|The D.C Collection | Imagines, One-Shots, Preferences, and More |

The Word | Jason Todd x Reader

Description: Happy Birthday, Jason Todd.

Words: 1737

Notes: Wow!! Ivy? Updating? It's a miracle! Anyway, I'm hoping all of you can forgive my absence. I'm just chillin' and living my life. But it's also Jason Todd's birthday (I'm publishing this at midnight), and I really don't want to be cursed by the thunder thigh gods. This is my yearly sacrifice in order to get those fresh thunder thighs (tm). This is unedited and raw, so let's hope it's not horrible.=D

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The night was cold on Jason's cheeks, nipping at the tears there like moths to a lone light in the darkness. It usually felt great. The cold had become a relief to him since he put on the costume. It used to be biting and hurtful, wrapping around him and strangling him in the nights where the only person who could comfort him was himself. On any other night, the cool breeze in his hair would have been addicting and alluring. Now... Jason felt more and more like those old nights as patrol rolled on.

Bruce had been... distracted lately, but maybe that had always been true. He was always trying to cover everything that he could, even when he was running out of hands. Jason didn't want to blame the man he now called his father. So... he didn't.

It's the work, Jason reasoned, checking the wire in his grappling hook. He's too busy, and that's not his damn fault. I can get on without him remembering. I've gone a lot of birthdays without anyone remembering, anyway.

It's not like Bruce, Alfred, Dick and Barbara forgetting his birthday wasn't a big thing. It just felt... weird. When he'd gotten a family, he hadn't even thought about what his birthdays would be like. He hadn't celebrated it since he and his mom were under the same roof. They didn't have enough money for real big gifts, either, and half the time she was spaced out on the mattress in the corner of the room.

(She'd always remember though, even if it was a couple hours too late. She'd get him a book or draw him something with waxy little Crayola pencils and that jagged sharpener. They'd end the night reading Charlotte's Web on the couch, and she'd tuck him in and whisper to his temple, goodnight, sweet Prince of Gotham.)

The thing was, even Supes had at least wished him a happy birthday (and a thank you for all his help with Mongul at the Fortress). His favorite coffee shop in his patrol zone had left out some cookies for him. Vicky Vale had even gone as far as to wish him a happy birthday, and to quote him as, "the best inside source for top-notch events" that she'd ever had. The only major person in his life to give him the full celebration perks was really—you. But that wasn't exactly surprising.

Jason slipped into your room, dropping onto your floor with the silent grace of pooling moonlight. He peered first at your door, already shut and locked (a habit brought on by nosy guardians and your approaching adulthood), then settled his heels on the carpet and sighed. Your parents were asleep and home. He'd have to be extra quiet, and Robin was a little rusty when it came to visiting his significant other in the dead of night.

He brushed his fingers against your cheek, hoping to wake you as peacefully as he could. I shouldn't have come here, Jason suddenly thought, and pulled away, They need to sleep. I shouldn't have bothered them with how I'm feeling—

"Hh!" Your breath hitched, hand slapping against your heart. The tensity in your shoulders leaked away the moment you were mask-to-eyes with him, and you immediately grouched, "What're you wakin me up for? You miss me too much't wait til' t'morrow?"

"Sorry," Jason whispered, retreating back into the shadow your closed curtains created. He didn't want you to see the ruddy tears on his face. He hadn't realized he was even crying until he'd stepped inside your room, regret and frustration leaking out of his pores. "I—"