I cannot believe this has to be said, but AI has NO PLACE in fandom. I do not use AI, I do not like AI, and I DO NOT give my permission for my works to be fed into any AI bots.
If you have a fanfic request, please include a preferred rating (AO3's rating system is ideal if you're familiar), as well as a key word or two (ie; fluff, angst, smut, hurt/comfort, etc). Characters I already write for will be given priority, but I'm theoretically open to writing for other characters in my fandoms if there's interest!
Fandoms I have written for:
DC (BatFam specifically and Jason Todd in particular)
Good Omens (available on AO3)
Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss (particularly Lucifer)
Other fandoms I'm in (and could probably be convinced to write for, if requested):
Doctor Who
Marvel
Star Trek
Hetalia
Existing Works (by fandom):
DC:
☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖
Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader; (honorary) little brother Damian Wayne & (honorary) big sister (f)Reader
(fluff, hurt/comfort, multi chapter, media appropriate violence, some slow-burn NSFW chapters -all labeled as such-, gradual DamiJon)
scenarios Alfred Pennyworth has to be a witness to as a resident of Wayne Manor that the batkids have absolutely no shame in front of whatsoever part 22 (masterpost here)
Alfred, walking past Damian's bedroom at night: *slows, squints through the open door*
Damian: *clearly dressed to go out, buttoning up his shirt*
Alfred: Master Damian?
Damian, calmly: yes, Pennyworth?
Alfred: are you... going out?
Damian: yes, why?
Alfred, narrowing his eyes: i was under the impression that Master Bruce grounded you for the weekend.
Damian, instantly: no, he benched me. he never grounded me, he simply banished me from patrol for a few days. he never specified that i couldn't go out as a civilian.
Alfred:
Alfred: i see. and where, might i ask, do you plan on spending this fine evening out on the town?
Damian: one of my classmates has an older sibling that has gotten us invited to a party on his school's campus. i assure you, i plan on remaining safe and staying away from recreational drugs and heavy drinking.
Alfred: right. and this party doesn't just so happen to be on Gotham University grounds, does it?
*a beat*
Damian: maybe.
Alfred, dryly: the very same party that your father and siblings are currently staking out due to rumours of suspicious rogue activity?
Damian, innocently: well i wouldn't know anything about that, being as i was benched from patrol. i'm simply a young teenager trying to have fun.
Alfred:
Alfred: *sigh* you understand that when your father notices you showing up to his case in nothing but a dress shirt, he will most likely be even more frustrated than if you'd simply snuck out as Robin?
Damian, shrugging: well, my siblings always tell me that i should be more rebellious and teen-like, so i suppose he'll just have to blame them.
Damian: *walks past Alfred, headed down towards the staircase*
Alfred: *silently watches him go*
Alfred:
Alfred, softly to himself: i don't think it's my responsibility to do anything about this. i simply work here.
Alfred:
*distant front door swinging open and shut*
Alfred: he said he would abstain from 'heavy' drinking, not drinking in general, didn't he?
i'm really not the kind of person who enjoys de-ageing plots normally, but i do think it would be very fun if we had a Red Hood identity reveal au where Damian as Robin gets de-aged to a baby while on patrol one night and he just. Will Not Stop Wailing. he screams like he's about to be murdered any time Batman or Nightwing or Red Robin or anyone even goes near him, even when they try to take off their suits in case it's the masks that are freaking him out. Babian is not fucking having it and he refuses to stop crying, so they bats are just stuck kinda panicking while trying to figure out what to do, because they don't want to scare the baby so bad that he hurts himself or something but also they need to get him home so they can try to fix things???
after a while Red Hood is nearby and, obviously, hearing a kid in such clear distress in the middle of the night means he checks it out, and upon landing nearby and asking what the fuck is going on, the bats have to watch as baby-Damian notices the shiny red of Hood's helmet and armour, instantly recognises him, and crawls over to him to sob and clench his tiny little fists at him in an ask for uppies. and Red Hood obviously takes one look at the baby at his feet, goes 'shit wait- Dami?' and bends down to cradle him like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Hood then has to explain that he knew Robin in the league and helped care from him when he was really little, which is probably why Red Hood is currently the only person in the city that baby Damian recognises/views as safe, and Bruce is left with the annoying realisation that the only way to both keep Damian safe and happy while they figure out how to reverse the de-aging and get his son back to normal, is if he brings the Red Hood back to the cave with them. a man who is supposed to be his enemy and whom none of them realised Damian even knew, because clearly that little shit has been lying about some stuff.
for lack of a better solution they end up cautiously bringing Hood back to the cave, which Jason easily goes along with because the second he clocked baby Damian his paternal/protector instincts took over and he doesn't currently care about anything but keeping Damian happy. so there's a period of time where the bats are working as hard as possible in the cave to figure out a way to get Damian back to normal while also warily keeping an eye on Hood to make sure he doesn't try snooping around/go up to the manor/start shit, and Jason is just. not even clocking that this is a worry for them. he's genuinely just zeroed in on Damian like an activated sleeper agent, humming lullabies and changing diapers and even letting the baby clumsily try to take off his helmet because he wants to see Jason's face. Jason lets him, because he still has the mask on underneath, but it's still the first time any of the bats have seen under the helmet and so Dick and Tim end up on the other side of the cave watching with dropped jaws as Jason lets Damian play in his helmet -which he's like. small enough to sit in.- like... is that a fucking teenager under there???
Bruce finally figures out how to get Damian back to normal and when they fix him he comes back really disorientated and not really understanding what the fuck's been going on, so when he blinks open his eyes all dizzy and trying to gain his bearings he clocks Jason's face as one of the first things he sees and without thinking he just goes 'wait- Jason? what the fuck happened, where am I?'
all the bats turn in unison to stare at Jason in question and Jason just freezes in place. like. 'god i wish you'd just stayed a baby.'
ৎׅ ׄ synopsis ⋮ Jason starts growing facial hair again and he doubts he's young enough to go through a teenage phase. Good thing you know how to shave.
pls read a/n at the end before replying !!
aka ›››› “Look at that,” you murmur. “Sexy jawline coming back.” “Never left,” Jason says automatically with a shit eating grin.
Jason has started growing facial hair again.
It’s such a stupid, ordinary sentence that it almost feels like it belongs to someone else’s life. Some other twenty-two-year-old who wakes up in a cramped apartment with morning light slipping through crooked blinds and worries about things like razors and bad lighting and whether stubble makes him look older than he is.
Not him.
His face is a map of healed disasters—thin white lines cutting through his brows, the faint pucker near his jaw, the uneven texture along his cheekbone where skin never quite settled back into what it was meant to be. There was a time when even the thought of hair growing there felt impossible. He remembers the chemical sting, remembers laughter echoing too loud in a warehouse that smelled like rust and rot and something sweetly corrosive.
The Joker had called it “light acid.”
As if acid could ever be light.
As if anything about it had been.
After that, hair just… didn’t grow. Not where it should have. Not where other boys his age complained about patchy beards and uneven sideburns and the awkward in-between stage of becoming something older.
Jason never got that stage.
He went from boy to broken and skipped the mundane humiliations in between.
Until now.
At twenty-two, standing barefoot in front of the narrow bathroom mirror in his apartment in Gotham City, Jason Todd squints at his reflection and feels something dangerously close to disbelief.
There is hair there.
Not much. Not thick. But there. Real.
Dark stubble shadows his jaw, uneven and stubborn, catching the early gray light filtering in through the frosted window. He drags his thumb over it once, slow, like he expects it to come away empty.
It doesn’t.
The memory surfaces uninvited—your voice last night, half-breathless and laughing when you pulled him back just enough to complain that it was itchy, that it scratched when he was feasting on you like he hadn’t eaten in days. You’d swatted at his shoulder and told him to shave.
It hadn’t been an attempt to redirect your mouth onto him for once like he thought.
Not that time.
“Oh, god,” he mutters now, staring harder at the mirror.
He looks dreadful.
That’s the numb, dawning realization settling into him as he takes in the rest. The hollows beneath his eyes are darker than usual, bruised crescents that no amount of sleep seems to erase. His nose looks a little more crooked than he swears it did yesterday. His hair—thick, black, unruly—is sticking up at impossible angles like he lost a fight with his pillow and didn’t bother winning.
He leans closer.
At least his skin looks better.
That part softens something in him.
You had noticed it two nights ago when he complained, voice rough and embarrassed, about it feeling irritated again—too tight, too sensitive along the old scar tissue. You hadn’t teased him. You just disappeared into the bathroom and came back with that stupidly expensive face cream you insist on buying, the one that smells faintly of lavender and something warm.
He grumbled the whole time.
You ignored him the whole time.
In the dark, your fingers had worked carefully over his face—gentle where the scars pull, slower along the places that still ache when the weather shifts. You’d murmured nonsense into the quiet, soft praise and softer affection, lips brushing his temple between instructions to stop fidgeting. He remembers the weight of you leaning over him, the warmth of your thighs against his hips, the way your thumbs smoothed over his brow like you were trying to iron out something deeper than irritated skin.
Jason had fallen asleep like that.
Just like that.
He doesn’t remember the moment it happened. Just remembers waking up tangled in you and the faint trace of lavender still clinging to him.
“I knew it was hair!”
Your voice slices cleanly through his thoughts.
He flinches slightly before catching himself, then groans under his breath as you pad into the bathroom behind him, bare feet silent against the hardwood.
You look like you crawled straight out of a dream.
Your hair is down and messy, falling around your shoulders in soft disarray, catching the light in uneven strands. You’re wearing one of his old shirts—swallowed by it—and a pair of his pajama pants that you bought him, the drawstring pulled tight and the hems cuffed four times so they don’t drag. The fabric hangs off you like you belong in it.
Like you belong here.
You slide your arms around his waist from behind without hesitation, pressing your front to his back, warmth seeping into him instantly. You get on your tip toes as your chin settles on his shoulder, cheek brushing the rough edge of his newly grown stubble as you peer at his reflection with open curiosity.
“Jason, baby…” you murmur, studying him in the mirror like he’s something precious and slightly ridiculous.
He snorts softly, but his hands come up automatically to rest over yours where they’re clasped against his stomach. His thumbs trace absent circles over your knuckles.
“You loooove it,” he says, stretching the word with heavy sarcasm, though there’s something almost hopeful beneath it.
You hum, pretending to consider it.
One of your hands slips free and moves up to his face, fingers squishing his cheek gently, testing the scratch of the stubble. Your nose wrinkles.
“Hmm,” you decide, lips twitching. “It's itchy. And the last thing I need is irritation down there.”
Jason exhales through his nose, long and slow, the sound vibrating faintly in his chest before it escapes him.
Mock-offended. Almost dignified about it.
“I don’t have a razor,” he says after another indulgent second of you squishing his cheeks like he’s something soft and manageable instead of what he usually is. His words come out slightly warped beneath your fingers. “And it’s a holiday… stores won’t be open.”
The apartment is quiet in that sacred, late-morning way—sunlight slipping through the blinds in thin golden blades that cut across tile and skin alike, dust motes suspended lazily in their glow as if even they have decided to rest.
Somewhere outside, a car door slams. Distant chatter echoes up from the street. Gotham City hums in the background like a beast half-asleep, never fully docile, but quieter than usual.
“I use a men’s razor,” you mumble thoughtfully, as if you’re offering him a piece of gum instead of a shared blade. “Wanna use that? I can disinfect it.”
He stills.
It’s subtle—the way his shoulders lift and hold, the way his fingers pause against your wrist—but you feel it. You always feel it. There are certain silences in him that aren’t empty; they’re crowded. This is one of them.
“I…” he starts, and the word drags.
Jason Todd does not drag words. He fires them. He sharpens them. He uses them like tools or weapons, depending on the need. But now it comes out slower, almost shy, like something young and unsure has briefly surfaced beneath the hardened edges.
“I don’t know how to shave,” he admits finally, gaze dropping to the sink like it’s suddenly fascinating. “Even… before… uh. It didn’t really grow.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
He doesn’t have to.
The space after before is heavy, but you don’t reach for it. You don’t pry it open with sympathy or soften it with apology. You simply hum, soft and thoughtful, and unwind your arms from around him to open the mirror cabinet above the sink.
“Why now?” you murmur, mostly to yourself.
The hinge creaks faintly as it swings open, bottles clinking together like small glass wind chimes. You reach for the razor with easy certainty, as if you’ve already decided the answer to that question doesn’t matter nearly as much as what you’re going to do next.
Jason watches you through the mirror.
Why now?
It’s the same reason he’s gained weight—real weight, not the kind born of muscle and vigilance, but something warmer, something earned in kitchens and late-night takeout and meals he didn’t force himself to finish out of obligation. There’s a softness now at his lower belly, subtle but undeniable, a gentle curve where there used to be only rigid lines and constant tension. His shoulders still carry power, his arms still know violence, but his body no longer looks like it’s bracing for impact every second.
He thinks his body is learning how to be happy again.
Like an animal stepping cautiously out of a trap long after the jaws have opened.
Like soil finally allowed to grow something instead of just endure.
He doesn’t say that.
“Maybe it’s because you’re always slathering me in your fancy stuff,” he deflects instead, a quiet chuckle warming the edges of his voice as he flicks the toilet seat closed with his foot and lowers himself onto it. “It probably shocked my face back to life.”
You glance at him over your shoulder, amused, sunlight catching in the loose fall of your hair.
Jason sits there completely naked, utterly unguarded in a way that still feels new enough to be fragile.
The light doesn’t hide anything. It travels openly across him—over the scars that ladder his torso, the uneven patches of skin that never healed quite right, the pale lines and darker ones, the geography of damage that used to make him want to flinch away from mirrors entirely. There was a time he would have layered himself in clothing even alone, as if fabric could soften history.
But you didn’t run.
The first time you saw him like this, you hadn’t looked horrified or pitying. You’d looked curious. Careful. Your fingers had traced each scar like you were reading braille, mapping him not as something broken, but as something survived. You kissed him afterward the same way you always did—no hesitation, no recalibration.
If you didn’t run from that, he doubts you’ll run from stubble.
You step back toward him now, razor in hand, a small towel draped over your arm like you’re about to perform something sacred and slightly ridiculous. The scent of your soap lingers faintly, mixed with steam from the sink you’ve just run warm water into.
“C’mere,” you murmur.
You nudge his knees apart gently and step between them, the casual intimacy of it making something low in his stomach tighten. Your warmth bleeds into him. He instinctively rests his hands at your hips, thumbs pressing lightly into the soft fabric pooled there.
“This feels like a trap,” Jason mutters, but his voice lacks conviction.
You smile down at him—slow, fond, almost reverent—and press your thumb to his jaw, tilting his face slightly so the light catches the uneven stubble.
“Relax,” you say softly. “I’ll take care of you.”
The words aren’t dramatic, and aren't grand. But they land in him like something holy.
He tilts his chin up, obedient in a way he never is with anyone else, trusting you with the vulnerable line of his throat. Your touch is deliberate but tender, as if you’re handling something both fragile and fierce.
You rinse the razor under warm water first, testing the temperature against your wrist the way you always do with anything that’s going to touch him. Steam curls faintly into the air, softening the sharp morning light and turning the bathroom into something gentler, almost hazy. When you open the shaving cream, the scent—clean, subtle, faintly medicinal—mixes with the lavender still clinging to his skin from the night before and fills his senses.
Jason smells like you. He thinks numbly.
“Hold still,” you murmur.
He huffs softly. “I am holding still.”
“You’re flexing.”
“I am not—”
“You are,” you insist, smiling a little as your fingers press into his jaw, encouraging him to unclench.
He forces his shoulders to drop.
Jason isn’t used to being handled like this. In training, contact is correction—forceful, precise, meant to overpower. In fights, it’s impact—bruising, brutal, survival measured in split seconds. Even affection, in most corners of his life, is clapped onto backs or ruffled through hair, rough-edged and fleeting.
But this?
This is his hot girlfriend taking care of him.
You spread the shaving cream slowly, fingertips gliding over his jaw, working it into the uneven terrain of scar tissue and smoother skin alike. You’re meticulous about it, smoothing the foam into the curve beneath his cheekbone, along the sharp line of his jaw, over the stubborn patch just beneath his lower lip.
Your touch changes when you reach the scars.
Not hesitant. Not afraid.
Just attentive.
You adjust the pressure instinctively, tracing the raised line near his chin with your thumb before coating it gently. Jason watches your face instead of the mirror now. The focus there. The way your brows knit in concentration. The small crease that forms between them when you’re trying to get something exactly right.
“You don’t have to look at me like I’m hurt and you need to patch me up,” he mutters.
You glance up at him through your lashes. "I'm not. I'd prefer that right now. At least you sit still when I patch you up.”
He snorts quietly despite himself.
The razor touches his skin for the first time.
It’s a soft, almost inaudible scrape. A delicate drag that removes the shadow in a clean stripe, revealing pale skin beneath. You move slowly, rinsing the blade after each careful stroke, watching for any sign of discomfort.
Jason feels it more than he expected to.
Not pain—just awareness. The sensation of something being removed. Of change happening in real time.
That sounds dramatic. He scolds himself in his own head. It's just hair. Hair he would have died to grow when he was seven and desperate to be tall enough to steal from the top shelf.
The warm water trickles down his neck in thin lines when you wipe away excess foam, your fingers following to catch it before it drips too far.
He swallows once when you tilt his head slightly to the side, exposing more of his throat.
“You trust me?” you ask lightly, but there’s something real beneath it.
He doesn’t hesitate this time.
“Yeah.”
The answer is simple. Immediate.
Your thumb rests just below his ear as you guide the razor along the sensitive stretch of skin near his jawline. The intimacy of it hums between you, quiet but undeniable. He can feel your breath ghosting across his cheek.
His hands, which had been resting loosely at your waist, slide upward without thinking. One settles at your lower back, palm spreading there. The other drifts higher, fingers grazing the fabric at your ribs, tracing the outline of you through cotton.
You pause when you reach the faintly discolored patch near the corner of his jaw—the place where the skin never quite grew back the same.
“Does this one still feel tight?” you ask softly.
“Sometimes,” he admits.
You don’t comment on it. You just adjust the angle of the razor and move even slower, barely any pressure at all, your other hand steadying his face with gentle firmness.
Jason’s eyes close for a second.
He lets them.
There’s something almost reverent about the way you do this. Like you’re not just shaving him, but tending to him. Like this small, ordinary act is a way of saying: I see all of it. I’m not afraid of any of it.
When you finally finish one side, you lean back slightly to inspect your work, head tilting.
“Look at that,” you murmur. “Sexy jawline coming back.”
“Never left,” Jason says automatically with a shit eating grin.
You grin. “Sure, baby.”
You rinse the razor again, then shift to the other side, fingers brushing through the faint shadow still there. The bathroom is quiet except for the sound of running water and the soft rhythm of your breathing mingling with his.
He watches you again.
The way your hair falls forward over your shoulder and nearly brushes his chest before you tuck it back absentmindedly. The way you don’t seem to notice how intimate this is—how your hands cradle his face like something precious.
When you’re done, you wipe the last traces of foam away with the warm towel, pressing it gently along his jaw, then down his throat.
“There,” you whisper.
You smooth your palm over his cheek, testing it. Your thumb lingers at the corner of his mouth.
“Much better.”
Jason turns his face slightly into your hand.
The movement is instinctive. Almost feline.
He looks at himself in the mirror again.
The stubble is gone. The scars remain. The crooked nose. The tired eyes.
But there’s something different in the way he’s sitting. Less guarded. Less braced. Like he isn’t waiting for the mirror to betray him.
He slides both arms fully around your waist now and pulls you closer until your hips press flush against his chest. He rests his forehead against your sternum, exhaling slowly, breathing you in.
“You’re gonna make me soft,” he mutters against your skin.
Your fingers comb gently through his messy hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.
“Thats the goal,” you say.
And for once, the idea doesn’t sound like a threat.
Im gonna be honest I had a shit day and this felt like the only was I could talk to someone lmao don't got any other method, don't take this as me coming back frfr cus people are mean here too
potential news article published to Gotham’s best gossip site:
Red Robin concussed after friendly fire from fellow bat!
Yet another eventful night for those following the complicated and at times very entertaining relationships between our favourite caped vigilantes, as sources stemming from multiple civilian witnesses as well as some pretty damning security video footage given to our reporters tell of the Red Hood yet again seeming to reach the end of his tether regarding patience for his fellow bats. After a particularly crime-filled night it became obvious that there was some bigger fish to fry this past weekend, with Nightwing, Red Robin, and Red Hood seen on multiple occasions collaborating on various altercations. Clearly there has been some tension on the team, as video footage capturing the tail-end of one of their final team-ups for the weekend captured the moment in which a disgruntled Red Hood decides to take a well-earned smoke break after saving multiple hostages from a group of armed meta-humans intent on causing harm. Our exclusive footage perfectly reveals the tense moment unfold as a very tired Hood seems to forget about the obstacle of his helmet, lighting a cigarette and then inadvertently stuffing it out against the armour protecting his lips. Red Robin took great amusement from this, clearly caught laughing loudly at the mistake, at which point our cameras caught as the Red Hood turned and head-butted his ‘colleague’ harshly to the ground, seemingly knocking him unconscious. ‘Helmet’s not so f****** funny now, is it?’ Hood is heard taunting, as Nightwing lands nearby and begins to provide Red Robin with medical aid while verbally admonishing an unapologetic Hood.
We send Red Robin our best get well wishes and hope that this little bump in the road doesn’t lead to a larger split in our favourite ‘batfamily’, especially as Halloween nears and crime becomes more rampant in our streets. More information and video footage below.
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 82 (masterpost here)
Jason: i'm just gonna say it; making a map of all food trucks that own liquor licenses in Gotham was the best thing we've done this year. i cannot believe that the best chocolate martini i've ever had was served to me in a paper bag from a van.
Dick: gotta love Gotham. like, Bludhaven is my home and all, but there's no beating the creativity and entrepreneurship consistently spat out by money-hungry Gothamites on random week nights.
Jason: *bag crinkling* *satisfied grunt*
Dick: *hum* ok, i have another one.
Jason: shoot.
Dick: if you hadn't been taken in by B, what kind of person do you think you'd be today? like, do you think you'd be more likely to end up a good member of society or do you think you would have gone criminal?
Jason: ooh, ok, that's a good one. i- *considering hum* ...i dunno. on one hand, i like to think i was quite well behaved before i died, so i think if i hadn't been taken in by B then i wouldn't have ended up being resurrected and becoming... this. i probably would have been more traditionally 'good'.
Dick: fair.
Jason: -on the other hand, i met B because i was jacking cars and nicking tires at ten years old. so it's not like i was a fuckin' angel.
Dick: it's interesting you said you wouldn't have been resurrected, not wouldn't have died. do you think the Joker would have still gotten you even if you weren't Robin?
Jason: oh, no, i don't- i don't think the Joker would have killed me, but- but Dick? hey, Dick? *snort* i was never living past sixteen on the streets,
Dick: *wheezes* you don't think you would have made it??
Jason, drawing out: nyooooo,
Dick: *laughing*
Jason: like i said, i was fuckin- i was ten years old, thinkin' i could take on Batman. i had nobody in my corner during that period of time. i firmly believe that if i hadn't been swept up by Bruce then i would have ended up accidentally challenging Two-Face to a fist fight and dying within a year. that's my prediction.
Dick: so you think being Robin saved you?
*pause*
Dick: *cackle*
Jason: lets not- *wheeze* lets not go that far,
Dick: -shut up! *amused* come on, you know what i mean. you think without Robin you wouldn't have reached twenty?
Jason: yeah, that's probably more accurate. what about you? if you hadn't become the first boy wonder, where do you think you would have ended up?
*bag crinkling*
Dick, grave: jail.
Jason: *abrupt choke* *coughing, laughing* w-hat?
Dick, casually: -for either assaulting a police officer, verbal abuse, or second degree murder. attempted or successful, i dunno.
Jason, still struggling to clear his airways: *through laughter* what the fuck?
Dick: *amused* look man, i was an angry kid. you forget i was the fucker that made B think there was a good reason to let children go around beating up criminals; i was bad enough that he figured this was the best option.
Jason: ok- ok fair enough, no, yeah, you were definitely a piece of work when i met you, that's for sure.
Dick: yeah- and that was after the ten or so years of B's version of physical therapy. people always think i was so bubbly and happy when i was Robin, but i think it was actually the adrenaline of fighting people all night--basically got me high.
Jason: oh ok, so you weren't happy, you were just a sociopath in his dream environment?
Dick: no no, B had me tested. just a lot of anger issues and probable unmedicated OCD or ADHD.
Jason, crowing in glee: he had you tested-!
Dick, also laughing: shut up! honestly, that's probably why i didn't like you so much at first, y'know?
Jason: what, because you wanted to kill me?
Dick: no- *bursts out laughing*
Jason: *snickering*
Dick: no- because i thought you were gonna be just like me. B told me he brought in some kid off the streets and i was like, 'fuck great, now there's gonna be another violent little shit in the house'.
Jason: boy did i break the mold,
Dick: yeah turns out you were the complete fucking opposite to me, at first.
Jason: 'at first' *laughing* 'cause i mutated into the violence eventually.
Dick: well yeah, i was right eventually.
Jason: but if you didn't like the idea of me being problematic as a kid, how come you still hated me even when i was so well behaved and quiet?
Dick: *snort* well see- see that was the other issue, in that you being a good kid--which you did to piss me off-
Jason, conceding: -which i did to piss you off,
Dick: -right, but you being a good kid then brought up a different issue for me, because that meant you were blowing up my fucking spot.
Jason, amused: i was what?
Dick: well listen- B had no experience with kids before me, and he sure as hell didn't know what parenting was supposed to be like. i was able to set the fucking curve and tell him that i was normal. you fucking- coming in with all your homework and thank yous and eternal gratitude and fucking Cindy-Lou who personality bullshit,
Jason: *cackling loudly* CINDY-LOU WHO,
Dick: you blew up my spot! you let B know i was part of the fucking problem! you snitched on me for being a problem-child!
Jason, still laughing: *wheeze* oh god, i'm so sorry, i had no idea!
Dick, indignant: YEAH.
Jason: *wheezes again* i get it, fuck i get that. that's what i was like with Tim at first.
Dick: you- right!?! so you know what i mean!
Jason: fuck, yeah man. Bruce's whole thing with me was that i was the Robin that didn't fucking listen to him; i kept ignoring orders and doing my own thing and it got me benched. then i die, come back, and we have the fucking- the military disciplined soldier that Timothy Jackson Drake provided, we have him in my uniform, and i'm watching him through my binoculars like... fuck.
Dick: EXAC- god, he was so good at listening to orders back in the day. it was almost robotic, used to piss me off.
Jason: i was like, 'fuck he's better than me'.
Dick: *wheeze*
Jason, starting to laugh: luckily- luckily it turns out- *slight snort* turns out he sucks too,
Dick: *wheezes even harder*
Jason: dude, when he- when Tim started acting out as Robin, i felt the biggest burst of euphoria known to man.
Dick: *still wheezing*
Jason: like-, i never had to worry about Damian, you know? i raised that kid. i've seen the shit he does. i've watched him try to lie to my face about whether or not he stole and used my katana while holding his bleeding arm. i always had faith that Damian was going to be a little bitch. but Tim?! i turned up to him being like that and i was like... fuck. he's gonna make us all look shit, isn't he?
Dick: i know, it really- it was a good day for the Wayne children when we realised Tim was just as much a dickhead as we all are. a true miracle.
Jason: *humming casually* and then he tried to commit genocide in the league of assassins and we were like shit fuck no wait too much not like that-
Dick: *wheezes*
*distant burglar alarm*
Jason and Dick: *instant groans*
Dick: god-DAMMIT, can't they see we're on BREAK?
Jason: *limbs clicking* *tired grunt* alright, alright, let's get this over with. you good to- can you walk? you had more van-cocktails than me.
Dick: *also grunting* what am i, a pussy? oh- woah-
Jason: woah- hold on, let me- hold my arm. *snickering* god this fight is gonna be so funny.
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 84 (masterpost here)
*connecting ping*
Tim: hey Jay, i'm coming up behind you, what's up?
Jason: shh, i'm busy.
*boots against stone*
Tim: what are we doing? *a beat* is that Damian?
Jason: yeah he's working with Dick tonight. Dick's inside the warehouse.
Tim: ...why are you watching him like a creepy stalker?
Jason: i dunno. just been... introspective, lately.
Tim, jokily: about how being a teen dad ruined your life?
*smacking sound*
Tim: *yelps* ow??
Jason: shut up.
Tim: ok, well about what then?
Jason: i dunno. you know how people say that they get to the same age as their mom was when they were born, and then have a mental breakdown because they couldn't imagine for the life of them being in charge of a human baby?
Tim: ...yeah?
Jason: yeah. well. i dunno. Day's fourteen now. he's only a couple months older than i was when i died.
Tim: oh, and it's making you think about how young you were when it happened?
Jason: *considering noise* ehh, not really. i'm just- just- just look at him down there. all small. a clear child.
Tim, bland: he's the same height as me.
Jason: and you're weird and small so my point still stands.
Tim: *slightly irritated* mhm. what's your point?
Jason: just...
*a beat*
Jason: can you fucking imagine him going through airport security by himself?
*slight pause*
Tim, now amused: sorry, what?
Jason: i was fucking barely fourteen, and i was just waltzing through that airport with no supervision, passport and boarding pass to Ethiopia in hand, not a care in the world. could you imagine Damian doing that by himself at his age?!?
Tim: *snort* i- i mean, no. i guess times have changed, i don't actually think he'd be allowed to fly by himself.
Jason: -and to Ethiopia-! a country he's never been to before, no guide or place to stay, nobody waiting to show him around--he's so fucking young!
Tim: Jay, you know he's not going to Ethiopia by himself, right? that was you.
Jason: -BUT COULD YOU FUCKING IMAGINE?!?!?
Tim, placating: yea- ok, ok you're right, it would be wild. but it's fine because he's not going to need to go anywhere by himself. he has you to hold his passport, right? he'll never have to go through airport security by himself in his life if he doesn't want to.
Jason: i got a taxi to the airport--i just full on got into a car with a stranger- i took a NAP on the way there. with a STRANGER in the car.
Tim: i mean isn't that how you got adopted in the first place-
Jason: HE'S SO FUCKING YOUNG-
Tim, morbidly curious: dude are you tearing up?
Jason: i haven't slept in three days.
Tim: oh my god.
*connecting ping*
Bruce: ok i don't know what's happening with you all over there but can you knock it off? i'm supposed to be working with the Justice League tonight, why is Damian texting me telling me to 'tell your other children to stop crying at me from rooftops like i can't fucking see them'.
Jason: shit we've been got-
Tim: for the record Jason is the only one crying.
Bruce, tiredly: just stop harassing your little brother.
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 83 (masterpost here)
Bruce: -need to tail them while you download the contents of the server, and Red Robin you contact the authorities. i'll see you soon.
Damian: on it.
Tim: so i'm just the phone guy now, huh?
Dick: i told you to come over to Diamond District and run with me for the night, Red. weapons dealings are always boring.
Bruce, tired: just do your jobs, please.
*connecting ping*
Jason: where's my favourite boy?
Dick: ...that could mean any of us, Hood.
Damian: i'm here.
Jason: THERE YOU ARE!
Tim: *loud snort* how insecure you feeling right now, Nightwing?
Dick: i don't want to talk about it.
Jason: ok baby boy, i need you over in the alley toot-sweet.
Damian: i'm kinda busy on a case right now, akhi.
Bruce: Hood, are you in need of back up?
Jason: no- why do you always assume everybody needs back up all the time? do you not have any trust in your children to handle themselves at any point in their lives??
Bruce: well maybe it's just because my children never contact me unless they need back up and i've learnt to expect it?
Dick: ooooh~
Jason, without missing a beat: not true, i hit you up for money like last week.
Bruce, dry: yes, i stand corrected.
Damian: what do you need from me in the alley? Red is being pretty useless tonight, he could go in my place.
Jason: no i need a child your age. i'm gonna go fight this woman in my neighbourhood, and if she brings out her kid to help her in the fight then i need you to take care of him.
*a beat*
Bruce: what?
Damian: is this the Caroline woman that banned you from your HOA?
Bruce: ...what?
Dick: oh my god, that's still going on?!
Jason: she called the cops on me for being 'too loud' despite the fact that she doesn't even live in my building and the night she called to complain i wasn't even fuckin' home because i was in Bludhaven with Dick.
Dick: *cackling* dude this woman hates you-!
Tim: what did the cops say?!
Jason: the cops work for me, Timmers. like, half the local precinct are on Red Hood's payroll and have been around me enough that they've gotten an inkling that 'Todd Peters from apartment 3B' is probably their boss in civilian form. they sent me a heads up that Carol was up to her usual shit and then told me to have a good night.
Tim: man, i really need to get my own territory so i can get dirty cops on my side.
Dick: *sympathetic click* not gonna happen while you're living under B's roof, i'm afraid.
Damian: yeah i tried to accept a bribe from a dirty cop once; Father hit me.
Bruce: i did not hit you, i lightly smacked you upside the head- you really need to stop telling people that i hit you. and can we get back to Hood and this Caroline woman? what's going on, i thought you said you didn't need back up?
Dick: oh he doesn't, Caroline isn't like. a rogue or anything.
Jason, bitterly mumbling: fuckin' might as well be, once i'm done with her.
Tim: Hood's in a civilian battle with a bunch of PTA moms in his neighbourhood that don't like him.
Bruce, slightly hopeful: they have an issue with the way Red Hood runs the alley?
Jason: *cackle* nope, sorry B! they love Hood, they just don't know i am Hood.
Dick: they sent out a Facebook warning about Jason because some kid broke into his house and got hurt in the security measures and they blamed him for it.
Jason: yeah- admittedly hearting the post from the Batman Facebook account probably wasn't a great plan; now they've gotten a massive ego boost and are trying to get an audience with the Red Hood to campaign that i run myself out of the alley.
Bruce: ...all this is because her child broke into your house?
Jason: YEAH IT'S FUCKED UP. WE HAVE A WHOLE-ASS TURF WAR GOING ON OVER HERE. ME AND MY GIRLS AND THE GAY COUPLE THAT LIVES ABOVE ME AGAINST THE ENTIRE HOA AND THIS BITCH'S ASSHOLE SON.
Damian: why are you fighting her tonight?
Jason: well, we figured out a way to attempt to 'settle our differences'. so i'm going to one of the evening HOA meetings with a bunch of my neighbours and me and Carol are going to attempt to have a friendly but public debate about the issue,
Tim: *snort*
Jason: and you know, i figured; hey, Damian's a mean kid.
Dick: *wheezes*
Bruce, sighing: Hood, don't say things like that about your brother.
Jason: NO IN A- IN A NICE WAY! i want him to back me in this debate so that he can put his skills to use and mentally eviscerate these middle-aged women while i grin in the background and drink wine straight from the bottle.
Damian: god- i- i wanna do that so bad- that's my dream way to spend an evening,
Tim: you're an odd child.
Jason: ok so get over here, the meeting starts in thirty minutes!
Damian: ok hold on-
Bruce: excuse me, Robin, you cannot just run off in the middle of a case like this. especially not to go bully civilians.
Damian: oh come on, Red can cover for me!
Tim, dryly: but then who will handle the phones?
Dick: *snickering*
Bruce: no, i'm not signing off on this. Robin, you're staying with me for the night, and that's final.
*seven seconds of silence*
Tim: *sudden wheeze*
Bruce, tired: ...what's going on over there?
Damian: you can't stop me if you have no car to catch me with.
*disconnecting ping*
Bruce: what did he-
Tim, still laughing: he took off in the Batmobile.
Dick: *cackles*
Jason, proud: i love that child.
Bruce: oh for- he knows i can track that car,
Jason: AH AH AH- YOU CAN'T. YOU CAN'T FOLLOW HIM, IT'S DANGEROUS TO HIS IDENTITY. if you bust in as Batman when he's in civilian form talking about the fucking Batmobile, it puts unnecessary strain on your secret identities! for safety, you have to let Damian attend!
Bruce: Hood, you can't just-
Jason: yes i can.
Bruce: Hood.
Jason, quickly: love you Dad.
*shocked silence*
Bruce: w-
*disconnecting ping*
Bruce: WH-???
Dick: ...genius move by Jason there, gotta admit.
Tim: that's the biggest get out of jail free card i think... in existence. he really wanted to see Damian argue with these neighbourhood moms.
Dick: i mean can you blame him? you saw the kid make that lawyer cry.
*a beat*
Tim: B, you ok there? kinda quiet.
*silence*
Dick: yeah i'm gonna head over to your guys' area-
Tim: -might have to take over for Batman tonight, i think.
Hey! I love your works! Could I request Jason x reader with platonic Damian? For the scene I imagine reader taking Damian to do normal kid stuff and Jason tagging along realizing his brother IS still just a kid.
Thank you!
I love Damian like a son sometimes. He needs to be a kid and whimsical and fun. Anyways, thank you for this lovely request. I hope you like it!
Kandy's Writing Challenge
---------------
“The swingset?” Jason asks you incredulously. Damian kicks a rock on the sidewalk beside you.
You nod eagerly, “Yeah, just for a little bit. You can sit and read while Damian and I go play.”
“While you and Damian play?” his brows raise even higher.
You shove Jason’s shoulder at his tone as you laugh, “Yes, Jason Todd. I am going to steal your baby brother so that someone will swing with me.”
He huffs softly, “I’d swing with you.”
“I don’t want to swing with you,” you tease, “I want to swing with Damian.”
“Jeez,” He huffs before kissing you on the cheek, “I’ll sit and read then.”
“Great!” you cheer before your hand presses lightly to Damain’s shoulder so you can steer him towards the playground. Jason watches in curiosity as you both walk. He thought Damian would be dragging his feet a lot more.
He finally moves over to one of the benches on the walk near the playground, splitting his book open as he listens to you laugh at the swings. He shakes his head, smiling at your joy as he settles.
Five minutes in, Jason pauses in reading, not lifting his head, just listening. A cackle echoes across the playground. Kids were playing, and it could be any of them. However, Jason knows that cackle and the crackle is followed by your own laughter as you shout Higher babe!
Jason finally looks up to spot you and Damain. You're not in a swing yourself, but Damian is, to Jason's surprise, and swinging very high. You cheer as he swings forward, and when he comes back down, you're there to push him higher. Jason watches as the chains of the swing go lax at Damian's height, his laughter following before his swing back.
The book is shut and forgotten as he watches Damian, Robin, scream with laughter on the swingset. Damian laughs with each height of the swing. Jason supposes it's like the grapples when they’re on patrol, the brief moment where the line is loose and nothing is holding you up. It was usually followed by a tough landing, a roll or kick to some crook's stomach. The swingset held no such faults, just the moment of weightlessness.
You hand hooks on one of the chains, pulling slightly before releasing, slowing Damian slightly. Drag your feet, you instruct Damian, and soon his swing slows to a standstill. You're both grinning like fools as you leave the swings, giving them to the next few kids waiting.
“I think ice cream for dinner,” Jason hears you say as you both walk back over to him, “We won’t tell Bruce if you won't.”
“Todd,” Damian smiles, smiles at Jason, “Why did you never tell me how fun swings were?”
“Didn’t think you cared,” Jason admits guiltily because Damian was the heir to the demon head, son of Batman. He stares at him for a minute, and it’s almost like a gut punch. Damian was also a kid. It was something you always told Jason when he was being a little harsh. Jason clears his throat, “Ice cream?”
Your hand wiggles, and Jason takes it, standing up, “I saw a truck on our walk in. We can hit it on the way back to the car. You know what skipping is, Dami?”
Damian gives you a disgruntled look, but it doesn’t have the same heat as normal. “Yes, I know what skipping is.”
“Okayyy, do you know how to skip?” you reword.
Damian frowns a moment before he grumbles, “No.”
You seem far too excited as you let go of Jason's hand. “Let me teach you, bub.”
So Jason watches you teach Damian how to skip, something Jason learned in grade school. He silently beats himself up. The kid who leaped off of rooftops every night, the one who saved lives and complained about everyone being idiots, was being taught how to skip.
Jason looks at you with newfound gratitude. You always saw more than he thought, and he's not sure Damian would get the childhood he deserved from a family of vigilantes with beat pasts. No, your whimsical civilian ideas were much better
Readers working at the diner about to close up, Jasons waiting outside for her when some drunk creep gropes her and Jason gets mad and beats the guy up. Pretty please 🫣🫣
I beg never stop writing. Ur so good at it. 💕💕
Okay, so a few things. I can not remember if I've given her a job post the series. So I think when you said diner, you meant her job at Jackie's that she had during the series. That is what I went with. I was also trying to remember the general timeline as I was writing. I don't have specific chapters, but this takes place after the penguin kidnapping, but before the brunch, I think. That's where my thought process was at least. That may not make total sense, but I did try my best. I hope it works!
Do I Know You? Masterlist (DIKY)
Kandy's Writing Challenge
---------------
“Thank you,” you call out as the last customer trails out of the cafe, a to-go cup of coffee that you find too much for the late hour. You move about doing the last of your tasks before closing up shop. You return from the back offices after putting away the money, checking your phone for a text that Jason was nearly there. You round the counter, still looking at your phone.
“Oh Jesus,” you screech as you run into a figure in the dim lights of the cafe, “I am so sorry!”
Your phone slips into your back pocket at the sight of the man in front of you. College-age, slightly intoxicated based on his breath. A typical customer for the Cafe during the later hours. He gives you a startling, charismatic smile, “I didn’t mean to startle you, miss. I was hoping for a cup of coffee.”
You readjust your bag on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, but the cafe closed about 10 minutes ago.”
“Oh, the door was open.” He points at the door behind him. You peek around him in hopes of seeing Jason.
With no luck, you only nod, “I understand that, but the kitchen is still closed.”
“Listen, sweetcheeks, that’s hardly a kitchen. I just need a drip coffee to get me through the rest of the night,” he huffs. You tense at the pet name and his tone.
“I get that,” you say placatingly, shifting back, but he follows your step. “There’s a Starbucks just a few blocks from here. They’re open longer than us.”
He scoffs, voice turning bitter the longer he speaks, “If I wanted Starbucks, I’d be at Starbucks, wouldn’t I?”
“Right, right,” you nod, stepping back towards the counter more. He abruptly grabs your arm, jerking you forward. You let out a gasp of pain in surprise.
“You can’t just walk away. I want my coffee. I’ll pay you double for it,” he bites, grip tightening.
Your hand grabs at his, trying to pry at it, “That’s not how it works. I can't- ah!”
His other hand moves up to grip at your jaw, “Yes, you can. You're a barista.”
Your eyes go wide as you stare at him. Your mind blanks. There’s panic, you know there is, but you cant quiet grasp at it. There’s a flash of blood in your memory and you freeze up more because it was happening again. Except it wasn’t at some body-dumping warehouse; it was at your job.
The door to the cafe dings open, and the man is ripped off of you. You stumble backwards to the counter. All your mind can think of is getting away. You round the counter and duck behind it, looking for a weapon, not really thinking about where the man went. You grab one of the glass pitchers for the coffee, tears bubbling in your throat. You hear the door of the cafe ding.
“Sweetheart?” You're still in your hiding spot. “You in here?”
You shift to peek over the counter, “Jason?”
His gaze finds you and slowly rounds the counter and crouches on the floor with you, “You okay?”
You look over the counter, “There was a guy and he-”
“Yeah, I know. He won't come back here,” He says. Your eyes return to his, and then you take him in. Your eyes settle on his hands pressed to his knees, one bloodied.
“Jay,” you set the coffee pitcher down and reach for his hand.
He tugs it out of your reach, standing to pull at the napkin dispenser and wiping it away, “He won’t come back, sweetheart. Okay?”
You stare up at him. You have one of those momentary flashes in your mind; that dumb jar that had all but left your mind briefly makes its return. Red Hood and Jason. You shake the thought entirely.
“Thank you,” you say as you move to stand with him.
“Why are you alone?” he asks as he looks around the cafe. “Thought we agreed you wouldn't work alone?”
You nod, kicking yourself mentally, “We did. Anna had a family emergency. I thought it would be fine, just a couple of hours.”
“You can't do that, not in Gotham. You have to call me,” he reminds you. “I will be here.”
You frown at him, impossibly annoyed with yourself for not doing it and impossibly annoyed at him for still taking care of you without thought weeks after the incident at the warehouse.
“Thank you, Jason,” you repeat.
He shakes his head, gives you a soft smile before reaching for your hand to pull you out from around the counter, “Let's go home, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you feel yourself smile at the easy way he says it, despite how the night's gone. Home. Like he lived there. Like you were something that had been labeled. You accept it anyway. Maybe one day in the future, you would talk about it.
IN WHICH... jason said a lot of shit he didn't mean and he nearly loses you
warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, f!reader, jason lowkey mean/toxic at the beginning, established relationship, cussing, probably ooc!jason, YN used literally ONCE, allusions to cheating but nobody cheats, your friend's name is Sydney sorry if that's ur name, jason’s pathetic asf icl
wc: 1.8k
a/n: pls don't be all in the comments like "she's better than me" and "i would've broken up with him immediately" like PLS💔 ik you're all gonna get mad at reader for forgiving him but pls like she rly loves him and thats okay
based on this ask
last night, 6PM...
"Fuck, baby, I don't know why you're still here," he snaps, shutting you up immediately. "I've given you the chance to leave, time and time again, but you don't!"
"Maybe because I want you around! I want to be here!" you reply. "Can't you say the same about me—"
"Nope, I really can't," he scoffs, cutting you off.
You blink. "What?"
"I can't really say that I want you around just as much as you do me. I don't want to be here, with you. That's why I keep trying to get you to leave."
You're still standing there, stunned, zoned out and looking at one spot on the floor. "Maybe I will leave," you mutter absently, more so to yourself than to him.
He laughs, the sound bitter and cruel. He puts on his Red Hood helmet and throws the hood over top. "We both know you won't," he says before slipping out the window.
Spoiler: he'll regret his words in the morning.
the next day...
"What the fuck?"
He freezes, standing by the window. The sight before him is...terrifying, to say the least. He feels like he's in a nightmare. He spent the entire duration of patrol mulling over the things he said to you before he left. We both know you won't, except you did.
He stares at the kitchen of your shared apartment. All of your water bottles that you constantly left by the sink are gone. The vase of flowers you always left on the island is empty. Your collection of cheesy magnets is gone, the fridge stripped bare.
He looks to the living room. The stack of your books that always accompanied his own is missing. Your coffee mug no longer sits empty on the coffee table atop your favorite coaster. Your stupidly girly throw blanket is no longer draped over the couch.
"What...the fuck," he whispers to himself again. "No, no, no, no, no..."
He walks to the front door. Your shoes—usually tossed haphazardly by the door, thrown over his own boots—are nowhere to be found. Your keys are not in the ceramic bowl by the door. Your collection of puffer jackets and coats no longer clutters the coatrack.
Jason swallows, and only then does he register the growing lump in his throat and the pit of dread in his stomach. "Baby?" he calls out, as if this is all some sick prank. "C'mon, doll, don't do this to me, where are you?"
He slams open the bedroom door. "Fuck," he breathes, shoulders dropping. Your cluttered mess of brushes and foundations and powders is gone, the dresser's surface wiped completely clean of excess from your makeup—it looks untouched, like you were never there.
The bed is stripped bare—that was your comforter and pillowcase set, after all. The clinical white color of the pillows and mattress seem to mock him and everything he lost.
He opens the closet. Only one half of the space is now occupied—his half. The rack that once held your shirts and hoodies, the organizer that once held all your "going out" heels, the overflowing laundry basket you never let him touch...all of it is empty.
"No," he mutters again, entering his final destination: the en suite bathroom.
He finally lets his unshed tears fall as he stares at the room. Your pink towel? Gone. Your fragrant shampoo and conditioner? Gone. Your decadent body wash that he loved to sniff off of you after your showers? Gone.
...Your toothbrush that once accompanied his by the sink?
Gone.
With shaky hands he pulls his phone out from his pocket, immediately going to check your location. "Location unavailable, what the hell does that mean?"
With his heart in his stomach, he clicks a few buttons and suddenly he's waiting for you to pick up the phone—you're his one and only emergency contact, of course.
After a few rings, it goes to voicemail. "Fuck!" he exclaims, calling again.
Voicemail, again.
10 times he calls. Each time, the line rings thrice before sending him to voicemail. On the last call, he finally leaves a message.
"Doll, where the hell are you, baby?" he asks into the phone, scrubbing a hand down his face. "I know I said you'd never leave but please, all– all your stuff's gone and I don't know what to do. Please, please pick up the phone, ma. I- fuck, I love you, come back."
He hangs up, not noticing—or maybe just not acknowledging—the tears streaming down his face. "My baby," he sighs, taking a seat on the couch. If he doesn't sit, he might collapse with how much he's shaking.
For good measure, he shoots you a bunch of a few texts asking where you are, why your location's off, and telling you that he loves you.
He tosses his phone to the side, clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to get this shaking to stop. The apartment feels cold and clinical without you or your belongings in it.
He doesn't like living alone—or at least feeling like he's living alone.
Jason doesn't go to the manor at all that day. He spends the entire day busying himself with random chores around the half-empty apartment and checking his phone every 5 seconds.
With every one swipe of peanut butter onto a slice of bread, he checks his phone for your location, a call, or even a text back. He never thought it'd take him 20 minutes to make himself a PBJ sandwich.
He's wiping down the bathroom counter when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
Y/N has started sharing location with you.
"Oh, thank fuck," he sighs deeply, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off his chest. He doesn't know if you meant to turn on your location again, but the details don't matter now—he needs to get his baby home safe and figure out what the hell happened.
The address in his phone led him to another apartment on the other side of Gotham. He almost second-guesses his GPS until he sees your car parallel parked outside the complex. He can see boxes in your trunk which likely house everything missing from your own apartment.
He gets out of the car. Apartment 117, he's looking for. "Please don't be with another man, please don't be with another man," he whispers in a chant to himself. It's not long before he's stopped right outside the apartment door, the little dots on his phone—one representing you, the other him—shown as being 10 feet apart.
A shaky fist raises to rap his knuckles against the door. He stands there for probably two minutes, and he begins to wonder whether he's made a mistake. Just as he's about to walk away, you swing the door open.
Wait, not you. His brows furrow—he recognizes the girl immediately as your friend Sydney from the unmistakable sleek ginger hair.
"She doesn't want to see you," the girl says.
Jason has to look down at her, but he subconsciously tries to make himself smaller. The last thing he needs to do is scare off the one person who can lead him to you.
"I...I really need to see her, Sydney," he murmurs softly. "We– we had a big fight last night and now all of her stuff is gone. I just need to talk to her."
"I know what happened," she says, ready to shut the door. "You're a dick, Todd."
"Wait– don't shut the door—"
"—Syd, it's okay. I'll talk to him."
His entire rhythm seems to slow, his body calming down once he finally hears your voice. It may not be directed at him, but that kind, gentle lilt could soothe him under any circumstances.
"Doll?" he mutters, trying to peek around Sydney to get a glimpse of you. "Oh, baby..."
You brush past your friend, offering her a grateful smile before shutting the door behind you. You and Jason stand alone in the stuffy hallway, the walls suddenly too close.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"What're you doing here, Jason?" you ask finally.
His breath hitches. It would go unnoticed to most, but not to you. "Don't call me that."
"Your name?"
He nods. "No...I'm supposed to be Jay or– or 'baby' or 'handsome,'" he replies. "Jason feels too...formal."
You sigh, eyes diverting from his and focusing on the decorative plant stood in the corner. "You never answered my question."
"What am I doing here?" he shifts to meet your gaze once more. "Ma, what are you doing here? You had me scared shitless when I got home! Your– your stuff was all gone, you wouldn't answer my calls or my texts. Baby, I–"
"You what?"
"I thought I lost you." That familiar lump is clawing up his throat again. He tries to swallow it down, tries to brush away the sudden burning in his nose and behind his eyes.
"Shouldn't you be thanking me?" you murmur. "You told me that you wanted me to leave; you dared me to. So I did."
He cups your cheeks and you can feel the tremor in his warm hands against your skin. "Babygirl, you have to know I didn't mean that," he whispers oh so softly. His blue-green eyes are so gentle and assuring as they stare into yours, albeit a little glossy as well. "Oh, fuck, you're my everything, darling, I could never do without you."
You swallow as his hands drop from your face, arms falling to his side as his head falls to your shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispers. You feel a sudden wetness against your shoulder when his arms engulf you. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
You take a deep breath. How could you not forgive him? Your sweet, broken Jay...
Fuck if Sydney calls you 'easy.'
You reciprocate his hug, tangling both your hands in his hair to cradle his head. "Oh, Jay..." you shush him gently, lips trailing a path of kisses across his hairline. "I know..."
"I don't deserve you," he admits.
"Is that why you're trying to push me away?" you ask him in your soothing voice.
He blinks, staring into space for a moment against your shoulder. "I...yeah. I think that's exactly why."
You smile softly, resting your temple against his. "Then we can fix it, okay? Together."
He nods, finally picking his head up to meet your gaze again. "Together."
You look into his eyes for a bit. "I'm sorry for my...extremities. Y'know, moving all my shit out of the apartment and ghosting you and—"
"—Ma," he cuts you off, eyes imploring you to slow down. "I understand. You had every right to be angry and act on it, okay? I'm sorry, not you. Never you, my baby."
You lean in, hands cupping the back of his neck. He goes gladly, soft lips meeting yours in a gentle, slow kiss. There's a tinge of salt on your tongue from his tears slipping down his face, but you don't mind. You pull away after a few moments, resting your forehead against his.
"I love you," you reassure him. "I'm not leaving. I'm yours. I love you."
He nods. "I love you, too, doll."
a/n: EWWWWUHH somebody get me i hate this :( i hope you all like it at least
jason todd x fem!reader
summary: jason can't seem to understand why you keep talking about "your" wedding
contains: fluff, established relationship, pet names
word count: ~600
You and Jason laid in bed, morning light shuffling in through the blinds and illuminating the soft bedding. Jason had one arm around your waist as his head was tucked into the crook of your neck, eyes shut contentedly. Your eyes were open, staring blankly at the page of your book as you listened to Jason’s soft breathing mix with the morning birdsongs that rolled in with the light.
“Jay?” you whispered quietly, testing to see if he was awake.
“Hm?” he grunted in reply, nose nestling further into your neck.
You kept quiet for a moment, hesitant to bring up such a topic before finally asking, “Do you ever think about what you want your wedding to be like?”
Jason was silent and you felt his arm subtly tense around you. You started to worry you had crossed some line you didn’t know existed before he replied, “What do you mean?”
“I mean like how many people, what type of cake, the venue…that stuff. How do you picture your future wedding?”
You felt Jason’s brow furrow against your skin. “I’m still confused,” he mumbled, lips brushing ur neck and placing a soft kiss there.
You pursed your lips, puzzled at how he could be confused by such a question. “What are you confused about? When I picture my wedding I know I want—”
Jason abruptly sat up straight, causing you to stop speaking and stare at him in confusion. He was really starting to freak you out.
“Why do you keep saying it like that?” he asked, looking at you with a mix of annoyance, confusion, and a hint of hurt.
“Saying it like what?”
Jason looked away for a moment, letting the sunrays filtering in illuminate his features. His scars were highlighted and when his eyes met yours again, you could see them so clearly, their mix of green and blue capturing you before he spoke again.
“Saying ‘your wedding’ or ‘my wedding’. Why do you keep doing that?”
“Um…” you paused, laughing nervously. “What am I supposed to say, Jay?”
“Doll,” he brought his hand up to cradle your face. “There’s not gonna be a ‘my wedding’ or a ‘your wedding’...only ‘our wedding’. I’m not getting married unless it’s to you, princess.”
“Oh.” Your face flushed and your eyes widened, a soft smile breaking out across your lips before you buried your face in Jason’s chest in embarrassment.
Jason laughed, bringing his arms up to envelope you and leaning down to place a kiss upon your head. You were consumed by his intoxicating scent - the expensive cologne Dick had bought him for Christmas, gunpowder from last night’s patrol, your favorite shampoo he swore he never used, and the fresh smell of clean linen sheets.
“Yeah, ‘oh’.” He smiled as you brought your head back up to meet his. Jason kissed you softly and sweetly, still sluggish from sleep. “What, were you plannin’ on marrying someone else?”
Your eyes widened as you pulled back. “No! No, of course not! I just…didn’t know if you wanted that.”
He looked at you with a gentle, lovesick expression on his face. “I never thought I did either, doll.” He paused which made your heart pick up nervously again. But he just brought his hands to yours and raised one to kiss it tenderly. “Until I met you.”
You flushed again, swatting him away playfully. “Who knew you were such a romantic, Todd?”
“Always have been,” he pulled you back into his arms. “Just hadn’t met the right girl until now.”
Hey would you write for Wally and reader? Maybe a scene when reader and Natalie were younger and they went to an amusement park or got ice cream or went ice skating and they were terrible but laughed the whole time? Maybe it’s a sad stormy night and Jason’s out of town and they just reminisce?
Another DIKY, good times. THis is inculdes present (Post DIKY) and flashback (DIKY). I think they're easy to decipher when is what. And there is a very annoyed sibling dynamic in this. Thank you for the request and enjoy!
Do I Know You? Masterlist (DIKY)
Kandy's Writing Challenge
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“You called me? Are you okay? Are you dying?” Wally's voice comes across your speaker, both worried and teasing.
“Ha, Ha, West. I can’t just call to check in?” You try to joke. You know why it was his first response. You spent such a long time not even answering his phone calls that calling him out of the blue would be worrisome.
You hear Wally sigh across the phone, “Of course you can call… Are you okay?”
The repeated question feels more pointed, more direct. You wonder if he knows what day it is, if he knows the real reason for your call. You shift on the couch before you even attempt an answer, “I think… I’m okay.”
“Really? It’s okay if you're not. I know it's been a hard few years and I know-”
“Wally,” You interrupt, “I’m serious. I am okay.”
“... you sure? You know what day it is, don’t you?” he asks, straight to the point.
“Yeah, I know,” you sink into the couch more, “It's why I called. I’m tired of being by myself with it every year.”
There’s silence and then your vision blurs, stomach turning until your vision turns much lighter than your and Jason's apartment. You close your eyes, letting the nausea pass before your eyes open to the familiar yet different home from the last time you had been there.
“Wallace,” you say flatly when you find him sitting in the armchair across from where he’s set you on the couch.
“Yes?” he grins, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, “You said you didn't want to be alone.”
You roll your eyes and slouch, “I mean, yeah, but I didn't mean come pick me up and bring me to Central City. What if I had stuff to do?”
“Isn’t Jason out of town?” he retorts. Your lips part to argue before they close again, crossing your arms at him, calling out your boring life.
“Maybe,” you huff, “I could do stuff without him.”
Wally looks at you, really looks at you for a moment. You stick your tongue out at him, and he laughs, seemingly surprised, “You really are okay.”
It’s a statement, not a question this time.
“I am, Wally. I told you. I just-” you pause as you try to think of how to explain what you want to ask for, “I want to talk about Natalie.”
“You want to talk about Natalie? Today?”He asks once again, surprised. You watch his knee bounce like he’s waiting for you to break. You from two years ago or even a year ago would’ve broken down, stormed out of the house. You wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. But now, talking to Jason and all the people who have come into your life, your grief is easier.
“Yeah,” you nod, “I’ve been hiding from the memory of her, so focused on the accident. I don’t want to forget who she was, you know.”
“I know,” He agrees before he stands walk over to a bookcase, dragging out an album. It makes you laugh, “She made one for you too?”
“Oh yeah,” he scoffs, “It's like a rite of passage with her, isn’t it? It’s how I knew she actually liked me.”
“Are the photos as bad as the ones in mine?” you ask as he sits down beside you, prying the book open.
He smooths out a bookmarked page as he answers, “Yup. She was not the greatest photographer, but there are a few good ones.”
You pull the book out of his lap. “Oh, the camping trip!”
Your hand smooths over the photo. You and Natalie sit side by side on a log bench, Wally behind you both with a cheesy grin as he gives you both bunny ears.
“That was an amazing trip,” he says as he looks at the photos with you.
You scoff and smack his leg, “That’s only because you got to zip off and take a shower at home and not in the spider-infested showers at the campgrounds.”
“Guilty as charged.”
******
“Come on,” Natalie groans further up the trail head, “I want to see this sunset, and I will ditch you both.”
“Sometimes I wish she knew you were fast. You could take us both up and down without breaking a sweat,” you complain, wiping sweat from your brow.
“It’s not even that hard of a hike, sunshine. You're just being dramatic,” Wally huffs beside, not breaking a sweat, just as you said.
You shake your head as you catch up with Natalie, bouncing up and down on her feet, pigtails swinging, “Nat, you need to chill out. The sun barely started going down. We have time.”
“It needs to be perfect. Wally!” she complains, “tell her!”
“Hey,” Wally lifts his hands in defense, “I’m just the responsible adult here.”
You scoff, “Responsible my ass, Wallace. You're barely 18.”
“Language!” He teases, ushering you both up the path, “We got places to be, a sunset to watch and then back to the campsite for all you can eat hot dogs and s’mores.”
“Ha!” Natalie mocks at you before nearly tripping over a root in the path. You catch her arm before she can go far.
“I don’t think it's all you can eat, Wally, at least not the way you eat.” Your face scrunches in dramatic disgust.
Natalie laughs, less mocking as she tugs at your hand, “We’re gonna die out here of starvation cause he’s gonna eat everything.”
“I’ll have you both know,” he pushes you both apart to wrap his arms around your shoulders. You shift under the warm arm in the already hot evening, “the West-Allen families come super prepared for this.”
Natalie squirms far more than you do, her elbow meeting Wally's gut, making him bend slightly and let her go. “Is that why you guys have like fifteen coolers?”
“That’s dramatic,” Wally retorts, but he doesn’t get a comeback because Natalie has grabbed your arm and pulled you into a run for the final leg of the hike for the view.
You laugh as you run, overheated, yes, but extremely pleased about the view. She squeezes your hand as you both come to a stop, taking in the sunset on the mountains, “I told you it had to be perfect. I did my research.”
You let go of her hand to pull her into a side hug for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry I complained.” You jolt away from her before she can jab at your ribs with her elbow, “Not cool, Nat.”
“Whatever,” she teases before she lifts her camera from where it hung around her neck, snapping a few photos.
You pinch her arm, “Hey, Mom wants one of us together.”
“That hurt,” she complains, but she pulls the camera strap from around her neck. “Responsible adult! Come take a picture for us.”
“Ima comin’, Ima comin’” Wally lets out dramatic pants that you make an unimpressed face out. He shrugs as he takes the camera from Natalie. You both settle on the bench.
The camera clicks once, twice, and a third before Nat complains, “Don't waste my film!”
“It's three photos, kid. Calm down,” he rolls his eyes as he hands the camera back, “Did we breathe in the view? Can we go back? I’m starving.”
“He’s so annoying,” Nat huffs under her breath as she sits back down next to you.
You bump your knee against hers. “Yeah, but if mom or dad came with us, I don't think we would’ve made it in time for this view. Thanks for doing the research, Nat. Love you for that.”
“Is that the only reason you love me?” she pouts dramatically.
You shake your head and push her puppy eyes away from you, “Shut up, loser.”
“Wally, she’s being mean again.”
“You are such a tattle!” you groan.
“Still starving!” Wally calls out, already walking back down the hiking path.
Natanlie groans and takes one more photo of the view before she stands up with a grumble. “You're a loser.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you reply as you follow her.
******
“You are the worst secret keeper of all time,” you say as you turn towards Wally, thumb pressing to the portrait of all three of you. “Did she ever ask you how you were in the photo? Considering you took it.”
He shrugs, “She never said anything. I think she forgot when we took the photo, and it's not like I was gonna point it out.
“That’s fair,” you quiet for a moment, “I miss her, Wally.”
“I know. I miss her too, kid.” You slump beside him, head lying on his shoulder as you stare at the photo longer. “I lost the two most annoying people in my life in one night.”
Something wet bubbles in your throat, but you manage to keep it down. “Sorry, I stayed away for so long.”
“It’s alright. Just happy we can have at least one of you back,” he says as his arm wraps over your shoulder, squeezing you.
