#outlaws

Cool guy

Boyfriend! Jason Todd who savours small moments of warmth..staying under covers longer than needed or possible , skin to skin contact at all times cause well..he needs it.

Made a new blog to dump some DC art I made! :D

Baby Jason Todd: Robin ver, Ghost, and Red hood

pairing: jason todd x gn!reader

summary: the vigilante you’ve bumped into a couple too many times to remain strangers with bolts through your window leaving trails of blood on your floor.

content: romantic/sexual tension, blood/injury, mutual attraction, cocky and closed off jason todd.

word count: 2k

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you were sound asleep, swaddled up like a burrito deep inside your blanket tonight — until a voluptuous thud on the floor knocked the sleep straight out of your system.

a chill creeps up your back at the sharp gotham winter currents intruding through your now open window and curling into your skin. your eyes shoot open at the heavy grunting and the sound of leather boots kicking against your wooden floor.

your heart almost catapults out of your chest as the seemingly large stranger approaches behind you from the window. you clutch the blanket harder, subtly reaching below your pillow to grab your trusty dagger, one you’ve always kept on you since the last incident — yeah, that’s gotham for you.

your brain switches to survival mode as you hear a muffled curse from the stranger’s mouth as you feel him head closer and closer towards you.

fuck, it’s probably some costumed freak ready to commit homicide and rob all your meagre belongings.

you can do this, you assure yourself.

you’ve done this before. you could beat the goddamn joker to a pulp if life ever brought you to that point.

adrenaline is pumping raw through your veins and your pulse is thrumming as you prepare yourself and count to three.

one.

two.

three.

“RAAHHHHHHH!”

you charge — fast and instinctive, violently waving the dagger in the air like a maniac as the figure in front of you grabs your wrist mid air.

fuck.

“holy shit!” he hisses, trying to keep his voice low in the pitch dark as he disarms you, “it’s just me.”

you pant, the moonlight from the window spills across his face, carving out the familiar features you failed to recognise in the dark — his damn near perfectly sculpted face that looked majestic despite the pathetic condition he was in. you calm your stance, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours as your fight or flight response finally eases.

him. the masked vigilante who saved your behind a couple times too many from the muggers that lurked in the alleys near your apartment building. the stranger you bumped into more often than you can recall to the point it became somewhat of a routine; sitting on the pavement during late nights when you spotted him on your walk back to the apartment from the convenience store, where the shared silence felt more of a comfortable distraction from the outside world than an awkward circumstance.

you weren’t exactly friends either. perhaps you were just strangers who knew each other’s names — even though you weren’t supposed to know his.

“jason? w-what the hell are you doing here?” you stutter, immediately taking notice of the smears of fresh purple bruises on his jaw and cheekbone, blood trickling down his busted lip and he looked a fucking mess, “jesus what happened-“

he drops your wrist quickly, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper strands, “had a run-in with some goons.. got outnumbered.” his voice dips on the last part, like he was embarrassed.

“you’re.. you’re bleeding all over!” you wince as your hand lifts towards the open wound on his shoulder as his arm unconsciously jerks away before he can stop himself.

you eye the borderline punctured man up and down, he stood crooked by the windowsill, clutching his wounded right arm with his red helmet in it.

“okay, okay, hold on,” you frantically rush towards the bathroom to grab your first aid kit. you stand on your tippy toes to reach for the box above the cabinet, scurrying back to your room.

you linger a bit by the door as you notice him now sitting by the edge of your bed on the floor, crouching, with his back resting against it.

“okay,” you exhale as you settle down in front of him, placing the kit across from you. you pause, confused as to where to tend first, “let me see.”

he shifts, “you don’t have to, i just came here ‘cause it was the closest escape route.”

yeah right.

“since you’re already here and bleeding on my floor, i might as well help,” you shrug, inching a tad bit closer to him and offering a warm, awkward smile.

he pauses, his shoulders still tense as he looks away, probably contemplating as to why he had to end up here out of all places.

despite his rugged, big boy vigilante appearance, his demeanour right now resembled that of a scared, wounded puppy in the rain trying to appear tough — it was almost.. endearing. something made you want to look after him right now and you were willing to help make him let his guard down and let you patch him up.

“come on, just let me look. i’m not touching anything yet,” you plead softly, doing your best not to sound too insistent or pushy — which seemed to have worked because he slowly began to pull off his brown leather jacket.

your eyes widen for a moment as you take in various bruises and cuts, particularly a sharp, thin gash carved across his forearm which wasn’t alarmingly deep, but was certainly at risk of getting infected.

“it’s nothing. i’ve had worse,” he mutters.

“may i?” you ask, signalling at his taped and gloved hands, to which he nods subtly. you take that as a yes, unravelling the tape and slipping the gloves off his hands, revealing his torn up knuckles from all the punches he’s definitely thrown.

your fingers brush his knee as you reach for the kit, taking out a few alcohol swabs. “this might sting,” you warn, unwrapping a swab, as you’re now suddenly hyper aware of each move you make because his eyes are on you.

your fingers hover inches above his skin, not quite touching him yet as he assures, “i can handle it.” yet you can feel his arm muscles tense with every dab on his wound as if he’s trying not to react to the burning sensation.

“alright tough guy,” you choke, trying your level best to remain composed. you aren’t sure if it’s you being touch starved in general or if it’s the maddening scent of leather, blood and his woody cologne clouding your senses, your heart is pounding at a gazillion miles per hour.

the air between you two was thick, humid almost, despite the dry and cruel winter outside and it didn’t quite help that his eyes were intently observing every little movement of yours.

“you love playing doctor, huh,” he breaks the silence with the almost teasing remark, now looking away, probably into the distant oblivion outside your window — sceneries of the skyscrapers and dark night of gotham.

“took a cpr training class in highschool, does that count?” you almost smile, pouring a drop of hydrogren peroxide on gauze. a breathy huff escapes his mouth which could be mistaken for a laugh.

you apply it onto him as it fizzles and he almost flinches, a hiss slips past him despite him making a point not to appear unfazed.

“shit, sorry,” you immediately pause for a second, looking up at him as he simply nods, gesturing that it’s okay to continue.

after disinfecting the wound on his arm you hesitantly lift his arm in order to wrap it up. his skin is warm, hot even, his veins pulsate around his toned forearm — it’s hard and rough, like the skin and muscle of someone who hasn’t known tenderness, or maybe just never had the luxury to. his heavy hand rests on your thigh as you envelope the bandage around his arm, causing unwanted heat rushing up your cheeks.

it’s just his hand, you tell yourself. but little do you know his breathing is twice as heavy as yours right now.

“there,” you soothe, “now for your.. face,” your expression pinches for a moment when you take in the patches of purple and maroon painted under his eye and the sides of his jaw.

“hey, stop judging me,” he sneers, and you quickly straighten up.

“no no, not judging. i’d never,” you reassure, and his mouth almost cracks into a lazy smile. you’re definitely not judging. in fact, you’re admiring. also feeling internally grateful he didn’t realise — ‘cause it’s rather unfair how pretty someone could look despite being this beat up. it’s absolutely foul.

you hesitate for a bit before reaching closer to his face with the gauze and he stills. it’s almost impossible to ignore his features up close now; a jawline that looked more carved than grown, a faint stubble, and his lashes that are fuller and longer than most women’s.

his eyebrow raises upwards, almost amused and you realise, with a jolt — you were staring. you instantly snap out of it and continue dabbing onto the cut on his cheekbone.

“hold still,” your eyes squint, now focused on wiping away and disinfecting the drying blood from his cuts as he relaxes his occasional fidgeting.

“you didn’t have to do this, you know,” he murmurs, controlled and masking the underlying sting of antiseptic.

“somebody has to,” you say in a matter-of-fact way, “because clearly you’re too reckless.”

“careful,” he snickers too subtly, “might think you like having me around.”

“oh shut up,” you snap back, your cheeks hot.

the room goes silent again as you bring a cold compress up to to his jaw, so much so that you hear him inhale sharply — controlled and restrained.

your other hand lingers for a bit, until you lightly hold the other side of his face to steady him. you feel the rough stubble on his skin against your fingers, instinctively trailing along jaw without even realising it.

the vigilante’s expression tenses for a bit at the sudden touch, specifically at the tenderness of your graze until he eases into it. he leans into your touch before he realises he’s doing it and you feel it.

you quickly look up, lulled into a daze, and he’s indeed already watching you with his half lidded eyes. too close, too aware. you can swear his gaze flickers down to your lips for a beat and your heart begins to pound faster.

you adjust the cold compress slightly, perhaps an excuse for your faces to now be inches apart and he’s still looking, his breathing growing heavier, more shallow and almost syncing with yours.

your lips begin to part as you feel him almost gravitate towards you, all the forces around you inclining you to lean into his mystifying warmth and god, it is hard to resist.

“if you keep doing that..” he breathes low, “i won’t be able to stop.”

your fingers still against his jaw. your body runs hot and your core tightens as you swallow deep, looking up at him doe eyed, “maybe.. i don’t want you to stop.”

for a second, you forget to breathe and your eyes shut tight as his lips are suddenly millimetres away from yours.

the cold compress clatters onto the floor and but neither of you notice, as you draw in a sharp breath for what’s to come. he pauses right there for a beat, just like that, practically exchanging breaths with you as his mouth opens slightly.

you shudder.

“you really shouldn’t say things like that to me,” he whispers, his voice achingly deep.

the moment splinters and your eyes snap open at the sudden distance between you two now, as he picks himself off the floor with a grunt and a hiss, steadying himself on both feet.

you on the other hand, take a few moments too long to knock yourself out of the haze he briefly trapped you in. you follow, scrambling off the floor in a hurry and blink once, twice, waking yourself up.

you smooth your hands down your thighs, clearing your throat as he, totally composed, stares at you, slightly amused at your sheepish stance.

“well.. i better get going,” he says as he heads towards to window.

“you could use the door, you know, like normal people do.”

he ignores your quip, already climbing over the window, one leg halfway outside as he meets your eyes once again, tilting his head.

“i guess we’re even now,” he barely smirks, a corner of his mouth lifting, “for all the times i saved your ass.”

“who’s keeping count?” you shrug, playfully, as he lingers for a beat.

“i’ll see you around, doc,” he drawls.

“stay out of trouble, tough guy,” you mutter back. he tosses over his shoulder and is gone before you can register it; leaving you with the faint scent of hydrogen peroxide, remains of his blood still staining your hands and the room perhaps feeling slightly colder with him now gone.

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Jason, standing in the circle of the men: Oh, yeah, this is just me there, and my two companions. Roy and Kory: (wave awkwardly) One of the men: Companions? Jason, waving him off with a little girlish cocktail in his hands with a small paper parasol in it: You know, my father used to call people like this... Playthings. You know, gentlemen, a week of skiing and in hot springs... Ha-Ha-Ha. The group of men: Ha-Ha-Ha. Roy and Kory, silently exchanging glances: ...

Roy: I don't know if we should be concerned about your ability to play along with this cover or not. Jason, groaning, completely embarrassed: How it is my fault? I spent a lot of time staring at Bruce and his friends as a kid. Kory: Explains a lot. Honestly. Roy: ...That's terrifying. I can imagine you hanging out with Ollie just fine. Jason: Dude. Kory: Don't get him anywhere near Oliver. One drink, and he will confuse him with Bruce and will try to make out with him. Jason: GIRL. Roy: A one would call it muscular memory... Jason, fleeing the room: I HATE YOU BOTH.