Grind Therapy- A Jason Todd one shot.
~ ⚠️ warning a bit suggestive and on the fence of 18+ NSFW it’s not outright but just being cautious. Also brief mentions of past infidelity and past abusive relationship~
💥 Breakup. Breakdown. Then Jason Todd walked in. 💥
Julia Calen’s night hit rock bottom the second she caught her cheating boyfriend with one of Falcone’s dancers. With rage in her heart and glitter on her boots, she storms into a Gotham punk club, ready to drown her pain in bass and bad decisions. She didn’t expect to cross paths with Jason Todd—a man who wears trouble like a leather jacket and knows exactly what to say to make a girl forget everything that came before.
One drink. One dance. One night that might change everything.
The Wasted Wing – Gotham’s Underground Emo-Punk Club
The bass thudded like a heartbeat through Julia Calen’s boots as she pushed open the rusted door to The Wasted Wing, Gotham’s favorite haunt for the broken-hearted and blackout-ready. Her eyeliner was smudged, her mascara had turned warpaint from crying in the alley just ten minutes ago—but now her jaw was set, shoulders squared. Screw him. Screw them both.
She should’ve known her ex was a walking red flag. The temper. The gaslighting. The way he flinched when her phone lit up. But catching him in the act with a Falcone club dancer? That was poetic. Tragic. Gotham-tier betrayal.
The club was soaked in red and purple lights, industrial beats pulsing, bodies grinding in sync. She slid into the chaos like a blade into velvet—sharp, determined, untouchable. But not quite invisible. Because from across the bar, a figure leaned against the edge with a half-empty bottle in hand. Leather jacket. Combat boots. White streak in his dark hair and that reckless gleam in his eye.
Jason Todd clocked her in an instant. The fury in her step. The heartache beneath the eyeliner. The “don’t touch me unless you’re funny or on fire” energy radiating off her like heatwaves.
He pushed off the bar top and made his way through the crowd, cutting through like a knife. Then—
“Rough night?” he asked, smirking just enough to spark irritation—or intrigue.
Julia turned, her glare locked and loaded. “Do I look like I want to talk?”
Jason shrugged. “No. But you do look like you could use a drink, a distraction, or a good punchline. Lucky for you, I’m decent at two out of three.”
She narrowed her eyes, taking all of him in. “Let me guess. You’re either here to save a damsel or start a bar fight.”
Jason raised a brow. “Why not both?”
Julia huffed out a bitter laugh despite herself. He took that as a win.
“I’m Jason,” he said casually, offering his hand. “And I’m not trying to fix you. Just thought you might want someone who doesn’t suck to stand next to while you plot your revenge.”
She stared at his hand for a beat… and then shook it.
“Julia,” she replied. “And I don’t need help.”
Jason grinned. “Didn’t say you did. Just figured you might like some company while looking this hot and pissed off.”
And for the first time that night, she almost—almost—smiled.
“I’ll go get you a drink” he winked and was off.
Julia barely had time to decide whether this Jason guy was annoying or dangerously charming when he returned from the bar, two drinks in hand. He set one in front of her, golden and mysterious with a pickle brine chaser beside it.
She raised a brow. “You trying to poison me?”
Jason smirked. “Pickleback. Jameson and pickle juice. Heard it’s a favorite for girls here who look like they bite.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “How did you—?”
“Lucky guess,” he said with a wink. “But the fact that you didn’t flinch when you saw the pickle juice tells me I’m right.”
She took the shot, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile—but wasn’t far off. She slammed the glass back down. “Damn it. You’re annoyingly good at this.”
Jason leaned in, elbows on the sticky table, eyes dancing in the red club lights. “So… who’s the guy I should be thinking evil thoughts about while pretending I care about your tragic backstory?”
With low, bitter laugh, she ran a hand through her messy waves. “Just some Gotham trash with expensive cologne. Abusive. Controlling. Caught him screwing a Falcone dancer like it was a damn soap opera.”
Jason’s expression hardened for half a beat. But he masked it with a cocky shrug.
“Well,” he said, draining his shot, “good news: nothing gets over trash like setting it on fire. Or—if fire’s off the table tonight—getting under someone way hotter and less emotionally constipated.”
Jason raised a brow, tone somehow playful and serious all at once. “Not saying it has to be me. But if you’re looking to make him feel small? There’s a dance floor. And I have my masters in grind therapy.”
She laughed despite herself. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re still standing here. Which means I’ve got at least one thing going for me.”
He stood and extended a hand, palm open, a challenge sparking in his eyes. “What do you say, Jules? Let’s make a few bad choices together.”
Julia stared at him for one long beat. She’d let the nickname stick for tonight. Her head was spinning with the beat of the bass, the burn of Jameson, and the echo of betrayal still stinging her ribs.
Then, finally, she downed the pickle juice chaser and slid off her stool.
“I swear,” she said, taking his hand, “if you can’t dance, I will punch you.”
Jason grinned. “Baby, I move like I fight—dirty and with intent.”
And with that, they disappeared into the writhing crowd, the music swallowing them as her ex became a distant memory and revenge tasted like sweat, rhythm, and something dangerously close to fun.
The club was alive with pounding bass, strobes flashing against black brick walls, and the writhing pulse of bodies lost in sound.
“Come on,” he said, close to her ear, his voice warm and smug. “You need a better memory to burn over the one you just walked in on.”
She didn’t fight him. Not tonight. Not with her heart still thudding like a fist in her chest and his hand curling around hers like it belonged there.
The crowd swallowed them whole, and the music shifted—darker, dirtier, seductive. Jason moved like he owned the space around him, broad shoulders cutting through the chaos, his smirk practically weaponized under the red club lights.
Julia matched him beat for beat.
Her back arched slightly into him, hips rolling with the rhythm. He didn’t hesitate—his hands found her waist, gripping her like she was something worth anchoring down. She turned in his hold, pressing her back to his front, grinding slowly, deliberately.
Jason let out a low, appreciative sound just for her ear. “Damn, sweetheart. Trying to kill me already?”
“Depends,” she breathed, tilting her head to glance back at him. “You make a habit of rescuing angry girls on rage benders?”
“Only the ones who look like they bite.” His voice rasped just behind her jaw.
“I do,” she replied. “Hard.”
Jason laughed, deep and rough. “Now you’re just showing off.”
“Maybe.” Her fingers slid up around the back of his neck, nails gently raking through his hair. “Maybe I’m just deciding whether you’re worth forgetting him for.”
He leaned in then, lips grazing her ear, breath hot. “News flash, baby—you already did.”
The moment cracked wide open. The heat between them wasn’t just in their movements anymore—it clung to every brush of their bodies, every glance. There was nothing casual about the way his hand settled on her lower stomach, how her own reached behind for the hem of his jacket and tugged him impossibly closer.
The music throbbed, wild and fast.
And still—they danced like they were the only two people in the world who mattered.
Julia didn’t know when the line between dancing and devouring had disappeared—only that Jason was pressed against her now like he meant it. Every beat of the music was matched by the grind of her hips, the slow, controlled tension in his hold, and the way their bodies fit like a perfect, bad idea.
Her head tilted as she rolled her body back into his, and Jason’s mouth found the curve of her neck.
Just the soft press of lips against skin, right beneath her ear. Warm. Lingering.
Julia gasped quietly, eyes fluttering shut, and Jason smiled against her neck like he’d been waiting for that exact sound.
“Still thinking about him?” he murmured, voice low and hungry.
“Who?” she asked, breath catching.
Her fingers gripped his forearm where it rested against her waist. His other hand had wandered lower—guiding, holding, teasing. The hem of her short black dress crept higher as they moved. Her leg slid between his, and his breath stuttered at the contact. His lips finally dropped to her shoulder, then the base of her neck, slow and deliberate.
She turned to face him again, chest rising fast.
Jason’s eyes burned beneath the shadows of the club lights. “You’re killing me, Jules.”
She smirked, lips parted, eyes heavy with heat. “You don’t look dead yet.”
He leaned in—foreheads nearly touching—and asked against her lips, “Wanna finish what we started in a booth?”
Julia dragged her fingers down the front of his shirt, nails catching fabric.
“That depends,” she whispered. “You gonna keep kissing me like that?”
Jason chuckled darkly. “Oh sweetheart, I haven’t even started.”
Julia stumbled into the velvet-lined booth, half-laughing, half-breathless, as Jason slid in beside her—close, too close, thigh to thigh. The thrum from the club still pulsed through the cushions, vibrating against her spine like a second heartbeat. Or maybe that was just him.
“You good?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow, lips curled into a lopsided grin. His jacket was open now and the tight black T-shirt he wore clung to every muscle like it had a grudge.
“I’m tipsy and pissed off and I haven’t danced like that in years,” she said, kicking off her heels under the table. “I think I’m amazing.”
“Yeah, you are,” he said, and he wasn’t smiling now. His voice dipped low, intimate. “You’ve got that whole ‘vengeful goddess who just got out of a toxic relationship and might set the building on fire’ thing going on. It’s working for you.”
She laughed—sharper this time. “My ex would hate this.”
Jason leaned closer. “Then we’re definitely doing something right.”
Before she could say another word, he dipped his head, mouth brushing just beneath her jawline. A spark snapped down her spine. Her breath caught. His stubble scraped deliciously against her skin, his lips trailing a slow, lazy kiss toward the corner of her mouth—but stopping just short.
Julia turned, fast. Their noses bumped, and then their lips met—hot, insistent, hungry. It wasn’t a careful kiss. It wasn’t sweet. It was weeks of betrayal, months of tension, a whole damn lifetime of bad choices finally tipping into something good and wrong all at once.
Her fingers tangled in his hair. His hands slid over her thighs, gripping, thumbs grazing the edge of her dress where it had ridden up from dancing. The booth’s low lighting cloaked them in shadows, tucked away from the crowd but still humming with the same heat.
He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against her lips, “You still mad at that loser ex?”
“Furious,” she whispered, tugging him closer again.
“Good,” he growled, lifting her leg slightly to rest across his lap. His palm slid along the bare skin, warm and possessive. “Let me help you forget his name entirely.”
She smirked. “You already have.”
And then his mouth was on hers again—rougher this time. Hungry. Her hand slipped under his shirt, grazing hard muscle, while his hands skimmed up her thighs like they were learning every inch by heart.
They didn’t care who saw. They weren’t trying to be subtle.
This wasn’t the start of something healthy or safe.
This was revenge with tongue and teeth, hands and heat.
This was exactly what they both needed.
Julia shifted in Jason’s lap, her legs straddling him now—dress bunched high on her thighs, her hands braced against his chest. They were still in the booth, but the room had faded away. The pulse of the music, the neon haze, the chatter of Gotham’s angsty nightlife—it was all background noise now.
All she could feel was him. His hands gripping her waist, holding her like he didn’t plan to let go. His breath, hot against her neck. And the way his eyes—stormy, amused, hungry—drank her in like she was the only woman in the room.
“You’re a menace,” he muttered with a grin, voice rough from want.
Julia rolled her hips against his, deliberately slow, and watched his jaw tense, and his grip tighten. A rush of satisfaction bloomed in her chest.
Jason groaned low, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat. “If you keep doing that thing with your hips…” His hand slid up her spine, pulling her flush against him. “I swear to God, I’m gonna take you right here in this damn booth.”
She smirked, breathless and wicked. “You say that like it’s a threat.”
He barked a soft, incredulous laugh that trailed off fast and was replaced by something darker, more electric. Their mouths crashed together again, all teeth and tongue and no patience. The kiss was dizzying—reckless and hot and so much more than either of them had expected.
But just as his hand began inching beneath the hem of her dress, she pulled back slightly—just enough to see his face.
“Your place or mine?” she whispered, her voice teasing but serious beneath it.
Jason’s brow arched, surprised and amused. “I live over a garage, sweetheart.”
“Mine it is.” She smiled, brushing her nose against his. “It’s finally ex-free. You can even help me christen the couch he pick out with out asking.”
Jason grinned wide, equal parts amused and turned on. “You’re dangerous.”
She kissed him once more, slower this time—a promise rather than a tease. Then she slipped off his lap, tugging her dress down and reaching for his hand. “Come on, handsome. Let’s go see what kind of trouble we can get into somewhere with a door that locks.”
He stood, towering behind her, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt as they made their way through the crowd—her hand in his, their bodies still buzzing from the heat they’d left behind.
Neither of them looked back.
The night wasn’t cooling down—it was just getting started.
The air outside still buzzed with the sound of neon lights and bass when they stepped out of the club, but Julia didn’t feel the chill until it hit her bare shoulders.
Without a word, he shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over her arms. She blinked, caught off guard. It was warm from his body and heavy in that comforting, protective way.
“You looked cold,” he said with a casual shrug.
“And you look hot,” she shot back, tugging the jackets collar up and inhaling deeply. He smelled like leather, spice, and something dangerous. Something she shouldn’t want. But God, she did.
They didn’t say much on the short walk to her place—just a few teasing touches, her hand brushing his as they crossed the street, his knuckles grazing her lower back. By the time she unlocked the door and pulled him inside, the silence was screaming with tension.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Julia turned—and Jason was already there.
He kissed her like he was making up for lost time. Hands in her hair. Lips bruising with intent. Her back hit the wall and she let out a sound between a sigh and a laugh.
“You always make a habit of coming home with strangers outside of grimy punk clubs?” she whispered against his lips.
“Could ask you the same thing, Jules”Jason smirked, low and feral. “But to your question, only the ones wearing my jacket.”
She teasingly shoved him lightly toward the couch. “Lose the attitude.”
“Only if you can lose that dress….”
That made her snort, but she was already pulling his jacket off and tossing it over a nearby chair. Jason’s hands found her waist—strong, calloused, and sure. He tugged her into his lap, and she straddled him like it was second nature.
Her short dress rode up with the movement. His jeans did absolutely nothing to hide what she was doing to him.
“Jesus,” he muttered against her neck, voice ragged. “You’re so damn hot. I’m not sure I can hold back.”
Julia grinned, lips brushing his ear. “Was that not the plan?”
Jason didn’t answer with words. His mouth crashed into hers again, rougher now, more desperate. Their hands were everywhere—hers under his shirt, his sliding up her thighs. He pulled her tight against him and the moan that escaped her lips told him exactly how much control he was losing.
The couch creaked under them. A leg knocked the coffee table over. Neither party cared.
She shook her head, breathless. “Too far.”
His chuckle rumbled against her chest. “You’re insane.”
The rest came in fragments—her dress slipping over her head, his shirt discarded somewhere behind a lamp. Her fingers tangled in his hair, his teeth grazing her collarbone. The press of skin against skin, the breathless laughter, the look in his eyes when she gasped his name.
They certainly didn’t make it to the bedroom.
The couch earned every damn cent that night.
Sunlight crept in through the thin curtains, casting long shadows across the living room floor. Jason woke to the scent of cheap coffee brewing and the sound of Julia humming something sweet from the kitchen.
His head rested against the back of the couch, one arm slung over the edge, the other reaching out across empty cushions.
She wasn’t beside him anymore.
But her scent still was—warm skin, hair product, and his damn leather jacket.
For a second, just one second, he let himself enjoy it. The weightlessness. The not-thinking. The soft ache in his muscles and the fact that—for the first time in weeks—he wasn’t waking up alone with guilt pressed into his ribs.
Then Julia called out, “Hey, Mystery Man, you want coffee? Or did you sneak out while I wasn’t looking?”
Jason grunted and sat up, dragging a hand through his chaotic hair. “If I were gonna sneak out, you think I’d leave my pants still halfway up your curtain rod?”
Julia poked her head around the corner with a sleepy laugh. She was wearing his T-shirt, way too big, and somehow she looked even hotter in the morning light with bedhead and no makeup.
“Fair point. I almost broke my neck trying to get your shirt down from the lamp, by the way.” She smiled and went back to work.
Jason stood, stretching his back, and headed toward the kitchen. “Did we wrestle or have sex? I honestly can’t tell.”
Julia handed him a chipped mug. “I think we did both. You lost. Multiple times.”
Jason took a sip, eyeing her over the rim. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”
She leaned against the counter, suddenly quieter. “So, uh… thanks for not being a total creep. I’ve had worse nights.”
Jason’s smirk faded just slightly as he shrugged. “You said last night was about revenge.”
She nodded, tracing the rim of her mug with one finger. “Yeah. My ex was garbage. I was mad, drunk, and you were… there.”
“Ouch,” he said with mock outrage, a hand to his chest. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”
Her lips curved into a grin, but there was a pause. Her voice dropped. “But… you were also kind. And funny. And didn’t push.”
Jason stepped closer, searching her face. “You want me to say it meant something?”
“I want you to tell me if it did but it’s also not what I was expecting,” she said.
They stood there a beat too long. Coffee steaming between them. Truth crawling up both their throats.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m not… I don’t do the whole ‘define the relationship’ thing. I’ve got a messy life. Real messy.”
Julia raised a brow. “Yeah? Try me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Mysterious and emotionally evasive. Just my type.”
He chuckled and gently tapped the side of her mug with his. “Regardless, I’m glad I met you. Even if we were both kind of disasters.”
Jason reached down to grab his undershirt shirt from the back of a chair, slipping it on as he moved toward the his jacket by the door.
Sliding it on, he hesitated with his hand on the door knob.
“Hey,” he said, turning back to her. “What’s your last name?”
Julia laughed, eyes twinkling. “Calen. Julia Calen.”
He nodded, grinning and gesturing to himself. “Todd….”
Jason winked. “Maybe I’ll see you again, Jules.”
“Maybe,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, still wearing his T-shirt . “Next time don’t lose your clothes.”
He gave her a mock salute and headed out into the morning sun, heart weirdly lighter and his smile lingering longer than it should’ve.
