Do Things That Make You Smile

[whiskeymeaway92]

Never thought I would need one of these because I really just write the fics I want to read and can’t find. If I feel like maybe someone else would want to read it,I post it so…here they all are. Absolutely nothing is edited 🤷🏻‍♀️…enjoy

⛅️ Fluff

🌧️ Angst

🌦️Angst with fluff

🌩️ Smut

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Jason Todd

🌧️ Haunted

🌧️ Back Off

🌦️ Everyday Dangers

⛅️ Sneezes

⛅️ Detour

Kevin Atwater

🌦️ Protective

[cherryysunshine]

Muscle Memory

Pairing: Jason Todd/F!Reader

Word Count: 10.6k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: exes to lovers, Jason Todd’s guilt complex and self-worth issues, references to Jason’s death and resurrection, references to Red Hood’s violent past, threats/stalking, canon-typical violence, injuries, blood, guns, angst, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Summary: Jason disappeared from your life because he thought loving you from a distance was the safest thing he could offer.

Months later, someone else decides your connection to Jason Todd makes you an easy way to get to Bruce Wayne, and Jason is forced to confront exactly what his absence protected you from.

Author’s Note: written for @sentryfiles’ request for my 1k celebration!

my preferred look for Red Hood Jason is the mask + cloth hood combo (see picture above), so unless otherwise stated, all my Red Hood Jasons use that lol

The envelope was waiting against your door when you left for work.

You noticed it before your next step carried you over it, plain and unmarked against the threshold. There was nothing written across the front, nothing stamped or addressed, and the flap was sealed. For half a second, you assumed one of your neighbors had dropped something while fumbling with their mail.

Then you picked it up.

There was no return address or indication of who had left it there. You tore open the flap and slid the contents into your hand, and the first photograph made you stop.

You were standing outside the grocery store three blocks from your apartment, canvas bag hanging from one shoulder while you looked down at your phone. The picture had been taken from across the street. You recognized the jacket you’d worn Tuesday and the bouquet of cheap flowers tucked beneath your arm, bought because they’d been marked down near closing and your kitchen had felt particularly empty that night.

Five more recent photographs followed, showing you leaving work, waiting for the train, carrying laundry downstairs, unlocking your apartment, and sitting beside the window of a restaurant where you’d eaten dinner with a friend two weeks ago. They were mundane moments made ugly by the knowledge that someone had been standing far enough away to watch without being noticed.

The seventh photograph was older.

You were dressed for some Wayne Foundation charity event you’d attended with Jason nearly a year ago, long before you learned why he disappeared at strange hours and came home with bruises he never adequately explained. His hand rested against the small of your back, his head inclined toward yours while you laughed at something outside the frame.

Someone had drawn a red circle around you.

A folded piece of paper sat beneath the photographs.

BRUCE WAYNE CARES ABOUT HIS FAMILY. LET’S SEE HOW FAR THAT EXTENDS.

There was a number beneath it, followed by instructions to wait for a call.

You stood there in the hallway long enough that the automatic light above you shut off.

For several months after Jason disappeared, you’d imagined emergencies that might force you to call him. Your mind had manufactured increasingly ridiculous scenarios in the worst hours of the night, when exhaustion eroded your common sense and his absence became something physical pressing against your ribs. A break-in, a fire, some Gotham disaster that left half the city inaccessible. You’d imagined his name glowing on your screen and wondered whether anger or longing would win.

Eventually, you deleted his number.

You hadn’t forgotten it.

You gathered the envelope and photographs, went back inside, locked every bolt, and called Dick Grayson instead.

He answered before the second ring. “Hey.”

The easy warmth in his voice nearly undid you. You hadn’t spoken to Dick since before Jason disappeared. There hadn’t been a dramatic falling-out with the rest of the family because you’d never been close enough to them for one to happen, but after Jason stopped answering your messages, maintaining relationships with his brothers had felt too much like refusing to understand the message.

“Dick.”

A brief silence followed. Your voice must have given something away because when he spoke again, the warmth was gone.

“What happened?”

You looked through the peephole despite knowing there wouldn’t be anyone there. “Someone left something outside my apartment.”

“What kind of something?”

“Pictures.”

Another pause, shorter this time. “Of you?”

“Yes.”

“Recent?”

You looked toward the kitchen counter where you’d spread everything out.

“Yes.”

Dick’s voice became frighteningly calm. “Don’t touch anything else. Is your door locked?”

“All three locks.”

“Windows?”

“Locked.”

“Good. Stay inside. I’m coming to you.”

You swallowed. “Dick.”

“Yeah?”

Your gaze settled on the old photograph of you and Jason.

“Don’t call Jason.”

The silence on the other end lasted long enough to make your stomach tighten.

“I mean it.”

“I heard you.”

“I called you.”

“I know.”

There were too many things inside those two words for you to sort through.

You closed your eyes. “He doesn’t want to hear from me.”

Dick went very quiet.

When he spoke again, his voice had changed. “I’ll be there soon.”

The call ended before you could ask what that meant.

You spent the next twenty-three minutes pacing between your living room and kitchen. Work received a vaguely worded email about an emergency. Your friend received a cancellation without explanation. Every sound in the hallway stopped you in place, and by the time someone finally knocked, your heart was beating hard enough to make your fingers numb.

You looked through the peephole.

Dick stood directly outside.

Jason stood behind him.

For one disorienting second, the hallway seemed to narrow around the sight of him.

Seven months had changed almost nothing. His hair was slightly longer than you remembered, the white streak falling forward instead of being pushed back. A dark jacket stretched across shoulders you knew too well, and his hands were empty at his sides. There was no mask, hood, or armor, nothing that would identify him as anything other than the man who had once left a toothbrush beside yours and learned which takeout order to place when you’d had a terrible day.

He looked tired.

You hated yourself for noticing.

You opened the door just far enough for Dick to see your face.

“I told you not to call him.”

“I didn’t.”

Your eyes moved to Jason.

His jaw tightened.

Dick lifted one shoulder. “I went and got him.”

“You dragged me out of my apartment,” Jason said.

“You were being difficult.”

“You threatened to break my door.”

The familiar rhythm between them should have been comforting. Instead, it made you acutely aware of how much time had passed while Jason’s life continued somewhere you couldn’t see.

You opened the door wider.

Jason didn’t move.

Dick stepped inside, then looked back when he realized his brother remained in the hallway. Whatever passed silently between them ended with Jason’s mouth flattening before he crossed the threshold.

You closed the door behind him.

It was the first time Jason had been inside your apartment since the last night he slept beside you, and the changes registered immediately.

His attention moved over the room in quick, involuntary pieces: the different rug beneath your coffee table, the armchair where his battered leather chair used to sit, new artwork over the television, the bookshelf pushed against another wall. His eyes stopped briefly on the kitchen.

You’d rearranged that too.

Something flickered across his face and disappeared.

Dick pulled on a pair of gloves and moved to the kitchen table to examine the envelope and photographs while Jason remained several feet inside the apartment, holding himself with an unnatural stillness.

“You can sit down,” you said.

“I’m good.”

Of course he was.

You looked away first.

Dick spread the envelope and photographs across the kitchen table while Jason approached, and the moment he saw them, whatever awkwardness had held him rigid disappeared beneath something colder.

Red Hood wasn’t visible in his clothing, but you saw him anyway.

Jason pulled on a pair of gloves, then lifted the photograph taken outside your workplace by one corner. “When was this?”

“Last Thursday.”

He indicated another. “This one?”

“Tuesday.”

His eyes moved between the images. “Anything unusual lately? Same car on your block more than once, someone asking questions, deliveries you weren’t expecting?”

“I didn’t know I was being followed.”

“I didn’t ask if you knew.”

His tone was sharper than it needed to be.

You stared at him.

The sharpness left Jason’s face almost immediately. “Sorry.”

Dick glanced between you and wisely said nothing.

You looked at the photographs again. “A man asked whether I lived in the building about a week ago. I thought he was looking for someone.”

“What did he look like?”

You described what you remembered: ordinary clothes, baseball cap, maybe thirty-five, average height. You hadn’t paid enough attention because Gotham trained people to ignore strangers whenever possible.

Jason listened without interrupting. When you finished, he tapped the old photograph from the gala.

“They don’t know.”

You understood immediately. “About you.”

“They know Jason Todd.”

Dick nodded. “Looks like it’s about money.”

The sick pressure beneath your ribs loosened slightly, although the distinction didn’t make you feel particularly safe.

Jason studied the note. “They see somebody who dated Bruce Wayne’s son, isn’t living behind security, doesn’t have a driver, and doesn’t have private protection. They think you’re easy leverage.”

“They’re right about most of that.”

His eyes lifted sharply.

You regretted the words when you saw what they did to him.

Jason lowered the paper. “This is because of me.”

Dick exhaled. “Jay.”

“I’m the connection.”

“To Bruce,” you said. “Not Red Hood.”

Jason looked at you as though that were supposed to help.

You knew that look. You’d seen versions of it during the last weeks you were together, after the night he finally told you the truth.

Jason Todd had always been capable of turning guilt into mathematics. He collected every mistake, every failure, every person he’d hurt, then arranged them into an equation whose answer inevitably proved he was the problem.

Months of distance hadn’t changed that.

“This is exactly what I was trying to keep away from you.”

The anger arrived so quickly that fear barely had time to get out of its way.

“You cannot be serious.”

His brow furrowed.

“You disappear for seven months, someone decides to threaten me because I once dated Bruce Wayne’s son, and somehow this proves leaving me was the right decision?”

Jason’s shoulders tightened. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

“I said this is what I was trying to prevent.”

“And you did a fantastic job.”

Dick quietly gathered the photographs.

Jason flinched.

The satisfaction you might once have expected from hurting him never came. You were too angry to enjoy it and too familiar with Jason to miss how easily your words found somewhere he was already bleeding.

Dick straightened. “I’m going downstairs to call this in.”

Jason turned. “Dick.”

“I’m going downstairs.”

“Richard.”

His brother looked at him.

“You’re not leaving me here.”

Dick’s expression was almost serene. “Yes, I am.”

“You dragged me here.”

“And now you’re here.”

Jason stared at him.

Dick nodded between the two of you. “You clearly have some things to discuss.”

“Dick—” you started at the same time Jason said, “Absolutely not.”

Dick ignored both of you. He took the evidence, paused beside you long enough to squeeze your shoulder, and headed for the door.

“I’ll be right downstairs.”

Then he looked directly at Jason.

“Try not to disappear.”

The door shut behind him.

Jason stared at it.

You almost laughed, but the sound caught painfully somewhere beneath your sternum.

He turned back toward you. “I didn’t tell him.”

You frowned. “Tell him what?”

Jason’s gaze dropped. “That I just stopped speaking to you.”

Your throat tightened.

Apparently Dick hadn’t known.

You had spent seven months imagining Jason explaining the breakup to his family. You’d pictured yourself reduced to an uncomfortable subject at dinner, someone Jason had dated once and didn’t anymore. You’d wondered whether Dick knew why it ended, whether Alfred did, whether they’d quietly agreed Jason was better off.

“What did you tell them?”

“That it ended.”

A laugh escaped you then, brittle and humorless. “Did it? Because I don’t remember that conversation.”

“I know.”

“You never broke up with me. You stopped coming over, stopped answering, canceled dinner twice, and then ignored every message I sent you until I finally got embarrassed enough to stop sending them.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to keep saying that.”

His mouth closed.

You wrapped your arms more tightly around yourself. “When did you decide we were over?”

Something shifted in Jason’s face, slight enough that you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well.

You had known him.

Maybe that was the problem.

“I didn’t.”

Your anger stumbled. “What?”

“I didn’t decide that.”

“Then what exactly did you decide?”

“That I needed to stay away from you.”

The answer was so quietly delivered that for a moment you could only stare.

Jason looked exhausted beneath the weight of it. “I thought it would be easier if I stopped before—”

“Before what?”

His gaze moved toward the window.

“Before you figured it out.”

You waited, but he didn’t continue.

“Figured what out?”

His silence answered before he did.

“That you were better off.”

Something inside you went cold.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Jason looked at you.

Seven months ago, you might have crossed the room at the sight of his expression. Your body still remembered the impulse. Your hands remembered how his face fit between them, how easily his forehead lowered toward yours when exhaustion finally overcame whatever stubbornness kept him upright.

You stayed where you were.

“I need you somewhere safer tonight,” he said.

The change of subject was so obvious you nearly snapped at him again, but Jason continued before you could.

“The manor’s secure. Alfred’s there, and Dick and I can work from the Cave. You’d have access to us the entire time.”

“You’re telling me to go to Wayne Manor.”

“I’m asking.”

The correction stopped you.

Jason glanced toward the door, then back at you. “I’d rather you were there. If you don’t want that, we’ll find somewhere else.”

There was strain in every word, as though asking instead of instructing required active effort.

You hated that you noticed that too. “What happens once I’m there?”

“We figure out who they are.”

“And I sit in a room while everyone refuses to tell me anything?”

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

Jason reached into his jacket and removed a small communications unit. “I’ll give you access to the main channel.”

You stared at it. “So I’ll know what’s happening?”

“Yeah. Bruce already knows, and the others are being looped in in case we need them. Dick and I will be active on the channel while we’re out, and Alfred will be monitoring from the Cave. If we have to split communications, he’ll keep you updated.”

“You’re okay with that?”

Jason’s thumb moved once across the edge of the device.

“You’re part of this.”

There were a hundred things you could have said.

You took the comm instead.

“All right.”

Jason nodded, and the relief on his face hurt more than it had any right to.

Wayne Manor looked exactly as intimidating as you remembered.

Jason drove because Dick had already left to follow up on whatever he’d gotten from the photographs. The ride passed mostly in silence, although this silence felt different from the ones that had ended your relationship. When his phone vibrated, he glanced at the screen and told you it was Dick before answering through the car. A few minutes later, he gave you the short version of what Dick had found, without you having to ask.

None of it should have felt significant, but it did.

Alfred opened the manor door before either of you reached it. You had met him four times while dating Jason and liked him immediately, which had made losing him alongside Jason an unexpectedly sharp part of the aftermath.

His composure slipped when he saw you. “My dear.”

“Hi, Alfred.”

He stepped forward and hugged you, and the warmth of it made your eyes sting.

Jason looked away.

Alfred released you after a moment and held your shoulders long enough to inspect you. “You are unharmed?”

“I’m fine.”

“Physically,” Jason said.

You turned.

He seemed to realize too late that he’d spoken.

Alfred’s gaze shifted between you, and his expression became unreadable. “I see.”

Jason grimaced. “Don’t.”

“I haven’t said anything, Master Jason.”

“You’re doing the face.”

“I have only one.”

You would have laughed months ago.

This time, your mouth merely twitched.

Jason noticed anyway, which somehow made it worse.

Alfred brought you into the kitchen while Jason went downstairs to change. Tea appeared in front of you, followed by food despite your insistence that you weren’t hungry. You ate because Alfred looked capable of making refusal more exhausting than compliance.

When Jason returned, he was dressed as Red Hood.

He carried the mask in one hand only long enough to check the fastening before securing it over his face and pulling the cloth hood over his head.

You had seen Red Hood countless times before learning who he was. Everyone in Gotham had.

You remembered the early stories, when he’d appeared as something closer to a crime lord than a vigilante, leaving bodies and broken men behind him while Batman chased him across the city. The stories changed over the years. Red Hood remained violent and still crossed lines Batman wouldn’t, but the fear surrounding his name shifted direction. People in Crime Alley talked about him differently now. Criminals feared him far more than the people they preyed upon did.

Jason had managed to make all of that sound incidental when he told you the truth.

The night of his confession came back in fractured pieces: Jason sitting across from you with blood drying beneath one fingernail, his hands locked together so tightly his knuckles blanched, the terrible flatness in his voice while he told you what he’d done after returning to Gotham.

He told you about the killing, the guns, the Joker, Bruce, the people he’d hurt and the rage he’d carried for so long that it had become easier to live inside than grief. He told you about waking in a coffin and clawing his way through the earth, about pieces of memory that returned wrong and anger that had once seemed capable of swallowing everything else.

You’d known Red Hood protected people by then.

When you said as much, Jason looked at you and said, “Sometimes,” as if everything good he’d done had been an incidental side effect of everything he considered unforgivable.

You’d asked for time, not because you intended to leave, but because you needed to process the fact that the man sleeping in your bed had died before you met him. You needed to understand that every scar you’d touched belonged to a history significantly larger and uglier than you’d known.

By the time you were ready to talk, Jason had already started retreating.

You hadn’t understood it then.

Standing in Wayne Manor while Red Hood checked his weapons beside the kitchen door, you understood far more than you wanted to.

Jason looked toward you. “The comm.”

You took it from your pocket.

He showed you how to secure it and adjusted the volume when you said it was too loud. His gloved fingers hovered near your ear for half a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

“You’re on the main channel. Alfred will be monitoring from here.”

You nodded. “Where’s Bruce?”

“Working the Wayne angle. If they make contact about money, he’ll handle it.”

“And you?”

“We found the vehicle that delivered the envelope.”

“You already found it?”

“Dick found traffic-camera footage.”

Of course he had.

Jason stepped back. “You’ll hear us.”

The words settled strangely between you.

He seemed to hear it too.

Then he left.

Alfred waited until the sound of the motorcycle disappeared before sitting across from you at the kitchen table.

“He told you we broke up,” you said.

Alfred went very still.

After a moment, he folded his hands in front of him. “He informed us that your relationship had ended.”

“He stopped answering me. We never actually broke up.”

A quiet hardness entered Alfred’s expression.

“He disappeared.”

Alfred closed his eyes briefly.

You stared down at your tea. “He thought he was protecting me.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“No.”

You looked up.

Alfred’s expression softened. “It does not.”

Something in your chest loosened. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed someone who loved Jason to say that.

Alfred didn’t explain him away or tell you his intentions mattered more than the consequences. He simply sat with the uncomfortable truth.

You traced one finger along the edge of your cup. “He thinks knowing about Red Hood changed how I saw him.”

“Did it?”

“Yes, but not the way he thinks. I knew what Red Hood was before I knew it was him. Everyone does. I knew what he used to do, and I knew what he does now, but when Jason told me…”

“You heard Master Jason’s account of himself.”

The precision of the sentence made you look at him.

Alfred sighed. “I love that boy dearly, but I would not recommend relying upon him for an objective assessment of Jason Todd.”

Despite everything, you laughed.

The sound surprised you both.

Alfred smiled faintly. “He has always been particularly skilled at discounting evidence that might contradict an unfavorable conclusion.”

“You make him sound like a badly researched paper.”

“I’m afraid the comparison is not entirely unfair.”

Your smile lingered for several seconds before fading. “He told me all the worst things.”

“I suspect he believed those were the most relevant.”

“That’s the problem.”

“Yes.”

Alfred was quiet for a while before beginning, almost casually, to tell you about Jason—not Red Hood as Jason understood him, but the boy Alfred had watched arrive at the manor suspicious of every kindness because he assumed generosity contained an expiration date.

Bruce had once told Jason that several books he’d become attached to in the library were his to keep. Alfred found them hidden beneath Jason’s mattress nearly a month later and eventually learned that Jason had convinced himself Bruce must have meant he could borrow them. Even after being explicitly told otherwise, he had apparently decided hiding them was safer than risking someone noticing he’d kept something that wasn’t truly his.

Another story followed about Jason returning from patrol with a sprained wrist and spending twenty minutes insisting Bruce shouldn’t have needed to help him because Dick wouldn’t have made the same mistake.

Your chest tightened.

“He still does that.”

“I know.”

The comm crackled before Alfred could continue.

Dick’s voice came through first. “Found the vehicle.”

Jason followed. “No driver.”

The shift in Alfred was immediate. He stood and gestured for you to follow.

The Cave was colder than you remembered. You’d only seen it once while dating Jason, and then only briefly. Tonight, the enormous bank of monitors glowed across the darkness while Alfred moved between screens with practiced ease.

A map of Gotham appeared, with two markers moving near the Bowery. Alfred also opened feeds from nearby traffic cameras and the cameras built into their masks.

You sat in the chair he indicated.

Jason’s voice filled your ear. “Building looks empty from street level.”

Dick responded. “Thermal says three upstairs.”

“Back exit?”

“Covered.”

“Civilians?”

“Apartment next door has two.”

Jason went quiet for a moment before saying, “We don’t breach through the shared wall.”

Jason had told you about the doors he’d kicked in. He hadn’t spent nearly as much time talking about all the quiet calculations that came first, the ways he changed plans when someone innocent might get caught in the middle.

Alfred switched between the exterior camera and Jason’s feed as Red Hood and Nightwing disappeared into an alley.

The next several minutes unfolded through sound and blurred video: footsteps, Dick counting under his breath, Jason warning him about a camera, a door opening and then the unmistakable violence of a fight.

You’d known what he did, but knowing was different from hearing it.

There was something intimate about the comm, about every clipped breath transmitted directly into your ear. Jason sounded nothing like the man who had sat across from you months ago and described himself as if brutality were the only language he spoke.

He was controlled.

One of the men bolted through a back exit, and Jason followed him into the alley. A woman stepped through a side door carrying a trash bag at exactly the wrong moment, freezing when she saw Red Hood running toward her.

Jason stopped. “Ma’am, back inside.”

“What the fuck—”

“Inside. Lock the door.”

His voice gentled without losing its authority.

The woman obeyed, disappearing through the doorway before Jason continued the pursuit.

You looked at Alfred. 

He was already watching you.

“He didn’t tell me about this.”

Alfred’s expression softened. “He rarely does.”

A gunshot cracked through the line.

Your heart lurched. “Jason?”

The name escaped before you remembered everyone could hear you.

The silence lasted just long enough to make your stomach turn.

Then Jason answered. “I’m good.”

Dick sounded winded when he added, “He’s not shot.”

Jason muttered something you couldn’t catch while Alfred’s fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard.

A new traffic feed appeared, and you recognized the street immediately.

“Wait.”

Alfred stopped.

You leaned closer. “There.”

The camera showed a man crossing behind the abandoned van.

Your skin prickled.

“That’s him.”

“The man who spoke to you?”

“I think so. Go back.”

Alfred rewound several seconds until the man’s face appeared in profile.

“That’s him.”

Alfred opened the channel. “Master Jason.”

“I heard her.”

The man climbed into another vehicle while Alfred began tracking its route.

You remembered something else. “He had something on his shirt.”

Jason’s voice came through your ear. “What?”

“A logo. I thought it was a delivery company.”

“Can you remember it?”

You closed your eyes. The conversation had lasted less than a minute. He’d been carrying a clipboard, wearing a blue cap and gray polo.

“Three letters. Maybe CMC? The first C was curved weirdly.”

Alfred began searching.

Jason didn’t interrupt or tell you to stop involving yourself.

“Anything else?” he asked.

You concentrated. “There was a green line underneath it.”

Alfred pulled several results onto the screen.

One made your stomach drop.

“That one.”

Crown Metropolitan Couriers.

The company had gone out of business eighteen months ago, but its former distribution warehouse was still standing twenty minutes from your apartment.

Jason exhaled. “Got it.”

You stared at the moving marker representing him. “Be careful.”

The silence afterward lasted only a second.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t a promise.

You were glad.

Promises had never been the thing you needed from him.

The next hour was worse.

Jason and Dick reached the warehouse and found enough equipment inside to confirm the operation was larger than one threat. Jason’s feed swept across a wall covered in photographs. You weren’t the only target. Former employees, girlfriends, friends, assistants, and distant relatives of several wealthy Gotham families had been cataloged according to perceived vulnerability.

Then his camera stopped on your photograph.

EASY ACCESS had been written across it in red.

Jason went silent.

“Jason.”

“I’m here.”

His voice had gone flat.

You closed your eyes. “This isn’t because you’re Red Hood.”

“They picked you because of me.”

“Because I dated Jason Todd.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

Another silence followed.

You could almost feel him preparing to fold the knowledge inward, another piece of evidence for the prosecution.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

Jason didn’t respond.

Dick’s voice cut through before either of you could continue. “Movement.”

The fight happened fast. Alfred switched between their feeds while Jason and Dick moved deeper into the warehouse, issuing directions whenever one of the building schematics revealed something they couldn’t see.

Then every feed vanished. The markers disappeared from the map. Static filled your ear.

Your hands tightened around the edge of the desk. “Jason?”

Nothing.

Alfred’s expression remained composed, but his hands moved faster.

“Signal jammer.”

“How long?”

“I am working on it.”

“Jason?”

Static.

Seven months collapsed into several seconds: your unanswered messages, your phone glowing beside you at two in the morning, every excuse you’d manufactured for him before you finally understood there wouldn’t be another response.

Maybe he lost his phone. Maybe patrol went badly. Maybe he needs time.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe tomorrow.

“Jason.”

The static broke.

A sharp breath came through first.

Then his voice. “Still here.”

Your eyes closed.

Relief made your entire body ache.

“Okay.”

Jason coughed. “Jammer’s down.”

Dick’s voice followed. “We’ve got them.”

Alfred’s shoulders relaxed by less than an inch.

You stayed seated until the markers reappeared on the map.

This time, you watched them all the way back to the Manor.

Jason entered the Cave forty-three minutes later, his hood down, already taking off his mask.

You were out of your chair before he finished pulling it off.

Blood covered one side of his face. The cut above his eyebrow wasn’t deep. You could see that immediately, but blood had spread along his temple and mixed with sweat, making the injury appear worse than it was.

Jason stopped when he saw you approaching.

For a second, neither of you seemed to remember what relationship you were supposed to have.

Your hand rose automatically.

His head tilted toward your touch just as automatically.

You stopped before your fingers reached him.

Jason’s eyes dropped to your hand.

Hurt flickered across his face.

“Alfred has a first-aid kit,” you said.

“Yeah.”

You lowered your arm.

Dick came up behind him and handed Alfred a drive recovered from the warehouse. Bruce’s voice sounded over the channel, already coordinating with the police and working out the public-facing explanation that would prevent anyone from questioning why vigilantes had been involved.

The threat was finished.

You had no reason to stay anymore.

You knew it before anyone said it.

Alfred cleaned the cut while Jason insisted he was fine. Dick left to finish the handoff, and eventually Alfred dismissed both of you with the unmistakable authority of someone who had already decided the conversation happening next was none of his business.

Jason drove you home.

The apartment looked exactly as you had left it that morning, which felt strange.

You set your keys down while Jason remained near the door, and you recognized the distance immediately. His weight had already shifted backward. His hand hovered close enough to the knob that you could almost watch his body arranging itself for departure.

Something in you snapped. “So that’s it?”

Jason looked at you. “They’re in custody.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He went still.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Leaving.”

His eyes flicked toward the door. “You’re safe.”

You laughed once. “Unbelievable.”

Jason rubbed one hand over his face. “I don’t want to make this worse.”

“Walking away is how you made it worse the first time.”

His hand dropped.

You hated the hurt in his expression.

You hated that he’d earned it.

“Tell me something,” you said. “When you told me about Red Hood, what did you think I was going to do?”

Jason looked away. “Leave.”

“Did I?”

“You asked for time.”

“I found out my boyfriend had died, come back to life, become a crime lord, tried to kill multiple people, fought Batman, and had been lying to me about all of it. I thought taking a few days was pretty reasonable.”

“I know.”

“No. You decided those few days meant I was already halfway out the door.”

Jason’s mouth tightened. “You didn’t know everything.”

“There it is. You always say that like there’s going to be one final terrible thing that makes everything else irrelevant.”

“There are things I’ve done—”

“I know.”

“You know what I told you.”

“Exactly.”

He stared at you.

“You only told me the parts you thought proved you were a bad person.”

Jason’s face hardened. “I told you the truth.”

“You told me your version of it.”

“It happened.”

“I never said it didn’t.” You stepped closer, anger sharpening every word. “I want you to stop acting like the worst thing you’ve ever done is the only honest thing about you. You told me about people you killed, but you didn’t tell me how quickly you’ll abandon a chase the second an innocent person might get hurt. You told me about every line you crossed, but not all the ones you draw to keep other people safe.”

“That’s basic fucking procedure.”

“To you.”

Jason shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

Your anger sharpened.

“No, Jason. You don’t get to do that either. You don’t get to make me see you the way you see yourself.”

Something in his expression collapsed.

You kept going because if you stopped now, you might never get another chance to say it.

“You hated yourself enough for both of us, and then you decided your opinion counted more than mine. When I asked for time, you thought I was going to leave. When I came back ready to talk, you were already halfway gone. Then you kept pulling away until there was nothing left for me to hold onto.”

“I thought it was better.”

“For who?”

His silence was answer enough.

“For me, or for you?”

His eyes lifted.

You saw it then: the fear he had turned into sacrifice because sacrifice sounded nobler.

“You didn’t leave because you knew I didn’t want you,” you said. “You left because you were terrified I’d eventually decide I didn’t.”

The color drained from Jason’s face. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

“You knew me.”

The correction hurt.

You took another step. “I knew enough.”

His voice dropped. “I couldn’t stay and wait for you to start looking at me differently.”

Your breath caught.

Jason’s eyes were red now, although you knew he would rather bite through his own tongue than acknowledge it. “I thought it was only a matter of time.”

“It wasn’t happening.”

“It would’ve.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked, and Jason flinched. “You decided what I was going to feel. You decided what I could handle. You decided I’d be safer without you, and then you decided I’d eventually be happier without you. You made every decision except the one where you actually asked me.”

“I was trying not to hurt you.”

“You disappeared.”

The words came out quieter than everything before them.

Jason stopped breathing.

“You disappeared from my life and made me figure out by myself that apparently my boyfriend wasn’t my boyfriend anymore. You made me wonder what I’d done, whether I was too angry when you told me, whether I should’ve forgiven you immediately, whether asking for a few days made you think I hated you.”

“I never thought you hated me.”

“Then what did you think?”

“That you should.”

Silence filled the apartment.

You stared at him.

Jason looked away first.

Everything inside you hurt.

“You really don’t see what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“No. You decide why someone should leave you before they’ve even had the chance to decide whether they want to.”

His throat moved.

You were close enough now to see the cut Alfred had cleaned above his eyebrow.

Without thinking, you reached up.

Jason froze.

Your thumb brushed carefully beneath the injury, and he leaned into your hand so faintly you might have imagined it if you hadn’t known him so well.

Your chest tightened.

“You should’ve called me,” you whispered.

Jason’s eyes closed. “If I’d called and you’d answered, I would’ve come back.”

Your hand stopped against his face.

The admission was so quiet you almost wished you hadn’t heard it.

Jason opened his eyes. “I knew I would.”

You stared at him. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.”

“It doesn’t.”

He winced.

You started to lower your hand.

Jason caught your wrist, not tightly, just enough to stop you. The contact sent heat through you so abruptly that anger briefly lost its footing, his thumb resting against your pulse while months disappeared beneath the simple familiarity of his hand on you. He noticed. His gaze dropped to your mouth before he released you, and the loss of contact felt unbearable.

“I should go.”

You laughed softly in disbelief as his hand moved toward the door. “There you go again.”

Jason stopped. “What do you want me to do?”

The frustration in his voice was real, but you held his gaze. “Ask me.”

His brow furrowed. “Ask you what?”

“What I want.”

Jason’s mouth parted. For a long moment, he looked almost frightened before he finally asked, quieter this time, “What do you want?”

The answer should have been complicated.

Instead, your body supplied it before pride could interfere. “You.”

Jason stared at you, disbelief giving way to something painfully hopeful.

You stepped closer. “Right now.”

His breathing grew shallow.

“That doesn’t mean everything’s fixed,” you said. “It doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“I know.”

“If you say that again, I might actually hit you.”

His mouth twitched, but the almost-smile disappeared immediately.

Jason looked at you for a long time. “You still want me?”

Your chest cracked open at the disbelief in his voice.

You hated him a little for making you answer.

You hated yourself more for how easy the answer remained.

“Yes.”

Jason didn’t move, so you closed the last inch yourself and kissed him.

His breath caught against your mouth. For a moment, his hands stayed at his sides as though touching you without being explicitly invited would be another decision he had no right to make.

You answered that hesitation by catching one of his hands and placing it against your hip. The invitation broke whatever restraint had kept him motionless.

Jason kissed you back with a sudden, aching intensity, his fingers tightening through the fabric of your shirt while your other hand slipped into his hair. The familiarity hit harder than you expected. He still tilted his head the same way when you caught his lower lip between yours, still made that low sound in his throat when your nails grazed his scalp, and your body responded before seven months of anger could remind it that this was supposed to feel unfamiliar.

His free hand came up to cup the back of your neck, holding you close without directing you anywhere. When you finally broke the kiss for air, neither of you moved far enough apart to pretend it had been a mistake.

His eyes opened. “Okay?”

The question nearly destroyed you.

“Yes.”

He kissed you again, harder this time.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and Jason shuddered when your nails dragged lightly against his scalp. His mouth moved along your jaw and down your throat before stopping at the place he used to bite.

You felt his hesitation.

“Jason.”

He lifted his head, and you could see the question he still wasn’t willing to ask.

“Don’t start deciding for me now.”

Something in his expression shifted. His gaze dropped to your throat before he leaned in, giving you plenty of time to stop him, and pressed his mouth to the place he used to bite. The first kiss was careful, but when you tipped your head farther to give him room, his restraint loosened. His teeth grazed your skin, sending heat curling through your stomach as one hand slipped beneath your shirt and settled against your side, his touch growing surer when you leaned into him.

“You remember,” you whispered.

Pain crossed his face. “Everything.”

He kissed you before you could answer, and somewhere between the hallway and bedroom your shirt disappeared. Jason stopped when he reached the doorway, his hand still warm against your waist, and you knew what had caught him before you even followed his gaze.

The room had changed in all the ordinary ways a room changed when someone stopped belonging in it. New bedding covered the mattress. A different lamp sat on the nightstand. The photographs that had once included him were gone from the dresser, and the half of the closet where his clothes used to hang had long since filled with yours. His gaze flicked toward the bathroom, and you knew he was thinking about the toothbrush that hadn’t been beside yours for seven months.

You watched the realization settle across his face before he looked at you again.

“Still want me here?”

There was enough uncertainty in the question to hurt.

“Yes.”

You stepped into the bedroom, and Jason followed.

He had always touched you like he couldn’t decide whether to savor every inch or tear through whatever stood between him and your skin. Tonight, restraint lasted until your bra joined your shirt on the floor. After that, his hands moved over you with an aching familiarity, tracing your ribs and waist before settling heavily around your hips as if memory hadn’t been enough and he needed to prove to himself that you were still real beneath his palms.

Jason sank to his knees and drew your pants and underwear down together. The sight of him there after seven months of absence sent a sharp, vindictive thrill through you, immediately tangled with something much softer when he pressed his mouth to your stomach.

“You have any idea how many times I thought about this?” he murmured against your skin.

Your fingers tightened in his hair. “You could’ve reached out.”

His eyes closed for half a second. “I know.”

The answer should have cooled you.

Instead, his mouth moved lower.

Jason guided you onto the edge of the bed and spread your thighs, his hands firm enough to make your pulse jump. He looked at you once before lowering his mouth to your cunt, and whatever resentment you’d been preparing to hold onto fractured beneath the first slow drag of his tongue.

“Fuck.”

A low groan vibrated against you.

There was nothing hesitant about the way he ate you once he knew you wanted him there. He remembered exactly how you liked his tongue, how much pressure made your hips lift and which spot made your fingers twist helplessly in his hair. When he pushed two fingers inside you, he curled them with the same maddening precision you remembered, his mouth staying on your clit until your legs tightened around his shoulders.

Your body responded to him before your pride could interfere, and the ease of it hurt more than you wanted to admit. Seven months of anger, seven months of telling yourself you could forget the weight of his hands and the sound of his breathing beside you, and your cunt still knew him.

Jason looked up from between your thighs.

His hair was a mess beneath your fingers, his lips wet, his pupils blown wide enough that the green of his eyes had nearly disappeared. The hunger in his expression wasn’t new. The naked longing underneath it was.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

His fingers slowed without stopping. “Like what?”

“Like you missed me.”

Jason went still.

The anger came back hard enough to make your chest burn. “You don’t get to look at me like that when you’re the one who decided not to come back.”

The words landed exactly where you meant them to, and you regretted them almost immediately.

Jason’s gaze dropped. Instead of arguing, he turned his head and pressed a kiss high on the inside of your thigh.

“I missed you.”

Your throat tightened.

His eyes lifted to yours again. “I missed your voice. Your bed. You stealing the fucking blankets. Waking up with your knee shoved between mine because you somehow take up more room than I do.” His thumb moved slowly along your thigh. “I missed all of it.”

You couldn’t decide whether you wanted to kiss him or punch him.

Jason saved you the decision by lowering his mouth again.

This time, there was nothing careful about it.

His tongue flattened against your clit while his fingers fucked into you, and your breath broke around his name. Jason groaned as if hearing it from you again did something to him, his free hand tightening around your thigh hard enough that you knew there would be bruises tomorrow.

“Jason.”

He sucked your clit into his mouth.

Your hips jerked.

“Fuck, right there.”

He didn’t need the instruction, but something about hearing you give it seemed to unravel him further. His fingers drove into you in the rhythm he knew made your stomach tighten, and when you tried to shift away from the intensity, his arm hooked more securely around your thigh.

“Stay,” he murmured against you.

The word hit harder than it should have.

You stared down at him.

Jason seemed to realize what he’d said, but he didn’t take it back.

Then his tongue found your clit again, and you stopped being able to think.

Your orgasm built brutally fast. Jason knew it too. He always had. He kept the same pressure when your thighs began trembling instead of changing anything at the last second, his fingers curling inside you while his mouth worked your clit until pleasure snapped through you.

Your cry broke on his name.

Jason held you through it, tongue gentling without leaving you until overstimulation had you tightening your hand in his hair and pushing weakly at his shoulder.

Only then did he rise.

You caught the front of his shirt before he could straighten completely and dragged him toward you.

Jason came willingly.

You kissed him hard enough to taste yourself on his mouth, and the groan he gave you was filthy and helpless. His hands found your hips again as you pulled his shirt over his head, the fabric barely clearing his arms before your palms were moving over bare skin.

There were scars you remembered and others you didn’t.

Your fingers stopped over one along his ribs. “This is new.”

Jason glanced down. “Couple months ago.”

The words hit you strangely.

A couple months ago, he had been bleeding somewhere, and you hadn’t known. You hadn’t sat on the bathroom counter with gauze and antiseptic while he complained about your bedside manner. You hadn’t watched for signs that the wound was worse than he claimed or fallen asleep with one hand spread carefully across his stomach because you wanted proof he was still breathing.

You had been somewhere else.

His life had happened without you.

Jason looked at your face and understood immediately.

His hand covered yours over the scar. “I’m sorry.”

“For getting hurt?”

“For you not knowing.”

Your eyes burned.

You kissed him because answering would have required admitting how much that mattered.

His pants came off in the tangle that followed, and when Jason settled over you, skin finally pressed to skin, you had to close your eyes.

You remembered him too well.

The heavy warmth of his body between your thighs. The way his forearm braced beside your head so he never put all his weight on you. The scar near his collarbone that your mouth found almost without thought.

Jason buried his face against your neck and exhaled shakily.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

“So many fucking times,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes. “What?”

“I almost called you.”

Your hands tightened against his back.

“You should have.”

“I know.” His mouth brushed your throat. “Had the number pulled up. Wrote messages I didn’t send. Got halfway here once.”

That made you go still.

Jason lifted his head.

“You came here?”

“Made it three blocks away.”

“And then?”

“I turned around.”

A fresh ache opened inside your chest.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

Your hand slid between your bodies and wrapped around his cock.

Jason sucked in a sharp breath. He was painfully hard, thick and hot in your palm, and his forehead dropped against yours when you stroked him from base to tip. His hips jerked forward before he could stop them.

You did it again.

“Fuck.”

There was something satisfying about watching him lose control under your hand after months of imagining him perfectly capable of living without you. You tightened your grip and watched his jaw clench.

“Thought you were doing so well without me.”

Jason’s eyes opened, and something raw moved through them.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“You know that’s bullshit.”

You stroked him again, slower this time. “I didn’t know anything, Jason. That was kind of the problem.”

His face tightened.

You immediately wished the bitterness hadn’t followed you into bed, but Jason only caught your wrist gently and brought your hand to his mouth.

He kissed the inside of it.

“I know.”

The words sounded different this time.

Jason lowered your hand and glanced between your bodies before looking back at you.

“We should talk about this part.”

It took you a second to understand.

Then you did.

“I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

His eyes searched yours.

“Neither have I.”

“IUD is still good for another year.”

Jason’s thumb moved once over your wrist. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The tension in his shoulders eased. He reached between your thighs, gathering the wetness there before circling your clit once, and your hips twitched beneath him.

“Still this wet for me.”

The filthy satisfaction in his voice made heat rush through you.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Trying real hard not to.”

His fingers dipped lower, pushing briefly inside you again before he withdrew them.

“Jesus Christ.”

Your cheeks heated despite everything. “Jason.”

“I know.” His gaze dropped between you. “Just forgot how fucking good you feel on my fingers.”

“You said you remembered everything.”

“I do.” His eyes lifted to yours. “Doesn’t mean having you this wet around my fingers again won’t fuck me up.”

The words went through you like a current.

Jason lined himself up and rubbed the head of his cock through your wetness, catching against your clit once before settling at your entrance.

His expression sobered.

You reached up and touched his face.

“Jason.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes closed briefly.

When he pushed into you, he did it slowly. The stretch made your fingers dig into his shoulders. Seven months without him meant your body needed a moment despite everything it remembered, and Jason stopped halfway when your breath caught.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

He kissed your cheek.

“Keep going.”

Jason pushed deeper.

You felt every inch of him until his hips finally settled against yours, and then he went completely still.

His face twisted.

You touched his jaw.

“Jason.”

“Give me a second.”

Something in your chest tightened because you knew immediately that this had nothing to do with the physical sensation.

His eyes remained closed.

You stroked your thumb along his cheekbone.

“I’m here.”

Jason opened his eyes.

The grief in them almost undid you.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

He pressed a kiss to your palm before he finally moved.

Jason started slow, as if he were trying to relearn something his body had never actually forgotten. Each thrust dragged another sound out of you, and the tighter your legs drew around his hips, the harder it became for him to keep pretending he had any control left. The second you clenched around him, his composure cracked. His hips drove deeper, rougher, until every thrust was dragging against the places he still remembered well enough to make you shake. 

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “I missed feeling you like this.”

Your throat tightened. “So did I.”

Jason kissed you hard.

His rhythm built gradually, each thrust growing heavier until the bed shifted beneath you. He kept his body close, one hand hooking beneath your thigh to open you wider while he fucked into you with a familiarity that bordered on cruel.

Your body knew exactly what to do with him as your hips rose to meet his.

Jason groaned. “Yeah. Fuck, just like that.”

His forehead pressed against yours.

“Missed how you take me.”

The words sent heat crawling over your skin.

“Jason.”

“Missed watching you get all fucking needy when I get deep enough.”

He thrust harder to prove it, and the sound that left you wiped the last of the restraint from his face.

“Yeah, like that.”

You grabbed his shoulders.

“Don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

You glared at him through the haze building behind your eyes.

Jason’s mouth brushed yours. “Tell me.”

You hated that your cunt tightened around him when his voice dropped like that.

“Don’t stop.”

His eyes shut.

“Fuck.”

Jason drove into you harder. He kissed you constantly between rougher thrusts, mouth moving over yours, your jaw, your throat, as though he couldn’t bear to have you beneath him without touching every part he could reach. The combination was almost unbearable: his cock fucking you hard enough to make your thighs shake while his mouth treated you like something precious.

You dragged your nails down his back.

Jason groaned and snapped his hips into you. “Fuck, baby.”

He froze.

The word hung between you.

You felt the exact second he realized he’d said it. His body started to retreat almost automatically.

You locked your legs around his hips. “Don’t.”

His eyes searched yours. “You don’t have to let me—”

“Jason.”

Your fingers tightened at the back of his neck.

“Don’t take it back.”

Whatever hesitation remained finally gave way as he kissed you.

Jason’s next thrust was hard enough to push a gasp from your mouth, and his hand slid between your bodies to find your clit.

“Baby,” he whispered again, like he was testing whether he was really allowed to have the word. “Fuck, I missed you.”

Your throat tightened.

His thumb circled your clit.

“I missed this pussy. Missed you squeezing me like this.” His breath hitched when you clenched around him. “Yeah, fuck. That. You always do that when I talk to you like this.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Probably.”

“You disappeared for seven months.”

Pain briefly broke through the pleasure in his expression.

“I know.”

“And you still remember what makes me come.”

Jason’s eyes locked on yours.

“I told you. I remember everything.”

His thumb pressed harder.

“You get quieter when you’re close. Start holding your breath like you think I won’t notice.”

Your breath caught immediately.

Jason’s mouth curved. “Like that.”

“Shut up.”

“You gonna come for me?”

The question should have annoyed you.

Instead, your cunt clenched around him.

Jason swore. “Fuck, baby. Do that again.”

You couldn’t have stopped yourself if you tried.

His thrusts grew rougher, his hand never leaving your clit, and suddenly you were right at the edge with no room left to hide from it.

Jason felt it; of course he did.

“Come on,” he whispered against your mouth. “I’ve got you.”

Your eyes burned.

He kissed you.

“Let me have it.”

Your orgasm tore through you.

Jason’s name broke apart in your throat as your body tightened around him, your thighs clamping around his hips while he fucked you through it. His breath came apart against your mouth when your cunt kept pulsing around him.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

His rhythm faltered.

You caught his face between your hands.

“Jason.”

He looked at you, almost wrecked. “Where?”

“Inside.”

His eyes shut.

“Fuck.”

“Jason.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He buried himself as deeply as he could and came with a harsh groan against your mouth, his cock pulsing inside you while his entire body went rigid over yours. You felt the warmth of him filling you, and Jason shook once before dropping his face against your shoulder.

His breathing was ragged.

Your fingers slid into his hair.

Neither of you spoke.

For several minutes there was only the cooling sweat between your bodies, the slowing beat of Jason’s heart against your chest, and the uncomfortable knowledge that sex had changed absolutely nothing about the seven months behind you.

It had only proved that wanting each other had never been the problem.

Eventually, Jason shifted his weight carefully away from you. The loss of him left you aching in more ways than one, but before you could say anything, he went into the bathroom and returned with a warm towel.

He cleaned you with a tenderness that felt almost out of place after the way he’d just fucked you, one hand resting against your knee while the other moved carefully between your thighs. Neither of you commented on the mess he’d made or the way your body still occasionally trembled beneath his touch.

When he finished, you reached toward the chair beside your dresser and pulled on an oversized sleep shirt.

Jason went still.

You looked down.

It was one of his.

You had stolen it years ago and somehow kept wearing it long after everything else belonging to him had been boxed up, moved, or shoved somewhere you didn’t have to look at it.

“I never gave this back.”

“I noticed.”

You almost apologized.

Then you remembered he had abandoned half his possessions by disappearing from your life without a conversation.

“You’re not getting it now.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

There was no teasing in his voice, which made it worse.

Jason remained beside the bed instead of automatically climbing in. Months ago, he would have known the answer without asking, but months ago he had still belonged here.

You lifted the blanket.

Jason joined you.

His arm settled around your waist only after you moved close enough to make it clear you wanted him there, and your body fit against his with the same terrible ease it always had. Seven months apart had changed almost everything except this. You could have closed your eyes and pretended the last seven months had been nothing more than a particularly bad dream.

Jason’s thumb moved slowly along your side beneath the hem of his old shirt, and your breathing gradually matched his.

For several minutes, neither of you spoke.

Then you asked, “What happens when you get scared again?”

Jason’s hand stopped.

You stared at the wall. “Because you will. Something else is going to happen eventually. Someone will get hurt, or you’ll think I’m in danger, or you’ll decide I deserve something better.”

Jason stayed quiet long enough for your chest to tighten.

“That’s what I don’t know,” you said.

He shifted behind you, and you turned until you could see his face.

“You can stay, Jason. You always could.” Your throat tightened. “I don’t know if you will.”

Jason looked down between you.

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

He was quiet for so long that you wondered whether he had an answer.

Finally, he said, “I’m probably going to want to run. I’m probably going to convince myself I’m right, because I’m really fucking good at doing that.”

“That’s comforting.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

His eyes lifted, and something almost like a smile touched your mouth at the reversal.

“But I can tell you.”

You waited.

“When I’m scared. When I think I’m going to fuck everything up, or I start thinking you should leave, or I convince myself I know what you need better than you do.” His fingers tightened slightly against your waist. “I can tell you instead of deciding for you.”

“And then?”

“Then you get to decide.”

The words lodged painfully beneath your ribs. That choice was what he had taken from you the first time.

You reached up and touched his face, and Jason leaned into your palm.

“I’m still angry with you.”

“I know.”

“You hurt me.”

His jaw tightened. “I know.”

“I don’t trust you not to do it again yet.”

Pain tightened his expression, but he didn’t look away. “Okay.”

You swallowed. “I still love you.”

Jason’s eyes closed.

His forehead lowered to yours, and the breath that left him shook.

“I love you too.”

“You don’t get to disappear because of that.”

“I—”

He stopped himself.

You raised an eyebrow.

Jason exhaled. “I heard you.”

“What do you want?” you asked.

Jason became very still.

For someone who had spent so much of his life deciding what everyone else deserved, you wondered how often anyone bothered asking what he wanted.

“I want to try again.”

Your heart tightened. “Actually try?”

“Yeah.”

“That means talking to me.”

“I can do that.”

“It means the next time you decide I’d be happier with someone safer, you tell me you’re thinking it instead of disappearing.”

Jason’s expression tightened.

“I can do that too.”

You traced the edge of his eyebrow, carefully avoiding the cut.

“I can’t do this twice.”

He sobered completely.

This time he didn’t tell you he knew.

His hand covered yours.

“I heard you.”

You took a breath.

“Then we try.”

Jason looked at you with such cautious hope that your chest tightened.

“We try?”

“We try.”

His eyes closed.

He kissed your palm and then your wrist before pulling you against him, holding you tightly enough that you could feel his heart pounding through both of you.

You let him.

Much later, when sleep had begun dragging at the edges of your awareness, Jason shifted carefully beneath the blankets.

Your body tensed before you could stop it.

His movement halted immediately.

“I’m getting water.”

You closed your eyes.

The reaction embarrassed you.

Jason’s hand settled against your hip. “You want anything?”

“Just water.”

“Okay.”

He climbed out of bed, leaving the bedroom door open behind him. You listened to his footsteps move through the apartment, followed by the kitchen cabinet opening and the sound of running water.

Then silence.

For one terrible second, the silence dragged you back to another absence.

Footsteps crossed the apartment again. Jason came back carrying two glasses and handed you one.

You pushed yourself up enough to take it. “Thanks.”

He placed his own glass beside the bed and climbed beneath the blankets again.

He told you where he was going, and then he came back. It was painfully small compared to everything that still needed fixing, but it mattered anyway.

You curled against him, and Jason’s arm wrapped around you.

Morning arrived slowly, gray light filtering through the curtains and settling across the room. You woke with your cheek against a warm chest and spent several disoriented seconds trying to remember why.

Jason was asleep beside you.

Still here.

His face looked younger without all the tension he carried while awake, one hand resting loosely against your back with his fingers curled into the fabric of the shirt you’d stolen from him years ago and never managed to throw away.

You studied him.

Seven months didn’t disappear because he spent one night in your bed, and neither did the damage. There would be conversations you needed to have, anger that returned at inconvenient moments, and nights when Jason’s instincts screamed at him to put distance between himself and everyone he loved. There would probably be moments when your own instincts told you not to believe him. Seven months had taught both of you habits that one night together couldn’t undo.

Jason stirred.

His eyes opened slowly, and for one brief second, panic flashed across his face before he saw you and relaxed.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

His gaze moved toward the window before returning to you.

“I have patrol tonight. Probably around nine.”

You blinked.

Jason swallowed. “I’ll text you before I go.”

Your chest tightened. “All right.”

“And when I’m done.”

You stared at him long enough that he shifted slightly beneath the attention.

“You said talking.”

“I did.”

“I’m trying.”

You reached over and touched the white streak falling across his forehead.

“I know.”

Jason turned his face into your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. He stayed there for another moment, eyes closed, before drawing you closer again.

That night, your phone buzzed a little before nine. Heading out.

You stared at the message longer than necessary before typing back. Be careful.

The reply came almost immediately. I will.

Hours later, another vibration woke you. Done for the night.

Then, before you could answer, another message: Can I come over?

Your throat tightened.

Seven months ago, Jason had decided what was best for you and disappeared before you could tell him otherwise.

This time, he asked what you wanted. He asked to stay, and then he waited for you to decide.

Yes.

credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider ❤️💛

Jason Todd Taglist: @twentytomidnight, @ferbiederbie, @stilestotherescue, @lackofsins, @rain-the-ramblr, @saaucie, @dutifullyshamelesstrash, @athenxt, @seamlessepiphany, @the-ancient-grimm, @fwrdsl4sh, @splodencible, @allaboutirem0, @hyyperfixationstation, @chronicenby

[merakiletters]

ACQUAINTED ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⸝⸝ jason todd

⎯ ⟢ your ta refuses to give you a second chance for your midterm, so you resort to the oldest trick in the book.

ft. fem reader / teacher’s assistant jason todd

content. 18+ ,, wc. 5.7k

“—just give it another read and i’ll be out of your face” you plead, jogging to keep up with his long strides.

“should’ve studied more”

jason todd had completely violated your midterm essay with red ink, leaving notes like “intro is too fluffy”, “less explanation, more reasoning”, and “weak connections”

you really thought having a younger ta would be more convenient. someone close in age who understood the chaotic balance of a college student’s life, the work hard, play hard lifestyle.

unfortunately, he seemed to have skipped the play hard part entirely and dedicated his entire life to taking his job too seriously.

“the thing is, i did study. i studied so hard my brain almost started leaking out of my ears” you huff, practically speed walking just to stay in his pace.

“better luck next time, then” he deadpans, turning sharply down a hallway.

you refuse to leave it alone just yet. “you don’t understand, this grade is holding my whole average down. if you just look really hard at my essay again, you’ll realize it’s actually a masterpiece and change it to a b plus or an a minus. i'm okay with either”

around you, students drift past. entirely ignoring your spectacle, you two were just two more students anyway.

“i know it was a piece of work. just not a very good one,” he mutters, reaching for the heavy glass exit door. “you get what you earn, not what you think you deserve”

in a desperate movement, you catch him by the forearm, the one not currently holding the door open. jason halts, turning back to look down at you with a gaze so intensely unamused you thought about dropping this whole thing.

your eyes briefly drop to the fact that his forearm is surprisingly solid under your fingers. you let go immediately, clearing your throat.

“j, please. you’re not breaking a single rule by glancing at a couple of papers for two minutes. call it an error when you fix my grade, nobody has to know” you bargain, your dignity completely abandoned.

“j?” is all he says, raising a single eyebrow.

you are more than infuriated that that’s the only part of your speech he registered.

“can i call you j? we’ve practically known each other for three years, nicknames are important for friendships” you argue, offering a helpless shrug.

a humorless chuckle slips past his lips. “we know each other, yes. exclusively because we share the same department and we are definitely not friends”

you stick out your bottom lip. “we could be. think of the matching tattoos”

“goodbye, sweetheart” he says, shaking his head and giving you an unyielding nudge backward so the heavy door doesn’t shut right in your face.

you stand there, staring at his retreating back through the glass.

sweetheart? ugh. that was what your professor, a sweet old lady, tends to call anyone who’s a year younger than her.

unfortunately, you respect her way too much to walk into her office and make a fool of yourself over a graded paper, knowing she’s already busy as it is.

plus, that’s literally what a ta is for. and unfortunately, jason todd is a stubborn jerk who refuses to give you the time of day, let alone a second chance.

you turn on your heel and stalk back toward your dorm, thinking of ways to force him to read your paper again.

serving is an art and you definitely take pride in your work. tips aren’t easy to come by but you’ve mastered gaining them. a soft, sweet smile paired with a quick joke goes a long way especially with the older crowd who tips in loose bills and praise.

unfortunately, you live in a college town so it’s never a rare sight when the usual frat boy stumbles in without an ounce of basic manners.

thankfully, today is a slow day. you’ve only spotted one of the usuals so far and the small diner you work at isn’t anything fancy but it brings in just enough cash to keep paying for your housing on campus.

you lean against the counter, half listening to barbara engaged in a harmless but dramatic argument with one of the line cooks in the back. she must see the wheels turning in your head because she eventually breaks away and drifts over.

she bumps her shoulder lightly against yours. “what’s up?” she asks.

“just thinking” you murmur, keeping your eyes on the floor.

“about?” she inquires, resting her hip against the laminate.

“my midterm” you admit, letting out a heavy breath.

“he still hasn’t budged?” she asks, knowing how desperately you need those few extra marks to drag your grade out of the gutter.

“nope” you say, lingering on the pop of the letter.

as if heaven itself had suddenly heard your desperate pleas, the front door chimes and jason todd, in all his insufferable glory, walks in.

you both freeze and look up. he clearly has no idea you work here or you know for a fact he would have willingly walked into any other diner in town just to avoid you. you and barbara share a knowing look as he takes a seat at a booth in barbara’s section.

you stand up straight, instantly planning to to fight barbara for the table.

she holds up a hand before you can even open your mouth. “all yours, babe” she says, a smirk playing on her lips as she pushes herself off the counter.

you make a straight beeline toward the booth at the very back corner of the diner.

he’s already settled in, laptop open with a scattering of heavy looking papers taking up almost the whole table. you don’t even wait to be invited, you just slide straight into the opposite bench of the booth before he can tell you to move.

he looks up, surprised for a fraction of a second before his expression flattens into that familiar look of rejection.

“stalker much?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“actually, you walked into my place of work, so technically that makes you the stalker” you fire back.

“mhm. a black coffee and a slice of pie would be great, assuming you can manage that before you start causing noise pollution” he says, making you roll your eyes as you violently swallow your pride.

“it’s on the house if you look over my essay again” you press, leaning forward to try the persuasion again.

“nice offer but i can afford a cup of coffee” he replies, his eyes already drifting back down to his glowing computer screen.

“how about free pie for the rest of the month?” you try again, narrowing your eyes.

“i don’t even know if it’s good, never tried it. so why don’t you do your actual job and bring it to me?” he says and that detached tone genuinely sets you on edge.

“actually, we don’t serve pie after twelve” you say, offering an unbothered shrug.

he looks back up at you then, raising a dark brow. “right. then a cup of coffee would be fantastic or do you not serve those past twelve either?”

you huff, sliding out of the booth to fetch his stupid coffee and march right back over, dropping into the seat again.

“didn’t know waitresses spent their shifts sitting with customers” he remarks, not looking away from his screen.

“we do here” you snap back. “how about this, i’ll pay you out of pocket for every single minute it takes you to review my paper?”

“i don’t need your money”

“but i need your help!” you plea, resting your chin in your hands.

“can’t you take no for an answer?” he asks, his voice laced with a dry teasing and genuine exhaustion.

“what do you want then?” you demand.

he glances up at you briefly, the diner lights catching the sharp line of his jaw. “for you to go away”

“you have to want something” you persist.

“i think you heard me clearly the first time”

“you don’t want money, what about drugs?” you blurt out in desperation.

“what?” he asks, his brows pulling together in genuine bewilderment.

“you don’t want drugs? maybe some illicit weapons? i could find a guy” you offer.

he stares at you for a long moment. “you do refills on this coffee?”

“only if you agree” you counter.

“forget it”

“please, please, jason,” you beg, your voice dropping to a whine.

he gives you an unamused look just as your name gets loudly called out from the kitchen window.

you lean slightly over the table, close enough that his eyes are forced to lock directly into yours. “this isn’t over yet, todd”

he just hums dismissively, typing on his keyboard.

you roll your eyes, actively fighting the fierce urge to smack him right across his unfairly well structured face.

“cute uniform, by the way” he calls out casually just as you finally slide out of the booth to leave.

you let out a loud scoff, the hem of your skirt shifting as you turn and walk away with a heavy footed force.

when you finally push through the swinging kitchen doors, your manager is standing right there, arms crossed with barbara lingering close behind.

“as much as we want you girls to have fun, we don’t pay you to entertain your boyfriend of the week while you’re on the clock” your manager says flatly before turning away.

you’re left standing there, glaring daggers through the small window toward your stupid ta.

grades aren’t due for another three days and it’s like the universe is on your side because the second you step into the cafeteria, there he is.

the dining hall isn’t too packed. a few students are laughing, others deep in their work. he’s leaning back in his chair, chatting it up with his friends. you vaguely recognize them, one is barbara’s old (or current, you really couldn’t tell with those two) hookup and the other is a sophomore, you think.

as you march toward their table, you rehearse exactly what you’re going to say to make him change his mind.

“don’t mind if i do” you say as you slide into the empty chair next to the sophomore. he gives you a puzzled look but beside him, the other two exchange a knowing look.

“can’t even enjoy the company of my friends without you ruining it, sweetheart?” jason asks, at this point you know this is more amusing to him than anything else.

“evening, guys,” you offer a small greeting. “so, back to you” you direct your gaze straight to jason.

from the corner of your eye, you can see dick, barbara’s favorite toyboy, flashing an amused, knowing smirk similar to jason’s. tristan or tyson, you really still couldn’t figure out the sophomore’s name, simply looks confused.

“there has to be something that you so desperately need and i will be the one to get it for you, no questions asked” you say, leaning slightly into the table.

he shakes his head, folding his arms and placing them flat on the surface to mimic your posture.

“it’s fine if you don’t want to say it out loud. i’ll start listing, and you just tell me when i hit it” you press on.

“you said no to drugs or weapons. how about some sort of technology? a phone, a computer, a secret gps tracker? no? how about… revenge? you must not like someone here, i’ll steal their bike, i can get someone expelled? no? what about girls? you don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

he raises an eyebrow. “no. why, you offering?” he asks, heavily flirting.

you furrow your brows. “do you want me to be? because i’ll be the best girlfriend ever. i’ll even become your wife if you bump my marks up” you say with enthusiasm.

he chuckles, leaning back and sharing a look with dick.

“very stubborn, aren’t you?” richard asks, which you know better as dick, even though it doesn't sound like a question.

“learned from the best” you reply, nodding toward jason.

“what about you guys?” you decide to pivot away from jason. “you must want something? i’ll do anything as long as your buddy over here fixes my grade before the deadline”

grayson shakes his head. “not on my end”

you catch the sophomore next to you debating it in his head before jason and dick shoot him a look that clearly promises a quick death if he even thinks about opening his mouth.

you huff, sinking back into your chair.

a heavy silence settles over the table as you all just trade glances.

“what’s your name again?” you turn to the guy on your right.

“don’t” jason warns him.

“what, can’t i make friends?” you ask as innocently as possible.

“tim” the guy mutters.

you offer your name in return, straightening up in your seat. “so, tim—”

“tim, don’t” jason warns again but you completely ignore him.

“is there something you’re tired of dealing with? i can take care of it for you” you say, leaning in to give his shoulder a reassuring tap.

“do anything for him and i’ll never even give you the time of day” jason snaps from across the table.

you scoff. “you hardly do anyway”

you give tim, who you had been wildly off about, a deeply pleading look, eyes wide with a tiny pout. it actually looks like he’s about to cave until jason stands up, followed closely by dick.

“don’t be weak, drake,” jason says, turning on his heel. “let’s go.”

you roll your eyes and slouch down. “you guys are no fun”

“find other boys to mess with, sweetheart” jason calls back, leaving you stranded at the table with your own crushed triumph.

before you can retreat to your dorm to probably cry, your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

you pull it out, seeing a message from barbara.

b <3: didn’t succeed?

you: nope, how do yk?

b <3: grayson texted “your friend is quite persistent”

you: geez, u two still in contact?

b <3: at the moment

you: im seriously running out of bribes

b <3: you haven’t offered the oldest trick in the book

you: which is?

your eyes widen and your jaw slightly drops as you read the message that comes right after.

the party is at full blast, the frat house packed with warm bodies and not nearly enough room.

you and barbara make way through the crowd, your tipsy state making every step almost impossible.

giggling the whole way, you stumble into the kitchen. it’s still packed, just not quite like the living room or the patio. you lean your back against the cool counter, attempting to chat with barbara or at least trying to hold her attention.

“—and then she said… b!” you call her out. she was totally checked out, her eyes already drifting away toward the edge of the room.

you follow her gaze. it lands on one of the guys who had left you stranded at the dining hall yesterday.

she and dick lock into some weirdly intense eye contact. you look away, but not before taking a second glance, if he’s here, that must mean jason is too.

you scan the room a little more until you spot him standing near dick, talking to someone else.

barbara seems to have spotted jason in that exact same group and she snaps back around to face you.

“go talk to him ” she urges.

“right now? are you crazy?” you exclaim.

she just shrugs her shoulders.

“if you’re actually planning on whoring yourself out, you need to be confident. it’s the whole reason you’re here” she offers bluntly.

you whine the second the words leave her mouth, the reality sobering you up instantly. “i need another shot or something”

you two manage to get your hands on a sketchy mixed liquid that’s twenty percent juice and eighty percent pure alcohol. it burns as it trails down your throat the second you swallow it.

“you got this” she encourages as you turn to face probably the most humiliating thing you’ve ever willingly subjected yourself to.

you navigate into the crowd until you’re staring at his back. weirdly enough, he looks even taller from this angle.

you reach up to tap his shoulder. he turns around, looking down at you with those piercing eyes.

“hi” you say, your voice so impossibly meek you can hardly believe it came from your own mouth.

he excuses himself from the person he was talking to, immediately turning his full attention back to you.

his gaze drifts down, taking in your thin, tight top that clings to the curves of your torso like it was made specifically to seduce any guy in your vicinity. your skirt isn't helping your case either, sitting low on your hips and leaving little to the imagination.

he only wonders how you managed to make it this far into the house without a weird crowd of guys trailing behind you like lost puppies.

he chuckles darkly. “not going to let me enjoy a party?”

“you’re a senior, you’ve attended plenty, i’m sure” you say as he leans down slightly to hear you over the heavy bass of the music.

“i’ve been to one or two,” he answers with a smirk before leaning down even further, right against your ear. “can’t hear you well, sweetheart. let’s go over here” he murmurs, guiding you with a warm and steady hand on your lower back.

he steers you back to that exact spot in the kitchen where you and barbara had been mere moments ago, though she’s nowhere in sight now.

you lean your elbows back against the counter just slightly. he stands right in front of you, practically caging you in as one of his hands comes down flat on the counter beside your hip, grazing the fabric of your skirt.

“so, what offer have you come up with now?” he asks, at that point, it feels like he was practically begging for it.

“do you want a blowjob?” you blurt out.

the second the words leave your mouth, you want to snatch them right back and leave, either from the party or the country, you haven’t decided yet.

his entire body stills for a fraction of a second before he laughs and it’s not one of those dry, humorless chuckles he’d hit you with before.

his laugh is rich, carrying a low, rumbling sound that makes it impossible to tell if it’s the sound of his voice or the heat of the party that’s suddenly rushing to your cheeks.

“i’m serious” you insist, though a soft and mortified smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“are you?” he asks. the laughter has faded but the usual, lingering smirk remains. your eyes drop to his lips for a second before snapping back up to meet his.

he catches you looking. his expression softens into something a little more dangerous and he mimics your movement, his eyes dropping to your lips too. a delicious, nervous churn twists deep in your stomach.

if it hadn’t been for your midterm, you wouldn’t be standing here offering yourself to jason. the thought makes you mentally call yourself an idiot because he’s so painfully and effortlessly hot that you can’t believe it took you this long to really notice.

no, you always knew he was attractive, but you had no idea just how much.

“that’s a new one” he says, snapping you right out of your daze.

“what? you’ve never been offered that before?” you snap back.

“no, i have. but the sincerity of the offer caught me off guard” he replies smoothly.

“sincerity?” you echo.

“mhm. even if it weren’t for your grade, you’d still want to sleep with me” he says.

you scoff. “real confident, aren’t you?” you shoot back, even though your heart skips a heavy beat against your ribs. “plus, i asked if you wanted a blowjob, not to sleep with me. sounds like you’re projecting”

he chuckles low in his chest. “caught me”

your heart practically stops.

“so, have you actually taken the other offers before?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“depends” he says, tilting his head.

“on what?”

“if they pass the test”

“what test?” you ask, utterly baffled.

“the kiss test” he says, leaning in closer.

your breath hitches. it feels like some invisible magnetic force is pulling you two together.

the tips of your noses brush and a second later, your lips meet his.

his hand immediately finds its place at your waist, while yours naturally goes to the back of his neck, tangling in the hair at his nape.

the kiss is unexpectedly gentle. his lips are soft and as you linger, they mix with the sweet trace of lip gloss on yours.

he breaks the kiss for a brief second, just long enough to look down at you before diving right back in. this time, his other hand finds the nape of your neck, fingers seek to hold you securely and deepen the pressure.

this kiss is a lot more pronounced, a little sloppier around the edges but still firm and hungry.

his tongue brushes against your lower lip, just on the verge of parting your mouth entirely before he abruptly pulls away. you’re left standing there, chest heaving, completely breathless and panting.

“did i pass?” you ask, trying to keep it light through the haze.

he lets out a dry, raspy chuckle. “oh, yeah”

“how many girls have passed?” you press, still struggling to wrap your head around the fact that this is apparently not a first.

“jealous?” he taunts.

you scoff, shaking your head. “you wish” even though you are very much dying to know the answer.

“meet me tomorrow at my office during office hours for tutoring” he says and for a fleeting second, you completely forget why you even agreed to this in the first place.

“i didn’t ask for tutoring” you pout.

“you get what you earn, not what you think you deserve” he echoes, throwing his own words right back at you again.

“you still didn’t answer my question” you point out.

he steps back just an inch, giving you some breathing room. “only you have passed”

“so i’m good enough to pass but not to fully get what i want? i guess i’ll just have to work on my kissing techniques, then” you tease, a glint in your eye.

“as long as it’s not with a guy” he replies, his voice dropping an octave.

“then how am i supposed to get feedback?” you joke.

“buy a teddy bear or something” he fires back, turning on his heel and walking away, leaving you standing there completely flustered, flushed and utterly fucked.

you don’t know why your pacing around outside of jason’s office. this is what you had wanted, to persuade him into giving you better marks.

tutoring isn’t exactly what you had hoped, especially after that little stunt you pulled at the party but it’s better than sitting alone staring at a blank piece of paper.

as you finally hold up the courage to knock on the door, it’s as if he was waiting right behind it.

it swung open and he was standing there, wearing grey sweatpants and an old white shirt that clung a little too well.

you’d never seen him like this, only ever trapped in conformity attire of a ta. never relaxed, and oh boy, were you in deep trouble.

“coming in?” he asks, a slow smirk pulling at his lips and you really hoped he eventually did.

you stepped in and he closed the door behind you with a quiet click.

his office was neat, though empty. a couple of textbooks here, a half empty mug there. he clearly didn’t spend much time here or simply didn’t care to make it look like he did.

“you’re quiet today” he says, closing the distance just a fraction as you finally turn to face him.

“just ready to learn” you say, letting out a dry giggle, instantly wishing you knew why you turned into a mess around him.

oh but you did know. the kiss hadn’t left your mind for a single miserable second since he left you breathless by the kitchen. it was a miracle you’d gotten any sleep at all.

oddly enough, there wasn’t a chair in front of the desk. usually, there was a visitor’s chair to talk over assignments but it was completely missing.

he probably noticed your hesitation over where to stand. “you can sit in my chair” he offers, gesturing to the massive leather seat behind the wooden desk.

you make your way around it and do as he says, sinking into the leather that still somehow smells faintly of his cologne. “where will you sit?” you ask, looking up through your lashes.

“ah, i don’t mind sitting here” he says smoothly, hopping up to sit right on the edge of the desk, facing you.

you gulp hard and quickly look down as his intense eye contact threatens to melt you right into the leather.

you clear your throat, reaching into your bag to pull out your essay.

“thought you might want to look at it again. since you were so pleased to tear it apart the first time” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

he grabs it from your hands, your fingers brushing against each other, sending a stupid little jolt up your arm.

he adjusts himself on top of the desk, his frame slightly hunched forward, legs casually spread. the confidence of his stance alongside those sweatpants is literally killing you.

you tried to look at literally anything else in the room but nothing was interesting enough to keep your eyes off him for ten seconds.

“i know which places you need improvement in” he finally speaks up, his voice dropping an octave.

“which are?” you ask, crossing your arms defensively over your tank top.

“all of them, sweetheart” he replies simply.

you let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back into the oversized chair “unbelievable”

“we can start from the top or the bottom, whichever you prefer to first”

“bottom. you said my conclusion wasn’t—” you start and he effortlessly finishes your sentence for you.

“strong, yes”

“i thought it was pretty solid” you argue, tilting your chin up.

he shifts on the desk, crossing one ankle over the other. “well, what makes you think it was so solid?”

“it summarized the main points, didn’t it?” you shrug, trying to match his tone.

“a fifth grader could do that and maybe, some of them do it better than you. at a college level, you need that and a hell of a lot more” he fires back.

“i didn’t just summarize” you retort, rolling your eyes.

“so, you admit you need more?” he says, a teasing, dangerous edge curving his voice.

“i didn’t say it was a masterpiece, i said it was solid” you snap, casually spinning your chair around.

he groans softly and your chair suddenly comes to a violent halt. he was no longer sitting on the desk, he had stopped it with his forearm right above your head, caging you in as he leaned heavily into your personal space.

“we’re here for tutoring, not play time” he murmurs in a warning tone.

“i wasn’t playing” you breathe out, your heart hammering against your ribs. “i actually know how to write a conclusion, you just love being a harsh critic”

“then prove it”

“what?” your voice pitching up higher than you'd like.

“show me you know at least the basics of a college level conclusion” he explains, his face inches from yours.

you scoff, flashing a fake smile. “great teaching method, todd. really inspiring”

he chuckles, unfazed. “you’ll get rewarded if it’s good enough”

that makes you instantly perk up, your eyes locking onto his. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“do you know how to write it or not?” he asks, his voice growing dangerously on edge.

you swallow hard, nodding. “fine. first, i explain what the overall point of my thesis was, tying it together”

he nods slowly, still caging you in. you can practically feel the heat radiating off his body but you forced your brain to focus on the task at hand.

“for example, i show how my connections, which you called weak, actually matter. very straightforward unlike the body paragraphs” you continue.

he hums, a low vibration in his chest. his warm breath suddenly brushes against your neck as his head dips lower, his lips ghosting over your lower jaw.

your breath hitches in your throat and a soft gasp escapes you as his lips finally make firm contact with your skin.

he nips lightly at your neck, sending a shiver straight down your spine. “continue with your conclusion, sweetheart” he growls against your skin.

“y-your conclusion only matters if it’s backed up by true facts,” you tried your absolute hardest to keep talking, ignoring the way his hands started tracing up your thighs, “so whoever is reading it doesn’t doubt that the final point is...”

“is what?” he hums, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse point.

“inaccurate” you finish weakly, your hands instinctively coming up to grip his shoulders for support.

“what sort of structure do you use?” he ask, his thumbs tracing the hem of your skirt.

“the conventional one” you whisper and even to your own ears, your words make zero sense anymore. his lips are entirely destroying your ability to form a coherent sentence.

he chuckles against your collarbone.

his warm pecks continue drifting down your shoulder. his fingers slowly tugging down the strap of your jacket, leaving your tank top exposed.

he presses a lingering kiss right to the top of your shoulder and your arms naturally wrap around his neck, pulling him closer.

“what makes a conclusion complete?” he asks against your skin, his hands mapping the curve of your waist now.

“s-synthesize the connections,” you sighed out.

he drops down to his knees right in front of the chair, his hands sliding up to grip the hem of your skirt and your hips involuntarily buck upward at the sudden friction.

“and restate your claim without copying the previous paragraphs verbatim” you pant, your breathing coming in ragged gasps.

“such a smart, good girl, aren’t you?” he praises against your skin as he slowly rolls your skirt up your thighs.

you nod your head at the praise, feeling completely no control over your own body at this point.

he chuckles, a low sound that vibrates straight into the heat between your legs.

he hooks your legs over his shoulder and without bothering with your skirt, he just slides your panties to the side.

“what?” you whine as he simply stares at you bare.

“can’t believe everything about you is fucking pretty” he says, his gaze heavy as he looks at you.

you roll your eyes, your face heating up. “are you planning on just staring or are you actually going to do something about it?” you retort, biting your lip.

“im the tutor here, which means i have a higher authority. so you do as i say, not the other way around” he teases, running a lazy thumb over your inner thigh.

“if you don’t touch me right now, i’ll find someone else who will” you snark back, only half lying. “plenty of guys on campus would kill for this, jason”

his eyes darken at that. “always this bratty?” he asks, leaving a deliberately slow trail of hot kisses up your inner right thigh.

“only when asshole ta’s waste my time” you say, squirming restlessly in the chair as he holds your legs firmly on his shoulders.

“ta must really be a jerk, huh?” he teases, blowing a warm breath right against your sensitive core.

you gasp at the sudden contrast. “fuck, jason. shut up and put your mouth to better use” you snap, growing entirely impatient.

jason gathers spit and lets it drip right onto your heat, making you whimper at the slick drop. before it can slide all the way down, he laps it back up, swirling his wet tongue directly over your swollen clit.

“j!” you cry out, your hands immediately tangling into his hair for stability.

“so fucking sweet, too” he raps against you and the low hum only makes wetter.

the noises you're making only seem to egg him on, making him work harder and faster for your release.

his middle finger slides smoothly through your entrance, pressing in and stretching your walls easily.

you try to stifle your moans, briefly remembering where you are and the fact that you’re supposed to be in tutoring.

he shoves his pointer finger in right beside it and it becomes completely impossible to keep your sounds to yourself.

“so tight f’me” he mumbles against your skin, his tongue continuing to work magic on your clit.

you feel your walls start to clamp down and he definitely feels it too because he begins to murmur soft encouragements, ‘that’s it’, ‘let it out, sweetheart’ in between every stroke of his tongue.

your body trembles violently, crashing right down over his mouth and fingers as you ride out the intense high.

he pulls back slowly, his mouth glossy from your juices and his fingers dripping.

he sucks his own fingers into his mouth, staring right up at you as he lazily brushes the damp hairs stuck to your forehead.

he leans up to kiss you deeply, tasting yourself on his lips.

“we still need to actually work on your essay” he murmurs against your mouth.

you shake your head, kissing him back just as passionately. “fuck the essay”

he chuckles, guiding you out of the seat. just as you think it's over, he sits down in the chair, pulling you by surprise right onto his lap so your legs bracket his waist.

“let’s work on the top this time” he says suggestively, his hands resting heavily on your hips.

you giggle, leaning in close. “are you referring to the essay or the position?”

“whatever you want, sweetheart” he whispers, his hands guide your hips down against his hard length.

you lean right down to his ear, breathless. “what i want are the three extra marks”

he smiles and it’s softer than the usual smirk he gives you.

“you’ll get three extra marks on the grade book and maybe three red ones on your ass if you don’t start behaving, baby” he teases.

god, you were so glad you actually listened to barbara and her crazy ass suggestions.

august 2026 / merakiletters

daniela’s note: can’t believe i know how to write smut but not the basics to a conclusion !?

[hearts4hughes]

jason todd keeping distance from sweetheart!reader note: sorry in advance!!! more jason x sweetheart here

the first thing you notice when you wake up is that you have no idea where you are. the second thing you notice is that your head hurts badly. the unfamiliar ceiling looms above you, causing you to blink a few times.

“what?” you sit up slowly, immediately regretting it when your head pounds. with a thud you fall back against the mattress, pressing your hands against your temples. hangovers really aren’t for the week.

a few minutes later, you try again. the comforter wrinkles under your fingers as you tug against it for makeshift momentum. this time, you manage to sit up completely. you wipe imaginary sweat off your forehead with a huff.

this apartment is far too neat to be dick’s. it also has books…meaning it’s definitely not his. you look around. huh. dark paint stains the walls, each absent of any decor. a desk sits tucked into the corner of the room with exactly one journal and one pen in the center. there’s no pictures hung on the walls, just a framed wayne family photo on the nightstand—probably a housewarming gift.

that’s when the memories flood back. jason. your face immediately heats up. oh god. you remember pieces of last night. the party…and running into him…and telling him he was pretty. you touched his face at one point? somewhere there’s a vague memory of him carrying you?

you bury your face in your hands. “oh. my. god.” getting placed into his car is the last thing you can recall. you groan into your hands and stay there for a while. jason is so sweet. he could’ve left you at dick’s to fend for yourself, but he didn’t. heat blooms on your cheeks. if you didn’t have a crush on him before, you definitely do now.

“jason?” you call out, still halfway under the covers. no response. slowly, you get out of bed—albeit not gracefully—and check the bathroom, then the living room.

there’s nothing. no jason. no note. no glass of water. not even an advil sitting somewhere on the counter.

you stare at the empty apartment for a few seconds. “okay.” disappointment settles in your stomach like a pit. he probably had somewhere to be. he’s a busy man. he doesn’t owe you anything either. after all, he’s the one who helped you.

“okkkk,” you sigh, trudging back to his room to collect your belongings. it’s fine. before you leave, you take one last glance around the apartment. just the same as before.

you don’t see him for three weeks after that.

~

the manor is crowded when you finally see him again. you’d almost forgotten how easy it was to go weeks without seeing jason—almost.

you’re walking into the living room when you spot him. he’s sitting in one of the armchairs, flipping through something on his phone. your face immediately brightens. “jason.”

his eyes lift. for half a second, something flickers across his face. it’s gone before you can analyze it. “hey.”

that’s it.

you slow down. maybe the excitement isn’t mutual. “…hi.” you smile anyway, though your voice is weaker than before.

he’s probably just tired or he’s having a bad day. your mind brings you back to that morning, waking up confused and sad. there has to be some perfectly reasonable explanation for why he disappeared after that night.

you stop a few feet away from him. “i haven’t seen you in forever.” you gush with a giggle

“yeah.” he murmurs, already looking back down at his phone.

suddenly, you’re far too aware of yourself standing in front of him. you swallow, clasping your hands behind your back. either bruce raised the thermostat, or embarrassment is eating you alive. you wait anyway. “so, how’ve you been?”

“fine.”

you shift your weight and nod. “good.” he hums, not bothering to look up from his device. you try again. “um…” an awkward laugh escapes you. “i wanted to thank you.”

his eyes lift again. “for what?”

“for taking care of me that night.”

his jaw tightens. “you don’t have to.”

the sentence catches you off guard. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. still, a smile stays on your face. “i know.” embarrassment creeps into your cheeks. “but i wanted to.”

he looks away. “you were drunk. i did what anyone would’ve done.” when he looks back at you, his gaze is hardened—the exact opposite of how he looked at you the other night.

something in your chest sinks a little. “right.” you nod. “of course.” he probably doesn’t remember it all. that’s for the better. except then you remember the way he looked at you. the way he laughed. the way he carried you like you weighed nothing. you smile softly. “i hope i didn’t embarrass myself too badly.”

“you did.” he retorts blankly. the smile you’d been holding onto slips before you can stop it. he doesn’t even look up. “you were a mess.”

“oh.” for a second, you don’t know what to say to that. so you laugh, quiet and awkward, hoping it’ll make the moment feel less uncomfortable. “well. that’s comforting.”

“you shouldn’t drink that much.” something in his voice has changed. it’s colder now. “you could’ve gotten hurt.”

the words make it uncomfortable to breathe properly. “i know.” hesitantly, you nod. you blink faster, hoping he doesn’t notice your glassy eyes.

“good.” and that’s it. no apology. no little smile to let you know he’s teasing. nothing.

you look down at your hands, suddenly very interested in the way your fingers are tangled together. you should’ve just said thank you and left it alone. “well…” you pull your mouth into something that hopefully resembles a smile. “it was nice seeing you.” you turn before he can see how quickly it disappears.

“you too.” he replies, causing you to stop. for some reason, that hurts more than it should. you look back and he’s still staring at his phone. like he can’t even bother to look at you.

you deflate with a sigh. “bye, jason.”

“bye.”

the second you’re out of sight, jason drops his phone onto the armchair. his hands drag over his face. “fuck.”

he wanted to say hi. he wanted to ask if your head hurt the next morning. he wanted to apologize for leaving without saying anything. he wanted to tell you that he hadn’t left because you were annoying or because you’d embarrassed yourself.

he left because waking up next to you had scared the hell out of him. for one night, he let himself forget who he was. he let himself have something nice. then he looked at you sleeping peacefully in his bed and realized exactly what kind of life you’d be stepping into if he let you get close.

all the violence. the secrets. the blood. the nights where he didn’t come home. the parts of himself he still didn’t know how to fix.

he wasn’t dick. he wasn’t charming and funny like him. he can’t hold his temper like him. he’s not pure of heart like he is. you deserve someone like that—someone jason will never be.

he looks toward the hallway you disappeared down. his chest aches. he knows he’s already hurting you. imagining that makes him ill.

and he’s still doing it anyway.

@feburraay

[jellyfishsthings]

heyyyy could i make a request for jason todd based on this insta post? basically the bf grabs her corset and lifts her up and kisses her and it’s got me all UAHDUDNWISNSKHDSUWVEGWUSHSHWKDJDKDHSH ykwim

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DZYDpDEFGIr/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

Lifted

navigation , dc navigation

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

The gala is Bruce's.

They always are, which means it's beautiful and expensive and full of people saying important things to other important people, and you've been here for two hours in heels that are starting to have opinions about that and a corset that is doing everything it promised and more.

The corset is the thing.

Black, structured, the kind that gives you a silhouette that makes you stand differently, move differently, feel like a slightly more dramatic version of yourself. You'd found it three weeks ago and bought it without telling Jason because you wanted the reaction, which had been worth every penny — he'd seen you in it before leaving tonight and had gone very still in the doorway and said, after a moment, " We're going to be late, in a voice that was not joking.

You were not late.

But it was close.

Now you're at the edge of the gala, post-necessary-conversations, drink in hand, and you're looking for him. Jason at these events is always findable by process of elimination — he's not at the center of anything, not holding court, not doing the Bruce Wayne social performance. He's at the margins, usually. Watching. Present because he has to be, and making no effort to pretend otherwise.

You find him by a window.

He's in a suit that Alfred had a hand in because Jason left to his own devices gravitates toward things that are technically formal enough and immediately look lived-in, and Alfred has opinions. The suit is good. Jason in a good suit is — a thing. You've been his wife for over a year, and it's still a thing.

He sees you coming, and his expression does the shift — the one that happens specifically when he sees you, that he doesn't fully know he makes, that you've been cataloguing privately because it belongs to you.

You come to stand next to him.

"How are you doing?" you say.

"I've had three conversations about tax incentives," he says.

"I had four."

"I win."

"Nobody wins that," you say.

He makes a sound of agreement. His hand finds the small of your back — automatic, the Jason habit, the way he establishes where you are in a room by touch — and stays there.

You lean slightly into it.

"How much longer?" he says.

"Hour, maybe. Bruce has a speech."

He exhales.

"After the speech," you say.

"After the speech," he confirms, like it's a survival target.

You talk, low and easy, the way you talk when you're in public and performing slightly, and the real conversation exists underneath. He tells you about the tax incentive conversations with the dry specificity that is Jason's version of comedy, and you tell him about the woman who'd asked you three times what you did and each time looked mildly disappointed by the answer.

"She wanted socialite," you say. "I could tell."

"You'd be a terrible socialite."

"I'd be an excellent socialite. I'm charming."

"You're charming in the way that makes people think they're charming," he says. "That's a different skill set."

You look at him.

"That was a compliment," he says.

"I know. I'm just — that was unexpectedly perceptive of you."

"I have depths."

"You have very significant depths," you agree, and something in the way you say it makes him look at you sideways, the look that means he's cataloguing the tone and deciding what to do with it.

You smile into your drink.

Across the room, Bruce is making his way toward the small stage area, which means the speech is imminent, which means the end is in sight.

"Okay," you say, setting your glass down on a nearby table. "Speech time. Twenty minutes and then we can — "

You start to turn toward the stage.

Jason's hand moves.

Not the small of your back anymore.

His hand finds the back of the corset — the structured panel of it, the rigid boning — and he grips it, and then he lifts.

Not dramatically. Not with effort, because it doesn't require effort, because he is Jason Todd, and you weigh what you weigh, and the corset gives him something solid to hold, and he uses it like it's the most natural thing in the world.

You go up.

Just enough. Just the few inches that bring your face level with his, that require you to grab his lapel with one hand to steady yourself, that put you suddenly, completely in his space.

He kisses you.

Not a brief thing. Not a we're in public thing. A real kiss, unhurried, deliberate, his free hand coming up to your jaw, and you are suspended there between the corset and his hand and the solidness of him, and for a moment, the gala and the tax incentive people and Bruce's speech simply do not exist.

He sets you back down.

The whole thing lasts maybe ten seconds.

You look at him.

He looks at you.

He has the expression — the one that is Jason, not performing anything, just Jason, warm and certain and slightly smug in the way he gets when something has gone the way he wanted.

"What," you say, and your voice is not entirely steady.

"Nothing," he says.

"Jason."

"You were talking," he says. "I wanted your attention."

"You had my attention."

"I wanted it differently." He adjusts his lapel where your hand was. Perfectly composed. "Bruce is starting."

You stare at him.

He looks at the stage.

You look at the stage.

Your heart is doing something that is not related to the speech.

"You can't just — " you start.

"The corset has very good structure," he says, conversationally. "Good construction."

"Jason Todd."

"Mm."

"You just — you lifted me by my — in the middle of a gala — "

"Small lift," he says. "Technically."

"There is no technically about this — "

"Bruce is speaking," he says, which is the most hypocritical sentence he has ever said, given that he has expressed zero interest in Bruce's speech for the past twenty minutes.

You close your mouth.

You face forward.

You are very aware of him next to you, of the hand that's returned to the small of your back, of the ten seconds that just happened, and the absolute composure with which he's filed them away.

You last approximately ninety seconds.

"How often," you say, quietly, not looking at him, "have you been thinking about doing that?"

A pause.

"Since the apartment," he says. Same quiet register. "When you put it on."

"That was two hours ago."

"Yes."

"You waited two hours."

"There's a time and place," he says. "I was waiting for the right — "

"The middle of a gala is not the right — "

"It worked," he says.

You look at him.

He is almost smiling.

The almost is somehow more effective than the actual smile, and you know this, and he knows you know this, and he uses it with precision.

"After the speech," you say.

"After the speech," he agrees.

"We're leaving directly after the speech."

"That was already the plan."

"I'm amending the plan to directly after."

"Noted," he says.

Bruce continues his speech.

You stand next to Jason with his hand at your back and your pulse doing what it's doing and the memory of ten seconds that you're going to think about for considerably longer than ten seconds.

The corset, you think, was absolutely worth every penny.

Jason, next to you, is thinking approximately the same thing.

[cherryysunshine]

Something to Celebrate

Pairing: Jason Todd/F!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: explicit sexual content, friends to lovers, mutual pining, birthday sex, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Summary: Going all out for Jason’s birthday was supposed to be something nice you did for a friend, right up until neither of you could convincingly call it just friendly anymore.

Author’s Note: written for @dutifullyshamelesstrash’s request for my 1k celebration!

thank you so much for the request, and happy early birthday to Jason Todd, the love of my life

Jason had been suspicious from the moment you told him to keep his evening free.

You hadn’t helped matters by refusing to elaborate. He’d asked where you were going, what he needed to wear, whether there were going to be other people there, and eventually whether you were planning to harvest his organs. You’d answered every question with some variation of don’t worry about it until he finally stopped asking, although the look on his face when you opened your apartment door suggested he hadn’t stopped trying to figure it out.

“You know normal people just say happy birthday, right?”

“Happy birthday.”

Jason gave you a flat look as you stepped aside. He’d come in jeans, boots, a dark T-shirt, and his leather jacket, which was exactly what you’d meant when you told him to wear whatever he wanted. “That easy, huh?”

“You’re the one who made it complicated. Come in.”

He crossed the threshold with exaggerated caution, making a show of surveying your living room as though he expected the rest of his family to leap out from behind the sofa. Jason took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, then toed off his boots by the door without being reminded. You’d enforced the no-shoes rule enough times that even he had finally stopped arguing about it.

His shoulders relaxed once he realized the apartment was empty, but then his attention caught on the coffee table and the kitchen beyond it.

You’d spent more time arranging everything than you wanted to admit. Dinner from the restaurant he’d mentioned liking months ago sat under insulated covers, still warm because you’d timed the delivery carefully. His preferred soda was chilling in the refrigerator, and the chocolate cake on the counter was small enough that neither of you would be eating leftovers for the next week.

There were no balloons, streamers, banners, or anything else that might’ve turned the evening into a spectacle. There was, however, a short stack of wrapped presents beside the couch.

Jason’s gaze lingered on the presents before moving back to you. “You did all this?”

“It’s dinner.”

His eyes moved toward the presents.

“And presents,” you amended.

Something subtle shifted in his expression before he covered it with a faint smile. “Nobody else coming?”

“No. I figured if I invited Dick, there’d be a theme by the time you got here, and you’d spend your own birthday looking for an escape route.”

That earned a quiet laugh, and some of the lingering suspicion finally left Jason’s expression. “You know me too well.”

That, unfortunately, was part of the problem.

Dinner gave you something else to think about. You sat at opposite ends of the couch with takeout cartons spread across the coffee table while the movie Jason chose played in front of you, and it didn’t take long for the initial tension in his posture to disappear. He settled deeper into the cushions, one leg eventually stretching across the space between you until his socked foot nudged your thigh.

You moved it away once, but five minutes later it was back, and you didn’t bother fighting him a second time.

The movie was one you’d seen with him before, which meant you already knew Jason would quietly mutter whenever something on-screen annoyed him. Normally you encouraged it just to see how long he could go before a passing complaint became a full lecture, but tonight you mostly listened, smiling into your food whenever he caught himself and glanced over at you.

This was what you’d wanted. Jason could handle crowds. He could charm strangers when he felt like it, command a room when he needed to, and hold his own among people who seemed determined to make every family occasion louder than the last. That didn’t mean he liked having attention forced onto him, particularly when that attention came with expectations about how grateful or moved he was supposed to look.

You didn’t want him performing his own birthday for anybody; you just wanted him to have a good night.

The thought settled somewhere uncomfortably warm beneath your ribs, and you turned your attention back to the movie before you could examine it too closely.

By the time the credits rolled, Jason had relaxed enough that you almost felt bad interrupting him. You glanced toward the kitchen.

“Want cake?”

His foot left your thigh immediately.

You stared at him.

Jason pushed himself upright. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just appreciating your enthusiasm.”

He looked mildly offended. “You asked what kind I liked six weeks ago. I’ve been waiting to find out whether that was related to whatever you were planning.”

Heat crept up your neck. Of course he remembered.

“That conversation could’ve been completely unrelated.”

“Sure.”

You escaped into the kitchen before he could watch you struggle for a better excuse. The cake was exactly where you’d left it, and Jason followed at a slower pace while you opened the drawer where you’d hidden the candles. You’d only bought two.

His eyebrows rose when you pushed them into the frosting.

“I’m older than two.”

“I’m not putting twenty-something candles on that cake. I don’t need the smoke detector screaming at us.”

He snorted, but his attention softened when you lit them.

For a moment, Jason only watched the flames.

The kitchen suddenly felt quieter than it had a second ago. You knew enough about his history not to assume birthdays were uncomplicated for him, and you’d deliberately avoided turning tonight into a conversation about that. You didn’t want to make him explain what the day meant or didn’t mean. You wanted him to have food he liked, something sweet, a couple of presents, and the freedom to enjoy any of it without needing to justify why.

So you didn’t sing.

You only slid the cake toward him. “Make a wish.”

Jason glanced at you, then back at the candles. After a moment, he bowed his head with theatrical solemnity and blew them out.

You laughed, and some of the weight in his expression disappeared with the smoke.

While you cut the cake, Jason dragged a finger through the frosting along the edge. You gave him a look, which he ignored completely before stealing another swipe while you transferred the first slice onto his plate. By the time you carried both plates back to the couch, the quiet moment in the kitchen had dissolved into something easier.

The presents were still waiting, and Jason noticed them before he sat down. This time he didn’t make a joke. “You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know.”

You handed him the smaller package.

That answer seemed to land harder than you’d expected. He looked at you for a second before lowering his attention to the wrapping paper and carefully opening it.

The riding gloves were first. His old pair had been splitting along one seam for months. He’d complained about needing to replace them while fixing your car in the spring, then predictably continued wearing them. You’d noticed the size printed inside one when he tossed them to you to hold, and apparently some stubborn corner of your brain had decided the information was worth keeping.

Jason turned the new pair over in his hands, recognizing the brand immediately. “These are nice.”

“Your old ones are trying to disintegrate.”

“They’ve got life left.”

“They have a hole in them.”

“One hole.”

You gave him a look.

A small smile pulled at his mouth as he slid the gloves on. They fit exactly as they should, and he flexed his fingers once before examining the reinforced palms.

“How’d you get my size?”

“I noticed the label when you made me hold your old ones.”

“That was months ago.”

“I remember things.”

Jason looked at you in a way you didn’t particularly want to analyze and slowly pulled the gloves off again. He placed them beside him instead of returning them to the box.

You reached for the second present before that could become a conversation. “This one took longer to find.”

The shape gave away that it was a book immediately. Jason ran his thumb along one edge before opening the paper, more carefully than he had with the first gift.

Then he went still.

Months ago, he’d told you about a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo he’d owned before Bruce took him in and never gotten back after lending it out. The loss itself wasn’t especially important, at least not according to him, but he’d spent long enough describing the edition that you’d teased him for being sentimental about a book he claimed not to miss. At some point, he’d even found a photo of the cover online to prove that the newer editions weren’t as good.

You’d remembered it, so when you spotted the same edition in the window of a used bookstore a few weeks ago, you recognized it immediately.

Jason turned the book over and checked the publication information inside before looking back at the cover.

“You found it.” His voice was quieter now.

“I found one.”

“The same printing.”

“You were very opinionated about the cover.”

“I was right.”

“You usually think you are.”

Normally that would’ve earned a response. This time, Jason only ran his thumb over the worn edge of the book.

“How long were you looking?”

“I wasn’t exactly hunting through Gotham with a flashlight. I just kept an eye out after you mentioned it.”

That did very little to make his expression easier to read.

You took another bite of cake, suddenly aware of how much of your evening could be traced back to things Jason had mentioned in passing: the restaurant, the cake, the gloves, the book.

Apparently Jason had reached the same conclusion. “You do this for all your friends?”

“Yeah.” The answer escaped before you thought about it. Jason looked at you, and you frowned down at your plate. Maybe not exactly like this.

You remembered Dick’s birthday last year because everyone did. You’d contributed to group gifts, shown up at parties, bought drinks, sent texts, and done all the ordinary things people did for friends they loved.

You had never kept an eye out for a particular edition of someone’s favorite book just because they’d mentioned missing it once.

“Some of them,” you amended.

Jason’s mouth twitched.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Actually, I was gonna eat my cake.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and hit him with it.

Jason caught it before the second swing.

His reflexes were unfair on the best of days. When he tugged, you weren’t expecting enough force to pull you forward, and you caught yourself with one hand against his chest while the pillow slipped uselessly between you.

His other arm came around your waist automatically.

The laughter left you both at nearly the same time.

You were suddenly close enough to feel the warmth of his hand through your shirt. One of your knees had landed between his thighs, and your palm was still spread over his chest, directly above the steady beat of his heart.

Jason’s gaze dropped to your mouth.

Your own pulse stumbled.

When he spoke, his voice was lower. “So how many of them?”

You didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

Your eyes flicked toward the book beside him. “I wanted you to have a good birthday.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Jason’s fingers shifted against your waist, almost absently. “Because you went through a hell of a lot of trouble for a friend.”

There wasn’t much you could say to that without lying. You’d known for a while that whatever you felt for Jason had become inconveniently difficult to fit inside friendship. It was easier to ignore when it lived in ordinary moments: the way you automatically saved him a seat, how often you looked for him first when you walked into a room, the embarrassing amount of his life your brain apparently considered important enough to catalog.

Tonight had taken all those little things and wrapped them in paper.

“I care about you,” you said.

Jason’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

“Probably more than I’m supposed to.”

Jason went still.

Embarrassment started creeping up your neck before he finally asked, “Supposed to according to who?”

“We’re friends.”

The word sounded considerably less convincing than it had earlier.

Jason looked down at the hand you still had pressed against his chest before meeting your eyes again. “If I kiss you, are you gonna tell me tomorrow that I misunderstood all this?”

Your breath caught. “No.”

Something in his face eased.

You curled your fingers into his shirt and kissed him before you could lose your nerve.

Jason hesitated for the briefest moment, surprise catching him even after everything you’d just admitted. Then his hand came up to your face, thumb settling beneath your cheekbone as he kissed you back.

The pillow was still wedged stupidly between you. Neither of you seemed to notice until you tried to move closer and it folded against Jason’s stomach, breaking the kiss with a muffled laugh.

He pulled it free and tossed it somewhere behind the couch.

When he looked back at you, the humor in his expression had softened into something that made your stomach turn over.

“Come here.”

This time, when he kissed you, you didn’t have to wonder whether he meant it.

You broke the kiss long enough to breathe. “This probably complicates the friendship thing.”

“Little bit.”

His mouth brushed yours again.

You smiled despite yourself. “Terrible timing.”

“Personally, I’m having a great birthday.”

That laugh barely had time to escape before he kissed you again.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, but instead of immediately pulling you closer, Jason paused with his palms warm against your waist, like touching you this way required a second adjustment after years of casual contact. You felt the hesitation disappear when you leaned into him. His thumbs moved along your ribs, and you caught his lower lip between your teeth, making Jason’s fingers tighten at your waist.

The kiss deepened until the angle became awkward, your knee pressing into the couch beside his hip and his shoulders twisted toward you.

“Bedroom?” he murmured.

You nodded. Jason stood and, before you could follow, bent to slide one arm beneath your thighs and the other around your back. You made a startled noise as he lifted you, your arms going automatically around his shoulders.

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

He carried you anyway.

The ridiculousness of it should’ve broken the tension, but by the time he set you on the edge of your bed, the moment had turned serious again. He stood between your knees with his hands resting lightly on your thighs, looking at you as though the change of rooms had finally given him time to realize this was actually happening.

You reached for the hem of his shirt. Jason helped you pull it over his head before doing the same with yours. You’d seen him shirtless before, usually because knowing vigilantes had a way of making casual nudity around injuries considerably less interesting than it should’ve been, but this was different. There was nothing clinical about the way your gaze moved over him now.

He noticed, but for once he didn’t tease.

Jason bent and kissed you again as his fingers found the clasp of your bra. Once it was undone, he slipped the bra from your shoulders and let his palms glide slowly over your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples until your breathing changed beneath his mouth.

His lips followed, kissing his way down your chest, tongue sweeping over one nipple before his mouth closed around it as you leaned back on your hands. The sensation dragged a quiet moan from you, and Jason’s hand moved to your waist as though he wanted to feel the reaction everywhere at once.

He gave the other breast the same attention before moving lower.

Your jeans went next. Jason undid them and eased them down your legs, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulled those off too. He kissed your stomach as he lowered himself between your thighs, the sight of him there making heat gather low in your body.

His hands slid beneath your knees and parted your legs gently. He pressed a kiss against the inside of one thigh, then another higher up, taking his time until your fingers curled into the blanket beneath you.

When his mouth finally reached you, you inhaled sharply.

Jason dragged his tongue through you in a slow stroke before settling over your clit. Your head tipped back as pleasure spread through your stomach, immediate and bright enough to make your thighs tense around his shoulders. He didn’t rush, circling steadily while one finger eased inside you, curling against you until your hips moved toward his mouth. A second followed once you relaxed around him, and the combination made your breath break on his name.

Jason reached for one of your hands, lacing your fingers together against your hip while his mouth stayed between your thighs. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that it sent another pulse of heat through you.

The pressure built quickly after that. Your body tightened around his fingers, your free hand gripping the sheets as the pleasure sharpened.

“Jason.”

He didn’t need anything more.

Your orgasm rolled through you hard enough to lift your hips from the mattress. Jason kept his mouth against you through it, fingers moving slowly until the tremors began to ease and you tugged weakly at the hand holding yours.

He finally lifted his head, and you were still trying to catch your breath when he climbed back onto the bed.

Jason kissed you before either of you said anything, and you tasted yourself on his tongue as his weight settled carefully between your thighs. The hard line of his cock pressed against your leg through his jeans, making it difficult to forget that he was considerably less unaffected than his patience had suggested.

You reached between you and palmed him.

His breath caught against your mouth.

“Still think the book was the best present?”

Jason’s eyes opened, and a smile threatened at the corner of his mouth. “You really want me answering that?”

“Maybe later.”

“Smart.”

You opened his belt before he could say anything else. Jason got off the bed long enough to strip out of his jeans and underwear, kicking them aside before climbing back onto the mattress.

His attention shifted toward your nightstand. He opened the top drawer and found a box of condoms, pulling one free before you took the packet from his hand.

He looked at you questioningly.

“I trust you.” You tossed it across the room, where it disappeared somewhere near the foot of the bed. “I’m clean, I’m on birth control, and I know you’re clean too. Bruce’s medical paranoia alone guarantees you’ve been tested more recently than most people I know.”

Jason’s expression shifted, surprise giving way to something warmer.

“I have.”

“I figured.”

His hand settled against your thigh. “And you’re sure?”

You drew him back between your legs. “I’m sure.”

Jason kissed you as he leaned over you again, his hand sliding along your thigh as you hooked a leg around his hip to bring him nearer.

The first press of him made your breath catch. Jason stayed close, watching you carefully as you adjusted. When you relaxed beneath him, you ran a hand up his back and pulled him closer, encouraging him to sink the rest of the way inside.

For a few seconds, Jason stayed still with his forehead resting against yours. His breathing had gone rough, the restraint in his body obvious enough that affection twisted unexpectedly through the heat in your stomach.

You kissed him. “Move.”

He did. The first few thrusts were slow, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him. Jason braced one hand beside your head while the other settled at your hip, his rhythm gradually strengthening as your body loosened beneath him.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him closer, and Jason groaned as the angle changed. His mouth moved from yours to your jaw, then lower along your throat, teeth grazing your skin before his tongue soothed the same spot.

Your fingers tightened against his shoulders.

“Careful,” you breathed. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

Jason paused and lifted his head enough to look at you.

You tilted your chin, giving him more room.

Understanding flashed across his face before his mouth returned to your neck. The light bite sent a shiver through you.

Jason’s pace grew less measured as your body responded to him, the bed shifting faintly beneath every thrust. You could hear the difference in his breathing near your ear, the occasional rough sound he failed to swallow when you tightened around him.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin. “You feel so good.”

The praise made your stomach tighten.

You slid one hand into his hair and kissed him, drawing him closer as another wave of pleasure began building. Jason seemed to feel the change in you. His hand left your hip and moved between your bodies, his thumb returning to your clit with the same rhythm that had worked so well earlier.

Your breath stuttered as he kept the pressure steady, his thrusts deepening as your legs tightened around him. The second orgasm built slower than the first but struck harder when it finally broke, your body clenching around his cock while you gasped his name into the space between you.

Jason’s rhythm faltered.

You pulled him into another kiss.

He managed only a few more thrusts before he came with a low groan against your mouth, hips pressing firmly to yours as the tension drained from his body.

For a little while, neither of you moved.

Jason eventually lowered his face into the side of your neck, and you ran your fingers lazily through his hair while both of you caught your breath.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured.

His laugh vibrated against your skin.

“That’s gonna be hard to top next year.”

“You’re assuming this becomes a tradition.”

Jason lifted his head just enough to look at you.

You couldn’t hold the expression for more than a second before smiling.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I thought.”

He kissed you once, softer this time, then carefully pulled out. A moment later, Jason slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back and lifted you from the bed.

You looped your arms around his shoulders as he carried you into the bathroom, too warm and pleasantly wrung out to argue with the decision. He set you down carefully beside the toilet, then reached over to start the shower while you cleaned up and peed.

By the time you were finished, steam had begun gathering along the glass. Jason stepped beneath the spray first and held a hand out for you, and you joined him a moment later.

The shower stayed quiet and unhurried. Jason washed the sweat from your skin and helped rinse between your thighs, his touch gentle after everything that had come before. You returned the favor, running soapy hands over his shoulders and chest until he caught one of your wrists and pressed a kiss to your palm.

Neither of you seemed in any hurry to get out.

Eventually, Jason shut off the water and reached for the towels, wrapping one around you before taking the other for himself. While you dried off, he used a washcloth to wipe the splashed water from the edge of the tub, then tossed it toward the hamper and missed by several inches.

You looked at the floor, then at him.

“I saw that.”

“You’re supposed to be an excellent shot.”

“I’m off duty.”

You laughed as Jason retrieved the washcloth with a muttered complaint and dropped it properly into the hamper this time.

When you finally returned to bed, clean and warm, Jason climbed in beside you and pulled you against his chest almost as soon as you settled beneath the blankets. The joking faded naturally as his arm wrapped around your waist, his breathing slow and steady against your shoulder.

With nothing left to distract either of you, you finally had time to think about what you’d actually done. You stayed quiet for a while, listening to Jason breathe behind you before turning enough to look at him.

“So what happens now?”

His arm stayed around your waist. “You mean besides me getting to tell everyone you seduced me on my birthday?”

“Jason.”

The teasing faded from his expression.

“I want this,” he said. “Not just tonight.”

The answer came easily enough that some of the tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying loosened.

“Good.”

Jason studied you for a moment. “That all I get?”

You smiled and shifted closer. “I want it too.”

His hand moved up your back, settling between your shoulder blades as he drew you into a kiss.

“So we’re not doing the friends thing anymore,” you murmured when you pulled away.

Jason’s expression softened. “I think we crossed that line on the couch.”

“Yeah.”

His thumb brushed along your cheek. “You okay with that?”

You smiled. “More than okay.”

Jason drew you into another kiss.

The book you’d found for him was still sitting beside two abandoned cake plates in the living room. His new gloves rested near the wrapping paper, the dinner cartons still needed to be put away, and there was probably frosting drying somewhere on your kitchen counter.

None of it seemed particularly urgent.

Jason’s fingers found yours beneath the blanket and linked them together.

After a while, he broke the comfortable silence. “You know, this was a pretty good birthday.”

You smiled against his chest. “Pretty good?”

“I don’t want it going to your head.”

“Too late.”

Jason tucked you closer against him, his fingers still loosely threaded through yours beneath the blankets. 

Whatever came after this could be figured out in the morning.

For now, neither of you seemed interested in putting any distance back between you.

credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider ❤️💛

Taglist: @twentytomidnight

[seitosh]

men with retroactive jealousy. 18+

a jealousy that gnaws at the meat of the heart, puncturing the chambers with it’s honed tusks. a vortex of some crude and ludicrous envy had been bisecting your boyfriend’s soul.

he had girls before: meaningless nights with colleagues, strangers who wanted a taste, temporary relations solely based on coital desires. yet, he was tormented by the mere ghost of your ex boyfriend—from high school.

the phantom had been harrowing him. a guy before him. an ex lover at that. you had off-handedly snorted about how your ex had gotten married. that was all but enough for questioning by him. “no, i did not have sex with him. only made out and..” “and what?” “got ate out once.”

heaven and hell must have conjoined to give you a boyfriend like him because the fleeting mention of an ex had him gravitate you to the edge of a searing orgasm.

“he ate you out, yeah?” he uttered with pure hatred, inching his fingers close to your wet panties. his three fingers rubbed slow circles on your sticky clothed mound, tracing your protruding outline.

a deep groan escaped from the crevices of his teeth, a lick on his canines and a slow tug from the hem of your panties. there it was, the raw cunt with it’s slobbering folds.

“what’s got you so wet huh? me or that highschool fucker?” oh, he was so jealous.

“god—please. only you” you pleaded, wanting the feel of his tongue on your sweetness. but right now, his ego was debased. and you were to suffer for it.

“he touched you like this?” his slender fingers glided up and down your dampness, the middle and ring fingers caressing the puffed folds. the pace was too slow. your breath hitched when you felt the melding of the two together—swiping, spreading you everywhere. truly vile, more than anything before.

“spread you like this?” another question eliciting nothing but a futile whimper. you opened your eyes—only to be graced by his ones. coldness trapped within those eyes ones. “no? must’ve been a shitty boyfriend then, right baby?”

he lowered himself to your heat, face inches away from the smear of your sweet juice. your pussy lips palpating for his kiss. a yearner for his tongue. “he ate you out yeah?” not a question really. need not an answer. “fuck, i wonder how?”

“did he start with some licks like this”, his tongue darted out. curled from it’s core, the  tip made kitty-like licks at the center. a stride from the hole to the clit. following it was a soft kiss on it.

“mhm—wonder what this pussy tasted like to him” his licks fastened. your stomach coiled in pleasure. and so you tried to close your thighs, albeit, that was useless because he held it in place. “nuh-uh, don’t even dare”.

his eyes desaturated, a beastly hunger taking over. he had flattened his tongue, pressing it on the whole of your pussy and taking in long tastes of the sweetness.

“hm, fuck, he ate you out. sure”. sarcasm pertinent as he was lapping at your folds. each plush getting kissed and smothered by his tongue. a single drop of water ran from your cunt down to the meat of your ass, a stained trail. he was quite literally salivating on you. drooling on your pussy.

tongue swirled in your inner folds, a delirious pace having your back arching away from the bedsheets only to be halted by him, a firm push down on your pelvis. his hand slithered from your hips to your thighs, spreading you out even more, knees pressed on to the pruned sheets.

“please. please. please. come on—please” an incessant rambling had him lift up from your pussy. a string of spit connected and a smirk on his face. “aw you poor thing” he didn’t turn his eyes away. not at all, instead, continued his brute act. his tongue rubbing back and forth on your needy cunt.

with a few more strokes, he had gotten up. the snow in his eyes gleamed an avalanche. his chin wet with your squirt. he had no intention of wiping it away, no, because it was a showcase of your pleasure caused by him only.

“so, he ever finger you?”

ok ill stop now lol. this is the last one of “men who…” ❤︎ i hope u liked it !! smash like n subscribe

[magikcheese3]

Jason Todd x reader

Warnings: suggestive, mentions of kissing, swearing

Synopsis: you made a joke about what he'd do if you broke up with him

it's short and not my best

Jason Todd masterlist

_____________

You meant it as a joke. He knew it was one, right?

"Take that shit back," his voice echoed, almost like a growl.

You look up at him, eyes wide with surprise as both of his hands landed on either side of your head with a thud. Pinning you against the wooden door. His body standing so closely you can feel the heat radiating off of him, with the scent of metal, gas and cologne drifting off of him. The warmth of his breath hitting your cheek in short - shallow breaths.

He looks down at you, blue eyes flashing with something deeply possessive as his brows pinched together.

"You don't make jokes like that. Don't ever say things like that, do you understand?"

You swallow hard, an awkward smile spreading across you face. "Jay I -"

"Did I do something?"

The lamp lit room went quiet, the only sound being the ticking clock hanging on the wall.

"What?" You murmur after a moment, blinking in confusion. "Jay, like I said it's a joke. I'm not actually going to break up with you."

"Damn right your not." He scoffs, leaning a fraction closer. A rough calloused hand coming up to catch your chin - tilting your face up to look him directly in his eyes as he caressed your lower lip with his thumb.

"Unless you mean it, don't say it." Jason mutters sternly, his other hand lowering from its place on the door to wrap fiercely around your waist. Tugging you flush against his chest.

"I'm right here, and unless you actually want me to leave - I'm don't plan on leaving anytime soon." In an instant, Jason closes the remaining distance between your lips. Letting his hand move along your jaw to your hair, tangling the strands between his fingers. A silent promise.

The kiss is desperate, wanting to claim every inch of your mouth to let you know just how much the joke truly affected him. You had his heart right in the palm of your hand, and he was laying it out right in front of you.

Your lips parting easily as his tongue slid over them. A deep, ragged groan escaping from the back of his throat. Drowned by everything that was you.

He really didn't like that joke.

[ldrfanatic]

bend & snap

jason todd x gn!reader (pls ignore the title I've seen legally blonde too recently)

synopsis - jason doing pilates w reader; short n sweet

my bookcase bat-masterlist

jason todd was not compatible with pilates.

he'd been more than a little skeptical when you first brought it up to him, standing in the middle of the cleared living room with two rolled mats under you arm and that same hopeful look he could never refuse.

he wasn't out of shape. no, quite the opposite. his muscles have been refined from years of rooftop jumping and hand-to-hand combat training under the batman.

it just so happened that batman doesn't do pilates. and jason foolishly assumed that any video by a channel named 'pilates by izzy' couldn't be that bad right?

wrong. so wrong.

he'd watched you do this a couple times. spread out on your yoga mat, weights on your ankles as you twist your body, mirroring your instructor's form as close as you could. he'd notice the shake in your thighs, the sheen of sweat on your forehead, but it never clicked for him how much of a workout it would actually be.

now his lower back is aching, left leg arched into whatever the hell torture mechanism "table-top" is as he scours his brain for any recent villainous behaviors that would warrant this level of karma.

lazarus green eyes travel the expanse of your body next to his. this is totally unfair. it's only five minutes into the video and you're still pressing through the next round of glute bridges, not a hair out of place while jason feels like if his calf shakes one more time, he's gonna fall out.

he distantly hears the ring of the instructor's voice. something about another five reps and then another layer. like fuck. he wouldn't do another layer if you held a gun to his head.

finally, after what feels like an agonizingly long twenty-five minutes, the cool-down stretching begins. it's supposed to be a toe touch, however jason's broad shoulders hang limply in front of his thighs, feeling more like a half-dead zombie than he has in the five years since his resurrection.

your hand presses to the small of his back, fingers soft against his sweaty skin. ("no, babe, I don't need a towel. I doubt I'll even sweat.")

"jay, bend your back a little more."

a low groan from your boyfriend. and then,

"sweetheart if I bend any further, I'll snap my spine in half."

his response elicits a soul-brightening laugh from you, sounding far too cheerful for someone who's just spent a half hour contracting muscles they didn't know existed.

"you're being dramatic."

"am not," his voice is muffled, face buried somewhere between his knees and mid-calf. "this is a crime against nature. against the very concept of fitness."

your hand ghosts up his spine, slow and deliberate, and you can feel the tremor there. the man can take a bullet without flinching, can drop from three stories and roll into a sprint, but thirty minutes of controlled movement has reduced him to a shaking mess.

"just breathe," you tell him, which is the same thing izzy said twelve minutes ago right before jason started making threats against her hypothetical loved ones. he lifts his head just enough to glare at you, green eyes narrowed and absolutely miserable.

"breathe? i'm dying. concurrently."

"you're not dying."

"i've died before," he mutters, dropping his head back down. "i know what it feels like."

you roll your pretty eyes at him but you're smiling that smile again. the once that makes hearts dance his eyes while your fingers trace idle patterns against his biceps. the living room is quiet now. the tv is frozen on some serene background while izzy smiles beatifically from the screen, unaware of the chaos she's wrought.

jason's phone buzzes from the bed. it's probably dick or roy or some other poor bastard who's about to receive a very detailed text rant about the demonic exorcism that jason has come to know as "pilates".

he finally unfolds himself, collarpsing backward onto the mat with a groan that rattles his bones. one arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving, he feels like he just finished a war. (and from your perspective, he looks like a testament to your ability to abstain from your boyfriend for more than five minutes.)

"...same time next week?"

it comes out grumbly, adoration that has no business in his wrecked body making his stomach turn.

you lean down, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "same time next week."

jason with slight wonder as you jump up from the mat like you didn't just human pretzel your body. you roll the mat quickly, eyes lighting up as what is surely another attempt on his life enters your mind.

"maybe I'll invite Dick!"

fuck. he was going to have to actually get good at this. because the only thing worse than suffering through a 25 day pilates challenge was having to suffer through dick's ego for the next month.

[sirxlla]

𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝑲𝒆𝒚

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: fluff, angst

𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕: Jason Todd X Fem Reader, Request -> "I was wondering if you could write Jason Todd with a reader who's upset with him. Maybe he stayed out too late and missed out on a date night? He's getting the silent treatment, and he hates it, and does whatever he can think of to get back on the reader's good side"

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: Sorry about how old some of these requests are, entirely my fault. <3

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1006

[ 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑵 ]

-𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕-

"Babe, I'm home...patrol was crazy." He laughs as he takes off his jacket. "You should've seen Damian. He was a fuckin beast out there; also, he totally roasted Clayface. He's a little shit, but he definitely has his moments." Jason smiles as he comes over to you, where you're watching some sorta Game of Thrones spin-off or something, but you're straight-faced? Usually you greet him with a smile and a hug, happy to see that he's home, but you aren't?

"Bad day?" He asks with a wondering tone; maybe work had been shit, and you didn't wanna talk about it? Maybe your brother was being a dick again? "Hmmm? I'll just give her some space and grab something for dinner...Shit. Dinner. That's why she's pissed, that was tonight, wasn't it? FUUUUCK." He takes a deep breath and turns around like a car whips a U-turn.

"You want me to buy dinner? I heard there's this really nice Italian place and they deliver???" His eyebrow raises as he stretches his words, trying to tempt you to speak to him. Yes, It'd probably be easier and quicker to apologize, but that doesn't solve the issue.

He gets nothing out of you, and his brows start to furrow into a pout; he wants you to talk to him. He misses his girl..."No, Jason. You can't be pouty like you aren't the one who caused this." He straightens his shoulders and takes another deep breath before ordering a bunch of things on DoorDash. Wine for dinner, food from the Italian place with the extra breadsticks you love, chocolate, ice cream, a massive fuckin teddy bear, and a fuck ton of roses.

"There, she can't be mad at me now. I'm gonna go shower, and it'll be here by the time I'm out. Perfect." He pads off to the bathroom, taking a long hot shower to relax himself and his muscles after today. "Ugh, I can't believe I forgot our date tonight. Hopefully she'll forgive me after this."

Once Jason gets out of the shower, he walks out in the underwear you got him as a gag gift that has your face all over them. Initially, he had put them away, afraid to ruin them, but they're actually very comfy, and they're very cute.

You glance over briefly, and you have to take huff out a sigh when you see him hiding the smile that's trying to force its way to your lips. He looks ridiculous and cute at the same time. Jason goes outside to help the DoorDash driver and show them his ID for the wine. "Nice underwear, Man."

Jason's smile widens as he grabs everything from the guy, his arms full of different items he bought. "Yeah, that's my girl."

"In the doghouse or proposing?" The man asks since he notices the frantic nature in which Jason's acting, and usually men only get nervous for one of two reasons.

"Doghouse, I forgot our date tonight; we don't really go out much, and this was a very upscale kinda date." Handing the man his ID to scan.

"Oof, if it doesn't work out with all this stuff, I'd just suggest telling her sorry. Sometimes proper acknowledgement goes a lot further than all this stuff, Man, but I wish you the best of luck. Really." He puts Jason's ID back in one of the bags so that he doesn't have to put the stuff down again.

You don't know how, but the dumbass man you're so deeply in love with gets all the items in practically one trip. You sigh and continue "watching" the TV.

"Babe?" He walks in front of you with the food that you try to ignore, but your stomach gurgles and growls in protest of your feelings. "Honey, please...I want you to talk to me." His voice is getting whiny, and it's getting much harder to keep yourself angry at him.

"Angel, I got all this stuff for you and I...please talk to me." He begs now, setting the food down on the coffee table. Kneeling between your thighs and presses his face against your stomach, but you've decided you aren't talking until he says he's sorry. "Babygirl." He again whines like a puppy wanting to be held.

"I'm sorry, Honey. I really am. I totally lost track of time and forgot that our date was tonight." Jason says as he rubs his face against your stomach, his fingers fisting the back of your shirt.

You finally move, putting a hand on the back of his head and threading his fingers through his hair. "That's all I wanted, Jay. Stuff is nice, but it's so much better when you tell me outright."

"I just don't like admitting it; I feel like a bad boyfriend." He says with his face still pressed against you, your fingers raking through the dark strands of his hair.

"Admitting it means you understand my pain, J. You understand what you did was wrong instead of just buying things to make the problem go away. Admittance means we can talk and move forward instead of brushing things to the side like they didn't happen. It's not easy, and neither of us wants to have to face the issue, but to get closer as a couple, both of us could get better at the talking part."

"I agree, and I am sorry. Next time I'll text you in advance if I have time or notice, and I'll set reminders in my phone so I know. That way you know what's going on and I can get off patrol at the time I scheduled for you specifically." He looks up at you like a little puppy begging for forgiveness; you lean your head down and press it to his. The both of you close your eyes, understanding each other more. Willing to help fix the issue rather than let it fester in the shadows. Communication isn't easy, but it's necessary if you want to keep those you hold dear.

-> 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

[honey-snail]

Baby Daddy!! mini smau

Sum: Things were supposed to be casual, but a positive test isn't very casual.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne (sorry no ladies this time)

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, mentions of abortion (not acted upon), FWB/casual relationships, angst, implied age gap (Bruce), MDNI.

dividers @/diviniyae

a/n: With all the pregnancy yaps as of late… I was cursed with angsty thoughts of having them as baby daddies, but apparently that corrupted my feed because now I keep getting shown pregnancy symptoms. The funniest one I came across was this poor woman who would nearly throw up anytime she looked at her husband… I feel like that's fitting for Dick.

[cherryysunshine]

Something to Celebrate

Pairing: Jason Todd/F!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: explicit sexual content, friends to lovers, mutual pining, birthday sex, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Summary: Going all out for Jason’s birthday was supposed to be something nice you did for a friend, right up until neither of you could convincingly call it just friendly anymore.

Author’s Note: written for @dutifullyshamelesstrash’s request for my 1k celebration!

thank you so much for the request, and happy early birthday to Jason Todd, the love of my life

Jason had been suspicious from the moment you told him to keep his evening free.

You hadn’t helped matters by refusing to elaborate. He’d asked where you were going, what he needed to wear, whether there were going to be other people there, and eventually whether you were planning to harvest his organs. You’d answered every question with some variation of don’t worry about it until he finally stopped asking, although the look on his face when you opened your apartment door suggested he hadn’t stopped trying to figure it out.

“You know normal people just say happy birthday, right?”

“Happy birthday.”

Jason gave you a flat look as you stepped aside. He’d come in jeans, boots, a dark T-shirt, and his leather jacket, which was exactly what you’d meant when you told him to wear whatever he wanted. “That easy, huh?”

“You’re the one who made it complicated. Come in.”

He crossed the threshold with exaggerated caution, making a show of surveying your living room as though he expected the rest of his family to leap out from behind the sofa. Jason took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, then toed off his boots by the door without being reminded. You’d enforced the no-shoes rule enough times that even he had finally stopped arguing about it.

His shoulders relaxed once he realized the apartment was empty, but then his attention caught on the coffee table and the kitchen beyond it.

You’d spent more time arranging everything than you wanted to admit. Dinner from the restaurant he’d mentioned liking months ago sat under insulated covers, still warm because you’d timed the delivery carefully. His preferred soda was chilling in the refrigerator, and the chocolate cake on the counter was small enough that neither of you would be eating leftovers for the next week.

There were no balloons, streamers, banners, or anything else that might’ve turned the evening into a spectacle. There was, however, a short stack of wrapped presents beside the couch.

Jason’s gaze lingered on the presents before moving back to you. “You did all this?”

“It’s dinner.”

His eyes moved toward the presents.

“And presents,” you amended.

Something subtle shifted in his expression before he covered it with a faint smile. “Nobody else coming?”

“No. I figured if I invited Dick, there’d be a theme by the time you got here, and you’d spend your own birthday looking for an escape route.”

That earned a quiet laugh, and some of the lingering suspicion finally left Jason’s expression. “You know me too well.”

That, unfortunately, was part of the problem.

Dinner gave you something else to think about. You sat at opposite ends of the couch with takeout cartons spread across the coffee table while the movie Jason chose played in front of you, and it didn’t take long for the initial tension in his posture to disappear. He settled deeper into the cushions, one leg eventually stretching across the space between you until his socked foot nudged your thigh.

You moved it away once, but five minutes later it was back, and you didn’t bother fighting him a second time.

The movie was one you’d seen with him before, which meant you already knew Jason would quietly mutter whenever something on-screen annoyed him. Normally you encouraged it just to see how long he could go before a passing complaint became a full lecture, but tonight you mostly listened, smiling into your food whenever he caught himself and glanced over at you.

This was what you’d wanted. Jason could handle crowds. He could charm strangers when he felt like it, command a room when he needed to, and hold his own among people who seemed determined to make every family occasion louder than the last. That didn’t mean he liked having attention forced onto him, particularly when that attention came with expectations about how grateful or moved he was supposed to look.

You didn’t want him performing his own birthday for anybody; you just wanted him to have a good night.

The thought settled somewhere uncomfortably warm beneath your ribs, and you turned your attention back to the movie before you could examine it too closely.

By the time the credits rolled, Jason had relaxed enough that you almost felt bad interrupting him. You glanced toward the kitchen.

“Want cake?”

His foot left your thigh immediately.

You stared at him.

Jason pushed himself upright. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just appreciating your enthusiasm.”

He looked mildly offended. “You asked what kind I liked six weeks ago. I’ve been waiting to find out whether that was related to whatever you were planning.”

Heat crept up your neck. Of course he remembered.

“That conversation could’ve been completely unrelated.”

“Sure.”

You escaped into the kitchen before he could watch you struggle for a better excuse. The cake was exactly where you’d left it, and Jason followed at a slower pace while you opened the drawer where you’d hidden the candles. You’d only bought two.

His eyebrows rose when you pushed them into the frosting.

“I’m older than two.”

“I’m not putting twenty-something candles on that cake. I don’t need the smoke detector screaming at us.”

He snorted, but his attention softened when you lit them.

For a moment, Jason only watched the flames.

The kitchen suddenly felt quieter than it had a second ago. You knew enough about his history not to assume birthdays were uncomplicated for him, and you’d deliberately avoided turning tonight into a conversation about that. You didn’t want to make him explain what the day meant or didn’t mean. You wanted him to have food he liked, something sweet, a couple of presents, and the freedom to enjoy any of it without needing to justify why.

So you didn’t sing.

You only slid the cake toward him. “Make a wish.”

Jason glanced at you, then back at the candles. After a moment, he bowed his head with theatrical solemnity and blew them out.

You laughed, and some of the weight in his expression disappeared with the smoke.

While you cut the cake, Jason dragged a finger through the frosting along the edge. You gave him a look, which he ignored completely before stealing another swipe while you transferred the first slice onto his plate. By the time you carried both plates back to the couch, the quiet moment in the kitchen had dissolved into something easier.

The presents were still waiting, and Jason noticed them before he sat down. This time he didn’t make a joke. “You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know.”

You handed him the smaller package.

That answer seemed to land harder than you’d expected. He looked at you for a second before lowering his attention to the wrapping paper and carefully opening it.

The riding gloves were first. His old pair had been splitting along one seam for months. He’d complained about needing to replace them while fixing your car in the spring, then predictably continued wearing them. You’d noticed the size printed inside one when he tossed them to you to hold, and apparently some stubborn corner of your brain had decided the information was worth keeping.

Jason turned the new pair over in his hands, recognizing the brand immediately. “These are nice.”

“Your old ones are trying to disintegrate.”

“They’ve got life left.”

“They have a hole in them.”

“One hole.”

You gave him a look.

A small smile pulled at his mouth as he slid the gloves on. They fit exactly as they should, and he flexed his fingers once before examining the reinforced palms.

“How’d you get my size?”

“I noticed the label when you made me hold your old ones.”

“That was months ago.”

“I remember things.”

Jason looked at you in a way you didn’t particularly want to analyze and slowly pulled the gloves off again. He placed them beside him instead of returning them to the box.

You reached for the second present before that could become a conversation. “This one took longer to find.”

The shape gave away that it was a book immediately. Jason ran his thumb along one edge before opening the paper, more carefully than he had with the first gift.

Then he went still.

Months ago, he’d told you about a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo he’d owned before Bruce took him in and never gotten back after lending it out. The loss itself wasn’t especially important, at least not according to him, but he’d spent long enough describing the edition that you’d teased him for being sentimental about a book he claimed not to miss. At some point, he’d even found a photo of the cover online to prove that the newer editions weren’t as good.

You’d remembered it, so when you spotted the same edition in the window of a used bookstore a few weeks ago, you recognized it immediately.

Jason turned the book over and checked the publication information inside before looking back at the cover.

“You found it.” His voice was quieter now.

“I found one.”

“The same printing.”

“You were very opinionated about the cover.”

“I was right.”

“You usually think you are.”

Normally that would’ve earned a response. This time, Jason only ran his thumb over the worn edge of the book.

“How long were you looking?”

“I wasn’t exactly hunting through Gotham with a flashlight. I just kept an eye out after you mentioned it.”

That did very little to make his expression easier to read.

You took another bite of cake, suddenly aware of how much of your evening could be traced back to things Jason had mentioned in passing: the restaurant, the cake, the gloves, the book.

Apparently Jason had reached the same conclusion. “You do this for all your friends?”

“Yeah.” The answer escaped before you thought about it. Jason looked at you, and you frowned down at your plate. Maybe not exactly like this.

You remembered Dick’s birthday last year because everyone did. You’d contributed to group gifts, shown up at parties, bought drinks, sent texts, and done all the ordinary things people did for friends they loved.

You had never kept an eye out for a particular edition of someone’s favorite book just because they’d mentioned missing it once.

“Some of them,” you amended.

Jason’s mouth twitched.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Actually, I was gonna eat my cake.”

You grabbed the nearest pillow and hit him with it.

Jason caught it before the second swing.

His reflexes were unfair on the best of days. When he tugged, you weren’t expecting enough force to pull you forward, and you caught yourself with one hand against his chest while the pillow slipped uselessly between you.

His other arm came around your waist automatically.

The laughter left you both at nearly the same time.

You were suddenly close enough to feel the warmth of his hand through your shirt. One of your knees had landed between his thighs, and your palm was still spread over his chest, directly above the steady beat of his heart.

Jason’s gaze dropped to your mouth.

Your own pulse stumbled.

When he spoke, his voice was lower. “So how many of them?”

You didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

Your eyes flicked toward the book beside him. “I wanted you to have a good birthday.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Jason’s fingers shifted against your waist, almost absently. “Because you went through a hell of a lot of trouble for a friend.”

There wasn’t much you could say to that without lying. You’d known for a while that whatever you felt for Jason had become inconveniently difficult to fit inside friendship. It was easier to ignore when it lived in ordinary moments: the way you automatically saved him a seat, how often you looked for him first when you walked into a room, the embarrassing amount of his life your brain apparently considered important enough to catalog.

Tonight had taken all those little things and wrapped them in paper.

“I care about you,” you said.

Jason’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

“Probably more than I’m supposed to.”

Jason went still.

Embarrassment started creeping up your neck before he finally asked, “Supposed to according to who?”

“We’re friends.”

The word sounded considerably less convincing than it had earlier.

Jason looked down at the hand you still had pressed against his chest before meeting your eyes again. “If I kiss you, are you gonna tell me tomorrow that I misunderstood all this?”

Your breath caught. “No.”

Something in his face eased.

You curled your fingers into his shirt and kissed him before you could lose your nerve.

Jason hesitated for the briefest moment, surprise catching him even after everything you’d just admitted. Then his hand came up to your face, thumb settling beneath your cheekbone as he kissed you back.

The pillow was still wedged stupidly between you. Neither of you seemed to notice until you tried to move closer and it folded against Jason’s stomach, breaking the kiss with a muffled laugh.

He pulled it free and tossed it somewhere behind the couch.

When he looked back at you, the humor in his expression had softened into something that made your stomach turn over.

“Come here.”

This time, when he kissed you, you didn’t have to wonder whether he meant it.

You broke the kiss long enough to breathe. “This probably complicates the friendship thing.”

“Little bit.”

His mouth brushed yours again.

You smiled despite yourself. “Terrible timing.”

“Personally, I’m having a great birthday.”

That laugh barely had time to escape before he kissed you again.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, but instead of immediately pulling you closer, Jason paused with his palms warm against your waist, like touching you this way required a second adjustment after years of casual contact. You felt the hesitation disappear when you leaned into him. His thumbs moved along your ribs, and you caught his lower lip between your teeth, making Jason’s fingers tighten at your waist.

The kiss deepened until the angle became awkward, your knee pressing into the couch beside his hip and his shoulders twisted toward you.

“Bedroom?” he murmured.

You nodded. Jason stood and, before you could follow, bent to slide one arm beneath your thighs and the other around your back. You made a startled noise as he lifted you, your arms going automatically around his shoulders.

“I can walk.”

“I know.”

He carried you anyway.

The ridiculousness of it should’ve broken the tension, but by the time he set you on the edge of your bed, the moment had turned serious again. He stood between your knees with his hands resting lightly on your thighs, looking at you as though the change of rooms had finally given him time to realize this was actually happening.

You reached for the hem of his shirt. Jason helped you pull it over his head before doing the same with yours. You’d seen him shirtless before, usually because knowing vigilantes had a way of making casual nudity around injuries considerably less interesting than it should’ve been, but this was different. There was nothing clinical about the way your gaze moved over him now.

He noticed, but for once he didn’t tease.

Jason bent and kissed you again as his fingers found the clasp of your bra. Once it was undone, he slipped the bra from your shoulders and let his palms glide slowly over your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples until your breathing changed beneath his mouth.

His lips followed, kissing his way down your chest, tongue sweeping over one nipple before his mouth closed around it as you leaned back on your hands. The sensation dragged a quiet moan from you, and Jason’s hand moved to your waist as though he wanted to feel the reaction everywhere at once.

He gave the other breast the same attention before moving lower.

Your jeans went next. Jason undid them and eased them down your legs, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulled those off too. He kissed your stomach as he lowered himself between your thighs, the sight of him there making heat gather low in your body.

His hands slid beneath your knees and parted your legs gently. He pressed a kiss against the inside of one thigh, then another higher up, taking his time until your fingers curled into the blanket beneath you.

When his mouth finally reached you, you inhaled sharply.

Jason dragged his tongue through you in a slow stroke before settling over your clit. Your head tipped back as pleasure spread through your stomach, immediate and bright enough to make your thighs tense around his shoulders. He didn’t rush, circling steadily while one finger eased inside you, curling against you until your hips moved toward his mouth. A second followed once you relaxed around him, and the combination made your breath break on his name.

Jason reached for one of your hands, lacing your fingers together against your hip while his mouth stayed between your thighs. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that it sent another pulse of heat through you.

The pressure built quickly after that. Your body tightened around his fingers, your free hand gripping the sheets as the pleasure sharpened.

“Jason.”

He didn’t need anything more.

Your orgasm rolled through you hard enough to lift your hips from the mattress. Jason kept his mouth against you through it, fingers moving slowly until the tremors began to ease and you tugged weakly at the hand holding yours.

He finally lifted his head, and you were still trying to catch your breath when he climbed back onto the bed.

Jason kissed you before either of you said anything, and you tasted yourself on his tongue as his weight settled carefully between your thighs. The hard line of his cock pressed against your leg through his jeans, making it difficult to forget that he was considerably less unaffected than his patience had suggested.

You reached between you and palmed him.

His breath caught against your mouth.

“Still think the book was the best present?”

Jason’s eyes opened, and a smile threatened at the corner of his mouth. “You really want me answering that?”

“Maybe later.”

“Smart.”

You opened his belt before he could say anything else. Jason got off the bed long enough to strip out of his jeans and underwear, kicking them aside before climbing back onto the mattress.

His attention shifted toward your nightstand. He opened the top drawer and found a box of condoms, pulling one free before you took the packet from his hand.

He looked at you questioningly.

“I trust you.” You tossed it across the room, where it disappeared somewhere near the foot of the bed. “I’m clean, I’m on birth control, and I know you’re clean too. Bruce’s medical paranoia alone guarantees you’ve been tested more recently than most people I know.”

Jason’s expression shifted, surprise giving way to something warmer.

“I have.”

“I figured.”

His hand settled against your thigh. “And you’re sure?”

You drew him back between your legs. “I’m sure.”

Jason kissed you as he leaned over you again, his hand sliding along your thigh as you hooked a leg around his hip to bring him nearer.

The first press of him made your breath catch. Jason stayed close, watching you carefully as you adjusted. When you relaxed beneath him, you ran a hand up his back and pulled him closer, encouraging him to sink the rest of the way inside.

For a few seconds, Jason stayed still with his forehead resting against yours. His breathing had gone rough, the restraint in his body obvious enough that affection twisted unexpectedly through the heat in your stomach.

You kissed him. “Move.”

He did. The first few thrusts were slow, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him. Jason braced one hand beside your head while the other settled at your hip, his rhythm gradually strengthening as your body loosened beneath him.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him closer, and Jason groaned as the angle changed. His mouth moved from yours to your jaw, then lower along your throat, teeth grazing your skin before his tongue soothed the same spot.

Your fingers tightened against his shoulders.

“Careful,” you breathed. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

Jason paused and lifted his head enough to look at you.

You tilted your chin, giving him more room.

Understanding flashed across his face before his mouth returned to your neck. The light bite sent a shiver through you.

Jason’s pace grew less measured as your body responded to him, the bed shifting faintly beneath every thrust. You could hear the difference in his breathing near your ear, the occasional rough sound he failed to swallow when you tightened around him.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your skin. “You feel so good.”

The praise made your stomach tighten.

You slid one hand into his hair and kissed him, drawing him closer as another wave of pleasure began building. Jason seemed to feel the change in you. His hand left your hip and moved between your bodies, his thumb returning to your clit with the same rhythm that had worked so well earlier.

Your breath stuttered as he kept the pressure steady, his thrusts deepening as your legs tightened around him. The second orgasm built slower than the first but struck harder when it finally broke, your body clenching around his cock while you gasped his name into the space between you.

Jason’s rhythm faltered.

You pulled him into another kiss.

He managed only a few more thrusts before he came with a low groan against your mouth, hips pressing firmly to yours as the tension drained from his body.

For a little while, neither of you moved.

Jason eventually lowered his face into the side of your neck, and you ran your fingers lazily through his hair while both of you caught your breath.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured.

His laugh vibrated against your skin.

“That’s gonna be hard to top next year.”

“You’re assuming this becomes a tradition.”

Jason lifted his head just enough to look at you.

You couldn’t hold the expression for more than a second before smiling.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I thought.”

He kissed you once, softer this time, then carefully pulled out. A moment later, Jason slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back and lifted you from the bed.

You looped your arms around his shoulders as he carried you into the bathroom, too warm and pleasantly wrung out to argue with the decision. He set you down carefully beside the toilet, then reached over to start the shower while you cleaned up and peed.

By the time you were finished, steam had begun gathering along the glass. Jason stepped beneath the spray first and held a hand out for you, and you joined him a moment later.

The shower stayed quiet and unhurried. Jason washed the sweat from your skin and helped rinse between your thighs, his touch gentle after everything that had come before. You returned the favor, running soapy hands over his shoulders and chest until he caught one of your wrists and pressed a kiss to your palm.

Neither of you seemed in any hurry to get out.

Eventually, Jason shut off the water and reached for the towels, wrapping one around you before taking the other for himself. While you dried off, he used a washcloth to wipe the splashed water from the edge of the tub, then tossed it toward the hamper and missed by several inches.

You looked at the floor, then at him.

“I saw that.”

“You’re supposed to be an excellent shot.”

“I’m off duty.”

You laughed as Jason retrieved the washcloth with a muttered complaint and dropped it properly into the hamper this time.

When you finally returned to bed, clean and warm, Jason climbed in beside you and pulled you against his chest almost as soon as you settled beneath the blankets. The joking faded naturally as his arm wrapped around your waist, his breathing slow and steady against your shoulder.

With nothing left to distract either of you, you finally had time to think about what you’d actually done. You stayed quiet for a while, listening to Jason breathe behind you before turning enough to look at him.

“So what happens now?”

His arm stayed around your waist. “You mean besides me getting to tell everyone you seduced me on my birthday?”

“Jason.”

The teasing faded from his expression.

“I want this,” he said. “Not just tonight.”

The answer came easily enough that some of the tension you hadn’t realized you were carrying loosened.

“Good.”

Jason studied you for a moment. “That all I get?”

You smiled and shifted closer. “I want it too.”

His hand moved up your back, settling between your shoulder blades as he drew you into a kiss.

“So we’re not doing the friends thing anymore,” you murmured when you pulled away.

Jason’s expression softened. “I think we crossed that line on the couch.”

“Yeah.”

His thumb brushed along your cheek. “You okay with that?”

You smiled. “More than okay.”

Jason drew you into another kiss.

The book you’d found for him was still sitting beside two abandoned cake plates in the living room. His new gloves rested near the wrapping paper, the dinner cartons still needed to be put away, and there was probably frosting drying somewhere on your kitchen counter.

None of it seemed particularly urgent.

Jason’s fingers found yours beneath the blanket and linked them together.

After a while, he broke the comfortable silence. “You know, this was a pretty good birthday.”

You smiled against his chest. “Pretty good?”

“I don’t want it going to your head.”

“Too late.”

Jason tucked you closer against him, his fingers still loosely threaded through yours beneath the blankets. 

Whatever came after this could be figured out in the morning.

For now, neither of you seemed interested in putting any distance back between you.

credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider ❤️💛

Taglist: @twentytomidnight

[tacticaldiary]

Break In

PAIRING: Jason Todd x Reader

SYNOPSIS: "Sure, baby." He smiles down at her, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, twirling it around his finger before tucking it behind an ear. "You'd think after the last-"

His body catches it before his mind does, and she watches in real time as Jason tenses, then trails off, the amusement draining from his expression. "What is it?" She whispers, confused. Her hand curls around his, squeezing.

Their front door breaks into splinters with a loud bang.

NOTE: It's actually been ages

MASTERLIST

"Let me up!" She giggles, trying to squirm away from under him. Jason is heavy, mostly muscle, and has no problem pinning her down with his body weight. A lazy smile stretches across his face, eyes glinting with amusement. "Jason!"

"Nah, you had so much to say earlier." He digs his fingers into her waist and yanks her back down under him easily. "Where's all that attitude now, huh?"

Rare were these days, where the Gotham smog cleared to show hints and flashes of the stars speckling the night's sky through their apartment's window. Days where neither of them came home with their shoulders set heavy, the slight weight of the world on them despite the years both of them have had to assimilate to the fact that that just is part of living in this city.

She doesn't even remember how they started play fighting, just that there had been a playful jab here, a chase around their kitchen table, laughter, and then the soft impact of Jason tackling her onto the couch cushions before dragging them both to the ground. Always careful, despite his strength, always cautious to cushion her landing physically and metaphorically.

It's carefree, for a moment. She's just her, and he's just Jason, and none of the darkness outside the rusty hinges of their front door exists.

Reaching around him, her fingers tangle in the hair near the back of his head, and she tugs him down. Jason fights it for a moment, just to see her giggle and then he relents, kissing her firmly, taking his time because God knows so much of it is already behind him. "I'm letting you win this time." She mumbles into his mouth, and Jason can't manage to hold back a snicker while he pulls away.

"Sure, baby." He smiles down at her, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, twirling it around his finger before tucking it behind an ear. "You'd think after the last-"

His body catches it before his mind does, and she watches in real time as Jason tenses, then trails off, the amusement draining from his expression. She moves to sit up upon sensing the change, but a hand to her shoulder pushes her back down and still. "Stop." He says, head cocked to the side, brow furrowed in concentration.

"What is it?" She whispers, confused. Her hand curls around his, squeezing.

His eyes narrow. "I think-"

Their front door breaks into splinters with a loud bang.

Jason swears, immediately throws himself forward to cover her body with his own, arms around her head as pieces of wood fly over the couch. Her hands come to grab at him in shock, and once the dust settles they only have a moment to pull away and make eyes contact before Jason is ripped away and thrown against the coffee table hard enough to shatter the glass.

"What the fuck?" He snarls, sitting up with a wince, adrenaline catching fire in his blood. "Who-"

When Jason's finally calm enough to blink the sudden wave of anger out of his vision, his back stiffens. Caught between the smoking barrel of a shotgun and a headlock, is her.

To her credit, she doesn't look panicked. If the pinch in her brow is something to go by she's furious, but there's a controlled glint in her eyes that tells him she's tampering down her real fear to unpack later.

"Stay down." The man says. Two others in similar cloth masks scatter around the apartment, pulling out drawers and shoving things into bags.

Jason stands, and the man shoves the gun against his girlfriend's head hard enough for her to stifle a groan. He catalogues the sound, remembers it for when he'll pay it back tenfold later.

He's cautious, but knows that the man likely won't pull the trigger so soon, not when he has easy leverage against him. Was this a random robbery, or a personal attack on him, is the main question. By the looks of it there's nothing to suggest that anyone is really interested in Jason aside from keeping him from making a move.

"The fuck do you want?" He snarls, hands bunching into fists. Something dark thrums right under his skin, infecting his blood with a poisoning green that Jason has finally come to co-exist with.

"Nothing personal." Jackass 1 says with a shrug, and the inflection in his tone suggests he's smiling. "Running low on cash, my boys and I gotta keep the lights on."

No way Redhood just got caught in the middle of a random robbery.

If Tim was here he'd be laughing.

Jason feels the farthest thing from amused.

If this were just his place, he'd be less bothered about it maybe, but it isn't. It's theirs. Something crafted from years of living together, every corner holding something of value may that be monetary or sentimental. His and his girls. Their bed where they sleep every night, their kitchen table they use for those sleepless nights, their living room Jason often than not collapses in after a long patrol. Echoes of them live in the rooms, and it's one of the few sanctuaries Jason feels he can shed his armour without the fear of it getting thrown back in his face.

And now it's been tainted.

Drawers emptied out, photo frames on the floor, and a gun pressed to his girl's head.

The freak goes to say something else, maybe to taunt him or demand the location of whatever he thinks he's going to find, but nothing but a howl comes out of his mouth as Jason watches the woman he loves rear her head back and crack it against the bastards nose, her free hand pushing the barrel of the gun away from her temple just as it goes off.

The noise is deafening, leaves a ringing in her ears that's almost unbearable, but the momentum is enough for her to shove the man off and stumble against one of the walls, hand pressed against her ear in pain. She trusts him to handle it, trusts him enough to squeeze her eyes shut and focus on not throwing up all over their new rug.

'Atta girl' Jason thinks viciously, and after sparing a glance just to see her whole and in one piece, he launches himself forward with an amount of grace surprising for a man of his stature.

Jason snarls, rips the gun out of the man's hand and slams the rear end of it into his head, kicking him hard in the chest to send him crashing into the wall. The other two men have abandoned their pillaging in favour of pulling out small knives and jumping into the fray, trying to take him down.

Like hell.

They go down easy, further proof that this wasn't a professional job, just an unlucky encounter for both ends.

Jason disarms them both, knocks them out, and leaves them on the ground before picking up one of their knives and approaching the first guy on the ground who's struggling to push himself up against the wall.

He grabs the man by the hair and yanks it backwards painfully, standing over him with a scowl. "Bad day to be you, shithead."

Then he drives the knife straight into the man's wrist that held the gun, twisting until he's screaming and Jason can feel his bones crack and separate. He leaves the blade in their, tightens his grip on the bastard's head and slams it down onto the floorboards to knock him out.

Silence. The noise is over as soon as it started, the threat neutralised, but Jason still feels the tell-tale anger coursing through his veins. It's a struggle to soothe it, to remember that this isn't who he is now, that taking the lives of these three men would not make him feel better in the long run no matter how much his fingers itch to pull the trigger. Shaking it off, he turns to more important matters.

He's by her side in seconds, a hand on her back and urging her to straighten up from how she's standing all curled into herself.

"Hey." He breathes, voice dropped to a lower register. "We're good, it's alright, c'mon."

She shakes her head.

Alarm rings through him. "What's wrong?" Jason says, shifting to stand in front of her, hands on her shoulders. He practically pulls her upright

"Hurts..." She grits out, pale. "I...I can't hear clearly. Ringing." "Shit." She inhales with a shudder.

"Let me see." It comes out firmer, and this time when he tries to tilt her head up Jason doesn't let her fight it.

Blood drips down the side of her face, slick between her fingers that were pressed against the wound. Jason's breath hitches sharply as he brushes away her hair to inspect the damage. It's nothing severe, the gun firing just grazed the side of her forehead but everything's still intact, and she's still breathing, and Jason hasn't lost the best thing to ever happen to him over dumb Gotham luck-

A hand winds around his wrist, one that he hadn't noticed was shaking. "I'm fine." She finally says, blinking hard a few times and straightening up. She wobbles, and offers him a weak smile when Jason immediately steadies her by the waist. "It's okay, Jay."

"It's not." He swallows, glancing over his shoulder at the wreckage of their home. Bloodstains and dents in the walls, possessions thrown around, and blankets torn up. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, a heavy sort of sadness settles in him.

"I don't care about all that." She says softly, holding onto him as the tinnitus starts to fade. The sound is still dizzying, but much more bearable now. "Just that we're alright."

Jason lets out a long breath, and allows himself a moment to bury his face in her hair, breathing in her scent. He winds an arm around her, digs his phone out from his pocket with the other.

The screen is cracked.

"That'll need stitches." He mumbles, pulling away to frown at the bleeding again. "We're going to the cave, Alfred'll help."

Tired, she settles for a nod. They gather the few essential things they need and Jason kicks aside one of the men in front of the door roughly to get past and back outside. There's a little bit of satisfaction in that.

Tonight he'll watch over her, stay by her side and hover. That's just what he does, what Jason has always done after a close call. His bones ache with the need to protect, to stay close, to safeguard. Tonight is for soothing that rush of anger in him that he's barely keeping a leash on, just enough to make sure that she's settled and recovering well.

Tomorrow, however?

Tomorrow, the Red Hood goes hunting.

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(30/07/2026)

[tacticaldiary]

The Cost Of Rashness (Pt.2)

PAIRING: Jason Todd x Reader

PART ONE HERE

SYNOPSIS: "I'm so fucking sorry." He says into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, baby. I fucked up. I'm fucked up, it's my fault." His grip tightens and there's a weird cognitive dissonance at war in his head.

She feels so good against him, like home and fresh air, and Jason finally feels like he can breathe again. The other part of him scorns him for thinking he had any claim to this in the first place, rages about being cracked with too many fissures to ever truly keep himself together.

MASTERLIST

A/N: The must requested part two, one of my fav fics I've ever written

It's the smell of antiseptic that ends up rousing her.

The first thing she notes is how her entire body aches like it's never hurt before. Her head is pounding, but it's a muted sort of pain that she can ignore if she doesn't think about. She shifts in place with a small groan, and there's a sudden noise at her side that prompts her to slowly blink awake.

Jason is sat next to her, chair dragged right up against her cot in...in the cave? He looks haggard, hair a mess like he's been running his hands through it for ages, worry tensing his muscles.

"What?" She mumbles, trying to sit up.

"Don't." A warm hand presses her back down. "You need to rest." Too exhausted to argue, she lays back down. The heel of her palm presses against he temple as she tries to get her bearing and remember what the hell happened. She peers down to find she's not dressed in her usual clothes, but something more comfy and loose, a shirt she recognises as Jason's. She's certain she wasn't wearing that before, and she would've noticed because the first thing she did when she got home was try and take it off to get a sample of whatever-...

Jason can tell the minute she snaps back into it, because her body immediately tenses and her eyes find his, lined with a hint of disbelief and so much hurt in makes him grip the headboard of her cot in a white knuckled grip.

"It wasn't me." She says. "I didn't take anything on purpose. I wouldn't do that to myself. To you."

He clenches, unclenches his jaw. Cannot quite meet her eyes when he speaks. "I know. I saw. When I was on patrol."

The words settle over them like a cold blanket, pushing against the dam that's been building up since the minute he stormed out of their home.

"You know." She repeats slowly.

"I shouldn't have left." He sits back down in the chair, hand carding through his hair. "I just...I freaked out and-"

"I needed you. I needed you, and you walked away..." Her voice cracks, and Jason feels it like a physical blow in his gut. His jaw clenches, eyes cast down as he wrestles with his own head.

Something cold squeezes his heart, the fear of losing her, of losing this stunning him in place. Inhaling sharply, he forces his eyes up to look at her. "I'm here now." "I'm not leaving you again." Jason swallows. "I'm sorry-" He says hoarsely, reaching out to grab her hand.

It disappears under the covers before he can touch her.

"I think I want to be alone." She whispers, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"I'm here." He repeats over the thick lump of hurt in his throat. Jason knows he doesn't deserve to push, does not deserve to take the place by her bedside when he abandoned her so hot-headedly. She has always been light and warmth and softness, while he was forged out of rough lines and sharp edges.

"For how long this time?" Her voice sounds exhausted, like she's giving up on a battle she hadn't wanted to fight in the first place.

He swallows, feels heat burn the back of his eyes with shame. Because that's exactly what it is. Shameful. How many nights had they spent tangled together where he'd run his fingers through her hair, pressing his lips down her throat and murmuring the promise that she'd always be safe with him into her skin?

"Let me explain." He says, a little too quickly, a touch too desperate to get his words out. "Please." And as soon as the words are out he realises how fucking hypocritical he sounds. It's why they're in this situation in the first place, because he was the one that was too thick headed to let her explain herself before.

She seems to realise it too, because her expression pinches and both of them fall to a beat of miserable silence. What would he even say? That he froze and panicked and fell back into assuming the worst with anger as a crutch to deal? It didn't seem enough, and it sounds so stupid in his head that he visibly struggles to put it into words palatable enough to not get him socked in the jaw.

"Oh, you're up." A voice from the entrance to the cave interrupts him before he can try and speak. Both of them turn to look at Tim, who slowly makes his way towards them with silent footsteps. He looks between the two for a moment, and Jason is struck with the thought that he's assessing the situation before he changes anything about it.

Tim's eyes narrow ever so slightly when he spots her closed off body language and the desperation in the lines of his brother's shoulders. Making himself stand a little straighter, he doesn't really say anything until he's at the other side of her medical cot. "Thought I'd bring you your next dose." He taps the clear glass bottle in his hand, messing with the IV drip idly. "I should swap this out for a new bag of fluids too." He speaking half to himself.

She doesn't reply, just nods tightly. The atmosphere is still charged with hurt and unsaid words, and Jason wants his brother to leave again so he can try and fix this.

"Bruce is looking for you upstairs." Tim says to him suddenly, pushing a syringe into the vial. "Dick wants an update on her condition too, do you mind?" He casts Jason a glance.

"Do it yourself." Jason furrows his brows.

"He asked for you." He's surprised when Tim pushes back, then turns to her instead with a small, apologetic smile. "And the medication is going to make you a little groggy, so you'll probably drift off in a bit."

She feels like she got hit by a truck, so complaints there.

"I'll stay here. You can come back when she wakes up." He tells Jason, finishing up pushing the medicine through. There's something about his tone that's a little off, and it raises Jason's hackles a little. Why the hell would he leave now? He has no intention of ever doing anything remotely similar to-...

Jason's thoughts screech to a halt at the subtle, grateful look she casts his brother's way.

Oh.

The fight drains out of him all at once. One shaky inhale later, he's nodding and pushing himself to his feet, his feet carrying him quicker than usual to the stairs that lead up and out.

In his absence, the pressure pushing down on her chest lightens up a little bit, and it makes her feel a little guilty, but if she had to keep having this conversation with Jason now then something in her would crack. What do you even do in this situation? She'd never once thought he'd act like that, so...so angry at her. So unwilling to listen and believe her. To give her a chance.

The click of a new fluid bag being adjusted to stand snaps her out of it, and suddenly she's grateful for Tim. They've always been fast friends, and she's known him longer than she's known Jason.

"Thanks." She whispers, squeezing her eyes shut to fight against the prickle of tears.

"Yeah, of course." He replies easily, though the smile he casts her is sad. "You know he really-"

"I know, Tim." She squeezes her eyes shut. "I know why he did it. Can we just...can we not?"

The responding, slow exhale is enough of an answer.

When she feels around blindly, Tim lets her clutch onto his arm, her knuckles white. He takes a seat at the edge of her cot when the first hiccup breaks the dam of quiet tears. A warm hand lands over hers.

He stays with her in silent solidarity, soft cries echoing off the walls off the cave.

                                · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Jason forgot how loneliness slowly eats away at the heart. He hasn't had to feel it in years, ever since they got together, but now? Now it aches whenever he goes back to the safehouse he's camping out in, to be met with cold walls and empty rooms. He feels it prickling in his chest when he scrolls through their old messages whenever he can't fall asleep. In the simple way he instinctively goes to look for her when he's forgotten she isn't there. She hasn't been for five days now.

Jason is trying to give her the space she asked for the last time they talked in the manor. He's holding himself back from texting and calling, from going home just to see her and assure himself she's still there. He's trying so fucking hard and it's killing him on the inside because he doesn't know when it'll end.

If it'll end.

He sent flowers to their doorstep once, and occasionally orders food to be delivered. No note, no name, but she'd know who it was all from. No text had come in to acknowledge it, but at least he feels like he's doing something to take care of her, even if he can't see her in person.

Normally Jason wouldn't be this cautious. He's not the type to tread lightly, but every time the thought of going back and pushing himself inside their home to explain- to plead and demand and apologise until she understood, the waver in her voice when she asked him to leave her alone to think for a few days haunts him, freezes him into place. He doesn't want to fuck this up. Jason wants to keep what they have so badly that he's willing to go a period without it if there's a slight chance that she'll forgive him.

Jason breaks on the sixth night away.

Deep in his bones there is a right debilitating fright gripping his by the throat when he wakes up thrashing so hard from a nightmare he'd banged his elbow on the nightstand hard enough to bruise. His heart is racing, pounding so hard it hurts, palms sweaty and breathing too short to be normal. He's not new to waking up like this, but he's never dreamt of this before.

He's never seen he hollow eyes and cold body spawled over the floor, a scenario where he really was too late that day. Jason has never had to reckon with the vision of her so cold and still, dirty needles and white powder scattered around her like a taunt that'd only hit him where it hurts most.

His hands shake as he presses them against his face, trying to will down the rising panic and take a deep breath. It's not working, not when it's still dark enough outside for the black to hold onto his worst fears. It's been so long since he's had to go through an episode like this alone, without soothing hands running up and down his back, a soft voice in his ear talking him through it.

The phone is pressed to his ear before he can stop it, the need to hear her voice to confirm she's alive taking over all the restraint he had had. She was alive, she had to be. It wasn't real, it wasn't real. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers that it's too late in the night for any sane person to be awake

He calls again, and again, and again.

Somewhere in the distance he swears he can hear laughing.

"Hello?" The soft sound, a tired voice through the phone - it hits him hard. Jason shudders an exhale out in relief, hunching over and trying to calm himself down. "...Jason?" She says after a moments hesitation.

"Hey." Is all he can say, He wants to curse himself for how weak and broken it sounds. "You were asleep."

A beat of silence. The rustle of sheets on the other side.

"Well. It's 3:20 in the morning." A touch of concern.

"Yeah." He presses his forehead to his knees. "I just needed to...to hear you." His voice breaks.

"Where are you?" And fuck, hearing her voice makes him ache, makes the anger at himself, the loneliness of the past few days fester until it's near unbearable.

He zoned out and she's still talking, he realises with a start.

"-okay? Tell me where you are."

"The apartment on 5th." He says, willing the tightness in his chest to loosen all the way. "Go back to sleep. Thanks. For picking up." He adds at the end, finally coming down as the knot in his chest loosens. Jason takes in a deep, shaky breath and ends the call before he does something stupid like grab his keys or use his front door.

There's no way he's going back to sleep now, not when there's a chance of seeing...that again. His heart is still erratic, so he leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes, willing himself to try himself under control.

Maybe it's been an hour, but sometime around then, the telltale sounds of footsteps outside his door and the jingle of keys fitting into the lock have him sitting straight up. The sheets pool around his hips, hand reaching for the knife he sleeps with under his pillow sometimes. The hilts is a familiar weight in his hands.

"Jason?" A voice echoes through the hallway, getting closer. His fingers loosen on instinct, a shock through his system. He doesn't say anything, just sits there motionless as her silhouette draws closer, until finally she steps through the door.

They stare at each other for a moment. He's shirtless, sitting up and staring at her, eyes wide with disbelief. She's wearing his shirt and a pair of boxers, hair sticking up on one end.

She looks beautiful.

Slowly, she sets her keys down on the nightstand and sits down next to him. His fingers twitch, but he keeps them in his lap.

"Are you alright?" She asks softly. There's a furrow in her brow as she takes him in. Red eyes, light scratches along the center of his chest where he's been clutching on trying to breathe earlier. He has an exhausted look about him, like a man who hasn't slept in days.

"You're here." He says, finally finding his voice. He shifts in place, eyes darting away like he's not sure if he's allowed to look anymore.

"You sounded rough over the phone." She offers. A pause. "And you look like shit."

It's so close to their usual back and forth banter that it hurts.

Jason swallows, shrugs in an attempt to be casual, eyes fixed on a spot over her shoulder. "Nightmare. I'm fine."

A hums. Tentatively, she places a hand over his. "You're still shaking." Comes her soft voice, and his gaze snaps back to her immediately, electricity up his spine.

She's so close, and Jason hasn't seen her in ages, and he really never understood what needing someone could ever mean until he fucked up enough for it to finally hit him. Her scent washes over him, and suddenly it's too much. His shame, the anger at himself, the pain of missing her, it all boils over and Jason can't help it anymore.

Her turns his palm over and grabs her hand, the other arm coming up to wrap around her shoulders to pull her close.

"I'm so fucking sorry." He says into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, baby. I fucked up. I'm fucked up, it's my fault." His grip tightens and there's a weird cognitive dissonance at war in his head. She feels so good against him, like home and fresh air, and Jason finally feels like he can breathe again. The other part of him scorns him for thinking he had any claim to this in the first place, rages about being cracked with too many fissures to ever truly keep himself together.

And then a hand settles into his hair, a thumb stokes the nape of his neck. She leans into him, shifting to settle down on his lap. Jason instantly takes the opportunity to pull her closer, adjusting so he can wrap both his arms around her with his face buried into her shoulder.

Seeing him like this breaks her heart. Jason, strong and sturdy- an anchor that kept himself and everyone around him afloat through sheer stubbornness and resolve. Her shoulder turns damp and her heart twists because she can count the number of times she's seen her boyfriend cry on one hand. As shitty as he was to her earlier, after some reflection she understood why he might have reacted like that. It's not something she's okay with, but she gets it.

"Shh, Jay." She shushes him, resting her cheek on his head, rubbing his shoulders. "It's okay."

"it's not." He shakes his head. "It's not okay. I should've-I didn't even give you a fucking chance-"

"Listen." She sighs, moves to cup his cheeks and tug until he lifts his head. Red eyes, sorrow and guilt filled stare up at her, and the honesty she sees is all she needs to know that he means it. That he really is apologetic and his reaction was not one out of malice, but self-preservation. "You're right, it wasn't okay. But I forgive you."

"You shouldn't." He manages to shake his head with a bitter, small laugh.

"I do. I know why you did it. I understand, I wish you'd have let me explain, but I understand." She smooths a thumb over his brow, but it does nothing to get rid of the furrow there. "Just don't let it happen again."

Something in Jason softens, a piece of the weight whisked away at the reassurance. "It won't." He promises, bumping their foreheads together, and he looks so intense with his words that she believes him. "I'll be better. I want to be. For you."

"I believe you." She leans forward, brushes their lips together in a chaste kiss, all soft. No harsh lines, no goodbyes. Just a promise.

Eventually, she pushes on his shoulders until he gets the hint and lays back on his bed. She settles down, head on his chest and pressed close under the covers. He never lets her go for a moment, strong arms banding iron around her the entire time, like he's afraid she might change her mind and leave if he lets go. For the first time in a week, his head is blissfully quiet. There's no way Jason isn't going to make this up to her even if she has forgiven him, but right now tiredness tugs on him so hard he can't do anything but follow her lead.

Lips press to the crown of her head. "I love you." Jason whispers. He says it again for good measure.

She hums, tangles their legs together and repeats it back to him, listening to the beat of his heart and letting it lull her to sleep.

They have a lot to talk about in the morning, he has his amends to make no matter what she says, but for now? This moment?

His world seems a lot less bleak.

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(23/1/2026)

[tacticaldiary]

The Cost Of Rashness

PAIRING: Jason Todd x Reader

SYNOPSIS: "You're as high as a fucking kite. You can barely stand straight!" He pushes out a sharp exhale when she shakes her head, chest tightening. "What, you didn't trust me? Is that it? You didn't think I'd help you through it, that I'd think less of you? That I'd leave you?"

Jason fucked up. He fucked up so bad and he doesn't know if he can make it better. Someone had hurt her and he'd pushed his own fears into the mix and warped it into being about him.

PART 2

MASTERLIST

A/N: Debating a Part 2 that's purely comfort, let me know what ya'll think

Sometimes Jason forgets that he has a home.

He's always had a place he stayed at, an alley when he was little, the manor when he was a teen and then his own apartment later on. Houses and places, but never a home. He never used to put much thought into the decor, or choose the coziest blankets because what if he had to move a month later.

His keys clink on the table in the entryway, right under the ugly picture frame they bought as a joke, but grew on them too much to throw away. Under his boots is the small carpet he picked out, and against the wall a little mirror that she insisted was necessary. It's the little things that pile up together to bring him a sense of peace and stability in his busy life. Jason ducks down to put his boots in the corner before heading farther into the apartment, stretching his shoulders out, groaning a little when the tension pops out of them.

"I'm home." He calls out quietly, low voice audible in the quiet. There's no answer back, which isn't a reason for too much concern. Maybe she's in the shower, or their bedroom.

God, he nearly sighs in relief at the thought of collapsing into bed with her at the end of the day. These fucking goons and their stupid transfers at the docks. You'd think transporting tons of arms would be more obvious to pin down, but the crooks in Gotham have always been slippery.

Jason smiles to himself when he turns the corner to the open plan kitchen, spots his girlfriend, soon to be fiance if the ring hidden under their mattress has anything to say about it, standing there next to the dining table with her back to him. He wonders if she'd be convinced to skip cooking dinner and order takeout instead. It's been a while since they've been out to a restaurant together, but Jason's so exhausted he doesn't think he has it in him to do that right now.

He's about to suggest just that, when something about her makes him stop in his tracks. She's...tense, shoulders bunched near her ears, and she still hasn't turned around even when he'd made his footsteps louder on purpose to not startle her. He moves closer, immediately on alert.

"Hey." He narrows his eyes as she turns around jerkily, shifts in place as he looks her over quickly. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing." She says quickly, clasping her hands together to disguise the tremors. "It's nothing, Jay." There's an unnatural pallour to her skin that sends alarm bells ringing through his head.

"Try again. You're shaking." He argues, a warm hand wrapping around both of hers. He lets go, running his hands up and down her arms instead, as if to check for injuries. "What is it? You hurt?" Jason's frown only deepens when he notes the odd dilation of her pupils up close. She pulls away quickly, turning around.

"I'm...I'm fine. Just tired. Need to sleep it off."

It makes him antsy, restless to see her so closed off. They don't work like this, they've never hid anything from each other. Both of them are honest to a fault, so this is a first and it makes him uneasy enough to push for answers. If she's in trouble, he wants to know. He wants to help his girl.

"Hey." He grabs her shoulder gently but firmly, turning her back towards him. "If someone's screwing with you..." The words die in his throat as his gaze drops to her shoulder.

A smear of white on her shirt.

Powdery.

It takes a second. It shouldn't have, but it does. Slowly, Jason stares at the mark, then back up at her, back down again. She's saying something, her mouth is moving but the sudden static in his ears is louder. The trembling, the twitchiness, the pupils.

He feels the frigid Gotham winters nipping at his fingers, hears the scratch of cardboard that the kids around him tried to huddle under, sees the twitching, shaky hands of people rummaging through dumpsters and picking up stray needles, desperate for their next fix. Gaunt faces, frail and shaky limbs. Kids that had their whole life ahead of them reduced to a husk of themselves through no fault of their own. Roy. He thinks of Roy.

Jason blinks and for a second he's back with his mom. Her breath used to rattle in wet inhales in the last moments, scratching at herself or the nearest surface, lashing out and knocking over bottles to yank open the drawer she kept her stash in.

He takes a step back, betrayal burning in his chest. Hurt is the most prominent; hurt, a ball so painful in the center of his chest it feels like it's choking him. It starts to morph and bubble into something more familiar. Anger is his companion, has always protected and shielded him from the worst of reality. It seeps into him now, soothing over the cracks of concern and rationality. All he sees is someone he loves turn to the one thing that destroyed everyone else he had.

He breathes out, harsh and hoarse. He doesn't see the way she stills, eyes wide. "Why would you need that?" A hand rakes through his hair, pausing to yank at the strands for a moment. "You know what I do, who I was, what I've seen." Jason's voice cracks, but he pushes forward. "And you still...I could've helped you. I would've helped you."

Anything but this.

A quick step forward towards him, the words rush out of her desperately. " It's not what you think! I would never use, you know I wouldn't." Her voice cuts in. "Just listen-"

"But you did!" He snaps, moving back, clutching onto the top of the dining table chair next to him. "You're as high as a fucking kite. You can barely stand straight!" He pushes out a sharp exhale when she shakes her head, chest tightening. "What, you didn't trust me? Is that it? You didn't think I'd help you through it, that I'd think less of you? That I'd leave you?"

"No, I-"

"Well you were fucking right." The chair scrapes as he shoves it aside, on a warpath to the front door. "Fuck that." He can't do it again. He can't, he can't. The thought of watching it happen to her strikes a cold fear so overwhelming he nearly doubles over at the thought.

"Wait!" She puts herself between him and the door, hands raised. Jason narrows his eyes at the way they shake and side steps her immediately. "Just listen to me first!"

There's a moment of stillness, where Jason pauses at the door, hand curled around the handle.

"No." A beat of silence. "I'm not going to be here to watch your body go cold. Not again."

Shoulders shaking, the static in his ears tunes out the distant protests as he pulls the door open and slams it shut behind him.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Three hours later and the panic clutching his chest still hasn't fully receded. It makes him less stealthy as he skulks through the alleys on his usual patrol route near crime alley. His head isn't in the game and some part of his brain that sounds annoyingly like Bruce chides him for being out here with this mindset, but another, more vicious part of him wants to punch as many people as he can until he feels better.

Jason briefly wonders if she feels better. It looked like she was on the tail end of whatever she took, so the tremors of withdrawl should be setting in now. Jason...he really thought this was it. That he'd caught a break, that he'd found someone who made him feel like he didn't poison everything he touched. That somehow, someway, someone could look at his hands and not flinch away from the blood still on them.

Fuck, he loved her. He loves her, loves her so fiercely it hurts worse than getting shot. Hell, Jason would've preferred that ten times over than what he'd found out today. She just understood him, looked at all the mismatched parts of him and helped him stitch them back into something worth living for.

Contrary to his outburst, Jason wouldn't leave her to deal with a drug addiction herself. He'd point people who could help in her direction but he just...he can't be there if things go wrong. He can't, and he feels like such a fucking monster but he knows he'll never stop seeing his past if he stays.

It makes him feel like he's eight again.

It makes him feel scared. Panicked.

He grits his teeth and focuses on the crunch of gravel beneath his boots instead. The way he smells the gunpowder lingering in the air around him. A stakeout was the worst thing right now, but shipments of illegal arms didn't exactly tend to convenience his calendar.

Slowly, Jason squeezes his eyes shut to center himself before slipping behind one of the big shipping containers to eavesdrop.

It's clearly Penguin that's behind this, he recognises three of the men exchanges hands with two others. Their voices ring clear over the crowded space, and Jason watches as one of them move over to crack open one of the smaller containers.

Not guns.

Sacks of white powder.

The universe hates him.

"New, improved product. Tried and tested." One of the guys slurs proudly. "Nailed a few people with 'em a couple hours ago myself. Puffed onto their face, should've seen how quick the onset was." He snickers, yanking out a few pieces of crumpled paper from his belt and shoving them at Penguin's goons.

Whatever, Jason's seen enough. The anger bubbling in his makes taking them down quick and easy. He moves silently, but not quietly. The air shifts when he steps out into the dim light of the moon.

The fight is over before anyone has a chance to draw their weapons.

Shaking his head, kicking one of the unconscious men, Jason closes the shipping container back up and reaches to pick up the scattered documents as evidence. His hand comes up to tap at his comms to call it in, let the Bat's take over the cleanup.

The documents aren't words, they're photo's. Slightly blurry, clearly taken

He stills. Not a muscle twitches.

That's his girl, looking into the camera. Scared. In the same outfit she was wearing before he left.

The paper crumples in his fist.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He stumbles into their apartment, barely remembering to shut the door behind him as he calls out her name. Panic thrums through him, barely kept on a leash. When there's no answer, Jason quickens his steps, discarding his helmet on the ground. "Are you home!?" He calls out, urgent.

The crunch of glass under his feet stops him in his tracks. Lifting his boot, his throat tightens at the picture frame shattered under him. Gingerly, he picks it up, swallowing back the lump in his throat at the photo of them together. A candid. She's mid squeal while he lifts her up with one arm, looking up with the softest expression Jason's ever seen himself wear.

He sets it down carefully, taking a deep, shuddering breath, pressing his palm to his eyes for a moment.

Jason fucked up. He fucked up so bad and he doesn't know if he can make it better. Nausea and self-hatred churn in his gut like something rotten, choking him. The hurt in her eyes when he'd left, the foul fucking words he'd spewed at her.

Why didn't he listen? Why didn't he hear her out? Someone had hurt her and he'd pushed his own fears into the mix and warped it into being about him.

Who knew what that batch of drugs was mixed with. It could be dangerous, what if there was unchecked side effects? What if she was incapacitated? Having trouble breathing? Did he really fucking up and leave her like that?

The comment he made about finding her dead earlier makes bile burn in his throat.

'Please' He thinks, throwing open doors. Not in the kitchen, or the laundry. His heart is racing, fear so potent cutting through his veins it almost throws him off balance. Still no answer to his calls, but he cocks his head at the sound of running water from the bathroom. The door is half cracked open, steam billowing out of it.

Quickly, he pushes it open to step inside.

Jason's chest seizes in fear at the sight of her sprawled on the tile, still clothed, the shower running empty.

"No." He breathes. His knees hit the floor next to her hard but the bruising is the farthest thing on his mind right now.

"Hey, wake up." He cups her face, brushes her hair out of her face. "C'mon, angel. Come on." His voice breaks as he taps her cheek insistently. Her chest is rising and falling, but Jason presses a clumsy hand to her neck to feel her pulse anyway. It flutters under his fingers, too fast for his liking. "Wake up." Knuckles dig harshly into her sternum, rubbing up and down, and the deep pain from it is what eventually rouses her.

Jason gasps out an exhale when she stirs, bundles her close to his chest in his lap immediately, face pressed into her hair. "Fuck, 'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"J'sn...?" She slurs, and something in him breaks.

"It's me." He breathes, pulling back to look at her. "I'm here. I've got you."

A shaking hand curls into the front of his jacket weakly. "'s cold." She coughs. "Am I...where?"

"It's okay. Just the withdrawal, you're safe." He says, grabbing her hand to give it a squeeze before gently putting it down. His jacket comes off with the sole purpose of wrapping it around her. Once it's secure, Jason picks her up, turns the shower off, and walks back outside to settle. She's shaking against him from a phantom chill.

He smooths her hair back once she's laying down on their bed, and feels like an asshole for stripping the blankets away when she tries to hike them over herself.

"Please. 'm cold." She cries softly, and Jason's heart breaks all over again. He presses his lips to her forehead for a long while, whispering soothing nonsense and trying not to drown in self-loathing. He can't give her anything because he doesn't know what was in the mix of drugs. Jason won't risk a reaction that could potentially kill her. He doesn't know how fast the symptoms progressed either because he's a selfish fucking asshole and stormed out without accepting an explanation.

He needs to get her to the cave, needs the tech there to make sure she'll be okay. Blindly, he reaches for his phone in his pocket, and it takes three tries for him to unlock it. She's in no condition for them to take his bike, and he hates calling in favours from his family on a good day but he'd lay down his weapons and promise to abide by any of their stupid rules if it meant she'd be okay.

With a shaky inhale, he presses the phone to his ear and calls Dick.

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(20/1/2026)

[tacticaldiary]

Stray Shadows

PAIRING: Jason Todd x Reader

SYNOPSIS: "I'm here, baby." With a gentleness so at odds with the violence moments prior, he runs a soothing hand up and down her arm. Not pulling or pushing, just grounding. "It's Jason. Look at me?"

Gingerly she raises her head and uncurls. When he takes the moment to look her over, he sincerely wishes he'd shoved the gun down that bastard's throat before pulling the trigger.

NOTE: Love protective Jason

MASTERLIST

When she'd confided in Jason about the person that came to her little cafe just to seemingly stare at her, her boyfriend's eyes had immediately narrowed. It's not jealously, both of them have known each other long enough for that to be a petty thing of the past, but the way his stance shifts into something more protective tells her it was the right decision to ask for help.

"He tries to talk to me sometimes." She admits, running a hand through his hair, letting her nails scrape gently across his scalp. "It's nothing forward, but it's just...something about him."

"Trusting your intuition is the most fullproof way to keep out of trouble." Jason had said, looking up from where his head was on her lap. "Does he try and touch you?"

"No, I'm always behind the counter." She tips her head back to rest on the couch cushion. "But he's always staring, you know? He just sits at the table by the window and stares at me most of the time. I think he took a photo once." The frown on her face doesn't belong there, neither does the stressed furrow in her brow.

"Fucking creep." Jason breathes. "Want me to take care of it?"

"'Take care' as in like...put him down or-?"

"Jesus-" He snorts. "No. I mean, I guess if you want?" A gentle, admonishing tug to his hair makes him roll his eyes.

"I don't want him dead. Just want him to stop creeping me out." He grabs her hand, brings it to rest over his heart and tangles their fingers together.

"Sure." His lips press against her knuckles affectionately. Simple and promised. He's a man of his word.

And that's that.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The plan works better than expected, honestly. An hour after she opened the store, her stalker was there an hour later like clockwork.

She meets Jason's eye from across the counter, tilts her head towards the table in question and watches her boyfriend stand to his full height and crack his neck before approaching.

From the outside it looks harmless enough, the way Jason takes a seat opposite the man, blocking her view from him. The line of his shoulders is straight, but relaxed and in control. She can see him crossing his arms, leaning closer to say something in a dropped octave that makes his companion go pale.

It's a second later that he's scurrying away, coffee cup forgotten on the table. Jason watches him leave the entire time, takes note of the car's licence plate. He doesn't interrupt her work, doesn't pull her aside and make a big deal of it.

They share a look while the person at the register is busy looking at the menu options. When she offers him a grateful smile, he nods with a small one of his own before tucking his jacket under his arm and taking his leave, the promise to come back to walk her home already a familiar routine between them.

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Sometimes she hates her shitty luck.

They'd run out of vanilla syrup, and the grocery store was only a few minutes away. In hindsight, she should have trusted the uneasy gut feeling that had followed her ever since she stepped out of her store, but she figured it was the lingering unease from this morning.

She turns to cut through an alley, the usual route she takes, when the sound of boots walking a bit too fast behind her makes her slow down. Startled, she whips around, and takes a second too long to react before someone grabs her and shoves her hard against the alley wall.

"What the fuck-" She's cut off by a hand closing around her throat, a body pressed harshly against her to keep her still.

"You think it's funny to send your fucking attack dog after me?" The man from the cafe sneers, pressing her into the wall harder. "Can't just take the fucking compliment, can you?"

Shit. It's the same beady black eyes that send chills down her spine when her back is turned that glare at her now. He's pissed, and she can't decide if it's better or worse that she knows why.

"Nothing's a compliment when it comes from a creep." She snaps, gasping as the hand around her throat tightens, the grip crushing. Panicked, she claws at his forearm, leaving deep, red scratches on bare skin. The pressure doesn't let us, desperation intensifying as dizziness sets in.

"Creep?!" He hisses, and she can smell his rancid breath. "Entitled women like you give everyone else a bad name! You liked the attention, I know you did-"

She swings a fist and catches him in his right ear.

The rest of his bullshit is choked off in a startled cry as the man stumbles back, ear ringing, momentarily disorientated from the blow. The minute his hand are off her, she crumples to the ground, gasping in a lungful of air. Scrambling to find her feet, she breaks into a clumsy run for the end of the alley. If she can make it out and into the public eye, someone would see her, her cafe wasn't too far from here either-

Something slams into her so hard she topples over onto the dirty ground. Her shriek is cut off with a hand clamped over her mouth. She's pinned down, and the cold fury in the man's expression makes her blood run cold.

"You bitch." He spits. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" He's shouting at her, inches away from her face. Fear makes itself at home in her heart, right next to the boiling anger. The two co-exist, melding into an odd reaction of neither fight nor flight.

His hands are cold and cruel, pressed too tight into her skin for her to try and bite his fingers off, arms pinned by his other one, lower body immobile by the way he's sitting on her. The bastard was heavy. He's speaking, spitting at her, promising threats she can only hear the tail end of over the rush of blood in her ear, and her heartbeat thumping hard against her chest. Still, she doesn't look away, doesn't squeeze her eyes shut or let the prickle of tears win over. If he's going to hurt her, he'll do it looking at the hatred in her eyes, the disgust and loathing that cover up the fright.

A crunch and a rustle snaps his attention away. Teeth bared, he casts a look over his shoulder. The distraction prompts her to kickstart struggling again, and she squirms and thrashes.

"Stop that!" He snaps his head back and hisses, squeezes her wrists together tighter. "I won't-"

The crunch of bone echoes off the alley wall, and the weight is abruptly pulled off her.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Rage has always been his companion.

Sometimes an ally, sometimes an instigator, it's always nipping at his heels. He's doing better now, now that there's not as much to be bitter about, not as much to look at and wish it were different. Hate and distrust are seeds sowed so deep inside him, it's taken years to dig their roots back out into something more manageable.

The honest truth of it all is that sometimes Jason's grateful he's never been able to banish the entirety of it. His rage is explosive, it's burning red and eats everything in its path. Sometimes he can sharpen it and make it a deadly sort of quiet, the kind you'll never notice until it's too late. Other times it's sudden, explosive, loud and demanding attention.

Either way, it is never let loose without intention.

Breaking that man's nose does little to calm what's boiling though him. Nor does the crack of the man's skull against brick. Neither does the way he kicks at his leg so hard he hears the tibia snap.

Jason slams the fucker that had his hands on his girl into the wall again, towers over him, drags him up till his feet are dangling an inch off the floor. "Nothing to say?" He says lowly. There's no amusement, just a low growl that makes grown men shiver. "You loved talkin' a minute ago. I wanna hear it again."

When the guy opens his mouth, Jason shifts his grip to press his forearm against his neck, crushing it until all the sound that comes out is a weak rasp. Scoffing, he grinds his foot into the part of his broken leg. "Should've taken the fucking hint back then."

The asshole crumples to the ground when Jason pulls him from the wall and tosses him like he weighs nothing. He registers somewhere in the back of his mind that she's still here, that she's watching him slip into a place he only lets himself into when he's wearing a mask.

The other part of him snarls in vicious satisfaction, the need to reassure her that she's safe. Jason would put two bullets into himself before he lets this slimy motherfucker breathe in the same vicinity as her again.

With a grace that should not befall a man of his stature, he crouches next to the pathetic lump of a man. The metal of his gun clinks softly against it's holster as he pulls it out.

"Sorry." The man chokes out when the barrel is pressed to his shoulder. "'m sorry man-"

"Thought you could get away with that shit, huh?" Jason says quietly. There's no need to raise his voice to make this point. "You think you're tough shit?" The cold metal moves from his shoulder to the center of his neck. He leans down, stops right beside the man's ear.

"I should blow your fucking larynx out." He whispers. "But I guess you're lucky I'm 'reformed'." The gun shifts.

He pulls the trigger.

Two shots ring out, the ringing mixed with strangled screams. Jason watches for a moments, lets the carnage center himself before pulling himself to stand.

The tattered remains of the man's blown off right hand make him wrinkle his nose in disgust, and Jason steps over it nonchalantly to get to his real objective.

She has her back pressed to the farthest wall, knees tucked to her chest, head tipped down into her arms. Just because she could hear it happen doesn't necessarily mean that she wanted to see it herself. Jason understands. He always does.

Quickly, he kneels in front of her, calling out her name softly and pulling her arms away from her-

She flinches, pulling tighter into herself.

Jason takes a deep breath. She needs him now, going to finish off that fucker won't help with anything but his anger.

"It's okay." He says instead, pitches his voice soft in a way only she ever gets to hear. "I'm here, baby." With a gentleness so at odds with the violence moments prior, he runs a soothing hand up and down her arm. Not pulling or pushing, just grounding. "It's Jason. Look at me?"

Gingerly she raises her head and uncurls. When he takes the moment to look her over, he sincerely wishes he'd shoved the gun down that bastard's throat before pulling the trigger.

A ring of dark bruising covers her throat, with distinct fingerprint shapes scattered here and there. Her wrists and upper arms are in the same same shape.

He curses softly, and this time when he reaches out to gather her into his arms, she responds quickly, melting into him. "I've got you." He mumbles into her hair. "Shouldn't have left you there."

"You couldn't have known." And the way she rasps the words out sounds like it hurts. Jason's grip tightens for just a moment.

"I should've."

She shakes her head, presses her face into his shoulder, and he wisely doesn't bring up the wetness he can feel seep into the cotton. Fingers tangle into her hair to press her closer.

What if he'd been too late, he thinks, and the thought terrifies him to his core. He knew something was off even before he reached the cafe to walk home with her. Jason should have known, he's a vigilante for fucks' sake. He knows the streets, he knows what people are like. It's just that that fucker ran with his tail tucked between his legs so quickly, Jason honestly did not think he'd ever come back, let alone pull something like this.

He got here, he reminds himself. She's safe. She'll be alright. Everything would be alright. He'd take her home, take care of her and the bruising, and make damn sure nothing like this ever happened again.

"I wanna go home." Her voice cracks, muffled by the fabric.

"Yeah." Immediately, he's sliding a strong arm under her and picking her up, because like hell is he letting her walk in that state. Having her so close soothes both of them, the reassurance of each other's presence.

She feels safe, so safe in his arms. The familiar cologne, the scent of his skin and clothes, the way his body feels familiar pressed against hers. The soothing timbre of his voice calms her racing heart a bit, until she can find it in herself to peer over his shoulder.

Jason merely shifts to obscure her vision.

"Don't worry about that." He mumbles, pressing a kiss to her temple. "He won't fuck with you again."

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(4/12/2025)

[tacticaldiary]

Trigger Happy

PAIRING: Jason Todd x Reader

SYNOPSIS: "Listen." He grabs her chin, tilts her face to meet his eyes. "Listen to me." The three gunshots are cracks of lightening in the enclosed space. make her flinch, eyes widening as her fingers clutch onto his jacket. "You didn't kill him. I did." Jason says, turning her face to the body. ""Your hands are still clean." He steps back in her line of view, eyes serious and fierce.

NOTE: I'm semi happy with this I fear

MASTERLIST

It was an accident. It was an accident. It was an accident!

She didn't mean it, she would never, it's just...just that she was scared, and she acted on instinct, and-and Jason had told her what to do in situations like this, times when she might be in trouble on the off chance that he wasn't around to handle it.

Her knowledge of the human body is limited, but even she can tell that the bloody knife clutched in her right hand nicked something important. The man at her feet should not be bleeding that much, red trickled out in spurts and nightmarish wet gurgles.

Shaky hands fumble with her phone, fingers slick with blood trying to type in the passcode. A sob punches out of her chest as the liquid makes her thumb harder to register. The blurriness from the tears don't do anything to help her vision either.

A groan comes from somewhere to her right, the sound tightening the band across her chest. The alley walls are too close, the air is too thick and she can't breathe.

Crimson smears her cheek when she presses the phone to her ear, hyperventilating.

"Hey, what's up, baby?"

He picks up on the third ring, and she collapses against the grimy brick wall. She latches onto the voice, lets it ground her enough to find her voice.

"Jason." She sobs out. The knife clatters on the alley floor, a punch of noise in the sudden silence. "Jay..."

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His spine straightens at the noise, hands stilling with the wrench still in hand. Immediately, he's sliding himself out from under the car he's working on and wiping his hands clean, phone pressed to ear instead of on speaker.

"What's wrong? Fuck, are you hurt?" He demands immediately. Icy dread creeps around him when all he gets as a response is something incomprehensible, and quick, small gasps. "Breathe, angel." He says, pulling up her location. Jason's brow furrows when it shows her in some random alley. There's nothing else to think about because the next moment he's grabbing his helmet, swinging a leg over his bike and kicking off.

"I'm coming, all right? Just need you to stay on the line with me." He tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, biting back the fear and the hint of green rage creeping along the edges of his vision. Someone had made her sound like that and he wasn't there. "Are you safe?" He asks, and the silence that follows nearly makes his heart stop.

"I think." A wobbly voice whispers hoarsely. "It's...it's over, Jay. I didn't..." Her voice breaks and he curses out loud, mind racing. Jason pushes his panic down and hones it into that sharp focus he only ever reaches for when he's on patrol, stepping on the accelerator.

'It's over'

The words play in his head like a broken record as he talks to her, coaxing her to breathe, reassuring her the best as possible while possibilities wreck havoc on his judgement. If someone touched her, if they so much as breathed on her, he swears. No kill room be damned, Jason would cut their fucking hands off.

The bike finally swerves into the alley, and he's off of it before it even fully stops, one hand on his holster, eyes scanning the alley with a desperation he's not felt in forever. There's no active threat, none that he can make out.

Jason doesn't give the body on the ground a moment's glance, instead hones into the figure curled up into herself against the wall a few steps to the side.

"I'm here." He says lowly, immediately crouching next to her. Large, warm hands find her shoulders, prying her upright from how she's curled into herself. He cups her cheeks, frantically looking her over. His thumb wipes away the smear of blood on her face, and the caged, thrashing leash of his anger settles down marginally when he sees no wound under the gore.

The wounded noise she makes makes his throat close up, and he hates himself a little as he tightens his grip to keep her in place against the wall when she tries to lurch forward in his arms.

"I've got you, baby. One minute." He assures, taking a few seconds to smooth a hand over the rest of her body, just to be extra sure. When he doesn't find an injury, he exhales and crushes her against him, chest to chest. Fingers tangle in her hair, rubbing soothingly down her spine. "You're okay, I'm here." His voice is fierce.

A few moments pass, but instead of calming down, her breathing seems to quicken again much to his confusion. "Tell me what's wrong." He finally says, firm but gentle. "What happened? Someone attack you?" When she pulls back, he lets her, still keeping her within arms length.

"Jay." Her breath hitches, shaking her head, eyes drifting to the body close by. Her face twists up again and Jason is quick to start connecting the dots.

"Did he do something?" He keeps his eyes on her.

"He tried." She finally says. "But I...you taught me if it happened to- but he wouldn't let me run-" She gasps, and Jason lets her talk, rubs her arms up and down, brow pinched in worry. "I panicked and he had a gun- and I-..." Her eyes flicker off to the side.

Jason follows her gaze to the bloody knife.

Her initials engraved in the hilt.

Jason had scratched them himself before gifting it to her 'just in case', a couple months ago.

"Fuck." He breathes, as everything clicks. "Shit, baby, it's-"

"I killed him." The sob that heaves out of her is gut-wrenching, and Jason's pulling her to his chest immediately. "I killed him!" She gasps wetly. "I didn't mean to, I...I didn't want to!"

He takes a deep breath, tilting his head back to look up at the sky for a second. Taking a life was never easy, it didn't matter whether it was in self defence or not.

Jason still remembers his first. A hungry kid roaming the streets years ago, shivering from the cold and picking through one of the dumpsters behind a run down movie theatre. He remembers the owners coming out and yelling at him, lunging in anger when Jason lashed out. He remembers pushing. He remembers the crack of a skull against the metal lid. He remembers staring transfixed before vomiting what little he'd managed to scrounge that day.

He presses her tighter against him. She wasn't like him, wasn't like any of them. His girl was no killer, not with how soft hearted she was, and Jason would never want this life for her in any world.

Exhaling slowly, he surveys the scene beside them once more...and does a double take. The artery the knife nicked looks fatal, there's no way anybody was getting that man to a hospital before he bled out, but the way his chest moved in small, marginal gasps said there was still some life in him.

There's something about the life he lives that hardens you, takes away your optimism and fragility. It's why Jason is able to make the decision he does so easily.

He stands slowly, pulling her up with him and twisting her to face the gory scene. "You didn't kill him." He says, squeezing her against his side.

"I did." She says, and Jason knows if she doesn't calm down soon she's going to pass out.

"Listen." He grabs her chin, tilts her face to meet his eyes. "Listen to me." In one smooth motion, he pulls out his gun from the holster around his hip and clicks the safety off.

The three gunshots are cracks of lightening in the enclosed space. make her flinch, eyes widening as her fingers clutch onto his jacket. There's a groan, and then it cuts off.

"You didn't kill him. I did." Jason says, turning her face to the body. It's still, no movement, dead eyes staring up at the cloudy sky. He steps back in her line of view, eyes serious and fierce.

"No- that...but I-"

He interrupts. "Your hands are clean. I killed him. Not you." His voice softens as she starts shaking again, burying her face into his chest. "Understand?"

After a few moments, she nods against his chest, still unsteady, but less shaky than before.

Lips press to the crown of her head, firm and grounding. "I've got you. I'll take care of it." He mutters against her hairline, slowly guiding her away from the scene.

When her hands shake, he's there to hold them steady. When she wakes up with a cry during the night, he's there to hold her back to sleep.

And she lets him, leaning on her boyfriend and letting him mutter soothing nonsense, soft and gentle in a way he only ever is with her.

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(1/11/2025)