i hate my birthday. not because something bad happens every year, though that does have something to do with it. but because for some reason i get more sensitive. i hate attention and i hate that no one listens to me. i hate that when i ask for something everyone goes around and try’s to come from the heart but it doesn’t work. i hate that it’s my day but i can never spend it how i want it. i hate that i feel like a burden. i hate when people say it’s your day because i hate that feeling. i hate feeling like i have to pick everything and make decisions. because chances are the people around won’t like what i pick. i remember on my 15th birthday i wanted to ride an electric skateboard instead of a scooter and my mother yelled at me. i told her i didn’t want to ride anything anymore and then i was lectured by taking the fun out of it. i later rode the scooter. on my 17th my friends planned a surprise to watch a movie where i was forced to pick a movie to watch. i chose one i thought they would find funny but no one laughed, and later we didn’t even finish the movie because everyone got bored. i’m now going to be 20 and i still hate the feeling. i still get anxious when people ask me what i want and get frustrated when they get upset with me. i still give into what my mother says. if she tells me not to wear something because someone else did or because it may cause issues i don’t. i don’t have childish reactions to simple things anymore and for that i get told “i’m not thrilled.” so than i overcompensate. i say someone may come over early but to that she says i wanted this person to, you can spend one on one time with them. and yet again i fold. i get upset because i don’t like being useless, and on my birthday i am. you aren’t supposed to help or decorate. suddenly my family like “simple” for my birthday but “extra” for everyone else’s. i’m still hurt by the fact that everyone wanted to plan my mothers before mine. but again, i hate my birthday, so why would i care? i care because even though i can’t stand the attention i wish it seemed like they cared. i don’t need everyone to sing me happy birthday or to decorate the house. but it would be nice if they could make it seem like i was more than just a cake maker or occasional babysitter. or that i could wear things or do things without it being “copying” someone else. i wish i didn’t feel like such a burden. because that then carry’s over to my birthday. the burden of feeling like they have to care about me. the burden of feeling like they have to talk to me. the burden of not being enough. the burden of pretending to like me. the burden of doing what i want. that is all what comes with the title of “birthday girl.” and i hate it. so yes, i hate my birthday. not because my family doesn’t love me, they do. but because i hate that my role gets switched and it feels forced. i hate the fact that if i want something celebrated i have to set it up. i hate the fact that no matter what something will go wrong. i hate that i am the way i am. it’s as simple as that.
it had only been five minutes and you haven’t been able to come up for air. everyone son and daughter of thee bruce wayne was asking you a new question before you could even answer the first one.
it was like you were some a list celebrity that just stumbled into the kitchen.
jason was growing tense by this  commotion, knee bouncing at high speeds and a hand tapping against your thigh in attempt to prove both of you were still very present in the moment.
no one’s food was being touched besides those at the head of the table, bruce and alfred, though alfred tried to chime into the conversation whereas bruce just stared and chewed with an uneasy look.
dick was drilling on training techniques, asking if he could accompany you to gym as you seem to be the meta that has the best hand to hand combat skills, something he is always looking to improve on.
tim and damian have been arguing over your accent, if the gotham twang or star city lull in your voice, on top of business stocks and your role in the queen consolidated.
class stayed slightly but would whisper to steph occasionally about how pretty you looked without your hair pulled back and your suit on, that one at least made you feel human amongst the sea of vultures.
babs kept quiet, mentioning small tokens of encouragement to you as she sat to your right. she has been your best friend for years, having her here has given you some sort of comfort.
jason helplessly looked at this father, almost begging him to say something nice to you. the conversation before waking into the dining hall shook him up, could it be possible bruce did despise you? that he thought of you no more than a work colleague?
bruce noticed his sons look, nodding briefly as he brought the napkin from his lap to his lip and focused his full attention on you.
he noticed how you slumped in the chair out of stress and kept your head titled downward to show self consciousness.
you don’t normally do that.
he could recognize your stress from a mile away. in the watch tower, the two of you may not speak but he noticed small things about the person that won his son’s heart.
like how you speak with your hands, posture is normally straight, chin upward to the sky to signal confidence. all signs you lacked at the dinner table.
you never chewed in your upper lip or picked at the cuticles around your nails, two things your doing now.
bruce let out a dignified cough, silencing the crowd of the children and somehow bringing forward your more dignified posture.
you wanted to impress him. the gesture was noted, though you had already done that.
he spoke your name allowed, you were sure to have a heart attack after not being called by the code name you went by. “how’s the meal?”
you say flabbergasted by the question. he silenced the table for the meal your barely gotten to take any bites from.
alfred suppressed a chuckle in the corner, a smile emerging from jays lips. this was bruce’s tactic of making it known he enjoyed your company, he did this will all the kids at their first family dinner.
“it’s wonderful.” a genuine smile erupted from your lips as you realized what had been made, context clues failed you up until this point.
“jason mentioned your mother made this dish growing up,” he thought as he watched your eyes flick between himself and jason “you haven’t been home in a few, thought we would bring home to you.”
and dinner went on without a hitch. bruce chimed in here and there, and your posture corrected itself and everyone seemed to mellow out with the questions by the end of the night.
maybe bruce didn’t hate you after all?
i mean how could he hate the person who loves his son even more than he does?
i’m so sorry but i don’t see babs and jason as a thing. they are best friends, babs is dicks girlfriend, and jason is the annoying little brother that makes stupid comments about them 😭 i said what i said
“bruce hates me.” the words fell from your lips as you stared at the family patiently waiting at the dining room table.
you and jason were stood behind the archway, everyone seated with plates of food and waiting to be dined on. everyone so excited to finally meet you in a family seating rather than a justice league meeting. the questions filling their brains and anxiety bouncing their knees in anticipation.
with a remorseful sigh your boyfriend spoke “no he doesn’t.”
jason knew you and bruce had issues, a meta that was promoted to titans leader to a member of league in a blink of an eye. you “technically” took the spots bruce  intended for dick and that left bruce with a sour taste.
dick was the golden boy. the boy who was supposed to everything and take the cowl.
but he won’t. and bruce can’t handle the fact that you are filling in for leader.
“i’m sure he does.” you turn frantically, staring deep into his soul. “he’s never had to have dinner with me jay, always a meeting and a nod.” you spin toward the dinning room again as you whispered a new realization “he’s never even used my actual name.”
you frantically beginning picking at the polish on your fingernails, scared shitless to be honest.
you and bruce had just gotten into this morning at the watch tower. a disagreement over the joker, what a shock. you failed to fill jason in on this argument, because of the fact jason was just as scared about family dinner.
“stop that.” he swatted at your hands before encompassing your cheeks with his own larger pair “he will love you, damn whatever he thinks on the floating headquarters. he will love you because i love you, got it?”
you nodded into his hands, a smile spreading across his lips before dragging both bodies into the dining hall.
his eyelashes fluttered quickly as he poked fun of the people on the television, his head turned in your direction with pucker lips.
a giggle was held back “the prettiest.”
his head got closer and closer to you, hands encircling your waist before stopping with his lips over what felt like millimeters over yours.
“nah sweetheart,” a quick pause “you are” a hot breath escaped, a kiss (you thought) anticipated but instead met by his tongue dragged across your cheek.
“jason todd!” the squeal from your lips and the squirming under his grasp formed a deep rupture of laughter from his throat and a tighter hold on your frame as you huffed “you aren’t the prettiest anymore.”
the infamous anti-hero winked in your direction as he cuddled against your frustrated person “love ya too baby”
“i wish i could be beautiful for you.” his voice crumbled over the weight of the words, tears pooling threatening to fall from his glowing eyes. “i wish-“
your hand reached to his lips, stopping his words before he could even finish the self conscious thought from leaving his mouth.
“you are so beautiful jason.” your thumb goes to rub the space under his eyes, over his cheek, staring deeply into his eyes to prove your point “you are the most beautiful person i have ever seen.”
a single tear leaves his eye, dropping across his cheek to be caught by the sweeping of your hand “no tears sweetheart, no reason to cry”
he opened his mouth to protest, he wanted to show you how ugly he felt inside, he wish you saw the monster he was.
because in his eyes, an angel like you should be disgusted with whatever it is he has become.
“nuh uh” your tutted, now grabbing both sides of his face, bringing your foreheads together “my beautiful boy, my jason”
maybe he wasn’t a monster. or maybe he was. but in the back of his mind, even the monsters need to be loved.
summary: You insist on spending the night with Damian. Bonding together as you do a skin-care routine on him and he shows you a new favorite anime of his. Honestly just a bunch of playful banter and flirty one-liners.
word count: 2,880~
warnings: eyebrow razor used to shave around his eyebrows (brief)
I wrote this with the thought that Damian would want to watch Spy X Family because it’s super popular right now and it’s canon he likes this kind of stuff. So I thought I could split-screen and watch it while writing and not get distracted……..I was very wrong. I spent the majority of the time drooling over the protagonist instead of actually writing.
Yes, I've been on a Damian kick lately, sue me. This is what happens when I spend a month analyzing a character.
“Is this all really necessary?”
Damian eyed all the different colored bottles aligned together on your bedside. They ranged in size and shape, you even had a few gadgets he’d never seen before but he didn’t doubt they were tortuous.
“If you want your skin to be healthy, then yes, they are all necessary.”
His eyes didn’t leave the torture gadgets, trying to guess what method they were useful for. “My skin is just as healthy as the rest of my body.”
You rolled your eyes. “If by that you mean malnourished and severely dehydrated. Come on, Dames, you promised you’d let me do a self-care day with you.”
He met your eyes with a bored expression. “I do not recall such a promise, I merely wanted you to have a self-care day.”
His words may have seemed dismissive, but you knew the underlying care he had. Work has been stressful for the both of you and, as observant as ever, Damian called you out on it. He loves to see you care for yourself, he’d just rather jump out a window before admitting it.
You smiled sweetly. “And when I asked if you’d join me I didn’t hear a ‘no’,” you dragged out the word in a sing-song voice.
His eyes lingered over the objects before he deflated his chest in a dramatic sigh. “I suppose it cannot be helped.”
“I knew you’d come around.” You clapped your hands excitedly, shifted a bit before patting the pillow in your lap. Damian immediately responded to your invitation. He crawled onto the bed and turned around, hesitantly leaning back. You guided his head down until it settled onto the pillow, a soft cushion for his head to lay peacefully without a crook in his neck forming.
“Here,” you handed him the remote to the bedroom TV, “Put on that new show you wanted me to watch—the detective romance one, was it?”
He snatched the remote out of your hands as his shoulders shifted up until he could see the screen comfortably. “Spy romance.”
“Ay yes,” you chuckled, “My mistake, the Billionaire Detective is next.”
Damian fiddled with the remote as you grabbed for the fuzzy headband next to you, conveniently colored green to match yours. It was his no matter how many times he said it wasn't, but he’d huff if you tried giving him a different one.
You slipped the headband onto his face until it settled in place with his bangs completely pushed back. It had a bow on it and he looked completely adorable with it on, like a chihuahua in a tutu, feral but at least cute.
Damian’s trust in you was always so prevalent in these moments. It may seem normal or domestic, but with Damian, he can be so averse to touch it makes you grateful for every moment he relaxes under your hands. He didn’t even feel the need to watch your every move (granted he could put this to a stop at any second with his reflexes). His eyes trained onto the TV as he pulled up the first episode.
You grabbed the wet towel and dabbed at his face, adding a layer of water so you didn’t tear at any of his skin. Your hand automatically rested along his jawline, cradling his face as you swiped over every section: forehead, cheeks, and nose.
“How do you have black eyeshadow in your eyebrows,” you remarked, staring in amazement at the pigment that transferred onto your hand-towel. “I thought you guys only put that around your eyes, like your eyelid and under eye.”
Damian watched the car crash on the screen. “Sometimes,” his tone edged with feigned annoyance, “We are in a rush. Precision in makeup does not save lives, time does.”
“I don't know,” you teased, scrubbing at his eyebrows until the black came off, “I think you’re just in denial about your clumsiness.”
“I am not clumsy,” his eyes glared up at you but the bite in his gaze softened when you planted a kiss on his nose.
“It’s okay, just means I get to spend more time looking at your handsome face when we do this.”
You smiled down at him but his gaze diverted, a slight tinge of pink at the highs of his cheeks. You planted the rag next to the water bowl on your bedside table and grabbed the exfoliating brush, a small round scrub that fit perfectly in your hand.
“You’re insufferable.”
“ ‘love you too.”
Two pumps of oil-based cleanser and you got to work by softly scrubbing the cleanser into his skin in slow circles. It mixed with the water and created tiny bubbles, a sharp contrast of pure white to show you where you worked in the product so far.
You eyed the screen as you took in the protagonist's personality—no wonder Damian loved this show so much, he was just as cold as he could be.
“He’s kind of cute,” you said as you washed off the applicator in the water bowl.
“Who?” Damian demanded.
“What’s his face,” you vaguely pointed to the screen, “The blonde guy.”
“He’s competent, I’ll give him that. He’s an admirable spy and detective, but by no means is he cute.” Damian’s arms crossed over his chest lazily, the remote in his hand bouncing up and down absent-mindedly.
“If you say so,” you started wiping the thin layer of foam off of Damian, “I think I just have a thing for hot vigilantes.”
He flicked your wrist as it was the nearest part of you to him. “Stop your foolishness and pay attention.”
He crossed his arms again. You smiled in satisfaction when the corners of his lips upturned slightly.
“Oh trust me,” you whistled as the protagonist came on screen again, “I’m paying attention.”
Damian tisked, only settling down when your hands returned to his face to finish off his double cleanse with a water-based cleanser. The same slow, circular movement continued, dragging out your motions to be as relaxing as you could for him.
The protagonist's dialogue of holding someone's hand made you snort: “Having one hand tied up will make it tough to counter an enemy ambush. But I can manage.”
“He sounds just like you,” you mused.
Damian’s head moved along with you as you rubbed at his skin. “Unlike him, I can defend you with ease and have your hand in mine the entire time. I do not need more than one hand to protect us.”
You nodded, impressed. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time we go to the mall.”
“If an enemy were to ambush us in such a place, they are a fool. Malls are overcrowded, far too many witnesses would be involved. They’ll have better luck fishing without a hook.”
You wiped gently underneath his eye so no soap would fall near it. Before you could respond, the protagonist’s inner monologue cracked you up again: “Did I do something to make her hide from me? Maybe I held her hand too early. Does she hate me?”
You laughed out loud. “I’m starting to see why you like this show, Dames.”
“Oh please,” Damian rolled his eyes, “I knew exactly when to hold your hand and I executed it with pure confidence.”
“Whatever you say,” you teased, distinctly remembering you having to brush knuckles with him a few minutes prior so he could finally catch the hint.
You picked up a light oil serum and started applying it to the skin, quickly followed by your favorite roller. You applied light pressure as the roller glided over the curves of his face, pushing the serum deep into the skin to work its magic.
This time it was Damian’s turn to snort. The side character yawned, “I'm so tired I can't walk anymore.” Forcing the protagonist to carry them.
“Sound familiar?” his eyes gleamed as they looked up at you.
You shrugged. “What can I say, I enjoy a good piggy back ride. Half the time you offer to carry me, so you have no room to complain.” You cleared your throat and spoke in the deepest voice you could muster to imitate Damian: “Your walking at a snail's pace, keep up or I will have to carry you.”
When you finished you looked down at him with a pointed look.
“If you didn’t walk so slow I wouldn’t have to threaten to carry you.”
You hummed, rolling out his face without paying much mind. “Maybe I do it on purpose because I know you’ll carry me.”
Damian's eyes narrowed playfully. “You wouldn't.”
You smiled to yourself, arms up in a dramatic shrug. “Guess you’ll never know.”
He huffed, “I will keep that in mind next time we go to the pier.”
You laughed softly, looking forward to your next date because that was just Damian’s way of announcing it. You couldn’t count how many times Damian insisted on carrying you after galas, carrying your heels so you could get some rest. He loved it as much as you did, but the lighthearted banter was always fun.
Putting the roller aside, you opened the eye cream, squirting a small portion onto the tip of your finger. His eyes were always a sensitive area—you learned the hard way after trying to do his makeup the first time. He always needed either a warning or a telegraph of your movements so he could predict everything—he wasn’t too fond of surprises.
Your fingers gently swiped the cream on his cheek bone and smoothed it upwards until it got over his eyebags. You tried to be extremely cautious on this part, steadying your hands so they wouldn’t jerk the cream into his eyes.
His dazzling green eyes fluttered upwards so his eyelashes wouldn't interfere with your work. When he looked up at you, your heart still skipped a beat every time. You smiled, planted a kiss onto his lips in reward for being so trusting and patient with you.
Damian returned the kiss graciously, it was clunky at best with the upside-down positioning, but you couldn’t care less. Everytime his lips were on yours it sparked something inside you, making each kiss just as good as the one before.
You parted, your hands still cradling the sides of his face. His eyes lingered on your face for a while, commiting each of your features to memory to recreate another time. His sketchbooks were always filled with you, his one and only muse; he could never get tired of your face.
As you picked up his specific moisturizer, crafted for his sensitivities in mind and skin type, Damian turned to look back at the show.
“But I want to draw.”
“Don’t concern yourself with childish things.”
Damian tisked, shifting his legs a little into a more comfortable position. “Drawing is far from childish. It is a prestigious art form dating back centuries.”
“I agree, drawing is incredibly admirable,” you felt Damian’s eyes on you as you opened the moisturizer. You continued: “Being smart is one thing, but being creative,” you whistled, “That’s impressive.”
Damian nodded firmly, looking at the mad scientist with disdain. “He is just an imbecile.”
“A bonehead, if you will.”
“Yes, a bonehead,” Damian repeated as a way to ignore his soaring heart. His hobby was far from a secret. He gifted you his artwork from time to time, drawing a small landscape to fit in your wallet to carry as a good luck charm or just a doodle he did during class that made him think of you. His sketchbooks were extremely personal and he was grateful you never pushed to see what’s inside them.
Sometime soon he’ll gather up the courage to show you because he wants to show you how he views you: without any flaw and filled with perfection. He’d study your face and trace over each line with curiosity, wondering just how to capture your beauty on paper.
He’ll get it right someday and that day he’ll show you, but only when it's perfect enough for you. He trained his eyes onto the screen before they had the chance to wander.
You set the moisturizer down once you had enough on your fingers. You watched the show play on as you smeared the cream into his skin. It slid so easily across his features.
A fight broke out on screen as the side character was kidnapped. You chose to swallow your joke, the comment would sour the mood. Kidnappings were something Damian never took lightly. You still got chills when you remembered being kidnapped for the first time, the loneliness, the terror, and the shock. Even the nightmares left you gasping for Damian, even if he slept right beside you.
He came for you every time, but the shake in his voice was something that was burned into your memory.
Instead, you made another comment when the protagonist got hit upside the head with a pole. You winced in feigned sympathy. “That looked like it hurt.”
Damian hummed in agreement. “Head injuries are always the most dramatic. They’re inconvenient and intolerable.”
When a solid layer of moisturizer lay on his skin, you picked up your newest tool: a skin-carving Gua Sha. Damian gifted it to you after he found the one you had been looking for for ages, he didn’t hesitate to make the purchase.
“You seem to be very opinionated about concussions, Dames,” you teased.
“Of course I am, they’re insufferable.”
“Fair enough.” You used the moisturizer as a buffer to allow the tool to glide over his skin, starting from the side of his nose and all the way up his cheekbone, carving out the feature with ease.
Your ears filtered the narration of the show, hearing about the protagonist’s traumatic childhood as you continuously applied slow, even pressure to your movements.
You didn’t comment on it, but you always loved when Damian wanted to show you any kind of media that caught his eye. Manga to movie, they all told you a little bit more about him. He connected with the media the most out of everyone, finding it so much easier to use media as a way to voice things he was feeling or to even understand himself a little bit better. He used it to navigate his life, so of course you learned to navigate it, too.
So you soaked in the backstory, hearing every word that was left unspoken in the space between you and Damian. You calmly carved out his jawline next (not that it needed much carving) because using the tool was fun and you didn’t want to set it down just yet.
You sat in comfortable silence as you finished off the first part of the routine, the episode coming to a close shortly after. Damian clicked some buttons and the next episode rolled through, the opening music filling your ears.
You gathered all the serums back into your bag and grabbed the next part—one Damian is probably going to hate.
“I’m gonna do your eyebrows.”
He quirked an eyebrow up as he looked up at you. “There is no need. My eyebrows are normal.”
“They are,” you spoke, shuffling through your bag, “But I’m just going to clean them up a bit. It’ll look amazing afterwards, I promise.”
“If you believe so,” Damian relaxed back into the pillow, watching the love-interest enter the scene for the first time.
You grabbed your eyebrow spoolie and focused on one of his eyebrows, brushing it downwards as you grabbed for your eyebrow razor.
“This will feel like a scratch,” you warned softly.
Damian hummed, eyes trained on the love-interest as she murdered a room full of men.
“Someone’s swooning,” you sang as you shaved off the misplaced hairs to carve out his natural brows. “I can see you drooling from here.”
“If I could roll my eyes I would,” Damian spoke. “I am merely appreciating her fighting tactics.”
“It’s okay, Dames. You can say she’s hot.”
“I suppose I simply have a thing for hot, powerful partners,” his eyes gleamed playfully but never left the TV—plausible deniability. If you had not spoken this line first, Damian would not have been so bold, but you eased his need to hide his feelings.
You booped his nose with the tip of your spoolie. “Pay attention, you heathen.” His nose crinkled as it tickled him.
You finished shaving in between his eyebrows and wiped off all the peach fuzz with the rag.
“Time for the best part.” You shuffled through your bag once again.
“And what’s that?”
You clinked the tweezers together.
Damian scowled, glaring at the object as if it personally offended him. “This is, in fact, not the best part.”
“Oh? Is the mighty Robin scared of a little manscaping?” you smirked down at him.
He bristled, puffing his chest underneath his crossed arms. “Of course not. I have no fears. Robin will not be defeated by metal twigs.”
“Then this will be a walk in the park,” you beamed.
Laughter was heard throughout the room, your own mixing with the rarity that was Damian’s. As the season finale inevitably came to a close, you settled back into the warmth of his arms, the matching headbands long since forgotten on your heads.
I wish I could write exactly how my mind worked, visualize how my thoughts pour into my mind and never leave.
I wish I could run my thoughts onto the pages, spewing them into the lines with the exact overthinking nature I think daily.
I wish I could write with 14 streams of consciousness rushing through it, allowing the silence to fade as it does each day my eyes are awake.
I wish I could explain the made-up situations and broken ideas that live within my mind, the unsaid words and begs, and the creative ideas I trap within a box out of fear.
I wish I could immerse those who read my stories into my mind so that the feelings of hunger,
desire,
desperation,
need,
brokenness,
and undoubted joy could be felt on their skin.
I wish everyone could see how my mind spirals into pain caused by my imagination and the truth caused by the love around me.
I would write myself into panic attacks and the hurting ribs you get when laughing too hard.
I would write myself into fairytales and daydreams that break off from movies and television.
It would never be a never-ending silence, an experience I know nothing of.
And I would write the truth about myself;
You; and everyone else.
The truth that broke myself into pieces and built it back up again.
i am some sort of super human meta type person, who was adopted by the queens and raised with ollie as my older brother. roy is basically my other half, along with dick as i was one of the founding titans.
i’m dating jason obviously (jason from the outlaws webtoon comic) and live in gotham but we also have an apartment in star and jump city.
bruce adores me but we get one each other’s nerves often and have a strained relationship after jason died. but it got better over time and once jay was brought back (but it’s bruce and i’m dating jason so we all know who’s side i’m technically picking here lmao)
i’m basically friends with all the justice league bc i’m like a mini green arrow but with powers 😎
i live a double life and im super famous for being super smart basically and i  delegate for the justice league as a normal everyday civilian (but obvi am not) also super duper famous from dating the dead wayne kid, i mean instant clout.
also random thought but in real life i look a lot like dick and everyone just assumes we’re twins and we grew up as titans so he’s like my second half.
i’m also super close to the og starfire, raven, cyborg, and beast boy and end up hoing the justice league but i still help delegate with the titan matters hehe
(also in my mind dick and jason look alike but not alike alike, like jason looks very different to dick even though everyone draws all the wayne boys super alike so that’s my final statement)
So I found your blog while looking for cute wholesome Jason Todd stuff (and you clearly have a LOT to offer so thank you) and I'm literally only here to say that I love every single one of your posts like I'm reading through this stuff bc its showing up all over my dash now and I'm giggling like a school girl and closing my device and just rolling around and dreamy sighing and everything its like the cutest shit ever???????????
Anyway yeah thank you for you wholesome Jason content it's become my new source of life and I'm loving it 🥺🥺🥺🥺
Bye now :)
-Clem
you are the cutest ever <33 thank you so so much for all the support and compliments 🤭🥰
“can you love me even with my scars?” his voice stuttered. he felt like the same insecure boy who died so many years ago at the hand of the clown, the enemy, the hurt.
his eyes gleamed in the moonlight, his scar drawing from his mouth to brow. his traditional tattoo of his culture adorning his solider now. scars on his arms, legs, hands, and the calloused fingers wrapped around your wrists now as he begs for the one thing he always craved.
he was the gotham knight. you knew that and he did too.
he was holding onto your skin for dear life, as if you were just a figment of your imagination and he was trying to protect you from all the vile bits of his past and the ends of his truth.
you sighed into his touch, allowing yourself to fall completely into his grasp. head leaning into his strong chest and your arms wrapping around his waist forcing his grip away from them. “i would love you without them.”
his head dropped into your shoulder, arms dangling in defeat as tears fell from his eyes. his fault of bruce dying and the confusion on why his brothers loved him. he didn’t understand any of it, not a single idea was left in his head as he wrapped his around you tighter than he imagined.
“yeah sweetheart?” his gotham accent so thick as he stared nuzzled deeper into your person, he allowed the scent of your shampoo to over take him.
“always jay” you smiled into his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the edge of the tattoo “every scar” a kiss to the base of his neck “every mistake” you smile as you worked your way up “every bit of you i would love always, at all times, forever.”
you tilted your head towards his, forcing his attention toward you. taking a moment to look at each other’s eyes before your lips collided in the most innocent of kisses, as jay allowed you in to his life in the most pure form of love.
as he pulled away he lingered over your lips, his forehead pressed so firmly into yours as if he was trying to read your mind.
“so you will help me love myself too?” his words were whispered, eyes closed as he was worried of your answer “so that way i can love myself like i love you.”
“i love you.” his breath hitched as he finally said those small words to you, the most important phrase in the alphabet. “i have loved you since the day i met you.”
you stood in shock, unsure on what to say or do next as he stared so helplessly in love with you. “why didn’t you say anything sooner jay?”
“because…we accept the love we think we deserve.”
you lost it then, tears, everywhere.
five years without him and now he’s stood in the pouring rain on your porch with sunflowers and scars littering his skin as your body gravitated towards his own lips only inches apart.
he knew you said those three little words back to him as your lips collided.
because you loved him too, more than those words can say.
but the tears ran salty on your tongues because it just broke your heart into pieces to even think he believed he wasn’t worthy of it, all your love.
“for goodness sake mum!” the voice that sounded from the other side of the door didn’t sound like it did five years, it sounded sturdier, less sweet and more rough. “i said i was fine over the phone!”
jason couldn’t really comprehend that it was the same voice he used to beg to hear on the phone, but he at the same time he could. that’s what gotham did to people, broke them.
he involuntarily took a step back, ready to run, when the footsteps approached closer to the door. one shuffled behind the other, just like it did when you were kids.
you stuffed up your knee showing him your moves on the monkey bars, silly him for not catching you. you walked with a limp since, but it made you well you.
by the time the door knob jiggled and your voice was grumbling on the other-side, muttering nonsense about patience and it being late. the doorway was empty and you stood in an old gotham prep school sweater, one that still smelled like jay, staring out at the evening gotham rain alone.
“damn teenagers.” you were sure it was a group of punks that were going to picked up by the bat on his rounds as the door shut.
but jay stood breathless as the locks sounded, heart twisting in ways he didn’t think was possible as he fell slowly to the floor beneath him, wondering why he ran.
january 24th
he knew how much you loved the library. maybe that would explain why the red hood is sat on the building across from it.
or maybe it would explain why jason was shitting brinks staring at the front door then to his watch then back to the door.
it was nearly 1 in the morning, you were still sat by the window seat talking to the library as the two of you cleaned up.
he should have known you would end up getting a job here, it suited you well.
you were never the quiet type, a reason why he enjoyed your company so much. you were very opinionated as he could remember, though most the later days were still a fog to him.
but he remembered the arguments you got in with bruce over the best book in his collection versus the one that was actually the most expensive. he remembered the nights you two spent reading each other passages from the first book you saw after running down the manor’s shelves. he remembered your love for literature and it was going to by your life.
he peered down through he window, watched as the lights turned off.
your leg still shuffled behind you as you waved your hand toward the librarian, a women you should have walked home with but instead was picked up by a taxi leaving you to walk gotham streets alone.
so he jumped rooftop to rooftop, watching as you scanned surrounds, clung to your bag with dear life, and flinch at any suspecting sound even in your reach.
and there his heart went, twisting in was he couldn’t believe were real.
he just hoped bats didn’t give up on you like he did him.
bruce really liked you. liked you even more when you found out jay was robin and didn’t blink and eye. but he didn’t like that two face knew your name and most likely still does.
but he didn’t want to find out if bruce did or didn’t or if others knew your name or didn’t.
so he bounced from rooftop to rooftop, keeping a keen eye on you until your stood on steps of your townhouse. keys gripped so tight they fumbled causing him to flinch.
though you were always fast, keys in hand again with each lock undone and the door swung open.
a sigh of relief hit jason’s chest as you placed a foot through the opening. though quickly redacted as your eyes glanced up to the roof he sat perched on, once a robin, always a robin.
that’s what dickhead used to say anyways.
behind the helmet his eyes met yours, he studied your expression, your movements, your everything carefully.
a small nod was bestowed to him and your second foot shuffled into the door and the locks done up faster than the first time he saw you here.
he must have frightened you.
and it was then he thought his heart broke for real this time.
february 11th
this may have been a mistake, but jay was always good at those. that’s how he ended up dead in the first place.
so instead of thinking this through he grabbed the largest hoodie he could find in the safe houses closet before shrugging it on and somehow browsing the shelves of the library.
he kept the left side of the hood slung further in front of his face than the right. no need for anyone to see the hideous marking joker left behind now did they?
he had been stuck in the same isle all this time, touching the same few books just hoping you would come up and ask if he needed help. but thirty minutes had passed and he was sure you were the worst librarian to every exist at this rate.
“do you need help finding anything?” your voice broke him from his thoughts. immediately he was scanning the surrounding from peripheral, trying to figure out where you were and how much time he had to run.
maybe this had been a mistake.
“ ‘cuse me?” his head barely turned, making sure to keep the right side of his face to you.
he watched as your nose scrunched up, a tell you were holding in a chuckle. what exactly amused you about this? maybe his brooding nature or absolute misery of not being able to shout that your jason was alive and standing right in front of you was just slightly amusing.
clearly a path in his voice “pardon?” now his peripheral was scanning you completely, his body almost going numb at the sight of the golden birdie hung around the dainty gold chain.
you still had it.
hell, you still wore it.
“need help finding anything red?” now his body turned, your voice sounded innocent not accusing but still he tensed at the nickname, brows raising in suspicion “y’know because of the red hoodie yeah?”
the gotham twang in your voice still remained prominent as you shortness words and smiled into them, god how he missed your smile.
“yeah, well” he trailed, clearing his through trying to keep his left sight out of view but your eyes wandered his physique “looking for a gift?”
your ears perked at that “gift?” he nodded “we don’t sell things here you do know that right?”
yeah of course jay knew that, why he said gift in the first place no idea but might as well keep you talking. he loved the way your voice sounded now.
still so young but with a harder kick to it, it was soothing.
jason nodded again, kicking his boots at the carpeted floor “i know.” his eyes rolled at your confused expression “they would know that it’s a loaner.”
this made you smile, he made you smile. “what a gift giver you are huh?”
jason shrugged, eyes locking with yours for a breath moment before pulling them back down to the chipped toes of his work boots.
“you have any suggestions then?” his voice low, hesitant.
a small breath fell from your lips as you leaned against the wall behind you, you felt as if you were going to be here for a while. “well who’s it for red?”
jason lifted his head, confused expression easily read across it, “boy, girl, child?”
he shoulders tensed at the idea of telling you anything even if it was a lie, but maybe this was his way back in, a slow ease before his big announcement of ‘hey i’m actually not dead, just 5 years trying to calm my homicidal rage and planning revenge on my adoptive father, you?’
“someone special .” he thought for a moment worried what more to say, “someone that i love.”
you grew curious now, smiling at the mysterious boy in a hood. hand instinctively went to play with the gold plated robin hung around your neck making jason’s eyes drag to the small charm he gave you years ago.
“hm romantic gifts are tough y’know” he nodded, eyes still tracing the circles you made with the robin “what do they like?”
he couldn’t think straight now, not knowing you still wore the necklace and still felt it right to keep it around, keep him round.
“where’d ya get the necklace?” the question took you off, hand stopping to think of a proper answer. jays leg now bouncing up and down fear of the answer, he gave it to you sure, but what were you to say to a seemingly stranger?
“someone i love.”
your mind clearly ran quickly over it, snapping back from whatever memories playing in your mind to spit him a suggestion “ try jewelry, most people like that.”
he went to speak but was quickly cut off by your curt apology and bid goodbye.
even as stranger he made you upset, how was he supposed to do this?
february 21st
another late night for you, a slow night for jay so he followed you home again, this was the third time this week.
this made him feel like he was doing something, like he was still protecting you.
tonight you had on his old gotham prep sweater, something he had forgotten about until that first night back. after all these years it was still much to big for you and he wasn’t large back then either. not as large as he is now.
you were taking a while to open the door, grabbing the mail from the letter box and picking up the newspapers scattered across the little lawn you had.
so he climbed down from his rooftop just above yours, leaning against a tree near the yard. far enough to be hidden but close enough to see, hear, and get to you.
you slowly made your way to the door, hands reaching for the knob he was sure his work would be done until you stay at work late again tomorrow night.
“why do you follow me home each night?” he froze.
your voice was calm, hand still stuck to the door. you weren’t scared, your demeanor said enough. you wouldn’t keep your back to him or even acknowledge his existence if you were.
he forgot, you did grow up with him after all. you might has well been robin number two on his days off.
“well?” now your head turned to see him leaned against the tree urging him to come our front behind the leaves.
“gothams not a safe place.”
you rolled your eyes at that answer. now turning completely as he took a few steps toward the light. his red helmet bouncing the lights from the street lights and the armory proving enough to protect him physically, but emotionally he was doomed.
“yeah, yeah.” arms crossed now, leaning against your front door. “you got the symbol down though.” you observed his shit quickly before pushing off the front door. “got it down to a t.”
you took a step forward, his feet stood still, then you took another, and another, and one more until you were too close for his comfort and he folded.
“you got the right tech.” jason forgot how much you had seen. how many times you had been in the bat cave, how many times you sat with on slow nights like this and touched the gadgets in the utility belt.
red hood said nothing to this, even though jason wanted to rip the helmet off to show you.
“you have the right build.” you walked around him, examining his broad shoulders but limber waist, more weight training the dick but more flexibility than bruce.
“you have a voice modulator though.” you stated coming round his front, stopping just in front of his torso with your eyes planted on the red bay plastered across his chest.
“bruce doesn’t use those.” jay flinched at the name, yours eyes didn’t react “he has to do it himself, he doesn’t want a scrambler, makes the cowl to heavy.”
glad to know you had been hanging around them still, that did make jay have a lighter heart. at least they protected you.
“dick doesn’t even bother with the lower voice.” you chuckled “that’s what makes his batman so noticeable.”
“and tim” jason’s blood boiled at replacements name leaving your tongue with such ease but he still remained stoic “he doesn’t fit any of those things. and he certainly isn’t tall nor big enough.”
your eyes dragged from the bat to the helmets eyes, keeping them steady as if you were trying to read through the slits, as if you could see right through the helmet itself.
“so either i just gave up the names of the bats to a psychopath,” you offered, hand reaching up to the left side of the helmet “or your a ghost, or a figment of my imagination, or some sick joke.”
you didn’t reach to touch the helmet. you didn’t want to know if it was real or not.
you couldn’t. and jason wasn’t sure he could either, not tonight at least.
you spun away on your heels, hightailing it to the door, not even taking a second look back at him as the door shut and the locks sounded.
“i’ll see you again tomorrow darling.”
february 22nd
you had taken the day off work today, worried that the events from last night might have been a psychotic break.
you tossed and turned all night worried about who was under that mask. worried that it was the same boy who wrote you a love letter all those years ago. the same one that you spoke at his funeral and talked about over weekly tea with alfred.
and finally you picked up the phone and fanned sick worried you may have actually gone mad.
jason died. you knew that.
so you woke early to go for a jog, running around the neighbor early enough for cops to be on streets and criminals to still be in bed for the day if not going home after their nights.
taking the last corner back to your place you notice a figure sat on your steps, a red hoodie pulled down in front of the face just like the man at the library. and now you are certain you have lost any form of sanity left in your body.
rounding the pathway down to the steps you slow your pace, walking slowly toward the man hunched over holding a large bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers, colors blooming against the contrast of their red background.
stopping just two feet away from him, you watched him twist a ring around his index and his food tap the clunky work boots against the pavement.
jay knew you were stood in front of him, but he didn’t know how to rip this bandaid off, how to show him all scared and broken. he hadn’t even told his family yet, not that he wanted to.
“your real.”
it wasn’t a question, you knew, you always knew.
his head tilted up, hoodie slowly sliding off from his head revealing the small white curl dropped against his forehead and the scare traced on his cheek from his murder.
all on display for you.
a small gasp was audible as your hands slapped against your lips, covering the gapping hole left by your shock.
“ ‘m real darlin, as real as i was before.”
your eyes dilated to take him in, small shuffled steps taken to reach so your toes tapped his. hands slowly retracted from your mouth to move the hoodie completely off his face allowing for you to see the fullness of jason todd.
“y-you” you shook your head “it, no” your hands left his person “no, no-o, n-“ reaching up to the necklace for something constant “it can’t be” you muttered sounds, words under your breath “jay?”
his heart broke but not for any reasons like they had before, no this time it broke because he had hurt you before and now he was putting you back together.
it broke him to see you have tear filled eyes and flustered movements.
“yeah?” and you broke down.
you fell to your knees in front of him, slumping into his person, allowing him to hold you as you clawed against his red hoodie in attempt to bring him closer to you.
you asked no follow up questions. you had no wavering belief that it wasn’t jay.
because only jay would know that you like wildflowers, jay would only know that you were his darling, jay would be able to be alive after 5 years, only jay.
and he held you on the front porch for a while as the gotham streets filled up. as you held him tight and he held you tighter.
you allowed for the air to grow comfortable before pulling away to hold his face in your hands, thumb gracing over the scars in his face, allowing your eyes to soak up the natural blue green irises that had seem to be glowing now.
you didn’t need any more proof than the past two months.
the ringing doorbells at night, the stranger following you home, or red hoodie propping in the library each day you had a shift.
he wanted to come home, he came to you.
“so darlin?” he whispered, as if the words would break you “heard ya love me eh?”
and your nose scrunched, teeth on full display for the man in front of you.
“yeah?” you teased “and what little birdie told ya that?”
