۶ৎ | fwb! Jason is too scared to kiss you — long story short.. he ends up kissing you.
𑣲𝓙 | slightly suggestive ,, spellings errors… tysm for ten followers!! — posted this bc of the poll results! Tysm anybody who voted <33
∘˙ ✶ Milk tea with a hint of vanilla and peppermint ᯓ✦∘˙
The room was still warm.
Not just from the body heat—but from the way the moment hadn’t fully settled yet. Sheets tangled around your legs, Jason stretched out beside you, one arm thrown over his eyes like he was trying to block something out. Your bonnet was pushed back, barely hanging on, pillow tucked under your chin as you stared at the ceiling.
This was familiar.
Too familiar.
That’s what made your chest feel tight.
Jason shifted, reaching for his shirt off the floor, then stopped halfway. He let his hand drop back onto the mattress instead, fingers brushing yours by accident.
Neither of you moved it away.
“You okay?” he asked, voice rough—not worried, just checking.
“Yeah,” you said. Then, quieter, “I think so.”
He hummed, like he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
You turned onto your side to face him. “Can I ask you something without you gettin’ weird?”
A pause. Then: “I’m already weird.”
You snorted despite yourself. “Why don’t you kiss me?”
That made him still.
Not tense. Not defensive. Just… quiet.
Jason lowered his arm from his face and looked at you properly now. His expression wasn’t guarded—it was tired. Honest in a way he usually avoided.
“It’s not because I don’t want to,” he said.
“I know,” you replied. “That’s kind of the problem.”
He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting to the ceiling again. “Kissing makes it harder to pretend this is just physical.”
Your throat tightened. “And it’s not?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“When I kiss someone,” he said finally, “I start thinkin’ about shit I’m not ready for. Staying. Being better. Letting someone expect things from me.” He glanced at you. “And I don’t wanna promise anything I can’t give.”
That hurt—but it also made sense.
“So the rule,” you said softly. “That was you tryin’ to be responsible.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess that’s one word for it.”
You studied his face. The faint scar near his brow. The way his jaw clenched when he was being too honest for his own comfort.
“And if you kissed me,” you said, “you think I’d start expectin’ more.”
“I think I would,” he corrected.
Silence settled between you—heavy, but not sharp.
You shifted closer, your thigh brushing his. “I already care, Jay.”
His breath caught.
“That’s what I was tryin’ to avoid,” he murmured.
“Too late.”
He turned toward you then, close enough that you could feel his breath. “You sure you wanna open that door with me?”
You scoffed. “I’m already in the room.”
For a moment, he just looked at you. Like he was weighing something. Like he was scared—not of you, but of what wanting you meant.
Then his hand came up, slow, thumb brushing your cheek like he was testing the ground.
“Just so you know,” he said quietly, “this is where I stop pretendin’.”
You didn’t answer.
You just leaned in.
Jason met you halfway.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was careful—but not hesitant. Like he knew exactly what he was doing and was choosing it anyway. His hand slid onto your neck, fingers warm against your throat, pulling you just close enough to make your breath hitch.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s why.”
You smiled softly. “Still scared?”
He huffed. “Yeah.”
But he kissed you again anyway—deeper this time, slower—like fear wasn’t enough to stop him anymore.
۶ৎ | Jason is trying to break up with you because he thinks you can’t “handle” him—key word ; trying.
𑣲𝓙 | this is just a draft ,, it’s not proof read or anything so sorry if its bad—don’t really know where i was going with this 😭
∘˙ ✶ a watery cup of coffee ,, smells like caramel ᯓ✦∘˙
Jason didn’t look at you when he did it.
That’s the part that made it worse.
You were sitting on the edge of his bed, hoodie half hanging off your shoulder, his window cracked open because he “liked the noise.” Gotham sounded like it was breathing through its teeth outside.
“I think,” he started, then stopped.
You waited.
“I think you deserve better.”
You actually laughed. Like. A real one.
“Jason.”
“No—don’t.” His jaw tightened and he finally looked at you and there it was. That stupid stubborn look , The one he gets when he thinks he’s being noble.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” you said. “Stop talking like you’re about to die.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not good at this.”
“You’re not good at a lot of things. That’s never stopped you before.”
That almost made him smile. Almost.
But then he said it.
“You don’t need all this.”
“All what?”
He gestured vaguely at himself.
“This,” he repeated. “The anger. The history. The… everything. I come with shit, okay? Stuff that doesn’t just go away. I can’t turn it off. I don’t want you waking up one day realizing you’re tired of carrying it.”
You stared at him.
“You think I don’t know who you are?”
“That’s not what I—”
“You think I’m with you by accident?”
His shoulders went stiff.
“It’s different,” he said quietly. “When you love somebody.”
He swallowed. “I don’t want to watch you realize you picked wrong.”
۶ৎ | Jason can’t seem to understand why it’s important to tell you he got shot. Things escalate from there and end badly. Angst.
𑣲𝓙 | reader is implied to have BPD or an emotional issue. no happy ending ,, ill post fluff next as an apology </3 tysm for 30 followers !!
ps : lmk if u guys would rather have a get back together p2 to this or a separate fluff fic
∘˙ ✶ a dirty soda with barely any whip cream ᯓ✦∘˙
Jason’s leaning forward at the kitchen table when you walk in, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s trying to keep them from shaking.
You notice it right away, but ignore him to get to the stove.
Turning toward the stove, you flick the burner on. The clicking fills the quiet while you grab a pan from the cabinet and set it down.
For a minute neither of you says anything.
Then Jason speaks.
“You let yourself get upset over stuff that don’t matter.”
You stop moving.
“Things that don’t matter?” you repeat, turning around. “You got shot and didn’t tell me.”
Jason exhales through his nose.
“It was a graze.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It ain’t like I was dyin’, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that right now.”
You lean back against the counter, folding your arms.
“I had to find out from Dick,” you continue. “Dick shows up asking if you’re ‘doing better,’ and I’m standing there like an idiot because I didn’t even know you were hurt.”
Jason shrugs like it doesn’t seem like a big deal to him.
“I patched it up. I’m fine.”
“That’s not the point!”
The burner starts warming the pan behind you, metal faintly ticking as it heats.
Jason drags a hand over his face.
“You’re blowin’ it outta proportion.”
You let out a short laugh.
“Out of proportion?”
“Yeah. It’s Gotham. People get shot.”
“You’re not ‘people,’ Jason,” you snap. “You’re—”
“Don’t,” he cuts in. “Don’t start that.”
“Start what?”
“With the whole vigilante bullshit—about how I should’ve told I got hurt like I owe you a damn report every time I get hurt.”
“I’m not asking for a report,” you say. “I’m asking you to be honest with me.”
Jason leans back in his chair, watching you.
“You keep your location off half the time.”
You blink, scrunching up your nose.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m sayin’,” he starts, voice rougher now, “you disappear for hours sometimes. Phone off. Location off. And I’m just supposed to sit there and not wonder where the hell you are.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It ain’t?”
“No,” you say sharply. “Because I’m not the one out there getting shot.”
Jason lets out a quiet laugh under his breath.
“Yeah. That’s exactly why I worry.”
You stare at him.
“You’re worried about me?”
“Course I am,” he mutters. “You think this city’s safe?”
“But you don’t tell me when you’re hurt.”
“Because you react like this.”
Your stomach twists.
“Like what?”
“Like every little thing’s the end of the world.”
“So now this is my fault. It’s my fault for being worried about my boyfriend being shot—would it not be fucked up if I didn’t care?” You asked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
Jason shifts in his chair, irritation creeping into his voice.
“I’m sayin’ it turns into a whole damn meltdown every time something goes wrong.”
“A meltdown?” you repeat.
“Yeah.”
“That’s what you think this is?”
“I think,” Jason says slowly, “you get worked up over stuff most people wouldn’t.”
The pan behind you pops quietly as it heats.
“You mean my feelings.”
“I mean the way you spiral.”
You feel your heart pang.
“Wow.”
Jason rubs the back of his neck, “Look, that ain’t—”
“No,” you cut him off. “Finish the sentence.”
He hesitates, then shrugs. As if what he’s trying to say is clear as day.
“You know how you get.” The words land harder than they should.
You laugh, but it sounds sharp.
“So that’s the excuse now.”
“It ain’t an excuse.”
“You’re acting like I’m crazy.”
“I didn’t say crazy.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Jason stands up suddenly, pushing the chair back.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about.”
“What does that even mean?” You ask.
“It means every conversation turns into a fight.”
“Because you won’t just apologize?”
“I don’t need to apologize for every damn thing.”
“I’m not asking for everything, Jason. I’m asking for the bare minimum.”
“Yeah?” he says. “Well the bare minimum feels like walkin’ on eggshells half the time.”
“So that’s how you see me?” Your question lands like a statement. Jason looks away.
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant…”
For a moment neither of you says anything.
The pan on the stove starts to smoke a little. Jason notices and reaches over, turning the burner off.
He sighs. “We can’t keep doin’ this.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re jokin’.” .
“I’m serious.”
“You’re just mad.”
“I ain’t mad,” he says, and somehow him not being upset makes it worse.
“You don’t mean that,” you say quickly. “You don’t just give up like that.”
Jason grabs his jacket from the back of the chair.
“I think we’re bad for each other.”
Your chest tightens painfully and you feel heat building behind your eyes, your words shakier than a few moments ago.
“You don’t mean that either.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Jason,” you say, your voice starting to shake. “You can’t just decide that.”
“I’m not decidin’ it for you.”
“Yes you are!” You shout, stepping towird him.
“You don’t get to walk away because things get hard!”
Jason’s jaw tightens, and you watch him stuff his shoes back on. “They’ve been hard for a while.”
“So we fix it!”
“Not everything’s fixable.”
You shake your head quickly. “No. That’s not—”
“I’m tired,” he sighs, pinching his nose bridge. “I don’t wanna keep hurtin’ you,”
“You’re hurting me right now.”
“I know.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, nails digging into your palms before you speak again.
“Jason, don’t,” you say quickly. “ We can talk about it, we can figure it out, just—”
“I already did.”
“You didn’t even try!”
“I did.”
Your hands shake, desperate to explain yourself - even more desperate to make him stay.
“You can’t just leave, can’t just decide I’m too much and walk away.”
Jason looks at the door. “I never said you were too much.”
“You implied it.”
He doesn’t argue. Your voice rises before you can stop it. “So that’s it? You’re just done with me!?”
He stared at his phone for a long second. You weren’t the type to go quiet like this—not without a heads-up, not without a dumb emoji or a half-hearted “I’m alive.” Tonight, there was nothing.
So he came in person.
He knocked first. Soft. Patient.
“Hey,” he called. “It’s me.”
No answer.
That tight feeling in his chest settled in, heavy and familiar.
He circled around and eased the window open instead, careful as he climbed inside. The air in the room was stale, thick—old food, unwashed clothes, days blending together. The curtains were drawn tight, shutting the world out.
And you were curled on the bed, oversized shirt clinging, bonnet pulled low like a shield. The room was messy in a way that felt apologetic, like it had been that way too long to fix.
“Hey, mama,” Jason said gently.
You flinched.
Slowly, you turned your head to look at him. Your eyes were tired—red-rimmed, distant.
“…You didn’t have to come,” you murmured.
He set his keys down and sat on the edge of the bed. “You stopped textin’. Thought maybe I did somethin’.”
You shook your head. “No. Just didn’t have the energy.”
There was a pause. Then you spoke again, voice smaller.
“…I smell bad.”
Jason blinked.
You swallowed, bracing yourself. “I haven’t showered. Room’s a mess. I know it’s gross. You can go if you want.”
His jaw tightened—not in disgust, but hurt.
“Baby,” he said quietly. “Why would I leave you over that?”
You didn’t answer. You just stared at the sheets.
“Most people don’t stay when they see this,” you whispered. “They say they get it, but they don’t.”
Jason exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”
You looked up at him then.
“I’ve been there,” he continued. “Days where I don’t answer calls ‘cause talkin’ feels impossible. Where my place looks like hell and I don’t even care enough to fix it. Where I smell like I’ve been sleepin’ in my own head for too long.”
Your eyes softened. “…You?”
He gave a tired half-smile. “Me too.”
He reached out carefully, resting his hand over yours. “This doesn’t make you hard to love. It just means you’re havin’ a hard time.”
You pursed your lips.
“I thought you’d think I was a bum or something,” you said.
“Well— I think you’re exhausted,” he replied. “And still my girl.”
You broke quietly, shoulders shaking as Jason pulled you into his chest. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pull back when he caught the scent of days gone by. His arms were solid, grounding, holding you like this was exactly where you belonged.
“You don’t gotta clean yourself up to be worthy of stayin’,” he murmured, kissing the top of your bonnet. “You don’t gotta be okay for me.”
You clutched his shirt. “I didn’t mean to disappear.”
“I know,” he said. “You were just tryin’ to survive.”
After a while, when your breathing slowed, he shifted just enough to look at you.
“How ‘bout this,” he said softly. “We don’t fix everything tonight. We just do one thing. I can sit with you. Or we shower together. Or I help you clean a little. You pick.”
You wiped your face with your sleeve. “…Can we just sit first?”
He smiled. “Yeah. We can do that.”
Jason leaned back against the headboard and pulled you with him, arms secure around your waist.
۶ৎ | Jason finally comes home — despite how late it is ,, you’re honestly just happy he’s back home.
𑣲𝓳 | warnings ; none !! maybe a few grammar errors— sorry !!
∘˙ ✶ a hot cup of cocoa ,, topped with whip cream ᯓ✦∘˙
The TV was muted, casting a dull blue glow across the living room.
2:11 a.m.
You were half-slouched on the couch, bonnet tied snug over your hair, blanket pooled around your legs. Your phone sat face-down on the cushion beside you—you weren’t scrolling anymore. You were listening.
The window slid open.
Metal scraped softly against the frame, followed by the familiar thud of boots hitting the floor. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t reach for anything.
Jason eased himself inside like he was afraid of waking you—even though he knew you’d been up.
“Hey, mama,” he murmured.
You looked up, relief washing over your face instantly. “You’re home.”
He shut the window behind him, helmet tucked under his arm, jacket still on. He looked tired in that deep, bone-heavy way that worried you more than blood ever did.
You stood and crossed the room, hands already on him—checking, grounding. Your palms smoothed over his arms, his sides, gentle but firm.
“You good?” you asked.
“Yeah ma,” he said. “Promise.”
You studied his face for another second, then nodded. “Okay. Sit. I’ll warm your food.”
“You stayed up,” he said.
“I try to most of the time.” You shrugged.
You reheated the plate you’d left covered on the stove, the familiar smell filling the small apartment. When you set it in front of him, he stared like he was surprised you made dinner for him.
“…You didn’t have to,” he repeated.
You crossed your arms. “Eat.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smirking tiredly.
He ate slow, savoring it, glancing up at you between bites like he was committing the moment to memory. When he finished, you took the plate and set it aside, then reached for his jacket.
“C’mere,” you said.
He let you tug him down onto the couch, sinking back with a soft grunt. You curled into him immediately, tucking yourself against his side, one leg thrown over his. His arm wrapped around you without hesitation, hand warm and solid at your waist.
He pressed a kiss to your bonnet. “You look cute,” he murmured.
You huffed. “Boy, I look tired.”
“Still cute,” he insisted.
You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat finally slow. He held you like you were the thing keeping him anchored to the world.
“Thanks for waitin’ up,” he said quietly.
“You come back,” you replied. “That’s all I care about.”
His fingers traced lazy circles against your back. “Don’t know how I got so lucky.”
You smiled softly, eyes finally closing. “Get some sleep, Jay.”
۶ৎ | Go away - Weezer // after breaking things off with jason for good- he keeps showing up at your apartment, begging you for another chance after cheating.
∘˙ ✶ a warm lavender latte spiked with cinnamon ᯓ✦∘˙
“I told you to stop loitering outside my door.”
You didn’t yell. You didn’t have to. You’d said it enough times that the words felt rehearsed, worn smooth at the edges. Jason had been hovering for weeks now—showing up uninvited, lingering like guilt had taught him your address by heart.
You hadn’t broken up because things were hard. You broke up because he cheated. Plain and ugly. Because trust, once cracked, doesn’t magically knit itself back together just because the person who broke it is suddenly sorry.
“Please, mama,” he said, voice low, careful. Soft in that way he used when he wanted something. “Just a few minutes. Lemme explain. I miss you.”
His knuckles tapped the door again—gentle, almost respectful. Like he hadn’t blown past your boundaries already just by being here.
“Since when do you miss me this loudly?” you muttered, leaning your shoulder against the door.
“C’mon,” he pressed, a shaky exhale following. “You know I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t matter. You know that.”
“I also know you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t gotten caught,” you said flatly.
Silence. Then—
“That’s not fair.”
You scoffed.
“What’s not fair is you standing on my doorstep acting like you didn’t make a choice,” you shot back. “You didn’t trip and fall into her. Your dick doesn’t have a mind of its own. You cheated because you wanted to.”
“I was messed up,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “You know the headspace I was in. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
There it was.
“So now it’s my job to understand why you betrayed me?” you asked.
“No—no, that’s not what I’m saying,” he rushed. “I’m just saying things weren’t good between us. You were distant. You didn’t trust me anymore.”
Your laugh was sharp, incredulous.
“I didn’t trust you because you were already lying to me.”
He sighed, like you were exhausting him.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” he said. “Doesn’t that count for something?”
“You being persistent doesn’t make you faithful,” you replied.
“I chose you,” he insisted. “I’m choosing you now.”
You pushed off the door, arms crossing tighter.
“After choosing her.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“What do you want me to say?” he asked finally, voice strained. “That she meant something? She didn’t. It was nothing.”
“You don’t get to call it nothing just because I was the one it hurt,” you said. “So tell me—why?”
You waited.
“What did she have that I didn’t?”
“I can’t live without you,” he said instead, sidestepping the question like it was a landmine. “You’re all I got. You know that.”
Your stomach twisted—not from longing, but recognition.
“You don’t miss me,” you said quietly. “You miss the version of me who let things slide. Who believed you every time you said ‘it’s not like that.’”
“That’s not true,” he said, desperation bleeding through now. “You know I love you. You know what we had. Don’t throw it away over one mistake.”
“You didn’t make one mistake,” you replied. “You made a choice. Then you made it again every time you lied about it.”
You swallowed, steadying yourself.
“No, Jay. You couldn’t even answer me when I asked why. I’m not about to let someone who couldn’t respect me rewrite my life.”
The door felt lighter when you stepped away from it.
“Just… go away,” you said. “We’re done. No second chances.
۶ৎ | you run into trouble while stealing documents your mentor, Selena. Maybe said trouble isn’t so troublesome after all…
𑣲𝓳 | warnings ; none !! maybe some grammar errors here and there haha.. wrote this late so sorry if it’s ass
∘˙ ✶ a warm cup of cinnamon tea ᯓ✦∘˙
The landing was clean.
You hit the next rooftop in a roll, boots barely skidding before you were upright again. Snow dusted the ledge, thin and fresh, untouched except for you. Gotham looked quieter like this—softened, almost gentle. A lie you never believed.
You were halfway across the roof when the bullet hit the wall beside your head.
Concrete exploded.
“Cute trick,” a voice called from behind you. “But you really gotta stop jumpin’ without checkin’ your six.”
You didn’t turn.
Red Hood stepped out of the shadows like he’d always been there. Guns down, posture loose—but his attention was razor sharp, tracking the way your shoulders shifted, the angle of your stance.
“You follow all your missed shots,” you said, “or am I special?”
“Tonight?” he replied. “Yeah. You are.”
You faced him slowly. Snow clung to the edges of your suit, dark against the sleek material. Flexible. Expensive. Familiar.
“You fight like a thief,” he said. So he’d been watching.
You smiled behind your mask. “And you fight like a cop who pretends he’s not one.”
“That so?”
“Mm-hm. Too much restraint.”
He took another step closer. “You stole somethin’ that doesn’t belong to you.”
“So you keep sayin’.” You shifted your weight, light on your feet. “Funny. That sound familiar?”
He paused.
Then his head tilted. Just slightly.
“Huh..” he muttered quietly. “Selena teach you how to steal like that?”
You shrugged. “She taught me not to get caught.”
“And yet,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “here we are.”
Snow drifted between you, slow and steady. Gotham held its breath.
“So what,” you asked, “you gonna take me in?”
He laughed once—short, humorless. “You kiddin’? I don’t take in Catwoman’s kids. City’d never forgive me.”
“Protégée,” you corrected. “Get it right.”
“Figures,” he said. “You got her timing. Her patience.” His gaze dragged over you, assessing. “But you move heavier. Like you’re carryin’ somethin’ she wouldn’t.”
“Guilt?” you offered.
“Conviction,” he corrected.
That hit closer than you liked.
You took a step back toward the ledge. “Those documents matter.”
“So do the people tied to ‘em,” he shot back. “And if you dump ‘em online—”
“I’m not stupid,” you snapped. “I’m not her.”
He went still at that.
“I don’t steal for the thrill,” you continued. “I steal because somebody always gets away with somethin’ when no one’s lookin’.”
His grip tightened on his gun. Not aimed. Thinking.
“You always talk this much mid-escape?” he asked.
“Only when someone interesting tries to stop me.”
A beat.
“…You’re special,” he said.
You smiled.
Sirens echoed in the distance. Too close now.
You backed up to the ledge again. Snow kissed the tops of your boots.
