HEYY,
so I loved the jason one shot, and if you're okay with it, please make more parts, i need to see more of this storyline i'm obsessedššš»
book shop | Jason Todd x Reader įÆā 2
sumarry. Jason tries to fix his mistake but it doesn't go as planned, but it's not that bad either.
male reader, word counter: 1,343
masterlist prt 1
note; here you goo, sorry for the delay! I hadn't checked my mailbox...
jason's pov
I didnāt go back to the bookstore.
It wasnāt something I planned, I justā¦ stayed away. At first, I thought it would be a few days, then a week, and before I knew it, almost three had passed. He didnāt directly write to complain, but I noticed. Every message of his carried that half-curious, half-sarcastic tone he used to hide his insecurities.
"Not coming to rescue me from my unbearable customers today either?"
"I found a first editionā¦ but Iām not telling you of what."
"I suspect youāre buying books somewhere else, traitor."
I replied late, always with short phrases, though inside I laughed at his comments. He didnāt know it, but every notification from him made me stop for a few seconds, feeling that uncomfortable mix of warmth and nerves.
One night, while staring at his unanswered messages, I realized I was avoiding something that, to my misfortune, I wanted to face. So I decided that instead of showing up as if nothing had happened, I would make it up to him. Inviting him out soundedā¦ risky. I wasnāt sure if he would take it as a date or just a gesture. I wasnāt even sure what I wanted it to be.
On Saturday at noon, I walked into the bookstore. He looked up from the counter and gave me a quick smile, which shifted into a raised eyebrow.
"Look whoās back from the war," he said, with that light tone he used to provoke.
"Donāt exaggerate." I leaned on the counter, trying to seem calm. "Iāve been busy."
"Busy for three weeks. Couldnāt even get me a coffeeā¦ thatās low." He adjusted a book but kept his eyes on me. "So? Are you back looking for volume four that doesnāt exist?"
I leaned in toward him a little.
"No. I came to invite you out."
A short laugh escaped him, as if he hadnāt quite understood. Then his cheeks turned red.
"Outā¦?" he repeated, lowering his voice. "Likeā¦ a date?"
"Like a date." I said it without looking at him too much, but with the certainty that I couldnāt take it back.
He accepted, of course. And thatās when my mistake began.
The plan was simple: a quiet coffee and then a walk through the old book fair in the square. But everything went wrong.
First, it rained. Not a romantic movie drizzle, but a downpour that turned the streets into rivers. The cafĆ© was packed, full of soaked people seeking shelter, and the only free spot was next to a door that wouldnāt close properly. The icy wind hit us from behind. He tried to joke, but his teeth were chattering.
"This isā¦ cozy," he said, curling into his coat. "Do you always choose such charming places for your dates?"
"Next time Iāll take you to a five-star hotel," I answered, half serious, half joking.
The fair was obviously canceled. We walked anyway, dodging puddles and trying to share my jacket, which he insisted he didnāt need but ended up wearing. It wasnāt what I had planned, but watching him walk beside me, laughing at how ridiculous he looked in my oversized clothes, stirred a strange feeling in me.
When we found shelter under an improvised roof in the empty square, he leaned against me, still shivering.
"If this was your way of apologizing for disappearingā¦ Iām not sure you pulled it off."
"I think I did." I donāt know why I said it, but it came out softer than I intended.
He looked at me, as if evaluating something. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and rested his forehead on my shoulder.
"Donāt disappear for so long again," he murmured.
I stayed still. I could have told him I couldnāt promise that, that it wasnāt my style, butā¦ I ended up wrapping an arm around him, pulling him closer. We didnāt speak for a while, listening to the rain hitting the tin roof. He let out a small laugh.
"I guess you did manage to make me like the date after all."
I didnāt look at him, but I smiled.
āāā
By the time we reached his building, the rain had softened from a furious downpour to a steady hiss against the streets. My jacket was plastered to my skin; his hair was a messy halo of damp curls. We both looked like weād been fished out of a river.
āYouāre not walking home like this,ā he said, pushing open the door and stepping aside for me to enter. His voice was soft but left no room for argument. āUpstairs. Come on.ā
I wanted to say Iād be fine, that Iād catch a cab or walk it off, but there was a stubborn tilt to his chin andā¦ I was tired of arguing with him. So I followed.
His apartment was small but warm, smelling faintly of coffee and paper. Books stacked in precarious towers along the walls, a few mugs scattered across the counter. It felt lived in, real, nothing like the sterile, spotless spaces I was used to.
āSit,ā he ordered, pointing to the couch as he kicked off his shoes. I sat, dripping all over his rug. He disappeared into the bedroom and came back with a towel, tossing it at me.
āYouāre bossy,ā I muttered.
āAnd youāre terrible at taking care of yourself,ā he shot back, a flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth. āSo Iām making the executive decisionāyouāre staying here tonight.ā
āThatās unnecessary.ā
āItās happening,ā he said, and vanished again before I could argue.
When he returned, he had a change of clothes for meāloose sweatpants and an oversized sweater that probably belonged to him. I didnāt ask. I changed in the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror: hair plastered down, shoulders hunched, looking for all the world like someone caught in a situation they hadnāt planned for. Which, I guess, was true.
When I stepped out, he was already in the bedroom, tugging at the blankets. āUh,ā I said slowly. āWhere am Iā¦ sleeping?ā
He looked at me like Iād just asked whether the sky was real. āHere,ā he said simply, patting the bed.
āThereās one bed.ā
āIām aware,ā he replied, a blush creeping up his neck. āItās big enough. Unless youāre scared.ā
āIām not scared,ā I said automatically. I was lying.
He grinned faintly. āGood. Then get in.ā
I hesitated, then climbed in on my side, careful to keep distance. The mattress dipped as he slid in next to me, his warmth immediately noticeable even through the blanket. I could feel him trying not to fidget. We both stared at the ceiling.
āThis isā¦ fine,ā he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. āYouāre warm. I like that.ā
I snorted. āYouāre freezing.ā
āThatās why I like it.ā
We lay there in silence for a while, the sound of rain filling the space between us. Eventually, I felt him shift closer, his shoulder brushing mine. āIs this okay?ā he asked, voice muffled.
āYeah,ā I murmured, surprising myself. āItās okay.ā
So he moved closer still, curling against my side. His hand, hesitant at first, rested against my chest. I didnāt know what to do with thatāmy heart was pounding, and I was sure he could feel it. But I didnāt move away. If anything, I found myself leaning toward him.
He sighed, a soft, content sound. āYouāre not as scary as you think you are,ā he murmured.
I turned my head slightly to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, his curls still damp, his expression both smug and shy at once.
āAnd youāre not as fearless as you pretend to be,ā I replied.
He smiled, small but real, and his fingers curled into the sweater heād given me. We stayed like that until his breathing evened out, his weight warm and solid against me. I lay awake longer, staring at the ceiling, realizing that somehow, without meaning to, Iād let him in more than Iād planned.
And that I wasnāt in a hurry to push him out.
