a few centered around his family—he always sits or stands to the left of dick, always makes cass her plate, always brings dessert to gatherings because nobody can do it as well as he can.
a few about his work—he always starts on the south end of gotham and works toward the north, always cleans his guns an hour before patrol, always puts his right boot on before his left one.
then, he has several for you.
he always flicks your sky projector on fifteen minutes before you’re done getting ready for bed, he always lets you take a bite of food first before picking his fork up, he always lets you read the prologue of a book he’s considering purchasing.
but your personal favorite?
jason always lets you kiss him first.
he’ll lower his face to yours, keeping the space between the two of you until you lift your lips to slot against his. whenever he wants affection, he’ll draw closer, look at you with those utterly compelling eyes of his, and wait.
he waits until you respond—whether it be reciprocating his energy or not.
he doesn’t take from you. he loves whatever you give him, even if it’s merely eye contact.
even then, he’ll graciously accept it because it’s from you.
jason has a habit of waiting for you to kiss him first, not because he’s nervous or shy.
he waits because he knows what it’s like to have things taken, and he always wants you to have a choice.
pt. 2 to touchstarved!jason now turned clingy!jason cause i need that man religiously
touchstarved!jason todd who is now one of the most affectionate people you know (at least with you).
touchstarved!jason todd who has now turned into clingy bf!jason.
clingy bf!jason todd who can’t stop touching you now that he finally feels comfortable.
clingy bf!jason todd who lets his hands linger on your waist while the two of you stand in the kitchen together.
clingy bf!jason todd who doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second when the two of you are outside. he always has to have you near him.
clingy bf!jason todd who links his pinky with yours while you two sit next to each other, him reading and you watching your show.
clingy bf!jason todd who silently moves your legs into his lap, gently massaging your calves just for his peace of mind.
clingy bf!jason who clings to you when falling asleep, holding you tight as your back lays against his chest.
clingy bf!jason who nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck while hugging you, breathing you in deeply and taking in your scent.
clingy bf!jason who glares at you when you ask him if he just sniffed you, replying with a quiet “no” while his whole face flushes. he absolutely did.
clingy bf!jason who sits on the closed toilet seat while watching you get ready, just staring at you and occasionally asking a question about what you’re doing now.
clingy bf!jason who insists on helping you comb/brush your hair before bed.
clingy bf!jason who gets so overwhelmed sometimes with how much he loves you that he will just randomly hug you and won’t let go for a while.
clingy bf!jason who loves trapping you under him, laying his whole body on yours, essentially crushing you while he ignores you insisting he get off cause he’s “too heavy”. whatever.
clingy bf!jason who slides his cold hands underneath your shirt, pressing them against the warmth of your skin, even though you’ve told him off countless times.
clingy bf!jason who just mumbles a quick “sorry, babe.” in response while kissing your cheeks. he doesn’t feel sorry at all.
synopsis: you're a sweet recluse who allows her home to be Jason's safe house. What happens when he starts to get too close to you?
The screen door creaks open late one evening. Jason Todd steps inside your little kitchen like it's a habit, almost as though he's lived here all his life. In truth, you'd only known Jason for about two months now since he came stumbling to your doorstep one stormy evening. Things seemed to pass in a blur since then.
Jason's shoulders are tense beneath the fabric of his jacket, bruised from the constant fights he participates in. His jaw is sore and his knuckles are split from punching again. He's already in one of his moods.
He kicks off his boots by the door without looking, the way he always does, listening to the familiar sound of dirty soles thunking against the wood floor. Then, he heads straight to the sink like he's on autopilot, having memorized the layout of your house like it's his own. He doesn't even need to look down to where the fluffy hand towels are as he dries his hands.
There's a plate of dinner waiting on the table that's still hot and steaming, and you're standing near the counter, looking at him like he didn't just come home covered in bruises and blood. You're smiling in the cutesy, innocent way you always do. The way that boils Jason's blood in both a bad, and really good way.
"Hi, Jay," you say, your voice smooth like honey as you look up at him with big, sparkly eyes, like he's just your husband coming home late from work.
Jason swears under his breath and marches through the kitchen, hovering around you for a moment, before muttering a gruff "Hello." in return, slumping down into his usual seat at the dinner table, looking down at tonight's meal.
The plate's got roast chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, and a pile of vegetables on the side. It's very balanced. It looks like food you'd see in a magazine with a recipe underneath. You cooked. Again. Like you do every night.
"Thought you might be hungry," you say, cheeks all pink from the stove's heat, or maybe just from looking at him. You get so bashful when he stares. "You want me to get you a knife or anything else?"
"No. S' fine." he grumbles, picking up a fork to start stabbing at his vegetables. You nod, still smiling all cute as you take out a jug of lemonade for him and pour him a class without asking, setting it down beside his plate, right before leaning down to press the softest, most innocent kiss to his cheek. Right near the cut on his jaw, his sweet spot. "Glad you're home safe."
Jason goes still at the feeling, a little grunt leaving him involuntarily. The second your lips brush over him, it's as though every muscle in his body tenses. His eyes flick to you, but you're already walking away, humming to yourself like you didn't screw him over with that little gesture.
What the hell are you doing, letting a guy like him into your house? Letting him sleep in the extra bedroom you cleaned just for him and eat off your table without asking for compensation? What kind of sweet, naive girl lets a man with knives and guns in his duffel bag and scars up his back and shoulders stay in her house like he's not dangerous?
"You shouldn't do that," he grumbles as you have your back turned to him, a deep scowl on his face. You blink, turning back toward him, confusion soft in your eyes. "Do what?"
"You know what I mean. The kissin'. The..." his voice gets tight, jaw ticking, "...the 'Jay' with your little giggle. Don't."
"Don't act like we're friends?' you ask, so innocently, head tilted in a way that makes him want to pounce on you. "We are friends."
Jason clenches his jaw. His fingers curl around the fork, knuckles white. "You should be more wary, is all" he mutters, frowning as you respond with a little huff and a playful eye roll, going over to check on the pies you made for dessert that are cooling on a rack.
He stares at the curves of your body, gaze panning from your hips, down to your thighs, and back up to your ass, plump in the cute little nightgown you're wearing, with the hem riding up your thighs enough to show your panties if you bent over. He can't take his eyes off of you, not for a second. He's looking at you to figure out how someone like you could possibly be real, let alone a part of his life. You feed him. You made him a safe house with gingham curtains and a soft bed and dinner waiting on the table every night without fail.
He's coiled so tight it feels like his skin doesn't fit right, seeing you flutter around the kitchen like everything's fine, apron tied snugly around your waist. You turn and meet his gaze again as he continues.
"Why aren't you scared of me?" Jason mutters all gruff, pushing back his chair and standing. His eyes are all dark and stormy. "You let a guy like me in your house. You give me food, a bed, clothes. You let me walk around your kitchen like I belong here." He steps forward slowly. "You don't even lock your fucking door."
Your throat bobs as you swallow, but your expression doesn't change. That soft, quiet sweetness still on your face like you've never even heard a threat before.
"I don't have to lock it because the only person who comes around here is you, and I know you."
Jason's frown deepens, and he crowds your space, hissing at you coldly. "You don't know shit about me." He stares down at you, jaw clenched, breathing through his nose. He keeps coming closer and closer to you, all while you don't even realize what you're doing to him, standing there in your cozy little kitchen, smelling like a dessert.
His body pushes you back into the counter, his jaw is clenched and lips twisted in a snarl. You open your mouth, but he cuts you off, his voice rising. "You let me in here. You open your house up to someone like me and think I'm not gonna hurt you? You think I'm just gonna be your lil' prince charming?"
He shoves his hand against the counter beside you, trapping you in place. His face is inches from yours, but this time, you don't see the same tired, frustrated guy you've been taking care of. This time, all you see is the threat, the dangerous man who doesn't think you should have trusted him at all.
"I could strangle you, you know," he says all soft. His hand shoots out, quick and brutal, grabbing your neck just below your chin. "You think I wouldn't do it? You think I wouldn't snap your neck like a twig if I wanted to?"
Your pulse spikes. His grip isn't tight enough to suffocate you, just enough to make your heart pound harder. "Or what if I wanted to cut you?" His thumb presses into the side of your neck. he's learned you can make someone pass out if you push there hard and long enough. wouldn't take long if he did it to you, though. another reminder of how fragile you really are. "What if I wanted to steal everything in your house and leave you with nothing?"
You look up at him, whimpering softly at the feeling of his huge hand wrapping around your throat. Your smaller one grabs at his wrist, staring up at him with big, glassy eyes. "J-jason..."
"What if I wanted to tear off one of those flimsy lil' dresses you wear around me and fuck you?" He lets out a low mumble, tipping your head up and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip. "You think they're cute, huh? You think I don't notice the way you dress like 'm not gonna want to tear you apart?"
Your breath hitches, and for a second, you can't find your words. He's crowding you now, pinning you to the counter so you have no way out. His thumb pushes harder on your lower lip.
You stare at him, your face flushed. Your chest is rising fast now, like you're trying to keep calm, like your body's betraying you even if your voice hasn't cracked yet. You're not saying anything, but your fear's loud enough without words.
Jason's still holding onto your throat, the heel of his hand digging into your pressure point while his thumb smushes against your soft lips. His chest heaves with each breath, his face twisted up even though deep down, he's thoroughly enjoying himself. He relishes in the slight tremble your body gives and the way you look up at him like you're starting to realize he's not savable.
He leans down to your level. "You scared now, sweetheart?" he mutters. You try to speak, but it catches in your throat. He can feel it under his hand, that flutter in your pulse. "Yeah," he breathes. "That's what I thought."
He tilts his head, leaning down to slot his mouth over your cheek, mocking the little kisses you always give him when he's home. He moans against your skin, starting to press sloppy kisses down to your jaw. He's done holding back, finally indulging in the terrible, heinous thoughts he's had about you since you let him into your home.
His hands roam under your dress, hiking it up to squeeze the globes of your ass, all while you moan softly, eyes fluttering shut.
He kisses up the side of your throat and up to your ear, huffing low so you hear every bit of how hot he is for you. "Lemme show you what bad men do to pretty girls who play house with 'em."
his hands move again. they don't stay in place for long. he's very unpredictable. one moves back to grip on your throat, while the other hand drags up the back of your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your nightgown until his rough fingers find bare skin. his breathing is ragged now, lips pressed to the curve of your neck like he's trying to inhale you.
"You smell s'sweet," he growls, nose brushing the soft skin beneath your jaw. "Always smell so fuckin' sweet."
He's spreading you apart before your brain can comprehend it, lifting you up with his free hand to guide you up onto the counter, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. Slotting his body between your legs, he looks down at your pretty cotton panties. Just as adorable as you, all lacy and pastel like you didn't have a clue what they'd do to him.
Jason huffs a breath through his nose, low and unsteady, staring at the soaked little patch in the middle. "Fuck," he mutters, dragging his thumb over the wet spot slowly and teasingly. "Look at this. You want me like this." His hand grips your thigh to keep you open, his gaze locked on your panties as he takes two fingers and pushes them up against your panties so he can trace your plump little pussy through the fabric, firm enough to make you twitch.
You jolt, grabbing onto his shoulder while your tummy flips. "Mmh... i-its good... b-but 'm sensitive..." you warn softly, trying to fight against his grip ever so slightly, but he keeps you spread for him with his firm hand. Your breath catches when he starts tugging your panties to the side, baring the warm air of the kitchen onto your even warmer hole.
His hand grips your hip, anchoring you in place while he teases your entrance with the pads of his fingers, just barely pressing in. You let out a strangled little sound, back arching as he slowly presses a finger inside you with a low groan. Your body clenches around him and it makes him twitch, a guttural sound leaving his chest. "Fuck, you're tight," he mutters, nose nuzzling yours. "So fuckin' warm. This pussy's been waiting for me, hasn't she?" You nod helplessly, eyes wide, lips parted as he pumps his finger inside you slow and filthy. He watches you fall apart for him, cheeks flushed and pretty little moans leaving your mouth with every curl of his finger.
His thick digit curls just right inside you, slow and deep, while his thumb rubs circles around your clit, not too quick, just firm and steady like he's testing how fast he can get you to fall apart. You whimper again, your hips rolling into his hand without thinking.
He watches the little faces you make while you're in heat like this, as well as the way your body reacts to his touch. His eyes are locked on the place where his finger disappears inside you with that delicious squelch, and once you're relaxed, he slides in a second to fill you up even more. You jerk, nightgown bunching up more at your waist as he shoves his fingers deep inside you, wanting to see how tight you can squeeze around them.
"Damn," he mumbles, "You're squeezin' the fuck outta me." His free hand grabs your thigh harder when you flinch back, nails digging just a little into your flesh to keep you still and wide open for him. He leans in, breathing heavy against your cheek as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit while his fingers keep stroking inside you, that slow, steady rhythm that's driving you crazy because it's just enough to have you trembling, but not enough to tip you over.
You whine out a soft "Jay," all desperate and teary eyed, your grip on his shoulders tightening as your legs start to shake. You don't even realize you're grinding down onto his hand until he growls, "Yeah… that's it. Use your words. You need it that bad, don't you?"
He keeps his face close to yours, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes, watching how dazed you look already, lips all swollen and wet from how much you've been panting. "Feels 's good! M-more..." You whine, your body starting to move on its own, hips rolling into his hand, trying to chase the pressure that's curling in your gut.
Jason doesn't let up. He just keeps fucking you with his fingers, deep and slow, his thumb pressed firm to your clit, working you in tight little circles until your legs are twitching and your mouth is open like you're gasping for air.
"You're already gonna cum, huh?" he murmurs, voice low and thick. "Already cryin' on my fingers like a needy little thing." You nod, head falling back against the cabinet behind you, your breath coming in short, desperate little bursts. " 'M gonna...Jay, I...I'm gonna..."
"Come, then," he orders, eyes locked on yours. "Cum on my fingers like a good girl. Show me how sweet this fuckin' pussy is."
You shatter around him body locking up tight before it all melts down at once, your orgasm crashing over you so hard you can't even stay upright without holding onto him. Your whole body trembles and he watches it all, jaw clenched, eyes dark and blown wide with how fucked he is for you.
He keeps his fingers inside you even after, not pulling out until you're twitching too much to take it, and even then, he pulls back slow, glancing down at the mess he made of you. He brings his fingers to his mouth without even thinking, licking them clean while he keeps his eyes on your face.
Then he leans in, mumbling in your ear. "You made a mess on my hand,"
Jason's gaze drops down to the tent in his jeans, thick and straining against the zipper, and he lets out a breath that sounds more like a growl.
"Take my cock out," he says roughly, eyes never leaving yours. Your fingers tremble a little as they reach for his belt, heart hammering in your chest while you work it loose, the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet kitchen. Jason's eyes are burning into your face the whole time, watching the way you fumble a little, the way your lips part and your breathing gets uneven while you tug his belt free, then pop open the button on his jeans.
You slide the zipper down slow, hands shaking just the tiniest bit, but you don't stop.
He helps you just enough to shove his jeans down his hips, groaning softly when you reach into his briefs and wrap your fingers around him. He's thick and hot and already leaking against your palm, and the second you touch him, his whole body stiffens.
"Jesus," he mumbles, chest rising and falling hard. You glance up at him through your lashes, a little dazed and shy, but your hand stays wrapped around him as you stroke him once, then twice, making his head fall forward, forehead bumping into yours while he groans.
He looks into your eyes, his voice all rough and shaking with how close he is to snapping. "You're gonna do it, alright? Not me." he says, jaw clenched. "You're gonna show me how dirty you are, and take me in your hand, and you're gonna line me up with that sweet little pussy like this was your fuckin' idea."
You nod even though you're buzzing and feel your body burning, and he watches you slowly wrap your hand snugly around his cock, his face close to yours as you guide him between your legs.
"Yeah," he mumbles, watching your face. "Just like that." You whimper when the head of his cock bumps against your entrance, slick and warm, and Jason moans low in his throat at the feel of you, the head of him just barely pushing inside.
Your fingers tremble as you line the head of him up with your entrance, glancing up at him as you press him against your folds. "It's so hard," you whisper, all breathless. "Your cock..."
"I know," He responds, watching you continue to guide him, soaked folds parting around the flushed head, barely nudging it in just enough for both of you to feel that first slide. " 's... fuck... c-cause I want you s'bad." He hunches over you a little, mouth hanging open as you finally line him up just right. His tip catches on your soaked entrance and he groans deeply, forehead pressing to yours again like he's trying to stay tethered to something.
He pants, grinding the head against you, not pushing in all the way yet, smearing your wetness all over the flared head of his cock while your thighs twitch around his hips. You make a tiny noise, all high and breathy, and he grins against your cheek. His nose brushes your temple while he shifts his hips just enough for his tip to nudge inside, slow and heavy. "Fuck... there we go, sweetness. 'S suckin me in now."
He grabs your thigh with his free hand, pushing it up until your knee's hooked over his forearm, giving him more room, more access, more of you. He doesn't push all the way in yet, just slides in a few inches, slow and aching, just enough to make your mouth drop open and your nails bite into his shoulders.
"Keep lookin' at me," he hisses. "Don't you dare look away. You let me in, shit... now you're gonna watch what I do to you."
Your eyes flutter open again, all teary and glassy and overwhelmed, and he groans and thrusts in deeper, hips jerking forward like he can't help it anymore, burying himself with a low, breathless curse. Both hands grab your thighs to hold you wide open while his cock sinks alllll the way inside, thick and throbbing inside you.
He sinks in all the way, slow but deliberate, forcing your body to stretch and take every thick inch, and the second he bottoms out, he stays there, buried deep inside you, breathing hard through his nose like he's trying to stay composed, but he's not even close. His hands grip your thighs so tight it makes your skin dimple, holding you still like he's afraid you'll run, like he knows you're not ready for how far he's about to take this.
"Fuck, it's good," he mutters, voice wrecked as he stares down at where you're joined. "Look at that. Fuckin' swallowed me whole, didn't you?" He gives a rough roll of his hips, just enough to make you jerk and gasp under him. "Tight little pussy- already squeezin' like she wants to keep me."
Your head tips back as a choked little moan slips out, your hands clinging to his shoulders now, nails dragging across his back without thinking. He groans, fucking into you harder now, faster. Your body jerks with the impact of his rough thrust, and he moans, loud and low against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he bites down like an animal.
He keeps fucking into you with rapid, punishing thrusts, his body bracketed over yours, your legs forced wide apart so he can get deeper. You moan loudly, not bothering to hold back on being responsive. You're slicing into his back with your nails, mewling and panting his name harshly.
He growls at the pleasure pain you give him, rutting into you harder, like the sound of his name like that flipped some switch in him. "Say it again," he pants. "Say my fuckin' name."
You do, a little louder this time, all breathless and shaking. "Jason, mmh! please!"
"Fuck," he bites, his whole body shuddering as he pounds into you now, hips snapping forward again and again. "You're gonna let me ruin you, huh? That what you want, sweet girl? Gonna let me fuck the good right outta you?" You nod, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, not even sure if it's from how good it feels or how deep he's inside you, but it makes him groan, deep and ragged, like he's never seen anything more perfect.
His voice is nothing but a harsh whisper now. "I ever catch you lettin' another man in this house, I swear to god-"
You cut him off with a soft little moan, too blissed out to process the threat, and Jason grunts, cock pulsing inside of you as he scrapes against your gummy inner walls. You let out a loud, high whine, clenching tight around him, and he curses under his breath, leaning forward to kiss you rough and messy, dragging his tongue across your bottom lip.
The taste of you is too much for him, and he groans loudly, grabbing onto the back of your head so he can fully suck your tongue into his mouth and buck into you faster, like a dog in a rut. "Gonna cum f'you," He grunts, tearing out of you suddenly.
You whine at the loss of the full feeling inside your belly. and he grabs onto your plush thighs again, squeezing his throbbing, flushed cock and pumping it a few times before splurting all over your pussy. You pant, heart pounding in your chest.
He cums load after load on you, before dropping onto his knees and stuffing his face into your cunt, needing you to cum for him too. He doesn't want to wait for your sensitivity or that coil to fade away, and so he thrusts his tongue deep inside your sopping hole, eating out your cunt like it's the only dessert he needs.
You scream, ecstasy washing over you so suddenly that you can't even warn him when you cum into his hot mouth, watching him eagerly drink it all up and tongue fucking you through your orgasm.
He groans at your taste once again, unable to get over how sweet you taste. He stands and scoops some of the cum off his thighs and pushes his fingers lightly to your mouth. "Open." He mutters, watching you oblige with a dazed look in your eyes. He feels his cock twitch to life once more at the sight of you tasting him and looking into his eyes like he's just ruined you, which he has. Your hair is a mess and your lips are swollen, and your lower half is soaked with his cum.
It's truly incomprehensible how one could have so much thought. Jason cant even wrap his head around how your sentences flow, they just do. One moment you're rambling about some new movie poster you saw while crossing the street, the next you're on about how every man who listens to Mazzy Star is evil. Seriously, how is one able to hold themselves through a jumble so fluently?
You had decided to stop by his place after your day out, wanting to continue talking about whatever you and your friends had been gossiping about earlier. He happily listened, per usual. Any excuse to listen to your voice was enough for him, no matter the topic...
"Honestly, I feel horrible for her. Like, I understand what she did was weird, but it's obvious the poor girl is going through something..." you've probably gone through the same topic three times already, restating the whole story every time a new detail pops in your head. Jason hums in return, and it isn't until then do you spare him a glance. He'd been messing with the rear fender of his motorcycle, unable to spare you a glance.
Your voice dims, eventually reaching a silence.
It takes a few moments until Jason glances over, brows furrowed.
"What happened after? Did anyone report the incident?"
You looked back for a second before deciding to respond,
"sorry, didn't know you were fixing your bike. I don't wanna keep distracting you."
His furrow only deepened, if that were even possible. "Y're not."
"No need to comfort me" you simply shrug, "I've been trying to work on this habit"
Pft. As if your voluble behavior could ever be considered something negative. Hell, he would go through the Herculean tasks if it meant your voice was the reward.
"I would've told you if it bothered me."
"Huh, thats convincing" you teased.
He sighed, "Of course I care. The way you speak to me eases my restlessness. It's a reminder of your devotion."
You gawk at him, jaw slightly ajar.
"Wow, wasn't expecting such a poetic inference from Jason Todd."
His back is turned now, the tip of his ears pink, "just keep talking. You never finished your story"
You smile at his silly endeavors, relieved at his response, before continuing.
No matter the situation, your boyfriend would rather experience it with your voice occupying the area — regardless of how many times you've repeated the story.
Synopsis: Jason’s siblings are so smart they’re dumb. They’ve been trying to get the inside scoop on Jason and his relationship but fail every time.
A/n: I know this trope is overdone but I wanted to do my version of it, so HUSH. Feel free to read the fake case I created lol, Enjoy!
It was a rare day today. You had Jason all to yourself. No off-grid missions, no patrol, no spending his time cooped up in his warehouse investigating a gang. Just you, Jason, and a soft rainy day.
A thunderstorm was supposed to roll through soon, and you hadn't bought any supplies yet, so that prompted you and Jason to make a quick trip to the grocery store.
“M'kay, babe, you ready?” you asked, slinging your purse over your arm. “I wanna beat the storm.”
Jason emerged from the hallway, yanking a hoodie over his head. “Yes, boss. Gimme a second, geez.”
You rolled your eyes. He only called you that when you were getting on his nerves.
“Also, we're taking my car. It's way too much rain for your bike.”
• At the manor •
“Okay he’s on the move!” Dick clapped his hands together watching a red dot slowly cross the screen. He’s gathered his siblings for what the likes to call operation expose girlfriend. Everyone knows Jason has a girlfriend, it’s not a secret— well much of a secret. They haven't met you yet but, some still think you’re not real, but dick is determined to prove you’re real.
“Why are we doing this again? Didn’t your last operation fail?” Damian asked leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed. Dick waved off his little brother pointing back at the projection screen.
“Anyways…looks like he’s headed to the local grocery story if we beat him there we can catch him walking in. Steph your the employee handing out samples, Cass—“
“Never said I was helping, I’m here to watch you fail.” She chuckled as she leaned against a wall.
Dick rolled his eyes, “Fine” he said through gritted teeth “duke can you be parking lot watch out?”
Duke gave him a cartoonish salute, “yes sir!”
“Damian—“
“Nope.”
Dick grunted visibly fed up with his siblings, “Tim check—“
“Already on it.” Those words brought a smile to Dicks face.
“Perfect. Lets go!”
• Grocery store •
You walked down the grocery store aisle, leaning against the cart as you searched for those crunchy granola bars you loved so much.
“J, baby, can you get that box down for me, please?” He nodded.
A moment later, he placed the green box in the cart, and the two of you continued down the aisle.
“Hey, babe, m'gonna go look for some stuff on my list. I'll be back.”
“M'kay.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple before disappearing down the aisle. You hummed and continued on your way. Wandering into another aisle, you pulled your phone from your pocket to check the rest of your grocery list.
“Alright Pasta, Coffee creamer, and Apple Snaps?” You whispered the list to yourself making sure you weren’t forgetting everything. You silently questioned the Apple Snaps thought, that weird cereal Jason swore tasted exactly the same as the discontinued version from 2008.
You shrugged it off continuing down the aisle. You were so focused on the list that you didn’t notice someone turning the corner.
You hit a relatively hard surface.
“Oh!” A carton of pasta fell hitting the ground.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” a familiar male voice said. You looked up curious. A tall dark-haired man immediately crouched down to help gather the fallen boxes. Where have you seen him?
“No, no, that’s my fault,” you said you chuckled, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Nah, definitely mine.” He flashed you a bright smile while stacking the boxes back into your arms.
You tilted your and blinked. He looked oddly familiar like… really familiar. You could’ve sworn you seen him before, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it.
“There we go.” He handed you the last box. “Again, sorry about that.”
You shook your head dismissing him “no, no It’s okay.”
He gave you another sweet smile, “Have a good day.”
“You too!” The man waved and disappeared down the aisle. Weird...You shrugged it off and continued shopping.
Meanwhile…
A few aisles over Jason stood frozen in place. His eye began twitching, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Because standing behind a display of canned beans was Dick Grayson.
Not even trying to hide. Just standing there in cartoonishly big sunglasses indoors. All while holding a newspaper upside down. What an idiot Jason thought, for a man who can solve the most unsolvable crimes within days he’s standing there looking like a goofball.
Jason slowly lowered the box of cereal in his hands.
“Dick.” Dick immediately turned away letting the newspaper fall.
Jason stared… Dick stared back.
“…”
“…”
Then Dick made a ‘smart’ choice and sprinted.
“What the hell—” Jason abandoned the cart and chased after his simple minded brother.
“DICK!” Unfortunately, the second he rounded the corner, Dick was gone, where? He didn’t know. Instead, he found Steph wearing a grocery store apron. A grocery store apron from a completely different grocery chain…
Jason sighed rolling his eyes, it was slowly starting to click why they were here. She was holding a tray of cheese cubes. “Would you like to try a sample, sir?” she asked in a terrible fake accent.
Jason pointed. “You. What are you doing here?”
She shrugged “I don’t know what you mean sir, I work here.”
Jason huffed running his hands down his face “Steph stop playing games, I can see the ear com in your ear”
It was a beat of silence.
“Oh.” Then she threw the tray at him and ran in the same direction Dick disappeared.
“What is WRONG with all of you?” He screamed earning a few glances from shoppers passing by. Across the store, Dick was panting as he ducked behind a display.
“Target spotted me.” He spoke into his comms looking around for said target.
“Obviously,” Tim’s voice crackled through the comms. “You’re the worst spy in human history.”
Dick scrunched his face offended by his brothers jab “I’m not the one sitting in the security room eating popcorn.”
“I’m multitasking.”
“Doubtful.” He scoffed.
While all of this chaos was going down in a local grocery store, Duke stood outside in the parking lot pretending to wash a perfectly clean car. Cass was documenting everything for future blackmail. Damian sat on a bench near the entrance reading a book…actually reading. Because unlike everyone else, he’d openly admitted this mission was stupid.
Jason knew if he found one he’d find them all, he wondered around following clues and found Tim hiding inside a break room with his laptop.
“Tim.” Jason called clearly unamused.
Tim looked up from his laptop with a guilty grin “…Hey bud.”
“Leave.”
Tim pretended to give his demand some thought, “how ‘bout no.”
“I said leave you moron.”
He stood up closing his laptop and approached the taller boy “You can’t prove I’m here because of you.”
Jason’s cold stone expression didn’t waver “You are wearing a headset.”
Tim slowly removed the headset flashing Jason an embarrassed grin. “Im just gonna…go” he pushed his way around Jason who refused to move out of the door way.
Jason watched him retreat down the aisle the rest of his siblings disappeared to. He shook his head pinching the bridge of his nose. “What fuckin’ idiots man.”
By the time you reunited with him twenty minutes later, you were done shopping. He returned to you looking exhausted. You glanced at the overflowing cart then up at him.
You were concerned but nervous to ask “Everything okay?”
“No.”
You glances around awkwardly not sure what to say “…Should I ask?”
“please don't.”
You shrugged not pushing the matter any further “fine with me.”
You continued down to the register in silence wondering how a grocery store visit could wear someone down so quickly.
Jason sighed giving in. “They’re here.”
You blinked confused by what he meant, “who’s they? Are you in trouble Jason? Should we leave?” you began to slightly panic. You knew he partook in some...not so legal activities, but a grocery store out of all things?!
He shook his head waving his hands “NO. no no, it’s nothing bad— well nothing life threatening at least. It’s just…my siblings are here. They followed us”
“Oh.” A beat passed, then it clicked. “Ohhhh.”
“Yeah.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, Jason groaned annoyed you found this amusing.
“Please don’t encourage them.”
You shook your head “I’m trying not to I swear.” You tried to stifle your laugh but failed. Jason couldn’t help himself but join you. His siblings knows how to make his blood boil but seeing you smile will always gets him to smile, no matter what.
•••
Rain hammered against the windshield during the drive home. The storm was arriving in full force. Streetlights reflected off wet pavement while Jason drove one-handed, the other holding your hand.
By the time you made it inside your shared apartment, both of you were damp despite your best efforts.
You carried in two grocery bags while Jason hauled the rest. The kitchen quickly filled with food items scattered across the counters as you did your best to put everything away neatly.
As you put the groceries away you thought about what Jason said at the store.
“babe?”
“Hm?”
You held up a box of pasta as the memory replayed, “I think I bumped into your brother today.”
Jason paused nervous what you’ll say next. “Which one?”
“The really attractive one.”
Jason narrowed his eyes causing you to chuckle.
“kidding geez. The dark-haired one, tan skin, little shorter than you, nice teeth.”
He rolled his eyes “Dick.”
You snapped your fingers as it clicked “Yeah him! we bumped into each other and he helped me.”
“He was actually really nice.” You finished as you put the box of pasta away.
Jason snorted. “He probably didn’t realize who you were.”
“Wait, really?” You always thought everyone knew what you looked like they just haven’t officially met you yet.
“Really.” He confirmed.
That made you laugh harder. “So I accidentally met your brother?” You shook your head amused by this whole thing.
Jason leaned against the counter. “You’re not bothered by all this?”
You paused holding a box of cereal in your hands, you thought for second. They did stalk you today, but they were harmless and their attempt failed.
“Nah, they seem funny.” You just shrugged resuming organizing the groceries
Jason stared at you for a moment, a genuine smile tugged at his lips. Watching you move around the kitchen. He had found someone who isn’t put off by his weird, chaotic family. Then his expression softened.
“Hey doll?”
“Hm?”
He hesitated like he was in deep thought which immediately got your attention.
Jason was never one to hesitate, he was your brain when you two were together. You ask him something he’d immediately answer, don’t know where to eat? He does. Don't know what to watch? he'll choose. Just wanna turn your brain on airplane mode after a long day? he'll hold your hand and guide you wherever he goes.
He never hesitated unless something mattered.
“You ready to meet them?”
You blinked taken aback by his question. “The family?”
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. A nervous tick of his you picked up on.
“You’ve met Alfred. You’ve met Bruce...ya'ready for the rest?” He let out a nervous chuckle. “the others…” he continued. “That’s different.”
You understood what he meant. Meeting the siblings meant something, the love he has for his family runs deep. No matter how much he tries to play it down, you meeting them meant something. He damn near almost shit himself when he introduced you to Bruce.
You stepped closer and reached for his hand, his fingers immediately intertwined with yours.
You smiled looking up at him. You knew the reason he hasn’t introduced you to them yet. They can be overwhelming, even if it’s out of love they do not know what personal space is.
He just wanted to enjoy the quiet with you a little longer and you didn’t mind that. Especially after today.
“I’m ready when you are my love.”
For a moment, the rain was the only sound in the apartment, its rough pitter-patter mimicking the rhythm of his heartbeat. Then Jason squeezed your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
"God, you are gonna kill me one day."
You giggled. "Down that bad?"
"Worse."
You grinned, satisfied with his answer. "Good."
"You say that now, 'til I'm outside your window with a boombox after an argument."
The laugh you shared felt endless, filling the apartment with warmth. When it finally faded, soft thunder rolled outside, and Jason pulled you against his chest. Wrapping you in his big warm arms.
"I absolutely love you. So much that sometimes I think it's dangerous."
You wrapped your arms around his torso, burying yourself impossibly deeper into him.
"I love you too, Jason. So, so much. Nothing could change that."
For a while neither of you said anything else.
There was no rush. No expectations waiting on the other side of the conversation. Just the steady rain against the windows, Jason's heartbeat beneath your ear, and the quiet certainty that you'd still be here whenever he was ready.
Together in your own little world, exactly where you wanted to be.
all jason says is, “we’re stopping by the manor,” like it’s an afterthought, like it’s not the kind of place people prepare for. he doesn’t look at you when he says it, eyes fixed on the road, one hand tight on the wheel.
you turn your head slowly. “your family’s going to be there, aren’t they?”
a pause. then a shrug. “probably.”
“that’s not reassuring.”
“they’ll behave.”
it’s said flatly, but there’s something underneath it, something almost tense. like he’s already bracing for something that hasn’t happened yet.
you study him for a second longer than you mean to. jason todd isn’t nervous. he doesn’t get unsure.
but his grip on the steering wheel is just a little too tight.
“…okay,” you say gently, letting it go. for now.
wayne manor is a bit overwhelming.
high ceilings, long hallways, polished floors that echo just slightly under your steps. it feels like history lives here. like everything you do might leave a mark.
jason walks ahead of you, familiar but distant at the same time, like he knows every inch of this place but doesn’t fully belong to it anymore.
you’re still taking it in when a voice cuts through the silence.
“master jason.”
you turn to see alfred approaching, composed as ever, though his eyes soften the moment they land on you.
“and you must be the young lady we’ve heard so little about.”
jason exhales sharply, already halfway to annoyed. “alfred—”
“it’s nice to meet you,” you say quickly, offering a polite smile.
alfred’s expression warms almost immediately. “the pleasure is mine. anyone master jason brings here is someone of significance.”
jason looks away at that, jaw tightening just slightly, like he doesn’t know what to do with the implication.
alfred notices. he always notices. but he doesn’t push.
“shall i inform the others?” he asks mildly.
jason mutters something under his breath that sounds like regret.
it starts with dick, who appears like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“so,” he says easily, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed with a grin that’s just a little too knowing, “this is the mystery girl.”
jason doesn’t even look at him. “don’t.”
“i’m just saying,” dick continues, stepping further into the room, his attention shifting fully to you, “we’ve been curious. he’s been very…secretive.”
“because you’re all annoying,” jason cuts in.
“wow,” dick says, clearly amused. “and here i thought this was a special occasion.”
before jason can fire back, another voice cuts in.
“you’re standing weird.”
you blink, turning to see damian, who’s already watching you with sharp, assessing eyes, arms crossed like he’s conducting an evaluation.
jason drags a hand down his face. “you are not helping.”
“i am making an observation,” damian replies. then, to you, “you are his partner?”
“i am,” you answer calmly.
he studies you for a moment, head tilting slightly. “…you are not what i expected.”
you can’t help it, you smile a little. “i get that a lot.”
something in your tone seems to satisfy him, because after a second, he gives a short nod and steps back.
tim is quieter.
you almost don’t notice him at first, sitting slightly off to the side, watching everything unfold with a level of focus that feels almost clinical.
when your eyes meet his, he gives a small nod. “hey.”
“hi.”
he studies you for another second, then glances at jason, then back at you, like he’s connecting something.
“…cool,” he says finally.
jason squints at him. “that’s it?”
tim shrugs. “i don’t see a problem.”
“wow,” jason mutters. “high praise.”
steph is not quiet.
“oh my god,” she says the second she walks in, shoving tim aside, eyes lighting up. “this is her, isn’t it?”
“steph,” jason warns.
she ignores him completely, walking right up to you with a grin. “hi. i like you already.”
“based on what?” jason asks flatly.
“you look like you could handle him,” she shoots back.
“that’s fair,” you say before you can stop yourself.
jason turns his head slowly toward you. “…really?”
steph laughs, delighted.
cass appears beside steph so quietly it almost startles you.
she doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you, in a way that feels deeper than the others. then she smiles.
“good,” she says simply.
you’re not entirely sure what she means, but something about it settles in your chest anyway.
duke is the easiest to talk to.
he leans casually against the wall, offering you a relaxed smile. “hey. don’t worry, it’s not always this intense.”
“yes, it is,” tim says from behind him.
duke pauses. “…okay, yeah, that’s fair.”
you laugh quietly, tension easing just a little.
bruce is the last to arrive.
you feel it before you see him, the subtle shift in the room, how the conversation quiets just slightly.
when he steps in, his presence is steady, grounded. his gaze goes to jason first, something unspoken passing between them, before it moves to you.
“it’s good to meet you,” he says.
his voice isn’t cold. just measured.
“you too,” you reply, hoping you sound steadier than you feel.
he studies you, not in the same way as the others. there’s less curiosity in it. more… consideration. like he’s trying to understand what you mean to jason.
after a moment, he nods.
it’s small, but it feels like something.
somewhere between all of that, things settle.
conversation flows more easily. steph pulls you into a story that spirals into something ridiculous involving dick. duke backs her up. tim corrects details. damian argues about accuracy. jason complains the entire time.
at one point, dick dramatically reenacts something and nearly knocks over a decorative vase.
jason catches it without even looking.
“…i hate all of you,” he mutters.
“you love us,” steph shoots back.
“that’s debatable.”
---
when it’s time to leave, it feels… easier than you expected.
jason walks you out, quieter now, hands in his pockets like he’s still thinking about something.
“…they liked you,” he says after a minute.
you glance at him. “yeah?”
“yeah.” a pause. then, more quietly, “you didn’t have to do that back there.”
“i wanted to.”
he looks at you then, properly this time, like he’s trying to understand something he’s not used to.
“…they didn’t make you uncomfortable, did they?”
you shake your head gently. “no. it’s just… loud.”
he huffs a quiet laugh. “yeah. that sounds right.”
you smile a little. “i think i like them.”
he doesn’t respond right away.
but when you start walking again, his hand brushes against yours, and he lets his fingers lace with yours.
summary: you had a few resolutions for your move back to gotham. fight crime, piss bruce off, and maybe try not dying in the process of avenging the memory of your best friend, jason todd. your plans get disrupted when a new vigilante, by the name of red hood, decides to make your life living hell by refusing to leave you alone and forcing you to be his partner in crime. what a jackass.
pairing: jason todd x reader
tw/content: childhood best friends to enemies?/forced partners to lovers, angst with happy ending, grief, yearning, hurt/comfort, kissing, hidden identities, past trauma references, language, mentions of violence/blood/gunshot injury/near-death.
“I don’t do partners.”
Red Hood has been finding you. Too easily. Not even a week since you’ve been back, since he cornered you in an alleyway where you had been snooping on information from a few loud-mouthed gangsters on the new tells of how crime hides its tracks, like rememorising a reconstructed street—when a stranger with a red helmet pressed a gun to your side.
“Careless.” He had remarked then, and the worst part was that he was right. You made sure to hide your footsteps since, the way Bruce used to teach you before you cut him off. Yet, that bastardly metallic helmet always found its way invading your sight, his leather-gloved hands somehow holding you in place.
Now, he’s offering to be what—partners in crime—like you’ve gone stupid just because you’ve been away for a few years? He’s been tracking you, but that didn’t mean you didn’t do your own digging on him since that first encounter.
He’s a lone wolf, a backstabber. He blackmailed Black Mask into a corner and snatched his territory like child's play, leaving the former rotting for his crimes. He spits threats as a conversation starter and isn’t afraid to use violence to back his barking teeth, and his objectives? Inconclusive.
You tell yourself there’s nothing he can get out of you, nothing that you haven’t wiped clean from your trails that he could use. For all he knows, you’re a newbie. A good for nothing.
“Even if it has to do with Jason Todd?”
Your blade is on him in an instant.
It digs into the material shielding his neck, but whether you could actually do it—turn your front into actual bloodshed, you don't know. You force your trembling fingers to stabilise the sharp edge of your blade, barely feeling anything other than your heartbeat hammering through your ribcage.
“How do you know that name?” Your voice comes out louder than intended, vulnerability pitched in all the ways you could not control.
“We all have our secrets.” He twists your old words against you, something you had uttered to him days ago, and not even his moderator can hide the mocking sneer in his voice.
“Willing to die for it?” You grit.
“Already have.” He remarks. Your brows furrow in confusion, and your lapse in focus is enough for him to twist your arm, slamming you against the wall and pinning you with your blade still clenched in your hand, but now out of reach.
“It’ll be in your best interest if we work together.” He squeezes your wrist tighter, jamming your palm from dropping the blade into your teeth. It’s like he knows your every move, and counters it before you can even think of doing it.
It should only reinforce how much of a danger he is, with his skills in combat to disarm you as quickly as he did—but there’s a familiarity in the steps that makes your head spin.
“Nothing good comes out of provoking the Bat alone.” He warns. “What you’ve been doing? You seriously think he wouldn’t notice?”
You scoff. “You don’t know him.”
“Don’t I?” He laughs coldly. “Don't make the mistake of assuming your past with Bruce guarantees you a soft spot, sweetheart."
Your entire body freezes. Nothing would have ever prepared you to hear Bruce's name. To know that he knows the old man's identity and yours—you've severely underestimated him. Jason’s name still repeats like a helpless mantra in the back of your mind, twisted into a robotic slick from the modulator.
He leans in, and even with that stupid helmet on, you can feel his pleasure thrumming at your silence. "Midnight tomorrow, Miller Harbour. I wouldn’t advise you to be late, partner.”
Miller Harbour reeks of strong salt and sewage. Your nose wrinkles, the sour smell somehow reaching your nose even from afar. The murky water barely reflects the intrusive lights that shine on the containers that surround you like a rusted maze.
He never told you how'd you find him, so clearly—your 'partnership' solely depends on his unyielding ability to find you no matter which part you were in the city.
You hear him before you see him, and that's only because he didn't bother hiding. He's on the phone, talking in low hushes, his modulator crackling as he approaches you, one hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket.
His casual demeanour pisses you off, like he can't even be bothered to arm his hand because you're no threat.
He stops in front of you, phone still raised to where his ear would be. "It's either your intel is right, or your wife finds a bullet in her head tonight." He says right before he ends the call.
Your eyes widen, disgust rippling through your features. "You'd do that?"
Stuffing the phone into his pocket, he carries himself easily despite your tone. "Would it make you feel better if I said I wouldn't?" He mocks.
Your eyes narrow. "I wouldn't believe you."
"How clever." He drawls, his hand beckoning you to follow. "And isn't it hypocritical of you to ask when you had a blade pressed against my neck yesterday?"
Your lips part, conflict jamming your response. He doesn't need to know that you wouldn't have done it, that you lack the guts. It'd only give him a greater advantage over you. He paces on without bothering to hear your response, and you huff, jogging to catch up with him. "What are we doing?"
"There's leaks of Scarecrow's shipment leaving at midnight. Unless you want the entire city on his fear toxin, we're infiltrating before it even gets close to the water supply."
"Sure you don't want it for yourself?" You accuse.
"Not my style." He remarks. "Prefer to deal with my enemies without all the screaming, it gets in the way of the job."
“What is your motive then? Something to prove to yourself?” Even your doubt echoes in your question, obviously expecting him to mock you, toss another vague statement that only proves the power imbalance between the two of you—but he doesn’t.
“Just cleaning up the streets.” He answers briskly. “Permanently.”
The word lingers like a point of difference, a kick at the other caped crusader.
“Have a problem with the Bat?” You dig.
“Don’t you?” There’s a wicked accusation in his voice, and when his helmet shifts to look at you, you feel pressure. An unspoken demand to state which side you stand on.
“What I think about the Bat is none of your concern.” It’s a small win, knowing he doesn’t know everything about you—relief that the fear of him being able to read your mind dampens a little at his question.
He's silent, long enough that you begin to wonder if your answer was the one he expected, or didn’t.
"What does this even have to do with Jason Todd?" You couldn't connect Scarecrow's antics to have anything to do with Jason, much less requiring your help. You couldn't even best him in a one-on-one, much less work alongside him.
He scoffs. "Nothing about tonight has to do with a dead boy buried twelve feet under."
Your frustration ticks, even more so at his brush-off over the mention of Jason. He was the one that used Jason's name against you, and now he's acting as if it didn't matter? Before you can push further, he replaces his focus with a sudden movement—two trucks leaving through the entrance point at the lower levels of the harbour, and his entire demeanour shifts.
“You take the one on the right, I’ll take the one on the left. Stop the truck before it leaves the harbour."
He's gone before you can ask any more questions, his silhouette disappearing down the ledge onto the truck’s roof. You curse, jumping down after him and landing on the second truck. The metal skids against your palms but you steady yourself, gripping onto the raised edge.
The driver's clearly heard the sound of your weight smashing against the truck, evident from the shouting below, and not a second after—bullets ripple through the roof. You curse, one hand letting go so you could move to the side, avoiding the bullets.
Your body topples to the side, and you slam against the driver's door, making direct eye contact with a straw mask. You've got to be kidding, they even bother with the same get-up?
Gritting your teeth, you lift yourself up halfway, and your boots slam against the glass. It shatters from the impact, and you fall roughly into the driver's seat. It's a mess of elbows, and the fumbling of your blade from your holster as you use the back-end, knocking it into the driver's skull.
His head lolls to the side, but you don't have time to think—grabbing onto the wheel and turning it sharply before the truck crashes into a container. Kicking his feet off the pedal, you slam onto the brakes.
The truck's wheels skid to a halt, and you instinctively squeeze your eyes shut when the truck slams into the container. You heave out a breath, shaking slightly as you open your eyes to a mostly in-tact truck, aside from the dent visible in the side of the door. You did it. You actually did it.
A knock at the window makes you flinch, and you snap your neck to see Red Hood waiting outside the door, hands over his hips—impatience brimming in his form. Your fury sparks in your gut again, but you clamp your lips shut as you unbuckle the driver, unlocking the door on the other side, and shoving the driver out.
He falls onto the ground with a loud thump, still unconscious as Hood hoists him up easily, dragging him over to where the other driver was and dropping him.
By the time you managed to shimmy your way out of the truck, Hood's already got a gun pressed over the forehead of the first driver, who looks worse for wear than the other, with sweat pooled at his forehead, blood running down his nose.
"Wait!" It tears out of you, afraid.
A flash of Bruce’s eyes crystalises in your mind, a perfect vision of his morals weighing down on you. Your fingers wrap around his gun, forcing it away. "What are you doing?" You snap.
"My job, sweetheart." He mocks.
"There's no need to—" Kill them. You can barely get it out, and you switch your words. "You haven't even gotten your information, what's the use in putting a bullet through their heads when you don't know where the shipment's supposed to go? You'd just delay Scarecrow's plan, not stop it."
"Oh, and let me guess." His voice hardens. " Once we put these two in jail, they'll break out—rush back to Scarecrow and help out in murdering innocent civilians. Is that your amazing idea?"
You hesitate, and for a moment, you feel like Bruce and—this conversation only makes you ill.
“You don’t have time to hesitate.” His voice grows in impatience, frustration clear over your incompetence. “They’re dirt on the streets, and it’s either you clean it up, or you’ll find someone’s face on the news—someone’s kid murdered, because you couldn’t pull the damn trigger!”
You can’t stop the flinch at his raised voice, even as your own glare hardens. “Then what makes you different from them? Deciding who gets to live and die?”
His cold laugh echoes through the night air. “It doesn’t. I just have the guts to admit that it takes that sacrifice to make the streets safer, to save another life.”
“By deciding to kill another.” You bite back.
“Yeah, cause keeping murderers alive worked out so well before.” He scoffs.
You freeze, cold anger taking over your panic. He didn't need to say who he was taking a dig at, it was enough from the mocking tone in his voice. "Fuck you, Hood."
"Yeah, I'm terrified." He says dryly, tucking his gun back into his holster. "Cause clearly, you're a real big threat, aren't you?"
You're tempted to launch yourself at him, hit him—anything to get him to shut up.
“You should take some time off the field if you think being soft around here works.” He mocks, two hands coming down to drag the two men by their collars. Walking over to the truck he's parked, he tosses them into the back seat. “Come find me when you come around.”
You’re ready to snap, tell him you wanted nothing to do with him in the first place, that he’s deranged for thinking you’d even want to find him and let yourself be dragged into his mess—but he tosses something your way and you instinctively catch it. Opening your palm, it’s a burner phone, identical to the one you saw him use when you arrived at the harbour.
When you look up, he’s gone. Left alone in the streets with shaking adrenaline tremoring through your hands, even if you don't know whether he'll follow through with what he said, the image still makes you feel sick.
Hood disappears from your life for two weeks. Enough for you to dare to try and fall asleep without the image of the two drivers appearing when you shut your eyes. To not smell the harbour, and hear the sound of his mocking tone when he dangled your morals in front of you like life and death is so easily decided.
Tonight's not one of those nights where you think sleep will come find you easily.
Your body's conditioned to almost wait—like he's bound to appear any minute even though he's never visited you at your apartment before. The burner phone is shoved somewhere in your wardrobe so you won't have to see it, even when you instinctively check to see if he's left any messages or missed calls when the thoughts get too loud at night.
You're starting to believe he's actually given up on you, seeing you as a weakling in his eyes. It shouldn't bother you, give you any feeling other than relief that he's potentially out of your life. Yet, somewhere deep inside, the guilt pools at the thought that if it came down to it, you might do the same thing as Bruce. Not pull the trigger, and someone ends up dead.
Like Jason.
A knock rams against your window. It's loud, measured with that same familiar brute force you've come to expect from the only person who'd find you at this hour.
You shouldn't have kicked off your sheets, or rush to the window where your oddly-sized sofa was pushed against. You unlock the window, pushing it up to meet the sight of the helmet that haunts your nightmares.
For a moment, he just stays there, bent over on your fire escape like he's in intense pain. Then, he snaps. "You going to move aside?"
“I thought you said I’d be the one to come find you.” You mock. You shouldn’t, not when he’s clearly pissed with a gun in his hand, but your nerves don’t trigger automatically at the sight of him. He doesn’t scare you, even though he should.
His other hand is gripping his side, blood soaking his glove when he hisses out through gritted teeth. “Toss me attitude later. Emergency kit now.”
You don’t question on how even though he’s known you for such a short time, he's desperate enough to come find your window. You don’t let yourself think about how he’s probably alone in this city, just like you, and bears that weight and who knows what other baggage that’s clearly twisted him into this displaced superiority complex.
You grab your kit, rushing back to see him laying against your brick wall, still near the window, and you hear the shifts of his delayed breathing, like he’s trying to still himself as much as possible to prevent further blood loss.
“An expert in bleeding out?” You taunt, laying the kit beside him as you automatically grab for the alcohol and cloth to clean the wound.
“Should’ve seen the other guy.” He tosses back, teeth clenched through his stubbornness.
It’s almost paradoxical, seeing the Red Hood so strangely human in the dim lighting of your apartment, bleeding out on your wooden floorboards and making jokes. Almost enough to make you forget why you’re pissed to see him, almost.
“How’d you find my apartment?” A silent question echoes your words through the tense atmosphere. How’d you find me every time?
“Tracker in the burner phone.” He answers casually as he pulls up his shirt, one hand outstretched for the alcohol—clearly expecting to do it himself. Not like anything illegal on that extent would phase him.
“And the other times?” You ignore his outstretched hand, dabbing the alcohol on the cloth. To prove that you're capable of something, you don't know. Your stubbornness had always only been rivalled by those worse than you. “Three.. two..”
Your count doesn't finish before you press the cloth onto his wound, and he hisses, a string of curses filling the room. “Every damn time.” He groans.
Your brows furrow, but maybe he’s talking about the pain. It’d be impossible for him to know you trick your counts.
“Like I said before.” He huffs as he adjusts to the sting of the alcohol. “I know your tells.”
“I hide them.” You bristle, offended as you grab for the needle, stringing the thread through.
His laugh echoes harshly against the brick walls, finding your words funny. “Not well enough.”
Your lips purse in displeasure, but he’s obviously right if he’s able to find you so easily. “Just because you can find me doesn’t mean it gives you permission to barge in.”
“Then why let me in?” He challenges.
You pause, hands losing the knot around the eye of the needle and you inhale sharply, trying again. “This is going to hurt.” You warn, one hand placed on his torso to keep him steady.
“You won’t believe how many people say that to me.” He jokes, seemingly amused. He's more talkative when he's injured.
“Given your charming personality, I can’t imagine why.” You mutter dryly.
When the needle point digs into his skin, he goes silent, fists clenching against the window sill. You don’t ask any more questions—you just get it over as quickly as you can.
He doesn’t leave immediately like you expect him to when you’re done. Instead, he lingers—a still statue near the window while you wash your blood-soaked hands. If it weren’t for the controlled breaths that prickled in frequency across the room, you would’ve thought he had passed out from exhaustion.
When you think you’ve let your hands run under the water long enough for it to be obvious you’re avoiding the elephant in the room, you force yourself back to the window and crouch to his eye level. His helmet tilts, analysing you—waiting.
You sigh. “Listen. If we’re really going to be partners, we need to set rules.”
He inhales, settling his head back on the wall, gazing at your ceiling. “Finally came to terms with it then? What crime-fighting actually is.”
“Only on the terms that you treat me as an equal. Not your lackey.” You frown, still recalling the way he tossed orders to you without asking for input.
You expect him to poke fun, mock you for your request. Yet, he doesn’t. He stares at the ceiling, before he grunts. “Alright.”
Your shoulders loosen in tension, and you settle in sitting properly across him, your elbows resting on your knees as you watch him.
"And you have to tell me why you mentioned Jason Todd." You weren't going down in this mess with him without a fight, not when Jason's name still haunts you through the echo of his moderator.
He laughs dryly. "Haven't catch on? It's not only him—don't you realise? He wasn't the Bat's only failure. The countless murders in the streets, left unpunished, forgotten without a mention in the news because it's expected that they'd have to pay the sacrifice of no one stepping up to do what's needed."
"And you're that person?" The pieces of his motive begin to click together—that he imagines himself as the one destined to wash out the rot in the city, all done by staining his hands with blood.
"Shouldn't only be me." His invitation lays there, and the understanding dawns on you on why he'd pick you. There are far more efficient fighters, cleverer than you and maybe even him. Yet, you sense a familiar bitterness in him you recognise in yourself—that same, quiet rage that drowns him, and chains him to this city.
It's a sinking ship, his mission—but maybe he thinks you'll see it too. Why it's worth trying.
“I know you’ll never tell me your full story.” You say. “But at least tell me what you’re aiming at, what we’re doing.”
He finally looks at you, and you feel it then, that same confidence of a dying man with nothing to lose that settles in his bones. “We’re rebuilding Gotham.”
Red Hood proves to be more brain than brawn, a paradox to your initial impression when he had a gun jammed to the side of your ribs. You knew he was clever, but as you worked side by side, watching first-hand how quickly his mind works is.. fascinating.
He’s been trained, to see not only a few steps ahead, but several. To have contingency plans, to have distrust built into his very veins, and to have his body move before he thinks.
Through his lens, Gotham looks worse than its ever been through your blurred memory. The corruption that simmers below every business, every front plastered on with fake smiles, and the blood that has dried on the steps to build empires.
Worse than that, you begin to see him in a different light too.
He's a brute, that lingers after every walk home from patrol, only leaving when you lock your door and windows.
He tosses you random weapons of a caliber much higher than you'd ever be able to afford, ones you highly suspect he stole or had manufactured for you, because he rarely uses blades in opt for his guns.
He grunts that you're too weak for crime-fighting, then drags you to a stall that sells food to even the most suspicious of individuals, owned by an old man that doesn't blink when Hood hands him cash and gives him plastic bags filled with boxed meals.
Sometimes, during your patrols together, he takes the longer routes from above, stopping on the rooftops of skyscrapers where Gotham shines in its rare beauty, where the lights blend together into its own sea of stars.
“So, why come back?” He asks once, crouched beside you as he eyes for any signs of crime in the Fashion District.
You pretend you don't understand. “To Gotham?”
He nods imperceptibly.
“Rent’s cheaper.” You shrug.
He huffs, amusement crackling even through his modulator. “Now that’s a load of bull.”
You snort, legs dangling over the ledge. Looking down at the city, where the bottom panes of the skyscrapers look more like specks of light than actual windows—you think back on the first day you arrived. So lost, so hungry to feel something again.
“How did you find out about Jason?” You ask instead.
His breath hitches faintly, just for the shortest second. If it had been a few weeks ago, you wouldn't have caught it. “I keep track of all the Bat’s failures.” He answers vaguely.
Your brows furrow. “Jason’s death was documented as a political incident.” Even the words sounded like a disgrace on your tongue. "There was no connections to the Bat."
He scoffs. “There’s nothing he can hide from me.”
“Bruce.” You mutter. “How do you know him?”
“That’s—” His head snaps to where sirens pass by Grant Park. His entire body language shifts, nothing phases him when he’s in work mode. “—for another time.”
He never continued that story. Bruce was a sensitive topic to him, and you could only assume he must’ve been bested by the Bat before, though the mystery of how he knows Bruce's well-hidden identity is another matter.
Instead, he tells you other stories. Of mountains up in the North, where he was trained before he crawled back to Gotham. Of how he had taken all of Black Mask’s physical cash when he took over his territory, but settled on a cheap apartment in the more dangerous parts of Crime Alley because it made it easier for him to hear the sirens.
When the occurrences of him finding himself back in your apartment start to blur into mere days in between, showing up injured from his own self-patrols that you didn’t follow, you let him stay. Small human choices, that you could only hope wouldn’t doom you—tie you to him and his downward spiral.
You begin to tell him stories too.
“Jason is—was my best friend.” You start.
His gaze flicks to you. It’s been two hours since he barged in through your window, one hour and forty-five minutes since you patched him up. He’s been on your couch since, gazing at your ceiling, watching headlights pass by your window, casting shadows of the window bars he installed for you. (“Don’t want to find my partner dead because of some shit windows.” He commented then when he showed up with boxes of equipment.)
“Is this the partner development where we start trauma dumping on each other?” He muses. “I‘m afraid it’ll have to be one-sided because I’m not sharing.”
You hit his shoulder, and he lets out a mock gasp of hurt. “You listening or not?” You scoff.
He settles, neck turned to focus on you. “I’m listening.”
You swallow, averting your gaze. “We were both stupid kids who had the misfortune of being born in Crime Alley. Typical Gotham luck.”
“He was so small then.” It was bittersweet, thinking of Jason's stunted height, how he had nothing much to eat—only inhaling cigarette smoke and finding leftovers to stall the hunger. “Stealing about anything he could so he’d have something to eat. I wasn’t much better, and it added on to his burden—trying to steal enough so we could both survive."
“Idiot went on about how he saw some fancy car, reckoned he’d earn us months worth of food just from the tires alone.” You laugh, but it sounds broken, tired. “Turns out it was the fucking Batmobile.”
“What an idiot.” He comments.
“Yeah.” Your eyes glaze over, and you blink quickly, clearing the moisture. “He was right though. When the Bat took us in—well, more the Bat wanted him and he demanded we were a package deal—we had more food than we could have ever dreamed of.”
“Then, the training started.” You recall, fists clenching. “I wasn’t as fast or strong, so he mostly taught me the ropes for self-defense, but Jason? He was good. Better than good, you’d think he was born for it. Had dreams of doing more, and the Bat saw that.”
“So—" Hood's voice drawls. "—he became the Bat’s next pawn.”
You shook your head. “They couldn’t have had more different dreams. Bruce—the Bat never lived on the streets. He knew of crime, he saw it happen. He didn’t live it.”
“He could only ever see it from the outside. He kept it that way, putting people in jail over and over again, not knowing—or refusing to see that the system was already broken from the inside.”
“He never had the guts.” He scoffs.
“Yeah, but Jason did.” You mutter. “He always did. Too much of it, and I guess you know how the rest of the story goes.”
“Went and got himself killed.” He finishes.
You hesitate, feeling your heart palpitating against your rib cage before you couldn't stand it any longer. “And I wasn’t there.”
When you turn to look at him, it feels like tearing open a healing wound. You feel the wetness pool at your lashes, threatening to fall. “What kind of shitty person lounges around in a billionaire’s mansion while their best friend was dying alone, scared? Calling for someone to save him?”
Whatever his viper tongue was made of, he gave you none of it. He watches, waits as you blink, looking away harshly when the tears start to fall.
He doesn’t speak, and you think he’s out of words when you feel his hand on your jaw. He grips it gently, forcing you to turn your head back to look at him. His gloves are off, had been since he came in, and the warmth of his fingers, the rough, scarred edges make him feel real.
“It’s not your fault.” His voice takes a stern hold over you, only reinforced by his grip.
You shake your head, but he holds you steady. His thumb comes up to wipe away a tear stain. “What could you have done?” He challenges. “You said it yourself. You barely knew self-defense, much less going against the bastard that killed him. You would’ve just gotten yourself killed.”
“Is it selfish?” You ask. “That I wanted to? That I’d prefer if I had been there? Knowing I wouldn’t be able to change his death.”
He’s silent, and you can only hear the soft cracks in his modulator from his breathing.
“When you had nothing but each other, of course you’d be selfish.” He answers. “Doesn’t mean it’s wrong just because others tell you it is.”
Somehow, he gets it. Gets you better than Bruce had when the two of you fought after it had happened. He’s a stranger, but you foolishly think he might mean more than that.
You swallow, and his head tilts slightly, watching the motion.
"Do you think he might've known?" Your voice trembles. "That I was thinking of him even in his last moments. That his memory still hasn't faded from this world because I would never let that happen?"
His hand still on your face, an anchor grounding you when it shouldn't give you that comforting weight—falters, but he doesn't let go. "You read like an open book." He says. "Your heart's easy to spot. If I could see that, then he would've known what he'd mattered to you. He would've thought of you in his last moments, and fought his best to get back to you."
In the cracks of everything that’s wrong with this, it feels oddly comforting to let him see you. To fall deeper into the unknown, to hope that laying your wounds right in the open doesn't trigger him to bite. Tears fall at the edges, and you don't blink this time—don't try to hide it.
"Why did you come back?" He asks again.
You look at him, seeing your own broken reflection reflected in his helmet. "Maybe I wanted to feel something again. To be selfish."
You feel his fingers tighten imperceptibly, a slight twitch at your words. His body leans almost instinctively, closer to you, shifting the weight of the moment—drumming a rush of blood through your veins in anticipation, and there’s a brief moment where you think he might actually take that damn helmet off, when a siren echoes from the outside. The moment shatters, and his hand freezes.
In a blink, he drops his hand as if the touch of your skin burnt him, and stands abruptly from the couch. “I have to go.” He rushes it out through his teeth, tugging at his jacket and grabbing his grappling gun.
You stare, feeling your heart go numb. Of course. You’re a fool, laying yourself vulnerable like that. Careless, just like he said when he first met you.
”Right.” You mutter weakly.
He looks back at you, hesitating. Whatever he thought, it wasn’t worth knowing because he was out of your window before you could even say goodbye.
The next visit, you feel his distance.
He doesn't toss you a lame joke, call you that dreaded, mocking 'sweetheart' you've come to expect, and maybe detest less over time. No, he's cold—professional.
"Penguin's set a trap." Straight to the point, it shouldn't gut you as much as it did. "We'll use Plan B." He continues on. "Come in from the third floor, it'll give us the advantage since he's barred the entrance and rooftop. He clearly expects us to choose the highest floor, so that's where he'll have the most of his henchman."
You nod briskly, your own guard built back up at the sight of his. "Anything else?"
He looks at you, and your question sours with every passing second of silence, like a plea for him to address the screaming issue laying underneath. "No." He breaks eye contact first, getting on his bike. "Let's not waste any more time."
You don't remember when Plan B obviously turned out to be the wrong choice. Only the adrenaline rush of actually making it out of this death trap kept your feet moving, hands fumbling for every door in the hopes that one would open and get the both of you out of gunfire range.
One finally works, and the door nearly topples with how both you and Hood's weight slams into it. He locks the door, but when you look around the room, there's no other exit. You'll have to go back out the way you came, which means running into all those henchmen.
“What the hell was that, Hood?” You snarl, barely able to see him through the dark, confined space. “I thought being partners meant giving a basic level of trust.”
He’s pacing, not even listening to a word you're saying, fury coiling his tense form as he strikes each step with a lack of precision that he always has, staggering, impulsive—angry. It was a complete shit-show, all because he didn’t let you take the shot at Penguin.
”Hood!” Finally, he stops.
“Trust.” He mutters, a deranged crack in his voice when he turns to you. “Was that what it was when you refused to listen to me when I told you to bail?”
“No, you thought I was tricking you.” A cold anger slithers its way into every accusation used against you, cornering you as he threads his heavy steps closer to you. “You thought I was making you leave so I could bargain with Penguin, force him to do my bidding, steal more territory for myself.”
“Tell me, partner.” He mocks. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
You grit your teeth, looking away from him. “You’ve given me no reason to trust you.” Every time you’ve given a piece of yourself to him, extended your vulnerability—he’s never given anything back.
“I saved your life.”
“Because there’s something you need from me.” You snap. “From the start, you knew who I was and my connections to the Bat. You used Jason's name to lure me into working for you. You have some twisted game you’re playing that I’m a fucking pawn in!”
“You think that’s what this is?” He growls, gripping you by your collar. Your hands come up to push his fingers off, but he only leans in closer till you can hear the heavy breathing beneath his helmet, the frustration radiating off of him.
“If I wanted you for your connections to Bruce.” He laughs coldly. “I would’ve strung you up a building from the first day to get him where I needed him.”
“I don’t need you.” He snarls, letting go of your collar, making you stumble in your step. “I have other ways of getting to the Bat that doesn’t require the trouble I get from you.”
”Then why make me your partner?”
He’s silent, even as you hear his modulator crack with every breath. He can’t answer you.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” You continue on, refusing to let him ice you out. “You don’t need me. Yet, you insist on digging your way into my life like you want to be in it. You can’t fool me.”
“You don’t linger in the home of someone you don’t need, long after the bleeding has stopped.” You accuse, stepping closer to him. “You don’t save someone you don’t need at the expense of the mission.”
Your fist comes up to dig into his chest, cementing your words with every push. “You let me in. That’s why you’re angry, and that’s why you keep me close even when you know you shouldn’t.”
Heavy breathing echoes through the abandoned room, only the slight cracks of his modulator distorting the tension stretched between. You see his fists clench, and you have half a mind to back off, realise it’s dangerous to provoke him when you still have no idea what he’s truly capable of, when you feel something shift.
His body stills, and even through the helmet, you feel his gaze pinned on you.
“Close your eyes.” He orders.
Your brows furrow.
“Just do it.” He snaps, impatient.
You close your eyes, brows clenched together—in fear, anticipation, and something you don’t dare name. Darkness envelops you and you hear the faint sound of a click. His hand comes up to cover your eyes, a safety measure.
“Still can’t trust me, huh?” You mock.
“Shut up.” His voice breaks, raw and un-filtered.
The sound of his voice breaks through all your defenses, leaving you paralysed—realisation kicking in that he’s taken off his helmet only when his lips crash into yours.
Hood's taken off his helmet.. and he’s kissing you.
You shouldn't let him, but none of your rational thoughts ever made sense when it came to him. He dug himself into your life, and somewhere through it all, you found yourself wanting him to show up. Again and again.
You kiss him back, and that only fuels him further, his lips claiming you as he grips the back your head with one hand, man-handling you in a way that empties your mind of anything but his touch.
There's a banging of doors, voices echoing louder and closer—and you hear his grunt of frustration when he pulls back, fingers still over your eyes as he grabs for his helmet. You hear a click, and when you open your eyes, your vision clears back onto his helmet.
"Did you just—" You stammer.
"And I really want to do it again." He breathes out, gaze still locked onto you. "Let's get the hell out of here. Together. We'll figure out Penguin's schemes when we're not in the center of his traps."
You nod hurriedly, almost in a daze, forcing yourself to snap out of it when he grabs for your hand, pulling you along to the exit.
When the door shoves open, all hell breaks loose.
There's firing of guns, and Hood practically uses himself as a shield as he pulls you behind him, running with one hand holding yours as fast as he can, past the firearms and henchman, towards where a window was at the end of the hallway. Plan E or F, you recall vaguely, but it definitely involved jumping out of a high window.
Your eyes flick behind—and you see it then, the new weapon Penguin's gotten a hold of, that has clearly pierced through tanks thicker than Hood's helmet, aimed at his back, right where his heart would be. The shot fires, and you don't think.
Pushing him to the side, the side of your stomach ripples in pain, and you scream. The blow sends you toppling to the ground. The pain is enough to make your vision flash white. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
Before you can process how bad the injury was, Hood's already gripping your fallen body, hoisting you into his arms. You grip onto his neck, eyes fluttering as he runs, colliding your body painfully against his hard chest plate when he crashes through the window.
You hear a crack, and your vision topples to the side when your head lolls and you see his helmet, cracked in the center. He curses, voice modulator distorted as one of his hands comes up quickly to detach the helmet. He shifts you up to avoid seeing his vulnerable face, and you see his helmet topple to the pavement as he runs, lost with the shattered glass.
Your head is pressed into the crook of his neck, preventing you from seeing what he looked like. Still, you can feel the press of his tousled hair against your cheek, the texture of it against your weakening fingers.
For a moment, in your delusion, it reminds you of when you used to caress Jason’s hair on the nights where he couldn’t sleep after a bad patrol or a fight with Bruce. You mumble something, incoherent syllables but it forms itself like a comforting mantra, muttering Jason’s name in a whisper.
You doubt he’d hear it, but you feel him tense against your body, the rigid push of his muscles as he passes another obstacle, nudging you closer to him in his movement.
”Stay awake, bird.” He orders, his real voice barking harshly against your skin. It’s rough, weathered from exhaustion and pain.
“Don’t-“ Your eyelids clamp shut from exhaustion, or blood loss—you can’t differentiate the nauseous pressure enveloping your senses, but you manage to get your words out. “Don’t call me that.”
It sounds strange on his tongue, like it came to him so easily, the same way it used to for Jason. The line keeps blurring, and you don't know why Hood reminds you of him. Maybe it's because of your love for Jason, bleeding into whatever you felt for Hood—it all clicks and fades together as your thoughts grow more sparse, the feeling of the cold sweat against your temple taking your attention instead.
“Hey—” His voice breaks when he calls you by your real name, softer than you’ve ever heard it. You like it, the deep, uneven edges that was muffled by the modulator, wishing you could listen to it over and over. “Don’t you die on me. You can’t. I won’t allow it.”
“Why?” You mutter, the word falling off your tongue loosely. “You said you didn’t need me, remember? You could find a better partner. One that doesn’t-”
You cough, feeling a splutter of iron cover the back of your teeth. You feel the frantic shake of his head, and you dig closer into the crook of his neck, finding comfort in his scent.
“I don’t want another partner.” His voice begs, uncontrollably raw. “Do you seriously think I can ever consider anyone else—it's always been you. I need you—so please.”
"Tell me I'm an idiot." He demands. "Fight with me. Just—don't you dare close your eyes."
His pleas grow more desperate when your eyelids fall shut but eventually, even his voice and the sound of his boots slamming into the ground fades—till nothing from the world reaches you.
"Hey, bird."
Jason's always been a blur in your dreams, and this one is no different. The green in his eyes are hazy, your faded memory obscuring the once clear spark he used to have.
"Hey, Jay." You can't bring yourself to look at him. Not when having to face him meant seeing his youthful face, trapped in the confinements of time, distilled and frozen while your own features are sunken, age and stress wearing out your own expression.
"You really out-did yourself this time, huh?" He mutters, glancing at your blood-soaked hands.
"Thought I'd give your method an approach." You joke, smile growing wry. "Still think it's more a 'you' thing than me. This vigilante work is tiring."
"I can tell." His voice echoes. "You look tired."
Your smile fades, and you don't dare look up from your hands, folded over your knees. "I'm sorry, Jay."
"What for?"
"I don't know." Your shoulders sag, feeling like you're forgetting something important. "I just miss you. I feel like I'm dragging your memory down with me when I should let you rest."
"You know you'd never drag me down, bird." He says, one hand coming around your shoulder, pulling you into his embrace. "I'm always here for you."
"Yeah?" Your voice cracks. "I miss my partner. The one who always knew what to say when things get scary. I—I think I'm really coming to see you this time."
"You've got a long way to go." He says knowingly. "You have a partner who's looking out for you."
Your brows furrow. "Hood." You realise.
He nods, and you feel his chin brush your shoulder. "You promised me you'd do whatever it takes to survive, remember?"
Right, that silly pinky promise made over stale sandwiches near the dumpsters in Crime Alley, before Bruce—when the world seemed much smaller and the tomorrow's mattered.
You swallow. "What if I'm not ready to do that? If it means letting you go?"
He laughs, reassuring even in his faint memory. "I'm not going anywhere. Just stay on the living side, bird. I'll protect you. Anywhere you go."
When your heavy eyelids force themselves open, a hazy vision of your apartment ceiling greets you. Your side greets you second with a painful soreness and a slight itch, making you hiss through your teeth when you sober up through the pain. “Hood?” You call out, hating how desperate you sound.
There’s no sound for a moment, and you’re terrified that you won’t be able to lift yourself out from bed to assess the damage done to your own body, when you hear the sound of boots thumping against the floorboards.
The door slams open and—Jason comes through.
Not Hood. Jason.
“Holy shit. I’m dead.” You gasp, even as your wound screams for you to not raise your voice. “I’m definitely dead—Jason.”
An intense amount of relief surges through his expression at the sight of you awake, but it quickly wipes off when you try to lift yourself from the bed.
“Stay down.” He orders, pushing your shoulders back down onto the pillows.
One of your hands reach out to grab onto his fingers, staring at him unblinkingly. You’ve never dreamt of him this clearly.
“I must be dead.” You repeat. “Or else you wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re alive.” He reassures you, his expression growing serious. “No thanks to yourself. What kind of idiot jumps in front of a gun?”
Your brows furrow. “But why—where’s Hood?”
He’s silent for a few seconds. “I thought—you called my name. When I was carrying you.”
You stare at him. At his face that’s lost its youth, bearing more scars than you remember. You replay the deeper timbre in his voice, how it differs to the cracks he used to have.
He’s right. You are an idiot.
“You’re Hood.” You whisper, and the fact only cements itself deeper at his expression paling.
“I thought you knew.” He says, pulling away slightly. “You called out to me. I thought you saw my face—that it was over.”
“You’re alive.” Your voice raises, almost hysterical. “You’ve been beside me this entire time, and you hid.”
He flinches at your accusation, but there’s nothing he can say to defend that. His eyes grow cold, and he looks away. “You’re wrong.”
“Jason.” You should feel happy that he’s alive but the disbelief that your best friend hid himself from you, let you believe he was truly gone carried a new sense of betrayal. “I mourned. You sat beside me and watched as I cried over you, the guilt I felt—and you said nothing. You let me believe you were gone while you re-entered my life as if it didn’t matter.”
“Because it’s the truth!” He snaps. “Your Jason is gone.”
You freeze, staring at him. “What?”
“He died under the rubble, when the bomb went off.” Jason continues. “His heart stopped. When I was reborn, I was barely myself. My mind was split and re-pieced together and nothing—nothing existed except for the feeling of death in every part of my body.”
”When I finally managed to remember who I was, what happened to me—” He rasps. “I crawled back to Gotham and found Bruce got a shiny, new replacement. And the Joker? Alive.”
“I buried everything in the past where it belonged.” He spits. “I started out as I always had, with nothing. I promised myself that at the very least, if Bruce had failed me—I wouldn't repeat his mistakes. I'd make the sacrifices he never dared to do."
Realisation settles like a slow poison. “So you erased it all, including me.”
You can barely process it, the thought of him nearly letting you believe he was dead for the rest of your life, while he remained in Gotham with a new identity, leaving you clueless.
His jaw clenches, and he looks away. “I was relieved when I heard you had left Gotham. I didn’t need distractions—to see your disappointment when you realised you’d never truly get me back.”
"Then why?" You move again, but he's near you in a flash, hands pushing you back down again before you hurt yourself. It kills you that he clearly still cares. "Why did you find me in that alleyway? Why did you force yourself back into my life if you didn't want to be near me?"
His eyes flicker, and for a moment—you see that fierce, little boy you knew. The one who was afraid you'd go hungry, who refused to rip his grip away from your wrist when he had forced Bruce to take you too. "You were careless." He utters, an echo into the past where he had run into you for the first time as Red Hood. When you had wondered why a stranger, a vigilante you'd never met before sounded so pissed about your skills.
"There was no one to tell you that. Bruce wouldn't be able to save you—not when he couldn't even protect me. You decided to come back, and take on crime like you knew how it worked, and I couldn't-"
You watch, wait as he struggles with his words. "I won't be like Bruce." He answers, a hardened resolve taking over as he looks at you with a vehement expression. "Never. I'd die before I let you fall to the same fate."
There it was. His deepest fear, still selflessly putting himself in danger even though he couldn't see it. Not being able to pull away even when he should, carrying that same beating heart under the new walls he's built. He was still your Jason, but if he wanted to believe it differently, you'd play along.
"So, you're not my Jason." You agree.
There's a flicker of relief, and hurt too that pools in his gaze. As if he wanted you to say it, but wasn't prepare to hear it from you.
"You're a jerk now, who decides what's best for other people." You continue on. "That has horrible fashion taste because a faceless helmet is obviously the best way to intimidate people."
He bristles. "Worked on you just fine."
Your fingers find his across the sheets, and he falls silent.
"So whether you're the Hood, or a new Jason." You pause. "What if I say I want you either way?"
His breathing stops. It's like you found that festering wound inside of him, and tore it straight out of his chest.
"That's what you're afraid of, isn't it?" You challenge. "That I'd be repulsed by you, and say I want nothing to do with you anymore. So you came back into my life—hiding behind a mask, thinking I would never figure it out. That you could have me without ruining my memories about you."
He swallows, averting your gaze—but you were having none of that. Not when you finally have him again.
"Look at me." You demand.
He inhales, lashes fluttering close as he prepares himself before looking at you openly. Broken. That's what you see first, your vision of him completely disheveled, with no armour, no biting remarks to protect him.
Yet, looking at him, you only saw the same boy you loved before he was torn out of your life. The same man you fell in love with all over again. Your Jason, the one you always ran back to no matter what.
"You're never allowed to leave me again." You start, your voice almost breaking. "I won't lose you, whichever version of you, I want it all. I don't care what you think, because you're mine and I'm yours so you can't leave-"
His expression hardens, and before you can think—fear that he'll pull away—he leans in and kisses you. It's rough, unsteady, but your hands wrap around him and pull him closer. You couldn't dare to let him go ever again.
"I'm not leaving." He rasps against your lips. "Not when I felt your blood on my hands, when I nearly lost you."
You shudder, a soft nod at his words as he kisses you again, softer but with a new form of desperation, and a hidden, quiet plea that you truly mean your words.
You pull away, stopping for breath when your wound starts to ache, hands coming up to lift your shirt, assessing the damage. It's heavily bandaged over a large part of your side, which should've hurt worse than it feels right now. "How—my emergency kit wouldn't fix an injury like this." You point out.
His expression darkens, and he sighs, looking at your wound with guilt swarming his pupils. "I contacted Bruce."
Your head snaps up. "You did what?"
He nods, his lips settling into a thin line. "I wasn't losing you. Not to something stupid like my pride. If I had to get down on my knees to the old man, I'd do it in a heartbeat."
"Jason." Your shock renders you incapable of doing anything else. Your eyes soften, and your hand lets the fabric go, letting your shirt hide the wound. "Thank you."
"You should be yelling at me." He muses, a heartbreaking expression displayed on his face. "I've been a shit partner. Put you in danger's way, and I couldn't even get you out unscathed."
"Hey." You stop him. "I told you that I—I hated myself for not being there, when the Joker killed you. I'd rather be with you in danger's way than anywhere else. I won’t go through that again. Even if it kills me.”
His expression falters, and he sighs, leaning in with his forehead pressed against yours. "Survival skills of a newborn. You're the worst partner I've ever had, bird."
Your lips quirk up. "Yeah, but you wouldn't want anybody else."
"Damn right." He shifts, placing a kiss over your nose. "Don't know what I was thinking, hiding from you like a coward. Not when I could have this instead."
"Between the two of us, I always felt you took the 'idiot' title more." You tease. “I’m still pissed you said you didn’t need me, you jerk. Tell me you regret it. Beg for my forgiveness—I might consider letting you off if you do it nicely.”
He rolls his eyes, a smile caught between his teeth before his gaze shifts again to your lips, swallowing. “You’re right. I’m the jerk, and the bastard that needs you more than air.” He murmurs, eyes flickering back up to you—and his gaze nearly consumes you whole. "I regret being a horrible liar, but I've always been your idiot, haven't I?"
Your lips quirk up into a smile. "Damn right."
At the echo of his words right back at him, his lips seal over yours again, a resolute sigh rumbling through his throat, and you think that finally—your partner has come back to you.
reblogs and comments are always appreciated! let me know your thoughts <333
jason todd is not fit for hookup culture nor will a friends with benefits situation work because once you’re in his bed, you’re in his bed.
when he sees you getting up from your side of bed he doesn’t even think, he just wraps a arm around your waist to pull you back into the sheets.
“jay… I need to find my clothes so i can like, do things.” you whined.
jason just yawned. “well, i don’t plan on releasing you from my grip so you’ll just have to suck it up and lay back the fuck down huh?” saying it with some grogginess in his voice but he sounded so certain.
he knew you’d just huff and lay back in bed with him and cuddle in the big blanket.
