...Loading game...
...Welcome new player...
...Starting up game...
⚠ ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED - I am player one...⚠
Shall we begin?
Yes No
Before entering the game/blog please note:
| Do not copy/steal/plagiarize my work in anyway
| Do not feed my work to AI
| This blog is mainly sfw but some works might not be, so ageless blogs or minors - please do not interact
Thank you!
Synopsis: Jason has already moved in without you expecting it.
A/n: haven't written in a while so kinda rusty. Did yall miss me?
Jason todd masterlist
Main masterlist
------------------------------
It started out with the small things.
Jason would often come over to your apartment with a bag full of books in hand and a big grin spread across his face - insisting that it was your weekly reading session - despite it being almost every night.
Then when he would leave the next morning, taking the books with him, you'd find his leather jacket hung on the chair. Proceeding to get your phone to text him about it, only for him to respond with 'I'll be back anyway, keep it for the time being,'. He'd leave it again the day after with another jacket, this one more worn than the other one.
But it wasn't just his clothing that he left at your place - it started being his ammo, earpiece, files and his red hood mask (that he'd take back despite leaving the rest).
Before you knew it, he had moved in without ever saying the words.
It happened so gradually that neither of you could pinpoint the exact moment. One day there was a spare toothbrush sitting beside yours.
A week later, half your refrigerator was occupied by the energy drinks he insisted weren't terrible for him. The freezer contained emergency ice cream. The cabinet above the stove somehow became a graveyard for protein bars and instant coffee packets.
Now you were here, sitting on the couch, head resting on his chest - memorizing his heart beat - before looking up at him.
"You know Jay, you've been coming over more often."
Jason looked down, quirking a brow. "Is that a problem?"
"No it's not it's just," you sit up, gesturing to the countless gadgets adorning the coffee table. "Your stuff has been tagging along too."
Jason blinks blankly at you, leaning in as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "You just have better counter space than I do, but I can take it all back if it's really a problem."
"It's just, if your stuff is already here why don't we... make it official?"
"...Aren't we already official? Or are we already jumping into marriage. I mean I always thought I was the one that was going to propose but this works -"
You cut him off by placing a finger to his lips, face flushed as you smack his chest. "That's not what I meant," you hiss, but he simply tilts his head. Smiling up at you.
"Oh yeah? Then what do you mean?"
Clearing your throat, you comb a hand through your hair. "What I meant is if you wanted to move into my place... That way you don't always have to go back and forth, making it official instead of coming over for a "hang out"."
Jason stared at you for a moment. For once, he didn't have a quick comeback ready. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
"...Oh."
You folded your arms, huffing slightly. "That's all you have to say?"
"No, I just - " He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely caught off guard. "I thought that's what I was already doing."
"What?" you whispered.
Jason gestured vaguely around the apartment.
"The toothbrush. The jackets."
Your eyes shifted to the chair by the door.
"The coffee that tastes like motor oil."
"It does not -"
"It absolutely does."
He continued, ignoring the interruption.
"The ice cream. The books. Half my clothes are here. Roy keeps asking why I never sleep at my own apartment anymore." you watched as a grin slowly spread across his face, eyes falling to the floor as if he was reminiscing about all the times he has actually slept over.
"I figured I'd accidentally moved in like... three months ago."
A laugh escaped you despite yourself. "Jay, that's not how moving in works."
"It worked pretty well so far."
He looked around the living room as though seeing it for the first time. His tablet sat charging beside yours. His muddy boots that were near the door. One of his hoodies - that you loved to wear - draped over the arm of the couch. There was even a mug in the kitchen that everyone knew was his. You weren't entirely sure when it had become normal.
Neither of you had discussed it. It had simply happened.
"...So are you serious? About calling this place ours?" Jason asked carefully after a moment. Fingers idly tracing circles on your thighs. "You know you can still change your mind, right?"
You shook your head firmly. Hands rising to cup his face. "I'm not changing my mind Jay, I want you to move in."
"Does this mean I get to have a drawer?" He muttered, his teasing tone finally returning.
"Jay," you laugh, "You already have three, plus half of my closest and surprisingly the whole freezer."
"What?" he gasps as if he were offended. "My ice cream needs their valuable space."
Synopsis: Jason is consistently perceived in a bad light, so much so that he struggles to find himself beautiful, much less as art. Though, luckily for him, his lover is an artist and they’re determined to prove him wrong. It just so happens that his back is the perfect canvas to do so.
A/N: I’m aware that I wrote this idea over a month ago now, but I finally go the motivation to write it (though I’m not sure how much I like this, rip) :> Anyways this song actually makes me levitate, I had to name something after it immediately
Art is subjective. To some, it’s marked by extravagance; the maximalist blend of vibrant colours into one piece, jewels that exude wealth and glamour with just a glance. While, to others, it takes a simpler form; whether that be nature’s raw beauty, the meaning behind a primitive cave painting or even the most ‘mundane’ objects. Regardless of one’s perception, art is inherently human.
It captures someone’s anger, pain, happiness. It escapes time, it raises awareness, it shows appreciation and, often, it shows what someone finds beautiful. Which is exactly why Jason cannot understand your request.
Jason’s body tells the stories his mind cannot escape. Every muscle takes you one step closer to Red Hood, each scar is another “long story”, even the white streak of hair that hangs above his eyes roots back to a past that scares him. He cannot simply look in the mirror and not see all of his decisions–good and bad–laid out in front of him. His body isn’t art but rather tears waiting to fall and, while he may not be willing to connect the dots, some deep part of him is unwilling to see himself past it.
So, why would you want to paint on him?
–
It was early enough in the morning for Gotham to look half-decent. The sad, concrete buildings brightened under the rising sun, the menacing smog that characterises the city has momentarily retreated and the coo of birds returns as a serene backdrop outside of your window. Yet, it’s the sight of Jason’s bare back that holds your attention.
As he lays atop of a mat, you straddle his thighs with your supplies laid out either side of you. It’s an organised mess, is what you’d told him when he’d seen the array of palettes and brushes surrounding him; though you can still see the suspicious look in his eyes where his head rests atop his crossed arms.
“You’re looking like I’m about to defame you, Jay.” You murmur with a chuckle as you meticulously blend a mix of colours.
Your point is only proven when he peers at you over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “I still don’t understand the appeal of this, baby.”
You meet his eyes with a smile. “Just trust the process.” You respond. “You know I love you. I’m not going to ruin your skin.”
When he teasingly rolls his eyes, you can’t help but laugh. There have been occasions where you’ve painted small pictures poking fun at him or decorated something of his impulsively. He’d act playfully offended, though he’d never gotten rid of any of it.
Still, you reassure him. “You can always wash it off immediately after, honey. It’ll come off eventually.”
“It better.” He murmurs lightheartedly, burying his face into his arms with a sigh.
You trace your fingers, still smudged with paint from your other works, down the ridges of his spine in thought.
Characterising Jason into one thing is an impossible task. He’s transformed from a young boy–brave, excitable, energetic–to a guarded man. He’s always firm in his morals, he’s always driven by his emotions and feels too deeply, he’s never felt entirely like he’s fit in aside from when he’s with you. Brought up too poor to be used to being rich, too loving to be entirely safe, too traumatised to ever feel normal. Jason Todd isn’t a stagnant person, he feels in contradictions, he hurts and he loves. But he’s still here.
How can a painting capture all of that?
Letting your hands work before your mind catches up, you begin to paint over his back regardless.
You spend time meticulously stroking your brush over his skin, letting your hands flow at points and taking a more controlled approach for other sections. A few times, your paints dry out and you have to mix them all over again, but Jason lies there without complaint. In fact, his shoulders gradually ease and his eyes remain closed as if this were some sort of massage.
It must take over an hour for you to finish it and, by the time it’s dried, you can’t help but nervously bite your lip. “I’m done.”
You see his eyes flutter open as he hums. “Hm?”
An endeared smile instantly crosses your face. “Did you nap?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m finished now.” You run your hands down his sides before standing up, reaching for a tissue to wipe off your hands.
“What did you paint?” He asks softly, pushing himself up on his elbows to rise to his feet beside you.
“Why don’t you have a look?”
He narrows his eyes at you skeptically but you give him a reassuring nod in response and reach for his hand, carefully pulling him alongside you to the bathroom.
“Here, honey.” You murmur as you direct him to the mirror, carefully turning him around so he can look over his shoulder at the results.
Across his muscles and scars, you’d painted a landscape: a red, swirling storm above the silhouette of a gothic city, punctuated by a pale sun shining behind the clouds in the corner. Within the storm, there are a few dots of light peeking through, the buildings beneath it standing firm despite its force.
It’s simple and detailed simultaneously. The array of reds clearly reflect Jason’s colour scheme, while the tragedy grounded in the architecture and the turmoil of the storm reveal his inner conflict. Perhaps, in combination, the warm colours are what makes the storm seem so ferocious. Maybe it’s the reds that draw the attention from the sadness in the buildings below it. Yet, the light somehow still stands out. A literal array of lights in his storm that is overshadowed by the conflict around it yet still so bright.
“I know the goth stuff isn’t entirely your vibe.” You stammer out, watching as he stares at himself in the mirror. “But… this is how I see you, I guess, so…” You trail off, nervously clasping your hands as your eyes flutter between his face and the landscape.
“This is how you see me?” He murmurs, finally finding your eyes.
“Well, close enough to it.”
His breath catches and he looks back at his reflection once more. “It’s so beautiful.” He responds after a moment, eyes scanning over the array of colours. “You… included my scars.”
You nod, looking back at your painting. Some of the city’s towers follow the jaggedy turns of his scars, while some of the storm curves with their path. It’s nothing more than a light bump within the piece, a subtle detail, but Jason notices it because it’s more than that to him. His history entwined with his being.
“Do you like it?” You whisper.
“Like it?” He repeats, a small smile creeping onto his face the longer he gazes at it. “Sweetheart, I love it.”
You grin. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen my body in this kind of light before.” He reaches over to you now, cupping your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, my love.”
It’s only when he pulls back that you see the utter, unmistakable adoration in his eyes.
Jason is painted in a bad light by many: the gullible Robin, the dangerous vigilante, even the angry member of the family. It’s far too easy for him to fall into these assumptions when he doesn’t have a proper understanding of himself.
But to see himself as something more than that? Something beautiful?
It’s something he never realised that he’d never had before.
"Daddy, can you come to my school for take your parent to school day?" your daughter's sweet voice rang out from the dining table, paired with coffee being spat onto the floor.
You were standing in the kitchen with Jason beside you who was holding a cup of coffee in one hand, while wiping his mouth with the other. His green eyes wide in surprise that you were trying hard to stifle the laugh that was bubbling up your throat.
"Uh, what was that peanut?" Jason asked, glaring at you slightly as you shrugged at him.
"I said," answered your daughter only this time, loud footsteps came stomping into the kitchen. Small fists clenched by her sides as she looked up at her dad with a pout. "Come to my school for take your parent to school day!"
Jason blinked once. Twice.
Then he looked at you, looked back at your daughter, and finally set his coffee mug down before he could commit any further crimes against the kitchen floor.
"Take your parent to school day?" he repeated carefully.
"Yes!" your daughter threw her hands into the air as if she couldn't believe he wasn't keeping up. "Everybody gets to bring a parent to school."
A smile tugged at your lips, eyes softening at the sight of your daughter mildly frustrated. "I think she means bring your parent to school day." You whispered, nudging Jason with your shoulder.
"That's what I said!" she blurted.
Jason chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.
"No, peanut, you definitely didn't. You said taking your parent to school."
"No I didn't!"
"Did too."
"Didn't."
"Did too!"
"Daddy!" your daughter yelled, tears welling in her eyes that reminded you so much of Jason.
Speaking of Jason, he was already crouching down to the floor the moment the tears started to appear. Hands placed on her tiny shoulders as his thumb brushed her cheek.
"Hey, hey, hey." Jason's voice softened immediately, all traces of teasing gone. "There's no need for that."
A tear slipped down her cheek despite her best efforts to hold it back. Sniffling softly as she rubbed her eyes.
"You were making fun of me," she mumbled.
Jason's face fell, lips pressed into a thin line.
"Oh, peanut." He gently tipped her chin up so she'd look at him. "I wasn't making fun of you. I was teasing you."
"That's the same thing."
"It is not."
"It is too."
Jason immediately glanced up at you for help, looking completely betrayed when you failed to hide your smile.
"Mommy?" he asked dramatically.
You shook your head, ruffling his dark hair. "You got yourself into this mister."
"Wow, always knew you only used me for my looks."
"Watch it Todd, or I might have to tell our daughter here what really happened to the cookie dough ice cream last week." you warned with amusement.
Exhaling sharply through his nose, Jason let his head fall for a moment -shoulders slumped - before gazing up at your daughter again. "Alright, throw me the details. When is it?"
"It's next Friday."
"What time?"
"After recess."
"Will we be reading?"
"Yup!"
"Finger painting?"
She nodded excitedly.
"What about...Math." Jason groaned mockingly.
"Of course!"
"Oh, but what if daddy isn't very good at math?"
Your daughter shook her head, cupping his face with hands that barely covered even half his cheek.
"Don't worry, I'll help you!" She reassured him. "So will you come?"
Jason smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear as he responded without hesitation. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Your daughter's entire face lit up.
"Really?"
"Really." Jason nodded. "I'll even do the math."
She giggled, throwing her arms around his neck so hard he nearly lost his balance.
"Whoa!" He laughed, holding her tightly. "Careful there. Daddy's not as young as he used to be."
"I know! That's why you have white hair right here." your daughter stated, pointing at the white strand at the front of his hair.
This made me smile so hard because SAME!! Anyway some headcanons.
Images from pinterest/wayne family adventures
Jason Todd x Reader
Warnings: Slight mention of being drunk, other than that just fluff
--------------------------------------
Thinking about Jason Todd who:
Clings onto you early in the mornings whenever you wake up, wrapping his very muscular arm around your waist and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He claims it's because it's the easiest place to rest his head when he tries to stop you from leaving/relax, but really it's because it's the warmest there and clearly has your scent.
And when you tell him to let go, or else you'll be sending a picture of him like that to the whole family, he just chuckles; thinking you're bluffing. Then proceeds to immediately roll away with the blanket - the back of his neck flushed - as soon you pull out your phone.
Thinking about Jason Todd who:
Definitely takes pictures of you while you're sleeping if he ever wakes up before you. It doesn't matter of you're drooling, if you're in a starfish position, upside down - you name it - he just takes them because he finds you cute like that.
Then goes on to send them to you throughout the day. I also have a feeling he's the type to send those pics where it's only showing the top half of your face with the ceiling in the back.
Thinking about Jason Todd who:
Who is genuinely good at cooking - like really good. He's always making himself foods that are edible enough to survive, but when it comes to you, he's putting his all.
I also think he'd be really good at making pasta, I don't know why. Maybe I'm craving it...
Thinking about Jason Todd who:
Doesn't talk much when he's drunk, but his poker face completely fails in this state. On that note, he also becomes far more clingy than his usual self.
While drunk, he'd come up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and sliding a calloused hand beneath your shirt before proceeding to place kisses all over the back of your neck. Whether you're washing dishes, cleaning the house, as long as he can get behind you he'll be kissing your neck and trailing them down your spine.
Holding you tightly like he's afraid you might leave.
Thinking about Jason Todd who:
Likes tilting his head to the side if you ever get flustered, leaning in close as he whispers something like "Oh yeah?" with some sort of grin. (Is this just a me thing or is that attractive to anyone else?)
As for my Jason Todd!dad headcanons, I think Jason is the type to:
Fall asleep on the couch with your child sleeping on his chest as well, whenever you come back home. I also definitely see him as the type of dad to always carry your kid on his shoulders.
Also I think Jason is the type to really like it when you lay on his chest, idly drawing circles across his skin.
------------------------------------------
Yeah that's it from me hehe, I have other fics i'm working on so just headcanons for now
HII CAN I REQUEST A NAMELESS! READER X PHAINON :))) people rarely right them in that way, I was hoping to go for a fluff pattern where she doesn’t realize he’s actually into her until he got frustrated and finally told her 👀👀👀
Helloo!! This was such a fun request to do! I didn't do gender neutral just because you used 'her' so I just assumed but if you want me to change it please let me know!
It's been awhile since I wrote for Phainon so I might have mischaracterized him. (He's kinda like a yandere a bit in this... or something I don't know.)
Anyway I hope you enjoy it!
Phainon x Fem!Reader(No use of y/n, your name or any name for reader just you and she/her)
910 words
Warnings: Mentions of being drunk and alcohol, YEARNING(I think)
__________________________
Phainon was drunk, there was no doubt about it.
He could tell by the way his hands were numb, how the golden glow from the candlelit tables in the tavern made everything blur together into shapes. And worst of all? Because he couldn't pull his gaze off of you, even if he tried - even if drowsiness clung to him relentlessly.
You were talking at the counter, fingers tracing the rim of your mug as you chatted - what felt like hours - with the bartender, who couldn't keep his eyes off of you either. Making Phainon scowl even harder.
He had done everything up till now: walked you home, gotten you the flowers that you had said reminded you of home after spotting them during a walk, cleared his schedule more times than he could count just to meet up with you.
Heck, he even accidentally admitted how he truly felt about you in front of someone. "I like her, a lot." He had said, wanting to disappear into oblivion the moment he saw you near - thankfully you didn't even notice then.
But when were you going to notice him now?
"What more do I have to do for you to understand?" Phainon muttered, frustration slurring his words. Watching you smile with that warmth - that easiness that always seemed to knock the air out of his lungs.
"Go talk to her then, deliverer." Cut in a voice, low and clearly unamused.
Phainon looked up beside him, jumping slightly when he realized who it was. "Meydeimos? Wh... what are you doing here?" he mumbled, the words slightly caught on his tongue.
"I was here before the both of you had arrived." he responded, sitting down with a low grunt beside him. Mug still in hand.
"Oh I see, still it's not kind of you to eavesdrop on others."
"Don't change the subject, hks." he said sternly, which earned an awkward laugh from Phainon.
"Right..."
Meydei took a long drink from his mug before setting it back down with a dull thud.
"You've been staring at her for twenty minutes."
Phainon frowned, averting his gaze to the floor - fingers fidgeting. "Have not."
"You have."
"I blinked."
"Twice. And you've been glaring at the other guy for quiet some time as we-"
"Alright, alright," Phainon exclaimed, standing up from his chair fast enough that it's legs screeched along the floor. "Are you here to remind me of my divine punishment or are you here to help me, Meydeimos?"
Meydei simply blinked, crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. A muscle ticking in his jaw. "It was just a suggestion, not a threat."
"Oh yeah? Well you're telling me something I've been trying to do for months now!" he breathed, hands clenched by his sides.
"It's hard... to... to know that everyone else notices but her," Phainon admitted desperately, heat rising from his throat as he stared at the crowned prince behind him. "I don't know what to do..."
"Deliverer -"
Your laugh cut through the commotion like a knife, causing Phainon to eagerly look back at you, but his eyes narrowed the moment it did.
Your head tipped back in laughter again, and he could have just stayed there, admiring you for eternity if it meant you'd smile like that.
Only, it wasn't him that was making you smile - it was the bartender - resting his hand over yours, leaning over the counter to whisper something to you.
The moment he did, something in Phainon snapped.
"Hks, don't create an unnecessary commotion," Mydei warned, grabbing hold of his sleeve.
He didn't respond. Tugging back his arm after standing in place for a instant.
"You said I should tell her right? That's all I'm going to do." Phainon gritted bitterly before walking towards you, jaw right as Meydei's voice was drowned out by the rage building within.
From afar the bartender slid another drink across the counter, a smirk on his face.
"You're becoming a regular, you know that?" he chuckled.
You grinned.
"Is that a threat?"
"Depends how much you're tipping."
"Hey," Phainon muttered with a forced smile, hand grabbing onto the other guy's wrist.
"Excuse me? What are you-" the other man hissed.
"Phai?" you breathed, surprised as you looked slightly over your shoulder to face him.
"Don't you think it's about time we head out?" Said Phainon as sweetly as he could manage, but the annoyance in his face said otherwise.
You shook your head, eyes falling back to the mug in front of you. "Just hold on, I want to finish my conversation with my friend first."
The bartender gave Phainon a smug look, pulling his arm from his grasp before massaging it. "Yeah, we need to finish our conversation here." he teased, despite his brows furrowing from the pain in his wrist.
He should have stopped there, told himself not to overreact when you weren't his in the first place. But his hands moved the moment that smirk of his came into view.
Breathing heavily, "Here," Phainon blurted, turning your chair around and placing his hands on either side of you on the countertop with a quiet thud - leaning in. "Can we leave?"
You swallowed hard.
"Why?"
"Why?" he repeated frustratedly, breath uneven. "Because -"
He stopped.
Because every time someone stood too close to you it made his stomach twist.
Because he'd spent months pretending friendship was enough.
Because watching you smile at someone else felt unbearable.
"Phai?"
"Because I can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?" you whispered.
"...You really don't get it do you? Even after all this time."
Phainon's head dipped, hands gripping tighter, inhaling a sharp breath before lifting his eyes to meet yours. "I'm done pretending I don't want more."
A pause, searching your widening gaze.
"Pretending that this doesn't affect me or that it hasn't... I like you, I have for the longest time - so long that it hurts... I don't know what to do when you're with someone else... So please..." he murmured, head falling to the crook of your neck this time.