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sergeant-angels-trashcan · 2 months

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Thinking about disabled AK!Jason tonite with a disabled s/o

Let's be fr this man could/should be an ambulatory wheelchair user but he won't because he doesn't know that's a thing and wouldn't think he deserved it. If you're an ambulatory wheelchair user maybe one day you manage to lovingly bully him into just TRYING it and it is life changing

He uses his ambulatory energy to do Red Hood shit nbd

if he doesn't use a wheelchair he's got at least 2 braces--shoulder and knee

Baby has chronic pain, arthritis, chronic migraines from being beaten

Missing some teeth too

take this boy to your neuro or your ortho!!!! he is totally unaware he does not need to live like this. better living through chemistry

let's get him some therapy too

you WILL have to go to his drs appointments with him. mans WILL freak the fuck out for ANY medical procedure, has very serious medical abuse trauma. if he can see how your drs help you he is much more likely to go if he can see that you are benefiting from your providers and that they haven't harmed you

if you're scared of drs he will FULLY stand behind you. probably not that healthy tbh but he gets it

having a special Migraine Protocol for each of you (it's basically just a snack and a drink, blue light filter glasses, a sleep mask with headphones for that special Migraine Playlist)

make your own pain scales and talk through frequency of pain bc when you have constant or near constant pain it fucks up your ability to quantify it so making your own pain scale is helpful (he probably uses shakespeare plays or authors. like a 5 for jason is twilight, because you can see some problems but it's fun and fluffy but when you start looking closer OH NO SO MANY PROBLEMS)

pain meters on a wall near the kitchen so you can know what you're working with

CBD patches

the AK suit is basically a giant brace/mobility aid so you help him figure out how to adapt it for his red hood persona, how to make it lighter and allow for greater ROM

will remind you to do physical therapy

resistance bands ALL OVER THE HOUSE

learning bodywork techniques

AT LEAST once a week using a special oil or lotion to work into some of his bigger scars to make the tissue more mobile

giving him a back/neck/scalp/face massage

after a while obvi that's a lot of trust he's putting in you

NOT deep tissue. don't hurt him more. you can have effective therapeutic massage without hurting a person

trager work involves basically shaking a limb and letting the weight of the muscle do all the work but it feels weird the first time and he'd just start laughing at you

specially if you do his glutes

but it feels really nice so he stops laughing and it does help his lower body pain

putting magnesium lotion on each other's neck and shoulders

start to ask each other "are you angry or in pain?"

hand massages

teaching him to stop pushing through the pain

one of his knees is basically bone on bone so you always know when the weather is changing

if u both have bad knees u just don't even when the weather is changing. take some pain meds, use your topical pain reliever of choice, prop those joints up and snuggle in bed. watch a youtube series or he can read to you

heated blankets as heating pads supremacy

occasionally he'll be in pain and the kind of pain where you feel like you're going insane, so as a distraction he will go online and buy a bunch of weird pain-relieving gadgets and you'll spend a week trying them out

(sometimes his pain fog shopping spree is blind boxes, or nail polish, or statement shirts)

all of his siblings know to come to your place if they get beat tf up because your medicine cabinet is UNreal

you're about to give cass or steph a Controlled Substance Pain Reliever and you pause "this is technically drug dealing, isn't it? dOn'T teLL rEd hOOD" jason is literally patching them up right next to you

soft blankets

reminding each other it's ok to take it slow

he's constantly tearing into the other rogues for not having ADA accessible lairs (except Ivy who successfully argued that the plants make it ADA accessible which will do. FOR NOW.)

#jason todd #red hood #arkham knight #ak!jason todd #reader insert #x reader #jason todd x reader #ak!jason x reader #my stuff #chronic migraine #dc brainrot #invisible disability #chronic pain #disability #seriously low back trager work has no business being as effective as it is #i miss doing massage :(

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ineylesian · 1 year

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CHANGE.

— JASON TODD X FEM! READER

— AO3 | MASTERLIST

— WORD COUNT | 3.1k

— WARNINGS | mentions of weapons, smut, unprotected p in v, oral asphyxiation, biting, scratching, handjobs, fingering, fingerfucking, mentions of blood, cumming inside, use of aphrodisiacs (sex pollen), dubious content, overstimulation.

— SUMMARY | disobedience is strictly off the field in the militia, and just one slip up could spell your end.

— AUTHOR’S NOTE | had to wait all day to post this bc i got hit by a massive snowstorm. this is based off of arkham knight’s version of jason btw!

Steel. Smoothing coolness over your fingers and onto the metallic flow of your veins. Your eyes sweep frigid layers over the expanse below, narrowing down on one stranded wire amongst the mass.

Click.

“The main door’s open, Scarecrow. Ready to proceed on your word.”

Silence passes over the sea of crackles in the fuse box, dripping down to slither against the ground. Your eyes close at the breach of static in your ear, coiling three fingers against the box’s interior.

“Use the backup elevator on your way down. If it isn’t in working order, fix it.”

The call is lost to you. The world is dark and your senses are dulled by the residing pound in your head. Thick waves of raptured nerves pound against your skull, tightening against the surface and latching to the bone as a parasite would. There’s a muffled chorus scraping the barrier, forcing your eyes to shut tighter than you could ever imagine, fisting the other hand into your hair to—

“Stay focused.”

The illusion shatters, painting a revisited world of gloom and steady rain to your vision. Blood trickles from the inside of your cheek, running down to settle in your molars and paint your tongue with iron.

You brush his hand off of your shoulder without bothering to give a response, gums clasping together at the soft grunt that follows. The heavy clink of boots echo your descent into the abandoned mall, soft, yet lingering on your trail.

Just an hour had brushed past since Batman had destroyed the Cloudburst for good. Annihilated Scarecrow’s greatest creation and sent the Militia into complete turmoil in one hit.

You bite the corner of your lip, running a hand up your temple to soak up the light streak of sweat that had gathered there. The weight of such a rapid change of plans sits uncomfortable in your spine, weighing you down from the inside out. The Knight, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected by his own grave mistake. His stance is pin straight, pace overtaking yours within a matter of seconds.

And then he stops, reaching out to press the service button on the elevator in front of you.

You step into the elevator, gaze raking against dust and cobwebs as your hands grasp the railing supporting your back. The Knight almost mirrors your stance, only letting himself lean fully against the wall whilst his hands cross against his front.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

His voice is stagnant, devoid of the bark it usually carries. The very depth of it makes your skin crawl, and you’re hit with the feeling that it might sink into the bone. Slowly, your eyes trail upward, falling to rest on the LEDs that blaze back at you.

“You’re-“

“I’m not out of control.” He reads your mind to a tee, gloved fingers tapping rapidly against the arm they hold. “And I haven’t lost sight of the mission.”

Flashing, receptive, and unyielding. The scald of his mechanical gaze shoots daggers into your face, drilling a hole into the deepest parts that lurk within. You nearly flinch at the severity; his shoulders reel back in satisfaction.

There’s a tick in the back of your throat, latching onto your breath and spreading like wildfire throughout the rest of your body. The sight of him— acting so relaxed, so unbothered by the fact that he had compromised you all so effortlessly. Trapped you just as bad while he did it, and ended up in the same corner himself.

He was like a dog, thrashing against the leash bound to his neck. Always testing the limits at the expense of others. And when that post finally broke..

“You just wanted it so bad, didn’t you?” Anger. Your response comes through cold, throwing his guard off and allowing you a step forward. “You’ve lost sight of yourself ever since we got here.”

You’re standing right in front of him now, eyebrows furrowed together in a rivalry with the absentminded tilt of his head downward. Your chest swells with bile, held back by the sudden lurch of indignation that pushed you forward.

“Do you ever..” You pause, drawing a thick strand of breath from the bottom of your lungs. “..fucking think before you lash out? Do you even know why we’re going down here?”

Ding.

The pressure of your knife against his chest plate is swatted away in one swift motion. Tears threatening to keel over your eyelashes are held back with a rough tilt of your head, brushing away stray hairs and pulling your mouth into a tight line. The Knight’s arm is still extended towards the blade punctured through the wall, but he’s looking at you, and what was the threat to snap seconds ago is now confusion.

In the very last stretch of your peripheral vision sits Crane, behind him enough militia soldiers to kill you within seconds.

“The Hell..” He mutters, stealing a glance toward the mass of his men ahead. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“We were afraid you’d run.”

Silently, you can’t help but feel the same. A sudden hesitation rising at the sound of Crane’s voice. There’s an edge to it that makes your skin prickle, and you glance back at the Knight. He’s looking straight forward, fists lightly clenched at the sides.

You turn away from him, stepping out of the elevator, and into the repurposed expanse that had become the Arkham Knight’s HQ.

He’s waiting for you with his fingers clasped, vials of fear toxin dragging at the cloth on his wrists. With a small nod, your militia soldiers disperse, heading for the other exit and leaving the two of you with him.

“Make it quick, Crane.” The Knight spits, crossing his arms to impose a threatening stance. “We have places to be.”

The modulator hides it. But you can see the way he’s placed most of his weight on the front end of his boots. Ready for something to let him off of his leash.

That was exactly why you were here. Crane knows it, you know it. The Arkham Knight had turned into something beyond the leader of the militia, and it was slowly costing you your chance at winning the war you waged. Snapping and snarling at everyone and everything for a chance to kill the Batman, with no clear sense of control. It was almost as if your commander had been replaced with a rabid dog.

He’d changed, and not for the better.

“You destroyed my greatest creation, Knight.” Crane’s tone blankets over you, condescending and twisting over your throat like a lethal serpent. “And you didn’t stop him.”

Your heart drops at his sudden change of direction, watching as Crane takes a step away from you. The Knight immediately reaches for his gun holster, and you’re quick to follow. Your attempt is simply laughed at, followed by the sudden intrusion of pitch darkness everywhere you look.

A sharp hiss simultaneously breaks out at your side, dousing your arms in a lukewarm breeze. You slap a hand over your mouth, but the substance is already sinking into your skin, leaving a trail of warmth as it spreads. The Knight swears from beside you, and it’s apparent that it’s reached him too.

The low flash of his modulator disappears with a zip, and you follow the noise with your own grapnel. Stumbling over a few railings and a staircase, you hear him stop, and light returns to your vision soon after.

The Knight breaks out into a coughing fit, and your eyes screw shut in reaction. What was once warmth is now an uncomfortable settling of balm throughout it the topside of your body, rendering your limbs pulsing and stiff.

“Fuckin- gas.” The Knight’s modulator rings out, muffled, bubbling with the crisp tone of his real voice underneath. “I feel like I’m on fire.”

Fire was an understatement. The sensation is unbearable, scalding waves of naught branching through your system to layer over, filling you with utmost dread at what Crane could’ve possibly dosed you with.

It’s worsening by the second. Another string of coughs from the Knight and it increases by what feels like tenfold, traveling down to settle in the pits of your stomach. You almost cry out when you hear him groan, burying your head into your arms and crossing your legs to lessen the heat.

And then you understand.

Crane knew he wouldn’t be vulnerable to any regular fear toxin. He knew the Arkham Knight was gullible when it came to seeing his mission through, and learned to reap the benefits in his own way.

That being, the violent shaking of his hands, back slouched and slid up against the wall to keep him up.

And you? What better way to test out one of his newest toxins with his partner right beside him? He could’ve used a sample that would’ve had you tearing each other’s faces off, but no, that was too simple.

This was worse. So much worse.

Your right knee hits the wall with a light thump, overturning one of the vials Crane had left behind into your hand. If there was any doubt in your mind before you raised the label eye level, it was gone within moments.

“Aphrodisiacs.” You scoff, tossing the empty glass into the distance. “I’m sure you know what that is.”

This was the worst way he could’ve punished you. Introducing fear in the loss of self control, sadistic rather than violent.

The Knight lets out a noise similar to the one that you had, pushing himself up against the wall before turning away from you.

“Great.”

There’s a strain to his voice that slithers into your ears, invasive and loud. It pushes its way past your esophagus, flowing down through your ribcage to pool at the center of your uterus. The sudden burn causes you to stumble forward, and by the time you’ve reached him, you’re nearly panting.

“Jason..” The call comes out dry, barren with a need to be washed away. “I can’t.”

You stop mid sentence, mustering a light groan as his hands latch onto the base of your armor, holding you firmly in place.

“I know, I know I know I kn…” His breathing is uneven, slurred words weaving around you in a delightful vibrato. “Take the helmet off.”

In that moment, your self control is ripped away completely. Your mind feels like it isn’t yours anymore, and you can only think about him, the Arkham Knight, Jason Todd. An animalistic desire erupts within you, begging for contact, for all of him at once.

Your fingers curl around his neck, index stiffly pressing down on the release button. As soon as the glass layer of his visor opens, you tug it off, clumsily setting it down on the table behind him.

The sight of him almost makes you lose it right then and there, twisting a knot of friction between your legs. Jet black hair coats his forehead in unruly strands, slightly damp along with the thin layer of sweat coating his face. And his eyes, iced over almost entirely with lust and mimicking a fatigued droop.

You’re interrupted by the sharp prick of his teeth, scraping skin off of your lips as they sink in. The breath you let out is cut off by the sudden intrusion of his tongue, shoved flat against yours and edging deeper still. It’s the aphrodisiac, wanting nothing but to consume you whole.

You can’t say you’re any different, as the loss of breath makes your hands work even faster on his suit. Pieces of armor are rudely dragged off and left to fall on the ground as you strip him of his outer layer, heading straight for the zipper once you’re done. Once you begin to pull, the Knight releases his hold over your mouth, gasping lightly at the wave of cool air washing over his exposed skin. You take his initiative of tugging your own zipper down to grasp his chin between your fingers, lifting up to dip your teeth into the center of his neck.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He breathes, running a hand under the lower portion of your bodysuit. “Don’t stop.”

The intrusion of metal against your pussy makes you gasp, front teeth dragging a rigid line down the Knight’s jugular. Spit paints sores of red and pressured white, covering his neck almost entirely before you move. Feeling his index finger run over your folds, you clamp down on the ridge of his collarbone. Tanged iron floods your taste buds, eliciting a muffled moan from the depths of your throat as you swallow greedily.

Blood streaks down the unshadowed part of the Knight’s chest as you retract, bringing a hand down to tug his glove off. Your spare reaches the end of his zipper, hastily clicking his belt off before dipping a hand under his waist. The inside of his thigh is searing hot, prickling under your touch. You can feel the pulse on the underside of his dick, unwavering and spilling beads of precum onto your fingers.

The stroke of your hand conjoins with the jerk of his fingers, causing the both of you to cry out in synchrony. You couldn’t feel any more full in the moment, yet, you need endlessly more. Your spare hand clutches a fist full of his hair, forcefully jerking his chin up to for another kiss. The scrape of your teeth against his makes you feel pyretic, the ignition of need on your body almost oppressive.

Your senses are almost lost to you as the Knight pulls away from your lips, leaving a deafening drum in your ears and your vision blurry. The only clear feeling is the shove of his fingers deep in your walls, twisting in a pattern that makes your head hang back. You can feel his cock throb violently in your fist, and the stretch of his fingers brings you right there. Your hand smoothes over the tip as he coats your stomach, feeling yourself gush over his fingers moments later.

Your panting is cut short by the abrupt shove of the Knight’s fingers in your mouth, lathering you in your own seed. The brush of his cock over your clit makes you whimper, biting down on his fingers to ease the scorch. Yet, you crave it all the same, tugging his fingers out of your mouth to stuff his own.

“Come on.” You cough, fingers curling against his tongue. “Fill me up, Jason.”

A brash moan cuts through the release of your fingers as he sinks down into you.

“Shit.” His breathing is nothing short of labored gasps, sliding you closer to his chest. “Need to feel all of you, sweetheart.”

You’d expect no less sweet talk from him even under such a nefarious high, words smoothing over you like a fresh douse of water. The pair of soft murmurs of how good you feel and the stretch of his cock fills you with a warm haze, evaporating in layers with each drag of him against your walls. Desire swiftly replaces the serenity, and you suddenly feel like the pace is too much. Your fingers run under his suit’s collar, nails digging into the plain of his back.

“More.” You mewl, dragging a course line through his shoulder blades. “Ah- give me- more.”

The Knight quickly obeys, picking you up by the plush of your ass and setting you against the edge of a table. Sultry invades every part of you as he burrows even further, and you feel like he might reach your intestines at this rate. He has you curled up against his waist, relentlessly pistoning into your cervix.

It’s all too fast— too much and too little all at the same time. The slap of skin against skin grows sloppier as your juices spill over his cock, winding the coil in your abdomen further than you thought it could go. You cry out as he practically manhandles you, curling your back further so you can take more of him. You can feel his skin cake under your fingernails at the pressure, and you’re forced to lick the salty trail of fresh tears as they trail helplessly down your face.

He paints your insides with ecstasy for the third time, and all you can feel is how full you are. Remnants of his seed drip out of your pussy and down your leg, something you’d certainly never felt before now. Even you knew the Arkham Knight wasn’t capable of holding you over the edge for this long— at least, not when his mind was his.

Over an hour had passed by now. You could feel desire being sucked from your body with each coming orgasm, eyes shut tight to prevent the tears from blurring your vision. The Knight had slowed down tremendously, having set you further against the table as he stretched you slowest he had all night.

“One more.” His voice is reduced to a complete rasp, eyes bloodshot and lashes dripping with tears. “It’s.. almost out.”

You nod, teeth grinding together as the adrenaline wears off and reality sets back in. The Knight’s fingers no longer burn your skin on contact, and he holds you still as he rides out his last orgasm.

The pounding in your head resides, and you’re left with nothing but the light chorus of your mixed pants and the soft squelch of his dick slipping out of you. Every inch of your skin is dewed with sweat, and a sore sits deep within the pits of your stomach, throbbing painfully in between your legs.

“Shit.”

You slowly zip your suit up, only managing to slide yourself off of the table before you’re sent tumbling over. The Knight feebly pulls you into his side, allowing the both of you to slide against the wall and onto the ground.

A glance is shared between you, and a sudden heat breaches your cheeks.

“Shit.” He mirrors, running a hand through dampened locks of hair shadowing his eyes. “Crane knew what he was doing.”

You saw it, too. The exhausted crease of his eyelids, the absolute agony running through your entire system. He’d planned this perfectly.

This hadn’t fixed anything, but you were too tired to shatter the peace you felt now, even if it was momentary.

“Hope you learned your lesson.”

He attempts to harden, scrutinize you with every ounce of energy he has left. The exertion leaves his head flush against your shoulder, and you run a hand over the scar on his cheek before you’re spent as well. His breath stalls at your touch, and only for a moment, you can feel the skin on his face tug upward.

“Maybe.”

#arqhms #arqhmsthirst #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #arkham knight x reader #arkhamverse #arkham knight smut #jason todd smut #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #jason todd reader insert #jason todd x y/n #batman arkham knight

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coffee-latte-sprite · 2 years

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Jason: There is only one thing I would change about you

Y/N: *offended gasp*

Jason: Your last name

Y/N: *flustered mess*

Pt. 2

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redhoodedangel · 7 months

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“Safety in Pills, Y/N” - Arkham Knight! Jason X Reader

I’m not sure how many people who played or seen the Arkham Games also watched ‘The Walten Files’ by Martin Walls on YouTube cause that’s what this is inspired off of…

In essence, Y/N is Sophie Walten…

The premise is that Jason and Y/N were dating around the time he was Robin. Y/N did know about the identities of the others. When Jason is kidnapped and later killed by Joker, Y/N is left traumatized and heartbroken. She is then given meds in order to better cope with the loss. Unfortunately, this caused her to drift apart from the Bat Family and blurs her memories of Jason. However, around the time of Joker’s death, she starts having nightmares and dreams about Jason. Her meds then stop working and she rejoins the Batman Family around when the Arkham Knight makes an appearance.

Warning ⚠️: themes of torture, death and mental health, mentions of medical drug use, amnesia (sort of)

Y/N and Jason are the same age

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~

‘Don’t forget your medicine, Y/N!’

‘Take your meds, kiddo!'

‘Safety in pills, Y/N…’

That’s all you’ve heard since you were seventeen. You were now twenty-one and no longer needed your meds that help you through your trauma. Or rather, the meds were not helping you at all, but were hindering you in a way you didn’t realize until about nine to ten months ago.

Your medication was blurring many memories of your childhood, teenage years and even early adult years. During the time you had started taking the pills, you had drifted apart from your late boyfriend, Jason Todd’s, family. Hell, you even lost many memories of him as well. All those good and happy memories you made together…

This went on for over three years… until the nightmares crept in around the time Joker had gotten sick and was dying…

The nightmares were horrific, like a home movie gone wrong. It showed horrible visions of what happened to your boyfriend while he was being held hostage by Joker. Those flashing images are what kept you up most nights.

You immediately made your way back to Bruce and the others after the death of the Joker. After explaining everything that happened, they welcomed you back with open arms. Bruce even started looking into your therapist, who prescribed you your meds. Her email showed many threatening messages from a Mr. Jerome V, ordering her to tamper with your meds or she and her family would die. Bruce then relaid to you that Jerome V was one of many of Joker’s old aliases he used during his early years of crime.

However, when Joker fell ill, your therapist took you off the meds that were blocking your memories. This, of course, is what led to your nightmares and varied dreams about Jason. Without the barrier keeping your past memories locked up, you were prone to regaining them.

Joker wanted you to forget about Jason…

For what reason, you nor Bruce nor anyone could figure out…

And it was likely you never would find out…

~~~~~~~

Fast forward to now, Halloween night during Scarecrow’s big takeover. You were currently with Barbara in the Clock Tower, munching on some burgers you pulled from a fast food restaurant that was abandoned during the evacuation.

This whole situation had you on edge, especially in regards to Scarecrow’s new partner, the Arkham Knight. Much of the information you all had on him showed what he was capable of. He was young and skilled, judging by how he called Bruce ‘old man’. His true voice was disguised, but it felt familiar to you. You just couldn’t understand why…

You clutched at the oversized dark red hoodie you were wearing. It was big on you because it had originally belonged to Jason before he died. It was given to you by Alfred as a reminder of who you had loved and lost. It quickly became a comfort item to you, even holding the remaining scent of cologne, rainwater and smoke that was Jason’s.

“How are you holding up, Y/N?” Barbara asked with a tone of concern, still looking and typing away at her screens.

“I’m fine, Barb. This whole thing just has me in knots.”

“That’s not what I meant…” Barbara said softly, looking at you now for an honest answer. She then added, “How are you doing really?”

You sighed and took another bite out of your half-eaten burger. You chewed thoroughly before answering, “You remember that NCIS two-parter, ‘Hiatus’?”

Barbara thought on your response, “That’s the episode where Gibbs nearly gets killed in an explosion and loses years worth of his memories, right?”

“Yeah… well, I feel like Gibbs after that two part episode. My memory is still fuzzy… I screw up remembering certain people’s names… I remember a lot of things about Jason… our relationship and things like that… but I feel like there’s still some things I’m forgetting about… but I don’t know what…” You said solemnly, looking out of the clock face onto the rest of the city.

“I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I know this is hard for you. Jason’s death affected us all in more than one way. Just know that he really liked you, even loved you…”

You smiled at the redhead, a little more reassured than before. It was always nice to have someone to talk to and rely on during tough times.

After what was probably several hours, you and Barbara got a call from Batman…

“Barbara, you and Y/N need to get out there now!” He exclaimed through the comms. You immediately went over and grabbed your baseball bat before hiding behind one of the bookshelves.

The power then cut out and the elevator opened abruptly. Just then, the Arkham Knight and his men came in, barreling towards Barbara. Barbara fired off a few rubber rounds before being overpowered.

Another soldier came around your bookshelf and you immediately started swinging. You nailed him in the head and flipped him over the shelf. One more militiaman came over and you swung, shattering his left arm. He dropped his gun and you kicked him down.

The Arkham Knight immediately sprung into action, grabbing the bat in your hands in an attempt to disarm you. Knowing that punching him would be a death wish and a half, you immediately let go of the bat. Unfortunately, you lose your footing and hit the back of your head against a nearby bookshelf.

The impact from the fall sent pain shooting through your head. Your vision blurred the more you struggled to stay awake, your body fading away to unconsciousness. The last thing you saw before passing out was the Arkham Knight throwing your bat to the side and walking up to you. You could hear the click of handcuffs when everything faded to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your whole body stirred as you groaned from the pain in your head. As your raised your hand to touch your head, you then realized that you were bound in handcuffs. You also figured out that your head was bandaged up.

You slowly sat up, trying to prevent any more pain or disorientation. Judging by your surroundings, you were locked up in a rectangular box of a cell. Nothing but a makeshift mattress under you and a table near the sealed door. The fact that you were so small compared to the room began to overwhelm you. Some of the anxiety was curbed on account that you were still wearing Jason’s hoodie, but you were still trembling.

Through the glass, you could see the soldiers guarding the outside your cell. You even spotted one of them, who looks at you and noticed that you were awake, began to call someone on his comm. You assumed that he was calling his boss, the Arkham Knight. It just seemed like the most logical explanation for what was going on.

This assumption was proven right as the man himself walked into the room…

He then came right into your cell, his men leaving to who knows where. He reached for his guns before placing them on the nearby table, where your phone and baseball bat were placed. This alone had you backing further into the corner of your cell.

“Y’know, you don’t have to be afraid of me…” The Arkham Knight’s voice was surprisingly gentle when addressing you, despite the harsh edge of the voice modulator.

“Isn’t exactly easy when one of the people responsible for Gotham’s takeover is in the same room as you…” you stammered, clutching Jason’s, now your hoodie.

The Knight then turned around, making his way towards you. You did your best not to panic and look afraid, but you were terrified. He soon swiped a piece of your hair softly, which you lightly flinched at. As if he felt it, the Arkham Knight slowly pulled his hand back. Instead, his gloved hand made contact with the crimson fabric of your hoodie.

“That’s oddly big on you… Someone gave this to you…”

Your eyes grew blurry as tears began to bubble to the surface. Abandoning all your promises of keeping your secret from strangers, you spoke…

“A friend of my late boyfriend’s gave it to me… it was originally his… before he was killed…”

The Knight took a moment to speak, as if your sorrow took him by surprise, “I’m sorry…”

“You got nothing to be sorry about. You’re not the one who shot him… it was Joker and he doesn’t feel remorse for anyone or regret anything for shit. He as hell didn’t regret when he forced my therapist to give me a memory-blocking antidepressant…”

The Arkham Knight cocked his head in question and confusion.

“The pills my therapist prescribed to me made me forget previous years of my life. Including when I was dating my boyfriend and everything we did together. I started taking my medication when he was killed to keep me afloat.”

“Why was he killed?” The Arkham Knight asked, sitting on top of the table next to his weapons coolly. You almost chose not to tell him when you realized that he knew almost everything about Batman and the others. So, who knows what else he might know…

“He was a Robin… the previous one before the current one. I only knew because he chose to tell me… to keep things honest and on the table…”

You took a deep breath as words became harder to speak and come up with…

“The Joker… he took him… tortured and broke him… I… I spent a lot of that time, wondering if he was ever going to come home… if everything was okay and go back to the way it was. But that video came up and…”

Tears overwhelmed you as you begin to remember that horrible year. Your whole body trembled as you recalled every gruesome and excruciating detail. You hiccuped and heaved on the sobs that escaped your mouth.

“H-He didn’t deserve any of what Joker put him through… he-… he just wanted to help others. Sure, he had a different perspective on crime compared to Batman, but… he was willing to take the risk… Hell, telling me he was Robin at the time was a risk… I just miss him so fucking much…”

“It wasn’t your fault. Never has been and never will be…”

“It should’ve been me…”

“Yeah, and then your boyfriend would’ve still gone after the Joker. Nothing would’ve changed except the timing…”

“How would you know?! It’s not like you’re here… in his cell…”

Silence cut the air like a hammer striking a nail once cleanly. You began to wonder what was going on in the Arkham Knight’s head. Why he hadn’t said anything yet or walk away with little care for what you had just said. However, you were not prepared for what he said next…

“Actually, I was…”

You looked at him in shock, wondering what he meant. Surely, he wasn’t insinuating that he was witness to the horrors that Jason was. Surely, he wasn’t saying that he was living in the same hell as your deceased love. What exactly was he trying to say?

Letting out what sound like a heavy sigh, the Knight reached for his helmet. He latched onto the sides of the mocked cowl and began to lift. You backed away further, almost as if you were trying to move through the wall. Suddenly, the masked was finally off…

“Oh, god…”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Part one done!

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janasrdhr · 7 months

Text

Are you tired, Jason? - Jason Todd

──────────────────────

Warning(s): Angst?

──────────────────────

The subdued illumination within the church accentuates your aura of sanctity.

“Why?” Jason inquires with a quivering voice. “Why didn't he respond to my prayers?”

Your majestic wings are unfurled before him. During his captivity under Joker's cruel grip, this was the vision that haunted him: a divine saviour, whether it be God, Bruce, or anyone else, coming to his rescue. Jason's clenched fist crashes onto the ground, causing his knuckles to bleed, yet he remains unfazed.

You are an Angel, and yet, you also did not heed his call. If God truly exists, could it be that Jason simply did not merit salvation?

You grace the moment with a beautiful smile, descending like a delicate feather to caress his cheek, “All is done in due time.”

Your presence brings Jason to tears.

“Can…can you really hear me?”

Jason is a mess. He feels like he’s been in hell for months, but to be seen and recognized by an Angel has brought him to his knees.

“I did so much wrong,” Jason choked out. “Did he ever hear my pleas for help?”

You guide him to his knees, cradling his head against your chest, “In a world where so many stray from the path of righteousness in the name of justice, the Holy One's pleas for understanding remain unanswered, eternally unheard.”

Jason cries, head buried in your chest. You’re warm, so comforting. But your words ring true: he did so much wrong in the name of right.

“Can I ever be forgiven?” Jason asks. “Can I ever truly be redeemed?”

You delicately cleanse away the blood and grime from his face, your smile a graceful enigma. “The answer,” you whisper, placing your hand upon his chest, “lies within the cadence of your actions.”

“But is he real?” Jason asks in despair. “Does he even hear me?”

Jason’s eyes meet yours, filled with anguish.

“Of course, he is real. He dwells within every breath you draw, every tear you shed, every drop of sweat that glistens on your brow, every peal of laughter that escapes your lips, and every beat of the blood coursing through your veins. He is none other than your very essence.”

“No, I’m nothing like him,” Jason says sadly. “I’m a monster. He’s perfect.”

Tears streak his face. He feels lost, broken, and in the presence of a divine being.

You laugh, your hair cascading gracefully as you brush the ground beneath you, where flowers bloom in all their imperfect beauty. “Imperfection,” you muse, “is akin to perfection, my child. Just as he is, just as his choices are, and just as you are yourself.”

Jason feels the weight of those words. Perfection being imperfect, and God being imperfect. How can that be true?

Jason looks up at you.

“Are you him?” Jason asks softly.

You gently trace your fingers across Jason's face, causing his eyelids to flutter close, a knowing smile graces your lips as you opt to remain silent.

Jason experiences the gentle touch of your hand upon his face, a sensation as comforting as a sunbeam's embrace. A divine warmth envelops him, and in that moment, he finds serenity, prompting him to open his eyes and behold your presence.

Jason looks lost in your eyes. How could one have ever created such an entity?

How could he be worthy of something so perfect?

“Why are you here?” Jason whispers. “Why me?”

You smile, “I am a mere thread woven into the tapestry of existence, a part of everyone and everything. The very air you nourish, the blood that flows, the tears that fall, the laughter that echoes, and the prayers that ascend. You are no different, my child.”

Jason is a bit taken aback by your words. You are part of everything? Part of him? And he is part of you?

“If you are here, that means he is listening to me, right?” Jason asks..

“I hear you, don't I?” You chuckle.

Jason nods in the dark. The candlelight caresses your hair, giving it a golden sheen. Your eyes sparkle, radiating beauty.

Jason feels as though anything is possible.

“Does that mean…does that mean I can be redeemed?” Jason whispers.

“That, my child, is in your hands,” you say with a gentle smile, your touch tracing his cheek like a whispered promise.

Jason's fingers graze your hand as it caresses his cheek, the reality of your presence seeming almost surreal, like a reverie.

“What should I do next?” Jason implores, his desire to make amends and seek forgiveness from a higher power burning within him. “I yearn for my words to reach God's ears.”

You release a weary sigh, gently closing your eyes.

Jason envelops you in a fierce yet tender embrace, his arms encircling your form with an unwavering grip. You sense the tremors coursing through him, a stark departure from the Jason Todd you once knew.

Jason's voice quivers, breaking like fragile glass.

“I’m scared,” Jason whispers.

You catch your breath for a moment, a smile dancing across your lips as you embrace him, your arms encircling him like a comforting shroud. “Do not fret,” you whisper, brushing his hair tenderly. “After all, am I not your mother?”

“My mother…” Jason murmurs.

You’re warm, loving. Jason craves this intimacy.

“Yes, you’re my mother,” Jason replies. He’s almost in tears.

He can feel his emotions flowing through him, and they are overwhelming.

You hush him with a soothing gesture, rocking him gently like a fragile vessel on calm waters.

Jason clings to you as though you are his lifeline as if releasing you would shatter the fragile illusion around him.

You sway him tenderly, your presence a balm to his troubled soul. Jason shuts his eyes, savouring the sensation, wondering if this is the ethereal touch of a mother's love, a feeling long yearned for.

You’re his mother.

Jason squeezes you tighter, tears streaming down his face. The sensation of a mother’s touch is beyond words.

“Can I stay here?” Jason asks. “With you. Always.”

“Jason, I've been a constant presence in your life,” you say, your words a comforting anchor in the tumultuous sea of his existence.

“Is it true, ma?” Jason asks, still clinging to you.

He wants to believe your words with all his heart. All he has ever wanted is to be loved.

“You love me?” Jason whispers.

“I will endure for eternity, in every conceivable universe,” you murmur softly, your words brushing across his soul like a gentle caress, sealing the promise with a tender kiss upon his forehead.

Jason's heart soars, an unfamiliar warmth flooding his senses. Throughout the long years of his agonizing existence, this emotion has eluded him—never has he experienced such profound love and solace. He realizes with unwavering certainty, “You're my mother.”

With his head nestled against your shoulder and eyes gently shut, Jason finally basks in the embrace of love and solace he has long yearned for.

“Are you tired, Jason?” you inquire, lowering him gently to the ground. Your arms cradle his form, and your wings wrap around him like a protective cocoon, offering solace and shelter.

“So tired, ma,” Jason says as he closes his eyes. His body seems so small next to yours, and he feels as though he is truly returning to a womb. He feels safe, loved, and peaceful.

The torment is gone. It’s just him and you now.

“Then surrender to slumber, my child… let joyful dreams be your refuge,” you murmur tenderly as you rock him, your touch tracing the path of his scars, each mark a story etched in his journey.

“What if I never wake up?” Jason whispers.

Your caress is so sweet, so tender.

“Don’t leave me, ma,” Jason murmurs. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” There is so much he wants to tell you, so much he wants to cry about.

“I don’t want to die,” Jason cries, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Can I ask for one thing before I close my eyes, ma?”

“Whatever you desire,” your hushed words a gentle breeze ready to carry the weight of all 7 seas.

Jason looks up at you, his eyes raw. He holds on with all the strength he has left. He can feel himself wanting to let go, to let sleep wash over him. But his eyes remain open.

“Stay with me, ma.”

“Forever my angel,” you whisper with a tender smile, resting your head against his as he draws his final breath in your embrace. A solitary tear descends down your cheek, an eloquent tribute to the moments shared.

Jason’s breathing grows shallow. His eyes flutter closed. He holds you, and he knows that you are with him as he closes his eyes.

You can feel him drift away from consciousness, as he drifts into sleep and finally…peace.

You hold him, and you hold the love of a mother. It’s a feeling he knew he would never feel again, and yet…you are with him.

“Rest, my child,” you whisper, the echoes of your words spanning eternities. With a serene smile, you cradle Jason in your embrace, a timeless lullaby at heart.

Time slows as Jason relaxes, his eyes finally closed as sleep envelopes him. He is no longer Jason Todd, haunted by fear and pain.

He is Jason, your beloved son, asleep and at peace in your arms.

──────────────────────

masterlist - dc masterlist

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jvsons · 2 years

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Strange question but how hygienic do you think arkham Jason is?? You can tell by his face that even while running a militia, he’s clean shaven and he has pretty white teeth!

Guessing from past experiences, I’m a firm believer that Jason is sort of a “clean freak” when it comes to hygiene.

The abandoned wing of Arkham he was trapped in for over a year was riddled with dirt, crawling with insects, and just had disgusting conditions overall. Jason most likely keeps himself clean because he can’t stand a feeling similar to what he experienced in the asylum, and may just feel uncomfortable with being super dirty in general. He may also tend to associate uncleanliness with his trauma, which would be another strong reason as to why we always see him clean shaven despite being a militia commander. His scar is also well healed, which means he probably keeps up with his skin on the regular too!

#jvsons #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #arkham knight drabble #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight fanfiction #arkham knight series #batman arkham knight #arkhamverse #arkham knight #dc comics #jason todd drabble

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gothamitelove · 2 years

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How do you think the different Riddlers would react to reader totally being down to bridal carry him?

OH BOY alright anon you've cracked the code here

btas!riddler: he probably squeals like a little kid. please surprise him every so often by carrying him, he'd love it. also probably makes a comment about "ooh, you're so strong!"

arkham!riddler: depends on which game version we're talking about. origins!riddler would probably let you, but would complain the whole time. asylum/city!riddler definitely minds less, because i don't think he's got the room to think about much of anything aside from his weird lil puzzles. knight!riddler complains. so much. he will never admit that he enjoys this though. please carry him to bed if he won't cooperate (which is most of the time)

gotham!riddler: is more concerned about his safety while being carried than his dignity ("watch out for the door frame- if i hit my head, it's not my fault-"). he kind of enjoys this too, but again, is very worried you might drop him.

i hope you liked this, anon! this was cute! <3

#asks #edward nygma #edward nygma x reader #riddler #btas riddler #arkhamverse #dcu #x reader #dc x reader #gender neutral reader #rogues gallery #gotham #arkham knight #reader insert #riddler x reader #the riddler x reader #headcanons #fanfiction

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finniestoncrane · 2 months

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Can you do a oneshot of Arkham Knight Riddler eating reader out? He needs to eat. And I need a dirty, greasy, disgusting man to violate me with his tongue. I want his to have to wipe the cum and drool as it dribbles down his chin. Absolutely NASTY!

Snack

Arkham!Riddler x Fem!Reader, word count: 450 just a lil oneshot, just a lil snack u-u listen i've done it before and i'll do it again lmao if there's one thin i won't get tired of it's eddie eating pussy!! also it's fem!reader but there's no gendered language, so anyone with a vagina who doesn't mind the word pussy should be all good request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: oral sex, a bit of fingering, mentions of overstim

Eddie rolled his tongue, almost wave like, making the muscle pulse and curve from the back to the tip against your dripping cunt. Each lap made you wail, your fingers curled into his hair, tugging at the root as you pushed him to you and pulled him away when you could feel yourself getting too close to your inevitable orgasm.

From the moment he'd fallen to his knees in front of you, you had been close. Desperate. Wet. You could feel your clit twitching as he pulled off your pants, then your underwear. Feel your inside aching as he lifted your legs up and placed them on his deceptively strong shoulders. Let your jaw drop, a howling wail coming out of your open mouth as he used his thumbs to spread your lips apart.

Now, you were soaking, your entire body throbbing, muscles tensing as they waited for your release. Eddie worked at it, his thin lips circling your clit as he inserted a finger inside of you, another joining it quickly after. The way he spread you open, devouring you as though he were actually starving made your heart pound, your stomach flip, your vision going blurry as you got closer to the edge of the intense climax that felt as though it choked you.

You were clouded by your orgasm, brain fogged with only the notion of seeking pleasure coming into focus, but you still stole a look down towards Eddie. As though he sensed you watching him, he looked up towards you, steely blue eyes glinting with his malicious glee. He removed his fingers from you, using the back of the same hand to wipe his chin which was slick with your cum, dripping with his own drool.

Every second he spent away from you was agonising, threatening to dull the release that had been building up. But you felt his sharp nose come into contact with your once again, his stubbled cheeks between your thighs, dark brown hair tickling your skin as he dove back in, pressing his tongue in and out of you, moaning as he fucked you with his mouth.

With a sharp squeal you came, quivering under his continued touch, overstimulated almost immediately after your body settled back down. But Eddie kept going, chuckling to himself, not quite satisfied and certain you had more to give him. He pulled away briefly, only long enough to reassure you in a cruel, teasing tone that felt like he was purposefully mocking your pathetic desperation.

"If you want me to stop, you only have to ask. 'Please, Mister Nigma, Sir. I've had enough.' Say it loud and clear."

He only offered you the out as he was confident you wouldn't take it, smiling smugly to himself as you grabbed him by his hair and pushed him back into you.

#finnie writes #arkham riddler #arkham edward nigma #riddler x reader #arkhamverse riddler #the riddler #arkhamverse #riddler #the riddler imagine #riddler smut #the riddler fanfic #riddler fanfic #riddler x you #edward nigma x reader #edward nigma #arkham!riddler #the riddler fanfiction #arkham!verse

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sideeve · 10 months

Text

NOTHING’S GONNA HURT YOU BABY with Jason Todd

even as the arkham knight , he would never let anything bad happened to you

arkham knight x f!batgirl!reader/jason todd x f!batgirl!reader

based off of the game “arkham knight” and the dlc “a matter of family” , angst , bruce is your father ( adopted or not ) , reader and jason are in love but are not together , jason pretty much kidpnapping the reader , reader’s race or looks aren’t specified , lovers reunited trope

“breaking news! commissioner gordon has been captured by the joker.”

bruce has called you to the batcave, informing you about the upcoming mission he is sending you on. “well why can’t you do it?” jason questions, following behind you. “because, jason, joker specifically said that if i attempted at saving the commissioner, he will die. i can’t risk it.”

jason groans. “it’s okay, jason. i’ll be back soon. with gordon alive.” you attempt at cheering him up. “but…i don’t like you going alone.” you smirk at him pouting. you began to promise him, “i know. after this, we’ll go on every mission together.”

while on your way to the abandoned amusement park, jason always chimed in, checking on you. “i’m at the park.” jason hums, “why are you being quiet all of a sudden?” he doesn’t answer.

you grew nervous, you have never been on a mission with back up. “fuck.” you whispered under you breath. there was a thug rounding next to you, inching close to you. “don’t worry, [ name ]. you got this.” he spoke in your com.

little did you know that jason was perched right on your location, watching you. “how can you be so sure?” he took this as a moment to help you. “well for one, robins are good luck.” he smirks at you.

it’s been three years since you stepped down from the title as batgirl. you couldn’t stand to fight crime without your best friend by your side.

bruce accepted your choice, even though he has told you to never step down from a fight. but he understood your reasoning. he missed jason too.

but you didn’t leave bruce all together. you still helped him. just behind a screen.

“[ name ]! lock the clock tower now!” bruce screams at you. “what are you talking about? no one knows i’m here.” you laugh off his urgency.

the elevator door sounds, catching you attention. before you could see the person, a smoke bomb explodes, covering the room. “go! go! go!”

you couldn’t see anything. you felt a hand grab your arm. you tried to fight them off, but they were too strong.

“let go of me!” your cries were muffled by a gloved hand. “shh, i’ve got you. nothing is going to hurt you. now that i’m here.”

you felt a needle poke you, inserting a liquid in your arm, making you drowsy.

you woke up in an unfamiliar room. the bed was soft. the room had a good temperature. it was like…your home. but it wasn’t.

“you’re awake. finally.” the booming voice makes you jump. “i didn’t mean to scare you. really, the plan wasn’t to scare you at all. but, you were acting terrible. and i couldn’t do anything else.”

he laughs humorlessly. “what-who are you?” your voice quivers. “you really don’t know, do you, [ name ]?” he clicks a button, his mask lifting, exposing his face.

“oh my god…” you felt your heart jump out of your chest. “i thought you were dead. joker sent the video and everything. bruce and i didn’t stop looking for you. how are you…”

“i know. it’s a lot to explain. but i’m back.” you run up to hug him. “don’t you ever leave me again, asshole.” he laugh, “not planning on it.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd angst #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #dc fanon #dc fanfiction #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight #arkham knight fanfiction #arkham knight fanfic

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littleredwing89 · 1 year

Text

PREDATOR OR PREY?

Arkham Knight!Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings – Language. NSFW Smut. Outdoor smut.

A/N: Another short smutty Drabble for you all for Arkham Knight!Jason…Enjoy xoxo

————

He looked into your eyes, holding your gaze. You looked up at him, feeling the energy pulsing between you both. With a boldness you never possessed before, you stepped towards him, backing him up to the wooden table. Resting your hands on his muscled chest, you pressed the length of your body to his. His arms enclosed around you, and you felt their weight on the small of your back. You reached up and pulled his head to you, kissing him firmly on the lips, tasting his salty flavour.

You felt his big hands push underneath your tight leather jacket, as his tongue slid deeper into your mouth. The fabric of your wet sports bra was pushed aside, replaced by the rough softness of Jason’s thumbs sliding over your erect nipples. You reached your hand into his army tactical pants, and felt his hard cock, pulsing gently as you squeezed his length. His hands fell away as you sank to your knees in front of him, pulling his combat trousers down his thighs. You looked up into his eyes before taking him deep into your throat.

Jason ran his hands through your hair, pulling you down onto his shaft. You slowed him down, teasing him with your tongue. You swirled it over the head, feeling its velvet smoothness between your lips. Running your hands along his muscular thighs, you felt Jason’s cock twitch and grow inside your mouth. Rewarding his patience, you pushed him all the way to the back of your throat. You felt his knees buckle slightly, as you eased up and down the full length of his cock.

Each time you pulled back, you let your lips slip over the sensitive ridge of the head, before sinking all the way to the base. He groaned, just as another round of thunder rang out above you. You looked up at him, licking the head of his cock, when he suddenly pulled you up to your feet, and pushed your back onto the damp picnic table.

Jason knelt in front of the table, pulling your tight leather pants down, leaving them to pool around one of your feet. He dragged his thick finger down your slit, feeling your warmth. He parted your lips with his thumbs, exposing you. You waited to feel his hot tongue, squirming at his hesitation. Lightning in the distance caught your eye, as his tongue swept over your wet pussy. His finger teased your opening, gently circling it as he trapped your clit in his mouth, sucking it.

He pushed one finger deep, and then two, stretching you. Your hips rolled with his tempo, pushing yourself hard against his mouth. The wind had picked up and you felt the cool air rush over your body, as Jason brought you closer and closer to the edge. Adding your moans to mother nature's voice, you bucked hard against his fingers.

He stood up abruptly, and pulled you off the table. Turning you quickly, he bent you roughly forward, leaning you over the picnic table. You felt his hard cock teasing you, rubbing your swollen flesh. You pushed back against him, desperate to have him inside your pussy. Pressing his hands into your hips, he held your for a few moments more, before giving you what you so desperately wanted.

His thick cock stretched your open even further, and you felt yourself give way as he slid all the way inside you. Slowly, he eased out and in, feeling the heat of you all along his shaft, your moisture drenching him as the rain had. His fingers found your hard nipples, and squeezed them roughly through your sports bra. He sped up, until he was pounding you nearly off your feet, his fingers digging hard into your hips. Your hands pressed into the wood of the table, as you tried to steady yourself against his thrusts. You felt your thighs start to twitch, your pussy starting to tighten.

Sensing that you were close, Jason eased his pace, thrusting slowly, methodically, deeply. Pressing your forehead into the table, you moaned through your clenched teeth, rocking back to meet him. When he reached down and stroked your clit, rubbing it between moist, rough fingers, you lost it. Screaming out into the storm, you felt all your muscles contract at once, ringing your orgasm out of your, wave after wave. Leaning on the table for support, you let him fuck your through your quaking.

Your juices covered him, your soft, throbbing wetness sending his cock into convulsions. The force of his climax caused him to lean forward against you, kissing and biting at your neck. He felt your tiny aftershocks, as he continued pumping into you, filling you with cum. The final thrust, hitting bottom, forced a deep moan from your throat just barely heard over the thunder. He collapsed on top of your, his weight pressing your back down onto the table.

Both of you were breathing heavily, spent. He stood up, just as the rain was beginning to die down. You straightened up, pulling your leather trousers up from the heap on the ground.

————

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader insert #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #arkham knight x reader insert #arkham knight imagine #arkhamverse #arkhamknight x you #Arkham knight smut #Arkham knight x reader

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hanasnx · 3 months

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MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: the picture on the left is michal mrazik who i edited to look like jason so i’d appreciate it if u didn’t use it.

JASON TODD who humps your ass any chance he gets. Not that he’s desperate for relief like some hound, but that it’s his own personal bit that sometimes reaps benefits. You weren’t trying to catch his eye when you were stretching out, on your hands and knees to extend your spine in a deep arch. Inhale after exhale, each breath relaxed you, until a perfect visible curve to your back sloped into your succulent backside and lured your boyfriend in like a fly trap.

As if he could smell that you’re in a compromising position, he comes up behind you on the mattress. You can feel his weight shift as he walks on his knees to you, dick first. “What’re you doin’?” he asks coyly, and his hips bumps yours. You roll your eyes with a scoff; only he could assume you’re doing this for him. Easily, like he’s done a thousand times before, his thick fingers slot in the folds where your thighs connect to your pelvis, wedging between the fat there because of your stance. He keeps you steady as he swings forward, giving you congratulatory little humps. “Uh, uh, uh,” he orates with each thrust, as if narrating his entry with feigned moans. Each one’s harder than the last, and as he knocks against your tailbone, your body reminds you of the times you’ve been in similar positions.

The powerful placebo shoots through you with each connect, and you whine from the memory of him rearranging your guts in doggy style. He dry humps you yet you’re squirming and whimpering like he’s inside you, burying your heated face in the covers. He doesn’t fully register the extent of it, but he starts getting the picture, and he muses, “Yeah? Yeah, baby? Feel good?” while he’s rutting harder. You’re so stupid for him, you respond to him with all your pathetic confirmations. You’re banging against him, you can practically feel every inch of him plunging in you, his balls rapping against your folds. Both of you are playing the game, his cock hardening with each gradual increase of pace, and every manic thrust against you. The sensation of sex isn’t confined to memory, traveling through you like lightning, like he really is fucking you. It’s all imaginary though, clearly reminding you of cruel reality when he stops. Only to kickstart up again when you hear the familiar sound of his belt.

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thesandsofelsweyr · 1 year

Text

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 1/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 2,809 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

This is my first attempt at a reader-insert fic 🙃

Yes this is a repost. My blog is still new so Tumblr didn't allow my original post to appear in the tags. (Shout out to the 10 of you who still managed to find & like the original 🥰)

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You climb the last flight of steps up to the fourth floor of your apartment building, stomping each stair into submission as you go. You’re still fuming from the blind date you just escaped. That is the absolute last time you ever let Erin set you up with one of her stock broker bro coworkers. You don’t care how hot or rich they are; you are done. Done, done, stick a fork in you. You love your bestie but by God does the woman have terrible taste in men or what.

Both of the pricks she handpicked for you were narcissistic know-it-alls with egos the size of Texas; a pair of swine in designer suits (who, to Erin’s credit, were smoking hot but that’s beside the point.) Once the pig from tonight decided that you weren’t trophy wife material he became far more interested in his phone than he was in you. And the last pig coddled you like you were a delicate, empty-headed damsel in distress who was lucky to be granted the honor of his company and conversation. You should’ve learned your lesson after that first failed date with Dalton Rockefeller-Vanderbilt (or whatever old money asshole last name he had) but you’ve been feeling lonely lately, especially after Ash introduced you to the fab guy she’s dating (an accountant with a perfectly plebeian name of Abe).

You glare down the hallway as you ascend enough to peek over the top of the stairs. Oh great, you think sourly, pursing your lips, your face hardening into a study in once I step inside that door I’m downing a shot of whiskey before turning up an overflowing glass of wine. You stare molten daggers at the tall, brawny guy in your sights. It’s the hot asshole who lives beside you; the last person you want to see tonight. He’s standing, hunched as ever, in front of his door, key poised for the deadbolt, wearing that same teal baseball cap and red hoodie that he never seems to take off. Your jaw tightens. You’ve tried to be nice to the brute—flashing him a smile, saying hello—but all you’ve ever gotten in return was a scowl, if he deigned to acknowledge you at all. Well, you’re fresh out of smiles tonight, jerk.

A flutter of unease tickles your tummy as you step onto the landing, into the narrow hallway with him, your back turned to the only exit, a six foot tall sus man between you and your apartment. You stand up straighter, squaring your shoulders, trying to make yourself look and feel taller. It’s late, and your building is eerily quiet while the city is abuzz with incessant sirens. The usual ensemble of notorious nutjobs are fighting yet another battle in their never-ending war with their rival nutjob who dresses up like a Bat.

Nutjobs like this guy…

You reach into your handbag and grab your keys in your fist, sliding the sharp ends between your fingers, ready to stab at some eyeballs. (You regrettably didn’t have room for your taser or mace in this bag so you have to improvise.) It’s your own fault that you suspect the guy’s a sociopath lying in wait to jump you. You made up a serial killer backstory for him—the result of one too many true crime podcast binges—despite not even knowing the guy’s name. You can’t help it. He gives off serious Ted Bundy vibes. Well, maybe that’s unfair to Ted. Ted would’ve at least smiled at you before bludgeoning you with a crowbar. This guy though…

This guy doesn’t have a scowl for you tonight. Actually, he seems startled by your sudden appearance in the hallway, dropping his keyring to the floor with a clatter that shatters the uneasy silence, causing you to jump. He ducks his red-hooded head between his hunched shoulders as you pass by, warily eying him, ready to stab those icy blue eyeballs of his if he tries anything.

You arrive at your door and take out your keyring, sighing with likely unnecessary relief as you slide the key into the lock. The guy’s probably a harmless weirdo incel who never learned how to talk to a woman. You steal one last peek over your shoulder at him, and watch as he stabs at his deadbolt with his key, hitting everywhere but the keyhole because, you realize with surprise, his hand is shaking too much to hit the target. This dude’s a disaster, you say to yourself as you turn the key in your own deadbolt. Then, as he misses the keyhole yet again, you hear yourself ask, “Do you need help?” in an annoyed tone. You didn’t mean to sound so bitchy but whatever. He shouldn’t be such a bitch to you.

He seems to jump at the sound of your voice, and his keyring clatters to the scuffed wood floor again. You stare back at him incredulously. Is he wasted or something? You wonder as that unsettling feeling creeps back in, prickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Your grip tightens around your doorknob as your pulse picks up speed.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles in response without sparing a glance in your direction.

“You don’t look fine,” you grumble back at him, the flames of irritation rekindled by his rudeness. Why should you care if the jerk’s too drunk or stoned to get in his apartment. Let his rude ass sleep on his doorstep. You shove open your door and take a stomped step across the threshold—you really need that glass of wine. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bend down to pick up his keys, then hear him groan like he’s in pain. You poke your head back around the doorframe, curious, and notice he’s doubled over now, clutching at his heaving chest, breathing hard and fast like he just ran a 5k or—your heart leaps inside your own chest—like he’s having a fucking heart attack. You watch, mouth agape, brows furrowed, as he sinks to his knees, a handful of red fabric still clenched in his trembling fist, then falls forward onto his free hand while he struggles to get control of his labored breathing. Crumpled on the floor like this, fighting for a breath, makes him seem so small, vulnerable, and not the least bit threatening; more like a boy who needs your help and less like an NFL quarterback who murders women on the side for fun.

Just go into your apartment, pour that extra large glass of merlot you’ve been fantasizing about since John Preston Anderson III introduced himself with his full name. Curl up on the sofa with In Cold Blood or a horde of shirtless, oiled, bronzed, and heartily-muscled Dothraki in your Game of Thrones rewatch. Who cares if the hot asshole serial killer next door has a heart attack? But you care apparently because you rush over to him instead, ignoring The Stranger Beside Me audiobook narrator inside your head warning you that this is a textbook Ted Bundy ploy, you idiot. You bend to help him, to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and when your fingertips brush against him his entire body jerks away from you, like you zapped him with your taser. He throws up an arm to warn you off. “Don’t,” he snaps breathlessly before gulping down a lungful of air, then rasps: “Please don’t touch me.”

You bristle at his harsh rebuff but keep your temper in check since the guy’s clearly in crisis mode. “Should I call an ambulance? You look like you’re having a heart attack.”

“It’s… it’s not a heart attack… it just… feels like one.” He bites off each word, every breath precious. The fingers of his free hand dig into the hardwood floor.

“At least let me unlock your door for you,” you suggest shortly, biting your tongue before you can add: since you weren’t able to manage that yourself, then feeling guilty for even thinking that. What had the poor guy done to you tonight except happen to be standing in your shared hallway after some other asshole pissed you off?

He gives you a small, grudging nod so you retrieve his fallen keyring, wondering why a man needs so many damn keys. “The bronze one,” he grunts, as if he read your mind.

You unlock his door with the bronze key then push the door open while he drags himself to his feet behind you, huffing and groaning. The dimly lit apartment that greets you is sterile, spartan; that doesn’t help the serial killer vibes at all. One of the furnished units, you presume, since the furniture looks like it was plucked from the lobby of your building. The walls are white and bare; no art or posters or photos of him scowling beside a lover. And the place is spotless—you’d assume it was vacant if you didn’t know otherwise. A vision suddenly fills your mind, a vision of him on his knees, bright yellow dishwashing gloves pulled halfway up his muscular arms, an uncapped bottle of industrial bleach at his side as he scrubs at a puddle of blood while the lifeless corpse of the last girl who wandered in here lies wrapped up in blood-stained plastic behind him. Oh God, you even smell the bleach. But then you notice the stacks of paperback books here and there, the open sketch pad on the sofa with pencil-scribbled notes and drawings, some charging AirPods beside an iPad, another red hoodie—one that zips up the front—hanging from the back of a dining room chair, a gym bag, and atop the kitchen island, a rather happy-looking houseplant which, you have to admit, is kinda cute.

Before you can take in the rest of his place he staggers past you, bumping into your shoulder with a bruising force that knocks you sideways and nearly off your feet. Then with one last little wheeze, he topples over like an uprooted oak tree in a windstorm, smacking face first into the hardwood with a meaty thud that rattles the floor beneath you.

“Oh my God!” You squeal, covering your mouth with both hands.

A shot of adrenaline pumps through your veins, spurring you into action. You snatch your phone from your bag with rubber fingers, nearly flinging it aside in your panic, and frantically dial 9-1-1, forgetting all about the emergency shortcuts created for just such an occasion. Your stomach dips at the sight of the bulky body lying prone at your feet, still and silent as the grave. As the phone rings—the long-familiar trilling sound now seemingly drawn out as if it will stretch into eternity—you kneel beside him to check his pulse and see if he’s still breathing, praying he isn’t a corpse, when you spot something that knocks the breath from your lungs and stops your heart dead in its tracks. With a cold, trembling hand you push up the tail of his hoodie…

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The operator asks by rote, voice booming through your phone’s speaker, but you barely hear it over the alarm bells clanging inside your head. You’re gaping at the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, unable to form any sort of response around your heart lodged in your throat.

“Hello?” the operator asks irritably.

“Hi, uh,” you start with a squeak, eyes still fixed on the textured grip of that deadly weapon, but then smack your lips shut. What are the cops gonna think when they see that gun? And what if he’s wanted for a crime or something and you get him arrested? He said it wasn’t a heart attack, acted like this had happened to him before. You can always call back if he’s actually dead or dying…

Why the hell does it matter if he gets arrested?? Your brain shouts back at you. Why are you even here in the first place when there’s an unopened bottle of merlot waiting for you in the safety of your apartment only a few footsteps away, where there’s not an unresponsive armed man who’s built like a tank, who doesn’t even need the gun when he could snap your tiny neck with those massive hands of his? Could the universe give you any clearer signals that “you in danger, girl”? Have you learned absolutely nothing from hours upon hours of Karen and Georgia? “Stay sexy and don’t get murdered”—this guy isn’t even nice to you! Don’t you dare hang up that phone…

“Um, I’m so sorry. I thought my neighbor was having a heart attack but-but he’s fine actually. False alarm. Sorry to bother you!” Your words tumble out in a rush then you smash the “End Call” button before you can get questioned further or chewed out for wasting their time. In the back of your mind you hear the recording of this 9-1-1 call replaying on the My Favorite Murder episode starring you, before the hostess pair warns their listeners not to make the same foolish mistake you just made.

You sit back on your heels, clammy hands kneading your knees while that chunk of baleful metal glares back at you from his waistband, like a coiled rattlesnake peeking out from beneath a rock. Your mind is racing as fast as your heart through scenarios that all end with you getting shot. Then your hands are moving with minds of their own, fingers curling around the textured grip, getting your dainty fingerprints all over the murder weapon as you slip it free. It’s heavier than you expected, you note as you grip it tighter, careful not to get your finger anywhere near that trigger. Heavy, but not heavy enough for something that can end a life in an instant. The thought makes you shudder. You place the gun on the floor then give it a shove, eager to be rid of it, praying that the damn thing won’t go off automatically as it slides across the hardwood floor out of reach. You’ve never touched a gun before this moment and have zero interest in shooting yourself in the face.

Now your attention shifts back to the poor guy who's still out cold. You lay your hand on his back and feel its steady rise and fall. Still breathing, thank God. Then with a grunt of effort and a mighty heave you manage to flip him over on his back. Immediately your hand shoots back to cover your mouth and you suck in a horrified breath as his pale face, previously hidden beneath the shadow of his hat and hood, becomes visible in the lamplight.

You were expecting the weals on his chin and forehead, the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip swelling from where it busted when he fell flat on his face. What you weren’t expecting to find was dried blood smeared across his cheek up to his ear, or the J-shaped scar beneath his eye that you’d noticed before (it’s unfortunately hard to miss, despite his best efforts to hide it) weeping beads of fresh blood from where someone traced over it with a knife you assume, carving deep into his skin. But it wasn’t the sight of the blood or the crimson J that pulled the gasp from your throat and made your stomach nosedive like you were on a rollercoaster. Nope, that was your reaction to the angry red furrows encircling his throat around his Adam's apple, deep indentations where someone wrapped rope or wire or cable around his neck so tight that it embedded in his skin; ligature marks from where someone fucking strangled him.

You grab your phone then pause, biting at your lip. Maybe you should call 9-1-1 again. What if his windpipe is crushed? What if that’s why he was breathing so hard, why he fainted? Those marks are so deep… he could be seriously injured. But if he was seriously injured, why had he returned to his apartment instead of going to the ER? It seems like he made the choice for you.

You open your phone’s browser and type: how to treat strangulation injuries, then quickly skim over the top result. Ice. That seems simple enough, you tell yourself, noting that you can clean his J cuts with soap and water, at least until he wakes up. And if he doesn’t wake up soon? Well, then you’ll call the cops. After all, he’s probably a law abiding citizen who’s licensed to carry that gun; a guy that you just pinned as another one of the nutjobs because you always get paranoid about every stranger you see after your true crime binges. In your defense, this is Gotham-fucking-City and you’re a young single lady who lives alone. You’d be a fool not to be paranoid.

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ineylesian · 2 years

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FEATURES | ALL DC SERIES, FICS, & DRABBLES

CHARACTERS INCLUDED | JASON TODD (to he continued)

JASON TODD

— A “BAD” PLACE

WORD COUNT | 1.3k

WARNINGS | cockwarming, petnames (doll, sweetheart, darling), basically just a bunch of light foreplay, a little bit of grinding, just a lil begging

— CHANGE.

WORD COUNT | 3.1k

WARNINGS | mentions of weapons, smut, unprotected p in v, oral asphyxiation, biting, scratching, handjobs, fingering, fingerfucking, mentions of blood, cumming inside, use of aphrodisiacs (sex pollen), dubious content, overstimulation.

#eleysiacalling #masterlist #dc masterlist #dc comics #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd smut #jason todd reader insert #jason todd x reader #arkham knight #arkhamverse #arkham knight x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood smut #red hood fanfiction #arkham knight smut #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x you

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lonelydaydreamsalways · 1 year

Text

You, Me, and The Space In Between- Arkham! Verse Jason Todd x female reader?? Oc?? Self insert?? Idk

Authors note!! Thank you guys for all the support you’ve given me, I hope you guys like this ! let me know if I should make this into a series or not!! Also I’m writing the character as female bc I know how to write female characters more than males.

Let me know if you see any grammar or spelling errors!

As always, I don’t own any of the characters in dc!

Enjoy my loves!!

Warnings:

honestly almost cried writing this but it’s so cute!!

Tag list : @cherryinsalemverse @skypperlegacy @poisonblessedwithbeauty @thesandsofelsweyr

Let me know down below if I missed anyone or if you want to be tagged! ❤️

Jason stops, and drops to a crouch next to an all too familiar gargoyle. It’s cracked in places, old and new, and Jason sees how time has withered away at the statue.

Below him, the bustling city continues, blissfully unaware of the future in store. Above, GCPD blimps float out of reach.

It’s just like he remembers.

Goosebumps rise on his arm, feeling a familiar tickle appear. Jason hurries, flipping the armor plating backwards. To watch, as her elegant cursive manifests itself.

It’s a special feature to the Arkham Knight suit he added. An idea which became ingrained in his head so long ago.

Cold feather like strokes bring him back to reality.

Strawberries

Blackberries

Apples

Lemons

Words materialize across his skin. He makes out the first few words. Recognization flashes across his face.

She’s writing a grocery list.

A grin stretches across his face at the mundane task. Reading off the groceries, Jason unconsciously memorizes items which are heavily underlined.

A gloved thumb softly glides over her penmanship.

“Angel…” He whispers to himself, pursing his lips together,” Wait for me, just for a little bit longer.”

Numbers quickly appear soon after. Some are immediately crossed out, replaced by a bigger number. Eventually, when she’s done adding it all up, he leaves the panel as is.

He stares at his arm, incredulously.

For over a year, she wrote to him. Everyday, without fail. Of course, he couldn’t tell when she wrote him, whether it was morning, noon, or night. But, that didn’t matter to him. His days didn’t revolve around the sun or the sky anymore. His life began to revolve around her.

Or, what was left of it, anyway.

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed, and lines appeared on his forehead.

I wonder what she wrote… What she managed to sprawl across her arms, day after day…Was it the same thing everyday? Or something new? How did she not give up on me?

Not once, did Jason Todd ever write back. And, still, she writes to him. Refusing to give up on him when everyone else has.

Jason scoffs, thinking back to his miniscule tenure as a Robin. When random writing and doodles ran wildly among his forearm for him to see.

He ignored them.

He refused to write back.

Jason would wring that fuckers neck If he could.

The adoption had just went through. Training hardly begun when the writing first appeared. Needless to say, Jason kept it to himself. Who knew if Bruce would keep him on this path, if he learned he had a soulmate out there, somewhere, waiting for him.

Jason wasn’t willing to risk that.

Sure, it was extremely comforting to know he wasn’t destined to be alone. But, that wasn’t the universes choice to make. It was his, and his alone.

The universe thought otherwise.

In the beginning, her writing vexed him. The day her writing first showed, Jason was sitting in the Wayne manor kitchen, mid bowl of cereal.

Dropping his spoon, Jason nearly choked. Jason clutched at his forearm, feeling the cool sensation of cursive letters materialize on his skin.

Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great love grows there

-William S.

Jason quit squirming. His heart began to pound, and he squinted his eyes.

No way…Jason thought to himself. Is this…what I think it is? A… A soulmate writing? What does that even mean? Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; Where little fears grow great, great l-

“Master Todd!”

“ Sorry!” Jason yelped, clutching his arm close,” I uh… I just missed my mouth, i uh… I’ll pick it up.”

Giving Jason a curious glance, Alfred sighed before going back to his newspaper.

“See to it that you do, Master Todd.”

That night, Jason searched the manors library to find the source of the quote. Coincidentally, it’s also where he found his passion for Shakespeare, Austen, and many other famous authors.

Days and nights passed before he got used to the little writings which would appear. Even longer, to ignore the urge to squirm around at the ticklish sensation. Constantly, Jason would fumble during training, drop a book he was reading, or clutch his arm and squirm like he was about to piss his pants.

Jason’s pretty sure Alfred had an idea as to what was going on. If he did, though, he didn’t say a word about it to him. Life continued as normal.

Until it didn’t anymore.

After that fateful night, which sealed his fate for over a year, Jason didn’t have the luxury to read what she wrote. Her writing stayed, safe, and painfully unread, under the weakened armor of his Robin uniform.

Honestly, the more he thinks about it, it’s a god damn miracle the psychopathic clown never found out. If he had…She would have been beyond fucked. There wouldn’t even have been a damn thing he could have done about it.

Joker wouldn’t have had just a Robin in his clutch, but a little birdie’s soulmate as well.

The clown would have had a fucking field day.

Clutching the skin of his left forearm, he raises both arms to his chest. He attempts to swallow spit. Borderline hyperventilating, he curls in on himself at the thoughts, feelings, and memories of it all.

He could only close his swollen eyes, to revel in the cold, almost ticklish feeling of her handwriting ghost across his skin. Inside, his heart warmed at her devotion.

The only times he would ever smile throughout his hell in Arkham.

A sigh of relief escapes his pale, chapped lips. In his his bloody, sleep deprived state, he could cry.

The only working bright fluorescent light in the room would cast an almost angelic glow around her. Light hovered atop her wavy brown hair, forming an almost halo.

He could never make out her face, always just a blur to him. That didn’t matter, though. Deep in his bones, Jason just knew it was her.

“You’re here…” Jason whispered, swallowing painfully.

“ I’m always with you, silly.”

The gentle teasing couldn’t help but escape her voice. Jason let out a faint smile at her words

“ I know, I know…” Jason agrees weakly.

“That looks like it hurts. It wasn’t there last time I was here…” She says to him.

His angel reaches her hand to his cheek, and Jason accepts, collapsing in her hand. His cheek, covered in blood, and an all too recent brand mark. The smell of burnt skin clouds the room, and flies are buzzing all around him. The brand, already turned black, with bits of damaged nerves dangling from his cheek. Yellow pus slowly oozes it’s way out.

Jason surrenders himself to her.

“Why don’t you ever write me?” She questions him softly, as butterfly kisses continue down his forearm.

He feels the familiar tingle, resisting the urge to twitch. Faintly, he smiles at her.

“You know I would if I could, Angel.” He barely says to her at last.

“ I don’t,” she starts, a teasing tone taking over her voice,” You never wrote me before…” She trails off, pouting.

“ I know, Angel,” He shudders out, writhing around pathetically in his wheelchair,” Why don’t you tell me what you’re writing?” He begs her.

She giggles at him, kneeling before him. Her wavy hair spills across his thighs and trail down the sides of his wheelchair. Gentle fingers trail up his thigh closest to her, carefully avoiding any bloody barbed wire.

“Now why would I do that?” She answers coyly.

“Because,” Jason starts, sucking in a breath,” Because I should have wrote to you before. And now…Now I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.”

“I wonder,” She starts, tilting her head to the side,” If one soul mate dies, and the other remains, will writing still show on the dead soul mate?”

Jason doesn’t respond, retreating to the murky depths of his mind.

His Angel lets out a small sigh.

“I’m sorry, that was really depressing to think about.”

The fluttering on his forearm stops, then starts again on his other one.

“ What do you want me to write?” She finally questions him, leaning her cheek against his thighs.

Jason lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Anything,” He whines to her, closing his eyes,“Everything.”

Jason keeps his eyes shut, waiting for a response.

“Angel?” He pleads desperately.

Only when the warm, fluttering sensation leaves his forearm do they fly open. He looks to his arm, begging for the ghostly touch of her.

“Angel?” Jason questions, jerking his head in all directions he can,” Where’d you go?”

Silence is his only response.

“Don’t do this to me, too!”He bites his lip, resisting the urge to cry.

“Angel? Please! Please don’t leave me in here alone!”Jason weakly cries out, attempting to raise his hoarse voice.

“Angel?” He quietly begs.

The fluorescent light above him flickers, and cockroaches scatter across the floor beneath him as his only response.

Authors note!

The quote used in the fic was by William Shakespeare, but I don’t remember which work of his.

It turned out shorter than I wanted but oh well. I really liked the idea of him hallucinating about her

Thanks for reading!❤️❤️

#jason peter todd #arkham knight jason todd #red hood #dark fanfiction #fanfic #red hood x oc #red hood x reader #jason todd x oc #Jason Todd x reader #Arkham Knight x reader #i tried #writing fanfic is hard #jason todd fanfiction

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