— FIRST TIME?
all characters are adults in this cause i say so. for more context just look up my brainrot that is cat villain! reader / cv! reader in my blog. also idk where jason todd lived before he got adopted i dont follow canon lol let’s just use our imagination.
tw/cw: not really much yan here since it’s the beginning, but there are some creepy shit. reader has a lot of trackers. minor blood.
Jason knew it was a punishment the second Bruce said their name.
Them.
The cat-themed menace with a smart mouth, the glittering eyes, and a reputation for being one bad day away from robbing Gotham blind just to prove a point.
“[Cat Villain Name] will accompany you tonight,” Batman had said, voice flat. “You’ll keep each other in line.”
Jason had nearly laughed.
Yeah. Sure. Because that’s what he needed right now. Not only did he feel like criminal he was forced to be with one for hours. Great.
It had been a bad night. Worse than usual.
The kind that still sat heavy in his chest, hot and sickening—the recoil of a gun, the man dropping too fast, too final. Batman hadn’t said anything. That somehow made it worse.
So when [Cat Villain Name], like branding—dropped down beside him on the first rooftop, leather tail flicking lazily behind them, Jason was already braced for hell.
“Oh wow,” they drawled, eyes skimming over him. “Baby bird looks extra stabby tonight.”
Jason clenched his jaw. “Touch me and I break your fingers.”
They grinned. “Promise?”
Definitely a punishment, he thought.
They didn’t get along. Not really.
They were obnoxiously charming on purpose, all purrs and mockery and a smile that never quite reached their bright eyes. Jason was . . . quite similar but blunt, raw, still bleeding under the mask whenever he was with them. Every interaction between the two usually ended with barbs and near-misses.
But patrol dragged on.
Hour after hour of rooftops, alleyways, petty crime, and near-silence.
And . . . something was off.
They weren’t needling him. They weren’t showboating. They moved efficiently, quietly—too quietly. Every motion precise, every landing soundless. When they spoke, it was clipped, businesslike.
Jason noticed before he wanted to.
“Since when do you shut up?” he muttered after a long stretch of silence.
They snorted softly. “Wow. I’m trying to be considerate and you miss my voice? Don’t get weird on me, Robin.”
But their tone lacked its usual bite.
Near the end of patrol, they landed on a fire escape and suddenly held up a finger. “Hol’ up. Real quick.”
Jason frowned. “What?”
They sighed, rolling their shoulders. “I was hoping to do this somewhere less . . . tetanus-y, but whatever.”
And then they started peeling things off themself.
Jason stared as they casually removed a tiny disc from behind their human ear. Then another from under their collar. One from the inside of their glove. Another from the lining of their suit.
“Are those—”
“Trackers,” they said lightly. “Way too many trackers.”
Jason’s blood ran cold.
They kept going.
From their boot.
From their belt.
From under their skin.
Jason felt his stomach twist as they produced a small, blood-specked device and dropped it into a growing pile. “That one was a pain,” they muttered. “Remind me to punch LexCorp’s R&D department later.”
“. . . You had them inside you,” Jason said.
They shrugged. “Comes with the territory. Government, bats, rich freaks with trust issues. Everyone wants to know where the cat lands.”
Jason thought of Bruce. Of the cave. Of contingency plans.
Of tonight.
They straightened, tail swaying slowly, eyes finally locking onto his. The humor was gone now—completely stripped away. He hears a crunch under the heel of their boots.
“All right,” they said quietly. “Now we can actually talk.”
Jason swallowed. “About what?”
Their gaze flicked over him, sharp and knowing. Not accusatory. Not afraid. Aware.
“About why your hands are still shaking,” they said. “And about the man who didn’t make it home last night.”
The city hummed around them. Sirens in the distance. Wind tugging at capes and fabric and loose ends.
Jason realized, distantly, that this—this—was the first moment all night he felt like he could breathe. And that scared the hell out of him.
They don’t take him to another rooftop.
They take him off the grid.
The city thins out the farther they go, Gotham’s neon veins replaced with dim streetlights and tired houses that have learned not to ask questions. They stop in front of a narrow townhouse wedged between two others, brick worn smooth with age, windows dark except for one upstairs.
Jason slows. His hand tightens around his staff.
This was the neighborhood he grew up in.
“. . .Why are we here?” he asks.
You glance back over their shoulder, tail curling lazily. “Shh, make yourself at home.”
They unlock the door and step inside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Jason follows, tense, cataloguing exits, angles, threats. The inside is surprisingly plain. No trophies on the wall. No dramatic lair nonsense. Just a lived-in space. A couch with a frayed armrest. Shoes kicked off by the door. A faint smell of coffee and something sweet. It doesn’t look like a criminal’s hideout. It looks like somewhere someone comes back to.
“My place,” they say casually, half shrugging out of their jacket. “Before you ask—no traps. No thieving. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be.”
Jason doesn’t relax.
“But most importantly. No snitching.”
They lean against the kitchen island, arms folded loosely.
“I’ve done . . . ugly things, nasty shit,” they say, conversational. “Stolen things people cherished. Ruined lives without ever touching them. Smiled while it happened. Enjoyed it.” A pause, then a shrug. “Hell, my eyes aren’t even this color. Contacts. Purely for the aesthetic.”
Jason doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to.
They reach up absently, peeling one contact out, then the other, revealing eyes duller, more human. Less myth. They blink a few times, like it stings.
They freeze for a second.
“Ah, shit,” they mutter. “Forgot about the heartbeat tracker. Ah, whatever. It’s from your old man anyways.”
That makes him flinch.
They catch it. Their mouth tilts, not quite a smile. “Relax. If anyone’s listening, they already know I’m awful.”
Silence stretches. The house creaks softly around them.
“I’ve never murdered anyone,” they say at last. “Not directly. Never pulled the trigger. Never watched the light go out.” Their voice lowers. “But I still feel it sometimes. The wet, iron-scented crimson. Like it’s on my hands anyway.”
Jason’s chest tightens.
“So I can’t imagine what it feels like,” they continue. “To actually take a life. I can’t pretend to understand. I don’t get to.”
They step back, slow and deliberate, sit down and then—unexpectedly—tilt their head back, exposing their throat. Their jacket opens slightly. Unarmored. Unprotected.
It’s instinctual. Animal.
A cat showing its belly.
“But I know what it’s like to carry something you can’t wash off,” they say softly. “And this is me . . . trying. F-for you. The being there for one’s human thing.”
Jason doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach out. He just stands there, heart hammering, staring at the most vulnerable thing they’ve ever shown him.
“I hope,” they add, quieter now, “that one day you’ll show me this kind of vulnerability too.”
He swallows.
“. . .Thanks,” he says. It feels insufficient. It’s all he has.
They nod, accepting it like it’s enough.
“And hey, you did the right thing. Bat code be damned.”
He leaves not long after.
Reports to Bruce. Keeps it clean. Factual. Efficient. No mention of the house. Or the contacts. Or the way his hands had finally stopped shaking.
Later, he sits at his desk, textbook open, barely reading. His fingers tap against the wood without him noticing.
Tap—tap.
Pause.
Tap—tap—tap.
Alfred arrives quietly with a drink and a plate of sandwiches. He stops when he hears it.
“Master Jason,” he says gently, “you appear distracted.”
Jason looks down at his hand.
Across the room, Bruce glances up. Dick frowns slightly.
It’s the same rhythm they’ve both learned without realizing. The same cadence that lingers after certain encounters. After certain people.
Jason stills.
Because suddenly he knows.
—it was the rhythm of your heartbeat.
author’s note: hey everyone! sorry for the long ass hiatus. unfortunately im not fully coming back just yet mostly cause i’ve ran out of ideas and brainworms lol but also cause of my mental health and some hate ive received(dont worry it’s like the most minor reason if anything) but i wanted to post this just to let you all know im alive
anyways watch cosmic princess kaguya yo it kinda reminds me of kpdh but more yuri.
ALSO FUCKEN MIKADO MAN. WHAT A SPECIMEN.
