Rockstar! Jason Todd x Rockstar! gn! reader headcanons
"And I cast a spell over the west to make you think of me, the same way i think of you''
WC: 200+
Would write an album dedicated to you, and the album cover for it would be something that is symbolic for the both of you (that album would then become his best-selling one and would later win a grammy for it)
Keeps your old guitar picks and turns them into a necklace, wears it every time he has a gig/concert
He's your BIGGEST fan, whenever you have a gig, he will always be there to support you, whether it's being in the front row where you can spot him cheering you on, or bringing you and your bandmates food and drinks right after your gig
Will have your name or initials on his guitar (kinda like how Frank Iero has his ‘’pansy’ guitar/Billie Joe Armstrong having his initials on his)
Would try to keep your relationship with him a secret, but soon people eventually caught on
Secretly has a fanpage dedicated to you, where he posts so many edits of you, and started posting ship edits of you and him when people started catching on that you two were dating
Once people found out that both of you were dating, he immediately changed his handle to “Y/n l/n’s #1 and BIGGEST fan”, you also changed your handle to Jason Todd’s #1 fan’’
The day he proposed to you was the fifth anniversary of the release of the album he wrote about you.
On the day you both got married, when exchanging gifts, you both exchanged your guitars with each other.
Likes, comments and reblogs are all greatly appreciated <3
By @deadbeatphobos do not copy, translate or post my fics on any platform without permission
hi pretty! how u doing? could i request a jason t x reader where they have a girl born in secret and only when the baby is born that jason tells the batfam, either through just a picture or telling them to hush over the hospital just to see a baby??
The Secret
navigation , dc navigation
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
The family group chat had been quiet for exactly four hours—a record, honestly—when Jason's message came through.
It was a photo. Just a photo, no context, no explanation.
A tiny baby, wrapped in a pink hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully. Dark hair, scrunched up little face, impossibly small.
The chat exploded.
DICK: IS THAT A BABY
DICK: JASON IS THAT A BABY
TIM: Why are you sending us random baby pictures
STEPH: Okay but that's a REALLY cute baby
DICK: JASON ANSWER YOUR PHONE
DUKE: Did you kidnap a baby???
DAMIAN: Todd, explain yourself immediately.
TIM: Why is no one else concerned that Jason just sent us a photo of a random infant
DICK: JASON PETER TODD
Jason's response came five minutes later, while Dick was probably having a minor breakdown:
JASON: Her name is Catherine. She's mine. Come to Gotham General if you want to meet her.
Then he went offline.
The chaos that followed was legendary.
Dick was the first to arrive at the hospital, having broken approximately fifteen traffic laws to get there. Tim was right behind him, looking like he'd run the entire way (he'd grappled; his car was in the shop). Steph and Cass arrived together. Duke had called Bruce, who was currently in the Batmobile with Damian, both of them looking equally shell-shocked.
They found Jason's room number from a nurse who looked deeply amused by the sudden influx of Waynes, and Dick didn't even knock before bursting in.
"JASON PETER—"
"Shhh!" You hissed from the hospital bed, and Dick stopped dead.
Because there you were, looking exhausted and beautiful and very much holding a newborn baby. And there was Jason, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand on your shoulder, looking at Dick like he might actually murder him for being loud.
"She's sleeping," Jason said quietly, voice hard. "You wake her up, you leave."
Dick's mouth opened and closed several times. Tim pushed past him, staring.
"You have a baby," Tim said, like he was testing the words. "You—Jason—you have an actual human baby."
"Yeah, Tim. That's generally what happens when—"
"When were you going to TELL US?!" Dick's voice rose again, and the baby—Catherine—stirred slightly. Jason's glare could have melted steel.
"I'm telling you now."
"The baby is already BORN, Jason! That's not telling us, that's INFORMING us after the fact!"
"Can we not do this here?" You said tiredly, adjusting the baby in your arms. "I just gave birth. I'm exhausted. Can the family drama wait?"
That seemed to remind everyone that you existed. Dick immediately looked guilty.
"Sorry. Sorry. I'm Dick. We—I guess we haven't met?" He looked at Jason accusingly. "Because SOMEONE didn't tell us he had a girlfriend."
"Wife," Jason corrected, and held up his left hand where a simple gold band sat.
The room went dead silent.
"WIFE?!" Dick's voice cracked.
"Oh my god," Steph breathed. "Oh my god, Jason secret married someone AND had a baby and didn't tell anyone?"
"I'm telling you now," Jason repeated, maddeningly calm.
"THE BABY IS ALREADY BORN—"
"Dick, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm," Tim said, though he looked pretty close to one himself. "Jason. Buddy. When did you get married?"
"Eight months ago."
"EIGHT—" Dick caught himself, lowered his voice. "Eight months. You've been married for eight months."
"Technically nine, but who's counting."
"I'M COUNTING! I'M VERY MUCH COUNTING!"
Cass had moved closer to the bed, studying the baby with soft eyes. "She's beautiful," she said quietly. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," you said, relieved that at least one person was being normal about this. "Would you like to hold her?"
Cass nodded, and you carefully transferred the tiny bundle into her arms. She held Catherine like she was made of glass, a small smile on her face.
"I can't believe you kept this secret," Tim was saying. "For nine months. How did we not notice?"
"Because I didn't want you to notice." Jason's hand found yours, fingers intertwining. "We wanted to do this privately. Without the whole family hovering and interfering and making it about the mission."
"But we're your family," Dick said, and he sounded hurt now rather than angry. "We should have been there for you. For both of you."
"You're here now," you said gently. "That's what matters."
The door opened again, and Bruce walked in with Damian. Both of them stopped, taking in the scene—Cass holding a baby, you in the hospital bed, Jason looking defiant and protective.
"Jason," Bruce said carefully. "Is that—"
"My daughter. Catherine. She was born this morning at 6:47 AM. Seven pounds, three ounces. Healthy." Jason stood up, moving to stand between his family and the bed like a guard. "And before you start, yes, I'm married. No, you didn't know. Yes, I kept it secret on purpose. Any questions?"
Bruce looked at you, then at the baby in Cass's arms, then back at Jason. Something complicated crossed his face—hurt, maybe, but also understanding.
"Congratulations," he said finally. "To both of you."
"That's it?" Damian said incredulously. "He keeps a wife and child secret for months and you're just—congratulating him?"
"What would you have me do?"
"I don't know, express some concern that Todd hid something this significant? Demand an explanation?"
"I think," Bruce said quietly, watching Jason, "that he had his reasons. And that pushing will only make him more defensive."
Jason's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Her name is Catherine?" Bruce asked. "After—"
"After my mother. Yeah." Jason's voice was rough. "We—it felt right."
Bruce's expression softened completely. "It's a beautiful name."
Dick had moved closer now, looking at the baby in Cass's arms with wonder. "Can I—can I hold her?"
Jason looked at you. You nodded.
"Wash your hands first," Jason said. "And support her head. And be gentle—"
"I know how to hold a baby, Little Wing."
"This isn't just a baby. This is my baby."
Despite the tension, you smiled. Jason had been like this with the nurses too—hypervigilant, protective, determined to ensure everyone who touched Catherine did it correctly.
Dick held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, which, to be fair, she kind of was. His eyes got suspiciously shiny.
"Hi Catherine," he whispered. "I'm your Uncle Dick. And I'm going to spoil you so much. I'm going to be the favorite uncle."
"You're going to have competition," Tim said, moving closer. "I'm bringing educational toys."
"I'm bringing weapons," Damian announced.
"You're not bringing our daughter weapons," Jason said flatly.
"She should learn self-defense early—"
"She's six hours old!"
Watching them, Bruce moved to your bedside. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired. Sore. Happy." You glanced at Jason, who was now arguing with Damian about appropriate gifts for infants. "A little overwhelmed by the sudden family invasion."
"I apologize for that. We're... enthusiastic." Bruce's lips quirked. "And Jason's right to have kept this private, even if it hurt some feelings. This is your family. You deserve to have it on your terms."
"Thank you." You hesitated. "I know he gave you all a shock. He wanted to tell you sooner, but—"
"He was protecting you. Protecting her." Bruce glanced at the baby, now being carefully transferred from Dick to Tim. "I understand. I might not like it, but I understand."
Steph had pulled up a chair next to your bed. "Okay, so I need details. How did you two meet? How long have you been together? How did he propose? I need all the information Jason definitely won't give us."
You laughed. "We met at a bookstore. I was reaching for a book and he was reaching for the same one. Very cliché."
"Jason reads?" Duke looked skeptical.
"Jason reads constantly," you corrected. "He proposed three months after we started dating. It was pouring rain, we were walking home, and he just—asked. No ring, no plan, just 'marry me.'"
"And you said yes to that?" Steph asked.
"I said yes to him." You watched Jason, who was now showing Tim the correct way to support Catherine's head. "He's different than you probably see. Softer. More open. He didn't want to tell you because he was afraid of—"
"Of us ruining it," Dick finished quietly. "Of making it about the mission or Bruce or the family drama."
"He wanted something that was just his," you confirmed. "Just ours. And I understood that."
"But you're telling us now," Bruce observed.
"Because she's here. Because she's real. And because—" You smiled as Jason brought Catherine back to you. "—because she's going to be part of this family whether we planned it or not. Might as well make it official."
Jason settled on the bed beside you, and you leaned into him, exhausted and content. Catherine made a small noise, and both of you immediately focused on her, checking, adjusting, making sure she was okay.
"They're going to be so overprotective," Tim said to Dick.
"They're going to be nightmares," Dick agreed. "It's going to be amazing."
The first few weeks were chaos.
Not just the normal chaos of new parents learning to care for an infant, though there was plenty of that. But also the chaos of integrating a secret family into the existing Batfamily structure.
"I'm just saying," Dick said, holding Catherine while you tried to eat something, "you could have invited us to the wedding."
"It was at city hall. Three witnesses. Very small."
"I could have been a witness!"
"You would have cried."
"I—okay, yes, I would have cried. But that's beside the point!"
Jason took Catherine from Dick, checking her over like he hadn't just been holding her five minutes ago. "The point is we wanted it private. Can you let it go?"
"Never. I'm going to bring this up for years." But Dick was smiling. "She's beautiful though. Really. You guys did good."
You'd moved into Jason's safehouse—bigger than his apartment, more secure, better for a baby. The family had immediately tried to get you to move to the manor.
"We have space," Bruce had said. "Alfred could help. You wouldn't be alone—"
"That's exactly why we're not moving in," Jason had replied. "We need space. Boundaries. Time to figure this out ourselves."
But they visited. God, did they visit.
Dick came every other day, bringing gifts and volunteering to babysit. Tim brought books about infant development. Steph brought clothes. Duke brought a security system that was definitely overkill for a two-month-old. Damian brought a knife ("She needs to learn proper blade grip early") that Jason immediately confiscated.
Even Bruce visited, usually in the evening, sitting quietly and holding Catherine with a gentleness that made your chest ache.
"I wish I'd done more of this," he admitted one night, Catherine asleep against his chest. "With all of you. I was so focused on the mission, on keeping you safe, that I forgot to just... be present."
"You're present now," Jason said quietly. "That counts."
Alfred came weekly, bringing food and wisdom and an endless supply of patience for Jason's paranoid safety protocols.
"Master Jason, the baby does not need a panic room."
"She might."
"She is two months old."
"Dangers don't care about age, Alfred."
But the biggest adjustment was Gotham itself.
Because word had gotten out—not about Catherine specifically, but about Red Hood having a family. And that made you a target.
The first threat came when Catherine was six weeks old.
Jason found the note on the safehouse door: Nice family you have. Would be a shame if something happened to them.
You found him in the nursery at 2 AM, standing over Catherine's crib, guns out, looking ready to burn Gotham down.
"Jason," you said softly.
"I should kill them." His voice was flat. "Everyone who even thinks about touching her. I should end them before they become a problem."
"That's not who you are anymore."
"Maybe it should be. Maybe I've been too soft, too comfortable. Maybe I need to remind Gotham what happens when people threaten what's mine."
You moved to stand beside him, looking down at your sleeping daughter. "You know what I think? I think you're scared. And that's okay. I'm scared too. But we can't protect her by becoming the thing we're trying to protect her from."
"I can't lose her. I can't—" His voice cracked. "She's perfect. She's innocent. She deserves better than this city, this life, this constant threat—"
"She deserves you. Both of us. Loving her, protecting her, but also letting her live." You took his hand. "We'll keep her safe. Together. But we can't do it by locking her away or eliminating every possible threat. That's not living."
Jason pulled you both close—you and the crib, as if he could shield you from the world by sheer force of will.
"I've never been this scared," he admitted. "Even dying wasn't this scary. Because this—losing her—that would actually destroy me."
"Then we make sure it doesn't happen. We're careful. We're smart. We use all these overprotective family members who keep showing up. But we don't let fear control us."
He nodded against your shoulder. "Okay. Okay."
But he still put extra security on the windows. And tracked your phone. And made Dick promise to be on call 24/7 in case something happened.
Some battles, you knew, you weren't going to win.
Catherine's first real family gathering happened at three months old.
Alfred had insisted. "Master Jason, she is part of this family. She should be introduced properly."
"She's three months old. She can't even hold her head up fully. What's she going to do at a family dinner?"
"Be adorable. Steal everyone's hearts. Allow her grandfather to dote on her properly." Alfred's expression was gentle but firm. "She belongs here. As do you and your wife."
So you'd agreed. One dinner. At the manor. With the whole family.
You were already regretting it.
"Remember," Jason said as you pulled up to the manor, Catherine in her car seat. "We can leave at any time. You say the word, we're gone."
"Jason, it's dinner with your family, not a hostage situation."
"Have you met my family?"
Fair point.
Alfred greeted you at the door, and his face absolutely lit up when he saw Catherine.
"Miss Catherine," he said softly. "How wonderful to finally have you home."
"We're just visiting, Alfred," Jason said.
"Of course, Master Jason. Visiting." But his smile suggested he had other ideas.
The family was already gathered in the dining room. Dick shot up the moment you entered.
"Baby!" He announced. "The baby is here!"
"Yes, thank you for that announcement," Jason said dryly. "I'm sure she appreciates being announced like a visiting dignitary."
But he carefully extracted Catherine from her carrier, and you watched as your normally tough, dangerous husband transformed into a gentle, protective father, cradling her like she was made of glass.
"Who wants to hold her first?" Jason asked, though his tone suggested he'd rather no one hold her at all.
"Me!" Dick, Tim, and Steph said simultaneously.
"Oldest gets priority," Dick argued.
"That's not a real rule—"
"I called it first—"
"Children," Bruce interrupted. "Perhaps we should let her parents decide."
Jason looked at you. You looked at the eager faces around the table.
"Dick," you decided. "But everyone gets a turn."
Dick looked like he'd won the lottery. Jason carefully transferred Catherine into his arms, hovering anxiously.
"I've got her," Dick promised. "Hi sweetheart. Hi beautiful girl. Uncle Dick missed you."
"You saw her three days ago," Jason pointed out.
"That's basically a lifetime at this age. She's probably grown since then. Developed new skills. Changed completely."
"She's three months old, not a Pokémon."
But watching Dick with Catherine, seeing the absolute adoration on his face, you understood why Jason had been scared to share this. Because this was his family now—not just his brothers and father, but his daughter. And letting them in meant risking them getting hurt, or her getting hurt, or everything falling apart.
It meant vulnerability he'd never allowed himself before.
Catherine got passed around the table like a very precious football. Tim held her while reciting developmental milestones. Steph cooed and took approximately a thousand photos. Duke was surprisingly natural with her. Even Damian held her, though he looked terrified the entire time.
"She's quite small," he observed.
"She's a baby," Jason said. "They're generally small."
"I was larger."
"You were also raised by assassins. Different standards."
Cass held Catherine the longest, just sitting quietly with her, and Catherine—who'd been fussing slightly with everyone else—immediately calmed.
"She likes you," you observed.
Cass smiled. "I like her."
Finally, Bruce held her. And watching Batman—the Dark Knight, the terror of Gotham's underworld—holding your infant daughter with such infinite gentleness made you understand exactly where Jason got his protective instincts from.
"She has your eyes," Bruce said to Jason. "And your stubborn expression."
"She's three months old. She doesn't have expressions yet."
"She's scowling at me right now. That's definitely your scowl."
Despite himself, Jason smiled.
Dinner was surprisingly normal. Catherine slept through most of it in your arms, occasionally waking to look around with unfocused baby eyes before drifting back off.
"So," Tim said carefully. "Are you guys... okay? Financially, I mean. Babies are expensive."
"We're fine," Jason said, in a tone that suggested the conversation was over.
"Because if you need anything—"
"We're. Fine."
"Jason," you said gently. "They're trying to help."
"I don't need help. I can provide for my family."
"No one's saying you can't," Bruce interjected. "But there's no shame in accepting support. That's what family does."
Jason's jaw was tight, but he nodded stiffly.
"I've set up a college fund," Bruce continued. "For Catherine. It's already established, you can't refuse it, it's done."
"Bruce—"
"You can be stubborn about everything else. But let me do this. Please."
Jason looked at Catherine, sleeping peacefully against your chest, and something in his expression softened.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Thank you."
"And I've prepared a nursery here," Alfred added. "For when you visit. Or if you need somewhere safe to stay."
"We have a safe house—"
"With respect, Master Jason, a manor full of vigilantes is considerably safer than any safe house." Alfred's expression was gentle. "I'm not asking you to move in. I'm simply ensuring you have options."
Jason looked overwhelmed. You squeezed his hand under the table.
"Thank you, Alfred," you said. "That's very kind."
As the evening wound down, you found yourself in the library with Bruce while Jason was changing Catherine.
"Thank you," you said. "For being patient with him. I know the secrecy hurt."
"He was protecting what matters most. I can't fault him for that." Bruce looked at you carefully. "Are you happy?"
"Very. Even with the chaos and the threats and the constant fear. Yes."
"Good. He deserves happiness. More than he believes he does." Bruce paused. "If you ever need anything—not just money or resources, but support, advice, someone to call at 3 AM when you're overwhelmed—you have family now. All of us."
Your throat was tight. "Thank you."
Jason appeared in the doorway, Catherine against his shoulder. "Ready to go?"
You nodded, standing. Bruce walked you both to the door.
"Come back soon," he said. "Please."
"We will," you promised.
In the car, Jason was quiet. You let him process, knowing he needed time.
Finally, he said: "That wasn't terrible."
You laughed. "High praise."
"They love her. All of them."
"Of course they do. She's perfect."
"She is, isn't she?" Jason glanced in the rearview mirror at Catherine's car seat. "I still don't want to move into the manor."
"I know."
"But maybe... maybe we could visit more. Let her know them. Let them be part of her life."
"I think that's a good idea."
"I'm still installing more security at the safe house."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
He reached over, took your hand. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For this. For her. For understanding why I kept it secret and not being angry about it. For being patient with my paranoid bullshit. For—" His voice roughened. "For everything."
You lifted his hand to your lips, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "We're a family now. That's what family does."
"Yeah," Jason said softly, looking at Catherine sleeping peacefully in her car seat. "Yeah, we are."
And for the first time since Catherine was born, you saw him truly relax. Saw him believe that maybe—just maybe—this could actually work.
Secret or not, hidden or revealed, they were his family.
All of them.
And that was more than he'd ever thought he'd have.
The second photo Jason sent to the family group chat showed Catherine at nine months, sitting up on her own, grinning at the camera with two tiny teeth visible.
JASON: She said "Dada" this morning.
The responses came immediately.
DICK: AHHHHHHHHHH
TIM: That's developmentally appropriate for her age
STEPH: I'M CRYING
DUKE: That's adorable
DAMIAN: Acceptable first word
BRUCE: I'm very proud of her. (And of you.)
DICK: When can I teach her to say "Uncle Dick"???
JASON: Never. She's never learning that.
DICK: You can't stop the inevitable, Little Wing
JASON: Watch me
You looked over Jason's shoulder at his phone, Catherine on your hip babbling happily.
"They're never going to leave us alone now," you observed.
"Probably not."
"You okay with that?"
Jason looked at Catherine, who was reaching for his phone with grabby baby hands. He let her take it, watching as she immediately tried to put it in her mouth.
"Yeah," he said, catching her before she could succeed. "I think I am."
And that, more than anything, told you just how far he'd come.
From secret-keeper to sharing.
From isolated to family.
From protected to protecting.
It was beautiful to watch.
Even if it did mean dealing with Dick stopping by every other day.
hi pretty! how u doing? could i request a jason t x reader where they have a girl born in secret and only when the baby is born that jason tells the batfam, either through just a picture or telling them to hush over the hospital just to see a baby??
The Secret
navigation , dc navigation
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
The family group chat had been quiet for exactly four hours—a record, honestly—when Jason's message came through.
It was a photo. Just a photo, no context, no explanation.
A tiny baby, wrapped in a pink hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully. Dark hair, scrunched up little face, impossibly small.
The chat exploded.
DICK: IS THAT A BABY
DICK: JASON IS THAT A BABY
TIM: Why are you sending us random baby pictures
STEPH: Okay but that's a REALLY cute baby
DICK: JASON ANSWER YOUR PHONE
DUKE: Did you kidnap a baby???
DAMIAN: Todd, explain yourself immediately.
TIM: Why is no one else concerned that Jason just sent us a photo of a random infant
DICK: JASON PETER TODD
Jason's response came five minutes later, while Dick was probably having a minor breakdown:
JASON: Her name is Catherine. She's mine. Come to Gotham General if you want to meet her.
Then he went offline.
The chaos that followed was legendary.
Dick was the first to arrive at the hospital, having broken approximately fifteen traffic laws to get there. Tim was right behind him, looking like he'd run the entire way (he'd grappled; his car was in the shop). Steph and Cass arrived together. Duke had called Bruce, who was currently in the Batmobile with Damian, both of them looking equally shell-shocked.
They found Jason's room number from a nurse who looked deeply amused by the sudden influx of Waynes, and Dick didn't even knock before bursting in.
"JASON PETER—"
"Shhh!" You hissed from the hospital bed, and Dick stopped dead.
Because there you were, looking exhausted and beautiful and very much holding a newborn baby. And there was Jason, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand on your shoulder, looking at Dick like he might actually murder him for being loud.
"She's sleeping," Jason said quietly, voice hard. "You wake her up, you leave."
Dick's mouth opened and closed several times. Tim pushed past him, staring.
"You have a baby," Tim said, like he was testing the words. "You—Jason—you have an actual human baby."
"Yeah, Tim. That's generally what happens when—"
"When were you going to TELL US?!" Dick's voice rose again, and the baby—Catherine—stirred slightly. Jason's glare could have melted steel.
"I'm telling you now."
"The baby is already BORN, Jason! That's not telling us, that's INFORMING us after the fact!"
"Can we not do this here?" You said tiredly, adjusting the baby in your arms. "I just gave birth. I'm exhausted. Can the family drama wait?"
That seemed to remind everyone that you existed. Dick immediately looked guilty.
"Sorry. Sorry. I'm Dick. We—I guess we haven't met?" He looked at Jason accusingly. "Because SOMEONE didn't tell us he had a girlfriend."
"Wife," Jason corrected, and held up his left hand where a simple gold band sat.
The room went dead silent.
"WIFE?!" Dick's voice cracked.
"Oh my god," Steph breathed. "Oh my god, Jason secret married someone AND had a baby and didn't tell anyone?"
"I'm telling you now," Jason repeated, maddeningly calm.
"THE BABY IS ALREADY BORN—"
"Dick, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm," Tim said, though he looked pretty close to one himself. "Jason. Buddy. When did you get married?"
"Eight months ago."
"EIGHT—" Dick caught himself, lowered his voice. "Eight months. You've been married for eight months."
"Technically nine, but who's counting."
"I'M COUNTING! I'M VERY MUCH COUNTING!"
Cass had moved closer to the bed, studying the baby with soft eyes. "She's beautiful," she said quietly. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," you said, relieved that at least one person was being normal about this. "Would you like to hold her?"
Cass nodded, and you carefully transferred the tiny bundle into her arms. She held Catherine like she was made of glass, a small smile on her face.
"I can't believe you kept this secret," Tim was saying. "For nine months. How did we not notice?"
"Because I didn't want you to notice." Jason's hand found yours, fingers intertwining. "We wanted to do this privately. Without the whole family hovering and interfering and making it about the mission."
"But we're your family," Dick said, and he sounded hurt now rather than angry. "We should have been there for you. For both of you."
"You're here now," you said gently. "That's what matters."
The door opened again, and Bruce walked in with Damian. Both of them stopped, taking in the scene—Cass holding a baby, you in the hospital bed, Jason looking defiant and protective.
"Jason," Bruce said carefully. "Is that—"
"My daughter. Catherine. She was born this morning at 6:47 AM. Seven pounds, three ounces. Healthy." Jason stood up, moving to stand between his family and the bed like a guard. "And before you start, yes, I'm married. No, you didn't know. Yes, I kept it secret on purpose. Any questions?"
Bruce looked at you, then at the baby in Cass's arms, then back at Jason. Something complicated crossed his face—hurt, maybe, but also understanding.
"Congratulations," he said finally. "To both of you."
"That's it?" Damian said incredulously. "He keeps a wife and child secret for months and you're just—congratulating him?"
"What would you have me do?"
"I don't know, express some concern that Todd hid something this significant? Demand an explanation?"
"I think," Bruce said quietly, watching Jason, "that he had his reasons. And that pushing will only make him more defensive."
Jason's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Her name is Catherine?" Bruce asked. "After—"
"After my mother. Yeah." Jason's voice was rough. "We—it felt right."
Bruce's expression softened completely. "It's a beautiful name."
Dick had moved closer now, looking at the baby in Cass's arms with wonder. "Can I—can I hold her?"
Jason looked at you. You nodded.
"Wash your hands first," Jason said. "And support her head. And be gentle—"
"I know how to hold a baby, Little Wing."
"This isn't just a baby. This is my baby."
Despite the tension, you smiled. Jason had been like this with the nurses too—hypervigilant, protective, determined to ensure everyone who touched Catherine did it correctly.
Dick held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, which, to be fair, she kind of was. His eyes got suspiciously shiny.
"Hi Catherine," he whispered. "I'm your Uncle Dick. And I'm going to spoil you so much. I'm going to be the favorite uncle."
"You're going to have competition," Tim said, moving closer. "I'm bringing educational toys."
"I'm bringing weapons," Damian announced.
"You're not bringing our daughter weapons," Jason said flatly.
"She should learn self-defense early—"
"She's six hours old!"
Watching them, Bruce moved to your bedside. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired. Sore. Happy." You glanced at Jason, who was now arguing with Damian about appropriate gifts for infants. "A little overwhelmed by the sudden family invasion."
"I apologize for that. We're... enthusiastic." Bruce's lips quirked. "And Jason's right to have kept this private, even if it hurt some feelings. This is your family. You deserve to have it on your terms."
"Thank you." You hesitated. "I know he gave you all a shock. He wanted to tell you sooner, but—"
"He was protecting you. Protecting her." Bruce glanced at the baby, now being carefully transferred from Dick to Tim. "I understand. I might not like it, but I understand."
Steph had pulled up a chair next to your bed. "Okay, so I need details. How did you two meet? How long have you been together? How did he propose? I need all the information Jason definitely won't give us."
You laughed. "We met at a bookstore. I was reaching for a book and he was reaching for the same one. Very cliché."
"Jason reads?" Duke looked skeptical.
"Jason reads constantly," you corrected. "He proposed three months after we started dating. It was pouring rain, we were walking home, and he just—asked. No ring, no plan, just 'marry me.'"
"And you said yes to that?" Steph asked.
"I said yes to him." You watched Jason, who was now showing Tim the correct way to support Catherine's head. "He's different than you probably see. Softer. More open. He didn't want to tell you because he was afraid of—"
"Of us ruining it," Dick finished quietly. "Of making it about the mission or Bruce or the family drama."
"He wanted something that was just his," you confirmed. "Just ours. And I understood that."
"But you're telling us now," Bruce observed.
"Because she's here. Because she's real. And because—" You smiled as Jason brought Catherine back to you. "—because she's going to be part of this family whether we planned it or not. Might as well make it official."
Jason settled on the bed beside you, and you leaned into him, exhausted and content. Catherine made a small noise, and both of you immediately focused on her, checking, adjusting, making sure she was okay.
"They're going to be so overprotective," Tim said to Dick.
"They're going to be nightmares," Dick agreed. "It's going to be amazing."
The first few weeks were chaos.
Not just the normal chaos of new parents learning to care for an infant, though there was plenty of that. But also the chaos of integrating a secret family into the existing Batfamily structure.
"I'm just saying," Dick said, holding Catherine while you tried to eat something, "you could have invited us to the wedding."
"It was at city hall. Three witnesses. Very small."
"I could have been a witness!"
"You would have cried."
"I—okay, yes, I would have cried. But that's beside the point!"
Jason took Catherine from Dick, checking her over like he hadn't just been holding her five minutes ago. "The point is we wanted it private. Can you let it go?"
"Never. I'm going to bring this up for years." But Dick was smiling. "She's beautiful though. Really. You guys did good."
You'd moved into Jason's safehouse—bigger than his apartment, more secure, better for a baby. The family had immediately tried to get you to move to the manor.
"We have space," Bruce had said. "Alfred could help. You wouldn't be alone—"
"That's exactly why we're not moving in," Jason had replied. "We need space. Boundaries. Time to figure this out ourselves."
But they visited. God, did they visit.
Dick came every other day, bringing gifts and volunteering to babysit. Tim brought books about infant development. Steph brought clothes. Duke brought a security system that was definitely overkill for a two-month-old. Damian brought a knife ("She needs to learn proper blade grip early") that Jason immediately confiscated.
Even Bruce visited, usually in the evening, sitting quietly and holding Catherine with a gentleness that made your chest ache.
"I wish I'd done more of this," he admitted one night, Catherine asleep against his chest. "With all of you. I was so focused on the mission, on keeping you safe, that I forgot to just... be present."
"You're present now," Jason said quietly. "That counts."
Alfred came weekly, bringing food and wisdom and an endless supply of patience for Jason's paranoid safety protocols.
"Master Jason, the baby does not need a panic room."
"She might."
"She is two months old."
"Dangers don't care about age, Alfred."
But the biggest adjustment was Gotham itself.
Because word had gotten out—not about Catherine specifically, but about Red Hood having a family. And that made you a target.
The first threat came when Catherine was six weeks old.
Jason found the note on the safehouse door: Nice family you have. Would be a shame if something happened to them.
You found him in the nursery at 2 AM, standing over Catherine's crib, guns out, looking ready to burn Gotham down.
"Jason," you said softly.
"I should kill them." His voice was flat. "Everyone who even thinks about touching her. I should end them before they become a problem."
"That's not who you are anymore."
"Maybe it should be. Maybe I've been too soft, too comfortable. Maybe I need to remind Gotham what happens when people threaten what's mine."
You moved to stand beside him, looking down at your sleeping daughter. "You know what I think? I think you're scared. And that's okay. I'm scared too. But we can't protect her by becoming the thing we're trying to protect her from."
"I can't lose her. I can't—" His voice cracked. "She's perfect. She's innocent. She deserves better than this city, this life, this constant threat—"
"She deserves you. Both of us. Loving her, protecting her, but also letting her live." You took his hand. "We'll keep her safe. Together. But we can't do it by locking her away or eliminating every possible threat. That's not living."
Jason pulled you both close—you and the crib, as if he could shield you from the world by sheer force of will.
"I've never been this scared," he admitted. "Even dying wasn't this scary. Because this—losing her—that would actually destroy me."
"Then we make sure it doesn't happen. We're careful. We're smart. We use all these overprotective family members who keep showing up. But we don't let fear control us."
He nodded against your shoulder. "Okay. Okay."
But he still put extra security on the windows. And tracked your phone. And made Dick promise to be on call 24/7 in case something happened.
Some battles, you knew, you weren't going to win.
Catherine's first real family gathering happened at three months old.
Alfred had insisted. "Master Jason, she is part of this family. She should be introduced properly."
"She's three months old. She can't even hold her head up fully. What's she going to do at a family dinner?"
"Be adorable. Steal everyone's hearts. Allow her grandfather to dote on her properly." Alfred's expression was gentle but firm. "She belongs here. As do you and your wife."
So you'd agreed. One dinner. At the manor. With the whole family.
You were already regretting it.
"Remember," Jason said as you pulled up to the manor, Catherine in her car seat. "We can leave at any time. You say the word, we're gone."
"Jason, it's dinner with your family, not a hostage situation."
"Have you met my family?"
Fair point.
Alfred greeted you at the door, and his face absolutely lit up when he saw Catherine.
"Miss Catherine," he said softly. "How wonderful to finally have you home."
"We're just visiting, Alfred," Jason said.
"Of course, Master Jason. Visiting." But his smile suggested he had other ideas.
The family was already gathered in the dining room. Dick shot up the moment you entered.
"Baby!" He announced. "The baby is here!"
"Yes, thank you for that announcement," Jason said dryly. "I'm sure she appreciates being announced like a visiting dignitary."
But he carefully extracted Catherine from her carrier, and you watched as your normally tough, dangerous husband transformed into a gentle, protective father, cradling her like she was made of glass.
"Who wants to hold her first?" Jason asked, though his tone suggested he'd rather no one hold her at all.
"Me!" Dick, Tim, and Steph said simultaneously.
"Oldest gets priority," Dick argued.
"That's not a real rule—"
"I called it first—"
"Children," Bruce interrupted. "Perhaps we should let her parents decide."
Jason looked at you. You looked at the eager faces around the table.
"Dick," you decided. "But everyone gets a turn."
Dick looked like he'd won the lottery. Jason carefully transferred Catherine into his arms, hovering anxiously.
"I've got her," Dick promised. "Hi sweetheart. Hi beautiful girl. Uncle Dick missed you."
"You saw her three days ago," Jason pointed out.
"That's basically a lifetime at this age. She's probably grown since then. Developed new skills. Changed completely."
"She's three months old, not a Pokémon."
But watching Dick with Catherine, seeing the absolute adoration on his face, you understood why Jason had been scared to share this. Because this was his family now—not just his brothers and father, but his daughter. And letting them in meant risking them getting hurt, or her getting hurt, or everything falling apart.
It meant vulnerability he'd never allowed himself before.
Catherine got passed around the table like a very precious football. Tim held her while reciting developmental milestones. Steph cooed and took approximately a thousand photos. Duke was surprisingly natural with her. Even Damian held her, though he looked terrified the entire time.
"She's quite small," he observed.
"She's a baby," Jason said. "They're generally small."
"I was larger."
"You were also raised by assassins. Different standards."
Cass held Catherine the longest, just sitting quietly with her, and Catherine—who'd been fussing slightly with everyone else—immediately calmed.
"She likes you," you observed.
Cass smiled. "I like her."
Finally, Bruce held her. And watching Batman—the Dark Knight, the terror of Gotham's underworld—holding your infant daughter with such infinite gentleness made you understand exactly where Jason got his protective instincts from.
"She has your eyes," Bruce said to Jason. "And your stubborn expression."
"She's three months old. She doesn't have expressions yet."
"She's scowling at me right now. That's definitely your scowl."
Despite himself, Jason smiled.
Dinner was surprisingly normal. Catherine slept through most of it in your arms, occasionally waking to look around with unfocused baby eyes before drifting back off.
"So," Tim said carefully. "Are you guys... okay? Financially, I mean. Babies are expensive."
"We're fine," Jason said, in a tone that suggested the conversation was over.
"Because if you need anything—"
"We're. Fine."
"Jason," you said gently. "They're trying to help."
"I don't need help. I can provide for my family."
"No one's saying you can't," Bruce interjected. "But there's no shame in accepting support. That's what family does."
Jason's jaw was tight, but he nodded stiffly.
"I've set up a college fund," Bruce continued. "For Catherine. It's already established, you can't refuse it, it's done."
"Bruce—"
"You can be stubborn about everything else. But let me do this. Please."
Jason looked at Catherine, sleeping peacefully against your chest, and something in his expression softened.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Thank you."
"And I've prepared a nursery here," Alfred added. "For when you visit. Or if you need somewhere safe to stay."
"We have a safe house—"
"With respect, Master Jason, a manor full of vigilantes is considerably safer than any safe house." Alfred's expression was gentle. "I'm not asking you to move in. I'm simply ensuring you have options."
Jason looked overwhelmed. You squeezed his hand under the table.
"Thank you, Alfred," you said. "That's very kind."
As the evening wound down, you found yourself in the library with Bruce while Jason was changing Catherine.
"Thank you," you said. "For being patient with him. I know the secrecy hurt."
"He was protecting what matters most. I can't fault him for that." Bruce looked at you carefully. "Are you happy?"
"Very. Even with the chaos and the threats and the constant fear. Yes."
"Good. He deserves happiness. More than he believes he does." Bruce paused. "If you ever need anything—not just money or resources, but support, advice, someone to call at 3 AM when you're overwhelmed—you have family now. All of us."
Your throat was tight. "Thank you."
Jason appeared in the doorway, Catherine against his shoulder. "Ready to go?"
You nodded, standing. Bruce walked you both to the door.
"Come back soon," he said. "Please."
"We will," you promised.
In the car, Jason was quiet. You let him process, knowing he needed time.
Finally, he said: "That wasn't terrible."
You laughed. "High praise."
"They love her. All of them."
"Of course they do. She's perfect."
"She is, isn't she?" Jason glanced in the rearview mirror at Catherine's car seat. "I still don't want to move into the manor."
"I know."
"But maybe... maybe we could visit more. Let her know them. Let them be part of her life."
"I think that's a good idea."
"I'm still installing more security at the safe house."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
He reached over, took your hand. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For this. For her. For understanding why I kept it secret and not being angry about it. For being patient with my paranoid bullshit. For—" His voice roughened. "For everything."
You lifted his hand to your lips, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "We're a family now. That's what family does."
"Yeah," Jason said softly, looking at Catherine sleeping peacefully in her car seat. "Yeah, we are."
And for the first time since Catherine was born, you saw him truly relax. Saw him believe that maybe—just maybe—this could actually work.
Secret or not, hidden or revealed, they were his family.
All of them.
And that was more than he'd ever thought he'd have.
The second photo Jason sent to the family group chat showed Catherine at nine months, sitting up on her own, grinning at the camera with two tiny teeth visible.
JASON: She said "Dada" this morning.
The responses came immediately.
DICK: AHHHHHHHHHH
TIM: That's developmentally appropriate for her age
STEPH: I'M CRYING
DUKE: That's adorable
DAMIAN: Acceptable first word
BRUCE: I'm very proud of her. (And of you.)
DICK: When can I teach her to say "Uncle Dick"???
JASON: Never. She's never learning that.
DICK: You can't stop the inevitable, Little Wing
JASON: Watch me
You looked over Jason's shoulder at his phone, Catherine on your hip babbling happily.
"They're never going to leave us alone now," you observed.
"Probably not."
"You okay with that?"
Jason looked at Catherine, who was reaching for his phone with grabby baby hands. He let her take it, watching as she immediately tried to put it in her mouth.
"Yeah," he said, catching her before she could succeed. "I think I am."
And that, more than anything, told you just how far he'd come.
From secret-keeper to sharing.
From isolated to family.
From protected to protecting.
It was beautiful to watch.
Even if it did mean dealing with Dick stopping by every other day.
hi pretty! how u doing? could i request a jason t x reader where they have a girl born in secret and only when the baby is born that jason tells the batfam, either through just a picture or telling them to hush over the hospital just to see a baby??
The Secret
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requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune
The family group chat had been quiet for exactly four hours—a record, honestly—when Jason's message came through.
It was a photo. Just a photo, no context, no explanation.
A tiny baby, wrapped in a pink hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully. Dark hair, scrunched up little face, impossibly small.
The chat exploded.
DICK: IS THAT A BABY
DICK: JASON IS THAT A BABY
TIM: Why are you sending us random baby pictures
STEPH: Okay but that's a REALLY cute baby
DICK: JASON ANSWER YOUR PHONE
DUKE: Did you kidnap a baby???
DAMIAN: Todd, explain yourself immediately.
TIM: Why is no one else concerned that Jason just sent us a photo of a random infant
DICK: JASON PETER TODD
Jason's response came five minutes later, while Dick was probably having a minor breakdown:
JASON: Her name is Catherine. She's mine. Come to Gotham General if you want to meet her.
Then he went offline.
The chaos that followed was legendary.
Dick was the first to arrive at the hospital, having broken approximately fifteen traffic laws to get there. Tim was right behind him, looking like he'd run the entire way (he'd grappled; his car was in the shop). Steph and Cass arrived together. Duke had called Bruce, who was currently in the Batmobile with Damian, both of them looking equally shell-shocked.
They found Jason's room number from a nurse who looked deeply amused by the sudden influx of Waynes, and Dick didn't even knock before bursting in.
"JASON PETER—"
"Shhh!" You hissed from the hospital bed, and Dick stopped dead.
Because there you were, looking exhausted and beautiful and very much holding a newborn baby. And there was Jason, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand on your shoulder, looking at Dick like he might actually murder him for being loud.
"She's sleeping," Jason said quietly, voice hard. "You wake her up, you leave."
Dick's mouth opened and closed several times. Tim pushed past him, staring.
"You have a baby," Tim said, like he was testing the words. "You—Jason—you have an actual human baby."
"Yeah, Tim. That's generally what happens when—"
"When were you going to TELL US?!" Dick's voice rose again, and the baby—Catherine—stirred slightly. Jason's glare could have melted steel.
"I'm telling you now."
"The baby is already BORN, Jason! That's not telling us, that's INFORMING us after the fact!"
"Can we not do this here?" You said tiredly, adjusting the baby in your arms. "I just gave birth. I'm exhausted. Can the family drama wait?"
That seemed to remind everyone that you existed. Dick immediately looked guilty.
"Sorry. Sorry. I'm Dick. We—I guess we haven't met?" He looked at Jason accusingly. "Because SOMEONE didn't tell us he had a girlfriend."
"Wife," Jason corrected, and held up his left hand where a simple gold band sat.
The room went dead silent.
"WIFE?!" Dick's voice cracked.
"Oh my god," Steph breathed. "Oh my god, Jason secret married someone AND had a baby and didn't tell anyone?"
"I'm telling you now," Jason repeated, maddeningly calm.
"THE BABY IS ALREADY BORN—"
"Dick, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm," Tim said, though he looked pretty close to one himself. "Jason. Buddy. When did you get married?"
"Eight months ago."
"EIGHT—" Dick caught himself, lowered his voice. "Eight months. You've been married for eight months."
"Technically nine, but who's counting."
"I'M COUNTING! I'M VERY MUCH COUNTING!"
Cass had moved closer to the bed, studying the baby with soft eyes. "She's beautiful," she said quietly. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," you said, relieved that at least one person was being normal about this. "Would you like to hold her?"
Cass nodded, and you carefully transferred the tiny bundle into her arms. She held Catherine like she was made of glass, a small smile on her face.
"I can't believe you kept this secret," Tim was saying. "For nine months. How did we not notice?"
"Because I didn't want you to notice." Jason's hand found yours, fingers intertwining. "We wanted to do this privately. Without the whole family hovering and interfering and making it about the mission."
"But we're your family," Dick said, and he sounded hurt now rather than angry. "We should have been there for you. For both of you."
"You're here now," you said gently. "That's what matters."
The door opened again, and Bruce walked in with Damian. Both of them stopped, taking in the scene—Cass holding a baby, you in the hospital bed, Jason looking defiant and protective.
"Jason," Bruce said carefully. "Is that—"
"My daughter. Catherine. She was born this morning at 6:47 AM. Seven pounds, three ounces. Healthy." Jason stood up, moving to stand between his family and the bed like a guard. "And before you start, yes, I'm married. No, you didn't know. Yes, I kept it secret on purpose. Any questions?"
Bruce looked at you, then at the baby in Cass's arms, then back at Jason. Something complicated crossed his face—hurt, maybe, but also understanding.
"Congratulations," he said finally. "To both of you."
"That's it?" Damian said incredulously. "He keeps a wife and child secret for months and you're just—congratulating him?"
"What would you have me do?"
"I don't know, express some concern that Todd hid something this significant? Demand an explanation?"
"I think," Bruce said quietly, watching Jason, "that he had his reasons. And that pushing will only make him more defensive."
Jason's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Her name is Catherine?" Bruce asked. "After—"
"After my mother. Yeah." Jason's voice was rough. "We—it felt right."
Bruce's expression softened completely. "It's a beautiful name."
Dick had moved closer now, looking at the baby in Cass's arms with wonder. "Can I—can I hold her?"
Jason looked at you. You nodded.
"Wash your hands first," Jason said. "And support her head. And be gentle—"
"I know how to hold a baby, Little Wing."
"This isn't just a baby. This is my baby."
Despite the tension, you smiled. Jason had been like this with the nurses too—hypervigilant, protective, determined to ensure everyone who touched Catherine did it correctly.
Dick held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, which, to be fair, she kind of was. His eyes got suspiciously shiny.
"Hi Catherine," he whispered. "I'm your Uncle Dick. And I'm going to spoil you so much. I'm going to be the favorite uncle."
"You're going to have competition," Tim said, moving closer. "I'm bringing educational toys."
"I'm bringing weapons," Damian announced.
"You're not bringing our daughter weapons," Jason said flatly.
"She should learn self-defense early—"
"She's six hours old!"
Watching them, Bruce moved to your bedside. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired. Sore. Happy." You glanced at Jason, who was now arguing with Damian about appropriate gifts for infants. "A little overwhelmed by the sudden family invasion."
"I apologize for that. We're... enthusiastic." Bruce's lips quirked. "And Jason's right to have kept this private, even if it hurt some feelings. This is your family. You deserve to have it on your terms."
"Thank you." You hesitated. "I know he gave you all a shock. He wanted to tell you sooner, but—"
"He was protecting you. Protecting her." Bruce glanced at the baby, now being carefully transferred from Dick to Tim. "I understand. I might not like it, but I understand."
Steph had pulled up a chair next to your bed. "Okay, so I need details. How did you two meet? How long have you been together? How did he propose? I need all the information Jason definitely won't give us."
You laughed. "We met at a bookstore. I was reaching for a book and he was reaching for the same one. Very cliché."
"Jason reads?" Duke looked skeptical.
"Jason reads constantly," you corrected. "He proposed three months after we started dating. It was pouring rain, we were walking home, and he just—asked. No ring, no plan, just 'marry me.'"
"And you said yes to that?" Steph asked.
"I said yes to him." You watched Jason, who was now showing Tim the correct way to support Catherine's head. "He's different than you probably see. Softer. More open. He didn't want to tell you because he was afraid of—"
"Of us ruining it," Dick finished quietly. "Of making it about the mission or Bruce or the family drama."
"He wanted something that was just his," you confirmed. "Just ours. And I understood that."
"But you're telling us now," Bruce observed.
"Because she's here. Because she's real. And because—" You smiled as Jason brought Catherine back to you. "—because she's going to be part of this family whether we planned it or not. Might as well make it official."
Jason settled on the bed beside you, and you leaned into him, exhausted and content. Catherine made a small noise, and both of you immediately focused on her, checking, adjusting, making sure she was okay.
"They're going to be so overprotective," Tim said to Dick.
"They're going to be nightmares," Dick agreed. "It's going to be amazing."
The first few weeks were chaos.
Not just the normal chaos of new parents learning to care for an infant, though there was plenty of that. But also the chaos of integrating a secret family into the existing Batfamily structure.
"I'm just saying," Dick said, holding Catherine while you tried to eat something, "you could have invited us to the wedding."
"It was at city hall. Three witnesses. Very small."
"I could have been a witness!"
"You would have cried."
"I—okay, yes, I would have cried. But that's beside the point!"
Jason took Catherine from Dick, checking her over like he hadn't just been holding her five minutes ago. "The point is we wanted it private. Can you let it go?"
"Never. I'm going to bring this up for years." But Dick was smiling. "She's beautiful though. Really. You guys did good."
You'd moved into Jason's safehouse—bigger than his apartment, more secure, better for a baby. The family had immediately tried to get you to move to the manor.
"We have space," Bruce had said. "Alfred could help. You wouldn't be alone—"
"That's exactly why we're not moving in," Jason had replied. "We need space. Boundaries. Time to figure this out ourselves."
But they visited. God, did they visit.
Dick came every other day, bringing gifts and volunteering to babysit. Tim brought books about infant development. Steph brought clothes. Duke brought a security system that was definitely overkill for a two-month-old. Damian brought a knife ("She needs to learn proper blade grip early") that Jason immediately confiscated.
Even Bruce visited, usually in the evening, sitting quietly and holding Catherine with a gentleness that made your chest ache.
"I wish I'd done more of this," he admitted one night, Catherine asleep against his chest. "With all of you. I was so focused on the mission, on keeping you safe, that I forgot to just... be present."
"You're present now," Jason said quietly. "That counts."
Alfred came weekly, bringing food and wisdom and an endless supply of patience for Jason's paranoid safety protocols.
"Master Jason, the baby does not need a panic room."
"She might."
"She is two months old."
"Dangers don't care about age, Alfred."
But the biggest adjustment was Gotham itself.
Because word had gotten out—not about Catherine specifically, but about Red Hood having a family. And that made you a target.
The first threat came when Catherine was six weeks old.
Jason found the note on the safehouse door: Nice family you have. Would be a shame if something happened to them.
You found him in the nursery at 2 AM, standing over Catherine's crib, guns out, looking ready to burn Gotham down.
"Jason," you said softly.
"I should kill them." His voice was flat. "Everyone who even thinks about touching her. I should end them before they become a problem."
"That's not who you are anymore."
"Maybe it should be. Maybe I've been too soft, too comfortable. Maybe I need to remind Gotham what happens when people threaten what's mine."
You moved to stand beside him, looking down at your sleeping daughter. "You know what I think? I think you're scared. And that's okay. I'm scared too. But we can't protect her by becoming the thing we're trying to protect her from."
"I can't lose her. I can't—" His voice cracked. "She's perfect. She's innocent. She deserves better than this city, this life, this constant threat—"
"She deserves you. Both of us. Loving her, protecting her, but also letting her live." You took his hand. "We'll keep her safe. Together. But we can't do it by locking her away or eliminating every possible threat. That's not living."
Jason pulled you both close—you and the crib, as if he could shield you from the world by sheer force of will.
"I've never been this scared," he admitted. "Even dying wasn't this scary. Because this—losing her—that would actually destroy me."
"Then we make sure it doesn't happen. We're careful. We're smart. We use all these overprotective family members who keep showing up. But we don't let fear control us."
He nodded against your shoulder. "Okay. Okay."
But he still put extra security on the windows. And tracked your phone. And made Dick promise to be on call 24/7 in case something happened.
Some battles, you knew, you weren't going to win.
Catherine's first real family gathering happened at three months old.
Alfred had insisted. "Master Jason, she is part of this family. She should be introduced properly."
"She's three months old. She can't even hold her head up fully. What's she going to do at a family dinner?"
"Be adorable. Steal everyone's hearts. Allow her grandfather to dote on her properly." Alfred's expression was gentle but firm. "She belongs here. As do you and your wife."
So you'd agreed. One dinner. At the manor. With the whole family.
You were already regretting it.
"Remember," Jason said as you pulled up to the manor, Catherine in her car seat. "We can leave at any time. You say the word, we're gone."
"Jason, it's dinner with your family, not a hostage situation."
"Have you met my family?"
Fair point.
Alfred greeted you at the door, and his face absolutely lit up when he saw Catherine.
"Miss Catherine," he said softly. "How wonderful to finally have you home."
"We're just visiting, Alfred," Jason said.
"Of course, Master Jason. Visiting." But his smile suggested he had other ideas.
The family was already gathered in the dining room. Dick shot up the moment you entered.
"Baby!" He announced. "The baby is here!"
"Yes, thank you for that announcement," Jason said dryly. "I'm sure she appreciates being announced like a visiting dignitary."
But he carefully extracted Catherine from her carrier, and you watched as your normally tough, dangerous husband transformed into a gentle, protective father, cradling her like she was made of glass.
"Who wants to hold her first?" Jason asked, though his tone suggested he'd rather no one hold her at all.
"Me!" Dick, Tim, and Steph said simultaneously.
"Oldest gets priority," Dick argued.
"That's not a real rule—"
"I called it first—"
"Children," Bruce interrupted. "Perhaps we should let her parents decide."
Jason looked at you. You looked at the eager faces around the table.
"Dick," you decided. "But everyone gets a turn."
Dick looked like he'd won the lottery. Jason carefully transferred Catherine into his arms, hovering anxiously.
"I've got her," Dick promised. "Hi sweetheart. Hi beautiful girl. Uncle Dick missed you."
"You saw her three days ago," Jason pointed out.
"That's basically a lifetime at this age. She's probably grown since then. Developed new skills. Changed completely."
"She's three months old, not a Pokémon."
But watching Dick with Catherine, seeing the absolute adoration on his face, you understood why Jason had been scared to share this. Because this was his family now—not just his brothers and father, but his daughter. And letting them in meant risking them getting hurt, or her getting hurt, or everything falling apart.
It meant vulnerability he'd never allowed himself before.
Catherine got passed around the table like a very precious football. Tim held her while reciting developmental milestones. Steph cooed and took approximately a thousand photos. Duke was surprisingly natural with her. Even Damian held her, though he looked terrified the entire time.
"She's quite small," he observed.
"She's a baby," Jason said. "They're generally small."
"I was larger."
"You were also raised by assassins. Different standards."
Cass held Catherine the longest, just sitting quietly with her, and Catherine—who'd been fussing slightly with everyone else—immediately calmed.
"She likes you," you observed.
Cass smiled. "I like her."
Finally, Bruce held her. And watching Batman—the Dark Knight, the terror of Gotham's underworld—holding your infant daughter with such infinite gentleness made you understand exactly where Jason got his protective instincts from.
"She has your eyes," Bruce said to Jason. "And your stubborn expression."
"She's three months old. She doesn't have expressions yet."
"She's scowling at me right now. That's definitely your scowl."
Despite himself, Jason smiled.
Dinner was surprisingly normal. Catherine slept through most of it in your arms, occasionally waking to look around with unfocused baby eyes before drifting back off.
"So," Tim said carefully. "Are you guys... okay? Financially, I mean. Babies are expensive."
"We're fine," Jason said, in a tone that suggested the conversation was over.
"Because if you need anything—"
"We're. Fine."
"Jason," you said gently. "They're trying to help."
"I don't need help. I can provide for my family."
"No one's saying you can't," Bruce interjected. "But there's no shame in accepting support. That's what family does."
Jason's jaw was tight, but he nodded stiffly.
"I've set up a college fund," Bruce continued. "For Catherine. It's already established, you can't refuse it, it's done."
"Bruce—"
"You can be stubborn about everything else. But let me do this. Please."
Jason looked at Catherine, sleeping peacefully against your chest, and something in his expression softened.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Thank you."
"And I've prepared a nursery here," Alfred added. "For when you visit. Or if you need somewhere safe to stay."
"We have a safe house—"
"With respect, Master Jason, a manor full of vigilantes is considerably safer than any safe house." Alfred's expression was gentle. "I'm not asking you to move in. I'm simply ensuring you have options."
Jason looked overwhelmed. You squeezed his hand under the table.
"Thank you, Alfred," you said. "That's very kind."
As the evening wound down, you found yourself in the library with Bruce while Jason was changing Catherine.
"Thank you," you said. "For being patient with him. I know the secrecy hurt."
"He was protecting what matters most. I can't fault him for that." Bruce looked at you carefully. "Are you happy?"
"Very. Even with the chaos and the threats and the constant fear. Yes."
"Good. He deserves happiness. More than he believes he does." Bruce paused. "If you ever need anything—not just money or resources, but support, advice, someone to call at 3 AM when you're overwhelmed—you have family now. All of us."
Your throat was tight. "Thank you."
Jason appeared in the doorway, Catherine against his shoulder. "Ready to go?"
You nodded, standing. Bruce walked you both to the door.
"Come back soon," he said. "Please."
"We will," you promised.
In the car, Jason was quiet. You let him process, knowing he needed time.
Finally, he said: "That wasn't terrible."
You laughed. "High praise."
"They love her. All of them."
"Of course they do. She's perfect."
"She is, isn't she?" Jason glanced in the rearview mirror at Catherine's car seat. "I still don't want to move into the manor."
"I know."
"But maybe... maybe we could visit more. Let her know them. Let them be part of her life."
"I think that's a good idea."
"I'm still installing more security at the safe house."
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
He reached over, took your hand. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For this. For her. For understanding why I kept it secret and not being angry about it. For being patient with my paranoid bullshit. For—" His voice roughened. "For everything."
You lifted his hand to your lips, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "We're a family now. That's what family does."
"Yeah," Jason said softly, looking at Catherine sleeping peacefully in her car seat. "Yeah, we are."
And for the first time since Catherine was born, you saw him truly relax. Saw him believe that maybe—just maybe—this could actually work.
Secret or not, hidden or revealed, they were his family.
All of them.
And that was more than he'd ever thought he'd have.
The second photo Jason sent to the family group chat showed Catherine at nine months, sitting up on her own, grinning at the camera with two tiny teeth visible.
JASON: She said "Dada" this morning.
The responses came immediately.
DICK: AHHHHHHHHHH
TIM: That's developmentally appropriate for her age
STEPH: I'M CRYING
DUKE: That's adorable
DAMIAN: Acceptable first word
BRUCE: I'm very proud of her. (And of you.)
DICK: When can I teach her to say "Uncle Dick"???
JASON: Never. She's never learning that.
DICK: You can't stop the inevitable, Little Wing
JASON: Watch me
You looked over Jason's shoulder at his phone, Catherine on your hip babbling happily.
"They're never going to leave us alone now," you observed.
"Probably not."
"You okay with that?"
Jason looked at Catherine, who was reaching for his phone with grabby baby hands. He let her take it, watching as she immediately tried to put it in her mouth.
"Yeah," he said, catching her before she could succeed. "I think I am."
And that, more than anything, told you just how far he'd come.
From secret-keeper to sharing.
From isolated to family.
From protected to protecting.
It was beautiful to watch.
Even if it did mean dealing with Dick stopping by every other day.
summary 𓂃 the arkham knight breaks into his ex's apartment to get batman’s location.
tags 𓂃 arkham knight!jason x ex gf!fem reader , heavy angst , trauma , ptsd , he still has some feelings for reader , unresolved feelings , yearning , hurt/comfort , soft spot for reader , denial of feelings , stubborn!reader , past lovers to ??? , complicated relationship.
wc 𓂃 1.9k
JASON DIDN’T KNOCK.
Knocking was for people who hadn't already mapped every entrance to your apartment three weeks ago. For people who weren't wearing tactical armor and carrying enough explosives to bring down the whole building if things went wrong.
He came through the fire escape window like he always did. Quiet enough not to be heard.
The lock hadn't even slowed him down. He knew his way around it.
You were in the kitchen when he landed on your floor. He heard the soft sound of a mug being set down. Then nothing. You didn’t gasp, you didn’t scream—you didn’t even run. You knew someone was there and your dumbass didn’t run. Still the same.
He found you leaning against the kitchen counter, you arms were crossed, and your coffee was still steaming behind you. You looked the same. Different hair, maybe. New lines around your eyes. But the same stubborn set to your jaw, the same way you didn't flinch when you should have.
"You broke my window," you said. He was a little bit taken aback by the tone of your voice. How it was flat—not scared. Annoyed and not terrified of the fact that someone had just broken into your apartment.
"You know why I'm here."
"I know you broke my window."
"I need the location."
You stared at him. Let the silence stretch. Then you picked up your coffee and took a slow, deliberate sip.
"No."
He'd expected that. He'd even prepared for it.
What he hadn't prepared for was the way his chest tightened when you said it. Not because of the word, no he was used to that, but because of your voice. Because he'd heard that voice say his name over a hundred times in different ways. Some soft, some laughing, some breathless, and some urgent. Now it was looking at him like he was a stranger.
But he was a stranger. That was the point.
"Batman's gone," Jason said. "You have access to one of his contingency locations. I need the address."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to kill him."
You didn't blink.
"No, you're not."
"You don't get to decide that."
"I'm not deciding anything. I'm telling you what's going to happen." You set your mug down. Took a step closer. He didn't move. "You're going to stand in my kitchen, bleeding all over my floor—"
He looked down. His side was wet. He hadn't noticed the cut from twenty minutes ago. Somewhere between the militia skirmish and her window, his body had just decided not to tell him.
"—and you're going to realize you can't hurt me."
Jason's jaw tightened. Eyes shuttin under the mask.
"I'm not here to hurt you."
"Then why are you here?"
The question landed wrong. Too simple. Way too honest for his tastes. Or rather for Arkham’s tastes. The old Jason might have appreciated it.
He was here because he needed the location. Because Batman had gone underground and none of his scouts could find him. Because you were the only loose thread, the one person Bruce had trusted outside the family, and that meant you knew something.
That was why.
That was the only why.
"I need the address," he repeated.
"And I need you to leave."
"Not happening."
"Then we're at an impasse." You shrugged. "You want coffee? Also, you’re still bleeding on my floorboards."
You turned your back on him.
Deliberately.
Jason felt something crack in his chest because you wouldn't have done that before. You wouldn't have turned your back on anyone before. You were always too careful, too sharp, too aware of every single exit in every room.
But you’d just turned your back on the Arkham Knight.
And that only meant you just saw him as Jason. And, fuck, that made him want to scream.
"You shouldn't turn your back on me," he said. Low. Warning.
You glanced over your shoulder. "You said you weren't going to hurt me."
"I lied."
"No, you didn't."
You poured a second mug of coffee. Black. The way he used to drink it. But he didn't drink coffee anymore. He drank whatever kept him awake during operations. Taste didn't even matter. Mostly because everything was tasteless to him.
You set the mug on the counter between you.
"If you wanted to hurt me, you wouldn't have come through the window. You'd have sent your soldiers. You'd have had someone else do it." Your eyes met his eyes. "You came yourself because you couldn't trust anyone else to do it right. And you came through the window instead of the door because you didn't want to test whether I'd let you in or not.”
Jason said nothing.
"Not to mention, you haven't threatened me once. You've been here six minutes and you haven't even raised your voice."
"Maybe I'm patient."
"No." You tilted your head. "You're terrified."
The word hit him like a bullet, but he just scoffed.
Terrified?
He wasn't terrified. He was the Arkham Knight. He'd survived over a year of Joker's torture. He'd built an army. And he would bring Batman to his knees.
He wasn't terrified of some… some civilian in a kitchen. Didn’t matter that this civilian was someone he’d once planned to propose to sometime in the future. Funny how time works, huh?
But his hands were shaking.
He looked down at them. Gloved. Steady. The shaking was inside, where no one could see. Except you always could. You’d always been able to see the things he tried to hide.
"Just give me the address," he said. His voice was quiet now. "Please."
Please. He wanted to fucking smack himself.
He hadn't said that word in years. Not to anyone. He doesn’t plead. Thats not who he is.
Your expression flickered. Just for a second and then it was gone just as fast.
"Sit down," you said.
"I don't need to sit—"
"Sit down, Jason."
His name.
You said his name.
He sat. But not without berating himself a thousand times in his head for still being weak to you.
The kitchen chair was too small for his armor. He felt ridiculous. He'd spent years building himself into something hard and untouchable, and now he was sitting in your kitchen, bleeding on your floor, being offered coffee he hadn't asked for.
You sat across from him. Didn't reach for his hand. Didn't try to touch him. Good. If you’d touched him, he would have lost it.
"You want to know why I won't give you the address?" You asked.
"Because you're loyal to him."
"No." You shook her head. "I'm loyal to the man who loved you."
Jason's throat closed and suddenly breathing was much harder than it should’ve been.
"Bruce came to my apartment three days after you disappeared," you said. "He looked like hell. I'd never seen him look like that. Not after a fight, not after a case, not after anything. He sat in that chair—" you pointed to the one Jason was sitting in "—and he told me you were missing. And then he told me he was going to find you. No matter how long it took."
Jason said nothing. A part of him didn’t believe those words. It was bullshit—had to be. Why didn’t he find him?
"He was gone for months. Whole nights. Whole weeks. Alfred himself told me he barely slept. He barely ate. He just kept looking. And then the video came."
The video.
Jason felt his pulse spike because he knew exactly what you were talking about.
"He showed it to me himself," you continued. "I think he wanted someone to see it with him. Someone who loved you the way he did." You paused. "He cried, Jason. Batman cried. Right there on my couch. Because he thought you were dead and he blamed himself."
"Good," Jason said. The word came out hard. Brittle. He couldn’t let you see your words were getting to him.
"No. Not good." Your voice sharpened. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to sit there and pretend he didn't care. He never stopped caring. I never stopped caring. We searched for you. Both of us. For months—for a year."
"Not hard enough."
"We searched everywhere."
"Not everywhere."
"Where, Jason?" You leaned forward. "Where should we have looked? Tell me. Because I would have gone anywhere. I would have burned the whole city down. I would have—" your voice broke. Just a little. You caught it before it could fall apart. "I never stopped looking for you. Not once. Even when everyone else told me to move on. Even when Bruce said we had to accept it. I never stopped."
He wanted to believe you.
He just couldn't.
Because if you really had looked that hard, you would have found him. Someone would have found him. Joker's little dungeon wasn't invisible. It was hidden.
But the way you were looking at him—like he was still Jason, like you could still see the boy you’d loved under all the armor and the anger and the years of pain—that was harder to refuse than any torture Joker had ever devised.
"You don't know me anymore," Jason said.
"I know you're still in there."
"Joker burned him out."
"No." You shook her head. "Joker tried. He failed. Look at yourself." You gestured at his armor. "You think you built all of this because you hate Bruce? You built it because you love him. Because you wanted him to see you. Because you wanted him to come for you."
"I wanted him to suffer."
"You wanted him to acknowledge you." You leaned back. "There's a difference. And until you figure that out, you're not going to kill him. Because you can't. Because no matter how much you hate him, you still love him more."
Jason stood up. Your words were grating on his nerves and he hated that you were right and he hated that you could still read him even when he’s covered in heaps of metal.
The chair scraped against the floor. His hands were shaking again. He needed to leave. Needed to get the hell out of this kitchen, out of your fucking apartment, out of the orbit of someone who could still see through him like he was made of glass.
"Give me the address," he said. "Last chance."
"No."
"I will hurt you."
"No, you won't."
He drew his sidearm.
It was a stupid move. Performative. He knew it even as he did it. The weight of the gun in his hand felt ridiculous. You weren’t a threat. You weren’t an enemy. You were just a woman who'd loved him and refused to stop.
You looked at the gun. Looked at his face. Then you looked back at the gun.
"You're not going to shoot me, Jason. So just put it down." You sighed.
"You don't know that."
"I know you." You stood up. Walked toward him. The gun was still in his hand. You didn't flinch. Didn't even slow down. You treated the gun like it was a nerf gun. You stopped inches from the barrel, close enough that he could see the tears you were holding back. "I know you, Jason Todd. I know you're scared. I know you're hurt. I know you've been alone for so long you forgot what it feels like to be loved. But I also know you're not going to shoot me. Because you're not a monster. No matter how hard you try to be."
His hand trembled.
The gun rattled a little.
"I have to kill him," Jason said. His voice cracked. He hated that it cracked. "I have to. If I don't—if I can't—then everything I did—everything I became—"
"You can still come back."
"There's nothing to come back to."
"Yes, there is." You reached up. Slow and careful like he was a bomb that might go off at any second. Your fingers brushed the side of his helmet. "Me."
He jerked away.
The gun clattered to the floor.
He stood there, breathing hard, armor creaking, blood still soaking into his side, and he wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something.
Instead, he just stood there.
"I can't," he whispered.
"Can't or won't?"
He didn't answer.
You didn't push.
You just stood there, patient as stone, waiting for him to figure out what he already knew but couldn't say.
Finally, you spoke. Sighing.
"Bruce is at the old clock tower. The one in Bristol. He's been there for three days. He's injured. He's alone."
Jason froze like he hadn’t expected that. A part of him was relying on the fact that she wouldn’t tell him where he is. A part of him was afraid of facing Bruce as Arkham Knight. Afraid to find out that Bruce didn’t abandon him. And that his hatred was all misplaced.
"Why are you telling me?"
"Because I trust you." You met his eyes. "And because I know you won't kill him. Not really. You'll go there. You'll see him. And maybe—finally—you'll realize that the person you've been trying to destroy isn't him."
"Then who?"
"You."
— — —
He left the way he came.
Through the window. Onto the fire escape. Into the brutal cold of gotham.
He didn't look back. He didn't need to.
He could still feel you watching him. Still feel your eyes on his back. Still feel the ghost of your fingers against his helmet. He wished it was his face.
Jason dropped to the alley below and landed hard. His side screamed but he ignored it.
The clock tower.
Bristol.
Three days.
He had time.
He had time to decide what kind of monster he wanted to be.
But standing there in the dark, blood soaking through his armor, your face still warm in his memory. Jason realized something he hadn't let himself feel since the joker took him.
He didn't want to kill Bruce.
He wanted Bruce to say he was sorry.
He wanted Bruce to say he never stopped looking.
He wanted Bruce to say—
I love you, son.
Jason pressed his hand against bleeding his side and started walking.
The first draft of this was written in third person (she/her) but I changed my mind halfway because I realized I didn’t really like it (god forbid I try something new LOL) so I switched back to the whole 2nd person shtick but I might’ve missed a few so just ignore that 😓
summary : it’s date night with Jason Todd! However.. you’re a lightweight. This means he’s now got to look after a drunk and goofy you.
masterlist ノ DC masterlist
The date had started innocently enough.
Jason had taken you to a new cocktail bar in the Narrows — one of those trendy places with fancy drinks and low lighting. He’d been in a good mood, smiling more than usual, hand on your lower back as he guided you to a quiet booth in the corner.
“Try this one,” he said, sliding a bright pink drink toward you. “It’s supposed to taste like strawberries.”
You took a sip. “Oh my god. It does. It’s like juice.”
Jason smirked. “Careful. It’s stronger than it tastes.”
You waved him off. “I can handle it. It’s literally juice.”
Famous last words.
Three drinks later, you were giggling.
Four drinks later, you were declaring your undying love for the bar’s playlist.
Five drinks later, you were trying to convince Jason to dance with you in the middle of the bar.
“Baby, no,” he said, laughing as he gently pulled you back into the booth. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow.”
You pouted, leaning heavily against his side. “But the music is so good! And you’re so pretty. Have I told you how pretty you are?”
He flushed, ears going pink. “A few times tonight. Come on, let’s get you home.”
You protested, but your legs had other ideas. The world tilted when you stood up. Jason caught you easily, one arm around your waist, the other holding your bag.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice warm. “Lean on me.”
You did. Happily. He smelled like leather and gun oil and the faint citrus of his aftershave. You nuzzled into his neck as he half-carried you out of the bar.
“Jason Todd,” you declared loudly to the bouncer, “is the best boyfriend in the whole world. He’s so strong. Look at him carrying me like I weigh nothing. I love him so much.”
The bouncer smirked. Jason’s ears burned redder.
“Alright, drunk princess,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on you. “Time to go home.”
The cab ride was an adventure.
You kept trying to climb into his lap. He kept gently pushing you back into your seat with a fond laugh.
“Baby, seatbelt,” he said, clicking it into place for the third time.
“But I want to sit on you,” you whined. “You’re warm. And comfy. And you smell nice.”
He groaned, running a hand over his face. “You’re going to kill me.”
You beamed. “In a good way?”
“In the best way.”
When you finally got home, Jason carried you up the stairs like you weighed nothing. You kept kissing his neck and jaw the whole way, making happy little noises.
“Jason,” you whispered against his skin. “You’re so pretty. Did you know that? Like, really pretty. Your eyes are so green. And your arms are so big. I love your arms.”
He unlocked the door, still holding you. “You’re going to be so embarrassed tomorrow.”
“Worth it,” you said, nuzzling closer.
Inside, he set you down gently on the couch and knelt to take off your shoes. You tried to help but mostly just tangled your fingers in his hair.
“Stay still, baby,” he said, laughing softly. “Let me take care of you.”
You pouted. “But I want to take care of you.”
“You can take care of me tomorrow when you’re sober,” he promised, kissing your knee. “Right now, it’s my turn.”
He helped you to the bathroom, holding your hair back while you brushed your teeth (with his help). Then he carried you to bed, helping you into one of his hoodies because “you always steal them anyway.”
You curled up against his chest the second he lay down beside you, legs tangling with his.
“Love you,” you mumbled, already half-asleep. “So much. Even when you’re all grumpy and broody. You’re my favorite person.”
Jason’s arm tightened around you. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, voice soft. “I love you too. More than you know. Even when you’re drunk and calling me pretty in public.”
You giggled. “You are pretty.”
“Go to sleep, drunk princess.”
You did, safe in his arms.
The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and the distinct feeling that you had done something embarrassing.
Jason was already awake, sitting up against the headboard, reading a book with one hand while the other stroked your hair.
“Morning,” he said, voice amused. “How’s the head?”
You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “I called you pretty in front of the bouncer, didn’t I?”
“Multiple times. And told him I was the best boyfriend in the world. And tried to climb into my lap in the cab.”
You whimpered. “Kill me.”
He laughed, the sound warm and fond. “Never. You were adorable. And very honest.”
You peeked up at him. “Did I say anything else embarrassing?”
“You told me you loved my arms. And my eyes. And that I smell nice.” He kissed your forehead. “I liked all of it.”
You hid your face again. “I’m never drinking again.”
He chuckled, pulling you closer. “We’ll see about that. But for now… water, painkillers, and breakfast in bed. Sound good?”
You nodded, curling tighter against him. “You’re the best.”
He smiled against your hair. “Only for you.”
Jason Todd might be the Red Hood — violent, guarded, carrying the weight of the world.
But with you?
He was the man who carried you home when you were drunk, held your hair while you brushed your teeth, and made you breakfast the next morning while teasing you gently about your drunken declarations.
And you?
You were the luckiest person in Gotham.
a/n : self indulgent because im a lightweight and miss some booze
jason was completely drained from patrol as usual, so what does he do ?
take it out on you of course, let you fuck the energy back into him while you ride the thick of his cock nice and hard, taking it all the way down to the hilt.
he couldn't be bothered to change let alone take off his mask, pants tugged down to his knees as he laid back on your shared bed.
you couldn't exactly complain about it either, whenever jason wore the mask it did something to you, made you a little rabid for him and him the same for you. he found himself always being a little rougher whenever he wore it, his touch too hard and his words too mean.
no, you weren't fucking jason, you were fucking red hood.
you sat on top of him with his thick cock stuffed all the way inside your pulsing cunt. you were so wet he practically slid in, all perfect and drooly for him, your slick dripping down to his balls. he let his head fall back watching all your pretty bare skin as you began to fuck yourself on him, completely naked while he was still dressed. you began bouncing as hard as you could, he watched his cock disappear and reappear with each movement and lewd squelch.
you took it so well, taking his hard length inside you inch by inch. a sharp hiss escapes his lips and you imagine his eyes closing for a moment, head tilting back against the bed headboard. his hands find your hips quickly and his fingers dug hard into your flesh with the familiar grounding friction of his calloused touch. jason grabs at you hard and forces a faster pace, making you gasp out and grab at the solid of his muscle for balance.
"easy baby—", his words are low and muffled through his mask.
but you don't want easy. you want it raw, rough and real, feeling the satiating throb deep inside you as you squeeze your sopping cunt around him. jason grunts, a hand reaching for your face roughly, making you stare down at his mask all wide eyed and frozen.
"behave."
you almost cum right there, but you swallow and nod, listening to his word like it's law, then you feel him begin to move. even with his face covered you could feel his gaze intense, tracking your every movement. he takes his time with each filling, hard thrust of his cock his hands flexing on your hips, forcing you steady.
his hand on your jaw stays there, keeping your gaze on his mask, if you look carefully, manage to focus your eyes you can see your reflection, faint and blurred and dyed red.
you see what he sees, your own reflection.
your own face staring back at you, lips parted and mouth held agape with his big hand.
his hips speed up with each upward thrust to meet yours, chasing the friction.
hes forcing you to ride him harder, faster, chasing the building pressure low in your belly. his thumb traces a hot path along your hipbone, his grip tightening possessively. the rhythm between you is relentlessly now, pushing up into you with powerful thrusts that steal your breath and make you cry out softly. you feel the tension coiling tight within him, mirroring the near unbearable tightness building inside you.
even when you feel yourself so close to release your eyes stay focused on the little smudge of your red reflection on his mask, you rode him faster, leaning back as your tits bounced with you.
you hear him groan at the sight.
he's as desperate for release as you now, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a flesh light, letting out little huffs and grunts. his other hand slides from your jaw down between you two to seek out your pretty clit, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at the twitchy nub in tight hot circles making you jump and squeeze around him at the simple action.
“that’s what you were missing—"
"pussy's so fuckin' tight around me— so wet—”
you feel your orgasm getting closer, eyes rolling back as he slots in and out of your lulling body. the sheer size of him causes an ache inside your core that arches your back, clutching and clawing at the skin of his muscled abdomen, he feels you gush around him, all soaked and perfect and moaning and crying for him, melting with every of pull of his cock only to fuck it back in.
you can faintly see your fucked out face in the reflection of his mask and that's what does it. it has you fall forward onto him, laying across his hard body limp, face flushed into the crook of his neck but he persisted through your muffled cries and glossed over eyes.
your glistening wetness dripped down his cock every time he lifted your hips, and the way your mouth hung open, releasing moan after moan, it was driving him wild. fuck he was close, he could feel his balls tighten from the feel of your fucked out cunt as he kept thrusting up into you, balls deep. he felt your pussy twitch and squeeze, poor thing all tired out practically sopping around him with your wet heat.
he managed to ram into you once more, the ridges and veins of his cock rubbing harshly against your velvety walls as your pussy sucked at him greedily. you both held quiet listening to the wet squelches in harmony with the fleshy smacking of his balls relentless against your cunt.
"dirty girl—"
"letting me fuck you like this with my mask on—"
"bet you get off on it—" ,he lets out a lazy half groaned laugh before rearing back his hips for another brutal thrust, this time, he hit you deep, pressing into the cervix, causing your vision to blur momentarily. you were a pathetic mess, eyes watering, spit dribbling from your lips and soaking through his dark shirt while as you whined loudly.
when jason cums you swear you see stars, you feel him paint your walls with thick, creamy release, his cock humping into you weakly with a few more stuttered thrusts.
"my pretty girl", he lets out a lazy huff of laughter as he strokes your face and hair roughly, petting you all sweet like, cooing and coaxing to help you calm down,
"fuckin' pathetic—"
he laughs lazily at your fucked out state, pure bliss behind your eyes and lets his hands squeeze and flex around your ass, feeling how you were still shaky and twitchy from the high, trying to get comfortable over him.
waking up to find jason asleep on top of you. part of you feels bad cause he’s tired. but mostly he just wants to keep you in bed, with whatever necessary method.
it’s past noon when you wake up to jason laying with his head on your chest. his face literally buried between your breasts like it’s a pillow or something. snoring softly as though completely content.
you probably wouldn’t have woke up if it hadn’t been for the blinds being open because his weight over you just felt like a blanket. warm and inviting. his suit still on him like he just collapsed here somehow and his huge arms resting beside your head. watching the rise and fall of his back since his chest was to your stomach and the soft ruffle of his hair, you smile to yourself.
when you finally try to get up, he’s not budging even a smidge. if anything, he seems to get heavier, and he doesn’t make a sound still completely asleep. but you know he sleeps at odd hours and lord knows when he got home and collapsed on your sleep-ridden form.
fine, you think to yourself, i’ll give him another ten minutes.
though ten turns into twenty and now it’s 1pm. you shake him a little harder and groan out his name.
“jason, get up. you’re crushing me.”
he mumbles something against your chest and rubs his face there before turns it to the side. hands spanning around your waist to keep you from squirming further.
you groan a little louder and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “half the day is gone and you’re here suffocating me.”
that’s when he lifts his head to look at you. sleep heavy on his eyelids and a soft pink to his cheeks from pressing his face to the fabric of your clothes. the soft imprint of your ribbed shirt against his skin.
“you aren’t suffocating if you can talk ma.”
squinting down at his stupidly attractive face, you shake your head, “don’t be a smartass.” suddenly able to see the drool he left on your shirt you grimace with no malice. “ugh you got spit all over me you gremlin.”
he laughs aloud and pinches your side to make you jolt. “what this? it’s just drool.”
“same shit as spit.”
then he smiles, “no, spit is when i’m intentionally doing it. drool is mindless. see, i just love your tits even in my sleep.”
he leans over and bites you through your shirt. since you don’t wear a bra to sleep, you feel the press of his teeth completely and it makes you jolt and gasp again. you shove at his head and he just catches your wrists, still smiling at you.
the domesticated annoyance melts into something even more tender as his eyes seem to sparkle up at you. like he’s drinking in the sight of you like this but not consciously doing it. as though he could burn this memory into his soul and not flinch when his flesh form remembers.
you feel yourself fall into him when he raises your shirt over his head and ducks underneath.
“what’re you doing?” giggling as he presses wet kisses onto your abdomen. taking small bites enough to leave a little indent but not to break skin.
“shh it’s sunday baby.” he coos, “this is worship time.”
you’re still laughing and he’s making it up the valley of your breasts, bringing a hand under your shirt too. he gropes one of your breasts while the other takes familiarity in his mouth. suckling and moaning as though this was the best thing to ever happen to him. a laugh turns into a moan before you can stop it.
“shit— jay, i gotta study, come on.” you sigh but you really didn’t want him to move.
luckily he doesn’t because you don’t seem to stop him. he pulls your shirt up higher as higher until it comes off from over your head. unable to help it, your hands go into his hair and hold him there, humming as he groans against your skin. your back arches off the mattress and he decidedly perches you up a little higher with his hand slithering up your spine, stopping between your shoulders blades. bringing your chest closer to his mouth by pressing you right into him. he moans egregiously and sucks in pulses, making the most delicious pressure. he takes the opportunity to bite the flesh again. leaving teeth marks on your breast beside the reddish purple marks that were already forming.
he was purposefully giving you hickeys.
breathing through your teeth as you feel the graze of teeth a little harder, biting down and tonguing at you at the same time. when you tug at his hair, that’s enough for him to moan at the feeling and he looks up at you again, gauging your reaction.
when you finally get a look at your chest, it looked like you’d been punched by a bunch of little fists. shades of the galaxy—purple and blues with hints of red surfacing. you scoff and look at him. jason looks entirely sorry, his bottom lip sideways and his brows pressed low.
“oopsies baby i just meant to put a couple on there—”
you cut him off, “just a couple? i look like i’ve been beat up. oh my god, someone is gonna think i got jumped.”
he blinks and his expression falls, “who else sees your boobs?”
“no one?” you shove him but he just falls back ontop of you as if his bottom half wasn’t already slotted between your legs. regardless of what you’d just said, he’s still nuzzling into your skin like none of it mattered.
“good then. it’s my canvas.” he hums as he settles on the plush part in contentment. “five more minutes.”
you sigh, “three.”
“ten. and i’ll make you pancakes.”
pretending to think as your hands find their way into the hair at the nape of his neck again, he makes a small sound of approval. you use it to coax him more.
“eight and you have to make coffee too.”
he lifts his head so he’s face to face with you and squints before he pecks your lips. “i was gonna do that anyways.”
just as quickly as he got up, he settled back into the position he’s kept you in. though sleep tugged at you as the lazy sunday took full effect on more than just jason. and even though you debated him on how long you’d stay pliant under him, you both knew you could stay there forever.
hmo jason todd finding out reader sleeps with one of his shirts pls ;; like maybe he comes over unexpectedly and catches them curled up on the couch wearing one that's way too big for them, or maybe he notices one of his old shirts mysteriously disappeared and finally discovers it's because reader sleeps with it every night because it smells like him </3 i just know he'd act all smug about it at first but secretly be sooo soft over the fact that reader misses him that much (´꒳`)♡
The apartment always felt a little too quiet after midnight, the kind of stillness that made the hum of the refrigerator sound like a physical weight in the room. You were curled on the edge of the worn out velvet sofa, the cheap fabric scratching gently against your bare shins, with a blanket thrown carelessly over your knees. You were exhausted, the kind of bone deep fatigue that comes from staring at a screen for too long, but sleep remained just out of reach,, a frustrating half-inch away.
With a soft sigh, you reached down and pulled the hem of the faded, oversized gray cotton t shirt lower over your knees, burying your nose into the stretched out collar.
It smelled like leather, stale coffee, and the sharp, unmistakable metallic tang of Gotham’s rain. It smelled like Jason.
The shirt was massive on you, the shoulder seams dropping halfway down your bicep, the fabric thin and softened by years of rough washes and rougher wear. It was an old Blüdhaven University athletics tee he’d probably stolen from Dick a lifetime ago, one that had mysteriously gone missing from the bottom drawer of his dresser three weeks out. He’d grumbled about losing it for a solid ten minutes before forgetting it entirely, moving on to some new grievance about Bruce or the rising price of ammo. You had stayed entirely quiet during his search, your heart doing a guilty little flip against your ribs while the shirt sat safely tucked beneath your own pillows.
You didn’t mean to keep it. Not at first. But when Jason went away on business,, the kind of dangerous, off the grid business that left you staring at a silent phone for days on end,, the apartment felt entirely too large. The bed felt too cold. Having the shirt was like keeping a small, physical piece of his presence anchored to your space, a sensory promise that he would actually come back.
You closed your eyes, letting the familiar scent soothe the anxious knot in your stomach, finally feeling the heavy pull of sleep beginning to drag you under.
A sudden, sharp click from the front door broke the silence.
Your eyes snapped open, your heart immediately leaping into your throat. In Gotham, an unexpected sound at 2:00 AM usually meant a trip to the emergency room, or worse. You froze, your muscles tensing as you prepared to dive behind the counter, your eyes darting to the heavy ceramic mug on the coffee table to use as a makeshift weapon.
The door swung inward with an agonizingly slow creak, letting in the damp, cold air of the alleyway. A tall, broad silhouette filled the frame, the yellow streetlights from outside catching the sharp edge of a dark leather jacket.
The figure stepped into the dim light of your kitchen, pulling off a heavy helmet with a tired, fluid motion. A shock of white hair caught the ambient glow of the microwave clock.
Jason.
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, your shoulders dropping in a massive wave of relief. "Jason," you breathed, your voice rough with sleep. "Jesus, you scared the hell out of me. You weren't supposed to be back until Friday."
He paused, hanging his helmet on the back of the kitchen chair with a heavy thud. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes prominent in the shadows, his jaw shadowed with a few days of dark stubble. But as his eyes locked onto you sitting on the couch, his entire posture shifted. His brow furrowed, his gaze dropping from your face, down to the collar of your shirt, following the faded, cracked lettering across your chest, all the way down to where the hem pooled around your thighs.
A slow, dangerously sharp smirk began to pull at the corner of his mouth.
"Well, well, well," Jason drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the quiet room. He took his time walking over, his heavy boots clicking softly against the linoleum before hitting the carpet. He stopped right at the edge of the sofa, towering over you with his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets. "Look what we have here. I spend three days tracking a lead in the Narrows, and I come back to find a thief in my living room."
Your face caught fire instantly, a furious heat rushing up your neck and pooling in your cheeks. You instinctively pulled your knees closer to your chest, trying to bunch the fabric up, but it only made the situation worse, stretching the shirt tight enough to display the familiar university logo perfectly.
"I'm not a thief," you mumbled, looking anywhere but at his smug face.
"Oh, really?" Jason leaned down, resting his forearms on the back of the sofa, bringing his face dangerously close to yours. The smell of the actual rain and leather on him immediately overwhelmed the faded scent of the cotton. His blue eyes danced with absolute amusement. "Because that looks an awful lot like the shirt I spent an hour looking for last month. The one you swore you hadn't seen. The one you claimed the laundry mat must've swallowed."
"It's comfortable," you shot back, your voice entirely unconvincing as you buried the lower half of your face back into the collar, realizing too late that the action only proved his point.
Jason let out a low, dry chuckle, the sound rich and self satisfied. He reached out, his large, calloused fingers catching the excess fabric at your shoulder, giving it a playful, teasing tug. "Comfortable? Sweetheart, it looks like a tent on you. You're practically drowning in it. If you wanted to borrow something, you could've just asked. Didn't know you were running an special operation out of my closet."
"I didn't steal it to start a opperation," you grumbled, swatting his hand away. You shifted on the cushion, turning away from him to hide your burning face. "Just go take a shower. You smell like gunpowder."
"Hey, don't change the subject," Jason said, his voice dripping with an insufferable level of smugness as he walked around the couch, throwing himself down on the opposite end. He stretched his long legs out across the coffee table, leaning his head back against the cushions while keeping his eyes entirely locked on you. "Come on, confess. How long have you been hoarding my laundry? Is there a secret stash under the bed? Do I need to start counting my socks?"
"It's just the one shirt, Jason," you snapped, though there was no real anger behind it, only the intense mortification of being caught red handed.
"Why this one, then?" he pressed, his smirk widening. He crossed his arms over his chest, clearly enjoying the way you were squirming. "There are plenty of nicer blankets in the closet. You’ve got your own sweaters. Why are you sleeping in something that looks like it went through a woodchipper?"
You bit your inside lip, the playful banter suddenly dying in your throat. You looked down at your hands, your fingers twisting into the soft, worn out hem of the shirt. You could lie. You could tell him it was just the first thing you grabbed from the drawer, or that your own pajamas were in the wash. But looking at him,, seeing the faint, fresh cut along his cheekbone and the heavy exhaustion he was trying so hard to mask behind his usual arrogant bravado the lie felt useless.
"Because it smells like you," you said softly, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
The smug, teasing grin on Jason’s face instantly vanished.
The silence returned to the apartment, but it wasn't the cold, empty silence from before. It was thick, heavy with an unexpected vulnerability that caught him entirely off guard. Jason froze, his arms still crossed over his chest, his eyes widening just a fraction as the words processed through his brain. The playful, arrogant lines of his face completely softened, the sharp Gotham vigilante melting away to reveal something incredibly raw underneath.
"What?" he asked, his voice losing all of its gravelly mockery, dropping into something quiet and tentative.
"It smells like you," you repeated, forcing yourself to look up and meet his gaze, determined to own the confession despite the heat still lingering in your cheeks. "When you're gone for days, and I don't hear from you, and the news is talking about rogue activity in the Diamond District... the apartment gets really empty, Jason. And I get tired of staring at the ceiling. Sleeping in this... it makes it feel like you're actually here. Like you're safe, and you're coming back."
Jason stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. For a man who always had a sarcastic comeback or a witty insult lined up, he was entirely speechless. His chest tightened, a strange, profound ache blooming behind his ribs at the realization of just how much your universe revolved around his safety,, how much you missed him when he disappeared into the dark. He spent so much of his life feeling like a ghost, a dead boy walking through a city that had forgotten him, that the simple fact that his scent on a piece of old cotton could bring someone comfort felt entirely overwhelming.
Slowly, without a word, Jason uncrossed his arms. He shifted his weight on the couch, sliding over the cushions until there was no space left between you.
He didn't say anything about the shirt. He didn't make another joke. Instead, he reached out, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as he caught your waist and pulled you into his lap. You didn't protest, sliding your arms around his neck, burying your face directly into the crook of his shoulder.
He wrapped his large arms tightly around you, burying his face into the crown of your hair, inhaling deeply. He felt massive, warm, and entirely solid against you, the steady, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat pressing against your chest,, a thousand times better than any old t-shirt could ever be.
"You're an idiot," he murmured against your hair, his voice incredibly soft, entirely stripped of its usual armor. His grip tightened around you, pulling you so close it felt like he was trying to merge your two frames together. "You could've just told me."
"You would've teased me," you mumbled into his jacket.
"Yeah," he admitted, a faint, genuine smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed his hand in slow, soothing circles up and down your back, feeling the thin fabric of his own shirt under his palms. "I probably would have. But I would've left a fresh one behind, too."
He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his thumb coming up to gently trace your jawline, his blue eyes incredibly warm in the dim light. The arrogance was gone, replaced by a quiet, fierce devotion that he only ever showed behind closed doors.
"I'm sorry I was late," he whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "The tech took longer to crack than I thought. But I'm back. I'm safe."
"I know," you said, leaning into his touch. "I can hear your heart."
Jason let out a soft, breathy laugh, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss against your forehead, then your temple, before finally resting his lips against yours in a slow, deep kiss that tasted like a homecoming. When he pulled away, he shifted, adjusting your position until you were tucked securely against his side, your head resting on his chest while his arm remained wrapped securely around your shoulders.
"Go to sleep, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers gently tangling in your hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
Wrapped in his arms, surrounded by the actual warmth of him, the heavy fog of exhaustion finally claimed you. You let your eyes close, your fingers loosely clutching the fabric of his leather jacket, finally drifting off into a deep, uninterrupted sleep, knowing that the man who owned the shirt was exactly where he belonged.
contents :: fluff, just fluff. established relationship. wc. ~1.3k
The apartment was warm when Jason got back home. Real warm, home warm.
Goldish lamp light spilled across the living room, the dishwasher hummed softly from the kitchen, the line of shoes by the front door was crooked – it always was, no matter how hard you tried to keep it neat – a mug half filled with cold, forgotten tea was left on the coffee table.
It was home.
Jason stood by the front door a little longer than necessary, his helmet tucked in his arm, between his side and the crook of his elbow, and he just listened.
Until he heard it, the sound of running water from the bathroom. His entire face changed in a second. It should have been embarrassing how immediate it was. How one moment he looks like Red Hood, all tough edges, bruised knuckles, spit and anger and Gotham grime to last for days, and the very next he’s just … a boy.
A very happy one.
“Oh, thank fuck,” He whispered to himself, dropping his helmet on the couch as he passed. He was grinning before he even turned into the hall.
He appeared in the bathroom mirror behind you moments later, when you were half bent over the sink, toothbrush still in your mouth.
There he was. Hair messed up from his helmet, eyes exhausted, leather jacket half unzipped. You could tell it had been a rough night, and somewhere under his clothes bruises were already blooming. But he was looking at you like he had just walked through Heaven’s gates instead of into your slightly cluttered, too small, too expensive apartment at 1am.
“There’s my girl”
It comes out of him soft, and delighted, and terribly fond.
You barely have time to spit the toothpaste and rinse your mouth before he’s on you. Jason does not enter spaces normally when he’s this happy. He arrives in them entirely, every piece of him committing to it at once.
“Hi, baby” You laughed as his arms came around you from behind, picking you up and bringing you to the bedroom. He practically dropped you onto the bed, before plopping himself down on top of you. Heavy, warm, large. All dramatic deadweight, burying his face into your shoulder with a deep groan.
“There she is,” He mumbled, “I missed you”
“You were gone not even five hours” You replied, trying to shift yourself into a position more comfortable. But it was no use.
“It was five hours. And fourty-six minutes. And it was the worst five hours and fourty-six minutes of my life”
“You know you say that every patrol is the worst time of your life ?” You asked him
“Yeah. I do. And I mean it every time.”
He shifted, pulling his weight off you and wrapping his arms tighter around you as he spoke, like he all of a sudden developed a deep fear of somebody prying you off of him if he let go even for a second. He smelled like the city. Like smoke, and chilly air, rain damp leather, gunpowder, sweat and the faintest trace of blood.
But underneath it all, he still smelled like Jason. Jason who was home, and safe.
He pressed a kiss to the side of your jaw, then another, and another right after because he’s decided that taking a break was optional for him tonight.
You laughed, trying to push at his shoulder. He didn’t budge. “Jay”
“Nope”
“Jay.”
“Nope,” he repeated, grinning against your skin as he kissed you again, pressing a new one on every inch of skin he could reach. “Can’t hear you. I’m busy”
“Busy doing what exactly ?” You asked
“Kissin’ my girl.” He answered, as if it was obviously the most important thing in the world for him to be doing right now. The sheer amount of joy put into a single phrase made something ache sweet in your chest. Because he means it every single time he says it. My girl. Not in the sharp possessive type of way. He said it with reverence, in a Look-What-I-Get-To-Have-Way.
He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, hands coming up to cup your face, making sure your eyes stayed on him and nothing else. And there it was, that smile of his. The real one, the one where his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched up. The smile that was too big to hide, and too bright to try and play cool. But Jason had never been able to even think about acting normal when it came to loving you.
“You stayed up for me,” He said proudly
“I always stay up for you”
“I know” His grin somehow got even brighter “That’s the best part”
It was immediately followed by: “Do we have any snacks”
You laughed so hard you snorted. “You are unbelievable”
“Hey. I deserve them. I got stabbed a little”
“You did not” You gave a playful smack to his arm. You would have known the second he walked through the door if he got stabbed.
“Emotionally. Because I had to be away from you”
“That does not count as being stabbed, Jason”
“It should” He grumbled, flopping sideways again until nearly his entire body was draped over yours. Clingy in that absurd post-patrol way he allows himself to have when he makes it home. He propped himself half up on his elbow, and just stared at you. You stared back.
He started laughing first, warm, loud laughter. The kind that shook his shoulder and made him duck his head into your neck when he was catching his breath afterwards, still grinning helplessly because he had lost all control over it.
He couldn’t contain it. Not here, not with you. Outside of this apartment he could keep himself locked up so tight sometimes he feels like he might crack under all of it. But here ? With you curled up under him, the sheets freshly washed, the lights dimmed and warm, everything overflows. Affection, relief, want, joy so pure and earnest it becomes boyish.
He steals kisses between sentences, and smiles for no reason, and touches you over and over, every place he can reach.
When you brush his hair back from his forehead he melts. Eyes closing, face going soft, leaning into your hand with a little sigh that makes you laugh again.
“There he is,” You teased, softer this time “Big scary crime lord.”
“Don’t ruin my reputation” He teased back. But his reputation was clearly not as important as having his face pressed into the palm of your hand.
“You are laying across me like a large dog”
“Yes. A guard dog.”
“A lap dog” You corrected
Jason let out a dramatic gasp, head popping up from your hand before he grabbed your face and kissed you three times in rapid succession.
“That is defamation,” "A kiss “Slander,” another kiss “Character assassination” A third kiss.
You were breathless, still laughing, when he finally settled again, heavy with contentment, head tucked against your chest to listen to the sound of your heart beating.
Neither of you said anything for a while, instead Jason just listened. Breathing slowly, rubbing his thumb in slow circles against your side, still smiling.
He never really thought he’d get to this part of things. He got the dramatic parts of life, the life-or-death parts, the yearning so deep it ached.
But he didn’t think he’d get this. The coming home part. The being loved openly and dearly part. The getting to collapses into the arms of the girl he loves and hearing her laugh while the city spins outside and he is untouched and unbothered for a few hours.
His head tilted up again suddenly, eyes bright.
“You know what ?” He asked
“What ?”
“I think that I am devastatingly in love with you”
You smiled at him, fingers brushing through the white streak of hair above the center of his forehead.
summary 𓂃 the one where Jason Todd’s forced to confront his feelings for the thief he’s been sleeping with for six months. It started out as a “friends-with-benefits” arrangement after you’d saved his ass on a mission gone wrong, but everyone knows how those usually go. Someone catches feelings, someone wants commitment. In Jason’s case—he faced both, but he didn’t know how to ask for them.
tags 𓂃 fwb!jason todd x criminal/anti-hero fem!reader , slightly mature content but nothing explicit , friends with benefits to lovers , casual to serious , denial of feelings , mutual pining (they’re both in denial) , emotional slow burn , banter as foreplay , sarcastic!jason Todd, deflection , no labels , insults as affection , post-sex convo , dialogue heavy.
wc 𓂃 5.2k words
✦ masterlist ╱ dc masterlist 𓏼 ͜͜
THE FIRST TIME you met Jason Todd, he was bleeding out in a warehouse and still had the audacity to flirt with you.
Not flirt, exactly. More like threaten you with a good time while actively dying. You respected the commitment.
It was a simple job. Infiltrate Black Mask's weapons shipment, grab the manifest, get out. You worked alone back then. Cleaner that way. No partners meant no splits, no arguments, no bodies to bury that you didn't put there yourself.
Then someone else showed up.
You heard the gunfire first. The wet, percussive rhythm of a firefight spilling out of the main storeroom. You should have left. Professional courtesy said you let whoever was already there finish their mess and you came back another night.
But you were curious. And curiousity has always been your particular brand of fatal flaw.
You found him behind a stack of crates, slumped against the concrete wall with a hand pressed to his ribs and blood seeping through his fingers. He wore a leather jacket, a red helmet that covered his whole face, and the kind of posture that said he was too stubborn to die but too injured to argue about it.
"Nice night for it," you said.
He tilted his helmet toward you. Even through the voice modulator, you could hear the dry amusement when he spoke. "For what? Getting shot or getting caught?"
"Either. Both. I'm not picky."
There were footsteps coming. Heavy boots, at least three sets. You could hear the shouting too, someone yelling about finding the intruder.
The man in the helmet groaned, tried to push himself up, and immediately thought better of it. "Look, sweetheart, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a thing."
"A thing?"
"A bleeding out thing. Very time sensitive."
You should have walked away. You had no stake in this. You didn't know him, didn't owe him, didn't even know what he looked like under that ridiculous helmet.
But there was something in the way he said it. Not desperate and definitely not pleading. Just matter of fact, like he'd already accepted that he might not make it and was more annoyed than afraid at the prospect.
You were still new to this city then. Still figuring out who was worth knowing and who was worth avoiding. Looking back, you'd made worse calls.
"You're going to owe me," you said, and you grabbed his arm and hauled him up. “Big time.”
The safehouse was yours. Small, far from clean, tucked above an abandoned laundromat in the Bowery. You dumped him on a mattress that smelled like cigarette smoke and old sweat and went to work on his ribs.
The helmet came off somewhere between the third and fourth stitch. You didn't ask. He didn't offer an explanation. He just lay there on his back, watching you work, and said, "You're pretty good at that."
"I've had practice."
"Should I be worried?"
"Eh,” you shrugged. “Probably.”
He laughed. It sounded like a real laugh, and it changed his whole face. Made him look younger. Made him look like someone who knew how to have fun before the world got its filthy hands on him.
Jason Todd, he told you later. After the bleeding stopped and the whiskey came out. After you'd established that neither of you was going to kill the other tonight, mostly because you were both too tired and too drunk to bother.
"Red Hood," you said, testing the name. "That's what they call you?"
"That's what I call me. What they call me is usually worse… and pretty vulgar.”
You stayed up until dawn—bantering, trading stories. He tells you that the man who raised him was Batman, you tell him your parents were dickheads. He left when the sun came up, took your last granola bar on his way out, and said, "Same time next week?"
"You know where to find me."
He did. And he kept coming back.
Six months later, you stopped pretending you were just ‘business’ partners.
It was late. Later than late. The kind of hour where the city goes quiet and everyone with common sense is asleep. You and Jason weren't asleep. You were sprawled across your worn-out couch, passing a bottle back and forth, arguing about something stupid that won’t matter in a few minutes.
"That's not how it happened," he said.
"I was there."
"So was I."
"Then you weren't paying attention."
"I was paying plenty of attention. You're just wrong."
You shoved his shoulder. He grabbed your wrist. And then neither of you was talking anymore.
It wasn't romantic and it wasn't soft. It was the kind of inevitable mishap that happens when two people spend too much time in each other's space and run out of excuses to keep their hands to themselves. He tasted like whiskey and something distinct underneath. You bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and he groaned like you'd done him a favor.
Afterward, you lay in a tangle of limbs and sheets, staring at the water stain on your ceiling.
"Well," he said.
"Well," you said back.
"That happened."
"It did."
A long pause. Then with the kind of careful casualness that meant he'd been thinking about it for a while, "Could happen again."
"Yeah," you said. "It could."
That was the beginning. Or not the beginning, exactly. More like the moment you stopped lying to yourselves about what this was.
The thing about Jason Todd, you learned, was that he was never boring.
He showed up at your door at all sorts of hours with stolen takeout and fresh bruises. He left his jacket on your chair and his guns on your counter and never once apologized for either of those things. He called you nicknames that ranged from affectionate to insulting depending on his mood, and he said them all with the same crooked grin.
"Morning, sunshine."
"Don't call me that."
"Okay, sweetheart.”
"Also no."
"Princess?"
"I will shoot you."
"Kinky."
He was good at this. The dance. The deflection. The way he could make you laugh and want to strangle him in the same breath. He was good at keeping things light, keeping things easy, keeping things exactly where he wanted them.
You knew his history. Bits of it, anyway. The parts he let slip when the whiskey ran low and the night ran long. The boy who died. The man who came back wrong. He told it like a joke sometimes.
"Came back meaner," he'd said once. "Or maybe I was always mean. Hard to tell."
You didn't push. You weren't his therapist or his mother or his keeper. You were the person who patched him up and slept with him and never asked for more than he was willing to give—which was usually sex and food.
Which was fine. More than fine, actually. It’s not like you were the relationship type yourself.
So you kept doing what you were doing. Meeting up between jobs. Falling into bed when the mood struck. Trading insults and pretending there wasn't anything else underneath.
You were both very good at pretending.
The problem, Jason realized approximately four months into this arrangement, was that you were funny.
Not just clever. Not just quick. Actually, genuinely funny. The kind of funny that caught him off guard and made him laugh before he could stop himself. The kind of funny that meant he started staying longer because he enjoyed your company way more than he should have.
He noticed it first on a Tuesday. You were cleaning a gun at your kitchen table, wearing one of his shirts because yours was in the wash, and you looked up at him with that particular expression you got right before you said something mean.
"You know what your problem is?" you asked.
"I have many. You'll have to be specific."
"You think you're mysterious. But you're actually just annoying."
He blinked. "That's... not what people usually say."
"People are polite to you because you're scary. I'm not people."
"You're not scared of me?"
"Should I be?"
He thought about it. Really thought about it. And the answer, which should have been yes, came out wrong.
"No," he said. "Probably not."
You smiled. A real smile, not the sharp one you used on marks or the flat one you used on cops. A smile that was just for him.
And Jason felt something in his chest go hot and tight and very, very inconvenient.
He ignored it. Obviously. He’s nothing if not pretty good at being ignorant when it serves him.
The jobs got easier with two people.
Not because you needed each other. Because you were both competent on your own, and together you were just faster, cleaner, and smarter.
You fell into a rhythm without meaning to. He'd call with a location. You'd show up with a plan. He'd argue with your plan because he had his own, and then you'd fight about it for ten minutes before settling on a third plan that was better than both.
"This is stupid," he said one night, hanging from a fire escape while you picked a lock three stories up.
"You're stupid."
"Elementary school comeback. I'm hurt."
"Cry about it later when we’re not in such a compromising position, kay?”
He rolled his eyes but it didn’t pair well with the chuckle that escaped him.
The lock clicked open. You slipped inside and he followed, quiet as smoke. The job was quick. In and out, data stolen, guards never even knew you were there.
On the rooftop afterward, counting the take, he looked at you with something unreadable in his expression.
"We're good at this," he said.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm just..."
He trailed off. Rubbed the back of his neck. Looked away.
"You're just what?"
"Nothing." He stood up, stretched, and the moment was gone. "Same time tomorrow?"
"You know where to find me."
And he always did.
Pretending was useful, most of the time. And it worked… most of the time. Until it didn't.
For Jason, the crack in his shield appeared on a night when nothing special happened. No big job. No close call. No near death experience to blame it on.
He'd shown up at your place around midnight with Chinese food and a bottle of something cheap. You'd eaten on the floor because your table was covered in schematics, and you'd argued about whether Bruce Wayne was secretly funding half the villains in Gotham or just too stupid to notice.
"You're wrong," he said.
"I'm literally never wrong."
"That's statistically impossible."
"I'm a statistical anomaly."
He laughed. You laughed. And then you were kissing, which wasn't new, except this time when he pulled back, you were still smiling.
Not the sharp smile. Not the teasing one. Just soft. Warm. Like you were happy to see him. Like you were happy he was there.
And Jason realized, with the kind of clarity that felt a lot like panic, that he wanted to see that smile every day.
He wanted to wake up next to you. He wanted to steal your coffee and listen to you complain about it. He wanted to argue about stupid things and make up in stupid ways and keep doing this, whatever it was, for a lot longer than he'd initially planned.
He wanted you. Not just your body, though don’t get him wrong, it’s great. Not just your skills, even though those were pretty useful. He wanted your voice in the morning and your attitude in the afternoon and your laugh at night.
He wanted you in a way that scared the living fuck out of him.
"Jason?"
You were looking at him funny. He just realized now he'd been quiet for too long.
"Yeah," he said. "Fine. Just tired."
He wasn't tired. He was the opposite of tired. He was too awake, too aware, too close to saying something he couldn't take back.
So he kissed you again instead. Harder than before. Like he could fuck the feelings out of himself if he tried hard enough.
Sadly, he couldn’t. Could only do you hard enough to make you forget about the look he had.
The changes were pretty subtle at first.
He started showing up more often. Not just for jobs or sex, but for nothing. Just to hang out. Just to sit on your couch and complain about his day and steal your food.
You noticed. It’s not like you were stupid or blind.
"You're here a lot," you said one evening, not looking up from your book.
"Observant, aren’t you? I'm always here."
"You're here more than usual."
"Maybe you're just counting."
"Maybe you're just avoiding something."
He went very still. Then he laughed, too loud, too fast. "Avoiding what? I don't avoid things. I'm famously confrontational."
"Famously dead, too. That didn't stop you."
The words hung in the air. You'd never said it so directly before. The D word. The one he danced around with jokes and deflections and carefully placed changes of subject.
He didn't laugh this time.
"Low blow," he said quietly.
"You started it."
A long pause. The radiator hissed. Somewhere outside, a car alarm went off and then stopped.
"I'm not avoiding anything," he said finally. "I just like your couch. It's comfortable."
"You've never sat on it for more than ten minutes without complaining about the springs."
"The springs are terrible… but that’s not the point."
"Then what's the point?"
He looked at you. Really looked. And for a second, just a second, you saw something underneath the jokes and the bravado and the carefully constructed walls.
Then he stood up, stretched, and said, "The point is you ask too many questions. I'm getting food. You want anything?"
The moment was gone. You let it go.
"Spring rolls," you said. "And don't steal from that place on fifth. The last time you did, they put your picture on the wall."
"I'm honored."
"Yeah, you’re also banned."
"Same thing."
He grabbed his jacket and left. You listened to his footsteps fade down the stairs and wondered when exactly this had stopped being casual.
Anyone who knew Jason, knew that he deflected as easily as he breathed.
You could ask him a direct question and he'd give you three jokes, a threat, and a change of subject before you could blink. And you wouldn’t even notice. He was good at it. Too good. He'd had years of practice, could thank Bruce for that.
But you had patience. And you had time. And you had the advantage of knowing him in a way most people didn't.
You saw the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention. The way his hand lingered on your lower back. The way he said your name when his lips were on yours.
You saw all of it. You just didn't know what to do with it.
Because the truth was, you weren't much better than him. You'd built your own walls, your own reasons for keeping people at arm's length. You'd told yourself this was fine. That it was casual. That it was easy.
But it wasn't easy anymore. It hadn't been easy for a while. Nor was it casual—at least, didn’t seem like it.
——
IT HAPPENED ON A THURSDAY with no real catalyst to speak of. No big dramatic moment or close call or near death experience to blame it on. Just the two of you sprawled across your bed after heated sex, tangled in sheets that were already ruined, staring at the water stain on your ceiling like it held the answers to questions neither of you had asked yet.
The sex had been good. It was always good, which was part of the problem. The other part was that he was still here.
Jason had one arm tucked behind his head and the other resting on his stomach, his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against his lower ribs. His breathing had evened out a while ago, but he wasn't asleep. You could tell by the way his jaw kept tensing and releasing, the way his eyes moved like he was reading something written on the plaster above him. He was thinking about something he didn’t want to say. You’d learned to recognize the signs over the past few months.
The room smelled like sweat and the cheap vanilla candle you’d lit earlier in a halfhearted attempt to make the place feel less like a hideout and more like somewhere a person actually lived. Your neighbor was playing something with a heavy bass line that vibrated through the shared wall, and somewhere down the street, a car alarm had been wailing on and off for the past twenty minutes. Normal Thursday night in Gotham. Nothing special. Nothing worth remembering.
Except it was different, and you both knew it.
"This is different," you blurted out, not looking away from the water stain.
"It's not different," he replied, and his voice had that particular flat quality that meant he was lying and knew that you knew he was lying.
"It's different."
A long pause followed, broken only by the ceiling fan clicking on its rotation and the distant thump of the neighbor's music. Jason sighed through his nose, not quite annoyed but close to it, like he’d been waiting for this conversation to show up and knock on his door and now it was here and he couldn’t talk his way out of it.
"Maybe," he said finally, and that single word was as close to an admission as you were going to get without pushing harder.
So you pushed.
"Jay."
There it was. The nickname you only used when you wanted something from him, and he knew it as well as you did. His jaw tensed visibly, the muscle jumping beneath his stubbled skin.
"What?”
"You know what."
He sighed again, deeper this time, and shifted his weight against the mattress. The springs creaked beneath him. He turned his head on the pillow to look at you, and his eyes were that impossible shade of green-blue that seemed to change depending on the light, though right now, in the dim glow of your bedside lamp, they just looked tired. Not physically exhausted, though he probably was that too. The other kind of tired. The kind that settled into bones and stayed there.
"We're friends," he said, and his voice was careful, measured, like he was reciting lines from a script he’d memorized a long time ago. "With benefits. Same as last week. Same as next week."
"That was the arrangement six months ago," you pointed out, keeping your voice even.
"So?"
"So six months ago you didn’t stay after. Six months ago you didn’t know that I hated cilantro and you didnt steal my coffee and you didn’t show up at two in the morning just to sit on my couch and complain about your day. Six months ago you left before I woke up, and I didn’t expect to find your jacket on my chair or your gun on my counter or your stupid face in my kitchen making breakfast like you belonged there."
He was quiet for a long moment. The bass from next door thumped through the wall, a steady heartbeat that didn’t belong to either of you. His fingers had stopped tapping against his ribs.
"Maybe you're just memorable," he said, but there was no weight behind it.
"Jason."
He turned his head to look at you fully then, and his expression was guarded in the way it always got right before he said something he didn’t want to say. His eyebrows pulled together slightly, and his mouth pressed into a thin line, and his eyes moved across your face like he was searching for something specific.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked, and his voice was lower now, rougher around the edges.
"The truth would be a nice change of pace."
"You can handle that?"
"Try me."
He held your gaze for a beat longer, then looked back up at the ceiling. His throat worked as he swallowed.
"This wasn’t supposed to be a thing," he said, and his voice had gone quiet, almost flat. "You were supposed to be easy. Convenient. Someone who got it and didn’t make it complicated. Someone who understood that sometimes a thing is just a thing and it doesn’t have to mean anything."
You waited. He wasn’t done.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes for a moment, then dropped his hands back to the mattress. "I don’t do this," he continued, gesturing vaguely at the space between you with one hand. "The staying. The caring about your coffee order or the way you take your eggs or the name of your dead cat from a story you told me once when you were drunk. Any of it. That is not what this was for me when it started."
"And now?" you asked, because he hadn’t answered the question yet and you were tired of waiting for him to circle back to it on his own.
He turned his head on the pillow to look at you again. The dim light caught the white streak in his hair, the one that stood out against the black like a scar he couldn’t hide. He remembers telling you it was just hair dye before telling you the truth. His eyes were very blue in this light, or maybe very green. It was hard to tell.
"Now I’m still here," he said, and the simplicity of it landed harder than any speech would’ve
You propped yourself up on your elbow so you could see his face more clearly. The movement pulled the sheet down around your waist, but neither of you seemed to notice or care. The air was warm and still, thick with the weight of everything that had gone unsaid for months.
You looked at him. The sharp line of his jaw. The small scar above his eyebrow that he said came from a fight with a crowbar and then refused to elaborate on. The way his hair curled against his forehead, still damp at the edges from sweat. He looked like someone who’d just had some mind blowing sex and then been hit by a truck of feelings.
"What is it now?" you asked. "If it is not casual anymore, what is it?"
He was quiet for a long time. Long enough that the neighbor's music changed to something slower, some old song you couldn’t really quite recognize through the wall. Long enough that the car alarm down the street finally gave up and went silent. Long enough that you started to think he wasn’t going to answer at all.
Then he did.
"I don’t have a word for it," he admitted, and his voice was rough in a way that had nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with the fact that he was saying something he hadn’t exactly planned to say. "I don’t have a label. I don’t have some speech prepared where I tell you how I feel and we hug it out and everything’s fine. That isn’t how I work."
"I’m not asking for a speech," you said.
"Then what’re you asking for?"
You thought about it. Really thought about it, because he deserved an answer that wasn’t another deflection, not another joke to make things easier. The ceiling fan clicked on its rotation. The room smelled like vanilla and sweat and … him.
"I’m asking if I’m the only one who noticed that this stopped being casual about a month ago," you said slowly, watching his face for a reaction. "I’m asking if you’re going to pretend you didn’t notice too. And I’m asking what happens next if we stop pretending."
He blinked at you once, twice, like he was recalibrating. His fingers started tapping against his ribs again, that restless rhythm he couldn’t seem to control when he was thinking too hard.
"You’re very direct," he said.
"You’re very avoidant. We balance each other out."
A short laugh escaped him before he could stop it, surprised out of his chest like you’d caught him off guard. His teeth flashed white in the dim light, and the laugh softened the hard lines of his face in a way that made him look younger. Made him look like someone who hadn’t been through everything he’d been through.
"Balance," he repeated, rolling the word around like he was testing its weight. "Sure. We can call it that."
He reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, and the gesture was so casual and so intimate and so unlike the Jason who kept everyone at an arm's length that you held very still. His fingers lingered for a moment against the shell of your ear, calloused and warm, before he dropped his hand back to the mattress.
"You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?" he said, and there was no heat in it. Just resignation, softened by something that might have been affection if you were feeling generous.
"Say what," you said, even though you knew exactly what he meant.
"Don’t play dumb. You’re not good at it."
"Then stop stalling."
He dropped his hand from your ear and pushed himself up against the headboard, the wooden frame creaking beneath his weight. The sheets fell to his waist, and the lamplight caught the scars on his chest, the ones that mapped out a history he never talked about in any real detail. He needed the vertical advantage, or maybe he just needed to move, to put some distance between himself and the weight of the conversation.
"Fine," he said, and his voice was lower now, rougher. "You want to know what changed? You happened. You and your mouth and the way you never let me get away with anything. You look at me like I’m just… just some guy. Not a project. Not a warning. Not a cautionary tale about what happens when Robin grows up wrong. Just some asshole who sleeps in your bed, fucks you occasionally—maybe more—and argues with you about things that don’t matter because arguing with you is fun."
"That’s a lot of words to say you like me,"
"It’s not that many words," he shot back, but he was almost smiling too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite his best efforts. “And I don’t like you. I tolerate you. There’s a very big difference.”
"It’s more words than you’ve said all week—and you do like me."
He shook his head and looked down at his hands for a moment, then back at you. The light caught his eyes again, and they were softer than you’d ever seen them.
"And yet," he said quietly.
"And yet," you agreed.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that happened when two people had said something true and were waiting to see what would grow in the space after. Your neighbor had turned off the music at some point, and the building felt almost quiet for once, just the distant hum of the city and the occasional creak of old pipes.
You reached over and took his hand. He let you. His fingers were warm and rough and familiar in a way that made your chest ache, and he didn’t pull away. His thumb brushed across your knuckles once, twice, like he was testing the feel of it.
"So what now?" you asked.
"Now nothing," he sighed, but his thumb kept moving.
"That is not an answer."
"Nothing changes. Unless you want something to change."
"Jason."
He sighed, but it wasn’t an annoyed sound. It was something softer, something closer to tired. "I’m not doing the thing where I give you a speech about being scared. You already know I’m freaked out. It’s not interesting.”
"Then what exactly are you doing?"
He looked down at your joined hands. His thumb had stopped moving. He was holding your hand like it was something he was trying to memorize, like he was cataloguing the weight, the warmth, and the way your fingers fit between his.
"I’m still here," he said. "I keep showing up. I keep staying after. That’s what I’m doing. That’s all I have."
You watched his face as he spoke, watched the way his jaw tightened and relaxed, the way his eyes stayed fixed on your hands as if looking at you directly would be too much right now.
"That isn’t nothing," you said quietly.
"No," he agreed. "It’s not."
He shifted closer to you on the mattress, moving slowly like he was giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm on your lips. Your eyes were closed. His hand was still wrapped around yours, and you could feel his pulse in his fingertips, steady and quick.
"This is going to get messy," he murmured, and his voice was so low you almost missed it.
"Probably," you said, just as quietly.
"We are going to fight about everything."
"Yeah."
"You’re going to annoy me constantly."
"Yeah, that too."
He opened his eyes. They were very close, very blue-green. His forehead pressed against yours. His nose brushed against your nose. His thumb started moving again against your knuckles.
"Yeah," he said, and his voice was soft in a way you’d never heard before. "Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay, this isn’t casual anymore. Okay, I’m not going anywhere. Okay, you win. Are you happy?"
"Thrilled.”
"You are insufferable."
"You like it."
He kissed you then. It was quick and soft and almost shy, which was ridiculous coming from someone who had his tongue down your throat about twenty minutes ago. His lips lingered for a moment against yours before he pulled back.
"You better not tell anyone I said any of that," he said against your mouth.
"Who would I tell?" you chuckled, pulling back just enough to look at him. "All my friends are criminals, and most of them want you dead."
"Jealous," he said flatly.
"Curious," you corrected. "There’s… there’s a difference."
He snorted and dropped back onto the mattress, pulling you with him. You landed half on his chest with your leg hooked over his thighs and your face pressed into the warm skin of his shoulder. He didn’t complain. His arm came around your back, heavy and solid, and his hand settled on your hip like it belonged there.
"You owe me breakfast," he said, his voice rumbled through his chest against your cheek.
"I owe you nothing," you mumbled into his shoulder.
"You asked me to stay."
"I did not ask. I made a statement. It’s different.”
"Same difference. Pancakes."
"You are impossible."
"And yet."
You laughed into his chest. His hand tightened on your hip for just a moment, and you felt his lips press against the top of your head. It was quick, almost like he didn’t mean to do it, but did it anyway.
The neighbor stayed quiet. The fan clicked on its rotation. The city hummed its endless hum outside your window, and Jason Todd didn’t leave. He stayed in your bed with his arm around your back and his hand on your hip and his chin resting on top of your head, and for once, that was enough.
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆! jason finally fixes your car, but he has to make sure it still runs properly as well. for your safety, right?
𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀! afab!reader, tension, inaccurate car information, time skips
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁! 4871
𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁! find it here <3
the familiar musk of jason's shop filled your nostrils once again.
your thighs were frozen to the thin metal chair that remained beside jason's work station. the rusted legs creaked under your weight, threatening to break with each movement.
you tried not to let your mind wander this time.
the events of the prior night plagued you through visions. his arms — the way they flexed with each turn of the wheel, the way his body leaned closer to yours as he retrieved his sweater from the back seat.
his words stuck to your back for the rest of the night. "see you tomorrow, pretty girl," landing and ironing itself to your skin.
you recalled his scent — vanilla musk, mint, and the faintest hint of the cigarette he had smoked earlier that clung to the tips of his hair.
in front of you was a familiar scene. dark wash jeans, and a black t shirt. brown boots. body laid supine on a trolly underneath your car.
"how long do you think this will take?" you asked, cringing slightly from the chair's loud screeching.
"tryna get away from me that quickly, darling?" he called back. you hear the smirk in his words. smug bastard. "i'm just getting started down here."
"tim said that you said it would be an easy fix,"
jason's only response was a hum of confirmation. he hadn't lied — it was an easy fix. but he couldn't bring himself to let you leave just yet. he couldn't. he was selfish, he knew, he wanted to stay in your presence just a little longer. because you… you were off limits. you would go back to your life — school, work, tim, your friends. jason didn't believe that he needed to fit into your life alongside those factors.
"that it wouldn't take long?" you continued after his lack of response.
"that was before i saw what a mess your car is,"
"shark is reliable," your voice rang back defensively. your car was beautiful. a 99 chevy cavalier. perfect for you.
"you named your car 'shark'?" his lip curled above his top teeth. of course you had named your car. you had seemed like the type who would. the name was cute, jason would admit, you were cute, but denying it was easier than admitting it.
"yeah," your tone was flat, defensive. "it's grey, and strong — therefore, a shark."
"right," jason agreed for your sake. the name of your car didn't change his life in any way. he rolled himself out from the undercarriage and stood in front of the hood of your car.
he took a moment to inspect and assess. seeing him in his element was mesmerizing. his calculating gaze showed care and experience. his eyes roved over each part, and how they worked together.
"come here," his voice called out, head nodding invitingly. your feet were moving over to him before your brain even realized it was happening. he was a magnet, one that you didn't think you could stay away from even if you wanted to.
"see this?" he murmured as he stepped to the side to make room for you. you nodded. his finger remained pointing to a part on top of your engine. "that big thing is your engine. and this is your valve. it's leaking and is what is causing problems."
you nodded again in understanding, leaning your upper half closer to inspect it. jason tried to keep his gaze on your car as well, and keep from wandering down your back. but fuck you were so close to him. and the smell of your perfume was flooding his senses. his fingers hovered on the small of your back, fingers brushing the hem of your tank top — black this time, and just as tantalizing.
"the good thing is, your engine is fine," he explained. his words were so close to your ear, and you were aware of his proximity to your back. the way his "want me to show you how to fix it?"
your head tilted back over your shoulder to regard him. his face was so close to yours, close enough to cause your breath to hitch in your throat.
"yeah? so i can take your job?" the corner of your lip twitched upward.
jason's expression softened fractionally, his eyes roving over your face. "you think that's how this works?"
words died in your throat. his gaze on you almost stopped your heart. your lips parted to respond, a witty response ready and shaped under your tongue. yet all you could do was press your lips back together and turn back towards the car. jason was entranced by the curve of your mouth. his own mind was short-circuting, just the same as yours. at the sight of your lips pressed together, he took that as a sign to step up closer behind you.
"okay," he murmured, his arm circling you. his biceps caged you in, pressing against your shoulders. "we are gonna take this rag and wrap it around here,"
his voice was breathy against your ear, but still low and controlled. his weight against your back was grounding, yet completely debilitating. every ridge, every crevice of his chest pressed into you.
"and then, we're gonna pull," a loud pop followed the end of jason's sentence. your eyes remained on your engine under the valve, scanning, questioning.
jason's own gaze remained fixed on your face. your fascination, your concern, was evident on your features. your brows dipped slightly as your mind worked around the inner workings of your car — he was speechless by the sight.
clearing his throat, he let go of your hand and removed himself from behind you. "and, she's all fixed up,"
you immediately felt the loss. a steady chill crawled up the back of your spine. his chest had been so warm and solid against your back. a small part of you was upset at how easily jason fixed your car. you almost wished there was more wrong in order to spend more time caged in by his arms.
"thanks for fixing her up," you turned to face the front of him, gaze lifted to meet his. his height was towering, no matter the size of your own body. he commanded space. took it up without meaning to — without even wanting to. he was inescapable, a large mass that captured your attention. "how much do i owe you?"
"don't worry about it," his response was short. dismissive. nonchalant. his arm reached by your head, unhooking the hood of your car and letting it shut.
"jason." you stated, disbelieving. "i'm serious."
"so am i,"
"just tell me how much i owe you,"
"nothing. was a favour for your boyfriend," he shrugged, his expression remaining unchanging.
"he's not my boyfriend," your face contorting into a look of disgust. tim was the last person you would choose to date. especially when there was someone else on your mind, someone who happened to be standing in front of you.
"right, well, still a favour for the piece of shit,"
you gave him a look at his choice of words to describe tim. there were a few beats of silence between the two of you.
"shop policy is that we need to test run the car," he gave you a sidelong glance, his hand brushing over the hood. "make sure it's running properly."
"you do this with all your clients?" you raised a brow, unconvinced.
"can't let you go unless i know you're safe in that thing," he ignored your question, "in good conscious."
"do i get to drive?" you raised a brow.
"in your dreams," his voice muttered. he had already opened the passenger door of your car, hand gestured for you to get in.
"it's my car and i don't even get to drive," you snarked, slipping by him, your back brushed against his chest again briefly.
"as long as you're with me, you don't have to touch the wheel again," jason's voice was barely above a breath, words uttered as he shut the door after you got settled.
he hoped you hadn't heard.
he hadn't even known why he said those words. he didn't mean them. he didn't know you, and he didn't want to know you.
you were tim's friend, not his.
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
the front of your hood burnt the bottom of your thighs.
how you ended up in the meadow on the outskirts of town was beyond you.
jason was perched beside you, arms folded as he gazed at the over grown grass.
"this place is quite far from town," your voice drifted into jason's ears alongside the gentle breeze that swayed the grass.
he nodded, his eyes fixed ahead.
you left it at that, following his gaze ahead. there was peace in the view. an endless expanse of green that contrasted with the cut of the sharp blue sky.
"i come here quite often," he responded after a while of silence, turning to gaze up at you.
"peaceful," you added. you didn't feel the need to add more, he understand what you were implying with your words. "do you ever go sit in the field?"
he shook his head, "i like to watch from here,"
you pushed yourself off the hood of your car, feet landing on the road below. rocks crunched under the sole of your shoes, dust settling into the ankles of your jeans. "well then, let's go,"
"no," he shook his head, shifting against the hood. he looked down, knowing that if he continued to look into your eyes he would give in. jason felt himself wanting to give him, wanting to do whatever you wanted. and it was terrifying him.
you rolled your eyes at his response, "come on, jason,"
he fixed his gaze back ahead, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth. it wasn't that he didn't want to — god, he fucking wanted to. he couldn't allow himself to. you were dangerous.
you took his silence and nodded slowly. "well, i'm gonna go and enjoy myself. and you can stay here, loser,"
you smirked at him, nudging his arm before you turned around and took off running into the grassy area.
the sun cut down through the wind, warming your shoulders. you weren't gonna let jason's reluctance stop you.
jason watched you run, watched the way your arms swung by your side. his body subconsciously pushed off the hood, moving to follow you into the sun. you felt like his sun, and he couldn't help but want to orbit around you.
he let out a soft huff, his nails biting into his palm for a moment.
"fuck," he muttered under his breath before he took off running after you. it felt good, but he wouldn't admit that out loud to you. it was scary how natural this feeling was for him, how easily this path to you opened for him to chase.
it was scary how fast jason caught up to you. the head start you had was diminished in seconds. he kept a steady pace just behind you, not yet matching your pace, just watching.
the smile you flashed over your shoulder was blinding. jason almost tripped over his feet at the sight. your teeth beaming with genuine joy, your tongue peeking out from behind the top row. and then your laugh. a breathless laugh from the belly that punched into his chest.
"tag!" your hand reached back to swat at his arm, while you stumbled over the grass in the process. you righted yourself and cut immediately to the left.
you took off sprinting again in the opposite direction. the melody of your laugh continued to fill jason's void, and he followed without a second thought.
he chased after you, breath barely puffing out of his chest. he wanted to prolong this moment for as long as he possibly could, to preserve this memory in locket and wear it around his chest — he didn't even know if he would see you again after this.
all he was supposed to do was to fix your car, as per tim's instructions. that was all. it was only a favour. nothing more. yet, it felt like everything to jason in this moment. how quickly his life had been changed within a couple of days was something he was unable to comprehend.
his arm circled around your waist, lifting you up into his chest and spinning you around to carry your momentum. you gasped through a shriek, legs kicking into the air at how suddenly you were airborne.
"got you," his chest rumbled against your back. his other hand latched onto your thigh to steady you back on the ground.
"jason, oh my—" your hands gripped his arm as the world suddenly spun off it's axis. your foot caught in a hole, your body stumbled forward. the ground was approaching faster than you could process, than you could react. your eyes shut as you braced yourself for impact. you could practically feel your body hitting the ground, the grass catching between your fingertips and sticking under your nails. you were already cringing at the thought. that was gonna be a pain to get out later.
only, you didn't hit the ground — not really. your bottom did, but not as hard as you had anticipated. the back of your head was cushioned, along with your upper back. you realized it was jason by the way his knees thudded against the dirt, bracketing your thighs. jason was practically straddling you. his hand crunched beneath your head before the arm around your upper back pulled you up, hovering your body a few inches off the ground.
your eyes were wide and wild, gazing up at him.
he was so close.
again.
you had seen him up close before, the two of you had shared a few moments in a proximity that was closer than you should have been, but none of those times compared to this.
he was right there.
small freckles dusting his nose, blue irises that carried hints of green, and complete and utter perfection.
and for, jason, god he was speechless. it was instinct on his end, really. his hands moved on their own — thrumming with the desire to protect you. he would let his arms take the brunt of any pain if it had meant you would never see harm.
was he that pathetic? that you had managed to have him under your thumb within such a short time of knowing you? clearly, he was.
your fingers instinctively curled into the collar of his shirt, keeping him close. your chest was expanding with breaths that never quite sat right in your lungs, leaving you more dizzy than anything else — or was that because you were close enough to smell jason's natural musk?
jason lowered your body slowly — hand slipping from under your head, arm uncurling from your upper back and letting you rest on the grass. the green blades framed your head like a halo. angel. you were his angel.
he followed you down, unable to put space between your bodies. his hands rested beside your head, further bracketing you beneath him. his eyes roved over your form in concern.
"you okay?" he murmured softly. he checked for injuries, anything, he angled his head to gaze at your ankle — the reason why you had fallen in the first place. it looked fine to him, thankfully.
you nodded slowly, lips parted in slight shock, eyes still transfixed on his face.
"need you to say it. are you in any pain?" he repeated, gazing back into your eyes. "does your ankle hurt at all?"
"i'm okay," you swallowed thickly. "my ankle is fine."
he accepted your answer, visibly relaxing. "good."
"sorry," you blurted out, anxious from how close he was. from how you could count each and every single one of his eyelashes as they were attached to his eyelid.
"for what?" his voice was barely above a whisper. the breeze flowed through the grass, kissing over your cheeks and sending hair fluttering across your forehead. he brushed the strand back, memorizing the texture under his thumb. he knew why you were apologizing, and it was unnecessary. though, he recognized your words are more instinct than a genuine apology.
your brain blanked, subconsciously pulling him closer by the collar. closer. closer. it wasn't close enough.
jason followed willingly. it would agonize him to deny you right now, to deny himself.
his head dipped down, the tip of his nose brushed against yours. his shaky breath fanned across your lips.
"angel…" he whispered, eyes squeezing tightly. it was as if the darkness behind his lids could stop him, stop his desire for you. stop the fire that was spreading up his neck — one that could only be extinguished with the press of your lips.
he wanted it so badly, wanted you. he knew you would taste good under his tongue, that you would mold perfectly with him. his fingers dug into the ground, denting the dirt with the force of his restraint.
and when your hands slid up from his collar and onto his neck, jason knew he was done for. he was gone. completely at your mercy just by the touch of your fingertips. his neck burned at the spots where your skin met his. he was ready to carve his heart out of his chest and hand it to you with his own hands. his chest plating armour, his protection, his walls that had shielded the parts of himself that he refused to show the world melted instantly with a flash of your smile.
"jay…" your voice was barely above the wind in his ears, but it cut through nonetheless, grounded him back to the moment where your chin was tilting up towards his mouth.
oh god, no
he cleared his throat and slid onto his back beside you. the clouds, bright and blinding against the warm blue, were the most interesting thing jason could look at right now. though his eyes were desperate to settle back onto you.
he wouldn't give in. not yet at least. maybe not ever. you would never be his.
a spiked ball made it's way down your throat, forcing, shoving, tearing down any words that were about to leave your mouth. the pressure between the two of you was bordering on unbearable.
you were so close to kissing him. so close. his distance was necessary. you never should have gotten that close to jason — close enough that you had felt the cool air from his nose brush your cheeks. though, feeling him pull away stabbed your heart deeper than you cared to admit.
"hey, jason?"
he hummed in confirmation
"what were you doing under my car for so long?"
"what do you mean?"
"well, it was the valve that was leaking right? you said that's under the hood. why were you under my car for as long as you were? you were also inside, like under the steering wheel. what was that?"
jason remained silent. he didn't have a good enough excuse that didn't make him sound like a fucking idiot. after finding the initial cause of your car problems, he found another, and then another. and then it turned into him fixing whatever he could with the equipment that he had on hand — anything to keep you in the shop a little longer. just a little longer.
"you know, just stopping some fluid leaks, making sure nothing was rusting. the oil pan gasket is down there, and your transmission," he kept his eyes trained on the sky, hand resting under his head. the same hand that was under yours. the same one that was just gliding through your hair and oh how he wanted to grab onto the strands and— "oh, and your exhaust. that needed to be touched up. i actually put some paste on there so it should be good for now, but you'll need to come in again soon for me to actually fix it—"
"jason,"
"yeah," his own rambling had caught him off guard, but the way his heart was practically beating out of his chest was getting increasingly harder to ignore. his heart was still beating wildly out of his chest from almost kissing you.
"what the hell does any of that even mean?"
"basically, you had more work that needed to be done than just the valve,"
"what?" you sat up, your lips jutting out in a exasperated pout. "why didn't you tell me? you have to let me pay you."
"like i said earlier, i owed tim," he responded, propping himself on his elbow to face you. the sun floated just above your head, bathing you in its ethereal glow. the rays caught on your hair, glittering the wild strands that were mussed from the grass.
"yeah but not for all of that,"
"well. if you wanna repay me so bad, then you can,"
you nodded in relief. "okay. how much do i owe you then?"
"i want you—"
the shrill of your phone ringing in your back pocket cut jason off abruptly. in a way, he may have been relieved that he never got to finish his sentence. you. i want you. he wouldn't have been able to take them back, no matter how much he may have meant it.
too much. way too soon.
"hey," you pressed your phone to your ear. your fingers absentmindedly picked at the strands of grass beneath your feet.
"what time are you coming over?" tim's voice rang through the speaker. loud. jason cringed at the sound.
"huh?" you shifted, sitting up a little straighter. right. tim and you had plans tonight. dinner tonight at the manor, upon bruce's insistence. on days that you and tim had planned to hang out, you usually ended up in the manor. it was more comfortable for you guys rather than your shitty apartment.
"b's asking, alfred's already started on dinner," tim says, you cam practically see him shaking his head. "so, what time should i tell him? also, why is your location off. i tried to check if you were at home and it says 'location not found'"
"oh uh, i don't know. i'm on a walk right now, i'll be there in 'bout an hour?" you were distracted. jason was just laying there still, beside you, pretending not to listen but you know he was. the twitch of his nose when tim had mentioned bruce had given him away.
"''kay, perfect, see you, and fix your location," tim waited for your own farewell before hanging up the phone. you let your phone drop into your lap, falling back into the electrically charged quiet that seemed to continuously engulf yourself and jason.
"tim?" jason mumbled.
you nodded, a thick glob of saliva catching in our throat. "dinner at the manor tonight."
right. jason knew that. dinner at the manor tonight, as bruce had said in the family group chat.
he knew he had to drive you back, to let you go. you car was fixed now. it was over. your car was fixed, and you were gonna go back to your life now. the dream bubble, the rose coloured world that jason had been fantasizing with you was now grey.
but he wouldn't complain. he would let you go. and maybe, he would get to see you again.
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
the manor had been bustling upon your arrival. you still felt like you were in a daze from your earlier encounters with jason.
he was… different. not what you had expected.
your first impression of him might have been skewered by tim, and the front that jason put up. the glares, the stone mask that he wore — you saw the softness that lay beneath it all.
you were currently at the dinner table — seated beside tim — though you could still feel the grass tickling your ankles and jason's steady weight on your chest. you had been so close to kissing him, barely a centimetre between you.
"so your car is alright then?" bruce's voice brought you back from your dream.
"hm? oh! yeah, it's all good," your shoulders squared, spine snapping straight. the smile that plastered across your face felt gooey. "jason—"
"—littlewing?" dick's voice rang out in shock, his gaze fixed above your head. a lull settled over the room as the rest of the party's attention followed dick's. you slowly turned your head, your breath catching at the sight.
speak of the devil.
jason. he had stood in the entryway of the dining hall — the same navy blue jeans, leather jacket stretched taut over his strong form.
everyone's gaze were on him, but his were on you.
"jason! what a pleasure," bruce smiled, standing in greeting.
"why are you here?" tim blurted out.
"for dinner?" jason deadpanned.
"yeah, but why?"
"i'm part of the family, aren't i? do i need a reason to show up for family dinner?"
"how did you know this was happening,"
you elbowed tim hard enough that he flinched. his fork clanged against his plate at the force of his knee hitting the table.
"i'm in the groupchat, dumbass," jason's eyes narrowed at tim, a scowl forming across his mouth.
"—yes! you are, no you don't need a reason, and we are so happy you're here," bruce's voice cut in quickly, breaking the squabble. his tone directed at tim. he stood up as well to welcome jason into the room.
"come sit, littlewing, alfred already set up a seat for you," dick's words barely registered in your mind. jason had looked different, smaller, younger. dick's hand patted the space next to him, across from you, the only empty seat. until now, that seat had always remained empty — set up with a plate, cutlery, and a glass — but empty. now you knew why.
he took his spot, sliding comfortably into the seat and letting dick clap his shoulder in friendly greeting. jasons eyes shifted from dick, to bruce, and then to you. darker, pupils dilated, head tilted slightly to the side as he took in your appearance again. outfit less casual, your hair done in a way that he could tell you put effort into — though he thought your hair would have looked nice regardless how you wore it.
jason's gaze was hungry. devouring, though it wasn't because of the food that was being served in front of him, but because of you.
dinner continued without a hitch. the dymanic didn't change when jason arrived, it molded around him — like he had always been there.
the conversion flowed between everyone, changing constantly from someone's interjection. the only thing that didn't change was jason's focus on you. when he spoke, when he wasn't speaking. it wasn't the whole time, but it was enough for you to notice it. to feel it burning into your face from where he sat directly in front of you.
eventually, after the second course of dessert, you excused yourself to the washroom.
a break was needed.
while you had developed close relationships with all of tim's family members, they still managed to overwhelm you very easily.
the washroom was a moment of repreive in the chaos that was confined within the walls of the manor. you could still hear the arguments, the debates, the loud voices that knew how to speak above one another.
you took your time on the way back, slow measured steps that followed the dark lines of the mahogany flooring. you didn't hear the footsteps behind you, didn't sense the presence that lingered too closely behind you for just a second too long before wrapping an arm around you.
a large hand covered your mouth, the other pulling your body into the opened doorway beside you. once your back was against the wall, you realized.
jason.
he was close again. body pressed up against yours intentionally. he was warm in a way that was devastating — a warmth that you so desperately wanted to sink into, but you knew you couldn't.
"what are you—" your voice muffled against his hand, palm sliding against your cheek and cradling your head.
"i should have kissed you earlier," his words cut you off, hanging in the space between your mouths. his gaze was fixed on your lips, centimetres away from yours. "i should have. i need to. been thinking about it since i met you, angel, fuck."
he was practically pleading. his whispered words were shaking between his lips.
please. please, let me kiss you.
"we… jason, we can't," your voice was just as soft, hands exploring up his arms and onto his shoulders. broad and thick under your palms. the desperation was burning the room, a fever beginning to heat up your spine.
"we… yeah," his forehead softly hit yours, eyes shutting tightly. his nostrils flared with restraint. his other hand tightened it's grip on your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer to him.
"they're gonna be looking for us, we need to—"
"fuck. i can't. i'm sorry," jason murmured, his snapping open to gaze at you one last time, there was a hint of apology swimming in his eyes, deep and longing beneath the surface.
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆! jason finally fixes your car, but he has to make sure it still runs properly as well. for your safety, right?
𝘁𝗮𝗴𝘀! afab!reader, tension, inaccurate car information, time skips
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁! 4871
𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁! find it here <3
the familiar musk of jason's shop filled your nostrils once again.
your thighs were frozen to the thin metal chair that remained beside jason's work station. the rusted legs creaked under your weight, threatening to break with each movement.
you tried not to let your mind wander this time.
the events of the prior night plagued you through visions. his arms — the way they flexed with each turn of the wheel, the way his body leaned closer to yours as he retrieved his sweater from the back seat.
his words stuck to your back for the rest of the night. "see you tomorrow, pretty girl," landing and ironing itself to your skin.
you recalled his scent — vanilla musk, mint, and the faintest hint of the cigarette he had smoked earlier that clung to the tips of his hair.
in front of you was a familiar scene. dark wash jeans, and a black t shirt. brown boots. body laid supine on a trolly underneath your car.
"how long do you think this will take?" you asked, cringing slightly from the chair's loud screeching.
"tryna get away from me that quickly, darling?" he called back. you hear the smirk in his words. smug bastard. "i'm just getting started down here."
"tim said that you said it would be an easy fix,"
jason's only response was a hum of confirmation. he hadn't lied — it was an easy fix. but he couldn't bring himself to let you leave just yet. he couldn't. he was selfish, he knew, he wanted to stay in your presence just a little longer. because you… you were off limits. you would go back to your life — school, work, tim, your friends. jason didn't believe that he needed to fit into your life alongside those factors.
"that it wouldn't take long?" you continued after his lack of response.
"that was before i saw what a mess your car is,"
"shark is reliable," your voice rang back defensively. your car was beautiful. a 99 chevy cavalier. perfect for you.
"you named your car 'shark'?" his lip curled above his top teeth. of course you had named your car. you had seemed like the type who would. the name was cute, jason would admit, you were cute, but denying it was easier than admitting it.
"yeah," your tone was flat, defensive. "it's grey, and strong — therefore, a shark."
"right," jason agreed for your sake. the name of your car didn't change his life in any way. he rolled himself out from the undercarriage and stood in front of the hood of your car.
he took a moment to inspect and assess. seeing him in his element was mesmerizing. his calculating gaze showed care and experience. his eyes roved over each part, and how they worked together.
"come here," his voice called out, head nodding invitingly. your feet were moving over to him before your brain even realized it was happening. he was a magnet, one that you didn't think you could stay away from even if you wanted to.
"see this?" he murmured as he stepped to the side to make room for you. you nodded. his finger remained pointing to a part on top of your engine. "that big thing is your engine. and this is your valve. it's leaking and is what is causing problems."
you nodded again in understanding, leaning your upper half closer to inspect it. jason tried to keep his gaze on your car as well, and keep from wandering down your back. but fuck you were so close to him. and the smell of your perfume was flooding his senses. his fingers hovered on the small of your back, fingers brushing the hem of your tank top — black this time, and just as tantalizing.
"the good thing is, your engine is fine," he explained. his words were so close to your ear, and you were aware of his proximity to your back. the way his "want me to show you how to fix it?"
your head tilted back over your shoulder to regard him. his face was so close to yours, close enough to cause your breath to hitch in your throat.
"yeah? so i can take your job?" the corner of your lip twitched upward.
jason's expression softened fractionally, his eyes roving over your face. "you think that's how this works?"
words died in your throat. his gaze on you almost stopped your heart. your lips parted to respond, a witty response ready and shaped under your tongue. yet all you could do was press your lips back together and turn back towards the car. jason was entranced by the curve of your mouth. his own mind was short-circuting, just the same as yours. at the sight of your lips pressed together, he took that as a sign to step up closer behind you.
"okay," he murmured, his arm circling you. his biceps caged you in, pressing against your shoulders. "we are gonna take this rag and wrap it around here,"
his voice was breathy against your ear, but still low and controlled. his weight against your back was grounding, yet completely debilitating. every ridge, every crevice of his chest pressed into you.
"and then, we're gonna pull," a loud pop followed the end of jason's sentence. your eyes remained on your engine under the valve, scanning, questioning.
jason's own gaze remained fixed on your face. your fascination, your concern, was evident on your features. your brows dipped slightly as your mind worked around the inner workings of your car — he was speechless by the sight.
clearing his throat, he let go of your hand and removed himself from behind you. "and, she's all fixed up,"
you immediately felt the loss. a steady chill crawled up the back of your spine. his chest had been so warm and solid against your back. a small part of you was upset at how easily jason fixed your car. you almost wished there was more wrong in order to spend more time caged in by his arms.
"thanks for fixing her up," you turned to face the front of him, gaze lifted to meet his. his height was towering, no matter the size of your own body. he commanded space. took it up without meaning to — without even wanting to. he was inescapable, a large mass that captured your attention. "how much do i owe you?"
"don't worry about it," his response was short. dismissive. nonchalant. his arm reached by your head, unhooking the hood of your car and letting it shut.
"jason." you stated, disbelieving. "i'm serious."
"so am i,"
"just tell me how much i owe you,"
"nothing. was a favour for your boyfriend," he shrugged, his expression remaining unchanging.
"he's not my boyfriend," your face contorting into a look of disgust. tim was the last person you would choose to date. especially when there was someone else on your mind, someone who happened to be standing in front of you.
"right, well, still a favour for the piece of shit,"
you gave him a look at his choice of words to describe tim. there were a few beats of silence between the two of you.
"shop policy is that we need to test run the car," he gave you a sidelong glance, his hand brushing over the hood. "make sure it's running properly."
"you do this with all your clients?" you raised a brow, unconvinced.
"can't let you go unless i know you're safe in that thing," he ignored your question, "in good conscious."
"do i get to drive?" you raised a brow.
"in your dreams," his voice muttered. he had already opened the passenger door of your car, hand gestured for you to get in.
"it's my car and i don't even get to drive," you snarked, slipping by him, your back brushed against his chest again briefly.
"as long as you're with me, you don't have to touch the wheel again," jason's voice was barely above a breath, words uttered as he shut the door after you got settled.
he hoped you hadn't heard.
he hadn't even known why he said those words. he didn't mean them. he didn't know you, and he didn't want to know you.
you were tim's friend, not his.
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
the front of your hood burnt the bottom of your thighs.
how you ended up in the meadow on the outskirts of town was beyond you.
jason was perched beside you, arms folded as he gazed at the over grown grass.
"this place is quite far from town," your voice drifted into jason's ears alongside the gentle breeze that swayed the grass.
he nodded, his eyes fixed ahead.
you left it at that, following his gaze ahead. there was peace in the view. an endless expanse of green that contrasted with the cut of the sharp blue sky.
"i come here quite often," he responded after a while of silence, turning to gaze up at you.
"peaceful," you added. you didn't feel the need to add more, he understand what you were implying with your words. "do you ever go sit in the field?"
he shook his head, "i like to watch from here,"
you pushed yourself off the hood of your car, feet landing on the road below. rocks crunched under the sole of your shoes, dust settling into the ankles of your jeans. "well then, let's go,"
"no," he shook his head, shifting against the hood. he looked down, knowing that if he continued to look into your eyes he would give in. jason felt himself wanting to give him, wanting to do whatever you wanted. and it was terrifying him.
you rolled your eyes at his response, "come on, jason,"
he fixed his gaze back ahead, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth. it wasn't that he didn't want to — god, he fucking wanted to. he couldn't allow himself to. you were dangerous.
you took his silence and nodded slowly. "well, i'm gonna go and enjoy myself. and you can stay here, loser,"
you smirked at him, nudging his arm before you turned around and took off running into the grassy area.
the sun cut down through the wind, warming your shoulders. you weren't gonna let jason's reluctance stop you.
jason watched you run, watched the way your arms swung by your side. his body subconsciously pushed off the hood, moving to follow you into the sun. you felt like his sun, and he couldn't help but want to orbit around you.
he let out a soft huff, his nails biting into his palm for a moment.
"fuck," he muttered under his breath before he took off running after you. it felt good, but he wouldn't admit that out loud to you. it was scary how natural this feeling was for him, how easily this path to you opened for him to chase.
it was scary how fast jason caught up to you. the head start you had was diminished in seconds. he kept a steady pace just behind you, not yet matching your pace, just watching.
the smile you flashed over your shoulder was blinding. jason almost tripped over his feet at the sight. your teeth beaming with genuine joy, your tongue peeking out from behind the top row. and then your laugh. a breathless laugh from the belly that punched into his chest.
"tag!" your hand reached back to swat at his arm, while you stumbled over the grass in the process. you righted yourself and cut immediately to the left.
you took off sprinting again in the opposite direction. the melody of your laugh continued to fill jason's void, and he followed without a second thought.
he chased after you, breath barely puffing out of his chest. he wanted to prolong this moment for as long as he possibly could, to preserve this memory in locket and wear it around his chest — he didn't even know if he would see you again after this.
all he was supposed to do was to fix your car, as per tim's instructions. that was all. it was only a favour. nothing more. yet, it felt like everything to jason in this moment. how quickly his life had been changed within a couple of days was something he was unable to comprehend.
his arm circled around your waist, lifting you up into his chest and spinning you around to carry your momentum. you gasped through a shriek, legs kicking into the air at how suddenly you were airborne.
"got you," his chest rumbled against your back. his other hand latched onto your thigh to steady you back on the ground.
"jason, oh my—" your hands gripped his arm as the world suddenly spun off it's axis. your foot caught in a hole, your body stumbled forward. the ground was approaching faster than you could process, than you could react. your eyes shut as you braced yourself for impact. you could practically feel your body hitting the ground, the grass catching between your fingertips and sticking under your nails. you were already cringing at the thought. that was gonna be a pain to get out later.
only, you didn't hit the ground — not really. your bottom did, but not as hard as you had anticipated. the back of your head was cushioned, along with your upper back. you realized it was jason by the way his knees thudded against the dirt, bracketing your thighs. jason was practically straddling you. his hand crunched beneath your head before the arm around your upper back pulled you up, hovering your body a few inches off the ground.
your eyes were wide and wild, gazing up at him.
he was so close.
again.
you had seen him up close before, the two of you had shared a few moments in a proximity that was closer than you should have been, but none of those times compared to this.
he was right there.
small freckles dusting his nose, blue irises that carried hints of green, and complete and utter perfection.
and for, jason, god he was speechless. it was instinct on his end, really. his hands moved on their own — thrumming with the desire to protect you. he would let his arms take the brunt of any pain if it had meant you would never see harm.
was he that pathetic? that you had managed to have him under your thumb within such a short time of knowing you? clearly, he was.
your fingers instinctively curled into the collar of his shirt, keeping him close. your chest was expanding with breaths that never quite sat right in your lungs, leaving you more dizzy than anything else — or was that because you were close enough to smell jason's natural musk?
jason lowered your body slowly — hand slipping from under your head, arm uncurling from your upper back and letting you rest on the grass. the green blades framed your head like a halo. angel. you were his angel.
he followed you down, unable to put space between your bodies. his hands rested beside your head, further bracketing you beneath him. his eyes roved over your form in concern.
"you okay?" he murmured softly. he checked for injuries, anything, he angled his head to gaze at your ankle — the reason why you had fallen in the first place. it looked fine to him, thankfully.
you nodded slowly, lips parted in slight shock, eyes still transfixed on his face.
"need you to say it. are you in any pain?" he repeated, gazing back into your eyes. "does your ankle hurt at all?"
"i'm okay," you swallowed thickly. "my ankle is fine."
he accepted your answer, visibly relaxing. "good."
"sorry," you blurted out, anxious from how close he was. from how you could count each and every single one of his eyelashes as they were attached to his eyelid.
"for what?" his voice was barely above a whisper. the breeze flowed through the grass, kissing over your cheeks and sending hair fluttering across your forehead. he brushed the strand back, memorizing the texture under his thumb. he knew why you were apologizing, and it was unnecessary. though, he recognized your words are more instinct than a genuine apology.
your brain blanked, subconsciously pulling him closer by the collar. closer. closer. it wasn't close enough.
jason followed willingly. it would agonize him to deny you right now, to deny himself.
his head dipped down, the tip of his nose brushed against yours. his shaky breath fanned across your lips.
"angel…" he whispered, eyes squeezing tightly. it was as if the darkness behind his lids could stop him, stop his desire for you. stop the fire that was spreading up his neck — one that could only be extinguished with the press of your lips.
he wanted it so badly, wanted you. he knew you would taste good under his tongue, that you would mold perfectly with him. his fingers dug into the ground, denting the dirt with the force of his restraint.
and when your hands slid up from his collar and onto his neck, jason knew he was done for. he was gone. completely at your mercy just by the touch of your fingertips. his neck burned at the spots where your skin met his. he was ready to carve his heart out of his chest and hand it to you with his own hands. his chest plating armour, his protection, his walls that had shielded the parts of himself that he refused to show the world melted instantly with a flash of your smile.
"jay…" your voice was barely above the wind in his ears, but it cut through nonetheless, grounded him back to the moment where your chin was tilting up towards his mouth.
oh god, no
he cleared his throat and slid onto his back beside you. the clouds, bright and blinding against the warm blue, were the most interesting thing jason could look at right now. though his eyes were desperate to settle back onto you.
he wouldn't give in. not yet at least. maybe not ever. you would never be his.
a spiked ball made it's way down your throat, forcing, shoving, tearing down any words that were about to leave your mouth. the pressure between the two of you was bordering on unbearable.
you were so close to kissing him. so close. his distance was necessary. you never should have gotten that close to jason — close enough that you had felt the cool air from his nose brush your cheeks. though, feeling him pull away stabbed your heart deeper than you cared to admit.
"hey, jason?"
he hummed in confirmation
"what were you doing under my car for so long?"
"what do you mean?"
"well, it was the valve that was leaking right? you said that's under the hood. why were you under my car for as long as you were? you were also inside, like under the steering wheel. what was that?"
jason remained silent. he didn't have a good enough excuse that didn't make him sound like a fucking idiot. after finding the initial cause of your car problems, he found another, and then another. and then it turned into him fixing whatever he could with the equipment that he had on hand — anything to keep you in the shop a little longer. just a little longer.
"you know, just stopping some fluid leaks, making sure nothing was rusting. the oil pan gasket is down there, and your transmission," he kept his eyes trained on the sky, hand resting under his head. the same hand that was under yours. the same one that was just gliding through your hair and oh how he wanted to grab onto the strands and— "oh, and your exhaust. that needed to be touched up. i actually put some paste on there so it should be good for now, but you'll need to come in again soon for me to actually fix it—"
"jason,"
"yeah," his own rambling had caught him off guard, but the way his heart was practically beating out of his chest was getting increasingly harder to ignore. his heart was still beating wildly out of his chest from almost kissing you.
"what the hell does any of that even mean?"
"basically, you had more work that needed to be done than just the valve,"
"what?" you sat up, your lips jutting out in a exasperated pout. "why didn't you tell me? you have to let me pay you."
"like i said earlier, i owed tim," he responded, propping himself on his elbow to face you. the sun floated just above your head, bathing you in its ethereal glow. the rays caught on your hair, glittering the wild strands that were mussed from the grass.
"yeah but not for all of that,"
"well. if you wanna repay me so bad, then you can,"
you nodded in relief. "okay. how much do i owe you then?"
"i want you—"
the shrill of your phone ringing in your back pocket cut jason off abruptly. in a way, he may have been relieved that he never got to finish his sentence. you. i want you. he wouldn't have been able to take them back, no matter how much he may have meant it.
too much. way too soon.
"hey," you pressed your phone to your ear. your fingers absentmindedly picked at the strands of grass beneath your feet.
"what time are you coming over?" tim's voice rang through the speaker. loud. jason cringed at the sound.
"huh?" you shifted, sitting up a little straighter. right. tim and you had plans tonight. dinner tonight at the manor, upon bruce's insistence. on days that you and tim had planned to hang out, you usually ended up in the manor. it was more comfortable for you guys rather than your shitty apartment.
"b's asking, alfred's already started on dinner," tim says, you cam practically see him shaking his head. "so, what time should i tell him? also, why is your location off. i tried to check if you were at home and it says 'location not found'"
"oh uh, i don't know. i'm on a walk right now, i'll be there in 'bout an hour?" you were distracted. jason was just laying there still, beside you, pretending not to listen but you know he was. the twitch of his nose when tim had mentioned bruce had given him away.
"''kay, perfect, see you, and fix your location," tim waited for your own farewell before hanging up the phone. you let your phone drop into your lap, falling back into the electrically charged quiet that seemed to continuously engulf yourself and jason.
"tim?" jason mumbled.
you nodded, a thick glob of saliva catching in our throat. "dinner at the manor tonight."
right. jason knew that. dinner at the manor tonight, as bruce had said in the family group chat.
he knew he had to drive you back, to let you go. you car was fixed now. it was over. your car was fixed, and you were gonna go back to your life now. the dream bubble, the rose coloured world that jason had been fantasizing with you was now grey.
but he wouldn't complain. he would let you go. and maybe, he would get to see you again.
﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒
the manor had been bustling upon your arrival. you still felt like you were in a daze from your earlier encounters with jason.
he was… different. not what you had expected.
your first impression of him might have been skewered by tim, and the front that jason put up. the glares, the stone mask that he wore — you saw the softness that lay beneath it all.
you were currently at the dinner table — seated beside tim — though you could still feel the grass tickling your ankles and jason's steady weight on your chest. you had been so close to kissing him, barely a centimetre between you.
"so your car is alright then?" bruce's voice brought you back from your dream.
"hm? oh! yeah, it's all good," your shoulders squared, spine snapping straight. the smile that plastered across your face felt gooey. "jason—"
"—littlewing?" dick's voice rang out in shock, his gaze fixed above your head. a lull settled over the room as the rest of the party's attention followed dick's. you slowly turned your head, your breath catching at the sight.
speak of the devil.
jason. he had stood in the entryway of the dining hall — the same navy blue jeans, leather jacket stretched taut over his strong form.
everyone's gaze were on him, but his were on you.
"jason! what a pleasure," bruce smiled, standing in greeting.
"why are you here?" tim blurted out.
"for dinner?" jason deadpanned.
"yeah, but why?"
"i'm part of the family, aren't i? do i need a reason to show up for family dinner?"
"how did you know this was happening,"
you elbowed tim hard enough that he flinched. his fork clanged against his plate at the force of his knee hitting the table.
"i'm in the groupchat, dumbass," jason's eyes narrowed at tim, a scowl forming across his mouth.
"—yes! you are, no you don't need a reason, and we are so happy you're here," bruce's voice cut in quickly, breaking the squabble. his tone directed at tim. he stood up as well to welcome jason into the room.
"come sit, littlewing, alfred already set up a seat for you," dick's words barely registered in your mind. jason had looked different, smaller, younger. dick's hand patted the space next to him, across from you, the only empty seat. until now, that seat had always remained empty — set up with a plate, cutlery, and a glass — but empty. now you knew why.
he took his spot, sliding comfortably into the seat and letting dick clap his shoulder in friendly greeting. jasons eyes shifted from dick, to bruce, and then to you. darker, pupils dilated, head tilted slightly to the side as he took in your appearance again. outfit less casual, your hair done in a way that he could tell you put effort into — though he thought your hair would have looked nice regardless how you wore it.
jason's gaze was hungry. devouring, though it wasn't because of the food that was being served in front of him, but because of you.
dinner continued without a hitch. the dymanic didn't change when jason arrived, it molded around him — like he had always been there.
the conversion flowed between everyone, changing constantly from someone's interjection. the only thing that didn't change was jason's focus on you. when he spoke, when he wasn't speaking. it wasn't the whole time, but it was enough for you to notice it. to feel it burning into your face from where he sat directly in front of you.
eventually, after the second course of dessert, you excused yourself to the washroom.
a break was needed.
while you had developed close relationships with all of tim's family members, they still managed to overwhelm you very easily.
the washroom was a moment of repreive in the chaos that was confined within the walls of the manor. you could still hear the arguments, the debates, the loud voices that knew how to speak above one another.
you took your time on the way back, slow measured steps that followed the dark lines of the mahogany flooring. you didn't hear the footsteps behind you, didn't sense the presence that lingered too closely behind you for just a second too long before wrapping an arm around you.
a large hand covered your mouth, the other pulling your body into the opened doorway beside you. once your back was against the wall, you realized.
jason.
he was close again. body pressed up against yours intentionally. he was warm in a way that was devastating — a warmth that you so desperately wanted to sink into, but you knew you couldn't.
"what are you—" your voice muffled against his hand, palm sliding against your cheek and cradling your head.
"i should have kissed you earlier," his words cut you off, hanging in the space between your mouths. his gaze was fixed on your lips, centimetres away from yours. "i should have. i need to. been thinking about it since i met you, angel, fuck."
he was practically pleading. his whispered words were shaking between his lips.
please. please, let me kiss you.
"we… jason, we can't," your voice was just as soft, hands exploring up his arms and onto his shoulders. broad and thick under your palms. the desperation was burning the room, a fever beginning to heat up your spine.
"we… yeah," his forehead softly hit yours, eyes shutting tightly. his nostrils flared with restraint. his other hand tightened it's grip on your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer to him.
"they're gonna be looking for us, we need to—"
"fuck. i can't. i'm sorry," jason murmured, his snapping open to gaze at you one last time, there was a hint of apology swimming in his eyes, deep and longing beneath the surface.
contents :: NSFW. mdni. established relationship. not quite somnophilia but 'reader' isn't fully awake either. brief finger sucking. thigh job. p -> v. soo many nicknames + lots of praise. i haven't written smut in maybe three years, so forgive me if this is not great ^^7 wc. ~1.6k
The night had gone to shit, and Jason was pissed.
He had one thing he needed to do, just one. It should have been easy, but every little thing that could go wrong did go wrong. And things that didn't usually frustrate him were making him feel like a bomb about to go off. He was surprised he hadn't gone off already.
He felt pretty damn close to it by the time he finally got home, unlocking the front door of your shared apartment.
The place was already quiet, and he wasn't surprised to find you had already gone to bed. He had gotten home nearly four hours later than he had planned, he never expected you to wait up so late.
He was sure you had tried though.
He made quick work of his gear and clothes as he made his way down the hall to the bedroom — helmet left too close to the edge of the counter, and the rest of his gear tossed on the back of the couch, the seat of a chair, left in the middle of the floor. He'd pick it up later, he only had the energy to think about one thing right now.
And maybe part of him wanted to hear you lecture him about the mess he made.
By the time he pushed the bedroom door open he had stripped down to his boxers and undershirt. He figured that was good enough to satisfy your 'no outside clothes in the bed' rule, and lowered himself onto the mattress next to you.
You were curled up on your side, knees tucked close to your body, your back towards his side of the bed, hands folded near you in that way he knew was going to me you complain about your wrists being sore in the morning.
It made me smile a bit as he tucked himself close to you, hand sliding across your hip and up until his palm pressed flat against your tummy, fingers spread out to pull you closer.
He wasn't trying to wake you up, but he wasn't exactly trying to keep you asleep either. And he wouldn’t deny the little flutter in his chest when you mumbled his name half asleep.
“Hey, baby” He answered against your temple, “I woke you up ?”
He knew the answer already, but you still tried to tell him you’d already been awake.
“How was patrol ?” You asked, eyes still closed.
Jason’s fingers pressed into your front a little harder at the question “Was shit, baby” He answered, head moving down to your neck, he pressed his lips against the warmth as he continued; “Nothin’ went right, nobody listened to a damn word I said. Got me all worked up, pretty girl.”
You only replied with a quiet hum, still awake but barely.
Jason’s hand moved lower, pushing up the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing – which he was pretty sure had been his at one point, before you decided to change that – and toying with the waist band of your panties.
“Jay …” You mumbled, halfheartedly pushing his hand away. It was nothing more than a slow brush of your fingers against his knuckles before your hand returned to its original position tucked under your chin.
“I know” He whispered, fingertips dipping under the fabric “I know you’re tired, baby. You don’t gotta do anythin’, just lemme have this, yeah ? That okay ?”
You took a moment to answer, long enough Jason thought you’d fallen asleep again, before giving him a small, sleepy “Mhm” and a slow nod.
It felt like the entire night had been lifted off his shoulders, finally something was going his way. His head lifted again to kiss your cheek, your temple, and then your cheek again before tucking his face back into the side of your neck. “Sweet baby, so good to me baby.”
He moved his hand up, pressing his middle and ring finger against your bottom lip. They parted without him having to ask. Your lips closed around them, giving slow sleepy sucks to his fingers.
“My sweet girl,” He cooed, rolling his hips in slow circles against your backside “My perfect girl”
His fingers pressed down against your tongue as you sucked and licked, drool pooling around them. His other hand made quick work pushing his boxers down, just enough to pull himself free, he was already hard, flushed tip already shiny with leaking precum.
He pressed the head where your thighs met and pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet ‘pop’ that made his cock twitch against your skin. You mumbled something barely legible, but enough to let him know you were at least still awake when he spit covered fingers dipped into your underwear.
They slid between the folds a few times before his fingertips found your clit. You shifted, giving him a muffled, closed mouth whine.
“I know,” He whispered, a heavy breath brushing against your skin. His hips moved forwards, pushing himself between the fat of your thighs.
“Fuckin’ hell, baby” he groaned, rocking himself back and forth between your legs as his fingers rubbed over your folds and played with the bundle of nerves above them, flicking and pinching gently with his fingertips “Missed you s’ much. You’re the only thing left that’s right in this goddamned city”
His head came up again to press his lips against your cheek, holding them there as he fucked your thighs. More precum dribbled from the fat head of his cock, smearing against your skin, and making soft squelching sounds as he moved. His fingers moved faster across your warm cunt, until he got you wet enough to dip his middle finger inside. You only answered with dreamy whines and soft moans.
“Gonna steal you away from here one day” He mumbled, his free hand coming up behind your head to turn your face towards his. His mouth slotted against yours, tongue immediately making a home past your lips. “Gonna run away with you, no one’s ever gonna hear from us again. Get you all to myself, new life far away from this fuckin’ place. Wherever you wanna go, baby. That sound nice ?”
You slurred something he barely caught, and his mouth was on yours again. Sure he was just being dramatic, Jason would probably never be able to leave this gunmetal city. But the thought of it was enough, and he thought of it often.
“Need you, pretty girl” He whispered into your mouth. Jason had never been above begging for you. He did it as easy as breathing, especially when he was like this “That okay ? C’mon, use your words angel.”
“S’ okay” You answered, voice soft around the edges, heavy with that honey-warm dreaminess.
The way Jason’s chest flooded with warmth you have thought you just told him he was being handed everything he had ever wanted. Which, in some sort of way, he had been.
“Thank you, sweetheart” He pulled himself from between your thighs, a string of precum connected the tip to your warm skin. He could’ve cum just from the sight of that alone. “Oh, God, you’re so good for me. You’re perfect. Fuckin’ perfect.”
His hand slid between your legs, lifting it to bring it back over his own, bending it at the knee.
He didn’t bother pulling your underwear off all the way, just hooked his fingers into the fabric and pushed it to the side, holding it there as he lined himself up. He rubbed the thick length of his cock across the wet folds, covering it with your arousal before he lined himself up with your entrance.
Jason wasted no time pushing himself in, making soft shushing and cooing sounds against your temple as he pressed into you. He knew he wasn’t small, far from it. And he always tried to be careful with you, he’d be buried again before ever doing anything to hurt you.
“I know, angel” He whispered, pushing forwards one more time until he was bottomed out inside you. “You’re doing so good.”
His fingers found your clit again, rubbing soothing circles across it. It was nearly enough for him just feeling your walls flutter and squeeze around him. You relaxed enough eventually for him to give a few slow, steady rocks in and out of your warm hole.
“Jay –” You whined
“It’s okay.” He replied, hand moving to pull your leg up further on his before returning to your clit “You’re okay. Missed bein’ home. Missed bein’ home so much, doll.”
It didn’t take you too long before the knot in your tummy snapped, gummy walls squeezing around him as heat rushed through you, and stars lit up behind your eyelids. Your hips jerked against his as you gasped for air.
He slowed but didn’t stop as your hips and legs twitched from overstimulation. “Almost there, baby. Just a little longer, okay ? Can you hold on just a little longer, just a bit and then –”
He was cut off by a low moan, his own organsm flooding through him. “Fuck, baby. Oh Fuck —” His cock twicthed, coating the inside of your achey cunt with warm, thick cum. He didn’t pull out, not yet. He pressed himself deeper, settling inside you as he caught his breath.
His mouth found yours again, spilling praise after praise against your lips. Almost worshipful in the way he adored you so much.
“That was amazing, baby. You were amazing” He whispered, lips moving across your cheek, to your temple, against the shell of your ear, until finally he settled against the back of your neck. “Just stay here for a bit. Go to sleep. I’ll clean you up in a minute, baby. Promise. I promise”
As days fade and nights grow and we grow cold @deadbeatphobos - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
