series masterlist bit of a filler chapter sorryyy swearing yada yada
Being in Crime Alley at 11 PM after finishing up a long, a very long day at work was probably not ideal but you never claimed that you made smart choices.
A black sweatshirt and matching sweatpants and a baseball cap was your idea of ‘stealth mode’ as you carefully stepped into the narrow alleyway in the middle of two buildings. It smelled like piss and old beer along with whatever animal or person had died there.
You didn’t focus too much on that as much as the guy standing in front of you.
He had a buzzcut, a scar along his cheek and was built like a tank.
Your pepper spray seemed a bit redundant now.
“You the one sniffing around?” He muttered, lighting a cigarette.
You scowled and folded your arms over your chest before nodding.
“Penguin’s guy?” You checked and he nodded, taking a drag of his cigarette. “What can you tell me?”
He scoffed and stepped closer, causing you to step back.
“Nothing without some cash sweetheart.”
Despite knowing he wouldn’t speak without getting something in return, you couldn’t help the huff that left your mouth. You pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to him.
“I’m risking my life here. Do you really expect that to be enough?”
“Oh come on,” you rolled your eyes and pulled a fifty out. “I promised you immunity if Penguin goes in.”
He accepted the money and looked at you through thick lashes. “They’ve been shifting some weapon crates in-”
“Really?” A loud voice boomed from above you and the guy quickly tensed.
He took a step back and looked ready to bolt but a figure even bigger than him landed right behind him.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said before grabbing the man’s collar.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you cursed as Red Hood came into view. “How do you people always find me!” You groaned.
He let go of the man and tapped his helmet while the white eyes where his eyes were supposed to be behind his helmet stayed on you, unnerving you down to the bone.
“Wing,” he said in a gravelly tone. “Got someone you’d like to see here in Crime Alley.”
“Are you for fucking real!” You scoffed. “I’m going alright, no need to call your cavalry.”
As you stepped back someone else landed right behind you, way too close that you could feel the heat radiating off his body under the spandex against your cotton sweatshirt.
“Hey,” Nightwing muttered in your ear from behind. “Long time no see.”
You sighed and turned around, looking up into his masked eyes. “I wasn’t doing anything. I was talking to a guy.”
Just as the words left your mouth, Red Hood slammed his fist on the wall which caused the man to let out a shaky breath.
“She paid me for information about the Penguin!” He spilled.
“Seriously?!” You exclaimed, glaring at him.
“Can I leave now? You showed up before I could say anything,” the guy struggled.
You rolled your eyes and turned around to leave again but Nightwing blocked your way.
“Pay the lady back,” Red Hood said to the man in such a menacing tone it chilled you too.
The man pulled the twenty dollar bill out and handed it to you. Asshole.
Red Hood slammed his hand again causing the man to yelp once more.
“Here! Fuck!” He said in a trembling voice and gave you back the fifty dollar bill too. “Can I leave now?”
“Red?” Nightwing said, eyes still on you but his body leaned to the right.
“Got it,” Red Hood replied and within seconds, he was disappearing with the man.
“What’s he going to do with him?” You asked Nightwing who was still looking down at you.
“Don’t worry about it,” he smirked and trailed a gloved finger up your clothed arm. “Let’s get you home,” he smiled and despite the dark ambiance and his face being barely visible, it comforted you in a weird way.
“I can walk home by myself,” you grumbled and pushed past him. “Don’t you have vigilante things to do? Bad guys to take down? Fight Bane or something?”
He was quick to grab your wrist with his gloved hand to pull you back. “Making sure a civilian gets home is also a vigilante thing.”
“O-okay,” you breathed out, almost scared to argue with him again with how easily he was able to push you against the wall the last time. He could probably kill you.
Nightwing didn’t touch you or say anything while you walked next to him with your arms folded over your chest. His presence should have felt heavy like someone was shadowing you but strangely it felt comforting in such a city as Gotham where crime took place in broad daylight. Maybe it wasn’t the wisest idea to be out and about in shady alleys at night but you wouldn’t tell him that.
It wasn’t until you reached the gates of Robinson Park that he finally spoke.
“I wanted to apologise for last time,” he broke the silence.
“Oh you mean when you were demonstrating how easily you could kill me?” You quipped, not even trying to hide it.
“Yeah,” he murmured and scratched the back of his neck.
“Apology not accepted,” you grimaced at him.
“Come on,” he coaxed and stopped walking. “Tell me what I have to do to make you forgive me?”
“Tell me your identity,” you shrugged and he let out a chuckle in response like even he knew it was a long shot.
“Something a little more reasonable.”
You rolled your eyes and began walking again but he pulled you back just like he did mere minutes ago. “Please? Not everyday a vigilante begs for forgiveness.”
“Why do you even care? There’s like a thousand people you see every day. Why do you even remember me?”
“I was told your cat was named after me and after our last meeting you had to change its name-”
“Do you know Dick Grayson? Did he put you up to this?” You narrowed your eyes and jabbed a finger in his chest.
“Who?”
“Nevermind,” you looked away.
“Anyway. It’s important to me that the civilians I’ve sworn to protect not fear me. I don’t want to do anything to make anyone hate me so please, let me apologise.”
“I don’t know,” you sighed and looked around until you saw the little ice cream shop you often stopped at from your way home from work. “Get me ice cream.”
“Huh?” Nightwing echoed.
“Aw is the big bad vigilante scared of buying ice cream in his full costume?” You cooed dramatically.
“Pfft!” He scoffed and made his way to the shop but you caught his wrist.
“How are you going to pay for it?”
“I’m Nightwing.”
“And I’m a journalist that doesn’t mean we can walk into small businesses and get whatever we want, it doesn't matter how it hurts their business. Wow you know you remind me of another pompous egoistical ass I know. Of course he’s also kind of adorable and a little cute and he doesn’t do it on purpose but- Whatever you don’t need to know about him.”
“About who?”
“No one. If you can’t pay, let’s just go.”
“I’ll ask Oracle to make a payment,” he replied.
“Oh because people are always there to help you aren’t they.”
“Jesus,” he muttered before tapping something on his ear. “Robin? Batgirl?” He said into his comms. “Which one of you is closest to Robinson Park?”
“Okay Robin, can you come here? I need to borrow ten dollars,” he muttered in a small voice while you bit your lip to stop yourself from bursting out laughing. “No, if that helped I’d have done it already. Can you come or-”
“Change is on its way,” he said, looking at you.
“Uh huh,” you scrunched your nose mockingly as he eyed you with a sad expression. He honestly looked like a kicked puppy –it was almost enough for you to put him out of his misery. Almost.
He stood there for a while on the sidewalk and stretched his arms over his head, tapped his foot, cracked his knuckles and almost did a headstand.
Nightwing had a problem.
A few minutes later, a small boy maybe barely five feet tall appeared out of nowhere next to you and Nightwing. A black hood was covering his head while a red and green cape was flowing behind him.
“Pathetic,” the boy -Robin you guessed- muttered and handed the cash to Nightwing. “I’ll be expecting it back with interest within three days.”
“Thanks,” Nightwing gritted out and Robin suddenly turned to look at you, eyeing you through his green mask and before you could even say anything, he shook his head and ran off.
“Any flavour preferences?” Nightwing checked.
“Surprise me,” you grinned, watching his pink lips curving upside down.
You walked with him to the shop but didn’t go in. Instead, you stood outside the giant window next to the door and pulled your phone out to record this legendary moment.
The cashier that you were well acquainted with looked up in shock when Nightwing tapped the front desk.
The few people who were sitting in the little shop enjoying ice cream also looked up, their eyes stayed glue on Nightwing while he waited for the owner to get his ice cream ready.
He was hunched over himself, looking at the checkered tiles like he was wishing for them to crack open and swallow him whole but you could tell he was still trying to feign the usual Nightwing confidence and charm with the way his hand was on his hip.
Your phone was still recording his every move from him thanking the cashier and paying her to walking out. It was probably the only excitement you would ever get in your life and you didn’t want to miss the chance.
He saw you recording and gave a little thumbs up like he didn’t even care that you just recorded him getting pink ice cream in full black and blue gear.
“Here you go ma’m,” he dramatically bent down and held the ice cream out in his gloved hand. “Hope you’re happy.”
“Oh delighted!” You grinned and took a bite of your pink and peach swirl ice cream.
You almost moaned at how good it tasted considering it was a flavour you had never tried or even thought of.
“You Nightwing are forgiven!” You smiled and nodded at him.
“I would hope so,” he let out and fell into step next to you.
“Do you want some?” You offered and he gladly obliged, putting his mouth around the little spoon you were holding out. “Rude. Now its ridden with your spit. Maybe I should save it and get it tested for DNA.”
Nightwing in response whipped his head towards you you and if you could see his eyes you would guess they were filled with horror.
“Relax,” you chuckled. “I’m not a psychopath.”
A few small talk moments later, you were standing under your apartment building when Nightwing turned towards you.
“Listen,” he began. “I know I was an asshole last time and all but it really is dangerous and I mean it. You shouldn’t be running around sketchy areas at midnight especially carrying a camera and don’t trust guys like those he’d snitch on you the second someone else paid more.”
You listened to him and looked at his face for a second. The sculpted jaw under his mask, his nose that had a slight bump to it, his hair long enough to curl slightly behind his ears.
Instead of giving him a solid reply –probably your conscience telling you to just shut up if you can’t lie, you nodded your head and turned away from him, quickly running inside your apartment building.
-
Dick was in the lobby of your office building when he saw you. He was leaning against the windows with Jason and Tim on either side of him while Cass and Damian sat on the couch filtering through one of the millions magazines while they all waited for Andy to set up the photo room and call them for the cover shoot.
Tim and Jason were arguing about something as always. Actually, he was invested in whatever argument they had going on too but for the life of him couldn’t remember now.
Instead, he watched you as you laughed at something your coworker said and it made something in his heart sear because he had also made you smile just a couple days ago.
Your glasses slid off your nose a bit and his hands itched to take them off you. But you pushed them up with the hand that was holding your giant binder.
You wore a pink striped shirt today, fitted at the chest as usual and as usual it sent Dick into a spiral. And when he looked down a bit more to your legs that he wanted to worship, he saw your lace tights.
He bit his bottom lip, letting his eyes trail up the lace to those perfect thighs covered beneath a fitted skirt to the little cleavage he could see and ended up at the wayward strands of hair falling on one side of your face.
“Tim shut the fuck up!” Jason said, a bit too loudly which caused you to look at him and Dick.
The smile on your face suddenly vanished when you looked at him. You handed your binder to your coworker and charged towards Dick with flared nostrils and blazing eyes.
He straightened up quickly. Jason let out a low whistle. Tim patted him on the shoulder.
“Good luck,” he said before joining Cass and Damian on the couch.
Your heels were still clicking against the marble floors and just when you were an inch away from Dick, you grabbed his tie that was already too loose and dragged him behind you towards an empty room.
You pushed open the door of someone’s office and slammed it shut behind you, pushing Dick against it.
“I’m guessing you saw the headlines?” He offered in a sheepish tone.
“Yes I saw the headlines Dick, they’re everywhere!” You cried. “This is exactly the thing I was afraid of. This is exactly why I didn’t want to go on a date with you-”
“Wait, this is why you don’t want to go out with me?”
“Richard!” You snapped. “There are photos of us at the park. You were kissing my cheek. They're writing extremely creative articles about why I was wearing your clothes.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighed. “It’s just one of the things that you have to ignore, you can’t do anything about it.”
“Well you can afford to ignore it. I’m new in this city. I’m someone who’s building her career on her own. I don't need people talking about me dating Richard Grayson and using him to get on top. You can do this Dick, maybe your other girls like this attention you bring but I don’t.”
All he did in response was sigh defeatedly and look at you with those big blue eyes like they held the answer to everything.
“This is my career and it’s very important to me,” you repeated in a low voice that suddenly cracked at the end.
“Hey,” he cooed and stepped closer to you. “Hey don’t cry,” he said trying to catch your eyes but you turned your face away so he wouldn’t see you.
“I’m not,” you whispered defiantly and turned away.
He pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to you. “I’m sorry, I’ll handle it.”
“Please.”
He tucked the loose strands coming out of your bun behind your ear and cupped your cheek, wiping the tear falling from your eye with a touch so delicate you almost didn’t feel it.
He pulled away a second later and opened the door just an inch. “Tim!” He called out and seconds later, Tim was joining you two in the room.
“What’s going on?” Tim asked, looking between you and Dick.
“Can you hack into the Gazette’s online website and delete the article they posted yesterday?”
“I mean sure but give me a day.”
“Do it now,” Dick pressed.
Tim went silent for a beat then sighed. “Fine, give me your computer,” he turned towards you.
You murmured a quiet thanks and led Tim and Dick towards your cubicle inside the office.
Tim sat down on your chair while you and Dick stood behind him. It took him all of five minutes to hack into Gotham Gazette, it was really impressive and a little scary. You knew he was like a tech wiz but you did not know he could hack into newspaper companies within a matter of seconds.
“He can do that?” You whispered to Dick.
“You’d be surprised,” Dick chuckled.
You watched him from the corner of your eye and how he was smiling at you. It was enough to fill you with guilt because even though you’d been yelling at him –dragging him around by his tie in front of his family, he had just been kind.
“Sorry about your tie,” you said instead and turned towards him to fix his tie.
Dick didn’t say anything in response. Not that he could, his mind was focused on your delicate fingers brushing his neck as you fixed and unwrinkled his tie as best as you could.
“Didn’t know it was bring your partner to work day today,” your coworker mused from his cubicle behind you.
You clenched your teeth and turned back around to glare at him.
“Like it would have made a difference for you,” you quipped.
Dick started laughing but when you gave him a glare, he looked down at the floor –still laughing.
“Okay,” Tim said. “Done.”
“Oh my god,” You sighed in relief. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” Tim smiled and got out of your chair.
“Let me get you lunch,” you offered.
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied with a shake of his head.
“No, I don't like owing anything to anyone. So my treat!”
“Take him,” he said and pointed towards Dick before tunning off.
“Tim wai-” You began but he was already off to the room Andy was doing the family photoshoot in.
“How about my treat?” Dick wiggled his eyebrows.
“I’m never going to be seen with you in public ever again,” you glared at him. “Now come before Andy starts getting murderous.”
You entered the photo room with Dick behind you and almost got blinded by the ambiance since you had never been here before. Maybe once when Andy wanted you to fetch something but it had just looked like a random room then not a full blown studio.
Bruce was now sitting on a leather couch against the white backdrop, looking even more pristine –if that was possible. He had his usual brooding expression on his face and you weren’t surprised.
Andy was giving him instructions when Sofia –the intern who usually worked under Andy came to you. She pulled Damian and Cass from the group first for some make up so it would look natural against the harsh lighting.
Damian almost started thrashing and screaming as if she were injecting him with poison and not just putting loose powder on his forehead.
“Can you help? We’re already running a bit late and Linda is supposed to be here in about ten minutes,” Sofia looked at you with pleading eyes and handed you a palette.
You nodded and walked over to where Tim was sitting but as soon as he saw you approaching, he got up and walked over to where Dick was, leaving you alone with Jason who was giving you a look that said he would probably kill you if you came close to him with loose powder in your hands.
“Dick can I talk to you for a second?” Tim suddenly appeared and gestured for Dick to follow him.
“Can it wait?” Dick asked, eyeing you talking to Jason.
“No not really,” Tim shifted uncomfortably on his feet which was enough of an indication that something was up.
“Okay,” Dick frowned before following Tim outside the room in the hallway. “What’s going on?”
“You know when I was hacking into the Gazette?” Tim began and Dick nodded. “I think she’s writing an article exposing the vigilantes of Gotham. I saw the headline in one of the tabs.”
“What?” Dick asked, surprised. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yeah I’m pretty sure. The headline said “Who is Batman,” Tim explained. “I wanted to let you know before I said anything to Bruce in case he miraculously got her a job back in Metropolis."
“No yeah thanks,” Dick replied but his mind was already running in fifty different directions. “Don’t mention anything to Bruce just yet. I’ll take care of it.”
“Take care of what?” Bruce said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere like the fucking Batman.
Dick let out a little sigh before gesturing for Tim to explain everything.
“That cannot happen,” Bruce declared.
“Yeah I know,” Dick sighed again, voice beginning to sound irritated. “She posted an article a couple days ago about the vigilante and cop situation in Gotham. I didn’t think it was anything to worry about.”
“I’m assuming you don’t want me to find her a job in another state?” Bruce asked and turned towards Dick who was giving him a look. “Well I hope you keep an eye on her then.”
“Yeah I’ll take care of it,” Dick repeated.
“You better. She’s smart,” Bruce said again and Dick could tell he was genuinely seeing you as a threat which would make him laugh if the circumstances were different. Right now it only made bile rise in his throat.
“Guys we’re ready for you,” Andy called out, poking his head out the door.
The three of them headed back inside and took their respective seats. Dick’s was of course wherever you were.
“I’m back,” you heard Dick say from behind you.
“Of course,” you sighed and turned around.
“Not that I really need makeup you know,” he mused and sat one on one of the chairs next to you. “I’ve been told I have flawless skin.”
“You’ve been lied to,” you replied and got up from your seat to do his makeup.
“Come closer and take a look,” he challenged.
“All I see is dry skin,” you clicked your tongue and pinched his cheek.
“Okay round up!” Andy clapped, gathering everyone’s attention.
All the Waynes soon gathered in the middle of the room in front of the backdrop. Bruce sat on a chair in the middle with Cass and Tim on either side of him. Damian on the front since he was one foot tall and Dick and Jason behind him.
It looked like a portrait straight out of Succession and you almost laughed if it wasn’t for Dick looking absolutely scrumptious in that suit of his.
“Jason, can you give me a smile?” Andy asked.
“No,” Jason replied curtly and received a slap to the back of his head from Dick.
Andy soon got busy taking photos while you went back to your little cubicle to make a blog since you had already began with the articles, the only thing left to do was make a space for it online.
Maybe your first article will be about Nightwing buying ice cream.
again… gave up at the end but i just wanted to get it over with since its beeen so long since an update plsss dont hate me xx
likes comments and reblogs appreciated, hope you enjoy <3
Summary: you come home, very drunk, and see a very hot guy sitting on your couch… so naturally you ask him out!
It starts with a simple, high-pitched gasp in the middle of your living room.
Jason is sitting on the couch in a gray t-shirt and sweatpants, laptop on his knees, mid-snack, when you stumble through the front door. You’re wearing one of his oversized jacket slung over your shoulders, your cheeks flushed red from two too many margaritas with your friends, and your hair a complete, chaotic masterpiece.
He sets his laptop aside immediately, a half-amused, half-concerned smirk already forming on his lips. "Hey, sweetheart. How was girls' night—"
He doesn't get to finish. The moment your eyes land on him, your hands fly to your face, covering your red-hot cheeks. You freeze in place, staring at him through your fingers as if you’ve just spotted a celebrity in a coffee shop.
"Oh," you whisper loud enough for the whole apartment complex to hear. "Oh my god."
Jason blinks, pausing. "What?"
You kick off your shoes—completely missing the rack—and take three deliberate, overly cautious, drunk steps toward the couch. Your eyes are wide, glassy, and completely starstruck.
"Who are you?" you ask, leaning over the back of the couch, resting your chin on your folded hands. You beam at him, giggling softly. "Because you are... so pretty. Like so hot. Has anyone ever told you that? You look like a whole movie star."
Jason slowly looks down at his faded t-shirt, then back up at you. A playful glint flickers in his blue eyes as the reality hits him: You have completely forgotten you're already dating him.
"A movie star, huh?" Jason drawls, leaning back against the cushions and crossing his arms over his chest. He bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from bursting out laughing. "Can't say I hear that one often. I'm Jason."
"Jason," you sigh, the name rolling off your tongue like a melody. You sway slightly where you stand, blushing down to your collarbone. "That's a nice name. I'm... well, you know. I'm me."
"Nice to meet you, Me," he says softly, his voice dropping into that smooth, low register he knows makes you melt. "What's a girl like you doing flustered in my living room?"
"I live here! I think?" You look around the apartment, thoroughly confused for a split second, before your focus snaps right back to him like a magnet. You lean in closer, whispering conspiratorially, "Listen... I know this is crazy, but... are you single?"
You pause, then giggle, “wanna know a secret? I actually wanna marry you but I think asking you if you’re single is less advanced.”
Jason bites his lower lip, trying—and failing—to hide a massive grin. "Am I single? Well... that's a tough question."
Your face falls instantly into a dramatic, adorable pout, and you genuinely look devastated. "Oh no. You have a girlfriend?"
"I do," Jason says softly, watching your reaction.
"Is she pretty?" you ask, sniffling just a little bit, clearly heartbroken.
"She's gorgeous," Jason says, his voice softening. He reaches out, grabbing your wrist gently, and pulls you over the back of the couch until you tumble right onto his lap. You gasp, your hands landing flat against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. "She’s got this ridiculously cute laugh, gets super giggly when she drinks, and is currently sitting on my lap looking at me like I hung the moon."
You stare at him, your brain slowly churning through the alcoholic fog.
1... 2... 3 seconds pass.
"Wait," you whisper, your eyes going wide. "I just drank and I am fairly giggly."
"You are."
"And I'm on your lap."
"You are."
"...I'm the pretty girlfriend?!"
Jason couldn't hold it back anymore; he threw his head back and laughed, the deep, rumbling sound vibrating through his chest against your palms. "Yes, dummy. You're the pretty girlfriend. We've been together for over a year."
A look of pure, unadulterated triumph washes over your face. You kick your feet up, burying your burning face right into the crook of his neck, muffled giggles spilling out against his skin. "I scored so hard," you mutter into his collar. "He's huge and he's mine."
"Yeah, yeah, you hit the lottery," Jason chuckled, his broad arms wrapping snugly around your waist, pulling you close so you wouldn't slide off. He kissed the top of your head, resting his chin on your hair. "Come on, baby. Let's get you some water and into bed before you try to ask me out again."
"Wait!" You pop your head back up, cheeks still bright red, poking his chest with a single finger. "So... does this mean you won't go on a date with me?"
Jason shook his head, a soft, fond smile softening his rugged features. "I'll take you on a date every single day of the week, sweetie. Now go to sleep."
summary: when you struck the arrangement with damian wayne to act as your fake boyfriend for a party hosted by your ex and ex-best friend—you thought your choice made perfect sense. choosing damian wayne, the most logical, unattainable person you knew, removes the complication of feelings being involved. till of course, damian stops pretending.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: flufff, damian wayne is a yearner and takes his role of being your pretend boyfriend very seriously.
"You are suggesting I partake in a fake relationship—" Damian Wayne stares down at you, still dressed in his lab coat, with what may be the closest to genuine concern you've ever seen on him, all cramped into the crease of his brows. "To help with your dilemma?"
"Exactly." Your grin is the only positive staple throughout this entire exchange, after your successful cornering of only the most unattainable medical student of Gotham University. "It's like a fancy title for an assignment partner but removing the word 'assignment', right?"
"Assuming that your ambitious plan would even work." Crossing his arms, Damian looks more unimpressed over your carefully planned spreadsheet titled 'Fake-Dating Operation' than the earlier assigned pairings by Dr. Lake. "Do humour me on your astounding confidence that I would even offer my assistance."
"We're already assigned together for the semester." You shrug. "What's one reunion party, and an hour spent pretending you don't hate my guts like you do with everyone else?"
He stares at you for a long beat, before his lips twitch into the smallest smirk. "I appreciate your attempts at lowering my expectations further on how idlers are able to accomplish wasting hours in a day. I expect your section of the report to be done by Sunday."
"Wait!" Your hand reaches out to grab at the ends of his sleeve as he moves past you. "I am an amazing fake partner. I provide free dog walks, cookies, amazing work ethic—it's practically a free service just for a little acting on your part!"
"I appreciate the desperation, and the answer is still a no."
"Wayne!" You call out as his sleeve slips out of your fingers, stopping in your tracks right in front of him—blocking the exit. "Damian, please."
His head tilts to cast you a disapproving expression. "My word of advice, is to gain enough respect for yourself to not be bothered by what others think."
Your lips pull together into a frown, but you refuse to be dissuaded, not when you've already laid all your cards on the table. You didn't expect it to be easy, and you had already prepared yourself for his vicious tongue.
"My self-respect has already been trampled on when they decided to send me the invitation." You state honestly. "It's scheduled for its revival in five weeks, after the party. I'll be a changed person by then, scout's honour."
His brow pulls higher, as if silently questioning if you had even part of the Gotham Scouts, but you're not done.
"But before then, I plan on being the pettiest, deranged person in all of Gotham University." You declare. "And that includes you in my plans, because you, Damian Wayne, are the only person who checks all my requirements of a fake boyfriend."
"I'm honoured." He mocks, gaze flickering past towards the hallway.
"You are Walter's role-model, he would kiss the test tubes you lay your fingers on. Paige has a Pinterest folder labelled with your name, and it has all your news sightings saved by colour coordination."
"Sounds like your issues derive more from the company you keep." He mutters, expression pulled together in disgust.
"Point besides, I want it to be you, Damian Wayne." You confess.
It sounds ridiculous, but this was fully concerning your pride and something you've forgotten in your years of working yourself away for your dreams, which was the taste for controlled chaos. He blinks once, staring at you incredulously as if deciding where to place you in his ranking of newly discovered lunatics.
"You're the only person who will drive them as insane as they've made me." Your voice chokes, filled with determination or buried rage, the difference didn’t seem to matter. "You could walk in there for just an hour to save my life, and I know that you won't have the slightest chance of complicating things, or falling in love with me—and that's what makes this perfect. This may sound crazy to you, but you're the only person that's made sense to me ever since my life was turned upside-down."
Your chest heaves, and your arms are still outstretched to stop him from leaving the lab. You're nothing like this—impulsive, frantic, verging on insanity—but you're also done being complacent. Of letting things go just because it's the right thing to do.
After what feels like eternity, Damian's expression flickers. Implicit and almost undetectable, but his gaze is on you as if he's finally registering your existence and trying to catalogue you into a different box than the one he's placed you in.
"Send the spreadsheet to my email." He answers apprehensively, as if he can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "I will review through the calendar on its... feasibility. Expect a response by eight p.m.."
You let out a held breath, a smile finally breaking through. "Thank you, really—"
"On the condition that I expect you to finish your section by tonight."
Your expression freezes. "Tonight?"
"To prove your desperation's worth considering." He tosses you a mocking smile, all sharp edge and nothing considerable of warmth. "You have ten more hours before my interest wanes."
Your smile weakens, blinking rapidly as you calculate your remaining time to draft something of substance. "Okay, sure— that's not going to be a problem."
It's worth it. Dealing with Damian Wayne is going to be worth it.
I have reviewed through your spreadsheet in detail. Do answer my enquiries on my comments below.
- I believe watching romance comedy as 'theory practice' is highly inefficient and prone to fantastical expectations. Do amend this.
- As for my 'meeting' availabilities, I am free on Thursdays and Fridays at noon to two, on the condition that at least an hour be reserved for actual assignment discussions. You are required to provide evidence of actual progress for the assignment, or this arrangement will be considered void.
- Provide me a list summary on details for answers regarding possible interrogation questions during the party. It will be more efficient as compared to you providing me the details in person.
As for the assignment, your section draft is acceptable, and I expect our lab findings to be updated into your table by the following lab session next week.
Regards,
Damian.
You can barely contain your grin, kicking into the sheets despite the exhaustion that plagues your bones from grueling non-stop over the section and multiple tabs later. He had looked through your multi-coloured spreadsheet calendar, and actually considered it with his own enquiries. Typing out your own response, you give serious thought into his enquiries.
To: [email protected]
Subject: Reply: 'Fake-Dating Operation' Spreadsheet Review
Thank you for your detailed consideration of my spreadsheet. Your efforts are acknowledged and appreciated.
- I believe we are required to watch at least one rom-com that involves fake-dating. Neither of us have had previous experience in this department (unless you'd like to share valuable information), and it will boost our success rate.
- Perfect! I'm available on Fridays, and scout's honour, I promise to have my progress brought for each meeting session.
- As for the list, I will provide you possible answers, but some may require in-person explanations. I'll explain more this Friday!
Can't even express my thanks on how grateful I am, you're the best Wayne in history!
Signing off your name, you close your laptop with the giddiest smile you've had since—at the reminder, your grin falters. Your chest thuds faintly, as if reminding you that the fun you've just experienced can still be dampened by reality. No, you refuse to let it ruin your enjoyment.
This is the most alive you've felt in weeks, and you're going to make the most of it. If your life feels like it's finally picking up through colourful spreadsheet rows and columns, and waiting on an email reply from the most terrifying student in Gotham University—so be it.
Damian slides your extremely lengthy list across the lunch table, and you can barely hide your shock that he actually printed it out—before you catch sight of many red circles marked neatly around your points.
"Your least favourite vigilante is Robin?" He interrogates.
You blink in surprise, not expecting him to start there. "Well, he's not exactly original—I mean, c’mon, they’re multiple versions of him."
His lips part, aghast in a half-caught scoff. "He's one of the most prominent vigilante figures in Gotham."
You shrug. "Spoiler's cooler."
He clicks at his tongue. "You have horrible taste."
"You are not telling me that you, Damian Wayne, have a favourite and that is Robin?"
He doesn't blink. "There are several other questionable details in your list."
"Yes, I can see that." Peering back at your list, your brows furrow. "What's wrong with liking Gotham's Pizza?"
"Only that you're clearly fond of days-old grease and artificial cheese."
"Hey, that's where it gets its flavour."
He shakes his head, disgusted. "I refuse to be associated with someone who has non-functioning taste buds."
"Fine—we'll say we often have dates at Romeo's instead." You shrug. "Not like I'll be caught there after our agreement's expired."
He raises a brow. "Expired?"
Pointing at your open tab, you reference a newly added row. "Our break-up, scheduled for Monday after the party."
He stares at the date, before his gaze roams over you with a questioning look. "Despite my lack of experience, should you not consider the likely suspicions if you were to end a relationship three days after the party?"
Your lips part into an 'oh'. "I thought you would want to get it over and done with as quickly as possible."
His expression closes in, gaze narrowing. "I will not put my reputation at stake by agreeing to this facade, if it means having our efforts go down the drain because of an obvious flaw.”
Your grin slips out uncontrollably. “You just said ‘our’ efforts. Look at us, the perfect team.”
His expression remains impassive, before he raises a slow brow. “Switch to the assignment tab.”
“Yes, sir.”
Resting below a willow tree, your third Friday with Damian is spent resting below the shade on your picnic cloth—one you used to share with Paige. The sight of its red plaid, stuffed behind your piles of clothes in your wardrobe, was getting sad—even for you.
Damian’s back is resting against the tree bark, shoulders nearly taking up the width—brows impossibly furrowed as his gaze narrows on your laptop displaying ‘To All The Boys I Loved Before’.”
“This movie is non-sensical.”
“I think it’s romantic.” You shrug.
He tosses you a judgmental glance. “Having your own blood betray you by revealing your own personal letters, is your idea of romance?”
“I mean Lara Jean and Peter, Damian.” You snort. “That’s our main source of inspiration.”
“He’s hardly appealing.” He scoffs, arms crossing over the other. “Is this the standards you expect from our arrangement?”
“If this is mediocre—” You respond, aghast. “You have no idea how dire love can be nowadays.”
His frown deepens. “You are not expecting me to perform in this manner?”
“What—falling in love with me?” You grin. “No, I do not expect you to be Peter Lavinsky.”
He stares at you with barely concealed frustration. Before you can tease him further, something purple is tossed into your face.
A yelp escapes your mouth, the light weight of an object falling into your lap.
“That’s—the discontinued, limited edition Spoiler cap!” You gasp, eyes widening in realisation. “How did you get this?”
He shrugs begrudgingly. “My sister used to be a collector. She doesn’t mind giving it away.”
“Giving it away?” You mutter incredulously. “This is actual gold. Your sister is my favourite person on Earth.”
His brow twitches. “I bargained for that cap.”
You snort. “What did you exchange it for, your dignity?”
“You have no clue on my sacrifice." He grimaces.
“Your sacrifice is acknowledged." You tease, before letting out another huff of amazement. “This is the best day of my life.”
When your gaze falls back to the cap, tracing your fingers over the logo—you miss the twitch of his lips into a semblance of a smile.
You missed today’s meeting without prior notice. Not that your absence has affected my ability to resume our assignment, but after your frequent reminders to not miss on our mandatory meetings—it leaves me with doubt that you intentionally missed our sessions on your end. Do update me as soon as possible on your status.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent yesterday, 1.20 p.m.)
Subject: Reply: Reminder on Friday Meetings
I feel I must reinstate that my previous email regarding your absence, as well as this reply, should not be twisted in its meaning as more than a mere enquiry. Given previous evidence of the average speed of your responses, a full 24 hours with a lack of response prompts me to send another email. Do respond when you are able.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent today, 1.32 p.m.)
Three respectable knocks resound against your dormitory’s door. A groan escapes your lips, your head pounding from the cold you’ve caught from a late night running through pouring rain. You had missed the bus and had to make it back before curfew, and now your body is reminding you of its frail mortality, chills shaking throughout your limbs and rendering you heavily immobile.
The knocks echo again when you shift your head deeper into the pillows. You muffle curses into the cotton, gripping at your sheets to steady yourself as you force your body upright. The world sways on its axis as you make your way—shifting pathetically with every step, towards the door.
Missing your lock a few times, you finally grab a hold of the chain and slide it off, clicking the door open. You’re immediately faced with a broad chest, donning a familiar black sweater. Shifting your gaze up, you’re met with Damian Wayne’s narrowed gaze, sweat trailing down his temple.
“Damian?” Your voice croaks, and even the attempt of speaking hurts. “What are you doing here?”
He takes one glance, and immediately, his expression contorts in… concern? You barely have time to explain about the cold, or an apology for missing the meeting, when you feel the warmth of his palm press against your forehead.
You blink, stunned as he measures your temperature. He shakes his head slightly in a disapproving manner. “Your temperature is too high.” His tongue clicks with his observation.
You suppose he was right. You did feel one wrong step from keening over and lying on your welcome mat.
“I got caught in the rain.” You explain, trying your best to pull together a more reassuring expression, one less filled with nausea-induced tension. “I’ll be fine—just need rest.”
His frown creases deeper. “Have you taken medicine?”
You try shaking your head, but that loses whatever balance you had left. The world actually tilts, or maybe you are the one who's obeying gravity—but strong arms catch you before you collapse.
“Look at your state.” Damian grits, pulling you back upright but closer. There's barely any space left between the two of you. “This fever, has it worsened considerably?”
“Yeah—but I didn’t have anyone to call.” You mutter in truth, cheek still smushed against his chest as support. “I ran out of medicine a while ago, and by the time I woke up—I couldn’t get out of bed.”
You feel his arms tense around you. Above the crown of your head, you feel a soft sigh. “You have me.” He mutters, almost reprimanding.
Your brows furrow in confusion. “You would get me medicine?”
“That would be a start.” He states, his grip shifting with his words.
The world shifts again when his hands wrap around the under of your thighs, lifting you into his arms gently to not worsen your state. If your mind wasn’t completely swarmed by the symptoms of your cold, you’d stop to think of how strangely sweet it was that Damian had come all the way to your dormitory, and that he was carrying you bridal-style towards your bed.
”It’s not usually this messy.” You feel the need to point out, words muffled against his sweater. “You just have impeccable timing.”
His lip twitches involuntarily as he sets you down against the thrashed sheets. “Organised according to your system?”
You smile weakly at the thought of your colour-coded spreadsheet. “Exactly.”
He places his palm against your forehead again, and you subconsciously find yourself leaning into his touch. “You’re like—really warm.” You murmur. “Do you always run hot?”
He swallows, touch lingering on your skin. “Your temperature is dysregulated. I’ll return soon with medicine. Rest. I won’t be gone long.”
“Okay.” Your lids fall shut, the pounding lessening with your head burrowed into the pillows, and his touch a gentle anchor. “You know—you’d be a great boyfriend for someone one day.”
You don’t hear a response, and your honest thoughts continue to tumble out from your skull like a cracked jar. “You’re really nice, Dami.” The shortening of his name feels like cotton candy stuffed in your mouth, and you barely register the stiffening of his fingers. “Fierce, but I like that about you. I like you a lot, actually. Not in a swooning way, but in a—I’m really glad I met you kind of way.”
He doesn’t pull away when your lips finally clamp shut, but the silence is almost deafening. You peek open with one eye, catching his expression. He’s staring at you… as if no one’s ever said that to his face—ever.
“Don’t make it weird.” You tease softly, voice tethered with exhaustion. “I’m just giving you your deserved five stars.”
You hear the soft echo of his scoff, withheld from its usual bite, but you don’t hear much else after. Only that the lingering touch of his fingers over your skin stays put till sleep catches up on you, and the world falls silent under the weight of Damian’s gaze. Okay, maybe you were lying a little about the swooning.
Fevers fade, but the warmth that lingers seems to seep past the well-defined borders of a spreadsheet, or the predictable order of a list—like the one currently in your hand.
"Favourite vigilante?" You quiz, red pen bitten between your lips as you laid stretched on the wooden bench.
"Spoiler." He answers, tossing you an expression as if to convey that he couldn't believe you even bothered with such a question.
"Good job." You tease, fiddling with the cap of your pen, attached at the end. "Favourite date spot?"
"Gotham's Pizza." He huffs.
You blink. "Hey, it's supposed to be Romeo's."
"You prefer Gotham's." He mutters.
"But you don't." You remind him.
Averting his gaze to your lips, his fingers loop around the red pen, dragging it gently out from your teeth's grip, and adjusting the answer with a cross. "That's irrelevant. I'm merely pointing out an inconsistency."
Your lips quirk up into a smile. "You don't even need this list anymore. Why bother keeping it?"
Tension pulls briefly at his jaw, but it relaxes before you can trace it to an emotion. "You haven't tested me on all the questions."
You lean in, the crinkled paper resting below your fingers as you gaze into his eyes. "Alright? Something off the books." You hum. "What do I think of Damian Wayne?"
He blinks, surprised. You wait patiently, the warmth of summer carrying the scent of grass blades past the picnic table, the world narrowing into the space between the two of you.
His lips part after a moment. "Fierce." He answers. "Though you're one of the few who doesn't run from it."
"What's there to run from?" You hum. "I think he's nice, you should give him some credit for that."
His brow raises, amusement flickering in his gaze. "That's not a common perception."
"Yeah, but no one else gets to experience him being their partner." You tease. "He even offers to rearrange your dormitory to a better system if you're lucky."
He scoffs lightly. "That's only considering if the existing system barely works."
"Just say you hate colour-coding, Dami." You snort. "I know you're itching to fix our spreadsheet."
His expression flickers for a moment. "Not exactly."
You tilt your head, questioning. His gaze averts to the open spreadsheet, something familiar after the weeks spent together. "It's grown on me."
Grown on him—despite it being everything he initially found horrendous, from the many details pasted in long paragraphs into the comments, and the bright colours for the special shared Fridays between you two. Something warm pools in your chest, and you find your gaze trailing to the red pen held between his fingers instead.
"You're more prepared for this party than I am." You admit softly.
You feel his attention switch onto you, trained on the nervous tick you have where you hyper-focus on something brightly coloured. He twirls the pen once, considering.
"You don't have to go through with this." He says. "Just say the word. I'll honour whatever decision you make."
His reassurance makes you consider it, you really do. With the dreaded anticipation finally reaching its peak, with the party being tonight—you have stopped to think if it was worth it. To show up in a room where the story's long gone sour, and your presence is more likely to be a blight than a welcomed gift.
Then again, you hadn't prepared this all for nothing. You hadn't gotten to know Damian—for nothing.
"No, it'll be fun." You smile, meeting his gaze. "We'll be just like Lara Jean and Peter, but with better standards."
Damian's mouth twitches, almost imperceptible. "Agreed."
Your fingers catch onto the silk-like fabric of your dress. Once bought as a birthday present, you never had the chance to wear something like this. Walter had called it overkill, and you convinced yourself that you’d eventually find a day to wear the gorgeous shade without feeling inadequate for it. Nothing required overkill more than tonight.
Damian's promised to pick you up, even when you had reassured him that meeting at the venue was fine. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and something quivers in your gut.
You don't feel as brave as you'd like, not even in your favourite dress. The thought of the two people you once trusted most being together, exchanging normal niceties with you as if nothing had ever happened—you're seriously beginning to overthink just how horribly awkward this situation was going to be.
What if it wasn't like the movies? What if Damian saw too—just how horribly small you felt—and decided you weren't worth the spreadsheets and lists and medicine kit he over-splurged on when you caught that cold?
The party was going to be over in an hour, you had promised Damian the both of you would be present for no more than that duration—and now, you feel ridiculous in your own skin. You're tempted to text him if he wanted to ditch and just head to Romeo's instead—when you hear the signature three knocks of his against your door.
You swallow your fear-induced nausea back into your gut, and force yourself to open the door with something akin to a smile. Your expression freezes in place at the sight... of Damian tidied up.
You knew he was handsome, you obviously had eyes, but to see him in that white collared shirt that made his green eyes pop, loosened at the buttons, with his hair pulled back and just—wow. Damian Wayne, you were seriously going to the party with this guy? As your fake boyfriend?
You don't notice the way his own expression completely falters at the sight of you. Nor the way his fingers tightened into a fist, digging into his palms.
You only notice how the silence stretched out between the two of you lingers long enough to matter.
"Hey, handsome." You start, trying to regain your composure. "You cleaned up nice."
He blinks, as if stunned. His response comes out delayed, brows pinching together into something honest. "You are beautiful."
Not you look—as if he's only noticed. No, he emphasised the 'are', as if he's always seen it. Your heart doesn't quite know what to do with that information, or how to catalogue the way he's looking at you as if he's—not pretending.
"Thank you." Your voice comes out weaker than you intended, because for all his intensity, Damian being soft is what renders you stunned. "I still don't know if I should do this."
His gaze clears, something steady offered to you when you return it. "You don't need to be sure." He answers, offering his hand. "That's what I'm here for—so you will not be alone."
He's right. Despite your doubts, seeing him in front of you reminds you of the steady presence he's offered from the very beginning. Through your nonsensical email threads, the Friday lunches, the rom-com binging, rushing to the store to buy you cold medicine—your fears always quieted when Damian was near. Your smile brightens, taking his hand in yours. "Let's get this operation over with."
Walter catches sight of you first. His vision is perfectly facing the entrance, your ex's gaze meeting yours as soon as you step through the doorway—and he immediately taps on Paige’s shoulder. An insincere smile arrives on his expression, but it freezes in place the moment Damian enters with you.
He isn't the only one to notice. You knew the effect Damian had on others, standing out without even meaning to, much less in an environment like this. Damian doesn't seem bothered at all, because you feel his attention acutely trained on you instead. His hand rubs a soothing notion over your lower back, as if you're the only person he's aware that exists in the room.
Walter's gaze drifts, from the dress he hated to Damian’s hand wrapping around your waist. He puts the facts together, faster than you had when he and Paige had approached you with the news. The warmth leaves his welcoming expression, and he whispers something into Paige's ear.
Damian registers this entire exchange in under a second, and his hand tightens briefly on your waist, as if reassuring you that he was right beside you.
The distance closes in between you and the two people your life once revolved around, and you train your gaze on Walter, because you can tell immediately that Paige is struck by Damian's appearance, more so by his hand on your waist.
"It's been a while." Walter starts off, though his gaze barely lingers on you before switching to Damian. "Wayne, I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"There hasn't been a need." Damian shuts him down.
The atmosphere turns icy the moment Walter registers the tone of Damian's voice. He laughs, astonished—and embarrassed. Paige finally recovers in an attempt to salvage the situation, pulling together her best smile.
"Well, it's lovely to have you both here." Paige starts, and her voice is distant—nothing like the girl you used to know, hidden under the blankets of your beaten IKEA sofa when watching Scream for the tenth time. "You look amazing, and—sorry, I'm just curious on how the two of you know each other?"
Her question is directed towards you, but Damian takes the lead. "She's my partner."
"Partner?" Walter chokes on his breath. "As in—"
You finally find your voice to speak. "We are seeing each other." It comes out levelled, matching Damian's.
Their shock registers in different levels. Walter's nears disbelief, while Paige—looks at you, betrayed.
"I didn't know about this." Paige stammers.
"Yes, you didn't." You answer shortly.
She stares at you as if she's seeing a stranger. "Right. I guess it's been a long time since we've caught up."
You're tempted to laugh. A long time is an understatement. You can feel Damian's low scoff against your shoulder, and the absurdity of the situation feels less gut-wrenching with him by your side.
"You know she's a real mess." Walter speaks involuntarily. "Like her apartment's an actual hazard. Isn't that right, Paige?"
Paige freezes, lips parting into a gap, but Damian's faster.
"I am aware—that she has her own unique system." Damian states, gaze narrowing in discontent. "It didn't take long for me to understand it, or to appreciate it."
"Appreciate it?" Walter sneers. "Are you sure you're talking about the right person?"
"Yes." Damian doesn't hesitate, eyes steady, fixing yours. As if he was conveying it you instead of the audience, he answers. "I'm sure."
You swallow dryly, unable to hide the softened smile you usually reserved for him only when it was the two of you. Both of them catch sight of it, and you can sense the question becoming less of whether it was real, and more of the how.
It's easy to act in love when Damian's this close, muttering words like that, with his familiar warmth grounding you through the stagnant conversation. So instinctive, that you think it's easier than breathing.
You sense Paige shifting closer and you force yourself to focus, and casting her another glance, only to finally catch a glimpse of the girl who used to be your closest person.
“Hey, can we talk?” Her expression is vulnerable, tentative in her offer. "Y'know, catch up in private."
Damian immediately shifts you back slightly with his weight, but you place a hand tentatively on his arm. His gaze locks onto you, reading into your expression. His brow raises as if to ask, 'You're sure?'. You give him a nod.
"Fine by me." You murmur, because despite everything—maybe a part of you still wanted to hear the honest truth. For her decision, for when she decided that you should be cut out of the picture then forcefully glued back into what they envisioned to be the perfect way to continue their lives. Maybe you just wanted to see if the Paige you knew still existed.
The moment you enter an unoccupied bathroom, Paige presses the door shut and immediately turns to you. "You have to spill."
Your brows furrow. "On?"
"Damian Wayne." She points out as if it's obvious. "You don't even know him."
You blink once then twice, and something colder settles in the cavity of your chest. "Things change, Paige."
“I’m just worried. It's all just so sudden.” Her hand reaches out to grasp yours, and you resist the instinctive flinch. “You’ve always been sensitive, and a guy like him is just bad news. I mean—Damian Wayne? I get that it feels exciting, but he barely knew of your existence before and now, he's suddenly dating you? I just want us to be on the same page here, that it doesn't really make sense."
A scoff rises up your throat, barely constrained as she continues on, her softened voice a perfect replica of how she had been when you first made your decision to break up with Walter.
“You know I’ll always support you if you need me.” She reassures. “You can tell me anything.”
The anger bubbles so violently, and it hits you. That despite everything, you had came into this party hoping that maybe a fraction of the girl you knew—who cried with you on bathroom floors when you experienced homesickness, who celebrated when you managed to pass your first year of medical school, who was there for your entire life in Gotham—would still exist. That something would give way, and her leaving would make sense, to have a reason. You realise now, that you've only been giving her excuses on the basis of what she used to mean to you.
Your wrath gives way to something cold, absent of grief—only the need to rip your hand out of hers. You do just that, and her shock barely registers before you open your mouth. “No.” Your voice carries a finality, strength you’ve been trying to garner since the day you lost her. “You don’t get to define my relationship with Damian, when you never addressed ours.”
She blinks, affronted. “Is this about Walter? We've already explained—we only felt what we did after the two of you broke up—”
“No, this isn’t about Walter. This is about us.” The coldness in your tone finally strikes something honest in her expression. “You broke my trust, Paige, and then you invite me to this party cause you thought it would help make amends? I thought you brought me in here, to at least explain to me on what happened to us."
"You should've told me." She says, a frown stretched at her lips. "If you weren't comfortable being around me and Walter, we wouldn't have forced you to come."
We—the word runs through your mind like a tire screech.
“Yes, I wasn't comfortable—I nearly died inside when it happened." You raise your head. "I lost my best friend, who drove me to karaoke night whenever I needed to forget about home. I lost the girl who swore to re-watch all rom-coms that ever existed in the 90s before we both turned fifty. I lost the only person I trusted since I moved into this city, over what—a man? Was it worth it, was our friendship worth it?”
She swallows thickly, and you see a fracture of the girl you recognise under the glitter, and the tears collecting at her lower lashes. “I thought you understood—that I love him differently than you did.”
Your gaze doesn’t flinch at the admission. “You were by my side when he broke up with me, when I told you that he called my dresses ugly, when he said my attitude was too much, when he made me smaller because it was more convenient for him when I was quieter, and you still got together with him. Maybe I thought you loved me enough too, to understand why I wasn't comfortable with it.”
Her expression shatters, and tears drip down her cheeks before she harshly wipes at them, smearing her eyeshadow. “You don’t get to say that.” She spits out. “Making it seem like I chose Walter over you, when you brought in Damian Wayne.”
Your brows contort. “What are you talking about?”
“You decided to come to the party to—prove you suddenly became better than us just by being with a Wayne?” She snaps. “You're acting like this because you think he's going to stay—but you don’t seriously believe it’ll actually last when Walter could barely stand you?”
That anger, buried deep, comes alive with a roar. You take a step forward, causing her to inch backward as you close in. “That's all your taking from this?" Your scoff resounds coldly. "Damian was the one who was there for me when you left—so yeah, I have more trust in him to treat me like an actual person."
She flinches, her lips parting in the same way she had done earlier when Walter tried to make you small. Silent, and unable to do anything but lay there in her guilt of absorbing an idea of who you are in Walter's head, and erasing what made you human in her eyes.
"Rest assured. You will never gain my trust again to even know what’s going on in my life and the people in it, and you never will.”
Taking a step back, you look at her one last time. Of the mess of her makeup, the same puffy eyes whenever she cries that you used to immediately follow up with the instinct to comfort her. You feel none of that now. “Goodbye, Paige.”
She doesn’t call out your name when you turn your back on her, and she doesn’t come after you. You needed that, more than you needed her to be the person you thought she was. To be blunt, and truthful to yourself—even if no one but you believed in it.
The euphoric lightness of your body from finally severing the bond doesn’t last long, when a rough hand grabs at your wrist. Being twisted around, you’re faced with Walter’s accusing expression.
“What did you say to her?”
“What I discussed with Paige stays between us.” You answer coldly, tugging at your wrist.
His hand tightens more, almost bruising. “You’re bringing in that attitude of yours, when we were kind enough to think of you? To let you stick around our lives?"
You’re sick of this narrative, of acting like you should’ve been grateful they thought to include you into this sick little group from your past life as if they hadn’t completely burnt it into flames.
“Walter, get your hands off before I shove—“
A fist slams into the side of Walter’s face before you even have a chance to finish your sentence. Screams erupt from the crowd, or cheers—you can barely tell because your eyes are locked onto Damian, who’s grabbing Walter by the collar with chafed knuckles.
Multiple eyes are on them, but your own gaze is fixed on Damian’s expression, who has gone completely cold. Nearly murderous, and filled with uncontained wrath. His glare, almost deadly, is trained on his target in a way you’ve never seen him before. The composed, distant Damian—is nowhere to be found.
"You stay away from her." Damian growls.
"What the hell, man!" Walter spits, blood sprayed over his nose. "Do you seriously think she's worth—"
Damian drags him closer by the collar, and something inhuman flashes past his concentrated gaze. "She's worth more than you ever will dream of trying to be. You are nothing, and even daring to lay a hand on her is something you will pay for."
“Damian!” You shout.
That finally reaches him, past the simultaneous gawking and murmurs. It’s as if he’s reentered his own body, and Damian immediately drops Walter to the ground with a loud thud. Walter lands embarrassingly on his bottom, and his entire face has gone red with shame.
His gaze switches to you, and his wrath fades immediately into concern. His eyes fall onto your bruising skin, and his emotions fall apart into something colder. You have a feeling if you don’t get him out of this room, this fight may escalate into something much worse.
Pushing through the forming crowd, you reach out. “Let’s get out of here.” You plead, holding out your hand.
His gaze drops to your fingers, then back to the forming outline of a hand gripped around your wrist, and you see his calculating assessment. Damian leans lower, muttering something low into Walter’s ear. It is quick, but you see the way Walter completely freezes in place—his struggle evading from his body like a statue. When Damian’s eyes meet your frightened ones once more, he doesn’t hesitate a second longer before grabbing your hand.
Damian doesn't waste time in leading you through the crowd, towards the exit and away from the escalating noise—and into the night breeze. When the cold wind finally hits your skin, his hand remains firmly intertwined with yours as he guides you somewhere far away—the fact still lingers that Damian, perfect track record and Wayne prodigy, just punched someone for you.
“You punched him.” You mutter faintly, seated at a bench you’ve both found, crisp leaves surrounding you with the faint singing of crickets.
“He was hurting you.”
“Damian, the whole school’s going to talk about this.” You stress. “You’re going to get in trouble, possibly a suspension.”
His jaw clenches. “I am your partner.”
Damian’s agitated. Over the situation, despite there no longer being any witnesses to his supposed protection. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched and his gaze—you recall how he had looked at Walter when he landed that first hit, the pure anger that seized him.
“Not a real one.”
He flinches, as if struck, and you knew immediately that your words landed wrongly. His emotions topple over the other, and you’re unable to name any that arises before it all falls apart like his body’s regained consciousness. Concealed, and distant.
“My mistake.” He mutters. “I’ve forgotten my standing.”
“Damian—”
“I do not wish to inconvenience you.” He states, words leaving in a bitter rush. “I have overstepped, I realise that.”
“Damian.” You call out for the second time, fingers reaching for his—and he finally breathes when your warmth seeps through his skin. You’re relieved he doesn’t pull away. “That came out wrong. I’m not mad you punched the jerk, I would’ve done it myself. I am glad you stood up for me, but I’m just confused on why you did it, because there's nothing at stake for you, only something to lose.”
His expression stiffens at the verbal admission of his visible frustration. This conversation sounds much too real, and the lines that have been carefully drawn are erasing themselves, leaving behind uncharted territory. One you weren’t sure how to navigate.
“You do matter to me, as more than a role.” You plead. “I don’t want you to think you’re someone I chose out of convenience. Please don’t believe that.”
His breath exhales low, controlled. His gaze flickers with the briefest uncertainty, and you realise how selfish you’ve been. This arrangement had been perfect for you, that you simply assumed it was the same for him.
“No, you are not at fault.” He mutters after a moment. “It is not your responsibility to handle the consequence of my actions. We had agreed on no complications, and I have done exactly that.”
His jaw tightens, before he finally spits it out. “I punched him because the boundaries of what was was real or imagined between us has never made a difference to me. He had hurt you, not only physically—“ His gaze shifts to your reddened wrist, and it darkens completely. “—but he is a culprit to your existing pain. I was angry, because I couldn’t comprehend that I was finally faced with the two morons who thought losing you was even a consideration, and to see them hold no remorse for it made me forget my place.”
“I’ve always excelled in being what others expected of me.” He mutters. “When you approached me, it was the first time I had not wanted to be confined to a role. I did not want to partake in a façade, because—I had wanted your request to be for something real. Then, you mentioned that you picked me because I had not the slightest chance of falling for you. It was ironic, and I knew then that I should've rejected your request."
"But I started to earnestly believe—that I could separate emotion and duty. I could be in your presence, and not feel the consequences if the arrangement ended—because nothing would be real.”
“Till I realised—how much it affected me to not have you truly at all.” He confesses. “I should’ve been honest, that this arrangement had become the opposite of what we’ve agreed upon. But I was afraid, of admitting that I wasn’t capable of control, of driving you away."
“Damian." Your frown deepens. "You’re not going to lose me.”
“I don’t know.” He blurts honestly. “I do not know how to handle want. I am built of structure, of worth to prove why I deserve to keep my position, that has always been what I’ve provided. I do not know how to want without providing substance to covet a person.”
“But I want you.” He exhales. “Not once has it been pretend for me, not when it had already existed before our arrangement. Every moment I reached for your hand, every time I checked that horrendous shaded calendar of yours. I rushed over the moment you went missing when you were sick, because I had wanted to look for you. I have never once hesitated in calling myself your partner, even knowing the role was temporary. I want you, in the real, complicated way—that I've failed in being what you needed me to be."
"That's not true." You break. "That's not what I need you to be at all, Damian."
He finally looks at you, a little less restrained—and almost startled at your words.
"If you had been real about this the entire time, Damian, then so have I." You admit. "I chose you because I thought you wouldn't have fallen for me, that is true—but that is because I also thought it was safe because I knew I was going to fall for you."
"I wasn't kidding when I said I like you." You confess. "In all of the complicated, real sense of the word, and you were always going be the one I was going to choose. Even if you had said no, I wouldn't have asked anyone else. I wanted you from the start, Damian, and that hasn't changed. I was going to ask you to freaking Romeo's after this, if you wanted this to be real too."
The moment those words leave your lips, Damian closes in. His fingers tug you by your waist, his hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, and his lips are on yours. Damian Wayne, who still has forming bruises at his knuckles from a fight he landed in to defend you, is kissing you on a park bench in the middle of the night—and you're not dreaming.
It's clearly his first, but there's something so tenderly sweet about it that your heart trembles uncontrollably—enough to render something wet at your lashes by the time he's pulled back.
He pulls apart just to meet your gaze, and you've never seen him this relieved. "This is real." He restates, as if he can't quite truly believe it.
“We did just have our first official fight.” You murmur, cheek pressed to his chest.
"Official." He hums in acknowledgement. "I like that."
Your smile teethers into something soft when you feel the soft press of his mouth against the shell of your ear. "Yeah, guess our operation tonight ended in a success."
the boys getting jealous when they see Latina reader dancing with one of her friends for the first time? let's be honest, this white boys probably don't know how to dance without making a fool of themselves 😭
omgomg i love this ideaaa!!! the fact i've actually thought about this before 🫣 i'll probably make blurbs for each boy
i do have to disagree with you on one thing tho, bruce wayne does know how to bust a move
Summary & CW: Suggestive (MDNI), hand job (?)…. & dirty talk(?), song fic (e85 by don toliver), pushing my biker!jason propaganda, cursing, no use of y/n, Jason POV
Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 0.9k
A/N: PLEASE DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to @akusuincoffee for requesting! Im so sorry it took me this long I literally listened to this song a million times trying to get inspo for it LMFAO, as always I hope you enjoy my lovelies (only one piece lefttttt)
•───────•°•♡•°•───────•
The only thing he could focus on was the sound of your laugh over the wind, it was something sweet and bright. The cadence was so divine, he couldn’t help himself but smile under the helmet.
Jason finally had a night off that coincided with one of yours. Not wasting the opportunity, you both decided to go on one of your famous night rides. It reminds you of the earlier days, when neither of you had money save for a tank of gas and a greasy burger your stomach would hate you for later.
The second he called you to give you the good news, you did all but cry your phone. He had to pull the phone away from his ear at the sound of your squealing, Bruce raised an eyebrow at him when he heard your voice through Jason’s busted speaker.
Night rides were a lost art in your opinion. There was something so beautiful about having the wind rushing past you, the thrill coating your stomach from the bike, and music blaring in your ears.
Jason could feel every part of your body on his back. Considering the fact that all you wore was that romper of yours, not much was left for the imagination. He felt all your warmth bleeding in through his cotton t-shirt, and he’d never been more grateful for opting for a thinner one. The feeling of your arms against him, legs parallel to his, your front on his back, it was perfect. He could never ask for anything more.
The giggles escaping your lips were sounds of pure joy- he’d drown in the sound if he had the chance. If the bubbling feeling that arose in him at of your laugh was what awaited him for the remainder of eternity, he wanted forever to start tomorrow.
Your chin rests on his left shoulder, helmets bumping occasionally as he weaves through cars on the New Jersey highways. Jason wasn’t one for patience -hell, was famous for lacking it- but he’d sit through every batch of traffic this state cursed him with, so long that you were at his side.
Finally seeing the exit sign, he cuts over to the right lane and for once, the exit is empty. This part of Gotham looks like a ghost town, stranded even. There’s no cars, no bikes, no people hanging out on the corner.
Just you, him, and a red light.
After about thirty seconds, his head turns left, right, then left again before mumbling, “I could just run it.”
“Jason Peter Todd,” you pull back from his shoulder to slap him upside the head, “you are not going to be running a red light. Waiting two more minutes isn’t going to kill you.”
“And how would you know? Maybe I want to try death by car, I’ve done it by bomb,” his voice is so annoyingly matter-of-fact, you’re tempted to fall for the ragebait.
“Fine. Be my guest and run it,” you huff already pushing off him, “but just so you know that if you do, I’m hoping off the bike and walking my ass home.”
“Babyyyyy” he draws out the vowel, whining almost.
Your arms are crossed over your chest, and he tilts his head back so his helmet kisses yours. You don’t make another noise, letting the honks of the highway behind you both speak for you. Another minute passes and the light doesn’t change from red.
He scoffs and leans forward again and this time, you lean with him. Your arms wrap around his midsection, but only for a moment. He tries -really he does- to not think too hard on how your right hand starts traveling down. e tries
“Doll,” his voice cracks with hesitation.
You merely hum back as your hand rests over his jeans, feeling the erection he’s failing to hide. Heat flushes his cheeks and he’s suddenly grateful for the polarized cover the helmet provides. Shifting slightly in the small seat, your hand squeezes a miniscule amount and he groans.
“Princess,” he’s breathless, “what’re you doing?”
“Nothing baby,” you sound so innocent, as if you weren’t getting him off at a light, “just focus on the road.”
He thinks he’s going to be strangled. His hands start white-knuckling the handlebars of the motorcycle while you palm him through his jeans. The worst part about it all- you talked him through it.
“You’re doing so good for me,”
“Just a little longer,”
“Oh my pretty boy,”
That last one almost has him creaming in his pants. He’s no longer leaning forward on the bike but rested against you. His head thrown back on your shoulder, staring at the stars as heaven reaches him at this exit. His breaths are heavy and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so aroused.
“Hey Hood?” Dick’s voice rings through his helmet, solidifying his veins to ice.
Never in this second life, has he been cockblocked this bad. If Dick ever connects himself to his comm system without asking again, he’ll shoot him for real that time.
“There goes the moment,” you snicker to yourself, moving your hand back up his torso much to Jason’s dismay.
He has to clear his throat before responding with a “Yeah?”
“You’ve been at that intersection for a while,” he sounds concerned, but there’s amusement lingering in it, “you know that light’s been busted since Monday right?”
YOUR NEW MAN DON'T MAKE YOU NUT?
contains: Jason Todd × childhood best friend!fem!reader, and they were roommates, talks of Jason and reader losing their "virginities" to each other (reader hates virginity culture), reader's lowkey toxic (but so is her boyfriend so guess they both ain't shit) READER CHEATS ON HER BOYFRIEND!!!! DON'T DO THATTT!!!!! it's only yummy for the plot FICTIONALLY., Jason smokes as a form of self harm truther right here ☝🏼, no smut (sorryy!!) but allusion to it and sexual comments, 816 wc
At first, the living arrangements were just because Jason had nowhere else to go.
You'd never forget him showing up at your door, suspending a sensible disbelief as you answered, because what do you mean you just saw your dead childhood best friend through the peep-hole, until he collapsed into you, and your hand found his jet black hair like it always used to.
"Hey, Jay..."
"Hey," he mumbled, nuzzling into your neck an extra moment before composing himself, running his fingers through his hair as he came to stand up straight in front of you. "'Been a while, huh?"
"Yeah...I was starting to think you died," you quipped back, and he chuckled.
However, in a place like Gotham, having Jason — a strong, big man — live with you was safest. And it was never an issue.
Till your boyfriend had an issue with it.
He was...fine. Rich — that's what you liked about him; some old English money that came to the United States a couple generations ago.
Not Gotham of course. Obviously; you met during a trip to Metropolis.
Him and Jason were friendly, when your boyfriend got over the fact he was living with you, and had taken your virginity at seventeen.
Your boyfriend made it a bigger deal than it was, and you downplayed it.
He asked just out of curiosity, "who'd you lose your virginity to?"
"My first time having sex was with Jay," you rephrase, hating the concept of virginity. The whole concept of "losing" and/or "taking" it never sat right with you.
"You're kidding, right?"
"No?" you answer. "We were seventeen, and besides, I don't think sex is any more significant than our years of friendship, so don't get pissy over the one sexual encounter."
"You know I don't like that either," he grumbled.
"Yeah, because you're insecure and have internalised this idea men and women can't just be friends, and that's your problem to deal with, not me and Jay's."
But he didn't let up anyhow.
"DON'T YOU THINK IT'S A LITTLE WEIRD HE'S NEVER DATED SOMEONE ELSE?!" your boyfriend yelled, having another fit over you and Jay.
"NO. AFTER ALL HE'S BEEN THROUGH, NO. IT MAKES SENSE HE LETS VERY LITTLE PEOPLE IN. AND I FEEL SO LUCKY TO BE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE," you screamed back, like Jason's voice from that first time didn't still linger in your mind. "Are you sure you wanna do this?" you asked, breathless as you shuffled your legs apart for him to settle between.
"With you, yes," he answered, panting.
You slept at your place that night, and with Jason.
"Soo, is that it for you and Richie Rich?" he asked, head turned on his pillow to you beside him, covered by only the quilt.
"Do you want it to be?" you asked back, turning your own head to face him.
"No, I'm cool being your mistress," he sarcastically replied.
You rolled your eyes.
Over time, you rationalised it to yourself: you were only with your boyfriend for the money — blood free money — a way out of Gotham, but you actually loved Jason.
Then you got that shot out.
It was "for old time's sake" sex, and cuddling.
"'Want me to help you move tomorrow?" Jason offers, fingertips lightly trailing up and down your bare back. You chortle and say yeah, because your boyfriend would love that. "Well, you don't seem too focused on pleasing him, so what would it matter?"
"You're never trying to please the generational rich partner; you're trying to please their family," you respond, like you were letting him in on a little tidbit from your world. "And believe me, I've pleased his family."
"You sleeping with them too?" Jason jokes, and you roll your body with your eyes, turning so your back was facing him. He shrugs and reaches for his nightstand.
You peek over your shoulder as he flips open the box top and places one of the cigarettes it held between his lips.
"Ew," you remark, reaching to pinch it and snatch the box from him, both he allows.
"Why? Your boyfriend smokes sometimes."
"Yeah, but I'm fine with that because it's an excuse not to have to kiss him."
You never realised how truly awful that was until you heard how it sounded
Jason laughs.
"Wow, you fucking hate him!"
"I'm aware," you groan, turning back over in bed. He follows, arm sliding around your waist, other arm's hand pulling the blanket down just to reveal your shoulder, that he press kisses to before resting his chin atop of, pinky finger of his large hand sprawled out across your lower stomach flicking the elastic of your panties above your core.
"'sucks you're too good for Gotham, 'cause ya' could stay with the guy who can't even make you cum without hearing your professions of love for him. ...That's a damn shame."
a/n: JAY, MY LOVE 😭❤️😭❤️😭 I'VE MISSED HIM SOO MUCCHHH 😭😭😭 gonna start watching rh:r so expect to be seeing him more again 😌😌😌
do you have a master list or an intro to ur blog? if not can u make one (no worries if u dont wanna) it would just be easier to access all ur fics. theyre really good but i dont wanna be scrolling for ever to find some
omgg i was just thinking abt thisss, so sorry if they're a little hard to find 😓 i dont have neither yet but dw i'll make one super quick, i only have two fics rn anyway so i'll just pin a post with the links 💛
𖹭 cw: cmbyn, fluff, lil bit of angst, i believed i was a poet for a sec, suggestive, food play?, english is not my first language, first fic
𖹭 wc: 4.2k
“Call me by your name, and I’ll call you by mine,” the TV murmured in front of you, casting the soft glow of the scene over your face and the ceramic mug held in your hands.
“Elio…” you mumbled the name under your breath alongside Timothée Chalamet’s voice, “Elio. Elio. Elio. Elio. Elio. Elio. Elio. Elio.”
The sound of heavy rain droplets hitting the windows accompanied by the actors’s soft-spoken dialogue reached your ears like a slow-paced melody.
Your chest rose and fell as you breathed in the pleasant mix of scents: chamomile from the steam of your tea and lavender from the candle you’d lit; its flame, the moonlight, and the screen illuminating the otherwise dark apartment.
A wool-knitted blanket draped over your naked thighs, your bare feet sticking out and hanging off the edge of the sofa’s cushion, maintaining a comfortable balance of warmth and coolth in your body.
It was the perfect calming ambiance, almost romantic even.
But your attempt to indulge in the tranquility the atmosphere offered was futile. Your heart doesn’t allow you to do so when he’s not with you.
Fortunately, or unfortunately —you haven’t decided yet, you’re used to it.
You’ve learned to go through your nights alone, feeling the overwhelming presence of his absence during dinner, the emptiness that takes up too much space on the opposite side of the bed, and hearing the strident silence at the lack of his voice.
You’ve learned to endure the mundanities of life with a heart full of worry, to read while your mind subconsciously prays for his return, and to bathe pitying the water that touches a skin that only wants to be touched by him.
Because loving Dick Grayson means fearing for Nightwing.
Fearing that he’ll return with a wound so deep, it’ll leave him in pain for days.
Fearing that he’ll return with a scar not physical, but that’ll take his peace of mind for the rest of his years.
Fearing him not returning at all, swallowed by the city and dragged away into a place so far away, impossible for you to reach.
Not tonight though, because when you hear the window slide open, you knew that she had granted you another day of him. Blüdhaven had been merciful enough to let him go home to you, and kind enough to leave him untouched.
You watched silently as he crawled in through the window, a cold breeze entering alongside him uninvited, making its way into your living room until it caressed your shoulders so gently it made up for the chill that ran down your spine.
The breeze carried with it a sprinkling of fine droplets that settled on your carpeted floor seconds before his feet did.
He stood in front of the window, his lean figure backlit by the reflection of the moon, carving shadows across his muscles and frame. His black locks twirled around the strong gusts of wind, moving fluidly through and around them.
White eyes stared at you intensely from the black domino mask, the contrast reminiscent of the brightness of the moon in a dark sky akin to tonight’s.
Electric blue ran across his chest like a dangerous river, standing out against the black spandex of his skintight suit, the symbol was the center of attention.
There, he appeared powerful, unreachable, and untouchable.
Godlike.
The illusion vanished when he took a step closer, closing the window behind him, the warmer lightning allowed your eyes to revel in the golden tan of the visible skin from his neck to his lower face.
Your gaze then traced his jawline and the slope of his nose, the outline of his features so delicate, you believe the lines were drawn by the skillful hands of a very passionate artist.
Finally, your stare settled on his smile. The pearly white of his teeth has its own unique shine, more discreet than that of a star’s, but brighter than the moonlight’s. The reddish tone of his lips might as well be your favorite color, and you are certain you won’t find it in any place other than his mouth.
And at that moment —just like every time he looks at you, that smile stared back at you with a love so ardent, it made your heart melt.
“Hey, beautiful.”
“Hi, Nightwing.”
You hadn’t noticed that his hands were busy holding something that he covered with a jacket —to protect it from the rain, you assumed— until he carefully placed the object on the coffee table —jacket and all, right next to where you’d just set your mug.
Before you had time to react, Dick was already sprawled on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his dank chest pressed against your dry one.
Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, he took an exaggerated sniff and then sighed in delight.
“Mm, I missed you,” his voice was muffled where his mouth was pressed against your skin.
“Why are you sniffing me like a dog?” You laughed, scrunching up your nose.
“Woof, woof,” he barked, playfully biting into the sensitive skin of your neck.
“Dick!” You gasped, slapping his shoulder.
“Sorry,” his lips pressed sweetly onto the mark he’d just left, your body relaxing until you saw him looking up at you with eyes full of mischief.
You were about to warn him about whatever he planned on doing, but his actions were faster than your words and he stuck out his tongue to lick a long stripe from the bottom of your neck up to the back of your earlobe.
“Stop acting like a dog!”
“Sorry, you just make my animal instincts come out,” he snorted.
You rolled your eyes, doing your best to pretend that he didn’t manage to get you all hot and bothered with his weird teasing.
Not like you were tricking anyone though, especially not Dick.
He continued leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses along your neck and collarbones. His hands slid under the blanket that covered your legs, calloused palms caressed your thighs in slow movements, higher and higher until they reached your ass to give it a light squeeze.
Because you knew he was about to get all cocky about successfully completing his mission of making you embarrassingly horny, you decided to not give him any time to tease.
“Ugh, get off me!” You tried pushing him away, but Dick —in all his stubborn nature— didn’t budge. “You’re all wet and sweaty, it’s disgusting.”
“I love it when you make me all wet and sweaty,” he breathed into your ear.
You groaned at his words, throwing your head back in annoyance while he just laughed his stupidly sexy laugh against your flushed cheek.
“What’s that?” You shifted the focus of the conversation because curiosity was eating you alive.
“What’s what?” He pulled away with a confused expression, you simply nodded towards the jacket and whatever it was hiding still sitting on the little table.
Dick immediately brightened up, his eyes widened comically, and he sat up so fast, you feared for his neck.
He reached for the jacket and threw it carelessly somewhere on the floor, revealing a slightly crumpled, white, rectangular box.
He grabbed it carefully —complete opposite of the treatment he’d given the jacket— and placed it on your lap.
“Open it.” He whispered his command in a tone so sweet, it made your teeth ache.
Your hands followed his words before your mind could process them, because you trusted him so much, your body had grown accustomed to simply obeying whenever it heard his voice.
As you lifted the lid, something sugary and deliciously mouth-watering filled your nostrils, you smiled at the pleasant scent.
Inside, there were at least ten neatly-cut cake slices; each its own layered combination of fluffy sponge, flavored mousse, buttery frosting, and decorative ingredients like fruits or grated chocolate.
“What are these?” The question left your lips in the form of a surprised, breathy murmur. It was a stupid question, the cake slices probably looked at you deadpan when you asked it, but by the way Dick had handled the box with so much care, you knew it was much more than just cake.
“Wedding cake samples.” Your eyes immediately shot up to look at him when he answered.
Dick was already staring at you, his smile was shy now, less playful and confident, but still as beautiful. You saw the rosy, pink blush slowly coloring all of his neck and cheekbones without asking for permission.
“You know, since the date is approaching— Well, we still have a year and two months, but time flies and all that—” he abruptly cut himself off again, “Not that we’re under any pressure! We have a lot of time for all the planning and stuff!”
“Dick.”
“I thought we could do something like date night— or date morning since it’s already like 2:00 a.m.,” he corrected himself with a nod.
“Dick.”
“We don’t have to choose right now, there are a ton of other bakeries that offer different options for the cake—” he was talking so fast, he had to take a deep breath and clear his throat, “for our wedding.”
Your heart stuttered at that, it’s ridiculous how giddy you get every time you remember he’s now your fiancé, soon-to-be husband.
You could never get over how much you love Dick Grayson. You’ve been together for years and he still makes you nervous just by looking at you.
Still makes butterflies fly in your belly with his compliments, heat pool between your legs when he flashes you a smirk, and your heart beat out of your chest every time he says ‘I love you’.
And you could never get over the fact that he loves you.
When you saw him open his mouth to continue his rambling, you leaned into him, cradling his face with both hands and pressing your lips against his before he could speak.
He didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, his shoulders relaxing as his hands settled gently on your waist, feeling the smile of your lips on his as you kissed him.
Pulling away slowly, you giggled at the sight of him desperately chasing your lips, baby blue eyes pleading through his dark lashes.
The sight was adorable, and you felt a hint of pride thinking about how only you get to see him like this.
Shy, pathetic Dick Grayson’s a rare sight; unimaginable for the rest of the world, reserved just for you.
“I think tonight’s the perfect time to start with wedding preparations,” you smiled, tenderly caressing his cheekbones with your thumbs.
Dick beamed up at your words, his cheesy smile highlighting those prominent dimples that make him look unfairly adorable.
“So it’s a date?”
“It’s a date.”
Dick went for a quick shower with the promise of not making you wait for long; in the meantime, you read through the names and descriptions of the different flavor options he’d brought.
‘Chocolate and hazelnut sponges layered with nutella buttercream and coffee mousse’, ‘Vanilla sponge with fresh fruits and vanilla butter cream’, ‘Oreo sponge layered with strawberry mousse and Oreo buttercream’, so on and so forth.
“Three minute shower,” Dick panted, clumsily pulling up his grey cotton sweatpants as he rushed out of the bedroom, “Not even Wally is that fast.”
He plopped down on the empty space next to you, not even trying to hide his excitement as he reached for you with one arm and for the box with the other.
“Dick,” you stopped him, “what are we gonna eat with?”
“What— Oh, you’re right!” He jumped off the couch and rushed to the kitchen.
He returned with a silver fork in his fist and a cheeky grin on his face, you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.
It was ironic, how he knows he can kiss you and see you out of your clothes whenever he wants to, but he still does little things like this, bringing only one fork to share, as if he’s just a boy crushing.
He placed his hand on one of the backrest cushions to support his weight as he jumped over it, landing perfectly on the spot he’d already claimed.
“Show off,” you rolled your eyes at his theatrics.
“Hey, I’m an acrobat!” He circled your waist with one muscular arm and effortlessly lifted you up to set you on his lap. “I deserve to brag about my skills every once in a while.”
You bit back the smirk that threatened to break on your lips when you heard the hiss he made as you wiggled on his lap, pretending to get comfortable as you took the fork from him.
“Are you wearing anything under those sweats?”
“No.”
“I can feel it.”
“Great, that’s your dessert.”
“I’m pretty sure that cake counts as dessert.”
“Good, then it’s the main dish,” he winked and you turned your blushing face away from him.
“What should we try first?” you asked, squinting your eyes at the rectangular-cut slices in the box.
“You’re the one who calls the shots, babe.” Dick pressed a soft kiss to your jaw, staring at you adoringly even when you weren’t aware he was doing it. “You choose.”
“Hmm…” humming as you contemplated the variety of cake options sitting inside the box, a slice with a moist, yellowy sponge and creamy white frosting caught your attention —mainly because of the cute little flowers that adorned it. “This one,” you pointed at it.
“‘Lemon Elderflower,’” Dick read the name as you grabbed a small piece with the fork and lifted it to his mouth.
He willingly opened his mouth for you to feed him the pastry and then closed his plush lips around the fork as he took the bite, eyes never leaving yours.
You then retreated the fork from him to grab another piece of the chosen slice and take a bite of your own, all while Dick was still chewing with a thoughtful expression —deciding whether he liked it or not.
When the strong citrusy flavor hit your tongue, your neutral expression automatically morphed into one of absolute disgust.
Dick watched with an amused smile, entertained by the way your chewing slowed and your lips pursed. You saw him raise his eyebrows as he put in his best efforts not to laugh.
Until you gagged, and he couldn’t hold back anymore —didn’t even try to. He let out a loud, unapologetic laugh at your suffering.
You glared at him through glassy eyes, your face probably tomato-red, and he extended his cupped hand to your chin for you to spit it out —an act of kindness in the midst of your humilliation.
“I don’t like that one—” you coughed, your words came out in an embarrassing, high-pitched rasp as you looked around for anything that could help you clean your tastebuds.
“Really?” Dick chuckled. “I would’ve thought you loved it.”
“You’re not funny, Richard.”
“I respect your opinion, but I like to think I have a great sense of humor. Maybe you’re just a bit dramatic,” he shrugged, mocking smile still on his lips as he took a tissue from the Kleenex box that sat atop the low-slung table to clean his palm.
You shot him a deathly glare over your mug as you gulped down the remains of your now cold tea.
He simply smiled his characteristic teasing grin and reached for the fork between your fingers. “Okay, now it’s my turn to—”
“No!” You moved the fork away from his reach so fast, both of you flinched. Dick looked concerned for a second.
“Woah—”
“I have an idea!” You interrupted him, coughing after you nearly choked on your drink. “Close your eyes.”
That made him smirk, but he did as he was told.
“Is this foreplay?”
“Shut up and concentrate.” You knew he couldn’t see the evil grin plastered on your lips, but you still hoped he couldn’t feel it. “You have to guess the flavor.”
“Okay—,” his mouth opened when he spoke, and you didn’t hesitate to take the chance to shove the forkful of cake into it.
He had to chew only once before his face contorted in the same way yours did minutes ago.
“IS THAT CRANBERRY—?!” Now it was your turn to laugh your head off.
“Correct!” You cheered, patting his shoulder. “Great job, you’ve earned another bite!”
He caught your wrist before the fork could get anywhere near his mouth. Gripping it firmly, the veins on his forearm popped out.
“Don’t even think about it.”
You had to bite your lip at that, his tone was stern and his voice deep. You love it when he gets all bossy like that.
But you rather tell yourself you only obeyed because you have a soft spot for the man or whatever.
“It isn’t that bad!” You argued, chewing on the piece he’d rejected.
“Lemon Elderflower isn’t that bad.”
“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, digging the fork into a different slice you didn’t bother checking the name of, “we need to get serious, these are important wedding decisions.”
Your mouth opened, ready to be the judge of whatever flavor you had randomly picked, and just as you felt the sweet treat graze your lips, Dick snatched it with his own mouth —like a street dog stealing a sausage.
“Dick!” Your brows furrowed. “Why did you do that? That was mine!”
“Oh, yeah?” You saw the grin forming and immediately clocked that he was onto something.
“Yes—”
Dick grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you towards him with a fast, sudden movement. His lips caught yours in a hungry kiss.
It was unexpected but definitely not unwelcomed.
Your palms found their place on his naked chest, steadying yourself on top of him and feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your touch.
Dick parted your lips with his tongue and you allowed him to do so without putting any resistance. His tongue slipped into your mouth, and with it the piece of cake that was in his. Neither of you chewed on it —like an unspoken agreement, both understanding that the fun of this game lies in passing the food from one mouth to another.
Your tastebuds reveled in the buttery taste of frosting and perfectly-baked dough while your tongue seeked more of the taste of him.
The wetness of yours and Dick’s saliva seeped into the chocolatey sponge, making it lose its structure and crumble inside your mouths.
The luscious consistency of the buttercream was messier to work with, some of it slipping out of your lips between open mouthed kisses. You didn’t care though, if anything, it made it hotter. You felt Dick lick some of it off the back of your front teeth with the very tip of his tongue, making you moan at the delicious sensation, his lips tastier than any cake.
Your nails dug into the skin of his pecs, scratching softly, and you swallowed his whimper along with some syrupy chocolate.
Dick started pulling away slowly, and now you were the one desperately chasing his lips, as if you were under a spell that made you believe you needed his kisses to live.
Although, now that you think about it, a spell isn’t necessary, you do need his kisses to live.
Staring into each other’s eyes, Dick and you fell into a comfortable silence as you both tried to regain your breath.
The moment shifted from passionate and steamy to softly intimate in a matter of seconds, so smoothly you couldn’t tell when it changed.
Dick’s face was still so close to yours —you felt the hot puffs of air from his breathing touch your nose, and you took this moment as an opportunity to admire him, something that you consider part of your nightly routine by now.
The honeyed light from the candle’s glow painted shadows on his face in precise strokes, so detailed you could appreciate the dark reflection of his lashes on his tan skin if you looked close enough.
His black hair smooth like silk, you want to do nothing more than run your fingers through it as he falls asleep on your lap. It was like the perfect frame for the prettiest photograph.
Crystal blue eyes so full of life, you would believe it if he told you the ocean itself was trapped inside them; you could practically see the waves, moving so elegantly and dangerously at the same time, just like he does.
His lips were swollen, remnants of white frosting delineated the edges and tiny crumbs of chocolate sponge had made their home on the corners. They looked like your favorite candy, one you would never get tired of eating. His lips always caught your eyes first.
“So…” Dick started, grinning from ear to ear at your lovestruck expression. “What did you think?"
“Huh?” You blinked, shaking yourself out of your trance.
Dick poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, looking very, very proud. “‘Bout the cake, baby,” He cleaned off some frosting off your cheek with his thumb. “Did you like the flavor?”
Oh, this smug bastard. He knew the flavor of the cake was the last thing you’d cared about, too entranced with his kiss to even think about it.
“I— it was great.” You nodded, knowing it wasn’t convincing at all. “I think it’s my favorite actually.”
“Really?” Dick asked, looking really satisfied with himself, pinkie finger caught between his teeth as he smirked. “What flavor was it?”
Okay, so that’s totally not fair. And ugh, you wanted to kiss that cocky smile off his face so bad.
You realized you’d been quiet for too long when he started chuckling, body shaking with laughter at the sight of your dumbfounded expression.
You felt heat rise up to your cheeks and immediately tried to defend yourself, you knew you weren’t the only one that was turned on.
“Oh, please,” you scoffed, “I can feel your little friend all excited under me.”
“My ‘little friend’ will have you moaning my name until you can’t take it anymore, so I say be nicer to him,” he gently nibbled your lower lip, smirk not faltering for a second.
His dirty, unfiltered words made you even more flustered —if that was even possible. Hiding your face in the curve of his neck, you muttered a quiet “I hate you” that both of you knew you didn’t mean at all.
You missed the way Dick’s smile softened when you buried your face into his neck, and how his own blush had appeared on the apples of his cheeks when he felt your warm ones brush his skin.
But you didn’t miss the tender touch of his lips on your temple, or the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns on your lower back.
And you certainly didn’t miss the vulnerability in his voice when he whispered “I love you, I can’t wait to be your husband” so lovingly, tears pricked your eyes, but you didn’t let them spill.
You didn’t rush to say it back. Instead, you let yourself bask in the comforting feeling of his arms holding you, knowing you’ll cherish the memory of those words forever.
You thought about the day you met, how his bright smile was enough for an introduction; the first time he kissed you, how his eyes stayed close after you pulled away, confessing he was scared that he was dreaming and he’d be forced to wake up; the first time he made love to you, how he cried into your chest telling you how much he loved you; when he proposed, so nervous he forgot his speech and simply dropped on both knees, extending the ring to you as if he was offering a sacrifice to a goddess.
You thought about that night, when he slipped in through the window, barely alive, still masked, Nightwing still a stranger to you. And then he said your name, and you recognized that voice in an instant. Blood was spilling everywhere, cascading out of his body and running like a river through your floors, copper scent giving you a headache.
You thought about how you begged him through sobs to not close his eyes, to keep looking at you as your shaky hands tried to clean up his wounds to no avail, because the blood kept spilling, drenching him and staining you.
“When you least expect it, Nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot,” the movie spoke from behind you.
Your life was never the same after that night, fear has never been more present, and you know you’ll probably never know peace of mind again.
But it takes just one look at him to remember how his love makes everything so worth it.
Because you are so hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Dick Grayson. You will be forever.
You let the first tear drop, shyly running down your skin and softly landing on his.
“I love you too, I can’t wait to be your wife."
this is probably shit but it's my first fic so be kind girly pops!! also, ignore this fuckass layout, i don't know how to use dividers and can't even add a title
tysm for reading!! likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are so so appreciated!!
please do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my work to ai (especially this!!)
𝜗ৎ your boyfriend loves using your panties as bookmarks
𑣲⋆｡˚ fluff, suggestive but no smut
Pink, blue, black…
You huffed as you rummaged through the same drawer for the third time, hoping what you were looking for would magically appear between the mess of cotton, polyester, and lace.
The bedroom was a complete mess; drawers drawn open, half-empty because you’d carelessly thrown their contents out trying to find the piece, some bras landed on the floor, some shirts on your velvet vanity stool, and there was a pile of skirts and dresses forming atop of the bed.
Your eyes scanned the room again, trying to catch even the slightest glimpse of the intense, scarlet red you were desperately trying to find.
Your reflection stared back at you from the mirror—hair styled to perfection, black dress hugging your figure, and your lips painted a deep red color that was supposed to match the lingerie you’re wearing under the dress.
You had the bra, the only thing missing were the panties.
It was a special night, your two-year anniversary with your boyfriend, and Jason—who always makes it clear he’s not a fan of lavish and over-the-top dates—had surprised you with a reservation at this fancy steakhouse in downtown Gotham with a rooftop lounge that overlooks the city and has live jazz music playing the whole night.
You wanted to surprise him back, wearing the delicate, red, lacy lingerie set you know is his favorite, so that at the end of the night—in the backseat of the car, on the couch in the living room, or wherever he decided he wanted to take you—, you could feel his breath hitch and watch him lick his lips as he undressed you.
Besides, as stupid as it sounds, that set holds some type of sentimental value.
You bought it over a year ago, it’s a high-end designer piece that caught your eye the moment you stepped into that luxurious, ridiculously expensive boutique. It cost you an arm and a leg—you remember contemplating if it really was worth going broke for as the saleswoman talked about the quality of the materials.
You decided to buy it before you could think too much about it, swiping your card through the terminal and almost wincing when you saw the money deducted from your bank account.
It was more for Jason than for you anyway, and that’s what convinced you. It was a few days until his birthday, and you wanted to wear it as one of the many gifts you planned on giving him.
That night, straddling his lap as he laid on the couch, you saw his pupils dilate, watched him suck in a deep breath and pull his bottom lip between his teeth as he took off your dress. You decided that it had been completely worth the money.
It’s also the only set that’s made it through more than three wears—since Jason seems to have a kink for ripping fabric off of you, but apparently he’s decided he likes this one so much that he can be a little more careful with it. He almost always asks you to keep it on as he fucks you.
You really didn’t want to—it was supposed to be a surprise—but after checking the clock and seeing it was almost time to leave the apartment, you stepped out of the bedroom and into the living room to ask the only other person who could have any idea where your panties were.
“Jason, have you seen—”
Well…
There was your answer.
Jason sat on the couch, legs spread as they always are—no matter how much you scold him for his manspreading—, wearing a burgundy dress shirt that had you impatient thinking about the moment when you finally get to unbutton it.
His gaze was focused on the book perched on his lap, and in the gutter of said book—between thin, black ink-stained pages—were your panties, their red color bright against the yellowed paper.
You simply sighed, it was your fault honestly.
You started it a few months ago, Jason had taken a night off patrol and vigilante duty, and Cass had kindly offered to cover for him—watching over Crime Alley and the other places he usually took care of so he could spend time with you.
It was almost 2:00 a.m., your cheek was pressed against his bicep—because there’s nothing you love more than resting your head on your boyfriend’s muscles—, your legs shifted beneath the sheets to tangle with his, the soft cotton felt cool against your flushed skin.
Jason’s left hand was busy playing with your hair, twirling the strands around his scarred fingers while his right held the book he was reading.
He’d made you orgasm more times than you could count in a single night and you were convinced that you were completely satisfied.
Until you teared your eyes away from the ceiling to look at him, and he looked so cute and hot and sexy with his drugstore glasses perched on his crooked nose, and his brows had that furrow of concentration, and his thick lashes fluttered as he read through whatever greek tragedy he was so focused on, and his pretty lips formed the cutest pout you’ve ever seen on someone.
The sight made you feel that familiar heat between your legs—the one that appears whenever you see Jason doing practically anything.
You peppered kisses on his naked, glistening chest—still covered with a thin layer of sweat—, your fingers tracing down the lines of his abs and his prominent V-line until they reached the hem of the sheet—the only thing covering his lower body.
Jason breathed out your name, his heartbeat sped up under the touch of your lips, and he tried telling you about how he was in a really interesting part of the book, attempting to convince you to wait—but he didn’t make any real effort to stop you.
You looked up at him through your lashes, tongue darting out to trace one of the scars on his chest. You told him you couldn’t wait—and that it was his fault for making you so horny.
Picking up the pair of baby pink panties he’d tossed somewhere on the floor when he slipped them off of you, you took the book from his hand and placed the lacy garment on the page he was reading before closing it and handing it back to him. Your eyes never left his as you did so, and you had to bite your lip to hold back your giggles.
Jason’s eyes were wide as he took the book from you, his expression completely dumbfounded, and you swear that’s the most adorable he’s ever looked.
For you, Jason’s a weak, weak man. He could never deny you anything—trust, he’s tried.
And after that, you didn’t need to do anything else to convince him. He simply placed the book back on the nightstand beside the bed and rolled his eyes.
“You’re insane,” he scoffed, “and insatiable.”
You didn’t bother trying to defend yourself, it was true after all. You simply smiled in victory as your hand slid under the sheets.
Since that night, you never saw that pair of panties again—a shame, truly, it was a beautiful pink—and a few more disappeared from your underwear drawer to be found in the bookshelves.
“Jason,” you sighed. “I’ve been looking for those panties for like an hour!”
Jason looked up from his book—a dystopian novel you forgot the name of—, smirking when he caught sight of you with your arms crossed, wearing the dress he’d bought you specifically for your anniversary date.
“You look nice,” he whistled, looking you up and down shamelessly.
“Can you please give me my panties back?” You walked up to him and extended your hand out, expecting him to return your underwear.
“No,” he almost laughed, “I need my bookmarks.”
That made you roll your eyes, and before you could process it, Jason wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled you into him so you were sitting on his lap.
“Besides,” he whispered into your ear, his voice carrying that teasing, smug tone you would never admit turns you on, “why do you need panties?”
“You know what would be a nice anniversary gift?” He continued, fingers teasing the skin of your thighs through the glossy fabric of your dress. “You not wearing anything under that dress.”
short n sexy mini fic for my baby jason todd while i work on my beach date with dick grayson one-shot 🤭
sorry if this was kinda ass, the idea was better in my head, still hope you enjoyed!!
thanks for reading!! likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated!!
please do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my work to ai (especially this!!)
summary: you call him as your husband when you are still dating.
pairing: Jason Todd x reader
tags and warnings: talks of marriage, haven't written for Jason in a while so here it is! Maybe OOC, also cooking and food mentioned, art by @/ciricearts
wc: 1.1k
It's a quiet afternoon as you sit on the marble counter, legs swinging side to side while Jason slices some tomatoes next to you. Golden streaks of sun seep in through the window, casting circles of yellow across the linoleum flooring and wooden shelves stacked with cutlery.
You had been explaining to him the plot of a 90s TV show you had stumbled upon while browsing during the late hours of the night.
"So the female lead, she decides to go to his house — ugh, I keep forgetting his name "
"Jerry." Jason murmurs, eyes focused on the bowl of ingredients in front of him. Regardless of what work Jason was doing, he always listened to you when you spoke. It almost felt like it was his duty to catalogue every word that left your lips. And he performed that duty to the best of his abilities. It did not matter if he was in the middle of a mission or doing the mundane tasks of living — Jason listened.
Always listened.
"Ahh yes, Jerry, " you repeat, looking up at him with a slight smile that curves into a scowl as you gather your thoughts about the plot. "now Gabriela should dump Jerry's ass, right?"
"Yes," Jason affirms as he takes in your face, painted with annoyance.
Cute.
"But instead she begs him, like what the actual fuck ? Why do these directors even —" the vibration of your phone against the counter cuts your rant short, a wide smile replacing the frown on your face.
"It's Zara."
A few minutes into the conversation, Jason can see you hunched over, giggling about something that your best friend told you over the phone. Meanwhile, Jason had finished making the paste and, almost as a reflex, scooped a spoonful of the paste and brought it to your mouth.
His hand is under the spoon, making sure the red doesn't fall on any of your clothes. He had already made sure it was not too hot by blowing over it multiple times. You open your mouth as the stainless steel presses against your tongue, coating it with red. Jason looks at you, eyes wide with hope and lips pressed into a line.
You hum, squeezing your eyes before kissing your fingertips and moving them away towards him with a spread of your fingers accompanied by a dramatic flair.
Chef's kiss.
Jason huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he starts prepping the pan on the stove. The sudden sound of sizzling onions next to you has Zara asking whether you were at some street food corner.
"No, It's just my husband —"
You wished he hadn't listened to the slip of your tongue over the sound of his cooking but Jason always listens and you knew he had heard when you saw his entire body going still.
His back is turned away from you, broad back covered in black cotton with a spatula in hand as it remained stuck in the air, just a touch from the pan. You don't do any better as you get off the counter and scamper into your shared bedroom, all the while Zara is giggling in your ears.
It was not that Jason did not want to be your husband.
No, it would really be his honor.
But Jason Todd was not completely beyond his insecurities.
Why would anyone want to be with him for a lifetime out of their own will?
You were not one of his siblings who were obligated to be with him as a reason of familial relationship, nor were you part of his team of outlaws who possessed a shared goal.
You had been someone he had fallen in love with at the bookstore.
Was he even worth everything?
"Jason."
He turns at the soft whisper of his name. There you were, standing with your hands rubbing against each other as those angelic eyes of yours refused to meet his. You had cut the call short once the panic had morphed into fear. Zara had understood and reassured you, but your heart wanted the answer from only one person.
"I-I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, " you murmur, eyes blinking rapidly at the tears forming along your waterline. Both of you had only been dating for a year now but it would be a lie if you never thought about the prospect of marriage with Jason.
They say you know the one when you meet them.
He was the one for you.
But you never voiced it. It had been a slip of the tongue, something you wish you could take back if it had made him even a tiny bit uncomfortable.
"No angel," He takes your hands, rubbing smooth circles onto your skin over the back of your palm. "I-You want to spend the rest of your life with me?"
Jason almost doesn't let the words slip out from him, throat dry like all the moisture had been sucked. His green eyes gleam like those of the vast forests under the soft golden light of the sun. They murmur to you of peace, of love, of eternity.
"I would gladly spend every minute with you Jason. Every waking moment with you," you vowed as you peer at him, "and every non-waking moment too in my dreams." Jason chuckles, a faint glow surrounding him like love emanating from the previously filled crevices of nervousness.
Jason envelopes you, the softness of your cheek pressed against his beating heart. His chin is on the top of your head as you see the slight movement of his Adam's apple, almost like he was trying not to cry.
For the first time, someone who had no moral duty to Jason wanted to stay with him forever.
For eternity.
All because you loved him for him.
He presses a small kiss against the top of your head, gently pulling you even more closer, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly.
"I will gladly spend a lifetime with you too, my love"
Jason could feel the curve of your smile, tracing against his black t-shirt. The both of you stay wrapped in each other's presence like a warm blanket accompanied by the smell of something burning — burning?
"Jason, I think something is burning, " you say, trying to peek through the gaps of his muscled arms, but to no avail. He only lets out a contented sigh, still blissfully bathing in your warmth. You pinch his skin, a sharp yelp resounding from his mouth.
" SOMETHING IS BURNING."
Finally, Jason lets you go as you both turn towards the source of the smell. The once sizzling onions were now burnt to a crisp.
home advantage
soccer player!jason todd x fem!reader
summary: watching your boyfriend score the winning goal makes you incredibly proud but also unbearably horny.
tags: athlete au, early but established relationship, reader tries to care about soccer but keeps getting distracted, teasing, fluff, post-game smut (fingering, protected piv, multiple orgasms), soft!jason but he's a tiny bit cocky
wc: 2.3k
before jason, you never would’ve chosen to spend a saturday night watching soccer. now, only a few months into dating him, you’ve already spent several of them in the stands watching him play for gotham.
you’re still not a huge fan of the sport, exactly, but you really like jason, and that’s been enough to make you pick up more than you expected. you don't understand what makes one formation better than another and probably couldn't explain half the rules without jason filling in the gaps, but you're starting to recognize when his team is playing well and when he's definitely going to complain about the referee afterward.
tonight’s an away game, but only about an hour outside the city. you would’ve gone if your shift hadn’t ended too close to kickoff for you to make the drive. before he left, jason told you that you could watch from his apartment if you wanted. “i’ll come straight home after,” he added, trying not to sound too hopeful.
you agreed before you could pretend to think about it, which is how you end up curled into the corner of his couch a few minutes before kickoff, one of his spare jerseys hanging loose over your pajama shorts. the fabric smells faintly of his detergent and cologne, tempting you to pull the collar closer every so often just to breathe it in.
jason appears on-screen during the starting lineup, already slightly flushed from warming up. he shakes out his arms, rolls his neck, and glances toward one of his teammates with an easy smile. then the whistle blows, and it vanishes.
throughout the game, the camera keeps cutting back to jason. he’s shoulder to shoulder with another player one moment and sprinting after the ball the next, waving his teammates forward and shouting things you can’t make out over the crowd. his expression stays focused through all of it, and by halftime, his hair is plastered to his forehead.
you try to follow what's happening—there are passes and penalties and several moments where the commentators become very excited for reasons that escape you—but mostly, you watch jason. you watch the muscles in his legs flex when he sprints and the sweat shining along his throat whenever the camera catches him breathing hard. you watch another player slam into him and stumble sideways from the impact while he barely breaks stride.
at one point, jason lifts the bottom of his jersey to wipe the sweat from his face, exposing his stomach and the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. the camera cuts away way too quickly, and you glare at the wide shot of the field in disbelief.
“oh, come on,” you mutter at the television, offended that the broadcast apparently has no sense of priorities.
the camera finally finds him again with only a few minutes left and the score still tied. a second later, jason sends the ball into the back of the net. you’re on your feet before you even realize it, grinning as the stadium erupts around him. his teammates swarm him, grabbing at his shoulders and shouting into his face while he laughs beneath the stadium lights.
pride swells warm in your chest. you’ve come to know how quickly he starts picking apart his own performance, and you love seeing him celebrate before he can overthink everything he could’ve done better.
when his teammates finally let him go, jason drags both hands through his damp hair and tips his head back, his chest still heaving beneath the jersey clinging to his skin. the sight goes straight between your legs. you shift against the cushions and press your thighs together, but the friction only makes it worse.
the last few minutes of the game barely register after that. gotham holds the lead until the final whistle, making jason’s goal the one that wins them the game. by then, though, you’re mostly wondering how long it’ll take him to get home.
✮⋆˙
the lock turns sometime after midnight, and you’re halfway across the room by the time jason steps inside.
he’s changed out of his uniform into dark athletic shorts and a black v-neck t-shirt, his duffel hanging from one shoulder. a bruise is beginning to darken just above his knee, and exhaustion sits heavily around his eyes, though neither makes him any less attractive.
“hey,” he starts, then his eyes drop to the jersey you're wearing. “is that mine?”
you glance down at it, smoothing a hand over the number as if you need to check. “maybe.”
“i like seeing you wear my number.” his gaze lingers for another second. “looks better on you anyway.”
you answer by wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him, his bag hitting the floor as his hands find your waist. his hair’s still a little wet from the shower, and he smells like soap, but you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked during the game: sweat-soaked and running on adrenaline, his jersey plastered to his stomach tightly enough to show every line of muscle beneath it.
“congratulations,” you tell him when you pull away. “i’m really happy for you.”
a boyish smile crosses his face. “you watched all of it?”
“of course.” your hand slides down his arm, lingering over the thick curve of his bicep before you give it a small squeeze.
he kisses you again, softer this time, then leads you toward the couch. once you’re settled beside him, he stretches one arm along the back behind you. “so, what’d you think about the game?”
you look at him, meaning to give him a real answer, but your eyes drift to the chest hair peeking just above the neckline of his shirt, then lower, where the cotton pulls tight across his chest. by the time you meet his eyes again, you have no idea what you were about to say.
“i thought you...” your eyes dip again. “you looked good.”
jason blinks, amusement creeping into his expression. “you watched the whole game, and that’s all you got?”
“well, you did.”
his smile turns smug. “even all sweaty?”
especially then, you think, and your expression must give you away because jason tilts his head, studying you like he already knows the answer. heat floods your cheeks, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“you’re being annoying,” you mutter.
“that’s not a no.” he leans closer, one hand settling at your waist.
you kiss him before he can tease you again, drawing a low sound from his throat as his grip tightens. when you move closer, he pulls you onto his lap, your knees coming to rest on either side of his hips, hands bracing against his shoulders.
one of his hands slides up your back while the other rests on your thigh, thumb tracing absent circles over your bare skin until goosebumps rise beneath his touch. his lips move to your neck as he adjusts you on his lap, bringing one thigh between yours. when you rock against him, the loose fabric of your pajama shorts slips aside, leaving the damp cotton of your underwear pressed against his leg.
he laughs quietly into the crook of your neck. “you’re already this worked up?”
“since the game,” you admit, a little breathless.
he pulls back just enough to look at you. “seriously?”
you arch an eyebrow. “you thought i was lying when i said you looked good?”
his eyes darken at that, and the hand on your thigh slides higher, stopping right at the line of your panties. “can i?”
"please," you say, guiding his hand the rest of the way. his fingers slip past the fabric, and his breath hitches against your neck.
"oh, fuck," he groans before pressing one finger inside you, then another once you've adjusted. jason curls them slowly, the heel of his palm dragging over your clit with each movement. you grind against his hand, chasing each stroke of his fingers. when he presses even deeper, your next breath breaks into a low moan that he catches in another kiss before his mouth trails back to the hollow of your throat, open-mouthed and messier this time.
your fingers slide into his hair and tug, and his teeth graze your pulse. "jay—"
"i've got you," he murmurs against your skin.
the next curl of his fingers sends you over. you come with a sharp cry, your thighs closing around his wrist as your body trembles against him. he works you through it, slowing only when your hold on his hair begins to loosen.
when he finally draws his fingers from you, he tastes them with a quiet hum. your legs are still shaking, but the sight of him has your hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. "i want this off."
jason leans back without argument, letting you drag it over his head. your hands are on him immediately, palms flat against his chest before sliding down his stomach. every muscle tightens beneath your touch.
you kiss him again and let your hand drift even lower, palming him through his shorts. he stills beneath you for a second before pressing into your touch, one hand slipping beneath his jersey to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple until neither of you has much patience left.
“i’m taking you to bed,” he says, his voice rough. “i want more room.”
you nod, and jason rises from the couch with you still wrapped around him. one hand grips beneath your thigh while the other presses flat against your lower back as he carries you down the hallway.
he kicks the bedroom door open and sets you near the edge of the mattress, kissing you until you fall back against it. the jersey comes off first, followed by your shorts and underwear, all of it left somewhere near the foot of the bed.
jason pauses between your knees, his hands resting on your thighs as his gaze drags slowly over you until you can feel it like a touch. you hook your fingers into the waistband of his shorts, and he helps you tug them down before kicking them aside. his cock slips free, the weight of it settling against his stomach.
your teeth catch your bottom lip as your legs fall open wider, and before you can reach for him, he dips down and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "hang on," he murmurs, reaching into the nightstand for a condom.
once he’s rolled it on, he settles between your legs and braces one hand beside you. the other wraps around himself, dragging his head through the slick between your thighs. you’re still sensitive from his fingers, and the contact makes your hips jerk beneath him.
his eyes meet yours as he lines himself up at your entrance. you curl a hand around the back of his neck and draw him down into a kiss as he pushes inside. the stretch draws a shaky breath from you, your hands sliding to his shoulders, nails digging in as he fills you. once his hips meet yours, he pauses, his mouth brushing the corner of yours.
“tell me you’re okay,” he whispers.
“i am.” you wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. “keep going.”
he draws almost all the way out before easing back inside, slow enough to let you feel every inch. the initial tightness begins to ease as he moves again, replaced by warmth spreading through you with each thrust. your hands travel down his back, fingertips tracing the raised scars scattered there before gripping his ass and pulling him closer.
jason groans and picks up the pace, each movement harder than the last, his breathing ragged in your ear. his free hand grips your hip and tilts you upward, and the change in angle makes your heels press harder into his back.
“right there,” you gasp, your head falling back against the pillow.
jason keeps the angle and drives into you, hitting the same spot with every roll of his hips. his chest presses heavy against yours as you bury your face in his neck, the pleasure building again. he kisses your temple and doesn't let up, each movement pushing you closer.
you come again with his name spilling from your lips, clenching hard around him. jason curses under his breath, his rhythm faltering, hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge.
he buries himself fully inside you, shuddering against you as his weight settles carefully over your body. his breathing gradually slows against your shoulder while your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
eventually, jason shifts just enough to meet your eyes. he looks spent, his expression softer than usual. "this might be the best part," he murmurs.
you cup his cheek. "better than winning?"
“yeah.” his arms tighten around you. “i could get used to coming home to you.”
he pauses after saying it, like the thought slipped out before he could stop it. before he can take it back, you pull him down into a slow, sleepy kiss and feel him smile against your mouth.
he doesn't move for a while after that. just stays pressed against you, his heartbeat steady against yours until he nudges his nose against your cheek. "c'mon, let's clean up."
when he starts to get up, you catch his arm. "wait."
he turns to you. "what?"
you press your teeth gently into his bicep. he looks down at his arm, then back at you, and the confusion on his face melts into a tired, helpless laugh. "did you just bite me?"
"i've been thinking about doing that all night too."
he shakes his head, still laughing as he leans down to kiss your forehead. "yeah. definitely the best part of my night."
a/n: watched two world cup games and immediately had to make it about jason todd bc i'm annoying <3 also if any of the soccer stuff is wrong... no it isn't!
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: roy calls you at 2 am, apparently jason is drunk and needs you
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 1.1k words, none, fluff, CRACK, sort of part 2 for this, roy is there too, 1 sexual comment, not edited just proof-read 🚬
<𝟑: art creds to @quezartt
You’re currently wearing one of Jason’s Gotham U hoodies (you suspect it’s not actually Jason’s) that reaches down to your legs, along with your winter boots. Aside from that, you’re wearing your pyjamas and nothing else.
You’re absolutely freezing your ass off, and by the time you barge into the club Roy sent you the address to, you swear you’re on the verge of hypothermia.
You would’ve told him to fuck off because it’s literally two a.m. But he called with Jason’s phone, and told you to come right now.
You need to come. It’s Jason.
Your heart absolutely stopped for a second. What? You can’t even hear your own voice.
He laughs. Nothing serious. He’s just worried you’re hungry.
Huh? Your voice is still raspy from sleep.
Just come.
So now you’re here, climbing the stairs to the VIP lounge. And it’s just your luck that someone is guarding the door.
He scans you up and down, then shuffles a bit closer to block the entrance.
"Hi, um, my friends are inside waiting for me."
He raises a brow. "Sure.”
"Yeah," you insist. "Roy and Jason—"
His face falls. "You’re Jason’s girl?"
"Sorry?" You blink twice. "What do you mean—"
But you’re interrupted for a second time. You frown and check your phone again, to see if there are any missed calls. There’s not.
The man turns around and taps his earpiece. A moment later, he spins back to you, smiling brightly. "You can absolutely come in." He opens the door for you. "Jason’s girl."
You mumble a thanks, still very weirded out by the whole experience.
The second you step inside, all eyes snap to you. Granted, there are only five other people besides Roy and Jason, but it’s still very weird for everyone to be tracking your movements and whispering to each other.
You ignore the stares and make your way to the boys’ table in the corner of the room. Just where Jay would’ve chosen it— away from any potential threats.
"Roy! Jason!" you call.
Jason is rambling to Roy, waving his hands around and smiling brightly. But the second he hears you, his whole body freezes. Even his hands stop mid-gesture. His pretty green eyes immediately start scanning the room until they land on you.
And then he waddles. He waddles toward you. His movements are clumsy as he tries to grab you, nearly walking straight into a decorative plant.
"Baby!"
You catch him just as he’s about to collapse on top of you. Struggling to support his weight, you try to steady him.
He lets you. Then he picks you up.
He kisses you on the nose, and all you can do is blink in confusion before he throws you over his shoulder.
"Jason?" you whisper-yell. "Put me down right now."
"Nuh-uh." He sounds smug. "Can’t."
The world flips again as he plops you down beside him on the velvet couch. Now you’re sandwiched between the two of them.
You look at Roy, raising a brow. "What did you even give him?"
He smirks, raising his hands innocently. "He said he could handle it."
Jason is playing with your hair. He tugs on a strand before curling it around his index finger.
"Why is everyone looking at us?"
Roy laughs, bright and loud. "Jason couldn’t stop telling everyone about you. The cocktail guy, the—"
"Bouncer?"
He snaps his fingers. "Yeah." Roy grins. "You know, I thought he'd eventually run out of facts."
You blink. "Facts?"
"Oh, yeah." He starts counting on his fingers. "You brush your teeth for ten minutes— you’re a psycho for that, by the way. You like your toast overly done. You cry at movies, even if they’re not sad. He’s dissected the meaning of all of your favourite songs...”
You’re too dumbfounded to properly answer. Roy continues.
"You apparently have the prettiest smile in the tri-state area."
Jason nods solemnly. "It's true."
Roy whistles. "He's got it bad."
Jason is still playing with your hair. "You’re so pretty."
You turn to him with a smile, brushing his cheek softly. He immediately nuzzles into your touch. "Not as much as you."
He shakes his head. "No, no. You’re ridiculously pretty. Sometimes"— he drops his voice, as if you’re sharing some great secret—"when you smile, I forget how to think. Or when you do anything, really."
He wraps an arm around your waist until there isn’t even an inch of space between you. You can feel every line of his body, the hard muscle beneath his clothes. "My pretty, pretty girl."
You place a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you, Jay."
"And you also make me really hard."
Roy’s laughter is impossible to ignore. He slams a hand on the table, wheezing as he mumbles something between fits of laughter. You see him fumble for his phone out of the corner of your eye.
"Yesterday, for example, when you—"
"Jason," you say sternly.
His face falls. "Don’t be mad at me." He’s frowning now, his big green eyes glossy and wide.
You cup his face. "I’m not angry, baby."
"Oh, okay." He nods slowly. "I’m sorry I told Roy you snore."
"I do not—"
Roy nudges your shoulder. "According to Jason, you do."
Jason nods matter-of-factly. "When I can’t sleep, I listen to you breathe. So yeah. You snore."
Your heart pounds in your chest, steady and hard. You want to kiss him. Not just his lips. Everywhere.
Because who decided kisses on the lips were the most intimate? You’d kiss every scar, every freckle, every crook of his beautiful body. You want to worship him with kisses.
"And you make me soup," Jason continues, completely oblivious to the look of pure love on your face.
Roy blinks. "Okay?"
Jason sighs dramatically. "Not canned soup. Actual homemade soup she spends time and effort making."
"Congratulations.”
He rolls his eyes. "You don’t get it." Then his eyes find yours, unwavering. "But you do. You get me, and you love me."
"Of course I do, Jay.” You smile softly.
Jason smiles before resting his head in the crook of your neck. His eyes flutter shut as you run your fingers through his hair. "You’re my definition of an angel."
The next morning, Jason wakes up with a killer hangover and his entire body wrapped around you.
Then he bumps into Roy in the kitchen. He dies of embarrassment the second Roy holds up his phone to show him something.
The video shows nothing but the club ceiling, dim lighting, and red velvet. The audio, however, is crystal clear.
What if she’s hungry?
Jason physically cringes at the sound of his own whiny, worried voice. He’s never drinking again. Roy is barely holding in his laughter, the phone slightly shaking.
She’s an adult, man.
She forgets to eat. There’s a frustrated grumble. I can’t unlock my phone. Stupid numbers. A brief shuffle. The password is her birthday. You call her.
Jason wants to crawl into the Lazaurs Pit and disappear.
Surprise, you're going to be a dad! || Jason Todd x pregnant!reader
— Jason gets a voice message from an unknown number and suddenly he's going to be a dad.
!!: fem!reader. fluff. hurt/comfort. +6.5k words. no use of y/n. Insecure Jason. pregnancy. reader's parents are pro-life, reader isn't. English is not my first language. I measure pregnancy time by months instead of weeks (I've never been pregnant, don't kill me). art by @/ciricearts.
A/N: Here's the fic you guys have been waiting for!! thank you so much for all the love the sneak peak got, I really wasn't expecting it to blow up like it did.
[dc masterlist]
Voice message from +1 (XXX) XXX-XXX
Hmm… Hi. I don't know if you remember me, but we hooked up like five or six weeks ago… I really don't know how to say this… We met at that creepy bar near Gotham stadium. We started talking, you gave me your number and then left, but like ten minutes later you came back, we talked more, and eventually we ended up at my apartment. Does it ring a bell? Well… what I wanted to tell you was that…hmm…this is really difficult…sorry, I called you, but you didn't answer so I had to leave this message… what I was saying was that…fuck…I'm pregnant, and you're the father…and before you call me back and ask me if I'm completely sure I'm going to tell you beforehand that yes, I'm 100% certain that you are the father. I'm sure because, I think I told you when you started undressing me that night, but I don't usually do one night stands and you had been the only one I've had sex with for a long time…wow, that was embarrassing… God, I don't even remember your name, I saved you as "hot stuff (call again for a good fuck)"…shit…why did I even said that? Forget that, please…Could you call me back once you've heard this message? Thank you, bye, sorry.
It was 5 am when Jason listened to the voice mail. He hadn't even got time to take off his Red Hood suit when he heard your voice through his phone's speakers. He recognized your voice instantly. It had been the first thing that had hypnotized him the moment he met you. Your voice, with such sweet tone, that could tame any beast.
The moment when he reached the "I'm pregnant" part Jason froze. He had expected you to call him to maybe ask for another night together—god knows he needed it—, or to return him something he had forgotten and that he hadn't noticed even six weeks later. But the word "pregnant" felt like the type of punch that leaves people without air. He was left speechless and completely lost. He could call you now, but he wouldn't know what to say. Because, what do people say when they just found out they could be a father through a voice message, by someone who had been his one night stand six weeks ago? Besides, it was 5 am and you were probably asleep right now.
Jason was still trying to recall your name while he undressed from his suit and entered the shower. The cold water wasn't enough to awake him from the shock and the sound of the bathroom's fan was only distracting him from remembering other detail about the night that weren't you, moaning his name.
When he exited the shower and looked at his reflection on the bathroom mirror he saw a total failure. He wasn't the image of an ideal father. He was a beaten up vigilante with a shitty life and unhealed traumas that still haunted him. He was not made for loving anyone.
He thought of you, because it was selfish to think about only himself when he didn't knew anything about your situation right now. You could be thriving. Enchanted with the idea of being a mother, and maybe you were expecting Jason to show up as a father for the poor creature. Or you could be feeling as miserable, like Jason. You could be falling asleep crying, or overthinking, or both. You could be hating yourself for not being careful enough. You could be anxious, and thinking about abortion. But what Jason knew for sure was that you had provably fallen asleep with your nerves eating you up alive, after sending him that voice message.
"Fuck," was the last think Jason said before throwing his aching body onto his bed and falling asleep. He couldn't lie, he was praying for it to be a cruel joke, or a side effect from any drugging gas he had been in contact with during patron and he hadn't noticed. He couldn't be a father. Not now, not never.
You woke up the next morning with no answer from the strange man that had got you pregnant after a fun night in a bar. You felt horrible, you had already threw up twice this morning and you were now battling against today's breakfast—that still felt stuck on your throat—for it not to come out.
You were sure you were pregnant. You had done way too many pregnancy tests, from different brands in different days, and all of then were positive. You had also gone to the hospital, and the doctor there confirmed it. You had been pregnant for six weeks but didn't notice until morning sickness kicked in.
You had thought about abortion. You weren't against it, and it sounded like the best option right now. You weren't mentally ready to be a mother, and you weren't financially ready to raise a child. You didn't know if the father wanted the baby either—you couldn't force him to be a father if he didn't want to. The problem had been your parents.
You knew that calling them hadn't been a good idea the moment you heard your mother's joyful voice when she picked up. You loved your parents—you loved how they had always cared deeply for you, and how they had always been there for you—but your mindsets didn't align at all.
Calling then had been your first error, and telling them about the pregnancy had been the second one, and also the biggest mistake you had ever done in your life. They told you how bad abortion was, from their point of view of course. How you had also been an unexpected baby, but the biggest miracle for them. And, by the time the call ended, abortion had been totally banned as an option. Either way, what you needed now was for hot stuff to answer your fucking message.
It wasn't until 7 pm that you received a call from him. The name "Hot stuff (father of your child)" (you had changed the name because it was more fitting now rather than "call for a good fuck") was shining on your phone's screen. It seemed obvious to pick up instantly, but the possibility of him being mad scared you, because you didn't know how—and didn't want—to deal with it. You picked up after the fourth tone, sticking your phone to your ear, and biting your lip until it bled.
"Hello?" You asked shyly. Your legs had starting to shake, forcing you to sit down.
"Hi, this is Jason. Jason Todd. The man you hooked up with and apparently got you pregnant." His voice was deeper than you remembered. "You left me a voice message last night."
"Yes," you said quickly. An awkward silence filled the line until you talked again. "I'm not going to abort it."
Maybe that was not the way to go. Maybe it had been better to ask him what he thought before saying anything, but the nerves, the sudden feeling of throwing, and Jason's sexy voice were clouding your mind.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
"No," you confessed, but deep down you knew you didn't have any other option. You wanted to conserve your relationship with your parents, they were the most important people in your life, and aborting the fetus would make them cut ties with you.
"Then why did you made that decision?" He sounded more concerned than judgemental, and it made your heartbeat slow down.
"Because of my parents, but it doesn't matter," you answered and took a deep breath before continuing, "how do you feel?"
"Fucking terrified," Jason confessed. "I wasn't expecting to become a father at 23. I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name either."
You understood, you weren't expecting to get pregnant at this point in your life, and much less from a one night stand. You told him your name and told him a bit more about how you found out about the pregnancy. Jason, surprisingly—because you expected him to be more freaked out—was listening to your every word attentively and asking questions with a very calm and comforting voice.
"It's okay if you don't want to, but would you like for us to meet someday?" You asked, hopeful for Jason to agree and get to meet him better.
"Yes, that could be good," he answered and you could swear he was smiling on the other line, or at least he must had a little smirk.
It had only been three days—three horrible days of throwing up every meal and annoying messages from your mother showing you everything she saw related to baby's—until you met Jason. You remembered him as someone tall and strong, but your expectations hadn't been enough when you saw the man entering the café.
His big arms couldn't go unnoticed, even when they were covered by the leather fabric of his jacket. And he was by far more handsome than you remembered. You couldn't know the gender of your baby yet, but you already knew that they were going to be blessed with amazing genetics.
You saw Jason's tiny smile when he spotted you, sitting on a table near the window, far from the entrance. You felt your heart pounding against your chest, and your stomach started turning, when Jason began approaching your table.
"Hi," he said and sat down in front of you, "it's been a while," he joked.
"Yeah," the situation was awkward, the two-words conversation had already been awkward—this was horrible.
"How are you feeling?" Jason asked.
You saw his eyes move from your face down to your abdomen, and then back up to meet yours. You noticed the concern in his expression. The floor beneath you was vibrating because Jason's leg wouldn't stop shaking. He was nervous. You couldn't blame him, you were too.
"Morning sickness is killing me, but I'm doing better," you said.
"That's good." His voice was warm, like he was trying to hug you with just his words.
"I don't know if you have thought about it, but i need to ask you. Do you want to raise this child with me?" Your eyes were open wide, and you kept pressing your lips together, while bitting the inside on your mouth.
"Yes." His answer was sincere, and you could tell by his relaxed gaze and the tiny smile he had on his face. "This is ourfault, I can't leave you alone with something this big if you decide to keep it."
Your were grateful for the decision he had chosen.
"I'm scared," you confessed. You shrug your shoulders, and lowered your head, becoming smaller in front of Jason.
"I can tell. I'm scared too."
"Guess two negatives make a positive," your joked, trying to lighten the mood. Your heart warmed when you saw Jason's chuckle.
"I guess so."
The conversation flow easily after that. You got to know each other better, and you had never expected to have so many things in common with Jason. Turns out you both loved the same authors, liked the same food and listened to similar music. You told him about your parents' reaction to the pregnancy. He avoided talking about his family, because he claimed that their situation was complicated.
He really was too good to be true, but you were grateful that someone like Jason was going to be your baby's father.
Jason and you didn't live together, but he spent most of his time in your apartment. Soon you learned that he was an amazing cook. He poured love and dedication into every meal, and you loved to see how much care he handled the ingredients with.
"How long have you been cooking this good?" You asked, eating a sandwich he had made for you while watching him cooking dinner.
"Since I live alone. Food is one of the good things I have left, can't fuck it up too." He turned to look at you with a smirk, while he placed the steak in the pan. "How do you like your steak?"
"Medium rare, but you know I can't eat it like that." You took another bite from the sandwich.
Jason nodded. He knew, he just loved knowing small things about you, and little did you know that he remembered every single one of them.
"Who taught you to cook?" You asked, and this time you saw how his smirk vanished for just a second, and his eyes filled with hesitation, before his face relaxed again.
"A good man," Jason answered.
You instantly understood that it was somehow connected with his family, the one he didn't want to talk about. You couldn't force him to open up about something that clearly was significant to him, but curiosity was eating you up alive.
Dinner was peaceful, Jason ate quietly next to you while you talked about your day and how the pregnancy was affecting you. Having Jason with you felt like a blessing. You could've hooked up with a total jerk—someone who would've ghosted you after finding out you were pregnant—but instead, you were taken care of by a sweet man who cared about you, although he had known you for only two months now.
Jason's presence felt like a warm blanket in a very cold day. His soft voice, whenever he talked to you, made you feel save, while his little nods, with his soft hums, made you feel listened. You felt special thanks to a man who, after an intense night, you never expected to see again.
"It it good?"He asked, pointing to your very cooked steak.
"Do you want me to lie to you?" You asked with a smile. You knew Jason was only asking to mess with you. He perfectly knew your steak was too cooked and you were just getting used to how pregnant women had to eat their food.
"What do you want me to make you tomorrow for lunch?"
"Surprise me, chef," you teased. You had never called Jason that before, but he didn't complain. Instead, you saw his smirk turning into a sincere smile before nodding.
"Very well, my favorite taster."
Jason truly was a sweetheart.
Once dinner had finished and you, with Jason's help, had cleaned up the kitchen, it was time for him to leave.
"You know you can stay and sleep here right? You're not a stranger anymore," you said, crossing your rams and leaning against the wall while Jason put on his boots.
"Got things to do, but I'll consider the offer for any other day," he said, standing straight.
"You got things to do at 1 am?"
"I'm a busy man," he shrugged.
Jason opened your apartment's front door, but you stopped him before he could step out.
"Jason." He turned around when you called his name. "My parents want to meet you, if that's okay."
He didn't know how to answer. You weren't dating or anything like that. Jason was only taking care of you because he was responsible of the pregnancy. He wasn't ready to meet your parents, but he understood that they would want to meet the man that had impregnated their daughter.
"Oh, fine, yeah. When?" He asked.
"They are coming to Gotham in two weeks. Friday, maybe?"
"Okay, see you tomorrow."
Jason nodded and you gave him one last smile before he left the apartment.
The day Jason met you for the first time in that bar, the first thing he noticed was your low-rise mini skirt and your tight top, that snatched your waist perfectly. But, besides your clothing, you yourself were stunning. It was like you were glowing in a place full of people—the main character of a story. Jason couldn't let that opportunity pass, so he talked to you.
However, he now couldn't deny that pregnancy brought a new light to your persona. It was like seeing a literal star being born. The very little pieces of your life, that might have fallen apart previously, reconnecting and shining and making you an ethereal being.
The moment he stepped inside your apartment, and you greeted him with the most stunning smile possible—while wearing a beautiful navy blue dress that made your four months pregnancy noticeable—he couldn't take his eyes off of you.
You had texted him previously, asking him to wear something nice for dinner with your parents. It was going to be a very private dinner at your house, but you still wanted to look presentable. You wanted to leave your comfy t-shirt and far too big, but soft, sweatpants for just one night. Jason agreed to your dress code, putting on a shirt he had found, buried deep inside his closet.
Also, Jason Todd—the gentleman he was—suggested to arrive earlier to your house to help with dinner. And you—forever grateful for his cooking skills and caring nature—let him move around your house like it was his, arranging everything related to food, while you took care of the decoration and the aspect of the table.
If you had to define your parents in one word, it would be "strict". They needed security, order, rules, perfection. But after all, it was worth it, because they were looking out for you, and your best, right?
Everything needed to be perfect. Your pregnancy had already been suspire enough to keep messing up.
Jason was taking the veggie lasagna out of the oven when both of you heard the door bell. You gave Jason one look from the dinning room and that was enough for him to understand.
Your eyes being slightly wider that usually, your mouth parted in a tiny 'o' shape. You chest rose with difficulty. You were nervous, and you almost looked terrified.
Jason left the lasagna over the induction cook, turned off the oven and walked towards you.
It was not Jason's big hands wrapping around your arms that wake you up from your trance, it was his soft voice.
"Hey," he said. His eyes moved around your face, like he was searching for an open window to enter your brain and know exactly why you reacted like that.
He noticed your eyes roaming around his face too, but your breathing was still uneven. Your chest rose sharply, taking in as much air as possible, but exhaling was a struggle—the air hitched in your throat, leaving your lungs in ragged bursts.
"Look at me," Jason's voice was warm and familiar. "Breath with me, don't worry."
You copied him, feeling better by the second. Jason didn't ask, he didn't demand you to fix yourself. Instead, he understood, and he help you calm down.
"What if they're disappointed?" you asked.
"Of what?"
"Of this," you said, pointing to your entire house. "Maybe they'll think I'm a mess, a disaster. They didn't say anything like that when I told them about the pregnancy, but I'm sure they thought about it, they thought that I was a mess."
Jason called your name. You felt his thumbs caressing your arms over the fabric of your dress. "Don't worry about that. Everything will be fine."
You nodded, muttered a "thank you" and walked towards the front door.
Your mother threw herself into your arms, while your father stood behind, scanning your place. This was your parent's first time at your Gotham apartment and you could already feel their judgmental and passive-aggressive comments forming in their heads.
"Hi, dear. How are you feeling?" Your mother asked, showing her perfect white teeth in a exaggerated smile. Her eyes fell to your stomach. "How's the baby? are you eating enough?"
"The baby's fine, mom," you answered. Your mother walked inside, and your father followed her. It was then when your mother noticed Jason, standing straight in the middle of the room, with his hands behind his back, waiting to be introduced.
"Is that…?" Your mother asked.
You smiled and walked towards Jason, wrapping your hands around his arm, and with your best smile you said: "Mom, dad, this is Jason. He's my boyfriend and the father of the baby."
You couldn't avoid how bright your mother's eyes shined when she heard the word "boyfriend". Meanwhile, your father still looked serious and uncomfortable.
"Should we eat?" You smiled, trying to ease the tension.
Your house had never been this quiet ever. All that could be heard was the sound of cutlery clinking against the plates. It was weird, unsettling. Jason was next to you, eating peacefully the lasagna, and his eyes were locked on his food. Across from you, your father mirrored Jason avoidant gaze, while your mother looked between you and Jason while she chewed her food loudly.
"So, how did you guys met?" Your mother asked, and your father raised his head, finally looking at you.
You swallowed your food hard before talking. "Well, It's not a very exciting story, right Jason?"
The truth was, it had never occurred to you to make up a romantic story about how you two met for your parents. Yes, introducing Jason as your boyfriend was part of the plan, but, knowing your mom, you would have expected her to keep asking you about the baby. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.
You looked at Jason for help, hoping that he had come up with a better story during those few seconds of awkward silence, so that the two of you could avoid mentioning that depressing bar where you had actually met.
Jason looked at you. He set his fork down on his plate and placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He could handle the situation; you had nothing to worry about.
"We met at the library a year ago, more or less," he said "I love reading and I'm a very fast reader, so I prefer to get the books from the library, rather than buying a new one every time I finish a book."
You couldn't take your eyes off of from him. His voice, his hand on your leg—his whole being radiated calm. He told the story as if he were reading from a book. He was compelling and, at the same time, poetic. And by the look on your mother's eyes you could tell that she was not only believing him, but also melting by the man you had next to you right now.
"That day, I was looking for one book in particular," he turned to look at you, and you could have sworn his eyes sparkled with something indescribable—something that made you feel safe, at peace, and loved. "It turned out that, after searching for an hour, I finally found it in your daughter's hands." Jason let out a chuckle before turning his head back toward your parents. “At first I walked away—I felt like a total coward because I didn’t dare talk to someone like her; she looked like an angel. And I’d completely forgotten about the book by the time I went back to talk to her. It was as if the only reason I’d ever walked into that library was to find her. You could say it was love at first sight.”
"How beautiful," your mother said, sighing dreamily. "That child was a blessing, made out of pure love."
When dinner was over and your parents left your house, instead of cleaning up, you climbed out the window and sat on your building’s fire escape. The Gotham night breeze was cold, but it helped you calm down after those stressful hours with your parents. You sat there in silence, admiring the Gotham skyline. Each building stood tall and imposing in that sad city you’d chosen to call home.
Maybe if you had stayed in your hometown everything could've been different. Maybe you could be working in your father's business rather than hopping from one working interview to another. Maybe you could be living in a big house rather than a small apartment in a questionable side of Gotham. But you, most definitely, wouldn't be pregnant.
If you had stayed in your hometown you wouldn't have met Jason. You wouldn't have fallen for the attractive man that approached you in the most awkward but charming way you had ever seen. You wouldn't have felt the need of making your life a little exciting, and invited him to your apartment. And you wouldn't have had the best night of your life.
You started feeling your skin getting colder and your body shivering, but you didn't want to get in—not yet. Lost in your silence, filled with the endless thoughts swirling through your head, Jason wrapped you in one of your blankets and, with the grace of a ninja, sat down beside you. He didn't say a word. His silence was enough to calm you. He was there, and he would always be there.
"Thank you for making up that story," you said.
Jason didn't look at you, he didn't touch you, didn't make a sound, didn't nod, and didn't hum. He just stood there, weighing the impact his next words might have.
"I didn't change much. I changed the bar for the library. And the book I mentioned I was looking for? It was actually a metaphor of the relief I was looking for that night because, believe it or not, I had been kicked on the balls way too many times that day and I needed to calm down."
"So you thought I was a easy target?" You looked at him. That's when you realized he was already looking at you, with the same intensity in his eyes as when he told your parents the story.
"I thought you were beautiful, and I felt like a total cowards. I couldn't bring myself to talk to you at first. And when I finally did, I left, and the came back. I'm stupid, there's no other way to put it, I felt like a high school boy," he confessed.
You both laughed. It was a warm and cozy moment, perfect in every way. Your body leaned slightly toward Jason, as if drawn to him by a magnet.
"I have to confess something," Jason said, and you looked at him, waiting patiently for him to continue, "I don't do one night stands either."
You smiled, because, in a way, you’d been waiting for that confession for so long without even realizing it. It felt like confirmation that you weren't going to be left alone with your child, that Jason wasn't going to leave just to sleep with some random woman. And, somehow, that confession had confirmed that what you’d both felt that night had been mutual: an inexplicable attraction and a deep connection that had led you both to step outside your comfort zones and lose yourselves in each other. Perhaps, after all, that child hadn’t been the fruit of love, but neither had it been the result of an uncontrolled desire.
"In two weeks we will finally know the gender of the baby," you said. "What do you want them to be?"
"I don't care," Jason answered, "as long as they're healthy."
"Yeah… I want a girl, tho."
Dick Grayson could read Jason like an open book. He noticed how dissociated his brother had been lately. His gaze was lost and he kept tapping his fingers against his gun repeatedly in a weird rhythm.
It was not normal for Jason to look this distracted. He usually had sharp eyes and a focused mind. He was definitely not okay.
"Jason," Dick called.
Jason didn't turn around, not even bothering to look at his brother. Instead, he just hummed, indicating that he was hearing whatever Dick wanted to tell him.
"You're not okay." It was not a question, it was an affirmation.
Dick knew that whatever Jason's answer might be right now, he knew him better. Jason was definitely not fine. His mind was fogged by something, causing Jason to be hesitant with every move he made. He kept looking south, licking and biting his lips. He stayed quiet—he didn't even cursed or insulted.
Jason raised an eyebrow and looked at Dick over his shoulder, "What?"
"You're acting different." Dick sounded concerned.
"You must be imagining things, Dickhead."
"Jason," He tried again. "Tell me what's happening. I get that you don't tell anything to Bruce, or to Tim, or to anyone in this family. But you can trust me. Please, trust me."
Jason turned around, finally facing Dick. It was difficult. Your pregnancy was not an easy topic to talk about to other people. Mentioning you meant explaining everything, from the humiliating interaction at the bar to the baby Jason was going to be father of in four months.
It was a fact that Dick was the best option if anyone wanted to let out something no one else needed to know. He kept secrets like sacred prayers. He would take every word to the tomb. And he was Jason's oldest brother and the best person he had in his life.
"She's a girl." Jason finally said.
Dick furrowed. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "What?"
Jason took a deep breath and started explaining everything until he reached last week's news.
A girl. You were going to have a girl.
"I can't bring a poor innocent girl into this world. I feel guilty—every single day. I was careless. I don't want to blame her, because it was not her fault, of course; it was mine, and now we're bringing a poor soul into the horrible world. I'm not the kind of person who can hold someone so pure in his arms without shuttering their entire soul, but I can't leave her alone—it's not fair."
Dick listened to Jason's every word, shock had paralyzing his entire body. Dick suspected something significant—something that Jason probably didn't want the rest of the family to know—but Dick never would have guessed it this: Jason was going to have a daughter.
"You're going to be a father," was the only thing Dick could say. The phrase kept repeating in his mind, trying to normalize it, make it make sense, accept it was real.
"Yes."
"And you're scared."
"Fucking terrified," Jason said, because it had been five months since you got pregnant and he still couldn't believe it. "I'm not going to be a good father, Dick."
Dick, stepped closer and placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Stop talking about you like that."
"It's the truth-" Jason tried to say, but Dick cut him off.
"No. you don't know it. Jason, this is something big, yes, but you're also one of the most caring people I know. No one is going to love that baby more than you, and she's going to grow up being protected by her father and her very cool uncle Nightwing."
"Don't tell Bruce. Don't tell anyone." Jason demanded.
"I won't, but a baby isn't something you can hide forever. Know that I'm here for everything you need." Dick smiled. His big, charming smile, that made anyone feel slightly better in their worst times. It even helped Jason a bit, and he couldn't deny it.
"What about Emma?" Dick suggested.
"Emma is a pretty name," you said.
"I don't know…"
"You could at least suggest something for your daughter rather than rejecting every name Dick suggests," you said with a playful smile in your face.
Seven months sharing your every day life with Jason had made you both incredibly comfortable with each other, which was good—really good. Your baby needed two parents that, at least, could tolerate each other, even if they weren't together.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you thought Ricky was a good option for our girl." Jason looked at you from the kitchen with the same playful smile. It made your heart warm up.
What really made you melt was hearing Jason say "our girl". The words had a sweet taste in your mouth even by only thinking about them. That girl, that was only a few weeks away of being born was yours and Jason's.
"Ricky is cute." Dick tried to defend the first name he had suggested that night.
"It's short for Richard, and we're having a girl, if you haven't noticed yet." Jason finally exited the kitchen with a warm cup of hot chocolate in his hand. He handed it to you carefully before sitting down next to you.
"Ricky could perfectly work for a girl," Dick said, standing up from his seat. "I have to leave now, It's always nice being here."
"Thanks Dick, It's nice having you here." You smiled.
Jason walked Dick to the door. Before he could leave, Dick turned around one last time. "You'll have to tell Bruce and the rest about Ricky eventually, or they're going to find out themselves."
"We're not naming her Ricky."
"That's not the point," Dick said, "the point is that you are part of a family of detectives, and a daughter is something difficult to cover. Tim doesn't suspect anything yet, but wait until he does. My advice is for you to tell them before they come here unannounced."
Dick was right, Jason knew it, but he wasn't ready yet.
"I'll think about it."
Once Dick had left the apartment Jason went back to the living room with you.
This months with you had been definitely not what Jason had expected. Not in a bad way, he just hadn't expected he would be father this soon. He had never seen himself preparing weird pregnancy cravings, but he had—just for you. He had melted while feeling his daughter's kicks every time you placed his hand on your belly. Jason was turning soft, and it was sweet—really sweet.
"We're not naming her Ricky right?" Jason asked, siting next to you in the sofa.
"No," you laughed. "Do you have any suggestion for her name?"
"I like the name Elizabeth." Jason said.
"Like Elisabeth Bennet from Pride an Prejudice?" You raised your eyebrow.
"It's classy."
"It's somehow cliche."
"No, it isn't."
"I like Sophie," you suggested.
"Sophie," Jason repeated, like he was testing the name in his mouth. "That's a pretty cliche name too."
"Shut up!" you threw a cushion at him, that he grabbed before it hit his face.
"Yeah, Sophie could work."
You smiled and Jason melted. After all this months with you, Jason's favorite thing about you has turned out to be your smile. It was big, and shiny, and full of love an happiness, despite the complications this situation might bring you.
"She's kicking again," you said, caressing your belly. "Do you want to talk to her?" You asked.
Jason had never talked directly to the baby. Not because you didn't let him, but because he didn't want to. It made him nervous—it was too real.
"It's okay if you don't want to, Jason," you said, as sweet as ever, so perfect.
"No. It's fine." He moved closer to you. His hand hovered above your belly, waiting for your permission to touch your skin, and you answered by moving his hand with yours. He put his face closer to your belly and talked.
"Hi, Sophie. I'm Jason, your father. There's only a few weeks until you're born and I don't know if I'm ready yet." He paused to think about his next words before continuing. "I don't think I'm ready to be a father yet, but I have to. I want you to know that I will love you with everything that I have. I'll protect you, because my life depends on it. I'll be the best version of myself, because you don't deserve less. You are going to be so loved, Sophie."
It was 4am when contractions started kicking in. Jason had been staying at your house for the past weeks for this exact reason. Sophie was about to be born. You were giving birth.
Jason was panicking; even after arriving at the hospital and being told by the doctor that his daughter still had several hours to go before she was born, his heart wouldn't stop pounding.
Sophie was born around 7pm. She was healthy and perfect. Jason couldn't contain his tears. He was now a father of a beautiful girl. He swear the sight of you hugging your new born was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever seen. That was when those three damned words slipped out of his mouth.
"I love you," he whispered, but you heard him.
You smiled and looked at Sophie, "She loves you too-"
"No. I love you." He was standing next to the hospital bed, but he was afraid of getting closer. "Of course I love Sophie, I've told he multiple times this past weeks, but I have never said it to you before. I love you."
You knew he meant it. You could tell by the way his eyes refused to look anywhere else but you. He looked at you like you were the meaning of life, like you were the only reason he was alive right now. Jason was grateful. Grateful for the daughter you had given him, but above all for letting him be a part of her life, for allowing him to be a part of all of this, for allowing him to get to know you and love you. He didn't care if you loved him back or not, he just needed to tell you how important you had become to him.
"I love you too, Jason," you smiled. Your eyes were getting teary and Jason noticed. He finally walked closer, and with all the love he had in his body—mixed with the fear of destroying you or Sophie—he kissed your forehead. It felt like a promise. He was going to be there, forever. He would love you and Sophie until the end of his existence. He would protect you and Sophie no matter what. Jason Todd was going to be the best father, he promised.
"Now, I have to call Dick, and the others are going to freak out." Jason said. His hand moved cautiously to caress Sophie's hair with his index finger. He moved slowly, delicate, like she could break into pieces.
"You never told them?"
"Never found the right time," he lied, and you laughed.
This was too perfect. Your perfect little family that was born from a one night stand. You wouldn't change this for nothing. You loved the man standing next to you, and he loved you too. Maybe the pregnancy had been unexpected, a mistake, but you didn't regret it.
And Jason? He had so much to tell you—all about his past, his life as a vigilante, and his whole family—but that would have to wait for another day. At that moment, he was so captivated by the feeling of holding Sophie in his arms, sleeping peacefully, that he couldn’t think of anything else.
