It’s almost midnight, and Jason still hasn’t come home. Every time there’s a thud outside, you glance toward the window, hoping it’s him—only to find a stray cat or Gotham’s sewers acting up again.
Your eyes drift to your phone on the table, searching for a notification, a missed call, anything. Nothing. Jason’s location has been off for an hour, and it makes your chest tighten. Crime in Gotham always spikes as winter creeps closer—people don’t like committing crimes in the freezing cold, but somehow Gotham finds a way.
You just hope Jason is alright—safe, sound, and not dead again.
You pace around his apartment for twenty minutes, frowning, arms crossed, fingers digging into your sides as if holding yourself together. The room feels cold and hollow without Jason’s warmth to wrap around you, and you hate it. Today is your birthday. He promised he’d be here tonight. He swore it with his arms around you before patrol, whispering that he wouldn’t forget.
You didn’t ask for much. Not a party, not fancy gifts. Just his presence—him.
A sigh slips out, sharp and exasperated. You rake your fingers through your hair and collapse onto the bed, curling beneath the blanket. One tear slips free, then another, until you’re muffling soft sobs into the pillow. Jason’s an idiot—always late, always forgetting moments that matter. But no matter how much you want to be angry, your heart won’t let you.
It’s past ten now. Still no sign of him.
Until—arms slide around your waist, strong and trembling. The air fills with the musky scent of worn leather, faint smoke, and the lingering edge of Gotham’s alleys. Jason.
“Happy birthday, my girl.” His voice is husky, breaking.
Your quiet sobs unravel into a full breakdown, wailing as Jason cradles you from behind. His hands shake as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t forget, I swear. Things got fucked up out there—I couldn’t get back to you in time. I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please.”
“N-no…” you choke out.
The blood drains from his face. His grip falters, then tightens as he turns you to face him. He cups your wet cheeks, eyes wide and terrified. “You don’t forgive me, baby? What—what should I do? Tell me. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll get on my knees if I have to.” His voice cracks, trembling on the edge of tears.
God, this man. Jason Todd—tough on the streets, undone by the thought of disappointing you. That’s why you can’t stay mad.
A shaky laugh tumbles out between sobs. You cradle his face, brushing your thumbs across his damp cheeks. “Of course not, you idiot. I mean… no, it’s fine. I understand. Winter’s coming—you know how it is.”
He breaks, sobbing against your neck, his voice muffled. “God, I’m such a jerk. Can’t even celebrate my girl’s birthday when you’ve done nothing but be the best thing in my life.”
You chuckle softly, stroking his back. “Hey, come on now. I said it’s fine, didn’t I? That’s all you need to know.” You pull his face from your neck, meeting his glossy blue eyes. You smile through tears. “So… did you at least get me a present?”
Jason exhales, still pouty, nodding. “Yeah. I got you everything that reminds me of you.”
Your chest melts. “That’s sweet, honey. Can I see it? I don’t want to waste my birthday with a crybaby.”
He sniffles, pecking your lips before reaching for a massive bag by the bed. You blink. “Uh… hon? That’s a big bag.”
He smirks faintly, arms tightening around your waist as he sets it in front of you. “Told you—I bought everything that reminds me of you. I’d punch myself if I didn’t.”
You scramble to open it. Inside is… everything.
A romance novel you once glanced at during a bookstore date. Flowers—bright, colorful, alive. “They brought color into my darkness,” Jason murmurs. “Like you.”
Your eyes sting again.
You dig deeper—pulling out a frog keychain. You laugh, dangling it in his face. “I don’t remember mentioning frogs.”
“You did. Once. You said you were like Princess Tiana—waiting for your prince.” He pouts, tightening his grip.
“That was before we started dating, right?”
“Okay?”
“God. You’re such a romantic man.” You giggle, kissing him.
“Lucky me, then,” he whispers against your lips, “to have a romantic woman in my world.”
You keep pulling things out— a hoodie that smells like him, because he always finds you curled up in oversized clothes. A handmade ceramic plate, painted with little frogs. You snort, pinching his cheeks. Handwritten notes. A teddy bear suspiciously resembling him. A sketchbook full of doodles—snapshots of your face, captured when he thought you weren’t looking.
And finally—a necklace. A moon-shaped pendant.
Your breath hitches. You remember his words, ‘the moon always looks like it’s trying to copy you.’
Tears blur your vision as you look up at him. Jason’s eyes are already on you, raw and soft in the dim light. Neither of you says anything at first. You don’t need to.
“I love you. So much. More than anything in the world.” he whispers, voice breaking like he’s afraid you won’t believe him.
You cup his face, smiling through the tears. “I love you too, Jason.”
It’s simple, and perfect.
The night ends not with candles or cake, but with you in Jason’s arms, gifts scattered across the bed, your heart so full it aches. For you, this is everything.
Angst with a little bit of fluff, reader has the tragic raised to be a weapon backstory.
You know it's a dumb move to walk into the bar where all your enemies frequent. There's no avoiding fights, you will get hurt, being outnumbered and all, but today you're looking for pain with a side of whisky. You've done things that you regret, but what you've done today tears at you the most.
The bar's patrons freeze in place when you step in, the bell jingling behind you to announce your arrival as the door closes. Your footsteps echo on the tiled floor amidst the pin drop silence as you make your way towards the counter, sitting on a free bar stool.
"Give me the strongest you've got." You motion to the barkeeper, pushing your fringe out of your eyes. His throat bobs, gaze flicking towards the mob bosses seated in his bar before turning to take a bottle off the top shelf and sliding it towards you along with a glass. A neat spherical ice cube sits inside the transparent object, clinking softly as the glass comes to a stop in front of you.
You pop the cork off the bottle and lift it to your lips, tipping the liquid backwards. It leaves a searing trail down your throat and into your stomach, pooling in your chest. Smiling, you put the now half empty bottle down and wipe your mouth with your arm.
"What's so interesting about someone drinking?" You grin, turning to face the bar patrons. You hear the sound of knives being unsheathed, the click of guns being drawn and can't help but laugh. "No shooting it up in here, remember?"
You gesture to the sign hanging above the door that says exactly that, dodging a knife thrown your way. The knife embeds itself into the wooden wall behind you, quivering on the spot, and all hell breaks loose. Shouts echo in the bar as gang members swarm towards you, kicking, clawing and hacking at each other as you dodge incoming attacks, striking back with your own knives.
The glint of light reflecting off metal warns you of an incoming blade and you raise your own to block the blow, pushing it aside before thrusting it forward, feeling it sink into flesh. A scream and the feeling of blood coating your hand lets you know you've hit the target, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you rip the blade out, cutting through the flesh of an arm that strikes out to try and hit you. Blood spurts out, splashing onto your face, and you bark out a laugh.
"Is this all you've got? How pathetic." You flip the knife in your hands and slam them downwards, tearing through flesh and muscle as you duck under a punch, but it puts you in the way of a kick and a foot slams into your ribs, knocking the breath out of you. You stumble backwards, gasping for breath and barely manage to get out of the way of a knife, the metal grazing your cheek.
"That's more like it." You cough, gripping your blades tighter. "But you're going to have to try harder if you want to actually try and kill me!"
Your goading works. For every strike you block, another two land, causing your skin to turn purple and red. Your jaw aches from the lucky hit someone had managed to land, your arms hurt from wounds and exertion, and your legs struggle to keep you standing but you feel alive. The pain coursing through your body, mixed with adrenaline, causes blood to roar in your ears and you can't help but grin.
This is what a killer deserves, you tell yourself as your knives tear through flesh. This is what a weapon deserves, you tell yourself as a fist connects with your stomach, sending you crashing into the bar counter. This is what you deserve.
Splinters dig into your back and you hiss as you push yourself up, gasping for breath. Gritting your teeth, you rip out the splinters you can reach and toss them onto the bloodstained floor.
Penance, your mind whispers, blood for blood.
Wiping the blood that's dripping into your eyes, you take a deep breath, the corners of your lips curving upwards. You reach behind to grab the half drunk bottle of whisky, surprisingly still intact even after all the action and chug the remaining liquid. You feel the burn reignite within your chest and welcome the heat. The throbbing pain pushes you forward, the need to spill your own blood as payment for the lives you've taken slows your reaction time so that the blows connect, the blades bite into your flesh, and you feel your body give way as a fist connects with your temple.
Looking up at the mob of people who want to kill you, laughter bubbles to the surface. Someone kicks your knives away and a one-eyed bar patron grabs you by the collar, bringing you to his eye level. You can smell the smoke on his breath and you cough, spitting blood in his face.
"You smell like sewage and piss. Bet you live under your boss' desk —" You're slammed into the nearby wall and your head spins. Your vision becomes spotty and your chest hurts from the impact, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You feel the cold metal of a blade pressed against your neck, and blood beads on the steel.
So this is how it ends. Born and raised to become the greatest assassin, dying at the hands of some unnamed mobster. At least you've finished that expensive bottle of whisky and don't need to pay for it. Can't ask a corpse to pay up, after all. You grin, looking the mobster straight in the eye.
"Too afraid to do it? Or do you plan to just stare me to death?"
He growls, the blade digging deeper into your skin and you swallow hard. Sure, you're prepared to die but there's a small part of you that wavers in the face of it. The reality that this is it hits you, and hits you hard. This is the end of the line.
Bang.
Gunshots ring out and you drop to the floor, the blade clattering next to you.
"How stupid can you get?"
"Nice to see you too, Hood."
"Walking into a death trap is asking to die."
"Yeah, I noticed."
"Before or after walking into the trap?"
"Both."
You push yourself to your feet, nearly collapsing back onto the floor when your knees give out but Jason quickly catches you before you hit the floor.
"You smell like shit." He mutters, slinging your arm over his shoulders.
"Thank you." You let out a hiss of pain as the wound on your side stretches and Jason stops in his tracks, turning to look at you.
"You're such a pain in the ass."
"And you're still here."
Jason lets out a grunt of annoyance and scoops you up in a bridal carry, purposely jostling you slightly to make you grimace. You scowl up at him and he snorts, bringing you to the nearest safe house without another peep.
He almost throws you onto the couch before disappearing to get the first aid kit, leaving you alone in the living room to contemplate tonight's events. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the softness of the sofa and feel yourself drift off, only to be rudely awakened by an irritated voice.
"Wake up, idiot! You're not escaping the consequences of your stupidity."
You let out a groan, blearily opening your eyes. Jason gives your neck wound a light jab with a cotton tip, causing you to yelp in pain.
"I'm up I'm up!"
Jason huffs, then begins cleaning your wounds with a care you rarely see. His touches are gentle, feather-light, as he meticulously wipes away the dirt before applying antiseptic cream and bandaging the wounds. His eyebrows furrow as he concentrates on his work, fingers ghosting over your skin. His thumb brushes over the bandages after he's done treating each wound, a small show of care and concern that doesn't escape your notice. You let him work in peace, content to simply observe him and press a kiss to his forehead once he's done bandaging your wounds. He freezes when your lips touch his skin, staring at you for a moment before turning away, muttering something about getting ice packs for your bruises but the tips of his ears turn red. You grin tiredly, reaching out to him but then quickly pull your hand away, frowning.
You don't deserve this. You're nothing but a monster, a killer, a weapon, and you don't deserve nice things.
"Love?" Jason asks, worry lacing his voice.
"Yeah?" You raise an eyebrow at him. He frowns, taking your hand in his and presses an ice pack to the bruise on your arm.
"There's something on your mind." He presses the ice pack a little harder.
"It's nothing."
"It's not."
Jason's blue-green eyes pierce into your soul. You exhale, pulling your arm away. He loosens his grip, letting you curl up into a ball.
"I don't want to talk about it now."
"Didn't ask you to to do it now. I just need to hear it before you walk into another villain bar and possibly never walk out. I had to find out where you were from Timmy of all people. Do you know how embarrassing it is to not know where your partner disappeared to?"
"I'm sorry."
Jason sighs. "As long as I don't find you about to die next time."
He sits on the couch next to you, shoulders brushing. "Also, I'm going to make it easier to find you in the future. It took me way too long to track you down."
He lets his hand gently bump into yours, a silent question of whether he can hold you.
"I'm a killer." You whisper.
"And you think the Red Hood isn't?" He snorts.
"I killed a child, Jason. A defenseless child."
"On purpose?"
"What? No! Of course not! It was an accident. He got caught in the crossfire, but it was still my knife that killed him."
"We all make mistakes." Jason's scarred hand rests on yours. "It's not your fault."
"That's not it! I'm scared…I'm scared that I'm reverting back to who I was, back to being a weapon. I'm even more terrified that I never escaped what they made me to be when I thought I did. Tell me, Jason, what am I?" Your fingernails dig into the flesh of your palms, drawing blood. You ignore the stabs of pain from the wounds along your arm that come with the action, biting back a sob.
"You're my partner." Jason says, in a matter of fact tone. "An idiotic one, but my partner nonetheless."
Your eyes water, your nose stings and you can't hold it back anymore. He awkwardly puts his arms around you when you break down, crying into his chest and pulls you in. He rests his chin on the top of your head, rubbing circles on your back as he gives you space to let it all out.
"Don't ever believe the lies inside your head." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're stronger than them."
You sniffle, burying your face deeper into his chest and feel him wrap his arms around you tightly. Even after everything you've done, someone still wants you for who you are, not what you can do or what they can mould you into.
"I'm sorry." You whimper, clutching at him. "I'm sorry."
"You've nothing to apologise for. Just promise me you'll stay by my side, the same way I'll stay by yours always." He runs his fingers through your hair, nuzzling you tenderly.
"I promise."
"That means no more walking into villain bars armed with nothing but two knives. In fact, no more walking into villain bars without me, understand?"
"So I'm not barred from villain bars?"
"Not if I'm there."
"Sounds good."
"You're not allowed to go while injured either. I'm grounding you until you're fully healed."
You apologized, too, before saying that it was no issue at all. Fuck, you were even prettier than the pictures he saw on Instagram. For a second, he thought he saw a flash of recognition on your face. Maybe you had recognized him but reasoned that it would be impossible. Gulping down the anxiety, he tried to play cool.
“Sorry,” He said again. Damn, that wasn’t what he meant to say.
This time, you only smiled before stepping around him. He thought about following you, asking you for your name, before realizing that a random man following you would be creepy. Jason was also way too aware of how intimidating he could be when not spoken to, one of the reasons he was quiet and kept to himself since he was over six feet tall with a body the size of a fridge. All at once, he decided to let you pass. It wouldn’t work out, anyway. The two of you had way different lives now, and he didn’t have time to navigate all of that.
“Hey, Mr. Jacobs, got those cigs for me?” Jason said as he put everything onto the counter. They were some Russian cigarettes he had grown fond of, and that happened to come into his taste during an undercover stint with the Russian mafia. Mr. Jacobs had been selling them for his more special customers, to keep in their good graces and all. The old man laughed, tossing the box onto the pile as he rang everything up.
Jason peeked over his shoulder to see you now standing in line behind him, eyes cast down in thought before instinctively looking up to catch his stare. Quickly, he turned his head around again, his face heating up. He didn’t hear the total before handing Mr. Jacobs a hundred as he picked up his bagged groceries.
“Boy, don’t you want your change? It’s a lot.”
He snickered, shaking his head. “Use what’s left of it to pay for her stuff,” He nodded his head at you.
You were hesitant to accept, not wanting to take a stranger's money, but Jason insisted. Shyly, you agreed, letting the old man ring up your things.
Jason was going to leave, but, in the time he had spent in the store, the rain had started to come down hard. Too hard for him to go out in a simple hoodie without getting completely soaked. Instead, he hung back as people gathered in the doorway of the store, all joking about the sudden downfall.
“Thank you,” Your voice was suddenly filling Jason’s ears.
Looking at you he shrugged, putting his free hand into his pocket. “No biggie. Do something nice and it’ll pay it forward—Or however that fuckin’ sayin’ goes.”
You chuckled. “Yeah, I think I get your meaning.”
“Yeah,” He said breathlessly, eyes looking you up and down. Jason wanted to think that he hadn’t meant to check you out so noticeably, and mentally cussed at himself for being a creep.
Unprompted, you told him your name, extending a hand. “What’s your name?”
“Jason.” He shook yours. It was a firm shake, and he went through a range of emotions. He could usually take the occasional touch from strangers, but it being you along with his intense, sudden self-consciousness he forced himself through it. Luckily, the handshake didn’t last long.
For a second, your smile fell before returning. “Nice to meet you, Jason. Are you from around here?”
Smirking, he asked, “Born and raised.” For a second, he thought about ending the conversation there, but now he was curious to see how far he could get. “How about yourself?”
“Yeah, Gothamite through and through,” You giggled. “What part are you from?”
“Midtown,” He lied.
“Oh!” You grinned. “That’s where I’m from. You must’ve gone to G.A., huh?”
Jason nodded slowly, “Yup. Never seen you around there, and I think I’d remember your pretty face.”
You were caught off guard by the compliment, bashfully looking down with a coy smile, before looking up to meet his eyes. Okay, Jason thought, maybe he was better at this than he anticipated.
“I, uh,” Before you could answer someone declared that the rain was finally letting up. Jason was paying attention to the world again and looked outside. It was a bit darker than when he first came in but it certainly wasn’t raining anymore. As everyone shuffled out, the two of you followed, stealing glances at each other as you did.
When your feet landed on the wet concrete, you stopped Jason from walking away by calling his name. He stopped cold, a feeling of light nostalgia coming over him as he turned back to you.
Stepping forward, you shyly said, “Um, I’m sorry if this is too forward, but do you have Snapchat or something? I’d like to get to know you better. You can also tell me what’s so special about those cigs you bought, too.”
You must have overheard the conversation with Mr. Jacobs, and he appreciated your observance. Jason could feel himself turning red as he shook his head. “I don’t have Snapchat, but I can make one just for you. What’s your user?”
As you wrote down the username on your receipt, Jason decided that he wouldn’t tell Dick about this. The last thing he wanted was an I told you so from his older brother. When you handed it back to him, Jason could see the flush on your cheeks, too. Damn, the friendship and spark were still there, even if you didn’t know it was your Jason.
When Jason returned to the quietness of his apartment, throwing the bag of stuff down and hunger put aside for now, he took out his phone. Damn thing, he cursed, he felt like Bruce when he couldn’t figure out this kind of infernal bullshit.
Somehow, after calling Roy to help, he managed to get an account set up. When he typed in your username, a little icon that he assumed to be you popped up. Instantly, he added you and typed out a few messages then deleted them. Somehow, he couldn’t find the right words to say to you. Then, a bubble popped up letting him know that you were texting him now.
Embarrassment flowed through him. You must have had a lot of those pop up as he tried to think of what to say. Then, your message hit his screen.
So, Jason, wanna meet up to talk more about your imported cigarettes over some lunch?
✧.* warnings: nothing, reader does skincare/haircare
When the clock strikes at 10 pm two things start. The first is Jason and you start cleaning up the mess accumulated over the day; the second is the two of you start getting ready.
this was so cute to write and was fully inspired by this post by @batfams-posts also I'm doing a rebrand w the colours, expect lots of changes lmao
When the clock strikes at 10 pm two things start.
The first is Jason and you start cleaning up the mess accumulated over the day; the second is the two of you start getting ready.
The only difference is that Jason gets ready for patrol, whilst you get ready for bed.
There’s a comforting silence in the air as the two of you begin your little routine that you’ve found comfort in. A sense of normalcy before the seeds of worry and fear start in both your hearts. The only sound filling the apartment is the sound of clothes shuffling as the two of you change.
You, to your comfortable pyjamas, and him, to his gear.
Then as you move to your bathroom, Jason moves to a further room inside the apartment where he places his guns and ammo, far from the bedroom. Far from being seen by you, as he likes to tell you. He hates involving you in his line of work, even if that’s something as small as seeing the weapons he uses nightly.
The sounds that follow afterwards are comical. From the bathroom connected to the bedroom, there’s the sound of running water as you wash your face. Not far out of the bedroom, in the living room, Jason has started checking, cleaning, and loading his guns. The machinery clicking and clacking against one another as he checks each barrel to make sure it doesn’t clog when he tries to shoot.
You chuckle to yourself when you realise, something quiet enough that you don’t think Jason hears, though he does.
“What are you laughing about there?” He calls with a grin, not that you could see with you now focused on the start of your skincare routine.
“Nothing,” you smile to yourself in the mirror, knowing even if Jason couldn’t see it, he could hear it.
In response, Jason puts down his gun and stands up from where he was sitting on the couch. You see him making his way over towards you from the bathroom mirror as you’re patting your skin. You smile at him from the mirror without looking back as he snakes his way into the bathroom and grasps your body for a hug from behind.
He was fully armoured the same way as you were fully comfortable in your soft pyjamas.
Once again, the juxtaposition causes you to chuckle.
“There you go again,” he affectionately rolls his eyes, “Might need you to go to Arkham seeing as you’re going crazy, laughing at nothing and all.” He leans down to press a kiss on the top of your head.
You shake your head and lightly nudge his stomach as you reach towards your moisturiser.
“I’m just thinking about how funny we look,” you state before your brows quirked at the feeling of your moisturiser container, “Have you been using this?”
Your gaze returns back to Jason’s on the mirror, raising the moisturiser container to his guilty expression.
“Nope.” He makes no effort to conceal his guilty smile.
“Sure, and that’s why there’s only half left when I bought this last month.” You affectionately state before putting back the container and rubbing the product on your face.
Jason watches your hands move around your face with expertise and smoothness. He remembers when he puts on your moisturiser there’s a sense of awkwardness to him. Sure, it does feel good, self-care and all that, but there’s a sense of awkwardness. As if his hands weren’t used to doing something so delicate that’s directed at him.
But your fingers work the product easily into your skin, administering just the right amount to properly moisturise the skin without causing an uncomfortable cast atop it. When he realises you’ve finished he leans to smother his face in your neck before muttering.
“I’ll buy you a new one when you run out.” Before letting you go to continue your routine.
You giggle and hum in appreciation, then reach to ruffle Jason’s hair, relishing in the cleanliness of it before he puts on the helmet and sweats through the night. Speaking of hair, the night was coming to the time when the two of you would have to deal with it. Jason stares at you for a little bit longer as you reach to get your hair oil, grinning to himself at how lucky he is for being able to be with someone like you. All before turning around and leaving the bathroom, of course not without slapping your ass.
“Jason!” You yell out with no malice whatsoever, in response a loud laughter echoes through the apartment from him.
When you start oiling and moisturising your hair, Jason is back in the living room looking through his helmet, making sure his communication line with Oracle is secure and nothing is awry with the helmet. When start styling your hair into a comfortable style for bed, he puts on his domino mask, and when you finally tie your hair, his red helmet is secured on his head.
You make your way towards your bedroom, as he does. Though you reach for the bed and he reaches for the window.
When you snuggle into the comfortable blankets and pillows, reaching towards your laptop for some entertainment before bed, he’s tightening his jacket around his body to ready for the cold night, and reaching towards the now opened window.
But right before he leaves, you stare at him, a smile on your lips, one that brings out so much emotion and love through it. As much as you can muster, just in case that was the last time he’d see it. One that you give to him every night, no matter if the two of you just had a fight or not, it didn’t matter. You wanted him to see you smiling and full of love for him right before his patrol, just in case.
And he can’t take it, can’t take how amazing you look, comfortable snuggled into your shared bed, body completely moisturised and smelling of your favourite lotion, hair done up ready to look incredible in the morning. He just had to quickly take off his helmet and reach towards you. You respond in equal longing.
Reaching over towards him as your lips encase one another, bringing your hands around the back of his neck, pulling his body close to yours. Though he’s careful not to collapse onto the bed, for a plethora of reasons. The first is that if he does he doesn’t think he’d have it in him to leave for the night and the second is how dirty his patrol clothes actually are.
When the two of you pull away, your hands lightly play with the hairs at the back of his neck as you both look at each other with so much love and adoration in your eyes. You were the first to break the silence.
“Come back home safe to me, Jay.”
And he answers with a smile.
“Always.”
And then he jumps into the night, letting the light of the moon and city stars cover him. As you jump back into the bed, letting the bed and silence cover you.
As always, if you like my work, do consider tipping me on Ko-Fi!
This was so fun to write! Also as I said in the beginning, I am doing a small rework of my blog cause currently I'm just not vibing with the brown/light academia cafe aesthetic. I won't be doing it all at once (as I'm slightly busy rn) but small things will change here and there! But I am trying to get out of my writing slump.
Heyo ^^ could you do Jason, Brahms and Michael x M! reader who has Slavic parents and therefore has Slavic traditions like for example: in Slovakia, it's a tradition to pour water on women cuz it's supposed to make them more healthy and beautiful
Or Slashers seeing their s/o wearing a traditional clothing from that country where they were born(you can add other Slashers if you want to :D)
☆ HI I'M BACK I don't write for Michael yet but I hope you like these anyway! Sorfy for the delay, burnout blah blah blah. Enjoy! ☆
Slashers x Slavic!Reader
-> Summary: Reader's gender not specified, headcanons / scenarios, Platonic Relationship or Romantic Relationship. [though-I-added-the-water-part-and-you-said it-was-done-to-women-and-that's-not-very-gender-neutral-but-I-didn't-give-it-much importance-sorry]
-> Includes: Jason and Brahms (separately)
-> Triggers: None that I can recall!
Please tell me if you see any mistake
Jason
- Those traditions make you happy so he is eager to know everything about them.
- He takes little notes about the details he fears to forget so he can remember them and maybe research about them!
- Probably would be confused and even scared about the pouring water tradition since, you know...Aquaphobia. But I'm sure with enough time, teaching and a slow approaching he would embrace that tradition too!
- please don't pour water on him though
- Now about the traditional clothing, he is ecstatic about the various traditional clothing, their meanings and their uses!
- I headcanon Jason as a sewing lover, and so he would love to make you some accessories for your native dressings, even if their just a simple little necklace.
Brahms
- The first time he saw you in one of those dressings, he couldn't stop watching every fold, colour and detail it had! He is so intrigued about your culture and how different it is from his that he doesn't even know what to start asking <3
- The walleded boy here is a bit reluctant about new things but you're the best company he could ever wish for and so he'll do his best to understand your traditions
- He sure has lots of fine clothing and elegant suits / dresses in that house to match with yours!
- You can also try to search together for accessories or jewelry to add to your traditional outfits
- Make sure to bring him some traditional tales books so you can read them outloud to him!
- Brahms loves to learn and has an amazing memory so he would love to listen to your explanations
For the Christmas stuff I'd say baking and kiss with Jason?
I know its a day after Christmas, but I was bed ridden yesterday so-
Baking with Jason! He's better with an oven than he is with a stove, and Christmas cookies are nothing new to him (though it's been a while since he made some). He's surprisingly careful in the kitchen, his large hands precisely measuring each ingredient as needed. He'll need you to relay the recipe steps, but having you help is his favorite part! If the batter is tasty, he'll take a spoonful of it before it goes in the pan. Then another. And one more...
Jason would sit and watch the kitchen timer tick down, holding your hand or letting his legs swing freely below him. Despite his love of baking, his true passion was in decorating the cookies. It makes him feel like a kid again, and his first cookie this year would be a messy portrait of his lover, complete with a lopsided smile!
Kissing Jason! It'll start with little mask pecks, and hoo boy will he be flustered. Jason will also be quick to return them, usually pressing his mask to your forehead.
His favorite kisses are the surprise ones. He melts every time you bend over the couch to smooch his cheek because it means you're thinking of him even when he's not around. And that makes his heart go feral.
The first time you kiss him with his mask off Jason will lose his mind. THIS is what he's been missing out on?? He loves kisses, and with time he'll get better and better at asking for them.
The kind of weather that stuck to your skin—sticky and hot.
Jason was sitting on the bench, drinking beer as usual, watching the neighborhood doing its own thing in the heat of the day.
It was his day off. A break from the killings.
Well, no one had pissed him off this month. No smart talking. No nosy neighbors—even though he’d just moved into the small town nestled on the outskirts of Gotham. Bristol Hollow. It had only been a month.
It was peaceful.
More than Gotham ever was. More than living in that depressive hell they called Wayne Manor.
His jaw tightened as the memories crept in. The betrayal. The noise. The grief.
His hand clenched around the bottle.
Crack.
He didn’t even realize the glass had sliced into his skin until he heard it—
A sweet voice from his porch.
“Oh my god! Are you okay, mister?!”
A girl. Mid-twenties—he guessed.
Wearing a white floral mini dress with short puff sleeves and a square neckline.
You.
You gasped. Your knees buckled as you dropped to the floor, eyes wide, tears welling. Hands trembling as you reached for his bleeding hand.
“Oh my god…”
Jason blinked. Frozen. His throat bobbed. He swallowed. Hard.
“W…who are you?” Speechless.
You looked up, lips pressed together, voice soft and small.
“I’m Y/n. T-the one who lives in the corner of town. Hollow 12th.”
Ah. The weird cult couple’s daughter.
He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.
“The cult?”
You nodded, almost hesitantly, still on the hard wooden floor, still holding his injured hand like your life depended on it.
“Not the cult… It’s my family.”
Jason scoffed, pulling his hand away before standing up. He grabbed a rag off the rack and pressed it against the wound.
“No shit. Your family’s been disturbing everyone with that voodoo shit.”
You pouted, standing up too, looking up at him with those big doe eyes that made his heart skip—just once.
“They’re not! T-they’re just trying to get people to the right place—”
“Whatever,” he muttered, brushing you off. His eyes flicked down to your body—too long, longer than he meant to.
Damn.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“Evening walk,” you answered quickly.
He raised a brow. “Evening? It’s 2:30 PM.”
You blinked, looking away, clearly avoiding. “Is your hand okay, mister?”
“Yeah. I’m right.”
But, you didn’t back away.
Didn’t flinch even when he told you he was “right.”
Instead, you gently reached again—grasping his hand in both of yours like it was something precious. Fragile.
Jason tensed.
His knuckles twitched in your grip, veins still flexing beneath broken skin.
And then— You leaned down. Pressed your lips to the injury.
Soft. Barely there.
Once. Then again.
His whole body went still.
The beer. The bench. The heat.
Gone.
His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at you—kissing his bloodied palm like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like he wasn’t a man who had ended lives. Like he deserved that softness.
Your lips brushed over the wrapped bandage, feather-light. Tender.
Jason’s heart kicked hard in his chest.
Once. Twice.
He didn’t stop you. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even move.
Just watched.
Your lashes were long, fluttering as you leaned back, tilting your head with a small, breathy smile.
“You’re really warm,” you whispered. “Even your hands…”
Jason opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
Because what was he supposed to say?
That he liked it?
That his hands had never been kissed like that before?
That no one had ever looked at him like you were now—like he wasn’t broken, just bruised?
He stared. His chest ached.
He wanted to say something. Anything.
But he didn’t get the chance.
“Y/N!”
The voice cut through the heat like a blade.
Sharp. Familiar.
You jolted, your face paling before you could even turn your head.
“Y/N!”
Then she appeared.
Your mother.
Wild eyes. Wrinkled robe clinging to her. Bare feet scraping on gravel as she stormed up the porch.
Jason moved instantly—instinct taking over.
But she was faster. She grabbed your hair. Hard.
You yelped, stumbling back as she dragged you down the porch step.
“Mama! Mama, stop—!”
“You reek of sin!” she hissed. “You’ve touched a man! Do you want the devil inside you, girl?!”
Jason’s blood boiled.
He stepped forward. “Let her go.”
She snarled at him, spitting at his feet. “You. You’re the rot. You’ve poisoned her already!”
You cried out again as her nails dug into your scalp.
Your arms reached out, helpless.
“Mister—! It’s okay! I promise, I’m okay—just let me—!”
But Jason couldn’t breathe.
His chest was a thunderstorm.
Hands trembling. You were crying.
And she—
She was dragging you away like you were filth.
The white dress you wore, now dirt-stained and twisted in her grip.
Jason watched. Silent.
Didn’t chase. Didn’t yell. Didn’t run.
But deep inside, something cracked.
Because for the first time in a long time, someone touched him without fear.
Kissed his wounds like they weren’t sins.
And now that softness was being ripped away—dragged through the dirt by a woman who thought she spoke for something holy.
Jason clenched his jaw.
His fists. His teeth.
He would be patient. He’d wait.
And when night fell—
When the house was quiet, and the woods were still—
He’d make sure no one ever touched you like that again.
