Red Hood x Stark!reader || Part 1 || Masterlist || Request! Dividers by: @enchanthings
The Wayne Manor was exactly what you expected and nothing like it at the same time.
It loomed at the end of a long, tree-lined drive like a gothic fucking fever dream—stone walls, ivy, gargoyles that probably doubled as security cameras. But inside, the place felt strangely lived-in: faint scuff marks on the hardwood from what you guessed were nightly patrols, the faint smell of gun oil mixed with old books and Alfred’s lemon polish. It was less “museum for billionaires” and more “home for a family of highly trained disasters.”
Tony had insisted on arriving in the armored Audi because “neutral ground” still meant “I brought my own goddamn exit strategy,” and Pepper had her hands full keeping Morgan from interrogating Damian about his sword collection. You, meanwhile, had spent the entire car ride trying not to fidget with the neckline of your simple black cashmere sweater and dark jeans. Wednesday dinner at the manor wasn’t black-tie, thank God. Still, you’d caught Jason’s eye once at the gala. You weren’t about to show up looking like you’d tried too hard… even if your stomach was doing nervous flips the whole way.
Alfred greeted you all at the door with perfect British composure and a tray of hors d’oeuvres that made Morgan’s eyes light up like Christmas.
“Master Wayne and the family are in the main sitting room,” he said, voice warm with that dry humor only butlers seemed to master. “Though I should warn you, the young masters have already begun their traditional pre-dinner debate about whose turn it is to disarm the security system this month.”
Tony chuckled. “Sounds about right. Lead the way, Jeeves 2.0.”
You followed, heart doing an annoying little flip when you stepped into the room.
The Waynes were scattered in various states of billionaire-casual. Bruce stood by the massive fireplace, nursing a glass of something amber and talking quietly with your father like they were already negotiating world peace (or at least patent sharing). Dick Grayson was draped dramatically over an armchair, laughing at something Tim was showing him on a tablet. Damian sat ramrod straight on the couch, arms crossed, looking like he was plotting the fall of empires. And Jason—
Jason was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, wearing a dark gray henley that hugged his shoulders way too well and a pair of black jeans that should probably be illegal. His hair was still artfully messy, and when his eyes found yours across the room, the corner of his mouth lifted in that same crooked, dangerous smirk from the gala.
Your stomach did the traitorous flip again. Shit.
“Stark delegation has arrived,” Dick announced cheerfully, hopping up. “Hi, I’m Dick. Ignore the murder gremlin in the corner—he bites.”
“Grayson,” Damian hissed.
You smiled, polite but warm, though your voice came out a little higher than usual. “Nice to meet you officially. I’m—”
“—the one who actually read Jason’s pretentious literature paper,” Tim cut in, pushing his glasses up with a grin. “Respect. Most people just Google ‘Jason Todd death’ and call it a day.”
Jason pushed off the wall and crossed the room in a few easy strides, stopping just close enough that you could smell the faint trace of leather and something like gunpowder and rain. “Ignore them. They’re jealous I have better taste in citations than they do in life choices.”
You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “You weren’t kidding about reading my paper.”
“I don’t kid about Victorian lit and ethical resurrection,” you said, trying to sound casual even as your cheeks heated. “The part where you compared the Pit to Darcy’s pride and prejudice against his own nature? Brutal. Accurate. A little too on the nose.”
Jason’s eyes darkened with something like surprise and heat. He stepped closer. “Most people see the scars and the attitude and assume that’s all there is. You looked at the footnotes.”
You shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your sweater because what the hell else were you supposed to do with your hands? “I like footnotes. They usually tell the real story.”
Before you could embarrass yourself further, Tony’s voice cut through the room like a goddamn siren. “Hey. Kiddo. Personal space.”
He was suddenly right there, sliding an arm around your shoulders and pulling you back a step with that overprotective dad glare firmly in place. “Jason Todd, right? The one who died, came back, and still can’t stay out of trouble. Cute. But let’s keep those hands where I can see them, yeah? She’s eighteen, not eighteen-and-looking-for-a-bodyguard-with-a-death-wish.”
“Dad,” you hissed, mortified, your face burning. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole. “Stop it. We were just talking.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, unrepentant. “Talking. Sure. I saw the way he was looking at you. I invented that look, kid. I know exactly what it means.” He turned back to Jason, voice dropping into that fake-friendly tone that meant business. “She’s smart, she’s got my sarcasm, and if you even think about breaking her heart, I’ll build a suit specifically designed to shove your resurrected ass back into whatever hell-pit you crawled out of. Clear?”
Jason didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk grew. “Crystal, Stark. Message received.”
You groaned, covering your face with one hand. “Oh my God, Dad. Can we not do this right now? In front of everyone?”
Morgan, already perched on the arm of the couch and halfway through a mini quiche, cackled. “This is better than the chocolate fountain. Dad’s going full Iron Dad mode.”
Dick and Tim were both trying (and failing) to hide their laughter. Damian just looked disgusted. Bruce, for his part, simply took a slow sip of his drink, the ghost of amusement in his eyes.
Jason glanced at you, that feral grin softening just a fraction. “Tour of the non-classified parts of the manor? Before your dad decides to suit up?”
You nodded quickly, desperate to escape the embarrassment. “Yeah. Tour sounds good. Really good.”
Jason’s hand brushed the small of your back—light, barely there—as he guided you toward the hallway. The touch still sent warmth racing up your spine, but now you were painfully aware of Tony’s eyes burning holes into both of you.
He led you through corridors lined with portraits, past a library that made your inner nerd weep, and into a smaller sitting room that overlooked the gardens. Moonlight spilled through tall windows, turning everything silver and shadow.
Jason stopped by a bookshelf, fingers trailing over a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. “You weren’t kidding about the paper.”
You leaned against the opposite shelf, still awkward from the earlier interruption. “No… I really did read it. The Austen bit was good. Really good. I just… I don’t usually talk about this stuff with guys who look like they could bench-press a car.”
He turned, eyes dark and intent. “You’re dangerous, you know that? Pretty, smart, and you don’t flinch at the messed-up parts.” He stepped closer, voice dropping low. “Your dad’s probably already designing that anti-Red Hood suit just in case. But fuck it—next week, just us. No family bullshit. No suits. No footnotes. What do you say, Stark? Let me take you somewhere that doesn’t involve our dads measuring whose tech is bigger.”
Your breath caught, heart hammering. Before you could even open your mouth to answer, a small, sharp voice cut through the room like a knife.
“Todd, if you are attempting to court the Stark girl with such vulgar prose, you are embarrassing the entire family,” Damian said, appearing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a sneer that could curdle milk. “Father would be disappointed. Grayson would call it ‘cringe.’ And I, for one, refuse to witness another one of your pathetic attempts at romance.”
Jason’s head snapped toward his little brother, jaw tight. “Damian, I swear to God, if you don’t fuck off right now—”
“Language,” Damian replied coolly, inspecting his nails. “And you wonder why she has not yet agreed. Your approach lacks subtlety. Perhaps you should consult Grayson. He is the expert in… what is the term? ‘Rizz’?”
You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at the sheer absurdity, but your cheeks were flaming again. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Out. Now. Or I’m telling Alfred you fed Titus the last of the roast beef.”
Damian smirked, clearly unbothered. “As you wish, Todd. But do try not to scare her away with your… caveman courtship.” He turned on his heel and disappeared back down the hall.
Jason let out a low growl. “Sorry about the demon spawn. He lives to ruin my life.”
You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s… fine. Really. My dad’s doing the same thing, so… we’re even?”
Before Jason could try again, Dick’s voice echoed cheerfully from the hallway. “Jay! Tim needs your opinion on the new grapple line specs—something about ‘ballistic trajectory’ and ‘not exploding this time.’ Also Alfred says dinner in five!”
Jason muttered a string of curses under his breath. “Fucking hell. Give me two minutes.”
But two minutes became five when Tim appeared next, tablet in hand, dragging Jason into a quick debate about recoil compensation while you stood there awkwardly pretending to examine a painting. Every time Jason tried to steer the conversation back to you— “Anyway, about next week…” —either Dick would crack a joke about “baby bird finally getting game” or Damian would pop up again with some dry, cutting remark about “primitive mating rituals.”
By the time you all finally made it to the dining room, Jason looked ready to strangle someone, and you were equal parts amused and mortified.
Dinner passed in a blur of sharp banter, surprisingly good food, and the occasional near-argument about whose tech was better suited for “ethical climate intervention.” Jason sat beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table more than once—deliberate, warm, promising. Every time it happened, you’d glance at Tony, who was watching like a hawk with that overprotective glare, and you’d feel your face heat up again. Tony even leaned over at one point to mutter, “I see that knee, Todd. Watch it.”
When the evening finally wound down and goodbyes were exchanged at the door, Jason walked you out to the car while the others lingered inside, though you could feel multiple pairs of eyes watching from the windows.
He stopped just short of the driveway, turning to face you under the soft glow of the manor lights. “Wednesday wasn’t nearly long enough,” he said, voice rough. “Look, before anyone else interrupts—next Friday. You, me, somewhere quiet. No siblings. No dads. No demon brat calling my game cringe. Just say yes, Stark.”
Your heart raced, a shy, awkward smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “I… yeah. Yes. But only if you promise not to get interrupted mid-sentence again.”
He leaned in, slow enough that you could pull away. You didn’t. His lips brushed yours—soft at first, then deeper, tasting faintly of the wine from dinner and something undeniably him. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again.
“Deal,” he murmured. “And if any of my idiot brothers show up, I’m shooting them with rubber rounds.”
As the Audi pulled away, you glanced back once. Jason stood on the steps, hands in his pockets, watching you go with that same half-smirk—though you could see Damian lurking in the background, already opening his mouth for one last parting shot.
Tony cleared his throat from the front seat, gripping the wheel a little tighter than necessary. “So. Should I start designing the anti-Jason suit now, or wait until he inevitably does something stupid and heroic?”
You laughed softly, leaning your head against the window, the ghost of Jason’s kiss still warm on your lips and your cheeks still burning from all the awkwardness and interruptions. “Wait, Dad. I think I’m going to like this particular terrible decision… even if you threaten to blast him into orbit every five minutes and his brothers keep cockblocking him.”
Outside, Gotham’s lights blurred past, but for the first time in a long while, the city didn’t feel quite so dark.
And somewhere in the shadows, you knew a certain red-hooded vigilante was already counting the days until Friday—probably while plotting ways to keep his siblings far, far away.
Taglist: @nessasmultiverseoflove, @inevisible, @itachisrealm, @seamlessepiphany