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A COVERT OPERATION . you’re not jason’s girl, except you kinda are. pairing ! ex!jason todd x fem!reader wc ! 4.5k warnings ! sfw. fluff. written like a disaster rom com with more com than rom, jealous ex bf! jason, mr. spanky appearance sorta, a creepy unnamed guy appears + a misogynist asshole. reader does not take any shit. so yeah. mentions of alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking (reader & jason) + nicknames used : baby & amore (towards reader).

🗒️ based on this request and italian-american bf jason i & ii. also yeah, he’s pathetic and grovels a little.

art creds : @/shr0uds

now playing ! why don’t you do right — peggy lee 🎧

The first time it happened, you felt bad for the poor guy.

“Jay’s girl, huh?” You turned at the sound of the voice, the warm bar lights casting a harsh glow over the man’s frame.

Sly, slimeball, or whatever the hell the guy told the bartender his name was as he racked up his tab — eyed you up and down, dark hair gelled to the side and a finger idling at the rim of his glass. He was huge, even from where he sat hunched against the side of the bar, his head tilted to the side and legs open in your direction.

You ignored him, plucking the toothpick from your glass and sinking your teeth into the cherry. How long had it been since you and Jason broke up? A week? Two maybe? Not that you’d seen him around lately to keep the score.

He was like that, with his profound ability of becoming a ghost and slinking away to the darkest crevices of the world, never to be seen unless he willed it, which you cursed the son of a bitch for because here you were with the utter bad luck of not being able to do the same.

His neighborhood was also your neighborhood.

His friends were your friends — some who you consider family, and while it might’ve been cute at first to be known as Jay’s Girl™ from here in some washed up family owned bar all the way to the best food joints in Little Italy then to every bookstore in the Bowery and back — it afforded you no anonymity. Or rather, no time to mourn your failed relationship while pretending not to, because God forbid a girl just wants to get a drink at 9 PM without someone mentioning Jay.

“This guy givin’ you trouble?” Paulie, sweet, pure hearted Paulie who’d never hurt a fly — except for that one time he put three guys in the hospital for casing his joint sometime last Christmas — murmured to you, his hands busy drying a glass with the fluffy white towel slung over his shoulder.

“Cause I can get him outta here if he’s giving you a hard time.”

“I’m all good, thanks P,” you smiled, lifting your glass over the bartop to nudge his wrist. “Buuuut, you can top me up again.”

“You’re out of it, kid,” he laughed, but took the glass from you anyway. He hadn’t asked you about Jason the whole night, and despite how refreshing it was, it still felt sort of odd.

Did everybody know where he was except you? Or was the alcohol finally turning you into the pitiful sap you always knew you were?

That solace turned reflection was cut short however.

“I’m just saying, everybody’s skirtin’ around it and looking at me sideways.” The Slimeball chuckled to himself, as if he expected the tiny crowd to join in his amusement. “But you’re a good looking girl… like a fine piece a’ somethin’ you know?”

Paulie, in the middle of mixing your drink, looked to you, then to the guy, and back to you again.

You only shrugged. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.

“What? Are you shy?” The guy turned to face you now, the sleazy grin of his face growing by the second. “Don’t pay attention to them, baby, focus on me.” His stool scraped the floor with a high pitched squeak and in the next second he was on his feet towards you.

Immediately, you tensed, but he leaned forward just as quickly. “You actually need to back up—”

“Hey, man— you need to watch it. Jace doesn’t play about that one,” came a random voice you’re sure you recognize, another neighborhood cousin or something.

“And you need to mind your fuckin’ business,” Grimey Guy whipped his head around. “Cause if that’s true, it’s his fault for not watching his girl.”

Upon turning around though, he reached a hand out to touch you.

Your drink was already raised halfway when Paulie and another guy rounded the counter and practically yanked the guy out of his chair. For good measure — and some well needed release of frustration — you downed half your drink then threw the rest in his face, after which he was dragged out back and kicked out — and maybe kicked around a bit, who knows?

But, Jay’s Girl remained triumphant, and the fairytale lived on, until it didn’t. Sort of.

“Well, that sure is a sight.” Roy whistled long and low over the thumping bass. He twirled a Marlboro Red between his fingers idly, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Meanwhile, Dick’s mouth fell open, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as a hand reached up to clutch his chest. “No way... isn’t that…?”

“Shut up,” Jason, who stood only a few steps away from their little wives-at-teatime gossip huddle grumbled. His lips were set in a deep frown, eyebrows knitted tight and gaze dark.

A humorous sight, if one were to take into consideration that all three of them were in ‘disguise’ for tonight, gathering intel on some high profile guest here at Eden, aka The Cathouse, one of if not the most popular nightclub in East End.

It was alive, electric, bass vibrating through the floorboards and the scent of fruity liquor cloaking the air.

Across the sea of bodies was you, dressed in a silky little thing that was borderline obscene, and the very picture of everything Jason did not want to see, but so desperately needed to.

In truth, this was supposed to be Roy’s job but the fuck-up fucked up and so now he’s here with reinforcements — a bored Dick Grayson who should’ve been back in Blüdhaven yesterday but caught wind of the breakup, which he called ‘The Great Departure’ and figured he’d stick around to boost his poor little bro’s morale — so now Jason is here.

He’s here in this shitty club where some illiterate hog had his hand inching closer to your ass by the second.

You were dancing, hips swaying and chest heaving with the rhythm, yet despite the effort you looked perfect, every bit of you.

From the slight staticky halo of your hair to the soft shine of sweat on your collarbone that looked like glitter and stardust and all things sweet, to your lips that moved in sync with the lyrics of the loud music — those lips, even when painted or lined or plain he can remember the exact curve and shape of them around the syllables of his name, the hiccup of a ti amo, the whisper of an amore mio, the shout of a fuck you, when he suggested that maybe another break is what you two needed.

“Wow,” a whisper came from Roy and Dick nudged him so hard with his elbow that the fake mustache he was wearing hung loose on one side.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Jason huffed, downing the last of a shot of something whoever left on the bar counter. And that fucking mustache just kept itching him, Jesus Christ.

The hog in question, God forgive him, had his hands on your hips, chest pressed tight against your back — a little bird’s chest, Jason thought.

His uncle, or really his neighbor that he called Zio Laurenzo because it was just how he grew up — would say it’s a cardinal sin to not have some meat on your bones to keep a woman warm.

Did he keep you warm? Jason wondered. He knew he always ran cold, you’d tease him for it all the time but he didn’t even know why he was wondering about that now. Zio Laurenzo was a bum with a beer belly and two divorces under his belt. The only thing warm about him was his zuppa di pollo.

Madonna, he cursed in his head. He’d been listening to punks and bums all his life, no wonder he messed up with you.

“You’re a natural,” the guy whose name you’d already forgotten murmured against your ear. “You related to Lola Falana maybe?”

You laughed loud and loose, just the slightest bit tipsy and feeling yourself too much. It’s been a minute since you’ve gone out, a couple more minutes since you’ve entertained a guy just for the sake of it.

“Maybe.” It felt good. Not exactly fulfilling, but fun. You needed fun.

His hands guided your hips into a steady rhythm, your heartbeat matching each bump of the heavy bass.

You got lost in the music, in the heat rather quickly, your collarbones and forearms slightly slick with sweat and cold to touch but the alcohol hot inside your veins, the bumping and grinding of your hips against his even hotter.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” he shouted near your ear over the music, taking a gentle hold of your hand and spinning you around to face him. And oh boy, was he fine.

You told him your name with a playful smirk teasing at your lips, eyes hung low and a hand on his bicep.

The moment the last syllable left your mouth, the guy looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost, the heat of the club long diffused and an expression on his face that read bewilderment instead of sex.

“Repeat that?”

You said your name again and a hand came over his mouth instantaneously in utter shock. You could hardly believe it. “Woman, you tryin’ to get me killed?” He exclaimed in horror.

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Your lips curved into a frown.

He drew in a sharp inhale through his nostrils. “Look, you’re a nice girl and all…” he met your gaze and cringed just a little, fearful. “Like what I mean is, you’re nice— in a friend kinda way— like I wasn’t tryin’ to put no kind of word to you or nothing like that—”

The longer he spoke, the more your shoulders slumped and your nose scrunched up in confusion. Was this guy one of those fucking mood-swing-having kind of drunks, because the fuck?

“It’s just… you know, I don’t know what’s the situation with you two and if you’re steppin’ out,” he went on, scratching the back of his neck. “But I can’t go there— not that I was trying to, of course! Let’s get that solid— cause you’re Jay’s girl and I—”

“Excuse me?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He shook his head firmly. “Everybody knows he doesn’t play about you.”

“Everybody knows this?” Your face screwed up in a mix of disbelief and offense. “Listen, we broke up—”

He barked a laugh, right in your face. “Look, dolly, I came for a good time, not to get my ass beat. So I suggest you sing that little freshly divorced song with like, I don’t know, at least six feet between us.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“You have a good night,” he shrugged. “And congrats when you two get back together,” he said, giving you a quick nod before he walked away, easing between swaying bodies in the direction of the bar.

“Fucking punk!” You yelled after him. What a drag.

“Do I have to keep wearing this mustache?” Dick groaned, index finger itching at his upper lip. He was sitting on one of the barstools, attempting to survey the crowd.

“Oh, lookey here!” Roy’s posture straightened and his teeth shone in a grin, a tiny umbrella that he plucked from a glass idly twirling between his forefinger and thumb. “Cassio is steadily approaching.”

He turned to Dick who gave him a quizzical look.

“You’re not well read at all, man,” he continued, tossing the umbrella towards a brooding Jason, leaning against the bar with his hands crossed over his chest.

“And who are you supposed to be, Bianca?” Jason’s brows rose, then his expression shifted as he realized who Cassio was in question — the fucker that was dancing with you earlier.

A silence fell over the group as the guy rounded the bar and ordered a drink, scratching at his brow. He looked at Roy, then at Dick, both pretending not to look back at him.

Then he looked at Jason who was staring him head on.

“Do I know you?” The guy squinted, brows furrowed and head tilted forward. “You from around here?”

“No.” Jason responded, voice a little deeper for his disguise, or maybe something else entirely. Either way, it was fucking hilarious.

“Ah,” the guy nodded, looking away. The air was heavy and awkward, and Roy’s lips pursed with the effort of holding back a laugh.

“So, uh,” Dick cleared his throat, fingers thrumming against the bartop. “That’s a nice necklace, man.”

The guy looked up at him oddly. “You tryna rob me or something?”

There was a pause, and Dick stuttered slightly before the guy chuckled. “Just fucking with you, sorry. But, yeah, thanks,” he reached a hand up to finger the chain. It was a silver cross with a few tiny diamonds. “My girl got it for me.”

Jason’s jaw ticked.

“Oh, you don’t say?” Roy grinned. Dick turned away to stifle a laugh under his mustache. “Damn. That’s real sweet, huh, Johnny?”

Johnny — or Jason, grunted under his breath in response. “Li mortacci tua.”

No way you moved on already. And least of all with BirdChest. No way, there’s just no way.

He reached for the Marlboro Red that Roy abandoned on the bartop and fished a lighter out of his pants pocket. Before he could light it, Dick snatched it from his hands.

“Yeah, she’s a real nice girl… nags like hell though,” Random guy who you might’ve possibly moved on with, said. “Just the way these broads are, I guess.”

“It’s a bit much talkin’ shit about a lady who can’t defend herself ‘cause she’s across the room,” Jason intervened. Which he might as well, now that the scrub was calling you out of your name and he didn’t have a cigarette between his teeth because somebody felt like parenting him on what should be a covert operation.

“Oh, that one? Nah, not her.” The guy shrugged, sipping his drink. “That one just set me up to fucking die, can you believe that shit? Came out to escape the nagging and what I get instead is a one way ticket to Death Row.”

“What do you mean?” Dick leaned closer, and when Roy looked at him with a bottom lip drawn between his teeth to hold a laugh, he only shrugged. Good goss is good goss.

“She’s a real cute thing, you saw her right?” Roy and Dick nodded simultaneously. Jason scoffed. “We’re dancing, right? And I’m feeling her and she’s feeling me—”

“Yeah, fuckin’ stunad…” Jason grumbled to himself.

“Then I go and ask her name, she tells me, and I’m thinking to myself, where do I know this piece from, y’know?” The guy continued. He shook his head. “Man, would you believe that’s Jay’s girl?”

Dick and Roy exchanged a look, then shrugged in faux ignorance.

“Jay? You know how many Jays are in Gotham—” Roy started.

“Fuckin’ Jay from the Alley, man,” the guy exclaimed. “Big, burly son of a bitch. The one with the scar on his face. Motherfucker’s built like a matador—”

“Oh, really?” Dick rested a hand against his jaw.

“Really,” the guy huffed. “And she’s just out here looking like that and dancing on people— have you seen the size of that guy’s fist? Fuck’s sake… I could’ve lost my life...”

Jason smirked to himself then shook his head to get rid of it. You weren’t his girl, you weren’t. Not really and not in all the ways that mattered.

Was he wrong for feeling a liiitle bit on cloud nine at the notion of Bird Chest the Handsy Hog fucking off because of two words? Maybe. But he’d been wrong about plenty of things in his life, he could do with another on his conscience.

“Yo, Benny!” Came a shout and the guy in question whipped his head around. Oh, Bird Chest Benny. You would’ve loved to witness this in real time, he thought.

“Go easy, fellas,” Benny said, downing the last of his drink and stuffing a few bills under the glass. “And watch out for that girl I told you about. Wouldn’t wanna see any of you on the Missing Persons’ list.”

When Benny left the bar there was silence between the trio, a heavy, amused silence as Dick cradled his stomach to keep from bursting out into a guffaw.

Roy was the first to speak, and he sighed, long and dramatic, rising from his stool to stretch his aching arms. “O beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on—”

“—You’re done.” Jason interrupted, damn near lunging towards Roy who cackled with mischief, and Dick, who was still sitting there holding his stomach, had his lips pursed in intense thought.

“Oh, wait a minute, I get it now!” Dick shouted, rising from his seat. “Othello!”

“Need a light?”

Your entire body went stiff for a moment and a yelp escaped your throat. “Fuckin’ hell,” you whipped your head around, cigarette dangling carelessly between your fingers and eyes wide with momentary fright.

“Announce yourself first, Dracula.”

Jason could only fix his face in a sheepish little smile, stuffing a hand into his jacket pocket to fish out the lighter he’d intended to use earlier but didn’t have the chance.

The music from inside the club was muffled, the bass reduced to something like a tickle under your feet from where you both stood at the darkened back entrance.

You leaned forward, hands cupped and raised up to the click of his calloused thumb against the lighter, the small flame warming your fingertips.

“You got a ride home?” Jason asked, one hand cradling both of yours and raising them nearer to the flame, the tip of the cigarette finally catching light.

“Something like that,” you murmured, drawing in a puff, a soft plume of smoke leaving your nostrils. You withdrew your hands from his and he nodded, shoving the lighter back into his pocket.

He understood why. Of course, this wasn’t a thing, not exactly and not anymore. So he kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, still unable to hide the long gaze that raked over your features from where the timid light of the cigarette and the brightness of the moon cast shadows over your face. You were beautiful.

“What’s with the mustache?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

You were so beautiful and he was so stupid.

“Oh, that… that, uh…” Jason reached up to peel the embarrassingly fluffy, hairy thing off his face. “That was part of a covert operation,” he said, his voice coming out a little higher than he intended it to.

You laughed despite yourself. “A covert operation?”

“What’s it to you, Columbo?” He grumbled, a smile stretching on his mouth. He missed you. You hadn’t even been apart for long and he missed you.

You dug your heels into the asphalt, taking a deep drag of the cigarette between your fingers. With a long exhale, you looked over at him then looked away, but he caught your gaze in between, his gaze shooting to the ground.

“So… you and that guy in there—”

“Is that seriously how you wanna start right now?” You turned to look at him. “You were watching me?”

“I was gonna say sorry,” he looked up at you. “For ruining your night. He didn’t seem to stick around long, so I figured…”

“No, you’re not.” You shook your head, an almost bitter laugh of disbelief leaving your mouth in huffs of smoke. “No, you’re not, you fucking asshole—”

You were laughing, hiccuping through each harsh draw of breath and wheeze of laughter. Jason bit back a shit eating grin because of course you knew him well enough to call his bluff.

“You’re right,” he nodded, the words coming as a brief mumble under his breath. “I… I don’t know, I just can’t remember why we broke up.”

“If I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted a break—”

He turned his body towards you and interrupted. “A break, not a break up.” Jason sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “And then you just started throwing shit at me, what was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Jason,” you flicked your cigarette away, outing the meek flame under your shoe. “Maybe call? Maybe come look for me? Maybe don’t spy on me with the Jay sanctioned protection squad?”

He straightened his posture, blinking slowly. “If this is about what happened at Paulie’s…”

You scoffed. “What happened at Paulie’s was none of your business. I can handle myself.”

Jason’s eyebrows rose in mock pride. “Yeah, word on the street is you waterboarded the guy with a glass of rum and coke.” The smile on his face faltered slightly, and his voice came quieter. “I know you can. I know that. It’s just different because—”

“Because I’m yours?” Your gaze met his, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look the slightest bit pathetic. Good, he deserved that. You wasted half a rum and coke because of his stupid ass. “Don’t make me laugh.”

He swallowed, taking his hands from his pockets and wiping them on his jeans. Okay, so yeah, he did deserve that. “I was an idiot. I’m still an idiot… And I didn’t mean to disappear on you like that.”

“But you did.”

“But I did,” he hung his head. “I did, and I fucked up, and you shouldn’t even hear me out. Because I was too much of a fuckin’ coward to come find you but seeing you here tonight, I just….”

“You just what?” He watched the way your mouth curved over the syllables. “Got jealous?”

“Follia,” he huffed. “Don’t get hasty, I didn’t say all that—”

“Oh my God, you were jealous,” you grinned wolfishly, eyes bright with amusement as you stepped closer to him. “You thought I was with that guy in there.”

“As if,” Jason rolled his eyes. “Look at him and look at you, in what world would you ever go for that sorta—”

“But I was with him and not you,” your lips pursed just the slightest, a tease, but nothing short of the truth. “Did it make you mad?”

A brief silence passed between you two, his dark blue eyes drifting from your eyes down to your lips, then back up again.

“What do you think?”

“Jealous, mad,” you raised two fingers, wiggling them slightly as you counted. “Mad or jealous. Uno dei due.”

“Brava,” he hummed. “You’re a natural.”

You tried to ignore the way your stomach did a somersault. “I’m still mad at you, and probably will be for a long time,” you said, lifting your head and pointing your nose at him firmly. “So, if you felt jealous, boo fuckin’ hoo, that’s your penance to pay.”

“I know that,” he nodded. “And I wouldn’t expect you to forgive me, not unless I really worked for it, I’m sure.” Jason reached for your hand and you let him, a calloused thumb stroking the back of your hand.

He was so warm compared to you right now, even though he ran cold. “But I do want to apologize, if you’ll let me.”

You pretended to think about it, your other hand reaching up to scratch the side of your head. “I mean, it really depends on the quality of your apology. You did leave me high and dry to go dress up as Mr. Potato Head—”

“Again, it was a covert operation—”

“I just don’t think a little apology is gonna cut it…” you sighed with faux hurt.

“I swear to God, I will get on my knees right now.” Jason said, deadpan.

You quirked a brow at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Before the last syllable had left your mouth, his knees hit the cold asphalt in front of you, those dark blue eyes staring up at you, electric and determined. Your heartbeat roared all the way up to your throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Jesus Christ, Jason—” you ducked your head in embarrassment, a shameful heat prickling your skin. You were suddenly aware of everyone and everything that could witness this display. A car driving by, a girl slipping outside to answer her phone, a guy idling on a bike parked a decent few feet away.

“Guardarmi,” he whispered. You looked up at him immediately. “Focus on me. Let me fix this.”

Your breath stuttered but you nodded all the same. “Apologize,” you said.

“I was wrong,” he scooted closer. “I was wrong and I’m sorry and I swear to you—”

“Don’t promise me anything,” you interrupted, looking down at him. The faintest redness dusted the flesh of his cheeks. “Apologize, better.”

“I messed up,” he continued. His hands rested on the dips of your waist. “I should’ve called or come to you but I didn’t. But I’ll fix it, I’ll do better by you. I know I don’t own you… I know that, but when you take me back—”

“If I take you back,” you clarified firmly. “I’m not your girl—”

Jason pressed a kiss to the hem of your shirt. “And if you don’t like it, I’ll set it straight so no one calls you that again, you know? I never need you to be my girl — maybe not even mine, I just need you.”

“Not your girl yet,” you murmured, finishing your previous sentence. “I don’t hear you apologizing.”

“Madonna Santa,” Jason nuzzled his forehead against your stomach. “I know, I fuckin’ know and I’m begging on my knees here, doll,” he groaned. “Mi dispiace, mi perdoni…”

He looked up at you with those eyes and you covered your face in defense. “Don’t… don’t look at me like that, it’s cheating.”

“Amore,” he whispered but you shook your head with a muffled mm-mm. “Ho bisogno del suo perdono.”

You peeked down at him from between your fingers, and he was still staring up at you with those big, wet eyes.

“Oh my God, get up, you look stupid,” you huffed, but a smile played at the corner of your mouth the whole time.

“Does this mean—?” Jason shifted, rising onto one knee.

“Fuck no,” you rolled your eyes. “At least take me home first,” you grumbled and he deflated slightly, the sadness evident in the smallest downturn of his lips. You had to bite back a laugh.

“But, you do owe me a rum and coke,” you continued as he rose to his feet, already walking ahead of him. Jason tried and failed to hide his enthusiasm, a grin blooming on his features.

“Yeah?”

“What about your little entourage?” You asked and he looked at you quizzically. “The rest of Mustache Incorporated.”

Jason’s brows rose in realization. Roy and Dick were still inside. Nevertheless, he shrugged. “They’re uh… working on some notes about Othello for me.”

“Othello?” You chuckled, and he caught up to your side.

“Covert operation, remember?” Jason whistled. “We have to have codenames.”

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