Can’t Stop Won’t Stop Being Horny On Main @straight-n-arrow - Tumblr Blog

Jun 4

Red Dahlia- Chapter 18

WC: 10,105

Notes: Howdy gang, I'm so sorry this took forever BUT this is the last chapter of Arc 2! After this I will be taking a break to write Arc 3 before it starts getting posted. In this chapter we deal with more social beefing, Bruce being an asshole for a second, classism, family shenanigans, Oliver Queen appearance, Alfred adopted Reader, Reader adopted Damian, SMUT SMUT SMUT (my partner was screeching about it while beta reading, whoops), and aftercare :)

Beta'd by: @teaspacebar

Previous Chapter, Masterlist

Chapter 18:

“You’re here.” The snarl in Bruce’s voice didn’t match the smile painted carefully on his face. “I thought I made my expectations clear.”

“Oh, you did,” you sneered through your own perfectly polite grin. “You were vocal about wanting the event, the children’s center, to be the center of attention, and we’ve made sure it has been. You asked me to consider your offer; I have. This should be answer enough.”

You watched as Bruce’s top lip pulled up ever so slightly as he turned to the man standing beside you. “Jason, I need you to-”

“Sweetheart, are you thirsty? Let’s go get a drink.” Jason whisked you away before Bruce could even finish his sentence.

The relative safety of the bar provided space for you to ask, “Are you alright?”

And despite the way his teeth were grinding together, he answered, “I’m great.”

You snorted at the dichotomy. “Jay, unclench. You’re going to give yourself a migraine.”

He didn’t though, not until he felt your arm wrap around his waist and squeeze just a little. Jason exhaled through his nose, letting his shoulders and his lower jaw drop just a little as he leaned into you. By the time the bartender came by, Jason had managed to regulate enough to get his feet back under him. He stood patiently as you ordered a drink, then ordered one of his own.

Drinks in hand, you lead the pair of you to the dining area, and Jason, whose hand had yet to find a home other than your hip, once again grew tense. The attention draw of causing a scene was not something he was terribly interested in, but he knew for a fact that since Bruce had not planned on the two of you being here, to sit down would be taking the seat of some dramatic socialite. He was not looking forward to whatever event this dinner was about to be. But when you walked up to one of the ushers, you gave each of your names, and the man simply nodded.

“Mr. Pennyworth’s additions, welcome. We are so glad you could make it.”

The smile you gave in return had no indication of surprise, which Jason could only chuckle about. When you said you’d take care of everything, he should have assumed you meant every single thing. The next subverted expectation was where the two of you would be sitting. Jason’s new assumption was that due to the last minute nature of your attendance, you’d be crammed somewhere in the back, away from prying eyes. Oh how wrong he was. Because the table at which the usher stopped walking was table number two; the family table. Bruce wouldn’t be there, of course, instead at the head of table one with all of the investors and major contributors to the event, but his siblings, all of them, would be seated here shortly. And, he noticed, you were the only plus one. Even Barbara, invited and in attendance, was to be seated alongside her father.

That was the only thing that soured your expression. The realization that the preservation of the Wayne image: a table full of young men and women in perfectly crisp, matching eveningwear, meant that even a publicly and privately beloved couple like Dick and Barbara wasn’t allowed to sit together.

No. That simply wouldn’t do. You turned to Jason, smile still polished and careful, and quietly you informed him, “Jay, I’m going to be right back.”

“Sweetheart?” The question was asked with his eyes more than words for fear of accidentally announcing some meddlesome plan, particularly given the glint he could see in your eyes.

“I just want to go check in with Barbara; I haven’t seen her in a while. Do you want to stay here and have your drink? Wait for your brothers?”

The man narrowed his eyes at you as he attempted to discern your motivations. You were giving him instructions, that much was clear, and it would be a break from socializing for a few minutes at least, so he sat, draping his suit jacket carefully over the back of your chair to mark it. Assigned seats or not, he liked having something there to say the seat was occupied, that it was yours. You bent carefully to kiss him chastely before gracefully taking your leave, making a line headed directly for Barbara.

You were entirely unsurprised to find her with Dick, who noticed you first.

“Y/n! Hi,” he announced your presence for you. “You look incredible! Saw Jason’s suit matches too. How’d you get him out of the black?”

“You’re confused why he’d rather match me than you?” you prodded back gently. The comment got a chuckle out of both him and Barbara, and you were quick to address her as well. “Barbara, you look absolutely stunning this evening.”

“Thank you,” she responded with a sly grin, raising her champagne glass slightly in acknowledgement. “I would say the same but based on the way Jason’s staring at you, I can’t help but think any compliment I could give you would only get lost in the pile.”

A heat drifted under your cheeks for a moment and a breathy sigh escaped you as you nodded. “He’s rather happy about the new outfit, yeah. But!” you interrupted before the conversation about fashion could continue any further, “That’s not what I’m over here for. Do the two of you want to sit together, or would you prefer to sit by your dad, Barbara?”

Barbara rolled her eyes slightly. “We never get to sit together at these things. Supposedly it messes with the optics of it being a “family event.””

You nodded in understanding, knowing how many hoops you and Alfred needed to jump through in order to make the changes you already had. “Well, I was going to see if I could-”

“No need,” came the voice of your partner in crime behind you. “I’ve already made the necessary adjustments.”

“Alfred?” Dick questioned.

“My sincerest apologies that the arrangements were not already complete by the time the dining room opened, but the correct layout has now been applied.” Alfred looked to you with a twinkle in his eye that said he’d read your mind and was already working on it before you’d even reached the table with Jason a few minutes ago. “Both Ms. Gordon and Ms. L/n will be sitting amongst the Waynes at table two this evening.”

Your smirk was prideful and victorious. “Alfred, you are the most incredible conductor an orchestra of chaos could ever ask for.”

He chuckled, despite himself, clearly amused by your off-the-wall compliment. “I aim to please.”

“Shall we?” you questioned, turning back to the stunned couple in front of you. When they moved to head to the dining hall, you turned again toward the older man. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Whatever for, Ms. L/n? As I am aware, the seating chart has always been configured this way, has it not?”

The smile you gave him then was small, just between the two of you, and returned in the form of a nod filled with quiet understanding. You weren’t sure exactly how you’d won Alfred over so quickly, or why he seemed to like you so much, but you were so incredibly grateful to have him in your corner, and to know that Jason could trust him, too. Jason, who now, as you returned to your table, was joking back and forth with Duke about the burgundy suit.

“Dude, I’ve been trying to convince Bruce forever to let me wear a colorful suit! I would look so good with gold accents at one of these, and I’m not even a Wayne! So why do I have to do the whole funeral look with everybody else?” Duke’s sweeping gesture to the rest of the table did not go unnoticed.

““The black is classic,”” Tim mimicked Bruce with air-quotes on his hands.

Jason jumped back in, more at ease than you’d seen him for most of the event. “This wasn’t a “got permission” type of situation, man, it’s more of a “not bothering to ask for forgiveness” type of thing.”

“And he looks good in it, doesn’t he?” you questioned, unapologetically butting into the conversation as you walked up behind Dick and Barbara, now also finding their names on place-cards. Your arm draped carefully over his shoulder so that your palm could press flat against your boyfriend’s sternum, to ground him, to check in, to give him a chance to bail out if this really was all too much. But he just pressed his hand over yours and squeezed to reassure before dragging his thumb lightly over the back of your hand as you continued to stand behind him, the conversation continuing around you.

“Ugh, anything’s better than the lame all-black getup,” Stephanie chimed in, having arrived only moments ago.

And from right behind her, looking like she was dragged here more against her will than even Jason, Cassandra quietly added, “I don’t mind the black.”

“And it looks lovely on you, Cass,” you insisted, giving her an encouraging smile.

By the time everyone was seated, all the siblings, related or otherwise, were having their own sidebar conversations with whomever they were sitting next to. You did your best to divide your attention between Jason and Damian until you were eventually able to get them to participate in the same conversation, even if it meant they were bickering around you. When food came out, the volume of the chatter lowered as everyone ate, only to pick back up again around halfway through the meal. Though it never rose to a disreputable volume, it was clear to everyone in attendance that table two was not only the largest, but by far the rowdiest as well. The siblings, or at least, those that still had any level of social battery left, were chatting, throwing ridiculous and thinly-veiled insults like popcorn at a bad movie.

There was an ease to this, almost, and Jason found he was having a better time than he thought, or at least, less of a bad time than he thought he’d have. But you’d been quiet for just a moment too long, and Jason’s hand dropped below the table to land on your thigh and squeeze, seeking some sort of explanation. It hardly took even a glance in your direction for Jason to notice the way your shoulders were tensed and your posture was rigid and the skin on the back of your neck was pebbled like a cool breeze had just blown through. He adjusted the way he was sitting, using his massive frame to shield you from most of the rest of the room, an action that drew the attention of the rest of the table. “Sweetheart?”

“It’s back,” you hushed, under your breath in case somehow whatever it was might be able to hear you.

“What is it?” Damian questioned, the words almost coming out as a hiss from your other side.

“It’s fine,” you attempted to reassure, “I’ve just been feeling watched since we got here, by more than the cameras.”

Damian turned to run his eyes over the rest of the room, doing a quick scan of the rest of the guests before righting himself in his chair. “I don’t see anyone acting abnormally.”

Jason responded for you this time. “We couldn’t find them earlier either. Maybe if we-”

“No,” you cut off whatever idea was about to spill from your boyfriend’s mouth. “We’re on our best behavior tonight. If we draw the wrong kind of attention to ourselves then the whole point of coming in the first place is ruined.”

“So, what are we supposed to do, just wait it out?” he questioned in return.

“Yes.” Jason seemed shocked at your insistence, so you explained, “It doesn’t matter who it is, they can’t do anything without making a scene, just like we can’t. So yes, we are just going to wait it out, and if someone does something stupid, then the chaos of it will give us a little more room to breathe and handle it however we need to.”

Your answer was apparently acceptable to both Damian and Jason, as Damian nodded in understanding as though he’d been given a command, and Jason allowed his shoulders to relax just slightly as he leaned back in his chair.

“I’m still gonna keep an eye out,” Jason huffed, having enough audacity to almost sound annoyed at not being able to do more.

And because you knew that’s how he felt, all previous experience reminding you how far Jason would always go to protect you, you leaned into it. With a hand gently on the side of his face, you planted a brief kiss to his other cheekbone. “I expect nothing less.”

When dinner was done, and the dining room began to clear for a cocktail hour best described as redundant, you stuck close by Jason’s side. For his sanity and your own, the pair of you pulled away from the crowd to instead linger around the edges of the room. Still, despite your general avoidance of people, there were a few socialites that approached.

“A free clinic in crime alley is quite an interesting concept,” one woman claimed, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “You’re not worried about the type of people that would take advantage of that?”

Your smile remained perfectly composed; you’d expected pushback of this variety. “What is there to take advantage of? Everyone deserves access to medical care.”

“Well, sure, but you’re not from here. Once you spend some time in Crime Alley, you’ll understand why no one in their right mind would ever-”

“Ever what, exactly?” You were just as surprised by Jason’s interruption as the woman seemed to be. Undeterred by the sudden silence of the moment he continued, “I’m from there. I know exactly what Crime Alley is like. And as a kid who fought off every sickness and infection with nothing but my malnourished immune system, I can’t think of anything people out there need more than someone who’s willing to help. I got lucky,” he admitted truthfully, despite some of the darker layers to the sentiment, “When Bruce took me in, I got a chance at making a life for myself, and if I use that for anything other than doing right by the people that weren’t so lucky, then I’m wasting it.” Jason cleared his throat and straightened slightly, doing his best to dissolve the rage in his chest. Best behavior tonight, he tried to remind himself. You asked for best behavior, and now he’s here ready to rip someone’s head off for nonchalant classism.

The woman sputtered, eyes widened in shock, “W-Well- I, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just-”

“Just don’t have a full grasp of the situation,” you offered helpfully, “Much like you assumed I didn’t. But this is incredibly important to us, and if you’d like to understand why, then I’d love to have you on the team and show you how much something like this is going to help people.”

There was a heavy pause, and Jason began to worry that your attempt to smooth things over would be unsuccessful, but eventually the tension eased, and the woman in front of you seemed to come to a conclusion of her own. “I’d like that,” she said with a sobriety not previously present. “Can I give you my assistant’s details? Let me know when you’re ready to get started.”

Jason collected the business card she held out and pocketed it before dropping an arm around your waist, the gesture both protective and proud, and pulling you into his side. When you looked up at him, he used the brief moment of eye contact to nod in thanks for your ability to remain calm, even when he couldn’t, and salvage the situation. The smile you gave him in return was enough reassurance for him to comfortably take a full, slow breath.

“Almost done, love,” you reminded Jason as cocktail hour came to a close. “Just a dance or two and then we’re out of here.” He only nodded in response, jaw and shoulders tense, much as you’d expected them to be at this point. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m proud of you.”

That finally got him to look at you. Something warm grew in his chest, the feeling more common now than it ever had been before, but one he was still learning to be comfortable with. Jason clicked his tongue and broke the weighted eye contact with you, hoping his unease at the idea of having an emotional moment in public was covered by his snark when he asked, “What for?”

But you seemed to just ignore his attitude, just like you always did when you knew it was a front. “For dealing with all of this for so long, and for handling the people and cameras so well… and for not starting any fist fights with your brothers.”

Jason snorted at the last reason, definitely tacked on there at the end to lighten the situation back up. He chose to latch onto that lifeline, making a joke instead of allowing his eyes to grow misty. “There’s still time,” he offered with a shrug and a smirk. You shouldered him lightly in the side; he gently elbowed you back. I love you, too.

An announcement rang out that the dance floor should be cleared of anyone not wanting to participate, and the two of you stepped forward, hand in hand. As you turned to face Jason, you caught Bruce’s eye from across the room and could only smirk at the disdainful warning in his gaze. But his attempt at warding the pair of you off came too late, because as the music started, and the pair of you began to move, the camera flashes went off. It wasn’t every day the press had an opportunity to get pictures of the second Wayne son so enthusiastically participating in one of these events.

Jason didn’t dance. This was common knowledge. He would rather break both of his legs than have to stand in the middle of a crowded room being stared at while he fumbled through a song at Bruce’s command. But that was before he had you. You: who helped him practice and leaned into him like you trusted his every move and giggled when he messed up because you found him amusing, not because you enjoyed watching him fail. Now that he had you to dance with, he could almost enjoy it. He enjoyed practicing at home, where you let him lean too close, and let his hands wander a little, and where there weren’t vultures with cameras in couture waiting to see if he’d fuck up. Jason certainly liked this less, but he’d do it for you, and he was doing well so far as he could tell. He hadn’t stepped on your feet yet, at least.

“Do you want a break after this?” you asked, knowing that physically, Jason was just fine, but that his social batteries were running out and you would be calling it a night pretty soon.

He chuckled lowly in your ear, “Dying to get rid of me, or what?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave away your lack of actual annoyance. “I’m just checking. Damian just offered to step in if you need a breather.”

“Oh, he offered? From all the way across the room?” His incredulous tone only furthered your amusement in the situation.

You nodded. “He just gave me the signal.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but kept his voice low when he questioned, “When the hell did you have time to come up with secret signals with my little brother?”

“I told you I was going to take care of everything, didn’t I? Do you want to take a break or not?”

He huffed a laugh and hung his head for a moment, never missing a step. “Yeah, actually, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course, baby, it’s totally fine.” You shot Damian a look across the room and he nodded in understanding.

When the song ended, Damian appeared directly by your side. He offered a hand, as though expecting you’d wordlessly take it and the two of you would leave. Jason, however, seemed bothered by this.

“What, you’re not even going to ask?” he snapped, offended, despite having just agreed to this.

“It was already decided. No need for further discussion.” The teenager looked back to you expectantly.

Jason snorted, “I know everyone else gives you a free pass on social skills, brat, but you have to ask. It’s polite.”

“Tch.” Damian rolled his eyes so subtly that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already staring at his face. His gaze locked with yours for a moment, face twisted in a question of whether Jason could possibly be serious in this moment.

Your eyebrows scrunched together in the middle as you gave the slightest shrug with one shoulder. Just play the game, Damian. Your hopes that he could read the sentiment on your face seemed confirmed when he finally relented.

“May I take you for a dance.” The deadpan delivery of the statement made you chuckle; he wasn’t asking, he was performing formality, which was only further proven by the addition of, “Please,” dripping in irritated exasperation. You suspected that, had they not been at a gala in front of hundreds of people and the press, this interaction likely would have escalated. Still, it made you chuckle.

“I’ll take it.” You leaned over to kiss Jason on the cheek, then turned to Damian. “I should be so honored,” you said as you dropped your hand into his. “Thank you.”

It took a moment to find the right flow, because even being tall for his age, Damian was still shorter than Jason, and you had to adjust a little to match your steps to his as the boy began to lead you through the next dance. He certainly knew the steps better, you noticed; he wasn’t leaning further in like Jason did when his muscle memory got shaky. Damian did, however, flinch when another pair of dancers bumped him on the side as they brushed past. He ignored it. You weren’t going to.

“Oh, there it is.”

He scowled, and asked, “What?” in a tone that told you he already knew what you were about to bring up.

You shrugged and gave a noncommittal hum as you looked around the room for a moment. Then, as though sharing some kind of neighborly gossip over the mailbox, low and conspiratorial, you commented, “I was wondering how you could be completely unaffected by your stitches while doing all of this, but it would appear you are affected by it, just very good at hiding it.”

He did his best to look annoyed, though there was a flash of pride at the compliment you’d given him. “I’ve concealed worse injuries in far worse conditions.”

You nodded and made a sound of agreement. “Well, I appreciate you humoring me with this. Consider us even now, no need to-”

But Damian went stiff under where your hands rested against his shoulder and palm. “I’m not doing this to settle a debt,” he interrupted, matter of fact and leaving no room for argument. “Besides, if this was for that purpose, I’d owe you far more than a single dance as a diversion.”

That stopped you for a moment, though your feet kept moving on autopilot as you made an attempt at guessing his logic. Did he not view it as a transactional exchange? “Hey, Damian, do you-”

But you were cut off again. This time by a different voice; older, deeper, dripping with the charisma only a white man who’s rarely heard the word ‘no’ could have. It was the same tone Bruce would use when he was trying to charm all of Gotham through a camera lens. “May I cut in?”

When you looked up, your gaze fell upon none other than Oliver Queen. The ease of his smile was practiced, and almost imperceptibly fake, and alarm bells started going off in your head that this was the same stare you’d been feeling all evening. The hunter.

The man seemed undeterred by your hesitation, still yet to let go of Damian’s hand. He tried again. “It’s been a long time, Y/n, I’d love to catch up with a fellow Star City local.” Then, the hand not offered to you pulled up to rest over his heart in a display of performative ‘honesty.’ “Nothing untoward, I promise. Just… reconnaissance.”

To refuse him without good reason would be a snub, particularly given that you were already on the dance floor with a song in progress, and with all the cameras and people around, you simply couldn’t risk ruining all of your and Jason’s efforts to make the evening flawless. So, you put on a smile of your own, just as practiced, and said, “Of course,” before turning to Damian and hoping your eye contact and nod of gentle dismissal could communicate everything you needed it to. I can handle this; I’ll figure out what exactly he wants. And also, quieter, coming from a place in you that you didn’t want to acknowledge, please keep an eye on me. Just in case.

Damian nodded in return, polite and careful, though his eyes were narrowed just slightly as though to ask whether you were sure. Your smile softened into something more genuine at his care, but you dared not bring it up in public. Instead, you reassured, “I’ll make my way back after. Thank you for dancing with me, Damian.” Thank you for looking out for your brother and me.

“Anytime.” The boy nodded to you and to Oliver before he walked away.

There was a small chuckle that floated beside you before, “What a weird kid,” came out of your new company’s mouth just as he pulled you into the same rhythm of steps as before.

A protective flare in your chest made it to your mouth before you could stop it. “His entire social life outside of school is tutors and galas like this full of stuck-up adults that never care to ask about his interests. He’s allowed to be weird.” At least you still had enough of a filter not to swear.

“Hmm,” he hummed, almost sounding thoughtful. “So, I take it you have asked about the kid’s hobbies. Care to share with the class?”

Another red flag went up in your head at the interaction, why would he need to know? Your response was quickly delivered. “And give up my security clearance just because you and I grew up in the same zip code? Not a chance.”

For a moment, the expression on his face was unreadable; not because it was blank, but because there were so many layers, like a page written over and over again in different colors so that you’d need a set of color filters to begin to discern any of it. That’s why Bruce Wayne was such a difficulty for you, you realized; men like him were very good at becoming a blank slate. You’d grown up around men like Oliver Queen.

“I saw your impromptu press conference earlier,” he offered as a starting point. “How does it feel to come back from the dead?”

“Not all that different from when you did it, I would imagine.” You quipped without missing a step.

He chuckled through the word, “Touche. But I think being shipwrecked for five years is a little bit different that taking an emotional support gap year.”

You wrinkled your nose slightly, hoping to come off playful as you shot down his clear attempt at gleaning more information about your disappearance. “Sure, but grief does funny things to people.”

“It certainly does.” His response carried a tone like you’d just revealed something about yourself. “Is that why you chose the most crime ridden city in the country to move to?”

You tsked at him humorously. “I thought you said you’d seen my press conference. I didn’t choose Gotham. Gotham chose me.”

His eyes narrowed, nearly imperceptible if you hadn’t been looking for it, but it confirmed your suspicions exactly. He was asking pointed questions, and he was noticing you skirting around them. He seemed to choose a new approach.

“You know, I had every intention of investing in you after you graduated. It’s a shame you never finished.”

A huff of a laugh escaped you at the absurdity of the statement. “I might have stuck around, had I known. It’s such a shame how so many people like to announce their support for a cause only after it’s recovered. But I suppose it is much easier than backing it from the beginning and putting in the work, no?”

His attempt at looking bashful would have succeeded to anyone who hadn’t been watching since the start of the conversation. “Yeah, I guess you got me there.” He allowed a brief pause, giving room for you to breathe only long enough for a slight change in topic to be socially appropriate. “A lot of people were looking forward to seeing what miracles you’d accomplish as a doctor. Some even willing to overlook whatever you’d done to get there.”

Your hackles raised, even as you kept moving along to the song you knew was coming to a close soon. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” you offered, doing your best to keep your face and tone of voice neutral, curious even.

But he pulled you into him farther, allowing his words settle quietly just above your ear when he questioned, “Are you still having a hard time finding samples for tissue tests, or did moving to a city where the police don’t care when people go missing fix that problem for you?”

You froze, body going eerily still just as the song ended. What?

Oliver pulled away from you, smug satisfaction all over his face when he announced, “I’m happy you came tonight, Y/n. You have no idea how pleased I am that I found you.”

You watched as the man walked away, heart beating like a hummingbird’s in your chest as your adrenaline spiked and your mind began to race, looking for any indication of what all he could possibly have known, and how. How the fuck did Oliver Queen know anything about that? Your records with the school had been expunged on your father’s dime to save his reputation, and even then, Alfred had removed every trace of everything else. So, how did he know? And more importantly, what did he plan to do with the information. Damian appeared seconds later.

“Y/n?” he called, clearly noticing your signs of distress. “What happened, are you alright?”

But it wasn’t Damian’s problem. You refused to add more to the plate of a teenager already carrying the world on his shoulders. “I’m fine,” you insisted. “Just haven’t seen Oliver since the last time my parents threw a fundraiser. It was…” and you hesitated then, looking for a word that could explain away your shakiness without having to explain where it came from. You settled on, “weird.”

Damian’s gaze grew skeptical. He didn’t believe you. But he didn’t push the issue any further. Instead, he asked, “Would you like another dance, or perhaps we could visit the refreshments table?”

Jason isn’t back yet, then, you noted. “I think a drink sounds lovely.” The smile you gave him was tense, but he seemed to accept it anyway and offered his arm to escort you.

You were only a few steps into the walk when the pair of you were stopped by a stranger.

“Care for a dance?” the man questioned, already reaching for you. He was clearly one of the guests invited for his ability to write a check at the end, if his clothing and entitlement were any indication.

Your physical dodge and verbal deflection were equally graceful. “I’m sorry, I’m actually stepping away right now for a drink, but I appreciate the offer.”

“I’m happy to keep you company in the meantime, then.” And he reached again for your unoccupied arm.

“I’m already in excellent company.” You pulled away from him less subtly this time, which meant pulling away from Damian’s grasp as well. Ther was no desire within you to be touched in any capacity by a stranger who looked at you like you’d been dropped at his feet for his pleasure. “And beyond that, I’m incredibly taken. You can take your efforts elsewhere.” Thinking that would be enough, you began to walk away, giving Damian a look to silently ask, “Can you believe him?” as he followed. Or, you were walking away, until a hand around your bicep stopped you.

“Well, unless it’s squirt here, I don’t see this guy around anywhere, so why don’t you and I just-”

And you were about to retort, loudly for that matter, but Damiam got to it first. With all the swiftness of the assassin he was raised to be, Damian snatched the man’s wrist and ripped it from your arm. “Are you an imbecile?” He questioned, with enough volume for a couple of nearby heads to turn. “She’s declined your offer. Twice. And you dare to touch her?”

You could see the pain the man was in, the rage in the teenager’s eyes, and the stares of more people tuning in to the situation. This was going to be bad if you didn’t deescalate. You dropped a hand to Damian’s shoulder, carefully squeezing enough to communicate your thanks whilst simultaneously requesting he release his grip before you addressed the man in front of you. “My boyfriend is handling some business, but he’ll be back soon. It would probably be best for you to be gone by the time that happens.”

The stranger, despite him just reclaiming his wrist, now rubbing the skin there in attempt to soothe it, still held his ground. “Business at one of these? Like he’s a Wayne or something?”

“Oh, so you do know him.” The smirk on your face matched the smugness of your tone as the man in front of you paled.

There was a slight tremor in his voice when he asked, “What?”

“Mhm, Jason Todd,” you offered with a nod.

And maybe just for the effect of it all, Damian added, “My brother.”

“What about me?”

You were sure the breath of relief you released was visible when Jason wrapped an arm around your waist from the place he took beside you. The smile on your face was much more genuine when you turned to your boyfriend to say, “I was explaining to this man that I don’t want to dance with him, one among many reasons being that I’m already spoken for.”

“Yeah, you are,” he answered with a prideful smile and pressed a kiss on your temple. “So why all the fuss?”

“He overstepped,” Damian answered for you, arms now crossed like he needed to stow away his hands lest he do something violent with them.

Jason’s demeanor darkened, then, and the stranger before you shrunk back when your boyfriend glowered down at him. “Excuse me?”

“Damian corrected him,” you explained, choosing the words carefully as you planted a hand on Jason’s chest. “And it’s resolved now. Right?” you asked, directing the sharper toned question to the man still standing shakily before you.

“Right.” And the man walked away as quickly as he could with what little remained of his ego.

“So, we can go,” you offered without skipping a beat, now fully turning into Jason’s grasp.

It wasn’t subtle the way Jason checked you out before asking, “Go where?”

There was a soft gagging noise to your side, followed directly by, “Disgusting.”

“You’ll be like this too when you’re older, brat. Thanks for keeping an eye on her.”

Jason’s attempt at ruffling Damian’s hair was smacked away by the teenager. “Unlikely.”

And though he didn’t acknowledge Jason’s thanks, your silent mouthing of the words “thank you” when no one else was looking were met with a solemn nod from the boy. After Damian walked away, you laid your head on Jason’s shoulder, following his lead in swaying to the music, not truly dancing, but trying not to create a dead zone in the near-center of the dance floor. Your breath fanned against his neck when you softly asked, “Take me home?”

Jason did everything in his power not to let out an audible noise at the sensation. He wanted nothing more than to take you home, but, “I thought you were having fun?”

“I was,” you answered truthfully, “But then Oliver Queen and whoever that asshole was, happened. And now I’m done.”

Jesus, he went out to get air for like five minutes, what the fuck happened while he was gone? But it’s not like Jason needed convincing anyway, so he agreed with a chuckle. “Okay, Sweetheart, let’s get you out of here,” like he hadn’t been itching to leave since the moment the pair of you arrived.

Neither of you felt any overwhelming need to bid farewell to Bruce, so instead you gave goodbyes and hugs (where welcomed) to Jason’s siblings and loved ones as you walked through the hall toward the coat check. You kept a steady grip on Jason as the two of you moved through the space, and while he didn’t mind, he did note the behavior as something to bring up in the car. Once the valet had brought Jason’s car, still a baffling degree of nice, in your opinion, he opened the door for you, pressing a kiss to your temple before you sat down and he closed the door behind you. The next few steps of the process; Jason getting in, starting the car, pulling out of the venue’s long drive, were performed in relative silence. It wasn’t until the two of you were officially on the road home that Jason breached the quiet.

“Do you want to talk about what happened back there?”

You sighed, the remnants of all the emotions washing over you again, despite the way they’d faded in the safety of Jason’s presence. “Oliver Queen knows something. About my past, and everything Alfred got rid of,” You clarified, realizing your initial statement was far too vague.

“What?” Jason snapped, tension bleeding through him. “What did he say? How did he-”

“He cut in while I was dancing with your brother. Kept asking questions to pry, trying to get me to slip and admit something to him, I think. And then right as the song was ending he accused me of moving to Gotham so I’d have an easier time illegally finding organs. I don’t even know how he’d know about the incident from college, there wasn’t ever an official record of it.”

Jason’s jaw twitched and he nodded with finality, a decision being made. “I’ll do some research. And the other guy?”

That one made you laugh. “Hit on me. Poorly. And then wouldn’t back off and tried to grab me, so Damian protected me.” You shook your head good-naturedly as a small smile crept onto your features. “He’s a really good kid.”

True, Jason thought. But he had a certain duty as an elder brother, particularly having known Damian the longest. “Don’t go telling him that shit, his ego’s big enough as it is.” That made you laugh, and something loosened in Jason’s chest. You were okay; you’d just been shaken up and were done dealing with people. Of all the surprises Jason had made an effort to mentally prepare for, from Bruce making a scene, to a violent crime taking place, and everything in between, Oliver Queen having dirt on you wasn’t one he saw coming.

There was a piece of Jason that worried, much like he assumed you likely were, about what exactly Queen planned to do with that information. But he hadn’t made a scene tonight, and even if he tried to release some kind of statement, there’d be no way to back up his claims, not with everything Alfred had done to protect you, not without having to reveal his own unsavory methods of having found out such a thing. So, for now, all Jason could do was try to gather as much information about the man as he could. He’d start tomorrow. And as far as the other guy was concerned, well… none of Gotham’s elite were perfect saints when you looked through their financial books long enough. He’d find something; the GCPD would probably have an anonymous tip by the end of the week.

You could see the wheels turning in Jason’s head as he formulated his plan to deal with everything. And while you could try to stop him, maybe even should lest he go overboard in defense of you, you knew Jason would simply wait you out and do he felt necessary while you were busy with other things. And besides, who were you to stop him when even just his presence began to soothe you the moment he found you again. Who were you to stop him when the moment you’d told him what happened, all of the weight of it fell off your shoulders because you knew it would be taken care of, that Jason would take care of you, protect you. You loved him for that. For the way he made you feel so safe, and secure, and loved. A bashful smile formed over your features, cheeks heating slightly as you resolved to start the lead-up to Jason’s surprise now instead of waiting until you got home. You used the current topic of conversation to start.

“You know… I thought the matching outfits would have been enough of an announcement. I guess some men really can’t help but try for things that belong to someone else.”

The entire train of thought Jason was putting together screeched to a halt on its rails at your words. It could have been nothing, but your words felt intentional, so he did his best to keep his tone neutral when he asked, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean I told that guy I was in a relationship, and he kept going. That fact that he even thought he had a chance compared to you is insane.”

Jason smirked, despite himself. He knew for a fact now that you were stroking his ego intentionally, though he’d yet to glean your purpose. “Careful, Sweetheart, we still have a few minutes before we get home.”

“Careful of what, Jay?” you asked, tone as innocent as you thought you could believably make it. Jason shot you a brief look from the driver’s seat that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. You kept going anyway. “All I’m saying is he had to have known, right? I’m hanging off your arm almost all night and then the moment I’m not next to you he shows up? Like I’d rather be anywhere else?” The car started moving a little faster. So, it’s working. You let out a mildly dramatic sigh. “I mean really he was just wasting his own time, but I’d rather not have to deal with it at all. Maybe if I just start wearing your name across my shoulder blades when we go out like on a jersey or something.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. He never got to play sports at a level where his own name would have been on his uniform, but the idea of it? Of you walking around with “Todd” right there on your back, labeling yourself as his with enough pride in it to let everyone see? Fuck, he was going to have to marry you someday.

You glanced to the side as subtly as possible and immediately you could see he was getting hard. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” you questioned playfully.

The man’s grip was near bone-white on the steering wheel. “Mhm.”

“Careful, baby, you don’t want to ruin the nice new suit.”

“And whose fault would it be!?”

The moment you were home and Jason had the door shut behind him, you were over his shoulder with no care for the formal wear you were both still adorned in.

“Jason!” you shrieked through surprised laughter. You knew you’d worked him up, but this was more than you expected.

He walked straight to the bedroom and with no hesitation or warning, threw you down on the bed. There was almost a half-hearted shout of indignity from you, but then Jason was over you, lips pressing against your own, and every argument died in your throat. Well, almost every argument.

“Shoes!” you insisted, barely able to break away and create enough space to talk. “Get our shoes, I don’t want them on the bed, mn,” you were interrupted by another kiss. “Jay, please, baby-”

He let out an exasperated groan against your mouth, forehead falling to yours for a moment before he slid away from you. Jason stood up and stared down at you while he took his own shoes off by muscle memory. Then, he dropped to his knees, and you propped yourself up on your elbows so you could watch as he carefully picked up your foot, pressing kisses along your ankle and calf as his fingers nimbly unfastened your shoe. He repeated those ministrations with your other leg as he removed the other shoe, then the kisses began to creep higher, Jason pushing fabric out of the way to have access to more of your skin.

For a moment, you let yourself revel in the feeling, but the moment Jason got too close to the apex of your thighs, you stopped him. “Wait!” You commanded, fingers threading through his hair and using the grip to pull him away.

A moan slipped from Jason’s mouth as he sat back from his place on his knees. He continued to stare up at you with a smirk, looking ready to eat you alive. “What is it, Sweetheart?”

You took a few more breaths, trying to slow the heaving of your chest. Then, slowly, you stood up, Jason on his knees in front of you. “I have a surprise for you.”

Jason’s eyebrows raised a little. “Oh? Was it not the outfit and the teasing and the privilege of touching you?”

You gave a pleased hum in response alongside your smile; he really was so good at making you feel like the only suitable subject of his every desire. “Under the clothes, handsome.” And Jason’s hands trailed up to sit on your thighs, his weight shifting like he was getting ready to stand, at least until one of your hands dropped to his shoulder. “No, no, you stay there,” you instructed, knowing he was already in the perfect place for this, eye-level with your hips. Slowly, after he nodded, you pulled your hand away from him to instead begin carefully, slowly, undressing yourself.

He watched with unabashed awe and hunger, fingers twitching against his own thighs as he fought against the urge to touch you. Your bra, he realized as it was revealed, was a more vibrant red than the fabric it was hidden beneath. It was delicate and thin enough that he could see the way your nipples had hardened beneath it, whether in anticipation of in reaction to more of your skin being exposed, he wasn’t sure. For a moment, he wondered if your underwear would match, and his eyes drifted lower to trace the movement of your hands as you revealed more to him. And it did match, not that he noticed. Because as soon as the band across the top of the garment was exposed, Jason’s entire brain shut down.

A small giggle escaped you when you noticed the way Jason’s attention zeroed in. You’d known, given his possessive side, that wearing underwear with his name embroidered on them might get a reaction, but this stillness, the way he stared, it felt like the calm before a massive storm.

The black of Jason’s eyes had nearly taken over the green by the time he looked up at you. His breathing was heavy but controlled, and his teeth were clenched hard enough for you to see the flex of it at his temple.

“Jay?” you questioned softly, trying to maintain your own composure under the heat of his gaze. “What’s on your mind?”

His answer was itself a question asked abruptly. “Do you remember our safe word?”

“Gummy bear,” you responded, goose bumps forming over your skin in anticipation.

“And if you can’t say it?”

“Three hard taps.”

He nodded, more to himself than to you; he’d needed the reassurance because, “You’re going to need to tell me when to stop tonight, or I’m not going to.”

Another shiver ran over you. Still, you challenged, “Try me.”

Jason’s mouth was on yours immediately. In a single second he was standing up, body pressed to yours, one hand on the back of your neck to keep your lips attached to his, the other on your hip to keep the rest of your body from pulling away. You were his. He already knew that. But seeing you announce it like you did tonight, with so much pride having him on your arm, turning down advances of other men because he was what you wanted, and finding out now that you’d done it all with his name on your pelvis like a fucking ‘reserved’ sign? He was harder than he had been maybe ever in his life. He backed you up, knowing there was precious little space for you to go before you’d be forced to fall to the bed. When you did, he went with you, using his hips to pin yours down beneath him, lips still refusing to depart from your own for any longer than it took to replenish his oxygen supply.

Normally, Jason was exceptionally careful with you, but in this moment, he was far too distracted to consider whether his grip would be too much for your skin. Instead, he was focused on the marks he was leaving on your neck and chest as you worked to undress him. The moment his shirt was open and he felt your hands brush against the exposed skin of his abdomen, Jason knew he was too worked up to give you any freedom to tease. He snatched your hands away, capturing them both above your head in one of his own. His other hand trailed downward, dragging over your skin and teasing over the edges of the pretty red fabric with his name on it before ultimately deciding he could do everything he needed to without even taking them off you. He wanted to be buried so deep inside of you that you’d feel him in your lungs, but he needed to make sure you could comfortably take it first. Even as desperate as he was, he refused to hurt you like that.

An exhale turned into a moan as you felt Jason’s fingers plunge into you. Two of them, if the familiar stretch was anything to go by.

“Fuck, you’re already soaked.”

You smirked to yourself at just how wrecked he sounded, but the expression quickly fell open as he began to curl his fingers. The speed at which you began to feel the coil in your core tighten told you Jason was on a mission. Once you were accommodated to the stretch, you were able to settle a little, able to slow down the building of the heat in your core. But Jason seemed to sense your relief, and took it away just as fast with the addition of another finger, another drag of his fingertips over your g-spot and you came with a surprised shout of his name.

Jason couldn’t stop though. “More,” he barely managed to get out before he was using your hips as leverage to slide you up the bed enough to slot himself between your legs, thighs thrown over his shoulders, red underwear pulled to the side.

“Jason, wait I- Hah!” Your protests were silenced the moment Jason dove into you tongue first, searching for the evidence of your previous orgasm. Your hands immediately found a home in his hair, tugging at his scalp, though to pull him closer or to push him away, you weren’t sure. It was too much too fast; he hadn’t even given you a break. But you felt the pressure of another orgasm begin to build again anyway, and soon your hips were moving in time with the way his tongue lapped at you. It only took another few moments, Jason’s enthusiasm apparently making him even more capable than he already was, and your grip in his hair became ruthless as you used it to anchor you to the moment. “Jay, fuck, I’m almost there.”

He hummed in response to let you know he’d heard you, then adjusted slightly to use his nose to stimulate your clit while he continued to tongue-fuck you. He felt it the moment your high hit you again. He felt the way you clenched around his tongue, the way the rest of your body began to shake, but he needed more. Jason pushed two fingers into you again, and moved to focus his oral efforts on your clit, licking and sucking at it until he heard you shriek.

“No, hang on- I just- wait just- wait- I can’t- I’m gonna- Jason FUCK-”

It wasn’t until you locked up, whole body curled around him as much as you were able to while still in his grip, and you squirted all over his face that Jason finally let up for a moment. He pulled away, chest heaving almost as much as yours as the two of you attempted to catch your breath.

“Jay, that was-”

“I’m not done.”

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, and his eyes were no less hungry. Movement drew your eyeline down to where his hands were working his pants the rest of the way open, having been left half undone by your earlier efforts. His boxer-briefs had a big enough wet spot for you to question whether he’d come alongside you, but when he removed those too, and he still looked painfully erect, you had your answer.

You’d thought he’d take the panties off you, unwilling to ruin them, but it seems you were wrong, that he was happy to have the garment involved in the moment just as much as it was in the preamble. He only pulled the gusset to the side again as he lined himself up to your entrance, lips locking with your own before he pushed inside you.

Jason groaned into your mouth at the feel of you around him. He knew he was sensitive, but there was no way he was going to last like this. There was a part of him worried about that, but it was quickly overshadowed by his need to chase the feeling, and he did. He listened to the chorus of your moans, already overwhelmed by his pace, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t slow down, not when you felt this incredible around him. I’m coming, he thought vaguely, but it wasn't enough to get his hips to slow down, and the sensation of fucking his own cum into you was even better than it had been before, so he kept going, still hard as he had been for the last thirty minutes.

The decrease in friction and increase in squelching noises was what clued you in more than anything; Jason’s rhythm hadn’t even faltered.

“Did you just-”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still hard?”

“Yes.” And still, there was no break in his pace.

“Fuck, okay.”

You did your best to mentally prepare for the marathon this was shaping up to be, but your brain was already fuzzy after three orgasms; you couldn’t imagine it was going to get any easier to keep a hold on reality. But honestly? Jason would take care of you. He always did. So maybe just lean all the way in and enjoy it.

You woke up sore. Can’t tell if you’ve effectively scrunched your toes when you tried, type of sore. A groan escaped you, and not a moment later a shadow fell between you and the sunlight floating through the bedroom windows.

“Hey,” Jason greeted softly, stretching the word out like he was worried too blunt a ‘hello’ might have made your condition worse. “Good morning, Sweetheart.”

Soft light touched your eyelids again and you did your best to open them, though the effort was slow. Once your eyes were open, you found Jason crouched carefully at the side of the bed in front of you. He was so pretty in the morning light, and you wanted to reach for him, but the muscles in your arm protested enough that you remained immobile. Apparently breathing was the only movement that didn’t hurt at least a little, and Jason must have seen it.

He tsked at your failed start. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart, I went way too-”

And you tried to interrupt, to reassure, “No, it-” but there was a hoarseness to your voice that made you pause to cough around it.

Jason was quick to help you sit upright, shouldering your entire upper body weight like he hardly noticed the extra, sitting beside you as he offered a glass of water from the nightstand. You drank gratefully from the glass he held to your lips, and once you were done, you let your head rest against his shoulder as you took a steadying breath. “Jay,” you tried again, finding that your voice came easier to you after the water, “thank you for last night.”

He looked at you absolutely flabbergasted. “Thank me? I should be thanking you, I mean Christ I lost count of how many- you know what? It doesn’t matter, you’re hurt, and I shouldn’t have-”

“Jason.” It was firmer this time, and your boyfriend’s mouth closed immediately. “I am sore, not hurt. It’s not the same. It can’t be like that every time, but I had an amazing time last night, consequences be damned.”

He huffed in disbelief. “How are you real? And how the fuck did I get this lucky?”

You chuckled from your place resting on his shoulder. “Don’t call yourself lucky yet, I’m not walking today.”

“So just to recap, I’m the luckiest man alive and I’ll carry you wherever you need to go today. Deal?”

You laughed at his antics but agreed anyway. “Deal.”

“I was about to run you a bath and then wake you up when it was ready. Do you want to get some more rest or do you want to come with me while I put it together?” he asked, and your heart swelled.

Of course you were getting princess treatment after last night, not that he’d ever call it that. “Take me with you?”

He nodded at your request, then adjusted his position so he’d be able to scoop you up out of the bed. Once you were secure in his arms, Jason carried you to the ensuite and set you gently on the bench just outside the tub. He did his best not to flinch at the view of the purple marks all over your skin, some from his teeth, some from his fingers. Normally, he would have enjoyed them, enjoyed seeing the proof of your activities on you the next day, but this was too much.

You noticed. Of course you did. And the reason for his souring mood wasn’t hard to glean. “Jay, please look at me.” He was very careful to keep his eyes on yours when he finally complied. “I’m okay.” You could see the doubt in him though, so you pushed, “I promise you I’m alright. I never asked you to stop because I didn’t want you to, and I know you’re going to take care of me, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Jason jumped to reassure you anyway. “Always.”

“Then I’m good. And the only thing I need right now is for you to get in this tub with me, so I don’t have to clean up by myself.”

A soft smile, a little sleepy and so full of love, crossed his features. “Yes ma’am. And I’ll make breakfast and massage your legs after.”

“Ugh, yes, please, that sounds amazing.”

Taglist: @4rachn3, @lettucel0ver, @m-0ona, @chrrybkt, @nnuelle, @fluffalorianflash

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Can’t Stop Won’t Stop Being Horny On Main