jason todd x reader, him finding out reader is tattooed? I picture reader having a tattoo that says “most ardently” referencing pride and prejudice, perhaps a large back piece of flowers?! tattoos are up to you/can stay up to interpretation (but i feel like the most ardently one is perfect, especially with jason)
jason todd’s literary lines
normal au sfw short drabble neutral reader late night conversations kissing whipped jason todd 6.4k words
The heavy, muted silence of dawn still hung in the bedroom when the mattress shifted, it was a subtle movement, but to Jason, sleep was never truly deep. The moment the warmth of your body began to slip away, his eyes cracked open.
He watched your silhouette through the gloom, groggy but hyper-aware, waking before your bare feet even made contact with the cold hardwood floor as his body moved on pure instinct.
Silently, he forced himself out of the tangled sheets, his towering frame casting a massive shadow in the dim light. Standing well over six feet of pure, dense muscle, he was built like a brick wall—a reality emphasized by the sheer breadth of his shoulders and the thick, heavy curve of his biceps as he flexed his arms to shake off the sleep.
He stalked after you, his quiet footsteps betraying his massive size, guided by the soft, warm light spilling from the bathroom doorway. You were standing in front of the sink, having just slipped your shirt off over your head, preparing for a morning shower before work as the air in the bathroom was cool against your bare skin, carrying the faint, crisp scent of your peppermint body wash and the metallic tang of the pipes.
Before you could reach for the faucet, a sudden wave of heat enveloped you as Jason stepped up behind you, his presence instantly crowding the small room. He engulfed you entirely, his massive and scarred arms wrapped securely around your waist from the side, pulling your back flush against his broad, bare chest.
You were only in your undergarments, and the contrast between your soft skin and the rough, calloused texture of his hands sent a quick shiver down your spine as he buried his nose deep into your hair, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of your shampoo.
A low, gravelly rumble vibrated against your shoulder blade as he squeezed you closer, his chest expanding against your back. “Hey, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a thick, sleepy purr that sent a pleasant thrill straight to your toes.
You leaned back into his solid weight, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tilted your head to give him better access. “Good morning, Jay,” you whispered, your voice still thick with sleep.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he rumbled against your neck. The sound was a low, heavy vibration that resonated right through your bones as he shifted, his rough stubble scraping pleasantly against your skin, the distinct grey patch on his dark fringe falling slightly over his eyes as he nudged your jaw. “Why the hell are you up so early? It’s Thursday, sweetheart.”
“I have work, Jay,” you replied softly, twisting slightly in his grip to look up at him, your hand coming up to rest against the massive, warm expanse of his bicep. “And I really need to get in the shower now, or I’m going to be late…”
Jason let out a soft, pathetic whine directly into your hair, his grip tightening just a fraction more in a silent plea for you to stay. He was notoriously stubborn in the mornings, craving the quiet peace he rarely got anywhere else, especially when he had you in his arms like this.
But, knowing he couldn’t actually keep you hostage from your livelihood, he slowly let his arms drop, his palms dragging lazily down your hips before releasing you as he pulled back, but he didn’t go far. He retreated just a couple of steps, leaning his massive shoulder against the wooden doorframe.
Crossing his thick arms over his chest, his gaze locked onto you—heavy, dark, and lingering with a heated, lazy tension that made the room feel suddenly smaller.
Then, you turned around to face the shower, reaching out to turn on the handle as the movement pulled your hair completely over your right shoulder, exposing the entire left side of your back to the warm bathroom light. Jason’s lazy, sleep-deprived gaze instantly sharpened.
The air in his lungs hitched, catching in his throat with a sharp, audible snap. There, etched beautifully into the skin of your left shoulder blade, was a long, sweeping tattoo. Written in a delicate, elegant cursive font were the words ‘Most ardently’, accompanied by a trail of dark, intricate flowers that stalked upward from the bone and spilled gracefully down the top of your arm.
But Jason’s eyes didn’t just stop at the artistry as his gaze locked onto what lay beneath the ink. The flowers were intentionally woven around a thick, jagged, pale line of scar tissue. It was a brutal, uneven mark—the permanent reminder of a bank robbery months ago.
You had been the one to secretly call him, saving dozens of lives, but before he could burst through the doors, a robber had swung a heavy iron crowbar, catching you squarely on the shoulder blade.
Because you two had always kept the lights low or stayed beneath the covers during your most intimate moments, you had managed to hide the scar from him for months, terrified of the crushing guilt it would ignite in his chest.
And now, under the unforgiving morning light, it was entirely bare as the silence in the bathroom became deafening, thick with a sudden, suffocating weight.
The hot water from the shower began to hiss, sending a slow plume of steam into the air, but neither of you moved as Jason’s arms slowly uncrossed, dropping heavily to his sides. The lazy affection in his eyes vanished, replaced by a raw, burning intensity that made the space between you crackle with friction.
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes burning into the ink on your skin, his knuckles whitening as his hands curled into loose fists but before you could even register the shift in the room, Jason’s hand shot forward as his massive, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist—firm but remarkably gentle—and with a subtle tug, he twirled you around.
Your back pressed firmly against the solid, radiating heat of his bare chest. The contrast was dizzying; the cool morning air of the bathroom hit your front, while his towering frame completely shielded your back from the chill.
Jason tilted his head down, his sharp blue eyes locking onto the delicate cursive script, tracing the dark ink of the flowers before his gaze sank into the jagged, pale line of the scar beneath it as you looked over your shoulder, catching the way his jaw tightly clenched, a muscle feathering in his cheek.
His hand hovered just inches away, his index finger twitching in the steam-filled air, wanting to reach out but completely frozen by a rare, hesitant fear.
“You can touch it if you want, Jay,” you murmured softly, your voice cutting through the hiss of the shower.
The permission broke his trance, slowly, the pad of his large index finger made contact with your skin. He traced the elegant curves of the tattoo first, his touch light as a feather, before sliding down to the uneven, raised texture of the scar tissue.
A heavy, dark shadow crossed his face, and his chest heaved against your back, “I almost didn’t make it,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly register that scraped against your ears.
His finger paused on the center of the scar, pressing just a fraction firmer, his knuckles turning white. “I still want to find that bastard and break a crowbar over his head… I should’ve been faster.”
“Hey, c’mon,” you said softly, leaning your head back against his shoulder to catch his eye. “You got there as fast as you could, sweetheart. You saved everyone, and you saved me.”
Wanting to pull him out of the dark spiral of his own mind, you shifted the focus to the ink under his finger. “I got the tattoo to make it look like something beautiful grew out of it,” you explained, a small smile forming as you felt his finger resume its slow, soothing strokes. “It’s from Pride and Prejudice!”
“There’s a scene where the main character gets this sudden, overwhelming confession: ‘In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed’...”
Jason’s finger stopped completely against your shoulder blade. “... ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you,’” he finished.
The words tumbled from his lips effortlessly, his deep voice carrying a quiet, unexpected reverence. You blinked, completely caught off guard, and immediately spun around in his loose grip to face him properly. “I didn’t take you for a literature boy, Jay,” you teased, your eyes wide with genuine surprise as Jason let out a low, breathless chuckle.
He leaned back against the wooden doorframe, his massive arms stretching out behind him to support his weight as he looked down at you. The lazy morning haze was entirely gone from his face; his pupils were completely blown, turning his sharp blue eyes into deep, dark pools of pure devotion as he drank in the sight of you.
“I’m full of surprises, sweetheart,” he murmured, a smug, boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What, you thought I only read tactical manuals? The Count of Monte Cristo is practically my autobiography.”
Your jaw practically dropped. “Wait... you read that too? Why did you let me ramble your entire ear off about it last week if you already knew the whole plot?”
Jason’s smirk softened into something incredibly tender as he stepped away from the doorframe, closing the distance between you until the heat radiating from his body wrapped around you once more.
He reached down, his large, warm hands gently enveloping yours, his rough thumbs slowly rubbing soothing circles against your skin. “Because I like listening to you talk about your interests without interruption, sweetheart,” he confessed, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate whisper.
“Seeing your eyes light up like that... I’d let you explain the entire book to me a hundred times over.”
A fierce, burning blush rushed to your cheeks, warming you from the inside out. Before you could stutter out a response, Jason lifted your hands and gently twirled you around once more, seamlessly bringing your back against his chest.
He folded his massive, slightly cool forearms over your warm stomach, pulling you securely against him as he rested his heavy chin on your shoulder, and as the shower steam began to fog up the bathroom mirror, he began to gently rock you back and forth in a slow, comforting rhythm.
The fabric of his sweatpants brushed against your legs as you swayed. Suddenly, you felt the soft press of his lips against your left shoulder blade as he kissed the cursive ink, then kissed the pale scar tissue, his breath warm against your skin.
“Jay,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribs.
He murmured something incoherent against your skin before turning his head, nudging your jaw until you turned your face toward him. His lips met yours in a soft, lingering peck.
You could feel the distinct, vibrant curve of his grin pressing directly against your lips, a low rumble of pure contentment vibrating in his chest. Unable to resist, you turned around completely to face him properly, your hands coming up to cup his jawline, feeling the rough texture of his morning stubble as Jason’s large hands slid effortlessly against your skin, his warm, calloused palms resting securely against the bare skin of your waist, anchoring you to him.
The kiss deepened, tasting like sleep and lazy Thursday mornings, the tension between you thick, heated, and utterly addictive.
But the ticking of the clock in the bedroom echoed faintly, reminding you of reality, and with a breathless gasp, you gently pulled your lips away from his as Jason immediately let out a soft, pathetic whine, his grip on your waist tightening as he tried to lean back in to steal another taste. “Come on, just five more minutes, sweetheart...”
“No more kissing, or I’m going to be completely late,” you laughed softly, preventing his advance by burying your face in his chest and pulling him into a tight, grounding hug instead as Jason sighed, a heavy, defeated sound, but he didn’t protest any further (yet). He buried his face in your hair, pressing a firm, loving kiss against your forehead.
His massive arms slid down your back, wrapping securely around you just right below your chest, holding you so close that the rest of the world completely faded away as the stubborn, playful edge in his voice frayed, giving way to something much heavier, much more fragile.
As you tried to shift your weight again, a desperate, genuine fracture broke through his morning grogginess. He let out a low, shuddering breath that felt less like a pout and more like a plea, his forehead dropping heavily onto your shoulder as if the sheer weight of the looming day was too much to bear alone.
“Pleasee, sweetheart,” he whispered, the gravelly rough edge of his voice cracking with a raw, unexpected vulnerability. “Just... just stay. Todayy… please?”
His large hands shifted, his fingers clutching at the fabric of your undergarments, his palms pressing flat against your lower back as if he were trying to anchor himself to the only solid, safe thing in his universe.
“You don’t need that place anyway. I can take care of us. I can provide everything we need, I swear... I just... I can’t stand the thought of you walking out that door today.”
You felt a familiar, painful ache in your chest. Your eyes drifted over the broad expanse of his shoulders, tracking the faint heat bumps of bacne scattering across his upper back, interspersed with the jagged, white lines of bullet grazes and blade marks. It was a map of a meat grinder.
You knew exactly what unsaid horrors were fueling his desperation. His line of work meant every single night was a gamble with his life. It meant late-night arrivals where the smell of iron and cheap alleyway rain clung to his clothes, his knuckles split to the bone, his face bruised a horrific purple.
He would always sit on the edge of the tub, hands shaking from adrenaline, quietly murmuring, “I’m okay, I’m fine, I promise I’ll be more careful next time,” while you cleaned the glass out of his skin. You loved him fiercely, but you couldn’t let his trauma swallow your entire life.
“Jay,” you breathed, your voice trembling slightly as you put your hands against his ribs, gently but firmly trying to create an inch of distance. “I have to go. I love you, but I need this. I need to shower now.”
The moment he felt the physical boundaries of your body drifting from his, a cold panic seemed to strike him. Instantly, his massive biceps flexed, clamping down around you like iron bands.
He completely consumed you, hauling you flush against his chest so suddenly that your face was smudged entirely into the hot, solid center of his torso, he didn’t let go, instead, he wrapped himself around you tightly, burying his face deep into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against your cheek.
“Don’t go,” he choked out, the tough, unyielding Red Hood completely evaporating, leaving behind only Jason—the boy who had been left alone in the dark too many times. His voice was a ragged, muffled string of admissions against your skin. “I’m so lonely here without you…”
“The apartment gets so quiet, and the walls just... they close in, sweetheart. Please… just come back to bed and hold… me for a little bit. Just five minutes, sweetheart. Please? For me?”
The sheer desperation in his grip, the way his massive, muscular frame was slightly trembling against yours, made the lingering, heated tension in the room shift into something profoundly emotional.
He was trapping you, yes, but he was also holding onto you like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline, begging you to save him from the quiet wreckage of his own mind as you stared up into those heavy, pleading blue eyes.
The fearsome Red Hood was trying his absolute best to give you the most pitiful puppy-dog look his scarred face could muster, entirely shameless in his quest to drag you back under the covers. For a few agonizing seconds, you tried to hold your ground, but the sheer, desperate vulnerability radiating off his massive frame completely melted your resolve.
With a dramatic, theatrical sigh, you rolled your eyes, a fond smile breaking through your exasperation. “Fine, fine... fine! You win, Master Jason.”
Jason immediately let out a loud, rough scoff at the old title, his jaw twitching. It was your favorite way to mock him, a playful jab at the stories he’d shared about his childhood and the elegant British butler who used to cater to him.
For a split second, his pride flared, and he looked like he wanted to snap back with a witty retort—but he caught himself. He knew better. One wrong word and you’d unleash the ultimate threat of “That’s it, I’m going to work,” and he wasn’t about to risk his victory.
Loosening the iron grip of his biceps, he finally pulled away just enough to let you breathe, though he didn’t let go completely as his huge, calloused hand slid down to catch yours, his thick fingers tangling securely with your own.
With an eager, impatient tug, he began guiding you out of the humid bathroom, reaching back with his free hand to firmly shut the door behind you, locking the hissing steam inside.
He didn’t waste a single second as the moment you were back in the dim, cool shadows of the bedroom, Jason stepped in front of you and began to gently, yet thoroughly, sifting through the clutter on the floor with his foot, he hooked a stray t-shirt of his, along with the soft shorts you had worn last night.
Technically, they were all his clothes, but in this apartment, anything that belonged to him belonged to you, too as Jason retreated a few steps, sinking back into the messy, unmade bed with a heavy, contented sigh.
He propped his back against the pillows, his bare chest heaving as his eyes locked onto you. As you reached for the shirt, his gaze darkened, lingering one last time on the elegant cursive of your ‘Most ardently’ tattoo and the jagged line of the crowbar scar beneath it.
There was a quiet, solemn reverence in his eyes now, a silent promise to keep you safe, before the fabric finally dropped over your head and covered it as the semi-oversized shirt swallowed you whole, smelling faintly of gunpowder, cedarwood, and him.
The moment you adjusted the shorts, Jason threw his massive arms wide open, a lazy, welcoming smirk returning to his lips. “Come here, sweetheart.”
You didn’t need to be told twice as you crawled back onto the mattress, the residual warmth of the blankets immediately enveloping you as you dove straight into his waiting embrace.
You buried your face deep into the warm crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent as you wrapped your arms tightly around his broad upper body.
Your fingers brushed against the slight texture of his bacne and the rugged lines of his shoulders, anchoring you to him. Facedown against his warm skin, your voice came out as a muffled, incoherent mumble. “...you’re gonna have to call my job and tell them I’m sick.”
Jason’s chest rumbled beneath you, a low, vibration of pure satisfaction bubbling in his throat as his massive arms locked around your waist, pulling you so close there wasn't a single inch of space left between you. “Later, later,” he murmured sleepily, his large hand gently stroking your back as he pulled the heavy duvet over both of you, finally content now that he had you right where you belonged.
The dim light of the bedroom felt entirely separate from the rest of the world, casting long, lazy shadows across the tangled sheets. Outside, the faint, distant hum of morning traffic began to pick up, a reminder of the Thursday you were actively abandoning, but inside the room, the only sound that mattered was the steady, deep rhythm of Jason’s breathing.
The cool morning air rolled in softly from the cracked window, carrying the crisp scent of upcoming rain and damp pavement, cutting through the heavy, enveloping warmth of the duvet as Jason’s massive hand moved with a surprising, deliberate gentleness, his thick fingers tangling into your hair.
He combed through the strands slowly, his rough palm scraping softly against your scalp as he stared down at your face as you shifted weight, sliding yourself semi-on top of him, resting your chin against the massive, solid expanse of his chest.
His pectorals rose and fell beneath you like a steady tide as he leaned up just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
It wasn’t the rushed, desperate kiss from the bathroom, but the slow and intoxicating romance that made the space between you feel dense and heavy as his other hand found your thigh beneath the hem of his oversized shirt, his large palm warm and heavy against your skin.
He roamed it up and down, his callouses catching slightly against your skin, sending a quiet thrill straight down your spine. “You’re so beautiful… sweetheart,” he murmured against your mouth, his breath hot and smelling faintly of the mint from earlier.
His blue eyes scanned your face as if he were trying to memorize every single line, his voice dropping into a rough, vulnerable register. “Perfect… so absolutely pretty.”
You let out a soft hum, reaching down to catch his hand before it could wander any higher as you pulled his massive palm away from your thigh, holding it gently between both of yours.
Your fingers traced the crisp, white edges of the medical tape and fabric bandages wrapped around his knuckles—the fresh armor from whatever alleyway war he had fought the night before. Beneath the cloth, you could feel the hard, unyielding framework of his hand, a weapon that had been broken and rebuilt a hundred times over.
You rubbed your thumb over the cotton wrapping, caressing the hidden hurts he so stubbornly tried to shield you from. Opening your eyes, you looked up into his gaze, the blue of his eyes almost completely swallowed by his blown pupils. “I love you, Jay… even when you’re being a selfish, demanding vigilante who ruins my work schedule.”
A low, breathy chuckle rumbled through his ribs, vibrating right against your chest. “I’m not selfish,” he murmured, his thumb hooking under your chin to tilt your face up just a fraction more. “I’m just greedy… there’s a difference.”
“Is that what the literature boy calls it?” you teased softly, leaning up to press a quick, reassuring kiss to the center of his palm, right over the bandages. “You’re just lucky I love you enough to risk getting fired.”
“They won’t fire you,” he growled softly, a sudden touch of that protective, dangerous Red Hood edge bleeding into his tone before it melted back into lazy affection. “If they do, I’ll make sure you become the boss and fire whoever annoys you. Problem solved.”
You rolled your eyes with a laugh, shifting your position until you were laying flat on the mattress beside him. You dragged your legs over, resting them comfortably over his thick, heavy thighs. Jason immediately rolled onto his side to face you, propping his head up with one hand.
His massive bicep flexed under the weight, the sheer size of his arm emphasizing how easily he could overwhelm your entire frame if he wanted to. But here, in the quiet safety of the dark, he looked completely disarmed as he just watched you; there was a profound, quiet romance in the way he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes tracing the line of your collarbone, the curve of your jaw, and the way his oversized shirt hung off your shoulders.
His pupils remained massive, wide and dark, reflecting the absolute adoration he usually kept locked away behind a red mask as his free hand came down to rest on your tummy, his palm covering nearly the entire expanse of your midriff.
You instinctively reached down, your hands wrapping around his thick bicep, holding onto the heavy muscle as if it were an anchor. “You still think about it, don’t you?” Jason asked suddenly, his voice dropping into a quiet, serious depth that cut right through the comfortable silence.
His finger tapped a slow, rhythmic beat against your stomach. “The bank… and the crowbar.”
You quieted, your fingers tightening slightly around his bicep. “Sometimes. When it gets too loud, it aches a little. But mostly, I just think about the sound of the doors bursting open, knowing you were there was enough for me.”
Jason’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping for a split second as he fought back the ugly, dark memories of his own past—the smell of warehouse dust, the laugh of a clown, the weight of an iron bar.
He knew that pain intimately, and the fact that a piece of his violent world had chipped off and struck you was a burden he carried every single day. “I… was too slow,” he whispered, the admission raw and bleeding with a vulnerability he never showed anyone else.
“Every time I look at that ink, I just think about how I almost lost the only thing that matters to me.”
“Jay, look at me,” you insisted softly, letting go of his arm to gently cup his cheek, forcing his blue eyes back to yours. “You didn't lose me. You found me!”
“The tattoo isn’t a reminder of what went wrong. It’s what you said—‘most ardently.’ I chose those words because despite everything ugly out there, what I feel for you is the only thing that stays constant.”
“You’re my wait and hope.”
A profound, heavy silence settled over the room, thick with a lingering, heated tension that was entirely emotional as Jason stared at you, his chest heaving with a ragged breath as your words settled deep into his chest, soothing the jagged edges of his soul.
Slowly, his hand on your tummy slid downward, his fingers hooking firmly into the waistband of your shorts. With one possessive, unyielding pull, he dragged your body flush against his. He closed the remaining distance entirely, burying his nose deep into the crook of your neck, his face hidden in the sweet, familiar scent of your hair.
He inhaled sharply, a long, desperate breath as if he were drinking you into his very lungs, before letting out a slow, heavy exhale that fanned warmly against your collarbone as his massive arms locked tightly around your waist, holding you so securely against his chest that you could feel the steady, powerful thud of his heart beating in perfect time with your own.
The rain finally caught up with the morning forecast, tapping a soft, rhythmic patter against the windowpane. Inside, the sound only made the bedroom feel smaller, safer, and entirely insulated from the rest of Gotham.
The cool scent of wet asphalt drifted through the cracked glass, mixing with the warm, familiar scent of Jason’s skin as he kept his face buried in your neck for a long time, his breathing deep and heavy against your skin.
His massive arms remained locked around your waist, his biceps pressing firmly against your ribs. You could feel the sheer, overwhelming size of him wrapping you up, but there wasn’t a single ounce of threat in it; he was just anchoring himself.
Slowly, he shifted, tilting his head up so his chin rested on your shoulder. Those blown, dark blue eyes looked at you from mere inches away, heavy with a lazy, romantic intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “‘Wait and hope,’ huh?” he murmured, a faint, lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
He reached up, using one of his large, bandage-wrapped fingers to gently boop the tip of your nose. “How dorky.”
“Oh, please,” you laughed softly, your hands coming up to rest on his broad shoulders, your fingers tracing the bumps of his bacne through the soft cotton of his shirt.
“You’re the one who memorized Alexandre Dumas and Jane Austen just to flex on me in a bathroom. Who’s the real drama queen here, Master Jason?”
“Hey, I’m a man of culture,” he rumbled, his chest vibrating pleasantly against your front. He slid his hand up from your waistband, his large palm resting flat against your tummy again, warmth seeping through the fabric of his oversized t-shirt. “Besides, you started it! You can’t just drop Darcy lines on a guy when he’s half-asleep and expect him not to finish them. It’s a reflex.”
You smiled, but as you looked at the faint, white scars cutting through his brow and across his jawline, the tone of the room softened, drifting into that deep, quiet space only the two of you shared. “Seriously, though. You actually read them…? I thought you just collected first editions to look intimidating on your bookshelves.”
Jason’s smirk faded into something much gentler, a rare, vulnerable softness taking over his features as he stole a long, lingering glance at your lips before his eyes locked back onto yours.
“When I was... before everything went sideways, when I was living at the manor, I used to hide out in the library. It was the only place that felt quiet. I read everything I could get my hands on just to keep the noise out of my head.”
He paused, his thumb tracing a slow circle over your hip. “And then later, after I came back... those books were some of the only things I remembered clearly. Before I remembered my own name, I remembered stories.”
Your chest tightened with a profound, aching tenderness. You moved your hand up, your fingers gently tangling into the dark hair at the nape of his neck, your thumb brushing over the distinct grey patch on his fringe. “And now?”
Jason leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second before he opened them, staring at you with a terrifying amount of devotion.
“Now, I don’t need the books to keep the noise out. I just need you to ramble about them for three hours.”
A beautiful, breathless silence fell over the bed, the romantic weight of his words hanging heavy in the air as your face flushed a deep, bright crimson, and you instinctively tried to hide your face by burying it back into his chest. “Stop,” you muffled against his collarbone. “You can’t just say things like that! I’m supposed to be at work right now, and you’re making it impossible to regret staying.”
Jason let out a low, victorious chuckle, his massive arms squeezing you tight against him, pulling your thighs over his legs completely. “Good. That’s the plan, sweetheart. Complete and total sabotage.”
“You’re terrible,” you laughed, turning your head to look at him properly.
“I know I am…” he corrected smoothly, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your jawline, before trailing his lips up to your cheek. “Now, are you going to call your boss, or do I have to use my scary Red Hood voice over the phone to tell them you’ve been struck down by a sudden, incurable case of ‘needing to cuddle your giant boyfriend’?”
“I don’t think that’s on the sick-leave form, Jay,” you grinned, your hands sliding down to rest against his massive biceps, feeling the thick, solid muscle flex beneath your palms as he held you close. “I’ll make them add it,” he murmured against your lips, his smile stretching against yours right before he caught your mouth in another deep, lazy, and utterly perfect kiss.
Before you could even fully process the taste of his grin against your mouth, Jason’s hands shifted from your waist down to your thighs. With one effortless, sweeping hoist of his massive arms, he adjusted your weight and pulled you entirely on top of him.
You let out a breathless gasp as you found yourself straddling his midsection, your hands instantly dropping onto his broad, solid chest for balance as he looked up at you with that lazy, triumphant smirk, his thick biceps flexing against the mattress as he settled his hands heavily on your hips, entirely satisfied with his new vantage point.
The sharp, aggressive vibration of your phone cut through the quiet romance of the room like a buzzsaw. It was sitting right on the nightstand, its screen flashing a harsh, bright light that illuminated the dim shadows of the bedroom.
You let out a heavy, defeated sigh, your shoulders dropping. “Jesus, it’s only been a few minutes,” you groaned, already preparing to slide off him to answer it.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Jason rumbled, his grip tightening on your hips just enough to keep you pinned securely to his chest. With a reach that only someone over six feet tall could manage, his massive arm shot out toward the nightstand as his large, bandage-wrapped fingers scooped up the device effortlessly.
He brought the screen up to his face, and a soft, dorky smile instantly broke across his scarred features when the lock screen immediately chimed and swiped open. You had set up his face on your phone’s facial recognition—partly for emergencies, but mostly because you loved seeing the phone unlock just by him looking at it.
“Look at this,” Jason murmured, turning the screen toward you so you could see the banner notification. It was a direct message from your manager.
Before you could read the full text, the phone began to ring proper, the manager’s name flashing across the screen.
“Jay, give it to me, I have to answer—”
“I got it, sweetheart,” he interrupted smoothly.
With a wicked glint in his blue eyes, Jason tapped the green accept button and instantly slid the call onto speakerphone, but before the first syllable could leave your manager’s mouth, Jason’s free hand firmly clapped over the back of your head.
With a gentle but unyielding pressure, he pushed your head straight down, burying your face flush into the warm, solid center of his bare chest. He began to casually ruffle your hair, his thick fingers tangling in the strands to keep you pacified while your mouth was completely muffled against his skin.
“Hello?” Jason spoke into the phone.
Instantly, the lazy, gravelly tone of your sleepy boyfriend vanished. It was replaced by a smooth, perfectly modulated, and incredibly professional voice—the kind of voice he only pulled out when he was playing the part of a high-society Wayne enterprise heir, or dealing with people he actually needed to respect.
“Yes, hello, this is a… very, very close friend of Y/N’s,” Jason lied seamlessly, his chest vibrating right against your cheek as he spoke. “I’m calling on their behalf. I’m afraid they woke up with a violently high fever and a severe respiratory infection this morning. Yes, it’s quite bad.”
“They’re completely bedridden and can barely speak. I’ve already advised them that they absolutely cannot make it into the office today... or tomorrow, for that matter. They’ll need at least the next two days to recover properly.”
Your eyes went wide against his chest. ‘Two days?!’
Muffled, panicked noises escaped your throat as you desperately tried to thrash out of his grip as you clawed at his ribs and reached wildly for the device, but the moment your fingers even brushed the casing, Jason simply hoisted his arm straight up into the air.
With his absurdly long reach and the sheer breadth of his shoulders, he held the phone completely out of your hemisphere. You were stuck hovering over him, straining your arms in vain while he lay there perfectly relaxed, easily keeping you at bay with a single hand resting on your back.
On the other end of the line, your manager sounded completely taken aback by the sheer authority and professionalism in Jason’s voice. “Oh... oh, wow. I see. Yes, of course, health comes first! Please tell them to rest up and we’ll see them on Monday. Thank you for calling in for them.”
“Much appreciated, have a good weekend,” Jason finished smoothly, his tone clipping off with a polite finality before he tapped the screen to end the call as the silence returned to the bedroom, save for the soft patter of the rain outside.
Finally, Jason lowered his arm and handed the device down to you with a smug, self-satisfied grin as you snatched the phone from his grip, quickly sitting up on his lap.
Your heart was pounding as you frantically opened the messaging app to look at the stream of increasingly urgent texts your manager had sent earlier, demanding to know where you were. You let out a breathless, half-stunned laugh, staring at the screen in utter disbelief.
Behind you, the mattress shifted heavily as Jason sat up with you, his massive, broad chest pressing flush against your back as he wrapped his thick arms around your waist from behind.
He pulled you securely against him, tucking his chin over your shoulder so his scratchy morning stubble nudged your neck, “... There,” he murmured, his deep voice thick with satisfaction as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your oversized shorts, anchoring you to his lap. “Look at that.”
“The both of us are completely free for the next two days. No work, no distractions. Just you and me.”
You turned your head slightly, looking at him over your shoulder with an amused, slightly judging brow. “Jesus, Todd! I didn’t know you were such a terrifyingly good liar. You didn’t even hesitate.”
Jason’s blue eyes gleamed in the dim, romantic light of the room, his pupils still wide and dark as he looked at you. A slow, lazy smirk stretched across his lips, his biceps flexing securely around your middle as he squeezed you tight.
“What did I tell you earlier, sweetheart?” he rumbled, his voice dropping into a low, affectionate purr against your skin. “I’m full of surprises.”
