he acts all tough, but when he's alone, he's rereading old texts, staring at pictures, or absentmindedly tracing over something you left behind—like your handwriting on a sticky note or a hoodie you forgot at his place (everything reminds him of you)
he has the worst habit of staying up at night (insomnia lol), thinking about you. maybe he should call? maybe he should just show up? would that be too much? (he does it anyway)
jason plays it cool, but the moment his you initiate any sort of physical contact—holding his hand, running fingers through his hair—he practically melts (not that he’d ever admit it)
when he's away from you for too long, he catches himself glaring at couples holding hands on the street, muttering about how "some people just love to rub it in, huh?" (he just misses you)
when he’s out on patrol, beating up criminals, the second he hears a notification going off on his phone, he's checking to see if it's you (if it’s not, he sighs and aggressively shoves his phone back into his pocket)
he alway finds excuses just to see you- "oh, i was just in the neighborhood.” (he wasn't) “you left something at my place.” (you didn’t) “i thought you called me" (lies.)
sometimes he just stares off dramatically, thinking about you. roy has caught him sighing at the moon once (it was humiliating)
if you fall asleep around him, that’s when he lets his guard down. ge’ll brush ypur hair out of your face, press the lightest kiss to your forehead, and whisper things he’d never say when you're awake (cause how can he when everytime he looks at you, you take his words away?)
jason todd is a yearner.
enjoy this while i work on the others hngh <3 trying a new style this time
oh,so jason todd calls you sunshine, huh? you think you're that soft, golden label like you’re all sweetness and light? cute. but let’s not get it twisted—you’re his sunshine, yeah, but not the tame kind. you’re the kind that burns if he get too close, blinds if he looks too long... dangerous in the most irresistible way.
you light up his world just to set it on fire. that’s what you are—his chaos wrapped in warmth. so sure, he'll call you sunshine... but know this, baby—you shine for him and him alone. try lighting up anyone else, and he'll put out that flame real fast.
he’s got that delinquent, big-brother energy, but the second you so much as smile at him, he’s done for. no fight, no resistance at all, just pure, lovesick surrender. (aw)
he would drop anything for you. mid-conversation with the guys? sorry, his girl called. training? can wait. if you even hint at wanting to see him, he’s already on his way, no questions asked.
“that’s my girl!” he says this at every opportunity—whether you just won a fight, cooked something, or even just walked into the room looking cute.
he’s competitive, but if you're play-fighting or racing, he’ll definitely let you win. if you call him out, he’ll act all innocent like, “hah? i wasn’t even trying.” (what a liar)
says he’s 'too cool' for PDA but will casually throw his arm around you, rest his chin on your shoulder, or pull you into a side hug just because he can
you took more than five minutes to reply? "babe?? u good??" "damn, forgot about me already?" (he was staring at his phone the entire time.)
he trusts you, obviously, but that doesn’t mean he won’t shoot daggers at anyone who tries to be too friendly. just one look from him, and they back off.
if you're upset at him? oh, he’s on his best behavior. follows you around, keeps sneaking glances at you, and eventually just gives in like, “okay, babe, i was wrong, don’t be mad anymore. please? 🥺"
he talks about you like you're the best thing ever. whether it’s to his friends, his teammates, or some random stranger, everyone knows how much he’s into you. “yeah, my girl’s amazing. she—” and now they’re stuck listening to him gush. again.
once keith falls, he falls hard. he’s the kind of boyfriend who will stand by his girl no matter what, ready to fight anyone who so much as looks at you wrong.
he’s not big on pda, but if you pay attention, he’s always near you. standing just a little too close, his pinky brushing against yours or hovering protectively when you're in a crowd.
before you got together, it was obvious that keith liked you. the way he’d glance at you when he thought no one was looking, how he’d get all defensive if someone teased him about you—it was painfully clear.
did you just compliment him? he’s red. you held his hand? he’s red. kissed his cheek? he’s malfunctioning. he can fight in intergalactic wars, but affection from his girlfriend? terrifying.
he's soft for you and ONLY you. keith has a reputation for being intense and broody, but the moment he’s with you, he’s a different person. he listens attentively, remembers little details, and has a softness in his eyes that no one but you gets to see.
he doesn’t hover, but he’s always aware of your surroundings. if you're walking together, he’ll unconsciously place himself between you and the street (sidewalk rule!) if you're sitting, his arm is draped casually behind your chair.
he’s not great at romantic speeches, but when he tells you he loves you, it’s with absolute sincerity. no hesitation, no doubt—just raw, honest emotion.
when he wants attention, he’ll just sit there, arms crossed, totally silent—waiting for you to notice him. if you asks what’s wrong, he just mumbles, “nothing,” while internally hoping you'll keep asking.
he gets jealous easily. if you compliment someone else’s piloting? guess who’s suddenly showing off in the simulator. if you're impressed by someone’s strength? he’s definitely upping his training routine.
he would fight for you. not just metaphorically. if someone disrespects you? keith is already rolling up his sleeves. “it’s fine, babe, i’m just gonna talk to them,” he says, while lance is holding him back.
a/n: haha...hi guys...im gonna crawl back under my rock now...headcanon creds to caffeinecopy (on tumblr i think?) and this insta link
The first thing you notice when he walks into the kitchen that morning isn't the faint smell of gunpowder still clinging to his jacket or the slight limp he's pretending doesn't exist-it's his hair.
More specifically, what's not in his hair.
You blink once. Twice. Rubbed both your eyes to make sure you weren't hallucinating. The coffee mug halfway to your lips stills midair as you narrow your eyes. "Jay," you say slowly, "what happened to your hair?"
He glances up from rummaging through the fridge, voice muffled behind the door. "What are you talking about?"
You set your mug down with purpose, eyes narrowed. "Don't play dumb with me. The white part. Right here." You point to your own temple, the spot that usually gleams like silver when the light catches it. The place you've carded your fingers into a hundred times while brushing your hands through his hair.
Jason emerges from behind the door holding a carton of milk and the (cutest) guiltiest face you've ever seen. "Oh. That."
"'Oh, that' ?" you echo, eyebrows shooting up. "What did you do?"
He shrugs, trying for nonchalance, but the corner of his mouth betrays him with a twitch. "Nothing. Just… fixed it."
"Fixed it?" You echo, staring at him like he's just declared he joined a boy band. "It wasn't broken!"
He sets the milk down, looking sheepish now. "It looked dumb, sweetheart."
You scoff. "Dumb? It's you. It's your little-thingy."
He tilts his head, smirking faintly. "My 'thingy'?"
"You know what I mean." You cross your arms, huffing. " You knew I liked it."
Jason rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but meeting yours. "Yeah, well. It made me look old."
"You are old," you shoot back, lips twitching into a grin. "At least compared to me."
He raises an eyebrow. "Wow. Brutal."
"Brutally honest," you correct, standing to cross the room. You reach up, fingers brushing through the now uniformly dark strands. "You dyed it, didn't you?"
He winces, caught. "Maybe."
"Jason."
He huffs out a sigh, muttering like a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Fine. Yes. I dyed it. Happy?"
"No," you reply immediately. "I liked that streak. It made you look-" You hesitate, searching for the right word. "-like you. Like the Jason that came back from the pits of hell just to annoy Bruce again."
He lets out a soft laugh, low and rough, and the sound vibrates against your chest where his hand now rests. "Sweetheart, it was just a stupid patch of hair."
"Was," you correct, tapping his temple lightly. "Now you look like every other brooding idiot with black hair in this city."
He smirks. "You saying I blend in?"
"I'm saying you're less interesting."
He gasps in mock offense. "Less interesting?"
You grin. "Uh-huh."
"You wound me."
"Good. Maybe next time you'll think twice before erasing the one part of you that looks like you're from an emo band."
He chuckles, leaning down until his breath brushes your forehead. "You like that part, huh? The emo aesthetic?"
"Maybe I have a type," you murmur. "And maybe it includes white hair and very questionable life choices."
His thumb grazes your jaw, eyes gleaming. "Guess I'll have to make it up to you somehow, then."
You hum thoughtfully. "You can start by admitting you look better with it."
"Not happening."
"Coward."
He laughs again, pulling away and shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."
"And you," you say, poking his chest, "are going to regret that box dye. Mark my words."
He rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, but you catch the way his lips curve upward.
The rest of the day goes on as usual. Mostly. You catch him glancing at mirrors a few times too often, running his hand through his hair like he's half expecting something to change. You don't comment, just smile knowingly when he pretends not to notice you watching.
That night, he falls asleep beside you like he always does, arm draped lazily over your waist, breath steady against your neck. You brush your fingers through his dark hair one last time, tracing the spot where the white streak used to be, and whisper, "Miss you already."
When morning comes, you're the first to wake.
And what greets you nearly makes you cry out in laughter.
There it is. Gleaming against the black like a stubborn ghost, white as snow, shining defiantly in the early sunlight. The streak. Back in all its infuriating, beautiful glory.
You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh, fumbling gor your phone and taking a picture.
Jason stirs beside you, groaning. "What's so funny?"
You try to compose yourself but fail miserably. "Oh, nothing. You'll see."
He blinks blearily at you, rubbing his eyes. "Why're you smiling like that?"
You just hand him your phone, camera app open, picture already taken.
He looks at the screen. Then at you. Then back at the screen.
"What the-"
"Told you," you sing-song, trying not to wheeze with laughter. "The old-man-hair is back."
He sits up, running both hands through his hair in disbelief. "No way. I dyed that thing. I cut that thing!"
"Magic says hi," you tease, sipping your coffee.
"Magic can kiss my-"
"Language."
He scowls at you, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he's trying not to grin. "This isn't funny." He stands up and walks to the bathroom, scrutinising his hair in the mirror.
"It's hilarious."
"I'm being haunted by my own hair."
You tilt your head innocently. "Maybe it's a sign. The universe wants you to stop fighting your aesthetic."
He groans. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"I'm just saying, Jay… maybe the Lazarus Pit decided your hair needed to match your personality."
He narrows his eyes. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
You flash him a sly smile. "Chaotic. Emo. A little unholy."
He stares at you for a moment before chuckling softly. "You're ridiculous."
"And you're stuck with me."
He huffs, glancing back at his reflection in the mirror. The streak glows under the light, smug as ever. He sighs, resigned. "Guess it's here to stay."
You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head against his back. "Good. I like it that way."
"Yeah?" he murmurs, voice lower now, amused. "You that attached to it?"
"Mhm. Makes you look like you've seen some things."
He smirks. "You saying I'm mysterious?"
"I'm saying," you whisper against his ear, "that I can still pick you out of a crowd."
He laughs under his breath, leaning back into you. "You're too good to me, sweetheart."
"Maybe," you say, smiling into his back. "But don't let it go to your head. Or your hair."
He groans, rolling his eyes. "You're never gonna let this go, are you?"
"Not a chance."
"Fine. You win."
"Good boy."
He pauses, then looks down at you with a lopsided grin. "Say that again."
You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. "Don't push your luck, Todd."
But he's still smiling when he turns back to the mirror, brushing a hand through the rebellious streak. You catch the faintest hint of pride in his reflection, like maybe, just maybe, he's starting to see what you've always seen in it.
It's not just a quirk or a curse. It's a reminder. A proof that no matter what he tries to bury, the truth has a way of surfacing. That some things, the stubborn, beautiful, impossible things, refuse to stay gone.
would you fall in love with me again? (if you knew all i've done?)
Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader
a/n: sooo this may be a little ooc...and i wrote this in one go during communication class (and yes i've fallen for the 'insert a deep phrase here (another deep phrase)' title propaganda and as always, reblogs are appreciated! <3
You and Jason were inseparable as kids.
The kind of pair where everyone teased. ‘You two are always together, where one goes the other follows.’
You shared secrets, comic books, childish, hopeful plans for the future and the pastries that Alfred made whenever you slept over.
Then he died.
Or at least, you mourned him like he was.
You carried that grief for three years. Losing him felt like losing a piece of yourself, a piece that left a gaping void where your heart used to be. You were furious at Bruce. Furious that he had let Jason go into that warehouse alone. Furious that he pushed Jason into a life of a soldier. Furious that, after everything, he still refused to kill the Joker.
You held all that anger and grief close to your heart like it could fill the void that his death left. You ignored all of Bruce’s attempts to reconcile with you. You tore all of the scholarships you received from the Martha Wayne Foundation. You shut the window whenever Dick tried to talk to you during patrols.
You held on to all that anger for him because letting go felt like betraying him a second time.
So when he returned–not as the boy you knew, but the angry and hard Red Hood–it broke something in you.
He avoided you at first.
Pretended that you were a stranger.
Spoke to you like every word tasted bitter.
Every time you tried to reach him, he pulled back, colder and harsher.
And the worst part?
He wasn’t doing all this because he hated you.
He was cruel because he remembered you. You were his lighthouse in a dark, hungry sea of anger and betrayal.
And it terrified him.
He knew what he was capable of. Knew what he had done. And nothing terrifies him more than the thought of him doing the same to you.
But you didn’t stop trying.
Even when he refused to even look at you.
Even when his voice, once warm, once yours (even though it felt like it had been decades since his voice felt yours), turned clipped and short.
Even when his actions made you feel that a part of you was dying again whenever he turned away.
You kept reaching.
And he kept pulling away like the tide on the shore.
But even as he pushed you away (turned his back on you, swallowed his voice, clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles went white), Jason still found himself being pulled towards you like something divine (you) had its hands around his heart.
He kept his distance from you.
Or at least that was what he told himself.
Yet he still found himself lingering.
You noticed too.
A shadow two rooftops away.
A red helmet perched on a fire escape on the nights when things got too heavy and you couldn’t sleep.
A shadow trailing you when you walked home alone at night.
He told himself that it was just a coincidence.
He told himself that he DIck would have wanted to make sure you were safe.
But the truth?
He was starving for you.
Not in the simple, childish way from before, but in the way broken things tend to gravitate towards the hands that once knew how to hold them.
He would follow you during patrols, cursing at himself under his breath.
Stop. She doesn’t need you. Please look at me. She’s fine.
Walk away, Jason. Walk away.
But when you pause on the sidewalk and turn to look at his silhouette in the dark, he would freeze like someone had punched the breath out of him.
He hated it.
He missed hated you.
He hated that he still remembered the sound of your laugh even though you rarely shared it anymore.
Hated that the world felt loud and wrong on the nights he couldn’t check on you.
He wanted distance.
He needed distance.
But every time he tried to pull himself out of your orbit, something dragged him straight back in.
He didn’t want wanted to let go.
He didn’t.
Other nights, when you were asleep, he would slip into your room and brush his fingers against your cheek reverently, like he was touching something he wasn’t allowed to have.
And every time he turned to leave, guilt crawled down his spine like barbed wire.
He was supposed to stay away from you.
He couldn’t.
He was supposed to pretend that he had forgotten you.
He could never.
He was supposed to let you move on.
He didn’t want you to.
You felt him.
Even though he thought that he was invisible.
Even when he hid behind alleyways and rooftops.
You felt him like gravity, shifting, pulling and inevitable.
Because Jason Todd could run from he city.
He could run from Batman.
From Bruce.
From Joker.
From himself.
But you?
You were the one thing he could never outrun.
Because no matter how far he pulled away, his gravity still found you. He was your sun, and you were his moon.
And he wasn't sure he ever truly wanted to escape it.
he’ll never say it out loud, but your happiness is his priority. if you need something, he’ll handle it, no questions asked. tired? he’s making sure you gets rest. stressed? he’s handling whatever’s bothering you before you even have to ask.
he’s hyper-aware of your surroundings, always assessing risks, but he never restricts your freedom. he just ensures you're safe—whether that means walking on the side closest to the street or subtly keeping a hand around your waist when you're out in public.
he doesn’t keep score. if you needs comfort, reassurance, or even just someone to listen, he’s there. no complaints, no need for reciprocation—he just does it because he wants to. cuz he loves you. a lot.
he sacrifices sleep for you. he doesn’t sleep much anyway, but when you're beside him, he’ll stay awake just a little longer, making sure you're comfortable, breathing steadily, completely safe in his presence. (and arms)
he’s not the type for grand romantic gestures, but he will pull the blanket over you when you're cold, leave a cup of tea on the counter before he leaves, and press the softest kiss to your temple when he thinks you won’t notice.
he could be exhausted, injured, or dead on his feet, but if you ask how he’s doing? “ 'm fine, love.” always. because he’d rather carry the weight alone than let you bear even a fraction of it.
he remembers everything. the way you take your coffee, the song you hummed once, the offhand comment about a book you liked—he catalogs every detail. and later, when you least expect it, you find little reminders that he was paying attention.
he would absolutely die for you, but most importantly, he will live for you. simon is no stranger to sacrifice, and he wouldn’t hesitate to put himself in harm’s way for you. but more than that, he fights to come home to you, to be better for you—because for the first time, he has something worth living and surviving for.
seeing that post about jason's teeth makes me think that jason is a biter. like he just likes to randomly bite his gf and she isn't bothered by it cause she's used to it
biter
Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader
trigger warning(s): biting (nothing sexual, i promise), he's SOSOSO ooc in this 😭
a/n: jason can bite me nom nom nom nom can you tell how i gave up on this
Warm, chiselled hands wrap around your waist, a strong body pressing up against you from behind.
"Whatcha doing, baby?" Jason's deep, mellow voice filled your ears like honey. "Smells good."
"'m making Alfred's pasta," You hum, enjoying the heat of Jason pressing up against you from behind. "How's your appointment with your dentist? Did it go well?" You asked him.
"Uh, yeah! It went great." Jason laughed awkwardly.
You stopped chopping the garlic and turned slowly to face him. "You didn't go, did you?"
"No, I didn't," Jason admits immediately, withering a little under your glare. "But baby, you know how much I hate the dentist!" He whines, snuggling into you deeper. You tsked, pushing him away. "There's nothing wrong with the dentist, he's not going to kill you."
"You don't know that! He could stab me with the scalpel or-or strangle me when I'm under anesthesia!" Jason continued whining. "Besides, I thought you loved my teeth!"
You sighed. "I do love your teeth, baby, but you still gotta take care of them. They're sharp, like really sharp. Not that I mind, though..." You mumbled the last part under your breath. However, of course Jason hears it. Damn him and the unfair-but-hot upgrades he got from the pit.
"You like my canines?" Jason perks up, not unlike an overgrown puppy. Jason’s grin widened, revealing the very teeth in question, sharp and predatory. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your neck. “You know,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, “if you like them so much, I could give you a demonstration.”
Before you could respond, he nipped lightly at the side of your neck, just enough to make you jump but not enough to hurt. You swatted at his chest, but it only made his grin grow wider.
“Jason!” you hissed, trying to sound stern, but the warmth bubbling in your chest betrayed you. “I'm cooking! You’re impossible.”
“And you love it,” he shot back smugly, his hands slipping back around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“I love a version of you that actually takes care of his teeth,” you quipped, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. “What are you gonna do when they start falling out, huh? Gum me to death?”
Jason let out a dramatic groan, throwing his head back. “Oh, come on! My teeth aren’t going anywhere. They’re, like, super teeth now.” He leaned closer, flashing his canines again for emphasis.
You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched, threatening to betray your amusement. “Fine,” you said, turning back to the cutting board. “But if you’re not going to see the dentist, you’re flossing every night. No arguments.”
“Deal,” he said immediately, a little too quickly, as if he’d just secured a victory. You should’ve known better than to trust that tone. Moments later, he nipped at your shoulder, his teeth grazing just enough to send a spark of sensation down your spine.
“Jason!” you yelped, turning to shove him again. He was already retreating, hands raised in mock surrender, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“What?” he said innocently. “I’m just… practicing good oral hygiene. Isn’t that what you wanted?” You grabbed the nearest kitchen towel and hurled it at him, but he ducked, laughing as he darted out of reach.
“Get back here, you menace!” you called after him, but you couldn’t help the smile spreading across your face. Jason peeked his head back into the kitchen doorway, a crooked grin on his face. “You love it,” he said again, before disappearing down the hall.
