summary Youâre determined to get Red Hood to fall for you. However, courting a vigilante proves to be difficult when he wonât look your way! Thankfully, getting into trouble is your specialty
content eventual romance, banter, slice of life, fluff, reader gets into trouble for attention, grumpy x sunshine, chaotic reader, no plot just vibes, villains are ooc
series is on hiatus! I plan to finish this eventually tho <3
(please,check the rules before requesting. Thank you!!)
*all my readers are meant to be POC,but the descriptions are so little/none so you can imagine!
Key:
Ëâ Ë>angst
â >fluff
â >smut >i don't write it anymore sorry !!
⊠> suggestive
BRUCE WAYNEâBATMAN
RICHARD JOHN GRAYSONâNIGHTWING
Are you man enough ? (Dick Grayson x fem!reader) Ëâ Ë
Cherry red ! (dick grayson x fem!reader) â
Braids & Bedtime ! (dad!dick grayson x mom!reader) â
Just Close Your Eyesâ (Dick grayson x fem!reader) â
âSmells Like Homeâ (Dick Grayson x Fem!reader) â
Head Over Heels ! (literally) (Dick Grayson x Fem!Hero!Reader) â
JASON PETER TODDâRED HOOD
Youâre lucky youâre cute ! (Jason Todd x fem!reader) â
What Kore means (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader) â > special for my sweet girl korie
Five inches of water (Jason Todd x fem!reader) Ëâ Ë
Mr. Fix-it-all (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader) â
matching (different) scarves (Muslim!Jason Todd x Hijabi!Reader) â
TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE WAYNEâRED ROBIN
đ đâ.Ë:: t.drake physique Headcannons
âBest Two Out of Threeâ ( Tim Drake x Fem!Reader) â >special for my sweet girl yinnie
STEPHANIE BROWNâSPOILER
CASSANDRA CAINâORPHAN
BARBARA GORDONâBATGIRL
DUKE THOMASâSIGNAL
DAMIAN AL-GHUL WAYNEâROBIN
CHECK HIS MASTERLIST HERE
more upcoming. . .
Šđđđđ,đšđđđđ â-do not copy, repost, plagiarize,translate or feed any of my work into ai. I work hard to give quality content.
scenarios that happened in the league of assassins that Jason and Damian won't admit to because they're little shits pt.3
Jason: *whispering* Uncle Dusan looks like he's about to fall over.
Damian: *in a similar hushed tone* Can you blame him? You know how Grandfather loves to drone on during meetings. It is the one time we are forced to listen to him without interruption.
Jason: *placing a pea on a spoon, preparing to fire it*
Damian: *whispering in a hurried voice* Akhi, what are you doing with your dinner?
Jason: Saving us from another boring meeting *flicks it at Uncle Dusan who flinches and wipes his drool from his lips*
Damian: *coughing to cover his giggle* Impressive aim.
Jason: *readying his spoon again* Mara looks murderous. She hasnât stopped glaring since this shit started.
Damian: It is not like I intended to blind her. She should have dodged it.
Jason: Uh where the fuck was I for this? I don't remember-
Ra al Ghul: *standing at the head of the table* Jason. Is there a question that you yearn to have answered? You appear to be quite distracted when you should be paying attention given your position as Head Guard.
Jason: Sure do. So when you say Head Guard, that means like total control right? How many vacation days does that allocate-
Damian: Jesus Christ.
Jason: *continuing* Itâs a valid question, Dami. Corporate America has ruined the world. We gotta get better benefits. Whatâs our dental like because this tooth has been decaying like a wet tictac-Wait can the Pit fix my tooth?
Ra al Ghul: *twitching* How insightful. YesâŚI shall inform you as soon as I confirm with my members. Anything else?
Jason: *saluting* No, my Liege. Only that these peas are divine. My compliments to your chef. Continue, youâre doing great.
Ra al Ghul: *tiredly* Of course....As I was saying....
Damian: *lowering his voice* My liege? Where did you pull that from?
Jason: My ass. Ever heard of Attack on Titan? *launching another pea at Dusan but the spoon slips from his hand and flies across the table* Oh shit.
Dusan al Ghul: * awakening and screaming, flailing his arms* Guards! We are under attack! Secure my child immediately!
Damian: *covering his face* Oh for fucks sake, Jason. Why would you-
*several guards rush in with weapons, the members at the table scatter and scream.*
Talia al Ghul: *the sound of a blade twishing* Damian? Jason? Where are you? Guards- I command you to find my sons! Protect the heirs!
*Jason and Damian hiding under the table*
Jason: Well-You canât blame this entirely on me. Your family is known for overreacting.
Damian: *hissing* Yes, I can AND I will. I will not be punished for your stupidity. I shall knock out your tooth myself.
Jason: Iâm good. Brucie paid a pretty penny to fix my teeth.
Damian: Go to hell, Jason.
*Both boys jump as Dusan hits the floor, making eye contact with them.*
Ra al Ghul: Both of you are remanded to your quarters until further notice. No sneaking off to the gardens. No access to the animal sanctuary. Have you anything to say regarding your behavior, such as an apology, before you are escorted to your rooms?
Jason: *raises hand*
Ra al Ghul: Yes, Jason?
Jason: *points at Dusan al Ghul* This is his fault. He has a trauma response so severe that heâd put veterans to shame.
Damian: *giggling* He is also the one that tried tackling you, Grandfather, to ensure your safety.
Ra al Ghul: Guards. Take them to their quarters immediately. Now.
Summary: Jason Todd doesn't marry for love. That whole 'white-picket-fence' life was never in the cards for him. But he will marry you, so you can have access to his health insurance. He's certainly not using it, and he'd rather not have to deal with looking for a new roommate after you die from the infection you refuse to get treatment for. It's a marriage of convenience. No fuss. No complications... at least, until he starts falling in love with his wife.
Tropes: Roommates >> spouses >> lovers, marriage before romance, grumpy x sunshine coded
Word Count: 6.1K
Content Warnings: Fluff, strangers to roommates to friends, eventual smut, Jason has commitment issues, Jason's tragic backstory mentioned, making the relationship extra complicated in order to keep it "not complicated", explicit language
A/N: I'm both playing Gotham Knights rn and have been reading Wayne Family Adventures at the same time, and I can't decide between the two on the setting for this, so imagine whatever feels right for you.
When you'd complained to your friend in your computer science class about your horrible roommate situation, you had not expected Barbara to text you the next day with a solution. She called him a mutual acquaintance, who has a spare bedroom and wouldn't mind having someone chip in on the rent. She said he cooks, he's clean, he keeps to himself, and he works nights. As someone who'd been playing mediator between your other two roommates, who both seemed to hate each other, the idea of a roommate who would leave you alone and likely not even be there most of the time that you were around, sounded like a dream come true. She texted you the address and warned you not to be intimidated by his appearance.
You wouldn't understand what exactly she meant by that until you were knocking on his front door. The apartment building's location was in a nice enough area. Not exactly 'Posh-Gotham', but not Southside either. In addition, there was a Metro access line just around the corner that could take you straight to the University. The building itself was also fairly nice, at least from what you'd seen so far. Wall sconces lighting the hall, framed paintings on the walls, and carpeted flooring. The place honestly looked more like a hotel than an apartment building.
You're still looking around the hallway when the door swings open and you're suddenly face-to-face with a man big enough to take up the entire doorway. You gulp and all too suddenly realize why Barb gave you a heads up. Impossibly broad shoulders, arms the size of tree trunks, a scar running a few inches into his hairline all the way down to the edge of his mouth, and a section of white hair at the front of his bangs. He cuts an imposing figure, even with his relaxed stance. His eyes wash over you in an assessing gaze.
"You Barb's friend?"
You try not to fidget under the weight of his stare. You're pretty sure you're unsuccessful. "Yeah. I take it you're Jason?"
"That's me." The corner of his mouth lifts in a partial smile. "Come on in." He nudges his head to the side in a gesture of invitation, stepping back from the door to make room for you to pass him. "Kitchen's to the right, living room straight ahead, one bathroom here on the left, and another in between the bedrooms in back."
He gives you a quick tour of the place. It's sparsely furnished, but what little he does have seems to be luxury-made. He's got one of those giant L couches with a simple, blue throw blanket folded across the back. A bookshelf that definitely did not come from IKEA, given the ornate carvings in the corners and along the lip of the shelves. A leather recliner and a huge flatscreen TV are the only other things occupying space in the living room. The spare bedroom also already has a bed and a wooden dresser, but is otherwise unfurnished.
"My only rules are: stay out of my room, and I'll stay out of yours. Clean up after yourself. And let me know if you plan on having anyone over. What you do in your room and who you do it with is your business, but I'm not overly fond of having strangers in my space without knowing about it."
You turn in a slow circle around the bedroom, already picturing where you might put your things. "Barb mentioned you work nights, but didn't really say what exactly you do." Your eyes flicker to where he's casually leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.
He smirks like you've asked something funny. "Private security."
You give him another once-over. Yeah, he's certainly got the build of someone who could be some bigwig's private bodyguard. You shrug and look away when you realize that's all the answer you're going to get out of him. "How soon can I move in?"
"As soon as you want."
By that weekend, you've gotten the hell out of your old apartment, leaving your roommates to duke it out over who left whose dishes in the sink or what-fucking-ever they were going to argue about on that particular day. Jason hands you your key to the apartment and helps you bring in your boxes, even when you try to dissuade him since he's done more than enough by offering you a place to stay. He shrugs like it's no big deal and continues to follow you silently down to the moving truck you'd rented for the day.
After that, the two of you quickly settle into a sort of routine. Jason leaves typically sometime after dinner and returns around sunrise while you're still in bed. In the mornings, you try to be mindful and quiet while he's asleep before you head out to class. By the time you get back, he's usually already whipping something up in the kitchen and hands you your plate when it's done, like it's a given he'd make enough for you both. After he heads out, you get to spend your evenings however you want. No fighting over TV rights or music choice, which, again, is a godsend compared to your previous situation.
It's about three months later when you get a text while in class that he's planning to have a 'guest' over later that night. You shoot him a thumbs-up emoji and, for the first time, come home to realize you need to arrange your own dinner plans. He's home, but is otherwise occupied, based on the rhythmic thumping coming from his bedroom. His guest is also extremely vocal... like pornstar-level. Lots of "Uhn, uhn, oh, yes! Fuck, JJ!"
That gets you to pause mid-step. JJ? Jason does not look like a JJ...
You snicker to yourself and continue heading for your room to put down your stuff and grab your headphones. You drown out the ambiance with even louder music and make something quick for dinner to eat in your room before tackling your homework. It's a few hours later that you reemerge to go clean your plate, and you're surprised to find Jason sitting in the recliner with a book in his lap.
You pause in the doorway. He looks more relaxed, less tension in his shoulders. You glance down the hall toward his closed bedroom door.
"Not here," he answers your unasked question while flipping the page of his book. "They don't tend to stick around."
"Your girlfriend?" you ask, stepping into the living room to head for the kitchen.
He scoffs out a humorless laugh. "I'm not really the commitment type."
You hum casually. No judgement. Everyone has needs, and clearly, he knows what works for him. You wash, dry, and put away your dishes, then fill up a glass of water and head back toward your room. "Have a good night... JJ."
His soft chuckle of amusement sticks with you longer than it should after you've closed your door and crawled into bed to go to sleep.
After that, Jason starts bringing new guests home every few weeks or so. He sticks to the roommate agreement and gives you a heads-up every time, and you either come home with your headphones already on and blaring or stay out later with friends or at the school library. You try your hand at dating, but learn early on that bringing them home is not a good idea. The one and only time you did, the guy nearly pissed himself when Jason came out of his room at the same time the two of you were about to enter yours.
Jason had taken one look at the guy before smirking ferally and drawing himself up to his full height. "Sup?" he gave that chin tilt guys do when they're greeting each other.
Your fling of the night had gulped thickly before turning to you and giving some sorry excuse about leaving his oven on at home before getting the hell out of dodge. Jason only laughed when you glared at him. From that moment on, you elected to not bother bringing anyone home.
Aside from that little hiccup, living with Jason is actually pretty nice. What little time the two of you do spend together, usually while making and eating dinner, you share casual conversation. He'll tell you about the latest book he's reading, and you'll explain your most recent homework assignment. You've learned not to ask too many prying questions about his job, or his friends or family. He's a master at giving vague or deflecting responses.
It all comes to a head, though, when you're up extra late one night, studying for an upcoming exam, and you hear a crash in Jason's room. You jolt with a start, because you definitely saw him leave several hours ago. In a split-second decision, you grabbed your pepper spray from your backpack and your heaviest textbook, before sneaking down the hall.
Your heart pounds in your chest, not only because there's an intruder in your apartment, but also because you're going to break Jason's first rule in the roommate agreement. But you're pretty sure he'd like it even less if you just left some petty thief to take all his stuff, so you take a steadying breath and shove open the door. "Freeze!" you shout, holding your pepper spray at the ready while also clutching your book to your chest.
You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you. There's a vigilante inside Jason's bedroom. Not just any vigilante, either. It's Red Hood. He's sitting in Jason's desk chair, with an open case in front of him that looks to be a first-aid kit or something. He barely glances your way. "Hate to break it to you, Sweetheat, but that spray won't reach through the helmet, and I'm not sure what you're planning to do with the book other than bore me to death."
You gape, a little dumfounded. You're not sure what to do at this point... "You're not supposed to be in here." That's really the best you've got.
The cadence of his chuckle sounds familiar, even though it's being filtered through a voice modulator. "Neither are you."
You narrow your eyes at him. "My boyfriend's going to be pissed when he finds out you touched all his stuff." You're not sure why you say it like that. Maybe because boyfriend sounds slightly more intimidating than roommate.
"Boyfriend?" he echoes before releasing a hearty laugh. "Oh, baby, I didn't know you cared so much." He reaches up and pulls off the helmet, revealing his face to you.
"Jason?!" You're gaping once again. The last of your tension oozes out of you like a melting candle. "Dude, what the fuck! You gave me a heart attack!"
He drops the helmet onto his desk and turns back to the first aid kit. "Thought you'd be asleep by now, and I just needed a quick patch-up before heading back out."
"You're hurt?" You perk up and step deeper into the room.
He shrugs like it's not a big deal. "It's just a scratch." He pulls off his leather jacket, revealing a shallow gash on the back of his forearm.
"Can I help?" You're already setting your book and pepper spray down on the edge of his desk and pulling his arm closer for inspection. You reach into the first aid kit for a sterilizing wipe, rip open the packet, and then press it to the wound. Once it's been cleaned, you cover it in antiseptic gel and a clean bandage.
Jason stays quiet the whole time, observing you closely and wondering when the game of twenty questions will start. It doesn't. You already know how good he is at dodging questions, and you now know exactly what he's been hiding. Sure, there's probably more secrets and things you don't know, but you figure if there's something he wants to tell you, he'll do it in his own time.
"What exactly was your plan with all of that?" He finally breaks his silence after you've finished patching him up by pointing at your book.
"Spray you in the face, then whack you over the head with the book."
His lips spread into a wide smirk as he shakes his head. "Babe, we're gonna hafta work on your self-defense skills."
The corner of your mouth twitches as you fight off your grin. "Not tonight. I'm going to bed, and you apparently need to get back to your private security job." You toss the trash from the first aid kit into the mini trash can on the ground next to his desk, then take your stuff and head back to your room.
"Good night," he calls to you when you're passing through his doorway.
You pause and turn back to look at him. "Be careful out there."
"You worried about me?"
You stare back him him for a moment too long. "I just don't want to go back to my old living situation." That's not the whole truth. You know it, and he knows it, too, based on the look in his eyes. You turn away and return to your room before he can say anything else.
The following evening, the two of you have a more in-depth conversation regarding his vigilanteism. He explains that he used to be one of the former Robins, before he was taken by the Joker, where he was then brutally beaten and eventually murdered. It's where he got the scar on his face and several others that he alluded to, but didn't show you.
"Now, when you say... dead... Do you mean, like your heart stopped for a few seconds before they revived you? Or..." You ask slowly, trying to rein in your horror at his story.
"Nope. Dead-dead. Like buried in the ground, funeral and everything, kind of dead." He says it so casually, almost like he's talking about someone else.
"Then, how...?" You stare back, overwhelmed and at a loss for words.
"There's this group, the League of Assassins. Their leadership has a... complicated relationship with Batman. They have access to this stuff called the Lazarus Pit. It has mystical healing abilities and is even powerful enough to raise the dead. Case and point." He gestures to himself. "They took my body, hoping to use my revival as leverage against Batman. But I didn't come back right. I was angry, vengeful, and broken enough that they could use it against me and turn me into another one of their puppets. I did some stuff I'm not proud of while I was running with the League. Eventually pieced myself back together enough to break out. Came back to Gotham and did some more stuff I'm not proud of... Now, I'm working to atone for the things I've done wrong while keeping this dumpster fire of a city as safe as possible."
"Holy shit..." You breathe, still processing his words. "Do all the other vigilantes know all this stuff about you?"
"The ones in Gotham do. We're what you might consider a 'tight-knit bunch'."
You hum thoughtfully. "Then does that mean they all know about me, too?"
"No." He shakes his head, then pauses, considering. "Well, one does. Batgirl."
You arch a brow. "You told Batgirl about your roommate?"
He chuckles lightly. "Nah, she's the one that told me about you."
Your head tilts in confusion until you connect the pieces. "Barbara is Batgirl?"
"Bingo."
"God, I knew she was coasting through that computer science class! She made everything look so easy!" Jason smirks as you come to several realizations about your friend. "Wait. Is it okay for you to tell me about her?"
"I already fessed up to Barb this morning about you catching me in the act. She confirmed my suspicions that you're trustworthy enough to know at least some of our secrets."
You give him a bemused look. "You were suspicious that I was trustworthy?"
"I'm always suspicious. It's what keeps me alive. Well, the second time around, at least." He shrugs.
"How can you so casually joke about your own death?"
"Little bit of dissociative amnesia and a lot of fucking therapy."
"Okay, then..."
The two of you talk a little more before he has to get ready for patrol. A part of him is a little relieved that you now know. It makes sneaking in and out a lot easier when he no longer has to sneak at all. Going forward, when he comes back a little banged up and you're still awake, you'll step in to patch him up, without him having to say anything about it. He finds that it's kind of nice, being taken care of. If he's unfortunate enough to get any serious injuries, he'll still go to the Belfry Tower or the Cave, but anything small or easy, and he'll come home to you.
Weeks turn into months, and then before you know it, you're graduating from GCU and you're suddenly starting your first "Big Girl Job" as a university graduate. You've managed to secure an entry-level position at Stagg Industries. It's a long shot from your dream job, but hopefully a solid enough stepping stone for you to find your footing before moving on with your career. Jason had told you he had enough connections to get you into Wayne Enterprises, but you'd insisted on wanting to stand on your own two feet.
Your tasks were menial. A lot of grunt work, or the shitty things no one else wanted to do, but it was a full-time job, with benefits and a paycheck slightly above minimum wage. The benefits weren't all that great, and neither was the paycheck, if you were being honest with yourself, but it was yours. You found your groove, worked hard, and hoped you might eventually catch the eye of your management team in order to get promoted to a better section within the company.
That hope very quickly dried up and died. Nepotism was clearly running rampant within the company. The only ones that seemed to move up were the people who already had connections. It didn't seem to matter how competent you were; it was never enough to prove your worth when dollar signs and family names were all that mattered.
You were already sick of working at Stagg by the time you managed to get yourself actually sick. It seemed to be just a simple flu. You're pretty sure you caught it that night some of your coworkers convinced you to go out to a seedy bar with them. It was one of those nights Jason had a guest over, so you'd agreed to hang out even though you weren't really feeling it. The bar was a total dive. Looked like the last time it had been cleaned was over 10 years ago. You'd only ordered one drink, but apparently that had been enough to pick up the virus.
You were bedridden for three days, then stayed home an additional week after that, while more mucus came out of your nose and lungs than you thought was physically possible to store within one human being. You disgusted yourself with the sheer number of tissue boxes you were going through.
Jason was a better caretaker than you expected. You'd told him early on to stay away, since you didn't want to get him sick, too, but he completely ignored your request. He made you soup, which he'd leave on your nightstand while you were asleep, along with cold and flu medication. He'd also routinely empty your trash can for you after you'd filled it to the brim with used-up tissues. He made sure to only come in while you were passed out from the medication, so you wouldn't yell at him to stay out, but he took good care of you.
After your week away from work, you felt mostly well enough to go back, but you had a very persistent, lingering cough after the whole ordeal. You figured it would go away eventually on its own, and continued to trudge along like everything was normal.
"You know... you've been coughing for like two months now." Jason brings it up one night that you're both home. He's sitting back on his recliner, book forgotten in his lap as he stares at you from across the room.
You're tucked into the corner of the couch, fiddling with a Rubik's Cube in your hands. You've been getting into puzzles a lot recently to give your brain the mental stimulation it's severely lacking at your job right now. "I'm sure it'll ease up any day now." You shrug noncommitally and keep fiddling with the cube.
"It hasn't so far. Don't you think you should get it checked out?" The implication in his voice is heavy.
"I've started taking herbal tea. I think that'll really help clear out the last of the mucus."
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Okay, can you be real with me for a minute and just tell me why you refuse to see a doctor?"
You finally stop messing with the cube and look at him like the answer should be obvious. "Um, because I can't afford to?"
"What?" That's not the answer he was expecting. He thought maybe you had a bad case of white-coat-syndrome or something. Not this. He nearly kicks himself for not even considering it.
You shift uncomfortably under the weight of his stare and start messing with the Rubik's Cube again. "Yeah, the health insurance offered by the company is really bad. It's like a $5,000 deductible before the insurance will start covering my expenses. So, everything until that point I need to cover out of pocket. I'm not sure how much a doctor visit will be, let alone the cost for the diagnosis and the medication."
"What the fuck? Is that even legal?"
You shrug again. "No clue. I'm sure I could pay more money for better coverage, but again... can't really afford to. It's just how this shit works, right?"
"No, it fucking isn't. At least it shouldn't be. Why do you still work there if the benefits are ass and you fucking hate it?"
"Nowhere else is hiring."
"I can get you into WayneTech!"
You sigh quietly, wanting this conversation to be over. "Jay, we talked about this..."
"No. I tried to bring it up, and you shot me down before I could finish."
"Because you're already doing more than enough for me by letting me live here!"
He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the longer strands. "It's just an interview! I can get you in the door, but the rest will be up to you to impress them with your knowledge and skills. It's not a fucking handout. It's an invitation."
You go quiet once more. "...I'll think about it."
He grunts and settles back into his chair. "Yeah, well, think fast, because you should have seen a doctor like a month ago."
"Still not going to the doctor." You shake your head.
"Fucking Christ! If your insurance is so fucking bad, then just use mine!" He throws his hands up in the air out of frustration.
You furrow your brow in utter confusion. "What, do you have like special vigilante insurance or something?"
"No, I have real fucking insurance, that I can't really even fucking use, but Bruce sets all of his kids up with the best Wayne Enterprises can offer."
"Wait, wait. The fuck? You're Bruce Wayne's kid?"
"Ah, shit." He presses a palm to his face. "I forgot you didn't already know that. I'm adopted, but yeah..."
You try to laugh hysterically, but all you can manage is a coughing fit. "Okay, that part aside... I still feel like the doctor's office won't exactly accept little old me walking in there with an insurance card for Jason Todd written on it, unless this is some magical perk you 1-Percenters get to have that us peons don't."
He rolls his eyes. "No, obviously you'd have to like marry me to get on my health insurance, but if it'll get you to the doctor sooner, why the fuck not?"
"WHAT?!?" His words shock you so bad, you spiral into an even worse coughing fit.
"Fucking hell..." He mutters while jumping up from his recliner and rushing to get you a glass of water from the kitchen. "If you keel over in front of me right now, that'll really piss me off." He takes the Rubik's Cube from you and shoves the glass into your hands.
You take a few small sips of water until your throat calms down enough that you stop coughing. "Did you seriously just propose marriage in order to get me to the doctor?" You ask, voice raw from your coughing fit, but deeply incredulous.
"Hey, with Bruce's lawyers, we could probably have the papers drawn, signed, and filed within a few days. I sure as hell can't show up to the hospital every time I get hurt without people asking questions, so someone may as well be getting some use out of the insurance my trust is paying for."
Your eyes narrow into tiny slits as you stare up at him. "But then we'd be married..." You say it slower to leave a bigger impact. It seems to have no effect.
"Like legally? Yes, we would. But not a real marriage. Oh! Like one of those marriage of convenience things!" He snaps his fingers when the words come to him.
"Oh god, you're reading one of those period dramas right now, aren't you?" You rub a hand down your face.
"Hey, they wouldn't have a word for it if it wasn't a real thing." He points out, like this adds any sort of validity to his outrageous idea.
You can't believe you're even entertaining this. "Okay, so hypothetically speaking, if I were to agree to this insanity... we get married, I get on your insurance, go to the doctor, get better... then what?"
"Then we stay married. We can't split immediately after without someone looking into the arrangement as insurance fraud."
"That's because this is insurance fraud, Jason."
"Not if we stay married." He grins like he's got all the answers.
"Jesus... Okay, then what happens when, down the line, you meet someone else and fall in love?"
He laughs like you've just told a hilarious joke. "It's cute that you think I'm even capable of such feelings."
You roll your eyes at him. "I'm being serious."
"Alright, alright. Hypothetically speaking, if you later on meet someone and 'fall in love', then we divorce and go our separate ways. Easy-peasy. It doesn't have to be complicated."
"This is fucking crazy." You give him a hard stare, but he only grins wider.
"Crazy brilliant."
The next morning, Jason is still awake after his night on patrol and is making breakfast in the kitchen when you're getting ready for work.
"I told Bruce the plan. He's willing to have the papers made and filed, but he and Alfred want to meet you first."
You stare at him like he's criminally insane. "I never actually agreed to any of this. We were speaking hypothetically, Jason!"
"Yeah, well, I'm realistically invested in keeping you healthy. You're pretty decent as far as roommates go. I'd hate to hafta find another one."
You cross your arms and stick out a hip. "What, so now I don't even get a say in our fake marriage?"
"Marriage of convenience. And you've already proven you don't take matters concerning your health seriously, so as a good future husband, I'm electing to make those decisions for you." He sets your plate down on the dining table and waits for you to take your seat before he brings you a glass of orange juice and sits with his own plate of food.
"You also told Bruce the terms of this marriage of convenience? And he was okay with it?"
Jason shrugs casually. "Meh, he's fine with a little light insurance fraud if it's done for the right reasons. It's Alfred who you're really going to have to convince."
"Who's Alfred?"
He grins. "The butler."
Two nights later, and you're scrambling in the kitchen of the apartment to get dinner finished. You'd told Jason that if you were going to be meeting his billionaire family, you wanted to do it on your home turf. Now that the moment was here, you were questioning your decision. You'd mad-dash cleaned the entire apartment: wiping the counters, mopping the floors, scrubbing the tile in the bathroom.
The whole place had become a lot more homey after you moved in. You'd added some artwork to the walls, candles on side tables, hanging plants, that sort of thing, but now you were worried they might think the place looked too cluttered. Don't rich people nowadays usually take a more minimalistic approach?
Dinner has been left to simmer on the stove when there's a knock on the front door.
"I'll get it," Jason tells you when the sound makes you freeze in panic. "Hey, come on in."
You peek out from the kitchen doorway to watch the two men enter the apartment. Bruce is easily recognizable; you've seen him plenty of times on the news. You still can't really believe that you're seeing him in person now. It's surreal. He catches your stare from down the hall and smiles in greeting. "You must be the roommate."
You gulp and force yourself to step out into the hall and introduce yourself. "Thank you for coming. Please take off your coats and make yourselves comfortable. Dinner's almost ready."
"It smells divine." Bruce gives you a charming smile that makes your face hot. "Thank you for having us." He holds out a bottle of wine.
You take it graciously, only to almost drop it when you look down and recognize the label. You saw it once, inside a glass display case at an art and wine festival you went to with friends back in college. It's an $8,000 bottle of wine... You're gonna fucking pass out. You clutch the bottle to your chest, laugh nervously, and excuse yourself back into the kitchen.
"The place looks great, Jason. Can't believe it's taken marriage talks to get you to invite us over."
Jason grunts some response you don't hear before walking with Bruce deeper into the apartment.
"I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of bringing along some cookies for dessert."
You look up to find Alfred standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a pink pastry box. "Oh, of course not. Jason's already told me all about your world-famous cookies." You indicate to a spot on the counter where he can place the box.
"Might I be of any assistance with your dinner preparations?"
"Thank you for offering, but I think I've got it handled. You're a guest tonight, Alfred."
He steps back and gives you a fond smile. "I take it the sunflower hand towels and cat paw oven mitts are your additions to the household?" He inquires while gesturing toward the items in question.
You laugh in embarrassment. "Yes. Jason kind of had that monochrome bachelor aesthetic going on in here until I showed up and ruined it."
"I like them. They add warmth to your home. I may have to invest in my own pair of pawprint oven mitts."
You giggle again and hope he's not just really good at masking his sarcasm. "I'll have to keep that in mind when Christmas comes around."
Dinner starts off pretty well. Bruce and Alfred alternate asking you different questions about yourself. What you studied in school, what you're doing now, what your future goals are. They're very good at making it seem like casual conversation, but you get the distinct feeling that you're under interrogation. You at least expected this much. You can't imagine the lengths someone like Bruce Wayne must have to go through to keep his family members safe from scammers and con artists. You answer everything truthfully, and admitting that Barbara was the one to introduce you to Jason seems to earn you some brownie points, which makes you wonder if these two know about Jason and Barb's late-night extracurriculars. There's a niggling at the back of your mind, like when you're really close to figuring out the trick to one of your puzzle games, but it's not quite there yet.
At one point, you get a little piece of food stuck in the mucus buildup of your throat and have to excuse yourself to have a coughing fit in the bathroom. While you're away, Jason feels himself getting put in the hot seat.
"So... she seems cute," Bruce grins casually at his son.
Jason's hand tightens around his fork as he glares. "Keep your hands to yourself, Old Man."
Bruce only laughs heartily. "Not for me. For you."
Jason shifts in his seat, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you're still in the bathroom. "It's not like that."
"Ah, yes. I do believe young master Jason called it a marriage of convenience, Sir."
"Yeah," Bruce scoffs like he doesn't believe a word of it. "Normally, something like that means both parties have something to gain. Once she's married to you, what do you get out of it?"
Jason stares back at his mentor and father figure. They've certainly had their ups and downs over the years, but Jason trusts that Bruce is just trying to look out for him in this moment. "I just want her to live a long and healthy life. She deserves to have someone taking care of her, even if she says she doesn't want it."
Bruce hums and mulls over his words.
You return from the bathroom at that point and smile shyly while returning to your seat. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"
"We were just beginning to discuss the logistics of your marital arrangement," Bruce supplies helpfully.
"Oh, perfect. I want a prenup," you announce, and the table goes dead quiet.
All three men stop eating and turn to look at you inquisitively. "I... wasn't aware you had any assets you wanted to protect," Bruce starts up again.
"Not for me. For Jason." You point over at him. "I want to make this clear from the get-go that I don't want any of his money."
Jason sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "See? This is exactly what I was talking about. She's a detriment to her own health."
"What the hell does that mean?" you ask with a dangerous lilt to your tone.
"It means we're not getting a fucking prenup."
"What, so you actually want me to go running off with half your stuff?"
He releases a dry chuckle. "Oh, baby, I'd like to see you try."
Alfred leans in his chair to whisper toward Bruce. "Sir, I do believe we are bearing witness to young master Jason's first marital spat."
"We should have brought some popcorn."
The two of you continue to argue for several minutes, impressing both Bruce and Alfred with your ability to hold your ground against Jason, even though every argument you provide only makes him more frustrated. Even more impressive is how long Jason continues to maintain his composure, even when everything you say irritates him even further. He's completely blown up at his siblings or his enemies for offenses far less than this. They can see how easily you're able to slip under his skin, but it's almost like he doesn't even mind that you're there. That maybe, he even enjoys it.
The two share a knowing look before Bruce breaks up your arguing with a decisive, "Ahem." You both stop and look his way. "I'll have my lawyers whip up a contract that should satisfy all parties. You'll still need to take it down to City Hall to have it notarized, but if we work quick enough, you both can be officially married by the end of the week."
"Jesus, you know how to get shit done," you gape at him.
"I prefer the term efficient," Bruce laughs.
"Welcome to the Bat Family, young Miss," Alfred smiles warmly.
Your head tilts curiously. "The Bat Family?"
All three men tense up once more, the older two pinning Jason with a look. "I thought you said you told her," Bruce frowns.
"I told her about me! Not about you!"
That's when it clicks. Jason running around as Robin at the same time he'd been adopted by Bruce, the Barbara connection, Bat Family??? "Oh my God, you're fucking Batman!"
Bruce and Alfred make their escape while you're laying into Jason for not better preparing you to play hostess to fucking Batman himself. You end the night by taking the box of Alfred's cookies into your room and refusing to share any of them with him despite his numerous apologies through your locked bedroom door.
This story has absolutely spiraled into a whole thing and got way longer than I was expecting. I'm splitting it into multiple parts for everyone's sanity
summary: post-mission, you land yourself in the hospital with a concussion. in your daze, you plead for someone to tell damian so he won't tear the hospital down to find you, for him not to worry. only problem? you and damian are supposed to hate each other.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
The faint beeping, the low hushed voicesâit's an annoying, distant commotion disrupting your sleep, enough to rouse you from the heavy, dark haze enveloping your senses. Your heavy lids peel open, blinking slowly as your vision adjusts to the sight of the hospital ceiling.
The striking scent of disinfectant hits you, and your nose instinctively wrinkles. A low rasp escapes your throat, just enough to stop the whispers.
"âShe's awake!"
Itâs a familiar voice, you think. Dick. It wasnât the voice you wanted to hear, no matter how reassuringânot when the one you're familiar with holds a much more begrudging tone.
"I need..." Who? There's an urgent pressure building up in the back of your mind, an important request hanging right off your tongue. "To tell him."
"Hey-hey, you're okay. Just a little disoriented." Dickâs face comes into view, his messy locks covering the fuzzy halo of light above you. âYou have a minor concussion, but no fatal injuries.â
"No. You need to tell him." Your face contorts, straining with visible effort to rack your brain for a name, trying to fight past the thick fog. "I am okay. It's him you have to worry about."
The corner of Dick's mouth tugs down briefly, confusion lighting his features. "Who?"
There's that damn question you're trying to answer. The fluorescent lights are much too oppressiveâoverly bright and sharp. You needed a shadow, someone who would know what to do when your teeth grinds together in discomfort.
"...Damian." You mutter. Ah, there it is. You don't notice the abrupt confused glances exchanged around the room, of how Damian's name was the last thing they expected to hear.
Your lids fall shut not a second after your job was done, body screaming to rest. At least you won't have to deal with Damian tearing down the hospital to find you.
"They despise each other." Tim reminds for the fifth time.
"I am aware.â Dick mutters, thumb scrolling through his contacts list. "What did I say about hacking my contacts list, Best Robin?"
"You didn't say anything about that specifically." Tim's foot taps impatiently against the tiles. âAnd why'd you think that contact name was meant for the demon spawnânever mind, that's besides the point right now. She's clearly disoriented.â
âI just have a gut feeling.â Pressing the phone against his ear, Dick runs a habitual tug over his locks whenever another situation pops up that he has to solve. Being in this line of work is bound to give him early greys.
"A gut feeling." Tim huffs, shaking his head in disagreement. âWe better hope this doesnât start another scuffle. Wouldn't want to toss another bone to the press. 'Blood son of Bruce Wayne attacks hospital patient'. I can already smell the print.â
Dick's frown sticks as he eyes you through the open door frame, laying in a hospital bedâunconscious ever since your first waking. The dots aren't connecting, not when the soot from the explosion still singes the edges of his jacket and his mind is all fuzzed up from a lack of sleep and endless documents. Still, the world had a knack for surprising him whenever he least expects it.
The ringing on the other side stops after two seconds.
"Damian." Dick addresses, re-running his fingers habitually through his hair. "There's been a situation at the hospital..."
Here's the thing, Dick knows Damian. He understands the trait of impatience passed along their family, which is why he's already summarised the facts down to twenty seconds. The call abruptly ends at ten.
"Huh." Dick mutters, brows pressed together as he looks back to Tim. "He hung up."
Dick had barely made it beyond the mention of your name and their current location. Your voice echoes in reminder as he stares at his screen, the duration of the call staring back at him. It's him you have to worry about.
Damian's anything but subtle. Of his frigid attitudeâhis blatant dislike towards you. Putting the two of you in the same room, it was guaranteed disaster. Yet, Damian was the first name out of your mouth.
"Told you it doesn't make sense." Tim shrugs. "Logically, he's the last person we should've called."
"We'll see." Dick answers, head leaning back to rest against the wall. "He's surprised us both plenty of times."
"Yeah, by attempting murder on us both. Your point being?"
Dick restrains a much-needed sigh.
Barely fifteen minutes later, Dick stirs at a loud commotion beyond the walls of the waiting room. His neck is cramping from this unergonomic chair, and his feet are nerved with pins-and-needles. Tim's ears are plugged in with wired earphones, jammed high with Green Day as he concentrates on his tablet, opting to work through his insomnia instead.
Thereâs a slamming of doors, rapid footsteps thundering against the tiles, coming closer and closer. Dick barely has time to nudge Timâs shoulder before the hallway door slams open.
Damian comes through like a storm, movements overly controlled in the way a person would seize up before a fight. As if he's expected the worst, and is prepared to battle whatever he might encounterâin a hospital.
âWhere is she?â Damian commands, voice echoing off the tiles.
Staring back at Dick are frantic, darkened eyes pinpointed on locked targetsâsearching for his answer. It's so abruptly intense, almost inhuman, that his mind stutters in regaining its grasp on reality. He hasn't seen that look in a long time, not since their first meeting where one wrong answer would make Damian your enemy.
âSheâs asleep.â Tim answers for him, one side of his earphones still plugged in throughout this entire mess. âShe needs the rest.â
Damian disregards his words, brushing past him. âI have to see her.â
Dick mustâve subconsciously shifted his glance to your room, towards the shine of the metal carvings of 78 placed in the centre. Damian's gaze follows, and he doesnât spare a second of hesitation in heading towards the door.
Dick catches Damian's forearm right before he enters, and the glare he receives? Murderous. As if everything in his way of getting to you has become mere obstacles he has to overcome.
"Grayson." Damian's voice is all wrong, shortened and taut, syllables used to convey only what was needed. "Unhand. Me."
"Dames." Dick tries to make sense of this adverse reaction, but nothing from that brief phone call provided him any clues. "She's still unconscious, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to be in thereâin this state."
Damian's chest heaves once, but the storm in his gaze has only darkened. "She called for me, didn't she?"
Dick blinks once. "Well, yes butâ"
âThen youâre in my way.â
Damian disarms his grip with an alarming quickness, and Dick doesn't even have time to recalibrate his mistake before he's slipped through.
Dick's palm splays onto the door right before it closes, pushing it fully open with a warning ready on his lips to not disturb your recovery, only to find thatâDamian hadnât moved from his spot since he entered. Dick feels Tim pressing into his side, curious eyes flickering at the situation, but Dick is too busy watching to care about how they're practically hanging onto the doorframe.
When Damian catches sight of you, his entire frame freezes into place. He's watching you, and Dick's watching himâand he sees it then, and realises what an idiot he's been.
Damian's entire expression immediately shifts. Loosening in relief at the sight of you mostly unharmed, at the sound of a calm beeping from the heart monitor. It's frighteningly out of place, the tenderness softening his wrath-like panic mere seconds ago. He moves almost mindlessly towards your side, forgetting the presence of his two brothers gawking at him from outside the doorframe, peering into what must be a fever dream.
"Idiot." Damian mutters, but it sounds more like a prayer answered.
"We've got it all wrong, didn't we?" Tim mutters, staring at the sight in awe.
"Told you." Dick whispers, his lips tilting upwards into a smile. "Gut feeling."
You stir not long after Damianâs arrival, as if your body is already attuned to his presence. Lids peering half-open, you squint at the shadow towering over you. For a moment, there was nothing but held breaths and a long pause as you familiarise yourself with forest green.
Then, the most miraculous thing happens. You smile, completely unaware of the turmoil and confusion you've caused.
âDami.â
Dick decides today is an absolute possibility for the world to end.
âYou're an idiot.â Damian hurls the practiced insult out like heâs been running it off in his mind for the past couple of minutes, but his weakened voice holds no bite in comparison to his overwhelming relief.
Under the sheets, Dick swears he sees his brotherâs fingers intertwining with yours.
âI told them to tell you not to rush.â You mutter hazily, still readjusting to reality. âAt leastâI think I did.â
Damian sucks in a breath, low, undistinguishable mutters whispered. Your lip twitches up slightly, which could only mean another insult you're brushing off.
âYet, youâre still here.â You tease. âFretting.â
The thin line of his lips creases deeper. âI do not fret.â
âArguing with the patient?â Your body shifts, tilting closer to Damian.
âI prefer arguing with you unharmed.â Damian mocks lowly. Dick sees the stiffness bleed out of Damianâs expression the longer his gaze is locked onto you, as if materialising your talkative state in his mind.
"I am unharmed."
"A mild concussion, a hospital bed." Damian's frown deepens. "At least attempt at a reasonable lie."
Damianâs body tilts just slightly, lowering to match yours, and the light catches your features once more. Your lips tilt downward for a single second, the sting of the fluorescent lights irritating your vision.
In a sudden movement without words exchanged, Damian adjusts. His shoulders block the light over your face once more, covering you with his shadow.
You can't help the grin that escapes. "That is what I was thinking about, before I passed out again."
Damian's expression contorts, as if his mind can't decide on hyper-focusing on the details of you falling unconscious again or on what you were imagining about him. You decide for him.
"The lights were all in my face andâ" You suck in a breath. "I kept trying to remember your name. I tried so hard to find it, this person who knows that I hate hospital lights without me needing to say it. Then, your name just slipped out."
âOh.â Tim murmurs from afar.
âOh.â Dick agrees.
âDonât do that again.â Damian mutters in the quiet buzzing of the machines.
âSave people?â You tease.
âPut yourself in harmâs way.â Damian pushes back.
"Hey, what about the two of us?" Tim calls out, and Dick's quick to shove his elbow into the idiot's stomach. "Owâwhat? We never got this treatment and all the fretting."
Damian's gaze shifts at the disruption, the softness creased into the corners of his eyes fading into annoyance. "Leave us."
"Woah." Tim holds a hand to his abdomen, still feigning hurt. "That's just cold."
Damian's eyes narrow further, and Dick's reminded instantly of how the press is probably waiting outside the hospital for any hints of a scuffle. It's already news enough for not two, but three members now of the Wayne family rushing to the emergency ward. Grabbing Tim by his hoodie, Dick tugs roughly. "We'll leave you two be toâcatch up. No attempted murders, if the reminder's still needed."
It had slipped out so easily, the old warning, but it feels strangely out of place with this tender atmosphere. Dick's most definitely intruding on something he's not meant to see, but questions can be reserved for later.
Eyeing Damian one last time, he sees the way his brother's vision is trained on youâand he knows his job is done here.
You snort, a sheepish expression caught between your teeth, watching for confirmation as the door shuts with a click. When you have a shred of confidence that they're at least out of hearing range, you turn your attention back to Damian, unable to hide your grin.
âYou know theyâre probably freaking out right now?â You mutter conspiratorially. "They'll never buy into us hating each other anymore."
âThat is not my concern.â Damian frowns. âYou are.â
âThat might be the sweetest thing you've ever told me.â You coo. "I matter enough for you to deal with family dinner interrogations now."
Damian's stare remains unimpressed. âI will smother you with pillows.â
âThatâs unhygienicâand cruel.â
His tongue clicks softly as his hand comes up behind the pillow, instinctively propping them up higher as you adjust your neck, an action completely unrelated to his threat. âOnly you would be concerned of bacteria before attempted murder.â
âYeah, Iâm a piece of work." You murmur distractedly, choosing to gaze intently at him instead. His hair's fallen into different directions, all un-Damian-like. "Thatâs why you rushed all the way here, didnât you?â
He stiffens, hand shifting away from the pillow, but still hovering near you. He's been holding back from the moment he's entered this damned institution, and his mind is ticking, battling between his habit to be the steady one, and the crushing need to hold you.
âDami..â Itâs a delicate art, softening your tone just enough to reach himâone youâve learnt in secret. âCome here.â
Your voice slips past his defences, and it hits. The inner workings of his mind switching between his logic and his emotions finally falter, and his fingers move on command, a delicate twist to cup the back of your head. He doesn't move you towards him, choosing to come over to you instead, his body hovering halfway over yours before finally letting his weight topple gently over you.
His arms wrap around you gently as his comforting weight falls over you, and the first thing you feel is how quickly his heart is racing. He needs this, you realise, as he settles with his arms wrapped protectively around you. To be physically present as your shield, even when there is no danger present.
Damian is affected. More than he seems from his tightly concealed expressions, obvious now that you can physically feel the effects on his body. Slight twitches of his fingers that appear when he's still afraid, waiting for the noise in his head to calm down.
âI didn't want you to worry.â You mumble into his embrace.
âImpossible.â Damian huffs softly, tracing his other hand over your wrist, feeling the soft thudding of your pulse. âYou're my problem to handle."
You feel a soft, imperceptible kiss pressed onto your temple, and your eyes flutter shut. This is the side of Damian only you get to have, the proof of its existence ghosting your skin. You have to force your eyes open, the lure of sleep already trying to dig its claws into youâand that's something you absolutely refuse. You don't want to miss this rare side to Damian, all soft and disarmed.
"You scared me." Damian admits after a long pause, barely audible.
You blink, surprised. "You're never scared."
"For you, I am." Damian confesses, his grip tightening slightly. "You tend to render me painfully exposed to weakness."
"Weakness, huh? Still haven't got rid of me though." You hum lightly.
"No." His tone is decisive, stern. "If I haven't decided that I've had enough of you, the world doesn't get to."
"I'm starting to think threats are your love language, Dami." Your hand lifts, struggling twice before you manage to run your fingers through his hair, resting its weight over the nape of his neck.
His body shudders slightly, and his nose buries itself deeper into the crook of your neck. If anyone were to look into hospital room 78, they'll encounter the strange sight of Damian Wayne embracing you as if you were his lifeline. No one would believe them, but the truth remains.
He was yours. Completely yours.
He was also definitely sentenced to a long interrogation the moment he steps out of this room.
"Who was the perpetrator?" He mutters after a moment.
"Damian." You're stuck deciding between a snort and a sigh. "It was an accident."
"You don't know that." He huffs. "I sincerely doubt in your ability to detect an attempted murder while you're unconscious."
Your grip tugs at his hair playfully, a pretty effective way of shutting him up. "Argue with me later."
You feel his lashes flutter against your skin, processing. "...Fine."
He breathes you in, his heart rate finally starting to calm the longer he hears your voice so close to his eardrums, your touch grounding his senses.
"It was torture." His voice is too still, stating the facts without the emotion that's driven behind them. "The drive here. I kept envisioning the worst, that you had called out for meâand if I didn't make it in timeâ"
His grip tightens with his words, and you're pressed into his chest, feeling what his words refuse to convey, starting to thud again below his ribcage.
"Damian." Your hand traces reassuringly over his neck. "I'm right here."
He listens, his rampant thoughts slowing in pace at the reminder. "I had never been so terrified." His voice remains level, his attempt at reinforcing his reality over his fears. "To receive a call from Grayson, hearing your nameâI couldn't let myself think of anything else other than finding you."
"You did." You mutter reassuringly. "You found me. I'm safe."
He lets out a low breath, a slow exhale at the sound of those two words he'd been needing to hear. "Sometimes, I think you've ruined me." He murmurs in truth.
You think he's unused to this. Letting down his walls, experiencing the blatant terror for another person's life that is completely out of his controlâthat he's left with nothing but pieces to readjust, to compromise. By letting you into his life and allowing you to be his person, he has abandoned his need to preserve himself, to be above fear.
"You're not escaping the argument." He notes down distractedly, trying to regain his ground despite being wrapped into you. "I still have my reservations."
"Anything you need, Dami." You reassure softly.
"Anything?" He murmurs, head shifting out of the crook of your neck to face you fully.
His green eyes are narrowed with intent now, gazing at you with unhidden intensity.
You swallow, nodding slightly.
When he leans in, the palm of his hand slips from the back of your head to over your jaw. His thumb traces over your lips softly as he leans in, replacing the ghost of his touch with his own mouth. It's tender, a separate language to convey the emotions he hasn't learnt to spell out, on what you do to him. Yet, with the way he's handling you, nose brushing against yours, in a way so precious it makes your heart acheâyou think that impending argument's worth it.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
Can i ask for jason with light/kind witch reader, like the kind of witch that found in fairytales, like she lives in a warm hut in the woods and owns a cat, uses magic to do household chores, such as making the broom move on its own to clean the place and the rest of the stereotypes... etc
I like the idea ofher owning a apartment in gotham and she can open a random door in her apartment that makes her move to a different place depending on where she wants to go... Something similar to howl's moving castle if you're familiar with the movie
So when Jason is exhausted or having one of his usual bad days, she opens the door to a different place to get him some fresh air or just to get away from all the noises and the gloomy atmosphere of the city.
I have not heard of the movie before... I will definitely check it out and I hope that this is what you had in mind
Doors to Everywhere
navigation , dc navigation
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
The first thing Jason noticed when he stumbled through your apartment door at three in the morning wasn't the way books floated gently back to their shelves, or how the kettle began whistling without anyone touching the stove. It wasn't even the fat tabby cat who looked at him with distinctly judgmental amber eyes before padding away with an air of superiority.
No, the first thing Jason noticed was how quiet his mind became.
The constant buzz of Gotham, sirens, gunshots, screaming, the whispers of his own demons, all of it faded to a gentle hum the moment he crossed your threshold. Which was impossible, because your apartment was smack in the middle of the Fashion District, surrounded by the very chaos he'd just escaped from.
"Rough night?" you asked softly, emerging from what he assumed was your bedroom wearing an oversized sweater that looked hand-knitted and pajama pants covered in tiny moons and stars. Your hair was slightly mussed from sleep, but your eyes were alert, concerned.
Jason stood there dripping rainwater onto your hardwood floors, his Red Hood gear making him look completely out of place among your warm fairy lights and hanging plants. He still wasn't sure how this had started, this thing between you two. One night he'd been bleeding out in an alley, and you'd found him, patched him up with hands that glowed softly golden, and somehow he'd kept coming back.
"Something like that," he managed, his voice rough from shouting orders at his lieutenants all night.
You studied his face with that way you had, like you could see straight through his armor to all the jagged pieces underneath, and nodded once.
"Boots off," you said gently. "I'll make tea."
As if summoned by your words, his boots began unlacing themselves. Jason had stopped being surprised by these small magics weeks ago. The first time he'd watched your wooden spoon stir soup while you tended to his split lip, he'd nearly pulled a gun. Now, he just watched with something approaching fondness as his jacket hung itself neatly on a peg by the door.
The kettle floated over to pour steaming water into two mismatched mugs, his a sturdy blue ceramic one that had appeared after his third visit, yours delicate porcelain painted with tiny forget-me-nots. Tea bags dipped themselves precisely three times before floating to the compost bin.
"Thanks," he murmured, accepting the warm mug and inhaling the chamomile scent.
Luna, your cat, whom Jason was ninety percent sure was more familiar than pet, leaped onto the couch beside him with a soft thud. Against his better judgment, Jason had grown fond of the judgmental furball, even if Luna seemed to barely tolerate his presence.
You curled up in the armchair across from him, tucking your feet under you. "Want to talk about it?"
Jason shook his head, taking a sip of tea that somehow tasted like comfort and safety and all the things he'd thought he'd lost forever.
"That's okay." You were quiet for a moment, watching him over the rim of your mug. "You know, I was thinking earlier about this meadow I used to visit as a child. Wildflowers everywhere, and this old oak tree perfect for climbing. Very peaceful."
There was something in your tone, casual but purposeful, that made Jason look up from his tea.
"Yeah?"
"Mmm." You set down your mug and stood, moving toward what Jason had always assumed was your bedroom door. But instead of opening it normally, you pressed your palm flat against the wood and murmured something under your breath. The door began to glow softly around the edges.
"Feel like taking a walk?" you asked, turning back to him with a small smile.
Jason had learned not to question your magic too deeply. The first time you'd opened a door to what should have been a linen closet only to reveal a sunlit forest path, he'd nearly had a panic attack. But there was something about the way you wielded your power, gentle, nurturing, never threatening, that gradually eased his hypervigilance.
He set down his mug and padded over to you in his socks. When you opened the door, instead of your bedroom, there was indeed a meadow bathed in golden afternoon sunlight. The scent of wildflowers and warm earth drifted through, along with the sound of bees humming lazily among the blooms.
"How do you do that?" he asked, not for the first time.
"The same way you know exactly where to hit someone to drop them without permanent damage," you replied with a shrug. "Practice and instinct."
Luna wound between your legs with a purr, clearly planning to join this expedition.
Jason stepped through first, his bare feet sinking into soft grass that felt nothing like the concrete he'd been walking on moments before. The air here was clean, sweet, without the underlying smell of exhaust and decay that permeated Gotham. Birds sang somewhere in the distance, and a gentle breeze rustled through the oak tree you'd mentioned, massive and ancient, its branches perfect for climbing just like you'd said.
"Where are we?" he asked, though part of him didn't care as long as it was away from the city.
"Nowhere," you said, stepping up beside him and closing the door, which now looked like a perfectly ordinary wooden door standing freely in the meadow. "Everywhere. Does it matter?"
It didn't, really. What mattered was the way his shoulders finally relaxed, the way the constant tension in his jaw eased. What mattered was that here, surrounded by your magic and the peace you somehow conjured from thin air, he could breathe.
You settled in the grass beneath the oak tree, Luna immediately claiming your lap. Jason sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed, and tilted his face up to the sun he rarely saw in Gotham's perpetual gloom.
"Bad drop?" you asked quietly, your fingers finding his and intertwining gently.
Jason considered deflecting, giving you the sanitized version he usually offered. But something about this place, or maybe something about you, made honesty feel safer than usual.
"Kids," he said finally. "Trafficking ring. We got them out, but..." He trailed off, the images still too fresh, too raw.
Your hand squeezed his gently. "But you saw yourself in them."
It wasn't a question. You knew him too well, understood the particular way certain cases tore at him.
"Yeah." The word came out rough, barely above a whisper.
You didn't offer empty platitudes about how he'd saved them, how he was a hero. You just sat with him in the silence, your thumb tracing gentle circles over his knuckles while Luna purred in your lap and the breeze carried the scent of flowers.
After a while, you spoke again. "I have something to show you."
With your free hand, you gestured toward the meadow. The wildflowers began to glow softly, each bloom emanating a warm, golden light. But it wasn't just pretty, Jason could feel it, somehow. Peace. Safety. Love. All the things those kids would hopefully know now, all the things he'd fought so hard to give them.
"Every person you save," you said softly, "every child you protect, every wrong you right, it matters. It changes the world in ways you can't see, creates ripples of light that spread farther than you know."
The flowers pulsed gently, and Jason felt something tight in his chest begin to loosen.
"It doesn't always feel like enough," he admitted.
"It doesn't have to feel like enough to be everything to someone else." You turned to look at him, your eyes soft. "You were everything to those kids tonight, Jason. You were hope when they had none left."
Luna chirped, an oddly conversational sound, and butted her head against Jason's free hand. When he obligingly scratched behind her ears, she purred louder, the sound somehow adding to the peace of this impossible place.
"How long can we stay here?" he asked.
"As long as you need." You leaned against his shoulder, warm and solid and real. "Time moves differently here anyway. We could stay for hours and return to find only minutes have passed."
Jason closed his eyes and let himself sink into the moment, the warmth of the sun, the softness of the grass, the gentle weight of you against his side. The flowers' glow seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, slower now, calmer.
"I love this," he said without thinking, then tensed slightly at his own words.
But you just smiled, the expression soft and understanding. "I love sharing it with you."
Later, much later, though you were right about time moving strangely here, you opened the door back to your apartment. Jason felt the familiar weight of Gotham settle on his shoulders again, but it was bearable now, manageable.
"Thank you," he said as you both settled back on your couch. Luna immediately claimed his lap this time, apparently having decided he'd earned the privilege.
"Always," you replied simply.
As if sensing the shift in his mood, your apartment seemed to respond. The fairy lights dimmed to a gentle glow, perfect for the drowsiness beginning to pull at Jason's eyelids. A soft blanket floated over to drape itself across his shoulders, and his empty tea mug cleaned itself before settling on the side table.
"Stay?" you asked, the question soft and hopeful.
Jason nodded, already sinking deeper into your couch. He'd learned that sleeping here meant no nightmares, no cold sweats, no waking up reaching for weapons that weren't there. Whatever magic protected this place, it protected his dreams too.
You settled beside him, close enough that he could feel your warmth, and with a whispered word, the lights dimmed further. Luna purred between you, a furry chaperone who seemed to approve of the arrangement.
"Sweet dreams, Jason," you murmured, your hand finding his in the darkness.
"Sweet dreams, witch," he replied, the endearment fond rather than mocking.
As sleep pulled him under, Jason's last conscious thought was gratitude, for magical doors that led to peace, for flowers that glowed with hope, for a woman who looked at all his sharp edges and chose gentleness anyway.
In his dreams, he walked through sunlit meadows while wildflowers bloomed in his footsteps, and somewhere in the distance, children laughed as they played beneath an ancient oak tree, safe and loved and free.
And when morning came, he woke to the smell of pancakes cooking themselves and the knowledge that no matter how dark Gotham became, he would always have a door to somewhere better, as long as you were the one holding the key.
