⭑𓂃| He absolutley loathes you (req)

Yayy jason version!

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

Jason had never been good with people. Tolerating them, maybe, but liking them? That was rare. There were only a handful of individuals he could stand being around for more than a few minutes, and even fewer he genuinely cared about. Most people annoyed him. Some tested his patience.

But you? You had always been in a category of your own.

No one could get under Jason Todd’s skin the way you could. No one ever had.

You’d been at each other’s throats since childhood, since he was still wearing those stupidly tight green shorts and trying to prove he belonged. Back then, it had infuriated him that you could beat him at anything. Training drills, sparring matches, races across rooftops, hell, even something as mundane as walking somehow turned into a competition between the two of you. And you always pushed just enough to make it sting.

Maybe that resentment never really died. Maybe he’d carried it with him past the grave.

Because when he came back, when he became the Red Hood, you hadn’t changed how you treated him. You still looked at him like a challenge. Still met every sharp remark with one just as cutting. Still refused to back down. And for some godforsaken reason, that made him angrier than anyone else ever could.

So when Bruce told him he needed help on a mission, Jason already hated the idea. Simple intel-gathering. In and out. No complications.

Then Bruce told him he wouldn’t be working alone.

Jason didn’t need a partner. And he definitely didn’t need you.

Yet there he was, crouched on a rooftop beside you, the city sprawled out below as you both surveyed the building. You argued in hushed voices over entry points, vents versus skylight versus alarms, until, somehow, you settled on the simplest option: the window. Typical.

A few minutes later, you were inside, tucked into what appeared to be an executive office. Jason stayed near the door while you sat at the desk, fingers flying as you bypassed security and began dumping files onto a thumb drive. The room was quiet, too quiet.

Then Jason heard it.

Footsteps. Multiple sets. Steady. Purposeful. And heading straight toward the office.

He didn’t hesitate.

In one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, yanked both you and the thumb drive away from the computer, and dragged you toward the nearest storage closet. The door shut behind you with barely a sound, plunging the two of you into a cramped, airless space. You were pressed chest-to-chest, close enough that he could feel your breath hitch in surprise.

And he knew you well enough to know you were about to say something.

So he clamped a gloved hand over your mouth before you could make a sound.

“**Be quiet,**” he hissed under his breath, low, sharp, just as the office door opened on the other side.