The world is quiet here Vfd

The office was empty by the time you stood to leave, the lights dimmed, desks deserted, the air completely stale .You were the last one out...again

Your back ached 

Your brain? Pulp 

Even your spirit felt tired, legs numb from too many hours folded under your desk.

Somewhere between reviewing the last file and realizing you hadn’t eaten since noon, you finally pushed your chair back with a screech.  Double shift. Overtime. Burnout. Mobbing. Nervous breakdown. Call it whatever you want, but your patience was six feet under. You didn’t even bother fixing your blouse or brushing your hair; you just needed to leave, now. You just grabbed your bag, slammed the laptop shut, and made for the elevator like a woman possessed.

You jabbed the call button harder than necessary, just to feel something. The doors groaned open, and you stepped inside and leaned against the railing, head tipping back, eyes falling shut. Just a few floors. Then freedom. Air. Maybe food, if you're lucky enough.

The car finally lurched into motion, then it shuddered. A violent jolt shakes the elevator. You grip the handrail as your heart kicks into overdrive. All you wanted was to go home, shower, and maybe cry yourself to sleep.   The car jolted once more, then it came to a stop. Dead. Now, your elevator was Gotham's newest victim.

“Not this shit again,” you muttered, voice cracking into that embarrassing half a sob and half a curse, soaked in pure defeat.

A tiny speaker near the number panel announced  [Power outage in your area. Emergency response en route. Please remain calm.]

You snort. "Sure. I’ll remain calm while Batman and the Giggler throw hands directly above me"

The backup light above bathed the car in a dull red glow. You checked your bars. No signal. Of course not. 

Fucking Gotham.

With a sigh that felt like it drained your soul, you sank to your knees, back pressed to the wall. You tilted your head up to glare at the ceiling like you were expecting God himself to help you out.

Third fucking time this month.

At least last time, Jerry had come.

Sweet, wheezy Jerry with his corny dad jokes and an apologetic smile that made you feel seen instead of stupid. He’d pried open the doors with creaky joints and gentle hands and cracked some joke about city funding.

Soon enough, your thoughts were interrupted by a metallic thump rang out overhead. Tools scraped metal. “Gotham Fire Department! You alright in there?”

You sat up as a ceiling panel creaked open and a stranger looked down.

Definitely not Jerry.

You blinked. The man peering in was younger. Broad shouldered, jawline dusted with soot, his dark shirt clinging to a chest built for rescuing people and creating problems. His helmet shaded his eyes, but his mouth told you he wasn’t new to chaos. He looked like someone who broke hearts for a living and somehow still got thanked for it.

“You injured?” he asked, his voice low and controlled. You shook your head. “No, just stuck”

“We’ll get you out. Do exactly what I say”

You paused, asking the really important questions, “Where’s Jerry?”

“Retired. Bad knee.” No apology, just fact. Then, drier, "You’re stuck with me, lady"

He extended a gloved hand, and you eyed it for a second. Something in his stance told you he wasn’t the waiting type, but he wasn’t pushy either.  

“That's it, good” You took his hand. His grip was strong. Warm, even through the glove. He hauled you up like you weighed nothing. Your feet scrambled for footing, hands bracing instinctively, and one landed square on his chest. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, brushing soot from your pants like that would help.

“Stay close. Shaft’s not clear.” He turned to check the hatch, glancing back just long enough to scan you from head to toe. Not creepy or casual. Just making sure you were whole.

“Let’s keep moving before this thing changes its mind”

You moved “Fucking hell,” you breathed

He glanced over his shoulder, “Elevator always crap out on you?”

“Only when Gotham’s finest psychopaths decide my office is their playground”

He huffed, not quite a laugh, more like exhausted agreement “You work here?”

“Unfortunately”

“Next time, take the stairs when the sky starts glowing red”

You barked a brittle laugh “So what, I’m supposed to call you every time I pull a double shift? Trust me, I’m not taking the stairs”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable under the helmet. One brow twitched, maybe amusement or maybe something else “Fair enough”

Something passed between you.  Sharp.  Wordless. Then it was gone.

He turned back to the job, scanning again. Of course, he looked like a Greek god while you looked just like... that. Just a hot, hot mess in front of a man who probably did shirtless thirst trap calendars for fun. 

Just your usual luck...

The stairwell smells like concrete dust and something faintly metallic, possibly the lingering tang of whatever caused the building’s power to short. Jason moves ahead of you, his boots landing with a steady thud against the metal steps, each movement deliberate and thought about. He’s not rushing, but he’s not wasting time either. Every few steps, his gaze flicks up or down the shaft, scanning like he’s cataloging every possible hazard.

You keep close, partly because the emergency lights barely cast more than a sickly red haze, partly because there’s something about him that makes it feel stupid to lag behind. His frame blocks most of the view ahead: broad shoulders, turnout gear hanging loose at his hips, the dark shirt stretched tight across his back.

“Watch your footing,” he says without looking back. “Even if you know these stairs, low light’ll mess with you”

“You always this talkative on the job?” you ask, voice echoing faintly

“Depends”

“On what?”

“Whether the person I’m hauling out of a blackout is the type to complain or not”

You scoff “I wasn’t complaining,I was just making an observation”

“That so?” His tone is dry enough to make you catch the ghost of a smirk in his profile when he glances over his shoulder. Then, back to business, “Careful there”

You grip the railing tighter as you follow him down another flight “How many floors do we have left?”

“Five more”

“Great. Love cardio after a twelve-hour workday”

He hums low in his throat, a sound that could be agreement or amusement. “You work in that building long?”

“Too long”

“Explains the tone”

You narrow your eyes at his back “What tone?”

“The one that says you’ve been putting up with other people’s crap all day”

You can’t help the short laugh that slips out “Not wrong”

He holds the next door open, letting you pass through into another dimly lit landing before falling into step beside you “Stay close to the wall”

His presence is solid, reassuring even

“So,” you say after a beat, “is this the part where you tell me you’ve seen worse?”

He gives you a sideways look “lady, this isn’t even top fifty for my week”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

“Usually does”

The way he says it as a matter of fact, like he’s not trying to comfort you but somehow still does, makes your chest feel lighter, even with the darkness pressing in from every corner.

You glance at the turnout gear hanging from his hips, the scuffs and burns in the fabric. “What’s top ten, then?”

He shakes his head “You don’t want to know”

You raise a brow “That bad?”

His jaw tenses “Yeah. That bad.” His voice flattens, the edge of humor bleeding out “Eyes on the step”

You smirk anyway “Is this where you go stoic and broody on me?”

Jason exhales through his nose “lady—”

“Because I gotta say, the strong silent thing only works if you’re at least a little fun, you know? You’re like a vending machine with trauma, you’ve got buttons but they don’t do shit”

He stops mid-step and you nearly run into him. Jason turns his head just enough to look at you, jaw tight, eyes unreadable under the shadow of his helmet “You done?”

You blink “Me? I—”

“You haven't shut up since the third floor. I get it you had a long day. But so did I. Walk or don’t, just do it quietly”

He starts moving again without waiting, his footsteps sharper now, like punctuation.

You mutter under your breath, “Touchy”

He doesn’t respond. Just keeps walking. You trail behind, biting your tongue for once. For like, five whole seconds.

“So, what you’re saying is... you’re not a people person.”

Jason doesn’t slow. “No,” he says flatly. “I’m not”

And still, that doesn’t stop you.

When you finally reach the lobby door, he pushes it open and steps aside for you. Jason’s silhouette fills the doorway, backlit by flashing emergency lights and a flickering hallway bulb. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you like you’re both the highlight and the worst part of his night.

You squint at him “What, no damsel in distress line tonight?”

He exhales through his nose and jerks his head toward the hallway. “Move"

The air outside feels different fresher, louder, alive with the hum of generators and the chatter of other firefighters.

Jason glances back when you stumble. “You good?”

“Define good,” you mutter. “I just worked a double shift, nearly pissed myself in that tin coffin, and now I’m being herded around like a stray cat”

He stops walking and turns to face you “Nobody asked you to get stuck”

You give him a withering look as you step out into the night. You squint up at the fire truck parked at the curb. “Is that your ride, or are you compensating for something?”

Jason levels a look at you that could burn steel. “You know, most people say thank you”

You cross your arms “Thank you, Fire Daddy”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. He doesn’t dignify it with a response. Just turns and walks toward the truck.

You jog after him, backpack slapping against your side “Wait—hold on. Are you seriously leaving me here?”

He doesn’t stop walking. “I’m on shift”

“Oh, so now you suddenly care about the rules?”

He spins around. “You want to stand here all night? Go ahead. The street rats love company”

You eye the dark stretch of sidewalk, then look back at him. “Fine. But only because I don’t trust Gotham rats not to mug me for my last tampon”

Jason jerks his head toward the truck “Come on. Wait at the station and call your uber there”

“And here I thought chivalry was dead”

“Trust me” he mutters, opening the passenger door of the truck, “you’re making a strong case for killing it”

Jason stops walking and levels you with a look, jaw tight. “Another word, and I’m tying your damn mouth shut with rescue rope”

You wink at him “Kinky”

He exhales through his nose “Unbelievable”

By the time the truck pulled into the station, most of the adrenaline was gone. You were just tired now, still stuck in this weird night, sitting there like you didn’t quite belong. The fire station hums with low, ambient noise: the buzz of overhead fluorescents, the occasional click of boots against concrete, the distant chatter of a radio dispatch. You perch awkwardly on the edge of a bench just inside the station, trying not to look as out of place as you feel. Jason walks a few paces ahead, not sparing you a glance. He tosses his gloves into his cubby, shrugs off his turnout coat, and grabs a bottle of water from a nearby fridge.

"Sit, stay, and try not to lick anything" he orders, cracking the bottle open

You narrow your eyes "You talk to all your guests like they’re feral?"

He takes a long swig before replying "Only the ones who won't shut up"

You roll your eyes but stay put. The station is cleaner than you expected, industrial, but neat. A rack of gear lines the far wall, neatly organized. A fire engine rests in the garage bay beyond a set of open doors, red paint gleaming under the lights. A few firefighters glance your way as they pass through, curiosity flickering in their expressions, but no one stops to chat. It’s not exactly a social hour.

Jason finally turns to you, towel slung over his shoulder, brow raised. “You calling that uber or moving in?”

You hold up your phone to him, "Waiting for the app to load. Gotham Wi-Fi is about as reliable as its politicians"

He grunts, tossing the empty bottle into a bin "Figures"

You catch yourself watching him a little too long, the stretch of his shoulders, the idle way his fingers tap against the clipboard he picks up, the jaw that tightens and relaxes like he's always anticipating the next emergency.

"So," you say, breaking the silence, "this is the part where you offer me a stale donut and awkward small talk, or just stare at me until my ride shows up?"

Jason doesn't answer immediately. He flips through the clipboard in silence, then jerks his chin toward the far corner of the room. “You inhaled smoke. Sit closer to the fan"

"Wow" you deadpan "Romantic"

He doesn’t look up "You’re welcome" Jason glances at you again, like he’s still deciding whether you’re trouble or not. Then your phone finally pings. "Cab’s twenty minutes out" you mutter

“Good” he replies, already heading toward a back room "do you want water?"

You call after him, half laughing “Wait— you’re seriously offering me something?”

He pauses without turning around “I’d rather have you drink water than keep hearing you talk”

Your brow arches “Touching. Really.”

When he comes back, he hands it over without a word, leans against the wall, arms crossed. You sip, watching him watch you. “You always this charming, or is this just my lucky night?”

Jason’s voice drops lower “Do you always test people this much, or is it just me?”

You tilt your head. “Depends,” you murmur “Are you always this close to snapping?”

He tilts his head slightly. "Maybe I am. Problem?”

You lean back on the bench, meeting his gaze squarely “Honestly? No.”

There’s a flicker at the corner of his mouth, too faint to call a smile, but not quite indifference either. This time, you didn’t hear him move. One second, Jason was leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. The next he was in front of you, close enough that your knees knocked into his turnout pants.

His voice was a murmur. “You want me to snap, don’t you”

Your head tilted up, a grin blooming instantly. "God, I knew the silent broody thing was just edging toward a meltdown. How many cups of repressed trauma are we working with, hotshot? Three? Four?"

He braced one hand on the bench beside you, the other catching your chin with a grip just shy of rough. You startled, breath hitching as he leaned in, eyes dark “Keep running that mouth and see how far it gets you”

That should’ve made you back off, but it didn't. Instead, you smirked, all fake confidence “What are you gonna do about it?"

The laugh that rumbled from his throat was low and much sharper than before "You really want to test me here, of all places?"

“I think—”

Something snapped. Not his temper, just his patience. Jason grabbed your wrist and yanked you up so fast the room spun. He didn’t give you a second to protest, walking you backward with hard, sure steps until your ass hit the cool metal of the firetruck.

“I told you to shut up” he said, voice low, almost thoughtful.

You opened your mouth to protest, but his hand shot up, catching your wrists before the words could form “—Shit”

He unhooked the rescue rope from his belt, the one he warned you about. The rope tightened around your wrists before you could think. Pulled high, knotted to the truck ladder above your head. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to keep you in place.

“What the fuck— Hey!”

“Shut. Up.” he growled, pushing your legs open with his thigh. "Make a sound, and you’ll have an audience. That's what you want?" He paused, voice like smoke curling in your ear. "So be smart for once. Stay quiet"

His fingers slipped under your waistband.

You gasped “We—we’re in public!”

Jason taunted, voice dark with satisfaction, mouth brushing your ear. “But—but we're in public”

Your cunt was already soaked, clenching around nothing, just from the way he murmured in your ear. He yanked your blouse up past your collarbones, exposing your tits completely. The cold air hit your nipples hard, and so did his mouth, sucking one in deep, biting until your body jolted. His other hand gripped the second, rolling it between rough fingers until you whimpered.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Look at you—fucking trembling for it. You gonna keep pretending this isn’t exactly what you wanted?”

His fingers slid between your legs, and he groaned when he found you soaked. He circled your clit fast, no teasing, then shoved a finger inside you, hard, deep, and merciless. You moaned so loud it bounced off the truck walls. “You want the whole fucking station to hear what this pussy sounds like?” he growled, finger-fucking you rougher. “Then keep making noise”

You gasped, head falling back against the ladder, gasping for air.

Jason’s voice curled into your ear. “So be good. Be quiet. Or make it loud enough they all hear exactly how I'm wrecking you”

Then he thrust again, deep and hard. You shattered with a sound you couldn’t bite back, thighs shaking, arms straining at the rope above. Jason didn’t let go. He didn’t stop teasing.  But he didn’t give you what you needed either. His fingers slowed just enough to push you off the edge, then stopped completely. He held you there, trembling and soaked, cunt clenching around nothing.

“I said quiet” he muttered, lips brushing your cheek, voice steady like this wasn’t anything new. “You want to come so bad? Then shut your fucking mouth and maybe I’ll think about it”

He slid two fingers back to your slick folds and just tapped -light, cruel. Enough to make you twitch. “But right now?” he murmured, breath warm on your skin. “You’re just gonna drip for me. Like the brat you are”

Your knees buckled. You moaned, half trying to pull away, half pushing back against him, making the truck rock slightly. Jason grinned against your skin, but you didn’t answer, didn’t need to. He slid his fingers free, slick and shining, then shoved your pants down just enough.

“Open your mouth” he commanded.

He slid his fingers between your lips, smearing your own juices across your tongue. “Here. Now shut up” he growled.

Then his hand gripped your jaw. Not rough, just controlling

“Bet that mouth’s never shut up for anyone. But now?” His thumb pressed your tongue down. “Now you’re quiet with my fingers in your throat and your cunt leaking down your thighs. How cute.”

Jason’s hand was back between your legs, fucking into you deep, two fingers curling relentlessly. Every thrust made your body jolt. The rope above creaked with every motion.

“Feel that?” he whispered "Your body's honest even when your mouth isn't"

You were close. Too close. Your thighs trembled, and your pussy clenched around his fingers.

“Say it” Jason growled. "Still got something to say? Go on then. Beg for it"

“Please” you gasped “I—fuck—please, let me—”

The second the words hit the air, he pulled his hand away.

You sobbed “No, no—fuck, no!”

He tapped two fingers lightly against your swollen clit.

“What happened to being quiet?” he asked, mock-gentle “Can’t even take what you asked for without running your mouth”

You squirmed, chest heaving, wrists straining against the rope. Jason leaned in, voice a blade behind your ear. “Every time you open that mouth, I’m gonna keep edging you. Again. And again. Until you learn the only time you come—” He tapped your clit once more “—is when I fucking say so”

Your whole body trembled, and still he didn’t let you finish. He pulled away like you weren’t seconds from breaking, like your thighs weren’t shaking from the sheer tension in your gut.

You opened your mouth again, and he shoved two fingers between your lips, shutting you up without a word.

Then came the sound, a ding.

Your phone. 

Jason reached and grabbed it, the screen lighting up against his palm. He smirked.

“Your ride’s here,” he said flatly.

Your eyes went wide. You shook your head, tried to say something around his fingers, but he just kept pushing them deeper.

Jason leaned close, voice low against your cheek “Better fix your shirt before your uber driver sees what I left behind”

He finally pulled his fingers free with a wet sound, then tucked your panties back in place, messy, pointless. Your pants stayed around your thighs. He untied the rope with infuriating ease and let your wrists fall. You were shaking.

Hell! You could barely stand.

He grabbed your jaw, kissed the corner of your mouth with mock affection, then whispered “Maybe next time you’ll learn when to shut the fuck up”

But you couldn't not when your cunt was still pulsing around nothing and your thighs were soaked. You stood there, breathing hard, chest rising and falling as if you'd run a mile. You looked at him, wide-eyed, disbelieving. Still needy. Still aching. A sharp honk came from outside. Once. Then twice. Your Uber.

You blinked, dazed, still clutching the edge of the truck to steady your legs. Your shirt was half open, your panties uncomfortably clinging to soaked skin. You wiped your mouth, adjusted just enough to not look wrecked but barely.

The honk came again. Longer this time.

Jason’s voice drifted lazily over his shoulder as he turned back toward you, smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth. Without saying a word, he walked beside you, casually grabbing your elbow to steady your legs as he guided you toward the station door.

You yanked your arm back, glaring through your daze "Fuck off."

He just smiled, satisfied. Like he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.

Outside, the Uber driver honked again, this time with more insistence. Jason pushed open the door and nodded toward the waiting car. You stumbled down the steps, legs still shaking. As you slipped into the back seat, the driver gave you a glance in the rearview mirror.

"You okay in there?"

The streetlamp sputtered, casting fractured orange light into the darkness. The air was foul, an acrid blend of rain, liquor, and something sharper, metallic. Trash spilled from dented bins, broken bottles catching light like tiny blades. Somewhere in the dark, something had happened, something so wrong that the silence afterward felt violent.

You didn’t stop running until your knees buckled and your lungs burned raw. Your boots slipped on shattered glass and waterlogged grime, your hands stained red. Blood ,too much of it, most not yours.

She had screamed. Once.

A sudden jolt caught your ankle a bag, a brick but you didn’t look. Your shoulder slammed into the wall, hands scraping raw on brick as the alley clamped shut behind you.

You did look back.

And you saw her,

Your heartbeat pounded inside your skull, accompanied by the echo of her scream.

Then: a light. Streetlamps. Headlights. A city street.

A car swerved. Horns blared. Doors opened. Shouts.

Flashing lights. Sirens. People talking.

You collapsed. Voices tumbled over one another, questions sharp and too fast. You lifted a trembling hand, pointed behind you. Your voice caught in your throat, panic surged through you, yet your lips curved into a frantic, grateful smile. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by the cold, the noise, and the blur of motion. You were alive. That was all that mattered.

All you could see was her face, pale in the rain, eyes gouged out, lips parted in a silent scream you’d forced. Adrenaline hissed at your temples as you replayed that moment. They sat you on the curb. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

“We’ve got a live one,” someone said.

Medics. Blankets. A hand on your back, grounding you,  or trying to.

But your mind stayed in the alley.

Still with her. [Gotham City Police Station, 36 hours later]

The lights buzzed overhead, everything humming in a dead sort of rhythm. Keyboards clacked behind frosted glass. The air smelled of metal, paper and burnt coffee. Cops passed by without looking at you, or looked too quickly. Either way, their silence felt like avoidance. 

A door opened down the hall. A tall man stepped out, badge gleaming, posture tired. "Officer Todd," someone called. "Need you in Interview 3."

Jason Todd ran a hand down his face, set his sketch aside, and stood.

"She says she saw him. We need a face."

Jason nodded.

They’d told him you were fragile, but when he walked in and saw you there, frozen stiff in the chair, he didn’t think fragile was the right word. You weren’t shattered, you looked like something mid-break.

"Hi," he said softly. "I’m Jason. Mind if I sit?"

[Gotham City Police Station, Interview Room 3 — Later that evening]

The room felt deceptively safe, dim, no cuffs, just a table and two chairs. You sat wrapped in bandages, the paper cup in your hand untouched.

The detectives had told you about him. Officer, yes, but also their best sketch artist. Bullock trusted him. Montoya trusted him. Everyone did.

Jason had a way of peeling people open without ever raising his voice. He circled the table and sat across from you, not too close. A notepad and pencil appeared between you with practiced ease. "I’m Jason," he said, voice low and even. "We met earlier. I just wanted to say it properly."

You nodded, barely, your eyes never leaving his.

"No pressure," he continued. "We’ll go slow. I’ll ask questions, and you can answer what you can. We’re just trying to get a face."

You nodded, thumb tapping once on the paper cup.

"Eyes, shape, color?" he asked,

"Dark…and… and empty," you whispered uncertain.

He sketched. "Round? Deep set? Narrow?"

Flashes surged back again, the memory of blood and her face. "I think… her eyes were open."

Jason paused. A beat too long and he looked up.

You blinked, startled. "His, sorry. I meant his."

He marked the page corner.

"Nose, jawline?"

"Square," you said, voice trembling.

"Hair?"

"Short and Wet." You inhaled. " It was raining."

Jason’s pencil tapped once. "Hands?"

"I don't remember, sorry"

"You’re doing fine," he said. "Memories blend sometimes. Especially after something fast and incredibly violent." and with that he pressed the pad toward you. "You're really good at this" Your breath caught as you stared at it, but mostly you stared deeply into his blue eyes.

"You’re important for us," he said quietly.

You managed a little smile, meant to reassure more him than yourself.

[Gotham City Police Station, Private Interview Room 4 — Late afternoon, a few days later]

The walls were the same dull beige and the lights just as dim. But the room felt different this time, slightly warmer, with a soft chair instead of a hard-backed one. No table separated you from the people asking questions.

Still, you sat rigid.

Detective Harvey Bullock paced slowly behind you, his heavy shoes echoing with each step. Frustration clung to him like smoke. “Great. Sketch, statement. Zip. We’re chasing shadows here,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the room. “This guy’s makin’ us look like chumps.”

You stared ahead, silent. Not even blinking.

Bullock stopped beside you with a tired groan. “You saw him. You lived. Most folks don’t get that lucky. Now we’re tryin’ to stop another poor bastard from gettin’ carved up. Help us out here.”

You didn’t answer, you straight up refused to collaborate. 

He sighed and gave the ceiling camera a long, weary glance, then grunted. “Fine. You want the gentle touch?” He stepped out, muttering something under his breath. Moments later, the door creaked open again. Officer Todd entered, quieter than Bullock, carrying two paper cups and a folder tucked beneath his arm. He set the coffee down on a side table but didn’t push it toward you. This time, he didn’t sit across from you. He just took the chair beside yours. “Detective Bullock’s got a voice like gravel in a blender,” he said dryly, cracking open the folder but not looking at it. “Mind if we just talk for a while?”

You didn’t nod, but you didn’t walk out either.

Jason leaned back slightly. His posture was casual, but his eyes tracked every flicker of your distressed expression.  “I noticed you had a watch on during the first interview. A worn band, scratched face. Looked older, maybe it was a gift?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your wrist. The watch was gone, sealed in an evidence bag somewhere. “Yeah… It was mine,” you said softly. “ She liked it. Asked about it earlier that night.”

Jason nodded once, slowly. “She seemed like someone who left an impression.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Then, “We met that night. At the bar. It felt safer going home together. Strength in numbers, you know?”

He gave a slight nod, eyes narrowing a touch as he filed the detail away.

“She was louder than me. Kept dragging me into her messes.”

He smirked faintly. “Yeah? Sounds like a pain in the ass. The good kind.”

You breathed something like a laugh, barely audible. The sound startled even you. But it didn’t reach your eyes. Not fully. The silence that followed was softer, easier and Jason didn’t rush to fill it. 

“You into music? Books? Movies?”

You shrugged. “Noise helps.”

Jason nodded, no notebook, no pressure. Just a guy listening to a random person.After a moment, you spoke again. “She was nice,” you said softly. “We had drinks and she laughed a lot.” You smiled faintly at the memory. “I didn’t even want to go out, but a friend convinced me. Said I needed a break.”

“You remember who?” Jason asked gently.

You gave a small shrug. “An online friend”

He didn’t press. Just sat there, letting the silence stretch comfortably.

The minutes passed. You talked, not just about the alley, but about things that felt safe. You mentioned music you used to like, the kind of beverages you couldn’t stand, the buzz of neon signs outside the bar. Jason let you speak, and you took the invitation like it was oxygen. Then, without warning, the conversation curved again and all you could remember was her face, pale in the rain, eyes gouged out, lips parted in a silent scream. Adrenaline hissed at your temples as you replayed the moment. “He didn’t say anything,” you murmured. “Not once. Just breathed like he was thinking about it. About what to do next.”

His tone remained level. “Did he hesitate?”

You nodded. “Only once. When she screamed.”

Your voice cracked. Jason slid the coffee closer. You didn’t drink, but your fingers curled around the cup like it meant something. “Take your time,” he said, voice rough but calm, meant to ease your nerves.

You nodded again, slower this time. “His coat,” you whispered. “Long and heavy. I think it was dark green. Smelled like… cleaner? Bleach, maybe.”

You kept talking. Your voice stayed soft, but your body was less tense now, your shoulders settling by degrees. If anyone had looked too closely, they might have noticed how steady your breathing had become. By the time the session ended, Jason stood, slow and deliberate, something tightening in his gut. “You did good today. Really good.”

You didn’t respond. But this time, you watched him go, not out of fear, but fascination. Behind the one-way mirror, Bullock folded his arms and exhaled. “Finally,” he muttered. “Let the kid keep going.” [Gotham City Police Station - after the session]

The session had left you raw.

Again.

Your mind swam with images you couldn’t forget, and your body moved on autopilot as you walked through the front lobby of the GCPD. You just wanted to leave that place.

"Hey."

You turned. Jason was leaning against the doorframe of the entrance, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his face unreadable beneath the flickering overhead light.

He stepped closer and handed you a small folded note. His fingers brushed yours warm, brief.

"It’s my number," he said softly, voice low like gravel underfoot. "If you ever need to talk. Or just not be alone. Doesn’t have to be about the case. Doesn’t have to be about anything."

You stared at the slip of paper in your palm. The ink looked rushed, like he’d written it right before coming to find you. You held it gently, like something delicate.

"Thank you," you said, your voice low and uneven, barely audible over the distant echo of a ringing phone.

Jason smiled, just a little. "Take care tonight."

That evening, long after the sky had gone dark and the city’s damp chill had settled through your windows, you texted him:

Thank you for being kind today. I don’t think I said that properly in person

The reply came faster than expected, the screen lit up against your hand.

You don’t have to. I get it. Just glad you felt safe enough to be there

And that’s how it started.

A few messages. Then more. Long ones. Silly ones. Pictures of the Gotham skyline from your window, the light pollution turning the clouds a dull orange. A photo of his coffee mug with a cartoon bat on it, steam curling in the frame.

"Didn’t peg you as a novelty mug guy," you teased, thumbs clicking softly against your phone.

"You’d be surprised," he replied. "I collect them, but only the ugly ones."

You laughed out loud for the first time in weeks, mostly because you imagined his face when he said it. The sound echoed strangely in your quiet apartment.

He asked what you were reading. You asked what he was listening to. Some nights, the conversations faded out slowly, as if the two of you had fallen asleep mid-sentence. The gentle tap of your fingers on the screen was the only sound for hours.

Each day brought something new. You told him about your habit of naming stray animals near your place, voices low through the static of midnight calls. He told you about the time he broke his wrist skateboarding down an emergency ramp behind the precinct, his chuckle muffled over the line.

You stopped thinking about what brought you together and started looking forward to the next text.

One night, maybe out of hope or impulse, you sent him a picture of yourself. It wasn’t much. Just you on the couch, hair tied up, a blanket over your legs, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The room behind you bathed in the warm hue of a single bedside lamp.

Today I feel much better

His response came a minute later:

You look like peace

You stared at the screen for a long time, the glow washing over your face in the darkness. And something in your chest softened.

In a city built on shadows, Officer Todd had become your quiet light, steady, gentle, real. Whatever this was becoming, it was yours. And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.

The texts kept coming, light and frequent, never heavy. There was comfort in their rhythm, steady like a heartbeat. A few days after your last exchange, just past midnight, Jason asked how your day had gone. You replied with a picture of your ice cream stained hoodie and a rambling about a failed baking experiment. He said it sounded like a crime scene and you told him he was welcome to judge for himself.

He didn’t say no.

That’s how you ended up here.

The late sun cast long shadows between the trees, bathing the park in golden light. It was one of those rare Gotham days that felt untouched by the city’s usual grime warm, soft, almost gentle.

Jason had shown up in jeans and a red hoodie looking far more relaxed than usual. You, bundled in a light jacket, had met him at the gate with two cones of vanilla ice cream, your insistence.

"You’re not paying," you told him. "I invited you."

He laughed, a warm, real sound. "You bribed me with ice cream."

"Exactly," you replied. "Cheap, effective, and delicious."

The two of you wandered through the winding paths, past benches and fountains and families tossing breadcrumbs to pigeons. It felt so far removed from your first meeting that it could have been someone else’s story.  The conversation meandered from jokes to dreams, and Jason soaked it in like someone who had been cold for a long time. "You know," he said as you sat on a bench near the edge of a small pond, "I probably shouldn’t be here. Conflict of interest and all."

"Technically, you’re here on a bribe," you teased.

He looked at you for a long moment, the kind of look that weighed more than words. "I don’t care about the rules," he said finally. "Not when it comes to you."

You smiled, soft and bright, mirroring his.

He leaned in, his voice low. "I promise you, I’ll end this."

You didn’t speak. You just nodded, your breath shallow as his eyes searched yours, quietly asking something he hadn’t yet said aloud. He leaned in slowly, his gaze never wavering, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. His warm hand brushed yours, grounding you to the moment. He hesitated, the silence stretching just enough for you to feel it settle in your chest. The kiss wasn’t rushed. It was careful, like both of you were trying to memorize the feeling.

Then his phone buzzed and Jason glanced down without hesitation, one word from the screen stealing all the warmth from his face. "Bullock," he muttered. Then, quieter, "Another one."

The air shifted. You saw it in his eyes. The date was over.

You reached for his hand. "Another one?" you repeated, confused.

He kissed your forehead once and stood.

"I’ll text you later. Lock up tight."

Then he turned, the fading light catching the edge of his hoodie before he disappeared down the path you walked.

[Gotham City Police Station — 30 minutes later] The bullpen was a mess of voices, papers, and fury.

Detective Bullock hurled a file across his desk, nearly toppling his coffee in the process. "Son of a bitch changed the pattern. And now he’s leaving love notes? This freak thinks we’re clowns."

Jason didn’t flinch he just stood a few feet away, arms folded, jaw set tight.

Bullock pointed a thick finger at him. "You’ve been cozying up to our so-called witness for days now. Meanwhile, we’ve got a stiff and jack-all to show for it. You got a plan, Todd, or are you just hoping she cries on your shoulder again?"

Jason held his ground. "She’s more than a witness"

Bullock let out a sharp laugh, bitter and loud. "Great. We’re banking on a maybe, from a woman who may or may not be completely full of shit."

Montoya stepped in quickly, weaving through the chaos of desks and noise.

"Enough. Both of you. We’re all pissed, but turning on each other helps no one."

Bullock wasn’t done. He turned back to Jason, voice lower but rougher. "I’m telling you, she’s spinning circles around you. And if this blows up in our faces, it’s on you."

Jason’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Bullock grabbed his coat and stormed off, muttering curses all the way.

Jason moved back to his desk, ignoring the lingering glances. He pulled out the killer’s note and studied the cruel, calculated script. It wasn’t just a message. It was bait.

He took out his phone.

Sorry for leaving so abruptly we just received a note from the killer

He watched the screen, jaw flexing.

Finally lol I was getting bored of being the only one in his mind 

Jason stared at the reply. His brow furrowed. What makes you say that?

I’m just rambling, ignore me lol.

Jason didn’t text back he just  flipped open his sketchpad, his pencil moved on instinct. Not the case. Not a new lead.

You.

The way you tilt your head when confused.

The way your silence dragged just a second too long.

The way you looked at him when you thought he wasn't looking.

He turned the page.

Back to the case.

Back to the game.

[Gotham City Police Station — the morgue, 15 minutes later]

The morgue was quiet.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their sterile glow washing everything in a pale hue. The cold bit through Jason’s coat and settled into his bones, but he didn’t move. On the table, beneath a partially drawn sheet, lay the latest victim the woman from the bar, her face battered, throat slit with what looked like a dull knife, eyes gouged out.

Jason stood still, arms folded, eyes sharp. Beside him, Bullock sipped from a Styrofoam cup, the coffee long gone cold. "Jesus," Bullock muttered. "Looks like the freak went at her like she owed money."

The forensic pathologist didn’t look up as she peeled off her gloves.

"This isn’t precision. It’s rage. See here?" She pointed to a cluster of gashes along the ribs. "No consistency. Depth’s all over the place. Blade angle keeps changing like they were shaking from excitement… But then…" She stepped to the victim’s arms and lifted one gently. "Then you get this. Posed. Deliberate. Even the mouth was forced open again, the same way as the last two. And look behind the neck, that same slit, same depth, almost surgical."

"So which is it?" Bullock asked, squinting. "Sloppy or methodical?"

The pathologist adjusted her gloves and stepped closer to the body.

"This wasn’t about killing her quickly. These wounds… some are shallow, tentative even, while others are violently deep." She pointed to the victim’s torso. "Look here, the slashes across the ribs are chaotic. No control. Just rage. But then, you have this." She motioned to the arms, folded neatly over the abdomen. "Carefully positioned. Intentional. And the mouth, forced open again. That’s not random. She was meant to be a message, or part of one."

Jason stepped closer, eyes narrowing.

"It's getting out of control, and it’s slipping."

Bullock snorted. "Pattern's cracking wide open, and that ain't a good sign, kid. Not when psychos start improvisin'"

"No," Jason muttered, jaw tight. "This isn't escalation. It's obsession." He stared at the posed limbs, the forced mouth, the surgical slice behind the neck

"It's not taunting her anymore," Jason murmured. "It’s a message"

Bullock’s brow lifted. "To whom?"

Jason hesitated, looking at the corpse. "Us."

The silence thickened, Bullock sighed and rubbed his face with a meaty hand. "We say one word to the press, and this freak goes underground so deep we’ll never dig ‘em up again. Psycho like this? Spooks easy. We keep it tight till we’re ready to strike"

Jason nodded. "I’ll bring her in."

Bullock clapped him on the shoulder. "Watch your step, kid. Don't let your heart make you stupid."

[Interrogation Room — Later that night]

The interrogation room was dim but warmer than usual, its muted lighting doing little to soften the tension coiled in Jason’s gut. He sat at the small metal table, sketchpad open, pencil rolling under his fingers like a metronome.

The door opened quietly.

“Hello Officer,” you commented cheerfully as you walked in, calm but cautious, your perfume faint but sweet, a contrast to the sterile scent lingering in the room. Your smile was small, tentative, eyes searching his face. "Rough night?" you asked, brushing a hand over the fabric of your sleeve, your tone laced with lightness.

"Something like that," Jason replied. His voice was clipped, stripped of its usual ease. He didn’t smile back.

You moved closer and sat across from him, the chair legs creaking slightly as you settled in. Your fingers tapped gently against the metal table, a rhythm meant to sound casual.

"Are we sketching again?" you asked, head tilted, lips curled ever so slightly.

"We need to go over the details one more time," he said, voice steady but unreadable. "There’s something I want to check."

You blinked slowly, as if giving yourself time to decide how to respond. But then you nodded, folding your hands in your lap.

The session dragged on. You spoke in hushed tones, the cadence of your words soft, almost intimate a whisper describing the way the serial killer's coat shifted, the sound of his steps, the scent of bleach you claimed still clung to your memory.Your fingers brushed your neck absently, your gaze drifting, always returning to him as a confirmation you were doing everything all right.

Jason gave the occasional nod, pencil moving with practiced ease. He didn’t look up. He didn’t show you the drawing. Not yet.

When you finally leaned back, your voice dropped into a delicate hum.

"Feels like we’ve done this before."

"We have."

Your smile deepened just a touch. "So… are we any closer?"

Jason hesitated, hand hovering over the sketchpad. The graphite stain along the side of his palm blurred where he pressed down, grounding himself. Finally, he looked up at you. Then, deliberately, he turned the page and pushed it toward you.

It wasn’t distorted. Not warped by memory. It was clear. Not an interpretation. A perfect copy… Of yourself.

You stared at it unmoving. The silence pressed in, then your lips parted and not in disbelief, not even surprise. Something flickered behind your eyes, almost a smile almost a wince.

It was so faint, but it was there. And beneath it, the soft sting of a bruised ego. You'd believed yourself untouchable. Smarter. Always five steps ahead.

But when the truth hit, something in you just… dropped.

You sat up straighter, like a switch had flipped. The warmth you’d been faking, gone in an instant. No shaking hands, no tearful eyes, not even a breath to steady yourself. You looked at Jason, but not like he was a person. He was just there. Like a chair. Or a broken clock you’d already taken apart. Your eyes didn’t move fast. They didn’t need to. You weren’t hiding anymore. And when you spoke, your voice wasn’t angry or upset. It was flat. Almost bored. “You didn’t solve anything, Jason." Your voice was calm, almost fond, like a teacher correcting a bright student. “You followed breadcrumbs I left on purpose. Every step, every word… I led you here.”

Jason didn’t answer right away. He just watched you, the pencil no longer moving, the air thickening between you.

“You wanted a reaction,” you added, eyes narrowing slightly. “That sketch? That reveal? It was a show. But I already knew the ending.”

Still… he said nothing.

Then, slowly, Jason leaned forward, elbows on the table, and looked you dead in the eyes—not with rage, not with fear.Just clarity.

You leaned back, crossing your legs with calculated ease, voice smooth as glass. “Every move I made, every tear, every word… I let you see what I wanted you to. You only got this far because I allowed it. You should be thanking me.”

Still, nothing from him.

Just that look.

Unblinking. Steady. Like he was watching something rot from the inside.

So you kept going.

“You wanted to believe you were in control, didn’t you? But you weren’t. Not once. I was always ten steps ahead.” You smiled then, that same rehearsed curve of the lips. “You’re not the hunter, Jason. You never were.”

And finally he moved. Leaning forward, elbows on the table, his hands folded like he wasn’t holding onto the last thread of restraint. “You ever wonder if you’d feel better if you shut up?” he said, low and steady. “Keep running your mouth, and maybe you’ll start believing your own lies.”

You blinked.

Or, so you thought...

It was 2:17 AM when you stumbled into Gotham General, hoodie soaked in blood, one hand pressed tightly against your ribs. The ER was every chaotic Gotham horror story come to life. A man shouting about Batman stealing his spleen, someone else vomiting behind a door, and a nurse sidestepping a flying bedpan.

Jason Todd glanced up from a tablet, jaw set and eyes rimmed red from his eleventh hour on shift. It was your turn to get treated, just another person in line. Another night, another idiot.

“You’re bleeding through your sweatshirt,” he said, approaching with gloves snapping into place. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting pale shadows under his eyes. The sharp tang of antiseptic stung your nose as he stepped closer. “Name?”

You said nothing.

He sighed, clearly used to patients like you. "Fine. Any medications? Allergies? Blood thinners? When did the injury happen?”

You winced as you lowered yourself onto the cold vinyl bed, the paper sheet crackling beneath you. “About an hour ago.”

“Cause?”

“Blade.”

Jason guided you to the back, footsteps muffled by the scuffed linoleum. He didn’t ask more questions, not yet. The scissors hissed against the fabric as he cut open your hoodie, exposing the sticky warmth of fresh blood beneath. His stitches were fast and clean and you left with bandages and a quiet nod.

You came back three days later with a cracked wrist and a bruised eyebrow. Then again. And again. Always after midnight. Always worse.

He didn’t ask more questions, but his gaze lingered longer than it should. When someone entered the room behind you, his eyes flicked to your shoulders, noting the way they tensed. He adjusted the blanket around you once. Said nothing. But stayed a moment longer than he had to.

Then, almost dawn, just after his twelve hour shift. Jason was leaving the hospital, hood up, coffee in hand, when he saw someone scrambling on a fire escape. A figure in dark gear lost their balance and hit the alley pavement with a heavy thud. He stepped forward, instinct guiding him then froze as the figure pushed up, groaned, and your mask slipped off.

A few days later, you came in with a fresh gash across your shoulder. While Jason helped you onto the bed, something clattered to the tile floor. Your mask... half crumpled from the fall.

Jason stared at it, then at you. "You've gotta be kidding me."

You gave a sheepish, exhausted smile. "...Hi?"

"HI?!" His voice came out sharper than usual, and he yanked the curtain shut with a flick of his wrist. "I’ve been patching up Gotham’s dumbest vigilante this whole time? You can’t even keep a mask on?"

You tried to laugh, the motion tugging at the cut. "Well, you know, gravity’s a—"

"—Neither is common sense, apparently." He pushed you gently back onto the table, the paper crinkling under you. His fingers moved with clinical precision, brushing your skin in search of injuries. "Any dizziness, tingling, trouble breathing? Did the blade penetrate the chest wall?"

You shook your head, still trying to hold onto some humor, but his scowl only deepened.

"I should report this. Have GCPD waiting. But apparently, I’m just as dumb as you."

By the sixth week, you came in again and at this point, you were almost a regular. This time with a bruised flank and a mild concussion. You’d been slammed into a dumpster during a scuffle, the metal biting deep through your armor. Not fatal, but bad enough to leave you dizzy and sprawled across the ER bed.

Jason entered, gloves snapping on with a sigh. The hospital lights hummed faintly overhead. “Are you on a mission to collect every possible injury?” he muttered while checking your pupils. His fingers paused at your temple, gentle but firm, and he moved down to press against your ribs.

You grinned up at him. “Gotta keep my chart interesting, right? Wouldn’t want to bore you.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he reached for the vitals monitor. “Believe me, you don’t.”

“Occupational hazard,” you added, exhaling slowly, eyes half-lidded from the throbbing in your skull.

Jason glanced at the monitor again, though he clearly didn’t need to. “Pulse is fine. Pressure’s holding. Against all odds.”

You tilted your head against the thin pillow, smirking. “Are you flirting or insulting me? I’m losing track.”

“I’m not flirting. If I was, you’d know.” He hung the blood pressure cuff back and scribbled a note on your chart. “You’d probably trip over a parking meter five seconds later anyway.”

You scoffed. “Rude. I trip over criminals, thank you.”

“Sure,” he drawled, grabbing fresh gauze. “And they trip back with knives, apparently.”

He didn’t meet your eyes, but his tone shifted, voice lower now. “You’re gonna run out of near death experiences before you run out of excuses.”

You blinked slowly. Then, quieter, more tired: “I have a job to do even if I suck at landings.” He looked like he wanted to say something else. Something heavier. But instead, he just muttered, “Hold still,” and gently adjusted the angle of the bed so you could lie flat. He dimmed the overhead light and pressed a cold pack to your temple, his touch firm but careful. As your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, he slipped an oxygen monitor onto your finger and began wrapping your ribs with clean gauze. His hands were cool, steady, and lingered just a moment longer than they needed to. Jason’s hands rested softly on your side, fingers pressing gently as if memorizing how you felt beneath his touch. For a quiet moment, neither of you spoke; the silence was broken only by the soft hum of hospital equipment and muted voices drifting through the curtain. Midway through bandaging, your stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl. Jason paused, raising an eyebrow at you.

“That wasn’t me,” you mumbled defensively.

He rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

“I was in the middle of an ambush. Dinner plans got... delayed?” You said it uncertainly, realizing only as you spoke how unusual it must sound to someone who wasn't accustomed to nightly patrols. He didn’t reply, just disappeared briefly, returning moments later with a protein bar and a steaming cup. You took a cautious sip, eyes lifting to meet his questioning gaze.

“Chamomile?”

“It’s not narcotics,” he drawled. “Calm down, Batman.”

You tried to hide your smile behind the cup, warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the tea. “So you do care.” He didn’t answer, instead, he grabbed your chart, scribbling something quickly at the bottom. So, curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned slightly to glance at his neat handwriting [ Do not discharge without nurse clearance. Attempted to leave AMA last visit. ]

You looked up at him, somewhat sheepishly. “You know I’m not going to listen, right?”

Jason shrugged, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. “Then I’ll just be here to patch you up again, you reckless pain in the ass.” Your smile widened into a playful grin, eyes sparkling with gentle teasing. “Aw, you do like me”  You kept showing up. Bruises. Sprains. Concussions. The routine formed silently: his sigh and your grin.

Jason muttered something under his breath, hands scrubbing harder than necessary with the sanitizer. The gloves snapped tighter this time. “You keep showing up like this,” he said, voice tight, “and one day it won’t be me stitching you back together.”

“I’ll try harder to duck next time,” you replied lightly, trying to ease the tension.

He stopped patching you up to look at you dead in the eyes, his jaw clenching “You think this is funny?” Jason’s voice came out low, intense, a harsh whisper meant only for you. “You think bleeding out in a hospital bed twice a week is funny to me?”

You faltered, dropping your gaze. “No. Sorry,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks flush hotly with embarrassment. You bit your lip, suppressing the smile that was more nervous than humorous.

Hours later, as dawn approached and the ER quieted, Jason stepped back into your curtained area, looking drained but softer around the edges.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was raw, exhaustion and worry etched deep in his words. “You’re not just some idiot with a death wish anymore, you’re-” He hesitated, voice trailing off. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath before continuing gently. “You’re not disposable. You’re not just a chart I sign off on and forget by sunrise.”

You tried to reply, but your chest tightened and your throat caught. The words tangled before they could surface. All you could manage was a shaky breath and the smallest, unsteady smile. “Since when do I have someone?”

Jason finally met your eyes, his gaze unwavering. “Since now.”

He turned away, pausing briefly before stepping through the curtain again. “Rest now,” he murmured softly.

One week passed. No bruises. No you.

Jason was charting when a younger resident named Dorian flipped through a file and glanced toward the curtained bay. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above, and the sharp scent of antiseptic hung in the air. "Hey, isn’t this the same girl from the stab wound last month? Different name though..."

Jason didn’t look up. His pen scratched slowly across the chart. “You’re imagining things.”

“She’s been in here a lot,” Dorian muttered, the file slapping lightly shut. “Doesn’t really look like the type to get in bar fights.”

“Don’t profile patients,” Jason snapped, his voice edged and clipped. “You’ll end up wrong and sued.”

The resident blinked at the harsh tone. “Okay. Sorry.”

Later that night, after you were stitched and resting, Jason yanked the curtain shut with a sharp rasp of plastic rings and turned to face you. The hum of distant monitors filled the space between you.

“If someone figures you out, I can’t protect you,” he said. His voice was low and tense, like the vibration before a storm, quiet, but threatening.

You swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat catching. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t. That’s the problem.”

Your shoulders sagged as you looked down, fingers curling tightly into the scratchy blanket over your lap.

He sighed through his nose, frustration leaking into the sterile air. “Just be more careful.”

You were half sitting, half slumped on the cot, the stiff vinyl creaking beneath you, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. As he stitched your arm, the antiseptic burned faintly against the wound. By the third stitch, your head bobbed forward, then tilted sideways.

Jason noticed instantly.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, one hand darting out to catch your head before it lolled completely. His palm was cool as it cradled your jaw, brushing a few strands of hair back from your face. His fingers lingered a second too long against your temple before retreating.

He said nothing more, finishing the job in silence. The gauze rasped softly as he pressed it into place.

Then he sat beside you, the edge of the cot dipping with his weight.

“You keep showing up half dead,” he said, his voice quiet, rough with fatigue. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

You blinked slowly, head still foggy. “You don’t have to care.”

His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “Too late.”

You both looked away at the same time, the tension lingering like static in the dimly lit room.

Nothing more was said.

They didn’t speak. But neither looked away. And in the hush between machines and midnight, something unspoken held them both in place.

A week passed without a sign of you. Then, on day seven, just after 9pm, he spotted you in the waiting area. Hood up, shoulders hunched, sitting on the very edge of a plastic chair like you might bolt. The overhead lights cast a pale glow across your boots.

He approached slowly, his shoes silent on the worn linoleum.

“You hurt?” he asked, voice lower than usual.

“No,” you replied too fast, then lifted a paper bag. “I wasn’t patrolling. I just brought you dinner.”

Jason didn’t smile, but he took the bag, the warmth of it blooming faintly in his hands.

Later, tucked into a quiet corner of the break room, he found time to eat. Every bite. Still warm. Still real.

A few days later, you came back with a shallow cut on your thigh, just below the edge of your jeans. The scent of blood hung faintly in the air, sharp and familiar. You refused the numbing spray again, stubborn as ever.

Jason sighed, rolling his eyes before grabbing the trauma shears.

“You gonna let me do this the easy way, or are you planning to argue while bleeding out?”

You huffed, jaw tightening, but gave a nod.

He stood in front of the cot as you sat upright, cutting carefully through the denim and scorched edge of your suit. The fabric tore with a sharp, deliberate sound as he peeled the layers back with practiced ease, exposing the wound. Then he stepped in fully, guiding your knees apart with his own so he could position himself between them. His scrubs brushed against your legs, and the closeness hit you all at once, the heat of him, the steady rhythm of his breath, the undeniable awareness that settled between you.  You had felt his hands on you before, but not like this. Not with his breath just this close. Not with his touch dragging slower than usual. Midway through cleaning the wound, you shifted on the cot, one foot slipping along the edge. Jason’s hand moved instinctively, steadying your knee before you could tilt. His fingers wrapped around it, warm and solid Your breath caught.

Neither of you moved.

The silence thickened and his thumb shifted slightly. The air in the room changed. Your eyes darted to his, but he wasn’t looking. He was staring at his hand, at your knee, jaw clenched like he was biting something back.

The tension swelled, a thread stretched tight between you.

Then... you sneezed.

Jason blinked hard, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might laugh. “Seriously?”

You scrunched up your nose. “Sorry. Dust.”

He didn’t answer, but he also didn’t move his hand.

When you glanced down, it was still there and something softer stirred in your chest. It wasn’t panic or adrenaline this time. It was warmth, quiet and grounding. Slowly, you reached down, brushed lightly over his wrist, then rested your hand on top of his but didn't pull away.

When he looked up at you, there was no surprise, only quiet understanding. As if he had known all along. As if he’d simply been waiting for this moment to happen.

You gave the faintest squeeze, your thumb brushing his skin.

He cleared his throat softly. “You’re not helping the heart rate I just stabilized.”

You smiled, lips twitching. “Guess you’ll have to monitor me a little longer.”

Jason rolled his eyes and turned back to the supplies, but you didn’t miss the way his lips twitched, just faintly, like a secret he wouldn’t say out loud. When he taped down the bandage, his fingers lingered. Not rushed. Careful. As he stepped away, you caught the sleeve of his scrub top.

“You don’t have to worry so much,” you said. Your voice was quiet. Barely there.

Jason stilled, his eyes met yours.

“You think I have a choice?” he replied, rough around the edges.

He pulled his arm back gently, though not before his knuckles skimmed your leg in a slow, deliberate brush.

Your gaze stayed locked on his.

So did his on yours.

And yet, after a long moment suspended in silence, he finally turned away. 

You didn’t see each other for a few days after that.

Jason didn’t ask around. Didn’t check records. But he noticed. In the rhythm of his routine, no paper bags, no stubborn midnight injuries or random doodles. Then, on a crisp morning before his shift, he stepped out of the locker room and paused. You were sitting outside the ambulance bay. Hoodie up, hands wrapped around a paper bag and a cup tray. Just like that first time. Except this time, you weren’t trying to look casual. You were just there. Waiting.

“You’re early,” Jason said as he approached, voice low, almost gravelly from sleep. “Or just bored?”

You smiled, a little shy, a little proud. “Hungry. And I figured you were too.”

He took the bag with a brief glance inside. A breakfast sandwich and real coffee, not the vending machine sludge.

“Didn’t poison it,” you added. “Mostly because I didn’t have time.”

Jason huffed out a dry sound, almost a laugh. “Charming.” The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. Just full. Something unsaid stretched between you. Then he took the coffee. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Eventually, he nodded toward the entrance. “Go home.”

You tilted your head. “Only if you eat the sandwich.”

He didn’t promise. But he didn’t throw it away, either.

Just before turning to go, Jason hesitated. He stepped in close.  Closer than necessary. Your breath caught as his hand rose, warm and calloused, and cupped your cheek. His thumb traced softly along your jaw as he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. In that moment, the world shrank to just the two of you, the scent of coffee between you, the warmth of his palm on your skin, and the steady thrum of your pulse echoing in your ears.

“Go home,” he said again, voice softer this time. “And rest.”

You couldn’t answer. You just nodded, barely.

He lingered another breath, then stepped back and walked through the doors, coffee in hand.

You stayed frozen in place.

From inside, Jason smiled faintly and shook his head.

He didn’t see you in the ER after that, but three times a week, a breakfast bag and warm drink still appeared at the nurses' station. Sometimes there was a sticky note, scribbled in bad handwriting. Other times, a small doodle. Always signed the same: [ For Nurse Todd. Be nicer today :) ]

The nurses noticed and the teasing started. Even one wide eyed intern asked if he had a girlfriend, Jason scowled more than usual that day. And sometimes, just sometimes, he’d find you waiting at shift change, sitting at the edge of the same bench with your hoodie up and hands resting quietly in your lap. He never smiled, not fully, but something in his shoulders always eased the moment he saw you there. You’d hop up, grinning. “Zero injuries today! Not even a scratch. I landed like a pro.”

Jason would look you over arms crossed, brow raised, clearly unconvinced.

You’d lean in, grinning. “You can check if you want.”

He’d grunt. “I’m not your primary care doc.”

He always took the one you brought. And always watched you go, just long enough to make sure you were really walking fine. Because even when you weren’t in his ER bed, you were under his skin.

Then came the night everything went sideways.Jason had just finished triaging a patient when the ER doors slammed open and a stretcher barreled inside. The paramedics shouted vitals in rapid bursts, stab wound, massive blood loss, barely responsive.

At first, it was a blur.

Then he saw it: your mask, hanging crooked off one side of your face.

His heart stopped.

He lunged for the chart as the gurney rushed past. The name listed was fake, of course it was, but he didn’t need confirmation. He saw the blood, the gear, the unmistakable shape of your gloved hand hanging limply off the stretcher’s edge.

He wasn’t on the surgical team, and he wasn’t cleared past the red line. That alone nearly broke him.

For the next three hours, he paced the hallway with his jaw clenched, every step tight with tension. He skimmed charts he couldn’t focus on, answered calls without listening, and brushed off nurses who told him to sit or rest. Nothing fit not his routine, not his body, not even his breath. His shoes scuffed against the floor in uneven steps. Every voice that passed by scraped against his nerves. Even the coffee machine hissed too loudly, like the world refused to quiet down.

You weren’t supposed to be dying on him.

When the surgeon finally emerged, Jason nearly collided with him.

“She made it,” the doctor said. “It was close.”

They assigned you a private room, anonymous, quiet and respectful. No one took pictures. Gotham’s ER staff had seen too much to be careless.

Jason stayed.

He pulled up a chair beside your bed and didn’t leave. You were pale, bandaged, wrapped in wires and tubes like something fragile barely taped back together.

But alive.

He sat motionless for a long time, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of your chest like it might stop if he looked away. He told himself once, then again, that you were okay. That you’d stay that way.

By morning, as the first light crept into the sky, Jason finally left your side to grab coffee. On the way back, he stopped by the hospital gift shop. He didn’t linger. Just picked up a small bouquet enough to bring a little life into the sterile room and a blank card.

He wrote in his neat, handwriting:

Gotham's #1 heroine. You should rest at least 4 weeks, nurse's order — J.T.

When he returned, you were just waking up. Groggy. Swollen-eyed. Blinking, but breathing.

Jason opened the door slowly, the smell of coffee curling in behind him, and stepped inside. Your eyes fluttered open as the soft click of the door reached you, and the moment they locked onto his, you smiled, weak, but genuine.

He didn’t speak right away. Just set the bouquet down gently beside your bed, the faint rustle of petals breaking the silence.

You reached for the card with trembling fingers, eyes scanning the blocky letters. A tired chuckle escaped your throat, voice raspy. “Four weeks?”

Jason scoffed, setting the coffee down. “You’re lucky it’s not four years,” he said, but the rough edge in his voice betrayed the emotion tightening his chest.

His gaze lingered on you, the corners of his eyes glossing. He cleared his throat, voice rough. “You saved them. I heard. You kept going, even after—”

You shifted slightly, flinching at the pain. “Had to,” you whispered. “You’d have yelled at me otherwise.”

Jason let out a low, humorless laugh. It cracked at the end, his shoulders stiff. “Reckless idiot.”

Your fingers found the fabric of his sleeve, tugging gently. “So... can reckless idiots ask nurses on dates?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he sank into the chair beside you, leaned forward, and rested his head near your hand on the mattress. For a long moment, he just stayed there, silent, as the weight of the past few hours caught up to him. Then finally the tension broke and his shoulders shook.  The tears came, slow and quiet. Everything, the fear, the helplessness, melted all at once.

He leaned into your touch like a man surfacing from deep water.

Gotham city. 9:30pm rush hour

The dinner rush hit like a freight train. Tables crammed too close, half-drunk patrons elbowing for space, that same awful playlist droning on. You ducked through greasy air, sweat sticking to your back, plates banging down, glasses clinking sharp enough to make you wince. Somewhere a kid screamed and tired parents ignored it, clutching their cheap beers like their lives depended on it. The kitchen door swung again and again, revealing Jason Todd at the stove, sleeves rolled over tattooed forearms, hair damp with sweat and eyes narrowed beneath stray dark strands. You barely had the kitchen door halfway open when Jason barked, "Where’s that slip for table nine?"

"Coming! Unlike you, I don’t juggle knives for fun."

He didn’t look up; he kept giving final touches to the plate. "Could've fooled me. That handwriting’s a goddamn crime scene."

You slammed the ticket down on the pass. "Medium rare, no onions, extra sauce."

He smirked, eyes flicking over your face with an exasperated glint, like he was already preparing another insult... "Try not to shatter any plates — or your dignity."

You flipped him off and stormed back out. Two servers had called out, the dishwasher died, and the owners hid in the office, leaving you and Jason to steer this shipwreck alone. Actually... pirates more than crew, ready to toss each other overboard at the first chance. Another ticket spat out, breaking the tense lull and pushing you right back into motion. Jason snatched it, scowling. "Four well-done steaks in Gotham? That’s criminal."

"Just cook it, Todd," you shot back, frustration tight in your throat.

He muttered curses under his breath, jaw tight and eyes darting like he was trying to hold himself together but moved with irritating skill, muscles shifting under his sweat-soaked shirt. Watching was, unfortunately, distracting.... Must’ve been the stress... Definitely, the stress... You collided with Jason rounding the corner, a plate flying and smashing on the greasy floor. "Christ, watch it!” Jason barked, though his eyes darted over you, checking for blood.

"Maybe if you weren’t swinging pans like a psycho—"

He slammed his pan down. "Maybe if you didn’t tear through here like your ass was on fire!"

Before the argument escalated further, the office door opened slightly. The head chef leaned out, eyes narrowed and expression darkly menacing. "If you two lovebirds are done wrecking my fucking kitchen, try not driving my insurance up. Clean it. Or it’s coming out of your pay." he snapped harshly, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. Then he vanished, leaving only sour tension. Heat crawled up your neck. Jason’s jaw ticked, fury banked just under the surface. "Hey genius," he snapped, glaring. "I told Tommy that plate was eighty-sixed. You deaf or just dumb?" You rolled your eyes, gripping the pad hard. "He was already waving it at the table. Maybe if you didn’t bark like a rabid dog, people would know what the hell’s going on."

“Yeah? Maybe if you actually paid attention for two seconds instead of sweet-talking every drunk that winks at you.”

You shot him a withering look. "I swear, Todd, if you get pissy over one damn pl—" "It’s not one plate. It’s the tenth tonight!"

"Then quit scribbling your stock notes like a crackhead!" He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Whatever, princess. Next time try selling specials we actually have." You stormed out of the kitchen, apron brushing against your legs, shoulders still tense from the argument and slumped against the server station, trying to catch your breath and rubbing your aching shoulders, when the chime of the front door announced trouble. Your eyes darted up nervously. Standing by the register was a tall man in a sad, rumpled suit, glasses perched low on his nose, flipping open a badge.

The man announced himself just as another server rushed back to the kitchen, breathless, warning everyone. "Health inspector up front!" he hissed. Lorenzo, the kitchen help, immediately went sheet-white, dropped his spatula, and bolted out the back so fast it nearly tore off its hinges , not wanting to be caught without papers.

The universe, it seemed, had decided to bend you both over. Hard. And with no lube.  Jason’s mouth dropped. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fucking Gotham." Eventually, you led the inspector in, gut twisted tight. Jason scrubbed the grill with unnecessary vigour, shoving scraps into the trash, shoulders bunched, jaw clenched, trying to look busy while his whole body practically vibrated with tension.

"Don’t look so murderous," you whispered. "He’ll think we’re cooking bodies."

Jason didn’t glance up. "Can't promise that. Tell your face to drop the mugshot, you’re scaring him."

The inspector prowled, tapping his clipboard. "Why’s your floor an oil slick?"

"High volume night," you squeaked. Jason sent you a sideways look, part warning, part apology.

"How often do you check fridge temps?"

"Every shift," you lied.

"Logbook?"

"Locked up with the owners," Jason drawled. His eyes were hard, voice daring the inspector to keep pushing.

The inspector moved towards the walk-in fridge. Jason intercepted calmly, stepping in front. "Careful, that handle sticks. Would hate to see you crack your skull." Despite eyeing Jason’s tattoos and broad shoulders with caution, the inspector opened the fridge. Cold air spilled out. You and Jason tensed. He leaned in, peering at something fuzzy in the back.

"Is this... even labeled?" he asked darkly, nose wrinkling at the sour, spoiled tang rising from the container.

"Uh... was," you managed.

Then, something dark zipped across the floor.

"Was that?...a rat?"

"Who knows?" Jason shrugged, bored. You mouthed every curse you knew, behind the inspector's back. Jason caught it, lips twitching... "Gotham’s full of surprises."  The inspector looked between you, sighed, and handed over a pink slip. "Fix it. I’ll be back next month." As he left, you and Jason sagged, shoulders bumping like exhausted fighters. A breathless laugh broke out of you. Jason stared, then a rasping chuckle joined yours.

"We didn’t get shut down," you gasped surprised.

"Yet." But he was smiling, real and tired.

You nudged him. "Admit it. You’d miss yelling at me." His eyes dropped to your mouth, voice rough. "Yeah. Maybe I would."

Your pulse tripped. He brushed grease from your cheek, hand warm and lingering.  "Don’t get sappy," you whispered.

"Who’s sappy? You’re glowing."

Later, after the chaos finally ebbed and the kitchen noise faded, you sat on crates out back. Neon smeared Gotham alive, sirens in the distance. You leaned against him.

"Ever think of running?" you murmured, voice scratchy, throat still raw from shouting over clanging pans and drunken laughter.

"All the damn time," Jason muttered, eyes distant as the neon flickered.

"So why don’t you?" your voice dropped, catching on exhaustion and something almost tender." He blew smoke into the night, bitter and sharp, stinging your tired eyes. "Run where?" Jason rasped. "Different shithole, same me. Here, at least I know the angles." You rested your head on his shoulder. He stiffened, then eased, his cheek brushing your hair.  "Long as I’m stuck... guess I’d rather be stuck with you."

[12:00 AM] The elevator chimed, its doors sliding open to reveal the top floor of the skyscraper. The air shifted—warmer, quieter, drenched in amber light. The Grotto lounge bar greeted her like another world, carved in luxury and low conversation. Velvet seats. Soft jazz. Laughter tinkling like glassware. Only the highest class of Gotham’s women gathered here, draped in silk and scent, their cocktails catching the light like jewels. She stepped in cautiously, the heels of her modest shoes whispering against the marble floor. Her dress, simple and safe, felt painfully plain among the sleek silhouettes and designer elegance. Her eyes flicked around, unsure where to land, until they found the bar. And him. The bartender. He stood out immediately—not just for his sharp looks, but the streak of white in his dark hair, bold and out of place in a room this polished. He was laughing with a group of women at the counter, pouring drinks like it was second nature. Effortless. Magnetic. The kind of man you looked at twice even when you swore you wouldn’t. She slid into the farthest seat, away from the laughter, tucked near the edge of a massive window that overlooked the city. Gotham twinkled behind her like a secret. But she didn’t turn to look. Her shoulders curled inward, trying not to shrink, not to look like she didn’t belong. The bartender noticed her. Of course he did. He wrapped up the last drink with a practiced flick, then made his way down the counter, his movements smooth but not rehearsed. He smiled—easy, not too much. “Good evening,” he said. “What can I get for you tonight?” She startled a little, realising he was speaking to her. Her fingers had been nervously toying with her earring, and she dropped her hand quickly, forcing a polite smile to mask the fluster. “Hi,” she replied, voice soft. “Anything non-alcoholic will do the trick.” The bartender nodded with a knowing look, his gaze flicking to her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. He noticed how her eyes never quite met his, how she seemed to fold inward, smaller than the space she took up. She wasn’t like the others tonight. His smile widened, warm but not patronizing, as his hands moved with practiced ease. Still watching her in the corner of his eye, he asked casually, "First time here?" She flinched a little. “Yeah…” Her voice was quiet, almost embarrassed by how obvious her awkwardness had become. Her shoulders dropped as she glanced around the room, looking for anything to anchor herself. But the more she looked, the worse it felt. The women at the lounge were radiant—confident, easy, shining like they belonged. And Y/N? She felt like a glitch in the wallpaper. Her stomach sank as she dropped her gaze to the polished counter. Jason caught the shift. The tension in her spine, the retreat in her eyes. He looked up and smiled again—this time gentler, something kind flickering in his expression. “Everyone feels out of place the first time,” he said, setting down the shaker. “Even me. And I work here.” She looked up, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. His eyes, so often mischievous when bantering with patrons, held something real now. Something grounded. Y/N pressed her lips together, trying to form a smile. It came out uneven but sincere. She appreciated it more than she could say. The piano murmured in the background, its soft notes curling around the silence between them. Her eyes flicked across the room again—but now, it didn’t sting quite as much. She looked back at him. "Thanks," she said quietly.

Why couldn’t I think of something to say? she cursed herself silently. Even pretending to take in the elegant surroundings felt forced, like playing dress-up in someone else’s life. "This place may look like it’s only for the elite, but that’s far from the truth." The bartender broke the silence, casually. His gaze was steady, his hands already moving with practiced ease as he prepped her drink. "The only thing that really counts here is how you treat others and yourself. And you…" His eyes flicked over her, taking in the careful way she’d put herself together. "You look like you belong here just as much as anyone else." He flipped the shaker effortlessly, ice rattling like punctuation, then poured a pale mocktail into a glass, finishing it with a slice of lemon. "Even if you don’t believe it yet," he added, sliding it gently toward her. "Confidence isn’t something you’re born with — it’s something you build." His voice stayed warm, just short of teasing. "You picked the right place to find some peace. And if you’re open to it… I can keep you company." She raised her brows slightly, the disbelief subtle but unmistakable. Yeah sure. The Greek God has spoken. How could someone like him—polished, relaxed, glowing under the bar lights—understand someone like her? Still, she nodded. "Thank you," she said, her voice small but sincere. She didn’t look up. Just kept her hands curled around the glass, letting the cold soothe her nerves. She didn’t quite believe his words—but for some reason, they still helped. Jason gave her one last, easy smile. “You’re doing better than you think.” She didn’t meet his gaze, fingers wrapped too tightly around her glass, as if her focus could make her disappear. Jason chuckled, not the least bit offended. He recognized the signs—the guarded posture, the wary glance. People like her didn’t come to the Grotto often, but when they did, he noticed. "No need for thanks," he said, tone easy. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar, voice dipping into that practiced, disarming charm. "Trust me—I’ve seen it all." He paused, smirking. "Women who walk in like they own the place, then leave in tears. And others so nervous they can barely look me in the eye." He tilted his head. "Though I get that a lot. Comes with the devastating charm. Occupational hazard." His eyes moved over her—not leering, just observant. Noting the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she clung to her drink like a lifeline. She finally glanced up, caught by his stare. He didn’t look away. The jazz behind them softened into the hum of background noise, as if the moment narrowed down to just them. "The latter," he said, leaning in just enough for his voice to feel like a secret, "are usually the most interesting ones." His smile curved again—gentle this time, almost thoughtful. "The ones who step out of their comfort zones. Who try, even when it’s uncomfortable. There’s something about that…" He trailed off, choosing his words. Then, softer: “There’s something admirable about it.” He was far too good at this—at reading people, disarming them, making the whole thing feel easy. Y/N’s pulse picked up, each word lodging somewhere deep beneath her carefully built walls. She wanted to roll her eyes, to write him off as another smooth-talker—but she looked at him. Really looked at him. And some foolish part of her believed him. Her gaze locked with his, unsure. Wondering. Disbelieving. He’s completely out of my league, she thought, the realization landing hard. But he was still here. Talking to her. Looking at her like she was worth noticing. Jason caught the flicker of surprise in her eyes. He knew that look well—had seen it on dozens of faces. But there was something about this one that made him stay a little longer. He didn’t say anything else. He just smiled. And waited to see what she’d do next.

"Look," he said, his smile still lingering, though his voice dipped into something a touch more serious. "I'm not trying to hit on you or anything, I promise." He raised both hands in mock surrender, his grin tilting slightly. "That’s not what this is. I just… I see something in you, that's all." Somehow… his words stung more than they should have. Had she really been hoping he was flirting with her? The thought left her both embarrassed and annoyed at herself. Y/N raised her brows, forcing a smile she hoped looked playful rather than pained. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a dash of sarcasm, taking a sip of her drink. The cold did little to cool the heat rising in her neck. Jason noticed the flicker of disappointment but didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned casually against the counter, tone light again. "You think so?" she asked a moment later, voice quieter now, the edge in her tone softening into something more curious. "Absolutely," he said, this time more gently. His blue eyes held her with unflinching sincerity. "I see it all the time—beautiful women who have no clue what they’re worth." He leaned in just slightly, his voice dipping as if sharing a secret. "But I see you. The real you. Not the version you’re trying to fit into this place." He straightened again, giving her a half-smile and a wink. The teasing glint returned, but the weight behind his words lingered. "Trust me, I’m not blowing smoke. I’ve been doing this long enough to tell when someone’s faking it—and when they’re the real deal." Y/N’s heart fluttered despite herself. Her gaze drifted to the group of women nearby, laughing effortlessly. Something clenched in her chest—an old ache of comparison she knew too well. "Thank you," she managed, a soft, almost fragile smile on her lips. Her foot tapped restlessly beneath the bar. For once, she met his gaze—and held it, even if only for a moment. He was, undeniably, magnetic. Too polished. Too much. And yet… something about the way he looked at her made her feel like she wasn’t invisible after all. Jason tilted his head slightly, the glint in his blue eyes softening as he noticed her fingers tapping nervously against her glass. While his hands worked fluidly on an order, pouring a deep amber liquid into a shaker, he shot her a grin. "You know," he said, voice easy, "you’re not the only one who’s felt completely out of place here." Y/N looked up, skeptical but curious. "Really?" "Oh, absolutely," he replied, grabbing two cocktail glasses without missing a beat. "Even me—the great and powerful bartender." He gave her a playful wink as he shook the cocktail, the ice rattling in rhythm with his words. "My first night here? Total disaster. Someone asked for a Manhattan—I handed them a Margarita." Y/N let out a quiet laugh, the mental image pulling a smile from her. "And then," Jason went on, smoothly pouring the drink, "there was a woman who ordered champagne and got soda water instead. Her face was priceless." "Oh no," Y/N said, laughing more openly now. She covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. "That's brutal." "Yeah, well, I was soaked. She was soaked. My pride was soaked." He grinned, setting the finished drink on the bar. "But she just laughed. Told me it was the highlight of her week. I was mortified, and she thought it was endearing." He leaned forward a bit, resting his arms on the counter as his tone softened. "Point is, if I survived that, you’re definitely surviving tonight." She blinked, realizing her shoulders had relaxed. Her grip on the glass had loosened. She wasn’t hiding behind her hands anymore, and when her gaze met his, it didn’t dart away immediately. It stayed. Jason had a rhythm to him—an energy that smoothed the edges of a tense moment. His charm wasn’t the polished kind he used on other women. This was quieter, tailored. Strangely personal. And worst of all? It was working. "I think you’re absolutely right," she said with a soft chuckle, her lips curving into a smile that felt unguarded for the first time that evening.

Jason smiled, almost triumphant, as if her ease was a little victory. He wiped the counter with a swipe of his cloth, eyes still on her. "See? You're doing great already." He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a picture of relaxed confidence. "I'm Jason, by the way." Before she could reply, a ripple of laughter pulled both their attention to the center of the bar. A group of stunning women had arrived—poised, polished, magnetic in their presence. They waved at Jason like regulars who knew exactly how to draw him in. Jason straightened. His smile shifted—brighter, smoother, something practiced sliding into place. He shot Y/N a quick, polite nod. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, tone warm but already half-turned away. The transformation was immediate. He moved through the space like he owned it, all charm and ease. "Well, look who decided to light up the place tonight! Ladies, I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me." Y/N watched from her end of the bar, her smile faltering as his attention left her entirely. The warmth from before, the quiet sincerity—it evaporated. What remained was the version of Jason that belonged to everyone else. She took a sip of her mocktail. The sweetness stuck in her throat. For a moment, she held onto a flicker of hope—maybe he’d come back, pick up where they left off. But with every easy laugh, every tailored flirtation, that hope dimmed. His grin, once directed at her with surprising softness, now belonged to the crowd. "Ladies," he said smoothly, reaching for a shaker with a flourish, "what’ll it be tonight? The usual, or are we being adventurous?" A blonde leaned in, twirling her hair. "Got anything new up your sleeve, or just the same smooth talk?" Jason smirked, tossing the shaker. "I’m insulted. Smooth talk? Me? Never. Let’s try a blackberry fizz—sweet with a little bite. Sound familiar?" Laughter bubbled around him. Y/N turned her gaze down to the marble counter. Her fingers tensed around her glass. He wasn’t being cruel. He was being who he always was. And that, somehow, made it worse. The brunette beside the blonde chimed in. "Alright, charmer. What’s your read on me?" Jason leaned in like it was a game. "You? Classic. Confident. Negroni, just a touch smoother." Another chorus of laughter. Y/N sat there, invisible again. Her throat tightened. She wasn’t jealous of the drinks or the banter. Not really. She was jealous of how easy it seemed to be seen by him—when just minutes ago, he’d made her feel like she mattered. Now, she couldn’t help but feel like just another shadow in a room built for women who shone. Why did it matter so much? He was just a bartender—a stranger who'd offered a moment of kindness. But it did matter. Maybe because, for a heartbeat, she thought someone like him—a man so effortlessly magnetic—had seen her. Really seen her. Now it felt foolish. Her stomach coiled, shame gnawing at her thoughts like static she couldn’t shake. She replayed the entire conversation—every glance, every pause—until her chest tightened. Maybe if she’d smiled more, been lighter, funnier, easier. Instead, she’d been tense. Guarded. And now he was across the room, all laughter and ease with women who seemed to fit effortlessly where she never could. The familiar lump returned to her throat, thick and unmoving. She coughed lightly, pretending it was nothing. Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the counter, grounding herself. She glanced at her untouched drink—the mocktail Jason had made with care—and the sweetness now felt cloying. Another reminder that she’d misunderstood everything. She didn’t belong here. Not in this bar. Not in this crowd. Not even in that brief flicker of connection. Sliding a folded $40 beneath the base of her glass, she stood. Her movements were careful, measured. She smoothed her dress more out of reflex than vanity. As she walked past the group at the center of the bar, their laughter grated—bright, effortless, and completely unreachable. She kept her head down, eyes on the floor. And she left. No one noticed. [1:47 AM]

The elevator closed softly behind her, the cool night air brushing against her flushed cheeks. As she walked down the street, Y/N didn’t dare look back. It wasn’t Jason’s fault, or the women’s. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just stupid. All of it. And yet, her heart felt heavier than ever. Reaching the ground floor of the Wayne Tower felt like a breath of fresh air—a brief reprieve from the tight knot in her chest. The January chill hit her like a slap, cutting through her scarf and stinging her skin. It was jarring, but in a way, she welcomed it. At least it felt real. She kept her head down, walking on autopilot toward the bus stop. Her thoughts looped restlessly, tangling into knots. Why couldn’t I have just relaxed? Laughed a little? If I’d joked back, maybe he would’ve stayed. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so— Pathetic. The word lodged itself in her mind like a splinter. She didn’t even see the bus until it was already passing her by, the engine rumbling past without slowing. “Oh, come on!” Y/N snapped, her arms flinging upward in disbelief. Her voice cracked with frustration. And that was it. Tears welled fast, spilling over before she could stop them. Her scarf muffled the first quiet sob, but the rest came freely. She wiped at her face with a shaky hand, breath catching as she sank onto the icy bench. “That’s so unfair,” she whispered. She leaned against the plexiglass pane, staring at the ghost of her reflection. A blurry mess of puffy eyes and smudged makeup looked back. The kind of girl who thought she could belong somewhere she clearly didn’t. Why did I let it get to me? She didn’t have an answer. And she was too tired to look for one. So she sat, curled in on herself, while the city carried on around her. Cold air stung her cheeks. A cab passed in the distance. Somewhere, someone was laughing. And Y/N stayed there, quietly waiting for a ride back to her life. Whatever that meant now.

Meanwhile, the clock struck 3 a.m. inside the Grotto, signaling the end of Jason’s shift. He unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt, letting out a low, tired sigh as he finally stepped out of the elevator into the sleek ground floor lobby of Wayne Tower. Outside, the biting night air wrapped around him like a second skin, the hum of the city reduced to distant traffic and the faint rustle of wind curling between buildings. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, Jason walked briskly toward the edge of the street. The cold bit at his cheeks, the snow beneath his boots crunching softly as he moved. He glanced left, then right—more out of habit than necessity—before pausing mid-step. There, across the street, a familiar figure sat hunched at the bus stop. Through the fogged plexiglass and the faint glow of the streetlight, he recognized the outline. The scarf wrapped around her face. The same posture, drawn in on itself like she was trying to disappear. It was her. He hesitated. Part of him wanted to keep walking. He’d seen dozens of women come and go at the Grotto—awkward, flustered, hopeful. Some stayed long enough to ask for his number. Others never returned. He didn’t remember most of their names. But something about the stillness in the way she sat pulled at him. She wasn’t waiting. She was enduring. And his feet moved before he gave himself permission. "Hey!" he called, crossing the street quickly, dodging a stray taxi. He slowed as he neared the bench, careful not to come too close. "You… uh—hey, you’re the girl from the bar, right?" Y/N jolted at the sound of his voice. At nearly 3 a.m., she hadn’t expected anyone to speak—let alone him. Her breath hitched as a wave of mortification washed over her. Of course he would recognize her. Just when the sting of their earlier interaction had started to dull, the universe had to twist the knife. She cursed softly and gripped the edge of the bench, knuckles white with tension. A quick glance to either side told her there was no out. No crowd to disappear into. No excuse to pretend she hadn’t heard him. Just cold air and silence. And him. With a reluctant sigh, Y/N tugged the scarf down just enough to reveal her face, feeling exposed under his sharp blue gaze. “Hi, yes… it’s me,” she replied, her tone polite but laced with unmistakable awkwardness. She forced a quick, nervous wave of her hand, barely able to meet his eyes. "Everything alright?" Jason asked, approaching the bench cautiously. The vulnerability he saw in her eyes when he’d last looked up from his drink-making was still there, but magnified tenfold. It was the kind of look that tugged at something deep within him, a part he usually kept well hidden from the prying eyes of strangers. His voice softened as he drew closer, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no worries,” he said gently. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Y/N looked at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her tired features. A polite smile tugged at her lips as she waved a hand dismissively. “Totally,” she said, her voice light—almost convincing. But they both knew it wasn’t true. Y/N had never been a good actress. Her face betrayed every flicker of doubt, every ounce of discomfort—and tonight, it betrayed everything. She didn’t ask what he meant. Doing so would mean peeling away layers she didn’t have the strength to reveal—not after how exposed she’d felt back at the lounge, and especially not now, in the frozen hush of the street. “I was waiting for the bus,” she added quickly, forcing a chuckle that cracked awkwardly in the cold air. It was meant to be casual, light. Instead, it fell flat between them, dragging the awkward silence behind it. Jason’s brow furrowed slightly. “At this hour?” He glanced around, then gestured toward his motorcycle parked a few meters away. “You know you’re gonna turn into an ice sculpture out here, right? I could give you a lift—if you’re okay with that.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What? No, it’s okay, don’t worry,” she said quickly, waving her hands in a frantic little motion. Her voice pitched higher than she liked, forced and clumsy. If she had felt embarrassed at the Grotto, this was worse. All the vulnerability she’d tucked away came rushing back with brutal force. She took in a sharp breath and shoved her hands into her coat pockets, fists curling tight. The cold bit at her skin, grounding her—but the heat of shame still crept up her neck. Jason noted her shift instantly. Her recoil wasn’t subtle. He took a step closer to the shelter of the bus stop, his breath visible in the freezing air. Concern lingered behind his voice, even as he kept it steady. “You sure?” he asked. “It’s freezing out here, and the next bus isn’t coming for another…” He checked his watch. “Three hours.” "Come on. It's the least I can do, after leaving you like that earlier." He flashed her a smile—charming, a little guilty, and just barely worn around the edges. "I promise I won't bite." Ouch… He was more observant than she had given him credit for. Y/N clenched her jaw, the familiar sting of self-consciousness creeping in like an old bruise pressed too hard. "You were…" She paused, clearing her throat as the lump there threatened to give her away. "You were just doing your job, no harm done!" she added, forcing a polite smile onto her lips. For a fleeting moment, that smile twisted—more grimace than grace—before she managed to stitch herself back together. She wanted to seem unbothered. Convincing, even. But the sting of being so quickly replaced, so effortlessly brushed aside, clung to her ribs like frost. Jason let out a quiet huff, not quite a sigh, but laced with enough weight to say he wasn’t buying it. Wordlessly, he lowered himself onto the bench beside her. His elbows rested on his knees, eyes fixed on the stillness of the road ahead. “Don’t try to lie to someone who’s built a job out of reading people,” he said. His voice was quiet. Not unkind. But firmer now. Honest in a way that caught the air between them and held it still. He didn’t look at her, didn’t need to. The words alone landed with enough gravity. After a pause, he added— “Did something happen earlier?” It wasn’t a demand. More like a door, cracked open. In a cruel twist of irony, it was now Y/N’s turn to freeze. She turned her head to him slowly, her face a perfect portrait of surprise and horror. Her mind scrambled for something—anything—that could pull her out of the spotlight. A shield, a quip, a distraction. Nothing came.

Jason didn’t move. Still watching the street like this was routine. Like he’d peeled people apart a thousand times before. As if seeing behind the curtain was the only part of his job that ever felt real. Y/N swallowed. Her throat was dry. She cleared it quietly and turned away again, gaze fixed on a crack in the pavement like it could rescue her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said at last. Her voice was feather-light, meant to sound flippant. The shrug that followed felt mechanical even to her. The cold January air pressed in closer, stealing what little warmth lingered in her coat. The streets were silent except for the distant hush of tires and the rhythmic flick of a traffic light changing color. They sat side by side, their breath fogging in the air, neither willing to fill the silence. Jason’s smirk softened into something less performative, more tired. He turned his head slightly toward her, a small motion that said more than words. He didn’t believe her. Not even for a second. But he wouldn’t push. Not yet. Instead, he let the silence hang between them for a moment, watching her from the corner of his eye. "Is there a guy involved in this story?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter now, more serious. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, but she kept her gaze fixed ahead, refusing to look at him as the beating of her heart drowned out every other sound. [3:30 a.m.]

Jason leaned back against the bench, exhaling slowly, his tone laced with a hint of concern. "Did that guy give you any reason to feel this way right now?" Silence. Jason took that as his cue to push a little further. "Did he... make you jealous?" he asked, his voice softer this time, yet probing. The cold air nipped at her cheeks, the icy wind cutting through the thick layers of her coat, but it wasn’t the chill that made her shiver. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How could she be so readable? So damn easy to figure out? She clenched her fists in her pockets, resisting the urge to physically recoil from the weight of his gaze. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to slap herself and dig a hole right there in the frozen pavement —anything to escape the sheer intensity of her embarrassment. No clever deflection. No lie fast enough. No way out. The gears in her head spun frantically, searching —desperately hoping —to find an excuse, a retort, anything that could salvage what little dignity she had left. But her mind was blank, frozen just like the night around them. Not even a half-baked excuse surfaced. Her throat tightened. Words lodged deep, suffocated by the lump that had been growing since the Grotto. And the longer she stayed silent, the more she could feel the truth thickening in the air between them —undeniable, almost tangible. Jason wasn’t saying anything. Just waiting. And somehow, that made it worse. The streets were eerily quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of a taxi passing by. The flickering streetlight above them cast a dim, cold glow over the empty pavement, reflecting off patches of ice. Jason shifted slightly on the bench, his breath misting in the freezing air, but his gaze remained steady on her. "Maybe the guy you liked flirted with another girl at the counter?" His voice was softer now, laced with a gentle concern that somehow made Y/N’s skin prickle. Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes darting away from his. The weight of his words settled heavily between them, suffocating in their precision. She could feel it —the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her foot tapped nervously against the concrete beneath her. Jason didn’t press. Didn’t smirk or tease like she half-expected him to. He just watched. Waiting. And with every passing second, her heartbeat thundered louder in her ears, the tension clawing up her throat. He knew. And worse —she knew he knew. Yet still, she couldn’t bring herself to say a word. Jason exhaled softly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together. "Look," he said, his voice even, "if I’m wrong, you can just tell me to shut up and I will. But if I’m not…" He trailed off, tilting his head, giving her an out. An opening. Y/N inhaled sharply, her breath shaky. She felt cornered—trapped in a moment she had no way of escaping gracefully. Jason’s face softened, and he finally turned to look at her. He saw the hurt in her eyes, the tightness of her jaw, and the way she was trying so hard to hold herself together. And he realized—he’d hit the mark. "Hey," Jason's voice was quiet now, stripped of sarcasm and charm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel that way back at the bar. I was just…" he trailed off, his voice thinning. “Working.” The cold bit sharply at her cheeks as Y/N shot up from the bench, movements clumsy, breath uneven. Her heart pounded against her ribs, so loud it nearly drowned out the distant hum of the city around them. Shame and panic coursed through her like static, and for a wild moment, she considered running —disappearing into the dark street like a bad memory. Instead, she stood there, stiff and small, pointing aimlessly toward the next stop like it was a lifeline. "I—" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, too forcefully. "Look, I… I-I'll be headed towards the next bus stop," she said quickly, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. Her words spilled out like they were trying to outrun her shame. It was a lie. A bad one.

Jason didn’t move at first. He just watched her —the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He could see the panic rising in her, inch by inch. She turned away, her fists curled tight in her coat pockets. Her throat burned, her mind screamed to leave, to vanish before this spiraled further. But somewhere beneath the storm, a quieter part of her stayed. Maybe he’ll stop me. Jason stood as well. “Hey, wait.” His voice wasn’t commanding. It was careful. He reached out halfway, then thought better of it, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, and his tone held none of his usual polish. “I know I can be… a bit of a jerk sometimes. But I didn’t know I made you feel like that. I was just trying to understand.” There was a pause—small, but telling. The kind that slipped in when someone realized they couldn’t undo something, only own it. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I promise I wasn’t trying to.” He gave a faint, dry chuckle, more tired than amused. “I’m not really used to people not enjoying my company.” It wasn’t arrogance. It was honesty. That was the worst part. He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring down at his boots like the answer might be written there. When he looked back at her, the streetlight caught the streak in his hair, softening his face. “Look, I’ll walk you to the next stop if you want. Just to make sure you’re safe, okay? I can’t let you walk alone at night. Not in Gotham.” Fantastic. Just fucking fantastic. The sarcasm hit her in waves, but it didn’t reach her lips. Y/N clenched her jaw, trying to keep it all in—the humiliation, the guilt, the aching vulnerability that made her feel like a raw nerve. It wasn’t just that he’d figured her out. It was that he was being… nice. Genuinely kind. And she hated how ashamed that made her feel. She rubbed at her eyebrows with the heel of her palm, like she could physically smooth out the embarrassment surging through her. For a moment, she wanted to snap at him, tell him to leave her alone, to stop being so damn decent. But she knew herself. She’d choke mid-rant, and the tears would come. So instead, she gave up. With a tired exhale, she let herself fall back onto the bench. Not gracefully. Just… defeated. It couldn’t possibly get worse than this. Or so she hoped. Y/N let out a quiet breath, watching it fog the air before fading into the night. She kept her eyes on the street, refusing to glance his way. If she looked at him now, he’d know —he’d see right through her, just like before. Her skin burned with leftover embarrassment, frustration simmering just beneath. It wasn’t fair. Not how easily he read her, not how calm he stayed while she fell apart. He’d been kind, sure, but that only made her feel worse. Like she was the punchline to a joke she didn’t get. Like the harder she tried to hold it together, the more obvious it became she was cracking. Jason's eyes narrowed slightly, watching her retreat back to the bench with a mixture of concern and confusion. He'd never seen someone react like this to a little teasing before, but then again, he'd never really taken the time to get to know any of his clients beyond their favorite drinks and flirty banter. He gave her a small, understanding nod. He sat back down on the bench next to her, giving her space. "I'm sorry," he repeated, softer now. "I'll… try to be more careful in the future." For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the distant hum of a taxi rolling down the desolate street. Her heart pounded, her breath shaky. "Future?" she echoed, the sarcasm sharp enough to sting. "By tomorrow night, you’ll forget I even exist, and I’ll be booking therapy sessions for the next three years." The words clawed out of her before she could stop them, years of awkwardness and self-doubt laced into every syllable. It wasn’t meant to come out like that—not so blunt, not so bitter—but now it was there, hanging heavy between them.

Jason opened his mouth, maybe to apologise again, maybe to deflect with some casual charm —but she didn’t give him the chance. "I was envious, okay?! Envious!" she snapped, voice cracking as she turned to face him fully. "I wanted you to be flirting with me instead of those Victoria’s Secret looking girls!" Her hands flew up as if to physically throw the confession into the air. "But nooo, I had to be all stiff and awkward and ruin everything." Jason blinked, caught off guard. Her face went hot. Her stomach dropped. There it was —out in the open, ugly and honest. She had made a complete fool of herself. Again. And yet, in some twisted, ironic way, this was the most honest she had ever been all night. Not the polite facade, not the forced small talk at the bar. This —this was her, stripped bare. If she weren’t seconds from collapsing into the sidewalk, she might’ve laughed at herself. Instead, she stared at the streetlamp across the road, pulse pounding in her ears, wishing the ground would just split open and swallow her whole. The irony wasn’t lost on her. At the lounge, she’d done everything to keep a cool, composed façade. Now, she was unraveling —flushed, flustered, and very much exposed. Jason, mid-sentence when she exploded, had fallen completely silent. His brows had lifted slightly in surprise, eyes flicking across her face as if to confirm he’d heard her right. The streetlight above flickered, throwing shadows across his features, softening what might’ve been disbelief… or something gentler. Y/N’s breath fogged the air between them. Her chest rose and fell in uneven waves as the weight of her confession settled in. She swallowed hard, the cold biting into her already warm cheeks. “Oh god,” she whispered, half into her hands. Her fingers covered her mouth like she could push the words back in. “I… I can't believe I said that.” Her eyes darted toward the road like it might rescue her. Maybe she could run. Maybe this could be a bad dream. Jason blinked, and then let out a small breath—half-laugh, half-sigh. “Okay,” he said, recovering, voice low and teasing. “Did not see that coming.” He turned slightly on the bench, his head tilted as a slow grin crept onto his face. "Alright then—let’s flirt." Y/N’s head snapped toward him. “Wha—Huh?!” Her voice cracked. Her chest heaved. If the pavement cracked open beneath her, she’d happily disappear into it. Jason leaned in just a little, expression bright with mischief. “What’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked smoothly, mock-serious. “I’d love to know the name of the woman who just knocked me speechless.” She could only blink at him, frozen in place. Her mouth opened. No sound came. It was agony. Then came the heat. It rushed up her neck and into her cheeks so quickly she thought she might combust. She clenched her fists inside her coat pockets, grounding herself to keep from combusting completely. Jason gave her time. His grin widened just enough to be smug, like he was enjoying the chaos he’d stirred. “You blush so easily,” he mused, breath curling in the cold air. “You were already turning red when I guessed right. Imagine if I actually started flirting.” Y/N sputtered, the words slipping out without permission. “We-Well… you’re embarrassing me, that’s why.” He leaned back, elbows on the bench, so casual it only made things worse. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Exactly,” he said, voice low and unbothered. “That’s what flirting does.” The quiet around them stretched again—just the hush of the city, the click of a far-off traffic light. Y/N sank into the bench, defeated. Somewhere out there, the universe had to be laughing. Jason’s tone softened as he nudged again, still grinning. “So… are you gonna tell me your name, or do I have to guess a second time?” His eyes held hers—not teasing now, not quite. Just open. And somehow, that was worse. How had someone made her feel so seen? Or maybe… it wasn’t him. Maybe it was just her luck finally running out.

The whole night had unfolded like one long, humiliating joke. Each awkward moment stacked on the next until she felt like the punchline. She rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, not caring if she smudged her eyeliner. A sigh slipped out, heavy and tired. For a second, she nearly laughed—one of those dry, nervous chuckles that escape when nothing else makes sense. And Jason… somehow, everything still circled back to him. "I'm Y/N," she said finally, stretching her arms in a motion that felt unpolished but honest. For once, it wasn’t an effort to seem like something she wasn’t. Jason didn’t flirt this time. Maybe he picked up on the shift. Instead, he smiled gently. "Y/N, huh?" he repeated, like he was testing the name. A real smile—soft, not slick—tugged at his mouth as he held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, officially. I'm Jason." Jason's hand was warm and firm, and for a moment, Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the contact. Her hand lingered in his, a little longer than necessary, before she finally pulled away, stuffing her hands back into her pockets. "You're not what I expected," Jason said after a moment of companionable silence. "But in a good way." Y/N furrowed her brows, confused yet intrigued. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice quiet but edged with curiosity—though she instantly regretted opening her mouth. The very act of meeting his gaze without crumbling under the weight of embarrassment was becoming a little easier, though the remnants of awkwardness still lingered, like a stubborn chill clinging to the winter air. Even as fragments of the night at the Grotto danced mockingly in her mind, she fought against the urge to retreat into herself. Progress, however slight, was still progress. He shrugged, still smiling. "I don't know, I guess I just thought you were… different." He looked out onto the street, the city lights reflecting off his blue eyes. "I'm used to women who… know how to handle themselves around me, I guess." "But you," he turned back to her, his expression softening, "You're real. You're not trying to impress me with your dress or some fancy drink order. It’s refreshing." Did he… Did he actually… Y/N turned her head toward him instinctively, her expression flickering between astonishment and disbelief. "What…?" she managed to whisper, her breath curling into a delicate mist in the biting winter air. Her dress—the one she had painstakingly saved for, sacrificing an entire week’s paycheck—wasn't some casual choice. It was supposed to be her best shot at blending into a world where refinement and elegance were currency. And yet, Jason's words hung in the frigid air, obliviously heavy with unintended meaning. A backhanded compliment? Or was he truly so out of touch with ordinary life that he didn’t grasp the weight of his remark? Speechless, Y/N’s thoughts churned, caught between wounded pride and reluctant curiosity. She glanced at him again, searching for any sign of malice, but all she saw was the same soft smile. Jason noticed the shift in her demeanor. His smile faltered slightly, brows knitting in concern. "What?" he asked, clearly unsure of what he'd done wrong. "I didn't mean it as an insult, Y/N," he added quickly. "It was supposed to be a compliment. You're… unique, you know?" "You mean poor?" she shot back before she could stop herself, the sarcasm cutting through the air sharper than the cold. The words dropped between them like a stone. Raw. Honest. Unexpected. Even she was surprised by the weight of her own voice. But maybe that was what he did to her—brought out the pieces she usually kept hidden. Jason blinked, stunned for half a second, then let out a laugh. Not the charming, bar-ready kind. It was real. Warm. Caught off guard. He leaned back slightly, shaking his head, breath curling visibly. "Okay, fair point," he admitted. "Guess that makes me look a little out of touch." "Just a little?" she teased, her lips curling into a playful smirk.

The air between them seemed to thaw despite the biting cold. For the first time, Y/N let out a genuine chuckle—light and unrestrained, carrying warmth through the otherwise empty street. It wasn’t forced or awkward like the polite laughs back at the Grotto, but something natural. Easy. Jason’s grin widened at the sound, his earlier amusement deepening into something softer, more genuine. For a fleeting moment, it was as if they'd always been good friends, sharing laughter on a quiet January night with no one else around to intrude. Jason's eyes sparkled with mirth, and he bumped her shoulder with his lightly. "Alright, alright. Point taken." The moment felt surreal—the two of them, sitting on a bench in the dead of night, bantering like old friends. It was a stark contrast to the tension-filled evening at the Grotto, and Jason found himself starting to enjoy this side of Y/N more than he expected to. The laughter faded, leaving behind a silence that wasn’t exactly awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. The kind of quiet that settles when two people don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, yet are still aware of each other’s presence. Y/N shifted slightly on the bench, her breath visible in the freezing air. Jason exhaled through his nose, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He glanced at Y/N, whose smile had softened into a small grin. She was still looking at him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of amusement and curiosity. Maybe it was the brief moment of ease between them—or maybe the weightless feeling that came with laughing for real—but Y/N felt a sudden, reckless jolt of boldness. She cleared her throat, fidgeting slightly on the bench, as if bracing for impact. "So…" she began, the word escaping before she could take it back. Her courage faltered immediately, the question already forming and refusing to be swallowed. She hesitated. For a heartbeat, she wanted to backpedal, to turn it into a joke or wave it off. But he was already looking at her. Calm. Curious. Waiting. "Earlier… when you said you wanted to flirt…" Jason raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Mhm… and?" Y/N winced inwardly, but now she had to see it through. "When you asked if I wanted us to flirt… were you serious, or just messing with me?" Jason’s smirk was instant, effortless. "Would it have made a difference?” "Maybe." She wasn’t sure what answer she had been expecting, but it wasn’t the one he gave. "Let’s be real," he said, stretching his arms along the back of the bench, gaze drifting toward the quiet street across from them. "If things were different—if you had walked into the Grotto all confident, playing along instead of looking like you wanted to disappear—maybe I would've flirted with you. But…" He trailed off, and Y/N felt her stomach twist, the cold seeping into her bones in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. "But what?" she asked, her voice quieter now. Jason exhaled through his nose. He still wasn’t looking at her. "You’re not really my type." The air seemed to thin around her. "Oh." He didn’t see the way her fingers curled into the fabric of her coat. "I mean, don’t get me wrong," he added, voice casual. "You’re… interesting. But I usually go for a certain kind of woman. The kind who walks in and knows exactly what to say. Someone who turns heads without trying." Y/N stared at the ground, the sting rising in her throat faster than she could stop it. "You mean prettier girls." Jason nodded, still distracted, still oblivious. "Yeah." The laughter had long faded, swallowed by the cold stillness of the night and the distant murmur of the city. Y/N dropped her gaze, fixing it on a crack in the pavement as if it held the answer to the sinking weight in her chest. The burn in her throat tightened, a silent battle against the sting behind her eyes. She refused to let it happen—not here, not in front of him. But no matter how hard she tried to steady herself, the disappointment curled around her like frost creeping through the cracks, seeping in where she couldn't stop it.

She had known. Of course, she had known. But hearing it said aloud, so bluntly, so effortlessly, made it real in a way she hadn't been prepared for. And that was the worst part—not that Jason didn’t find her attractive, but that she had let herself believe, even for a second, that maybe he could. Jason didn’t expect much of a reaction—maybe an eye roll, maybe a scoff. But instead, Y/N just… froze. No sharp retort, no forced indifference. Just the smallest, almost imperceptible flinch, like she’d been caught off guard by a punch she should’ve seen coming. And he got it. Immediately. Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Then she looked away, her fingers curling into her sleeves as if to disappear inside them. Jason felt something uncomfortable twist in his gut. His stomach dropped. "Shit." The word left him before he could stop it. His usual smoothness, his usual control—it vanished in an instant. "I didn’t mean it like that," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I just meant—" He stopped himself. What was he even trying to say? That it wasn’t personal? That she shouldn’t take it to heart? That he didn’t mean to say it so bluntly? None of it sounded right. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, dropping his head, defeated. "It’s all bullshit anyway," he muttered. His voice wasn’t playful now, wasn’t teasing. Just tired. "The flirting, the ‘charming bartender’ act, the way they look at me like I’m some… fantasy." A humorless chuckle left his lips. "It’s exhausting, you know? Playing along. Saying all the right things, smiling at all the right moments. It’s the same damn thing every night." And maybe, just maybe, that was why Y/N caught him off guard. Because she wasn’t playing the game. Because for once, he wasn’t sure how to play either. For some reason, Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from the crack in the pavement, as if grounding herself in something so trivial could keep the humiliation from swallowing her whole. Her mind screamed at her to hold it together—he was just a stranger, after all. Just a fleeting presence in her life. But logic meant nothing against the heat burning her cheeks, against the sharp sting of tears welling up despite the freezing night air. She bit the inside of her cheek. Hard. Her throat tightened, breaths shallow as she blinked—once, twice—each time praying the tears wouldn’t fall. But they clung to her lashes, stubborn and stinging. Her nose prickled, and her jaw ached from how tightly she clenched it. She was crying, quietly, helplessly. For what? For some guy she’d known for a handful of hours? It made no sense. A part of her wanted to lash out, to tell him off, to make him feel even a fraction of what she was feeling—but she knew herself too well. She’d get two words in before her voice wavered, before the lump in her throat betrayed her, and that would only make her feel more pathetic. She just wanted a damn mocktail in a fancy lounge bar. A simple night out, pushing herself out of her comfort zone. Instead, she sat there—ashamed, ridiculed, and on top of that, the cute bartender who had once made her feel seen had now made her feel completely invisible. Just another nobody in his world. Silence stretched between them, thick with defeat, even their breathing too loud against the quiet. Y/N exhaled sharply, tilting her head toward him, her expression a mess of sadness and sarcasm. "Should I consider myself lucky that I got to see the real shitty version of you?" The words slipped out before she could stop them—biting and dry, her voice carefully controlled even as her chest tightened. Maybe this was her way of deflecting, her last-ditch effort to cling to dignity. Sarcasm was the only shield she had left between herself and complete humiliation. She snorted softly, almost to herself. "If I knew you were this shitty, I wouldn’t have given you that tip.”

Jason looked up at her, the grin he so often wore nowhere to be seen. There was no charm in his face now—only regret. Her eyes shimmered faintly in the cold, but she refused to blink. He recognized the anger wrapped around her words, but it was the pain behind it that made his stomach twist. He let out a slow breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. "That was shitty of me, wasn’t it?” His voice was low, stripped of its usual polished bravado. Tired. Flat. He leaned back against the bench, eyes on the vacant street. There was a quiet kind of shame in the way his shoulders sank, like the weight of the night finally caught up to him. A dry, humorless laugh escaped his throat. “Guess I’ve been doing this for too long,” he muttered. “The flirting. The charm. The whole damn act. I don’t even think before I speak anymore.” His fingers tapped against his leg, restless. “People walk into the Grotto expecting someone else. They want the smirk, the flirty banter, the illusion. They hand over their money and expect me to be whatever version of me makes them feel good. And I do it. Because it’s easier than disappointing them.” Jason exhaled, sharper this time. “They don’t care about me. Not really. Just the idea. The bartender who always knows what to say. Who’ll let them flirt, even if they’re wasted or married or looking for something I’m never going to give.” Y/N’s lips parted, a breath catching before she could stop it. "Oh…" It wasn’t much. Just a soft exhale, but the weight behind it was undeniable. A realization slipping through. She had done it too, hadn’t she? Looked at him like a story, not a person. It hit her low and quiet, enough to make her chest ache in a different way. He finally turned to look at her, and for the first time, he really looked. His expression wasn’t dramatic or broken—just tired in a way that felt too honest. “Somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing people as people. Just… routines. Nights on repeat. Smiles I don’t mean.” A smirk tugged at his lips, empty and automatic. “So yeah. I say shitty things without thinking. Maybe I’ve been playing the part too long to remember how not to.” He glanced down at his hands. “But I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He hesitated, then added, softer, “I think that’s what threw me off about you. You didn’t want anything from me. You weren’t pretending. And I went and proved you right anyway, didn’t I?” His confession caught her off guard. So much so that, for a moment, the shame weighing on her chest loosened. Just a little.

She stole another glance at him, this time less guarded. "Still… it must be lonely.” Jason didn’t immediately respond, his gaze still on the empty street ahead. He let out a slow breath, fogging up the air between them, and leaned back against the bench. "It is," he admitted, quieter now. "But what can you do? You play the part long enough, and eventually, you just… keep playing it." There was no bitterness in his voice, just a quiet sort of exhaustion. He glanced at her then, eyes sharp despite the tiredness behind them. "It's not like anyone gives a shit what I actually think, anyway.” Y/N exhaled slowly, watching the faint puff of breath disappear into the cold night. Jason’s honesty had thrown her off, but it didn’t erase what he had said before. She could still hear it, still feel the sting of it settling somewhere deep in her chest. She swallowed, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Then why do you do it?” Her voice wasn’t sharp or accusing, just quiet. Maybe she wanted to understand. Maybe she wanted to hear something that made his words earlier hurt less. Jason shrugged, eyes sliding away from hers. “It’s easy, I guess. And people like it. I can be whatever they want me to be, and they’ll keep coming back, keep giving me their money…” He leaned his head back against the bench, staring up at the dark sky above them. “Habit, I guess. I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t know any other way.” Y/N pursed her lips. His answer felt distant, like a statement made to no one in particular. She let it sit between them, rolling it over in her mind, but there was no response that felt right. No words that wouldn’t sound hollow in the face of something so deeply ingrained in him. So she didn’t say anything. A gust of wind stirred the air between them. She shifted slightly, unconsciously putting a bit of space between them on the bench—not out of discomfort, but the kind of subtle retreat that happens when someone is processing something too big to name. The wind whispered through the empty streets, rattling a loose street sign in the distance. A car rolled past on the cold asphalt, tires humming softly before fading away, leaving behind only the quiet flicking of the traffic light above them. The rhythmic click—steady, unbothered—marked the seconds passing between them. A brittle leaf skittered across the sidewalk, catching briefly on Y/N’s boot before dancing off into the street. She exhaled, the sound soft but visible in the cold air. Beside her, Jason did the same, his breath unfurling in thin, fleeting clouds. Neither of them spoke. There was no need to. The night filled the silence for them—the occasional flicker of the streetlamp, the distant roar of a motorcycle turning a corner blocks away, the barely-there rustle of Jason shifting in his seat, fabric brushing against fabric. She looked at him again—really looked. And for the first time, she didn’t feel awkward or embarrassed. Just quiet. Curious. For once, she wasn’t the one performing. The stillness wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt necessary. Y/N exhaled, watching her breath fade into the cold air. The silence between them was thick—not awkward, just present, like it had earned its place. And then, without thinking, she murmured, “Must be… interesting, having people want you for something so simple.” She blinked, surprised by her own voice, then turned her head slightly to glance at Jason. He looked at her, his face unreadable in the low light. For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just watched her. Then, with a small, tired smile, he shook his head. “It’s not simple. And they don’t want me. They want the idea of me.” Jason’s words landed between them like a stone in still water—unmoving, rippling outward in silence. Y/N watched him, mind circling through a dozen replies that all felt hollow. That sucks? I get it? None of it would matter. None of it would change that this was his truth. Her fingers curled around the hem of her sleeve, grounding herself with the motion. She exhaled. Just say something.

“…Huh.”

As soon as the sound leaves her mouth, she regrets it. Really? That’s what you’re going with? Her face twitches like she wants to physically grab the word and shove it back in. So, naturally, she panics—and doubles down.

She clears her throat. “So basically, you’re a product. All shiny packaging, no refunds.” Jason glances at her, something flickering across his expression—confusion, maybe? But then, to her surprise, he huffs a quiet chuckle. “That’s one way to put it.” Oh.

Okay.

That actually worked…

Encouraged, she shrugs, shifting her weight against the bus stop bench. “You’d do great in marketing.” He raises an eyebrow. “You see me in sales now?” “No, actually.” She tilts her head, the words coming easier now, her hands lifting as if framing a picture. “More like… an office job. The type with a desk and a nameplate.” Jason gives her a flat look. “Yeah, sure. Real fitting.” “Absolutely.” She gestures above her, as if pointing at an imaginary ceiling. “Big office. Fluorescent lights.” Her hands shift, now sketching something wide in the air. “A big desk, right in the center.” Jason folds his arms, watching her. “I’m on the edge of my seat.” And,” she continues, dead serious, “a pink Hawaiian shirt with little pineapples.” He blinks. She nods solemnly. “It’s policy.” There’s a beat of silence before Jason exhales a laugh—small at first, then an actual, real one. He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “You have a terrifying imagination.” Jason’s chuckle still lingered in the air between them, softer than the cold night but warmer somehow. Y/N, emboldened by the way his shoulders shook slightly with laughter, let out a small huff of amusement herself. For once, the silence that settled wasn’t heavy.

She glanced at him, her lips still curved in the ghost of a smile, and then—without thinking—she said it.

“You look different when you’re not faking it.”

It wasn’t meant to slip out. But it did.

Jason’s laughter faded, not abruptly, not awkwardly—just naturally, like a song trailing off at the end. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the streetlight.

Y/N swallowed. Maybe she should’ve kept that to herself.

But she didn’t take it back.

Because it was true.

Because it was true. Jason looked at her then, his expression unreadable in the dim light. For a second, she thought she'd crossed a line, but then his face softened. He didn't look away. He let out a slow breath, watching as it curled into the cold air and disappeared. He didn’t say anything at first, just ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than before. Then, finally, a quiet, almost absentminded reply— "Feels different, too.” It was so soft that Y/N almost missed it. She watched as his fingers tapped lightly against his knee, like he was working through a thought he hadn’t quite shaped yet. And then, without really meaning to, Jason looked at her. Really looked at her. Her face was relaxed now—no tension in her brows, no hesitation in her expression. The dim streetlight softened the lines of her face, casting her in a kind of quiet glow. She wasn’t posing. She wasn’t performing. And just for a second—before he even realized he was doing it—he lingered. Then, like catching himself in the act, he shifted his gaze away and cleared his throat. Jason leaned back against the bench, stretching out his legs with a lazy kind of ease, like he was making himself comfortable. Like it was easy to sit there. And maybe that was the strangest part of all. He didn’t try to charm her. Didn’t offer a witty comeback. Didn’t fill the silence. Jason’s laugh from before still hung faintly in the air, softer than the cold night but warmer somehow. When he wasn’t playing into expectations—wasn’t smirking, teasing, or perfectly composed—he looked real. Grounded. Like someone she could actually understand. A passing car hummed down the street, its headlights throwing long shadows across the pavement. Y/N didn’t look at him; she didn’t need to. The silence remained unchanged. Not uncomfortable. Not strained. Just there. Y/N leaned back on her hands, eyes on the quiet streets. Her posture had shifted—looser now, more at ease. She wasn’t shrinking in on herself. She wasn’t trying to disappear. She was just… there. Her legs swung slightly beneath the bench, like she didn’t even notice. Jason glanced at her. Then looked away.

The wind picked up, sweeping down the street in a sharp gust. Y/N sucked in a breath, instinctively curling into her coat. Jason smirked. “Cold?” She shot him a look. “No, I love freezing to death. It’s my favorite pastime.” That earned a chuckle from him—low, quiet, but real. A pause. And then— [4:30 a.m.]

A small, white speck floated down between them. Y/N blinked. Looked up. Another drifted down, then another. She straightened, hands slipping from the bench as she leaned forward. The light caught the delicate flakes, turning them silver as they fell. Jason watched her as she watched the sky. Without thinking, Y/N stood and stepped just beyond the bench as more snowflakes twirled down. She tilted her head back, eyes half-lidded, soaking in the moment. The city lights gave the illusion of something softer, more delicate—like the world had paused just for her. Jason didn’t move. Something about her felt different now. It wasn’t just the way she stood—shoulders relaxed, face unguarded—it was the way the night wrapped around her, quiet and unburdened. The neon glow from a nearby streetlamp caught in her hair, softening its edges. The snowfall blurred everything sharp about her, leaving something gentler behind. She didn’t look different. But somehow, she did. Jason exhaled through his nose, turning his gaze away like it might shake something loose in his chest. Y/N, unaware, reached out a hand, palm open, waiting. A small flake landed. Melted. “Figures,” she muttered. Jason smirked. “What did you expect?” “I don’t know.” Her hand dropped back to her side, her breath visible in the cold. “Something more poetic.” Jason snorted. “It’s frozen water.” She turned to him with a mock glare. “Wow. You really know how to kill a moment.” He shrugged, lazy. “It’s a gift.” But she wasn’t annoyed. She was smiling—small, easy, unguarded. Jason found himself watching her again. And this time, he didn’t stop. Y/N let out a soft breath, then moved to sit back down, settling more comfortably than before—legs crossed at the ankles, hands loose in her lap. She didn’t seem to notice the change in her posture, but he did. She wasn’t shrinking anymore. Jason couldn’t look away. She was the same girl who’d nursed a mocktail in silence at the Grotto… but she wasn’t. That girl had curled in on herself, trying to disappear. This one was present. Open. Jason had seen a hundred masks in his line of work. But he’d never seen someone take theirs off like this. Y/N turned and caught him staring. “What?” she asked, her voice light. Jason blinked, startled. He scoffed and looked away, shaking his head. “Nothing.” “Liar.” He smirked, but didn’t argue. And then— Silence. Not heavy. Not hesitant. Just there. Like they’d finally earned it. The wind picked up slightly, sending a shiver up Y/N’s spine. She tucked her hands into the sleeves of her coat and exhaled through her nose, watching the faint fog it created. Jason followed her gaze upward. The snow was still falling, but lazily now, like the night itself was winding down. “You ever just sit in silence with someone?” Y/N asked suddenly. Jason glanced at her. “What do you mean?” “I mean, like this.” She gestured vaguely between them. “No talking, no pressure. Just sitting.” Jason thought about it. About all the nights at the bar, the endless small talk, the constant push-and-pull of playing along. He exhaled. “Not really.” Y/N nodded as if she expected that answer. Jason didn’t add that he wasn’t sure he minded it this time. Y/N didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She just turned her head toward him, slow and unbothered, her breath soft in the cold. And then she smiled. Not a shy one. Not an apologetic one. But a real smile. One that didn’t ask for permission. One that didn’t try to charm or disarm or perform. Just hers. Jason looked over—drawn by something he couldn’t quite name—and for a second, it caught him off guard. She wasn’t the girl hunched over her mocktail anymore. Wasn’t the one fidgeting with her sleeves or glancing at the exits or trying to shrink herself out of view. There was nothing guarded about her now. And before he could help himself, Jason smiled back. Not his usual smirk, the one honed to perfection with a thousand rehearsals and flirtations. But something smaller. Warmer. A slow curve that reached his eyes—softening them, making the faint crow’s feet at their corners show.

He didn’t even realize it until it was already there. For a moment, neither of them looked away. And then Jason blinked, turned his gaze to the sky, the breath he released quiet and steady. But the smile stayed. Just a little. [5:40 a.m.]

Yeah… That’s Scandal talking about Rose

Much chemistry such wow

Do I really have to explain how f- ridiculous is that Jason Fricking Todd gets a piggyback ride by the same person that reduced him in that state????

Never in my entire life I felt bad for a fictional character but man… Gotham War is traumatising me 💀

"Trust me, you'll love this place, the men here are hot and they can DANCE! Plus, I've heard there's this new guy that makes every woman go crazy." Y/F/N begged her to stay, bribing her with her favorite drink "Y/N, stop rolling your eyes and trust me." Y/F/N stood tall and straight, her index finger raised, pointing at Y/N, while the other hand was firmly planted at her hip. "Sit here and enjoy your birthday. You deserve it!" Y/F/N shoves Y/N down at her seat, near the stage.

Looking around, the place was getting packed with women of all kinds waiting for the same man. The anticipation was palpable, as if everyone shared the same mind and thoughts. Their excited chatter grew louder, their laughter and conversation becoming more and more boisterous and loud as time went on.

The air was so choked with people that it was hard to breathe as those with no reserved table jockeyed for a good view of the main stage, behind the numerous tables.

Finally, the curtains open, and the whole place erupts into a frenzy, this was what everyone's been waiting for.

Y/N sees him, his physique is impeccable, his body sculpted by the finest of artists, and the red mask covering his face adds a whole new element of mystery and anticipation as the crows and the music are just adding fuel to the fire.

The man known as the Red Hood steps on stage...

Y/F/N couldn't help but smile at Y/N's reaction. "WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!" she yells, shaking comically Y/N's arm from one side to the other, evidently overly excited.

Y/N, on the other hand, couldn't help but bite her lips, giggling nervously. He may never show his face, but still, every step he takes on that stage makes her more and more aroused.

How could someone do this to her without showing their face?

Both girls slowly nodded their heads, giving each other a thumbs up and sharing a look of understanding.

It was the best gift ever.

The music continues to play as the Red Hood continues to dance on stage. Grabbing the pole, he spins around, letting his muscular body glisten under the dim light He mounts the pole, holding onto it tightly as he begins to climb up. Once at the top, he hangs upside down, showing off his impressive flexibility. With a smooth move, he releases himself from the pole and lands gracefully on his feet

Y/N can't help but watch in amazement, she's never seen anyone dance like him. She had to clutch her knees together as she was getting turned on by the mysterious guy, imagining herself getting fucked by him.

"I want him to choke me so bad!" she confesses to Y/F/N while chuckling, covering a side of her face so no one could read her lips.

Both girls laugh at her comment, Y/F/N pretty much tipsy takes the matter into her own hands as she yells at the masked guy to notice her, "OVER HERE, OVER HERE!" He was so intrigued by that loud girl that he was following her with his gaze. Y/N's eyes flickered with a brief look of confusion as she turned quickly towards her best friend. "Don't you dare!" she mouthed at her. The girl gets up from her seat and waves her arms in the air, trying to draw his attention. "BIRTHDAY GIRL OVER HERE!" she yelled at the top of her lungs for the loud music, pointing at a very shocked Y/N that was trying to hide herself behind her hands.

As the masked man steps out from the stage, approaching the young women and towering over them both, Y/F/N takes out a single bill only to put it in between Y/N's breasts. "Thank you for the tip," he says, amused, before locking eyes with Y/N. He could feel her racing heart as he took the single bill. As a response, Y/N grabs her friends' arms, killing her with her gaze, still too shocked to speak.

Unexpectedly, he hands back the tip to Y/F/N only to take the birthday girl's hand and lead her to the main stage. The woman looks over her shoulder, mouthing to her friend, "I will kill you".

He could feel her trembling slightly as she looked up at him. "Don't worry," he whispered reassuringly into her ear. "I've got you" With that, he places one hand on her waist and the other on her back and begins to lift her up onto the stage. As she climbs up onto the stage, Red Hood pulls her close to him, as if to kiss her.

Following the rhythm of the music, he spins Y/N around, making her bend over the pole. The crowd went wild in excitement, cheering and shouting out loud as he clutched her hips, grinding up to her ass.

Y/N's eyes went wide with surprise, her expression going blank. She was shocked and amazed beyond belief; she could feel a familiar warmth between her legs.

Red Hood's strong arms grip her hair, pulling her close to his chest. His other hand travels all over her body: starting from her thigh, lifting her dress just a bit, to her waist making its way to her sternum before finally settling on her throat, leaving a trail of goosebumps all over her body.

Unconsciously, she arches her back against his groin. "Fuck..." she mutters, wanting to feel his hands all over her.

Red Hood spins her again, facing him. He takes Y/N's hands and lets them slide all over his toned body until he lets her grip his neck too.

She has to bite her lower lip to control herself, but she can't help but let out a moan, which is luckily covered by the loud music and cheering coming from the crowd. He continues to guide her hands with all of his muscles through the fabric of his clothes, slowly moving her hands lower than before and grinding his groin against her hands.

Y/N gasped for breath when she realised he was hard for her, she had to use all of her willpower to not drop to her knees and suck him off.

As the song was about to end, the masked guy took in every detail of Y/N's appearance, his eyes trailing over his body, until he noticed something that made him smirk.

The crowd goes totally wild as his exhibition ends, many are screaming his name, and others are throwing bills.

Red Hood and Y/N can be seen panting, their lungs filling with air, and their heartbeats pounding in their ears. Red Hood took Y/N's hand, signaling her to bow for the crowd, until he whispers "Let's get out of here". She just nods, following him out of the main stage.

The lights get dimmed, the crowd’s frenzy slowly dies down, the place is calm, and there are no more cheers and whistles. Red Hood and Y/N walk out of the club, and the music slowly fades away.

The mysterious guy leads her into the more secluded area behind the club and, without wasting any time, presses Y/N against the brick wall, gently pushing her shoulders toward the ground, kneeling in front of him, he unzips his pants, showing her his thick, hard cock. "Give yourself some relief... It's your night after all," he says in a condescending tone, caressing her hair. "Rub that wet pussy as I stroke my cock into your face." He grunts in pleasure as he pumps his cock near her lips. She obeys his command, stroking her clit, moaning for him.

Y/N could almost taste his leaking pre-cum, her mouth was watering at the very thought.

"You're drooling... You're literally drooling for me," he chuckles, looking down at her, tapping his hard cock on her cheek "I want to hear you beg for it," he provokes, towering over her and holding himself with confidence and authority. Y/N gulps, looking up at him and breathing heavily "Fuck... Fuck," she mutters to herself, unable to contain her racing heart. "Please... Fuck my mouth," she purrs, gripping his toned-up thighs.

"Oh fuck, look at what I have here. A little slut who can't get enough of dick, even if it means she has to suck on a stranger's cock." He smirks, grabbing Y/N by the hair roughly and pushing his hard cock into her mouth. "Choke on it." As he spoke, he caressed her head possessively, not giving her any choice but to take his dick deeper into her throat. "That's it, sweetheart. Take it all like the whore you are." He continued to thrust his hips forward, fucking her mouth while pleasuring himself. His pre-cum dripped onto her tongue, filling her mouth with its bitter taste. Her muffled moans only encouraged him to go harder and faster.

Y/N made sure to be as sloppy and messy as possible, her eyes always making contact with his, caressing and gripping his thighs. At the same time, Red Hood looks down at her, amused by her obedience. "Good girl... You're such a good girl," he grunts, petting her hair.

As he pulled out of her mouth, leaving a trail of saliva behind, he whispered in her ear, "Soon you'll be begging for me to fill that tight little pussy of yours." Grabbing hold of Y/N's hands, he pinned them above her head against the brick wall. He reached under her dress "I knew you were the type of slut that doesn't wear any panties." His free hand was found rubbing his thumb over her clit in small circles. "You were hoping to get fucked tonight, weren't you?" he whispers in her ear as his fingers probe deeper into her wet pussy, finding her G-spot and rubbing it firmly. Her body trembled with pleasure as her legs barely held her up. She nodded weakly, unable to resist his touch or the power he exuded. Her desire for him was evident in every pant and moan that escaped her lips.

One moment, she was hoping to suck on some random guy's cock, and the next, she was being thoroughly fingerfucked by none other than the Red Hood himself. His touch was magical; every stroke sent shivers down her spine. As he continued to work his magic on her, he looked down at her with a smirk. "Go ahead, beg for it," he taunted. But before she could utter a word, he pulled his fingers away, leaving her aching for more. "Happy birthday, baby," he whispered into her ear. "God, God... Please" she pants, practically begging for him.

"I told you, you'd be begging soon enough." He laughed as he admired her submission before leaning in closer and slowly lowering his face towards hers. One hand continued to finger-fuck her tight little hole while the other wrapped around her throat, pulling her closer still.

This was no gentle seduction whatsoever.

Then, without warning, he picks her up and turns her around, positioning her facing the wall. "Now spread those beautiful legs wide open for me." with one swift move, he plunged two fingers deep inside her soaking wet pussy, stretching her limits even further. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the whole area. His free hand found its way to her sensitive nipple, pinching it roughly between his fingers. Moans of ecstasy escaped her lips as she felt herself getting closer and closer to orgasm.

Suddenly, he removed his fingers from her dripping, wet hole, replacing them with something much larger—his thick cock. With a powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her warmth, filling her completely. As he filled her, he let out a slow, throaty groan of satisfaction.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her in place as he started moving in and out of her with long, powerful strokes. Each thrust sent shockwaves through her body, making her gasp for air. Her legs trembled weakly as she tried to maintain balance while taking every inch of him inside her. The sensation was too much for her; she couldn't contain herself any longer. She came with a loud moan, muffled by his hand. Her walls convulsed around him, milking his cock as he reached his own orgasm moments later.

They both stood there, their hearts racing as they caught their breath.Red Hood let his muscles relax as his upper body fell onto Y/N's back, panting "You were fantastic, sweetheart," he commented, kissing her gently on the shoulder. "Now that's what I call a birthday present," Y/N murmured, allowing herself to giggle a little, trying to meet his gaze over her shoulder. "Your loud friend must be really worried, you should hurry up," he whispers, still panting and petting her hair. "There's a secondary exit back there," he points out with his head behind him. Before leaving, Y/N kisses his red mask, "Thank you, Red" waving him goodbye. As Y/N leaves, Jason can finally pull off his mask, breathing some air and smirking to himself about the encounter. -----------

"WHERE WERE YOU? I WAS WORRIED SICK!" Y/F/N hurries outside the nightclub, hugging her tightly. "I needed some fresh air; I'm sorry for not telling ya" she replies apologetically, hugging her back.

As the two girls chit chat, heading for their next destination, Y/F/N turns her head, noticing that something is off. She holds Y/N's arm. "Why is your make-up undone?" she asks suspiciously, frowning, making sure to not let her go.

-His name is actually Pietro, later on his parents changed it Peter, and added Jason as a ✨extra flavour✨

-He’s originally from a city in the north of Italy (mi rifiuto di immaginare che sia milanese)

-bonus headcanon : Jason non ha accento regionale, ha un italiano senza cadenza

-Got teased on for being italian. Called names like “Mario” or “Luigi”. Developed serious illness called “Bitchface”

-Got suspended from school for beating a classmate that called him “mafioso”

-practices combat sports, such as Brazilian Ju Jitsu and Boxing

-Loves MotoGP more than football (for the Americans: soccer) but cheers for the national team

-Actually cried when Italy didn’t qualify for the world cup

-Passionate, hot tempered BUT ✨he’s a gentleman ✨

-Loves music from Latino America (I’m sorry I don’t make the rules)

-Mama’s boy

-You bet your ass that he eats everyday pasta

-Yes… Just like any Italian of his age he loves pizza… kebab (again, I don’t make the rules)

-At 18 his parents gave him his first bike. He nicknamed her “bimba” (baby)

-Easily flustered. Regardless if you were his S/O or not you love teasing him in the most wholesome way possible “you have the nicest of smiles”, “you smell good today”, “I bought this thinking of you”

-As a result you almost immediately became his crush. However you did the first move and he was extremely pleased about it. For once he’s not the one chasing the other. He feels loved 🥹 poor baby…

-Not really a fan of PDA, but loves showing that you’re his partner. Sooo lots of holding hands and tiny forehead kisses. He loves caressing your hand with his thumb while you stroll together hand by hand. [bonus: He’s the type that acts all innocent in front of the others, only for you to display accidentally a shit ton of deep red hickeys on your neck]

-would call you “la mia bimba” (my baby), “mia” (mine), “amore” in the most Italian accent ever.

-Loves to spoil you

-yes… he does curse a lot, not in front of his mother though! Expect lots of “Vaffanculo” “Ma Che cazzo” and “Merda” With his friends it’s even worse, here and there you could hear him mutter some blasphemy (se sei italiano sai già a cosa mi riferisco).

-You really don’t know any of his friends’ names, you just call them just like Jason does “fra” (bro)

-Easter and Christmas at his family are the best thing ever. His extended family is H U G E. Lots of food. Like… LOTS. OF. FOOD. For easter he gifts you the biggest chocolate egg you’ve ever seen. For Christmas, endless fights between “team panettone” and “team pandoro”. Shit ton of presents from people you really don’t know but love you regardless

-Summer in Italy is a must. You’d expect him to use his car, lol no. You’ll walk everywhere, even with 40°C (104°F) it’s the real Italian experience 🤌🏽.

-Do I really have to say gelato? Now get ready for brioche al gelato con panna!

-You want to go at that famous beach TikTok/instagram suggested you about? That place is overrated anyways and a honeypot for tourists. Instead he takes you to the mountains, much more relaxing, local food is awesome and the water is super fresh.

-He’s your personal tour guide, showing you that beautiful lake or that mighty mountain while he rides his bike (yes, you’re his backpack. And no, he won’t do a wheelie when you’re with him, you’re too precious).

 As it rains, his suit gets drenched, but he doesn’t move. He needs a few minutes to catch his breath, to calm himself. And yet… He still tries to hear if Y/N needs his help.

Jason doesn’t notice the thunder or rain; his mind and his heart are consumed by a woman he never lets go of. 

The tears only stop when he feels a hand on his shoulder. His eyes snap open, and the first thing he sees is Dick, his brother, standing next to him. He quickly wipes his tears with the back of his hand before Dick even has a chance to say anything.

"Hey, Jaybird..." There’s a hint of sadness in his voice; he must have heard his little brother cry

"I’m fine,” he’s quick to say, but Dick’s not buying it. Jason tries to stand, but Dick grabs his arm and pushes him back.

"Sit down… Talk to me...” There’s an edge to Dick’s voice. He’s not messing around.

Dick sits down beside him.

“I had to let her go…” his face as cold as his helmet, he doesn’t want to show it in front of his brother, but he’s hurt.

”Because you thought it would keep her safe?” he guesses, raising an eyebrow.

Jason tries his best not to show his surprise. Dick always knew better. Just how much did the little bastard hear?

The night is dark and rainy outside. But Dick doesn’t seem to notice. All he cares about is his brother.

Jason nods, letting his head drop to his knees. He’s in pain.

 "It is for her own good; she is not safe with me and God... She became so reckless.” Jason shakes his head, defeated.

"How many times have we told you not to run away?” he whispers. "Not to do reckless things? She’d rather be around you despite the danger,” he continues, "than far away from you, where she’d be safe but she’d also be alone.”

He takes a deep breath.

”So why take away her choice in that?”

Jason notices how Dick’s words have made him stop and even think. He’s right.

”I’m doing everything in my power to make sure she’s safe,” Jason finally answers. “But I’m broken, Dick... I’m barely myself these days. I can’t think straight... I can’t act rationally, and I end up hurting her because of that.”

Dick’s gaze is determined now. ”I know you’re doing everything in your power to keep her safe,” he says, “but there’s one thing you aren’t doing.”

Then he leans forward and pulls Jason close.

"You don’t trust her.”

“I don’t trust myself... I’m just hurting her,” he corrects his brother, his voice somber 

Dick sighs and looks at him. "Jason, you have this habit of thinking you make the decisions for other people. Of course, it’s a very noble intention.” Dick squeezes his hand lightly. "But you have to accept she’s not a child. You’re not her dad.”

“It's way too late now... I fucked up.” Jason shakes his head. Now he knows that Dick is right.

“So what are you going to do now, huh?” Dick asks softly, “Let her go? Will you be able to sleep at night knowing you didn’t even try to do anything about it?" His voice gets louder. "Just let her go and hope she doesn’t die out there alone.”

“I will protect her... From afar, she doesn’t have to know that ” Jason is almost scared of his brother's reaction.

“Is that what she wants?” Dick sounds frustrated now. “To be protected from afar?” He squeezes both of his little brother's hands tighter, trying to force Jason to look at him.

"Have you even asked her if she wants to be protected? Have you asked if she wants you?"

Dick leans forward to get in his face. "You broke up with her; she wanted to stay, and now you’re trying to protect her from afar?"

His voice is a sharp whisper. His grip keeps Jason from moving away from him.

"Jason, what do you want?”

Then he smiles at his little brother with a small, sympathetic smile. Dick takes his brother’s chin, forcing Jason to look at him.

“So go after her,” Dick says simply. He doesn’t seem to mess around.

He lets go of his hands and stands, helping Jason to his feet. "Go after her. Tell her you’re a dumbass and you’re sorry.”

A loud thunder suddenly sounds in the distance. A few seconds later, the flash of light from the lightning illuminates the sky.

It lights up not just Dick and Jason... but Y/N too.

--------------------------------------------------------

[ACT TWO - The Fall]

In the meantime, Y/N keeps running from roof to roof; she keeps running with no destination in mind, even if she’s soaking wet and the rain is icy cold. "Stupid idiot…” Y/N hiccups, shivering from the cold.

Y/N was almost on the other side of the city. She is still crying and sobbing.

The dark sky is tearing up with her, “That-that idiot…” She could also feel the anger running through her veins.

Dick and Jason turn at the light, surprised at first. Then their faces became sad and worried. It takes them a moment to put two and two together.

"Y/N.”

A loud thunder roars before Dick can say anything else. It’s time to go after her.

"Oracle…" Nightwing’s reaction is immediate.

With her live position, the two vigilantes get out from the abandoned building running to the edge of the roof and leaping off. Dick lands with ease, not letting the cold rain phase him. Jason falls to the ground a bit harder, but he does the same as Dick.

After a while, they’re able to locate her.

“There she is,” Dick says quietly.

She hears footsteps incoming.

They’re all coming from behind her, following her trail. Jason is approaching her, his face grim but determined.

Dick is coming too, but he’s trying to be subtle about it.

Y/N can’t feel her fingers because of the rain and cold. If she could, she would hold her chest. She’s breaking apart.

Jason catches up to her, running by her side.

They’re both on a skyscraper, running at the edge of the skyline. The wind is strong, the rain is heavy and cold, but it’s not bothering Jason one bit.

"Y/V/N, wait!” he calls out.

Dick is running beside Y/N, a bit tired after running through half of the city, but still trying to talk to her from Jason’s other side.

"Please,” Jason whispers.

Y/N looks over her shoulder, “what does he want now” she mutters to herself

Unfortunately, her heel slips on the smooth surface of the skyscraper’s roof, Jason freezes as she slips. He can’t react fast enough, and both he and Dick can only watch as she slides.

The height here is enough to injure or kill her if she falls.

Jason and Dick watch her silently, unable to speak, unable to breathe.

She's slipping fast now. Down towards the edge, closer and closer to dropping off into nothing.

At the last second, Y/N uses her grappling hook to stay put, as she grabs the rope to regain balance and drops to the ground, panting heavily.

That was too close, 

she wants to throw up so badly. Her heart beating furiously in her chest.

Dick and Jason rush over to her, their faces are worried, concerned. Jason kneels in front of Y/N, looking at her in silence for a moment.

Eventually, he speaks, his voice shaking and soft. ”Y/N?” he asks, almost afraid of the answer. “Are you alright…?”

“Do I look like I’m alright to you?!” she yells with all her strength, looking at him furious

Jason can only look at her silently. He’s unable to offer any response to that. Dick walks in front of him. He wants to say something, but he’s not sure if he should.

Finally, he can’t take it any more.

He sits down, facing Y/N

”Jason broke up with you because he thought it would protect you,” he says gently, almost apologetically. ”But did you ever want him to protect you that much?”

“I guess you are his lawyer.” she hisses at Dick, panting

Dick doesn’t flinch at all.

He glances at Jason, who’s staring at Y/N quietly. Dick sighs and reaches for her hands and grabs them.

”I’m not judging you here,” he says as gently as he can. ”But… you have to be honest to us and yourself. ”Dick meets her eyes. ”Do you want Jason to protect you?”

Y/N pushes his hand away, she’s too bitter and too hurt to hear him

“No.” That’s a hard no “I’m not a damsel in distress, I’m more than capable of defending myself” she states venomously

"But he still loves you,” Dick persists, "don’t forget that.”

He lets go of her hand and stands back up again. ”You can’t blame a man for loving you. Do you know how lucky you are to have him in your life?”

Jason still hasn’t said a word, he’s just sitting beside Y/N, looking at her. His look is full of sorrow, but, maybe, there is still hope.

“How lucky? How lucky” she repeats, scoffing “Can’t you see how lucky I am in this fucking moment? Her voice is as cold as the rain soaking them

”How many times have you almost died tonight because you don’t want Jason to worry about you?” Dick asks. “Especially since he can’t save you every single time you get your dumb ass into trouble!” He yells at the very end and looks surprised at both himself and the words he just said.

"Look at yourself,” he adds, almost sounding apologetic, “you just almost died. In a stupid way. And you still want to do this alone?”

He knows he’s touching a nerve, but he can’t let Y/N get away with this.

Y/N lashes out almost immediately. 

Once back on her feet, she stares pointing her finger at him, “I risk my life every single night for this city, why do you suddenly care for my safety that much, huh?”

She leans dangerously close to Dick as if to challenge him “I swear if this is a pathetic attempt to mend things up, you’re really, really wrong”

“You can leave if you want to. Nobody will stop you.” He crosses his arms, challenging her to even go ahead and leave. 

"Maybe Jason and I are stupid for caring about you enough to want to protect you. But that’s who we are. So, why don’t you ask yourself why your own boyfriend is willing to break up with you just to keep you safe?”

“You don’t give a shit about my point of vie-”

But Dick interrupts her, he knows that he’s playing with fire right now, but he presses forward anyway. Because he cannot let Y/N have this. He stares back at her, and she can see the anger rising in his eyes.

"-You hate being treated like a damsel in distress,” he says coolly. ”But the truth is, you’re trying so hard to prove to the world how strong you are—just to prove to one person that you’re not.”

He leans closer.

”Jason.”

Her first reaction would have been to slap him, slap him really hard, but that’s what Dick wants. She gathers all of her inner strength, breathing in as much air as possible into her lungs, watching him dead in the eyes.

Yet… the adrenaline is pumping in her bloodstream, and she has to control herself from rage-crying

She glances at Jason one last time before turning around and leaving, without a single word…

Jason looks at Y/N quietly. He looks like he agrees with Dick. He looks like he’s hurting. He looks like he’s regretting what he’s done.

Dick watches her turn and walks away for a moment, and then he looks back at Jason.

"I’m proud of you,” he says softly. “For at least trying.”

Jason doesn’t respond. He keeps looking after her.

Jason looks at Y/N quietly.

He looks like he agrees with Dick. He looks like he’s hurting. He looks like he’s regretting what he’s done. Dick watches her turn and walks away, and then he looks back at Jason.

--------------------------------------------------------

[ACT THREE - Change]

Eventually, Y/N finds herself all alone in the rain. The only comfort she’s getting is the cold rain on her skin, numbing the pain.

Even the night sky refuses to show her mercy. It looks dark and harsh like it’s the enemy.

But she must go on. No one is coming for her. Jason hasn’t chased her back. Dick hasn’t. So she keeps moving forward through the city.

Y/N cannot afford to stop.

When she reaches one of her many safe houses, Y/N is too tired to move, too tired to make a sound.

Too tired to do anything.

Too tired to feel.

So she stays there, curled up on the cold floor.

The thunder and rain are a dull, meaningless noise in her ears.

Her eyes are open, but they cannot see.

She's empty. Completely broken.

Jason was playing with her heart, and yet she was considered the mean one… why?

Is this what’s like when your heart is crushed to dust?

Without even noticing, she falls asleep, it’s a dreamless one.

The worst kind…

She wakes up the next day with still her wet suit on, feeling more tired than before.

The rain is still falling outside.

As soon as she’s fully awake, all the emotions she suppressed come crashing down all at once. The tears, the rage, the hurt, and the pain. And with a loud cry, Y/N surrenders herself entirely to it.

For the longest time, she's all tears. She can’t think, can’t speak, she can only cry.

So Y/N does, letting herself cry until there are no more tears left inside.

Many, many, weeks later Y/N tries to move on, but she totally throws herself into vigilantism. As with every tragedy, time does heal all wounds—for some, at least. Y/N is no exception to this. As the night goes by, her mourning becomes less painful.

She still thinks about Jason every now and then, and sometimes in her darkest hours, she still hurts like the first day.

But it hurts a little less now.

Slowly, but surely, she’s starting to accept what happened. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

Eventually -much time later- their roads cross, during a mission they unknowingly were sharing

The night is cold, a light frost covers the ground.

Y/V/N was lurking on the rooftop waiting for the informant to pop up, so she could interrogate him, but instead nearby her roof, she notices something... Someone... Red Hood with his sniper rifle.

Y/N is silent, watching Jason from her roof.

She notices him also silent and waiting.

They’re both waiting for someone.

Maybe the same person?

Maybe… just maybe… they’re on the same mission.

--------------------------------------------------------

[ACT FOUR - The long night]

She knows she should leave and go straight to the informant, but her curiosity is too strong. She decides to stay, at least for a while. Not only that, but she wants to see who Jason is watching.

Suddenly, she hears the faintest of noises, Jason is ready to shoot, he’s taking a deep breath to calm himself and subsequently stabilise the rifle.

Jason is aiming at her informant, but she needs him alive!

So she does the only thing she could do to ensure the success of her mission: she throws her sai at his wrist.

Jason sees the sai coming towards him and tries to duck, but it’s too late. The sai digs deep into his arm and Jason grunts in pain, his aim thrown off at the last second. The bullet flies past Y/N, hitting the informant’s leg instead.

Jason pulls out the sai and charges towards Y/N, still injured. He can’t let her leave with his informant. And he knows she won’t give him the guy without a fight.

Jason quickly uses his grappling hook to reach Y/N, at the same time she’s preparing mentally for the fight, relaxing her tense muscles

“I need him alive Red Hood,” she tells solemnly, not wanting to mention his name

“That’s the difference between you and me then, princess,” Jason replies, not backing down even with a bleeding arm.

Without waiting for a response, he charges toward Y/N. He’s stronger than her, but he knows she can still harm him.

Jason also knows that both Batman and Nightwing will be looking for him and Y/N.

This whole fight is a ticking time bomb. He has to end it fast.

He attacks.

“Bring it on, big boy” she mutters, gripping her only sai

Jason and Y/N’s fight is fast, brutal, and intense. Each time Jason attacks, she counters it with her sai.

They’re very evenly matched in this fight.

Y/N has more speed, Jason has more strength. She is precise with her weapon, Jason is aggressive. She goes in headlong into it, he thinks before he fights.

Jason and Y/N are both trying to get the upper hand. They can’t stay like this forever. Someone has to win.

They slowly circle the roof, waiting for the other to make the first move. 

She knows that without her second sai, she can't do much with Jason's brute force. 

She has to do it...

She runs away and lands on the other roof rolls on the pavement, and takes her other sai in her hand.

She’s ready to fight for real.

Y/N comes back with a vengeance, ready to take Jason down.

But Jason doesn’t just stand there and watch her make her move. He rushes towards the young vigilante, not giving her a chance to breathe or think. He goes for her throat, but she manages to dodge him, knocking him back with a kick.

It’s the opening she’s been waiting for. She lands a hit on Jason, slicing his stomach. He grits his teeth and tries to punch her. She parries it using her sai. They both clash against each other, weapons in hand.

While their fight continues, Jason keeps glancing at the roof where the informant is laying down, he’s still wincing in pain, his leg bleeding profusely.

He knows the longer he keeps Y/N busy, the more time they have to extract information from their witness. ”Y/N,” he says between gritted teeth, “this isn’t personal. If anything, I’m just doing my job.”

This is when she realises that Jason is not fighting you 100%, unlike her.

He wants her out of this mission.

Y/N sees red.

She doesn’t go for Jason’s arms or his stomach any more. She aims for his neck.

Jason quickly realises Y/N is out to kill him with one hit, and he barely manages to dodge her attack in time. She’s furious that he’s not giving her a fight, and she’s even angrier than before. Jason can’t afford to hold back any more. He takes a deep breath.

 You won’t get the easy way out this time, he thinks. You won’t get to leave that easily.

And with a roar, Jason charges. He kicks her to the side, and while she recovers, he tackles her into the floor. He’s on top of her, pinning her down and using his heavier body to his advantage. He goes for her arm, trying to break it.

But Y/N was ready. She catches his arm with one hand and strikes him on the neck with the other. This is when Jason realises just how dangerous she is. She’s not just fast, she’s strong too.

She quickly gets up, one of her sais is in defense position the other is pointed at Jason

“Get up, I don’t have much time” she taunts him, panting

Jason doesn’t like how confident she’s got, but he also knows that this fight is still far from over. 

They’re both wounded, both angry. And both in a race against time.

Jason gets up, looking like he just woke up from a coma. He shakes his head and looks at her ex-girlfriend. He’s still not afraid of her, but he is angry at her.

”You need the damn informant alive,” Jason says, trying to make sense of this all. ”Not trying to kill me.”

“That’s because you tried to shoot the informant” She raises her voice stunned at his statement

“I shot him in the leg,” he says, “you threw your goddamn sai at my throat in response.”

They’re both hurt, they’re both tired, and they’re both losing patience, still circling the roof.

”Just… just let me get the informant,” he says. ”Then we can settle this like adults.”

“At your wrist you drama queen” she corrects him snorting “I don’t have to settle anything with you, not as a vigilante nor as an adult” She stops and gets in the same position as before, inviting him to attack her

Jason rolls his eyes.

”We’re in the middle of a mission, princess,” he says. “You attacked me. Not the other way around.”

Their argument turns increasingly childish. Each one points out something they do, and the other is guilty of the same.

”If I hadn’t ducked, I’d be the one with a sai stuck in my throat,” Jason yells, ”Not you.”

"You’re not the only one with the right to be pissed at the other,” Y/N says, getting louder.

As they keep arguing, the informant on the other roof hears everything the two of them are saying. But he stays put. He’s not moving an inch. Jason and Y/N got so caught in their fight that they forgot what this whole mission was about.

The informant could be telling other people about their mission by this point.

But they don’t care.

They’re both too angry, too prideful, too stubborn to care about anything else but each other.

In the meantime, the night is slowly turning into morning. Jason and Y/N are both getting increasingly frustrated by each other’s stubbornness.

 But there’s no time left. 

Their fight needs an end, one way or another.

”Y/N” Jason says, finally, ”for God’s sake, just let me take the informant!” He doesn’t wait for her to answer him. He tackles her to the ground. He pins her, this time for good.

He is on top of her now. He looks at her with exhaustion rather than rage.

“Come on, hit me…. Come on” she goads, her voice full of resentment, “you want your informant, right? Then you have to hit me”

”Y/N…” Jason says slowly, sounding slightly hurt. “I don’t want to hit you. I’m telling you to let me get the informant peacefully.” He pauses for a second, thinking really carefully about his next words.

Then, in a calm but firm voice, he says: “I’m giving you one last chance…”

He leans closer and stares her right in the eye, trying to pierce her soul with his gaze.

Y/N knows perfectly that the thing she’s about to do needs to be nailed perfectly, mainly because Jason is bigger and stronger than her.

She plants her feet to the ground and bumps her hips, at the same time she drops her elbows to his knees, making Jason lose his grip on her arms and making him lose balance. She latches to his back and pulls herself up to his stomach, with her upper body she starts to climb up until she gets close to his arm, so she can lock it up, she straps his foot with hers locking it, and once again she bumps her hips and rolls over freeing herself from being pinned down

In just a few seconds, she has regained control of the fight. Jason’s impressed. It’s almost like seeing an old friend after many years. Y/N doesn’t waste a second. She kicks Jason in the chin, cracking his helmet, making his head snap back. 

He’s disoriented for a moment, but he shakes the pain away quickly. But it was enough time for her to get out of his grip completely.

She's visibly sweating and panting, but at least she’s free. She gathers her remaining strength left and jumps from roof to roof reaching the one below theirs. She needs to interrogate the informant before Jason catches her up

“Where does Black Mask keep the goods, speak now” she commands grabbing him from the ground

The informant doesn’t answer immediately.

Y/N can feel him staring at Jason with hatred and fear in his eyes. The informant was scared of Red Hood; he’s now even more scared of Y/V/N.

Red Hood and Y/V/N are both known among criminals for the brutality they are capable of when interrogating people.

”You’re just one pretty face,” he snarls, " you can’t do anything. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

He looks at it as if waiting for something to happen. As if expecting Red Hood to come and save him.

“Are you really expecting him to save you?” She asks amused, pointing behind her, at the roof, “You really must be desperate.”

The informant looks behind Y/V/N. Red Hood is still there, staring at them. The informant knows that neither one will back down. Both of them were too stubborn.

”I said I’m not going to tell you anything.” He growls back.

Then Jason’s eyes suddenly lock with Y/N’s. Her smile slowly fades as she sees him, and she shakes her head in disappointment.

“Wrong answer” she growls pinning him to the wall, “Now… you are going to give me the information I need… or trust me, you’ll beg buddy boy up there to shot at your leg again” she threatens 

As Y/N breaks his elbow, the informant screams in pain. He’s never seen such cruelty in his life, and he’s getting more and more scared by the second.

He’s about to say something when he hears Y/V/N’s voice again. He tries to look over his shoulder.

And in a moment of fear, the informant says where the goods are hidden.

“It-it’s at the old factory…downtown, at Dixon Docks,” he whispers wincing in pain, “Now… please… don’t you hurt me any more….”

"Good boy” and with that she puts an end to his life, snapping his neck

She turns around and looks up, Jason is watching her from his roof leaning on the railing.

Jason’s gaze quickly goes to what’s supposed to be his mission again.

The informant’s dead.

That part of the mission is done.

But the informant said that the goods are hidden in the old factory downtown. They’re supposed to be there before dawn.

Jason takes his grappling hook again, throwing it up towards the rooftop below.

”Y/N” he calls to her, ”Are you ready?”

“Yeah” she replies annoyed, she walks alongside him yawning and stretching as if nothing happened.

Putting aside their stubbornness and pride, they need to collaborate to find Black Mask

--------------------------------------------------------

[ACT FIVE - The old memory of him/The old memory of her]

Y/N’s casual attitude to someone getting their neck snapped makes Jason think.

Is this new? Was she always like this? It feels like she’s gotten even more reckless after their breakup.

Jason’s heart is breaking all over again, he also knows that both of them need to focus on the mission. They can’t do that while they’re on bad terms, so he decides to try to mend things with her again.

“Y/N, can… can we talk?”

“About?” Her voice is stern, yet she refuses to watch him, her main focus is in front of her.

“Us,” Jason says slowly, carefully, he thinks about it for a few seconds, trying to find the right words. ”You and I… we were so happy together. So close” 

Something tells him that she’s still hurting inside, but she doesn’t want to show that to him. “So why can’t we go back to those days?” He whispers.

She stops immediately clutching her fists 

“Don’t…” she tries to keep her voice steady, but it’s clear that it’s still a sore spot

"Why, Y/N?" Jason asks, sounding hurt. "Why did it have to end this way? We were so good together."

But it feels one-sided, talking to her as if she doesn't want to listen.

He looks at her shoulders, and then her face, looking for an answer.

"We can still be a team, at least," he says slowly, "and I still want my best friend back."

Y/N still doesn't respond. She just stares ahead of her.

Jason's heart is breaking all over again. He just wants her to say that she'll give their relationship another chance; but he realizes that she doesn't want to, at least not yet.

She seems to have made up her mind.

"We fought well together, Y/N," Jason says. "You know how I work, I know how you work. You're one of the few people in the world who does. We're a good team.”

Y/N is silent, no matter how much time has passed, her heart still hurts. She wishes she could go back in time and maybe, just maybe, accept his apology.

But she can’t go back…

She just wants to cry, but she can’t be weak in front of him, she has to be cold…

"Y/N…” Jason feels like all of his attempts are going nowhere. She's just staring off, and she still looks like she's about to burst out crying.

"Y/N..." he says again. He touches her shoulder, trying to get her to look at him.

She doesn't move.

“Y/N... can the mission keep waiting for 5 minutes? So we can talk? Just... 5 minutes?"

“What do you want?!” she snaps at him, Jason watches her stunned, her mask is wet from her tears, he could even outline her lips trembling.

She was finally listening to him, and then one word sends her off the rails. "Y/N, I can see that you’re heartbroken. I’m not asking for a date or anything.”

"I’m just… Asking for 5 minutes. We can take a break. And just talk. Like we used to.”She’s watching him, but mentally she’s not there, her eyes are red; tears threaten to fall.

"I want my best friend back. I miss you, and I... and I still love you."

Jason is saying the things he knows Y/N doesn't want to hear, but they need to be heard. No matter if it's 5 minutes or 5 hours, Jason needs to get his point across.

"Y/N, you were my first love. I can't let you just disappear from my life." He knows he's playing with fire. Maybe he's even being selfish. But he doesn't care, not right now.

“Why do still you want me in your life? Why do you care about your ‘best friend’…” she’s hurt, and she’s done pretending not to be

"Because I miss you," he replies, his tone growing increasingly desperate. "I miss spending time with you. Hanging out, talking for hours about nothing and everything, and... laughing."

He misses those days when they could be happy together.

"I miss being close to you, being able to tell you everything. I miss seeing that beautiful smile of yours. It's all I've thought now." Jason is trying to put into words all the feelings he never knew he could feel. And all the while, She is looking at the ground, unable to look at him, she’s unable to talk, why is it so difficult for him to realise he broke her heart?

He broke up with her, not even asking for her opinion, just to say -immediately after- that he regrets it. He was toying with her, with her heart and her feelings.

That’s why it hurts, that’s why she’s still broken, the memory of him is still alive

But she’s lonely, she misses Jason’s presence too… she misses cracking jokes during patrols, eating breakfast together at that specific café, the hugs and high-fives at the end of each successful mission, the desperate kisses when they were injured.

She misses him, very much…

"Y/N, I know I hurt you," he says in a softer tone, putting on a more gentle voice as he sees her struggle, "That wasn't my intention. I know you still love me, and I know..." His voice breaks at this exact moment, and Jason takes a few deep breaths before he continues.

"I'm hurting too. I miss all the things we used to do together. I miss your voice in my ear when we fought side by side. I loved spending time with you. I just-“

“I can’t do it…” she talks over him, her voice is weak and hurt,

She can’t go back...

“Can’t do what?” Jason asks, heartbreaking at her reply.

He reaches for her hand and this time Y/N lets him. She doesn’t resist him, she just looks down at their fingers touching.

But when Jason tries to move closer, she jerks her hand away, breaking contact.

She doesn’t even look at him. She just looks at her feet.

“Please, Y/N” he whispers, trying again to get some sort of response. “At least look at me.”

She obeys looking him in the eyes, she’s trying to not break in front of him, not again… she can’t stop if she cries

“I can’t get back into a relationship with you” she murmurs, unable to sustain his gaze on her

If there’s one thing Jason wants more than anything, right now, it’s to hold Y/N in his arms and comfort her. But he can’t do it. He has to be strong. For himself, and her

“I understand,” he says very softly. His voice sounds hurt, even though he’s trying not to sound hurt. “But is it possible that… we can still be friends?”

She takes a deep breath,

Her mind tells her to say no,

her heart tells her to say yes,

maybe if they are back as friends her heart would be soothed, maybe…

She sighs and nods at him

Jason can feel his heart slowly beginning to mend again as Y/N agrees to be his friend.

“Thank you.” He gives a relieved sigh, putting away his frustration and hurt; right now, he’s just happy that she’s willing to talk again.

With a smile on his face, he pulls off his helmet in a swift motion. His eyes filled with joy. He's so happy to see her again, he wants to remember every tiny detail of this moment. “Can I give you a hug?” he asks, still looking at her face.

She watches him smiling, a true, genuine smile. She drops her head and lifts it, also smiling.

 They both reach the other, with open arms. They needed the comfort of each other, to be held, to feel loved…

Jason puts his head on her shoulder for a moment, and he closes his eyes before leaning closer. He wants to hug her tight, to never let go again. Y/N hugs him back, also closing her eyes. She takes the time to enjoy the moment and the feeling of being close to Jason again. Jason smiles when he feels her gripping his clothes, refusing to let him go. "I needed this, Y/N"

Pulling off from the embrace they're still holding hands, fingers intertwined. They might be friends again, even if the romance is behind them, their bond is still one they cherish. Jason looks at her again, he just wants to kiss her…

Jason wraps his arms around Y/N once more, gently pulling her close to him, so close that he’s almost crushing her against his chest.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers into her ear, he's not ready for this hug to end. And when Y/N clings onto him even tighter, he kisses her cheek lightly, like when they were dating.

He breaks away, and the two of them stand there together. Jason is smiling softly to himself. He can see that she is relieved too, and he's really glad about it.

Jason stares at Y/N’s hand and their fingers intertwined, and at the mark, his lips left on her cheek

For a moment, she could almost believe that nothing ever happened, and everything was fine and dandy.

 Jason is holding her, she's with him again, and they can work together. They can go back to their patrol days, she could tell him about her day and who she took down. Then they could eat together at a café they both like.

And then maybe...

The moment passes. Reality comes crashing back to her.

Y/N looks up at Jason again, their faces inches apart from each other.

She doesn’t want to look away. She wants to kiss him. She’s almost trembling at the urge. She’s not sure if she can control herself… but Jason’s smiling at her, and looking in her eyes.

She’s almost tempted to let her thoughts run wild and kiss him.

Jason caresses her face, tenderly, with all the love he could convey, he smiles at her thoughtful face.

Their foreheads are touching, and their noses touching as well. Their eyes look into each other’s, and their hearts feel one and the same.

Jason cracks a joke in the most typical way ever, and it feels like a private joke between two lovers again.

Y/N laughs softly, holding onto Jason as if he’s her lifeline. There’s something about this moment — about him holding her like this. About them joking and laughing and being together like old times.

Maybe it’s a foolish hope because they agreed to be just friends. But, she can feel the spark there again. She thinks she should just let go of it. She should.

But maybe just once more, she should follow the feeling in her heart.

They're alone for a moment. They have time, and they're happy. Even if it isn't like before. He still wants her. He still desires her. And he knows that's a problem because he did hurt her, and she's not going to forgive him for a while.

But for right now... for right now, this feeling is enough

Jason smiles right back at Y/N, seeing his old partner laugh and smile once again, she looks up, and for a moment... it feels like the two of them are back as a team again, fighting together, and Jason can almost forget about all the pain just for a moment, and enjoy this moment.

Jason and Y/N are walking along the rooftops. She’s listening to him complain about his misfortunes

“... And what did he say?” She asks curious listening to his story

Jason does his best to not laugh in her face, looking at Y/N and pretending to be annoyed "Don’t be so nosey” Jason laughs

"Don't be so nosey huh?" Cynthia laughs back and gives Jason a light push.

Their bodies touch, just for a moment. She misses those little touches too: Jason’s arm brushing over hers when they walked together.

“You dare push the brutal Red Hood, you mortal?” he theatrically lowers his voice.

Y/N can’t help but laugh, and keeps pushing him, “What’s the matter, are you scared?” She taunts him, doing her best impression of a villain. “Can’t take a little push from a girl?”

“I’m done with you… come here” he tells grabbing Y/N and putting her on his shoulder “This will teach you a lesson,” he tells laughing trying to sound serious

The young vigilante lets out a gasp as she’s picked up. They both know she can knock him down any moment, but for now, she’ll just stay on his shoulder.

 She’s so light, though. Her legs dangle as Jason holds her up.

“Put me down.” She says, the smirk back on her face again.

Jason chuckles back at her. “Or what?”

“No, no, no this is not funny… put me down” she complains flailing her legs

“No, this is funny. I want to do this.”

Jason’s laughing and twirling Y/N around gently, but she’s trying -emphasis on the “trying”- to get down. 

She’s giggling, and she’s kicking her legs. But she’s not trying too hard to get down.

Y/N laughs wholeheartedly, she finally feels her heartbeat in her chest again. 

She’s so happy…

“Batman, come help me… this villain kidnapped me” Y/N puts her best damsel in distress voice

Jason’s laughing along with her, and when she fakes a kidnapped damsel voice, he only laughs harder.

“I’ll never, never, never release the hostage!” He holds her even tighter. “She has to beg first, and on her knees, and then I think I might consider it.”

“Oh hell no!” She replies almost immediately, he knows she too prideful for that

“Then you’ll just have to stay here.” Jason starts pacing across the rooftop, still holding her. “You know, I could just throw you off if I wanted to?”

Y/N immediately grips, scared, his leather jacket, “Don’t you dare!” She warns him looking over her shoulder

“You didn’t say the magic words…” Jason smirks at her, and starts walking backward, “Say those two words, and I’ll put you down.”

“Not in a million years Todd” she replies too prideful

Their banter continues, as their smiles grow brighter. The sun almost seems to match the heat in their smiles, and the sound of distant laughter is like music to their ears.

It's almost like... everything is back as it was. The two of them together again, laughing and joking and protecting Gotham.

The only reminder that this isn't a flashback is a small, white streak in his hair

Jason steps into the building, staying as low and quiet as he can, ready to interrogate one of his men.

The man turns in surprise when he sees Jason. “Wh--What are you do--”

“Where’s Black Mask?” Jason asks without hesitation. His voice is cold and flat.

“I’m not in the mood to ask nicely,” he says, stepping forward. “One way or the other, you’re telling me where he is.” He grabs the goon by the collar, forcing him against the wall. “Time to talk.”

“She-you asked me already. I gave you all the information I know…please…let me go” the goon grunts and winces in pain.

Jason tilts his head curiously. “She?” He tightens his grip on the goon’s collar. “Who’s she?”

“I don’t know man… she’s called Y/V/N… or whatever her name is”

Jason’s eyes narrow. And it all makes so much sense now. “Don’t worry,” he says coldly, “I’ll get my answers one way or the other.” Jason ends him snapping his neck.

It doesn’t take long for Jason to find Y/N, she’s currently being tackled at the ground by three men.

The moment Jason sees Y/N, his whole demeanour changes. He becomes the Jason she knew before. The Jason that loved her dearly. He takes one look at her and runs up to tackle those men who dared try and hurt her. Without second thought. He puts himself in between Y/N and the men, taking the brunt of the attack for her. No one lays so much as a finger on her without having to go through him.

Jason quickly glances at Y/N looking for any injuries, luckily she’s okay.

“Answer me,” he says quietly, “Why did you come here?”

“I could ask you the same thing” she replies pissed crossing her arms

“This is my job.” He raises a brow, looking at her with annoyance. “It’s not like I have a choice here. What’s your excuse?”

“This is my case!” she points at herself, leaning towards him

“I highly doubt that.” Jason shoots her a look. “I know Black Mask. He’s my target. This is my case.”

“Go ask Oracle if you don’t believe me.” Y/N hisses as she forcefully grabs Jason , bringing him inches from her.

“Well… since you’re here, let’s work,” he grumbles, “But I don’t want to talk to you outside of this situation. I made it clear I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Suddenly, both snap at the loud noise behind them. All the guards and goons were alerted, clearly their presence was not very welcome as the goons were firing as many shots as possible towards them.

Jason drags Y/N as the goons get closer. He’s breathing even more heavily now and his helmet is starting to feel a little too hot.

Jason fires back at the goons. He’s a skilled marksman, taking off shots that seem almost impossibly fast. But he’s not taking any chances. He won’t let them hurt Y/N. That’s all he’s thinking about in this moment.

“Hey, Y/V/N!” he shouts, “You might want to hurry!”

"That's what I'm trying to do!" She yells at her comms as she takes cover.

His expression is hidden beneath the helmet, so Y/N can't really see his face.

“You're doing a shitty job of it" he growls. A gun barrel pokes the corner next to him.

“And they say chivalry is dead" she snarks, pushing him "Down!" Jason hisses, yanking Y/N to pull her behind a row of metal boxes.

"You're so stupid!" He snaps back as more gunfire hits in their direction. "Leave me, leave me now" Jason ducks down and reaches forward, dragging Y/N with him by her shoulders.

“I'm not leaving you to die here" Jason keeps dragging her down until she's kneeling. "You Stay. Down"

“Why do you have to behave like the hero of the situation…” she grits her teeth, managing to free herself from his tight grip.

But the gunfire is coming in heavy now, so Jason grabs Y/N again to shove her down lower, his forehead resting against hers.

She doesn't know how, but he behaves exasperatedly, protectively and like he wants to kiss her at the same time.

“Will you get away from me!" She pushes him, trying -again- to get up. Jason is faster and grabs her wrists to keep her down. “You'll punch me later. Stay down.”

“And I can kick you now, if you don't leave me immediately" Y/N is basically threatening him.

"I could pick you up and throw you over my shoulder to get you safe" Jason answers with a straight face “but your ego is too big for that"

"You're treating me like the damsel in distress. You've always treated me like one" She whispers-shouts now that the building is quiet again.

Jason wants to pinch the bridge of his nose so bad, instead he pulls Y/N closer “It's because you're impulsive and reckless and if I let you do as you wanted, you'd be dead by now."

It takes all of his willpower to not kiss her.

Not now. Not here.

"Don't start, Red" she warns, her voice is too quiet "Don't you dare start"

"Stop being so stupid!" he snarls "You would come home every single time covered in blood, and half of the times it wasn't ever yours… Do you think it was easy for me? You have no idea how many times I've heard you cry at night because some worthless ape harmed you"

That… hit home more than it was supposed to, Y/N refuses to watch him and as a response she turns her head fully to the side, feeling tears prickling her eyes.

Luckily, her mask covers the lower part of her face, so Jason can't really see her lips quivering.

Jason sighs and rests his head on her shoulder just for a second, then he pulls himself back up. His eyes too are a bit red.

"Are you actually crying?" he asks "Smartass" Y/N mutters to herself

“They are scanning the area, it's our chance to move from here" she whispers while trying to change desperately the subject

"Agreed" he simply replies, Jason glances at Black Mask's men, then crouches "You're staying with me, no buts" he orders, motioning her to follow him.

They start to slowly creep forward through a gap in the wall. Finally, they leave the area, moving onto the next one, both of them have plenty of space to attack or take cover. Y/N is making her way around Black Mask's goon to try to flank him, when Jason abruptly grabs her arm. She turns to look at him, and he quickly covers her mouth with his own hand. Immediately after, he gestures the two goons hiding in the storage room. Both of them don't seem to have noticed the two young vigilantes.

Y/N takes action in her own hands attacking the goons with her sais, soon enough both are bleeding to death, too weak to scream for any kind of help.

Jason smiles as she takes them down, Y/N's skills shine through even in the smallest area.

Then he pushes her ahead, motioning to keep leading the way. Y/N is ready on full offensive mode, and he supports her from behind.

Y/N inspects the outer metal corridor, signalling Jason the clear passageway. Looking down, both of them have a clear view of the area, they could see where the majority of the goons were grouped. Y/N climbs down, she's ready to get down to business.

"Stop being so reckless" Jason whispers-shouts at his comms

“You stop being reckless!”

"Y/N”Jason's voice is tight in her earpiece. "You are too exposed. Come back here”

“I’m a trained fighter and vigilante! I’m not scared, and I’m not your damsel in distress" she was clenching her earpiece as if she was fighting over the phone.

“And I'm your boyfriend and I said get back here!" Jason doesn't even use his voice, he's hissing “I'm not letting you die in this ratty building.

“You mean my Ex boyfriend" she corrects him while gripping her sais.

At the same time Y/N thinks a way to knockouts the group of men in front of her.

"Not when you need a hero to rescue you" he tells her, just to goad a response from her.

Jason is keeping his distance from Y/N, though he's slowly approaching her, taking the long but stealthy way. Not matter what, he's still trying to protect her…

“As usual, the hero saves the damsel” she whispers, clearly pissed.

Finally, she sees the armed goons coming towards her. Y/N crouches ready to sneak a full-frontal attack: she uppercuts the first one, then grabs him by the shoulder so she could stomp the second in the face and neutralises the third one by stabbing his neck.

"Not just the hero saving the damsel…” Jason points out, stepping to her side and firing at one goon trying to run away. "But the boyfriend trying to save his girlfriend"

Y/N could practically sense the eye-roll rolling off his voice.

“Said the boyfriend that dumped the girlfriend for no reason…”

Are Jason and Y/N really arguing in the middle of a dangerous mission?

There was a time their relationship wasn't full of bitter words and silent treatment. Back when it was just the two of them going up against Gotham's villains.

It all started about a month ago when Jason broke up with her, giving no explanation whatsoever. Y/N confusion was palpable, did she do something wrong? Did he cheat on her? Did he care less?

All these questions were left unanswered. Jason practically blocked her in every way possible. She tried, Y/N tried to be the bigger person, but the rage got the best of her.

So, here we are now… Two young vigilantes in their twenties fighting every two seconds.

"Girlfriend who wouldn't listen and kept putting herself in danger" he retorts and Y/N swears to feel his bitter smile.

For all his anger and hurt, seeing her alive and safe makes his heart sing.

"I’m a vigilante, that's my damned job" she yells while butterfly kicking nonchalantly a goon, knocking him out.

“Yeah, and it's my job to keep you safe.” One of the goons rushes at Y/N, Jason quickly fires a shot at his leg to slow him down.

“No it's not, you're not my caretaker" she spits bitterly as she snaps the goon's neck with a satisfactory crack

“I might not be your boyfriend any more, but I’m still your partner" Jason snaps a thug's wrist behind his back and pins him to the floor “And right now your partner is keeping an eye on you. Now get back here"

Y/N watches Jason with her hands crossed. "You never treated me as your partner but rather as your idiot sidekick" the goon listens petrified, are they really fighting in front of him?

"Says the woman who's about to get herself killed right now" He counters "Stop your tantrum and fight"

Y/N shakes her head disapprovingly as she starts to charge the enemies in front of her, Jason watches as Y/N effortlessly takes out five of Black Mask's men. One by one, she brings them to the ground. A stab there, a kick here - then she moves on to the next one, the next one, the next, and she makes it look so easy.

He's really impressed by her moves, almost mesmerized, but… his own heart aches to see her fighting so hard. It aches to see the look on her face, the way she looks at him.

There are a bunch of men left, but they seem intimidated by her fighting skills and Red Hood slowly creeping towards her.

His eyes locked on her body. He needs to be ready to protect her If Black Mask's men overwhelm her defences.

Y/N scans the area looking for the information they were looking for.

But the building is quiet, Y/N either slaughtered all of them or else scared them all off.

"You won" he murmurs

“Damn right, I did" she whispers, panting heavily.

Jason puts his hands on get shoulder and guides her to the nearby wall, where there's a spot to lean against.

"You good?" he asks, he's in front of her, his arms crossed tightly.

"I just killed a bunch of men by myself, I need to catch a breath…”

Jason leans slightly, he studies her face for a few seconds before reaching out and stroking her cheek.

“Don't… Don't touch me…” Y/N has the strength to yell, but her eyes clearly tell how she's feeling right now.

“You break up with me… You break my heart…and now you behave like this? What's wrong with you!" He frowns at that, but instead of reacting, he just pulls away his hand.

He shifts to cross his arms again and leans away from Y/N. “I broke up with you because I’m dragging you down…" his tone quiet, almost too quiet, "You deserve better than the mess I am right now”

"That’s the dumbest reason ever, what does that even mean?" she yells with her arms in the air.

There's a pause as Jason takes a deep breath. "It means I lo-I can't be the boyfriend you deserve… This city is overrun by criminals… and I’m on the verge of collapsing from stress… And there’s you… with me you became so reckless"

Y/N's first reaction is to punch him in the face, but she calms herself down "You've always pushed me away and…" she stops as tears start to prickle her eyes. "And… Whenever I showed genuine concern, you would shut me out. Every. Single. Time."

She tries so hard to not cry.

Not now, not here.

Jason looks at her, the most honest version of him so far. “I thought I was doing you a favour by ending things.”

"You can't decide for me, you went rogue as usual" she's astonished, Y/N lowers completely her mask, allowing herself to breathe some fresh air. Maybe it would soothe her heart a bit.

"I wanted to be alone"

The voice is calm, the eyes hurt.

Y/N's shoulders drop immediately at his words, defeated. “That's it! That is the reason! Finally, you've told me the reason… You know what? You're right, I'll leave you alone…" She gathers that bit of strength left to leave

But Jason grabs her hand.

This time, he's not letting go.

He pulls her towards him

"I’m telling you once and for all. Y/N, and I need you to listen to me"

He pulls Y/N into his arms, his helmet touching her forehead "I want to be alone because if you stay near me, I know I’ll end up losing you. I don't want that. I can't afford it…”

"Stop it… you're breaking me even more…” she whispers

Y/N Is on the verge of crying her eyes out, she tries so hard to control her face muscles but still her lips are quivering, her chin trembling, her nose sniffing and her eyes watering.

"I'm sorry Y/N. I don't care about your heart if I know it's going to get you killed" Jason says softly.

He pulls her close again, leaning his forehead right in front of hers. His helmet hides its face, but it's obvious he wants to kiss her so bad.

Even behind a helmet, the urge to kiss Y/N is almost palpable.

“I'm a vigilante… It's -It’s my job" she shuts her eyes to regain some composure, to no avail, tears start to fall nevertheless.

"And it's my job to keep you safe" Jason wraps his arms around her. Once more, he lets his helmet press against her forehead, just like his lips want to do so badly. "I'm not giving you a choice here"

“Then…" She breathes in deeply. “Then why you dated me in the first place?"

Jason closes his eyes and slowly pulls his hands apart. Taking off his helmet. He looks at Y/N, meeting her teary eyes.

"Because I love you" he then takes her hands and rests both of them on the sides of his face "So I’d rather you be mad at me than dead"

"What if… What if I die and you're not there. Who's at fault? She provokes him while crying

“Me" he replies without even thinking.

He leans his forehead against hers "It will be me" he simply says, "But at least I’ll be able to rest easy knowing I did everything in my power to save you."

There's so much emotion in his voice. There's a hint of anger and bitterness and pride. But beneath it all, there's just… so much love. He's hurting just as much as Y/N, he loves her so much.

He just wants her safe.

Jason's gaze is the one of a defeated man.

"You lost me already, don't you get that?" Y/N is memorising every single detail in his face, as if it was the very last time.

Jason shakes his head stubbornly "You're not getting rid of me that easily" he says, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a small smile "Just because I'm not your boyfriend" he adds “doesn't mean I get to stop loving you”

Y/N can feel her heart break into tiny little pieces. She hoped that… Oh, well… It's definitive. It's their last stop together…

She shuts her eves and bites her lower lip, trying so much to not cry. If her eves are closed, none of this is happening… It’s all a bad dream.

Jason leans forward and kisses the crown of her head. He keeps his face against hers, breathing slowly, so he can feel the scent of her hair, of her skin. His eyes are closed too. He doesn't want to see her crying, but he can hear and feel her sobbing.

Jason strokes her cheeks, trying to comfort her.

He hugs Y/N tightly, not letting her go, his face so close to hers. His expression, the way he looks at her… just for a second, it's like a glimpse into this perfect little world. If only… She could just stay like that. Jason could hold her in his arms and take away her heartache.

But they're still in a dirty, ratty building. Y/N is still crying and Jason is still broken.

"Please don't be mad at me" he asks softly, almost whispering "I love you and I never stopped. I just want to keep you safe"

Y/N's hiccups can't seem to stop, she's so overwhelmed.

She's trying to process as quickly as possible that he's breaking up with her.

But it hurts so bad…

"Shhh" Jason says against her forehead "It's okay"

He strokes her hair and kisses her forehead, her cheeks and nose.

"I'm so proud of you for everything you've accomplished"

Y/N breaks down at his words, that's too much for her to bear.

She feels so ashamed

So ashamed to cry in front of him

So ashamed to love him

So ashamed because she can't let go

Y/N can't see it, but Jason’s eyes are so full of tears from seeing her cry

"Please don't cry"

Her tears are breaking him. He sighs as he presses his lips against her forehead

“Y/N, please. Let's not end things like this"

For once, he's begging.

As Red Hood, all the villains do his bidding without even giving the smallest of effort.

Here… he's pleading, he's begging Y/N.

"I-I'm so… I-I'm sorry… I hav-I need to go…" Y/N gently pushes him away, freeing herself from his tight embrace.

She quickly walks away, almost running, wiping tears with the back of her hand.

Jason could hear her muffled cry in the distance.

Jason watches her go, trying to not lose his composure, he keeps his face as straight as he can until Y/N disappear from view.

Then, he finally loses it.

He sits by the wall, head resting against the concrete pillar as his face crumbles.

And he cries.

Like he did after that night he broke up with you

Like he did when he failed to protect you

Like he did when he thought you would never forgive him for what he did.

“I need your help”  he pleads. Y/N stops dead in her track.

“What… Again? No!” Her expression changes in a matter of seconds: from disbelief to surprise to anger.

It all started casually one night. Y/N invited Jason at her home for a simple dinner between friends. Suddenly Jason's phone ringed, to his delight, it was his brother. It was a rather normal conversation between brothers: one apprehensive like hell, the other super annoyed. As Jason was about to end the call, Y/N yells at him to come eat.

He knew…

Jason knew…

He perfectly knew that his brother was about to tease him simply by the way he breathed in when he heard Y/N's voice. Jason closed his eyes, regretting his life choices and slowly embraced death while sinking into the sofa.

“Jason, who is she?” He swore he felt his brother's teasing smile through the phone.

However, not all evils come to harm. He understood a valuable lesson: his brother stopped annoying him. Obviously, he would tease him about Y/N during patrol, but it was nothing compared to his continuous apprehension about his life.

Soon, his brother was complimenting Y/N's work on Jason, she was changing him for the better.

He was totally wrong, Jason was the same prick as ever.

Confirmation bias is one hell of a thing.

“Come on!” Jason urges, his pace quickening as Y/N walks away. He stops abruptly, stepping in to block her path.

“I swear it's the last time” not receiving his desired response, he continues “Please, I need this”  Y/N's face totally blank of any emotions.

“Please?” he begs, sounding like a pouting toddler more than a grown ass man.

“There's no one else better than you” he tries to charm her, to no avail…

Y/N looks around for a quick way out, she can't bear him any more so, she decides to pass through the nearby park.

Too bad, her annoying “shadow” was fallowing her.

“For the love of God, Jason! Go ask Artemis, you had a real thing, it will be more believable. Tell your brother I dumped you” she snaps facing him.

“I can't, she left Gotham”  Jason points out

“You're my only option left” he tells her innocently. Needless to say, this new tactic did not work. Jason holds up his hands to calm Y/N out, not actually expecting to work.

He lets out a long, frustrated sigh

“Look. My brother needs to know we’re still dating” or he’ll start to annoy me again.

But if you are by my side, it’ll give him some piece of mind”  Jason has no more aces up his sleeve and he was praying some greater god that Y/N would accept his request.

He watches her sigh and massaging her temples.

“Yeah OK, whatever”

He made it! He was safe. Finally, his brother won’t bothe… wait… is she leaving?

Jason was so lost in thoughts he did not realise Y/N was leaving without him,

The park was slowly emptying, the last kids can be heard in the distance saying goodbye to each other. Silence reigns supreme now, cicadas and crickets sings here and there, it was quite relaxing. The street lights are yet to be turned on.

The atmosphere was so mythical, it didn’t look like Gotham at all.

“Hold up!” He’s yelling at her. His steps getting closer and closer as he tries to keep her from outpacing him again and she rolls her eyes

“So you agree? That quickly?” He’s actually more surprised than her, his eyebrow still raised, waiting for her to answer.

“What I’m supposed to do Jason?!” Her hands in the air, she’s defeated “you are that annoying especially if you don’t get what you want” she points out.

“Can you move I’m trying to go home” Y/N tries to move left and right, but Jason is blocking, once more, her way.

How could Jason explain to Y/N that she’s supposed to come with him to the manor for a family gathering? He’s genuinely scared at her possibile reaction, she might also change her mind and blow out his plans.

Jason was scratching the back of his head, clearly agitated, he exhales loudly, adrenaline rushing to his body.

“My family is waiting for you at the manor for dinner” he shuts his eyes, bracing for impact

“WHAT?! The manor? The Wayne Fucking manor? Are out of your mind?!” That was exactly the reaction he was thinking about, in his mind he was going through the seven stages of grief.

He watched a clearly frustrated Y/N, burying her face into her own hands.

“I swear this is the last time I’m doing this” her voice came muffled.

“I promise you’re doing the right thing here” Jason tells her, giving a reassuring, warm smile. Y/N felt a rush of warmth to her cheeks, as if he means it.

“Thank you Y/N” he tells her sincerely, as they both go to the opposite direction, towards the Wayne manor.

“I truly hope I will receive a secure ticket to heaven after the whole playing pretend thing” she prays watching the sky.

Jason laughs, a low warm rumble. It’s surprisingly pleasant to hear about.

“I know you’re sacrificing yourself for a bigger cause, but believe me, pretending to date me won’t grant you access to heaven”  

He’s just joking, obviously.

Probably.

“Oh shucks!” A Y/N snaps her fingers pretending to be disappointed. In response, Jason snorts, shaking his head

“you are so ridiculous”

The walk, for one reason or the another, it’s silent; they still walk side by side. The path they were walking on was so silent and peaceful. Literally heaven on earth for such a big city.

Jason steps in front of Y/N, slowing her down, “I really can’t thank you enough for this. It really means a lot” he puts his hands at her shoulders, showing genuine gratitude.

Maybe she was doing the right thing.

Eventually their stroll resumes, still walking side by side, enjoying the cicadas' song.

“Sooo… how should I behave around your family?” Y/N finally broke silence.

This whole thing is making her so embarrassed that her whole body is itching. She wasn’t even dressed properly, she’ll make a fool of herself. Her train of thoughts is interrupted by Jason walking next to her, “act completely normal”

But Y/N is completely lost in her thought, and Jason could sense it.

“Act exactly as you would normally, everything will be alright” he continues.

“OK?… Actually I wasn’t referring to that” she takes a deep breath meditating if she’s supposed to continue speaking or not “I’m talking about PDA”

Jason stops again, echoing her, forehead crinkling in confusion.

“What makes you think it will be necessary?”  Y/N first reaction is to get closer to him, her eyebrow raised

“Huh… perhaps we’re “still” dating” she air quotes

“listen, as much as it costs me, we need to make it believable” her voice became serious. If she has to play pretend, at least it has to be a good one.

Jason’s expression darkens a bit at the mentions of “make it believable”.

“I understand that we have to sell the lie”  he’s clearly uncomfortable, not really a fan of PDA. He rubs his face, looking away from Y/N, his voice drops to a murmur

“Just… don’t overdo it”

Y/N’s response came so quickly it startled Jason a bit

“Yes sir!” Voice loud and clear also doing the salute in a desperate attempt to break the tension created by the young man.

“I’m not kidding Y/N” his eyes dead serious “if my brother sees us overreacting, we’re going to be in deep shit” why is Jason so unsettled by his brother?

Y/N touches his arm, a clear invite to continue walking, but he visibly stiffens

“Jason… Jay, you need to relax a bit, I barely touched you and you are so stiff. How will you behave if we have to hug in front of them, or worse… kiss”

He’s suddenly very uncomfortable when she puts the prospect of a kiss on the table.

He pulls his arm away, out of her grip, and leans as far away as he can – although there are only a few inches between him and a bench. He folds his arms, eyes darting somewhere else. His reaction was way out of character… Y/N notices this sudden change of emotions, she’s worried about him. This time she’s the one to outpace and slowing him down

“Hey, what’s got into you all of a sudden?”  A hint of annoyance in Y/N’s voice.

Still refusing to look at Y/N, he’s very aware of how ridiculous he must look, with his arms crossed

“nothing is got into me… I’m not the type of guy that hugs his girlfriend in front of the others”.

“…Or a kisser….”

he mumbles that bit so low that his voice his barely audible.

“Jay, how is your brother going to believe us if you don’t -at least – hold my hand?” Jason exhales, a huff of breath. He realizes she has a point there.

After a brief moment of consideration, he decides to relent. He steps toward Y/N and offers his arm to her. He does not pull Y/N closer, he’s waiting and hoping that she will want to take it.

Y/N puts down his arm.

“Jason listen…” she takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose “if you’re uncomfortable with PDA, that’s okay, we’ll figure out something else but for the love of god, give me back my best friend” she is literally begging him, it was so frustrating. But he’s not even wrong, who would want to put themselves in an uncomfortable position?

“No, wait, I…” Jason starts, but then swallows his words. A frown crosses his face, and he seems to be mulling over what Y/N just said. She’s right. He doesn't want to make himself uncomfortable. But Y/N seem determined to do this.

“I can do this.” he says after a moment, holding out his arm for her again.

“If it's for the mission.”

“It’s for the mission!” she nods vigorously, finally taking his arm.

As they finally start to walk again, Jason expects Y/N to keep his pace. “Jay… slow down” she's almost running to keep his pace, “let me remind how tall you are and short am”. It’s a ridiculously funny scene.

Jason pauses, and then looks over his shoulder at Y/N. He’s not looking to see if she’s keeping up, he’s just looking at her.

He likes what he sees.

“How about this?” he asks, lowering himself to her level. He looks up to her, a smile spreading across his face.

“Better?”

“Oh my god, did you really lower yourself to watch me?” she can’t even pretend to be mad at him so she just laughs heartily at the situation.

Jason laughs too, a low rumbling sound emerging from his chest. His head leans down at a slight angle, still looking up at her.

“You like your men taller than you, huh?” he asks, tone of voice teasing.

“ What can I say, I choose my men wisely” she replies faking all of her pride

“Oh, so you do prefer your men taller?” Jason replies, now sounding teasing in response.

He shifts his weight, to bring himself a little closer.

“Is that what you like about me?” he asks, a smug smile on his face.

“Oh yes, totally!” She tells, pretending to be serious, “fuck personality… I want my man to be taller than me” she can’t keep her face serious for more than a couple of seconds before bursting out laughing.

Jason can’t help but snort at her acting. He laughs loudly, clearly in on the joke.

He smiles at her as he adjusts himself to stand at his regular height.

“You like the idea of dating a giant,” he observes, a cocky, smirking smile on his face.

“You’ll be Goliath, and I’ll be David” it’s the first thing that came into her mind, actually it was true. He was literally towering her.

“Oh, I could be your Goliath,” he tells her, voice dropping to a flirty lower pitch.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“Don’t forget that Goliath got defeated by David” she remarks proudly to herself “so bring it on Jay!”

Jason doesn’t miss a beat.

“That only happened because David had faith,” he replies quickly, using the same flirty, playful tone. “He knew he could take down the giant.”

He grins at Y/N, as if daring her to argue.

“I also have faith” Y/N fights back “I’ll bring you down too Jay”

Jason gasps lightly. “You? Bring me down? Impossible.” He shakes his head, as if denying the very idea.

“You couldn’t fathom the strength required to bring me down,” he goes on in the character of a giant that could not be defeated. But he drops the act when he hears Y/N chortling next to him.

“I see you’re already laughing,” he says, as if mildly offended.

“I don’t think you’re taking me very seriously.”

“I can’t… I’m sorry… you’re too ridiculous ” she laughs so much that her stomach is hurting, and she is gasping for air.

“Oh, so you’re not taking me seriously, huh?” Jason asks, pantomiming a wounded expression as he rests the back of his hand on his forehead.

“And here I thought we might have had something good.”

In that same moment, he reaches for Y/N’s hand, pulling her close to him. He leans his forehead against hers, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I guess you’ll just have to show me how strong you really are,” he teases.

“I do have my slingshot Goliath” she whispers back at him, smiling at his tease.

“Mhm,” Jason says, voice going deeper and lower still as he stares down at her. “And you’re so sure you won’t miss….”

His lips are just a few inches from hers. He doesn’t pull away.

“I’m pretty sure I won’t” Jason watches her intently. Her eyelids fluttering, her face so close.

He’s not going to kiss Y/N. Surely he won’t.

Suddenly, he leans forward, brushing his lips against hers in the briefest, lightest kiss, the kind your mind is sure you imagined.

Then he pulls back, just to see Y/N’s reaction.

“Huh?” Y/N is embarrassed, maybe he was just mocking her, maybe he doesn’t even like her. Y/N’s face shows a frown.

Jason laughs, his face delighted with amusement.

“I told you I’d be gentle,” he says, tone of voice teasing.

“I didn’t want to ruin you.” He puts his face close to hers again, breathing in her scent. “Do you want more, David?” he whispers, still close enough to kiss her.

“Bring it on” She whispers back, this time she grips his red sweatshirt, managing to close the gap between them.

Jason grins, but makes no move to push Y/N away. He watches as she grips his favourite sweatshirt ,as if daring him to do something about it.

“You sure you want more?” he asks, voice husky and low.

He leans forward again, this time pressing his lips against hers, and keeping the contact for a little longer than before.

“Shut up, I’m trying to defeat you with my slingshot” she jokes by kissing him again

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?” Jason asks, still smirk on his face.

His own arms wrapped around Y/N's waist, pulling her close to him, pressing her body against his. His kisses are growing longer and longer, until he’s practically ravishing her.

He pulls his lips away from hers to breathe. “I think you’re winning.”

“I know, I just need a decisive strike, and the evil Goliath will fall” she tells him grinning

“And when I fall,” he questions, “what do you intend to do to me, mighty David?” he asks teasingly. “Cut off my head?”

She nods teasing him

His lips travel down to Y/N's jaw, his breath warming her skin as he kisses his way down her neck.

“I’ll cut your head right here” she kisses his neck, and starts to suck his skin right there, leaving a red mark on it.

Jason laughs, clearly enjoying the feeling. His eyes drifting down to Y/N's lips. They look so tempting…

“How about this?” Jason asks. “Once you defeat me, you could claim your reward for winning.”

Jason presses his mouth to hers for another kiss, but this time his tongue pushes past her lips, seeking entrance.

“I’ll claim my reward, but first I have to strike my decisive blow at you Goliath” she whispers softly.

Jason chuckles as his tongue enters the battle, pressing against her tongue. His hand reaches behind her head, tilting it up slightly.

“This is your decisive strike, David? I’m sure you can do better than this.” he teases. His voice grows low as he continues. “I’m not so easily defeated.”

Y/N pushes him gently, making him fall on a bench. She sits on his lap, her legs at each side of his torso

“Get ready to be defeated, Goliath” she whispers in his ear.

Jason gasps as she push him back, and he almost laughs out loud when she sits on his lap.

“Are you sure you want to be in this position with me, David?” he asks playfully.

Then he looks at her, his smile going sly. “Actually, I can’t think of a better position to be in.”

He wraps his arms around Y/N. “Let’s see what you got.” Y/N rips open her blouse, revealing her chest to him. Jason was caught totally off guard, his eyes wide open.

She grabs his neck and kisses him again, “you’re not allowed to touch, only watch” he felt her smile while whispering.

Jason’s gaze is fixed on her, body frozen with surprise. He stares at her chest, lips parted.

“I’m just… looking,” he says, voice husky.

One of his hands reaches out, and touches the hem of Y/N’s blouse. He pushes it back just slightly so he could watch her physique.

 “It looks so soft…”

“Oh it is indeed, I wish you could touch it just to feel how soft and smooth it is, my dear Goliath” Jason lets out a low moan as she presses her chest into his. He places his hands around the back of her waist, pulling Y/N closer to him.

Her bare skin against his is sending a shock down his spine. “This is so not fair,” he mutters in a quiet voice

“I told you my dear Goliath, this is the begging of my fatal blow” her voice is as sweet as sugar.

He’s aching for her…

“Oh Goliath... I wish you could touch me” she cries out grabbing her breasts, “I wish it was you touching me” she continues squeezing her breast.

Jason has an expression of pure longing on his face as Y/N moves her hand. His skin tingles and he shivers, his body reacting on its own.

His hand pulls back, his fingertips teasingly skimming over her collarbone. He leans close to Y/N again, his body pressed against hers. “I wish it was me too, David.” He says with a wink. “This is… this is killing me.”

“Oh it is?”  She asks. “Good” she smiles at him as she kisses his cheek.

Her hand travels down to his groin. She feels his cock hard for her, Jason moans again, body moving instinctively against her touch. His arms tighten around hers, squeezing her against him in a way that sends a jolt of heat running through Y/N’s body.

His lips move down against hers in a feverish series of kisses, biting her bottom lip before moving to the top of her throat, lips trailing kisses as his lips reach her skin.

Y/N starts to grind against him, crying softly to his ear “why can’t you touch me Goliath”

“Please…” her soft moan was killing him.

Jason can feel her body grinding against him, her warmth against his skin. His breath quickens, and his body shudders in anticipation.

The sound of that name is intoxicating, and he’s about to beg Y/N to touch him. But he realises what she’s doing, and a quiet chuckle emerges from him.

“Oh, you know exactly what you’re doing, David.” His voice is thick with desire.

She freed one of her breasts from her lacy bra, and she kept squeezing it, not allowing Jason to watch her bare breast nor to touch it. He felt like exploding, he couldn’t be keeping any more.

She kept grinding and moaning, begging him to touch her, to feel her.

She wanted to defeat him for real. Jason is beyond himself with need. Y/N is teasing him with so little, just enough to whet his appetite before taking it all away from him and making his want for more increase.

His hands reach out, trying to pull her breast out of her lingerie.

He’s desperate.

“Let me…” he whispers, voice husky and rough.

But she kept with her game, not allowing him to touch her.

He looks at you, eyes dark and lustful.

“You like this, don’t you?” he says.

“You like it when I lose my mind like this.”

His voice is low, his expression dark and hungry.

He bites her bottom lip again, and this time it’s a much harder bite, leaving it lip red and her body trembling.

“How long are you going to play with me, David?”

“Until you’re completely defeated” she whispers.

Jason can feel his control slipping away from him, but he still tries to fight back.

It’s a losing battle, and he knows it.

“I’m not defeated yet,” he says hoarsely. “Your decisive strike still hasn’t happened, David.”

He takes a deep breath, as if to steady his voice.

“But I can only hold back my hunger for so long.”

She stops grinding. Her other hand travels down to her shorts, reaching for her wet pussy. As Y/N leans completely her body to his, she keeps fingering herself making sure to moan in his ear.

Jason watches in horror as he feels Y/N grinding against him in a whole different way, her body moving with the motions of her hand.

It sends him over the edge.

Jason bites his lip to hold back a loud moan of pleasure.

“Y/N, come on,” he manages through gritted teeth.

“This isn’t fair. You aren’t playing fair.”

He’s not even trying to stay in control of his impulses at this point, and he reaches toward Y/N trying to pull her hand away from her pussy, the other reaching for her bare breast.

Y/N moans are driving him crazy.

“Y/N? Who is Y/N? I’m David” she replies to him shaking her head

“I apologise… but it's hard for me to tell you apart” Jason stumbles over the name change,  “I… Dammit,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

He stares at Y/N for a moment, and a hint of a grin appears on his face.

“You’re …forgiven…” she pants heavily, leaning back, lifting her body from his.

Nevertheless, she kept touching her bare breast and fingering herself while moaning even harder. She didn’t care if someone heard her.

Y/N’s moans are still sending a chill down his spine. She is so, so loud, Jason loves hearing the raw, unfiltered words she’s saying.

His body twitches in anticipation, his eyes widening. “I… oh, god…”

Jason stares at her with a mix of hunger and astonishment, his mouth agape.

“I… Jesus, you are… you’re just relentless.”

“Oh, god ” Jason says, watching Y/N fingering herself while the other hand now touching her nipple.

“I…” He watches her for a moment, his body shaking with need.

“That’s definitely your decisive strike” he says after a moment.

He lets out a deep breath, one hand coming up to cover his face.

“I… I surrender.”

“Until… you’re defeated completely” she moans

 A low growl emerges from Jason’s throat, a growl of surprise and irritation that Y/N has so much power over him at this moment.

“I want this nightmare to be over,” he mutters, almost too low for you to hear.

Jason can’t think clear thoughts, not with her fingering in front of him.

“Y/N, please, I can’t even think straight.” Jason moans with his entire body, as if he’s the one being touched. He can’t stop thinking about Y/N, about her body, her voice and her sounds.

Even when her hand stops stroking her pussy, Jason’s body thrums with need.

He wants to kiss you, to taste you, to claim you.

He can tell that her hand is moving faster because her moans are louder and her breathing is more rapid.

Y/N came right there, on his lap and she was pretty sure Jason’s jeans were soaked with her juices.

Jason groans and grabs her tightly, his body still shaking from how desperate it was for more.

“I could feel that,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. He’s grinning and embarrassed and aroused and a million feelings all in one moment. He’s even a little proud of you, because making Jason Todd lose is no easy task.

“That was… a devastating blow,” he breathes out.

“I think I’m going to need a few minutes to recover.”

“Once again David defeated Goliath” Y/N pants at him.

I’ll let you recover in peace” she kisses his cheek getting up from the bench.

“We’re late, come on” she taps her finger on her imaginary watch

“Oh my god, fine,” Jason groans, his voice low, and he starts to push himself up. But he stumbles, and she can tell how shaky he still is from her devastating strike.

Y/N knows exactly what she’s doing to him, and it’s so funny. It’s hilarious, in some ways.

She can see it in his face and the way his body stiffens every time he almost touches her.

He’s weak to her. And she loves it…

At the manor Y/N finally meets Jason’s brother, she smiles politely at him.

“Jay you’re lat-” he tries to whisper at his brother, his voice not so low because Y/N interrupts him “Oh…it’s my fault, I spent way too much time explaining him the story of David and Goliath”

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• let me know what you think, love ya 💕 •