Nobody Sees Me Like You Do (jason todd x gn!reader)
soulmate au — when your eyes meet for the first time one of you passes out. This is meant to be stupid and it delivers, right until it gets angsty, like all my jason fics do. I truly cannot give that man a break
Also—humor, angst, mutual pining
I don’t know how long this is
“Move to Gotham, they said,” you pant through gritted teeth, clutching the graze on your side. “Get your PhD on the cheap, they said.” An explosion reverberates above you. You duck, shuddering. “Follow your fucking dreams, they said.”
Follow your dreams, get your doctorate. Move to Gotham, it’s so inexpensive! Well you did, and you can take that right to the bank. This bank, in fact. The one getting overrun by fucking aliens.
You see an overturned desk and run for it, keeping your head low. There’s an alien here that throws barbs, one already cut through shirt and skin on your ribs. You don’t need another injury.
Something land behinds you with a thump. You scream and make to turn around, but the thing wedges something into your mouth. Holy fucking shit, is this chloroform? Are you getting abducted?
You bite at whatever’s in your mouth, punching at the thing behind you.
A hand on your shoulder pulls you around while the thing in your mouth is ripped away.
“Jesus, relax.” The thing behind you is a man, or at least, looks to be. You aren’t taking any chances.
“Who the fuck are you?” you hiss. He’s wearing a red helmet and a suit with what looks like reinforced padding. He’s also shaking out his hand, you must have bitten it.
“I’m Red Hood.” The voice that comes out of the helmet is robotic. “I’m here to save you.”
Is he. How convenient. “Prove you’re a person,” you insist.
“What? You want proof fucking now?” He gestures to your wound. “You’re bleeding, you’ll get your proof outside.”
“No fucking way,” you snarl. “What if you’re an alien in disguise? Anything is possible, ah—fucking—pparently.”
“You are the last civilian in here. Please, just—”
“Not until you prove it,” you insist stubbornly.
“Holy fucking Christ. Okay, fine.” He takes off a glove, flexing his hand. “See?”
You eye it before shaking your head. “Not good enough. Take off the helmet.”
“Just who the fuck do you think you are?” the robotic voice snarls at you.
“I need to see a human head!”
An explosion sounds near you. Quickly, he reaches up and undoes a catch, pulling the helmet off. “See?” he says in a man’s voice. “Human head.”
You stare at him, searching, just to make sure. He’s got a sharp jaw and tanned skin, and he’s wearing a domino mask. You peer into the eye holes to find green eyes staring back at you.
Your eyes lock. Something clicks, and then the man’s eyes roll back as he passes out.
You’re dumbfounded. “What the fuck?”
“No! Not here!” you hiss desperately, shoving at his body to try and wake him up. “Nononono, you can’t do this now! This can’t happen here!” You punch him in the shoulder, but it’s no use; he’s out cold.
Another explosion sounds, and you stifle a moan, holding back tears. A 10% chance of having a soulmate, an 8% chance of finding them, and you found each other in a firefight. And he was the one to pass out.
And now you’re both going to die. This soulmate crap is some steaming bullshit.
Something whizzes over your head, and you lean down, instinctively covering the man’s body with your own. You start to hyperventilate, swallowing down a lump in your throat.
Come on, you’re in the same situation you were in a few minutes ago, you just have this new, deadweight guy to carry. Think, think. Figure this out.
Looking at the man, you realize he’s wearing an earpiece. With shaking fingers, you pull it out of his ear and hold it up to your own.
“—Hood, come in. Hood, report!”
Right, that’s who he said he was. Red Hood.
What a stupid fucking name for a soulmate to have. You’re gonna get that shit tattooed over your heart? Yeah, right.
You clear your throat. “Uh—Red Hood is, uh, unconscious,” you say carefully into the communication device.
There’s silence for a moment. “Who’s on the line?” someone growls. Holy shit, is that Batman? Damn, your soulmate is a vigilante?
Great. He’ll probably die fighting crime.
“I’m his, uh…I’m, I’m a civilian.”
“What happened?” a new voice asks. “What’s his status, is he hurt?”
“No…no, we, uh…” Christ, this is embarrassing. “We, uh, looked each other in the eye?”
Thankfully, they get it. “Oh my god. In the fucking field?” The second voice sounds darkly gleeful. “And he’s the one who knocked out?”
“That shit is hilarious.”
You kind of wish this guy would shut the fuck up. “Can you, like, get me out of here?”
“Coming to you now.” Thank god.
But before he can get there, some purple, alien thing lands in front of you. You let out a scream as an arm-like appendage shoots out from his body, grabs your soulmate by the neck, and starts to drag him away.
Acting on instinct, you grab the red helmet laying on the floor beside you and whip it against the alien with a crack. It makes a hissing noise, but fortunately, lets go of the man. Unfortunately, it sends the arm soaring toward you.
You wind up the helmet again, but suddenly electricity crackles through the alien, and it drops. Well, more accurately, it explodes, flinging purple shit all over you. You blink goo out of your eyes.
Standing behind the pulpy remains, miraculously clean, is another man in a suit and a mask. He jabs a finger at his chest. “I’m Nightwing. I take it you’re the captive locked in the tower? And this,” he nudges Red Hood with his boot. “Is your new knight in shining armor?”
You stare at him. “Can we…go?”
Nightwing grimaces. “Yeah, sorry. Here—” he hoists your soulmate up into a fireman’s carry. “Follow me. Stay close.”
You nod, scrambling to your feet. Nightwing leads you carefully through the pandemonium at the bank, stopping you short and changing routes as, you assume, Batman takes out more of the aliens. You’re practically glued to Nightwing’s back, which means you’re actually pressed against your soulmates chest as Nightwing carries him. You study him; hanging upside down he almost looks like a wet cat.
You shake your head. This is fucking insane.
Finally, you make it outside. As soon as Nightwing gives you the all clear you collapse onto the steps outside the bank, putting your head between your knees. You had just wanted to make a deposit at your stupid fucking bank that didn’t have online services. Getting caught up in an alien attack and finding your soulmate was officially too much for a Wednesday morning. You have class later, for fuck’s sake.
There’s a slight shuffle, and you look to see Nightwing has stretched out on the steps beside you. You hope he stays quiet. You really don’t want to talk right now.
Of course he doesn’t. “So. New soulmate, huh?” he gives you a grin. “Pretty exciting.”
You grunt. It’s another thing you have to fucking figure out.
Nightwing frowns. “Not excited? You got a boyfriend or girlfriend?”
You give him a side eye. “No,” you admit.
That seems to satisfy him. “Well, great. Then you and Red Hood over here can work it out.” He pats the man—your soulmate’s head. You look to see Nightwing has laid Red Hood out on the steps upside down, with his head next to Nightwing’s thigh and his feet several steps above.
He looks ridiculous. You crane your neck to stare at him. He’s a big man—and the armor only makes him bigger. He looks like he fights hard and wins. You don’t know how to feel about it that. Brick shithouse gym bros were never your type.
You look down to his waist and realize he’s got two guns holstered there. You don’t know how to feel about that, either.
Nightwing notices your staring. He opens his mouth to comment, but you cut across his words.
“Who are you guys, anyway?” Nightwing stares at you, clearly affronted. “I’m new to Gotham,” you add.
He lets out huff. “We’re vigilantes. We fight crime and work with Batman.”
Huh. You know about Batman, but not these two. “Why?”
Nightwing runs his tongue over his teeth. “You’ll have to ask your soulmate yourself,” he answers. You nod. “What are you doing in Gotham?”
This brings him to attention, although you don’t know why. “In what?”
He lets out a sharp laugh.
“What?” you ask, annoyed.
Nightwing shrugs. “Your boy here likes books.”
How stupid. Anyone can like books, you like books. Just because you’re getting your doctorate in mathematics doesn’t mean you can’t like fucking books. You let out a huff.
“By the way,” he nods at your torso. “How’s that cut doing?”
Oh, right. You shift to examine it and wince slightly. “Laceration, more like,” he adds sympathetically.
“S’okay. Not bleeding anymore.”
“Okay.” Nightwing nods. “You’ll have to get that checked out. Maybe at our base.”
That throws you for a loop. “What? Your base?”
He nods. “But, hold on. Big man’s coming in.”
What is he talking about?
He looks over his shoulder. “Hey, B.”
You hear a grunt and nearly piss your pants. Whipping your head around, you realize Batman had landed silently behind you. All six feet of him tower over you now.
He stares silently, face impossible stoic. You gulp nervously. Are you supposed to do something?
Thankfully, Nightwing takes over. “Red Hood is fully unconscious after making eye contact with his soulmate, here.” His lips twitch. “Said soulmate has a laceration and has likely been exposed to alien material, recommend further testing.”
“I got some shit in my eyes,” you add helpfully.
Batman grunts again. “We’ll bring you to the Batcave for testing.”
Uh, what? The fucking Batcave?
“How—how am I getting there?” you stammer.
“Batmobile,” Nightwing says easily.
Uh, you think the fuck not. “Can I take the bus?”
Nightwing snorts. “No,” Batman says in a clipped voice.
“Most civilians would kill for a ride in the Batmobile,” Nightwing points out. “What’s your deal?”
“I’ve seen that thing go. It’s a car accident waiting to happen, you’d think it was a racecar.”
“It’s reinforced,” Batman says.
“It’s either that or the back of my motorbike,” Nightwing offers.
Damn. You’re not opposed to motorcycles, but you trust this guy about as far as you can throw him.
“Put me in the Batmobile,” you sigh.
“You can ride alongside your unconscious lover,” Nightwing says, waggling his eyebrows.
“Fuck off,” you say without thinking. Your eyes widen as he bursts into laughter.
“Hmm.” You look up, but Batman’s face betrays nothing. “Nightwing, you’re dismissed.”
He hops up and gives a salute. Batman inclines his head, asking something, but Nightwing shakes his head no. “Great talking to you.” He offers you a hand, pulling you to your feet. “I’m sure we’ll see more of each other.” With a wave, he disappears.
That leaves you with Batman and your new soulmate.
Carefully, Batman leans down and scoops the man into his arms. It’s not like Nightwing, holding him slung over his back. Batman carries the man bridal style, and when he holds him close, the man, still out cold, leans his head on his chest.
“This way.” You follow Batman away from the bank; down a side street. Under the shadow of a fire escape lies the Batmobile, a low-riding tank. You eye it fearfully.
“Don’t worry,” you glance up to see Batman giving you a small smile. “I’m a very good driver.”
You nod cautiously, watching as he carefully transfers Red Hood to the backseat. You’d hoped he’d strap the guy into the front so you’d be spared having to ride in the passenger seat, but oh well.
Stepping to the passenger side, you try and open the door, but the fucker is heavy. It takes two hands and all your weight to get it open. Slipping inside, you start to fight a similar battle to get it closed.
“Ahem.” You startle, then lean back as Batman reaches neatly across you and pulls the door closed. You scramble to get your seatbelt on.
Batman puts the car in drive and you’re off. Not quite reassured, you’re clawing at the seatbelt with clenched fingers. But Batman drives slowly and carefully through the streets of Gotham. You relax slightly.
You stare out the window, exhaustion setting in. You are so fucking tired, but the day isn’t over. You still have to meet fucking Red Hood proper.
You jump slightly. “Uh, yeah. Just on my ribs.” You twist a little to show him.
He glances at the cut. “Hm.”
You wait for him to say anything else, but he doesn’t. You nod uncertainly.
The car is silent for several minutes. Then—
“I’m glad you found each other.” His voice is gruff, and he isn’t looking at you, his gaze is on the rearview mirror, on the man in the backseat.
You nod again. “Me too,” you supply, not quite meaning to.
You’re quiet for the rest of the ride.
Eventually, Batman carefully eases the car into a tunnel. A few twists and turns and you’re pulling into a garage. Batman quickly exits the car and gently pulls Red Hood out from the back. You fumble with the door, but Batman opens it for you, despite carrying Red Hood. You jump out, running to the other side of the door and slamming your back against it to force it shut.
“Hm.” Batman grunts, but you’re pretty sure you saw him grin. He turns and leads you up a flight of metal stairs, across a wide hall with a huge computer at one end, and into what must be the medbay. He gently lays Red Hood down on a cot, carefully pushing his hair out of his face. Then he turns to you.
“Laceration?” You shift and give him a view of the cut. He looks it over carefully, then nods. “I’ll handle it.” Pulling off his gloves, he strides to a cabinet to collect supplies. You hop up on a spare bed.
He comes back brandishing a pair of fabric scissors. “I need to cut more of your shirt out of the way,” he says apologetically.
“Go ahead,” you shrug. “Useless now anyway.”
Nodding, Batman cuts out a rectangle along your cut. He rips open an antiseptic wipe, but you stop him.
“Do you mind if I do it?” You’d rather administer the sting yourself.
Batman holds it out to you, and you begin cleaning your cut, wincing occasionally.
“What. What do you do?” You whip your head up. “In Gotham,” he amends.
You squint at him. Is Batman asking you a personal question? “I’m a doctoral candidate at Gotham U.”
Apparently you’re having a full-ass conversation now. You go back to cleaning your cut. “No.”
“Are you working with an advisor?” he asks.
“Not yet,” you sigh. Asking a prof to be your doctorate advisor is going to be a pain in your ass. You’ll have to kiss up to someone, you just have to pick who.
Batman seems to pick up on your dilemma. “Who will you ask?”
Does he know every professor at the university? “Tanner,” you say suspiciously. “Or Al-Barazi”
He grunts, which gives away nothing. You eye him as he holds up a bandage.
He can probably plaster it on better than you can, anyway. You nod, and he removes the paper adhesive and gently applies the bandage, making sure the cut is fully covered. “Thanks,” you say when he’s finished.
“Hn.” He picks up a tray with a vial, another antiseptic wipe, and a disposable needle laying on it. “Blood test,” he says apologetically.
Ugh. “Make it quick,” you say, holding out your arm.
He works fast, thank god, and you turn your head away and grimace until it’s over. “Well done,” he says, as you breathe out a sigh of relief. “I’ll go—”
A groan cuts through his words. You whip your head around to see Red Hood starting to sit up on his cot. In a flash, Batman has put your blood sample on a table and appeared at Red Hood’s bedside.
He murmurs something, but Red Hood groans again. “Back the fuck off old man, I’ll just—”
Batman silences him, low voice terse as he says something else. You see Red Hood’s gaze move to you over Batman’s shoulder.
You stare back silently. Maybe you should wave. Instead, you shrug uncertainly.
His eyes harden. Fucking excellent.
Batman takes a step back. “I’ll run the tests,” he says to both of you. Then he makes his exit.
Alone, you and Red Hood size each other up.
He’s the one to speak first, expression grinding into something mocking and almost cruel. “It’s you!” he says, smiling at you with false delight.
So this is how it’s going to go. You wish you could leave, but you don’t remember where the exit is. And you need to make sure you don’t have some alien disease.
You spy a cot next to his and walk carefully over to it, sitting gingerly down on the starched blanket. “I guess it is.”
He immediately busies himself by taking off his body armor, removing it piece by piece until he’s left in only a tank top and tactical pants. You stare at him, why the hell shouldn’t you? He’s muscled, but not as big as you’d feared.
He still looks powerful. And he has a lot of scars.
When your eyes travel to his face, you see he’s taken off the domino mask. Huh. He’s movie-star handsome, the kind of face you grow up wishing your soulmate has.
He’s being such a dick that it doesn’t even faze you.
Red Hood looks at you cockily, smirking. You look back blankly, face empty. You’re not giving this fucker anything until he plays nice.
He goes right on smirking, and you go right on staring blankly. You’re determined to wait him out.
He doesn’t drop the act, but Red Hood is the one to speak first. “Wanna tell me your name, sweetheart?”
“Sure.” After you tell him— “Am I supposed to call you Red Hood?” He must have a real name.
This, shockingly, makes him hesitate, before pasting on a crooked smile. “Name’s Jason.” He gets a gleam in his eye. “Jason Todd.”
You blink. Is that supposed to mean something to you?
“Congrats, you have two first names,” you say with a shrug.
He gets tripped up again. For a moment, you feel a flicker of savage victory, but it quickly dissipates. You aren’t supposed to be at odds with each other like this. This isn’t how you want to do things.
“So we’re soulmates, huh?” He switches gears, giving you a rueful smile that you don’t trust for a second.
“I guess.” You shift uncomfortably on the cot. Your bed is close to his, close enough that, when you’re pulling your legs protectively against your chest and he’s reaching to unlace his boot, your elbows brush against each other.
Your skin crackles where it touches his, like a live wire runs between you two. You gasp and he swears and wrenches his arm back. You remain frozen in place, arm suspended in the air. The slight patch that touched him is still tingling with residual energy. You run your other hand over it; it’s hot to the touch.
You and Jason stare at each other. Damn. This soulmate shit is no joke.
The physical reminder almost makes you want to cry. Why are you stuck with this asshole who isn’t even nice to you?
Jason recovers first, prodding at you while you’re still reeling. “So if we’re soulmates, does that mean we should tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets?” he asks with faux-earnestness.
“‘Cause I…well, you might as well know now.” He grabs the neckline of his tank top and yanks it down. “I died.” He shows off what’s definitely a y-shaped autopsy scar, wearing a wide-eyed, mournful look.
Your eyes narrow, partly because what the ever loving fuck, but also because you can see a wedge of triumph in his eyes.
You suck in a sharp breath, seeing through him in an instant. Jason’s not telling you to get close to you; he’s trying to make you walk away.
Quick as lightning, you reach out and grab him by the jaw. His chin buzzes in your hand, and he lets out a shout, twisting against you. You hold on, bringing your face close to his. “Don’t fucking bullshit me,” you say through gritted teeth.
“What the fuck?” He sounds amazed. “You don’t believe that I—”
“No, I know you died. But you didn’t tell me because you want me to know.” He looks shocked for a moment, then narrows his eyes. “You’re testing me.”
Jason looks away from you, gritting his teeth. “Don’t play me like that,” you add.
You let go, settling back on your cot. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to do this,” you mutter. “Just be straight with me.” Man the fuck up.
You stare at your lap, trying to calm the adrenaline racing through you like wildfire. Your mind returns to his horrific scar, and you let a shudder escape. What happened to him? Did he really die and come back to life, is this some necromancer shit? You teeter on the edge of a panic attack.
“I—” Jason breaks through your rising hysteria. You raise your head as he cuts himself off with a growl. “Do you want to do this?”
You study him as you mull it over. He’s not mocking you anymore; he’s defensive, holding his tank top up to his neck, hiding the scar. You were right, he doesn’t want you to know about it.
Jason’s eyes are guarded as they focus on you. It’s the closest to honest he’s been so far.
You sigh. “I mean, are you gonna be nice to me?”
He acknowledges the hit with a tilt of his head. “I’m…not known for being nice,” he says ruefully. You squint; something in your gut tells you not to believe him. He’s a vigilante, isn’t he? Doesn’t that mean he saves people?
“Why did you become a vigilante?”
Jason laughs bitterly. “Wasn’t given a choice.”
Not a great answer. “Someone’s forcing you now?”
“…no, not now,” he adds begrudgingly.
You raise your eyebrows, prompting him to continue. Jeez, getting this guy to talk is like pulling fucking teeth.
“Now,” he chews the inside of his cheek. “I can do it. Most people can’t. It helps. Someone’s gotta do it.” Jason looks at you, eyes searching yours.
Yeah, you can get behind that.
You nod, and see him relax slightly. There’s quiet for a few seconds, but you can feel Jason’s eyes on you, silently pushing you to answer. Do you want to do this?
Based on whatever the fuck conversation you’re having, it seems like Jason’s not into it. You lay the groundwork for an exit strategy. “To be honest, it seems like a bad way to start a relationship,” you admit. “Knowing what’s meant to be the endgame and all.”
Jason face falls, almost imperceptibly, but you catch it. Disbelief flows through you. What does this guy want?
Maybe he is interested? You go a different route. “I…” you force yourself to take a deep breath. “I’ve…dated, before but…” you smile ruefully. “I haven’t had a lot of success. Not with…other people.”
Jason nods but keeps silent.
You lose patience. “Can you just tell me what you fucking want?” you snap.
Jason seems taken aback by your forwardness. You glare at him.
“Ahem.” You both start as Batman appears in the doorway. “Test results came through.” He holds several papers in his hand.
You nod, tuning him out as he begins to read through them. The truth of the situation begins to creep through the adrenaline, and you turn your back on both of them as you start to cry silently.
You can’t help it, you have a soulmate and he doesn’t want you. It’s enough to break your heart. You can talk a big game about how soulmates are unrealistic and how it’s impossible to build a relationship based on some random quirk of fate, but deep down you’re hypnotized by the idea just like everyone else. Of course you are, a person who was made for you and no one else? Who you’re fated to be with? That’s the dream. Who wouldn’t want a soulmate?
Jason, apparently, even though he has the ill luck of having one. You have the ill luck of it being you.
“—and we couldn’t detect any STI’s so you’re all clear,” Batman says carefully. “Though your iron’s a little low.”
“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “I’m supposed to be taking supplements.” Keeping your back to him, you raise your voice so Jason can hear you loud and clear. “If you want me to go, tell me and I’ll go.”
You wait for several seconds. You don’t turn around. He doesn’t say anything. You take it for the answer that it is.
“Thanks for all your help,” you say to Batman, thickly. “I need to go home.”
Batman nods, narrowing his eyes over your shoulder. “I’ll have someone take you back.”
You follow him out of the sickbay and upstairs to the street level. You cry the entire time, and Batman patiently waits for you to stumble after him. Eventually, you make it outside to a sleek black car. You fall into the backseat.
An older man sits behind the wheel. “Where am I taking you tonight?” he asks in a kind, British accent. You look up to see his gaze on you in the rearview mirror, warm but sharp.
You give him your address. The tears don’t let up, but thankfully he doesn’t comment.
Some time later, you don’t know how long, he stops the car and steps out, opening your door for you. You quickly collect yourself and get out. “Thank you,” you say voice unsteady.
“My pleasure.” You look down to see he’s handing you a pharmacy bag. “Iron supplements.”
You open your mouth, then close it, nodding.
“Have a goodnight,” the man, eyeing you carefully.
You nod again, then turn and head into your building. Once inside your apartment, you get yourself a glass of water, strip down and crawl into bed, not bothering to shower. The day plays over and over in your mind, and you cry yourself to sleep.
Jason’s starting to think he fucked up.
Maybe acting like a complete dick to his soulmate wasn’t the right move.
It’s been two weeks since you walked out, since he passed out at the sight of you and started this whole fucking mess, and everyone has been on his ass about this. Dick has been yapping in his ear, Bruce keeps trying to corner him and give him a lecture, and Alfred has been absolutely skewering him with disapproving looks. Jason can’t hold out under that kind of pressure, he cracks like a mirror and stops lying to himself.
He shouldn’t have forced you to leave by being such an asshole. Classic Jason, executing the perfect self sabotage. Ten out of ten.
In his defense, he never expected this to happen. In fact, he was pretty fucking sure it wouldn’t. How could Jason Todd possibly have a soulmate? He’d died for fuck’s sake, surely the universe knows not to touch that one. What if he hadn’t come back? Would you just be up shit’s creek without a paddle? What if you had found each other earlier, before he’d croaked? How fucked up would that have been?
It makes him shake his head. It just doesn’t make any goddamn sense.
And he…he’s not a good soulmate. Look at who he is, look at what he’s done. You’d be better off if you’ve never found him. He drove you away for your sake, he thinks to himself.
Alfred had called him on this bullshit immediately, as soon as he’d come back from driving you home. He’s been niggling at Jason, trying to get him to see that at the very least, Jason can’t make that decision for you. Just like every other relationship, you have to judge him for yourself.
Whatever. It’s too late anyway. He’s pushed you away, you’re gone. Bruce has offered to find you, but it feels…wrong, to force his way into your life like that. Obviously, he could find you, but if you don’t want him in your life, then he shouldn’t be there.
Except maybe there’s more to this soulmate thing that he thought, because despite his refusal to look for you, he finds you anyway.
It’s dark; pink, blue, and purple lights illuminating the room. Jason stands at the bar, three quarters of the way through a beer he’s been nursing for forty five minutes. Roy’s in the bathroom, and he must’ve invited someone along with him because he’s taking for-fucking-ever.
Jason glances at his phone, bored and ready to leave. He’s only here because Roy dragged him out, insisting it would help him forget about you.
Which it doesn’t. Because there you are.
You see him the second he sees you. Your expression hardens as you make eye contact. Before he knows what he’s doing, Jason takes a step forward. He holds his arms open, chest centered, eyes clear. Come on. Come on.
He sees you roll your eyes. One of your friends leans down to whisper in your ear. Jason can read their lips: do you know that guy?
Yes. You leave your friends and make your way toward him, stopping about a foot away. You stare at him, raising an eyebrow.
Jason looks at you, so uncertain. He—he doesn’t know what to do, now.
You sigh, gently plucking his beer from his hand and setting it on the bar. Then you grab his hand—holy shit, it’s all electricity, all the way down—and tug him onto the dance floor.
Your arms slot around his neck, and his hands find your hips. You’re wearing a shirt that leaves your midriff exposed, and his palms are hot against your skin.
It’s almost too much. Your skin buzzes and crackles and pops and he feels it all the way to his teeth. You’ve got your forearm pressed against his neck; it sends electric shocks down his spine.
From the way you’re frozen, gritting your teeth, you feel it too. For almost a minute, neither of you move as you adjust. Just as Jason starts to get used to it, you look at him with a wry smile. He returns it shakily.
Then you move an arm from his neck, letting your skin brush against his, and put your hand on his bicep, sliding down to his wrist and back up again.
Jason almost passes out. He’s panting, shaking like a startled animal. You smile triumphantly, and Jason knows he’s in trouble.
Trying to get ahold of himself, he squeezes at your hips, rubbing slow circles into your skin with his thumbs. You inhale sharply, glaring at him even as your body trembles under his hands. He gives you a smirk. You roll your eyes and then do what he’s been wondering about since he first brushed against you in the sickbay: you kiss him.
All of Jason’s focus seems to be concentrated into his lips, which sizzle and pop like oil on a hot pan. You let out a shocked cry into his mouth and he swallows it eagerly. He slides his mouth against yours; the friction is unlike anything he’s felt before. Jason thinks to use his tongue and brushes it gently against the inside of your cheek, darting back as he feels you bite down hastily.
You pull away, panting, removing your hands from him and resting your head against his chest, t-shirt giving you some respite from the heady feeling of skin on skin. As soon as he notes your absence, Jason realizes he’s a goner. He’ll do anything, anything, to feel that way again.
He runs his hands up your arms encouragingly, using one to tilt your chin towards his so he can kiss you again, but you shake your head, pressing your face against his chest.
Damn. But he can feel the heat of you, pressed against him as you are, and this feels nice, too. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and another on your midriff, skin buzzing at the contact. You shudder but burrow further into his chest.
This gives him some time to think.
Yeah, he fucked up. Jason wants to kick himself.
And he knows, right down to his bones, that he’s pushed you out of reach. He’s certain that you won’t give him another chance, just like he knows he’s undeserving of you in the first place.
It’s too late. You’ll never be his. There he goes, breaking his own heart again.
For a moment, Jason struggles to breathe.
You shift, knocking your head against his chest. He looks down at you, heart thick in his mouth.
You’ll never be his, but you’re here now. Jason’s grip on you tightens. He’ll take whatever he can get tonight, and that’ll have to be enough.
He rests his chin against your head. You hum, stretching up to press lightly against him, and Jason could just die.
He rubs soothingly at your back. He has you tonight.
Or rather, he has you in this club. Jason wants to bite his tongue off when he realizes you’ll leave in less than a few hours.
He needs to stretch this out as far as it will go.
Jason sees two people disentangle enough to leave the dance floor and exit the club, groping each other the whole time.
Maybe you can leave with him.
The idea ripples through his body, taking hold immediately. He can try and convince you to come home with him and have you in his bed for one night. And then you’ll walk out of his life and that’s okay. It is.
Cautiously, he slides a hand under your shirt, caressing the skin of your back. The buzzing almost overwhelms him, but he doesn’t let up, stretching his fingers high enough to trace your shoulder blades. You freeze in his arms, but you don’t pull away. He sets his other hand lower, running a thumb just above the waistline of your jeans.
You tilt your head up and squint at him; you know what he’s doing. But Jason doesn’t care, he’s got a goal now, and he takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss you. You bite at his lips but kiss him back.
The sparks almost fry him. It’s easy to lose himself, and a moment later he finds his hips moving against yours without his permission.
Again, you freeze. Jason can’t help but marvel; so in control, so commanding of yourself. He panics for a moment before your hips start to grind up into his. You wrap your arms around his neck—sizzling against him—and pull him down to kiss him deeper.
Relief and adrenaline surge through him. For a few precious hours, he’ll get to have you.
You make out for ages. Jason can’t get enough. Around you, people come and go, but the two of you stay rooted to the spot. Jason feels his phone vibrate with a text from Roy and ignores it. He couldn’t give a fuck.
He feels like he could go on forever, but eventually you pull away, yawning. His chest tightens as you pull out your phone. Your eyes widen; it’s half past three in the morning.
Jason grits his teeth. He has to make his move, and he has to make it now.
His courage almost fails him; he has to bury his face in your neck, cheeks buzzing. “Stay with me a little longer,” he mutters into your skin. “Come back to my place.”
He holds his breath. You keep silent. Then, you pull away, eyes searching his face.
Old habits die hard; he gives you a cocky smirk. You grab his chin, just like in the sickbay, and pull his face down toward you.
His facade clean falls away. All he’s got left is hunger.
You examine him a moment longer before letting out a soft sigh. “Yes,” you say quietly.
He grabs your hand and guides you toward the exit.
Twenty minutes later, he’s got you on his couch, the long line of your body laid out beneath his. It’s heaven. You’re impossibly closer now, gravity pulling him in. He suspends himself carefully above you, not wanting to crush you, but still close enough to let your skin burn him.
You pick up where you left off, kissing messily. Eventually, Jason thinks to pull his shirt over his head and throw it to the floor. You quickly follow.
His chest explodes against yours. Jason bites his tongue sharp enough to draw blood as you let out a small shriek. Your skin reaches up and consumes him. It’s overwhelming, it’s too much skin to skin contact, it’s everything Jason has ever wanted when he’s flinched away from someone’s touch. Someone else’s touch.
Shakily, you bring your arms up to lay your hands on his back. Jason could cry. He loses hold of himself and collapses, putting his weight on you completely. You let out a small oomph.
“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, gasping.
“No, no, it’s okay,” you soothe him. Hesitantly, your hands begin to rub his back. Biting his lip, Jason maneuvers himself so that his arms are underneath you, holding you to his chest. You let out a small hum of contentment.
He lets himself settle against you, feels you shift beneath him until you’re comfortable. Again, he wrenches his face into your neck. You giggle quietly, and he smiles against you.
After a while, the buzzing cools into a warm glow. Jason could stay here forever.
Eventually, though, you cough. He can hear you yawn. “Jason,” you whisper apologetically. Hearing his name sends a jolt up his spine. “Jason, I gotta go.”
No. Not yet. He’s not ready to say goodbye.
Jason reacts on instinct. “Stay,” he mumbles. “Sleep here.” He sees it coming: again, you freeze. “We don’t have to…” he quickly adds. “Just…sleep.”
In the morning, he tells himself. He’ll let you walk away in the morning.
He looks at you, this time, as he waits for you to answer. Having you so close makes him brave, makes it easy to show on his face how much he wants you to stay.
Your eyes are guarded. “Sleep where?”
Uh…good question. In my arms.
“Take the bed,” he answers. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
You look at him warily. He holds his breath.
You yawn again, and it takes the fight out of you. “Okay,” you mutter. You shift below him, and he gets up obligingly.
“In here.” Jason leads you to his bedroom, heart pounding. He opens the door, and you peek inside. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”
You look back to him, nodding. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jason shifts on his feet, lingering. You turn your searching gaze on him again.
Eventually you nod and dart into the room, pulling the door shut behind you.
Jason exhales. He turns back toward the couch. It’s going to be a long night of imagining what you look like, lying in his bed, steps away.
He lays himself down and closes his eyes. As if he’ll be able to let you go, now. He’s gonna fight like hell for you in the morning.
This was a really fucking bad idea.
You clutch at Jason’s sheets, nearly ripping them in half as dread fills you. Why did you do this to yourself? The scent of him envelopes you and you almost want to cry.
What were you thinking, coming back here? You know he doesn’t want to be with you. The best thing for you to do now is just move the fuck on. Put him out of your mind before it’s too late, before you fuck up and get yourself addicted to a drug that doesn’t want you. You couldn’t help micro dosing him at the club, you didn’t know he’d be there. Mistakes happen. But you shouldn’t have fucking macro dosed him by sleeping in his goddamn bed, especially when it smells so good. You’ll be having withdrawals for weeks.
Last night was a fluke. You don’t know what on Earth possessed him to dance with you and hold you and kiss you like that, but you sure as shit know it’s not going to happen again.
But it happened. You stare up at his ceiling, trying to make it make sense. Jason doesn’t want to make it work with you, he’d wanted you to walk away back in the sickbay. Right? Then what the fuck was he doing last night? He wasn’t acting like he wanted you to walk away, he asked you to stay. And like the Grade-A idiot, fucking addicted junkie you are, you’d agreed.
You turn over on your side, mashing Jason’s pillow beneath you. Why did he even invite you back here in the first place? He clearly doesn’t want a relationship with you. Your breath stills; he probably just wanted to get lucky.
The realization clears your head. That’s why he acted like that last night, that’s why he held you and danced with you and kissed you like—like he did.
Because he just wanted to get off.
Despair crashes over you, forms a lump in the back of your throat. You beat it back angrily. Fuck him. Fuck him for thinking he can just use you like that, use the hold he has over you for his own ends.
You rip the bedsheets off and pull your pants on, absolutely fuming. You’re going to yell at this motherfucker, you’re going to tear him a new asshole, and then you’re going to get the fuck out of here.
The bedroom door slams open with a bang. Snarling, you make your way into the kitchen, to see Jason’s jumped about a foot.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” He looks down and swears again. “Motherfuck—”
He ducks down to examine something on the floor. You realize he’s holding a spatula. “I used up all my eggs. Fucking hell.” He sighs, grabbing a paper towel to clean up what must be egg on the kitchen tile.
The scene deters you, but your anger comes roaring back. “Were you seriously just going to eat a whole fucking breakfast while I slept in your—”
“What?” Jason cuts you off, confused. “No! These are for you, too, dipshit!” He freezes.
You stalk toward him, furious. “What did you just call me?”
“…sorry,” he mutters, turning to the stove.
Scoffing in disgust, you walk to the door and grab your coat from the hook. That makes him pause. “Wait, you’re leaving?” Jason asks, surprised.
“Uh, yeah,” you say meanly. “You wanted me to walk away, so here I go.”
“But I…” he trails off. You look at him, eyebrows raised, expecting him to do nothing, just like last time. And you can’t work with nothing.
Jason turns off the stove and crosses the kitchen warily. “Just…just stay and have something to eat. Please,” he mumbles. He’s barely looking you in the eye, you stare at him until he meets your gaze. There’s nothing but open honesty on his face.
Cautiously, you put your coat back on the hook and cross your arms over your chest. “Why?” you ask warily.
“Because, I…” he trails off with a growl, giving you a rough, earnest look.
Reluctantly, you sit yourself at the kitchen table. Ridiculous, ridiculous! You should be on the other side of that door, you should be on the street by now.
But you’re powerless against how much you want him, how much you want this to work. You’ve already swallowed the fishhook; all he has to do is reel you in.
Relief swamps Jason’s face. He turns and busies himself at the stove. As soon as his back is to you your elbows hit the table and your head is in your hands. What the fuck are you doing? Why do you insist on torturing yourself? Why are you giving him another chance?
You stay like that until you hear the knock of a plate hit the table. Looking up, you see Jason’s handed you a plate of eggs and toast, plus a mug of coffee. He sits across from you with his own plate and cup.
He’s got two eggs and you’ve got three. He must have given you the extra after one had ended up in the floor. Such a gentleman.
“Thanks,” you say, sitting up.
Neither of you say anything, nor do you move to eat.
You glare at him. You’re sure as hell not going to move first.
“Fucking Christ,” he breathes, before deliberately slicing into an egg and mashing his toast into the yolk. You roll your eyes and follow suit.
“You got salt and pepper?”
“What?” Jason looks up, frowning. “I already put some on.”
“God almighty.” He heaves himself up and moves to the cupboard, quickly returning with salt and pepper shakers. “Happy?”
“No. I don’t want to be here,” you remind him.
That sucks the fight away. Jason looks at his plate, chastised. “Right.”
You grab the salt and pepper. The shakers are stupid, Batman novelty garbage: Batman’s the salt and Robin’s the pepper. The salt comes out of the pointy Bat-ears.
Ridiculous. You season your eggs angrily. “I’m finishing this meal and then I’m leaving,” you announce, scooping up some egg with your toast.
Jason offers you a leaky smirk, full of holes. “Not gonna help me clean up?”
It makes you furious. “What the fuck do you want from me, Jason?” you demand. “What do you want? Because I’m not playing your stupid fucking games and I’m not going to let you jerk me around.”
Untrue. You probably would. But he doesn’t need to know that.
Jason looks at his plate, hands curled into fists. “I—what do you want?”
You stand up, chair screeching. No fucking way are you taking a deflection right now.
“Sweetheart, wait.” Jason gets to his feet.
You swallow. ‘Sweetheart.’ He called you that before, but it feels different now.
Or maybe that’s your imagination.
“I—I shouldn’t have acted like a such dickhead.” His head is turned from you, but then he meets your eyes with gritted teeth. “I’m sorry.”
Great. “Answer my question.”
His face hardens. “I…I don’t…” Jason shrugs almost helplessly. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away, but I didn’t do it for shits and giggles. I…” he ducks his head. “My life is…dangerous.”
He looks at you imploringly. Your eyes drift to his chest. Right. He literally died. “I didn’t want to drag you into that,” he says carefully.
You sigh, collapsing into the chair. He follows your lead, sitting across from you. “Slow down, cowboy,”you say, exhausted with the back and forth. You need to start smaller. “Do you want to see me again?”
You are being very fucking brave right now. Your breath freezes in your mouth as you wait for his answer.
Jason stares at the table. “Yeah.”
Your mouth melts. “Okay. Me too.”
He looks up at you, shocked. You roll your eyes. His face falls into a smirk.
“If you get too cocky I’m going to leave,” you threaten. Jason nods but doesn’t pare down the smirk at all.
Time to be braver. You grip the edge of the table. “Do you want to be…just, just friends?” You force yourself to look at him, his face has fallen.
You suck in a breath. “Because I want more.” The words spill out of you.
You want to throw up but by god you are going to maintain eye contact, come hell or high water. You grit your teeth and lock onto his eyes, so focused you almost miss what he says next.
You blink. Jason’s looking at you like you’d hung the moon.
“Cool,” you say with a smile.
“You’re one in a million, sweetheart,” he adds, breaking out into a wide grin. “Couldn’t miss my chance.”
You blush. Jason’s eyes are hungry.
There’s a beat of silence. “What do we do now?”
Jason considers for a moment before picking up his fork. “Finish your breakfast.”
You take a bite of toast. “Then what?”
“D’unno.” He smirks, mischievous. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
You grin into your eggs, delighted. “‘Kay.”
I didn’t not mean for this to be so long, I wanted to write a cheeky jason soulmate fic but in my heart of hearts I truly believe that jason can’t have a cheeky anything. Why accept a soulmate when you can preemptively burn your relationship to the ground to save time?
