🥀A Safe Place to Land 🌹
Chapter Eight: Twice Is a Coincidence🌹
A Jason Todd x Single Mom!Reader story
Jason shows up again—twice in one week—and the flirting officially crosses into dangerous territory. Jordan sees everything and has zero chill about it (as usual). Between playful banter, a chaotic workday, and a quiet therapy session, you finally let yourself wonder… what would it feel like to be wanted again? To be chosen for something soft
📝 Author’s Note: I’m finally rounding the corner on being sick IRL (thank you tea, soup, and sheer spite). I’ve got maybe 2–3 more chapters lined up and ready to go either later today or tomorrow—fingers crossed.Hopefully you’re just as excited to read them as I’ve been to post them. Otherwise… yeah, this probably feels like spam. Bear with me 😅🖤
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Your POV – Front Desk, Two days since meet cute
It’s been two days since Mr. tall, dark, and brooding walked in. The first day every chime from the door had you looking up expectedly, but by the second day you’re determined to put him out of your mind and get to work (#girlboss)
The phones are already ringing when you slide behind the front desk at Gotham Behavioral Health Center. You slip on your badge, adjust your cardigan, and offer Jordan a caffeine-deprived nod.
Just another day.
Another lineup of new intakes, no-show reschedules, and the occasional tearful walk-in needing tissues and a calm voice.
You’re halfway through checking insurance benefits when the clinic doors open—and the light shifts.
Not the flicker of fluorescents. Not the usual too-bright sun.
No, this is shadow. Boots. Leather. A jawline carved by chaos and a smirk that makes your pulse forget how to behave.
Jason Todd.
Again.
He leans one arm on the counter like he owns the floor, like the world slowed down just to give him better lighting.
“You always this serious before noon?”
His voice drips with lazy charm—teasing, confident, and entirely too comfortable showing up here twice in one week.
You don’t miss a beat.
“Keep showing up like this, and we’ll have to refer you to our IOP group.”
He grins, eyes dragging over your face like he’s already memorizing the smile you’re not giving him.
“Maybe I’m just working on my healing journey.”
You hand him a clipboard with an arched brow, ignoring the fact that the intake paperwork is completely imaginary.
“Then start by learning boundaries. Step one.”
He accepts it with mock sincerity, pen hovering like he’s about to sign something worth framing.
“Should I also disclose that I’ve been thinking about you since the last visit?”
You blink. Just once.
Then shrug—casual, cool, infuriating.
“That might qualify as a delusion. I’d have to refer you for a psych eval.”
His grin sharpens, a flash of mischief and heat.
You clear your throat and slide the clipboard back off the counter, regaining control before he can push it further.
Something about his presence doesn’t feel like a pickup line. It feels like a challenge. A dare. One you’re trying not to accept.
Still, you keep your guard up.
“Look. If you’re here for Bruce, the conference room’s that way.” You point with your pen. “If you’re here to flirt, try again when I’m not halfway through a billing crisis and covered in pen ink.”
He leans in slightly, voice dropping low enough that only you can hear.
“What if I’m here for both?”
That makes you pause.
There’s something off about him—not in a dangerous way. In a familiar way. A dangerous-to-your-focus kind of way.
And then someone pages you overhead, saving you from whatever stupidly good comeback you were almost tempted to deliver.
“Duty calls,” you say, gesturing toward the hallway. “You know where the conference room is.”
Jason lingers just a beat longer, watching you walk away like you’ve knocked the air out of his lungs.
You don’t look back.
But you feel it.
You round the corner, shake it off, and get back to work. Just another Wayne. Just another distraction you cannot afford.
Jason’s POV – Front Desk
He watches you disappear around the corner, half-smirking like the smug bastard he knows he can be—but the second you’re out of sight, something in his expression changes. Not quite soft. But curious. Caught off guard in a way that sneaks up on him.
She’s quick, he thinks. Smart mouth. Sharp eyes. Doesn’t take shit, even with a name like Wayne walking in her door.
Dangerous combo.
He likes it.
A chair squeaks nearby, and his attention shifts just enough to catch the front desk nurse—Jordan, according to the badge—grinning at the hallway you just vanished down.
“Girl! What was that!?” she stage-whispers, clearly delighted.
Jason huffs a quiet laugh under his breath. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.
But his eyes flick toward the side mirror on the wall—just in time to catch your reflection as you duck behind the breakroom door.
You’re smiling.
Trying not to.
Trying so hard not to.
And blushing, just a little.
Huh.
Jason’s grin tilts. Not wide. But real.
That’s interesting.
He adjusts the helmet under his arm, finally steps back from the desk, and heads down the hall toward the conference room. He’s late. He doesn’t care.
Something tells him you’d still be the most interesting part of his day—even if Bruce unveils a million-dollar rehab grant.
And honestly?
He hopes you keep giving him hell.
He might just deserve it.
Your POV - Break Room
The door swings closed behind you as you enter the break room, hoping the hum of the fridge and the stale scent of someone’s leftover tikka masala will be enough to drown out the blush still warming your cheeks.
You don’t get two steps before Jordan follows you in.
“Oh no,” she says, hand already on her hip, “you do not get to walk away after that.”
You grab your water bottle from the fridge, playing it cool. “After what?”
Jordan blinks like she can’t believe you. “Girl. He leaned on your desk like it was a damn doorway in a rom-com. All smirks and voice like gravel wrapped in sex appeal.”
You unscrew the cap. Take a long sip. “He was being polite.”
“He flirted so hard the plants in the lobby blushed.”
You choke. Cough. “He did not—”
“He did. And you? With the clipboard fake paperwork? You didn’t even flinch. That man is going to be thinking about you for days.”
You try to brush past her, but she blocks you with a grin and lowers her voice just enough to be gentle. “Listen. I’m not saying jump into anything. But… I am saying you’re allowed to flirt back. To think about what it’d feel like to get coffee with someone who makes you laugh again.”
You pause at the counter. Pretend to read the sticky note about restocking Splenda.
Jordan steps beside you.
“One coffee isn’t a relapse,” she says softly. “You’re not who you were. And he’s not him.”
Your eyes flick up to meet hers. Something inside your chest tightens, then slowly loosens again.
You exhale. “He’s still trouble.”
Jordan shrugs. “So is caffeine. Doesn’t mean you quit it forever.”
You huff a half-laugh and toss your napkin at her. “You’re insufferable.”
She grins. “You’re welcome.” She half sings and exits the break room leaving you with your thoughts.
The hum of the vending machine buzzes behind you as you drift toward the window, resting your hip against the sill. Outside, traffic groans and halts like always, Gotham’s gray skyline stretching on forever.
But your mind is nowhere near the city.
It’s still at the front desk.
Still replaying that voice—low and unbothered, cocky but warm.
“What if I’m here for both?”
You hadn’t expected it to land like that. Like something pulled loose in your chest, low and subtle and dangerous in all the ways that used to feel like warning signs.
But you didn’t freeze.
You didn’t panic.
You just handled it—calm, capable, in control.
You.
Your eyes drop to your hands—steady now as they clutch your coffee cup. Not clenched. Not shaking.
You exhale slowly and shake your head, a quiet smile tugging at your lips.
Just a moment.
Just a maybe.
But God, it’s been a long time since someone made you feel like the interesting part of the room.
Therapy Session – the next day
The room is safe with soft lighting spills across the rug, and a diffuser hums faintly in the corner.
Tasha sits across from you, notebook balanced on one knee, but she hasn’t written anything yet.
She never writes right away.
You like that about her.
“So,” she says gently, “want to tell me what’s been on your mind this week?”
You hesitate.
Fidget with the hem of your sleeve.
Stare at the framed art behind her head. Something abstract and blue. You’ve never really looked at it.
Then you exhale.
“There’s… someone,” you say.
Tasha nods. Patient. Curious.
“He’s… nice,” you add. “Funny. A little much.”
Her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile. “Do you like him?”
You don’t answer right away.
Instead, you look out the window. Trees sway beyond the glass. Somewhere, a siren passes faintly.
“I think part of me wants to,” you whisper.
Silence.
Tasha doesn’t fill it.
You glance back down.
“I know I’m allowed to want things,” you say slowly. “But I feel like… I’m supposed to be better than this. Like if I was a good mom, I wouldn’t even be thinking about someone. Especially not someone who makes me—” You stop yourself. “—feel anything.”
Tasha leans forward just a bit.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Desired. Seen. Like I’m not just… surviving.”
The last word sticks in your throat.
Her voice stays soft. Unmoving.
“You’ve done a lot more than survive.”
Your fingers clench. Then release.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” you admit. “I don’t want to drag her into something dangerous again. I don’t want to be reckless.”
“But wanting something,” Tasha says gently, “and doing something are not the same.”
You blink.
She waits.
“You don’t have to decide anything today,” she continues. “But maybe just notice how it feels. That’s all. Just… notice.”
You nod.
Quiet.
Still.
But for the first time in a long time, you let yourself wonder what it might feel like to say yes.
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