Summary: Jason’s on a sex ban— or quite literally, a complete touch ban!
warnings: whiny, pathetic Jason.
Jason Todd was an absolute idiot, there was no denying that. But he was a very desperate idiot. And he was willing to do anything if it meant you’d touch him again. You see, you’d put him on a complete sex/touch ban for three entire weeks, and well? Jason was not taking it well.
By day twelve of the three-week sentence, the fearsome Red Hood had effectively ceased to exist. In his place was a six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-fifteen-pound disaster who was entirely losing his grip on reality.
Jason didn’t do things by halves. When he was a crime lord, he took over the East End. When he was an Outlaw, he traveled through space and time. And when he was put on a strict ban by the only person who held his entire heart in her hands, he turned into this absolute menace of compliance.
The apartment had never been cleaner. It was, quite frankly, terrifying.
When you walked through the front door after an exhausting shift, you didn't just smell the familiar scent of Gotham rain and Jason’s expensive cologne. You smelled lemon verbena. You smelled freshly bleached tile
You stepped into the kitchen and paused. The countertops were sparkling so intensely they practically caught the light. Every single dish was not only washed, dried, and put away, but the spice rack had been meticulously alphabetized. Even the labels on the canned goods were facing perfectly forward.
And there, standing by the stove, was Jason.
He was wearing a pair of dark sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a tight, sleeveless black compression shirt that showed off every single rigid muscle, and scar, across his broad back. And the sight normally should’ve been enough for you to jump onto him, He was currently plate-stacking three different Tupperware containers of custom-marinated chicken breasts, a batch of freshly roasted vegetables, and a pot of handmade gnocchi.
The moment the lock clicked, Jason didn’t just look up. His entire body snapped to attention. His dark eyes locked onto yours with this frantic, high-alert energy that reminded you of a stray puppy.
He didn't break the rules. His large, heavily calloused hands clamped firmly onto the edge of the kitchen island to physically anchor himself in place, but his broad shoulders slouched instantly into a pathetic, pleading posture.
"Hey," he said. His voice was incredibly rough, a deep, gravelly rumble that sounded completely worn out, like he hadn't slept in a week— which he hasn’t. How could he without your hugs and kisses?. "I made dinner. I made the gnocchi from scratch. The way your grandma does it, with the potato-to-flour ratio you like. And I prepped your lunches for the next four days."
You set your bag down, looking at the sheer volume of food, then at the pristine kitchen. "Jason... did you scrub the baseboards?"
"Yes," he blurted out, shifting his weight from one heavy foot to the other, his eyes tracking your every movement with an agonizing level of pining. "And I ran the vacuum over the carpet three times to get the lines perfectly straight. And I picked up Lily’s toys and sanitized every single block with baby-safe wipes so she doesn't ingest any rogue bacteria. I did it all."
"Wow," you murmured, leaning against the counter. "You've been busy."
"I'm losing my mind," Jason confessed, his voice dropping into a soft, intensely whiny pitch that would have shocked anyone who had ever seen him pull a trigger. He let go of the counter, taking one agonizingly slow step toward you, but stopping exactly two feet away to respect the boundary. He looked down at you from under his dark lashes, his jaw tight, his white streak of hair falling messily across his forehead. "Babe. Sweetheart. Light of my life. Look at me. I am literally vibrating. I haven't slept in forty-eight hours because every time I close my eyes, I just think about how I'm not allowed to hold you."
"It's only been twelve days, Jay," you teased, crossing your arms and fighting the massive smirk tugging at your lips.
"Twelve days is two hundred and eighty-eight hours!" Jason groaned, a loud, muffled sound of pure misery escaping his throat as he dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Do you know what I did last night? On patrol? I didn't even break any noses. A guy tried to mug a tourist in an alley, and instead of hurting him I settled on throwing him into a dumpster. I'm broken. You've broken the Red Hood."
He dropped his gaze back to you, his chest rising and falling in a heavy, desperate exhale. He slowly sunk downward, dropping his massive, muscular frame right onto his knees on your kitchen tile. He looked up at you from the floor, his hands resting on his own thighs, completely and utterly humbled.
"Please," Jason pleaded, his gravelly voice cracking slightly as he looked up at you with wide, desperate eyes. "Look at me. I'm on my knees. I'm saying the words. I'll be a good boy, sweetheart. I swear to God, I'll be the best boy you’ve ever had. I’ll never let Roy inside a three-block radius of this building again. I’ll make him sign a legal waiver. I’ll personally rewrite Lily’s vocabulary list. I will literally do anything.”
You looked down at him, your heart melting just a little bit at the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of Gotham’s most dangerous vigilante begging for his life on your kitchen floor.
"Are you begging, Jason Todd?" you murmured, stepping half an inch closer.
"Yes! Yes, I am absolutely begging, I have zero shame left," he whispered frantically, his dark eyes instantly tracking your movement, glowing with a sudden, fierce spark of hope. He leaned forward slightly, though he kept his hands firmly on his knees. "I don't even need the whole thing. Just a deal. Let me negotiate. A partial payout. Five minutes of cuddles on the couch. You don't even have to move. I will just lie there like a giant, silent weighted blanket. I won't use my hands. I'll tuck them under my chest. Just let me smell your hair, babe. Please."
"Just cuddles?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A kiss," he corrected instantly, his voice taking on a thick, desperate edge as he looked at your lips. "One kiss. Short. Sweet. Clean. Well, maybe not entirely clean, but just *something*. My lips are falling off, sweetheart. They’re dying. I'm a dying man."
You let out a soft laugh, finally breaking your resolve. The sight of him on his knees, completely devoted, utterly whiny, and entirely yours was too much to resist. You reached out, your fingers gently sliding into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.
Jason practically shuddered at the touch, a low, ragged sigh breaking from his chest as he immediately leaned his face into your palm, his eyes closing in pure, unadulterated relief.
"Alright," you whispered, running your thumb over his sharp jawline. "The ban is suspended. Just for tonight."
Jason didn't even wait for you to finish the sentence. He surged up from the floor, his large, powerful arms instantly wrapping around your waist and lifting you completely off your feet. He pulled you flush against his broad chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a deep, shaky inhale.
"Oh, thank God," he mumbled against your skin
He didn't waste a second moving you to the living room, collapsing onto the couch and pulling you down on top of him. He was a man possessed by pure, desperate compliance, his massive frame sinking deep into the cushions until he was completely flat on his back, using his own chest as a platform for you.
"Rules," he breathed out, his voice a rough, scraped-raw whisper against your hair. He immediately tucked both of his massive, scarred hands flat underneath his own chest, pinning them between his body and the sofa cushions. He looked up at you from the pillows, his jaw open slightly, his eyes wide and completely glazed over with absolute devotion. "Look. Hands are away. I’m not moving 'em. See? Good boy."
You couldn't help the soft laugh that bubbled out of you, leaning your weight fully against his chest. Even stripped of his weapons and armor, Jason was a solid wall of muscle, but right now, he felt completely pliable beneath you, his entire body relaxing into a soft, heavy puddle the second your warmth pressed into him.
"Very good boy, Jay," you murmured, tracing a slow line down his cheekbone.
Jason practically whimpered at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his face aggressively into your palm, chasing the friction of your skin like a man dying of thirst. "More," he pleaded, his voice cracking, entirely unbothered by how pathetic he sounded. "Babe, please. Just keep doing that. Left side of my jaw. Right there. Oh, God."
You smiled, leaning down slowly until your lips were just a fraction of an inch away from his. You could feel the frantic, heavy thump of his heart hammering against your ribs, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The fearsome Red Hood was completely paralyzed under your gaze, his chest rising and falling beneath you as he waited for permission.
"Can I?" he whispered, his dark eyes snapping open, staring at your mouth with a hunger that was almost frightening, yet he didn't move a single muscle to take it. "Please, sweetheart. Just a little bit. I’ve been so good for you."
"Go ahead, Jay."
The second the words left your mouth, Jason didn't lunge—he just reached up with his face, his lips meeting yours with a soft, trembling reverence that completely dismantled the tough-guy persona. It was a deep, heavy, agonizingly slow kiss, full of the built-up tension of the last twelve days. He drank you in like oxygen, a low, needy vibration rumbling deep in his chest as his lips parted against yours, begging for more without his hands ever leaving their pinned position beneath him.
Hunhbknhjnkk oh my goodness this man he’s so fine wtf
Summary: Roy and your boyfriend, Jason babysit your little sister. One things leads to another and her first word ends up being fuck.
Warnings: light swearing, fluff, mentions of sex? Jason is put on a sex ban.
Jason Todd had survived the Lazarus Pit, beaten the Joker to a pulp, and carved out his own territory in Gotham’s most brutal neighborhoods. He didn’t sweat. He didn’t get flustered.
But right now, he was sitting on your living room floor, staring at your fourteen-month-old sister, Lily, with a look of intense, quiet calculation, and panic.
Across from him, Roy Harper was leaned back against your couch, lazily tossing a rogue plastic wheel from a toy train up in the air and catching it. He looked entirely relaxed, save for the slight tightness around his eyes.
"If she repeats it to YN, I'm telling her it was you," Jason said, his voice a low, gritty rumble. He didn't look up from Lily, who was currently trying to fit a plastic cup over her entire face.
"Hey, I didn't tell you to leave your gear bag right where I could trip over it," Roy countered smoothly, catching the wheel with a snap of his fingers. "I stubbed my toe on a literal grapple gun, Jay. The reaction was involuntary."
"Your reaction was shouting the word fuck loud enough for the neighbour’s baby to learn it as well," Jason muttered, finally reaching out to gently tilt the plastic cup off Lily's face so she could breathe. "She’s a kid. They're like little audio recorders."
"So we reprogram her," Roy shrugged, completely unbothered. "Hey, kid. Say cheese. Or shoe. Say something with a nice, sharp consonant."
Lily blinked her big eyes at Roy, took a deep breath, and let out a soft, garbled, "Fu—"
The front door lock clicked.
Instantly, the casual atmosphere vanished. Jason didn't scramble, but his posture went completely rigid, his shoulders locking into a combat-ready stance as he stood up. Roy’s eyes darted to the window, his hand instinctively dropping toward his hip out of pure muscle memory before he remembered he wasn't wearing his quiver.
You walked into the apartment, setting a bag of groceries on the counter. "Hey. Sorry it took so long, the cashier was—"
You paused, looking at the living room. Jason was standing completely still in the center of the rug. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his dark hoodie, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on you with an intense, unblinking focus. He looked exactly the way he did when he was trying to scope out an ambush. You blinked, looking at his stiff posture, then over at Roy, who was suddenly very invested in staring at the kitchen tile. Slowly, you set your keys down on the counter. You crossed your arms, leaning your weight against the kitchen island, and let out a tired sigh.
"Okay, Jason," you said, your tone dropping into a deadpan, entirely unimpressed register. "Who’d you kill now?"
Jason’s eyebrows shot up. "Wow. First of all, that’s offensive. Do you have no faith in me? Second of all, I haven't cracked a skull in at least seventy-two hours. I've been a model citizen."
"Then why do you look like you're waiting for the GCPD to breach the perimeter?" you asked, walking into the living room and kneeling down to pick up Lily. She instantly wrapped her chubby arms around your neck. "You only look like that when you've done something I’m going to be mad about."
"I haven't done anything," Jason said. He stepped closer, his large frame easily casting a shadow over you as he reached out to tweak Lily’s foot. "We’ve just been hanging out. Right, kid? Being quiet."
"Extremely quiet," Roy chimed in, leaning his shoulders back against the counter and crossing his arms with a highly amused smirk. "A couple of perfect gentlemen."
You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend. You knew Jason. You knew the exact subtle shift in his shoulders when he was hiding something from you. "Jason. Talk."
Lily, sensing the tension, pulled away from your neck. She looked down at Jason, pointed a tiny, accusatory finger right at his chest, and proudly cheered: "Fuccckkkk."
The apartment went dead silent. You stood entirely still, holding your sister, your jaw slightly slack. You slowly turned your head to look at Jason. The fearsome Red Hood looked at you, his dark eyes completely blank for a fraction of a second before he rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a low, defeated sigh.
"Roy stepped on a grapple gun," Jason confessed, his voice rough and completely devoid of his usual sarcastic bite. "He yelled it. I yelled at him for yelling it. She... picked it up. She’s got good diction, I’ll give her that."
"Her first word, Jason," you said, your voice dangerous in its quietness. "My mother is coming over tomorrow to pick her up, and her first word is a Gotham street curse."
"Look, I'll handle it," Jason said, stepping in close and trying to wrap his large, warm hands around your waist. He attempted to pull you and Lily flush against his chest, using his weight to ground you, his chin resting against your shoulder. "I'll read her the dictionary. I'll pay for her college. I'll make sure her second word is 'love’ or ‘peace’' Just don't give me the silent treatment."
"Oh, you're not getting the silent treatment, Jay," you said sweetly, patting his cheek with your free hand as you firmly stepped out of his grip. "But you are officially put on a sex ban. No touching, no kissing, and absolutely nothing else. For the next three weeks."
Jason’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. He didn't whine, but his voice took on a flat, disbelieving edge. "Three weeks? For a slip of the tongue from a guy who doesn't even live here?"
From the counter, Roy let out a low, sharp whistle, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. He shook his head, looking at Jason with a mix of genuine pity and amusement. "Damn. Three weeks in the penalty box?"
Jason snapped his head around, glaring a literal hole into Roy's face. "Shut up, Harper, or I'm throwing you out the window”.
Roy raised his hands offensively, though his tone was dripping with sarcastic satisfaction. "Just saying. Sucks to be you, man. I'm gonna go before she decides to ban me from the safehouse, too." He snagged his jacket from the chair and finally made his exit, the door clicking shut behind him.
"Three weeks," Jason muttered back to you, his attention laser-focusing back on your face. The tough guy facade completely broke. He stepped right back into your space, his broad shoulders slouching as he looked down at you from under his dark lashes, his voice dropping into a rough, desperate plea. "Babe. Come on. Please. Three weeks is cruel and unusual punishment. I’m gonna lose my mind."
"You should've thought about that before you let Roy bring his gear bag in here," you said smoothly, bypassing him to set Lily down in her playpen.
Jason followed you like a dark, brooding shadow, completely shameless now. His large hands gripped his own pockets to keep from breaking the rules on day one, but he leaned his forehead down against your shoulder, letting out a low, pathetic sound that was dangerously close to a whine.
"I’ll muzzle him next time," Jason whispered, his breath hot against your neck as he begged. "I’ll ban him from the state. I’ll clean the whole apartment, I'll cook every meal, I'll read her the entire encyclopedia. Please, sweetheart. Just a kiss. Give me something before I go out on patrol tonight. Don't leave me in the penalty box."
You looked at him, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. The fearsome Red Hood was completely at your mercy, and you were going to enjoy every second of it.
this request breeding / lactation kink / pussyeating
he comes through the door exhausted—drained, tense, worn down everywhere except the place that lights up the second he sees you.
you’re on the bed, soft and warm and thick in every place he loves, and he’s already undoing his shirt as he’s walking toward you because he can’t stand being away from your body a second longer.
“come here,” he mutters, but he’s the one dropping to his knees first.
before you can answer, his hands slide up your thighs, squeezing deep, slow handfuls like he needs to feel the weight of you under his palms before he can breathe right again.
he pushes your knees apart, then leans in and lifts your top just enough to get his mouth on your tits.
he groans—loud, needy—the moment they spill into his hands. he squeezes them like he owns them, like he’s been dreaming about them all day.
his mouth closes around one nipple, tongue flicking, sucking hard, trying to coax something out of you that your body doesn’t give yet.
you gasp, back arching, thighs tensing.
he moans against your skin.
not disappointed—turned on. painfully so.
he pulls back just enough to look at your tits, flushed and wet from his mouth, nipples hard from his tongue.
his mouth trails down your stomach, slow and heavy, leaving warm open-mouthed kisses on the softest parts of you as he goes.
every inch of you he touches softens under him, warms under him, pulls a sound out of his chest that feels closer to a growl than a breath.
he climbs into you with his hands first—palms spreading over your stomach, fingers kneading deeper into your thighs like he needs to memorize every curve, every dip, every place he wants to fill.
your thighs fall open for him on instinct, and that’s all it takes. he hooks his arm under one leg, pushes it up and out of his way, and leans in like he’s starving, mouth latching back onto your tits with a need that borders on desperation.
he sucks harder this time—slow, dragging pulls that make your nipples ache, that make your back lift off the bed as he works them, tongue circling the peak before he sucks again. he moans each time he does it like he’s willing your body to change under his mouth.
when nothing comes out—when your breasts stay full and beautiful but dry—he pulls back just a fraction, breath shaking, eyes dark with the frustration of wanting something your body hasn’t given him yet.
it doesn’t stop him.
it spurs him.
“i want these to flow for me,” he murmurs against your chest, squeezing your tits together, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you gasp, “and i’ll keep you full until they do.”
your breath stumbles, and he smiles—a slow, hungry smile meant for only you—then dips his head to suck your nipple again while his free hand moves lower, sliding between your thighs, fingers brushing through your slick.
you’re already dripping for him.
he groans the moment he feels it.
“that’s it… body’s trying,” he mutters, voice thick and low, “just needs more of my cum. needs it often. needs it deep.”
he moves down your body with a heat that makes your head spin, mouth dragging across your ribs, tongue flicking at the underside of your breasts, lips brushing over your stomach like he’s worshipping you on his way to the place he wants most.
your pussy is soaked—warm, swollen, slick enough that he can smell you before he even touches you. his eyes go half-lidded and ravenous.
and then his mouth is on you.
no warm-up, no teasing—just lips and tongue and spit and hunger. he buries his face between your thighs, groaning into your pussy like he’s inhaling life itself.
his tongue drags a slow path from your dripping entrance up to your clit, and when you gasp he sucks it into his mouth like he’s been waiting all day to taste you.
you grind against his mouth without meaning to. he moans like you’ve given him permission.
“that’s it,” he pants into your heat, voice breathless, “give it to me… let me taste everything.”
he sucks your clit again, harder this time, tongue rubbing circles while his nose nudges against your swollen folds. slick smears across his chin, coating his mouth, dripping down toward the bed as he eats you with thick, messy strokes that make your thighs shake.
his hands never stop moving. one arm stays wrapped under your thigh, keeping it hooked high and open, while the other moves back up to your breasts. he cups one, then the other, thumbs brushing your nipples almost reverently before he rolls them between his fingers again.
you gasp, and he groans against your pussy.
“i’m gonna fuck you full,” he whispers against your clit, voice almost shaking, “breed you so deep your body starts preparing… tits getting heavier… nipples getting sensitive… milk coming in slow… you’ll give me everything.”
his tongue plunges into your cunt before you can even catch your breath. he fucks you with it, sloppy and desperate, gripping your thigh harder when your hips jerk, holding you right where he wants you so he can lick deeper, push harder, taste more.
the sounds he makes are obscene—wet, greedy slurps mixed with low growls and breathless groans—like he’s devouring something he’s needed for years.
he slides two fingers into you without warning, thrusting them deep while his mouth latches back onto your clit.
the sudden stretch makes you moan out, thighs trembling around his head. he moans at the way your pussy grips him, pumping his fingers in deep, slow strokes meant to open you for what he’s planning next.
“gonna fuck you right after this,” he breathes, curling his fingers until your back arches, “gonna fill you so many times tonight your body won’t know how to stay empty.”
his tongue flicks fast, his fingers thrust harder, and his free hand squeezes your tits again.
your whole body tightens. your breath stutters. your thighs shudder against his shoulders as he devours you without stopping, without slowing, without giving you a chance to come down from anything building inside you.
he wants you swollen.
and he’s not stopping until your body starts changing for him.
﹫𝑐𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑒𝑒𝑏𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟
i’m open to requests !
check this post’s hashtags to see who i’ll write for
summary: a handsome stranger makes a bet with you, and you're the prize.
warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, dex being a lil shit
word count: 916
a/n: turns out the airport is a great place to write fanfic. shoutout to my silly little daydreams for getting me through the nightmare of cancelled and delayed flights. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!
“How about a bet?”
Looking at the attractive stranger over the rim of your glass, your lips stretched into a playful smirk, and his own split into a cocky grin.
“A bet?”
Dex set his half empty drink down on the bar next to you. You weren't sure if it was his first of the night, but there was a faint flush tinting his cheeks, and there was a lack of sober clarity in his eyes. He turned to face you fully, resting his elbow on the bar top.
“Mhm.”
Mirroring his stance, you turned to face him and cocked your head to the side in curiosity.
“What kind of bet?”
“You any good at pool?”
“No.”
Dex let out an amused chuckle at your instant verity, grinning down at you with a nod.
“Alright. How about…darts?”
He motioned his head towards the dart board in the back of the bar. Letting out a laugh, you shook your head again.
“I'm not particularly athletically inclined.”
“Okay, how about this. If I make a bullseye on the first try, you have to go on a date with me.”
A rush of heat stained your cheeks at his proposal, and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to contain your smile. Arching one of your brows, you kept the same playful tone you'd been using since he'd first started flirting with you fifteen minutes ago.
“And if you don't?”
Dex shrugged, picking up his drink to take a large sip.
“I'll leave you alone, and pay for your drinks for the rest of the night.”
Your brows lifted in surprise at his offer, and then your eyes narrowed lightly in suspicion.
“That's a bold offer. You must be very confident in your aim.”
A wicked smirk slowly stretched across his mouth, and the look darkening his eyes made your stomach flutter. He took a step closer, lowering his voice to a more intimate tone.
“I'm not terrible.”
The way he was looking at you had your heart thrumming rapidly like a hummingbird locked in your ribcage.
“Three.”
Dex lifted one of his brows in question.
“Three?”
“You have to make three bullseyes in a row.”
There was a flicker of what looked like excitement that crossed his features, but he masked it quickly with contrived incredulity.
“You could just let me down easy, sweetheart. You don’t have to be cruel.”
That tore a genuine laugh from you, and you shrugged as you took another sip of your drink with a grin.
“You said you weren’t terrible. If you want that date so bad, don’t miss.”
The edges of his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile, but he cleared his throat and swiftly adapted an expression of faux uncertainty.
“Alright, deal.”
Standing near one of the high top tables at the back, you watched him pick up three darts, stepping back away from the board hanging on the wall. He twirled one loosely between his fingers, looking at you with an almost boyish apprehension.
“Three in a row, and you'll go out with me?”
“Three in a row, and I'll go out with you.”
As soon as the promise left your lips, his entire demeanor changed. He straightened up and squared his shoulders, the hesitance evaporating in an instant, quickly replaced with an unmistakable confidence. His eyes darkened once again, and that wicked smirk returned as he shot you a wink that sent a shiver cascading down your spine.
Without taking his eyes off you, Dex threw the darts in rapid succession, and the sound of each one hitting the board was loud, even above the chatter layered over the music from the jukebox.
When you turned your head to look at the dart board, your eyes widened in shock and your jaw dropped. Three bullseyes. Three perfect bullseyes. He reveled in your bewilderment, sauntering over to pick up his drink, still not taking his eyes off of you as he downed the rest of it.
Your wide eyes were still flickering between the dartboard and him, trying to make sense of what you'd just seen. How the fuck had he done that without even looking?
“Are you a professional?”
Dex let out an amused laugh at that, shaking his head and setting his empty glass down.
“Not a professional.”
“Then how the fuck did you do that?”
He shrugged casually, leaning against the high top table.
“I played baseball as a kid.”
Pressing your lips together, you gave him a pointed look and spoke dryly.
“You played baseball as a kid.”
“Mhm.”
“Did you just hustle me?”
Dex let out a dry scoff, pretending to look offended while trying to contain his grin.
“I would never.”
Narrowing your eyes, you shot him an accusatory look.
“You said you 'weren't terrible’.”
“Did I lie?”
You opened your mouth to argue, but then abruptly cut yourself off. Technically, that hadn't been a lie. His grin widened watching you process the loophole. Dragging your tongue along the front of your top teeth, you shook your head and fought the smile that threatened to betray your mock outrage.
“What are you, a lawyer?”
“F.B.I. agent.”
For the second time tonight, he'd left you speechless. He enjoyed the look on your face, the shades of surprise he'd been able to paint across it. He took a bold step closer, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at you with a devilish grin.
ᝰ.ᐟ when your boyfriend jason sees you taking care of a kid on the street, a kid that's just like he used to be, he can't help but start wondering about the family he wants to build with you and how he wants to make sure your baby will never get through what he had to
⋆·˚ ༘ request
Gotham smelled like rain that hadn’t fallen yet, heavy clouds low over the rooftops, streetlights flickering from overworked transformers, neon signs buzzing faintly. You were walking down Crime Alley with Jason, hands stuffed in your pockets, talking about absolutely nothing important. He had that half smirk he only ever wore around you, the one that tilted just a bit more on the right side, eyes bright behind his helmet.
He wasn’t in full Red Hood gear tonight, just the jacket, the boots, the attitude. You loved the attitude, even if you pretended not to.
Jason was telling you something sarcastic about Roy’s terrible taste in takeout when you heard it: a muffled sniffle down by the edge of a boarded storefront. You stopped mid step. Jason almost walked into you.
“What—hey.” He frowned, following your gaze. “You okay?”
You didn’t answer. The sound came again, quiet, hiccuping. A kid. You stepped forward without thinking, instinct pulling stronger than caution. Jason blinked once, then followed close behind, shoulders tensing subtly, hand hovering near the gun he wouldn’t actually use but liked having ready.
The kid couldn’t have been more than eight. Skinny. Too skinny. Dark hair sticking to his forehead, clothes three sizes too big, knees scraped raw. He sat curled against the wall with a ripped backpack clutched to his chest like a life preserver.
Your voice softened instantly. “Hey… sweetheart.”
Jason watched the way you crouched down: slow, gentle, making yourself small so you wouldn’t scare him. “You okay? Are you hurt?”
The boy sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “M’fine.” His voice was thin, shaky. “Just—just tired.”
Jason felt something twist behind his ribs.
You were glowing with this quiet warmth he didn’t see you use often, softened eyes, light touch, a calmness that reached straight into people and made them breathe easier. Even him. Especially him.
“Can I sit?” you asked.
The kid hesitated, then nodded, just barely. You lowered yourself beside him on the cold pavement, arms loose on your knees, voice steady and safe.
Jason stood a little behind you, but close enough that the kid felt protected without knowing why. He crossed his arms, trying to look casual but watching everything.
“What’s your name?” you asked.
“Eli.”
“That’s a strong name” you said gently. “Eli, do you have somewhere to go tonight?”
A pause. The kid’s throat bobbed.
Jason felt his jaw clench. Eli shook his head.
Your face softened again, Jason saw your heart break in real time, but you didn’t overwhelm the kid with pity. You stayed calm, steady, grounding. “Are you hungry?”
Eli glanced up, eyes darting. He didn’t want to admit it.
Jason beat him to it. “Bet you are. You look like you could eat a whole damn pizza.”
You shot Jason a quiet look, not too much, don’t scare him, and he adjusted instantly, softening his voice.
“I know a place,” he added. “Warm. Safe. Good food.”
Eli’s eyes were a strange mix of fear and hope. You noticed it before Jason did.
You extended a hand. “You can come with us. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do anything. Just let us make sure you get dinner, okay?”
Eli looked at your hand like it was a test he wasn’t sure he’d pass.
Jason watched the kid’s tiny fingers slowly reach toward yours. The second Eli’s hand touched yours, Jason felt something slam into his chest. Hard.
It wasn’t like getting shot, it was worse. It was warm. It was terrifying. It was… everything.
You gently helped the kid stand, brushing dirt off his shoulders, checking his knees to make sure they weren’t bleeding too badly. Eli leaned into you just a little, as if he hadn’t been held in a long time.
Jason swallowed. He’d seen you fight half a dozen grown men without breaking a sweat. He’d seen you patch him up with hands that didn’t shake even when he was bleeding all over your floor. He’d seen you angry, stubborn, teasing, difficult, brave.
But he had never seen this. This softness. This care. This instinct to protect something small and fragile.
Suddenly Jason couldn’t breathe.
He hadn’t expected the image that hit him next: you holding a kid, your kid, his kid, tucking a blanket around tiny shoulders, brushing hair out of bright eyes, smiling that same gentle smile.
His throat tightened. He looked away for a second, jaw flexing. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for how much he wanted it.
You didn’t notice his inner collapse. You were too busy comforting Eli.
You crouched again, fixing the kid’s backpack strap. “This looks worn. Mind if we find you a new one sometime?”
Eli shrugged shyly. “Maybe.”
Jason shifted his weight. He couldn’t stop staring. The rain finally began to fall, soft, misty. You brushed droplets off Eli’s cheek so gently Jason felt the touch even from where he stood.
“We’ll walk slow” you told the boy. “Tell us if you’re cold.”
Jason stepped up beside you. “Here.” Without thinking, he shrugged off his leather jacket and wrapped it around Eli’s shoulders. It swallowed him whole. The kid blinked up at him.
Jason cleared his throat. “It’s warm. Don’t lose it.”
Eli nodded, silent.
You looked at Jason, your eyes softened in a way that almost knocked him out. “Thank you.”
Jason felt heat climb up his neck. “Yeah, well. Kid was freezing.”
You started walking, Eli between you both, small hands clutching the inside of Jason’s jacket. You adjusted your pace to match his tiny steps. Jason matched yours.
Gotham was quieter with the rain muffling everything. Jason watched how you guided Eli around puddles, talked to him about nothing heavy, told him jokes that made him smile carefully, like he wasn’t used to smiling. Jason had lived that childhood. He recognized the motions. He recognized the kid he used to be.
And he recognized the woman he could never have imagined meeting back then.
At one point, Eli reached for your hand again, tiny fingers curling around yours.You squeezed back immediately.
Jason’s heart did something fatal. He imagined you walking down a grocery store aisle with a toddler on your hip and another one tugging your hand. He imagined coming home from patrol to you curled on the couch with a kid on your lap, both asleep. He imagined small shoes by the door next to your boots. He imagined teaching someone tiny how to hold a wrench, how to ride a bike, how to aim a slingshot.
He imagined all of it with you.
And the feeling didn’t scare him as much as it should have. It felt… right.
When you reached the small community shelter Jason trusted, you guided Eli inside, talked to the staff, stayed a few minutes to make sure he felt safe. You knelt down again so you were eye-level.
“Eli,” you whispered, brushing his hair back, “we’re not going far. We’ll check on you again. You’re okay now.”
The boy nodded, gripping your fingers for a moment before letting go.
Jason saw the moment you exhaled, quiet relief mixed with lingering worry. You always worried. And that was one of the million things he loved.
You stepped outside into the rain again. Jason followed.
The door closed behind you both. You leaned against the wall, looking up at the sky. “God… I hate seeing kids out here like that.”
Jason studied your profile, the curve of your cheek, the raindrop on your lashes, the softness in your chest slowly fading into the strength you carried every day.
“You’re good with kids” he said.
You shrugged, a little shy. “Just… want them to feel safe.”
Jason swallowed once. “You’d make a good mom.”
You froze. He froze. The rain suddenly felt louder. He hadn’t planned to say that out loud. He hadn’t even planned to think that out loud.
You turned your head slowly. “What?”
Jason looked away hard. “I’m just saying. You’ve got that… thing. The—whatever. Comfort. Warmth. Kids trust you.”
You took a step closer, so close his breath caught.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
Jason almost laughed. “Yeah.”
He wasn’t.
Your voice gentled. “Jay.”
It hit him harder than the bullet that killed him. He met your eyes. And something slipped. He stepped closer until your breath mingled with his. His voice dropped, quiet, rough, honest in a way he didn’t allow himself often.
“Seeing you with that kid…” His throat tightened. “It did something to me.”
Your brows lifted slightly, but not mocking. Curious. Open.“What did it do?”
Jason exhaled slowly, rain dripping from his hair, his jaw clenched like he was holding the rest of the world inside it.
“It made me realize,” he said, voice low and raw, “that I want things with you that I’ve never let myself want.”
Your breath hitched.
Jason didn’t touch you. He didn’t push. He just stood there, rain falling around you both, waiting, letting you decide what happened next.
And when you finally reached up and brushed your thumb across his cheek, he closed his eyes like it was the gentlest thing anyone had ever done to him.
“Me too” you whispered.
Jason opened his eyes.
And in the softest voice you’d ever heard from him, he asked “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Jason leaned forward, kissing you like he’d been holding the moment inside him for years. Slow, warm, steady, nothing rushed, nothing hungry, just truth. Just promise. Just you and him under Gotham’s rain.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice a whisper between breaths.
“One day,” he murmured, almost to himself, “you and me… we’re gonna give a kid a better childhood than this city ever gave me.”
plot! this time jason can't tell himself he's visiting for the crap. he comes at nighttime, just before the shop closes, so he can spend alone time with you. he stays until you have to close so he offers you a ride home on his motorbike that you eventually accept. when it's time to say goodnight though, it's like neither of you really wants to go
a/n: aaa thank you so much for the idea sweetie. i absolutely LOVE these two, i feel sorry for jason because arghh he really wanted that kiss and we know that. i need to make a part 3!!
⋆˚꩜｡ part one.
The shop was almost empty. The hum of the espresso machine had died down hours ago, and the glow of the hanging bulbs threw a warm amber haze across the counters. You were wiping them down in slow, absent-minded motions, humming quietly to the faint jazz playing through the speakers.
Outside, Gotham was settling into its usual chorus of sirens and rain.
You’d just reached for your keys when the bell over the door jingled.
“Sorry, we’re—” you started automatically, then stopped.
Jason Todd stood there, framed by the cold spill of streetlight, leather jacket damp from the drizzle outside.
You blinked. “—closed” you finished lamely.
He smiled, a small, crooked thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes yet. “Guess I missed happy hour.”
You crossed your arms, trying to hide the way your pulse jumped. “If you’re here for sludge, you’re officially out of luck.”
Jason stepped inside anyway, the bell chiming again behind him. “Wasn’t here for the coffee.”
He said it so easily you almost missed it, his tone steady but his gaze flicking over you, taking in the rolled-up sleeves, the faint coffee stain on your apron. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out, a paperback, edges worn, spine cracked down the middle.
“Thought I’d bring you something better to talk about.”
You blinked at the cover. Pride and Prejudice.
Your heart jumped, warmth rushing to your face before you could stop it. “You brought the book?”
Jason leaned against the counter, tossing it down between you. “You said it’s your favorite. Figured I’d test that theory.”
“Test it?” you echoed, picking up the book like it was something delicate. The pages were soft from age, one corner bent.
You brushed your thumb across the cover. “You realize if you quiz me, I’m going to win, right?”
Jason’s grin widened. “Wouldn’t be fun if you didn’t think you could.”
You laughed under your breath, sliding the book open to a random page. “You’re serious about this?”
He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You called me Darcy last week. Figured I’d better make sure I actually know what the hell I’m talking about.”
You grinned, propping your chin on your hand. “Alright, Mr. Todd. Quiz away.”
Jason flipped the book open with a rough thumb, skimming until he found something. His voice lowered as he read, the familiar rasp turning the words smoother somehow.
“‘There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it.’” He looked up, one brow arched. “Who said it?”
You didn’t even pause. “Elizabeth Bennet. To Jane. Early in the book.”
Jason clicked his tongue. “Damn. Thought that one might stump you.”
He chuckled, flipping ahead again. “Alright, hotshot. Let’s see…” He read another line, slower this time, savoring it.
“‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’”
The sound of it in his voice made something flutter low in your stomach. You looked up, meeting his eyes, and for a heartbeat neither of you said anything.
Jason smirked. “You gonna answer, or should I assume you’re just swooning over my reading voice?”
You blinked fast, trying to recover. “Mr. Darcy. At the first proposal. And no swooning involved.”
“Sure,” he murmured, grin tugging at his mouth. “Whatever you say, sunshine.”
You closed the book halfway, smiling despite yourself. “Okay, my turn.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna quiz me?”
“Oh yeah” You flipped a few pages and read softly, “‘I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.’”
Jason stared for a beat, then answered smoothly, “Elizabeth. To Charlotte. Right after Darcy snubs her at the dance.”
You blinked. “You memorized it.”
“Maybe I did a little homework.”
You stared at him, something between disbelief and amusement curling in your chest. “You seriously read it?”
Jason shrugged, looking annoyingly pleased with himself. “Told you not to judge a book by its jacket. Besides, figured if I’m gonna keep quoting it at you, I should know what I’m talking about.”
The way he said at you made your pulse skip. You folded your arms, trying to hide your smile. “So you read Austen… in your spare time?”
Jason grinned. “In between beating up muggers and fixing bikes. Yeah. Real balanced lifestyle.”
You shook your head, laughing softly. “That’s kind of…”
“Hot?” he offered, grinning wider.
“Unexpected.” you corrected, though your smile betrayed you.
Jason’s eyes lingered on you, the humor fading into something gentler. “That’s kind of the point.”
For a moment, the only sound was the rain tapping against the window. The café lights hummed softly, throwing amber over the steel of his jacket zipper, the curve of your wrist resting on the counter.
You turned the book over in your hands, tracing the title. “You know, you didn’t have to bring this.”
“I wanted to.” His tone was softer now, the edges worn down. “You talk about it like it’s more than a book. Thought maybe you’d like to share that.”
You looked up at him, caught off guard by how sincere he sounded. The usual smirk was still there, but behind it, something real, something raw.
You smiled, a little quieter this time. “You surprise me, Todd.”
He leaned in, elbows braced on the counter, voice low. “Good. I like keeping you on your toes.”
“Mission accomplished.”
He smirked again, but his eyes softened. “So. What do you say we keep this little book club between us? Wouldn’t want anyone thinking I’ve gone soft.”
You laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Good.” He pushed the book toward you. “Keep it. I’ll come by next time and see if you actually read the part I marked.”
You opened it and noticed the dog-eared page near the middle. “What’d you mark?”
Jason straightened, sliding his hands into his jacket pockets. “You’ll see.”
“Tease” you said, shaking your head.
He started toward the door, pausing just before he stepped out into the rain. “Hey.”
You looked up.
“Next time I quote Austen, you’re not allowed to finish the line.” His grin curved slow, lazy. “You’ll make me look bad.”
You smiled, leaning on the counter, watching the way the streetlight caught in his hair. “You do that just fine on your own.”
He laughed quietly, shook his head, and pushed the door open. The bell jingled once, sharp in the stillness, and he glanced back just long enough to add,
“Page two-seventy-three. Don’t peek early.”
The door closed behind him, and the shop felt strangely too quiet without his presence.
You flipped the book open, curiosity winning, and found the line he’d marked:
“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.”
You laughed under your breath, shaking your head at the sheer audacity.
The rain had picked up by the time you turned off the lights. The café looked different in the dark, softer, quieter, the golden glow from the streetlamp cutting stripes across the counter where Jason had stood minutes ago. You tucked the book into your bag, pulled your jacket close, and stepped out into the night, the door locking behind you.
The air was cold and wet, Gotham’s kind of cold, the kind that bit at your fingers even through your sleeves. You fumbled with your keys, ready to make a run for it, when you noticed the familiar shadow leaned up against a parked bike under the streetlight.
Jason.
He was still there.
His jacket was damp, his hair a little darker from the drizzle, and he was watching you with that half-smirk that never quite covered how sharp his eyes were.
“Thought you’d closed up twenty minutes ago” you called out, surprised, your voice echoing faintly in the quiet street.
Jason shrugged one shoulder, pushing off the bike like it was no big deal. “Figured I’d stick around. Gotham’s not exactly safe after dark.”
You raised an eyebrow, locking the door behind you. “You were waiting for me?”
Jason gave that signature smirk, all charm and denial. “Nah. Just happen to be loitering on this exact corner. Total coincidence.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re terrible at pretending.”
“Yeah, well, you’re terrible at locking up without checking who’s waiting in the dark.”
“Point taken” you said, pulling your hood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a bus to catch.”
Jason made a low noise, something between a laugh and a scoff, and jerked his chin toward the motorcycle beside him. The sleek black metal gleamed under the streetlight. “Or… I could give you a ride.”
You hesitated, glancing at the bike, then at him. “You realize that sounds like the start of a bad idea.”
Jason grinned, running a hand through his damp hair. “The best stories usually are.”
“Jason.”
“C’mon, sunshine. It’s cold, it’s late, and I don’t trust half the creeps in this city. Besides—” his grin softened a little “—I promise I don’t bite.”
You gave him a look. “You definitely do.”
He chuckled low. “Only when provoked.”
You exhaled, glancing up and down the empty street. The rain wasn’t letting up. “You sure you’re not gonna crash?”
“Please.” He swung a leg over the bike in one smooth motion, gloved hands resting on the handlebars. “I’m insulted you’d even ask.”
You stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed. “Fine.”
He smirked in victory, reaching back to hand you a helmet. “Knew you’d see reason.”
You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, pulling it over your head. He waited until you climbed on behind him, then shifted slightly to make room.
“Hold on” he said, voice lower now, the humor softening into something more serious.
You hesitated before wrapping your arms around his torso, the leather of his jacket cool and slick under your fingers.
He stiffened for a second, like he hadn’t expected you to actually touch him, then relaxed, the sound of the engine rumbling to life beneath you.
The city blurred as you rode through it, neon signs streaking in the rain. You could feel his heartbeat under your hands, steady and warm against the chill. Every so often, he’d glance back just enough that you caught the curve of a smirk in the mirror, as if he could sense you trying not to think about how close you were.
When he finally stopped, it wasn’t far from your building. The rain had eased to a mist, the streetlamp buzzing faintly overhead.
He killed the engine, and for a moment neither of you moved, just the soft tick of the bike cooling and your breath fogging in the night air.
You slid off slowly, tugging off the helmet. “Thanks for the ride” you said, handing it back.
Jason took it but didn’t move to leave.
He was watching you again, that half grin gone now, replaced by something quieter.
“You always walk home alone?” he asked, voice low.
“Usually.”
He frowned. “Don’t.”
You blinked. “What, you gonna escort me every night now?”
He smirked. “Maybe. Depends on how good your coffee’s gonna be tomorrow.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You really are impossible.”
Jason stepped a little closer, close enough that the scent of rain and engine oil and faint soap reached you. “And yet, here you are, still talkin’ to me.”
You tilted your head, looking up at him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He grinned, eyes dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up. “Too late.”
Something in the air shifted, that unspoken, fragile kind of tension that feels like standing too close to a flame.
You should’ve stepped back. Neither of you did.
Jason leaned forward, just slightly, enough that the world seemed to hold its breath.
His voice dropped to a murmur. “You always this bad at saying goodnight?”
You felt your heart stumble in your chest. “You always this bad at leaving?”
That earned you a quiet laugh, low and rough, and suddenly he was closer, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat from him, the dampness of his jacket brushing your arm.
His hand lifted halfway, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure he should.
And for one dizzy, electric second, you thought he might actually close the gap.
Then you stepped back.
Just enough to break the spell.
Jason froze, lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.
You smiled faintly, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Goodnight, Jason”
He blinked, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth, half amusement, half frustration. “Night, sunshine.”
You turned toward the door, your pulse still racing. Behind you, the engine roared to life again.
You glanced back just once, he was still watching you, helmet in hand, rain glinting on the edge of his jaw.
He gave a single nod, something between a goodbye and a promise, before the bike peeled off into the dark, the sound fading into the distance.
You stood there a moment longer, heart pounding, the echo of that almost-moment replaying in your mind, his voice, the rain, the warmth of his jacket under your hands.
And somewhere down the street, Jason cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, because for all his control and swagger, he knew damn well he’d be thinking about that almost-kiss for days.
The city blurred around him as he sped through the rain.
The streets of Gotham were half-flooded, the neon bleeding into puddles, the sky hanging low and bruised. Jason leaned into the turns like he was trying to outrun his own heartbeat. The engine roared beneath him, familiar, grounding. His hands gripped the handlebars a little too tight, the leather of his gloves slick with rain. But even the burn of the wind against his face couldn’t clear his head.
He could still feel you.
Your arms around him. The warmth of your chest against his back. The way your voice softened when you said his name.
Jason cursed under his breath and gunned the throttle harder.
He wasn’t the kind of guy who got distracted by a girl. Not anymore. He’d been too deep in the mud of Gotham for that, too used to sharp edges and cold nights and the kind of ghosts that didn’t go away when he closed his eyes. But somehow, between the shitty espresso and your quiet laugh, you'd found a way to linger.
And that damn near pissed him off.
It’s the book, he told himself. That stupid, perfect book.
You'd quoted Austen with him, effortlessly. Like you'd walked straight out of a world where people still believed in romance and decency and love that actually meant something. And you'd said it like it wasn’t a big deal. Like you didn’t just crack something open in him that he’d welded shut years ago.
Jason shook his head, lips curling into a crooked half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Great. I’m losing my edge over a barista who reads classics and makes terrible coffee.
He hit another stretch of road, tires hissing against wet asphalt, his reflection catching in the rain-slick glass of shop windows as he passed. The city lights smeared in red and gold, a mess of color and memory.
He tried to focus on the noise, the rhythm of the engine. But the scene kept replaying in his mind: the way you'd looked standing under that streetlamp, hair damp from the rain, jacket clinging to your shoulders. The small smile that didn’t quite hide the nerves when you'd said yes to the ride. The way your fingers had brushed against his ribs when you held on tighter as the bike picked up speed.
And that almost-kiss.
Hell.
Jason slowed at a light, the engine idling low and rough. His breath fogged inside his helmet as he replayed the moment frame by frame. Your face tilted up toward him, the air between you electric. He could still see the reflection of the streetlight in your eyes, feel the gravity pulling you closer, and then the sudden shift when you'd stepped back.
He hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten until the air hit cold again.
You'd looked up at him with that quiet, apologetic smile, soft and disarming, like you didn’t even know what you'd just done to him. And he’d stood there like an idiot, every word gone from his mouth.
“Goodnight, Jason.”
Just that.
Simple. Final. And somehow, it hit harder than a bullet.
He tore through the intersection before the light even turned green.
It wasn’t supposed to matter.
You weren't supposed to matter.
He was Red Hood, the guy who didn’t get attached, who didn’t hang around coffee shops like some lovesick idiot. But then again, he also wasn’t supposed to quote Pride and Prejudice at a girl and mean every damn word.
“You have bewitched me, body and soul,” he muttered under his breath, mocking himself, his tone low and rough under the helmet. “Yeah she's right, real smooth”
He could almost hear Dick’s voice if he ever found out: You quoted Austen? Really? What’s next, reading poetry in Crime Alley?
Jason smirked despite himself. “Screw you, Grayson.”
He turned down an alley, slowing as he neared his safe house, an old, brick building on the edge of the Narrows. The rain had lightened to a mist, the smell of wet asphalt thick in the air. He parked the bike, killed the engine, and sat there for a minute longer, helmet still on, just… breathing.
The silence hit him harder than he expected.
He could still feel the echo of your laugh under his skin. The warmth that hadn’t faded, no matter how fast he’d ridden.
And worse, the ache that came with knowing he’d wanted to kiss you. Actually wanted something.
That was dangerous territory for a guy like him.
He’d spent years building walls, between himself and the city, between himself and Bruce, between himself and anyone who might give a damn. It was safer that way. Cleaner. The minute you let someone in, Gotham made sure to remind you why that was a mistake.
And yet…
Jason pulled off his helmet, shaking out his hair, water dripping onto the cracked pavement. He stared at his reflection in a puddle, the faint light from a nearby sign painting half his face red.
“Yeah” he muttered to no one, voice low. “You’re definitely screwed.”
He slung the helmet under his arm and headed inside, boots echoing in the stairwell. His apartment was dark and quiet, just the hum of the city outside. He dropped the keys on the counter, peeled off his wet jacket, and tossed it onto the couch. The air smelled faintly of oil and gunpowder and coffee.
He poured himself a drink, didn’t bother with the lights. The amber liquid caught the faint glow from the window as he took a slow sip.
His mind wouldn’t shut up.
The way you'd looked up at him. The way your voice had softened when you said sorry, it’s my favorite book. The way you'd said goodnight like it was more than a goodbye.
Jason sank into the chair by the window, running a hand through his hair. Outside, Gotham pulsed and flickered, a city that never stopped bleeding.
He should’ve been thinking about patrol, about the latest intel on Black Mask, about anything else. But all he could see was you.
He remembered the way you smiled when you poured coffee, half-distracted, half-focused, like you were lost in your own world. How your hands moved when you spoke, how you bit your lip when you were trying not to laugh.
It was stupid, the kind of detail he shouldn’t care about. But he did.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of rain against the window filling the room.
“She pulled away” he muttered, the words dry but heavy. “Smart girl.”
Because if you hadn’t…
He didn’t finish the thought.
Jason tilted the glass back, finishing his drink. The warmth burned down his throat, but it didn’t do a damn thing to quiet the noise in his chest.
He stood after a while, pacing toward the bookshelf, one that was mostly full of old classics and tactical manuals, an odd mix of violence and literature that summed him up too well. His fingers brushed the spine of Pride and Prejudice where it still sat, the copy he’d carried to the café earlier was now with you.
He picked it up, thumb running over the worn cover.
“Bewitched, huh?” he murmured, a rough half-laugh escaping him. “Guess that makes two of us.”
He tossed the book onto the couch, but his eyes lingered on it as he turned toward the window again.
Rain streaked the glass, city lights blurring beyond. Somewhere out there, you were probably home, probably brushing your hair, probably not thinking about him at all.
And yet, he couldn’t shake the image of you standing in the rain, looking at him like maybe, just maybe, you'd felt the same thing he had.
Jason exhaled slowly, jaw tight. “Tomorrow” he muttered to himself. “Tomorrow, I’m not showing up. No coffee, no quotes. Nothing.”
He turned off the light, stripped down to his t-shirt, and collapsed onto the bed. The sheets were cold, the room dark.
But as his eyes drifted shut, the last thing he saw wasn’t Gotham’s skyline, it was still you, under that streetlamp, rain dripping down your hair, lips parted like you might’ve said yes if he’d just leaned in a little closer.
He groaned into the pillow. “Yeah. Definitely screwed.”
plot! jason has been telling himself he's visiting the little coffee shop at the end of the block for its cheap coffee. bullshit, that coffee tastes like shit, but it's his only way to see you everyday, the cute bartender whose company is worth the crap. he tries to impress you when he casually quotes 'pride and prejudice' but he's stunned as you finish the phrase with him
a/n: thank you so much for the request sweetie i loved writing this because i love picturing jason as a book lover and his teasy self, possible part 2?
⋆˚꩜｡ part two
The bell over the door chimed, a little too cheerful for the hour. Jason Todd shoved it open with his shoulder, the battered leather jacket creaking as he stepped inside. Gotham mornings were sharp and wet with the taste of smog, and the only thing this corner café seemed to have going for it was a working heater.
He told himself, every damn time, it was for the coffee.
It wasn’t.
It was for her.
You were already behind the counter, tying your apron tighter around your waist, hair a little messy from the morning rush.
Jason caught himself watching the way you tilted your head while concentrating on the espresso machine. He’d deny it to his grave, but he timed his visits down to the minute when he knew you’d be there.
“Morning, sunshine” Jason drawled, slapping a couple bills down on the counter without even glancing at the menu. He always ordered the same thing. “Hit me with the usual sludge.”
You arched a brow at him over the steam of the machine. “Sludge implies you hate it. And yet—here you are. Again.”
Jason smirked, leaning one elbow on the counter like he owned the place. “What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.” His eyes flicked toward you, quick, sharp, before he looked away.
You rolled your eyes, turning to grab a cup. “Uh huh. You sure it’s not because you like the company?”
He snorted, like the idea was ridiculous. “Please. You’re all surly before nine a.m. If I wanted charm, I’d—” Jason cut himself off, lips quirking, and then, casually, like he was just tossing it into the air:
“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It’s too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”
You froze, the words catching in your ears, familiar as your own heartbeat. The coffee poured steadily, but your brain was a half-step behind your mouth. He continued saying another and without thinking, you answered softly, finishing the line with him:
“My affections and wishes are unchanged. But one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”
Both of you spoke the last phrase at the same time, voices overlapping. The second it registered, you glanced up at him, eyes wide.
Jason blinked, caught.
He hadn’t expected you to know it. Hell, he hadn’t even been sure you’d notice.
You let out a breathy little laugh, biting your lip as you set the coffee cup down a little too quickly. “Sorry, couldn't help it. It’s my favorite book. Pride and Prejudice. I’ve read it like a hundred times.”
Jason’s smirk softened into something almost boyish. He tilted his head, studying you. “Yeah? Figures.”
“Figures?” You slid the cup toward him, defensive but amused.
“Yeah” He wrapped his hand around the warm cardboard sleeve, knuckles brushing the counter. “You’ve got that whole… Elizabeth Bennet thing going on.”
You scoffed, cheeks heating despite yourself. “So what—you’re Darcy?”
Jason gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah. Too much brooding. I’m more the ‘punch a guy in the face for you’ type. Darcy would write a letter. I’d throw hands.”
The way he said it, so casual, so confident, made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
You tried to brush it off with a laugh. “Good to know I’ve got a barista bodyguard now.”
“Hey” Jason raised his cup in mock salute, leaning back with a grin. “Don’t knock it. This sludge might be terrible, but the company? Not bad.”
Your lips twitched despite yourself. “Smooth, Jason.”
“Always.” He winked, took a long sip, and winced because the coffee was terrible. He didn’t even care.
Because you were smiling.
Jason set the cup back down, grimacing like the burn in his throat was the only thing on his mind. But his eyes lingered on you just a second too long, and he knew you caught it because you tilted your head, amused, your lips tugging in a smile that made his chest tighten.
You leaned your palms on the counter, gaze narrowing. “Alright, spill it.”
Jason arched a brow, playing dumb. “Spill what?”
“The coffee, if you keep glaring at it like that” you teased. Then, a little softer, “No. Spill how you know Austen.”
Jason’s jaw ticked, lips twitching into a smirk to cover himself. “Maybe I just like old books.”
You snorted. “You? Mr. Leather Jacket, scowl-at-the-world, likes Austen?” You folded your arms, leaning into the counter with that sharp little grin of yours. “Come on, Todd. You don’t exactly scream ‘regency literature enthusiast.’”
Jason leaned closer too, elbow still propped, his voice dropping to that gravelly drawl that could make anything sound like a challenge. “What, I don’t get to like smart women tearing smug guys to shreds with words?”
You blinked, caught off guard for just a second, before a slow grin spread across your face. “So you have read it.”
He gave the smallest shrug, casual as breathing, but you noticed the flicker of something more in his eyes. “Maybe I’ve read a lot of things. Don’t judge a book by its leather jacket, sweetheart.”
You laughed under your breath, shaking your head. “Fine. But now I need details. Favorite character?”
Jason tilted his head like he was weighing whether to humor you, then smirked. “Lizzie. Easy. Girl doesn’t take crap from anyone. Sharp tongue, stubborn as hell, gets herself in trouble ‘cause she won’t back down.” He paused, the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Reminds me of someone.”
Heat climbed up your neck before you could stop it, and you busied yourself with wiping a perfectly clean spot on the counter. “Cute. So you’re saying I’m Elizabeth Bennet. But you just said you’re not Darcy, so… what does that make you?”
Jason leaned back in his stool, stretching his long legs out, pretending like he hadn’t just cornered himself. He tapped the cup lightly against the counter. “Guess that makes me the guy she probably should’ve ended up with, the one who actually makes her laugh instead of writing long-ass letters.”
You arched a brow, trying not to smile. “You mean Wickham?”
Jason choked, then barked out a laugh. “Oh, hell no. Don’t do me dirty like that. Pretty boy liar? Absolutely not.”
Your laughter bubbled out, full and genuine, and Jason caught himself grinning like an idiot just watching you. He tried to hide it by taking another sip of coffee, immediately regretting it, his expression souring.
“You really hate it that much?” you asked, lips still curved in a smile.
Jason gestured at the cup with mock seriousness. “This is an abomination. But hey—” he pointed at you, grin flashing again, “worth it.”
The words slipped out before he could filter them. Smooth, yes, but the edge of honesty in his tone was undeniable.
You froze, cup halfway to the sink, heartbeat stuttering. Jason just sipped again like he hadn’t said a damn thing, though his eyes were glinting with that mix of challenge and something softer.
You tried to cover the flutter in your chest with a scoff. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but you’re smiling again” Jason shot back, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
There was a moment, just a beat too long, where your eyes met his, the café noise dimming around you. And then the bell above the door chimed again, breaking the spell as another customer shuffled in.
You straightened quickly, reaching for another cup. Jason sat back, but his gaze lingered on you as if he hadn’t quite decided whether to push the moment or not.
When the customer was gone and you circled back to him, he was still there, elbow on the counter, expression unreadable.
“So,” you said, as casual as you could manage. “If you’re secretly a book guy, what else have you read?”
Jason shrugged like it was no big deal, but his smirk was back, crooked and dangerous. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
You narrowed your eyes, leaning forward. “I would, actually.”
He tilted his head, eyes flicking over you, the faintest hint of challenge tugging at his grin. “Tell you what, sunshine. You tell me why you’ve read Pride and Prejudice a hundred times, and maybe I’ll give you one of mine.”
Your mouth opened, then closed again. “That’s—” you laughed nervously, “that’s not a fair trade.”
Jason’s grin widened. “Life’s not fair. C’mon. I’m curious.”
Your fingers tapped the counter, buying time. “Because…” you finally said, quieter than before, “because it makes sense of people. You know...even when they’re messy, or stupid, or proud. It—” you glanced at him, caught in his gaze, “—it reminds me that people can change. That they can… surprise you.”
Jason’s smirk faded, his expression softening into something quieter. He looked at you for a long moment, and you swore he wasn’t just seeing you, he was understanding you.
He tapped his cup against the counter once, the sound sharp in the air, and leaned in closer. “Yeah” he said finally, voice lower now, almost rough. “I get that.”
You blinked, suddenly unsteady under the weight of his gaze. “So? You gonna tell me one of yours now?”
Jason smirked, but there was a flicker of vulnerability behind it. He sat back, finishing the last swallow of coffee like armor, and tossed the empty cup into the trash with perfect aim.
“Maybe next time.”
You groaned. “That’s cheating.”
“Or it’s incentive.” Jason stood, pulling his jacket tighter around him, grin cocky again but his eyes still lingering on you. “Guess you’ll just have to keep making me sludge until I spill.”
And with that, he gave you a wink, shoved the door open, and let the bell jingle behind him, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and a ridiculous smile you couldn’t quite erase.
The movie hums on, unwatched, a blur of colour and laugh tracks you both ignore. You're curled into Jason's side on the couch, his arm draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your skin. His breathing is steady, his body almost unnervingly warm.
You shift, pressing yourself closer, your thigh sliding between his. He tenses for half a second, then tries to force himself to relax, but you feel the subtle hitch in his breath.
"Jay," you murmur. It comes out softer than you intended.
He swallows. "Yeah?"
You hum as you tilt your head and press your lips to the corner of his jaw, slow and deliberate. He shudders, his hand tightening on your shoulder, and when you pull back, his eyes are already darker—glossier, half-lidded with desperate want.
"You sure?" he asks, voice low. "We don't have to—"
You kiss him quiet.
His mouth parts against yours, a shaky exhale escaping him, and when your tongue meets his, he groans like it hurts. Your nails scratch lightly against his pale skin, breath shuddering as he gives in, letting out a quiet whimper.
"Fuuck—my god—jesus, fuck—" He doesn't manage to get the next word out. His head tilts back as he keeps going, hips rolling in an uneven, desperate rhythm with the flushed tip of his cock twitching against the friction of cotton and denim. His skin is red hot and ever so slightly tear-stained, his eyes glossy and lost in the pleasure he's grinding out of this moment. He's so darling like this, letting out quiet, shaky whimpers with every grind.
"Sweetheart, wait—hold on— gonna—" Despite his words, he can't stop himself from continuing to rut his hips into yours. He keeps going, shuddering through his orgasm, his body tensing before slowly going slack under you. His pants grow damp with spurts of hot cum, coating the fabric with his release.
You stare at him, your own arousal still hot. "Did you just...?" you ask, and your voice sounds thick even to your own ears. He looks up at you, eyes fucked-out and lashes clumping together with tears.
He's panting softly, eyes glazed over as he answers, "I'm sorry, I—"
You cut him off with a soft kiss. "Don't be," you whisper, fighting the smirk threatening to form on your lips.
a/n: first time doing non-academic writing in months I lowk forgot how to do this
pairing: bf!Jason Todd x reader
synopsis: during a visit to the family manor, you wander off and find a couple of photos of Jason from his childhood, and end up having a mini mental breakdown over them (inspired by this post from @bath1lda!)
cw: none, fluff, established relationship, petnames, gn!reader, sensitive and empathetic reader
wc: 1k
Jason masterlist
Footsteps echo down one of the many hallways of the Wayne Manor. Jason’s been looking for you for the past five minutes, to no avail. “Baby?” he called out repeatedly, as he peered his head over corners and through door cracks.
How did this happen? He’d left you in the living room for less than a minute to go to the bathroom, and when he returned, you were nowhere to be seen.
So there he was, roaming around the labyrinth that was the manor, calling out a plethora of nicknames along with your name in the hopes of a response.
He eventually reaches the corridor leading to the second-story living room and notices that one of the two doors has been left open by a few inches. He gently pushes it and calls out for you again. His eyes scan the room, and when they finally land on you, he lets out a small sigh of relief. “There you are. How did you manage to get lost so fast?” he steps in, making his way over to you.
Noticing the fact your back is still facing him, and that you’re keeping quiet, his voice softens. “Everything okay?” His hands come up to caress your shoulders.
You instantly melt against him and let out a heavy sigh. “No,” your voice trembles.
His posture straightens almost immediately and he leans in closer to look at the side of your face. “Hey, what’s wrong? Don’t cry—” he starts, but freezes once he looks at what you’re holding.
A framed picture of him when he was younger. He was wearing a tuxedo suit, his hair neatly combed with gel and curled at the front.
His face drops. What a horrible photo.
“What are you doing with this?” one of his hands reaches for the picture, but he doesn’t make an attempt to take it from you. Instead, he simply rests his hand atop yours.
“I don’t know I just—” you sniffle, and let out a chuckle. “I just started walking around and then I thought ‘wow this room looks nice’, and then I noticed the pictures on top of the fireplace and next thing I know, I’m sobbing.” you explain, wiping at your tears with your other hand.
“... why?” he raises an eyebrow before letting his chin rest on top of your head. You loved it when he did that.
You look at the photo more closely as you ponder how to answer his question. “You were so cute. And so young—I mean look at you, you’re practically a baby in this one!” you gesture as you grab a polaroid you’d found nearby and lift it up to his eye level. “I can’t believe you never showed me these.”
“I look terrible in those.” he scoffs before letting go of you, and instead leans his elbow against the top of the fireplace. He stares down at you, his eyebrows now furrowed.
You stare back at him in shock. “How could you say that about him? He’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“What do you mean ‘him’? I’m right here.” he chuckles.
You roll your eyes. “You get what I mean.” you mumble before turning back to the various photos in front of you. You analyze them again.
Those bright eyes and smile, those dimples, those little curls in his bangs. It was all too much for you. The thought that this ambitious and full-of-life boy would eventually go through hell and back made your heart squeeze painfully.
His eyes soften as he glances at the pictures, and then you. He notices the way your shoulders drop, and your eyes water again.
He immediately pulls you into a hug, making sure to set the photo you were holding down first. “Don’t cry over this.”
Your hands find their way around his back and they fist against the fabric of his shirt. You inhale deeply, breathing his comforting scent in.
The two of you stay like that for a little while.
“I’m sorry for everything you went through,” you mutter.
He lets out a laugh, and you almost want to smack him for finding your breakdown funny. “What’re you apologizing for? It’s not your fault.”
“I know!—God I know… It just sucks is all,” you finally pull away and take a deep breath, composing yourself.
His hands trail their way up your face to cradle it, and he rubs soothing circles against your cheek. “It doesn’t matter as much anymore. I’m doing better now… and I have you.” he brings you closer and presses his lips to the tip of your nose.
You look up at him through your wet lashes for a second. After blinking a couple tears away, you speak again. “I’m sorry for being such a crybaby.” you shake your head, as if trying to snap yourself out of it.
“Don’t be.” he kisses your tear-stained eye corner.
“But you hate crybabies.” you respond.
He moves to kiss the corner of your other eye, not wanting it to feel left out. “Yeah, but I don’t hate you.”
You deadpan, almost annoyed at how perfect he was sometimes. Sighing, you rest your cheek against his chest, head facing sideways. Your eyes land on the pictures again.
“I’m going to need you to show me every single baby and childhood photo you have.” you announce in a matter-of-factly way.
You hear him click his tongue above you. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Fine, I’ll just ask Alfred and Bruce. Maybe Dick as a last resort. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”
You feel him tense against you. “You wouldn’t.” he gently grabs your hips and tugs you away to look at you, his eyes wide.
“Oh yes I would. I’ll even ask Alfred to make me copies of every picture.”
He runs a hand down his face and groans into it. “Please don’t.”
“You can’t stop this, Jason. Don’t fight it.” a small grin makes its way onto your face.
“I can’t win with you, can I?” he says, and it sounds more like a statement than a question.
You nod with pursed lips. “Not on this, I’m afraid.”
“Fine. But you owe me.”
“How about a kiss, then?”
“Nice try—” his sentence is cut short when you press your lips to his. When you pull back, he stares down at you with dim eyes.
“There. Are we even now?” you ask.
“... No. I’ll need a couple more for good measure.” he leans back in, not waiting for confirmation as his lips meet yours once more.
a few centered around his family—he always sits or stands to the left of dick, always makes cass her plate, always brings dessert to gatherings because nobody can do it as well as he can.
a few about his work—he always starts on the south end of gotham and works toward the north, always cleans his guns an hour before patrol, always puts his right boot on before his left one.
then, he has several for you.
he always flicks your sky projector on fifteen minutes before you’re done getting ready for bed, he always lets you take a bite of food first before picking his fork up, he always lets you read the prologue of a book he’s considering purchasing.
but your personal favorite?
jason always lets you kiss him first.
he’ll lower his face to yours, keeping the space between the two of you until you lift your lips to slot against his. whenever he wants affection, he’ll draw closer, look at you with those utterly compelling eyes of his, and wait.
he waits until you respond—whether it be reciprocating his energy or not.
he doesn’t take from you. he loves whatever you give him, even if it’s merely eye contact.
even then, he’ll graciously accept it because it’s from you.
jason has a habit of waiting for you to kiss him first, not because he’s nervous or shy.
he waits because he knows what it’s like to have things taken, and he always wants you to have a choice.
synopsis: you were curious about bikers before, but you are pretty sure they just became your weak spot after meeting this handsome, green-eyed stranger at the gas station
content: fluff, meet-cute, tough exterior n soft interior jason, reader thinking of riding him for a sec, but c’mon, who wouldn’t in this context
“Hi, um, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could…” Jason watched you—the cute girl who had approached him at the gas station—do a revving motion with your hand. Didn’t even say it out loud; just moved your fist and looked at him with those big eyes.
Through the dark visor of his helmet, you couldn’t see the way Jason was squinting down at you. And still, you felt like you were being scrutinized. Now, you regretted not getting ready properly. I mean, you had just wanted to go get some gas. You would’ve put more thought into your choice of clothing if you had known that you’d end up seeing a biker there; one with broad shoulders that filled out his leather jacket impressively. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case, though, as you’d randomly thrown something together this morning.
Taking in your adorably curious face, Jason found himself wondering what a sweet girl like you was doing walking up to a guy like him. He was well aware of what kind of first impression most people got of him. After all, he was a big guy with an even bigger motorcycle.
But you didn’t look intimidated by his stature at all. If anything, you just seemed a bit shy asking him for permission to lay hands on his bike. So with a nod, he gave you the okay. In real time, he saw the sheepish expression on your face melt away and in its stead witnessed a spark of excitement light up in your eyes.
He watched you attentively as you took a few steps closer to his bike, and reached over to the handle. You were about to twist it expectantly, when Jason stopped you with a chuckle. Eyes lifting to look at the attractive stranger, you were worried that you had done something wrong already without noticing it.
“Not like that. You need to twist it towards you, all right?” Your cheeks warmed up in embarrassment, but his gloved hand simply came to rest over yours.
When he guided it in the right direction now, the bike’s engine roared to life loudly. The vibrations of the motor sent your heart tumbling into a frantic rush. To say you were impressed would have been nothing less than a blatant understatement. Jason could practically see stars form in your eyes. “You’re a fan of bikes, huh?” He huffed in amusement. His gaze drifted over your side profile as you nodded. You were pretty. Really pretty.
“Y’want to go for a ride?” The question left his mouth before his brain could catch up with what he was suggesting. It was unlike Jason to make an offer like this to someone he didn’t even know. He did it anyway, so that had to mean something, surely. Lifting his visor, he peered straight into your soul now—no kind of glass acting as a form of separation between you two.
You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment, you were just staring at him—soft lips parted. Clearly, you were as taken aback by his offer as he was. And also by those uniquely vibrant green eyes, but hopefully that wasn’t something the dark-haired biker would know.
Stranger danger should have stopped you from agreeing to something so reckless, especially in a crazy place like Gotham City, but much like Jason, you weren’t acting like yourself at the moment. “I… I mean, if you have the time.” Luckily for you, he had an extra helmet with him.
After Jason explained the basics of what you needed to know, you found yourself on the back of his bike. When he sensed that you hesitated to hold onto him, unsure of where to put your hands without crossing some sort of line, one of Jason’s hands reached backwards to grab yours and place it around his midriff.
“Hold on tight, sweetheart,” he ordered, but his voice was terribly kind. Then he snapped his visor back down, and you were off onto the road.
It was exhilarating; hearing the raucous vrooming sound of the engine, feeling the wind whip past your bodies.
You felt more alive than you ever had before. A thrilled little laugh came from you as you allowed yourself to enjoy the ride. Only now did you realize that you didn’t even know this stranger’s name yet. You had been too caught up in your inner monologue panicking over how bad of an idea this probably was.
When Jason sped up to overtake a car, you closed your eyes momentarily and rested your head against his back. Oh my god, this was as terrifying as it was fun.
The longer you two drove, the more your nerves began to ease into pure, unfiltered joy. You were growing more comfortable by the minute—your hands traveling along his abdomen and holding onto him tighter. At one point, your hand was pressed against his pectoral, and if you hadn’t been so swept up in the moment, you would’ve been able to feel the rapid, thumping beat of his heart.
Once you two stopped at a red light, the man you’d been clinging onto turned his head so that you could hear him better. “You good?” You might not know much about this stranger, but one thing you knew for sure: he was painfully considerate.
Jason started out driving not too fast, paid attention to your body language the whole ride through, and only began speeding up upon noticing that you had relaxed a bit. In other words, he made sure you felt comfortable the whole time, and now he was also checking in on you verbally. You were surprised by how well this was going considering how unsure you’d been about this choice.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” you spoke loudly in the hope of your voice carrying over the cacophony of traffic noise around you. With a growing grin, you added, “More than fine, actually. This is crazy!” Jason was thinking of a reply when the stoplight turned green, effectively interrupting your conversation.
Butterflies swarmed your stomach as you leaned into him, arms wrapped around him securely. Hands holding onto his front, you took notice of the warmth that seeped through the material of his black compression shirt. You couldn’t help but wonder how many days a week this man must have gone to work out to be this fucking ripped. Even from afar, it had been impossible to miss his size, but actually feeling the hard planes of muscle hidden beneath his clothes gave you a different kind of impression on just how built this man was.
Time flew by quickly. When Jason eventually dropped you off at the same gas station that he met you—he felt like it would be creepy to ask you where you lived, and your car was parked there anyway—the adrenaline was still pumping through your veins like a river of ecstasy.
Your breath was erratic as you warned him that you would get off the back of his bike now, just as he had told you to. Communication was key between the driver and backpacker. You wouldn’t want him to lose balance and let the bike fall to the ground. He likely wouldn’t have made a fuss about it, even if you did, though.
Standing on your own two feet after the addictive feeling of speeding through the streets with him felt weird. Your shaky fingers began fumbling with your helmet, and mere seconds later, Jason stood right in front of you. Noticing your struggle, he silently helped you. Your blown eyes were locked on him the entire time as he slipped it off your head. With him this close, you could smell the dizzying scent of his cologne: leather, musk, and something irresistibly warm that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It smelled almost like gunpowder, but you doubted that with how sweet this man had been to you. Either way, he smelled absolutely to die for.
You ran your fingers through your hair to fix it, and Jason watched you closely. The corners of his mouth tugged up into an amused smirk. Fuck, you were too cute.
“Thank you. That was the most fun I’ve had in a while.” You sounded so gentle, so sincere in your gratitude. It wasn’t even a big deal, really, nothing that demanded much effort on his part. Still, it clearly made you happy, and he found himself feeling unreasonably accomplished by that, which was stupid, because he didn’t know you.
Jason should have reminded himself of that. He didn’t.
After he took off his own helmet, you could finally take a good look at the entirety of his face, and it was actually embarrassing how affected you were by it. The gorgeous green eyes you had seen before, but his dark, perfectly disheveled hair alongside the faint, jagged scar on his face piqued your interest in the man.
He was gorgeous, undeniably so.
You wanted to find out more about Jason, wanted to see if he had other scars or birthmarks hidden beneath the fabric of his protective gear, wanted to ride with him again. Of course, the more debauched side of your brain couldn’t help but think of wanting to ride him too, but that unfitting thought was quickly banished into the back of your traitorous mind. Even briefly imagining that with him right in front of you, fuck, that was a horrible idea, worse than climbing onto a stranger’s motorcycle.
“Any time…” Jason trailed off, a subtle inquiry of your name. Snapping out of your thoughts, you giggled at his smoothness. The man, who had died and come back to life, swore he felt something that he’d never felt before. An odd sensation of warmth spread through his chest. Illogical. Entirely unfounded. What was up with him?
You told him your name softly, and Jason repeated it back to you like he was testing the way it sounded rolling off his tongue. “Jason.” The curt response would have seemed aloof, if it weren’t for the evident interest shining in those emerald depths of his. “Well, thank you then, Jason,” you said with a sweet smile. Your heart was pounding wildly against your ribcage, and you knew that that wasn’t just the aftershocks of residual adrenaline.
Internally, you wondered if you should ask him for his number. Then you cringed at how awkward it would be if he told you no, if he said that he had a girlfriend and this was just him trying to be nice earlier. “Okay, I should—” You didn’t even finish your sentence, because he spoke up at the same time as you did, “Could I—” The air between you seemed static as you nodded at Jason to say what he wanted to first. “Could I get your number?” All right, girlfriend theory debunked then, you guessed.
He cleared his throat, trying to tamp down the tension he had created with the intense, deep timbre of his voice. Jason licked his lips before adding, “So we could… do this again, you know. If you’d like.” Wait, was he shy?
Jason didn’t want to come on too strong or make you feel like this was him expecting your number in return for his favor. It wasn’t like you owed him anything! He wasn’t an asshole like that. But you didn’t think that anyway.
The smile on your face broadened into an even more radiant one, and Jason had an inkling that he would grow to love this grin of yours. “Sure, I would love that. Maybe we could go to the library next time.” You inclined your head downward and chuckled bashfully, realizing how unspectacular of a place that sounded like. Leave it to you to suggest to the hot biker you met to go to the freaking library of all places. “I mean, if you don’t find that too boring. My aunt runs a library. I help out every once in a while, so I like the quiet there.”
Jason might have just found the woman of his dreams.
“No, no, I don’t find that boring at all,” he said, and when you lifted your head, you could tell by the look on his face alone that he meant what he said. Your eyes darted across his pretty face, teeth tugging at your bottom lip like that could contain your giddiness.
Jason might have been the man of your dreams too.
He gave you his phone, and you couldn’t believe that this was actually happening to you, as you typed your number into the phone of the handsome biker you met only today. The owner of the prettiest green eyes and the most attractive voice you ever had the pleasure of beholding. And he liked to read, apparently. It was like this man had stumbled right out of a romance novel.
Handing his phone back to him, you looked up at Jason through your eyelashes. “Call me.” Such bold words, yet coming out of the mouth of a sweet thing like you, they didn’t sound half as provocative as they should have.
Oh, Jason was definitely going to call you.
em’s masterlist | jason todd masterlist wc: 2.2k request: no
˙⋆✮ a/n: this was inspired by sth that happened to me this week lol. lowk don’t like ts, but i’ll post it anyway, bc i don’t want to scrap the fic. and also again, this is a drabble that turned into a one-shot. like, ugh, guys, i cannot write short stuff for the life of me 😭😭 this isn’t even acc long to me, but it’s definitely also not drabble-kinda short ykwim
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you shifted on your boyfriend's bed, looking at him over the current tiktok trend you were deeply engrossed in.
he was sat at his PC set up–one too intricate and expensive for a man who spent most of it's use doing torture challenges on the sims or letting his murderous, bleeding-out-on-his-desk, brother play cake decorating games.
tonight, he was running his minecraft server like the navy. you'd been busy doomscrolling for the most part, but you'd caught a few "no, wally, do this"’s here and a few "wally no, you're going to get us killed!"’s there.
you played with them occasionally–especially when dick begged, just to see the matching avatars he forced you into side by side. but right now, you were busy scheming.
you cleared your throat slightly before putting on a class-act performance, "richard grayson!" you gasped.
dick tore off his headset immediately, whipping around to look at you, "yeah baby?"
"you would not believe who i just found on tinder."
"what!" he was on his feet fast. "who??"
"jason."
he gasped back, "my jason??"
"the jason!!!"
dick was by your side now, having moved across the room with urgency. "i have to see this!–oh my god, is his profile dorky?" he laughed. "does he have a classical quote in his bio?? wait i need a photo for–"
you giggled at his reaction, at the eagerness to get his hands on his newest form of blackmail. yet, you didn't aid him to actual question he was meant to ask.
"which photos does he have on his..." dick's hand paused halfway to reaching for your phone. "profile..."
his eyebrows furrowed as he thought for a moment. the little frown on his face shifted to a complete pout.
"wait! why are you on tinder?!?"
note: barely proof-read to be honest with you so feel free to call out any mistakes 😪 my courses are killing me im not doing any more editing than i have to rn
𝓒𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻: They grew up hearing “don’t touch that,” “you’re not ready,” “that’s dangerous”—but when it comes to his grandchild, Bruce is simply incapable of saying no.
While Bruce was strict with his kids, he turns a complete blind eye when it comes to his grandkids. And he doesn’t even try—or want—to hide it.
I mean, he’s already retired from his vigilante career, his kids are living their own lives, and he’s loaded. What’s wrong with just relaxing and enjoying his free time with his very first grandbaby?
Assuming all the kids are now adults, but still visit the manor constantly, they’ve had to come to terms with the fact that under that roof, it’s the tiny human that rules. Not that they don’t love the little ball of energy too, but it does sting a bit to watch Bruce let them do whatever they want—things they never had permission to do back then.
Like that time Damian needed to do some upgrades and maintenance on the Batmobile—except oops, it wasn’t in the Batcave. In broad daylight. The reason? Bruce couldn’t say no to his grandkid asking for a ride. He had so many cars but the little menace had to ask for the Batmobile.
Or the time Bruce was so focused on tracking Tim’s patrol over comms that he didn’t notice the kid abandon their coloring pages and start painting everything they could find—gear, weapons, uniforms. Jason was outraged when he saw Bruce calmly cleaning up the mess while the tiny culprit sat in the chair eating snacks.
Don’t get him wrong—he wasn’t about to tell Bruce to scold the kid, no matter how much chaos they caused.
But seriously? When he did that as a kid, he got grounded for a whole month and had to clean everything up by himself.
Dick remembered the day Alfred told Bruce that one day, he’d soften up—even more than he already had. But honestly, he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. He wished he’d taken a photo of Bruce’s face when they heard a noise in the hallway followed by a little grunt from the grandkid.
Bruce ran like he’d just witnessed a major accident—it was just a scraped knee, but Bruce, the same man who had seen every member of that family bleed, nearly cried with them.
“When I fell, you told me to get up,” Dick said, Jason and Tim silently nodding in agreement.
“You were a vigilante,” Bruce defended, while applying a themed band-aid on the minor injury. He ignored Grayson mumbling something like “vigilante or not, I was a child,” and got up to make hot chocolate.
There was also that one time when Tim had to drop several important tasks from his day just to cover a Wayne Enterprises meeting Bruce bailed on—because he got an urgent phone call.
His grandkid wanted to show him a drawing of Batman.
It wasn’t even a good drawing—one of the few things Tim and Damian could agree on. It had three eyes and six fingers.
꒰ Damian decided to pay Jason a visit & notice how his body got softer after getting a girlfriend! ꒱
Damian didn’t usually visit his brothers of his own free will. Most of the time, he only stopped by the apartment to grab a quick snack or pick up some accessory that might be useful to him.
But, surprisingly, on that day—on that perfect day—he had decided to be an inconvenience to Todd, simply because he had nothing better to do.
You were in the kitchen, finishing plating the dessert that would accompany one of your movie nights with Jason.
Used to your boyfriend’s entrances and exits through the window and balcony, you didn’t startle when you heard one of them being opened, continuing to hum absentmindedly.
It was only when you turned to wash your hands that you remembered a small detail—Jason was in the shower.
The humming slowly died in your throat.
You dried your hands calmly—much calmer than you actually felt—and turned your head toward the living room, just enough to peek through the doorway.
And there he was, sitting on the couch like he owned the place, legs crossed as he ate popcorn. He chewed slowly, eyes focused on the turned-off television, as if he were waiting for something to start.
He stopped the moment he noticed you.
You stopped the moment you noticed him.
For a long second, neither of you moved.
His green eyes narrowed slightly, calculating, suspicious. “…You are not Todd.”
You blinked once.
“No…” you answered slowly. “And you are definitely not Jay either.”
Jason appeared in the hallway, hair dripping, but already wearing sweatpants. “You started it without me? I told ya I wanted to watch the opening too—”
He stopped mid-sentence, falling silent, his mouth parting in shock—maybe at the scene? At your calmness with the intruder? Or at the intruder’s sheer audacity?
“Just what I needed,” Jason growled, voice sharp with irritation. “Why the hell are you in my apartment?”
Damian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, chewing calmly. He simply shrugged—after all, how was he supposed to explain that he had only come to check if he was still alive? It had been a whole month since he last saw him. But he wasn’t worried!
“That’s mine—Damian, you should be at home. Your home.” Jason sighed, running a hand down his face. “Get off my couch. And stop eating my food.”
Damian ignored him completely. He leaned further back into the cushions, posture relaxed in a way that made Jason’s eye twitch. Then his gaze shifted slowly toward Jason.
“You look… fuller. Softer,” the younger one commented, his gaze drifting briefly toward you, who watched the argument in silence, before quickly returning to his brother.
Damian tilted his head to the side, as if evaluating a painting.
“Have you reduced your training frequency,” he continued, his voice strangely neutral, not teasing, just observational, “or simply increased your intake of nutritionally void food?”
“Did you just call me fat?”
“…No,” he replied, but then paused to think for a few seconds. “Did I? I merely commented on your body fat—“
Jason crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
“…Whatever,” he continued, tone quieter now, more thoughtful than before. “You no longer smell like cheap takeout grease and smoke. That is an improvement.”
“…That would be because he finally eats real food now,” you cut in, smiling, proud of your contribution to your boyfriend’s health.
Jason shot you a look over his shoulder, a little wounded that you had indirectly agreed with the little demon.
Damian reached out to grab more popcorn, but Jason slapped his hand away.
“Stop. Eating. My. Food. Okay. Great. Family bonding moment over.” Jason clapped his hands once, sharp and final. “You’ve seen me. Now out. Door. Window. Vent. I don’t care. Pick one.”
Damian’s attention snapped back to you, still ignoring his brother. He straightened slightly where he sat, gaze narrowing with renewed interest.
“You prepare the food?” he asked.
You nodded once. “Most of it.” You smiled. “Do you want to try the dessert?”
“…Dessert?” he repeated.
“I made chocolate cake,” you added casually. “With ganache.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed again. “…Homemade?” he asked.
“Yes.”
You disappeared into the kitchen before your boyfriend could protest.
Jason took a deep breath and dropped onto the couch, far too tired to argue any further. When the younger one opened his mouth to speak, he cut him off immediately.
“Not one more question,” Jason muttered. “Eat in silence.”
aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else
4 in 1 blurbs
warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.
You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.
As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.
The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.
You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.
Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.
Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle.
Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.
The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.
Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.
“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”
He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.
Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.
You hum, "Just strawberry's good."
Tim sits up, "Can I—”
"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.
Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.
Tim looks absolutely aghast.
“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”
“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”
Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.
Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”
You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.
Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.
He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.
The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both.
And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.
Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.
You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.
Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.
“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”
Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”
It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking.
You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.”
“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.
“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly.
“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.
A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”
You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.
Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”
Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”
Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”
Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.
Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”
Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”
Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”
“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”
Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”
Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.
“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.
As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.
You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”
“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Declined.
Voicemail.
Declined.
Declined.
“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.
She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.
The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”
Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.
So naturally, they had to retaliate.
The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.
Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job.
Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.
So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.
Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.
She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.
She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”
“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”
“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.
You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”
She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”
You frown, “Is something wrong?”
“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”
You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”
She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”
“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”
You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts.
“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.
You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”
“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.
You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line.
He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.
“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”
Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”
She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.
She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”
Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”
You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”
A short response on his end.
“Promise to text me back!”
There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.
You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”
You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”
“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”
“That thing is fucking scary.”
Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”
Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”
Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”
Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”
Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”
Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”
“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.
Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm.
Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.
A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”
Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”
The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.
You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.
Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.
“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.
Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”
You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”
“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.
“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.
“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.
You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.
Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.
Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."
Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side.
“Not you.”
He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.
You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass.
She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face.
You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”
He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”
You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing.
Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.
As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead.
On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner.
This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.
"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.
Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."
Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”
“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.
Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”
From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”
He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat.
“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.
When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring.
You peer down at him with a furrowed brow.
“What’s Salem doing here?”
“I’m not doing this shit with you.”
“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”
“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.
Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”
Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.
Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”
Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.
Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions.
“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”
Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”
“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.
“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.
Steph continues, “Um…”
Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”
Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”
Dick gives him a faux-smile.
“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.
“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page.
“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.
Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.
Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”
Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”
Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.
“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.
The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”
Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.
Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”
The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”
“That’s what I just said.”
Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”
Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”
Dick throws his head back with a squint.
Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while.
No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.
Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”
Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.
They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.
Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing.
“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.
Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.
Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”
“Very funny,” Dick leers.
They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.
A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition.
“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.
Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”
Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”
Damian responds with your name.
“And?”
He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”
There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up.
Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”
The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.
Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” he says simply.
Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”
Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”
He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.
Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?”
Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth.
Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand.
“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.
you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦
word count: 4.9k
warnings: jason has a kid, mentions of pregnancy, a bit of arguing but mostly fluff
Who knew a family of detectives could be so oblivious? (A.K.A the four times the Bats are blatantly confronted with Jason's kid and the one time they finally realise she's his).
It was incredibly rare that Tim asked anyone in his family for help. At best they would mock him for needing help in the first place, at worst (and in most cases) they would create more problems and, in turn, an even greater headache. It was even rarer that he asked Jason for help – Jason had a talent for doing both, rinsing him within an inch of his life while helpfully pointing out the fifteen flaws in whatever Tim had originally been thinking in the first place.
Alas, needs must.
Jason had made it abundantly clear that under no circumstances was anyone allowed to visit his apartment. He was fiercely protective of not only his space, but yours. The first time Dick had shown up unannounced, injured, whilst Jason was still out on patrol, meaning that you had to patch up a bloodied Nightwing on your favourite rug – well, Dick’s initial injury had been the least of his worries. Jason had practically chased him out of the apartment, and needless to say Dick hadn’t made an expressed effort to return any time soon.
But Jason had also made himself impossible to contact. The only chance anyone ever had of catching him was at the tail end of his weekly visit with Alfred, or some kind of Bat-emergency that involved all of them swarming into the Cave, typically with bigger issues at hand. Every time someone figured out his phone number, he changed it. Nobody knew his email address. He didn’t have a habit of responding to his mail.
Tim just had a few questions about shifts in gang territory in Gotham, questions he knew Jason would know the answer to, saving him hours of detective work trying to figure them out on his own. It was a long shot, and one that could potentially end in much more than a flesh wound, but he’d already sunk so many hours into the case that anything seemed like a decent option at this point.
And so, he sucks in a breath as his knuckles rap against the front door.
It takes a few seconds, a bit of shuffling from inside the apartment, but eventually it swings open, revealing Jason – looking alarmingly sleep-deprived, even for him, clad in his worn, stained Gotham Knights jersey and sweats.
“No.” The door ricochets shut almost instantly. He hears the chain go across.
“Please, Jason,” Tim calls through the letterbox, knocking more frantically on the wood, “It’ll only take five minutes!”
There’s a brief pause, a silence so thick you could cut it with a knife; he tries to prise the letterbox open, desperate to get a look inside. He nearly falls flat on his face as it swings back again.
“What do you want, Tim?” Much like his look, Jason’s voice is tired, laden heavy with sleep. It’s strange, Tim considers, it’s not like Jason had been patrolling more than normal, if anything he’d been out less in the past few weeks. He hadn’t had any major injuries that they’d known about.
In spite of that, he plasters on a smile, “Can I come in?”
Jason’s entire frame fills any view into the apartment – Tim has never been before, and he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t as interested about the case as he was in Jason’s choices in home décor. For a second, a look of genuine hesitation flitters across his brother’s face, but eventually he lets out an exasperated sigh, “Give me a minute.”
The door slams shut once again.
He can hear the telltale signs of life, the slam of doors and cabinets, the jumble of objects being moved about – he tries to look through the letterbox again, it’s in his best interest to know if Jason is up to something after all. It’s only a minute until the door swings open again, a clear path for entry this time, and Tim tries his best to look like he’s not casing the place as he makes his way over to the dining room table tucked in the corner. It’s unexpectedly cosy: warm colours, blankets, a roaring fireplace, a few photos of you and Jason hung up sporadically across the walls. He’d visited Jason’s safehouses before, and they tended to have more of a clinical, American Psycho kind of vibe. Needless to say the change of pace is a pleasant surprise, and no doubt your doing.
Jason doesn’t sit, instead opting to stand imposingly in the corner of the room with his arms tight across his chest. There’s a deadly scowl knitting his brows together, only the flickering of flames in the hearth interrupting the silence.
“Where is your better half?” Tim asks politely, trying to lighten the mood, “She’s much better company than you.” Probably not the way to go about it.
“Not here, clearly,” Jason huffs under his breath, throwing a look that very pointedly screams ‘get on with it’, but Tim almost draws back in surprise at his next words, “Would you, uh, like a drink?”
“Would I like a drink?”
“Yes, Tim, a drink.”
“You are asking me if I would like a drink?”
“At this rate you’ll be lucky if it’s cyanide,” Jason bites, “now for the last time, would you like a fucking drink?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tim splutters, spreading the collection of papers he’d brought with him haphazardly across the table, “A Coke would be great, if you’ve got it.”
Jason only grunts in response, trapsing languidly off to what Tim could only imagine is the kitchen. For a brief second, just as the door opens, something catches the corner of his eye that he definitely was not expecting to see.
A stroller.
It’s just so odd. Jason and a stroller are two things he’d never anticipated seeing in a room together – let alone a room that belonged to Jason. Ideas race through his mind about what the purpose of it could be: Some kind of disguise? Did it have some kind of hidden vigilante potential that none of them had ever considered before? Was he using it to, uh, move things?
It hits him all at once. Lian.
It wasn’t at all strange for Jason to look after Lian for the odd night or two when Roy was away on missions. He’d occasionally bring her round to the Manor to see Dick during those periods to keep her occupied for a few hours. Tim hadn’t seen the girl in a while, a few months at least, and whilst he was fairly certain she was too old to be ferried around in a stroller, he wouldn’t exactly consider himself to be an expert on childcare.
He's quickly shaken from his thoughts as soon as Jason returns, kitchen door clicking shut softly as he slams a can of Coke down on the table, sipping his own coffee down in massive gulps.
“So, Timbit, tell me what you got. You have 30 minutes.”
Steph loved shopping. Not extravagant shopping in luxury stores with millions of assistants that would attempt to shake her down for every penny as soon as she breathed through the door – just grocery shopping. It had always seemed like a mountainous task growing up, trying to make every penny stretch as far as possible, being forced to make practical decisions about what would last the longest or be the most versatile. But with a bit more money in her pocket now, it was a joy, the freedom to pick and choose anything, to go in with a recipe list and gather the ingredients, even splurge on a name brand.
It's her favourite part of the week, every time. Some people might find it sad, but hey-ho, it’s not like she gives a shit anyway.
That’s why she almost doesn’t notice when her cart clips the back of someone’s leg, lost in her own world, leering forward as she’s jolted over the handlebar. She definitely hadn’t noticed, until her victim turns around, that the person that she’d hit had been you.
“Holy shit!” Before you can even get a word in, Steph grapples her arms around you in some kind of pseudo-bear hug, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Jason practically keeps you under lock and key, you know?”
You have an oddly sheepish look on your face as you reply, Steph astutely notices, eyes darting side-to-side. You look exhausted, concerningly so, the typical fun-to-be-around vibe you normally emanated decidedly missing. “Tell me about it. Uh, how have you been?”
“I’ve been good, good, same old really,” Steph pauses, before dramatically mouthing vigilante-ing with an overzealous eye roll.
“Jason mentioned you’d been doing really well,” you offer with a genuine smile, “Said that you and him had been working together a little more.”
“Yeah, well, it’s never easy with that pig-headed bas- oh my god who is this?”
A baby. Steph had failed to notice the whole-ass fucking baby in a carrier situated across your cart, giggling and beaming up at her with these beautiful blue doe eyes. Through her incredible detective skills (and the Daddy’s Little Princess sweater engulfing the tiny little thing), Steph quickly considers that this gorgeous young lady is the most magnificent creature she’s ever had the pleasure of laying eyes upon. There’s a few tufts of thick, jet-black hair sprouting out of her head, a little crazy looking – but only adding to the charm.
“Can I?” She asks almost instantaneously, practically vibrating with excitement. The little girl seems just as eager, reaching up with her chubby little fists to try and get a grip on Steph’s waggling pointer finger.
She’s surprised, upon looking up, to see how uncertain you are. Your smile is nervous, still seemingly a little rattled by the unexpected encounter. It doesn’t take long, however, for your eyes to soften, a more legitimate grin quirking at the corner of your lip, “Go on then. Just – be careful.”
Steph’s already got the baby in her arms: bouncing her up and down, cooing, playing with her adorable rosy cheeks. It occurs to her all at once that she didn’t know that much about you, your history, or your family. If she’d known you had such a cute niece or cousin or something, she would’ve made an effort to get to know sooner.
The three of you stay like that for a least half an hour; you seem to loosen up over the course of the conversation, answering all of Steph’s questions about the little angel. There’s a warmth that burns bright in her chest as you ensure to ask about her just as eagerly, making sure that yes, she’s good and letting her know that, in spite of what Jason might say, she’s welcome any time if she needs anything. It’s only as the baby begins to cry, shrill and loud, interrupting her story about a chase her and Jason had been on last week, that Steph agrees to let her go – and I mean, she feels like wailing at the loss of that little bundle of joy.
She can’t say she blames you as you wrap the whole thing up fairly quickly, the pair of you sharing one more tight hug and the usual promises to see each other more often. You’re gone in seconds, fleeing down another aisle and out of the way of the other disgruntled customers bitching about the screaming infant.
It doesn’t take long for Steph to lock back into her mission in the cookie section, staring down at the lines of shelves: name brand Oreos? Yeah, name brand Oreos.
“God, I wish that kid would shut up,” comes a quiet grumble from the old gentleman to her left.
“Hey, fuck you, man. She’s literally a baby.”
There were a lot of things that Duke liked about school. His friends, primarily. The schoolwork itself was a bit of a dud.
Needless to say, the most difficult part of his week was rallying the youngest Wayne to be ready for their carpool back to the Manor on a Thursday evening. It was every Thursday, like clockwork, that Duke would visit Bruce and the rest of the Bats – and it was every Thursday that he would have to locate Damian Wayne and navigate him through the end of day crowds to meet Alfred. The kid clearly liked school more than he cared to admit, because trying to find him in the halls of Gotham Academy at 3pm each and every time was by far the most difficult mission he had ever been assigned.
Which is why it’s a surprise when he spies Damian stood directly in front of the main entrance, arguing with Jason Todd, nonetheless. He only catches the end of the conversation as he makes his way over, but it doesn’t scream of anything particularly brotherly, even friendly.
“–just tell me, Todd. I demand to know.”
“It’s none of your fucking business, you little brat. Move out of the way.”
It’s then that Damian catches sight of him, offering a standard scowl in his direction, “Thomas, don’t you think it’s fair that Todd should have to tell us why he’s arrived at our school on a seemingly random visit?”
“Nice to see you, Jason.”
“Hey Duke,” Jason grinds out, brow clasped between his fingers, “Damian. Move. Out. Of. The. Way.”
“Pfft, it is never a nice day to see Todd. What a preposterous notion,” Damian drawls, so infuriatingly blasé as he inspects the dirt underneath his fingernails.
“Duke,” Jason’s practically pleading, and it throws him for a hell of a loop. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Jason plead for anything, “Please can you get the little rat out of the way? I’m already late for something.”
“B didn’t send you to pick us up or anything?” Duke asks, and – hey, he’s a vigilante too – it’s in his nature to ask questions.
“Jesus fuck, not you as well,” he makes a quick dash to try and push past Damian, who quickly shifts to block his way, eliciting a scowl from a few teachers gathered across the path, “B wouldn’t dare ask me to pick you two annoying little fucks up. He knows I’d say no.”
“Todd, just tell us why you are here and I’ll let you past.”
“Damian, I swear to God if we weren’t at a school I would rock your –”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Jason,” Duke begins calmly, the fear of having to break up a fight between two trained assassins in a school yard echoing in the back of his mind, “Is what you’re doing really so bad you can’t just tell him? It’ll make this whole thing go quicker.”
“I’m not doing anything bad!” The elder throws his hands up in exasperation, “You people think the absolute worst of me. I’ve already told him – I’m here for an evening class. One that I’ve managed to come to for the past five Thursdays without running into either of you!”
“Is that enough for you, Damian?” Duke turns to face the younger Wayne, who still has his face contorted in a sour expression.
“No.”
“Fucking waste of time,” Jason mutters, full of venom, under his breath, slinking down to sit on a step. Duke can’t claim to know Jason particularly well, the man is definitively the scarcest of all the Wayne children, and they’ve rarely hashed out any kind of conversation one-on-one – but the man looks wrecked. Dark bags hang heavy underneath his eyes, hair flat and wavy against his forehead, the usual stripe of white mostly hidden underneath thick tufts of black. Even as he sits, his shoulders are slumped over, and Duke’s not unconvinced that the man might just fall asleep on the spot.
“Listen, Damian, I think maybe we should just–”
“Master Damian,” a curt voice calls out from behind them, and a bit of life seems to gleam back into Jason’s eyes as he clasps his hands together towards the sky, “I believe it would be rude to keep your father waiting any longer, would it not?”
Damian, who up until ten seconds ago had seemed such a mighty force, instead deflates, slinging his schoolbag over his shoulder and making ever so minute movements towards Alfred. Not an audible word passes his lips, but more a steady stream of various different threats and commands slowly dwindling to silence as he finally makes it to the butler.
“Master Duke, I believe you are due to come with us tonight, yes?” Alfred offers a warm smile in his direction, as always.
“See ya’, Jason,” Duke throws a salute in his direction, electing to not take it to heart when Jason gives him little more than a huff and a half-hearted wave in response.
“Master Jason,” Alfred begins so slowly, in a tone that they all know is reserved only for his favourite grandson, “It is only 4:06pm. I am sure if you arrive now, they shall still be inclined to let you in.”
“Thanks Alfie,” Jason mutters, hoisting himself to his feet with seemingly the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Damian’s eyes instantly come alive, fire blazing in his irises as he glares up at Alfred, “You know what he is here for, Pennyworth?”
“And Master Jason–” Alfred simply ignores the pestering questions of the boy at his side “–you seem to be lacking in a great deal of sleep. May I remind you, as I have many a time, that I would be delighted to help, should you require it.”
Jason’s face morphs into a mixture of relief and genuine fondness as he nods towards Alfred, disappearing into the entrance of the school.
If at that moment, Duke happened to notice the flyer on the school gate that read something along the lines of New Parenting 101, 3pm, Thursdays, he didn’t dare say anything about it. Unlike some of his counterparts, he’d like to believe he knew when to keep his mouth shut.
And besides, that means he can’t temporarily relish in knowing something that the mighty Damian Wayne doesn’t.
“Pennyworth, if you do not tell me what is going on with Todd, I shall be forced to ask Father.”
“I wish you the greatest of luck in that line of inquisition, Master Damian, I’m sure you will get very far.”
For a man who lived, worked and patrolled most nights in Bludhaven, Dick Grayson sure seemed to spend a ridiculous amount of time at Wayne Manor. It felt like he spent every waking moment stuck in traffic between the two, constantly ferrying back and forth: report due at work in Bludhaven, Babs wants his input on a case, need to go home to feed Haley, Tim needs this taking to Wayne Enterprises – Can he pick Damian up from school? Yeah, he can pick Damian up from school.
Which is why when nights like tonight come around where nobody requires anything else of him, he’s got his patrol covered for the evening and he can just leave the Manor to go home and cash in on that precious gem the rest of the world like to refer to as sleep, he’s packing his things up and hitting the road quicker than Wally. Even Bruce gives him a nod and a smile on the way out, telling him to rest up for their – oh god, their mission tomorrow.
The very last person that he’d expected to run into on his way out was Jason.
People. Because, holy shit, Jason has a baby strapped to his chest.
It’s all so casual, Jason with his sunglasses and tank on, strolling up to the front doors like there is nothing bizarre about the whole situation. The baby is fast asleep against him, letting out the occasional huff of air, but beyond that completely still and peaceful.
“Hi Jason,” Dick says, almost incredulously, as Jason had clearly just planned to carry on past him without a word.
Even through his sunglasses, Dick can practically hear his younger brother’s eyes rolling in his skull, “Hi Dick.”
“Hello baby,” He’s often been credited for being fairly observant, but it doesn’t take a mastermind to acknowledge the clear outlier in this situation. To add insult to injury, Dick makes sure to stare as pointedly as he can at the small child using its own thumb as dinner.
“C’mon now Dick,” Jason teases, a smirk on his lips, “We’ve gotten closer over the years – we’re not that close.”
“Jason why in the fuck do you have a baby strapped to your chest?” Every syllable is emphasised with a soft slap to Jason’s shoulder, and instantly Dick realises he might have just written, signed and mailed his own death sentence.
Clark would struggle to hold a candle to the intensity of the look Jason gives him, and Dick can’t help but falter back as Jason’s shoulders begin to square, his body language echoing a stance that he’s seen on his brother many times. The indicative signs he’s about to beat the shit out of someone.
“Are you stupid?” Jason grits out in a whisper, “She’s clearly asleep.”
“You are yet to answer my question.”
Jason’s glasses slip down onto the tip of his nose, allowing Dick a glimpse into those smouldering eyes. Everything written on his face screams obvious as he so snidely remarks that she’s yours, duh. Dick can’t help but do a double take as he stares down at the little girl – he’d had no idea that you had a kid, and he can’t help but feel atrocious now that it all fits into place.
Jason had always been so intensely private about your relationship, and your presence within the family saved exclusively for special occasions, holidays, birthdays, the like. Like an epiphany, Dick realises all at once how little he knows about you and your background. He had no idea that you’d even been in a relationship prior to Jason, let alone had a kid that you’d brought along for the ride. You were so young! And Jason – the fact that his brother had stepped up into the role, well, he couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Oh. Oh. I see,” Dick replies, awestruck, feeling far too ashamed and ignorant to dare ask any questions that might pry into Jason’s personal life. He knew how they tended to make him scatter. Does Bruce know about this?
“Uhm, Dickhead, you’re kind of in the way,” Jason thrusts out an arm to push him to the side, “Move.”
Holy shit Bruce must know – he’s brought the baby to the Manor.
“Oh shit, yeah, uhm, sorry.” He’s still in a trance. Haunted, some might say.
Jason, a little confused but cranky as always, offers little more than a judging look up and down as he passes through. Dick feels his entire body rupture as the door shuts softly behind him, leaving him in the evening husk.
So much for getting any sleep tonight.
“I’ve called this meeting because I believe we have something we need to discuss,” Dick starts, addressing the room. It didn’t take long to rally everyone, 24 hours to be exact, all of the children of the family sat engrossed on the floor of the library: himself, Tim, Duke, Steph, Cass, Damian. Everyone except Jason. “We need to talk about Jason and the baby.”
“What baby?” Damian blinks furiously, looking around demandingly at the rest who seem to nod in some kind of understanding.
“Jason brought a baby to the Manor yesterday. It is not his,” Dick starts causing a chorus of ooo’s and ahhh’s to erupt across the room, instead Dick just offers your name, “The baby is her’s. And now they’re raising her together.”
“Uhm, guys–” Duke calls out quietly amongst the rabble, sneaking a hand up slowly.
“Are you stupid?” Steph shouts, relishing as Dick jumps back in surprise.
“Why do people keep saying that to me?”
“She’s not hers,” Steph explains, “She’s like, her niece or something.”
“That would explain the stroller in their apartment,” Tim adds thoughtfully, and everyone whips round in an instant, throwing out a barrage of questions about Jason’s apartment – oddly focussed on its décor.
The door to the library slams open, silencing everyone in the room, “I can confirm, you’re all fucking stupid.”
At first, all that’s visible is Jason, an angry look etched into his features as always. The real shock comes when you step out from behind him, the little girl in question clutched tightly in your arms. He takes a moment to pull a chair over from across the room, taking the baby briefly in his arms as you get comfortable before handing her back over. Without missing a beat, he leans over to press a chaste kiss on the baby, brushing back strands of thick black hair off of her forehead.
“This is my daughter, you imbeciles,” Jason grinds out as he stalks over to the group, “Mine. Ours. As in me,” he pauses to point to himself furiously, before pointing to you, “Her.”
Whoever said a library was meant to be silent had clearly never encountered the Waynes. The noise is everywhere; everyone is on their feet practically clawing to get in front of their brother. Damian, who makes an attempt to grab at Jason’s jacket, is quickly swatted away. Dick, who is dipping up and down in a desperate attempt to maintain eye contact with Jason, gets his face shoved out of the way by Steph, who is trampling everyone in her path to try and get answers.
“Quiet. NOW.” Jason’s words come out so much quieter than any one of them would expect, but in an instant all six mouths snap shut. “Stop screaming in the presence of a literal 6-month-old.”
A few heads hang in shame, sauntering off to the other side of the room to get a look at the baby nestled in your lap. Dick stands gaping like a fish, arms raised at his sides, “But how? I thought she wasn’t yours?”
“Excuse me?” You call out from your perch on the chair, watching as the eldest Wayne winces in response.
“When were you even pregnant?”
“About six months ago,” you deadpan. Dick jumps back like he’s been burned.
“I was being sarcastic, Dickhead! Dick, that’s a baby. We’ve been together for three years!” Jason spits back, a look of complete and utter disbelief on his face.
“I don’t know how to age estimate children!”
“Well, I’ll give you a real good hint – that one’s not older than three!”
Dick pauses sombrely, a dark look passing over his features, “I didn’t– I didn’t think of that.”
Steph, who is now cradling the girl in her arms, turns to you in confusion, “But when we ran into each other at the grocery store? You didn’t say anything?”
You can only offer her a sheepish smile, “We hadn’t told you guys anything yet, and we were still getting used to the whole parenting thing. I thought you might have figured it out on your own, to be honest, but I wasn’t going to correct you if you were wrong.”
“Can’t hate a girl for protecting her peace,” Steph shrugs.
Tim peers over at the baby with an astonished laugh, “Jeez, Steph, are you blind? She looks exactly like him. Hair, eyes, nose, everything.”
“Okay Mister #1 Detective, I didn’t hear you figuring anything out.”
“Is this why you have looked reprehensible for the past months, Todd?” Damian calls out, trying his utmost to look disinterested in the girl cradled in Steph’s arms. His eyes blatantly give him away. “I thought you were having a mid-life crisis.”
“Mid-life crisis? Damian, I’m twenty-two,” Jason blusters, face going a dark shade of red, “and let’s not state the obvious about my mid-life crisis. But yes, it is why I have looked tired for the past few months.”
“You’re glowing,” Cass offers politely, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You give her a bold smile in response.
Jason seems to deflate, finally collapsing down on the couch, “Yeah, cheers Cass. You look great too.”
It’s at that moment that a thunderous voice echoes from the hallway, a set of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching the library, “Jason? Is that you? Have you brought my grandchild to see me?”
“I’m so popular,” Jason grumbles bitterly to himself, eliciting snickers from everyone else (all apart from Dick, who has yet to move on from his previous conversation), “Yes, B, she’s in here.”
Bruce Wayne appears, clad in golf-attire from some Brucie event he’d been wrangled into attending, to instantly swoop the baby up in his arms, a soft smile on his lips as a symphony of giggles ring out across the room. Horror is etched into the face of every other vigilante present; scorned looks of complete and utter betrayal cast towards Jason lounging in his seat.
“You told Bruce and not us!”
“That’s not fair!”
“What the fuck, Jason?”
“Why would you tell Bruce first?”
“Technically, Alfred knew first,” Jason adds thoughtfully with a sharkish grin. The protests only get louder.
Bruce doesn’t seem to care for the rabble, nestled in an armchair with the baby cackling happily on his lap, his features lighter than they had been in years. Eventually, things begin to quieten as all attention is drawn to the pair, everyone pausing their complaints to stare fondly at the girl who can only peer at them with absolute curiosity. In the moment of peace, you and Jason offer each other a delicate smile – it’s been a long few months, but you’d relished doing it together. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to bring in the village.
“Well,” Bruce mutters with a grin, “at least none of you have to argue over who’s my favourite anymore.”
I had a day off work today and literally just smashed this one out. I'm a sucker for the 'jason has a whole life that nobody else knows about trope' and idk if you can tell from my reblogs recently but girl!dad Jason is haunting my narrative
If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don't like it, leave me alone.
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