NEVER LOVE AN ANCHOR. jason todd.
â pairing â ex boyfriend! jason todd x ex vigilante! fem reader | angst
summary â In the smoky haze of a downtown nightclub, youâve built a new life far from the rooftops and shadows of your vigilante pastâa life where the glittering stage offers control, certainty, and the promise of another tomorrow. But when Jason Todd, the ex-lover who begged you to walk away from it all, shows up in the private room Bruce Wayne reserved, the fragile balance of your world begins to crack. Jason isnât surprised by your new pathâit fits your history, your love of the stageâbut his frustration and lingering feelings force you both to confront the choices that tore you apart. As old wounds resurface and unspoken truths linger, youâre left questioning whether the freedom youâve found is enough to keep the ghosts of your past at bay.
wc â 3k
The air in the club was thick with smoke and heat, the kind of atmosphere that clung to your skin like a second layer. It was always like thisâneon lights splashing over bodies, music that seemed to bypass the ears and hammer straight into the chest. You knew the rhythms of this place as intimately as youâd once known the cold steel of a grappling hook or the weight of Kevlar pressing into your ribs.
Bruce was waiting, as he always was, in the far corner of the room. He didnât look out of place, not exactlyâmen like Bruce Wayne never didâbut there was a severity to him that the club couldnât soften. He was all sharp angles and unreadable eyes, his suit too crisp for a place like this, his presence an accusation in itself.
You spotted him before he saw you, and for a moment, you hesitated, letting your gaze flick over him. No doubt he was here for his usual check-in, his thinly veiled attempt at making sure you hadnât spiraled into something worse than this. But there was nothing worse than this, was there? At least, thatâs what theyâd all think.
They didnât understand, and you had no interest in explaining.
You approached him with a slow, deliberate gait, hips swaying to the bassline, a cigarette perched between your fingers. Bruce didnât react until you slid into his lap, resting a hand on his shoulder as if you belonged there.
âIs it time for our monthly meeting, Bruce?â you asked, voice low, words syrupy-smooth and cutting all at once.
His lips tightened, a flicker of disapproval in his eyes that you found, to your amusement, endlessly satisfying. âNot this time,â he replied.
You leaned in closer, your breath brushing his ear as you whispered, âHopefully something pleasurable.â
He didnât answer, just inclined his head slightly toward the back. The room he always reserved. His usual wordless command. You pushed yourself off his lap with a languid grace, flicking the cigarette into a nearby ashtray before walking away.
The private room was quieter than the rest of the club, the music muted to a faint vibration through the walls, but the tension in the air was suffocating. Jason was standing there, leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed in a way that seemed designed to stop him from punching somethingâor someone.
You let the door click shut behind you and leaned against it, one brow arched in a way that dared him to speak first. When he didnât, you smirked, tilting your head.
âFunny, I thought Bruce was the one keeping tabs on me. Didnât realize youâd taken up the hobby.â
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â Jason said, his voice low but steady, his eyes narrowing.
âI work here,â you replied flatly. âOr is that not obvious?â
âDonât,â he snapped, stepping forward. âDonât act like this is normal.â
âWho said it was normal?â you shot back, lifting an eyebrow. âLook, Iâm fine, Jason. Thriving, even. Iâve got a steady job, my own placeââ You stopped yourself there. He didnât need to know about Roy. That wasnât part of this conversation.
Jason scoffed, his hands balling into fists at his sides. âYou call this thriving?â
You shrugged, your lips curling into a sharp smile. âI get paid. I know Iâll wake up tomorrow and come back. No masks, no blood, no wondering if tonightâs the night I donât make it home. So yeah, I call this thriving. Itâs not much, but itâs mine.â
âY/N,â he said, his voice softening just enough to cut deeper, âyouâre better than this.â
âOh, spare me the bullshit, Jason,â you snapped, your voice sharp enough to pierce through his quiet concern. âI gave up the vigilante life, just like you begged me to. I got out. Isnât that what you wanted?â
âThis isnât what I wanted,â he said, stepping closer, his eyes blazing. âI didnât want you toââ He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face. âBruce is using you. You know that, right?â
âBruce doesnât use anyone who doesnât want to be used,â you said coolly, though there was a faint flicker of something in your chestâa memory you didnât want to revisit.
Jason laughed, short and bitter. âYeah? And whatâs he giving you in return?â
âPeace of mind,â you said simply. âWhich is more than I ever had when I was running rooftops and getting shot at with you.â
That hit harder than you expected it to, his jaw tightening as his shoulders sagged slightly. For a moment, he looked almost small, and that scared you more than anything else.
âI just donât want to see you like this,â he said quietly.
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance as you moved past him to the small bar in the corner, pouring yourself a glass of water. âNot my problem if you canât handle it. Youâre the one who showed up here, uninvited, might I add.â
âAnd youâre living with Roy?â he asked, his voice clipped, bitter.
The glass stopped halfway to your lips. For a moment, you didnât react, didnât even blink. Then, slowly, you took a sip and set the glass down, turning to face him with a smile that didnât reach your eyes.
âWhat of it?â you said coolly, crossing your arms.
Jasonâs expression darkened, his frustration boiling just beneath the surface. âSo thatâs it? You trade in the mask for⌠this?â He gestured vaguely as if the room itself were an accusation. âAnd Roy gets to swoop in and play house?â
You laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. âOh, is that what this is about? Youâre jealous?â
âIâm not jealous,â Jason snapped, his voice rising. âIâm pissed. Royâheâs a good guy, sure, but heâs notââ
âHeâs not you?â you finished, your voice dripping with sarcasm. âWell, thank God for that.â
Jason flinched, just barely, but you saw it, and for a fleeting moment, you almost regretted saying it. Almost.
âWhat I do and who I live with is none of your business,â you continued, your tone icy now. âYou donât get to waltz back into my life and act like you have a say. Not afterââ You stopped yourself, clenching your jaw.
âNot after what?â Jason pressed, his voice softer now, but no less insistent.
You turned away, pretending to adjust the straps of your outfit, anything to avoid meeting his eyes. âNot after you begged me to give it all up,â you said finally, your voice quieter but no less sharp. âYou wanted me out of the game, Jason. Out of the danger. You didnât care what that meant for me, as long as I was safe. Well, congratulations. Iâm safe. Iâm alive. And if Royâs couch is where I crash at night, so be it. At least I know Iâll wake up tomorrow and make it to work.â
Jason stared at you, his expression unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line. âAnd this is what you call living?â he asked, his voice heavy with disbelief.
âItâs better than dying,â you shot back, your eyes blazing as you turned to face him again. âBetter than wondering if tonightâs the night I donât come home. Better than feeling like every step I take is just one more toward the grave. Do you think I like this? That I dreamed of spending my nights dancing for tips and dodging pitying looks from men like you? No. But at least I know Iâll survive it. Can you say the same about your life?â
Jason didnât respond, his shoulders sagging slightly as he exhaled, his anger deflating into something closer to despair.
âI didnât want this for you,â he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
âWell, tough,â you replied, stepping closer, your voice steady and cold. âBecause this is who I am now. And if you canât handle that, youâre welcome to leave. But donât you dare stand here and act like you care. Not when youâre the one who pushed me into this life.â
Jasonâs gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable, almost broken. But you didnât soften. You couldnât. Not now.
âAnd as for Roy,â you added, your tone cutting, âheâs got nothing to do with you. Heâs there when I need him, which is more than I can say for you. So unless youâve got something useful to say, I suggest you go back to whatever rooftop you crawled down from and leave me the hell alone.â
You didnât wait for his response. You turned on your heel and walked out, the sound of your heels clicking against the floor echoing behind you. And for the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of certainty. This life might not have been what you wanted, but it was yours. And for now, that was enough.
The club was quieter when you stepped back onto the floor, the thrum of the bass no longer rattling through your chest. It wasnât as late as you thought it was, but the room had already begun to empty, leaving the stragglers and the desperate to haunt the barstools. You spotted Bruce right where youâd left him, still poised like he owned the place, even if heâd never admit to frequenting it.
Jasonâs presence lingered behind you like an unwelcome shadow, but you ignored it, pushing forward, your steps purposeful. Whatever that encounter had beenâanger, guilt, whatever emotion he thought he could leverage to pull you back into his orbitâyou werenât going to let it shake you.
You approached Bruce with the same swaying grace youâd used earlier, though now it was sharper, more pointed. Sliding into the booth opposite him, you leaned on your elbows, your lips tugging into a dry, knowing smile.
âWas this part of the plan?â you asked, pulling a cigarette from a nearby tray, lighting it and taking a slow drag.
Bruce didnât look at you at first, his gaze following the faint smoke trail curling above your head. âHe was concerned.â
You laughed, a short, sharp bark of amusement. âConcerned? Is that what weâre calling it now? Funny how everyoneâs concern only shows up when I finally find a place I fit.â
Bruce finally looked at you, his expression as unreadable as always, though there was the faintest furrow between his brows. âYou think you fit here?â
âBetter here than there,â you said simply, shrugging as you exhaled a cloud of smoke. âAt least here, I know Iâll live to see tomorrow. Thatâs more than I could ever say when I was running rooftops with either of you.â
Bruce didnât answer, and you didnât need him to. His silence was its own kind of acknowledgment, a quiet acquiescence to your stubbornness. You sighed, leaning back and crossing your legs, the picture of defiant ease.
âSee you next week, Bruce,â you said, sliding out of the booth before he could respond. âDonât forget to reserve the room. You know how I hate to be kept waiting.â
You didnât look back as you walked away, though you felt his eyes on you, heavy with thoughts heâd never say aloud.
The next week came quicker than you expected, the rhythm of your life falling back into its familiar patterns. Work was work, and Bruceâs presence was just another part of it, like the lights or the music. When he arrived, you didnât hesitate, slipping into his lap as if youâd always been there, whispering teasing remarks into his ear that he didnât bother to deflect.
What you didnât seeâwhat you couldnât have knownâwas Jason.
He was in the shadows, just as heâd always been, a silent observer watching the two of you from a distance. He hadnât planned to come back, but something had gnawed at him all week, something he couldnât shake. It wasnât just the way youâd dismissed him so easily, though that stung more than he wanted to admit. It was Bruce.
The way you laughed, low and throaty, as you leaned into Bruce, your hand trailing casually over his shoulder. The way Bruce, ever the stoic, let you. There was something there, something Jason couldnât ignore.
And when you left the table with Bruce, disappearing into the private room without a backward glance, Jason followed.
He didnât go inâhe wasnât that bold, not yetâbut he hovered just outside, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists.
Inside, your laughter was muffled, but he could still hear it, along with Bruceâs low, measured tones. Whatever you were to each otherâfriends, allies, something moreâit was clear heâd been shut out of a world youâd built without him.
Jason stormed into the study at Wayne Manor that evening, his boots loud against the wooden floor. Bruce was already there, seated in his armchair, a glass of scotch in hand, his expression unreadable as always. It irritated Jason to no endâthe way Bruce could remain so calm, so detached, even when everything felt like it was on fire.
"You knew I was there," Jason said, his voice low but tight, anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Bruce didnât even flinch. He took a slow sip of his scotch, set the glass down on the table beside him, and finally looked up. "Yes."
Jason scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he began to pace. "And youâre just fine with it? Fine with her throwing herself into this⌠this life?"
Bruce leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in that maddeningly composed way of his. "Sheâs not throwing herself into anything, Jason. She made a choice."
"A choice?" Jason turned on him, his voice rising. "This isnât a choice, Bruce. This isâthis is her settling. Youâve seen her! Sheâs better than this. She deservesâ"
"She deserves to live her life the way she sees fit," Bruce interrupted, his voice calm but firm, cutting through Jasonâs tirade like a blade. "And thatâs exactly what sheâs doing."
Jason stopped pacing, glaring at him. "And youâre part of that life now? You, of all people? Donât you think itâs a littleâ"
"A little what, Jason?" Bruce leaned forward now, his tone sharper, his gaze pinning Jason in place. "A little inappropriate? A little manipulative? Because if thatâs what youâre implying, youâre wrong."
Jason shook his head, his hands balling into fists. "You donât get it, Bruce. Sheâs not thinking clearly."
"sheâs thinking just fine," Bruce said evenly. "Better than fine, actually. Sheâs found a way to live without looking over her shoulder every night, without worrying whether sheâll wake up the next day. We canât say the same."
Jason flinched at that, his jaw tightening. "Sheâs not supposed to be like this," he muttered, more to himself than to Bruce.
Bruce sighed, standing and walking over to Jason. He placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. "Jason, you left her. Whatever guilt youâre carrying about that, you need to let it go. Sheâs moved on. Sheâs found a life that works for her. You donât have to understand it, but you do have to respect it."
Jason pulled away, shaking his head. "You donât get it, Bruce. Iâ" He stopped, biting back the words he didnât want to say.
Bruce didnât press him. Instead, he walked back to his chair, picking up his scotch again. "She meets with me because she chooses to, Jason. I donât force her, and I certainly donât manipulate her. I wonât believe that youâll discredit either of us for that."
Jason stared at him for a long moment, his chest heaving with barely contained frustration. Finally, he turned toward the door, his voice bitter as he said, "She deserves better than both of us, Bruce."
Bruce didnât argue. Instead, he simply said, "Then maybe itâs time you trusted her to figure out what âbetterâ means for herself."
Jason paused at the doorway, his head hanging low, but he didnât turn back. "You always have a way of making it sound like youâre right," he muttered, and with that, he was gone, leaving Bruce alone in the quiet of the study.
The door to the study swung shut behind Jason with a thud, leaving Bruce alone in the stillness. He stood there for a moment, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, watching the ripples settle. It wasnât like Jason to retreat without having the last wordâthis was different. Bruce knew that tone in Jasonâs voice, the frustration and the hurt he wouldnât name.
Sinking back into his chair, Bruce took a slow sip of his scotch and allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. Jasonâs words lingered, biting at the edges of his thoughts.
"She deserves better than both of us."
Jason didnât know. He didnât see what those meetings actually wereâwhat they had always been.
Bruce let out a low sigh, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at the glass in his hand. You had chosen this life for yourself, yes, but your meetings with him were nothing like Jason imagined. There was no coercion, no strings attached, no sordid arrangements cloaked in dim lighting and shadows.
What Jason couldnât understandâbecause he never askedâwas that those meetings were just that: meetings.
When you slid into the booth across from Bruce or greeted him with your dry, teasing smile, it wasnât about anything Jason would have assumed. You would talkâsometimes at length, sometimes in quiet bursts of conversation peppered with your usual biting humor. Youâd ask about Wayne Enterprises, throwing in snide comments about the "corporate oligarch" sitting before you, but your questions were genuine. You wanted to know how things were going, what challenges the company faced, and how he was handling the relentless demands of his double life.
In turn, Bruce would ask about you. Heâd ask about the club, your coworkers, and whether you felt safe. Sometimes, if the mood struck, heâd ask about the books he remembered you mentioned you were reading. And always, always, heâd ask about your well-being.
You never lied to him. If you were tired, you said so. If something had gone wrong at the club or with a customer, you told him. And sometimesâon rare, fleeting occasionsâyouâd let your guard down just enough to talk about the things that truly mattered, the things you didnât admit to anyone else.
Jason didnât know that the only thing exchanged in those private rooms was conversation. No physicality, no power playsâjust two people finding solace in each otherâs company even itâs just for an hour.
Bruce set the glass down and leaned back in his chair, his expression settling into something unreadable. Jason always assumed the worst because Jasonâs mind was wired that way, a defense mechanism from years of betrayal and loss. Bruce didnât fault him for it, but he wished, for once, Jason would ask instead of accuse.
You had made your choice to leave the vigilante life behind. And while Jason might have thought it was a fall from grace, Bruce could see it for what it really was: your way of taking control of your life, on your terms.
Jason didnât understand yet, but maybe, with time, he would. Until then, Bruce will continue to meet with you as long as you choose to show up. Not because he needed you, but because he respected the person youâd becomeâa person strong enough to face the world without the mask. Something he was still unsure if he could achieve.Â
He took another sip of scotch, letting the warmth spread through his chest. There would be no forcing your hand, no veiled attempts to pull you back into the life youâd left behind. Youâd meet with him as long as you wanted to, and when you didnât, heâd respect that, too.
Jason would never say it out loud, but his presence at the club last night wasnât just about you. It was about him, about the guilt he carried for leaving, the ache of seeing someone he loved move on without him. Bruce knew that ache wellâit was the same one he carried for every person whoâd ever walked away from him.
The study was silent again, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Bruce let his thoughts drift as he leaned back, knowing that, in the end, you would make your own choices. And he would let youâbecause that was the only way any of you could move forward.
