Jason Todd Fic - Blog Posts

Okay y'all HEAR ME OUT

Jason Todd x male reader WITH the dynamic from The Boy and The Wolf in mind.

LIKE IMAGINE IT... The size difference.

I just need y'all to understand 😩

Not only that The Wolf has a MOTORCYCLE and is a vigilante literally perfect

The Night We Met

PAIRINGS:

Titans! Jason todd x reader

SUMMARY:

Bruce has taken in Jason Todd as his youngest son and the new robin some months ago, Bruce's goddaughter also came back to Gotham after being away for a year.

Some months after meeting Jason she starts a friends with benefits relationship with him, suddenly Jason has to move to the Titans tower and two weeks later Bruce sends her too, but, why is Jason ignoring her and acting like he doesn't know her and why does it get worse when Rose Wilson arrives to the tower??

A/N: I finally figured out a song to base this chapter off, I’m sorry I went so off with their conversation and didn’t really get anywhere with it, I just really want them to bond and I don’t think ahead of writing I just start and see where it takes me, I know this can be really boring but I want this to be a LONG fic and a slow burn and that can’t happen if the whole plot happens in two chapters so bare with me please!

TWS: slow burn, angst, blood, canon violence, mentions of death, anxiety, jealousy, friends to friends with benefits to enemies to lovers?, maybe death of a main character (haven't decided yet) change of plot

Keep in mind that English is not my first language, I also know nothing about guns, human anatomy or fighting in the language so I'm sorry if I make a lot of mistakes

Gif credits to Titanstv on Pinterest

Story Masterlist / Main Masterlist

You felt a throbbing pain in your head and started slowly opening your eyes and becoming aware of your surroundings, you were trying to figure out how long you had slept for since according to the sky it was night now and you didn't know if it was the next day now or if you had just slept some hours, now that you think of it, you didn't actually remember falling asleep either, well thats what happens when you cry too much after not sleeping for two days i guess, you decided that you would really love a glass of water right now and started making your way to the kitchen, you hoped no one was awake or at home, after your whole emotional moment with Bruce and Alfred you realized how embarrassing it had been to cry your heart out in front of someone who did not even know you and how much of a big deal you had made things that seriously were not that deep, then you cried more of embarrassment, and then you realized how much of a baby you were being, and realized you were really sleep deprived and really needed some sleep.

You arrived to the kitchen and just as luck would have it, there was no other than Jason Todd, the guy who had to awkwardly witness a girl he didn't know sob her eyes out but while thinking about it you realized that making it a bigger deal than it was would only make it actually embarrassing and would probably ruin any chance of friendship with that guy so you decided that you would let it go and it had never happened.

Jason didn't acknowledge you at all, he was too concentrated on eating what he had cooked for himself earlier and honestly he didn't seem like a very social guy so you just let him be.

You reached for a glass but then decided that maybe you should grab a thermos so you could bring it to your room and not have to make your way over to the kitchen every time you were thirsty, the noise made Jason acknowledge you but he just gave you a nod while he looked at you and you just returned it, you went to fill the water and you could still feel Jason staring at you, the environment was really awkward and Jason looked like he wanted to say something, or maybe he just wanted you to leave, well, this was your chance to talk to him, if he didn't want to talk to you back then you would just let him be, no harm in trying to make friends in your own home.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there with Bruce?" you asked him

He shook his head and pointed to his ribcage "got stabbed, Bruce wouldn't allow me to go back out there"

"Huh, how'd you get stabbed?" you asked not being bothered by it, you were used to these kind of things

"Harley" he said nonchalantly

"Oh" you said and nodded at him

"Mhm"

"I thought she hadn't been active in a while?" I said, Dick had told me before he left Bruce that Harley hadn't made an appearance in almost a year and it looked like she might want redemption.

"Yeah but Joker was put back in Arkham some months ago, we thought they had broken up but turns out it was just an act and she was just plotting something to try and get him out or get revenge or something like that, and well i may be skilled but Harley is Harley" he said taking bites of his food.

"Yeah I get you, even I am scared of going against Harley"

"You are? haven't you beaten her like a lot of times?"

"Yeah but miss girl is not just crazy and skilled but she's also in LOVE like not cutesy love, but maniac love that's a dangerous combination" you said in an exaggerated way to get your point across.

"I wouldn't call that love" he said while shaking his head before taking another bite of his food which you had no idea what it was.

"Then what would you call it?"

"Obsession I guess, she's like obsessed with him, she would throw herself against chemicals that will probably kill her if he asked for it... oh wait she already did"

"Yeah, poor girl would give her life for someone who just manipulates her and uses her”

"I mean yeah, but I wouldn't call her poor she's still a psycho" he shrugged.

"Maybe, but she's in love, even if you wouldn't call it that i think i would, its not a healthy love but she just loves him in a really obsessive unhealthy way, also if you see it in a way, we are psychos as well" i say before taking a sip of my water.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he sipped what must be coffee from a mug and looked at me curiously.

"Well, what kind of people just beats up other people every night?"

"Well yeah, but we only beat criminals and people who deserve it, they actually kill" he said trying to defend his point.

"I mean, yeah they may kill and we don't, but what's worse? dying or being paralyzed and basically tortured for life?"

"What do you mean?" he frowned and tilted his head a bit, he was intrigued in the conversation now.

"Well do you honestly think everyone will just be fine after being thrown around and beaten up until the point where you know if you give one more punch they'll die? I mean even professional fighters get brain paralysis or quadriplegic or like vegetative state from a bad blow and they have like precautions in those fights, now imagine in a fight where there's no precautions and the only stop sign is either them going unconscious or them not being able to move or them being a step away from death keep in mind that the criminals that you beat sometimes aren't trained or don't even know how to fight like regular thieves and shit, im obviously not talking about criminals like Ivy or Harley and stuff and a lot of the vigilantes have actually killed at least one person, maybe not intentionally but yeah" I explained to him.

"Huh, I guess if you think about it like that you're right" he nodded and took one last bite out of his plate

"Of course I am, I"m always right" I smiled at him

"Sure you are" he rolled his eyes in a playful way and stood up to wash his dirty dishes.

"I am!" I say pretending to be offended

"Uh huh, whatever you say" he smiled at me, "well, uhm its pretty late and I guess I should try to get some sleep, so see you tomorrow, I guess" he said before starting to head out of the kitchen.

"Sure, goodnight" I said to him.

"Night" He replied before finally leaving the kitchen.

taglist:

@fairyeoll @singitoutgirl26 @mad-die45 @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @pariahsparadise

jason todd has a hoodie. the hoodie. oversized with sleeves long enough he can pull them down to swallow his hands when he’s anxious. thick, jersey knit cotton in a rich red that’s been worn down and washed out to something more faded. a deep hood that can block out the world down to what’s in front of him. a front pocket big enough to fit a medium sized paperback. it’s a feature he’s abused often. the elbows are worn soft, not thin, and it’s perfectly broken in, fibres soft from heavy use.

it’s his favourite hoodie. one of the first things he bought just for himself after his resurrection. the first bit of creature comfort he had allowed himself. a little silly, but it feels like a magic charm. he pulls it over his head fresh from the dryer and poof, nothing bad can touch him.

that’s why when he drops it into your lap one day, it means something. his two lucky charms, bundled up together. you run covetous hands over the thick material, still warm from his skin, and he knows he’s gonna be finding it draped around you in the future. the hoodie finds itself in the bedroom floor time after time but jason doesn’t really mind. he’ll just pop it in the wash on the regular cycle, then in the dryer with the wool dryer balls you cajoled him into getting, and it’ll be good as new. ready and waiting to work its magic whenever he needs it.

Bad Hair Day

[Jason Todd x Reader]

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Five times Jason's hair lets him down. Thankfully you're too gone for him to mind.

A/N: This was supposed to be silly, but I infected myself with Soft Bitch Disease HELP

Divider found here

Jason Todd had very nice hair. Dark and soft and unruly, it suited him well. As did the stubborn streak in the front that resisted any attempts to dye it (he’d tried once, on a day when his self-esteem had taken a nosedive). 

And ever since the first time you ran your fingers through his hair, he’d put significant effort into taking good care of it. Anything to entice you to do it again. 

So, yes, he was proud of it. He was proud of the way his bedhead made you smile. The way you wrapped that stubborn white curl around your finger and pressed a kiss to it. The way you couldn’t resist playing with it when he laid his head in your lap. 

…But that didn’t mean there weren’t mishaps.

Helmet hair was the most common problem, and largely inescapable. In the beginning, when he’d just barely started spending nights in your apartment and long before moving in together was even a thought, he’d rushed from the window to the shower, not even taking his helmet off until the bathroom door was closed behind him. You usually weren’t awake anyway. But he didn’t think you needed that particular image of him. 

Until the night where you got a little too caught up in a new show to go to bed at a reasonable hour. A summer night in the middle of a heat wave that had Jason flinging off his helmet the second his boots touched the living room floor, before he clocked you laying on the couch in the dim light from the TV. 

“Oh, I really got carried away,” you mumbled to yourself, scrambling for the remote as you noted the time on your phone lockscreen. “Yikes.” 

“H-hey,” Jason said awkwardly, not sure how he was supposed to act, at once happy and self-conscious.

“Hi,” you greeted with a smile, reaching to turn on a lamp before shutting off the TV. “You okay? I heard a lot of sirens tonight.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Heat wave makes people fucking crazy, though.” 

You nodded, giving a sleepy little stretch before vacating the couch and moving towards him. 

“Are you fine, though? I assume body armor isn’t exactly… breathable.” You poked at the thick padding covering his stomach.

“You’re right about that. I took way too many breaks.”

You frowned, unconvinced, as you took in his flushed face, the hair plastered to his forehead in damp swirls. 

“Not enough breaks,” you corrected decisively. “Strip and sit.”

“Uh, w- ” 

But you were already busying yourself with the tower fan in the corner, dragging it closer to the couch and turning it to its highest setting.

You looked back at him expectantly, gesturing towards his gear with an impatient hand.

“I’m serious. You need to cool down. And have you been drinking water? You need to drink water. I’m getting you water.” 

You were hurrying away again before he could respond, and a tiny smile stole over his face at your brusk insistence. You couldn’t be bothered with awkwardness when you were convinced he needed caring for. It was… nice. 

New. And nice.

So he was quick about following your orders, leaving all that heavy kevlar and plating in a messy heap by the window and dropping onto your couch cushions in just his boxers. The cool air of the fan offered immediate relief, soothing his overheated skin. 

You were back seconds later, a damp rag in one hand and your largest water bottle in the other, ice clinking against the sides in time with your steps. 

You opened it for him before shoving it into his hands, tossing the lid over your shoulder with a severe look that made him laugh. Drink it all. Message received. 

You dropped onto your knees on the couch cushion beside him, swiping the cold cloth over his forehead, his neck, behind his ears. 

Jason sighed contentedly at the sensation, lifting the bottle to take a long drink, the water inside so cold it almost made his teeth hurt. He drained a third of it in one go. 

“Good boy,” you said approvingly, brushing a kiss to his cheekbone and effectively undoing all your hard work as Jason’s skin warmed again from the praise. 

Still, he dodged back from your hands when you reached for his hair.

“I’m still really sweaty.” 

“I know,” you said with a laugh. “I can handle sweat, Jason.”

“It’s not gonna feel nice,” he said, eying you uncertainly.

“It will feel nice to you, which is the point.” 

And, well, he couldn’t really argue with that. When you reached for him again, he stayed still, sighing as you slowly swept damp and flattened curls back from his forehead. Your fingers worked carefully through the sweaty tangles, gently restoring order and lifting the strands away from his scalp, giving the cool air from the fan an opportunity to ruffle through them. 

“Good?” you asked after a few minutes, your voice almost a whisper.

Jason hummed appreciatively, his eyes half-closed. 

“Good. Keep drinking your water, honey.” 

Hair gel was only a problem once before he learned his lesson. 

And really, technically, it was actually your fault. Your fault entirely for leaving him to fend off the vultures alone. 

You’d promised. Looked him in the eyes, kissed his pouting lips, and promised to attend this charity dinner with him. 

Jason had begrudgingly agreed to attend four Wayne events per year, and the dinners, at least, had a clear and predictable end time. Not that it mattered as much when you were with him. You made an unbelievably charming party guest, skilled at pulling focus off of Jason exactly when he needed, unparalleled in your ability to set him at ease when the endless stream of self-important rich Gothamites started to get to him like an itch under the skin. 

But the universe decided to play with him that day, sending its opening move in the form of a frantic, heartbroken call from your close friend who needed you right that very second. Jason heard the crying from the other side of the room, and looked to you with alarm, hands freezing in the process of buttoning his shirt. 

You were making soft, soothing sounds, moving to slip the cocktail dress back off your shoulders, reaching for your sweatpants where they sat neatly folded beside Jason’s. 

“How long ago did he leave?” you asked.

Jason caught your eyes, raised his brow in question.

Fight with boyfriend, you mouthed to him. He sighed, head tipping back in defeat. 

And he did feel a little bad for the resentment that bubbled up at the realization that you were backing out of the event. Your friend was upset, and she had every right to seek you out. But that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Jason finished getting ready glumly, smoothing his hair into a more gentlemanly shape and using more gel than usual since you wouldn’t be there to fix it for him if it fell out of place. 

By the time he was ready to leave, you were finished with your call, waiting by the door in unfairly comfortable clothes and an empty tote bag for the snacks you’d pick up on your way. You started pouting before Jason could say anything, shuffling up to him to plant consoling little kisses over his face.

“So handsome,” you said, smoothing your hands over his shoulders. “Sorry, baby. I know you hate these things.”

“It’s gonna be so much worse without you.” 

“Maybe you’ll make a new friend,” you suggested hopefully, breaking into a giggle at the flat look he fixed you with. “Fine, probably not. Is Dick going?”

“Yeah…” 

“Well, that’s good then. Just shove him at anyone who gets too close to you.”

Jason snorted, failing to hide the smile the image inspired. 

“I’ll see you when I get home, okay?” 

And Jason clung to that promise for the whole night. When he saw Dick’s name card placed on the other side of the room. When he caught sight of the menu that listed twelve courses in excruciating detail. When the lady who was seated next to him at dinner wouldn’t stop trying to touch him. By the time the insultingly tiny slivers of cake were placed in front of each guest, Jason had a splitting headache, a thoroughly depleted social battery, and a recurring daydream about strangling himself with his own bowtie.

He inhaled his dessert at a concerning speed, made a show of shaking Bruce’s hand, and fled the venue like a bat out of hell. 

The shower was running when he got home, but all Jason could manage was kicking off his shoes, ditching his jacket, and half unbuttoning his shirt before faceplanting on the bed in a flawless starfish formation. 

There was no energy left anywhere in his body or mind. Give him a night on the rooftops and alleys, kicking ass and getting shot at, over a night with the Gotham elite any night of the week. 

He was half-asleep when you climbed over him on the bed.

“What have they done to you?” you whispered, amusement clear in your voice. 

Jason let out a wordless groan, and you laughed.

“All that, huh? You want a bubble bath?”

He shook his head, face never lifting from the sheets.

“Let me rinse this gel out of your hair before you pass out completely, then. We can use the kitchen sink.” 

He gave the most pitiful sigh you’d ever heard, and you shook your head with a knowing smile, nudging his heavy limbs over until you had enough space to crawl into bed.

When he woke the next morning, it was to the sound of your soft giggles, syrupy sweet and undeniable. Jason opened his eyes, already smiling at the sound. 

“What’s funny?” he asked sleepily, hands automatically seeking you across the sheets, latching onto your thigh, your waist.

You bit your lip, handing him your phone with the forward-facing camera open.

He looked like an electrocuted cartoon character, hair bound together in chaotic spikes sticking out in all directions. God damn hair gel. The look on his face had you laughing again, but you softened it with a fond stroke to his cheek.

“My little dandelion.” 

Occasionally, Gotham’s weather liked to toy with Jason too, sending him home to you looking every bit the sad, miserable wet cat.

He refused to carry an umbrella. Umbrellas were for old people and tourists. His hoods suited him just fine and allowed the added benefit of leaving both hands free. And mostly it was fine. Unless Gotham was in a Mood. 

Rain fell in hard, heavy sheets, large cold drops that landed with all the force of hailstones and bit at exposed skin without mercy. It was impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you, the effect only made worse by the blanket of dark, angry clouds overhead. Even that, Jason may have made it through relatively unscathed. But the wind was determined to have its fun too, running through the city in heavy gusts that made windows rattle and buildings creak and groan. Sending torrents of rain nearly horizontal, battering any unlucky pedestrians it caught wandering the sidewalk.

Unlucky pedestrians like Jason, whose hood had been blown off his head three blocks back. Whose eyes were nearly shut against the constant onslaught of wind and rain. Who had shoved a bouquet of flowers up his shirt ten minutes ago and was pretty certain he’d been leaving a trail of soaked flower petals behind him ever since. 

By the time he made it back to the apartment you shared, he was soaked to the bone and shivering, hair plastered to his face and down over his eyes from the weight and force of the water.

At the sound of the door, you came running, skidding to an unsteady stop in your fuzzy socks as Jason reached to catch you. He held you carefully away from his drenched body, frowning an apology at the wet handprint he left behind on your sweatshirt. 

“Are you okay? I was hoping you were camped out in a shop somewhere waiting for this storm to pass.”

“It’ll go all night,” Jason said, still out of breath and feeling half-drowned as he dripped all over the kitchen floor.

Your thoughtful frown shifted into something more concerned as you noticed the way he was keeping one hand tucked beneath his jacket. 

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

Before he could answer, you had his jacket unzipped and were pushing his sweatshirt up in search of an injury.

Jason cringed as several waterlogged flowers tumbled onto the floor, shifting self-consciously as you stared blankly at the sight before you. His palm was still pressing a handful of stems to his stomach, where several leaves and even more petals had plastered themselves to his skin rather than falling free.

“Oh.”

“Sorry, baby, I tried to keep them safe, but I think I just made it worse.”

“Jason…” you said slowly, reaching with gentle fingers to sweep aside the hair that was still dripping rainwater in his eyes. “Did you go out in a thunderstorm just to buy me flowers?” 

“N- It’s… It was barely raining when I left.” 

“Only you would try to downplay a romantic gesture,” you said, shaking your head with a fond smile.

Jason shrugged, the movement bringing your attention backed to his soaked clothing and prompting you to help him out of his jacket. 

He took advantage of your distraction, still finding it easier to say vulnerable things when you weren’t looking into his eyes.

“I had to get you something today. It’s our anniversary.”

Your face scrunched a little, turning to study the calendar stuck to the fridge with a goofy souvenir magnet. 

“Help me out, darling,” you said apologetically. “Anniversary of what?”

“Um…” Jason gave up on the rest of the flowers, letting them fall to the floor and brushing the clingy petals away from his skin. He wasn’t even looking at you now, but he didn’t seem offended. Just… embarrassed.

You gave him some space, taking your time grabbing extra towels and clean, dry clothes for him to change into. And you wanted to linger, to help peel wet fabric from cold skin, rub warmth back into numb fingers, kiss rosy color back into pale lips. But he still looked shy, eyes diverted and distracted, so you left him with the stack and a soft kiss to his cheek before moving to make him a cup of tea. 

He came back to you in his own time, bundled in his coziest clothes and wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Six months ago you told me you loved me for the first time,” he said softly. 

“Oh…” You leaned back into his arms a little more. “I should have remembered that. I’m sorry.”

You felt him shake his head, still resting against your shoulder. 

“S’okay… We had a night in. You made pancakes for dinner.”

“I remember the moment, just not the date…” you said, wiggling around in his hold to face him. His hair was still dripping onto the towel he had draped over his shoulders. 

“I put it in my phone the night it happened. When you were in the bathroom,” Jason confessed, pink creeping up in his cheeks. 

“I felt it a long time before I said it,” you confessed in turn, reaching for the towel and running it over his hair. “It took a while for me to build up the nerve to say it to your face.”

A face that was currently scrunched in boyish protest as you continued ruffling his hair with the towel, soaking up the extra water. 

“Yep, that one,” you laughed, dropping the towel back to his shoulders and giving his hair a little extra tousle. 

He kissed you twice. Once with a playful nip, then softer, slow and sweet like he’d quite like to stay there all night. 

“Thank you. For saying it.”

“Thanks for saying it back.”

You would never convince Jason that The Unicorn wasn’t a brilliant stroke of innovation.

His hair was getting too long, constantly falling in his eyes, tugging uncomfortably in his helmet, hanging out of his hood when he opted for the mask instead.  But he hadn’t been in the mood to get it cut, and you certainly never complained. It just gave you more to play with.

When you were home together, it was heaven. You couldn’t stay away from it, passing your fingers through it when you walked by, coming up behind him when he sat on the couch or at the table to press kisses into the unruly curls, playing with it idly any time you were cuddled up together. You had turned the Red Hood into a cuddly house cat, constantly placing himself near you and feigning indifference, only to melt at the first brush of your fingertips. 

He’d spill all his secrets for one of your scalp massages. Credit card number. Social security number. Terrible teenage poetry. Anything you wanted to know, as long as you kept touching his hair.

But when you weren’t around, his perspective shifted rather dramatically. 

Reading a book became incredibly frustrating, unless it was done with perfect posture and the book held at eye level or flat on his back. This graduated from annoying to fucking impossible the third time he dropped a book on his face. 

And cleaning his guns? Absolute bullshit. Grease that took two washes to get out of his hair from constantly trying to push it out of his face. Uncharacteristic clumsiness when taking them apart because he couldn’t see. 

So he came up with a… creative solution. 

Which is how you came home to find Jason lounging comfortably, tucked into the corner of the couch with a blanket, a book, and an absurd hairstyle, the front of his hair gathered into a little bun on the crown of his head. 

“Oh, hello,” you called with a surprised laugh, kicking your shoes off and dropping your purse onto the table by the door. 

He hummed distractedly, eyes still fixed on the pages. 

You plopped down on the cushion beside him, watching him read with an amused little grin until he finished his chapter.

“Hey baby,” he finally greeted you, placing his book on the side table. 

“Hi…” you said, eyes flickering back up to the tiny bun at the top of his head. “Who’s your friend?”

“A masterclass in ingenuity,” Jason said as he gave the bun a satisfied little pat. “Which lets me read without breaking my nose.” 

“I see.” You bit your lip, hard, trying not to laugh as you stared at it.

“Stop lookin at it!”

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. 

“Sorry,” you laughed. “It makes you look like a baby unicorn.”

“That better be a compliment.”

“Oh, of course. You’re a very dashing unicorn.” 

He scowled at you, but despite his best efforts it was entirely without malice. Disappointing, given glaring was one of his most natural talents. But he’d never been very good at glaring at you.

“It’s actually very cute,” you said through a smile, reaching up to squeeze the little bun before Jason batted your hand away. “Can I put a bow on it?”

“No.” 

He wouldn’t stop you if you actually tried. But you didn’t need to know that. 

“You could just cut it, you know. If it’s bothering you this much.”

“It’s fine,” he sighed. “I know you like it.”

“You know what I like even more?”

“Mmm?” He leaned his head back against the cushions.

“Your comfort and safety.”

“Lame,” he said solemnly.

You broke first, falling into a fit of giggles that dragged a laugh out of him too. 

“Seriously though,” you said, leaning into his side, a smile still on your face as he wrapped an arm around you automatically. “Why don’t you get it cut? I’ll come with you if you want.”

He shifted a little, let out a sigh that sounded more serious than the last. 

“I um… I’m not really in the mood to let a stranger with sharp objects near my face right now.”

“Oh,” you said softly, subconsciously snuggling a little closer. “Okay.”

“It… It comes and goes. That… feeling.” 

You nodded, gave a little space in case he wanted to say more. He didn’t.

“Could you? Trim it? I could buy you some salon scissors. And one of those trimmers with the different settings. If you want.”

“Yeah, maybe… Probably wouldn’t look very good though.”

“We could watch tutorials. Besides, you could pull off just about anything with that face.” 

He scoffed, but you could see a tiny spark of pride in his eyes, the inclination of a smile at the corner of his lips. 

“Could… Would you do it for me?” he asked hesitantly, glancing down at you.

Something fluttered in your chest at the gentle request.

“I can try. Do you think… I mean would that be okay? When you’re feeling like this?”

“Yes,” he said simply, no trace of doubt in his voice.

“Okay,” you answered, smiling at the sweet kiss it earned you. 

“Not too short,” he requested, barely moving his lips from yours. “Make sure there’s enough for you to play with.” 

Your stomach gave a little flip, and you kissed him back a little harder. 

“You’ve got it.”

Slicked back wasn’t a go-to hairstyle for Jason, in any context. And he was still adamantly anti hair gel since “The Dandelion Incident.” 

But fresh out of the shower, all it took was a comb. It would keep his hair out of his eyes for a little while, at least. And give him an excuse to seek you out, not that he needed one these days.

He found you in the living room, sorting through a basket of clean laundry in search of matching socks. You did a double take when you saw him, smiling as he dragged you closer by the hips. 

“Look at you,” you giggled, holding his face in your hands.

“What do we think?” he asked, moving easily with your touch as you tilted his chin to either side, looking him over with overplayed seriousness.

“Hmm. Very handsome,” you decided.

“Yeah?” 

“You’re always handsome,” you said, kissing his cheek. “This is just a different kind of handsome.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully, fighting a smile and squeezing you closer, a warm feeling fluttering in his chest.

“What kind of handsome?”

“Distinguished. Debonair.”

“I’ve never been debonair in my life,” he laughed.

You stepped back, forming a little frame with your hands as you continued to study him.

“This guy’s got a favorite jeweler. A permanently reserved table at a restaurant in case he feels like dropping by.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop you, watching you with a fond smile.

“He slips people their tip during a handshake. Orders a martini like James Bond. He - ” You broke off suddenly, pressing your lips together, eyes widening slightly.

“What?” Jason prompted, poking at your side. 

“Nothing.”

“Well now you have to tell me.” He caught your hands as they dropped, pulling you back into his arms.

“It was just a fleeting thought. Nothing important.”

“Great. Tell me anyway.” 

You sighed, grabbed at his shirt as if to brace yourself.

“This hairstyle might… maybe… make you look the tiniest bit like… Bruce.” 

The reaction was immediate and exactly what you expected, Jason jolting back as if slapped, his expression entirely horrified. 

“Just a little,” you insisted. “And only because this is usually how he does his -”

But he was already scrambling back to the bathroom.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope.”

“Jason, it doesn’t mean -”

The door slammed, and you bit at your lip, trying not to laugh at his dramatics. Your humor didn’t last long, however, as you caught the buzz of an electric  razor.

“Absolutely fucking not!” you yelled, bursting through the door and snatching the razor out of his hand. “Jason!”

“It has to be done.”

“No, it really doesn’t.” You turned it off, tossing it back under the sink. 

“Can’t believe you said that to me,” he groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face as if to wipe away the comparison.  

“Temporary insanity. Didn’t mean it,” you said, taking both of his hands in yours. 

He stared at you doubtfully  but followed without question as you started backing out of the bathroom, towing him along with you.

“I can fix it. Without shaving your head.”

Jason gave a fussy sigh, but you didn’t falter, pulling him into the bedroom.

“Sit,” you said, pushing lightly on his shoulders until he dropped down onto the foot of the bed, looking up at you expectantly. 

You placed a knee on either side of his hips, settling comfortably on his lap and cradling his face in your hands.

“Jason,” you said sweetly. 

“Hmm?” His eyes were locked curiously on yours, giving you his undivided attention, pout already beginning to fade.

“You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”

He looked mildly unconvinced. You continued on your course, pressing gentle kisses over his face until he gave a slow, heavy exhale.

“And I’ll keep thinking so no matter what. But I think we both like your natural hair better than this,” you whispered against his skin. “Can I fix it for you?” 

“Yes,” he whispered back, eyelids already beginning to droop as your fingers worked their way into his hair. 

You could fix this problem with a quick little ruffle. That’s all it would take. But that’s not how Jason liked to be touched. 

You started slow and gentle, your fingertips moving in little circles against his scalp starting at his hairline and moving back, pressure slightly increasing with every pass. Your nails scraped gently over the back of his neck, sending a pleased little shiver through his body as his head dropped to rest against your chest. 

“There we go,” you said softly, moving your hands to the sides of his head and working upwards to accommodate his new position. His arms wrapped around you as he gave another sigh, a much softer sound this time. Contented.

You got no words from him for a while after that, just the feeling of his slow, steady breaths and the warm sweep of his hand as it snuck under the back of your shirt. 

He loved it when you did this, always, had stopped trying to be coy about it a long time ago. Told you how sweet you were. Talked about how much you spoiled him. But you’d honestly never thought about it that way. 

It was a privilege to give Jason these moments of tenderness, to feel the tension drain out of him the longer you went on touching him this way. To see the way his face went serene, eyes soft and a little glossy. You’d do anything he asked to keep earning those content smiles, keep hearing those happy little sighs. You wondered if he knew that.

His hair was dry by the time you stopped, pulling him away from your chest with a gentle tug that had him releasing a low hum. He looked up at you, eyes half-closed and dreamy, his hair a sweet riot of messy waves and loose curls.

“There’s my Jason.” You stroked his cheek, feather light.  

“Still handsome?” he asked quietly.

“Devastating, my darling,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll never recover.”

He believed you this time, with a sleepy slow smile.

“Good,” he said, collapsing lazily back onto the blankets, dragging you down with him as he kept you tucked tightly against his chest. “Don’t want you to.”

A/n: Say something before I lose my mind