Jason Todd: Professional Trophy Husband

Oneshot

Jason hated people. He hated the ignorant assholes who ran the world. He hated the bigots and the shitheads.

But he hated sexist interviewers the most.

He'd been on the red carpet for four minutes exactly, and his beautiful, talented wife was being ignored.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng-Todd was wearing the most fantastic dress. One she had made herself. Her dress was grey and fitted with a skirt that pooped out. It was covered in shining jewels that sparkled when she twirled. Jason knew every tiny detail about it because of Marinette. She was so excited to wear it that she talked about it constantly. And Jason loved when she talked fashion. Her eyes got this little gleam that made him swoon.

Jason looked over at his wife, smiling gently. He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Her hair--raven colored and silky (Jason liked to run his hands through it), was curled and cascading down her back.

And yet, and yet, the stupid, awful, terrible journalist was talking to him instead of Marinette. Instead of Marinette, the beautiful designer who built her own empire with her mind and her hands. She was brilliant, smart, gorgeous.

But this stupid reporter decided he just had to talk to Jason, ignoring the reason any of them were there.

It pissed him off.

"Mr. Todd! Mr. Todd! Could you please answer a few questions?"

Jason stopped, he glared. Beside him, Marinette smiled and waved at the other flashing cameras.

The lights were bright, but her smile outshone them all.

He turned back to the reporter, who was staring at him expectantly.

Jason hated it, but he wanted to try for his wife.

Even after two wonderful years of marriage to the beautiful woman beside him, Jason was still trying to prove himself.

He was always trying to prove himself.

He knew Marinette loved him for who he was, and that she didn't expect anything from him. They were equals, partners.

But Jason's brain always told him, be better. Do better. You aren't worthy.

She deserves more than you.

So he could try for her.

"Fine. Two questions."

The reporter's fake smile widened. Jason frowned.

The man talking to him was greasy. Despite his pin-striped suit, the man looked less than worthy of his wife's red carpet event. His hair, thin as it was, was slicked back with literal grease (probably actually hair gel) and his mustache had something brown stuck in it.

"Wonderful! So, how does it feel to be back in the spotlight after so long in hiding?"

Hiding? Jesus fucking christ.

"It feels...great." Jason said through gritted teeth. He could feel Marinette squeezing his arm reassuringly from where they were looped together.

It was their way of communicating, one squeeze was "are you okay?", two squeezes meant "need an excuse?", three meant "yes", four meant "no".

Jason silently squeezed her arm three times, a reassurance that he was fine.

"And now that you're out more, what do you do to support your wife?"

Jason clenched his teeth. What did he do to support his wife?

What the fucking hell.

Marinette did everything. She owned her own company, one she built with no help and no support (they hadn't met until years after). And she continued to make millions, and still giving most to charity.

Jason turned his distasteful frown into a proud grin.

He pulled Marinette closer and announced proudly, "I'm a professional trophy husband."

Marinette laughed as the two walked away from the confused reporter.