#jason todd/you

[notsodelirious]

Press here

synopsis: Jason set up a meeting with you but when he’s nowhere to be seen you go looking for him

notes: SWF, not much more to add <3

tags: AK!Jason, hurt/comfort,gn!reader, reader is Jason’s right hand man, drabble (just about 500 words), no use of y/n

Original prompt here from the lovely @mossnymphh

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

You had been waiting for orders but they never came.

It wasn’t in Jason’s nature to be late.

An asshole, sure. But never late.

He cared too much about his mission to be late.

So when he didn’t turn up for the meeting he set with you, you worried. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself and you’d definitely never admit it to him.

He’d have you hung in front of the entire barrack if you dared to utter a word of worry towards his well-being.

Or he’s ignore you for a month straight, arranging his entire life as if he’s never had a second in command to begin with.

Trying to express a thought about Jason was like trying to diffuse a bomb: you were never entirely sure which wire would set him off so you just

didn’t.

But you had seen his decline ever since his first encounter with Batman. You didn’t know what his strife with Batman was—an old colleague, a man wronged by society, somebody who just stood at the wrong time, wrong place—you didn’t know and you didn’t care to.

Your boss had a mission and you would help him see it through.

That was all you needed to know.

You roamed through empty halls, peeking your head through doors, checking Jason’s regular haunts—the rec room, kitchen, lab.

All empty.

You finally came to a stop in front of his room, rasping your knuckles against cold metal. It wasn’t locked—the door slid open with a painful creek, rusted mechanisms grinding against each other.

“-love you.”

You froze.

Jason stared back.

Tucked into the corner of his room, he sat on the floor, as if he had tried to hide in his wardrobe. A teddy bear in hand.

He shoved it into the wardrobe, before you could entirely comprehend anything, realising too late the colour of its tie, the heart on its paw, its ratty fur worn with age.

You recognised you should probably turn and run—you should escape his sight and his line of fire before he decided that keeping you alive wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.

A muffled recording played from the dark.

“I love you.”

The shot rang out.

Jason’s smoking gun remained trained on his wardrobe.

“Sir-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You stumbled backwards—Jason caught the door as it began to croak closed, wrenching it open, snapping a cog.

“You-”

You caught his wrist before he could point the gun at you.

It had been a movement of self preservation—a split second, thoughtless decision, a remnant from your training, an instinct to stay alive. A sane person stepping away from an active bomb.

He flinched like the touch had burned him, glancing down at his wrist only seconds later after, when the pain had reached his brain.

The first step forward was a conscious action. A deliberate attempt to stop the counter.

“What the fuck do you think you’re-?!”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He froze, like a fawn under a hunter’s rifle.

You held him, just to hold him; never expecting him to rest his forehead on your shoulder in return—standing before each other in a deserted hallway, just two warm bodies against each other.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his.

“You are loved.”

(“You shot the teddy bear.”

“Shut the fuck up—never speak of it again.”)

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

this was too cute not to write about and I had too much time on my hands

requests are still closed because I haven’t started any of my summative work

[raszpwberry]

A dead body, an empty grave (is all i see) / jason todd aka red hood x reader

A FIRE CONTINOUSLY BLAZES THROUGHOUT.

SYPNOSIS. jason todd has come back to life, and he's different. more than you've expected even so actually. the four years you spent going mad over the fact he was dead has changed you, the same goes for him with.. just everything really. unfortunately, It may take long before you two go back to normal if that even is possible. for now, you look over him, looming through the shadows until you realize that one thing is out of place. (It's him, he's the one out of place.. right?)

TAGS. no smut, hurt no comfort, problematic behavior, possibly ooc, secondary 'romance', angst, dead dove: do not eat, physchological horror, action, childhood enemies to friends to strangers to friends to lovers, metahuman! reader-ish, problematic reader, backstory, flashbacks, illegal actions, happy ending, trauma, mental illnesses, canon universe, death, non-canon compliant plot somewhere

Prolouge: Empty head (4.5k) - Introduction.

ACT I | AGAIN & AGAIN

CH 01. Didn't catch sight of you, you're gone now. notebooks are filled, newspapers are scattered. a while, that's how long it takes for you to realize that one detail you missed while searching during an investigation.

CH O2. Looking for traces left, in all places. alive and well, (not exactly but you don't know that.) jason is fine, from what you've gathered about. you just need to find him! which.. takes a while.

CH 03. Twenty-three to Forty-five. decisions are made by a coin while you come to terms with the fact that there's a new 'vigilante' (though most don't really consider them one) in Gotham.

CH 04. Countless minutes that pass by. you've counted more than 1,000.. to the point it doesn't matter. both hopeless and pathetic to the point you question yourself once again, is he worth it?

CH 05. It's clear to me, you're imaginary. while losing track of how many days it's been, it seems you've also forgotten what differentiates a hallucination or an actual being. which one is he?

CH 06. Looks like you still care, I do too. jason todd's perspective of you, failing to find him despite the very fact he stays right near your line of sight. his eyes seem to always be on you.

A/N: Comment below if you want to be tagged in upcoming works or just be part of the tag list itself :) This will likely be updated twice or once a week since student in uni haha.. and when I said slowburn, I meant it.

@stvrryyami @crazydeershark @candlewitch-cryptic

[harbours-lighthouse]

YOU GIVE JASON TODD A SCARE

(inspired by this post).

— PAIRING: Jason Todd x F!Reader

— SUMMARY: You're running behind schedule, which means Jason's pushing through the traffic and rain to get to you.

cw: none wc: 1.2K

YOU SHOULD HAVE been home three hours ago.

Jason’s hands tighten around the handlebars of his motorcycle. The leather fabric of his gloves crease, slick with rain and pinching around his fingers. It’s not often that you hang back for so long afterhours, though Jason is well aware that you offer your help without second thought, often forgetting about everything else in favour of assisting where you can.

But it’s been three hours since your usual closing time, and you haven’t sent him a text yet. You always send him a text.

Clenching his jaw, Jason wipes his arm across his face harshly, brushing away the rain that lingers on his lashes. It’s not the vibrations of the engine beneath him that’s sending his thighs subtly shaking—no, it’s the adrenaline slowly inching into his system, the panic he can feel twisting inside his chest.

What if you’re alone in the pouring rain? Soaked to the bone?

The traffic light blinks green, and Jason squints through the sheets of rain while kicking back the stand. The line of cars jolt forward, brake lights dimming as tires roll across rain-soaked asphalt.

Exhaling sharply, Jason’s eyes constantly search around him, feeling as if he’s some sort of cop looking for the slightest infraction. None of Gotham’s cops do that here, but it’s what he’s seen in the few movies you’ve made him watch.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Jason murmurs beneath his breath, body leant forward as rain pricks against his skin, tapping violently against his leather jacket.

“Where? Tell me where…”

The traffic lights ahead glow a bright red, blurred by the onslaught of water, and Jason holds down several curses and a groan. He can feel the dread in his stomach, wrapping around his intestines as he slowly comes to a stop behind a white KIA.

He needs to reach your workplace—he has to see if you’re still there, and that, maybe, your phone is just dead. It must be, because he tried to track down the location of your mobile, but nothing had come up. No blinking blue dot on his screen revealed your location to him, and nothing on Earth would get him to ask Oracle to step in. He has this under control. He’s not going to panic. Not yet.

As cars rumble around him and the bike’s engine rattles beneath him, Jason silently berates himself for not having some sort of conversation about things like this with you. He should have given you instructions on what to do if your phone dies, or if you can’t get home for some reason—he could have prevented all of this if he had just given you the right steps to take. And what if you’re in more danger than he thinks? Wouldn’t it be his fault if you weren’t prepared at all or trained to some small degree in order to defend yourself? If anything bad has happened to you, that would fall on him. Without a doubt.

A horn blares behind Jason, echoing painfully in his ears. The lights have flashed green, the neon colour reflecting off the cars as they lumber forward again. He would have sent the guy a rude gesture over his shoulder, but you’re running through his head—bright eyes made gentle when they lock with his, and your words quiet and low like always. He’s sure that you speak quietly for him personally, like it’s your mission in life to never speak abruptly around him, and he’s never been able to explain to you why that matters to him.

But you’ve never needed him to explain anything. You’re too intuitive for your own good. Too understanding. Too good.

“Jason!”

His heart stops. Beats once. Skips a beat. Beats erratically again. That couldn’t have been…was that…you?

Swivelling his head around frantically, Jason pays no mind to the driver behind him angrily blaring his horn, the sound filling up the street. He knows he just heard you, however faint it was over the rain.

“(Name)! Baby!” Jason calls out, voice thick with worry.

“Jason!”

Yes, that’s you—that’s you.

And you’re flailing your arms above your head, jumping up and down on the side of the curb.With his pulse drumming inside his ears, Jason barely gives it a second thought as he floors it, weaving through the moving cars and crossing lanes to reach you.

People surrounding you glance at him wearily as the engine roars, but you don’t pay them any mind as Jason screeches to a halt directly in front of you.

You barely blink and Jason’s kicking the stand and hopping off his bike. For a moment, you think he’s angry as he strides up to you, with his brows pinched together and his jaw clenched.

Your mouth opens pitifully as you prepare to stumble out your rehearsed apology, but your words die on your tongue as strong hands wrap around your biceps, and Jason grapples you to him. A huff of air escapes you as you’re shoved against his chest, but the shock instantly melts away, and you grab fistfuls of his jacket in your hands.

“I’m so sorry,” you say into his shoulder. Guilt gnaws at your stomach, and you let him tighten his grip around you, even if it feels like your ribcage might snap.

“My phone died.” Your voice shakes, and you squeeze your eyes shut as rain taps against your scalp. “And Meggie wanted me to help her with something after closing, and then her ride ditched her so we were trying to figure out an uber for her cause the taxis are terrible and—”

“Stop talking.”

You inhale sharply. “Okay.”

The silence feels tense, and the rain pricks into your skin like needles, sharp and relentless. But it’s nothing compared to the turmoil you feel on the inside, the guilt that’s threatening to send you into tears—but you can’t cry. No, this isn’t about how you feel, this is about Jason.

“Sweetheart,” Jason murmurs against your scalp, and you catch the tremor in his voice.

“Yeah?”

“I—baby, don’t do that again.” Jason pulls away, and he brings his large hands to cradle your face. You’re reminiscent of a wet alley cat, your hair sticking to your skin and your coat hanging from your frame, heavy with water. But he’s never seen you look as remorseful as you do right now. Any anger or frustration lingering in the back of his mind vanishes within an instant, as if it weren’t even there to begin with.

Purple and pink light from the overhead billboards reflect off your face, haloing your hair. You look beautiful, but more importantly, you’re okay. You’re safe, and he’s holding you in his arms. Despite the rain, despite the chill that clings to the air, your skin is still warm with life.

And that’s more than enough for Jason.

Shaking his head, he brings a hand to gently push against the back of your head and press you closer to him again. He presses a firm kiss to your temple, as if to hammer into your skin the relief surging through him.

Bystanders glance your way, eyeing what simply looks like two people embracing each other with an overwhelming amount of emotion. Feeling the panic in his chest slowly start to ebb away, Jason lets his lips fall to your cheek where he presses featherlight kisses.

You hum softly, fingers tightening around the creases in his jacket.

“I love you, Jay,” you say quietly, because you know he needs to hear it.

Jason’s heart rampages against his ribcage.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading, God bless <3

top divider credit: @/saradika-graphics

© harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[corpsedogs]

Jason Todd x Reader

yearner jason, i wanted to make a fic with this song for so long

✿ silver lining — filling that empty gap he had always had

Despair, numbness and indulgence is what Jason feels lately. He fell into a trap, and that trap was falling in love, deeply. You were probably the most precious thing he had ever met, which would often result in him staring to the abyss— wishing his feelings weren’t so.

He doesn’t know how to say it—and truthfully, he doesn’t want to. It’s not pride that holds him back… It’s fear. Fear that he’ll say something wrong. That he’ll make you uncomfortable or he’ll ruin it.

He felt like he was losing himself. He wanted to show you what he felt, but the words never came. He wants to pour it all out, but they just get stuck in his head. Why should he be with you anyway? He knows he’s not worth the trouble, not someone worth burying in your warm embrace, but what can he be?

He had been dragged by Dick on a dinner with Barbara and Wally, the poor thing agreed because he thought that he’d get his mind off the things that were swirling in his head.

Then he saw you. Unfortunately. Or maybe not. He couldn’t tell if it made things better or worse. You sat beside him, chatting with the others while he barely heard a word. He was too busy watching you smile— and wondering: if he held you, would it feel like holding the sun?

When everyone went home, it was only you and Jason walking on the pavement. You did some small talk as Jason nodded or replied with a short answer. He hoped you knew how just by talking to him already made him so content.

The two of you entered the building to your apartment and there was silence once the two of you entered the elevator. It was almost deafening, and the ride felt like it took hours.

He was suddenly conscious that he was alone.. with you.. in an elevator. No noise to drown out his thoughts, and the fact that he was so close to the person he admired so much wasn’t helping

“It takes a while, sorry. I should’ve just made you leave outside.” you nervously chuckled. Jason replied back, “It’s fine, I don’t mind.” he softly said as his eyes drifted on the numbers on the elevator.

Silence again, he felt his mouth becoming dry “Are you tired?”

You smiled, he could tell you were holding a laugh “Not really.” you replied. He wasn’t sure what you were laughing for, but maybe it was because it was quite endearing for him wanting to continue the conversation.

He was about to reply back but was disrupted with the elevator ringing. The doors opened and the two of you walked to your door, you finished your bag to look through your keys and placed it inside the keyhole.

“Thanks for today.” You said, “Tell Dick the food was great.”

“Will do.” Jason replied as he shoved his hands into his jacket pocket. This had happened a lot of times, him standing at your apartment door, but it felt different now that he loved you. It was like it was harder to say goodbye, or harder to leave.

But then, lately he found himself kissing you in an abandoned playground, making a few jokes and getting away with it. It was a place where innocence meets corruption— a space for you and him to write childhood with both of your own rules.

It was ironic. Once, this place echoed with children’s laughter, shrieks, and running feet. Now, it was nothing but decay. Jason didn’t care. It was quiet—and more importantly, it was yours. No one else to interfere. No one to take it away.

The abandoned park was cold and bleak, the swings creaked and the moon was the only source of light the two of you had. Whenever the two of you sat on the swings, he would look at your face— so calm and relaxed and he couldn’t help but stare.

He loved the way your hair fell across your face, the way you bit your lip when you were thinking, how your smile flipped his insides upside down. This place, this moment—it felt like a safe haven.Maybe the only one he had left.

When his lips touched yours or his body was pressed against you it was like it was all that mattered. He would look at you softly, a look that he didn’t often give but it was all for you to see.

He felt like everything was okay for once.

You sat beneath a gnarled tree, his back pressed to the trunk, your hips just barely brushing beside his.Close, but not too close. Just enough to feel something electric.

“You know, this is kind of weird.” you said, Jason’s head turn towards you as you placed your chin on your palm “Why the playground?” you asked.

“What’s wrong with the playground?” he asked, a flicker of worry tightening his chest.

Maybe you didn’t like it—maybe you never had.

“It’s quiet,” you said with a soft hum. “I thought you liked quiet.” he replies.

“I do, but it feels too quiet.” you responded.

It did felt like it was too quiet, the playground was practically colorless, some parts were ruined and hugged my vines leaving the swingset to be the only thing available to use.

Jason shifted closer, draping his arm over your shoulders. “Sometimes quiet is good,” he said softly. Your eyes wandered across the broken sets. “I bet if I could paint them, they’d look good.” Jason followed your gaze, looking at the faded paint and the rusty metal. "Yeah, they would." he agreed, “You’d make anything look good.”

You smile at his words, your cheeks feel a bit warm. You lightly tapped his chest and teased, “Flattery? Careful, Mr. Todd, I might start to believe you.” he rolled his eyes in return, “You should believe me,” he replied, “I don’t say those kinds of things lightly.”

You stayed silent for a moment, absorbing his words before letting out a soft chuckle “So corny…” Jason felt a small pang of embarrassment, a subtle pink tint on his cheeks. He quickly looked away and swatted your knee, “Shut up, you like it.” he mutters.

Jason had spent a lot of time with you lately, and to be honest, it was the only thing that he looked forward to every day. Often, he felt like his life was hell. Hell isn’t just punishment—it’s being an outcast, damned, or condemned by society, but he had hoped maybe you’d choose willingly if it meant staying together.

He knew that he wasn't exactly the best person to be around, but there was something about you that made all those things fade away. He felt comfortable with you, at ease. You were like his safe haven.

But, Jason didn’t want anyone to know. He felt selfish, as if he was afraid that people would take you from him, but that wasn’t the main reason. The main reason was Jason wanted to keep this one thing for himself, away from the prying eyes and judging glances.

He also didn’t want anyone to hurt you, he wanted to keep you safe from the dark world he lived in. Jason wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something ever happened to you.

Jason stared at his reflection in the dirty mirror. He was in the bathroom at the small apartment. His lips were still swollen from the kisses he shared with you earlier. It was now a usual occurrence, you two sneaking into each other’s apartments every night.

He stepped out, eyes instantly drawn to your sleeping form sprawled across the bed. Sunlight spilled in through the half-open blinds, casting a golden halo over your skin. Your hair had fallen across your face again. You looked peaceful. Untouched by everything that haunted him.

You stirred when you saw him. Wordlessly, you reached for his hand and gave it a gentle tug—asking, without words, for him to stay.

He didn’t hesitate.

Jason smiled faintly, letting you pull him down beside you, his body sinking into the mattress, into you. Jason knew that this relationship might not be forever. He knew that one day he would do something stupid, or that people would find out, but he tried not to dwell on it.

“Your bangs are long,” you whispered, fingers brushing his forehead. Your touch was soft, careful—like he was something fragile. "Yeah, I guess they are," he replied, "Should probably get a haircut soon." He looked at you, your face close to his. His eyes lingered on your features— the way they softened when you smiled, and the way your eyelashes cast shadows on your cheeks.

Jason felt undeserving of you. He knew he was broken, flawed, and that he didn’t deserve any happiness. And yet, you were there, holding him close, and embracing all his flaws.

He was seen by you, understood in a way he thought no one ever could. And he was loved, in a way that made him feel vulnerable and scared. But he wanted to cling to that feeling, to hold onto the fact that you chose him.

[mostly-imagines]

Careless Accidents

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you get hurt and jason’s pissed

warnings: reader’s wrist is accidentally sprained from being grabbed too hard

You could hear scuttling from somewhere else in the garden, an estate more than sizable enough than the game afoot.

You were under the distinct impression though that the bats and birds are playing with you similar to how they would a child. Slower, weaker, and less experienced than the big kids. You weren't complaining though. Because, frankly, it was stressful. They tend to operate more like they’re in a warzone than a game, you felt like you were about to be sniped out at any second.

Rightfully so, apparently, seeing how silently Stephanie had crept up on you.

“Hey,” Stephanie hissed, ignoring the way you jumped. “We’re doing alright for ourselves,” she said smugly. 

“Yeah,” you’d nodded, like you agreed with her more than you probably did. 

“Okay listen, I think the flag—” what flag? “—is by the fountain so, I think because there’s three of us and two of them, we should bait-and-switch.”

“We’re on teams?” you asked, no longer completely sure you know what you’re playing. 

“We are now!” she smiled, starting to run. “I’ll bait!”

She stopped briefly in her tracks and turned back to you hissing, “Don’t trust Cass,” before scurrying away.

Rather than sit around and wait there for…something?...to happen, you jumped up darting in the opposite direction with little to no indication whether this is a good move.

What you didn’t see is Cass rapidly approaching from your rear. 

What you also didn’t see was Dick crouched down in a row of shrubbery, which gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch your arm up and yank you down with him. You’d mewled a bit as your wrist made contact harshly with the grass, immediately buckling under you.

Cass was keen to your pain immediately, slowing her sprint to a stroll as she observed you.

“Are you okay?” she signs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” 

The response was instinctual and you didn’t actually have time to register whether or not you were okay by the time you gave it. 

You pushed up on your elbows, trying to figure out whether Dick is even on your team, but the way the others approached had you halting consideration. They’re savvy to the situation at a speed in which you can only attribute to their vigilantism, looking at you with concern. 

“You good?” Tim asked, approaching languidly.

“That looked like it hurt,” Cass commented, crouching down next to you to see your wrist better.

Dick shook his head, “No, she’s okay.” He turned to you, prodding, “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m, um…” you winced, looking at your wrist. “It hurts a little.”

Cass examined it closely, tilting it gently to the side. “It might be sprained.”

Dick paled. 

“No.”

Tim pointed a thumb back towards the manor, “We can get it wrapped upstairs.”

“No.”

You were only then able to clock the barely contained grin on Stephanie’s face, begging to break.  

“Ooooh. He’s gonna kill you.”

Cass had then kindly offered to take you inside and wrap it up for you, which you accepted, unexpecting of the plus-one of Dick trailing behind you like a guilty puppy all the while.

“You know I didn’t mean to grab you that hard right? I—” 

Cass laughs quietly as she wraps the bandage around your wrist, amused by Dick’s now-third explanation/apology for the incident. 

“I know, Dick,” you say, trying to appease him. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you genuinely, but you can tell there’s more there that he isn’t verbalizing.

You nod, “I know, Dick. It’s okay. It was just an accident.”

Cass pins the wrapping in place securely and with a smile, signs to you that she’s all done. 

You rotate your arm a bit, testing your movement under the wrap. As Cass leaves with the first aid kit, Dick remains sat at your side, leg thumping up and down.

He takes a deep breath, “What if…what if you avoid him until it heals?”

“Dick.”

He takes your uninjured hand in his with urgency in his eyes, 

He looks down at your jointed hands before loosening his already mild grip significantly.

“Are you going to tell him?” he asks, looking like he’s bracing for bad news.

You shake your head sympathetically, “No. I can’t guarantee you that he won’t find out, but I won’t tell him.”

Dick takes a deep breath, looking at the ground with intense focus. “Okay. Okay.” He stands, “I need to go.”

You watch in amused bewilderment as he staggers out the door, looking around frantically. 

Within the next few minutes, he creates and enacts his plan A. He walks into the living room, sitting down next to a very disinterested Tim, eyes forward and serious.

“I’ll give you two grand right now if you tell him it was you.”

Tim barks out, “Absolutely not.” He looks at his brother, still laughing. “No fucking way.”

Dick breaks the serious facade immediately, looking at him. “Five.”

A deadpan from Tim. 

“You don’t have five thousand dollars.”

Dick throws his head back, back thudding against the couch. “Dude, please! He’ll kill me!”

Tim scoffs, “He’d kill me!”

Dick huffs, “No, it’s different for me! Do you have any idea how many times he told me not to do that?” 

“Well then it sounds like you fucked up,” Tim sneers.

“Oh my God.”

He takes off again, combing through different rooms in the house with hope of finding a quick but effective hiding place for, say, the next twenty years?

He bursts through the study, unwittingly interrupting Bruce and Alfred having a discussion over tea.

The latter sits up with a tense brow, “Master Dick?”

The former turns around in his seat, “What’s the matter?”

Dick struggles for a second before confessing, “I accidentally sprained someone's wrist.” 

Bruce scans his face slowly, nodding. “Alright…you’ll have to take responsibility for their patrol duties—”

Dick cuts him off with a sharp breath, “Said person doesn’t have any patrol duties to be affected...”

Bruce processes for a moment before shaking his head.

“I can’t help you.”

Dick’s panic takes over again, prompting him to continue his scurry through the room, towards the other door.

Alfred interrupts his process with a very logical argument, “You don’t think running away will make this worse, Master Dick?”

“I—I don’t know!” Dick whines, stopping in his tracks. “I don’t know what to do!”

Bruce purses his lips, gesturing, “Dick, when you make a mistake…you have to submit to the consequences, you know that.”

Dick gapes, “This is not a normal consequence!”

Meanwhile, you’ve busied yourself with fiddling with the knick knacks and mementos lining the shelves of Jason’s childhood bedroom. 

You’re admiring a picture of him and Alfred from when he was young as the door creaks open behind you. 

“Sweetheart?” Your boyfriend calls out, head barely poked in through the crack.

“Hey, Jay,” you smile, setting the picture frame back on the shelf.

He enters fully, covered in motor oil and grease, and smiles his sweet, easy smile when he sees you. 

Moving onto the next trinket on the shelf, you pick up a stuffed animal placed intentionally at the front. Your gaze finds the mirror, watching his reflection as he pulls the stained shirt off his back. 

You smile to yourself, noticing the way his back muscles flex as he adjusts. “How’s the bike?”

“Better than it was this morning,” he sighs. “Where’ve you been?”

He turns around to look at you, taking easy steps towards you. 

You return the toy elephant to its place, moving to face him. “Uh, we were outside, playing…at least three separate games at once.”

The second you’re in proximity, your hands join like it’s second nature. 

He nods, all too familiar with the family’s unique methods of gamefair.

“Did th—” He looks down at your intertwined hands, brow furrowing as soon as he spots the bandage wrapped around your wrist. “What happened?”

You glance down, shrugging. “Overexerted myself playing tag.”

He looks at you skeptically, but says nothing about it.

He turns your hand over gently, asking, “Is it sprained?”

You nod, relaxed. “Yeah. Cass said it’s mild.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“No,” you say, sweeping his hair back with your other hand. “Barely hurt then.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look satisfied with the conversation.

Regardless, he turns away again, shuffling through a drawer for a clean shirt. 

“You, uh, you wanna stay for dinner tonight?” he asks, pulling his arms through, his head following. 

“Yeah,” you say gaily. “Alfred said he’s making his ‘special spaghetti’, apparently it’s a household favorite?”

He wavers, halfway to between decisions. “Yeah…”

He huffs quietly, turning back to face you fully. “Can I see it?”

You nod, happy to ease his mind. 

You start to unwrap the bandaging, him doing half the work for you. The work is done silently until your wrist is exposed, revealing your bruised skin.

You both see it at the same time—the hand-shaped bruise wrapped around your wrist.

You’re both quiet for a second—him putting pieces together and you waiting for the shoe to drop.

He takes off suddenly, clearly having come to a likely very accurate conclusion about what had happened.

“Fucking idiot—”

You try for his hand but he’s out of reach before you can grab it.

“I’ll be right back,” he grumbles behind him.

“Jason—” you sigh, “At least help me wrap it back up first.”

He hesitates, halfway to the door, ultimately returning to you in defeat. He takes your forearm gently, scanning it over again before beginning to wrap it.

You watch his face closely, noting the clear vexation. “It was just an accident,” you tell him. 

He scoffs, “It better have been.”

You drop your shoulders and lull your head to the side. “Jason. I’m not made of glass, you can’t expect other people to act like it.”

“I don’t. I expect him to mind his own strength, and if he can’t do that, he needs to keep his fucking hands to himself.”

You sigh, “Just don’t do anything harsh. Please. I think he’s worried you’re gonna punch him.”

“He should be,” he says shortly. He finishes off the wrapping, pinning it in place firmly. 

You grab onto his forearm before he can pull away, “You’re not going to. Right?”

He doesn’t answer so you try to make his gaze meet yours, “Right?”

His eyes roll, “Yeah, fine.”

You smile, holding his face. “I love you.”

He huffs as though he’s inconvenienced, but confesses the obvious truth nonetheless. “I love you.”

He looks you in the eye, face serious. “You promise me it doesn’t hurt?”

“I promise,” you nod, brushing your fingers against his palm.

“Dick!”

The angry voice bellows through the tall halls of the manor, heavy footsteps thudding.

He stomps into the living room, Tim, Cass, and Stephanie watching the entryway with wide eyes. 

“Where is he?”

Unwitting shoulders shrug and heads shake. Truthfully, at that. Dick, smartly, did not tell anyone where he was hiding. 

Jason scans the trios faces, looking for any sign of apprehension.

He clocks the grin shamelessly plastered across his sister's face quickly. “Stephanie?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “But let me know when you find him, I wanna see—”

But Jason’s moving onto the next room before she can get the last words out.

He enters the dining room, looking right to left before finding his target, halfway to stuffing himself behind the fine china cabinet in the corner.

There’s a brief, tense moment in between where the pair realize what they’re seeing and when Dick sets off in a sprint towards the kitchen, Jason quick on his tail. 

“Really? Really?” Jason shouts. 

“It was an accident! It was a fucking—” 

He narrowly dodges a swipe from Jason, then ducking before a ladle could make contact with his head.

“Are you stupid? Are you the dumbest motherf—”

Dick rounds the kitchen island as fast as possible, Jason testing him on the other side.

Dick takes a breath, “Dude, it’s fine now, it’s not that big of a—”

Jason recoils, “‘It’s not a big deal’? Come here. Let me sprain your wrist, asshole!”

He circles the counter quicker than the elder boy can think to move away and lunges at him. 

Dick throws his hands up in front of him, “Wait, wait, wait! Truce! Truce! Truce?”

Jason drops his shoulders, leveling his older brother with a look. “You can’t call a truce if you’re the only one who did anything wrong.”

“I…” It doesn’t take him long to piece together that his defense makes no sense, so he resorts to his last option. 

“Please?” Dick asks, nothing short of imploring. 

Jason relents—slightly—upon hearing his brother's tone, but still finds it in him to shove him, though not nearly as hard as he’d been planning to. 

“I told you a hundred fucking times not to grab her so hard—” 

Dick nods heavily, waving a hand. “I know, I know—”

“Clearly you fucking don’t!” Jason shouts. He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You sprained her wrist. You’ve been doing this vigilante shit for fifteen years, how do you still not fucking know how to control your own strength?”

Dick grimaces, “I do! I do, I just screwed up, I’m sorry!”

“Don’t—” Jason narrowly holds back a scowl, “Did you apologize to her?”

 “Yeah, of course I did!”

For a split second, Jason looks ready to keep arguing before purposefully dropping the anger from his body. 

The resulting relief almost drowns Dick.

It only lasts a moment though, before Jason looks at him again, sneering, “Idiot,” before pushing him once more. 

“Jason.”

Your voice has Jason dropping all turbulence in an instant. He and Dick both whip their heads towards the door, equally unexpecting of the interruption. 

You tilt your head at your boyfriend with a knowing but disappointed stare.

He looks back at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, lips parted.

“I didn’t hit him.”

⭐️ your options are: (1) reblog fics or (2) be a little bitch ⭐️

[kenobers]

what would a bat do | jason todd blurb

or jason finds you crying and decides to shoot first and ask questions later. gn!reader a/n: could be read as romantic or platonic

Jason is a lot like Bruce. He does not see this as a positive.

To be fair, "You're acting like Bruce" is the verbal equivalent of hitting below the belt for him and his siblings. Being compared to your parent is a devastating below in any sibling argument, but with their...respectively unique relationships with Bruce, it's downright lethal. Especially for Jason, who still hasn't found complete security with their father.

So, Jason only compares himself to Bruce with blinders on. He does it every time he snaps at someone just to get them off his case. He cringes every time he decides to go off the grid and shut everyone out instead of confronting his feelings. "You're acting like Bruce" echoes in his head as he draws a mental Venn diagram and desperately fills the opposing sides.

The worst is when he catches his reflection glowering back at him; if he had a nickel for every time he mistook it for Bruce sneaking up on him…

He only sees his father in himself when he's angry. When he's so blinded by the nauseating need for vengeance that the line between Hood and Bat start to blur. When all he can see is the mission. When he realizes just how much he’s chosen to isolate himself.

One of the reasons he hides as much of his face as possible is because then no one can tell him he looks just like a bat when he bares his teeth. He wears his emotions on his sleeve instead of leaving it to anyone's guess. He makes absolutely sure that there's no mistaking him for Batman.

All of this to mixed results, of course.

Because despite all of his valid issues with Bruce, deep down Jason knows that Bruce Wayne is still a good man.

And although he doesn’t quite realize it, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to admit that Bruce Wayne raised Jason Todd to be a good man.

Bruce is why Jason always holds the door open for the person behind him. Every time Jason buys a coffee, he pays for the next handful of customers, something he consistently watched Bruce do. Whenever a child talks to him, Jason always crouches to their eye level…that’s Bruce too.

That’s not to give Mr. Wayne too much credit. Jason Todd has had a good heart from the moment he was born. He never needed anyone to tell him to leave the world a better place than he found it. Just because he has an anomalous method of doing so doesn’t make that any less true.

But there are certain things, instincts, that Bruce cemented in his mind. Like knowing when to ask questions first and when to ask them later.

Like when he finds you crying just now.

He’d sent you a text earlier in the day. Something completely unrelated to your well being, something incredibly unimportant actually. Still, your lack of response made him anxious, so he went to check on you. Just to make sure you weren't, like, dead or something.

There's a split second of awkward silence as you both stare at one another. But you hardly have time to wipe your tears and blubber out, "Oh, hey, what's up," before Jason's engulfing you in a bear hug.

That's when you know you don't need to hold it together. That's when you know it's safe to completely fall apart.

Jason doesn't need to ask questions just yet. You don't need him asking questions. You both know he'll get answers, whether from you or his own investigation. For now he'll stay quiet, sans a few whispered comforts. He could try being a man of many words. He’s more than capable of waxing poetics. It’s just that he knows he can come across as mean and abrasive, even when he’s trying to be kind and soft.

Another way he’s like Bruce.

Nevertheless, he’s got two big strong arms that can speak for him. They’ve got you. They’ll protect you from whatever’s got you feeling like this.

One large hand anchors you to him. It holds you steady as your body shakes with sobs. The other cradles your head, every so often moving to pat your back whenever you hiccup.

You can hide your face in his chest. Ride along with the subtle rise and fall of it. Let the gentle sound of his heart beat drown out the sound of your stressors. He doesn’t care about the damp spot you’re leaving on his shirt. He just cares about you.

Jason is a rock, an absolute pillar of a human being. He can stand there for as long as you need. He can support your weight and hold you up if you’re too exhausted to do it yourself.

When you decide that you want to talk about it, then he tries to be all ears. He sits you on the couch and wraps an arm around you as you rest your head on his shoulder. Occasionally, his thumb drifts up to wipe your stray tears away.

He listens as best he can. He definitely would've dealt with your issue differently if he were you. In a different era, he would've let you know exactly what he would do - more likely, he would've just gone and done it for you. But he can recognize that this is probably a healthier way to deal with whatever upset you. And you know what, he can respect that too.

After you've vented until there's nothing left to say, Jason stays with you. It's that nagging voice that tells him that he has to make sure you're really okay, that you're not about to do something stupid as soon as he takes his eyes off you. After all, that's what he would do.

So he puts something on the tv. A show, a movie, a YouTube compilation, video essay - something he knows you like. He doesn't look away from you the entire time. He sits at the ready to catch any stray tears or soothe any sudden bursts of rage.

Until you fall asleep on his shoulder. He sits like that for another few minutes before he finally transfers you to your bed, tucking you in with so much care. The only sound he makes is a sharp gasp when he catches his reflection in your window.

Then he sits some more, still watching you closely. He watches until he's certain you're sound asleep, ignorant to the things that hurt you.

Then he slips out the window without a peep, off to get your justice.

That's exactly what Bruce would do.

[kthologue]

the bet — jason todd

synopsis. it’s harder to keep your relationship with jason a secret from the world's greatest detectives than you thought. (3 times each wayne family member tries to prove that you and jason are together and 1 time they actually do.)

notes. ooc. tooth. rotting. fluff. like 3k words of it and im sick. my first time writing for jason ever yay!

“You know, if you stare any harder, you might actually burn a hole through her head.”

Dick’s teasing voice slices through the comfortable silence between the two brothers, save for the distant sirens and the low hum of Gotham’s never-ending nightlife below them. They’re perched on a rooftop across from an upscale bar, the neon sign casting a soft glow on their suits. Through the massive glass windows, you sit at the bar, leaning in with an easy, disarming laugh as the suspect, some sleazy drug trafficker falls right into your trap.

Jason, crouched beside Dick with his elbows on his knees, grumbles beneath his mask. “I’m not staring.”

Dick lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Then I must be hallucinating.”

“I thought we got you checked out for that already,” Jason shoots back, his voice sharp.

Dick winces, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Low blow.”

“It was pretty funny.”

Dick doesn’t argue, just settles into a knowing silence, watching as Jason’s hand unconsciously flexes against the holster at his hip.

Jason exhales through his nose, his jaw ticking. “I don’t understand why she has to flirt to get intel. We could just beat the answers out of these guys. Hell, we’d probably get it faster.”

The older vigilante shakes his head. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘covert op’ like bashing heads through walls.” His voice is light, but his eyes flicker to the way Jason’s fingers tighten around the grip of his gun. “Relax. Your sweetheart can handle herself.”

Jason freezes, but only for a fraction of a second. His heart, though, does that annoying thing where it skips a beat, both traitorous and stupid.

Your sweetheart.

Not that anyone knew. Not that anyone could know. As much as he wanted to grab you by the waist and kiss you breathless after missions, he wasn’t about to hand his family more ammunition for their relentless teasing.

Dick, for one, was proving exactly why this relationship stayed a secret.

The silence should have been Jason’s first warning. The way Dick just sits there, absently swinging a batarang between his fingers, watching the bar with an all-too-pleased expression.

“You know,” Dick hums, as if lost in thought, “it’s important to let that special someone know how you feel. Your twin flame. That one person you’ve been pining over since– oh, I don’t know, your youth.”

Jason doesn’t move.

Dick pauses for dramatic effect, then casually props his chin in his hand, his gaze flicking to Jason. A slow grin tugs at his lips.

“Hm. You’re blushing.”

Jason’s breath stills. His eyes snap to Dick, but his head remains stubbornly forward.

“I am not blushing.” His voice is gritted steel. “And I haven’t been pining over her for that long.”

Dick tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Huh. Funny.” He leans back with an exaggerated stretch. “I never said who.”

Jason’s fists clench.

Damn it.

His mask covered his whole damn face. There was no way Dick could have seen a blush, no way he could have known.

Jason grits his teeth as realization dawns.

He walked right into that.

Like a lovesick fool.

The next time Jason’s nearly caught is at one of Bruce’s galas.

Jason had grumbled and rolled his eyes when you insisted on attending—something about not wanting to spend the night in a “stuffy ass ballroom pretending to care about Gotham’s elite.” You had countered that it was for a good cause, something you actually cared about, and that Bruce would appreciate the support. Begrudgingly, he agreed.

But, of course, he couldn’t just let you go without making things complicated.

“Matching colors,” Tim observes, arms crossed, his sharp blue gaze flickering between you and Jason.

You school your expression into something neutral. Jason, standing entirely too close to you, does no such thing.

“What a coincidence,” Tim drawls, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“It really was,” you force out a laugh, silently screaming at Jason for his careless mistake.

He had seen your dress before the gala, made a gruff noise of disapproval, and then—without a single word—had left only to return an hour later with a tie in the exact same deep shade of red.

You had almost thrown a shoe at him.

As endearing as the gesture should have been, it was infuriating. He was the one insisting that your relationship remain under wraps, but he was awful at hiding it.

Right now, you can practically feel his warmth radiating onto you, his fingers twitching at his side, itching to settle on your waist. His entire presence screams possessive, yet he’s standing there trying to play it cool.

“Right, Jay?” you prompt, hoping begging he plays along.

“Total accident,” he deadpans.

You mentally facepalm. He is not selling it.

Tim’s smirk deepens, thriving off Jason’s obvious discomfort.

“Well then,” Tim shrugs, barely suppressing his amusement. “If she’s not your date, do you mind if I steal a dance?”

Jason’s shoulders tense. His jaw clenches so tight you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack.

“Go ahead.”

His tone is flat, but you know better. His hands may be in his pockets, but you can see them clenched into fists. His entire body is rigid, like he’s forcing himself to not grab your wrist and pull you back to his side.

You want to laugh. It’s so obvious.

Tim takes your hand and whisks you away onto the dance floor before Jason can change his mind.

He’s is a smooth dancer, you’ll give him that. He moves with confidence, leading you effortlessly through the slow, sweeping steps of the waltz. The ballroom around you is a blur of glittering gowns and dark suits, the music swelling in a soft, romantic rhythm.

You try to focus on the dance, but you can feel Jason’s stare.

It’s burning into you from across the room, a weight against your spine that makes your pulse spike.

Tim notices. Of course, he does.

“I know I have a grand total of one song before your guard dog comes back,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly as he spins you. His fingers press lightly against your back, his mouth close to your ear. “So, between you and me… you can just tell me if you’re dating.”

You groan. “Why is everyone so obsessed with this?”

Tim pulls back just enough to give you a pointed look. “Because the two of you have been dancing around each other for years. I’m in pain just watching.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “Buzz off and focus on your own romantic life, Drake.”

Tim just grins. “Yours is so much more interesting.” He spins you gracefully, his smirk growing as he catches sight of Jason still watching. Still fuming.

He tugs you back in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “So tell me… are the two of you together? Because I’ve been sensing–”

“You’ve been sensing jack shit, Drake.”

The voice is low, sharp, and pissed.

You barely have time to process Jason’s arrival before you feel a hand—his hand—on your waist, warm and grounding and claiming.

Tim barely gets a breath out before Jason smoothly steps in, seamlessly taking his place as if he had planned this from the start. His movements are precise, natural, possessive. The transition is so smooth it’s like the dance was meant to end like this—with you in his arms.

Tim watches, looking utterly delighted.

“Wow,” he muses. “Not even a full song? Possessive much?”

Jason doesn’t acknowledge him. His grip on you tightens, and you feel his breath against your temple as he leans in just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You should step back. You should do something to break the illusion.

But you don’t.

Because his hand is on your waist, his other hand holding yours just right. His body is solid and warm against you, moving with you effortlessly like he was made for this. The scent of leather lingers on him, comforting and intoxicating.

He is looking at you like you are the only person in the room.

And you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until he speaks.

“I don’t like how low his hands were.”

The words are gritted out, low and quiet, meant just for you.

Your heart stumbles. You should not find that as attractive as you do.

“Jason–”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “He knows. He’s just trying to het under my skin.”

You blink up at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Jay, it was just a dance.”

His fingers flex against your waist.

Your breath catches in your throat. The words send something electric through you, something dangerous. You don’t have time to respond.

Because Tim, damn Tim, is still standing there, watching the whole exchange with way too much satisfaction.

“Well,” he muses, rocking back on his heels. “That was interesting.”

Jason finally acknowledges him by glowering in his direction.

“Get lost, Drake.”

Tim grins. Because while he may not have gotten a confession, he definitely got confirmation.

After your encounter with Tim, you and Jason had agreed to lay extra low. No unnecessary risks, no slip-ups. No feeding into their suspicions. That plan, of course, went up in flames, quite literally when you almost lost a damn arm.

Jason had nearly lost his mind.

Now, standing in the training room with Cassandra, you tug absentmindedly at the hem of your sleeve, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your arm.

Cass, however, does not.

“That’s one nasty burn,” she winces, crouching slightly to get a better look at the angry, blistering wound.

You shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “It’s nothing, really,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “I was just reaching into the oven to grab some muffins, and my arm accidentally hit the hot rack.”

Jason, standing beside you with his arms crossed, snorts.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Told you to be careful this morning.”

The second the words leave his mouth, his body goes rigid. His eyes widen slightly, realizing his mistake.

Shit.

Cass doesn’t even blink before zeroing in.

“What was that?”

Jason schools his expression into mock confusion. “What was what?”

“Don’t play coy, Todd.” Cass’s voice is sharp, her dark eyes locked onto him with an intensity that could crack glass.

Jason ever so stubborn and entirely unwilling to admit defeat, doesn’t back down.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He doesn’t flinch.

Cass tilts her head, unconvinced. “I heard the two of you were on patrol pretty late last night.” Her gaze flickers between you and Jason, noting every shift in body language, every subtle tell. “So tell me, Todd… what were you doing with [Name] this morning too? Did you, perhaps, sleep together?”

Silence.

The tension in the room thickens, settling over you like an impending storm. Your pulse spikes. Jason’s jaw locks. Cass’s eyes remain unmoving, sharp as a blade.

The stalemate stretches too long.

Before Cass can press further, you jump in.

“What Jason meant,” you say quickly, forcing an easy laugh, “is that our patrol ended at around six in the morning. I invited him over for a snack, is all.”

You will her to believe it.

Jason exhales subtly beside you, relaxing ever so slightly at your quick save.

Cass, however, is not satisfied.

“You never invite me over for snacks,” she states, arms crossing over her chest.

You frown. “I’m sorry, Cass. How about next time?”

She considers for a moment, expression unreadable, before nodding.

“I’ll be there at sunrise.”

You smile, nudging her shoulder. “It’s a deal.”

Cass eyes the two of you for another long second before finally, finally, grabbing her bag and exiting the room.

The moment the door clicks shut, Jason lets out a heavy breath.

Without warning, his large frame topples over yours, his solid weight pressing against your back as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he mutters, lips brushing the sensitive skin near your ear. His voice is low, gravelly, full of something raw and unguarded.

His arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him.

You bite back a smile, leaning into his warmth.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” His lips graze the nape of your neck, lingering.

“Not nearly enough,” you murmur.

It’s a lie.

Because Jason tells you every single day.

If not with his words, then with the way he looks at you. With the way he touches you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. With the way he freaks out over every little injury, over every near miss, like the thought of losing you would be enough to unmake him.

And God, if he wasn’t so damn obvious about it.

Your charade finally comes to an end on a rare night. The entire family gathered around the Wayne Manor dining table. It had taken weeks of convincing, countless rescheduled plans, and Alfred’s unshakable will to make it happen. You silently applaud him, watching as he moves seamlessly around the table, topping off glasses and making sure everyone eats.

The conversation is lively but controlled, an unspoken agreement hanging in the air: no fights. Bruce was actually eating rather than brooding, Damian had only thrown out two insults so far, and Tim was at least half-awake. For a Wayne family dinner, this was practically peaceful.

No one notices that you and Jason are sitting a little too close, they’re all too engrossed with the hearty meal and a rare opportunity of having a civil conversation with each other.

Jason, ever the attentive boyfriend, wordlessly reaches for the serving platter and places another thick slice of roast onto your plate. Then, he carefully spoons asparagus onto your dish, making sure it’s coated just enough with hollandaise sauce just the way you like it.

“Eat up, sweetheart.” His voice is low and smooth, meant just for you.

Your heart does a little flutter at the name, and your lips tug into a smile as you pick up your fork.

But then a familiar voice turns the entire night around.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Damian’s voice cuts through the table, as sharp as one of his throwing knives, “but doesn’t ‘sweetheart’ have romantic implications?”

Silence.

A few forks hover mid-air. Bruce pauses as he cuts into his steak. Dick, who had been talking to Cass, freezes mid-sentence. Tim, who had been half-heartedly scrolling through his phone under the table, suddenly looks very awake.

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Dick leans back in his chair, grinning like he just hit the jackpot. His eyes flicker with amusement as he clasps his hands together. 

Jason’s chewing slows. Your eyes flicker to his face, trying to gauge his reaction. This was it. The moment he always dreaded.

“Todd just called [Last Name] ‘sweetheart,’” Damian supplies, ever helpful, pointing at the two of you with his fork.

Cass and Tim share a knowing glance, both nodding in quiet confirmation.

Dick gapes. “In front of my salad?”

Jason, rather than looking panicked, looks entirely unbothered. Too unbothered. His jaw moves as he stuffs another carrot into his mouth, chews deliberately, and then–

“It’s our one-year anniversary next month.”

Chaos erupts.

“WHAT?”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Called it.”

“Took you guys long enough!”

Tim smacks the table, rattling the silverware. Dick throws his hands in the air. Cass laughs silently, shaking her head as if she’s just been vindicated after months of waiting.

Stephanie, meanwhile, grabs Tim’s arm and shakes him. “You owe me fifty-bucks, Drake.”

Bruce, to his credit, looks unfazed, save for the slight twitch of his eyebrow. He sets his knife down and looks at Jason with a measured expression.

“Well done, son.”

Jason stares at him for a moment before giving him a single nod, as if they’re discussing business strategy rather than his romantic relationship.

You’re still flustered under the sheer weight of all the attention, but then Jason’s fingers interlace with yours under the table. Warm. Steady. Protective. He gives your hand a light squeeze, and just like that, your nerves settle.

The chatter continues, voices overlapping.

“I suppose that means I won the bet?”

The room stills.

Jason’s head snaps up. “Wait. What?”

Tim, not even looking ashamed, shrugs. “Technically, nobody won. We all knew already.”

Damian scowls. “The condition was that someone had to prove it. I did that tonight. Therefore, I win.”

Jason straightens in his chair, voice dangerously low. “Hold on. You had a bet?!”

You grimace, bracing yourself as the night takes a turn.

Tim leans back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, yeah. This has been going for months.”

“How much?” Jason demands, his eyes narrowing.

Dick, grinning, raises his glass. “A hundred bucks.”

Jason turns to you, betrayed. “Did you know about this?”

You shake your head furiously. “I would’ve rigged it to win if I had.”

“Unbelievable,” Jason mutters, rubbing his temples.

But then he feels your thumb brush gently over his knuckles, and suddenly, the noise fades into the background. He turns to you, the frustration melting from his features as he takes in the warmth of your smile, the way your eyes are only on him.

You squeeze his hand. “Well,” you say softly, just for him. “At least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

Jason exhales a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning to you fully. There’s adoration in his eyes, open and raw and entirely unguarded. His lips form the silent words, ‘I love you,’ and though no sound escapes, you hear it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly around yours. Your breath catches, warmth blooming in your chest, and without thinking, you smile radiantly, mirroring the love on his face.

thank you for reading! comments n reblogs are appreciated 💋

[n0cturn4]

A Moment Like This

Character: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: Word Count: 818 Music: So This Is Love - Cinderella

The morning was born slowly, painting the room in a soft golden hue, as if the sun itself hesitated to disrupt the stillness that enveloped you both. Light poured gently through the gaps in the curtains, drawing delicate shadows across the bed, where the two of you rested, entwined in the warmth of the moment. The world outside kept spinning, chaotic and relentless, but there, amidst the soft sheets and Jason's tranquil breaths, there was a bubble of serenity that neither of you dared to break.

You awoke before him, your eyes gradually adjusting to the tender glow of dawn. The weight of Jason's arm, casually draped across your waist, brought a rare sense of security, as if that simple gesture conveyed all the unspoken things he still couldn’t put into words. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, every shift of his echoing within you like a distant murmur of something profound, something eternal.

His face, relaxed for the first time in so long, was a portrait of peace. The usually hardened features, etched by battles both physical and emotional, were softened by a calm that only the quiet of morning could offer. You traced each detail — the fine scars along his jaw, the subtle lines life had forced upon him too early, now seemingly dissolved in the softness of the moment. Each mark was a map of the life he had lived, a story told silently under the morning light.

You breathed deeply, feeling the gentle caress of the fresh air drifting in through the open window. It carried the scent of the distant city, mingled with the faint perfume of clean sheets and Jason’s warm skin, creating a subtle melody of sensations that filled the space between you. There was something sacred in that silence, as if time itself was holding its breath, allowing you both to exist there, together, unhurried.

Jason shifted slightly, his eyes fluttering open with the softness of someone unaccustomed to waking up in peace. When he looked at you, the deep blue of his eyes seemed to capture all the light of the dawn, glowing with an intensity that always accompanied him, but now, in this intimate moment, was tinged with a tenderness you rarely saw. He said nothing at first, just watched you, as if he were trying to commit every detail of you to memory, as if he knew moments like this were fleeting for him.

He ran his hand down your face with a delicacy that seemed to contrast with everything he was — the warrior, the vigilante, the survivor. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, slow and reverent, as if every inch of your skin were a precious discovery.

"You make the world... feel quiet," he murmured, his voice husky, barely breaking the silence around you.

Your heart tightened at those words, so simple yet loaded with meaning. Jason, who had spent his life battling against the noise — both external and internal — now found in you an island of tranquility, something he had never expected to find. You leaned in, your lips brushing his gently, a kiss slow and soft, as if time itself had paused in that brief instant.

"Because here, it's just us," you whispered against his lips, feeling his warmth blending with yours, the world outside fading away in that small eternity you shared.

Jason closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours, your hearts beating in unison, and in that simple gesture was a depth of vulnerability. He was so strong, so unyielding to the world, but there, in your arms, he was just Jason — the man, not the soldier. A sigh escaped his lips, as if he were allowing himself to relax completely, for the first time in so long.

“I didn’t know I could... let myself feel this way,” he whispered, the words so low they almost dissolved into the air, but you caught them, feeling the weight they carried.

You ran your hand through his hair, the touch light, as if soothing a storm on the verge of breaking. “Now you know,” you answered softly, with the certainty that only love can bring.

Silence fell between you again, but this time, it was comfortable, like an old song you both knew by heart. The sunlight continued to spread across the room, but for the two of you, time was still suspended. Jason, lying beside you, seemed more vulnerable than ever, and you knew that despite all the chaos surrounding him, he had found peace, even if it was only for that brief morning.

The love you shared was like that — a refuge amidst the darkness, a golden light shining even in the darkest corners of Jason's life. And in that moment, as the warmth of the morning wrapped around your intertwined bodies, you knew, with the depth of every heartbeat, that this was the home he had been searching for: not a physical place, but you.

[allllium]

Personal Pillow

~ Fluff, Jason being a baby, WC: 419

~ Jason rips his only pillow, somehow he's okay with it

"It's been a week, Jay, you need a new pillow." You tell him in exasperation.

"No I don't." He pouts.

"Yes you do! Who only has one pillow anyway!?" You stare at him as if he's insane. (He is)

"I have all the pillows I need!"

"I am not your pillow!" You run your hands over your face.

"But you're so comfy." He continues pouting, looking almost ridiculous with the way he juts out his bottom lip.

"And you're huge, you'll crush me in my sleep." You exclaim, gesturing to the large man in front of you.

"Body shaming. I can't believe this." You let out a deep sigh.

"Jason, shut the fuck up." You plead, needing to be rid of this stupidity.

"Why? So you can continue bullying me?"

"I'm not bullying you, I just said you can't keep using me as a pillow." Jason looks away from you. He sits down on the couch with an overly upset manner.

"It's the same thing." he hangs his head down and crosses his arms over his chest. You almost laugh at the sight of a grown man pouting like a child because you told him to buy a new pillow.

"Jason, baby, you're getting a pillow. I'm not letting you mess up your neck by sleeping on me every night." You explain as gently as possible.

"Fine but I'm not using it."

You roll your eyes at his childish antics. "Whatever you say." You smile at him.

After you get home from the store Jason's mood has picked up significantly. For a moment you go over everything in your life that has led to this exact moment. He got a pillow.

A child's pillow.

A child's pillow with a Red Hood design.

"I am somehow shocked. I should've known this was coming." You say, walking in the front door.

"Well you didn't want me sleeping on you, so I'll sleep on myself." He declares. Immediately walking towards the bedroom to put his new pillow in it's home.

"It's a child's pillow, Jason. It's barely big enough to fit your head." You fall down onto the bed. A second later, Jason joins you.

"It's perfectly fine." He picks it up and lays it on your stomach. Laying his head on you and the pillow, "See everything's perfect."

"This was not the point of the pillow. In fact it's the opposite." You run your fingers through Jason's hair as he pulls you closer.

Maybe being his personal pillow isn't so bad.

[sunsburns]

not you too

pairing: jason todd x ex vigilante!reader

summary: for the first time in a long time, you're hurting, deeply. an old wound that's reopened, the knife that was once there finding its place back between your ribs. jason todd comes to you in the middle of the night, bleeding all over your floor, rubbing salt to an old wound.

word count: 3.5k+

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, angst, the good old cleaning the other's wounds after a rough patrol but this one has a little bit of plot and spice to it ngl.

based off of this request

You always try to keep your nights as simple as possible. Working under Commissioner Jim Gordon had its perks, but peace of mind wasn’t one of them. Between juggling case files, analyzing crime scenes, and trying to stay ahead of Gotham’s ever-growing list of threats, your days were more than chaotic.

Gordon, a mentor as much as a boss, trusted you with sensitive information that only a few had access to—and you took that responsibility seriously. What he didn’t know was how deep your connection to Gotham’s vigilantes truly ran.

While Gordon believed in the power of the law, you knew sometimes it wasn’t enough. That’s where Batman came in. Your dual role—an officer of the GCPD by day, and a secret informant for Batman by night—had become second nature. You fed him intel and helped him stay ahead of Gotham’s worst, all while maintaining the facade of loyalty to the department.

You weren't proud about it, but he gave you enough hush money that you don't question it whenever he appears by the office as you leave your later shifts.

Friday nights were your escape. After a week of handling reports, dissecting evidence, and sidestepping questions from Gordon about your mysterious late-night absences, you let yourself disconnect. You skipped the gym after work, came home early, and cooked yourself a proper dinner. By the time the sun set, you were showered, dressed in your comfiest pyjamas, and settled on the couch with a movie.

Tonight was no different. You’d just closed a case with Gordon’s team, a robbery ring, criminals now behind bars, but Gotham never truly rested. Tomorrow would bring another wave of crime, another set of challenges. Still, for now, you had this moment of peace.

The movie droned on in the background as you finished dinner, exhaustion from the week creeping in. Your eyes fluttered shut halfway through, the comfort of your quiet apartment lulling you to sleep. By the time the credits rolled, you were completely out, wrapped in the safety of your little corner of the world.

That is until a faint creak from your window broke the silence.

You stirred groggily, blinking at the clock. It was well past midnight. Gotham was still alive outside—sirens in the distance, the occasional rumble of a motorcycle passing by—but your apartment had fallen into stillness. You stretched, ready to drag yourself to bed, but something wasn’t right.

The creak came again. Your blood ran cold.

Someone was in your apartment.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes darted around the dimly lit room. The faint sound of creaking had stopped, leaving an eerie silence behind, but there—a shadow moved. Your heart pounded, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you reached blindly for something, anything to defend yourself. The remote was the closest thing at hand. You gripped it tightly, feeling foolish but unwilling to let go, and scrambled to stand.

In the faint glow from the streetlight filtering through the curtains, you finally saw him—a large figure by the balcony door, hunched over, struggling to quietly close the glass behind him. He moved slowly, cautiously, as if he didn’t want to be noticed. But you had already seen enough.

The silhouette was unmistakable.

“Jason.”

His shoulders stiffened at the sound of his name, freezing in place for a second before turning to face you. Even in the darkness, you could feel the weight of his gaze through the red-tinted visor of his helmet, his expression unreadable beneath it.

You lowered the remote slowly, heart still racing, but now for a different reason. “You can’t—you can’t just break in like this,” you stammered, your voice tinged with frustration and worry. You’d seen him do this too many times, yet it never got easier.

He let out a gruff, annoyed sound beneath the helmet, shoulders sagging as he took a step closer. “Not like you were gonna answer the door.” His voice was rough, and the bitterness in his tone was impossible to miss.

Your irritation flared, but then you noticed something—a slight tremor in the way he moved. His steps were sluggish, almost hesitant, and he favoured his right side, trying to mask it.

He wasn’t just annoyed.

He was hurt.

As he stepped out of the shadow, the dim lamp light caught the outline of his armour. That’s when you noticed it—dark stains creeping across the front of his suit, and the way his hand pressed against his side, the faint sound of a pained breath slipping past his otherwise guarded posture.

“You’re bleeding,” you muttered, the frustration quickly giving way to concern. He didn’t respond, his gaze avoiding yours as he leaned back against the wall, clearly uncomfortable with being here. Jason never wanted anyone to see him like this—least of all you.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he grumbled, the words tinged with a mix of guilt and exasperation. “Go to bed. I’ll be out in a minute. Just needed some stuff. Still got that first aid kit?”

You shook your head, taking a cautious step closer, your heart sinking at the sight of him in pain. “Jason, you can’t just—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off sharply, pushing himself off the wall, wincing as the movement aggravated his wound. His stance was defensive like he was already preparing to run before you could offer to help.

But the moment his knees buckled slightly, the tough exterior he was trying to maintain cracked. You could see it in the way his breath hitched, the way he clutched at his side like he was barely holding it together.

He wasn’t here because he wanted to be. He was here because he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Jason pulled the mask off his head, his breath coming in sharp gasps as if the helmet had been suffocating him. He tossed it carelessly onto your dining table before glancing at you, his expression tight. “You got it or not?”

His voice startled you into action. “Uh—yeah, I’ve got it.” You scrambled down the hall toward the bathroom, hands shaking as you rifled through the drawers for the first aid kit. His footsteps echoed faintly in your living room, boots heavy against the hardwood. Now that he’d been caught, his presence filled the space in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

You tried to steady your breathing, but it was no use. No matter how many times you’d imagined running into Jason again, it was never like this. In your daydreams, you hoped you’d bump into him on the street, or maybe during work.

There were even moments where you’d foolishly fantasized about seeing him at Wayne Manor, handing over files to Bruce as a favour, only to lock eyes with Jason from across the room. But this? Jason bleeding out on your floor, breaking into your apartment in the middle of the night? This wasn’t what you wanted.

When you returned to the living room, he had already shed his jacket, revealing a deep gash along his side. It was messy, and the blood soaked into the fabric of his suit, leaving dark stains that made your stomach drop.

He’d settled into something uncomfortably familiar—boots kicked off by the door, sitting against the wall like old times, but this time he kept his distance, his body tense.

He didn’t want to be here.

You hesitated as you approached, the kit in your hand. “Jason, let me—”

“I’ve got it.” His voice was sharp, cutting you off as he took the first aid kit from your hands without so much as a glance. His glare kept you at arm’s length, and it hurt. The way he shut you out, even when he was barely holding himself together.

He didn’t trust anyone—not entirely.

Not after everything.

Still, seeing him like this made something twist in your chest. Bleeding and worn down, but too stubborn to ask for help. There was a heaviness in the air, lingering in the silence that stretched between you both. It wasn’t just about tonight—it was everything that had been left unresolved before, all the words that had gone unsaid the last time you’d seen each other. But now, with Jason sitting right in front of you, neither of you dared to speak.

You crouched a few feet away, sitting on the floor across from him, watching as he tried to clean the wound himself. His hand shook slightly, though he tried to hide it, his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth against the pain. It was bad—worse than he was letting on.

“Jason, stop,” you finally said, your voice softer than you intended. “You’re gonna make it worse.”

“I don’t need your help,” he bit out, refusing to meet your eyes. “I’ve done this a thousand times.”

He huffed, annoyed, but when he tried to move again, his breath hitched—pain breaking through the cracks of his tough exterior. His hand slipped, and the antiseptic bottle nearly fell from his grip. You didn’t wait for his permission this time. You slid over, taking the kit from his hand.

“Just let me do it,” you murmured, your voice firmer now.

Jason didn’t argue this time, though his jaw was still set in that stubborn way you knew all too well. You could feel the heat branching off him as you gently touched his arm to move it out of the way and clean the wound. His whole body stiffened at the contact like he wasn’t used to being taken care of—or maybe he just didn’t want it.

His eyes shifted to the far wall, jaw clenched even tighter, refusing to meet your gaze, but you caught the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when your hands moved over his skin.

He wasn’t saying anything, but his body told you enough. Every time your fingers brushed a sensitive spot or when the antiseptic stung, his lips pressed into a thinner line. He didn’t flinch exactly, but his posture—rigid, unmoving—betrayed how uncomfortable he was.

You weren’t sure what was harder for him: the wound or the fact that he was letting you help. His pride had always been a barrier, a wall he rarely let anyone get through. Yet here he was, in your apartment, wounded and unwilling to admit just how much he needed you.

As Jason shifted slightly, wincing, you took the moment to observe him. It had been a while since you last saw him, and for a second, you searched for something—anything—that might’ve changed. But he was still Jason. Still, the same stubborn man who couldn’t stay out of trouble. Even that white strand of hair was right where it had always been. He looked older somehow, but not in the way time ages people. It was something deeper, worn into him from the life he led.

And then his eyes flicked up, catching you watching him. For a brief moment, neither of you moved. His gaze softened, just barely, before the guarded look returned as quickly as it had slipped away.

He shifted again, his body tense, and glanced around your apartment—anything to avoid looking directly at you. His gaze lingered on your desk, the files from your latest case scattered across it, and his expression darkened. You could see it in his eyes—a mix of suspicion and something else.

“You’ve been busy,” he muttered, his tone gruff, though the edge in his voice told you there was more to it than a simple observation.

You didn’t look up, keeping your hands steady as you applied pressure to the wound. “You know how it is.”

Jason’s jaw twitched. “Yeah,” he said, his tone sharp. “I know how it is.”

It was a jab, even if it was subtle. You could feel the accusation hanging between the lines of his words. He wasn't just talking about your busy schedule—he was digging at the gap between you two, at all the things neither of you had addressed. Your loyalty to Batman. Your work with Gordon.

A little fucking traitor to everything Jason worked for.

You sighed, pressing a little harder than necessary to make a point. “You’re not here for that, Jason.”

He winced, and you almost felt bad. Almost. But the look in his eyes—calculated, like he was searching for the truth behind every move you made—made your chest tighten. His silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.

“You’re not going to ask why I’m here?” His voice was softer now, but there was a bitterness to it. He knew you weren’t stupid. He wasn’t here by choice, and you both knew it. You wanted to ask, but what was the point? Jason never came to you for help, never came to anyone unless he had no other option.

“I figured you’d tell me when you’re ready,” you replied quietly, not daring to meet his eyes. His presence in your home felt heavier than the blood on your hands.

He scoffed, shifting to take the bandage from your hand. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Your hand stilled for a moment, hovering just above his skin. You could feel the heat radiating from him, a reminder of just how close you were to crossing a line neither of you dared to acknowledge. He was still the same Jason, still stubborn as hell, but the space between you felt like it had grown into a chasm. One you weren't sure either of you could cross without everything falling apart.

“Why are you really here, Jason?” you asked, giving in. He was a wanted man, or at least Red Hood was. If you were up to it, you could have him arrested within seconds.

His eyes snapped up, the guarded expression faltering for a moment before his usual defiance returned. “It’s not like I had a lot of options,” he admitted, though the words felt forced like he was offering you an excuse instead of the truth.

“I thought you always had a plan,” you said, words sharper than you intended. “Or is that just another thing you’ve changed your mind about?”

He flinched, and for a second, you regretted saying it. But the hurt between you two had been simmering for too long. His loyalty was always a wild card, and yours? Well, Jason had never forgiven you for staying close to the people he had walked away from.

Jason’s lips twitched, not quite a smirk, but close. “The Bat keeping you on a tight leash?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or is it Gordon now?”

You stiffened, the accusation hitting home more than you liked. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, knowing it sounded weak but unwilling to offer more. It was always the same with Jason—he pushed, prodded, and pulled at the places you tried to protect.

“Yeah, right. Because we both know where your loyalties lie,” Jason snapped, his tone harsher now. His eyes bore into you like he was searching for something—anything—that would confirm his suspicions. That you’d chosen Batman over him. That you were still working with the people who had crossed him.

“I didn’t betray you,” you said quietly, though even as you said it, the words felt hollow. You didn’t know if you believed them anymore.

Jason let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. There was too much between you, too many things left unsaid, and no amount of stitching his wounds would ever fix that. He was right, in a way. You hadn’t chosen him—not when it counted.

Not when he needed you. And for what? For comfort? A little bit of safety? An alliance with Batman? A raise at work? The questions ran through your mind like jagged edges. It wasn’t that simple, but neither of you had ever really said the things that needed to be said back then, too busy trying to fix things that did not need fixing.

His breathing had become more laboured as you worked, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The wound you were treating was deep, and too close to critical areas for comfort.

Jason’s hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling into fists as if he was fighting the pain, refusing to show just how much it hurt. But you could see it in the way his body trembled under your touch—he was reaching his limit.

“Let me finish,” you said, your tone softer, more insistent. "Stop fighting me."

For once, he didn’t argue. His jaw unclenched, his shoulders slackened slightly, and his eyes—usually so guarded—softened just enough to show how exhausted he really was. Physically, emotionally, all of it. He wasn’t invincible, and tonight, that truth was catching up with him faster than he could hide.

You moved closer, hands brushing against his skin as you worked quickly, trying to keep your focus. His skin was warm, slick with sweat and blood, and the faintest tremor ran through his frame as your fingers traced the edge of the wound. But the closeness was unnerving—both of you acutely aware of each other in a way that made the room feel smaller.

You caught his eyes as you reached for more gauze, and for a split second, neither of you looked away. His gaze burned into you, full of unspoken questions, of things he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say. And for the first time, you wondered if you weren’t the only one who had felt betrayed.

But you’d both been wrong. You could see it now, in the way his eyes darkened with unsaid accusations, in the way your heart ached with unresolved regret. You thought you were protecting him by walking away—by choosing the safer path, Batman’s path. And Jason, with all his reckless defiance, had been too far gone in his need for vengeance to understand why you couldn’t follow him down that road.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear. “I can’t trust anyone anymore.”

Your fingers stilled, hovering just above his chest. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air between you.

"I never asked you to trust me," you whispered, the words hanging precariously on the line between honesty and regret.

But the truth was, you wanted him to. More than anything.

Jason’s lips tightened into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might push you away. His muscles tensed beneath your touch as if bracing himself for another fight. His hand twitched, lifting halfway like he was going to shove you back, but he stopped.

The strain was written all over his face now, and you could see his breathing growing more ragged. His eyes were slipping out of focus, and you noticed the faint green glow flickering at the edges of his irises—Lazarus. It was always there, a reminder of how far he’d gone, how close to the edge he still was.

“Jason…” you said quietly, watching the pain ripple through him. He was losing consciousness, slipping into the darkness despite his stubborn refusal to admit it. His hand finally dropped, brushing against your arm before it hit the floor, the strength leaving him in waves.

“Just… get it over with,” he rasped, his voice cracking.

You pressed the final bandage into place, your hands gentle now, more careful. For a moment, you let your fingers linger, brushing against the rough skin of his shoulder as you finished. His breathing was shallow, but steady, his eyes fluttering shut. The tension drained from his body as the exhaustion finally won, leaving him vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen in a while.

It reminded you of when he used to sleep beside you. Jason had always been restless, even in sleep, twisting in the sheets, his mind never fully at ease. But there had been nights when he would finally relax, his hand instinctively reaching for yours, his head resting against your chest like he found his peace there, with you. You remembered how you’d stroke that same shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin as you whispered for him to rest, that you were there, watching over him.

And yet, here you were, caring for him again.

He stirred slightly, a soft grunt escaping his lips as he adjusted, trying to find a position that eased the pain. His face softened with the kind of weariness that came from more than just the physical strain. You watched his chest rise and fall, the quiet sound of his breath mingling with the hum of the city outside.

Jason’s hand twitched again, brushing against your knee, his fingers grazing your skin with a familiar yet distant touch. It made your heartache.

There was a time when you would’ve done anything to keep him safe, to protect him from the world—and from himself. But now, all you could do was sit there, hands still resting against his skin, wondering if either of you could ever come back from this.

[notsodelirious]

Double Trouble — Roy Harper and Jason Todd

This was actually supposed to a Dick x Kory x Reader fic but one thing lead to another (I got high) and now we have this! Enjoy!

Synopsis: your friends abandon you in a bar, and you end the night by going home with two fine men

Notes: NSFW MDNI, this one was a doozy, I usually try to limit my drabbles to 1.5k but clearly that didn’t happen here — also mild CW for a slightly creepy dude at the beginning

tags: threesome (m x m x f), double penetration, two penises in one hole, vaginal sex, mentions of alcohol (but nobody is drunk), sub space (not named), fem! reader, 3.7k words, no use of y/n

Part 2 here

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

It was supposed to be a regular night out with friends. A regular bar crawl, getting progressively more and more drunk until you eventually circle home. 

After your first beer, you dip to the bathroom, promising your friends that you would be fine alone for the 5 minutes it would take you to relieve yourself. Only when you come back, not a single one of your friends is to be seen. You leave messages, check the smoking area, even call but nothing. Not a single text or call answered and they were nowhere to be seen. 

They left you. Stranded you alone in a bar, with no warning or indication of where they had gone to next. Tears of frustration brim your eyes as you tuck yourself into a corner, scrolling on your phone as you try to determine your next move: you could just cut your losses and order a taxi home, but the other half of you was tempted to keep drinking and burn off the anger and hurt of continuously being treated like an afterthought. 

You don’t have time to come to a conclusion however before a shadow looms over you, caging you into the corner you had nestled yourself in. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” the man smiles as you look up at him. He’s boringly unremarkable, hair a little greasy and skin pale even for the sunless Gotham climate. He leans against the wall, crosses his arms, looks you up and down, “What’s a thing like you doing standing alone?”

“Oh, I umm…” Your brain freezes as you try to find words, an explanation, an excuse, anything to not make yourself the target of this man’s interest. “I was umm…” You look around the bar, looking. You don’t know what for, until you see a man sitting at the bar, absently nursing a whiskey. His dark hair interrupted by a solid white streak and hunched over frame catches your eye, even if he looks like he’d rather disappear into the decor. It’s a shot in the dark—he could be arguably worse than this creep but you’re desperate. 

So you plaster on a fake smile as you try to inch away from the man. 

“Texting my boyfriend, but it’s fine, I found him, thanks!” You slip past him, squeezing in the space between him and the wall before you begin trotting off towards the man you had spotted earlier. “Babe!”

Most heads snap up to look towards you as you call out—making everyone witness to you and the man quickly walking behind you. The man at the bar looks up towards you too, frowning slightly when he notices you bee-lining towards you. 

“Hi!” you say with a forced smile when you reach him, resting a hand on his forearm, “Please pretend,” you breathe through clenched teeth. 

His demeanour flips on a switch—he sits straight as he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you as close as is appropriate considering he’s holding a stranger. 

“Hi, princess,” he says, giving you a quick smile before he turns to eye the other man, “Who’s that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you shrug as you nervously inch closer, “I’ve never met him before.”

“I was just trying to have a conversation,” the guy frowns and he steps forward but the stranger tugs you back. 

“Hey, man,” he says as he stands, shielding you from sight with his body. He’s so much taller than you expected, and bigger—you could see his impressive physique even when he sat, broad shouldered and muscular arms but stood and looming over that creep, your heart fluttered a little. “Don’t talk to my girl, got it?”

“Fuck, dude, I was just being friendly,” he backpedals quickly, stumbling backwards until he’s supposedly out of the stranger’s reach. “Ain’t do nothing to her.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want your sorry ass snooping around her, got it?”

“Everything okay, here?” Everybody looks back towards the new voice. A small part of you withers in embarrassment when you see a third man, just as tall and buff as the stranger you had run to shelter for, but painfully ginger. You’re the only person you know who can dig yourself into such a situation between three different men.

“This bitch is hitting on our girl,” your fake-boyfriend says. Our? You think, brain already running at 100 miles per hour to try to figure out how you’ll disentangle yourself from this mess. 

“I wasn’t doing that shit!”

“Yeah? Cause it sure looked like you were!”

“Listen, dude,” Ginger-stranger says as he rests a hand on the creeps shoulder, “How about you just fuck off before we punch your lights out for messing with our girl, okay?”

“Shit, you fuck the same bitch?” the man sneers at you as he steps away from the two other men, “Have fun with that whore.”

The stranger’s fists clench.

You grab your fake-boyfriend’s arm before he can actually swing—his friend seems to come to the same conclusion, placing a hand on his chest as he shoves the creep back. 

“Fuck off.”

The man looks between the three of you, mutters something before he turns tail and flees, leaving the three of you standing, tense and anxious. 

“You okay, doll?”

You startle out of your thoughts as you look up at the first stranger who’s now looking down at you, a vaguely worried expression on his face. He steps aside to let you out from behind him, where you wedged between his body and the barstool, and heat flushes through you again when you realise how close you had been standing to his back. 

“Oh, yes!” you slip away, nervously tugging on your top’s sleeve. You look up at both men, a shy smile playing on your lips, “All good. Thanks for that. Scaring him off.”

“No worries.”

“Glad we could help,” Ginger-stranger says with a crooked smile, “Can’t say I wasn’t surprised that my boyfriend had suddenly acquired a girlfriend, though.”

“Oh, haha,” the boyfriend in question says mockingly as he rolls his eyes. But your own eyes widen as you look between the two of them. 

“Oh shit! Sorry!”

“You’re alright,” he smiles, “I’m Roy, by the way,” he adds before thrusting a thumb towards the other man, “And this is my boyfriend Jason.”

“Hi,” you smile shyly as you wave. 

Jason just gives you a non-commital grunt as Roy gently nudges your shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, kid, but how about we walk you back to your friends?”

“They left,” Jason says before you explain the embarrassing truth yourself. Your face warms as Roy looks at his boyfriend.

“Wait, what? Why?”

Jason just shrugs, shuffles back into his chair before picking up his whiskey tumbler, “Dunno. Saw them giggling and shit and looking at the bathroom before they all decided to dash. Didn’t pay the bill, by the way,” he adds, looking at you. The mortification only grows and you can only nod as the lump in your throat returns.

“Oh,” you say, as if you had been expecting anything more from people who ditched you, not even a single beer into the night, “Right, thanks…” You rub your arm, almost as if you could trick yourself into believing somebody else was trying to comfort you. “I’ll just umm… I’ll get that. It was nice meeting you both.”

You step a little to the side, out of their way, as you try to wave down the bartender so you could ask for the bill. You almost miss the concerned glance Roy and Jason exchange, and the silent conversation that seems to be happening.

“So that’s $70 for 6 beers and 10 shots?” the bartender double-checks with you he reads off his screen.

“$70?” You don’t mean to be so loud–you’d already been dreading the price of the six beers alone but the two additional rounds of shots that you didn’t even get to drink made your heart sink into your gut. The bartender just looks at you sheepishly with an awkward smile, as if his training hadn’t accounted for the possible duping of some poor college girl.

“Sorry, I wouldn’t have served them if-”

“No, no, you’re all, I umm…” You dig out your wallet as you consider your options–you had $12.53 in cash and about $20.46 in your bank account and even with all the wills of the earth, you couldn’t stretch that remotely far enough to cover half the tab they had left you with.

“I’ve got it.”

Jason slaps two bills on the counter and you turn just in time to see him slip his wallet back into his back pocket.

“What-? No, no, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, but you don’t have the wherewithal to take the cash before the bartender takes it. You hesitate when you see his mildly triumphant smile, probably the most expressive he’s been all evening aside from his righteous anger on your behalf and you find yourself fumbling for words again. Your heart is pattering behind your ribcage as you finally manage to spit out your words, “I get paid in a week, I can pay you back, I promise-”

“Woah, hey, I’m not trying to extort you or anything, it’s fine,” Jason pats you on the shoulder.

“Trust me, he has more money than he knows what to do with,” Roy snorts as he grabs Jason’s drink to down it, which only made his boyfriend scowl at him, “He’s constantly spoiling my daughter–he’s going to make her a menace.”

Your shoulders relax the slightest bit when you recognise the offered out of the current topic of conversation.

“You have a daughter?”

You hadn’t planned on staying to chat with both men for so long but well you got caught up in the good time. The three of you sipped on ice waters as you chatted, about everything and nothing, until they knew way too much about you and you learned select things about them: Roy had a daughter named Lian (no info on the mother though) and she’s currently with her godfather, Jason’s brother; Jason is a Gotham native, Roy isn’t, but after moving around so much, he decided to settle close to his boyfriend so his daughter could have a stable life; they’d been together for a while (but you never learn how long) and they’re both bi (which is important because they find your ass really fucking cute).

Which is essentially how you ended up stumbling into Jason’s apartment at midnight, laughter muffled by lips and hands groping at each other. Despite how sober you were, you felt giddy and a little light-headed, being sandwiched between two blessings from God; strong and kind and sweet and they’d chosen you to bring home, despite the fact that they’d never brought anybody home before as a couple.

“Does that mean I’m the lucky first?”

“The only one, baby,” Roy says as he moves up to bite your ear, enough to make you gasp, but not enough to hurt badly. “We’re keeping you.”

“We’re not kidnapping you,” Jason clarifies as he wraps his hands around your waist, fingers inching beneath your shirt as he strokes the bare skin there, “But we’d like to have you around.”

You hum as you nod, reaching forward to grab Jason’s t-shirt, tugging him forward so you could kiss him, almost sloppily, pushing your tongue into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you hear Roy mutter, “You two are so fucking hot.” You break away to breathe, smiling, shifting to give space to Roy who appeared behind his boyfriend, lips immediately finding the man’s neck.

“Shit,” Jason groans and all you can think to do is kiss him again, overwhelm him with affection. Hands tug at your shirt, eventually shucking it off your body, which temporarily paused all activity.

“Well, damn,” Roy wolf whistles when he sees you topless. Jason snaps the strap of your bra.

“Wanna take this off for us, doll face?” Your hands tremble as you eagerly reach back to unclasp your bra, letting your tits spill free. Jason’s hands are on you as soon as you drop your underwear, and Roy moves close enough to kiss you.

You can barely keep track of whose hands are whose, as clothing is pulled away from your body and you’re guided to a bedroom. Roy’s the one to drag you down onto the mattress. You giggled softly as you landed on his chest, straddling his thighs as he held your hips. Jason kneels behind you, wrapping his arms around you. You moan softly when his hips grind against your ass, rubbing his clothed bulge into you. The chain reaction leads you to thrusting against Roy and dragging your panty-clad pussy across his growing dick too.

“Fuck, I- please…” you moan as your pussy soaks your panties. It’s a joint effort from both men to pull them off you and then they’re standing to discard their own boxers. They kneel on either side of you, and Roy reaches out to cup your face to kiss you softly.

“Like what you see, baby?” You can only nod dumbly as you look up at them; fat, pretty cocks, hard and throbbing. You reach out to touch both, slowly stroking each cock in hand, feeling soft skin and pre-cum under your fingertips. 

“Just like that, baby,” Roy groans as he rolls his hips into your hands all while Jason buries his fingers in your hair. Roy slips out of your grasp when he shifts to press his chest against your back. “Want to bounce on Jason’s big cock for us, sweetheart?” You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. Roy’s hands wrap around your waist as they help you up, and then down onto Jason’s cock, leaving you both moaning softly as he pushes into your cunny, opening you up. You’re so wet he barely meets any resistance even with his thick size and soon you’re begging them for movement. You spear yourself on Jason’s cock happily, your tits bouncing in tandem with your thrusts, fuelling a couple of Roy’s lewd remarks. 

“There’s a good girl,” he purrs as he noses the shell of your ear. “Want more?”

“Y-yes please,” you moan out, a punched sound leaving your throat as you drop back down onto Jason’s cock, bruising your cervix. The next time you rose, Jason hooks his hands under your knees, holding you aloft as Roy holds your thighs up too while he slides close behind you. 

The tip of Roy’s cock nudges your entrance and you whine softly. 

“Relax, doll face,” Jason mumbles as they tease your already stretched opening with Roy’s cock, threatening to properly split you open and ravage you. “You’ll feel so good.”

“A-ah-! Fuck…”

“Do you want to stop?” Roy asks kindly, dick retreating a little, but still rubbing against your pussy, promisingly. “It’s okay if it’ll be too much.”

You barely think about it before you’re shaking your head—you don’t want to stop, you want to take them both. But they’re so big-

“It won’t fit,” you hiccup as both men hold you steady. Only the tip of Jason’s dick is inside your stretched-out pussy but Roy’s nudges in next to Jason, pulling you open that much further. “Roy…”

“Shh… baby,” he hushes softly as he kisses the back of your neck, gently easing his cock past your opening. You keen loudly, the stretch burning through you. Your legs twitch as you fight the other to clench down as the second dick split you open. “Good girl…”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jason grunts. His hands around your thighs tighten as he begins to help you down over their cocks when gravity stops playing its parts. You yelp as you’re pulled down, until you’re all the way down to their hip. You tremble in their arms as your pelvic muscles struggle weakly, trying valiantly to squeeze down around the fat cocks nestled in your stretched out cunt. You moan weakly, head backwards against Roy’s shoulder, desperately trying to regain control of your body. 

“Doll face?” You blink away the tears as you sit up ever so slightly to look up at Jason, whose eyes scan your face for any sign of trouble. “Okay?”

“So much,” you mumble out, the arm that wasn’t clutching onto one of them desperately, dropping to your lower stomach where you can feel their cocks inside you. 

“That right, baby?” Roy says, his voice almost teasing as it strains while he desperately tries to not fuck into you right then and there. 

“Uh huh,” you mumble as you nod weakly. “M-more…” Jason absolutely doesn’t hesitate, rolling his hips, just enough to grind his cock against Roy’s inside you. They both groan softly before beginning at a gentle pace, fucking into you one after the other, making you moan soundlessly. Your pussy grows impossibly wetter as your body finally accommodates the stretch. 

“F-fuck doll face, so fucking good for us,” Jason whispers into your neck as he bites and sucks your skin, staining it a soft purple. Somebody’s hands find your chest, playing and tugging at your nipples, pinching and pulling harder the louder you whine. Jason’s mouth ventures down, until his lips find your tits and begin to lavish them. The fingers disappear in favour of Jason’s mouth—you arch your back into his touch, fingers running through his hair, tugging at it. Whoever hands were just on your tits are now playing with your pussy, rubbing your clit and teasing it softly, pulling the rubber band in your belly tighter and tighter until it finally snaps. 

You pretty much come then and there, body going tense as you cry out, clear cum squirting out of you onto the boys and the sheets. 

“Fuck, look at you, baby,” Roy grunts as he and Jason simultaneously increased their pace, thrust meaner than before, your cunt struggling to keep up. You whimper weakly, trying to clench down, relieve some of the overstimulation but you’re spent, body limp as they continue to fuck you like a doll. You only grow damper at the thought, leaving your body in their hands as you feel the coil in your belly tighten in preparation for a new orgasm. 

“Ngh~ fuck,” you moan when whoever was playing with your pussy pressed down on your lower belly with the heel of their palm. “Too much. Ah, I- I can’t-“

“Yes, you can,” Roy whispers into your ear. Their hips are punishing, fucking into your puffy pussy, widening you open further than you’d ever been. No man or dildo would be able to fill you the same way after tonight, every other man spoiled for you. You don’t know when your mind goes blank, barely able to make more than punched out moans, a soft rhythmic “ah, ah, ah,” as they both fuck you with reckless abandon. “Cum again for us, baby girl. That’s it.”

You’re sure they’ll receive a noise complaint after how loud you cry when you come again, soon followed by the boys who flooded your cunt with cum. It bubbles around the base of their cocks, as they give a couple more thrust to fuck their cum deeper into you before finally pulling, leaving you gaping and leaking. 

Your vision blacks for a short second before you’re being transferred to a single set of arms and rested against somebody’s chest. 

“Easy, doll face,” Jason’s voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks, heaving chest mirroring your own as you both try to catch your breath. Roy ducks down to kiss your cheek, gently cupping your other before he pulls away to look you over. 

“With us, baby?”

You mumble something incompressible to his question: you understand the general sentiment he’s trying to convey but your head is still too foggy. You’re also vaguely aware of the conversation happening over your head as you half-sleep against Jason’s chest. 

“Stay with her. I’ll be right back, gonna go grab some stuff.”

Jason hums as he meets Roy with a chaste kiss. “Mmh, okay.”

You feel Roy leave and the mattress shifts to fill his absence. Your breathing eventually eases, and you almost fall asleep against Jason’s chest as he rocks you pack and forth, whispering soft words of praise and kindness. 

Only to jolt at the rough feeling of a warm, damp towel against your pussy. You whined uncomfortably as Roy began to wipe off your gaping cunt, still too weak to fully squeeze closed, raw and fluttering weakly instead, loose from having taken two fat cocks. It would probably ache for the next few days but you didn’t doubt that the boys would take care of you during then. Almost cheekily, he brushes his fingertips against your swollen and exposed inner walls, only to make you whine louder and complain. He chuckles softly, mumbling an apology before he moves on to the rest of his tasks.

He wipes down your thighs and tits too before helping Jason wipe off. The opening of a bottle presses against your lips and you drink slowly, but eagerly, trying not to choke while the cold water soothes your throat, clear your mind a little more. After the bottle is pulled away from you, Roy kindly coaxes you to eat, placing a bowl of apple slices in your lap. They both chat quietly above you, checking with each other and talking about other random stuff as you all eat and recuperate. 

“Feel better, baby?” Roy asks softly after you’ve finished the bowl. You nod sleepily, nuzzling against Jason’s neck even as you try valiantly to keep your eyes open. “Pick her up for a sec?” Roy asked Jason, “Lemme change the sheets.”

Jason complies and you’re hoisted up into his arms before he moves to stand, effortlessly cradling you in his arms while Roy quickly moves to change the sheets. 

You don’t realise you had began to doze until you’re laid down onto fresh sheets and two warm bodies slide in on either side of you and you’re properly tucked in. 

“Good night, sweet thing.”

A sense of peace washes over you, as you lie sandwiched between two men you hadn’t met until a couple of hours ago but trusted more than anybody. A small, terrified but excited part of yourself, your heart, realises that you’ve never felt more content than right here and now. But that isn’t a realisation for your fucked out brain to process. You curl up against them before properly allowing yourself to fall asleep, satiated and exhausted.

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

a/n: yeah, I have nothing to say for myself, I just want them both — don’t hesitate to leave an ask or a request if you have one <3

[harbours-lighthouse]

pt.ii of this fic

Jason blinks at you, his mind spitting like a broken circuit.

It's not that he thinks you can't or shouldn't own a motorcycle, it's simply that he never thought that you would. You and your softness and gentle demeanor. You and your cautiousness and constant concern for his (and your) safety.

He just never thought you'd be willing to ride a motorcycle when the statistics say it's far more dangerous than driving a car.

"I got it about two years ago," you say as you place the two mugs of coffee down on the small table. Jason, somewhat mute and struggling to formulate words, slides a coaster beneath each mug.

"I just completely forgot to mention it, honestly," you add, shrugging your shoulders as you settle on the couch.

Jason swallows, elbows resting on his knees.

"So you've been riding it for a while? How come I haven't seen you in gear or anything?"

Your brows shoot up. "Oh, no—you certainly have. It's just that my gear is more...inconspicuous compared to a full-on leather outfit."

Jason lifts a brow, nodding slowly. "So I have seen you in gear?"

You nod, lifting the rim of your mug to your lips. "Yeah. But you've usually seen me after I've gone somewhere, which is why you haven't seen me on the bike."

Jason's brows pull inward like you're feeding him complex information about quantum physics. You place your mug back on the coffee table, and watch the lines in his face deepen. Guilt prickles inside your chest.

"I'm sorry I didn't mention it before," you say quickly, "I promise i wasn't keeping anything from you. I just—I honestly never really thought about saying anything about it."

Jason picks up on the nervousness vibrating inside your tone, and instantly he's shifting closer to you on the couch, palms raised in a placating motion.

"No—baby. I'm not mad—"

"You sure?"

Jason's lips curl like a leaf at your concern, and again, he's bewildered that you would own a motorcycle—something that's so 'hardcore'.

"I'm sure, sweetheart."

You exhale slowly, brows still furrowed deeply, but the knot of anxiety in your chest starts to uncoil. Your gaze idly slides to the coffee mugs on the table, and silence weighs down on your shoulders.

Until you get an idea.

"Hey," you murmur.

Jason glances at you, a brow arching in question.

"Hm?"

"You wanna go for a ride?"

—

The wind snaps at your ankles as you speed down the street. Strong arms curl around your waist, a firm and broad chest presses against your back.

Jason's hollers are loud enough that you can hear it over the roar of traffic and the blood rushing inside your ears.

"Whoo!"

His voice rings like a chapel bell, bouncing through the street—garnering angry-eyed glances from trucks and lumbering cars that slowly inch through traffic.

You and Jason aren't chained to the asphalt or dictated by the pace of the taxi cabs.

Instead, you're flying. A streak of colour flashing past glittering stores and boutiques. You laugh, freedom bouncing inside your chest.

This is exactly why you bought this bike.

And as you turn the corner with screeching tires, you feel Jason's hand slip under the hem of your shirt to innocently tap his fingertips against your skin.

Three taps.

One, two, three.

I love you.

tags: @kitkatlover015 (i completely forgot to tag you for the first part, so sorry, love!) © harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[mostly-imagines]

La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

[kenobers]

quid pro quo | jason todd x sionis!reader 18+

the official beginning of the jason todd x sionis!reader timeline you have an argument with your piss poor excuse of a father, only this time, it results in him draining your bank account. angry and freshly broke, you use the only logical coping mechanism; you fuck his rival's sexy son. tw: mndi 18+, problematic reader, daddy issues, oral sex, p in v sex w/ fem!reader, top!Jason, voyuerism (rooftop sex), brief daddy kink, jason is a little ooc but it's for the plot. reader doesn't know jason is red hood here. a/n: it's the prequel, baby !! quid pro quo | pride & periods | is this love? | tremble & shake | scorn to change my state

"Are you sober?"

"Am I what?"

You and Jason Todd were meant to be rivals. At least, you considered him a rival. He had never seemed to care. Granted, he was presumed dead for most of high school, taking any hope for legitimate academic competition with him. By the time he reappeared in Gotham, your father had already decided you weren't cut out to destroy anybody - although he hadn’t failed to remind you of what could’ve been the entire time Jason owned the Penguin’s hangout. 

You still hated the guy. His apparent death had killed all the worth your father saw in you. For him to have been alive this whole time was a major slap in the face. 

Secretly, you always thought your father wanted you to destroy Jason because he wished you were Jason. Was it really so fair that Bruce Wayne really had everything handed to him, including all the sons he could want. What was Roman Sionis stuck with? A squeamish daughter with no ambition, who couldn't even prove she was better than some adopted street kid.

Now you exist as more of a pet to him than anything else. Something for him to own, something he could keep leashed at his side, something he could brag about, as if he had any real pride for you. Which was why a single, sham threat to change your last name was enough to have your personal bank account closed.

Well, if you don't need daddy's name, you don't need his money either. It's just a lesson in responsibility.

Yeah, right. Like he wasn't going to find a way to keep you from making money of your own.

But, you could still prove your ownership over yourself. After several minutes of staring blankly at the wall when you realized your father hadn’t been bluffing, you dug to the bottom of your laundry to locate the cherry colored dress that got you into anywhere for free. You weren’t sure what it was you were aiming to accomplish, but the damn dress was going to ensure you didn’t need the Sionis money or name to get what you wanted. Your feet moved with a mind of their own right into your favorite bar, right into the perfect tall, dark and handsome ride. 

You hadn’t recognized him at first. You hadn’t seen him in person in God knows how long, not since you were 15, probably. There was nothing special about his jeans, Mickey Thompson t-shirt and leather jacket. He didn’t look like a prince with the lazy way he slouched against the counter at the far end of the bar. From the entrance, his face blended in with all the others, unremarkable and unimpressive. Until the slight tug of his upper lip suddenly had you back in freshman year English, pouting as the teacher praised your would-be rival’s take on Romeo & Juliet. 

Finally, a six-foot-something, Wayne branded plot began to formulate.

Of course, now you're rolling your eyes at him. You hate having to repeat yourself, even over the loud buzzing of the bar.

"I said, 'are you sober'. You look sober. Are you?"

Jason Todd blinks, like he still doesn't quite understand the question. He straightens his posture, jostling the untouched pint of something between his middle finger and thumb.

"I-yeah, I am. Are you?"

You cross your arms, roll your eyes again and ignore the question. Obviously, you're sober.

"Do you know who I am?"

He looks you over thoughtfully. His gaze conveniently lingers on the pop of your hip and the cleavage peeking out of your ruby neckline. Exactly where you want it. You snicker; so maybe he's a little slow, but at least he doesn't seem to be blind.

"You're Sionis' kid, aren't you? It's been a hot minute," Jason leans forward a little, magically more invested in the conversation. The ginger man standing next to him pauses his attempts to woo a brunette to raise an eyebrow at you.

"My dad hates you."

He scoffs, taking a half hearted sip of his beer.

"And bears shit in the woods, what else is new?"

You don't remember him having that stupid white streak in his too-well-tousled hair. It was sexy. You hated it.

"Fuck me."

IPA dribbles down his idiotically strong chin. His mouth goes a little slack as he blinks once again, harder and longer this time.

"What?"

Ugh, again with the repetition.

"Fuck me. Have sex with me," you reiterate as nonchalantly as if you're asking him to move over.

The redhead next to him starts cackling. Jason glowers at him, shoving the drink into his hand with one arm while pulling you closer with the other. It only takes him a gentle tug to pull your chest to broad chest. He leans down so his lips brush against your ear, his crooked nose nudging the side of your head.

"Hey, you sure you're sober?"

The warmth of his breath in contrast with his mouth, still cool from his glass, sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm dead sober."

"Okay, you see how I might doubt that given you just walked up to me and asked me to have sex with you."

You push him away and it's like pushing into a brick wall. A very muscular brick wall. "Look, Wayne-"

"Todd."

"Whatever. Even if I wanted to drink, I couldn't because my father drained my entire bank account."

Jason tilts his head, causing a lock of white hair to fall across his crooked nose. 

"And why'd he do that?"

You hum amiably, curling your pretty maroon nails around his thick forearm. 

"I'll tell you if you fuck me," you promise, batting your eyelashes as you place your other hand over his heart. Much to your frustration, his heartbeat is slow and steady. His sharp face has lost its earlier shock. He looks at ease, pleasantly entertained, with a slight smirk and a cocked slitted eyebrow. 

"I think that's called extortion, baby girl."

"It's only extortion if I'm threatening you," you snap back. You should know, your father's an expert in it. You take a small breath, smoothing out your tone again, "I'm just keeping my business to myself. So, I'd call this more of a quid pro quo."

"It's a quid pro quo if I'm getting something substantial out of it," he says this but at the same time, two large hands are sliding over your hips with a featherlight touch. His nails briefly press into your skin. 

Something in your belly tightens. Maybe he’s a more worthy opponent than you’d initially assumed. 

You tip your head up as you stand on your tiptoes and sneak your much smaller hands under his jacket, brushing up his warm sides. He sucks in a sharp breath. 

"If you really had no desire to fuck me, this conversation would've ended by now,” your voice is dripping in something venomously sweet. “And I'm not going to claim I have any idea of what's happening in your own business, but if I had to take a wild guess as to who in this room has the most to gain from fucking Roman Sionis' daughter, you'd be at the top of the list. Even if it's just for the bragging rights."

"You should know you’re worth more than just bragging rights, princess,” he says, rolling a fold of your dress between his fingers with a condescending shake of his head. You wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from underneath. 

"Prove it."

"...and you're sure you're sober?"

"Wanna test my breath?"

He snorts at your bad line, but his index and thumb are already caging your chin between them. He considers you for one more moment, then kisses you.

You can taste the single sip of beer, but it’s not as strong as the fading taste of a cigarette. His lips move against yours with intent, as if seeking out a falter in your sobriety. Their search comes up empty, leaving behind nothing but a thin string of spit and the overwhelming desire for more of him.

"What's your plan then? Risk it in a bathroom stall?"

You loath how utterly girlish the grin on your lips is.

"Nah, I know a spot upstairs."

***

"You're freaky, you know that?” Jason teases as you push open the roof access. 

"The cameras up here have a delay. My dad's people won't be able to snitch until tomorrow morning, so we have all the time in the world,” you smirk at the way his eyes bug out, tugging on the collar of his jacket with a sly wink. “Don’t worry. The cameras don’t pick up anything that happens on the ground. Plausible deniability.” 

He gestures to the roof set-up. The ledge comes up high enough to hide from peeping neighbors, but a string of yellow Christmas lights keeps the spot well illuminated.

"Yeah? And what about other prying eyes? You aren't worried Batman's gonna show up and scold us for public indecency?” 

The mental image is funnier than you let him think. You give him an amused little hum as you press yourself against his chest, walking two fingers up his ridiculously prominent bicep. 

"Hmm, technically this is private property and besides, this is Red Hood's territory."

"Red Hood? You really are freaky.” 

His lips are twinged ruby from being a human breathalyzer. A thin sheen of your lip gloss reflects the warm light surrounding you. Little scars decorate his hard face like freckles. You trace over a recent nick under his eye. 

"Please fuck me, Jason.” 

His arms are still at his side. His fingers twitch, either from anticipation or anxiety. 

"You're sure you want this?"

"Fucking positive. Do you?"

The green of his eyes are shadowed by his hooded eyes. His unflinching gaze is locked in on you. There’s a weight to it that seems to put pressures on all the right places. 

"Oh, fuck yeah, I do."

He doesn’t stop to think this time before he kisses you. It’s harder than earlier, his hands roaming your body. He had his moment to explore your cherry flavored mouth, now he’s taking what he wants. What you both want. 

There’s no shared breath between you as you suck on his bottom lip, ensuring your lip gloss is smeared everywhere. A large hand snakes its way up your spine to grip the back of your head. You gasp as fingernails dig into your scalp and Jason takes advantage of your parted lips to run his tongue over yours. 

You rack your nails over his stomach, catching the muscular grooves of his abdomen to make his shudder. You flatten your palm to sneak it downwards when he retaliates by grazing over your tailbone. You quiver under his touch, feeling that obnoxious smirk on his face. 

“Tell me,” he pants between wet smacks, “if”, smack, “if anything’s”, smack smack, “too much.” 

This gives you pause. What a chivalrous sentiment from a man who’s about to ram his cock into you on the dirty ground of a bar rooftop where Red Hood might see just to trifle with your father. Actually, you weren’t sure anyone had offered you that sentiment before. It has you rubbing your thighs together. 

Something unmistakable and hard pokes your belly as your hips meet. His tongue feels along the ridges of your lips before licking between them, once again filling your mouth with him. 

Cigarettes have never tasted so good. 

The arm around your waist slides to fill his free hand with your ass. You alarm yourself by letting out a muffled moan when he squeezes. He’s going to make a mess of you much quicker than anticipated. 

It’s just because the cameras are picking this part up, you think to yourself, I’m still in charge, Jason Todd isn’t going to get the best of-

Your thoughts are interrupted by the hand on your ass rounding your hip. Two fingers play with the hem of your short dress and pull the skirt up to reveal the skimpy thong underneath. Jason finally pries himself away from your mouth to get a good look, letting out a low whistle as he admires the coordinating colors. 

“You’re so organized, aren’t you?” He croons in a much gruffer voice than he’s been using. The rough pads of his fingers knead circles into your thigh, making you keen. “Daddy must really be stressin’ you out, baby girl. You’re so tight, need to unwind…” 

You let out a little breath as the hand on your head moves to cup your chin. Jason’s lips are satisfyingly swollen and a rash of scarlet has started to spread across his cheeks, although it’s nothing compared to the heat rising in yours. The fingers at your thigh skim inward, ghosting over the elastic of your underwear. 

“This alright?”

Later you’ll curse yourself for not saying something snarkier or dirtier, for not grabbing the outline of his cock and reminding him whose idea this was…but right now, there’s nothing in the world you want more than for this man to touch your pussy. 

You nod, “Please, Jason-”

“Please, what?”

Oh, this fucker with his little smug expression. 

“Please…Please touch me, Jason.” 

Although every time you say his name, his chest tightens up beneath your palms. 

He cups your sex, feeling along the thinning string keeping you covered. Your eyes widen as you realize it’s clinging to your lower lips. His index and middle fingers are cold against the thin fabric of your thong. It's a sharp juxtaposition from his hot breath on your lips, then your jaw, then your neck. 

Dagger-like canines whet the skin of your throat. The tip of his tongue drags a straight line down your jugular while the tips of his fingers trace circles over your flimsy underwear.

“So wet,” Jason lets out a pleased hum, snapping the string with a thawk to make you jolt. “And in these pathetic excuse for panties? I wouldn’t be surprised if you left something behind in the bar.” 

Your natural instinct is to retort, but you don’t have a chance to get a word in before he’s pushing the flimsy fabric aside and swiping his middle finger through your slit. 

“Daddy makes you mad and the first thing you do is parade yourself around with your fucking pussy out. You just went out looking for trouble, didn’t you.” 

“Nuh-ah-uh,” you protest weakly, gripping his shoulders for support. He’s massaging your lower lips with false mercy. “Wasn’t looking for anything until I-ah-until-ahh-til I saw you.”

His canine bites down as his thumb presses your clit like it’s a button. Two fingers slip inside you with an embarrassing amount of ease and you whine as they scissor you open. 

“You really know what you’re doing,” you huff, a half hearted attempt at a joke. He pauses, as if he’s surprised to hear you say that. His fingers freeze up inside you, then start to pump in and out carefully - cautiously even.

“Maybe that’s just what you needed, hmm,” he muses into your skin, planting another wave of kisses along your jawline. “Someone who knows what he’s doing to help you loosen up.” 

He’s straining painfully against you. It seems unfair to let him do all the work when he’s also begging to be fucked to shreds. You reach for his cock, only for his fingers to retract from your cunt and curl around your wrist. 

You whine, both at the sudden lack of him inside you and your foiled attempts to gain some control. Your knees nearly buckle as he removes his arms all together to shrug off his jacket. But he merely tuts, “None of that, princess. Why don’t you lay back down? I think the cameras got enough.” 

Well, fuck it. You told him to treat you like a trophy, no point in confusing the man now. 

He drapes his jacket on the ground before twining his arms around your waist and shoulders to lower you down on top of it. The inside is surprisingly soft against the exposed parts of your back. 

“You just gotta let me take care of you, baby,” Jason coos, gently grabbing your ankles to move your legs apart. He takes his sweet time dragging your panties off, letting each callous on his hands hit your smooth thighs. “Look at that pretty fuckin’ pussy. You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ sweet.” 

Taste?

“What’re you-”

“Shh, trust me,” he says, coming up to kiss you. He pushes your dress up to your waist, stopping to rub your hip affectionately. “You’re gonna be glad I did this. We can stop if you get uncomfortable.” 

He kisses either thigh as he dips his head between your legs, his black hair tickling your skin. You suck in a breath of anticipation, but he steals it when he places an open mouth kiss on your slit. 

You crane your head to look at him. Not a single other person has done this to you before. You were beginning to think it was just some sort of myth, but the way Jason licks from your hole to your clit with a blistering, flat tongue is suddenly very real - and very good. 

He blows a harsh breath on your clit before delving back into your cunt. He licks his way into you, filling you with a new strange, wet sensation. His tongue is hot on your already burning core and you think you might melt into a puddle. You bite your lip, but it’s not enough to stop the pathetic cries that come out of you as Jason Todd, your alleged nemesis who never paid you any mind, the son of the dull pain in your father’s ass, eats you out. 

The sound is obscene and loud, masking your soft pants. The wet noise echoes off the high walls of the ledge while Jason works your cunt with a stupid amount of precision. His mouth is sloppy, engulfing you whole. But, his tongue is tactical, taking its time to draw out a map of all the places that make you moan and squirm. 

“Oh God, oh God!” You cry out, your hands flying to grab a fistful of black and white hair as he laps at you. His arms hook around your knees to yank you closer. He’s unreal, unrelenting in his dining. When he switches to deliver kitten licks to your clit, two fingers take his tongue’s place in your hole. 

You buck upwards as his fingers curl inside you, easily stroking at that sweet spot just out of reach of your own fingers. His free arm pins your twitching hips down, and that’s when you officially relinquish all control to him. 

“Jason, ahhh” you groan, every muscle and nerve in your body quaking. “Jason, I’m gonna…please let me…”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He sucks down on your button, letting his teeth graze the nerves in just the right way to send that unforgiving twinge up to your belly until it whites out your vision. Your orgasm floods his face, but he keeps licking until it stops. Only then does he pull away, giving you a shit eating grin dripping in more than just lip gloss and beer.  

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl, asking so nicely. And so damn sensitive, it’s cute.”

Your heart races at being called a good girl. You should be spent already, but something about the fact that he made you cum in only ten minutes makes you want even more. 

He rises to his knees and you stare at him in awe as his body towers over you, blocking out anything but the hungry gleam of his eyes, the carnivorous bite of his lip, the mounting sweat of his skin. Anything but him. 

The lights glow gold behind him, crowing your own personal Apollo with his halo. His pupils are blown out, but his stare hasn’t lost its cool. You, on the other hand, are trembling beneath him, your pussy clenching at the sound of his zipper coming undone. 

Your eyes bug out to match the size of the cock he pulls from his jeans. It’s stiff as it fills his grasp, already leaking into his palm. He grins proudly at your awe. 

“See why I wanted to warm you up, pretty girl?”

The adrenaline of the moment gives you the strength to sit up and press your worshipful lips to the ruddy head, revealing in the way it twitches. The remnants of your lip gloss add to its shine. Jason mixes it with his spit as he spreads it across his veiny flesh.  

“You’re a God, Jason Todd.” 

He bends down to reward your praise with a kiss, a briny tang replacing the burn of tobacco. Your hands come up to caress his jaw before dropping to his shoulders, proactively digging into his t-shirt. Your lips pull away from his to connect to his neck, repaying him for the bruises he decorated you with earlier. 

He hums in pleasure, tipping his head to give you better access. He smears your lipgloss residue onto his hand and lubes his cock with a Lime Crime Wet Cherry and spit cocktail. 

You’re so wrapped up in leaving a toothy imprint in the junction of his neck that you miss the hard switch in his expression. You yelp as he grips your thighs and hooks them over his hips, pinning you beneath him. Your torso flies back, but he reflexively catches your head before it can smack against the concrete. 

He continues to cradle you, steadying himself as he drags his tip along your slit excruciatingly slow. He tuts and taps your clit when you bite back a moan. 

“Don’t hold back now, beautiful,” he taunts, prodding your entrance with his blunt head. “What’s the matter, worried Red Hood might hear you?”

You try to grind against him and snarl when he pulls his cock away, “Don’t fucking tease me, jackass.” 

Jason slaps his cock against you, then rests it on your belly. He lets out an amused scoff, “Wasn’t I a God thirty seconds ago?”

“Forgot to mention I’m an atheist.” 

You cross your arms like you aren’t flat on your back with your legs up, but no poker face can hide the desperate squirm of your hips. 

The bastard shakes his head and the weight of him shifts over your gut, “You just can’t help being a brat, can you? And to think, you were being such a good girl f’me.” 

“Only because you were being nice-”

“I can be nice again, sweetheart,” his voice is low as he spits out the pet name. “But you gotta be patient.” 

“I wasn’t raised to be particularly- AH!” 

The head of his cock bullies its way past your labia and sits at the ready. You can already feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. It’s just the tip and it’s already bigger than anything you’ve ever had. 

“You ready?” He whispers. You nod with a strained whine, but it’s not enough for him. “Take a breath, I gotta hear your voice, pretty girl.”

“I-”

Your heart pounds so fast, it stops for the split second that those sharp greens irises soften. His thumb rubs a circle behind your ear. 

“Yeah,” you suck in one last breath. “I’m ready.” 

“Just - hmm - Just tell me if you need me to stop.” 

Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in. When you first saw his size, you had expected it to sting. But instead of sharp pain, he fills you with an instant and, based on the snail’s pace he’s moving at, neverending pressure. 

“Oh, baby…Oh, that’s it, that’s it, nice and slow.” 

It’s so much. It’s so good. Every bump and groove makes itself known as he buries himself inch by inch, rubbing against you. 

"Fuck, you have a big cock," you groan, letting your head fall back on his jacket. He has the audacity to snort as he sinks the rest of himself into you, until his hips finally grate against yours.

The hand holding your head slips out from under you and pulls down the strap of your dress. Your already stiff nipple becomes absolutely statuesque when it meets the night air. 

"Yeah? Well, you got a big fuckin' attitude, asking a man you barely know to come fuck you on a rooftop. You do this a lot?"

The edge of a callous catches your nipple. 

"No! Just f'you!" You squeak with a jolt. 

The callous turns into an entire paw, squeezing your entire breast harshly. You push upwards into the base of his palm, brushing your nipple against the defined lines. 

"Just for me? Just had to have me?"

Jason leans in closer, so you can feel each hot strained exhale.

"Had to have you!"

There’s little more than a hair between your noses. That big strong hand finds its way to your throat. 

"No one else pisses off your daddy as much?"

You have no explanation for what slipped out of you next. 

In your entire sexual experience, you had refused to speak them. And more determined men than this one had tried to squeeze it out of you. 

But something about the hand on your throat and the breath on your lips had you shouting, 

"You're my daddy!” 

Something flashes in his eyes and for a moment, you’re worried you fucked up. He freezes up. His face falls blank and his mouth goes taut as he considers your words. The hand supporting his weight jerks next to your head while you pant anxiously. You get the sense that this is a first for him too. 

Then he lets out a breathless laugh. 

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right, baby. I'm your daddy.”

He pulls out of you without warning or sympathy. Your hips chase his blindly, your hole weeping for his cock to come back. He sits back on his knees and hauls your ass over his thighs, spreading you open on his wide lap. 

"You holding on tight, baby?”

You waste no time securing fistfuls of his shirt, the white logo distorting in your clutch. He lines himself up to your entrance again, brushing the sweat off your brow. 

"You tell me if it's too much, yeah?"

“Of course, daddy.” 

He grins, his sharp canines glinting. “Good girl.” 

He abandons his slow and steady routine to shove himself into you. He so graciously gives you a moment to re-welcome him with a little squeeze before he’s pounding into you, ramming in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. 

You make a valiant attempt to move with him. Really, you do. But the man is actively reducing you to a huffing and puffing ragdoll. The angle he has you at leaves you nowhere to go but the end of his cock. You want to say something, to egg him on, however all that tumbles out of your gaping mouth is a series of choked uhs and ahs. 

That is until he hits a spot you didn’t even know existed and you let out an honest to God scream. In your defense, the speed at which he fucks you is utterly inhuman. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was Superman taking his fill of you.

He slows, moving just enough to rub up against that sensitive point. He revels in the way your legs crush his sides, your trembling knees digging into his ribs. 

“Oh, that feels good, doesn’t it, baby,” he groans. He plunges in as deep as he can go, lifting your hips like you’re made of clouds. Something in you pinches and burns as you open up even more for him.  

He readjusts you with a grunt and sets a new brutal rhythm; fucking you fast and hard, then easing up when he strokes something that makes you shudder.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters, “Good girl…so good…so so fuckin’ good…”

Like clockwork, you gasp every time he slows down and drags his cock in or out of you. He lets you feel every minute detail, graciously allowing you to appreciate what he's giving you, before he's striking every sweet spot like lightning again.

“Come on, let Red Hood hear you.” 

White, red and gold flashes before your eyes. Your mouth falls open dumbly as you cry out for your former woud-be-rival. Although there was ecstasy exploding from your core to your belly, the best feeling was him gasping your name in turn. 

He pulls out of you just as he finishes, your name still falling from his swollen lips. With a heave of his chest, he rolls off of you and lands with a thump at your side. You pant together, waiting for the stars to pause their dancing. 

“Gonna tell me why your dad took your dough now?” He finally puffs out. 

“Fuck, I don’t even remember,” you laugh hoarsely. Jason snaps his head up to look at you. Dumbfounded is an adorable look on him. 

“So you lure me into making a sextape for you, then conveniently forget your end of the bargain?”

“It’s not my fault you fucked my brains out,” you shrug as you sit up. You take an agonizing moment to stretch so you can enjoy the glare on his face. “Why do you wanna know so badly anyway?”

He sits up next to you, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair, “I’m gonna need another deal if you want me to start revealing my secrets.” 

Jason Todd’s a quick thinker, you have to give him that. You consider him, consider the possibility of extending this hook-up into a full fledged thing. There has to be more to gain than lose. If you play your cards right, maybe you can beat your father to destroying the Wayne legacy. Or…maybe you can get your revenge by weaving yourself into it. Either way, you’ll ensure you come out on top. 

“Tell you what,” you say, standing up and trying to ignore the way your legs shake. “I’m free tomorrow night. Do that thing with your tongue again and it might jog my memory. I’ll do something with my tongue and see if that doesn’t inspire you to share.” 

He scoffs, “You’re a little business mongrel, y’know that?” You roll your eyes, but extend your hand out to help him up. He looks at your hand for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Then he accepts it, cautiously wrapping his large hand around your smaller one like he’s handling a snake. “No more rooftops,” he decides. “And no more up close cameras.” 

You nod, “Fair. But I’m not calling you daddy again either. That was a one time thing.” 

Jason laughs. It’s just a short bark, but it’s genuine. “No problem. It’s not really my thing either. I just appreciated its dramatics for tonight’s purposes.” 

The corners of your lips twitch upwards. 

“So…We have a deal?”

He gives your hand a firm shake, although it doesn’t betray the suspicion in those unnerving green eyes. 

“I think you said it best yourself, princess. I think we have a quid pro quo.” 

Something heavy settles in your chest like a weighted blanket as you shake his hand. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, it’s just that you sense Jason Todd is going to be around for a long time. And you’re going to get everything you can out of him. 

[kthologue]

head over heels – jason todd

synopsis. jason todd is smitten and everyone is tired of it 

contents. fluff, ooc?, so much banter and pining its painful, like can they just kiss already

notes. short moments i had written but decided to combine into one fic. maybe i'll make a pt 2. not proofread...

There have only been a few occasions where Jason’s family has seen him smile. And even then, it was usually a sick smirk as he wreaked havoc on his enemies. So, imagine their shock when they watch their brooding, battle-hardened brother smile at you, of all people.

You.

His sworn enemy. A dramatic title, sure, but fitting. Ever since the two of you met, you had butted heads at every opportunity. Your strong personalities clashed and neither of you were willing to back down. In fact, you had become a fixture in each other’s lives. Two forces of nature neither could ignore.

And right now, the storm was brewing once again.

"You were in my territory again, asshole!" You jab a finger into his chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

Jason scoffs, arms crossing as he looms over you. "Your territory? Last time I checked, Bruce took it away after that drug ring went out of control. Don't think you can handle it alone, sweetheart."

Your jaw drops. "Excuse me?!" Your voice pitches up, outrage and disbelief mixing together as your hands curl into fists at your sides.

On the sidelines, Dick nudges Damian toward the exit of the Batcave. "We should go before it gets violent."

"That, or they're finally going to kiss," Tim mutters, eyes glued to the scene. It’s like watching a car crash– horrific, yet impossible to look away from.

Jason doesn’t acknowledge them. He’s too busy watching you, his entire focus drawn to the way your face contorts in frustration, how your lips part as you struggle for a retort.

"You heard me," Jason says, tilting his head slightly, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "You were wounded when we found you. Wounded, and alone."

You huff, crossing your arms as if that could protect you from the memory. "I was fine."

Jason gives an exasperated laugh, running a hand through his hair. "You call a gunshot wound fine?"

"Just a gunshot wound," you correct, jaw tightening. "Nothing new around here."

"Just a gunshot wound?!" Jason repeats, incredulous. "I had to carry your stubborn ass out of there!"

"I didn't ask you to!"

Jason exhales sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring. "Yeah, well, it’s not like I wasn’t going to!"

The argument should feel tense. But instead, there's a crackling undercurrent, something unspoken lingering in the space between you.

What you don’t see, what everyone else in the Cave does is the way Jason is looking at you. Not with his usual scowl, not with the biting irritation that fuels your bickering, but something softer. 

A smile ghosts across his lips. It’s subtle, but there nonetheless. Like a cat discreetly preening under attention, soaking in every word, every ounce of energy you throw his way.

And the moment his siblings notice, chaos erupts.

“Holy shit,” Tim whispers, eyes wide.

Dick sucks in a breath like he’s just witnessed something forbidden.

Damian, ever the blunt one, sneers. "Disgusting."

Jason barely notices. He’s too busy watching you, fighting the way his lips twitch up again as you huff and look away, cheeks a little warmer than before.

“You are absolutely insufferable, Todd.”

His smile widens, “You know you love it.”

Turns out, you and Jason can't even be within a fifty mile radius of each other without making everyone around you feel strangely uncomfortable.

Dick makes a mental note to never let the two of you spar again. At least, not with an audience. Whenever you and Jason were in the same space, the rest of the world might as well not exist. And the tension. It was painfully suffocating.

The Batcave was dead silent except for the sound of heavy breathing and the sharp clash of fists meeting blocks. Everyone had been watching for the past twenty minutes as you and Jason fought, your movements sharp and teetering between training and an actual fight.

To be fair, no one expected the two of you to take it easy on each other. You never had before.

Jason wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after you landed a solid hit to his jaw. Instead of being pissed, though, he grinned. It was a dangerous thing that made your stomach do an annoying little flip.

"Not bad," he admitted, rolling his shoulders.

You smirked. "Starting to sound impressed, Todd."

Jason lunged, and before you could dodge, he swept your legs out from under you. You barely had time to brace yourself before your back hit the mat, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp exhale. In the next second, Jason was above you, his body caging you in, pinning your wrists down on either side of your head.

And suddenly, everything felt different.

The heat between you wasn’t just from exertion anymore. The way he was looking at you with his weight pressing down just enough to make your breath catch, it wasn’t just about winning a fight.

"Not starting to," Jason murmured, voice lower now, more serious. "I’ve been impressed."

Your throat went dry.

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look away from Jason. His pupils were blown wide, chest rising and falling against yours, and… 

Oh. Oh no.

He was smiling. And it wasn't a smirk. It was a real, genuine smile.

And worst of all, you found yourself smiling back.

The two of you stayed locked in a daze until you heard a cough in the background, a sharp reminder that the two of you were not alone. It knocks you out of your trance.

You take his short moment of weakness to headbutt him, leaving the male in a daze. Without wasting the split second advantage, it was your turn to pin him down.

“I guess I could say the same for you,” you shrug. “Could be better, but satisfactory.”

Jason groans at the impact of your forehead on his, “Has anyone ever told you that you have a hard head?”

“Yeah,” you snort, looking down at Jason. “You.”

Jason lets out a breathy chuckle beneath you, eyes still unfocused from the headbutt. "Yeah, well. Doesn't make it any less annoying."

You shift slightly, keeping his wrists pinned to the mat, and his grip tightens under your hands. It was instinctual, a sign that he isn’t actually letting you win. His chest rises and falls beneath yours, warm despite the cool air of the cave.

And then, there it is again. That rare, infuriatingly soft smile that no one ever sees.

You freeze for half a second. It’s barely noticeable, but Jason doesn’t miss a thing. His smirk stretches just a little wider, eyes gleaming in that way that makes your stomach twist.

"What?" he drawls, voice lower now, amused. "Distracted?"

You shove off him with a huff, standing up as fast as possible. Jason barely has time to react before you're already a few steps away, arms crossed, pretending like that moment didn’t just happen.

But Jason is still on the ground, propped up on his elbows, looking far too pleased with himself.

Dick, who had been trying very hard to mind his business, sighs dramatically. "For the love of God, just kiss already."

You whip around, glaring. "Gross! Nobody asked you, Grayson!"

Jason, still grinning like an idiot, finally hauls himself to his feet, rubbing the spot on his forehead where you hit him. "Y'know, for someone who acts like they hate me, you sure do love touching me."

You glare at him for enabling their behavior. "That's not true, and you know it."

Jason steps closer, slow, deliberate. Not enough to be threatening, but enough that the air between you tense again. Enough that you feel the heat radiating off him.

He’s still smiling.

Your breath catches.

Jason tilts his head. "Something wrong?"

You curse under your breath, shove past him, and stomp out of the Batcave without another word.

Jason watches you go, still rubbing his forehead, still smiling.

Tim exhales, shaking his head. "That was painful to watch."

Jason just chuckles. "Yeah," he mutters to himself, grin still lingering. "It was."

2 a.m. stakeouts were the worst.

It was cold and boring, the kind of hours that made you question why you even did this hero thing in the first place. To make matters worse, you were stuck on patrol with Jason, so there was no semblance of peace in the quiet Gotham night.

By the time you and Jason finally wrapped up surveillance, both of you were starving. There wasn’t a debate about it, just a silent agreement as he gunned his motorcycle toward a late-night diner on the outskirts of Gotham.

Now, you were sitting across from him in a vinyl booth, watching in mild horror as he absolutely demolished a double bacon cheeseburger.

"You eat like you just got out of prison," you observed, idly stirring your milkshake with a straw.

Jason wiped his mouth with a napkin, raising an eyebrow. "And?"

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your shake. "Nothing. Just surprised you have manners at all."

Jason chuckled, low and warm, shaking his head. And then, before you could process it, there it was again.

That damn smile. It was the kind of expression no one ever saw on him. The kind of smile that didn’t belong to Gotham’s deadliest vigilante.

The kind of smile that, apparently, only appeared when he was with you.

You felt your pulse stutter in your throat, caught completely off guard.

Jason must’ve noticed, because his smirk returned instantly, cocking his head, surging with a newfound sense of confidence. And you're not sure if you like that. "Like what you see?"

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "You wish."

Jason leaned back against the booth, arms stretching over the seat as he regarded you with amusement. "Yeah," he said, way too casually, "I do."

You nearly choked on your fries, “Geez, Todd. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you were flirting with me.”

Jason raises an eyebrow.

“And if I was?”

“I would have to check to see where the real Jason is.”

“He’s right here.”

You eye him suspiciously. 

Jason watches you carefully, his smirk still in place but not as sharp, not as mocking. There’s something else there. It’s something you can’t quite place, something that makes your pulse stutter.

"You’re acting weird," you say, pointing a fry at him. "Where’s all the unnecessary aggression? The brooding?"

Jason exhales, shaking his head. "Maybe I just don’t feel like fighting tonight."

You raise a brow, popping the fry into your mouth. "That’s a first."

He leans back against the booth, arms stretching lazily over the seat, but there’s tension in his shoulders, in his fingers tapping idly against the vinyl. "Yeah, well," he muses, eyes flicking to you, "arguing with you is exhausting."

"You love arguing with me," you counter easily, leaning back to mirror his posture. "You start half of them."

Jason hums, tilting his head as if considering it. "Maybe," he allows. Then, after a beat, "Maybe I just like getting a rise out of you."

Your breath catches for half a second. 

Jason’s watching you now, really watching you, his gaze too steady, too knowing.

You force a scoff. "So what I’m hearing is, you’re an instigator."

Jason grins at that, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "You always read too much into things," he says, but there’s no real bite to it. If anything, he almost sounds amused.

Your stomach twists uncomfortably. You blame the fries.

Silence stretches between you, not awkward, but charged. There’s an awareness now, a shift in the air, like something unspoken lingers just beneath the surface.

Jason looks at you, and for the first time tonight, his smirk fades—not completely, but just enough.

Just enough that the teasing falls away. Just enough that you catch a glimpse of something softer.

Something terrifying.

You don’t know who looks away first, but when you do, your heart is hammering a little too hard against your ribs.

Jason clears his throat, reaching for his drink. "So," he says, back to casual, back to easy, "you gonna finish your fries or what?"

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you push the basket toward him. "Knock yourself out, tough guy."

Jason takes one, popping it into his mouth. He doesn’t say anything else, but when you glance at him again, there’s that damn smile.

It’s subtle, but it was just for you.

Across the comms, Dick sighs, exasperated but entertained. “Do they have any idea we can all hear them?”

[allllium]

i saw a funny tiktok of a couple that the boy had only ONE plate at home because he lives alone, so when his girlfriend comes over he eats in other recipients so that the girl can uses the plate (he eats in the pan, cutting board, etc) and i just thought: oh my god that's SO jason coded

no bc this is so real

I just know he's the man that only has one of everything, and I mean everything!!!

this man has one plate, one bowl, one fork, one spoon, more one than knives, but one pot, he only has one chair at the table bc he doesn't want people getting too comfortable.

And I just know he'd be so confused why you're so confused, like wdym he should get another plate? he'll just eat it in a bowl. You need the spoon then he's fine with the fork.

He genuinely won't buy any extras, you will have to bring your own eating utensils.

But he's also the type of person who doesn't like the way certain utensils feel when he's holding them (cough cough me) so he will judge you based on what you chose to bring.

Of course it gets worse than the kitchen

He has one pillow, one towel, one fucking blanket!!!

You might think he's insane and you'll again have to bring your own sleeping things but once he realizes how amazing it is to sleep with multiple pillows and blankets in a big pile, he won't give them back

Your pillows are his know. Your blankets are gone.

Oh no it looks like you'll have to sleep at his place from now on 🤷‍♀️

(It may seem like he planned it this way but no, he genuinely doesn't want your stuff to leave his presence)