⊹ ࣪ ˖ in which you and Jason place a bet to see who can go the longest without touching the other person.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ warnings: reader plays dirty, roy is kinda ooc, this is all Roy’s fault don’t look at me, jason goes insane,
The apartment was quiet for once, saved from the usual chaos of the vigilante lifestyle. Morning light streamed through the blinds of the kitchen, casting warm, golden bars across the worn wooden table. You were leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee warm between your hands, fully enjoying the rare, tranquil quiet.
Then, heavy boots thumped softly down the hallway, and Jason stepped into the kitchen.
He was wearing a faded gray henley, his dark hair a messy bedhead spike, and his eyes still soft with sleep. The moment his gaze found you, that signature lazy, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn't say a word. He just strolled over, closing the distance between you, and dropped his hands onto the counter on either side of your hips, trapping you gently in his orbit.
He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
You let out a quiet sigh against his mouth, setting your mug down to wrap your fingers around his wrists. He pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes sparkling, before dipping down to press another short kiss to your cheek, then your chin, and back to your lips. It was sweet and lazy, and sickeningly affectionate.
"Morning, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.
"Morning, Jay," you hummed, smiling against another quick press of his lips.
"Will you two please get a room? Or at least put a biohazard warning on the kitchen door?"
The familiarly obnoxious, loud and dramatic voice shattered the moment. Roy was leaning against the doorframe, a half-empty juice box in his hand, looking at the two of you with profound, theatrical disgust.
Roy Harper had a habit of inviting himself into your home and then acting like you were a guest.
"Seriously," Roy groaned, taking a loud sip through his straw. "It’s eight in the morning. You two physically cannot keep your hands off each other for five minutes. It’s sickening. I come down for apple juice and I’m subjected to a puke-fest"
You immediately pulled back from Jason, flushing slightly, though you pointed a defensive finger straight at your boyfriend. "Hey! Don't look at me! I'm not the clingy one, it’s Jason!"
"Me?!" Jason scoffed, dropping his hands from the counter and standing up straight, taking a step back with his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Are you serious right now? I'm clingy? Sweetheart, you were literally gripping my wrists like a drowning person ten seconds ago."
"Because you came over here and invaded my personal space!" you shot back, stepping forward and poking him sharply in the chest. "You're the one who can't go two seconds without touching me, hugging me, or stealing a kiss! You're like a giant, heavily armed koala!"
"A koala?" Jason repeated, raising a single, sharp brow. "Me? No. Im a lethal vigilante. And for the record, you are the one who whines if I don't cuddle you while we watch movies."
"You literally snuggled into my side so hard yesterday you almost knocked me off the couch," Jason countered.
“We were literally watching my little pony!”
“King Sombra is terrifying?”
"Face it. You’re attached to my hip. You'd lose your mind if I didn't touch you for an hour."
"Oh, is that a challenge, Todd?" you snapped, your eyes narrowing as a sudden, brilliant idea sparked in your mind.
For months, you had been trying to pay for dinner. One dinner. Just a single pizza, or a nice sit-down meal, or even takeout. But Jason was infuriatingly, pathologically stubborn about money.
The man would literally fight a waiter, hack a card reader, or threaten a host before he let you pull out your wallet. He claimed it was his ‘right’ and by paying, you were being oppressive and stealing his rights. It drove you absolutely insane.
And right now, standing in the kitchen with Roy watching like it was a soap opera, your golden opportunity had just presented itself.
"You know what?" you said, folding your arms and looking up at him with supreme confidence. "Let's put your money where your big mouth is. A bet."
Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "A bet?"
"Yes. A test to see who is actually the clingy one," you declared. "The rules are simple: we have to stay at least 10 inches away from each other at all times. No touching. No kissing. No holding hands. No leaning on each other. Nothing. The first person who caves and breaks the distance loses."
Jason hummed, rolling his shoulders. "And what are the stakes?"
You smirked, leaning in just a fraction before remembering the rule and stepping back. "Whoever loses has to let the winner pay for dinner. For the next three months."
Roy let out a low whistle from the doorway. "Damn. High stakes. Todd, your fragile masculinity is on the line."
Jason ignored Roy entirely, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The amusement in his expression shifted into a razor-sharp, ridiculously competitive glare. The idea of letting you pay for his food for three whole months was clearly appalling to his deeply ingrained, stubborn street-dog pride.
"Three months?" Jason murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "You're dreaming, sweetheart. There is no way in hell you are ever paying for anything. I'm going to crush you."
"We'll see about that, Todd," you chimed, checking your watch. "Starting... now. 10 inches."
Jason took a deliberate, dramatic step back, maintaining a wide gap between the two of you. "Prepare to lose, clingy."
The first few hours weren't terrible. In fact, they were almost funny.
You sat on opposite ends of the couch, watching TV, both of you hyper-aware of the space between you. Every time Jason absentmindedly reached out to rest his arm behind your shoulders, he would freeze, remember the bet, see your smug grin, and quickly snatch his hand back, glaring at you.
By evening, however, the reality of the bet began to set in.
Normally, when you cooked dinner, Jason would stand right behind you, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder while you stirred the pot. Tonight, he stood exactly ten inches away, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, staring at the back of your head like a man dying of thirst while watching someone pour water on the ground.
"You know," you said casually, stirring the pasta sauce, "you can help."
"I am helping," Jason grunted, not moving an inch. "I'm supervising. From a safe, non-losing distance."
"You look like a statue, Jay."
"I am a fortress of willpower," he replied stiffly.
The real nightmare, however, began when it was time to go to sleep.
Sharing a king-sized bed sounded easy enough in theory, but in practice, it was pure torture. You were used to sleeping pressed against Jason’s chest, feeling the steady, warm rise and fall of his breathing, anchored by his heavy arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Jason was used to sleeping with you tucked securely under his chin, his protective instincts lulled to sleep by your proximity.
Now? You were lying on your side, staring at the wall, while Jason lay rigid on his back on his side of the mattress.
The gap of ten inches between you felt like a glowing, electric canyon.
Every time you shifted, the mattress moved, and you could hear Jason’s breath hitch in the dark.
"You asleep?" you whispered into the darkness.
"No," Jason’s voice rasped out. It was strained. "I am holding the line."
"You can just give in, you know," you coaxed softly, turning your head to look at him. "All you have to do is say I win, and you get to hold me."
"Nice try," Jason ground out through grit teeth. You heard his jaw clench. "Not happening. My credit card is ready for tomorrow's dinner. Go to sleep."
You sighed, turning back around.
It was a long, sleepless night. Every time you drifted off, you instinctively reached out, only to catch yourself at the last second and yank your hand back. And every time you did, you could hear Jason rustling frantically, physically fighting the urge to pull you into his arms.
When morning finally arrived, light crept slowly through the bedroom curtains. You stretched, letting out a soft yawn, and sat up on the bed.
"Jason?" you murmured softly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
Sitting on the very edge of his side of the mattress was Jason.
He hadn't changed out of his clothes. He hadn't pulled the blanket over himself. He was just sitting there, staring blankly at the far wall, looking like a man who had survived a war zone. His hair was wild and sticking up in every direction, deep dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and he looked visually exhausted.
Jason slowly, mechanically turned his head toward you. His neck let out a loud, alarming CRACK.
"Sleep is for the weak," Jason rasped. His voice sounded like he had spent the night swallowing glass. His left eye twitched again, hard.
"Jay, oh my god," you said, reaching out instinctively toward him—
"DONT!" Jason practically shrieked, flinching violently backward and throwing his entire upper body off the side of the bed, landing on the floor with a loud THUD.
He scrambled backward on his elbows until his back hit the wall, keeping a full six feet between you. He was panting, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide and unhinged as he stared at your outstretched hand.
"Do not touch me!" Jason panted, holding up a warning finger, his hand visibly shaking. "I saw that! You tried to tag me while I was down! Disqualification! Foul!"
"I wasn't trying to tag you, you psycho, I was checking if you were having a stroke!" you yelled, sitting back on your heels on the mattress. "Look at you! Your eye is literally twitching! You didn't sleep a single minute, did you?!"
"I slept great," Jason lied defensively, his left eye twitching twice in rapid succession. He pushed himself up against the wall, standing on shaky legs. "I feel fantastic. I have never been more alert in my life. The distance is easy. Painless."
"You look like a caffeinated sleep-deprived zombie, Jason," you scoffed, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "Just give up. Let me pay."
"Over my dead body," Jason snapped, straightening his posture, though his eyes darted hungrily to your lips before he forcibly tore his gaze away. "Ten inches, sweetheart. Remember the rules."
By afternoon, the lack of touch and sleep had completely broken Jason’s brain, and you decided it was time to deploy heavy tactical warfare.
You knew Jason Todd better than anyone. You knew he was a tough, ruthless crime lord on the outside, but on the inside—especially when it came to you—he was a deeply protective, fiercely devoted sap who couldn't bear the thought of you feeling hurt, sad, or insecure.
If playing nice wasn't going to break him, psychological manipulation was.
You sat down on the couch in the main living room, intentionally slumping your shoulders. You let out a quiet, heavy, miserable sigh, dropping your head into your hands.
Jason was standing near the bookshelf, pretending to read a novel, but his eyes were darting toward you every three seconds. The moment he heard your mournful sigh, his body went rigid.
"Something wrong?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice was laced with immediate, low-level anxiety.
You didn't look up. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs, making yourself look as small and vulnerable as humanly possible.
"I feel sad, Jay," you murmured, your voice small, flat, and hollow.
Jason’s hands tightened on the book so hard the leather spine creaked. "Sad? Why? Did something happen? Who do I need to shoot?"
"No one," you sniffled quietly, letting out another shuddering breath. "I just... I just feel like I wanna be understood."
Jason’s left eye twitched. He took two step toward the couch, stopping dead at the ten-inch boundary. His breath was coming in short, shallow puffs. You could practically hear his internal organs screaming. He wanted to throw the book across the room, drop to his knees, pull you into his lap, and kiss your forehead until you felt better.
"Understood?" he echoed, his voice strained to the absolute breaking point. "Sweetheart, I understand you. I get you. Talk to me."
"No, you don't," you whispered, turning your head away, dropping your chin to your knees so your eyes looked glossy and sad. "I just... I feel so unloved today."
Jason dropped the book onto the floor.
His eyes were completely blown out, filled with a sudden, overwhelming, visceral panic. "Unloved?! What the hell are you talking about?! I love you! I literally love you more than life itself, you know that!"
He took a frantic step closer, his hands hovering in mid-air just inches from your shoulders.
"I don't know..." you whimpered softly, pulling out the absolute big guns, your voice trailing off into a pitiful murmur. "I don't feel pretty today, Jay. Am I ugly? Is that why no one loves me?"
Jason looked like he had just been stabbed through the heart
"Ugly?!" he roared quietly, his voice cracking with pure horror. "Are you insane?! You're the most beautiful person on the entire planet! Who put that garbage in your head?! I'll kill them! I promise i will. I’ll even torture them if you want. I will literally track them down and murder them!"
"I just feel so gross," you whimpered, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes, doing your absolute best to pout. "Like... I mean, look at me..."
He slowly began to sink to his knees in front of you, his face twisted in deep, genuine concern.
"Baby, please," Jason pleaded softly, his voice trembling as he reached his hands out, hovering barely half an inch from your face. "Don't say that. Look at me. Please look at me. You're stunning. You're perfect. I'm right here. I'm right here, baby, just..."
You let out a tiny, shuddering breath, a single tear spilling over your cheek—
And then, just as Jason was about to lose it completely, throw his arms around you, and cave...
A tiny, microscopic, triumphant little smirk peeked through the corner of your trembling lips.
His brain processed the smirk in half a second. The realization hit him like a lightning bolt.
The concern drained from his face, replaced instantly by an expression of pure, unbridled, disbelief.
"You..." Jason whispered, his voice dropping into a deadly rumble. "You little—”
You immediately dropped the sad act, breaking into a bright, wicked laugh as you leaned back onto the couch. "Damn it! I almost had you!"
"You were faking?!" Jason practically yelled, standing up so fast his chair wobbled. He pointed a shaking finger at you, his eye twitching furiously once more. "You used psychological warfare on me! You pretended to feel ugly! You knew that would hit my weak spot! You almost gave me a heart attack!"
"All's fair in love and war, Todd!" you laughed, crossing your arms smugly. "You almost caved!"
"Almost doesn't count!" Jason shouted, pacing back and forth across the rug, keeping his ten-inch distance while glaring at you like you were a criminal mastermind. "That was evil! That was pure evil! You are a terrible person! And I am never letting you pay for dinner now! Never!"
If jason was bad one day one, it was nothing compared to day two.
The combination of zero sleep, the agonizing lack of physical contact, and the sheer mental exhaustion of resisting your psychological traps had pushed him over the edge.
He was an absolute, terrifying asshole to literally everyone who dared exist in his vicinity.
When Damian walked past the living room and made a snide remark about Jason looking like a defeated stray dog, Jason didn't even argue—he just pulled a batarang out of his pocket and threw it so close to Damian's head it embedded itself two inches deep into the doorframe right next to his ear.
When Roy tried to ask him a normal question about a case, Jason threatened to break all ten of his fingers and feed them to the sewer rats.
The only exception to his rage was you.
Toward you, Jason was agonizingly gentle, absurdly attentive, and sickeningly polite—which somehow made the whole situation ten times scarier.
"Do you need more tea, sweetheart?" Jason would ask softly, standing exactly ten inches away, his voice dripping with pure tenderness, his eyes soft and loving.
"I'm good, Jay, thank you," you'd reply.
"Okay, beautiful. Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all," he’d murmur sweetly.
Then, the second Steph walked into the room, breathing, Jason’s head would snap around, his face morphing into a terrifying mask of rage. "If you make one more noise in this room, Brown, I will throw you off the roof of Gotham General."
You were sitting on the edge of the kitchen island, kicking your legs softly, watching Jason aggressively aggressively sanitize the counter five feet away from you. He looked like he was one minor inconvenience away from starting a riot.
Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your pocket.
You pulled it out and unlocked the screen. It was a text string from Dick.
Dick: PLEASE.
Dick: I am begging you, on my hands and knees, cave.
Dick: please please please
Dick: He threatened to burn down the Batcave.
Dick: He is losing his absolute mind. End the bet.
Dick: WE ARE DYING OUT HERE. HE IS GOING TO KILL US ALL.
You bit your lip, holding back a laugh, and looked up from your screen.
Jason was standing near the sink, gripping the edge of the marble counter so hard his knuckles were snow-white. He was staring at you. His dark eyes were filled with a desperate, starved, exhausted hunger. He looked like a man dying in the desert staring at an glass of water, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, looking completely defeated, miserable, and utterly desperate.
He looked so pitiful, so thoroughly broken by his own stubborn pride, that your heart melted a little.
You let out a soft, defeated huff of laughter, tossing your phone onto the counter behind you.
"Alright, Jay," you sighed, taking a deliberate step forward and opening your arms wide. "I cave. You win."
You didn't even get to finish the last word.
The moment the words 'I cave' left your mouth, Jason's reaction time was terrifying.
He crossed the distance between you in a blur of movement, practically tackling you backwards onto the kitchen island.
His heavy, broad arms wrapped around you with a suffocating, desperate tightness, pulling you so close there wasn't a single millimeter of air left between your bodies. He buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, letting out a long, deep, shuddering groan of relief.
"Thank God," he gasped against your skin, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it bordering on bruising, anchoring himself to you as if he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go. "Jesus fucking Christ. Never doing that again. Ever."
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his massive shoulders, burying your hands in his soft, messy dark hair and massaging his scalp softly. "You were going insane, Todd."
"I was dying," he corrected aggressively, his voice muffled in your shoulder. "I was literally dying. My brain was melting."
He pulled back just enough to look down at you. His eyes were still tired, his eye still had a tiny lingering twitch, but the murderous rage was completely gone, replaced by a warm, smitten, completely victorious smirk.
"Damn right I win," Jason murmured, his thumb coming up to trace your lower lip gently. "You fought dirty with that sad act, sweetheart, but my willpower is legendary."
"You looked like you were going to cry when I said I felt ugly," you pointed out playfully.
"Shut up," Jason grunted, though a dark flush crept up his neck. "I was worried about you."
"Now," Jason growled softly, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he kissed the tip of your nose. "Get your shoes on, sweetheart."
"Where are we going?" you asked, smiling up at him.
"Out," Jason smirked, wrapping his hand firmly around yours and tugging you toward the front door, making sure to squeeze your fingers extra tight just because he finally could. "To the most expensive steakhouse in Gotham. And I am paying."
a/n i keep raising my own standards and then wondering why im single…
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