Jason Todd ☠

never let me go @angelfic

(series on going)

you’ve returned to gotham after a few years away, having left as soon as you could to escape the constant reminders of your deceased best friend, jason todd. you expected to be haunted by the ghost of him the minute you stepped foot in the city, but certainly not like this — the city you call home has much more in store than you could have imagined.

the smell of books @miwsolovely

(one shot)

in which, two book nerds start to fall for each other; you both meet your other half through wuthering heights

obscured vison @incorrectmarvelquotesss

(one shot)

Jason can’t see anything but you.

will you hold me instead, and tell me that it's over now? @julymusings

(one shot)

patching jason up after an intense mission

you're good to me, baby

(one shot)

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now

jason confesses to you @the-kr8tor

(one shot)

“It's that fucking guy.” He blurts out. “Guys.” He corrects himself.

“What guys?”

“The ones who were asking for your number.”

favors in exchange of kisses @prongsx

(one shot)

"I'm the one who does your things. Why is that idiot Dick getting involved?"

physical affection @weneeya

(one shot)

"He would die to be close to someone freely, but he was too scared for that. Scared of everything if he let anyone enter his life. Until you arrived. "

busy at the phone @jjenthusee

(one shot)

Jason never misses time with you, even if it means putting a few in the hospital as you discuss dinner during patrol.

pretty little birds @ofbatsandballads

(one shot)

you work at the iceberg and jason has a mission there. Did he just make a friend ?

hell knows it's got a home for folks like me @batsycline69 | 18+ mdni

(one shot)

cowboy!jason (hell yeah)

After losing your childhood sweetheart, you sought a life of adventure. Years down the line, when your gang is gunned down by the notorious outlaw 'Two Guns,' you find the life you've built for yourself turning upside down

the cosmic horror of gotham city @whltlock

(series)

Something hunts Jason from the shadows and its wearing the face of that God forsaken clown.

Running from trouble, you just want a moment to catch your breath and lay low.

But life’s a tricky thing, isn’t it? The stars above Gotham align just so, throwing you into the path swathed with moody red and wicked sharp tongues.

And too be fair, you’ve never been good at staying on the straight and narrow.

communication is key @literary-dolly

(one shot)

Jason accidentally leaves a comm behind in your apartment - it would be rude not to have a listen, right?

vampire masquerade @ragingbookdragon | 18 + mdni

(mini serie)

part 1 part 2

vampire!reader saves jason from an attack

—EAT ME UP (I BEG YOU)

𝜗𝜚 — in which, jason loves you so much. he just shows it in different ways. not that you mind—not when it’s him.

— happy ( late ) valentines mwa — pronouns and gender arent mentioned so this is for anyone to read ! requested —

JASON TODD’s love language is acts of service. he doesn’t always say what he feels—one of the things you help him with—but he shows it in the way he cares for you—fixing things before you notice they’re broken, cooking for you when you’re tired, or simply just being there when you need a shoulder.

transgenders !!!!!!!!! how do you bind with trans tape and take it off i keep watching tutorials but i need someone to explain it to me like a 5 year old

Simon is a liar.

Well, it’s not that he lies often, but he does do it and you have no idea unless it’s with the girls. Getting them to sleep by telling them that they’ll get candy in the morning instead of eggs, telling them the tooth fairy has the day off on Fridays, and even telling his toddler that he goes and saves puppies some days instead of the world. He lies, but not without reason.

But as he follows you around as you shop, he feels the need to lie. Tell you that you look good in an ugly color dress just to get you to laugh. Deny that your grip on his hand hurts. Say that he doesn’t want another leather jacket, even though he does. He wants the one you keep showing him - nice detailing, shiny silver zipper, and thick lining to keep him warm. One that wasn’t ripping at the seams, has cigarette burns, or holes that dotted its worn flank.

“Simon, please, I just want to buy something nice for you.” You say, looking at him with those sweet eyes and genuine care.

He hates himself at that moment when he lies.

“I’m alright with what I got.”

The nod of understanding, knowing that pushing will not get you far, distressed him. He knows he shouldn’t be this way, that he should bend at the knees every time you even begin a sentence. But the leather jacket is something he can’t do that for, and he can’t stomach telling you the reason.

You pull out pretty dresses and tops to show him, he always agrees with the ones that make your eyes pop. Your hand squeezes his every time you walk back and forth in this little boutique and he knows quite well that you’re purposefully passing this perfect leather jacket multiple times. Exposure therapy.

He doesn’t like upsetting you. He knows you want him to have nice things instead of the worn down clothes he has, but he cannot allow himself to have better things when the money should be going towards his children and their needs. He can go without a new leather jacket, even if you had saved over the course of a year for it. He’d rather buy Winnie the dollhouse she really wants, buy Mellie the beanbag she always has him look up online, maybe even something for the baby like a new high chair. He could buy you a nice ring with that leather jacket money, even though you’d say no.

In a way, you two are the same.

You finally stop the games and stand next to the jacket, hand squeezing his impossibly tight before loosening. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s nice.”

“Then try it on.”

He shakes his head. “No, ‘m okay with this. We can use the money on you.”

Your shoulders droop, his heart hurts, and you softly murmur, “Why aren’t you letting me do this for you?”

He feels the need to lie, the itch that takes hold of his throat and shakes it. His head dips down, his eyes level with yours. “Because this jacket means a lot to me. Don’t want to start over with a new one.” Another lie, it doesn’t mean a lot, it means everything.

You stare at him for a while, digging in his eye with such a disappointed glare. Stiff, aggravated, but still docile. “What’s so special about holes and torn seams?”

“I first met you with this on.” He confesses. “First met Winnie with this on. Mellie fits in a wrap in it like a glove, and it was Tommy’s.” His hand comes to rest on your bump where the baby kicks lazily, your forehead rests against his.

In the back corner of a shop, he tells the truth. Says a prayer as he kisses you, thanks God when you finally see the ratty jacket for what it truly is - a symbol of loyalty.

Another kiss pressed against his lips before you move away, your hand brushes his hair away from his forehead before cradling his jaw. “That’s all you had to say. No more lies.”

Simon is a liar, it’s sometimes all he knows. A second skin, a way to protect the keloids made from wounds he suffered forever ago. But when he looks in your eyes, cradles your belly that grows his baby with a ring on his hand that matches your own, and lets you in his marred head, he can’t bring himself to lie to you.

“No more lies.”

yeah this fixed me

Here are my favorite Jason Todd Fics!

જ⁀➴ my ceaseless list of amazing works by wonderful people, DC edition!

Jason Todd:

Non Reader Insert:

—EAT ME UP (I BEG YOU)

𝜗𝜚 — in which, jason loves you so much. he just shows it in different ways. not that you mind—not when it’s him.

— happy ( late ) valentines mwa — pronouns and gender arent mentioned so this is for anyone to read ! requested —

JASON TODD’s love language is acts of service. he doesn’t always say what he feels—one of the things you help him with—but he shows it in the way he cares for you—fixing things before you notice they’re broken, cooking for you when you’re tired, or simply just being there when you need a shoulder.

in love with all the messages on the notes here; made my day🫶🏾🫶🏾

All they could give you was a symbol—a medal, small yet unbearably heavy in your palm, its weight nothing compared to the grief settling in your chest. It was meant to be an honor, a token of his sacrifice.

There was no uniform, no familiar scent of oak and Ives lingering on fabric, not even remnants of his mask worn and frayed from years of use. Nothing tangible to hold onto, nothing that felt like him. Just this medal, cold and unyielding, a poor replacement for the man who had once filled your world with warmth.  

The air felt thick, suffocating. Price stood before you, his head bowed, hands clenched at his sides, unable to meet your eyes. Maybe because he knew—knew that this wasn’t enough, knew that no medal, no folded letter of condolences, no words could ever replace the life that had been stolen from you.  

Your fingers tightened around the medal, nails digging into your palm as if holding onto it tightly enough could somehow bridge the impossible gap between the past and now. As if it could bring him back. But it couldn’t. Nothing could.

The questions flowed before your tears. How? When? Where? Was he absolutely sure that Ghost—no—Simon, your Simon, was truly gone?  

no you dont understand how much this broke me glued me back together again, then broke me again

thinking about john ‘soap’ mactavish and art student reader because for some reason it’s just making a lot of sense right now… (cw: nudity)

since he’d gotten shot in the head, price had pushed him onto medical leave. not much they can do for him, unfortunately- the rest of his taskforce is out, chasing makarov, and he’s left on the sidelines for six months, at the very least.

he’s filling up the emptiness where long, high adrenaline missions and rampant explosions quite well though, if he says so himself. does odd jobs to replace the feeling of a gun in his hand, though it never feels half as satisfying. not until the university job, at least.

he catches the flyer online, some local art school looking for nude models as reference for their students, and in a whim, agrees. why not? holding positions for hours on end was something he’d already been all too familiar with from his real job, and he’s relatively handsome, if he says so himself. sculpted arms and scars that run across his skin like the beams of sunlight that filter through his window during golden hour. plus, he’d been handed the insult that he was easy to draw a few times too many- may as well put that to use.

and that’s how johnny ends up naked, in the same pose for fourty-five minutes, neck cramping whilst a group of students hastily sketch him down. pretty much everyone in the room is stiff or sweating from focus, and some poor sod in the front seems to have ran out of charcoal and looks like he’s on the verge of either breaking down or passing out. he can’t help but peer at the students, and his eye catches on you.

fuck- you’re absolutely gorgeous- almost as bonnie as he is- even though you’re nibbling on the pencil as you try correcting the curve of his hip for the nth time, and if he focuses real hard, he can hear the soft melody you’re humming to yourself in attempt to calm down between the scratches of pencils and erasers. even though he knows that this whole thing is transactional- that he’s just there for you to model your skills off of so that you could hopefully get a decent mark- wants to think that in some way, your drawing is an act of love- pocketing his face in the back of your mind, his body at the forefront of your work, trying so hard to just get him right. it's almost cute.

most of them have filtered out of the classroom by the time he's put his clothes back on, three hours later- his shoulder's absolutely bealin- but you're still there, professor curled over your shoulder and mumbling feedback as she taps a pointer over the easel-- and oh, how he wishes he could do that to a pretty thing like you, perched over your form as he murmurs soft things into your ears, his hand over yours instead of on your work. and with his own wee... 'gap year', he can't see how that would be unachievable.

so imagine your surprise when your muse swings a friendly arm over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear as he looks at your nude drawing. of him. and he seems impressed, eyeing how you've shaded and sculpted his body with your pencils- he could draw nearly as good as that, before he'd gotten shot at least. had taken him months to pick up a pencil, and he's yet to write a full paragraph with the way that bullet had pierced his brain. but he's content now, watching as your face burns in embarrassment- maybe you're a bit shy, eh? no problem.

"can see why you're her star student, aye? you seem prettier than that picture in yer hands." he purrs, smiling contentedly, and no- your blush definitely isn't from the flattery anymore. fuck, you might be attracted to this guy.