more bf!jason todd x fem!reader headcanons because I canât stop thinking about this man
bf!jason who used to hate cooking, living off of shitty takeout and protein bars, until you came along.
bf!jason who cooks you your favorite dish on your first date, and canât stop blushing when you wonât stop complimenting him and his cooking.
bf!jason who becomes your personal chef and meal preps you lunch for work.
bf!jason who has a habit of catching you distracted and pinching your waist, only for you to swat at him while he just smirks at you softly.
bf!jason who loves listening to you talk. he could be making dinner while you sit on the counter, telling him all about your day and your annoying co worker. he softly smiles as he watches you talk on and on.
bf!jason who is attentive and remembers everything you tell him. your favorite book that you read in seventh grade, the name of your first pet, that you absolutely hate peanuts but love peanut butter.
bf!jason who tells you he isnât a big fan of kids and babies, but you still catch him cheesing at every baby and making faces at kids while the two of you are outside. everytime.
bf!jason who loves spending time with you, laying together on the couch while you both doze off for a nap.
bf!jason who wakes up with the occasional nightmare and hates waking you, but still needs your comfort, so he reaches under the blanket and takes your hand in his, carefully placing two fingers over you wrist.
bf!jason who still flushes when he sees you in his clothes. the first time he saw you in nothing but his shirt and your panties, he couldnât look you in the eyes for the rest of the day.
bf!jason who is a total thigh guy, always having a hand on your leg, squeezing softly, or laying down with his head on your lap, nuzzling into the warmth of you thighs.
bf!jason who still gets shy around you, realizing that youâre his and that you actually chose him and continue to choose him everyday.
bf!jason who almost cries every time you remember something about him, knowing you took the time to listen to him and willingly remember his favorite drink or tv show.
bf!jason who hates to disappoint you. he canât stand you being mad at him and always insist you donât go to bed angry with each other. he also isnât ever angry at you.
bf!jason who feels bad when you see him all bruised after patrol, sometimes afraid seeing him like this will finally make you leave.
bf!jason who insists he can patch himself up, but is so glad when you donât take no for an answer and take care of him.
SYNOPSIS: "Listen." He grabs her chin, tilts her face to meet his eyes. "Listen to me." The three gunshots are cracks of lightening in the enclosed space. make her flinch, eyes widening as her fingers clutch onto his jacket. "You didn't kill him. I did." Jason says, turning her face to the body. ""Your hands are still clean." He steps back in her line of view, eyes serious and fierce.
NOTE: I'm semi happy with this I fear
MASTERLIST
It was an accident. It was an accident. It was an accident!
She didn't mean it, she would never, it's just...just that she was scared, and she acted on instinct, and-and Jason had told her what to do in situations like this, times when she might be in trouble on the off chance that he wasn't around to handle it.
Her knowledge of the human body is limited, but even she can tell that the bloody knife clutched in her right hand nicked something important. The man at her feet should not be bleeding that much, red trickled out in spurts and nightmarish wet gurgles.
Shaky hands fumble with her phone, fingers slick with blood trying to type in the passcode. A sob punches out of her chest as the liquid makes her thumb harder to register. The blurriness from the tears don't do anything to help her vision either.
A groan comes from somewhere to her right, the sound tightening the band across her chest. The alley walls are too close, the air is too thick and she can't breathe.
Crimson smears her cheek when she presses the phone to her ear, hyperventilating.
"Hey, what's up, baby?"
He picks up on the third ring, and she collapses against the grimy brick wall. She latches onto the voice, lets it ground her enough to find her voice.
"Jason." She sobs out. The knife clatters on the alley floor, a punch of noise in the sudden silence. "Jay..."
                 · · âââââââ ·đ„žÂ· âââââââ · ·
His spine straightens at the noise, hands stilling with the wrench still in hand. Immediately, he's sliding himself out from under the car he's working on and wiping his hands clean, phone pressed to ear instead of on speaker.
"What's wrong? Fuck, are you hurt?" He demands immediately. Icy dread creeps around him when all he gets as a response is something incomprehensible, and quick, small gasps. "Breathe, angel." He says, pulling up her location. Jason's brow furrows when it shows her in some random alley. There's nothing else to think about because the next moment he's grabbing his helmet, swinging a leg over his bike and kicking off.
"I'm coming, all right? Just need you to stay on the line with me." He tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, biting back the fear and the hint of green rage creeping along the edges of his vision. Someone had made her sound like that and he wasn't there. "Are you safe?" He asks, and the silence that follows nearly makes his heart stop.
"I think." A wobbly voice whispers hoarsely. "It's...it's over, Jay. I didn't..." Her voice breaks and he curses out loud, mind racing. Jason pushes his panic down and hones it into that sharp focus he only ever reaches for when he's on patrol, stepping on the accelerator.
'It's over'
The words play in his head like a broken record as he talks to her, coaxing her to breathe, reassuring her the best as possible while possibilities wreck havoc on his judgement. If someone touched her, if they so much as breathed on her, he swears. No kill room be damned, Jason would cut their fucking hands off.
The bike finally swerves into the alley, and he's off of it before it even fully stops, one hand on his holster, eyes scanning the alley with a desperation he's not felt in forever. There's no active threat, none that he can make out.
Jason doesn't give the body on the ground a moment's glance, instead hones into the figure curled up into herself against the wall a few steps to the side.
"I'm here." He says lowly, immediately crouching next to her. Large, warm hands find her shoulders, prying her upright from how she's curled into herself. He cups her cheeks, frantically looking her over. His thumb wipes away the smear of blood on her face, and the caged, thrashing leash of his anger settles down marginally when he sees no wound under the gore.
The wounded noise she makes makes his throat close up, and he hates himself a little as he tightens his grip to keep her in place against the wall when she tries to lurch forward in his arms.
"I've got you, baby. One minute." He assures, taking a few seconds to smooth a hand over the rest of her body, just to be extra sure. When he doesn't find an injury, he exhales and crushes her against him, chest to chest. Fingers tangle in her hair, rubbing soothingly down her spine. "You're okay, I'm here." His voice is fierce.
A few moments pass, but instead of calming down, her breathing seems to quicken again much to his confusion. "Tell me what's wrong." He finally says, firm but gentle. "What happened? Someone attack you?" When she pulls back, he lets her, still keeping her within arms length.
"Jay." Her breath hitches, shaking her head, eyes drifting to the body close by. Her face twists up again and Jason is quick to start connecting the dots.
"Did he do something?" He keeps his eyes on her.
"He tried." She finally says. "But I...you taught me if it happened to- but he wouldn't let me run-" She gasps, and Jason lets her talk, rubs her arms up and down, brow pinched in worry. "I panicked and he had a gun- and I-..." Her eyes flicker off to the side.
Jason follows her gaze to the bloody knife.
Her initials engraved in the hilt.
Jason had scratched them himself before gifting it to her 'just in case', a couple months ago.
"Fuck." He breathes, as everything clicks. "Shit, baby, it's-"
"I killed him." The sob that heaves out of her is gut-wrenching, and Jason's pulling her to his chest immediately. "I killed him!" She gasps wetly. "I didn't mean to, I...I didn't want to!"
He takes a deep breath, tilting his head back to look up at the sky for a second. Taking a life was never easy, it didn't matter whether it was in self defence or not.
Jason still remembers his first. A hungry kid roaming the streets years ago, shivering from the cold and picking through one of the dumpsters behind a run down movie theatre. He remembers the owners coming out and yelling at him, lunging in anger when Jason lashed out. He remembers pushing. He remembers the crack of a skull against the metal lid. He remembers staring transfixed before vomiting what little he'd managed to scrounge that day.
He presses her tighter against him. She wasn't like him, wasn't like any of them. His girl was no killer, not with how soft hearted she was, and Jason would never want this life for her in any world.
Exhaling slowly, he surveys the scene beside them once more...and does a double take. The artery the knife nicked looks fatal, there's no way anybody was getting that man to a hospital before he bled out, but the way his chest moved in small, marginal gasps said there was still some life in him.
There's something about the life he lives that hardens you, takes away your optimism and fragility. It's why Jason is able to make the decision he does so easily.
He stands slowly, pulling her up with him and twisting her to face the gory scene. "You didn't kill him." He says, squeezing her against his side.
"I did." She says, and Jason knows if she doesn't calm down soon she's going to pass out.
"Listen." He grabs her chin, tilts her face to meet his eyes. "Listen to me." In one smooth motion, he pulls out his gun from the holster around his hip and clicks the safety off.
The three gunshots are cracks of lightening in the enclosed space. make her flinch, eyes widening as her fingers clutch onto his jacket. There's a groan, and then it cuts off.
"You didn't kill him. I did." Jason says, turning her face to the body. It's still, no movement, dead eyes staring up at the cloudy sky. He steps back in her line of view, eyes serious and fierce.
"No- that...but I-"
He interrupts. "Your hands are clean. I killed him. Not you." His voice softens as she starts shaking again, burying her face into his chest. "Understand?"
After a few moments, she nods against his chest, still unsteady, but less shaky than before.
Lips press to the crown of her head, firm and grounding. "I've got you. I'll take care of it." He mutters against her hairline, slowly guiding her away from the scene.
When her hands shake, he's there to hold them steady. When she wakes up with a cry during the night, he's there to hold her back to sleep.
And she lets him, leaning on her boyfriend and letting him mutter soothing nonsense, soft and gentle in a way he only ever is with her.
summary: getting a list of everything damian hates, you feel self-conscious about ticking the boxes in that listâand try to fix that, not knowing that youâre damianâs only exception.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: fluffff, pre-established relationship, tim drake uses the wrong words and ensues a chaotic week.
âYou want to know what Damian hates?â
Your inquisitive nature has become a known trait to Damian's family, and if anything, it fits you right in. Damian credits your 'detective work', he terms affectionately, as a perfect fit to his own.
Timâs busy digging through another case, but your question surprises him enough to pause, an incredulous look crossing his tired features. âYou know that doesnât apply to you at all, right?â
âYouâre the only person available to ask.â You plead. âIt's a little awkward to storm right up to him with a âGood morning! Do you secretly hate me and I should jump off the face of the Earth?ââ
âDefine available.â Tim mutters, before snorting softly. âAnd Damian hating you? Thatâll be impossible.â
You donât budge, eyes purposely wide as saucers, hoping your pleading's visible enough to coerce his sleep-deprived brain cells to work on something that wasn't the large Bat-Computer, illuminating a spotlight on his eye-bags.
He sighs. âFine. It shouldnât be that hard to think of.â
âI guess..â He mutters distractedly, multitasking your strange request and his work and an indulgent sip of his over-steeped tea. âHe hates clumsiness? One time, Dick knocked over his printed Bat-Cow mug and even though he caught it immediately, you shouldâve seen the look on Damianâs face.â
Not off to an amazing start. You don't dare recall the amount of times heâs caught you from face-planting in your shared apartmentâor the number of plates youâve broken when they slipped from your hands while washing them.
âRight. Clumsiness.â Your laugh comes out forced. âAnything else?â
âHoarders.â He mutters through another sip, even as his nose scrunches at the bitterness. âI keep a bunch of files in the Bat-Cave, because forbid a man for wanting physical archives in case the Bat-Computerâs compromised. He snapped at me on the amount of useless cases I had collecting dust in the corner.â
Your heart squeezes traitorously, already aligning yourself with the trait before you could even deny the semblance. You didnât expect him to accurately describe someone like.. you?
Your collection of junk is still stored inside a designated cardboard box, keeping letters heâs given you throughout your relationship, receipts from closed-down restaurants, or even the bed that's littered with your worn plushies. You rarely threw away anything as long as it held a small amount of sentimental value.
âUh-huh.â You mutter distractedlyâthinking back on your shared apartment and the amount of drawers you took up.
âI supposeâpeople who canât protect themselves?â Tim shrugs apathetically. âHeâs already so strict on his own training regime, I doubt he could possibly understand anyone who doesnât know self-defence.â
You feel like youâre going to pass out. Tim finally stops, looking over to your distressed expression. âOh, I wasnât referring to you.â His mugâs 'Best Detective' claim flashes at you, sipping awkwardly at the realisation that he may have made a huge error with his words. âI just think he naturally has a lower tolerance for anyone that isnât you.â
Tolerance, something that wears out in time. What if Damian was holding in all these things and it could potentially lead to resentment that youâre a combination of all the traits he finds annoying?
âDonât take it to heart.â Tim says, his expression akin to one trying to disarm a bomb. âSeriously, hell will freeze over before that demon spawn ever hates something about you. Youâre likeâhis only exception.â
You nod faintly, mind too preoccupied to truly listen. Your phone buzzes, lighting the lock screen and a notification for one of your packages has arrived. âAh, I better get back! Nice seeing you, Tim. Thanks for the.. information.â
âNo problem?â He answers, sounding unsure. âDonât tell Damian I said anything!â
â
âBeloved?â Damian calls.
You barely hear his voice over the furious typing on your laptop, much less his trained footsteps that you could never detect. You raise your head, casting him an over-enthusiastic smile. âHey, Dami!â
He tugs his coat off, placing it on the coat rackâgaze lingering on your laptop. âWhat are you doing?â
You feel as if youâre caught in the middle of a heinous act. âUmââ Itâs not like youâre doing anything wrong. Maybe he might even be proud that youâre being proactive about improving your self-defence. âIâm signing up for a martial arts class.â
His brows furrow, his expression perplexed. âAll of a sudden?â
âJust thought Iâd try something new.â Your white lie slips out easily. âWith how Gotham is, I realise I should probably learn some moves. Just in case.â
He frowns. âIs there something concerning you regarding safety?â Looking around the apartment, he analyses the astounding upgrades heâs done with a displeased frown. âI was thinking of thickening the windowâs glass to have an increased bullet-proof rebound rate. Or installing motion cameras-â
âNo! No.â You stop him, already detecting the pattern of his mind, unravelling into a never-ending state of over preparation. Youâre sure that even if the Earth splits into two, your apartment would still be standing unscathed with what heâs already done to the structure. âItâs just a hobby, Dami. You did a great job already.â
The last thing you wanted was to add on more burdens for him. Heâs been taking on more cases than usual, back on another silent war with Tim on a silly tally-off, not like either has been keeping a fair count, and him being away for more hours meant that you had timeâthe chance to show him this improved side to you.
He pauses in his fretting, blinking slowly like a feline before beckoning himself over to where you laid, chin tucked to your neck as you hoarded your favorite corner of the sofa.
Brushing your hair aside, he places a soft kiss on your forehead. âAlright. Anything you want.â He obliges. âYouâve already charged it to my card, yes? If you feel anything inadequate about the instructor, cancel it immediately. Iâm more than willing to train you myself.â
From the way heâs looking at you, itâs almost like he wants you to say you prefer his suggestion. You almost do, tempted to let him teach you insteadâbecause a hot trainer who is also your boyfriend sounds like a match-made in heaven, then you remember Timâs words. I doubt he could possibly understand anyone who doesnât know self-defence.
If Damian saw you with his own eyes on how ill-equipped you were to protecting yourself, what if he sees you as even more inadequate? You shake your head, a perfect vision of Damian's disappointment swarming your thoughts. âIâll see how the first class goes. Apparently, itâs super beginner-level so it should be perfect for me.â
He stares at you, and you can feel his mind racing in its analysis before he nods slowly. âAlright. Iâll join you.â
âWhat!â You splutter.
âI have to ensure the instructor is truly capable in teaching you.â He states casually.
âDamian. Youâre probably more knowledgeable than he is.â You deadpan. âItâs going to feel like how advanced calculus was for you. Toddlerâs work.â
His expression doesnât so much as shift, but you spot tension in his shoulders. âHe? Even more reasons to join then.â
Oh god, what did you just unleash?
â
âWelcome to âGotham Martials-Beginnerâs Class'!â
The instructor is in the tightest, most neon-green outfit youâve ever seen and under the intrusive lights, it nearly blinds you with its reflective power. Damian doesnât bother hiding his grimace at the sight.
âDonât be intimidated, folks. I've only held a black belt in Taekwondo for the past fifteen years.â He boasts. âIf thereâs anyone whoâs going to make you Nightwing-material, itâs yours truly!â
The mention of his brother sours Damianâs expression, visible in the tick of his jaw. Sibling rivalry was only ever intensified among him and his brothers. He schools it into perfect nonchalance when you look over at him, trying to contain your laugh.
âNow, whoâs a willing volunteer to come up and let me show them the ropes?â The instructor calls out. âAs I always say, learning from example is better than theory!â
The instructor eagerly scans the room, and his mark makes its target. âWhat about you, lady? You look excited to start your journey in becoming a Martial Arts expert!â
It mustâve been your nearly-dying expression over Damianâs scowl that caught you in the web of his gaze. Your smile drops, feeling nervous with the numerous eyes on you from the other trainees. âWellââ
âThereâs no need.â Damian calls out, his hand brushing against yours in reassurance. âI volunteer.â
âAh! An enthusiastic young man.â The instructor claps. âVery well, come on to the front.â
Damian casts you a grimace, before he strides to the front. It was almost a comical sight with how he towers over the instructor, his arms crossed in disinterest. His gaze flickers over to you, clearly unimpressed.
âAh, the first rule is to never cast your eyes off your opponentââ
It happens in a flash. One moment, the instructor is charging at Damian, and the next, he was on the ground with a loud bang!, with Damian pinning him down.
âAgh!â The instructor chokes out, and a chorus of gasps echoes through the room.
Damian lifts himself off, brushing his hands against his shirt. âYou were saying?â He says dryly.
Your own hand is clasped over your mouth, but unlike the others, youâre trying so hard not to laugh. Damian's clearly terrified the rest in the room, as the circle of trainees distance themselves from the spectacle.
The instructor lifts himself off the ground, gripping onto his lower back for dear life. âHa-haâRight! I was going easy on you. Good example, folks. This is exactly how you pin someone down.â
His eyes avert Damianâs raised brow, sweat pooling at his brows. âNow, letâs resume the class at its usual distance. Iâll be in the center, and all students will be behind the red circle.â He points down at the faded drawn line, suddenly not willing for an up-close demonstration.
The class continues on with a series of stretches followed by beginner poses. You doubt any moves you were taught would actually save you against an actual criminal on the streets, but seeing Damian being forced to do such minimal movement with a disgusted expression made it all worth it.
âI think I gained a six pack just by watching you.â Your core was still burning from the restraining laughter as he inserts the key to the door of your apartment. âNever seen you soârestrained.â
He casts you an unimpressed look. âThe mystery of how this city has so many civilian kidnappings was all answered by that lacklustre session. If thatâs the highest rated âself-defenseâ class in Gotham, itâs no wonder this cityâs crime rate hasnât gone down.â
âIt mustâve been a pain for you." You sympathise as best as you could with an Al Ghul prodigy. "Even if the session had been a hundred times better than Mr. Neon Tights, I doubt it wouldâve been useful compared to your experience.â
His narrowed eyes soften, hand kept extended to hold the door open for you. When you enter, he swiftly closes the door, arm still hovering over you and cornering you in. âThat wasnât my intention.â He says. âIf I had attended for self defence, that wouldâve been highly unproductive. Butââ
His free hand comes up to caress your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his eyes fully. âMy intention was to spend time with you. And seeing you have a good time, regardless of the quality of the session, had always been the goal.â
Your cheeks warm, and heâs doing that weird thing again where he makes you feel special for doing absolutely nothing. âYouâre cheesy.â
âHm.â He hums. âMaybe Iâve been too affected by Mr. Neon Tights.â
You canât help the laugh that slips out, and his smile deepensâhighlighting a soft dimple that you secretly obsess over. Falling into character, you clear your throat. âArenât you aware, Mr. Wayne? Itâs not always about the result, itâs the journey.â
He huffs in amusement. âI wasnât aware of such peculiar words of wisdom. From now on, youâll be training with me. No more of that nonsense, even if it entertains you, beloved.â
âWhat?â You pretend to gasp. âWhatever shall I do without his neon tights to motivate me, Dami? Youâre cruel.â
Leaning in, he murmurs. âI can think of other ways to motivate you.â Hands parting from the door, they wrap comfortably around your waist, gently pushing you back against the wood as he leans in. His lips press softly against yours, and itâs the soft moments of domesticity like this that you wish so desperately to stay longer.
By the time he parts from you, your lungs were screaming for more air than theyâve ever did in that class.
âHowâs that?â He taunts lowly.
âNot bad. I feel pretty motivated to do a push-up right now.â You affirm, a little dazed.
Damianâs rare laugh is heavenly to the ears.
â
Damianâs away on another patrol, and in the midst of his absence, youâre uncovering your hoard of memories that look more kindled to trash now that itâs laid out on the floor. Damianâs letters, still too precious to ever even consider throwing away are stacked in a pile to your left, and your childhood stash is on the right.
You stare seriously at your pre-school drawing, a horrible attempt of drawing the Bat with fangs coming out under his mask. It's abstract, and you're much too biased to throw away a four year old's masterpiece. Maybe you could use it as a birthday card for Bruce?
âBeloved, what are you doing?â
You quickly hide the card, your body covering the junk as Damian enters the bedroom from the window. Heâs covered in soot, but no blood is seen on his suit. Your immediate relief soothes your body, but his gaze set on the mess behind you seizes you to stand.
âDami!â Your voice sounds way too chirpy to be anything but suspicious. âNothing, I was just cleaning out some old stuff.â
âAt 3 A.M.?â He asks incredulously.
âCleaning jitters.â You shrug.
âAlright.â He says slowly. âIâll take a quick bath, then Iâll assist in sorting it out with you.â
âNo, itâs fine!â You quickly interject. âYou must be tired after patrol. Iâll just quickly clean this up. So you can go to sleep, I know you donât like mess.â
His hand lifts to detach his domino mask. Nothing stops his trained eye from sweeping the floor for this supposed âmessâ youâre talking about.
âMy letters?â He asks, surprised.
âOh, I just wanted to store them somewhere safely.â You explain. âIf it hadnât been for the letters, we.. wouldnât be here now. I didnât want dust mites to get to them.â
His lips quirk up faintly, softening at the memory. He looks over to the corner, where Mr. Paddington, one of your remaining childhood plushies was stuffed into a paper bag.
âWhy is Mr. Paddington there?â He interrogates.
You swallow, averting your gaze. It's just a bear. A bear who's been through your ups and downs for the past decade. âI realised heâsâin really bad condition. And I keep hoarding things because of sentimental value, but itâs taking up space over the apartment. Like the bed is 55% my plushies and I donât want you feeling like youâre running out of space because itâs your apartment too.â
He stares long enough that you start to feel it dig into your skull, before he turns fully and stops in front of you, lowering himself to your eye level.
âIs this an indirect method of asking me to expand our living quarters?â He asks, straight to the point as ever. âI can have us a new apartment by the end of the week.â
âNo way.â You say flatly, his words stoking a flame of protectiveness over your shared home.
Itâs an understatement to say you love this apartment. Call it being biased, but it was the first place you and Damian truly created into a home, and the memories stored within the brick walls (another addition you love), is something that will have to be pried, tooth and nail, from your cold hands.
âI justâI want to be more considerate, of the space and my junk. You may need more hanger space for your 10% shade differences in sweaters.â
He doesnât so much as shift at your teasing, a blunt attempt at distraction to his skeptical eye. âWhatever is mine is yours.â He emphasises. âI got us this place because I wanted you to have a comfort space. I want you to use it.â
He bends, taking Mr. Paddington into his arms and patting away some dust thatâs gotten on him. âYouâre right, the stitching in his eyes has come loose. Iâll send it over to Alfred. He has been itching for something to do ever since most of us moved out, and heâs adequate in sewing.â
You donât know why, but Damian being so considerate despite you having full evidence of your hoarding habit splattered over the bedroom floor tugs your heartstrings hard. You canât resist hugging him, even when his suit is dirty. He holds you tight, Mr. Paddington squished between the two of you.
âIs there anything else you want?â He asks gently, his other hand gently rubbing your back. âYou can always ask, beloved.â
You shake your head. âNo, this is perfect.â
He hums. âLeave it be. Weâll sort it out tomorrow, together. Iâll run a quick bath, so why donât you put Mr. Paddington back on the bed where he belongs, and Iâll accompany you to sleep as soon as Iâm done?â
Heâs perfect. Itâs almost terrifying how easy it is to lean into his arms and accept his help. You should take care of your mess, not give him another task to do when heâs already tired from patrol. Still, when he places a soft kiss over your forehead, you find it hard to disagree tonight.
When he sinks into the bed, the faint smell of his body wash envelopes your senses. His weight tips you towards him, but even gravity isnât as quick as your boyfriendâs instincts, pulling you into his arms till his frame shields yours. His chest moves in synchronicity with your breathing against your back, and the thought hits again that you don't deserve him.
Somehow, against all odds of your bad luck where heâs discovered your flaws two times in a row now when you're only trying to improve them, the softness in his gaze has never shifted, annoyance never once making its way into his expression.
Was Tim really right? That Damianâs intolerance for the flaws he listed out fades when it comes to you? You want to ask, but hearing Damianâs slowed breathing, meaning heâs fallen asleepâyou think not all hope is lost yet. Thereâs still one more flaw you could work on, to make his life a little easier for all the times heâs loved you despite your flaws.
â
If youâre not going to get better at self-defence or the habit to hoard, at least youâll master tackling your clumsiness. Youâve managed in avoiding plate arson for the past week, and call it over-confidence, but when you spot the clockâs hand frozen over the kitchen, you think itâs finally time you get over your fear of ladders.
âBeloved? What are you doing?â Damian calls out, a hint of distress in his voice when he spots you, on the second highest level of the ladder, hands fumbling with the clock.
âTaking out the clock.â You answer, distracted with the hook thatâs stuck onto the nail. âIts battery needs changing.â
âI can do it.â He offers, his hands coming up to stabilise the ladder. âYou need not concern yourself with small matters like these.â
âYeah, but I want to.â You answer, finally unlatching the clock. âGot it!â
When you feel your balance tilt, you realise your miscalculation. With both your hands on the clock, youâre no longer holding the wall, and your feet stumble as your back arches backward. You yelp, falling backwardsâright into Damianâs arms.
The clock is still in your hands, covering your face halfway to hide your shame as Damian stares at you, and you see the waver of relief, worry, and amusement playing out in the flickers of his gaze.
âThatâs so embarrassing.â You mutter to yourself, still using the clock to shield your face from his prying eyes. âLet me down. Ohâcan we please pretend that never happened?â
He doesnât respond, hands still firmly wrapped around your torso, leaving your feet dangling in the air as he pins you under his gaze. âNo, I think I quite favour this position.â
âDonât tease, Damian.â Calling him by his full name doesnât do the trick. If anything, it makes his smugness triple in size. âI seriously thought I accomplished getting over my fear of ladders. Now itâs hyper-intensified and my fears have turned to actual trauma.â
He snorts softly, carrying you over to the sofa and settling down. You lay there in his arms, which is admittingly, very comfortable, making it difficult for you to climb out of his hold. Not like heâd let you, the only time his arms wasnât wrapped around you was when he took one hand to tear the clock out of his hands, settling it at the coffee table.
âWhat is bothering you?â He finally asks.
You freeze. âWhat do you mean?â
âFirst, the training classes, then Mr. Paddington, and now, the clock?â He lists out. Damn him and how observing he was. âSomethingâs bothering you.â
You hesitate. Itâs irrational, but what if you list out the traits he hates, and he realises that youâre really all the things he despises? Your mind knows Damian loves you, but at moments, your heart wonders why.
âWell..â You swallow. âPromise not to get mad?â
âI could never be mad at you.â He answers immediately.
You donât even know where to start. âYou always take care of me. And you rarely complain. So I was starting to wonder if there was anything I did that could.. piss you off that you never mentioned.â
His brows pinch together. âWas there anything I did to make you reach that assumption? I know my communication of my feelings still needs.." He grimaces as he manages the word out. "Improvement. If I ever made you feel at unease, it was never my intention. Iâve never felt that way about you. Ever.â
âNoâno.â Itâs a relief to hear him say that, but itâs much harder to sound convincing when heâs looking down at you with his unbridled concern, his gaze softer than youâve ever seen. âI just didnât want to accidentally do something in habit that irritates you when youâve been nothing but good to me.â
Averting eye contact, you focus on the jammed hands of the clock. âI asked for a list about what you hated andâit felt as if each description pierced right through me, so I panicked and over-compromised.â
His gaze sharpens. âWhat list?â
âUmââ You discreetly feel Timâs lifespan shortening. âJust a couple of things. Hearing them made me realise that I could be a burden to you because of all the annoying things you have to deal withâso I tried to improve them. I donât want you feeling like you have to take care of me because Iâm not good in doing it.â
He shakes his head, mouth pursed and ready to argue but not quick enough to avoid the finger you place on his lips. âItâs not that I donât want you taking care of me, because I love that you do. I appreciate it so, so much that Iâm scared that Iâm relying too much on you.â You admit, feeling a lump growing in your throat. âAnd Iâm scared that taking care of me gets tiring.â
He gently caresses your wrist, pulling it aside so he can speak. âI want to take care of you.â He reassures you.
âBut you hate clumsy people.â You croak out.
âI love your clumsiness.â He answers in a factual tone. "It's easier to get you into my arms."
âAnd you hate people who hoard.â
âI hoard things you gift me.â He bites back. âItâd be hypocritical of me to judge you for that when I partake in the same habit."
âYouââ Somehow, his easy way of dissuading your worries is working, and you canât think of much else. âYou hate people who canât protect themselves.â
âThen what is my purpose, beloved?â He asks. âIf not to protect you. If I could not fulfill even that duty, I would condone that hatred on myself. Never you.â
âThen what has this week been for?â You moan. âFelt like a humiliation ritualâLike I was horribly incapable as Damian Wayneâs partner.â
His lips quirk up. "Adorable." He whispers, as if he can't help himself. "You are capable. Of more things than you think.â
âYou understand people better than I do, which is why you tried to be considerate of me by doing this.â He adds. âI appreciate your efforts, beloved, but you donât need to be anything more or change yourself because I cherish you as you are. Youâre already perfect for me.â
Damianâs love has always been shown through his actions, his unwavering patience heâs harnessed just for you, evident by his siblingsâ complaint of unfair treatment. Yet, to hear him say it so directlyâyou can barely think of what to say back without sounding like an emotional mess.
âWhere did you obtain such an unreliable list?â He asks after a moment.
You wince. He stares and stares, akin to a falcon, till it comes out of you. ââŠTim?â
He scowls, gaze hardening with a familiar murderous intent. âIâm going to kill Drake.â
âPlease donât.â You plead. âItâs my fault, really. And if it hadnât been for him, I would still be avoiding this conversation and I wouldnât have gained the guts to say it out loud.â
His lips purse in a thin line, which is his best attempt at consideration. âIâm still not pleased that he indirectly made you feel unworthy when thatâs never been the case. But you are right.â His free hand brushes over your cheek, growing serious. âNext time, if you ever feel this way, tell me first. Iâll listen, always.â
âAnd believe me when I sayâyou could never irritate me.â He declares. âYouâre my gift in this world, and thereâs no other person who brings me peace the way you do. Youâre not meant to exist without flaws, and I love every single one of them. It makes you human, and more precious in my eyes. So donât hide your worries from me. Bear them with me instead, and Iâll reassure you.â
Your eyes feel wet when you blink, your lashes clumping together, and your heart is thumping louder than it should. âOh, man.â You mutter. âYou just made me fall for you all over again. Thatâs not fair.â
His lips twitch into a soft smile, and presses a feather-light kiss over your forehead. âThen youâve been unfair on me too. I suppose I'll have to be more unbearable in my affections to not let such silly worries get to you. I haven't been doing a good job in my duty if you could believe in a list like that."
âAnd for the record.â His gaze softens. âI didnât see anything we did this past week as a burden. I enjoyed spending time with you, at the martial class, and the morning we spent organising your childhood memories, and even nowâbecause thatâs the reason I want to be with you. To be in your life, to be your support, your person.â
Your throat clogs together, and if he wants to succeed in making you a wreck, he's done it well.
âCause..â He murmurs. âYouâre mine. And Iâm yours. Isnât that what we promised?â
âThen, do you also solemnly swear, Damian Wayneââ Lifting up your pinky finger to him, you muster your most serious expression. âThat youâre truly in this even with my flaws, on the good and bad days?â
He links his pinky with yours, wrapping it close to his chest right above his heart. âI solemnly swear.â
Damian always keeps his promises. You could ask him to capture the Sun for you, and he'd somehow find a way to do it before Monday.
âWhat else did that lunatic say?â Damian interrogates.
Your mind scrambles for anything to save your future brother-in-lawâs life. âTim did say I was your only exception.â
He huffs. âI suppose thereâs one thing Drake finally got right.â
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I only think of Damian Wayne, who achieved what none of his brothers had: finding peace.
Renouncing the legacy of Robin, the legacy of the League that had been imposed upon him since birth.
Now he has a normal, quiet life. He's a good doctor; his patients find him pleasant, though he remains strictly professionalâafter all, lives depend on him.
But unlike his mother, who could never escape the shadow of her father, or the Batman who would surely die alone because of the complexities of having a life partner while being a vigilante in a city ruled by criminals, Damian had been able to flee his destiny.
When he returned from the hospital, he arrived at a warm, familiar home.
There was food on the table as his beloved wife approached him with a smile on her lips. He kissed her, and on her lips, he could taste freedom, while the cold of her diamond ring against his cheek sent a shiver down his spine.
As she took his hand and led him to the table where a plate of hot food awaited him, making him feel even more at home, he knew he was the luckiest member of the family, regardless of the fact that he didn't turn out to be what everyone expected him to be.
one thing about you, is that you always wait up for jason to come back from patrol.
you usually try to entertain yourself with a book, or a series, but â more often than not â you end up falling asleep on the couch. no matter how many times jason told you not to, you just wouldn't listen â but deep down he really liked that you were so willing to wait for him.
he liked coming home from patrol and finding you asleep on the couch. he'd take off one of his gloves with his teeth, and would let the tip of his fingers linger over your cheek â he didn't want to taint you, he didn't feel worthy of really touching you, not when his hands were covered in blood ; even if only he could see it. but, this string that link him to you can't let him deny this comfort very long. and, soon enough, he allows himself to gently cup your cheek or push a strand of hair away from your face, gently waking you up before carrying you to bed.
there are times, however, when jason doesn't like you waiting up for him. especially the time when he is wounded.
on those nights, he'd try his best not to wake you, making sure to not walk on the wrong slats, making his way to the bathroom as silently as possible.
unfortunately for him, on those nights, you tended to feel something was wrong, and as he'd turn his head to make sure you were still sleeping, he'd be meet with your disapproving gaze at his antics.
silently, you'd lead him to the bathroom. he'd either sit on the counter or on the edge of the tub â either way, you'd be standing between his legs. the first is better to access any big injury, while the latter is convenient to patch his face up.
on those nights, you'd patch him up silently, working diligently on his face as you had taken care of the most of his other injuries. he wouldn't dare let his hands rest on your hips as he usually would, and would settle with gripping the surface he was sitting on. carefully, he'd try to meet your gaze, "you mad at me ?"
you'd pause in your movements, letting out a sigh, "i just don't like seeing you hurt, jay. 's all. but that doesn't mean i want you to hide it from me."
he'd hum, "and i don't like seeing those lines of worry on your face, baby." he'd say as his finger would hover over your face. you'd tilt your head to the side at that, a slight frown on your face â doesn't he know by now that you can't help it ? that no matter what, no matter how skilled he is at this, you'll always worry ?
he'd gently take your hand in his, and guide it to his mouth. he'd kiss your knuckles, and look at you without pulling away from your hand, "'m sorry, sweetheart. i'm not trying to hide things from you. i just don't want to worry you more, after already putting you through the burden of waiting for me. forgive me ?"
how can he believe he's a burden to you ? and how can you not cave when he looks at you like that ? so lovingly, full of longing.
you'd let a soft smile find its way to your lips â he'd be mesmerised by it â and you'd intertwine your fingers with his. "as long as you keep coming home to me, jay, i'll keep waiting. because i want to. i want to make sure you're coming home, that you're alright, that you'll be sleeping by my side. and i want to wait for you, so that if you're hurt, you won't have to go through that alone. so that i can take care of you, too, for once. just like you do with me."
and at your words, it's jason's turn to smile.
he really is grateful for you, even when he feels like he doesn't deserve it.
And if Jason perceives his death anniversary completely differently from how his family do?
Jason, against the common belief, canonically doesn't talk about his death that much, and when he does, he feels like it is not something people need to dwell on â it is how they view and interpret his death, and the aftermath, that bothers him.
So, maybe on his death anniversary, Jason doesn't want to mourn. He wants to live. So he does. He visits his favourite places in the Gotham, chats with people he had missed, enjoys his day, and breathes, breathes, b r e a t h e s.
But once he steps in the Manor for a minute that day?
It is nothing but a kingdom of the grief.
Bruce is locked up in the Cave, straight in front of the memorial. Dick is not even around, and Jason takes a wild guess that he is visiting his grave in the meanwhile. Alfred maniacally cleans up in the library over and over, ignoring other duties. Even Tim, Tim, who technically has nothing to do with all of that, takes after others (almost instinctively), and acts along with a strange, dreadful atmosphere in the house.
And Jason is irritated, pissed off, but mostly hurt.
He is literally right here.
But once again, it changes absolutely nothing. It never does. Really.
Itâs a few minutes past midnight, the city is quieter than usual. Gotham somehow holding its breath.
Youâre sitting at your windowsill, legs dangling out, hoodie pulled up around you even though itâs not cold. There's a strange ache in your chest: a mixture of growing up, nostalgia, loneliness. You should be celebrating, right? But all you feel is the weight of time, heavy and slow.
And then â thereâs a familiar sound against the fire escape.
A low thunk. The creak of boots on metal. You glance down and there he is.
Jason Todd, standing on your fire escape, looking up at you like youâre the most important thing in the universe. His helmet is off tonight. His hair is a mess, like he drove way too fast to get here. His leather jacket is half-zipped and heâs holding a paper bag â no ribbons, no fancy wrapping, just pure Jason.
"Hey, birthday girl," he says, voice low, warm. His smile is real. Soft at the edges.
You roll your eyes, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself.
"Don't remind me," you mutter, voice half-buried under the weight of turning twenty.
Jason laughs â a real, low laugh that rumbles in his chest â and drops the bag onto your bed.
"Yeah, well," he says, "too bad. You made it another year. Gotta celebrate that.â
To save you from answering, Jason leans forward and holds out the bag smiling, like a kid showing off a treasure. Inside you find:
Your favorite kind of candy (because of course he remembers)â the one thatâs always hard to find but somehow, somehow, he managed to hunt down.
A LEGO set â small, a little chaotic looking, definitely something he'd think would be "fun as hell to build together at 3 a.m."
And a book â worn, dog-eared at the corners. Itâs one you mentioned months ago in a throwaway comment he clearly didnât forget.
"Figured you'd need something for tonight and something for⊠when shit gets heavy," he says, scratching the back of his neck like heâs embarrassed.
You look up at him; the most dangerous man in Gotham, standing awkwardly in your bedroom with gifts like some rogue guardian angel.
Jason shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, giving a small, crooked smile. "And before you ask, yeah, I got the LEGO 'cause I wanted to build it too. No shame."
He flops down next to you, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, he smells like leather and soap and cold air â grounding and safe.
You sit there together in the soft glow of the city lights, surrounded by candy, LEGO pieces, and the quiet promise of a better year ahead.
It's not fireworks.
Itâs not confetti.
Itâs not a perfect, Instagram-worthy celebration.
Jason has a strict no Red Hood talk in the apartment rule unless itâs absolutely necessary. You know when heâs been out rough- he limps a little, his knuckles are raw, but heâll deflect with, âGuy at the bodega tried some shit.â
You donât ask. He doesnât offer. Thatâs the deal.
2. Heâs pierced and quietly punk about it
Yeah, his ears are pierced. Probably has been since he was a teenager trying to look cool in Crime Alley. You caught him wearing your tiny silver studs one morning and when you asked about it, he grunted, âDidnât want the holes to close.â But now? He steals them on purpose. Your favorite heart-shaped pair? Gone. Heâs wearing them on patrol.
3. Jumpy as hell
Youâve learned to call his name gently if his back is to you. Sudden touches get a reaction- nothing violent, but fast. Too fast. His shoulders tense. His eyes flick to every exit like muscle memory. Sometimes he apologizes under his breath like he hates that part of himself. You just squeeze his hand and remind him he's safe here.
4. Lives on black coffee, toast, and junk unless you intervene
Left to his own devices, Jason will literally survive off diner coffee and cold toast- or worse an unholy amount of energy drinks. You started slipping protein bars and cut fruit into his bag like you were packing for a grumpy kid. He acts annoyed. He eats every bite.
5. He smells like leather, gunpowder.... and your shampoo
He started using your shampoo one day âby accidentâ and now he just does it on purpose. You donât even complain because the mix of him and you is better than any perfume.
6. Stole your bracelet and wonât admit it
A dainty chain bracelet you lost months ago? It's looped around the base of one of his pistols now, dangling like a charm. When you spot it and raise an eyebrow, he just shrugs:
âMustâve fallen into my bag.â
âYou expect me to believe-â
âGuess you shouldnât leave your stuff lying around, sweetheart.â
Heâs never giving it back. Thatâs his lucky charm now.
7. Clings in his sleep
Heâd never admit it, but heâs a stage-4 clinger. Arm around your waist, face tucked against your shoulder, legs tangled. If you get up to pee, heâll grumble in his sleep and roll into the warm spot you left behind like a human furnace.
8. Wonât say âI need you,â but he shows it
He fixes your sink at 2 a.m. because it dripped once. He tracks your location âfor safetyâ (but it makes him breathe easier). If youâre late texting back, he spirals internally but never shows it- just casually drops by, âcoincidentally,â to check on you.
He wonât say âI need you.â But he shows it. Every damn day.
9. Sings along to old records while cleaning
You caught him once deep-cleaning his guns while singing quietly to a scratchy vinyl playing old blues rock. You didnât say anything. Just listened. It felt like church.
10. Says âIâm not good at thisâ but is good at this
He thinks heâs bad at love. He thinks heâs bad at being normal. But he kisses your forehead when youâre sick, folds your laundry weird but tries, and reads the same book five times because itâs your favorite.
Heâs good at love. In all the ways that matter.
11. âI love a man in leatherâ ruined him forever
It started as a joke- you said it with a wink, barely teasing. But Jason? He froze. Blinked. Filed it away. And then that night, lying in bed, stared at the ceiling thinking about all the tactical leather he already owned.
The next time he came home from patrol, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, helmet in hand.
â...Do you like it when I wear the jacket?â
You smirked. He blushed. And that was the beginning of the end.
12. He was pretty sure he was vanilla. He was wrong.
Jason always thought he was a âlights off, soft kissesâ kind of guy. And he still is- but now thereâs rope in his bedside drawer, wrist cuffs under the bed, and a vague working knowledge of Shibari. Heâs not saying itâs all your fault.
But it is.
13. He only lets himself explore it with you
Youâre the only one he trusts enough to see that side of him. Heâs not used to feeling safe being vulnerable- even when heâs the one in control. But with you? He can breathe. He can ask. He can learn.
And when you look up at him with love and hunger in your eyes, he doesnât feel like a monster- he feels wanted.
14. He absolutely panicked the first time he said âGood girlâ
It slipped out. He didnât plan it. He just said it in the heat of the moment and you moaned. Hard.
Jasonâs brain blue-screened.
He froze for a solid three seconds and whispered, â...Did you like that?â
You nodded.
He never stopped saying it after that. Still says it like itâs sacred.
15. But outside the bedroom? He's still the shyest little freak about it
You: *teasing him at dinner with a wink*
Jason: *choking on his water and glaring at you like heâs been caught committing crimes*
You: âBaby, you literally tied me up last night.â
Jason: âKeep your voice down!â
16. Leather jacket is now permanently associated with you getting handsy
Itâs your fault. Every time he wears the jacket, you get a look in your eye like youâre about to climb him like a tree.
Now he canât put it on without a smug smirk and the quiet thought: Sheâs gonna pounce.
17. Heâll never go to a sex store in person, but heâs got a burner account online
Jason Todd has a burner account with expedited shipping and privacy wrapping because heâs too much of a shy little freak (to everyones suprise) to risk being seen browsing handcuffs in person.
You caught him once comparing reviews on two different floggers, reading so seriously you'd think it was a medical journal. He blushed hard when you snuck up behind him.
18. Aftercare king
No matter how dark or rough it gets, heâs the most tender man afterward. Holds you close. Kisses your shoulders. Runs you a bath and washes your hair like itâs a ritual.
âDid I go too far?â
âNo, Jay. You were perfect.â
And he just melts, forehead against your shoulder, whispering: âOkay. Good.â
19. Still folds towels wrong. Still starts fake fights about it.
He'll tie you up with perfect knots but can't fold a towel for shit. You don't know how the two coexist. Heâs a contradiction youâre obsessed with.
20. One time he called himself your âbad boyâ and immediately cringed
He was trying to be flirty.
He meant it ironically.
He said, âYou like your bad boy in leather, huh?â and then groaned halfway through it like he regretted every word.
You burst out laughing.
He kissed you to shut you up.
He's 'Bad Boy đ' in your phone now and he hates loves it.
21. He is so dramatic when heâs sick
This man has literally died. Heâs been shot, stabbed, blown up.
But give him a head cold? And he is bedridden. Blanket burrito. Groaning like heâs on his deathbed. Whispering, âTell Alfred⊠I fought bravelyâŠâ before blowing his nose with your nice hand towel.
22. âIâm fine.â - a blatant lie
Heâll cough so hard he bends over double, then straighten up like nothing happened.
âYou need rest-â
âIâm fine.â
âYou sound like a dying engine.â
âIâve had worse.â
Yeah. And? That doesnât mean he should be eating cereal for dinner and refusing to take cold meds.
23. He wonât admit it but heâs needy as hell
He doesnât ask. Not directly. But his head ends up in your lap. He âaccidentallyâ falls asleep curled against your side. He mumbles your name mid-fever dream, eyes fluttering open and searching for you.
You bring him soup, and he blinks at you like youâve just saved his soul.
24. Absolutely pouts if you leave the room too long
Heâll be half-asleep, but the second you get up to do anything- laundry, pee, breathe -heâll grunt, shift dramatically, and mumble,
ââŠThought you left me to die.â
You roll your eyes. âI was gone for two minutes.â
âCouldâve been the end.â
15. Heâs warm. Like a human furnace
Fevers donât just make him sick- they make him clingy and overheat-y. Heâll wrap himself around you like a weighted blanket and then get mad when you complain about sweating.
âIâm literally melting, Jason.â
âIâm dying, but go off I guess.â
26. Gets oddly philosophical when medicated
One dose of NyQuil and heâs pondering the meaning of mortality and if souls really go to heaven.
âYou think if I died again, youâd still love me?â
âJason. Baby. Please take a nap.â
27. Claims he doesnât remember any of it once heâs better
You mention how cute he was? The way he asked for more soup with a soft âpleaseâ and big sleepy eyes?
âI donât recall,â he says.
You show him a video? âDeep fake.â
Catches you giggling? âYouâre making shit up. Iâm a menace. I donât cuddle.â
28. But secretly? He loves how you take care of him
He didnât get this, growing up. No one ever rubbed circles on his back or checked his temperature with a kiss. He doesnât know how to ask for it⊠but god, he soaks it up when you give it anyway.
Itâs healing in more ways than one.
29. When you get sick later? He panics
Oh suddenly heâs a nurse. Full-time. Soup. Blankets. Calls in favors from actual doctors he knows.
âBaby, itâs just a sore throat-â
âNo. No. Iâve seen this before. It starts with a sore throat. Next thing you know, youâre in a Lazarus Pit.â
30. One time he sneezed in his helmet and you never let him live it down
He didnât take it off in time. It echoed. It was tragic.
You laughed so hard you cried.
He glared at you with the most long-suffering expression of his life and muttered,
âThis is why I work alone.â
31. He warns you the first time things get serious
Itâs not the mask thatâs hard to take off. Itâs the shirt.
The first time you're undressing each other, he pauses, hands shaking slightly as he pulls back.
âI should warn you,â he says.
And then quieter:
âItâs bad.â
32. He avoids mirrors when heâs shirtless
Not just because of the usual trauma- but because sometimes he catches his reflection and flinches. The Y-shaped autopsy scar down his chest is brutal. Surgical. Cold.
It reminds him of what he was: a body on a slab. A lost cause.
Not a man. Not a lover. Just evidence.
33. He expects you to look away
Even as he undresses, heâs already bracing for it- for the flicker in your eyes, the pity or horror or discomfort.
He stares at the wall. Waits for the silence. Waits for the shift in the way you breathe.
34. You donât look away. Not even a little.
Your touch is reverent. Your lips follow the trail of old scars like a prayer.
âYouâre beautiful,â you say.
Jasonâs chest stutters, and he doesnât believe you- not really -but he wants to.
God, he wants to.
35. He never turns the lights on during sex. Until you ask him to.
Heâs okay in shadows. Heâs safe in them.
But one night, you whisper, âLet me see you,â and something in him breaks open.
He lets the light touch all the places he hides.
And your hands never flinch.
36. His scars are sensitive
Especially the big ones. Sometimes they itch. Sometimes they burn.
But when your fingers trace them? Itâs grounding. Calming. Makes him feel like maybe he can own this body again.
37. One time, you kissed his chest and he teared up
He didnât mean to. It just happened.
You didnât say anything- just held him while he breathed through it. And that silence? That softness? It meant more than any words could.
38. You bought him a new mirror one day. He stared at it for weeks before using it.
It was taller. Nicer. Framed in soft wood. When he finally stood in front of it with you, he didnât look away.
You stood behind him, arms around his waist, and he whispered,
ââŠI donât hate it as much. When youâre in the picture.â
39. He traces your body the same way now
All the places youâre soft, he worships. All the places youâve ever been insecure- he sees none of it.
âLook at me,â he says.
âIf you can love this,â he gestures to himself, âthen you better let me love you.â
40. You never treat his scars like they make him broken
Because they donât. They make him Jason. And you wouldnât trade a single inch of him- not the roughness, not the past, not the damage.
Because under all of it, is a heart that still dares to love you back.
And that's more beautiful than anything youâve ever seen.
41. Letting it slip about the Waynes
One day, while in the middle of an argument (as one does), Jason just blurted it out.
âOkay, fine, maybe I was adopted by the Waynes!â
You froze.
âWait. Hold upâWHAT?â
âYeah, yeah, Iâm a Wayne. Big surprise, right? Have fun with that one.â
"...BABY, FUCK YOU MEAN YOU'RE RELATED TO BRUCE FUCKING WAYNE?!?"
Jason just stares at you, clearly unprepared for this reaction.
âI-â
âJASON. WHAT. THE. FUCK.â
42. He immediately regrets saying it
As soon as the words leave his mouth, Jason wants to claw them back. Heâs not ready to unpack that- itâs a can of worms heâs been keeping sealed tight.
But then thereâs you, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, looking at him like he just dropped the biggest bombshell.
âShut up, okay? Justâjust donât bring it up ever again.â
But he knows thatâs never going to happen.
43. He insists on not using any of Bruceâs money
The second he found out about the inheritance, Jason made it clear:
âIâll never touch any of that money. Itâs not mine.â
Bruce offered him more than enough, but Jasonâs pride wouldnât let him. Heâd rather suffer on his own than take a single dollar from the man who, in his mind, could never truly be family.
Yet, when you need something- he canât help but slip you a debit card once in a while, eyes narrowing as if daring you to question it.
44. Off-brand snacks and drinks, forever
Youâre sitting at home one night, you reach for some chips, and Jasonâs hand slaps yours away.
âNo. Not those.â
He reaches into the pantry and pulls out a bag of âChipperoni Crunchies,â not the name-brand chips, but the generic stuff. The ones that come in weird, colorful bags with cartoon characters on them.
âThey taste better.â
You give him a skeptical look.
He just shrugs.
âThey do.â
Itâs the same with his drinks. Heâll turn his nose up at anything with a fancy label on it and will only go for store-brand cola that comes in an off-color can.
âYou canât taste the difference,â he insists, as he sips from a glass bottle, wiping the rim like he's a secret connoisseur of trash beverages.
45. He keeps a stash of âguilty pleasuresâ in your kitchen
No one else is allowed to see the true extent of his obsession with cheap snacks. If Alfred found out, he'd be disappointed. So he keeps it secret.
When youâre not looking, heâll stockpile all of his guilty pleasure foods in your kitchen: neon-colored candy, microwave pizza, and prepackaged cupcakes with sprinkles that stick to your teeth in the worst way.
âDonât tell anyone about this,â he mutters, but you both know itâs inevitable.
Heâs just Jason. No amount of money or Wayne prestige can make him stop being Jason.
46. The first time you tease him about it, heâs defensive
You laugh at the ridiculously large bag of "fake Cheetos" heâs just brought over.
âDonât laugh,â he growls. âTheyâre better, okay?â
âReally? The fake version of Cheetos?â
âItâs called being resourceful,â he grumbles, crossing his arms like heâs trying to defend his honor.
Itâs just a bag of chips, but the Wayne pride is stronger than he likes to admit.
47. He will never be caught at a five-star restaurant
Youâve tried. Youâve dragged him to fancy places, tried to get him to âtreat himselfâ to something nice.
Jason? Never steps foot in a place like that unless it's on business- and even then, heâs glaring at the rich patrons like they're the real criminals.
His idea of a perfect date? Fast food, a cheap diner, or just takeout from his favorite hole-in-the-wall pizza place. Thatâs his comfort zone.
48. If you ever bought him something fancy, heâd get weird about it
You got him a really nice leather jacket once- smooth, premium quality, sleek black.
He took one look at it and immediately said, âYou didnât need to get me this, babe. Iâm good with my old stuff.â
But when you werenât looking, he stroked the soft leather and secretly loved it.
The jacket still sat in his closet, perfectly untouched- just waiting for a moment when heâd admit that maybe he deserves nice things. But heâs not there yet. Not really.
49. He low-key loves your "bougie" (normal) snacks, but wonât admit it
You try to introduce him to your more ârefinedâ tastes. Maybe itâs a fancy cheese, or high-end chocolate, or a real coffee drink thatâs not just âinstantâ powder.
At first, Jasonâs all about his junk food. But you catch him secretly swiping the expensive chocolate bar from the fridge.
âI hate these,â he says, but you catch the way his eyes flicker with a guilty pleasure.
âThen why do you keep eating them?â
âShut up.â
50. Heâs proud of his independence
He may hate the whole Wayne legacy, but heâs still proud of how heâs carved his own path. His tastes, his choices- even his snacks -are just another way of proving that heâs not defined by his 'family' name.
And somehow, thatâs the part that makes him feel the most like himself. Not the Red Hood. Not âWayneâs adopted son.â Just Jason Todd.
51. You call him âdaddyâ in front of someone- an accident to be fair
One morning, youâre in a rush to leave for work and casually call out, âBye, daddy!â out of habit before heading out the door. You donât even think twice about it.
But when you shut the door, you turn and see Damian sitting on the couch, looking at you like youâve just committed the most cardinal sin.
Silence fills the room as you realize what you've done.
Jason, meanwhile, is trying not to laugh while Damian stares him down, and there's a whole "You told her to call you that?" conversation that never gets resolved. Damian just gives Jason the side-eye for the next few days.
52. The first time you meet his family- Oh boyâŠ
When Jason finally takes you to meet his family, you almost choke at the sight of that massive, impressive mansion.
Youâd been hearing about them for a while, but nothing could prepare you for the pure opulence of the place.
Jason, trying to play it cool, introduces you to his siblings. But deep down, you can see the unease in his eyes. Heâs hoping his siblings donât completely embarrass him in front of you.
Spoiler: they totally do.
53. Jasonâs siblings stealing you away to tell you embarrassing stories
Once they know youâre there, his siblings (usually the most asshole-ish ones) quickly whisk you away to the kitchen or garden, telling you the most embarrassing Jason Todd fucked up stories.
One talks about the time he tried to sneak out as a kid and got stuck in a tree for an hour. Another shares the story of when he lost a bet to Damian and had to wear pink for a week and he cried.
By the end of it, youâre laughing so hard, you canât tell if Jasonâs going to explode or just sit there trying not to die of embarrassment.
54. Jasonâs family finds out youâve been living together for a year- a whole year?!
At a family dinner, you and Jason casually mention youâre planning on moving apartments soon.
Thatâs when his siblings drop the bombshell.
âWait, youâve been living together for a year and never told us?â
Jason looks at them like heâs been caught in a mildly embarrassing situation. âWhatâs the big deal? Itâs not like I owe you a rundown of my life.â
His family is way too interested now, and Jason tries to play it cool, but you both know itâs one of those awkward moments that will haunt him for years to come.
55. Jasonâs protective side when it comes to his family and you
If his siblings start messing with you too much or saying anything too embarrassing, Jasonâs response is instant.
âKnock it off. You wanna deal with me?â
He doesnât threaten them, but the way he says it? Yeah, they take a step back.
And when itâs just the two of you later, heâs like, âIf they ever make you uncomfortable, I swear, Iâll-â
You reassure him, but you appreciate how seriously he takes your comfort with his family.
56. Jason buys you a ridiculously expensive gift, but itâs low-key, and youâre both uncomfortable
One night, Jason comes home and hands you this insanely expensive necklace with a diamond 'J' charmâway out of your usual price range.
"What's this?" you ask, giving him a confused look.
âJust... because,â he says, scratching his head awkwardly. âI saw it and thought youâd look good wearing it.â
Youâre immediately touched, but you can tell Jasonâs acting a little weird about it. It's one of those moments where he wants to spoil you, but his pride gets in the way.
57. Jason finds it way too easy to spoil you now though
At first, he fought it. He thought, âNah, Iâm not the type to just throw money around.â
But now? Oh, now itâs second nature.
If you even hint at something you want, Jasonâs on it like white on rice.
He knows the moment you mentioned a new phone, youâre gonna find it waiting for you at home. Because Jason was already ahead of the game.
58. His family doesnât understand his quiet obsession with you
At some point, his siblings ask him directly, âSo... when are you gonna admit youâre in love with her?â
Jason almost chokes on his drink. âI donât know what youâre talking about.â
But everyone knows. His family can see how he softens around you, how heâd do anything to make sure youâre comfortable and happy.
And Jasonâs so not used to this, so he just acts all defensive about it, even though his familyâs already figured it out.
59. Jason doesnât actually talk about his family that much
Itâs not that heâs embarrassed. Itâs just that Jason doesnât want you to see him through the lens of his familyâs wealth and drama.
Sometimes he lets little things slip, but mostly, he keeps his family life under wraps.
He doesnât need you to like them. He just wants you to like him, and to him, thatâs what matters most.
60. Jasonâs family low-key approves of you
Despite all the chaos, his family starts to realize that youâre a good match for Jason. You challenge him, make him laugh, and somehow manage to keep him grounded when his ego gets out of hand.
At the end of the day, they know heâs better with you.
That doesnât stop them from occasionally teasing him, of course, but they can see what he sees in you.
61. Jason panics to pick the perfect ring
Jason spends days- days -agonizing over the perfect ring. Itâs not that he doesnât know what youâd like, itâs just that this is a huge decision. He doesnât want to screw it up. So, of course, he recruits his sister for help, who takes you out on a âgirls dayâ to get your nails done and do some shopping. You have no idea why, but Jasonâs silently breathing a sigh of relief the whole time as she helps pick out a ring that heâs sure will make you say yes.
62. Jason cries while talking to his brothers
Jason never thought heâd be talking about marriage to anyone- let alone his brothers. But here he is, pacing back and forth in front of them, confessing that heâs about to propose. And he's... crying. Not because he's weak, but because he's terrified. âIâm actually doing this,â he whispers, shaking his head. âIâm about to propose to the woman I love. Holy shit, Iâm actually doing it.â
His brothers? Theyâre all smiles and a little bit of laughter, making fun of him, but deep down, they know this is a big step for him, and they support him.
63. Jason gets on one knee, and you donât say anything
When he finally proposes, itâs simple. In the park where you had your first date. Jason goes down on one knee, holding the ring out in front of you, but youâre so quiet that for a second, he thinks youâre going to say no. Panic sets in, and then you start sobbing, whispering over and over, âYes, yes, yes.â
Jasonâs heart nearly explodes, and he kisses you right there, the world disappearing around you both.
64. Hes... a dad?
A few months after the proposal, you show him the ultrasound picture, and Jason freezes, his eyes tracing the dates. He counts back, and a realization hits him like a ton of bricks. âOh fuck,â he mutters to himself, panic rising. âThat was the night we-â
It takes him a minute, but heâs almost certain. That was the night you conceived. Itâs terrifying, yet beautiful, but heâs more scared than heâs ever been. He wants to be a dad, but can he actually do it?
65. Jason moves the wedding date up
Jason may not be traditional, but once he found out about the baby, he made a decision. The wedding date was moving up. He wasnât going to have his daughter born to parents who werenât married, and damn it, he wasnât waiting any longer. He wants to make sure that little girl has the kind of family he never had growing up.
66. The wedding is simple but perfect
The wedding is small and simple, just how Jason wanted it. His brothers are both his best men, and they give him so much shit about it, but Jason wouldnât have it any other way. You agree to let his sister be your maid of honor, and though there are a few moments of tension, everything falls perfectly into place. Jason, in his suit, looks at you like youâre the only thing that matters. You both say your vows, and thereâs no turning back now.
67. Jason holds his newborn and sobs
When you give birth to his daughter, he holds her in his arms for the first time, and Jason just breaks. Heâs never been so overwhelmed in his life. Itâs the most beautiful thing heâs ever seen, and when he presses her tiny body against his chest, he cries. Big, ugly, full of love tears. "Iâm gonna protect you with everything Iâve got," he whispers. "I promise."
68. The Wayne family spoils her rotten
Itâs not surprising that Jasonâs daughter gets spoiled by the entire Wayne family. Every time they visit, she gets showered with gifts, new clothes, toys she doesnât even know what to do with. Jason watches it all with a soft smile, knowing how much this little girl is going to be loved and protected. They can spoil her as much as they want, because sheâs his little princess.
69. Jason being the ultimate girl dad
Itâs her fourth birthday, and Jasonâs letting his daughter paint his face with play makeup, sitting there patiently as she dabs the brush all over his face. Itâs the kind of moment that makes Jason feel like the luckiest man alive. Heâs so in love with her. No matter how messy or goofy things get, he wouldnât change a thing. Sheâs his little girl, and heâll cherish every second.
70. Jason Todd has never been happier
As chaotic and sometimes overwhelming as his life has been, nothing compares to this moment. Sitting on the couch with his daughter on his lap, his arms around you, Jason canât help but think that this? This is happiness. The love he never knew he needed has found him, and for the first time in a long time, he feels like everything is right. Heâs a husband, a father, and for the first time in his life...
He feels at home.
And that leather jacket you got him years ago? He's finally wearing it.
jason todd is the kind of boyfriend who not only understands but actively encourages your weird and vaguely cannibalistic tendencies when it comes to him.
whether itâs sucking on his fingers, biting his bicep, or gnawing on his forearm, heâll allow it, because itâs his darling girl who wants a taste of him.
youâre half asleep, sucking on his thumb before pulling it out with a pop of your lips. you groggily murmur, âjayâŠjay bird.â
âyes, baby doll,â heâd say immediately, turning his attention to your form.
âif it didnât hurtcha⊠ând if you let meâŠâ you mumble, voice coated with sleepy thoughts, âiâd cut open your chest cavity and live there. you could keep me in your pocket⊠youâll let me be in your pocket, huh jay?â
âoâcourse i would, sweetheart,â he answers easily, not unnerved at all by the dark turn in your sweet voice, âiâd keep your right next to my heart.â
He has to do a little double take, momentarily forgetting what he was doing in favor of inspecting his hand. Itâs not an accidental loose thread or anything, itâs an intentional alteration to his uniform, meant to be there. And itâs very clearly supposed to be a wedding ring, so he knows exactly how it got there. He just doesnât know when. Oh, hopefully he hasnât been oblivious to your handiwork for long. The thought of you thinking he knew about it and just didnât care was agonizing. He cares, baby! He cares so much you wouldnât believe.
It makes him giddy. Youâve marked him. What an adorable thing to do.
He was planning to get the ring tattooed onto his finger already, so he wouldnât lose the real one out in his dangerous life of fighting crime. But even that would be under his gloves, invisible to anyone on the streets of the city. This, however, announced it loud and clear: sorry, but this vigilante is taken.
When he makes it back from the mission that night, he finds you lounging in your shared bedroom. Youâre too engrossed in whatever youâre doing on your laptop to notice him creeping in yet, so he gets a moment to just admire you. To his delight, he recognizes the fabric that clings to your body as one of his shirts.
You finally realize heâs there, lookinâ like the cat who got the cream,
âHey Babe, was it a good night?â
âYou want to marry me~â he croons.
âWe are literally engaged,â you shake your head in fake-exasperation.
âI found your little gift,â he gives you the clue to why heâs got hearts in his eyes.
âOh,â your smile gets bigger, âthat.. I take it you like it?â
He takes your head in his hands, thumbs gently brushing the tops of your cheeks, âitâs perfect,â
He presses a cute little kiss onto your nose. He laughs as you open your eyes and whine about having expected a real kiss. Well, heâll just have to give you one of those too, then⊠or maybe a fewâŠ
you figure this out early onâwhen you hand him a coffee and he looks at it like youâve handed him a live grenade and heâs waiting for the pin to pop.
âwhatâs this?â flat. suspicious. as if you might say cyanide.
âcoffee,â you say, amused. âyou looked tired.â
he stares at it. then at you. like heâs waiting for the punchline. when nothing happens, he takes it. mumbles something about how he guesses he could use it.
but then you noticeâhow he drinks it slow, like heâs trying to make it last. how he doesnât put it down, fingers curling tightly around the cup. so you make it a habit. little things. his favourite snacks, an extra pair of gloves when itâs cold, a first-aid kit that you swear isnât for him specifically (even though you both know it is).
he grumbles every time. rolls his eyes. tells you he doesnât need you to fuss.
but he never refuses.
and when he thinks you arenât looking, he smiles.
category: lots of fluff, angst, he fell first she fell harder kinda trope, sfw, thinking of making this a slow burn but we'll see.
content warning: afab, mention of death (reader's mother), violence here and there, mention of blood, inaccurate medical talk, not proofread
summary: reader's just a normal citizen of Gotham, scrambling to making ends meet. after a fateful encounter, when he saw the reader kick ass and save a life- he can't get them off his mind. and fate just keeps pulling them together forcing him to do something about it.
a/n: i finally got the time to finish this, once exams are over I'll make the necessary edits. enjoy :)
wc: 5.3k
fic masterlist. previous. next
dividers by @cafekitsune
"that is not a wound."
"its a cut."
"not deep enough to come to me!"
"i thought you said we were friendsâ is that how you treat your friends hm?" red mused, though his modulated voice is supposed to be monotonous and blank, you've learned to really listen. and you could hear the amusement rolling off of him just like the easy sarcasm that trickles from his tongue.
its been more than a month since red hood came stumbling down your balcony, literally, and from then he's been coming too often. well too often for someone like him. you had thought that would have been the end of your interactions with the infamous vigilanteâ but life has a need to always prove you wrong.
sometimes he comes twice a week, sometimes he doesn't come a whole weekâ it was never steady. he came whenever he felt like it. about now you're certain that instead of 'help' , that he could basically get from his other vigilante... colleagues, he simply uses his injuries as an excuse. sometimes his wounds aren't even that bad! just a scratch or a graze, something he could so easily fix himself.
but, in the past days you've gotten to know him, he'd rather die than admit he enjoys your company.
"now you wanna admit we're friends huh?" you scoffed as your rolled your eyes and grumbled under your breath as you walked to the bathroom to get the kit. you were in a particularly ruined mood since you were just about to head to sleep when he rudely and loudly jumped into your apartment through your balcony.
he's more relaxed on your couch now, one arm on the arm rest while the other rested on the back of the couch, his legs spread. you paused infront of him then scoffed before glaring, kicking his feet lightly.
"is a wounded man supposed to sit that relaxed? at least pretend it hurts." you sit beside him and wait with an impatient frown as he rolls off his jacket. the cut is on his bicep, which he deliberately flexes when you look at the cut.
"it doesn't hurt, i have a good tolerance for pain, sunshine." he utters the pet name mockingly and your glare deepens, "it just needs medical attention. you're the one who always says to 'take care'."
you're almost baffled at how teasing and sarcastic he's gotten, he was guarded in the beginning, still sarcastic but more short and reserved. though you'll admit, it feels nice that he feels comfortable enough around you now.
the same goes for you too, you were cautious around him. mindful of your words and tone, barely commenting on the daily shit that goes in gotham, scared that you'd somehow offend the vigilante with a wrong opinion.
now you glared outright, you scolded moreâ but you even smiled more, treated him normal enough... like an old friend. it felt refreshing, this sense of normalcy with you. maybe because you weren't a vigilante which most people were in his life, or maybe because you were still untainted from the worst horrors of gothamâ he doesn't know. all he knows is that he intends to hide this little something he's found, he cannot leave it he knows, far too selfish for that. so he'll keep you hidden from the people from his world, keep you safe from the claws of the crimes.
"right." you rolled your eyes before cleaning the wound, being more firmer than you should and he simply smiles under the helmet. his lack of response, not even a flinch irriates you further so you dress the wound tight, trying to be aggressive.
"you do know its morally wrong to torment a patient." he murmured and you gave him a pointed look, acting like you're done with him. "it is about to be 3 in the morning red. i have work." you remind him, hoping he catches the hint to not irk you further.
"you never told me about your job. what do you do?" he skirts right past your thinly veiled threat and you sigh before tucking in his bandage properly.
"neither have you." you said pointedly before sighing, "animations. its an entry level position right now. but i also do personal projects on the side." you reply still as you clean up, moving around the apartment.
he leans ahead, intrigued to get to know more about you finally, "and you like it? your job i mean."
"well... its hectic yeah, sometimes too much to make me wonder if its all worth it." you shrug as you head to the kitchen and opened your fridge, "but i think everyone with a job thinks that at one point. so its normal. animation is something i loved so it evens out the frustration of work."
you put the tub of ice cream on the counter before fetching a spoon. as he watches from the couch he realises he never steps in your apartment further than the living room, only till the couch and then out. at first he was... simply keeping distance, the rational self in him telling him to keep himself as untangled as possible.
but now he wants to delve deep, to see your life, to see when you're happyâ or sad, what you do when you have nothing better to do. its a curiosity he convinces himself, just that.
and even though he knows it dangerous to keep crossing the boundaries he set for himself, he can't help but say why not just this once? blind leap of faith, something that has always disappointed him, something he never does yet he still wants to try.
he gets up and walks in your kitchen and you gulp down the ice cream quickly before waving your hands to stop him and he immediately freezes, wondering if he made a mistake.
"red! your boots!" you pointed out with a grimace, that were caked with dust and mud, "i didn't say anything about them before because you're always hurt and in a hurryâ but not in the kitchen please." you plead as politely as possible, you hoped you didn't come off as too nitpicky or high maintenance but you just can't stand shoes in your apartment.
for a minute he just stares, and you try to discern what he's feeling from those slits in his helmet. then he barks out a laugh, leaning a hand against the wall and doubling over.
"shitâ my bad." he does not sound apologetic at all though, and your brows furrow as you fail to see how its so funny, "what?"
"nothing. you justâ" he paused as he stifles another laugh, taking off his boots carefully before walking to the balcony and keeping them there. he walked back in the kitchen and leaned against the counter beside you, "i wouldn't have been offended even if you said that when i first came here."
he saw how bothered you looked to see him walking with his dirty boots in your apartment, like literally appalled and he just wonders how had you kept in that request for so long?
"it felt a bit wrong to ask a bleeding man to take off his shoes first." you shrugged before digging in the tub, licking the ice cream right off the spoon and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to not follow that action.
"if you don't mind me asking-" you began as you paused, pushing a stool towards him before sitting on one yourself, "you might. since this might be encroaching all that secret vigilante thing." you said hesitantly, giving him an unsure smile before looking away as you carefully worded the question.
"so do you know all the vigilantes? like personally?" you questioned and he released a breath because he honestly thought you'd ask about his identity and he'd have to leave, "like i do see the news time to time, hear things but you're the source so....?"
you looked genuinly curious, no ill intent. just someone who's curious about his life like that of a friend's.
he shuffled on his seat, clearing his throat and you feared you asked wrong, "its not necessary to answer of course."
"i know." he reassured quietly before shrugging, "yeah i do. our interests, kicking gotham's criminal's ass and keeping citizen safe aligns so yes i do know them." he explains as vaguely as possible, carefully wording it and you know it.
"so who's better?" you ask and he blinks.
"what? in who?"
"you and nightwing."
now he's the one who's appalled. the simple question makes him spiral to a whole world of overthinking. his ego might not be able to handle the unfavorable answer.
"whaâ the hell is that question?" he scoffed and you shrugged, taking another spoon of ice cream, unbothered. "of course im better!"
"are you sure?"
he knows he doesn't need to take off the mask to get the glare through, you know he's glaring by the way you cheekily laugh, "geez what a fragile ego."
"what, you his fangirl or something?" he scowls and you heartily laugh at that, shaking your head.
"im no vigilante's fan, red. but you can't blame me for wondering you know?" you teasingly nudged his leg with your foot, "alright another question."
"since when did this become a one sided 20 questions?" he grumbled as he folded his arms, wishing for once he did not have the helmet on so he could actually glare at that innocently charming face.
"since you decided to be a little wuss." you cheekily retorted before leaning in towards him, taking the sleeve of your tshirt in your fingers, you rubbed the grime off his helmet. you don't know why but you liked to see it spotless.
while you went back to being unbothered, eating your ice cream like a fucking brat, his heart damn near exploded. did you just do that? it felt more on his skin than it was on the metallic helmet. he forgot to even breathe for a second, still processingâ and then getting mildly irritated at the fact that somewhere in his heart he yearns for you to do it again. its stupid, he tells himself, someone he's known for a just a monthâ someone innocent.
again, painting himself as the darkness that would snuff out the light in you.
"don't do that." he said, sharper than intended, letting his own overthinking get him. you freeze, your hand suspended in air before you awkwardly yet quickly drop the spoon in the almost empty bucket and tuck your hair behind your ear.
"ah my bad."you said, and suddenly it was harder to smile. and he realised he did it again, pushed someone away again. its for the better he tells himself, this would have happened anyway.
"im sorryâ"
"its fine." he cuts you off before getting up, "i should probably leaveâ city doesn't save itself now does it?"
you were a bit stunned, he hadn't acted like this yet in the times he's visited. it was unnerving to not know how to act, how to tackle this side of him because you didn't quite like the distance that suddenly found its way between you both. you know he is a vigilante, has enemiesâ tons of 'em, and there's always a good chance that prolonged association with him could get you wind up in all that. it could get messy, it could get dangerous. you wanted nothing to do with danger. you just wanted to lead a simple life which was already too much to ask from gotham.
"take care." and yet you called out behind him, even though he already disappeared. the idea that you somehow offended this new friend of yours, someone you had steadily grown to likeâ didn't sit quite well with you. you suppose he doesn't like to be touched, of course. that was a bit creepy maybe.
you sighed as you went back to kitchen, putting away everything. you push red to the back of your mind, convincing yourself with that shitty saying thatâ everything happens for the best.
its a pitiful attempt at consolation, but life moves on.
you sigh as you open the door to your apartment, taking off your heels before walking in. blind dates really don't work for you anymore, not that it ever did actually. you never click with the other person, and somehow they always turn out to be somewhat of an asshole.
today was yet another failed date, boring one. the man chipped away at your braincells one by one as he literally chattered away about his 'big shot position at that big shot firm'â you don't know what it was, you stopped paying attention twenty minutes in.
sometimes you blame yourself, that maybe your standards are too high, you're being the one who's too reserved or shallowâ but then your father's voice rings in your ears, 'never ever in your life settle for someone who doesn't make you feel seen and heard from day one.' your parents really had set the bar high for you.
you went into your room and threw your purse on the bed before taking off your coat, it drizzled a bit. your hair's a bit damp but somehow it makes you look more pretty.
sigh, all that effort down the drain.
oh wait! you remembered you were supposed to call your friend, fill her in about about this disaster. you quickly dialed her number in, tapping your foot as you waited, your eyes mindlessly checking your nails.
"it didn't go well did it?" she groaned lightly into the phone and you huffed out a smile, she was so quick to catch on. not that it was hard to, you ended the date pretty quickly.
"yeah.. im sorry but god he was justâ not it." you explained with a scrunch of your nose as you press the phone in between your ear and shoulder while taking off your bracelet.
"there's nothing to apologise for, if he ain't it, he ain't it. there's always more to choose from. endless fishes, pretty." she tries to weasel a joke and your lips quirk up fondly, of course she's trying to make her feel better.
"im not sad so you can drop it. he wasn't an eye candy either that I'd feel bad."
"he was loaded."
"i'd be too one day." you retort with a chuckle pretending to be offended when she snorts. you get to your earrings, unclasping one and you gather it in your hand, about to keep it on your vanityâ
CRASH!
you jolted, almost dropping your earring and unfortunately dropping your phone too. you cursed loudly, that phone is really gonna die on you at this point.
suddenly two sharp knocks rattled through your house, and they sounded less woody. they came from the balcony you realised. you hurriedly pick up your phone before running to your living room.
that sounded hurried. he never even knocks! but why was he literally banging on the glass?! its not even past midnightâ
"hey are you okay?!"
"uh- iâ yeah imâ"
your breath catches in your throat as you stop dead in your tracks to see the glass sliding doors of your balcony with a bloody handprint, really selling the horror element right now. red hood was knelt down and you could see how hard he was heavingâ his body was literally shaking with each breath he took.
your voice closed up in your throat for a second, all the air vanishing into the black hole that suddenly appeared in your lungs.
blood. blood. blood. bloodâ
you blink your eyes to tear yourself out of it, taking an inaudible deep breath. small wounds and trickle of blood do not unsettle you, not anymore. but anything beyond a cut, beyond mere drops of bloodâ it brings back the broken little girl in you.
"iâ i'll call back yeah?" you hurriedly whispered before hanging up your phone, throwing it on the couch before rushing to slide open the door.
"red? redâ fuck are youâ" you bite your tongue as you physicslly stop the stupid question from getting blurted out as you knelt down, your hands immediately on his shoulder as you tilted your head down.
christâ even his helmet has a fucking crack.
"red? red say something please." all you got was his haggered breathing and a lousy gesture to the couch, you heard him mumble something but it sounded more like a grunt.
you pull back and your gaze scrutinize him, well as best as it can in the minimum light provided. he is bruised black and blue, you don't see it over all that armour and jacket, which by the way, is ripped, he is also losing blood. way too much.
blood. blood. blood. bloodâ
"alright no pressure at all." you whispered, voice tight with anxiety as you hawl him up on his feet, his arm over your shoulder while your hand held his waist.
"ughâ easy!" he scolded in his haggard voice and both of you almost stumble due to his overpowering weight on you.
"im trying!" you hiss back, taking a deep breath as you drag him inside. you were gentler, but really the situation had you freaked out, you were almost blanked out and mostly working on autopilot. "don't you die in my apartment. i can't handle the fucking gcpd and batman on my ass." that was your attempt at some humour. to lessen the burden of your anxiety or his, you weren't really sure at the moment.
he had noticed your attire, even in the moment of haze and fatigue, he noticed the singular earring hanging from your ear, dressed up with make up on rather than the oversized he's used to see. it doesn't take a genius to guess it was for a date. maybe that put him in an even more foul mood.
but then he realises the time, its early to be back home from a dinner date. he visits at ungodly hours but today, due to unsavory altercation, he had to turn up so early and unexpected. so he summarizes, all on his own, the date didn't go quite well.
and despite the pain he is in, it puts a fucking smirk on his face. he even leans more on you, he knows he would need to unpack whatever he's feeling, but thats a tomorrow problem.
you slowly put him down on the sofa and stagger back, panting heavily as you put a hand on your hip. that took out a lot of energy from you and you realised just how inactive you are, which is concerning considering you're a citizen of Gotham. you need to be prepared to run for the hills at the slightest hint for danger.
hearing him cough snaps you out of your reverie and you immediately get about your apartment, closing the draps, turning on the light before dashing to the bathroom. you really, really hope its not something out of your limited experience. you don't even care that he ghosted you for two weeksâ you just want him alive, probably intact. you honestly do not have the stomachâ or the mental state for something bloodier than a graze right now.
but surprise, surpriseâ its a wound on the shoulder. stab or bulletâ you don't wanna know.
"jesus fucking christ red.." you whisper, your skin going a little pale and green as you look at his blood seeping under his hand that he has kept pressed on the wound. "is thatâ oh shitâ"
"yes it is. now come here with that." he sounded more firm and annoyed than he ever did in the frequent interactions you've had with him, and that is understandable. he sounds like he's on his last breath with all the panting and huffing.
"right. sorry." you immediately walk and stand beside him, running your mind through whatever red told you about it. luckily, red had filled you in about different wounds, since you were currently playing nurse. he had mentioned shoulder wounds, hurts like hell and bleeds a lot but it can be patched rather easily, his words.
he lays himself down and you drag the coffee table closer to sit on it, your hands rummaging through the kit which had expanded. you may have had restocked and bought moreâ obviously for this certain vigilante.
"okay so uhâ clean?" you repeat the steps to yourself as you watch him remove the small cloth from his shoulderâ you almost puke from how messy it looks. its one thing taking care of cuts and bruises and its another thing to take a damn bullet out of a bleeding, ugly wound. "then remove theâ" your brows raise as realisation dawns on you.
for fucks sake you can't fucking take the bullet outâ
"you can. you can." he was facing you, and somehow you could feel the resolute stare through the helmet, "i know it'll be hardâ but you canâ" seeing him wince makes you gulp down whatever doubts you have down to your gut. let it worsen.
you let the adrenaline take over, push the tremors away that threaten to wreck your body. hide. hide. hide.
"if i kill you accidentally don't you fucking dare haunt me." you murmur to yourself as you look for a pair of tweezers, the jab makes him crack a laugh enough to hurt and he instantly winces again.
you clean the blood off first before grabbing the tweezers, taking your sweet time to drag it outâ but then he grabs your wrist and pulls it slowly towards his shoulder. "eyes on here. focus, you can do it sweetheart." he murmured, and for a second he even sounded okay. you almost believed this all to be a facade.
"oh godâ" you grimace as your fingers shook around the tweezers, you wished he went to some legal doctor who had actual forceps and all those medical instruments, instead of tweezers, but vigilantes are nuts. you have come to understand and accept that. "i will kill you if you die i swearâ im so mad at youâ" your quivering grumbles simply amuse him more, knowing its a way to distract you enough to dig in and take the bullet out.
and you did, after all the gagging and hurling a myriad of insults at himâ you finally did. you slouched back as if you were the one that endured that pain.
"sweets you still need to stich, ya' know."
"no im not doing that." you snap as you sit up again, "i dont even know how toâ do you honestly want to die??" you gape at him in utter exasperation, wanting to smash the remaining of his helmet.
"honestly? it sounds better than hearing all that noise from your mouth." he retorts with a scoff and you scoff back at his audacity, "i fucking helped youâ and that's how it is huh? when the hell are you going to get proper care from someone who knows their shit?" you scold, your eyes momentarily shifting to the open wound.
seriously what the hell are you doing with your life?
"for that I'd need to go to someone i trust wouldn't yap away about me to my enemies or worse, tattle to the media 'bout me." he stated as he tried to shift, probably uncomfortable in the small couch where his legs fell off the other side. "and you haven't yet done that. so, you're the better choice here."
your lips simply pull into an annoyed frown, looking him up and down with clear exasperation. "should have left the damn bullet in..." you muttered to yourself, annoyed at the fact that his words got to you again. he may sound rational and logical right now as he wants to, you know the underlying meaning. he has come to trust you a bitâ and his emotionally constipated self wouldn't accept that.
the stitching was done.
you looked far more exhausted than the poor guy who had to help you navigate through the steps and endure the pain.
you leaned forward with your arms resting on your knees, head dipped forward as you tried to calm yourself down. you've never been good at processing things, your mind has a habit of shoving everything in a box and let it rot in the depths of your mind.
"you okay?" he asked quietly, poking your arm with his gloved finger to get your attention and you blinked before nodding. "yeah. yeah of course."
you took a deep breath as you began gathering everything, while he simply stared at you. he knew for a normal person, seeing bloodâ a lot of it, can be overwhelming. he lets the guilt wash over him, lets his mind question his heart.
was he ruining you in his selfishness to see you? how long would you tolerate it till you break? how long till you kick him out of your life?
"red?"
"hm?"
"you'll pay for my new couch right?" though you weren't looking, he could see the tug in your lips that you were trying to hide. and just like that, he let himself be selfish.
"why do i have a feeling you'll buy one of those ugly couches that cost a fortune?"
"great idea, red." you smirked dryly and he scoffed, his eyes travelling down that red dress of yours and he poked the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing as he debated whether to thrust himself in your personal life or not.
the glint of the earring caught his eye, like a glare straight to his heart.
fuck it.
"so how was the date?" cool, calm, nonchalant.
your brows furrowed for a moment and that was when you registered the weight on your ear, and looked down at yourself with a soft huff, "right. nothing escapes your eye, detective, even when you're dying." you take a tissue and cover your hands with it before taking off the earring.
"it isn't late yet. so i guess it was some boring prick hm?" he teased smugly and you raised a brow at him, turning your body slightly.
"maybe i just like to stay safe and return home before gotham's street turns rabid. it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my date."
"but it is."
"it wasn't."
"that so?"
the illuminated slits of his helmet stared at you, and you could feel the amusement and challenge oozing off of him. you maintained the stare, but something about his confidence made your skin tingle and warm.
"kay fine! he was just like any other arrogant corporate asshole." you relented as you broke the stare, brows furrowing as you got up, his lips pulling into a triumphant, cheshire smile. again, this was something to be unpacked tomorrow.
"why'd you even go?" you rounded the table as you threw the bloodied cottons and clothes, walking to the bathroom and turned the tap on to scrub your hands clean. you angled your face away so he doesn't see the momentary quiver of your lips at the sight of blood pooling in the basin as water sloughed it off.
"why does anyone go on dates, red?" you quipped with a sigh, "besides it was a blind date. i was just trying my luck." you unknowingly dug your nails too hard while scratching the blood away, "which, like always, sucks."
you wrung your hands dry before patting it dry on the towel, clenching your hands under the cloth to calm the tremors. you cannot possibly let him see that, you won't. your weakness is your own secret, like his identity is his, and the mere possibility that someone knows even a peek about it... it rattles you deeply.
you maintain the facade. thats all you've ever done.
but in a way, him and you were alike, and he recognised the eyes that didn't seem as bright, the subtle signs of putting up a front. he noticed it, the signs transparent to him.
"do you do this?" you questioned, diverting the attention back to him, which he noticed but let it slide. "dates i mean."
"sure." he shrugged, "i mean i do have all the time in the world to prance around gotham with a beauty in my arms." he added, his tone turning sarcastic and you rolled your eyes, the corner of your lips twitching up.
"come on don't be shy. you must have dated a ton of people in your circle. superheroes and vigilantes." you tacked with a grin as you walked in the kitchen, rummaging around cabinets and fridge. you let out an exaggerated dreamy sigh, "i wish i could date them. just once. way better than those asshole i get."
his gaze narrowed while his lips pulled into a thin line. them? who's them? he is one of them too. you could date him too, he thought quite pettily before freezing up. where the fuck is his mind going?
"what the hell are you even doing there?" he called out, he couldn't hide the irate in his voice but you brushed it off. "to feed your dying ass. you might be built like a truck but even you would need something in you after all that blood."
he couldn't see much except your back and hear the sound of knife cutting against the board. he knows he shouldn't, but he can't help his eyes lingering on your back, how the dress fits your body.
"a sandwich will work right?"
"mhm."
to add fuel, the domesticity of this sudden situation has him by the throat. his mind lost, voiceless in his daydream and admiration. he may be a tough guy with walls no one could ever break, even land a scratchâ but deep in the pitt lays his heart that is soft and craving. he may never tell a soul, but the thoughts of loving and being loved, no matter how far fetched it sounds, it always tugged at his soul. the idea of sharing a life, the idea of simply caring, of givingâ he has a soft spot for the niceties of life that he knows he doesn't deserve.
"red?" you're holding the sandwich infront of him and he snaps out of his haze, looking at the plate on the table and then at you. he simply looked back and forth, and you sighed at the point he was getting at.
"i'll be in my room so you can have the privacy to eat." you murmured before putting down a glass of water with a pair of wet wipes and walking away to your room, closing the door.
for a moment he simply stared at the plate, not sure if he should eat it. things are getting too familiar between them, too easyâ too nice. and he has a bad habit of getting attached. he has an even worse habit of getting his heart broken.
he looks back at your door, the quiet shuffling audible to his ears.
but reasons unknown to him, he takes off his helmet.
he doesn't let his lips smile, doesn't let his eyes soften. doesn't let his heart get smothered when he bites into the sandwich. doesn't let his eyes linger on the silver earring. doesn't let his eyes imagine how you'd have looked with both of them on, all pretty and mesmerizing.
he doesn't.
by the time you walk out, he's gone.
the following night comes and you don't wait for him.
morning comes and your eyes are barely working, but your sight isn't that blurry to not see the small red box on your coffee table. you paused and froze, hands slowly taking it and pulling the satin ribbon off.
a pair of dark ruby earrings stared back at you, intricately designed like it was made for the royals. and a tiny note with a quite neat handwriting.
this is an apology for all the inconvenience caused. and a thank you for the sandwich.
red.
p.s you looked beautiful.
and just like that he sweeped the ground right off your feet.
you: you didnât text me goodnight last night
jason: i was on a rooftop bleeding.
you: ok but you couldâve bled and sent a heart emoji
jason: iâll try to bleed more romantically
you: i stubbed my toe
jason: do we need to kill the table
you: yes
jason: say less
jason: text me when you're home safely
you: i am home dangerously
jason: stop it
you: i am home lethally
jason: i will physically tie you to the bed next time dont try me
you: itâs 2am. where are you
jason: working
you: can you not die
jason: not in the plan
jason (2nd text): iâll text when iâm heading back
you: iâm not talking to you
jason: you just did
you: now iâm really not
jason: sends photo of the food he made you
you: i hate you
jason: bring a fork
jason: i saw a dog wearing a sweater and thought of you
you: what???
jason: it was small and angry and had those dramatic little eyes
jason: im high and im thinking of u
you: how high?
jason: like missin-you-and-getting-existential high
you: some guy at the bookstore was flirting with me
jason: did you flirt back
you: no
jason: good.
jason (2nd text): bookstore still standing?
jason: do you ever think about how easily i could kidnap you
you: what is wrong with you
jason: romantic kidnapping. the love kind.
you: still not okay
jason: ok but iâd make you breakfast after
you: do you miss me?
jason: my kitchenâs been too quiet
you: thatâs not an answer
jason: yeah it is
you: are you ignoring me?
jason: no. just pre-scheduling the argument for when i have energy
you: youâre infuriating
jason: i know. you picked me.
you: iâm mad at you
jason: noted
you: thatâs all?
jason: do you want a certificate or something
jason: if you get hurt doing something dumb again
you: youâll what
jason: hold you all night while i contemplate turning your phone into dust
you: thats hot
you: when is it again?
jason: tomorrow at 1:30 pm
you: i dont like your tone
jason: tomorrow at 1:30 pm my sweet angel
you: do you love me
jason: yeah
you: thatâs it?
jason: iâm still here, arenât i
you: do you think about me when weâre not together
jason: unfortunately
you: âŠ
jason: that was me being sweet. donât push it.
you: what do you want for breakfast tomorrow
jason: you
you: đ
jason: okay fine eggs.
jason (2nd text): but likeâŠeggs next to you
