I'M NOT BLIND OR STUPID; YOU WANT HIM PT. 3
jason todd x male reader x dick grayson
LINK TO PART ONE AND PART TWO
authors note: I heard you loud and clear people. While many of you guys were iffy about the male reader cheating on Dick, at the end of the day, this is fiction and I make the rules (lower your pitchforks, I still love you guys.) So, this will have the reader be with both Jason and Dick, and no, there won't be sex occurring between Jay and Dick. I find it kinda weird since Bruce adopted them both (and in my head that makes them related/family.) Anyways, Jason and Dick are not backing off and eventually come to an agreement that sharing is best since you are confused and it's better than you leaving both of them. Expect fighting between both Robins and just them getting their claws out to fight for their man. I love being messy!!!!!!
Jason woke up with a dull ache in his back and hips, which was not unusual, given how he slept on the couch half the time. Then yesterday hit him like a flood.
The fight. The confession. The way you’d said I think I love you too with your forehead pressed to his as you fucked him on the sofa. The way you’d held him afterwards like he was important and worth being careful with.
Jason didn’t open his eyes, because logically, you were gone. That was how this was meant to go, right? You’d slipped away before dawn, got back to the manor, back to being Dick's perfect boyfriend, and Jason was left with nothing but the smell of you and the task of cutting you out of his chest.
He was contemplating whether to stay on the couch and drink his feelings into submission when something soft brushed his lips.
A kiss.
Jason jerked, eyes flying open in panic, and found you leaning over the back of the couch, your hand braced beside his head. You were already dressed, in his shirt and a pair of worn pajama bottoms he’d shoved into the back of his closet months ago.
Domestic. Comfortable. Like you belonged here.
“Hey,” you said, a little sheepish, like you’d woken him from a nap instead of a path down self-loathing. “I felt kinda gross when I woke up. Hope you don’t mind me stealing some clothes.”
Jason hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until it left him in a rush. “You’re still here.”
You raised a brow. “Where else would I be?”
“Home,” he said bluntly, then winced at his own choice of word. “I mean the manor. With Dick.”
Something flickered in your eyes. Guilt, maybe, or the weight of the day ahead. You sighed and swung your leg over the back of the couch, effectively dropping yourself over Jason. With you looking down at him, Jason managed to glimpse at your collarbone, which was marked from where his mouth had been yesterday.
“If I wanted to run back like nothing happened, I wouldn’t have stayed the night.”
He swallowed. “People stay the night and still don’t mean it.”
“Yeah, but I’m not ‘people,’ Jay.”
You leaned in and kissed him again, your hand resting at his jaw. Jason melted before he could stop himself, one hand coming up to rest on your waist, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt clinging to you.
You pulled back with a small smile. “I made coffee.”
He blinked, then snorted. “You made coffee?”
“Okay, put on the coffee machine. Also, I found eggs. That pan is a war crime, by the way, but I’m handling it.”
Jason pushed himself upright slowly, still blinking like his brain was trying to reboot. “You cooked?”
“Trying to,” you re-iterated, standing to stretch. The hem of his shirt lifted a little and he looked away quickly, ears burning. “Come before the apartment burns down.”
He followed you to the kitchen on autopilot. The place didn’t look all that different, but somehow it felt different. There were two mugs on the counter. Bread in the toaster. You at the stove, stirring scrambled eggs with a focus that made his chest twist.
You moved around his too small kitchen like you’d done it a hundred times. When he passed behind you to grab plates, you leaned back without thinking, your shoulder brushing his chest. His arm automatically circled your waist, pulling you closer for a second.
“Careful, hot pan.” you mumbled, but you relaxed fully into him, your free hand squeezing his forearm.
His chin found your shoulder without him deciding it. “You’re unreal.” he muttered.
“How so?”
“You’re in my kitchen. Wearing my clothes. Making my tiny piece of shit apartment feel like…” He trailed off, chest tight. “I don’t know. Like it’s more than a hell hole.”
You went quiet for a moment, then turned the stove off and shifted in his arms to face him. “Maybe it is more than a hell hole,” you said softly. “At least to me.”
The urge to kiss you again was overwhelming. So he did.
You smiled against his mouth, kissing him back like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like this—you and him, morning light and mismatched mugs and eggs that were probably overcooked—wasn’t borrowed, doomed happiness.
You both ate on the couch, legs pressed together, the TV off, the quiet oddly cozy. Jason watched you more than he ate. The way you held the mug with both hands. The way you wrinkled your nose at the taste but kept drinking anyway. The way, every so often, your fingers would find his knee or his arm or his hand like you couldn’t not touch him.
It was everything he’d wanted. It was everything he was terrified to lose.
And then your phone rang. Dick's name flashing across the screen.
Jason watched you turn your phone face down, a small, defiant gesture that made his heart ache with a dangerous mix of hope and terror. He wanted to believe you. God, he wanted to believe you so badly it felt like his ribs were cracking open from the force of it. But the voice in his head, the one that sounded suspiciously like his father and the Joker and every single person who had ever left him, was screaming.
This is a dream. A beautiful, cruel dream. Wake up, Todd!
The silence after the phone stopped ringing was heavy. You were still looking at him, your expression earnest, but Jason couldn't see it anymore. All he could see was the inevitable future: you walking out that door, the scent of you fading from his pillows, the phantom warmth of your body on his couch turning cold.
"Sure," Jason said, his voice suddenly flat, all the softness from moments before evaporating. "Whatever you say."
You frowned, sensing the shift immediately. "Jason, what's wrong?"
He forced a laugh, a harsh, ugly sound that grated on his own ears. "What's wrong? You're sitting here talking about 'moments' and 'what we have' while your boyfriend is blowing up your phone. You're acting like this is some…some choice you get to make. Like you're not just slumming it before you go back to your golden boy."
"Slumming it?" you repeated, hurt flashing across your face. "Is that what you think this is?"
"What else am I supposed to think?" he shot back, pushing himself off the couch and putting distance between them. He needed to move, to pace, to do something with the frantic energy buzzing under his skin.
"You're not going to leave him. We both know that. So what is this? A pity fuck? A way to soothe your conscience before you go back and tell him it was all a big mistake?"
"It wasn't a mistake!" you insisted, standing up too. "I told you I love you."
"And I told you I love you too!" He stopped pacing and turned to face you, his eyes wild.
"I've been in love with you since I was fifteen! Since you were the only person at the manor who looked at me like I wasn't a broken, angry replacement! And now you're here, in my apartment, wearing my clothes, telling me everything I've ever wanted to hear, and it's perfect. It's so fucking perfect it has to be a lie, because people like me don't get perfect!"
He'd said too much. He'd shown you the raw, ugly desperation he kept locked away.
"So you need to leave," he said, his voice dropping to a low, weary monotone. He couldn't look at you. If he looked at you, he'd break. "Just go. Go back to Dick. Don't even bother with the big confession. Just tell him you stayed at a friend's. Let's just…let's just pretend this never happen."
"Jason, but I—"
"Please," he whispered, the single word a raw plea. "Just go. Don't make me watch you choose him. Don't make me be the second choice again. Just let me…let me have this. The memory of you here. Let me have that before you ruin it."
The front door opened then closed with a soft click that echoed the sound of his heart breaking. Jason sank onto the couch, the spot where you'd just been sitting still warm. He buried his face in his hands and let the self loathing wash over him. He'd pushed you away. He'd always known he would.
TIME SKIP
The walk back to Dick's apartment was a blur. You felt numb, Jason's words echoing in your head. People like me don't get perfect. You had broken him. You had taken his fragile hope and crushed it with your own cowardice.
Dick’s apartment felt wrong before you even knocked.
You’d been here hundreds of times. After patrol, for movies, to crash in his bed and pretend the world didn’t exist. Usually, just standing outside the door made something in you loosen. Today, everything in you was tight.
The door opened before you could knock.
Dick stood there in sweats and a t-shirt, hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it all morning. His eyes flicked over you once, and whatever greeting he’d been formulating died on his tongue.
“You smell like smoke,” he said flatly. “and cheap soap.”
You swallowed. “Can I come in?”
He stepped aside mechanically. “I think you’d better.”
You walked in. The living room felt colder, the sunlight through the windows too harsh. Dick closed the door with quiet finality. “Where were you last night?” he asked, skipping every pretense of small talk.
"With Jason." No point in lying.
His jaw flexed. “Were you drinking?”
“No.”
“Drugged?”
You stared at him. “No.”
His eyes were dark when they met yours. “Did he touch you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you want him to?”
You held his gaze. “Yes.”
Dick laughed. A sharp, humorless sound. “Okay,” he said, nodding too fast. "Okay. So he what, cried? Play the victim? Tell you how sad and lonely he is? How no one understands him? He's always been good at that. Making people feel sorry for him—"
“Stop.” Your voice cut across his neatly. “This isn’t his fault.”
“He’s had a crush on you since he was a teenager.”
“And I knew that when I walked into his apartment,” you shot back. “Jason didn’t manipulate me. He didn’t drug me. He didn’t trick me. I went to him. I kissed him. I chose what happened.”
Dick stared at you like you’d slapped him. “You’re saying you cheated on me. Freely.”
“Yes.”
He flinched at the word, the honesty slicing deeper than even the betrayal. “Why?”
You inhaled, steadying yourself. “Because I haven’t been happy, Dick.”
His expression twisted. “That’s bullshit. We’ve been fine. You—you laugh with me, you sleep in my bed, you come over after patrol—”
“That’s routine. Not happiness.”
His hands curled into fists. “So he makes you happy?”
You shut your eyes for a moment then opened them. “Yes.”
Something wild flashed across his face. “He’s using you to get to me, Y/N. Can't you see that?”
Your patience snapped. “Dick, for once, this isn’t about you. This is about me and about what I feel.”
“And what is it that you feel for him? Do you seriously want to throw everything we've built over one night of pity sex with the perpetual fuck up that is my brother?"
“It wasn’t pity sex,” you hissed. “And don’t call him that.”
Dick’s temper finally slipped off its leash. “He’s always wanted what I have! The mantle, the name, my boyfriend. You think it’s a coincidence you ran to him after we fought? He’s been waiting for this—”
“He told you he wouldn’t cross that line,” you cut in. “He did the right thing for years. You’re the one who never believed him.”
“That’s because he wanted you!”
“And you didn’t?” you snapped. “Is your desire for me somehow purer that his? Less dangerous? Let's remember how we even got together, Dick. You remember that night? After the Joker? After everything fell apart? You cornered me in the training room. You told me if I didn't give you a chance, you'd lose it. That you needed something to hold onto because you feared you'll lose yourself among the madness."
Dick's face went white, the anger draining away to be replaced by something far more chilling. A cold, calculated stillness. "That was different."
"How?" you challenged, your own anger fueling you. "Because you were the 'golden boy'? Because your pain was more valid?"
"Because I love you! Not like him. Whatever he feels, it's twisted. It's obsession. He wants to own you to spite me. What we have is real. It's built on something good."
"Is it? Or is it built on you being terrified of being alone? Of not being the center of someone's world?"
The accusation hit its mark. Dick's composure shattered completely. He crossed the space between you in two strides, his hands gripping your upper arms so tightly you knew you'd have bruises tomorrow.
"You think you know me?" he hissed, his face inches from yours, his eyes burning with a feverish intensity. "You think you know anything about what I feel? I have watched you for years. I know how you take your coffee, I know which side of the bed you prefer, I know the exact way your eyes crinkle when you're trying not to laugh. I know you better than you know yourself."
"Dick," you struggled, but his grip was like iron.
"I have given you everything!" he continued, his voice rising with a frantic edge. "A home, safety, my heart! And you throw it away for him? For the broken, bitter shadow of a boy who has nothing left to give but his misery?"
"He loves me."
"And I don't?!" he shook you slightly. "I would die for you! I would kill for you! What has he ever done but bleed all over everyone who gets close to him?"
He finally let go, shoving you back slightly. He began to pace the room, running his hands through his hair, his movements agitated, almost manic.
"This is fixable," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "I can forgive you. I will forgive you. Because I love you more than he ever could."
He stopped and turned to you. His smile was gentle, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to forget him. You're going to block his number. You're going to tell Bruce you need a transfer to a different city for a while, just to get some 'space'." He air-quoted the word, his expression dripping with condescension.
"You'll come live with me. We'll burn that shirt you're wearing. We'll pretend this never happened, and in a few months, you'll barely remember he even existed."
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't. Because you know, deep down, that I'm right. I'm the one who can give you the world. I'm the one who loves you enough to not let you ruin your life over a mistake."
He wrapped his hands around your neck, his thumbs pressing gently against your pulse points. "You're shaking. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you. I'm the one who protects you. Who takes care of you."
He leaned in, his face so close to yours that you could see the tiny flecks of gold in his blue eyes. "Jason can't protect you. He can barely protect himself. He's damaged goods and you know it. You'd be throwing yourself away on broken pieces."
His thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of your neck. "But me? I'm whole. And I want to give you everything. The apartment, the life, the future we planned. All you have to do is say yes."
Before you could answer, his mouth was on yours. It wasn't the desperate, angry kiss you expected. It was patient, almost reverent. His lips moved against yours with ease, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth until you parted for him with a gasp.
The kiss deepened, and despite everything—despite the betrayal, the manipulation, the terrifying possessiveness—you found yourself responding. Dick had always been a good kisser, and he knew exactly how to unravel you.
"See?" he murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to speak. "We fit together. We always have."
His hands slid from your neck to your waist, pulling you flush against him. "This doesn't have to be the end. It can be the beginning. A stronger beginning, because now we know what we're fighting for."
His mouth found yours again, more insistent this time. One hand moved up to tangle in your hair, holding you in place as he kissed you with an intensity that bordered on violent. When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your lips swollen and tingling.
Dick's eyes were dark with satisfaction.
"I forgive you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "I've already forgiven you. All you have to do is accept it." His thumb stroked your cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. "Please say you'll stay with me. Say you'll choose me."
You opened your mouth, but no words came out. The choice felt impossible, like being asked to choose between drowning and burning.
