CONSISTS OF ↬ dark themes. sexual tension. MATURE THEMES. violence. slow-burn. manipulation. maybe sexual content. occasional angst. emotionally charged. you bring out the best of jason. some silly moments bc i cant help myself. each chapter will be tagged respectively.
── .✦ You came to Earth with no intention of being understood. Gotham was loud, unforgiving, and you were content to stay silent, a stranger in a city that never stopped snarling. But then there was him.. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, a man with too many scars and a voice sharp enough to cut through your silence. Where words failed you, glances lingered. Where language fell short, something unspoken grew. What began as wary curiosity spiraled into a slow, inevitable pull, and soon you found yourself entangled with the one person just as guarded, just as dangerous, and just as desperate to be known.
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BEFORE YOU READ!!
── .✦ if you want to be added to a taglist, please let me know in a dm, ask, or comment and i'll make sure to add you! the reader is in fact an alien, so the only descriptions will be non-human features (even that will be occasional), otherwise just keep in mind i wrote this as a fem reader, but everything else is up to the imagination. ! (p.s. the tags are langbarrier and language barrier)
✐ᝰ. original content. edawgz 2025.
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ 1. First Impressions
Gotham is loud, cruel, and foreign, but nothing unsettles you more than the Red Hood stepping into your path one night. You don’t have the words for thanks, and he doesn’t press for them, but the moment lingers.
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ 2. The Stray
You see him again, too soon and yet not soon enough. This time, Jason notices your silence, your careful way of listening instead of speaking, and it bothers him more than he admits. He doesn’t trust easily, but something about you keeps him circling back.
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ 3. Understanding
There was no way he could live with himself if he left you anywhere that was unsafe, so he brought you to the only place that he knew would keep you away from whoever was hunting you down.
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ 4. Other Worldly
Jason Todd knew that helping you was making things difficult for himself. Yet, when your moment of peace was interrupted and the source of your fear was revealed, he couldn't let it slip trough his fingers
Summary: Introductions—and misconceptions. Eddie’s morning routine. Your struggles with Corroded Coffin’s security detail.
This fic is based off this idea I had thought of a while back. Might not like this but we’ll see how you guys receive it. These two have lived in my head (and Google Docs) for a while though so they are quite dear to me. Reader has no description really except for being seen as smokin’ and is shorter than Eddie—but I did size him up a bit—because I’m the same height as him irl so it’s unrealistic lol. He’s depicted at around 6’ here.
Also, reader is fem and does get a nickname (Spade) but she is NOT an OC I pinky promise!!
Warnings: Me. Me writing. Eddie throws up, Eddie’s a bit of a douche in this chapter because he’s intoxicated and horny. Swearing. Lots of it. Eddie’s horny thoughts which are basically mine because I’m writing him….so—my horny thoughts
Lemme know how you like:))
xoxo ~𝑀𝑜𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓎*ੈ✩‧₊˚
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In the fucking relatable words of Squidward—another day, another migraine.
It was the second week of your new gig at some rich rockstars house, and already you were wondering if the pay was only so sweet to make up for how exhausting the people were.
You could not make up the amount of times security had tried to help you exit the premises. And every time, you had to play phone a friend to Steve fucking Harrington—who specifically said at your interview “Oh nah you’ll be left alone for the most part. The bastar-uh Munson-almost never wakes up before 2–yes, 2 in the afternoon—so you’ll never see him really, and he’s the only one around regularly.” Lies you believed from a pretty boy mouth.
Here’s what you’ve gathered. Your employer is a bitch, and also apparently so paranoid to the max, that he switched up his security a million times a week.
You know because you’ve met them. All of them.
Every day for the past two weeks.
How employee of the month of you to (unwillingly) get acquainted with all your other coworkers.
Also it was also becoming increasingly clear that Steve was a bottom. No balls.
As reference to now.
“Hey! Dave it’s alright she’s not a groupie—hey!—I said not necessary. She works here.” The burly man who’s clearly Dave— loosens your arm and you yank it with force out of his grip. You glare at his cliche, men in black-esq. shades. There’s visible sweat on his massive forehead from yanking you around.
What a poser.
You round on Steve.
“Do I need to get a fucking ID or can the guy in that big emo house over there,” you point to the unmistakable gothic victorian mansion, “chill it on his ‘flavor of the day’ rotation?”
You can’t tell if his responding wince is from your tone or your words.
“I’m sorry” you huff in disbelief “no really I am, I’ll get you some kind of pass, alright?”
You don’t give pause.
“Today Harrington—or I walk—I can’t do the work of a renowned landscaper if I’m being accused of trying to chew off my boss’ pants everyday.” His lips twitch a bit at that but he swallows it down professionally and puts his hands on his hips, like a tired mom— who does that?
“No you’re right, I’ll get you one by the end of your shift yeah?” You hesitate and squint at him, but then nod anyways. The sun was only gonna get hotter, and the whole spiel had wasted a precious 30 minutes. You had work to do.
———————————————————————
You ended up staying an extra hour than planned— effectively roasting the dickens out of your shoulders, because of flow state or whatever. Bullshit terms you’ve picked up from your best friend Tay who likes using esoteric nonsense to try and explain life.
Whatever, the sun was a cruel mistress and you—like Dracula—had overstayed your welcome to try and build the base of your creative vision.
1 pm was pushing it in this climate, and it was currently 1:20.
2 pm was practically begging for sun poisoning.
You could tell immediately your upper neck and shoulders had fallen victim, despite the extra shirt you’d snagged from Tay’s drawer that you were currently using as a kind of head scarf.
Beauty however is pain, and the main flower bed was looking fabulous—you must say.
Like the landscape equivalent of a love child between the Adam’s family & Corpse Bride. Obsessed was an understatement.
As an artist you had preferences, obviously, getting a client to pay you big bucks to bring something like this to life though, is a different matter completely. Never had anyone courted your desire for dark outdoor features as this guy had.
It gave him some brownie points despite never having met him.
Which was sketch-yeah but you honestly didn’t care because in your mind you just envisioned some old creep living off his glory days. You were weary of anyone with too much fame and money—it usually went hand in hand with entitlement, and money can buy sex vibes. Nope.
You were content to never meet the guy and just stick to dangerously loud headphones, a hunched back, and plant orientation fixation.
Being able to gothify this property to your hearts content was quite literally the only reason you hadn’t quit.
A shadow falls over you then in the middle of that thought—a voice in the back of your head says sternly you should’ve knocked on fucking wood.
————————————————————————
Eddie was tired. Eddie was hungry. Eddie was taking a relieved piss in what he thought, was his toilet, but in fact was some unlucky groupie’s big ass white purse.
Eddie was still high—and very drunk.
His stomach though waited on no man, especially when all he had done all night (and morning) was fill it with alcohol, sex, smoke, and possibly—at one point—a week old hot Cheeto he’d found under his king bed right before he passed out.
So he had arisen (early for him) at 1:25 pm from a pile of two women, a man, lots of empty glass bottles, and a half smoked doobie, with only one thought on his mind.
Little Debbie’s, cosmo brownies.
He made it halfway to the kitchen— saw one tousled Robin detangling from an equally tousled Nancy—rumbled a “mornin’”— and then chucked his guts up on the checkered floor.
Another day in the life.
Robin and Nancy jumped apart and (Robin) gagged heavily before scattering out of the kitchen and into the lounge. Likely to find Steve, Gareth, or Jeff, who wouldn’t clean the disastrous amount of bodily fluid (if you could call it fluid) but would find an unlucky house hand to clean it up.
Also he found the Little Debbie’s box empty.
So Eddie was now tired, slightly less intoxicated, and pissed about having to eat a pop tart instead of what he really wanted.
Which is why he’s excused from how he approached a stranger who he caught sight of right while he thought about dipping into his black tiled pool to try and chill the fucking sweat on his balls. The humidity was no joke.
Luckily Eddie saw he wasn’t alone before he exposed himself to the open air (and almost to another indecent exposure lawsuit.)
His curiosity peeked and he sauntered over (still drunkenly) to see what the crazy person throwing dirt over their shoulder was doing.
As he got closer though he saw the….hoodie? Scarf? Uh hat? Whatever it was over your head, that had a familiar design on it. He smirked. You had headphones on and didn’t even see him coming or notice you weren’t alone until he blocked the sunlight falling onto you.
Only then did your body language change drastically. Your back straightened and you immediately snapped your neck up. The hood thing fell off and Eddie’s likely blood shot eyes almost bulged out of his head.
You were straight out of some kinda lumberjack playboy. Sun touched skin, toned arms, cargo pants, killer combat boots (he’d have to ask after) and a nice gleam about you that enticed a baser part of his brain. Which was currently his whole brain, the other part was still recovering from over indulging on the tequila.
You were already fixing him with a glare, or well, maybe that was just your default but whatever it was had his stomach clenching in a different type of hunger.
Oh he just knew the sex was gonna be good.
So good—he already craved a cigarette.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his emotional support pack, alongside a silver lighter that said “smile when you hand this back to me if you wanna fuck.”
He was definitely going to offer it to you.
He leisurely lit one up and took a shallow drag. You still hadn’t said anything but he suddenly became slightly more aware of the sharp glinting objects in your hands and on your hip. Okay—so maybe he’d try to filter his thoughts a little bit around the pretty woman with dagger like items in her hands.
However his mouth was bigger than his cognitive function.
“So, how’d ya get in sweetheart?” He takes another drag, and your eyebrow (just one) furrows.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad about waking up to a pretty little thing like you doing—“ he glances down at the flower bed and lazily gestures to your spread, “uh whatever you’re doin’— but I definitely gotta fire the guard that letcha slip past.”
All this is said as he moves a bit closer. He lets his height make a power play. He’s noticed that tends to entice women more.
You however—clearly either don’t notice or don’t give a fuck because your next words wipe his smug wind right out of him.
“Who the fuck are you.”
He chokes a bit on the nicotine filling his lungs.
Now that’s a new response.
Your nose scrunches as you back out of his shadow/ nicotine cloud and wipe your tools on your pants. Dirt smears on your thigh, and then you hook the thing onto your belt.
Then you look up at him with a nasty glare that makes him hard could wither weaker balls.
“I’m SO sick of you people mistaking me for some cheap bimbo, desperate for an old druggies’ dick.”
Eddie wishes he was sober enough to make sure his jaw wasn’t on the ground by your boot clad feet.
You pause to pull up your other (knife?) from the ground, once again wiping it on your pants, without even looking down, and then unconsciously point it at him.
“First of all I work here asshat— second of all,” you look him up and down in emphasis as if just having noticed his state, “Have you ever heard of a shower, or you know, personal space?”
Eddie’s freshly awoken brain has possibly miscalculated your…..angle, yes, but now his ego is spurned.
He removes the cigarette from his (indeed gaping) mouth with haste.
“Who am I?” He can’t help the scoff. “I think I should be asking you that—considering you work for me.” You copy his scoff, not even letting the statement settle before refuting.
“Uh no hotshot, I work for the gasbag that lives in that big black house over there. Mr. Munson. Being his fluffer, doesn’t mean I work for you.”
Eddies mind stutters like an old engine.
What. The. Fucking.
He’s so shocked out of his leather pants by this turn of context that all he can do is let out a startled laugh.
If you hadn’t just roasted him in every way, bruised his masculinity & his career in one go, he might’ve gotten down on one knee and declared himself besotted.
Highschool Eddie would’ve straight up proposed.
You though, are looking at him like he needs help, one laugh away from white jacket ville, if you would.
He catches his breath.
The following grin is wolfish, canines sharp, and the remnants of his chuckle husky.
If he wasn’t a total prick on a stick you might’ve found that attractive.
His big mouth ruins it.
“Well. I guess it doesn’t help we haven’t met before honey.”
The bristle at the pet name is instant.
You open your mouth to likely protest but he doesn’t give you the space, instead taking his ringed hand out of his back pocket and bending it in front of himself dramatically.
He sweeps into an over the top bow.
His fringed head tips back up to look at you devilishly.
“Here I am.”
A condescending wink.
“Mr. Munson—at your service.”
————————————————————————
More to come pretty quickly since it’s been rotting in my docs. Give me some feedback if I should continue!!!!
Xoxo<3
Also- tagging the lovely person who encouraged me to post this!! Don’t know if you remember but your comment stuck with me💗 thanks babes!
You know why the Superman/Clark Kent blindness is real?
Because people don’t make an effort to remember each other unless it suits them.
Clark Kent carries himself in a way that makes people forget him—he’s awkward, shy, and doesn’t offer much to people at first glance. (I love him btw but I’m being real in psychology terms)
Superman on the other hand is novel—he’s mighty and rescues people—which stokes a deep seated desire to be saved. (Many people have a victim complex undertone their whole life. Once again—psychological outlook.)
Would you recognize the face of a grocery clerk who helped you the other day if you saw them pass by you in “normal” clothes? Maybe, but likely not unless you’ve seen them more than once.
People who don’t want to be seen ARE. NOT. SEEN.
It’s so easy to become invisible and Clark Kent really utilizes that.
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