—when Jason's message came through.

It was a photo. Just a photo, no context, no explanation.

A tiny baby, wrapped in a pink hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully. Dark hair, scrunched up little face, impossibly small.

The chat exploded.

DICK: IS THAT A BABY DICK: JASON IS THAT A BABY TIM: Why are you sending us random baby pictures STEPH: Okay but that's a REALLY cute baby DICK: JASON ANSWER YOUR PHONE DUKE: Did you kidnap a baby??? DAMIAN: Todd, explain yourself immediately. TIM: Why is no one else concerned that Jason just sent us a photo of a random infant DICK: JASON PETER TODD

Jason's response came five minutes later, while Dick was probably having a minor breakdown:

JASON: Her name is Catherine. She's mine. Come to Gotham General if you want to meet her.

Then he went offline.

The chaos that followed was legendary.

Dick was the first to arrive at the hospital, having broken approximately fifteen traffic laws to get there. Tim was right behind him, looking like he'd run the entire way (he'd grappled; his car was in the shop). Steph and Cass arrived together. Duke had called Bruce, who was currently in the Batmobile with Damian, both of them looking equally shell-shocked.

They found Jason's room number from a nurse who looked deeply amused by the sudden influx of Waynes, and Dick didn't even knock before bursting in.

"JASON PETER—"

"Shhh!" You hissed from the hospital bed, and Dick stopped dead.

Because there you were, looking exhausted and beautiful and very much holding a newborn baby. And there was Jason, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand on your shoulder, looking at Dick like he might actually murder him for being loud.

"She's sleeping," Jason said quietly, voice hard. "You wake her up, you leave."

Dick's mouth opened and closed several times. Tim pushed past him, staring.

"You have a baby," Tim said, like he was testing the words. "You—Jason—you have an actual human baby."

"Yeah, Tim. That's generally what happens when—"

"When were you going to TELL US?!" Dick's voice rose again, and the baby—Catherine—stirred slightly. Jason's glare could have melted steel.

"I'm telling you now."

"The baby is already BORN, Jason! That's not telling us, that's INFORMING us after the fact!"

"Can we not do this here?" You said tiredly, adjusting the baby in your arms. "I just gave birth. I'm exhausted. Can the family drama wait?"

That seemed to remind everyone that you existed. Dick immediately looked guilty.

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm Dick. We—I guess we haven't met?" He looked at Jason accusingly. "Because SOMEONE didn't tell us he had a girlfriend."

"Wife," Jason corrected, and held up his left hand where a simple gold band sat.

The room went dead silent.

"WIFE?!" Dick's voice cracked.

"Oh my god," Steph breathed. "Oh my god, Jason secret married someone AND had a baby and didn't tell anyone?"

"I'm telling you now," Jason repeated, maddeningly calm.

"THE BABY IS ALREADY BORN—"

"Dick, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm," Tim said, though he looked pretty close to one himself. "Jason. Buddy. When did you get married?"

"Eight months ago."

"EIGHT—" Dick caught himself, lowered his voice. "Eight months. You've been married for eight months."

"Technically nine, but who's counting."

"I'M COUNTING! I'M VERY MUCH COUNTING!"

Cass had moved closer to the bed, studying the baby with soft eyes. "She's beautiful," she said quietly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," you said, relieved that at least one person was being normal about this. "Would you like to hold her?"

Cass nodded, and you carefully transferred the tiny bundle into her arms. She held Catherine like she was made of glass, a small smile on her face.

"I can't believe you kept this secret," Tim was saying. "For nine months. How did we not notice?"

"Because I didn't want you to notice." Jason's hand found yours, fingers intertwining. "We wanted to do this privately. Without the whole family hovering and interfering and making it about the mission."

"But we're your family," Dick said, and he sounded hurt now rather than angry. "We should have been there for you. For both of you."

"You're here now," you said gently. "That's what matters."

The door opened again, and Bruce walked in with Damian. Both of them stopped, taking in the scene—Cass holding a baby, you in the hospital bed, Jason looking defiant and protective.

"Jason," Bruce said carefully. "Is that—"

"My daughter. Catherine. She was born this morning at 6:47 AM. Seven pounds, three ounces. Healthy." Jason stood up, moving to stand between his family and the bed like a guard. "And before you start, yes, I'm married. No, you didn't know. Yes, I kept it secret on purpose. Any questions?"

Bruce looked at you, then at the baby in Cass's arms, then back at Jason. Something complicated crossed his face—hurt, maybe, but also understanding.

"Congratulations," he said finally. "To both of you."

"That's it?" Damian said incredulously. "He keeps a wife and child secret for months and you're just—congratulating him?"

"What would you have me do?"

"I don't know, express some concern that Todd hid something this significant? Demand an explanation?"

"I think," Bruce said quietly, watching Jason, "that he had his reasons. And that pushing will only make him more defensive."

Jason's shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Her name is Catherine?" Bruce asked. "After—"

"After my mother. Yeah." Jason's voice was rough. "We—it felt right."

Bruce's expression softened completely. "It's a beautiful name."

Dick had moved closer now, looking at the baby in Cass's arms with wonder. "Can I—can I hold her?"

Jason looked at you. You nodded.

"Wash your hands first," Jason said. "And support her head. And be gentle—"

"I know how to hold a baby, Little Wing."

"This isn't just a baby. This is my baby."

Despite the tension, you smiled. Jason had been like this with the nurses too—hypervigilant, protective, determined to ensure everyone who touched Catherine did it correctly.

Dick held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, which, to be fair, she kind of was. His eyes got suspiciously shiny.

"Hi Catherine," he whispered. "I'm your Uncle Dick. And I'm going to spoil you so much. I'm going to be the favorite uncle."

"You're going to have competition," Tim said, moving closer. "I'm bringing educational toys."

"I'm bringing weapons," Damian announced.

"You're not bringing our daughter weapons," Jason said flatly.

"She should learn self-defense early—"

"She's six hours old!"

Watching them, Bruce moved to your bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore. Happy." You glanced at Jason, who was now arguing with Damian about appropriate gifts for infants. "A little overwhelmed by the sudden family invasion."

"I apologize for that. We're... enthusiastic." Bruce's lips quirked. "And Jason's right to have kept this private, even if it hurt some feelings. This is your family. You deserve to have it on your terms."

"Thank you." You hesitated. "I know he gave you all a shock. He wanted to tell you sooner, but—"

"He was protecting you. Protecting her." Bruce glanced at the baby, now being carefully transferred from Dick to Tim. "I understand. I might not like it, but I understand."

Steph had pulled up a chair next to your bed. "Okay, so I need details. How did you two meet? How long have you been together? How did he propose? I need all the information Jason definitely won't give us."

You laughed. "We met at a bookstore. I was reaching for a book and he was reaching for the same one. Very cliché."

"Jason reads?" Duke looked skeptical.

"Jason reads constantly," you corrected. "He proposed three months after we started dating. It was pouring rain, we were walking home, and he just—asked. No ring, no plan, just 'marry me.'"

"And you said yes to that?" Steph asked.

"I said yes to him." You watched Jason, who was now showing Tim the correct way to support Catherine's head. "He's different than you probably see. Softer. More open. He didn't want to tell you because he was afraid of—"

"Of us ruining it," Dick finished quietly. "Of making it about the mission or Bruce or the family drama."

"He wanted something that was just his," you confirmed. "Just ours. And I understood that."

"But you're telling us now," Bruce observed.

"Because she's here. Because she's real. And because—" You smiled as Jason brought Catherine back to you. "—because she's going to be part of this family whether we planned it or not. Might as well make it official."

Jason settled on the bed beside you, and you leaned into him, exhausted and content. Catherine made a small noise, and both of you immediately focused on her, checking, adjusting, making sure she was okay.

"They're going to be so overprotective," Tim said to Dick.

"They're going to be nightmares," Dick agreed. "It's going to be amazing."

The first few weeks were chaos.

Not just the normal chaos of new parents learning to care for an infant, though there was plenty of that. But also the chaos of integrating a secret family into the existing Batfamily structure.

"I'm just saying," Dick said, holding Catherine while you tried to eat something, "you could have invited us to the wedding."

"It was at city hall. Three witnesses. Very small."

"I could have been a witness!"

"You would have cried."

"I—okay, yes, I would have cried. But that's beside the point!"

Jason took Catherine from Dick, checking her over like he hadn't just been holding her five minutes ago. "The point is we wanted it private. Can you let it go?"

"Never. I'm going to bring this up for years." But Dick was smiling. "She's beautiful though. Really. You guys did good."

You'd moved into Jason's safehouse—bigger than his apartment, more secure, better for a baby. The family had immediately tried to get you to move to the manor.

"We have space," Bruce had said. "Alfred could help. You wouldn't be alone—"

"That's exactly why we're not moving in," Jason had replied. "We need space. Boundaries. Time to figure this out ourselves."

But they visited. God, did they visit.

Dick came every other day, bringing gifts and volunteering to babysit. Tim brought books about infant development. Steph brought clothes. Duke brought a security system that was definitely overkill for a two-month-old. Damian brought a knife ("She needs to learn proper blade grip early") that Jason immediately confiscated.

Even Bruce visited, usually in the evening, sitting quietly and holding Catherine with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

"I wish I'd done more of this," he admitted one night, Catherine asleep against his chest. "With all of you. I was so focused on the mission, on keeping you safe, that I forgot to just... be present."

"You're present now," Jason said quietly. "That counts."

Alfred came weekly, bringing food and wisdom and an endless supply of patience for Jason's paranoid safety protocols.

"Master Jason, the baby does not need a panic room."

"She might."

"She is two months old."

"Dangers don't care about age, Alfred."

But the biggest adjustment was Gotham itself.

Because word had gotten out—not about Catherine specifically, but about Red Hood having a family. And that made you a target.

The first threat came when Catherine was six weeks old.

Jason found the note on the safehouse door: Nice family you have. Would be a shame if something happened to them.

You found him in the nursery at 2 AM, standing over Catherine's crib, guns out, looking ready to burn Gotham down.

"Jason," you said softly.

"I should kill them." His voice was flat. "Everyone who even thinks about touching her. I should end them before they become a problem."

"That's not who you are anymore."

"Maybe it should be. Maybe I've been too soft, too comfortable. Maybe I need to remind Gotham what happens when people threaten what's mine."

You moved to stand beside him, looking down at your sleeping daughter. "You know what I think? I think you're scared. And that's okay. I'm scared too. But we can't protect her by becoming the thing we're trying to protect her from."

"I can't lose her. I can't—" His voice cracked. "She's perfect. She's innocent. She deserves better than this city, this life, this constant threat—"

"She deserves you. Both of us. Loving her, protecting her, but also letting her live." You took his hand. "We'll keep her safe. Together. But we can't do it by locking her away or eliminating every possible threat. That's not living."

Jason pulled you both close—you and the crib, as if he could shield you from the world by sheer force of will.

"I've never been this scared," he admitted. "Even dying wasn't this scary. Because this—losing her—that would actually destroy me."

"Then we make sure it doesn't happen. We're careful. We're smart. We use all these overprotective family members who keep showing up. But we don't let fear control us."

He nodded against your shoulder. "Okay. Okay."

But he still put extra security on the windows. And tracked your phone. And made Dick promise to be on call 24/7 in case something happened.

Some battles, you knew, you weren't going to win.

Catherine's first real family gathering happened at three months old.

Alfred had insisted. "Master Jason, she is part of this family. She should be introduced properly."

"She's three months old. She can't even hold her head up fully. What's she going to do at a family dinner?"

"Be adorable. Steal everyone's hearts. Allow her grandfather to dote on her properly." Alfred's expression was gentle but firm. "She belongs here. As do you and your wife."

So you'd agreed. One dinner. At the manor. With the whole family.

You were already regretting it.

"Remember," Jason said as you pulled up to the manor, Catherine in her car seat. "We can leave at any time. You say the word, we're gone."

"Jason, it's dinner with your family, not a hostage situation."

"Have you met my family?"

Fair point.

Alfred greeted you at the door, and his face absolutely lit up when he saw Catherine.

"Miss Catherine," he said softly. "How wonderful to finally have you home."

"We're just visiting, Alfred," Jason said.

"Of course, Master Jason. Visiting." But his smile suggested he had other ideas.

The family was already gathered in the dining room. Dick shot up the moment you entered.

"Baby!" He announced. "The baby is here!"

"Yes, thank you for that announcement," Jason said dryly. "I'm sure she appreciates being announced like a visiting dignitary."

But he carefully extracted Catherine from her carrier, and you watched as your normally tough, dangerous husband transformed into a gentle, protective father, cradling her like she was made of glass.

"Who wants to hold her first?" Jason asked, though his tone suggested he'd rather no one hold her at all.

"Me!" Dick, Tim, and Steph said simultaneously.

"Oldest gets priority," Dick argued.

"That's not a real rule—"

"I called it first—"

"Children," Bruce interrupted. "Perhaps we should let her parents decide."

Jason looked at you. You looked at the eager faces around the table.

"Dick," you decided. "But everyone gets a turn."

Dick looked like he'd won the lottery. Jason carefully transferred Catherine into his arms, hovering anxiously.

"I've got her," Dick promised. "Hi sweetheart. Hi beautiful girl. Uncle Dick missed you."

"You saw her three days ago," Jason pointed out.

"That's basically a lifetime at this age. She's probably grown since then. Developed new skills. Changed completely."

"She's three months old, not a Pokémon."

But watching Dick with Catherine, seeing the absolute adoration on his face, you understood why Jason had been scared to share this. Because this was his family now—not just his brothers and father, but his daughter. And letting them in meant risking them getting hurt, or her getting hurt, or everything falling apart.

It meant vulnerability he'd never allowed himself before.

Catherine got passed around the table like a very precious football. Tim held her while reciting developmental milestones. Steph cooed and took approximately a thousand photos. Duke was surprisingly natural with her. Even Damian held her, though he looked terrified the entire time.

"She's quite small," he observed.

"She's a baby," Jason said. "They're generally small."

"I was larger."

"You were also raised by assassins. Different standards."

Cass held Catherine the longest, just sitting quietly with her, and Catherine—who'd been fussing slightly with everyone else—immediately calmed.

"She likes you," you observed.

Cass smiled. "I like her."

Finally, Bruce held her. And watching Batman—the Dark Knight, the terror of Gotham's underworld—holding your infant daughter with such infinite gentleness made you understand exactly where Jason got his protective instincts from.

"She has your eyes," Bruce said to Jason. "And your stubborn expression."

"She's three months old. She doesn't have expressions yet."

"She's scowling at me right now. That's definitely your scowl."

Despite himself, Jason smiled.

Dinner was surprisingly normal. Catherine slept through most of it in your arms, occasionally waking to look around with unfocused baby eyes before drifting back off.

"So," Tim said carefully. "Are you guys... okay? Financially, I mean. Babies are expensive."

"We're fine," Jason said, in a tone that suggested the conversation was over.

"Because if you need anything—"

"We're. Fine."

"Jason," you said gently. "They're trying to help."

"I don't need help. I can provide for my family."

"No one's saying you can't," Bruce interjected. "But there's no shame in accepting support. That's what family does."

Jason's jaw was tight, but he nodded stiffly.

"I've set up a college fund," Bruce continued. "For Catherine. It's already established, you can't refuse it, it's done."

"Bruce—"

"You can be stubborn about everything else. But let me do this. Please."

Jason looked at Catherine, sleeping peacefully against your chest, and something in his expression softened.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Thank you."

"And I've prepared a nursery here," Alfred added. "For when you visit. Or if you need somewhere safe to stay."

"We have a safe house—"

"With respect, Master Jason, a manor full of vigilantes is considerably safer than any safe house." Alfred's expression was gentle. "I'm not asking you to move in. I'm simply ensuring you have options."

Jason looked overwhelmed. You squeezed his hand under the table.

"Thank you, Alfred," you said. "That's very kind."

As the evening wound down, you found yourself in the library with Bruce while Jason was changing Catherine.

"Thank you," you said. "For being patient with him. I know the secrecy hurt."

"He was protecting what matters most. I can't fault him for that." Bruce looked at you carefully. "Are you happy?"

"Very. Even with the chaos and the threats and the constant fear. Yes."

"Good. He deserves happiness. More than he believes he does." Bruce paused. "If you ever need anything—not just money or resources, but support, advice, someone to call at 3 AM when you're overwhelmed—you have family now. All of us."

Your throat was tight. "Thank you."

Jason appeared in the doorway, Catherine against his shoulder. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, standing. Bruce walked you both to the door.

"Come back soon," he said. "Please."

"We will," you promised.

In the car, Jason was quiet. You let him process, knowing he needed time.

Finally, he said: "That wasn't terrible."

You laughed. "High praise."

"They love her. All of them."

"Of course they do. She's perfect."

"She is, isn't she?" Jason glanced in the rearview mirror at Catherine's car seat. "I still don't want to move into the manor."

"I know."

"But maybe... maybe we could visit more. Let her know them. Let them be part of her life."

"I think that's a good idea."

"I'm still installing more security at the safe house."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

He reached over, took your hand. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For this. For her. For understanding why I kept it secret and not being angry about it. For being patient with my paranoid bullshit. For—" His voice roughened. "For everything."

You lifted his hand to your lips, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "We're a family now. That's what family does."

"Yeah," Jason said softly, looking at Catherine sleeping peacefully in her car seat. "Yeah, we are."

And for the first time since Catherine was born, you saw him truly relax. Saw him believe that maybe—just maybe—this could actually work.

Secret or not, hidden or revealed, they were his family.

All of them.

And that was more than he'd ever thought he'd have.

The second photo Jason sent to the family group chat showed Catherine at nine months, sitting up on her own, grinning at the camera with two tiny teeth visible.

JASON: She said "Dada" this morning.

The responses came immediately.

DICK: AHHHHHHHHHH TIM: That's developmentally appropriate for her age STEPH: I'M CRYING DUKE: That's adorable DAMIAN: Acceptable first word BRUCE: I'm very proud of her. (And of you.) DICK: When can I teach her to say "Uncle Dick"??? JASON: Never. She's never learning that. DICK: You can't stop the inevitable, Little Wing JASON: Watch me

You looked over Jason's shoulder at his phone, Catherine on your hip babbling happily.

"They're never going to leave us alone now," you observed.

"Probably not."

"You okay with that?"

Jason looked at Catherine, who was reaching for his phone with grabby baby hands. He let her take it, watching as she immediately tried to put it in her mouth.

"Yeah," he said, catching her before she could succeed. "I think I am."

And that, more than anything, told you just how far he'd come.

From secret-keeper to sharing.

From isolated to family.

From protected to protecting.

It was beautiful to watch.

Even if it did mean dealing with Dick stopping by every other day.

Some battles, after all, were worth losing.

[totallynotashieldagent]

Accidental Forced Confession

"Are you cheating on me?"

Wally froze. Did he hear that right? No no. You couldn't possibly-

"Walls. Are you cheating on me?" You repeated.

"I heard you the first time but I'm just... I'm not computing it." He blinked with confusion.

"It's a yes or no question." Your gaze narrowed at him.

"Uh.. no? I'm not?" He answered slowly. "Why would even-"

"Yeah? You don't sound very sure." You glared. "Are you or are you not cheating on me?"

"Jesus- Babe! No- No, I'm not. I'd never!" He said quickly, "Where is this coming from?"

"Oh- I don't know-" You shrugged, "Maybe it's because you disappear!!" You scolded him, "And don't answer your phone! And are chronically late everywhere and your excuses are so bullshit!"

"I can explain!" He waved his hands.

"Okay then. Explain." You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

Wally paused then swallowed. He couldn't really explain. What was he supposed to say? Babe- I'm not cheating. I'm the Flash. Yeah, right. You'd throw him out of your apartment before he could even finish the sentence.

"Well?!" You repeated again.

"Work?" He said unsurely.

"You're an engineer at Holt Industries." You glared. "Why in the world would that require you to come home at midnight or skip out on date nights?!"

He was at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed like a fish- No words coming out as he stared at you. And that made him look even guiltier.

You swallowed, your throat closing up as your eyes began to water. You clicked your tongue and nodded. "Right- Okay." You laughed, "I'm- I'm gonna need you to leave."

"What?" His eyes widened, "Wait- Wait-" He stood up from the couch and stumbled over his feet, trying to get to you.

You grabbed a duffle bag from the closet and started shoving his things into it. His clothes in your drawers, his toiletries next to yours in the bathroom- Even his snacks from the bedside table. You threw everything in the bag and Wally followed you with panic, begging for you to stop.

But what the hell was the supposed to say? That he leaves because Grodd attacked downtown again? Or that he sometimes gets stuck in the time stream? Or that the Justice League sends him off planet every now and then?

"Baby- Please-" He begged, "I swear I'm not cheating on you."

"Then where the fuck do you disappear off to? Huh?" You snapped.

"I- It's complicated." He whispered, knowing full well that this was making it worse.

You laughed loudly, wiping the tears from your eyes. "Oh my god-" You shook your head, going to the kitchen and tossing his mug into the bag. "I can't believe I was so fucking blind."

"Stop- Just- Hey- Listen to me-" He tried but you kept moving away. "Stop." He used the tone he ever only used with villains when he was done goofing around.

Your eyes widened and you stared at him. There was actual fear in your eyes and Wally wanted to rewrite time.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face.

"I swear I'm not cheating on you." He said softly, "I've been lying but I promise I have never cheated on you. You're it for me, okay?"

You nodded, frozen where you were.

Wally sighed and then he moved. There was a whirl of wind around you and you closed your eyes. When you opened them, Flash was standing infront of you. Gently, he pulled back the cowl, and there he was. Wally.

"Not cheating. Just... trying to have everyone all at once." He explained.

"You're the Flash." You stared at him in shock.

"Ta-da..." He said weakly, his arms spread wide.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You let out a long exhale and then opened your eyes. You turned around and put the duffle bag on the kitchen counter.

"Babe?" He swallowed. You weren't exactly the quiet type.

Honestly, if he hadn't been the Flash, the shampoo bottle would've hit him square in the noggin.

"What the fuck?!" He squeaked, dodging your attack and catching the bottle.

"You let me think you were cheating?!" You scolded him, throwing another thing from the bag at him. "And all this time, you have been in danger?! Fighting monsters and getting hurt!?"

"Hey! Woah! Stop!" He dodged easily but it was the principal of the matter, alright? "Stop throwing things at me!"

"OR WHAT!" You yelled, throwing more stuff at him. "All those unanswered messages! Disappearances! Missed birthdays!"

"Hey! It was one birthday!" He defended himself, catching things you were throwing and putting them down properly.

"It was my birthday!" You reminded him and he paused for a second.

You weren't sure if you wanted to strangle him, hug him, stab him or throw him out of the apartment. All the times you spent worrying, anxious, sad that he might be with another woman- He was out there saving people and putting himself in danger.

"Hey..." He approached you slowly. "Baby?" He cupped your face, tilting it up. Your eyes were filling up again.

"You could die..." You whispered. "I would've preferred cheating over this." You sniffed. "At least that won't kill you."

Ah. The oldest worry in the book for any hero.

"I'm not gonna die. I promise." He smiled softly, kissing the tip of your nose.

"You don't know that!" You cried out.

"I do. Happened once- Didn't stick." He winked, giving you his best smile.

"Wally!!" You slapped at his chest. "What?!"

"Come on. Let me order us food and I'll tell you everything." He moved for a second and was in his PJs again.

"Everything?" You asked as he made you sit on the couch.

"Everything." He promised and sat down beside you.

This was going to be a very long night.

.

.

.

DC Drabble Masterlist

[marwrite]

good guy

summary: clark has always prided himself in being one of the good guys. and he is, for the most part- until you come along. suddenly, his hands are in places they shouldn't be while his mind plagues him with visions of you being oh-so-sweet beneath him.

clark kent x fem ! reader

themes: 18+ so mdni, yearning and a whole lot of it, jealousy, clark just can't help himself. kinda feral!perv!clark trying to be as respectful as possible but lowkey failing. filthy in the best way. enjoy! x

Clark is a good guy.

Always has been, and Ma would certainly like to think that he always will be. At school, he never got so much as a stern look and pointed gaze- after all, he was a sweet little kid that smiled a bit too much and tried to take up the least amount of room possible. His teachers loved him, the envy of all his peers.

During High School, Clark kept his head down. Did his work in a flurry of soft smiles and polite nods, offering help when needed, kindly rejecting any flirtatious advances under the bleachers that would result in him getting into trouble.

"You're somethin' else, Kent." Lana rolled her eyes at him once, flicking the spectacles on his face just a little of their axis.

College followed suit. While his friends joined fraternities and disrespected sorority sisters, Clark diverted all his attention to perfecting his degree. Sure, he had a couple pecks here and there, a few misunderstandings with a handful of very drunk and slightly deprived college girls- but hey, at least he didn't take it any further.

All in all, Clark Kent grew up with the belief that he wasn't like that. He was kind. Respectful. Ma would tell him so, and Pa would go to the ends of the earth to enforce it; listen 'ere, Clark, a lady should be left alone unless prompted otherwise. You hear?

He'd nod. Pa's shoulders would relax, and Ma would place a dear old hand on her heart at the relief of her son turning out just the way she'd hoped.

But then one day, during an intense intern briefing amidst the bustling bullpen of the Daily Planet, Clark Kent met you.

And he soon realised that he might not be such a 'good guy' after all.

Because it wasn't enough that your skirt was always far too short, or that the lip gloss you wore blinded him no matter the lightning in the room. It wasn’t even the way you laughed, bright and careless, like you had no idea what it did to the people around you- what it did to him and every fibre of his superhuman being.

It was everything else.

Your perfume would linger in the newsroom ten minutes after you’d left, sweet enough that Clark could still catch it when he bent over his desk. Every time he did, his chest tightened with something ugly; vanilla sugar and lemon, wrapped in a pretty gold ribbon of guilt and shame.

He hated it, but he also couldn't get enough of it.

Your voice would carry on over everyone else’s, no matter how crowded the bullpen got. It was like his hearing had singled you out on purpose. Your heartbeat, your exhales, the slight pucker of your lips when an article brought on confusion.

Every other sound in Metropolis dulled itself accordingly, just so he could hear you ask Jimmy if he wanted coffee, or laugh at something Lois said, or mention your boyfriend in that absentminded little way that made Clark’s jaw lock so hard it ached.

And god, your boyfriend.

Your dumb fucking boyfriend.

Clark never usually swore (it didn't come to him as naturally as the likes of golly and gosh). But fuck, Superman on Red Kryptonite himself wouldn't have the mirage of different profanities that Clark did for the man you called yours.

Funnily enough, he had never even met the guy.

Didn’t need to. He hated him anyway.

He hated the way your phone lit up and brightened your face when you glanced at it. Despised the little smile that curled at your mouth when you typed back. Loathed the thought that someone else got to touch what Clark could barely stand to look at for too long.

However hard Clark made you laugh, however red your face flared after every shh little compliment thrown your way- it was never enough.

Someone else got to walk you home, kiss that gloss right off your lips, hear you laugh when no one else was around. Someone else got to climb over you at night, cover your gorgeous frame with theirs, fuck you gently into the bed until the early hours of the morning.

The thought would come to Clark late at night, when the city was finally at rest and he had only his thoughts to keep him awake. He'd envision you writhing beneath him, soft voice dripping like honey in his ears, moaning his name like a prayer and begging, pleading, for his touch.

His release would come quick. But on the nights the guilt settled in too deep, it wouldn’t come at all- and he’d spend the next few hours lying awake in silence, trying to atone for every impure thought he’d ever had about you.

It made something mean curl low in his stomach, something he’d spent his whole life pretending wasn’t there.

Because Clark was supposed to be good. He was supposed to smile and hold doors open and politely excuse himself when you leaned over his desk to point something out, cleavage threatening to spill, exposed neck so inviting he felt like a rabid animal; your mere existence flooding his senses so completely that for one humiliating second, he forgot his own name.

Lately, being around you felt less like admiration, and a hell of a lot more like drowning.

You’d walk into a room and he’d know it before he looked up. His whole body knew. The tiny hitch in his breathing, the way his shoulders went rigid, the awful, immediate awareness of where you were- crossing your legs at your desk, tugging your coat off your shoulders, leaning your cheek into your palm while you read over some notes.

Clark noticed all of it. Against his will. Against every decent thing Ma and Pa had ever taught him.

Eventually, he did the only thing he could think to do.

He booked some time off.

He told Perry he needed a break from the city, his eyes never quite leaving the floor. "Ma and Pa..." he scratched the back of his neck nervously, the lie coming out in one smooth sweep, "They've been asking for me. Some fence panels fell, Pa's heart... just wanna be there in any way I can."

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. The Kent farm always had something that needed looking after, even if it wasn't an immediate fence post. There were always animals to feed, fields to tend. Plenty to keep a man occupied.

"Take the time off, Kent. You deserve it."

After that, the situation became a civil war in his mind; one that had him at a loss no matter the outcome.

He convinced himself day after day that the dirt under his nails, the sweat on his back and the ache in his muscles would drown out the ache you’d left somewhere far deeper. He busied his hands, giving them something to do other than grip the base of his cock at night, eyes squeezed shut, pretending it was your skin beneath his legs and your mouth wrapped around his tip.

He needed Kansas air in his lungs instead of your perfume in his office, your laugh in the elevator, your voice drifting over cubicle walls and undoing him with every syllable.

He thought distance would help. What with Ma’s cooking and Pa’s quiet talks on the porch, there was simply no way the trip home wouldn't knock some sense back into him; remind him who he was, who he was supposed to be.

Even in Smallville however, you followed him.

And by the time Clark came back to Metropolis, he was exhausted in a way no amount of sleep could fix.

But you weren’t there.

Your desk sat empty.

Chair tucked in. Computer dark and oddly enough, collecting a light blanket of dust.

At first, Clark thought you were just running late. You were always stuck in traffic, and coffee lines always seemed to double in size whenever you walked into a café. He tried not to look at your desk every five minutes as he ran out of excuses to make on your behalf.

By noon, he was making mistakes. The backspace was hit more than a coherent sentence was formed; typos littered his edge of the column. Missed calls had Lois smacking him on the shoulder with a rolled-up newspaper. For someone so in tune with the written word, Clark even found himself reading the same paragraph three times over without taking in a single word.

Finally, he looked up from his monitor and asked Jimmy as casually as he could manage. Though the other man barely glanced up from his camera, Clark got the only answer he needed.

“Oh, she took some time off. Started a few days after you left, I think.”

He swallowed, nodding slowly, and that should’ve been the end of it.

But Jimmy kept talking.

“Guess her and her boyfriend broke up. Saw her crying in the break room last week. Lois said she’s staying with family for a bit.”

Clark didn’t hear the rest.

The words lodged themselves somewhere deep and awful, echoing through his skull all day. He hated how quickly his pulse kicked up.

Broke up.

You and your god-awful fucking boyfriend that made Clark swear (albeit in his own mind) had broken up.

And you were single.

A hot, selfish feeling unfurled in his chest before he could stop it.

You had been hurting. You had been crying. Yet the first thought that crossed his mind- before concern, before decency, before anything good that he was taught all his life- was that there was no boyfriend anymore. No one standing between you and him, the line between reality and fantasy dissolving into a thin blur in the week he spent throwing hay bales and flying circles around the equator.

That night, Clark lay in bed staring at the ceiling of his apartment, the city humming beyond his windows. For the first time in weeks, he found his restraint collapsing completely.

He let his mind wander, hands itching to free the stiffness in his boxers. He stroked long and deliberately, steady, the way he'd always imagined your first time with him would be.

He wasn't like that ex-boyfriend of yours. Wasn't selfish or needy or desperate. No, Clark would kiss the ground you walked on. He'd fuck you nice and slow, praise you like you were the God, make you come so hard the other guy would feel like fiction. He's not just Clark Kent after all- he's Superman, and even Superman has a few fun tricks up his supersuit sleeve.

You were a rocket. He'd overheard your conversations with Cat in the break room in the past, each one lewd and inappropriate but addictive all the same. Your ex could only last so long, only cared for a few unimpressive positions- but Clark, Clark could last forever and a day if you wanted. You burned hot and filthy and Clark knew he could match you without breaking a single sweat.

You'll come back to work soon- tired, maybe, eyes a little puffy from crying, soft from the heartache. You'll lean against his desk again, this time with no mention of another man. No absent little smiles at your phone. No reason for Clark to pretend he doesn't need you like oxygen.

He'll be there for you. Whether it's a shoulder to cry on, someone to vent to or an outlet in general, there's no other place he'd rather be.

And if, somewhere between the late nights at the office and grateful smiles meant only for him, you start needing him a little too much… you can't expect him to refrain from giving you what you want, surely?

Clark Kent is a good man. A nice man.

But if leaning into the bad is exactly what it takes to finally have you under him instead of just in his head...

Well, he can make peace with that, too.