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solar-wing · 1 month ago

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⚣ Jason: The Rebel 🏍️

⚣🏍️ Summary → Jason's always been misunderstood, except by one person. Someone who's always stuck by him and defended him even when others were against him. Now, he plans to make sure he's always by his side. How though?

⚣🏍️ Words → 38.9K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! ❤️

⚣ ENJOY 🏍️

Jason Todd? Everyone knows who Jason Todd is.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a damn Greek statue sculpted for war, he had the kind of physique that made gym rats jealous and made people think twice before testing him. His thick arms and solid chest stretched against whatever shirt he threw on, the fabric clinging to the kind of muscle that wasn’t just for show. Defined abs, powerful legs, and prominent veins running down his forearms made it clear: Jason Todd wasn't just strong—he was dangerous.

Wherever he went, people whispered, stared, or stepped aside, as if Gotham Collegiate Academy’s resident bad boy carried an aura that warned against getting too close. Some saw him as dangerous, untouchable, a walking storm wrapped in dark clothes and bad decisions. Others were drawn to him, intoxicated by the thrill of someone so effortlessly rebellious, untamed, and unpredictable.

He wasn’t just some brooding delinquent, though. Jason Todd had the kind of presence that made authority figures nervous and classmates curious. He was the guy who rolled up to school on a motorcycle, smirking at the rules he planned to ignore. The guy who didn't care about popularity but still managed to be one of the most talked-about names in the halls.

Everything about him screamed “don’t mess with me”, and yet—people did.

They stared. They whispered. They speculated. Because Jason Todd didn’t just look like trouble—he was trouble.

“How does a delinquent like him manage to get into one of the most prestigious schools in all of Gotham?”

“Well, obviously, he’s well connected. I mean, look who his friends are. If I were friends with the sons of two billionaires, I’d take advantage of those relationships too.”

Many—students and faculty alike—had their own speculations and theories about how someone like Jason was able to go to a school like Gotham Collegiate Academy. It wasn’t exactly classified information about where he came from or who his dad was.

BREAKING NEWS: NOTORIOUS LOCAL FIGURE ARRESTED IN CITYWIDE CRIME RING INVESTIGATION

“In a shocking turn of events, authorities have arrested Willis Todd, a well-known automotive shop owner with alleged ties to multiple criminal organizations, in connection to the recent string of high-profile robberies and thefts plaguing the city.

Law enforcement sources confirm that Todd, long rumored to have underworld connections, was taken into custody earlier today as part of an ongoing, large-scale investigation into organized crime operations. Authorities believe his business may have served as a front for illicit activities, potentially linking him to a wider criminal network operating across the city.

Details of the arrest are still unfolding, but officials describe this as a major breakthrough in the effort to dismantle one of the most elusive theft rings in recent history. More updates to come as this developing story continues.”

As one might imagine, Jason didn’t have the best home life.

Willis Todd had done the best he could with the scraps life had thrown at him. He’d fought, clawed, and hustled to carve out something—anything—that resembled stability for his son. If you had asked him, years ago, what kind of life he dreamed of for them, he’d never in a million years have said this.

Not handcuffs. Not mugshots. Not his son watching him get dragged away.

He swallowed hard, the weight of failure settling deep in his chest as he turned to face the boy he’d tried so damn hard to protect.

“Son... I’ve gotta go away for a while.”

His voice was rough, strained—like it hurt to say the words out loud. Maybe because it did.

Jason was only eight years old when his dad went to prison, left in the care of the only other family he’d ever known outside of his father and his deceased stepmother.

His birth mother? A blank face in a picture he’d never seen.

His dad never spoke about her. Never reminisced. Never even slipped up and said her name. If she was a ghost, she wasn’t haunting him—because ghosts left behind something. A memory. A whisper. A trace. She left nothing.

So, the only mother he had ever known was Catherine Todd, and even she had been taken from him too soon. Cancer, illness, something bad—he didn’t know what exactly. He only knew that one day, she was there, and the next, she wasn’t. Jason was five. Too young to understand, old enough to remember.

Life could be a lot of things, but for Jason? Kind wasn’t one of them.

His classmates wouldn’t understand that. Their biggest problems were petty fights, weekend plans, or the wrong shade of a designer bag. They called it “struggles.” Jason called it a luxury.

Because none of them knew what it was like to wonder if dinner would be stale bread or expired cereal with water.

None of them knew—and he was sure they never would—just how long it took for cereal to actually expire.

Maybe that’s why their nasty little words never got under his skin. Because how could someone like that hurt him? Someone who lost their mind over a scratch on their brand-new sports car? A missed vacation? A bad hair day?

They didn’t know strife. They didn’t know struggle.

Everything had been spoon-fed to them since birth. And yet, they had the nerve to look down on him.

They whispered about him in hallways, convinced he had cheated his way into Gotham Collegiate Academy—because clearly, someone like him couldn’t have earned it. Clearly, it had to be his best friends’ rich parents pulling the strings.

Jason laughed at that.

Because if they only knew the truth—that one of the few things Willis Todd got right was making sure his kid was damn smart—they’d choke on their silver spoons.

With no money for tutors or fancy lessons, what else was there for the youngest Todd to do?

Fix cars with his old man. Read every damn book the public library had.

And he did.

And yet, none of them would ever know it. Jason didn’t even really care to prove it, because there were only a few—a very small few—who mattered to him, especially one in particular.

So, while Jason Todd might have had the reputation of a reckless who lived for trouble, the reality was different. He wasn’t aimless or cruel, nor was he the heartless rebel everyone assumed. Beneath the grit, the sharp edges, and the infamous scowl, there was someone intelligent, fiercely loyal, protective, and—though he’d rather chew glass than admit it—capable of being soft in the right company.

Despite coming from a family that had its fair share of struggles, Jason never played the victim. He worked for everything he had, even if past methods weren’t always… legal. He didn’t need peer validation, didn’t need approval from teachers or his peers. He had his real ones, and that was enough.

People made up their own stories about him.

Some called him a troublemaker—the kind you don’t want to owe, don’t want to cross, don’t want staring at you from across the hall with that sharp, unreadable expression. Teachers watched him closely, expecting him to lash out, to skip class, to prove their assumptions right. Parents warned their kids to steer clear, because a boy like Jason Todd? He had “bad news” written all over him.

Some called him a lost cause—whispered about how he didn’t belong at GCA, how he’d end up like his father, how one day, he’d stop showing up and no one would be surprised. The rich kids sneered, convinced he was some charity case riding on the coattails of his wealthy best friends, too stupid, too rough around the edges to have gotten in on his own.

And then there were the ones who just… wanted him.

Because trouble is intoxicating when it looks like Jason Todd.

Some wanted to know him—not the stories, not the reputation, but him. They wanted to understand what made him tick, what secrets he kept behind that dark, unreadable gaze. They wanted to be the one person he let in, the exception to his indifference.

And others? Many more than most would assume—just wanted him.

Because Jason Todd wasn’t just dangerous—he was gorgeous. All broad shoulders, sharp jaw, and muscle wrapped up in leather and bad decisions. His voice? Low, rough, like the distant rumble of his motorcycle on an empty road. His presence? Unshakable. People didn’t just see him—they felt him, like a pulse in the air, something you couldn’t ignore even if you tried.

And maybe that was the most frustrating thing of all.

Because no matter what story they made up about him—whether they feared him, pitied him, or wanted to pull him into the nearest empty bathroom stall and make a mistake—they all had one thing in common.

They couldn’t stop looking.

But one thing was clear: Jason Todd didn’t do relationships.

Which is why Gotham’s most prestigious high school was absolutely losing its collective mind over the rumor that he was seeing someone.

The only question was, who?

"Are you blind? It’s obviously Y/N," Sasha scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"OMG, yes! You’d have to be stupid not to see it. Those two have been orbiting each other since, like, birth," Manny gushed, practically bouncing in his seat. "They’re so cute together. I can definitely see Jason being a simp for him."

Kevin let out a low chuckle, spinning a football between his hands. "What is it with you omegas romanticizing some sappy, soft alpha?" he said, shaking his head. "You all act like an Alpha’s job is to whisper sweet nothings and play house. News flash—real alphas don’t do that shit."

He leaned back, smirking. "And Jason? No way in hell he’d be some love-sick puppy over an omega. He’s got everything an alpha needs to keep Y/N hooked—strength, presence, dominance, and the right kind of equipment to have him walking sideways. But then, only another real alpha like myself would recognize that."

Kevin threw a pointed look across the table. "Not like some of these soft-ass, house-trained alphas prancing around GCA—like his two little ballerina buddies, Dick and Conner." His smirk deepened. "They’re practically omegas themselves. No wonder they get along so well with you all."

A chorus of groans and eye rolls followed, earning Kevin a round of unimpressed looks from the group.

"Jesus Christ, Kevin." Sasha groaned, smacking him on the shoulder.

"What?" Kevin grinned, "Can’t say I’m not speaking truth."

"Oh yeah? Then I’m sure you won’t mind saying that to your football captain’s face, right?" Manny drawled, arching a brow in challenge.

Kevin’s cocky smirk faltered for half a second before he scoffed, shifting in his seat. "Pfft, I mean—come on, it’s just jokes. No need to get all serious about it. Besides, not like Conner would care anyway." He waved a hand dismissively, suddenly very interested in the football in his hands.

The table erupted into laughter.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." Manny grinned, shaking his head. “Anyways, Jason might have that tough guy look, but it’s clear he’s got a soft spot. And that soft spot is Y/N. Because wherever Y/N is…”

Sasha suddenly perked up, her eyes locking with Manny’s as they both grinned

“...he ain’t never too far away.” They both finished together, laughing obnoxiously while slapping and hugging each other like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Clearly, some inside joke the two other boys at the table were not in on.

And while usually, he’d find the silly antics of his two friends amusing, Ethan, who had been mostly quiet up until now, suddenly scoffed, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat. "Sure, Jason’s big enough to scare off anyone dumb enough to try something—but is that really enough? Y/N doesn’t need a guard dog. He needs someone who actually listens, someone who won’t just punch his way through every problem."

That earned him a few raised eyebrows.

"Oh?" Sasha smirked, resting her chin on her hand. "Do go on, Ethan. Tell us why Jason, our six-foot-plus human guard dog, isn’t good enough for sweet little Y/N."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean. Jason’s… Jason. He’s reckless, doesn’t think before he acts, and he’s emotionally closed off. Sure, he can fight off anyone who looks at Y/N the wrong way, but that’s not what makes a good alpha. Y/N needs someone who actually listens, who knows how to handle emotions—not just punch his way through every problem."

The table went silent for half a second before Sasha let out a low whistle.

"Wow. That was a very heartfelt, totally unbiased take. Definitely nothing personal there."

Manny smirked, nudging Ethan’s arm. "Yeah, man. Sounds almost like… oh, I don’t know… someone who’s still salty over a 7th-grade crush on their lab partner."

Ethan’s face twisted into an immediate scowl. "Oh my god, would you let that go? That was years ago."

"And yet," Manny grinned, "here you are, still pressed."

Kevin snorted. "And, dude, no offense, but Jason would break you in half. You may not be a direct threat being a Beta and all, but that dude’s got possessive written all over him. He barely leaves Y/N’s side.”

Suddenly, Manny and Sasha looked at each other again, “Wherever Y/N is…he ain’t never too far away.” The two recited together before bursting out into another fit of shits and giggles.

Ethan’s brow twitched as he shoved Kevin’s football off the table in retaliation.

"Whatever. Y’all are insufferable."

Jason Todd had always been a fixture in Y/N’s life, like a constant shadow, a familiar presence, something woven so deeply into his world that he couldn’t remember a time before him.

Their parents—specifically Y/N’s omega dad, his Papa, and Jason’s father—were old friends from high school. The kind of “old friends” that always made Y/N’s alpha dad narrow his eyes whenever the topic came up. Suspiciously long silences, pointed looks, a change of subject.

"You and Willis were just friends, huh?" he’d ask, cutting into his steak with a little too much force.

Jason’s dad, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk, would take a slow sip of his beer before answering.

"Depends on what you mean by ‘just friends,’" Willis would say, all too pleased with himself.

Jason and Y/N never really understood why until they were older, when Y/N’s Papa would sometimes mutter about “old flames” and his Dad would immediately puff his chest out and skirt them away to their room to have a long serious “talk” that always ended with a bunch of noises and creaking.

Ignorance is bliss.

But whatever the nature of their parents’ past, one thing was clear: Jason and Y/N were inevitable.

Back when they were kids, Jason had been different. Lighter. Freer. Not as hardened by the world, not as reserved or closed-off as he was now. He was the kid who would laugh the loudest, drag Y/N along on every adventure, challenge Dick to races, and teach Conner the best hiding spots in the house. Their little group had been inseparable, but even among them, Jason and Y/N had always been the closest.

"C’mon, Y/N, hurry up!" Jason would yell, grabbing his tiny wrist and pulling him along toward his dad’s auto shop, the library, or some hidden corner of the house where they could plot their next grand adventure.

The two were inseparable, always up to something, always together, always getting into trouble with Dick and Conner.

Jason wasn’t as tough then, but his protectiveness over Y/N? That was always there.

"You’re not gonna cry, are you?" Jason would say, puffing out his chest whenever some bigger kid tried to push Y/N around. "‘Cause you don’t gotta. I’ll handle it."

And handle it he did. The amount of times Y/N’s Papa had to scold Jason for throwing hands on the playground was more than anyone could count.

But one of Jason’s favorite things—something he’d never admit out loud—was when Y/N listened to him read.

They’d sit on the floor of his dad’s auto shop, grease-stained books spread between them, Jason flipping through whatever novel he had gotten lost in that week.

"Do the voices," Y/N would insist, eyes wide with expectation.

Jason would groan, but he’d do it anyway—grumbling about how "annoying" Y/N was while still giving the best damn dramatic reading of a fantasy novel Gotham had ever seen.

And the motorcycle Jason rode today?

That was theirs.

"One day," Y/N had grinned, wiping grease from his hands as Jason tightened a bolt, "this is gonna be our ride. We’ll take it anywhere we want."

"Yeah?" Jason smirked, eyes bright with excitement. "Where to first?"

"Everywhere."

That had been a promise.

One Jason intended to keep.

Then everything changed.

Jason was eight years old when his dad was arrested. He had sat on the couch, legs swinging, watching the news in confusion as his father’s mugshot flashed across the screen.

The words didn’t make sense at first. "Criminal organizations." "Underworld connections." "Large-scale theft ring."

But then, he heard it.

"Willis Todd has been arrested."

And suddenly, everything made sense.

"Son..." His dad’s voice was rough, strained—like it hurt to say the words out loud.

Jason didn’t want to look at him.

"I’ve gotta go away for a while."

The words echoed in Jason’s head long after his father was dragged away in handcuffs. He didn’t cry. He just… stared.

And Y/N was there. Right beside him. Holding his hand.

That night, Jason packed a bag and moved in with Y/N’s family.

Y/N was thrilled. His Papa was more than willing. His father? Not so much.

"Are we really doing this?" Y/N’s Dad had muttered to his husband.

"He has nowhere else to go," his Papa had said simply, already making Jason a plate of food.

Jason pretended not to hear the hesitation, but he saw it. Felt it. He saw the way Y/N’s Dad watched him, waiting for the moment he’d "turn out like his father."

It wasn’t a secret that Y/N’s dad wasn’t exactly fond of Willis Todd. His suspicion extended to Jason, not because of who he was but because of who he might become.

But he never did.

But Jason never did. And over the years, he grew on the man.

Maybe it was because Jason treated Y/N like the most important thing in the world. Maybe it was because, despite his rough edges, Jason never disrespected his authority. Maybe it was because Y/N’s dad saw the way Jason looked at his son, like he’d tear the world apart to keep him safe.

Either way, he softened.

So much so that by the time Jason was a teenager, the man who had once been his biggest skeptic had become his biggest supporter.

Which was why the man was also the first to set rules.

It was after Jason and Y/N presented—alpha and omega—that the rules slammed down like a damn gavel in court.

"No more sleepovers."

"No being alone in each other’s rooms with the doors closed."

"No unsupervised nights out."

Y/N hated it. "Dad, we’re not even dating."

"Not yet," his father had muttered.

Jason, for all his rebellious nature, didn’t argue. He understood better than Y/N did. Their dynamic had changed. Their instincts had shifted. And if anyone knew what kind of effect Y/N had on him, it was Jason himself.

So he didn’t fight the rules. He followed them—begrudgingly, but still.

At least, until he moved back home.

When Jason’s dad got out of prison, he went back home. He had no choice.

But the years that followed would be a lesson in cruelty—a slow, grinding proof that rock bottom is just a myth, and that no matter how deep you think you’ve fallen, there’s always further to go.

Jason’s knuckles ached.

His breathing was shallow, ragged, his heart hammering in his chest as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. Across from him, Willis Todd glared, nostrils flared, muscles tensed, shoulders squared like he was bracing for a second round.

The house smelled like anger. Like hot-blooded rage barely contained beneath thinly veiled restraint.

The table was half-shoved against the wall, the chair Jason had knocked over laying in splintered pieces on the tile.

Willis wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, eyeing Jason with something between frustration and reluctant respect.

"That all you got, boy?" he muttered, voice thick with warning.

Jason breathed heavily, chest rising and falling, his body taut with the kind of tension that had nowhere to go.

"You back to working for them, huh?" Jason spat, his voice low, seething. "You back to being some errand boy for the assholes that got you locked up in the first place?"

Willis’s eyes darkened.

"Watch your mouth, Jason."

But Jason didn’t want to watch his mouth. He wanted to spit fire, to hurl every bit of frustration, of disappointment, of betrayal onto the man who had ruined his life and was too damn selfish to realize it.

"You think I’m stupid?" Jason snapped. "Think I don’t see the extra cash? The new parts you’re suddenly able to afford for the shop?" His teeth clenched. "How long till you get caught this time? Huh? Another five years? Another ten? And what—then I’m supposed to just sit back and watch while they drag your ass off again?"

Willis’s expression twisted, his hands slamming down on the counter.

"That’s not your got-damn business, Jason!"

Jason’s laugh was sharp, humorless.

"Not my business? Not my—" He let out a breath, shaking his head, eyes wild. "I was the one sitting in that courtroom. I was the one watching Mom cry herself to sleep every night while you were inside. I was the one visiting you behind fucking plexiglass."

Willis’s jaw tightened.

Jason’s voice cracked, his breath shuddering. "Did you think I wouldn’t find out? For two seconds, did you consider that your son is a lot older now and can tell when his dad is up to some shady ass shit?”

A pause.

"I’m not a kid anymore, Dad."

Willis exhaled through his nose, his head shaking, fingers flexing at his sides.

"Then stop acting like one."

Jason snapped.

Before he even thought about it, his body had already moved, shoving his father back against the counter.

Willis was older, stronger, broader, but Jason was faster, fueled by something raw, something relentless. He saw the way his father’s shoulders tensed, not from fear but from instinct, from years of being someone people didn’t shove around without consequence.

For a split second, Jason thought Willis was gonna hit him back.

And maybe some twisted part of him wanted him to.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Willis’s hands gripped Jason’s shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, his voice dangerously low.

"You think you’re grown, huh?" His father’s breath was hot against Jason’s face, his grip tightening. "Think you can take me just ‘cause you got a little muscle now?"

Jason’s chest heaved, his eyes burning, his throat tight.

"I don’t wanna take you," Jason muttered, voice thick with something he refused to name. "I just want you to be better."

The words hit harder than any punch could have.

Because for the first time, his father’s expression changed.

The anger didn’t fade. But beneath it, beneath the frustration, there was something else.

Something that looked a hell of a lot like guilt.

Willis let go. Turned away.

Jason didn’t stay to see whatever expression crossed his father’s face next.

Because his legs were already moving, his body already acting on instinct, carrying him out the door, down the street, toward the only place that felt like home anymore.

Between his father’s absence, the taunts from classmates, and the weight of his own anger, Jason had never felt more like he was constantly on the verge of burning out. He hated visiting his dad in prison, hated seeing him in orange, hated the way their time together always ended with an alarm and a guard telling him to leave.

But, through it all, Y/N was there.

Every visit. Every fight. Every time Jason came home angry, every time he didn’t want to talk, every time he needed a way out.

"Window’s open."

Jason barely remembered the run to Y/N’s house. By the time his phone vibrated with the text signaling his green light to go in, all he knew was that his breath was ragged, his hands were shaking, and his body felt too tight, too wound up, too full of something that had nowhere to go.

His muscles burned, his blood ran hot, and the storm inside him—the one that started the second his father spat those words at him—was still raging, still clawing at the edges of his restraint, still begging for a way out.

He didn’t waste a second. Didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

Just moved.

He scaled the tree like he had a hundred times before, the cold night air biting at his skin before he swung himself through the window with a practiced ease that should’ve been concerning.

And then—fuck.

The scent hit him first.

Warmth. Comfort. Y/N.

His room was dimly lit, golden hues stretching over the sheets, the books stacked on the nightstand, the sweatshirt Y/N had probably stolen from him days ago. But Jason barely registered any of that because his scent was everywhere—strong, thick, filling Jason’s lungs, wrapping around his senses like a noose.

Lavender and something sweeter, something uniquely Y/N, something Jason had spent years pretending didn’t make his pulse quicken and his instincts snarl.

And before he could even breathe properly, something solid, warm, and impossibly soft crashed into his chest.

Jason cleared his throat, shaking off whatever the hell that slip-up was, before huffing out an "Oof—" as Y/N burrowed against his chest, his body warm and pliant from sleep.

Jason staggered back, only barely catching himself as Y/N practically melted against him, bare skin brushing against fabric, his body all heat, all curves, all sleepy weight pressing into Jason like he belonged there.

And fuck, Jason was not ready for this.

"Are you okay?" Y/N mumbled, voice thick with concern but also soft, wrecked drowsiness, like he had been waiting for Jason even in his sleep.

His cheek pressed against the fabric of Jason’s hoodie, right over his chest, right over his got-damn heartbeat that was now slamming hard enough to break through ribs.

Jason sucked in a slow, measured breath, his grip on Y/N’s hips too tight, too desperate, his fingers twitching where they clutched the soft skin beneath his shirt.

He needed to answer. Needed to move, needed to do something other than feel.

But Y/N was in his arms, open and pliant, warm and vulnerable, pressing into him like he didn’t know what he was doing to Jason’s self-control.

And Jason was too wound up, too exhausted, too fucking weak to fight it.

His instincts screamed.

To pull him closer. To nuzzle against his throat, breathe him in properly, let that scent flood his system until it drowned out everything else.

His jaw locked tight—breath hissing between his teeth, his entire body coiled in restraint so fierce it made his bones ache.

He wasn’t okay.

Not even remotely.

But Y/N was here. In his arms. Holding him, grounding him, filling his senses with something so sweet, so intoxicating, it almost made the pain go away.

Almost.

Jason’s fingers curled tighter into Y/N’s shirt. He exhaled, low and rough.

"Yeah."

A beat.

His grip tightened.

"I am now."

Y/N gave a small tug at his hoodie.

"Come on. Bed."

Jason hesitated.

He wasn’t sure he could handle this.

But he let himself be pulled anyway.

The moment they hit the mattress, Y/N curled into his side like it was second nature, like this was where he belonged. One arm slung carelessly across Jason’s stomach, his leg hooking over his like he had every right to drape himself over an alpha twice his size.

Jason wasn’t two seconds from unraveling.

He already had.

His throat burned, his hands still half-clenched into fists, his mind still spinning with too many thoughts he didn’t know how to put into words.

And then—soft fingers.

Threading through his hair. Scraping lightly against his scalp.

Jason let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling in time with Y/N’s.

"I hate him," Jason muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

"No, you don’t."

Jason swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the fabric of Y/N’s hoodie. "I want to."

A pause.

Y/N shifted, pressing his ear against Jason’s chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

"You don’t have to figure it out right now."

Jason let out a breath, his fingers unclenching as he lifted a hand to rest against Y/N’s back.

"You’re so damn small," Jason muttered, voice still rough, but softer now, the fight draining out of him.

Y/N huffed. "And yet, I’m taking up more space in this bed than you."

“Well, yes…because you’re a bed, sheet, and blanket hogger.”

Y/N lifted his head to turn an arched brow towards the alpha, “Don’t push it, Todd.”

Jason exhaled a short laugh, his shoulders finally relaxing.

He wasn’t okay.

Not even close.

But right now? With Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, with the scent of lavender and warmth pressing into his chest, with the sound of Y/N’s even breathing grounding him—

He could pretend he was.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Y/N was his anchor. The one thing in his life that didn’t feel like it would get ripped away. But Jason knew better than anyone—nothing lasted forever.

And deep down, he feared the day or even just the possibility of a day when Y/N might decide he was done dealing with him and would leave him behind, just like everyone else important to him.

But, as deep as that fear gnawed at him, the chance of it happening was slim to none as Y/N would constantly go out of his way to reassure Jason, without even saying it that he wasn’t going anywhere.

That didn’t mean there weren’t outside forces that would try to take the omega from him either. As they grew older, Jason would settle with the belief that life, the universe, Baba Yaga, or whatever mystical force out there had a bone to pick with him, and him only, as it seemed intent on trying to take the one source of his happiness away from him.

Then again, he is a teenager and thus has the dramatic capabilities of a thousand Broadway actors so there’s that.

But, as they grew older, and approached young adulthood, it became clear that Jason wasn’t the only one who wanted to have and keep Y/N in their lives forever, as more than just friends. He really should have seen it coming.

Y/N had always been the type to draw people in, all warmth and easy smiles, the kind of omega that had alphas tripping over themselves just to get a second glance. It had always been like that—even before they hit their secondary gender presentations, even before Jason really understood what it meant to want someone like this.

And for a long time, it hadn’t mattered.

Because Jason had always been there first.

Until the other alphas stopped just looking and started acting like they had a chance. It started to feel like he was one wrong move away from snapping, because for months—months—he’d been forced to watch, to endure the constant, infuriating reminders that he wasn’t the only one who wanted Y/N. And he’d been dealing with this shit for months now.

Or maybe longer. Maybe it had been years of this slow, creeping realization clawing at the edges of his mind, waiting for him to stop being such a dumbass and just accept it already.

Because everyone else already knew.

Dick had given him the look months ago, arms crossed, smirk way too fucking smug.

"Dude. You’re gone for him."

Conner had just snorted. "Oh, he’s been gone. We’re just waiting for him to catch up."

Even Y/N’s omega dad, who had always been nothing but warm and understanding toward Jason, had just patted his shoulder one night and sighed, knowingly.

"You poor thing."

Like Jason was some lovesick bastard everyone could see drowning except him.

And maybe he had been.

Because suddenly, everything felt different.

The way Y/N would lean against him without thinking, tuck himself into Jason’s space like he belonged there. The way his scent had stopped just being familiar and started being fucking intoxicating.

And worse—the way Jason’s instincts responded to it.

Like some primal, animalistic part of him had already decided—this is mine.

Like he was just waiting for Y/N to catch up.

But the worst part? The part that had Jason on edge, restless, constantly biting back frustration?

Y/N had no fucking clue.

None.

Didn’t notice the way people looked at him. Didn’t realize when alphas got too close, let their hands linger, smiled too long. Didn’t see the way Jason was this close to wrecking someone every got-damn time it happened.

And that?

That was gonna be a fucking problem.

Jason already had the reputation of a rebel, a problem, a walking time bomb just waiting to go off. A future delinquent, just like his old man.

And if things kept going the way they were going, he wouldn’t just live up to that reputation—he’d shatter it. Hell, at this rate, he’d outdo his father in record time.

Thankfully, Y/N, in all his infinite wisdom, had suggested Jason find an outlet for his anger, something to keep him from self-destructing.

"Maybe you just need something physical to work all that aggression out," Y/N had mused one night, casually twirling his pencil between his fingers as they lay on their stomachs doing homework.

Jason had immediately short-circuited.

His body froze, his breath caught, and suddenly, he was thinking about things that had absolutely nothing to do with exercise.

And Y/N—oblivious, innocent, completely unaware of what he’d just done to Jason’s brain—kept talking.

"You know, like boxing, maybe wrestling? Even just running?"

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing himself to shove the very unhelpful mental images away while also squeezing his front against the floor, thinking maybe if he suffocated it, his hard-on would go away.

Logic is key.

But, Y/N had obviously meant actual physical activity.

Not what Jason’s instincts immediately jumped to.

Which, in hindsight, was stupid, considering Jason was no stranger to the gym.

People didn’t just stop and stare at him because of his reputation, or because he was at a school they thought he didn’t belong in.

No—they stared because Jason Todd was built like a fucking problem.

Broad shoulders, a strong, sculpted chest, thick arms that flexed under the weight of whatever he was lifting.

A physique that made it painfully clear that Jason wasn’t just strong—he was the kind of strong that made people nervous.

And Y/N?

He wasn’t nervous.

He just smiled at him, completely unaware that Jason was barely keeping himself together. Then again, it always felt like he was keeping himself together.

Whether it was him standing in some random house on a Friday night, at some stupid house party he didn’t want to be at. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching Y/N laugh at something—head tilted back, eyes shining, fucking beautiful.

And then, some wannabe alpha sat too close, got too comfortable.

Jason watched as the guy brushed his hand along Y/N’s wrist, leaned in like he had the right, like he thought he had a shot.

Jason’s jaw locked.

Every muscle in his body coiled tight.

He smelled it before anything else—that faint hint of something territorial, a challenge.

Like the bastard had the nerve to think he could even compete.

Jason’s vision went red.

The next thing he knew, he was moving.

Didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Just stepped forward, slid into the space between Y/N and the asshole, and let the weight of his presence do the talking.

The guy barely had time to register the shift before Jason was staring him down, slow, deliberate.

"Problem?" Jason asked, voice low, rough, dangerous.

The alpha froze, throat bobbing. "Uh—no. No problem, man."

"Yeah? Then move."

He did.

And Y/N?

Didn’t even notice.

Just turned to Jason with that same easy smile, like the alpha hadn’t just sent some dickhead running with a single look.

"You good?" Y/N asked, like Jason hadn’t just come within inches of wrecking someone for daring to touch him.

Jason gritted his teeth while subtly grabbing Y/N’s wrists, rubbing his fingers over it. "Peachy."

Or the night after another fight with his dad—yelling, slamming doors, Jason’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached, the rage still simmering beneath his skin like a lit fuse.

And somehow, like instinct, like fate, like the only goddamn place his body knew to go when everything else burned around him, Jason found himself in Y/N’s bed again.

The window had still been slightly open from where he’d climbed through, letting in a chill that should’ve cooled the room.

But Jason didn’t feel the cold.

All he felt was heat. Actually…

It felt like he was fighting for his goddamn life.

First, it was the scent—thick, saturating the air, clinging to him, sinking into his lungs. He barely made it through the window without feeling like he was about to be consumed whole by it.

That familiar sweetness, that pulsating warmth—overpowering whatever fucking candle Y/N had burning, drowning out everything else, until Jason felt like he was sinking.

Jason sucked in a slow, sharp breath because—fuck.

It was everywhere.

The scent. The heat. The subtle press of something soft and pliant nestled against his thigh, just beneath the sheets.

Jason went rigid.

Too close.

Too dangerous.

His instincts once again had snarled, a sharp, territorial need coiling deep in his gut, flooding his veins like an intoxicant he couldn’t shake off.

Because it wasn’t just warmth pressing against him—it was need.

It was the soft, feverish h eat between Y/N’s thighs, the part of him Jason had no business being hyperaware of, but couldn’t ignore if he tried.

And fuck, why was it so warm?

Jason’s breath came out rough, uneven, his fingers twitching where they gripped the back of Y/N’s hoodie like a lifeline.

He needed to focus.

On anything else.

But Y/N was breathing slow and steady against his chest, his scent thick, heavy, so got-damn sweet it was practically drugging Jason on the spot.

The omega was practically folded around Jason, wrapped up against him like a second skin, like he was meant to be there. His arms draped lazily across Jason’s stomach, his body tucking into his side, his leg hooking over Jason’s like it had every damn right to be there.

Jason clenched his jaw, shifting slightly, trying—failing—not to notice the slick heat pressed up against his hip, the way every slight movement had it rubbing against him in a way that was making his own situation dangerously uncomfortable.

Fuck.

The frustration, the exhaustion, the leftover anger from the fight with his dad—it all tangled with something deeper, something baser, something Jason knew damn well he shouldn’t be feeling right now.

Not when his cock was already straining against the fabric of his sweats, throbbing, aching, caught between desperate restraint and something far more primal.

Not when every primal, alpha-driven instinct in his body was howling at him to roll over, press Y/N into the mattress, and rut into that soft, needy heat until it was dripping with him—until it was stretched, swollen, stuffed full with his claim.

Not when his instincts demanded he take, ruin, own—mark every inch of that trembling body, make sure Y/N never smelled like anything but him again.

Not when the thought of knotting him, filling him, locking them together in something permanent, something carnal, something undeniably his made Jason’s entire body ache with the kind of need that bordered on pain.

Jason bit the inside of his cheek, hard.

How the fuck was Y/N sleeping through this?

How did he not feel what he was doing to the alpha? Not sense his utmost distress and peril at the situation he was in?

Jason squeezed his eyes shut.

This is why sleepovers got banned.

Holy shit, this is exactly why sleepovers got banned.

And the worst part?

Jason was starting to wonder if those rules had been for both of them.

Or if they’d been for him.

Because this? This was torture.

A slow, burning kind of agony, caught between the instinctual need to take and the desperate need to stay right here, safe, wrapped in Y/N’s warmth, without ruining everything.

And fuck, he didn’t know which one was worse.

Y/N was the only thing that could steady him and wreck him in the same breath. The one person who could pull him back from the edge, quiet the chaos in his head— but also the one who could drive him out of his fucking mind without even trying.

He wasn’t sure how the hell he survived the night.

But the next morning, as he watched Y/N stretch, shirt rising to expose a sliver of bare skin, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep—

Jason knew.

He wasn’t gonna survive much longer.

So, that Monday night, Jason Todd did the one thing no other alpha had the balls to do.

He went to Y/N’s father.

Because Jason was done waiting.

And if he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it right.

The front door he was very familiar with but often never used felt heavier than usual.

Jason stood there for a solid ten minutes, hands clenched into fists, running through every possible outcome of this conversation like it was a goddamn battle plan.

He’d been in rooms with Gotham’s worst before when visiting his dad. He had thrown hands with grown-ass alphas and men twice his size. He had taken beatings, dealt with cops, lived through shit most people wouldn’t believe.

But this?

This was a new level of terrifying.

Before he could bitch out, the door swung open, and Jason suddenly found himself face to face with Y/N’s father—broad, unimpressed, and already raising an eyebrow.

"Jason."

Jason swallowed, forcing himself to meet the man’s stare head-on.

"I wanna court your son."

Better to just rip off the band-aid than keep beating around the bush…or not? He didn’t know—he was fucking nervous.

Silence.

The longest fucking ten seconds of Jason’s life.

Y/N’s dad just stared, unreadable as ever, before tilting his head slightly.

"That so?"

Jason nodded, standing his ground even as his heart tried to punch its way out of his ribcage.

Another long pause.

Then, the man exhaled, glancing over his shoulder before calling out—

"Babe, I owe you twenty bucks!"

Jason blinked. What?

A second later, Y/N’s other Papa appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel, looking annoyingly smug.

"Told you he’d get there before graduation," he said, waving a hand in Jason’s general direction.

Y/N’s father grumbled under his breath, reaching into his wallet. "Damn kid had me convinced he was gonna be dense about it forever."

Jason stood there, completely thrown. "You… bet on this?"

Y/N’s Papa smirked, leisurely counting the cash from his husband before finally locking eyes with Jason.

"Took you long enough."

Jason’s brain short-circuited. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or deeply offended.

Then, with the kind of knowing smirk that Jason was all too familiar with from his son and that made his own stomach twist, Y/N’s Papa added,

"But just so we're clear—if you're officially courting my son, I can’t keep pretending not to notice your little late-night ‘visits’ through the window anymore."

Jason felt the heat rush to his face as his heart nearly slammed out of his chest.

Shit. One can imagine the very interesting and tense conversation that happened afterward as they waited for Y/N to come home, especially from the Omega’s father, who also was not overtly happy at the mention of the late-night visits.

That same night, when Y/N returned home and spotted the familiar motorcycle parked in his driveway, a warm flicker of anticipation bloomed in his chest.

Jason was here.

But that warmth was doused immediately when his eyes landed on him.

Jason Todd—the same Jason who could stare down a room full of people without flinching, who never backed down from a fight, who laughed in the face of authority—was sitting on his porch, hunched over, elbows braced on his knees, hands clenched into fists.

And he looked… nervous.

Not angry. Not frustrated. Nervous.

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Jason could be furious, and it wouldn’t shake him. He could be bleeding, and Y/N would roll up his sleeves and handle it. But this? This was new.

His hands felt clammy as he climbed the steps, heart hammering, because Jason looking like this—like his mind was at war with itself, like he was fighting something bigger than his usual battles—meant something serious.

And serious, when it came to Jason, could mean a lot of things.

Y/N swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. "Jay?"

Jason’s head snapped up immediately, like he hadn’t even heard him approach, like he had been too caught up in his own storm to notice the outside world.

And the second those piercing blue eyes locked onto him, something in Jason’s entire body just—unclenched.

Like he had been holding his breath this entire time and only now, now, that Y/N was standing in front of him, could he actually breathe.

Y/N stepped closer. "What’s wrong?"

Jason let out a slow, uneven exhale, then shook his head, like he was still trying to get himself together.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Nothin’s wrong." His voice was rough, but softer than usual, like there was more sitting behind those words. More that he wasn’t saying yet.

Y/N narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit."

Jason huffed out a small, barely-there laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe not nothin’… but it’s not bad." He shifted, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

And that? That made Y/N even more nervous.

Jason never hesitated.

"Okay…not gonna lie, you’re kind of freaking me out here. What’s going on, Jason?"

Jason let out a long, suffering sigh, leveling Y/N with a flat stare—the kind that usually made people nervous.

But Y/N wasn’t people.

And the omega knew that look for what it really was.

Pouting.

Jason Todd—Gotham Collegiate’s most infamous bad boy, the alpha who had everyone either terrified or thirsting—was pouting.

All because Y/N had called him Jason instead of his usual nicknames.

Y/N barely had time to register it before Jason’s brow twitched, his voice dropping into a low, grumbling mutter.

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

Y/N arched a brow. "It’s your name."

Jason’s scowl deepened, arms crossing over his broad chest, making him look even more like an overgrown, sulky teenager. "Yeah, well… it doesn’t sound right when it’s coming from you."

And Y/N knew exactly what he meant.

Jason had never been just Jason to him.

He had always been Jay. Or, more notably—Jaybirdie—among other names to come.

The nickname was one of those things neither of them really remembered starting, only that, according to their parents, Jason had been obsessed with birds as a kid—specifically robins.

"I don’t know what it was," Y/N’s Papa had laughed once, recounting the memory. "But Jason had a phase where he was convinced he was a damn bird. Would run around flapping his arms, chirping, climbing everything in sight—"

"—still climbs everything in sight," Y/N’s dad had grumbled.

Y/N had beamed at a then nine-year-old Jason, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You’re like a little jaybird!"

And just like that—Jaybird and subsequently ‘Jaybirdie’ was born.

It was a name that had followed them through childhood, whispered between giggles under blanket forts, shouted across the playground when Jason was daring Y/N to keep up with his reckless stunts, scribbled into the margins of school notebooks when passing notes in class.

It was his name—a name no one else called him.

Because Jason had never let anyone else call him that.

Not even Dick, who had tried once in middle school only to be met with the most unimpressed, deadpan stare imaginable.

"Try that again, Grayson, and I swear to god—"

But when Y/N said it?

Jason melted. Not that he’d ever admit it.

After that, it became law—no one but Y/N called him Jaybirdie. And Y/N should ever call Jason anything but, or one of the other plentiful nicknames he’d had for him.

"Jason—"

…

Call the cops because the law’s been broken.

Jason, looking entirely done with this conversation, exhaled sharply and muttered—

"Whatever, just—here."

As if deciding something in real-time, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out.

Jason glanced at him, clearly catching his reaction, because his lips twitched, a shadow of his usual cocky smirk ghosting across his face. "Relax, sweetheart. Not that kinda box."

Y/N did not relax.

Because Jason still looked serious. And Jason only looked serious when things mattered.

Slowly, he opened the box, revealing a simple yet striking silver ring inside. Simple, unpolished, but solid. Sturdy.

Familiar.

Y/N’s stomach flipped because—holy shit.

It was made from one of Jason’s old bike chains.

The same damn chain Y/N had broken last year when he’d taken Jason’s motorcycle for a joyride and crashed it into a very unfortunate mailbox.

Y/N had come out with only a few scrapes, but Jason was still pissed. Not because of the bike.

Because Y/N had gotten hurt from it, even if it was in a small manner.

And now, here he was, giving him a ring made from that same damn bike.

Y/N almost teared up.

Almost.

Jason exhaled, rubbing a thumb over the metal before looking back up at Y/N, something raw flickering behind his eyes. "It’s for you."

Y/N’s voice felt stuck in his throat. "Jason, I—"

But Jason wasn’t done.

He stood up, stepping closer, pulling something else from beside him—a motorcycle helmet.

Sleek. Sturdy. And unmistakably red. A match to his own.

And somehow—everything made sense.

Jason exhaled slowly, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Then, voice low, he said, "The ring's from the old chain. Figured it was fitting, since you can’t seem to keep your hands off my damn bike."

Y/N stomach did a flip at that, as he tried to hold in his nervous laugh. He just wouldn’t let that go.

Jason smirked, but it softened almost instantly. He tapped the helmet.

"This is the real thing, though."

His voice dipped lower, softer.

"The helmet’s so you can always be with me. Whenever you wanna be."

Y/N’s throat tightened.

Because the motorcycle wasn’t just Jason’s.

It was theirs.

It was years of sneaking out, of riding under Gotham’s neon lights, of Jason showing him how to shift gears, of Y/N pressing his cheek against Jason’s back as the wind roared around them.

Y/N’s chest ached.

He knew what Jason was really saying.

Jason Todd didn’t share things. He didn’t give pieces of himself away to just anyone. But here he was, offering Y/N something that meant more than words ever could.

It was a delcaration, a silent I choose you, a this is forever if you want it to be.

Y/N’s throat tightened. "Jason…"

Jason held his gaze, shoulders tense, eyes unreadable. "Say somethin’, sweetheart."

Y/N didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

He just moved.

One second, he was standing still. The next, he was grabbing Jason by the collar of his jacket and yanking him down into a kiss so deep, so desperate, so all-consuming, it stole the breath straight from his lungs.

Jason made a sound—low, surprised—but he recovered fast.

Really fast.

Because suddenly, strong hands were gripping Y/N’s waist, yanking him flush against a firm, solid chest, and—fuck.

Jason kissed like he fought—with everything he had.

Heat. Teeth. Desperation. Like he had been waiting for this, needing this, for a long, long time.

And Y/N?

Y/N was gone.

The feeling of Jason’s hands on him, the way his lips moved, the low, near-growl in his throat—it was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

The motorcycle helmet hit the porch with a soft thud, forgotten.

Jason was the first to pull back, just barely, his breath ragged, forehead still pressed against Y/N’s.

He huffed out a small, breathless laugh, voice a little rough but undeniably fond. "So… I’m guessin’ that’s a yes?"

Y/N, still dazed, still completely wrecked, somehow still managed to find his smart mouth.

“Technically, you never asked me a question.” His lips curled, teasing, knowing exactly what he was doing. “But, if I’m assuming correctly, then…” He tilted his head, smiling. “It’s a maybe.”

Now it was Jason’s turn to freeze. His expression shifted—lips parting slightly, brows twitching downward.

A full-body offense.

"A maybe?"

A full-grown alpha, pouting, arms wrapped around Y/N’s waist like a clingy damn koala. Jason nuzzled into his throat, breath hot against his skin, muttering, grumbling, sulking.

"Unbelievable."

Y/N bit back a laugh, hands sliding over broad shoulders.

"I mean, I dunno, Jaybirdie, you didn’t exactly—"

Jason bit him.

Not hard, just enough to make Y/N squeak—just enough to shut him up. Childish…but effective.

Jason pulled back, scowling, still clinging, and—fuck, he was adorable.

"Try that again," Jason grumbled, low, almost grumpy. "Because I swear to god, Y/N—if you leave me hanging with a maybe after all that—"

Y/N was laughing now, warm and breathless, hugging him back.

"Okay, okay," he hummed, fingers tangling in Jason’s hair, voice soft with something more real.

He pressed a kiss to Jason’s jaw, right over the spot he had just nipped.

"It’s a yes, dummy."

Jason huffed, but Y/N could feel his grin.

"Good."

And then—because Jason Todd was a menace—

He kissed him again.

Obviously, the school was buzzing with gossip the next day when Jason pulled up to the front entrance with Y/N perched on the back of his motorcycle, both donning their matching helmets like a damn statement piece.

But that? That wasn’t what had people stopping mid-step.

No, the real show—the thing that had the entire hallway vibrating with whispers—was the silver ring glinting on Y/N’s hand.

A ring that, at that exact moment, was enclosed in Jason Todd’s much larger one as he strode down the hall, cutting a direct path through the crowd without a single glance at anyone else.

Jason didn’t need to look.

He could already feel the stares.

And the thing about Jason Todd?

He thrived off that shit.

Shoulders squared, chin lifted, his entire presence radiated smug, alpha satisfaction as he led Y/N to his locker like he was escorting a prize only he had the right to claim. And judging by the bitching expressions of half the alphas in the building? He wasn’t wrong.

Jason’s chest puffed up just a little more, an unmistakable fuck you energy rolling off him as he caught sight of the bitter stares from guys who had never stood a chance in the first place.

Because, let’s be real—Y/N was never theirs.

And now?

Now, he never would be.

Jason squeezed Y/N’s hand, fingers tightening possessively around his while unconsciously playing with the ring on the Omega’s finger as they stopped at his locker. Then, finally, he flicked his eyes up, gaze lazily sweeping over the crowd of sulking, jealous bastards.

And fuck—it felt good.

Conner and Dick found them shortly after, spotting Jason still keeping Y/N tucked against his side like some overgrown, territorial wolfdog. But, to their credit, Jason wasn’t actively growling at them, which—by his standards—was basically rolling out a red carpet of acceptance.

The pair of alphas shared a look, an entire conversation passing between them as they took in the absolute sight in front of them.

Their two closest friends.

Finally. Together.

It was about damn time.

Dick, naturally, was the first to speak up.

Hands on his hips, grinning like a damn idiot, he let out a dramatic sigh. "Wow. So it only took you, what—your entire life to finally make a move?"

Jason’s eye twitched.

Conner snorted, crossing his arms as he tilted his head in fake contemplation. "I dunno, Dick. I think we might be giving him too much credit. Could’ve easily taken another five years at the rate he was going."

Jason scowled, shoulders tensing like he was about two seconds away from decking them both.

Y/N, however, was cracking up, pressing his face into Jason’s shoulder as he tried (and failed) to contain his laughter.

Jason turned that glare on him next. "Don’t encourage them."

Dick smirked. "Oh, no, no. Let him laugh, Jay. This is a monumental occasion." He pressed a hand to his chest, eyes mockingly emotional. "My little Jason—courting like a real alpha. Who would’ve thought?"

Jason clicked his tongue, face deadpan. "I will throw you down a flight of stairs."

Conner chuckled. "Relax, dude. We’re happy for you."

Dick grinned, slinging an arm around Jason’s shoulder in the worst decision of his life. "Yeah, bro. Really. We love this for you."

Jason immediately shoved him off. "Don’t touch me."

Y/N, still shaking with laughter, squeezed Jason’s hand, leaning up to peck his cheek. "They’re just messing with you, Jay."

Jason huffed, but Y/N could feel the tension leaving his body.

Conner smirked. "Seriously, man. Took you long enough, but… you did good."

Dick winked at Y/N. "And you must be so proud of him. Your big, bad alpha finally figured out how to ask you out. What an achievement."

Jason bristled. "Okay, I’m leaving."

Y/N just laughed harder.

“Oh, my FUCK! They’re so CUTE together!”

Manny screeched, nearly vibrating out of his skin as he watched Jason Todd—grumpy, brooding, anti-social Jason Todd—casually holding Y/N’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Down the hall, standing at their usual locker hangout spot, he, Ethan, Sasha, and Kara were practically witnessing a historical event.

Ethan, rubbing his ear with a pained expression, groaned. “Manny, volume please.”

Manny waved him off. “Oh, hush you with your sensitive ass ears. You are not about to tell me that this isn’t the most romantic thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.”

Sasha gushed, practically vibrating with excitement. “I know! I heard from Caitlyn earlier that the ring Y/N’s wearing isn’t just some random accessory—Jason made it himself. Like, actually put it together with his own hands.”

Manny gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been struck. “Fanfiction could never…”

Unless?

…

Pfff, yeah right.

Kara crossed her arms, smirking. “Oh yeah, we totally suffered watching Jason Todd be a dramatic, lovesick idiot all this time.”

Manny nodded violently. “Exactly! And now LOOK AT THEM! They’re literally giving black cat/golden retriever energy. Ugh…my fucking dream. Oh, to be Y/N? Think I could find a witch to cast a spell to switch our bodies?”

Ethan, long-suffering, just sighed. “Manny, you seriously need to—”

“OH, SHIT! LOOK! LOOK! Jason’s GLARING at anyone who stares too long! MY GOD, HE’S FERAL! THIS IS BETTER THAN TELEVISION.”

Sasha actually cackled. “How long are you guys betting before he physically body-checks someone for looking at Y/N too hard.”

Kara raised an eyebrow. “I give it until lunch.”

Ethan, frowning at the sore sight, but not wanting to be left out hummed thoughtfully. “I say by next period.”

Manny, grinning like a madman, slammed a twenty on the table. “Bitch, I say ten minutes.

Kara grinned, shaking her head. “Y’all are terrible.”

Just a note: Manny won the bet.

After dropping Y/N off at his class, Jason leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, watching like he always did. Dick and Conner flanked him, still snickering and talking shit, their teasing only getting worse now that Y/N was out of earshot.

Jason, as annoyed as he was, just rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose. He let them talk. Let them have their fun.

Because his focus was elsewhere.

And then—it happened.

One of Conner’s teammates—some over-bronzed, protein-powdered, roid-raging benchwarmer from Kevin’s crew—made the worst decision of his life.

The guy, a walking case of bad judgment and even worse acne, had been eyeing Y/N for weeks.

Just another alpha in the long line of idiots convinced he had a shot. Another poor bastard with a plan.

He was in the same class as Y/N. Had probably been waiting for the perfect moment to make his move—to ask him to the upcoming dance, maybe try his luck.

But the problem?

Jason got to Y/N first.

And Pimple Roid Rage?

He wasn’t handling it well.

Jason wasn’t oblivious—he’d clocked the guy’s pathetic pining a long time ago.

Always hovering near Y/N in class, standing just a little too close. Always watching him, lingering, waiting for a chance. Always shooting Jason dirty looks across the cafeteria, like some scorned, lovesick puppy who just realized his favorite toy was already claimed.

As mentioned before, one of the main reasons Y/N’s father had warmed up to Jason long before the idea of them becoming a couple was ever on the table was the younger Alpha’s unyielding protectiveness over his son.

Even back then, Jason had been watching out for Y/N, stepping in when necessary, making it very clear that no one—no one—was going to mess with him and get away with it.

So while Y/N’s father wasn’t exactly thrilled about the chaos after getting a call from the school’s principal, he also wasn’t disappointed, either.

Not even close.

If anything, it only reinforced his decision to grant Jason his blessing to court his son.

And, well…

The idea of having Jason Todd as a future son-in-law was starting to sound more appealing by the day.

So much so, in fact, that he may or may not have casually floated the idea of a wedding planner to his husband later that evening—

But…what even happened?

Well…

Long story short, Pimple Face decided to shoot his shot anyway, convinced that a little direct confrontation would somehow tip the odds in his favor.

And sure, Y/N was seated at his desk, but that didn’t stop the dumbass from getting bold—too bold.

One second, the guy was smirking, fingers daring to slip under Y/N’s chin, tilting his head up like he had any right to touch him.

The next?

The next moment, he suddenly was no longer in the classroom. Then, he was airborne. And, finally, in the blink of an eye, he was slammed against the lockers in the hallway—hard enough to leave a dent.

The entire hall went silent.

The air crackled with Jason’s fury, his teeth bared, shoulders squared, and one massive hand fisting the guy’s collar so tight his feet barely touched the ground.

"You must be out of your fucking mind." Jason’s voice was low, dangerously calm in the way that promised imminent destruction.

The guy gasped, struggling against Jason’s grip, panic flooding his expression.

Jason didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move—except for his other hand, which slammed right beside the guy’s head, denting another locker on impact.

"Go on. Say something. Give me a reason not to make you regret waking up today."

Y/N, still processing, barely had a chance to breathe before Jason turned his dark, burning gaze on him.

"You okay?" The question was simple, but the way he said it—deep, thick with possession, with a silent tell me yes before I put him through the wall—made heat bloom in Y/N’s stomach.

Y/N swallowed, heart racing, breath shaky.

Not because of the alpha currently reaching zen with the metal lockers, fuck him. No, Y/N was currently trying to calm his racing heart because Jason was pissed.

And it was hot as hell.

Y/N exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to Jason’s chest—not to push him away, but to remind him he was there.

"Jay," he murmured.

Jason’s eyes flickered, still locked on Y/N, jaw clenched so tight it could shatter stone.

Y/N licked his lips.

"I’m fine."

Jason inhaled sharply. Then, after a beat, he turned back to the alpha, who was still choked up with fear at the menacing and disgusted look thrown at him.

“Touch him again and you’ll be lucky if any doctor is able to fix your hands,” He whispered, before letting go—shoving the guy aside like he was nothing.

The poor bastard stumbled, barely catching himself, before bolting down the hall like his ass was on fire. Within five minutes, the entire school was buzzing like a swarm of bees, whispers spreading like wildfire.

And in the middle of it all?

A very smug Manny, lounging at his own locker, grinning ear to ear as his phone pinged repeatedly—each notification another $20 from his very salty friends reluctantly paying up.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” he typed into the group chat, attaching a meme for maximum gloating.

Jason didn’t get suspended like he usually would’ve for a stunt like that, but the principal did still give him detention along with the other alpha for essentially sexually harassing Y/N. Y/N’s parents along with Willis both made it clear that if Jason was getting punished, so should the football player who put his hands where they didn’t belong in the first place.

Jason was merely defending him.

And the principal was smart enough to put them in separate classrooms for the duration of their punishment. More so for the benchwarmer’s protection, which didn’t help his ego.

Conner—who of course witnessed the whole thing firsthand—promised Jason he’d make the Alpha pay for it double at practice after the whole ordeal. And detention wasn’t too bad.

Ms. Ridges was the one monitoring, which basically meant Jason had free rein to do whatever the hell he wanted since she barely paid attention to anything other than her crossword puzzles.

So, naturally, Jason spent his time doing the most important thing possible—

Texting his omega.

Jason: this is 100% your fault

Jason: u need to stop being hot

Y/N: wow. tragic. truly.

Y/N: but i simply cannot do that. would be a crime to rob the world of… well, me.

Y/N: besides, I wasn’t the one who practically tackled Richie and left some poor kid’s locker looking like a car crash scene…

Jason:

Y/N: RUDE

This was their relationship and Jason’s courting almost in a nutshell.

Honestly? It was like watching two people who were already married—except they were still seniors in high school.

Jason had never made a big deal about courting the way other alphas did—at least, in his mind he didn’t. To him, it was just stuff he’d do anyway—whether they were friends, dating, married, or even enemies.

And who doesn’t love a good enemies-to-lovers trope?

If anyone brought it up, Jason would just roll his eyes, shrug, and mutter some bullshit about “formalities” and “making sure his dad’s happy.”

And by dad, he meant both of their dads.

Willis Todd was surprisingly traditional about this kind of thing—had even placed his own money on the bet with Y/N’s parents for when Jason would eventually propose. But more than that, he had made sure Jason did things right and respectfully.

He even helped make Y/N’s ring.

Y/N only figured that part out much later, which, in hindsight, made the gift all the more special.

And while Jason acted like the whole courting thing wasn’t a big deal…

Y/N knew the truth.

Because even though Jason’s version of courting wasn’t flashy like the rich preppy kids at their school, he damn sure took it seriously.

And, unlike half the wannabe alphas in their class, Jason prided himself on proving—every single day—that he was the best and only alpha fit for Y/N.

It was practically his day job. Just… without the pay rate.

Or salary.

Or health benefits.

Or a 401K.

Or a retirement plan.

...Actually, the retirement part might be included.

The point was, Jason didn’t need extravagant gifts or public displays of devotion. And not just because he couldn’t afford them.

He cared about the smaller things.

The thoughtful things.

The practical things.

It was Jason instructing Y/N to pop his hood, while making his way to the front of his car with that sexy, dominanting walk. Y/N had casually mentioned his engine making a weird noise while they were cuddling on the couch, and within 20 minutes, Jason went home to grab his toolkit and was back at the L/N’s residence working on the Omega’s car.

Apparently, Y/N was long overdue for an oil change. It’s not his fault he didn’t know though…he’s just a baby.

That night, Y/N’s Dad called Willis Todd to tell him what a hell of a son he was raising.

Which, considering the tense history between them? That was a big fucking deal.

It was also Jason volunteering to carry every single grocery bag inside after tagging along with Y/N and his Papa to run errands.

Y/N had barely gotten a single bag in his hands before Jason was already grabbing—snatching everything away from him while giving the omega an offended scowl and a look in his eyes that told him to just stand there and look handsome.

"Was Dad like this when he was courting you?"

His Papa, sipping his lemonade, didn’t even hesitate.

“Yep. Still haven’t carried a bag to this day.” And that’s on waiting for the right one.

But it wasn’t just groceries.

It was his bookbag, his schoolbooks, even a single notebook.

Because, according to Jason—

"Why should you carry it when I’m right here?"

It was Jason always walking Y/N home, opening the door for him, bringing him food, making sure he had medicine when he was sick.

And if anyone ever questioned it?

Jason would just glare, deadpan, and say—

“What, you think I’m gonna let someone else do it?”

Because no.

Jason Todd would not, in fact, let anyone else do it.

Hell would have snow days before that happened.

And Y/N would just smile, shake his head, and let him have his way.

He wasn’t the poetic type. He wasn’t going to write love letters or give corny, dramatic speeches.

But his actions?

They screamed devotion louder than words ever could.

Like when Y/N mentioned offhandedly that he liked a specific brand of snacks—and the next day, Jason was pulling them out of his book bag for him during lunch.

Or when Y/N shivered in class once—and Jason somehow had a hoodie waiting for him within minutes, placed over his shoulders like it was nothing. Or when Y/N sighed, exhausted, after a long day, and Jason just pulled him into his lap without a word, carding his fingers through his hair until he dozed off.

And Y/N would tease him about it.

“Jay, you’re basically already my boyfriend. What’s the courting even for?”

Jason would just grunt.

“Formality.”

Because Jason was damn sure he was going to earn Y/N’s parents' approval. And if he didn’t?

Well. That wouldn’t change a damn thing about what he was doing. But, it was nice to do it without having to hide or be sneaky.

Unless we were talking about his late-night visits—which only stopped for about a week. Then, Y/N texted him one night and…well, the picture is already clear.

He’d already been busted for the late-night visits, and while he was hesitant to outright defy his parents’ orders, he was—unfortunately, or rather very fortunately— far too weak to resist the sight of his Omega lounging around in nothing but a thin tank top and those damn sleep shorts that clung just a little too high on his thighs and rode up every time he shifted.

And it wasn’t always just about sneaking in to see Y/N—sometimes, Jason just needed an escape. A break from his own house. A place that actually felt like home.

So, while his parents weren’t exactly thrilled about it, they also weren’t too hard on him. That being said—Y/N’s dad was still strict. And very clear about his boundaries.

“You put a baby in my son… I put a bullet in your ass.”

He was half joking, half serious.

(…Mostly serious.)

But it didn’t do much to deter them. They were teenagers, after all. And now, with the shift in their relationship, those late-night sleepovers? Things had taken a very quick turn.

Y/N could feel it every time—the way Jason’s breathing deepened, the way his grip tightened just a little more than usual, the way his mouth brushed over the back of Y/N’s neck, slow, teasing, while he held him firmly from behind.

And then—his voice.

Low. Rough.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?”

Y/N shivered. And, if he was being honest?

He was definitely at fault.

Ever since that one night—that one time and then every time after that Jason had slept over and had to fight every primal instinct not to pin Y/N down and rut into him—it was like walking on a tightrope every time he got into that bed.

Because Y/N?

Y/N was also a menace just like his boyfriend.

Always cuddling too close, rubbing against him, stretching in ways that made Jason’s self-control damn near non-existent.

And tonight? Tonight was no different.

Except this time?

Jason nearly gave in. He was seconds away from losing his fucking mind.

Y/N was already pinned beneath him, flushed and trembling, thighs slick and spread, making a fucking mess on the sheets. Jason had no business being this goddamn hard, this close to breaking, but Y/N wasn’t making it easy.

He should’ve rolled off, thrown himself in a cold shower, done literally anything other than what he was doing right now. But, no…what was he doing instead?

He was grinding against the omega, slowly, teasingly, letting Y/N feel every inch of his cock straining through his sweats, letting him ache for it, letting him need. Jason grinned against Y/N’s skin, slow and mean, fingers teasing along the slicked-up skin of his thighs, his ribs, his chest, taking his sweet, vengeful time.

Jason shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this.

Shouldn’t be grinding against Y/N, shouldn’t be letting his cock drag against slicked-up skin, shouldn’t be letting himself feel exactly how ready Y/N was for him.

Because fuck, he could feel everything.

Even through the thin fabric of his sweats, Jason could trace the heat of Y/N’s rim, could feel just how soaked he was, the slick dampening his own clothes—warm, wet, and so fucking inviting that Jason nearly lost it right then and there.

And then Y/N had to fucking whine. Loud.

Jason’s body reacted before his brain could catch up. His hand was over Y/N’s mouth in an instant, pressing firm, shutting him up.

Y/N went still immediately, wide-eyed, pupils blown, body locked in place like instinct had taken over. Jason exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. His fingers curled around Y/N’s jaw, tilting his head back, holding him still, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Do that shit again, and I’ll gag you next time.”

A high, muffled noise left Y/N’s throat, his thighs squeezing together, and Jason groaned, eyes dark, heated, fucking dangerous.

“Got-damn it.” Jason buried his face in Y/N’s throat, inhaling deep, his grip tightening, his cock throbbing painfully against his sweats. “You don’t even fucking realize what you do to me, do you?”

Y/N whimpered against his palm, his body trembling, soaking the sheets with slick, and Jason felt every second of it.

Every twitch. Every shiver. Every desperate attempt to move, to grind up, to find friction.

Jason let out a rough, breathless chuckle, voice dripping with authority.

“You wanna be loud? Huh?” His tone was mocking, taunting, sharp with amusement. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Let’s wake the whole fuckin’ house up. Let’s have your dad walk in here and see just how much of a desperate little mess you are for me.”

Y/N’s whole body fucking seized, a strangled whimper muffled against Jason’s hand, hips twitching upon instinct.

Jason grinned, sharp and knowing. “Oh, you like that, huh?”

He ground his hips down again, slower this time, deliberate, letting Y/N feel every inch of him pressing up against where he needed it most.

And then—

The scent shifted and Jason froze.

Something sweet. Something new.

His eyes snapped down to Y/N’s heaving, sweat-slicked chest, and fuck.

Y/N’s nipples were wet, a thin, milky fluid pearling at the tips, trickling down the curve of his ribs. Jason’s entire fucking brain short-circuited. Because he did that. He fucking did that.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, pure fucking alpha pride flooding his system, primal instincts howling that he’d driven Y/N so far into arousal that his body couldn’t help but respond.

Y/N, half-dazed, still gasping, followed Jason’s heated gaze, blinking in confusion before—

His face went red.

“Oh my god—”

Jason grinned, slow and predatory, fingers sliding over Y/N’s nipple, smearing the warm fluid with his thumb, rolling it between his fingers.

“Would you look at that?” His voice was mocking, taunting, dripping with satisfaction. “And here I thought you weren’t desperate enough to soak the sheets for me, but now you’re fuckin’ leaking too?”

Y/N let out the most pitiful noise Jason had ever heard, body tensing, thighs clenching around his waist.

Jason groaned, his cock throbbing painfully, because fuck, this was it. This was the second highest form of omega submission, second only to being knotted.

This was his. His omega. His body, responding to him and only him.

Jason didn’t even realize he’d moved until his lips were wrapped around Y/N’s nipple, tongue flicking slow and teasing, collecting every drop.

The second it hit his tongue—

Jason fucking groaned.

Because holy shit.

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

It was warm and rich, like the deepest honey, but better, smoother, more intoxicating, rolling over Jason’s tongue like fucking liquid gold. Jason sucked harder, letting more of it coat his tongue, letting the taste sink into his bloodstream, burning him up from the inside out.

Y/N let out a wrecked, broken sob, body shuddering, back arching up into Jason’s mouth.

Jason growled against his chest, his free hand sliding down, gripping Y/N’s hip, locking him in place.

Mine.

His instincts screamed it, his body demanded it, and for one wild, dangerous second—

Jason nearly fucking snapped. Because he needed more.

He needed to bury himself deep, make Y/N take it, knot him right here, fuck him until his body couldn’t do anything but take Jason’s seed—

Jason ripped himself away, panting hard, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Fuck.

"You’re lucky I’m not fucking you full right now. You’d be a fucking mess by morning."

Y/N whimpered, squirming, but Jason held him still, keeping his body pinned and pliant.

"Bet you’d like that, huh?" Jason murmured, dragging his tongue over the other nipple, groaning low at the taste. "Bet you’d love for me to fill you up, knot you right here, make you fucking take it."

Y/N shuddered, another helpless whine escaping, his body flushed all over.

Jason just grinned against his chest, loving how wrecked Y/N looked. His beautiful, leaking, slick-dripping omega.

“Gotta say, sweetheart,” Jason murmured, voice thick with amusement, dangerous in its slowness, “this is only fair.”

Y/N, half-gone, dazed and twitching, barely managed a breathy, “What—?”

Jason chuckled, dragging his fingertips through the thin, pearly streaks of fluid still trickling from Y/N’s nipples, spreading it, letting Y/N feel how messy he was, how exposed.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” Jason taunted, his grip tightening around Y/N’s thigh, pulling it higher around his waist. “Let me remind you, baby. You remember all those nights I slept in your bed? How you’d roll over and press that hot, needy mess against me?”

Y/N whimpered, cheeks burning, body tensing beneath him. The Alpha’s smirk widened.

“Yeah. Now you remember.”

His fingers dipped lower, sliding just close enough to tease, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

“You don’t know how many nights I woke up hard as a fucking rock because you couldn’t keep still,” Jason muttered, grinding his hips just enough to make Y/N feel exactly what that frustration built up to. “You’d rub all over me, make those little noises in your sleep, and I had to fucking sit there, suffering, pretending like I wasn’t about two seconds from flipping you onto your back and making you take it.”

Y/N let out the softest, most pitiful sound, thighs clenching, hips twitching involuntarily.

Jason groaned, pressing a teasing kiss to Y/N’s jaw, smug as hell. “And now look at you,” he crooned, mocking, mean, eating up every second of Y/N’s helpless little squirms.

“Dripping. Leaking. Practically begging for me.”

Y/N hid his face in Jason’s shoulder, shaking. Jason just chuckled darkly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Jason murmured against his ear, his tone sickly sweet, full of smug satisfaction. “Can’t handle what you started?”

Y/N whined again, thighs clenching around Jason’s waist, slick dripping down between them. Jason felt it. Smelled it.

And fuck, he wanted to ruin him.

To press Y/N down, spread him wide, fuck him so deep he’d still feel it tomorrow. His instincts were screaming at him—breed, claim, mark, take.

It would be so easy. So fucking easy.

But Jason?

Jason was in control. He had to be.

Even as he felt his self-restraint slipping, even as his body was aching to give in, even as his mouth watered at the scent of slick soaking into the mattress—

Jason forced himself to stop.

He ripped his hand away from Y/N’s mouth, dragging his thumb across swollen lips, smirking when Y/N tried to chase it.

“That’s what I thought,” Jason murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

Y/N let out a desperate, broken whimper, thighs still twitching, body still aching for more.

Jason smirked.

"Be patient, sweetheart."

Because when Jason finally knotted him?

Y/N wouldn’t be walking for a week. But, it seemed the omega was willing to try his luck tonight, as Jason felt fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats, just barely brushing him—

Jason growled. A low, guttural warning.

“Stop.”

Jason’s grip tightened. His body locked up, every inch of him wired too tight, too hot, too close to breaking. He exhaled slowly, his breath hot against Y/N’s throat, trying to get himself under control.

“…Behave,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked, pressing a grounding kiss to Y/N’s shoulder.

Y/N barely managed a nod.

“Good boy. Not yet,” Jason exhaled through his nose, gripping Y/N’s chin, forcing his dazed gaze back up to him. His lips curled, but it wasn’t teasing—it was fond. “I want you,” Jason’s voice dropped, rough and thick with heat, his thumb brushing over Y/N’s bottom lip, lingering. “But not yet. Not like this. I’m not gonna—” He swallowed, voice softer now. “I wanna do this right. You deserve that.”

Y/N’s fingers curled into his shoulders, pulling him closer, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. Soft at first. Then hotter, needier, tongue flicking against his pulse point just to hear Jason’s breath stutter. And Jason—big, bad Jason Todd—fucking melted. His weight fully pressed down, his grip tightened, and suddenly—Y/N was flipped onto his stomach.

Jason’s breath was hot against his ear, his body grounding and deliberate as his hand slid between Y/N’s thighs, spreading them wider. His fingertips brushed against slick, damp shorts and Jason groaned, half in frustration, half in approval. “Oh fuck, baby. You’re driving me insane.”

Y/N whimpered, hips trembling, thighs slick and shaking, pressing against Jason’s hand like he couldn’t help himself. Jason smirked, voice thick with amusement. “Be patient.” Then, slowly, he sank his teeth into Y/N’s shoulder—hard enough to bruise, but not break skin. Y/N gasped, back arching, thighs clenching around Jason’s wrist.

Jason groaned, satisfied, his free hand sliding up Y/N’s stomach, palm pressed firm against his ribs, holding him in place.

Jason was really trying to behave himself.

Really.

But another look at Y/N—flushed, dazed, lips swollen from his teeth, completely pliant beneath him—and Jason lost his patience.

A low, wrecked growl rumbled in his chest, his body moving before his brain could stop him. His hands shot down, fingers hooking into the waistband of Y/N’s shorts and underwear, yanking them down in one sharp motion.

The next second—his own sweats and boxers were shoved down, his cock finally free, thick and flushed and aching—

And then—

Bare skin. Heat.

The moment Jason slotted their bodies together, the moment he felt the slicked-up warmth of Y/N’s entrance pressing right up against his cock, he nearly fucking lost it. A deep, animalistic groan tore from his throat, his hips rolling forward instinctively, grinding into the wet heat, the tip catching just barely against the soft, sensitive rim.

Y/N gasped, back arching, thighs trembling, and Jason’s restraint shattered. Because fuck, he could feel everything.

Every soft, wet, aching inch of Y/N’s body ready to take him. His cock throbbed painfully, the tip leaking against slicked-up skin, every muscle in his body tight, coiled, on the verge of snapping again.

He could just—

Just a little more—

Just one good push forward—

He could feel every inch of Y/N’s slicked-up entrance, could feel the wet heat pressing right against his cock, the way his body trembled, opened up, begged to be taken. But it wasn’t just that.

It was Y/N’s reaction.

The way he whimpered, the way he squirmed, the way he fought to get Jason inside. Y/N was clinging to him, arms wrapped around Jason’s shoulders, legs locked tight around his waist, hips rolling, grinding up, trying so fucking hard to pull Jason in.

“J-Jason—” his voice cracked, high-pitched, needy, fucking wrecked.

Jason growled, locking Y/N’s hips in place, holding him down, refusing to let him move.

Y/N whined. Loud. Desperate. Pitiful.

His fingers dug into Jason’s biceps, his nails scratching down his back, clinging, yanking, trying to push him deeper. Jason could feel the tremors rolling through him, could hear the whimpering little sobs, the broken, pleading moans, the way his omega was fighting to be claimed.

Jason smirked against his throat, mocking, cruel.

“That bad, sweetheart?”

Y/N nodded frantically, writhing beneath him, hips rolling up again, chasing the friction.

Jason tightened his grip, forcing Y/N down, refusing to let him have what he wanted.

“No—please—” Y/N was barely coherent, panting, gasping, eyes unfocused, lost in the need.

Jason chuckled, voice low, taunting, dripping with amusement.

“You think crying’s gonna change my mind?”

Y/N’s body convulsed and a wrecked sob tore from his throat. And it was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever heard.

So much so that he gave in—for just one second.

His hips rolled forward, letting the tip of his cock slide against Y/N’s entrance, pressing just barely against the slicked-up rim, letting Y/N feel just how fucking close he was to having it.

Y/N let out the most broken, shattered moan Jason had ever heard, full-body trembling, clinging to Jason like he’d die if he pulled away.

Jason groaned, lips pressing against Y/N’s ear, voice thick with restraint, rough with frustration.

“You want my dick that bad, sweetheart? Hm?”

Jason stopped. A sharp, wrecked inhale. A visible shudder. Then Jason’s voice—low, teasing, still full of hunger.

“Too bad.”

Y/N let out a full-body shudder, a sob of frustration, trembling beneath him.

Jason ripped his lower end away, forcing his hips back, shaking, panting, his cock still aching, flushed, dripping against his stomach.

Y/N whimpered at the loss, still shaking, still needy, still desperate. Jason smirked, but it was wrecked, his voice low, teasing, but tinged with frustration.

“You almost got me, sweetheart,” he murmured, grinding one last time before finally pulling away completely.

Y/N whimpered again, a helpless, wrecked sound that nearly undid him. Jason chuckled darkly, pressing his forehead against Y/N’s.

“Tell me who you belong to.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, lips parting, a full-body shiver rolling through him. Jason’s fingers tightened around his jaw, tilting his face up.

“Say it.” Jason’s voice dropped, slow and dangerous, thick with possession.

Y/N swallowed. “…You.”

Jason grinned, sharp and predatory.

“Damn right.”

And then, with a final bite to Y/N’s bottom lip, Jason separated them. He forced himself to breathe, forced himself to pull away, even as his cock throbbed between his legs, demanding to raid the fertile and lush sanctuary between the omega’s assailable thighs.

It really needed to be studied how he could go from damn near feral to soft in the blink of an eye.

One minute, he had Y/N pinned beneath him and then on top of him, breath hot against his skin, whispering filth into his ear—praising, promising, taunting.

The next?

He was cleaning the omega up himself, taking his time, hands slow and careful, his body still wired too fucking tight to even think about calming down. He was wiping him down gently, a warm, damp rag sliding slowly over sweat-slicked skin.

Once satisfied, Jason pulled out a fresh pair of underwear and shorts from the Omega’s drawer for him, turning around to give him privacy while he fixed himself up. His body ached, hard and unsatisfied, his dick pressing painfully against the waistband of his trousers, wanting nothing more than to penetrate, fuck, knot, breed.

He gritted his teeth, willing it away, finally tugging his own sweats back up before climbing into bed. He grabbed Y/N’s wrist and tugged him down. And instead of pulling Y/N against his chest like usual—Jason laid directly on top of him.

Y/N huffed. “Jay—”

Jason just grumbled, burying his face against Y/N’s chest, wrapping his arms around him like a goddamn teddy bear.

“Shut up…this is where I live now,” Jason muttered, voice muffled.

Y/N snorted.

Jason’s weight was solid and warm, his grip strong, but the way he nuzzled into Y/N’s skin was so soft that it was almost unfair. Slowly, Y/N lifted a hand, threading his fingers through Jason’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

Jason groaned in satisfaction, shifting closer, tucking his arms tighter around Y/N’s waist. Y/N smiled sleepily. “…Clingy.”

Jason scoffed, but it wasn’t nearly as gruff as it should’ve been.

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t let go. Not even a little.

If anything? He held tighter.

Because Jason Todd was many things.

A menace. A rebel. A walking disaster.

But when it came to Y/N?

Yeah…he was clingy.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Jason murmured against his skin.

→ This story concludes on AO3: