#post-trauma

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Tags: Hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, post-trauma, angst with comfort, mild language, SFW Summary: Jason never believed he could have anything quiet. Anything safe. But then he met you.

The Quiet Between Heartbeats

You hear the door creak open before you see him.

It’s after midnight, rain still pattering against the windows like fingers tapping glass. The city is quiet in that way only Gotham can be—holding its breath, waiting for something to go wrong.

But tonight, Jason Todd comes home without blood on his hands.

That’s rare.

You don’t move from the couch. Just tilt your head back enough to look at him upside down over the armrest. He’s soaked—dark hair plastered to his forehead, leather jacket dripping on the floor, helmet in hand. There’s something hollow in his eyes. Something he tries to hide every time he comes through that door.

You smile anyway. Soft. Familiar.

“Rough night?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just sets the helmet on the table like it weighs more than it should, then shrugs off the jacket. His shirt sticks to his skin—black cotton, bruises peeking through the fabric like ghosts. But he’s not limping. Not bleeding.

That’s a win.

Jason crosses the room and sinks onto the couch beside you, exhaling like it hurts.

“No one died,” he mutters, staring at the floor.

You know what that means. It’s not just a report—it’s an apology.

You shift beside him, tucking your feet under yourself. “That’s a pretty low bar for a good night.”

“It’s Gotham,” he says. “It’s the only bar.”

His voice is hoarse, like he’s been yelling. Maybe at a criminal. Maybe at himself. You’ve learned not to ask unless he offers.

Jason Todd is many things—brutal, brilliant, guarded to the core. But with you, he’s honest. Even when it’s ugly. Especially when it’s ugly.

You glance at him. “Did you eat?”

He shakes his head.

“I saved you some pasta.”

He looks at you like you’ve just offered him absolution. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You shrug. “I knew you’d be out there trying to play God again.”

A huff escapes him. Almost a laugh.

You disappear into the kitchen and reheat the food. When you return, he’s sitting forward now, elbows on knees, staring at nothing. His knuckles are bruised, but you can’t tell if it’s from someone else’s jaw or his own fists against a wall.

You hand him the plate. He takes it, eyes flicking to yours.

There’s something fragile in his gaze tonight. Not weakness. Just… weight.

You sit beside him again, watching as he eats slowly, quietly.

When the plate’s empty, he sets it aside and leans back, head hitting the couch cushion, eyes closed.

You break the silence.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

A beat.

“But I want to stay.”

You blink. That’s new.

Jason doesn’t stay.

Not really. He shows up, crashes for a night or two, disappears for days. Sometimes weeks. You never ask where. You’re not sure you could handle the answer.

But he always comes back. And you always leave the porch light on.

“Then stay,” you say simply.

He opens his eyes and looks at you like he’s waiting for something to shatter. Maybe you. Maybe him.

“I’m not good at this,” he says.

“I know.”

“You deserve someone who doesn’t keep one foot out the door.”

You tilt your head. “You still have one foot out?”

His mouth twitches. “Not tonight.”

You nod, quiet. There’s a pause. Not awkward. Just real.

He leans toward you suddenly, hands framing your jaw, and kisses you like he’s drowning.

It’s not a perfect kiss. It’s desperate. Unguarded. Full of apologies he doesn’t know how to say.

You kiss him back anyway.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. You can feel him trembling—not from fear. From effort. Like staying here, with you, costs him something he doesn’t know how to afford.

“Do you really want this?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Me?”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “I don’t want the version of you you show Gotham. I want this one. The one who eats pasta at 2am and kisses like he’s trying to hold the world together.”

He swallows hard. “I don’t know how to be him all the time.”

“I’m not asking for all the time,” you say. “Just some. Just enough.”

A breath shudders out of him. And for once, Jason Todd looks like he might believe you.

He nods, slowly.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll try.”

And in Jason-speak, that is everything.

The Morning After

You wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling.

For a moment, you think you dreamed it. That Jason had slipped out again, vanished into shadows and guilt.

But when you sit up and look toward the kitchen, he’s there.

Still shirtless. Hair messy. Moving like he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed to exist in this quiet.

You step into the kitchen. He doesn’t flinch when you wrap your arms around him from behind.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“You stayed.”

“I did.”

You press your face into his back. “Good.”

He turns in your arms and kisses your temple.

It’s not a fairy tale. He’s still Jason. He’ll still disappear sometimes. Still wake up from nightmares and leave blood on the bathroom floor. He’s a storm learning how to be still.

But for now, he’s here.

Ash is easily the most divisive character to come out of the Fae Tales universe, people generally love him or hate him (with some in between who just kind of ‘meh’ him). People also seem to shift their opinions on him the most (i.e. from love to hate / from hate to love, and so on).

I went to a pretty crap school as a kid. Their education was kinda crappy. But you also learn lessons from friends, family and life in general. Despite all this, there’s just ONE lesson they taught me that I’ll ALWAYS remember:

Society doesn't give a shit about you.

The government doesn't give a shit about you.

Strangers doesn't give a shit about you.

Teachers doesn't give a shit about you.

Your friends doesn't give a shit about you.

Your family doesn't give a shit about you.