cinder–rose

He'd been with people before. Not that you knew that yet.

Especially when he was Arkham Knight.

Physical intimacy was a transactional engagement. He only did it because it helped him relax, not because he actually felt anything towards the person.

You were completely different.

You thought that sex was the most intimate, soul-intertwining thing to exist. And if you were going to have sex with anyone? You had to have very, very deep feelings for them. Love, even.

So, you'd been sitting on the bed of his safe house for half an hour. In pyjama shorts and a tank, red lace lingerie peeking out from under the fabric of your top.

You were worried that red was a little extra, but thought it was on brand considering you're dating the Red Hood. He'd probably love it.

You'd had your everything shower, no part of your body left unshaved. Smelling good, skin soft.

Not to mention the birth control you'd been on for a few weeks now, ever since you'd planned tonight.

The door to the safe house opens; you hear it. Okay. It's time.

He calls out for you, to which you respond: "In here, Jason…"

You hear footsteps approach, then the door opens, and he enters. He's in casual clothes: a leather bomber jacket, a T-shirt, and some jeans.

He looks over at where you're sat on the bed. Looking all soft and comfortable and… tense.

Fuck, you're more nervous than you'd thought.

He comes over to the bed and sits down next to you. Neither of you looks at each other.

"We still doin' this?" He asks, rough. Accent slipping through.

You nod, "Yeah. We are."

He clears his throat. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" You reply quickly. Defensive.

He finally looks at you; you're looking at the floor.

"You know you don't have to, right? I'm fine with not going there tonight. Fine with whatever." His voice is soft, calm. Unexpectant.

"I want to." You finally look at him. But you realise he doesn't know. He doesn't understand why you're nervous. So you rip off the band-aid: "I've never done this before."

He lets out a sharp exhale. Almost a laugh as he speaks: "I know."

"You do?

"I figured." He shrugs.

There's a moment of silence before you break it. "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Have you… done this before?" Your voice is quiet, almost skittish. You're not sure if you want to know the answer. Not because you'd look at him differently, just because you'd be intimidated.

He clears his throat. "A few times."

Your stomach drops out of your ass. "Of course you have." You almost laugh because it's crazy of you to hope that a guy like him hasn't been with anyone. To hope that this would be brand new for both of you to experience together.

"I didn't… I didn't care about them, though." It sounds like that was very hard to say. Your head turns to the side to look at his face, where he's sat next to you on the bed, and his eyes are closed.

"What?"

"I just… it was physical. That's it. Nothing else." He grits out.

You frown. "How could it just be physical?"

"I refused to look at them." He looks guilty as he says it, eyes flickering open. "It's… fucked up… but I'd just… faces made things too real, and I didn't need real; I needed… relief? I guess?"

You nod.

"I'm gonna be so bad at this." You chuckle nervously.

"You won't be." He sighs. "I'm… probably not going to be great either…"

You eye him. "You said you've done this before–"

"Not with anybody I've really fucking cared about." His words come out harsher than he intended.

There's a silence that falls over the two of you. Your gaze falls to the floor.

"I wouldn't even know where to… how to start this." You whisper.

He exhales. "Can you lie down for me?"

You nod, shuffling to lie back against the pillows. Moonlight shines in through the window. Rain begins to fall, tapping softly at the glass.

He takes another breath, then leans down to take off his shoes before turning to you. He takes off his bomber jacket, dropping it on the floor. He smiles for the first time tonight and crawls over you. Is your stomach churning with excitement? Anticipation? Fear? All of the above.

His eyes fall to where the red lace peeks out from your tank. "Fuck, this is sexy."

You smile up at him – "Yeah?

"Yeah." His response is instant.

When he locks his eyes onto yours again, he leans down and kisses you. It's unhurried. Deep. Tongues intertwining. You hum into it, loving the feel of his lips and his tongue curling with yours.

When you pull back, he shifts the pillows behind your head, propping you up and making sure you're comfortable.

"God, I really don't want to fuck this up for you." The words come out like he's frustrated with himself. "I don't even know how to be…"

To be what? Good? Gentle? Nice?

He doesn't finish the sentence.

You look him dead in the eyes when you say: "I trust you. Jason."

He lets out a soft groan at that and kisses you again, with fervour this time. Your hands rest on that warm skin just above his belt, below his shirt. Jason must approve of your hand placement because his hips roll forward slightly. He's not hard, not yet anyway.

Jason pulls his shirt off with one arm as he uses the other to make sure his body weight is hovering above yours. He throws the material to the side and looks down at you.

You eye his chest, his abs, his skin in general.

It's not like he's insecure or anything, but on instinct he wants to grab that shirt and throw it back on. His other fucks had been without them looking at him, shirt on, pants down just enough to do what was needed to be done. This was… so much more intense than he thought.

"Gorgeous…" You say under your breath, almost to yourself.

All he can do is surge forward and kiss you. Because he's not sure if he's ever heard anyone sound as genuine or as real as you just sounded saying that.

You smile into it as you feel his hips roll into yours again, still clothed, but this time there is a definitive bulge there.

One of his hands comes down to your tank, playing with the hem of it as he kisses you. You pull back, and he takes that as an invitation. You raise your arms, and he slowly takes it off of you. He lets out a sharp exhale that sounds like disbelief at the sight of you.

He leans down and kisses your neck, hard, sucking softly, which makes you whine. Jason then peppers kisses down your chest, and instead of reaching around and taking the bra off, he slowly pulls the cups down enough so your bare chest is visible. You have a sharp inhale at the realisation he's seeing your naked chest and tense up slightly. Hands coming up to cover yourself.

Jason's eyes snap up from your chest, where he was definitely staring, to your face.

"Sorry, fuck… should've… fuck, should've asked."

"No, no. It's fine… just… feels weird." You say honestly.

His eyes are still on yours as his head stays where it is above your chest.

"What d'you mean?" He questions. Suddenly interested in your answer.

"Being seen, I mean. Like this." You nod down subtly, and he nods.

"I get it." He responds and follows up with an exhale. "You still okay? With all this, I mean?"

You nod. "Mhm, yeah."

Jason's eyes drop back to where your hands are. "Wanna move those for me?"

You sigh, and his eyes are back on yours in an instant. You groan and pull the cups of your bra back up, now using your hands to cover your face."God, I'm being so stupid. Sorry."

He tilts his head at you, shifting so his head is above yours again. "You're not. I promise you're not."

You peek at his face through your hands, and he's just smiling down at you fondly. You drop your hands away from your face, and you just know your cheeks are burning red.

"I'm sorry… I'm being a baby about it–"

"Don't apologise." He says firmly. "If you're a baby, I'm even more of a baby." You look at him, confused. "Remember how long it took me to take my shirt off in front of you? And I'm a man. That's being a baby. Not this."

You chuckle softly as you bring your hands up, one hand softly playing with his hair at the base of his neck. "You're not a baby for that."

He nods, "Great, neither of us are babies. Glad we got that cleared up."

You grin, but it goes serious after a moment. "Can I… keep it on for now? Or will that… is that bad for you?"

"It's fucking perfect for me." He says instantly. No hesitation as he leans down and kisses you again, even slower than before. He whispers into your mouth, "You're… you're in control here…"

Which was massive for Jason. Because he needed control, he freaked out without it.

On patrol? He was in control.

In the Outlaws? He was the leader who had control.

In all his previous sexual encounters? He was in control.

But he was giving it up for you. So you felt safe. So you felt comfortable.

And it was the hottest thing you'd ever experienced.

When he pulled back, he looked nervous for the first time tonight. Really nervous.

You lean up off the pillows and kiss his cheek before lowering your head again.

Seconds later, Jason's kissing down your chest again, straight down the middle where there's no material covering. He kisses under your breasts, then down to your stomach. His hands come up and hold onto your thighs, spreading your legs apart for his broad shoulders to get through. He stops just above the waistband of your sleep shorts.

You're looking down at him, biting your lip subconsciously.

"What're you doing?" You whisper with anticipation.

Jason looks up at you. "Just… making sure you're… ready?" He cringes at himself a little.

You nod. "You don't have to… do that, you know? I'm pretty sure I'm… ready enough."

Translation? I'm wetter than a fuckin' waterfall, please just fuck me already.

He shakes his head, meeting your eyes. "I actually want to."

You tilt your head. "Really?" You ask, shocked. He nods. "I feel like a lot of guys hate this…"

Jason's hands are running up and down your thighs softly; you refrain from shivering. "Honestly? This would… be the first time I've… done this."

"I thought you said you've done–"

"Didn't have feelings involved, remember?" He cuts you off and plants another kiss to your waistband. "Back then it was… just to serve myself. So I never… did any of this." He hooks his fingers into the shorts. "Can I?"

You nod. "Yeah."

And he pulls them down, revealing your red lace panties that match your bra. Special set for a special night, right?

He takes your shorts completely off and throws them onto the floor somewhere, groaning at the sight of your panties. Jason leans forward and places a kiss over the lace, then a little lower over that bundle of nerves that's practically throbbing at this point.

He pulls back and is eye level with your panty-clad pussy. You scoff, "Don't stare…"

Jason looks up at you from where his head is between your legs. "You weren't wrong about being ready." He breathed, bringing a hand away from one of your thighs to softly press over the damp – no, wet – lace. You can't help the shiver that runs through your body at the contact. "Please let me take this off…" It's odd because you could've sworn that sounded like begging. But Jason Todd isn't one to beg.

You nod and hum a yes, which is enough for him to pull them down slowly. The cold air hits the wetness first, making you flinch. You look down, and the panties are nowhere to be seen.

Jason's staring again, now at your bare sex. "Why do you keep staring?" You practically whine.

His eyes flick up to yours as he spreads your legs more with his hands on your thighs.

"You're so fucking beautiful." Is all he says before he dives in with one long lick up your slick folds.

You gasp loudly at the feeling. It's strange. Unlike your fingers, unlike your pillow, unlike the ends of hairbrushes you'd tried once.

His tongue was warm and covered a lot of surface area. He was leaving open-mouthed kisses over your entrance, clearly experimenting. You could tell he was trying to read you as he went. Trying to learn you.

Then it hit you. What if I taste like shit?

You moan softly when his tongue flicks over your clit on accident. When you make that noise however, his attention turns to it. Sucking your clit softly, planting soft pecks on it every no and then.

"Mm… you don't have to… you… mfuck… can stop whenever you.. want…" Your words are broken but not lost on him as he pulls back for air, breath uneven as he curses.

"This is the hottest thing I've ever done or seen in my life… don't ruin this for me…" He's completely breathless when he speaks. Then diving back in for more, tongue fully focused on that bundle of nerves as your moans get louder. You throw your head back against the pillows as you feel a finger circling your entrance.

"Yes…" You hear yourself say before he can even ask.

Continuing his work on your clit, he presses his finger into you slowly. And Jesus, are his fingers bigger than yours. Your entire body jolts with pleasure at the new feeling, your eyes closing as you try to lie back and feel all of it as intensely as possible. Jason pushes his finger in further before retracting it and doing it again and again.

Your moans are more ragged as he starts pumping in and out of you. But you know how to do it in the way you like, and decide that even though you're the more inexperienced one here, he could learn a thing or two about fingering someone himself.

You look down. "Hey…" You say softly, a whisper.

Jason lifts his head only slightly, his mouth slick, chin glistening in the moonlight. You can feel his warm breath on your clit as his finger slows inside you. "Yeah?"

"Try… try curling them a little…" Your voice is shy when you say it. His eyebrows furrow before he adjusts his fingers and curls them against a spongy spot inside you. Your mouth drops open, and your eyes roll back as a broken exhale escapes you. "Oh, fuck… that… like that…" You moan a hand, against your will, going down to his hair and gripping hard.

He lets out a pleased puff of air against your clit. "You have no idea… no idea how good you look right now." Your eyes snap down to his, mouth in an 'O' shape still as he keeps curling his fingers just right. He groans, "You keep looking at me like that… and I'll embarrass myself before I can even get to fucking you…"

You moan louder at that – is he talking about coming in his pants?

His mouth is on your clit before you can ask, tongue putting pressure where it's needed. He was really good at this for a man who'd never done it before.

Jason retracts his finger and pulls his mouth off you again. "I'm gonna add another, okay?"

You nod as he presses two fingers in this time. There's a minor burning sensation at the stretch, which has you grunt softly. "Shit…" You murmur.

His fingers freeze, eyes on yours. "Fuck, too much?"

You shake your head. "No, s'fine just. Slow."

Jason's eyes stay on your face as he slowly presses his fingers in deeper, and you let out the loudest moan of the night. You could barely get two of your own fingers in on a good night. And Jason's fingers? They were a lot thicker than yours.

He keeps pumping in and out slowly, bringing his mouth back to your swollen bud. You're making all sorts of noises. Whines, moans, pleas for him to keep going. You press your head back into the pillow and focus on the feeling again.

That's when you feel the knot tighten in your stomach.

"Hey… Jase… Jason…" You say weakly, "M'gonna… c-come. Oh, fuck…" Your hips move forward abruptly on their own. And he doesn't say anything back, just doubles down on his efforts. His free hand presses one of your thighs further back as he gets closer to your pussy, tongue circling your clit faster, fingers picking up the pace too, still hitting that spot perfectly every time.

Your legs start to shake as you feel it building quickly. "Jason… I have to… oh fuck… this is… I'm coming – oh shit – I'm co-coming.. ah!"

And with one loud gasp–moan hybrid, your entire body shakes, vision whiting out as he finger fucks you and sucks your clit through you high. You clench and pulse around his fingers as your grip on his hair is deathly strong.

You've never had such an intense orgasm in your entire life.

Eventually you come down from it, and are lying there, eyes closed and breathless. Your hand falls out of his hair as he kisses up your stomach, across your ribs, between your breasts and up your neck.

You let out a little sigh as he reaches a sweet spot under your jaw. His hips press forward into yours, and you realise he's still wearing jeans. The second thing you realise is the bulge that was there before is much more prominent now.

You open your eyes, only to be met by flushed cheeks and spikey hair from where you'd been pulling; he looks adorable. Not that you'd tell him. He might up and leave if you did.

"How was that?" Jason asks, out of breath, only slightly. He looks boyish, like he wants to make sure he did a good job.

"It's… it's unfair you get to be that good at it… without ever doing it before." You say between heavy breaths.

He lets out a relieved, soft chuckle.

You stare up at him; a hand comes up to wipe his chin where it's glistening. He's looking down at you with so many unsaid thoughts and feelings. Your hand stays on his jaw as you rub it softly. You then softly pull his face closer to yours and kiss him. Like a thank you.

As you kiss him, your free hand goes down to his jeans, palming him through them. He struggles to kiss you back as you do this, and you smile against him.

"Don't… don't get smug." He stutters.

Your hand unbuttons his jeans, and he pulls back from the kiss, sitting back on his heels before hopping off the bed to take them off.

And all you can do is stare. His chiselled abs, his big arms that flex as he unbuttons his jeans, broad chest and shoulders. Those scars littered all across his body that make him look hauntingly beautiful. Those scars that should've moulded him into an aggressive man who was furious at the world and the people in it. But instead? They made him into this perfect, soft, sweet guy who – sure – had an attitude half the time. But was kind when it mattered, when it was needed.

You realised halfway through his daydreaming that he'd collected the items of clothing that had been scattered across the bedroom floor and begun folding them and placing them on the nightstand, his back to you as he did it on the dresser. The bigger scar across his back staring you right in the face, a few scars peeking just above where his boxers sat on his lower back. Still beautiful.

After a few moments, he turns around. Looking almost ashamed.

"What're you doing?" You ask, looking at him with curiosity.

"Just… need everything to be right" His voice is quiet when he says it. And you understand. That little voice in his head that he'd told you about once and never again. The one his therapist called OCD. "Sorry, just… didn't want to be thinking about that whilst we… do this." He sighs.

You sit up, reaching around to unclasp your bra. The clasp snaps open, and the straps fall over your shoulders. The whole time your eyes are locked on his. You let it drop onto the bed, and his eyes struggle to stay on your face for a moment before giving up and staring straight at your bare chest. You swing your legs over the bed as you grab the bra and walk over to him.

You ignore that embarrassing, shame-adjacent feeling of being naked and decide you're about to fake it until you make it.

You'd never been the biggest fan of your own body, but right now? The way he was looking at you? Something took over. A certain confidence in your ability to shut Jason Peter Todd right up.

You stop when you're standing in front of him. You eye the perfectly folded clothes on the dresser. His bomber jacket, jeans and T-shirt. Your tank, sleep shorts and panties. Your eyes then flick back to his with a smile.

You hand the bra to him. "Wanna fold that one for me?"

And he just swallows. Taking it from you and turns to the dresser reluctantly. Jason folds the cups in on each other and places them neatly on top of your pile of clothes before turning back to you.

He's completely speechless.

You step closer and hook your fingers into his boxers, getting on your tiptoes and leaning up to kiss that spot behind his ear that makes his knees buckle. He lets out a shaky exhale as you kiss down his chest, each of the scars getting a peck. You keep going as you kiss down his abs, feeling them flex under your lips at each contact. You lower yourself fully onto your knees and stare up at him, then eyeing the material covering his crotch. The damp spot there doesn't go unnoticed either.

"One more thing to put away." You grin as you slip your fingers into his boxers, kissing his V-line as he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.

His boxers don't slide down easily due to the large tent in them. But once they do? A strangled groan escapes past his lips. Your eyes go wide at the sight of him; he's so much bigger than you'd thought. You'd mentally prepared yourself for 5 or 6 inches. This was… going to be a problem. A problem for later, you thought.

His boxers drop to the floor, and he steps out of them, mouth slightly ajar in shock.

You grab them and stand up slowly, holding them out to him.

Jason huffs, awe-struck as he takes them from you. "Thank you." He strangles out as he turns and places them on the dresser too.

When he's facing you again, it's his turn to step closer as he leans down and kisses you passionately. Intimately, even. Hands coming to your ass softly as his tongue merges with yours. The only sounds that can be heard are the wet ones of your tongues colliding, heavy breathing through your noses and a distant police siren that is absolutely none of Jason's business right now.

He then picks you up by the backs of your thighs: you wrap your legs around his hips. His hands then come to your waist, your hands in his hair again, pulling, massaging, kneading. Jason's groans are what tell you he's into that.

You don't even realise he'd been walking towards a destination before your back hits the bed, no pillows behind your head as you realise he's laid you out across the bed rather than the usual way you'd sleep.

Jason pulls back and rests his forehead against yours as he lowers a hand on himself, pumping a few times. Your stomach flips as you look down and see his hand moving on himself. Something to file away for later. You feel him line up against you and you breathe out sharply.

"If… something feels wrong… you tell me… okay?" He speaks, completely breathless, entirely worked up.

You nod against his forehead, eyes barely an inch away from his.

His hand leaves himself as his hips press forward the smallest bit, tip not even going in.

You let a sharp breath out as you realise just how much you're going to have to stretch around the width of him, let alone the length.

But you will. You're determined.

"Jason…"

"Yeah?" He rasps.

"You're not going to hurt me…" You reassure him quietly.

"You say that, but you don't know–"

"Baby," You rarely use that pet name, and it works well at getting him to stop overthinking. "You are not..." Kiss. "…going to hurt me."

He looks the most nervous he's been the whole time right now. His hand beside you finds your hand and interlocks fingers.

Jason's breathing is very abnormal for a man who's not even started anything yet. You quickly realise he could be overthinking this in a much more serious way. You lean up and kiss him again; it's slow. Less passionate, more care poured into it.

When you pull back, he drops his head to your shoulder, breathing still heightened.

"Jason…" You give his hand a slight squeeze. He picks his head up and looks at you. He's freaking out; you can see it. So you say it. What you've wanted to say for a while now. The thing that could either make this better or make his panic worse.

"I love you." You breathe. Letting the words sit in the dim, moonlit room.

His mouth drops open the tiniest amount; eyebrows raise subtly too. All microexpressions of his that you've committed to memory.

"Jesus Christ," He chuckles anxiously, kissing you. "I've been such a fucking coward…" he kisses you again, "… too scared to say it myself and…" he kisses you again and pulls back to look at you. "I love you so fucking much." It pours out of him. "That's why I'm… God… why I'm the one acting as if I've never done this before…"

You smile at him, free hand that isn't in his coming up to brush some hair out of his handsome face.

"In a way, Jason, you haven't done this." You whisper, "Not properly, at least."

Jason presses his forehead back onto yours, looking down at where his hard cock is still pressing against you. He lifts his gaze back to yours as he presses forward again, this time, properly. His big head inside you, along with the first bit of his dick.

You wince at the stretch. He pauses, but you give his hand a few squeezes. "M'okay… just intense…"

He presses forward more and moans a low sound. You kiss him through the stinging pain as he shifts his hips forward one last time to the hilt. A loud gasp escapes you both; yours sounds a little more pained.

Jason hides his face in your neck, "Please… mphfuck… please tell me I'm not hurting you?"

Your hand that was brushing hair away from his face a second ago is now combing through it as he stays still inside you.

"Not hurting… just… a lot…" You bite your lip hard to stop any more pained noises getting past your lips.

You keep stroking a hand through his hair as you feel his breath on your neck. Jason pulls his head away from your neck to your face. And his expression? That alone could make you come all over his dick.

His eyes are glazed over, cheeks flushed as they have been for the past ten minutes, all his facial features completely relaxed and at ease. The sight was jarring. Because he never lets his guard down. Never. He's always ready for something to burst through the door and start shooting at him. But right now? You think if Bane were to break down the door, he'd absolutely die. Both of you would. Too consumed in each other, in this experience, to care.

"Let me know when I can move…" He whispers, shutting his eyes and breathing slowly, trying to control himself.

"Need you… not to hide when you fuck me…" You say quietly. He nods, and you add: "You can move now… slowly…"

His eyes open and he very, almost painfully, slowly rolls his hips backwards, then forwards again.

Jason's eyebrows furrow as his jaw drops even more, cursing every other second as his hand on intertwined with yours increases its grip. You moan out, your own eyebrows raising at the feeling as he hits somewhere deep, deep inside you. Somewhere you'd never be able to hit on your own. Somewhere no brush handle could even remotely compare to. Your back arches off the bed a little as you take him, his pace still slow and steady, his breathing ragged.

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist and take him deeper with a loud yelp of pleasure. Jason grunts, but it turns into more of a moan when he picks up the pace only slightly, hips stuttering.

"Baby… M'sorry… I'm not g-gonna– Jesus fucking Christ…" You clenched around him by accident. A visceral reaction to him calling you baby in that pleading tone whilst fucking you. "I'm… shit… I'm not usually th-this fast, I swear, but… mphh…"

Jason's head drops forward momentarily as his hips drive forward faster. He very quickly recovers his fucked out expression and pulls back to look down at you. Only to be met with your fucked out expression. Eyes rolled back, mouth wide open, that crease in between your brows as you raise them in pleasure, hand squeezing his tightly whilst your other hand that was in his hair comes down to squeeze his shoulder hard, nails digging in.

He then feels the impossibly tight clench of all your muscles retracting around him, your legs shaking as your back lurches off the bed. You're coming. Fuck you're actually coming around him.

Jason tries to hold off his own orgasm, not only to help you ride out your own, but to commit every single second of how your face looks and your body feels against his to memory.

"Oh, God, I fucking love you… I love you so much… mphfuckkk…" The words leave him without warning or thought, hips stuttering as he desperately tries to keep his noises dignified.

But when he comes, he's anything but. Gasping for air, groaning your name, trying not to retreat into your shoulder. Trying to let you see him at his most vulnerable.

It felt unnatural for a man who had spent his whole life trying to protect himself from things to let go in such a pure sense of the word. But he was committed to you and to this.

Jason's breathing is loud and frantic as his hips finally snap into yours for the last time. He's shaking. He's never been shaky after sex before. Your hand lets go of his to bring him into a hug, his full bodyweight on yours as he tries to regain control of his breathing.

You hug each other tight. You plant a few kisses on his shoulder: it glistens with sweat as the light from the moon hits it.

You two stay like that for a while. You then hear him let out a strangled little noise into the nape of your neck. A hand moves back up to his hair, massaging through the sweat-damp roots.

He leaves a kiss behind your ear before pulling back and slowly pulling out of you. He's quick to stand up, not without his knees buckling, and go grab a fresh pair of boxers from the dresser. He pulls them on quickly, then grabs another pair for you, along with a t–shirt.

Jason comes back over to where you lay boneless, and he pulls the boxers up your legs and gets the t-shirt over your head and on your torso. His face looks very methodical, practised as he does all of this. He then pulls back the covers at the top of the bed, lifts you and lays you under the covers. It's not long before he's under them too.

You roll over and look at him. He swallows, leg twitching.

"You okay?" Is all you ask. And his expression crumples as he puts both hands over his face and starts sobbing. You're quick to shift over to him. "Whoa, baby, what's wrong?

Jason refuses to move his hands as choked noises leave him. "Fuck… I don't… don't know what… wh-what my problem is…" his crying just intensifies. "Jesus, this is… s-so fucking embarrassing… I…"

You put your hands over his and take them away from his face. His eyes are red, tears streaming down his face, over his scars. He looks spent, defeated, overwhelmed.

"Talk to me…" Your voice is soft, patient.

His sigh is shaky as he tries to calm down. Tears still stream down his face as his voice wobbles.

"Just… never felt that… that good about myself – I know I sound pathetic, I just…" His voice cracks. "I knew sex felt good… but I never knew it… it's supposed to feel like that and it just… made me feel shit I ha-havent before…"

You smile at him. "You don't sound pathetic, Jason." You reassure him, leaning forward to kiss his tear-streaked cheeks.

He sighs into it, looking away from you. "Jesus… who's the virgin here again?"

You chuckle breathlessly. "That'd be me."

Jason offers you a very small, tired smile.

You then add: "Well, not anymore, I guess."

He stares at you, taking in all the features of the woman he's fallen in love with.

"I'm sorry I'm… being like this."

"Don't apologise." You're quick to respond. "I love you. This part of you too."

His breathing hitches as he tilts his head at you. "I love you so much it hurts."

You smile and lean in to kiss him. He kisses you back. It's a lazy, love-filled kiss.

You then snuggle into his bare chest, and he wraps an arm around you.

"If you're awake before me…" he mumbles sleepily, "Wake me up and I'll grab you breakfast from… from around the corner and… some painkillers…"

"Love you." You whisper as your heart swells at his plan for the morning.

Jason's grip around you tightens as he kisses the top of your head.

"I can't believe this is my life…" he says so quietly you almost don't hear it. "I love you too."

And half an hour later they were on the roof of Titans Tower, burgers in hand, looking at Gotham from afar.

Silence except for the cold wind softly hitting their faces.

"You like her? Don't you?" Dick guesses. Looking out at the skyline, same as Jason.

Jason just takes another bite of his burger.

Dick sighs and turns to his brother. "Are you going to tell her?"

Jason huffs a laugh. "Who the fuck do you think I am?"

Dick keeps staring at him. "You know she'd say yes, right?"

"You're my brother. You're supposed to tell me lies like that." Jason says as he finishes his burger and leans back with his hands behind him, legs still dangling over the edge.

"I'd tell you if she didn't, Jason–"

"Would you?" His head finally turns to look at Dick. And Dick only presses his lips into a thin line and looks out on the skyline again. Because Jason's right.

Another quiet falls over them for a while. Jason waits for what Dick says next.

"How much do you like her?" He asks.

Jason exhales through his nose, saying nothing.

"Oh." Dick's tone speaks for him.

"Yeah, oh," Jason mumbles.

There's a mutual understanding between them because Jason's usually never speechless. Usually always has something to add. But this? This thing they're talking about? Nothing. Because he doesn't understand it.

"What's your plan?" Dick asks.

"My plan?"

"Well, if you're not going to tell her," Dick's voice certainly has judgement laced in it. "Then you should be… more… intentional instead."

"Intentional?" Jason frowns.

"Okay, first of all, we need to establish something." Dick exhales. "Do you want her to like you back?"

Dick sees Jason's jaw twitch in the corner of his eye.

"Great. You've got to flirt with her, buddy."

Jason's head whips in his direction at that, looking at his brother like he's handed him a bomb and said he has to learn how to defuse it before it blows.

"Flirt with her?" Jason grimaces.

"Yeah. You can do it. I believe in you." He nudges him.

Jason scoffs, "What part of my personality tells you I'd be any good at… that?"

"Brooding charm maybe? That mysterious thing women love."

Jason chuckles and looks back out to the city in the distance. The place he's called home for his entire life.

He lets out a deep breath and shakes his head. "This is so fucking stupid, Dick."

"I promise you it's not." And he sounds genuine when he speaks.

Jason stays quiet for a second. Thinking about where to bring this conversation next.

"…How?" Is all he grits out.

"Hm? Dick hums, confused.

"Tell me… how to…" Jason groans. "Tell me what to do."

Dick slaps Jason over the back. "Asking me for dating advice? Let me soak this moment in. Just a second."

Jason looks at him, and he has his eyes closed, smiling.

"I'll knock you off this fuckin' building if you don't stop that shit," Jason warns.

Dick laughs. Then smiles at his brother.

"You have to talk to her."

Jason raises his eyebrows and glares. "I do talk to her."

"No, no." Dick chuckles. "You talk to her, sure. You've got to… talk to her."

Jason blinks at his brother. "Do you hear how insane you sound?"

Dick rolls his eyes playfully, grinning. "Ask her how her day was. Remember little details. Tell her when she looks nice."

"Not doin' that last one." Jason clears his throat awkwardly.

"Jay, it's all a part of it."

Jason shakes his head, looking away from his brother.

"I just… I feel like I'm so fucking far behind." He starts. "This is shit people learnt in high school." He sighs, "You make it look way too easy."

Dick hums. "I'm wired like this. Freak of nature."

Jason makes a disgusted noise, which Dick chuckles at.

Silence falls for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

"I can't say something every time she looks nice." Jason sighs.

"Why not?"

"Because I'd be saying it every time I see her." Jason's voice is firm. "I'm just… that pathetic."

"I don't know how to convince you that you're not." Dick's voice is almost sad for him. Like he wished Jason would stop saying that about himself. "Be bold, little wing. Life's too short."

Jason scoffs at the irony. "I'd know."

Jason's in his safe house late at night. Wide awake. Staring at the ceiling.

Sleep brings nightmares, so it's easier to just stay up.

DING!

"Who?…" He says, rough-voiced, as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

YOU: hej you okay?

Jason sighs when he reads it.

JASON: Yeah, why?

YOU: u hav been queer lately

Huh?

JASON: I've been what lately?

YOU: **quieter.

YOU: tho idk if ur expermineting w any of ur bros or anythink

YOU: so awsome if u ae

YOU: **are

YOU: would be good for u actmually hjkgyg

"… The fuck?" He whispers as he pulls a face at his phone.

JASON: Where are you right now?

YOU: corner of streeet

That's when the realisation hits. Could you be?… No.

Jason presses the call button at the top of the screen and brings the phone to his ear. It rings a few times before you pick up.

Jason hears street noises and faint club music in the background before you speak.

"Who's this? Didn't mlook…" Your voice is slurring, and it's obvious. You're drunk.

"You said you were on a corner?" Jason sighs.

"I said that?"

"Are people with you?" He sits up in bed as he eyes the time on the clock to his left.

2:31 AM.

"Mm…" You hum into the phone. "I was here with some work friends… but I can't…" Hiccup "…Can't find them."

Jason gets out of bed. "You think you can send me your location?

"Why would I do…" You don't finish your sentence. How many had you had? You couldn't even remember.

"Because Gotham isn't safe right now." His voice is patient as he puts the phone on speaker and rests it on the dresser. Pulling out a pair of jeans and a hoodie. "I mean," He pulls on the jeans over his boxers he was 'sleeping' in, "Gotham's not safe. Period. But especially at 2 AM."

"M'at the Iceberg Lounge. Outside."

Of all places, the Iceberg Lounge is probably the safest of unsafe places. Bruce owned the place, which meant security was more intense than your usual club.

"I'll be there soon. Please… don't wander around." Jason's serious when he speaks.

You giggle. "Morried about me?"

"Yeah, actually." He says before he thinks too hard about it, sighing as he pulls his hoodie on over his t-shirt. "I am worried about you."

Was that bold? Would Dick be proud? Probably. Gross. Jason thinks briefly.

"M'kay. I'll stay where I am." You say and hang up.

He stares at the phone. Thinking about how she's waiting for him outside a club. At night. In Gotham.

He pulled up outside the lounge 15 minutes later, head frantically snapping around to try and spot you.

It didn't take long before he saw you standing next to an alleyway – boots, jeans and a sheer black top. A guy talking to you. Hand in his near his ass, a bulge just below where his hand was.

A gun. For sure.

It was popular that men would pull guns on women and… you can imagine what they'd do with that kind of power.

Jason storms towards you both.

You catch him in the corner of your eye and smile. "Hiii… you came?"

The guy is sizing Jason up. But the man has got to be at least 6 inches shorter than him.

Jason doesn't say anything, grabs your arm. "C'mon…"

"Heyy. But Randy here was being mreally nice, Jason…" You pout.

"I bet he was," Jason says as he pulls you towards the bike. Handing you a helmet, which you fiddle with. "Put that on."

You stare at it. Then at him. "You ride a… you ride this bike?"

He presses his lips into a thin line and nods. Jason's awareness spikes when he sees 'Randy' talking with a few of his friends and pointing. Jason steps forward, taking the helmet and putting it on for you.

You look up at him. And you're not sure if it's the drunken haze. The purple lights emitted by the LEDs of the club sign mixed with the moonlight. But you're mesmerised.

Shadows on his face show off his strong, sharp features. His scars on his face are more noticeable up close.

You wonder how he got them.

Jason was almost entirely hard lines and muscle. But his eyes? There's that tinge of bright, neon green in them again. It's unreal.

You wonder what those eyes have seen. How those eyes remain so soft and fervent considering what he's seen. You'd imagine most men who'd lived on the streets or had particularly hard lives would have a hatred for the world and the people in it, eyes glazed over and numb.

Not Jason.

And for once, he's so focused on getting your helmet on and getting you home that he doesn't realise how you're looking at him. Doesn't realise just how intensely you're staring.

He gets the helmet on with a click under your chin and helps you over to the bike.

Once you're both on, you wrap your arms around his middle. And the air leaves his lungs. His stomach is all knotted and queasy. Was it normal to react like this?

Jason pulls off before he can think too much about it.

The ride felt surreal. Everything was moving slower, lights blending and blurring. The sound of the engine almost lulled you to sleep a few times. You hugged his middle tighter when he sped up.

Jason was thankful for the vibrations of the bike, or else you would've felt just how fast his heart was beating.

You'd always thought Jason was a good guy. But he was still a guy, so you could never be sure.

But this? Tonight? Him coming to pick you up? Without a complaint? Without you even asking?

He was beyond nice. Jason was a lifesaver.

Jason parks out the front of your place, killing the engine and taking his helmet off. You go to get off the bike and fall over onto the concrete.

Now, Jason might be an enhanced human after the pit, but nothing could've prepared him for how fast you just went down. He's off the bike and by your side in a second.

"Shit, you okay?" His voice is serious, concerned. But that changes when he realises you're hysterically laughing at yourself. "Uh…"

"I fucking… I fuuuckinggg fell…" You laugh with your entire chest.

He has to fight a confused smile. "Can I help you up?"

He offers you a hand, and your laughter slowly fades. You take his hand, and he pulls you up. He starts to let you walk on your own again when you stumble for the thousandth time tonight.

"Okay. I'm just gonna…" He picks you up in that way a fireman carries injured civilians.

You're about to fight him about it, but he's very warm. And you're very cold. Your head falls onto his shoulder as he carries you.

Jason's airways fail him for a moment when he feels your head rest against him. Stupid. He thinks.

He gets to your apartment complex; there's a lock on the door. Obviously. "Hey, you got a key?"

"Your questions are so… so hard." You mumble into his shoulder.

He exhales calmly. "I just need your keys, then you can sleep, and I'll stop asking questions."

You hum, reaching into your jeans pocket, wiggling a little in his arms as you pull them out. "I'll open it…" Your voice is soft and sleepy when you speak.

He nods, stepping closer to the door.

He manages to get you up to your apartment without much trouble. He walks into your bedroom, familiar from that time he stood outside of it for your interview with the Red Hood.

He puts you down carefully on the mattress. You grumble. Jason gets your boots off, then stands back. "Can I get you anything else before I go?" He asks.

"Water…" You slur back.

He disappears for a minute or two as you hear rummaging around. He's looking for a glass.

It's when you're alone for a moment that you really appreciate what he's done for you tonight. It wasn't some small favour, no. You were wasted. And he'd just… decided that was enough of a reason to come get you? You weren't in any immediate danger, just drunk and alone – which, in Gotham, is not too far away from immediate danger.

He comes back into view with a glass of water and places it on your nightstand, and some painkillers he must've found. You close your eyes as you feel weightless in your comfy bed.

"Take them in the morning; you've had a big night–"

"Why'd you do all this, Jason?" You ask. Drunk, but direct.

His mouth opens and closes. How the fuck does he answer that?"

"Because…" He scrambles for a word and lands on it. "We're friends."

You hum. "You don't play about your friends, do you?"

Jason looks down with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Just… sleep. I'm gonna–"

"They weren't friends."

"What?" Jason asks, trying to piece together what that sentence means.

"Those work people." You shrug, getting comfortable under the sheets. "The price you pay for being…" hiccup "…being good at your job s'that none of them… really like you."

Jason's head tilts at you. Your eyes open and meet his.

"You're… all I've got here…" You say quietly. "So just… thank you… for t'night…"

His heart squeezes. He's all you've got here. Your only friend. And here he is being such a man. Catching feelings for someone who has no one else in this Godforsaken city.

How selfish am I? Jason thinks.

"It's… no problem. I'd rather know you're safe." Jason grimaces at how fucking cringey he sounds. "Seriously, don't worry about it." He says.

"You'd make an amazing boyfriend."

He coughs, "What are you–"

"My ex didn't… do any of this for me, and I was… with him." You start. "You're just my friend, and you're doing all of this."

"Sure." He sighs, "Get some sleep."

He's about to leave your bedroom when you call out softly.

"Jason?"

He stops, looking over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"You're a really, really great guy."

He swallows, taking that compliment in.

"Night."

"G'nigh…" You doze off mid-word.

He smiles at the sight, then stops himself from smiling.

Jason needs some sleep himself because he must be going delirious.

Flirt with her? Is that what Dick had said?

Smiling at her whilst she sleeps counts, right?

Fuck, thats creepy.

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

He was in the shop late at night when his phone lit up.

YOU: u wouldnt happen to be awake and in ur place of work rn would u??

What're the odds? He thinks to himself.

JASON: I am. You need something?

No answer.

Ten minutes pass, still no answer.

Another five minutes pass, and the door opens with that familiar ringing of the bell above it.

His eyes dart to the door immediately.

It's you.

"Hi." You give him a little wave as you come inside.

He smiles at you, a little tired one. "Hey."

"Sorry for barging in. I just… wanted to check on you…"

He stands straighter at that, trying not to show just how much that affected him.

"I'm fine. All good."

"I figured you would be. Just… came here in case."

He huffs a laugh. "In case what? Rocking back and forth, crying my eyes out?"

You let out an awkward exhale. "I was really worried about you, Jason. I've never seen anyone like that."

That feels like a punch to the stomach for Jason. In his head, that translates to: 'I've never seen someone that pathetic.'

His eyes fall to the floor. "I'm sorry you… had to. See me like that, I mean."

You sigh and take a few steps toward him. "Don't apologise. I've decided I like being your shoulder to cry on."

He chuckles, eyes flickering up to yours.

"Besides. We've been friends for almost three weeks. You're stuck with me now."

That word again. Friends.

It's like you're saying it on purpose.

Jason's head drops slightly. A quiet groan comes from him. A groan aimed at himself and his stupid, confusing, contradicting feelings.

"What's that for?" You ask with an almost-nervous chuckle.

"Just… I'm an idiot… fuck…" He chuckles again, but this time it's self-deprecating. His jaw clenches as he takes a deep breath to control his anger seeping through. Anger at himself.

Because he's finally realising. Here in this moment. You've come to make sure he's okay. Probably after a long, draining day at work. That you were a much bigger problem than his heart realised.

"You okay? Is this another panic att–"

"No, it's not. It's not." He says harshly. You just stop talking entirely at his tone. "Damnnit…"

"Is it… is me being here bad? Am I crossing a line or being annoying because–"

"Jesus, just stop." His tone is sharp again. Too sharp this time.

You scoff. And he sighs again.

"Right." Your voice is flat as you turn and start walking to the door.

"Wait." You hear Jason say as you turn back around slowly to face him. "I'm sorry. Can we just… pretend that didn't happen?"

You tilt your head at him. "The panic attack part or the asshole part?"

He huffs, "Both?"

You sigh. Usually you'd be less forgiving. But after how bad he was the other day? You decide to give him grace.

He changes the subject.

"Saw your article's doing big numbers."

You smile. "All thanks to Red Hood, really. He must've been feeling charitable."

He goes back to the drawer he was organising as he speaks. "You of all people do not need charity."

You chuckle. Then step closer, not too close.

"I have no idea why he gives me any of his time at all." There's a pause before you let out another soft laugh. "Maybe he has a thing for me or something."

Jason splutters accidentally, choking on air.

"Whoa, what's that about?" You ask.

"Just… dust. Dusty shop." He clears his throat.

You squint your eyes in his direction. Eyes checking him up and down. Suspicious. Playful.

And God, Jason's insides do a few continuous flips in a row. The feeling is eerily similar to when his panic attacks come along. That itch, that pit in his stomach.

But it's warmer when it's about you.

He never thought he'd be the type to feel things like this for anyone.

And honestly? It's really starting to piss him off.

"Just…" He takes another deep breath. Come on, Jason, pull it together. He looks to where his hands are moving aimlessly now in the drawer. "Just happy people are seeing how great you are. At your job."

That was unexpectedly sweet from him. Your eyes stop squinting as your face gets softer.

"Thanks, Jason. Really." You're genuine when you say it. "You've been so good to me, and I honestly don't know how I'd survive without such an amazing friend like–"

CLANGGGG!

The drawer was on the floor.

Jason froze, staring at the tools scattered at his feet on the concrete. He'd managed to slot the entire compartment out of the runners of the cabinet.

You look at the floor, then at Jason's face.

You smirk. "How rude to interrupt me when I'm being really nice to you?"

Jason sighs. You're doing this on purpose. Surely.

It was that word that did it. That fucking word.

Friend.

It was the right word to use. And that was the worst part.

You were friends. You laughed. You talked. You stayed with him when he was falling apart.

And that's all it was.

Friends.

But whatever he felt about you wasn't the same thing he felt for Dick. Or Roy. Or anyone else he'd ever let remotely close.

He couldn't fault you for calling this what it was. This friendship. It's not like he'd made his feelings obvious.

But the more you said it? The more it was a slap in the face. A reminder of that line he'd never be brave enough to cross.

He fought monsters. He'd leapt over skyscrapers. Fucking hell – he died. He actually died.

And somehow this was the thing that had him really terrified.

Because what if he does say something and you don't look at him the same? What if you stop coming around? What if his stupid fucking feelings get in the way of one of the few good things in his messed-up life? The life he's rebuilding as Jason. Not the Red Hood. Not the dead son. Just himself.

So it's in this second, when you're staring up at him with that winning grin and kind eyes, that he decides to keep his big mouth sewed shut.

He's going to fix cars; you're going to walk in with a coffee and an attitude, and he's going to try his absolute best to pretend like you don't completely change the trajectory of his day.

Pathetic, sure.

But Jason Todd has always been a sucker for impossible things.

Impossible jobs. Impossible repairs. Impossible romances were his favourite kind.

He'd loved unrealistic love stories since he was a kid – the kind where someone finally looks at a person everyone else overlooked and decides they were worth choosing.

So he'd keep being pathetic a little longer.

Maybe one day you'd bring him his morning coffee and see him in a different light.

Maybe one day you'd decide he wasn't just your friend.

You had Jason weren't overly sexual in general. Being intimate once or twice a month. I mean, you were a sexual person. But he was always a little more hesitant. He'd assure you it wasn't because of you, just memories that crawl their way back up whenever something feels too good.

It'd been really difficult for him at first. Many failed attempts. Many moments that stopped and restarted or just stopped altogether and ended in cuddles. Even times when he'd had to get up right in the middle of something and run to the bathroom to throw up.

But as you'd been together longer, he'd gotten better at enjoying himself during sex.

And when he did? Holy fuck, it was a sight to behold.

Since it was such a rare occurrence, you'd committed his face to memory.

His eyebrows furrowed, eyes hazy as he tried his best to keep them on yours, constantly resisting the urge to bury his face in your neck in embarrassment and not come out until his high was over. Those quiet sounds he'd make that got louder and more uncontrolled the closer he got. The rambling towards the end: H-hey… baby.. m'gonna… I can't… holy…. baby… s'good… s…

Jesus.

Your hand slides down over your chest, playing with the peaks for a little that has you gasping softly.

You haven't even touched yourself in so long. It never felt the same after being with Jason. You had wished you two would be a little more… active in that department. But you'd never push him into that, considering he has some form of traumatic past you know little about.

You arch your back a little into the touch, fingers swirling over the hardened points of your breasts. It felt nice.

You press your head back a little further into the pillow, and it's not sitting right. You huff as you take your hands away and adjust it so there's ample padding behind your head. Perfect.

One hand stays at your breast whilst the other trails down your stomach, so slowly.

The thought crosses your mind of looking up some video to try and make this quicker, more intense. But you decide that you really want to feel yourself tonight. Be with yourself.

You squeeze the flesh of your chest and the skin of your thigh simultaneously.

Fuck, you need to feel it. Now.

It was times like these you wish you had some kind of toy. Something has a placeholder for your boyfriend. Because even in the weeks between when you guys would be intimate, a dildo or a vibrator could definitely satisfy you in a way Jason maybe just couldn't keep up with yet.

You reach the hand on your thigh up slowly and run it through your folds. Slick, slippery, wet. So wet you're concerned about it getting on the sheets. You convince yourself not to worry; you can change them later.

You slowly bring your fingers up to your sensitive clit and–

THUD!

You jump. Quite literally jump.

Your eyes go to the window with the fire escape attached and, there he is. Red Hood.

Jason.

He opens the window, and you very quickly become aware of just how flustered and bare you are. So you scurry under the covers quickly. Hiding yourself. Pretending to be asleep.

You're so excited he's home. But this would be a new level of embarrassment.

He enters the room with a sigh. A deep, exhausted, modulated sigh.

Your eyes are closed – playing the part of sleeping beauty and all – but you can hear him release the mechanism on his helmet. Taking it off and dropping it on the floor with a loud noise.

Your eyes snap open at the sharp sound, and he looks at you. Leather jacket draped on his broad shoulders, Red Hood symbol across his wide chest, weapons in his holster across his waist, camo utility pants a little more tattered than usual and his boots covered in some substance that must be alien-adjacent.

You realise he must've accidentally dropped the helmet whilst trying to put it on the dresser.

"Fuck, sorry. Did I wake you?" He asks softly as he comes over and kneels next to the bed.

The sheets are up over your shoulders as you smile at him. "No. You didn't." Your voice is fond when you speak. "Hi, there."

He lets out a dry chuckle. "Hey, gorgeous."

You lean a little forward to kiss him, making sure the sheets stay up to your neck to keep you dignified when he leans away a little.

"Haven't brushed my teeth in a few days. And I'm covered in… whatever the fuck I'm covered in." He explains.

"Still sexy." You shrug.

He shakes his head and stands. "I'm gonna go shower."

"Okay." You respond, "I missed you."

He pauses and exhales a smile. "Missed you too. A scary amount actually."

You chuckle, and he goes into the bathroom; the shower starts running.

You have three options here.

Option 1: Get changed into the pyjamas on your nightstand and forget about it altogether.

Option 2: Stay like this and see what happens.

Option 3: Sort yourself out quickly whilst he's in the shower because he's probably too tired or wired to do anything with you tonight.

You very quickly choose the last one.

You reach your hand down again, sheets still up to your chin as you shift onto your back.

You groan as you realise you're not as slick anymore. The shock of your masked man being at your window probably dried you up a little.

You bring that finger to your mouth and wet it before it descends back down to that bundle of nerves you were circling before.

You start slow, because thats what feels better. But you know he's going to shower fast. He always does after missions because he wants to get back to you.

You bite your lip as it starts to feel really nice, hand fastening a little on yourself and–

The shower stops running.

Fucking hell. You take your hand off yourself and quickly realise you've been forced into the second option.

Stay like this and see what happens.

You bury your head under the covers now.

Because although you two had been together a little while now. Were you comfortable enough to get caught touching yourself by your boyfriend? Certainly not.

The bathroom door opens, and you hear the rustling of clothes before the mattress beside you dips, and the sheets lift as he gets in.

There's a little more movement before he speaks.

"You hiding from me?" He asks playfully.

"Maybe." You respond.

"Can you… not hide?" His voice has a smile on it; you can tell. "After a month of seeing a lot of ugly shit… I'd like to see my girlfriend's face."

You slowly peek your head out, and God, he's so fucking handsome.

His hair is mussed up and damp from the shower. He must've run a towel through it after.

The scars on his face make him look so much more beautiful; it's honestly ridiculous. And his eyes? Fuck, you could talk about them for the rest of your life and not run out of material.

He grins as he reaches a hand out under the covers to your waist, making contact and then realising. Oh.

He gives you a look.

"Are you…" He runs a hand up your waist to the side of your ribcage, and you can see the moment he realises you're completely bare underneath the sheets.

You sigh. "Yeah. I am."

He eyes you, then pulls down the sheets just enough to reveal your bare shoulders. Confirming it.

"Why?" He looks confused.

"Work… stressed me out today. You stress me out every day you're not here because I care about you. And I'd decided maybe I was due for… some… alone time."

There. Explained. Now you wait for his response.

He squints at you. "Still not following."

You groan, exasperated. "I was touching myself, Jason."

His eyebrows shoot up at that, cheeks turn a little pink.

"Oh." Is all he manages.

"Yeah. Oh." You say. Because now you're embarrassed. Fully embarrassed. "I know it's stupid, but I just needed to relax, and then you spooked the shit out of me when you got home, and I had to stop, and then I thought… I don't know what I thought… but you look fucking exhausted, and now I just feel like an idiot and–"

He leans forward and kisses you, completely shutting you up. Your hands are around his neck as you lie on your side, his come down to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss is deep, long.

And when he finally pulls back: "What d'you need?"

You stare at him. "You've just come back from a really long mission, baby, I don't–"

"Just tell me." He says softly.

You're silent for a moment before it comes out breathlessly: "Touch me?"

His breathing shortens when you say that. He nods as he kisses you again, tongue plunging into your mouth, dancing with yours. His hand comes down to your thigh under the sheets and hoists it over his hip, both of you still lying on your sides. His hand then runs up your thigh to your hip bones.

Your hips twitch, and he smiles into your mouth. "Sensitive?"

"Please, don't fucking tease me…" You practically beg.

And with one kiss to the side of your mouth, he begins running his fingers through your folds. You sigh out, forehead falling onto his, hips grinding absentmindedly. His breath shudders at the feel of how ready you are.

He rubs around your entrance before finally pressing in slowly with one finger. You let out a soft sound as you clench around it. A curse falls out of his mouth as he moves it in a come-hither motion. The one you'd taught him when he'd first tried this over a year ago.

He then brings his thumb to your clit, and your breathing gets heavier as you shut your eyes and feel.

His crooked finger inside you hits just the right spot. You love his fingers. He thinks they look mangled, wrong. You think they're fucking amazing. They're his. And anything of his is absolutely perfect.

"Mm… feels… s'good…" You hum, feeling his eyes on your face even if your eyes are closed. He loves looking at you in moments like this.

You bite your lip as your muscles tighten and relax over and over. It feels amazing, but this won't get you over that edge. Jason knows that.

"What do you need? Just ask me…" His voice is quieter than before, almost shy. His fingers, however, are the opposite as he adds another one inside, curling against that spongy spot that feels so so good.

You shake your head. "Don't… don't want t-to… make you… mphh… feel like you have to do anyth-thing… fuck…"

His hand stops, and you whine.

"Please just ask me."

Your eyes open at that. It's like he wants you to ask. Like really wants you to ask.

You take in his face, as per usual. His cheeks are flushed. Chest rising and falling.

Your forehead presses further against his as you whisper. "I want you to fuck me…"

He lets out a long exhale and nods. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You say pathetically quickly.

He retracts his fingers as he shifts over you, then sits back on his heels to take his t-shirt off, sheets now completely off you, cold air of the room hitting your naked body. He used to hate being shirtless in front of you. But there was one time when you kissed every single scar on his body, and he's never felt insecure about them around you ever since. Next, he shimmies off his boxers, and he's completely bare in front of you.

You take each other in. Him staring at your face, your body. You do the same.

He leans back over you, not bothering to bring the sheets back up around you both.

You reach down in between your bodies and softly grip his cock.

It's so fucking hard; all you can do is smile.

He lets out a sharp exhale, a nervous chuckle: "Told you I missed you." You chuckle too as he leans in to kiss you. He pulls back between kisses to whisper. "You good?"

You nod and keep kissing him with fervour, sloppily chaotic, fueled by the need you have for him.

As he's kissing you, your hand starts pumping him softly, which earns you a groan. Then you position him right at your entrance, and he shudders.

He pulls back from your face, watching closely as he slowly presses in. Your mouths fall open, each with your own noise as your hand comes up to his shoulder to squeeze him through the feeling.

When he's gone for so long, sometimes it takes a minute to get used to him again.

He keeps pressing into you, watching your face for any signs of discomfort.

"S'okay… m'okay…" You manage, and he presses all the way.

He's still then. Head falling against yours as you can see his eyes squeezed shut. You breathe through the feeling of how big he is and smile faintly.

He takes a few seconds before he pulls his hips back and rolls them forward again slowly. His eyes shut the whole time. Your hand moves from his shoulder to his hair to give a little tug and a scratch you know he likes.

He makes a low noise at that: "Fuck… keep doin' that…"

God, his accent. Always comes out when he's unguarded.

You keep tugging lightly at his hair, nothing too much. He doesn't like mixing pain and pleasure after what he's been through.

His hips speed up slightly, and he opens his eyes. Gaze boring into yours. His eyes flit down to your breasts for a second but then are straight back on your face. You know he likes looking at them but feels weird about it. Like there's some level of objectification to it.

"Y-you… can look, Jason…" You say as a gasp abruptly surprises you when he hits that spot inside. The spot further back than where his fingers could reach.

He looks down at your chest, bare, bouncing softly. One of his hands moves from beside your head to play with one of the hardened points of your tits. You gasp again at the feeling. His hips move a little faster with every noise that escapes from you.

His eyes then fall to where you're connected. How big he is compared to you. Turns him on.

A loud groan falls from him as his eyes snap to yours. His hand moves from your chest to find your hand that isn't in his hair and interlock fingers.

He's close. You know he is.

His free hand that isn't holding yours goes down to your clit, like you'd told him a while ago that sometimes him fucking you just wasn't enough to get you over that cliff. He starts circling, and you writhe at the feeling. His hips fast, circles faster. Your back arches of the bed for the second time tonight.

"Mm… b-baby… not g'nna… last…" He says desperately. Hips moving erratically now.

"Come… w-with me… oh fuck–"

And that coil snaps for you. Eyes on his face as your mouth falls open with a wordless cry as all your muscles spasm and clench around him.

His eyes are on your expression as you feel his pace falter.

"M'fuck… co-coming…" He mutters as he goes to hide in your neck. You take your hand out of his hair, still overcome with pleasure and grab his chin, forcing him to stay looking at you.

"Eyes… o-on'me.. mphfuck…" You splutter as he almost looks pained. Like looking at you whilst reaching his high is a new type of vulnerability.

But then he nods, and his eyes slam shut before opening again, eyebrows furrowed, mouth open wide as a loud, deep moan escapes him. A noise you've never heard from him. His hand squeezes yours painfully hard, but you squeeze back, a reminder that you're here with him. His hips stutter and buck irregularly as he comes. Gaze locked with yours the whole time. He starts to gasp for air as his head drops forward slightly, but you force his chin back up straight so you can see what's happening across his features.

"B-baby, God…" He has a sharp, shaky inhale as he finally stops his hips from moving.

And he's shaking. Literally shaking. He looks so overwhelmed. You let go of his chin, and he takes that as a signal to just collapse onto you. Hugging you with his full weight, burying his neck in the curve of your shoulder like he wanted to moments ago.

Sex is never a light thing for Jason. It's deep. It's connection.

You hug him back, hand leaving his to start running up and down his spine whilst the other is still in his hair, stroking through the damp strands at his scalp, now water from the shower combined with sweat.

He shivers slightly. "Fuck."

You hum softly, "You okay?"

He nods into your shoulder, "Mhm. Just… need a second."

So you give him as long as he needs, stroking his back, his hair.

A few minutes later, he leans back and pulls out of you.

"Please… please tell me you're still on birth control…"

You smile at him, "Yeah, of course."

He exhales, relieved, reaching a hand down to the foot of the bed, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up over both of you. He's still shaking. You can see it.

Jason brings you close to him, your head now on his chest as you both catch your breath.

His body is still vibrating. So you ask one more time: "You sure you're okay?"

He sighs; you look up at him, but he's staring at the ceiling, so it's hard to see his face. You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him properly. He meets your eyes.

"Freaks me out when things are so good." He sounds scared, like being honest is terrifying. "Just waiting for shit to go wrong, I guess. Occupational hazard." He lets out a dry huff of air at that.

You frown. "You're allowed good things without a price, Jason."

"I know that now. I know that logically, I mean." He says defensively. "Look, I love this. Doing this with you is… fucking amazing. Feels… unbelieveable…"

You wait a second for him to continue. When he doesn't, you urge him on.

"But…" You elongate the syllable playfully in hopes of lightening the mood just a little.

"But," He starts, "Every time we do this… I feel exposed in… a really, really intense way? Like... intense to the point where I'm not sure it's normal? I'm not... fuck am I making sense?"

You look at him. "It's when you're at your most vulnerable. And vulnerability feels like dangerous territory for you."

His eyes land on yours, and he smiles. "You know me so well; it's honestly embarrassing for you." You nudge him and snuggle back down into his chest. "But you're right." He adds. "I'm just… getting used to feeling… vulnerable and… feeling good instead of having to protect all my vital organs."

You exhale contentedly, but then realise what might've brought this up. You prop yourself up on an elbow again.

"You know I'd never, ever want you to do something you didn't really want to do?" You say firmly. He nods. "Because I'm more than happy with what you give me. Whatever it is."

"Yeah, but I want you to be able to ask me for things too."

"Like what?"

"Like if you want… me… like that. Just ask." He shrugs, "Not saying it'll always be a yes, but… I want to give you what you want too."

"Jason, you just said you're still learning–"

"Yeah, I know what I said." He says, frustrated at himself, because maybe he's not explaining himself right. "Just saying you don't have to walk on eggshells when it comes to fucking me."

You scoff at his phrasing, "Yeah?"

He nods. "You're… fixing me. I think. So, yeah. Just ask whenever."

"You never needed fixing, Jason." You lean forward and kiss him. And again. And again. Then you snuggle back into him for the final time. "Night, sex freak."

He laughs, "Night, baby…"

He stumbles backwards into the car behind him. Although right now? It's not a car.

It's the wall he'd backed up against so he knew Joker couldn't get to him from behind.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing picking up.

He grabs onto the car and uses it to stabilise himself as he slides off his feet to sit down on the dirty concrete floor.

He then pulls his legs up to his chest as he tries his absolute hardest to just fucking breathe.

Jason knows panic attacks dont work like that. But he always has this annoying little voice in the back of his head telling him how stupid this is. How he should just be able to fucking breathe. He's got two working lungs and a brain; so what's the problem?

That sound was the problem.

The: CLANG!

Followed by that: SCRAAAAAPE!

He wasn't even sure what'd fallen to make that noise. All he knew was he was dirty.

"My pretty… pretty birdy…"

His breathing goes completely erratic. Loud. Panicked. Chest clenching. His stomach an endless pit that's just growing and growing and growing.

He can feel every scar on his body, the phantom pain stinging at each and every one.

His eyes were still knit tightly shut – worried that if he opened them, he'd be back there.

Like, actually back there.

Because what if this life he lived, with the shop, with his family? What if it was all a lie? What if he was actually passed out on the floor of that cell in Arkham and this was all some fucked up nightmare-dream hybrid?

What if he was still a pathetic 17-year-old boy who dreamt of what his future looked like had he waited just that little bit longer for Bruce to get back and talk him out of going after that psychopath?

He hears something – some voice. But it's difficult to make out what it's saying because at some point, without realising, his ears began to ring.

"…Ja…" Was all he heard. Over and over. Half of his name? Who?

Jason was not going to open his eyes. He was fucking petrified of waking up to that miserable fucking reality again.

"Jason." He finally heard it, soft. Calm.

He shook his head.

Not real. Not real.

He hasn't been fed in days… he's probably hallucinating from blood loss too.

You decide to reach a hand forward to his. He does a pathetic little flinch but grips it hard.

That feels real. Your skin feels real.

"Can you open your eyes for me?" You ask softly.

He shakes his head like a petulant child.

Because what if your voice is really his own mind playing tricks on him? What if it's Joker asking him to open his eyes, only to spray acid in them when he does? Or he'll just make Jason watch himself get cut open and sewn back together as he did a few weeks ago? Maybe he wants to see the look in his eyes as he finally kills him?

Fuck, that'd be a mercy.

"Jason." You say again, no idea what's going on. Just hoping he hears you.

He does hear you. He just doesn't trust it.

You sit with him for a few hours. His breathing calms, but his eyes are shut the whole time.

You're just holding his hand as you sit next to him, where he's been sat back against the car the whole time. Waiting for him to come back down to earth.

"Jason!" Tommy yells out as the bell to the shop rings out, "Sammy and I drew a comic for you at school today!"

"Shit." You say under your breath.

Jason's eyes finally open. And he doesn't know where he is, can't remember.

But he knows he's not where he thought he was.

That room was dark, and had a smell of blood and rust and piss and sweat.

This place smelled like burnt rubber and gas.

He breathed that smell in.

Tommy and Sam round the car and see you and Jason. Both sat there. Jason's staring into nothing. Breathing slowly.

You look at the boys. They look concerned.

"Do you two want to go wait in the breakroom for a minute?" You say quietly. Hand still in Jason's.

Jason's gaze finally moves to the boys.

"You okay?" Sam asks, skittish. Almost, scared? Like he's seen this at home before but under a completely different circumstance.

"Y-Yeah, Sammy. I'm okay." Jason manages to speak. Rough.

"Jason just hasn't had enough water today. Silly." You say, "You boys go grab something from the little fridge, and I'll be there in a second."

The boys nod, then walk away slowly to the break room.

Jason sighs, eyes stinging. Fuck.

He can't cry right now. Not in front of you. Not in front of the boys.

You look back at him. His eyes drop to your hands locked together. Your hand small in his.

"This okay?" You double-check. Because even though he hasn't backed away. That doesn't mean it's okay.

Jason exhales.

"Mhm." He hums.

His breathing is still a little broken.

He tries to get up but falls back against the car. Dizzy.

"Whoa. No, just stay here."

"I have to–"

"You have to stay here, Jason." You say firmly.

He looks at you, embarrassed.

"I don't want them to see me like this." He whispers. Because if he knows those boys, and he definitely does, they're eavesdropping just around the corner.

You hold his eye line, and whisper back, "As far as they know, you're sitting down because you don't hydrate yourself."

He gives a very, very weak chuckle and nods, looking away from you and straight ahead.

You run your thumb over his hand a few times, and his shoulders drop slightly.

Feels nice. He thinks.

"I…" he starts, "I don't even know what to say to you right now."

Because he's so fucking ashamed.

It was bad enough when something like this happened in the manor.

Tim tripped over some tools Jason left out, and it made another noise that brought him back. Jason then spent the next three hours hiding in his closet. Bruce sat within throughout the whole episode, reminding him he wasn't in Arkham. That he was safe.

This, right here, might've been worse.

Because Bruce, Tim, all of them? They understood exactly why he was like this. They knew about Arkham. About Joker.

She didn't.

The boys didn't.

They couldn't.

You give his hand a soft squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything." You say as you stare at his side profile.

His 'J' scar visible. You'd assumed it was something a gang member gave him when he was a street kid or something.

Jason clenches his jaw as he feels you investigating that spot on his face. Doesn't say anything.

"Just… old shit gets to me sometimes." He says with a slight shrug.

You nod, "Yeah, I bet."

You couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like to grow up on the streets and survive.

Your life was so vastly different to his; it made it impossible to comprehend how someone truly got over that kind of trauma.

Jason groans and rubs his free hand over his face, pressing two fingers into his eyes.

"Sam's fucking face too… I… fuck…"

"What're you talking about?" You ask, confused. You hadn't noticed.

Jason looks at you with an exhale, "I just… think I scared him."

"You didn't."

A little voice says from around the corner where the break room is.

It's Sam. Tommy is behind him.

"Swear wall, by the way."

"Tommy, not now." Sam nudges him.

You're about to say something about giving Jason another moment when he speaks.

"You made me a comic?" Jason asks, a small grin on his face.

Tommy nods and disappears into the breakroom before coming back holding up a makeshift comic book that was clearly made by the two of those kids.

"I drew, Sammy wrote it." Tommy shrugs.

"You gonna show me?" Jason gives a lift of his head as if to say: Get over here, you two.

The boys scurry over. Sitting with you and Jason on the floor.

Jason looks at you. You look at him and just smile.

A few hours later, the boys have left. It's almost 7 PM.

Jason's therapy starts at 8:00, so he should head off soon.

He's done with fixing one of the cars, and you're organising some of his tools back into their labelled drawers.

His jaw twitched at the idea of anyone arranging his stuff for him. But he honestly just wanted you around for longer. He could change them around in the morning.

He comes over to you.

You hear him and turn. "Hey."

He gives you a nod. "Having fun?"

"Yeah." You say unconvincingly.

"I told you that you don't have to organise this shit for me."

"And I told you I'll do what I want."

He lets out a sharp exhale with a soft smile.

"You makin' sure I don't have a mental break again?"

Your expression goes a little more serious.

"How're you feeling?" You ask.

He lifts his shoulders and drops them. "I'm fine. It's out of my system now. So. Fine."

You then notice his bag over his shoulder and move around him erratically, trying to remember where you put your handbag. "Shit… I'm overstaying my welcome, uh–"

"No, you're not." He interrupts. "Just have something I need to get to."

You nod, finally finding your handbag and walking back over to him.

He clears his throat. "Thanks. For today, I mean."

You shrug, "Of course. I'm your friend. I do care."

His head drops marginally at that. He opens the door for you, and you both go your separate ways.

Well. Nothing like a mental breakdown to keep you in the friend zone!

Jason gives you a look, pausing his hands wherever they are in the engine.

"Are we twelve?"

"No, but we're bored."

He nods, his focus going back to the engine.

"Okay, shoot."

You think. You think some more.

"How many girlfriends have you had?" You smirk.

His head snaps to you with a scoff. "What… type of question is that?"

"One that friends should know about each other?" You slowly eat another piece of popcorn like you're a house pet who knows you're doing something mischievous.

He sighs, hands back in the engine again. Friends. Of course.

"Uh, none," Jason says quietly.

"What?"

"None." He says a little louder, clearing his throat.

"Are you like… saving yourself for marriage or something?"

"Jesus no," he chuckles, "No, I just… I've not really been interested enough in anyone."

You squint at him, silent for a moment.

"I don't believe that."

He rolls his eyes playfully. "Which part?"

"The no girlfriends part."

Jason stands up a little straighter, eyes locking on yours with a sigh that screams: We're not talking about this right now.

"Is it my turn to ask a question?"

You nod, "I am an open book."

Jason thinks as he undoes something else in the engine. God, one of these days you'd ask him to teach you something about this shit.

"Why'd you break up with your boyfriend?" He asks.

You eat another piece of popcorn and see on his face that he's worried that overstepped some kind of boundary.

You let out a heavy exhale.

"He told me I'd been here, in Gotham, long enough. That there were opportunities for journalism in Metropolis." Your eyes fall to the popcorn packet that's now apparently very interesting. "I told him I was passionate about Gotham, and he'd said – yeah, but your passions are very quick to come and go. This one will go soon too. Just trust me, baby, I know you– blah blah."

You trail off. Because truth is, you were hurt by that. This wasn't just a random whim of yours. This was a very real, very serious dream. And the fact that he COULD NOT see your vision and support it? Couldn't even give you a half-assed: 'Proud of you, babe'?

"Fuck him," Jason says simply. Not with venom or anger. Just matter-of-factly.

You chuckle, "Just like that?"

"Well… if he was being an asshole, that's gonna make it easier to get over, right?"

"I present to you, the art of the toxic relationship. Missing them even if they're an ass." You smile, "But for a guy who's never been in a relationship? That was really good advice."

He shakes his head, eyes flicking up to yours before looking back down at the engine in front of him as he works.

"It's your turn to ask a question."

"Right." You say as you get up off the stool and put the popcorn packet in the trash can. Coming back over to stand next to him rather than sit. "Were you a street kid?"

That was a really risky one. Would that be offensive? Rude? Too far?

"Yeah, I was." He lets out a breath and nods, "You've been in Gotham long enough; you can spot us already, huh?"

You shrug, "Just had a feeling."

He finishes with one of his tools and picks up another one. Your eyes flit down to his hands. His fingers. They're crooked. Almost, mangled. Like someone's taken a hammer to them over and over again and they've healed wrong.

"I don't think I'm a fan of this game." He mutters as he's trying to unscrew something tiny off of the tool. Like an extra, unneeded part.

"Why not?" You ask as he side-eyes you, "Come on, ask me anything. One more question?"

"You want me to ask you a question?"

"I like talking to you." You say.

And that's the moment he decides he's going to ask another question. He doesn't know what it is, but he has to figure it out. Because no one says they enjoy talking to him like that.

"Besides, if we're gonna be friends? We should know more than we do right now." You add.

He sighs, thinking, as he stops fiddling with the tool for a minute.

"What was your first impression of me?"

You let the question sit before you speak.

"Honestly?

"No lie to me."

You laugh. Because he's clearly gotten more comfortable around you if he's cracking jokes and using unbelievable amounts of sarcasm.

He's staring at you.

"I thought you had really, really bad social anxiety." You say flatly.

He freezes. "What?"

"You could barely string together a sentence, and I remember thinking: Aw, he's trying." You smile.

He presses his lips into a thin line. "Great."

You look at him, worried you hit a nerve.

"Jason, it's… fine. You're good now we know each other."

"Mhm." He hums. Knowing he's being a little petty. He did ask you to be honest. He did, in fact, struggle for words at the sight of her that first time they'd locked eyes in this very shop.

He's desperately trying to undo the little screw attached to the tool, and it won't work. He feels himself getting angry. His fingers aren't cooperating. They do this all the time. His joints lock or freeze, and he can't do the more intricate wiring jobs or tasks like these.

You see what's happening, and you just hold out your perfectly manicured hand. It's almost comical how much your hand and his contrast.

He eyes your hand like a cautious animal before sighing and handing it to you.

You undo the little screw with ease and hand both pieces back to him.

More silence follows as he works.

"I also noticed your brother." You say quietly, easing away from the quiet that surrounds you both.

Of course you noticed Dick. Everyone does. He thinks.

"I noticed how he looked at you, I mean."

Jason looks at you. Confused now.

"What are you talking about?"

"Like you're his world." You say simply.

Jason swallows and goes back to work on… something… anything in front of him.

You groan: "Okay, fine. I also noticed how tall you are. That was probably my first thought, actually."

He looks at you again with an amused smile but shakes his head. Realising that you're absolutely trying to get in his good graces again.

You sigh, "Look, Jason, I didn't mean to–"

"It's fine." He says, closing the hood. "I mean it when I said I don't get out much. I… I'm shit at anything that isn't fixing cars or making fun of my brothers."

You turn to him properly. You're closer than you've been before. Not in a romantic way. Just… two very physically close friends.

"You're not shit at it."

"People always get biased once they know me and feel bad."

"Jason, I don't feel bad for you. I'd tell you if you really were shit."

He stares down at you.

You know you knew how tall he was. You did. It was never a shock or surprise. But close to him right now? He towered. It would almost be intimidating if you didn't know how soft he was deep down.

You look into his eyes. And they're so mesmerising. Blue with a hint of bright, almost glowing green. No… that can't be real? They almost look photoshopped, like one of those anime girls.

Jason as an anime girl? Fucking hilarious.

You start laughing to yourself, and his eyebrows raise in confusion.

"You've officially lost your fuckin' mind." He states, the corners of his lips upturned in a smile he can't help but give you when you look happy like that.

"No, I just…" You control yourself. "Thought of something stupid–"

And you start laughing again, thinking about Jason with big blue green kawaii eyes. You don't know why you find it so funny. Maybe the juxtaposition of Jason and anime just really tickles you.

But you somehow manage to half-lose your balance and gasp softly as you reach out to grab something to stop from falling. Simultaneously, you feel his hand on your waist, steadying you.

You stop laughing and take in the moment. You hand on his bicep. His on your waist.

Woah.

He clears his throat and lets go of you quickly.

"Sorry," You smile.

Jason steps back, shrugging. "You're good."

There's another heavy silence before you nod to yourself, grabbing your handbag from the floor of the shop and standing back up to face him.

"You done with that or am I leaving on my own?" You ask.

His eyes dart around the space. "I've got to clean up the shop for Monday. I'm not in Gotham tomorrow, so."

"Not in Gotham? Where are you going?"

"I have to see family." He lies, though not entirely false. He's on an off-world mission tomorrow with his family. Seeing them. Okay, so it's basically the truth.

"Well, I'll see you Monday then."

And you leave.

Jason exhales and runs his hands down his face in all their grimey glory.

"What am I gonna do…" He says softly.

He pauses and faces her.

"I think it's cute." Babs shrugs.

"Please, Babs. Just don't." He exhales, "She's not even a friend, really. It's not anything at all, trust me."

"What shocked me was how good you were at talking to her."

Jason groans, "Did Dick not give you all a big sappy fuckin' speech about making fun of me and my interactions with women?"

'It's a more sensitive topic than he lets on, guys, so let's just not go there, capisce?'

Jason overheard him in the dining room with, presumably, the entire family. Only a few days after you'd walked into his shop. A few days after Dick pressed too hard and Jason pressed back.

Babs chuckles, "No, I'm not making fun of you, Jason; I'm genuinely impressed. You were so good with her. Dick made it seem like you couldn't function."

Jason squints at her, "Are you patronising me? Because you know I'd spar with you right now. I don't care about the wheelchair."

"You'd fight me, and I'd probably still take you down." She smiles.

Jason chuckles and nods. She's definitely right.

Then he walks over to her. Away from the Batmobile. Staring at the monitors.

"The mask made it easier, I guess." He admits quietly. He always feels like he can be dead honest with Barbara. They'd always had a massive soft spot for each other. I mean, she was half the reason he went after the Joker in the first place. "Without it I just feel… too much me."

"Meh. I think you're way more interesting without it." She smiles.

He looks at her then, "You're biased. You know me."

She nods, then turns to him in her wheelchair. Completely facing him.

"I'm only going to say this once. Because it's really nice and therefore will feel like nails on a chalkboard for you to hear, but…" She continues, "You're a really great guy, Jason. I'm not saying this – you and her – is anything or whatever. But if any part of you is doubting that? Don't. Please don't."

Jason swallows, staring at her.

"You're right. That hurt to hear."

She laughs, and he smiles at her.

Then adding: "She has a boyfriend anyway. So, my chances are fucked even if I could get a sentence together without the helmet."

Babs squints at him – he eyes her, concerned by that look.

"Tim and I might've done some digging…"

"Babs…" Jason groans, defeated. More than annoyed.

"I'm sorry, I got excited, and I've been raised by detectives. Tim was down here when I opened the audio file, found out, and wanted leverage on you." She chuckles to herself, remembering something. "I just stalked her Instagram a little and maybe ran a standard background check to see if she raised any concerning flags."

"Babs."

"She didn't." She raises her hands in surrender, then drops them. "Tim went… a little further than I did…"

Jason's face drops.

"What'd he do?"

She smiles nervously, something she'd done since she was 16.

"He wanted… phone records." She says slowly. "Thought maybe you'd texted her something humiliating and wanted to screenshot it and make it the background of the monitors…"

"Aren't you supposed to be the mature one?"

"You know how Tim gets. Obsessive." She keeps smiling as if to ease the blow. "Anyways, moral of the story, he'd accidentally clicked onto her text threads with her boyfriend and… well… now he's an ex-boyfriend. Kinda an asshole if I'm being honest."

Jason lets out an exhale.

"And I'm the one in therapy? You people are insane." He scoffs.

"I went once, and Tim still goes every other week," Babs says, very matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, because B will bench him if he doesn't go."

"Whatever. This is not important. What is important? She's single." Babs wiggles her eyebrows.

"This family is a curse."

Days later and he's in the shop again. It's the afternoon. Tommy is sat on his usual seat – the tyre stack – comic book in hand. One of Jason's 'vintage' ones, as he'd called it. Sam isn't here, something about staying back after school to complete a worksheet.

Jason's taken a break from working.

His anxiety had been through the roof all day. He hasn't been on patrol in about 72 hours.

Bruce has decided that both Jason and Tim were patrolling way too much and sleeping way too little.

So the two of them were on a forced break. Which neither wanted, but both had to accept.

What Bruce says goes.

Tim had been texting Jason all day. Clearly bored.

10:43 AM

TIM: jason pls call me i have to get off cod its a problem ive been on it for 32 hours straight

JASON: At least wear those blue light glasses Dick got you.

TIM: dih can suck mine. i'm not a nerd

JASON: By definition you absolutely are a nerd lmfao

TIM: wtv

11:22 AM

TIM: u think we can call cps on bruce?

JASON: Dude. You're turning 20 in a few months.

TIM: k but i look 17. maybe we could get him in some scandal

JASON: Tim. He has 4 adopted sons. He is CPS at this point.

TIM: was gonna say u were more fun when u wanted bruce dead but thats not true. i like u better now. at least u entertain my conversations

JASON: Go to sleep, man.

TIM: stop using proper grammar to text holy unc 🙄

12:54 PM

TIM: can u come be ocd in my room and clean out my mini fridge it's fucking disgusting pls pls

JASON: Could be radioactive. Not going near that fuck ass fridge.

TIM: bro if ur gonna be mentally fucked up at least put it to good use

JASON: Yeah, you're so right. Let's both have panic attacks in your room at the same time and see who passes out first.

…

12:57 PM

TIM: u rlly making me feel bad rn bro?

JASON: Go. To fucking. Sleep.

TIM: sybau

Jason chuckles despite Tim pestering him. The sound of the bell at the door has his attention shifting.

It's you.

A good surprise.

You smile at him, "Hi."

He gives you a nod. Tommy cranes his head to see the door past the cabinet.

You give Tommy a little wave. He grins and leans back where he was, going back to reading his comic.

Jason comes closer. "You need anything?"

"Do I need a reason to be here?" You say playfully.

But Jason is caught off guard.

"Uh, no. You just… you usually do have a reason." He shrugs.

You gesture to one of the two coffees from the coffee tray in your hands.

"Wasn't sure if you were an evening coffee drinker type."

Jason takes the coffee, but is wary of this entire situation. Is this a trap?

You then walk past Jason and over to Tommy.

"Where's Sam?" You ask.

"He's a dumb fuck, so he's at school tryin' to un-dumb fuck himself."

Your mouth falls open. This sweet little kid had a mouth like a sailor.

Jason chuckles, walking over to the wall with the tallies, "That's another two on the swear wall, Tommy."

"Dammit," Tommy grumbles as Jason adds two strikes next to his name, not adding a third. Which is adorable because he doesn't say it properly, so it must not count in Jason's eyes.

You put the tray on the nearby cabinet and give Tommy one of the drinks.

"You like hot chocolate?"

The blonde boy's eyes brighten as he nods, closes the comic and sets it on his lap, taking a sip of the drink.

"You can have the other one too if you want; I got it for Sam." You say as you turn to Jason. Who looks confused. "What's your problem?"

He furrows his brows. "What's all this for?"

"I broke up with my boyfriend and realised I have no real life here in Gotham." You blurt.

Jason nods. "So… coffee?"

You nod. "So, coffee. A piece offering?"

He chuckles. "Why're you giving me a piece offering for?"

"Because I think you're my only friend here."

"Hey!" Tommy says from behind you.

You turn to him and smile. "And you, honey. Of course you."

When Tommy looks pleased, you turn back to Jason. Who swallows.

"We're friends?" He reiterates.

You shrug, "Well… aren't we?"

"We are. I guess we are. You're just… you're making this very official, and it's weird."

"I'm not trying to make it weird." You sigh, looking at your felt. Feeling stupider by the second.

Were you making a big deal out of this? No, you needed him to know that you considered him a friend. He was your friend. This is what friends do. Bring coffee. Conversation. All that.

Jason notices and scrambles, "Wait – I didn't mean weird. I mean I just figured it… was more unspoken. That we were friends – because we are. Friends, I mean."

You look at him and smile – "Well. Good."

"Yeah. Great." He says back.

"I've got my big article to write, so… I should go."

"Big article?"

"Red Hood Exclusive." You smirk. "What can I say, I'm incredible at my job. Watch this space."

He huffs, smiling, "Yeah, okay."

"You laugh now, but you wait." You point at him.

"Can I read it?" Tommy asks.

"I can read it to you if you'd like?" You offer, turning to him. He nods profusely.

You turn back to Jason.

"Enjoy the coffee."

He nods, taking a sip. Raising his eyebrows like: I am enjoying it. See?

"Go." He says softly.

"Bye, Jason."

And with that, you're gone.

Jason sighs, smiling to himself before he wipes that stupid expression off his face. He looks at Tommy, who's smirking at him. Jason rolls his eyes. Then his phone dings.

4:43 PM

TIM: okay dih has no idea what he's talking about you actually do have game

JASON: Are you tapped into the security cams rn?

TIM: bro. patrol withdrawals have me stalking you for entertainment. im telling u this is bad rlly rlly bad

JASON: Have you slept today yet?

TIM: i think she liks u

JASON: **likes

Jason smiles to himself, loving when he corrects his brothers spelling because it's the one thing he had on almost all of them. But then he realised what Tim was actually saying.

JASON: She just broke up with her boyfriend…

TIM: so? he was a bum

JASON: How would you know?

TIM: their texts. he would not respond to her for like days, turn his location off n shit and refused to pick her up once when she was rlly rlly drunk

Jason grits his teeth at that.

JASON: Tim. Don't go through her texts again

TIM: yeah yeah ill be fine when we r back on patrol

Jason looks at Tommy, who's very invested in the comic. Hot chocolate on the cabinet next to him.

Then to the security cameras.

Did Tim actually see something there between them, or was he being Tim?

Fuck, maybe Jason was going through patrol withdrawals too.

He should not be taking relationship advice from Tim Drake.

You groan, "Why are you stalking a civilian late at night?"

"Because you didn't use the quote I gave you."

You freeze.

"Oh. Right. That."

"Why didn't you?" The masked man asks.

And you shrug, "Felt like information people could abuse. Don't know how, but people online are insane. I've seen them take a small piece of information and turn it into a full-blown detective case."

The Hood nods.

"So you're a journalist with a conscience?"

You chuckle, "Yeah, maybe."

There is silence for a minute.

Then: "You got more questions?"

Wait… he's asking for questions?

"Uh… well… no. But I can think of some." You say quickly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think.

Annnddd… nothing.

You sigh, frustrated with yourself. It's been a long day at the Gazette, and your brain is fried.

Red Hood tilts his head at you.

"I'll be on the rooftop outside your apartment at 10 PM tomorrow."

You squint at him. "Creepy."

"You don't have to let me in. Just letting you know." He shrugs. "Call me over; I'll give you ten minutes."

"Why're you doing this?" You find yourself asking.

He exhales and begins climbing the fire escape.

"Because not many people in your position would've kept that quote to themselves." He says, then disappears.

A day later. You've just gotten back home from work.

It's 9:23 PM. Just over half an hour until the interview. You decide thats ample time for a shower.

You go to your bathroom and strip off, running yourself a boiling hot shower.

Just before you get in, you see the text from your now ex–boyfriend. Chase.

CHASE 🤍: bby pls can we talk? i didnt like how you ended our conversation.

Fuck, he's relentless, isn't he?

Ding.

CHASE 🤍: i feel like i need to have my feelings be valid and heard babe. cmon. dont be immature

Ding.

CHASE 🤍: i seriously don't understand why the fuck you got mad at me for saying i wanted u in metropolis. i just miss you babe.

Is he really that fucking stupid?

He'd said he–

No. Not worth the mental energy.

You change his contact to 'DO NOT CALL ❌'.

Your phone dings again; put it on silent and get in the shower.

Honestly? You weren't upset over things ending. This would mean you had more time for your career. More time for you.

Except, a part of you thought he was right. Your life was built in Metropolis. Not Gotham.

Your family? Friends? All in Metropolis.

The only friend you had here was… well… Jason? And he wasn't really a friend. Just a guy you knew.

A while later you're out of the shower, and it's–

10:04.

Fuck. No, no, no. You hurry out of the bathroom in nothing but your towel.

You're at your bedroom window in a millisecond. The one attached to the fire escape as you open the window.

You see him up there. Building across from yours, just like he'd said.

"Sorry! I was in the shower! Come over here!" You call out.

A few seconds later, he's on your fire escape. You see him freeze. You obviously can't see his face, but you can guess what he's thinking.

"Why are you – in a towel?" He asks in that gravelly robotic voice.

"I just told you. I was in the shower."

"Sure." He says plainly, "Better question: Why are you still in the towel?"

You eye him. "I'm not about to waste the only time you're offering me on picking out which pyjamas to wear."

You hear him sigh, "Go change, get your stuff together. I'll give you an extra 10."

You nod and run away from the window, grabbing a pair of pyjamas from your wardrobe, a notebook and pen from your desk, and your recorder.

You plop everything onto your bed, then start changing right there, dropping the towel.

"Jesus fucking – I'm right here." And his tone, despite the modulator, sounded way less robotic. Reminding you that a real person was under there.

You chuckle, "Sorry, give me a sec."

Once your pyjamas are on, you grab everything else you need and come to the window, propping up the recorder on the ledge, pen and notebook in hand.

He leans against the railing of the fire escape.

"You ready?" You ask.

He nods once. You start the recorder.

"Red Hood," You're trying not to sound like you're buzzing about this opportunity, "Thank you for taking the time to talk with me."

"If we were just talking, you wouldn't have that recorder on." He says flatly.

Right. Professional. All business.

You hear him sigh again, mumbling, "No problem."

You look to your notes. "If you could change one thing about Gotham, what would it be?"

He's silent for a moment – "The justice system. It might sound ironic coming from me. But they're pretty corrupt."

You nod, "Speaking of you and justice. Do you feel like you should have to answer for the murders you've committed?" You have to be bold. Lois is. She would be in this situation. Put pressure on him. Healthy pressure. "I mean, I've done the research. Those men, the people you killed, awful people. But why do you get to play God?"

He thinks another moment. As if really trying to make sure he doesn't say something insane or too exposing.

"Actually, yes. I think there is a part of me that wants to answer for what I've done. Practice what I preach and all." He says, "I think now that I'm older, I see that even those people had families. That there were parts of their lives that were important." He continues, "But I can't answer for them for a long time yet. Not when I'm one of the few people who are actually willing to get shit done in this city." His head drops a little. "But yeah. I was younger then. And angry. So fucking angry."

"Angry at what?"

He chuckles darkly – and although you can't see his eyes, you know his gaze is boring into yours.

"The world? How cruel it is to people who don't deserve it?" He exhales, shoulders dropping. "Not saying I'm a saint who doesn't deserve the pain I've gone through, but holy fuck did the world put me on my ass a few times."

"Have you ever told your origin story publicly before?"

"No." He says quickly. Sharp.

You nod, "Would you like to?"

He pauses. But this isn't like the other pauses. This is a shocked silence.

"A journalist asking permission?"

You chuckle softly. "I know. Crazy."

More silence.

Then: "I was taken by the Joker when I was younger. He'd held me captive for about two years."

"How young?" You ask. And you can tell from the way he doesn't respond; that question crosses a personal line. So you change it. "What'd he do in those two years? Lock you up? Complete solitude?"

He shakes his head.

"He's the Joker. He ruins people. Breaks you down and rebuilds you as a machine running on fear."

You tilt your head at him. "Did he torture you?"

"What do you think?"

"How?"

"We'd be here for longer than ten minutes if I told you, and you only have seven left."

You grimace. You look down at your notebook.

The questions you'd pre-planned.

What are your plans for Gotham?

Do you have a message for the street kids that look up to you?

Why the Red Hood? Why Red? Why Hood?

They all felt trivial now. Maybe you were better at your job than you thought.

You threw the notebook and pen onto your bed and faced him again. Still at the window. Him still leaning up against the fire escape railing.

"Were you scared?"

"Ask another question."

"Don't tell me to ask you another question. Just answer it or don't. This is my interview." You say firmly.

"I was a teenager." He says just as firmly. "Would you be?"

You sigh. "Tell me something about you that lives under the hood."

"What?" He's genuinely confused by the question.

"The guy under there, I mean. What's one thing he's into? A hobby or a sport or something."

He shifts his weight to one side slightly, just a little fidget.

"Is this an interview or are you making me a fuckin' dating profile?"

You laugh. "Be careful, I'll ask about your dating history next."

"So you are just like all the other reporters, huh?"

"I'm worse because I'm actually good at my job."

He nods. "Yeah, you are. It's scary."

You smile. "Come on. Give me one thing. A hobby, a favourite colour. Anything."

Red Hood looks over one shoulder to the city. Trying to think. Then back at you.

"Reading. Classics."

Your jaw drops slightly. "You? The artsy type?"

"I never said artsy–"

"Jane Austen?"

He doesn't say anything.

"No way." You shake your head in disbelief. "You heard it here first. The Red Hood reads Pride and Prejudice and enjoys it."

He laughs; you hear it. Modulated, but real.

"And he laughs?" You add.

He stops abruptly and coughs to cover it.

"You got one minute." He says gruffly. "Last question."

You look at him. Thinking. Then:

"No. I've asked all my questions. I'm done." You smile as you grab your recorder and click it once to stop it. You then wander over to your bed where your notepad and pen are and flick to a new page. Writing down ideas and key points for your next article.

You hear a scoff and look up. He's still there.

"Need something?" You smirk.

He shakes his head, "You're really weird."

"Lucky that's off the record. I could get you cancelled for less."

He laughs, "If I haven't been cancelled for what I've already done? I think I'm immune."

You nod, "Go away, I'm writing now."

He shakes his head, turning to the railing, climbing over it slowly. "You're welcome."

"Thank you!" You call out as he disappears.

Nevermind. You have two friends in Gotham now.

Jason Todd and the Red Hood. Pretty good group, no?

"Your logic's odd. Maybe you are a shit reporter." Uh oh. That's a Jason memory. You said that to him a few days ago in the shop. Shit. Would you notice?

You dont seem to realise, and instead you let out a harsh scoff.

"Just one question. I promise I'm not trying to get a sound bite or a quote or anything crazy. I just want an honest, real answer."

He thinks. Red Hood would not give in to this reporter. He'd say some witty line, scale the fire escapes and go back to fighting other goons in alleyways.

Annnddd.. he's already jumped off the fire escape before he can think about it too much.

Because in reality? A very real, very pathetic guy called Jason is under that mask somewhere.

"One question. Make it quick."

Your face lights up as you get out your recorder.

"Why the quiet focus on the little guys? What's the reason behind it, I mean?" You start, "I don't see Batman going out giving protein bars to street kids. So why is it something you've decided is one of your priorities as a vigilante?"

Jason, or rather, Red Hood, is stumped.

"Pretty sure that's three different questions–"

"Then choose one, Hood." You say firmly. You're not fucking around. This quote? This mini interview? Could change your life. Nobody had gotten a quote from the Red Hood. No one. This is your Lois Lane Superman moment.

Jason was taken aback by how stern you were to a guy who had loaded twin Kimber .45 pistols at his waist. The safety's on, but still. Bold.

"Because nobody did it for me." He says. Just as firmly as she was only seconds ago. "Gotham swallows those kids up, and when they get spit out, they're either dead or traumatised for life." He's passionate about this, so he keeps going. "Almost all of them stay homeless until they die, so the least I could do is spend a couple of hours of my patrol handing them a few small things that gang members can't steal from them and sell."

The modulator makes him sound aggressive. Not passionate. He can tell from the way you tensed up. You haven't backed away. But you're wary of the power the man in front of you has.

He takes a few steps back.

"You were a street kid?" You reiterate. Just to be completely crystal clear.

Red Hood begins climbing the fire escape again. "I answered your question."

You call out, "Wait – Thank you!"

And with that, he disappears onto the rooftop.

You click the recorder to stop it. Holy fuck.

That was perfect.

You'd half expected him to just completely ignore you and brush you off. But he not only answered, but he also gave you a new piece of information.

He was a street kid. That's why he did it.

Holy–fucking–gold mine.

Jason gets back to his safehouse, and he's panicking. Did he give her too much? She has every right to use that because he fucking agreed. God, was he really one of those guys? One of those guys who'd walk into oncoming traffic if a girl like you asked? No, he wasn't. Because he wasn't doing it for sex or for attention or anything. He was just… doing it because you were interesting. Which he didn't know if that was more or less pathetic.

He calls Dick.

"Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up." He repeats erratically as he tears off his helmet and paces his very small living room.

The line stops ringing.

"Hey… man. What's up?" Dick sounds groggy, like he's just woken up.

"Fuck… Dick, I think I fucked up. I think I…"

Jason can hear sheets rustling on the other end of the line, like Dick is sitting up in bed.

"Hang on, slow down. Just take a second."

Jason stops pacing because he's getting dizzy from hyperventilating. He sits on his small couch.

"She's a reporter. And she found me. And she asked me a question." Jason managed through fast breaths.

"Jay, what are you talking about?" Dick says, confused and concerned.

Jason takes one big breath in. It almost hurts. Then out again.

"She asked me why I do it. The street kids stuff and I… told her I was one. And now she's gonna publish it."

The other end of the line is quiet. Then Dick lets out a soft exhale.

"Jason. You're catastrophizing."

"No I'm–"

"Yes, you are." He says firmly, and Jason's quiet. "It's not like you tore off your helmet and said 'my name's Jason Peter Todd, and I'm the son of Bruce Wayne who's actually Batman and– oh my brothers are Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin and my sister was Batgirl–'"

"Okay, okay. I get it." Jason cuts him off this time. Taking a deep breath.

"You're okay, little wing. You've done nothing wrong."

Jason pretends he hates it when Dick calls him that. But this time he doesn't say anything about it.

"Jesus, I'm sorry for waking you up…" Jason apologises.

"No, no. I'd rather you call me than suffer on your own, man." Dick says fondly, "I've got patrol in thirty anyway. Probably good that you woke me."

Jason hums and sighs a long, deep sigh.

"So you think it's fine? That I said I was one of them?"

"I think it's more than fine, Jay. Does wonders for your serial killer image."

Jason lets out a sharp exhale. "Gee, thanks."

"No problem. I am Mr Look On the Bright Side," Dick jokes, "And think about all the kids out there that're now going to look up to you even more."

"They shouldn't."

"Jay. You're good. Stop pretending you're not. It's pissing me off now."

Jason chuckles under his breath. "Whatever."

He hangs up and breathes. Crisis maybe averted?

He'll have to wait until he sees the headline tomorrow.

Jason knows it's somewhat irrational to think all their identities are compromised due to one small thing. But anxiety isn't rational – in the words of his therapist.

Now he just wants to sleep.

The following day he's in the shop, cleaning his tools.

He'd gotten a text from you saying:

YOU: i'll come with my brother at 1pm??? is that okay?

JASON: 👍

There were no big headlines out about him being a street kid. And he keeps having to remind himself that he was being completely irrational the other night when he spiralled thinking everyone was going to get exposed from one little truth that he'd told you.

"Hello?" You sing-songed, pulling Jason out of his thoughts. He'd stopped cleaning.

Jason walked towards the entrance of the shop and there you stood, your brother next to you in a full suit. Right.

"Hey," Jason jerked his head up in a bro-like hello to her brother.

"Nice to meet you, Jason. I'm Christian." He extended a hand to Jason, who eyes it.

"Got oil grease on my hands. That suit looks expensive." Jason says plainly.

Christian nods and retracts his hand.

Fuck, did Jason make this awkward?

Christian looks at the bike. "She's been in your hands for a little long, no?"

Jason clears his throat. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"No stress. Not like I use it daily or anything."

"Our Dad bought it for him when he turned eighteen. Now it just collects dust." You sigh, staring at it.

"Well, it's a very, very nice dust collector," Jason says with a smile.

Christian laughs in that way that rich people do. Jason would know; he'd grown up around then from the age of twelve onwards.

"My wife loves me on it. It's like I get on it and all of a sudden she's pouncing on me all night–"

"Jesus Christ, Christian. Don't talk about your wife like that." You hit your brother in the arm. "Disgusting."

Jason swallows. Awkward.

Christian chuckles again, rubbing his arm, looking at you, his sister.

"Calm down, Jason knows what I'm talking about." He looks to Jason, then, "Bet you have women all over you with this... 'I could bench three hundred pounds' vibe you've got going on."

Jason is lost for words. What in fuck does he say to that?

A better question is: What does Christian want the answer to be?

Yeah, man. Get bitches on my dick every other day.

Fuck no.

No. Women don't really fuck with emotionally unavailable trainwrecks who die and come back to life.

Also, fuck no.

So he settles for:

"You've got me mixed up with my brother. Dick. He's a ladies' man to say the least." Ladies' man Jason? What are you, fifty? "He doesn't ride a motorbike, though, so I guess you've got him beat."

Christian does that chuckle that screams wealth again.

"This guy's funny." He points to Jason, looking at his sister. "If my Ferrari's ever need a little TLC, I'll be sure to get them to you."

Jason exhales a laugh. Right. Just a casual little Ferrari. Nothing crazy.

You look between the men – then to your brother. Then back to Jason.

"Would you help us get it on the truck?–"

"No, I'll ride it home. Feeling like revving my wife's engines a little now."

Jason cringed inwardly. This guy was fucking unreal.

He's like if Dick had misogynistic undertones.

Christian waves at Jason, then leaves. Taking his bike with him.

You sigh. "He is disgusting."

"Brothers usually are." Jason smiles awkwardly.

You chuckle softly. Looking at him.

Then Jason thinks of a question. Conversation. Friend. Right.

"Was everything okay with your boyfriend? You seemed really stressed about it." He asks. Trying his best to sound nonchalant.

You nod, "Yeah, he's just… a man. So, needs me to do everything for him."

Jason eyes you but doesn't pry. It's not his business.

"Did you end up deciding what your angle was gonna be?" Jason asks next. Not wanting to end their conversation on her potentially shitty boyfriend.

"Yeah, actually, I did." You say, smiling proudly, "Managed to get a little interview with Red Hood."

"That's… big." Jason says. Remain neutral. He thinks.

"I know. He gave me some good stuff to work with I just… can't shake what you told me."

Jason's confused then. What he told her? As in what Jason told her? Or what Red Hood told her? What the fuck is going on.

"What'd I tell you?

"About how if people knew about this place. This shop. However innocent and good, there's always people out there to exploit," you sigh, "I don't know, the things he told me could lead to people digging and I almost don't want to publish the article I drafted."

Jason's a little shocked because:

"You're a journalist." He says plainly.

"Yeah, but I'd rather build good relationships with my sources than screw them over and make them angry." You start, "Thats the other issue with Gotham. Reporters purely want to exploit. I want to be an outlet for people like the Red Hood, so that he can get his story straight. I do not want to make a story for him when I can just get him to trust me enough to tell me what he wants people to hear. On his terms. That's how I get the respectful inside scoop."

Woah.

Jason's done for.

Because the only thing he's thinking right now?

She is fucking amazing.

You've done it.

You've officially made Jason believe there are good people in this city.

And of course you're from Metropolis.

He clears his throat.

"Gotham's going to eat you alive."

You shrug. "Gotham can try."

He chuckles.

"So. I'll see you when I need a…" You try to think of something technical on a car that'd need fixing. "Fuck I don't even know."

He smiles.

God, there's a lot of happy action happening on his face.

"Yeah, when you need a whatever it is."

You start walking away, then turn abruptly when it comes into your head.

"Oil change! There, see?" You giggle.

"Student becoming the master already?" He calls out to you.

"Bye, Jason."

The bell rings. As the door closes.

"Bye."

Maybe the Red Hood should start killing again.

Number one on that hitlist?

Your boyfriend.

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

Tommy and Sam are street kids. They stop by the shop every other day when they don't want to be at home after school. Jason had first met them when he was at the shop late at night, and it was raining; he'd let them in to give them some shelter from the cold and the storm.

Now here they sat. Like this was their own house. Their stomping ground. Which now? It kinda was.

"What d'you think, Jason?" Tommy asks, crossing his arms and refusing to budge.

Jason looks between the boys and sighs, "Neither?"

"That's not an answer!" Sam exclaims.

Jason laughs, really laughs. Then leans back on the creeper and wheels his way back under the car.

Tommy gasps, "No, Sammy, he's right."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about now?" Sam swears.

"Swear wall, Sam!" Jason calls out from under the car as he works.

Sam groans and hops off the tyre to the only wall that doesn't have clutter on it. The swear wall. There's a pen on the floor in front of it, four names on the wall.

SAM: IIII IIII IIII I

TOMMY: IIII IIII IIII IIII III

JASON: III

Sam adds a strike, now at seventeen.

Once he's sat back on the tyre next to Tommy, he continues.

"Jason is right. Neither are as cool as our guy." Tommy nudges Sam.

Sam's confused for a moment longer before realising with a long 'Oh…'

Jason unscrews something way too close to the oil store, and it goes absolutely everywhere. On his face, neck, hands, shirt. He grunts and quickly tightens it.

He wheels back out from under the car. Grabs a rag from nearby and cleans up his face.

"Who's your guy?" Jason asks as he spits out some oil that got in his mouth.

"Red Hood?" Sam scoffs, rolling his eyes as if Jason asked if the sky was blue.

"Duh." Tommy adds.

Jason grins and nods.

Then the bell to the front door rings.

Jason gets up, and it's you. Of course it is.

You stare at his white t–shirt that's now very obviously stained with oil.

"Whoa. Hello," You smile.

Jason nods, giving you a stupid wave, "Hey."

Your eyes then catch the two boys. You look back to Jason, "Who's this?"

The boys look half in awe and half petrified.

Jason gestures to them, "That's Sam, and that's Tommy."

Sam gives a little skittish nod, and Tommy's jaw is on the floor.

"Is that ya' girlfriend?" Tommy asks bluntly.

Jason chokes on air; you giggle.

"No, no. I'm working on her brother's bike." He scrambles.

Tommy eyes the two of you. "Gettin' in with the brother? I'm gonna try that with Sarah."

"Jesus, Tommy, you're ten." Jason scoffs a laugh.

Sam is just smiling quietly at you, then he tugs on Tommy's arm, "C'mon Tom. Let's go."

"But–"

"Nice t'meet ya." Sam bows his head slightly as he drags Tommy out towards the door, past the swear wall, as they grab their bags and leave.

You turn back to Jason.

He looks at you and shakes his head, "Crazy kids."

You smile. This guy is getting more and more interesting.

Jason snaps back into things.

"Right, your brother's bike. Over here." He walks over to where the bike is.

"Everything good?" You ask, still smiling about before. Smiling about how this six-foot-four guy whose built like a tank with scars on his face, seems to be quite the teddy bear when it comes to kids and struggling communities.

He nods, "Yeah, everything's perfect. Like I said, easy fix."

You nod, "Well, thanks."

"No problem," Jason responds quickly, like instinct. "I'll get this onto the truck and–"

It starts pouring down with rain in the middle of his sentence.

"Shit… is that bad for the bike if I have it in the rain?" You ask.

The answer is no. It'd be fine.

But Jason thinks about something his therapist said in their last session. A week ago, before he'd even met you.

He'd said that it was really hard when he had to deal with himself alone throughout the week. Being in therapy was fine, but it was the in between that was really fucking him up.

"You survived. So now you need to live. Be alive. Not just be a survivor of what happened to you."

Okay. Let's feel alive then.

"It's not ideal, no. Do you have a cover for the tray?"

"A cover?" You ask, confused.

That's a no.

"Well… if you want, you could just wait it out in here." He shrugs, "Unless you've got plans or somethin'."

You look around.

"As long as that's okay with you?"

He nods.

Then it's silence.

He hadn't thought this far ahead. Conversation. Right.

Uh… nope. Nothing.

More silence.

Then–

"Swear wall?"

You ask, gesturing to the wall.

Jason lets out a chuckle. Leaning against a car.

"Yeah, the boys swear a lot. Not that I care. It's just a fun game, I guess." He explains.

You hum in acknowledgement, "They're from around here?"

He nods, "Street kids. I mean, not entirely street kids? But they've slept on the streets before when things get bad at home."

Your face drops slowly. "What do you mean?"

Jason looks at you.

"It's… crime alley." He says, as if that's explanation enough.

He then really looks at you. Like closely. Bright, hopeful eyes, clothes that scream of privilege, a subtle scent that smells like what he'd imagine happiness and joy would.

"What's that look?" You ask.

"You're not from Gotham, are you?"

You smile awkwardly, "No. I'm not."

He nods, "You almost had me fooled."

"Sorry?" You chuckle dryly.

"Dunno. Usually it's obvious." Jason shrugs, "Metropolis?"

You scoff, "See, now that's scary."

"Been here my whole life. I know Gotham. I know our type." He shrugs, a long exhale as his brain plays memories of him being on the streets, in the manor, Robin.

"So what's your type?" You ask.

Okay, and he's gone again. He clears his throat.

"The Gotham type?" He asks, making sure they're on the same page. You nod, and he gestures to himself.

You chuckle, and he stares a little too long before looking at his feet.

"Why're you here?" He shrugs. Then realises that's a rude way of saying what he means, "Sorry, I mean… why would you come to Gotham?"

You sigh and wander over to the car he's leaning against, standing next to him, leaning against it too.

"Better stories," You start, "Metropolis is very… surface level? And I want to be the next Lois Lane so… I need my own domain to rule."

Jason nods.

"Got a subject in mind?" He asks, curious.

"I'm tossing up at the moment," You look forward to the cabinets and mess on the other side of the small, two-car garage as you speak. "Batman's… too known. Nightwing, isn't Gotham anymore. I really wanted to write about the Joker. But my editor… said people in this city like to ignore him because he really is just that fucking evil."

Jason swallows. Silence for a moment.

Then: "Red Hood's on my radar. He's interesting." You shrug, "Maybe more so than Batman and Nightwing combined."

He freezes. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, he's the only one in the Batgang to actually kill. No one else does. I find that odd."

"He doesn't kill anymore." Jason hears himself say way too firmly, "I mean… I haven't seen anything in the news or anything."

"Still. He's a mass murderer." You say, "But he's been caught a few times feeding street kids and finding them overnight shelters to stay at. So overall, very contradictory."

Jason clears his throat, "Sounds… like the perfect story."

You nod. "Yeah, maybe." You then turn to him, "Or maybe I should write about small-time heroes like you."

Jason scowls, "Firstly, I'm not a hero." He turns to you then, "Second, I told you that if people find out about a place like this, they take advantage of it."

You exhale, "Yeah, I know. Just think you're doing more good than you realise."

"Doing good? Aren't you supposed to be a journalist?"

You laugh, "Maybe I'm a shit one."

He shakes his head, "I'll give you my verdict when I read your first article."

You smile up at him, then your phone rings. You take it out, look at the contact and… fuck.

"You okay?" He asks without a second thought.

"Yeah, sorry. My boyfriend is spamming my phone, Jesus." You say.

And shit.

Jason's stomach drops. Well, just his luck.

Not that this was anything at all. It certainly wasn't.

But he couldn't help but think about it… like… once.

You look at him, "Can I pick the bike up another day? I've got to go; he's… fucking hell. Just text me, and I'll come in. Sorry."

He nods, "Yeah, of course. Go."

"Bye, Jason. Thanks for this."

And with that, you run out of the shop into the rain, then into your car.

And Jason is left leaning against the car thinking:

Well. At least I have a new friend.

"How fucking pathetic." He says that one out loud.

Ah. Swear wall.

His eyes trail down his chest, across the plethora of scars that have gruesome memories attached.

The Pit healed a lot of the smaller scars he had as Robin. But the big ones? The nasty, haunted ones?

They were still there, glaring back.

His breathing gets sharper as his phone dings again. He looks down at it.

It's you.

YOU: is today at midday okay?

Jason picks up his phone. Be normal, Jason, just be normal. You can't fuck up a text, right?

JASON: Yeah, thats perf–

He huffs and deletes it.

JASON: Yep. Sounds good.

Sent. That's better.

He puts his phone back down only for it to ding the minute it makes contact with the porcelain sink. He picks it up again.

YOU: great!! thanks jason 🙃

He lets out a stupid puff of air at the emoji.

JASON: No problem. Is it your brother dropping it off?

Good. Very professional. He thinks to himself as he sends the message.

YOU: no. i'll bring it in the back of his pickup truck he's letting me drive. he's got meetings. is that all good? or is there some policy about clients bringing in their own vehicles?

JASON: No policy. Just wanted to know if I was expecting a guy in a suit.

YOU: haha. nope, just expect me. might need help getting the bike out of tray. see u later!!

JASON: All good. See you at 12.

He puts his phone down and exhales. He doesn't even know you at all. You're just a woman who walked into his shop. This is fucking stupid.

He looks at himself in the mirror and chuckles dryly.

This is the moment he decides you're just another client. That it really isn't as big of a deal as his brain makes it. Sure, you're… pretty. But he's seen plenty of pretty women before.

He needs to recover after the other day. Bad.

He snatches his phone up and heads into the other room to get dressed.

Jason's at the shop at 11:50. Organising, cleaning.

Your pickup truck pulls up out the front at 11:59. His head snaps up and he comes out of the shop.

You smile as you get out of the driver's seat.

"Hey, how are you?" You ask simply, shutting the door to the drivers side.

He nods, "Yeah, good. Need help with that?"

Jason gestures to the tray with the bike strapped down.

You nod, "Usually I'm a pretty independent woman, but I can't bench four-hundred and fifty pounds, so…"

Jason smiles and comes around to the back of the truck. Opening the tray as he starts unbuckling the straps.

"Careful. I'm not joking when I say thats over four hundred pounds of metal." You warn. Jason's a big guy, but four hundred pounds is four hundred pounds.

Jason picks the bike up with a little grunt and gets it off the tray with a thud on the concrete. He looks almost triumphant. He knew he could do that. Just wondered if he'd look like it was a struggle in front of her.

"Not that heavy," Jason shrugs nonchalantly.

You squint your eyes and nod, "Sure, tough guy."

But what you're really thinking? That was pretty fucking impressive.

Now inside the shop, Jason takes a look at it.

"Easy fix," He says as he stands up from where he was crouching near the exhaust, "It'll take me maybe a day? Probably less."

"Really?" You look at him, surprised.

"Yeah. It's really not that bad." He says, looking at the bike.

There's a semi-awkward silence before you come up with something else to say.

"Okay. Well… great. Just text me what he owes you." You say, happy that this broken-bike saga is over and your brother will finally stop complaining about how shitty all the mechanics in Gotham are.

Jason eyes you like you've got a third head. Oh, right. You don't know how he works.

He shakes his head. "No, no, it's fine. I don't do that."

You jerk your head a little, eyes narrowing.

"You… don't let people pay you for work?" You clarify.

His eyes dart away. "Not really. No."

"Not really or no?" You ask.

"Just, seriously don't worry about it." He says with an exhale. Eyes on the ground now.

You sigh. Realising. Oh. Is he being like that?

"Look if this is your way of hitting on me? I'd rather just pay you because I don't like being in debt–"

"No. No it's not that – I'm not – I don't–" Jesus Christ, what happened to having it together? He takes a breath, "I opened this place because I like tuning up cars, fixing shit."

You're still so confused, "But… how does this place stay open?"

Jason freezes. Because the answer is;

Bruce Wayne. He's my dad. He feels bad about me blowing up at eighteen, so now he'd give me the moon if I asked. Which I won't.

Can't say that.

"Some wealthy investors. They felt like doing charity, I guess." Good save, Jason.

You nod, "Wow. Okay."

There's another pause.

Jason clears his throat, "Also, maybe don't go spreading that around? It's like a community secret, and I don't want a bunch of assholes coming here to take advantage of this place."

"Of course, yeah." You smile. Because this guy certainly didn't radiate – I do charity work – vibes.

He shifts on his feet, awkward now.

"I'll uh… text you when it's done."

You nod and start to leave before stopping, "Oh, wait." You say as you turn back to him, pull out the keys to the bike from your back pocket and extend your hand.

He extends his hand to take them, and your fingers brush. Not a big deal. He swallows. You step back.

"See you tomorrow?" You call out as you open the door to leave.

He gives you a small wave.

He's seeing you tomorrow.

You're just a woman whose brother's bike is in need of a fix.

It's refreshing, a new face.

Jason wanted normal? Well, he's getting a movie.

Is that better or worse? He's undecided yet.

Pride and Prejudice is his favourite book, after all.