#autopsy tech!reader

there’s one thing that’s been ever constant in your life, and that’s the presence of death. it snakes its menacing fingers into your shadow to follow you wherever you go like a black cloud. inescapable. familiar. it's no wonder, living in gotham. living next door to the cemetary.

ghouls wail, you wake up, you eat breakfast, and you pass an occupied hearse on the way to school.

you come home, the sun casting ghostly shadows against scraggly grass-covered ground, solemn stones sticking out of the ground in a line like silent soldiers.

you go to bed.

except, you can’t always fall asleep.

you can never really fall asleep.

wind whistles through your ever-open window, tree branches scraping against the side of the house.

it’s hard to feel alive when you’re surrounded by so much death.

you’re not afforded the peace of rest quite like your neighbors are.

the sweet release of exhaustion settling into your bones and sleep carrying you off into dreamland like a fish in the gnarled claws of a seabird.

you knew that, once.

not much, anymore.

so it's no wonder that you find yourself majoring in forensic science, spending your summers working at the local mortuary.

your parents used to love joking about it, that their daughter who grew up next door to a graveyard found herself a job working with the dead. it used to be sort of funny, in a sad sort of ironic way.

it got a lot less funny once they too joined the silent line of gravestones facing your childhood home. driving to work every day is a constant choice, a consistent battle and haunting reminder that you too could join them—instantly, even.

you're still doing a lot better than you used to be, though.

you’ve worked on tens of hundreds of bodies at this point. that’s the job, that’s living in gotham. you don’t remember every single person you’ve worked on, but you think about all of them just the same. jamie, the ten year old boy. reese, the mom who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. like life, like death, the list goes on.

work ends, and you try to compartmentalize—but you’re only human. it doesn’t always work.

you’ve been struggling through the same self help book every night, to no avail. tea brewed, lights low, you crack it open for what feels like the hundredth time.

your eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion rattling in your chest as you take each breath. you're not sure you can handle much more of this book.

sleep takes you, the worn leather of the couch cushions wrapping around you like the embrace like a lover.

“oh great, a friend.”

you startle, your eyes flicking from side to side. the speaker’s sarcastic tone is a little appalling, albeit off putting.

you turn in circles and circles, looking for the source of the voice.

“right in front of you,” they intone, and you blink, stepping back, as your eyes land on the voice.

the voice, attached to nothing, attached to everything, towers over you. your eyes follow the line of his figure upwards: beat up old vans on his feet, a pair of faded, worn blue jeans slung low on his hips, and a deep, dark red hoodie that swirls with invisible patterns.

“eyes are up here,” he says, a smile on his words. it’s refreshing, the sense of foreboding fluttering out of your system.

you track your eyes up, up to his strong, scarred jaw, up to his deeply blue eyes, up to the spark of white hair streaking through his otherwise jet black locks.

you exhale sharply, not meaning to. he watches you, looking his own fill.

"you look familiar," the words fall from your lips before you've even really realized you said them.

"do i, now?" he replies, looking away as he lights a cigarette between his lips. the background is blurry around the two of you, forming into a rough idea of gotham. wet streets, shadows that seem to linger.

you shrug, no longer as blindly sure of yourself as you felt two seconds ago. "guess not, then."

he shrugs back, flicking his head to the side to get his bangs out of his eyes. you follow the movement, your gaze lingering and locking into the burning cigarette between his lips.

a smirk forms as you watch him, and once you realize, you're sheepishly flicking your eyes back up to meet his gaze. "you, uh, gonna share?"

his smile grows wider as he carefully passes it over, the movement so mesmerizing, the idea of sharing something with this stranger just so intoxicating. it pushes the idea of an indirect kiss far from the front of your mind.

you puff on it, closing your eyes as you take a long drag and the smoke fills your lungs.

"those kill, you know." he whispers to you, not daring to speak any louder, you look so peaceful.

"hypocrite," you reply, turning back towards him. there's no one there. it's just you in the alley now, walled in by fire escapes as you look up at the square of night sky above you.

you blink, opening your eyes to that same sky lightening outside your apartment window, lips still burning from the cigarette.

“tired or somethin’?” jason asks, his voice low in your ear. it makes you jump, makes your heart leap from your chest. doesn’t help that you’re standing next to the autopsy table. 

“always, why?” you respond, so dry and so not paying attention. 

“cause you misspelled dismemberment, doll.” warm, pleasant weight leans onto your shoulder, like he’s propped his arm up there. “s’not like you.” 

you scoff, shaking your head a little sheepishly when you realize you had in fact misspelled it on the paperwork. 

“thanks, asshole.” 

he shrugs, the motion seen by no one but you. “all in a day’s work.” 

if you’d thought you were familiar with death before.. 

well. 

that was before jason todd had decided he was haunting you. 

he’s gone again before the work day’s over, your day oddly silent as you drive home. 

it’s a reminder of what life was like before the dead people started talking back. 

you’re not really sure you’re used to it yet. you’re not willing to ask why your parents have never popped over to chat. 

you make dinner, stirring the pot in the silence of your apartment. every time you turn you half-expect him to be there, making some witty remark or sparking up a cigarette in your non-smoking apartment. it’s nothing new to you, thinking about someone who’s no longer there. 

it’s been a few weeks since you first saw him in your dreams. 

it was rough going, once he’d started appearing during the waking hours. you’d reflexively thrown your toothbrush at the mirror one morning when he’d showed up behind you in the reflection. it got a laugh from him at first, even though he spent the rest of the day apologizing for scaring you. 

you don’t care that he startled you. it made your heart beat in a way it hadn’t in months, years. you realize how ironic it is that you sort of feel like the living dead. jason would probably get a kick out of it if you ever shared the sentiment with him. 

your reluctant bedtime routine starts up like it does every night: a cup of tea, a lit candle or two, and that stupid self-help book. it’s honestly become a ritual, even if you slightly despise the false cheeriness the author imbibed into every sentence. 

like clockwork, you start to nod off barely ten pages in. “the key to rediscovering who you are after the death of a loved one is to…” 

“that damn book again, huh?”

you turn your head, greeted by what’s now an extremely familiar face. “hi, jay.” 

it’s nice to see him here. fully fleshed out—unlike during the day, where he’s nothing more than a trick of the light. his cheeks are dusted with pink as he looks you over, fiddling with his hands inside the pocket of his hoodie. 

“what happened to ‘asshole’?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow as he looks down at you. 

you giggle, raising a shoulder in a half-shrug. “nothin.’ did i hurt your feelings?” 

the tease in your tone feels like a challenge to jason, who steps closer. 

“nah, just figured i should check if your feelings had changed.” 

“not likely.” you squeak out, trying to keep your composure even though he’s almost toe-to-toe with you, eyes looking into yours. it’s been hard admitting to yourself that you’re crushing on a ghost.

“y’know, maybe if you read something good, you wouldn’t always fall asleep to it.” 

“maybe i’m trying to fall asleep, asshole.”

“there she is.” 

you scoff, nudging him with your shoulder. “whatever. since you’re so sure of yourself, i’d love to know what you consider a good book.” 

he lights up like you’ve just given him a christmas present, transferring his cigarette from his hands to his mouth. 

“somethin’ classic, doll. like austen, or shelley.” 

“i’ve read frankenstein, asshole.” 

he shrugs. “wasn’t sayin’ you hadn’t.” 

you roll your eyes, smiling to yourself. 

“what’s your favorite book?” 

he sighs happily, and your smile grows wider. you would’ve had him talking about books ages ago if you knew he was such a reader. 

“probably pride & prejudice, just from how many times i’ve read it.”  

“oh, yeah? how many times do you think you’ve read it?” you turn to him, riveted. “hmm..,” he chews on his bottom lip as he thinks, closing one eyes as he counts in his head. “roughly fifty times, i’ll bet.” 

“fifty!?” you reply, a bit incredulously. makes your reading habits look ridiculous. 

“mm, yep.” jason says, puffing on his cigarette. “loved it so much i’d finish it and flip right back to the front. got parts of it memorized.” 

“bullshit.” 

“one mornin’, about a week after bingley's engagement with jane had been formed, as he and the females of the family were sittin’ together in the dining-room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window, by the sound of a carriage. they perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. was too early in the mornin’ for visitors, and besides, the equipage didn’t answer to that of any of their neighbors. the horses were post, and neither the carriage, neither the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to them. as it was certain, however, that somebody was—,”

“oh my god!” you cut in, aghast. “there’s no way. you’re makin’ that up.” 

“mm, nope.”

“what chapter is that from?” you ask, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. 

“i think fifty-five? fifty-six? it’s obviously been awhile since i’ve had a chance to read.” 

“right.” you nod, trying not to sigh heavily as you remind yourself to be more sensitive to his situation. "i believe you."

he puffs out, the tobacco smoke swirling into your nose as he blows it towards you.

“gonna keep smoking in my face or are you gonna share?” you sneer, watching as jason crosses his arms. as you reach up to grab it from between his lips, he dodges, leaning back. 

“get your own,” he laughs, face cracking into a smile as the sound rasps from his throat. like it’s been awhile since it’s happened. 

you watch, settled like a predator as he takes another drag, still smiling. just as he’s about to exhale, you grab his jaw and pull him towards you, opening his lips to meet yours. 

smoke fills your mouth, and you breathe in, letting it curl into your lungs like an embrace. 

his cheeks flush as you pull away, blowing the smoke back at him. 

“n-nevermind.” jason says, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “we can share.” 

🥀 part one:

🪦 you grew up next to a graveyard and now you’re an autopsy technician. some would say you’re very familiar with death. but the grief of losing your parents bowls you over, to the point that you’re having strange dreams.

🥀 part two:

🪦 he’s tall, he’s always lighting a cigarette, and he’s usually got something to say. whether it’s in your ear during the work day or in your dreams at night, it’s clear: jason todd’s decided to haunt you.

🥀 part three:

🪦 dreams blur with reality as you grow impossibly closer with the man—no, ghost, that’s taken up residence in your brain.

🥀 part four:

🪦 jason’s hopelessly trying to get a read on your change of behavior, prodding until you give up and tell him. how he decides to proceed is shocking beyond belief.

🥀 part five:

🪦 …

fic playlist:

“what does death feel like, jason?” you ask, watching him watch you. 

there’s a second, where he thinks about it. like he’s deciding which answer to give you. 

“why do you want to know?” jason asks back, eyes tracing the line of your silhouette in the darkness of your bedroom. somehow your bed’s big enough for the both of you. 

you sigh, shifting onto your back. staring at the cracks in the ceiling like they’ll tell you even if he won’t. “just curious, asshole.” 

he chuckles, and you feel the warm weight of his hand against yours like he’s trying to hold it. it makes you want to cry. 

“it feels like being in a long hallway. like the destination is at the end of it, but there’s all these doors along the way with voices and people on the other side. not sure if you’re supposed to go in, but i did. i guess i’ll get to the end of the hallway at some point, but your door was the first one i saw.” he sighs. “i got a long ways to go.” 

you nod, turning to look at him again. “i’m glad you’re here with me. even if we don’t know why.”

“me too, love.” 

you both lay there, listening to your breathing, when you turn towards him again. “tell me a story, jay.” 

he nods, opening his mouth to speak. it’s easier to see him when the lights are off. 

“it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. however little known the feelins’ or views of such a man may be on his first enterin’ a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the..” 

fire licks at your legs, burning the knot tightening at the junction of your thighs. you toss and turn, body feverish as you writhe, your muscles aching, screaming for release. 

“hey, hey,” a voice says, gently rocking you awake. trying to soothe you as hands brush hair from your face, pull back the covers to cool you down. “it’s okay.” 

sitting up, you’re still hot, still needy, barely awake. 

you grimace, eyes still half closed, pulling your sleep shirt up and over your head.  

you sigh in contentment, feeling cooler already. rubbing at your eyes, you stretch, arching your back. thrusting your freshly bared tits into jason’s face. 

“uh,” he starts, cheeks positively glowing. your eyes snap open, and you rush to cover yourself. 

“jason, what—,” you stammer, voice still thick with sleep. “what’s going on?” 

“you seemed like you were having a bad dream or something, so i woke you up, doll.” 

he’s dressed differently than normal, in a white shirt that pulls across his biceps and sweats, feet bare. feels almost wrong seeing him without his beat-up pair of vans, his red hoodie.

you nod, swallowing. “oh.” 

“are you alright? do you need anything?” 

you close your eyes, trying to breathe deeply. you squeeze your thighs together, trying to relieve the throbbing. 

“let me help you,” jason says, his words light. if you were looking at him you’d see the open want written all over his face. 

“okay,” you concede, nodding. lay back onto the pillow, you watch as jason moves over you, lifting your legs until your knees touch your chest. it’s a bit of a stretch, one you’re definitely not used to. 

all’s forgiven or rather, forgotten, as his face nuzzles into your clothed cunt. 

you suck in a breath, fingers grasping at the wrinkled sheets beneath you. jason’s breathing in like you’re his oxygen, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. you can barely handle the way he’s teasing you, even if it’s clear he’s trying to take his time with it. 

his tongue laves over your sensitive folds through the fabric of your underwear, soaking it even further. the warmth of it is unbearable, your back arching off the bed as he bands your waist to the bed with a muscular forearm. he’s working at you like a machine, eyes open and locked onto you. like he can’t get enough. 

gasping, your eyes blow wide with surprise as he rips your underwear in half, a devilish smile flicking across his lips as his eyes land on your exposed pussy. 

you shiver as he hums in satisfaction, licking a stripe through your middle as he holds eye contact. going deliberately slowly in a way that has your legs shaking. it’s a little surprising he’s not talking, seeing as he’s always got something to say. your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers carding through his black locks and pulling, pushing his face down onto you. 

he chuckles, going at it with renewed fervor. laying kisses onto your slick skin, sucking at your clit in a way that makes your vision spotty—it all pulls you closer to finishing, closer to complete and total vulnerability at the hands of jason todd. you squeeze your eyes shut, your toes curling as the pull in your lower belly grows stronger, like a wave that’s threatening to crash. recognizing the signs, jason doubles down, rhythm secured in a way that’s going to undo you. it builds, your muscles tensing, shuddering as you come on his mouth, fingers threaded into his hair. he moans into you, and the vibration of it makes you keen, makes you pull at him. you need to be kissing him right now. “jason, i—,”

your eyes snap open, and your hand flies to the mattress beside you, searching for someone that’s not there. you shift uncomfortably at the realization, turning in bed. the waistband of your underwear is digging into your hips, the material suddenly feeling too tight.