Jason sighed, staring down at his phone. The screen slightly blurred from fingerprints slicked in gun oil. Brightness dimmed. Cracks fenestrating at the edges from carelessness on patrol and otherwise. 

Over the course of your… whatever this was, he was used to staring at unanswered messages and a glaring read receipt. It was usually his fault, he couldn’t deny that. But tonight, just when he needed the confirmation most, the nine-letter word burned back in his face. 

D-E-L-I-V-E-R-E-D. 

He threw his head back in frustration, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe you were home, on the couch, curled up in front of one of your trashy television shows. Better yet, maybe you were finally tucked into bed at a reasonable hour, your chest pulling with gentle tidal respirations as your soft skin melted into the sheets. That, he could live with. 

Hell, even if you were out - somewhere, anywhere - and choosing to ignore him, that would be alright. Anything but at work. Anything but the Emergency Room. 

It was one of those rare occasions where Bruce had roped him into a mission, claiming he needed all hands on deck for the takedown of the century, that brought you to Jason. Even rarer, it had resulted in Bruce sustaining grave injuries. He remembered leaning against the cool metal railing of the Batcave, arms crossed over his chest, observing Bruce’s breathing become labored as he laid flat on the table. Alfred was peeling pieces of the suit off one by one, as hastily yet gently as possible, to reveal Bruce’s injuries while preventing him from enduring more. 

The Batman, foreboding and terrible, scrunched up on a makeshift gurney, splinting, with his Robins of past and present perched in the periphery observing their leader fight for his life. Jason watched through the lens of the Red Hood at Dick shifting his weight from foot to foot. Nightwing dancing uncomfortably in place, unable to stay still. The prodigal son. Twitching like he had ants in his pants. Beneath the Hood, Jason rolled his eyes. 

Tim’s fingers clipped away at the Batcomputer keyboard, but Jason noticed the way his scowl deepened when Bruce would groan. His eyebrows would twitch, imperceptible to anyone else, before he forced them to stay in place. Typing away to distract himself. 

“Call the doctor.” Bruce huffed. The admission in itself was enough to raise a chill down the spine of anyone who knew him. 

“Already on the way, sir.” Alfred confirmed. 

The butler pried away a piece of the chestplate, releasing blood that instantly stained the cuffs of his white shirt, to reveal a deep, spreading bruise at the fringes of a gash. His right hand clasped around a stack of gauze without his eyes leaving Bruce, pressing the linen against the cut with deep pressure that drew another gasp from the Batman’s lips. The tension among the room grew palpably, before it instantly dissipated at the sound of one of the Cave doors sliding open. 

Footsteps, carefully plodding down the metal staircase at an unbothered pace, echoed in the expanse of the room. 

“Well, you’re still breathing on your own.” A voice, strangely youthful, tone light despite the situation. “Color me impressed.”

It was clear that Jason wasn’t the only one surprised by the delicate timbre that rang out into space. Tim’s neck could have snapped from the torque he generated, twisting his gaze from the computer screen to the source of the voice at once. Dick’s feet finally stopped their restless tapping and he planted himself, somewhat defensively, reaching slowly but noticeably for the weapons slung over his back. Jason remained composed. Fuckin’ amateurs, he thought to himself.

As the footsteps drew closer, you came into view, Jason’s eyes sweeping your figure for the first time. Bulky, crossbody bag slung across your torso to rest on your hip. Clad in dingy, ill-fitting unisex scrubs that looked like they had been through the hospital laundromat thousands of times until they were thin and papery. Your face bore a curious expression: concerned - hidden, but noticeable by the glint in your eyes - yet calm. 

“You’re not Dr. Thompkins.” Dick announced. 

Brilliant observation, Captain Obvious. Jason’s internal monologue again. 

No, you weren’t Dr. Thompkins. Jason knew that from the moment you entered the cave, by your gait as you clipped down the stairs. Your initial comment confirmed his theory: tone decades younger than Leslie’s dry vocalizations, without as many years of exhaustion dampening your inflection. 

“No, I’m not Dr. Thompkins.” You replied. “I’m her relief.”

As you entered the makeshift trauma bay, you ignored the audience observing your every move, setting your bag down on the side table. As you pulled a small tablet from the luggage, you placed a gentle hand on Alfred’s shoulder, ushering him aside politely so that you could begin your work. A packet of gel torn by the edge of your teeth. You pasted it over his ribs, Robins watching the clear substance tinge pink from the blood. 

“Well, that’s what I thought, based on your call.” You said, clicking your tongue in disapproval. “Popped a lung.”

“Is it fixable, Doctor?” Alfred asked, his concern gently bleeding into his typically articulate speech. It seemed that no matter how many times he had seen Bruce on death’s door, it still had the same effect on him.

“Definitely fixable.” You replied. You set your ultrasound down by your bag, the wand dangling from the table uselessly with gravity. “I can re-inflate the lung, no problem. But the chest tube should stay in for a couple of days and you should avoid any strenuous activity for four to six weeks.”

“That,” Your eyes flickered up to meet Jason’s gaze, the unexpected confrontation jolting him internally before you finished your recommendation. “I bet is not going to happen.”

The shimmer in your gaze, nearly mischievous, stuck to Jason like an adhesive he couldn’t rid himself of for the next couple of weeks. You finished the procedure, stated your precautions, and slunk out of the Batcave like it was any other Tuesday. It left him transfixed, unable to shake the encounter out of his mind as he replayed it involuntarily, over and over. 

Months later, he was pulling himself through your window frame in the dead of night - address obtained from the full scale investigation that Tim had obviously conducted over you after your meeting. Jason didn’t know why, but he was drawn to your apartment like spiritual possession, covered in dozens of deep lacerations that would raise the eyebrows of any practitioner, even in broad daylight. He could have tugged a blunt needle and thread through each and every one of them himself, but his exhaustion and the thought of seeing the look in your eyes again - subtle but nearly amused - heightened the pull to your doorstep. Er, window sill. 

As his huge body plunked gracelessly onto your living room carpet, you let out a reflexive shriek. Hands whipped themselves to your chest to clutch your metaphorical pearls. As soon as watched him writhe to get to his knees, like a trampled bug, and realized you were not at the mercy of a home intruder, you were at his side easing him to sit and bleed all over your armchair. 

You had exchanged so little words, if any, but Jason memorized the way your hands ghosted over his skin as you pulled his shirt over his head. The way you patiently anesthetized each cut with generous lidocaine, despite his insistence he didn’t need it, and waited for the skin to blanch before wrenching the suture from the packaging with your needle driver. You diligently sewed him until the sun peaked over the horizon, working from the notch of his hip up to his collar bone, paying each wound more attention than Jason had ever received in his lifetime. 

And by the time that you had gotten to the cut on his forehead, unknown if it had been thirty minutes or three hours since you started working on him, you were so painfully aware of the way his sleepy green eyes still picked you apart to pieces. The bundle of collagen as scar tissue over the cupid’s bow of his lip and how his tongue darted out to wet it when you dug the suture in slightly too deep or hit a flap of skin that wasn’t as numbed as the rest. 

When you perched your hand against his cheekbone, fingers trembling slightly with the suture poised to repair the last wound, you gave in entirely to want and leaned forward, capturing his dry lips with your own. You savored the way he pressed back on you before your professionalism returned and you pulled back.

“I’m sorry.” You said, eyes cast to the ground. You shook your head ever so slightly with self-disappointment. 

In that moment, Jason waged a war with himself. Digging into his internal pressure points and telling himself that you were too pure and he didn’t want to ruin someone like you to prevent something stupid from happening. But as his eyes fixed on your pink lower lip, a small, insistent voice inside of him nagged: why don’t I deserve something nice for once?

And his thick fingers found the nape of your neck, pulling you back in for more. 

That was the inciting event that set off a chain reaction. 

The beginning was wonderful, Jason feeling so high off of your embrace that it finally occurred to him that maybe he could have a normal life with you. He could take you out on dates, to dinner, to the movies, like normal people. Bring you flowers and eat the home-cooked meals you had made for him so that he was “eating something with nutrition for once.” Fall asleep nestled into your chest, feeling your fingers pull through the strands of his hair and card along his scalp, feeling truly comfortable for once. 

But that was exactly the problem. It was too nice. Too comfortable. Too perfect. He starved off the self-sabotage for as long as he could - mere weeks - before letting it run buck wild. He pushed you away, shoved with all of his might in the form of hurtful remarks that he didn’t mean at all and avoidance that left you feeling perplexed and stung. 

At night, pitched against some grimy alleyway, he yo-yoed with himself. Torn between crawling back to apologize and make amends, and digging in further to assure you’d leave him be. Some nights, the angel on his shoulder won and he was crooning apologies into the bend of your neck. Other times, the devil left your messages on read with tear-stained cheeks. 

That’s where he had found himself tonight, looking at that dim phone screen and urging you to message him back. A “don’t text me Jason”, “leave me alone”, or even “fuck you”, he prayed for desperately. The letters in his hastily written texts, no care that he had broken the silence first, mocking him. 

Jason had woke that evening from a shitty nap on a worn cot to a missed call from the person he wanted to talk to least: Batman. They had enough screaming matches to where Bruce got the gist that Jason didn’t want to hear from him, so seeing the notification stirred concern among annoyance in his chest. 

Bruce picked up on the first ring. 

“What?” Jason barked, more a perturbed statement than a question. He scrubbed a hand down his face to rub the sleep (or lack thereof) from his eyes. 

“Zsasz is holding up six hostages in Gotham General ER.” Bruce returned, his voice steady. “PD has the place surrounded, but impenetrable so far.”

It made Jason seethe when his heart clenched at the statement. How immediately his thoughts turned directly to you. How you threw him a shy smile when you realized he was staring, the two of you cuddled up on the couch, each silently reading your own book with tangled legs. Your gentle eyes, always with a slightly impish glint. At Bruce’s words, his mind immediately flashed to the terrified look on your face, Zsasz holding a blade to the junction of your neck where weeks ago, Jason had been softly pressing kisses.

“Why are you telling me this?” He barked into the phone. Bruce always had a way of being obnoxiously all-knowing, which bothered him as a teenager but even more as an estranged adult.

“All PD units are gathering eastbound and down. Robin and I are heading to the intersection of North and Pine.”

Bruce hung up on him, further stoking Jason’s fire. Who the fuck was he to be implicating Jason in his mission plans?

That’s when Jason sent the texts, that fateful word - “delivered” - haunting him into action. 

Jason continued to stew, but before he knew it, your radio silence had him slinging a thick thigh over his bike as the motorcycle growled to life. His ear tuned into the motor to drown out the memory of when he first had you as his passenger on the Harley, when he called you his “little backpack” and smirked as he revved the engine on purpose to make you cling harder. He wove through traffic recklessly, begging an officer to attempt to pull him over, racing towards the hospital with his mind swimming with thoughts and fears.

Batman and Robin were on North and Pine? Perfect. He would be staying the fuck away from there, then. 

Jason threw down the kickstand of the motorcycle three blocks away from the Emergency Department, throwing a fresh clip into his pistol as he moved through the shadows. He quickly came upon the barricade that Gotham’s useless PD formed, dodging their officers easily with all of their attention focused on the hospital building. 

Bruce’s voice echoed through his Hood - Tim must have hacked into his comms - but before he could make out what he was saying, Jason shoved a finger into the seam of his helmet and plucked out the earpiece, crunching it beneath his boot. It nearly made him smirk, but he forced the brief delight down to focus on the mission at hand. 

It was almost too easy the way he slipped into the building from an auxiliary vent connected to the elevator shaft. Dozens of Gotham’s finest perched in a perimeter for the last hour and a half and he was in the building within fifteen minutes of arrival. Typical. 

Jason held his position behind a blind corner, listening intently into the department, which was eerily silent. Not filled with the alarms and clamor that you had described to him after long shifts, tucked under his bicep as he brushed his fingertips back and forth along your skin. He crept along the hospital walls until he heard the torturous voice of Victor Zsasz, crowing his usual psychopathic drabble which Jason tuned out in his efforts of surveilling the department for your form. As he pushed forward through the hallway, Zsasz finally fell within his sight. Gesticulating like a madman, with one arm wrapped around the neck of a hostage and the other motioning wildly in the air, an eight inch buck knife within his grasp. 

Jason strained, desperately trying to identify if the figure behind tossed in his grip was you, but there was a damned pillar in the way. He didn’t think it was, but that wasn’t enough to convince him, and his hand was steady as he raised his pistol, aligned directly to the back of Zsasz’s occiput. As his index put pressure on the trigger, images of you flashed through his mind. Shrieking in terror as you were coated in Zsasz’s brain matter, not in peril any longer, but god, at what cost. He had held you after nights where the worst of humanity reared itself through the trauma bay doors. He couldn’t stomach being the reason you woke up from sleep in a deep sweat. 

At the last instant, he changed his trajectory, squeezing the trigger and firing a bullet through Zsasz’s wavering hand. He dropped the knife, clutching his destroyed palm, which is when Jason moved in, swiftly sending the butt of the pistol down on Zsasz’s skull and knocking him unconscious. As he kicked Victor’s body to the side, aiming directly for his ribcage for good measure, he turned to the newly freed hostage. 

An elderly man, hair down to his shoulders, shaking visibly at the sight of Jason towering over him. White font, reading “XR Technician”, at the bottom of his badge. By the look in his eyes, Jason knew he feared that he was next. 

All of a sudden, there was a flurry of bodies: a nurse picking up the corded phone to call 911, two security guards carding Zsasz off to an isolated room by the arms, the pharmacist bursting through the front doors to wave in police. Chaos erupted back into its natural order in the Emergency Room as if nothing had changed.

“Red Hood?” A small voice, shaky but ringing clearly out into the silence. Jason recognized it instantly from moments of permanent replay in his head. 

He pivoted to the side, something taut in his chest releasing slightly as he saw you. You were crouched underneath the counter of the nurses station, arms spread, with at least three pairs of eyes peering from behind you. Children, he recognized, at once. Clad in hospital gowns. One hiding behind a splint covering their arm, another with a bandage wrapped around their head. Your wingspan was spread in protection, sheltering them from harm. 

Jason’s bootsteps fell heavy on the department floor, and he tried to ignore the whimpers that came from the children gathered behind you. He holstered his pistol as he came to a stop, holding out a gloved hand, which you hesitantly accepted, pulling you to your feet. On the countertop behind you, he noticed your phone, abandoned and plugged into the wall. If he clicked it on, he bet he would see his unread notifications on your lock screen. 

“Your shift’s over.” He said, his voice deepened by the helmet modulator. 

Clasping your hand to where you felt like your fingers would get crushed, he led you out of the building, through one of the back doors that had been unlocked now that lockdown was lifted as he didn’t feel like dealing with Gotham’s police. His large legs moved quickly, striding yards in seconds, and you struggled to keep up with him, firmly in tow whether you liked it or not. 

When you made it to his bike, your heart skipped at the familiarity. Without waiting for refusal, he slipped the bike helmet over your shoulders, tucking in the chin strap, and kicked the motorcycle to a start. You threw yourself over the hulking machine, arms snug around Jason’s torso with your eyes squeezed shut, thankful prayers cascading in your thoughts that he was taking you away from that horrible scene, no matter where you were going.

Before you knew it, adrenaline caught up to you. Terror, flooding your vasculature as Jason dodged and wove through Gotham traffic, causing your body to shake and your bottom lip to wobble. The tears started to flow in rough sobs as you cried against Jason’s muscular back, the what-if’s and bad endings drowning you in the aftermath now that you were speeding away from harm. Jason’s brow furrowed as he felt you convulse against him, your cries loud enough that he could hear even over the motor. He sped up, racing to get you home, in a locked apartment, where he was assured of your safety. 

After what felt like eternity, the bike veered into the lot of your apartment complex. Jason dismounted the cycle, instantly turning to pull the helmet from your frame. His gut churned at the sight of your broken, red-rimmed eyes and the string of clear discharge stringing from your nose to the helmet. You were wrecked: devastated in a way that he had never seen before. It nearly brought him to his knees. 

Without exchange of words, he wrapped his arms around you, snatching you into a grinding embrace. He held you tightly as if it was the last time he would ever have contact with you. Like his arms were in disbelief that you were actually safe. When he finally reared back, observing your shattered countenance once again, he placed a large palm on the small of your back and pushed you to the entrance of your front door. 

Your hands were shaking so badly that you couldn’t thread the key into the lock. With gentleness in such shocking juxtaposition to his actions in the ER that evening, Jason took them from your hands, clicking open the deadbolt, and leading you inside. 

For his own sanity, he made you stay in the entryway while he did a quick sweep of the apartment, and once he deemed it safe, he guided you further inside to rest on your armchair. The same one that he had been bleeding in half a dozen fights ago. Discarding the Red Hood on your kitchen countertop, he poured you a glass of ice water, thrusting it into your hands with insistence. 

He took a seat across from you on the coffee table, watching the tears trickle down your face as you continued to drink. You tried to ignore the pain in your chest at the sight of him: his hair, tousled from the Hood and the softness in his mossy eyes scrutinizing your face. His palm reached out, finding your knee, and his thumb stroked back and forth to calm you as you finished the glass. 

The two of you sat together in near silence, broken only by your occasional sniffle. It wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but having Jason back in your home placated a tortured part of you that had been hurting since the last time he stormed out. After God knows how long, Jason stood from his seated position, stalking over to the countertop to palm his discarded headpiece. 

Just as he was about to pull it over his head and walk out of your life forever, a weak warble of your voice stopped him motionless. 

“Jay…” You croaked, voice shredded with distress from the evening. 

He let the helmet fall to his hip, returning to your side at an instant. Without thinking, his thick, gloved finger found its way underneath your chin, scrubbing at the skin soothingly with delicious texture. You took in every detail of his expression, burning the tenderness that he had for you into your mind’s memory. 

“Yes?” He asked, his own voice so subdued it was barely audible. That gentleness that he had only reserved for you. 

“Will you please stay?” You questioned, a begging undertone to your voice. 

Whether it was for the night or for eternity, Jason had no idea, but hearing those words broke chains that had been coiling around his chest. The permission to wrap you in his arms, snug and slightly constricting, all night - permission granted not only by you, but by himself. 

“Of course” was his soft reply, as he let the helmet fall to the carpet.

Dividers by: toxisyddy

Texts made with: chat tales app

Of course, now you're rolling your eyes at him. You hate having to repeat yourself, even over the loud buzzing of the bar.

"I said, 'are you sober'. You look sober. Are you?"

Jason Todd blinks, like he still doesn't quite understand the question. He straightens his posture, jostling the untouched pint of something between his middle finger and thumb.

"I-yeah, I am. Are you?"

You cross your arms, roll your eyes again and ignore the question. Obviously, you're sober.

"Do you know who I am?"

He looks you over thoughtfully. His gaze conveniently lingers on the pop of your hip and the cleavage peeking out of your ruby neckline. Exactly where you want it. You snicker; so maybe he's a little slow, but at least he doesn't seem to be blind.

"You're Sionis' kid, aren't you? It's been a hot minute," Jason leans forward a little, magically more invested in the conversation. The ginger man standing next to him pauses his attempts to woo a brunette to raise an eyebrow at you.

"My dad hates you."

He scoffs, taking a half hearted sip of his beer.

"And bears shit in the woods, what else is new?"

You don't remember him having that stupid white streak in his too-well-tousled hair. It was sexy. You hated it.

"Fuck me."

IPA dribbles down his idiotically strong chin. His mouth goes a little slack as he blinks once again, harder and longer this time.

"What?"

Ugh, again with the repetition.

"Fuck me. Have sex with me," you reiterate as nonchalantly as if you're asking him to move over.

The redhead next to him starts cackling. Jason glowers at him, shoving the drink into his hand with one arm while pulling you closer with the other. It only takes him a gentle tug to pull your chest to broad chest. He leans down so his lips brush against your ear, his crooked nose nudging the side of your head.

"Hey, you sure you're sober?"

The warmth of his breath in contrast with his mouth, still cool from his glass, sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm dead sober."

"Okay, you see how I might doubt that given you just walked up to me and asked me to have sex with you."

You push him away and it's like pushing into a brick wall. A very muscular brick wall. "Look, Wayne-"

"Todd."

"Whatever. Even if I wanted to drink, I couldn't because my father drained my entire bank account."

Jason tilts his head, causing a lock of white hair to fall across his crooked nose. 

"And why'd he do that?"

You hum amiably, curling your pretty maroon nails around his thick forearm. 

"I'll tell you if you fuck me," you promise, batting your eyelashes as you place your other hand over his heart. Much to your frustration, his heartbeat is slow and steady. His sharp face has lost its earlier shock. He looks at ease, pleasantly entertained, with a slight smirk and a cocked slitted eyebrow. 

"I think that's called extortion, baby girl."

"It's only extortion if I'm threatening you," you snap back. You should know, your father's an expert in it. You take a small breath, smoothing out your tone again, "I'm just keeping my business to myself. So, I'd call this more of a quid pro quo."

"It's a quid pro quo if I'm getting something substantial out of it," he says this but at the same time, two large hands are sliding over your hips with a featherlight touch. His nails briefly press into your skin. 

Something in your belly tightens. Maybe he’s a more worthy opponent than you’d initially assumed. 

You tip your head up as you stand on your tiptoes and sneak your much smaller hands under his jacket, brushing up his warm sides. He sucks in a sharp breath. 

"If you really had no desire to fuck me, this conversation would've ended by now,” your voice is dripping in something venomously sweet. “And I'm not going to claim I have any idea of what's happening in your own business, but if I had to take a wild guess as to who in this room has the most to gain from fucking Roman Sionis' daughter, you'd be at the top of the list. Even if it's just for the bragging rights."

"You should know you’re worth more than just bragging rights, princess,” he says, rolling a fold of your dress between his fingers with a condescending shake of his head. You wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from underneath. 

"Prove it."

"...and you're sure you're sober?"

"Wanna test my breath?"

He snorts at your bad line, but his index and thumb are already caging your chin between them. He considers you for one more moment, then kisses you.

You can taste the single sip of beer, but it’s not as strong as the fading taste of a cigarette. His lips move against yours with intent, as if seeking out a falter in your sobriety. Their search comes up empty, leaving behind nothing but a thin string of spit and the overwhelming desire for more of him.

"What's your plan then? Risk it in a bathroom stall?"

You loath how utterly girlish the grin on your lips is.

"Nah, I know a spot upstairs."

***

"You're freaky, you know that?” Jason teases as you push open the roof access. 

"The cameras up here have a delay. My dad's people won't be able to snitch until tomorrow morning, so we have all the time in the world,” you smirk at the way his eyes bug out, tugging on the collar of his jacket with a sly wink. “Don’t worry. The cameras don’t pick up anything that happens on the ground. Plausible deniability.” 

He gestures to the roof set-up. The ledge comes up high enough to hide from peeping neighbors, but a string of yellow Christmas lights keeps the spot well illuminated.

"Yeah? And what about other prying eyes? You aren't worried Batman's gonna show up and scold us for public indecency?” 

The mental image is funnier than you let him think. You give him an amused little hum as you press yourself against his chest, walking two fingers up his ridiculously prominent bicep. 

"Hmm, technically this is private property and besides, this is Red Hood's territory."

"Red Hood? You really are freaky.” 

His lips are twinged ruby from being a human breathalyzer. A thin sheen of your lip gloss reflects the warm light surrounding you. Little scars decorate his hard face like freckles. You trace over a recent nick under his eye. 

"Please fuck me, Jason.” 

His arms are still at his side. His fingers twitch, either from anticipation or anxiety. 

"You're sure you want this?"

"Fucking positive. Do you?"

The green of his eyes are shadowed by his hooded eyes. His unflinching gaze is locked in on you. There’s a weight to it that seems to put pressures on all the right places. 

"Oh, fuck yeah, I do."

He doesn’t stop to think this time before he kisses you. It’s harder than earlier, his hands roaming your body. He had his moment to explore your cherry flavored mouth, now he’s taking what he wants. What you both want. 

There’s no shared breath between you as you suck on his bottom lip, ensuring your lip gloss is smeared everywhere. A large hand snakes its way up your spine to grip the back of your head. You gasp as fingernails dig into your scalp and Jason takes advantage of your parted lips to run his tongue over yours. 

You rack your nails over his stomach, catching the muscular grooves of his abdomen to make his shudder. You flatten your palm to sneak it downwards when he retaliates by grazing over your tailbone. You quiver under his touch, feeling that obnoxious smirk on his face. 

“Tell me,” he pants between wet smacks, “if”, smack, “if anything’s”, smack smack, “too much.” 

This gives you pause. What a chivalrous sentiment from a man who’s about to ram his cock into you on the dirty ground of a bar rooftop where Red Hood might see just to trifle with your father. Actually, you weren’t sure anyone had offered you that sentiment before. It has you rubbing your thighs together. 

Something unmistakable and hard pokes your belly as your hips meet. His tongue feels along the ridges of your lips before licking between them, once again filling your mouth with him. 

Cigarettes have never tasted so good. 

The arm around your waist slides to fill his free hand with your ass. You alarm yourself by letting out a muffled moan when he squeezes. He’s going to make a mess of you much quicker than anticipated. 

It’s just because the cameras are picking this part up, you think to yourself, I’m still in charge, Jason Todd isn’t going to get the best of-

Your thoughts are interrupted by the hand on your ass rounding your hip. Two fingers play with the hem of your short dress and pull the skirt up to reveal the skimpy thong underneath. Jason finally pries himself away from your mouth to get a good look, letting out a low whistle as he admires the coordinating colors. 

“You’re so organized, aren’t you?” He croons in a much gruffer voice than he’s been using. The rough pads of his fingers knead circles into your thigh, making you keen. “Daddy must really be stressin’ you out, baby girl. You’re so tight, need to unwind…” 

You let out a little breath as the hand on your head moves to cup your chin. Jason’s lips are satisfyingly swollen and a rash of scarlet has started to spread across his cheeks, although it’s nothing compared to the heat rising in yours. The fingers at your thigh skim inward, ghosting over the elastic of your underwear. 

“This alright?”

Later you’ll curse yourself for not saying something snarkier or dirtier, for not grabbing the outline of his cock and reminding him whose idea this was…but right now, there’s nothing in the world you want more than for this man to touch your pussy. 

You nod, “Please, Jason-”

“Please, what?”

Oh, this fucker with his little smug expression. 

“Please…Please touch me, Jason.” 

Although every time you say his name, his chest tightens up beneath your palms. 

He cups your sex, feeling along the thinning string keeping you covered. Your eyes widen as you realize it’s clinging to your lower lips. His index and middle fingers are cold against the thin fabric of your thong. It's a sharp juxtaposition from his hot breath on your lips, then your jaw, then your neck. 

Dagger-like canines whet the skin of your throat. The tip of his tongue drags a straight line down your jugular while the tips of his fingers trace circles over your flimsy underwear.

“So wet,” Jason lets out a pleased hum, snapping the string with a thawk to make you jolt. “And in these pathetic excuse for panties? I wouldn’t be surprised if you left something behind in the bar.” 

Your natural instinct is to retort, but you don’t have a chance to get a word in before he’s pushing the flimsy fabric aside and swiping his middle finger through your slit. 

“Daddy makes you mad and the first thing you do is parade yourself around with your fucking pussy out. You just went out looking for trouble, didn’t you.” 

“Nuh-ah-uh,” you protest weakly, gripping his shoulders for support. He’s massaging your lower lips with false mercy. “Wasn’t looking for anything until I-ah-until-ahh-til I saw you.”

His canine bites down as his thumb presses your clit like it’s a button. Two fingers slip inside you with an embarrassing amount of ease and you whine as they scissor you open. 

“You really know what you’re doing,” you huff, a half hearted attempt at a joke. He pauses, as if he’s surprised to hear you say that. His fingers freeze up inside you, then start to pump in and out carefully - cautiously even.

“Maybe that’s just what you needed, hmm,” he muses into your skin, planting another wave of kisses along your jawline. “Someone who knows what he’s doing to help you loosen up.” 

He’s straining painfully against you. It seems unfair to let him do all the work when he’s also begging to be fucked to shreds. You reach for his cock, only for his fingers to retract from your cunt and curl around your wrist. 

You whine, both at the sudden lack of him inside you and your foiled attempts to gain some control. Your knees nearly buckle as he removes his arms all together to shrug off his jacket. But he merely tuts, “None of that, princess. Why don’t you lay back down? I think the cameras got enough.” 

Well, fuck it. You told him to treat you like a trophy, no point in confusing the man now. 

He drapes his jacket on the ground before twining his arms around your waist and shoulders to lower you down on top of it. The inside is surprisingly soft against the exposed parts of your back. 

“You just gotta let me take care of you, baby,” Jason coos, gently grabbing your ankles to move your legs apart. He takes his sweet time dragging your panties off, letting each callous on his hands hit your smooth thighs. “Look at that pretty fuckin’ pussy. You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ sweet.” 

Taste?

“What’re you-”

“Shh, trust me,” he says, coming up to kiss you. He pushes your dress up to your waist, stopping to rub your hip affectionately. “You’re gonna be glad I did this. We can stop if you get uncomfortable.” 

He kisses either thigh as he dips his head between your legs, his black hair tickling your skin. You suck in a breath of anticipation, but he steals it when he places an open mouth kiss on your slit. 

You crane your head to look at him. Not a single other person has done this to you before. You were beginning to think it was just some sort of myth, but the way Jason licks from your hole to your clit with a blistering, flat tongue is suddenly very real - and very good. 

He blows a harsh breath on your clit before delving back into your cunt. He licks his way into you, filling you with a new strange, wet sensation. His tongue is hot on your already burning core and you think you might melt into a puddle. You bite your lip, but it’s not enough to stop the pathetic cries that come out of you as Jason Todd, your alleged nemesis who never paid you any mind, the son of the dull pain in your father’s ass, eats you out. 

The sound is obscene and loud, masking your soft pants. The wet noise echoes off the high walls of the ledge while Jason works your cunt with a stupid amount of precision. His mouth is sloppy, engulfing you whole. But, his tongue is tactical, taking its time to draw out a map of all the places that make you moan and squirm. 

“Oh God, oh God!” You cry out, your hands flying to grab a fistful of black and white hair as he laps at you. His arms hook around your knees to yank you closer. He’s unreal, unrelenting in his dining. When he switches to deliver kitten licks to your clit, two fingers take his tongue’s place in your hole. 

You buck upwards as his fingers curl inside you, easily stroking at that sweet spot just out of reach of your own fingers. His free arm pins your twitching hips down, and that’s when you officially relinquish all control to him. 

“Jason, ahhh” you groan, every muscle and nerve in your body quaking. “Jason, I’m gonna…please let me…”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He sucks down on your button, letting his teeth graze the nerves in just the right way to send that unforgiving twinge up to your belly until it whites out your vision. Your orgasm floods his face, but he keeps licking until it stops. Only then does he pull away, giving you a shit eating grin dripping in more than just lip gloss and beer.  

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl, asking so nicely. And so damn sensitive, it’s cute.”

Your heart races at being called a good girl. You should be spent already, but something about the fact that he made you cum in only ten minutes makes you want even more. 

He rises to his knees and you stare at him in awe as his body towers over you, blocking out anything but the hungry gleam of his eyes, the carnivorous bite of his lip, the mounting sweat of his skin. Anything but him. 

The lights glow gold behind him, crowing your own personal Apollo with his halo. His pupils are blown out, but his stare hasn’t lost its cool. You, on the other hand, are trembling beneath him, your pussy clenching at the sound of his zipper coming undone. 

Your eyes bug out to match the size of the cock he pulls from his jeans. It’s stiff as it fills his grasp, already leaking into his palm. He grins proudly at your awe. 

“See why I wanted to warm you up, pretty girl?”

The adrenaline of the moment gives you the strength to sit up and press your worshipful lips to the ruddy head, revealing in the way it twitches. The remnants of your lip gloss add to its shine. Jason mixes it with his spit as he spreads it across his veiny flesh.  

“You’re a God, Jason Todd.” 

He bends down to reward your praise with a kiss, a briny tang replacing the burn of tobacco. Your hands come up to caress his jaw before dropping to his shoulders, proactively digging into his t-shirt. Your lips pull away from his to connect to his neck, repaying him for the bruises he decorated you with earlier. 

He hums in pleasure, tipping his head to give you better access. He smears your lipgloss residue onto his hand and lubes his cock with a Lime Crime Wet Cherry and spit cocktail. 

You’re so wrapped up in leaving a toothy imprint in the junction of his neck that you miss the hard switch in his expression. You yelp as he grips your thighs and hooks them over his hips, pinning you beneath him. Your torso flies back, but he reflexively catches your head before it can smack against the concrete. 

He continues to cradle you, steadying himself as he drags his tip along your slit excruciatingly slow. He tuts and taps your clit when you bite back a moan. 

“Don’t hold back now, beautiful,” he taunts, prodding your entrance with his blunt head. “What’s the matter, worried Red Hood might hear you?”

You try to grind against him and snarl when he pulls his cock away, “Don’t fucking tease me, jackass.” 

Jason slaps his cock against you, then rests it on your belly. He lets out an amused scoff, “Wasn’t I a God thirty seconds ago?”

“Forgot to mention I’m an atheist.” 

You cross your arms like you aren’t flat on your back with your legs up, but no poker face can hide the desperate squirm of your hips. 

The bastard shakes his head and the weight of him shifts over your gut, “You just can’t help being a brat, can you? And to think, you were being such a good girl f’me.” 

“Only because you were being nice-”

“I can be nice again, sweetheart,” his voice is low as he spits out the pet name. “But you gotta be patient.” 

“I wasn’t raised to be particularly- AH!” 

The head of his cock bullies its way past your labia and sits at the ready. You can already feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. It’s just the tip and it’s already bigger than anything you’ve ever had. 

“You ready?” He whispers. You nod with a strained whine, but it’s not enough for him. “Take a breath, I gotta hear your voice, pretty girl.”

“I-”

Your heart pounds so fast, it stops for the split second that those sharp greens irises soften. His thumb rubs a circle behind your ear. 

“Yeah,” you suck in one last breath. “I’m ready.” 

“Just - hmm - Just tell me if you need me to stop.” 

Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in. When you first saw his size, you had expected it to sting. But instead of sharp pain, he fills you with an instant and, based on the snail’s pace he’s moving at, neverending pressure. 

“Oh, baby…Oh, that’s it, that’s it, nice and slow.” 

It’s so much. It’s so good. Every bump and groove makes itself known as he buries himself inch by inch, rubbing against you. 

"Fuck, you have a big cock," you groan, letting your head fall back on his jacket. He has the audacity to snort as he sinks the rest of himself into you, until his hips finally grate against yours.

The hand holding your head slips out from under you and pulls down the strap of your dress. Your already stiff nipple becomes absolutely statuesque when it meets the night air. 

"Yeah? Well, you got a big fuckin' attitude, asking a man you barely know to come fuck you on a rooftop. You do this a lot?"

The edge of a callous catches your nipple. 

"No! Just f'you!" You squeak with a jolt. 

The callous turns into an entire paw, squeezing your entire breast harshly. You push upwards into the base of his palm, brushing your nipple against the defined lines. 

"Just for me? Just had to have me?"

Jason leans in closer, so you can feel each hot strained exhale.

"Had to have you!"

There’s little more than a hair between your noses. That big strong hand finds its way to your throat. 

"No one else pisses off your daddy as much?"

You have no explanation for what slipped out of you next. 

In your entire sexual experience, you had refused to speak them. And more determined men than this one had tried to squeeze it out of you. 

But something about the hand on your throat and the breath on your lips had you shouting, 

"You're my daddy!” 

Something flashes in his eyes and for a moment, you’re worried you fucked up. He freezes up. His face falls blank and his mouth goes taut as he considers your words. The hand supporting his weight jerks next to your head while you pant anxiously. You get the sense that this is a first for him too. 

Then he lets out a breathless laugh. 

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right, baby. I'm your daddy.”

He pulls out of you without warning or sympathy. Your hips chase his blindly, your hole weeping for his cock to come back. He sits back on his knees and hauls your ass over his thighs, spreading you open on his wide lap. 

"You holding on tight, baby?”

You waste no time securing fistfuls of his shirt, the white logo distorting in your clutch. He lines himself up to your entrance again, brushing the sweat off your brow. 

"You tell me if it's too much, yeah?"

“Of course, daddy.” 

He grins, his sharp canines glinting. “Good girl.” 

He abandons his slow and steady routine to shove himself into you. He so graciously gives you a moment to re-welcome him with a little squeeze before he’s pounding into you, ramming in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. 

You make a valiant attempt to move with him. Really, you do. But the man is actively reducing you to a huffing and puffing ragdoll. The angle he has you at leaves you nowhere to go but the end of his cock. You want to say something, to egg him on, however all that tumbles out of your gaping mouth is a series of choked uhs and ahs. 

That is until he hits a spot you didn’t even know existed and you let out an honest to God scream. In your defense, the speed at which he fucks you is utterly inhuman. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was Superman taking his fill of you.

He slows, moving just enough to rub up against that sensitive point. He revels in the way your legs crush his sides, your trembling knees digging into his ribs. 

“Oh, that feels good, doesn’t it, baby,” he groans. He plunges in as deep as he can go, lifting your hips like you’re made of clouds. Something in you pinches and burns as you open up even more for him.  

He readjusts you with a grunt and sets a new brutal rhythm; fucking you fast and hard, then easing up when he strokes something that makes you shudder.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters, “Good girl…so good…so so fuckin’ good…”

Like clockwork, you gasp every time he slows down and drags his cock in or out of you. He lets you feel every minute detail, graciously allowing you to appreciate what he's giving you, before he's striking every sweet spot like lightning again.

“Come on, let Red Hood hear you.” 

White, red and gold flashes before your eyes. Your mouth falls open dumbly as you cry out for your former woud-be-rival. Although there was ecstasy exploding from your core to your belly, the best feeling was him gasping your name in turn. 

He pulls out of you just as he finishes, your name still falling from his swollen lips. With a heave of his chest, he rolls off of you and lands with a thump at your side. You pant together, waiting for the stars to pause their dancing. 

“Gonna tell me why your dad took your dough now?” He finally puffs out. 

“Fuck, I don’t even remember,” you laugh hoarsely. Jason snaps his head up to look at you. Dumbfounded is an adorable look on him. 

“So you lure me into making a sextape for you, then conveniently forget your end of the bargain?”

“It’s not my fault you fucked my brains out,” you shrug as you sit up. You take an agonizing moment to stretch so you can enjoy the glare on his face. “Why do you wanna know so badly anyway?”

He sits up next to you, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair, “I’m gonna need another deal if you want me to start revealing my secrets.” 

Jason Todd’s a quick thinker, you have to give him that. You consider him, consider the possibility of extending this hook-up into a full fledged thing. There has to be more to gain than lose. If you play your cards right, maybe you can beat your father to destroying the Wayne legacy. Or…maybe you can get your revenge by weaving yourself into it. Either way, you’ll ensure you come out on top. 

“Tell you what,” you say, standing up and trying to ignore the way your legs shake. “I’m free tomorrow night. Do that thing with your tongue again and it might jog my memory. I’ll do something with my tongue and see if that doesn’t inspire you to share.” 

He scoffs, “You’re a little business mongrel, y’know that?” You roll your eyes, but extend your hand out to help him up. He looks at your hand for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Then he accepts it, cautiously wrapping his large hand around your smaller one like he’s handling a snake. “No more rooftops,” he decides. “And no more up close cameras.” 

You nod, “Fair. But I’m not calling you daddy again either. That was a one time thing.” 

Jason laughs. It’s just a short bark, but it’s genuine. “No problem. It’s not really my thing either. I just appreciated its dramatics for tonight’s purposes.” 

The corners of your lips twitch upwards. 

“So…We have a deal?”

He gives your hand a firm shake, although it doesn’t betray the suspicion in those unnerving green eyes. 

“I think you said it best yourself, princess. I think we have a quid pro quo.” 

Jason must have been so content, and honestly distracted by the time he spent with you he didn't notice the group of what he likes to call feral gremlins following you.

That was, until he got a snowball to the back of his head.

Turning on his heel immediately, Jason put himself in front of you effectively being the barrier for whoever threw that.

Peeking out around him, you looked up. "Jay, what happened?"

"Some fucker thought it'd be funny to throw a snowball." he grumbled.

"A snowball?"

Jason nodded, before he nudged you gently. "You see that log over there?"

Looking to your side, you saw the large snow covered log. Nodding in response, you gripped his hand.

"When I give you the sign, make a run and duck behind that. But first, be a doll, and make me a snowball real quick?"

You gave Jason an incredulous look, before you gathered a lump of snow and formed it into a ball before placing it into his hand.

"Thanks, Princess. The second this ball leaves my hand, make a break for it."

Jason looked around, his sharp eyes trained for moments like this. He knew they were there, even if he couldn't see them. But he didn't expect anything less from these people.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Not waiting a moment, Jason turned and threw the snowball. Immediately, you took off running hearing a grunt of pain.

Jason was right behind you as a barrage of snowballs began to fly towards you. The second you hid behind the log, you began to make snowball after snowball helping Jasno get supplied for the sudden snowball fight you were drug into.

Peeking up, you watched as Jason threw another and nailed someone in the face.

"Gotcha Replacement!"

"Fuck you! We're not all snipers like you are!"

The laugh Jason let out warmed your heart. There was once a time Jason tried to kill Tim, and hated him enough to do it. Now here he was, engaged in a snowball fight.

Grabbing another, Jason threw it and nailed another person in the face.

"What the hell! That's not fair!

"Not my fault you can't hide in that purple monstrosity of a coat."

One by one, Jason nailed everyone in the face. Tim, Stephanie, Duke, Damian, Cass, Barbara he got in the shoulder out of respect. That, and she might actually kill him if he got her in the face.

There was only one person left, and arguably he was more dangerous than Jason.

Both of you were at the ready for the slightest tell of where he could be. You were so focused, that you didn't until a snowball was mushed on top of both of your heads.

"Gotch, Little Wing."

Looking up, you saw Dick with his million-dollar grin, and a mischievous glint in his eyes. A glint you knew meant trouble, and you did not want to be caught in it this time.

Quickly you crawled away as Jason turned and tackled Dick into the snow and began throwing it at him while laughing.

What was a snowball fight, turned into a snowball massacre, and was now just a snow fight between Dick and Jason.

Stepping to the side, you were soon joined by everyone else as they all had marks on their face from where the snowball got them, Tim's right in the middle of his forehead.

"So, how long do you think these two will be?" Duke asked.

You shared a look with everyone.

"Might as well tell Bruce they will be running a little late."

Duke looked confused. "Patrol doesn't start for another five hours?"

“So ,” Y/N finally spoke up after what felt like hours of silence. “I have been in a dicey situation because of the Joker and his gang of clowns. Wrong time, wrong place, sorta deal.” She paused again, but shorter this time. “I have been hit by his Joker Venom, but I was treated in time. It was a gas and it wasn’t one of the more lethal variants or long enough exposure to be permanently disabling. It’s…not something I talk about either. Cici wasn't trying to lie or cause trouble the day you came in. She was trying to help me out, because I recognized you.”

Great , she recognized me right away and I was just chasing 1’s and 0’s in a useless IP address! His lips scrunched to the side as he slouched in his seat, his pride was thoroughly bruised. 

“Don't pout, I was having a bad day, well week, and she was just trying to help me jot deal with another thing, and ended up blurting that out. So no, I’m not some lunatic because of it and yes, I’m perfectly normal, because who isn’t a little traumatized when living in Gotham City, right?”

“I would say ‘or insanely rich’, but they tend to be the actual targets and commoners like myself end up in the crosshairs.” She hesitantly added, seeing no flare of anger or annoyance, she sat up and took a bite of her flaky pastry of choice. 

“Are you sure ‘perfectly normal’ is the best term for you?” He grumbled. “You recognized me and did your damndest to be unrecognizable, why? You even got your friend in on it and made me think you're someone,” his voice steadily grew louder and his tone harsher as he sat up straight while she steadily shrank back into her seat, ducking her head to avoid looking at him. Shit , not what I wanted to do! “ Forget it , who am I to get pissed at a little white lie? I’m no stranger to bad days either.” Like being held hostage and left for dead by the Joker. He quickly deflated back in his seat. His foot lightly nudged against hers, making her jump and look up. “I also think anyone who isn't traumatized living here is either off their rocker or they've only just moved in.” His gaze softened as he smiled, coaxing her to relax with him again.

“Being rich comes with its own style of batshit crazy.” He rolled his eyes. Like throwing cash around for giant galas to make yourselves feel better about ‘charity’ which will obviously attract all the other criminals in Gotham. The only difference between them is that one group is considered legal.

 “Speaking of rich, you’re a Wayne, right?” Jason’s eyebrows shot up quickly before crashing down and furrowing together. “Cici told me, I was helping her with the drinks that day and she told me to not call it.” She quickly explained. “But that aside, what do I call you? Little Lordling? Littler Wayne? Wayne Jr the second? Wayne 3.0? There are a bunch of you, right? You're the second one, I suppose you'd be Wayne 2, or are you 3 because Bruce Wayne would be 1?” She thought aloud, watching his left eye twitch with each nickname she came up with. It was still oh so satisfying to see.

“Yes, I am an adopted son of Bruce Wayne and no , you can’t call me any of those.” His voice shook as his smile became a little strained, a little bit of a grumble in the undertones.

“Aww, not even ‘Little Lordling’? I thought that one would’ve won.” She pouted. The way her lower lip puffed and pushed out was adorable, but Jason needed to be strong. There's no way he was going to let anyone call him that. It would be the end of him if any of the other Bats heard of this. “So what do I call you by, oh nameless capeless savior?”

“How about you just call me by my name? Which you could’ve just asked me for instead of doing all this.” He rolled his left hand in the air as he gestured to the oddity that was this conversation

“It is absotively posolutely rude to demand such information! To ask without offering something of equal value is simply barbaric!” She scoffed and he snorted while trying to stop himself from choking on his drink. “Also, where's the fun in that? Now you'll remember me the next time you see me, you won't be so thrown off.” The smug grin on her face was frustratingly adorable and pleasantly annoying, he was not sure if he wanted to wipe it off her face or give her something else to gloat about. 

“And charging someone for asking questions is not memorable enough?” One of his eyebrows rose up in question. “I feel like we’re well past dinner and a movie first.”

“Who says that's my cup of tea? Maybe I'm a video games and books kind of gal?” She raised an eyebrow of her own in challenge to him.

Damn, games and books? “Well you’re in luck. I’m a bit of both myself.” He smirked. 

Oh that is cheating! You can't go looking like this, be a Wayne, and be into those! I’m trying to ask you for 4k, not a wedding ring! Her eyes narrowed as she leaned in closer. “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

“‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen, not bad.” Jason took a bite of his sandwich. Not bad, not bad. “There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm,” he calmly replied.

“‘The Song of the Lark’, huh, ‘a bit’ is what you said, right?” Y/N sat back. “Consider me impressed again, Wonder Boy.”

“Quit calling me that,” he grumbled as his eye twitched.

“I have nothing else to call you.”

“Then call me by name.”

“I don't have your name.”

“You could ask.”

“That’d be rude, of course. We haven’t properly met.” She smirked.

“And how do we properly meet?” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table.

“Dinner and a good book.”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“That depends, do you prefer me to ask or tell?” She leaned in closer as well.

“Doesn’t matter to me, so long as you say yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “I guess it’s settled then. Now all I need is your number.”

“Wait, what? My number?” She sat back a little in surprise.

Y/N winced as her eyes opened just in time to see Jason grabbing one of his hidden guns from below their bed frame.

“What’s going on?” Her voice raspy.

“Nothing,” Jason lied. “Stay here.”

Now that she found out about another hidden gun in their apartment, Jason knew he was going to return to a lecture from Y/N. She never hid her hatred for guns, and had asked him to keep them out of their apartment.

“Jason…” Y/N whispered desperately, now more awake and concerned.

“Stay here,” Jason said, more firmly this time.

Then he quickly kissed her, leaving even less room for her to argue.

In only his black boxer briefs, Jason snuck out of their bedroom and into the living room without making any sound. Y/N had always been shocked at how quiet her giant boyfriend could make himself.

Just as Jason raised his gun, he heard the familiar voice.

“Put some clothes on, Todd.”

Damian stepped out of the shadows.

To Jason’s surprise, he was in civilian clothes and not in his Robin uniform.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, breaking in like that?” Jason reprimanded as he uncocked the gun.

But before Damian could defend himself, the bedroom door squeaked open and Y/N was rushing out into the living room.

“I told you to stay there,” Jason growled.

Y/N rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s overprotectiveness. “Obviously I recognized Damian’s voice, Jason.”

Then Y/N looked at her half-brother for a second and quickly realized Damian had come there for a reason.

“Everything alright, Damian?” She asked carefully.

“Yes,” he lied.

Jason remembered when Damian despised Y/N. He saw her as a threat to his claim to the Wayne throne. But Y/N had immediately made her intentions clear. “I have my own reputation, money, and career that I built without a name attached to me. I want nothing to do with Wayne Enterprises,” she had told Damian as soon as she realized he saw her as some sort of competition.

It took Damian months to even acknowledge Y/N. And he really only did because both his father and Dick – basically his surrogate father – scolded him for not doing so.

Slowly but surely, the two grew closer.

Y/N didn’t put up with Damian’s attitude. But she also didn’t scold him like a child. If he was rude or aggressive, she spoke to him the same way she would speak to a grown man who behaved in such a manner. Somehow it made the boy slowly start to respect her more.

Eventually, they bonded over their mutual love of the arts. Damian was impressed with her photographs, while Y/N was honored whenever Damian decided to share his drawings with her. Y/N had gifted Damian his first camera. And Damian once gave her a few lessons on the basics of sketching and painting.

Who knew Waynes were the creative type?

And it was when Damian’s pets all seemed to be obsessed with Y/N that the boy finally decided to get over his original opinions and feelings.

It was by no means a short or easy battle. But the rest of the family was relieved when Damian finally accepted Y/N as one of their own.

“How about I make us some hot chocolate?” Y/N offered Damian.

The boy just shrugged, but she noticed his eyes subtly light up.

She never understood why he refused to let himself feel joy in the simple things. It was like she could catch him stopping himself from being a kid.

“I’m going to bed,” Jason announced with exhaustion.

It was clear to him that Damian came to see his sister, not him. And he was nice enough to leave the two of them alone. Even though he was a bit bitter that his girlfriend was being stolen from their bed.

Before turning back to the bedroom, Jason invaded Y/N’s space and gently grabbed her jaw before pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Gross,” Damian groaned.

Jason glared and pointed at the boy. “You’re in our apartment, demon spawn. I’ll kiss my girlfriend if I fuckin’ want to.”

Y/N just laughed as she watched Jason close their bedroom door behind him.

“Come on,” she nudged her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s make some hot chocolate. I think I have some of Alfred’s cookies hiding somewhere, too.”

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Damian mumbled.

Y/N smirked and shook her head. Tonight, she wasn’t taking the bait. 

Once Damian decided he didn’t hate Y/N, he jumped right to making it known that he did not think Jason was good enough for her. But she knew it was an act – mostly.

“Why aren’t you on patrol?” She asked casually once they had giant mugs of hot chocolate and cookies in front of them, making sure to give the boy extra marshmallows. 

“I’m grounded,” Damian muttered.

Y/N tilted her head. “Grounded?”

It seemed like a far too normal concept for a family of vigilantes.

“Yes,” Damian confirmed.

“I’m guessing that means Bruce and Alfred don’t know you’re here…?”

“I snuck out,” he admitted.

“Why did you get grounded?”

“Father found out I was skipping school. And then that I skipped the school dance.”

“Why does it matter if you skipped the dance?” She asked, clearly confused.

Y/N was also struggling to imagine Bruce caring about such a trivial thing like that.  

“Father wishes for me to have normal experiences that young man of my age is expected to have,” Damian said with a roll of his eyes.

“School dances are lame,” Y/N commented.

Damian sat up straighter, not expecting that to be her response.

“I skipped prom. I didn’t want to go,” she added.

“Why not?” The boy challenge, somewhat caught off guard by that.

Y/N shrugged. “Bad music. Bad dancing. Tacky dresses. Just wasn’t all that appealing to angsty, teenage me.”

Damian just nodded slowly, and then got quiet.

“I have no desire to be normal,” he finally stated after a few minutes.

“I’m not taking his side, but I get why Bruce wants you to do these things, Damian. You were robbed of a lot of things because of the way you were raised. I’m not saying that it’s bad or good. But I think Bruce just wants to give you the opportunity to experience the life of a – well...of a kid.”

“And was your life normal?” Damian quickly asked.

Y/N nodded. “So normal that it was boring.” She laughed, “My entire life was normal until I met all of you weirdos.”

That got a smile out of Damian.

But then it slowly dropped and he seemed to get lost in his head.

“I don’t…I don’t have any friends,” Damian finally whimpered.

Y/N was shocked by the boy’s emotion.

Damian was always composed.

“It’s like they speak a different language. And it’s one I can never learn.”

“Oh, Damian,” Y/N sighed as she rushed from her seat to kneel beside him. “I know it must be hard to try and fit in. But you’re not doing anything wrong. None of that’s your fault.”

“Father is more than aware that I don’t need the education,” Damian’s voice shook as he tried not to cry. “He only forces me to attend so I can make friends. And that is one thing I am unable to do.”

Y/N let him breathe and have an opportunity to continue before she spoke again. 

“I hate school, so I skip. And the school dance seemed so ridiculous to me, so I skipped that too – even after father specifically requested that I attend.”

Y/N sighed, “And did you tell him how you’re feeling when he grounded you?”

Damian shook his head no.

She hadn’t expected anything different. She could easily imagine Damian lashing out at Bruce when he received his punishment, saying that the requests were a waste of his time and beneath him. 

Damian was good at hiding his emotional pain – maybe even better than their father.

Y/N was sure Bruce didn’t have a true understanding of what Damian was going through.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Damian asked.

“Of course,” she gave him a sad smile. “How about we take this hot chocolate to the couch and watch a movie?”

Damian shrugged. But it wasn’t a no.

Y/N let him pick the movie.

He chose Fantasia. 

When Y/N didn’t hide her surprise, he explained that he respected the animation and loved all of the classical music. Even when they did a child-like activity, he still always found way to remind the world that he was no normal child.

An hour later, both of them had fallen asleep on the couch with the movie still playing.

When Damian felt another presence, he awoke with a jolt and grabbed his hidden knife, holding it to the throat of the intruder.

But it was Jason, gently bringing Y/N’s sleeping body into his arms.

“Once again, demon spawn, you’re in our apartment,” Jason hissed with annoyance.

The man was completely unfazed by the feeling of a blade threatening to slit his throat. 

Damian huffed.

“I’m taking her to bed,” Jason explained the obvious. Then he nudged his head at the love-seat across from Damian. “There’s a blanket right there if you want to sleep on the couch. Or you can sleep in the guest bedroom.”

But Jason paused, with Y/N sleeping in his arms, as he noticed a strange look on Damian’s face.

“What?” He urged.

“If you ever hurt her, I’ll kill you myself,” Damian growled softly.

Jason looked utterly unimpressed. “You’d have to get in line,” he answered, making sure to keep his voice quiet to prevent waking Y/N.

But then Jason’s face softened. “Look, kid, I think you know that she’s the best thing to ever happen to me. I’d die before doing anything to mess this up.”

“Hmph,” was the only noise Damian made in response.

Jason rolled his eyes and carried Y/N back to their bedroom.

In all honesty, he couldn’t fall asleep while she had been in with Damian. With Jason’s weird enhanced hearing because of the pit, he was able to catch a bit of their conversation.

Jason softly place Y/N back in bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. When he joined her on the other side of the bed, she didn’t even wake as she slid back into his arms.

Now Jason could finally go to sleep.

When there was a knock on the apartment door the next morning, Damian and Y/N shared a look.

“I’ll get it,” Y/N sighed.

Jason had made all three of them breakfast that morning.

But now Damian pushed the food around his plate, knowing this was the end of his small rebellion. Who knew what his new punishment would be?

Y/N opened the door to unsurprisingly find her father.

Bruce was wearing a full suit, despite it being a Sunday morning. On top was a heavy, black overcoat with the back of the collar slightly propped up.

“You could have least told me he was here,” Bruce greeted his daughter.

She smirked mischievously and shrugged. “I’m no snitch.”

Damian appeared behind Y/N, not seeing the point in dragging this out any longer than necessary.

“Alfred’s downstairs with the car,” Bruce told his son evenly.

The disappointment in both his expression and tone was obvious.

Damian looked up at Y/N. “Thank you for having me, Y/N.”

“Next time, use the actual door so you don’t give me or Jason a heart attack.”

Damian smiled at that before walking past his father and down the hallway.

“Can I talk to you a second?” Y/N asked Bruce.

Her father seemed surprised by the request, but nodded anyways and closed the door behind him.

“I think Damian is really struggling – more than you think, I mean.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed and he crossed his arms. “He hasn’t even been remotely injured from patrols in months…”

“No, Bruce,” she quickly cut off. “Not as Robin. As Damian.”

Bruce was quiet.

“He doesn’t know how to fit in, Bruce. And you’re putting a lot of pressure on him to live a normal life. Bu he’s never gonna have normal. That was taken away from him before you even knew he existed.”

“He said that to you?” Bruce asked.

She nodded. “In so few words, yes.”

“And I’m assuming you have some advice,” he quirked a brow.

“Well, yeah. Maybe you should just homeschool him.”

“Y/N, the whole point of him going to school is to be around kids his own age. We both know the education is beneath him already.”

“But that’s the thing, Bruce. He’s never going to relate to any of those kids. Going to school makes him feel like a freak. Let him get homeschooled.”

“He needs to learn to make friends,” Bruce argued.

“You’re right. He does. But not with the spoiled brats of Gotham Academy. How many superheroes are you friends with?”

“He doesn’t consider them friends!” Jason shouted from the kitchen.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine. How many superheroes are you acquainted with, who have kids around Damian’s age?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

“I know you like to keep your personal life away from Batman. But those are the only kids that Damian is ever going to relate to in some way. Do you get what I’m saying?”

To her surprise, Bruce nodded. “You’re right.”

Her brows shot up. “I am?”

Y/N had really expected him to fight her on this.

Bruce chuckled. “Of course you are. Out of everyone in this family, you are the only one who can say they had any semblance of a normal childhood.”

Suddenly his phone dinged and he glanced down at it.

“I have to go,” he regretfully told her.

When he looked back up at her, his face softened. “Come to the manor soon for dinner,” he asked her gently.

She gave him a soft smile and nodded, “I will.”

Bruce nodded in the direction of the kitchen where Jason was hiding. “And bring that one with you, will you?”

Y/N laughed. “He’ll go wherever I go. He’s like a puppy, that one.”

“I can hear you!” Jason called out.

Bruce laughed and stepped forward to give Y/N a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for looking out for Damian, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Bruce.”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” 

Right on time. Jason’s arms wrap around you in a hug from behind, before yanking you away from his brothers. He holds you close, and through your lashes you look up at him to see him scowling at his brothers. 

“This is my girlfriend! Not yours! This is my relationship! Not YOURS! And we are supposed to be in a romantic restaurant right now, not here entertaining you miscreants!”  

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. But Jason feels you shake slightly and as he looks down at you, you watch his brothers share a look. Ahhh. They’re doing this on purpose. You’re in the middle of trying to find out why when your boyfriend turns his rant on you, “Don’t laugh at them. They’re not funny.” 

You smile, press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. You and Jason had been together for over three years. You’d met at Yale, and while you had lived there, you’d been in an isolated bubble away from your families. But job opportunities had led you back to Gotham. Jason hadn’t even told his family he had moved back until Dick had seen the two of you at a bookstore. From there Jason had avoided answering his phone for three days until Alfred had called. He hadn’t been able to avoid that call. He’d promised Alfred he would stop by at some point over the next few days, but he gave no specifics. 

He’d been strangely cagey about the whole thing. And then, tonight, on your way to dinner he made a comment about making a quick stop somewhere. When he had pulled up to Wayne Manor, he’d explained his reasoning. “Bruce and Alfred are at a gala. My brothers won’t care about our relationship too much, and this will keep prying Bruce and ALfred out of our lives for a little bit longer.” He’d been wrong. His brothers had been very interested in your relationship. You’d already been there for an hour. 

“Okay. We’re going now.” Still not letting you out of his arms, Jason very awkwardly walks you towards the door. He’s just about to open it, when it flings open. You smile as a very smug looking Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth walk in, and everything clicks. His brothers had been stalling. 

“Jason! You actually stopped by. We’re so glad!” 

Quicker than you can comprehend, Bruce has you out of Jason’s arms, and is distracting him. A hand at the small of your back gets your attention, and you smile at Alfred. He gives you a small smile back. He motions with his head and you follow him to the kitchen. You stay quiet as he makes you both a cup of tea. When it’s poured you ask, “So, I’m guessing you’re the mastermind behind the stalling act?” 

“Jason has never been good about sharing with the family. We didn’t even know about you, until Richard came home and told us.” 

You smile, because that doesn’t surprise you. Jason had told you bits and pieces about his family. More often than not, he’d ranted about them. On some level it surprised you, because he had been a saint each and every time he had met your family. Your parents loved him. They called him more than they called you. He talked about recipes with your mother and books with your dad. You tell Alfred as much. 

“I’m glad to hear he minds his manners.” 

You take a sip of your tea, “More than that. He wears the sweaters my mother makes him each Christmas.” Alfred smiles, and you get his meaning, “I’ll get you copies of the pictures.” 

You chat with Alfred for a few more minutes before Jason, once again, shows up. His face is red, and enraged. “We’re leaving. We’re leaving and never coming back.” 

Your brow furrows, “Why?” 

“Because my family is crazy.” 

“I like them.” 

“You can’t be serious?” 

You stand up, and put your hands on your hips, “The last time we saw my parents you brought up the idea of family pictures.” 

“That wasn’t me. . .” 

“You helped my mom look up photographers and plan outfits.” 

“Your family is normal! Mine is psychotic!” 

You exchange a look with Alfred as Jason’s brothers storm the kitchen, and basically tackle him. Damian is on his back, Tim has one arm, and Dick has the other. Dick is all grins as he says, “Now that’s not nice Jay! We love you. And we love your girlfriend.” 

They start tugging him out of the room, and Jason looks over at you, “Help.” 

You watch as they drag him out as Bruce comes in.  He looks at Alfred, “You done interrogating her?”

“I have promises of pictures of Jason in a holiday sweater. I’m more than happy with her. Now then, since we’ve kept you from dinner, how about I make something?” 

“That would be great! Thank you.”