HEYY,
so I loved the jason one shot, and if you're okay with it, please make more parts, i need to see more of this storyline i'm obsessed😭🙏🏻
book shop | Jason Todd x Reader ᯓ★ 2
sumarry. Jason tries to fix his mistake but it doesn't go as planned, but it's not that bad either.
male reader, word counter: 1,343
masterlist prt 1
note; here you goo, sorry for the delay! I hadn't checked my mailbox...
jason's pov
I didn’t go back to the bookstore.
It wasn’t something I planned, I just… stayed away. At first, I thought it would be a few days, then a week, and before I knew it, almost three had passed. He didn’t directly write to complain, but I noticed. Every message of his carried that half-curious, half-sarcastic tone he used to hide his insecurities.
"Not coming to rescue me from my unbearable customers today either?"
"I found a first edition… but I’m not telling you of what."
"I suspect you’re buying books somewhere else, traitor."
I replied late, always with short phrases, though inside I laughed at his comments. He didn’t know it, but every notification from him made me stop for a few seconds, feeling that uncomfortable mix of warmth and nerves.
One night, while staring at his unanswered messages, I realized I was avoiding something that, to my misfortune, I wanted to face. So I decided that instead of showing up as if nothing had happened, I would make it up to him. Inviting him out sounded… risky. I wasn’t sure if he would take it as a date or just a gesture. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted it to be.
On Saturday at noon, I walked into the bookstore. He looked up from the counter and gave me a quick smile, which shifted into a raised eyebrow.
"Look who’s back from the war," he said, with that light tone he used to provoke.
"Don’t exaggerate." I leaned on the counter, trying to seem calm. "I’ve been busy."
"Busy for three weeks. Couldn’t even get me a coffee… that’s low." He adjusted a book but kept his eyes on me. "So? Are you back looking for volume four that doesn’t exist?"
I leaned in toward him a little.
"No. I came to invite you out."
A short laugh escaped him, as if he hadn’t quite understood. Then his cheeks turned red.
"Out…?" he repeated, lowering his voice. "Like… a date?"
"Like a date." I said it without looking at him too much, but with the certainty that I couldn’t take it back.
He accepted, of course. And that’s when my mistake began.
The plan was simple: a quiet coffee and then a walk through the old book fair in the square. But everything went wrong.
First, it rained. Not a romantic movie drizzle, but a downpour that turned the streets into rivers. The café was packed, full of soaked people seeking shelter, and the only free spot was next to a door that wouldn’t close properly. The icy wind hit us from behind. He tried to joke, but his teeth were chattering.
"This is… cozy," he said, curling into his coat. "Do you always choose such charming places for your dates?"
"Next time I’ll take you to a five-star hotel," I answered, half serious, half joking.
The fair was obviously canceled. We walked anyway, dodging puddles and trying to share my jacket, which he insisted he didn’t need but ended up wearing. It wasn’t what I had planned, but watching him walk beside me, laughing at how ridiculous he looked in my oversized clothes, stirred a strange feeling in me.
When we found shelter under an improvised roof in the empty square, he leaned against me, still shivering.
"If this was your way of apologizing for disappearing… I’m not sure you pulled it off."
"I think I did." I don’t know why I said it, but it came out softer than I intended.
He looked at me, as if evaluating something. Then, without warning, he leaned forward and rested his forehead on my shoulder.
"Don’t disappear for so long again," he murmured.
I stayed still. I could have told him I couldn’t promise that, that it wasn’t my style, but… I ended up wrapping an arm around him, pulling him closer. We didn’t speak for a while, listening to the rain hitting the tin roof. He let out a small laugh.
"I guess you did manage to make me like the date after all."
I didn’t look at him, but I smiled.
—☆—
By the time we reached his building, the rain had softened from a furious downpour to a steady hiss against the streets. My jacket was plastered to my skin; his hair was a messy halo of damp curls. We both looked like we’d been fished out of a river.
“You’re not walking home like this,” he said, pushing open the door and stepping aside for me to enter. His voice was soft but left no room for argument. “Upstairs. Come on.”
I wanted to say I’d be fine, that I’d catch a cab or walk it off, but there was a stubborn tilt to his chin and… I was tired of arguing with him. So I followed.
His apartment was small but warm, smelling faintly of coffee and paper. Books stacked in precarious towers along the walls, a few mugs scattered across the counter. It felt lived in, real, nothing like the sterile, spotless spaces I was used to.
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the couch as he kicked off his shoes. I sat, dripping all over his rug. He disappeared into the bedroom and came back with a towel, tossing it at me.
“You’re bossy,” I muttered.
“And you’re terrible at taking care of yourself,” he shot back, a flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth. “So I’m making the executive decision—you’re staying here tonight.”
“That’s unnecessary.”
“It’s happening,” he said, and vanished again before I could argue.
When he returned, he had a change of clothes for me—loose sweatpants and an oversized sweater that probably belonged to him. I didn’t ask. I changed in the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror: hair plastered down, shoulders hunched, looking for all the world like someone caught in a situation they hadn’t planned for. Which, I guess, was true.
When I stepped out, he was already in the bedroom, tugging at the blankets. “Uh,” I said slowly. “Where am I… sleeping?”
He looked at me like I’d just asked whether the sky was real. “Here,” he said simply, patting the bed.
“There’s one bed.”
“I’m aware,” he replied, a blush creeping up his neck. “It’s big enough. Unless you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” I said automatically. I was lying.
He grinned faintly. “Good. Then get in.”
I hesitated, then climbed in on my side, careful to keep distance. The mattress dipped as he slid in next to me, his warmth immediately noticeable even through the blanket. I could feel him trying not to fidget. We both stared at the ceiling.
“This is… fine,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “You’re warm. I like that.”
I snorted. “You’re freezing.”
“That’s why I like it.”
We lay there in silence for a while, the sound of rain filling the space between us. Eventually, I felt him shift closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “Is this okay?” he asked, voice muffled.
“Yeah,” I murmured, surprising myself. “It’s okay.”
So he moved closer still, curling against my side. His hand, hesitant at first, rested against my chest. I didn’t know what to do with that—my heart was pounding, and I was sure he could feel it. But I didn’t move away. If anything, I found myself leaning toward him.
He sighed, a soft, content sound. “You’re not as scary as you think you are,” he murmured.
I turned my head slightly to look at him. His eyes were half-lidded, his curls still damp, his expression both smug and shy at once.
“And you’re not as fearless as you pretend to be,” I replied.
He smiled, small but real, and his fingers curled into the sweater he’d given me. We stayed like that until his breathing evened out, his weight warm and solid against me. I lay awake longer, staring at the ceiling, realizing that somehow, without meaning to, I’d let him in more than I’d planned.
And that I wasn’t in a hurry to push him out.
