Summary:Jason just came home from a long mission and he just can‘t seem to fucking find you in your apartment.
Warning: panic attacks, kissing yk the usual
Wordcount: 2.1k
A/N: had to pump something out since ill see you in a minute is taking a little backseat also april dont use Frank Ocean songs as your title challenge GO all aside guys i have 100 followers thats insane!!the other day i was just celebrating having 20??? Now100????TYSM:^^
Aight Toodles!
Masterlist
ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE BE AWARE!
Jason kicked the door shut behind him, the weight of two weeks undercover in Narrows scum clinging to his shoulders like a second skin.
He was still in his tactical gear, boots scuffed, knuckles split, lip blood red and raw from him biting it too much and helmet hanging from his fingertips. All he wanted was a goddamn shower and to find you curled up on the couch, half-asleep in one of his old shirts, perhaps waiting on him even when he clearly told you he didn‘t know when he would return with something playing low on the TV that you weren’t really watching.
But the apartment was silent. Still. Too still. He frowned.
“Baby?” he called, his voice hoarse. Nothing. Not even the sound of you rustling around in the tiny-ass kitchen that barely had space for both your bodies when he pressed you against the counter. “You here?”
No answer.
He dropped the helmet onto the couch with a dull thud, scanning the living room- small, lived-in, your touch on everything. Blanket thrown over the armrest. Mug on the coffee table. One of your socks under the edge of the couch. The place looked like you'd just stepped out for a second. But his gut told him otherwise.
Jason moved fast when he was worried. But now in your way-too-small apartment he was bumping into the walls. Bootsteps heavy as he checked the bedroom, the bathroom, the closet you both swore you'd clean out last week. Nothing. No bag missing. No note. No message on his phone, not that he’d had service the last two days. "Goddammit..." he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. The apartment barely fit him on a good day — hell, it barely fit both of you, and that was half the charm. But now it just felt... empty. Wrong. Where the fuck were you? He felt his heart start to race and his breaths start to leave him in short, quick, strong breaths that hurt. Before he could start ripping the walls off of your apartment because maybe-just maybe-you were hiding underneath them as a prank a new thought entered his messed up brain. Maybe joker got to you. Maybe Joker got to….you. And he swore to whatever entity above if joker got his hands on you he would tear Gotham from limb to limb until there were ashes left in place of this godforsaken city. His shaking hands fiddled with his phone to try and call Dick. Dick was still on patrol around the area maybe he could go out and search for you as Jason gets every weapon known and unknown to mankind to torture any of Joker‘s goons for information because any other explanation wouldn‘t make sense to him.
He has you. He has you. He has you.
And maybe you were already dead.
His phone fell from his trembling hands as he tried to pick it up again but his heart was beating too fast his hands were shaking too much snd they were too sweaty and everything just fucking hurt and why the fuck weren‘t you here? On his knees now his hands found his hair as he digged into the strands.
„Jay?“
His head snapped over his shoulder towards the door and there you stood. Key in hand and your eyebrows furrowed and not a fucking worry in sight about perhaps being captured by the Joker. If Jason couldn‘t breathe before right now he certainly couldn‘t.
His eyes glossed over and he parted his lips to speak but before he could even think of saying anything you quickly close the door behind you, mindful not to actually slam it shut, and stalk towards him as you land on your knees before him. His face contores into a small grimace as your knees scrape against the rough hard wood floor you had. Your nimble hands cradle his face and he can see your mouth moving but he can’t hear anything. His ears are ringing and everything around him was going in and out of focus. All he could actually focus on was you. Your thumbs brushed over the stubble on his jaw as you tried to get him to look at you- really look at you.
“Jay. Jay, baby? Baby, breathe. It‘s Okay.” Your voice cut through the white noise like a lifeline, soft but urgent and in a whisper, your fingers slipping into his hair replacing his rough ones that pulled at the strands just to ground him.
His lips trembled. You were warm. Solid. Alive. And he was going to throw up.
Jason surged forward, his arms wrapping around you so tight it knocked the air out of your lungs, but you didn’t care and you were quite sure that he didn‘t either. You held him just as tightly, if not more. He buried his face in your shoulder and breathed. In. Out. In again. It was messy, shaky, and uneven, but the scent of you was familiar, grounding and enough to make the world tilt back into focus. Slowly.
"I thought-" His voice cracked. “I thought he had you.”
You felt it then- the wet heat of tears hitting your skin. He had cried in front of you before. Many nights where his nightmares were just too real for him to bear alone. He would softly wake you up and you would hold him as he silently wept into you and you never judged him. Not him or his past. You closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his temple.
“I just went outside for a second,” you whispered. “We were out of coffee. You always want coffee when you get back from a job. I wanted to get you some but i forgot my wallet. Kinda glad i did right now“ a soft chuckle escapes you.
Jason shook his head against you, still holding on like letting go might undo you, might unmake you and all the fragile peace you brought into his chaos. “Didn’t see a message. Nothing. Place was too quiet. I-I thought…”
“I know.” You combed your fingers through his hair again, slow and soothing, like you’d done on the nights the nightmares were too loud. “You’ve been out there too long. Everything feels wrong when you come back.” You place your chin ontop of his head as you keep ranking through the back of his hair.
“It wasn’t just that,” he choked out. “I felt it. That...in my chest. The panic. I couldn’t breathe. You weren’t here. I thought it was like that time. I thought-fuck, I don’t even know what I thought, just that it was happening again. I was there again with him..”
In that warehouse.
With death.
You tightened your grip around him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Jay,” you said. “You hear me? You could raze Gotham to the ground looking for me, and I’d still come home to you.” He laughed then, but it was hollow, cracked down the middle, his forehead pressing hard against the crook of your neck. “Don’t say that. You shouldn’t have to come home to this.”
You didn’t say anything for a beat. Just held him. Let him collapse without shame. Because you knew better than anyone that Jason Peter Todd was the strongest man known. But even steel buckles under enough pressure.
Eventually, you pulled back, hands moving to cup his face again. His eyes were bloodshot. His skin, pale. His lip, cracked. He looked wrecked. Destroyed. “C’mon,” you murmured gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He shook his head in a frenzy. “I don’t want to move.”
“We don’t have to go far,” you promised. “Just the bathroom. I’ll draw you a bath. And we can sit. That’s it. Just sit me and you.”
You guided him up slowly, carefully, mindful of how unsteady he was on his feet, when you realised you wouldn‘t get another answer out of him. His grip never left you — one hand tangled in the fabric of your hoodie, the other on your waist. Like if he let go, the floor might open up and swallow him whole and he would be back there.
In the bathroom, you flicked the lights on and turned the faucet. The water hissed into the tub, and the steam quickly filled the room. Jason stood behind you, leaning against the sink. You turned and reached for the hem of his suit. Only now did you realize that he still had it on.
He flinched.
“Hey.” Your voice was soft, coaxing. “It’s me.” Jason closed his eyes. Breathed in again.
Bruises, fresh and healing, littered his torso like a road map of violence. The jagged scar near his ribs, the one that never fully faded, was red around the edges. You didn’t ask if he’d reopened it. You already knew. He had this tendency when he got anxious that he would just sit and scratch away at all of his scars as if it would make them dissapear. He didn’t speak, not for a long while, until your fingers ghosted too gently over one of the deeper cuts.
“I thought I lost you,” he murmured, eyes distant, fixed on the tile.
“You didn’t,” you said. “You won’t.”
“You say that like it’s a guarantee.”
You met his gaze. “You’re not the only one who fights to hold on, Jason. I may not be out there on rooftops or in back alleys, but I fight every day to be here. With you. You think I’d let some clown-faced asshole take that away from me? Take you away from me? I wasn‘t there the first time and i won‘t let it happen a second time.”
He let out a shaky breath, “I love you.”
The words didn’t tumble from him often. Not because he didn’t feel them, but because he felt them too much. Too deeply. Like they were fragile, and precious, and terrifying all at once.
You stepped closer and pressed your forehead to his.
“I love you too,” you whispered. “Now get in that tub before your muscles lock up like last time.” He groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
You helped him in and sat nearby, cross-legged on the bathroom floor. The bathwater lapped gently at the porcelain as Jason let himself sink deeper, the tension in his shoulders finally starting to bleed away.
A long silence stretched between you.
Then,
“You really went for coffee?”
You smiled. “Yeah. And those snacks you like.”
He blinked. “The spicy cheese ones?” You nodded. Jason tilted his head back and let out something between a sigh and a laugh. “I really do love you.” “You better. I’m the one who’s gonna be dealing with the tub drain full of your blood and war grime.”
He huffed. “Romantic.”
“Always.”
Afterward, wrapped in a towel and wearing the old hoodie of his you’d swiped years ago, Jason slumped onto the bed. You curled up beside him, throwing the blanket over both your legs.
Your head rested on his shoulder, and his arm wound around your waist, hand brushing against your side absently, like he still needed to reassure himself you were real. That you were there.
“I hate what this city does to me,” he said quietly.
You looked up. Jason frowned.
“How it makes you feel, Jay. How it makes you scared. That’s not weakness. That’s love. That’s being human.”
He was quiet again for a moment. “I couldn‘t stand living without you here. I think i would have gone mad.“ You shifted in his hold.
His eyes met yours.
“You don‘t have to worry about that.,” you said. “You came home, Jay. To me. And i will always be there for you..”
He leaned down and kissed you then. Soft. Barely there. But it lingered.
“Don’t ever disappear on me again,” he said against your lips. You pulled back just enough to smirk. “Only if you promise not to assume I’ve been Joker-napped every time I step out.”
Jason exhaled slowly, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Can’t promise that.”
“I’ll settle for a text next time you’re off-grid.” “I’ll try,” he said. And for Jason Todd, try meant more than most people’s swear.
You both layed there for a long while, tangled in each other and the quiet aftermath of panic. And while the city outside still breathed with crime and chaos, in this tiny, too-small apartment, with your heartbeat steady against his side, Jason felt maybe for the first time in weeks that he wasn’t losing everything.
That maybe, just maybe, he was allowed to have something.
“c’mon, give me a kiss before I leave.” jason softly mumbles into your ear. pulling you in softly, hoping to coax you into not being angry with him. he sighs, jason knew this would happen; it always did. jason was always a lonesome cowboy. he often would travel to a different town, stay for a few weeks before he picked up and left it behind. but he always came back to this small town, just for a visit, just to see you. it was cruel of him in a way. to keep you waiting for months only for him stay a week or two.
“you always do this, jason.” you huff, your tone filled with sorrow. you refuse to wrap your arms around him. you refuse to say goodbye. “you don’t have to leave.” you speak softly, frowning up at him.
“you know i don’t like to overstay.” he’s stubborn and stern. you hate it. you hate this flawed trait of his. you wish he would listen to you.
jason pulls from you, softly smiling down. “this isn’t my home.”
“but it could be, jason.” It’s silent for a moment. you know he’ll never stay. he never does when you plead with him to. “at least take me with you?”
“no, sweetheart. you know I can’t.”
“now come on, give me a kiss before i leave?” jason places his hands on your hips firmly, leaning closer into you. “you know i always come back.” he mumbles with that cocky smile that you learn to loathe. when you don’t smile back, jason silently lets you go.
jason readjusts his cowboy hat as he walks over to his horse. you watch, cursing him for always doing this; leaving you alone as he mounts his horse.
watching jason’s broad figure disappear on his horse, you silently hope he doesn’t come back. then maybe just maybe you won’t have to deal with this grief or heartbreak forever.
summery : over the course of five days, tracing the aftermath of one devastating argument. as hurtful words linger and silence stretches on, love, fear, and regret collide, forcing both of you to confront what it truly means to stay, to leave, and to choose each other when it hurts the most.
warnings: heavy angst, emotionally charged arguments, verbal conflict and hurtful words spoken in anger, emotional distress and heartbreak, abandonment fears, panic attacks and anxiety spirals, guilt and self-blame, miscommunication within a relationship, crying and emotional breakdowns, clinginess as a trauma response, fear of loss, relationship conflict with eventual comfort, hurt/comfort dynamics, themes of forgiveness and healing.
[7k word count]
you don’t even remember what started it.
maybe it was the late nights. the blood on his knuckles. the way he shut you out like a slammed door every time something bothered him. maybe it was the way you kept asking, over and over, “are you okay?” and getting that practiced silence in return. or maybe it was you. wanting too much. needing answers he wasn’t ready to give.
It starts with the quiet. the kind that creeps in before the thunder hits. jason walks in, his jacket soaked with rain and something darker. his eyes avoid yours. you’re used to it, but tonight something in you snaps. “did you kill anyone yet?” you ask. not because you want to accuse him. but because you have to know.
he stiffens. “what the hell kind of question is that?”
you don’t back down. “a serious one. because I can’t keep pretending I don’t know what you’re doing out there.”
jason tosses his helmet on the counter with a loud clatter. “don’t start this.”
“no, you don’t get to tell me when I start. you come home covered in blood, you don’t talk to me, you shut me out—”
“because it’s none of your business!” he snaps.
that stings. you feel it in your chest, sharp and immediate.
“I am your business, jason. or am I just something you keep around to feel normal?”
he laughs—bitter, cold. “don’t flatter yourself.” —silence.
you blink. his words hit you like a slap, and he knows it. he flinches for a second. just one. but he doesn’t take it back. you try to keep your voice steady. “so that’s what I am? just… convenient?”
he doesn’t answer. you’re waiting for him to say no. to soften. to say he didn’t mean it. instead, he mutters, “you knew what this was. don’t act like you didn’t sign up for it.”
that’s the thing. you did know. you knew loving jason todd would mean long nights, fear gnawing at your ribs, and blood on his knuckles when he kissed you goodnight. but what you didn’t sign up for was being invisible.
“I didn’t sign up to be treated like an afterthought,” you say, standing now, voice rising. “I didn’t sign up for being ignored, for being lied to. you don’t talk to me, jason. you just disappear.”
jason scoffs. “and what, I should be reporting in every five minutes? you want a boyfriend or a lapdog?”
your heart aches, but you don’t back down. “i want you. the version of you that lets me in. the one that doesn’t shut down and push me away every time something gets hard.”
“I don’t need you to fix me!” he shouts, voice suddenly cutting through the air like a whip. “I don’t need your sympathy or your constant hovering. you think loving me gives you the right to pry into every dark corner of my life?”
you stare at him, stunned. “It’s not prying when I’m trying to help jay..”
“I didn’t ask for your help!” he barks. “god, you’re so damn exhausting. always needing something. always complaining. maybe I’d be better off without you dragging me down all the time.”
you stare at him like you’re seeing someone else entirely. “you’re a coward.” — wrong thing to say.
jason steps forward, eyes burning. “you think I’m the coward? you sit here in your nice little apartment, judging me like you’re above it all. you don’t know what it’s like out there. you couldn’t last a week in my world.”
“and yet I’ve been trying for months!” you shout, your voice breaking. “but you don’t care. you never really let me in. you just wanted someone to come home to—someone who didn’t ask too many questions.”
“you think you’re some kind of savior?” he sneers. “you’re not. you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”
you stop. you feel it crack right there—something fragile and important inside you. “i didn’t want to fix you,” you whisper. “ i just wanted you to let me in.”
he scoffs. “then you wanted too much.” and that’s it. a finial look into jason’s eyes of any hint of regret— nothing. just pure frustration and anger. a weight in your heart dragging you towards the door. no dramatic exit. no final scream. just you walking past him, grabbing your bag, and shutting the door behind you.
at first, jason doesn’t move he doesn’t feel much of anything, honestly. just numb. tired. angry in that hollow way that doesn’t have a target anymore. he just stands there, staring at the door like it’s going to swing open again. It always does.
you always come back. — he grabs a beer from the fridge. sits on the couch. flips on the TV. something violent and loud, because silence feels like guilt.
hours pass. no call. no message.
he scrolls through his phone. no unread texts. he opens your thread—nothing. his fingers hover over the keyboard, then stop. he locks the phone and throws it on the table.
then he starts thinking about what he said. really thinking.
“you’re just another person who thought they could fix me.”
the way your face changed. he remembers the silence right before you walked out, how final it felt. and something cold settles in his chest. it’s been almost 4 hours since you left.
he starts pacing. that tight feeling in his chest creeps in like smoke under a door. his palms feel clammy. he’s sweating. his vision is narrowing. he can’t think. — you didn’t come back.
you always come back. “shit,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair. “shit, shit—”
the room feels like it’s closing in. the walls are too close, the ceiling too low, like everything’s pressing down on him at once. he can’t breathe. his knees buckle, and he slides down against the wall, gasping for air, chest heaving like he’s drowning. his hands shake. his throat burning.
he didn’t mean it. — of course he didn’t mean it. you’re not convenient..you’re the only thing that’s kept him afloat. you’re the light he pretends he doesn’t need but clings to in the dark.
and now you’re gone. the words he threw at you, the venom he spit out just to win a fight, ring louder than the silence you left behind. he says your name into the empty apartment. once. then again. then louder. like if he says it enough, you’ll hear him. — but you don’t. and now the silence is unbearable.
he can’t breathe. now It’s been five hours since you left, and jason’s chest is on fire. not the kind that comes from bruised ribs or a bullet wound—he knows that pain. he’s good with that pain. this is worse. this is panic. helplessness.—this was worse kind of hurt because it doesn’t bleed.
his phone is clutched so tight in his hand, his knuckles have gone white. he stares at the screen, thumb hovering over your name in his contacts again. he’s already called five times.
no answer. — just the sound of your dumb voicemail message, cheerful and playful and now completely soul-crushing. “haii! Its (y/n), im sorry i missed your call! im not home right now! but i can take a message… let me grab a pencil…hm okay! what would you like me to tell me?” it used to make him smile. now it makes him sick. he hits redial.
one ring.
two.
three.
voicemail. — again. again. again.
he runs both hands through his hair, dragging his fingers hard through the strands like maybe pain will wake him up. like maybe this isn’t real. like maybe you’re still coming home, keys jingling, saying his name like you do when you’re trying not to smile. but the apartment is dead quiet. and it smells like rain and blood and something fading.
“pick up,” he mumbles to no one. “please (y/n).. please just pick up.” he calls again. and again.
his hands are shaking now, so bad he nearly drops the phone. his mind is running circles around itself—what if something happened? what if she didn’t look crossing the street? what if someone followed her? what if she’s hurt?—and he can’t shut it off. his heart is pounding too loud in his ears, drowning out reason. he stands up fast, then stumbles forward, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady himself. everything’s spinning.
he opens your location on his phone. nothing.
either you turned it off or the battery’s dead. or worse. his brain fills in the blanks faster than he can stop it. “goddammit,” he breathes, slamming his hand down on the counter. the sound echoes in the empty room.
this wasn’t supposed to happen. you were supposed to yell, slam a door, crash on the couch, and by morning everything would be fine. that’s how it’s always gone. you fight, you cool off, you come back. you always come back.
but not tonight. tonight, you left like you meant it.
and jason realizes—too late—that he pushed you harder than he ever had. too far. past the point of no return. past the point where an “I’m sorry” could fix it. he scrolls to your name again.
calls. again. “haii it’s (y/n)! im sorry i mi—” he shuts his eyes and grips the phone like he could tear it in half. your voice is soft, light, untouched by the mess he made. It makes him want to scream. It makes him want to curl in on himself and disappear.
you’re gone. and you’re ignoring him. that’s what finally breaks something inside him.
because jason todd—red hood, vigilante, killer, survivor—can handle almost anything. bullets. torture. death. — but he could not handle being ignored by the one person who made him feel human.
he sinks down against the wall again, chest heaving, lungs burning. his phone slips out of his hand, landing face-up on the floor, screen still lit up with your contact. a tiny, cruel reminder: your not picking up. you don’t want to talk to him.
his mouth is dry. he tries to swallow, tries to breathe, but every inhale feels like it’s too shallow. like he’s not getting enough air. his arms wrap around his knees. he’s shaking. his thoughts are racing.
‘she’s not coming back. you blew it. you pushed too hard. you said too much. she hates you. she should hate you. why would she come back after that?’ he doesn’t know how long he sits there like that—maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. All he knows is the silence. and your stupid voicemail. and the gnawing, tearing fear that he might’ve lost the only good thing left in his life.
“I didn’t mean it,” he says aloud, as if the room cares. as if his regrets can travel through walls and streetlights and find their way to wherever you are. “I didn’t mean any of it.” but the universe doesn’t answer.
he pulls himself off the ground. head still spinning, he can’t keep sitting around for you. he needs to find you. the air outside hits him sharp and cold, but it doesn’t clear his head. the city is still dark, the streets damp with leftover rain. his helmet is in his bag. he doesn’t wear it. doesn’t need it. he’s not red hood right now— he’s just jason. — and jason’s falling apart.
he makes his way through the city on his motorcycle, his mind endlessly searching for you. stopping when he even sees a glimpse of someone with your same hairstyle. everything reminding him of you. he feels hopeless knowing how huge gotham is, even more so how dangerous it is.
he ultimately decides to stop at some of your favorite places, maybe to soothe him with precious memories. he knows it’s to early in the morning for most of these places to be open, but he needs to check. needs to try anyways.
his first stop was a café. your favorite locally owned coffee shop, where you two became regulars. it was a small business, on a strip walk between a laundromat and boutique. — the coffee’s always too strong and the chairs wobble if you don’t sit just right. you loved that place.
he memorized your order. it was always the same thing everytime you came here— your order barely changed. — the smell of coffee, occasionally tea on ur breath, he was craving to kiss your lips just to taste your order again.
jason stands across the street for a second. the lights are off. homemade “closed” sign hangs crooked in the window.
he still walks up. presses his hand to the door like it might open. It doesn’t. he presses his palms to the glass, looking in
your spot is empty. the corner table by the window where you used to sit and steal sips of his coffee when you swore you didn’t want one. where your eyes would crinkle when you laughed, lips covered in foam you never noticed until he wiped it away. he stands there, remembering the time you convinced him to try that stupid seasonal drink with cinnamon and syrup and something else sweet that he pretended to hate—but secretly liked, because you liked it.
he thought if he came here, maybe you’d be sitting there again. your beautiful eyes locked in a book he’d recommend while eating a pastry. but there’s nothing. only cold glass and silence and now an emotional memory.
he sits on the bench outside and closes his eyes, trying to summon your laugh. where you are the happiest, and he remembers your smile when he took you to his favorite library.
it became a sacred place for you to. both calm and quiet while enjoying each-others company. so that was his next stop.
the library.
not a big, fancy one. no marble columns or quiet rules. this one’s cramped, unknown, smelling of dust and secondhand pages. you loved it for its charm—for the creaky floors and mismatched chairs and the old man behind the desk who always smiled when he saw you.
jason picks the lock with trembling fingers. slides through the back door like a ghost. third floor. far left corner. your nook.
he stares at the armchair you always claimed, the stack of dog-eared romance novels that you teased him with—the window seat you used when the weather was just right and the sun poured in like liquid gold. he walks through the aisle, trailing his fingers along the spines of books you once handed him. he can almost hear your voice echo in the stillness.
walking around until he was in the aisle where he first met you. making his eyes burn, to many memories flooding in his head— where he tried so desperately to be cool in front of you, and staring at you from afar admiring how divine your presence felt. — jason reading all the books he thought you’d like before even knowing you and putting his name in the checkout card. and watching your face light up from seeing his name once again. giving him the courage to go and talk to you.
a tear burning his cheek, he puts his head down feeling ashamed of pushing you away when memories like these made him feel alive again.
jason left the library, riding off having the city district him. he rides for a while thinking of any more possibilities. he was about to run out of gas and just decides he needs to take a walk anyways— and when he gets off his bike, he notices he’s at a familiar park — It’s further out, away from the main drag, quiet enough that the chaos of gotham doesn’t touch it. you both used to go there when things got loud—inside his head, inside the world.
It’s mostly empty, just a jogger in the distance and birds rustling in the trees. jason walks the winding path slowly, like a man retracing his own history — here—this is where you tripped over your own feet and he caught you, both of you laughing like kids. over there is the tree you climbed and got stuck in, yelling at him between laughs while he pretended he wouldn’t help you down. there’s a bench under the big oak tree. you kissed him there for the first time. real, honest, vulnerable. no masks, no walls. just lips and nerves and something too tender to say out loud.
he passes through more bench where you sat one night, eyes puffy, telling him things you hadn’t told anyone else. and he’d wrapped his jacket around you and promised—promised—he’d never be the one to hurt you.
he sits down there now, gripping the edge of the bench so hard his knuckles go white. — “i lied,” he whispers to no one, his voice strained. becoming angry with himself.
but there was still no sign of you.. and so he knew despite it all he had a couple more places to check. his mind became desperate. he heads where he should’nt, hoping you’re not there. he still had to check— ‘the narrows’ — ‘ park row ‘ — ‘crime ally ‘
he checks alleyways where addicts linger and criminals circle like vultures. every step, he begs he won’t find you there. But he has to check. has to know. he’s on a rampage now, eyes wild, heart racing. he gets in a guy’s face just for looking at him too long. knocks someone out cold when they make a comment about “that girl he used to walk with.”
he checks rooftops. alleys. places you shouldn’t be, but maybe are. places where bad things happen. — places he belongs, not you. he asks around. no one’s seen you. and those who know who he is don’t dare lie. — still nothing. jason’s a mess—bloodshot eyes, raw knuckles, unshaven. he looks like he hasn’t slept in years instead of just a night.
and then — “jason?”
jason turns around. it’s dick.
“jason?” dick calls, landing on the fire escape in full nightwing gear. “what the hell are you doing back in this part of town?”
jason doesn’t answer at first.
dick jumps down in front of him, blocking his path. “jay—hey. talk to me.” — “I messed up,” jason says hoarsely.
dick blinks. “with…?”
jason swallows hard. “(y/n)... she left. and she’s not answering. It’s been hours. I’ve checked everywhere. the café, the library, that damn park. nothing. I don’t even know if she’s okay. I just—I said too much. I said shit I didn’t mean and now she’s just… gone.— dick, i can’t breathe.”
dick moves quickly, placing a hand on jason’s shoulder. “hey. breathe. look at me.” jason meets his eyes, jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
dick doesn’t say anything for a moment. then: “alright. sit down.” dick says guiding him to sit on a nearby stoop.
jason does. because for once, he has nothing left to fight with.
“you love her?” dick asks, voice low. jason nods without thinking, like it’s a reflex. “then tell her. find her and tell her. but not like this. you’re spiraling.”
“I can’t stop,” jason whispers. “every second she’s not answering, I keep thinking she’s hurt. that it’s my fault. that I broke her. I can’t even hear her voice without thinking of what I did.”
dick sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “you didn’t break her. you pushed her away. that’s different. and maybe you don’t get to fix it. but you sure as hell don’t stop trying. not until she tells you to.” jason looks at him. “and if she never does?” — “then you mourn. but not until you know for sure.”
jason’s quiet for a long time. watching gotham pass by with his brother “never give up jay, i believe in you” and jason stands up, continuing his search.
but he doesn’t find you.
he checks safehouses. rooftops. he climbs halfway up wayne tower before turning around because he knows you wouldn’t go there.— by the time the sun rises, his hands are shaking.
his head is pounding. his legs feel like lead. and you’re still gone.
he stumbles home like a ghost. kicks off his boots. sinks to the floor. doesn’t even make it to the couch. just sits there.
and stares at the door. It never opens.
three days pass.
no texts. no calls. not even a read receipt.
jason doesn’t eat. doesn’t sleep. barely moves. the apartment is dead quiet except for the occasional replay of your voicemail, like he’s torturing himself on purpose. by the fourth morning, he can’t take it anymore.
he grabs his bag and heads to wayne manor.
bruce meets him at the batcomputer. he doesn’t ask why jason’s there. just takes one look at him—pale, tired, shaking, blood shot eyes — and knows. “use whatever you need,” bruce says softly, walking away.
jason nods, throat tight. while the system loads, alfred appears at his side with a quiet sigh and a fresh mug of coffee and a blanket. he doesn’t speak right away.
then, gently, “would you like to talk about it, master jason?”
jason’s jaw clenches. he shakes his head, but then his voice breaks. “I ruined it.” a lump in his throat, looking at alfred.
alfred sets the coffee and blanket down and pulls him into a hug without a word. just strong, steady arms and that grounding kind of warmth jason hasn’t let himself feel in years. “i don’t know how to fix this,” he whispers.
alfred holds him tighter. “you start with the truth. then you wait. and if she’s worth it—and I suspect she is—you never stop.” jason nods against his shoulder
and for the first time in days, he lets himself cry. sobbing into the older man’s shoulder releasing all the pent up sadness and anger he kept inside for days. “I’ve cleaned blood off your boots, patched holes in your uniform, and stayed up more nights than I can count wondering if you’d make it back. but what worries me most… is how quick you are to believe you don’t deserve good things.. ” he said rubbing jason’s back soothing him, letting himself cry. “i love her so much, alfred— I don’t know how to hold on to good things without breaking them.” jason hiccups “it hurts how much i love her”
and they stay like that for a while, talking about jason’s feelings and what happened causing you to walk away. alfred listening and making him eat and drink to get something in his system. jason slowly getting tired, the comfort he craved slowing his brain down. alfred replacing you for a little while.
you always comforted jason, your touch melted him into a different man. you were his safe place and made him feel completely loved. the unconditional love he never felt before, ‘she’ll come back..’ - ‘ she’s okay, she’s safe’ — he kept repeating to himself, trying any possible way to soothe himself — jason became tried once again, but this time he was willing to sleep. he slept next to the computer, with the blankets alfred placed over him. he got a couple hours in until he woke up, a reminder of what happened.
now five days have gone by—
the coordinates come in just after midnight.
a quiet ping from the batcomputer—courtesy of a city-wide search bruce helped set up. jason had loaded every street cam, signal ping, and facial recognition tool he could, but deep down, he hadn’t really believed he’d find anything.
until now. a small rental apartment in the east end. under a friend’s name. you hadn’t left the city—you’d just gone off the grid. he finally found what he was looking for.
the screen flickered, and your image appeared in the facial recognition software. jason’s heart dropped as he studied the image that was pulled from surveillance footage. your face, usually full of life and fire, looked hollow. the light in your eyes were dimmer than he remembered, like you’d been carrying an unbearable weight for far too long.
your skin was pale, darker circles under your eyes indicating sleepless nights and too many tears shed. lips, once always curled into a small, knowing smile, were now pressed into a thin line. the fight had drained you, and he could see it in every inch of your face.
the camera hadn’t caught the vulnerability posture, but jason knew. you weren’t just physically tired—you were emotionally worn out. the woman he loved wasn’t the same one who had walked out five days ago. this woman, this (y/n), looked like someone who had been pushing through the world alone, all the weight of her pain carried on her shoulders.
he gripped the edge of the desk, eyes locked on the screen, his chest tightening. guilt, sorrow, and a deep sense of regret clawed at him. he had to find her. he had to make things right before it was too late.
he reads the address three times to be sure, then grabs his helmet and jacket and is out the manor doors before bruce can say a word. he jumps on his motorcycle and starts the engine, the loud sound of his tires screeching in the cave as he raced out to find you. he was lighting on the road, dangerously weaving in and out of cars, adrenaline of seeing you alive making him rush even more.
then he makes it to your location. his feet on the pavement, one flight of stairs, then two. his heart is a riot in his chest. his hands are sweating, shaking, cold. an a rush of anxiety washes over him.
what if you slam the door in his face?
what if you don’t even open it?
what if you’re gone again?
what if you don’t want to see him?
but he still knocks. soft at first. then harder.
he hears the lock click. the door creaks open a few inches. you stand there in sweats your friend let you have, eyes puffy, hair lazily in your face like you stopped caring how you looked days ago. and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
your eyes widen when you see him. and that’s all it takes. jason breaks down.
his legs give out. he drops to his knees like something inside him finally caved in. and before he can even stop himself, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his face into your stomach, sobbing. not the angry kind. not the kind that comes with yelling and fists through walls.
the kind that’s quiet and raw and scared. the kind that says thank god you’re alive and I’m sorry and I missed you all at once. he was relieved.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so fucking sorry—please, I didn’t mean it, I was angry, I didn’t know how to say it right, I—god, I thought I lost you—” you freeze. shock, sadness and joy all overwhelming your head. your hands hover for a second, unsure, still hurt, wondering if this is a dream or not.
but then they come down gently, slowly, fingers threading through his hair as you hold him against you. your voice is quiet. “jason…” a melody to his ears.
he can barely speak. “I looked everywhere. I thought something happened. I thought—god, I thought maybe I deserved it. maybe you were better off without me. — I’ve never been this scared in my life.” you listen to him, his words muffled into your stomach. as he plants small kisses in between each sentence— his words rambling and gasping in-between for breaths. “baby.. come here.”
you helped him stand up and stared at his face. “I was angry,” you admit. “you hurt me.” — “i know.. i never wanted to hurt you.”
he leans into you like he needs your heartbeat to breathe.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers. “I keep ruining everything good in my life. I say the wrong thing. I push too hard. I scare people off. and then when I finally realize what I’ve done, it’s too late.” you pull back just enough to make him look at you. — his eyes are red. wet. desperate.
“you didn’t scare me off,” you whisper. “you hurt me. but I left because I didn’t want to say something I’d regret. I needed time.”
jason swallows. “you should’ve. said something worse. hit me. I deserved it.” — “you don’t get to decide what you deserve, jason. I do.”
a beat. “and I still choose you.” he exhales a breath that sounds like a sob.
his eyes are rimmed red, exhausted, glassy with the tears he’s still trying to keep at bay.
“I went everywhere. the café, the library—the park,” he continues, his arms tightening like he thinks you might slip away again. “every place we made a memory. every place that still smells like you. I kept thinking, maybe I could find one more piece of us that wasn’t broken yet.— I needed to find you. I was losing it, sweetheart. I checked alleys. dangerous places. I—fuck, I was hoping I didn’t find you there but I had to check. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sit still. I just wanted to see you. to say I’m sorry. to fix it.”
you nod slowly, listening to him. watching the way he talked.
“I knew I took it too far, even when I said it,” jason continues, clutching you tighter. “I was mad at the world, not you. but I threw it all at you because I knew you’d still love me, and that makes me the worst kind of person.”
you press your hand to his cheek, and he leans into it like it’s the only thing keeping him together. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispers. “not a single word. I was angry and afraid and so fucking overwhelmed that I—” his voice cracks. “I lashed out. at the one person who loves me the most. and when you left, I knew. I knew I deserved it.”
you stare at him for a moment. because your silence isn’t punishment—it’s your own unraveling. choosing your next words — “you said I was just a distraction,” you whisper finally, voice shaking despite how hard you try to steady it. “that I make things worse for you. that I don’t understand you, and maybe never will.”
jason flinches. physically recoils at the words he remembers far too well. the words that have been haunting him for the past few days.
you swallow, continuing. “you didn’t just lash out, jason. you hit where you knew it would hurt. you said things I’ve been afraid of ever since we met.”
“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispers again, desperate. “god, if I could tear the words out of the air and bury them, I would. I would’ve rather taken a bullet than see you walk out that door. I just—” he breathes in deep. “I’m not good with… emotions. with fear. and losing you? that’s the scariest thing in the world to me...”
you nod slowly. “you self-destruct.”— he presses his forehead to yours, eyes shut. “yeah. and I took you down with me.”
silence stretches again, but it’s different now. heavy, but not hostile. like the fog after a storm. “I wasn’t leaving forever,” you whisper. “I just needed time. space. I needed to remember who I was outside of what you said.”
running your fingers through his hair. “I love you, jason. that didn’t change. but you hurt me. bad. I will never stop loving you. i will always come back to you— I needed to know I could still choose to come back on my terms. not because you begged. not because you were falling apart. but because I wanted to.”
his arms tighten around you again, and for the first time since last night, his tears start to fall freely. once again. no restraint. no pride. just a man drowning in his own grief, relieved to be seen, still loved despite everything.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers into your shoulder, his voice small and shaky.
“no,” you say gently. “but you have me. and that means doing better.” and you both stand there for a while. two exhausted people wrapped around each other like maybe the world will stop spinning if you just stay still long enough.
after a while, you hold out your hand. “come inside.” and he does.
the apartment is small, quiet. the kind of place that smells like lavender and old books and something that’s just you. jason steps inside like he’s walking on glass—like the walls might collapse if he breathes too hard.
you close the door behind him. lock it gently. like you’re not locking him out, but keeping the world away.
neither of you says much as you move to the small couch in the living room. he follows you, slow, cautious. sits on the edge like he doesn’t deserve the whole cushion. like if he gets too comfortable, you might change your mind and tell him to leave.
you notice the way he keeps stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye. the way his knee’s bouncing, nervous. his shoulders are curled in, defensive, like he’s ready to run the second you flinch.
finally, you break the quiet. “why are you sitting like you’re afraid I’m gonna hit you?” jason freezes.
you don’t say it to hurt him. you say it softly. genuinely. because you see it—the hesitation, the fear, the way he’s pulling away without moving an inch.
he exhales. “because I don’t wanna fuck this up again.”
“you think being quiet is safer?”
he shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s safe with you anymore. I keep playing every version of this in my head—if I say too much, if I touch you too soon, if I breathe the wrong way—maybe you’ll walk out again.”
you shift toward him slowly. “I didn’t leave to scare you.”
“I know.” he finally meets your gaze. “but it scared me anyway.”
you nod. “and now you’re trying not to want anything.” he doesn’t answer. “jason, you’re allowed to want me.”
his breath catches. you reach out, gently covering his hand with yours. he looks at the contact like it might vanish.
“you’re not scaring me off,” you say, voice soft but sure. “you’re hurting. and so am I. but I didn’t stop loving you. I didn’t forget all the good just because of one night.”
jason’s voice is raw when he answers. “It was more than one night. I’ve been shutting you out for weeks. I didn’t let you in when you were trying. I turned everything into a war when you just wanted peace.”
“yeah. you did.” he flinches. “but,” you continue, tightening your grip on his hand, “you came back. you searched for me. you let yourself fall apart. that means something to me, and im sorry too. i didn’t intend on being away this long. i just felt so lost” he closes his eyes, jaw clenching.
“i’ve never felt this afraid,” he murmurs. “not even when I died.” you squeeze his hand.
“I’m not good at soft,” he admits. “I can be violent, I can be angry, I can be the guy who kicks in doors and breaks bones. but being… gentle? I don’t know how to do that without thinking I’ll screw it up.” you lean forward, pressing your forehead to his.
“you’re being gentle right now.” he nods, barely. and for the first time since that fight, he lets his hand curl into yours. not tight. just enough.
enough to say I want this.
enough to say I still love you.
he presses his lips to your temple, hesitant at first, then lingering. not hungry. not desperate. just present.
“i love you eternally jason, im sorry too, i’m truly sorry for walking away.”
“i love you so much (y/n), so.. so much it’s a unbearable pain i never want to let go of. you are my heart.. my soul.. my person”
he pressed kisses on your hand inbetween words. whispering softly to you, sweet nothings. just wanting to cherish you. “i cried to alfred, cried like some damn kid and I was just—gone. full-on sobbing in his arms like I was ten again.”
(y/n)’s eyes softened, reaching out but letting him keep going.
“I told him everything. told him I screwed up. told him I was scared you’d leave for good. and he just… held me, made me miss your touch.— i’m still sorry,” he whispers
“I know,” you say. “i am too jay”
the two of you sit there, wrapped in the silence that used to hurt—but now, maybe, it’s just healing in disguise. you pulled jason in to cuddle him. he wraps his hands around your body. feeling fortunate to have you, to touch you, to kiss you. he hasn’t been able to breathe normally since you left, but now his chest feels lifted. he’s calmer and exhausted. he can tell you were too. he rubs your body while kissing all over you until he knows your asleep in his arms. watching you sleep so peacefully puts him at ease, helping him drift off into a wonderful slumber he’s been dreaming about for the past five days.
*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚
ahhh :3 i couldn’t do a sad ending— i was going to!!, but he’s been out through to much already!! haha
hope u enjoyed!! im trying out different writing, angst is one im not the best ask but i like trying! it feels repetitive sometimes :p
She was the standard, his firsts. You? You were just the rebound, never the first one, never the girlfriend.
No matter how much he reassured, promised, or explained, you knew deep down he was projecting their previous relationship onto you. The same old reused pet names, the way he wrapped his arms around your waist, his hands — which once perfectly fit against her hips — still adjusting to the unfamiliarity, the way he buried his nose against your hair, his mind still expecting the smell of her shampoo.
You acted like you didn't notice it or it didn't bother you, but it ate you up inside. The way he'd look at you with that same smile he flashed to her — but his eyes held less joy, and more bitterness. It was sickening, the subtlety of it. Call it out and you'd be seen as crazy, but you couldn't just ignore it.
Then it was the gifts. The mix-ups happened more often. He thought this was your favorite color! You corrected him, and replied it was hers. He swore you loved this, you shook your head and reminded him it wasn't yours. Remember your inside joke? No, you weren't there, she was.
You didn't know how long you could keep up with this, in somebody else's shadow.
Then it happened.
In the dead of night, he held you in his arms, his face buried in the crook of your neck as you ran your fingers through his hair; And this finally felt.. normal. Like your moment, no one else's. No one to compare to.
Until you heard it. He whispered her name against your skin, and god, it stung. It burnt, and you felt disgusting, like her name was etched into your skin.
You had never pulled away so fast, that once peaceful moment shattering into a million pieces, the shards cutting into you. You stared at him with millions of emotions crashing through you. Anger, disbelief, despair.
But one emotion stood prevalent — realization. It solidified all the doubts you had.
Because he was never yours, you were just the rebound, the doctor to heal him up and pick up the pieces before he'd eventually come crawling back to her. You're the distraction, the lesson, the realization he needed that she was the one for him.
You had left, and it shattered your heart more that he barely did anything to stop you.
✩
It had been a few weeks since you ended things with him. You finally had the courage to step outside rather than rot in your apartment.
Then you saw them again, together now, sat inside a restaurant, his eyes finally lighting up the same way it used to. Not with you, though.
The food you were eating became unappetizing as you stared at the plate, all steps of healing crashed down in a single moment.
His eyes flicked towards your frame, looking at the woman he used, broke, and discarded, and without a second thought, focused back on the girl of his dreams, pushing down all the feelings of guilt.
But he couldn't keep hiding from that shame, shame that he had haphazardly taken advantage of you and your kindness.
It'll eat him up forever, and he'll never have the guts to look straight at you again.
—
wrote this with lacy, glimpse of us, deja vu, and all because I liked a boy on loop!
For a DC text post–if the reader was some sort of ex-member of a bad organization? They worked for Penguin, or Luthor, so on so forth; a job they took when they were younger, needier, didn't check out the job description like they should've. Something they put behind them long before they met the DC Boys. Regardless, the DC Boys find out somehow, some way, in a way the reader never wanted them to. What's the aftermath?
ty for the request!! angst is always harder to write so some of them feel a bit ooc to me but i tried:')
*✩‧₊˚ YOU HID YOUR SHADY PAST FROM HIM
PART TWO HERE
TEXTS starring my favorite DC men<3 (dick, jason, wally, bruce, hal, barry, clark)
cw: gn!reader, angst no comfort, swearing, l bombs
“Jason its one night, I’ll be fine!” You said exacerbated As you threw your hands up in a show of your frustration. You and Jason had been arguing for the past fifteen minutes. You were trying to make him understand that you would be fine at the bar with your friends for girls night tomorrow night.
“I said no! I’m not letting you get shitfaced downtown late at night with your friends who will also be drunk and zero protection!”
“Let me?!….news flash Jason, you do not make decisions for me. I am not asking your permission here, I’m trying to have a discussion to make you understand that I will be okay and you don’t have to worry but I will be going tomorrow. I have lived in Gotham my whole life, I can handle myself. I used to go out downtown all the time before I met you and I was fine then and I’ll be fine tomorrow and you just need to back off!”
You saw a flash of hurt on Jason’s face before he quickly masked it and glared at you. “Back off? You want me to back off? Fine… do whatever the hell you want, see if I care.”
With that Jason grabbed his jacket and stormed out of your apartment. You let out a groan of frustration and sagged onto the couch. That is not how that was supposed to go. You understood his concern but sometimes his overprotective nature really got under your skin and made you feel like he was controlling you. You know he means well but right now your just angry and your tired of canceling on your friends for girls nights because Jason always deems them too dangerous. You had had it and you had to put your foot down, he will see once you get back tomorrow and everything is fine, he will see that you are capable of going out every once and awhile without the world ending.
You had been planning on cooking dinner for you and Jason tonight, he was supposed to stay over at your place, now the whole night is ruined and you don’t feel like eating so you just showered and went to bed.
—————
You woke up exhausted, you hadn’t slept well, you never do when you and Jason had an argument. You begrudgingly pulled yourself out of bed and started your morning routine, getting ready for work and packing your lunch while you had your coffee. You trudged through the whole day at the office, just going through the motions. You were going to need a nap before you went out tonight. You wanted to text Jason all day but you were afraid you would make things worse, or cave and stay home. You needed him to trust you and tonight was going to be proof he could, he could trust you take care of yourself and be cautious.
When you got home at 5pm you did indeed take that nap, you were feeling a little more energized and ready to have fun. You were currently getting dressed, you landed on dark jeans, a nice black top and your leather jacket. You put on your heeled boots along with the necklace Jason had given you and some earrings to complete your outfit. You didn’t like taking a purse to a bar so you loaded up your jacket pockets with the essentials, Keys, wallet, a lip stick taser discrete enough to get into the bar with just in case, and your phone. You hesitated but you decided to at least send Jason one text
Hey Jay, I’m heading out for the night. Everything will be fine you’ll see…I love you
You hit send, ordered your uber, and headed out your front door. You didn’t get a response from Jason but you didn’t expect one, he would be out patrolling and you likely wouldn’t have heard from him even if he wasn’t mad at you. You got to the bar and met up with your three friends. The bar was a little crowded and you offered to go get the first round of drinks while they found a table. You would be out on the dance floor soon enough but you wanted to catch up with your friends first. You grabbed the bartenders attention and ordered 4 vodka cranberries.
“Vodka cranberry, classic choice” you looked over to see a man leaning in closer so you could hear him over the music. “Here with friends, or just thirsty?” He smiled
“Here with friends, girls night and all you know.”
“Ah, nice let me get this round for you! In honor of girls night.” The man said right as the bartender put your drinks down in front of you. The man reached over them to give the bartender cash.
“Oh you didn’t need to do that but thank you! I better get these over to our table but have a great night. If you’re still here next round we will return the favor”. You gave him a polite smile and went in search of your friends, drinks in hand. You felt bad that the man had bought your drinks, had he not paid so quickly you would have turned him down but that’s okay whoever goes up next time can just grab him a drink or two in return and we can call it even. You spotted your friends at a high top table just on the edge of the dance floor. The perfect spot. You passed out the drinks and you all cheers before you started to catch up and start your night. Your friend Carrie ended up getting the next round and you made sure you pointed out the guy and gave her some cash to replace his drink, she even ended up chatting with him for a little bit before coming back and talking about how nice he was. You were glad they hit it off, she even exchanged numbers with him. That made you think of your phone and you pulled it out to check it. No new messages, you knew that would be the case but you really wished you had heard from Jason, you missed him.
“Hey, none of that. You can’t look sad on girls night, Jason will come around but for now let’s dance!” Your friend had caught you, you downed the rest of your drink and grabbed her hand to go dance. After the the fourth song you started to not feel so good so you excused yourself to the bathroom. Once you got there you locked the door and went to the sink to splash some cold water on your face. You were feeling dizzy and when you looked in the mirror your reflection was blurry. You had only had two drinks, you shouldn’t feel like this, something wasn’t right. You didn’t think you could make it back to your friends without passing out so you pulled your phone from your pocket and dialed Jason, hoping he would pick up even tho you two were fighting.
“Todd.” Was all he said as he answered on the second ring.
“Jay, help.” You said and in a shaky voice as you struggled to stay upright. Jason caught the panic and fear in your voice instantly.
“What’s wrong, where are you?” There was a pause on your end that he didn’t like, like your reaction time was delayed.
“Lush….in th bathroom…m’ dizzy gon sit down.” You slurred into the phone.
“Fuck, baby I’m on my way hold on. How many drinks did you have? Keep talking to me sweetheart.”
“Two drink, somethin wrong.” Just then someone wiggled the doorknob and tried to strong arm the door. “Jay? S’that you at th door?”
“NO! No don’t open the door for anyone!, stay put I’m five minutes away.”
Five minutes, you weren’t sure you could stay awake for five more minutes but you knew you needed to try. You started to pinch yourself on the arm as hard as you could hoping the pain would keep you up. The person trying to open the door gave it one last try and then you heard them move away from the door.
“Jay?”
“Yeah baby, im almost there”
“M’sorry, shold’ve listen to you” just then the door opened and you blinked slowly looking up to see the man from the bar with another man who had a key in his hand. “There you are babe, you had me worried. I got the staff to open the door for me, come on let me take you home.
You put your phone in your pocket keeping Jason on the line, even in your disoriented state you knew this was bad. “No, I don, I don know you”
“Oh sweetie, you have had a few too many haven’t you, come on let’s get you off that floor and I’ll help you to the car”
Jason was listening to this through his helmet, he was seething. He had put the puzzle pieces together, this man drugged you and was trying to make you leave with him.” It wasn’t going to happen, over Jason’s dead body would he allow this to happen to you. He pushed his bike that much faster as he heard shuffling on the other end of the line.
You were struggling but you were starting to lose control of your limbs. The man held you up and walked you toward the side door to the bar. No, your friends were on the other side of the bar, they couldn’t see you. Couldn’t see this man taking you against your will. You needed to keep Jason aware of where you were so you said as loud as you could manage “no, no side ally”
“Shh shh sweetie, we are just taking a little shortcut through the ally” the man spent a couple minutes maneuvering you through the crowd without looking suspicious. He opened the door and you stumbled outside as he held onto you. As soon as the door latched and he turned you toward the street you saw a very large looming shadow at the end of the ally and you have never been so relieved in your life. At the end of the ally was a very pissed off Red Hood. The man froze for a moment before he dropped you and ran back towards the side door. Red Hood stalked into the ally knowing full well that side doors like that do not open from the outside. Sure enough the man was frantically pulling on the door to no avail. Jason bent down next you and tilted your lolling head towards him, checking you over for injuries quickly. “Give me a minute baby, I’m here now, your safe.” The modulated voice of his helmet said to your barely conscience self. You heard him though and you finally blacked out thankful you lasted until he got here.
Jason saw you had passed out, he needed to get you to Alfred, he had no idea what this piece of shit had given you. He was going to find out though. Jason ripped the guy away from the door he was still frantically trying to open and pinned him up against it. “What did you give her?” His modulated voice couldn’t hide the anger in his tone, the man flinched. “I… I don’t know wh- ahh” he let out a yell cutting himself off as Jason punched him hard across the face. “I don’t have time for your bullshit, you see her?” Jason grabbed the back of the guys neck and forced him to look at you “she’s mine, you don’t want to fuck with me right now, WHAT. DID YOU. GIVE HER!!!!” Jason roared through the modulator. The man went pale at this new info and decided to fess up “it was just a roofie, I swear man” Jason dropped the man on the ground face first, he flipped him around to face him and put his gun to his head. “You don’t get to touch her.” and he pulled the trigger.
Jason picked up your limp body making sure your head was safely tucked against his chest. He only had his bike and he couldn’t risk putting you on it like this. He quickly dials Alfred through his helmet. He needed to know what to do, how to to help you. Alfred had informed him that he needed to monitor you very closely. He can’t be positive what you were drugged with or how much so ideally you would go to a hospital. Jason Todd could not walk Into a hospital but that didn’t mean he was going to allow you to risk your health. He called Dick.
“Hey Jaybird, patrol going okay?”
“Not patrolling, it’s y/n. Some asshole drugged her, she needs to go to a hospital and I can’t take her,I’m either Red Hood or a dead guy. I need you to take her Dick, Need to make sure she’s okay.”
“Shit, yeah I’m on my way. Where are you?”
“Lush nightclub, side alley”
“Be there in 10”
Jason disconnected the call and leaned against the wall still holding you close, he wasn’t going to put you down while he waited, he didn’t want you on the ground anymore and he wanted you close. He checked your pulse and fretted over you as guilt started to seep into his veins. He had lost his cool and told you to do what you wanted and told you he didn’t care. He cared so much, he was so glad you called him tonight and nauseous at the thought of what could have happened to you. You told him you should have listened, but maybe he should have listened to you better too. You just wanted to see your friends and have fun, he could have sent someone to watch over you guys, hell he could have taken a night off patrolling and done it himself. Had you both calmed down and communicated better you could have figured out a safe way to make your girls night happen but instead your going to end your night in a hospital and Jason isn’t sure he will ever forgive himself for that.
impatient with a rifle and your papers
or the story of jason todd's race against time
warnings | reader gets shot, blood, panic attack, dark humour
chapter 02 of the LOST BOYS series (can be read as standalone)
Jason Todd is a patient man. That is something that has always been like that and probably will be kept as part of his persona for as long as he lives. It’s just one of his quirks, he has learnt the art of waiting for things, for people, and now it’s something that defines him and differentiates him from others in this hectic city.
He has always played the waiting game when he was a kid, learning when to leave his room and the house, being on the lookout for voices from his mother and whether it was safe to leave or not. Leaning in the door of his childhood room, staring at bare walls, he counted the cracks in them repeatedly to pass time until the tinkering outside quieted down and he braved enough to leave.
Patiently he stood in the night when he stole Bruce’s tire as a kid too, hidden in the shadows of some dingy alleyway as he saw the mannerisms of the vigilante, calculating when to execute his idea.
Nonetheless, that didn’t mean he never acted impatiently. One example is when he learnt he got to inherit the Robin mantle, excitedly jumping up and down in place, almost walking across the ceiling from how ecstatic he felt. All toothy grins and sparkly young eyes, he couldn’t wait for nighttime to arrive to imitate his brother who he deeply admired despite all his mean jokes.
His Robin character was a bit more impatient than his Jason persona. He felt as if he got to be more careless, jumping around buildings with the company of his family, and that of course, was incredibly exciting for a kid! He couldn’t help but get super giggly whenever they got their suits on, urging everyone to be as quick as possible, tugging on their capes himself to be a bit faster.
There was one remarkable time in his Robin career when he waited, and waited, and just kept on waiting. Hours blurred together, days blended into one, and he still waited, suit torn to shreds, blood covering his tiny body from a beating with a cold crowbar owned by a distant patchy white face. He waited in between every hit of the metal to his body, he waited and he waited and he waited until his body gave up despite his mind’s wishes to keep waiting.
When Jason Todd got resurrected, he itched to change his character, to not be as “soft” as he was when he was younger. That’s the reason why everybody that knew early Red Hood knew not to make him wait. A moment in his presence without a reason to be is just a bullet waiting to be inside their shoulder.
Missions were done in the blink of an eye because he knew all the ins and outs of the city like the palm of his hand, knowing where to hit correctly, and without losing time at all.
In. Out. Job done. Not waiting around for the perfect moment. He made the perfect moment. All muscle and resistance, he knew he could take it.
He felt as if all he did in life before was wait and wait. All memories from his childhood he could remember he spent them waiting, waiting for something. He never knew or understood that, after all, he was a child at that time, but all he comprehended was that whenever he thought back on his childhood, he remembered the cold feeling of tiles where he sat down as others moved quickly beside him at a speed he couldn’t quite catch up to.
When he decided to let his existence known to his family, he did it quickly. Barged inside the defences of the manor, removed abruptly his helmet in front of his heavily armed blood, shouted some things, and left. No time for waiting around anymore.
It took a very, very long time until he started to wait again.
The first time it happened was with Dick, who stumbled around his room getting ready while Jason stood in the doorway, arms crossed and an annoyed face plastered. “I’m so so sorry Jay, you know I’m always on time, I swear my alarm never went off. If you want to hang out other day it’s fine by me, I know you don’t like losing time or waiting”. With a heavy sigh, he entered the room and sat down in his chair, grunting some comments along the way.
Once he looked back up at Dick, he saw his older brother standing there with his arm half slung across his backwards t-shirt, mouth wide open in a cartoonish way. “Well come on, don’t make me lose any more time” he mumbled as he put his hands in his pockets. To this day, Dick swears up and down he didn’t start sobbing loudly at that moment.
With time, Jason began to crave back that time he lost as an angry teenager, always doing things way too rapidly and without any thought. Now, he took time to do his things, he took space.
He began to long for the wait while his morning tea got warm in the manor while he chatted away with a sleepy Tim.
He loved the wait time in his favourite coffee shop while they got his coffee ready, taking that time to look at the gorgeous barista who fumbled around with all the seasonal decorations hung in the windows.
He specially adored the courting time to said barista, until after more than six months, countless sappy dates and one awkward kiss later, he finally could call himself the patient boyfriend of an incredible person.
It took time, a long time until he could begin to tell you about his personal life, both emotional and vigilante-related, as every ocassion he wanted to talk about the topic, he got cold feet. After some gentle coaxing, a lot of hard conversations and a brand-new therapist provided by his family, he could proudly call himself a man, a good man, as he told you once with a shy smile looking for your approval.
He found countless ways to prove himself to you to be a reliable and devoted lover. Jason took his time to learn you as a person in and out, both how your brain thought way too late at night after working all day long, and how his warm hands seemed to act as a magnet for yours in the winter. You did the same, patiently lying beside him when his thoughts got too loud and his body recoiled way from physical touch.
Your relationship was built on waiting for the other, because you knew that if one was ready for something but the other wasn’t sure, the first would stand across from them until the latter decided it was time. You began to build routines together, while one was cooking the other cleaned, he read while you wrote; doing things together, sharing your time together.
It was a normal activity to have Jason clean out a rifle in the middle of the table in the living room, working around the pieces with his tools, dismantling the deadly weapon, taking apart the pieces to gently and slowly wipe them clean with a cloth, and building them back the way they were before.
You used this time to clean with him too, and this time the chosen piece to organise and declutter in your home was the old mahogany desk you inherited but barely used until he got a hold of it and plastered a lot of his paperwork across it. He usually kept them inside colour coded folders based on a system Tim built "for efficiency purposes", and clearly not based on their personal colours form their vigilante personas. Either way, time got control of him this week, missions kept stacking on top of one another and the little breather he got, he used it to spend it with you.
Despite his efforts, he barely had been home all week, forcing you to wake up alone in the morning with his side of the bed made and cold to the touch. Ever being understanding, your personal stress got ahold of you too and a silly small argument started, completely petty and childish that would be forgiven in an instant, but still you needed time to cool down properly.
Ironically, Jason got called in for a last minute mission that would lead to the fall of the gang they were trying to take down. With a painful look in both of your eyes, he began to get his weapons ready for the task at hand, cleaning out his rifle as quickly as his slightly shaky hands let him. The time-consuming activity got done haphazardly in half the time as he got impatient to finish the activity as soon as possible.
You tried to help a bit by bringing some of his gear from another room to the living area, and as he saw the tactical jacket in your hands, he snapped a bit at you for touching his vigilante stuff even though you had helped other times and he shot up out of the chair to take the heavy object out of your hands.
Tragically, the fates weren’t in your favour that day and wanted to cruelly remind him to be patient with himself and others, and somehow, when he abruptly got up, the semi assembled rifle fell out of the table and managed to get a shot fired. Said shot also managed to find its way grazing your side, making a small, miniscule puncture that started oozing blood quickly into your white t-shirt.
Gasping and eyes wide open, you turned towards Jason for help and only saw his face ghostly white as he began to move with military precision and in a second, he had patched the graze up. He was mutely crying as he did so, not daring to speak up and respond to your angry ramblings at the rifle to distract him, because “honestly, Jay, are rifles even more precise? I’m sure you could get the job done as perfectly with a gun and they are more comfortable to carry too, your arms wouldn’t get as tired, honey” did not easy the heavy feeling in his heart of having involuntarily shot you.
You tried to act tough, but the wound hurt and burned, and you let out some noises when he touched the bloody surrounding area to disinfect it properly. When he was finished, he stood in his knees in front of you, ignoring his phone that had been ringing for the past minutes, and he cried and cried and kept begging for forgiveness in a tone so soft that it started to worry you. You managed to lower yourself down too, and now at his level, you took his face in your hands and gently wiped his tears yourself as you pressed a kiss to his forehead.
He began to hyperventilate a bit, as he kept mumbling apology after apology, blaming himself for being too impatient while assembling the rifle that he forgot to put the safety properly on. He was having a panic attack on your carpet, and then you forced him to stare at you while you talked.
“Jason, look at me. I am here with you, I am perfectly fine. Yes, it hurt like a bitch, but I can’t date a vigilante and not expect to get shot at some point. To be honest, I preferred you were the one to do so instead of some other weird rogue” you tried to joke around. Seeing his serious face still drenched in tears, you sighed and continued “It was an honest mistake, baby, I’m okay and I love you the same as I did before this tiny incident”.
He stared at you after some seconds breathing heavy to regain his composure and whispered “This happened because I was in a hurry, because I was an impatient excuse of a-“ “If you keep going like that I’m going to shoot you myself. You are allowed to take time to prepare for a mission, and if Bruce told you to get there as quickly as possible, that means that for other time you are allowed to arrive 10 minutes later because you needed more time to assemble your rifle, organize paperwork or just to kiss me because you know I miss you and I worry for you. And if he has a problem with that, I will personally talk to him. You are patient with them when they need time, and you should expect them to behave the same way to you”.
“I know you keep thinking this happened because you weren’t careful and because you felt angry at a lot of things in the moment, but please Jay, listen to me while I say this.
I know you are incredibly gentle with my fine china when I’m too scared to break it while washing it and you take over for me. I know you wait for 4 minutes exactly when you make my tea because the bag says it’s the perfect time to brew it to get more sweetness out, just how I like it.
I know you.
You are a patient and gentle man, sweetheart. Do not let other’s lack of happiness over what they do with their time or uncontrolled brute force taint what you are”, you sealed finally.
You brought his shaking hands up to your middle, and after making sure the wound was safe, you got closer to him while your hands wrapped across his shoulders, engulfing him in a bone crushing hug. His hands were shaking a bit when he covered your bandages with his hands, and he just pulled you into his chest to deeply that you struggled to breathe for a second.
Now that his heartbeat was slowing down to match yours, you started to feel more at ease and fully let yourself get lost in the feeling of safety that was his presence next to yours.
a/n: im actually sorry this is so so messy but i struggled so much with this one bcs i kept changing the direction constantly maybe angst just isn’t for me fml
He can shove down his thoughts and emotions on his own.
He doesn't need good luck or a quick kiss before leaving for a mission he may not come back from.
He can stitch himself up perfectly fine in the filthy bathroom of one of his safe houses.
Yet here he was, crawling in through your apartment window like something your cat would've dragged in- soaked to the bone and covered head to toe in blood.
He's almost embarressed to say that most of it is his own.
He doesn't back down when you reach out with a gentle hand after perking up at the sound of his boots hitting the ground, though.
He knows better than to deny the only love he gets.
Sure, he doesn't need your help.
But he craves it.
He craves those gentle touches that only come when the lights are so dim that your bodies are concealed.
He craves the way you put just a bit too much sugar in his coffee, telling him to have a "sweet day."
He craves the kisses you pepper all along every new scar and bruise.
