That's life ig @when-nothing-goes-as-planned - Tumblr Blog

Posts

Navigation!

Call me Avi! (18/f)

Masterlist

Fandoms

My hero academia

Haikyuu

Demon Slayer

Yona of the dawn

Jujutsu Kaisen

Currently watching:

My next Life as a Villainess: All routes lead to doom!

Want to watch:

Aot

Spy X family

Currently reading:

Mha (caught up)

Yona of the dawn (caught up)

Want to read:

Haikyuu

Jujutsu Kaisen

Demon Slayer

Recent works:

First love(Iwaizumi, osamu, kuroo) (can be read as any tbh, names aren't specified)

Part 2!

Heartbreak (multi x reader)(drabble)(can be read as any tbh, names aren't specified)

Missing half (Multi x reader)

#Cookie talks #Cookie writes

osarina

LOVER, YOU SHOULD'VE COME OVER

FEATURING: zenin naoya x fem!reader

SUMMARY: one way or the other, the two of you always find your way back to each other. you think that it was always going to end this way, and you think that you wouldn't have had it any other way—you and him, from the beginning to the very end.

WARNINGS: fem!reader. canon compliant (MCD). i took some liberty with 1) zenin clan relationships and 2) cursed spiritenergy lore for reader’s technique. naoya is his own warning—he’s gonna give you a lot of whiplash. heavily implied abuse (naobito->naoya). toxic relationship (i stress, toxic relationship, the codependency is really highlighted in this part). misogyny (obviously). liberal use of bitch (naoya to reader). GRIEVING (reader goes through all five stages of grief and honestly has a whole mental break after naoya's death, identity crisis/full loss of purpose/suicidal thoughts & makes a decision at the end that's purposely left up to interpretation). as always with my fics, reader has personality & background. I think I’m missing some warnings, pls tell me if you catch anything I missed, there are a lot LOL

AUTHOR’S NOTE: AHHHHHHHHHHH THE LAST PART IS HERE ..... I hope you guys are excited, I rlly think I did this chapter justice (if I didn't, lie to me and say I did). I don't want to go too in depth here because I have a lot of notes at the end and most of what I want to say is a spoiler. SO ALL I HAVE TO SAY IS ENJOY!!!! all comments and reblogs always appreciated. And here is a post I made about reader’s cursed technique—it’s described in the fic as well, but if you’re interested to read!

SEE: MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION series masterlist

when-nothing-goes-as-planned

The fact that I got into this series AFTER having read the tags.

This fic is so gut wrenchingly good, like seriously i don't remember the last time I actually cried over a story

Warning! Both anime and fiv spoilers up ahead

#naoya x reader #naoya x you #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #zenin naoya x reader #zenin naoya x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk naoya #jjk x you #naoya zenin #fic rec #author i love your work so much #even though it's traumatizing ad

remanence-of-love

#a short reminder lol

cipheress-to-k-pop

love next door (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 15.9k (UM THESE JUST KEEP GETTING LONGER)

Summary: Your next-door neighbor in a London apartment… Mattheo Riddle? Yeah, didn’t see that coming either.

A/N: yall ik i say this for every fic but honest to god i do not like this fic it was really better in my head i swear😭

credits to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

when-nothing-goes-as-planned

Goddamn it this is a masterpiece

Author, i am THIS close to starting a cult

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo riddle fanfic

septemberkisses

the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.

#feels worse when you were YOUNGER than the characters at some point #at some point they were the cool kids you looked up to #maybe even the older siblings you wished you had #then at some point you become their age and suddenly they didn't seem to be perfect anymore #they were flawed and somehow you loved them all the more for it #AND THEN YOU GROW OLDER #and alone

pomegranatelifethis

Crumbs on the Counter

A Batfamily Story

1 episode (you are here) - 2 Episode

---

The manor was always quiet at night—too quiet for a house that held so many people.

You sat on the edge of your bed, small legs dangling over the side, not quite reaching the floor even when you pointed your toes. The nightlight in the corner cast shadows that danced across the walls of your bedroom, turning the elegant furniture into looming shapes that watched you in the darkness.

Six years old, and you had already learned that being small meant being invisible.

Your fingers clutched the worn fabric of your stuffed rabbit, Mr. Hoppers, pulling him close to your chest. He was missing an eye now—lost somewhere between the library and the dining room three weeks ago—but he was still yours. Still the only thing in this massive house that felt like it belonged to you.

"Maybe tomorrow," you whispered to him, your voice barely audible even in the silence. "Maybe tomorrow someone will read me a bedtime story."

But you knew better than to believe your own words.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫

The social worker had smiled at you, that pitying smile adults gave when they didn't know what else to do. Her hand was warm on your shoulder as she led you through the grand entrance of Wayne Manor, your small suitcase clutching in your other hand.

"You're going to love it here," she'd said. "Mr. Wayne is a very kind man. And you'll have brothers and sisters!"

Brothers and sisters. The words had sent a flutter of hope through your chest. You'd always wanted siblings, someone to play with, someone to talk to during the long, lonely nights at the group home.

Bruce Wayne had knelt down to your level, his face gentle despite the sharp angles and strong jaw. He was handsome in the way princes in storybooks were handsome—distant, almost unreal.

"Welcome home," he'd said, and his hand had been gentle when it touched your head.

You'd believed him then. Believed in the promise of those two words.

Home.

But Wayne Manor wasn't a home. It was a museum where you were just another artifact, tucked away and forgotten.

---

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐲

The kitchen was empty when you crept downstairs, Mr. Hoppers tucked under your arm. The grandfather clock in the hallway read 2:47 AM, but sleep had abandoned you hours ago, chased away by the nightmare that still clung to the edges of your mind.

You'd dreamed about before—about your mother's boyfriend and the cigarette burns, about the locked closet and the darkness, about the screaming that you'd learned to make yourself silent through. The social worker said you were safe now, that no one would hurt you anymore.

But she was wrong. There were different kinds of hurt, and some of them didn't leave marks you could see.

The marble floor was cold against your bare feet as you padded to the refrigerator. Alfred always left you a plate with plastic wrap—a sandwich cut into triangles, some fruit, a small cookie. He never said anything about these plates, but they appeared every night like magic, like proof that someone in this house remembered you existed.

You peeled back the plastic wrap carefully, trying not to make noise. The last thing you wanted was to wake anyone, to be a bother, to give them another reason to look through you instead of at you.

The sandwich was peanut butter and jelly, the crusts cut off the way you liked. Your throat tightened with gratitude so sharp it almost hurt.

"Thank you, Mr. Alfred," you whispered to the empty kitchen.

---

𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫

"Can I come?"

Your voice had been so small, barely a squeak, but Dick had heard you. You knew he had because his hand had paused on the doorknob, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

For a moment—just one precious moment—you'd thought he might say yes. Might turn around with that bright smile he gave everyone else and ruffle your hair and say, "Sure, kiddo! Want to learn some cool flips?"

Instead, he'd glanced at his watch.

"Sorry, I'm late for training. Maybe another time, okay?" The door had clicked shut behind him before you could respond.

Maybe another time.

You'd heard that phrase so many times it had started to sound like a foreign language. Tim said it when you knocked on his office door, holding a drawing you'd made of the whole family together. Jason said it when you'd found him in the library, asking if he'd read you one of the books that were too hard for you to read yourself. Even Damian had said it, though his version was more like "I have important matters to attend to, child."

And Bruce...

Bruce was a ghost who wore expensive suits. You saw him at breakfast sometimes, a distant figure behind a newspaper, already planning his escape to Wayne Enterprises. He'd pat your head absently if you were in his path, murmur something that might have been "good morning," and disappear like smoke.

Stephanie and Cassandra were kind when they remembered you were there. Cass sometimes left little origami animals on your dresser—a crane, a butterfly, a fox. You kept them all in a shoebox under your bed, treasures from someone who at least thought of you sometimes.

But kind wasn't the same as there. It wasn't the same as present, as engaged, as caring.

It wasn't love.

---

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐲

You ate your sandwich slowly, making it last, making this moment of being cared for stretch as long as possible. Mr. Hoppers sat on the counter beside you, his one remaining eye keeping watch.

The house settled around you with creaks and groans, old bones adjusting to the night. Somewhere far above, you heard footsteps—quick, purposeful. Someone heading to the Cave, probably. Off to save the city, to be heroes.

You wondered sometimes what it would be like to need saving. Really need it, in a way they'd notice.

But you'd already been saved, hadn't you? Pulled from that awful house, placed somewhere "better." This was supposed to be your happy ending.

No one had told you that happy endings required more than just safety. That children needed more than food and shelter. That a heart could starve even when the stomach was full.

---

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫

The parent-teacher conference had been marked on the calendar for a month. You'd reminded Alfred twice, left a note on Bruce's desk, even tried to tell Dick when he'd breezed through the kitchen one morning.

"Next Thursday at four," you'd said, holding up the permission slip that still needed a signature. "At my school. Ms. Peterson wants to meet my... my family."

Dick had smiled, but his phone was buzzing, and his attention was already fragmenting into a thousand different directions. "Yeah, sounds good! We'll figure it out."

Thursday at four had come and gone.

You'd sat in the classroom with Ms. Peterson, who kept glancing at the door hopefully, her smile growing more strained with each passing minute. Other parents filtered in and out, shaking hands, asking questions, looking at artwork on the walls.

At 4:45, Ms. Peterson had knelt beside your desk.

"Maybe something came up," she'd said gently. "I'm sure they wanted to be here."

But her eyes had held that same pitying look the social worker's had, and you'd known she didn't believe her own words any more than you did.

Alfred had apologized profusely when he'd picked you up at 5:30, his face drawn with genuine distress. There'd been an "incident," he'd explained vaguely. Everyone had been needed.

Everyone except you.

You'd told him it was okay, because that's what good girls did. They didn't make trouble. They didn't add to the burden. They swallowed their disappointment like bitter medicine and smiled and said it was okay.

Even when it wasn't.

Especially when it wasn't.

---

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐲

The sandwich was gone now, leaving only crumbs on the plate. You brushed them carefully into your palm, not wanting to make a mess for Alfred to clean up. The cookie sat untouched—you'd save it for later, for tomorrow when you'd need something sweet to get you through another day of being invisible.

Your feet swung back and forth as you sat at the kitchen island, too short to touch the floor even from the stool. The clock ticked steadily, counting down the hours until dawn, until you'd have to put on your brave face again.

"I'm good at being alone," you told Mr. Hoppers, smoothing his threadbare ears. "Mama's boyfriend used to lock me in the closet, remember? Sometimes for whole days. This is better. This is so much better."

But your voice cracked on the last word, betraying you.

Because it was better—you had food and warmth and safety. You had a bed that was yours, clothes that fit, toys that no one took away as punishment. You weren't afraid of being hit or burned or screamed at until your ears rang.

But somehow, impossibly, you were lonelier than you'd ever been.

At least in that closet, you'd known why you were alone. It was punishment, deserved or not. Here, you were alone because you simply... didn't matter enough. Because everyone had something more important to do, someone more interesting to be with, some crisis that needed them more than you did.

You were the optional part of their lives. The footnote. The addendum they'd signed on for because Bruce Wayne had a savior complex and a big house with empty rooms to fill.

---

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫

Your birthday had come and gone like any other day.

You'd woken up hoping—stupidly, childishly hoping—that maybe someone would remember. That there would be balloons or a cake or even just a "happy birthday" sung off-key over breakfast.

The kitchen had been empty except for Alfred, who'd made you chocolate chip pancakes without explanation, his eyes soft and sad in a way that made your chest hurt.

He'd known. He'd remembered.

But he was also just the butler, and you'd learned quickly that the family's dynamics didn't include him in the same way. He couldn't force them to care, couldn't make them see you.

You'd gone to school and come home, and the day had passed like water through your fingers. That evening, you'd found a small wrapped present on your bed—a beautiful leather journal and a set of colored pencils from Alfred. The card had read: "For all your stories and dreams. -A"

You'd cried yourself to sleep that night, clutching the journal, loving Alfred for remembering and hating yourself for wanting more. For being greedy. For not being grateful enough for what you had.

Six years old, and already you were learning that wanting to be loved was a weakness you needed to overcome.

---

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐲

The tears came without permission, hot trails down your cheeks that you scrubbed away angrily with your palms. Crying was stupid. Crying was pointless. Crying was for babies, and you were a big girl now.

Big girls didn't cry because their family forgot them.

Big girls didn't fall apart because no one tucked them in at night.

Big girls didn't—

A sob broke through your clenched teeth, then another, until you were crying in earnest, your small shoulders shaking with the force of feelings too big for your body to contain. Mr. Hoppers absorbed your tears silently, faithfully, the way he always did.

You'd learned to cry quietly at the group home. Loud crying brought attention, and attention was rarely good. So even now, falling apart in the kitchen of a mansion, you barely made a sound. Just the soft, broken gasps of a child who'd learned that no one was coming to comfort her.

The house didn't care. The shadows didn't care. The expensive marble and the crystal chandelier and the family portraits lining the walls—none of it cared that a little girl was breaking into pieces in the kitchen at three in the morning.

---

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐫

"I drew this for you."

You'd found Tim in his office, surrounded by computer screens and empty coffee cups. He'd been here for sixteen hours straight, Alfred had mentioned with concern, trying to solve some case.

The drawing had taken you all afternoon. You'd used your special colored pencils, the ones Alfred had given you, and tried your very best. It showed Tim as Robin, swooping over the city, stars surrounding him. At the bottom, in your careful six-year-old handwriting: "To Tim. You're a hero. Love, Y/N."

He'd glanced at it for maybe three seconds.

"That's nice, thanks." He'd set it aside without really looking, his eyes already back on his screens. "Hey, can you close the door on your way out? I really need to concentrate."

You'd found the drawing in the trash two days later when you'd volunteered to help Alfred with the waste baskets. It had been crumpled, forgotten, worthless.

Just like you.

---

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐲

Eventually, the tears stopped because bodies could only cry for so long before exhaustion won. You slid off the stool carefully, washed your plate in the sink with quiet efficiency, and dried it with a dish towel before putting it away exactly where it belonged.

Good girls cleaned up after themselves.

Good girls didn't make extra work.

Good girls tried so, so hard to be worth keeping.

The walk back to your room felt longer than usual, the hallway stretching out like something from a dream. You passed door after door, each one closed, each one representing someone who had their own life, their own concerns, their own reasons for not having space for you.

Your room was at the end of the hall—the smallest bedroom in the family wing, though still larger than anywhere you'd lived before. You'd tried to make it feel like yours, but it remained stubbornly impersonal. The toys were too nice, never played with hard enough to feel loved. The clothes were all new, without the memories that made things precious. Even the walls, painted a soft lavender that someone had decided was "appropriate for a little girl," felt like they belonged to someone else.

You climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to your chin, Mr. Hoppers tucked in beside you.

Tomorrow would be the same as today. You'd wake up and get dressed by yourself. You'd go downstairs and eat breakfast alone or with Alfred if he had time. You'd go to school and come home and do your homework at the kitchen table, checking the answers yourself because there was no one to ask for help.

You'd be good and quiet and unobtrusive, and maybe—maybe—someone would notice.

But probably not.

The thing about hope, you were learning, was that it hurt worse than giving up. Every time you let yourself believe that tomorrow might be different, that someone might finally see you, you were just setting yourself up for the fall.

Maybe it was better to be invisible. Maybe it was safer.

At least then, you couldn't be disappointed.

---

𝓢𝓲𝔁 𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓞𝓵𝓭

Six years old, and you'd already learned that love was conditional.

Six years old, and you'd mastered the art of silence.

Six years old, and you knew that some children were wanted while others were simply... tolerated.

Six years old, and the word "family" had become a joke with a punchline that only hurt you.

Six years old.

Just six years old.

And so unbearably, impossibly alone.

---

The night swallowed you up, and somewhere in the house, the vigilantes prepared for patrol. They'd save lives tonight, stop criminals, be heroes.

And they'd never know that the person who needed saving most was sleeping right down the hall, clutching a one-eyed rabbit and dreaming of what it might feel like to matter.

To someone.

To anyone.

To the family that had promised to love her.

---

In the darkness, a little girl made a wish she'd made a hundred times before:

Please. Please see me. Please love me. Please let me be enough.

But the universe, like the family, didn't answer.

And morning would come, as it always did, with its fresh disappointments and its stale hopes.

Six years old.

And already giving up.

Those who want to be added to the tag list, write

spoookyraccoon

Jason didn’t just look at you---he watched.

Not in the creepy way, but in the way someone does when they’ve already leaned all about you and still want to keep learning.

He noticed things.

He noticed everything.

He knew you put jelly on your pancakes instead of syrup, and he even started keeping a jar of your favorite kind in his cabinet just in case you'll need it when you're over... even though he cant remember the last time he had eaten pancakes.

He’d shrug it off if you asked about it, saying something like, “Picked it up on sale,” even though he went to like three different stores that morning just to find the right brand.

He knew you wanted to like tea, it was basically a dream of yours to be one of those people who could enjoy the leaf water, but every time you bought a box, it ended up shoved in the back of your cupboard after one disappointing cup and stayed there for months until he just took it to Alfred.

So sometimes, when you came over at his place, he’d hand you a new mug with a steaming drink in it. “Try this,” he’d say, eyes watching yours as you took a sip, cataloging the slight purse of your lips, the way you tilted your head in thought, the way your nose would either scrunch up subconsciously or your eyes would light up. He’d keep hunting for the one that made you light up.

And then there were the mugs. God, the fuckin' mugs.

Your entire kitchen was practically decorated with them. Different shapes, different colors, some with characters you loved, some from places you’d never even been to. You told him once, voice soft with something almost guilty, that you felt bad when you saw one at the store and didn’t buy it.

“What if no one buys it?” you’d said with the most pathetic (adorable) pout, like the ceramic thing might actually feel abandoned.

Jason hadn’t laughed. He’d just looked at you for a long, quiet moment, as he started to feel that same pull in his chest like he did when he found a stray kitten in the rain.

So he started buying you mugs after that; never all at once, never enough for you to get suspicious, just… enough. Enough that, someday, you’d realize half your collection had come from him.

Jason Todd was in love, and his love showed in the little details. The ones you thought no one saw. The ones he’d guard like secrets.

Because, truth be told, he wasn’t just noticing you.

He was keeping you.

-little detailed scene--

It started with the tea. You were sitting on Jason’s couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling on your phone when he came back from the kitchen. Without a word, he set a mug down in front of you; cream-colored with tiny blue flowers painted around the rim. You squinted at the mug as you tried to remember buying that one.

“Try this,” he said, like it was nothing. You blinked at the cup. “You got me another mug?” He gave a lazy shrug, settling into the seat beside you. “Saw it. Thought you’d like it.”

You wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic, inhaling the faint scent of honey and strawberries. One sip later, you made a small, surprised sound. “Okay… this one’s actually good.”

Jason smirked at the corner of his mouth but didn’t say anything. And that’s when it hit you...this wasn’t the first time.

You set the mug down slowly, your gaze sliding toward him. “Wait.” He looked over at you, all innocence. “What?”

“You-” you gestured vaguely at the tea “you’ve been… doing this. Like all of this. ”

Jason arched a brow. “Doing what?”

“Knowing stuff about me. Weirdly specific stuff. Like how I like jelly on my pancakes, and how I feel bad about not buying things when we go out, and-” your eyes narrowed as realization clicked into place “half my mug collection is from you now, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw shifted like he was chewing over his words. Finally, he smirked slowly, dangerously. “Maybe.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms. “Jason. That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in, voice low and steady. “I’m a lot.”

The air between you tightened, not quite tense, but charged in that way that made your heartbeat pick up. You swallowed.

“So you’ve just been… watching me? Memorizing me?”

Jason didn’t flinch. “I’m in love with you. What did you expect me to do--not pay attention?”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t been expecting that.

His gaze softened, and for a second, the teasing edge in his voice slipped away. “You’re the most important thing in my life. I notice everything, sweetheart. Always will.”

And you didn’t say anything, because there wasn’t really anything to saynot with your cheeks hot and your stomach fluttering like you’d just stepped off a high ledge.

You just picked the mug back up and took another sip, hiding the smile you couldn’t quite bite back.

Tagging:

@ladyperceval

If you'd like to be tagged ill try my best to add you! I hope you like my work

Kisses 💋

leeny-leens

Jason Todd who freezes up the first time he takes his shirt off in front of you.

He's searching your face intently for a reaction—any hint of disgust or horror. His heart nearly drops to the ground when he sees your eyes blown wide with shock, mouth slightly agape and fingers twitching by your side.

His head immediately clouds with all the what ifs and worst case scenarios. The poor guy is just about sure you'll bolt out of the room any second.

Nothing on earth could've prepared him for you to let out the most ungodly screech he's ever heard, one that's a mix of excitement and adoration as you approach him.

"ohmygod," the words tumble out of your mouth in a slur. There's nothing but joy and curiosity radiating off of you when you come to a halt in front of him, hands ghosting over his chest. You're not quite touching him, but you're close enough for his breath to hitch at your warmth.

When you look up at him, all air leaves his lungs through a shake exhale. Your face can only be described as pure love—something he decidedly didn't expect.

"You have so many beauty marks and freckles Jay," you snap him out of his trance only to stun him into another bout of shocked silence at the request you utter.

"Can I touch? You're so pretty."

He can only manage a weak nod before your hands are all over him, running across his waist and stomach. Your fingers trace his scars gently, with enough reverence and softness to render his knees utterly useless at holding his weight up. Your touch is precise and calculated, like you're cataloguing every inch of his skin. You're touching him with so much love, like he's worth the softness and devotion you pour into him.

He doesn't know what to do with your touch, so he looks up to the ceiling and coaches himself through several shuddering breaths.

If you notice, you kindly leave him be and continue your earnest exploration, uttering praises and compliments at every turn and touch.

He can't wrap his head around the whole thing.

You decided to look past his scars and marred skin. Decided to focus on whatever beauty you perceived and praised him for it.

Or perhaps, you didn't look past the ugly parts of him.

Perhaps, there's a chance you don't think they're ugly at all.

He doesn't know what to do with that possibility, so he shuts his brain off and basks in your tender loving touch instead.

@revesephemeres

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #jason todd drabble #he's adorable

soulsforsales

just thinking about jason todd's hands.

big, big hands that dwarf your own. makes yours look like a baby's. his long, slender fingers that brush the hair away from your face, tucks the stubborn strands behind your ears, pinches your cheeks almost as gently as they curl inside you.

big thumbs that brush at your bottom lip, eliciting a sharp inhale or a hitch in breath from you. thumbs that wipe the tears from your cheeks or press softly against your eyelids after a long, tiring day.

huge, huge hands that cradle and squish your face, always making you giggle and smile like you've been offered the sun. hands that cradle the back of your head when sadness weighs heavy on your soul, holding you impossibly close, letting you know that he's here. forever will be if you let him.

hands that have to touch, touch, touch you.

hands that find you in darkness. in crowds. through tears and nightmares.

jason's hands are calloused and rough from years of fights. from years of finding his way through the dirt life has thrown at him. his knuckles are always bruised and cut. covered in blood sometimes. his touch can never be soft. no. it cannot be comfortable. it cannot feel like feathers touching your skin.

and yet.

yet when he touches you, you sigh in such contentment. with such a blissful smile on your face that jason is forced to believe otherwise.

and you? god you're weak for him. so, so weak. for him and his big, calloused hands. for him and his half smiles. for him and his unexpected gentleness.

jason todd might not believe he's capable of softness, but you saw it in his heart long before it ever made to the surface.

you love him for all the softness he doesn't realise he gives. hoping you can help make it's way back to him.

#jason todd #this is so soft #I love it

dhazefawn

— CONSTELLATIONS ON SKIN.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝑗ason peter todd 𝔁 gn!reader.

Drawing on your ticklish partner’s back has—surprisingly—turned out to be a delicate and intimate predicament.

a/n: i first posted this on ao3 and just,,, left the tumblr counterpart sitting in my drafts. here it is finally!!

“Stop moving,” you murmur, your breath warm against Jason’s shoulder as you lean closer, pen poised over his skin.

“It tickles,” he says, huffing into the pillow.

You’re both sprawled on his couch— Jason shirtless and lying on his stomach, you straddling his lower back, a handful of colorful gel pens scattered around you. The potion is delicate and intimate, if you don’t pay too much attention to the many pens lying around.

You two have been like this for a few minutes. It’s truly surprising that Jason has stayed in place for so long, considering the fact he shifts anytime you press into his skin with the pen. He denies being ticklish, but this predicament has proven him wrong.

when-nothing-goes-as-planned

Why do I love this so much

#may this love find me #is it bad that I'm crying over a fictional characater's cute relationship #but seriously thooo #I want this so bad that it's not even funny #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #red hood x you #jason todd #red hood fluff #jason todd headcanon #jason todd imagines #rec

njghtiee

gotham's nicest girl

plot! dick grayson can't help but simp for gotham's academy nicest girl, this time is completely different though. he's not cocky and he doesn't tease because he simply can't, you make him shy and awkward and he's not used to this

a/n: i absolutely loved this request and i think this was my first time writing an actual kind reader to dick but i completely get it now, how couldn't he not fall for someone like her??? i'm definitely gonna continue and make a part two with the other things you requested because this is gonna be so good

part two.

Gotham Academy had a reputation for being prestigious, strict, and intimidating to most students who walked its halls.

Not for Dick Grayson. He’d grown up flying through the air on trapeze ropes in front of hundreds of people, a math test or a teacher’s glare wasn’t going to rattle him. He was a natural at school: charming when he wanted to be, a bit of a class clown, smart enough to coast by without trying too hard. Everyone knew him.

But there was one person who turned all of that upside down.

You.

You weren’t the type to dominate conversations or chase attention.

You were… nice.

In a city like Gotham, where cynicism practically clung to the air like fog, it made you stand out even more. You remembered names. You helped people pick up books when they dropped them. You thanked the cafeteria staff and smiled at the security guards. People noticed. Even the students who rolled their eyes and whispered about how “perfect” you were couldn’t hold onto their jealousy for long, because you were too genuinely kind for it to stick.

And Dick? Dick noticed more than anyone.

He tried not to make it obvious, but his friends had eyes. Barbara Gordon, for one, was merciless about it.

when-nothing-goes-as-planned

THIS IS THE BEST THING IVE READ IN GOD KNOWS HOW LONG

kthologue

the end times — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo satoru thinks he’s going to die because you’re giving him the silent treatment. (aka your first big fight with gojo).

contents. hurt/comfort, ooc, lovesick!gojo, you give him the silent treatment and he goes crazy, he is so pathetic in this one, tw obsessive behavior (he makes it EVERYONE’S problem), gojo’s pov

notes. loosely inspired by that one scene from yakuza fiance. not proofread whats new

Gojo knows he’s screwed up the second he steps into the common area of Jujutsu Tech’s dormitory. The air feels thick, wrong. And then there’s you, curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, but your eyes aren’t moving.

His grin falters for half a second before he masks it with his usual bravado. “I always knew you had a little freak in you, but reading your erotic books out in the open? Who knew my girl was such a perv.”

The joke usually earns him a laugh, a shove, maybe even a teasing retort. But tonight, the silence that follows is deafening.

The pit in his stomach grows.

“Sweetheart?” He tries again, waving a hand obnoxiously close to your face.

You finally react, swatting his hand away, but there’s no playfulness in the motion. Your eyes don't even meet his.

“You’re late,” you say flatly, still staring at your book. “Again.”

papayafromtv

when Duke needs backup in a fight he uses his powers to blast bat-signal-esque signs into the sky to call for whatever sibling is best suited for the job. each sibling hates their calling sign, and even worse, they actually have to respond to it because Duke only uses them when he’s like three minutes away from dying so they literally have no choice, like if their symbol shows up they have to fucking BOLT over there regardless of the indignance or Duke will not make it

Jason: the middle finger emoji

Damian: a somehow detailed image of the Boss Baby

Dick: just the word ‘slut’ in bubble letters

Tim: the red robin restaurant logo, complete with ‘gourmet burgers and brews!’ underneath

Steph: a taco, in reference to a time when she was drunk one night and Tim got on video her chasing down a moving taco truck insistently only to face plant into the side of it when the driver finally stopped to let her buy one

Cass: her regular symbol, because shes the only one he respects completely and it drives the others insane to have one sibling un-harassed

Bruce doesn’t have one because he refuses to call for Bruce. Alfred has one, a shotgun, although it’s never been used, and it pisses Bruce off to no end.

sanguineterrain

most normal thing in the world | jason todd

Summary: You get hit with a love spell. Naturally, the first person you seek out is Jason Todd.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings/tags: love spell (so potentially mild dubious consent but all the feelings are reciprocated), lovesick you, lovesick jason, repressed jason, LOTS of cuddling/lovie stuff, needles, magic, pining, happy ending.

the divider

Jason's having a good night.

He made himself an indulgent lasagna, and now he's got leftovers for tomorrow. He's off from patrol tonight, which, he must admit, was nice of Cass to offer.

Yeah, Jason actually feels pretty normal. Feels like any young person would. Hell, he might put on a movie he won't pay attention to, or finally adopt a cat, just to keep the normal streak going. That's what young folks do, right?

(He can think of some other things young people do, things that Jason won't allow himself to dream of.)

Knock knock.

Jason sighs. Well. The streak was good while it lasted.

#i know im like binge reading this authors work #but wow #their writing is so GOOD #im addicted #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #jason todd imagine #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #jason todd x gn reader #jason todd x yn #red hood x yn #dc imagine

sanguineterrain

crushin' | jason todd

Summary: Barbara invites you to dinner with the Bats. She's done so before, and you've always declined, but this time, you agree because the Bat you've had a crush on for ages will be there. Little do you know, the only reason he's staying for dinner is because of you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings/tags: batfam shenanigans, dick is a good meddling brother and deserves a fruit basket, fluff and humor, kissing, crushes, love confessions. just wanted to write something sweet and light :)

the divider

"So you're gonna press this," Barbara says, demonstrating on her own screen.

You follow along, clicking and typing. She nods.

"Good. Then you're gonna do this."

You open the file. A video of what looks to be Bruce drunkenly hula-hooping pops up. Your eyes widen.

"And that's how you keep Bruce in check," Barbara says, patting your shoulder. "Use sparingly. Only when he's getting on your last nerve."

#goddamn it #making me soft for jason todd AGAIN should be a crime #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd imagine #dc fanfiction #gn reader #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #jason todd fluff

devotedlyandrogynousyouth

can u pleasee write mean jason todd feeling bad for making reader tear up , and he tries to make it up to her in his own weird way

Save Your Tears for Another Day

Mean!Jason Todd x Reader

Guys, hate to say it, but it's probably been 6 months since I got this ask. I'm so sorry to everybody who's sent in requests that I haven't gotten to😭

Jason Todd was not a nice person.

Not to you, not to anyone.

You’d known that from the start. You knew it when he barely spoke to you outside of the bedroom. When he never asked how your day was, never let you too close, never kissed you unless it was for something more.

You weren’t dating. That wasn’t what this was.

Still, sometimes he let little things slip. A hand lingering on your waist a second too long. A gruff “Be careful” when you left his place late at night. The way he always, always came back.

It was enough to keep you around.

Until tonight.

Because tonight, Jason made you cry.

And you weren’t sure you could forgive him for it.

It started with a scar.

You were in his apartment, lying on his bed in nothing but one of his old shirts, tracing idle patterns across his chest. He let you, eyes closed, arm slung lazily over his forehead.

Your fingers ghosted over a raised line of skin, just below his ribs. One you hadn’t noticed before.

“Where’d this one come from?” you asked softly.

Jason cracked an eye open, glancing down. He barely spared it a second before shrugging. “Don’t remember.”

You frowned. “It’s pretty big.”

He yawned. “They all blend together after a while.”

You traced the scar again, a little more deliberately. “Do any of them bother you?”

Jason huffed, shifting away from your touch. “Jesus, what is this, twenty questions?”

You froze. “I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t.” His voice was sharper now, that familiar edge creeping in. “You wanna screw around? Fine. But don’t go getting all sentimental on me.”

You swallowed hard, pulling your hand back. “I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “You always do this. Act like there’s something here when there’s not.”

Something in your chest twisted.

Jason must have noticed, because he sighed and pushed himself off the bed. “I don’t need you digging through my past like some therapist. Just drop it.”

He left the room without another word, and you sat there, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes.

It wasn’t the words themselves that hurt. It was the way he said them—like the very idea of you caring was a burden. Like you meant nothing to him.Maybe you didn’t.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to breathe. You wouldn’t cry over Jason Todd. You wouldn’t. But that night, when you left his place and walked home alone, you did.

Jason knew he’d fucked up before you even left.

He hadn’t meant to snap. It just… happened. The moment you started asking about his scars, something inside him twisted, pulling tight. You didn’t get it. What it was like to die, to come back, to carry every wound like a reminder of the boy he used to be. And you—soft, warm, good—you had no place in any of it.

That’s what he told himself.

But when he heard the front door click shut, something ugly settled in his stomach. You always stayed the night.

Not this time.

Jason spent the next day trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest. He went out on patrol, cracked a few skulls, kept moving. But even when he was standing over some lowlife, breathing hard, knuckles bloody, all he could think about was the look on your face before you left. By the time he got back to his apartment, it was nearly three in the morning. He hesitated, then grabbed his phone.

Still mad?

The message sat unread. Jason scowled, tossing the phone onto the couch. He wasn’t good at this. At fixing things. At people. So he did what he always did when he needed answers. He found Roy.

“You what?” Roy blinked at him, halfway through a beer.

Jason sighed. “I made her cry.”

Roy let out a low whistle, setting his drink down. “Damn. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Not helping.”

“I am helping. I’m making you feel worse so you’ll actually fix it.”

Jason glared. “You’re about to feel worse when I put you through a wall.”

Roy smirked, but then his expression softened. “Alright, man. What happened?”

Jason exhaled sharply. “She started asking about my scars, and I… snapped.”

Roy tilted his head. “Did she ask in a pushy way?”

Jason hesitated. “…No.”

“Did she try to make it about herself?”

“No.”

Roy leaned back. “Then why’d you lose it?”

Jason ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, okay? It’s just—” He clenched his jaw. “It’s easier when she doesn’t care.”

Roy studied him for a long moment, then shook his head with a small, knowing smile.

“She does care, Jay. That’s the whole point.”

Jason didn’t reply.

Roy sighed. “Look, you can either keep pushing her away until she stops trying, or you can stop being a dumbass and make it up to her.”

Jason scowled. “Yeah? And how do I do that?”

Roy smirked. “You figure it out.”

Two days later, there was a knock at your door.

You opened it to find Jason standing there, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Hey,” he said gruffly.

You crossed your arms. “Hey.”

He shifted his weight. “Can I come in?”

You considered slamming the door in his face. Instead, you stepped aside.

Jason walked in, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning your apartment like he’d never seen it before.

Silence stretched between you.

Finally, he exhaled hard. “I shouldn’t have said that shit the other night.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Which part? The part where you told me to drop it, or the part where you basically said I was imagining things between us?”

Jason winced. “Both.”

You didn’t let up. “And do you actually mean that, or did Roy bully you into coming here?”

His jaw tightened. “Roy made me realize I was being an asshole. Coming here was my own choice.”

You studied him, searching for any sign of insincerity.

Jason sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t do… feelings. Not well. And when you started asking about my scars, I panicked. I pushed you away because—” He hesitated, like the words were caught in his throat.

You swallowed. “Because what?”

His gaze met yours, sharp and unguarded. “Because I don’t want you to care about me.”

Your breath caught.

Jason let out a humorless laugh. “Because if you care, it means I can lose you. And I’ve lost enough people already.”

Something in your chest cracked open.

Jason wasn’t heartless. He wasn’t cruel. He was just… scared.

You took a slow step forward. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He searched your face like he didn’t quite believe it. “For now.”

“For as long as you let me,” you corrected softly.

Jason exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. Then, hesitantly, he reached for your hand, rough fingers curling around yours.

It wasn’t an apology, not exactly. And it wasn't him asking you to be something more than just a recurring fling, either.

But it was something.

Masterlist

#you familiar with the phrase “tugged at your heartstring”?#yeah this is that #batfam #batfamily #batman #redhood #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #jason todd #jason todd x reader angst

Itachiyama Masterlist

Sakusa

The line between love and hate

#writing

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

That's life ig