Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Witch Reader, eventual ? x Omega Witch Reader and Alpha Steve Rogers X Omega Witch Reader
Theme: A/B/O / True Mates
Series Warnings: A/B/O, eventual smut, violence in parts, witchcraft, shapeshifters
Chapter Summary: Steve opens up about his rejection.
Chapter Warning: Mentions of rejection (if that's a warning!).
*Runt is a derogative term in this universe.
“I’d never really had a girlfriend before, not through lack of trying though.” Steve tells you. “I wanted, more than anything, to have someone to call mine, to be mated, but I was a runt.”
“Steve!”
“I was honey, and I know that’s hard to believe now but I was. Bucky had a line of girls back then, all pining to date the beta that could have been a model, and he’d always ask for them to bring a friend. I got a couple of kisses here and there but I’m pretty sure they were out of sympathy.” He paused for a moment and sipped on the wine he’d pulled from the basket and poured for you both.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, his plaid shirt pulling across his broad shoulders. His scent soured and you reached forward and gave his shoulder a squeeze. He glanced at you and gave you a worried smile.
“I stopped growing really early on. I was sick all the time. After Mom passed I didn’t have anyone, apart from Bucky and his family. Bucky would spend days taking care of me. His Mum and Dad got me an appointment with a fancy specialist, who said I’d probably never present. Suggested some clinical trials that might help, gave me some leaflets and sent me away.” He paused let out a sigh. “Then Bucky and I tried to join the army. He got in and I got practically laughed out the building. I applied in anyway I could, even under false names.”
“Steve! Isn’t that a criminal offence?”
“Yeah, but I was desperate to join, to make something of myself, and I thought that was the only way.”
You squeezed his shoulder again and he sat back on the sofa. You shuffled closer and he placed his arm across on the back of it to allow you nearer, and you positioned yourself at his side, trying not to curl into him too much and crowd him.
“I had a scholarship for Art school and Bucky pushed me to go, and with him off to god knows where, I didn’t really have much else. Art school was great and I lasted nearly a year but I still kept trying to join the army. The last time I tried the Recruitment Officer recognised me, spotted I used a false name. I went to run, tripped over my feet and fell into one of the army medics. The leaflet about the clinic trial fell out my jacket pocket. I’d forgot it was even in there. Turns out the army had a trial too. They had a bunch of non-presented working in bases here and abroad. The war in Afghanistan had started and they’d found that when the non-presented had been exposed to extreme trauma they’d present suddenly, so I signed up.”
“So you signed up to basically traumatise yourself, and have them do it for you too?”
“Pretty much.” You sit in a silence for a moment, before he continues. “I was placed at a base here in the US first. I’d run errands for the senior officers, make coffee, that kind of thing. Every now and again they’d do something, jump out on me, show me photos of the injuries the guys out there were getting, they pulled me from the bed in the middle of the night, put me through torture training, all kinds of things. Then one of the senior officers was moved to another base, nearer the fight. He could pick who he wanted to take, and I was one of them. He said he liked the way I pressed his uniform and organised his paperwork. The base was international, so there’s a mix of other countries and their units, and that’s when I met her.”
“Who?”
“Peggy Carter.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?”
“She works for SHIELD now.”
Your brow furrowed and you vaguely remember a conversation whilst you were in the hospital. You’re looking out the window as Storm strokes your hair. There’s a back and forth about who will be with you when the different agencies interview you. When it’s said who’s coming from each agency Logan and Frank both bark out a growled no. The name of Carter is mentioned but that’s not who comes to see you.
“Omega.” Steve says, snapping you back to reality. “You okay? I lost you there for a second.”
“Sorry, I think she might have been someone who was meant to interview me about the docks, but I have this vague memory of Logan and Frank saying no, but I was still a bit out of it.”
Steve nods in understanding.
“Peggy can be manipulative. Frank and Logan both know that. She was probably going to try and recruit you.”
“For what?”
“For SHIELD.”
“Well she can fuck off.” You say bluntly, making Steve let out a huff of laughter.
You sit in silence again and feel his arm move to partially wrap around your shoulders. His hand begins to move in a soothing motion and you realise he’s comforting himself in the process as his scent levels out.
“She was my mate.” He says suddenly. You nod in understanding. “She came bursting through the door of the Colonel’s office. Being an Alpha she’d smelt me from across the base. I still hadn’t presented so I didn’t know until I saw her. The disappointed look on her face said it all and she left as quick as she came in. I pursued her for months, followed her around like a lost puppy, just wait around her office and quarters in the hope she’d speak to me.”
“Did she speak to you?”
“A couple of times but it was always to say how disappointed she was, that she was disgusted to have me as a mate.”
“I’m so sorry Steve.”
“Don’t be. I know now she wasn’t the match for me.” He tells you, pulling you closer.
You place your head on his shoulder and allow yourself to curl into him.
“You don’t know for sure I’m the better option.”
“I do. For a start the pack like you, they certainly don’t like her.”
“That’s understandable if she treated you like that.”
“Some of them actually knew her before I did.”
“From serving?”
Steve nodded.
“Bucky and his unit were at our base between rotations, he’d already been warned about Peggy.”
“What?”
“Some of his unit were working with a special task force and it was made clear they weren’t to discuss it with anyone. I remember Bucky telling me to stay away from Peggy, that this alpha female special agent had warned them about her. He couldn’t explain why, but the agent knew what she was talking about. She was also slightly terrifying and Buck didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her.”
“Natasha.” You say, piecing together Steve’s story and the one Natasha had told you about them meeting.
“Yeah, and she was right.”
“Of course she was.” You quip.
“Peggy buzzed around them the minute they arrived. A lot ignored her, but there was one that didn’t. A beta. She’d whisper in his ear, run her hands all over him, all whilst she’d be looking at me.”
“What a bitch.”
“Bucky had it out with her. I was mad at him, thought he’d ruined any chance of her coming around to the idea of us being mates. He left the base to go back to the fight and we were barely on speaking terms. Peggy left base for a week or two and I managed to get some flowers and a few other gifts for her. The Colonel confirmed she was back and I went off looking. I found her around the back of one of the armouries fucking the beta.”
You’re not sure what you’d expected Steve to say but that wasn’t it. You lifted your head from his shoulder.
“I dropped everything I was carrying and she laughed. Like really laughed, I remember saying her name, and she told me she’d never be with me, that I was a runt and then she rejected me. Right there, while the other guy was inside her.”
You’re jaw clenched and the lights started to flicker. Steve heard a rumble of thunder and looked to the window that looked out into the rear garden. The clouds turned dark and rolled over the cottage.
When he looked back your eyes met and Steve could see yours were now flicked with gold. His brow furrowed before his eyebrows shot up.
“Is that you? Omega, is that you doing that?”
You dipped your head and shuffled away from him.
“Sorry.” You mumbled. “I’m better at controlling them than I was but maybe not as much as I thought.”
Steve glanced down at your hands and saw they weren’t moving. You were doing this without even a wiggle of your fingers. He moved so he was back closer to you and placed his hand over yours. Placing a kiss to your forehead.
“Hey.” He says, trying to get you to look at him. “You don’t need to be worried. I’m not scared of your magic. I just didn’t know you could do that, with the thunder I mean. Bucky heard it, he mind linked to ask if we were okay. When I said I’d told you about Peggy, he told me that was probably you, but I’m not scared Y/N, I was just a little surprised.”
“Where is she now?” You ask quietly.
“You’re not going after her.”
“We’ll see.” Leaning away from him to pick up your glass of wine, you take a sip and turn toward him again. “Is that what did it? Is that what made you present?”
Steve nodded.
“The pain for the rejection ripped its way through me and caused a reaction. I stumbled away and I found myself heading towards a wooded part of the base. It was used to practice camouflage tactics and certain terrains. I hid there for a week. The Colonel found out what Peggy had done and made arrangements to have her shipped off to another base. When I wandered out the woods I was pretty much like I am now. An alpha. A true alpha. Less facial hair maybe, few less wrinkles and I was a little blonder.”
“Do you have a photo?”
“Of when I presented?”
“No.” You smile. “From before.”
“Oh yeah.” Steve shuffles at the side of you and pulls a photo from his back pocket. “Buck and Nat said I should bring it. They thought you might not believe me otherwise.”
“I believe you.” You say taking the photo from him. “Oh my goddess! Look at you!” Steve’s scent briefly goes to worry, before you continue. “You were so cute!”
“Cute? Like in a puppy?”
“Like as in you were cute Steve. Sure you were smaller but you have the same eyes. Kind, strong, as bright as a summer sky, like they’ve seen a lot of things.”
You sit quietly again for a moment before Steve sips his wine again.
“Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words omega?”
“Once actually. By a famous novelist I know.” You tell him, causing Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. You brush over it and pass him the photo back.
“What happened after you presented?” You ask. “When she saw you were an alpha?”
“She tried to take back the rejection.”
“Wow.” You say sarcastically.
“But I cut her off, accepted her rejection, and then the Colonel's plans to have her reassigned came through. We’d bump into her on occasion and she’d try to talk to me. I concentrated on training and moving up the ranks. Now I’d presented I could actually join the army fully.”
“And that was how you met the others right? Apart from Bucky?”
“Pretty much.” Steve paused, leaned forward and placed his now empty glass on the coffee table. He let out a sigh and looked up at the ceiling “I just wanted to be sure that you were okay with it, with how I presented late.”
“Why do you think I wouldn’t be okay with it?”
“Well, our kids could go through the same thing. Sometimes my alpha gets snappier than he should, which is apparently usual with runts who present late and become true alphas, especially when we think something is being taken away from us or not going our way.”
You curled into him again and cupped his face, turning it towards you.
“And if that happens alpha, if our kids late present”
“They could be runts.”
“If they are, they’ll have a father that knows exactly what they’ve been through. A witch for a mother and a whole bunch of aunty witches who probably know every remedy possible to help them too. And, as long as you’re sure about me, and you can put up with me, no one is taking me away from you.” You say with a sudden serge of confidence.
“I’m sure about you.”
Your lips met softly at first, before Steve pulls you into his lap. You straddled him as one his hands came to rest on the back of your head and the other strayed down towards your ass. Your hands found your way up his chest and on to his shoulders. One stayed there and another made its way to his hair. You melt into each other as the kiss becomes more passionate. You can’t remember the last time you were kissed like this. You pull away as a memory flashes of the last time your lips were on another’s. You don’t get far as Steve tightens his grip on you.
Your faces stay close, noses brushing.
“Steve?” You ask in a whisper, the earlier confidence gone. “Alpha, are you sure?”
“I’m sure ‘mega.” He tells you as he begins to kiss you again.
Neither of you see your phone lighting up with missed calls, tossed to the side and on silent as a text comes.
Tyler - Call me back Y/N. Stop fucking ignoring me. We need to talk.
Notes: Howdy gang, I'm so sorry this took forever BUT this is the last chapter of Arc 2! After this I will be taking a break to write Arc 3 before it starts getting posted. In this chapter we deal with more social beefing, Bruce being an asshole for a second, classism, family shenanigans, Oliver Queen appearance, Alfred adopted Reader, Reader adopted Damian, SMUT SMUT SMUT (my partner was screeching about it while beta reading, whoops), and aftercare :)
Beta'd by: @teaspacebar
Previous Chapter, Masterlist
Chapter 18:
“You’re here.” The snarl in Bruce’s voice didn’t match the smile painted carefully on his face. “I thought I made my expectations clear.”
“Oh, you did,” you sneered through your own perfectly polite grin. “You were vocal about wanting the event, the children’s center, to be the center of attention, and we’ve made sure it has been. You asked me to consider your offer; I have. This should be answer enough.”
You watched as Bruce’s top lip pulled up ever so slightly as he turned to the man standing beside you. “Jason, I need you to-”
“Sweetheart, are you thirsty? Let’s go get a drink.” Jason whisked you away before Bruce could even finish his sentence.
The relative safety of the bar provided space for you to ask, “Are you alright?”
And despite the way his teeth were grinding together, he answered, “I’m great.”
You snorted at the dichotomy. “Jay, unclench. You’re going to give yourself a migraine.”
He didn’t though, not until he felt your arm wrap around his waist and squeeze just a little. Jason exhaled through his nose, letting his shoulders and his lower jaw drop just a little as he leaned into you. By the time the bartender came by, Jason had managed to regulate enough to get his feet back under him. He stood patiently as you ordered a drink, then ordered one of his own.
Drinks in hand, you lead the pair of you to the dining area, and Jason, whose hand had yet to find a home other than your hip, once again grew tense. The attention draw of causing a scene was not something he was terribly interested in, but he knew for a fact that since Bruce had not planned on the two of you being here, to sit down would be taking the seat of some dramatic socialite. He was not looking forward to whatever event this dinner was about to be. But when you walked up to one of the ushers, you gave each of your names, and the man simply nodded.
“Mr. Pennyworth’s additions, welcome. We are so glad you could make it.”
The smile you gave in return had no indication of surprise, which Jason could only chuckle about. When you said you’d take care of everything, he should have assumed you meant every single thing. The next subverted expectation was where the two of you would be sitting. Jason’s new assumption was that due to the last minute nature of your attendance, you’d be crammed somewhere in the back, away from prying eyes. Oh how wrong he was. Because the table at which the usher stopped walking was table number two; the family table. Bruce wouldn’t be there, of course, instead at the head of table one with all of the investors and major contributors to the event, but his siblings, all of them, would be seated here shortly. And, he noticed, you were the only plus one. Even Barbara, invited and in attendance, was to be seated alongside her father.
That was the only thing that soured your expression. The realization that the preservation of the Wayne image: a table full of young men and women in perfectly crisp, matching eveningwear, meant that even a publicly and privately beloved couple like Dick and Barbara wasn’t allowed to sit together.
No. That simply wouldn’t do. You turned to Jason, smile still polished and careful, and quietly you informed him, “Jay, I’m going to be right back.”
“Sweetheart?” The question was asked with his eyes more than words for fear of accidentally announcing some meddlesome plan, particularly given the glint he could see in your eyes.
“I just want to go check in with Barbara; I haven’t seen her in a while. Do you want to stay here and have your drink? Wait for your brothers?”
The man narrowed his eyes at you as he attempted to discern your motivations. You were giving him instructions, that much was clear, and it would be a break from socializing for a few minutes at least, so he sat, draping his suit jacket carefully over the back of your chair to mark it. Assigned seats or not, he liked having something there to say the seat was occupied, that it was yours. You bent carefully to kiss him chastely before gracefully taking your leave, making a line headed directly for Barbara.
You were entirely unsurprised to find her with Dick, who noticed you first.
“Y/n! Hi,” he announced your presence for you. “You look incredible! Saw Jason’s suit matches too. How’d you get him out of the black?”
“You’re confused why he’d rather match me than you?” you prodded back gently. The comment got a chuckle out of both him and Barbara, and you were quick to address her as well. “Barbara, you look absolutely stunning this evening.”
“Thank you,” she responded with a sly grin, raising her champagne glass slightly in acknowledgement. “I would say the same but based on the way Jason’s staring at you, I can’t help but think any compliment I could give you would only get lost in the pile.”
A heat drifted under your cheeks for a moment and a breathy sigh escaped you as you nodded. “He’s rather happy about the new outfit, yeah. But!” you interrupted before the conversation about fashion could continue any further, “That’s not what I’m over here for. Do the two of you want to sit together, or would you prefer to sit by your dad, Barbara?”
Barbara rolled her eyes slightly. “We never get to sit together at these things. Supposedly it messes with the optics of it being a “family event.””
You nodded in understanding, knowing how many hoops you and Alfred needed to jump through in order to make the changes you already had. “Well, I was going to see if I could-”
“No need,” came the voice of your partner in crime behind you. “I’ve already made the necessary adjustments.”
“Alfred?” Dick questioned.
“My sincerest apologies that the arrangements were not already complete by the time the dining room opened, but the correct layout has now been applied.” Alfred looked to you with a twinkle in his eye that said he’d read your mind and was already working on it before you’d even reached the table with Jason a few minutes ago. “Both Ms. Gordon and Ms. L/n will be sitting amongst the Waynes at table two this evening.”
Your smirk was prideful and victorious. “Alfred, you are the most incredible conductor an orchestra of chaos could ever ask for.”
He chuckled, despite himself, clearly amused by your off-the-wall compliment. “I aim to please.”
“Shall we?” you questioned, turning back to the stunned couple in front of you. When they moved to head to the dining hall, you turned again toward the older man. “Thank you, Alfred.”
“Whatever for, Ms. L/n? As I am aware, the seating chart has always been configured this way, has it not?”
The smile you gave him then was small, just between the two of you, and returned in the form of a nod filled with quiet understanding. You weren’t sure exactly how you’d won Alfred over so quickly, or why he seemed to like you so much, but you were so incredibly grateful to have him in your corner, and to know that Jason could trust him, too. Jason, who now, as you returned to your table, was joking back and forth with Duke about the burgundy suit.
“Dude, I’ve been trying to convince Bruce forever to let me wear a colorful suit! I would look so good with gold accents at one of these, and I’m not even a Wayne! So why do I have to do the whole funeral look with everybody else?” Duke’s sweeping gesture to the rest of the table did not go unnoticed.
““The black is classic,”” Tim mimicked Bruce with air-quotes on his hands.
Jason jumped back in, more at ease than you’d seen him for most of the event. “This wasn’t a “got permission” type of situation, man, it’s more of a “not bothering to ask for forgiveness” type of thing.”
“And he looks good in it, doesn’t he?” you questioned, unapologetically butting into the conversation as you walked up behind Dick and Barbara, now also finding their names on place-cards. Your arm draped carefully over his shoulder so that your palm could press flat against your boyfriend’s sternum, to ground him, to check in, to give him a chance to bail out if this really was all too much. But he just pressed his hand over yours and squeezed to reassure before dragging his thumb lightly over the back of your hand as you continued to stand behind him, the conversation continuing around you.
“Ugh, anything’s better than the lame all-black getup,” Stephanie chimed in, having arrived only moments ago.
And from right behind her, looking like she was dragged here more against her will than even Jason, Cassandra quietly added, “I don’t mind the black.”
“And it looks lovely on you, Cass,” you insisted, giving her an encouraging smile.
By the time everyone was seated, all the siblings, related or otherwise, were having their own sidebar conversations with whomever they were sitting next to. You did your best to divide your attention between Jason and Damian until you were eventually able to get them to participate in the same conversation, even if it meant they were bickering around you. When food came out, the volume of the chatter lowered as everyone ate, only to pick back up again around halfway through the meal. Though it never rose to a disreputable volume, it was clear to everyone in attendance that table two was not only the largest, but by far the rowdiest as well. The siblings, or at least, those that still had any level of social battery left, were chatting, throwing ridiculous and thinly-veiled insults like popcorn at a bad movie.
There was an ease to this, almost, and Jason found he was having a better time than he thought, or at least, less of a bad time than he thought he’d have. But you’d been quiet for just a moment too long, and Jason’s hand dropped below the table to land on your thigh and squeeze, seeking some sort of explanation. It hardly took even a glance in your direction for Jason to notice the way your shoulders were tensed and your posture was rigid and the skin on the back of your neck was pebbled like a cool breeze had just blown through. He adjusted the way he was sitting, using his massive frame to shield you from most of the rest of the room, an action that drew the attention of the rest of the table. “Sweetheart?”
“It’s back,” you hushed, under your breath in case somehow whatever it was might be able to hear you.
“What is it?” Damian questioned, the words almost coming out as a hiss from your other side.
“It’s fine,” you attempted to reassure, “I’ve just been feeling watched since we got here, by more than the cameras.”
Damian turned to run his eyes over the rest of the room, doing a quick scan of the rest of the guests before righting himself in his chair. “I don’t see anyone acting abnormally.”
Jason responded for you this time. “We couldn’t find them earlier either. Maybe if we-”
“No,” you cut off whatever idea was about to spill from your boyfriend’s mouth. “We’re on our best behavior tonight. If we draw the wrong kind of attention to ourselves then the whole point of coming in the first place is ruined.”
“So, what are we supposed to do, just wait it out?” he questioned in return.
“Yes.” Jason seemed shocked at your insistence, so you explained, “It doesn’t matter who it is, they can’t do anything without making a scene, just like we can’t. So yes, we are just going to wait it out, and if someone does something stupid, then the chaos of it will give us a little more room to breathe and handle it however we need to.”
Your answer was apparently acceptable to both Damian and Jason, as Damian nodded in understanding as though he’d been given a command, and Jason allowed his shoulders to relax just slightly as he leaned back in his chair.
“I’m still gonna keep an eye out,” Jason huffed, having enough audacity to almost sound annoyed at not being able to do more.
And because you knew that’s how he felt, all previous experience reminding you how far Jason would always go to protect you, you leaned into it. With a hand gently on the side of his face, you planted a brief kiss to his other cheekbone. “I expect nothing less.”
When dinner was done, and the dining room began to clear for a cocktail hour best described as redundant, you stuck close by Jason’s side. For his sanity and your own, the pair of you pulled away from the crowd to instead linger around the edges of the room. Still, despite your general avoidance of people, there were a few socialites that approached.
“A free clinic in crime alley is quite an interesting concept,” one woman claimed, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “You’re not worried about the type of people that would take advantage of that?”
Your smile remained perfectly composed; you’d expected pushback of this variety. “What is there to take advantage of? Everyone deserves access to medical care.”
“Well, sure, but you’re not from here. Once you spend some time in Crime Alley, you’ll understand why no one in their right mind would ever-”
“Ever what, exactly?” You were just as surprised by Jason’s interruption as the woman seemed to be. Undeterred by the sudden silence of the moment he continued, “I’m from there. I know exactly what Crime Alley is like. And as a kid who fought off every sickness and infection with nothing but my malnourished immune system, I can’t think of anything people out there need more than someone who’s willing to help. I got lucky,” he admitted truthfully, despite some of the darker layers to the sentiment, “When Bruce took me in, I got a chance at making a life for myself, and if I use that for anything other than doing right by the people that weren’t so lucky, then I’m wasting it.” Jason cleared his throat and straightened slightly, doing his best to dissolve the rage in his chest. Best behavior tonight, he tried to remind himself. You asked for best behavior, and now he’s here ready to rip someone’s head off for nonchalant classism.
The woman sputtered, eyes widened in shock, “W-Well- I, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just-”
“Just don’t have a full grasp of the situation,” you offered helpfully, “Much like you assumed I didn’t. But this is incredibly important to us, and if you’d like to understand why, then I’d love to have you on the team and show you how much something like this is going to help people.”
There was a heavy pause, and Jason began to worry that your attempt to smooth things over would be unsuccessful, but eventually the tension eased, and the woman in front of you seemed to come to a conclusion of her own. “I’d like that,” she said with a sobriety not previously present. “Can I give you my assistant’s details? Let me know when you’re ready to get started.”
Jason collected the business card she held out and pocketed it before dropping an arm around your waist, the gesture both protective and proud, and pulling you into his side. When you looked up at him, he used the brief moment of eye contact to nod in thanks for your ability to remain calm, even when he couldn’t, and salvage the situation. The smile you gave him in return was enough reassurance for him to comfortably take a full, slow breath.
“Almost done, love,” you reminded Jason as cocktail hour came to a close. “Just a dance or two and then we’re out of here.” He only nodded in response, jaw and shoulders tense, much as you’d expected them to be at this point. “Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m proud of you.”
That finally got him to look at you. Something warm grew in his chest, the feeling more common now than it ever had been before, but one he was still learning to be comfortable with. Jason clicked his tongue and broke the weighted eye contact with you, hoping his unease at the idea of having an emotional moment in public was covered by his snark when he asked, “What for?”
But you seemed to just ignore his attitude, just like you always did when you knew it was a front. “For dealing with all of this for so long, and for handling the people and cameras so well… and for not starting any fist fights with your brothers.”
Jason snorted at the last reason, definitely tacked on there at the end to lighten the situation back up. He chose to latch onto that lifeline, making a joke instead of allowing his eyes to grow misty. “There’s still time,” he offered with a shrug and a smirk. You shouldered him lightly in the side; he gently elbowed you back. I love you, too.
An announcement rang out that the dance floor should be cleared of anyone not wanting to participate, and the two of you stepped forward, hand in hand. As you turned to face Jason, you caught Bruce’s eye from across the room and could only smirk at the disdainful warning in his gaze. But his attempt at warding the pair of you off came too late, because as the music started, and the pair of you began to move, the camera flashes went off. It wasn’t every day the press had an opportunity to get pictures of the second Wayne son so enthusiastically participating in one of these events.
Jason didn’t dance. This was common knowledge. He would rather break both of his legs than have to stand in the middle of a crowded room being stared at while he fumbled through a song at Bruce’s command. But that was before he had you. You: who helped him practice and leaned into him like you trusted his every move and giggled when he messed up because you found him amusing, not because you enjoyed watching him fail. Now that he had you to dance with, he could almost enjoy it. He enjoyed practicing at home, where you let him lean too close, and let his hands wander a little, and where there weren’t vultures with cameras in couture waiting to see if he’d fuck up. Jason certainly liked this less, but he’d do it for you, and he was doing well so far as he could tell. He hadn’t stepped on your feet yet, at least.
“Do you want a break after this?” you asked, knowing that physically, Jason was just fine, but that his social batteries were running out and you would be calling it a night pretty soon.
He chuckled lowly in your ear, “Dying to get rid of me, or what?”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave away your lack of actual annoyance. “I’m just checking. Damian just offered to step in if you need a breather.”
“Oh, he offered? From all the way across the room?” His incredulous tone only furthered your amusement in the situation.
You nodded. “He just gave me the signal.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but kept his voice low when he questioned, “When the hell did you have time to come up with secret signals with my little brother?”
“I told you I was going to take care of everything, didn’t I? Do you want to take a break or not?”
He huffed a laugh and hung his head for a moment, never missing a step. “Yeah, actually, if that’s alright with you.”
“Of course, baby, it’s totally fine.” You shot Damian a look across the room and he nodded in understanding.
When the song ended, Damian appeared directly by your side. He offered a hand, as though expecting you’d wordlessly take it and the two of you would leave. Jason, however, seemed bothered by this.
“What, you’re not even going to ask?” he snapped, offended, despite having just agreed to this.
“It was already decided. No need for further discussion.” The teenager looked back to you expectantly.
Jason snorted, “I know everyone else gives you a free pass on social skills, brat, but you have to ask. It’s polite.”
“Tch.” Damian rolled his eyes so subtly that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already staring at his face. His gaze locked with yours for a moment, face twisted in a question of whether Jason could possibly be serious in this moment.
Your eyebrows scrunched together in the middle as you gave the slightest shrug with one shoulder. Just play the game, Damian. Your hopes that he could read the sentiment on your face seemed confirmed when he finally relented.
“May I take you for a dance.” The deadpan delivery of the statement made you chuckle; he wasn’t asking, he was performing formality, which was only further proven by the addition of, “Please,” dripping in irritated exasperation. You suspected that, had they not been at a gala in front of hundreds of people and the press, this interaction likely would have escalated. Still, it made you chuckle.
“I’ll take it.” You leaned over to kiss Jason on the cheek, then turned to Damian. “I should be so honored,” you said as you dropped your hand into his. “Thank you.”
It took a moment to find the right flow, because even being tall for his age, Damian was still shorter than Jason, and you had to adjust a little to match your steps to his as the boy began to lead you through the next dance. He certainly knew the steps better, you noticed; he wasn’t leaning further in like Jason did when his muscle memory got shaky. Damian did, however, flinch when another pair of dancers bumped him on the side as they brushed past. He ignored it. You weren’t going to.
“Oh, there it is.”
He scowled, and asked, “What?” in a tone that told you he already knew what you were about to bring up.
You shrugged and gave a noncommittal hum as you looked around the room for a moment. Then, as though sharing some kind of neighborly gossip over the mailbox, low and conspiratorial, you commented, “I was wondering how you could be completely unaffected by your stitches while doing all of this, but it would appear you are affected by it, just very good at hiding it.”
He did his best to look annoyed, though there was a flash of pride at the compliment you’d given him. “I’ve concealed worse injuries in far worse conditions.”
You nodded and made a sound of agreement. “Well, I appreciate you humoring me with this. Consider us even now, no need to-”
But Damian went stiff under where your hands rested against his shoulder and palm. “I’m not doing this to settle a debt,” he interrupted, matter of fact and leaving no room for argument. “Besides, if this was for that purpose, I’d owe you far more than a single dance as a diversion.”
That stopped you for a moment, though your feet kept moving on autopilot as you made an attempt at guessing his logic. Did he not view it as a transactional exchange? “Hey, Damian, do you-”
But you were cut off again. This time by a different voice; older, deeper, dripping with the charisma only a white man who’s rarely heard the word ‘no’ could have. It was the same tone Bruce would use when he was trying to charm all of Gotham through a camera lens. “May I cut in?”
When you looked up, your gaze fell upon none other than Oliver Queen. The ease of his smile was practiced, and almost imperceptibly fake, and alarm bells started going off in your head that this was the same stare you’d been feeling all evening. The hunter.
The man seemed undeterred by your hesitation, still yet to let go of Damian’s hand. He tried again. “It’s been a long time, Y/n, I’d love to catch up with a fellow Star City local.” Then, the hand not offered to you pulled up to rest over his heart in a display of performative ‘honesty.’ “Nothing untoward, I promise. Just… reconnaissance.”
To refuse him without good reason would be a snub, particularly given that you were already on the dance floor with a song in progress, and with all the cameras and people around, you simply couldn’t risk ruining all of your and Jason’s efforts to make the evening flawless. So, you put on a smile of your own, just as practiced, and said, “Of course,” before turning to Damian and hoping your eye contact and nod of gentle dismissal could communicate everything you needed it to. I can handle this; I’ll figure out what exactly he wants. And also, quieter, coming from a place in you that you didn’t want to acknowledge, please keep an eye on me. Just in case.
Damian nodded in return, polite and careful, though his eyes were narrowed just slightly as though to ask whether you were sure. Your smile softened into something more genuine at his care, but you dared not bring it up in public. Instead, you reassured, “I’ll make my way back after. Thank you for dancing with me, Damian.” Thank you for looking out for your brother and me.
“Anytime.” The boy nodded to you and to Oliver before he walked away.
There was a small chuckle that floated beside you before, “What a weird kid,” came out of your new company’s mouth just as he pulled you into the same rhythm of steps as before.
A protective flare in your chest made it to your mouth before you could stop it. “His entire social life outside of school is tutors and galas like this full of stuck-up adults that never care to ask about his interests. He’s allowed to be weird.” At least you still had enough of a filter not to swear.
“Hmm,” he hummed, almost sounding thoughtful. “So, I take it you have asked about the kid’s hobbies. Care to share with the class?”
Another red flag went up in your head at the interaction, why would he need to know? Your response was quickly delivered. “And give up my security clearance just because you and I grew up in the same zip code? Not a chance.”
For a moment, the expression on his face was unreadable; not because it was blank, but because there were so many layers, like a page written over and over again in different colors so that you’d need a set of color filters to begin to discern any of it. That’s why Bruce Wayne was such a difficulty for you, you realized; men like him were very good at becoming a blank slate. You’d grown up around men like Oliver Queen.
“I saw your impromptu press conference earlier,” he offered as a starting point. “How does it feel to come back from the dead?”
“Not all that different from when you did it, I would imagine.” You quipped without missing a step.
He chuckled through the word, “Touche. But I think being shipwrecked for five years is a little bit different that taking an emotional support gap year.”
You wrinkled your nose slightly, hoping to come off playful as you shot down his clear attempt at gleaning more information about your disappearance. “Sure, but grief does funny things to people.”
“It certainly does.” His response carried a tone like you’d just revealed something about yourself. “Is that why you chose the most crime ridden city in the country to move to?”
You tsked at him humorously. “I thought you said you’d seen my press conference. I didn’t choose Gotham. Gotham chose me.”
His eyes narrowed, nearly imperceptible if you hadn’t been looking for it, but it confirmed your suspicions exactly. He was asking pointed questions, and he was noticing you skirting around them. He seemed to choose a new approach.
“You know, I had every intention of investing in you after you graduated. It’s a shame you never finished.”
A huff of a laugh escaped you at the absurdity of the statement. “I might have stuck around, had I known. It’s such a shame how so many people like to announce their support for a cause only after it’s recovered. But I suppose it is much easier than backing it from the beginning and putting in the work, no?”
His attempt at looking bashful would have succeeded to anyone who hadn’t been watching since the start of the conversation. “Yeah, I guess you got me there.” He allowed a brief pause, giving room for you to breathe only long enough for a slight change in topic to be socially appropriate. “A lot of people were looking forward to seeing what miracles you’d accomplish as a doctor. Some even willing to overlook whatever you’d done to get there.”
Your hackles raised, even as you kept moving along to the song you knew was coming to a close soon. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you offered, doing your best to keep your face and tone of voice neutral, curious even.
But he pulled you into him farther, allowing his words settle quietly just above your ear when he questioned, “Are you still having a hard time finding samples for tissue tests, or did moving to a city where the police don’t care when people go missing fix that problem for you?”
You froze, body going eerily still just as the song ended. What?
Oliver pulled away from you, smug satisfaction all over his face when he announced, “I’m happy you came tonight, Y/n. You have no idea how pleased I am that I found you.”
You watched as the man walked away, heart beating like a hummingbird’s in your chest as your adrenaline spiked and your mind began to race, looking for any indication of what all he could possibly have known, and how. How the fuck did Oliver Queen know anything about that? Your records with the school had been expunged on your father’s dime to save his reputation, and even then, Alfred had removed every trace of everything else. So, how did he know? And more importantly, what did he plan to do with the information. Damian appeared seconds later.
“Y/n?” he called, clearly noticing your signs of distress. “What happened, are you alright?”
But it wasn’t Damian’s problem. You refused to add more to the plate of a teenager already carrying the world on his shoulders. “I’m fine,” you insisted. “Just haven’t seen Oliver since the last time my parents threw a fundraiser. It was…” and you hesitated then, looking for a word that could explain away your shakiness without having to explain where it came from. You settled on, “weird.”
Damian’s gaze grew skeptical. He didn’t believe you. But he didn’t push the issue any further. Instead, he asked, “Would you like another dance, or perhaps we could visit the refreshments table?”
Jason isn’t back yet, then, you noted. “I think a drink sounds lovely.” The smile you gave him was tense, but he seemed to accept it anyway and offered his arm to escort you.
You were only a few steps into the walk when the pair of you were stopped by a stranger.
“Care for a dance?” the man questioned, already reaching for you. He was clearly one of the guests invited for his ability to write a check at the end, if his clothing and entitlement were any indication.
Your physical dodge and verbal deflection were equally graceful. “I’m sorry, I’m actually stepping away right now for a drink, but I appreciate the offer.”
“I’m happy to keep you company in the meantime, then.” And he reached again for your unoccupied arm.
“I’m already in excellent company.” You pulled away from him less subtly this time, which meant pulling away from Damian’s grasp as well. Ther was no desire within you to be touched in any capacity by a stranger who looked at you like you’d been dropped at his feet for his pleasure. “And beyond that, I’m incredibly taken. You can take your efforts elsewhere.” Thinking that would be enough, you began to walk away, giving Damian a look to silently ask, “Can you believe him?” as he followed. Or, you were walking away, until a hand around your bicep stopped you.
“Well, unless it’s squirt here, I don’t see this guy around anywhere, so why don’t you and I just-”
And you were about to retort, loudly for that matter, but Damiam got to it first. With all the swiftness of the assassin he was raised to be, Damian snatched the man’s wrist and ripped it from your arm. “Are you an imbecile?” He questioned, with enough volume for a couple of nearby heads to turn. “She’s declined your offer. Twice. And you dare to touch her?”
You could see the pain the man was in, the rage in the teenager’s eyes, and the stares of more people tuning in to the situation. This was going to be bad if you didn’t deescalate. You dropped a hand to Damian’s shoulder, carefully squeezing enough to communicate your thanks whilst simultaneously requesting he release his grip before you addressed the man in front of you. “My boyfriend is handling some business, but he’ll be back soon. It would probably be best for you to be gone by the time that happens.”
The stranger, despite him just reclaiming his wrist, now rubbing the skin there in attempt to soothe it, still held his ground. “Business at one of these? Like he’s a Wayne or something?”
“Oh, so you do know him.” The smirk on your face matched the smugness of your tone as the man in front of you paled.
There was a slight tremor in his voice when he asked, “What?”
“Mhm, Jason Todd,” you offered with a nod.
And maybe just for the effect of it all, Damian added, “My brother.”
“What about me?”
You were sure the breath of relief you released was visible when Jason wrapped an arm around your waist from the place he took beside you. The smile on your face was much more genuine when you turned to your boyfriend to say, “I was explaining to this man that I don’t want to dance with him, one among many reasons being that I’m already spoken for.”
“Yeah, you are,” he answered with a prideful smile and pressed a kiss on your temple. “So why all the fuss?”
“He overstepped,” Damian answered for you, arms now crossed like he needed to stow away his hands lest he do something violent with them.
Jason’s demeanor darkened, then, and the stranger before you shrunk back when your boyfriend glowered down at him. “Excuse me?”
“Damian corrected him,” you explained, choosing the words carefully as you planted a hand on Jason’s chest. “And it’s resolved now. Right?” you asked, directing the sharper toned question to the man still standing shakily before you.
“Right.” And the man walked away as quickly as he could with what little remained of his ego.
“So, we can go,” you offered without skipping a beat, now fully turning into Jason’s grasp.
It wasn’t subtle the way Jason checked you out before asking, “Go where?”
There was a soft gagging noise to your side, followed directly by, “Disgusting.”
“You’ll be like this too when you’re older, brat. Thanks for keeping an eye on her.”
Jason’s attempt at ruffling Damian’s hair was smacked away by the teenager. “Unlikely.”
And though he didn’t acknowledge Jason’s thanks, your silent mouthing of the words “thank you” when no one else was looking were met with a solemn nod from the boy. After Damian walked away, you laid your head on Jason’s shoulder, following his lead in swaying to the music, not truly dancing, but trying not to create a dead zone in the near-center of the dance floor. Your breath fanned against his neck when you softly asked, “Take me home?”
Jason did everything in his power not to let out an audible noise at the sensation. He wanted nothing more than to take you home, but, “I thought you were having fun?”
“I was,” you answered truthfully, “But then Oliver Queen and whoever that asshole was, happened. And now I’m done.”
Jesus, he went out to get air for like five minutes, what the fuck happened while he was gone? But it’s not like Jason needed convincing anyway, so he agreed with a chuckle. “Okay, Sweetheart, let’s get you out of here,” like he hadn’t been itching to leave since the moment the pair of you arrived.
Neither of you felt any overwhelming need to bid farewell to Bruce, so instead you gave goodbyes and hugs (where welcomed) to Jason’s siblings and loved ones as you walked through the hall toward the coat check. You kept a steady grip on Jason as the two of you moved through the space, and while he didn’t mind, he did note the behavior as something to bring up in the car. Once the valet had brought Jason’s car, still a baffling degree of nice, in your opinion, he opened the door for you, pressing a kiss to your temple before you sat down and he closed the door behind you. The next few steps of the process; Jason getting in, starting the car, pulling out of the venue’s long drive, were performed in relative silence. It wasn’t until the two of you were officially on the road home that Jason breached the quiet.
“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?”
You sighed, the remnants of all the emotions washing over you again, despite the way they’d faded in the safety of Jason’s presence. “Oliver Queen knows something. About my past, and everything Alfred got rid of,” You clarified, realizing your initial statement was far too vague.
“What?” Jason snapped, tension bleeding through him. “What did he say? How did he-”
“He cut in while I was dancing with your brother. Kept asking questions to pry, trying to get me to slip and admit something to him, I think. And then right as the song was ending he accused me of moving to Gotham so I’d have an easier time illegally finding organs. I don’t even know how he’d know about the incident from college, there wasn’t ever an official record of it.”
Jason’s jaw twitched and he nodded with finality, a decision being made. “I’ll do some research. And the other guy?”
That one made you laugh. “Hit on me. Poorly. And then wouldn’t back off and tried to grab me, so Damian protected me.” You shook your head good-naturedly as a small smile crept onto your features. “He’s a really good kid.”
True, Jason thought. But he had a certain duty as an elder brother, particularly having known Damian the longest. “Don’t go telling him that shit, his ego’s big enough as it is.” That made you laugh, and something loosened in Jason’s chest. You were okay; you’d just been shaken up and were done dealing with people. Of all the surprises Jason had made an effort to mentally prepare for, from Bruce making a scene, to a violent crime taking place, and everything in between, Oliver Queen having dirt on you wasn’t one he saw coming.
There was a piece of Jason that worried, much like he assumed you likely were, about what exactly Queen planned to do with that information. But he hadn’t made a scene tonight, and even if he tried to release some kind of statement, there’d be no way to back up his claims, not with everything Alfred had done to protect you, not without having to reveal his own unsavory methods of having found out such a thing. So, for now, all Jason could do was try to gather as much information about the man as he could. He’d start tomorrow. And as far as the other guy was concerned, well… none of Gotham’s elite were perfect saints when you looked through their financial books long enough. He’d find something; the GCPD would probably have an anonymous tip by the end of the week.
You could see the wheels turning in Jason’s head as he formulated his plan to deal with everything. And while you could try to stop him, maybe even should lest he go overboard in defense of you, you knew Jason would simply wait you out and do he felt necessary while you were busy with other things. And besides, who were you to stop him when even just his presence began to soothe you the moment he found you again. Who were you to stop him when the moment you’d told him what happened, all of the weight of it fell off your shoulders because you knew it would be taken care of, that Jason would take care of you, protect you. You loved him for that. For the way he made you feel so safe, and secure, and loved. A bashful smile formed over your features, cheeks heating slightly as you resolved to start the lead-up to Jason’s surprise now instead of waiting until you got home. You used the current topic of conversation to start.
“You know… I thought the matching outfits would have been enough of an announcement. I guess some men really can’t help but try for things that belong to someone else.”
The entire train of thought Jason was putting together screeched to a halt on its rails at your words. It could have been nothing, but your words felt intentional, so he did his best to keep his tone neutral when he asked, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I mean I told that guy I was in a relationship, and he kept going. That fact that he even thought he had a chance compared to you is insane.”
Jason smirked, despite himself. He knew for a fact now that you were stroking his ego intentionally, though he’d yet to glean your purpose. “Careful, Sweetheart, we still have a few minutes before we get home.”
“Careful of what, Jay?” you asked, tone as innocent as you thought you could believably make it. Jason shot you a brief look from the driver’s seat that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. You kept going anyway. “All I’m saying is he had to have known, right? I’m hanging off your arm almost all night and then the moment I’m not next to you he shows up? Like I’d rather be anywhere else?” The car started moving a little faster. So, it’s working. You let out a mildly dramatic sigh. “I mean really he was just wasting his own time, but I’d rather not have to deal with it at all. Maybe if I just start wearing your name across my shoulder blades when we go out like on a jersey or something.”
Jason’s breath caught in his throat. He never got to play sports at a level where his own name would have been on his uniform, but the idea of it? Of you walking around with “Todd” right there on your back, labeling yourself as his with enough pride in it to let everyone see? Fuck, he was going to have to marry you someday.
You glanced to the side as subtly as possible and immediately you could see he was getting hard. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” you questioned playfully.
The man’s grip was near bone-white on the steering wheel. “Mhm.”
“Careful, baby, you don’t want to ruin the nice new suit.”
“And whose fault would it be!?”
The moment you were home and Jason had the door shut behind him, you were over his shoulder with no care for the formal wear you were both still adorned in.
“Jason!” you shrieked through surprised laughter. You knew you’d worked him up, but this was more than you expected.
He walked straight to the bedroom and with no hesitation or warning, threw you down on the bed. There was almost a half-hearted shout of indignity from you, but then Jason was over you, lips pressing against your own, and every argument died in your throat. Well, almost every argument.
“Shoes!” you insisted, barely able to break away and create enough space to talk. “Get our shoes, I don’t want them on the bed, mn,” you were interrupted by another kiss. “Jay, please, baby-”
He let out an exasperated groan against your mouth, forehead falling to yours for a moment before he slid away from you. Jason stood up and stared down at you while he took his own shoes off by muscle memory. Then, he dropped to his knees, and you propped yourself up on your elbows so you could watch as he carefully picked up your foot, pressing kisses along your ankle and calf as his fingers nimbly unfastened your shoe. He repeated those ministrations with your other leg as he removed the other shoe, then the kisses began to creep higher, Jason pushing fabric out of the way to have access to more of your skin.
For a moment, you let yourself revel in the feeling, but the moment Jason got too close to the apex of your thighs, you stopped him. “Wait!” You commanded, fingers threading through his hair and using the grip to pull him away.
A moan slipped from Jason’s mouth as he sat back from his place on his knees. He continued to stare up at you with a smirk, looking ready to eat you alive. “What is it, Sweetheart?”
You took a few more breaths, trying to slow the heaving of your chest. Then, slowly, you stood up, Jason on his knees in front of you. “I have a surprise for you.”
Jason’s eyebrows raised a little. “Oh? Was it not the outfit and the teasing and the privilege of touching you?”
You gave a pleased hum in response alongside your smile; he really was so good at making you feel like the only suitable subject of his every desire. “Under the clothes, handsome.” And Jason’s hands trailed up to sit on your thighs, his weight shifting like he was getting ready to stand, at least until one of your hands dropped to his shoulder. “No, no, you stay there,” you instructed, knowing he was already in the perfect place for this, eye-level with your hips. Slowly, after he nodded, you pulled your hand away from him to instead begin carefully, slowly, undressing yourself.
He watched with unabashed awe and hunger, fingers twitching against his own thighs as he fought against the urge to touch you. Your bra, he realized as it was revealed, was a more vibrant red than the fabric it was hidden beneath. It was delicate and thin enough that he could see the way your nipples had hardened beneath it, whether in anticipation of in reaction to more of your skin being exposed, he wasn’t sure. For a moment, he wondered if your underwear would match, and his eyes drifted lower to trace the movement of your hands as you revealed more to him. And it did match, not that he noticed. Because as soon as the band across the top of the garment was exposed, Jason’s entire brain shut down.
A small giggle escaped you when you noticed the way Jason’s attention zeroed in. You’d known, given his possessive side, that wearing underwear with his name embroidered on them might get a reaction, but this stillness, the way he stared, it felt like the calm before a massive storm.
The black of Jason’s eyes had nearly taken over the green by the time he looked up at you. His breathing was heavy but controlled, and his teeth were clenched hard enough for you to see the flex of it at his temple.
“Jay?” you questioned softly, trying to maintain your own composure under the heat of his gaze. “What’s on your mind?”
His answer was itself a question asked abruptly. “Do you remember our safe word?”
“Gummy bear,” you responded, goose bumps forming over your skin in anticipation.
“And if you can’t say it?”
“Three hard taps.”
He nodded, more to himself than to you; he’d needed the reassurance because, “You’re going to need to tell me when to stop tonight, or I’m not going to.”
Another shiver ran over you. Still, you challenged, “Try me.”
Jason’s mouth was on yours immediately. In a single second he was standing up, body pressed to yours, one hand on the back of your neck to keep your lips attached to his, the other on your hip to keep the rest of your body from pulling away. You were his. He already knew that. But seeing you announce it like you did tonight, with so much pride having him on your arm, turning down advances of other men because he was what you wanted, and finding out now that you’d done it all with his name on your pelvis like a fucking ‘reserved’ sign? He was harder than he had been maybe ever in his life. He backed you up, knowing there was precious little space for you to go before you’d be forced to fall to the bed. When you did, he went with you, using his hips to pin yours down beneath him, lips still refusing to depart from your own for any longer than it took to replenish his oxygen supply.
Normally, Jason was exceptionally careful with you, but in this moment, he was far too distracted to consider whether his grip would be too much for your skin. Instead, he was focused on the marks he was leaving on your neck and chest as you worked to undress him. The moment his shirt was open and he felt your hands brush against the exposed skin of his abdomen, Jason knew he was too worked up to give you any freedom to tease. He snatched your hands away, capturing them both above your head in one of his own. His other hand trailed downward, dragging over your skin and teasing over the edges of the pretty red fabric with his name on it before ultimately deciding he could do everything he needed to without even taking them off you. He wanted to be buried so deep inside of you that you’d feel him in your lungs, but he needed to make sure you could comfortably take it first. Even as desperate as he was, he refused to hurt you like that.
An exhale turned into a moan as you felt Jason’s fingers plunge into you. Two of them, if the familiar stretch was anything to go by.
“Fuck, you’re already soaked.”
You smirked to yourself at just how wrecked he sounded, but the expression quickly fell open as he began to curl his fingers. The speed at which you began to feel the coil in your core tighten told you Jason was on a mission. Once you were accommodated to the stretch, you were able to settle a little, able to slow down the building of the heat in your core. But Jason seemed to sense your relief, and took it away just as fast with the addition of another finger, another drag of his fingertips over your g-spot and you came with a surprised shout of his name.
Jason couldn’t stop though. “More,” he barely managed to get out before he was using your hips as leverage to slide you up the bed enough to slot himself between your legs, thighs thrown over his shoulders, red underwear pulled to the side.
“Jason, wait I- Hah!” Your protests were silenced the moment Jason dove into you tongue first, searching for the evidence of your previous orgasm. Your hands immediately found a home in his hair, tugging at his scalp, though to pull him closer or to push him away, you weren’t sure. It was too much too fast; he hadn’t even given you a break. But you felt the pressure of another orgasm begin to build again anyway, and soon your hips were moving in time with the way his tongue lapped at you. It only took another few moments, Jason’s enthusiasm apparently making him even more capable than he already was, and your grip in his hair became ruthless as you used it to anchor you to the moment. “Jay, fuck, I’m almost there.”
He hummed in response to let you know he’d heard you, then adjusted slightly to use his nose to stimulate your clit while he continued to tongue-fuck you. He felt it the moment your high hit you again. He felt the way you clenched around his tongue, the way the rest of your body began to shake, but he needed more. Jason pushed two fingers into you again, and moved to focus his oral efforts on your clit, licking and sucking at it until he heard you shriek.
“No, hang on- I just- wait just- wait- I can’t- I’m gonna- Jason FUCK-”
It wasn’t until you locked up, whole body curled around him as much as you were able to while still in his grip, and you squirted all over his face that Jason finally let up for a moment. He pulled away, chest heaving almost as much as yours as the two of you attempted to catch your breath.
“Jay, that was-”
“I’m not done.”
Your gaze snapped up to meet his, and his eyes were no less hungry. Movement drew your eyeline down to where his hands were working his pants the rest of the way open, having been left half undone by your earlier efforts. His boxer-briefs had a big enough wet spot for you to question whether he’d come alongside you, but when he removed those too, and he still looked painfully erect, you had your answer.
You’d thought he’d take the panties off you, unwilling to ruin them, but it seems you were wrong, that he was happy to have the garment involved in the moment just as much as it was in the preamble. He only pulled the gusset to the side again as he lined himself up to your entrance, lips locking with your own before he pushed inside you.
Jason groaned into your mouth at the feel of you around him. He knew he was sensitive, but there was no way he was going to last like this. There was a part of him worried about that, but it was quickly overshadowed by his need to chase the feeling, and he did. He listened to the chorus of your moans, already overwhelmed by his pace, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t slow down, not when you felt this incredible around him. I’m coming, he thought vaguely, but it wasn't enough to get his hips to slow down, and the sensation of fucking his own cum into you was even better than it had been before, so he kept going, still hard as he had been for the last thirty minutes.
The decrease in friction and increase in squelching noises was what clued you in more than anything; Jason’s rhythm hadn’t even faltered.
“Did you just-”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still hard?”
“Yes.” And still, there was no break in his pace.
“Fuck, okay.”
You did your best to mentally prepare for the marathon this was shaping up to be, but your brain was already fuzzy after three orgasms; you couldn’t imagine it was going to get any easier to keep a hold on reality. But honestly? Jason would take care of you. He always did. So maybe just lean all the way in and enjoy it.
-
You woke up sore. Can’t tell if you’ve effectively scrunched your toes when you tried, type of sore. A groan escaped you, and not a moment later a shadow fell between you and the sunlight floating through the bedroom windows.
“Hey,” Jason greeted softly, stretching the word out like he was worried too blunt a ‘hello’ might have made your condition worse. “Good morning, Sweetheart.”
Soft light touched your eyelids again and you did your best to open them, though the effort was slow. Once your eyes were open, you found Jason crouched carefully at the side of the bed in front of you. He was so pretty in the morning light, and you wanted to reach for him, but the muscles in your arm protested enough that you remained immobile. Apparently breathing was the only movement that didn’t hurt at least a little, and Jason must have seen it.
He tsked at your failed start. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart, I went way too-”
And you tried to interrupt, to reassure, “No, it-” but there was a hoarseness to your voice that made you pause to cough around it.
Jason was quick to help you sit upright, shouldering your entire upper body weight like he hardly noticed the extra, sitting beside you as he offered a glass of water from the nightstand. You drank gratefully from the glass he held to your lips, and once you were done, you let your head rest against his shoulder as you took a steadying breath. “Jay,” you tried again, finding that your voice came easier to you after the water, “thank you for last night.”
He looked at you absolutely flabbergasted. “Thank me? I should be thanking you, I mean Christ I lost count of how many- you know what? It doesn’t matter, you’re hurt, and I shouldn’t have-”
“Jason.” It was firmer this time, and your boyfriend’s mouth closed immediately. “I am sore, not hurt. It’s not the same. It can’t be like that every time, but I had an amazing time last night, consequences be damned.”
He huffed in disbelief. “How are you real? And how the fuck did I get this lucky?”
You chuckled from your place resting on his shoulder. “Don’t call yourself lucky yet, I’m not walking today.”
“So just to recap, I’m the luckiest man alive and I’ll carry you wherever you need to go today. Deal?”
You laughed at his antics but agreed anyway. “Deal.”
“I was about to run you a bath and then wake you up when it was ready. Do you want to get some more rest or do you want to come with me while I put it together?” he asked, and your heart swelled.
Of course you were getting princess treatment after last night, not that he’d ever call it that. “Take me with you?”
He nodded at your request, then adjusted his position so he’d be able to scoop you up out of the bed. Once you were secure in his arms, Jason carried you to the ensuite and set you gently on the bench just outside the tub. He did his best not to flinch at the view of the purple marks all over your skin, some from his teeth, some from his fingers. Normally, he would have enjoyed them, enjoyed seeing the proof of your activities on you the next day, but this was too much.
You noticed. Of course you did. And the reason for his souring mood wasn’t hard to glean. “Jay, please look at me.” He was very careful to keep his eyes on yours when he finally complied. “I’m okay.” You could see the doubt in him though, so you pushed, “I promise you I’m alright. I never asked you to stop because I didn’t want you to, and I know you’re going to take care of me, aren’t you.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Jason jumped to reassure you anyway. “Always.”
“Then I’m good. And the only thing I need right now is for you to get in this tub with me, so I don’t have to clean up by myself.”
A soft smile, a little sleepy and so full of love, crossed his features. “Yes ma’am. And I’ll make breakfast and massage your legs after.”
tags: ASPD! reader, assassin/mercenary reader, smut, casual sex, canon typical violence, fake relationship (at first), eventual romance, childhood trauma, reader is Chris' little sister, Auggie Smith is a pile of garbage
🎯 ----
I wish you joy and happiness. But above all of this, I wish you love...
A dingy basement was where you awoke, back tied to a chair by cable rope, weapons stripped from your costume, Peacemaker and Vigilante sat beside you.
From their faint breaths, you could tell that they hadn’t yet stirred.
Perfect time to murder your brother? Checking the bottom of your right heel, sure enough your captor hadn’t found the hidden knife. Sloppy work, making sure you didn’t move anything but your eyes, you checked the room.
No sign of Senator Goff or that little green karate man.
If you were to lean back on the chair, you'd gain enough leverage to stab into the right vein on his leg and let Chris bleed out to death. Maybe you'd get lucky and Adrian would only wake up after he'd died and you could lie that it was Goff.
Then again why the hell did you care if Adrian knew or not? You had no real attachment to him.
“Come in Precision!” A garbled voice spoke over the comms in your busted helmet. It was Rick, as if this situation couldn't get any worse.
“Can't talk right now.” You muttered back to the comms but it pittered away, broken.
“You're awake? Oh thank goodness!” Vigilante gasped beside you. To your surprise he'd been sitting entirely still, not unconscious like you'd assumed.
Regretfully your window was gone and the knife slipped back into your heel.
“I'm awake too. This fucking sucks.” Chris stated the obvious. He stared at you, eyes glimmering with some sentiment you'd no doubt find pointless.
“But hey, if we don't get out of this and wind up dead I have to ask. Why did you up and leave me and dad like that?” His question somewhat surprised you.
What reason wouldn't you have for leaving? It's not as if you were wanted in that house.
“I thought that was fairly obvious Chris.” You replied, only to be met with his confused, upset, annoyingly square face.
Internally rolling your eyes at your dumbass brother you sighed. He always did need everything spoonfed to him.
“I hated living under that roof with him. Following his orders.” You explained, focusing on the flashing lightbulb at the basement roof. “Killing for him.”
“We didn’t kill for him! We killed for the United States of America! Government jobs, deep undercover stuff like we are doing now. It’s all in the file.” Chris snarled at you, eyes wild and desperate for the words he was spewing to be true.
“Uh-huh, yeah all of those jobs were definitely covert operations performed in the name of the world's best interests. You’re right. I’m wrong. Like always. Hope that helps you sleep at night big bro.”
“Sorry to ruin the family reunion.” A sharp voice cut through the air, and Senator Goff was standing before the trio, a kit of fun tools at his disposal.
Chris tried bartering and intimidating their captor to no avail while Adrian reassured you that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to you.
“Too late for that don't you think? I'm already tied up.” You sighed.
Swinging a pair of pliers around, Goff surmised his options. “I think torturing the female might get the information quicker.” Goff supposed.
“I don’t give a fuck about my sister! She’s a total psychopath- do your worst.” Chris huffed.
Typical.
“No, don't take me instead!" Adrian shouted desperately but was flatly ignored.
“Very well, let’s begin.” Goff shrugged, turning back to you.
Tearing off the Precision mask he was met with two cold dead eyes. You'd give him nothing just like in all of your training.
Your glove was drawn roughly away and a set of rusted pliers shoved underneath a fingernail.
Twisting, the nail was wrenched, Chris and Adrian’s eyes widening in fear as it was hanging on by a thread of sinew. But you sat by, staring into Goff’s eyes, not willing to give him the satisfaction.
“You think wrong.” You replied through gritted teeth. This was nothing compared to the torture Auggie had put you through.
True amateur hour over here by the alien wearing a meat suit.
“Damn that's hardcore.” Chris admitted.
“No please stop, don’t torture her, torture me instead!” Adrian begged, shaking his head wildly. “Don’t fucking hurt her!”
Meanwhile your coward of a brother shook his head with a smirk. “Yeah get those two, I'll never break do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Very well, let’s try the loud annoying one next then.” Goff, tired of his whining and your noncompliance, turned to Vigilante, tearing off his helmet.
Adrian started to make stupid expressions to try and cover his identity. He truly was the dumbest man alive.
Jumper cables were hooked up to Adrian's crotch, the sight exciting you. One or two jolts in, Adrian tried to brave it but began to wince. Then he began to have his pinkie toe sawn, an annoying wail leaving his lungs.
“Your torture tools are dull as fuck dude!” He yelped, straining uselessly against the corded restraints. “Please not my pinkie toe that's like the most important one for balance!”
“Will you tell me now that your friend is crying out for your help?” Goff turned to Chris who yawned.
“I won't give up any information. He can take it.” Chris stated, puffing out his chest. Adrian stared back at his so-called best friend in utter disbelief.
“How about you?” Goff tried his luck with you this time.
Honestly you enjoyed watching Adrian like this, his face patched with sweat, blood trickling down his nose. Vigilante, unmasked, dethroned, completely debased, jumper cables hooked up to his balls, put in his rightful place made to grovel like a dog…
You were glad that you were a woman and the lust you felt in this moment was hidden in the recesses of your mind. A nice risque snapshot for you to think upon later when you got out of here.
“Oh Pris, you're speechless and staring at me, she's in total shock. It'll be okay my gorgeous girlfriend, this won't stop me!” Vigilante reassured you, wonderful tears blinking down his cheeks now.
If you got your way you'd lick them off and make him beg for forgiveness. Just as he started to form the words you'd shock him again, shove a rag on his mouth to get some amazing, unfettered silence. Holy shit you had to calm down right now or your chair would become a slip n slide.
“Right, yes, shock. That's the word for it.” You replied flatly, crossing your thighs best you could in the confines of rope.
Chris stared at you squirming in your seat questioningly but thankfully an explosion made a fine distraction. Murn and the rest of the team had broken through and it gave ample opportunity for you to break free with the hidden knife.
There was a moment you contemplated the odds, stab Chris in the neck, Adrian in the chest, leave Goff to the others and book it. But that seemed unwise. They were A.R.G.U.S. operatives who would come after you know, this had to be done the smart way.
With a sigh you undid your own and Chris' ropes, stabbed Goff in the back, reeling back when there was a guttural screech from the man. To the amazement of you three, a blue butterfly ripped out of the man's mouth and floated in the air.
But that was short lived as the explosion set off a chain reaction, Chris shoving you out of the way. You fell into Adrian's arms, still bound to the ceiling that untethered upon colliding with you and the ground.
“Chris?!” You shouted amongst the rubble and dust. Why had he done that? Risked himself like that for you of all people?
“Guys, I think we used way too much of that explosive stuff…” Adebayo shouted from the top of the stairs and another rumble of the foundations agreed.
“He's okay!” Adrian told you, helping you stand up and pulling you away from the wreckage.
“What?” You asked, the whole world was going numb, there was too much noise to make anything out. You were having a complete sensory overload.
“Chris is okay! He's right behind us.” Adrian shouted louder this time and you realised he was getting you to safety.
You'd frozen entirely and without him might've been crushed by the collapsing building. “He's okay.” You repeated, looking over your shoulder there Chris was hobbling behind.
“I'm okay.” Chris gave you a goofy smile, covered in grime, blood and dusted concrete.
“Okay.” You replied coldly and sat in the van, staring out the window trying to figure out what had happened back there.
Losing your edge would get you killed. What the fuck were you even doing?
“I'm never going to be able to walk normally ever again!” Adrian bemoaned, resting his head up against your shoulder for sympathy.
“Then don't.” You pushed him away.
“Some bedside manner you've got there.” Chris scoffed, eyeing you curiously. He could tell there was something off about you, but he didn't know what exactly.
John pulled the van up to drop everyone out at the HQ for some well needed recuperation.
“Why did you do that?” You asked quietly to Chris before getting out of the van.
“Do what?” He raised a quizzical brow.
“Try to save me. That was pointless and nearly got you killed. I would have been fine!” You snapped at him venomously, the others overhearing likely from outside but you didn't care.
“Because you're still my sister.” Chris replied, his gaze troubling you.
“Exactly, that's going to get you killed someday.” You murmured, expecting him to recoil but instead he smiled.
Like something was on your face.
“I get why your nickname is Strawberry now!” Adrian cooed, poking his head back into the van. “Your face is so cute and red when you can't hide that you're angry.”
“Isn't it?” Chris chuckled, then fell silent.
Wordlessly you exited the van and stormed off, and neither of them were game to try and follow you from the livid expression you gave.
That night you tried to relax, take your mind off things by playing some calming video games. Bloodborne was a favorite of yours, but the stupid chiming of your phone going off from Rick interrupted the zen flow you were trying to achieve.
“What?” You answered curtly.
“I'm the one who asks that. What the fuck happened in there?” Rick snapped.
“Aliens are invading.” You replied, phone tucked under your neck as you wrestled won't the controller. “Ever seen invasion of the body snatchers?”
“When aren't they? I don't give a shit. I want Peacemaker dead. Now, do you have an in or not?” Rick demanded.
“I have an in and I'll do you one better. He tried to save my life tonight.” You clicked your tongue in frustration as the boss fight was not going well.
“Glad to hear it. The longer this drags on, the more tabs I need to put on you. By the way, red is a real good colour on you there.” Rick laughed when the line went silent.
You exhaled sharply, staring around the room until you spotted the bug. “Pot plant.”
“One of many.” Rick couldn't hide the impressed tone to save his life.
Continuing to look around your apartment you kept calling out to him. “Bookshelf. Microwave. Back window. Closet. Diploma. Counter. Medicine cabinet.” Finally you strolled into your bedroom and laid down on the mattress. “Finally, bed post. Kinky.”
There was a pause on the other end and some muffled swearing as Rick told off his incompetent crew.
“Sweet dreams, Precision.” Rick sang to you with a grating chuckle. He still had the upper hand.
You answered him by hanging up and smashing the obvious placed bug at your bed frame.
The next morning you woke up with a nice spring in your step. Bandaging the wound at your torn nail bed, the disinfectant stung pleasantly, a reminder you were truly alive.
It was a good day. Your father was in jail after all. And you were going to pay him a visit. While originally it had been Rick's idea to mess with you, perhaps you could make the most of the experience.
Taunting him while trapped like a rat in a cage? You could think of worse past times. Dressing up in your best visiting Daddy in prison outfit, the plan was simple.
Tell Auggie the number he should make for his one call. Rick's cell. Then make fun of the old geezer before sauntering out of there. Rick was a sick puppy wanting further information on Chris from their father to use as blackmail. But whatever.
However when you got to the visitor phone booth, the one with the shit eating grin wasn't you but Auggie.
“So you've got a boyfriend?” Auggie greeted you, making your blood freeze over.
“Where did you hear that?” You rolled your eyes, he hadn't seen you in years and those was his first words to you?
“Yeah, he's in isolation here. Adrian.” Auggie laughed when he saw your eyes widen in recognition.
“Stupid fucker tried to get me to fight him. Have to say that dorky cunt can give a spin kick. Got a few of my guys good.” He had that malicious look you recalled numerous times from your childhood.
Auggie was going to kill Adrian if he stayed in here. On the off chance that you did actually care about Adrian. To teach you a lesson for betraying him.
You recited Rick's phone number, finger tapping at your thigh to try and keep collected.
“What's that?” Auggie scoffed.
“A phone number, call it or don't.” You replied, slamming the phone.
Meanwhile Adrian was sitting in an individual cell, which was nice because he really needed to pee and couldn't do it with the gang banger who kept staring at him.
Sighing partly in relief and in sadness, pants around his ankles, Adrian lamented his morning.
An hour or so previously, he had tried to kill that Nazi asshole for you and Chris once and for all but had failed.
It had been going so well too, he got their attention instantly, sitting at the table of Neo-Nazis trying to bond with them.
"Speaking of sister fucking, I also fucked someone's sister. But it wasn't from my own family tree!” Adrian announced, grinning around the table but no takers yet.
“No, it was Christopher Smith, Peacemaker's sister! I heard that her father Auggie is here and I wanted to make a formal introduction." He continued to yell and finally met his mark.
“Who the fuck are you?” Auggie stood up from his chair, eyeing Adrian up and down, a cold assessment calculating in his mind.
"Hey there, great to meet you pops. I'm Adrian, your soon to be son in law." Adrian grinned, hand outstretched.
"I don't fucking think so pal." Auggie chuckled darkly at him.
"Your daughter seems to think so, she loves choking on my above average sized penis! Blowjobs are like her favorite thing to do for me..." Adrian crudely motioned down to his crotch.
While he hated speaking of you that way as a staunch feminist, he had to rile up your father.
Auggie's eye twitched but he gave no other indication of irritation.
Setting the pitch for his own voice a couple registers deeper and your voice several higher, Adrian continued, "I'm always like woah babygirl can we do something other than fellatio for a change and she's like noooo wayyyy daddyyy I loveee deep throating youuuu!"
He went to simulate some fellatio choking charades but suddenly a firm tattooed hand was gripping his shoulder.
That was when the spin kick came into play and Adrian dispatched the goons. But Auggie wouldn't fight him and the guards dragged Adrian away to isolation.
“Chase, Adrian. You have a visitor.” The prison guard shouted through his cell bars.
“Okay, I'm nearly done tinkling!” Adrian called back with a wave.
Assuming it was one of his buddies to come pick him up, Adrian was floored when he saw you sitting on the other side of the protective glass.
Dashing to grasp the phone, he couldn't wait to hear your dulcet tone.
“Adrian. What in the fuck are you doing here?” You hissed at him through the phone.
“Oh my gosh! My beautiful girlfriend is here, is this my conjugal visit?” Adrian asked hopefully, pressing his hand up against the glass.
Pinching your brow in frustration, you snapped back at him. “No. I was here to speak to my father. He told me you introduced yourself as his future son in law?!”
“Yeah, so I threw a bin at a window. But that was all just a clever ploy to get in here and kill your father.” Adrian explained without really explaning anything at all. It was a real talent of his.
“You were trying to kill him?” Your eyes widened at that.
“Yeah he's not a good guy! Total racist and now that he thinks Chris did this he's gonna want revenge. Also your dad is a sexist pig, I mean that tiny room of yours was so depressing…I'm sorry are you mad at me?”
“Shut up. Stop talking.” You snapped at him. “What's your bail set to?”
It was a measly sum of money to you, forking it over to the bonds office, Adrian was released in a manner of minutes.
“Get in the car.” You told him gruffly when he wandered outside, already starting up the engine.
“Where are we going?” Adrian asked, admiring the fancy leather seats of your Lexus.
“My place.” You replied tensely gripping the steering wheel.
“What for?” He cocked his head to the side.
The entire drive was in silence.
“You're mad with me aren't you?” Adrian pestered you on the way up the elevator to tell him what was wrong. You were staring at him, eyes murderously cold.
“Sit down.” You ordered him sternly, pointing to the couch.
“Please don't break up with me.” He whimpered, and you told him to shut up.
Then to Adrian's utter shock you unbuckled his belt and sank right between his thighs.
“Ohhh fuck…I can't believe you're uhh doing this for me!” Adrian moaned, watching you on your knees, bobbing your head up and down.
The flat of your tongue lapped at his shaft with such a fervent ministration it was making Adrian's head spin.
Giving him a blow job was your idea, hearing that Adrian wanted to kill your father was insanely hot. Also this would help you manipulate him even further.
Besides you still had the comms set up so likely Rick was listening in. Perfect revenge for making you talk to that piece of shit, two birds with one stone.
“Trust me I can't either. Don't ruin the moment. Or I'll bite it off.” You warned him.
“You're so good at this…” Adrian whined, a shaky hand going out to reach for your head.
“Hands behind your back.” You ordered him and he snapped them away immediately.
“O-of course…ahhh oh thank you! You're the best girlfriend ever…” He sang your praises when you took him deeper down your throat.
Adrian couldn't help himself but babble the further you went. “It's ohh wow like I willed this into the universe…when I lied and told your dad and all those neo-nazis that you loved to suck my dick!” He shouted, trying to not buck his hips forward.
Upon hearing that, you spat out his cock with a wet popping sound.
“You what?” Any lust you had for him had instantly dried up like the Sahara Desert.
“I was playing a role! You know acting, trying to get him riled up so I could beat his ass and kill him. But your dad didn't take the bait.” He explained with a dumass laugh.
“Adrian.” You glared daggers at him, wanting to will them into existence and stick him like a pin cushion.
“Yes, my prettiest girlfriend in the whole entire world?” He grinned back at you.
“Zip your pants up before I make you wish that your balls had been completely fried from that car battery.” With that you stood up and went to wash your mouth out in the kitchen.
“Sure! Thanks for the dick sucking. I liked it way better when you did it, less slimy and your lips felt so good…” Adrian whistled away unbothered, checking out your living room. Then he came across something that gave him pause.
“Woah you have a shit ton of consoles!”
“Yeah I do.” Nodding, you were internally screaming at yourself.
Why the fuck had you let him into your place? Now he knew where you lived! Such a pathetic impulse you'd acted upon dragging him back here and for what?
Now this goofy motherfucker was trying to set up your game cube and play Donkey Kong. Digging through your assortment of games, he went into another cabinet.
“Woah what's this thingy? Is it a microphone for karaoke?” Adrian asked, twirling the stick around in his hands.
“It's a vibrator.” You rolled your eyes at his naivety.
“Oh for your back muscles? I could use it on you.” He grinned, innocently flicking the switch.
When it violently shook and fell out his hands Adrian was flummoxed. “That doesn't feel very soothing.”
You laughed at that, picking the toy up, “Oh it can be. I'll show you?”
“Sure!” Adrian was none the wiser.
The tiny flashing green light of a surveillance bug behind your pot plant cemented the idea. At least you could make Rick and whoever else was watching you right now incredibly uncomfortable.
“Ohhh! F-fuck it's really ahhh! Umm…is this normal?” Adrian panted, hands gripping the couch cushions.
“Yeah it's normal. I actually have it on a super low setting.” You lied. “Why are you feeling it?”
You actually had the vibration scaled nearly all the way up, resting it just at his tip, leaving the rest of him untouched.
“Y-yeah I am…it's so much I don't know…” Adrian wriggled in place but didn't dare leave your grasp, green eyes pleading with yours. “Oh fuck I don't know if…”
“You don't like it? Fine, we'll stop.” You threatened and Adrian shook his head profusely.
His hands clung to your thighs. “No! Please…I do I just think I might cum soon and Pris uhh I want to well–”
“Great, once you're done you can leave.” You said with a half-yawn. This was all for the bugged cameras to make Rick and his stooges cringe.
“W-what about you?” He asked with a deep whine.
“What about me?” You glared at him again but he wasn't deterred.
“I want to make my girlfriend cum too…” His eyes were tearing up as the vibrations were clearly too much.
“Oh and how would you do that?” You sternly asked him and turned off the toy, setting it down.
“H-huh?” Adrian panted, trying to catch his breath again.
“Last time wasn't very good.” You said flatly, watching his face fall.
“It wasn't?” He whimpered.
“No, it sucked.” You weren't going to sugar coat it for him.
“I can do better! I'll look up some more research videos and…” He began but you cut him off.
“No videos. Either you fuck me hard and good right now like I know you can or leave my place and don't ever come back.”
You saw his green eyes still at that, the same way they did behind the red visor.
Like you unlocked a side to Adrian hidden behind the constant masking. Or the often strange attempts to.
“I'll do it, I'll fuck you so so hard! Hey, can we play Donkey Kong Jungle Beat after?” Adrian assured you, unbuckling his belt, then he glanced over at your consoles.
“Depends how well you do.” You shrugged, lifting up your skirt.
“Killer.” Adrian's hands gripped your waist nice and rough, a good start. Then he brought you onto his lap.
“What are you doing?” You asked.
“I want to see you on top, bouncing on it. My dick that is.” Adrian explained cheerfully, before dropping you down.
“Don't worry I'll still do most of the work though!” With that reassurance, you shifted your panties to the side.
“Oh yeah that's so good…” He grunted, watching where you were both connected.
“Stop.” You knew this wasn't giving the shock factor you wanted, while fine it felt satisfying, the angle was all wrong.
“Let's take our clothes off.” You ordered him and pointed to the carpet. “And fuck me on the floor.”
“Skin on skin? I do love shag carpet though…you sure?” Adrian whined, clearly enjoying the way things were going as is.
“Yes, we are boyfriend and girlfriend and totally at that stage now!” You flashed him a brilliant fake smile and watched his face flush bright red.
“Ohh awesome! Yes you're so right, we’re really a proper couple now oh holy fuck this is amazing…” He immediately started fumbling with pulling his jumper over his head.
“Let's roleplay to get you focused.” You decided, unbuttoning your blouse.
“Roleplay…okay sure! Who am I?” Adrian mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“Not important!” You snapped, stripping off entirely.
“Yes it is, how else can I get into character? In DND I play this artificer whose name is…” Adrian started to ramble and lose his erection, about to go into full geek mode.
You couldn't have that happen. “Ugh, you're Adrian. And I'm me. It's easier to remember. But the scenario is what we're role playing.” He slowly nodded at that.
“Yeah how about this, pretend there's a video camera, right here!” You dragged him over, directing you both in the eyeline of the obvious plant A.R.G.U.S was watching from.
“Um sure, so we're filming us doing it in this scenario?” His breath quickened, already starting to get hard again.
At least he was simple to please.
“No someone is watching us, some shady old man from the government.” You said directly into the camera plant pot, seeing a tell tale blinking red light faintly.
Adrian nodded, eagerly pinning you down onto your back, "I can work with that!" Then he entered you nice and slow, the stretch felt amazing.
At first. But he didn't change up anything, chasing after his own tail like a stupid dog.
“Ohh baby you're incredible! So fucking damn tight around me…” Adrian groaned as he started to move again this time in a basic missionary position.
You were not going to have a repeat of last time on the racing car bed.
“Not like that, fuck me like you mean it.” You instructed him, still not satisfied with how he was doing.
“Fuck…okay!” Adrian panted, pulling out to reposition himself.
Meanwhile in the A.R.G.U.S. surveillance offices Langston Fleury was sadly shaking his head in solidarity. “Damn, poor dude. Crazy is hard to dick down. But he keeps trying. That's the human spirit right there.” He pointed to the screen at Adrian's determined sweat ridden face.
“Shut the hell up Fleury.” Rick snapped, ordering that the video be taken off the big screen.
“Harder!” You urged him, digging your heels into his back, jolting Adrian off balance.
“Hey, oh shit my glasses!” Adrian reached out for them but you knocked them further away.
His face really did look way different without them, it was almost as if someone else was having sex with you. That was super appealing, like when he had the visor on. For whatever reason Adrian got under your skin unlike nobody else.
“Keep them off.” You swatted his arm.
“But I can't see you properly…” He grumbled, but his hips were still diligently snapping away.
“Aw, guess you'll have to make me moan so you can at least hear me then?” You cruelly whispered against his neck, feeling the shudder he gave off.
“Y-yeah…” Adrian agreed, his eyes were unfocused and wild as he gripped down to your waist, fingers bruising.
“Guess I'll have to.” He pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach. That position he'd told you about as Vigilante, pinning again.
It took some effort finding where to reenter you, he was seriously blind but after a few jabs his cockhead found the right spot.
“That's nice Adrian…” You encouraged him, staring right up into the camera. “Fill me up baby, that's it.”
“Fuck, you're calling me baby now uhh oh god I can't…it's too much!” Adrian whined.
“Are you seriously going to finish?” You couldn't believe this guy.
“No I mean I'm trying not to…but it's more I don't think I can hold back and you know not like…hurt you and stuff.” He bit his lip, with a worried unfocused frown.
“I'm not a delicate flower, are you serious right now?” You rolled your eyes back at him. “I said I want it, now hurry up!”
“Okay, okay, fuck oh fuck…” Finally he pumped away properly, gripping deathly tight at your hips.
“That's it, like that Adrian, don't stop.” You ordered him, shoulders arching as he took what he wanted.
And more importantly gave you what you wanted.
Release.
That sensation of a total loss of control, body relinquishing its constant state of fight mode.
Hot, heavy, like a bullet your orgasm shot out from you, ripping his name along with it in a pleasured cry that Adrian would think about for nights on end afterwards.
You could feel that he'd finished too when the feeling began to return to your legs.
“It wasn't inside, I came outside on your thighs…” He quickly said, wiping them down with a nearby box of tissues.
“Can I kiss you?” Adrian asked, lips trembling towards yours.
“No.” You deftly held up a hand and turned his cheek away.
“Why not?” He asked curiously.
“Not yet, I don't feel like it.” There was something about that act you didn't want, it made the whole thing too real somehow.
This ultimately was fake, whatever this fucked up thing between you and Adrian was. It was going to end. As soon as you killed Chris, likely you'd have to kill him right after.
“Alrighty then. That was good though?” He double checked.
“Uh-huh.” You nodded for the camera, but had to admit he was quite good this time around.
“Yessss!” Adrian pumped the air up and down idiotically with his fists. “Donkey Kong Jungle Beat good?”
“Sure, I guess you Donkey'd my Kong until it Jungle Beat.” You said without thinking, watching Adrian start to cackle like a hyena.
Rolling your eyes, despite everything you found yourself laughing along with Adrian.
“Still I prefer sex with the suits on.” You said idly, controller in hand.
“Same here.” Adrian instantly agreed.
“Less sweaty.” You both said at the same time. It was strange but having him in your apartment wasn’t as terrible as you had expected.
In fact the rest of the evening was spent having fun playing video games, eating dinner and chatting away. But this fake relationship wasn’t allowed to run off course.
“Can I stay over?” Adrian asked when it was getting late.
That gave you pause. “No, I prefer to sleep alone.” A step too far, besides you really didn't think it would be a good idea.
Rick might call you or a lucrative job might open up to go kill someone and you’d rather not have to deal with killing Adrian or kicking him out in the middle of the night.
“No worries, I'll see you tomorrow?” Adrian asked hopefully, that big dumb smile of his never leaving for a second.
“Sure.” You frowned back as he waved you goodnight.
There was a very good reason you didn't want Adrian in your bed. Not only was it your personal space, you also got night terrors.
Strange dreams that caused you to wake in the middle of the night and lash out.
The few times you'd let a one night stand sleep over, you had accidentally strangled one unsuspecting gym bro to near death.
Some nights you dreamt you were Annie Oakley on a theatre stage. Dressed head to toe in bright royal blue wild west attire, fringed skirt, ten gallon hat, thigh high boots with spurs.
Dolly Parton's I Will Always Love You was the song you danced to, prop gun poised up and ready like a puppet.
If I should stay
Well I would only be in your way
And so I'll go, and yet I know
I'll think of you each step of the way...
The kind of puppet that danced on a string like a marionette with red curtains the colour of blood behind you.
Your gun caps fired in a brilliant smoke and the other actors dropped to the ground, red scarves spurting from their chests and necks in a dazzling circle.
And I will always love you
I will always love you...
This time unlike the all of the others, you had a partner, the dashing sharpshooter Frank Butler was played by Vigilante.
Bitter-sweet memories
That's all I'm taking with me
Good-bye, please don't cry
'Cause we both know that I'm not
What you need...
Without hesitation you took him down too, a bullet to the cranium, that jettisoned into a scarlet swathe of confetti.
But I will always love you
I will always love you...
The song continued on, your movements were so graceful, pirouettes in sync to the resounding thunderous clap of applause from the stage.
In the front row was your father, dressed as White Dragon and your brother, dressed as Peacemaker. Keith was there too, a teenager as you remembered him.
"Focus!" Peacemaker yelled.
"Precision!" White Dragon jeered.
"Control!" Keith shouted.
A red closing curtain draped you in a sheet of blood across the stage.
Then their faces morphed into a more friendly familial one.
"Amazing work girl!" Auggie smiled.
"Great job lil sis!" Chris cheered.
"You make us so proud, Strawberry!" Keith called out.
Those evenings you woke up in strange places, unsure of how you got there. The only familiar thing tying you to these locations was blood.
None of it was ever yours. But no bodies were ever to be seen.
You had long since stopped trying to figure it out, most likely this was sleep walking and your homicidal tendencies went on a rampage in your unconsciousness.
Thankfully you always cleaned up after yourself though.
Tonight was one of those nights.
"Where the fuck am I this time?" Standing up you saw that it was a pitcher's mound.
The baseball field's green lawn was riddled with patches of fresh blood. Swathes of crimson painted your Precision combat suit, near warm to the touch.
It had been a long time since one of these spells took ahold of you like this, disorientating and lethargic you stumbled out of the bright lights of the field and into the comforting darkness.
Sprinting towards the nearest exit, you needed to get out of here before you got caught with whatever killing spree crime you'd just committed.
"Wow, like a killer Stepford wife." Rick laughed, watching you flee from the top of the stands. Checking his stopwatch he added, "incredible. M16 should take a page out of your book Mr. Smith."
"Auggie." Was the only gruff reply he got.
"Well Auggie this has been very valuable information that will serve your country well. The money will be wired to the account within the hour."
"Alright." Auggie grunted in reply and unceremoniously hung up.
"Must run in the family." Rick rolled his eyes and snapped the burner flip phone shut. Next to him was a PA system hooked up to a record player with the vinyl for Dolly Parton's 1974 hit I Will Always Love You.
"And I wish you joy and happiness but above all of this, I wish you love..." Rick hummed along, flicking his cigarette off the stadium bleachers.
🍷 this love came back to me ☆⋆ jason todd x reader
when your beloved car breaks down, fate makes you run back into your ex-boyfriend, maybe after all these years, you and Jason could be something again. ANGST!! more angsty than i anticipated, biker jason welcome back, car girl(?) reader, SCARRED JASON TODD🗣️, to me they’re in their mid-late 20s. open ish ending. inaccurate smoking related text? idk i don’t smoke. i also know nothing about cars so inaccurate car terminology? probably a lot of mischaracterisation i fear i trying to get my groove back
.⋆♱ CAUTIONS reader has a gun. slight stalking from red hood?? jason and reader are mentioned to be smokers and reader smokes a cigarette in the fic
Your hand instinctively moves to your holster around your waist, button flying open as your palm rests on the machine to draw it quickly if necessary as a bike pulls over next to you. You don’t recognise the bike or the person on it immediately, but you watch as the man kicks open the bike stand, swinging one leg over and getting off partially into the street lamplight, his frame becomes familiar to you.
Being stranded on the side of the highway in Gotham city in the middle of the night could be one of the worst scenarios anyone could possibly imagine, a million different things that could happen but you didn’t really have a choice. Your beloved car, one that restored from literally barebones, broke down on you, engine sputtering and dying on you, thankfully you were able to pull off to the side of the highway before it gave out completely.
You called someone you knew, a mechanic that helped you through the restoration but she wouldn’t be here for an half hour at least, and you couldn’t leave your baby here by herself, in this city? Goodness not! So here you were, waiting beside here patiently as the street lap above you flickered every few minutes, watching as cars pass by, hoping your friend will pop out of one of them.
Then a bike slowed down, enough to just pass by, pulling in right in front of your car. You almost think you’ve gone crazy, the way the leather jacket stretched over the man’s back, helmet a dark enough red that it looked black until he steps into the light, it too much like him.
“I have a gun.” You warn as he turns to face you. Black shirt under the jacket as he holds his hands up defensively, taking a few more steps to stand right under the light, slowly moving his hands to grab his helmet, there’s a click of a advance mechanism that you’re all too familiar with and then, the light graces his face.
Jason’s aged, not much but, of course, it’s been far too many years since you’d seen him. And if not for his unique white hair strip, the scars the dig deep into his cheek are far too recognisable, the ‘J’ accompanied by newer shallower ones he’d accumulated in his time away from you.
He watches you back as you profile him, your face, your posture, the way you carried yourself has changed. Life had obviously had taken its toll on you, you’d matured in the way your face was set, a blossom of pride in his chest as you follow what he’d thought you years ago, with the gun and it’s probably the same one he gave you.
“Just me, sweetheart.”
Jason’s voice goes down like a glass of whiskey, deep and smooth but burns all too close to your heart. He tilts his head to the side, gauging your reaction, mistaking your surprise for caution. You avert your eyes, looking back at your car, hand moving off the gun to smooth down a nonexistent wrinkle on your jacket.
You nod, one quick dip of your chin, allowing him to come closer to you, gentleman as always. You watch as he walks back a moment to drop his helmet back onto the bike as you survey your surroundings again, looking for watchful eyes or jittery bodies.
It’s been a long time, a little longer than half a decade, even in a city as small as Gotham, it was easy not running into him, especially when he avoided you religiously. Sometimes, when you felt a conspiracist, you could swear you saw a certain vigilante with a taste for the color red in your proximity, following you like a guardian angel in the night.
The time you had with Jason was phenomenal, the best of the best. No matter how broken he was, or you were, the two of you worked. Even when secrets came out, you were with him, a stubborn stick in the ground that didn’t budge in the toughest storm, you stayed with him. But his mind got to him, when the dangers got too apparent, when he realised the way his identity could hurt the one good thing in his life, he broke things off, no matter how you tried to make him understand.
After that, the city went back to being its same glum self. The streets were back to feeling grim and lifeless, bookstores lacked luster that he brought. He’ll always be the one that got away, the one you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with.
He avoided you with all his might, did everything not to associate himself with you. But he always lingered. Flowers that appeared out of thin air on days he knew were too tough for you. Gifts on every birthday that sit on the windowsill as a constant reminder, special edition of your favourite books being shipped from an ‘anonymous’ benefactor.
“Why are you standing here? It’s not safe.”
His voice snaps you out of your head, your eyes flying back to him who’s walking to you in slow steps, like he’s trying not to spook you. It’s not long before he’s standing in front of you, unintentionally imposing presence that made your chest tight with emotion.
“Not leaving my car by herself.” You whisper finally, Head craning up to look at him. The light was hitting him in a way that deepened his scars, but his eyes twinkled all that same, just the way they used to years ago “Stubborn as always.” He mutters under his breath as he shakes his head in disapproval. He looks down at your car, the one you’re standing guard for, jutting his chin in its direction. “What’s wrong?”
“The coolant system broke, it’s leaking.”
You cross your arms around your chest like it’ll shield you from the extended heartbreak you’re going to experience from this interaction. You watch as you walks past you, close enough that his jacket brushes yours, and to your car. He moves quickly, popping the hood of your car, leaning down to look into the contents of your engine.
You watch his shoulder move as he works, the jacket spreading across his back does nothing to hide the muscular frame underneath. He’d finally grown into his body, moving with more grace than you remember. It somehow felt like he was taller, or maybe your mind was exaggerating your vision, biceps and thighs definitely larger than you remember, consistent with what you’d expect for Red Hood.
You watch as Jason comes to the same conclusion, just nodding his head in agreement.
“Someone I know is coming to help me out.” You call out to break the silence, the sound of a vehicle crashing somewhere in the distance echos as he looks back at you. You watch as he, not so subtly, glances down at both your hands, obviously noting the lack of a wedding ring. Which is odd, since he probably already knows that you aren’t in a relationship, haven’t been in a solid once since him.
“Take my bike back home, I’ll wait here for him.”
You scoff, loudly and dramatically. If there was one thing about Jason, it’s that no one gets to touch that bike of his. It’s tuned to his exact specs, something he doesn’t think anyone else is capable of driving. But now, after all these years of avoiding you, breaking your heart, he’s offering for you to drive off in his bike?
“Her.” You correct. “And why aren’t you…” You pause for a moment to conjure the right word. The moon gleaming weakly through the dark clouds above is a sign that the vigilantes are going to come crawling out of their caves, literally. So why wasn’t Red Hood out terrorising bad guys. “Working?”
“I was riding down to Bludhaven to help Dick with something.” His reply is smooth, ever patient as he straightens up, closing the hood of your car but still lingering around it, mimicking your stance as he crosses his arms too, looking like a stand off to any bystander.“Convenient.” You comment.
There’s a deep sigh in your chest at the subsequent silence. What exactly are you two supposed to talk about? “Fuck it.” You mutter as you uncross your hands and dive into your jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette packet and…shit. The only lighter you have is the one you got as a couples set when the two of you were still together, you thought it was an amazing gift, two lighters that match up when next to each other to depict both sides of wings engraved on them.
You make a split second decision to pull it out anyway, not missing the slight change in Jason’s posture, the way his eyes widen slightly, shoulders getting just a tab bit more rigid. Your finger runs over your name engraved on its bottom before you flip it open, bringing it to your mouth to light to cigarette nested between your lips.
Jason was a smoker, had been for a long time, and years ago, you weren’t. You had just thought that the lighters was a nice thing to have even though you didn’t smoke. But after the break up, you found one of Jason’s packs lying around your place and you had an itch, you lit one, maybe to feel closer to him somehow, but it soon became a proper habit, like for most people in Gotham.
“Those things will kill you.” Jason quips up, something you used to tease him with. you hold the cigarette between your pointer and middle finger, pulling it away to blow smoke into the night sky. Your eyebrows scrunch involuntarily, the words leaving your mouth before you can think twice about them. “So does flinging yourself at villains.”
“It did.” Jason jokes as the tip of his lips twitches, his eyes cast down to the pavement, expression as something you couldn’t quite decipher. He looks back up to watch utter horror pass on your features, a soft gasp when you realise what you said. “Shit—I didn’t meant to.” You say too quickly, genuinely apologetic.
“‘S alright.” Jason shakes his head softly, he knows you’d never make light of his previous death, something it too a long time for him to open up to you about. You open your mouth to apologise again, but he dismisses it with another shake of his head.
The same silence from before settles again, now you can’t even look him in the eyes. You’re smoking the same brand that he used to, the same one he had to change out of because it reminded him of you too much. His half of the lighter pair sits comfortably in the drawer next to his bed, something he doesn’t carry around for the risk of losing or damaging it, something he takes out to reminisce, give him a moment to relive how it was before he fucked it all up.
“How’s…Artemis?”
You utter out impulsively, regretting it immediately. Artemis was Jason’s ex, before the two of you dated, and there were always rumours that Red Hood had gotten with her again over the years. However ‘healed’ you were, you never could resist looking up the tabloids. And for fucks sake, why on earth are you asking him that?
The question catches him off guard too, you were never insecure in your relationship all those years ago and you knew Artemis was just a friend, a coworker, whatever label you want to slap on it, but just that. After you…he could never even consider someone else. It takes him a moment to get his gears, side of his lips now threatening to stretch into a smirk.
“Just be direct, c’mon. Ask me if I’m single.” Jason clocks his head to one side, a twinkle lit behind his eyes.
Just as you were about to roll your eyes, a familiar car approaching steals your attention as you wave to your friend. Jason watches as you walk past him as the car pulls up right behind yours, a smile stretching across your face in greeting that he didn’t get. Jason turns, slow steps back to his bike, just hoping you’d stop him…ask him to…stay?
“Who’s that?” Your friend asks as she gets out of her car, eyeing the man she’s never seen before as he walks back to his bike. You look back at him, watching his figure receding into the darkness, not looking back. You take another drag of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke and taking a moment to soak in the interaction before you answer.
“Someone I used to know.”
ᯓ★'s P.S. notice how the first half of this is better? yeah i wrote that aaaages ago, i did my dialogue thing and forgot about this and now filled in the rest so i apologise if the flow of it is missing and its not that great
don't forget to comment and reblog if you enjoyed!
Summary: "Every muscle in his body went stiff with shock. And then he broke. Not in a dramatic way. Not loudly. Just enough that when he tried to pull himself together, his throat closed hard and he had to blink fast because the pressure behind his eyes was suddenly unbearable."
-> Bruce Wayne x vigilante!reader , Dc x Marvel crossover, recounting of old memories, jail breakout, reunion, description of violence
IV <- V->VI
Red Hood was shaking.
Not on the outside.
Not where anyone could see it.
Inside.
Where it mattered.
Where it hurt.
He stood on the slick rooftop across from the children’s hospital, rain from an earlier storm still clinging to the ledges and draining in silver threads down the brick walls. Gotham’s night air was sharp and cold, full of sirens in the distance and the faint, ugly smell of smoke drifting up from somewhere lower in the city. The hospital glowed across the block like a giant pale lantern, all clean windows and warm light that seemed almost offensive in a city like this.
Joker had chosen it for exactly that reason.
Of course he had.
Jason’s hands tightened around the grips of his guns as he watched the building.
A children’s hospital.
He wanted to set the entire city on fire.
He wanted to tear Joker apart with his bare hands.
He wanted—
No.
Not now.
He swallowed hard and dragged in a breath that did absolutely nothing to steady him.
Because she was here.
Standing beside him.
Alive.
Real.
And she had no idea who he was.
That part hit worse than the rest.
It hit in tiny, precise cuts.
Every time she turned her head and called him “Red Hood” instead of “JayBird.”
Every time her voice carried that same familiar warmth but never the recognition he desperately wanted.
Every time she looked at him like he was only a dangerous ally and not the child she had once patched up in her kitchen while telling him to stop trying to die on her.
He had missed her so much it made his teeth ache.
He had missed her laugh.
Her hands on his armor when she was adjusting his stance.
Her sarcasm.
The way she used to flick him in the forehead whenever he got too cocky.
The way she would call Bruce “an emotionally constipated menace” when she thought no one was listening.
Jason had loved her before he ever understood what that love was.
And now she was here, in Gotham, at his side, and she didn’t even know it was him.
It almost broke him.
Almost.
He saw her glance at the hospital entrance, jaw clenched, shoulders tight beneath the black-and-red tactical layers of her suit. The hood she wore shadowed most of her face, and the domino mask only made her expression sharper, more unreadable. The utility belt sat snug at her waist, packed with gear Jason knew she was already mentally counting.
She always counted exits.
Always.
His chest hurt.
He heard her breathe out slowly.
Then she spoke under her breath, too low for anyone else to hear.
“Too many cameras.”
Jason’s head turned slightly toward her.
She wasn’t talking to him.
She was muttering to herself.
Jason almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the hospital doors burst open two stories below them and the night exploded into movement.
Joker’s goons flooded the entrance in bright, ugly masks and mismatched gear, all of them moving with the frantic energy of men who knew they were expendable. One of them shouted something obscene. Another kicked over a tray cart. Somewhere inside, a child screamed.
Jason moved on instinct.
The girl moved with him.
He dropped from the rooftop ledge first, landing in a crouch on the concrete steps below. She hit the ground half a second after him with barely a sound, cape flaring behind her before settling against her back.
The first thing she did was look at him.
Not the building.
Not the men.
Him.
Assessing.
Measuring.
Then she glanced back toward the doors and said, “I can clear the west hall.”
Jason gave her a flat look. “I can help.”
She immediately shook her head. “Absolutely not. I can handle Joker alone.”
Jason stared at her for a long second.
There it was again.
That tiny flicker.
The one he’d seen before whenever he tried to help and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the offer.
Not distrust.
Not rejection.
Something sadder.
Older.
He saw her jaw tighten a fraction.
Her shoulders stayed square, but not loose. Not relaxed. Like the idea of anyone standing too close to her in a fight still made part of her body lock up before she forced it to cooperate.
Jason knew that hesitation.
Knew it in his bones.
It wasn’t about capability.
She could kill every goon in front of her without breaking a sweat.
It was about the act of letting someone in beside her.
That was the part she still didn’t do easily.
Not after what happened to him.
That was the part Gotham had taught both of them to treat like a weakness.
Jason kept his voice steady.
“Yeah,” he said. “You can.”
She looked suspiciously at him.
He tilted his head toward the doors. “And you’re still not doing it alone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re very stubborn.”
“First day on the job?”
“I hate that you said that.”
“I know.”
She huffed a breath, nearly a laugh, but it didn’t fully reach her eyes.
Jason noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He took one step closer, lowering his voice.
“Listen to me,” he said. “We don’t know how many men he’s got in there. We don’t know how many kids are already inside. We don’t know if he’s wired the place.”
Her stare didn’t move from his.
Jason continued, softer now. “You don’t go in alone.”
The wind shifted.
A faint metallic clatter came from somewhere on the roofline behind them.
She looked back at the hospital, then at the street, then at the building again as if weighing the options against every old instinct screaming in her head.
Jason could see the answer forming before she said it.
Not because she wanted to agree.
Because she knew he was right.
Her jaw worked once.
Then she exhaled through her nose.
“Fine,” she said tightly. “But if you slow me down, I’m leaving you in a closet.”
Jason snorted. “That’s the spirit.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He actually smiled at that, just a little.
Then she was moving.
She fired a grapnel line up to the second-floor fire escape and launched herself toward the side of the building with elegant force. Jason followed an instant later, boots striking metal as he climbed after her.
Inside the hospital, alarms had already started blaring.
Red lights flashed across polished floors.
Somewhere deeper in the building, a nurse screamed.
Jason pushed the door open with his shoulder and slipped into the corridor behind her.
The smell hit first.
Antiseptic.
Smoke.
Blood.
The sterile scent of a place built to heal now smeared with chaos.
Joker’s goons were everywhere.
Two at the far end of the hall.
Three near the nurses’ station.
One with a shotgun who looked up just in time to see Jason draw his pistol.
He dropped before he could fire.
The girl moved like a shadow beside him, all sharp angles and ruthless efficiency. She disarmed one man with a strike to the wrist and buried her elbow into another’s throat before he could shout. Her boots barely made a sound against the linoleum as she crossed the hallway, yanking a knife from her belt and slashing the strap of a gun holster off one of the guards with surgical precision.
Jason stared for half a second.
Then he heard her mutter, “Your stance is wrong.”
He blinked. “What?”
She ducked beneath a swinging crowbar and snapped her leg into the attacker’s knee. “Your weight is too far back. You’ll lose balance if you keep shooting from there.”
Jason shot the next man in the shoulder and frowned at her. “I’m in the middle of a fight.”
“And I’m helping.”
He barked a short laugh despite himself. “You always talk like this?”
“Only when I’m right.”
“Pain in the ass.”
“Extremely.”
Another goon rushed from the side corridor.
Jason turned, but she was already there, hook-kicking the man into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.
“Better,” she said.
Jason stared at her. “You just corrected my combat form while we’re in a pediatric war zone.”
She slid a smoke pellet between her fingers and smirked faintly. “And you’re still standing, so it seems to be working.”
He should not have found that funny.
He did.
Barely.
Joker’s laughter crackled through the intercom system at the end of the hall.
Every light in the corridor flickered.
Jason’s entire spine went rigid.
There.
That voice.
Every muscle in his body went hot with rage.
The girl heard it too.
She went still for half a heartbeat before her expression flattened into something colder.
“The clown’s upstairs,” Jason pointed it out casually.
“I gathered.”
“Try not to say it like you’re disappointed.”
She glanced at him. “I’m saving that for later.”
Then she moved.
They advanced room by room.
Each hallway was a fight.
Each corner another ambush.
The hospital had too many hiding places and too many civilians trapped in the wrong places. Somewhere on the second floor a frightened child cried out for their mother. Somewhere else, glass shattered. Jason took out two guards in rapid succession while she reached over his shoulder to jam a blade into a security panel and disable the automatic locking system before Joker could seal off another wing.
He saw the way she handled the kids they passed.
Gentle without slowing.
A hand on a trembling shoulder.
A soft “Keep low, sweetheart.”
An urgent “Stay behind the nurses.”
No hesitation.
No fear.
The same woman he remembered.
Just older.
Sharper around the edges.
Too many years had passed and somehow she was still exactly the kind of person who would risk herself for children she had just met.
Jason’s chest tightened.
“You know,” he said while kicking a thug’s weapon away, “you could at least pretend this is new for you.”
“Why?”
“You make it look too easy.”
She glanced sideways at him while ducking under a pipe and sweeping a man’s legs out from under him.
“It is easy.”
Jason stared.
She immediately corrected herself with a flat look. “For me.”
He let out a rough laugh and nearly got clipped across the ribs by a pipe wrench for his trouble.
She saved him with a knife to the guy’s wrist.
Jason looked at her.
She looked back.
Then she muttered, “Focus.”
He tilted his head while spreading his arms out dramatically. Grinning like an idiot under his mask.
He just knew she was rolling her eyes at his behavior.
And that, somehow, made the whole thing feel worse.
Not because it was bad.
Because it was good.
Too good.
Like some part of them had always known how to move together even when they didn’t have names for the feeling.
They reached the main ward entrance and stopped short.
Too many men.
At least a dozen.
Joker’s guys were barricading the entrance, and behind them Jason could hear panicked voices and the sharp, frightened cries of children trying not to cry too loudly.
One of the goons looked up.
“Red Hood!”
Another spotted her.
“There’s two of them!”
Gunfire erupted instantly.
Jason swore.
She grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him down behind the wall as bullets ripped into the frame beside them.
“We need to regroup and think of a plan,” she said, ducking another burst of fire.
Jason glanced around wildly. “Where would we even hide?”
She pointed upward.
The vent.
He stared.
Then at the men.
Then back at her.
She already had a smoke pellet in her hand.
Jason’s mouth twitched. “You cannot be serious.”
She tossed the pellet directly into the center of the hall.
Smoke flooded the air in a thick white surge.
Gunfire coughed out in confusion.
She was already moving.
Jason cursed and followed her.
They pulled the vent cover off with a sharp clang and climbed into the tight metal duct just as the first screams of frustration echoed below.
Jason crawled after her, trying not to curse every time his armor scraped the metal edges.
He looked ahead through the narrow darkness.
“You do this a lot?” he muttered.
“Use vents?”
“Break into hospitals.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Only when the world gives me no other choice.”
Jason snorted. “That’s Gotham for you.”
“Unfortunately.”
The vent opened into a maintenance corridor lined with cleaning carts and supply lockers.
The second they dropped down, both of them froze.
Because the people in the corridor—
were dressed like nurses.
Jason stared.
She stared.
Then slowly turned toward him.
He slowly turned toward her.
A beat.
Then both of them had the exact same thought at the exact same time.
Jason spoke first.
“I hate that this makes sense.”
She was already moving toward the nearest supply closet. “Less talking. More disguising.”
Five minutes later, Jason found himself standing in a stolen nurse uniform that looked absurdly wrong over his armor while she had somehow managed to slip into a matching set of scrubs with a surgical mask pulled over her mouth.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Then she motioned at his helmet.
“You need to take that off.”
Jason’s entire body locked.
He looked at the floor.
Then back at her.
“You’re joking.”
She crossed her arms. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“A little, yes.”
She stared at him with that same infuriatingly direct expression that had once made him confess things he had not planned to say out loud.
He swallowed.
Because this was where it got dangerous.
This was the part where he had to trust that she wouldn’t recognize him before he was ready.
The part where everything could shatter.
He looked toward the closet door, then back at her.
“Bruce is gonna kill me for this.”
The words came out quieter than he meant.
She blinked.
Then her expression shifted.
Not in the obvious way.
Not immediately.
But Jason saw the tiny crack in her calm.
Saw the tenderness trying not to show.
He reached up slowly and removed the helmet.
The second he did, the air changed.
Her face went utterly still.
Jason’s own breath caught.
The surgical mask covered half her face, but her eyes—
her eyes widened first.
Then softened.
Then filled.
No words came out right away.
Neither of them moved.
Jason thought, stupidly and helplessly, that this was what it felt like when a door you had left open for years suddenly opened again from the other side.
Then she inhaled sharply and crossed the room in three fast steps.
The next second she had both arms around him.
Jason froze.
Every muscle in his body went stiff with shock.
And then he broke.
Not in a dramatic way.
Not loudly.
Just enough that when he tried to pull himself together, his throat closed hard and he had to blink fast because the pressure behind his eyes was suddenly unbearable.
Her hand was on the back of his head.
Her other arm had tightened around him like she was afraid he would disappear again if she let go.
“Jason,” she whispered.
God.
He had not realized how much he needed to hear his name from her until now.
Not Hood.
Not Red Hood.
Jason.
He let himself fold into the hug, forehead dropping briefly against her shoulder.
For a second neither of them said anything.
Then her voice shook very slightly when she spoke again.
“You’re alive.”
Jason made a weak, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”
Her grip tightened.
“I knew there was something wrong about the way you held your knife.”
That made him laugh properly this time, though it came out rough and broken.
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I noticed.”
“You noticed my knife stance?”
She drew back just enough to look at him, eyes wet now, and gave him a look that was equal parts devastated and furious.
“I noticed a lot of things.”
Jason’s chest hurt.
She reached up and touched his face with one hand like she was verifying he was real.
Then her expression changed.
The warmth in her face hardened instantly into something dangerous.
Jason immediately knew exactly where this was going.
“Wait,” she said slowly. “Did Bruce know?”
Jason went still.
He tried to look away.
She saw it instantly.
“Jason.”
“Don’t.”
“Did he know?”
“Can we not do this right now?”
“Jason.”
That tone.
That look.
She had always done that to him.
And Bruce too.
That calm, terrible stare that meant she already knew the answer and was deciding how much violence she was going to unleash about it.
Jason lasted exactly two seconds.
Then he folded.
He looked at the floor.
She went very still.
“Oh my God,” she said quietly.
Jason winced.
She stared at him like she could not decide whether to cry or kill someone first.
“He knew.”
Jason didn’t answer.
She let out one sharp, disbelieving breath and put a hand over her mouth.
Then the hand dropped.
And the fury arrived.
Full force.
“I am going to kill him.”
Jason flinched despite himself.
She looked up at him, eyes blazing now. “He knew, and no one TRIED TELLING ME?"
Jason raised both hands defensively. “I was trying to tell you the plan—”
“The plan,” she repeated, glaring.
“Yes, the plan.”
“The plan where all of you apparently thought I would just fall into line and trust everyone’s weird little emotional hostage situation?”
Jason winced harder.
Because yes.
That was exactly the plan.
And she was right to be angry.
And this was very, very bad.
Because her being angry at Bruce now meant the entire emotional reunion setup he and the others had been trying to build for weeks had just gone up in flames.
He saw it all too clearly.
Dick was going to be miserable.
Barbara was going to curse for a week straight.
Tim-well honestly he didn't know how Tim would react.
Damian was going to become personally offended by the existence of consequences.
And Bruce—
Bruce was going to have an apocalypse-level nervous breakdown.
Jason shut his eyes briefly.
“Great,” he muttered. “This is going fantastically.”
She folded her arms. “You should be worried about Bruce.”
“I am worried about Bruce.”
“No, I mean you should be worried because I am going to tell him exactly what I think of him.”
Jason made a sound halfway between a cough and a plea for mercy.
She nodded once, satisfied that the universe had become correct again, then turned sharply back to the mission.
“Later,” she said. “We finish this first.”
Jason stared at her.
Then let out a breath and nodded.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We finish this.”
They got moving again.
This time with helmets and masks back on, bodies hidden again beneath the anonymity of the mission.
But something had shifted.
Jason could feel it in the way she moved beside him now.
Less distant.
Less careful.
As though she had finally let herself remember who he was under the armor.
They took down the next line of goons disguised in hospital gear with brutal efficiency.
One by one.
Silent.
Fast.
Jason caught on quickly to her signals.
She used hand motions that he recognized from years ago before she had even realized she was doing them.
Left shoulder meaning go.
Fingers brushing her belt meaning smoke.
Two taps at his wrist meaning cover her line of sight.
He followed each one instinctively.
Because somehow, after everything, they still worked like this.
A man rounded the corner and saw them in the doorway.
Too late.
Jason struck first, knocking the weapon out of his hands.
She finished the takedown.
Another came after her from behind.
Jason shot out his leg to trip him.
She twisted, grabbed the man’s collar, and slammed him into the wall hard enough to rattle the light fixtures.
“Nice,” Jason muttered.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am a little.”
She gave him a look over the top edge of her mask. “Don’t make me regret mentoring you.”
Jason barked out a laugh.
They reached the final ward just as Joker’s voice blasted through the hospital speakers again.
“Oh, this is delicious! Children, hide your tears! Heroes, hide your heads! Daddy’s here for the fun part!”
Jason’s whole body went rigid.
He heard her inhale sharply beside him.
Her knuckles cracked around the weapon in her hand.
Then they kicked the ward doors open.
Joker was there.
Standing in the center of the room amid overturned beds, broken toys, and terrified children huddled behind the nurses’ station.
He turned slowly, grin spreading impossibly wide.
“Well, well,” he crooned. “If it isn’t Gotham’s favorite little resurrection project and one of its old bats.”
Jason moved before the man could finish the sentence.
The fight exploded.
It was brutal.
Fast.
Ugly.
Joker’s men tried to swarm them, but it didn’t matter.
Jason was all rage and precision.
She was all control and fury.
Together they carved through the room like a storm.
Jason heard her calling out directions to the children.
“Under the beds!”
“Stay low!”
“Do not look at him!”
He nearly smiled despite the blood pounding in his ears.
Joker tried to slip toward the back emergency exit.
Jason went after him.
One of the goons intercepted him and got thrown bodily into a medical cart.
She appeared beside him an instant later, knocking the knife out of another thug’s hand.
“Left!” Jason shouted.
She ducked.
A blade missed her cheek by a hair.
Then she drove her elbow into the attacker’s throat and moved on without breaking stride.
Joker made one last desperate lunge toward a detonator clipped to the wall.
Jason fired.
The shot knocked it free before his fingers could touch it.
The resulting spark was enough to send the man stumbling back into the center of the room.
She was already there.
The takedown was fast.
Merciless.
Precise.
When it was over, Joker lay on the floor groaning and swearing while his remaining men were unconscious, tied, or trying desperately not to cry.
The children were safe.
The nurses were shaken.
The room had gone quiet except for the faint hum of emergency lights.
Jason stood breathing hard in the middle of the wreckage.
Then one of the children peeked from behind the nurse’s station.
A little girl.
Maybe seven.
She stared at Jason.
Then at the girl beside him.
Then at the clown sprawled on the floor.
And very carefully said, “Are you the good guys?”
Jason looked at the girl beside him.
She looked back.
Then she crouched slightly so the child could see her better and said, in the softest voice he had heard her use all night, “Yes, sweetheart. We’re the good guys.”
The little girl took another cautious step.
Then several more kids came out from hiding.
One boy with a stuffed rabbit clutched to his chest stared up at Jason with enormous eyes.
“You’re scary.”
Jason gave him a flat look. “Thanks.”
The boy considered this.
Then nodded. “You too.”
The girl made a sound that was very clearly a laugh trying not to be loud.
Jason looked at her.
Even with the mask, he could see the warmth in her eyes.
The one he remembered.
The one he had missed.
He realized then that the mission had shifted without him noticing.
It was over.
The danger had passed.
What remained was the aftermath.
And somehow that was the most dangerous part of all.
Because when the kids started asking questions, they had to answer.
And when the nurses started thanking them, they had to stand there and take it.
And when the hospital doors finally opened and the police came rushing in with Gordon at the front, the whole world was about to become far too interested.
Gordon stopped dead when he saw her.
Jason saw it immediately.
The way the commissioner’s face changed from tired to shocked to deeply, deeply pleased in the span of about one second.
He looked like he wanted to say a thousand things.
Instead he just exhaled.
“Well,” Gordon said, staring at them. “You two sure know how to make an entrance to a party.”
Jason tilted his head. “You’re welcome.”
Gordon shook his head and turned toward the nurses, already taking control of the scene.
The children, however, had other ideas.
One of them latched onto Jason’s leg.
Another grabbed the edge of her suit.
“Don’t go,” the first little girl whispered.
Jason froze.
The girl beside him lowered herself to one knee again and gently rested a hand on the child’s shoulder.
“We have to go check the rest of the hospital,” she said softly.
The child’s lower lip wobbled. “But you came back.”
The room went very still.
Jason looked at her.
Her expression had changed.
Something tender and broken and nearly unbearable crossed her face before she smoothed it away.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I came back.”
Jason’s throat tightened.
Then the second child, a boy with bandaged fingers, looked up at Jason and asked the question that made everyone in the hallway stop breathing.
“Are you coming back too?”
Jason felt the whole room tilt.
He had no answer.
The girl beside him answered first.
She put her hand on his shoulder.
And said, “Yes.”
Jason looked at her.
She looked straight ahead at the children.
But when she spoke again, the words felt like they were meant for him too.
“We’re coming back.”
And for a moment, just for a moment, Jason believed it.
Bruce heard the news alert before the Batcomputer even finished loading the feed.
Arkham escape.
Children’s hospital.
Joker.
Red Hood and a black-and-red vigilante on scene.
He was already moving before the system stabilized.
The monitor in the cave flickered to life.
The live news feed came up first.
Gordon on camera outside the hospital, rain still wet on his coat.
Police barricades.
Ambulances.
Civilians crowding behind the tape.
And then the camera caught movement.
Bruce stopped dead.
Her.
She came out of the hospital with a small cluster of children trailing after her like a flock of frightened ducklings, one little girl holding onto the side of her jacket as if she were afraid she might vanish if she let go.
Jason was beside her.
Alive.
Visible.
Too alive.
Too visible.
Bruce’s hands curled at his sides.
His first thought was fury.
White-hot, immediate fury.
Jason had gone in without clearance.
Jason had gone in with her.
Jason had clearly not told her who he was.
And Bruce was going to have a very serious conversation with him that involved several deeply unpleasant words and possibly a wall.
Then the camera shifted again.
The children were laughing now.
Not all of them.
Some were still crying.
Some looked stunned.
But they were moving.
Escorted.
Alive.
Safe.
His anger faltered just enough to let the rest of the scene hit.
She had gotten them out.
She had taken down Joker in a children’s hospital and gotten every single one of those kids out alive.
Bruce’s jaw clenched painfully.
Of course she had.
Of course she would.
He watched her crouch to speak to one of the children, saw the softness in her posture, the care in the way she kept her body angled so the kid could stand closer without fear.
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
Because he knew that posture.
Knew that version of her.
Knew how many times she had done that in Gotham before she ever left.
He knew it the way one knew a song they had spent years trying not to hear.
Jason said something to her on the sidewalk.
She looked at him.
Bruce saw the exchange but not the words.
Then Jason did the thing Bruce should have known he would do the second he was overwhelmed.
He hugged her.
Not a casual bump.
Not a rough one-armed gesture.
A full, sudden, devastatingly real hug.
Bruce’s entire body went still.
The rage came back instantly.
Because Jason Todd had the audacity—after disappearing, after surviving, after returning, after everything—to hug her in front of a live camera like this was normal.
Bruce stared.
And then, because his life had apparently become a cruel joke, he realized something even worse.
He could not decide whether he wanted to strangle Jason or pull him closer.
The silence inside the Batcave stretched so long it turned brittle.
Then the live feed shifted again.
The camera zoomed in.
Someone from the press shouted a question.
“Can you tell us who you are?”
Another voice called, “Are you officially working with Batman again?”
A third asked, “Is this your return to Gotham?”
Bruce watched as she turned her head slightly toward the crowd.
Even at a distance, even through the grainy broadcast, he knew the exact expression on her face.
The one that said she had already decided this was too much.
The one that meant she was about to leave.
Then one of the reporters edged closer.
“Is it true you’ve been in Gotham for days? Are you here to stay?”
She stared at the microphone for one long second.
Bruce felt every muscle in his body lock.
A fraction of a second later, she shot a line to the rooftop beside the hospital and disappeared upward in a spray of motion and red-black blur.
The reporter yelped.
The camera jerked.
The broadcast lost her immediately.
Bruce exhaled once through his nose, sharp and disbelieving.
Clark, who had only just been halfway out of the cave after the earlier meeting, paused with his coat in hand and watched the screen with obvious interest.
“You know her,” he said carefully.
Bruce didn’t look at him.
The monitor showed the rooftop where she had vanished.
“Continue the interview?” Clark asked.
Bruce’s voice was too controlled to be healthy.
“No.”
Clark frowned. “Bruce—”
“She is not available.”
That made Clark pause.
He glanced at the screen, then at Bruce, clearly deciding not to push.
Probably wise.
Meanwhile the second screen in the cave lit up with Gotham’s emergency news ticker.
Live updates.
Footage.
Reaction.
Headlines.
And, because Gotham could never let a thing remain simple for even thirty seconds, the broadcast began showing edited clips from the hospital as citizens started flooding social media with shaky phone footage of her leaving the scene.
Children waving.
Gordon smiling.
Jason standing beside her in Red Hood gear with a posture that made him look like he had just been hit by a truck and had somehow decided this was still the best day of his life.
Bruce turned away from the screen before he could react too visibly.
Then the Batfamily group chat began exploding.
'Don’t Tell Bruce'
DihForBrains:
WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED
BrainCellHolder:
I need everyone to stay calm.
Overworked Intern:
I am NOT calm.
Barbie Bat:
DID HE HUG HER???
Shadow Gremlin:
:)
Walking Flashlight:
I just watched live footage of a civilian child ask if she was coming back?? WHAT IS THIS EMOTIONAL DAMAGE
Hoodrat:
She knows.
Silence.
Then immediately:
BrainCellHolder:
Jason what do you mean she knows
Hoodrat:
She knows I’m alive.
DihForBrains:
OH MY GOD
Overworked Intern:
WAIT WAIT WAIT did you tell her???
Hoodrat:No.
Barbie Bat:
JASON.
Hoodrat:I PANICKED.
Shadow Gremlin:
:)
Walking Flashlight:
Did she freak out???
Hoodrat:A little.
DihForBrains:
“A little” as in emotionally devastated or as in “I am going to murder Bruce Wayne” because those are different levels.
Hoodrat
Both.
BrainCellHolder:
Oh no.
Overworked Intern:
OH FOR FUCKS SAKE
Barbie Bat:
Is Bruce alive
Hoodrat:Probably not for long.
Yeah Bruce was fucked.
A/N: Unironicly this took way to long cus I rewrote it like 5 times - Anywho hope you all enjoyed it and I hope you all have a lovely day! Any suggestions yall would like to see lmk Im open for em :)
SUMMARY For as long as you've been together, you'd think that it'd be muscle memory for Jason to lock the door.
PAIRING jason todd x gender neutral!reader
GENRE fluff, humor, suggestive, established relationship
WORD COUNT 751
CONTENT not proofread, non-canon compliant, nothing too explicit, implied high school sweethearts reader & jason, no use of Y/N
AUTHOR’S NOTE requested!
You giggle breathlessly into the unbreakable kiss Jason had brought you into thirty minutes ago. His hands caress your hips like it’s his lifeline while your fingers twirl around tufts of his dark hair. Unconsciously shifting in your position, you brush over his clothed crotch, making him groan and grip your sides hard. Something ignites in you at his touch, pushing your body incredibly closer to his.
Faintly in the distance, pattering footsteps against the floorboards approach the hallway. Unfortunately, neither of you hear the inevitable coming due to your heavy sighs and lips smacking against one other’s.
Suddenly, the room door dramatically swings ajar as if it were palace gates opening for the arrival of royalty.
“Oh, little wing! We need ext— oh my god!”
Your mouths part unwillingly and Jason pulls you to his chest instinctively to protect you from Dick’s sight, crankily grumbling. Simultaneously, his built back faces you both, but he’s still rooted by the doorway.
Your boyfriend’s voice booms, “Dickhead!”
“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to this,” Dick brings up a hand to soothe the headache manifesting in real time for him. He huffs into the corridor he just came from.
“And for as long as you’ve been together, you’d think to lock the door, no?”
You move your head from side to side as you consider his words, forehead brushing against Jason’s collarbone. “He has a point.”
Dick throws his hands up, his aggravation only amplifying as he does. “Thank you!”
A hand that was resting on your waist comes up to very gently swat the back of your head. It does no actual damage, but your head still shoots up from the comfort of his proximity and you scoff in disbelief.
Jason gives you a look. “Don’t encourage him.”
The same hand snaps twice behind you to get his brother’s attention. Your face is still heated from embarrassment, but you will yourself to separate from Jason for everyone’s sake, smoothly removing yourself from his lap. He surprisingly has no qualms, more focused on telling off the person who disturbed his alone time with you. That, and you also wish to watch the mess unfold firsthand.
Dick tentatively shuffles before assuming the position of facing you both. He lets out a sigh of relief, visibly deflating.
Jason points at him with vigor reserved for his siblings, “And you need to learn how to knock. First, you make a fist, right? And then, you lift it to the door, and—“
“Alright, alright. I know how to knock.”
“Then remember how to next time.”
He rolls his eyes, completely disregarding his younger brother’s snarkiness. “Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted, I was going to say that we need extra hands for dinner. Come down when you’re… done.”
The door promptly shuts. You can clearly hear Dick’s footfalls this time without the distraction you had earlier. He’s barely out of earshot when you break out into a teasing grin. You start mindlessly playing with his locks again as if nothing had happened, zoning out on his wisps of white hair.
“Y’know, he could’ve caught us in a worse position.”
He buries his head in your neck, his exhale causing chills to run through your entire body. “I wish we were in one out of spite.”
A relevant memory pops up in your head; you’re quite eager to share your reminiscing with Jason. “Do you think Dick knew you snuck me in here when we were way younger?”
Blinking at the sudden throwback, his eyes dart around the ceiling, really thinking about it. Jason pulls you back into his lap as he squints at nothing in particular, “I think he got a whiff of your perfume, but that was it. I’m surprised I didn’t get shit for it, actually.”
Your nose scrunches, recalling the time you had to crawl under Jason’s bed under three seconds.
“Thank god for Alfred because if it were mine instead, I know it would’ve been dusty as hell down there.”
“I remember your poor excuse of a bed. I would not have fit under there.” You both chuckle at the thought of trying to hide him from your family in your teen years. He makes no effort to get a move on despite the mood completely shifting. You initiate it because you know he won’t.
“We better go.”
He doesn’t let go of you.
“Yup.”
You sigh. “…We’re not going downstairs any time soon, are we?”
hi ken!! can you please make something funny and fluffy bucky x reader drable like this video https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSxNj3oJk/ 😭😭
-🐰
It’s almost midnight when the bedroom door creaks open.
You and Bucky both freeze.
He’s half asleep, warm and heavy at your back, one arm slung over your waist like you might vanish if he lets go. The room is dim except for the sliver of hallway light spilling across the floor. You don’t need to look to know who it is.
Small footsteps. A dramatic sigh.
“Mom?”
You push up onto one elbow. “Ivy?”
Your daughter stands in the doorway clutching her stuffed rabbit by one ear, hair mussed from sleep, big green eyes blinking against the dark. She looks so small it makes your chest ache.
“I can’t sleep,” she says, voice serious in that way only five-year-olds can manage. “My room is too dark.”
Bucky groans softly behind you but doesn’t move his arm from around your waist. “Baby doll,” he murmurs, still half buried in the pillow. “You got the nightlight shaped like a unicorn. That thing could guide ships at sea.”
“It flickers,” Ivy says flatly.
You bite back a smile. “It does not flicker.”
“It flickers in a spooky way.”
Bucky lifts his head just enough to squint toward the doorway. “You tryin’ to negotiate, kid?”
Ivy doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
You swing your legs over the side of the bed and pat the mattress. “Come here, honey.”
She pads over, climbs up between you both without asking, immediately burrowing into your side like a tiny determined mole. Bucky’s arm instinctively shifts to accommodate her, draping over both of you like he’s shielding you from something.
You smooth Ivy’s hair back. “Sweetheart, you know we’ve talked about this. You’re getting big. You can’t sleep in our bed every time you get scared. You need to work on your independence.”
She stares up at you, expression unreadable.
Bucky makes a quiet offended sound. “Hey.”
You ignore him. “Remember what we practiced? Deep breaths, turning on your lamp, reminding yourself there’s nothing in your room except your books and your stuffed animals and the laundry you refuse to put away.”
Ivy narrows her eyes. “The laundry is suspicious.”
“It is not suspicious.”
She props herself up on one elbow and studies you with far too much calculation. You can practically see the wheels turning in her head.
“Well,” she says slowly, “what about Dad?”
You blink. “What about him?”
“When is he going to learn his independence and sleep alone?”
Silence.
Then Bucky sputters. “Excuse me?”
Ivy rolls onto her back and gestures vaguely behind her without even looking at him. “He sleeps next to you every night.”
Your lips press together hard as you try not to laugh.
“That’s different,” you say carefully.
“How?”
Bucky pushes himself up onto one elbow now, hair sticking up in every direction, blue eyes narrowed in exaggerated suspicion. “Yeah,” he mutters, “how?”
“You’re my husband,” you say, turning to him.
“And?” Ivy challenges.
“And grown-ups share a bed.”
Ivy tilts her head. “So you don’t need independence?”
Bucky’s mouth opens and closes.
You glance at him and see the exact moment he realizes he’s walked straight into a trap laid by a five-year-old.
“Listen,” he tries. “It’s different for me. I’m big. I can protect Mom.”
Ivy’s gaze sharpens. “From the dark?”
He hesitates. “Well.”
“You said there’s nothing in the dark,” she points out.
You bury your face in your hand.
Bucky looks personally betrayed. “You’re using her words against me.”
Ivy crosses her arms over her tiny chest and gives him the same deadpan expression he uses when Sam annoys him.
“So,” she says calmly, “when are you going to sleep alone to practice?”
You lose it.
A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, and Bucky shoots you a wounded look like you’ve sided with the enemy.
“Oh, that’s funny to you?” he mutters.
“She’s got a point,” you say, wiping at your eyes.
He huffs. “Unbelievable. I raise her to be clever and this is what I get.”
Ivy flops back down dramatically. “I think Mom should sleep in my room tonight. To practice independence.”
“That’s not how that works,” you say weakly.
“It is for Dad.”
Bucky leans over you to look at her. “Kid, I earned this spot.”
“Did you?” she asks.
You can’t breathe from laughing now, and Bucky finally cracks, a grin spreading across his face despite himself.
“Alright,” he says, pulling Ivy closer to him with his flesh arm. “You wanna know a secret?”
She squints at him suspiciously.
“I don’t sleep alone,” he admits. “Because I don’t want to.”
She pauses.
“You’re not scared?” she asks.
“Sometimes,” he says honestly, his voice gentler now. “But mostly I just like being close to Mom. Makes me feel better.”
Ivy processes that. “So you don’t have independence?”
“Oh, I do,” he says solemnly. “I just choose not to use it.”
You snort.
Ivy looks between the two of you, then nods like this information has been logged and categorized. “Okay.”
“Okay?” you repeat.
She scoots down under the blankets and wedges herself firmly between you both. “Then I also choose not to use mine.”
Bucky barks out a laugh and collapses back onto the pillow.
You open your mouth to protest—but then Ivy’s small hand slips into yours, warm and trusting, and Bucky’s metal arm settles carefully over both of you.
Your bedroom feels smaller now, but softer. Safer.
“Ivy,” you murmur gently, “we can’t make this a habit.”
“Mhm,” she says, already sounding drowsy.
Bucky leans over and presses a kiss to her messy hair. “Just tonight,” he whispers.
She nods against the pillow.
You glance at him over her head, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugs, sheepish. “I’m practicing not using my independence.”
You roll your eyes but shift closer anyway, tucking yourself against his chest while Ivy stays curled between you like the world’s most stubborn little buffer.
Within minutes, her breathing evens out.
Bucky’s thumb traces slow circles against your arm. “She’s too smart,” he murmurs.
“She learned from you.”
“Yeah?” He smiles softly. “Then she’ll be okay.”
You look down at your daughter, small and fierce and brilliant, wrapped in both of you.
“She will,” you agree.
Bucky tightens his hold just a little, pressing his lips to your temple.
In the dark, surrounded by the quiet hum of the house and the steady rhythm of the two people you love most in the world, independence feels overrated.
Reader always falling asleep next to Bucky, yes. BUT. Hear me out okay, Bucky always falling asleep next to reader. Pre-relationship. All reader has to do is be in the same room as Bucky and he's out like a light. It becomes comical because the team tries to figure out who it is and stay w Bucky alone to see if he falls asleep, but it's not until he's sitting alone with reader that he passes out within the minute. The team thinks it's funny, Bucky is embarrassed, but reader thinks it's cute and gets him to start sleeping in her room so he can sleep properly 😋😋
It truly was an acccident.
You’re in the common room late one night, curled up on one end of the couch with a blanket tucked around your legs and a file open on your tablet. The compound is quiet in that rare, fragile way it only ever is past midnight. You hear the soft, familiar whir of servos before you see him.
“Can’t sleep?” you ask without looking up.
Bucky grunts something noncommittal and drops onto the opposite end of the couch. He’s fresh from a shower, hair damp and pushed back, wearing gray sweats and a black Henley that stretches across his shoulders. He smells like clean soap and something warm and distinctly him.
You hum in acknowledgment, keep scrolling.
It’s less than three minutes before you glance over and realize his head has tipped back against the cushions, mouth parted slightly, breathing slow and even.
You blink.
“Barnes?”
No response.
You lean closer. He’s out cold.
You stare at him for a second, then snort quietly to yourself. He had been tense when he walked in, shoulders tight like piano wire. Now he looks… soft. Younger. Peaceful in a way you don’t get to see often.
You slide the blanket off your legs and drape it over him instead.
The next night it happens again.
And the next.
It becomes a pattern so quickly it’s almost ridiculous. You’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while he nurses a cup of tea? He’s asleep at the table before it cools. You’re on the training mats stretching after a workout? He sits down “just for a minute” and is snoring softly within five. You’re on the Quinjet, shoulder brushing his, and he’s gone before takeoff.
The first time Sam notices, he nearly chokes on his drink.
“Man,” he says slowly, eyes bouncing between you and the unconscious super soldier slumped in his chair, “I have never seen him do that.”
“What?” you ask innocently.
“Sleep. Like that.”
You glance at Bucky. He’s folded in on himself in one of the common room armchairs, chin tucked to his chest, looking so deeply asleep it borders on absurd.
“Maybe he’s tired,” you shrug.
“Uh-huh,” Sam says, squinting.
Natasha catches on next.
She tests it.
One evening, she corners Bucky in the kitchen while you’re still in the gym. She talks to him about mission reports, about old Hydra intel, about nothing at all. She even sits him down on the couch and lowers her voice to that smooth, soothing cadence she uses on frightened witnesses.
He doesn’t so much as yawn.
You walk in ten minutes later, towel around your neck, cheeks flushed from sparring.
“Hey,” you say, smiling when you see them.
Bucky looks up at the sound of your voice.
And promptly passes out mid-sentence.
Natasha stares at him.
Then at you.
“Oh,” she breathes.
Within a week it’s a full-blown investigation.
Clint tries keeping Bucky company in the rec room. Steve insists on staying up with him one night to “see what’s going on.” Sam even suggests it might be some weird delayed serum side effect.
Nothing.
Bucky stays stubbornly, frustratingly awake with everyone else.
But the second you’re alone with him?
Lights out.
The breaking point comes during movie night.
The whole team is sprawled across the couches. Bucky is sitting ramrod straight on one end, clearly determined to prove a point. He even says as much.
“I’m not tired,” he mutters, jaw tight.
You bite your lip to keep from smiling and sit beside him anyway. Not touching. Just close enough that your knees almost brush.
The movie starts.
Thirty seconds later, his head tips sideways.
And lands squarely on your shoulder.
The room erupts.
Sam howls. Clint actually applauds. Natasha hides her smirk behind her hand. Even Steve’s lips twitch.
Bucky jerks upright, horrified. “I wasn’t— I didn’t—”
“You were snoring,” Sam informs him gleefully.
“I was not!”
“You absolutely were,” Clint says. “Like a tiny chainsaw.”
You’re laughing now, warmth blooming in your chest as Bucky’s ears turn pink.
“It’s not funny,” he grumbles, refusing to look at you.
It is funny.
But it’s also… something else.
Because you’ve started to notice the details. The way his breathing evens out almost immediately when you’re near. The way his shoulders drop. The way the constant, subtle vigilance that hums beneath his skin finally goes quiet.
It hits you one evening when it’s just the two of you in your room.
He hadn’t meant to come in. He was pacing the hall after a nightmare, trying not to wake anyone. You’d opened your door at the sound of his footsteps.
“You okay?” you’d asked softly.
He hesitated.
Then nodded, once.
“C’mere,” you’d said, stepping aside.
He perches on the edge of your bed like he’s afraid it might bite him. You sit cross-legged across from him, close but not touching.
“You don’t have to stay,” he says roughly.
“I know.”
You talk about nothing. About the new recruits. About a recipe Sam ruined. About the weather.
His eyelids start to droop.
You watch it happen in real time.
“Buck,” you murmur gently.
He blinks at you, trying to fight it.
“You’re safe,” you tell him, because you think maybe that’s the key. “You can sleep.”
It’s like someone flips a switch.
He sways once.
Then slumps forward, forehead pressing lightly against your shoulder as he goes completely limp.
You freeze for a second.
Then slowly, carefully, you ease him down against your pillows and pull the comforter over him.
He doesn’t stir.
The next morning, the team finds him there.
In your bed.
Still asleep.
Sam leans against the doorway, grinning. “Well. Mystery solved.”
Bucky groans and buries his face in your pillow. “Kill me.”
You just smile, brushing your fingers gently through his hair.
“Or,” you say sweetly, “you could just start sleeping in here.”
His eyes flick up to yours, wary but hopeful.
“You serious?”
“Seems like you only sleep when I’m around,” you shrug. “Might as well get a full night out of it.”
There’s a beat.
Then, slowly, shyly, he nods.
The team never lets him live it down.
But that night—and every night after—Bucky falls asleep within minutes of you climbing into bed beside him.
How do you think Lacey would react to finding out how dangerous Scott’s (and uncle Javi’s) job is?
Like when she’s REAL little (like 3ish) they would just be like oh daddy watches the weather.
And then when she’s like 5-7 she learns about tornadoes in school and Scott info dumps which leads either reader or Scott to be like “well… daddy kinda chases them?”
when she's real little and they say that Scott watches the weather she's like "oh wow that's cool!" She doesn't think about what that means bc i guess I imagine she thinks they're watching it in the same way she might be watching it: from the safety of her home or the car. Also despite living in Oklahoma she has yet to see a really bad one (the types that Javi and Scott go crazy over) so it's not too scary for her just yet.
When she's older though and there's also more awareness on her end of just how destructive they are (like learning about them at school) she asks again. I can see it being like... a mini project? Their teacher asks them to ask their parents whether they've ever been affected by a tornado for example, and Lacey is geeked bc her daddy literally watched tornadoes do he will have sooo many cool experiences for sure.
Scott is excited to talk about his work with her but as she asks more questions Scott has to explain that they don't just chase tornadoes, they chase big tornadoes and often have to get in front of them to set up the readers. Lacey, curious as she is is like "isn't that dangerous? our teacher always tells us to get away from tornadoes" and because Scott is sooo into his explanation he forgets that 1. she's a little kid still 2. she doesn't fully understand that he's like... extra qualified to do this shit and he just goes "well yeah my truck has flipped over lots of times" and now she's nervous.
I can definitely see her asking why he does something that's so obviously dangerous if he knows that he could get hurt and if he has been hurt before, can deffo see her gently suggesting in her lovely Lacey way that he should have a different job — maybe he should tell people the weather like the lovely ladies on TV do instead of chasing tornadoes.
I imagine Scott builds little rituals with her to keep her mind at ease — he wears the bracelets she makes for him whenever he goes chasing and tells her they're his safety charms, he calls every single night or at least gives her some signs of life (especially if the tornado he was chasing is big enough to make the news). I think he'd also try explaining why his job is so important and telling her all the safety precautions they take!! She's still a nervous little kid about it though of course and that first storm season after she finds out about the dangers of his job she almost wants to hang off of him to stop him from going (reader and lacey always see scott off). asks reader over and over for updates (life360 babyyyy) and wants to watch the little scott icon move on the map. as long as there's no major incidents the anxiety goes away and she realises they're not so big and scary and scott can handle himself!!
synopsis: Adrian's neverending streak of back to back missions is finally over. Now that he knows what it's like to be without you, he never wants to feel like that again. Luckily, there's a chapel right down the block where he can make you his for good.
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, FLUFF (literally so much fluff), SMUT (piv sex in multiple positions, oral f!receiving), marriage proposal, wedding!!, 11th Street Kids cameos, Adrian is so in love it's sickening
word count: 6.1k
notes: IT IS FINALLY HERE! I have no idea why this took me literally a month and a half to write but I hope the wait was worth it <3 please enjoy these assassins being sappy and unbearably in love. thank you as always to @embeanwrites and @snowyathena for reading this through for me!!
part one | part two | part three | part four | bonus episode | Masterlist
The fifteen-hour drive back down to Vegas flew by much faster with you sitting in the passenger seat, Adrian thinks.
The mission itself flies by, too. Five days ago, he laid just like this in this stupid motel room bed, in silent agony, missing you, dreading the silent, lonely nights ahead of him.
Now, he lies here with you sat astride him, stuffed full of his cock, and the bed frame rattles and squeaks, matching your little moans and gasps every time he thrusts up into you, your breasts bouncing, your nails digging into his chest.
“Come on, baby,” he pants. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Ah—oh, god,” you sigh, rolling your hips so Adrian’s cock hits you right where you want it. You fall forward a little, let yourself rest on his chest, and he takes over entirely, grabbing you by the hips, lifting you up and dropping you back down, relishing in the tiny noises that escape you every time he hits you nice and deep.
Lying forward like this, your face hovers just above his, and you lean down the few inches to connect your lips with his. He groans at the back of his throat when your lips trail down his jaw, when your teeth nibble at the skin of his neck.
“I’m gonna—need you to come, baby, please, I need it,” he says over the sound of his hips snapping up into yours. He can feel that you’re close from the way you’re holding yourself so tensely. “Touch yourself for me, you can—”
Your hand works between your bodies, between your legs, right to where you’re joined, and rubs furiously at your clit. “Adrian—Adrian—”
He feels it when you shatter, your entire body trembling, and his own body shudders with pleasure as he topples over the edge right along with you.
“Fuck,” he gasps. You collapse, boneless, on top of him, and his arms come around you to hold you close, tracing gently up and down your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“That’s one way to celebrate a mission well done,” you murmur, and he laughs.
“My favorite way,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “You know that. It’s been torture, without you.”
You kiss his cheek softly. “No more torture.”
“Only the sexy kind,” Adrian grins.
You roll your eyes. “Come on. Let’s clean up before dinner. No funny business in the shower. We don’t have time,” you say firmly.
“Of course not,” Adrian says innocently. He’s lying through his teeth. He knows it, and you do too. There’s absolutely no way he’ll be able to keep his hands off of you, especially when you get out of bed and start walking toward the bathroom with your hips swaying like that, glancing over your shoulder with a teasing look.
“You’re evil,” he says, scrambling after you. Your laughter echoes off the tiled bathroom wall.
An hour later, Adrian is almost fully dressed, in his jeans and socks, picking out a shirt. You’ve got half an hour before you’re due to meet Emilia and Chris for dinner.
“Not-Economos isn’t coming,” Adrian reports, reading a text message from Chris. “Emilia declared the mission over, and he dipped. He’s going back to Evergreen. Not that I blame him.”
“His name is Marcus,” you remind Adrian.
“I really don’t give a fuck,” Adrian says as he responds to Chris’s message. You just shake your head, giggling and digging through your bag for a fresh pair of jeans, clad only in your bra and underwear.
“Hey, Ade?” you ask, your tone curious. He looks up from his phone to see you holding up the dress.
The pretty white one, from your closet. That he’d shoved at the bottom of your bag. His heart picks up speed, and his hands suddenly feel clammy.
“Yeah?” he says, trying to play it cool.
“I know I didn’t pack this for myself,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You planning to take me on a hot date?”
Adrian’s mouth goes dry, watching you hold the dress up against your body.
Am I actually doing this? he thinks, as he looks at you standing there, half-naked and beautiful and here and his. It was a split-second decision, shoving that dress at the bottom of your bag back in Evergreen. He could play it off now, say he wants to take you dancing, or to a nice dinner. But his eyes flick to your left hand. Your empty ring finger. He imagines a diamond sitting there, sparkling, as your hand clutches the fabric.
He clears his throat and decides.
“Maybe,” he says. “If…if you want.”
“Hmm,” you tease. “I don’t know, where are you taking me?”
Adrian swallows nervously.
“One of the chapels on the Strip,” he says. Hesitant. Hopeful.
You freeze, the floral fabric wrinkling as you clench it in your fists.
“Are you serious?” you ask. There’s something in your voice he hasn’t ever heard before. A little breathy wobble.
Adrian looks at you carefully, the way you’re looking at him with wide eyes. The surprise is written on your face, clear as day, but it’s hard to know what you’re thinking, and it makes him even more nervous. His heart skips, a quick rhythm he feels right at the back of his throat, but—it’s out in the universe now. He can’t take it back.
He doesn’t want to take it back.
“I’ve never been more serious,” he says quietly, even as his voice shakes, setting his phone aside and standing up to walk over to you. Your eyes are glassy as you look up at him, and his hands skate up your waist, your arms, your neck, until his hands cup your cheeks. “I love you. And I just spent—all those weeks alone, and now I know what it’s like. To live without you. And I never want to do it again.”
“You want to…marry me?” you whisper, like you can’t believe it.
“I do,” he says, and you smile, wide and bright, your cheeks smushing a little between his hands.
“Really? You’ve—I mean—we’ve never even talked about it—”
“I know,” he says quickly. “I know I’m springing this on you. I just—I was thinking about it the other night, when me and Peacemaker were out doing touristy shit, and I saw all the couples coming out of the chapels, being happy and in love, and—I wanted to do that. With you.”
“I want that too,” you say softly. “I want to marry you, Adrian.”
“Yeah?” he whispers. You nod, and he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he laughs. “Really?”
“Really,” you say. “Let’s get married.”
“It doesn’t have to be here, or now,” Adrian says. “It can just be the two of us at the courthouse in Evergreen for all I care. Or—I am technically ordained. I did it online a couple years ago when I was bored. But I don’t know if I’m allowed to marry myself? I mean, not marry myself, but marry myself, you know—”
“No,” you interrupt. “Now. Today. Well—not today. Tomorrow. We need to call John and Ads, and give them time to fly down, so they can be here. And—we need to get rings, and I love you, baby, but you are not wearing the Vigilante suit at the altar—”
“Why not? It’s the nicest outfit I own!”
“You literally killed someone last night. It’s covered in blood.”
“Oh. Right,” he says. “I guess I can probably rent a suit or something, right? Maybe a teal bow tie?” His question is hopeful. You giggle.
“I wouldn’t expect any other color.”
“We’re really doing this?” Adrian asks, because he needs to make sure. That this moment is happening, that this is real.
“Ask me,” you say. “Say the words.”
Adrian’s smile widens. “Will you marry m—”
You cut him off with a kiss, dropping the white dress to the floor so you can wrap your arms around his neck and hitch yourself higher. He does what you’re wordlessly asking, lifting you in his arms, and your legs wrap around his waist as your lips move against his. You’re saying something between kisses, in tiny, quiet gasps.
“Yes,” you say, and Adrian’s heart sings. “Yes, yes, yes—”
Then you’re reaching down, pulling at his belt, unzipping his pants, shoving them down to his ankles. He grinds against you, he can’t help it, walking you back against the wall, and you whine.
“Please,” you say. “God, please—”
Adrian shoves your underwear aside and pushes into you, a slick, smooth slide, and he fucks you right there against the wall in frenzied thrusts that knock his glasses askew. You pull his mouth to yours and kiss him, let him swallow every sound you make, every word of praise you breathe.
“So good to me,” you say. “I love you so much.”
“I love you,” he gasps into your mouth. “God, I fucking love you.”
Your head falls back against the wall when you come, fluttering around his cock, and he spills into you almost immediately after, hot pleasure rushing through him.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re cleaning yourselves up, almost certainly going to be late for dinner, but you can’t bring yourselves to care. You keep stopping, pausing for one more kiss, and it takes longer than usual for you to pull your clothes on and make yourself presentable.
“Are you sure?” Adrian says, checking in one last time before you go. “I mean it. We don’t have to do this now. We can wait. Have a big, fancy ceremony, and get you a nice expensive sparkly dress, and a cake with like, ten layers—I can make Chris and Economos wear bowties, and maybe Eagly could be our ringbearer—”
“I don’t need any of that,” you say softly. “I just need you. And our friends. But I don’t care about all the rest. I just want to be with you, for the rest of my life.”
On the walk to the restaurant, you call Ads. Adrian can hear her screeching in your ear even from several feet away, and he laughs.
“You’ll be here, right?” you ask. “You and John. I need a maid of honor. Yes, you. Oh, Ads, don’t cry—”
Meanwhile, Adrian calls Economos.
“Hey, Adrian,” he answers. “What’s up? I don’t have time for an animal quiz today, I gotta—”
“Ads is gonna book you a flight to Vegas,” Adrian interrupts.
“I—what?”
“We’re getting married,” Adrian says, and Economos makes a choking noise.
“What?”
“I mean, we’re not getting married. I’m not marrying you,” Adrian clarifies. “Obviously. I’m marrying my girlfriend. My fiancee. Who I love very much. Everyone else is coming, so you have to be there too.”
“Jesus Christ,” Economos says. “I knew what you meant, dude. But holy shit, you’re not kidding? Okay. Um. Fuck. I guess I’ll drop everything in my entire life and hop on a last-minute flight to Vegas because I have nothing better to do—”
“You don’t have anything better to do,” Adrian says, confused. “You don’t have a life.”
“Fuck you,” Economos says, but he’s laughing. “Goddamnit. I guess I have to go pack a bag. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Adrian says brightly. “See you tomorrow!”
When you sit down at the dinner table, Adrian doesn’t even give Harcourt time to criticize you both for being ten minutes late.
“We’re staying an extra day,” Adrian declares, sliding out your chair for you and then plopping down into his own with a huge smile.
“Five days ago, you were ready to quit your job because you wanted to not be here so badly,” Chris says. “What gives?”
“I didn’t miss home, I missed her,” Adrian says simply. “And we’re staying for a reason. Actually, you need to stay too, so you can be here. You were included in the ‘we.’ Ads and Economos are coming down, we just talked to them on the walk over here.”
“Ads and John are coming? To Vegas?” Emilia clarifies, brows furrowed.
“For what?” Chris asks, similarly bewildered. “The mission is done. I mean, we can have a bomb ass 11th Street Kids reunion and get plastered at the casino. You don’t need to ask me twice. But we can also get plastered on the roof of Emilia’s apartment building for a lot cheaper.”
You reach for Adrian’s hand on top of the table, a tiny smile on your face. He rubs his thumb over the empty spot on your ring finger. Emilia watches the movement with sharp eyes.
“Holy shit,” she says. “You’re not.”
You smile. “We are.”
“You’re what?” Chris says, looking around the table at each of you in turn.
“Oh my god,” Emlia says, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Holy shit. Holy shit.”
“What are you holy shitting about!” Chris cries.
“They’re getting married!”
Chris’s eyes go wide, and he looks to Adrian for confirmation, but he’s too busy staring at you, all love-struck and smiley.
“Dude! Why didn’t you fucking tell me! I’m your BFF!”
“It was a spur of the moment thing!” Adrian says.
“What the fuck!” Chris sputters. “Well—fine. I’m gonna be your best man, though, right?”
“Obviously,” Adrian says.
“And I asked Ads to be my maid of honor. They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon,” you add, smiling.
Emilia shakes her head. “Holy shit. Oh my god. This is crazy. I mean, it’s not crazy. I know you guys love each other. Well. It’s a little bit crazy, but Adrian is a little bit crazy, so really, what am I expecting here?”
“Aw man, Eagly’s gonna miss it,” Chris sighs. “He could have been your ringbearer or something.”
“That’s what I said!” Adrian exclaims.
“Shut the fuck up, Chris,” Emilia sighs, and you just laugh.
“Isn’t it bad luck to spend the night together before the wedding?” Emilia teases at the end of the night. You giggle, but Adrian frowns.
“That’s a tradition rooted in misogyny,” Adrian says matter-of-factly. “And respectfully, I think I’ve spent enough nights sleeping alone recently.”
“Fair enough,” Chris notes.
“Too many wedding traditions are about owning women,” Adrian continues. “Like someone walking the bride down the aisle to ‘give her away.’ She’s not an object!”
“Thank you for respecting my autonomy, honey.” He beams at you. “I still think we should do something the old-fashioned way,” you say.
“Well, you’re gonna wear a white dress,” Adrian says. “Which is supposed to symbolize purity or some bullshit like that. Obviously I don’t care about that, I mean, literally this morning we were—”
Emilia slaps him on the back of the head before he can finish his sentence, and you laugh.
“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” you suggest. “No misogyny or bullshit there. That’s just for luck, I think.”
He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Does teal count as blue? Or green? I want a teal bowtie.”
“I think the bride is supposed to have all four things,” Emilia says.
“More misogyny,” Adrian says. “Why does she need to carry the weight of superstition on her shoulders? This is a partnership. We shoulder all burdens equally.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Yes, Adrian, teal is blue.”
“Perfect! And you already have a white dress, babe. What year did you buy it?”
“Why?”
“We need to know if it’s old or not.”
“I think the fact that it was buried at the back of the closet qualifies it in the ‘old’ category.” You giggle at Adrian’s thoughtful concentration. When his mind is set to something, he takes it incredibly seriously.
“I’ve got something you can borrow,” Chris tells Adrian.
“What is it?” Adrian asks excitedly.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I love surprises!” Adrian says excitedly.
“I know,” Chris says. “It’s almost like—get this—I’m going to be your best man for a reason.”
“So if you’re going to shoulder all burdens equally,” Emilia says dramatically, looking at you with a smirk, “that means we get to go shopping tonight for ‘something new.’ What are you thinking? Accessories? Something for your hair, or a bracelet?”
“I’ve got an idea,” you smile, and Adrian immediately opens his mouth to ask what it is, but you interrupt. “It’s a surprise.”
“Two surprises in one day,” Adrian says. “And I’m getting married? Tomorrow is going to be the best fucking day ever.”
“I’ll go with you,” Emilia says. “We can go buy whatever you’re thinking, and then we can meet Chris and Adrian at one of the casinos for one last drink before we turn in for the night.”
“Wait,” Adrian pouts. “Without me?”
“How is it going to be a surprise if you come with me?” you ask.
Adrian looks torn between wanting to cling to your hand for the rest of the night and getting his surprise tomorrow. He hasn’t let you out of his sight since the day he drove fifteen hours straight to get home to you after five weeks of being apart. You’ve been within arms’ reach for almost an entire week, and the idea of you watching you walk away from him, even for just a few hours, makes his chest feel tight with panic. You can see it in his eyes, and you cup his cheek in one hand and kiss him softly.
“I’ll be with Em. You’ll be with Chris. I am not leaving Vegas, you are not leaving Vegas. No more missions. We’re together. I’m not leaving you.”
Adrian takes a shaky breath.
“I know,” he says quietly. “Just…be quick?”
“Two hours,” you promise, and he nods.
“Okay,” he says. “Here.” He opens his wallet and pulls out a wad of cash.
“What—”
“To buy your something new,” he says, shoving the money into your hands.
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, but you take the money, because he’ll argue with you if you don’t. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.” You pull out your phone and set a two-hour timer, holding it up for him to see, and watch a little bit more tension drain out of him.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” you say, and you kiss him again. “And when I get back, we’ll go pick out our rings, okay?”
“Ooh! Can I bring my Vigilante gloves with me? Maybe they can, like, embroider the left one—”
“Embroider your glove?”
“With some silver thread or something,” he nods. “The people need to know that Vigilante is off the market. Even the criminals should know that I’m taken, babe.”
Chris rolls his eyes. You just kiss your fiance and smile.
The next morning feels weirdly normal. Adrian wakes up with you curled around him, and he feels so fucking grateful for it, because the memory of an empty bed is still fresh in his mind. You’re still sleeping. He closes his eyes and pulls you closer.
But then you’re kissing him, softly, and he smiles as he realizes you’re awake after all.
“Good morning,” you say, your voice all raspy from sleep. He pulls you on top of him. He’s been doing that all week, using you like a blanket, your weight pressing him down into the mattress, comforting and secure.
Adrian opens his eyes when you laugh. You’re a little blurry. He hasn’t put his glasses on yet. You can tell he’s squinting, and you reach over to the bedside table, then slide them on his face for him. He steals another kiss after you do, then checks his phone.
“Can you believe we’re getting married in seven hours, twenty-nine minutes, and forty-one seconds?” he asks, grinning.
“What?” you ask, bewildered that he’s keeping track down to the second, but he misunderstands your confusion.
“You did agree to marry me yesterday, didn’t you?” he says, a little uncertain. “I made an appointment on my phone last night. Unless—you’re not sure? We don’t have to—”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” you interrupt quickly, putting a few fingers over his mouth to stop him talking. He can’t help himself. He kisses your hand, and you smile. “I just—how do you know down to the second?”
“It’s kinda one of the greatest, most important things that’s ever going to happen to me,” he says, trying and failing to sound casual and chill about it when in fact he’s ready to vibrate out of his skin and take you right with him, levitating from the sheer power of his excitement and joy right down the street and through the doors of the chapel.
“You’re such a sap,” you say, but your eyes are shining, and the way you’re smiling at him makes his heart flutter in his chest.
“I’m allowed to be sappy. We’re getting married today,” he says, beaming.
“We’re getting married today,” you repeat, beaming back, just as bright. “Shall we?”
Adrian expects the day to drag, but he’s too busy to watch the clock. The two of you go with Chris and Emilia to pick up Ads and Economos from the airport, and for the first time in months, all of the 11th Street Kids are in one place at the same time.
When you go grab lunch, you stop at a cheap fast-food joint with outdoor picnic tables where you can sit for a while and chat. But it’s not a quick bite. You spend hours there, catching up over too-salty fries, baking in the hot sun, laughing so loud you’re drawing attention to yourselves. Adrian looks around the table and feels so fucking happy he thinks he might explode. All of his favorite people in the whole world are here with him right now, and he gets to marry you today.
Between the trip to the airport and lunch, five hours have passed, and before Adrian knows it, the girls are whisking you off to get you dressed and ready for the evening.
“I’ll see you later,” you say as Ads drags you away into your motel room. Adrian watches you go and feels the familiar pang in his chest that comes with being apart from you, but the ache is soothed with the knowledge that the next time he sees you, you’ll be walking down the street together to the chapel.
He ends up in Chris and Emilia’s motel room with Chris and John, getting ready himself, and when he looks at the clock and realizes there’s only two hours before your appointment time, he’s surprised.
He’s been waiting for the panic to set in all day. That’s what happens in the movies. People get nervous before they get married. It’s a big commitment, it’s a big life decision. But it doesn’t feel like that, not for him.
Adrian decided a long, long time ago that you were it for him. Today, you’re just signing a piece of paper to make it official. He’ll tell you in front of his friends exactly how much you mean to him. But he’s done that dozens of times before. He tells you he loves you constantly. And he knows that you love him, too.
“I promised you something borrowed,” Chris says. He holds out a box for Adrian. “John stopped at the house to pick these up for me before he came down here.”
Adrian cracks open the box, and there’s a pair of silver cufflinks in the shape of Chris’s signature dove of peace.
“Thank you,” Adrian says, and before he can even get properly all choked up about it, Chris is rolling his eyes.
“Don’t be a pussy about it. Just put them on.”
When you text him that you’re ready about an hour later, Adrian nearly trips over himself with eagerness. Chris and John look at him, bewildered, when he rushes out of the motel room and down just a few doors to his own room where you’ve been getting dressed. They watch him knock furiously with fond exasperation.
“He’s so…” John starts.
“Whipped?” Chris suggests.
“Sure, let’s go with that. Just don’t let him hear you say it. He would probably misread a social cue and make it about like, BDSM or something.”
When you open the door, Adrian stares. Ads and Emilia have helped tame your hair into a stunning style, the floral white dress flatters your form absolutely perfectly, and—
“I am so fucking in love with you,” he says. “Fuck. How are you so pretty—”
He reaches for your face to kiss you, but Emilia slaps his hands away.
“You’re gonna fuck up her makeup.”
“Ask me if I give a shit,” Adrian retorts, and he kisses you anyway while you laugh at him.
He does, in fact, smudge your lipstick a little. Once Adrian finally lets you go, Ads rolls her eyes and carefully fixes it as best she can.
As she does, Adrian’s eyes latch onto the sparkling silver necklace at your throat. He reaches for it, picks the charm up between his thumb and forefinger. A tiny letter A. When he swallows, his throat feels tight.
“When did you—”
“My something new,” you say, smiling softly at him as Ads steps back, satisfied with her work.
“Oh,” he says, his own goofy smile growing on his face. “A for—”
“Adrian, yes,” you giggle. “I thought about a V, maybe, for Vigilante, but—”
“It’s perfect,” Adrian interrupts, his voice cracking a bit. “You’re perfect. I’m so happy that I get to marry you, baby.” He goes to kiss you again, and Ads grabs him by the back of the collar.
“I just fixed her makeup, Adrian—”
“Save the sappy speeches,” Chris says from the doorway. “We don’t want to be late.”
Adrian snaps to attention. “No. We should be early, actually. Maybe they’ll get us in quicker—”
“He’s gonna fucking run down the aisle,” John laughs.
Adrian doesn’t run down the aisle. If you were at the end of it, waiting for him, he absolutely would have. But instead, you walk down the aisle together, hands laced tightly, both of you beaming and giggling like idiots the whole way to the altar.
“You’d never guess they were fucking assassins,” John mutters to Emilia, who just smiles and shakes her head.
“Even people surrounded by death all the time deserve a little happiness,” she murmurs.
And you are. The both of you. Happier than you’ve ever been, because you love each other. Adrian has known for ages now that he was going to love you forever, but now—there’s something special about it. Setting it in stone, making it official. Being able to call you his wife instead of his girlfriend, being able to look at the wedding ring he’s going to place on your finger
He’s so caught up in it all—his imaginings of that future—that before he knows it, the officiant is done with his cookie-cutter speech, and offering the floor to the both of you to share your vows, gesturing for you to speak.
You offer Adrian a nervous half-smile and he squeezes your hands. The light in his eyes washes all of your worry away.
“The day I met you, I didn’t even see your face,” you begin. “All I knew was the man behind the mask. I knew you were funny, and brave, and righteous, and a little bit of an idiot, and part of me knew, from that very first week, that I wanted you to be my idiot. Forever. I trusted you to have my back in the field for years, and I have trusted you with my heart for almost as long, and you have done nothing but pour love and laughter into my life. I am so grateful for you, Adrian, and I love you. I will continue to love you for the rest of my life, and I will show you that love every day. No matter how far away we are.”
“When I was growing up, I never thought I’d love anyone like this,” Adrian says, a little choked up. “And now that I do, it’s the most special thing, and Chris might be my best friend, but you are my best best friend, in the whole wide world, and you are so funny and badass and hot and every time I look at you I just feel so—lucky, and every day that I wake up and I get to love you is the best day of my life, and I never want to be without you.” He takes a deep breath after his rambling confession.
The officiant gestures for John and Emilia to step forward. They each hand you something—the rings that you and Adrian had picked out the night prior. Simple, silver bands.
Adrian had wanted to get you something flashier, but you’d reminded him that you were both assassins for a living and you often worked with your hands. A lot of the time, the ring would be living on the new chain around your neck, hiding beneath your shirt right beside the tiny silver letter A. A big diamond would get caught on your clothes and in your hair.
You take the rings now from your friends and slide them onto each other’s left hands. Then your hands come up to cup Adrian’s face, framing his bright, boyish smile that widens even further when he feels the cool metal of your wedding band pressing against his cheeks.
You turn to the officiant. “Can I kiss him now? While you do the boring part?”
The man shrugs. “Be my guest.”
Somewhere in the background, you register the words as the officiant pronounces you husband and wife. Hear the sniffles that Ads and John try to hide, the clapping from Emilia, the wolf whistle from Chris.
You’re too busy kissing your husband to care about any of it.
Several hours later, tipsy and tired, you and Adrian stumble toward your motel room, giggling between kisses. It takes him three tries to get the electronic lock to work because he’s so distracted by your lips on his neck, sending bolts of heat shooting down his spine. He hums and tilts his head to give you better access as the door finally opens.
You start to step inside, but he grabs you by the wrist and yanks you into his chest.
“No,” he says. “I’m supposed to—to do a thing. Carry you.”
“Bridal style?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re a bride. My bride. I gotta do my duty. I will not fail at husbanding within the first six hours.”
“I think that’s for when we get home,” you laugh. “And I don’t think husbanding is a verb, baby.”
“Humor me,” he says, picking you up anyway, sending you into another fit of giggles. He steps over the threshold with a goofy smile and then sets you down on the bed and shuts the door behind him. “Okay. All done.”
“Thank you, my love,” you say dramatically.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Chase,” he teases, leaning over you on the mattress, and then he makes a face. “Ew. Sorry. I wanted that to be sexy, it is not sexy. I’m just thinking about my fucking mom now. Gross.”
“You’re gonna have to tell her,” you point out.
“Not tonight, I’m not,” he says. “Tonight, I am going to make love to my wife, and tomorrow we are going to go home and stay home for several weeks and not talk to anybody except each other, because the rest of the world got to have you for five fucking weeks straight and it’s my turn to be alone with my wife.”
He’s been calling you that all night. Every bartender, every stranger on the street, even to Chris and Emilia and John and Ads, like they don’t know who you are already. The words feel magical on his tongue. He’s not sure he’ll ever get sick of them.
“You’re all mine,” you say. “No missions. No interruptions. Just us.”
You reach up for his bowtie and pull it loose, dropping it on the floor, then push his unbuttoned, already-disheveled suit jacket off his shoulders. His cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess, his mouth hanging open, reaching forward for your lips, but your duck your head to the side, kissing at his neck instead. He groans.
“You’re so handsome,” you say, nibbling at his jaw as you unbutton his shirt. “How are you so handsome? I’m so lucky.”
“You’re so lucky?” he says incredulously, hands trailing up your thighs. “I’m so lucky. The luckiest guy on the fucking planet. With the most badass, beautiful wife ever. I love you so much.”
“Are you gonna take my clothes off or what? I feel like I’m doing all the work here.”
“I get to see you naked all the time. I only get to fuck my wife in her wedding dress once,” he says. He’s not even smug about it. He’s just—earnest, excited. He just wants you. And you want him just as bad.
He’s just a little bit drunk, maybe, he thinks to himself, the world all hazy and warm. He can’t stop smiling, giggling, and neither can you, the both of you feeding on each other’s joy, amplifying it back in an echo chamber that makes his chest feel tight, like he can’t physically hold in all the love he has for you.
“Do whatever you want with me,” you groan. “Just fucking touch me already.”
Adrian scrambles for your underwear, tugging it down your legs in what he wanted to be a swift movement, but ends up being clumsy. Still, as he dips down to eagerly lick at your slick pussy, you whimper—no matter how clumsy he might be right now, he knows you, knows your body, like the back of his own hand, and it takes him no time at all to work you up to your peak, until your thighs are trembling around his head and his glasses are fogging up.
When you come, tiny gasps of pleasure spill from the back of your throat, and Adrian feels a strange, possessive feeling take over him as he realizes that he is the only one who will ever get to hear you make these noises. Who will ever make you feel this way. You’re his, now, forever, and no one else can ever take you away from him.
“I just can’t believe I get to keep you,” he murmurs, kissing up your body—your belly, your breasts, your neck, until he finally reaches your mouth, delving his tongue inside to meet yours. It’s sloppy. It’s greedy. It’s perfect.
You unbuckle his belt to shove his pants down his thighs, and Adrian groans when his cock springs free and you wrap your hand around him, pumping. He’s already rock hard, leaking precum everywhere, and if he doesn’t fuck you in the next ten seconds, this will be over before it even starts.
He places his hands on your upper thighs, pushing the skirt of your dress up out of the way, and spreads your legs so he has room to settle between them. You lay back on the mattress, watching him, pupils blown so wide he wouldn’t even know what they looked like if he hadn’t spent hours of time staring at your face, admiring every fleck of color in them.
Adrian gives you no warning when he pushes into you, and your eyes flutter shut, thighs tightening around his waist. He thrusts into you with practiced movements, relishing in the fact that he knows your body so well. Knows the exact angle that will hit that sweet sensitive spot inside you, knows exactly how fast and hard you like it. Knows exactly when you’re moments away from your second orgasm, because you start clenching around his cock in that familiar way, tight and warm and perfect.
This time, when you come, Adrian is seconds behind you, his thrusts losing rhythm as he falls over the edge and spills into you. He drops to his elbows until he’s covering you with his whole body, his face hovering right above yours, breaths mingling.
“I love you,” you say, reaching for his left hand. He gives it to you, beaming as you kiss the cool metal of his wedding band. He returns the favor, ducking his head down to kiss the pendant of your new necklace.
“I love you too,” he says. “So fucking much.”
Tomorrow, you’ll head back home with your friends. Next week, you’ll be back at work, doing what you both do best—maiming and killing and whatever needs to be done for the good of your missions. But right now, there’s this. There’s the two of you, joined together, married. And with you, Adrian knows he’s ready to tackle whatever comes along next.
