Competent things that Jason Todd does that I find extremely hot:
Driving with one hand/putting a hand on the back of the passenger seat when he reverses.
Is able to reload a gun without stopping a conversation or looking away from you.
He's really good at darts. Impeccable aim. I'm all over him.
Has amazing balance. This is especially evident when you're on the train. Jason always stands to leave seats for others. If you stand with him, he not only can balance himself, but if you're wobbly, Jason will very easily hold you in place with a hand on your back or hip.
He's good at fixing things. Knows exactly what to get from Home Depot. He's that Ron Swanson "I know more than you" moment.
Very aware of his surroundings which results in things like tugging you gently so you don't bump into anyone or anything. Does this without breaking conversation, of course.
Good at undressing you or dressing you. Not necessarily in a sexual way, just that Jason is observant enough to know your routine and style. He knows what jewelry or accessories you wear and he'll put them on you. He'll put your shoes on for you. Zip up your dress or pants or button your blouse. Tie the sashes on your clothes. And he's just as good at getting your clothes off, especially when you're too tired.
Is good at navigating. Can read a map easily. Has a sharp sense of direction. Sometimes gives directions like "you'll go three miles west" and you have to give him a look because what the hell is he talking about? You're not a compass...
He remembers faces and names well. Jason has a good memory in general. He needs it for what he does.
Jason is just really smart! The way he lives enables him to meet a lot of different people and be exposed to a lot of different cultures and places. Jason would be good at navigating a foreign country, for example. If you were on vacation he'd know where to eat, what areas to visit, how to talk to the locals, etc.
Jason speaks a lot of languages. He's good at figuring out puzzles or decoding linguistic clues. He's a voracious reader. Knowledge is power for Jason.
If you're eating somewhere that isn't sit-down (e.g., Chipotle) Jason knows your order and will order for you. He urges you to sit and let him bring food to you. It makes him feel wanted.
An obvious one is that Jason's good in the field. He's good in combat. You've only witnessed this a few times because Jason doesn't like fighting in front of you. But the way Jason wields his body or weapons and fluidly disarms or restrains someone is hot as fuck! You're all over him on those nights (Jason doesn't understand why).
Jason is super protective but he does it in a way that's not posturing. He doesn't have an ego about it. But if he sees that you or someone nearby feels unsafe, he'll stand there and put himself between you and the danger. Yelling or fighting isn't his first choice. Jason's confident and competent enough that he knows how to deescalate without raising his voice. I need him so bad.
Strong man lifts stuff teehee! Jason very easily can carry your groceries or assemble furniture or even move you around. Like if Jason's coming to sit on the couch and watch a movie with you, he'll move you so he can sit with you atop him. It always flusters you and it always makes you want to paw at him rather than watch the movie <3
When he gets more comfortable in your relationship, Jason does little touches that, to you, sort of establish dominance without him meaning to. That is, Jason pets you a little and you melt. Usually it's from a hand on your thigh while you're sitting. Or him touching the small of your back or putting an arm around your waist. It makes you giddy how easily Jason touches you.
Sometimes you'll purposely make Jason take a plate or towel from you because he gets so focused when he's trying to get something from you. It makes you feel hunted in a sexy way. Before you can blink, Jason's got the plate. You don't even know how it happens, how he moves so fast and takes things without a struggle. Reminders of Jason's easy strength and agility are also very hot.
NSFW: Jason is really good at making you cum. The thing about Jason is that when he wants to do something well, he won't stop practicing until he hones the skill. So when it comes to pleasing you in bed, Jason puts in the work until it comes very naturally to him. He is particularly dexterous with his fingers and gets annoyingly good at making you squirm and whine.
Somewhat NSFW: Jason's really fucking clever. Sometimes this results in him getting cocky or teasing you a bit. Never in a mean way. But an example is if you're secretly reading a smutty book, Jason will find out no matter how careful you are. And he will be so damn smug about figuring things out. If he sees that you get flustered when he's outwitted you, forget it. Jason will absolutely take advantage. 😏
Above all, the hottest thing by far is that for the majority of these things, Jason isn't even aware of how attractive he is. To him, it's just stuff he knows how to do or behaviors that come naturally to him. He's not trying to show off or be hot and that only makes him hotter 🤌
We talk a lot about the autopsy scar and how it’s a constant reminder for him down the line—and it is—but what about how horrifying that must have been for him to see it for the first time? I think it could have happened one of two ways:
He wakes up and remembers what happened, but thinks he survived—up until he sees the Y scar on his body.
He comes back very disoriented and doesn’t remember what happened or really much of who he is at all, and the only thing he has to guide him is this fucking autopsy scar.
Either way is going to jumpstart a bunch of trauma and mess with his perception of life and of himself. It took him time to adjust to this new body, how his senses are different and when he looks in the mirror he sees a stranger. Speaking of which I think he’d hate looking in the mirror for a long long time. His reflection would only serve as a reminder of everything that happened to him and everything that was taken from him. His least favorite new addition to his body, beyond the autopsy scar, is the scar over his hairline from where he couldn’t manage to protect his head from the crowbar. He remembers that exact hit. He thought the impact killed him. For just a split second though, because then the rest of the blows persisted and he realized that he was still stuck.
I think after he returned to Gotham he was probably really depressed. Initially seeing Tim would have been absolutely earth shattering for him, and I think would have him rethinking his entire life. Like yeah, Tim was a replacement for Jason, and that sucks on its own…but then what does that make Jason for Dick? If he’s now seeing that Batman will just pull in the first kid he sees that looks the part, does that mean he was ever actually his son at all? Or was he just a forgotten replacement part for his actual son. A replacement part that got replaced.
I hate to say it but I really think he would’ve been suicidal or at least had strong ideations when he came back. He didn’t feel like himself, he didn’t look like himself, and he certainly didn’t act like himself. This gives way to the idea of “coming back wrong” that branched off into a whole bunch of other issues. Nothing about him is the same. Really truly, nothing. His old clothes don’t fit him anymore, the amount of food he used to be able to live off has become barely an appetizer, he has to relearn how to carry his body, how to fight. He can’t go back home anymore, he feels abandoned by his family.
I think he’d live out of safe houses on rotation, no material things connecting him enough to make any of them even resemble a home. He wouldn’t have any strong contacts at that point and would’ve spent very little time around any other people.
The resulting depression of all of these things would be a lot to handle so I think his head shifted it into something more palatable—anger. He’s angry at Bruce, angry at Tim, at Dick, at the whole world for screwing him over to the grave and back. So he devotes himself to doing the only thing he can reason to: kill the person that hurt him the most. Not Joker. Not Bruce. Batman. Batman’s the one that didn’t save him, didn’t avenge him, replaced him. Even still, I think his attempts on his life were mostly half-hearted, and more often than not, he’d fire blanks at the other bats.
I also think there’s a lot of important weight to the image of Jason being as tall as or taller than Bruce, for both of them and for the story. He’d idolized Bruce, loved him, and (literally) looked up to him.
So Jason comes back almost a whole foot taller, now standing eye to eye with the man that was basically his hero. He now sees him as just a man. No bigger or scarier than himself. And this bit is to no fault of Bruce himself, but I think this addition to the dynamic fostered more disappointment for Jason. Batman wasn’t the immortal savior he considered him to be, just a man that couldn’t save his son, didn’t avenge his son.
Once things start to smooth over between them it’s still icy for a while, and while that goes on, Jason still shoots to kill. After amendments really truly start to be made, Jason quietly transitions into kneecap shots, letting bullets skim rather than hit completely through. Eventually, he’ll never own up to it, but he does start using blanks on the criminals as well.
Even after peace exists and persists between Red Hood and Batman, Jason still harbors feelings that he can’t keep up with. He feels like he missed out on his life. Barely got to participate in school or friends as a teenager due to his nightlife and his childhood was only worse. He got any chances of college or normal adulthood taken from him. It’s not fair and he’s stuck dwelling on that resentment towards life for a long time. He doesn’t understand why he still resents Bruce even after he’s apologized and Jason has forgiven him, but he does.
The biggest kick for him with aligning with the family was coming back to the manor, and finding how all his old things didn’t fit him anymore. His clothes, his bed, his desk, all of it was meant for someone else.
my favorite iteration of jason todd is not the blood thirsty, violent zealot of a man who kills because he can, but instead a long-suffering, internally tortured man who was simply pushed beyond the brink.
this jason is a man who takes no pleasure in all the blood on his hands as the red hood; all the bodies on his ledger are simply a means to an end. gotham must be cleaned up, not for his sake, but for the sake of the people.
i love a jason todd that recognizes that crime cannot be stopped, but it can be controlled. a jason todd who cares deeply, so very deeply about gotham. a jason who believes he’s tethered to her, resurrected solely for the purpose of righting her wrongs. a jason who goes after the scum of gotham, the traffickers, the pimps, the controllers of the dark underbelly of the city, and slowly picks them off.
i love a jason todd who is methodical. each kill is incredibly calculated; he doesn’t believe in wasting bullets. i love a jason todd that stands directly on the line that batman cannot cross.
thinking about mean jason who has a love-hate relationship with reader nd fucks her dumb on his fat cock after a nightly patrol — getting all his frustrations out😻😻 .
god i need him.
MDNI 18+
mean jason! x reader
jason todd smut
you and jason weren’t officially together but were also hooking up. despite that, it was a love-hate relationship, jason said that you were too demanding at times, and clingy, whilst you told jason he was the opposite. he was too cold and not emotionally available when you wanted him to be.
it was well past the middle of the night, where jason had just returned back from his nightly patrol due to the slam of the front door. “look who decided to finally come back,” you retorted, crossing your arms across your chest. you knew jason’s schedule all too well, and you also knew that due to the rocky relationship the two of you were in, it also meant that he would stay out longer in patrol just to stay away from you.
“save your commentaries for tomorrow morning, i’m not in the mood right now.” he grumbled. of course he wasn’t. he was never in the mood to discuss the weird relationship that you two had. “i just think it’s unfair that you go and disappear in the middle of the night when your patrol is over”, he immediately cut you off by standing right in front of you. his tall frame towered over yours.
“you better shut that pretty little mouth of yours, or i’ll do it myself,” he narrowed his eyes. you always had an issue of being a bit of a brat, and jason never tolerated it. stubbornly, you tilted your chin up, refusing to back down. “i think the issue is that you can’t handle my attitude,” you raised a brow.
jason let out a low chuckle, “trust me sweetheart, i can very very well handle your attitude.” he stepped closer, caging you in like a predator. “so you better shut that pretty mouth of yours before i fuck it myself, stuffing it full will keep your mind occupied from being a brat.”
**
and god did he keep you occupied. you were currently sprawled out on the couch, your legs on top of his shoulders whilst his fat cock bullied your cunt. “the only way to keep your mouth shut is to fuck this pretty little hole huh?” he grunted, his thrusts never faltering one bit. “such a fucking slut.”
your mind had gone blank, jason had always fucked you dumb. he always fucked both your mouth, cunt and ass, making sure they were filled with his cum. essentially he would just cum all over you. “all you do is whine and get fucked like a whore,” he groaned, his large hands gripping your waist tightly. “whilst i do all the hard work, going on patrol, working and earning money for you.”
one of his hands went up, towards your neck gently squeezing the sides. “all you do is just sit back, relax and get fucked like a slut, seems quite unfair don’t ya think darlin?” jason looked at you expectantly, but you couldn’t even think properly, giving occasional whines and moans. you were fucked dumb.
“what was that? no more smart retorts from you huh?” he grinned, his thrusts were now deeper, moving the couch across the side of the living room. you were nothing but a whimpering mess, your whole clenching on him like a lifeline. you were at his mercy, his use to use and fuck as he wishes.
your mind was blank, all you could even think about was how much you loved this. how much you loved him, and his fat dick. “come on sweetheart, i’m sure you can think of something to say. you were talking so much before,” he teased. though you really couldn’t think, “i l-love this,” you whined, you loved every part of this. his cock bullying your tight cunt, and god how you looked forward to him fucking your mouth and ass.
he grinned. “i love this too, having you all to myself, mine to love, mine to fuck.”
you were close, so fucking close.
“j-jay,” you whined, gripping his bicep for dear life. you were so close, and you knew it wouldn’t be your last orgasm. jason always fucked you until you were completely limp, giving you at least a few more orgasms. two were child’s play for him.
the moment he pinched your clit, you came and came hard. you squirted. covering his cock in your slick, where some even went to his pubes. “there you go,” he grinned, “coming on my cock like a pretty little princess,” he cooed. “now, you better hold on sweetheart, because i don’t plan on stopping.”
Smuts good and all but what about all Jason coming home after a long day and reader has decided to surprise him by cooking his favourite food for dinner from scratch and afterwards they just cuddle on the couch and be all cutesy
-🪼
jason opened the door to his apartment to the smell of dinner being cooked. you were in the kitchen unaware of his presence as you focused on cooking, wearing the apron he had bought for you. he loved watching you cook, you were the best cook though he might be biased, but despite that you were always so concentrated. he loved the small crease on your brows as you focused on the boiling pot and how you always had to have a small taste of the food.
“cooking dinner?” jason spoke up, wrapping his arms around your waist whilst he placed his chin on your shoulder.
“thought you wanted a hearty meal,” you beamed as you continued to stir the pot, making sure it was perfect. jason made sure to give you a life of leisure, and you wanted to show your gratitude to him by making his favourite meal.
“go wash up, dinner will be ready soon,” you playfully swatted his hands away as you kissed his cheek, nudging him to the bathroom.
jason always thought he was undeserving of love, that someone like him will never be cared for, but here he is coming out of the bathroom in just his sweatpants whilst you set the table.
you were always so soft and loving, the way you showed your love for him in small gentle and practical moments made his knees week. he told you about how strenuous work has been and now he came home to a surprise of you cooking his favourite meal? how did he deserve that?
**
after dinner the two of you cuddled on the couch, wrapped in the fluffy pink blanket you loved so much as you watched some cheesy rom com, not that he was paying attention. no, he was too focused on watching you fall asleep in his arms, the way you tried to stubbornly watch the movie but doze off every single time made his heart melt.
“tired?” he cooed softly as he caressed your cheek, wrapping the blankets around you tightly.
you shook your head.
“no,” you mumbled as you snuggled deeper into his arms, earning a chuckle from him as he wrapped himself around you, where the two of you slept on the couch for the night.
Terrible and fucked up AU where after Harvey kills Jason's dad for being a dick, he becomes his new dad(s). (This is just an excuse to draw Harvey with baby Jason).
Don’t you ever just wish you could be Pre–TwoFace Harvey’s assistant/paralegal/secretary/ deskbunny and get Eiffel towered by him and Bruce? I do
Oh I wish I wish I wish. the things I would do with Brucie and Apollo. Harvey Dent the man you were… and the man you are.
And Harv treats you so good, he’s so sweet, so charming. Even though there’s a major power imbalance going on, even though he talks about you with Brucie like you’re not even in the room, it feels like you’re in on the joke. You feel comfortable with him.
“Bunny? Real smart that one, such a sharp tongue. But their mouths good for other things too.” He winks at Bruce from across his desk before you playfully smack the back of his head. He only laughs for a second, flashing you that dreamy smile. His disarming brown eyes stare straight into yours as his warm hands roam your curves, pretending to smooth out your shirt; your knees grow weeks, skin burning as he slips his fingers under your belt only to adjust it slightly. “What? You’ve got a gift sweet, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Casually, his gaze returns to his best friend and your eyes follow. The yin to Harvey’s yang. Bruce certainly has charm of his own, spades of it, but he’s all cool and riddled with sharpness. Discerning blue eyes that clash vividly against the soft upturn of his lips.
You don’t even realise you’re staring until Harvey leans in close, letting out a soft sigh. His head easily balancing against your hip due to the way you’re perched on the arm of his desk chair. —“Handsome, isn’t he?” Severely. He can’t hold a candle to Harvey, but he certainly could ruin lives with a face card and a body like that. Yours included. “Why don’t you go over there and show him what I’ve been talking about?”
If you don’t mind me asking, one question I have that you might be able to answer (seeing as your pretty much the Cass expert around here) - how often has her age relative to the rest of the batkids been brought up in canon?
I’m just curious because every now and then I see it mentioned that she’s around the same age if not slightly older than Jason, which always sort of throws me off a little given how she’s more often paired with Tim and Steph. I guess I’m just curious if you know whether or not this was just something mentioned once and then forgotten about or whether or not this has been a more consistent part of her character.
You're actually insanely lucky you asked me this question tonight, because I had a twitter conversation that prompted me to go hunt down relevant panels and information about this very thing about a month ago. tl;dr: post-Crisis!Cass is the second-eldest Wayne kid and generally written as such; she's consistently two and a half years older than Tim, at least a year older than Steph, and seven months older than Jason legally (and one year older biologically, since Jason was dead for around six months). The only Batkid older than her is Dick.
Canonically, the age gaps between the (pre-reboot) Batfam look something like this:
Depending on which age retcon you prefer (post-Zero Hour or post-Batgirl: Year One), Barbara is either 6-7 years older than Dick or 3-4 years older.
Dick and Jason are approximately 6-7 years apart. Dick is 18-19 when Jason is adopted at 12 and thus 21-ish three years later when Jason dies at 15.
Cass is 7 months older calendar-wise than Jason; biologically she's about a year older, since Jason spent ~6 months dead
Tim is around two years younger than Jason: Tim was 13 when he was introduced a few months in-universe after Jason died at 15. By the end of the post-Crisis universe, Tim is 17 (potentially 18, depending on when Gates of Gotham takes place).
Stephanie is one year older than Tim. This has been confirmed on several occasions, but most notably Steph is explicitly 18 and a college freshman in her Batgirl run, when Tim was 17.
There's 6-7 years between Damian and Tim. Tim is 17 during his Red Robin run and Damian is ~11 by the end of the 2009 Batman & Robin run, though he never turns 11 on-panel.
Those are still the basic age gap guideposts, regardless of "on-panel" post-Flashpoint age retcons. Dick is the sticky one here, mostly because writers could never decide on a) what age he was when his parents died and b) how long he was Robin before becoming Nightwing. Dick's age is also complicated by Tim's backstory, because it gets really sticky if he's too old for Tim to have been in the audience when the Graysons fell.
Anyway...Cass. Cass was 17 in Batgirl (2000) #1; Tim had just turned 15 and was living with his father. While her age isn't consistently brought up, she was treated as a mature older teenager who switches between living with Barbara and independently in the 'cave' that Bruce gives her. We also know she's 18 by 2002 because of Batgirl #33, the issue where Cain tells Cass that her real birthday is January 26th, and Batgirl #37, where she formally turns 18; Tim is still 15 at the time.
Tim turns 16 on July 19th in Robin #116, published in 2003. This once again indicates that Cass is approximately two and a half years older than Tim. This is further confirmed by Batgirl #48 in 2004, where Bruce mentions that Cass is 18, and the fallout of War Games later that year, since Cass relocates to a new apartment in Bludhaven without all of the messy convoluted legal hoops a 16-year-old Tim jumps through to do the same.
As for Cass and Jason, that's discussed in Detective Comics #790, also published in 2004. Bruce takes Cass to Jason's grave on what would have been Jason's 18th birthday, August 16th:
"No one talks about him. All I know is...he was the second Robin. And that the Joker kil-" "He would have been eighteen today." -Detective Comics #790
Ages are always a bit difficult to parse in comics, but this issue confirmed that Cass and Jason were around the same age. While we were never explicitly told whether Cass was 18 or 19 in this scene, we have a very important context clue that provides the answer: Cass's birthday, January 26th.
This would make Cass still 18 during Tec #790, around 7 months older than Jason should have been. This would also keep the correct age gap between both Cass & Tim (since Tim had just turned 16) and Jason & Tim (since they're two years apart). This is further confirmed by Jason being around 19-20 during Under the Red Hood (which I previously puzzled out here), published the following year in 2005. This makes Cass vaguely 20-21 during the Reborn era, since we know that Tim is 17 (nearly 18) and Steph is solidly 18.
In terms of writing, Cass was consistently treated as a slightly "older" character. Tim and Steph were a bit of a matched set even though they were a year apart, but Cass's stories were always pitched for a slightly older and more mature character than theirs. Any writers engaging in infantilizing behavior tended to do so because they were trying to make points about Cass's social skills, not her age. Cass being grouped in with Tim and Steph rather than Jason had more to do with Jason being dead until 2005 and a villain until 2011 than it did age considerations.
So then we get to the post-Flashpoint universe, where we have to throw literally everything I just said out because welcome to the reboot, where the timeline is made up and the ages don't matter:
Cass was re-introduced in Batman and Robin Eternal, where she is explicitly noted to be 16. Stephanie and Tim were both about 17, since Tim's college application arc in Detective Comics Rebirth puts him at 17-18.
But Cass is written as slightly older than Duke during the 2019 Outsiders run, and Duke was 16 when he was introduced and supposed to be slightly younger than Tim and Steph.
Then we run into Tim's "eternally 17" issue compounded with DC actually allowing Damian to age (first to 13 in 2016 and then to 14 in 2021), which throws literally everyone else's timeline into whack.
We also get the Infinite Frontier era allowing Dick and Babs to be in their late 20s again (vs. being 21, like they both had been since 2011) while also dealing with the Batgirls writers admitting they thought both Cass and Steph were 13-14 before being corrected (which explains a lot about how they're written right now).
If all the information I just threw at you confuses you, congratulations: it confuses everyone else, too. Don't worry too much about it. This is why most people ignore any on-panel age considerations we've been given since 2011 and go with pre-reboot ages. Anyway, Duke is now in college as of Urban Legends #18. Logically Cass, Steph, and Tim should thus all be between 20-22 right now, if the timeline actually made sense. Accounting for basic pre-reboot age differences+new age considerations, here's where everyone SHOULD be:
Babs: early 30s
Dick: 28-29
Cass: 23
Jason: 22-23
Steph: 21-22
Tim: 20-21
Duke: 18 (confirmed)
Damian: 14 (confirmed)
............yeah. That's clearly not how they're all being written, but that's the best age approximations I can come up with based on the super convoluted and contradictory information we've been given over the past 11 years. Love how canon is instead acting like Cass and Steph are 13-14 (but still getting less mature storylines than the actual 14-year-old), Tim is eternally 17, Jason is somehow 21 and 35 at the same time, Dick is forever in his mid-20s, and no one knows whether Babs is supposed to be 21 or in her 30s. I hope this answers your question sufficiently despite all of the confusing info!
Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!
Dick’s obsession isn’t born from malice or control—it’s born from love that he can’t let go of, love that consumes him and twists into something far more dangerous. His inherent empathy and need to protect mutate into suffocating possession when it comes to you.
You’re someone he meets while working as Nightwing—perhaps a civilian caught in the crossfire or someone aiding him on a mission. Your kindness, your bravery in the face of danger, captivates him. For someone like Dick, who has spent his life saving others, your ability to stand tall despite the world’s darkness becomes a light he can’t ignore.
But then the cracks begin to show.
You start noticing him everywhere. If you casually mention a favorite café, he’s suddenly a regular there too. When you run errands, he just happens to cross paths with you. At first, his bright smile and boyish charm disarm you. "What a coincidence," he says, as if he hasn’t been planning these encounters for days.
You come home one day to find an item you mentioned in passing—a book, a scarf, something small. There’s no note, but you know it’s from him. He swears it’s just a friendly gesture, but the way he watches you when you thank him says otherwise.
For Dick, these actions feel natural. He’s always been attentive to those he loves, always ready to go the extra mile. He doesn’t realize—or refuses to acknowledge—that these gestures aren’t innocent anymore.
When you’re hurt—even slightly—it awakens something primal. The fear of losing you mixes with the ghosts of everyone he’s lost before, and he can’t bear the thought.
Dick isn’t one to stalk in shadows; he convinces himself his obsession is protection. He keeps tabs on you, memorizing every detail of your routine. He tells himself he just wants to ensure your safety, but when you start to notice him everywhere—at the coffee shop you frequent, outside your workplace, even at your doorstep—it feels deliberate.
You confront him, but his response is calm, disarmingly charming.
“I’m just looking out for you. You mean too much to me.”
And there’s that vulnerability in his voice that makes it hard to push him away completely.
Dick’s obsession grows insidious. He’s subtle, using his charm and resourcefulness to insert himself into every corner of your life. A coworker who’s been bothering you suddenly transfers to another department. Your apartment’s locks mysteriously upgrade overnight, and Dick is the first to offer to show you how they work.
When someone flirts with you, the shift in his demeanor is terrifying. The usually affable, kind man becomes something colder, his jaw clenched as he watches from the sidelines. Later, the person who dared approach you ends up in a minor but suspicious accident.
“Don’t you see?” he tells you, his voice laced with desperation one night when you question his behavior. “I’ve already lost so much. I can’t lose you too.”
Dick doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong. His obsession is rooted in his fear of abandonment, his compulsion to save everyone he cares about. But in trying to protect you, he becomes your greatest danger.
"You’re the only thing keeping me grounded.” He leans on you emotionally, making you feel guilty for trying to push him away.
"I’m doing this for us.” He convinces himself every action, no matter how bad, is for your benefit.
When you try to leave, it shatters him. Dick isn’t someone who handles rejection well when it comes to people he loves. He pleads at first, his voice breaking with emotion. But when you insist, you see the darker side of his devotion.
“I can’t let you go. Don’t you see? I need you.”
His obsession becomes suffocating. He starts isolating you, not out of malice, but because he genuinely believes the world outside is too dangerous for you.
The most chilling part of Dick’s obsession is his duality. By day, he’s the same charming, selfless man everyone admires. But with you, behind closed doors, he’s desperate, controlling, and unrelenting.
He’ll kiss your forehead softly, whispering, “I love you,” as if nothing is wrong.
But then he’ll cage you in with his presence, ensuring you can never leave.
In his mind, he’s your protector, your savior, and your soulmate. He would go to any lengths to keep you safe—even if that means keeping you locked away from the rest of the world. After all, he’s lost so much already. He won’t lose you, too.
☆ HEADCANON : Ranking Them From Worst To Best As A Father.
☆ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, 90s Tim Drake, Damian Wayne.
☆ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!
⎯ 1. DAMIAN WAYNE
Damian would be the absolute worst father as a yandere. To him, the child is not a beautiful product of your love but an unwanted distraction. Your attention belongs solely to him, and the baby becomes his rival from the moment they’re born. He’d tolerate the child for a while, but if your affection leaned even slightly toward the baby more than him? Damian’s jealousy would fester.
He emotionally neglect the child and even harbor disturbing thoughts about getting rid of the "threat" to restore your focus to him. If the child cried too much or interrupted his time with you, Damian’s cold, sharp temper would flare. You’d have to constantly shield your baby from his wrath.
"You should be with me," Damian snaps, his voice cutting as he watches you rock your baby to sleep. His eyes narrow. "You’ve been ignoring me all day because of... that."
⎯ 2. JASON TODD
Jason’s relationship with the child is complicated. On one hand, he sees them as a part of you—someone to protect and cherish. On the other, his deep insecurities could make him jealous of the attention the baby takes away from him. He’s unlikely to harm the child, but his temper could lead to emotionally volatile moments.
Jason might unintentionally make the child feel like they’re competing for your love. He would struggle to find balance, often pulling you away to spend time with him instead of parenting. His own trauma colors his ability to be a stable father, even though he genuinely loves both you and the child.
"I’m not saying I don’t care about the kid," Jason mutters, running a hand through his hair. His eyes meet yours, frustrated and vulnerable. "I just need you, okay? I need you more."
⎯ 3. 90s TIM DRAKE
Tim is more detached as a father, not because he doesn’t care but because he overanalyzes everything. He sees the child as a tool to keep you close—an anchor to bind you to him forever. While he wouldn’t intentionally harm or neglect the child, his obsession with you overrides his parental instincts.
Tim might use the child to manipulate you subtly, ensuring you don’t leave him. He’s not overtly cruel, but his priorities are clear: you come first. The child’s needs are secondary to keeping you within his grasp.
"We’re a family now," Tim says softly, his hand brushing over yours. His eyes gleam with determination. "And families don’t leave each other. Ever."
⎯ 4. BRUCE WAYNE
Bruce’s obsession with control means he would take his role as a father seriously, even in a yandere context. However, his need to micromanage everything could lead to him treating the child more like a future Wayne heir than a person.
While he wouldn’t harm or neglect the child, his emotionally distant nature might make him seem cold and unapproachable as a father. He would still provide everything the child needs materially and intellectually, but emotionally, his obsession with you takes precedence.
"He will grow up strong," Bruce assures you, his tone pragmatic. "But only if we guide him together. You’ll stay, won’t you? For them?"
⎯ 5. DICK GRAYSON
Surprisingly, Dick would be the best father among the Batboys, even in a yandere scenario. His obsession with you doesn’t diminish his natural warmth and love for his child. He genuinely wants a happy family and sees the baby as a beautiful extension of your love.
Dick is attentive, nurturing, and emotionally present. He might occasionally feel jealous if the baby takes up too much of your attention, but he wouldn’t let it affect his treatment of the child. His focus would be on creating a harmonious family where everyone feels loved—especially you.
"She got your eyes," Dick says with a soft smile, cradling your baby in his arms. He glances at you, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn’t think I could love anyone more than I love you... but I do."
FINAL RANKING : Worst to Best
1. Damian Wayne – Jealous and potentially dangerous.
2. Jason Todd – Overwhelmed by insecurities and prone to jealousy.
3. Tim Drake – Calculated and emotionally distant.
4. Bruce Wayne – Dutiful but prioritizes control over connection.
5. Dick Grayson – The most nurturing and balanced, even as a yandere.
Jason who keeps a pack of cigarettes in the inside pocket of his jacket, right next to a picture of you he swiped from your desk. Not that you’d ever know, because he’s carefully folded it so only he can see your smile.
Jason who refuses to share his lighter with anyone else. It’s not just because it’s his—it’s because your initials are carved into the side, along with a heart he scratched there himself. He says it’s “dumb” and “just a thing he did while bored,” but you know he’d gut anyone who tried to touch it.
Jason who keeps a special pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, only for you to see. Each one has a faint, lingering trace of your perfume. He doesn’t even smoke them half the time; he just holds them between his fingers and breathes them in when he misses you too much.
Jason who pulls out a cigarette and pauses, twirling it between his fingers, staring at it with a crooked grin before muttering, “Doll wouldn’t like me smoking this.” He lights it anyway, because he knows you’ll scold him later, and he loves the way your hands curl into fists when you pretend to be mad.
Jason who has a habit of resting the cigarette between his lips while he leans against his bike, waiting for you to finish work, but doesn’t light it until you’re there to steal it from his mouth for yourself. He doesn’t even complain when you do; he just watches, smirking as your lipstick stains the filter. “You’re ruining my tough guy image, doll,” he’ll tease, but his grin says he loves it.
Jason who asks you to hand him a cigarette, just so he can watch your fingers curl around the box. He doesn’t even need one half the time. “C’mon, princess, humor me,” he drawls, leaning back like the cocky bastard he is.
Jason who presses the cigarette to his lips, then stops halfway. “Wait—kiss me first,” he says. “You know it doesn’t taste right if I don’t get one from you.”
Jason who only smokes half a cigarette before flicking it away, mumbling something about how it’s not worth finishing if it doesn’t taste like you.
Jason who hoards all the lipstick stains left behind on the filters, collecting them in a small tin in his room like a damn psychopath. When you find it, he just shrugs. “Don’t judge me. It’s art.”
Jason who lights up only after brushing his lips over yours first, muttering, “You’re the only good thing I wanna taste tonight.”
Jason who keeps your perfume on the nightstand and spritzes it on the collar of his jacket before stepping outside for a smoke. He breathes it in between drags, imagining you’re standing there, rolling your eyes at his bad habits but still staying close.
Jason who buys the most obnoxiously expensive cigars whenever he’s on a mission far from Gotham, not because he likes them, but because he knows they’ll get your attention. “Go on, princess, try it. I know you’re curious,” he’ll say, holding the cigar to your lips like it’s a dare.
Jason who never lets the ash hit the ground when you’re nearby. He stubs it out before you can complain about the smell or give him that look. God, that look—you’re worse than Alfred, but he can’t help loving it.
Jason who swears he doesn’t have an oral fixation, even though he constantly brushes his thumb over his lower lip while watching you. He murmurs, “You’re more addictive than nicotine, you know that?” right before he presses the cigarette back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.
Jason who grins every time you scold him for the habit, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m addicted to something much worse than nicotine.” And he doesn’t have to say it, because the way his eyes lock on you, like you’re the only thing that matters, tells you exactly what he means.
Jason who will smoke less if it makes you happy, even though it drives him insane when you ask him to. Says something like, “I’m already a dead man walking, doll. What’s the harm?” But he’ll throw the pack away when you glare at him because he knows you’re right, even if he won’t admit it.
Jason who once tried to quit because you asked him to, and lasted three days before he came back to you, shaking and desperate. "I’ll quit, baby, I swear. Just... just give me time, yeah?" You held him, kissed his temple, and told him you didn’t care as long as he was okay. He’s never loved you more than he did in that moment.
Jason who tastes like smoke and leather when he kisses you—rough and familiar, like coming home after a long day. Who always holds your face a little too long after, like he’s trying to burn the memory of you into his mind.
Jason who, in a rare moment of vulnerability, tells you he only started smoking again after he came back from the dead. "It reminds me I’m alive," he says, exhaling smoke into the moonlight. You lean in, press a kiss to his jaw, and tell him he doesn’t need the cigarettes to prove that.
Jason who tells himself he’ll quit someday. For you. But tonight isn’t that day. So he lights another cigarette and mutters your name like a prayer, the smoke curling around him like a ghost.
Jason who keeps one cigarette in his bedside drawer, untouched and pristine, because it’s the first one you ever kissed for him. He doesn’t smoke it. He never will. It’s a reminder that you’re his, just like every other damn thing in his life.
I did this in a 4AM haze but sketchy animatic of this post by @voiceboss because I loveee this Jason voice (I hope they're ok with me doing it!).
I know that in the original joke (of which a link is included in the post), it was Bruce that was the one crying but TBH it wouldn't leave my head that it was actually Jason, so naturally I put a Two-Dads spin on it. He goes back to his REAL dad(s). Jason trying to bond with Bruce but it doesn't go so well, oops-
The thing about Jason Todd is, if you're in danger, there's nothing that he wouldn't do to save you. It's not an exaggeration. There isn't a line he wouldn't cross, a moral he wouldn't bend, a rule he wouldn't break, just to bring you home.
It's not out of responsibility, or even out of duty to the 'mission'. It's out of sheer devotion. Head-spinning, earth-shattering love that keeps him from sleeping, from eating, from even considering any form of rest until you're out of danger.
He'd run himself ragged, drive himself to the very brink of exhaustion and insanity, because his heart won't slow its rhythm until he sees you alive. His stomach won't stop churning, working over that pit of anxiety until he can check every inch of your skin for injury. His mind won't function normally, until he can count the rise and fall of your chest with his own eyes.
He knows this about himself, knows it all too well. There's nothing he wouldn't burn, nothing he wouldn't leave trampled and broken, just to get to you.
And he's hardly the only one who knows all this. So if Gotham's vigilantes keep a closer eye on you than they normally would, if there's a tracker or two that wouldn't be there otherwise, well, it's probably for the best. (And it's not like you'll notice anyway, even if he does)
Summary: Maybe blocking Jason isn't such a great idea.
Contents: dry humping, oral sex (female receiving), fingering in the alleyway, fucking in the alleyway hence risky sex slash teeny tiny bit of exhibitionism, rough sex, size difference, unhealthy relationship.
Pairing: Jason P. Todd X Female! Reader.
Word count: 2.6k
Author note: an anon implied that they want a part two of the drabble i made abt ex! jason. it is here... and it's valentine's day special. sorry for dropping bangers and leaving for another 2 months. will do it again. enjoy!
🖥️ MAIN MENU. PART ONE.
I know if I’m haunting you,
you must be haunting me.
You told yourself this was going to be the last time. The morning after Jason had left, you were already blocking his number and changing the lock to your front door the next day. Maybe it’s the post-nut clarity that helps you realized that maybe… maybe this things going on between you and him wasn’t exactly healthy. Maybe it’s a good idea to ignore the calls you’ve been getting from ‘unknown’ caller knowing full well it was him.
You think it’s a little cute when he went as far as to text you from Dick’s number.
He thinks you’re a brat.
Besides, who cares if what him and you had going on wasn’t healthy? You didn’t have to blocked him.
Whatever, what’s done is done. “He’s going to stop reaching out eventually.” you told yourself only to see him leaning against his bike, waiting for you in one of the alleyway you always passes after your night shift a week after blocking him. The red helmet slightly glints in the dark when the streetlight hits, “come here,” he murmurs, head tilts slightly to the side. There’s a battered bouquet of red roses in his hand, the veins on his forearm pokes out from how tight he gripped the bouquet to the point that the stems are crushed. “Happy Valentine’s Day, princess. Come get your flowers.” Jason adds, his other hand reached up to removed his helmet as he placed it on the seat of his bike.
”I don’t want to.” A small huff left your lips.
”Just do it, goddamnit [Y/N].”
Old habits die hard.
Your shoulders drops in defeat as you dragged your feet to him, you can’t help it. As much as you want to keep up the ‘I’ve-totally-moved-on’ acts, you just can’t. So here you are, not even five minutes in and Jason already had his arms wrapped around your waist, his lips naturally finding their way to yours the second you had your head slightly tilts up. “Blocked my number, huh? What, you think you’re so mature, huh?” He snorts, letting the bouquet falls from his hand to hold you tighter in his arms. “I didn’t block you…” You whined, standing on your tip toes to keep him quiet by smothering his lips with small pecks.
”Yeah right, that’s totally believable.” He scoffed in between the pecks you're giving him, his head tilts down to make it easier for you to reached in for more kisses. “Because my texts and calls totally got thru.” You can practically taste the sarcasm dripping from the way he talks to you. “I might have accidentally blocked you.” You pulled back slightly to watch as his face gradually sours. He stared back at you with an annoyed look, his brows furrowed before a low groan leaves his lips. “Face the wall.” He groaned, his fingers running thru his black locks before you reluctantly turn to face the wall, “We’re doing it right here?” You stuttered as you spared him a glance over your shoulder, your eyes quickly widened when he pressed himself against you. His bulge slightly rubs against your ass, his hands digs into your hips to keep you still. “Damn right we are.” He says, his breathing slightly staggered as he moves his hips slightly to get more friction against his clothed cock.
You leaned the back of your head, fingers latching onto his forearms as a support. “You’re so annoying, you know that, right?” He speak with a gruff, there’s creases on his forehead as Jason looked back at him. “How many times are you going to do this, huh? Acting like I don’t exist and blocking my number the second we had sex. I’m gettin’ real sick of it, [Y/N].” His hand reached up to grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him as he grinds himself against the curves of your ass. “Fucking brat.” He adds, his thumb gently brushing over your lips. “My fucking brat.”
“I don’t know,” you breathes, your lips instinctively parting as Jason slips his thumb into your mouth. “…until you’re bored of me?.” You muffled out your words, eyes slowly turning cloudy from the having his cock brushing up against you. He scoffed at your reasoning, rolling his eyes before he pressed his thumb down your tongue.
”As if.” He mumbled, leaning down slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder. “You’re gonna block me again after this?” His eyes flickered to looked back at you. You stared at him for a solid minute with only the sound of his jeans and your skirt rubbing together can be heard before he removed his thumb off your tongue to let you speak. “No?” You stammers, mentally cursing yourself when he smirked at your answer. “Good girl.” He replied, his hand falls to the hem of your skirt.
”I missed you,” A soft whine left his lips as his fingers desperately reached down to rub your clit. Jason leaned against you to leave kisses on your neck and up to your jaw as his fingers pushes your panties aside. “You’re so wet already, baby.” He mutters, massaging the bundle of nerves in a circular motion. He slowly swipes his fingers between your folds as you leave trails of your wetness on his fingers. “Looks like this pretty little thing misses me too.” He chuckled when you whimpers at the feeling of his fingers being pushed inside of you. “I missed you too…” You whined, eyes shut tight as he pumps his digits deeper into your sopping cunt. The wetness between your legs sticks to your thighs and clings to his fingers, his teeth hungrily leaving marks on your neck. “Sorry for blocking you.” Your body shuddered in sheer bliss when his fingers curls with his calloused palm constantly brushing against your clit.
”Yeah? You’re sorry?” He asked, his voice growing breathy while his other hand clumsily undo his belt and zipper. A small frustrated groan leaves his throat before he pulls his fingers out of you causing you to pout and whine. “Oh, come on. Give me a second.” He laughed, turning you around but this time facing his bike. He moves your leg up on the seat before he kneel down behind you. “Fuck… Look at that.” He whispers, his warm breath fanned against your pussy before he desperately buried his face in between your thighs. “Jason!” You squeaked, toes curling upon feeling his tongue lapping on your clit with his fingers tightly gripping your thighs. His thick fingers leaving marks on your skin as you squirmed on his bike, causing him to land a spank on your cheek.
You whined. “What’s that for?” You looked back at him only to be met with his dazed eyes and his mouth still latching onto your pussy, drinking every liquid that drips out of you. For once in the span of an hour filled with nothing but his sarcasm, he was quiet. Except for the occasional groans and moans every time you pushes deeper against his nose. Your nails digs into the cushion of his seat as you whimpers when he slide his tongue into your entrance, prodding in and out of your entrance before he finally pulled back for some air.
”Jeez, Jay…” He looked up at you when you pouted, his cheeks and chin were coated with your juices before his eyes cast down to the way you wiggled your hips at him. “…keep going.” You bat your lashes at him, the excitement in your stomach stirs as he tugs his pants and boxer just low enough for his cock to springs out of the tight confinement before gently slapping against his stomach. His thumb keeping your panties aside and your entrance exposed to him, "Calm down, princess." He sighs before his teeth digs into his lower lip, it's been a hard week since he felt anything close to this. Sure, he settled on his fist for the first two days before he completely stopped when he realised that fucking his fist to the thought of you wasn't as good as fucking you.
He slowly moves his hips, managing to bury the tip of his cock inside of you as he lets out a choked moan. "Still feels good as ever." He moaned, head tilted back with his eyes closed. His cock twitches in you when small whines falls past your lips, sending vibrations down to him as the muscles tightening around his length. "Christ, you're still not used to me?" His breath were shaky before he looked down to you, admiring at the clear size difference between the two of you as you tried your best to take every inch of him.
"S'not my fault," You huffed, your legs slightly trembles underneath him. Jason shifts your position slightly, holding you by the waist with one hand while his other hand makes their way under your shirt to fondled with your tits. "Never said it was." He replied, pushing his cock deeper inside of you until he’s halfway in when he stopped, noticing the way you tensed up. “It’s okay, baby. Just a few more inches and the hard part’s over.” Your body shuddered from his whispers, his breath tickling the back of your neck before you quickly nods at his words. His hand reached to wiped the sweats off your forehead before his hips slowly moves, “Mhm, just like that… Just relax.” Jason coos, planting small kisses on your temples.
A whine break out of your sealed lips when he completely buried himself inside of you, filling every crevices off your pussy with his twitching cock. The curve of his length itches just the sweet spot to make you see stars, “Jason…” The sound of you calling his name temporarily distracts him from the way your pussy clamped him down. His fingers had its deadly grips on your hips as you stand on your tip toes just to slightly fuck yourself on his cock, “Yeah?” He croaked, replying back to you with a deeper tone as he glanced down to the way your ass softly slaps against his pelvis, “You’re adjusting?” He asked before you let a small ‘mhm’ left your lips.
“You’re just fucking yourself on me.”
“No, I’m not.” You lied with a crooked grin. Jason rolled his eyes.
“Just look at the damn wall. You’re gonna break that dainty little neck if you keep looking back at me like that.” He mumbled, moving his hips into you in a more quicker pace. “Hold onto my helmet. Drop it and I’m stopping.” He grabbed a fistful off your ass while you quickly grabbed the red helmet, hugging it to your chest. The sound of skin slapping can be heard throughout the dark alleyway, your shared moans and groans reverberates and bounces off the brick walls. He moves his hand down between your legs, his fingers pressing down on your clit as he moves it in sloppy, circular motion. His other hand holding on the handle of his bike, “Lift your ass up, baby.” He grunted, brow furrowing as his hips moves back and forth, every thrust felt like he’s sending you over the edge.
”I’m trying!” You said in a hushed tone, too breathless. You weren’t sure if your knees can take anymore before they buckled to the dirty ground. In an act of desperation, Jason lifts you up with his forearm under your stomach causing your legs to dangled off the ground before he continue shoving his fat cock into your dripping pussy. You let out a small gasp, he’s really doing it-- he’s quite literally carrying you like a doll. “Can’t even do the simplest thing.” He huffed, eyes closed with his the tip of his nose tickling the crook of your neck as your fingers clings to his helmet, not wanting to dropped it lest he stopped just for the sake of making you miserable.
Your eyes lazily gazes at the other end of the alleyway where anyone that decides to passed the alleyway can noticed the both of you. Your cheeks warmed up at the thought, minimizing your moans into small squeaks and whines. You glanced at Jason, hoping he doesn’t notice only for him to sharply thrust into you to elicit a loud moan out of you, green eyes narrowing down at you. “Don’t be quiet,” He whispered, his other hand reached to traced the curve of your spine with his thumb lightly. “Let me hear you.” He dragged his voice to sound slightly whiny just to tease you even further.
You hated how much you expected this from the get go.
Blocking him was never an option, Jason has a knack when it comes to keeping you tied to him. One command from him and you’d rushed back into his arms like a puppy, hopelessly lingering around him. “Feels so good…” You whispered back, lashes thick with salty tears as wanton moans spills out of your swollen lips. You hated the fact that the both of you knows this. You’re not even sure if the both of you were even exes at some point. The feeling of the head of his cock brushing against your sweet spot sends you shivering despite being half dressed, it doesn’t help how godly his cock is. The delicious curve that sends you whining for more, the noticeable vein on the side of his length, the way his balls slaps against your clit, the thickness of it-- all of it drives you insane, fills your body with nothing but carnal desires.
“Outside? Inside?” He asked in between his groans, strands of his black locks sticks to his forehead as his jaw clenches. You know it’s near when his movement grow sloppy and inconsistent, his eyes darkened with sheer lust and the muscles on his bicep flexes. “Fuck, don’t just gimme puppy eyes, princess. Answer me.” He said with gritted teeth, purposely moving his hips rougher into you as you cried out of pleasure. “Out, out, out…” Your babbles almost went incoherent when you choked on your own moans while you blinks away the tears that welled at the corned of your eyes. He nods his head, burying his face into your shoulder as his arm around your waist tightens.
”Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” He curses, his head spinning and leaving him dizzy. Jason wanted to stay inside of you badly, the warmth of your cunt wrapping snugly around him screams nothing but heaven. And the fact that you’re already cumming on his cock before he even gets to pulled out? God, you’re just torturing him at this point. He pulled out of you right before he finishes, wet and sticky seeds shooting on your back and staining your skirt as he winces when the cold air hits his cock. “Oh my god.” His chuckle were airy, skin were slightly flushed from the lovemaking. Jason cradled you in his arms, turning you around to face him before placing you on top of his bike.
”You okay?” He asked, softly massaging your inner thighs. His forehead presses against yours, his gaze softened at the sight of you looking back at him with tired eyes. “Yep.” Your answer were short as you steadied your breathing, your arms wrapped around his neck to pulled him closer while Jason fixes your clothes.
”Wanna go rest at my place?”
The both of you stared at each other for a solid minute. You give him a small nod.
Guardian Angel alternative POV, or Jason Todd is the Arkham Knight, and he can't stop himself from watching you, from clawing his way into the cracks of your life in a twisted, mangled mirror of what he used to be ~3.5k words
CW: Jason commits a few murders, some gore, stalking, some religious imagery for fun
Jason Todd shouldn't be watching you. He knows it's wrong, knows he shouldn't be perched on the shadowy rooftop across from your apartment building, staring intently into your windows.
He knows. He knows. But he's doing it anyway– been doing it for weeks.
You haven't noticed once, so wrapped up in your own life, your peace of mind that no one would break the sanctity of your own home that you don't even consider closing your blinds.
He thinks you should know better. Gotham is tainted– he is tainted– yet you never spare a glance over your shoulder when he follows you down the street, never linger on that sixth sense that screams that you're being watched.
You pick up on his presence on the rare occasion, he thinks. The days you walk home quicker or the nights you actually slam your blinds shut makes him wonder if you do know you're being watched. But then you go back to normal, brush off every sign and every lingering feeling that something isn't right.
It almost makes him angry, sometimes, that you'd be so careless with your safety. But everything makes him angry now. It's a constant, tight grasp in his chest, the righteous fury he has against the world, against the city and its filth, against Batman.
The anger makes him reckless, or maybe he's just cocky. Maybe he wants you to know he's there. Jason doesn't let himself wonder why he does it. He might just be a masochist. He might just miss you. But he opens the faulty window to your living room that he knows squeaks and never quite locks right.
The first time he breaks into– visits your apartment while you're asleep, he doesn't touch a thing. He just takes in everything that's you, cleanses his fractured soul in the space he used to know like the back of his hand. The trinkets that sit on your counters. The paintings on the wall. The color of the blankets thrown over your couch.
He doesn't touch anything the second time, either. Or the third. The fourth time, though, he picks over the photos you keep on your shelves, the books you leave lying around. He moves them, just slightly. Just to see if you'll notice.
You don't. Not really. Not until the eighth time. He doesn't know why he does this either. He just does. He picks up your keys from where you usually keep them and moves them. It's something you can't deny. Something tangible and real and clear, an unyielding truth. He was here. He exists, and he can affect your life, change it with his hands.
(It's the first time he feels like he's truly alive since the asylum, the first time there's more than just revenge and watching you from afar, even if he feels like he's corrupting something that's only meant to be seen and not touched by impure, broken hands)
If your keys being displaced affects you, well, you don't show it for more than a few moments. And that bothers him. You might not know he's here– alive– and maybe he's not ready for you to, but he's still a part of your life, isn't he?
So he gets bolder. He doesn't want to scare you, not really. But he can't help but dig his nails into the parts of your life he can change. It starts simple, innocent. You were annoyed when you left your kitchen, out of sugar, just another thing on top of everything else you have to deal with.
And he wanted to help. Like he used to. It was easy to get a bag of sugar, even easier to sneak into your kitchen. He leaves just enough for a few days, just enough to get you through the week, enough that you'll think you misremembered how much was left.
And he should have left it at that. But he's never been good at doing things halfway, especially when it comes to you. So he fixes your apartment up while you're at work. Makes sure your window doesn't squeak, your shower doesn't rattle, your oven actually heats up. All things he's heard you try to get your landlord to fix.
He makes a note to give your landlord a visit as he's looping the footage in your cameras over, effectively erasing any evidence of who he is.
Honestly, he's proud of you for finally doing something about him, it's just a shame he has the skills to outmatch your attempts to figure out his identity. Not that any pictures of him would do any good. He's still nameless in Gotham as the Arkham Knight, and if he's not wearing a mask while he's easily picking the new lock on your apartment window, his hood and ballcap do the job of hiding his face just as well.
He thinks he could let it go on like this forever, just doing things for you in the shadows, never revealing himself. At least until he's routinely following you home from work one night, and he sees you get tugged into a dark, lonely alley. He recognizes the man that hauls you off the faux safety of the streets, the one that's lifting a shaky hand and a gun to wave it, demanding your possessions.
Murphy is a nobody in Gotham, just another gambling addicted alcoholic that takes work from whatever rouge is paying the most that week. Jason more or less only recognizes him because he lives on the third floor of your apartment building, but it's clear you don't know who the man snatching your things is.
The Arkham Knight resigns himself to stealing your wallet and phone back after you've gotten home, to keep himself out of your sights for as long as he can. That was the plan.
But there's a flicker in Murphy's eyes, a consideration– a passing thought that Jason can't ignore, one he's seen a million times. Maybe it's the idea that he could get more from you, or maybe he's realizing you've seen his face and wants to get rid of any witnesses, whatever it is, Jason isn't going to let it happen.
The Arkham Knight doesn't hesitate to drop himself between you and the gun. He breaks Murphy's arm without even thinking about it, effectively disarming him as he kicks the gun away from him. The sound of his bones breaking is loud, but Jason doesn't register it as something to be sickened by until he turns and sees the nausea and horror written plainly on your face.
Honestly, maybe he should be more disgusted with himself. He's just sent a man into shock, revealed himself to you in a way that's not at all comforting. But he doesn't care. No one was going to save you. No one but him. He protected you, and it's not like Bruce Batman– it's not like broken bones are uncommon in Gotham.
You take a step back. He steps towards you, drawn to you. He can't help it. He shouldn't. But his head is spinning, and he hasn't been this close to you since before the asylum. You look tired, older, but no less beautiful than he remembers.
"Who are you? What do you want," You snap at him.
Jason wants to praise you for your bravery, as fake as it is. It's a good tactic, to try and get him talking. He doesn't understand why you look so uneasy of him, though. He got you out of a bad situation, even if he's wearing military-grade armor and a mask that glows in the darkness of the alley, shouldn't you feel grateful? Safe? Happy?
He tilts his head, trying to read you. Would you feel better if he offered to walk you home? "I saved you," he tries, the modulator making his voice sound flatter than he intends to. The Arkham Knight silently curses himself. He should just leave. Should have shot your attacker from the roof without you ever seeing him. He's being emotional now, irrational under your gaze.
"You've been following me. You're the one who's been in my apartment," you accuse, eyes darting like you're trying to find an escape in the dead end alley.
He stiffens. Huh. Clever thing. You've always been too smart for your own good. A part of him wants to deny it, pretend he's just some passing good doer in a mask, pretend that he's some kind of knight, an angel here to shield you from harm.
The notion almost makes him laugh, "Have I," he prompts instead with all the air nonchalance. He wonders if you'll drop it then, actually thank him for stepping in and helping you. You don't.
"Yes," You say instead, voice low like it's a secret– a confession, "You have."
Jason finds himself impressed at your stubbornness, if not a little unnerved by your recklessness in confronting the supposed stranger you believe is breaking into your home alone. He has to give you credit for piecing it together, but who else, if not a freak in body armor, would be letting themselves into your apartment without a word just to fix what's broken?
He nods, unsure of what to do. You weren't supposed to figure it out, but you have. And now there's consequences.
The Arkham Knight turns his back to you, making a show of gathering your phone and wallet before standing and facing you again. He walks closer to you, each step measured and calculated. He holds your belongings out to you, a twisted, mirrored version of some kind of sacred offering.
He studies you as you grab at them, trying to tug them from his unyielding grip. There's bags under your eyes. He can practically see your pulse jumping under your skin.
You're less than a foot away, and Jason basks in that distance, how light he feels now that you're only an arm's reach away. He could brush his knuckles over your cheek, dip his head to take in the scent of your hair, kiss the hollow of your throat the same way he used to.
He does none of those things. Because you don't see Jason Todd. You only see a threat, a monster, some kind of demon that clawed their way out of the shadows and cracks that litter Gothams hallowed corners.
He cocks his head, letting go of your wallet and phone while greedily drinking down the color of your eyes in the dim light of the alley, "And if I have?"
"I'll go to the police," You tell him, defensive, and he wants to laugh as you shove your wallet and phone back into your pocket.
"They can't help you," he grits out, and it's the truth. No one knows who he is yet, what his plans are. Even if you told someone, whatever description you give won't be enough to find him.
"They can contact Batman," you bite out, and that does earn you a laugh. You really think Bruce can do anything? That Batman has any chance of standing between him and you? Batman couldn't even find– couldn't even save–
"He can't help you either," The Arkham Knight tells you. He gives into his desire to touch you then, partly in anger that you still believe in Batman and partly because he just misses you. He pats your cheek, but doesn't let himself linger. "Get home," is all he says before he grapples into the night.
He follows you back to your apartment from the rooftops and notes how you avoid getting too close to any more alleys. But, it's not until you're safe in your bed that he goes looking for Murphy– that he goes to finish the job.
The creep's nursing his broken arm in his dingy apartment when The Arkham Knight gets to him. He doesn't make it quick, but it is quiet. (It's difficult to scream when you're choking on your own severed tongue, after all) He brings down fire and fury and vengeance for daring to lay a hand on you and leaves nothing behind but a corpse.
Murphy's brutal death is swept under the rug by the GCPD, which Jason shouldn't be surprised by. Just another mob death, the tiny obituary in the paper reports. You don't even register the death in your apartment building. He doesn't blame you for that. Not when he knows he's scaring you.
He's getting careless, sloppy. He wants you to catch glimpses of him now, he wants you to know he's watching. It's sick. He knows that, knows it so well that it claws in the back of his throat when he breaks into your apartment to fix your fan.
He's guilty about it, sometimes. It's a pressing weight on his shoulder even when he's trying to help. So, he redoubles his efforts.
He sneaks into your room and stuffs six hundred dollars into the emergency fund you keep under your bed. He sends you flowers, fills your gas tank, finally visits your landlord, and pays off your rent for the next six months. (He's already bought you a better, newer apartment, he just hasn't figured out how to tell you that)
He knows it's all wrong, but sometimes, he doesn't feel guilty at all. He wants to do things for you, that's not a lie. He wants to do everything and anything you could ever want or ask for.
He starts letting you catch flashes of him outside your window, moves your things around just out of the sheer curiosity of what you'll do. He can't justify that, because it does nothing to protect you. But he does it anyway. The Arkham Knight needs you to know he holds a spot in your life, even if it's not as Jason Todd anymore.
He's getting bolder, much too comfortable. There's times you almost walk into your apartment as he's leaving gifts on your counter, times when you wake up and walk into your kitchen just seconds after he forces himself out your window.
He's going to get caught if it keeps going on like this. But he can't bring himself to worry or care. His plans are coming together, and while he doesn't exactly know where you fit into them yet, he knows he doesn't trust anything or anyone enough to leave you to your own devices once he unleashes his legions upon Gotham and her failure of a saviour.
He never seems to do the right thing when it comes to you, at least not since he came back. But saving you– guarding you against the vile filth of the world– that can't be wrong. He'd do anything to keep you as you are, untouched by all the cruelties Gotham has to offer. It's an unwavering, righteous mission he has commanded unto himself.
It's why he reacts the way he does when three men break into your apartment.
He was late. He always seems to be late when you're involved. He had just finished overseeing the arrival of tanks and men into Miagani Tunnel, just dragged himself halfway across the city for the slightest chance to catch a glimpse of you in your apartment, when he catches sight of it.
Your window– open. You never keep it open. Dread washes down his spine, and when he gets close enough to see the man pointing a gun towards the floor– towards you– he just reacts.
He shuts down, becomes nothing but instinct, and he brings hell on to Earth in your name.
He's clinical. He doesn't hesitate to shoot the man aiming a gun to your head through his temple. If the man were alone, he would have shot the gun out of his hand, but there's two other targets, and he needs to eliminate any threats to your life first.
He climbs through your window with the ease of a man who's done it hundreds– thousands of times. You haven't moved to get up. It concerns him, but he's angry right now, so, so angry he doesn't even consider ending this quickly.
Everyone tries to take something from him. He keeps losing. If he didn't come to watch– see you tonight, he would have lost you too. The very thought makes his vision blur red, his ears ring.
It's not a fight, what happens next. It's a death penalty. The Arkham Knight is a weapon, and he proves it with each hit. He's efficient, brutal, and purposeful with each movement. He doesn't flinch at the blood that splatters on his armor, doesn't stop even when fluids and flesh start to stick to the knuckles of his gloves.
He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, until the only hearts left beating in your desecrated apartment are his and yours.
Then, and only then, does the blood pounding through his veins start to cool. It's only then, does he turn to look at you. He expects to meet your terrified gaze, but you haven't moved, still laying on the floor. It makes his heart clench. What's wrong with him? He just– while you–
He shakes his head, slowly tugging his gloves off and stuffing them into his belt. He walks over to you, kneels carefully to your side, and watches you breathe. He matches the slow rhythm of your shoulders rising and falling, and then he helps you sit up.
You're responsive to that, at least. The Arkham Knight presses his hands to your face, waiting for something. He doesn't know what, just anything. Some kind of sign. A message of what he's supposed to do. How he can make this all better.
When you finally open your eyes, they're hazy, not quite reactive. It makes him angry all over again. You got hurt. He wasn't here.
"Saved me again," you murmur, and his throat tightens. He failed you. Yet here you are, spouting words that make it sound like he's done something good.
He runs his thumb over your cheek, savoring the feel of your skin, soothing himself and you as he reassures himself that you're still here– still alive. But you aren't safe.
It's all he can think about. He saved you, but how long until you're in danger again? What if he's not quick enough this time? What if he's not there? What if– what if– haunts him. It weighs heavier than the nightmares that plague him when he finally has to succumb to sleep.
He makes the decision then and there to take you away from here, away from the rot and the fester to some place where it can never touch you again.
He picks you up, cradles you to his chest like you're made of shattered, stained glass and tarnishing silver, but nonetheless precious. You're talking, and he's answering, but he hardly registers what either of you are saying. His mind is working over plans, where he's going to take you, the guards he'll need to recruit to watch over you when he can't, which ones he trusts the most.
Jason only tunes back in when you point out that he could hurt you. It's funny, in a way. After everything he used to be to you, after everything he's done for you, he could still hurt you. He tips his head down to really look at you, the cloudy, exhausted look on your face, the heaviness of your eyes as you struggle to keep watching him.
He can't find it in himself to lie, so, he tells you, maybe he could hurt you. He tells you that he wouldn't like it. (And it's the truth)
Maybe you recognize that, because you drop your head to his shoulder and let your eyes fall shut. The Arkham Knight never wavers in his steps, mapping the path to the apartment he'd purchased in your name in his head. It's not perfect, not filled with everything you deserve quite yet, but it'll do the job for now.
Something in him simultaneously softens and hardens when your breathing goes even and slow against him, and he curls his fingers tighter into your skin. You're weak. Weaker than him. Too naive and too soft for what's going to come.
There's no other fate for you than this now. He'll have to take care of you, protect you from it all, from all the evil that festers in Gotham, even if that includes him.
He lets the mission engrave itself into his heart– into the fabric of his very soul and right next to his revenge. You're going to be safe. He is going to keep you safe, and he'll throw himself into fire to see it done.
