Who Needs Heaven? : The Drop-In
Who Needs Heaven? : The Drop-In
jason todd x fem!reader
aka jason meets his daughters
warnings: it’s not specific if the kids are bio or adopted — this probably doesn’t make sense on multiple fronts but i DON’T CARE
see for: the vibes
(2) safe & sound
His body jolts like he’s snapping out of sleep. The first thing he processes is loud conversations echoing, the sound of young girls talking over each other. He surveys over a book in his hands that he’s never heard of, though it’s opened more than halfway through and considerably worn. He drops the book to the side, coming to a stand and scanning over the environment.
He looks around the adorned living room, taking in details rapidly. He doesn’t recognize the house he’s in but he can tell it’s somewhere he definitely does not belong. The room is filled with books on shelves and picture frames are littered in every free spot in between. The lights are warm and the furniture is colorful with pillows and blankets strewn all over. It’s a stark contrast to the refined stoic Manor he’s so used to; there’s a distinct feeling of homeliness and warmth that seeps through the walls.
He creeps into the front entryway to the house as quietly as he can, peering up the staircase to the landing above for any signs of familiarity or danger. From his right, a girl comes darting into the space, running face first into Jason. He immediately reaches out to steady her but she shows no sign of disruption. She makes a point of holding the wrapped popsicle in her hand away, keeping it safe. She blinks up at him before taking off past him, calling out, “Sorry, dad!”
Dad?
“Anna, I swear to God—” Another girl of similar age runs past, paying him no mind.
He gapes after her, thoroughly confused. Where the hell is he?
“Daddy?” He turns around and looks down to a younger girl who looks about six at most. She stares up at him with wide eyes and freckled cheeks. “Are you okay?”
He can’t think.
This isn’t…this can’t be real. It can’t be. This is a dream. He got knocked out. He’s hallucinating. He’s dying.
He tries to keep his breath steady as this little girl peers up at him with curious eyes. “Daddy?”
He opens his mouth, struggling to find words, let alone get them out. “Where…where’s your mom?” He can barely make out his own voice.
“She’s in your room,” she tells him, looking up the stairs.
He treds up the stairs slowly, the chatter downstairs barely getting any quieter. The second floor seems deserted in terms of the presence of children. If, if this were real (or more likely, a dream) you’ll be here somewhere. There’s no scenario where he’d ever imagine a life in a big house with a big family without you—subconsciously or otherwise.
Several doors line the wide hallway, most of them open. He peers in the room closest to the top of the staircase, finding a heartily decorated bedroom with two twin beds. Polaroids and movie posters litter the walls and clothes are strewn across on top of the bed covers and in a few small piles on the floor. An orange lava lamp illuminates the room from a desk, shining off the glossy cover of magazines. Above, sports medals dangle off the wall against a white board, a scribbled on game of hangman midway through. A full-length mirror covered in stickers along the edges reflects a bookshelf across the room, dozens of books stuffed on each shelf. He blinks vacantly, pulling back from the doorway and continuing on.
He continues on down the right side of the hallway, passing up a bathroom and a closet before peering into the next room. It also has two beds, but it’s filled with remnants of young children. A small table with a tea set laid out on top sits in the middle of the room with various princess dresses draped across the short chairs. Pink bed sheets and butterfly-filled curtains joined by toy cars lined against the wall and strings of pink starry lights hanging from the ceiling. Both beds have stuffed animals arranged in thoughtful piles. It takes Jason a moment to notice the tattered, worn elephant with the green polka dot tie on the bed with the Cinderella comforter. Pickles. It was his when he was a kid. It’s placed delicately at the top of the pile, like he’s the king of the crop. A grand dollhouse sticks out against one of the walls, the dolls all lying asleep in their makeshift beds. Fluffy bubblegum and fuschia rugs scatter the floor just enough that you could jump across the room without ever touching the hardwood.
He turns to the last room, a door directly across that’s just cracked open. He can hear light music coming from inside and the almost inaudible shuffle of movement. He pushes the door open cautiously and takes in the sight of a woman, back to the door, folding laundry on the bed. He doesn’t even need to see your whole figure to know that it’s you.
“Sweetheart?” He sounds like he’s out of breath.
“Yeah?” You turn around with your same kind eyes and gentle disposition. You look older, not much older but your face is more mature. You even hold yourself a little differently. You quickly notice the way he scans you with a look of bewilderment on his face and jump into concern. “What’s wrong?” You drop the shirt that you’re folding on the bed, approaching him with soft steps. Everything feels fuzzy.
“This—this is…” His voice seems far away, this body feels further. “This isn’t real…”
“What? Jay, what are you talking about?” You’re so genuinely concerned about him it makes his heart hurt and does nothing to help clear his head.
His breathing starts to stutter and his eyes can’t pick something to focus on. Everything is telling him that this is a false sense of security, he’s not safe, you’re not safe, everything’s wrong—
“Woah, hey, hey. It’s okay.” You take his face in your hands the way you know tends to ground him. “Catch me up.”
He tries to focus on the sliding clasp of the necklace around your neck. “I…I think this is…” He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to wake up in a few seconds and find that it was all pretend. Instead, he’ll settle for, “...This hasn’t happened…”
You frown at that, tilting your head. “What do you mean?”
He breathes out heavy, “I think I’m dreaming.”
“What are you dreaming of?” You walk along this train of thought with him, though he has no idea why you would entertain it. This really must be pretend.
“The future…this is…is this the future?” He’s whispering, he’s not even sure if he’s asking you or himself or maybe even God.
You’re quiet for a minute before you speak again. “Oh,” you say contemplatively, not nearly as alarmed as you should be. You should probably be calling him crazy, right? “This is—you told me about this. Yeah, it had something to do with that clock guy—”
He blinks a few times, “The Clock King?” That does sound…familiar. Was he—he was with Bruce wasn’t he? Or maybe Dick. Both?
You nod, “Yeah, yeah. You said you ‘time traveled’ for a minute...but that was in, like…”
He fills in the blank with the year as he remembers it and your eyes go wide. “Well, this would be a bit of a surprise then.”
“We have kids?”
You laugh, brushing his hair back gently, “Yes. Yes, we definitely do. Five girls.”
“Five?” He breathes.
“Yeah. Wasn’t the plan but…” you shrug easily, “Here we are.”
He barely stops his next question from coming out of his mouth and replaces it. “Is this something I should be hearing?”
“What?” You tilt your head for a second before realization flashes across your face. “Oh, you don’t end up remembering any of this.” You shrug, mouth scrunched up to the side, “So why not?”
He does really want to hear about them. “Please.” He whispers faintly.
You nod reposefully, “Okay, well…” you pause, eyes on the ceiling. “Oh, wait.” You dart over to the bookshelf against the wall and pull a book from the second shelf from the top, a large pink photo album.
You shuffle back, guiding him to the bed and sitting thigh to thigh with him and placing the album on your laps. You flip it open to the first page, which displays an array of photos of who must be his daughter.
“This is Mia—Miriam—she’s the oldest. She’s thirteen now, she’s very smart and a sort of a perfectionist. Really a perfectionist.” A couple of her baby pictures were taken in your apartment and it makes his heart absolutely melt to see you as he left you, holding a baby—his baby—with a glowing smile on your face. There’s another photo of her, kindergarten aged, dressed up as Spoiler for halloween. One shows her on a bike with shimmery handlebar streams, Jason holding her steady as she learns. He’s wearing the brightest smile he’s ever seen on his own face.
“Then there’s the twins,” you continue, flipping to the next page. You laugh when his breath hitches at that. “I know. It’s not as scary as it sounds. Well, not now that they’re older. Ryan and Anna.” You point to them as you say their names, and he recognizes them quickly as the two girls that had run past the stairs. The twins look identical, the only discernible difference found in that Ryan is grinning in every picture with a glint in her eyes and Anna nearly always has a stoic look on her face.
“Ryan is her father’s daughter. She thinks she’s very clever and even more funny, and she is but don’t tell her that, it goes straight to her head.”
There’s a picture that has to be a couple of years old by now of the two of them dressed in what looks like brand new soccer gear. Another depicts one of them chasing Tim with a firework sparkler at dusk. He sees one of Ryan covered in dirt and tiny cuts, smiling big, helmet crooked on her head.
“Anna’s a happy kid, she is. Don’t let her attitude trick you—she just likes to keep her feelings to herself.” Anna’s pictures remind him of Damian in some ways. The very intentional lack of a smile but the happiness still seeps through anyways. One of her pictures has her cuddling with two rottweiler puppies in classic Damian style. Another one shows her a bit older, on Jason’s shoulders, surveying the land.
You turn to the next page, “And Laine, uh, Elaine,” you smile, “She’s a bit eccentric. She lives in her own world but she’ll bring you into it with her. She likes magic and glitter and offbeat things.” Laine’s pictures leave a particular warmth in his heart. She has the absolute widest smile and the brightest eyes he’s ever seen. One photo shows her having a picnic with several stuffed animals, another has her drawing a rainbow with sidewalk chalk. One picture towards the bottom of the page grabs his eye, one of Laine happily braiding Cass’ short hair at what appears to be the Manor.
“And then the little one is Aurora—Rory,” You turn to a page full of pictures of the wide-eyed girl, who has the sweetest baby face. He can tell from the pictures alone that she has your personality. You point to a picture of her giggling with bubbles all in her hair as you explain, “She’s still small but she has a big heart and a very sensitive soul already.” Jason’s practically staring a hole in the picture of Rory as a newborn in the hospital, held delicately by Bruce.
You play with the hair at the nape of his neck as he processes quietly, letting him take his time.
“They’re happy?” He asks in a whisper.
“We’re happy.” You say affirmingly. He looks you in the eyes and you see a specific vulnerability in his that you haven’t seen in a long time. “You are a good dad, Jay.”
He’s still surprised that you can read him like a book, even though at this point you’d have been together for at least fifteen-some years. His eyes burn and he’s not sure he can keep it together. But you dig the knife in all the same, “They love you. A lot. We couldn’t live without you.”
You flip through until you find a page later in the book, plopping it back open fully. The first picture he takes note of shows him outside with picked flowers scattered in his hair wherever they’ll stay put, Laine and Rory trying to straighten them out. Another is of Anna hesitantly feeding a horse an apple, Jason crouched next to her, reassuring her. On the other page, Rory is mid-air being thrown into an absolutely massive leaf pile, glee adorning her face. He turns the page to find one of the girls with a red hoodie pulled over her head and a makeshift mask made from a red plastic plate with holes cut out for the eyes. One has Mia resting against his back, passed out, as he helps Ryan tie off a friendship bracelet on her wrist.
This isn’t—he doesn’t deserve this. This can’t be true, this is more than a happy ending and he’d never even expected you to love him this long, let alone give him the world and then some. He stares at the page for a while, trying to burn every detail into his head.
You tear your gaze away from his face to glance at the clock on the side table, muttering, “Oh shit. Hang on.”
His eyes follow you as you stand from the bed and walk across the room to the door, cracking it open a few inches before shouting out, “Bed!”
There’s a brief delay before a clamor starts towards them, all five girls thumping up the stairs.
You turn back to him, heedfully, “You can stay in here if you want. They’re a little…a lot.” You say tentatively. Well, if there’s anything he’s accustomed to it’s big families with bigger personalities.
Jason lingers behind you as you enter the hallway, looking like a little kid in an unfamiliar place. Whatever conversations were going on downstairs have simply moved location, no urgency present whatsoever to continue on with the progression of the night. You’re trying to verbally corral them towards their respective bedrooms, but it’s a tough job with two clear headed parents on a good day.
He stands frozen in the midst of the clutter of them as they rattle off to you and to each other. He’s scared to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. He doesn’t want to upset or alarm them. But because he is their father, they don’t need him to do anything strange to realize that he’s being strange.
Ryan squints up at him, “What’s wrong with you?”
The question grabs Laine’s attention and she looks to you with wide eyes, “What’s wrong with Dad?”
You shake your head, “Nothing’s—”
“He’s not having a stroke already, is he?” Anna faints, no alarm in her words. Mia thumps the back of her head for that with no returning acknowledgement given by Anna.
Ryan is looking at him like she’s sizing him up. Something you did not get a chance to tell him about Ryan is that she can smell blood in the water like a shark. So it’s not surprising to you that she picks up on Jason’s disoriented state.
“Father?” She calls out sweetly.
You sigh, “Ryan—”
“No, it’s okay. I want to ask dad specifically.” She turns him away from you with a smile. She doesn’t know what’s going on and she doesn’t need to. She’s an opportunist like that. “Could I have the last popsicle?”
Anna cuts in harshly, “You better n—”
“Hey Annie, few notes for ya,” Ryan says with widened eyes and a pointed finger, “One, you shouldn’t interrupt your father, it’s disrespectful,” Anna’s face contorts at that, and she’s about to bite back but she’s cut off quickly by Ryan’s dedication to dishing out her hypocritical sermon. “Two, you shouldn’t interrupt me because it’s potentially the single greatest sin you’ll ever—”
Alright, you gave her a chance to turn it around, she’s done now. “No, you’re all going to bed now and if you’re lucky that popsicle is still there when you get home from school tomorrow.” You tell Ryan with a pointed look. She gives you a half-hearted glare, absolutely nothing compared to her real one.
“Mom, you said—” Mia throws her hands up as she recounts a promise that you may or may not have given her, it’s anyone’s guess.
Then Anna starts up, “That’s not fair, I called—”
Rory pipes up from behind you. “We’re supposed to read our story first.”
You inhale sharply, turning to face her, “Oh—” you crouch down to her level, holding her waist. “How about I read it tonight, Rory?”
She frowns, “Daddy always reads it.”
Ryan taps on Jason’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Dad, listen,” she says lowly, like she’s trying to get him in on the deal of the century. “Anna doesn’t deserve it, she’s rooting for you to stroke out—”
You frown at Rory with repentance, “I know sweetheart, but—”
Laine looks quite contemplative as she announces, “It’s unholy to break tradition.”
You scrunch up your face and swivel your head to her, “What?”
This declaration does enough to break Ryan away from her scheme. She turns to her and says flatly, “You haven’t said anything that makes sense in like two weeks.”
Jason’s mind is going a mile a minute, trying to process the fifteen things that are going on all at once and take in the fact that these are his children. His daughters and they’re so loud and opinionated and bold and he loves it. He thinks this is the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. Hell, he’d take this over heaven a million times over.
“Mom. Mom!” Mia urges, “Can you help me?”
Your head stutters between your daughters, “I—yeah. Rory, just—”
“I can do it.” He says quietly.
“Yeah?” You look up at him, hopefully, genuinely delighted that he wants to jump into this mess without the twelve years of prep that you’re dependent on.
“Yeah.” He nods, determined and you and Rory smile up at him. Mia all but yanks you up from the floor, pulling you to her room and you can just barely make out Ryan’s hushed murmur of, “I’m getting the popsicle…”
Rory takes Jason’s hand, drowning her own in his. She leads him to the pink bedroom with all the toys, and climbs onto the unicorn bed, shoving all but a few of the stuffed animals onto the floor. Elaine follows close behind and does the same with her own bed, though the only one she keeps is Pickles.
He stands next to the bed a bit awkwardly as she pulls a book off the table next to her, the length of the book easily taking up half her arms. It takes her looking up at him expectantly for him to get the hint, shuffling to squeeze in next to her on the small bed.
She hands him the book and he regards it with a smile. Little Women. He pauses as he starts to open it, “Where, um…where did we leave off?”
She looks at him funny, smiling like he’s messing with her. She flips the book open a little more than halfway through and stops on chapter fifteen. She presses her pointer finger down to the start of the chapter with a thump. “Right here.”
Jason takes a steadying breath and begins reading in the same soft voice he reads to you in, and it seems to appease both girls. He’s not processing what he’s saying as he sits there with his littlest daughter tucked into his side and hanging on to every last word. He can feel her breathing in and out softly and it all feels so surreal now.
““I don't think you'll blame me, for I only sold what was my own." As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short.” Rory giggles as Laine gasps, and Jason can feel the rhythm of his heart fluttering in a new way.
He reads to the end of the chapter and returns the book to its place on the side table, and reluctantly pulls away from Rory, standing up again. He tucks her nicely, if not inexperienced, into the sheets and kisses her forehead. She immediately holds out her toy bear, silently requesting the same treatment for him. Jason kisses the bear too, happily. He does the same for Laine, taking particular note of the way she hugs Pickles to her chest tightly.
He starts towards the door, but is quickly put to a halt. “Wait,” Laine calls out. He turns back to her wide-eyed, terrified he did something wrong. “The lights,” she says, looking up to the ceiling at the dangling stars. Oh, right. She watches him skeptically as he innocently looks around for the switch, and Rory tilts her head at him, not sure what he’s playing at.
“It’s right there,” Rory points with a mildly sullen look to where the mechanism dangles near the outlet. Jason quickly flicks the lights on, the soft orange-pink glow of stars illuminating against the walls. Rory’s pleased enough and adjusts to get more comfortable in her bed.
Laine however, hisses out a, “Hey,” gesturing him towards her. He sidesteps the tea table and comes around to her side of the room, kneeling down by her bed attentively. She glances over at Rory before asking in a hushed voice, “Are you an alien?”
That, he wasn’t expecting. “...What?”
She shakes her head reassuringly, “It’s okay, I won’t tell. But um…I would like my dad back eventually please. If that’s okay.”
His breath stutters and he forces out an, “O—okay.”
She holds out her pinky and it takes him a second to register what she’s asking. He wordlessly pinky promises her and she smiles big, pleased with the agreement.
He stands again, feeling light headed as he heads for the door.
“Goodnight, Daddy,” Rory murmurs against the pillow, watching him leave.
His gaze flickers back and forth from them to make sure they like having the door closed, Rory watches him bemusedly and Laine nods at him slyly with a twinkle in her eyes. “Goodnight, Dad.”
“Goodnight,” He exhales, not as loud as he meant to. He clicks the door shut softly and there’s a warmth in his chest that he could get addicted to.
He wanders down the hall towards the sound of your voice, passing Anna and Ryan climbing under their covers and murmuring something to each other, half eaten popsicle in the ladders hand. He passes the staircase, peering his head into the next room over. His eyes immediately land on you and Mia stood in front of an armoire, shuffling through clothes having an exchange of considerative words.
Mia’s room is very neat and put together, everything is placed with much more intention than in the other girls rooms. Her room has more mellow colors too, largely white with soft shades of pastels throughout. There’s a desk with organized notebooks and multiple vases of flowers, with bundles of yarn placed nicely in a basket in the corner. A tall bookshelf is filled with fifty-some books with a violin case leaning up against it. Nail polishes rest beside a jewelry box on the side table next to her bed. She also has picture frames across the walls, some containing photos of flora, others of the family, and a few of what appears to be her own sketches.
“—worried it’s too showy, you know?”
You hum, “I don’t think so, I mean, not for picture day.”
Mia turns to Jason, shirt held up against her body. “What do you think?”
He takes a second to bounce back from the surprise of being asked the question, “I, uh…I like it.”
You smile at him as Mia faces you again, “Okay, so this with that flowy lilac skirt?”
“The lilac…yeah, that would be cute.”
She nods pleased, draping the shirt over the back of the armchair in the corner.
You and Jason head out of the room, closing the door on your way out so she can change into her pajamas.
“Goodnight!” she calls out through the crack in the door. You and Jason return it in sync, clicking the door closed. You hold his hand as you walk past the twins' open door, giving them the same sentiment with Jason’s own following quickly after. They call it out back, louder than necessary, and you close your bedroom door behind the two of you.
You rest against the door and he leans his head back against the wall next to you, glancing over at you. “I won’t remember any of this?” He seems dejected at the idea, not happy to have been handed the world and then having it swiped from his memory immediately after.
You consider it for a second, shaking your head, “I don’t think so.”
He’s quiet for a bit, thinking. “Do you have a marker?”
“A marker?” You look around casually, “Uh, yeah.” You unclip a sharpie from the mini calendar pinned against the wall, tossing it to him. You watch curiously as he holds his forearm out in front of him, popping the lid off with his mouth.
The light in the room starts to dim dramatically until his vision is completely dark. The pull of gravity on his body feels wrong and a pang of fire shoots against the side of his head.
“Hood.” He hears in the darkness, “Hood.” The commanding voice startles him awake once again. “Are you alright?”
He blinks up at Batman blearily, feeling like he’s just gotten hit over the head with a chair. “What…what—”
“The Clock King. He threw some sort of device at you. It knocked you out for a few minutes. Are you alright?”
He feels dizzy. “Uh…yeah.”
He cranes his head to glance over at where the Clock King is hunched over on the ground, handcuffed, inspecting the cartridge of his device closely. “Damn it, I knew it wasn’t right. Meant to knock him into the past.” He tells Nightwing like it’s some common mistake they can bond over.
Nightwing moues at him, “I don’t care?”
Knock him into the—did he go to the future? He can’t get his thoughts in order, let alone summon memories from the future. Frankly, it doesn’t matter that much to him right now—he’s sore and wants to just fall asleep next to you.
He sits up slowly, grimacing as the pain in his head sharpens for a moment. Batman clasps his hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. “Can you stand?”
Hood grunts and pushes himself up, anchoring his weight against the ground. “Fuck. I’m going home.”
Batman says nothing to protest, instead joining Nightwing and pulling The Clock King up from the ground. Jason stumbles away towards his bike, thankful that he’s only a couple miles away from your apartment. Jesus, the future? You’re not going to believe that shit.
He climbs onto the bike with a groan, pushing up his sleeves as he prepares to start the bike. He doesn’t notice it until he revs it, but when he looks down at his left arm, he sees scribbled on his arm in sharpie:
WE’RE HAPPY
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More Posts from Safiyahswrld and Others
"What the fuck," Jason mutters under his breath as the strong smell of blood invades his nostrils. He dropped the pizza boxes, abandoning Roy and Artemis at the door as he bolted throughout his childhood friend's apartment.
His mind was racing. His heart was beating fast. He just texted you an hour ago while he was at the store, asking you what your favourite toppings were. What the fuck is this luck??
He stops and stares at the trail of blood leading to your door. His breath hitches.
"No," He starts. "No. Nono. No. Nonononononono--" He rambles as his hand gripped the doorknob.
He opens the door. His eyes widen like dinner plates.
"Oh. Hey!" You smiled cheerfully, breathing heavily as if you'd ran a mile. A dead man lays on your bed, a knife struck to his neck and stab wound on his stomach.
"Didn't care to knock?" You sigh, wiping the blood off your hands. "Sorry for the mess. Assassins, these days suck absolute ass. Can't imagine someone paying for bad service."
Dinner, Dinner!
—jason misses your anniversary dinner, but makes it up to you…MDNI
"Would you like to browse our dessert menu, madam?" The waiter asks in a thick French accent as he stretches his arm out to pour your second glass of wine.
Your brain is fogged as your fingers fiddle with the stem of the glass as you swirl the crimson liquid around, splashing all sides of the glass.
"Madam?" The waiter repeats. You hadn't even realized you hadn't answered his previous question. You flick your eyes to his.
"I…um—sorry, can you repeat the question?" Your mind is clouded with a storm of fury and hurt. Jason, your boyfriend, had forgotten your anniversary dinner, leaving you to endure the sympathetic glances of strangers as they noticed the empty seat across from you.
"Of course, madam. I asked if you would like to see the dessert menu," the waiter repeats, his voice a distant echo. You turn your head to the empty seat in front of you, the thought of enduring the restaurant's atmosphere a daunting prospect.
"Could I just have the cremé brûlée?" You finally ask, your eyes still fixed on the empty seat, your voice trembling slightly. "In a to-go box, please."
It was the first dessert you and Jason shared at this very restaurant, three years ago today.
"Of course," the waiter said curtly, turning slightly before you raised your voice.
"And, um, could you take the other wine glass?" You awkwardly ask. He simply nods again, carefully placing the stem between his index and middle fingers upside down before turning away to tend to another table.
You should just leave.
It was clear he wasn't coming.
A light smile etched into your face as the waiter set the to-go box with the fancy dessert. You carefully reached into your purse, steadily gripping your wallet to pay. The waiters brought his hands up, shaking his head side-to-side.
"Please. No payment is necessary, madam. Enjoy the dessert," he says kindly. You sniffle, a stray tear falling down your face. You nod gently, issuing a strained, 'Thank you.'
He curtly nods, turning to go back into the kitchen. You gather your things, including the dessert, and move to walk out of the front door.
Upon stepping outside, you are met with the cold Gotham air. Your dress even sways in the wind as you walk, and your heels clank against the pavement.
The walk home wasn't too long, maybe six minutes or so, but God, did it feel like an eternity. All you could think about was how hurt and disappointed you were and what you would say to Jason when you inevitably saw him.
Your brain tried to conjure all the reasons he didn't show.
Did he forget, or did he purposefully not come?
Now, you knew it couldn't be the latter, Jason wasn't a dick.
He was just an idiot.
Your thoughts continued as you stuck your key in the lock and carefully twisted it to unlock your front door, pushing it open quickly.
You set your purse down on a table next to the door, glancing at a framed photo of you and Jason happily eating ice cream on Jason's birthday last year.
You felt sick.
You quickly flick your attention away as your eyes begin to well with hot tears, easing your way into the kitchen. You stand on the cold tile for a minute before getting a sudden inspiration rush.
You didn't want to think about him any longer tonight. You'd prepare a hot tea, watch a movie, or perhaps even read a good book.
Yes. That sounded like a fine plan.
As you were steeping the leaves in hot water, a knock on the front door pulled your attention away. You left the bag too steep and returned to the door. Pulling the door open, you were met with Red Hood—aka your boyfriend, Jason—gripping a bouquet of fresh flowers.
You're tempted to slam the door in his pretty face, but you don't—not yet, anyway.
"I'm an asshole," he says, his voice distorted from his modulator.
The sight was ridiculous; if you weren't so pissed, you'd laugh.
He realizes the absurdity of the situation. "God damn, fuckin' helmet," he irritably gruffs, ripping off his helmet. Your eyes widen, your mouth hanging open.
Anyone could simply walk by and figure out who the highly sought-after vigilante was.
"Jason, you can't just—get inside!" You grip his arm, dragging him inside the confines of your home—an action you immediately regret.
"Fuck, baby," he begins. "I'm—I'm so sorry," his tone is sincere as he anxiously drags his hands through his hair.
"I looked like an idiot, Jason," you breathe out, reaching for the bouquet of flowers he brought.
Hell, it wasn't their fault Jason was stupid.
"I know—" he says, following you into your kitchen as you fill a vase with water for the flowers.
"A fucking idiot," you snap, setting the flowers gently into the water. You reach for a pair of scissors. "I requested an extra wine glass when I sat down, and I had to be the one to tell him to take it away," you angrily say, snipping some of the leaves off.
"Baby, I'm really, really sorry. I got caught up with—"
"Where were you?" You set the scissors down, turning to look at him.
"Dick needed some help scouting a potential crime circuit in Blüdhaven," he sighs. "He told me it wouldn't take long. Should've known better," he wipes his hand over his face, hissing at the contact.
Your eyes sweep over his face, taking note of the fresh cuts and bruises that now taint his face. Fresh blood prickled from some; others were caked in layers of it.
"Are you hurt?" You ask, concern lacing your words.
He raises a brow. "Don't worry about me, Sweetheart. I'll be alright. I'm more concerned about you," he admits honestly.
"You're bleeding," you observe, wincing at the sight.
"Just a hair," he lightly smiles. "I'm okay."
Sure, you were pissed at your boyfriend, but you wouldn't let him be in agony like he was.
He was bleeding, for God's sake.
"Let me clean them up," you simply say.
"No, no. I'm fine—" he began, shaking his head lightly.
"Please," you insist.
He huffs, then accepts defeat. He takes your hand stretched out and follows you to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet as you fumble through your medicine cabinet to gather band-aids and Neosporin.
"I hope it's okay. I, um, only have these band-aids," you awkwardly say, holding up a box with a familiar blue hero on the cover.
"Baby, why do you have Nightwing band-aides?" He questions skeptically.
"Dick brought them to white elephant last year, and I got stuck with them," you lightly laugh. "He's a horrible gift-giver."
Jason laughs. "Promise to remind me to take them off before I leave. He cannot see me with these on. He'd have a damn field day," he grumbles as you laugh.
"I promise I'll remind you," you affirm, pulling a small step ladder in front of him so you could sit before carefully squirting a bit of the ointment out onto your pointer finger and pressing it to each of Jason's cuts.
He barely winces or whines as you continue the action, delicately tending to each cut. His eyes wander to yours, focusing heavily with determination on what you are doing, even sticking your tongue out to concentrate.
"I don't deserve this," he heaves as you open some band-aids.
"What? To have ten Nightwing band-aides on you all at once?" You laugh, carefully laying each of the band-aids over the cuts.
He snickers. "That and you taking care of me."
You pull back slightly. "What?"
"I ruined our anniversary tonight. I left you alone in that restaurant and, look at you, still taking care of me," he exasperates. "I don't deserve you."
You frown. "Don't say that. I mean, ya, it was shitty, but just because you did something shitty one time or even twice doesn't make you undeserving of my love, Jason," you gently say, fingers moving to caress his jaw on their own volition.
He leans into your hand. "I just don't want to lose you. I love you."
Jason and you have exchanged hundreds, if not thousands, of "I love yous" throughout your relationship, but this one felt different.
It felt more like a sacred prayer spilling from his lips—a tender plea from the depths of his soul. It felt all that much more divine.
You found yourself leaning to kiss his lips, your hands moving to thread through his hair. His lips instantly moved with yours, and his hand gripped your cheek.
It was a tender kiss—an 'I'm sorry,' wrapped in an 'It's okay.'
As the seconds passed, the kiss became more fervent—urgent. You even slipped off the step ladder and moved onto Jason's lap. He welcomed you with open arms, encasing you tightly with each of his hands on your hips as you straddled him.
Your hands glided through his hair messily and eagerly as his hands massaged the fat of your hips. You let out a whine that Jason catches as he slips his tongue in your mouth.
You find yourself rocking against him, desperate for friction. He groans, gripping your thighs tightly as he stands with you, guiding you towards your bedroom.
Never once did your lips disconnect.
He gently lays you on the bed as he hastily sheds his boots, armored jacket, gloves, and pants. Your breathing is labored as you follow suit, gingerly slipping off your simple black dress and kicking off your heels, revealing your matching red bra and pantie set you had worn.
Jason stands in front of you in nothing but his boxers, eyes soaking you in.
"What?" You question nervously, feeling self-conscious with his eyes so focused on you.
"Did you—did you wear that for me?" He asks lazily.
Your lips quip. "Duh. Who else?" You giggle. "You like it?"
He lets out a dry laugh, moving to hover over your body, sticking his arm out to stabilize himself so as not to crush you. "I think I need to take a closer look," he cheekily says, moving his mouth closer to the strap of the bra, taking it between his teeth, pulling a little, then flicking it back. You let out a small whine, feeling the fabric snap back on your skin.
"Sure is sturdy," he observes, fingers coming to slip it down your shoulder. "And a nice color," he murmurs into your shoulder, sending goosebumps down your arm.
"Ya?" You idly question as his lips skim your collarbone.
"Mhm. It's very nice, Baby," he mumbles into your skin, fingers moving to skim the band of your panties. "And these," he begins. "Don't even get me started." He lightly nips your skin with his teeth, eliciting another whine.
His fingers slip under the band, pulling them down so they sit around your lower thighs. "Ah, there she is," he coos, cupping your dripping cunt with his hand.
"Jason," you moan, pushing yourself into his hand more.
"What, Baby?" His words were low and dragged out, almost breathy.
"I—I need more," you groan, hand moving to rest on his hand on you, encouraging more movement from him.
"I'll do you one better," he takes his hand away, making you frown, though he moves to slip his boxers down, showcasing his erect cock.
He strokes himself once before guiding himself into your entrance, leaning down to kiss your temple lightly as he pushes himself inside your cunt. You hiss at the contact, gripping his shoulders tightly.
He groans as one of his hands comes to grip behind your neck, and the other moves to lift your leg up slightly so he can grip your thigh, giving a better angle as he moves at a consistent pace.
A desperate mewl escapes your mouth as his pace fastens. Jason's hand has moved to rest on your breast in your bra as he throws his head back, groaning and spewing curses.
You sit up slightly, gripping his neck, pulling him down to your lips. He kisses you roughly, even sucking your bottom lip in the process. You bring your leg up to wrap around his torso, pushing him even more deeply; he groans as his hand slides to grip the hinge of your leg.
"Jay, I'm gonna—" You begin breathlessly.
"I know, Baby. I know," he purrs into your mouth. "Feel so good."
You grip his neck tighter, lips pressing into his shakily, as you feel yourself tighten around him. All you have had to do was moan his name into his mouth to have him following suit, even moving one hand to grip the sheets beneath as he comes.
You're both gasping for air. Jason eases himself out of you and plops beside you, pulling you close so your face rests on his chest.
"As far as orgasms go, that one was great," you pant, fingers moving to trace the lines between Jason's abs.
"Ya? Do I get a golden star?" He tuts, fingers playing with your hair.
"Sorry, Babe. I only give golden stars for extra credit," you jest, looking up at him.
"Extra credit, you say?" He asks, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "I think I can do that." He lifts up abruptly, getting off the bed.
"What're you—" You begin to question before he's tugging you towards him by your ankles, planting his face in between your legs.
"Jay!" You shriek, though make no effort to move as his tongue lapses at your sensitive clit.
"I really want that golden star," he mumbles into you.
a/n: finally finished this fic that has been haunting my drafts for months upon months ( ͡ಥ ͜ʖ ͡ಥ)
reblogs & comments are encouraged!
Oh, He’s Big Big 18+
Thinking about Jason Todd just being big. Big hands, big cock, even bigger heart. Practically pawing at you, able to hold the plush softness of your thighs when you’re sitting on his face, hands large enough to encircle your entire wrists. Cock the size of a monster can, splitting you open so that you feel in it your throat when he’s fucking you into the bed. Being sore for days after a quickie. Jason who cares so much. Will be there any time of day or night if you need him and will break a few noses along the way.
That’s it. Send tweet.
Y’all can find it cringe or get mad that some writers make a literal fictional character use a certain pet name all you want bc “hE’s jApAneSe hE wOuldN’T sPweAk lIke DaT🤓😡🤬🤬😤” well guess what? He wouldn’t speak fluent English in the first place, would probably be attracted to women from his country only, wouldn’t be a drug dealer, a cop, an Onlyfans content creator, a frat boy, a nerd, a mob boss, an actual good father, a CEO, a Chernobyl reactor or whatever the fuck either. But even though it’s headcanon and in some cases, it wouldn’t even be accurate with the fact that hE’s JaPanEse, y’all still enjoy that. You know why? Because it’s fan👏🏾fictions👏🏾about👏🏾a👏🏾fictional👏🏾character👏🏾
You can dislike it, it’s only normal and it’s only human but using his ethnicity and assuming how someone who doesn’t even exist would speak bc you don’t like something is hypocritical af when y’all are the same ppl liking the content mentioned above.
If you don’t like a specific content, go about your day, if it’s problematic, call it out if you want to. But don’t get all pissy and call out the same thing you’re enjoying. Thank you.
typing this laying in bed forcing myself to sleep but my brain wants to write so headcanon format it is.
thinning about ak!jason who has no idea that after his ‘death’ that you went insane looking for him. but you were no detective, you weren’t in the police field, you were just jason todd’s girlfriend.
but you damn well did everything you could, from begging bruce, to sneaking into offices, looking for nightwing, anything.
you taught yourself to use a gun to search places alone. jason would scold you for doing such a thing for him but you didn’t care, not when you knew he was alive.
you didn’t know.. but your gut feeling told you he was. a body was never found, nothing. you refused to believe it.
“you didn’t find anything? no pieces of his suit? no blood? nothing!?” you screamed and cried at batman, desperate, grieving.
“i’ve looked-“
“no! you didn’t! because if you did look everywhere you would’ve found something! all this technology and you still couldn’t track the location?”
“it’s not that simple.”
“right, because you aren’t the greatest detective in the world”
you tried to distract yourself with work but it was no use, not when you came home opening the spare bedroom door to your mess of a room. papers everywhere, maps, pictures, you would’ve seemed insane to any normal person.
you were exhausted, too many dreams of him in front of you but that’s all it was. dreams.
one night, you felt someone push your hair behind your ear. instantly, like jason taught you, you grabbed the knife under your pillow and went to slash at the intruder but the knife made a thud as it hit the floor.
a hand, gently, wraps around your wrist.
you blink your eyes awake, taking in the person in your home.
jason.
no. it’s another dream.
“you’ve gotta be quicker than that, sweetheart.”
you don’t speak, still taking in what’s going on. the light from the moon just barley shows his face.
“hey don’t cry baby, it’s okay.”
you back away, unable to take another hallucination.
“no.. this isn’t real. you can’t be here. i haven’t found you yet.”
“i’m right here, baby.”
shaking your head, you back into the corner of your bed, making yourself as small as you can.
“no, i have to find him. i have to find jason!”
“look at me, sweet girl.”
you can’t tear your face from your arms, so he softly pulls your face up with both hands, wiping your tears,
“i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere ever again.”
the closer he is, the more you notice the difference in his features.
the j on his face, the scars, but his eyes,
his sweet beautiful eyes still look at you with love.
“i’m so sorry.” you give in, real or not, you hug him.
he hates it, after everything he’s been through he can’t take the affection. but for you? for you he’d do anything.
so he lets you cry into him, squeezing him tight, even if he can’t be the jason you loved, he holds you all the same.
sobbing into his chest, “i tried so hard to find you”
“i know you did sweetheart, i saw the room. but it wasn’t your job to find me.”
“don’t say that, you’re the love of my life. i would rather die than stop looking.”
“you did good.”
“i didn’t. you still had to find me.”
“i’d climb out of my grave and crawl back home to you, i’ll always find you.”
“please don’t let this be a dream.”
“i’m right here.”
he holds you until the sun rises, rocking back and forth slightly. he’ll tell you about it all later, for now, he just wants you close.
size kinks and jason todd laying you flat on your stomach, your bed faces the mirror and one of his hands keeps your hands pressed flat against your back while the other is pressed against the back of your neck. the position doesn't help considering jason was already huge, it felt like he was bruising every part of you and he knew it "c'mon baby.. take it all" " 's too big sir.. slower" "nuh uh, you like mouthing off so much, you're so big and strong right baby? stay still and fucking take it"
with bruce wayne i feel like it's a little different, it's more subtle. he doesn't mock you the way that jason does, its simply something that's in the air. it's on display whenever he holds you up with one arm firmly wrapped around your neck and the other wrapped around your torso. your back pressed against his chest and he completely dwarfs you, and he knows you like it "that's it... such a pretty girl, taking me so well. fuck, fits like a glove."
tw!! talk of sa
I know Arkham Knight happened in one night, but i’m spreading it out slightly for the sake of the story.
You suddenly understood why every woman in Arkham looked numb.
As you walked out of Jefferson’s office, you didn’t flinch at the yelling from the office next door, as you usually would. You walked past the group of patients that would make obscene comments about you.
You found yourself in your room, staring blankly at the white peeling wall.
You wanted Jason. You wanted him to find you, to find out what happened. You wanted him to hurt Jefferson, the same way you’ve watched him in his Robin suit hurt men that have touched you.
You grab your pillow, and scream into it, possibly annoying other patients but you didn’t care. All you wanted was for it to get out.
The small visiting room seemed smaller when Dick Grayson was in it.
You looked at the crayons on the table, breaking them in half as Dick spoke to you.
“He’s being investigated.” Dick says quietly, choosing not to sit on the only couch, not wanting to intrude. “But with the luck people have had with Arkhams staff..”
Dick sighs and leans back against the wall, looking at you. “Until he’s gone, we’ve had them switch out your psychiatrist.”
His words make you look up.
“You mean- this wasn’t enough to get me out of here?” You say stiffly, your hands trembling around the broken crayons. “So what, your just going to trust another fucked up staff member? He fucking assaulted me Dick!” Your voice gets higher throughout the sentence.
“We didn’t know an assistant was taking over, Reader. They didn’t tell anything to us about it. We would have- we would have investigated him before he ever came close to talking to you.”
You snort. “Like that makes a difference for me to know that?”
Dicks fists clench. You knew he wasn’t angry at you, he was angry at himself. Mostly Bruce, who hasn’t spoken to you once since he put you in Arkham. Although, you know he’s still a part of it, as you get sent gift baskets from Alfred weekly.
“This.. this is the best place for you right now.” Dick says, exhaustion seeping into his words. He doesn’t sound like he believes it, either.
“I hate you.” You whisper harshly, rubbing the crayons against the table.
“I know.”
The first sign you realized something was wrong, was when security lessened in Arkham.
Staff members were getting fired left and right. You assume it was Bruce, finally taking charge of Arkham and firing all of the twisted staff.
You walked down one of the catwalks, walking down the stairs to look at the lunch tables, driving where to sit, when you heard the television.
“Man charged with biting someone-“ Normal. “In a laundry unit after victim heard him screaming at himself.”
Zombie apocalypse? Gothams probably already had one.
You shake your head and walk over to one of the corner tables, sliding into the seat and setting your tray on the table. A woman sits down across from you, but pays no attention as she keeps to herself.
You stuff the slop into your mouth, because as much as you hated the food, you wanted to look like yourself when Jason came back.
If.
When.
Fuck.
You slam the tray of slop, on the edge of the table, making it fly off the table and onto the ground. The woman’s cross from you flinches but doesn’t react.
You can’t believe that your losing the idea that Jason’s alive. Maybe Jefferson fucked you up more than you thought.
“Oh shit- look how fucked up the guy looks!”
Your gaze moves to the television, where they show the victim of the biting man. Your eyebrows furrow are the image. *Is that allowed on the news*?
“Fuck- imagine being known as the guy who bit someone.”
“Carol, you used to eat your victims hair.”
You scrunch your nose and focus on the television instead of the patients conversations.
The second time you realized something was different, was when they shut off the news in the rec rooms.
You checked with the male block, and one had informed you that theirs was shut off too.
Gothams news was something people were used to. What was so horrific, that they wouldn’t show Arkhams patients?
With the lessening staff, you noticed more and more fights break out. It felt different than the years you’ve been here. There wasn’t the threat of a nurse with a syringe behind you at every problem.
You’ve started tying your doorknob to your bed frame just in case.
At night, you felt your bed frame jiggling. You bolted upright to see your neighbor trying to open the door, and you quickly walked over.
Visiting has gotten usual with her, since her guard had gotten fired.
You let her in before shutting the door behind her, and turn to face her. “What?”
She, Anna, looks at you with a grin. “They’ve given him a name.”
You look at her weirdly before walking over to your bed and sitting down. “Who?”
“The guy whose been dropping fear gas everywhere. Didn’t you hear Steph talking about it?”
Steph- a patient whose boyfriend works as a journalist.
“No- I barely talk to her.” You mumble, watching as Anna walks over to your dresser and grabs a baked good from the gift basket. “So a guy has been behind these weird attacks?”
Anna nods, her lips pursed together as she chooses form your stash. “Apparently no one can find anything out about him. Only knows he’s working with Scarecrow. Do you like these?” She holds up a blueberry muffin and you wave her off to take it. “So he like- calls himself the Arkham Knight. Or at least, that’s what Stephs boyfriend said.”
You snort. “Wonder who he’s after.”
Anna nods, raising her eyebrows sarcastically. “Yet he’s the first villain to name himself after Batman. If I had the money to become a high class villain, that would’ve been my first idea.”
You watch as she bites into one of the muffins. “No one’s as smart as you, Anna.” You say, sarcastically, but she doesn’t ever notice that.
You look at the barred window in your room, and get up, walking over to it. Only the tips of your fingertips can reach it, so all your able to see is the top of a tree growing next to Arkham.
“Arkham Knight.” You mumble to yourself. “Let’s hope your different than the others.”
𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐬
Jason Todd x dragon trainer!reader
Summary: after a portal mysteriously opened in your world, setting all of your dragons loose, you must find a way to take them all back home before it's too late and before you catch feelings for a certain cute guy in a red helmet
Warnings: none; some mild cussing, reader wears glasses and jay's a bit awkward lol
Word count: 3.8k
A/N: first fic ever yay! I was rewatching HTTYD and this idea came to me and who am I to deny the muses of writing
Jason knew this patrol was going to be a tough one.
The usual gloomy Gotham night had a sort of electric tension to it, putting everyone on edge.
As he finished securing the guns on his holsters, a deafening roar made him jump out of his skin.
It was nothing like he had ever heard before: the sound seemed like it came from above his building complex, akin to that of a thousand lions. A loud thump shook the whole building and Jason peeked his head out of the window, watching as people on the streets were running away from flames, screaming in terror.
He sighed warily, grabbing more magazines than usual and hurrying down the fire escape, too preoccupied to reach his bike and go to the Batcave to tell them what the fuck was going on than to look back out of the kitchen window, where a pair of giant eyes was watching him leave his apartment.
As he rounded the corner of his building in a hurry, so close to reaching his bike in the garage, he abruptly stopped as he was face to face - or better yet, face to snout - with the humongous muzzle of a giant lizard.
Or at least that's what he thought it was until the creature opened his mouth and emitted scorching flames too close for his comfort.
Jason backed up, his mind running a hundred miles an hour.
"Hey there, buddy..." He tried to coax the thing, whowas eyeing him with a blood-lust gaze.
Jason gulped, not too sure about his helmet's fire resistance anymore.
The thing was at least 10 feet tall and just as big, if not more. The scales on its body reflected the streetlamp light, giving it a more menacing look and steam seemed to come out of every pore on its body.
As both of them kept looking at each other, none of them relenting, Jason swiftly pulled out his gun, aiming it at the creature just as quickly.
Frightened by the sudden movement, the giant lizard thingy that he didn't want to call a dragon but that looked scarily similar to one, screeched, causing Jason to let go of his gun and clutch at his helmet in pain, the noise unbearable.
The dragon -yes, he was going to call it that- stumbled again and zeroed in his fire breath directly on his garage door, melting the metal panel.
"Shit!" Jason took several steps back to shield himself from the heat.
The dragon kept at it for several seconds, but all the damage was already done. As it took one final look around, it flew away, its huge wings taking out the flames.
Jason stood there in silence, the chaos of the outside world drowning out all of his thoughts as he stared at his bike, just the two silver handles barely visible in the otherwise pile of melted metal and burnt leather.
His chest heaved uncontrollably, just know realizing what he saw.
Suddenly, his comms activated, the shrill of Dick's screaming making him frown in irritation.
"Everybody, we've got dragons in Gotham!"
"No shit, Dickhead," Jason deadpanned, still looking at what remained of his bike.
"Oracle, I need a ride to the Batcave. Now."
You had spent the whole day tending to your dragon, Obsidian, as he had quickly gotten bored of his play buddies that he usually hung out by the lake with and had decided to bother you while you were studying.
"You big baby," you cooed at him, scratching his chin with your left your hand as you continued typing on your laptop, one paragraph of your final essay almost finished.
After completing your bachelor degree, you had decided to open a dragon sanctuary with your best friend from college after seeing so many of them getting mistreated and abused.
In the area where you lived, dragons were sadly thought as being more of a nuisance than loyal companions, thus leading everyone to think that they weren’t worthy of love and shelter.
The first dragon you had ever rescued was Obsidian, discovering him near your local park after a morning jog.
His little paws were sticking out of the half-burned box he was laying in and you couldn't resist his big amber eyes staring at you, so you took him home, much to your parents' chagrin.
Now here you were, nearly two years later and almost finishing your thesis with a huge, sassy dragon resting his head on your lap and demanding scritches behind his horns.
"You're so cute, Obi," you smiled down at him.
The dragon responded by gently nuzzling his head further into your lap, a low purring rumbling through your whole body.
"So cute, such a cutesy, lovely-" your cooing was cut short by a large swooshing sound and screeches coming from the lake.
You furrowed your brows as you felt the way Obsidian's body tensed up and started growling at the direction the noise came from.
You set your laptop aside as you made your way towards the lake, your dragon hot on your tail, his black scales reflecting the moonlight.
"What the hell's going on?", you muttered to yourself as you reached the premises.
Your eyes widened as you saw all the dragons of your sanctuary lose their minds, their wings flapping erratically as they screeched in fright.
Slowing approaching the flock, you noticed how they were huddled around a sparkle of some sort.
You took your utility belt and your trustworthy lasso from the nearby hut in case something came out to harm you.
The sparkle was emitting blue light and it kept keeping bigger and bigger, opening up like some sort of portal, and as it grew in size, the dragons freaked out more and more, to the point where you had trouble controlling Obsidian as well.
"Easy now, easy, Obi," you tried to reassure him. Your bond with him was extremely solid and transcended everything you had felt before, so you could calm him down enough for him to still listen to you, but it was too late for the rest of them.
Now too far gone, they became skittish and as the both of you approached them, they ran through the portal, one by one.
You ran after them, swiftly getting on Obi's back as you saw the portal getting smaller again.
"Shit, Obi, run faster!"
As you shouted at him, you felt his wings sprawling out and you took flight, passing through the portal.
You looked around as you took in your new surroundings, but you quickly had to clutch your nose at the pungent reek of smog and overall dirt that seemed to cling to the city below you.
You furrowed your brows in disdain as you saw skyscraper after skyscraper, not a single ounce of green in sight.
It all was so different from your home, but you quickly had to regain your composure as you saw your dragons already wreaking havoc through the city, squishing cars under their weight and setting things on fire.
"Obi, fly low," you instructed him.
He grunted in acknowledgement as he slowly lowered himself from his previous stance and you instructed him to land on a rooftop.
Getting off, you took a once over at Obsidian, checking for anything out of the ordinary that might have happened as he flew through the portal.
Reassured that he was all set, you released a breath you didn't know you were holding.
Everything here seemed so...strange.
It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck the city and you could feel the static that was left in its wake.
Where were you anyway?
You didn’t have much time to ponder on the question as you saw one of your wind dragons, Helix, making his way towards the outskirts of the city, gusts of wind quickly encircling him as he flew away. The white dragon couldn’t have been too far away from you, so you decided to follow him in attempt to lasso him back and tranquilise him. You hated carrying the tranquiliser gun, but you knew that it was better to be safe than sorry when dealing with these giant creatures.
As you hopped back onto Obsidian’s back, a light caught your eye.
It was being shone from a near-by building, and it represented a…bat?
You contemplated on the image a bit, but then got pulled back to reality by you dragon suddenly taking flight.
You yelped as you reached for his horns, trying to hold onto them, completely caught by surprise.
“Whoa, Obi, what has gotten into you?” you screamed at the dragon, who huffed in response, tailgating Helix.
You held tightly to your dragon’s back, the absence of a saddle not bothering you, as that’s how you first learned to ride.
You quickly approached Helix, the white dragon’s movements erratic and confusing you.
As you got closer to him, you let go of Obi’s horns and unravelled your lasso, positioning yourself upright, ready to catch one of his legs or, more hopefully, one of his wings.
The pursuit lasted several minutes and you couldn’t get a clear opening.
Just as you thought you had a car view of his hind legs, Obi suddenly stopped and remained still, his black wings still flapping to keep the both of you in the air.
You were about to question him but the words died in your throat as you saw that Helix was headed straight to what seemed like a manor’s rooftop.
Your eyes widened in shock, but you knew you couldn’t do much and just looked with your mouth agape as he made full contact with the building, the great force of the collision seemingly rattling the manor.
Meanwhile, Jason and the others were in the Batcave, contemplating what to do.
“You know,” chimed Damian, “if these dragons are anything like Goliath, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said as he looked up at his pet dragon, who was lazily lounging next to him.
Both Dick and Jason deadpanned at that.
Dick was the first to speak up, his arms moving all over the place, “Have you seen them?” he asked, incredulous at his little brother’s words, “they’re freaking huge, much bigger than Goliath and much, much scarier,”
“One of them set my bike on fire.” Was all that Jason said, his arms crossed in irritation, wanting to get rid of them already.
Stephanie wheezed, holding her stomach as she doubles over in laughter, “Is that why you asked Barbara for the Batmobile to be brought to you?”
All she received was a dirty look.
“If that’s of any consolation, another one of them almost stomped me to death,” added Tim, shivering at the memory of almost becoming a human patty mere minutes ago.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a contemplative sigh as he thought on what to do next.
Before he got a change to open his mouth, a loud crash with a following roaring sound shook the Batcave and the manor, making everyone brace themselves onto the console so they wouldn’t fall.
Jason locked eyes with Cass as he shouted a “what the fuck is going on?”, voicing everyone’s thoughts.
Bruce put on his cowl and gestured for them all to follow him, not waiting for them as they all put on their domino masks and helmets and got out of the cave as well.
“I hope to God that wasn’t a fucking dragon crashing right into the manor because if it is-”
Dick’s threat fell on deaf ears as they all reached the left wing of the building and saw a huge white dragon trying to wiggle out of his spot on the rooftop, as it had completely caved it in when it crashed.
All they could do was watch in horror as the creature seemed to flap its wings trying to escape, sending bricks and debris flying everywhere.
They all swiftly dodged the moving objects, when all of a sudden, a person’s screaming voice pierced through the chaos.
Jason looked to the left right of the manor and could hardly make out the silhouette of another dragon, this time pitch-black, who had…a person on its back??
He had to do a double take to confirm that what he saw wasn’t something his mind was conjuring up: on the dragon’s back there was a woman with a lasso in her hands, yelling something at the white dragon who continued to thrash on – or should he say in – the manor’s roof.
Her yelling stopped as she spotted them on the ground, all of Gotham’s vigilantes staring with a mixture of confused and awe-struck expressions on their faces as she told something to the black dragon she was on and quickly landed on the manor’s grounds, the dimensions of the creature really showing when its horns brushed against the top branches of one of the oak trees planted by the entrance.
“Fucking hell…” was all that Jason could mutter as he took in the creature’s large body, covered in black scales that reflected the garden lights in hues of metallic blue and purple. Its spiked tail swishing back and forth as it started down at the group with its beady amber eyes, almost as if it was challenging them to try and come closer to you, now standing in front of it.
You held a hand to his snout and whispered something to the lines of “calm down, bub, I’m just going to talk to them”, and the dragon visibly relaxed but still kept a guarded stance.
You hesitantly approached Jason and the others, who were all sizing you up to determine if you were a possible threat or not, but upon reading your relaxed and submissive body language their shoulders slightly sagged.
You walked until you were a few meters from them, then stopped and pointed back at the creature on the manor’s roof with your thumb.
“My dragon’s on your roof,” you said with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of your head.
No shit, Jason thought, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth nonetheless.
He was admiring the way you purposely carried yourself with a calm and composed, albeit quite awkward, demeanour, having probably realized that dragons weren’t an everyday sighting here.
Your eyes sparkled behind your glasses as you latched your lasso back onto your utility belt. Jason noticed how you were wearing civilian clothes, quite similar to the ones you could find in most stores here in Gotham, so he wondered how on earth did you look like some sort of dragon-cowboy back there, up in the air, with the lasso hovering over your head as you swung it with expertise.
Bruce was the first one to talk, taking a few steps towards you. You widened your eyes in surprise, not having noticed the black-clad man until now. A shiver run down your spine as you saw the menacing cowl he was wearing.
“Who are you and why are you here.”
You released a shaky breath as you started talking, feeling everyone’s eyes on you.
“Listen, I don’t know where I am but I was just minding my own business when all of a sudden, a portal bigger than my house opened up in my backyard and that may have heavily triggered my dragons and they kinda went through it and are now here and I know they are wreaking havoc and are overall being so naughty I’m so sorry-” you said all in one breath, your apologetic nature getting the best of you as you pleaded them not to hurt them.
Dick held his arm up, shutting you up, “They’re yours?” He said, an incredulous look clearly shown on his face despite his domino mask covering his eyes.
You nodded as if that were the most normal thing ever, giving him a strange look.
“Uh, yeah?” You said, looking back at Obsidian, pointing at him, “Well, he’s technically mine, but the others are, too, since I’ve rescued them and they’re now staying at my sanctuary-” you got interrupted again, this time by Damian, who received a concerned gaze from you, shocked to see a kid.
“You have a sanctuary for dragons?” He asked, trying to sound nonchalant but feeling very excited to have someone to talk about dragons to.
You smiled in excitement, your sudden change in body language not going unnoticed by Jason as he kept quiet, memorizing your every feature.
God she’s pretty.
Jason caught Cass’ gaze and felt himself blush as she gave him a knowing look, having clearly read his body language as well.
He was so grateful to have his helmet on at that moment.
Your laugh pulled him out of his thoughts and he caught you answer to one of Bruce’s questions.
“-yeah, so I don’t know where it exactly was, I only was some skyscrapers after I passed through it,” you quickly explained.
Bruce nodded in contemplation, lowering his gaze to the ground, before your next question made him snap his stern eyes back at you.
“So, what’s up with the costumes and the masks?” You asked, slightly confused at the funny looking people in front of you. Maybe they were having some sort of party?
“You don’t know who we are?” Asked Stephanie in slight surprise.
You chuckled, looking at her, “Should I?”
“Duh, we’re Gotham’s best – and only – vigilantes!”
“What’s a…vigilante?”
Uh?
“UH?”
Everybody’s incredulous gaze snapped to you and sensing your discomfort, Obsidian growled in warning at the group, still not getting too close to them per your command.
“Easy, Obi,” you reassured your dragon, smiling to comfort him. He huffed and turned his head to look at Helix, who had since stopped struggling and was looking at you curiously from his place on the manor’s roof.
“Uhm, so…” you continued, staring back at the group, “where I come from, we don’t have vigilantes…so, care to explain what you guys do, exactly?”
Jason huffed a laugh at Dick’s defeated expression, his pride noticeably shrinking by the second as you stared at him as he were a lunatic.
“We fight crime,” he said, turning your attention to him. He noticed your perplexed gaze, probably caused by the helmet he was wearing, “but we do it in suits and masks to conceal our identity since, you know, we have day jobs and carry normal lives during the day.”
You mouth opened in realization, bashful for having mistaken them for randos but also relieved to have struck conversation with people who might be able to help you.
“So, you’re like dragon protectors!” you said in awe, “they basically do the same stuff you guys say you do, but while riding dragons so they can cover more land.”
“Wait that’s actually so cool-”
“I know, they’re the coolest people where I come from!!”
“Wait, where do you come from?”
You furrowed your brows, thinking of an answer that will probably help them understand your world better.
“Earth.”
“What do you mean Earth, this is Earth”, said another one of the vigilantes, a quite lanky one with black bangs falling on his eyes.
You shrugged in response.
“We call it Earth, so I don’t know what to tell you, really”
“Well, then, we must figure out where the signal of the portal came from so we can understand if it was opened from your Earth or ours, and then we’ll help you bring the dragons back-” Bruce’s plan was interrupted by Helix’s roar, this time in desperation as he wanted to be freed by the bricks that were digging into his scaled body.
You signed, turning back to them with an apologetic smile, “I’ll get that.”
“Do you want us to help?”
You shook your head, thanking them, apologizing for the dragon-sized damage.
Bruce dismissed you with his hand, telling you not to worry about it.
As you walked back towards Obsidian, he turned back to the others, his tight-lipped expression evaluating the possible outcomes this situation could bring upon Gotham.
“So, what do we think?” said Tim, his gaze not leaving your figure as you hopped onto your dragon’s back.
“She’s nice, I like her.”
“We’re not talking about that. We need to know if we can trust her not to use the dragons to turn the city to literal ashes,” said Damian, receiving a groan in response by Stephanie.
“You’re awfully quiet, Todd,” Dick jabbed his little brother with his elbow, earning a stomp on his foot.
“What do you want me to say?” he responded, truly at a loss of words, “I mean, dragons? In Gotham?”
“What about Goliath, then?”
“Well, he isn’t from here as well, you know,”
“I should show her him! Maybe she could tell us why he’s been itching like crazy for the last few weeks-”
The banter stopped as Tim’s “Guys, look!” made everyone turn back around and watch with wide eyes at the scene before them.
You were now a good 15 feet from the ground, the wings of your dragon flapping steadily as you got up to your feet, positioning your body sideways to stabilize your core.
You took the lasso into your hands and started rotating it in a circular motion at the white dragon in front od you, who had begun to wriggle again out of fear of staying stuck there, his frightened gaze unable to clearly see you.
It was safe to say he’d never been the sharpest dragon amongst your flock.
Jason stared in awe as you swinged the rope one last time before flinging it at the dragon, catching him by one of his crooked horns. You secured your hold on it, tightening the rope quickly and then putting it in Obsidian’s mouth, who pulled once, twice, and at the third time successfully released his friend, setting him down onto the ground with a loud thump that shook the trees and bushes surrounding the premises of the manor.
You quickly got off of your dragon’s back and with some sort of weapon in hand, made your way towards the creature. Jason furrowed his brows in confusion at your “I’m so sorry buddy”, thinking the worst when you aimed the gun at his throat, but taking a breath in relief when he saw it was a dart gun.
The dart now jabbed in Helix’s throat had a quick effect on his, as he slumped over, his chin squishing a finely shaped topiary, turning the squirrel-shaped bush into a sad blob of leaves.
You smiled to yourself and petted Obsidian’s snout, praising him for a job well done.
Turning back to the group, you shouted happily, waving your arms to attract their attention but stopping mid air as you saw them all already staring at you.
“Can he stay here for a while?”
Who Needs Heaven? : Safe & Sound
jason todd x fem!reader
aka your daughters learn what happened to jason
warnings: nonspecific discussions on how jason died
(1) the drop-in
The sound of water splashing under toy boats and fish fills the small room.
You ring the washcloth out over the suds, Rory’s idle hands scooping up the excess. She entertains herself with the slowly dissolving bubbles between her fingers as you fill up your cup.
“Put your head back,” you tell her, nudging her forehead.
She does, squeezing her eyes shut.
You pour the cup of water over her head, combing through her hair. You refill the cup again as she pipes up.
“Mommy,” she says with a casual lull in her voice.
You pour it out again, making sure to rinse the shampoo at her roots, “Hm?”
Her hand comes up to wipe the stream from off her forehead, “How did daddy get that scar?”
“Well, daddy has lots of scars,” you say carefully. “You know that.”
She shakes her head, “Littler scars. He has a big one though, right here.”
She points up and down her torso.
“What happened?”
You take a breath, eyes focused on the dissolving suds. “What happened…”
She continues on, “He said scars come from when you get hurt and the bigger ones are bigger hurts. How did he get such a big hurt?”
“Um...” She’s quite young to hear that story, especially coming from you. Your older daughters have an awareness of what happened, though it’s never been formally discussed. You think Mia knows what the autopsy scar is and the twins definitely know he died at the very least. You’ve been made aware that there’s been…discussions at school about who their dad is and how he one day died and then years later magically reappeared. You and Jason had decided that you would talk to them about it eventually, but only when they were old enough to not be completely traumatized hearing it.
You just hadn’t assumed that day would creep up on you like this.
You sit back, tense. “Did you ask him that?”
“No…” she says gravely. “I don’t wanna make him sad.”
You nod, trying to collect your thoughts. How can you steer away from this without attracting more questions?
“Do you know what happened?” she asks, scanning your face.
You do your best to reset your expression to neutral.
You start without really knowing where the sentence is going, “We…we can talk about it later…”
Rory tilts her head, “Not now?”
You shake yours, “Not right now.”
That’s enough to appease her curiosity for the rest of the bath, but you know with that one, it won’t last long.
You’d gotten her dressed and sent her on her way, but your mind stayed heavy the whole time.
You walk downstairs slowly, hands still damp from the bath. As you turn the corner from the stairs you find Jason, reading contentedly by himself in the living room.
You cross the room without hesitation, climbing into the spot next to him on the couch. He doesn’t need to look up, only adjusts the position of his arm so its draped over you, pulling you into his side.
“So…” you start, “Rory was asking about your scar..”
He turns away from the book, looking at you with serious eyes. “What did she say?”
“She wants to know how you got it,” you tell him. “I didn’t tell her, but she didn’t want to ask you either.”
“Why not?” He asks quickly, face brimming with anxiety.
You shake your head, calming his worries. “She said she didn’t want to make you sad.”
He relaxes a bit at that, taking in the information.
You break the silence after a minute, quietly telling him, “I think it might be time to talk about it.”
He looks dejected, eyes on the floor. “They’re still little..”
“I’m not saying tell them everything right now, just…acknowledge it.”
“I don’t—” He sighs, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell them that.”
You think for a moment, nodding.
“Tell them how you told me. Just…more kid words.”
He still looks resigned at the idea so you continue, “You know how to talk to them. Just tell them what you want them to hear. They’ll listen.”
He nods, eyes low. “Okay…”
You stand up, and he grabs your hand as you rise, pulling himself up too.
You give each other one more confirming look before calling up the stairs, “Girls? Come here.”
There’s a ten second delay before a scuttle of footsteps starts down the staircase, arriving with a low-liveliness, nearly bedtime energy amongst them.
The second you’re within sight of them, they’re keen that something’s not right.
“What’s going on?”
“Is—”
“Everything’s alright. Nothing’s wrong,” you tell them. “We just want to talk to you for a minute.”
Your words don’t do much to ease their minds, but after a moment they slowly gather onto a single couch. They’re all squished in together and Rory’s half on top of Anna and Laine, the latter of which can barely move. Still, there’s no complaints to be heard, only an air of seriousness throughout the room.
Jason clears his throat, though he has trouble looking at them, the easier option seeming to be the carpeted floor.
“Alright,” he starts with a deep breath. “So my, uh, my Y scar…”
The air in the room drops the second the words are out, the girls all quiet and listening closely. You can tell this is something they’d been wondering about for a long time.
“When I was younger and I’d just started doing the, uh, special job my brothers and Bruce do…” He takes another breath, “Some things happened that shouldn’t have and I got hurt..”
“What things?” Ryan asks.
“I…I got tricked by a bad guy and…I just got hurt.”
It’s uncharacteristic for the girls to all look so dejected and serious like this. Goes to show that you were right—they do have an understanding of what happened.
Anna is the first to pipe up.
“Did you die?”
“Anna—”
“It’s alright,” Jason interrupts. He collects himself before eking out, “Um…yeah, I-I did.”
He’s still stuck on those words and you have to silently push for him to keep talking, so as to not give their imaginations time to run wild.
He takes the hint, stuttering, “But, um, it’s complicated, but I came back and—”
Laine interrupts this time, almost teary-eyed.
“Are you going to die again?”
Jason shakes his head quickly, “No. No, honey, not for a long time.”
It’s quiet for a moment as they process, sorting through the details into something their minds can understand.
Rory looks on edge, wide-eyed, as she asks, “Are you a ghost?”
“No, sweetheart,” Jason answers calmly with a shake of his head.
That seems to calm her anxiety more than anything else.
“Are you better now?” Laine asks.
Jason nods, “Yeah, I’m a lot better now.”
Ryan looks skeptical at the choice of words. “How did you…get better?”
He takes a shaky breath, “Well…your mommy helped me a lot. And then you helped me some more. And now…now I’m all healed.”
None of them seem to really understand, but they accept the answer anyways.
The next question is from Anna.
“Is the bad guy in jail now?”
Jason only momentarily stutters in his response, but pulls it together nicely.
“It’s not something you need to be worried about. I promise. Nothing like that’s going to happen again to me or you or anyone.”
This appears to appease most of the concerns flying around in their heads.
He continues, “We can talk about it more when you get older, but…
You take the queue, nodding Rory and Lainey your way.
“Let’s go get ready for bed, okay?”
You nudge the younger two upstairs, who, to your surprise, go without resistance.
You give Jason one last glance before heading up the stairs, happy to see him much more relaxed than he was at the start of this conversation.
He’s left downstairs with his eldest three girls, each nearly bursting at the seams full of their thoughts and questions.
Jason thumps down on the couch between them, a heavy breath following.
The trio watch him quietly for a moment before Anna speaks.
“I know what it is,” she tells him somberly. He looks at her with more melancholia than he would’ve hoped for.
She continues, “There’s autopsies on my show sometimes.”
Right, her show. The X-Files.
Jason nods, a bit remiss at the idea that she knows.
From his other side, Ryan pipes up.
“Did it hurt?”
He shakes his head, “No, I-I wasn’t…”
Wasn’t alive. He doesn’t want to say that, though.
Ryan nods, understanding anyways. “Did it hurt when you died?”
He hesitates before answering, wavering between lying to protect their minds and telling them the truth. In the end, he decides that you’re right, they can handle it in small measures.
“Yeah. It did, a little,” he confesses. ”But like I said, that’s not going to happen again.”
From behind Ryan, Mia speaks so softly Jason almost misses her words.
“I’m sorry.”
He looks at her, brow furrowed. “For what?”
“That that happened to you,” she says. Her eyes are filled with an equal sadness to his and it breaks his heart. Even more so that her words are so clearly meant sincerely.
“Oh.”
It’s all he can manage to say.
He was only a little older than Mia when his life had been taken away from him and he’d been forced to reset everything he ever knew. And now, all these years later, he sits here surrounded by his children, his world that he was given a second chance to create. His children that don’t see a monster when they look at him, don’t see the scarred giant that he sees. They just see their dad.
When they were still young they’d started getting almost excited whenever they got a scar from playing too hard because it made them more like him. It took Jason years to just bear the thought of his scars, but his girls look at them like art. Even when they know he got them in bad ways, they pour out nothing but affection. No disgust, no fear, no hate. Just love.
His eyes close and his face falls in his hands, overwhelmed by the idea of his children being such angels, despite being products of him.
“Dad? Are you okay?”
He nods, face still covered. His voice is muffled as he says, “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, I just, um…”
His words die off with little fight, and when his hands drop his eyes are red.
Anna, who’s usually compulsed to only touch emotion with a ten-foot pole, is the first to wrap her arms around him, holding him tight. The gesture takes him by surprise, especially from her, and he tenses briefly before deflating like a balloon. Mia and Ryan are quick to follow suit, basically dog-piling over his opposite shoulder.
“It’s okay, dad. We love you. And your scars,” Ryan tells him.
Oh, they think he’s sad.
Hell, thirteen years ago he would’ve thought he was sad. He only started to understand his feelings after his first daughter was born. He doesn’t tell them he’s not sad, doesn’t tell them that he’s crying because life slapped him around and then gave him everything he could ever want five times over.
Instead, he just nods, pulling them impossibly closer.
who’s your fav daughter
17+ content, blank blogs dnf
threesome (bruce x reader x selina), sex toys, overstim, begging, very brief double penetration. first time writing for both of them so pls give me grace
they’re no good together. no, too good together. too good at breaking you, reverting you to a wet and squirming mess at his mercy while she holds you in faux comfort.
“bruce,” you cry to him, legs trembling and cunt twitching around the silicon he’s stuffed inside you over and over, too many times to even count. a little vibrator buzzes at your clit again and you sob, thighs snapping together as salty tears bubble under your lashes. “bruce- I can’t, ‘m done, please…”
his eyelids hang low and large hands grip the underside of your thighs, giving what you can only assume is a glare of impatience. “you’re not done,” he corrects, a light slap landing on your swollen clit that has you flinching open. god, he’s insane- you’re leaking around the thing, lips quivering and clawing at sheets, begging for mercy, yet he’s got the nerve to tell you you’re not done.
he’s mean, you realize, and only one arm is needed to leave you vulnerable while the other force’s the thick toy deeper into your cunt. his tongue rolls along his lips, almost in concentration as he stares you down; no indications of his own arousal are clear, but his enthusiasm for abusing your sore and puffy pussy speak volumes.
“I know you can give me another one,” bruce states in a matter-of-fact tone, brows furrowed further when you still attempt pushing him away. “and I know you want to.” the hint of irritation in his voice alludes to dangerous outcomes- hold out on him any longer and he’ll make sure this doesn’t get better for you. he reads you inside and out without missing even one line. bruce knows what makes you tick- what makes you cry, beg, even demand more. he’s almost insulted that you’d even try to withstand his ministrations, and the vibe against your sensitive nerves kicks up a notch.
“be nice, brucie,” selina chimes in with a little tut, pretty and nimble hands tracing your collarbone and jawline. the delicate scratch of her nails send shivers up your spine and you whine at the faux sympathy. “we’re just prepping her, remember? save the brooding act for later.” shit, just prepping?
“oh my god,” you gasp, not even a second before that coil of overwhelming tension breaks, clinging desperately to selina’s arm as your body convulses. you hold onto her as if she’s your final thread, the only thing stopping you from passing out, and the sentiment has her smirking. “fuck, selina, make him… please- just make him…” the man torturing your cunt exchanges a sly look to his counterpart, a low groan from the depths of the throat prompting you to look down.
“aw, make him what? make him keep going?”
she’s evil.
they’re both evil.
“just greedy,” selina coos, only now choosing to ignore your more elaborate pleas of clarification. your mouth hangs open with drool near the corners, and you’ve seemingly resorted to the gods above to grant you mercy- then her thumb drags down your lip and rests on your tongue. it quiets you down as she shushes you, gaze landing back on hers. “greedy, isn’t she…”
“since you want me to be so nice,” bruce hums as the head of his cock prods at your pussy, not even bothering to move either of the toys; fuck, you feel like you’ll die from how much he stretches you out. “i’ll give her what she wants so bad.” ❧
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