whiskey sour - j.t.
Synopsis: you meet jason at a bar on your little sister's 21st birthday
Tags: jason todd x reader, reader is a private investigator, oral s (f recieving), p in v, grinding, dry humping ?, begging, riding, yearning, timeskips, more to be added
wc: 8k
a/n: i don't usually write x reader fics, usually only x oc, and this one is converted from the original which is on my ao3, so there's bound to be a bunch of typos and incorrect conversions bc i edited the whole thing in one sitting lol (ao3 x oc version)
masterlist : ao3
You almost fall to the ground as your little sister pulls me out of the Uber SUV. Her friends flood out after you, and you stumble out of the way and onto the sidewalk. You feel overdressed, out of place, and mildly unwelcome around these young, fresh faced college girls. But it’s Savannah’s 21st, and all your little sister wanted was for your to go out with her and her friends, so here you are.
“C’mon!”
You turn to the sound of your sister’s voice, seeing her wave to you from the door of the bar. You follow her inside, immediately shedding your jacket due to the blast of hot air that slaps you as you step past the threshold. Sav slips her arm over your shoulders, pulling you over to a long, high top table where her and her friends are perched. You’re friendly with a lot of them, but you wouldn’t consider any of them genuine friends. You sling my jacket over the low back of your barstool before pivoting to head for the bar. You’ll need something strong to get yourself through the night.
You lean against the bar, flagging down a bartender and ordering a whiskey sour, telling him to leave your tab open. The bartender sets the drink down in front of you, and you thank him.
“Aw, I was hoping to buy you a drink. But I see you already got yourself one.” You hear a very deep, very male voice say next to you. You don’t turn, internally eye-rolling. You know it’ll be another pretentious guy trying to get in your pants who thinks they’re fucking Hercules, only for them to jackhammer and finish in two minutes.
You take a deep breath and a long swig of my drink before glancing over. Shit he’s gorgeous. Okay, you can work with this.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready for another.” You tell him, smirking with your lips on the glass.
“Do you have a name, or should I get you your drink first?” He smiles at you, noting your now empty glass. Jesus, he's got perfect teeth, a perfect face.
“Whiskey sour.”
“Nice to meet you, whiskey sour.” He says with an even wider smile, sticking out his hand.
It’s impossible not to smile back. “You’re funny. I’m [name].” You tell him, sliding your hand into his.
He lifts my hand up, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Okay, that’s new. “Jason Todd.”
“No shit. That’s where I know you from. You’re Bruce Wayne’s kid, aren’t you? No wonder you looked so familiar.”
“I know, I’m just a nepo baby. It’s complicated, though.” He shakes his head with an exaggerated groan, your hand still nestled in his. He pops one eye open, glancing down at your joined hands. “Did my flirting work, though?”
“Ha. You wish.” You say, slipping your hand out of his and crossing your arms on the table.
“So...” He says my name slowly, as if testing and tasting the way it feels in his mouth. “Where are you from? You don’t look Gotham born.”
“Damn, how’d you know? I thought I hid it well.”
“There’s something about you…” He looks you up and down, his gaze sliding over your body, making your skin heat.
“Is there now?” You say, raising an eyebrow at him and shifting to face him a little more. You strategically press forward against your crossed arms, knowing that your cleavage is on full display.
His eyes flick down for a brief moment, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “So where are you from if you aren’t from Gotham?”
“Central City.” You tell him. “What about you, Jason Todd?”
He nods slowly, holding your gaze. “Well I’m sure you already know, since you’ve been keeping tabs on me. I’m from Gotham, born and raised.”
You roll your eyes, unable to stop your smile. “I have most definitely not been keeping tabs on you. You just live a high profile life, and it’s not my fault that I read the news.”
He flags down a bartender, ordering a bourbon before glancing back at you, silently asking if you want another drink. you give him a nod, and he tells the bartender your order. You glance back at where Sav and her friends are sitting, and they’re all staring at you, slack-jawed.
“Do you need to go back to your friends? I didn’t mean to keep you for so long.” Jason says, turning back to face you.
“Um, I-“ You glance back and forth between him and your friends. “Just give me a minute.” You say before standing up from your barstool and heading over to Savannah.
“Who on earth is that?” Sav says enthusiastically. All her friends lean in to listen.
You wave your hand in dismissal, but You can feel your face flush. “He’s no one. Just some guy I met.”
“Babe, he’s gorgeous and he’s staring at you right now!” Savannah exclaims, shaking her hands in excitement.
You look over, locking eyes with him immediately. He smiles at you as he takes a sip of his bourbon, licking his lips as he sets his glass down. Oh fuck. You turn back to Savannah, whose grin has practically taken over her entire face.
“He looks so expensive. Look at that watch! And his chain, woah. If you don’t go home with him tonight, I will literally slap yo- oh my God he’s coming over here.” Her eyes move to something over your shoulder.
You smell his cologne before you turn to face him, but you don’t get the chance to before his right arm has slinked around my body to rest on your right hip, pressing you back into him. All of Savannah’s friends stare in disbelief.
“I’m Jason. I hope I wasn’t hogging her too much.” He introduces himself smoothly, with practiced ease. His hand is heavy and warm on your hip, and you relax against him completely. His grip tightens as you do.
Savannah shakes her head. “You didn’t steal her, don’t even worry. You two have fun!”
You look up at Jason, who towers over you now that you aren’t sitting on equal height barstools. And he really towers. He’s at least 6’3. His hand takes up almost half your waist. “This is Savannah, my little sister. It’s her 21st birthday.”
“Oh no shit? Happy birthday.” He says, turning his attention to Sav.
“Yes, thank you! But we didn’t wanna bother you guys or interrupt…” Sav starts.
“I don’t want to steal your sister away on your birthday.” Jason justifies.
“No, seriously. It’s not a big deal.” Sav insists, nodding back over to where your spot at the bar still remains empty.
“Okay. Come get me if you need me.” You say as Jason says goodbye to the table and turns you around. His hand slides to your lower back as he leads you back to the bar. Your drink isn’t there anymore.
“I had the bartender hold your drink behind the bar so that you wouldn’t get skeptical about leaving it with me. But I can order you another one, if you’d like.” He explains as the bartender sets your drink back in front of you.
“So, baby. Tell me about yourself.”
“Well, what do you want to know?”
“Favorite color, movie, band, how you take your coffee. Anything you’re willing to share.” He props his jaw on his arm, leaning against the counter.
“Okay hmm.” You rattle off your favorites, answering all of his questions. A small smile spreads across his lips with each answer.
“My favorite color is black, The Empire Strikes Back is my favorite movie, I’m a big Star Wars fan. I listen to a lot of Paramore. And I like my coffee hot and very sweet and very milky.”
“No way. Empire is my favorite Star Wars movie. Everyone always says Revenge of the Sith, but I just can’t put it above Empire. I would also like to point out that black is not a color, it’s a shade.” You can feel your smile growing with each passing second.
“Says you.” Jason replies with a small laugh, looking you up and down, clearly referencing your all black outfit.
“Okay, that was unnecessary.” You shoot back. It’s impossible to hide your shit eating grin. You wave down the bartender, ordering another drink. “This is my last one, you can’t let me have any more than this because then I won't be tipsy and fun anymore, I’ll just be drunk.”
“I’ll carry you home if I have to, sweets.” He says, his voice low. “And besides, I’m sure you’re fun at all stages of sobriety.”
A few minutes later, he excuses himself to use the bathroom. You stay at the bar, scrolling on your phone for a little. Someone slides up next to you, standing way too close for comfort. It’s a frat guy type, too drunk, sweaty, and aggressive for anyone’s liking.
“Hey baby, aren’t you a beaut?” He slurs. You give him a polite smile before staring straight ahead, sipping your drink. He starts speaking again, his beer sloshing over the rim of the glass. “Playing hard to get? Or are you just a prude?”
You turn to shoot back, but someone’s hand lands on your shoulder possessively. Jason. You feel him press a kiss to the back of your head. “Can I help you?” He asks, his voice low and deceptively sweet.
The frat guy’s face reddens. “No, man. I’m good, I didn’t know she was your girl.”
“Mm.” Jason nods slowly, sliding his hand from your shoulder down and looping around your waist possessively, pressing you flush against him. You can feel his muscles through his shirt, shit. The frat guy stumbles away, and Jason replaces his place. You’re a lot closer than before now, the air between you a little heavier than before.
“Thanks.” You say, pushing your empty glass away from you. “You didn’t have to jump in like that, I could’ve handled it myself.”
“I kind of like staking my claim on you.” He says with a flirtatious smirk. “And you’re welcome, it was nothing.”
“Do you know?” You say with a laugh. “I didn’t know you had a claim on me.”
“I’d like to think I do.” His voice drops low, his eyes flicking to my lips briefly.
You lean against your hand, propping yourself up to look at him properly. You drag your gaze up and down his body. You can tell he goes to the gym. His black henley is stretched over large biceps and his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, his forearms veiny and strong.
“I don’t mean to be too forward, but do you want to go back to my place?” You ask. “You are fully allowed to say no, by the way. I won’t hold it against you.”
His eyes darken, and his voice is low as he replies. “Yes, I would love to go back to yours. My bike is parked out front, and I’ve only had one drink, and that was two hours ago at this point, but we can get an Uber if you’d prefer.”
“No, I trust you.” You say, standing from your barstool. You point to Savannah and her friends. “Let me just grab my jacket from Sav’s table.”
He nods, standing and watching you walk over to Savannah. As soon as you reach her, she whips her head to you. You can tell she’s well on her way to being wasted, but she’s in a large group of girls you trust to take care of her. “He’s coming home with me.” you inform her as you sling your leather jacket over your arm.
“Oh my God. Tell me everything tomorrow. I want to know how big it is.” She wiggles her eyebrows mischievously. You roll your eyes, telling her you’ll call her tomorrow. you pivot on your heels, walking back to Jason, who straightens as you near.
His hand lands on my lower back as he walks you out of the bar and to a sleek black motorcycle parked outside. He lifts the seat, pulling out a spare helmet and handing it to you. He tucks your hair behind your ears before taking the helmet and sliding it over your head, fingers nimbly doing the clasp underneath your chin. He repeats the same process with his own helmet before offering his hand to help you climb onto the bike. you sling your leg over the seat, slipping your arms around his waist as he settles in front of you. You lean forward, telling him your address.
“Hold on.” He tells you, revving the engine before pulling into traffic. You speed down the road. Every time he makes a turn, his hand settles on the outer part of your thigh just above your knee, steadying you. You point out your building as he turns onto your block, telling him he can pull into the parking lot and park in a visitor’s spot.
He pulls into the spot, cutting the engine and kicking up the kickstand. He gets off first before lifting you off. He undoes his helmet, setting it on the bike before turning to you. You tilt your head back, allowing him to unclip the clasp and slide off the helmet. He smoothes your hair with his fingers, tucking the loose strands behind your ears. His hands linger on your face.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy.
You nod in response, slightly tilting your head up expectantly. His hand slides to the back of your head, holding you still as he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. You loop your arms around his neck as his other hand slides to your lower back, pressing you to him. His mouth is hot, his tongue sliding against yours in a perfect, slow rhythm.
You break the kiss. “We should probably go upstairs.”
He nods, his gaze locked on your lips as you speak. You take his hand in yours, pulling him through a door that leads to the lobby and pull him into the elevator behind you. You click the button for the eighth floor, and the second the elevator door is closed, he backs you up against the wall. His lips meet yours again, this time more eager and sure. His hands grip your hips, keeping you still and pressed against him. The elevator dings much too soon, and he pulls away from you, sliding his hand into yours once more. You lead him down to the end of the hallway, unlocking your door and pulling him inside.
Your building’s nice. You know it. You’ve busted your ass doing your job for ten years to claw your way to the top. You earned this. And it’s nice to see the flicker of respect in Jason’s eyes. Your apartment is a one-bedroom that you’ve worked hard to decorate and make your own. You splurged for a brand-new building in one of the relatively safer parts of Gotham. It doesn’t bother you since you work all day and don’t usually have time for friends. Your cat meows and approaches you, rubbing against your legs. You pick him up, showing him to Jason.
“This is Milo. Milo, this is my friend, Jason.” You press a kiss to his black fur.
Jason smiles and reaches out, scratching beneath his chin. “Hi Milo. I love cats.”
You smile at him. “Me too. Obviously.” You let Milo jump to the floor. “So this is my apartment.”
“It’s cute, it’s very you.” Jason says before hesitating. “I should probably tell you. I can get a little um, rough during sex. I don’t want you to feel pressured or unsafe at any time, you can always tell me to stop. And I hope you trust me when I say that I will.”
You smile up at him, stepping closer. “I appreciate that, but I don’t think I’ll have to tell you to stop.” You wink. Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, his eyes flicking down to your mouth before dipping his head to press his lips to yours. You back him up, walking him the short distance to your bedroom. You shut the door behind you, letting him press you against it. He pulls his shirt over his head in one swift motion, revealing his bare chest to you. He has several odd shaped, jagged scars across his skin and you trace one with your fingertips, looking up at him in curiosity and confusion.
“I work in security.” He explains. “I get into the occasional scuffle.”
You nod, letting him pull your tight black longsleeve over your head before reconnecting your lips. His hands slide down your sides, resting at your hips. His right hand plays with the hem of your miniskirt, his fingertips slipping below the bottom hem and sliding towards your inner thigh.
“Is this okay?” He asks, his voice low and his breath hot against your lips. You nod, your eyes meeting his. You gasp, his fingertips pressing against your clit. “Fuck, you’re wet. You’re already soaked, I can feel it through your panties.”
You hook your fingers in the waistband of your skirt, dragging it down your legs. He grips the fabric as it reaches halfway down your thighs, pulling it down the rest of the way as he slides to his knees in front of you. You swallow, your mouth running dry at the sight of him looking up at you with heated eyes. He hooks his fingers in your panties, looking up at you for approval. You nod frantically, embarrassingly so, and he drags them down your legs slowly. You kick them to the side as they pool around your ankles.
In one swift motion, he grips your hips, lifting you and pinning you against the door while simultaneously pulling your legs over his shoulders. “Can I go down on you, sweetheart? Please?”
“Yes, please.” You breathe.
“Thank God.” He groans, turning his attention south. He licks a long stripe up your slit, and an involuntary whine leaves your mouth. He presses a kiss to your clit before leaning in, sucking on it. “Fuck, you taste so good. I could eat this pretty pussy for hours.” His fingertips tease your entrance, barely pressing in before withdrawing.
You glare down at him, and he smiles up at you, watching your face contort as he pushes two fingers in deep. “Oh shit.” You gasp.
He pulls his fingers out completely before pushing them back in, setting a smooth rhythm. One of your hands slides into his hair, holding him to you as you grind against his hand. His fingers pull me higher, and as you begin to tighten, he pulls them out. Before you can protest, his mouth replaces his hand, his tongue licking into you.
“Jason.” You say urgently. “Fuck.” He keeps dragging his tongue along your slit, dipping in to taste you. You shudder, your body trembling as you come. He presses his tongue into you, feeling you tighten and convulse around it as he laps you up.
Slowly, he lifts your hips up, letting your legs slide off of his shoulders and steadying you as you stand. His eyes stay locked on yours as you back him towards the bed, your hands swiftly undoing his belt and pulling his jeans down. He unclips your bra before he kicks his boxers off, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He centers himself on the bed, pulling you to straddle him. You sit directly on his dick, grinding down on him. A groan leaves his mouth, his head tilting back against the pillow as his hands grip your hips, pulling you back and forth on him.
You lean to the side, pulling open the drawer of your nightstand and fishing out a condom. You tear the foil open, rolling the condom onto him. He watches with a desperate, needy look on his face.
“Oh fuck, please, sweets, please let me put it in.” He begs, pulling you down to kiss him. His hips buck against yours feverishly. “Please, I need you so bad, I’ll do anything.”
You kiss him back, sliding your tongue against his before breaking the kiss. You sit up, gripping the base of his cock and lifting yourself up onto your knees. The tip catches on your entrance, and you sit yourself down on him, feeling him push deep inside you. His hands slide up your thighs, resting on your hips. He pants heavily, looking up at you with pure lust in his eyes.
“You feel so good baby. You’re so tight and perfect around me.” He groans, his hands grinding your hips down onto him. You lift up slightly, letting yourself sink back down onto him. A breathy moan leaves your lips, and his lips part. “Look at you, fucking yourself on my cock. God, you look beautiful.”
You repeat the motion faster this time. Your head drops down, and he reaches up, gripping the hair at the back of your head and pulling your head back up to look at him. “Watch me while I fuck you.”
You nod, speeding up your motions and placing your hands on his chest for support. His hips begin to snap up to meet yours, driving deep into you. “Oh God, Jason.”
He pulls you down, pressing his lips to yours. “Such a good girl, using me like this. You feel so perfect, y’know that?”
You slump forward, pressing your chest against his. You slide my lips against yours, wanting to taste him again. His hands grip my hips, guiding your movements, his hips rolling up to meet yours. You could feel the pleasure building in the pit of your stomach with each passing second.
“Are you close?” You ask as you grind down hard. You sit up slightly, wanting to look at his face fully.
His voice is a desperate rasp. “Yes, fuck, tell me you’re close too. Tell me you’re gonna come on my cock. I wanna know I’m doing this to you.”
You whine his name as your body starts to tremble above him, your release cresting over you like a tidal wave. You could feel every inch of him pushing deep inside of you as you lean down, pressing his lips to yours.
He grips your hips, slamming you down onto him one last time as he comes with a deep groan. He kisses you back deeply, running his hands through your hair as you slump against him. You lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath. Slowly, he lifts your hips, slipping out of you and laying you down next to him.
He gets up from the bed, discarding the condom and pulling on his boxers. He hands you his shirt, helping you pull it over your body. His arms wrap around you instinctively as he settles back into bed beside you, holding you to his side.
You talk for hours, facing each other as you talk. He’s easy to talk to, too easy. Everything about him makes you want to share, the way he listens attentively making it too easy to trust him. You fall asleep like that, curled into each other.
________________________________________________________________
Your head is pounding when you wake up, and you groan, rolling over and reaching an arm out, seeking muscular skin but reaching only cold sheets. Your eyes snap open. What the fuck? What the fuck???
You sit up, bringing your knees to your chest and taking a deep breath. It’s fine, you tell yourself. You barely knew him. It was a one night thing. But the way he looked at you, the words he said when he was inside you… No. Don’t think about it, that’s dangerous. He’s a stranger.
But even still, as you brush my teeth and get ready to go on a run, you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about him when you shower. You can’t stop thinking about him when you’re finishing your investigation report and sending it to your boss. You can’t stop thinking about it when you get up for work two days later. And you definitely can’t stop thinking about it once you tell Natalie, your closest work friend and therefore, kind of your only close friend.
“No fuckin’ way. What a fuckin’ asshole!” She spits, her Long Island accent heavy and jaw dropped as you finish telling her about your hookup with Jason.
You shake your head, pushing around the last few leaves of your salad with your fork. “I know. He didn’t even leave a note or anything. No number, nothing. And it’s not like I can just find it, he’s a Wayne, that shit’s locked down.” You groan.
Natalie gets up, throwing out her trash. “That'd be my last straw. I’d go batshit crazy.”
“Speaking of bats, I finally finished the Easton Red Hood file yesterday, so at least that’s done. Fucking Clay’s been up my ass about finishing it, but the guy’s like a ghost.” You lean back in your chair, sighing. “But I finally got enough shit about Red Hood to put in the report, so at least I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I can’t lie, I’m still curious about that vigilante, though. He’s cleaner than Batman.”
You excuse yourself, walking back to your office. You sit in your desk chair immediately facing the wall covered in newspaper clippings, files, photos, and documents strung together with red string. No matter how many times you look, no matter how many times you analyze, you can’t for the life of you figure out the vigilante that is Red Hood. Gotham has its fair share of vigilantes, but none as troubling as him. None as… entrancing as him.
Natalie calls you obsessed, having spent months gathering as much intel as humanly possible, finding loopholes that are less than legal, and some that are just morally wrong. But you can’t help yourself. There’s something missing. Something so small and just under your nose that you can’t quite place… Something keeping you from finding out just who the Red Hood really is.
But this obsession? It’s what’s made you the best private investigator in Gotham. It’s why companies and investors pay you millions to dig up the secrets of their competitors. And Red Hood is the only case you haven’t fully figured out. And it drives you insane.
________________________________________________________________
E I G H T M O N T H S L A T E R
It’s been eight months since you’ve been to that bar. You used to go every weekend, waiting, hoping Jason would show up. He never did.
Every time you walked in, you had the feeling you’d just missed him. That he’d just slipped away. He’s still in the public eye, still the charming, ever present, second Wayne son. And it took you weeks to stop thinking about him every day. Months to stop frequenting the bar where you met him.
There’s something about tonight. You’ll go back tonight. Maybe… just maybe he’ll be there.
So you go.
And he’s not there.
You drag yourself out after nursing your drink for over an hour. The drink has run warm, and you’re only halfway done. You turn down the usual alley that cuts your walk home in half, but you hear voices. Someone’s getting the shit beat out of them.
You slow down, pressing against the right wall as you approach slowly. Your heart flies to my throat. He’s there. Red Hood. He’s slamming his fists into the face of some junkie by the looks of it. You plaster yourself closer against the wall, knocking a stray can on accident.
He stops, looking up directly at you. Shit.
You step forward. Giving yourself up willingly. This is too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“Listen Officer. Let me finish up here, you carry on your merry little way, and all will be good. Yeah?”
“Officer?” You scoff, stepping forward and into the light. “I’m not a cop.”
He stiffens for the slightest, almost imperceptible second, but you catch it. You’re trained to catch it. “Not a cop, huh? You don’t look stupid enough to be lurking around here at this hour, who are you?” His voice is warbled through the modulator of his helmet.
“I’m a private investigator.” You offer.
He stands, stepping off of the now unconscious man on the ground, taking a step closer to you. His head cocks in curiosity. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know, what is it?” You smirk at him, even as he steps closer still.
“Aw, c’mon baby. Don’t be like that.” He steps even closer, your name sliding out of his mouth with far too much ease. Your eyes narrow. The Red Hood knows your name… How? Why?
You eye him up and down.
“Why are you here?” He asks.
You look down at your nails, trying to seem occupied and nonchalant, but Red Hood knows your name. “My client wants to know your true identity, not just your theatrical stage name and reputation.”
“Your client… right.” He starts to turn away. “I’m not some prize to be won, sweetheart.”
“I-” He cuts you off, turning towards you and eating up the distance between you in long strides.
“And that’s not the truth, is it?” He’s towering over you now, his chest only inches from yours. “You’re the one who’s interested, aren’t you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You have to tilt your head back to look up at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’ll come when I tell you to meet me at the abandoned watchtower at dawn.”
You roll my eyes in response, but he’s right. You will go. How can you not? You cock an eyebrow at him. “Do you now?” Your fingers twitch. You know where the catch of his helmet likely is. You can reach it. You could do it… But you can’t. No. Not can’t. You won’t. Why?
________________________________________________________________
You’re already at the watchtower when he arrives, leaning against a pillar just out of his sight. He stops in the center of the room, and you take a few steps toward him, your heels clicking against the old marble.
“I knew you’d come.” He says, not turning to watch you as you walk in a slow circle around him. You don’t respond. “Did you dress up just for me? You really don’t try to blend in, do you, baby?”
You’re wearing what you always do for work, a crisp, expensive suit. It’s part of your brand. It makes people respect you, fear you. Fear your money, your knowledge, your influence, that’s power.
“Blend in?” You scoff, stopping several feet behind him. “I’m the highest paid private investigator in all of Gotham, if I wanted to blend in, I would.”
He barks out a laugh. “Highest paid, huh? I’m not your average case, sweets, and I think you know that. But are you ready to handle the consequences of digging into my life for your little client?”
“My file on you is complete, already submitted to my client. I’m here for… personal reasons.”
He turns to look at you, and you hate that you can’t tell where he’s looking with that stupid helmet. You hate that you don’t know what his voice sounds like. You hate that he’s five feet in front of you and you still don’t know his real identity.
“So you know, then?” His voice is less harsh, lower and slower than usual.
Do you have any clue what he’s talking about? Of course not, but you can’t ever let them know what you do and don’t know. “Of course I do.”
He hums in response, stalking over to you as his hand reaches to the back of his helmet, the mechanism hissing as it comes undone. By the time he’s pulled the helmet off, he’s backed you up, flush against the wall. You almost choke on your own spit, unable to control your own reaction to seeing Jason’s stupidly perfect face staring back at your own.
You sputter in disbelief and confusion and… hurt?
He’s caging you against the wall with his stupidly muscular limbs. You couldn’t get out even if you tried; even if you wanted to.
“So, what? You brought me here to gloat?” You bite. “You probably knew I was investigating you, right? So you thought it’d be funny? To have sex with me and say all of those things and then ghost me? Real mature.”
His expression falters. “What? No- I didn’t… What are you talking about?”
You try to shove him, both of your hands pushing against his chest, but he doesn’t move, still standing solidly in front of you. You glare up at him.
“I didn’t know who you were when I met you in that bar. I didn’t know you’d find me in that alley. I didn’t… I didn’t expect to have sex with you.” He says, and you can’t read his expression, completely unable to gauge his sincerity. “Can we just talk about this?”
“What’s there to talk about? You made your choice.” You’ve recollected yourself, your poker face settling into place, flawless.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s cute, but this isn’t middle school, Jason Todd.” You duck under his arm, and he lets you, watching as you put distance between you. You drop a business card on the floor as you walk away. “If you want a copy of your file, email my secretary.”
“What? You can’t just leave… What’s your game?” He picks the card up from the ground as you glance over your shoulder. “What’s with all this? You? Corporate? Being a PI?” He waves the business card.
“I get paid millions per case. That’s my game. I’m in it for the money.” You turn away once more. “There’s nothing else to it.”
“You’re not what I thought you were.” He calls as you walk away. You hear him start to follow you, keeping his distance. Persistent, this one.
“I don’t trust anyone to complete tasks as well as I can complete them myself.” You call back, not checking to see his proximity to you. You pull open the door to the street. There’s a sleek black car waiting for you, parked by the curb.
“C’mon, sweets…” The door shuts loudly behind you, both of you now on the sidewalk.
You pivot to face him. “Don’t call me that. You aren’t the first man to pursue me, and you certainly won’t be the last. You’re determined, I’ll give you that, but it means nothing anymore.” Your hand slides into the notch of the car door handle. “So have this be a learning experience for you. You won’t be getting what you want, Wayne.”
He stiffens as he watches you spit out the name like a slur. He watches you slide into the car, shutting the door. He can’t see you behind the tint, but you can see him, even though you stare straight ahead. You can feel him watching as the car speeds down the street, leaving him behind.
________________________________________________________________
F I V E M O N T H S L A T E R
You know you’ll see Jason tonight. It’s a charity gala hosted by the Waynes at Wayne Manor, after all. But you’re safe, untouchable. It’s been three months since you got engaged to Beckett Easton, heir to the Easton investment empire. Arranged? No. But you won’t lie and say that it isn’t a marriage of convenience. Beckett has a… certain reputation for sleeping around, his parents putting pressure on him to find a suitable wife in exchange for handing him the keys to their empire. Being a wealthy, high class woman yourself, and since you went to prep school with Beckett, it was almost unavoidable.
He offers his hand, helping you out of the limousine and onto the red carpet of flashing lights. Photographers snap their photos, no doubt zooming in on the large diamond on your ring finger. It’s your first big public appearance together since you got engaged out of the blue, making it major news for most trashy gossip outlets. You know you look good, you’ve always had a good sense of style. Your silver gown pours over your body like water, accentuated by the simple diamond jewelry adorning your neck and ears. Beckett’s hand slips to your lower back once he’s had enough of the photography, leading you up the outside stairs and into the manor.
You greet several people as you enter, and you nab a glass of champagne off of a busboy, just for something to do with your hands. Your eyes slide over the crowd absentmindedly, not even aware that you were looking for someone until your gaze slams into Jason. Your eyes widen in surprise before you can stop the reflex.
“Everything okay?” Beckett leans in to whisper to you.
“Yeah, just thought I saw someone.” You whisper back. Your eyes are locked on Jason’s even as you lean in to whisper in your fiance’s ear. God, what is wrong with you?
Jason’s eyes rake down your body, and you somehow, by the grace of God, stifle the shiver that threatens to shake you. You tear your gaze away, smiling up at Beckett, but you can feel Jason’s gaze on you, hot and punishing.
You pretend not to notice as he approaches. Beckett is talking to several friends of his, his arm around your waist possessively. You stand there, smiling and nodding at the appropriate times, but not truly paying attention. When Jason’s so close that you can’t ignore his presence anymore, you turn to smile at him, tugging Beckett to face him as well.
“Oh!” You exclaim pleasantly, gesturing toward Jason with your champagne flute. “This is Jason Todd, Bruce’s son. Jason, this is Beckett, my fiance.”
Beckett sticks his hand out, ever the proper gentleman. “Pleasure.”
Jason takes his hand firmly, returning the pleasantry. “Likewise.” His eyes flick between you, Beckett, and the huge diamond on your ring finger.
“Nice dress, sweets.” Jason says.
Before you can respond, Beckett pipes in. “It’s custom made from the same Italian designer who’s designing her wedding dress. Nothing but the best for her.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head, and a queasy feeling blooms in your stomach, even as you plaster a smitten smile on your lips.
Jason’s eyes flare with something imperceptible. Anger? Jealousy? Disgust?
“Beckett, sweetie, can you be a love and get me another glass of champagne?” You slide your hand up his arm, handing him the empty flute. He nods sweetly, excusing himself.
You turn back to Jason, your expression souring. “Can you please be civil? I am with my fiance for God’s sake, and you’re looking at me like a piece of meat. Beckett’s not that oblivious.”
His eyes drag over your body unapologetically this time, and your skin explodes with heat under his gaze. “I am being civil, baby.”
“Do not call me that. I am engaged.”
“That ring on your finger doesn’t mean a fucking thing. It doesn’t change anything that happened between us.” He shoots back.
“We hooked up over a year ago, move on.”
His eyes flare with frustration. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Don’t push me away the second I bring up anything about us.”
“There is no ‘us’, Jason.”
“Do you love him?”
The question catches you off guard, and you sputter, unprepared to encounter such a question. “W-what? Of course I do.”
“No, you don’t. He bores you, I can tell.”
“Yeah? Well you piss me off, so…”
“But at least I make you feel something-”
“We’re not having this conversation. My engagement is not up for debate.” You bite, trying desperately to end this conversation before it reaches a point where you’ll either be screaming or crying.
“So that’s it then? That’s all you want out of life? To be some trophy wife, having kids with a man who will never fully understand or appreciate you?” He looks almost betrayed as he speaks. “I thought you were better than that.”
Anger flares through you. “You have no right to judge me. If I want to be comfortable, I am perfectly capable of choosing to be comfortable. He’s good to me, we’ve been friends for years. This is the right decision. I can manage everything else.”
“I think about you every day.” He admits suddenly.
“Don’t-”
“Every day. I know it’s stupid, we talked for a few hours and then we went home together just to get off, but fuck, sweets. You’re all I think about.”
“No.”
“Don’t you feel anything between us at all? Anything?”
“I’m getting married in four days, Jason.”
He stiffens, eyes widening, a look of dread passing over his face. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes. I am. And a… a one night stand from a year ago isn’t going to change that.”
“Wait.” A look of pure panic passes over his face. His hands are shaking as he goes to reach for you before dropping his hand. “Don’t marry him. Marry me instead.”
A sharp, dry laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “What? You don’t know what you’re saying. We’re practically strangers.”
“Doesn’t matter. Marrying me is better than marrying that wet blanket.”
You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Of everything you expected him to say, asking you to marry him was not one of them. You’re at a complete loss for words. For a moment, one miniscule, fleeting moment, you let yourself imagine it. Jason’s not wrong. Beckett isn’t the most exciting person. Your entire life would be sterile. Marriage. Kids. Your career would end the second you got pregnant, and you don’t even want to kiss Beckett, let alone have sex with him. But the thought is gone almost as soon as it arrived. But it was there.
Beckett approaches, handing you the fresh champagne flute. You snap back to reality, plastering a smile on and thanking him. His arm winds around your waist, turning you away from Jason and back to his friends several feet away. You glance back at Jason as Beckett leads you away, watching the look of helplessness and panic grow on his face with each step you take in the opposite direction. For once, he doesn’t follow you.
________________________________________________________________
S I X M O N T H S L A T E R
You don’t know what you’re doing here. This is stupid. You should never have hacked into the old PI database to find Jason’s address. You’re digging up the past. You should just go-
The door swings open.
Fuck my life. You’re wearing his shirt for God’s sake, the one he left at your place that night. Why are you wearing it again? Do you have something to prove?
His lips part to speak, but he doesn’t say anything, only staring down at you in shock.
You speak before you can stop yourself. You can never stop yourself from oversharing when you’re around Jason. “Beckett’s having an affair.” You look down at your feet. The sting of the affair is barely there anymore, just a dull ache. You never loved Beckett, but the betrayal still hurt.
You don’t look up. You don’t want to see the disgust on Jason’s face. This is pathetic; you’re pathetic. Showing up here, wearing his shirt, telling him your husband is cheating on you? What is he supposed to do?
“I’m sorry, sweets.” Is all he says
“Am I a terrible person for wanting to get back at him? For wanting to do the same thing to him?”
He looks even more shocked, his brain processing what you’re implying. “You’re not a terrible person-”
“Would it be wrong to also have an affair?” You look up, finally meeting his gaze. His breath hitches, his eyes searching yours.
You know it’s wrong. You know that if you do this, you’ll be no better than Beckett, but part of you wants to get back at him, and another, deeper part, just misses Jason.
“It wouldn’t be wrong at all.” He takes a small step towards you, leaning down slightly. His lips are mere inches from yours. His eyes flick down to your lips. “Do you want me to?”
You nod slowly, tipping your head so his lips meet yours. He sighs, relaxing into you instantly, his hands slipping around your waist and pressing you flush to him. He takes several steps back, pulling you into his apartment and shutting the door behind you before he presses you against it.
His lips trail down your neck as he whispers. “I’ve missed this, missed you, so fucking much.” His voice is rough, and your knees feel weak. “Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything, anything for you.”
You slip your hands under the hem of his shirt, lightly dragging your nails down his chest. He shivers, pulling away from you just to take his shirt off before planting his lips on yours again. He picks you up by your hips, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You feel him pressing against you through his sweatpants, and your mouth runs dry; you’d forgotten how big he is.
You’re helpless, the only thing keeping you up being his hands under your thighs and the weight of him pressing your back to the wall. He carries you to his room, placing you down on the mattress beneath him. You pull your- well, his shirt over your head, tossing it to the side absentmindedly. He stands up, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down together, kicking them to the side.
You try not to stare, but you can’t stop yourself.
His fingers hook in the sides of your panties, tugging them down and tossing them away. He pulls you to the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you. His hands press your thighs open and back against your chest, solely focused south. You feel one long finger slip inside you easily, pumping slowly before a second pushes in. Your breathing picks up, coming in short gasps and pants as you tense beneath his touch.
He pulls his fingers out of you abruptly and you let out a whine before you can stop it. You look down at him kneeling between your legs, catching him pulling his two fingers out of his mouth. Fuck.
You slide a hand into his hair, tugging him up so he crawls over you. You kiss him sweetly. “Remember the night we met?” You ask.
“How could I forget? I still think about it, about you, even now.” His voice sounds tortured, like he’s fighting everything inside him to hold back. You pretend not to notice when one of his hands drifts south, hiking your legs around his hips. “God, I think about you all the time. I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”
“What?” You sputter in disbelief. “You… W-what?”
His eyes are dark as he looks down at you. “I can’t. The idea of fucking another woman who isn’t you… I don’t want that.”
“Oh.” You say, unsure how to respond. He reaches over, pulling open the drawer of his nightstand and pulling out a condom. “I have an IUD.” You blurt, and he freezes.
“You… you don’t want me to use a condom?
“We don’t have to.”
“You’re letting me inside you raw? Fuck, sweets, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” He puts the condom back in the drawer before pressing his lips back to yours.
--
You never see Beckett after the divorce court proceedings, your prenup speeding up the process exponentially. He had no choice but to agree to the divorce after you told him you knew about his affair. You still have my old apartment, and you move your things back in, your dressers and closets shared with Jason.
a/n: again, this is NOT PLAGIARIZED, the original is written by me and on my ao3!!
v-lntn3
