Hiii can I request a Jason x reader where the reader faints at a party or one of Bruce’s galas and everyone is freaking out but it just turns out she’s pregnant? 🩷🩷🩷 thank youuuu
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You've been to enough Wayne Galas to know the rhythm of them. Arrive fashionably late (Jason's preference, not yours), endure exactly forty-five minutes of small talk with Gotham's elite (your limit, not his), find Bruce to make an appearance (mandatory), and then hide in a corner with appetizers until it's socially acceptable to leave.
Tonight is not going according to plan.
For one thing, the smell of the hors d'oeuvres is making your stomach turn. For another, the room feels approximately eight thousand degrees despite the October chill outside. And for a third, you've had to excuse yourself to the bathroom twice in the last hour.
"You okay?" Jason murmurs in your ear, his hand warm on the small of your back. He looks unfairly good in his suit, tailored perfectly, making him look less like a crime lord and more like he actually belongs among Gotham's wealthy elite.
"Fine," you say, which is a lie. You've been feeling off for days. tired, nauseous, emotional over the strangest things. Yesterday, you cried because Jason came home with the wrong brand of coffee creamer.
"You've been saying that all week," he says, eyes narrowing. "And you barely touched dinner."
"The salmon was too..." You stop, swallowing hard as another wave of nausea hits. "It smelled weird."
"It smelled like salmon."
Jason looks like he wants to argue, but Dick appears at his elbow with two champagne flutes. "There you are! I've been looking for you guys. Bruce wants a family photo and... hey, you look pale."
"I'm fine," you insist, taking the champagne glass on autopilot. The smell hits you immediately.. sharp, acidic, wrong. Your stomach revolts.
"Whoa, hey." Jason takes the glass from your hand before you drop it. "Maybe we should get you some air."
"I'm fine." But even as you say it, the room starts to tilt. The chandelier above you seems too bright, the conversation around you too loud. Your vision goes spotty at the edges.
"Babe?" Jason's voice sounds far away. "Babe, look at me."
You try. You really do. But the floor is rushing up to meet you, and then everything goes black.
That last one is Jason, his voice sharp with panic. You're on the floor, you realize, your head in someone's lap. Jason's lap, based on the expensive suit fabric under your cheek.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is gentler now, shaking. "Hey, there you are. Stay with me, okay? Don't close your eyes."
"M'okay," you mumble, trying to sit up. Bad idea. Your head spins and your stomach lurches.
"Don't move." Jason's hand is in your hair, keeping you still. "Someone's getting a doctor."
You force your eyes open properly and immediately wish you hadn't. You're surrounded by concerned faces, Dick hovering anxiously, Tim on his phone, probably calling every medical professional in Gotham, Damian looking uncharacteristically worried, and Bruce pushing through the crowd with Dr. Leslie Thompkins in tow.
"I fainted," you say unnecessarily. "At a Wayne Gala. That's so embarrassing."
"That's what you're worried about?" Jason's hand is shaking in your hair. "You just collapsed. You could have hit your head, you could have—"
"But I didn't." You reach up to touch his face, trying to reassure him. He looks terrified, all the color drained from his face. "Jason, I'm okay. I just... I've been feeling a little off lately."
"Define 'off,'" Dr. Thompkins says, kneeling beside you with her medical bag. She's been the Wayne family doctor for decades, has patched up more vigilante injuries than she probably cares to count. "Any pain? Dizziness? Nausea?"
"All of the above?" you admit. "And I've been really tired. And emotional. I cried at a cat food commercial yesterday."
"The one with the kitten?" Dick asks. "That one is pretty sad."
"It was about senior cats finding homes," you say. "I sobbed for twenty minutes."
Jason is staring at you like you've grown a second head. "You didn't tell me any of this."
"I thought I was just stressed." You let Dr. Thompkins check your pulse, your blood pressure, shine a light in your eyes. "Work's been busy, and you've been dealing with that thing in Crime Alley—"
"I don't care about Crime Alley right now. I care about you." He says it fiercely, and you can see the fear underneath the anger. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?"
"Because you worry," you say softly. "You worry so much already."
"Of course I worry. You're—" He stops, jaw clenching. "You're everything."
Dr. Thompkins is watching you both with an expression you can't quite read. "When was your last period?" she asks casually.
"Your last menstrual period. When was it?"
"I—" You try to think back. "I don't know. A few weeks ago? Maybe... six weeks?"
The room goes very quiet.
Jason has gone completely still, his hand frozen in your hair. "Six weeks."
"Maybe seven?" You're trying to do math in your head, but everything feels fuzzy. "I haven't really been tracking it. I'm usually pretty irregular when I'm stressed, and—" You stop, the implications finally catching up to you. "Oh."
"Oh," Dr. Thompkins agrees, a small smile playing at her lips. "Combined with the fatigue, nausea, emotional sensitivity, and fainting spell... I think we should run a test."
"A test," you repeat stupidly.
"A pregnancy test," she clarifies, and the word seems to echo in the sudden silence.
You and Jason might be having a baby.
"I need—" You try to sit up again, and this time Jason helps you, his movements careful and mechanical. "I need to take a test."
"I have one in my bag," Dr. Thompkins says. "Always prepared for situations like this. Bruce, is there somewhere private?"
"My study," Bruce says immediately. He's been quiet this whole time, watching with that unreadable expression he gets. "Third floor, first door on the left."
Jason helps you stand, his arm around your waist like he's afraid you'll collapse again. Maybe you will. Your legs feel like jelly and your mind is racing.
Pregnant. You might be pregnant with Jason Todd's baby.
The walk to Bruce's study is a blur. Dr. Thompkins walks ahead, Dick and Tim trailing behind like anxious ducks, Damian muttering something about "another Todd" that you don't have the energy to process.
Jason hasn't said a word.
In the study, Dr. Thompkins hands you a small box. "Bathroom's through there," she says, pointing to a door you hadn't noticed. "Take your time."
You look at Jason. He's staring at the box in your hands like it might explode.
"Come with me?" you ask quietly.
He nods, still not speaking, and follows you into the bathroom.
It's awkward, taking a pregnancy test in Bruce Wayne's private bathroom while your boyfriend watches. You follow the instructions with shaking hands, set the test on the counter, and then you both stare at it.
"Three minutes," you say, reading the box. "We have to wait three minutes."
Jason makes a sound that might be acknowledgment.
"Are you—" You turn to look at him. "Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" He laughs, but it sounds slightly hysterical. "I don't know. Are you okay?"
"I don't know either." You lean back against the counter. "This wasn't... we weren't planning this."
"No." He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the careful styling. "We weren't."
"If it's positive—" You stop, not sure how to finish that sentence.
"If it's positive," Jason says slowly, "then we're having a baby."
"A whole baby. A tiny person."
"That's typically how it works."
He's quiet for a moment, then: "Are you scared?"
"Terrified," you admit. "Are you?"
"Fucking petrified." He moves closer, taking your hands. "I died once. Came back wrong. Spent years being angry and violent and doing things I'm not proud of. I'm not exactly father material."
"But if you are pregnant," he continues, his grip tightening on your hands, "if we're really doing this, then I'm in. Completely in. Because you're not doing this alone, and this kid, our kid, they're going to know they're wanted. They're going to know they're loved."
Your eyes are burning. "You really mean that?"
"I've never meant anything more." He pulls you closer, pressing his forehead to yours. "I'm scared as hell, but I'm also... if you are pregnant, I'm happy. Is that crazy?"
"No." You're crying now, tears streaming down your face. "I'm happy too. Scared, but happy."
"We should probably check the test," Jason says, but neither of you moves.
"I'm terrified of looking."
You stand there for another moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing in sync. Then, at the same time, you both turn to look at the test on the counter.
Very clearly, unmistakably, two pink lines.
"Oh my god," you whisper.
"Oh my god," Jason repeats.
"We're having a baby." He says it like he's testing out the words, seeing how they fit. Then, louder, with a growing smile: "We're having a baby!"
He picks you up, spinning you around, and you're both laughing and crying at the same time. When he sets you down, he kisses you, deep and thorough and full of promise.
"I love you," he says against your lips. "I love you so much."
"I love you too." You cup his face, memorizing this moment. "We're really doing this?"
"We're really doing this." He grins, and it's that rare, genuine smile that makes your heart skip. "Holy shit, we're having a baby."
There's a knock on the bathroom door. "Everything okay in there?" Dr. Thompkins calls.
You open the door to find the entire family crowded in the study: Bruce, Dick, Tim, Damian, and even Alfred, who must have been summoned at some point.
"Well?" Dick asks, practically bouncing with anticipation.
Jason wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. "We're pregnant," he announces, and his voice cracks on the words.
Dick literally screams, launching himself at Jason for a hug that nearly knocks you both over. Tim is grinning so wide it must hurt. Damian looks torn between horror and something that might be excitement. Bruce... Bruce is smiling, a real, genuine smile that makes him look years younger.
"Congratulations," he says, pulling you both into a hug. "I'm so happy for you."
"I'm going to be an uncle!" Dick is still screaming. "I'm going to be the best uncle! Tim, we're going to be uncles!"
"I'm already planning the nursery security system," Tim says seriously. "And a background check protocol for potential babysitters."
"The child will need proper training from an early age," Damian adds. "I suppose I can make time in my schedule to ensure they're not completely incompetent."
"That's very generous of you, demon spawn," Jason says dryly, but he's smiling.
Alfred appears with a tray of tea and water. "Congratulations are in order," he says warmly. "Though I must insist you sit down, miss. You've had quite a shock."
You let Jason guide you to the couch, suddenly aware of how shaky your legs still are. He sits beside you, his hand never leaving yours.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks quietly while the others chatter excitedly around you. "Do you need anything? Water? Food? A hospital?"
"I'm okay." You squeeze his hand. "Better than okay. I'm pregnant."
"You're pregnant," he repeats, like he still can't quite believe it. His hand moves to your stomach, resting there gently. "There's a baby in there. Our baby."
"About the size of a lentil right now, if I'm doing the math right."
"A lentil," he says, wonderstruck. "That's so small."
"Yeah." His thumb strokes your stomach through the fabric of your dress. "They will."
Dr. Thompkins appears with some pamphlets. "I'll want to see you in my office next week for a proper examination and blood work. In the meantime, start taking prenatal vitamins, get plenty of rest, and call me if you have any concerns. No alcohol, no caffeine—"
"That explains why the coffee tasted wrong," you murmur.
"—and take it easy. Fainting can be normal in the first trimester, but I want to keep an eye on you." She smiles. "Congratulations to you both."
"Thank you," Jason says, still staring at your stomach like he can see through to the tiny cluster of cells that's apparently making you both parents.
The rest of the evening is a blur. You never make it back to the gala, Bruce makes excuses for you, and nobody questions it. Instead, you stay in the study, surrounded by the family, drinking tea and fielding a million questions and listening to Dick and Tim argue about godfather rights.
"I'm the oldest," Dick insists. "I have seniority."
"I'm the smartest," Tim counters. "I can teach them practical skills."
"I am the only one with the discipline to raise a child properly," Damian adds.
"Nobody's raising this child except us," Jason says, but he's smiling. "But if we're talking godparents..." He looks at Dick. "You're loud, irresponsible, and you let Damian use your car as target practice last month."
"You're in," Jason finishes, and Dick practically tackles him with another hug.
"What about me?" Tim asks.
"You once stayed awake for seventy-two hours straight working on a case. You're not allowed to babysit until you learn what sleep is." Jason pauses. "But yeah, you're in too."
"I suppose I can serve as well," Damian says with an air of great sacrifice. "Though I expect the child to address me with appropriate respect."
"They're going to call you Uncle Dami and you're going to deal with it," Jason says.
For once, Damian doesn't argue.
Bruce appears at Jason's shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
Jason tenses slightly, but nods. They step away, speaking in low voices near the window. You can't hear what they're saying, but you watch Jason's shoulders gradually relax, watch something soft cross his face. When Bruce pulls him into a hug, Jason hugs back.
When they return, Jason's eyes are suspiciously bright.
"Yeah." He sits beside you, pulling you close. "Bruce just... he said he's proud of me. Said I'm going to be a good father."
Your heart clenches. "You are. You're going to be an amazing father."
"I'm going to try." He kisses your temple. "I'm going to try so hard."
It's past midnight when Alfred finally insists you both go home and rest. Jason doesn't want to leave, convinced you might faint again, or something worse might happen, but Dr. Thompkins assures him you're stable and just need sleep.
The ride home is quiet. Jason drives with one hand on the wheel and one hand on your thigh, like he needs the physical contact to believe this is real.
"We're having a baby," you say into the silence.
"We're going to need a bigger apartment."
"And a crib. And diapers. Oh god, so many diapers."
"What if I'm a terrible mother?"
Jason pulls over, right there in the middle of the street, and turns to look at you. "You're going to be an incredible mother. You're kind, patient, smart, and you put up with me on a daily basis. That alone proves you can handle anything."
"What if you're a terrible father?"
"Then you'll tell me, and I'll do better." He takes your hand. "We're going to make mistakes. Probably a lot of them. But we're going to love this kid with everything we have, and we're going to figure it out together. Okay?"
"Okay." You bring his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles. "Together."
When you get home, Jason immediately starts googling everything about pregnancy. What to expect, what foods to avoid, what vitamins you need, symptoms to watch for. He makes a list of baby books to order, creates a spreadsheet of potential names (which you'll probably never use, but it's adorable that he's trying), and sets reminders to make sure you take your prenatal vitamins.
"Jason," you say finally, watching him from the bed where you've collapsed in exhaustion. "Come here."
He looks up from his laptop. "I'm almost done. I just need to finish reading about first trimester development—"
He sets the laptop aside and climbs into bed with you. You curl into his side, his arm coming around you automatically.
"We have nine months to figure all this out," you remind him. "Tonight, let's just... be happy."
"I am happy." His hand finds your stomach again, resting there like it belongs. "I'm so happy I don't know what to do with it."
"Kiss me," you suggest. "That's a good start."
So he does. He kisses you soft and slow and sweet, and when he pulls back, he's smiling.
"I love you," he says. "Both of you."
You fall asleep like that, Jason's hand on your stomach, his voice soft in your ear as he talks to the baby that's barely bigger than a lentil. He tells them about the family they're going to have, the uncle who will spoil them rotten, the grandfather who will teach them everything he knows, the butler who will sneak them cookies.
He tells them about their mother, about how strong and beautiful and perfect she is.
And he promises them, voice thick with emotion, that they will always be safe. Always be loved. Always be wanted.
It's the best promise you've ever heard him make.
Bonus : Seven Months Later
"I can't believe you're making me go to another Wayne Gala," you groan, trying to find a comfortable position. At seven months pregnant, comfortable is a relative term.
"It's the last one before the baby comes," Jason says, helping you with your shoes because you can't reach your feet anymore. "Bruce promised it would be quick."
"Bruce's definition of quick and mine are very different."
"We'll stay for an hour. Two tops." He stands, offering his hand to help you up. "Besides, everyone wants to see you. Dick's been asking about the baby every single day."
"Dick's been shopping for baby clothes every single day," you correct. "We have more clothes than the baby could wear in a year."
"That's what I told him." Jason's hand goes to your stomach, something he does constantly now. The baby kicks in response, and his face lights up like it does every single time. "Hey there, little one. You ready for your first gala?"
"They better not decide to make an appearance tonight," you mutter. "I did not spend an hour on my hair just to go into labor."
"If you go into labor, your hair will be the least of our concerns."
The gala is exactly as tedious as you remember, except now you have a convenient excuse to sit down. Jason doesn't leave your side, bringing you water and snacks and glaring at anyone who gets too close.
"You're being overprotective," you tell him.
"You fainted at the last gala we attended," he reminds you. "I'm allowed to be cautious."
"That was seven months ago!"
"And I'm never going to forget the feeling of catching you as you collapsed." He squeezes your hand. "So yeah, I'm being overprotective. Deal with it."
Dick appears with a wrapped present. "I know we're supposed to wait for the baby shower, but I couldn't help myself."
"Dick, you just bought them a bouncer yesterday," you say.
"This is different! This is special!" He's practically vibrating with excitement. "Open it!"
It's a tiny leather jacket, replica of the one Jason wears as Red Hood.
"Absolutely not," Jason says immediately.
"It's adorable!" you counter, holding it up. "Look at the little zippers!"
"Our child is not wearing a Red Hood jacket."
"Our child is going to look amazing in a Red Hood jacket."
You're still arguing about it when Bruce finds you, a rare smile on his face. "How are you feeling?"
"Large," you say honestly. "Very, very large."
"You look beautiful," he says, and it's so sincere that you want to cry. Pregnancy hormones are no joke. "Jason's been telling me about the nursery. Sounds like you've got everything ready."
"As ready as we can be." Jason's hand is on your stomach again. "Though I keep thinking of things we forgot. What if we need—"
"You'll be fine," Bruce interrupts gently. "You're going to be wonderful parents. Both of you."
Later, after you've made your rounds and satisfied everyone's need to touch your stomach (why do people think that's okay?), you and Jason escape to the balcony for some air.
"Seven months ago, I fainted right over there," you say, pointing to the ballroom. "And now look at us."
"Now we're about to be parents." Jason wraps his arms around you from behind, his hands cradling your stomach. "Best fainting spell ever."
"I don't recommend it as a pregnancy announcement method."
"No, probably not." He kisses your neck. "But I wouldn't change a thing."
The baby kicks hard, and you both feel it. Jason laughs, the sound full of joy and wonder.
"I can't wait to meet them," he says.
"Two more months," he agrees. "And then everything changes."
"Everything already changed," you say, turning in his arms to kiss him. "The moment we saw those two pink lines."
"Yeah," he says softly. "It really did."
And as you stand there on the balcony of Wayne Manor, seven months pregnant with Jason Todd's baby, surrounded by a family that loves you both, you can't help but think that fainting at a gala was the best thing that ever happened to you.
The best is sleeping in Jason's arms every night and kicking your ribs every day.
You can't wait to meet them.
